by Ellee Hill
Jamison pulled Kevin into a fierce hug. “Yeah, you did, just a little bit. It’s a good thing I love you, or you’d be in a rubber room by now.”
“Well, promise me something. The next time I think mythological beings are infesting the house, don’t argue with me. Just pour me something tall and alcoholic, then take me to bed and fuck me until I get over it.”
“Okay, I promise. Happy? Actually, I have to confess that I find your, let’s say, rather vivid imagination very sexy.”
“You do, huh?”
Jamison lifted the corner of his mouth in a hotter-than-hell half grin. “Yeah. Just imagine what might happen if you used your powers for good instead of evil.”
Kevin laughed and then reached for a long, deep kiss. “Well, how’s this then. How about we say to hell with everything today and get naked right now?”
“What? Now? In the middle of the afternoon? Why, that sounds a little….”
“Crazy?”
Jamison hugged him again, then grinned and took off like a bat out of hell for the stairs. He shouted back over his shoulder, “I can deal with that kind of crazy!”
With a broad grin, Kevin chased after him, thinking the best thing about contests like this one was that everyone—eventually—was a winner, and not even a houseful of gremlins could screw that up.
KIERNAN KELLY lives in Florida among the alligators and palmetto bugs with her husband and a Shar Pei-Labrador puppy who thinks she’s a person (the dog, not Kiernan. Kiernan knows she’s a person. At least, she is after she’s had her daily dose of caffeine). Kiernan spends most of her time writing gay erotic romance while chained to a computer in the dark recesses of her office, which her children have dubbed, “The Gay Cave.”
Visit her web site at http://www.KiernanKelly.com.
ATTACK OF THE HEDGEHOGS
Kate Pavelle
IF I had a trickle of drool dribbling down my face, it had nothing to do with the net of oranges in my hand. Paused in midair, the fruit hovered over my shopping cart as my eyes were drawn, once again, to the man on the other end of the produce isle. I took in the way he owned the space around him. Even had he not been built like a sleek, well-muscled underwear model, the air he projected would have been remarkable. Except he was probably straight.
I sighed, letting the fruit drop next to the bananas as I checked my short shopping list.
Milk, cheese, breakfast cereal, hot dogs and buns….
I let my eyes flicker back toward him and his wavy, raven hair. I wondered if it was as soft to touch as it looked while trying to come up with a pickup line that wouldn’t get me punched. I rolled my cart in his general direction.
Shampoo, fish food, dental floss….
CRASH.
I looked up, startled, my shopping list flying out of my hand. I’d rammed the cart of the very guy I’d been eyeing earlier, almost doubling him over and backing him into a sturdy display.
“Oh, sorry, I’m so sorry!” The words spilled out without much thinking. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer as he rubbed his bruised hipbone, full lips compressed. I slipped around the traffic jam I’d caused until we stood face to face.
“I am so very sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” I looked up at him through the bangs of my lush, dark blond hair. He was a little taller, and if I tilted my head down a bit, he’d feel the advantage of his height and I’d get to test my “in case you’re interested” look.
“I’d like to buy you a drink,” I said. “Maybe some dinner. This is sure to bruise, and I feel terrible for being so… so… distracted. C’mon!”
“What were you distracted by?” he asked.
“Um… I’d rather not say.” Heat worked its way up my neck and to my cheeks. He quirked an eyebrow, curious and amused.
“All right. We’ll go to Scully’s and grab a beer and some potato skins. You’re game?”
“Yeah,” I said, nonchalant. “Their potato skins totally rock!”
“I’m Samuel Wright, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. I grasped it, just to shake, trying to ignore the way his larger hand enveloped mine and how his warmth spread up my arm, despite the proximity of industrial-size coolers.
“Ricky Crayson,” I replied. “Do you have much shopping to do?”
“Nah,” he grinned. “Just some produce and a fresh razor blade. Meet you out front?”
“Yeah. See you there.”
