Fishy Queen (Drag Queen Beauty Pageant Book 2)

by Malachite Splinters

I fumbled with them, getting it halfway open, then all the way. I opened it, exposing his torso and he leaned back on the bed as I took him in.

  Bedroom eyes, mouth panting open, cheeks filling with color, thin chest heaving, V-line faintly showing in the dawn light, while the tent in his pajama pants made my mouth water.

  He tugged on my singlet. “Take it off,” he muttered. “Hurry up,” he whined.

  It was only the second time I’d really had the feeling of wanting someone underneath me, the second time this had filled me with building desire.

  And it made me hot right now to see him lying here, wanting me on top of him.

  I pulled off the singlet and pushed the long sleeves of the pajama jacket off his arms.

  He sat up, shrugged the jacket off completely and then, looking up at me, pushed down the front of his pajama pants, exposing his erection to me.

  He looked at me looking at him and his chest heaved.

  He reached for the drawstring on my pants, tugged on it and they loosened and fell down. He fixed his gaze on my erection and I saw him lick his lips.

  That sent such a thrill through me, I felt myself get even harder and as he watched, a glistening bead of pre-come appeared in the slit. He let out a moan.

  And then he rolled over so I was looking at his butt, every bit as plump and luscious as I had imagined but without the apron, and I realized he was opening the drawer of the nightstand.

  I thought he was just getting lube, but he came back with a square foil packet, as well.

  He turned and looked at me, then set the lube and the condom on a pillow and pushed the pillow to the side.

  Then he lay down, pulling me down with him, and pulled the covers up over us, so we were both underneath, as if in a small, warm cave.

  He took all the clothes and threw them out of the bed.

  He lay on his side and made me do the same, and then lifted his knee up on my hip and put his arms around my neck.

  “Get me ready,” he murmured, brushing his lips against mine again.

  My erection nudged his stomach and I gasped, pulling him closer, more snugly against me.

  I still couldn’t believe this was happening. To hold him like this, feel his silky skin against mine, it had to be a dream.

  “What do you mean?” I murmured, running my hands down his body from his shoulder down the curve of his back to his butt and his thigh tight against my hip.

  “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered on my lips and thrust against my stomach, which made us both moan.

  But his words made a cold pill of reality slip down my throat into my stomach.

  This wasn’t a dream. It was real. Anthony had brought me into his bed last night to sleep, and now it was morning and he wanted to have sex with me.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. It was fully light now, and the fact that we were under the sheets couldn’t hide that. He looked back at me.

  The silence stretched long enough for the haze of arousal to dissipate slightly, and it started to feel a little awkward to be lying here like this.

  “You don’t want to?” He frowned a little, and pushed away from me, his hand coming down to cover his wilting erection.

  I did the same, cupping my hand over my parts and sitting up, covering myself with the sheets. Embarrassment washed over me, prickling hot.

  “Well, excuse me for thinking you did,” he said airily, turning away from me, covered by the sheets up to the armpits.

  The awkwardness that descended was so jarringly painful, I would have preferred shards of glass to pierce my internal organs than endure this another second.

  He got up out of the bed and, stepping on the clothes, walked out of the bedroom stark naked and I heard the bathroom door hinge creak, as it did sometimes.

  I sat there for another minute longer and then I grabbed the condom and the lube he had gotten out and I stood up and left the room and I didn't put on any clothes, either.

  The bathroom door was ajar and through the gap, I could just see his bare limbs standing in front of the sink. I knocked.

  “Yeah?” He said, and I heard him sniff.

  “Can I come in?”

  He opened the door, glaring. A tear had trickled down his cheek. “What?”

  “I—I want to say something,” I said.

  I was standing there stark naked in front of him again and I couldn’t front or pretend or fake anything any more.

  Until now I had managed to keep a barrier up. Keep a cool distance from my feelings. As if this was another casual assignation, which meant nothing and would last a few minutes before being forgotten.

  It wasn’t.

  I got down on my knees, on the floor of my own bathroom, and hung my head and folded my hands in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

  “Stand up,” he muttered, still facing the sink.

  I did, and came up behind him.

  Another tear had fallen, on the opposite side, forming two tracks down his face. He sniffed again, then got a tissue and blew his nose, still ignoring me.

  “Should I go?” I asked.

  He looked up into the mirror and met my eyes, and shook his head.

  He reached back as if to pull me closer, against him, and he touched the hand which held the lube and the condom. I put them on the glass ledge in front of the mirror.

  He looked from them to me. Our eyes held.

  “I’ve never done that before,” I breathed.

  His forehead creased slightly. “Oh.”

  “I—I have these dreams,” I said nervously as our eyes met again. “About you.”

  He said he had dreamed about me, too. What did that mean? Was that why he wanted me?

  “You dreamed about me?” He asked, his brown eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “What happened?”

  I didn’t let go of his gaze. “I made love to you.”

  His chest rose and fell faster and faster, and so did mine, as we looked at each other in the mirror.

  And it didn’t feel like I was someone else in the mirror. It felt like it was me, and him, and it was getting more intense by the second.

