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Veo Su Amor

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Matt’s whole body seems powered by a restless, glowing-hot engine, pulling him along at a steady but relentless pace. His hips roll faster, and the girl starts gasping now, graceless and lost as he drives into her again and again. Russell fights the urge to close his eyes and get lost along with her, but he makes himself wait, biting his lip and forcing his hand to move slower on his own cock. He waits until Matt’s just about to come (he recognizes the clenched jaw, the way Matt’s closed eyelids flutter and jump) and then leans in to whisper “My turn, Matthew!”

Shut up…“ Matt mutters, trailing off into a grunty, quiet sort of a yell before he comes, fast and jerky against hot latex and girl parts shaved and slippery. And she, the tan, wiry, California girl whose name Russell doesn’t remember, still gasping but with passion fast turning into anger, pushes Matt off and rolls over to grab at Russell.

“You better make me come,” she demands, not unreasonably, and Russell grins and shoots a smug look over at Matt before pulling her close and swinging a leg over her narrow, tattooed hips.

“How many times would you like, darling?”

“Oh god, shut up…” Matt groans from somewhere to the left, where he’s no doubt fussing over the mess of his used condom and the unseemly scratches on his arms. Matt can never enjoy the after effects of sex, he always goes from orgasm directly to irritation.

“You shut up,” the girl fires back, and then grins at Russell. “Surprise me, lover.”

Russell manages to ignore the “lover” thing, and lowers his face to her sizable breasts. He starts to nuzzle them while his fingers quickly find the path to her slick and ready cunt, and Matt stops his cleaning efforts and turns to watch as Russell goes to work.


“We’ve not done that in a while, have we?”

Russell’s in his dressing gown, an enjoyably effeminate little number that hits him at about mid-thigh. Matt hunches at the table, eating breakfast cereal in front of the dark picture window and watching Russell slowly pace the dining room between bites. He does not answer.

“It’s weird like, having sex with you in the room and not being completely fucking off my tits on crack or summink, d’you know?”

Matt nods. “That’s why I was drunk.” He knows it’s rude, but he slurps milk from his spoon anyway. If Russell comments on it here, without an audience, he’ll be shocked.

“Yeah, well, not very.”

“Was when we started. So?”

“I’m just saying. That seemed different. Slightly less guilt-drenched and shameful for you, weren’t it? I mean like, you seem not horribly distraught and ashamed right now.”

Matt nods. “I suppose so.” It’s four in the morning. It’s too late for this conversation, and Matt doubts that Russell even knows what conversation they’re almost having.

Russell watches him for a few moments, waiting for something. And when nothing happens, he abruptly turns and heads for the guest room.

“G’night, Matthew.” There’s a bit of a flounce in his walk. And halfway down the hall, in a high, silly voice, he calls “Pleasure shagging with you!”

“Agreed!” Matt calls in a merrier tone than his face reflects.


Russell thinks he figures it all out the next day, because he’s clever and brilliant and Russell, and he’s got a talent for sussing out sexy problems. He’s been trying to make little Wii people that look like specific porn stars, but without breasts or hips it’s really just a doomed enterprise.

He sets the controller down and shakes out his wrist, turning to look at Matt who’s draped across the couch reading. “It wasn’t fun at for you at all, was it?“ Matt looks up, droopy eyed and elfin, seemingly clueless. “You tit. Don’t have sex if you don’t want to, it’s like raping yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Matt puts down the comic book he’s reading, something too arty and boring and indie to really hold his interest.

“Our recent reprise of the awkward threesomes.”

“It wasn’t awkward, except now you’re making it awkward with your over analysis and keeping bringing it up all the time. ’ooh, remember the sex we had yesterday? Wasn’t it noteworthy? D’you remember, Matthew? It wasn’t a bother, was it? Let’s talk about it again, did’ya see how proper good I was at it?”’

“That’s not why I’m bringing it up, you sod. And if you’re suffering from jealousy or feelings of inadequacy- ”

Matt just rolls his eyes. “Russell. Will you please drop it. The more you pick at it the weirder you’re going to make it. Just move on from it like every other sex adventure you’ve ever had.”

“But.” Russell stops. “I’d like us to have fun in LA. Don’t do things you don’t want just because I ask you to, alright? It’s too much like Vera days.”

Matt laughs. “If it were like that, I’d be on a plane back to London by now. And you didn’t ask, that girl did.”

“That girl was a creature of darkness. She hurt my willy.”

