Black John

by Amy Lane

  The air conditioning hit John’s body hard, crinkled his nipples, drew his sac up next to his body, and tormented the spend-dripping head of his cock. He was shivering hard by the time they barreled into his bedroom and came to a stop in front of the badly made bed with Galen stumbling against his naked backside.

  John tumbled to the bed, Galen’s slight weight on top of him, and undulated, rubbing his groin against the soft comforter and feeling Galen against his ass.

  “No offense,” Galen panted, his cock leaving a slick trail between John’s thighs and his asscheeks, “but I usually bottom.”

  “No offense, but I usually ’verse.” God, yes—his favorite scenes to shoot were the ones where the power top first took it in the ass or the power bottom got to top. He didn’t care. It wasn’t about who was better or who was in charge, it was about doing your job to get the other person off.

  Galen rubbed some more, and John pushed up and rolled sideways. “Hold that thought,” he grunted, grabbing Galen’s hand and wrapping it around Galen’s own prick.

  “No fair!” But Galen stroked himself, and John watched for a moment, avid, as those bony knuckles tightened at the tip, then relaxed as he moved back down to the base.

  “Oh yeah,” John breathed, as mesmerized by that hand on the thin pale cock as he’d ever been mesmerized by anything sexual at all. “Yeah—”

  “Condoms,” Galen snapped.

  John grinned at him before bending down and taking Galen’s head into his mouth. Ah, God, that sweetness of precome, the exact shape of the little mushroom cap in his mouth, the silken feel of the skin….

  “I…,” Galen groaned, “am going….”

  He was greedy for touch. John slid his palms up the fur on Galen’s thighs and felt the shudder under his skin. Galen bucked his hips, his movements unchecked and authentic, so innocently aroused, John wanted to close his eyes and cry.

  I missed this.

  He missed needy lovers, missed the greed and the selfishness and the begging. He’d loved filling that need, loved giving another man what he wanted, sating him in as many ways as possible.

  “No!” Galen protested, spurting precome. He knotted his fingers in John’s overlong red hair and pulled.

  John opened his mouth and made sure Galen smacked and slid down his cheek, around his face, brushing the stubble and spit on his chin. “Come,” he whispered.

  “But… it’ll be over.” Galen’s voice throbbed with unfulfilled longing, and John remembered those hand jobs. Like a handshake, he thought, heartsore. No intimacy, no touching, just a quick relief and a thank-you for the cup of coffee.

  John bent his head again, swallowing Galen down until his head scraped the back of John’s palate. But John had relinquished his gag reflex a long time ago, and he tightened his lips and slurped up. When he got to the end, he licked slowly with his rough tongue.

  “John!” Galen protested, and John pulled away to blow on the head.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Come. In my mouth, on my face. It’s okay. ’Cause I’m naked, and I want you. I’ll get around to fucking you, letting you taste me. We’ll do it all. Do it all twice. But right now I want you to come.”

  “More?” Galen asked, some of the terrible tension going out of his body.

  But not his cock. His cock was swelling, and his furled little testicles were drawing tighter underneath it. John fondled them at the same time he lowered his head again, swallowing hard and tight.

  Galen grasped his hair and tugged. “On your face,” he murmured. “On your closed eyes and open mouth. Wanna see it. Beautiful.”

  Oh yes! That was John’s kind of kink. He pulled back and pumped with his fist—the world’s oldest, easiest way of getting a man off—enjoying the throb against his palm, the helpless, animal sounds Galen made, the way he scrabbled in the blankets with desperate fingers.

  He propped himself up so he could lick the head rhythmically while pumping. “Grab your nipples,” he ordered softly, liking to think that Galen could pleasure himself. “Good.” He was gentle with his own nipples, when some men would be rough. “Sensitive,” he breathed. “You’re so sensitive, all over.” He continued to pump, lapping at the precome and breathing softly on the wet skin. Galen worked his nipples harder, frantic, twisting, and he wasn’t making helpless animal noises anymore.

  He was begging.

