by M. Rode
Brady felt heat flood his cheeks. “Uh, yeah, yeah it is. As well as the store I have an online business for more ... adventurous customers.” He was a nearly-middle-aged man and he was blushing like a schoolboy buying his first pack of rubbers.
"Well, you'll have to tell me all about that. Maybe let me try out some of the merchandise.” Rob's hands were starting to warm up on Brady's back, his thumbs smoothing idly over the skin just above the waistband of Brady's sweats. “I could be your guinea pig."
"You'd let me try out my new products on you?” Goosebumps chased along Brady's spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
"Any time you want.” Rob slipped a hand under the waistband of Brady's sweats and palmed an ass cheek.
Brady bit his lip to stifle a moan.
"Why don't we start with the lube?” Brady nodded his assent, and pulled himself together enough to take Rob's hand and lead him upstairs, albeit on less-than-steady legs.
Standing at the foot of the bed, behind Brady, Rob kissed along the length of Brady's neck, small, biting kisses. Rob's arms wound around Brady's waist, hands slipping under his sweats and caressing the skin just above his straining cock.
Breathing became difficult for Brady. “Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I get some supplies?” He turned in Rob's arms and rubbed his cheek against the rough hair of Rob's beard.
"Supplies?” A small movement of his hips brought Rob's rock hard dick into contact with Brady's lower belly.
Brady's breath hitched. “Like I said, I don't just make lube."
Rob stepped back and slowly removed his sweater, revealing an exquisitely sculpted six pack and pecs that could win awards. Brady could only stare as Rob's hands went to the buttons on his jeans, popping them one at a time, a teasing light in his eyes. Buttons undone, Rob took a moment to get out of his boots, then pushed the jeans and his blue cotton boxers over his hips, helping them to fall to his ankles with a little shimmy of his whipcord hips.
Brady's mouth was dry, his eyes wide as they moved over the body before him, all tight and hard, not least of all the very impressive cock standing out straight in front of Rob. When Brady was finally able to raise his eyes again, Rob's eyes were hot and his cheeks flushed.
"Supplies,” Rob reminded him hoarsely.
Brady swallowed and nodded, not quite trusting his voice. Moving as quickly as his arousal would allow, Brady snagged the lube from the bathroom, made a quick detour to the kitchen, and headed back upstairs. At the top of the stairs, however, he faltered, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious.
The memory of the vision that was Rob clear in his mind, Brady looked down at himself. He wasn't a regular at the gym—didn't even know if there was one in town—but he had always considered himself to have a fairly decent physique. However, next to someone like Rob ... How could he go back in there? Get naked in front of Rob? How could he expose himself—physically, emotionally?
Everything that Jack had said to him came rushing back. Not interesting enough, not ambitious enough, not attractive enough, not good enough in bed ... Rationally, Brady knew that Jack had been using the words to excuse his own infidelities, to make Brady feel that he was to blame. And for a long time it had worked. Brady had finally found the strength to kick Jack out on his ass, but Jack's accusations still rang in his head.
Brady felt his knees give out from under him and he sank down to sit on the top stair, lube clutched in one hand, chocolate body paint and brush in the other.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but some time later a noise behind him caught his attention. He looked up and saw Rob coming out of the bedroom wearing only his boxers. The sight made Brady ache, and he had to look away again.
Rob quietly sat down beside him, hands clasped between his parted knees, and waited. Brady sat tensely, fingernail flipping the lube cap open and closed.
When he could bear the silence no longer, Brady asked “Why?"
"Why?” Rob's confusion was clear in his voice.
Brady nodded. “Why? Why do you want me? I mean, I know there isn't a lot of choice in a town this size..."
"Stop right there.” Rob moved to the next stair down and looked up at Brady, hand on Brady's chin, forcing him to make eye contact.
"This isn't about convenience. This is about you.” Rob stroked Brady's chin with his thumb. “You're smart, kind, generous, you're fun to be around, and you have an ass I could spend a lifetime getting to know.” Rob was smiling, but his eyes were serious.
Brady felt his mouth hitch up at the corner. “You like my ass?"
"I love your ass. And if you come back to the bedroom with me, I'll show you just how much."
Rob stood and held a hand out to Brady, who hesitated, then reached up to take it, only to realize that the hand still held the lube.
