Daring Gay Erotica
"Darkness is Itself a Canvas," a sexy BDSM Banana Split story by Suzanne van Rooyen
Crouching, by Moxy Hart.
“Wow, that smells good,” Devon said, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his paint-smeared shoes as he walked into the apartment. Quinn greeted him at the door with a brief kiss.
Devon absorbed every detail of Quinn’s form, letting it soak into his vision: Quinn's pale gold, loosely braided hair, the dark blue shirt that fanned about his slim hips, his long fingers and slender legs. He never tired of looking at Quinn; he was lovely, almost fragile. Devon yearned to render his lover's form on canvas.
“I’m sure you’ll love it,” Quinn said. “You smell good, too.”
Devon felt Quinn's eyes slide over his body and became self-conscious of his worn knitted shirt curled around his pinstriped thighs. He was living up to the moniker “dirty hippie,” which Quinn often whispered with a crooked smile after foreplay. He studied his hands and frowned; black and orange paint still stained the cuticles.
“Thanks, I went home and showered.” Devon winked before presenting an elegant bottle wrapped in a purple ribbon, “Shiraz.”
“Really?” Quinn raised an eyebrow as they sauntered from hallway into lounge.
“I do have a modicum of culture. This is from my family’s private estate in the south of France. I nicked the bottle from my dad's cellar.” Devon collapsed onto the sofa, folding his elongated legs beneath him and running his fingers through damp hair. Classical music poured from the speakers; romantic music, thick as treacle.
Quinn popped the cork. “Ah, so good. I'll let it breathe. We only need it for main course anyway.”
“Oh, multiple courses, I’m intrigued.” Devon batted his eyelashes in Quinn’s direction.
“Yeah, and we’re dining in reverse,” Quinn called over his shoulder. He disappeared into the kitchen, emerging moments later with a bowl of black cherries and a tub of vanilla ice cream.
“Trying to seduce me?” Devon asked, biting his bottom lip.
“Only if you behave yourself,” Quinn answered with serious gray eyes.
“I might manage that.” Devon smirked. He extended a finger into the ice cream, slurping the sweet dessert from his fingers.
“You know better than to eat with your hands,” Quinn said, scooping ice cream into a glass serving bowl. Topping the creamy peaks with red cherries, he placed the bowl on the floor at Devon’s feet. “No hands allowed.”
Devon slid with feline grace onto all fours. His pink tongue darted between his lips and into the melting ice cream. He looked at Quinn as he bit into a cherry, letting the crimson juice stain his chin. Quinn swallowed and adjusted the bulge in his pants.
Arching his back, Devon rested on his elbows placing, the bowl protectively between his splayed fingers.
“Don’t you want some?” Devon asked before placing another cherry between his teeth; his chin was smeared with ice cream.
Incapable of resisting, Quinn knelt down and licked the ice-cream from Devon's stubble-free chin, plucking the cherry from Devon's sticky lips with his teeth. They kissed, exchanging pulpy cherry flesh between teeth and tongue. Devon winced as Quinn bit harder on his lip, the soft tissue tearing in the grip of a sharp incisor. Several cherry kisses later, Quinn pulled away and asked, “Ready for the entrée?”
Devon nodded and Quinn disappeared to the kitchen, removing the paraphernalia of dessert. Devon fingered his stinging lip, testing the severed skin with the tip of his tongue. He tasted blood.
Quinn returned to the lounge with fragrant curry and bowls of rice. Devon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Now this looks awesome!”
Quinn served him a generous helping of jasmine rice and saucy chicken with a smug smile. Devon chewed contemplatively, listening to the cello music filling the void between them.
“You should play for me sometime.”
“I haven’t touched a cello in years,” Quinn said with a shrug. “My schedule in the ER doesn't allow much time to practice.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you ever forget, is it?” Devon pressed, but Quinn didn't respond. “You know what’s missing?” Devon dropped his empty bowl on the table and reached for the wine bottle. He took a swig straight from the bottle, knowing it would infuriate Quinn and hopefully alleviate the funk into which he had slipped at mention of his cello. Quinn yanked the bottle from Devon’s hand before backhanding him across the cheek. Devon looked up at Quinn with an expression he hoped conveyed chagrin, then turned his head, offering the other cheek. The sting of the second blow brought tears to his eyes.
