by GR Richards
I Don't Like Mondays
by
G. R. Richards
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.amberquill.com
I Don't Like Mondays
An Amber Quill Press Book
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Amber Quill Press, LLC
http://www.AmberQuill.com
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
Copyright © 2014 by G. R. Richards
Cover Art © 2014 Trace Edward Zaber
Published in the United States of America
Also by G. R. Richards
Birds Of A Feather
The Brothers Of Hogg's Hollow
Camp
Captain Fluke
The Long Way Home
Profound In His Silence
I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS
Brent switched on the radio and laughed. There couldn't have been a more perfect song for the wet, dreary day beyond the wiper blades. He sang along, to each "Tell me why," responding, "I don't like Mondays..."
"This song depresses me." Mitch leaned forward in the passenger seat to switch off the radio.
On a rainy day, there was nothing Brent liked better than a familiar tune, but he let it go. Mitch seemed a bit off this morning. No sense in poking the bear.
"What's depressing?" Brent asked. "You don't like being reminded it's Monday?"
When Mitch didn't say anything, Brent glanced over to find him staring at the raindrops coursing down his windowpane.
"I liked it before I knew what it was about," Mitch finally replied.
More silence. Brent wondered if he'd done something wrong, or if Mitch was just in a mood. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
"What's it about?" Brent asked. He turned the wiper speed up a notch as traffic came to a standstill. He really wished he could turn the radio back on.
"A girl," Mitch said. "In 1979, a sixteen-year-old girl picked up a gun, sat at her bedroom window, and shot at all the little kids in the playground across the street. When she was asked why she did it, she said, 'I don't like Mondays.' That's where the song comes from."
"That is depressing." Brent's stomach fell as he stared into the blurred red taillights of the monster truck in front of them. Poor kids. The thought of a teenaged shooting spree added to his apprehension of driving in the rain. He wished they were back at his place, safe in bed.
He looked at himself in the overhead mirror, wanting very badly to change the subject in his mind. Good hair day today.
"Drive," Mitch scolded, knocking Brent from his egoism.
"Oh." He accelerated slightly. It really bugged him when he made errors at the wheel, no matter how small. There were enough people out there deriding Asian drivers. It would break his heart if Mitch became one of them.
"We're going to be late for work," Mitch said with a heavy sigh.
Wipe, wipe, wipe, wipe. If it weren't for all the rain, they'd probably be there by now. Before they started "carpooling" Mitch was always at the office half an hour early. Of course, Brent only knew that because he was already in by then. So, they were both overachievers. They'd probably still get to work early if shower sex didn't eat up so much of their morning routine.
Maybe that's one reason they got on so well. They understood one another's work ethic. Brent's dad had always said a man's work ethic told you everything you needed to know about him. Mitch was reliable, committed, willing to see every project through to completion...what more could Brent ask?
Just as Brent opened his mouth to tell Mitch how much he loved him, the big honkin' motor vehicle in front of them came screeching to a halt. When Brent slammed on the brakes, the car stopped on a dime and they both jerked forward.
"No!" Mitch cried.
When Brent turned to ask, "Are you okay?" he saw right away what was wrong. They'd avoided crashing, but Mitch's crisp white shirt was the unfortunate casualty. He'd spilled his coffee all down the front of it.
"No, I'm not okay," Mitch howled. "My shirt's covered in coffee. I can't go to work like this."
"Did it burn you? Was it hot?"
Mitch paused in disbelief before reaching for a tissue. "No," he admitted, patting at the stain. "But I'm not going to the office like this. Get off at the next exit. We'll take Jane Street back to my place."
Brent took a deep breath before responding, "No problem."
It was just the weather, he told himself. Mitch wasn't usually such a high-strung prick. Was he? How often did they have these little spats? Not that this was a spat, exactly. Sometimes he just felt like Mitch saw him as a driver who conveniently slept in the same bed as him, sucked his dick, and took it up the ass. Why else would he insist they maintain the illusion of being nothing more than "carpool buddies" at work?