  “Faster, please, John, please, I’m so close, faster, I’m just there, just on the edge, and it’s huge… huge… so goddamned big, and I want… ah God… I want… I….”

  He sucked in a breath and John continued slowly, relentlessly, thinking that Galen wouldn’t scream, not with this one. With this one he just whimpered a little, his body shaking, as his hips served as the epicenter of his orgasmic convulsion.

  John pulled back, closed his eyes, and kept stroking with his tongue out, teasing the head and the slit. His reward was a short, hot burst across his cheek, across his nose, and across his eyelid. Galen made a sound like a sob and spurted again before collapsing limply against the bedspread.

  John opened one eye and made sure Galen could see him as he stuck out his tongue again and licked the mushroom cap.

  Galen threaded his fingers through John’s hair gently now, and then he stopped and reached and came back with a tissue. John took it gratefully and wiped off his eye and his cheek and his nose, and then, still smiling at Galen, he stood, wrapping his hand around his own cock. Galen was still sprawled on the bed, thin body relaxed, flushed from orgasm, cock at half-mast, leaving a trickle of come on the hair of his thigh.

  Wanton and sated and sexy as hell.

  He saw John’s regard and hid his eyes a little, peeking out from between his fingers. It was the curiously childish gesture of a boy who had played when growing up and who remembered what innocence was. Not all of John’s boys could do that—at least not on the set.

  “Galen,” John said, stroking himself, gorging on the sight of a pretty man in his bed. He would explore that man, touch his scars with butterfly fingers, lick the line of demarcation between the marks of pain and the untwisted skin, find the most sensitive, ticklish places, the places that would make his cock swell from the touch of John’s breath alone. “Galen, look at me.”

  Galen moved his hand, and his moist mouth compressed into a little pink O.

  “See that?” John gasped, and his cock leaked some more. He dragged his thumb across the head and met those eyes as he brought his thumb to his mouth and suckled. He released it with a pop. “This is me looking at you. I want you so bad, I could come across your chest right now and still need to go get a condom so I could fuck you blind into the mattress.”

  Oh God, what John wouldn’t give to have a man look at him like that all the time, like he was beautiful, courageous, a god of the fuck, just for one man alone.

  “Yeah?” Galen was trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. But John heard it: Oh God, let the man I want think I’m beautiful. All of the pretty boys John had shot, and no one had ever thought of him as a sex object.

  Tory had never thought of him as a sex object. Dex had boxed him solidly in the friend zone.

  Galen looked at him like he held the secrets and the glory of the almighty come.

  “I want you so bad,” John rasped, stroking. “Can you wait while I find a rubber?”

  “Oh God, yes.” Galen’s voice came out mostly breath, and John let go of himself just before he passed the point of no return. It hadn’t been so long that he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t give Galen what he needed the most.

  John didn’t go into his nightstand. His fleeting thought about Dex had reminded him of Dex packing for him, and his suitcase was still open on the chair in the corner of the room. He wondered if he actually teleported, he was so eager to sink into Galen’s body. He approached cautiously, not wanting to see if Galen figured out he wasn’t getting the pretty porn boys this time, just the pervy aging guy behind the camera.

  But Galen had shifted on the
bed and propped his head up on his good arm so he could watch attentively as John speed-rolled the condom and applied lube.

  “We can get tested tomorrow?” he said, and only the slight rise at the end let John know he was leery of even mentioning tomorrow.

  “Yeah,” John said, like he hadn’t thought of another outcome. He hadn’t. “Of course.”

  “’Cause I want to taste you.” Galen was openly begging John with his eyes now.

  John slicked up his cock with one hand and leaned his weight on the mattress with the other. “Kiss me,” he demanded.

  Galen closed his eyes, letting out a little grunt as John claimed his mouth again and thrust his tongue in, as blatantly sexual as he could get.

  John kept kissing, kept thrusting his tongue inside until Galen quivered and rolled to his back, kneading frantically at John’s biceps and shoulders.

  When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he slid his hands along the insides of Galen’s thighs and shoved forward, spreading them. Then he leaned back so he could bend Galen more securely. He felt Galen’s muscle resist in his game leg and eased it down, propping it up with a bent knee.

