Valentine-LMAttractLike Magnets, We AttractJaye ValentineExcessica PublishingCopyright © 2009 by Jaye ValentineErotica. 53124 words long. enNoveltext/xmlErotica

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Like Magnets, We Attract
by Jaye Valentine
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Erotica

Excessica Publishing
www.excessica.com

Copyright ©2009 by Jaye Valentine

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Like Magnets, We Attract

Foreward

Mauka/Makai

King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate

Fairy Tail

Lucky

Forever

Common Ground

The Taming of the Bull

The Hideaway

Against the Current

Fire and Water

Contributors

About the Editor

* * * *

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Reno MacLeod

Like Magnets, We Attract © 2009 Jaye Valentine, editor eXcessica publishing

All rights reserved

Like Magnets, We Attract

Jaye Valentine, editor

[Back to Table of Contents]

Foreward

Lovers who are polar opposites. Perhaps one is an unskilled surfer falling for the surf god of his dreams. Maybe one is a fussbudget attorney who ends up going home with a grease-monkey. A prince trapped in a tower and a fairy with gossamer wings. A knight errant and the dragon he's been sent to slay. Vampires and their human lovers. The computer geek and the jock. These stories and more will bring you hot men who appear to be complete mismatches for their partners.

Like Magnets, We Attract brings you erotic stories that range from the sweet to the scorching hot, from the dramatic to the whimsical, written by both well-known veteran writers of the genre and those contributing with their first professional publications. I hope your fancy is tickled by these well-crafted, diverse short stories as much as mine has been. Enjoy!

—Jaye Valentine, Editor

[Back to Table of Contents]

Mauka/Makai

by Shea Meier

Noah couldn't quite shake the feeling that he should be working. It was Saturday, earlier than he'd be up for work anyway, but the insistent hum of bugs outside his house and the crash of surf from only a block away had conspired against him getting any more sleep. He scratched at the short beard he'd been too lazy to shave off, looking out his living room window at the clear sky. The lack of clouds was enough of a rarity that it made up his mind for him, and he grabbed a towel and a quick breakfast, setting out down the barely paved road toward the cliffs. He could always drive to the park later if he really couldn't keep himself away from work.

The muffin was a little stale even after only a couple days, but he ate it anyway, and tucked the wrapper into his pocket when he realized he didn't have anywhere else to put it. His toes felt gritty in the dusty grind of the cinders under his shoes, and the crunch of his footsteps down the road was the only sound he could hear except for the crashing surf. Up ahead he could just barely make out a break in the incongruous tangle of guava, pine, and ohia trees. As he got closer, the path to the cliffs beyond became more obvious, and he followed it easily, coming out of the trees only a few yards from the edge of the sharp drop into the water.

It was low tide or near enough to it, and he dropped his towel on a smooth stretch of lava, leaving it to warm in the sun while he poked around the tide pools for awhile. A few crabs scuttled away from him, back into the shallow salt water left behind by the fountains of spray at high tide, and he could see a few sea urchins at the bottom of one of the deeper pools, dark purple and looking like a royal bitch to accidentally step on. Noah doubted that the scant protection provided by flip-flops that seemed ubiquitous to the Hawaiian outfit he wore would help much, and anyway, he'd never seen anyone wearing shoes at the beach here.

The swells and cracks of the broken lava dropped off fairly sharply, and despite his long-held fear of water, he edged closer to peek over the side, wondering how the blowhole looked at low tide. He nearly lost his footing when a face appeared over the rim, sending him stumbling back into the tide pool as he flailed to stay upright.

“Jesus Christ!” he said.

A man pulled first himself then a five-gallon bucket up over the edge of the cliffs. “Ho brah, you okay? I never saw you there.”

It took a few seconds to translate the words in his head, and he was pretty sure he was staring stupidly the whole time. “I'm fine, just a little startled.” Noah took a careful step backward, reaching down to fish his floating flip-flops out of the knee-deep water. “What the hell were you doing climbing up the side of a cliff though?”

“Opihi,” the man said simply, as if that explained everything. When Noah didn't reply, he smiled, teeth flashing white in a tanned face, and reached into the bucket, holding up a small shell. “Opihi. Good eating.”

“Huh,” Noah replied warily. His last brush with a supposed local favorite had involved something grayish-brown that tasted mainly of dirt, but he'd choked it down with a smile just to be polite. If anything, the wet black shell and the squishy thing inside it looked even less appetizing. The man laughed at him outright, and Noah couldn't help but smile a little in return.

“Doesn't look good, but it's tasty. Promise.” The man took a knife out of the bucket, expertly prying something loose from the flat, conical shell. He held it out on the tip of the knife, and Noah took it, trying not to screw his face up too much before he put it in his mouth and chewed it as quickly as possible.

“Huh,” Noah said again, surprised when it really wasn't much different than the texture of a raw scallop or maybe a clam, and even a little sweeter and cleaner. “That really isn't bad,”

“Told you.” The knife dropped back into the bucket, and Noah took the hand held out and shook it quickly. “Kawika. Sorry I scared you.”

“No problem. I just thought I was the only person here.”

“Not many dawn patrol guys come out here. It's junk waves. You live close?”

“Yeah, a block up, back on Beach Road. I'm Noah, by the way.”

It was hard not to be drawn in by the wide smile and friendly face, especially when he hadn't talked to anyone outside of work since moving to Big Island a month ago. Kawika's bare chest, glistening with stray drops of ocean water, wasn't so bad either. In fact, he might have missed what Kawika was saying in a moment of rapt appreciation, because he was being looked at expectantly and he had no clue why.

“Sorry?” Noah asked brightly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You willing to trade me a shower for some fresh opihi? Or maybe something else,” Kawika said with a lift of his eyebrows and a tiny smirk.

So the admiring stare hadn't gone unnoticed. The not talking to anyone outside of work thing had left him celibate for entirely too long, but even so, Noah was pretty sure he still recognized a come-on when he got one. Pretty sure.

“Sorry. Maybe you don't like opihi?”

He was definitely being screwed with, and the innocently dismayed look was so patently fake that he had to laugh. But Kawika continued, his grin widening. “It's just you waited so long to answer. Thought maybe you didn't like shellfish.”

“I wouldn't say I didn't have a liking,” Noah said quickly. Ridiculous rubber shoes hanging from one hand, he ran the other through his dark-blonde hair, knowing it would stand straight up in crazy spikes but unable to stop the nervous gesture. “I just wasn't expecting to be offered any this morning.”

“Lucky you, coming to the beach so early.”

“I want to make a catch-of-the-day joke, but I think it might be tacky,” Noah said, earning a laugh. “You, uh, want that shower?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Kawika picked up the bucket, tipping it down into the tide pool to fill it with salt water, and then looked back at him expectantly.

The walk back to the road, while not exactly in what he could call companionable silence, was certainly less awkward than it could've been, all things considered. Kawika hummed softly to himself, the sound a counterpoint to the sloshing bucket swinging at his side.

As they reached the verge of the road, Noah dropped his shoes and stepped into them, looking up just in time to meet an amused gaze. “What?”

“You haven't been here long,” Kawika said, jerking his chin in Noah's direction. “Feet are giving you away.”

“My feet?”

“You're wearing shoes and not just for going to town.”

Kawika's feet were bare, but that didn't stop him from stepping out onto the cinders unhesitatingly. Noah rolled his eyes, grinning. “I guess I'm not tough enough to be local.”

The fingertip that brushed across his cheekbones was callused and warm, but not nearly as warm as the heat he felt drifting up from the body now disconcertingly close. “No local would burn like this.”

It was possible the warmth in his cheeks was from the fading sunburn he'd gotten a few days before, and for the sake of his pride he was hanging onto that theory.

His house wasn't much to look at, but being that it seemed to mostly pass from one fellowship recipient to the next, it had at least been fully furnished when he moved in. Dull brown paint, a dull brown roof, and Noah still didn't know what to do with the mostly overgrown yard. He unlocked the door and let them into the dining room, which generally served as a place for him to dump his mail and set things on his way in and out through the back door. Kawika left the bucket of opihi outside in the shade of the carport, and then came with him through the living room toward the kitchen at the back of the house, looking around with interest.

“My Auntie used to live here.”

“Really? Did your aunt work for the University?”

Kawika laughed. “For the University? What would make you think something like that?”

“They told me this house was always used for the fellowship recipients, but I guess that doesn't really make sense, does it? It must have been someone's home first.”

“So that's what you do then; you're with the University?” He looked interested but not particularly impressed. But then again, Noah was getting used to that reaction. There was something about being his age and working for a university in a non-professorial capacity—everyone ended up assuming you were a student.

“Yeah, I'm with the geology department. There's only a couple places in the world where there's a chance to work around an active volcano.” Noah grinned and shrugged. “And honestly, I'm less of a parka and more of a t-shirt kind of guy, so Iceland wasn't really an option.”

“It would be a waste to hide you under a jacket,” Kawika said, and despite the fact that Noah was in a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt and not a jacket, Kawika was apparently more than willing to help him out of it, both hands going the frayed hem and tugging.

Noah took a step closer, obediently lifting his arms as the thin white cotton brushed against his face, momentarily covering his eyes before being dropped unceremoniously to the kitchen floor. “Hey, a little respect for the shirt. That's a Copenhagen Hard Rock.” His laugh was muffled by a hard press of lips, Kawika's hips shoving up against his as he leaned enthusiastically into the kiss.

“Think we can share that shower?” Noah managed to gasp.

“Nah, you're on catchment here, so not unless you want to go dry the rest of the week. The couch though, it's comfortable. Auntie never skimped on furniture.”

There probably should've been something disturbing about the thought of having sex on someone's aunt's couch. And maybe a little worse when the someone was a virtual stranger and had probably spent family time on that same couch as a child. “Yeah, okay, the couch sounds great.”

Kawika tasted of salt, and smiled right before he pulled back slightly. “If it will help, I won't tell you about my auntie sitting on this very same couch having tea with the pastor. Every Sunday for twenty years.”

“Jesus,” Noah groaned. “Thank you, but no, that didn't help at all.”

“She and the pastor were good friends. Once I found them both naked here.”

It was said in such a matter-of-fact voice that Noah just stared for several seconds until Kawika grinned widely. “She loved life, Auntie. I liked that best about her.”

“How about we use the bed?” Noah said a little pleadingly, tugging Kawika down the hallway toward the bright bedroom. He hadn't made the bed that morning, and it was easy to fall back on it, Kawika coming up between his spread legs and leaning over him. Noah got his fingers tangled in the drawstring to his shorts, distracted by Kawika pushing his own down and stepping out of them.

Kawika's cock was dark cinnamon like the rest of him, flushed and hard, but the head was lighter, and Noah propped himself up, leaning forward to suck it in. The same salty traces of ocean water were there, but just below them he tasted of something sharper. Apparently he hadn't realized how much he missed being with someone, because he only came back to himself after feeling a soft tug at his hair, Kawika's voice low and urgent.

“Noah, Noah, you gotta stop man, I'm gonna lose it.”

Noah pulled off slowly, his lips tight around warm flesh for another second as he drew back. Reaching up to wipe at the corner of his mouth, he was surprised when his hand was pushed away, Kawika leaning down to kiss him, tongue darting into his mouth where he would no doubt be able to taste himself.

“I want to fuck you,” Noah said when the kiss ended, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Want you under me, my cock inside you.”

Noah's answer was Kawika slithering past him, lying beside him and looking back over his shoulder. “Safe kind only though, yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” Noah stuttered, a little overwhelmed by the body offered to him, the blissed-out smile and lazy eyes, and the lithe, toned muscle hiding under skin he could swear still felt warm from the sun. He dropped a magazine and some Kleenex on the floor, finally coming up with lube and condoms out of his bedside table.

To his credit, his hands were only trembling slightly when he ripped the package open, but Kawika laughed softly.

“Look like you could use some help.” He didn't wait for an answer, instead sitting up just enough to nudge Noah onto his back and adroitly grabbing the condom from nerveless fingers. “Better let me do it.”

It seemed like a good idea, at least until Kawika's fingertips brushed his cock. Noah gasped sharply, hips thrusting involuntarily upwards. “Shit! Maybe ... maybe I should do it myself.”

“Nah, I'll take care of it, no worries.” Smiling slowly, Kawika unrolled the latex in a single smooth motion while Noah struggled to stay still. Breathing hard, Noah watched Kawika uncap the lube and squirt it into his hand, a torturously gentle grip slicking him up.

“Let me get you,” Noah said. “Maybe a second or two will give me a chance to calm down a little.” He smiled ruefully, and Kawika rolled over onto his back, legs parted.

“You're missing the point, if you think you should be calm.”

Noah's eyes went wide, then almost drowsily drifted closed for a second, and he let himself smirk. Long fingers were good for a lot. He was careful, teasing and stretching until he wasn't sure he could hold off anymore.

“Now, now, now,” Kawika whimpered, and it went right through Noah as he knelt between spread legs and pushed in slowly. The heat was incredible, the way Kawika's hips came up to meet him, the slow roll of pleasure that seemed to start low in his belly and radiate out between them.

Noah sought out another kiss, their gasps lost, echoing between their demanding mouths. Fingers slid up and down his back, and he balanced himself enough to reach between them and wrap a hand around that cock leaving trails of precum against his stomach. Timing his thrusts to the twisting pull of his hand was more luck than skill, but if Kawika's words of encouragement were anything to go by, it was appreciated all the same.

“Gonna—” was all Noah heard before cum splashed over his hand, and the pulsing draw of the body below him was more than enough to tip him over the edge, too. A few more shallow thrusts and he let himself down slowly, not sure he could move away just yet, not when he was warm and sated, and not feeling lonely for the first time in a long while.

Noah was surprised when he felt the hand in his hair, petting, tracing the shell of his ear and stroking the side of his jaw. He smiled, eyes still closed, nearly afraid to open them and let go of the contentment. It took him a second to make sense of the words he heard.

“Hey, pretty one, you wanna come to a luau at my sister's house? She makes the best lomi lomi salmon you ever gonna eat.” Noah could hear the smile in Kawika's voice, and Noah finally opened his eyes, nodding agreement. “Awesome. You think we can share a shower now that you've got the edge off? All platonic and stuff?”

Noah laughed, both at the idea of being called pretty and the thought of trying to keep his hands to himself in the shower. “I guess I can try to behave myself. Just don't let me see you naked again, or I'll run myself out of water and blame you.”

“You could always hit the tide pools; morning tide always washes up something good down there,” Kawika said, all innocence and wide brown eyes when Noah fell back on the bed snickering.

* * * *

Kawika's favorite beach was deserted on a late Thursday afternoon. The sand reflected back the day's heat, and Noah stretched luxuriously, feeling it seep into sore muscles even through the towel. He'd been out in the field since just after midnight taking measurements, and between lack of sleep and heavy hiking it felt damn good to be dozing in the warmth. And if he worked hard enough at it, he could almost pretend that Kawika wasn't out in the water behind him taking advantage of the afternoon surf.

Two weeks later and Noah was still a little stunned that what he'd thought of as a one-time encounter had somehow become so much more. Kawika's sister Nalani's salmon had indeed been everything promised, and he was still vaguely humbled by the ease with which he'd been accepted at the family gathering. That hadn't been the last invitation either: barbeques, huge family breakfasts, even outings to the local Dairy Queen. So far the only one he'd refused had been a day out on Kawika's uncle's fishing boat.

Through it all, he had to keep mentally head-shaking at the unexpectedness of the whole situation. Kawika was everything that he wasn't, content with life in ways Noah couldn't even begin to imagine possessing. He fought against what he couldn't help feeling was a cliché of the laid-back Hawaiian surfer dude because Kawika was so much more than that, but the fact of the matter was that Kawika was equally happy spending a night with Noah, or crashing at his parents’ or one of any other myriad relatives, or sleeping in his car. It was all okay.

“Hey lazy. You going to sleep here?”

The drip of cold water on his chest brought him abruptly upright, almost nose-to-nose with Kawika's smiling face. Dropping his surfboard, Kawika sprawled down next to Noah, nudging him over ostensibly to get a portion of the towel, but ending up half in Noah's lap, skin cool from the ocean.

“Yeah, maybe,” Noah said, grinning as he squirmed around enough that Kawika ended up between his bent knees. He leaned forward, nuzzling under the wet dark curls plastered flat to neck and head. “You got a problem with that?”

Kawika shivered and arched his neck, allowing Noah easier access. “Not if you keep doing that. Was hoping maybe you'd swim with me first, though.”

His shiver had nothing to do with either cold or arousal, and he fought to keep his voice light. “Instead of sex? I feel like I should be insulted.”

“Plenty of time for that too.”

When Noah fell silent, Kawika craned around until Noah could see his face. “It's been two weeks,” Kawika said, “and you haven't gone in past your knees. You're in paradise man; you have to swim.” Kawika laughed, shaking his head, sending water droplets flying. “It's the law.”

“Told you before, I'm not much of a swimmer.”

Kawika shrugged. “So? I'll be with you.”

There were a hundred answers Noah could've come up with, any and all of them more face-saving than blurted-out truth. “I'm kind of scared of the water.” This time, when he dropped his face against the rapidly warming skin of Kawika's back, it was to hide the warm flush he felt spreading across his cheekbones. The nudging fingers against his chin forced him to look back up.

“Been swimming since I could walk. I won't let anything happen.”

Words that were no doubt meant to be comforting only deepened the embarrassment, and Noah let his eyes slide to the side without answering.

“Hey, pretty one.” Kawika's voice was quietly teasing. “You let me fuck you, but you don't trust me to teach you to swim? Don't be stupid.”

“It's not that easy,” Noah muttered miserably.

“It can be. You just need to ease back and let yourself trust me.” Kawika stood up in one easy fluid motion, holding out his hand. “Come on. Please?”

Noah drew a shaky breath, fists clenched against his thighs. The heavy rolling in his stomach seemed timed with the waves smashing against the sand, but after a second breath he managed a nod. “Yeah, okay, I'll try.” Up to his knees, he was okay. Not happy, but okay. When it reached his waist, water splashing up to darken his blue swim trunks to black, some of it reaching his chest, it was suddenly not okay at all.

Sensing his tension, Kawika gripped Noah's hand a little harder and gave a reassuring grin. “Little bit further. Just enough to get your hair wet or it doesn't count.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Noah took a step backward on the shifting sand. “I'm not putting my face in the water. No.” He felt his voice rise on the last word, and he bit his bottom lip hard, determined to keep everything else inside where it belonged. Except he obviously wasn't doing even close to a decent job hiding his fear because Kawika's arms suddenly wrapped around him, holding on tightly.

“Shhh, hey, it's okay. No deeper than this, I promise. It's okay, you're doing great.”

The soothing roll of words went a long way toward slowing Noah's heart rate. “I'm sorry. This is so fucking stupid.”

Kawika rested his chin on Noah's shoulder, arms tight. “Be still. Just feel the rhythms in the ocean, eh? Feel it without fighting it.”

“That sounds really New Age-y,” Noah said, managing a wan grin.

“Nothing new about it. It's always been there.”

When he let himself, Noah could feel the last of the afternoon sun on his shoulders, the solid weight of Kawika's arms around his chest, the ebb and flow of the waves slipping between their bodies.

“See, it's good.” One hand went to the nape of Noah's neck, thumb rubbing in a slow circular motion. Noah sighed and nodded, relaxing into the touch. They stayed like that for several long minutes until Noah felt the last of the tension drifting away. Hands moving to his shoulders, Kawika turned him until they were facing each other. “You're stronger than you think. You need to trust yourself too, though. Me and you.”

Noah's disparaging snort was cut off by a hard press of lips, Kawika nudging him back toward shore, step-by-step with the mere force of the kiss. When they'd waded in far enough that water only swirled gently around their feet, Noah was caught completely off-guard as Kawika kneeled in front of him.

Smiling widely, Kawika's hands ran up Noah's legs, coming to rest on his hips. “Proud of you, pretty one. I think maybe you deserve a reward...” Hot breath against wet, clingy material, and then Kawika was mouthing his cock through the thin nylon.

Noah gasped, legs splaying unconsciously wider as he struggled to keep his balance in the shifting sand. “Kawika, you can't ... not here—” Any further protest was cut off when his bathing suit slid down past his knees to float gently around his ankles. His laugh held a note of desperation. “You're in the water. And I'm gonna fall!”

“Not gonna let you fall.”

“More worried about you drowning if a wave hits us.” Noah choked back a gasp as that impossibly hot mouth closed around his cock, his fingers sliding through Kawika's thick black hair. He knew his hips jerked erratically, and he couldn't help looking around them, waiting to see someone else on the deserted little inlet. He yelped when he felt fingers pinch his ass, bringing back his attention in no uncertain terms, forgetting that someone might hear.

Noah closed his eyes, not immune to the tongue pushing against the head of his cock, or the way Kawika seemed to time little tricks to the water washing in and out against his calves. Water splashed up the backs of his legs and he shivered, thrusting deeper into the warmth of Kawika's mouth to earn a stifled groan. He gentled the hand he'd let unconsciously tug at that thick, dark hair, feeling the pull of the tide against his feet and the orgasm building hard and fast.

“God!” Noah felt his knees buckle a little, and he slumped over Kawika, kneading Kawika's shoulders for a few seconds as he caught his breath.

“See? Told you I wouldn't let you fall.” Kawika was half in the shadow cast by Noah's body, dark eyes wide and a brilliant, wicked smile on his face. Noah bent down and pulled him into a hard kiss.

“Too late for that,” Noah said quietly. He hadn't meant to say that, but even worse was he hadn't realized the truth of the words until they'd left his mouth. Too late to pull them back, too late to laugh them off as a joke. Noah swallowed hard, all too aware of the puzzled crease between Kawika's eyes as Kawika sought out Noah's gaze.

“Too late?”

Noah shook his head, forcing a smile. “Never mind. I was, uh, was thinking about something else.”

“Kinda insulted that you can think right now, honestly. Maybe I should leave you to the sharks after all.” Splashing as he got to his feet again, Kawika reached up to ruffle his damp hair.

Noah rolled his eyes and ducked away after a few seconds. “Can we get out of the water now?”

“Still not selling you on it, huh? No surfing lessons in our future? We keep you in the mountains with Pele instead.”

Noah's stomach did a flip, but he couldn't decide if it was the thought of a shared future or trying to keep afloat on what amounted to a seafaring skateboard that did it. He lurched away from the tide line toward his towel, flopping down again, face buried in the crook of his arm to block out the sight of the ocean if not the sound. Noah felt Kawika's warm weight settle over him, Kawika straddling his hips and leaning forward to rub his shoulders. Noah started to speak, to tell Kawika why he'd never be able to distance himself from the illogical terror that water provoked in him. To tell Kawika he was so used to being alone, so ready to be left he wasn't sure he knew how to try anymore.

“Not a lot of point in learning to surf just so I can go back to Ohio.” He groaned, even though the fingers kneading his shoulders had stilled.

“You're moving back to the mainland?”

It was impossible to miss the tension in the question and in the body gone rigid above him. He kept his eyes shut tight, feeling a drop of sweat run down his nose where it was buried in the crook of his elbow. “My fellowship is only for six months. I could apply to stay, but I don't really think I belong here. Everyone is so connected to this place, and I don't want to feel like I'm an outsider for the rest of my life.”

“You could try making a connection yourself. You spend all your time making sure nobody gets close, you're gonna wind up lonely. That's how it works.”

“I didn't ... I didn't mean you, Kawika.”

“Yeah you did,” Kawika replied, and Noah surprised himself by being able to picture the sarcastic half-smile even though he couldn't see it. “But I'll show you a connection.”

The laughter warmed Noah, even if he knew it was mostly for show, and he relaxed when he felt hands at his hips, pulling his shorts down. Kawika settled back over him, and Noah's breath sped up when he felt that hard cock press into the crease between his legs. They moved together lazily, Noah not really ready for another round but Kawika pinning him down, thrusting against his wet skin.

“Gotta keep you close, pretty one,” Kawika whispered in his ear, mouth moving to the skin below it to press a kiss into his beard. “Can't let you get away.” The warm hands that slid down his arms were still darker than his own skin, even after weeks of being dragged out into the sun every day. He liked the contrast, but not as much as he liked the strength in them, fingers twining with his, holding him still, spread out under Kawika.

Noah drew a ragged breath. The soft words, combined with the possessive feel of hands on his body, the warm, heavy weight of Kawika over him, all came together in a flash of near-pain. It was so far beyond anything he'd ever let himself hope for that he felt numb with the shock of it.

Kawika gentled his thrusts. “Hey, it's okay. Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Noah muttered, voice strained. Instinctively stretching his arms, he hid a smile when Kawika tightened the hold on him. “It's everything right.”

Apparently reassured, Kawika pressed another kiss between Noah's shoulder blades before moving again. “Gonna fuck you properly when we get back to the house.” Kawika's laugh was a warm huff of air across damp skin, and Noah shivered. “When we don't have to worry about sand.”

“I'd take my chances.”

“I wouldn't, not with your gorgeous ass. No sand burn.” Kawika sounded breathless, thrusting faster, his weight pressing Noah into the towel and the soft sand below it. The slip of skin-over-skin, the way he could hear his name as an undercurrent to every throaty moan nearly roused him again, but it wasn't quite enough. Instead he lifted his hips, and Kawika's fingers squeezed his hard.

“Jesus, Noah,” Kawika said, voice so strange as to be almost unrecognizable, and then Kawika was coming hard, at least judging by the sharp cry and the hot, wet splash against Noah's leg. Kawika lay still for a minute, a heavy weight on Noah's back, and when he started to roll away Noah grabbed for Kawika's arms, using their linked fingers to draw them back.

“Stay,” Noah ordered, a little panicky before he felt the soft brush of hair on his shoulder, and the sated, lazy press of lips against the back of his neck.

“I won't go anywhere if you don't,” Kawika said, but Noah ignored him, wrapped up in the fantasy of belonging and the arms of the man he hadn't expected to love.

* * * *

It was stiflingly hot, hotter than it had been since his arrival, not a trace of a breeze running through the usually cool house. Noah moodily nursed his beer and the beginnings of a headache, both with the same cranky intensity.

“It's hot, heh?” Despite his words, Kawika looked comfortable enough as he propped the kitchen door open behind him. “Hasn't been this bad in years.”

“Just my luck.”

Kawika grinned as he hooked a chair out with one foot and dropped down next to Noah. “You don't seem so happy today,” he said, sliding the bottle out of Noah's hand and taking a drink.

The fact of the matter was Noah was feeling downright pissy, but that was hardly going to endear him to Kawika, especially if he had to go explaining why. His supervisor from the university had approached him that afternoon and come right out and asked if Noah was going to stay on with the project or go back to Ohio. He should've expected the question, but instead it had caught him by surprise and left him stammering, staring awkwardly at his feet and sounding like a complete idiot. He hadn't answered the question.

“I can take you to bed, cheer you up.”

“Maybe tonight, when it cools down a little?” Noah sighed, not really holding out much hope for the thought.

Kawika pulled a mock-disappointed expression, running a hand through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of Noah's neck. “Still a lot to learn about living here, pretty one. You don't ever let the heat stand in the way of sex.”

“Oh, I've got no problem admitting how little I know about living here.” His laugh held as much exasperation as amusement. “You know, I was up on the rim early this morning taking some temperature counts. It couldn't have been three-thirty, four o'clock and there was this entire family, down to a baby in a backpack, marching around on the edge of a steam vent carrying flowers. Flowers, for fuck's sake, on the ridge of a volcano. I almost had a heart attack, waiting for one of the kids to slip off into the vent, but by the time I got up there to say that maybe, just maybe there were better places for a morning hike, they were gone. Nothing left but this huge pile of flowers.” Noah paused to take a breath, not realizing until then just how much the situation had irked him. He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. It just kinda pushed my buttons, I guess. It's dangerous up there. I hate to see people fucking around like it was the playground at McDonalds.”

Kawika looked startled, and then laughed softly. “They were leaving gifts for Pele. People have been doing it for centuries.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Jesus, not that whole ‘appease the goddess of the volcano’ thing? It's 2009, not 1609.”

“It's not to appease her,” Kawika said stiffly. “It's to honor her presence here, to acknowledge that she creates even as she takes away. Maybe you could learn something from the people who have been living with the volcano for centuries.”

Noah jerked away from the touch of Kawika's hand, pushing back from the kitchen table and stalking to the fridge to get another beer. “I don't get how perfectly rational people can talk like there's so much truth behind something so obviously mythical.”

Kawika frowned. “And beliefs are meant to be logical? You believe that Jesus Christ rose from the dead? Or that there's a great Karmic wheel of life? Or that Mohammed walked the earth?”

“I don't, actually.”

“And there is the problem, I think. You don't believe in anything.” There was a flash of sadness in Kawika's eyes before he looked away. “Or anyone.”

“That's not true.” I believe in you. He hadn't managed to say that last bit out loud. Noah sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face as he sat back down. “Look, I'm sorry Kawika. I didn't mean to be insulting or condescending or any of those other asshole things I'm sure I was. Forgive me?”

Kawika gave a long searching glance. “Yeah, of course,” he said with a wry grin. “You are who you are, pretty one. I need to accept that.” He reached across the table and hooked one of his fingers through Noah's, a small smile growing on his own face as curly black hair flopped into his eyes. “Just don't be so quick to call ‘jinx’ on everything.”

“Or Pele will get me?” Noah asked, teasing.

“Why you think Pele wants your skinny ass?” Kawika said with another, wider grin. “Now, my fine Hawaiian self, I could see the draw, but who says she wants some stringy haole anyway?” He leaned forward and pressed a smacking kiss to Noah's temple, stealing the new beer out of Noah's hand as he sat back in his chair.

“So she's got a thing for guys who sleep in their cars, huh? Makes two of us, I suppose.” Noah sighed dramatically and got up again, retrieving the last of the beer. He was slower with the bottle opener this time, looking out the window over the sink into the tangle of guava trees at the edge of the little rented yard. “You know, you could just stay here. I mean, if you don't need to be on your uncle's boat or closer to a decent surfing spot in the morning. I know I'm practically in Pahoa, so it's kind of a drive.”

He hadn't heard Kawika get up, so he jumped a little when arms wrapped around his waist and a chin hooked over his shoulder. They stood there in silence for longer than Noah was really comfortable with, but he didn't move, just tried to let himself be held.

“Am I going to have to move out in a few months when you go?”