Rob let out a bark of laughter. “I'll take that as a yes, then?"
Smiling, Brady got to his feet. The step of a difference made them the same height. Brady took advantage of this by leaning forward to place a soft kiss on Rob's lips.
"Yes,” Brady whispered.
* * * *
Brady arched his back as a groan of torment was ripped from him. Hands clenched in the pillow under his head, his heels digging into the mattress, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him.
"More.” The word was a harsh whisper.
Kneeling between Brady's parted thighs, Rob reached blindly for a pillow, dragged it closer and tucked it under Brady's hips, raising him and allowing Rob greater access.
Rob dipped his head back down, hair trailing tantalizingly over Brady's inner thighs, and licked a slow, teasing stripe along the underside of Brady's painfully hard cock, removing more of the lube he had just smoothed on.
Rob had brought him to the brink only to pull him back at the last second too many times to count. Brady was becoming convinced that his lover's tongue was a tool of the Devil, the things he could do with it.
After slowly removing Brady's clothes, Rob had kissed and licked his way down Brady's body, tongue dipping into every hollow, laving his chest and stomach, conquering Brady's inhibitions with every touch of his lips, every tender stroke of his fingers.
They had climbed onto the bed together, arms and legs tangling, mouths locked together, tongues searching. Brady had grunted his displeasure when Rob had deserted his mouth, but when Rob started licking and nibbling his way south, stopping only to tease Brady's nipples, any protest he might have made died on his lips.
When Rob finally reached Brady's weeping cock, Rob placed a gentle kiss on the tip, then reached for the lube. Rob smoothed a palm-full of the sweet slick onto Brady and proceeded to lick him clean.
Brady didn't know how many times Rob had repeated the process, but every muscle in his body was tense, his thighs were trembling and he ached for release.
Rob went lower, touched his tongue to the smooth skin under Brady's balls, parted the cheeks of his ass and dipped his tongue inside, and Brady felt sure he was on the way to a stroke.
"Rob, oh God, Rob. So good ... Oh fuck, so good.” Brady released the pillow and lowered his arms so that he could card his fingers through Rob's hair.
Rob continued the attention he was paying to Brady's tight hole, thrusting his tongue in deeper, then replacing it with fingers that stretched and massaged, going further and further into Brady's body, until Brady could take the wonderful torture no longer.
"Stop, Rob, please, I want ... oh, God, I want..."
Rob raised his dark head, eyes glazed with passion, cheeks flushed with arousal. “What? Tell me, Brady, what do you want?” He moved up the bed until he was over Brady, weight resting on his elbows.
Brady hesitated, but only briefly. “I want you inside me. I want to ride that fabulous body of yours until you can't see straight."
Rob's pupils flared and he lowered his head to catch Brady's mouth in a hard kiss. “You have condoms?” Rob was searching around them for the lube.
Nodding, Bra
dy eased out from under Rob. He scrabbled in the drawer of the nightstand and retrieved a foil packet.
When he turned back Rob was lying on his back, eyes watching him expectantly, the desire Rob felt for Brady shining there, and beyond that, something ... more.
Feeling braver and more sure of himself than he had in a long time, Brady straddled Rob's hips. He tore open the foil packet and smoothed the condom over Rob's erection, feeling it pulse and twitch between his fingers. He locked eyes with Rob as he slicked lube over the condom, and then reached behind himself to smooth some of the lube into his own body.
"Jesus fuck. That's so hot.” Rob's fingers squeezed spasmodically on Brady's hips.
Brady smiled and rose up on his knees, then he lowered himself onto Rob's thick shaft. He bit his lip and closed his eyes against the burn and stretch, but continued sinking down until he could feel Rob's balls brush against his ass.
Brady took a deep breath, released it on a long sigh and opened his eyes to look at Rob.
Looking right at each other, they began to move. Brady rocked his hips, slowly at first then with gathering speed, and Rob thrust up into Brady, deepening the connection with every movement of his hips.
Sweat trickled down Brady's body to mingle with Rob's in the line of hair that ran from Rob's navel to the place where their bodies met. The sounds of harsh breathing filled the room.
