Twelve Hours with Him in the Blackout Elevator

The elevator stopped on the 22nd floor and the doors opened unhurriedly. Someone was already inside. I greeted him with a nod of my head and turned to face the door, pretending to be interested in the red numbers showing our descent. I didn’t want it to show that I had looked at him too long in that first second.

Through the reflection in the mirrored wall I sized him up discreetly. Light brown hair, thick and a little mussed. Dark blue eyes. An aquiline nose and a mouth with thin lips, wearing a tired smile that seemed never to go away completely. High cheekbones, square chin, a discreet dimple that showed when he clenched his jaw. He was close to six-foot-three and wore a flawlessly cut gray suit that outlined a well-built body, neither too big nor too lean. He was enough to stop traffic.

God, what a man.

And to make matters worse, I had left the university without making any effort. I was wearing faded jeans, motorcycle boots, and a basic white T-shirt that had already started sticking to my back from the heat. I’d come down to hand in a few papers that wouldn’t take me five minutes. Why did I never run into guys like this when I actually looked decent?

I felt his gaze. I didn’t need to turn around to know it. He leaned his shoulder against the mirrored wall and crossed his arms in an indolent pose, as if he were giving me permission to look at him and at the same time taking the chance to look at me himself. My nape burned. And not just my nape. I could feel my cock throbbing inside my jeans just from thinking about what I would do to that body if I had a couple of drinks in me and a bit of luck.

The elevator descended three floors. And stopped.

The lights flickered twice and settled into the yellow gloom of emergency mode. A soft hum, almost musical, and then nothing.

—Good morning —he said, without moving—. Looks like we’ll be keeping each other company for a while.

He had an Italian accent. Soft, rounded, but clear.

I pressed the emergency button. It took them a long minute to answer. A kind, hurried voice explained that there had been a nationwide blackout, that they didn’t know how long it would last, that there were more serious emergencies than ours, and that we should stay calm.

—A few hours —I repeated when I hung up—. That’s what they said.

He shrugged with that same irritating calm.

—There are worse places to be trapped.

—Yeah?

—Yes —he said, and for the first time he smiled for real. His dimple moved—. I’m Leonardo. Leo, for friends.

—Mateo.

We shook hands. His was large, warm, dry. He held mine two seconds longer than necessary. Long enough for me to go rock hard.

***

The heat started to bite half an hour later. The air in the elevator turned dense, metallic, with that faint smell of dust and cable you get in modern cabins when the ventilation cuts out. Leo took off his jacket with slow movements and folded it over the rail. Then he loosened his tie. Then he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.

I kept staring at the triangle of skin that appeared underneath. Tanned. Hairless. Shiny with the beginnings of sweat.

—Does that bother you? —he asked.

—No.

—Then don’t look at me with that guilty face.

I laughed, more from nerves than because it was funny, and sat down on the floor with my back against the wall. He sat in front of me, diagonally, his long legs stretched out until they almost brushed mine. He took a bottle of water out of his briefcase, took a swallow, and handed it to me without asking.

—Drink a little —he said—. We don’t know how long we’ll be here.

I drank a little. I handed him the bottle back. When he drank after me, it was clear he was putting his lips on the same spot I had, and that he was doing it on purpose.

—Are you from here, Mateo?

—From Madrid. I study at the university next door. I’m doing an internship at the law firm on the 22nd floor.

—Intern —he murmured fondly, as if the word amused him.

—And you’re not from here.

—From Turin. I come every month for work. I’ve been coming to this building for two years and I’d never been trapped in this damn elevator.

—Sorry for you.

—I’m not that sorry —he said, and held my gaze until I had to look away, because his eyes were fixed on the bulge showing through my pants and he didn’t even bother to hide it.

***

We talked about everything over the next hour. About university. About the shared apartment in Lavapiés where I’d been hiding from my parents for four years. About his marriage that ended three years earlier in Italy, which he described without sadness or resentment, like someone summing up a movie seen a long time ago. About why men like me didn’t get dressed up when we went out and why men like him always did.