“I don't know,” Noah said honestly, knowing the words would disappoint. Anxiety pushed him on in a tangle of words. “I never feel like I'm working hard enough, and I suck at relaxing, and my Dad drowned in front of me. I hate the water. I'm never ... I'm never going to be the kind of hippie surfer that everyone else around here seems to be. And I don't want to always feel like I have to apologize for that, either.”

The arms around his waist tightened, and Noah took a long drink before Kawika said anything at all. “Part of that whole island thing is letting people be themselves,” Kawika said. “You don't have to apologize for being the man I'm in love with, and if you have a reason for not wanting to do something, if you just tell me, I'm not going to give you shit for it.” Kawika let go and backed away, giving Noah the chance to turn around, even if he did so hesitantly. “But Noah, you gotta tell me, okay?”

Now it was Noah's turn to stay quiet, taking another drink then biting at his lower lip. Finally he looked up, finding Kawika's dark eyes and holding them.

“I love you, too. And I want that to be enough. I want to be enough.”

“You're more than enough, pretty one,” Kawika said but didn't make a move to come closer. “You're everything I never knew I wanted.”

“I think I can deal with that,” Noah said, feeling a grin of his own tug at the corners of his mouth. “And I think you should take me to bed now, and tell me more about the primal force of the islands. Maybe a hands-on demonstration will convince me.”

“Well, you are a scientist. Empirical evidence, right?” Kawika laughed, hands locking into the fabric of Noah's t-shirt, dragging him closer for a kiss that left Noah's skin tingling, perhaps for want of oxygen.

Noah demanded a kiss of his own, and then he was urging them both down the hallway to his sunny bedroom. His head spun a little when he thought of all the ways they were different, but he'd learned from tourist videos on his first day here that there were two sides to the island, mauka and makai. It didn't matter where you were standing, because it all came together somewhere in the middle, and everything happened somewhere between the mountains and the sea.

[Back to Table of Contents]

King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate

by Addison Albright

Blaine sat down on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He cocked his head, summoning the bartender as he ran his freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kilton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

“A Skinny Pirate, please.”

The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. “Coming right up.”

Blaine's peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the night.

The man was maybe a couple inches taller than himself, casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.

The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though. Fuck. The bartender placed the drink in front of him, and he slapped some bills on the bar.

“Why's that called a Skinny Pirate? Looks like rum and Coke to me.”

Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. “Because it's made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke.” He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his eyes over the room. Nothing. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be part of a couple.

King Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck up to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug t-shirt. His goatee could use a trim and minute traces of grease stained his cuticles.

“Not much hope out there. I've already scoped the place.”

Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.

“Preppy there's got someone that's going to be joining him.” King Kong shrugged. “I already tried.”

Shit. He took another look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?

King Kong grinned. “Feelin’ desperate, are ya?”

Fucker. Maybe not that bad.

King Kong actually wiggled his eyebrows. “I showered and everything.”

Christ. The man was laughing at him. Sure he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He took a sip of his Skinny Pirate and cocked his head. “What's your name? Or should I just call you King Kong?”

The man's laughter reached his eyes. “That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?”

“Blaine will do fine, thanks.”

“George. My name's George.”

It fit him. Not as well as Harry, but it matched him. Blaine put out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, George.” What the hell, the man had ‘showered and everything.’ He was huge, but not fat. Not Blaine's typical hookup, but perhaps he'd do. He certainly had a nice firm grip.

“So what do you do, George? Mechanic?”

George smiled and looked at his hands. “Never can get it all off, no matter how much I scrub.”

“It's honest work.” Blaine was choosy but didn't consider himself an elitist. Hell, he was lost under the hood of a car and had plenty of respect for those who understood it.

George leaned back and considered him. “It is. Hard, sweaty, and grubby.” He grinned. “Kinda like good sex.”

Jesus. Didn't sound too much like the sex Blaine was used to.

“How ‘bout you, Blaine? I don't get the impression you work with your hands.”

“I'm an attorney.”

“I was gonna guess either that or some kinda corporate raider.”

Blaine smiled. “Well, I'm the attorney for a corporate raider, so you got a pretty good read on me.”

“There now, you see? We've got two things in common. We're both pretty astute observers.”

“That's one thing. What's the other?”

George cocked his head. “We're both horny gay men.” He smiled. “And here I'd just complimented your powers of observation.”

Blaine laughed. “You got me there.”

“So the question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I believe this is the point where one of us asks ‘your place or mine?'” Blaine tossed back the rest of his drink and raised his eyebrows.

The lines around George's eyes crinkled to life with his smile. “I cleaned my apartment and everything, too. And I'm well stocked with supplies.”

* * * *

George's place was small, but tidy and clean. Blaine preferred not to bring hookups home with him, but it was often a germaphobe's worst nightmare going home with them. Some of the most well turned-out men were such total slobs it was hard to even hold a boner in the surroundings. He gazed around the room, taking in the tasteful, if inexpensive, furnishings.

“Told ya.”

“You're a man of your word, George. I like that.”

Blaine followed George the few short steps it took to get to his bedroom. George turned and looked him over. “I don't suppose it'd be a good idea to just rip that suit off you in a horny haze.”

“I'd appreciate it if you managed to resist.” Christ, the suit cost more than George probably made in a month.

George pulled a straight-backed chair away from the wall. “Here—this good enough to hang it on, or do you want me to dig a suit hanger out of the closet?”

“The chair's fine.” Blaine shrugged out of the jacket as George walked toward an open bathroom door. He heard a faucet turn on as he worked on his tie and shirt buttons. What the hell was George doing? Brushing his teeth? That was new. He'd brushed before heading to the bar, and popped a few mints on the way over, but hookups often didn't bother so he tended to avoid mouth-to-mouth contact.

He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants. Folding them carefully, he placed them over the back of the chair then hung his jacket over top. Shirt, tie, and socks were laid on the seat of the chair, leaving him standing in his boxers and undershirt when George reentered the room.

Something flew through the air toward him. He caught it and stared at a small, cheap toothbrush in a plastic wrapper.

“I like to kiss.” George winked then reached down to pull his t-shirt over his head. Jesus fucking Christ. King Kong certainly was an apt nickname for the man. George had more fur on his body than could be found in all of Beverly Hills.

Blaine had never been attracted to bears before. Hopefully he'd be able to get it up for the man. George was a nice enough guy, with all the personality characteristics Blaine looked for in a man, so he didn't want to offend him.

When Blaine stepped out of the bathroom George was down to his boxer briefs and pulling back the bedspread. There were no wrinkles on the sheets. Blaine smiled his appreciation.

George straightened up and returned the smile. “It always bothers me when I go to someone's place and the bed has more life growing on it than a Petri dish.” His grin widened. “Sex might be grubby, but the sheets don't need to be—at least not ‘til after.”

George stepped over to him and pulled off Blaine's undershirt, tossing it toward the chair. Blaine's eyes widened, and he stiffened slightly as George placed a large hand on his jaw and moved in for a kiss.

Minty-fresh breath and warm lips softly caressed his own. Blaine relaxed and closed his eyes, relishing the rare peaceful sensations radiating through him. He found his hands lightly holding George's waist without remembering how they'd gotten there. George's other hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to cup the back of his neck as the kiss deepened.

Blain moaned softly when George pressed their hips together, surprised to discover how hard he'd become, and how effortlessly. Opening his eyes when George broke the kiss, Blaine found the man grinning mischievously.

“What?”

George shook his head. “Nothing. Just pleasantly surprised.”

That made two of them. It wasn't remarkable that George hadn't had his hopes too high, either. Neither of them was likely to be a typical pickup by the other.

George cocked his head toward the bed. “Come on. Skivvies off.”

Skivvies. Jesus. Blaine did like George's assertiveness, though. He generally went home with men he sensed were tops, because he preferred to be the one getting fucked. But his personality—or perhaps his appearance—seemed to intimidate them. Not George, though.

Blaine slid his boxers down and tossed them onto the rest of his clothes. When he turned back to the bed, George was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle. George raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger.

Blaine had barely climbed onto the bed when he was pulled into George's arms. George leaned back, pulling Blaine on top. God, the man felt incredibly solid beneath him. Muscular arms drew him down for another kiss. This time less soft, but still far from forceful.

The goatee tickled Blaine's face, and the hair covering George's body was actually incredibly stimulating. His nipples peaked tightly against the abrasive rub. Blaine instinctively ground his cock against George's, lips parting easily when George pressed in with his tongue.

Flipping them effortlessly, George maneuvered over him. Blaine wound his arms around George, hands settling on the man's solid back. This time Blaine's mouth sought George's and welcomed the now-commanding offensive that George returned.

Blaine moaned and arched, rubbing against the amazing stimulation that was a large hard body covered in coarse hair. He couldn't get enough skin-to-skin contact. The tongue invading his mouth was met with equal force, and the growly groan reverberating through George's chest thrilled him further.

Suddenly George leaned back on his heels then stretched, reaching for a drawer in his bedside table. “Christ, Blaine,” he panted. “What is it about you?”

Him? Fuck. What was it about George? Blaine propped up on his elbows. He was hard as nails, already leaking like a damned teenager anticipating sex for the first time. He rolled as George came back with lube and a condom.

Blaine closed his eyes and fought to settle his breathing. He was not going to come thirty seconds after being penetrated, goddammit. He listened to the rustling of the condom wrapper being torn open, and imagined George's large hands slowly rolling the latex over that thick cock. Then, the snap of the lube top and a pause as George slathered himself with the cool fluid.

Warm lips nipped at Blaine's neck as a cool, slick-covered prick teased along the crack of his ass. The warmth of George's body was gone and he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back.

George's mouth nibbling his Adam's apple sucked the protest from Blaine's lips and replaced it with a primal groan. Legs spayed out, Blaine's knees bent naturally and he pushed his prick up against George's hairy belly.

When he felt the head of George's cock pressing against his hole, Blaine relaxed his muscle ring. George sat back and lifted Blaine's hips, pushing in, slowly filling him.

Fully seated, George's weight settled on strong arms on either side of Blaine's torso, and George leaned down to resume the assault on Blaine's mouth. Blaine's arms wound around George's waist as his hips rocked upward to meet George's shallow thrusts.

Perspiration trickled down the side of Blaine's neck. He knew he was contributing, but felt George dripping onto him as well. That typically would have bothered him, but instead energized him further with George.

Blaine's heart raced, and he felt George's pumping furiously against his chest. George changed the angle and groaned when Blaine gasped into George's mouth. Tightening his grip around George, Blaine pitched his body erratically upwards, and then started shaking. George moved his lips to Blaine's neck, allowing Blaine's moan free rein as hot spunk shot into the sweaty press of their grinding abs.

“Jesus,” came from George's lips as his body tensed.

The growl at Blaine's ear was loud as the thick rod in his ass started to pulse, shooting its load into the condom. Time seemed to stand still for a moment before George carefully pulled out and tossed the condom. George fell to the side, pulling Blaine along.

Blaine pressed soft kisses to George's chest, as he lay cocooned in the large man's solid embrace. Breathing hard he smiled to himself, remembering George's words. ‘Hard, sweaty, and grubby’ was right—and it was the most deeply satisfying sex he'd ever had in his life.

He was utterly exhausted, and as he relaxed in the nest of George's arms he closed his eyes to rest, just for a moment.

* * * *

A patch of sunlight had crept across the bed when Blaine next opened his eyes. He sat bolt upright and looked around the little room. Jesus. He'd just spent the entire night in a hookup's bed.

He got up and snagged his undergarments from the chair and made his way into the bathroom. Blaine was thankful for the toothbrush. He used the toilet, splashed cold water onto his face, and ran wet fingers through his hair.

Back in the bedroom he listened carefully for signs of George as he pulled his clothes back on. Nothing. Either the apartment was empty or George was being quieter than the proverbial church mouse.

A note on the door explained that George had a job to finish up that morning, and that Blaine should just be sure to turn the lock on the doorknob and not worry about the deadbolt. No problem. No—avoiding an awkward little morning-after ‘sorry I fell asleep and invited myself to spend the night in your bed’ conversation was definitely not a problem.

Blaine followed George's instructions and turned the lock on the doorknob before pulling the door shut.

* * * *

Blaine's gaze fell first on the stools at the bar before scanning the room. It surprised him to admit that he was disappointed George wasn't there. It shouldn't have been a surprise. The very fact he'd returned to the same bar where he'd found George the previous Friday—something he never did—should have been a clue.

The part of the surprise that hit him like a brick wall was the fact that he felt disappointed despite there being a number of suitable singles prowling the dimly lit room. Suitable. What did that even mean to him now? He found an empty bar stool and sat down.

“Skinny Pirate, right?” The bartender stood in front of him inquiringly. The man earned his tip.

“Please.”

Blaine sighed and turned in his seat to look around the room. He spotted a couple men he'd gone home with before but wouldn't go home with again, and another that he'd been with and would typically consider as a possible repeat. The man caught his eye and started toward him.

Fuck.

Christ, why was that his instinctive reaction? Double fuck. Fucking King Kong getting under his skin. He should go home with this man and put George out of his mind once and for all.

“Hey. Blaine, isn't it?”

He considered it a good sign that the man remembered his name. If only he could remember his. “That's right. I'm sorry...”

The man smiled cordially. “Aaron.”

“Right. Sorry, I'm usually pretty good at remembering names.”

“Guess I wasn't that memorable then. Damn.”

“No, no. I remember you. Just—shit. Got something on my mind right now.”

“Something?” Aaron laughed. “I recognize that lost look. You've got someone on your mind, friend.”

Blaine barked a short laugh. “I'm not generally that readable, but yeah, that's pretty much it.”

Blaine's drink arrived and he turned to settle up.

Aaron laid a hand on Blaine's shoulder. “Well, good luck with that, Blaine. See you around, eh?”

“Yeah, sure.” Blaine's reply was absentminded. He knew in his heart that he wouldn't have gone home with Aaron even if the man had asked.

What the hell was he going to do, though? If he wasn't going to move on with another hookup then he needed to do something. Jesus. Pursue George? Fucking date? Hell, what had George thought of him? Would George even be interested in a second hookup, let alone want to try out a relationship with him?

Blaine took a drink of his rum and diet cola and decided what he wasn't going to do. He wasn't going to haunt the fucking bar where they'd met hoping to run into the man, and he wasn't going to just show up on George's doorstep unannounced. A last name would be nice. Or a phone number.

Maybe the bartender knew George. Blaine drained his glass and set it down on the bar. It took the bartender less than a minute to notice and make his way back to Blaine.

“More of the same?” The bartender's smile was friendly.

“Actually, no. I'm hoping you might have some information for me.”

The bartender's eyebrows raised, but he didn't say anything.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Ah, there was a man in here last Friday. He sat down near the end there.” Blaine cocked his head to the left. “Big guy. Bald head, goatee.”

The bartender nodded. “George. The guy you left with.”

“Right. I'd like to get in touch with him. Got an address, of course, but neglected to get a phone number.”

“'Fraid I can't help you out with that one.”

Can't? Or won't? Either way it was a dead end.

“I hadn't seen him around before,” Blaine commented. “Does he come in here often?”

The bartender grinned. “I've only been here a few months. Last week was the first time I've seen you around, but I generally see George two or three times a month.” He glanced at his watch. “I think he'd be here by now if he was going to show tonight.”

The man was forthcoming enough. Maybe it really was ‘can't.’ “Would you be willing to pass a message on next time you see him?”

The bartender shrugged. “I could do that.”

Blaine pulled out a business card. “Give him this. Tell him I'd like for him to call me.”

“Will do.” The bartender stashed the card under the bar.

“Thank you. Hey, I will take one more of those.”

The bartender nodded and made him another Skinny Pirate. Blaine liked that plan. There were ways he could discover George's phone number, of course, but he'd rather leave the decision in George's hands. Blaine downed the fresh drink a little too quickly, left a tip that should keep the business card from being forgotten, and went home to his empty bed.

* * * *

What the hell was the matter with him anyway? Blaine couldn't help questioning his own sanity as he found himself standing again just inside the door, scanning the room for a particular, familiar face. He was acting like a lovesick fool. He'd just about convinced himself to turn around and go home when his gaze landed on the man he'd been searching for, sitting at the far end of the bar.

George was leaning forward, chin on one hand, staring at a small card in his other hand as he slowly spun the card around, tapping each side in turn on the bar. His head was cocked to one side, as if he couldn't quite fathom what he was looking at.

A good-looking, casually dressed man chose that moment to plop down on the empty stool next to George and say something to him. George sat up and slid the card into the front pocket of the well-worn plaid shirt he wore. He smiled at the man and said something back. What the man said next must have been amusing because George laughed. Their verbal exchange went back and forth for a few moments before George laid a hand on the man's shoulder. George shook his head, smiling kindly.

They stood up and exchanged a hug. Then the man wandered off and George sat down, took a swig of his beer, pulled the card back out of his pocket and began studying it again.

Without consciously moving his legs, Blaine found himself halfway across the room before he could talk himself out of it. He took a deep, calming breath, straightened his already erect posture, and closed the distance.

When he sat down George didn't immediately look over. The bartender came over and asked, “Skinny Pirate, Blaine?” George started and turned to him, casually tucking the card back into his shirt pocket.

Blaine nodded to the bartender, laid his money on the bar, and looked at George.

“People don't usually surprise me, Blaine, but you've done it a couple times now.”

“Oh?”

“I don't mind sayin’ I didn't hold out much hope for a particularly good time a couple weeks ago. I know I was a bit of a last resort for you, too.” George grinned. “We might as well be honest and say that we're neither of us the other's usual type.”

Blaine smiled. “Yeah, that's true enough.”

“I was pleasantly surprised. I had a great time with you, Blaine, on all levels. I got the feelin’ you did too, but I still didn't expect to hear from you again.”

“That rather surprised me, too. I sure never expected to come back to the same place a second—let alone a third—week in a row, hoping to run into you, let alone take steps to contact you.”

“How do you picture this playin’ out, Blaine?”

Blaine swallowed. He had no fucking idea. “This is new territory for me, George.”

One side of George's mouth quirked up. “Well, I can't say I haven't tried the relationship thing before. Hasn't worked out for me yet, but I keep tryin'. Let me ask you this—why me? What's the draw? ‘Cause if it's just that the sex was extra good, I can tell you right now it won't be enough to make it work in the end.”

“I know. I've thought about it, believe me. I'm not sure I can put my finger on it, but I know there's more to it than just great sex. You're none of the things that have bothered me about other men, George. I like your style, the way you carry yourself, your outlook on life.”

“Our lives are worlds apart, Blaine. I don't know if it'll work.”

“Neither do I. But I don't know that it won't, either.” Blaine took a drink of his Skinny Pirate. “We're not as far apart as you might think. I was raised blue collar. My father was a welder.”

George chuckled and widened his eyes. “Can you bowl and everything?”

Blaine laughed. “I was tops in my league. I'm fairly confident I wouldn't embarrass you on the lanes.”

“That doesn't surprise me. I wasn't so much worried about you embarrassing me, though.”

“You've got no worries, George. The people I work with? They run the gamut themselves, and so do their spouses and dates. Trust me; they weren't all raised with silver spoons in their mouths. I have to attend plenty of social events in my line of work and would have no qualms having you by my side.”

George sat there a moment staring at him, slowly nodding. “Your words ring true. I believe you.”

“Worth a shot?” Blaine held his breath.

A grin spread across that tanned, ruggedly handsome face. “Yeah, worth a shot.”

They stood up and George pulled Blaine in for a hug. Blaine wound his arms around George's torso and up to the big man's shoulders, then felt his chin tipped back for a kiss. Blaine smiled into George's eyes when the kiss broke. “My place?”

“Sure, what the hell. Might as well find out now just how far out of my league I am, eh?”

“Money doesn't define leagues, Kong.”

“That's King Kong to you, matey.”

George dropped an arm around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine laughed and held an arm tightly around George's waist as they walked toward the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Aaron approach the bar and slap some bills down in front of the bartender. He could just make out Aaron's words as they pushed open the door. “Ben, I know you're a damned cheater. No way you pegged that match-up without some inside knowledge.”

Blaine looked up at George and smiled when the big man winked. No way he would have predicted it, either.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Fairy Tail

by Rob Rosen

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, atop a hill way up on high, there sat a massive stone castle. So tall was this castle, in fact, that the rooms in its loftiest tower overlooked the billowing clouds as they wafted past. These rooms, though stately and richly appointed, to be sure, held but one resident, namely a handsome prince, imprisoned by the king until he was old enough to rule the land and to take a mate. Such was the law of the land, cruel and unjust though it might have been. Sadly for this captive prince, the age of kingship had been set for generations at fifty; and the prince was just shy of turning twenty-five.

Half a life away from freedom, it would seem.

And so the prince, alone in his towering prison, sat at his window and sighed, miserably, dejectedly, a lone tear cascading down his scruffy cheek, a frown cast wide across his handsome face. “Oh, how I wish to find a mate now, and live like my people do in the land far down below.”

But in a castle high above the clouds there was, of course, no mate to choose from and no possible way to escape. The only other beings the prince had any sort of contact with—for even his servants never saw him face to face—were the birds, creatures with wings that were capable of soaring past the window he often stared out of as he waited, wishing for a better, less lonely life.

Unbeknownst to the prince, however, there were other creatures with the ability to fly above the clouds, to soar to the heights of his lofty abode. One was fast approaching on gossamer wings that glistened in brilliant gold beneath the bright orange overhead sun. The prince, gazing out the window in shock and stunned surprise, spotted the glinting object as it drew ever nearer, heading straight for him. Terrified, he ran from the window and hid beneath his bed. Minutes ticked by like hours. The prince, hearing not a sound aside from his own pounding heart, assumed he was safe and eventually poked his head out.

“Hello,” said the being that now stood in his room, staring downwards with a bemused grin.

“Oh,” managed the prince. “How, um, who, um, what are you?”

“What am I?” it asked grandly with a flourish of its hand. “What are you? Only birds and fairies live this high off the ground. You, from what I can gather, hidden though you may be, are neither of the two.”

The prince inched further out as he craned his neck up, blinking in disbelief. “But that ... that would mean you're a fairy. And fairies are not real, except in children's books, that is.”

“I beg to differ,” the fairy in question proclaimed, flapping his diaphanous wings as he stood there, arms akimbo, a bright, wide smile spreading like wildfire across his angelic face.

The prince at once noticed their glaring differences, the intruder being thin where he was bulky, short where he was tall, and tan to the point of golden, while he was pale from his years of imprisonment. The fairy was, also, the man beneath the bed noticed, stunningly naked from stem to stunning stern, something the prince couldn't help but ogle at in both astonishment and lecherous delight.

“I repeat,” said the fairy, “what are you?”

The prince tumbled out from beneath the bed and rose to his full six-foot height. “I, dear fairy, am a human,” he announced, his head bobbing up and down, a regal finger pointing to his broad chest.

“Nonsense,” replied the fairy. “Humans live far below the clouds. So far, in fact, that I have yet to ever encounter one.”

“Until today, that is,” said the prince, echoing the fairy's smile with one of his own, “I believe this, then, is a first for the both of us.” He bowed and held out his hand in greeting. “Prince Nathan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The fairy, thrilled at the opportunity to meet a human, especially one so pleasing to the eyes such as this one, also reached his hand out. “Lothar,” he said, with a firm shake.

And in that momentous instant, when human flesh met fairy flesh, when the magical irrevocably mixed with the non-magical, time suddenly and abruptly stood still all around them, the air ceasing to flow and the candles halting in mid-flicker. Only Nathan and Lothar could still be considered animate in that room so high above the earth; all else was still and resoundingly, utterly silent. That is, of course, except for two hearts beating furiously within two chests, however strikingly different those chests appeared.

“My goodness,” Nathan said with a gasp, keenly aware that what had just occurred was, to say the very least, out of the ordinary. “What has happened? This can't be good.”

Lothar, however, still holding the prince's warm hand, immediately saw the positive side to this rare event. “It would appear that we are locked in time, you and I,” he explained, inching in closer, his breath mixing with the prince's, his emerald green eyes boring into Nathan's icy blues. “As long as we remain like this, touching, connected, we will not age. Our beauty will be eternal. That, dear prince, truly is the great power of fairy magic.”

Nathan, his breathing growing shallower by the second at the close proximity to this mesmerizing creature, found himself drawn still nearer, until their lips were mere fractions of an inch apart. “Not a bad way to spend eternity,” he quipped, his mouth now brushing against the fairy's, his tongue darting out to meet Lothar's in mid air. Then mouth was suddenly upon mouth and body pressed tightly to body. A warm flush traveled down Nathan's back and burst forth into his ever-widening cock, pulsing with a life it had never known before.

The fairy pulled ever so slightly away. “Is that a sword you're carrying, or are you just happy to see me?” he asked, reaching down to cup the prince's bulging, leather-encased crotch.

“The latter, to be certain,” the prince replied with a wink. He quickly resumed the kiss, mashing his mouth into Lothar's and pulling him in close, tight, allowing his hands to roam up and down a smooth, chiseled back, eventually coming to rest atop a perfect rump, two melon-sized cheeks that seemed to ache to be parted and then soon enough were, until the prince's fingers caressed a soft, crinkled, hairless hole.

The fairy sighed, and asked, “May two play at this delightful game?”

“Oh yes,” the prince groaned, still pushing and prodding at the tight little hole. “Yes, you may. And please, by all means, do.”

Lothar's long, tapered fingers traveled up Nathan's brawny arm, appraising the sinew hidden by fabric, and came to rest at the top of the gold-trimmed tunic. With a flourish of his hand, the material began to evaporate, disappearing into thin and still quite halted air as the fairy worked his magic down the length of the prince's body. Before long, the both of them stood there, entirely naked and fully, utterly, wonderfully erect—with at least one body part touching at all times, so as not to break the glorious spell they found themselves under.

The fairy groaned. “You are even more breathtaking clothesless, young prince, like no other creature I've ever beheld.” He uttered an appreciative groan, his hand now moving its way back up, gliding across a well-worn calf, a hairy thigh, coming to cup beneath the prince's heavy, hairy nut sac, which he gave a forceful tug and yank upon as he kissed and slurped on the arched cock above, downing its girth in one fell swoop, sending a gagging diamond-shaped tear down his smooth cheek.

Nathan moaned in a mix of both pleasure and pain, and replied, “As are you, sir fairy. But as pleasing to the eye as you are, I cannot help but wonder how you might taste.” A mischievous smirk spread across the prince's handsome face as he said this, his cock bouncing, fattening at the mere thought.

Lothar, quick to understand the suggestion, led the prince to the large, oaken bed, and then lay atop the soft, down linen. While still holding tightly to Nathan's hand, he said, “Having never tasted myself, I must rely on your own senses for an accurate assessment.”

Nathan, finding himself instantly ravenous, crouched down, face to crotch level. He took a deep whiff, eyelids fluttering at the heady scent, and said, “Well, you smell as crisp and clean as the air outside my window, with just the faintest aroma of some intoxicating musk.” He then brought his hands up and rested them on the fairy's smooth, densely muscled thighs, which he spread apart before darting out his tongue, licking his way around two heavy balls and then up, up, up a thickly veined shaft, until his mouth encased the plumb-sized, helmeted head that rested nearly a dozen inches above. He sucked and slurped at the already slick tip, working the wand in and down his throat. Bringing it back out with an audible pop, he informed, “Mhm, you taste equally as delightful as you smell. Perhaps, if I dare say, even better.”

“But you have not tasted everywhere,” the fairy gleefully said, raising his legs up and out, revealing a winking, pink hole that beckoned the prince to its glorious gates.

Nathan took another greedy suck and slurp on the fairy's quivering prick before moving southward yet again, tongue circling around and around the center, zeroing in on its target before delving inside the silky smooth interior. The fairy moaned at the intrusion, and then, astoundingly, emitted a series of thin gold and green rings that pulsed from all around his writhing body.

The prince pushed further inside, tongue disappearing up the fairy's rump as the rings of light grew thicker and more brilliant, nearly blinding the prince as he worked his way deep, deep inside. “Oh yes,” Nathan finally said, smiling at the magnificent reaction his actions caused. “You look, smell, and taste like perfection. Everywhere, I might add.”

He then knelt on the bed and again devoured the fairy's swollen prick whole, mouth filling with it like a hand inside a glove, sucking on it, feeling the blood course from within. With one hole sufficiently filled, he sought to fill yet another. Reaching between Lothar's still-outstretched and raised legs, he gently inserted one, then two, spit-slick digits inside him. The fairy bucked his ass downwards, sucking Nathan in as he gripped the prince's fingers with his amazingly tight ring.

“If you don't mind me asking,” Lothar rasped, “don't you have anything bigger to push up there? Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”

The prince laughed and reached down to grab at his own massive cock. “Now that you mention it, I believe I do, good fairy. If you'd be so kind as to get on all fours, I think I might enjoy a good, long fuck.”

“Long being the appropriate word here,” the fairy said, eyeing the prince's impressive member and eagerly doing as was asked of him, his wings unfurling and spreading out as he did so, fluttering ever so gently and creating a cool, soothing breeze in the otherwise stock-still room. “Fuck away, dear prince. My ass awaits.”

Nathan, happy to please, pressed the tip of his wetted cock up against the tight hole of the fairy. With a gentle shove he entered him, slowly, evenly, firmly, until the entire length of his swollen prick was entrenched, up and in and back. Lothar exhaled, sharply, and then sighed as wave after wave of bright orange rings haloed around his body, encasing the both of them in a warm, enchanted glow.

A string of sparks rose and fell along the prince's sweat-soaked back as he began to retract his cock and then glide it in again, repeating the motion, each time with a joyful grunt that shook the bed beneath, while his hands traveled up his own body, coming to rest alongside two rigid nipples, which he tugged and tweaked, so that both his upper and lower halves were alive with nearly indescribable pleasure. “Yes,” he exhaled, over and over again. “Yes.”

Lothar, rocking his ass into the prince's mighty prick, said, “Now reach around and stroke my cock, good prince. I believe you'll find a surprising trick we fairies are known for.”

Nathan, eager to see yet another of this creature's amazing capabilities, pressed his head down on Lothar's broad back and reached around a wasp-narrow waist to jack at Lothar's cock. Lothar's wings folded over and around Nathan's torso, encasing him in a veritable blanket as soft as velvet. And then, to Nathan's utter surprise, Lothar's cock shook and began to grow. With each stroke of his fist, the already large prick stretched and stretched, at first straight down, but then through its owner's legs, until Nathan suddenly felt the shiny head butting up against his own virgin hole.