Devon blinked and grinned, “Can I have some more now…please.”
“Open your mouth.” Quinn took a mouthful from the bottle. Straddling his lover, Quinn held Devon's chin, his fingers forcing his mouth open as a stream of burgundy cascaded through Quinn’s lips and down Devon’s throat.
“Now take off your clothes.”
Devon complied immediately as Quinn left, once more, for the kitchen. Naked, Devon waited. His face was warm, made warmer still as the flush of anticipation caused his blood pressure to rise and cock to swell.
“Close your eyes,” Quinn said from the other room.
When Devon opened his eyes, six perfectly shucked oysters sat atop crushed ice in a bowl on the table. Beside the bowl were several hypodermics. He frowned, confusion overwhelmed by anger.
“For fuck’s sake, Quinn!” Devon ran his hand over his face and through his hair. “You know I’m allergic to shellfish. Not the hives kind of allergic. The I-stop-breathing-and-fucking-die kind of allergic!” Devon was shaking. His cock shrivelled as he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.
“I know.” Quinn put his hand on Devon’s bare knee, tracing the numerous skateboarding scars. “This may be your only opportunity to ever taste and enjoy oysters.”
“The one thing that could kill me.”
“The one thing? Devon, many, many things could kill you, but not these oysters. Not tonight.”
“So you’re gonna just shoot me up with adrenaline when I stop breathing?” Devon waved a hand towards the hypodermics.
“Only if you go into anaphylactic shock. I know what to do, Devon. You will be completely safe.”
“If I go into anaphylaxis?” Devon shook his head with a rueful chuckle. He patted Quinn’s hand before sliding to the floor. His thoughts churned violently, a hurricane of building terror. “I need a cigarette.”
Devon got up and strode to the hallway to retrieve his smokes from his jacket at the door. With trembling hands, he lit the cherry flavoured shaft, igniting memories of dessert. Quinn didn't offer his usual protests as Devon polluted his abode.
Devon sucked burning smoke into his lungs, his lips aching, as he returned to his spot on the carpet next to Quinn. He knocked the ash into a linen napkin, contemplating his imminent near-death experience. Devon swallowed his fear and took a deep breath before replying, “Ok, Doctor Quinn, let’s do this.” He left the smoking cigarette butt in the napkin, licking the unspoken prayers from his lips.
Quinn smiled and kissed Devon on the nose.
Devon straightened his back and opened his mouth. He slipped his still shaking hands beneath his thighs. With a lemon-juiced finger, Quinn stroked the broken petals of his lover’s lips. He slid his finger along the sharp ridges of Devon’s teeth. Devon responded by closing his mouth around the sour finger, flicking the steel ball of his tongue ring across the tip of Quinn’s finger before sucking it. Devon bit down on the knuckle as Quinn extracted his finger. For an agonising moment they were locked in stalemate, but he relented as usual and released Quinn's finger.
Quinn raised a curling oyster shell in his fingers for Devon to inspect.
“The only way to really eat an oyster is naked. Raw, no dressing or trimmings. Just as it is.” He tipped the loose flesh into his mouth. Devon watched, enthralled, wanting to lap the oyster sauce from Quinn’s chin. With an oyster shell in one hand, Quinn twisted his other in the long hair dusting Devon's shoulders. He tipped the oyster from his own mouth through Devon’s willing, parted lips.
“Chew slowly. Savor it.”
Devon chewed and swallowed, expecting an immediate explosive reaction, but nothing happened.
Quinn reached for another oyster, slipping it onto his own tongue before transferring the nutty, succulent flesh to Devon’s hungry mouth in salty kisses.
With pearly teeth pinching his bottom lip, Devon teasingly stretched across Quinn for another oyster. Leaning back on an elbow, Devon let oyster sauce dribble down his chest and stomach. The slimy morsel slipped from its shell onto the tanned plain of Devon’s stomach, residing in the hollow of his navel between the rolling mounds of well-toned abs.