—Because you never know who you’re going to get stuck in an elevator with —he said, very serious.

I laughed and the air left me in a rush. The heat kept rising. My T-shirt was stuck to my chest. I peeled it away from my skin with two fingers and blew downward to cool off. When I looked up, I found him watching that gesture with an intensity that could not possibly be accidental.

—If the heat bothers you, take it off —he said, in a lower voice.

I looked at him without answering.

—I’m not going to eat you —he added—. Unless you want me to.

I took off my T-shirt without thinking. I left it bunched on the floor beside me. He looked me over slowly, without hiding it, from my collarbone to my navel, and dropped his eyes to the hard bulge between my legs. He said nothing. He unbuttoned two more buttons and ran his tongue over his lower lip.

—Come closer —he asked.

—Why?

—So I can see you better.

I crawled across the floor until I was a handspan from him. His eyes were on my mouth. The cabin smelled of clean sweat and his cologne, some woody thing with a citrusy base that was driving me insane.

—Have you done this before? —he asked.

—Done what?

—Ended up on the floor of an elevator with a stranger.

—No.

—Me neither.

And he kissed me.

***

The first kiss was cautious, more a question than an answer. The second wasn’t. He held the back of my neck with his big hand, opened my mouth with his, and kissed me with calculated slowness, as if he had hours. And we did. We had them. He drove his tongue in deep, found mine, twisted it with his, and with his other hand he grabbed my waist and pulled me toward him until I was straddling his thigh. He set me right on top of it. I felt his hard cock pressing against the rough fabric of his suit pants, and he used that and slid me up his thigh, up and down, making me ride him slowly, never once stopping kissing my mouth.

—Cazzo, you’re rock hard —he murmured against my lips—. I’ve been able to tell since you got into the elevator.

—Shut up.

—No.

I fumbled with the rest of his shirt buttons. His chest was hard, defined without exaggeration, with a fine line of brown hair running down to the waistband of his pants. I ran my tongue over one collarbone and heard him blow out through his nose. I went down to the left nipple, sucked it, nipped it, and he dropped his head against the mirror with a dull groan. That gave me courage. I licked the other one too, and slid his hand down to his crotch. He was as hard as I was. I squeezed him through his pants and felt the size and thickness, and how he pulsed against my palm. My mouth watered.

—Slowly —he said, laughing softly—. We’ve got all afternoon.

He lowered me to the floor with one hand on my chest. I ended up lying on my back on the cold marble, with him kneeling between my legs. He unbuttoned my jeans with one hand, never taking his eyes off my face. He pulled down the zipper with his teeth, and I felt the hot air from his mouth hitting my cock over my boxer briefs.

—If you want me to stop, say it now.

—I don’t want you to stop.

He pulled my jeans down to my ankles. He left my boots on, as if he were too lazy to take them off or as if he liked the image, I don’t know. He dragged my boxer briefs halfway down my thigh and paused for a second to look at my hard cock, bobbing against my belly and dripping. He took it by the base with his fingers and ran his thumb over the tip, spreading the clear drop that had already escaped me.

—Pretty —he said, as if appraising something—. Thick. And clean.

He kissed my hip, the bone, the crease that separates pelvis from thigh. Then he went down. He licked my balls first, one and then the other, sucking them whole into his hot mouth, and I arched against the floor unable to breathe. Then he traced his tongue all the way up the vein, from the base to the tip, and when he reached the glans he took it in his mouth and sucked hard, hollowing out his cheeks.

He swallowed me all at once until I felt his throat closing around me, and I arched against the floor in the same instant. He had a hot, patient mouth. He wasn’t going to be in a hurry. I understood that right away. He held my hips so I couldn’t set the pace and sucked me long and deep, his tongue working underneath and his cheeks hollowed around me. Every two or three strokes he pulled my cock out of his mouth and spat on the tip, then swallowed me whole again, looking up at me every so often to make sure I didn’t come.

