From Morocco to Paris by Lydia Nyx Page A

again.”
    Zane looked down at his glass, now half-empty. He took a drink and looked toward the balcony door.
    “Did you order food, too?” Zane asked.
    “Are you hungry?” Davey scooted forward on the lounge, legs still spread. This put him within reaching distance of Zane’s belt loops, which he grabbed onto.
    “A little.” Zane made a sound of protest as Davey pulled him forward. “Davey!” He lifted his glass so as not to whack him in the head.
    “You can have your breakfast after I’ve had mine.”
    Davey undid Zane’s jeans, his face at belly-level so his breath tickled Zane’s stomach. The previous conversation seemed to have instantly vanished.
    “Should we do this out here?” Zane asked and looked around nervously, but they weren’t really in ‘public.’ One would have to be scaling the hotel to see them and there were no tall buildings across the way.
    Standing holding his glass of tea while Davey pushed his jeans down and got his cock out of his underwear had to be the most absurd feeling ever. His cock twitched from the attention, clearly not feeling awkward at all. Davey pushed Zane’s underwear down around his knees with his jeans.
    “Can I at least put my tea down?” Zane asked.
    Davey reached up and took the glass, put it on the floor next to the lounge, then leaned forward and gathered Zane’s cock up in both hands. Zane lost the ability to complain. Davey stroked him to half-hardness and slid his mouth over him, which coaxed him up the rest of the way. Zane gasped, gazing down at him.
    Davey removed one hand from Zane’s cock and started undoing his djellaba. After an awkward minute of fighting with the clasps, he got the robe open and started stroking himself while he slowly bobbed his head. Zane alternated between watching Davey’s hand and watching his face. His long, soft lashes fell demurely against his cheeks, his nose brushing Zane’s belly with each downward stroke. Zane reached down and stroked his hair, and then closed his eyes, the morning breeze on his skin as sensual as Davey’s mouth.
    Davey popped off after a few minutes, and Zane moaned in protest, opening his eyes and looking down at him. The head of his cock brushed his swollen lower lip.
    “You still want breakfast?” Davey asked, his breath ghosting over Zane’s wet, straining cock.
    “You’ve persuaded me to put it off,” Zane said. He eyed the lounge behind Davey, thinking of putting him back and pulling his legs up over his shoulders.
    Davey got to his feet though, rising up in front of Zane, close enough their cocks brushed together. Zane gripped Davey’s hips, drew him closer, and pressed against him, wanting sensation.
    “Wanna go back inside?” Zane whispered.
    “No.” Davey touched a finger to Zane’s lower lip, his eyes bright and sultry. “Take off your pants and come here.”
    Zane frowned and Davey slipped away, the fabric of his djellaba fluttering against Zane’s bare thigh. Davey went to the railing. Zane looked down, then pushed his jeans and underwear to his ankles and fought his way out of them. Being naked out in the open, without being too risky, felt oddly liberating.
    Davey stood at the railing, back to Zane, gazing out at the sprawling city of Marrakech. A solid wall at waist level beneath the railing kept him from exposing himself to everyone in the street below.
    Zane went over to him. “What?”
    Davey turned. “Right here,” he said.
    Zane stared at him. “On the railing?” He panicked.
    “No. Just standing right here. I’m not that much of a daredevil.” Davey propped his foot up on the chair beside him. “My lube’s in my bag, next to the bed.”
    Zane stared at him another moment and then went inside. He came back with the bottle and hesitated.
    “Should I get a condom?” Zane asked.
    “It’s pointless now, isn’t it? And I liked feeling you inside me, bare.”
    Zane just swallowed and nodded.
    Davey hiked his djellaba up around his hips so the fabric