"I love you," Brent said, his voice nearly pleading.
"I love you too," Mitch replied. With a repentant smile, he set a firm hand on Brent's thigh. Brent's cock throbbed. He was so full of emotion and desire. Hot guys could get away with anything. It was a fact of life.
Before he realized the words were out of his mouth, Brent asked, "Why can't we come out at work? Nobody's buying this 'carpooling' bullshit anyway."
He didn't know why he'd asked. He already knew the answer. They'd been over it and over it.
And now they'd go over it again.
Stealing his hand away from Brent's thigh, Mitch said, "Once everybody knows we're an item, you know the kind of scrutiny we'll be under. It'll be Sheila and Roger all over again. The minute they let it slip they were seeing each other, suddenly all eyes were on them and it was, 'Are they spending too many work hours talking? How long are they taking for lunch? They're a constant distraction to one another. They're not getting their work done.' It wasn't even a reflection on them; it was everybody else's jealousy that they were cute and in love. Nobody can ever just be happy for someone else. It's all me, me, me."
Brent liked that explanation. Maybe that's why he asked for it so often. Though it didn't seem safe to have such a heartfelt conversation while driving in the rain, he couldn't resist. Anyway, traffic was lighter traveling south on Jane Street. Everyone was heading the other way.
"Still," Brent said, "it's different for you. You're out at work. I'm not. Everybody remembers me dating Sarah from the coffee shop. At this point I don't want to be like, 'By the way, everybody, I'm actually bi.' I feel like that would draw attention to the amount of time you and I spend together. People would start to suspect us." Brent took a breath. He was talking way too fast. Rambling? "Do you see what I mean?"
Setting his elbow on the passenger armrest, Mitch held out his hand for Brent to hold.
Brent didn't like to take a hand off the steering wheel--he was kind of a stickler about those things--but he didn't want to insult Mitch. When their palms met, they squeezed simultaneously. It felt so good to touch, to have that contact. They always seemed to understand each other better when they were skin-to-skin.
After a moment of peace, Mitch said, "I get what you mean. You don't want to feel like you're totally in the closet, but you don't want to let on you're into guys until..."
"...Until you're ready for the office to know about us," Brent finished, stealing his hand back to turn on to Mitch's street. "Otherwise, the rumor mill will take over and god knows what it'll come up with."
As Bren
t parked in front of the quaint Victorian where his "carpool buddy" rented the upper floor, Mitch leaned over to plant a sweet peck on his lips. "You really are something, you know."
A peck was nice, but a kiss was better. Before he'd even taken off his seatbelt, Brent took Mitch's head in his hands and kissed his lips full on. His tongue was soft and hot, and it tasted like the coffee he'd mostly spilled down the front of his shirt.
As rain pelted the windshield, Brent thought back to younger days with younger guys. Blowjobs in cars under the fall of night or rain or snow--whatever would shield them from the view of dog walkers, joggers, or other passers-by. Mitch squeezed his thigh. He ran his strong fingers to the end zone and cupped his crotch as they kissed.
Brent pulled away. He fought off the disappointment in Mitch's eyes by saying, "Let's go inside. It'll be more comfortable."
It made him feel kind of sad to realize he'd outgrown surreptitious front-seat blowjobs. He couldn't fight the desire to get away from the rain and the cold, and have sex with the man he loved in a warm and comfortable space. Maybe--god forbid!--he'd become a grown-up somewhere along the lines. Now that was a scary thought.
They darted for the house as the rain pelted their heads. It was really coming down. Between the curb and the front door, they were soaked. They huddled underneath the overhang as Mitch fished the keys from his pocket. Brent wrapped his arms around Mitch and kissed his neck until he got the front door open. The chase was on. Brent followed Mitch up the narrow staircase to his apartment entrance. One more door opened and shut, and Brent threw himself at Mitch's firm body.