SCULLY’S was a neighborhood joint with decent burgers, good appetizers, and several beers on draft. We each had some Killian’s Red and split an order of potato skins while waiting for our burgers to arrive.
“So… why were you being a space cadet again?” Sam asked once he put his beer down.
The signs were there; I didn’t think he was just a regular guy returning home to his girlfriend. I decided to take the plunge.
“You caught my eye,” I ’fessed up. “You’re just… just really good-looking, I guess. Do you work out much?”
“I was a wrestler in college—and yeah, it’s been a few years, but I do hit the gym every so often.” I felt his eyes on my trim midriff. “And you?”
“I run,” I said. “I started in high school and I never stopped. And, dang… you won’t make fun of me, will you?”
“No.”
“I’ve been doing Pilates.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” His eyes slid over my body like a hot caress, and somehow I stopped worrying about the possibility of him laughing me out of town anytime soon. When our check came, we fought over it.
“I’m the one who ran you over with a shopping cart,” I said. “This should be my treat.”
“You did,” he conceded. “But maybe you could kiss it all better instead.” Then he licked his lips and I had to fight to suppress a shiver, because that agile, pointy tongue did all kinds of things to my imagination. Naughty things. I watched him smile. “Just follow my car.”
“Okay.” I waited until his back was turned before I wiped my forehead and swallowed, my throat dry. He was hotter than July, and he came onto me. I didn’t think of myself as the kind of guy who would follow strange men to their lairs on a regular basis; I was more the “in search of a serious relationship” fellow, where I’d be in control and have events unfold at a slow, predetermined rate. Following Samuel home had trouble written all over it, but it was early fall, and hot, and my pants felt a bit tight just watching him exit the door.
“DRINK?” he asked.
“Yeah. Some water would be nice to start with.” I didn’t want to feel too out of control here. This was serious stuff: a one night stand. He gave me a quizzical look, then poured himself a scotch on the rocks with a splash of soda.
“Feel free to share mine,” he smiled. The way the corners of his mouth turned up was almost predatory. I started to rethink the whole situation. Chickening out and going home was suddenly a viable option, and I was just about to open my mouth and say something to that effect, when I heard my name.
“Ricky.” The gravelly, guttural drawl threatened to burst with seething heat. “I want to do unspeakable things to you, Ricky-boy. But first, you tell me. What’s your pleasure?”
His butt was still leaned against the kitchen counter and he showed no inclination to approach me, so I stayed, rolling his suggestion in my mind.
“If you could maybe undress….” My voice came out hesitant.
“If you could maybe undress me,” he said, quirking his eyebrow. “Then you could do it your way, at your own speed.” And I could be within reach of him. Curiosity warred with apprehension when I considered what he’d be doing while I was unbuttoning his dress shirt and his black, stonewashed jeans. As though he could read my mind, he sighed.
“Scared?”
I didn’t reply.
“You’re in charge, boss. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll just stand here and wait until you make your move, with your long, elegant fing
ers and your awesome, kissable lips. I’m waiting, Ricky-boy.” He closed his eyes and parked his hands on the counter behind him.
Maybe I could risk it.
I took one step ahead, then another, and before I knew it, my fingertips were brushing his chest, featherlight, hesitant. I heard a halting exhale, and let my fingers wander higher up, to his neck. He stood still and passive, eyes closed, yet his too-still expression spoke of control.
“You won’t move?”
“Not unless you ask.”
“Okay.” I grinned. Breaking his iron control could prove an interesting challenge. I unbuttoned his shirt, going from top to bottom, until it was gaping, revealing a white undershirt. I leaned in, my forehead resting against his chest. He felt warm and smelled of musk and juniper berries, and suddenly I had to have more of that enticing warmth and that delicious smell. My fingers skimmed the neckline of his undershirt and I leaned in, brushing my lips against his neck. His breathing grew heavier and somehow ragged, yet he had not moved.
My fingers dropped to his fly, avoiding his prominent bulge as I undid the silver belt buckle and unbuttoned his jeans, letting his arousal spring forth and push against his cotton briefs. There was still too much fabric in the way.
