Leather and Newfound Land
About a couple cursed with literary names and a Newfoundland puppy. And a little about a poet who likes a lobster. Thanks to Kristi P. for the idea! (Well, the lobster part really isn't her fault).
Getting a puppy can cause major upheaval, mess, and distraction in your life. Much like getting a boyfriend, come to think about it. And Cliff has to think about it after Mischa (the adorable, but incredibly messy Newfoundland puppy) and Gerard (the equally adorable, but incredibly tidy man) come into his life on the very same day.
It's a case of opposites attracting -- and a puppy making it worse. The dog is wreaking havoc, and in the end, Cliff''s doubting whether he's going to have a boyfriend for much longer. Then a puppy catastrophe leads to the discovery of Gerard's kinky secret, and Cliff realizes that they may be more compatible than he ever thought possible.
This story was originally a charity sip celebrating Torquere Press' anniversary.
To find more free stories from Torquere Press (or download this story in your preferred format) - go here!
This story is based on real events; a muddy Newfoundland puppy can do horrendous things to white walls. Please note: No Newfoundlands were hurt doing the writing of this story. If only the same could be said of Gerard's furniture…
Warning: Getting a puppy can cause major upheaval, mess, and distraction in your life. Much like getting a boyfriend, come to think about it.
To Kristi P. with heartfelt thanks for the idea!
"He didn't. Tell me he didn't just do that."
Gerard's voice sounded faint, but the evidence didn't leave much doubt. Yes, Mischa had really just shaken himself thoroughly, and the walls in the meticulous, stylishly decorated library were covered in small and not-so-small flecks of mud. As Cliff watched, a blob of brownish matter slowly dripped down the spine of "European Design History: From Art Nouveau to Bauhaus".
"My books!" It seemed that Gerard had gotten his voice back. "MY BOOKS!"
Cliff blinked a little. One would think that he was used to everything by now, but even a seasoned dog owner had to steel himself in the face of this much chaos. And he wasn't a seasoned dog owner, not even close. Eight months of puppy ownership didn't prepare you for this.
Mischa came over to Cliff, wagging his tail, mouth wide open in what looked like a joyous smile. He was soaked, and his big front paws were muddy, along with most of his body. All of his body, probably, but the mud didn't really show in the long brown fur. Especially not in the tastefully dimmed light of Gerard's library.
Which was now covered in mud.
"It's even on the goddamned ceiling!"
The shock of hearing Gerard swear almost kept Cliff from taking his eyes off Gerard's face. But when he squinted toward the ceiling, he realized that his boyfriend was right. There were specks of brown mud all the way up the walls and even some on the ceiling.
"But why did you let him out?" Cliff's protest was feeble; there wasn't much you could say in defense of this kind of mayhem.
"Because he turned over his water bowl and lay down in the water for the fourth time, and I just couldn't take one more moment of babysitting him!"
"But it's raining." To be honest, Cliff wasn't worried about Mischa; it was a warm evening, and the dog wouldn't be hurt at all from being out in the rain. But Gerard had to have realized that something like this could happen.
"I know that now!" Gerard pulled out a tome on the artifacts of early Sparta and put it down again with a disgusted frown, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiping his hands with every sign of distaste.
With a sinking feeling, Cliff remembered something. "You did remember to put the board back over the hole before letting him out, right?"
The look on Gerard's face turned into one of stricken horror, and Cliff opened the door to the garden, turning on the porch lights.
Instead of the nice, narrow trench they had left this afternoon for the Japanese shrubs Gerard had been talking about forever and which they were going to the nursery to pick up tomorrow, there was a big, muddy hole, halfway filled with water. Far bigger than the narrow trench that Gerard had measured out with a ruler.
"This is my… This is my bonsai!" Gerard bent down and rescued something that now looked like a bunch of parsley. The horror was clear on his face.
Before Cliff had the chance to answer, Mischa bounded past them and dove straight into the hole, digging happily in the water. Cliff had to jump to the side to avoid the spray of mud that came from the happy dog.
"DO SOMETHING!" Gerard was screaming now, and had it not been because his dog had wreaked havoc on a formerly nice home and garden, Cliff wouldn't have been able to keep from laughing. But Gerard was visibly distressed, and Cliff did understand that. It wasn't every day your home was turned upside down by a ten-month old Newfoundland puppy.
Well, and a new boyfriend. Cliff secretly thought that Gerard might have had equally much trouble fitting either into his neat, organized home. And his neat, organized life. Because Cliff was neither neat nor organized.
***
He'd met Gerard the same day he'd taken Mischa home, actually. He'd been wanting a new dog for a while, but he still felt a little raw after losing two dogs in less than a year. He had gotten both King and Dolly from a rescue center (and dear God, had he hated those names. But you just didn't rename a dog, especially not when they were four and nine years old). King had been a moth-eaten shepherd mix that looked anything but royal, and Dolly a grayish little dog the size of a cocker spaniel but with the look of a dray horse. Both had been treated badly, and both had had undiscovered injuries and diseases that meant that he'd had to put them down within months.
After that, Cliff had sworn that he wouldn't get another dog. Then he'd sworn that he wouldn't get another dog from a rescue center. Then he'd started thinking about what kind of dog he would like.
He'd just moved into a rather rundown bungalow on the edge of the small town where he worked, and it had a great yard with nice healthy trees. Not that the health of the trees had anything to do with anything; it was just something he noticed. Occupational hazard of being a forestry expert. The main point was that Cliff had lots of space for a big dog.
That was what went through his head when he was on his way back from his weekend hike and saw the small sign next to a long driveway. It said "Northern Newfoundland -- Puppies for sale."
When Cliff was young, their neighbor had had a Newfoundland, and Cliff had spent hours brushing, walking, and playing with that dog. Hester, it was called, and again Cliff wondered what on earth people were thinking when they were naming their dogs. He decided that he would do better when he got his.
Which probably meant that he'd made a decision about getting another dog. With a chuckle, he turned off the road and up the long driveway.
When he got out of the car, a woman came out to meet him. He reached out his hand. "I'm Cliff Jackson -- I'm here to look at the puppies, if it's convenient for you?"
The woman looked momentarily confused, but shook his hand. "Of course. They're round here." She showed him around the house through a gate.
She was starting to say something, but before Cliff could hear her, a pack of chubby little dogs came galloping around the corner.
"Hey, guys!" Cliff kneeled down, and he was instantly surrounded by solid, black puppies, who all seemed intent to get as much attention as possible. Then his eyes caught the fur of one of the puppies. "Oh, look at you, you're brown. Is that an accident or something -- I thought a Newfoundland was supposed to be black?" He looked up at the owner while the little brown pup did his best to climb Cliff.
"You haven't made an appointment, have you? I didn't recognize your name, but I thought I'd just forgotten it." The lady looked at him a little bemusedly.
"No, I just saw your sign down by the main road. I've been wanting a new dog for a long time and thought I'd have a look at yours. Is that okay?"
The lady smiled. "It's fine. We just normally have people look us up and make an appointment to come here. We have a waiting list for our puppies, you see. Several years long. We're one of the top breeders of Newfoundland dogs in North America."
"Oh." He felt a little stupid. "I guess his color isn't a mistake, then?" He also guessed that these puppies would be way too expensive for him. Which was a shame, because the brown one really looked as if it had adopted him as it bounded up and down on his lap.
"No, as a matter of fact, the brown ones are even more expensive; you normally don't get more than a couple in each litter, and the eye color can go wrong." The woman sighed and sat down on a decorative stone in the yard. "However, that rascal there is a clear example why it's difficult to get everything right. His eyes are okay and so is his color, but look here." She lifted the puppy's head to show a white marking stretching from the puppy's chest down one leg.
