by Amy Lane
“I sort of do,” Chase said, “but I’ve got a friend taking notes.” It had galled, having to leave him when they got so little time, so he’d made arrangements so as not to worry about it.
My fault. My fault you don’t have any time. If I was braver. If I could just let this door open, we could have all the time in the world.
“Tomorrow morning too?”
Chase turned away from the rows of tight pants, acid wash jeans, suits with slacks that went below the navel and jackets cut to show off a belly button, and into Tommy’s arms. Every night but the first one, they’d made love. A couple of times in the afternoon too. Once, in the Jacuzzi, Chase had bent Tommy over the edge of the tub and given it to him so hard he’d had bruises on his hips. Chase had tried to apologize—Tommy wouldn’t let him.
“You love me,” he’d gasped when they were done. “You love me. You want me so bad.”
It was irrefutable.
Chase would have flunked out of school if Tommy had let him, just to spend more time like this, in each other’s company, in each other’s arms.
“You’ve totally got dibs on me,” he said now, smiling, anticipation shining out of his eyes.
A bike! A bike! Finally, dammit, a bike for Christmas it’s really a fuckin’ bike! And it’s exactly what I wanted, I knew it!
“Let’s go, then, baby. Let’s have some fun!”
It was almost too beautiful for words.
Flying
CHANCE, long, lean, tan, and blond, was on his knees, pumping his hips into Dex. Dex was on his hands and knees, his mouth in front of Kane’s cock—but Dex was having trouble focusing. Kane was doing his bit—held his cock in his fist and slapped Dex’s cheeks with it gently—but Dex—Dex was losing his mind.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck… oh Jesus. Chance, Jesus, fuck… fuck… oh shit… just fuck me with that thing… oh God!”
It was completely spontaneous and hot as holy hell, and Kane cocked his head for a moment, like he was listening to something, then nodded and smiled.
“Pull him up, brother,” he said in a way that was totally practical and didn’t sound at all like a guy in the middle of a sex act with two other men.
Chance nodded and bent down, clasping his hands around Dex’s chest and pulling him up flush, back to front with Chance, while Chance remained buried in his body.
Dex groaned and whimpered, clearly wanting more penetration, more of everything, but Chance kissed his shoulder, kissed his ear, and whispered something there with a smile. It looked like “Don’t worry, we’ve gotcha,” but the words themselves didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kane was lying down on his back under Dex and mouthing his balls and fisting his cock. Dex groaned and shuddered in Chance’s arms and Chance lowered him gently, gently, down onto Kane, and then continued his job, thrusting inside Dex’s body, while Kane’s mouth drove him completely insane.
“GOD, that’s hot,” Tommy breathed while looking over Chase’s shoulder. They were looking at the rushes from Tommy’s house, which was where Chase retreated after every shoot now, whether he needed to or not. One week a month he went “to work”—and then ended up here.
“You think so?” Chase asked shyly, grateful for Tommy’s arms around his chest. There wasn’t room for shame when he did that, and Chase was grateful.
“Yeah—that thing you did where you whisper in his ear and then kiss his back? Totally works.”
Chase blushed. “Well, I learn from the best.”
Tommy chuckled softly and nuzzled his ear, and for a moment, neither of them was there in Tommy’s kitchen, watching porn on Chase’s laptop. For a moment they were in a crowded club, in a piss-stinking back alley, in a darkened hotel room reflected dimly with mirrors. For a moment, the air smelled like ocean and industry, and it clung to their skin, and they were in San Francisco.
THE trip to Vacaville to shop had been something of a revelation, mostly because Chase had never realized what a slob he was. He’d always thought of dressing up as wearing club clothes or suits: it had never occurred to him that simply wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans could be a revelation in feeling good about himself.
“You can wear those tighter,” Tommy said critically, and Chase wrinkled his nose as he stood in the dressing room at Hugo Boss, looking with skepticism at a pair of jeans that were ripped systematically into horizontal ribbons, held together by the occasional fine chain.
“Not unless people want to know if I’m circumcised.” He turned around in the mirror and grimaced. “Not so much metal, I think,” he said, and Tommy let out a whine. “What?”
“It looks so good!”
Chase blushed. He knew his body was beautiful, especially now that he’d worked so hard to lose his baby fat, but he hadn’t ever really felt beautiful until he’d seen Tommy’s eyes on him. Suddenly he would do anything, wear anything, to make Tommy proud to be with him.
