Don't Try This at Home

by Ellee Hill

  Alex quickly realized he had developed a new kink, because much sooner than he would have liked, he was back at the edge, fighting his body’s urge to rut deep and hard until he came. Because he had to watch Bryce go first; as much as he was enjoying the sounds, he had to see what happened to those angelic hazel eyes. He pushed up on one arm and stroked Bryce faster, watching as Bryce’s jaw began to go slack and the words turned back into noises, one long, uninhibited sound of bliss as Bryce’s muscles tensed and his cock jerked in Alex’s hand and he came, his body shaking. But his eyes stayed locked on Alex’s, pupils so large Alex could hardly see the hazel ring around them. Ecstatic, open, and gorgeous. The essence of Bryce captured in one perfect moment that could never be photographed. Alex selfishly wanted to think it was for him alone to see.

  Bryce gave one last, deep groan and went lax in Alex’s arms, but clenched down on Alex’s cock still sheathed in his body. “C’mon, big boy,” he said with a lazy grin. “Give it to me.”

  Alex groaned and rolled his eyes, but his body obeyed even as he said, “Only on the condition that you never call me ‘big boy’ ever again.”

  “Deal,” Bryce murmured, pulling Alex down for a messy, hurried kiss. Because Alex was hurtling toward his own climax, thrusting hard as Bryce lazily wrapped both legs around Alex’s waist to let him push even deeper. He struggled to keep his eyes open, amazed at his own pleasure reflected on Bryce’s face as the tension built to the breaking point until Alex let himself fall, giving in to the bone-deep tremors that wrung him out so completely that he collapsed against Bryce’s chest.

  He was brought back to his senses by Bryce’s laugh, no less beautiful when it was quiet with exhaustion. Alex pushed himself up enough to kiss Bryce’s lips as Bryce brushed the sweaty hair back from Alex’s forehead. “Was I worth it?” Bryce asked, with a smile that held no grudge.

  “Absolutely,” Alex said, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Bryce’s. He was amazed and thankful for Bryce’s capacity for forgiveness, and figured he could do with more of that himself. “And the next time’s gonna be worth it too. And the time after that, and the time after that….”

  Bryce laughed again, but it turned into a groan as they separated and Alex dealt with the condom. “You mean I didn’t scare you off with my, uh, vocal symphony there? Because not everyone’s cool with it.”

  “Oh,” Alex said, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God. That’s why Rob the Roommate doesn’t want you—”

  “—to have guys over,” Bryce finished for him. “He’s not a homophobe. But the walls are thin and, well… I don’t especially want him overhearing that either.”

  Despite his embarrassment, Alex started to laugh and—in his relaxed, sex-drunk state—couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I was such a dick.”

  “No worries. I did kind of throw you over the back of the couch.” Bryce reached out and yanked Alex down to lie next to him. “That could be considered provocation.”

  “A little bit, yeah,” Alex murmured, unable to stop himself from reaching out to trace Bryce’s lips with one finger. “But let’s stop keeping score. I figure we’ll probably end up about even.” He took a deep breath before finishing the sentence, a little unsure if he was going too far. “In the long run, anyway.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Bryce said with a wicked grin, “because you are absolutely going to love the sounds I make when I top.”

  Born and raised in Florida, RENA BUTLER has long been in love with the written word. She discovered the joys of writing M/M romance several years ago, and her Muse likes to visit very late at night. She has worked as everything from a seamstress to a theme park character to a graduate teaching assistant, but dreams of becoming a full-time writer. When she gets a little spare money, she likes to travel, and would one day like to return to Australia, where she spent a memorable semester studying abroad. In addition to reading anything she can get her hands on, she also enjoys sniffing clean laundry right from the dryer and filling out crossword puzzles with a freshly-sharpened pencil.

  You can contact Rena at renabutlerwrites@gmail.com.

  PHOTO FINISH

  AC Valentine

  SKYLAR took a deep breath and told his OCD to leave the trail of clothes to the bedroom where it was instead of picking it up. He couldn’t resist the impulse to straighten his recently discarded T-shirt. He did manage not to twitch it into the neat folds ingrained in him by his summers working at Banana Republic. Thank God his oriental carpets didn’t have fringe; he would have spent the remaining time straightening the fringe out as well.

