Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  The room laughed and applauded, and Brandt and Donnelly rejoined their cohorts. Nick put his arm around Brandt and whispered, “I already took the video down.”

  “What?” Brandt asked.

  “I took it down. As soon as we found out about the investigation and I saw your picture in the paper. I felt really bad about it, seeing as you were only doing it for your job.”

  “Thanks, man,” replied Brandt. “I really appreciate that.”

  “Of course, there are probably thousands of copies of it being traded around the net,” mused Nick.

  “You know what? I don’t care anymore,” Brandt said, surprising himself. “I got so caught up in worrying about how that video was going to affect my future, but now I see that my future is fine. I have a great guy, a great job, and great friends. Plus when I’m old, I’ll have video proof that I once was pretty hot. Sounds like a win to me!”

  The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning.

  After arriving home in a taxi (a few too many shots after dinner had convinced them not to drive), Brandt and Donnelly stepped into the small living room, piled high with boxes from Brandt’s hasty move during the two weeks between the end of the investigation and their vacation. The bedroom, though, was clear of clutter, and they made their way there quickly.

  Donnelly stood in front of Brandt, unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I was really proud of you tonight,” he murmured as he slid Brandt’s shirt off his arms.

  “All I did was make the world safe for frat boy sexploitation. Not sure that’s really a hero’s work….”

  “No, you did the right thing. That asshole attorney general was on a rampage, and you stopped him. I read in the paper this morning that he’s giving up his run for governor.” Donnelly was working on Brandt’s pants now. “So, the world is a better place now, because of you. Plus, the frat boys get to keep wanking on the web, so it’s a win-win.”

  Brandt, standing now in just his underwear, laughed and shook his head.

  “You are insane, you know that?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” replied Donnelly cheerfully. “Now, get on that bed and let me show you how heroes are treated.”

  Brandt lay facedown on the bed and watched Donnelly as he slipped out of his own clothes and then straddled Brandt’s ass. Brandt could feel the heat of Donnelly’s cock through the thin fabric.

  Donnelly massaged Brandt’s back, using a massage oil they kept by the bed. Brandt was soon groaning with pleasure at Donnelly’s firm touch. He moved from his perch on Brandt’s buttocks to massage his legs and finally his feet. He then turned back to the part he had skipped, sliding the underwear down and off Brandt’s legs. He continued his massage, working the oil into Brandt’s firm cheeks, finally seeking the middle spot that he loved so much. His finger lubed with oil, he slid it in, causing Brandt’s groaning to double in volume.

  “Is that too much?” Donnelly whispered. He had started playing with his fingers in Brandt’s ass during their very relaxed vacation, but tonight he was rubbing a bit more vigorously.

  “Oh my God, it’s amazing,” replied Brandt, who had begun swiveling his pelvis into the bed to show his appreciation for the internal massage he was getting. He had never felt this odd and wonderful pressure before.

  Donnelly was quite pleased; indeed, he had gone from being analphobic (it made him laugh now to think of how perturbed he had been to catch sight of Eugene’s hole during that first night of the investigation) to being an aficionado.

  Brandt felt the pressure in his most secret spot as it surged through his body and became a part of the entire experience of this evening—the love that he had felt from the people in that room, their appreciation for him, his abandonment of humiliation about that video—it all added up to a feeling that he really was a new man, and this was his new life.

  “I want you,” he murmured.

  “I want you too,” groaned Donnelly in return.

  “No, I want you to do it,” Brandt growled urgently.

  Donnelly was taken aback. “You do?”

  “I do. I totally fucking do.”

  “But just a couple of days ago when our tests came back negative and I got all excited, you said you weren’t ready, and weren’t sure you would ever be.”

  “I’m ready now,” Brandt grunted urgently, his pelvis thrusting more energetically into the mattress. “I want you in me. Right now.”

  Donnelly had dreamed of this moment, but he wasn’t sure it would ever happen. He dripped oil onto his middle finger, and then slowly slid that into Brandt alongside his index finger. Brandt grunted, but he pushed back against Donnelly’s hand. This was what he was hungry for, and he groaned with the overwhelming feeling of penetration.