“It….” He blushed again, feeling gauche. “How am I going to wash it?”
Tommy shrugged. “Dry cleaning, I guess. I mean, you’ve got the money….”
Chase shook his head then. “No—I’ll do the fancy clothes, baby, but nothing that’s going to make more work for….” His voice trailed off, and he looked back at the jeans, carefully not looking at Tommy’s face. Fuck. “Never mind. I’ll buy them.” He’d do the damned dry cleaning himself. And seriously? What were a couple of nice outfits in the big scheme of things? Mercy had a shitload of dry-clean-only, because she had to look like a goddess and she worked that. He’d just throw his stuff in.
Suddenly Tommy was there, in his face. “Go ahead and say it,” he hissed, and Chase flushed.
“Mercy,” he said evenly. “Remember? I told you about her when we met.”
I hate her. I even hate her name for taking this moment and making it hurt.
“If you can’t even say her name in front me,” Tommy paused, his breathing harsh, “maybe you shouldn’t go back to her after this.”
Chase closed his eyes and leaned his face forward, grateful when Tommy was still there, and their foreheads touched and their breath mingled. “I’ll buy the pants, Tommy. I’ll buy the jacket. I’ll pierce my ears and wear your jewelry. I’ll wear your clothes. You can look at me on any day and know who I really belong to.”
Is that okay? Will that do? Will that make up for the deceit? The hurting? For leaving you alone and vulnerable when we like to pretend you’re not?
“Me,” Tommy muttered. “Me. You’re mine.” This kiss was voracious, and ended up with Chase pinned up against the back of the wall while Tommy ground against him, biting his neck—hard. Chase grunted softly, to keep from screaming, shuddered, and came a little at the pressure of Tommy’s teeth alone, the come soaking through the new underwear he’d just bought at the Armani store and staining the jeans a little on the inside. Tommy reached inside the jeans and grabbed him through the underwear, squeezing enough to make him come some more, and Chase hissed sharply in his ear.
“Yours,” he rasped, shuddering in Tommy’s arms. “Yours. I swear.”
Tommy held up his hand and shoved it into Chase’s mouth. Chase suckled on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, then licked his palm, then took each finger into his mouth and pulled.
Tommy’s face was flushed, and his eyes were hard and bright. He pulled his hand away and pulled back, leaving Chase’s body cold and shaking as he stalked to the pile of clothes that Chase had tried on, most of which he’d discarded because they’d been too high maintenance.
“I’ll buy these,” he said, glaring at Chase and daring him to protest. He strode quickly over and grabbed the tag dangling from the belt loop, jerking hard until it came off. “Put your shoes on and come by the register so they can take off the dye pack. You can wear those out.”
Chase did, flushing as the perky blonde salesgirl reached inside the back of the skintight jeans to take the back of the little dye pack tack. She’d smiled at first, looking excited to touch him, but when she
was standing that close, he flushed, and the smell of come on his skin was so strong that he could see her eyes widen and her cheeks turn pink. Her fingers fumbled with the whole extraction kit, and Chase kept his eyes locked on Tommy, standing at the end of the counter, chewing a stick of Chase’s gum. His cheeks were still blotchy, and his freckles stood out in high relief on the pale parts of his cheeks, while his throat was still flushed and pink with anger.
The dye pack was finally gone and Tommy turned quickly on his heel, expecting Chase to follow without comment.
Chase did.
The ride to the city should have been horrible after that, but it wasn’t. Tommy was driving, and as soon as he started the car, his fingers found his iPod in the stereo jack. In a few minutes Linkin Park’s “Bleed it Out” was shrieking on the stereo, followed by “Faint” and “Nothing Else Matters.” When that was done, The Foo Fighters were there, and sometime between “Statues” and “Let it Die!”, both of them had started to sing at the top of their lungs, screeching the lyrics like a steel door on a concrete floor.
Chase closed his eyes and screamed “Did you ever think of me? You’re so considerate!” and he and Tommy hit the chorus “Why’d you have to go and let it die?” at the top of their lungs just as they hit the Bay Bridge.
