Going Sasquatch

by Jess Whitecroft

  Chase exhaled. I wondered how long he’d been holding his breath, but I felt sure that I knew now. That look he’d given me when I’d touched his hand on the terrace. It wasn’t no, or yes. It was only ‘not now’.

  He’d moved closer as we touched, so I felt the weight of him leaning against me. His cheek was so close to mine that I could feel the heat of it on my face, his breathing slow but ragged. His skin under my fingers was as fine and delicate as dick skin, and once again I rubbed softly and rhythmically, a thin whisper of all the ways I wanted to touch him right now.

  He let out a tiny moan, barely a catch in the back of his throat. I felt his breath on my cheek and then there was his mouth, soft and a little clumsy, but there. At last, there.

  Our hands were still barely touching, but he’d had enough of the tease. His tongue was soft and rough and tasted of rum and passionfruit, and when he swirled it deep into my mouth I got so dizzy I thought I was going to pitch clean over the railing.

  “We should go up,” I said, catching my breath. We were both breathing like we’d run a half marathon.

  “Yep,” he said, without a trace of playfulness. “We should.”

  5

  Neither of us spoke on the few steps back up to the cabin. We barely dared look at one another, but once I unlocked the door that was it. He fell on me without a word, pushing me up against the wall of the low, narrow hallway so that the small space suddenly seemed full of nothing but hands and tongues and the rustle of clothes that couldn’t come off too soon. His skin was chilled under my hands but his mouth was so, so hot, his panting breath humid on my lips every time we came up for air.

  “I’m so confused right now,” he said, but he didn’t feel confused. He felt hard and assured and like he knew exactly what he wanted. I kissed him again and fumbled at my belt buckle, my tongue in his mouth as I reached down into my jeans and pulled my dick free, the touch of my own hand making me sigh with lust and relief.

  I caught hold of his hand and pulled it to me. Moment of truth now. If he was a straight boy fooling around then this was one of the places they drew the line. You couldn’t pretend it was anything other than it was when you had another man’s cock in your hand. There was just enough light for me to see the hunger in his eyes as he came in for another kiss, then I felt his fingers curl around me, confident and eager. I moaned into his kiss, equally confused, because there was no way he was straight. He’d done this before.

  What else had he done before? My mind tore ahead of me, back to dirty dreams of raw, sweaty fucking. I jolted up into his grip, spilling a drop of pre-come as I did so. Chase’s thumb found the tip of my dick and he broke off the kiss to look me in the eye as he sucked his thumb clean. “Come on,” he said, and headed for the stairs, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

  I followed him in a daze, stumbling up the stairs after him. By the time I got there he was already naked, lying in the middle of the big bed, kicking the ends of his jeans off his toes. The last few rays of the sunset beamed through the loft windows, gilding his skin. “Come on,” he said, again, opening his thighs for me. His dick was gently curved, his balls shaved, once again taking me back to that vivid sex dream. He took hold of himself and jerked it slowly. “Come here,” he said. “And take whatever you want.”

  There wasn’t time for what I wanted, because I wanted everything. I tore off my clothes and tumbled into his arms. When our naked bodies touched for the first time we both sighed at the same instant, and hung there for a moment, gasping, skin on skin. It was so much all at once, so much of what I’d craved for so long. All those long hours in the gym, watching the sweat bead on his silky hide. And now I had permission to touch, to stroke, to lick. I hardly knew where to start.

  At first I kissed him carefully, as though I was afraid of being overwhelmed, but he pushed deeper with his tongue, threw a thigh over mine and moaned into my mouth. He shoved gently at me with his hip and I rolled over onto my back, shocked and delighted to realize this was familiar. I had always loved him as a client because had this intuitive knack of knowing where his body was supposed to go next or when his form wasn’t perfect. And now he’d turned the tables on me; he was pushing me around the way I pushed him around when we were training. In all my fantasies I’d kept him reasonably divorced from the real Chase, the one I couldn’t have, but now that I could have him I realized that I’d never even thought about what that intuition of his would mean when translated to his performance as a lover.