"This isn't what a breeder is looking for." The puppy happily gnawed her finger, and she let go of its head. It looked as if she made a decision. "Do you have any experience with this breed?"
He told her about his neighbor's dog, and before he knew of it, he told her about his two former dogs as well. "So I decided I wanted a healthy puppy this time. I simply can't go through that again."
She nodded. "I can see that you're not afraid of getting dirty," she looked down at his clothes, making Cliff blush a little. He guessed his trek gear wasn't exactly what you normally wore when you met strangers for the first time. "But do you know what it means to have a dog like this?"
What followed felt like a third degree questioning about everything from his house to his work hours to what he liked to do in his spare time. While he answered as truthfully as he could, the brown pup collapsed in an exhausted heap beside him, and he gently petted it while talking.
Apparently the breeder liked his answers, because finally, she nodded. "Okay, I'll do something I rarely do. I probably won't be able to sell him for breeding anyway, and I think he'll get a nice home with you. So, if you want him, I'll let you have him even though you're not on our list."
That was how Cliff ended up driving the same route a week later, now with a restless little bundle of energy roaming around the back of his car. He had thought that the pup would sleep during the drive, but that didn't seem to be on the dog's agenda. In the end, he pulled over at a small diner in a forest along the way so the dog could get out.
He went over and got a cup of coffee, and the dog happily shuffled after him when he sat down on the back porch.
"I don't think it's legal to keep a bear in captivity like that. Especially not without a leash."
Cliff looked up in surprise from where he'd been petting the pup who was doing his best to attack Cliff's shoes. There was a man in front of him, with nice clothes who seemed slightly out of place in the relaxed roadside diner. What caught Cliff's eyes was the way the man looked, though. Lean, with blond hair and blue eyes, he looked like something out of a dream. Well, at least something out of those dreams Cliff had at night before he went to sleep, his body satisfied and his mind aching for somebody real next to him in bed instead of his brief fantasies.
Then the man's words registered and Cliff laughed. "Oh, it's not a bear; it's a Newfoundland pup."
"A dog?" The man looked skeptically at the dog. Whether it was because he still doubted Cliff or because of the whole concept of dog, Cliff didn't know.
"A dog. Not a bear. I promise."
The man looked up at Cliff in confusion, and then he flushed slightly. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to… I mean, of course it's a dog." He looked as if he was trying to gather himself, which was kind of a shame. Cliff really liked the way the confusion softened the man's otherwise haughty demeanor. "What's his name?"
Cliff looked thoughtfully down at the pup. "I don't know."
The other man frowned. "What do you mean you don't know -- isn't it your dog?"
Cliff smiled, not affronted by the man's tone of voice. "It is, but I've only had him for little more than an hour. I'm still thinking about a good name; my last dog was named King, and he didn't look even a little royal."
The man shuddered theatrically. "God, what a cliché."
"That as well." Cliff nodded his head. "Before that I had one who was named Dolly. She looked a bit like a dray horse."
"Really?" The man sounded incredulous as he sat down on a chair across from Cliff. "What are people thinking about when they name their dogs?"
"Exactly!" Cliff laughed, and the other man looked up in surprise before he smiled as well, the hesitant smile lighting up his features. Cliff liked seeing that. "So, I didn't want to name him without thinking a bit about it."
"I can see that." The man nodded and took a sip of his coffee.
"He's already got a name, as well," Cliff said.
"Why don't you just call him that, then?" The man looked questioningly at him.
"Because it's 'Northern Newfoundland's Prospero'. His sister was 'Northern Newfoundland's Ariel'. It seems this litter is very Shakespearean." Tempestuous, you might even say, if it wasn't so nerdy. And he wasn't a nerd; he'd just had a chance to watch that play a couple of months earlier.
"You can't call him that!" There was a look of horror on the man's face.
Cliff laughed again, half at the name, half at the outrage on the man's face. "I know. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Me? I don't know anything about dogs," the man said with a frown. He did that a lot, frown.
"You know that they almost look like bears."
The man smiled, almost reluctantly, it seemed, just like last time. "But not quite." It looked like he got an idea. "You could call him Mischa; that means 'bear' in Russian. At least that's what I've read; it's a character in a book." There was a sudden flush in the man's cheeks that Cliff didn't understand.
"Yeah?" Cliff looked down at the pup, who was passed out from the exertion of chewing on Cliff's now very soggy shoelaces. "I think that would be a good name for him. Does he remind you of the character in the book?"
"I really hope not!" The flush was making the man's cheeks bright red now. "I mean… Well, that wouldn't be…"
The poor man was so flustered that Cliff decided to save him. "Well, I think it's a good dog name. So, since you're now basically the godfather of my dog, I think I should at least know your name." He reached out his hand. "I'm Cliff Jackson."
"Oh." The man made a visible effort to recover. "Gerard Gaston."
"Nice name." And a really nice-looking man. "Are you French?"
Gerard looked a little self-conscious. "No, not at all. Family's from New Orleans, though, and my mother was a fan of hardcore poetry. I'm named after Gérard de Nerval."
Cliff laughed out loud, and Gerard looked affronted. He put his coffee cup down and made as if to leave. Cliff quickly recovered.
"Sorry, I didn't laugh at your name. It's just that we're both victims of bookish mothers."
Gerard hesitantly sat back. "Yeah? Who're you named after, then?"
Cliff felt the same discomfort as usual when he had to explain his name. "Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights," he admitted ruefully.
"Really?" Gerard didn't look as if he was about to leave anymore. "That's almost worse than mine. I'm just named after a crazy guy who liked a lobster."
"He liked lobster?" That wasn't really crazy in Cliff's mind. Lobster was yummy.
"No, he liked a lobster. As in he put a leash on it and took it for a walk."
Cliff must have looked as flabbergasted as he felt, because Gerard shrugged. "Hey, he didn't like dogs. They barked, he said."
Cliff nodded, impressed. "You know a lot about the guy."
Gerard shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "It's all in the Wikipedia article on the guy." He sat for a little while before looking at Cliff again. "Uh, what does it actually entail to be the godfather of a dog?"
***
Being the godfather of a dog meant that you had to make love to its owner on a frequent basis. At least that was what the last eight months had proved.
It hadn't exactly been a smooth ride, though. When Gerard had asked Cliff what he did for a living and Cliff had answered his customary, "I'm a professional tree hugger," it had looked like Gerard had been on the edge of walking away. The same thing happened when Gerard saw the decor in Cliff's dining room.
"That wallpaper looks like it's been picked by a blind man and put up by his ninety-year old sister in the middle of the night without the lights on." Gerard had stared in horror at the dark green floral wallpaper.
Cliff grinned. "I think that's probably exactly how that happened. I keep wanting to change it, but I go completely numb every time I look at it." Plus he couldn't really be bothered to do something about it. It worked, didn't it?
Gerard, who turned out to be an interior designer, wasn't numb. Neither did he understand why Cliff didn't do anything about the horrible wallpaper. As a matter of fact, there were a lot of things he didn't understand about Cliff's lifestyle. Like why he drove around in a rattling Jeep, wore dirty clothes when he came home from work, and voluntarily spent an entire weekend forty miles away from the nearest bathroom.
They had tried going camping together once, and it had been a disaster from beginning to end. Gerard had started by swallowing a mosquito, then Mischa had drooled all over the down pillow that Gerard had insisted on bringing, and after spending a sleepless night in terror of the creepy-crawlies in the tent, Gerard had sworn that he never, ever was going camping again. It had been several weeks before they'd gotten together again after that.
Maybe Cliff should just let the man go; they were so clearly a case of opposites attracting each other. But he didn't want to. When Gerard just relaxed a little, he was funny and open and witty. He had a wide range of interests, and Cliff found that it made his own world bigger when Gerard came home and told him about his latest topic of interest, whether it was international politics or some novel furniture. Gerard was enthusiastic and intense, and he made Cliff's life better.
