Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov
23
Jack couldn’t decide whether he was feeling light and dizzy, or warm and heavy. Both. The injection had poured liquid heat into his arm, from where it rapidly spread through his whole body, and he could feel and hear his pulse thunder in his ears. An unfamiliar feeling of joy bloomed in his brain, in his heart, a sense of complete happiness and sparking euphoria, as if he could shrug the restraints off and walk away, unharmed, through a hail of bullets. He’d never felt so strong and at the same time so peaceful in his life.
And yet, when he opened his eyes, his surroundings felt unreal, though he couldn’t work out whether they’d changed. They must have, their outlines alternately blurred then sharpened, though lacked depth. The wood paneling seemed too bright, lit from within. The pain in his head was gone. He felt no pain at all. The lightness changed, and with it, he could no longer figure out where his body was, or what position it was in. He thought his arms were lying at his sides, but he couldn’t perceive them, and his clothes caught on his skin as if it were sandpaper. But then his body simply faded, like a lever slowly pushing down and with it, any awareness of heavy or warm or restrained or throbbing diminished and then completely ceased to exist.
A good-looking man—Sal Rausa—sat next to him, but he, too wasn’t quite real. Jack blinked, couldn’t figure out how long he’d looked at him. Hours? Time had stopped. Nothing to keep track of.
“Listen to me, Jack. Tell me everything you know about Andrea’s business operations.” His voice was too loud.
There was a reason to not answer, but it didn’t seem real, didn’t seem important at all. He could have been watching a TV show, but he wasn’t the audience. He was watching the audience that was watching. Not quite a dream. It took forever between wanting to move his mouth and doing it, and the lag disoriented him even more. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to, and couldn’t grasp onto any thought—his head was simply empty, and somehow that was a tremendous relief and a heavenly pleasure.
When he spoke, he had the distinct feeling he was rambling, and as if he were losing track of what he was saying. He had no control of the words. They appeared on his tongue without first hitting his brain.
Was Rausa repeating the same question? Had they talked about this already? He couldn’t remember.
Rausa spoke. Questioned. Touched his face, though the touch was far away and happened to somebody else.
Jack wanted to curl into him. He believed Rausa had been in this room with him for their whole lives and there was nothing outside of it. The brightness increased. Light outside. Sun. Slowly, slowly, Jack’s body returned to him as if melting out of wax, though for an eternity he was convinced that all his joints were put together wrong so he couldn’t move them, but that feeling faded as well, and he slowly regained an understanding of where his limbs were.
He basked in the total relaxation and warmth in his body, and the maddening pleasure of breathing and looking into the sunlight, glaring as it was.
Sal Rausa leaned over him, took his face in his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Unbelievable, Jack. You’re phenomenal.”
A trembling passed through him at the touch and the praise. He lifted his head from the pillow, bleary, struggling to focus. “Do … do that again.”
Rausa raised an eyebrow, but took his head in his hands and kissed his forehead again. “Feel good?”
Sal grinned and stroked over Jack’s face with his thumbs. “Fuck, you’re still so out of it.”
“It’s good. It’s really good.”
Sal turned away and talked to the other two men who’d been in the room, left, and then came back a few times, if he remembered right. “Enzo, get in touch with your buddies. Use what we have to refine the plan. Doc, do you want to go home?”
“Probably for the best, though I can grab another nap on the couch.”
“We’re done here. I don’t think we’ll need you again. Not for this.”
Sal touched Jack’s face again, skin rough against his stubble. And his chest, almost too intense, too much. “Fuck, I wish I could …” Sal said.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” As blissful as it was, just lying here, his bladder kept nagging him.
Rausa paused. “Can you move?”
“I’ll try.” Sal helped him up, and despite knowing that somehow his limbs were detached and mismatched, his body mostly obeyed, though his sense of balance was shot and he leaned too heavily into Sal, who walked him into the bathroom. He withdrew somewhat while Jack wrestled with his clothes and then managed to sit and do his business. Sal only assisted again when Jack stood and headed for the sink, offering him a towel.
The way back to the bedroom took too much effort so Jack shuffled to the couch in the living room and sat down. But even sitting up took too much focus, so he stretched out sideways.
Sal looked down at him. “I can’t quite tell whether it’s a comedown or a second phase.”
“I feel good.”
Sal knelt next to him and ran a hand over Jack’s chest. Jack lifted a hand and placed it on top of Sal’s. As his body returned to awareness, so did the pleasure of that touch, and he wanted it more of it, so he pushed Sal’s hand under his shirt and onto his bare skin. He pushed Sal’s hand down as he tugged his shirt up, until he felt the fingertips slide down across his stomach. A thousand small sparks lit up, and Jack groaned with the pleasure. He tried to unbutton his shirt but failed. “Help me.”
Sal carefully unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, and Jack managed to shed the undershirt next. Sal regarded him with an unashamed hunger and arousal that lit up every inch of Jack’s skin.
“All right, I’m opting for a second phase,” Sal said. “And I guess it no longer makes a difference, right, Jack? Whether I’m the one to touch you or someone else does.”
“No.” Jack directed Sal’s hands to his body and squirmed beneath the caresses. Sal ran his fingers over every inch of his exposed skin, explored and stroked every muscle, every line, every dip and hollow. Not enough. He pushed Sal’s hands lower and was pitifully grateful when the man opened his belt and worked his pants and boxers down over his cock and past his balls. He’d imagined what being touched like this would feel like, had dreamed about it, but now that it was happening, he felt elated and reckless and sexy in his own skin. That Sal was the first man to touch him was fitting and oddly wonderful, though his hand around Jack’s cock made him gasp—the heat and roughness of that grip was altogether breathtaking.
Sal took his hand away and Jack was about to protest when Sal shushed him. “I’ll make it better. Back in a second.” He stood, walked away and Jack took that moment to pull his trousers and boxers down further, though it seemed impossible to get past his feet. Fuck it.
Sal returned and knelt down again. His hand was slick now, and that same slickness then covered Jack’s cock. The grip was strong, though the strokes were slow and intense, the slick palm adding a slight twist that was different from how Jack did it himself but completely mesmerizing. He closed his eyes because another man’s hand stroking him was overwhelming, but also because he wanted to focus on the sensation, of friction and tightness and heat and slickness. When Sal sped up, he was ready to come, pushing up into the man’s hand, but then Sal slowed down again, and Jack balled his hands into fists. Though it felt so good when Sal squeezed his balls in the other hand. “Please.”
“Say ‘please Sal.’ I have a name.”
“Sal, please.”
“All right.” Sal began jerking him faster again, oh so skillfully, timing those strokes just right, and when orgasm began rolling in, tightening every muscle in his body, Sal’s mouth suddenly covered his.
Jack was too breathless for a kiss, overwhelmed when his orgasm hit and he came over Sal’s hand, but the kiss wrecked what was left of his mind—a greedy, openmouthed, hot, wet affair that was as dizzying as it was new. Even once his orgasm was over and he came crashing down, heart pounding almost painfully in his chest, Sal still kissed him. Jack couldn’t think, just mirrored Sal’s kiss, and soon lost himself completely in the taste and heat that was Sal Rausa.