The Heat of Borginian Summer

For the record, Daryan isn’t even gay.

Sure, people joke about how he and Klavier are married and that’s all well and good, but Daryan’s down with the pussy. Klavier became a rock star to get women. When they’re piss drunk, they like to read slash porn about them and laugh until their sides hurt. Women, with their heads full of expectations and romance, have such strange ideals. Women are ridiculous.

Actually, Daryan thinks Machi is a girl at first. A disappointingly flat-chested girl. He just has a delicate way about him, a slender, beautiful little pixie with a very private laugh. Daryan’s just broken up with that satanic whore of a slut, the Girl That Toured With Them. She’s legend to the Gavinners, the Girl That Toured With Them. Her temper-tantrums are even scarier than Klavier’s. She’s almost as big of a bitch as him, too. Daryan’s sworn off women like he’s sworn off drugs and drinking – no seriously, guys, I mean it this time. I don’t need no women but Geeter. Then Klavier wants to go to Bumfuck Asia (oh, sorry, Europe) to hear some blind broad in a burqa sing about scenery. Daryan knows the language and needs a vacation, so he’s unanimously volunteered to represent the Gavinners along with Klavier.

Borginia’s hot in the summer. The whole damned country smells like falafel and Daryan’s hair isn’t taking well to the humidity. Then they’re ushered into a white, cool studio and there’s that girl Klavier’s got a hard on for and there’s her, a tiny delicate sylph who speaks in quiet, formal sentences. Klavier introduces them, there’s some sob story about how Machi’s an orphan and Lamiroir plays her eyes, but Daryan’s not really listening. He’s trying to see Machi’s face better, get a better look at her body. No curves, but those delicate little hands, man. Those hands could do a man in.

Daryan has no idea how old Machi is; just that he can’t stop looking at her. And someone so young can’t possibly be a world-weary whore ready to stomp on hearts with pointy heels. He thinks maybe he’s falling for her a bit. Feels like he’s back in middle school, tripping on his own feet just to try and find the words to talk to a girl. But Machi’s always stuck to Lamiroir’s arm and when they pass in the hall it’s too weird. Lamiroir and Daryan exchange words but Machi never says a damned thing.

When they have a moment alone, Daryan asks Klavier a question that’s been bugging him. “So are you banging Lamiroir or what? Does that Machi girl ever leave her alone?”

“Nein,” says Klavier. Even as they fuss over the soundboard he’s checking his own appearance, patting his hair as if standing in front of an imaginary mirror. “And Machi is a boy, ja?”

“A boy? No way.” Daryan groans. “But she’s so pretty.”

“Daryan? You do realize Machi is only fourteen.”

“Fourteen’s legal here. Besides, I thought you took me to this boring-ass country to find me a new girl.”

“A new girl is not the same as our fourteen-year-old pianist. I don’t really care if you feel you’re so inadequate you need to go after a school boy, but don’t do anything that messes with the band.” Oh shit, now he’s gone all serious-business. Daryan’s really annoyed when Klavier wears that face. “I already let you bring that girl on tour. Don’t let your lapses in judgment cause stress for us again.”

“Okay, I get it, geeze. It’s not like I already boned her.”

“Him.”

“Whatever.”


Actually the fact that Machi is a guy should turn him off the subject completely, but it doesn’t. Especially when he catches Machi at a rare moment alone. One night Klavier and Lamiroir are off in the studio. Klavier is adamant both that they are not to be disturbed and they are not fucking.

Machi’s on the back porch, swinging bare legs over the side, wiggling toes in long, cool grass. He startles when Daryan walks up behind him but doesn’t turn to look. Oh, right. Blind.

Daryan sits next to him. “Hey,” he says, and Machi stares out at the dark sea of grass without seeing anything. Saying nothing. Daryan can’t stand silence so he speaks suddenly in his halting Borginian.

“I’m Daryan, remember me?”

A nod. No words.

“Well uh, we didn’t really get introduced in much detail. I was thinking. You’re blind, right? Do you want to touch my face? I hear that’s what blind folks do to see.”