"We're going to be late for work," Mitch said with a crafty grin.
Brent smiled at his guy's straight teeth and crooked smile. He kicked off his shoes. "We sure are."
He launched himself into Mitch's arms and the hottest kiss they'd shared in months. They moved together across the hallway's creaky oak floorboards, Mitch walking backward as he pulled Brent by the upper arms. When they arrived inside the bedroom, Mitch threw him into bed like a rag doll. Brent bounced when he hit the plush mattress.
"You're willing to let me mess up your perfectly made bed?" he teased. "I must have been a very good boy."
With a smoldering look in his eyes, Mitch unbuttoned his coffee-stained shirt. His chest took Brent's breath away every time, without fail. It was fit, firm, and nearly hairless. He threw off his top. His nipples stood erect, crying out to be licked.
"Don't get cocky or I'll put you back in the car," Mitch said, stepping very slowly toward the bed.
"You'll put me in the back of the car?" Brent deliberately misheard.
Mitch slid onto the bed, hovering over him as Brent lay flat against the copper-toned bedspread. His breaths were deep with desire as he unbuttoned Brent's light blue collared shirt. Pulling the tucked-in tails from his pants, he undid the final buttons and spread his shirt open like wings at his sides.
Brent stretched his arms out against the bed. He could feel Mitch's semi-hard cock throbbing against his thigh as he writhed gently. It felt so good he bent forward to put his mouth on Mitch's nipple. He licked it like candy.
Grabbing Mitch's ass with both hands, Brent gave a good squeeze. Mitch held his shoulders with a strong arm. It was nice to really know a guy, to know what he liked best and what he wasn't keen on. Mitch liked having his nipples tweaked. He liked having them licked and sucked and bitten. If it involved a mouth and a nipple, he was into it. It was great knowing how to turn him on in an instant--like having the secret password to Ali Baba's cave of wonders.
Rain fell hard outside. Brent could hear the plink, plink, plink of droplets against the roof.
When Mitch pushed his shoulder back against the mattress and inched off the bed, he was sure it was going to be, "Enough play time. We've got to get to work." He was just gearing up to answer back, "I don't want to drive in this downpour. We should really wait it out indoors," when Mitch surprised him by unbuckling his belt.
"What are you doing?" Brent asked in amazement.
"Sorry," Mitch teased, holding his hands above his head like he'd been stopped by the police. He grinned like a cocky teenager. His square jaw always seemed to soften when he smiled. "I though you might like a blowjob, but I guess I was wrong. I'll just back away slowly and let you get dressed."
"Get back here." Brent laughed, throwing his stocking feet around Mitch's shoulders. "If you want to suck my dick, I won't complain."
Grabbing him by the ankles, Mitch said, "Really? Because I wouldn't want to piss you off."
"Oh, just get down here." Brent chuckled, dragging his body to the bed. He let his feet fall away as Mitch overshot his lap, planting a soft kiss on his mouth. And then a hard kiss. And then a smoking kiss.
Mitch kissed his way down Brent's neck and his chest, settling on his nipple. "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you," he said.
Laughing at the sensation of tongue on tit, Brent said, "Right. Thanks for the Bible lesson."
Mitch stopped licking. "What's so funny?"
"It tickles! When you lick there, it feels weird. I've told you that before."
Rolling his eyes, Mitch said, "An acquired taste, is it?"
Brent breathed in sharply as Mitch planted kisses low on his stomach. "Guess so."
Opening the button on Brent's pants and unzipping the fly, Mitch licked the path of hair down to his shorts. Brent moaned. He could feel how hard he'd become.
Lifting the elastic of his shorts up and over Brent's erection, Mitch pulled the layers of clothing down to his ankles. His cock surged, begging for attention.
"You know what isn't an acquired taste?"
"What?" Brent asked, even though he knew the answer.
