Fallout (28 page)

First, though, he had to finish introducing his lover to this variation on oral sex. To that end, he narrowed the focus of his attentions, moving from the full length of Sambit’s crease and even his balls to just the patch of skin around his entrance that clenched and jumped beneath Derek’s tongue.

Little noises escaped from Sambit’s lips as Derek continued to lavish pleasure on him, and then Derek rolled his tongue and speared it past the loosening entrance. Sambit cried out sharply, rearing up and dislodging Derek. He caught Sambit, pulling him against his chest, his cock slotting into the crease as he stroked Sambit’s chest with tender hands. “Too much?”

Sambit shook his head, rutting back against Derek, riding his cock.

“Do you want to lean back over, or should I take care of you this way?” Derek asked, circling Sambit’s cock with his fist.

Sambit pulsed his hips against Derek again, making him wish they had lube and condoms handy because he wanted inside that tight ass. That would wait for another night, though. They were both too wound up for that. Now that Sambit was pushing against him so wantonly, Derek wasn’t sure he could pull back even to keep rimming his lover, so he took the choice from Sambit’s hands, picking up a rhythm with his hand and hips designed to send them both soaring as quickly as possible.

Sambit was hot against him and beneath his hand, his skin burning with the same need that seared through Derek. “Come on, sweetheart,” Derek urged. “Show me how much you love me.”

“Sweetheart?” Sambit rasped. “Be careful or I’m going to start calling you sanam.”

“Sunnem?” Derek repeated.

“Sanam. It’s Hindi. It means darling.”

“I like it. You can call me that anytime you want,” Derek decided, licking Sambit’s neck.

Sambit tipped his head to the side, encouraging Derek’s caress, so Derek did it again, adding a hint of teeth this time, his hand still moving over Sambit’s erection, keeping them both on edge. Sambit groaned at the gentle bite so Derek experimented again, a little harder this time. Sambit’s cock jumped in his hand. Derek smiled and latched onto the curve of muscle, sucking and biting, determined to raise a mark that would be visible even on Sambit’s mahogany skin. Within seconds Sambit convulsed beneath Derek’s hands, slumping forward onto the couch again.

Derek followed him down, folding his body over Sambit’s recumbent one, rubbing against the sweaty skin as he chased his own pleasure.

“Let me roll over,” Sambit said, his breath still coming in harsh pants.

Derek pushed up onto his hands and knees so Sambit could roll beneath him, pulling Derek back down so Derek’s hard cock pressed against Sambit’s sated one. Derek kissed Sambit frantically as he rocked against his lover’s body, the spurs of need sharp with the smell of Sambit’s release fresh and hot between them.

Sambit broke their kiss and framed Derek’s face with his hands. “Yes, I love you, sanam.”

Derek dove back into the kiss, the words enough to break his control. He spurted between their bodies, his release mixing with Sambit’s. All tension gone, he sagged against Sambit, relaxing into the arms that encircled him. “Every time you call me that, I’m going to remember you saying you love me.”

“Good,” Sambit said. “I hear it every time you call me Sam.”

“I thought you hated that nickname.”

“Not when you say it.”

Derek smiled. “I love you, Sam.”

Epilogue

“
A
RE
you sure it’s a good idea for me to come with you?” Derek asked.

Sambit had dragged him into Houston to Little Delhi to buy a new suit, and not just any suit, but a kurta pajama, an Indian suit with pants and an embroidered tunic. Part of Diwali, Sambit had explained, was wearing new clothes and cleaning your house and welcoming the goddess Lakshmi, who would bring wealth and goodness to her devotees. The goddess part was a bit too much for Derek, but he could get behind a clean house and an evening with friends and family, and if it meant he got to go with Sambit to the temple, he would even put on his kurta pajama and hope he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt. Sambit and the shopkeeper had brought out suits of every jeweled shade for his approval, but Derek wasn’t used to that much color and settled on a burnished gold tunic with simple maroon beading and embroidery accompanied by white pants. He still felt odd in the high collar with no tie or jacket, not that he really needed a coat in Houston at the end of October, but this was what Sambit insisted was traditional attire for this kind of event, and Derek was willing to do pretty much anything to make his lover happy.