Machi turns. Hands held out expectantly. With a strange tremble, Daryan takes his hands by his wrists and guides them to his face. Machi lightly strokes his features, drawing delicate invisible lines over lips, eyelids, shape of jaw. Those fingers don’t slow when they’ve memorized his face, though. Machi continues to observe Daryan. His fingertips dance down corded neck and across muscled chest.

In the moonlight Machi’s hands are milky. His touch is soft and knowing. Daryan’s as hard as steel and he’s swallowing a lot, wondering if somehow Machi could notice. There’s this little smile lurking on Machi’s face.

Machi doesn’t stop touching. And Daryan knows it’s not intentional when those fingers brush over his erection but he wants it so bad to be.

And Machi keeps going. Stroking and stroking, seems pleased at the heat that grows and twitches. Daryan’s panting. The heat of Borginian summer means sweat’s already collecting on his forehead.

“Say, Machi. Want to see that even better?” The words are husky.

Machi only nods.

Daryan unzips himself, guiding Machi’s hand over his rigid cock. Machi plays and squeezes, all while his gaze remains eerily unfocused, as if his mind is elsewhere. Daryan wishes he weren’t so detached, but the sight of those perfect fingers is too distracting to worry much about it.

Daryan’s just sitting back and enjoying it – Machi’s not the best hand job he’s received, but he’s in the top ten – when he thinks of something better. “Y’know, I hear your mouth’s even more sensitive to feelings. And tasting it, that’d be a way to experience it too.” Machi pauses, confused, and Daryan cups his cheek. Thumb over lips. Machi’s lips yield; thumb pushes past, little licks, gentle suck.

“That’s good,” he breathes. Then pulls him down.

Machi flickers tongue over cock head, pressing to salty slit. That shy reluctance makes Daryan groan. Then, much to his surprise, Machi helps himself to his cock. He’s sucking it fiercely, sprawled over Daryan’s lap, jerking him with one hand. Machi’s other hand is nowhere to be found. Then Daryan realizes Machi’s touching himself, cradling his own painful arousal. Daryan grabs Machi’s perfect little ass and Machi moans around him, arching and wiggling like a happy little sex kitten. It’s that vocalization that does Daryan in and he’s literally exploding. Machi doesn’t seem to know what he do, but in his surprise pulls away. When he sits up again, he’s got cum on his sunglasses. Daryan can swear Machi’s looking right at him, licking his sticky, swollen lips.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

A mute and hesitant nod.

“Look at you. You’re full-mast and everything.” Daryan pulls Machi into his lap. Machi squeaks. Then whimpers as Daryan cups his length. “I remember what it was like at your age. Having to go through the day with one of these.” It’s out of sympathy that Daryan unzips Machi’s pants, begins to masturbate the boy. Machi squirms and the way he’s whimpering, Daryan wonders if he should be doing this at all. Then Machi throws his little arms around his neck like he’s drowning, and Daryan knows to finish what he’s started.

“Do you like it?” he whispers in the shell of Machi’s ear.

Machi nods. He’s close – of course he’s close.

“Tell me you like it.”

Sweat rolls down Machi’s temple. He’s biting his lower lip hard. He whimpers.

“Tell me or I won’t let you cum.”

“Please,” Machi whispers.

“Tell me.”

“I like it.”

“What do you like?”

“I like you touching me.”

Daryan’s going fast now. Strong hands from playing speed riffs. “And?”

“I liked… seeing you.”

“What you doing was called cock sucking. You know what that is, don’t you? Giving a blow job.” Daryan can’t help but smirk. Who knew that book of how to talk dirty in 100 languages would end up being the only useful gift Klavier ever gave him?

“I liked cock sucking. I liked giving a blow job. Ah… ah…!”

Reliving those memories sends Machi over. When he does, he cries out and holds Daryan so tight he’s practically choking him.

He doesn’t let go when he’s finished, either. The tension leaves Machi’s body and he clings like a sleepy child.

Stirring indoors alerts Daryan that Lamiroir and Klavier are finished for the night. Machi seems to snap to his senses. Dicks are put away and they stand up and brush themselves off. Daryan kisses Machi on the forehead.

“Let me put you to bed.”

Machi nods quickly, and takes his arm.