Ah, fuck, he groaned at last, giving up all pretense of resistance as his body went rigid and streams of hot ejaculate were expertly milked from his cock. Despite the ropes, because of the ropes… Damn it to hell, he didn‘t know, he didn‘t want to know, but oh, oh, oh it felt so fucking good…
~*~
Clint untied the rope and tossed it aside, half-expecting Tyler to leap up, still pretending outrage. But Tyler didn‘t try to get away. Instead he snuggled back against Clint, letting a long contented sigh escape his lips. Clint wrapped his arms around him, reaching to stroke and soothe the nipple he‘d been pulling and twisting a moment before. He‘d taken a gamble with the rope, he knew it, but apparently it had paid off. If nothing else, Tyler was still there, in his arms. Though he wasn‘t yet absolutely certain, Clint was pretty sure there was more here than mere sexual masochism.
He had sensed Tyler‘s potential for submission at the poetry reading, but he‘d felt it even stronger when they‘d come back to the room. He‘d seen it in the way Tyler‘s eyes had dilated and the sweat had appeared on his upper lip when Clint had sprawled on the chair, silently daring Tyler to kneel before him. He‘d felt it in the hungry, almost desperate way Tyler had worshipped his cock and balls, and then bowed his head, raining kisses over the tops of Clint‘s feet.
He felt himself responding in kind, moved by Tyler‘s exuberant attentions. It went beyond simple flattery that the boy seemed to want so very much what he was offering. There was a potential connection here—the chance to reach for something he hadn‘t realized he‘d given up on, until faced with its possibility. Still, this colt was skittish and would require some gentling. As much as he wanted him, Clint knew better than to move too fast, not with the likes of Tyler Sutton.
For reasons Clint had yet to tease out of him, Tyler was in denial about his true and most basic impulses. While Clint had no doubt that in Tyler he had found a submissive, he‘d learned all too well over the years that just because a body knew a thing, that didn‘t mean it was easy to act on it. Tyler was as resistant as a calf being pulled unwilling into the rodeo ring.
For a moment he regretted his rough treatment with the rope. Hopefully it hadn‘t been too much, too fast. You okay, Ty? he whispered softly, drawing Tyler closer against him.
Yeah, Tyler murmured, pressing back against Clint‘s erection so that it took every ounce of control not to take him then and there. If he didn‘t care whether Tyler stayed or went afterwards, he might have done just that. But something held him back. Maybe, he admitted, there was more here than just a one-night-stand.
If he could, Clint would find out what had happened to turn Tyler away from his true nature. He‘d wanted what Clint offered, there was no way to hide that, but at the same time he‘d resisted, almost as if ashamed of his own desires. Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe Tyler wasn‘t wrestling with issues of submission, but something even more basic.
You out, Ty? Clint asked gently.
Huh?
Out of the closet.
Oh. Yeah. I guess. I mean, I don‘t hide it, not anymore.
Not anymore… Clint prompted.
Tyler frowned. It‘s one thing being openly gay in Austin. Back on my father‘s horse ranch was another story, as I‘m sure you know. I‘m the only son of a proud line of Suttons. No pansies in the Sutton line, no siree, Bob. I learned early on to keep myself to myself, if you know what I mean.
So you left in order to come out without payin‘ a price with your family? Is that it? Clint had a strong feeling there was more to this story than Tyler was sharing, but what?
I don‘t want to go there, Tyler retorted sharply, his body stiffening. Some other time, maybe.
Stung by sharpness of Tyler‘s tone, Clint reached for Tyler‘s shoulders, which had gone tight along with his voice. Sure, he said. I apologize. Sometimes I put my nose where it don‘t belong. Don‘t pay me no mind. He massaged Tyler‘s shoulders, relieved when he felt the tension easing from the bunched muscles.
That feels good, Tyler offered, by way of apology, it seemed to Clint, for snapping at him. Clint kept up the massage, ignoring his erection as best he could for the time being.
You know, he said finally, as Tyler leaned back into him with a contented sigh, I found out a long time ago it wasn‘t worth it to fight other folks, but most especially myself, over who and what I am. I‘m hardwired this way and there ain‘t a thing I can do about it. I‘ll be forty before this year is out and life is just too damn short to keep up the lies just so other folks feel more comfortable.