Quinn licked his way along the trail. He bit and pulled on the nipple ring and Devon moaned in pleasure, throwing his head back as heat welled in his loins, muscles clenching as his cock swelled. Devon gasped as Quinn's lips brushed across his hips. Quinn increased the pressure of his tongue as Devon gasped again, his chest burning in slow fire as his lungs suddenly refused to draw in air. He collapsed on his back, arms flailing in panic. Quinn cupped his head, making deliberate eye contact.
“Devon, calm down. You’ll be fine. Just try to relax,” Quinn said reaching for a hypodermic. He stabbed the needle into Devon's thigh with practised precision. Devon grabbed Quinn’s shirt, twisting the material into knots. He felt like a child again, suffocating and terrified.
“Come on, come on,” Quinn whispered under his breath as he rolled Devon onto his side. Devon was still gasping, his lungs screaming for air. A wave of dizziness engulfed his mind, plunging him into comforting darkness.
Devon fought his way back through the black cloud blanketing his brain, his racing pulse subsiding into a steady rhythm. “Thank God,” Quinn said as Devon coughed and gagged; beads of sweat littered his body. He concentrated on breathing, relieved that the tingling in his throat was passing.
“Devon?” Quinn stroked the sodden strands of inky hair from the boy’s pale face. “Devon, you’re all right. Just breathe, ok?”
Devon groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
“How do you feel?” Quinn asked anxiously.
“I feel like I just got stabbed in the leg.” Devon rubbed the raised puncture wounds on his leg. “Wow, that was…intense.” His voice was hoarse.
“I’ll watch you tonight, but you should be ok.”
Devon shivered, pulling his sweater back over his head. Quinn removed the offending molluscs, replacing them with a pitcher of water and two tumblers.
“Thanks for the oysters. They were delicious.” He filled his glass, sipping the ice water slowly.
“Well, here’s to gastric indulgence and the wonders of modern medicine.” Quinn raised his glass.
“Thank you, Quinn.”
Quinn pressed his fingers against the translucent skin of Devon’s wrist and smiled. “You have your own private doctor, so you’ll be fine,” Quinn said before kissing Devon and pushing him back onto the floor.
“Tomorrow night I'll let you have your way with me,” Quinn said.
“Really?” Devon asked. Quinn didn't have a submissive bone in his body.
“I'd like to try,” he said as Devon surrendered to Quinn's ministrations. Tongue and teeth worked their way down his body before Quinn nibbled at Devon’s flaccid cock, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine.
When Devon arrived the next night, Quinn lay sprawled on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting casually across his open fly. His grey shirt was creased, revealing pale flesh.
“Did you get started without me?” Devon teased, pointing towards the handful of used tissues on the table.
“Just getting warmed up.” Quinn smiled, his face made angelic by waves of loose blond hair.
“Let's go then,” he said, motioning towards the bedroom. Quinn followed without objection.
The bedroom was their inner sanctum of savage delight. On the floor, against the wall, across the sheets – Devon had shed tears and blood in every corner. It was the only appropriate place for such intimate ritual.
Quinn was apprehensive; he kept wringing his hands, trying not to let Devon notice.
“Take off your clothes.” Devon grinned. Quinn did not resist. He let the grey shirt fall in a heap on the floor, an act which usually earned Devon a painful reprimand. Devon only smiled and removed his own shirt, tossing it on the floor. Quinn opened his mouth to speak but Devon pressed a finger to his lips.
“Nope, no talking allowed Quinn. Now your pants…”
Quinn struggled free of his jeans, removing his briefs as well. Devon nodded in approval before removing his own sweat pants. Quinn was already hard as he watched Devon strip.
Embracing Quinn and smothering him in kisses, Devon asked, “Are you really sure about this?”
Quinn nodded and Devon ran his tongue along Quinn’s teeth, tasting the remnants of espresso. He held the slim body, caressing the curves and hollows of Quinn’s lower back and ass.
“Trust me.” Devon bit a pristine ear lobe, dragging his fingers up and down Quinn’s knobbly spine. Devon winced as Quinn dug his nails in the soft flesh of his lower back. Breaking the embrace, Devon pushed Quinn to the floor before he had time to change his mind. With little effort, Devon pinned Quinn’s arms behind his head as he licked and nibbled the small pale nipples obscured by whorls of blonde hair. He reached beneath the bed for the rope Quinn secreted there. The look of horror on Quinn’s face was comical as Devon bound his wrists together and then to the bottom of the bedpost at the foot of the bed.