  Perhaps it was just as well I’d never thought of it until now. It felt like he’d lit me on fire. He was on top of me, his hard, beautiful body grinding against mine, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, my nipple. Oh Jesus Christ, he was going down and I didn’t have the self-control to stop him. I was never going to last.

  I closed my eyes at the first touch of his tongue. I knew if I looked down and saw him licking my dick then this whole thing was going to be over even faster. He made soft, satisfied noises in the back of his throat as he soaked me from root to tip with long, slow strokes, like he’d been fantasizing about this forever. I bucked in spite of myself and his mouth came down and swallowed me, making me cry out with the sweet, sudden shock of it. I could feel him smile around me and his hand snaked up between my thighs, cupping my balls in his palm. His fingers went creeping behind them, teasing the edge of my asshole in an adult-rated version of the delicate little finger dance that had set this whole thing off in the first place. God, he was clever, and that’s when I knew I was fucked; the body beautiful was just a day’s work to me, but he was already inside my head.

  “Look at me, Finn,” he said, breaking off to place a kiss on my hipbone. “Watch me suck your cock.”

  “I can’t. I’ll come.”

  His fingertip nudged deeper behind my balls. I couldn’t resist any more, and I glanced down to the spectacular sight of Chase Morrow running his tongue slowly up the shaft of my dick. It was almost completely dark now, but I could see the gleam of his eyes and the wet of the spit on his tongue. I cried out and bucked again, and Chase bobbed his head downwards, swallowing me once more.

  I was so close. Trying to make things last, I looked up into the loft windows over the bed, then I realized that if we turned the lights on that the windows would function as a mirror over the bed. I pictured myself spread-eagled, face up, looking at the reflection of Chase curled over my thighs, his head bowed and his hand at work on himself.

  It caught me out. I came hard and fast, spurting into his hot, unholy mouth. He didn’t swallow. He spat in his hand and quickly sat up. “Close your legs,” he said, and I did as I was told, still riding the last shudders of my orgasm. He smeared my spat out come at the tops of my folded thighs, pushed his cock between them and started to fuck with brisk, hungry strokes.

  He was so beautiful. Even in the dark he was almost unbearably beautiful, the white of his side heaving over me as he fucked between my thighs. “Come on,” I said, touching his chest, his hips, his lovely, laboring ass. I was still tingling from the aftershocks and seeing him take charge of his own pleasure had only deepened the thrill. “Come on, you. Give it to me.”

  Chase stiffened. Shuddered. I felt him wet and hot between my legs. He barely made a sound until the very end, when a hoarse gasp burst from his lips and he sank down into my waiting arms.

  We held one another for a long time, not talking. For a moment I thought I might cry. This thing that I’d built up in my head for so long was done now, and it wasn’t some big porno collision full of moans and groans and fireworks. No, it was just sex, with all its fleshy fumblings and stickiness and unexpected tendernesses, and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. I stared up at the stars through the window, feeling the weight of his thigh settle between mine.

  “You okay?” I said. He didn’t answer. “Chase?”

  “Hmm? Mm.” He blinked awake. He’d fallen asleep on me.

  “You dozed off.” I was sticky. If we stayed like this we were going to end up glued toget
her. “We should clean up.”

  “Baby wipes,” he said. “Front pocket of my bag.”

  He found the light switch above the bed and lay there with his forearm shading his eyes. Just as I’d predicted the windows reflected the bed. I found the baby wipes, cleaned myself up and then returned to the bed to do the same for him.

  “Oh my,” he said, spotting his reflection. “How very…Vegas.”

  “I know. Unexpectedly sleazy. I like it.” I patted his knee. “Open up.”

  I think he liked it, too, because he stretched his body out in front of me, his muscled thighs opening like the gates of paradise. As I wiped him clean his cock thickened a little in my hand and I couldn’t resist planting a kiss on it, a promise of more later.

  “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

  “Five minutes, if that.”