If only it wasn't for Mischa. Gerard might be Mischa's godfather, but he never seemed to get over his exasperation over the dog's antics. Granted, the Newfoundland pup wasn't always an easy roommate.
For the first two months, Mischa had bounded over to his water bowl, taken two slurps of water, put one paw into the bowl to tip it over, and then laid down in the pool of water.
"I just washed my floors!" Gerard had been outraged at the pool of water on his stylish oak floors.
"He's a water dog," Cliff had explained apologetically, wiping up the mess. Mischa enthusiastically tried to help by biting the cloth. "He's even got webbed feet."
Gerard had stared at him. "He's got what?"
"Like a duck. Look." Cliff took Mischa's paw and spread his toes, so Cliff could see the webbing between the toes. "They used Newfoundlands as water rescue dogs a hundred years ago."
For once, Gerard didn't know what to say. Well, not until the next time Mischa turned over his bowl. It didn't stop until Cliff got a special set of bowls set in a stand which made it impossible for Mischa to turn them over. But come to think about it, that was when the digging began. It didn't matter that much in Cliff's battered garden, even though he had to admit that the grooming took ages when you had to hose down your dog on a semi-daily basis.
Then there was the whole lapdog thing. Mischa was incredibly cuddly, and that had been really cute when he was a small puppy. Even Gerard had admitted that.
Now, however, he weighed a hundred and twenty pounds and still insisted on being on their laps. It always began with a close cuddle while Mischa was sitting on the floor. Then a single paw, and suddenly, you had most of the dog except for the hind legs on your lap.
Even Cliff had to admit that Mischa was heavy. It was also one thing when Cliff came home from the forest in dirty work clothes; quite another when he had changed to go to the movies. And yes, Mischa had kind of ruined Cliff's expensive suit the night they were going out to dinner.
In other words, the dog was a problem. Mischa brought out the worst in Gerard -- his tendency to panic at mess and disorganization. Mischa also brought out the worst in Cliff -- his tendency to be a messy slob. Still, the dog was so fucking lovable that even Gerard often had to surrender.
And their sex life was fantastic. To say that they were compatible was the understatement of the year. What they did blew Cliff's mind on a regular basis; Gerard was daring, and they did things that Cliff had never dreamed about. Gerard seemed pretty satisfied as well. Hell, if it hadn't been for that, Cliff didn't think that Gerard would have endured little puppy teeth in his shoes and the amounts of not-so-little puppy slobber on his furniture.
However, it felt like they had come to a point where something had to go. Or someone. Since Cliff had sworn that he would never abandon a dog, that only left one of the humans in the equation to be dumped. If only Mischa could be more civilized.
***
That was exactly what Cliff thought while he struggled to get Mischa clean. He'd put a towel around the dog to keep him from getting more mud onto Gerard's meticulously clean walls while shooing the dog through the house. He did succeed in that, but Mischa shook himself as soon as he got into the bathroom.
"Jesus, Mischa! Couldn't you have waited a little?" The beautiful cream limestone walls in the bathroom were now specked with mud just like the library. Mischa just looked up at him with happy eyes; then the big dog clambered into the tub, looking expectantly up at Cliff. Against his own will, he couldn't help laughing.
"Okay, okay, boy. Let's get you wet."
Mischa had a great time while Cliff washed him, panting contentedly while Cliff soaped him up and rinsed him twice. He even stood reasonably still while Cliff washed his face. After toweling him dry, Cliff put him in the utility room. Mischa contentedly lay down on his pillow, heaving a big sigh like after a good day's work before closing his eyes.
A couple of hours later, it was Cliff who was sighing. It had taken a long time to wash down the walls and ceiling and cupboards of the bathroom, and then he had to take a shower. Because washing a one hundred and twenty pound muddy dog didn't leave you in a state fit to convince your boyfriend not to ditch you because of that very same dog. He dressed in some of the spare clothes he kept at Gerard's house, took a deep breath, and went into the room that Gerard used as a library.
"I'm sorry."
Gerard looked up from where he was wiping down a book. He smiled a little. "I know you are."
Cliff looked around. "You've gotten a lot of work done already in here."
Gerard nodded. "Yeah, the walls and ceiling didn't take long when I used the mop. Now I'm wiping down the books."
Cliff silently cursed himself for not thinking about using the mop in the bathroom; the ceiling had been a bitch. But then he reached out for a book. "Can I help?"
"Sure. There's plenty left. Just let me take the leather ones over here; they need special attention."
Cliff sighed at the look of Gerard's book collection and went to work. Luckily, no mentioning of ditching dog-loving boyfriends had been made. That made him slightly hopeful.
Cleaning was trivial work, but there was also a certain peace to be found in the repetitive work. The companionable silence was only broken by a question from Cliff now and then when he didn't know where to put a book, and they made surprisingly quick work of the large book collection.
Still, it was after midnight when Cliff reached for what he thought was the last book on the bottom shelf. It wasn't, though; he realized that there was another row of books in the back of the shelf and lifted them out. He was about to check them for mud stains when the cover of one of them caught his eyes.
That was one hot image: a bare chest held in a firm, proprietary embrace. Automatically, he turned the book to read the blurb on the back. Then he opened it at a random page, and he felt like his jaw dropped a little at what he read.
"It's going to take a really long time if you're going to read the… Oh, Jesus." Gerard looked embarrassed beyond belief when Cliff looked up at him.
"This is where Mischa got his name?" Cliff shook his head and interrupted himself; he had a more pressing question. "This is what turns you on?" Because he hadn't been able to read a lot, but what he had read was pretty hardcore.
"I…" Gerard halted, looking pleadingly at him, apparently unable to continue.
A lot of things suddenly fell into place for Cliff: the way Gerard loved it when Cliff held him down, loved it when they got a little rough, and the way Gerard had come like a fountain the night they had fooled around with a couple of ties.
"You're into kink."
Gerard looked like his world had just collapsed, but he still nodded. Which was pretty brave in Cliff's opinion. "But I have never tried anything," he quickly added.
"Why not?" If the man liked these kinds of stories, then he was bound to be adventurous in real life as well, wasn't he? Or was it just a fantasy?
Gerard shrugged. "Shy, I guess. What if you laughed at me?" He wouldn't meet Cliff's eyes.
"I wouldn't." Laughing was the last thing on Cliff's mind at the moment, actually. He had really, really liked those ties as well. He had to clear one thing up, though, and held up the book. "This is pretty rough. Are you into that?"
"No." Gerard quickly shook his head. "At least I don't think I am. Just… Being tied up, and maybe…"
Cliff stepped up close to Gerard. "And?" He caressed Gerard's cheek, felt how his own arousal started to grow.
"Maybe… I'd really like a spanking." Gerard's words were almost choked, and he looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
Oh, God. The image of Gerard bending over, waiting for Cliff. For Cliff's hands…
"Yeah? I think I can manage that."
Gerard looked up, bewildered. "But you've never said… I never knew…"
"I haven't done anything like this before. But you weren't the only one who enjoyed playing with those ties." He leaned in to kiss Gerard, and Gerard met him, lips eager, almost greedy under his. He reached down and pulled Gerard close, and he could feel his boyfriend's excitement.
He pulled back slightly and looked at Gerard. "You really want this, don't you?"
Gerard bit his lip, but he nodded. "Just don't laugh at me, please?"
Cliff pushed close and let Gerard feel his excitement. "Does it feel like I'm laughing?"
Gerard shook his head. "No, it doesn't… Mmm." Yes, that shut Gerard up nicely. Kissing him along the way, Cliff determinedly walked him backward until they reached the bedroom. When Cliff broke the kiss, Gerard looked at him with glazed, uncomprehending eyes.