“You hurt it yourself, you idiot. Don’t blame her for your lack of coordination.”

“Nah mate, she moved around all snakey and bent my willy! That’s out of order!”

Matt chuckles, and Russell is happy because things are fun for Matt again. And besides fame, sex and a spiritual revolution, that’s honestly all he ever wants.


“Why do you hang around?” The café is fenced off from the street, and because Matt isn’t a sexy girl the paparazzi seem content to leave them sipping iced coffee in peace and focus on a terrible looking trio of plastic-y people at a far table.

“You mean besides the fact that we’re friends? Um… it’s my job.”

Russell waits for more.

“Because you’re beautiful and everyone wants to be near you for the rays of goodness you exude.”

“Aw cheers, mate.”

“Also,“ Matt’s on a roll now, “because you’re my ticket to fame.”

“Ticket to fame, fuckin’ ticket to fame,” is the rock song that Russell sings softly and Matt ignores as he keeps talking. “-and because my association with you gets me more sex than I’d otherwise get on my own.”

Russell grins at that and ducks his head. “You do fine, mate.”

“Oh, and because I’m in love with you.”

Russell’s head whips up at that. “I knew it!” Russell crows and points at him triumphantly, which is what he always does when Matt admits he’s in love. “Yes!! Admitted!”

Matt laughs, snorts even. “If, if I were gay, and I really genuinely told you that I loved you-”

“But you do love me, you‘ve said it loads of times.”

“Yeah, but in love with you, do you think I’d do it out of the blue in a shitty little Starbucks, with all sorts of people around, forty minutes before a producer’s meeting?”

“Yeah, well, there’s no strict, correct way to do it, is there? There’s loads of ways to tell somebody you’re in love with them, even if you’re a gay Hollywood celebrity.”

“But I’m not a celebrity Russell, you’re a celebrity. I’m normal and healthy.”

“That’s a view through rose-colored glasses of your sad situation, Matt Morgan.”

“Well I’m normal at any rate, and not famous and insane like you.”

“But that’s part of what attracts you to me.”

Matt nods. “That’s true. And makes me a parasite on your ridiculous back.”

Russell’s grin is sparkling and Matt’s grimace is a joke, and Russell orders them more coffee.


Matt’s wanking in the guest bathroom. Russell walks in without knocking, which is unusual but not unheard of when he’s feeling bratty and possessive. Trampling Matt’s boundaries is a way of telling Matt, with all the affection of an idiot toddler, that he belongs to Russell. Matt’s been out the last two nights without him, and Russell’s feeling lonely, and he’s found that a good way to strengthen the bond between close friends is to purposely walk in on them taking a piss and then act as though you’re entitled to be there.

But the miscalculation isn’t intentional. Russell hadn’t really realized how long Matt had been in the bathroom without making a sound (and who wanks in the bathroom anyhow, besides preadolescent boys in the 1950’s or elderly women in the bathtub? Jesus!)

Now here they are, Matt with his vest pushed up above his navel, the light trail of hair on his stomach exposed and glistening just a bit with sweat or spit or something where he hands must have been. His cheeks and neck are flushed and his eyes are still closed, and Russell just stands there and stares and prays he’ll be able to wipe the involuntary smirk off his face before Matt looks at him.

He fails. But instead of doing, well, anything, Matt just blinks, and amazingly starts to smirk right back at him.

“Don’t freak out, Matthew…” Russell warns him, and he really can’t understand why he hasn’t already been shoved.

“Don’t freak out…” Matt repeats, so it’s almost a question, looking at Russell with increasing amusement. “You fuck!”

“Don’t!” Russell giggles. “Sorry!”

And then his jaw drops as Matt begins to move his hand. The one wrapped around his cock. “Matthew…”

“Just imagine a girl’s doing it.“ Matt’s not even looking at him anymore.

Russell stops. Mentally he just stops, which is kind of amazing. Of course he can’t imagine a girl doing it anyway, not with Matt right there and clearly all alone, his thumb rubbing slow across the ridge of his cock head, his whole body swaying just a little as he breathes.

It’s so late. Matt’s drunk, he’s not even half hard now. “It’s late,” Russell hears himself saying. “Go to bed.”

Matt stops, puffs out soft, embarrassed laughter and tucks himself away. “Fuck.”

“I’ve got-” What he’s got, Russell doesn’t even know. He trails off. Matt laughs again and pushes past him, gentle and clumsy, to get out of the room. A few steps down the hall he turns back to look at Russell.



“What’d you just say?”

