Brush with Catastrophe

by Tara Lain

  “You’re sure?”

  Am I? He did feel damaged, but it didn’t dampen his passion to be with Ryder one iota. “Yes, I’m sure. The best way to get rid of a nightmare is with a dream come true.”

  Ryder smiled. “Thank you for saying that.”

  The front of Ryder’s jeans was as tented as the stiff fabric allowed. He stood up and pulled his T-shirt off over his head. Gods. The skin on Ryder’s chest glowed with a pale, almost silver tracery twining like leaves and vines around his torso. A garden of beauty.

  Sammy cocked his head. “When I said light, I didn’t know I meant literally. What kind of tattoos are those?”

  “They’re kind of a traditional thing in my family. Tribal, sort of.”

  “Amazing. I’ve never seen that color before.”

  “A regional art.” Ryder unfastened his jeans and slid them down his narrow hips. He wore black briefs, with a nice big lump in the front. He pulled them off. Wow. The vine tattoo twined around a big stiff cock that stuck up straight onto his belly. And no hair. Not a strand. His balls looked lighted from the inside. Must be my month for wildly unusual cocks. But while Lucien’s had been scary, Ryder’s was full-on beautiful. “Are you going to put that gorgeous thing inside me?”

  Ryder smiled shyly. “If you want me to.”

  “Man, do I ever.”

  Ryder sat, then lay down on his side next to Sammy, the big decorated cock stretching up above his belly button. He tossed the supplies on the mattress and caressed Sammy’s cheek with two fingers, then leaned in and pressed their lips together. Soft, sweet.

  Sammy’s cock wasn’t into sweet. He reached a hand around Ryder’s head, buried his fingers in hair like silk, and pulled Ryder hard until their mouths ground deeply into each other. Sammy pressed his tongue into Ryder’s mouth and got a low moan for his trouble.

  Hot. He scooted his hips closer until his cock touched Ryder’s, like a dick kiss. Sammy pulled his hand out of Ryder’s hair, wrapped it around their two cocks, and began to pump hard.

  Ryder threw his head back. “Oh my God. That feels so good.”

  “Just the beginning.”

  Great friction. Skin and veins rubbed.

  Ryder gasped. “Whoa. Careful, or I’ll blow.”

  Sammy let go and rolled over. With a touch of exotic dancer, he rose onto his knees and waggled his butt at Ryder. “Why don’t you put that thing where it will do the most good?”

  Ryder’s grin was mischievous. “Deal.”

  Sammy watched over his shoulder as Ryder squirted lube into his hands. It sure would be convenient if Sammy could slick his hole with a thought like real witches could, but this would have to do. Ryder extended a hand and wiped some lube on Sammy’s pucker. Sammy gasped. Gods, if he felt that way with a touch, what would happen with the real thing?

  Ryder slowly slipped a finger inside and twisted it. Zing! Straight to the balls. Sweet gods, this is Ryder. He could barely believe it. More lube and another finger stretched Sammy’s hole to perfection. In and out. In and out. Ryder swiped a finger over Sammy’s gland and sent a streak of lightning up his spine. He jumped. “Enough. Give me the real thing.”

  “Okay. Yes.” Ryder rose up on his knees; Sammy felt a big, blunt object at his ass. Underline the word big. Could he take that much? He felt pressure, not unpleasant, and pop, in it slipped, right past the ring of muscle in a rush. The pleasure zipped to Sammy’s head and about blacked him out—right to the happy land. And man, was it happy. Ryder’s cock stretched and expanded Sammy like it was creating a new home. Yes, home was the word. I’m finally home. He breathed out on a long sigh, and soft light filled his head.

  Ryder gasped. “God. You feel great. Better than I ever imagined, and I imagined a lot.”

  Sammy moaned, and Ryder took the cue. Deeply he pushed in and pulled out, sending a riot of electricity through Sammy’s balls. Sammy reached down, grabbed his cock, and started pumping it in time to Ryder’s thrusts. Ryder pushed his big cock deeper on each foray, and the light in Sammy’s head blazed brighter and brighter until the sun had left the sky and took up residence in his brain. Heat. Fire. In, in, in. Ryder might not have much experience, but he learned fast.

  Sammy never wanted this to stop.