  “Sorry—”

  “No! I should have thought. Here—” Holding the good thigh up, John slid his slippery fingers between Galen’s buttcheeks and probed, closing his eyes when he found the entrance, slicking up the rim and just inside with all the lube he had left over.

  Galen was losing his fucking mind.

  “God, you love this.” A bottom—someone whose sphincter was so sensitive that just the touch of fingers, just the thought of assplay, made him quiver. Oh damn, John had lucked out. The thought of thrusting inside, having Galen come apart around him, made his cock jerk against the bed again, threatening to spill.

  “You ready?” he whispered in Galen’s ear. “You ready? All slippery? Ready to take me? Because I want you. God, I want you so bad.”

  “Please….” A reedy, thready whine.

  John grunted in satisfaction, seating his cock right at Galen’s entrance and sliding in until the muscle caught.

  “God, yes—don’t stop!”

  That was what John wanted to hear in a lover.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured and thrust. He stretched surely, not stopping when he met resistance. Galen gibbered, begged, pleaded for every inch, and John thrust in all the way to the root.

  Tears glittered in the corner of Galen’s eyes.

  “Hurt?” Oh God, no!

  “No! Just… so good. So good.” Galen rubbed John’s almost-flat stomach, his chest, the cinnamon hair between his nipples. “Keep moving. God, John… you’re fucking me. It feels so good. I didn’t think anyone would ever….”

  “Sh….”

  All of a sudden, John didn’t want to hear about being the last-chance lover. He wanted to keep pretending he was the god of all the fuck.

  He pulled back and thrust in, rocking in the same rhythm that pulled the tides and had thundered in man’s blood since man first humped a rock because he couldn’t find a mate.

  Galen moaned in joy when John fucked him faster, and harder, and oh my God! So hot, so sweet. The thin condom didn’t block his pleasure so much as prolong it, which was good. If John were doing this bare, he would have come already, buried in the sweet cave of Galen’s ass.

  As it was, he wasn’t going to last long. As he thrust inside hard, he could feel the lump of Galen’s sweet spot as his cockhead rolled over it.

  Galen screamed, unleashed, uncaring. John hit him there again, and again, because by God, Galen was going to feel the mark of John’s body, the sweet tenderness of having his flesh claimed, the… the… oh my God—

  “Coming now!” John cried, despairing because he hadn’t grabbed Galen’s cock, made him come again, and now he was shuddering, bouncing jerkily on short springs while Galen released guttural groans of need. “Grab yourself, dammit—”

  Ah, there it was. Galen working himself, the hot spurt of stickiness between them, and then, yes!

  Orgasm swept John’s body, detonating from his groin out, shaking him from ass to balls to the spitting end of his cock in the condom.

  Galen was half sobbing, “Yes, yes, yes!” as John emptied himself, and the clenching of his tight ring of muscle squeezed and squeezed, and God. John convulsed one last time as he came and collapsed, unable to hold himself up even to protect Galen.

  He lay there, squashing Galen’s too-thin body, until the contractions in Galen’s sphincter pushed him out.

  John took that as his signal and rolled over to his side, gasping.

  Silence and tortured breathing filled the room. Oh hell, what did you say when your world was inside out?

  Galen, hand soiled in come, tentatively pushed John’s hair out of his eyes, and John met his apprehensive gaze.

  “It was okay?”

  John buried his face in the comforter and laughed semihysterically. “You’re gonna kill me,” he breathed when he could collect himself.

  “So,” Galen said, his voice growing warmer, a little more confident. “Good.”

  “Christ yeah. So good.”

  “Really?”

  John grinned at him, liking the way his eyes glowed when he was sated. “I don’t know—I think we’ll have to do that a couple of more times to be sure, don’t you?”

  Galen nodded. “Yeah,” he said with satisfaction. “Good.”

  John laughed some more and twined their fingers, waiting for the overhead fan to dry the sweat from their bodies before he pulled Galen into his chest.