"Undress." It came out as an order, and Cliff saw how Gerard took a quick intake of breath. Then he swiftly undid the top buttons and pulled his shirt over his head.
Cliff grinned. Gerard was normally as meticulous about his clothes as he was about everything else; this was getting to him.
It was getting to Cliff as well. Even if he hadn't been excited about what they were about to do, Gerard's eagerness would still get to him. And he was excited about what they were going to do. He quickly undressed to keep up with Gerard, and then he fetched a couple of ties from the closet.
"Not that one; it's a silk Armani."
Cliff looked down at the light blue tie in his hand. Yeah, he had seen Gerard wear that a lot. He looked questioningly at Gerard.
Gerard got what he was asking. "The yellow ones at the back. I can't get myself to throw them out because they're silk, but they're hideous."
Cliff grinned. Trust Gerard to think about his clothes, even now. Then he saw Mischa's leather leash on the floor, and his grin widened. That would be amazing. He had no idea how the leash had ended up in here, but it seemed that there were some advantages to being a slob.
Then he turned around and saw Gerard sitting on the bed, and his smile disappeared.
Gerard was sitting on the edge of the bed, slightly crouched and looking nervous. It made Cliff think about what they were going to do, and it made him even harder than he already was. He slowly walked to the bed.
Without a word, he pushed Gerard to his back and helped him turn on the bed. Gerard was watching him, and Cliff could see his lover breathing quickly. Straddling him, Cliff wrapped the leash around Gerard's hands and tied it. He quickly wrapped the other end around the headboard and fastened the snap hook around the leash.
He leaned down and whispered into Gerard's ear. "I can get you free any time, okay?" He undid the clip to show Gerard.
Gerard nodded, but he did nothing to pull his hands down. He looked a little less tense now, and Cliff reached up to fasten his hands again. Cliff could see him tug at the bindings experimentally, and his gasp was almost inaudible when they didn't give. Almost; Cliff still noticed. Maybe because he was greedily watching every small reaction from Gerard. Something rushed through Cliff at the sight of how Gerard was getting off on this.
"Now get on your stomach." Cliff gently helped Gerard turn, the leash keeping Gerard's arms above his head. "Time for your spanking."
Gerard shuddered, and for a moment, he looked almost panicked. "Shit, Cliff. Are we gonna do this?"
"Yes, we are." Cliff lay down next to Gerard, pulling his head close and kissing him until the slightly panicked tension started to leave his body. Gerard was pulling slightly on the leather bindings and beginning to push into Cliff's body, lying halfway on his side now. He was hard, just as hard as Cliff.
Then Cliff pulled back from the kiss, gently tucked Gerard's head under his, and gave Gerard the first slap.
"Unh!" He heard the half-strangled exclamation from Gerard, and he slapped his lover again. The sound was loud in the quiet bedroom, and so was Gerard's moan. He gave Gerard another slap, and another. It stung his hand, but he was too caught up in the reactions in the body pressing against his to let the sting affect him. He put up a slow, steady rhythm, and Gerard moaned every time Cliff hit him, pushing close into him every time his hand came down.
When Cliff gave Gerard the next slap, Gerard groaned out loud. "Oh, it hurts!"
Cliff gently kissed the side of Gerard's head. "Do you want me to stop, baby?" Gerard was rock hard, but Cliff had no idea how much the man would want. His own hand was smarting by now.
"No! More, please." Gerard pushed his head closer into the pillow under Cliff's head. "I want it to hurt," he added in a whisper.
The excitement surged through Cliff when he heard that, and he set up a rhythm of firm, steady slaps. Gerard was moaning, and then the sounds turned into a steady whimpering.
When Gerard cried out, Cliff pulled back and carefully rolled Gerard onto his stomach again. Gerard protested, but then he felt Cliff's moistened finger slide into him, and he eagerly pushed backward. Cliff added another, and Gerard tried to fuck himself on Cliff's fingers. Cliff laughed and slapped his left ass cheek.
"Oh!" Gerard tried to rear up, but his hands were still tied to the headboard of the bed.
Cliff smiled and kissed his neck while putting on the condom with one hand. "You want me?"
"Yes! Come on!"
Cliff grinned. "You're bossy even when you're tied up?" Then he had to moan as he slid into Gerard's warm body. God, it felt good.
"Oh, God, yes." It seemed that Gerard felt the same way.
Cliff thrust all the way into Gerard, and Gerard made a strangled sound when Cliff's thighs touched his glowing butt.
"Does it hurt? Can you feel it?" Cliff thrust again, making sure to push into Gerard's spanked butt.
"Yes! Oh, God, please, again." Gerard sounded breathless, so far from his normally controlled self that Cliff had no choice but to push deep again.
Gerard whimpered under him, and Cliff set up a quick rhythm of deep thrusts that hit that glowing red skin hard. He had meant to draw it out, to make it go on and on. But Gerard was almost sobbing under him, pleading for him to get to come, and suddenly, Cliff couldn't wait much longer either. He reached under Gerard's body and grabbed the hard cock, and it only took a few touches before Gerard cried out, the muscles around Cliff's dick tightening so much that it felt like they milked his come from him, and he pumped his release into the condom deep inside Gerard's body.
The climax left him shattered, exhausted. He did have the wherewithal to reach up and undo the snap hook. With a little tugging, the leather leash tying Gerard's hands together came loose as well. He rolled down from Gerard's back and took his lover in his arms.
Gerard seemed almost unconscious for a while. Then he began trembling, and Cliff put both arms around him and held him tightly until his breathing was evening out again.
"You're okay, baby. You're okay." He gently hummed into Gerard's ear, and his boyfriend relaxed into being held. Cliff kissed the side of Gerard's head and felt more content than he could remember ever being.
***
"So, it's okay?"
Gerard smiled a sleepy smile. "What do you mean, okay? That was downright amazing."
Cliff cleared his voice. "I mean the dog. I know he's a handful, and..."
"I don't care about the dog!"
Cliff looked down at Gerard in astonishment.
Gerard looked apologetic about his outburst. "Listen, I know I'm complaining about him a lot, but that's just the way I am, okay?"
Cliff got a sudden thought: had Gerard been pushing Cliff the whole time? Asking for something he might not even know himself that he wanted? Cliff didn't get time to think about it before Gerard continued, though.
"I know he's a good dog. Except when he's ruining my book collection."
With a hopeful voice, Cliff asked, "So, I'm not getting ditched?"
"Ditched?" Gerard pushed up on his arms. "What are you talking about?"
Cliff made a self-deprecating gesture. "I've kind of waited all evening for you to tell me that you didn't want to be with me anymore. That we were through because you couldn't live with the chaos Mischa brings into your life."
"What? No!" Gerard reached out for Cliff, gentleness in the hand caressing Cliffs face. "I mean, not if you can live with me and my antics."
Relief flowed through Cliff. "Yeah? Because I can. If I can deal with a one hundred and twenty pound Newfoundland dog, I can certainly deal with a neat boyfriend."
"Good." There was a wealth of satisfaction in Gerard's voice. "As long as you don't mix up our collars, I don't care."
"Oh, so now you want a collar as well as a leash?"
The heat flushed into Gerard's cheeks, and he groaned. Cliff just laughed. It seemed that naming a dog could lead to amazing things.
End
Getting a puppy can cause major upheaval, mess, and distraction in your life. Much like getting a boyfriend, come to think about it. And Cliff has to think about it after Mischa (the adorable, but incredibly messy Newfoundland puppy) and Gerard (the equally adorable, but incredibly tidy man) come into his life on the very same day.
It's a case of opposites attracting -- and a puppy making it worse. The dog is wreaking havoc, and in the end, Cliff''s doubting whether he's going to have a boyfriend for much longer. Then a puppy catastrophe leads to the discovery of Gerard's kinky secret, and Cliff realizes that they may be more compatible than he ever thought possible.
