The coach shakes his head. Soccer stars. One never knows what’s going on in their twisted little heads. He hadn’t considered Jason a “diva” but… well, soccer stars, you know?
Moody as hell.
Anais Morten Anais Morten is a teacher of physical education and loves mountaineering and traveling. She’s German, married and the mother of two children. Her publishing experiences include various contributions in gay and queer anthologies.
Special Offer
Clare London
THE supermarket was almost deserted, quiet except for the squeaky background sound of piped-in music, nagging at the occasional shopper’s ears with its continuous stream of generic pop. The tired announcement about the special offer on aisle four echoed against the cool, white walls with a nasal twang. One of the checkout girls was filing her nails, another one glanced up at the clock by the exit and yawned loudly. Only another half hour to go until the store closed for the night.
Mitch Matheson hitched up the loose waistband of his sweats and swore under his breath. The wheels of his cart had skidded sideways again, crashing it into the shelves of rice and pasta. Like it had bounced into dairy products – like it had careened crookedly into cooked meats. It’s not being paranoid, he thought, gritting his teeth, when things really are out to get you.
He took a swig from his bottle of soda, sealed it and dropped it back in the cart. Then he pushed his loose blond ponytail back over his shoulder with an irritated gesture. He’d not taken the time to braid it or tie it neatly, just twisted it back with an old tie, in a rush to get out to the supermarket and back again with the minimum hassle. The same way he hadn’t really bothered with dressing carefully, just throwing on a sleeveless vest and sweats. He frowned down at the vest – this one had shrunk again in the wash and now stretched tightly across his broad chest.
He jerked it down over his lean, muscled stomach, but it just rolled back up, exposing the thin band of naked skin around his navel. He grunted. Christ, he hated shopping! Or, to be strictly accurate, he hated rebellious carts; he hated running out of a score of stuff, so that he had to go late shopping on a Saturday night like this; he hated the way the store moved the ketchup to a different place every week; he hated the washing powder box squashing his loaf of fresh bread; he hated…
Well, basically, he hated not having a date on Saturday night. How the fuck had that happened? His mood had been resentful when he set out, and it wasn’t improving any time soon.
He didn’t see the other cart until it spun an equally awkward path around the corner of the aisle and crashed into his. Its owner hurried around the corner, grabbing out to catch it.
“What the fuck?” The two shoppers glared at each other, ready for the necessary abuse, but then they blinked and stared again, in an almost comical double-take.
“Looks like you drive a cart with the same carelessness you show your social life,” growled the new arrival. He was as tall as Mitch, but darkhaired and slimmer. He was frowning, but that didn’t hide the fact he was goodlooking. He’d pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. They were a striking shade of brown, flecked with hazel where they reflected the fluorescent lights of the store. He wore loose pants, the same as Mitch, and a close-fitting T-shirt that barely covered the well-developed lines of his torso.
“At least I can keep my eyes and my hands on the cart.” Mitch shrugged, also frowning. The pair of them looked like they were squaring up for a confrontation. Obviously they both had the same opinion of grocery shopping on Saturday night.
They stared a moment longer. They sighed.
“Mitch,” acknowledged the darkhaired man, finally, though a little grudgingly.
“Will,” replied Mitch, with a return nod of his head. “You shop here often?” Will Anders didn’t seem to think he needed to dignify that cliché with a response. Instead, he pushed his cart to a stop and moved to Mitch’s side of the aisle, though the last thing he wanted tonight was to make small talk with a guy he hardly knew except as a neighbor from the next apartment down the hallway. He wanted in and out of this store as fast as was practical.
If it hadn’t been for his refrigerator failing while he was out at work, he’d have had very different plans for the evening. But he’d come home to a puddle of liquid mess on the kitchen floor, and when he’d opened the door to salvage what he could, a couple of unidentified pots gave off a stench that might have been stagnating since Neanderthal times. He’d judged it wise to come out to restock. Now he’d chased his damned cart all the way past the canned goods and suffered scraped shins at least twice. No, pleasantries were the last things on his mind.
“No party for you tonight then?”
Mitch shrugged in reply. “It happens.”