How‘s that go over on your ranch? You carry a loaded gun or what? Tyler asked, the bitterness again creeping into his tone.
Clint laughed. Them as has business knowin‘, they know I‘m gay, includin‘ the boss. He‘s fine with it, so long as I do my job. The ranch hands, they work for me, and if they pull any crap, they find out pretty damn fast they got the wrong pig by the tail. He paused, adding, I guess my point is, I’m comfortable with who and what I am. In the long run, that‘s all that really matters.
Tyler said nothing. It felt good to have him in his arms, but Clint wanted more. He wanted, somehow, to reach him. He offered, When I‘m up on the stage I try to find that one person in the audience I can relate to. Someone who seems to be gettin‘ it, if you know what I mean. Someone who catches the deeper meanin‘ beneath the spoken word.
Yeah, Tyler said softly, and Clint could feel him listening intently now.
Tonight that was you, Clint continued. Even before I knew you were gay. Even before I knew you were submissive… He let the words hang, waiting for Tyler‘s protest. His heart tightened and increased its pace when Tyler, while not overtly admitting it, didn‘t deny it either.
Encouraged, Clint continued. You honed in on the layers hidden beneath the rhymes about tamin‘ wild horses. You connected to the deeper aspects of my verse. That means a lot to me, Tyler. It binds us in a special way. Leastways it does for me.
Tyler twisted toward him, his cornflower blue eyes locking with Clint‘s. Just because a man understands a thing, that doesn‘t have to mean he‘s into it.
You askin‘ me or tellin‘ me? Clint pondered if he should be exasperated or amused at Tyler‘s continued resistance. He decided to go with the latter.
I dunno, Tyler mumbled, shifting back so his ass was again spooned against Clint‘s hard cock.
Clint began to move slowly, rubbing his aching cock gently against the cleft of Tyler‘s ass. To answer your question, no, a man don‘t have to be into somethin‘ to get it. But by the same token, when a man‘s heart is poundin‘ and he‘s gaspin‘ for breath while on his knees kissing the feet of another, it don‘t take no rocket scientist to figure out there‘s somethin‘ going on.
Recalling Tyler‘s strong reaction earlier, Clint reached around his body to stroke Tyler‘s nipples, his touch at first feather-light. They quickly hardened, encouraging Clint to pull and twist the nubbins until he drew a moan from Tyler‘s lips. Oh yes, the boy needed this, and Clint needed to give it to him. His cock throbbed against Tyler‘s ass.
You need this, you know you do. And I can give it to you, Clint whispered, twisting harder.
Yes, Tyler hissed, his admission sending a jolt of lust straight to Clint‘s aching cock. He couldn‘t wait another second. Letting go of Tyler‘s nipples, Clint reached back toward the night table where he‘d left his wallet.
I‘m gonna claim you now. We‘ll take it easy and slow, but I got to have you. He pulled a condom from his wallet and tore the wrapper, pulling back long enough to slide it over his shaft. It was pre-lubricated, and he licked his fingers and rubbed the tip to make it easier for Tyler to handle.
Putting one arm around his neck, he pulled Tyler‘s head back, kissing his mouth, his tongue probing as he lifted the boy‘s thigh up firmly in the crook of his other arm and pressed the head of his cock between Tyler‘s ass cheeks. Tyler grunted as the head of Clint‘s cock popped inside. Clint, now in total control of Tyler‘s body,
pulled him gently back as he shifted to make the penetration easier. He kissed him hard, and Tyler kissed him back, panting against his mouth.
I got to have you, Clint repeated, as he pushed himself slowly into the hot, tight passage. I got to make you mine.
Oh, Tyler moaned softly, pressing back to receive him.
Once Clint was fully inside, he began to move, slowly at first, then with harder thrusts that sent spasms of pleasure hurtling through his body. As he claimed Tyler‘s body, he claimed his mouth as well, exploring with his tongue, snaking it along Tyler‘s lips and kissing him deeply, one hand keeping Tyler‘s head turned back toward him.