  Chase stifled a yawn. “Really? It felt like a hundred years.” He wrapped his legs around me as I slithered up over him. This time when we kissed it was slow and satisfying, not like the gasping kisses we’d exchanged before when we were both on fire to get off. “I’m so relaxed,” he said, with a glowy pink smile I’d never seen before. “God, Finn. That was amazing.”

  “And confusing, apparently.”

  “Confusing?”

  “Yeah. You said you were confused. You know, before…”

  He laughed. “Before you had sex with me? Well, yeah. I was. I thought you were straight.”

  “Not even slightly,” I said. Sure, I wasn’t flamboyant, but I’d always thought it was one of those things that was fairly obvious about me. The perfect abs, the high standard of personal hygiene, the collection of limited edition Madonna picture-discs lining the wall to my yoga studio? I mean, really? “You just thought I was a big Madonna fan?”

  “Why not? Straight Madonna fans exist.”

  “Straight male Madonna fans?”

  “Yes, maybe,” he said, starting to laugh again.

  “Oh my God,” I said, reaching for the covers. “No wonder you fucking believe in Bigfoot. Get in here.”

  He rolled into the bed with me, giggling as we tumbled under the sheets. “All those times,” he said. “When we were half naked and sweaty together. All those opportunities and not once did you ever…”

  “What? Come onto you? Of course not. I’m a professional. Besides, I thought you were straight.”

  Chase slumped back on the pillow and groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

  “What about Alicia?”

  “Oh,” he said. “No. She’s not my girlfriend. We were briefly friends with benefits but between you and me she’s also kind of confused. There’s this arthousey-looking girl who she hangs out with – all Gauloise and eyeliner. In fact I’d be very surprised if they weren’t knocking boots in my bed right now.”

  “Your bed?”

  “Yeah. I let Alicia stay at my place while I was out of town,” he said. “Actually I’m surprised you didn’t bump into her the other day.”

  It clicked. That vague feeling of unease from before. There had been someone in Chase’s house. I’d seen her hand as she opened the bathroom window. “I’m not sure I didn’t,” I said, and plowed on, determined to make some sense of what had gone down back in LA. “Okay, when you say while you were ‘out of town’…”

  “Pretending to be out of town,” Chase clarified. “Yeah. Obviously I told her I was going out of town because there’s no way to tell anyone that you’re actually going to go hide out in your personal trainer’s pool cabana and stew there in a horrid maelstrom of fear, self-doubt and despair.”

  “Chase…” I could tell he was trying to shield himself by trying to be funny about the whole thing, but it wasn’t working. However odd the situation had been, it had clearly come from a place of deep hurting, and it was written all over his face. “What happened?”

  He sighed. “It’s hard,” he said. “They say it’s all different now. That you can come out and be out. Ellen and Portia, Matt Bomer, Neil Patrick Harris…and yeah, it’s not as bad as it was in the bad old days of Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter, but it’s still…well.”

  “Still what?” I said, ready to be outraged.

  “We were doing publicity shots,” said Chase. “Interviews. The usual puff and plug. Then Angie says ‘oh, you have a meeting with the studio’, right? This was the first movie. This was when I was nobody. I’d done a third rate romcom and a bunch of modeling. That was all. And they were taking this huge chance on me.”

  I propped myself up on one elbow to listen. “Sure.”

  “So obviously I’m grateful. Like, boot-lickingly grateful. So I get to this studio meeting and I’m thinking ‘holy shit, am I about to meet the studio head?’ and then they walk me into a boardroom. And it’s not one person. It’s maybe a dozen. Just a big table full of Evian and marketing executives.

  “And then they started talking, more at me than to me, talking about target markets and demographics and audience share and genres, and that’s when it hit me, that I was no longer an actor.” He sighed again. “I was a ‘commercial property’, a commodity. A brand. I had to play for target audiences, to maintain a certain image that would work with product placement opportunities.”

  Jesus, this was some corporate bullshit. “And they told you that you couldn’t be gay?”