“Well now, that it some trick,” Nathan uttered in astonishment, widening his stance and spreading his cheeks even further apart, so he could fuck while getting fucked in turn. Nathan pushed at Lothar's glorious hole while the fairy pushed at his, entering Nathan and filling him with unspeakable joy, sending a million tingling jolts through his ass and out his cock, which pounded away from the front while he was being pounded on from the rear—an unbelievable event, to be sure, in the long list of unbelievable events that had so recently occurred.

And one that brought him right to the edge and then right on over.

With a rapid-fast pounding like the beats of a hummingbird's wings, both Nathan's and Lothar's cocks thickened and pulsed, and then simultaneously exploded, causing the fairy to emit a blinding white glow that traveled through every atom of both their quivering bodies, as ounce after warm, white ounce of come shot and shot and shot, filling and then spilling out of two gaping, spasming holes. Moans and groans and gasps of sheer delight filled the room to the very rafters as one load after the next gushed and spewed forth.

It was then and only then that the human collapsed atop the fairy, his breath ragged, and his body dripping in sweet, sweet sweat. The fairy held on tight with his beautiful wings, while the human grasped the fairy by the waist and would not, could not let go.

“This moment will not end so long as we stay together, skin on skin, flesh on splendid flesh,” the fairy admonished with a long, low sigh.

The prince smiled. “Then do not let go, dear fairy. Do not ever let go.”

And so they stayed as one, hand in hand, two bodies intertwined, until, at long, long, long last, they fell asleep. And, as is common when two lovers slumber, limbs slid and glided over one another, sides bumped, backs pressed against backs, and, ultimately, the great puzzle came undone.

At their sudden and unintentional parting, the room once more came to life, the breeze again flowing in and blowing out the bedside candles. The two then instantly awoke from their long evening's sleep, staring at each other with glorious smiles.

With mighty yawns they sat up, rubbed their eyes, and firmly pressed their lips together, kissing deeply and passionately for what seemed like hours, taking turns at licking and sucking at every available body part. “Well,” the prince finally said. “I suppose I believe in fairies, after all.”

“And I have met a human who lives high above the clouds,” added the fairy. “Life is so full of unexpected surprises.”

And it was about to get a whole lot fuller; for it was then that they heard a loud knocking on the bedroom door. Scratching his head, Nathan rose, wrapped himself in his sheets, and walked to the source of the pounding. “Another first,” he whispered to himself. He swung the door open, and to his great astonishment saw the face of his father—the face quite a bit older than last he saw it, which hadn't been since the day of his imprisonment.

“Sire,” the prince said with a bow of his head and a bending of a knee. “You look ... you look different.”

The old king stared in wonder at his son and replied, “Strangely, Prince Nathan, you do not. You look barely older than last we saw each other.”

It was then that the prince understood what had happened, time apparently standing still only around the room he and the fairy occupied. “Sire,” he said with a nod of his head, “might I guess that you have at last come to offer me the throne? Is today not my fiftieth birthday?”

The king gave a weak cough. “Though you do not look it, yes, my son, today is the day you are to attain the crown, to preside over this great land just as I have done. You may now also seek a mate, to rule beside you as your mother has by me, lo these many years.”

The prince, now king, grinned widely. “Father, I have no need to seek, for I have surely already found. And I thank you for locking me up so high above the earth all this time, for I would not have otherwise met my soul-mate, different in every regard though he may be.” He laughed, and quickly added, “And that is what I believe is called an ironic twist of fate.”

The fairy, hearing the exchange, rose from the bed on wings as sheer as a spider's web and came to a soft landing by the new king's side, his smile big and bright and beguiling. And when he held his mate's hand, time no longer stood still as it once had. After all, love indeed transcends time, and binds surer and faster than any bit of magic ever could.

And it binds, as the saying goes, happily ever after.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Lucky

by A. Steele

If you want to know—and you probably don't—my name is Carl Ruiz. I'm a janitor at the very prestigious, very elite, Westenvale College. And I work hard, everyday, at not being a resentful dick.

It's these kids, you see. These rich, spoiled, almost uniformly good-looking, kids. I know—it's not their fault. You play the hand life deals you. These guys just happened to draw a royal flush.

Kinda hard not to be bitter, though. Not so much because of the silver spoons shoved up their asses, but because I've turned into the invisible man around here.

Four years ago I was one of them.

No, not rich. Never that. Here on a full scholarship. Affirmative action at its finest, baby.

I had a future ahead of me.

Then Mom got sick and I started to fuck up. When she died I finished the process. A grand mal fuck up, as it were.

My future and my mother, both dead in the same year.

So here I am. Invisible. A goddamn janitor.

Mom would be so proud.

Even the guys I used to hang with try to pretend I don't exist. Mumbled Hey, Carls as they look up, look down, look anywhere but at my face. So embarrassed to ‘know’ the help. God, what did I ever see in these assholes? I wanted to be these assholes.

Okay, so I guess I don't work that hard at not being a resentful dick. Can you blame me?

Take this guy walking toward me now, for instance. Dark red hair, milk-pale skin and a trim, tight-assed little body. Fuckin’ gorgeous.

Four years ago we'd have exchanged smiles, numbers if I was lucky—and I often was. Preppie white boys seem to find tall, broad-shouldered Latinos hard to resist—as long as they're wearing the right school jacket, that is. Today, he's going to blow past me as if I don't even—

“Hey there.”

I look over my shoulder to see who he's talking to. When I realize it's me, I wait for him to finish his sentence. Maybe with, ‘The toilet on three's backed up again,’ or ‘There was a chili fight in the cafeteria, can you get on that?’ I mean, there has to be more. No way this pretty boy just said hi to me for no good goddamn reason.

He looks as puzzled as I feel when the silence stretches past comfortable. With a shrug, he smiles and strolls away.

I belatedly mumble something—some garbled version of ‘Hey back,’ I think. Too late. He's gone.

I watch his ass twitch as he moves from sunlight to shadow, imagining its contours long after I'm able to see them clearly. Then I sigh at my own stupidity, adjust my cock, and fish the iPod out of my shirt's front pocket.

Eminem's irrational bitching fills my ears.

Exactly what I'm in the mood for.

* * * *

It's been two weeks since that first embarrassing exchange, and though the guy's never attempted another conversation, it seems like every time I turn around he's watching me.

His name's Joshua Camden.

Pretty, pretty, little Josh Camden. Twenty years old. Pisces. Auburn hair, green eyes, 5'-8", 155 pounds.

Ain't Google grand?

He's the star of Westenvale's lightweight rowing team and Senator Holt Camden's son.

I'd laughed when I found that out, pushed my chair back from the computer and laughed fit to burst. Senator Camden is so far right he's practically horizontal. And his gorgeous little boy—his youngest son—is queer.

Yesterday, Josh winked at me, and I know there was an extra wiggle in his walk as he went by. I tell ya, I'm seriously considering a hard shove into the nearest broom closet the next time I see him. Whether to lock him in alone or whether to throw myself in after him, I haven't quite decided.

I just don't know what his game is. I mean, one can only assume he's having a chuckle at my expense. The senator's son and the janitor. Yeah, right.

Shit.

Josh is coming down the dorm's wide front steps with Leo Schyler. Leo has blond hair, blue eyes, is 6'-2” and weighs 178 pounds. Leo's a Leo, coincidentally, and one of Westenvale's typically tall handsome-and-wealthy. He's a pharmaceutical prince of the realm. Worth billions.

Mmm, hmm. I've researched all of Josh Camden's friends, too—pathetic nutjob that I seem to have become.

I thought Josh had already left for Thanksgiving. Most everyone else has. Leo's getting into his $80,000 beater right now. Yep, folding that smokin', long-legged frame right in there.

I realize I'm staring and make myself turn away. There are no leaves to blow over in this corner, but who cares?

Not me.

I couldn't give a shit if Josh Camden kisses Leo Schyler goodbye. I don't even know the guy. Either guy. Whatever.

The blower only partially masks the sound of Leo's Porsche 911 roaring off into the sunset. It fully covers the sound of Joshua's footsteps approaching. His hand on my arm makes me jump.

I cut the blower and the hush of a late fall twilight crashes in on us.

“Hey there,” he says. His voice is soft enough that I might not have heard it if the whole world hadn't suddenly turned so darn quiet.

“Hey,” I say back. Crap. So much for the shoulda-coulda-wouldas I'd thought up should this opportunity ever present itself again.

The waning November light makes his eyes look more grey than green. Moss touched slate. And his mouth ... Good God, what an amazing, pouty, cock-sucking mouth he has.

A smirk curves his full lips, probably because I'm ogling them. Cashmere-covered fingers trail up my arm. “I'm done hinting,” he says.

Josh's hand reaches my cheek, skims around to cup my nape, and his lips mash hard against mine. My mouth's fallen wide open, so it's really no problem for his tongue to thrust inside and wrestle with my own.

My cock leaps to attention. Hey, Josh! it says. Wanna fuck? Right here? Right now? D'ya wanna?

His long wool coat parts as he pushes his body against me. His cock, just as hard as mine, bruises my thigh.

The last ray of sunlight dies.

We have one blessed minute of darkness, groping and moaning, before headlights sweep over us. Stop on us. We freeze—my hands on his ass, his arms around my neck. Both of us red-cheeked, swollen-lipped.

“Our chariot,” Josh says. His voice has a husky quaver. It complements the faint southern twang nicely.

And his eyes are green after all. Dark, vibrant green like a mountain meadow in the spring. They sparkle as he hauls me into the cab's back seat.

“The Marriot, please,” he says to the driver.

Then he's in my lap, kissing me again. I lose myself in his mouth and thrust against the ass I've spent the last two weeks fantasizing about.

After what feels like just a second but is probably closer to ten minutes, the driver's churlish voice intrudes. “Marriot's comin’ up in two.”

I turn my head and break the lip-lock. “What exactly are we doing here?” I ask, only panting slightly. Yay me.

“Right now? Nothing much.” Josh nuzzles my ear and whispers, “But in a few minutes, I very much hope we'll be fucking each other's brains out.”

I can't stop my groan, nor can I control my wandering hands. Or maybe I just don't want to. His shoulders are so much more muscular than they appear in his tailored burgundy jackets. “You don't even know me.” I'm not sure why I say it. It's not like I want to dissuade him or anything.

“Not yet.” Josh waggles his eyebrows, wriggles his bum. “But, okay, a quick intro may be called for,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. He leans forward so that his hard, square pecs bump my own. His breath is humid on my cheek. “My name's Josh—”

“Camden. I know who you are.” He smiles—I feel it against my skin—and nips the sensitive spot just behind my jaw. I make an effort to get out my own name. “I'm Carl...” His tongue slithers into my ear. “R ... ahh...”

“Ruiz.” His turn to finish my sentence, it would appear. I grab two big handfuls of silky auburn hair and tug his head back until I can see his eyes. “How the hell do you know my name?”

Josh is wearing a smirk again. I resist the urge to kiss it off. “Guess you're not the only one with a computer, Carl.” He strains against my hold, trying to close the gap between our bodies. I let him.

The driver scowls at us in the rearview mirror. “Ye gonna get out, or do I hafta throw ye out on yer asses?”

I hadn't noticed we'd stopped.

“What do I owe you?” Josh sounds much more polite than I would have been.

“$24.13.”

Josh tosses a twenty and two fives onto the front seat.

“Yer father would be ashamed, young man,” says the cabbie with a shake of his greasy grey head. “Ashamed.” He's reaching for the bills when Josh snaps forward over the seat back and retrieves a fiver.

“My father can fuck off, old man,” Josh says. “And so can you.”

The cabbie doesn't give me time to clear the door before he squeals away. Josh yanks hard on my coat, saving me from a broken foot or worse, and we both topple over backwards.

“Damn,” I hear him mutter. “So much for suave.” He stands first and offers me his hand; it's no visible effort for him to pull me to my feet—all 220 pounds of me. “Sorry about that,” he says. Still holding my hand, he begins to draw me toward the hotel entrance.

“Wait a minute.” I pull back. “Wait.”

He turns around, exasperation plain on his face. “Problem?”

“You're serious about this? You're going to take me, a—” A nobody, is what I'd been about to say. “—a perfect stranger—” I say instead. “—into this hotel and fuck him ... me?” Gah. My eloquence deserts me at the worst times.

Josh's teeth flash. “Unless you'd rather fuck here, yeah, that's the plan.”

All right, then.

I try to maintain some semblance of cool as we stumble into the lobby. Josh isn't making it easy. He's groping my ass, pressing kisses to my throat. He doesn't seem to give a shit that people are staring.

“Stop that.” I slap his hand away from the front of my jeans. My cock twitches in disapproval. “Let's just get a room, okay?”

His distracting fingers slip inside my shirt. My nipples are already hard, eager for the attention. “Got one,” he says. “Third floor.”

What clever, cruel hands he has. “Confidant, were we?” I ask on a gasp.

“Hopeful.”

I switch direction, steering my sexy little hard-bodied friend toward the elevator now, instead of the front desk.

The doors open as soon as I press the button. There's no one inside. Thank God.

Josh leaps on me when the doors swish closed. I stagger, falling against the mirrored back wall. He rips my shirt open and plastic buttons go flying. I feel some fleeting irritation at that. I only have three work shirts, but then his tongue's on my nipple and his hands are at my belt. Ah, screw it, I'll learn to sew.

When his teeth take over for his tongue my eyes start to roll back—fuck, I love having my nipples chewed on—that's when I notice the blinking red light. It belongs to the tiny camera set high up in the corner. “Err, Josh.”

He's worked my buckle loose. The zipper slides down; he's reaching inside my jeans. His hand wraps around my cock.

“Uhh, Josh. Camera ... up ... damn it!”

“Wha—”

His fingers still. He lifts his head. I sag against the wall, grateful for a reprieve, however temporary. At this rate, he's going to get me off before we even make it to the room.

I gesture toward the ceiling. “In the corner.”

Josh grimaces. Concern—or is that fear?—flickers in his eyes. The elevator dings, the doors swish open, and his expression clears. “Ah, well. Done is done,” he says, using my cock to pull me out. I follow like a puppy on a lead.

We're the third door on the left. Josh lets go of me long enough to dig a keycard out of his pocket. Before I know I mean to move, I'm behind him, grinding into his ass. He drops the keycard and splays his hands against the door, the better to grind back.

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard.” My fingers twine through his. My mouth's against his ear. “You're gonna forget every other guy you've ever been with.”

He rotates his hips and chuckles, wicked and throaty. “Confident, are we?” My prick chafes between his ass cheeks. Christ, I could come any second.

He's no doubt expecting me to bring the conversation full circle and say, ‘Hopeful.'

“Oh, yeah,” I say instead.

I crouch and grab the keycard, taking the opportunity to have a bite of his perfect little ass. Still crouched, I slide the card into its slot and turn the door handle. Before he has a chance to step back, Josh falls through, landing on his knees. I grab his right leg. Give it a yank. When he crashes to his stomach, I use the leg I'm holding to flip him over. Then I kick the door shut, drop my body between his thighs, and wrench his arms high over his head. Past time for me to gain some control, here.

Far from being subdued, Josh spreads his slim thighs wide and locks his ankles in the small of my back. A long, slow hip-roll's in it for me. I ignore the insane urge to thrust back. I will not come in my pants, no matter how sexy the bastard underneath me is. I go for his throat instead.

His smell is a blend of starch and expensive, peppery cologne. His taste, a heady combo of salt and sex and sin. My tongue savors the tense tendon from earlobe to collarbone. Josh groans. Good. If I can get him even half as riled as he's got me, I'll be doing pretty darn well.

His legs tighten on my hips. His body performs this acrobatic, dolphinesque twist, and now somehow I'm the one on the bottom.

“My turn,” he says, pushing wide the buttonless sides of my shirt. He pets the dark triangle of hair on my upper chest for a second before zeroing in on my nipples, twisting and pinching so hard that endorphins flood my brain. My cock jumps like an excitable pony beneath his ass. I bite my lip, stifling the whimper dying to escape.

Josh is watching me, his eyes hooded. “You're so good-looking, Carl,” he murmurs. “So sexy.”

I smile and lean up to kiss him—him, the guy who's really the sexy, good-looking one in this equation—and begin to undo his shirt the civilized way, one button at a time.

When I get to the last ivory placeholder, slipping it free of its narrow slit, I flatten my palms over his phenomenal six-pack and start a return journey, nudging crisp white linen out of my way as I go. His stomach quivers. He tugs my hands off the corrugation of his ribs.

Hmm. Seems little Josh Camden is ticklish.

Cool.

I block his retreat with my knees and really dig in. Josh tries to stop me. When that fails, he attempts to twist away. But he's laughing so hard he's gasping and there's no strength behind his efforts. His hard little ass is flexing, squirming in my lap. The friction feels awesome. And, of course, I'm laughing at how hard he's laughing. It's impossible not to.

In retaliation—or maybe just because he liked my reaction the first time—Josh pinches both my nipples again. Viciously hard.

I stop laughing.

Josh's tongue plunges at the same time his hands do. Suddenly, he's fisting my cock, not fucking around at all.

I find myself frantic to return the favor.

When my fumbling fingers aren't fast enough, Josh nudges them away to rip down his zipper and fish out his dick. He pushes it almost angrily into my palm, all the while raping my mouth and making these amazingly sexy growling noises deep in his throat.

His hand glides over my cock like it's been greased I'm so slick. So close. More pre-come wells from my eager prick when I take hold of his hard, silky-soft flesh.

Nice, I think, measuring his length with my fingers. Not as thick as mine, but quite a bit longer. Very nice.

So nice, in fact, it takes me a moment to realize that no hair brushes my knuckles. The skin above and below his prick is just as silky-soft as his prick.

No way.

I sit up and flip him over on his back. None of my other lovers have been shaved. A few trimmed. A few more went with hairless sacs and asses, but no one's ever gone completely ‘nude’ for me. I want to see.

I shimmy down his body, peeling his pants and underwear away as I go. His cock is pink: pale rose at the base and dark fuchsia at the crown. And, unlike my own ropy, blunt-headed club, Josh's dick is marble-smooth with a dramatic, wickedly flared glans. Straight and slender, it seems more like a carving than the real thing. An attractive, silky-soft, silky-smooth, cock sculpture, done up in floral hues.

Jeez, even his prick is sophisticated-looking.

I duck my head to tickle my tongue along that wonderfully flared head. Josh sighs and lets his legs fall apart. The pink star of his asshole winks at me, so pretty I can't resist taking a moment to worship it, too. He makes an inarticulate ‘ungh’ sound and lifts his legs higher, out of my way. His fingers spasm on my skull as my tongue plunders his hole.

“Fuck, yeah,” he groans, humping my face with an abandon that makes my dick drool and jerk. I lift my hips away from the floor, removing temptation. I don't think I've ever been this close without tipping over, but I'm not going to come until I'm inside that perfect body of his. I'm not.

To hurry things along, I force two fingers in beside my tongue, probably before he's ready. With my free hand, I cup and squeeze his plump, smooth balls, attempting to distract him from any discomfort.

“Fuck!” he cries. I spread him wide. My tongue burrows even deeper.

Josh's body contorts. “Oh, God, I'm gonna—”

Already?

It's nice to know he's on a hair trigger, too. Fair's fair, after all. Still, he's not allowed to come ‘til I'm in his body, either.

I leave his ass to lick up his shaft, his stomach and chest. When I reach his left nipple I gnaw on it. I can feel his heart gallop.

“Carl,” Josh gasps. “Please!”

“Condoms?” I raise my head to ask.

He points to the night table where I see a string of foil packets and a tiny bottle of clear liquid. I rise with him still in my arms.

Josh looks taken aback. Then amused. His cheeks dimple in a grin. “Quite the behemoth, aren't you?”

I'm so intent on getting a condom on that I don't bother trying to come up with a witty rejoinder. Anyway, he's right; I am a behemoth compared to him. Bracing his body against the wall, I grab a silver packet and bring it to my teeth. Josh tightens his legs around my waist.

“Allow me,” he says, taking the slippery latex sheath. He reaches between us to dress me, then leans sideways, grabs the lube, and drizzles a huge dollop on my cock. “I want you to fuck me just like this.” Josh's voice is quivering again as he lowers himself onto my shaft. “Up against the wall,” Josh continues. “Hard as you can. And—” A grimace of pleasure once I'm seated as deep as I can go. His internal muscles spasm. My cock judders in response.

“And?” I pant, struggling to keep still, giving him time to adjust.

“And I don't want my feet to touch the floor even once.”

Ahhhh. “Not a problem, babe,” I say.

I take hold of his hips, lifting him until just my cock head remains trapped inside. My arm muscles bulge. Josh's mouth falls open. He yanks my head forward, shoving my face into his throat. The back of his skull hits the wall when I sink my teeth into his collarbone and slam him down at the same time.

Josh yelps. His internal muscles clench.

I lift him again. Drop him again. And again. And again. Josh hollers every time I hilt. Sweat beads on my skin as I fight off my orgasm.

Come, you sexy little bastard. Hurry up and come!

Someone bangs on the plaster separating our room from theirs.

“Oh, God,” Josh moans. His hands tighten in my hair.

I bite him again, noticing how purple my first mark looks on his creamy white skin. He's going to be covered in bruises tomorrow. Bruises I gave him. The thought makes me thrust that much harder.

Josh's fingers dig into my scalp, tearing hair and skin. I rip his hands off my head. Slam his wrists against the wall.

“Squeeze,” he moans. His head thrashes. His hips churn. “Fuck, Carl, I'm gonna come so hard!”

I glance down. His cock is cherry red, leaking fat liquid drops all over my stomach. It's so ready to blow it looks pissed off.

I squeeze his wrists hard enough to leave my mark there, too, and crush him into the wall. “Do it,” I say, biting his bottom lip, tasting blood. “Come.”

Josh's back stiffens, every perfect muscle in his body straining. The groan he lets loose is the sexiest thing I've ever heard, a long, drawn out affair that starts low in his chest and rises to a desperate-sounding wail.

His sphincter clamps down.

Hot jizz splashes my chin

And that's me done.

The banging on the wall works counterpoint to the banging of my hips. “Holy shit!” I cry, as the pulses of my climax join his.

Quite abruptly, I find myself unable to support both our weight. When we slide down the wall, I note that his feet touch the floor a second before my knees do. He doesn't seem to notice.

The pleasurable paroxysms are slow to wane. It's like riding out the aftermath of a hurricane. “Holy shit,” I mumble again, resting my cheek on his sweat-slick shoulder. “That was amazing.”

Josh chuckles and strokes my back, a casual, wonderfully intimate gesture. His chin is on my head; it moves up and down as he says, “My feet touched the ground, babe. You owe me a forfeit.”

* * * *

Lazing across from me in the two-person Jacuzzi tub, his foot between my legs, Josh says, “So how come you never finished school? I hear you were set to graduate top of the class.”

I've been grooving to the feel of his toes on my sac, drifting in the land of satiation. My head snaps forward at his out-of-the-blue inquiry. “And where'd you hear that?”

His smile is sly. “I have my resources.”

“You must have.” Resources better than Google, I would guess. I scowl at the thought.

Josh sloshes forward and takes my face between his hands. “Don't be angry". His thumbs stroke my temples. “I was curious about you. That's all. I asked around and found out you used to be a student. From there, it wasn't too hard to dig up Rich Sinfield. A few drinks, a random comment on the sexiness of your bod, and the guy wouldn't shut up.”

I can only imagine the expression I'm wearing. Richie was one of my old gang. He's the worst for not being able to look me in the eyes anymore.

“What'd he say?” I ask. Growl, really.

Josh crawls into my lap. His arms slide around my waist and his naked little bum slips across my cock.

“What did he say?” I ask again, my tone more mellow.

“He said you're one of the smartest guys he's ever met. But when your mom died...”

I wait for the rest. Josh isn't forthcoming. “When my mom died?”

He sighs. “Rich said it was like you turned into another person. Started drinking. Quit studying. Threatened the life of your physics partner?”

Josh studies me, waiting for my reaction, I suppose.

Now, I sigh. And nod. “I fucked up. I could have killed that kid. I had him up against the wall by his goddamn throat and I remember thinking it would be so fucking easy to just snap...”

My words trail off as I realize that my isolation at Westenvale might, just might come with a wee dose of personal culpability. So much for my great big brain. “I was a mess, Josh,” I finish lamely. “What can I say? She was all I had.”

“I'm sorry.” He glances down, but then almost immediately looks up again. “Have you looked into having your scholarship reinstated? Under the circumstances, I'm s—”

“There's no point. I had my shot and I blew it. End of story.”

“But you haven't even—”

“Enough, Josh.” I push him off me and stand up.

At first, his expression is hard to read. An odd gleam marks his eyes. Then he smiles, wide and wicked, the fission of unease I feel dispelled.

“Alright,” he says. “Sorry. Sometimes I'm too nosy for my own damn good.” Josh rises and hops out of the bath, all traces of languor gone from his fine, smooth limbs. The sight of him naked and dripping chases any lingering annoyance right out of my head.

“Well, I'm ready for round two,” he says, stepping past me, his hand skimming my cock as he does. How ‘bout you?”

* * * *

“It's pretty much gone numb” Laughter lurks in my voice. His tongue doesn't stop. It keeps going round and round on my nipple. Round and round and round.

The second time was just as good as the first. Maybe better. Josh rode me hard and put me away wet. No more was said about my truncated school career.

“Pretty much?” He lifts his head to ask.

I pet his hair; it's a tangled mess, sticking out every which way. Fucking adorable. His tongue darts out again. A sluggish ribbon of heat flows from my nipple to my cock. “How ‘bout now?” he asks, catching the tiny nub between his teeth and flicking his tongue over it. Another curl of heat—not so lazy.

I can't really feel his mouth, per se; it's more of an all-encompassing erotic haze radiating out from where his teeth and tongue touch me. “Jesus.”

“My first boyfriend,” Josh says between nibbles, “had a thing for my nipples. Wouldn't leave them alone.”

“They're very ... ahh ... nice.”

He's rolling my balls in his hand. I'd thought for sure I was done, but my prick seems to have other ideas. It flexes in pleasure.

“Thanks,” Josh says with a chuckle. Nipping, sucking. Rolling, squeezing.

My back bows. There's a crinkly sound, a subdued click, and then his long, slender finger is creeping inside my asshole.

“He used to suck on them until they were practically dead—until I could hardly feel them,” Josh goes on, ignoring my gasp.

“Mmmm.” That's the best I can do by way of a reply.

“Funny thing is,” Josh says, finger-fucking me with deep, lazy strokes. “When he did that, I used to experience these kind of all-over, full-body orgasms. Very tantric.”

“Hmmm.” Is that another finger? God, who cares? Like Lazarus, my cock has risen again.

Josh's voice drops an octave. “I used to love to be fucked while he licked my nips numb.”

I freeze. His two fingers are turning, spreading, stretching. “Josh—”

He shifts upward, still plowing my hole. “Let me fuck you, Carl,” he whispers, just above my lips.

“Is this your forfeit, then?” My voice is just as hushed as his.

“If you like.” He presses butterfly kisses to my mouth. One hand tweaks my over-sensitized nipple. The other continues to torment my ass. “Please, Carl.” Another soft kiss. “Please, baby.”

“I...”

He leans back, his expression hopeful.

Who could resist that beautiful face, those beautiful eyes? Not me, it would appear.

“Alright,” I say. It's been, like, a thousand years since I bottomed, but what the hell, right?

There's no segue. As soon as the word leaves my lips, his fingers desert me and his prick takes position.

“Condom.” I push at his chest.

He takes my hand off his pec and drops it to his cock—his latex sheathed, pre-lubed cock.

“You're such an arrogant asshole,” I say, but I'm laughing.

“You love it.”

Yeah, I'm beginning to.

Rather than dive right in—which is what I'm expecting and what I've braced for—he lowers his mouth to my nipple once more. He's doesn't move his hips, just bites and licks. Round and round. I end up making that first move. It's too damn hard to remain still. My hips lift.

Josh moans.

I sheathe him a tiny bit more. There's a fullness, a stretch, but no pain.

“We good?” he asks. His body quivers with the desire to ram home; how well I know it. His resistance is admirable but unnecessary.

“Just fine.”

His relief is obvious in the great big smile he gives me and I realize a funny thing: for the first time in a long time, I'm happy. Making him happy makes me happy. How ‘bout that? “So, you planning on fucking me anytime soon, sweetheart?” I wrap my arms around his waist, tugging him closer.

“I'm gonna fuck you so good, you're gonna forget every other guy you've ever been with.”

I laugh. That's a misquote—and grammatically incorrect, besides—but I still like his version better.

Josh slides home. My mouth opens on a comeback, or perhaps a moan.

There's a loud knock on the door.

“Room service.”

I grimace. “Did you—”

Josh drops his head to my shoulder and groans. “Yeah, I ordered a snack when you were in the bathroom.”

“Hang on,” he calls. To me he says, “Don't you move an inch now.” Then he's gone, out of my body and off the bed. Jerk takes the sheet with him.

I scramble to grab the comforter, which has slipped to the floor, lobbing a pillow at his head in the process. Josh sniggers and reaches for the door handle. As soon as he turns it, the door slams back into the wall.

“Christ! Get some fucking clothes on,” an older, more muscular version of Josh yells as he storms into the room.

“Hello, Collin,” Josh says, the smile gone from his face. In its place, he wears an expression of aloof disdain. “Lovely to see you, as always.” He's a cool one, that's for sure, the essence of grace and poise wearing nothing but a hotel sheet.

Collin takes in the room, the mussed bedding ... me. He sneers.

Two fellows, even bigger than Josh's brother, crowd in behind him. Silent in their thousand dollar suits, the men are a massive, stoic threat, like walking Easter Island statues. I give up trying to grab the edge of the comforter and bounce to my feet, a decorative pillow held in front of my crotch. “Hey! What's the—”

Josh raises a placating hand my way and I stutter into silence.

Collin doesn't deign to look at me again. “Dad says to bring your perverted ass home,” he says, grabbing his brother's upper arm in a nasty grip. More bruises for Josh. These ones piss me off! “He got a tip from some fuckin’ cabbie that you were here slutting it up on his dime.”

Goon number one picks up a pair of pants—mine, as it turns out—and slaps them into Josh's chest. Goon number two watches me. When I take an angry step forward he shakes his massive, bald head.