  Ryder’s deep rhythm began to falter. “I’m gonna come. Too soon, but I’ve waited so long. God, Sam, it’s coming…. Oh God!” He froze over Sammy’s back. Sammy thought of the hot jets shooting into the condom in his ass from the man he’d adored for his whole college life. That’s it. Too good. He cranked his cock twice more, screamed loud enough to alert the NYPD, and squirted cum all over his sheets in pulse after pulse of pure joy.

  Sammy collapsed onto the mattress, and Ryder fell onto his back. A welcome weight. He could sleep like this, with Ryder on top of him, his cock still deep inside Sammy’s body. He could live like this. He’d just made Ryder McMasters come. There must be gods after all.

  Too soon Ryder rolled to the side, his softening cock pulling free. Oh well. Living in that position would have been hard to explain at the coffee shop. They both lay there, breathing hard.

  Ryder murmured, “That was amazing.”

  “That’s what happens when you have sex with the right gender for you.”

  They breathed a little more.

  Sammy rolled to his side, facing Ryder. “Will you explain why you’ve been pretending to be straight for so long?”

  Ryder flopped an arm over his eyes. “I never actually said I was straight or had a girlfriend or anything.”

  Sammy pushed up onto his elbow. “No. You just admired every damned pair of tits over an A cup at the university.”

  The grin under Ryder’s arm looked sheepish. “I learned quick that if I admired girls’ boobs, everyone assumed I was interested in females.” He shrugged. “I actually do think their breasts are pretty.”

  Sammy sat up. “But shit, Ryder. I’ve been mooning over you for years! We could have been together.”

  Ryder pulled his arm away and sat up opposite Sammy, his cock soft and lying on the bed. The tattoos were less evident now that he wasn’t erect. Ryder stared at his long-fingered hands. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times.” He looked up. “It’s because of my parents. I told you they want me to come back home as soon as I graduate. When I started school, it wasn’t clear if I’d even be allowed to stay for one year, much less four. So this whole time, I’ve thought I might be leaving at the end of each semester.”

  Sammy frowned. “Well, hells, uh, hell, we’re in college. I wasn’t asking you to marry me, for crap’s sake. Couldn’t we have been, like, boyfriends?”

  Ryder’s green eyes got misty. “I care about you, Sam. No way I want to fuck you and leave you.”

  How can I feel happy and sad at the same time? “So what changed?”

  Ryder twisted his beautiful face into a scowl. “Seeing you with that asshole, I guess. I realized you weren’t always going to be unattached, and I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I guess I have to thank Lucien for something.”

  He shook his head. “No way.”

  Sammy took a deep breath. “But you still have to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re an adult.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Yeah. Just like Sammy’s life. Was he prepared to tell Ryder he was a witch? A lot of humans and witches got together, but it sounded like Ryder’s parents would be tricky to win over. “I know what you mean.”

  Ryder leaned over and pressed his sweet lips against Sammy’s mouth. “But having you now means everything to me. I’m sorry I was such an idiot. I’m sorry I wasted all this time. But I’ll try to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

  Would he let Ryder make it up to him? Could he be happy having Ryder for the rest of the year? He grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

  Ryder tackled him and hauled him down to the mattress. “We need to make up for lost time.”

  Sammy laughed. “Get s
tarted.”

  Al’s purring vibrated from the couch.

  LUCIEN WALKED over to the window and looked out into the early morning sunlight. He pulled out his cell phone. Behind him, Maybelle was organizing something. Gods, the woman loved to tell people what to do. But it served him, so he let her do it. He dialed. It rang twice.

  “Hello?” Sammy’s voice sounded inquisitive. Lucien had never shared his cell number.

  “Hello, Samlyn. I was thinking perhaps I could meet you after our painting class today and take you to lunch.”

  Dead silence.

  “Sammy?”

  “Have you lost your frigging mind? Why the hells would I want to meet you anywhere?”

  Lucien stared at the phone. What’s going on? “Surely you expected me to call you.” The witch should be compliant.

  “What the fuck? Do you have no idea what you’ve done?”

  “None whatsoever. Sammy, I didn’t force you. Your cock was as hard as a rock.”

  “That tends to happen to males when someone is rubbing it, you idiot.”

