Worse, he was grinding it against Bill's groin, slowly, erotically. Then the lyrics he'd been crooning segued into soft little moans that tore through Bill, threatening to shred the last vestiges of his self-control with the ease of Ginsu knives.
With a massive effort, Bill picked his head up and forced a little space between their bodies. “Okay, Mitch. That's it. I'm a satyr, and can only be expected to take so much punishment. You're going to bed. Right now. Alone."
"Dancing...” Mitch groaned. He pulled Bill close again. His lips moved against Bill's hair, Mitch's breath warm against his scalp.
"Come on. Dance me into the bedroom, big guy."
Bill steered them toward the bedroom in shuffling steps, each one causing his groin to bump up against Mitch's. Bill gritted his teeth against the burning need that threatened to melt away the last of his restraint.
The back of Mitch's knees hit the edge of the bed's mattress, and he toppled over like a redwood tree. Unfortunately, he didn't let go of Bill's neck as he fell, pulling him down along for the ride. Bill found himself lying flush against the length of Mitch's body—every hard, muscular inch of it.
"Oh, God...” Bill moaned, so hard and needy that he wanted to cry. “Let go, Mitch. I need to get up. Right. Now."
Mitch replied by tightening his arms around Bill's neck and wiggling his hips. “I need your love ... I ne-ed your love ... “ he crooned.
"No, you ne-ed a cold shower,” Bill sang back, finally pulling himself free. He stood up, biting his lip, staring at the love of his life lying defenseless and horny on the bed. Mitch's pretty eyes were drifting closed, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"Man, I hope you don't remember this in the morning. It's gonna make it all the more difficult to tell you that I love you,” Bill grumbled.
"Love you, too,” Mitch murmured.
"Yeah, well I'm afraid that we may have different definitions of the word,” Bill said, bending down to remove Mitch's shoes. That's all he was removing—his shoes. He wasn't going to undress him. Not going to happen. Nope. No way. Not even his socks.
But poor Mitch looked so uncomfortable, stretched half-on, half-off the bed, with his rumpled clothing pulling at odd directions.
Maybe just his socks, Bill thought. He caught himself as he reached for one of Mitch's feet. No! Are you nuts? Start with the sock and you won't stop until you've stripped him bare, and then what? Rape him in his sleep?
Bill sat back on his haunches, threading his fingers through his hair, pulling hard. Get a fucking grip, will ya? You're an adult, not some horny teenager with only half a brain and all of it located between your legs! This is your best friend, the man you've just realized that you love.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. You're not going to do anything to hurt him, but you're not going to let him sleep all night like this, either. Get him comfortable, and then get the hell out of his bedroom.
Two bare feet later and Bill was feeling a bit more confident of his ability to strip Mitch without giving in to temptation. He struggled a bit with Mitch's shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling Mitch's arms free while trying not to get him hopelessly tangled in the sleeves.
Luckily, Mitch must have been already slipping into an alcohol-induced sleep, because he lay there quietly, allowing Bill to maneuver him as needed.
Damn, Mitch has a beautiful chest, Bill thought, indulging himself for a minute. Tawny skin pulled tightly over sculpted pecs and a stomach of ridged muscle that all but screamed to be touched.
No touching! Bill's nasty little voice of reason screamed.
He wrenched his eyes away and reached for the buckle of Mitch's belt.
That was easier. It slid out from the loops of Mitch's pants fluidly. Bill dropped it to the floor along with Mitch's shirt. There. That wasn't so bad, was it? Good job, goat-boy, he thought.
If only removing Mitch's pants would be as painless.
Bill actually whimpered as he popped open the button. The fly was still unzipped from Mitch's bathroom run. Mitch's erection hadn't softened, instantly pushing against the soft cotton of his briefs, as if trying to reach out to Bill. He could see its outline clearly under the thin white fabric. Pretty. Oh, it was so fucking pretty! Fat, round head, thick stalk, tiniest bit of wetness soaking through the material...
You're such a fucking pervert! Look at you, Bill berated himself. Drooling over a guy who's more than half asleep and who trusts you. Trust. You remember what that word means, right?
Growling low in his throat—although whether it was because of his nearly overpowering need to touch Mitch or because his conscience wouldn't shut the fuck up and leave him alone—Bill gripped the ankles of Mitch's pants and pulled them off.