This story was originally a charity sip celebrating Torquere Press' anniversary.
To find more free stories from Torquere Press (or download this story in your preferred format) - go here!
This story is based on real events; a muddy Newfoundland puppy can do horrendous things to white walls. Please note: No Newfoundlands were hurt doing the writing of this story. If only the same could be said of Gerard's furniture…
Warning: Getting a puppy can cause major upheaval, mess, and distraction in your life. Much like getting a boyfriend, come to think about it.
To Kristi P. with heartfelt thanks for the idea!
"He didn't. Tell me he didn't just do that."
Gerard's voice sounded faint, but the evidence didn't leave much doubt. Yes, Mischa had really just shaken himself thoroughly, and the walls in the meticulous, stylishly decorated library were covered in small and not-so-small flecks of mud. As Cliff watched, a blob of brownish matter slowly dripped down the spine of "European Design History: From Art Nouveau to Bauhaus".
"My books!" It seemed that Gerard had gotten his voice back. "MY BOOKS!"
Cliff blinked a little. One would think that he was used to everything by now, but even a seasoned dog owner had to steel himself in the face of this much chaos. And he wasn't a seasoned dog owner, not even close. Eight months of puppy ownership didn't prepare you for this.
Mischa came over to Cliff, wagging his tail, mouth wide open in what looked like a joyous smile. He was soaked, and his big front paws were muddy, along with most of his body. All of his body, probably, but the mud didn't really show in the long brown fur. Especially not in the tastefully dimmed light of Gerard's library.
Which was now covered in mud.
"It's even on the goddamned ceiling!"
The shock of hearing Gerard swear almost kept Cliff from taking his eyes off Gerard's face. But when he squinted toward the ceiling, he realized that his boyfriend was right. There were specks of brown mud all the way up the walls and even some on the ceiling.
"But why did you let him out?" Cliff's protest was feeble; there wasn't much you could say in defense of this kind of mayhem.
"Because he turned over his water bowl and lay down in the water for the fourth time, and I just couldn't take one more moment of babysitting him!"
"But it's raining." To be honest, Cliff wasn't worried about Mischa; it was a warm evening, and the dog wouldn't be hurt at all from being out in the rain. But Gerard had to have realized that something like this could happen.
"I know that now!" Gerard pulled out a tome on the artifacts of early Sparta and put it down again with a disgusted frown, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief and wiping his hands with every sign of distaste.
With a sinking feeling, Cliff remembered something. "You did remember to put the board back over the hole before letting him out, right?"
The look on Gerard's face turned into one of stricken horror, and Cliff opened the door to the garden, turning on the porch lights.
Instead of the nice, narrow trench they had left this afternoon for the Japanese shrubs Gerard had been talking about forever and which they were going to the nursery to pick up tomorrow, there was a big, muddy hole, halfway filled with water. Far bigger than the narrow trench that Gerard had measured out with a ruler.
"This is my… This is my bonsai!" Gerard bent down and rescued something that now looked like a bunch of parsley. The horror was clear on his face.
Before Cliff had the chance to answer, Mischa bounded past them and dove straight into the hole, digging happily in the water. Cliff had to jump to the side to avoid the spray of mud that came from the happy dog.
"DO SOMETHING!" Gerard was screaming now, and had it not been because his dog had wreaked havoc on a formerly nice home and garden, Cliff wouldn't have been able to keep from laughing. But Gerard was visibly distressed, and Cliff did understand that. It wasn't every day your home was turned upside down by a ten-month old Newfoundland puppy.
Well, and a new boyfriend. Cliff secretly thought that Gerard might have had equally much trouble fitting either into his neat, organized home. And his neat, organized life. Because Cliff was neither neat nor organized.
***
He'd met Gerard the same day he'd taken Mischa home, actually. He'd been wanting a new dog for a while, but he still felt a little raw after losing two dogs in less than a year. He had gotten both King and Dolly from a rescue center (and dear God, had he hated those names. But you just didn't rename a dog, especially not when they were four and nine years old). King had been a moth-eaten shepherd mix that looked anything but royal, and Dolly a grayish little dog the size of a cocker spaniel but with the look of a dray horse. Both had been treated badly, and both had had undiscovered injuries and diseases that meant that he'd had to put them down within months.
After that, Cliff had sworn that he wouldn't get another dog. Then he'd sworn that he wouldn't get another dog from a rescue center. Then he'd started thinking about what kind of dog he would like.
He'd just moved into a rather rundown bungalow on the edge of the small town where he worked, and it had a great yard with nice healthy trees. Not that the health of the trees had anything to do with anything; it was just something he noticed. Occupational hazard of being a forestry expert. The main point was that Cliff had lots of space for a big dog.
That was what went through his head when he was on his way back from his weekend hike and saw the small sign next to a long driveway. It said "Northern Newfoundland -- Puppies for sale."
When Cliff was young, their neighbor had had a Newfoundland, and Cliff had spent hours brushing, walking, and playing with that dog. Hester, it was called, and again Cliff wondered what on earth people were thinking when they were naming their dogs. He decided that he would do better when he got his.
Which probably meant that he'd made a decision about getting another dog. With a chuckle, he turned off the road and up the long driveway.
When he got out of the car, a woman came out to meet him. He reached out his hand. "I'm Cliff Jackson -- I'm here to look at the puppies, if it's convenient for you?"
The woman looked momentarily confused, but shook his hand. "Of course. They're round here." She showed him around the house through a gate.
She was starting to say something, but before Cliff could hear her, a pack of chubby little dogs came galloping around the corner.
"Hey, guys!" Cliff kneeled down, and he was instantly surrounded by solid, black puppies, who all seemed intent to get as much attention as possible. Then his eyes caught the fur of one of the puppies. "Oh, look at you, you're brown. Is that an accident or something -- I thought a Newfoundland was supposed to be black?" He looked up at the owner while the little brown pup did his best to climb Cliff.
"You haven't made an appointment, have you? I didn't recognize your name, but I thought I'd just forgotten it." The lady looked at him a little bemusedly.
"No, I just saw your sign down by the main road. I've been wanting a new dog for a long time and thought I'd have a look at yours. Is that okay?"
The lady smiled. "It's fine. We just normally have people look us up and make an appointment to come here. We have a waiting list for our puppies, you see. Several years long. We're one of the top breeders of Newfoundland dogs in North America."
"Oh." He felt a little stupid. "I guess his color isn't a mistake, then?" He also guessed that these puppies would be way too expensive for him. Which was a shame, because the brown one really looked as if it had adopted him as it bounded up and down on his lap.
"No, as a matter of fact, the brown ones are even more expensive; you normally don't get more than a couple in each litter, and the eye color can go wrong." The woman sighed and sat down on a decorative stone in the yard. "However, that rascal there is a clear example why it's difficult to get everything right. His eyes are okay and so is his color, but look here." She lifted the puppy's head to show a white marking stretching from the puppy's chest down one leg.
"This isn't what a breeder is looking for." The puppy happily gnawed her finger, and she let go of its head. It looked as if she made a decision. "Do you have any experience with this breed?"
He told her about his neighbor's dog, and before he knew of it, he told her about his two former dogs as well. "So I decided I wanted a healthy puppy this time. I simply can't go through that again."
She nodded. "I can see that you're not afraid of getting dirty," she looked down at his clothes, making Cliff blush a little. He guessed his trek gear wasn't exactly what you normally wore when you met strangers for the first time. "But do you know what it means to have a dog like this?"
What followed felt like a third degree questioning about everything from his house to his work hours to what he liked to do in his spare time. While he answered as truthfully as he could, the brown pup collapsed in an exhausted heap beside him, and he gently petted it while talking.
