He hadn't heard Kawika get up, so he jumped a little when arms wrapped around his waist and a chin hooked over his shoulder. They stood there in silence for longer than Noah was really comfortable with, but he didn't move, just tried to let himself be held.
"Am I going to have to move out in a few months when you go?"
"I don't know,” Noah said honestly, knowing the words would disappoint. Anxiety pushed him on in a tangle of words. “I never feel like I'm working hard enough, and I suck at relaxing, and my Dad drowned in front of me. I hate the water. I'm never ... I'm never going to be the kind of hippie surfer that everyone else around here seems to be. And I don't want to always feel like I have to apologize for that, either."
The arms around his waist tightened, and Noah took a long drink before Kawika said anything at all. “Part of that whole island thing is letting people be themselves,” Kawika said. “You don't have to apologize for being the man I'm in love with, and if you have a reason for not wanting to do something, if you just tell me, I'm not going to give you shit for it.” Kawika let go and backed away, giving Noah the chance to turn around, even if he did so hesitantly. “But Noah, you gotta tell me, okay?"
Now it was Noah's turn to stay quiet, taking another drink then biting at his lower lip. Finally he looked up, finding Kawika's dark eyes and holding them.
"I love you, too. And I want that to be enough. I want to be enough."
"You're more than enough, pretty one,” Kawika said but didn't make a move to come closer. “You're everything I never knew I wanted."
"I think I can deal with that,” Noah said, feeling a grin of his own tug at the corners of his mouth. “And I think you should take me to bed now, and tell me more about the primal force of the islands. Maybe a hands-on demonstration will convince me."
"Well, you are a scientist. Empirical evidence, right?” Kawika laughed, hands locking into the fabric of Noah's t-shirt, dragging him closer for a kiss that left Noah's skin tingling, perhaps for want of oxygen.
Noah demanded a kiss of his own, and then he was urging them both down the hallway to his sunny bedroom. His head spun a little when he thought of all the ways they were different, but he'd learned from tourist videos on his first day here that there were two sides to the island, mauka and makai. It didn't matter where you were standing, because it all came together somewhere in the middle, and everything happened somewhere between the mountains and the sea.
[Back to Table of Contents]
King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate
by Addison Albright
Blaine sat down on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He cocked his head, summoning the bartender as he ran his freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kilton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.
"A Skinny Pirate, please."
The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. “Coming right up."
Blaine's peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the night.
The man was maybe a couple inches taller than himself, casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.
The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though. Fuck. The bartender placed the drink in front of him, and he slapped some bills on the bar.
"Why's that called a Skinny Pirate? Looks like rum and Coke to me."
Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. “Because it's made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke.” He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his eyes over the room. Nothing. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be part of a couple.
King Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck up to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug t-shirt. His goatee could use a trim and minute traces of grease stained his cuticles.
"Not much hope out there. I've already scoped the place."
Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.
"Preppy there's got someone that's going to be joining him.” King Kong shrugged. “I already tried."
Shit. He took another look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?
King Kong grinned. “Feelin’ desperate, are ya?"
Fucker. Maybe not that bad.
King Kong actually wiggled his eyebrows. “I showered and everything."
Christ. The man was laughing at him. Sure he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He took a sip of his Skinny Pirate and cocked his head. “What's your name? Or should I just call you King Kong?"
The man's laughter reached his eyes. “That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?"
"Blaine will do fine, thanks."
"George. My name's George."
It fit him. Not as well as Harry, but it matched him. Blaine put out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, George.” What the hell, the man had ‘showered and everything.’ He was huge, but not fat. Not Blaine's typical hookup, but perhaps he'd do. He certainly had a nice firm grip.
"So what do you do, George? Mechanic?"
George smiled and looked at his hands. “Never can get it all off, no matter how much I scrub."
"It's honest work.” Blaine was choosy but didn't consider himself an elitist. Hell, he was lost under the hood of a car and had plenty of respect for those who understood it.
George leaned back and considered him. “It is. Hard, sweaty, and grubby.” He grinned. “Kinda like good sex."
Jesus. Didn't sound too much like the sex Blaine was used to.
"How ‘bout you, Blaine? I don't get the impression you work with your hands."
"I'm an attorney."
"I was gonna guess either that or some kinda corporate raider."
Blaine smiled. “Well, I'm the attorney for a corporate raider, so you got a pretty good read on me."
"There now, you see? We've got two things in common. We're both pretty astute observers."
"That's one thing. What's the other?"
George cocked his head. “We're both horny gay men.” He smiled. “And here I'd just complimented your powers of observation."
Blaine laughed. “You got me there."
"So the question is, what are we going to do about it?"
"I believe this is the point where one of us asks ‘your place or mine?'” Blaine tossed back the rest of his drink and raised his eyebrows.
The lines around George's eyes crinkled to life with his smile. “I cleaned my apartment and everything, too. And I'm well stocked with supplies."