—Wait —I panted—. Stop, stop or…

—Don’t you dare come —he said, letting me go with a kiss on my thigh and a thread of saliva hanging from his chin—. Not yet.

I sat up as best I could. I brushed the hair off his forehead and kissed him back, with his own taste in my mouth, and unbuckled his belt. He was hard, tense, throbbing against the cotton of his boxer briefs. When I pulled them down and freed his cock, my whole face burned. It was big, bigger than I expected. Longer than mine, and quite a bit thicker. The glans gleamed, dark and polished, and a thick drop hung from it, stretching toward the floor. I bent down and took it in my mouth with a boldness I didn’t know I had.

—Mateo… —he whispered, head thrown back—. Cazzo…

The Italian slipped out of him when he lost control. I kept that as useful data. I sucked him from top to bottom, closing my lips tight around the shaft, taking him as deep as I could and pulling him out with a wet smack. I licked his balls too, one by one, and felt his stomach tighten above me. I took the base of his cock in my hand and gave the whole head of it my tongue, circling the corona, and he grabbed my hair with both hands and set the pace, pushing me slowly against his hip.

—Like that, bravo, così… —he panted—. Swallow, suck hard, non fermarti…

I felt him swelling in my mouth and his thigh beginning to tremble against my shoulder. Before he could come he pulled me off with a tug. He looked at me with dark eyes, mouth open, breathing hard.

—I’m not coming yet either —he said—. I want to fuck you first.

***

He had condoms in his briefcase. That made me laugh when he took them out, and he laughed with me, unashamed.

—Don’t be fooled. It’s been three months since I opened them.

—I believe whatever you want me to believe.

I leaned against the elevator wall, palms on the mirrored glass and my forehead pressed to the cold. He positioned himself behind me. He kissed my nape, my shoulders, my shoulder blades. He ran his big hands down my back, my waist, my ass, and spread me with his thumbs. He crouched behind me and I felt his hot, broad tongue licking my whole hole, top to bottom, with complete shamelessness. He opened me with his mouth. He pressed it to my opening and pushed it inside, teasing, prodding the tip, making circles until I pressed my palms to the mirror and let out a broken moan that echoed through the cabin.

—Fuck, Leo…

—You taste sweet —he said, his face still pressed to me—. I could stay here for an hour.

—Fuck me already, please.

He laughed against my cheek. He bit it. He smeared me with saliva first, then with a packet of gel he also took out of the briefcase, with a patience I hadn’t expected from a man his age and his looks. He slid one finger into me slowly, to the knuckle, and moved it in circles until I loosened. Then a second. He scissored them inside me and I pressed my forehead to the glass and pushed my ass back, searching for more. When the third went in, I realized saliva was already running down my chin.

—Tell me if I hurt you.

—You tell me if you stop.

He laughed against my shoulder and put on the condom. I felt the thick glans pressing at my entrance, slipping, searching for the right place. He started to push. Slowly, in degrees, stopping every time my breathing caught. I felt him opening me little by little, sliding in, centimeter by centimeter, thick, hard, burning. When he went all the way in, he held still like that for a long minute, not moving, forehead against my nape and one open hand on my belly, waiting for me to relax. I felt his balls resting against mine and his hot breath on my neck. When I finally loosened, he started to move.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. It was that other thing, what happens when a man knows what he’s doing and knows the other person has no rush for it to end. He pulled almost all the way out, until only the glans stayed inside, and then drove back in with a long, deep thrust that kept the air from my lungs. He did that to me, against the mirror, for a while I couldn’t have measured. Then he lifted one leg, hooked it under the knee with his arm, opened me all the way, and like that, with one leg in the air and my chest flattened against the glass, he drove in deeper and harder. He started hitting something inside me that made me moan without a sound.