"Brady! Oh, fuck, I can't ... I can't hold out much longer.” Rob's head tilted back on the pillow and his eyes closed, hands tightening on Brady's hips. “So good, oh, God, you feel so good."
Brady's head fell back, and the rocking of his hips became almost frantic as he felt his own orgasm approach. “Yeah, baby, you feel so right inside me.” A groan escaped Brady when he felt one of Rob's big, calloused hands wrap around his cock.
One squeeze was all it took and he was coming, all over Rob's hand and stomach. His hole contracted around Rob's shaft, milking him.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Rob's hands bit into Brady's hips and he pushed up until he could get no deeper inside Brady.
Rob froze, mouth parted on a silent scream, and Brady was sure he could feel the heat of Rob's seed as it filled the tip of the condom.
Utterly drained, Brady collapsed on top of Rob, placed a small kiss on his chest when he felt Rob's arms wrap around him. Though he was sweaty and sticky and hot, Brady couldn't remember a time when he had felt more content.
Jack Heaton is a fucking idiot! Brady smiled and banished all further thoughts of his ex-lover from his mind.
When he could move again Brady propped himself up on his forearms on Rob's chest. “If I said wow, would your ego swell out of control?"
Rob laughed. “Probably.” He ran a hand over Brady's face. Rob was smiling, but there was a question in his eyes.
Brady turned his head and laid a kiss on Rob's palm. “Ask me,” he said quietly.
A flicker of unease passed over Rob's eyes. “I was just wondering, is ... was this just a one-time thing?"
Brady shook his head and ran his thumb over Rob's kiss-swollen lips. “Not for me. I don't do one night stands."
A smile of unmistakable relief lifted Rob's mouth. “Good, that's good."
"Besides,” Brady said with a teasing glint in his eye. “You already have my key. This will save you all the bother of having to give it back."
Rob grinned. “Yes, that would be a bother. Plus, we haven't tried out that chocolate body paint yet, and you did say that I could try out your other goodies."
"I did say that, didn't I?” Brady asked, his hand already reaching for the jar on the nightstand.
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The Simple Life
Willa Okati
"Oh. You're leaving already?” Momma sounds so disappointed.
Kyle leans down to kiss her cheek, careful not to smudge the studiously applied pinkness of her makeup. “I am, Momma. I've got to get up early for work tomorrow."
Momma's eyes flick quickly to the cuts and scrapes on his palms, her lips pursing momentarily in a moue of unhappiness. “I wish you didn't...” she starts, trailing off to place her fingers over her lips. “Kyle, sweetheart, are you sure this is the life you want?"
"I'm sure, Momma.” He pulls her in for a hug, not the fancy kind that's all show and no substance, not the kind she's used to from any of her friends or even any of their family, except him. He'll hug her like this and no other way, now that he's learned how much it means to be honest with what he's feeling.
The bear hugs still startle Momma, though from what he can tell, from the way her cheeks redden under their artificial delicate pinkness, she's getting to like them. And when she pats his hand, it's the kind of loving touch he remembers from his childhood, before there was money and there were expectations.
"You'll drive safely?” she asks, shifting modes as mommas do when they're thrown off course, heading into the safer waters of looking out for her son even though Kyle's all grown up. “They're calling for rain."
"More than calling for, Momma. It was sprinkling before I even got here."
Her lips purse. “Oh, dear. Kyle, I—"
"Your coat, sir.” A valet's slipped up behind Kyle, the man's suit impeccable, tailored, crazy-expensive, holding out Kyle's favorite, if frayed, soft brown windbreaker.
He takes his jacket from the man rather than allowing the valet to help him put it on, winking at him when he stares, confused. Shrugging the windbreaker on, he smiles at his Momma. “How about I make you a special set of candlesticks for the next time you have a party like this?” He's a sword-smith by trade, replicas mostly, but he knows how to do other things and he wants to see her smile reach her eyes. “Something fancy, rococo."
She straightens, bravery evident in the firmness of her shoulders. “From you, Kyle, I think I'd rather have something plain and simple.” There, there's the light in her eyes he wanted to see. Bless her heart, she does try. “And I'll cherish it."
One last squeeze to his arm, and she's stepping back, ready to return to her Valentine's Day soirée with its pink champagne and caviar on heart-shaped water biscuits. “Tell that man you love I said hello, son."