Unfortunately, most of Mitch's underwear came off with them. They slid down to Mitch's thighs, bearing everything he owned to Bill's eyes.
That settles it, he thought. The gods hate me.
Mitch didn't shave. That was the first thing that hit Bill as he gazed helplessly at the heavy cock and sac that lay nestled between Mitch's strong thighs. Black hair furred his balls and nested his cock, narrowing into a thin line that ran up to his belly button.
As Bill stood staring, Mitch's hand drifted to his groin, fingers brushing over his erection.
Oh, no. Please, don't, Mitch...
Mitch's fingers wrapped around his length, a small smile playing at his full lips, although his eyes remained closed.
"Shit!” Bill hissed. “Oh, man ... oh..."
Mitch stroked himself, once, twice.
"That's it. I'm done. Lay there as you are. I'm not touching you to put you all the way up on the bed. I can't,” Bill moaned. He backed away and turned to leave, even though every part of him south of his navel was demanding that he stay put.
He almost succeeded. He was almost through the doorway when Mitch's voice reached him.
"Bill? I'm not really asleep."
Chapter Six
"I'm not really drunk, either,” Mitch whispered. “Not enough so that I don't know what I'm doing—only enough to give me the courage to do it."
Bill froze without turning around, one hand on the doorframe.
"Bill? Please don't make this harder on me than it already is, okay?"
He turned slowly, feeling as if he were moving through water.
Mitch was sitting up, arms crossed, hands rubbing his upper arms as if he were cold. He still had a hard-on; it protruded from between his legs like the hands of a clock at noon. But it was Mitch's eyes that caught and held Bill's, his deep blue eyes that were looking at Bill with a crazy combination of fear and lust.
"You're faking being drunk?"
"Um ... yeah. Sort of. I mean, I did drink a lot tonight, but not that much. It's just that when I got out of the car and saw you waiting for me, I...” Mitch moaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, fuck. I'm screwing this up so badly."
Bill's heart began to hammer in his chest. “Screwing what up?” Come on, Mitch. Say it. Tell me. Please ... Tell me I'm not dreaming this, or reading something into it that doesn't exist. “It's easy, Mitch. Simple. Just say it."
Mitch suddenly unwound like a tightly coiled spring, as if he'd been bottling his feelings up for a long time and the smallest opening had allowed them to burst to the surface. He pounded the mattress with his fists. “I want you, okay? Is that fucking simple enough for you? I've fantasized about you for years, Bill. Years,” he yelled. “When we were in your apartment yesterday and I kissed you, I realized that it was real. This is what I really wanted. You. I wanted you."
Bill couldn't stop himself. “So you felt that you had to be drunk in order to be with me? That's fucking cold, man."
"Yes! No ... I mean...” Mitch roared, jumping to his feet. His cock had softened some, bobbing between his legs like a pendulum. To Bill's horror, tears sprang into Mitch's eyes and he deflated, slumping back down onto the bed. “I don't know. God, Bill! I've known you forever, but you never looked at me that wa
y. You know, like I was anything but good ol’ Mitch, the lunky straight guy. I just didn't know how to tell you."
Bill's feet finally freed themselves from the hold the carpet had on them, and he walked to the bed, looking down at Mitch. “But ... you were married. You date women. You freaked that one time in Atlanta when you walked in on me!"
"I thought women were what I wanted. What I was supposed to want, at least. But in Atlanta ... I think now that I was jealous. You were mine, Bill. My friend. My ... I don't know ... but when I saw you with that guy I felt like you were cheating on me."
Bill felt like someone had hit him hard with the goofy stick. He started to laugh. He didn't know what he had expected from Mitch, but it definitely wasn't this. “Cheating on you? Come on, Mitch! You run for the hills whenever I have to fuck somebody for the camera!"
"That's the same thing. Would you want to watch the guy you loved fuck someone else?"
Oh shit. There it is. The “L” word.
"Mitch ... are you saying that you love me?"
"I have since we were seven fucking years old.” Mitch's head hung low, his shoulders slumping. He looked as though he was confessing to murder, instead of loving Bill.