“I don’t know!” Russell bursts out laughing, and Matt does too. When they stop, the silence crackles and Russell feels himself sway, just like Matt. “Stop- stop wanking in front of me. Lock the door, for Christ's sake.”

Matt’s eyes widen, incredulous. “Oh, come ON.”

Russell breathes deep. “Do you want to…”


Russell bites his lip, squinting, sighting his prey. “I’m… pretty sure you do.”

Matt imitates him right back to himself. “I’m… pretty sure I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Want to have sex with you.”

And Russell wins a tiny victory, because he’s gotten Matt to say it first. Matt knows it too, and smiles ruefully.

“I’ll suck you off,” Russell promises in a voice that sounds like it’s not even his, and Matt’s smile disappears so fast Russell feels afraid. But Matt nods once, quickly, as though he’s greeting someone passing on the street. Then he’s right in front of Russell and leaning back to balance himself on the cool plaster of the hallway wall. Right here, Russell marvels, in this hallway. This is where my infamous career begins. He feels a thrilling collision of shame and pride, as well as a strong connection to several Smiths lyrics. He sinks to his knees as Matt undoes his flies and takes the bouncing weight of his own cock in his hand, presenting it to Russell. Russell leans in and brushes his lips across its head before Matt can push it there himself.

Matt utters a breathy noise and shifts his feet to balance better as Russell runs both hands up his thighs and across soft creased denim. His head bumps back against the wall when Russell takes him between his lips and licks him like candy. Matt’s hand flies to his cock to meet with Russell’s because he has to feel it, touch the spot where Russell’s fingers wrap around his hardness and where his lips sit, loose and hot and wet.

Russell hums nervously and pulls off, and Matt tenses and drops a gentle, loose hand on the back of Russell‘s head. Russell leans in again and for a second his mouth is there, close enough so that Matt can feel the heat of his breath as he licks his palm and slides it up Matt’s length. Then he leans back again and Matt watches, spellbound, as their fingers intertwine and they move together to bring him off.

At the end, as Matt’s knees shake and he begins to come, Russell leans in again and rests his cheek against the thrusting, quivering motion of his hips. Matt says something embarrassing, Russell’s name probably, and then there’s semen and twitching and all the strange biology of feeling that fascinates Russell and seems to repel Matt utterly.

Russell stays where he is, and so does Matt. Eventually Matt’s hand moves from Russell’s hair and drops, cautiously, to wipe at his cheek.

“Oh god. Um, sorry.”

Russell gets to his feet, somehow, without falling over or betraying the dizzying amount of blood that’s been diverted to his cock and neighbouring regions.

“I’ll bet I look amazing right now,” he says, smiling. When Matt doesn’t answer Russell finally has to look him in the eye, and there’s nothing there to say he disagrees. Russell, only a little stunned, turns to go to the bathroom. But Matt hangs on to him and keeps him there.

“I’m looking at you,” Matt mutters. “Fucking wait a second.”

Russell smirks, looking back at Matt curiously. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

Matt blinks slowly, face clouded, and Russell can almost feel the tension in his chest. And then he’s being kissed, hard, with hands caressing the sides of his face and then tangling in his hair.

“I fucking hate your beard,” Matt informs him.

“Alright. So.” More kissing. “That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Yeah,” Matt breathes. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

It all gets a bit stupid and rambunctious after that. They pick Matt’s bed, and end up stripping all the blankets off for ease of movement and cleanliness issues. Russell finds himself enjoying things he knew he’d enjoy, and a few he hadn’t been sure about, and one or two he hadn’t even realized were options.

“I’ve done that with girls before,” he feels the need to explain to Matt when they lie there later, spacey with exhaustion and stiff with sweat.

“Obviously.” Matt rolls on his side and stares at Russell, prodding him softly in the hip as if to verify that he’s actually solid and real.

“Well I mean, girls have done that to me. When I’ve asked. Which wasn’t- do you want to sleep?”

“Not yet.”


So Russell does his best to be quiet, hoping that before he falls asleep Matt will give him some clue, anything, to tell him if he’s right in thinking that they haven’t made a mistake.

When he wakes up in the morning and Matt is still there, sleeping with his face buried in the pillows and his arse in the air, and his arm flung out so that his fingers rest against Russell’s ribs. When the housekeeper climbs the stairs with heavy feet he doesn’t know what to do, so he closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep like a child hiding from his parents. She opens the door a minute later, gasps, and says something in Spanish that makes Russell smile for days.