  “Oh, God, that’s it,” he moaned. “Now do it!”

  Donnelly drizzled oil on the length of his rock-hard cock, and then slowly withdrew his fingers. With his thumbs he spread open Brandt’s muscular ass, and rubbed the head of his cock up and down the crease, pressing harder on his hole with each pass. Then he took a deep breath and pushed against the tight opening, and the head began to slip in. Brandt gasped, swallowed, then pushed back against Donnelly so that the entire head popped inside him.

  “Oof,” Brandt said. “Hold it there for a sec.” He panted a bit, adjusting to the invading presence.

  “You okay?” Donnelly asked, fully ready to pull back and stop if that’s what Brandt needed him to do.

  “Yeah, it’s actually amazing. It’s like being caught in the waves at the beach—overwhelming, but awesome too.” Brandt took a couple of deep breaths. “Okay, go slow.”

  Donnelly lay himself down atop Brandt, and nuzzled his neck. “I love you,” he murmured. He began to make small, slow thrusts, introducing his cock millimeter by millimeter into Brandt.

  “I—love—you—too,” grunted Brandt between thrusts. He kept pushing back against Donnelly, who kept pushing in, and soon their bodies met, and Donnelly was fully in.

  Brandt felt waves of sensation crash over him, and he let them come. This act, the one he had regarded with fear and dread, now seemed to him to be the ultimate expression of love—he had given himself up to it fully. He left his old self behind, and the new one was open to love in ways that he would never have imagined himself capable of. As Donnelly thrust into him, he felt clarity and certainty and love.

  “Oh. My. God,” grunted Donnelly, who was overwhelmed with the feeling of being inside his friend, his lover, his partner. It was better than he had ever imagined, so hot and so tight and so complete. He felt his orgasm building almost immediately, and it would shortly overtake him.

  Brandt had continued to thrust into the bed, and when he felt Donnelly’s body stiffen on top of him, he too felt the hot pressure growing inside him. As Donnelly’s cock pressed recklessly on his prostate, stabs of pleasure impaled him, driving him erratically on to orgasm.

  They arrived together.

  Donnelly thrust manically as he felt the spasming start, and his thrusting put Brandt over the edge. The friction of his cock on the mattress, combined with the pressure in his ass, resulted in his cock spurting out a jet of semen every time one was shot deep inside him by Donnelly. They grunted and spasmed together for what seemed like a full minute, until finally Donnelly collapsed on top of Brandt, panting and exhausted.

  They lay there for a few moments, sweaty and quivering, until finally Donnelly’s cock popped out of Brandt; a warm trickle crept down the back of his balls, part of the ample load that Donnelly had deposited. It was messy and sticky and wonderful.

  “Was that okay?” Donnelly whispered into Brandt’s ear.

  Brandt rolled over and wrapped his arms around Donnelly. He kissed him all over his face, and then for a long time on the lips. Finally, he answered.

  “You know, I think we’ll have to do that a whole lot more before I know for sure. But, yeah, it was fucking amazing. I can’t wait for you to try it.” He beamed at Donnelly.

  “Well, tomo
rrow’s Saturday. I say we practice until we can’t walk straight.”

  “I don’t think I can do anything straight anymore. And that’s fine with me.”

  Donnelly laughed and ruffled Brandt’s hair.

  “I love you, man.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Brandt answered, and snuggled into the arms of his love.

  XAVIER MAYNE is the pen name of a professor of English who works at a university in the Midwest United States. Versed in academic theories of sexual identity, he is passionate about writing stories in which men experience a love that pushes them beyond the boundaries they thought defined their sexuality. He believes that romance can be hot, funny, and sweet in equal measure.

  The name Xavier Mayne is a tribute to the pioneering gay author Edward Prime-Stevenson, who also used it as a pen name. He wrote the first openly gay novel by an American, 1906’s Imre: A Memorandum, which depicts two masculine men falling in love despite social pressures that attempt to keep them apart.