  “Spontaneous,” he muttered to himself. Skylar was going to give Rick spontaneous if he had to plan out every last detail. He walked into his bedroom and put his cell phone down next to the handcuffs he had bought that afternoon. He had paid cash so that if a truck hit him in the next week, his mom was not going to have to pay a credit card bill with a charge to the Pleasure Chest. His mom would probably not blink an eye, but he was pretty sure he would roll over in his grave from embarrassment. As it was, keeping his head down while he concentrated on his shopping list was the only way he made it through the store without hyperventilating. He should have asked Ari to go with him. Ari would have joked and not judged him, and he would probably have some helpful comment about the pros and cons of handcuffs. Ari was a fountain of random knowledge.

  As it was, he had spent a half hour dithering over the choices before choosing a pair that looked like it could have come off a cop’s belt. Skylar had spent the rest of the trip home vacillating between the subsequent fantasy inspired by that particular image and wishing that there were a Consumer Reports for sex toys. Actually, he was pretty sure something of the sort existed online, but he was too mortified to go hunting for it.

  He ran over his checklist again on his phone. Rick’s favorite dessert was on the nightstand—check. He shuddered at the thought of red velvet crumbs on his 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Skylar hoped Rick wouldn’t notice the 200 thread count sheets that he’d found at the local discount shop. A great white wine that had been mentioned in his favorite cooking magazine and two of his crystal wineglasses were also on the nightstand. He pulled out the drawer to check for the rest of the items that had been on his shopping list. Flavored lube—cinnamon—check. He really hoped the flavor wouldn’t clash with the wine, but it wouldn’t tingle uncomfortably when used internally, he had already checked. Also on the list were similarly flavored condoms to cover the taste of the latex, and the least embarrassing butt plug he could find. The zebra print of the plug was a concession to the “adventurous” portion of the list of all the things Rick claimed he lacked. Personally, Skylar had been inclined to go with the stainless steel. That was definitely one item that he wasn’t sure he could have discussed with Ari. How does one discuss the finer points of butt plugs or dildos with your straight best friend? He had picked one that seemed slender enough to be a good first step, but not so small that Rick wouldn’t get the point that he was finally willing to bottom. Well, finally willing to bottom for Rick. There was only one person he would have bottomed for before, but he was straight, or at least straight-ish. Skylar concentrated on not thinking about the night of college graduation, five shots of vodka washed down with an awful lot of vanilla coke, and one frantic hand job.

  The burgundy tapestry comforter was carefully folded and placed in the closet. He switched his sheets for the cheaper ones and debated what to do with the top sheet. Would he look better tangled in it while he waited for Rick, or should he just fold it and put it away so it wouldn’t get in their way? Better just to have the bottom sheet. They hopefully wouldn’t be getting much sleeping done, and it was pretty hot out. If the air conditioner didn’t kick on, they should be fine. He got out the white rose petals and scattered them on the dark red sheets, hoping they wouldn’t bruise too much before Rick got there.

  He checked his phone one more time. He had just enough time to douche and shower. If he w
as going to bottom for the first time, he didn’t want any surprises, especially if Rick took it into his mind to try rimming again. He had frozen up the last time Rick had tried it. All he could think about was what he had eaten and was he clean enough, and oh my God was he going to have to kiss Rick after he had his mouth there. Honestly, he would have felt bad not to. After all, if Rick could kiss him there, it would be hypocritical of Skylar not to kiss him on the mouth afterward. He had always gotten pissed off when guys refused to kiss after blowjobs, and it was the same thing, right?

  Skylar took his time in the shower, meticulously scrubbing every part of him. If Rick wanted to try sucking on his toes, licking his armpits, and, God forbid, rimming or some other sex practice he had not encountered yet? He was set. He was unsure what Rick had in mind when he had demanded that their sex life not be so boring and that all he wanted was some spontaneous, adventurous, kinky, dirty sex. Skylar wasn’t certain what that really entailed, but by God, he was ready for it. He hoped that Rick meant metaphorically dirty, because otherwise… ew.