He blows her a kiss, proud enough of her to pop. “Night, Momma."
"Good night, son."
* * * *
Kyle's drive back home through the gently falling rain doesn't take him too long, maybe fifteen minutes to cross from the rich side of town to literally across the tracks, over to their “wrong side"—what he's learned to appreciate as “just right". He lets the well-worn vinyl of the driver's seat cushion him, molded to fit him as it is after so many years in the same car.
As he pulls up to the train tracks, waiting for the tail end of a locomotive and all its cars to pass, he idly turns on the radio. The station's set to Royal's favorite rockabilly station, that pretty blond girl who's all the rage now crooning something soft and sweet.
He keeps the volume low, gently tapping the steering wheel with his thumb in time to the melody. Royal loves this song, and he'll sing along with it regardless of whether or not anyone's around. He's got a good voice, in Kyle's opinion—granted, Kyle's biased. He would think Royal should try and get somewhere with his gravelly, smoky baritone, but every time he made mention of it a few years back, Royal would only gaze at him through eyes smoldering hot with passion and affection and shake his head.
"Rather enjoy my audience of one,” was all he'd say before catching Kyle's chin and bringing their mouths together in a kiss.
Maybe it's greedy of him, but Kyle likes knowing he'll be the only one to hear Royal singing love songs.
The boxcar passes and the safety bars rise. Kyle puts on the gas, not in a hurry, listening to the rain and the sweet sounds of the radio, wondering if maybe he can coax Royal into singing for him tonight.
* * * *
Kyle's key fits smoothly into the lock on their front door, the Schrage mounted in the center of a smooth silver plate he forged himself. Their initials, “R” and
“K", are intertwined below the keyhole, and above that is the sign for yin and yang. He pauses to stroke the cool silver, smiling to himself.
When he pushes the door open and enters, toeing off his shoes first thing of all and kicking them back into the corner alongside Royal's muddy work boots, the dogs are the first ones to welcome him home. Rudy pushes her nose into his palm, slobbering over his fingers, her tail wagging her whole whipcord Greyhound body rather than the other way around. Layla, sweet old mutt, sits at his feet and gazes up at him with her own special brand of love-struck adoration. They get a Milk-Bone each from the box he and Royal keep near to the door, a good belly rub, and when he encourages them to go and lie back down on their favorite rugs near the hallway heating vent, they lick his hand and do as they're told.
"Good girls,” he croons after them, tickled when Rudy yaps as if to say she knows, thank you very much. They wrestle for a minute, Rudy careful of Layla's old bones, and then flop down in a doggy heap, pink mouths stretching wide in yawns.
It's almost always like this here, Kyle thinks, and it never fails to warm him. No rush, no fuss, just good friends taking life easy.
He doffs his windbreaker, checking his watch as his arm comes free of the sleeve. Ten-thirty, still early, but when they've both got work tomorrow, he in the smithy and Royal on site, Royal might well be in bed already. If he is, that'll be fine. Royal gets warm when he sleeps, perfect for snuggling up next to, teasing him when he jerks and grumbles about Kyle's cold feet insinuating themselves against his toastiness. He'll kiss Kyle, sleepily nuzzling his neck, and subside straightaway back into sleep.
Not wanting to disturb Royal if he is already resting, Kyle doesn't call out for him, choosing instead to sneak through their living room to the kitchen for a shot of whiskey to help him sleep. When he makes the direct turn from the hallway to that room, however, he sees Royal is still awake and parked in front of the hearth, well settled in, sleepy and comfortable.
It's a sight worthy of appreciation, and Kyle takes his time to enjoy it properly.
Royal sits as he always does when he's of a mind to savor the simple pleasures of a wood fire on a chilly winter's night, slouched down at his ease in the pouffy navy-blue, dog-hair-covered cushions of their couch drawn up before the hearth. His feet are bare, all the better to toast propped up on the bricks, toes wiggling lazily. His red plaid flannel shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow, solid arms honey-golden in the firelight. A thick brown clay mug is propped on his knee, the rich smells of butterscotch and sugar and the sharp sting of rum turning the air deliciously heady. As Kyle watches, Royal raises the mug to his lips and sips, tongue slipping out afterwards to clear away the sticky traces of hot toddy.