Violence simmers in the air.

“Don't,” Josh warns me. “It's not worth it.” He drops the sheet and pulls my jeans on. They're ridiculously large on his slender frame, but no one else seems to notice. “I'll be fine,” he says. “This isn't the first time my dad's completely lost his fucking mind.”

Collin snorts. “Just hurry up, shithead.”

Josh flips him off before grabbing his coat and shoes. As he's leaving, he turns to me and says, “The room's paid up ‘til Monday morning, Carl. Do stay. I'll try to get back before then.”

“Well, that's not too fuckin’ likely, is it?” Collin says, shoving Josh through the door. The goons follow.

I'm left naked and alone, the entire altercation having lasted less than two minutes. I fall back on the rumpled bed. It smells like Josh: his sweat, his cologne, his salty come. I turn my face into the sheet, smiling. ‘The room's paid up ‘til Monday morning,’ he'd said.

Guess he didn't plan for us to be a one-night stand after all.

* * * *

Eight days. It's been eight fucking days and Josh still hasn't shown up at school. Yesterday, in desperation, I called the Senator's office. When I gave his assistant my name, the bitch hung up on me. I guess Senator Camden is very aware of who his son was banging in that hotel room.

Yep. That's me. Carl Ruiz, janitor extraordinaire, making friends in high places and influencing people all over the damn place.

I've talked to everyone I can think of. His friends. His profs. If anyone knows anything, they're not sharing.

Tonight's the night, I think as I unlock my front door. Tonight I'm going to break into Josh's dorm room. The senator's home number has to be in there somewhere. I won't snoop, just get the number and get out. I won't have time to snoop, because if I'm caught I'll be fired on the fucking spot.

Of course, even as I tell myself this, I know I'm lying. I'll snoop.

As soon as I shut the door behind me, I realize I'm not alone in the dark apartment. I'm not sure, at first, what clues me in. My cock notices the faint waft of his cologne before I do. It rises, as if to sniff the air. A half-second later my nose does the same. Musk and pepper. I start grinning like an idiot.

“Josh?”

No answer.

I flick on a lamp. The soft pool of light shows my worn tweed sofa and a coffee table in serious need of dusting.

No Josh.

I look toward my bedroom. The door's open, but the bulb's power doesn't reach that far. It's a beckoning black hole.

“Josh?” I call again. “Come clean, man. I know you're here.”

“Tsk.”

The annoyed sound comes from the vicinity of my bed. My grin grows impossibly wider.

“You're seriously fucking up my surprise, Carl,” he says. “Would you just get in here?”

I strip off my coat and toe off my shoes as I walk toward him. My restraint is heroic; I want to run. “Where the hell have you been?”

“All shall be revealed,” he says in a low, trying-to-be-mysterious voice.

I slap the light switch on.

The beautiful bugger is lying spread-eagle in the center of my bed. He's wearing a Westenvale jacket—much too big for him—and nothing else. A manila envelope is balanced precariously on top of his penis.

“So reveal already.” I lean against the doorjamb, thumbs tucked in my belt loops. “Lose the jacket, sweetheart. It doesn't fit.”

“It wouldn't. It's yours.”

My gaze flicks to the closet. I can't find it in my heart to be angry. In a few hours, I was planning to rifle his stuff and, anyway, I feel too darn cheerful to be mad.

He bumps his hips up and down. The envelope tilts, threatens to dislodge, but then settles back into place.

I reach his side in two quick strides, swing a leg over his narrow hips, and pluck off the stupid yellow paper. When I go to toss it behind me, Josh grabs my wrist. “Read it.”

“Later.”

He scoots his bum back and sits up against the headboard. The shoulders of my old school jacket droop halfway down his arms. He looks so innocent with those big green eyes and that tousled auburn hair.

I'm not fooled for a second.

I tear the envelope open, anxious to be done with whatever shit this is so I can get down to despoiling my boy's nonexistent virtue, and scan the first sheet. It's not until I'm about two-thirds of the way down that I realize what I'm looking at.

“What the hell?” I whisper, flipping to the next page. “Josh, there's no way. I can't possibly—”

He covers my hand with his own. “Of course you can.”

I let the scholarship papers drop. “But how? Why?”

He shrugs. My jacket slips off his shoulder. One petite pink nipple flashes me. “Dad's donated so much money to Westenvale, I don't think they'd dare say no to him. As for why—because I could, I guess. See, Dad's thinking of running for president in a few years.” Another shrug. More sleek white skin revealed. My hands twitch with the need to touch.

“I've agreed to stay under the radar,” he goes on, oblivious. “Play it cool. But my cooperation had a price.”

That catches my attention. “A price?”

“Yes.” Josh takes the sheaf from my lax hand and tosses it to the floor. “You.”

He leans in to nuzzle my throat. “So, no more taking strange, beautiful men to expensive hotel rooms and boinking their brains out—even though you're the only strange and beautiful man I've ever done that with.”

My heartbeat quickens at this casual admission. Josh's voice drops to a gruff, southern baritone. “'And for God's sake, Joshua, if you get caught on tape again I will kill you,'” he says, doing an eerie imitation of his father's voice. He chuckles and nips at my earlobe. “I managed to make a copy of the elevator tape before he destroyed it, though.” Josh's voice is his own again, husky, low, and sexy as hell. “I've jacked off to it every night.”

It's hard to untangle my thoughts, especially with his tongue swirling around my ear. “Yeah, but...” I groan and push him away. “But why—”

“Christ, Carl, I don't know why, okay?” He sits back and scrapes a hand through his hair. “Because I think you're the sexiest man I've ever met, maybe? Or perhaps because you have a great smile and I want to see a lot more of it! I want to be the goddamn reason for it!”

Both hands are in his hair, now. “Or maybe because I think you should be using that big brain of yours for more than deciding which industrial strength cleaner to use today.” His voice has grown strident, his face red. In that second, I realize I might be falling for the little bastard. “For lots of damn reasons, okay? Because I fucking could, like I said.”

Another pass through his already thoroughly disheveled hair. God, he's so cute. “Take the fucking scholarship, Carl!” Josh shouts. “No strings attached. Okay?”

I take his hand, kiss the palm, and press it against the erection he's roused.

“Okay?” he asks again, softer, as his long, fine fingers curve around my cock.

“No strings at all?” I ask, grinding into his palm. “Not even a few wet, sticky, white ones?”

I see Josh fight to keep the smirk off his face. He loses.

“Well, maybe a few of those. If you're lucky.”

“I'm feeling pretty lucky” I take his beautiful face between my hands and press a kiss to his gorgeous, cocksucker lips.

Josh's fingers tangle in my hair. He kisses me back with a passion bordering on desperation. My heart pauses, does a little flip, and I realize it's true. I do feel lucky.

In fact, at this very moment, I do believe I'm the luckiest man in the whole damn world.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Forever

by William Holden

“Of course I will love you forever,” I whispered only yesterday to Tony as my cold lips brushed against his ear. How different ‘forever’ sounded to the two of us. The tone in his voice chilled my thoughts when I realized what he was asking me to do.

I hope he understands my refusal to make him like me. My decision has nothing to do with our love. There is nothing that would have made me happier than to spend forever not growing old with him. The joy I can now only imagine. I want to give him what he has asked for, but I cannot do to him what was so violently done to me.

* * * *

I was born in London. The year was 1719 and I had just finished celebrating my twenty-seventh birthday with some friends. The quantity of spirits we were consuming helped keep us going against the cold November air. I was the only bachelor in the group, but that was fine with me. I knew I was different. I knew I lusted after men, about which we didn't speak then. I had heard about ‘Molly houses’ where men could go to be with other men. However I never seemed to have enough courage to walk into such an establishment by myself. At twenty-seven I was still a virgin.

After my friends dropped me off at my flat, I decided it was time. I felt alive for the first time in my life, and I knew instinctively that that night was the night I would experience the pure, raw power of another man's love.

The bells had long ago sounded midnight when I arrived at the pub in a small crowded area off Compton Street. I paused just outside the door. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. I opened the door and stepped inside. Suddenly, it seemed as if the world stopped. Heads turned in my direction, looking at the stranger standing in the doorway. The excitement grew in my breeches, tingling through every hair on my body. I lit up a small pipe, took a long, deep draw and exhaled before making my way to an empty stool by the bar.

The short, pudgy man behind the bar greeted me immediately—and perhaps impertinently. He looked young, not a wrinkle on his face. He wore a clean white shirt and black breeches. He smiled at me as if he could read my mind.

“Your best gin, my good man,” I said even before he asked me. He smiled and poured the drink.

“Haven't spied you here before, m'lord.” He set the bottle down next to my glass. “Are you but recently come to the city?”

“Born and raised here, my good man.” I finished the small serving off in one gulp and gestured for another. The gin warmed my body and calmed my nerves. I rekindled my pipe as the bartender left. I turned in my seat to take in the sights around me. The lighting was dim, and the billowing smoke made it difficult to see. I hadn't learned any of the signs or signals by which men let other men know of their purpose. So I resolved to face the bar and keep to myself. I was too much a novice to make advances.

I was on my third drink and deep in thoughts of leaving when someone came to sit beside me. I tilted my head to the left and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He sat there, swirling his drink calmly, then turned to look at me. His eyes were pitch black but surrounded by the purest white I had ever seen. His face was smooth except for a small scar upon his right cheek. His long, wavy hair hung loosely about his face.

“I do not know you, sir.” He spoke quietly, the accent German. “I am known to my intimates as Stephan.” He reached and took my hand in his.

“Are we intimate, then, sir?” His hand was cold. “I am known as Alex.”

“So, Alex.” He smiled at the indiscretion. “What wind blew you here tonight?” He moved in a little closer to me. “You appear to be lost at sea.”

I started to reply, but I lost my words. His hand was on my leg. I looked down in my lap and watched his fingers trace my thigh. The tingling returned to my loins. I could feel myself growing firmer, thicker behind my linens. He noticed the movement and then moved one of his fingers over the bulge in my breeches. A small moan escaped my lips. I reddened with shame.

He laughed. “You have never done this before have you?” His finger made small little circles over my firmness.

“No.”

“Surely it is time.” He removed his hand from my lap and finished his drink. He stood up. “Will you accompany me, sir?”

I didn't move at first, but then stood to face him. Our eyes met. I could feel his breath on my face. His scent invaded me. It was potent and unfamiliar. Lilac water, perhaps, and a mixture of beer, a man's odor and then ... something metallic. It called to something in me I didn't know existed. There was nothing else I wanted more in the world than to surrender my body to this stranger. We left the pub together.

“My rooms lie near at hand.” Stephan broke the silence that had fallen between us. “We can walk there, if you are agreeable.”

“Indeed we can.” I began to feel a bit uneasy. What would be expected of me upon our arrival? He seemed well versed in the art of hunting men. I hoped my inexperience would not repel him.

Within a few minutes we arrived at a surprisingly elegant building. The servants seemed to have gone to sleep. He opened the door himself and escorted me in.

He quickly shut and locked the door behind us. His rooms were more generous than most in this part of London and well appointed. Numerous candles lit tapestries, paintings, and a harpsichord lacquered in deepest red. But my attention was diverted from our surroundings when he walked to me and put his arms around my waist.

Stephan was taller than I by as much as a head. His dark, piercing eyes looked at me. No, that's not quite how it was. They looked into me. I could feel his desire press against me.

“You tremble,” Stephan whispered. “Here maybe this will help.” He leaned down to draw my lips to his. Sudden warmth rushed through me the instant our lips met. My knees felt unstrung as the kiss lingered. He pulled away as gently and as quickly as he had commenced. His finger traced my lips. They quivered.

He removed his waistcoat. I stood transfixed. He removed his shoes and began to loosen his breeches. “Will you not join me?”

He undid the buttons and dropped the garment to the floor. I continued to stare as if frozen by the sight of him undressing before me. Beneath his immaculate shirt, his torso was smooth and hairless. He stepped out of his breeches, leaving his body exposed except for his innermost linen. I could tell his sex was large and heavy by the way it fell against the thin material. He walked to me and pushed my coat off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

“Touch me,” he said and brought my hand to his chest. My fingers trembled as they grazed skin. The softness of his body astonished me. I never knew a man's skin could be so soft. My finger brushed his left nipple. He smiled at my apparent nervousness.

I began to feel like I didn't exist in that time or place, as if I were watching us from above. I wasn't there, yet every touch, every word spoken I could both feel and hear. I closed my eyes and felt his lips against my neck, his tongue licking the salt of my skin. I reached down to feel my swollen nature. I didn't recognize its size.

“Your body delights me,” Stephan whispered in my ear as he pulled my shirt open. He kissed my chin, and then my throat as he began a descent. I felt his tongue running through the hair on my chest, matting it to my skin with his spit. My breathing turned to gasps as he continued to move downward. I grabbed his head with my hands to steady myself as his tongue reached the end of my shirt and the beginning of my breeches. His hands slid back up my chest and pushed my shirt off my shoulders. He stood upright and kissed me. I wanted more, but didn't know if I could go on. He mesmerized me with his beauty and gentleness.

We stood facing each other in nothing but the flimsiest linen. He picked me up as if I weighed not more than a few pounds and carried me to his bed. He stood and removed the last of his garments, and then he leaned down without a word and removed mine.

He crawled on top of me, our bodies not quite touching. I could feel his sex against my skin as he lowered himself onto me. Our bodies pressed tightly together. He raised my legs and moved them over his shoulders. My heart jumped with his movements as he settled himself between my legs. I could feel his sex pressing against the length of my arse. I meant to enjoy the feeling, but then he entered me without warning. He knew what I wanted, perhaps better than I, and how to give it to me.

The pain was sharp and came in waves as each inch of him entered deeper into my body. As the final thrust came, the slow movements we made together began to count a devilish dance.

As Stephan continued to push his way in and out of me, our bodies wet with each other's sweat, he asked me one simple question. “Will you love me forever?”

Without hesitation I replied, “Yes.”

The force of his thrusts increased. The room began to spin. I sealed my eyes. My body shook from my very bones. I was covered in sweat. Our bodies seemed to leave the comfort of the bed. Was I floating several feet above it, his arms wrapped around me?

The pain was sharp, but not in my arse. My neck. Panic opened my eyes. I tried to pull myself free, but his grip was too tight. The burning in my blood forced tears from my eyes. I felt giddy, lightheaded, the room darkening in my vision as I felt myself fall back to the bed.

I don't know how long I slept, if sleep I did, but when I awoke the sun was setting again. I was in my own room. I felt weak, though something else inside of me felt strong. I called out to Stephan. There was no answer. Some hunger burned in the pit of my stomach. I tasted blood. Suddenly, it came back to me—the night before, what Stephan had done.

Fear and anger raced through me as I absorbed the full impact of my own death.

Questions about my new existence flooded my mind and I had no answers. I felt completely alone, cut off from everything I had once enjoyed. At that moment, I hated Stephan more than words could speak. I had to find him. He needed to pay for what he had done.

I paced the crowded streets, alone except for my thoughts. No one seemed to heed me. I stood in front of the pub. Barely a day before, I had stood in the exact same place, nervous and excited about the possibility of finding someone to experience the pleasures of masculine love—someone to give me new life. Now I stood there, my skin cold, my body dead. I stood there not with fear, but with anger and rage.

My senses seemed sharper, more attentive to my surroundings. I found my seat at the bar and ordered a gin. The same bartender as the night before served me. I looked around, but could not see Stephan in the crowd. As I continued watching the men, the hunger in my stomach grew. I smelled blood, blood that raced through the bodies of these men, these men who were alive. I began to hate them as well. Anger ripped through my body, taking control of my passions.

Then I noticed someone watching me.

Our gazes locked as he made his way to where I sat. His dirty-blond hair hung about his shoulders. His eyes were a deep blue. As he approached, his scent engulfed me. He stood next to me without saying a word. His warm body brushed against mine. In my mind, I saw Stephan standing next to me. As he spoke, I heard Stephan's voice.

“Looking for a bloke, m'lord?” His voice sounded strong and confident, almost surly. He reached out and touched my chest.

“Yes.”

“Looking for a particular lad?” His hand found an opening in my shirt. He slid a couple fingers in and ran them through my chest hair.

“No. You'll do just fine.” I looked at him and smiled. I could feel his heart beating faster as he responded to my answer. I moved his hand out of my shirt and escorted him to the door.

I took him to my room. I didn't ask him his name and he didn't ask me mine. No need for niceties; our meeting was merchant's business. I shut and locked the door behind us. His lips were on mine almost immediately. I picked him up and took him to my bed and laid him down gently. The hunger rose as we reached our limits.

All I could see was Stephan.

I collapsed on top of him, my face resting against his shoulder when Stephan once again appeared in my mind. The anger and need for revenge began to suffocate me. Suddenly the hunger for blood was more than I could tolerate. I sank my teeth into his neck. I felt his body tremble as my teeth broke through the skin. I drank from him, nourishing my exhausted body. Before long he laid lifeless in my arms.

* * * *

Every night thereafter, for more than two and a half centuries, I searched the streets of London hoping to find Stephan, hoping to finally put an end to my suffering. Every night I would find someone else to take his place. Someone else to nourish my desire for blood and revenge.

Every night until I met Tony.

As the millennium came and went, my suffering had not gone away. If I were ever to escape from the memories of what Stephan had done to me, I knew I had to leave London. I packed my belongings, those with which I could travel easily, and left the rest of my life behind. I headed for America. I stole away on a freightliner, not quite sure where it was headed, and ended up here in Savannah as so many of my countrymen had before.

I was foolish to think moving would change anything. I still needed blood to survive, and each time a young man would approach me, the anger of hundreds of years would surface. The kills were just as violent as they had been in my home country.

Several months later, I once again walked the dark streets and came across a small bar whose entrance was down an alley. I opened up the door and went inside. The place was empty except for a few customers. I walked up to the bar, ordered a gin, and found a small table in the back from which I could watch people.

I was into my third drink, feeling a bit lightheaded from the lack of feeding, when I noticed someone looking at me. I returned the look and smiled. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught and quickly looked away. I sat there watching him out of the corner of my eye. I saw his head turn in my direction. I raised my glass to him and motioned him over with my finger. He hesitated, looked away, and then slowly moved from the barstool.

As he approached, I could smell his scent. It intoxicated me. He stopped at the edge of the table. His hands trembled. I motioned for him to sit down.

“I'm Alex.” I spoke quietly hoping it would set him at ease. He reminded me of my former self, not so much in looks but in manner. His brown hair was cut short, slightly spiked on top. His large brown eyes looked at me with nervous excitement. He wore a tight fitting t-shirt that showed off his defined chest and stomach. I waited for a response. When none came, I reached out my hand to his. My heart went out to him. It was as if I had known him my entire life. My hand seemed to comfort him.

“I'm Tony.” The tone in his voice trembled slightly. “I...” He paused then cleared his voice and started again. “I like your accent. Where are you from?” He seemed to relax a bit.

“London originally, but I've been in Savannah for a couple years.” I finished off my drink and asked Tony if he wanted another. He said he did. I got up and walked to the bar. I could feel Tony's eyes on my back, watching every move I made. It excited me.

We were silent while we finished our drinks. My head buzzed from the alcohol and hunger. I could smell his blood, feel his heartbeat from across the table. My stomach grumbled, letting me know it was angry with me. I feared speaking to him; afraid I would get to know him too well and that would have spoiled my dinner. I hated feeding on someone I knew.

I knew what he wanted. He was like all the rest of them in that way. He didn't care for me. All he wanted was my body, my sex. I decided it was time to give him what he desired.

“You want to come back to my place?” I asked as I moved my hands onto his. His pulse was strong. It would be a good feed.

“I...” He stumbled with his words as he pulled his eyes from mine. “I've never done this before.” He looked back at me. “I mean sex with a man.”

“Really?” I tried to act surprised.

“I guess I've always wanted to wait, to give my body to someone I loved. Not just for the sake of having sex.” His embarrassment over this confession was all too obvious.

“I take it that you decline my invitation.”

“No, that's not what I meant.” He spoke quickly. “I knew you were the one from the moment I saw you.” His voice began to tremble, but he continued. “I've never met anyone like you before. There's something special I see in you, something I've never found in anyone else.”

I sat there staring at him; shocked at the words I was hearing. Damn him, I thought to myself. Now he's made this personal. The sooner I get this one over with the better.

“You okay?”

“Tony, I'm fine. I just wasn't prepared to hear those words. We've only known each other"—I looked at my watch—"for a little less than an hour. It's been a long time, longer than you can even imagine, since I've heard those words.” He smiled at me causing my mind to stop. I quickly added, “Let's get out of here.”

We walked along Bull Street, enjoying the warm spring air. We stopped briefly to admire the beauty of Monterey Square, lit only by the light of the moon. Tony seemed to hesitate as we walked up to my home. I took him by the hand and led him inside.

I went to him and ran my finger down his cheek. I traced his lips before leaning down and kissing him. His mouth opened immediately to mine. His taste was sweet. His hands ran down my back and found their way under my shirt. The warmth of his touch aroused me. I stepped back and pulled my shirt over my head. He kissed my neck. Moving downward, his tongue caressed my nipples and they became erect in his mouth. I pulled him off me and pushed him against the wall. He looked startled at my aggressiveness. I studied his body, noticing the erection in his pants. In my mind, his body and form seemed to change. In front of me stood Stephan, glaring and mocking me.

I went to him, ripping at his shirt, exposing his smooth, hairless body. The scent of his body, his blood invaded me. I pressed my body against his. I felt his cock expand as my crotch pressed against his.

“Alex,” he moaned. “I've never known...”

“Don't speak.” I placed a finger to his lips.

I knelt in front of him. I unbuckled his belt and lowered his zipper. He stood motionless as I removed his pants and underwear. His cock fell heavily between his legs. The scent of his over-anxious body drew me closer. My tongue lifted his thickness and guided it into my mouth. I could taste his excitement. The salty-sweetness was like freshly drawn blood to my hunger. I wanted to love upon him. To give him everything he had waited for, to bring pleasure to him that he would never forget. I released his sex from my mouth and stood up to remove my pants. I picked him up and carried him to the bed. I knew I had to end this. I couldn't let him take control of me like this.

I lay my naked body down on his. His sex pressed up against mine. I raised his legs, preparing myself to enter him. He stopped me.

“Alex. You're too large,” he muttered. “I won't be able to take you.”

“Don't worry. I know how to do this.” I kissed his neck, savoring the anticipation of my next meal. “Just relax, I won't hurt you.”

He took a deep breath and relaxed. His virgin arse was small and tight. The thrill of entering him excited me even more. I felt the muscles in his body tighten, working against me. He gasped as my thickness gained access. The warmth of him surrounded me as I moved further inside. The tightness of his muscles squeezed my prick. I moved deeper. His body became wet with sweat, his breath heavy against my face. I moved deeper, my stomach churning with desire. I kissed his neck, feeling the blood flowing beneath the surface of his skin—it made my hunger grow. I licked and sucked on his neck, warming the skin for the incision with my teeth. I felt his heart beating faster, the blood rapidly moving within. I licked my lips and exposed my teeth. I raised my head to make the initial plunge.

“I will love you forever!” he whispered into my ear.

My eyes widened; my heart stopped. I froze as my teeth were just scratching the surface of Tony's neck. I jumped up, my sex still inside him. The look on my face must have startled him. He panicked and pulled away from me, pulling me out of him. I looked at him, seeing myself in his eyes. Tears filled my eyes, tears I didn't know I had. Looking at him was looking at myself in a mirror. I couldn't take from him what had been taken from me. I loved Stephan during that moment, the moment just before he had killed me, and now I was about to do the same thing to Tony. I turned away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, my hands over my face to hide my teeth.

“You need to leave Tony.” I spoke softly, but I knew he heard my words. “Please, you don't know me. I don't want you to see me as I am.” The words he spoke I will never forget.

“You don't want me to see?” He moved behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “See what? That you're not like me? I know that. I know what you are.”

I turned around quickly at his words and looked at him. His eyes were warm and caring as they looked at me, at my body. I saw in his eyes that he did see the true me. He knew I was not like him.

“Why me? Why would you want to be with someone like me, someone who has to kill to survive?”

“Just look at yourself!” He started to giggle, as if realizing the impossibility of that statement. “Sorry.” He pulled me around to face him. “You're incredibly sexy, you're young, and you will always stay that way.” He touched my face then continued. “All I want in life is to be able to love someone and have them love me back. I don't want to have to face the day when someone I'm with will die. I don't want to have to face those long, lonely nights afterward, living a life filled with regrets.”

“But you don't understand my life. It's ugly and cold.”

“I know you have to kill to survive, and I'm willing to accept that. All I ask is that you let me love you, and that you love me in return. I know this can work; you just have to believe and let me get close to you.”

He became quiet in that moment. My mind raced with thoughts and emotions. I didn't know what to say—all I knew was that I loved him. I wiped the tears from my face and kissed him. We fell back to the bed wrapped in each other's arms. I let him enter me, something I had never let anyone do since the night with Stephan. His cock was long and slender, and filled me with immense pleasure. In those moments with him, I felt I was once again alive.

That night was nine months ago. Since then, Tony and I have become inseparable except for those long, lonely daytime hours when Tony must work and I must sleep. Meeting Tony has changed my life. He has shown me, for the first time, what it is like to be alive. When I'm with him, I feel like I have been given a second chance. I no longer thirst for revenge against my sire. Instead, my kills are quick and relatively painless for my victims. I kill only to survive.

Tony became an integral part of my feeding, and I soon realized that if Tony could accept my feeding—the darkest side to my life—then there was nothing that could harm us. How deceitful I had been to myself and to him to think that nothing could separate us. The deception came to the forefront last evening. Tony asked me to change him, to make him like me so we would never be separated, not even by his own death.

I hope he understands what those words did to me. I cannot take from him his life, no matter how tempting the thought of being able to live forever with him. I hope someday he will find these pages and understand why I had to do what I'm about to do.

The sun is almost upon the new day and it is time I end this journal. To find my way to the ocean's edge and, for the first time in hundreds of years, watch the sun come up over the horizon. The last thing my eyes will see is the glorious colors of a new day. The last thing my mind will see will be the face of my beloved Tony. How strange it seems to know this will be my last entry. I want to leave by saying this.

Tony, I will love you forever.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Common Ground

by Cassidy Ryan & Tyler McKenzie

Bryce Kennedy took the steps two at a time. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he dashed it aside along with wet bangs as his chest heaved with exertion. Standing at the top of the stairs, moving just enough to keep himself from cooling down too rapidly, Shay Gibson focused all his attention on Bryce, silently willing him to come on, come on, keep going...

It was their fifth time running the stairs in the college football stadium. Shay could see the pain on Bryce's face, and right there with the pain was more determination than Shay could ever remember seeing on the face of another man.

As he watched Bryce approach, Shay thought back to the day Bryce had come to him, captain of the soccer team, and offered to pay for help getting ready to take the FBI entrance physical exam. Shay had taken one look at Bryce—tall, underweight, all knees and elbows like a poster boy for computer geeks everywhere—and thought it would be the hardest damn paycheck he'd ever earned.

Three months later? Damned if Bryce Kennedy wasn't just about the most impressive man Shay had ever met. Bryce ran the four miles from his apartment to the gym every morning at five where he would meet Shay to start on the fitness plan Shay had worked out for him. After school, Bryce would either run laps at the track or tackle the stairs in the stadium.

The first time Shay had Bryce run the stairs, Bryce had gotten halfway up the first flight and almost passed out—when he got to the top he had puked his guts out. He stuck rigidly to the diet Shay had created for him, and he hadn't bitched or whined even once in Shay's earshot. Bryce had the kind of willpower and strength of spirit that athletes at the very top of their game would sell their souls for.

Then there was the fact that Bryce was a genuinely decent guy, with an easy manner and open, friendly nature that was a rare find. But Shay was trying his hardest not to think about that. This was a paying job, nothing more. Bryce couldn't possibly find anything attractive about a man who had gotten into college on a sports scholarship and was majoring in physical education. A man who struggled every single day with his coursework thanks to dyslexia that left him with the reading abilities of a twelve-year-old. Bryce Kennedy was brilliant. He should find someone who matched him on an intellectual level; he deserved no less.

As he drew to a halt two steps below Shay and bent over with his hands on his knees, Bryce dragged in air and grinned widely. “I feel like doing a little victory dance, you know, like that scene in Rocky?”

Shay laughed out loud at that image. “Okay, Champ, let's go before your ego gets as big as your biceps.” Shay cringed inwardly at his own words. He really didn't want to be thinking about the physical changes the last three months had wrought on Bryce.

* * * *

Bryce tilted his head back, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair and enjoying the steaming hot water. He still couldn't believe that after only three months, he was already seeing dramatic changes in his muscle definition and endurance. The first time he had stared at the top of the stairs from the stadium grounds, it had seemed like an impossible task, but to his genuine and unending surprise, Bryce was actually beginning to enjoy working out, and he had Shay to thank. Shay had provided the motivation he needed to get started, and Shay's intensity was infectious.

Bryce grabbed the soap and started to wash off, appreciating the new form of his own physique. Some might even mistake him for a jock. As a self-identified geek, Bryce had never been too concerned about his outward appearance. Sitting in front of a computer, easily losing track of hours that seemed to pass within a few blinks, didn't do much for building muscles. Instead, Bryce had put his hard work into creating computer programs, including a strategy action game that had become quite popular among his fellow students.

As he relaxed, Bryce's mind began to wander to his game and the improvements he wanted to make. All his free time used to be spent beefing up his game, but lately he had given up a lot of that time to work with Shay, and it was definitely worth it.

Distracted by his thoughts, Bryce turned off the water and grabbed his towel, walking out to his locker and mumbling algorithms under his breath. He came to a sudden halt when he looked up and saw Shay, already dressed and standing in front of him. Shay may not dress in the latest fashions, but the guy carried himself well and had a body that Bryce had noticed from the start.

Bryce watched as Shay finished drying his hair—dark blond hair so different from Bryce's own boring brown, with curls that just begged to be played with. Then Shay slipped on the thin, wire-frame glasses that completed his look, drawing attention to blue-green eyes so crisp and deep a man could fall into them. Bryce had noticed those eyes right away—they were definitely Shay's best feature among his otherwise average looks. He tried not to dwell on the fact that late at night, when he let his fantasies take over, what Bryce saw in his mind as he came were blue-green eyes staring back at him.