  I put my hands on his shoulders, turned him around, leaned down and kissed him. He kissed me back. We both opened our mouths and within seconds the kiss was developing into something ravenous.

  His tongue stroked the roof of my mouth and my tongue until I moaned. He wrapped his arms around my neck and I wrapped mine around his midriff and soon I was panting and arousal was surging though me.

  My erection, which had faded away to almost nothing, was throbbing and brushing against his stomach again.

  He broke the kiss and turned around, bending over the sink. He took the lube from the ledge and handed it to me.

  “Get me ready,” he said again. “I want you to do it.”

  I started feeling nervous again. “I’ve never—I’ve only ever prepped myself. And my nails, I can’t, um—”

  “Just don’t finger me, then,” he said impatiently. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

  A quaver of nervousness went through me as I squeezed a generous amount of lube onto my fingers. He bent over the sink and pushed his butt against my hand.

  “Come on,” there was a slight whine in his voice and finally he reached around, grabbed my hand and used both of his to guide it to the round, puckered opening of his bum.

  “Ah—” he gasped as I started to spread the lube, moving my fingers in a circular motion. “Ahh—” His second sound suggested pleasure more than pain.

  “Ahhh— ahhhh, oh, mmm—” he was bracing on the edge of the sink, his head down, moaning louder and louder as I massaged his sphincter and perineum with rhythmic strokes.

  I did know what I was doing, even if I hadn’t done this to anyone other than myself before, and I started to feel a sense of satisfaction that I was able to make him react this way.

  After a little while he took over, using more lube and stretching himself out with two fing
ers in his most intimate place. His back arched, his legs spread, and looked at me in the mirror.

  That did it.

  That was the look.

  His face was flushed rosy gold, his mouth was slack with desire and the look in his eye reached right down into me, it hooked me right in that tender place behind my ribcage and it threatened to pull it all up and out though my mouth like a gutted fish.

  As if panic overtook us, everything had to happen now.

  He grabbed the condom packet, ripped it open and spun around, taking hold of my erection by the base and slipping the condom over it—which made me groan at his touch—and slathering lube over it before turning back around.

  “Now,” he said, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Okay?”

  Even though the panic gripped me, I couldn't do anything.

  He turned back around, reached his arms up around my neck and we kissed fast and desperate. I picked him up, and he locked his legs around my back like a monkey.

  “Machyl,” he muttered, his hands stroking my face, my hair. “Do it now, Machyl, please—Machyl—”

  Still carrying him and staggering a little under his weight, I got the door open and took the three steps across to my open bedroom door.

  Another two steps and we were falling onto the unmade bed.

  He wrapped himself around me and our bodies aligned as my weight settled on top of him. And once I felt him underneath me, I lost it. I lost all control.

  Our mouths melded together and we started frantically rutting against each other.

  Anthony pushed me up, so I couldn’t thrust against him any more, his legs spreading wider as he angled his hips upward and made my condom-sheathed erection nudge the underside of his balls. “Fuck me—Machyl, fuck me—”

  Trembling, I placed the head of my erection on the ring of muscle between his legs and he moaned loudly.

  “Just push it in,” he moaned, then pushed my hand away and grabbed my shaft and started pressing it against the tight rosebud that made him cry out and shudder in deep breaths which he let out between pursed lips.

  And then I felt the head of my cock breach his body, enveloped in pressure so tight, I had never felt anything like it.

  “Oh god—” I groaned. The heat and pressure got hotter and tighter and enveloped more and more of my erection. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. I couldn't believe it could be like this. “Oh, god—oh, god, Anthony—” I moaned as I sheathed fully and he pulled me closer to him with his legs.

  “Now fuck me,” his eyes were closed, his erect penis lying on his abdomen, his arms stretched above his head, his skin hot and glowing, and I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. “Move,” he winced, his face screwed up, and then he started to move.

  I held myself above him and he rocked against me, and as he started to do that, I started to move. I moaned and thrust a little harder, and he cried out.

  “Yes,” he gasped. “Do that again.”

  I did it again.

  “—Aaahh!” He cried out. He tensed and flexed his whole body as he rolled his hips to meet my thrusts, long lines of muscle appearing as he braced against me.

  I did it again, and again, and again, until he was hot, whimpering, clinging to me and his mouth open in a silent scream.

  I was lost in a delirium of him, surrounding me and consuming me, my arousal and desire mounted and mounted, impossibly, it was impossible to get even harder than I was now, it was impossible to become more turned on, it was impossible for this to feel better than it did.

  But it just kept getting better.

  It was so good it made me want to spill my guts to him, it made me want to crawl and beg and swear blind to him, it made me want to say crazy and terrible things, forbidden things.

  Anthony reached down and touched himself. “Machyl,” he groaned. “Make me come,” he looked into my eyes while he ran his thumb over the head of his penis.

  “Machyl,” he cried out, throwing his head back and fisting his dick tightly and quickly now. He raised his head and looked me in the eye. “Oh—St Sebastian—Machyl, I’m coming—oh, god, you’re making me come—oh, god—oh, god—oh—”

  His come burst out in a white torrent that hit me under the chin and ran down my neck and he collapsed on the bed, arms flopping and head lolling.