“I want you to move your butt forward about two inches,” I said, and he did. I worked his jeans down his muscular thighs until they bound his legs around the knees; then I tugged the elastic of his briefs forward and edged it down.
“Lean back now,” I said, and he did, his erect length pointed in my direction. I wanted to touch him so badly; my saliva gathered in anticipation, yet… the goal. The goal was to have him lose control and move, so I merely worked his shirt and undershirt off his torso. His breathing now resembled ragged pants as I ran my palms over his sculpted abs and the chiseled planes of his chest. A groan broke the air as my lips landed on his nipple, giving it a hard suck.
“Ricky… what do you want me to do?” His words spilled out fast, as though he was afraid he’d stutter if he took his time.
“I want you to open your eyes, Sam.” When he did, I almost staggered under the weight of his hungry gaze. Then I pulled my tee over my head, flexing my abs along the way. The blue gaze was riveted to me, to my every movement, and I saw his hips strain forward. Yet he didn’t move.
“Ricky.” There was a plea in his voice. I smiled as I let my hands run up my chest and tweak my nipples; first one, then the other. His eyes were dark with lust now, pupils dilated, and the knuckles of his hands were white as he maintained his grip on the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, Sam,” I gasped, skimming my hands down to my cargo pants. I unfastened them and let them fall to the ground, then my boxers. Kicking my shoes off, I stepped out of the pile of my clothing and wrapped my hand around my cock, jacking it three times.
“Ricky, I won’t last long, watching you like this!”
I closed the distance between us. Our thighs touched with electrifying contact, and then his hips thrust forward, our arousals sliding against each other in sheer ecstasy.
“Made you move,” I smiled, running my hands up and down his back. “You can move now, if you really insist.”
“Asshole,” he grumbled, his hands on my butt, kneading my cheeks and spreading them apart.
“Let’s not go all the way on our first date,” I whispered as I licked his neck from base to ear, tasting his musk and his salty skin.
“Stay,” he said. “Okay, we won’t, but stay the night.” I nodded as our lips found each other. The dry brush soon evolved, lips parting and tongues caressing one another as we pressed our hips together.
“Bed?” I gasped.
“Yeah. Watch out.” He freed himself from the jeans that held him captive; then he threw me over his shoulder and marched down a short hallway, entered a modest room, and dumped me on his oversized bed. Lights off, I felt him slide in next to me, his gifted hands leaving fire trails on my skin.
“Since you wish to be… conservative… on our first date, Ricky, we’ll have to be inventive.”
“What would you like instead?” I gasped.
“Turn the other way.”
Feeling cautious, I did. I turned my back to him, letting him drape his arm across my chest as he spooned me from behind. Moist lips nuzzled my neck, tasting their way up to my shoulder.
I sighed in happy contentment.
Tender lips gave way to sharp teeth; I hissed again as he bit my trapezius from behind. A soft tongue worried the distended flesh.
“Sam!”
“Yeah…?”
“Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
He wrapped his right hand under me, clasping my neck in a tight, possessive hold as he trailed his talented left down my ticklish ribs, my sensitive abs, easing its way down the happy trail.
I moaned.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat, Ricky-boy,” he whispered.
The evidence of his arousal pressed into my rear, right between my cheeks, and I pushed back, eager to feel more. I felt his blunt tip tease my behind as he ground into me. I wanted more, even though having more was a very, very bad idea.
Not on a first date…. Arrgh!
He sensed my frustration. “Shhh…” he said, moving farther down my legs and pulling my hips further back. “Can you lift your leg a little?”
I did, surprised to find him aiming his swollen length between my thighs, stroking in and out right under my balls, under all those sensitive parts, and I could feel him yet not feel him; the occasional blunt hit against my perineum made me gasp with pleasure.
“Just let go, Ricky,” he said in a low, gravelly voice into the middle of my back as he snaked his hand over to fist my own significant erection. I was holding back. Not coming too soon was a paradigm of my sexual existence.