Bill's chest tightened. He couldn't seem to get any air into his lungs. Oh, God ... please don't let me have a heart attack now. Not now. His legs gave out and he sat down heavily next to Mitch.
"I love you, Mitch. That's what I came here to tell you."
Mitch flicked his eyes upwards, his gaze boring into Bill's. “Don't fucking play with me, Bill. That's not funny."
Bill swallowed hard, tucking one finger under Mitch's chin, forcing his head up. “I'm not playing, hon.” He cupped Mitch's scruffy cheek, running his thumb over the bristles of his day-old beard. “Are you sure, Mitch? Positive?"
Mitch nodded, tilting his cheek into Bill's palm. He placed his own hand over it, turning his head to plant a soft kiss on the pad of Bill's thumb. When he looked back at Bill, the fear was gone from his eyes, replaced by a soft look that cut Bill to the quick.
"Been sure for a while, but that kiss is what sealed the deal. I just didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid you'd laugh it off, or..."
"Or that I wouldn't want you? Please. I went home today, Mitch. It took my mother to tell me that I needed talk to you."
"Oh, man. Your mom knows?"
"I didn't tell her. She just ... knew."
"No offense, dude, but your mom is scary that way."
"I know, but I really don't want to talk about her right now, Mitch. Right now, I want to kiss you. Really kiss you,” Bill said softly, leaning in closer.
To his surprise, Mitch met him half way.
Mitch's lips were hotter and softer than Bill remembered them. Then again, he'd only tasted them once, and all too briefly. Now he took his time, keeping his kiss gentle, going slow.
Mitch was hardly a virgin. He reminded Bill that he knew his way around a kiss when his tongue slipped into Bill's mouth and masterfully explored it. He tasted of vodka and spearmint gum, a taste Bill found instantly addictive.
Bill soon discovered that Mitch wasn't the shy man he'd always thought him to be—not in bed at any rate. After only a few minutes of tender kissing, Mitch growled and began tugging impatiently at Bill's clothing.
"Off. Want ‘em off!"
He's a man of few words but fabulous hands, Bill thought, suddenly wishing that his clothing was fastened by Velcro. He begrudged even the couple of minutes it took him to strip down to his skin. But the moment he had, Mitch's hands were on his flesh, touching, exploring, squeezing.
They smoothed over the muscles of his back, over his thighs, gently massaging his biceps, his shoulders.
Not that Bill was being a slacker in that department either. He'd waited too long to hold back now. He moaned into Mitch's mouth as his hands came in contact with Mitch's warm skin, brushing through the hair on his chest, skimming his nipples. Hard nipples that poked his palms like diamond chips.
Bill couldn't resist. He pulled away from Mitch's soft lips and slipped lower, taking one his hardened buds into his mouth. He rolled his tongue over it, teased it with his teeth until Mitch squirmed.
Oh, yeah. My boy has sensitive tits. Good, Bill thought. I like that. Wonder what else he likes?
He was determined to find out. Inch by inch, ignoring Mitch's protests to hurry up, Bill licked and nipped his way down Mitch's six-pack to his groin.
Mitch snorted and writhed as Bill ran his tongue and teeth over his left hipbone, although that only served to encourage Bill to torture him more.
Mmm ... my boy is ticklish, too, Bill smiled as he moved to attack Mitch's other hip.
But Mitch didn't laugh when Bill dipped his head between his legs and nibbled at the soft flesh of his inner thighs.
He moaned. “Oh God, Bill ... More. Do it. Please?"
His thrusting hips left Bill no doubt as to what he was asking. Mitch's cock was back at full mast, thick and hard, precome beading on the fat, round head.
Bill flicked out his tongue, lapping at the pearly drops of dew. Ambrosia couldn't have tasted any sweeter to him. The taste of Mitch exploded over his taste buds, searing itself into his memory. Even if he never made love with Mitch again—a possibility he refused to even consider—he knew that he'd never forget Mitch's taste.
Suddenly more hungry for cock than he could ever recall being before, Bill swallowed Mitch whole.
Mitch howled. His head slammed back to the mattress, every muscle in his body flexing. “Oh, fuck! Fuck, yes, Bill! Fuck me!"
My boy's a screamer. Cool! Bill thought happily, sucking hard on Mitch's cock. He was rewarded with another howl, and a few more expletives. Mitch's deep voice telling him to suck harder, to fucking eat him raw made Bill squirm as his cock jealously began to demand equal attention.