Thinking of those gorgeous eyes started to have an effect on Bryce's body, and before losing all control he turned his focus back to his locker. He had never lacked for dates in the past and had long ago realized that his looks were better than average. Blessed with 20/20 vision, Bryce had never needed corrective lenses, but there was something about a man with glasses that set him off. Every time Shay wrinkled his nose to push his glasses up, Bryce had to fight to resist reaching over to help him out.

The sound of a locker slamming behind him alerted Bryce that Shay was done, and he quickly finished gathering up his things. Out of the corner of his eye, Bryce could see Shay shuffling about, clearly trying to work up the courage to ask him something. Bryce coughed to cover up his chuckle and kept himself busy with arranging his things, waiting patiently for Shay.

Shay finally cleared his throat and began to speak. “Do you want to go grab a bite to eat on the quad? You know ... if you aren't too busy?” Shay asked quietly, stumbling over his words.

Bryce gazed at the quiet, shy jock pushing his glasses up while staring at the ground, a gesture that had become so familiar. He smiled and answered without needing to think at all.

* * * *

The main cafeteria on the quad was busy with the dinner crowd. Shay smiled to himself as he wove through the tables. Bryce hadn't even hesitated before accepting his invitation; he'd just leveled one of those thousand watt smiles at him and said, “Sure,” like it was the best idea ever.

Okay, so it wasn't like it was a date or anything, but that knowledge didn't diminish the pleasure engulfing Shay's brain.

Their progress slowed somewhat when Bryce was stopped several times on the way to the counter.

“Yo, Bryce—level four, dude!”

“Bryce: A+! I owe you big time, man!”

“Bryce, you fuckin’ rock!”

Slowing but not stopping, Bryce took the time to respond to every greeting sent his way as he continued to follow Shay to the counter.

“What'll it be?” Shay picked up a tray and nodded toward the food on display behind the glass guard.

Bryce grinned. “I don't suppose a double cheeseburger is on the menu?”

“Not for you. Why don't you grab us a table, and I'll get some food that won't harden our arteries before we get out the door?” Shay shouldered Bryce aside with a laugh. The tremor of want that rushed through him when Bryce pouted theatrically was just embarrassing. Shay quickly turned away and pretended to be studying the food.

A few minutes later, tray loaded with pasta and salad, Shay grabbed two bottles of chilled water and handed his card to the cashier to pay for their meals. He turned and scanned the room, but it didn't take him long to zero in on Bryce—head and shoulders taller than most men—although Shay was pretty sure he was developing some kind of radar where Bryce was concerned. Some part of his brain seemed to be acutely attuned to the guy's presence.

As he approached the table near the window where Bryce waited, Shay's footsteps faltered when he saw another guy slide into the chair beside Bryce. A cold knot started to form low in Shay's stomach when the guy leaned close to Bryce, close enough that it could only be described as intimate. Feeling awkward, Shay stopped completely and shuffled his feet, unsure of how to continue.

Bryce's head turned then, and out of sight of his unexpected companion he rolled his eyes at Shay and smiled sheepishly. Uncertain of whether or not his company was still wanted, Shay held his place, stomach twisting uncomfortably with embarrassment.

“Shay, buddy, I'm starving to death over here.” Bryce gestured him over with enough enthusiasm to convince Shay he wasn't just being polite.

Shay moved forward again, but the pleasure of just a few minutes ago had dimmed a little. He set the tray down on the table and sat in the chair opposite Bryce, nodding briefly to the new guy.

“Man, this looks great; I'm hungry enough to eat a rabid skunk.” Bryce picked up his knife and fork and fell on his food like he hadn't eaten in a week. When his mouth was packed with food, Bryce raised his head and looked from Shay to the other man at the table. A soft blush colored Bryce's cheeks, and he chewed and swallowed with a speed that made Shay wince.

“Sorry, uh, Shay, this is Kris—we're working on that program I told you about, for the local school district. Kris, this is Shay, the one responsible for the vision of manly beauty you see before you.” Bryce smiled widely and shoveled more food into his face.

Shay nodded again and poked at the food on his plate. “Kris.”

Kris leaned forward, pinning Shay with a pair of sharp blue eyes that left Shay cold. “So, Shay, what do you do?”

“I'm studying Phys. Ed. and I'm on the soccer team.” He bit into a piece of pasta and thought it might as well have been a lump of rubber for all the appetite he suddenly had.

Kris’ eyes narrowed fractionally, and Shay got the distinct impression that the man was laughing at him. “Wow, that's ... great. So, what will that translate to in, you know, the real world?”

Biting the inside of his lip, Shay fought the urge to stick his fork in the guy's fuckin’ head.

Bryce took a long gulp of water and pointed his fork at Shay while talking to Kris. “This guy has got some serious interest from several Major League Soccer teams—there's practically a bidding war going on to sign his talents—and he's also taking courses to get his coaching licenses.”

Pushing his glasses up over his nose in an attempt to cover his face, Shay saw Kris’ eyes and mouth tighten fractionally.

“Cool.” Turning away from Shay, Kris focused his attention on Bryce. “So, do you want to come over tonight? Do some ... work?”

Shay didn't miss the slight pause, as he was sure was Kris’ intent, nor did he miss the way Kris’ hand dropped beneath the surface of the table.

A wave of nausea washed over Shay and he felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to get out. He pushed his plate away from him with more force than he'd intended and sprang to his feet.

“Shay? You okay?” Bryce looked at him from puzzled brown eyes, fork hovering between plate and mouth.

“Uh, yeah, I just ... I really should go. I have a paper to write.” He grabbed up his bag.

“Oh, okay, well I'll see you in the morning then?” For a second Shay thought Bryce looked a little disappointed, but that simply couldn't be possible.

“Sure, same time, same place.” Shay turned and left so quickly he almost fell over his own feet.

Idiot. Stupid fucking idiot. Letting himself think even for the briefest of moments that Bryce...

Anger at himself roiled through Shay. Here he was, on his way to start working on a paper that wasn't due for another two weeks because it would take his fuckin’ defective brain three times longer to get it done than anyone else, while Bryce would spend his evening working on a program that would be teaching school kids things that Shay probably couldn't begin to comprehend.

Yeah, talk about a match made in heaven.

Shoving through the cafeteria doors, Shay's mind shied away from the other things Bryce might spend his evening doing.

* * * *

As Bryce watched Shay cross the cafeteria and leave, he frowned. He wasn't completely sure why Shay had departed so suddenly, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Kris.

Although he and Kris knew each other from class, Bryce wouldn't exactly call them friends. They had met freshman year when they found themselves bonding over a new definition of bored in their required introduction to programming class. Learning that Kris was also gay was a dangerous combination, and the reckless abandon of being a first-year student resulted in a wild make-out session after returning to Kris’ dorm room. While it had been fun at the time, Bryce quickly realized that he wasn't just looking for a quick fuck, and the connection he sought was not present with Kris in any way.

Several years of shared classes and a few joint projects had not dampened Kris’ desires in any way, despite the fact that Bryce never gave the man any encouragement or even a hint that he was interested. Bryce was starting to regret agreeing to work with Kris yet again, and whenever they were together all Bryce could think about was how much he would rather be spending time with Shay. Bryce had thought he would be able to fend off any advances from Kris, but that had proven to be harder than he had ever anticipated, and Kris had chosen the absolute worst time to stake a claim.

“What's his problem? And why the hell are you hanging out with him anyway?” asked Kris with barely disguised disdain.

“Shay's a great guy, man. He's really helping me get in shape for the FBI. I couldn't do it without him.” Bryce poked his fork into the pasta, not surprised to find he had lost his appetite.

Kris shook off the sneer that had been directed toward Shay's departing back and directed a wicked grin at Bryce, moving closer and slipping his arm over Bryce's shoulders. “You know you could have come to me if you wanted help. I know I could come up with some special workouts certain to make you break out in a sweat all over, and be far more ... pleasurable than lifting weights.” The wink was the final straw, and Bryce extracted himself out from under Kris’ arm.

“No thanks, I'll stick with Shay. Look man, I gotta go. I'll give you a call later about finishing up the program for the school district.” Bryce threw down his silverware, gathered up the tray, and walked toward the garbage can to dispose of the mostly uneaten meal.

As Bryce walked toward the exit, Kris easily slipped from his mind as his thoughts turned determinedly to Shay. Even though it might be true that he had a paper to work on, Bryce didn't want to wait any longer to talk to Shay. His pace quickened as he headed for Shay's dorm.

* * * *

Shay trudged up the stairs to his room on the top floor, glad not for the first time that he had managed to swing a single room for his senior year. The guys on the team were great, for the most part. A couple of them were jackasses who were clearly uncomfortable sharing a shower with a queer, but most of the guys had pretty quickly realized that Shay wasn't interested in checking out their dicks. However, sharing a dorm with a bunch of hairy-assed, smelly jocks for three years was enough for any man. Shay enjoyed the peace and quiet of his room, and appreciated no longer having to be quite so vigilant about hiding his intellectual shortcomings. The guys on the team would never be rocket scientists, but they were a bright bunch and Shay had no wish to be labeled the dumb jock.

In his room, Shay dumped his bag and fell back on the bed, arms thrown out to the sides, energy for nothing more than staring mindlessly at the ceiling.

He thought about the way Bryce had immediately sprung to his defense with that dick Kris, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

What Bryce had said was true enough; Shay did have a few MLS teams interested in signing him, most recently DC United. A flush of embarrassment heated Shay's face when he thought about the little fantasy he had spun around that offer. Bryce had told him that joining the FBI would mean being in a unit based at Quantico, within easy commuting distance of Washington. They could easily maintain a relationship and follow their career paths too.

Shay snorted in self-derision. Yeah, as if.

Tired of feeling sorry for himself, he pushed off the bed, shed his jacket and boots, and sat down at the desk in front of the window. He wasn't going to have any friggin’ career if he didn't graduate. Time to stop wishful thinking and get real.

He started up his laptop and opened the file he needed for his paper, but for ten minutes he just sat and stared blankly at the screen. Disgust tore a growl from his throat and he got up again to begin pacing the floor.

On his tenth circuit between the bed and the window, throwing a hateful glance at the computer on each pass, a knock at the door startled him. He thought about ignoring it. Some of the younger guys on the team had adopted Shay as their father figure/mentor/agony uncle, and while he usually didn't mind listening, today he really wasn't in the mood. But the thought of some kid getting a bleeding skull tattoo on his chest because Shay hadn't been there to slap him upside the head was enough to steer him to the door.

When he opened the door and saw Bryce standing on the other side, a small, nervous-looking smile playing on his lips, all Shay could do was stare. In an uncommon show of unease, Bryce moved his feet and hunched his shoulders, looking for all the world like an awkward teenager.

“So, uh, are you gonna invite me in?” He looked at Shay from under his bangs, and Shay had the strongest urge to ruffle his hair. But touching would be bad—he might not be able to stop at the hair.

“Sure, sure, come on in.” Shay stepped to the side, and as Bryce passed him, Shay's nostrils flared when he caught the man's scent. Jesus, he was so fuckin’ gone.

He took his time closing the door, and took a couple deep breaths before turning to Bryce with a smile he hoped didn't look too forced.

“Is everything okay?” Shay asked, concern touching him when he found Bryce looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Bryce shook his head. “No, not really, but maybe ... I don't know, it's...” He shook his head again and sighed.

Without thinking, Shay took a step forward, his hand raised to touch Bryce. At the last moment, he dropped it to his side. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, exactly. I was thinking...” He paused and Shay could almost see Bryce's brain struggling to find the right words. It was so unlike Bryce that Shay felt utterly confused.

“Okay, here it is.” Bryce nodded and looked directly at Shay. “Do you want to go out with me? Like on a date?”

Shay's jaw actually dropped, his eyes widened, and when he spoke his voice croaked. “Date? You? Me?”

“You haven't thought about it?” Bryce looked so disappointed that Shay could offer him nothing but complete honesty.

“Yeah, I've thought about it ... a lot,” he whispered.

“But?” The air in the room felt thick with tension.

Shay crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his socked feet. “I've thought about it a lot, but ... we're so different. You're so you, and I'm ... shit, I can barely read without moving my lips.” He shrugged and hated the sting at the back of his eyes.

“Do you love me?” Shay's head snapped up at Bryce's words, surprised to find Bryce standing barely a foot away from him.

“Do I...?” Shay didn't even recognize his own voice, it was so strained. His stomach felt like a hand had grabbed it and was twisting without mercy.

“Because if you did, that would be good. Great, even.” Bryce took another step forward until the toe of his sneaker was almost touching Shay's foot.

“Great? Wait, I...” Shay knew he wasn't the sharpest tack in the box, but he also knew he wasn't a complete moron. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, desperately trying to ignore the warmth of hope blossoming in his chest. “Bryce ... do you love me?”

Twin spots of color touched Bryce's cheeks. “It's some pretty solid common ground, don't you think?”

The words bounced around Shay's brain like out-of-control fireworks, small explosions of colors and stars. His hands fell numbly to his side. “You love me?”

“Is that so incredible?” Bryce looked oddly annoyed.

“Incredible? Let me think about it for a second. Hell yeah, it's incredible!” Shay turned away and walked to the window, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Why?”

Shay turned to face Bryce. “You mean apart from the fact that you're like this genius with a brilliant future and you fuckin’ rock, and I'm this semi-literate shmuck who's only discernible talent is the ability to kick a fuckin’ ball?” His voice rose in pitch with every word he spoke, and the fireworks in his head were starting to feel more like the beginnings of a stroke.

“Shay...” Bryce moved toward him. Shay threw up a hand to keep him away, but Bryce just kept coming as panic flared in Shay.

* * * *

Shay loved him, he was sure of it. Unwilling to listen to Shay put himself down any more, Bryce realized there was only one thing left to do. He moved forward, and pushing aside the hand that Shay had thrown up to stop him, Bryce reached in and slid his free hand to the back of Shay's neck, feeling those soft curls brush against his skin. His gaze locked with Shay's, and after seeing his own emotions reflected within those blue-green eyes, Bryce leaned in the last few inches and placed his lips against Shay's.

When Shay didn't react or move a muscle, Bryce worried he had overstepped, moved too quickly. His eyes remain locked on Shay's, reluctant to close and lose that connection. But as Bryce watched, Shay's eyelids closed slowly and his head tipped gently to the side. Shay began to return Bryce's kiss, the intensity growing with each passing second. Bryce's eyes slid closed and he let himself fall into the kiss as their lips melded together. Tingles spread throughout his whole body and Bryce knew that he had been right.

This was love.

Their kiss deepened, and when Bryce felt Shay's tongue run along his lips asking for entrance and a hand move to the small of his back, Bryce couldn't suppress a soft moan. He parted his lips, and Shay took possession of his mouth, tongue exploring every inch.

A groan escaped Bryce when Shay ended the kiss and pulled back, placing his forehead against Bryce's. Both men were panting, desperately sucking in the air they had sacrificed.

“Why did you stop?” Bryce asked cautiously, not wanting to spook Shay and cause him to pull away.

“We shouldn't be doing this. We can't ... we aren't...” Shay seemed to be having difficulty finding the right words.

“We should. We can. We are. Shay, I love you. I mean it. I want to be with you.” Bryce desperately hoped he could get through to Shay, make him see, make him understand what his heart already knew.

“But you deserve so much—”

“I deserve you,” Bryce interrupted, moving his hands to the sides of Shay's face. “We deserve each other. I've fallen in love with you. You're strong and passionate and kind and funny, and what you see as faults, I see as small pieces of what makes you the best person I know. I love everything about you, and I am who I am now because of you. I deserve you.”

* * * *

Shay's heart pounded within his chest with every word of Bryce's admission. He loves me. This beautiful, talented man standing before him had rocked his world, and Shay was swamped with a sudden determination to prove him right.

Shay pulled Bryce into his arms, holding him tight, feeling how well their bodies fit together. He ran his hands over Bryce's back, moving down to grab onto the ass that he had spent months admiring in secret. Shay heard a soft moan and smiled, determined to do everything he could to hear that sweet and sexy noise from Bryce over and over again.

Moving his lips to Bryce's neck, Shay began kissing and nibbling the flesh, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to send shivers coursing through Bryce's body. Again the soft moan sounded, but this time it accompanied breath against Shay's ear.

“Make love to me, Shay,” Bryce whispered. “I want to feel you inside me.”

A deep groan escaped Shay before he could stop it, and his cock hardened even further. Slipping his hand down, Shay gripped Bryce's cock, finding it just as hard as his own. He clenched his fingers, and Bryce gasped and pushed his hips toward Shay's hand, silently begging for more contact. His other hand slipped down and began to unbutton Bryce's jeans. When he managed to get the zipper down and pushed aside cotton underwear, Bryce's cock fell into Shay's palm so hard and hot Shay could feel blood pumping. He pulled gently, twisting slightly with his hand.

“Oh god, Shay, so good,” Bryce panted. “Don't stop.”

“Not gonna, babe.” Shay grabbed hold of Bryce's jeans and pulled them down as he moved to his knees, taking Bryce's underwear down as well. He yanked off Bryce's shoes and helped him step out of his jeans. Throwing them to the side, Shay looked up at Bryce, his cock sticking out from his belly, the tip already moist and glistening.

Desperate for a taste, Shay moved his hands up Bryce's legs to the man's ass and squeezed hard while running his tongue from the base of Bryce's cock to the tip. Gripping the base with his hand, Shay ran his tongue around the head, pausing briefly to push into Bryce's slit and taste the bitter precome. Shay trailed his tongue down Bryce's shaft and back up, following the thick vein, and then swallowed Bryce down to the base.

“Oh fuckin’ hell!” Bryce cried out, and Shay smiled even as he began to move up and down, alternating between taking Bryce far back into his throat and massaging the shaft with his tongue.

Bryce started to pump his hips, pushing in and out of Shay's mouth and Shay gave one final suck before pulling off Bryce's cock, a line of spit trailing between his mouth and the tip. As Shay stood up, he could see confusion on Bryce's face and he quickly kissed Bryce, sharing the taste of cock with him.

Shay walked Bryce backward to the bed, never letting up on the kissing. When they reached the edge, he pushed Bryce down and pulled off Bryce's shirt, revealing the gorgeous chest. Shay quickly pulled off his own clothes and moved onto the bed, settling between Bryce's legs, kissing and nuzzling the man beneath him.

Reaching for the nightstand, Shay pulled out a condom and bottle of lube, his cock getting harder and hands shaking at the thought of what was to happen. Bryce took the condom from him, opening it quickly and reaching down to Shay's cock with one hand. When Bryce pumped his hand up and down, Shay let out a deep groan and hissed as he fought down the pleasure that almost overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes and breathing deep, he pulled back from the edge.

Bryce slid the condom down Shay's cock, settling it at the base. Shay could see love and anticipation in Bryce's eyes as Bryce grabbed his own knees and pulled them up and open.

Snagging the bottle of lube, Shay snapped it open, squirted some onto his fingers and moved down to Bryce's asshole, running his fingers around the outer rim. Shay leaned down and kissed Bryce hard and fast, and slipped one finger in, moving slowly. When he reached the first knuckle, Shay paused briefly to let Bryce adjust before pushing in all the way.

“Fuck yes! Oh god yes, Shay, more.”

Pulling out his finger, Shay carefully pushed back in with two fingers, stopping again at the first knuckle. When Bryce began moving his hips to take in more, Shay pressed his fingers in deep, pushing them in and out, fucking Bryce's ass. Shay's cock was so hard he didn't think he could wait much longer, but he kept control over himself, determined to make sure Bryce would be ready for him.

Bryce whimpered and begged, “Shay please, now. I need you, Shay. Please.”

Shay withdrew his fingers and gripped his own cock, moving the head to Bryce's hole and pausing. Looking into Bryce's eyes, he said, “You never have to beg, baby.” And with that he pushed his cock in steadily until his balls hit Bryce's ass and he was buried as deep as he could get, driving a gasp out of Bryce. Shay paused again, letting Bryce fully adjust to his girth, and leaned over and whispered in Bryce's ear, “I love you, too.”

* * * *

Bryce whimpered at Shay's declaration and as Shay began to move in and out, each time hitting Bryce's prostate, Bryce lifted his hips in a perfect rhythm, wrapping his legs around Shay's back and pulling him in deeper, deeper. The room filled with soft moans and grunts, the air thick with sweat and musk, skin hot and slick.

“Oh fuck, harder Shay, make me feel you for a week.” Bryce clutched at Shay's back, fingers slipping, blunt nails scraping. He was so hard it was almost painful, his cock rubbing between their bellies with each thrust, the friction both delicious and torturous.

Above him, Shay buried his face in the curve of Bryce's throat, his breath harsh and stuttering. “Jesus, Bryce, so good ... so fucking good.” Shay's hips snapped, and Bryce felt the tremble in the man's muscles as he pounded into Bryce even harder.

In all his life, Bryce had never felt so full, so complete. His back bowed and he slid his fingers into Shay's damp hair, moaning when he felt Shay's teeth at his collarbone, hoping Shay would leave a mark.

When Shay eased a hand between their bodies and wrapped hard, callused fingers around his cock, Bryce cried out and his spine arched so acutely that he thought it might snap. In time with his increasingly erratic thrusts, Shay moved that hand, fingers tightening and loosening, adding a little twist on every upstroke that had Bryce moaning like a five-dollar whore.

Bryce knew he wasn't going to last—it was too intense, too good, too everything. He felt his orgasm start as a tingle in the base of his spine, and it spread like wildfire through his veins and muscles. His balls pulled up tight against his body and he knew he was gone. He wanted Shay right there with him, so he squeezed down on the thick, hard cock pounding into him and heard Shay groan long and low in response.

“Gonna come, baby,” Bryce ground out. “Come with me.”

“Yes!” Shay raised his head and locked his gaze on Bryce's, and like that, staring into each other's eyes, they fell over the edge. Bryce's cock pulsed, shooting come between their bodies, and he felt like the top was going to blow off his head, that his body wasn't big enough to contain the level of pleasure surging through it.

Shay grunted, the rhythm of his hips faltering, and Bryce felt the pulse of his cock as he filled the condom. When Shay collapsed, his arms seemingly incapable of holding him up any longer, Bryce caught him and held him tight as they fought to drag air into lungs no exercise regimen had ever taxed so thoroughly.

They came down slowly, murmuring soft words and inarticulate promises against each other's skin. They were hot, sticky and vaguely disgusting, but Bryce felt no inclination to move out of the arms holding him.

Bryce grinned lazily as he felt sleep creep up on him and heard Shay's breathing start to even out. No, this was right where he wanted—needed—to be.

* * * *

It was dark when they woke, the only light in the room the glow of the computer screen and the numbers on the clock by the bed. Bryce ran his hand over Shay's cooled skin, and when Shay lifted his head, Bryce smiled and brought their mouths together.

“One more thing,” Bryce said after a particularly sinful kiss.

“Yeah?” Shay asked after a brief pause, laying his head on Bryce's shoulder.

“If I ever hear you put yourself down like that again, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

Shay snickered and moved in for another kiss. “You can try.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Taming of the Bull

by Taylor Lochland

I was so angry I could almost feel the trails of steam rising out of my ears. Charlatan. Fraud. Swindler. Those were just a few of the more polite words that came to my mind as I opened the door to the New Age shop. The overpowering scent of incense and candles almost made me gag, and the dim lighting made it difficult for me to see. I remained by the door for a moment to let my senses adjust, and needing that moment made me angrier. By the time I'd marched to the counter, I was almost ready to leap over it to strangle the young man sitting there.

“I need to speak to Gabriel Starlight,” I growled, clenching my fists so tight my nails dug into the flesh of my palms.

The man looked up at me calmly, obviously unaffected by my negativity. “I am Gabriel Starlight. What can I do for you?”

I quickly ran my eyes over him and could understand how my mother had fallen for his scam. The guy was a little younger than me, probably in his late twenties, and quite attractive with his smile full of straight white teeth, with wavy blond hair that just touched his shoulders. I wasn't about to be taken in by his looks.

“I want a refund,” I said, slamming a small stack of papers on the counter.

“A refund? But I don't recall ever seeing you.” Gabriel thumbed through the papers. “Ah, yes. Your mother had me cast your entire family's astrological charts. You must be the Taurus son. Patrick Powers, isn't it?”

I wondered how he knew that. “Yes, I'm Patrick, but whether or not I'm the Taurus means nothing. Astrology's fake, and my mother can't afford to waste money on this bullshit.”

“And because you believe it's a sham, you want me to give you a refund.” Gabriel let out a soft sigh, but otherwise an atmosphere of calm remained around him. “I'm afraid I can't do that. I put hours of work into these charts, and your mother paid for my time. Besides, you aren't my client.” He pushed the papers back toward me. “If your mother isn't satisfied with my work, she can come talk to me.”

As much as it made my blood boil to admit it, the man did have a point. I'd just have to talk some sense into my mother. “Fine.” I snatched the papers and rolled them up, brandishing them like a weapon as I spoke. “I'll be back. Don't think this is over.”

“Oh, I certainly hope you're right about that,” I heard him say before the door closed behind me.

* * * *

My mother refused to return to the shop.

“That young man did a fine job,” she insisted. “He nailed you perfectly. Look.” She ran a finger over my chart as she read. “It says here, ‘is highly intelligent and logical. Unfortunately, is also quite stubborn about his beliefs and opinions, and sees anything that deviates from his world-view as stupid and worthless.’ And it's for entertainment purposes anyway,” she added, pointing to the disclaimer at the bottom of the paper.

I tried to let it go, but that turned out to be impossible. The harder I tried to forget about it, the more that man invaded my thoughts. When I closed my eyes, I'd see that grinning face. That night when I couldn't sleep, I got out of bed, turned on my computer, and looked him up. It was easy to find information about him—apparently, he was rather well known in the New Age community. He had shown an affinity for astrology at a young age, and had been casting horoscopes since he was fourteen. He was now thirty-one. He'd been at it long enough.

I decided I would teach people the truth about astrology. I spent the rest of the night writing up an informational pamphlet, completely debunking the pseudoscience. As a skeptic and a science teacher, it was my duty to distribute this information to Gabriel's customers before they wasted their money. It would also give me an excuse to return to the shop without my mother, but that was a little fact I tried to banish from my mind.

I had copies of my pamphlet made and was outside the New Age shop the very next evening. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to be turning any customers away. Most people either declined to accept the paper, or they simply took a cursory glance before shoving it into a pocket or dropping it into a nearby garbage can.

I kept thinking about Gabriel, knowing he was just inside the building. At one point, I found myself looking in through the window to watch him as he consulted with a young female client. He looked up and met my gaze, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upward. He waved at me then turned his attention back to his customer. Scowling, I gathered up my things and went home.

* * * *

The next day, I kept telling myself that I wasn't going to go back and waste my time. However, that evening I found myself standing outside the store once again. Whenever I glanced inside—which I did fairly often—he would flash that damned smile, making my ears feel hot.

I finally decided to be at least partially honest with myself. I wanted to talk to him, but I just told myself that I wanted to teach him the error of his ways and help him find a more respectable line of work. Before I could decide on how to initiate the conversation, I heard the door open behind me.

“You know, most of my clients assume you're one of those religious nuts who thinks astrology's the work of the devil.”

“What?” I rolled my eyes, trying to remain calm. “Pfft. Don't they even read what I give them?”

“Not really, no. Those church folks come around here about once or twice a year, but you're my first irate skeptic.” He pushed a hand back through his hair, tucking a few unruly strands behind his ears. “You guys take on astrology and other paranormal phenomenon as a whole on websites and science shows, but individually you usually leave us alone. Unless we have a television show or some such thing that draws a lot of attention.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “There's a first time for everything.”

“True enough.” He shrugged and smiled. “Anyway, you don't seem to be having much luck. So why did you come back?”

I looked away. “I don't know. You're the psychic; you tell me.”

“I have a theory.” Gabriel laughed. “But the psychic thing doesn't work that way.” He turned away momentarily to lock the door of the shop. “Besides, I'm not a true psychic. Just a humble astrologer and practitioner of what some would call the mystical arts. Or what others, like yourself, would mistakenly call horse shit.”

“Mistakenly, huh? Whether or not you truly believe in what you're selling, it's still nonsense.” I could feel myself on the verge of getting angry again, and I did my best to control it. Still, I felt my ears getting hot again and I knew they were flushing red. Damn things always had to give me away.

Gabriel seemed to notice but tactfully avoided comment. “I'd love to chat with you. Walk with me?”

“Sure.” I nodded and fell into step beside him, carrying my remaining brochures under my arm.

“Your mother doesn't have any complaints about my work, I take it?” he asked after an uncomfortable silence.

“No.” I turned my head away and looking at the ground. “She doesn't think you did anything wrong.”

“I figured.” We turned the corner into a residential area. “Why are you so opposed to what I do, anyway? Even if you don't believe in astrology, a lot of other people do. What's the harm?”

“What's the harm? It keeps people in the Dark Ages. Keeps them from learning to think critically.”

“Dark Ages, huh?” I could tell that he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “That's cute.”

“It's not cute! Please don't condescend.”

“Sorry.” Another moment of silence passed. “Forgive me if I'm way off base here, but, I'm starting to think there might be another reason you came back. Twice.” He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye.

I fell silent. I knew what he was getting at, but I still hadn't admitted it, even to myself. How could someone like him possibly intrigue me?

He stopped walking and gently but firmly gripped the wrist of my free hand. “Well?”

Finally, unable to stand the weight of his stare any longer, I spoke. “To be honest, I'm not sure. Maybe I want to study you.”

“Study me,” Gabriel repeated. “Interesting way to put it.”

“Wha-what do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean? I think you're attracted to me. For the record, I'm attracted to you, too.”

I looked at the hand still holding my wrist and sighed, my resolve slowly ebbing away. “I barely know you.”

“That hardly matters to a lot of people.” Gabriel chuckled. “But if it matters to you, let's remedy the situation. I already feel like I know you based on your astrological chart.” I opened my mouth to protest that idea, but he went on before I could say anything. “Is there anything in particular you'd like to know about me?” I could feel his thumb moving in small circles over my pulse point.

“Is your last name really Starlight?”

“Of course it isn't. It's really Korzeniowski.” Gabriel made a face at the sound of his own name. “Doesn't have quite the same ring, does it? Anything else?”

“Well, I ... I looked you up online,” I said, too distracted by his touch to think of anything else to ask.

His face lit up. “Did you? I was right. You are interested in me.”