Apparently the breeder liked his answers, because finally, she nodded. "Okay, I'll do something I rarely do. I probably won't be able to sell him for breeding anyway, and I think he'll get a nice home with you. So, if you want him, I'll let you have him even though you're not on our list."
That was how Cliff ended up driving the same route a week later, now with a restless little bundle of energy roaming around the back of his car. He had thought that the pup would sleep during the drive, but that didn't seem to be on the dog's agenda. In the end, he pulled over at a small diner in a forest along the way so the dog could get out.
He went over and got a cup of coffee, and the dog happily shuffled after him when he sat down on the back porch.
"I don't think it's legal to keep a bear in captivity like that. Especially not without a leash."
Cliff looked up in surprise from where he'd been petting the pup who was doing his best to attack Cliff's shoes. There was a man in front of him, with nice clothes who seemed slightly out of place in the relaxed roadside diner. What caught Cliff's eyes was the way the man looked, though. Lean, with blond hair and blue eyes, he looked like something out of a dream. Well, at least something out of those dreams Cliff had at night before he went to sleep, his body satisfied and his mind aching for somebody real next to him in bed instead of his brief fantasies.
Then the man's words registered and Cliff laughed. "Oh, it's not a bear; it's a Newfoundland pup."
"A dog?" The man looked skeptically at the dog. Whether it was because he still doubted Cliff or because of the whole concept of dog, Cliff didn't know.
"A dog. Not a bear. I promise."
The man looked up at Cliff in confusion, and then he flushed slightly. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to… I mean, of course it's a dog." He looked as if he was trying to gather himself, which was kind of a shame. Cliff really liked the way the confusion softened the man's otherwise haughty demeanor. "What's his name?"
Cliff looked thoughtfully down at the pup. "I don't know."
The other man frowned. "What do you mean you don't know -- isn't it your dog?"
Cliff smiled, not affronted by the man's tone of voice. "It is, but I've only had him for little more than an hour. I'm still thinking about a good name; my last dog was named King, and he didn't look even a little royal."
The man shuddered theatrically. "God, what a cliché."
"That as well." Cliff nodded his head. "Before that I had one who was named Dolly. She looked a bit like a dray horse."
"Really?" The man sounded incredulous as he sat down on a chair across from Cliff. "What are people thinking about when they name their dogs?"
"Exactly!" Cliff laughed, and the other man looked up in surprise before he smiled as well, the hesitant smile lighting up his features. Cliff liked seeing that. "So, I didn't want to name him without thinking a bit about it."
"I can see that." The man nodded and took a sip of his coffee.
"He's already got a name, as well," Cliff said.
"Why don't you just call him that, then?" The man looked questioningly at him.
"Because it's 'Northern Newfoundland's Prospero'. His sister was 'Northern Newfoundland's Ariel'. It seems this litter is very Shakespearean." Tempestuous, you might even say, if it wasn't so nerdy. And he wasn't a nerd; he'd just had a chance to watch that play a couple of months earlier.
"You can't call him that!" There was a look of horror on the man's face.
Cliff laughed again, half at the name, half at the outrage on the man's face. "I know. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Me? I don't know anything about dogs," the man said with a frown. He did that a lot, frown.
"You know that they almost look like bears."
The man smiled, almost reluctantly, it seemed, just like last time. "But not quite." It looked like he got an idea. "You could call him Mischa; that means 'bear' in Russian. At least that's what I've read; it's a character in a book." There was a sudden flush in the man's cheeks that Cliff didn't understand.
"Yeah?" Cliff looked down at the pup, who was passed out from the exertion of chewing on Cliff's now very soggy shoelaces. "I think that would be a good name for him. Does he remind you of the character in the book?"
"I really hope not!" The flush was making the man's cheeks bright red now. "I mean… Well, that wouldn't be…"
The poor man was so flustered that Cliff decided to save him. "Well, I think it's a good dog name. So, since you're now basically the godfather of my dog, I think I should at least know your name." He reached out his hand. "I'm Cliff Jackson."
"Oh." The man made a visible effort to recover. "Gerard Gaston."
"Nice name." And a really nice-looking man. "Are you French?"
Gerard looked a little self-conscious. "No, not at all. Family's from New Orleans, though, and my mother was a fan of hardcore poetry. I'm named after Gérard de Nerval."
Cliff laughed out loud, and Gerard looked affronted. He put his coffee cup down and made as if to leave. Cliff quickly recovered.
"Sorry, I didn't laugh at your name. It's just that we're both victims of bookish mothers."
Gerard hesitantly sat back. "Yeah? Who're you named after, then?"
Cliff felt the same discomfort as usual when he had to explain his name. "Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights," he admitted ruefully.
"Really?" Gerard didn't look as if he was about to leave anymore. "That's almost worse than mine. I'm just named after a crazy guy who liked a lobster."
"He liked lobster?" That wasn't really crazy in Cliff's mind. Lobster was yummy.
"No, he liked a lobster. As in he put a leash on it and took it for a walk."
Cliff must have looked as flabbergasted as he felt, because Gerard shrugged. "Hey, he didn't like dogs. They barked, he said."
Cliff nodded, impressed. "You know a lot about the guy."
Gerard shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "It's all in the Wikipedia article on the guy." He sat for a little while before looking at Cliff again. "Uh, what does it actually entail to be the godfather of a dog?"
***
Being the godfather of a dog meant that you had to make love to its owner on a frequent basis. At least that was what the last eight months had proved.
It hadn't exactly been a smooth ride, though. When Gerard had asked Cliff what he did for a living and Cliff had answered his customary, "I'm a professional tree hugger," it had looked like Gerard had been on the edge of walking away. The same thing happened when Gerard saw the decor in Cliff's dining room.
"That wallpaper looks like it's been picked by a blind man and put up by his ninety-year old sister in the middle of the night without the lights on." Gerard had stared in horror at the dark green floral wallpaper.
Cliff grinned. "I think that's probably exactly how that happened. I keep wanting to change it, but I go completely numb every time I look at it." Plus he couldn't really be bothered to do something about it. It worked, didn't it?
Gerard, who turned out to be an interior designer, wasn't numb. Neither did he understand why Cliff didn't do anything about the horrible wallpaper. As a matter of fact, there were a lot of things he didn't understand about Cliff's lifestyle. Like why he drove around in a rattling Jeep, wore dirty clothes when he came home from work, and voluntarily spent an entire weekend forty miles away from the nearest bathroom.
They had tried going camping together once, and it had been a disaster from beginning to end. Gerard had started by swallowing a mosquito, then Mischa had drooled all over the down pillow that Gerard had insisted on bringing, and after spending a sleepless night in terror of the creepy-crawlies in the tent, Gerard had sworn that he never, ever was going camping again. It had been several weeks before they'd gotten together again after that.
Maybe Cliff should just let the man go; they were so clearly a case of opposites attracting each other. But he didn't want to. When Gerard just relaxed a little, he was funny and open and witty. He had a wide range of interests, and Cliff found that it made his own world bigger when Gerard came home and told him about his latest topic of interest, whether it was international politics or some novel furniture. Gerard was enthusiastic and intense, and he made Cliff's life better.
If only it wasn't for Mischa. Gerard might be Mischa's godfather, but he never seemed to get over his exasperation over the dog's antics. Granted, the Newfoundland pup wasn't always an easy roommate.
For the first two months, Mischa had bounded over to his water bowl, taken two slurps of water, put one paw into the bowl to tip it over, and then laid down in the pool of water.
"I just washed my floors!" Gerard had been outraged at the pool of water on his stylish oak floors.
"He's a water dog," Cliff had explained apologetically, wiping up the mess. Mischa enthusiastically tried to help by biting the cloth. "He's even got webbed feet."