  Website: http://www.xaviermayne.com

  By XAVIER MAYNE

  The Accidental Cupid

  Husband Material

  A Brandt and Donnelly Caper

  Frat House Troopers

  Wrestling Demons

  A Wedding to Die For

  Spring Break at the Villa Hermes

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  For Brit and Kristen.

  Thank you for your support and encouragement.

  LOGAN SELLERS grabbed another box off the truck trailer and placed it on the conveyor belt, sending it down the line to the mail sorting station. He was only an hour into his shift, but his back and thighs burned from the repetitive motion. He was glad the company’s dress policy allowed him to wear shorts and a tank top. He couldn’t imagine surviving the heat otherwise. The industrial fans positioned throughout the warehouse were more likely to render a guy deaf than fend off the roasting temperatures of Chicago in July. Swiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, he reached for another package. The boxes and mailers of various sizes filled the truck bed. Being six feet seven inches was coming in handy for once; he spent less time climbing in and out. The work was hard, fast-paced, and monotonous, leaving no time for idle thoughts. It was the perfect job for him. Idle thoughts had caused him enough problems. He’d been lucky to apply during a time when they were short on package handlers. While he was still considered part-time, according to his supervisor, he would be needed for at least five hours most days. He earned only enough to scrape by, but the early-morning shift meant he could hopefully find another job during the day.

  “Hey, Logan!”

  Logan turned toward his supervisor, still holding a box that had to weigh at least seventy pounds. He’d hold the box all day if it meant not dealing with the obnoxious redhead. She wore a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a T-shirt so tight you could ski down her cleavage. “What can I do for you, Ms. Foster?”

  “I thought we agreed you’d call me Karen.” As she ran her eyes over him in appreciation, Logan resisted the urge to roll his in return. She pouted her too-red lips at him when he didn’t comment. “The boss wants to see you,” she said before twirling away and sashaying her ass down the line.

  Logan sighed, slipping the box onto the conveyor belt. Only one week on the job and already being called into the boss’s office was not a good sign. He made his way through the warehouse toward the back offices, passing a long line of workers pulling boxes from trucks and depositing them on the conveyor belt that ran the length of the warehouse. Rounding the corner, he found the floor manager, Harrison Klass, hovering outside his office. When he caught sight of Logan, Klass’s eyes widened like those of a raccoon facing down a semi. Logan’s height and build meant Logan was used to seeing the look, but now people had a new reason to be skittish around him. Ex-con. He’d been honest when he filled out the job application, but he wondered if the bigwigs had changed their minds about letting someone with a record work here. He hoped not. A steady job was a condition of his parole.

  Klass ushered him into the office with a wave of his hand. “Have a seat, Mr. Sellers,” Klass said, sounding calmer than he looked. He was on the short side and sixtyish, with a narrow, lined face. Behind an uncluttered mahogany desk, Klass manhandled a black leather swivel chair into position and lowered himself into it with a sigh. The bookshelves on the wall behind him held binders, books, and folders, all arranged with enough precision to make a drill sergeant smile. “I asked to speak with you to see if you’re interested in making a special delivery for me.”

  Logan frowned in confusion. Drivers made deliveries, and as he understood it, it would take a year before he was eligible to apply to the drivers program.

  “It would be a—” Klass cleared his throat. “Personal off-the-books delivery.”

  Logan had just gotten out of prison. He had no intention of doing anything to get his ass put back. He folded his arms across his broad chest, flexing his biceps just a bit. “I don’t get involved in drugs, not for nothing.”

  “Oh, no,” Klass stammered, his eyes skittering between Logan’s face and the hard muscle of his arms. “It’s not what you think.” He rubbed his beak of a nose. “I need your help with my sister’s kid. He’s housebound and needs someone to help him out. You’d be paid a hundred dollars a week plus travel expenses.”