* * * *
George's place was small, but tidy and clean. Blaine preferred not to bring hookups home with him, but it was often a germaphobe's worst nightmare going home with them. Some of the most well turned-out men were such total slobs it was hard to even hold a boner in the surroundings. He gazed around the room, taking in the tasteful, if inexpensive, furnishings.
"Told ya."
"You're a man of your word, George. I like that."
Blaine followed George the few short steps it took to get to his bedroom. George turned and looked him over. “I don't suppose it'd be a good idea to just rip that suit off you in a horny haze."
"I'd appreciate it if you managed to resist.” Christ, the suit cost more than George probably made in a month.
George pulled a straight-backed chair away from the wall. “Here—this good enough to hang it on, or do you want me to dig a suit hanger out of the closet?"
"The chair's fine.” Blaine shrugged out of the jacket as George walked toward an open bathroom door. He heard a faucet turn on as he worked on his tie and shirt buttons. What the hell was George doing? Brushing his teeth? That was new. He'd brushed
before heading to the bar, and popped a few mints on the way over, but hookups often didn't bother so he tended to avoid mouth-to-mouth contact.
He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants. Folding them carefully, he placed them over the back of the chair then hung his jacket over top. Shirt, tie, and socks were laid on the seat of the chair, leaving him standing in his boxers and undershirt when George reentered the room.
Something flew through the air toward him. He caught it and stared at a small, cheap toothbrush in a plastic wrapper.
"I like to kiss.” George winked then reached down to pull his t-shirt over his head. Jesus fucking Christ. King Kong certainly was an apt nickname for the man. George had more fur on his body than could be found in all of Beverly Hills.
Blaine had never been attracted to bears before. Hopefully he'd be able to get it up for the man. George was a nice enough guy, with all the personality characteristics Blaine looked for in a man, so he didn't want to offend him.
When Blaine stepped out of the bathroom George was down to his boxer briefs and pulling back the bedspread. There were no wrinkles on the sheets. Blaine smiled his appreciation.
George straightened up and returned the smile. “It always bothers me when I go to someone's place and the bed has more life growing on it than a Petri dish.” His grin widened. “Sex might be grubby, but the sheets don't need to be—at least not ‘til after."
George stepped over to him and pulled off Blaine's undershirt, tossing it toward the chair. Blaine's eyes widened, and he stiffened slightly as George placed a large hand on his jaw and moved in for a kiss.
Minty-fresh breath and warm lips softly caressed his own. Blaine relaxed and closed his eyes, relishing the rare peaceful sensations radiating through him. He found his hands lightly holding George's waist without remembering how they'd gotten there. George's other hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to cup the back of his neck as the kiss deepened.
Blain moaned softly when George pressed their hips together, surprised to discover how hard he'd become, and how effortlessly. Opening his eyes when George broke the kiss, Blaine found the man grinning mischievously.
"What?"
George shook his head. “Nothing. Just pleasantly surprised."
That made two of them. It wasn't remarkable that George hadn't had his hopes too high, either. Neither of them was likely to be a typical pickup by the other.
George cocked his head toward the bed. “Come on. Skivvies off."
Skivvies. Jesus. Blaine did like George's assertiveness, though. He generally went home with men he sensed were tops, because he preferred to be the one getting fucked. But his personality—or perhaps his appearance—seemed to intimidate them. Not George, though.
Blaine slid his boxers down and tossed them onto the rest of his clothes. When he turned back to the bed, George was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle. George raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger.
Blaine had barely climbed onto the bed when he was pulled into George's arms. George leaned back, pulling Blaine on top. God, the man felt incredibly solid beneath him. Muscular arms drew him down for another kiss. This time less soft, but still far from forceful.
The goatee tickled Blaine's face, and the hair covering George's body was actually incredibly stimulating. His nipples peaked tightly against the abrasive rub. Blaine instinctively ground his cock against George's, lips parting easily when George pressed in with his tongue.
Flipping them effortlessly, George maneuvered over him. Blaine wound his arms around George, hands settling on the man's solid back. This time Blaine's mouth sought George's and welcomed the now-commanding offensive that George returned.
Blaine moaned and arched, rubbing against the amazing stimulation that was a large hard body covered in coarse hair. He couldn't get enough skin-to-skin contact. The tongue invading his mouth was met with equal force, and the growly groan reverberating through George's chest thrilled him further.
Suddenly George leaned back on his heels then stretched, reaching for a drawer in his bedside table. “Christ, Blaine,” he panted. “What is it about you?"
Him? Fuck. What was it about George? Blaine propped up on his elbows. He was hard as nails, already leaking like a damned teenager anticipating sex for the first time. He rolled as George came back with lube and a condom.
Blaine closed his eyes and fought to settle his breathing. He was not going to come thirty seconds after being penetrated, goddammit. He listened to the rustling of the condom wrapper being torn open, and imagined George's large hands slowly rolling the latex over that thick cock. Then, the snap of the lube top and a pause as George slathered himself with the cool fluid.