  “No. Not in so few words,” said Chase. “They said there was a valued and growing audience who might – in the fullness of time – be open to the idea of an action movie star who happens to be gay, but they have to consider overseas box office like Russia and China–”

  “–you’re fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not. They have really draconian anti-gay laws–”

  “–I know that. So not only is Russia influencing our elections, but they’re also keeping our movie stars in the closet?”

  “Basically. Their purchasing power is huge.”

  “Motherfucker,” I said. “Is there anything these people can’t do?”

  “Convincing Botox?” said Chase. “Have you seen Putin lately? Looks like he escaped from Lenin’s mausoleum.”

  I laughed, in spite of how angry this whole thing made me. “Chase Morrow, that was bitchy,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m not all sweetness and light,” he said, shivering a little. I pulled the comforter up around his shoulders and snuggled him close. “I’m only human, despite what the studio would like you to believe.”

  “God, Chase. You’re not really going to do it, are you? You’re not going to live in the closet your whole life?”

  He shrugged against me. “I don’t know. I mean, technically I guess I’m bi rather than gay. I’m just…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just fudge it on the whole ‘I’m a very private person’ line and leave it at that. I mean, I came out of that meeting feeling like I’d had my soul gouged out with a rusty melon baller, but I got over it.”

  “You don’t get over a thing like that,” I said. “They sat you down and listed the ways in which you were no longer allowed to be yourself. That’s got to hurt.”

  Chase stretched, shifting his arm out from under himself. “It’s just the game, baby,” he said, stroking the roots of my hair just above my ear. “You make the big dumb movies so that you can keep working. Making the movies you want to make.”

  “Really? Did Angie tell you that?”

  “Among other things, yeah,” he said. “But I think we’ve broken the no-Hollywood rule enough for one night, don’t you?”

  “Do you know, I completely forgot about that. But if it helps you to talk about it…”

  He shook his head and silenced me with a kiss. “It does,” he said. “But we could be having sex right now.”

  I was down with that. I could feel him hard against my thigh and I wrapped my fingers around him, my blood already running faster at the thought of getting down there and getting better acquainted with his cock. He wasn’t huge, but he was shaved and silky, and even by touch I could tel
l he had one of those graceful, delicately curved dicks, the kind whose smooth shape invited tongues and lips to lick and suck and taste.

  Chase moaned softly and threw a thigh over me, the covers slipping down over his back. And once again I found my eye drawn to our reflections in the window above. From that angle I could see that the cover had slid down just above his dimples.

  “Did I ever tell you?” said Chase. “That I’m a total sucker for eyes like yours? Blue eyes with black eyelashes. Irish eyes.”

  “Mmm,” I said, as the cover slid down over his ass. Oh good Lord, what a view that was.

  “Finn, what are you looking at?”

  He followed the direction of my gaze and rolled over. “Oh,” he said. I was naked and fully erect, his hand already stealing across my hip.

  “Sorry,” I said. “That’s going to be really distracting.”

  “I think you mean hot,” said Chase, wrapping his fingers around me. I reached out and did the same to him, our wrists crossed between us. “Your body is so beautiful.”

  “So’s yours,” I said, stroking slowly. God, I hadn’t been wrong about his dick. The head was as round and pink as a scoop of raspberry sorbet, and it made my mouth water in much the same way.

  “We look good together.”

  I arched a little into his touch, my toes curling. “Not as good as we feel.”

  Chase smiled up at our reflections and settled into a steady rhythm. “It’s handy, really,” he said. “You’ve got a reflection there for reference. In case you forget what I look like while you’re fucking me.”

  It took me a second to realize what he was talking about, but then it hit me. Even now he was still dwelling on his bad reviews, the ones that had called him bland, basic, forgettable. That was the trouble with people who looked like Chase; they were always horribly insecure.

  “Okay,” I said, taking my hand away and looking for the light switch. “That’s enough self-deprecating ‘humor’ for tonight, I think.”

  I shut out the light.