  Skylar wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and gazed at his not-unattractive features. He wasn’t going to be picked out as the hottest twink in the club, but he had pretty decent dark brown hair and the blue eyes most of his friends agreed were his best feature. His nose was a little snub, but there weren’t any errant nose hairs, and his ears did not in the least resemble the president’s. His fair skin did flush a little too easily, and he lamented the eyebrows that were a little too slanted. He shaved his five o’clock shadow down to high noon. Whisker burn was never comfortable, no matter how sexy he found that rakish look on some of his movie star crushes. Rick wore that look, and he had to admit that it was one of the things, along with the artfully tousled blond hair, that had drawn him to Rick in the first place. However, dealing with the subsequent burns had taken a drawer full of expensive face creams, to the detriment of his wallet.

  Rick might not have been the man of his dreams, but Skylar was not about to risk losing the only regular sex he’d managed to have since he started his relationship with his own hand in junior high. Skylar knew he wasn’t the most exciting partner in bed—after all, Rick was the only one who had stuck around—but that was going to change. He carefully coated the plug with the cinnamon lube and gingerly inserted it. His ass had been a no-go area for most of his life. The notable exception being the times he fingered himself while he thought of graduation night and how close he had been to just bending over his desk and begging his best friend to plow him regardless of his Kinsey status.

  He washed his hands and carried the lube back to the nightstand and lay on the bed carefully, trying not to bruise the rose petals. He picked up the handcuffs, placed his wrist through one cuff, and hooked the second cuff to the black metal headboard. He grabbed his phone to check the time; he expected Rick any moment but figured he could play solitaire on his phone until he heard the door open.

  A text alert showed on his locked screen. He typed in his password one-handed and pulled up the message from Rick. He hoped he wasn’t going to be late.

  I’m not coming over tonight. I just don’t think we are compatible enough. We want different things. I want hard and dirty and you want soft and clean. No hard feelings. See you around.

  Skylar was sure if he could see himself in the mirror, his jaw would be on the floor. What the hell? Who breaks up with someone by text message? He should just take a photo of himself and send it to Rick and show him what the hell he was missing. He mentally calculated what the setup for the night had cost him and started swearing about the damage it had done to his budget, and for what—to get dumped by text and add another humiliating chapter to the short book of his romantic life. He reached for the handcuff keys and proceeded to really swear. The keys were in the pocket of his jeans that were oh so artistically strewn across his carpet in the living room. He calmed his incipient panic by remembering he actually did have his phone. He could call for help. Now the problem was who to call. The answer was fairly obvious, but he forced himself to consider all of his options carefully. He really only had a few choices—his mother, his sister, or Ari. He managed to pour himself a very, very large glass of the wine with minimal spillage. He managed to drink half of it before actually letting himself face the problem.

  His mother would find it hysterical, he was sure. However, she hadn’t seen him naked since he was five and had streaked through the yard, and he was perfectly happy with that record. She would also read him chapter and verse on how she’d always disliked Rick. She always said you couldn’t trust a guy your friends couldn’t stand. Also, she doubted their ability to commit to a long-term relationship. When Ari had pointed out that he indeed wanted a long-term relationship, she pointed out that he didn’t really want one with Rick. Which was true enough, but unless his fairy godfather came along and turned Ari bisexual or that even more mythical creature, the “gay-for-you,” he couldn’t see himself in any kind of long-term relationship. He’d settle for mid-term or even longish-short-term.

  Stephanie, his twin, would just use the situation to tease him from now to eternity. She had once plastered his dorm room with his porn stash right before an open room dorm party, managing to out him to all his friends. Her intentions weren’t malicious; she just thought it was funny. Luckily no one except Brandon had cared. However, since the remark “Dude, I didn’t know you were a fag!” had gotten Brandon so soundly mocked and shouted down by Ari and the others, even Brandon suppressed any latent homophobia when he was around Skylar. Ari had even helped him take down the magazine pages, never even blinking at some of the more hardcore images.