He released Mitch's cock, looking up toward him with big, soulful puppy eyes. “I could use a little ... you know ... attention, hon."
"Huh? Oh...” Mitch smiled, getting the idea. “Oh Hell, yes! Get up here. Or I'll come down there, or ... how do you want to..."
Bill grinned. “You stay put. Watch and learn, sunshine.” Lifting himself up, he twisted around, his feet toward the headboard and his head near Mitch's groin so that they could sixty-nine.
Mitch, as it turned out, was a fast learner.
He didn't so much as suck Bill's cock as he did attack it. Bill's eyes rolled back in his head when Mitch's hot mouth closed over the head of his erection; wet, slurping sounds and a low growl in Mitch's throat were nearly enough to send him over the edge. Not willing for it to end so quickly, he turned back to Mitch's cock to distract himself.
Big mistake.
Mitch's taste in his mouth while Mitch's tongue and teeth worked at Bill's cock was too much. He barely had the presence of mind to pull away before he was coming, coming hard, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against the spiraling wave of pleasure that shot through him.
"Wow. Just ... wow,” Mitch said quietly. “Bill? Bill, please?"
"Oh yeah, baby. Right now,” Bill said, making himself move. Forcing himself to concentrate on Mitch when all he wanted to do was curl up into Mitch's arms and go to sleep, his mouth found Mitch's cock again.
Gotta make this good for him. As good as I can, Bill thought, sucking noisily. He drew Mitch in deep, feeling the head of Mitch's dick hit the back of his throat then slide even deeper. He swallowed, working his throat muscles, delighting in the way he made Mitch cry out.
There was a brief tug-of-war as Mitch tried to pull away and Bill steadfastly refused to let him go. No, he wanted this, wanted to taste Mitch fully and completely.
Then liquid heat was flooding his mouth, salty-bitter and satisfying. He drank it all then licked Mitch clean, practically purring with contentment.
"Oh, man. Oh, sweet fuck,” Mitch sighed, a lazy smile painting his face.
"Yeah? Good?"
"Oh, fuck yeah. Shit ... Tell me why we didn't
do this sooner?"
"Because you were in the closet, my friend,” Bill grinned. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. He'd never felt so happy, so content. Swinging himself around, he cuddled in close to Mitch, laying his head on Mitch's shoulder and draping an arm and a leg over his body.
"In the...? You mean I'm..."
"Oh yeah. You're a big ol’ gay boy, hon.” Bill picked his head up for a minute. “Unless you still like chicks, too. Then you're bi."
"Um, I think I'll stick to you. I mean, if you want me to."
"Just try and get away. I didn't wait all these years just to let you go now, sweetheart. You, baby, are mine. All mine."
Mitch smiled at him, leaning down for a sweet kiss. He lay back a minute, but suddenly his head popped back up as if it were attached to a spring. “Bill?"
"Yeah?"
"You need to find a new line of work."
"What?"
"No more porn. I'm not about to let you fuck anyone else, on camera or off. If that's going to be a problem, you need to let me know now,” Mitch rumbled. The look in his eyes told Bill that he meant every word.
Wow. No more flicks? No more Pan the Satyr Man? Bill frowned as he thought it over. He hadn't contemplated how Mitch might feel about his profession. Biting his lip, he wondered if he could give that part of his life up.
Wait. Hold on. What the hell am I thinking? Do I even want to fuck anyone else, even if it's only in a movie? No one has ever made me feel so good. And I love him. I do. He smiled up at Mitch, realizing that there really wasn't any decision to be made.
"Hon, as of this moment, Pan is officially retired. No more films. No more clubs. No more anything except fucking you until your eyes cross every chance I get."
Mitch grinned. “Guido is gonna freak."
"Tough titties. Let him get another goat-boy. This one belongs to you,” Bill said, returning Mitch's smile. He snuggled down again, completely at peace with his decision.
With any luck, his uncle Fred would still have an opening down at the car dealership—although Bill was not bleating “Baa-adest Deals in Town,” on the commercials. He'd stand firm on that.
Unless he was paid extra for it, of course.
Satyr-Day Night Fever Page 5