“Maybe.” I knew my face reddened from the admission. Shaking my wrist free of his grip, I started walking again.

We'd only taken a few more steps when a hand squeezed my shoulder.

“You're tense. Once we get to my place, the first thing I'm going to do is teach you to relax.”

I stopped and turned to face him once again. “Who said that I'm going to your place?” I cursed my heartbeat for quickening at the thought.

“I did,” Gabriel said with a shrug. He slid his hand down my back, stopping just an inch above my rear. I thought I felt it linger for a second before he removed it completely.

I shivered, not entirely from the cool night air. “What makes you think you can decide that for me?” I tried to sound indignant. Too bad my voice involuntarily raised and came out more like a squeak.

“I'm not deciding anything for you, Patrick,” he said calmly. “I'm merely stating a fact. Do you deny that you were planning on coming along if I asked?”

I had half a mind to lie and deny it. However, I couldn't deny that I was enjoying being close to him. “No. I don't deny it.”

“Excellent.” Gabriel grabbed my arm and tugged me into an alley between the apartment buildings. He pushed me against the wall, sending my brochures fluttering to the ground. “So, you won't mind if I do this,” he whispered, leaning in and capturing my lips in a kiss, tangling his hand in the hair at the back of my head.

He was right; I didn't mind. In fact, I realized it was something I wanted to do. I kissed him back, my body sandwiched between his and the wall. However, being outdoors made me nervous. “Ga-Gabriel,” I said once he released my mouth.

“Yes, Patrick?” He tilted his head and nibbled at my earlobe, his hand massaging my scalp.

I briefly thought about ignoring the tingles that surged through my body and making up an excuse to get away. Rationally, it would have made sense to do so. I barely knew the man, and I'd just spent the past couple days trying to chase away his business, after all. I was usually a rational man, but when I touched his shoulders and felt strong muscles under his clothing as I feebly tried to push him away, when I saw the way moonlight glinted off his hair, I finally admitted I would gladly go anywhere and do anything with this man.

All I could say was, “Not here.”

“You're in luck,” Gabriel said, running a finger along my cheek and slowly pulling away. “I live nearby. As a matter of fact, this is my building.” He nodded toward the wall at my back.

“You were taking me home already, were you?” I had to laugh at how easily I'd fallen into his snare. Never mind that I'd wanted to. I could only hope that this trap would be a pleasant one. “Okay.”

“Good.” Gabriel flashed his white smile and hurried me up to his apartment. “Please excuse the clutter,” he said, opening the door and ushering me inside. I stood in the entryway for a moment, gaping at the contents of the interior. It very much resembled his shop. Partially finished astrological charts, multiple decks of tarot cards, and books on the occult littered the tables. A crystal ball and statues of various gods and goddesses were displayed on shelves, and a ritual altar covered with candles, herbs, and incense stood against the far wall.

“So you don't just practice astrology? You're ... what do they call that religion? Wiccan? Wicca?”

“I'm more of an eclectic Pagan, but close enough.”

“I ... I see.” I walked closer to the altar to get a better look. Gabriel was delusional in his beliefs for sure, but I couldn't deny that he—exactly the type of person I'd normally think of with disdain—had won me over. It had to be pheromones. Or his incredible blue eyes. Or that sort of cocky way he smiled.

That cocky smile appeared again. “Don't worry, I don't consort with the devil, and I won't try to convert you. But I'd like to show you just how satisfying being with a spiritualist can be.” He pressed his lips to mine again, kissing me gently at first, but with increased pressure as the moments passed.

I felt my knees buckle, but strong arms were wrapped around my waist, firmly holding me up. “I'm ... I'm definitely more relaxed now,” I said once we broke apart for air.

“I would say so,” Gabriel said with a chuckle. “But, I think I can help you become even more relaxed.” He pulled me further into the apartment.

I allowed myself to be led by the hand into the bedroom, where glow-in-the-dark stars and planets dotted the ceiling. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, likely from the candles and incenses on the nightstand.

His velvet voice whispered in my ear, “Why don't you take off your clothes and make yourself comfortable on the bed?”

“So we can jump right into things?” I felt my face getting hot.

“I can give you a massage.” Gabriel lit the candles, enhancing the sweet vanilla aroma in the room, and then opened the drawer of the nightstand and withdrew a plain wooden box. “You shouldn't be so impatient.” He set the box on the floor near the bed and took out a bottle of oil.

After a brief hesitation, I did as I was told. What person in their right mind would object to a free massage? Once I was naked and my clothes neatly folded and stacked on a nearby chair, I stretched out on the bed facedown, savoring the feeling of purple satin sheets against my skin. I turned my head and saw Gabriel rubbing oil on his hands as he examined my body with an approving smile.

“Very nice,” he said, settling down on the bed next to me.

I looked at Gabriel's still-clothed body. “I'm at a bit of a disadvantage here.” Being the only one naked made me feel a bit awkward and exposed.

“Well, you're the one getting the massage. And what did I just tell you about patience?” Gabriel teased, lightly swatting my bare ass.

“That's not helping me relax,” I grumbled, my face buried in the pillow. “And how do I know you're not just using the massage as an excuse to get me naked prematurely?”

Gabriel shrugged and grinned in response. “It seems that you have some psychic or intuitive abilities yourself.”

“That's not helping either.” What did help me relax, however, were skilled fingers kneading tight muscles in my back, working out knots and tension. “Okay ... that's better,” Sighing contentedly, I felt those hands moving lower on my body to massage my buttocks, fingers wandering near the cleft between my cheeks just close enough to tease before moving up again. After several minutes, I felt more relaxed than I'd felt in a long time. “You're pretty good at that. You should go into massage therapy. At least it has some legitimacy.”

“Thank you, but I'm picky about who I put my hands on. And I think you're ready.” Gabriel lightly tapped my shoulder and helped me sit back up, pulling me until I was between his legs, my bare back against his stomach. “Now, let's get your energy centered. Close your eyes.”

I turned my head and raised an eyebrow. “May I ask why?” I was getting plenty horny just being pressed up against him, feeling his body heat mixing with mine. I didn't need some hokey meditation.

“Stubborn bull—just like your zodiac sign.” Gabriel leaned over the edge of the bed and opened the wooden box. “Since you don't seem to want to close them...” He fished out a thick length of black fabric and tied it over my eyes. “This should make it easier for you to focus.”

I didn't resist. I'd always had a secret fantasy about being blindfolded during sex, but I never had the nerve to tell anyone. I wondered if he somehow knew that. “Focus on what?”

“On what you feel. To be honest—” He lowered his voice, murmuring into my ear, his breath hot. “An attractive naked man in a blindfold is a turn-on for me.” He pressed his groin into my back, and I felt the truth of his statement. I could have kicked myself for even entertaining the idea that he might have read my mind.

“What was that about being focused?” I felt my skin getting warmer, and feeling his warm, clothed body against my skin only served to raise my temperature further. My erection was growing, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to hide it. Not that there was any real reason to. “All right. You said deep breath.” I took a breath in then quickly let it out again.

“You need to breathe more from your diaphragm. Here.” Gabriel put his hands on my chest, near the sternum, his thumbs resting just below my nipples.

I inhaled, feeling the light pressure of Gabriel's hands moving with my breath. “Like that?”

“Better. Now, try not to pay attention to anything but your breathing.”

“What's that supposed to do?”

“It'll help you open yourself up.”

“To what?”

I could feel Gabriel's lips smiling against my bare neck. “You'll see.” His voice was low and his breath was hot, which did nothing to help me focus on my own breathing.

After I'd taken a few breaths and thought I was finally getting the hang of it, I felt his hands traveling up my chest. The touch was feather light and sent tingles radiating over my skin. I tried to continue with the breathing exercise, but the way my body involuntarily wriggled in Gabriel's arms made it difficult.

“Mmm ... sensitive,” Gabriel murmured, gently fingering the hard little peaks of my nipples. His hands wandered further downward.

“Y-yeah...” He seemed to be intentionally avoiding my cock but it didn't seem to matter. Every inch of my skin had become an erogenous zone. A soft gasp escaped me as my hips and belly were caressed.

His fingers slid just low enough to play with my curly dark hair. “You must have a lot of pent-up sexual energy,” Gabriel said. “I haven't even touched your chakras yet. When was the last time you had sex?”

“Ch-chakras,” I repeated with a hint of disdain. I'd heard of chakras and knew they were another silly New Age thing. Something about the energy of the body and the energy of the universe. “And it's none of your business.”

My skin felt suddenly cooler as Gabriel moved away, and I worried briefly that I might have pissed him off. He nudged me to lie down on my back and positioned me with my legs spread and my rear at the edge of the bed.

“Feel that?” He kissed my perineum, massaging it with his tongue, making me shiver a little.

“Ahhh ... of ... of course I feel it.”

“That's your root chakra.” Gabriel nipped the skin and replaced his tongue with his fingers, lightly rubbing the area. “It's one of your sexual energy centers.”

“It's just a ... bunch of nerves. Sending signals to my brain.”

He removed his fingers. “Turn over onto your stomach.”

I complied, and then felt his tongue start to move across my skin again. It explored deeper this time, running around the rim of my entrance. His fingers spread me just enough for the slick muscle to push inside.

“Mmmm.” I stretched out, delighting in the wet sensation. It was an act that my previous lover had refused to do. When I started to quiver, Gabriel pulled away and gave my rear a pat.

Even if I didn't already have a good idea what was coming, I didn't need my eyes to figure it out. I could hear the rumple of clothes hitting the floor, followed by the tearing of a wrapper, and the soft clicking noise of a rubber being unrolled over hard flesh. Fingers generously added some cool, slippery lubricant to the area already wet with saliva.

The bed creaked as Gabriel positioned himself behind me. “Ready?” he asked softly, slipping an arm under my waist to raise me up onto all fours.

I felt a little nervous, as I always was with a new partner. You never knew what somebody was going to be like once the hormones took over. So far, Gabriel had been quite gentle. I took a deep breath—from the diaphragm, like he showed me—and said, “Ready.”

Something small pushed inside me, so he was obviously starting with a finger. “Since you wouldn't confirm nor deny my guess that it's been awhile for you, I figured I'd better play it safe. Get you reacquainted with the feeling.” His other hand rubbed my lower back.

“Th-thank you. It's been almost two years.” I finally admitted it, though I wasn't sure why I confessed. Probably because of his consideration.

“Then it's no wonder you're so responsive.” He inserted a second digit and pushed them both deeper, moving them around inside me until I moaned. “That's your sacral chakra, by the way. The other one related to sex.”

“It's called a prostate,” I said between deep breaths.

He rubbed it a few more times, and then removed his fingers. “And your sacral chakra is in the vicinity of your prostate, smart ass.” The phrase was spoken in an affectionate tone, but his actions gave me no time to respond. The words had barely left his mouth when he swiftly penetrated me with his cock. He started with only the head, and after giving me a moment to adjust, pushed the rest inside.

My eyes watered a little behind the blindfold, as I was definitely tight from my two years of celibacy. However, my body handled it just fine, quickly remembering how good it felt to be filled. I pushed back against him to let him know I was ready for movement.

Gabriel obliged, thrusting slow and deep. It felt nice, but my body yearned for more. I started moving my body back and forth to speed things up, but strong hands on my hips stopped me. “Save your strength,” he said. “I'll let you control the pace shortly, but for now, let me.”

He continued moving in slow motion. I noticed that he seemed to move in time to his breathing—I could hear him inhaling deeply as he pulled out, and exhaling as he pushed back in. I tried following his lead and breathed along with him. He was much more skilled than I was; my breathing couldn't quite keep pace with his.

Clutching at the sheets, I dropped my head onto the pillow, using it to stifle my groans. The slowness was a sweet agony that I simply wasn't accustomed to. All my previous lovers had preferred faster thrusts. That's not to say I couldn't see myself finding satisfaction in a leisurely pace at some point, but at the moment it was driving me crazy. Of course, that was probably the idea.

I don't know how much time had passed when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I'll stop torturing you now,” Even though I couldn't see him, I could hear the smile in his voice, but instead of speeding up as I expected, he pulled out completely. “Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet,” he said in response to my whine. “Sit up for a second with your legs under you.”

I complied and immediately found myself pulled into his lap, my back to his front again. He adjusted my position and guided me to sit down on his cock, filling me once more. “You can control the pace this way.” His hands slid up and down my body a few times, finally settling in my groin area. “And ... I can more easily do this,” he murmured as his fingers wrapped around my neglected erection.

“Aahhh...” I sighed, using my legs to move my body up and down, angling myself so my prostate got the best stimulation. Gabriel's hand gently squeezed and pumped me with each motion. His other hand alternated between stroking my scrotum and playing with my nipples, his fingertips caressing my body as they traveled. His breath tickled the hairs on the back of my neck, sending goose bumps down my spine. It was my first time having sex in that position, and I could definitely see the appeal. Very sensual.

After a few moments, I noticed that the volume of my moans had steadily increased. I heard Gabriel as well, his sounds of pleasure blending with mine. As we both got louder, he tightened his grip on my erection and started to pump at a faster rate. His wandering hand focused more on my balls and perineum, and after just a few more moments, I was blessedly brought over the edge. I gripped his thighs and cried out his name, my legs quivering, body arching back as my seed exploded all over his hand. Drained, my head fell back against his shoulder.

“Have any energy left?” he asked with a soft chuckle, brushing my sweaty hair off my face with his dry hand.

I nodded and started moving again, even though my legs felt quite weak. I dealt with it though; after the orgasm he'd just given me, I wanted to make sure he was equally satisfied. He helped as well as the position allowed, pushing up into me with a steady rhythm. Twisting a bit, I was able to reach a hand behind me and brush the skin of his finally bare chest. He'd apparently been close already; only a few moments had passed when I heard him groan and felt his body tense. He held me tight, sucking on the back of my neck as he climaxed. Once finished, he pulled me backward onto the bed, his spent cock slipping out of me as we hit the sheets. We both gasped for air.

Gabriel untied the blindfold and let it drop to the floor. “Was that your first time with a ‘weirdo’ like me?”

I blinked while my eyes got used to seeing again, then gazed upon his naked body for the first time. It was as nice as I'd expected, with just the right amount of firm muscle underneath his skin. He even looked good with the mystical-looking sun and moon tattoos on his shoulders and the astrological sign on his chest. A pair of waves—Aquarius, maybe?

“Yes, it was,” I said, smiling.

He lightly gripped my chin and examined my face. “You should really smile more often. Don't get me wrong; you look good even when you're scowling, but you're damned hot right now.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks felt a little warm, but the smile remained. “I definitely want to see you again.”

He looked at me affectionately and kissed me, his tongue pushing past my lips to spar with my own. “The feeling's mutual,” he said once he pulled away.

“You know ... l don't get it, though.”

“Get what?”

“Us. How we could have ended up here. Together. We have almost nothing in common, yet we clicked.”

“I guess it's like matter and anti-matter. When it comes together—” He clapped his hands together. “Boom. And you have to admit that the sex was pretty damn explosive. In more ways than one.”

“That it was.” Now it was my turn to wear a cocky grin. “But when matter and anti-matter come together, they annihilate each other.”

“Oh. Yeah. So not a good comparison.” Gabriel laughed sheepishly.

I played with a strand of blond hair. “You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you put a spell on me.”

He took my free hand and brought it to his lips. “Who says I didn't?” he asked, giving me a sly look.

I rolled my eyes. “Because there's no such thing as magic. It's all nonsense.”

“Says you.” He pulled me close. “Magic comes in many different forms, you know.”

As I rested my head on his chest and felt his fingers stroking my neck, I started to think maybe he was right.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Hideaway

by David Wesley

The sign coming into Bleeker proclaimed it ‘America's Friendliest Little Town,’ but I knew better. I had been back in town more than four years, knew just about every one of Bleeker's five hundred citizens, and couldn't claim a friend among them.

Sure, some folks acted friendly. What would you expect? I owned the only damn bar in town. But they gave me a wide berth; I was suspicious, after all. I had moved to New Orleans when I turned eighteen and lived a wild life for most of a decade, the townsfolk believed, until my dad got sick, Katrina struck, and it was convenient to return home. At least a dozen people told me I was so lucky I had somewhere to go to after my home was destroyed when the levees failed. Lucky, my ass, I thought, and about as convenient as hell.

Still, I was grateful that I had time to reconcile with my dad, Big Sam, while I helped out in The Hideaway. The awe and love I'd once felt for Dad returned, and Big Sam came to accept me in those eighteen months of terrible decline. He shriveled to a dry shell but still worked in his dark, smoky bar until just five days before he was taken in his sleep.

For a week, Bleeker was without its bar, the heart of local social life. Then I reopened. I had been so busy with Dad's illness that I hadn't thought about what else to do. My place in the Big Easy had been torn down and hauled away. My piddly insurance check barely covered the cost of the demolition.

The grumbling was loud and immediate when I set down a new bar rule: No Smoking in The Hideaway. Hell, I knew my dad had never smoked, yet Big Sam died of lung cancer anyway. I was determined that second-hand smoke wasn't going to get me. Lots of other things, maybe, but not smoke.

I lost a lot of business and good will at first, but the informal boycott was broken when the sheriff brought in his deputies for a Super Bowl party. Almost all the other regulars drifted back within a couple weeks. I was grateful and thanked the handsome sheriff. All I got in return was a cranky, “No alternative, boy. You got the only goddamn game in town, but don't shit in your crib a second time. Folks here got memories goin’ back long before your diaper needed changin'.”

I was damn sure not going to fall to the level of Bleeker. I was going to lift it up. God help me, it was going to be better. And, damn it, they would thank me. They would.

If I put in the effort, maybe that ‘friendliest’ moniker might yet come true. Still, Bleeker never had been a place where everyone loved one another. It won its title in the 1950s when old Mayor Wilkins got a brainstorm and convinced everyone in town—kids included—to grin like idiots while shaking hands with each other. There was an aerial shot of the whole town, heads turned up with smiles glinting in the sun, joined in a serpentine handshake. It looked like a demonic daisy chain, but it won over the editor of the magazine sponsoring the search for brotherly love.

The lonelier I got, the more often I slipped into the living quarters tacked onto the bar and studied myself in a floor-length mirror. Sandy hair, full and trimmed. A frame more than six-three and filled out with muscles defined no longer by workouts at the gym but by hefting heavy boxes of booze. I had a tight ass and a satisfying dangle at my crotch. At least that's what I was told back when I'd had a life. My eyes that once looked for romance now scanned my bar for trouble.

How long can this go on? I wondered. I left here so I wouldn't be alone. Now, I'm more apart from my community—my so-called hometown—than ever before. Should I chuck it in?

Things stumbled along. I was wary. Customers were circumspect, but they came. They didn't like me all that much. Glasses were still raised to Big Sam, but never to me. I didn't give a shit. I made enough to survive. Thank God costs were low in this area. Things were okay as long as nothing unusual happened.

One day, a cloudy, humid and sticky May afternoon, a big black sedan screeched into the parking lot an hour before The Hideaway was to open. What now? I went to unlatch the door.

A burly man with jet-black hair came in without knocking. He slipped off his aviator sunglasses and looked around carefully without going beyond the entrance. He held a clipboard and a small leather case along his hip.

“Sam around?” His eyes seemed to take in everything.

“Not today,” I said, not wanting to give away too much. I eyed the intruder carefully. He was scary big, two or three inches taller than I, and I was easily the biggest guy in Bleeker. But the stranger didn't seem so threatening because he inhabited his space carefully, like he didn't want to intrude on anyone else. He wore faded jeans and a shirt pulled so tight across his massive chest I thought it might burst into a billion pieces. He sported a neat, dark mustache that made him look a little nasty. Finally, the eyes, brown and deep, completed their search of my bar and fixed on me. I was now the object of his examination.

How did he know Dad? I wondered. Why did he want him?

“Well, we may need Sam,” he said. “Time for the inspection.”

I looked at him blankly. What the hell was he talking about? Bleeker's government wasn't organized enough to perform an inspection. Then I realized this guy must be an outsider, or he'd know about what happened to Big Sam. I stood with my arms crossed. Not intending to, I was blocking his access to the bar.

Finally, the guy got it and extended a hand. “Jake Matthews,” he said. “Regional inspector for the ABC.” His dim smile notched up several watts.

“Yeah,” I said. “So?”

“The ABC. The Alcohol and Beverage Commission. You have heard of us?”

My head spun. Then it clicked. “Oh, man, yes! Sorry. It's just, I thought, maybe you scheduled appointments. Let me know when you were coming.”

“Pretty stupid surprise inspection if we did that,” Jake said with a sneer. “You'd cover up anything you didn't want us to see.”

“And what wouldn't I want you to see?”

“Man, I didn't fall off a turnip truck this morning. Reused bottles. Cheap liquor in an expensive bottle. Watered-down stock. The kinds of conditions that might be unsafe—or illegal. Substances that shouldn't be in here at all. Or folks that shouldn't be in here, like minors.” He stopped as if waiting for a response. “You got to be clean to continue.” There was another pause. “Or, don't you know that?”

For a while, much too long a time to be friendly, we stood staring at one another.

“Look,” Jake said at last. “This isn't meant to be confrontational. But if that's what you want, well, I'm ready for anything.”

Anything? I thought about that as I looked at this big stud threatening my business. It was unlikely he was ready for anything. I was sure my place was on the level, but then a glimmer of doubt crept in. I still had a lot of stock which rarely sold: the more expensive bottles of liquor, cognacs, and other specialty drinks which had already been at the bar or in the liquor cabinets when I came home to help out. Were they all kosher? I wasn't entirely sure.

My intruder—for that's how I thought of Jake Matthews—started by walking the perimeter of The Hideaway, poking into corners, checking under tables and searching like crazy for something that might be hidden or out of kilter. Then he moved to the crescent-shaped bar itself, moving stools, examining the space under the customer side of the counter both by touch and by sight.

What did he hope to find? It's not like there was marijuana growing in some corner or something illegal taped under the counter. I thought the inspection was all about the beverages, not the spit-and-shine of the joint.

“Looks okay,” Jake said. “But you do have a couple loose floorboards over by your big screen.”

“I'll get right on it,” I said. “Should I hammer them down now or stick with you as you check the stock?”

“Better stay close,” Jake said with another low-watt smile. “I may need you for something.”

“At your service,” I said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the guy.

Jake didn't respond. He just swiveled behind the bar and started peering at all the open bottles. He lifted them one-by-one, held them up to the track lighting, and removed their pour spouts to sniff the contents. He proceeded through every bottle without reacting. Every ten bottles or so he made a hasty notation on his clipboard.

The process drove me crazy. I wanted to offer help or make objections—something—but knew I should just shut up. I felt in jeopardy, like I was being violated in some way. I just didn't understand how.

When Jake stretched to check out the overhead cabinets, I caught a whiff of his musk and almost tumbled into him. It was a strong, clean but manly scent that brought back old memories long repressed. I felt woozy.

“Anything wrong?” Jake asked. “Maybe I'm hitting a little too close to home.”

“This is home,” I said, struggling to get the words out. “I live in the back.”

“Thought this was Sam's place,” Jake said.

“It was; he passed away. I'm his son, Zach Bennett.”

For the first time, genuine emotion showed on Jake's face. “Man, I'm really sorry. Sam was a hell of a man. I haven't been by in a while ‘cause they rotate us through different districts in the state.”

“Happened almost three years ago,” I said.

“So why you still here in this shithole town?” Jake smirked. “Not that it's really my business.”

“Not enough reason to leave,” I said, shrugging. “And I thought I could make friends again.”

Finished with the overhead cabinets, Jake scrambled down to inspect the bottom storage. “And?”

I shrugged again. “Guys I knew as a kid had all left.”

“Just like you did, huh?”

“Yeah, just like I did.”

We fell silent again as Jake poked into the lower shelves. He splayed out in the small space to reach all the way back. He fished out a small flashlight, which he beamed into the far corners.

I bit my lip as I watched his long legs wiggle. He had huge feet, and his big shoes scraped and pushed him along like flippers on a swimmer. Boy, could those legs work.

Then I noticed how tight Jake's jeans were. Tight enough, I realized, to reveal he wasn't wearing any underwear. Maybe a thong? But that thought was a little too weird. Not on this guy. Better no underwear at all. I jerked myself back to my senses. My gaze fixed on the muscled hardness and wonderful curve of Jake's very manly butt.

I broke out in a heavy sweat. When he clambered back up I demanded, “What the hell are you looking for?”

He smiled a perfect shit-eating grin. “Whatever I can find.” He licked his lips. “Whatever I can find.” Then he turned to jot more notes on his clipboard.

And I resumed my hungry scan of his ass. I found him looking sideways into the bar mirror, watching me drool over his body. Caught, I felt condemned to one of the lower rings of hell.

After retrieving his leather case, Jake opened it and huddle back over the bar shelves. He consulted his notes as he carefully dribbled various kinds of booze into shiny glass vials from the case. He filled the last two vials with samples from the draft beer taps. I felt confident that most everything was copasetic, but at least two of the samples were for things I'd never poured. One was some damn 25-year-old single malt Scotch. The other was a gold-hued liquor in a corkscrew-shaped bottle I'd never even noticed before. Was there some horrible possibility that bottle had been planted by someone, Jake or an accomplice, who'd been here on some recent visit?

I could barely look at him without anger rising full and fast. Jake slipped behind me. Something hard brushed against my butt, lingered the slightest instant and was gone. I knew it wasn't Jake's flashlight. Holding my breath, I looked over to the end of the bar where Jake stood, a wicked smile dancing on his face. Fucking asshole, I thought.

Jake carefully strapped the vials back into place and zipped the leather case. He shook my hand, nodded, and headed for the door without a word.

“Hey, man, when do I hear back from you?”

“Soon, Zach,” he said as another crooked smile traced his lips. “Real soon.”

After he scooted out the door, I went to the window and watched. Jake trotted back to his car like an excited colt. What did he find? Was I going down? I could see a broad, evil grin on his face as he slipped behind the wheel of the state car.

“Bastard,” I muttered, then went to clean up the bar and get The Hideaway ready for guests. I never hated this damn town more. Bleeker seemed bleaker than ever.

* * * *

My dreams made me restless and uncertain over the next week. In them, Jake was trying to smother me. His methods were varied and many. He poured cognac into a funnel and it seared down my throat. He held my head hard enough to hurt and it excited me, or he kneeled over me and gradually edged forward until his body covered my face and stopped my breathing. I woke feverish and gasping. I was scared he would show up soon.

A second week went by and then a third without Jake's return. My anxiety turned to an odd disappointment. I almost called the number on the business card he'd left, but knew I should just wait out any bad news.

I must have been back in the residence when he pulled up because I didn't hear him park. I was unlocking the front door when it suddenly pushed in. I stumbled back. As Jake walked through the door, sun blazed behind him. He was an ominous shadow entering to fill my space and seize my life.

The test kit was under his massive right arm again, and there was that wicked smirk. Again. “Got your results,” he said, that low, soft voice hinting at reassurance.

He handed me a report. Before I could read it, he asked if I had a cigarette. There was a pack on the bar I had confiscated the night before. I offered it to him, and he nervously pulled one out. I struck a match and he lit the cigarette. I wasn't about to enforce my no-smoking rule.

He inhaled. “Thanks,” he said. I watched him draw in, seeming to savor the acrid flavor. Smoke curled out in a wide cone as he exhaled. Jake shook his head, smiled, and spoke. “Man, I'd forgotten how seductive that is. Hell, a couple puffs and I feel high.”

He drew in another drag then let it escape. “Damn,” he laughed. “I can't believe this shit is still legal.”

“You only do things that are legal?” My eyes fixed on his.

“Try to,” he said simply. “'Course, that covers a lot of territory.”

“A whole lot,” I said. I opened the report. It looked about fifty pages long. What had there been to say? I couldn't believe he found that much in my little dive.

“Want the bottom line?” he asked. My head bobbed a yes. “First, the vodka was okay, but the rum seemed contaminated by molasses and water.” My stomach shriveled. “That single-malt wasn't the premium Scotch it was supposed to be, but some low-quality stuff with burnt caramel added. The Patron tasted like hell, but we couldn't identify why. The beer—hell, beer is cheap—it smelled like horse piss but was legit. As for the premises...”

He went on, but I couldn't hear him for the rumbling in my head. I was devastated. How could this be happening? I saw that stupid grin spreading. Damn, it was getting wider and wider. I still couldn't listen to what he was saying.

Finally, he just stopped and looked at me. He laughed, and I just hated him. “Hey, man,” Jake shook my shoulder. “Look at your bar calendar!” I searched for today's date.

Wednesday, April 1. Shit.

“Jesus, Zach, I'm sorry as hell. Didn't mean to scare your ass off, but you've been punk'd!”

As much as I wanted to go at him, I held back, started breathing again, and let out a guilty laugh. “Fucking bastard. This isn't playtime. This is my fuckin’ living!”

“Probably deserve that.” He came closer. “Things look good in here. You obviously work hard as hell. Listen, I got a couple other beer joints to bother in the county. Take a glance at the report, and I'll swing back by to tell you what else I found. Okay?”

I agreed. Jake winked and was gone again. I pulled a barstool to a window and opened up the document. There was nothing bad in the report. Comments ranged from adequate to exemplary. I was pretty emotional by the time I finished. Even Jake's rotten April Fool's joke seemed funnier. I started feeling better, even whistling from time to time in a way I hadn't done in years. But the afternoon still dragged by.

* * * *

As the sun went down, the parking lot filled up. I heard cars crunching gravel as they pulled in to park. Jake entered and glanced around for me, but I was watching from the residence through a two-way mirror disguised as beer advertising. I had a sound system that let me listen in on conversations at the bar if I needed to. Tonight I did.

I watched as Jake approached the middle-aged blonde who tended bar for me. She spoke before he could. “You the state man?”

Jake nodded.

“I'm Lucy.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy,” Jake said extending his hand.

She ignored the gesture. “You got the boy real worried.”

“I'm gonna make him feel real good.”

“Do that. He's right through that door.” Lucy nodded, indicating the door by the bar, which connected to my living quarters. “Don't bother knockin'. His papa put so much soundproofing ‘tween the house and the bar we could shoot a cannon and he'd never know.”

She reached under the bar and I knew she had pressed the entry button. “You're buzzed in. Make it right with him.”

“We'll be cool,” he said before he disappeared through the opening.

“We'll see ‘bout that,” Lucy muttered as she drew a stout for one of the local boys.