Quinn bucked and kicked as Devon fastened the rope around his ankles, unable to dislodge the weight from his legs where Devon was perched.
“Calm down, Quinn. Have I hurt you at all? Are you in any pain?”
“No,” Quinn acknowledged with a nervous sigh. Devon chuckled and kissed the thigh where he sat, smoothing the soft blond hairs. He blazed a trail of kisses up the length of Quinn’s body. There was not an inch, from toe to eyebrow, that did not receive the attention of his lips. Quinn relaxed, closed his eyes and arched his back, overwhelmed by the intricate workings of Devon’s fingers and tongue.
He gasped, “Stop, Devon. Don’t make me come yet.”
“Well, I don’t think you get a choice in the matter.” Devon closed his mouth over Quinn's trembling cock and used a hand to work him into frenzy. Quinn shuddered as he came, spurting into Devon's mouth. Devon swallowed and licked Quinn clean before fetching a tie from the closet.
Quinn panicked as Devon approached his face. “No, Devon! Please, no,” Quinn yelled.
“I’m just blindfolding you. No retaliatory asphyxiation, I promise.” Devon secured the tie over Quinn’s wide eyes.
“I…Devon, I’m really not…”
“I think you should just shut up,” Devon said, exasperated. He had no intention of causing Quinn pain, he wished Quinn would trust him. Quinn struggled against his bonds, but did not speak again.
“Give me a minute, I’ll be right back. And try not to have an aneurysm, ok?” Devon patted Quinn’s thigh and ran a teasing finger across Quinn’s wrinkled scrotum.
Devon left the room, returning armed with jars of paint and brushes. He padded across the carpet, seating himself at Quinn’s side. He flicked water off a paintbrush, splattering Quinn’s chest. Quinn jerked on his ropes.
“Try to stay still.” Devon swirled the bristles in bright green paint. He chewed thoughtfully on the already gnawed end of the brush before dabbing the first smear of colour on Quinn’s side.
“Devon, what are you doing? What is that?” Quinn gasped as the bristles tickled his side.
“Does it hurt? No! So shut up and enjoy it.” Devon stuck his tongue between his teeth in concentration. Gradually the room faded into oblivion, the rise and fall of Quinn’s chest set the rhythm of his brush strokes as all but the paint and his human canvas faded out of focus.
Quinn shuddered as Devon passed over his nipples and up his throat, across his armpits and pelvis. He moaned as the paintbrush caressed the super sensitive skin of his balls. Devon swathed every inch of Quinn’s skin in strokes of purple and orange, red and green, blue, yellow and black. When he ran out skin, Devon rocked back on his heels, surveying his work with satisfaction.
“I seek emptiness, darkness, and nudity. But the darkness is itself a canvas upon which live, springing from my eyes by thousands,” Devon said, quoting Baudelaire as he closed the paints, “Baudelaire really understood so much about our twisted psyches.”
“Indeed,” Quinn whispered as Devon removed the tie, trying not to smudge the wet paint on Quinn’s cheeks.
“I’m gonna untie you now.” Devon was only too happy to revert the balance of power to the prone paintee. Quinn nodded his consent. His wrists and ankles were pale ribbons sealing the conflagration of color from shin to septum. Devon offered his hands in assistance as he pulled Quinn from the floor, trying not to mar the design. Quinn went straight to the bathroom. He stared wide-eyed at his reflection, at the images contorted across his body: myriad serpents slithered across his skin as he breathed. Devon leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his bare chest, observing Quinn’s open-mouthed reaction.
“Devon, this is incredible. Beyond incredible.” Quinn stammered, “It’s amazing!” His voice rose through the octaves as he exclaimed.
“The quality of the canvas really made the difference.”
Quinn looked over his shoulder at the smiling eyes, gleaming with pride and a lust threateningly close to love.
“It’s a real shame you can’t keep this.”
Devon walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around the naked torso.