—There, there, don’t stop…

—I’ve got it, I’ve got it —he murmured against my ear—. I’m going to keep fucking you like this the whole time.

I could see my face reflected in the wall, mouth open, eyes nearly shut, a string of saliva hanging from my lip, and I could see his behind me, focused, beautiful, looking at me. His free hand was wrapped around my cock, working me in time with his thrusts, squeezing my glans every time he sank all the way in.

—Look at me —he asked.

I looked at him through the reflection. That was what broke me. Not the position, not the rhythm, not the hand wrapped around me working me at the same time. It was looking him in the eyes and understanding that he was close too. He sped up. He pinned my hips to the glass and fucked me with short, quick, dry blows that tore high moans out of me I didn’t recognize. He squeezed my cock in his hand and ran his thumb over the soaked tip.

—Come, Mateo. Come for me. Now.

—Now —I said, and came against the mirror with a groan that wasn’t mine. I came in thick, hot spurts, splattering against the glass and running down over the reflection of my own face. My whole ass clenched around his cock, and he felt the squeeze and let out a muffled roar.

—Cazzo, Mateo, ammazza…

He followed right after, with a dull groan and my name said in Italian, buried to the hilt, biting my shoulder so he wouldn’t shout. I felt his cock shake inside me, pulsing again and again as he emptied himself into the condom. He stayed inside a while, breathing against my hair, until my legs stopped trembling.

When he came out, he did it slowly, carefully, and kissed the shoulder where he had bitten me. He took off the condom, tied it off, and put it away wrapped in a tissue. He turned me around and kissed me on the mouth, long, with the mixed taste of both of us.

—We’re not done yet —he said.

***

The lights came back on three hours later.

By then I had sucked him off again, sitting on the floor, leaning against the briefcase like it was a cushion, until I got hard again and he emptied himself into my mouth without warning, and I swallowed every drop while looking him in the eyes. By then we were half dressed, we had talked about the films we liked and the siblings we had, and I had learned how to say half a dozen words in Italian that you don’t learn in manuals. When the elevator jerked downward and the doors opened into the lobby, we stepped out into the afternoon sun as if we were leaving another planet.

Leo caught my elbow as soon as we hit the sidewalk.

—I’ve got a room booked in a hotel ten minutes away —he said—. What happened upstairs isn’t enough for me. I want to keep going.

—I don’t know you from Adam.

—You know me better than most of the people you’ve slept with.

It was true, and he found it funny that I didn’t argue.

That night, in the hotel bed, we did slowly what the elevator hadn’t let us do slowly. He stripped me naked beside the bed, laid me on my back on the white sheets, and licked my body from neck to feet, not leaving a single centimeter uncovered by his mouth. He spread my legs and ate my ass until I begged him to stop, and then he ate it some more. He fucked me slowly, on my back, with my legs resting on his shoulders, looking me in the face the whole time, and when he came he did it inside me, without a condom this time because we had both already shown each other the results on our phones, and he stayed inside until his cock went soft against mine. After that I did him, face down, his ass raised on two pillows, and I discovered that he loved being talked dirty to in Spanish while he was being fucked. He told me things about his life he hadn’t told anyone in years. I told him how scared I was of finishing my degree and going back to the village. We fell asleep wrapped around each other without having turned off the bathroom light, our cocks pressed together and his semen still warm as it leaked from between my thighs.

***

Leo flew back to Turin the following afternoon. Before he left he gave me a card with a personal number and asked me to text him that very night. I texted him.

He came back to Madrid three weeks later. And again three weeks after that. And again. Every time he comes back he asks for the same room at the same hotel and makes me promise not to dress up too much to see him, because he likes finding me in my motorcycle boots and the white T-shirt I was wearing the day I walked into his elevator.

I still blush when I go down in that building. And I still pray, every time I step into a cabin, for the lights to go out.