Sambit hadn’t felt any such constraints, choosing an outfit with a turquoise tunic, beaded at the neckline and sleeves and in small rosettes over the body of the garment, combined with scarlet trousers that matched the beading. It should have been garish, but against Sambit’s dark skin, the colors popped. Sambit looked good enough to eat.

“So will there be a service?” Derek asked as they drove toward the temple.

“No, it’s not that formalized,” Sambit said. “We’ll light the lamps, of course, but it’s a time of gathering, of celebration. There will be food because no Indian event is complete without more food than ten times the number of guests could eat. It means so much to me that you’d come with me tonight, that you’d put on a kurta pajama even though you’d be more comfortable in an American suit, and that you’d be here with me.”

“It’s important to you, therefore it’s important to me,” Derek said with a shrug.

“And that is very precious to me, sanam.”

Derek smiled. Sambit didn’t say I love you very often, not that Derek said it much more, but he called Derek sanam regularly, and it never failed to make Derek smile.

Sambit had told Derek that Diwali was the festival of lights, but that hadn’t prepared him for the sight that greeted him when they arrived at the temple. Strings of white lights covered the building so that it shone bright as day against the darkness. Cars filled the parking lot, and everyone getting out and going inside was dressed in the same vivid colors and fabrics as Sambit. Despite wearing Indian clothes, Derek felt positively plain in his muted gold tunic.

“You look very handsome,” Sambit said, interrupting Derek’s thoughts, “and everyone is going to see that you’re wearing a kurta pajama and be thrilled that you’re trying to fit in.”

“They aren’t going to look past the fact that we’re together.”

Sambit shrugged. “Their loss, not ours, but I’ve watched you charm people. You’ll have them all eating out of the palm of your hand before long.”

Derek hoped Sambit was right.

Inside the temple, it was absolute chaos, people milling around and greeting friends, setting up tables for the buffet and for eating. Oil lamps and candles glittered on every surface, casting the temple in a golden glow, the smoke from the lights mingling with the smoke from the incense to create a nearly overwhelming sensory experience. Derek didn’t wait to be prompted, slipping his shoes off at the door. He and Sambit had talked about the proper way to greet the “aunties,” as Sambit called them, the older ladies who made up the backbone of the temple no matter what their husbands liked to believe.

When Sambit introduced Derek to the first one to approach them, Derek stretched out his hands, palms touching prayer style, and offered them with a shallow bow. She covered his hands with hers in greeting. “Eliama Aunty, this is my partner, Derek Marshall.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Derek said, his own upbringing kicking in.

“It’s about time you brought someone with you to temple,” Eliama scolded. “It’s not good for a man to be alone.”

The response was so completely the opposite of what Derek had feared that it took him a minute to respond. Sambit’s expression betrayed equal surprise. “I wasn’t sure how people would feel.”

“Bah, they can feel what they want. I’ve watched you. You didn’t look at the girls, you didn’t accept the offers. You needed something else. If this man gives you that, then all is as it should be.”

“Sukriya, Aunty.”

Derek hadn’t learned much Hindi beyond the endearment Sambit used, but he knew that one.

“Sukriya, Aunty,” he echoed, wanting to add his own thanks to Sambit’s. “I hope I’ll be worthy of your faith in us.”

“You’re here, you’re wearing a kurta pajama, you’re barefoot. If you can eat with your fingers, all is good.”

“You should taste his sambar,” Sambit confided. “It’s even better than my mother’s.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that, or she’ll disown you both.”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“Go eat, enjoy, celebrate. It’s Diwali!”

The rest of the evening passed swiftly and in similar vein. If anyone had a problem with them being there together, they kept their opinions to themselves. Derek smiled at the aunty who offered him a fork and proceeded to eat his biryani with his hands just like everyone else.

As they were leaving, Derek stopped to look back at the temple and its denizens. “You know,” he said slowly, “maybe next year I’ll get that green outfit you wanted me to buy.”

About the Author

A
RIEL
T
ACHNA
lives outside of Houston with her husband, her daughter and son, and their cat. Before moving there, she traveled all over the world, having fallen in love with both France, where she found her husband, and India, where she dreams of retiring someday. She’s bilingual with snippets of four other languages to her credit and is as in love with languages as she is with writing.

Visit Ariel’s website at

http://www.arieltachna.com/

and her blog at

http://arieltachna.livejournal.com/
.

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