The city at twilight was beautiful. Looking across the skyline from the Bay Bridge at the industrial, concrete-and-glass Christmas tree that made up the city at night was always such a rush. Chase only had muddled memories of Mercy navigating while he tried to drive to the baseball stadium (whatever name it was going by at the moment) or Fisherman’s Wharf on a turn-by-turn basis. This time, though, Tommy drove like he knew what he was doing, taking a few deep turns into the heart of the city, right to Castro, where even in the midst of the lurid lights and the promise of XXX up the ass and out the ass, the rhythm of a brightly lit club titled Wilde’s eclipsed the action on the streets.
Tommy found the parking garage without hunting for it or taking the wrong turn or pissing people off, and his self-sufficiency rattled the breath in Chase’s chest. He’d looked out on the street as they’d parked, and he’d seen men, dressed a lot like him and Tommy, in jeans that couldn’t be machine washed and leather jackets. When Tommy reached out and grabbed his hand and hauled him down the stairs because the elevator was taking too long, Chase practically skipped into the street like a little kid.
It was a bike. He had to be careful, so careful how he rode it, but it was a bike, and they were going to go zooming downhill and through this world with the neon throbbing on the black of the February night like a hallucinogenic trompe l’oeil. Chase was barely cognizant of the other bodies they passed. Tommy led, he followed, their hands locked together so tightly his hand felt bruised. To Chase’s surprise, they didn’t go to the back of the velvet-rope line for even a second when they got to the club. Instead, Tommy walked right up to the bouncer—six feet three inches of dark-skinned testosterone and steroids—who grinned at him and dropped his hand for the low-five.
“Heya, Tango. Howyadoin’?” His voice was almost too deep to hear beyond the throb of the music and the gull-chattering of the crowd.
“Heya, Lester,” Tommy grinned. “Doin’ great. This’s my man—”
“Chance!” Lester burst out, and held up his hand for a high-five. Chase gave him five, riddled in bemusement, and Lester started to gush. “Ohmygod! You’re the new boy! We’ve been watching you, yanno? We haven’t seen anything like you since… God. Since Tango topped Ethan, yanno? You’re like… I dunno. Porn-fuckin’-gold right now!”
Chase pulled one side of his mouth up slightly and narrowed his eyes, cocking his hip and tilting his head, making like the sophisticated city mouse when he’d been real fucking excited about being the clueless little country mouse.
“Glad you liked,” he drawled, and Lester shook his bald black head admiringly, then stepped back and let the two of them in. The line of excited people—both guys and girls, although none of the guys were straight and none of the girls were dressed for anything but dancing—gave a collective, shrill groan, and then someone from the back shrieked “Tango? Chance! Ohmygod!” and the chant of “Tango” and “Chance” followed them in.
Tommy kept his fingers tightly wound with Chase’s, hauling him past the coat check and past the bar, straight to a dance floor that was just a pulse of pounding bodies. Without ceremony, Tommy pulled Chase so close they could feel each other’s cocks through their insanely tight jeans and reached around Chase’s ass, pushing his hips forward and grinding them up together. The music, the crowd—it was loud, insanely loud, but Tommy thrust against Chase so hard it hurt, and Chase tilted his head back and groaned.
Tommy was suddenly leaning forward, shouting, “Hurts?” in his ear, and Chase nodded his head and grunted because he could barely talk.
“So good!” he shouted back truthfully. Tommy grabbed both of Chase’s hands then to the music and thrust them up, shaking them hard so Chase was there, reaching for the sky and rotating his hips while Tommy slid hard hands slowly down his wrists, his elbows, his biceps, practically rippling through the leather. Chase let him, and when Tommy’s hands squeezed at Chase’s tight, v-cut waist, Chase dropped his hands to Tommy’s shoulders and ground up against Tommy some more.
Tommy groaned, nipped at Chase’s jaw, and turned around, offering his ass, and Chase took him up on it, pulling it flush with his groin, feeling the vibrations of Tommy’s groan right in the pit of his balls. Suddenly there was another body right behind him, big hands on his shoulders, the hiss of breath in his ear, and Chase was rocked back into a set of hard thighs even as he clenched Tommy tighter. A stranger’s crotch was thrust against his ass, and even as it made him harder he resented it, resented anyone who threatened to come between him and Tommy Halloran. He closed his eyes though, for a second, and danced, and then whirled Tommy around to face him, stepping away from the massive stranger behind him.