The lights were low. I'd set a fancy table complete with tall candles. He didn't seem to see me at first; I was in a chair in a corner, thumbing through the report again.

I got up and walked toward him, leaving the report behind, my hands folded behind my back to keep them from fidgeting. He turned toward me.

“Ready for the follow-up?” I asked. He looked puzzled. “Your additional findings?”

“Oh, my findings!” He sounded more than a little nervous. “I found we're a lot alike. Work too hard, play too little, and avoid our lives—our real ones. We serve others and forget to serve ourselves.” He paused. “Want more?”

“Depends? What you got?”

“Zach, I'll give you whatever you want.” He stopped, perhaps uncertain. “Ain't it time?”

“Hey, I'm the one on the hook here,” I said. “My future's in your hands.”

“Man, I hope so,” he said with more assurance than he'd shown. Then, quickly, quietly but surely, he pulled my arms from around my back and draped them around his. “Don't like one-way streets much.” His head came forward, and he pressed his lips to mine. I resisted only a moment then pressed back. His tongue came out as if looking for mine. I took his in, tasting a hint of the tobacco he'd smoked in the afternoon, but something more, deeper and sweeter. Our kiss went on a long time, especially for having been wary adversaries. We broke, looked into each other's eyes, and kissed again with ramped-up passion.

I broke the kiss to take a breath. I feared he might reconsider what was happening. “You ever kissed a man before?” I asked.

“Kissed my daddy goodbye in his coffin. That count?”

“Don't think so,” I said.

“Then I better make up for lost time.”

“You sure?”

“I wasn't ‘til I saw you again this afternoon. Almost locked your door and tore your clothes off.”

“But you didn't.”

“I had to work, Zach. Lust is great, you know? But I keep my commitments.”

“A man of honor.”

“I'd like to think so,” Jake said. “But what the hell is all this talk about?”

He pulled me close to him again, and then started to unbutton my shirt. I replied in kind, and we tossed the shirts on the sofa. He fumbled with my belt. “It's tricky,” I told him. By the time I loosened it, he was already shucking his own jeans. I followed suit. Tonight he was wearing tighty-whities and so was I; we yanked them down together. We drew closer and held each other, our lips meeting, hearts pounding, our erections bumping.

Jake groaned and I understood. I felt fully alive for the first time since I'd returned home. I didn't even stop to worry if the feeling could continue. I was running on instinct and emotion. The animal in me took over and I could feel the same in Jake.

“Let's try to take this slow,” he said. He pulled me close with his right hand while his left played with the wild ruffle of my hair. “Slow as we can.”

“Don't think I can,” I whispered. “I'm way too close now.”

“Me, too,” he said. “But I'd kinda like to remember this.”

We nuzzled cheek-to-cheek, and I relished the soft scour of Jake's late-day stubble as he took my waist and pulled me harder into him. My hands massaged his back. His muscles felt hard, strong and tense. I intended to work that tension out. Little hiccups of pleasure rose in his throat and jumped out as my fingers soothed his flesh. “Oh. Um. Yeah. Man! Nice.” It went on and we cooled just a bit.

Then his lips started nibbling my neck just below my chin. Gradually, I turned so Jake was kissing the back of my neck. He trailed kisses downward in gentle slurps and nibbles until he reached the base of my spine. He rotated me back to him and his sweet mouth nipped at one nipple and then the other. My nubs jumped out with a jolt. I steadied myself with my head tilted up, my mouth gaping, enjoying wet kisses.

As he moved toward the intersection of my legs, I gave him an opportunity to stop. I issued Jake a last warning. “Be careful,” I said hoarsely. “I might pop before even I know it.”

“Hope not,” he said, looking up at me staring down. “Not until you slide that juicy pole of yours down this very willing throat.”

With that, he licked around my quivering erection down through my dense bush to the heavy sac between my legs. He sucked gently on one nut then the other. I had always savored the mixture of sweat and excitement in a man's crotch; Jake seemed to enjoy the same. All I could say was, “Oooohhh,” as he opened wide and swept both of my wet balls inside. My hands clamped onto his shoulders to steady my feet.

He kissed around my aching groin in swift thrusts, first one side and then the other. Finally, his lips dove onto my rigid cock, his tongue pushing back its hood and sweeping over the head, into my dribbling slit, playing with my glans like he could make it melt. The soft swipes got more and more insistent. I felt ready to buckle, and my voice became a low, rough growl.

“Do it, Jake, suck my dick,” I sputtered. “You're gonna get it. Man, I'm almost there. Suck me!”

Suddenly, he took my whole hard shaft down his throat. He sure seemed as excited as I was. His mouth slid up and down my throbbing pole. My balls drew up close and ready. I felt that exquisite rise in tension, and I tried to pull him off.

“I want to do it, too,” I cried. “Let me suck you, too.” I looked at the huge prong that matched his big legs and feet, but Jake stopped only to tell me he was ready.

“You've had your fun, Zach. Now I need your come gushing down my throat.” I understood, even though it was a pleasure I denied myself for way too long. It was Jake's turn to feel the joy unleashed in sucking a man's cock and taking his salty load. I let him suck and tongue my steely cock knowing my chance would come soon.

His head bobbed in a rising frenzy. His hands clenched my ass and helped me fuck his face. My own hands busied with my excited nipples, pulling on one and then the other in a hard, pulsing rhythm. I bucked into his throat in one last thrust as my pleasure rippled, and then exploded.

“I'm coming, Jake,” I moaned. “I'm coming, baby.” The spurts came long and fast. I trembled and leaned into him. He held onto me and kept on sucking until at last my spasms diminished and were gone. I bent down to kiss his swollen lips, licking a smear of my own come into my mouth. Our tongues shared the heat.

“You're an animal,” I said when I was able to speak. “I never had a blow job like that.”

“Never came from a virgin mouth, Zach?” he said, smiling. “From that flood you shot, you've been saving up a while.”

“Probably longer than you have,” I said. We staggered to my bed and lay down.

“Oh, I've been pretty active,” he said as I tousled his hair, “but unsatisfied.”

“With a talent like that you should leave anyone satisfied.” I gave him a sassy grin. “In fact, man, I can't believe you never did that before.”

“Well,” Jake said, “I have had practice.” With that, he kicked his long legs high up over his head. His hard dick grew even longer. His tongue looped out and swiped at his cock head. I saw his piss slit glisten with precome. He arched his back and opened his lips wide for his rigid dick. An inch, then another, another and one more slid through those luscious lips until his whole length was deep in his mouth.

Jake's head lurched forward then back, sucking himself and making me crazy for my turn with his big hard-on. After about ten repetitions he uncurled and lay down flat on the bed beside me.

“I guess you get the idea,” he said rather sheepishly.

“Gives me a few, too,” I said.

“Been doin’ that since I realized I could.”

I had to chuckle. “I never saw such big legs so far over someone's head. We'll find a use for that later. Now, it's time for me to put mine up in the air.”

Jake had that what-the-fuck look on his face when he apparently thought I was going to try and suck myself, too. “No, man, I'm going to stick my legs up in the air and you're going to do the work.”

“Again?” He grinned.

“Why not? And we may break another taboo if you're game.”

“Name the sport and I'll try to play along,” Jake said.

“Yes, sir,” I said as I angled my legs over my torso. “Now get down there and take a look.”

“Yes, Master Zach.” He hunched down and looked at my pucker. I knew it was pulsing in and out, but I couldn't control the twitchy itch I felt. “Looks cute. And friendlier than hell.”

“Well, baby, it's inviting you in. But you gotta do something to ease the way.”

“Lube?” Jake asked.

“I prefer organic,” I told him. “Hawk some spit onto my hole and I'll be ready.”

There was a tiny pause while I thought he was trying to spit onto my rosebud. I heard a couple quick sniffs and a muttered, “Not bad,” and then there was a wet, soft probing as Jake stuck his tongue up my chute. There was plenty of spit, worked in by his hot, wriggling tongue.

Jake was a quick learner at rimming. He pushed that tongue inside my tight hole and lubed every surface he could reach. My rosebud quickly relaxed.

“Are you trying to make me melt down there?” I asked with some urgency.

He appeared over me with a randy smile. “Isn't that kinda the object?”

“Yeah,” I said, breathing hard. “First step. Now shove your big dick inside me. I bet you know what to do after that.”

“Ain't it gonna hurt?”

“I hope so,” I told him. “But then it stops hurting and it feels like heaven.”

“Still looks kind of small,” he said with a fair amount of skepticism.

“Because it wants to take you in and put a choke-hold on that dick you'll never forget. Now shove that damn thing in there. Don't tease.”

“Okay,” he said, pointing his torpedo at the target and forcing the issue. I felt the tip of his beautiful cock at my hungry hole. There was that sublime expectation, the prodding at my opening, and then the agonizing entry. He grunted as my ass ring offered some resistance, then I pushed out and his big cock punched in with a pop.

“Oh, God,” he said quietly, trembling. “I never felt anything this tight. Or smooth. Or hot. Oh, God.” He rotated his hips and I felt his dick swivel in my gut. He still seemed to be enjoying the vise-like grip I had on his hard flesh when he finally looked into my eyes. It was like he just now came to understand what Christmas was all about. “How ... how can I even move?”

“In and out,” I said, commanding. “Around, up and down.”

“You're sure it doesn't hurt?” he asked.

“You'll find out; your turn is coming,” I said, panting and needful. “Shit, do what makes you feel good, man, and I know it's going to make me feel better. Now fuck my hungry ass!”

Slowly, he pulled back then slid forward again. After a few careful repetitions, I narrowed my eyes and assured him, “I'm not going to break, man. Dick me as hard as you ever did a pussy.”

Jake gave a little smile and seemed to relax. His dick sped up and penetrated even deeper.

“That's it,” I said, giving encouragement. “Pound my butt like you're horny and mad at me.”

“I'm getting the hang of it,” he said in short, stilted breaths. “Jesus, I want to fuck the shit out of you!”

“Yeah, ram it in, cocksucker. Fuck me with that dick and every other damn muscle you've got.” I reached out and tweaked his tits. His nasty moan told me to twist a little harder. I did. Sweat beaded across his face, ran down to his chin, and dripped onto my abs. I fingered some and slurped it into my mouth. That made him crazier.

I wanted to bend up and kiss him, but I didn't want to break his concentration. Now, he was a runaway train headed straight up my chute, out of control, about to run off the tracks and leaving no doubt of the outcome.

“Jesus, this is damn good!” He grunted. “What the hell took me so long?”

“You were waiting for my ass,” I said. I gripped his sweaty balls, tugging them gently down, and then I reached up and my wet middle finger found his pucker. As we looked at each other, I slid it in very slowly. I stroked my tingling pecker with my other hand.

“Don't play around, Zach. Wiggle that finger and I'm gonna shoot!”

“Give it to me, go ahead, shoot that come! That's what it's made for, man. Fill my ass with your cream.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jake shouted as he lunged forward. “Take my jizz! I'm coming, fucker, I'm coming!”

As his shots fired into me, my piss hole gaped and spewed white ribbons of come all over my abs and chest like some kind of paint-drip masterpiece. When Jake stopped shaking, he eased his still-hard cock out of my ass and collapsed beside me.

He scooped two fingers of come off my stomach and swirled it into his mouth. “A guy could get used to a snack like this.” He smiled, and then his lips were on mine and the kiss was sweet. We cuddled a long time before we said anything more.

“So,” Jake finally said. “What's next?”

“Next? Do we have to worry about some ... sequence? Why not spend the night and see what tomorrow brings?

“Tomorrow?” he said. “I haven't looked forward to a tomorrow for a long, long time.” Giving me another of his shit-eating grins, he added, “Of course, I did take tomorrow and Friday as vacation days.”

I punched him in the arm. He laughed. We held each other and drifted to sleep.

When I woke there was a palpable glow in the room although it was still the middle of night. Jake slept beside me, his chest rising slowly then going to rest again. I felt peaceful for the first time since returning to Bleeker. It may have been a deeper peace than I'd ever felt before.

I watched until Jake stirred, and those great brown eyes opened and looked in my direction. I had a sudden fear of what he might be thinking. We said nothing for a long time. At last he snuggled closer, eyes averted. I understood, without seeing, that those eyes were filled with tears.

“I never knew,” he said softly as he turned back to look at me. “I never, ever knew this was possible.”

I stroked his head gently. “It is. Together it is. All things are possible.”

And we lay together, wordlessly, until night was gone and daylight crept into our lives. There was no more darkness.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Against the Current

by Heidi Champa

I knew I had made a mistake as soon as my feet hit the sand. It was hot out, I was coated in neoprene, and I was still shivering. The waves crashed in front of me, each one growing bigger than the last. The brochure was right—best surfing in Victoria. Surfing twice in California had done nothing to prepare me for the waves in Australia. The pro tour stopped here, for Christ's sake. I had no business even dipping a toe in. Bells Beach was for people who could surf. I was not one of those people.

A steady stream of guys and a few girls ran past me, throwing themselves onto their boards with abandon, paddling out past the breakers. When I saw the six-year-old with his board strapped to his pencil-thin ankle run by and wave, I knew I had no choice but to try. My buddy Greg was long gone, having caught several waves already. He was out in the calm, sitting on his board, talking to a girl who was also taking a break. He wasted no time. This entire trip had been his idea. After all, he was the one who could surf. I was just along for the ride.

I stood with the water lapping at my feet, trying to calm my nerves. They all made it look so easy, gliding effortlessly, turning the board back and forth through the water. Greg had tried to teach me, but the only times I had ever surfed I barely got a chance to stand up before the wave pushed me right over again. But I was determined to try. With a little luck, I would not make a complete ass of myself in front of these people who seemed to be more fish than human.

Just as I was ready to head out, the six-year-old caught the edge of a beautiful wave and rode it like a pro trapped in miniature form. He came to the end of his ride and a small burst of applause filled the heavy air around me. Keeping my dignity might be too much to ask for, after all.

I started dragging myself into the surf before I could change my mind. Despite its claim of being lightweight, my board felt like lead by the time I was up to my knees in clear blue water. I still had a way to go before I got past the breakers, but already I needed a rest. I stood and watched Greg catch a wave, his fellow real surfers pausing to take in his ride. I kept trudging through the slog of the oncoming waves, trying not to swallow any more water. Finally, I got on top of my board and paddled out to the relative calm where the others congregated. Greg soon joined me, and before I knew it he was talking me into attempting a ride.

“Come on, you didn't come here to sit all day.”

“No, but I didn't come here to die, either.”

“You won't die. These people know how to save tourists.”

His smile made me want to punch him in the face. I saw the swells growing and coming toward us. It was now or never; I had to bite the bullet and get one ride out of the way. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, I wasn't that uncoordinated. Greg started to paddle toward the wave break and I followed. But, while he popped right up and rode the wave away, I found the experience a lot less transcendent. As I tried to get my feet underneath me, the board swamped with water, sending my lurching body right up and over without missing a beat. Soon, I was underwater, the churn stinging my eyes and nose. When I came up, I saw Greg paddling back out, triumphant in yet another success. His new lady friend was duly impressed. This process went on for a little bit longer, until I actually managed to get my feet underneath me and surf for a good five seconds in a squatting position before I fell again. The tiny victory did little to mend my broken ego and my increasingly broken body. Everything hurt, and I could barely see from the salt water stinging my eyes.

Despite Greg's protests I headed to shore, collapsing into the sand upon my return, any illusions I had about keeping my dignity and manhood long gone. In an unceremonious heap, I gasped for air, trying to get the last of the water out of my lungs. I couldn't open my eyes, and caring about my image was the last thing my brain could fathom. I felt a shadow fall across me, and I forced myself to look up. I had to shield my eyes from the sun, but I could make out the large shape of an honest-to-God surf god.

“G'day. How ya going?”

Great—just what I needed. I groaned out loud at the sound of his voice. Hell, he could be a lifeguard, coming to see if I was dead. Just doing his job. I peeked out from behind my hand to look at him. He was cute.

“I've been better. Obviously, surfing isn't my strong suit. I'm just taking a break.”

He laughed at my attempt at humor. With a little too much effort, I sat up, still shielding my eyes to look at him. He plunked down in the sand next to me.

“Well, I've seen better, that's for sure. From what I could see, your balance is all off.”

“I think that's the least of my problems. I can barely stand on the damn thing. This trip was my friend's idea; I just went along with it. As far as I'm concerned, surfing is too humiliating to be a sport.”

“Spoken like someone who's never actually ridden a wave before.”

He had a point. I hadn't done anything remotely close to surfing. It was more like tossing myself around the ocean with something strapped to my leg.

“Maybe I should ask the six-year-old over there for some lessons.”

His smile was perfect, like he belonged on a poster at the Quicksilver store down the road in Torquay. I thought guys like him were just an Australian myth. But here he was, real as they come.

“He's all booked up, but I might be able to squeeze you in. I have some other tourists coming by, but I could probably make room for you.”

“Thanks. But, I think I'm a lost cause. Save your energy for someone who isn't hopeless.”

“There is no such thing as hopeless. Just a challenge. And I'm always up for a challenge. Besides, you came all this way. You should get something out of the trip.”

The way he said it was deliberately provocative, or at least it felt that way to me. Maybe I had hit my head or something. That's what I thought until his hand came to rest on my shoulder. His eyes cut right through me.

“I'm Dan by the way.” He reached out his wet right hand and I managed to offer a weak handshake.

“Ted.”

“Ted, I'm serious about the lessons. If you're interested, I'm here everyday. I've never met a truly hopeless case.”

“You just did. He shook your hand two seconds ago.”

I looked at him and could see laughter bubbling up behind his smile, the smile that sent a jolt to my gut.

“Think about it okay, Ted?”

With that he walked away, heading back out into the water like a natural. I saw Greg walking toward me with two girls in tow. They were both barely covered in hot-pink bikinis and hanging on Greg's every word.

“Hey, dude. You okay? Looks like you had a rough time out there.”

“Fine. No thanks to you.”

“These lovely ladies want to take us out tonight. You game?”

I looked down at their giggling faces and realized this was yet another trip I had no control over.

* * * *

I woke up with a start, forgetting for a moment where I was. Then, it became clear. Well, sort of. We were at one of the girl's houses, but I couldn't remember which one. Greg's reluctance to set up actual accommodations on this trip led to a lot of couches and in this case, floors. Every muscle in my body ached, and my head throbbed like someone had kicked me in the temple. Rolling over, I saw the remains of the previous evening. Beer cans, bags of chips, the odd joint crushed into overflowing ashtrays. Last night started coming back to me. Greg had convinced me to leave the bar early and spend the night at Jenna's. Or was it Jessica? Jana? Regardless, it didn't matter. I knew the drill. Greg wanted to get laid, which meant I had to spend the night on the hard floor while he slept in a nice warm bed with a girl. But for once on this trip, I hadn't wanted to leave early.

Following Greg and his harem around to several bars was tiresome, and I had no choice but to drink alone. Until we got to the last place, and I saw Dan standing by the wall flanked by three other guys. I sat at the bar, nursing my latest beer, trying to build up enough courage to go over and talk to Dan. He probably wouldn't even remember me. Hell, knowing my luck he wasn't even gay. I hadn't been too lucky lately. As I poured the last drops of my beer down my throat, my courage swelled just enough to get me off my stool. As I turned to head Dan's way, I noticed he was gone.

Since I was already up, I headed toward the bathroom. Greg was holding court by the pool table, two girls by his side and a gaggle coming and going as he talked. I hated him in that moment; how easy it was for him. I turned my head away from Greg just in time to run straight into Dan. He blinked twice as if trying to find me in his memory. His smile appeared quickly, and his hand was back on my shoulder like it had been that morning on the beach. My stomach lurched, and it wasn't from the beer.

“Hey, Ted. G'day. I almost didn't recognize you.”

“Yeah, I look different when I'm not choking on sea water.”

“That must be it. Having a good time?”

“Well, it gets a little tiring following Greg around, but he's trying to score us a place to crash tonight.”

“Well, it's good to see you. How about another pint?”

“Sure.”

I sat at the bar for the next few hours with Dan, drinking and talking. He was funny, smarter than I thought he would be. The stereotype of the dim surfer clearly didn't apply to him, but it still seemed like more of a friendly drink than a date. Just as the bartender set down the next round of drinks, I saw Greg trying to get my attention. I excused myself and walked to a very impatient Greg.

“Dude, I'm getting the green light, you ready to go?”

“Not exactly. I'm having fun.”

“Well, these ladies want to take the party to their house. We gotta go.”

“Give me a minute.”

I turned back to the bar, and Dan. He smiled at me from across the room. Typical Greg. But I guess if I wanted a place to sleep, I had to go.

“Dan, I have to go. Greg found us a crash pad. They want to leave now.”

“Well, okay. Hey, I'm serious about those surf lessons. Meet me tomorrow morning at the point. We'll get you straightened out.”

“I don't know. I told you, I'm a lost cause.”

I turned to go, and Dan shocked me by grabbing my wrist. His thumb ran over the inside of my arm, gently caressing while my throat threatened to close.

“Meet me. Please?”

“Okay. I guess I can give it one more try. I'll see you tomorrow.”

* * * *

I stared at the ceiling of the girl's house, water-stained and cracked. Nice. Greg really knew how to pick them. The sun wasn't even fully up over the ocean, and I remembered Dan's words about teaching me to surf. My body screamed in protest at the thought of going into the water again, as I winced merely sitting up. I was pretty sure it wasn't just the surfing he was really after; it was the company. While Greg had spent most of the trip ‘getting to know’ the locals, I hadn't. Dan was the first promising guy I had met the entire trip. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I decided I had to find out.

My stuff was still wet from the day before, and dragging the wetsuit over my tired legs proved enough of a challenge. I slid the glass door open, quietly leaving the rest of the party to sleep. The path from the house led straight to the beach, still quiet except for a few die-hard surfies who apparently rose with the sun. I hoped that Dan would be there to meet me.

The sand felt cold and wet. I sat on my board and looked out into the water. Envy swept through me as I watched one surfer get up effortlessly on the crest of a wave and cut through the water. When the wave finally broke he didn't come crashing down, he just slipped below the surface and reemerged unfazed. As he paddled back to shore, I realized it had been Dan. I couldn't help but stare as his wet body came walking toward me on the sand. I didn't even mind when he dripped cold water on me.

“Hey. I was beginning to think you weren't coming.”

“Me neither. To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm doing here. I never thought I had a death wish, but I suppose I'll take you up on your offer of a lesson.”

He stared right into my eyes, and that flutter in my gut from last night returned. As I stood, he took another step toward me, our faces just inches apart.

“Come on, we both know why we're here, but let's surf first.”

His smile was still so bright, even at dawn. Knocking sand off his feet, he looked out into the water. I faced the waves, still terrified. His arm around my shoulder did little to calm my nerves. I wanted to live long enough to kiss him.

“Don't worry. I'm a lifesaver. If you start to drown, I know mouth-to-mouth.”

Another provocation, another flirtation. They were doing my head in. I was about to nearly kill myself because this cute boy liked me. Somewhere, my rational mind screamed in vain to get me to reconsider. The rest of me was strapping my board to my ankle. I followed Dan to the water and prepared for more embarrassment, this time with a hot guy there to watch.

Dan, luckily, had the patience of a saint. I tried in vain to follow all his instructions, but still found myself hitting the water after a few seconds. After one particularly harsh wave, I came up gasping, my board bobbing next to me. Choking on the salt water that burned my throat and lungs, I felt like throwing up. I willed my stomach to calm down, to not pick this moment to humiliate me so utterly. Dan paddled up as I managed to haul myself onto my board. I felt his hand on my back as the last of the Great Southern Ocean left my lungs in an excruciating hack.

“You okay, mate?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess. I told you I was hopeless.”

“Your balance is off, that's all.”

“Look Dan, I appreciate your confidence, but I think it's safe to say now that I am a lost cause.”

“You just need some practice. Trust me; one good ride and you'll never be the same again.”

His hand on my back moved behind my neck. I hadn't realized until then that we were the only ones in the water. He pulled me toward him, our boards bumping together. Before I could react, he was kissing me. I leaned forward awkwardly, trying to keep him close, but wound up bumping my forehead into his nose.

“I guess you were right about my balance being off.”

He laughed, rubbing his nose with his hand.

“Ted, maybe we should paddle in and find some other way to pass the time this morning. But this isn't over—I'm not giving up on you. If I have my way, you'll surf yet.”

While Dan surfed into the shore on a gorgeous wave, I chose a more sensible route, paddling and wading my way through the rising surf. When we met on the shore, Dan didn't say a word. He just started up the sand path that I had traveled from the crash pad. It turned out that Dan lived just a short walk from Greg's latest conquest. It was eerily quiet, which was expected so early on a Sunday morning. We seemed to be the only two people silly enough to be awake at this hour. After the boards were dropped outside, we walked through the entryway, which—like everything else in the house—was covered in sand. Dan turned and looked at me. His eyes were so golden brown; it was like the sand had gotten inside them from him spending so much time at the beach.

In his bedroom, the evidence of a surfer's life was everywhere. My eyes focused on the big map on the wall with red pushpins sticking in it like a voodoo doll. Every single pin was right on the edge of a country—a country, no doubt, with great surfing.

Dan spun me around, his lips back on mine, tasting as salty as the water I had swallowed that morning. Our hands fumbled with the thick zippers of the wetsuits still standing between us. The thick neoprene felt even more uncomfortable with my cock straining against it, and the drying rubber proved a stubborn opponent to our activities. Finally, the material gave way, and we both stood naked in the center of his room. His hastily tacked-up curtain obscured the early morning light, but enough rich sun got through to show me how hot he looked.

He was tanned and gorgeous, well muscled and fit. By comparison, he made me feel average, but any reluctance I had vanished when he dropped to his knees in front of me. My wetsuit was still around my ankles, and he made quick work of getting rid of it. My last bit of sense disappeared when I felt his mouth on my cock. His warm lips, the lips that had tasted so salty, slid down. A gasp caught in my throat, a vain attempt to stay quiet. I didn't want to wake anyone else who might be in the house; there had been six surfboards outside. Dan was making it hard to keep quiet. His hands gripped my hips, his mouth pulling and releasing my dick in a steady rhythm. Despite my best efforts to control myself, I felt myself getting dangerously close to coming. Trying to delay, I pulled him to his feet and kissed him again. He took my cue and pulled me onto his messy bed. I felt sand between the sheets, clinging to my legs. As our tongues twined together, I wrapped my hand around his cock, feeling the swell of excitement in my palm. As I slid my hand down, his tongue dove even deeper into my mouth. I pushed him onto his back and started kissing my way down his chest. His encouraging hands eased me lower and lower until I let my tongue swipe over the head of his swollen dick.

He twitched and jerked as I swept my tongue over the ridge under the head of his cock. His whole body tasted salty; it probably always did. I closed my mouth around the plum-velvet head and slid my way down. I could feel blood racing under his skin, veins pulsing as I sucked him off. His hands were in my hair, still wet from the ocean. I could hear his moans getting louder, and I didn't care a bit about roommates anymore. If he let me, I could have gone on for hours sucking his cock, but he had other plans. Pulling me back up, our mouths came back together as I slid onto the bed next to him.

His hands started fumbling with the nightstand drawer next to us, searching for protection. His eyes lit up in a way that told me he'd found what he was looking for. I hesitated. Dan stared at me expectantly, his hand moving up and down his hard cock, waiting for me. I don't know where I found the voice.

“You sure about this?”

“Don't worry, Ted. I told you, I know mouth-to-mouth.”

He kissed me hard, one last time before pushing me toward the wall until my back was facing him. His mouth lightly bit at my shoulder, and I felt his hand run down my back. He paused, letting his fingers wander over my hip, before reaching over me to touch my cock. His big hand wrapped around me, gently jerking me until I was hard as a rock. I felt his other hand move down to my ass, his finger gently easing my cheeks apart. Suddenly, I felt the cool wetness of his lubed finger pressing against my ass. I tensed up, but as he kissed my neck, I started to relax. His teeth gently rasped over my earlobe, pulling and sucking it into his mouth. I let him inside, his finger gently pushing into my ass.

He was patient, just like he was in the water. One finger became two, and slowly I relaxed into his thrusting fingers. I heard him tear the condom open with his teeth, and for a moment his hands left me. I looked at him over my shoulder, and his eyes met mine. His lips curled into a smile before kissing me deeply. I felt the head of his cock pushing me open, his hand back on my cock. I moaned into his mouth as he eased in, just the tip of his dick filling my ass. He stopped, his mouth releasing mine just in time to let my cry of pleasure come out. I pushed back against him letting myself relax as he inched into me a little further. I felt his teeth scrape at my back, and I gasped as the pressure gave way and he slid all the way inside me.

Before he started moving again, I felt him pulse and grow inside me. Not wanting to wait another second, I eased away from him, feeling the pull of his thick cock as he eased out. He fucked me slow and hard, his hand stroking me in time to his thrusts into my ass. I knew I wasn't going to last long despite his easy pace. The feeling was so intense nothing else could get through. His body pressed full into my back. I felt every inch of him riding against me, just like he was on his board in the water. His hand slid back up to the head of my cock, his fist twisting around me. I lost all control, and I felt my body start to tumble over the edge. This kind of falling I could get used to. He fucked me faster as my come shot into his waiting hand, the hot sticky liquid rubbing all over me as he continued to stroke.

With a fierce series of thrusts, I felt him come, his twitching cock squirming inside me as he bit into the tender skin of neck. We lay there, a sweaty, sticky mess. He moved away from me, passing me a towel before throwing the condom in the trashcan by the door. The towel was damp and felt like it had sand all over it. I shook it a few times, but the grit remained. He chuckled as he lay back down.

“Sorry, mate. Sand is kind a hazard of the job around here.”

He rolled toward me, his mouth warm and soft on mine. A loud pounding startled us both. A voice from behind the door boomed out.

“Dude. It's breaking overhead. We gotta go.”

Dan looked at me, smiling that smile I knew I would never forget.

“Be right there, mate.” He got up from the bed, grabbing his wetsuit from the floor. As I sat up and watched, he paused for a second. “You coming?”

I just laughed.

“Nah. I think I've had my fill of surfing. Have fun.”

“Maybe I'll see you around, Ted. Work on the balance, okay?”

