Chapter 11
BING TREMBLEDinside. Like the egg that had borne the Monkey King, he felt as if he was beginning to crack and split. The stone shell of his discipline, his will, pierced by Walter’s kiss. He was crumbling, and the only thing he could say was “Yes.”
Yes, to breaking into pieces.
Yes, to being touched in a gentle way.
Yes, to kissing his best friend.
But he couldn’t do more than that. Only the grip he had on Walter’s shoulders kept him on his feet. Right now Walter was a touchstone for a mind lost. Normally he would grab on to a meditation, a prayer, any rote movement of sound or body to ground himself.
But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to return to his prison of iron will. Discipline. Duty. Responsibility. What had those concepts gotten him, except betrayed by the man who’d taught him those things? And so he tossed them aside and clung to the only one who’d never betrayed him.
Walter.
Right now Bing’s best friend was looking into his eyes, studying his features, and seeing him as no one had ever seen him before. And it was Walter, because he searched the man’s energies and couldn’t see Monkey anywhere.
“Bing, have you ever done this before?”
Kissed? “Yes, with Kong.”
Walter grimaced. “That weak-assed bastard? Forget him.”
Done.
“Just how much experience do you have?”
Bing lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture. No one taught this in China. Not even the relationships between man and woman. What happened between men was anathema. Though he and Kong had done the unthinkable many times.
Walter smiled sweetly. “God, you’re such a macho man.” He squeezed Bing’s biceps, then trailed his hands down his torso. “You’re ripped. You’re lethal.” He slowly pressed his palms to Bing’s thick cock. “And you’re sexy as hell.”
He didn’t feel that way. He felt like Walter was describing a character he’d played, a role he’d acted for others’ entertainment. Then Walter touched his face, stroked a thumb across Bing’s lip, and cupped his rough jaw in gentle hands.
“I know about this,” he said, his voice firm. “So you’re going to listen to me.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll tell me if it hurts? If you feel uncomfortable in any way?”
“Yes.”
“Swear it to me, Bing. No macho shit here.”
Bing swallowed. Of course Walter wouldn’t allow him to just receive like a rag doll. He’d always forced Bing to act, to decide, to think beyond the dictates of his training. He demanded that Bing participate.
As his answer, Bing moved his hands down between the folds of Walter’s costume robe. He felt the heat of Walter’s skin as well as the muscles that hadn’t been there two months ago. He felt Walter’s chest hair, shaved for the camera but still prickling Bing’s palms. And he sensed Walter’s breath expand in his torso, then slowly release. Martial arts breathing—strong, controlled… and a solid foundation for everything else.
Walter, in this moment, was so strong, so different than he was. Bing’s breath was short, his heart beating rapid in his throat, and the rush of his blood was loud in his ears. He was not in control, and he did not have a solid foundation. He would have to lean on Walter’s.
“Yes,” he said. And because actions speak louder than words, he dropped to his knees before his best friend. Never before had he worshipped anyone like this. He knew bows, obeisance, even the occasional kowtow, but this was different. This was giving himself over to Walter’s steadiness.
With quick fingers, he freed Walter’s cock. He heard the man’s hiss, felt the shudder that went through both their bodies, and he smelled the musk of desire. Walter felt that for him, and he was grateful.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that Walter was large. His cock was thick and heavy where it thrust forward. Bing knew how to touch a man to kill, to wound or maim, but this was different. This was slow and halting. He touched because he needed to. He tasted because he wanted to. And he engulfed the man with his lips because nothing felt righter than bringing all that was Walter inside himself.
“That’s not what I meant—” Walter gasped. “You don’t need to…. Oh, that’s good.”
Walter’s hips began to move, his buttocks tightening as he thrust. A tiny movement still. Walter kept himself under control, and that reassured Bing. He was safe. And so he redoubled his efforts.