“I want to feel you shoot your hot jizz right into my hand, Ricky!”
The words loosened something inside me as I gasped, moaned, and moved into his hand with as much force as my position could summon; there was only his hand on me and him between my legs.
His weeping head thrust against the soft bit of skin again and I felt that coiled heat explode. My head thrown back, I vocalized my pleasure in a soft, keening wail.
He caught my seed in his hand and slid it between my legs, making his own passage slick and smooth. I reached my hand down and under, feeling his delicious, satiny hardness both against my tender parts and my hand, stroking with every thrust.
“Ri… Rick… Ricky!”
Now my hand was full of his hot cum as he relaxed behind me and then moved back up.
The postcoital languor was setting in, and my eyes grew heavy.
“Here, tissues.”
“Thanks.”
As I cleaned the stickiness off my hand, I raised it to my lips with a measure of curiosity. My tongue darted out as I smelled him and tasted his essence. Bitter and briny and musky; I’d get used to it.
My eyes slid to his face as I settled on my back, taking advantage of my natural anesthesia, ready to slide into sleep. I saw his eyes bright in the dim light of his bedroom, watching me. He didn’t say anything. I had my last lick and he turned my chin toward his face, kissing my lips, letting his tongue plunge in for a secondary sampling of his own flavor.
I WOKE up in the middle of the night. Only the streetlights illuminated the Spartan bedroom interior. The white carpet gleamed pale amber, reflecting the sodium lamps outside. The bed was comfortable, its owner sprawled naked on his back next to me. His head and shoulders were shrouded by the shadows, but the rest of him was illuminated by the stark city glow, barely impeded by the sheer curtains.
Light snoring reached my ears and I stroked his body just a little, resettling him and helping him quiet down. There he was, lit by the dramatic glow from the outside, his legs spread apart, sporting a significant boner.
My mouth went dry. Light pollution was my enemy under ordinary circumstances, but right now I felt grateful for the ubiquitous, eerie glow. Th
is guy, no matter what I might think about his yet unrevealed personality, had the goods. Neon lights, flashing from outside, reflected off the smooth planes of his legs as his body twitched and he gave a slight moan.
Sleep, Sammy.
His powerful thighs tensed and his hand crept to his groin in his sleep, long fingers stroking his stiff shaft. I heard him gasp, and I knew he was in a different kind of a dream world. Blood rushed to my dick and I bit my lower lip, working hard to control my breathing. Damn, but was he ever so beautiful. He was a gorgeous specimen, and I was tempted to do something and join the party—except I had never seen a man pleasure himself just like that, and I was keen on finding out how he did it and what he liked. I slid down the bed to get a better vantage point and to get out of his way.
Slowly, my hand crept down past my hardening cock. An idea crossed my mind; I slid off the bed and tiptoed toward a faraway pile of my clothes, returning with my cell phone. I flipped it open and turned the camera on. There was just enough light for the screen to show what was going on in the pool of light before me. Trying hard not to touch myself, I kept my phone trained on the bed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice nagged, reminding me of my solid upbringing. Surely taking a video of someone in such a delicate moment was beyond the pale; I had no words for it and no justification. Yet the odds were slim when it came to any sort of a long-term relationship with this man—almost no chance of that. I could keep this little personal memento, though. An insignificant souvenir to be played a few times and then erased. I just couldn’t stop watching, my breath coming out in short, shallow pants.
Perhaps having forgotten that he had company the evening before, Samuel slid a neck roll under his hips. He reached for something on the bedside table, and I heard a familiar click of a lube bottle. When he touched his dick again, I heard his hiss of pleasure. I watched his hips undulate, the thrusts small and intense, the proud length sliding through his slick hand. He spread his feet apart and his second hand reached down, finding his ass. He slipped a finger in, his hips spasming in reaction. Another finger… he gasped, pants and soft curses spilling from his lips, his two fingers embedded and pulling at his opening, his slick hand pumping his manhood. I hoped he’d come soon. My phone had only so much memory left…. Yesssss.