Warm lips nipped at Blaine's neck as a cool, slick-covered prick teased along the crack of his ass. The warmth of George's body was gone and he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back.
George's mouth nibbling his Adam's apple sucked the protest from Blaine's lips and replaced it with a primal groan. Legs spayed out, Blaine's knees bent naturally and he pushed his prick up against George's hairy belly.
When he felt the head of George's cock pressing against his hole, Blaine relaxed his muscle ring. George sat back and lifted Blaine's hips, pushing in, slowly filling him.
Fully seated, George's weight settled on strong arms on either side of Blaine's torso, and George leaned down to resume the assault on Blaine's mouth. Blaine's arms wound around George's waist as his hips rocked upward to meet George's shallow thrusts.
Perspiration trickled down the side of Blaine's neck. He knew he was contributing, but felt George dripping onto him as well. That typically would have bothered him, but instead energized him further with George.
Blaine's heart raced, and he felt George's pumping furiously against his chest. George changed the angle and groaned when Blaine gasped into George's mouth. Tightening his grip around George, Blaine pitched his body erratically upwards, and then started shaking. George moved his lips to Blaine's neck, allowing Blaine's moan free rein as hot spunk shot into the sweaty press of their grinding abs.
"Jesus,” came from George's lips as his body tensed.
The growl at Blaine's ear was loud as the thick rod in his ass started to pulse, shooting its load into the condom. Time seemed to stand still for a moment before George carefully pulled out and tossed the condom. George fell to the side, pulling Blaine along.
Blaine pressed soft kisses to George's chest, as he lay cocooned in the large man's solid embrace. Breathing hard he smiled to himself, remembering George's words. ‘Hard, sweaty, and grubby’ was right—and it was the most deeply satisfying sex he'd ever had in his life.
He was utterly exhausted, and as he relaxed in the nest of George's arms he closed his eyes to rest, just for a moment.
* * * *
A patch of sunlight had crept across the bed when Blaine next opened his eyes. He sat bolt upright and looked around the little room. Jesus. He'd just spent the entire night in a hookup's bed.
He got up and snagged his undergarments from the chair and made his way into the bathroom. Blaine was thankful for the toothbrush. He used the toilet, splashed cold water onto his face, and ran wet fingers through his hair.
Back in the bedroom he listened carefully for signs of George as he pulled his clothes back on. Nothing. Either the apartment was empty or George was being quieter than the proverbial church mouse.
A note on the door explained that George had a job to finish up that morning, and that Blaine should just be sure to turn the lock on the doorknob and not worry about the deadbolt. No problem. No—avoiding an awkward little morning-after ‘sorry I fell asleep and invited myself to spend the night in your bed’ conversation was definitely not a problem.
Blaine followed George's instructions and turned the lock on the doorknob before pulling the door shut.
* * * *
Blaine's gaze fell first on the stools at the bar before scanning the room. It surprised him to admit that he was disappointed George wasn't
there. It shouldn't have been a surprise. The very fact he'd returned to the same bar where he'd found George the previous Friday—something he never did—should have been a clue.
The part of the surprise that hit him like a brick wall was the fact that he felt disappointed despite there being a number of suitable singles prowling the dimly lit room. Suitable. What did that even mean to him now? He found an empty bar stool and sat down.
"Skinny Pirate, right?” The bartender stood in front of him inquiringly. The man earned his tip.
"Please."
Blaine sighed and turned in his seat to look around the room. He spotted a couple men he'd gone home with before but wouldn't go home with again, and another that he'd been with and would typically consider as a possible repeat. The man caught his eye and started toward him.
Fuck.
Christ, why was that his instinctive reaction? Double fuck. Fucking King Kong getting under his skin. He should go home with this man and put George out of his mind once and for all.
"Hey. Blaine, isn't it?"
He considered it a good sign that the man remembered his name. If only he could remember his. “That's right. I'm sorry..."
The man smiled cordially. “Aaron."
"Right. Sorry, I'm usually pretty good at remembering names."
"Guess I wasn't that memorable then. Damn."
"No, no. I remember you. Just—shit. Got something on my mind right now."
"Something?” Aaron laughed. “I recognize that lost look. You've got someone on your mind, friend."
Blaine barked a short laugh. “I'm not generally that readable, but yeah, that's pretty much it."
Blaine's drink arrived and he turned to settle up.
Aaron laid a hand on Blaine's shoulder. “Well, good luck with that, Blaine. See you around, eh?"
"Yeah, sure.” Blaine's reply was absentminded. He knew in his heart that he wouldn't have gone home with Aaron even if the man had asked.
What the hell was he going to do, though? If he wasn't going to move on with another hookup then he needed to do something. Jesus. Pursue George? Fucking date? Hell, what had George thought of him? Would George even be interested in a second hookup, let alone want to try out a relationship with him?
Like Magnets, We Attract Page 3