Will raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know the guy much more than to say ‘hi’ on the stairs, but since Mitch had moved in over six months ago, Will couldn’t remember a single weekend when there hadn’t been a party going on at the blond man’s apartment or when Mitch hadn’t been crashing in and out of the block on his way to and from someone else’s. He was a rabid funlover. Will peered at him, surreptitiously.
There were always plenty of guys at these parties too, and some pretty obvious sexual activity going on. The walls were paper thin in their apartment block, and Mitch had a loud and infectious laugh. He didn’t keep his voice down at night, either. Will could recall several graphic and enthusiastic commentaries on the performance of anyone who stayed over. He peered at Mitch again, his eyes running down his neighbor’s well-muscled body. He bit his lip, feeling a little warmer than he had before. The guy was hot, of course. That was something Will couldn’t help but notice.
Mitch peered back at the other man. Was that a smirk he could see on his face? “So what about you? On your own tonight?”
Will grimaced. “Obviously.” His shrug in return was slow and grudging. “Like you said, it happens.” Mitch bit back a grin. He had a pretty busy life of his own usually, but he still found time to be intrigued by the guy next door. Since Mitch had moved in, Will had nodded to him a couple of times, though they never seemed to meet up for long enough to take the conversation any further.
The first day he’d arrived, Will had given him some help with some boxes, and so had the cute blond man who’d been hanging on Will’s every word. Then, when Mitch had knocked on Will’s door a couple of days later to ask something about getting the antiquated heating system to work, he’d seen another young man lying casually on Will’s sofa, flicking through the TV channels while Mitch and Will exchanged information at the door. This guy had been brunette. Then there’d been the tall, slim redhead, the stocky, bodybuilding guy with the sharp haircut, the pale, skinny guy with the striking Celtic design tattoos…
Mitch had rarely seen his neighbor with the same guy twice. And though he never heard much going on in Will’s apartment, there was no mistaking the way he acted around his dates. Will always had a hand hovering possessively at their ass; always had fingers stroking at the small of their back, so lightly you might think you’d imagined it. But Mitch didn’t mistake that kind of thing.
No, his neighbor was a definite guy magnet. Mitch ran a quick but searching glance over the darkhaired man opposite, his heartbeat quickening. He could see why, of course. Will was hot –Mitch had seen that from day one. Hell, he’d been watching that from day one.
Will coughed. He looked pointedly at the shelf just beyond Mitch’s right ear. “You’re after the whole wheat spaghetti?” asked Mitch, eyes widening with assumed innocence. The stacks of pasta were just above his head, the red writing of its packaging peeking around from behind his blond head.
“Yes,” said Will.
Mitch pursed his lips. Will’s gaze flickered over his mouth as he did so. “A healthy eater, right?”
“Right.” Will found himself drawn to the slow, sensual drawl of Mitch’s voice. “Obviously.” Just as obviously, Mitch didn’t move out of his way. It looked like he was being deliberately obstructive. He
stared back at the darkhaired man, a smile teasing at the edges of his mouth.
With an exaggerated sigh, Will stretched up and across the other man, his body leaning into the curve of Mitch’s upper body; his hand reaching past Mitch’s cheek towards the shelf. He could see the dark shadows where Mitch’s throat curved into his shoulder. Short, blond hairs bristled where the hairline ran around to the nape of his neck. Mitch smelled of musk and raspberry soda, a combination that Will wouldn’t have imagined being sexy, but somehow worked on Mitch.
Mitch was watching too, watching the muscles flexing on Will’s upper arm; watching the dark, stray hairs of his armpit, just visible under his T-shirt sleeve; watching the sinewy movement of his torso, tight against the thin fabric. Will smelled of a hot, fresh shower.
Mitch’s belly tightened with an excitement he knew well. He moved his head slightly, as if by accident; as if he were shaking a loose hair from his eyes. His hot breath brushed against the bare skin of Will’s inner arm.
Will shivered, almost imperceptibly. He was vividly aware of Mitch’s every movement, as if the man had deliberately touched him – stroked him. And that was just how Will liked to be touched. “You after this brand as well, Matheson?” he murmured, wryly.