Gerard had stared at him. "He's got what?"
"Like a duck. Look." Cliff took Mischa's paw and spread his toes, so Cliff could see the webbing between the toes. "They used Newfoundlands as water rescue dogs a hundred years ago."
For once, Gerard didn't know what to say. Well, not until the next time Mischa turned over his bowl. It didn't stop until Cliff got a special set of bowls set in a stand which made it impossible for Mischa to turn them over. But come to think about it, that was when the digging began. It didn't matter that much in Cliff's battered garden, even though he had to admit that the grooming took ages when you had to hose down your dog on a semi-daily basis.
Then there was the whole lapdog thing. Mischa was incredibly cuddly, and that had been really cute when he was a small puppy. Even Gerard had admitted that.
Now, however, he weighed a hundred and twenty pounds and still insisted on being on their laps. It always began with a close cuddle while Mischa was sitting on the floor. Then a single paw, and suddenly, you had most of the dog except for the hind legs on your lap.
Even Cliff had to admit that Mischa was heavy. It was also one thing when Cliff came home from the forest in dirty work clothes; quite another when he had changed to go to the movies. And yes, Mischa had kind of ruined Cliff's expensive suit the night they were going out to dinner.
In other words, the dog was a problem. Mischa brought out the worst in Gerard -- his tendency to panic at mess and disorganization. Mischa also brought out the worst in Cliff -- his tendency to be a messy slob. Still, the dog was so fucking lovable that even Gerard often had to surrender.
And their sex life was fantastic. To say that they were compatible was the understatement of the year. What they did blew Cliff's mind on a regular basis; Gerard was daring, and they did things that Cliff had never dreamed about. Gerard seemed pretty satisfied as well. Hell, if it hadn't been for that, Cliff didn't think that Gerard would have endured little puppy teeth in his shoes and the amounts of not-so-little puppy slobber on his furniture.
However, it felt like they had come to a point where something had to go. Or someone. Since Cliff had sworn that he would never abandon a dog, that only left one of the humans in the equation to be dumped. If only Mischa could be more civilized.
***
That was exactly what Cliff thought while he struggled to get Mischa clean. He'd put a towel around the dog to keep him from getting more mud onto Gerard's meticulously clean walls while shooing the dog through the house. He did succeed in that, but Mischa shook himself as soon as he got into the bathroom.
"Jesus, Mischa! Couldn't you have waited a little?" The beautiful cream limestone walls in the bathroom were now specked with mud just like the library. Mischa just looked up at him with happy eyes; then the big dog clambered into the tub, looking expectantly up at Cliff. Against his own will, he couldn't help laughing.
"Okay, okay, boy. Let's get you wet."
Mischa had a great time while Cliff washed him, panting contentedly while Cliff soaped him up and rinsed him twice. He even stood reasonably still while Cliff washed his face. After toweling him dry, Cliff put him in the utility room. Mischa contentedly lay down on his pillow, heaving a big sigh like after a good day's work before closing his eyes.
A couple of hours later, it was Cliff who was sighing. It had taken a long time to wash down the walls and ceiling and cupboards of the bathroom, and then he had to take a shower. Because washing a one hundred and twenty pound muddy dog didn't leave you in a state fit to convince your boyfriend not to ditch you because of that very same dog. He dressed in some of the spare clothes he kept at Gerard's house, took a deep breath, and went into the room that Gerard used as a library.
"I'm sorry."
Gerard looked up from where he was wiping down a book. He smiled a little. "I know you are."
Cliff looked around. "You've gotten a lot of work done already in here."
Gerard nodded. "Yeah, the walls and ceiling didn't take long when I used the mop. Now I'm wiping down the books."
Cliff silently cursed himself for not thinking about using the mop in the bathroom; the ceiling had been a bitch. But then he reached out for a book. "Can I help?"
"Sure. There's plenty left. Just let me take the leather ones over here; they need special attention."
Cliff sighed at the look of Gerard's book collection and went to work. Luckily, no mentioning of ditching dog-loving boyfriends had been made. That made him slightly hopeful.
Cleaning was trivial work, but there was also a certain peace to be found in the repetitive work. The companionable silence was only broken by a question from Cliff now and then when he didn't know where to put a book, and they made surprisingly quick work of the large book collection.
Still, it was after midnight when Cliff reached for what he thought was the last book on the bottom shelf. It wasn't, though; he realized that there was another row of books in the back of the shelf and lifted them out. He was about to check them for mud stains when the cover of one of them caught his eyes.
That was one hot image: a bare chest held in a firm, proprietary embrace. Automatically, he turned the book to read the blurb on the back. Then he opened it at a random page, and he felt like his jaw dropped a little at what he read.
"It's going to take a really long time if you're going to read the… Oh, Jesus." Gerard looked embarrassed beyond belief when Cliff looked up at him.
"This is where Mischa got his name?" Cliff shook his head and interrupted himself; he had a more pressing question. "This is what turns you on?" Because he hadn't been able to read a lot, but what he had read was pretty hardcore.
"I…" Gerard halted, looking pleadingly at him, apparently unable to continue.
A lot of things suddenly fell into place for Cliff: the way Gerard loved it when Cliff held him down, loved it when they got a little rough, and the way Gerard had come like a fountain the night they had fooled around with a couple of ties.
"You're into kink."
Gerard looked like his world had just collapsed, but he still nodded. Which was pretty brave in Cliff's opinion. "But I have never tried anything," he quickly added.
"Why not?" If the man liked these kinds of stories, then he was bound to be adventurous in real life as well, wasn't he? Or was it just a fantasy?
Gerard shrugged. "Shy, I guess. What if you laughed at me?" He wouldn't meet Cliff's eyes.
"I wouldn't." Laughing was the last thing on Cliff's mind at the moment, actually. He had really, really liked those ties as well. He had to clear one thing up, though, and held up the book. "This is pretty rough. Are you into that?"
"No." Gerard quickly shook his head. "At least I don't think I am. Just… Being tied up, and maybe…"
Cliff stepped up close to Gerard. "And?" He caressed Gerard's cheek, felt how his own arousal started to grow.
"Maybe… I'd really like a spanking." Gerard's words were almost choked, and he looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.
Oh, God. The image of Gerard bending over, waiting for Cliff. For Cliff's hands…
"Yeah? I think I can manage that."
Gerard looked up, bewildered. "But you've never said… I never knew…"
"I haven't done anything like this before. But you weren't the only one who enjoyed playing with those ties." He leaned in to kiss Gerard, and Gerard met him, lips eager, almost greedy under his. He reached down and pulled Gerard close, and he could feel his boyfriend's excitement.
He pulled back slightly and looked at Gerard. "You really want this, don't you?"
Gerard bit his lip, but he nodded. "Just don't laugh at me, please?"
Cliff pushed close and let Gerard feel his excitement. "Does it feel like I'm laughing?"
Gerard shook his head. "No, it doesn't… Mmm." Yes, that shut Gerard up nicely. Kissing him along the way, Cliff determinedly walked him backward until they reached the bedroom. When Cliff broke the kiss, Gerard looked at him with glazed, uncomprehending eyes.
"Undress." It came out as an order, and Cliff saw how Gerard took a quick intake of breath. Then he swiftly undid the top buttons and pulled his shirt over his head.
Cliff grinned. Gerard was normally as meticulous about his clothes as he was about everything else; this was getting to him.
It was getting to Cliff as well. Even if he hadn't been excited about what they were about to do, Gerard's eagerness would still get to him. And he was excited about what they were going to do. He quickly undressed to keep up with Gerard, and then he fetched a couple of ties from the closet.
"Not that one; it's a silk Armani."
Cliff looked down at the light blue tie in his hand. Yeah, he had seen Gerard wear that a lot. He looked questioningly at Gerard.