With one last kiss he was gone. I picked up my limp, damp wetsuit from the floor and stepped into it. I stopped and glanced at his map, the diary of his world travels. Finding a loose pin, I stuck it to the middle of Ohio, where I lived. It was the only pin in the map without a coastline next to it, but it was one more wave conquered.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Fire and Water

by V. Greene

Sir Campion's saddle smacked him on the bottom as his horse shied. He returned the favor smartly between the brute's ears, his armor clattering. He missed his last warhorse, much better trained and much better tempered, but Red had taken a lance's splinter to his hind leg and bled to death on the spot six months ago. This one, he was about to give up and rename Dinner.

Dinner, here, wasn't going to be much use on the current quest if quest there was. Rumor had come of a dragon near a village, toasting the livestock and demanding the usual parade of virgins. Campion had experience with rumor. He fully expected a large adder. Still, a young knight could hardly scoff at the orders of his king, so here he was—getting spanked by this brute of a horse for days on end. His squire had abandoned him two villages ago, there one minute and gone the next. Campion now hoped the dragon was only an adder. Not all his armor could be put on without help, and some clanked in rigged-up ties to his saddlebags.

He was getting close, if the dodgy map was any good at all. The hills came together just so, and the stream flowed beside the road more or less as promised. He could see a campfire's smoke ahead and wondered if some other knight had beaten him to the scaled menace whether dragon or snake. The sun was getting low, so a campfire and the company it promised was all the more welcome to him.

He would have preferred an inn, and a willing innkeeper's daughter—or son. Being a squire had taught Campion not to be choosy; being a knight had taught him it was better to give than receive. Perhaps whoever had the campfire would be in a cooperative frame of mind, and they could pass a bit of the evening—Campion snickered to himself—playing Hunt The Adder.

He pressed on, leaving the road to wind through the scrubby trees. They seemed stunted and often made him crush himself down beside his horse's neck. The smoke was no longer visible; the sky itself was barely visible. He'd set himself on a good course, though, and felt confident of his direction. He began to smell his goal.

The growth grew thicker, full of the plants that like more sun. Though Dinner balked, Campion heeled him sharply through the blackberry canes. The infernal beast had a breastplate for protection, after all. The horse broke into a clearing of tumbled stone. Before Campion could fully register what he was seeing, it screamed in panic and reared. Its left hind hoof slipped on a stone. Campion was thrown free, thanking his lucky stars in the instant before he met the ground that the horse seemed to be going the other way. His helmet rang with the impact against a rock, rang right through his skull, blackening out the world. He had an instant to think he hurt, and then nothing.

* * * *

Campion smelled cooking meat. That seemed important. So did the protests from his bladder, which apparently was too well trained to empty itself when he was lying down. He was definitely lying down, and on rather softer grass than he remembered landing.

Grass.

He was also definitely naked.

Though his head hammered with the effort, he opened his eyes. Grass indeed, at very close range. He blinked a few times to see if that would bring any of the rest of the world closer. A crisp wood fire blazed a little distance away, its heat washing toward him with the fitful breeze. The animal roasting within the piled limbs looked suspiciously horse-shaped.

“Care for a bite?” said a melodious deep voice somewhere nearby.

Campion lifted his head, squeezing his eyes shut against momentary vertigo. “Is that...?”

“The horse that dumped you on your head? Consider it the ultimate reprimand. Surely you'd thought of it before? Besides, he'd broken a leg in the tumble.”

Campion, eyes still closed, considered the voice and its words. Had he found a scholar in the woods, perhaps a noble's younger son? Would the gentleman be offended if he didn't stagger very far to relieve himself? He pulled himself up on hands and knees, waited for the world to stop spinning, and opened his eyes again. Though the voice sounded close, he saw no feet in the corner of either eye.

“Do you need a hand?” said the voice, almost directly above him.

He turned his head a little. No feet, at least not the sort he was expecting. A pair of taloned claws, and a long scaly tail. Aches forgotten, Campion dropped and rolled away by reflex, scrambling upright at what seemed a marginally safer distance.

“I suppose not, then.” The dragon gestured with the proffered upper limb and dropped down to all fours. Its wings folded in neatly atop his back.

Campion tried several sentences all at once, along with a few exclamations and the odd oath, but what eventually came out was, “What did you do with my clothes?”

The dragon looked momentarily puzzled. Campion made a motion toward his bare body, not sure he wanted to call attention to his defenselessness, but acutely aware that he could hardly make it more obvious. “Clothes. I see. The soft ones started the fire well, and the hard ones are excellent appetizers. Would you care for a bit?”

The hard ones...

Campion gulped. Looking around, he spied his armor in a torn and untidy heap, shredded into what he realized were bite-sized morsels for the dragon's long jaws. He supposed he should be glad not to spy himself in a similar heap of morsels, realized he wasn't making sense, and shook his head once to clear it. The ache made the world settle a little. “Not just now, thanks. Glad you like them.”

The dragon showed some back teeth. Reaching out with one long forelimb, it took up another piece of metal and tipped his head back. A gush of flame engulfed the end of the strip, and the dragon opened its mouth wide. Metal dripped into the back of its throat. The display was impressive. Campion realized he'd never wished before to wake up to find himself adder-bitten and alone.

“Delicious,” the beast said. “Are you sure you wouldn't care for some?”

Campion shook his head. He didn't trust his voice.

“I find your kind makes more sense without all that covering. I can see what you're thinking.” The dragon cast a pointed glance toward Campion's hips. “Though at present you look a bit contradictory.”

Campion remembered that his bladder didn't really have room for his balls to climb in beside it, though they seemed to be trying. “I need to piss,” he admitted bluntly.

“Ah.” The dragon cocked its head in an interested way. “Don't let me stop you.”

Campion took a few steps toward the nearest tree. The dragon kept pace by changing its angle, long neck stretching.

“Do you mind?” Campion asked, realizing he was to have no privacy.

“Not at all,” the beast replied in a contented rumble.

“Looking away, I mean.”

“Oh. Now that, yes, I would mind.”

Campion's knees were too shaky to carry him much further than the first oak. He'd pissed in public before. The dragon's neck made any angling and fidgeting pointless as trying to hide himself from an unusually curious snake anyway. He sighed in relief. “What's so bloody interesting about it, anyway?” he asked when he turned back.

The dragon backed up a few paces. “It draws your eye when I do this.” It shot a few small flames from its muzzle. “Doesn't it?”

“Well, yes. It's fire, for heaven's sakes.”

The dragon rocked its weight to its back legs to do something that Campion eventually recognized as a shrug. “Well. It's water.”

Campion nodded that yes, it was, puzzled.

“Your kind seems to be made of it, to the point that there's extra. It's fascinating.”

“Oh.” Campion wondered if he would have an audience for every leak he took for the rest of his life. Then he wondered if he would find himself roasting beside his worthless horse as soon as his conversation grew dull. He wasn't up to trying to run, and he was fairly sure that, like a snake, the dragon would simply dart its head forward and seize him.

“You look wobbly,” the dragon said in a friendly manner. “Sit down.”

Campion felt wobbly, and it wasn't just the blow to the head. Very few companions found him interesting to chat with for more than a few hours. He sat near the fire and watched the meat crisp. After a while, the dragon reached in and pulled a few ribs out, then presented them on what had been the horse's breastplate. They were too hot to eat, and the heat went right through the metal to Campion's lap, but they smelled good. He set the plate aside on the grass and said, “In a moment.”

“Still dizzy?” Now the beast sounded outright solicitous.

Campion shrugged and looked around. He was where the villagers had reported their dragon, and there was a dragon here, which raised other questions. He was pretty sure about what had happened to the livestock, but the other commodity had an immediate relevance to his own future. “What happened to the virgins?”

“Virgins? Perhaps that was why they were such silly wretches. I suggested I would like a bit of appropriate company, and the fool villagers brought me a screaming girl who promptly bolted off a cliff in the cave.” The beast gestured casually over his shoulder. “A week later, they brought me another who made some bold speech about her virtue and stuck herself in the chest with a dagger.”

Campion mulled this over. “I think the virgin for the dragon is traditional.”

“In that case, I can only be glad they seem to have run out. Useless chits.” The dragon puffed a cloud of smoke from its nostrils as if to indicate its opinion of girls and their source together.

At loss for another answer, Campion nodded. He'd never seen much use for virgins either. “Give me a good whore any day.”

The dragon threw back its head and spouted tiny flamelets in what Campion came to recognize as laughter. “I thought knights preferred pages?”

“Pages are as useless as virgins and too small by half. Knights and squires, not pages.”

The dragon licked laughter-flames from its lips with a long forked tongue. “Presumably they value their whores too greatly to let me have one.”

“One may be all they have. It's a small village.”

The dragon puffed out smoke once more. “Perhaps it's time to try another, perhaps a little larger, perhaps a little smarter-looking. Unless you think this is as nice as I'm likely to find.”

Campion looked around the grove and considered the land he'd passed on the way. He took up a rib to gnaw while he thought. The dragon was a good cook. “It's not bad, I must admit.”

“This nice clearing for basking, a good little cave not far off for shelter and storage...” The dragon looked very coy for a moment. “Not bad at all.”

The beast took up what Campion realized a moment too late was his sword. The tip drooped and dripped down the dragon's throat, and then the mighty jaws closed so the hilt rested on the end of the muzzle, glowing slightly in the evening light. After a moment, it took away the hilt, the blade gone altogether, and held out the grip in an appraising way. “I hope you didn't pay too much for this gilt work.”

Campion shook his head, feeling a little numb. If he'd stuck that in the brute's side, would he have accomplished anything other than serious burns? The dragon reached into the fire once more and drew out a leg, then sat back on its haunches and nibbled daintily. For all its power, Campion realized, the beast wasn't that much larger than he was—at least, not from shoulders to hips. The neck and tail added quite a bit, as did the wings and the long snout, but the creature was narrower through the shoulders than a man. He wouldn't be surprised to discover they weighed around the same amount—at least, before the dragon had enjoyed a metallic snack.

Muscles rippled beneath the scales, which the firelight caught in a pleasing manner. Campion felt his thoughts drifting back to the fuzzy state he'd awakened in, minus most of the headache. He'd been worse places than beside a dragon as they companionably shared what was left of his horse. He stripped the meat off another bone, felt a certain dryness, and considered the contents of his saddlebags. He considered whether he still had saddlebags.

“Looking for something?” the dragon asked after swallowing.

“The horse had a couple packages on it behind the saddle.”

The dragon pointed to a dark shape at the edge of the woods with its claw. “Something essential?”

“Brandy. I think. Cheap brandy, but decent enough for washing down horse. And some bread.”

The dragon fetched the bags, dangling them neatly from its jaws, as though it thought Campion might try to flee if he left the fire. Campion couldn't see well enough or walk well enough for any such thing, and was just as glad not to have to get up. “Thanks. There's not really enough to share, I'm afraid.”

“Quite all right. You already provided the meat and the side dish.”

Campion spared a moment to wonder what he was to do without clothes, armor, or horse, and then had a good pull of brandy. It was a worry for later. For now, he'd settle in by the fire for the night and hope to wake up in the morning. If he didn't, he would have been the midnight snack. The brandy made its warm fuzz through his middle.

The dragon was an elegant beast, he decided, and with better manners than he would have expected. Now it was flicking grease from its claws with a long forked tongue. It caught his regard and canted its head sideways, then rolled to display itself to better advantage. Its bronze-brown body gleamed in the firelight, the scales so tiny as to be nearly invisible on the upper body, broad on the belly. Campion grinned and took up a more comfortable position lounging on one elbow himself.

The dragon puffed a little smoke in amusement. Campion decided he was probably not that impressive to the beast, but knew he wasn't bad, neither overly fat nor overly hairy. He thought of his earlier ambitions for a fireside companion and had to smile. The meal had been decent enough, and the conversation likewise; what more could a knight-errant really ask?

He considered his earlier thoughts of Hunt the Adder and couldn't help scoffing at himself a little.

The dragon stretched and rolled a little further. A year ago, still a very junior knight, Campion had spent some time guarding the king's treasures on display for some visiting nobles. Among the faceted gems and gold, the piece that had truly drawn his eye was a raw opal, a swirl of fire and milk through a bronze-colored stone. For just a moment, he thought the dragon was now displaying something similar to him.

Then his mind shifted. That was no gem. Still, he coveted it, wanted to touch it, and couldn't help wondering if dragon cum boiled.

A few pointed teeth gleamed in the firelight. Campion had a little more brandy, uncomfortably aware of a stirring at his own groin. Fooling around with a dragon seemed risky at best. And yet the beast patted the ground in a gesture of invitation, and Campion found himself rising to unsteady legs to join his new friend. His eyes were drawn to that iridescent swirl of color.

Years ago, when he was old enough to be desperate to soothe his overeager prick and young enough to be shy of the wenches who smiled at him, his own knight had set him up with a girl to dance with half the night, then dallied with Campion himself. Erect to desperation, Campion had learned to accept being buggered by Sir Agravaine as the price of easing himself when no other opportunity seemed available. He'd been trained young, raised in an orphanage, not to touch himself. He'd come hard in the older man's hand, eager for the relief of it and obscurely proud to be pleasing his hard-to-please master. Now, he wondered what exactly the dragon would expect of him and how it would repay him its own satisfaction.

Lying face-to-face, he felt anxious about the sharp claws running lightly over his shoulder. They didn't quite tickle. They didn't hurt. Still, they made him shiver with something deliciously like fear while his prick jumped to life. His fingers discovered that a dragon's flesh felt only a little warmer than any other, somewhere between a sun-warmed rock and the fever of desire. As he stroked where he barely dared to stroke, an ashen powder coated his hand. It too was only pleasingly warm. The long shaft had a slight ridge along its underside, knobs of harder flesh throbbing under his fingertips. Campion relaxed into the touches as claws were joined by the leathery palms of dragon hands.

The dragon tucked its head between them. Campion felt something like a slick, slender belt slide down his prick and then divide. The cleft ran along his shaft as the two ends danced into an embrace on the way back up. The dragon's forked tongue made rings and loops as it played over him, making him groan with the wash of heat rising from his loins. Was that in part the dragon's breath? It didn't matter. The beast hummed a note almost like a purr as it licked away the first drop of his imminent climax.

Then it pulled away to look at him. Its claws tugged ever so lightly at his shoulder, suggesting that he roll over. No, Campion decided, demanding that he roll over. He was in no position or state to argue, wriggling to his back and then his other side submissively, wanting the dragon inside him, wanting desperately to finish.

The slick powder eased the passage of the dragon's prick into him. He knew the greatest pleasure would occur for him as the head of the cock passed some secret inner point; it had been the true benefit of Agravaine's entries. He hadn't thought about the knobbed underside of the dragon's cock. Now each knob was a new entry sliding over that secret place, making him shake and moan at every new inch.

The dragon twisted above him in a serpentine coil to lick at him once more. Campion had never been buggered and licked at the same time, never mind by a single partner. That long purring note seemed uninterrupted by breath, transmitted through the forked and dainty tongue, which now wrapped itself around his shaft in two clenching coils before the tip danced against him. The grip was tight, slowing what would have been a passionate and rapid response.

“Please,” Campion gasped, the dragon now fully inside him and still. The dragon's withdrawal was as slow and deliberate as the entry, making a steady rhythm of the throbs that amazing ridge produced. Campion writhed against the scaly embrace, trying to speed them both, barely able to move. He was rewarded with a quicker thrust, still far more patient than he could have been himself, and a more vigorous flicking of the tongue against the last inch of his prick. “Please?”

Now the beast rocked against him, quick and shallow movements that made a single knob rub over and over. Campion felt the spasm gathering in his balls, ready to force past the tight coil stopping it. He moaned something inarticulate, hoping for nothing but release, his hands clawing at the turf before him.

The dragon pulled away suddenly, the tongue unwinding in a flash. Campion had only an instant's resentment at seizing himself in his own hand to finish despite a moment's fear greater than that of the claws, before the dragon bellowed a great gush of flame into the sky. Campion's own cries were lost in the roar. He felt his own heat rush into his limbs in the moment of pleasure, felt the pressure yield to wet ecstasy. For a mad moment, he thought he might come forever.

He couldn't, but he was still enjoying little shivers of dribbling pleasure as the dragon coiled down to the ground behind him. They were still tightly together, the wonderfully nubbled prick still inside the man. He found himself rubbing his buttocks back against his partner for the sheer joy of it, something he'd not done before. With his knight, in his own squire days, he'd tolerated the act, even enjoyed the hand-not-his around his prick, but never had it been like that.

Claws coiled around his hip, giving him another nervous shudder at having those diamond tips so close to his precious and contented parts. Even that shudder thrilled him for another moment. The amazing tongue flicked playfully at the rim of his ear.

“Enthusiastic tonight, are we?” The beast's breath was smoky.

Campion relaxed his last few tight muscles, sagging deeply against the earth. “That was—the best. Ever. With anyone.”

The dragon gave a more contented-sounding version of his earlier purring hum.

“I hope you don't eat your mate when you're done,” Campion said, half in jest and half in the hope of a jest.

“You may have noticed I'm a male. How impractical would that be? Female dragons, now—there's a reason I prefer a knight if I can have one.” The tongue flicked once more at his cheek in something eerily like a kiss.

Campion sighed in contentment, the dragon's breast scales cozy against his back, grass fragrant so close to his nose. “You have one. And really, if I had known dragon hunting turned out like this, you wouldn't have needed to eat my horse and burn my clothes to get and keep one.”

“I cannot vouch for every dragon.”

The beast rocked his hips from side to side in settling, giving caresses to that secret spot within once more. Campion gasped at the sudden resurgence of arousal the small movement produced in him. His ebbing cock halted and reversed itself, throbbing in the loose grip of his sticky hand. Deliberately, he loosed himself and wiped his hand on the cool grass.

“Were you in some hurry to leave?” the dragon asked, its own prick still clearly rigid within him.

“No. And something tells me that come morning I'm going to be glad not to be sitting astride a saddle.” The flask of brandy was just within the reach of his toes. Without breaking their precious connection, he stretched his leg, dragged the little bottle to within an arm's reach, and had another sip to ease his dried throat. He hadn't noticed screaming quite that much, but he seemed to have, and he expected to do it again. The dragon made another rocking motion. It was all Campion could do to screw the top back on the flask. “Would you care for a drop?”

“Probably risky,” answered the dragon. “Best just to fuck until dawn.”

The long tongue came to Campion's groin once more to flick and tease. This time he felt less urgency, less need to rush to the end, and enjoyed this slick-leather feeling over his growing stiffness. The dragon, on the other hand, seemed to be finding its pace, rocking to another fiery climax before Campion was fully erect. The tongue returned warmer, but it returned, and Campion pressed back against the scaly chest in spasms of delicious softness as it licked away his juices.

Campion stared into the embers of the fire. They would keep their warmth for a long time, but the flames no longer leapt high in the night. Ghosts of blue flames danced over the logs, and orange gleams rippled in the blackness as the colors had moved in the gemlike cock of the dragon. He thought he might sleep, and then wondered if he could with a prick still nestled inside him. There certainly was nowhere safer, assuming the dragon itself was safe.

Soon he was drowsing in the scaled arms, and then sleeping. Some time later, he found himself in a vague but lascivious dream of tongues and pricks and a deep inner throbbing. He remembered opals that caressed and gave him good feelings. He remembered supple leather that moved to satisfy him of its own will. His climax struck before he was properly awake, dribbling from him in a pleasing way as he opened his eyes to a grey dawn and the dragon's head draped before him dripping fire from its slackened jaws.

The dragon slipped from him at last with a yawn and a croon. There might be a future Campion should be planning. For now, though, it was enough to watch the grey clouds turn red through the haze of the dragon's smoke and let the torpor of a night well spent fill him.

The End

[Back to Table of Contents]

Contributors

Addison Albright lives in the middle of the USA with Terry and three peculiar cats. Her stories are gay romance/erotica, and tend to be sweet man-love in contemporary settings. She loves popcorn, french fries, cats, math, boating, and anything chocolate. Addison loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere. You can learn more about Addison's writing by visiting her website at addison-albright.tripod.com.

Heidi Champa is a typical last-born child. Snarky, attention-seeking and rebellious, she chooses to write dirty stories to keep herself out of real trouble. Her work appears in the anthologies Tasting Him: Oral Sex Stories, Frenzy: 60 Stories of Sudden Sex and Girl Fun One. She has also steamed up the pages of Bust Magazine. If you prefer your erotica in electronic form, she can be found at Clean Sheets, Ravenous Romance, and The Erotic Woman. In addition to her flare with the written word, she knows every last sentence of the movie Clue by heart. When she's not writing, she can be found reading or filling her iPod with more music. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband. Her greatest wish is that sarcasm would translate better in the written form. Find her online at heidichampa.blogspot.com and myspace.com/heidichampa.

V. Greene writes fantasy, occasional science fiction, and some nonfiction to feed the bulldog. The fan fiction, however, is quietly swept under the rug.

William Holden is the author of more than 24 stories of gay short fiction. He has served as fiction editor for RFD magazine, authored five bibliographies for the American Library Associations GLBT Round Table and written various encyclopedia articles on the history of gay fiction and literature. He can be contacted by visiting his website, www.WilliamHoldenOnline.com.

Taylor Lochland has been writing erotic stories to share with friends for five years. She started with fan fiction, but soon realized that she most enjoyed creating her own characters. She has also run an online community for erotic text-based role-playing for four years. When she isn't at her computer writing smut, Taylor can be found reading books or manga, watching anime, sewing, traveling, or teaching science. Taylor lives with her husband and two cats.

Tyler McKenzie, a resident of Chicago, toils away at her day job as a software developer to pay for her night job as an editor and reviewer. Any free time left over is spent enjoying GLBT fiction, movies and travel. She shares her home with two pampered felines and her beloved MacBook Pro.

Shea Meier currently resides in the Washington, DC area, and excels in the fields of Yarn Pushing, Extreme Caffeine Consumption, Home Apothecary, and Semi-Pro Bargain Hunting. In her spare time, she provides a home for wayward ice cream. Shea is devoted to providing the world with a wealth of erotic romance, gay, bisexual, and otherwise, and is hard at work on more stories.

Rob Rosen is the author of two novels, “Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love” and “Divas Las Vegas". His short stories have appeared, to date, in more than fifty anthologies, most notably: Best Gay Love Stories (2006 & 2009), Truckers, Best Gay Love Stories: New York City, Best Gay Romance (2007, 2008, & 2009), My First Time, Volume 5, Best Gay Love Stories: Summer Flings, Ultimate Gay Erotica (2008 & 2009), Hard Hats, Backdraft: Fireman Erotica, Ride Me Cowboy—Erotic Tales of the West, Cruise Lines, Service With A Smile: Fun with Couriers, Contractors and Plumbers, Frat Sex 2, Bears: Gay Erotic Stories, Flipped Fables, Pretty Boys and Roughnecks, Unmasked II: More Erotic Tales of Gay Superheroes, Cruising for Bad Boys, SexTime: Erotic Stories of Time Travel, Wrap Me Up—Erotic Holiday Tales, Boys Getting Ahead, and Surfer Boys. His erotic fiction can frequently be found in the pages of MEN and Freshmen magazines. Please visit him at his website, www.therobrosen.com, or email him at robrosen@therobrosen.com.

Cassidy Ryan lives and works in Glasgow, Scotland. When not writing, she enjoys reading, the cinema, music and watching football (soccer to our friends across the pond). She also loves British sit-coms from the 70s, and American cop shows—also from the 70s. Find out more at cassidyryanwrites.tripod.com.

Alisha Steele, aka A. Steele, lives in Ontario, Canada with two men, two boys, two dogs and a cat. When she's not busy cleaning up after the lot of ‘em, she likes to write the occasional smut story. For more of her work, check out Alisha's website at www.alishasteele.com.

David Wesley majored in physics and was a Russian linguist in the U.S. Navy but has been writing since his first attempt at a novel when he was twelve. He was a writer/editor for two newspapers and two magazines before sidestepping into a career with the U.S. Postal Service. A member of The Dramatists Group, he has written five plays which have been produced, including Road Signs, a finalist for radio drama of the year with American Radio Theatre. In the 1990s Mr. Wesley wrote a number of short stories for Advocate Men, Freshmen, Advocate Classifieds, and an Alyson Books anthology, Up All Hours. Now retired, David is simultaneously developing several books and several plays.

[Back to Table of Contents]

About the Editor

Jaye Valentine, along with partner and co-writer Reno MacLeod, are currently based in a small New England town famous for producing bungee cords and a notorious ax murderess. Together they write gay urban fantasy, horror, and sci-fi novels that are not for the faint of heart, including the StarCrossed series. They have also written a BDSM-themed contemporary novel, Soft Focus, with intent to produce a sequel.

In addition to his editing work and collaborations with Reno MacLeod, Jaye also writes solo under the pen name of Acer Adamson. For more information, please visit Jaye's half-assed excuse for a website at jaye-valentine.livejournal.com.

If you enjoyed LIKE MAGNETS, WE ATTRACT, you might also enjoy:

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SOFT FOCUS

By Reno MacLeod and Jaye Valentine

Ethan Bouwer has always been the adventurous sort. A freelance nature photographer, he travels the globe and writes erotica on the side whenever things get a bit slow. Hunting for a topic for his next writing project, he stumbles upon a man named David Turner and the taboo world of BDSM. His curiosity piqued, Ethan discovers that David Turner and his beautiful partner Kiyoshi are coming to town for a convention.

Ethan makes arrangements for them to meet, but little does Ethan know that he is about to embark on a safari into a world more wild and untamed than anything he has ever encountered before.

Warning: This title contains graphic language, m/m sex, bdsm and attempted rape.

Excerpt From SOFT FOCUS:

David put a hand on Ethan's shoulder. Ethan could feel David's other hand tracing the intricate curves of subtly raised ink lightly with the tips of his fingers. David's breath felt warm on the back of Ethan's neck. A shiver shook Ethan to his core.

“May I, Sensei?” David looked down. Kiyoshi's eyes remained on the floor, his arms visibly trembling.

“Perhaps later,” David said, his lips pressing to Ethan's right ear. “I want him all to myself for now. You're excused, Kitten. You may leave Ethan's things on the sofa.”

Ethan watched in stunned silence as Kiyoshi rose gracefully to his feet still holding Ethan's things. Kiyoshi placed them on the sofa with care, and as he quickly and quietly departed for one of the bedrooms. Ethan felt suddenly vulnerable. He trusted that David would keep his word and do nothing without permission, but primitive survival instincts drove Ethan's blood pressure spiraling toward the roof. “Should I have a safe-word?”

David chuckled and began a slow, methodical walk around Ethan, one hand stroking his own chin as if he were pondering something important. “I'm only looking at you, Ethan. I don't think you need a safe-word for that. Unless, of course—” David stopped directly in front of Ethan, so close that Ethan figured David could probably count the tiny freckles on his nose. “Unless you would like me to do more than look.”

Ethan stopped breathing. His hands felt heavy, and the blood draining from his face gave the sensation that he was actually melting under David's powerful gaze. Blood rushed to other places and Ethan felt himself beginning to stiffen, increasing the feeling of being utterly vulnerable. He was sure David could hear his heart thumping in his chest. “I...” Ethan struggled to put a single thought in order. “It would help me to understand. To really understand the emotion behind what goes on.”

One of David's hands slid to cup Ethan's face with his palm, those brown eyes boring into Ethan with intensity that glossy paper couldn't capture. A warm, moist kiss was pressed to Ethan's mouth with the tiniest tease of the tip of tongue. David tugged at the bar-and-hook on the waistband of Ethan's trousers. “Now you need a safe-word.”

The tip of Ethan's tongue slipped out, tasting where David's lips had been. He was lost in the flavor until he found his pants being pulled open. His cock leaped against the material. “Zebra,” Ethan said quickly, arching his back slightly to drive his hardness against David's hand.

“Very well.” Ethan's zipper ratcheted down one slow click at a time. David's hand slipped inside Ethan's fly, palming Ethan's blossoming erection that strained in protest against his briefs. “So hard for me already,” David said in a pleased tone. “But I'm certain you can do better.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Ethan parted his lips to let a soft cry escape. It had been close to a year since he'd been with a man, but even as his mind traveled through the backlist of all his lovers, not one of them had ever caused the crackle of erotic energy Ethan now felt surging through his body. David had barely touched him and Ethan was already burning up.

“I want you naked in my bed,” David said, lips trailing wetly along Ethan's cheek, palming him harder, Ethan's cock firmly gripped through a layer of soft cotton. “Go to Kiyoshi, and tell him to prepare you for presentation. He'll know what to do.” David nipped sharply at Ethan's earlobe.

Ethan prayed his knees would hold out.

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FOUR SEASONS: SPRING 2009

Selena Kitt, editor

Spring is a time of beginnings—after a gradual thaw, the melting of one season into next, comes a bright renewal—the exciting, passionate bloom of love, youth, new life, chances to begin again and all the rituals of re-birth. As the world blooms open again, so does the human longing for re-connection, both emotionally and physically. Come join your favorite eXcessica authors in this sensual, seasonal anthology, bringing you the best of all things sexy in the spring!

(Edited by Selena Kitt, stories by Molly Wens, Giselle Renarde, Amicus, Sabb, Rachelle Le Monnier, Kiki Howell, Sommer Marsden, Vicki Paradise, Jennifer Campbell, Dakota Trace, Marshall Ian Key and Karenna Colcroft)

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FOUR SEASONS: SUMMER 2009

Selena Kitt, editor

The heat of summer brings you the best in steamy erotica, a sultry collection to make you break into a wanton, feverish sweat. This one's a fiery scorcher, an exciting, wild ride, page after page. So come take a HOT vacation with your favorite eXcessica authors in this sexy, seasonal anthology, bringing you the best of all things summer!

COMING JUNE 2009

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FOUR SEASONS: AUTUMN 2009

Selena Kitt, editor

The autumn weather might be cooling things off, but you won't need that sweater—we promise our erotica will warm you up! This time of year involves metamorphosis, from the changing of the fall colors to the places between, where the world wears thin and the strange and unusual happens. Join your favorite eXcessica authors in this sexy, sometimes spooky, seasonal anthology, bringing you the best of all things autumn!

COMING SEPTEMBER 2009

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FOUR SEASONS: WINTER 2009

Selena Kitt, editor

If the spirit and magic of the winter season wasn't enough to keep you warm as the weather turns cold, you can count on the erotica in this spicy anthology to do the trick! So let it snow, and curl up with your favorite eXcessica authors and this sexy, seasonal anthology, bringing you the best of all things winter!

COMING DECEMBER 2009

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