  “But—”

  “Look, I get that you maybe don’t understand. The fact is, in this country, no means no regardless of any other evidence. I’m not going to tell Killian.” What the fuck? Surely this sorry excuse for a witch was not taking this tone with him. “He’d be furious, and I won’t ruin your chances of fitting into this community. But stay away from me, Lucien. I don’t want to see you again. When I get this damned chain taken off, I’ll leave it at your easel in class. I’m sure it’s valuable.” He hung up.

  What happened? He’d bespelled Sammy and chained him. He’d had to bolt before he could force the sex, but the witch should be putty in Lucien’s hands. Sammy should be begging to see Lucien. Was it that hellish familiar pulling Sammy away? Or someone else?

  Lucien took a deep breath. He wouldn’t worry. He had many more sources of energy to increase his power. When the time came, Sammy would be there.

  And getting off the chain? What is that American expression? Oh yes. Good luck with that.

  SAMMY WALKED into class and immediately glanced toward Lucien’s easel. Empty. No supplies, no artist. Had he backed out of class? Because of Sammy? Good. Don’t want to have to face him.

  He waved to a couple of the other students, then set up his canvas and put out his paints and brushes. The idea for a new painting had blazed in his head all morning: Ryder in the moonlight from the window, the glow of his skin lighting the room. The image seemed embedded in his cells. It pulsed in his blood, and it had to come out.

  He squeezed out some paints onto his palette paper. His hands began to move. Dark, deep blue, Payne’s gray for the shadows—like the depths of the ocean. A field of darkness spread across the canvas. A darkness he could sink into.

  The blue filled his mind, his vision, and the warm oil poured across his forehead. Shadows, each only a bare shade deeper than the plain of darkness. Deep, deep. Until the light, the light. First a glimmer, a shine, a glow. And then the outline of form emerging from the black. A body of light pressing against the darkness. A ray, a hope, the light.

  “Good work, Sammy.”

  “What?” Sammy shook his head. He waited for his vision to clear, then looked up at his teacher, who was staring at him with a small smile. “Oh, hi, Mr. Woodard.” Sammy ran a hand over his eyes, trying to clear them. Where did he go when he painted?

  “You’re doing some of your finest work this year. You’re growing right before my eyes.” Mr. Woodard put a hand on Sammy’s shoulder. “I’m very proud of you. This piece and your flowers last week are nothing short of brilliant.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

  “You’ve found your style—not that it won’t change many times in your career. But you have an original voice. Keep it up.”

  Mr. Woodard walked away, and Sammy stared at the painting. The bare outline of a glowing form against a sea of sinuous, undulating light and dark. I can’t take credit for it or the flowers. I don’t know who painted them. Was this his style or some witchy intervention? It’s kind of scary. I lose myself—or maybe become myself. Like slipping through a black hole into a different universe. Hard to cope. Why does the guy at the other end of the black hole get to be more talented than I am? No, wait. Is that like saying I’m more talented than me? He shook his head. Gods, I say I want a power, then complain when it interferes with my art. But this style was neither the strict realism of his prophetic paintings or the wild abstraction of his usual work in class. This was something new.

  Sammy reached out to add a little more dark to one shadow. The paint was dry. What the fuck?

  “Hi.”

  Sammy turned and the light came on. “Hi, Ryder.”

  Ryder cocked his head at the painting. “That’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.” Sammy looked into Ryder’s bright green eyes. Ryder didn’t know that was him? Why? It was clear to Sammy. I guess it’s very abstract. Less embarrassing.

  “Ready for Dr. Barth’s class?”

  “Let me get my stuff.”

  Aloysius leaped from his chair onto Ryder’s shoulder, and Ryder lifted one beautiful hand to scratch the feline’s chin.

  Sammy clicked the tackle box closed. Ryder moved up behind him and whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about last night. My cock was half-hard all the way through the History of the Byzantine Empire. And believe me, that takes some doing.”

  Sammy chuckled. “Happy to have that effect.” Happy didn’t begin to describe it. Amazed. Blown away. In bliss? He could barely believe he stood beside his boyfriend—the man of his dreams. His, at least for now.

  They walked outside and down the block to the history building. When they entered the lecture hall, Chen stood up and waved. Ryder started down the steps to the row where Chen sat, and Sammy followed.