Gerard got what he was asking. "The yellow ones at the back. I can't get myself to throw them out because they're silk, but they're hideous."
Cliff grinned. Trust Gerard to think about his clothes, even now. Then he saw Mischa's leather leash on the floor, and his grin widened. That would be amazing. He had no idea how the leash had ended up in here, but it seemed that there were some advantages to being a slob.
Then he turned around and saw Gerard sitting on the bed, and his smile disappeared.
Gerard was sitting on the edge of the bed, slightly crouched and looking nervous. It made Cliff think about what they were going to do, and it made him even harder than he already was. He slowly walked to the bed.
Without a word, he pushed Gerard to his back and helped him turn on the bed. Gerard was watching him, and Cliff could see his lover breathing quickly. Straddling him, Cliff wrapped the leash around Gerard's hands and tied it. He quickly wrapped the other end around the headboard and fastened the snap hook around the leash.
He leaned down and whispered into Gerard's ear. "I can get you free any time, okay?" He undid the clip to show Gerard.
Gerard nodded, but he did nothing to pull his hands down. He looked a little less tense now, and Cliff reached up to fasten his hands again. Cliff could see him tug at the bindings experimentally, and his gasp was almost inaudible when they didn't give. Almost; Cliff still noticed. Maybe because he was greedily watching every small reaction from Gerard. Something rushed through Cliff at the sight of how Gerard was getting off on this.
"Now get on your stomach." Cliff gently helped Gerard turn, the leash keeping Gerard's arms above his head. "Time for your spanking."
Gerard shuddered, and for a moment, he looked almost panicked. "Shit, Cliff. Are we gonna do this?"
"Yes, we are." Cliff lay down next to Gerard, pulling his head close and kissing him until the slightly panicked tension started to leave his body. Gerard was pulling slightly on the leather bindings and beginning to push into Cliff's body, lying halfway on his side now. He was hard, just as hard as Cliff.
Then Cliff pulled back from the kiss, gently tucked Gerard's head under his, and gave Gerard the first slap.
"Unh!" He heard the half-strangled exclamation from Gerard, and he slapped his lover again. The sound was loud in the quiet bedroom, and so was Gerard's moan. He gave Gerard another slap, and another. It stung his hand, but he was too caught up in the reactions in the body pressing against his to let the sting affect him. He put up a slow, steady rhythm, and Gerard moaned every time Cliff hit him, pushing close into him every time his hand came down.
When Cliff gave Gerard the next slap, Gerard groaned out loud. "Oh, it hurts!"
Cliff gently kissed the side of Gerard's head. "Do you want me to stop, baby?" Gerard was rock hard, but Cliff had no idea how much the man would want. His own hand was smarting by now.
"No! More, please." Gerard pushed his head closer into the pillow under Cliff's head. "I want it to hurt," he added in a whisper.
The excitement surged through Cliff when he heard that, and he set up a rhythm of firm, steady slaps. Gerard was moaning, and then the sounds turned into a steady whimpering.
When Gerard cried out, Cliff pulled back and carefully rolled Gerard onto his stomach again. Gerard protested, but then he felt Cliff's moistened finger slide into him, and he eagerly pushed backward. Cliff added another, and Gerard tried to fuck himself on Cliff's fingers. Cliff laughed and slapped his left ass cheek.
"Oh!" Gerard tried to rear up, but his hands were still tied to the headboard of the bed.
Cliff smiled and kissed his neck while putting on the condom with one hand. "You want me?"
"Yes! Come on!"
Cliff grinned. "You're bossy even when you're tied up?" Then he had to moan as he slid into Gerard's warm body. God, it felt good.
"Oh, God, yes." It seemed that Gerard felt the same way.
Cliff thrust all the way into Gerard, and Gerard made a strangled sound when Cliff's thighs touched his glowing butt.
"Does it hurt? Can you feel it?" Cliff thrust again, making sure to push into Gerard's spanked butt.
"Yes! Oh, God, please, again." Gerard sounded breathless, so far from his normally controlled self that Cliff had no choice but to push deep again.
Gerard whimpered under him, and Cliff set up a quick rhythm of deep thrusts that hit that glowing red skin hard. He had meant to draw it out, to make it go on and on. But Gerard was almost sobbing under him, pleading for him to get to come, and suddenly, Cliff couldn't wait much longer either. He reached under Gerard's body and grabbed the hard cock, and it only took a few touches before Gerard cried out, the muscles around Cliff's dick tightening so much that it felt like they milked his come from him, and he pumped his release into the condom deep inside Gerard's body.
The climax left him shattered, exhausted. He did have the wherewithal to reach up and undo the snap hook. With a little tugging, the leather leash tying Gerard's hands together came loose as well. He rolled down from Gerard's back and took his lover in his arms.
Gerard seemed almost unconscious for a while. Then he began trembling, and Cliff put both arms around him and held him tightly until his breathing was evening out again.
"You're okay, baby. You're okay." He gently hummed into Gerard's ear, and his boyfriend relaxed into being held. Cliff kissed the side of Gerard's head and felt more content than he could remember ever being.
***
"So, it's okay?"
Gerard smiled a sleepy smile. "What do you mean, okay? That was downright amazing."
Cliff cleared his voice. "I mean the dog. I know he's a handful, and..."
"I don't care about the dog!"
Cliff looked down at Gerard in astonishment.
Gerard looked apologetic about his outburst. "Listen, I know I'm complaining about him a lot, but that's just the way I am, okay?"
Cliff got a sudden thought: had Gerard been pushing Cliff the whole time? Asking for something he might not even know himself that he wanted? Cliff didn't get time to think about it before Gerard continued, though.
"I know he's a good dog. Except when he's ruining my book collection."
With a hopeful voice, Cliff asked, "So, I'm not getting ditched?"
"Ditched?" Gerard pushed up on his arms. "What are you talking about?"
Cliff made a self-deprecating gesture. "I've kind of waited all evening for you to tell me that you didn't want to be with me anymore. That we were through because you couldn't live with the chaos Mischa brings into your life."
"What? No!" Gerard reached out for Cliff, gentleness in the hand caressing Cliffs face. "I mean, not if you can live with me and my antics."
Relief flowed through Cliff. "Yeah? Because I can. If I can deal with a one hundred and twenty pound Newfoundland dog, I can certainly deal with a neat boyfriend."
"Good." There was a wealth of satisfaction in Gerard's voice. "As long as you don't mix up our collars, I don't care."
"Oh, so now you want a collar as well as a leash?"
The heat flushed into Gerard's cheeks, and he groaned. Cliff just laughed. It seemed that naming a dog could lead to amazing things.
End
"If you like stories that make you laugh, if you want your dogs to be "people too", and if a fun twist that makes things go very hot, very quickly is what you're looking for, you will probably like this story as much as I did."
Rainbow Book Reviews
Rainbow Book Reviews
"This short story is so charming [...] When the cleaning of said trashed library brings up a little unknown something about Gerard, it’s sweet (“just don’t laugh at me, okay?”) and sexy and so totally adorable. I loved these guys, Mischa included, and I’d love to read more of them."
Hearts on Fire Reviews
Hearts on Fire Reviews
"I really enjoyed the depth of the bond between Gerard and Cliff, and Mischa – their puppy – was a fantastic addition to the story. Despite the fact Gerard and Cliff have almost nothing in common at first glance their attraction is easy to see and their growing love for one another is wonderful to read. A fair bit of kinky spice keeps the pages turning quickly and I’d enjoy reading more about these two."
Long and Short Reviews
Long and Short Reviews
"This was really one of the most adorable stories! [...] I’d love to see more of this relationship and this is really only a taste of these characters, who were really brought to life in such a short time. Definitely Recommended!"
Brief Encounters
Brief Encounters