  I was close. How could I not be? He was taking everything. Every beat of my heart seemed to chime with each thrust of my erection in the hot pressure of his body.

  “Look at me,” I touched his face. “Anthony—” I gasped as he raised his big brown eyes to mine. “Oh, Anthony—” I picked up his small, fine-boned hand and placed it against my cheek. I kissed his palm and the soft inside of his wrist.

  I looked into his eyes and I started to come. Orgasm broke over me, crashed like the climax of a symphony. I was trembling and pouring with sweat as the overpowering sweetness poured through me and into him while I stared into his eyes.

  Anthony,

  I think I’m in love with you.

  I came in a flood of come which felt like it was never going to stop pouring out of me.

  It sucked me dry and I gasped like a fish on dry land, and when I could talk again, I started to speak.

  “Anthony,” I said slowly. I kissed his fingers, which I was still holding. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Can you pull out, please?” He said quietly.

  “Oh—of course,” I felt embarrassed that he had to ask. I tried to do it slowly and watched his face for signs of pain.

  It was an alien feeling to have become used to his tight pressure around my penis, even stranger to lose it and feel the rush of cold air as I slipped out of him.

  I rolled off him, aware of how uncomfortable it could be to have a much heavier person lying on you.

  “Anthony, I’ve, um,” I began, then stopped. He was looking back at me with his big eyes. “I’ve been— I’ve been attracted to you for a long time,” I said. “But I—and I really—” my chest seized up with tightness. “And I want to—” I stuttered, my face flaming hot as I dropped my gaze to the white sheets.

  I couldn’t express what I was trying to say.

  I wanted it to be like in the dreams. I had always hated his sweetness and his vulnerability, because I couldn’t face the fact that I really I wanted it and craved it.

  He had cracked the armor I had put up around myself for so long.

  “I want to be with you,” I whispered finally.

  He looked back at me for a minute, raised his eyebrows and got off the bed. “I need the bathroom,” he said, and he left the room.

  I lay there, then sat up slowly. A strange fearful feeling was spreading through me. That was what he said last time he left my bedroom, and he never came back.

  “Well,” he sighed as he came back in from the bathroom wearing a lilac satin bathrobe that matched the pajamas from the other night. The satin bathrobe hung open, flowing lightly behind him as he walked, like a train. I admired the pure, bright line drawn along his side by the sun coming sharply in through a gap in the curtains.

  He didn’t seem to mind or notice. In fact I thought he was doing it on purpose to show off his body to me. Though I did wonder why he had worn Angel’s robe the other time, if he had this one.

  “I can’t say I feel he same way,” he said, stopping at the foot of the bed and turning toward me.

  I frowned and an uncomfortable feeling flowed over me. I pulled the corner of the sheet over my lap to cover myself up.

  Had I heard him right?

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  What just happened—it wasn’t… it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t roommates-with-benefits. He had been—just as much into it as me. Hadn’t he?

  He dropped the bathrobe, right there in front of me, and held out something in his hand, something made of black lace.

  Then he bent down and pulled on a thong, just black floss in the back with a little bow right at the top of his bum. He turned around. />
  “What do you think?”

  He posed a little, as if I was going to take a picture.

  Which I wasn’t, not ever.

  Not ever.

  I wanted to drink in the real, live action him, every little divot and mole of his perfect flawed self.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked, peering at the thong as he turned back around. It was as pretty, as delicate and feminine, as women’s lingerie. But it fit.

  He smiled coyly and perched attractively on the edge of the bed. “I love women’s lingerie,” he said. “No, scratch that. I love lingerie. But it’s not made to fit men. So I told Brooklyn, we need to work on this.”

  He stood up and stretched. He looked beautiful in the morning light. Beautiful and as sexy as the underwear he was so proud of.

  “I’ll be moving out,” he said, turning back around and getting dressed. “I solved my money problem,” he said, his back turned to me. I watched his ass as he slipped into a pair of jeans.

  “Oh, good,” I said vaguely, because I wasn’t sure but I felt that there was something strange going on in this conversation, things not being said.

  He turned around and looked me up and down. “Thanks for the fuck,” he said, his eyes veiled behind blue contact lenses. “But… I kind of liked it better when Damaris did it.”

  And with that, he left the room and I heard the sound of the front door not long after.

  He had left.

  The office was empty, silent and peaceful. There were usually at least a couple people in here on a Saturday, but it looked like everyone was taking it easy after the project wrapped up yesterday.

  That was fine. I needed to be here, and I needed to not have to deal with other people at this point.

  I sat down at my desk, turned on the desktop to boot up and went to see what I had left in the fridge in the kitchen, then changed my mind and opened up my laptop to check my personal email.

  I doubted there was anything of importance in there, but I hadn’t checked it yesterday and I didn’t like having new emails sitting in there, festering away unread.

  My inbox loaded and it was sitting right there, above a forum notification that really should have been filtered into another folder.

  The sender, in bold, sat there staring at me.