  He grinned at Chen. “Hi.”

  “Hi, you guys. I had to fight off six ravenous females for these seats.”

  Sammy and Ryder settled in. Aloysius jumped off Ryder’s shoulder, stalked down the remaining stairs to the dais, leaped up onto the table where Killian kept his materials, seemed to nod at Killian, who was organizing some notes, and started giving himself a bath. The students, especially the girls, all giggled. Clearly Aloysius must be doing a visibility thing today.

  Killian gave Al a quick pet and started the lecture. He lowered the lights enough to project some images of the Jains and symbols of their practices from his laptop.

  Dr. Barth’s musical voice explained the idea of nonviolence against all living things the Jains avowed. Sammy was jotting down notes when he felt Ryder’s thigh press against his. He pressed back. Ryder’s fingers slid down by his leg and caressed. Oh man, what those hands could do.

  Sammy glanced toward Chen on his right. He was busy taking notes. Did Sammy dare? He grabbed an extra notebook from his pack and slipped it down on his lap. Oooh, naughty boy. He looked at Ryder, who flicked his gaze toward Sammy’s cover-up and smiled.

  Hard to take notes while holding your breath. Seconds passed before Ryder insinuated his hand under the notebook in Sammy’s lap. What felt like a knuckle began to rub gently against the bulge that had come up in Sammy’s pants. Tantalizing but not enough. Sammy pressed up with his hips, pretending he was adjusting his seating. Ryder pressed harder. Yes, better.

  Back and forth, Ryder explored until he found the prominent ridge on Sammy’s cockhead and ran a finger around it. Holy crap, that feels good. The rubbing fingers moved up higher. No, not the right spot. Ryder grasped his zipper. Oh my gods. Was he…?

  The zipper slipped down, and Sammy coughed to cover the noise. Ryder’s finger dug into his briefs, found the opening, and connected with bare skin. Sweeeet! So sexy he could barely breathe. Sammy wanted to hump into that hand, and he couldn’t. He peeked over at Ryder, who stared straight ahead, his eyes glassy, his mouth slightly open. In his lap, his big cock was stretching the denim to its limits.

  Ryder found Sammy�
�s cockhead and began a slow circle. Shit. Boiling balls. The fingertip connected with his piss slit and pressed in. Sammy tried to keep his breath even. He cleared his throat to cover the moan that he couldn’t quite control.

  Sammy glanced at Chen again, and his friend looked back. Sammy froze with a smile on his face; then he began to madly take notes, although he had no idea what he was writing. Ryder caressed and tantalized, and Sammy knew that precum must be spilling around it. Gods, he needed to come.

  Dr. Barth asked them all to close their eyes to practice a Jain meditation. Perfect. Sammy glanced quickly toward Chen and watched his eyes close. Ryder shoved his whole hand into Sammy’s pants and gripped his cock. Oh, sweet! Sammy let his hips thrust harder, since no one was likely to see, but they could hear, and he wanted to scream as flashes of heat about tore his balls loose and sent them into outer space.

  Sammy thrust up once, twice, three times. Hot cum shot out of him like a fire hose, and pleasure made him light-headed. Ryder looked at him intensely. He pulled his hand free as Sammy’s cock softened, then slowly brought one finger up and licked the sticky goo from it. Wow, that human is sexy.

  Dr. Barth announced “Open your eyes” as Ryder pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his hand. Sammy shifted in his chair as if he’d been quietly meditating, zipped himself up, and stared at his paper. The name Ryder was written all the way down the page. Sammy looked over to see Ryder’s lips turned up in a soft smile, and he drew curlicues on his page. In his lap, the cock bulged just as huge as before. Man, how fast can I get him home?

  The rest of Dr. Barth’s class dragged. Sammy loved his teacher and the subject, but this was an extenuating circumstance. Finally the professor gave them an assignment and set them free. Ryder slid out of the row, holding the tablet he’d been using in class in front of his erection. Just looking at the thing made Sammy’s mouth water. Sammy reached in his pocket, palmed his apartment key, and slipped it to Ryder. He got a big grin in return.

  Outside, the sun was giving up and sneaking toward the horizon. Chen came out behind Sammy. “Hey, you guys going for coffee?”