  The logical choice was Ari. Fair-haired Ari would be kind and sympathetic.

  He needed another drink. Skylar drained the glass and promptly poured another. He contemplated the overly full glass. What was the appropriate amount for a wineglass anyway? Maybe half full was the civilized way, but the glass was filled to about four-fifths. He’d better drink it down to a more respectable level. After drinking and refilling it a couple of more times in order to try to get it at a level that looked just right, he remembered he was supposed to call Ari. If he called Ari, he’d have to explain over the phone what an idiot he was. No, texting was safer. He could explain what an idiot he was in person, and Ari would make him feel better. Ari always made him feel better. Ari’s green eyes went soft instead of mocking when Sky did something idiotic.

  This is so embarrassing but I need you. NOW! Thank God for auto correct. Typing one handed was not easy. He double-checked that he hadn’t been auto corrected into texting anything inappropriate. He’d once texted his sister to bring him some Coke and it auto corrected into a text asking her to bring him some cock. The really weird thing was that she thought he wanted her to find him a date who would put out, and so she set him up with Rick.

  Huh. Rick. Bastard. He was going to show him what he was missing. Before he could lose his nerve he lay back down on the bed, drizzled some of the self-warming lube on, stroked himself to twelve o’clock, and then took a picture. Not bad; despite the awkward angle, he had even managed to get the handcuffs in the shot.

  He quickly sent the photo off. He realized he was probably going to regret that later, but now he was feeling like he should do something about his hard-on. He had time to kill before Ari got there. He stroked his perfectly respectable seven and a quarter inches lazily. He then thought about Ari finding him covered in spunk. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t do anything about his erection. It would go down on its own before Ari got there. He checked his phone again. No messages. Damn, he hoped he wouldn’t be stuck here all night. Ari had broken up with what’s-her-name last month, hadn’t he? Pretty girl, brown hair, blue eyes, small tits, tight ass; he could almost see what Ari had seen in her, if Skylar had actually been into that sort of thing, except he thought she looked a little too much like Stephanie. That was a mental image he did not need. What the hell had been her name? Sandy, Mandy, Andy? Something that sounded like Cand
y, anyway.

  God, he was tired, and horny. Mostly horny, though; his hand strayed back down to his erection. Oooh…. No, bad. Must not touch. He stroked his chest instead, tweaking and pinching his nipples. He loved nipple play, but Rick had never bothered touching his nipples. He hadn’t been sensitive there, so it was simply off his radar screen. Rick was rushed blowjobs and ass fucking, and the occasional attempted rim job. Even Ari that one drunken night had been about kissing and touching and stroking. His hand drifted lower, running his fingers lightly under and around the head of his cock. He stroked himself softly and then harder, squeezing right near the top, fondling the head in the way he loved, and then tightened his grip on his rod. He stroked faster and faster. Fuck. His balls tightened, and Skylar came to the memory of Ari’s tongue in his mouth. He thought he should be doing something to clean up; there were several compelling reasons he needed to clean up, but his brain was too fuzzy from wine and the best orgasm he’d had in ages. He drifted in his post-orgasmic haze until he fell asleep.

  ARI was eating his favorite meal of roast chicken and whipped mashed potatoes when the text came through. Ari wasn’t sure what had gotten into Skylar, but something must have happened to for him to send that text. His wishful thinking went into overdrive, coming up with several kinky scenarios that would justify the I need you, but he convinced himself that Sky had just broken up with Rick or had a fight with his boss or something that needed a night of tequila and video games. His phone vibrated again. He opened it to a picture of Sky in bed, erection straining and glistening, and holy God, were those handcuffs? He choked on his forkful of food. Four years of Sky pretending nothing had happened between them. Four years of never talking about it. Four years of watching each other go through bad one-night stands and even worse long-term relationships. Now? Now he sends Ari a photo hitting every kink button Ari has? Ari pinched himself hard, partially to see if he was dreaming but mostly to make the wood he just sprang in his pants subside.