Mitch snorted and shook his head. “Not my type, Anders.” Will pulled his arm back down, dropping the packet into his cart. “So what is?” Mitch tilted his head a little to the side. Will watched the way some locks of his hair slipped out of the tie and fell over his ear, nudging at his long, pale neck. “My type?”
“Uh huh.”
“Of pasta?”
The sudden smile on Will’s face was unexpected. Mitch also found it enchanting. “Whatever.”
Mitch smiled, too. “My type. Well, I’m pretty inclusive, you know.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “I guessed that. You’re that kind of guy.”
Mitch grinned more broadly. “A guy who likes a lot of pasta?”
Will laughed softly. “Of course.” They both grinned at each other, their eyes suddenly rather bright. The grin seemed to answer whatever the question had been.
“So, it’s Saturday night,” Mitch said, slowly and thoughtfully. “And no other company. Maybe we need something to keep us occupied.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “You want to browse around here with me for a while?”
Mitch’s shoulders lifted in a shrug; his throat tightened as he swallowed. “Sure.” Will nodded. He felt goose bumps on his skin that had nothing to do with the store’s air conditioning. They pushed off down the aisle again, their carts nudging at each other.
MITCH paused by the frozen meat cabinet. “Chops or steaks? I can never choose.” Will grimaced. “Not my problem. I don’t eat meat, Mitch.” His lips felt dry suddenly, his tongue flickered out to wet them.
Mitch’s gaze followed the swift, moist movement. “Yeah? And I’d have guessed your tastes were pretty carnivorous.” Will’s eyes were dark, glinting. “Maybe you have no idea of my tastes.” Mitch stared back, unfazed. “Maybe. I just feel that there’s nothing as satisfying as sinking your teeth into a thick, succulent steak. Biting in, sucking the juices.” He smiled, turning slowly to face the cabinet again and leaning forward over it. He bent in deep, reaching to the back of it. “But then, each to their own.” He turned over a couple of the packets and shivered. “Damned cold here.”
Will was watching Mitch’s body carefully. His vest rode up his back as he stretched, the thin material showing the knobs of his spine; the shadowed lines of his ribs. Will wondered what that taut flesh might feel like; taste like.
He stepped up close behind him, leaving their carts locked together, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the aisle. Mitch’s body was warm and strong, and Will savored the contrast against the chill of the cabinet. His proximity pushed Mitch further and very firmly up against the side of the unit. The blond man’s head was still bent forward, down into the frosty compartments.
Mitch gasped. “Still cold?” asked Will, conversationally. He was pressed up against Mitch’s back, holding him in place, though never completely trapping him.
“Warm,” Mitch grunted. “In places.” His lithe arms gripped against the edge of the cabinet. Will smiled, slowly. And then he slid his hand up under the edge of Mitch’s vest, sucking in a breath as he touched the skin that had been teasing his view. He waited for Mitch to pull away or protest, but nothing like that occurred. He watched the shape of his fingers under the fabric, running up the center of Mitch’s back; tracing the muscles along his ribcage. The flesh moved under Will’s fingers, tightening with goose bumps from the caress. Will could imagine Mitch’s nipples were erect by now – sharp, sensitive little nubs, caught between the stimulation of Will’s warm hands and the chill of the air from the cabinet. His fingertips ached with a sudden desire to find out for sure.
Mitch gave a soft moan. “Or there’s always the option of a rack of ribs,” he gasped. Will laughed, very quietly. “There is, indeed,” he murmured. His own breath was getting shallow and his body tensed up. His groin ached, his cock swelling inside his pants. He licked his lips again. Touching Mitch was very stimulating. “That can be just as juicy, just as succulent.”
Mitch moaned again, so softly it was like a hiccup. His hips shuddered against the cabinet. Will smirked. He slid his hand back out from under the vest and took a step away from Mitch’s bent body.
And moved on down the aisle.
WILL paused at the fruit and vegetables display, apparently undecided, hands full of fruit. “Plums or apples?” Mitch stopped beside him, his cart’s wheels squeaking to a halt. “You need plenty of fiber, Anders. Need to keep up that impressive physique.” His glance ran over Will’s body again, taking in the grace and athleticism of his limbs. Maybe not a product of the gym as Mitch himself was, but he obviously kept himself fit.