  Logan dropped his arms to his sides, thinking over the offer. An extra hundred would make life easier until he could find a better job or another part-time one. He didn’t mind the idea of helping a guy out, but he wasn’t cut out to be anybody’s nurse. “What would I be doing exactly?”

  Klass smiled and settled back into his chair as if he’d been sure Logan would ask that question. “Twice a week after your shift, you’ll retrieve mail from his PO box and take back any he gives you. He prefers Monday and Friday, but he can be flexible if needed. Every couple of weeks, you’ll also need to get his order from the grocery near his apartment.”

  “That’s it?”

  Klass started fidgeting, twisting the sleeve of his button-down shirt in his hands and looking everywhere but at Logan. “I’d also like you to spend a little time with him just to make sure he’s doing okay.” He scratched his snow-white hair. “Caleb’s an agoraphobic—gets that from his mother, she was a worrier, God rest her soul—and because of his condition, he doesn’t leave the apartment. Are you interested?”

  Logan hesitated, wondering why his boss would want an ex-con to take care of his nephew. Maybe he doesn’t like his nephew? If the job turned out to be a nightmare, he’d have a hell of a time getting out of it.

  Seeming to pluck the thought from Logan’s head, Klass said, “Give it a try and if you decide it’s not for you, I’ll understand. The last package handler, Marco Rodriguez, did it for over a year before he moved to Florida.”

  If the last guy did it for that long, how bad could it be? “Okay.”

  AFTER GIVING the cab driver the address, Logan looked at the innocuous mailer with the name Caleb Klass scrawled on it. The guy goes by his uncle’s last name. He realized Klass hadn’t mentioned Caleb’s dad. Maybe he’s dead or a complete bastard. He hoped that wasn’t the reason the guy never left the apartment. When the cab hauled to a stop, Logan paid the driver and climbed out of the car with the envelope mailer tucked under his arm. After unlocking the door with the front entrance key Klass had given him, he made his way into the medium-sized brick apartment building. He considered himself a fit guy, but climbing in and out of a truck bed for the past five hours had left his calves feeling like jelly. The place was in a decent neighborhood, a far better one than the rathole he lived in. No blood on the walls or stench of urine on the stairs was always a good sign.

  He got to Caleb’s floor and found his apartment. Number 401. He knocked. And waited. Just when he was about to knock again, he heard a muffled voice through the door: “You’re not Marco.”

  Logan peered at the peephole. “Marco moved to F
lorida and I’m the new delivery guy,” he said, wondering why Caleb didn’t already know this. He heard the lock unlatch, and the door slid open, catching on the still attached chain.

  “S-shove the p-package through the gap, please.”

  Logan looked at the instruction sheet Klass had given him. Feeling ridiculous, he said, “It says you’ve gotta let me in before I can give it to ya.” He thought he heard a mumbled curse before the door closed and he heard the slide of the chain lock.

  The door reopened enough to allow a pale arm to poke through. “My uncle has a twisted sense of humor and loves screwing with the new guy. P-please, just hand over the p-package and we can both get back to our lives.”

  Logan hesitated. It had been a long, hot day, and he’d like nothing better than to get out of here. His plans for the weekend included parking his ass in front of the fan and not moving until Monday. He sighed, looking at the sheet of paper again. Watch out, he’s sneaky, was the second instruction. “You’re not getting this package ’til ya let me in.”

  The arm disappeared, and the door opened far enough for Logan to make his way inside. His eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim interior. Floor-length black curtains covered the right wall completely, blocking out the natural light. The main room was spacious, but it had been crammed so full of mahogany and leather that the effect would have been stifling if not for the air conditioner set to arctic. Logan took a moment to savor the icy air on his heated skin before continuing to look around. An L-shaped leather couch, a massive mahogany desk that looked just like his uncle’s, and a wall of bookshelves dominated the room. Unlike his uncle, Caleb’s books appeared shoved into all available space and filled with everything from paperbacks to leather tomes to cookbooks. A black entertainment center with a flat-screen TV and a shelf filled with DVDs gave Logan a pang of longing. He couldn’t afford a radio, let alone a flat screen.