  “That was amazing,” he praised, hating to leave it at good. “Don’t ever think that you’re not.”

  A frown wrinkled Galen’s forehead, and two divots at the corners of his mouth. “So are you,” he said, like he was afraid John wouldn’t believe him.

  Smart man. “I’ll do for now,” John said dryly.

  Galen squeezed his eyes tight and scowled. “No—you’re not the interim guy, John. You’re not the ‘okay for now’ guy. You’re… you’re important.”

  John sighed and stood, rolling Galen off his shoulder gently. He liked sleeping naked next to a lover, and he hoped Galen was on that page, but for now, they hadn’t even eaten dinner.

  “Here.” He pulled on his boxers and cargo shorts. He left the top button undone not so much because he was trying to be sexy but because he was trying to be quick. “Let me go get our stuff and I’ll gather us up something to eat. We can watch some television if you want—that would be—”

  “John,” Galen said, half smiling as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I really like you,” John said, hating the way that sounded. “But I know I’m not a forever guy, okay? I mean….” God. Self-serving, self-pitying, self-whatever, he had it. That was the downside of sex—it left you open, bare and raw. “No one has ever wanted me that way before.”

  Galen reached out imperiously, and John took the two steps to grab his hand and squeeze. Clammy, cold and uncomfortable, and John detected a tremor in it, and in Galen’s jaw as he spoke. Ah. Med time. But Galen wasn’t focusing on his pills right now. He was focusing on John.

  “I think,” Galen said, his magnificent eyes shiny. “I think you are a very good man, John Carey. I do wish you’d take that into consideration before you open your fool mouth.”

  “Oh please. Why waste thirty-five years in training as an asshole.” John shrugged, and Galen tugged hard on his hand until John sat down next to him. “Baby, you need to fix soon. Detox sucks. I’d rather you do that somewhere they can help you through it.”

  Galen shivered slightly. “So that’s it? That’s it, isn’t it? You think if I wasn’t… stoned, addicted, whatever, this wouldn’t have happened?”

  John had to get away from those betrayed eyes, from the knowledge that even at his lowest, Galen was still a better man than John had ever been.

  “Oh Galen—I’ve never been anybody’s first choice. There’s no reason for tha
t to start now.” He kissed Galen’s sweating temple and disengaged himself gently.

  By the time he came back from the patio with Galen’s bag and a bottle of water, Galen was lying under the comforter, shivering.

  He dry swallowed the pill John held out to him, and John watched him dispassionately. For once, he hadn’t been tempted. Must be the sex endorphins—or maybe the thrill of melancholy. Well, some people did cry after good sex, but John had never thought he was one of them.

  “I hate this,” Galen whispered. “So much I want to say to you, and when you need it most….”

  “Sh….” John leaned over the bed and kissed his damp forehead. “I’m going to go fix dinner. Your clothes are right here—you can shower when you’re feeling better.”

  Galen squeezed his eyes shut and clutched John’s hand where it rested on the bed. “Damn you, John, for doing this. You’re missing the point entirely.”

  “The point?” John asked bitterly, the hurt welling in his chest like acid. “The point is that I’m falling for another addict, and all the shit I went through for Tory, including this fucked-up month, is for nothing, because I didn’t learn a fucking thing.”

  He yanked away then and stalked out of the bedroom, slamming the door for good measure. God dammit. God fucking dammit. Dex, you wouldn’t have done this to me.

  No. But then, John had given Dex his first taste of cocaine. It hadn’t taken—but that didn’t change the fact that John was apparently no goddamned good for anyone.

  HE WAS chopping up broccoli for steaming when he heard Galen enter the kitchen behind him. He’d put chicken in the oven to broil and opened the sliding glass door to the gully washer outside, so the kitchen was pleasantly cool and smelled like food and comfort.

  Galen’s arms around his waist didn’t seem out of place at all.

  “You’re falling for me?” Galen asked, his voice muffled by the back of John’s neck.

  “Well, it’s only been a couple of days,” John said briskly. “It’s a short fall.”