He reached down to find Tyler‘s cock, which had hardened, despite the recent orgasm. As his hand closed over the rigid shaft, he heard a groan and realized it was his own. How long had it been since he‘d felt this way with someone new? His mind flickered and stuttered as if losing its signal, and he gave himself at last fully to what his body was experiencing. He thrust into Tyler, holding him in place and riding him hard.
He pulled Tyler‘s cock in time to his own savage, primal thrusts. He wanted to slow down, to be gentler, but his body would not listen or obey. He almost thought he could hear the roar of the avalanche of his impending orgasm, gathering force as it prepared to tumble through him.
Oh god, Tyler cried. I‘m coming. Oh… His spasms dragged Clint over the edge, his body shaking with seismic force as he shuddered and moaned into Tyler‘s neck.
He fell back against the mattress, their sweat-slick bodies separating. Tyler at once curled into him, resting his head against Clint‘s chest. Clint drifted a moment, or was it longer…? When his heart had slowed enough to where he could catch his breath and regain the use of his muscles, Clint reached down, stroking the wet, matted hair from Tyler‘s damp forehead.
Tyler opened his eyes, staring up at Clint with such naked adoration that, had Clint been the blushing kind, he would have colored to the tips of his ears. Leaning up slightly, Tyler kissed Clint‘s chin and smiled the smile of a baby drunk on mother‘s milk. A feeling of overwhelming tenderness swept through Clint, leaving him, for that brief moment, utterly defenseless.
Thank you, Tyler whispered, so softly Clint wondered if he‘d only imagined it. He experienced a sudden sense of loss. It had been far too long since he‘d felt that eager puppy spark, either in himself or from another. When had he traded in the promise of that kind of wild, powerful love for a life of satisfied, placid contentment?
Clint realized with a jolt that, if things had gone according to plan, he would be in the arms of his familiar, tried and true old friend and sometimes lover, as comfortable as an old quilt, and about as exciting. These poetry festivals and readings, away from the ranch and his usual life, were a good opportunity for a little stolen sweetness, but in the end, that‘s all it was.
Was this time different? He knew it was crazy even to speculate. And yet the aching tenderness for the young man cradled in his arms still lingered. Something in Tyler called to him like a lone coyote‘s howl, plaintive and filled with longing.
Would he be able to break through the walls Tyler had erected between himself and his desires?
Chapter 3
Okay, we‘re good to go. The owner says you can leave your car here at the honkytonk over the next few days. Everything all set on your end? Clint slid back into the booth seat opposite Tyler, who was sipping coffee, his runny eggs and sausage patties barely touched. Beneath the smell of bacon grease remained the lingering odor of stale beer and whiskey from countless nights of cowboys and ranchers kicking back at the end of a long day. The bar doubled as a diner by day and while the food wasn‘t terribly good, it was cheap, and the coffee was hot and fresh.
Yeah. I got the go-ahead from my editor to follow the story. I really appreciate the chance to tag along. To hear the two of them talk, one might have supposed they were casual acquaintances. The heat and passion they‘d shared the night before was cloaked by the long-ingrained habit of keeping their true feelings and orientation close to the vest—a survival instinct as natural to most gay men in rural Texas as breathing.
Glad for the company, Clint said, winking, and then grinning at the shy, flustered smile his wink produced. Clint eyed the younger man over the rim of his mug. He was fresh scrubbed from their shared shower, his hair still damp, his cheeks freshly shaved. He looked even younger than his thirty years, though he looked tired. Which was understandable, as Clint had kept him up half the night, unable to keep his hands off the boy.
It had been so long, too long, since he‘d connected not only physically, but mentally with someone. When Tyler had knelt at his feet, his eyes lowered and his face flushed, the need to submit had shone from him like a light, its beacon calling Clint out of selfimposed darkness that had gone on for too long.
When Tyler had licked down Clint‘s leg, stopping to kiss and explore the scar with such reverence and innocent adoration, something had snapped with a kind of sweet pain in Clint‘s heart.
Again Clint found himself wondering, as he had the night before, when that shinynew possibility of love had slipped away from the realm of his day-to-day life. Had he ever been as eager and desperately excited as Tyler had been the night before?