One at a time, Mitch sucked Brent's balls. It felt so hot and wet in there. His thighs clenched. They started to tremble all on their own. The pressure was incredible. He could have come on the spot, but he forced himself to relax as Mitch let his slick balls slide from his mouth.
"How about that?" Mitch asked. "Did that feel funny?"
Chuckling at Mitch's ridiculous sense of humour, he shook his head. "Shut up and suck my dick."
"Really?" Mitch teased. Now that he'd found a new dig, he wouldn't let up. "I didn't know you liked that sort of thing."
Sinking his hands under Brent's ass cheeks, Mitch gave them a good squeeze. Brent gasped as Mitch traced his tongue across the crease of his balls and up his shaft. When that hot tongue met his cockhead, he gasped.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mitch said. "Did that feel too good? Maybe I should stop."
"Stop now and you can kiss your carpool goodbye," Brent said. It was just a joke. Sort of.
With a tempting smirk, Mitch said, "I'd rather kiss your cock hello."
Mitch set his plump lips against Brent's tip. Those rosy pink mounds of flesh swam in precome. Mitch moved his head slowly left to right, right to left, pressing his lips against Brent's cockhead. Just when Brent was convinced nothing else could feel so good, Mitch licked his tip. Adrenaline-doused desire coursed through his veins. He leapt up, propping himself on his elbows to watch as Mitch flicked the crease of his cockhead. That vicious tongue moved like hummingbird wings. It didn't tickle. It felt good.
"Oh, that's amazing." Brent reached out to run his fingers through Mitch's thick butterscotch hair. "Take it in your mouth."
No snarky comments this time. Setting his lips against Brent's creamy tip, he sunk down on it. He let Brent's cockhead pop just inside, and then flicked the slit with the tip of his tongue.
Brent clung to Mitch's hair. He didn't want to hurt him, but it felt so good he couldn't help pulling. Mitch responded by sinking, sliding his lips down Brent's straining shaft until he had enough in his mouth to suck. Nothing felt as good as this, until Mitch sunk even lower to deepthroat his cock.
Tossing his head back, Brent watched rainwater stream down the bedroom window.
If it had been raining that Monday in 1979, none of those kids would have been on t
he playground. Nobody would have been shot.
He shook his head. Why was he thinking about murder while Mitch was wrapping a tight fist around the base of his cock? While he was squeezing it? Pumping it? Milking it? Sucking it? Brent hated when awkward thoughts popped into his head while they were having sex.
He wouldn't let this one spoil the mood. It's a shame about those children, he thought, but it's over now. Letting go of Mitch's hair, Brent traced his fingers down his strong forehead and along his temple. Pressing on his earlobe, Brent said, "I love you, Mitch."
There was a smile on Mitch's lips. Brent could feel it on his shaft as he sucked. Mitch looked up. When their gazes met, it was fireworks. He let Brent's cock tumble from his mouth to say, "I love you, too." Running his hand up the shaft all the way to Brent's engorged cockhead, he asked, "Where did that thought come from?"
With an exhilarated shrug, Brent said, "You make me happy. That's all. You make me feel good."
Mitch looked up at him for what felt like a long time, just running his hand up Brent's cock, tracing the tip with his palm, and then squeezing his shaft.
"Does this make you happy?" he asked all at once, plunging his face down on Brent's cock, pumping the base with his fist.
When Brent tossed his head back again, the rain on the window made him smile. Mitch's head bobbing up and down on his cock made him smile even wider.
"What can I do for you?" he offered. He couldn't just take and not give, could he?
Mitch shook his head, but he didn't stop sucking. Every so often, he'd deepthroat Brent's dick, and then pull up, up, up until his lips were barely holding Brent's cockhead inside his mouth. Just when Brent was sure he'd let it fall right out, Mitch would lunge back down. Then he'd drag those gorgeous lips up again, all the way to the tip. It was a marvel to watch.
Brent's toes curled as he tried very hard not to buck into Mitch's throat and make him gag.
"I want to come," Brent pleaded. "Make me come."