“Don’t, Devon! You’ll ruin it!” Quinn tried in vain to extricate himself from the powerful grip around his waist whilst not damaging the artwork. Devon rested his head on Quinn’s shoulder. Their eyes watched each other’s reflections. Devon dragged his hands across Quinn’s body, smearing red and purple pythons into glades of green and yellow daisies.
“You’re ruining it!” Quinn frowned.
“Nothing lasts forever.” Devon ran his hands down orange hips to a blue tinged crotch. “We can only enjoy what we have in the now.”
Quinn turned around in the embrace, pressing his painted chest against Devon’s bare body. He knotted his hands in the boy’s hair, pulling him into a passionate kiss. They collapsed on the floor, streaked limbs staining white bathroom tiles. They surrendered to the overpowering need to devour each other. Quinn pointed to the bathtub and Devon obeyed, kneeling and presenting his ass.
Devon moaned as Quinn's fingers trailed magical lines down his back, curving under his belly with lascivious intent, fondling his throbbing cock. He stretched his long arms over the low walls of the bathtub, placing the weight on his hands as Quinn settled between his open legs.
Their moans of mutual pleasure crescendoed as their bodies rocked in primal rhythm. Devon winced as his ribs were repeatedly pounded into the ceramic tub wall. Quinn yanked his hair, snapping his head back over his shoulders. The yelps only inflamed Quinn’s need, he moved faster and harder as the boy writhed beneath him. Quinn felt Devon shudder in orgasm; slick warmth covered his fingers wrapped around Devon's pulsing cock. Quinn increased his pace, slamming into Devon. In the fury of his passion, Quinn failed to hear the awful pop of a snapping rib or Devon's quiet pleas, begging him to stop.
Devon ran his fingers through the blonde tendrils spread across his chest. He tugged gently at the stubborn knots wound in the thin strands. Quinn licked the bruises blossoming across Devon's damaged ribs.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No you’re not, Quinn.” Devon stared listlessly into the unfocused haze of diffused thought. His mood was sombre; every breath was searing agony.
“Devon, I really am. I never intended to…”
“...to hurt me?” Devon chuckled.
“Not like this,” Quinn insisted, brushing fingertips across the swollen flesh shielding broken bone. He peeled himself from Devon's side and slipped from the bed.
“Close your eyes.”
“Quinn, I'm really not up to...”
“I said close your fucking eyes.”
Devon closed his eyes, his hands hovering protectively over his ribs as he strained to hear what Quinn was doing. The closet door opened, there was the sound of rummaging, something heavy being withdrawn and placed on the carpet.
Cheating, Devon cracked open an eye. Quinn stood beside a large black box with a strange curving shape somewhere between swan and woman. He closed his eyes again as buckles snapped open. The lid fell shut with a hollow thud before Quinn returned, perching on the edge of the bed.
The first plucked notes were strained and out of tune. There was a moment of silence and Devon cracked open his eyes again. Quinn was looking at him.
“I am sorry,” Quinn said, tears brimming in his gray eyes, before turning back to the cello. Devon watched as Quinn fingered the neck of the instrument and dragged the bow across the strings. The cello moaned in mellow lament, the sound spread goosebumps up Devon's arms. Quinn bent to task as he sawed at the strings, his fingers traversing the strings with gentle vibrato. It was the most exquisite apology.
Devon rolled onto his uninjured side, easing his way towards Quinn. He wrapped his arms around Quinn's waist, dusting his shoulders with kisses as the cello continued to sing and sigh.
“I'll be your cello,” Devon whispered into Quinn's ear. “I want you to play me.”
Quinn faltered mid-tune, drummed his fingers against the wood in contemplation before laying the instrument carefully on the carpet. He kept the bow in hand. Devon knelt on the bed and pressed his lips to Quinn's chest, biting his nipples.
“Will you sing for me?” Quinn asked, running his fingers up Devon's neck, knotting them in his hair. He pressed his fingertips into Devon's skull and laid the bow across his back, dragging the stick down over his sculpted ass.
He tapped gently at first, tickling Devon's skin with the taught horse hair before turning the bow over so that hard wood lay against tender flesh. Devon wrapped his arms around Quinn's waist and pressed his face into the soft down of his belly. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, waiting for the first strike as Quinn raised the bow.
Copyright November 2011, Suzanne van Rooyen.
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.