Mitch recalled the sight of Will’s strong, possessive hand on the shoulder of a date; the way he leant easily against his open doorway to talk to Mitch, knowing that Mitch could see into his apartment under his outstretched arm, over to the current young man lying sprawled and often half-dressed on his sofa. Will Anders had confidence and some to spare.
Mitch stepped forward abruptly, now close up to the other man and facing him, barely six inches away. The toes of their shoes touched; a swathe of Mitch’s blond hair swung forward, brushing at Will’s cheek.
Will tensed. Mitch could feel the muscles clenching against his own torso. He knew that’d feel even better if they were naked, and for a second, he was sorely tempted to say that aloud. The breath caught in his throat at the thought of Will’s reaction. Then he reached forward, grabbed the fresh green apples from Will’s cupped hands and tossed them back on to the display.
Will looked down at the only things he still held; two soft, dark pink plums.
Mitch smiled, gently. “That’ll do,” he murmured. Will raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but he was smiling as well. “It will?” He looked back up at Mitch, their eyes meeting boldly. Will rolled the fruits together slowly, in his palm, caressing them with his fingertips. Mitch glanced down, watching their shiny skins brush smoothly against each other, imagining the moist, plump flesh inside.
He sucked in a breath, just as Will had done earlier. Looking back up into Will’s fevered eyes, he suspected their minds were on a similar track. Mitch prided himself on knowing things like that. Maybe it was his innate perceptiveness; or maybe it was the nudge of Will’s gently swelling groin against his thigh.
“Important to have roughage, Will,” he hissed, almost under his breath. “For maintenance of all bodily functions.” Will nodded as if giving it serious scientific thought, and leant back against the fruit display. Mitch leant forward in return, tight up against him. His arm reached down, in between the two bodies. To any shopper who chose to walk behind them at that time, there’d have been little to see except for a slight disturbance in the fabric at Will’s hip, as if his pants were bunching up – or perhaps, f
illing out.
The muscles in Mitch’s upper arm flexed gently. He spread out his hand and cupped at the flesh between Will’s thighs, his hand reaching; searching. Grasping at something that fit his palm perfectly; that warmed it, under the fabric of Will’s pants.
“Testing the fruit?” Will sighed. Mitch laughed with quiet delight. He liked a confident man – one who couldn’t easily be shocked. He dipped his head further forward to whisper into Will’s ear. “It’s good,” he whispered. “It’s ripe.”
Will’s eyes closed. He took a deep breath, as if he were approaching the start of an exercise class, like the ones that Mitch enjoyed himself. His breath exhaled, on a soft moan. Mitch smirked, lifted his hand away and stepped back.
And turned to push his cart on down the aisle.
MITCH grunted as he stared up at the top shelf of toiletries. “This is on special offer this week. I always get this one.”
Will picked up the can of body spray and peered at the ingredients. “Why?” “Jeez, you looking for the ozone-friendly rating?” laughed Mitch. “I just choose it for the smell. It makes you smell sexy. Makes you irresistible to… well, to whomever you want to attract.”
Will redirected his interest to Mitch’s face. The man’s smile was delightfully uninhibited. “How do you know it works?” Mitch’s eyes flashed, bright with amusement and challenge. “Trust me, I know.”
“But maybe…” Will started, then stopped. He put a single fingertip to Mitch’s throat and traced the pulse along the vein. “What?” Mitch’s voice was barely a whisper in return. His neck bared to the touch, instinctively.
“Maybe you don’t need the spray,” mused Will. He grinned, mischievously. “Maybe it’s you, not the product.” Mitch chuckled. That was as good as a formal invitation, he reckoned. He slipped a firm hand around Will’s waist and pulled the other man back into the archway of the nearby stockroom door. It was a quiet time, no assistants rushing about with pallets and cages. The announcements had ceased, the store was winding down towards closing, and their carts sheltered them again. Mitch’s heart was beating quickly, pressing insistently against the front of his chest. He reckoned he could feel Will’s beating a similar rhythm. That was really hot.
Mr. Right Now Page 22