Tommy came into his arms and started kissing him, hard, possessive kisses, almost dancing kisses, in time to the pulse of music that controlled the crowd. Chase kissed him back, keeping their rocking to the music hard and relentless.
Chase’s cock was still covered in spend from Tommy’s aggression in the changing room, but suddenly that didn’t matter anymore. It was aching and the skin seemed to feel overstretched, as though the blood inside had filled it too full, leaving it sensitized and vulnerable and swollen. Tommy ground against him and Chase grunted into his mouth, almost in pain.
“Hurts?” Tommy snarled in his ear again, and Chase said, “Not as much as going without you!” He belted it out too, loud enough to be heard over the crash and thunder of the club.
Tommy kissed him again, pulling back and biting his lower lip enough to leave a mark. Then he pulled back and grabbed Chase’s hand again, pulling him through the crowd. Their time on the dance floor had been hot, and people must have been watching them because the hands, random male hands, random hip thrusts and groin thrusts at them both slowed them down and caressed them, sometimes with strength and sometimes with tenderness, but always, always arousing, enflaming, teasing.
By the time Tommy found a tiny, black-curtained back room that stank of semen, sweat, and used beer, Chase was almost weeping with the pain of heightened excitement. Tommy dragged Chase inside and all but threw him against the back wall and then sank to a crouch on the floor (because no one wanted to actually touch it) and fumbled with the buttons of those gorgeous, impractical, skin-tight jeans.
The noise Chase made when his cock flopped out of his boxers and into Tommy’s mouth defied description. Tommy took him in, straight to the back of his throat, and Chase’s hands scrabbled in Tommy’s short hair, trying to find purchase.
“Oh God!”
Tommy pulled back and gripped him tight, glaring up at him with those bright black eyes. “I’m gonna make ya come,” he snarled. “I’m gonna make ya come, and I’m gonna swallow it down, and I’m gonna take you back to the hotel a
nd I’m gonna fuck ya!”
Chase had professed to be afraid of that, but God, his cock hurt in Tommy’s hand, and he needed… oh God, he needed so bad. “Yes,” he panted. “God, yes….”
Tommy pulled Chase’s cock back into his throat again and swallowed; the pressure on Chase’s crown exquisite and hard at the same time. Tommy pulled back again and then forward and back, sticking two fingers into his mouth that he slid over the head of Chase’s cock at the same time he was getting them good and wet. He slid his fingers backward between Chase’s legs, tickling his perineum, and then, without warning, thrust them inside.
Chase howled. His hands flew backward, like a startled infant’s, hitting the wall on either side of him, and his vision exploded into scarlet, trimmed in black. He came, dumping come into Tommy’s mouth, and Tommy swallowed, his throat bobbing once, and Chase’s hands clenched and released, shaking in front of his chest as he lost control of damned near everything and shook, wracked with the force of the orgasm.
He couldn’t get it back, couldn’t, and he must have whimpered because Tommy suddenly stood up and pulled his head against that hard, muscular chest, whispering soothing things into his ears.
“Gonna take ya back, ’kay? Gonna be in a room, and I’m gonna fuck ya, and you can lose it then, okay? It’ll be just me and you, and you can fuckin’ lose it then, I’ll catch ya, right?”
“Right,” he panted, his shoulders jerking. He was close, so close, ah gods so close, to crying, to ripping that red door off its hinges and blacking out under the force of it, but Tommy just whispered in his ear.
“It’ll be all good, Chase, I swear. I’m gonna take such good care of you.”
Tommy’s hands were tender as he pulled Chase’s jeans up and fastened them in a jingle of those dead-sexy chains, and then Chase was guided gently down the end of the darkened hallway. The fire exit had been propped open, and they emerged into a foggy, drizzly night, the overhanging clouds lit by the city’s excess and creating an ambient, muted light. The alley smelled like ass and come and piss, like wet metal and trash from the dumpster that blocked it partially from view. Carefully they walked, ignoring the other bodies in the darkness of the alley, doing the same things they had just done, or worse. There was a boy, probably younger than Chase, taking it from behind while he bent over and took another man, older than Chase’s father, into his mouth. Chase couldn’t look at his expression, refused to, because if the kid was lost in passion, that would be too raw, too much what Chase had just been, and if he was hopeless and trapped, that would hurt too.