And yet beneath the excitement, or perhaps overlaying it like a blanket tossed over a campfire, something had held Tyler back. I’m not into that stuff, was all he would say, but Clint could hear the unspoken murmur of the back story beneath those few cryptic words.
While he didn‘t sense that Tyler had major issues with being gay, it was the submissive aspect that had him troubled. Was Clint the man to teach him otherwise? Did he even want to? After all, his love life, if not exactly tilt-o-whirl exciting, was steady and comfortable, a known quantity. Did he really want to upset the balance he‘d created over the years?
Even as these practical, rational thoughts entered his head, Clint felt himself rejecting them. For what is life without risk? If you never reached for a thing, how could you hope to capture it? Mentally, Clint shook his head, all too aware of his hankering after foolish dreams. He reached for the slightly burned toast on his plate, smeared some peach jam over it and took a crunchy bite.
Pushing aside for the moment his boyish dreams, he tried to apply cold, rational analysis to just what was going on between them, if anything. They‘d shared one night of hot sex. Tyler had expressed an interest in coming along on Clint‘s informal investigation of the missing bull semen tanks, and that, he tried to pretend, was that. They would spend a few days traveling over the West Texas plains, checking out the ranches and farms that had reported thefts to see what they could find out. In a few days Tyler would return to Austin, Clint would return to Ransom Canyon and the quiet, easy life he‘d created for himself, and each would fade into the other‘s memory like a sweet, half-forgotten dream.
Was that what he wanted? Would he enter his forties already acting like an old man with nothing left to explore or discover? Here sat the sexiest, most exciting guy to cross his path in years, maybe ever, and he was acting like things were over before they‘d barely had a chance to begin. Since when did Clint Darrow give up before the bull was even out of the chute?
The waitress, a petite woman in a tight pink waitress uniform, set the bill on the table. Y‘all don‘t be strangers, hear? She patted Clint on the shoulder and Clint offered a distracted smile. Both men reached for their wallets at the same time, reminding Clint of the old westerns on TV where the hero and the villain reach for their guns, each determined to draw first.
Tyler was quicker, his hand covering the slip of paper as he said, I got it. Expense account. The magazine will pay the tab. Clint could see by the look in his eye and the set of his jaw that Tyler was bound and determined to get the check, as if by doing so he was proving some unspoken point. Clint shrugged and pushed his wallet back into his pocket as Tyler withdrew some bills and placed them on the table.
They stood, each taking a last sip of coffee. Guess we‘ll
get this show on the road, Clint said, though as he glanced at Tyler, the tug in his loins told him he‘d rather go back to the motel room instead and pick up where they‘d left off.
Where we headed first? Tyler asked, as they climbed into either side of the truck cab.
Blake‘s place is closest. It‘s about two hours from here, give or take.
They were quiet for a while as Clint maneuvered out of the parking lot and began to drive down the county road. Eventually Tyler pulled out his digital cassette recorder and continued the interview for the festival. Clint answered as best he could, the thought that he‘d be featured in some slick magazine amusing to him and also, if he were honest, kind of exciting.
They listened to the radio for a while. Hoping to draw Tyler out some, Clint said, You mentioned you was raised on a ranch in these parts. You still got family here?
Double S Horse Ranch, bout fifty miles south of here. My father owns and runs the place. For a while I thought I‘d want to take it over someday.
Something in Tyler‘s tone warned Clint to back off, but he persisted. I‘ve heard of that ranch. Got a good reputation. So what made you change your mind?
When Tyler didn‘t answer, Clint glanced away from the road, taking in the hunch of Tyler‘s shoulders and scowl on his face. Switching tacks, he said, You must a gone to college to be workin‘ for a big magazine like Lone Star Monthly, with an expense account and all.
College isn‘t always what it‘s cracked up to be, but yeah, I went. Got a degree in animal science from A&M, with a minor in journalism. Good thing, it turns out. He gave a bitter laugh.
So your leavin‘ wasn‘t entirely your decision…? Clint let the question hang.
If you don‘t mind, I‘d rather not talk about all that just now. If it‘s just the same to you. Tyler‘s voice was tight, and Clint regretted his probing.
Sure, no problem. Clint focused on the road, feeling something inside close up just a little bit. He should have known better than to press.
The Cowboy Poet Page 3