Cutie Pies

by Barbara Bell

  The view from the shop was incredible, and the atmosphere from the screaming crowd contagious. As the first floats started to roll by, Joey cupped his hands around his mouth and cheered while Mick laughed and clapped along to the beat of the music. At one point, Joey plucked a couple of hot-pink twelve-inch dildos off the display counter and waved them out the window. Hey, no rainbow flag. He had to improvise. One of the drag queens on the floats noticed and pulled down her dress to show her flat glittery chest in response.

  Mick laughed so hard he snorted.

  It was all such . . . stupid happy fun. And gay. So very gay. Everything a pride march should be. Everything Joey remembered from previous years, but for some reason didn’t think of when he thought of Mardi Gras. The infectious joy. The sense of togetherness. The pride.

  He could tell Mick was feeling it too, even if he wasn’t showing it as much.

  Mick smiled, waved, and took an obscene amount of photos with his phone. The parade was scheduled to run for four hours and seemed like it had every intention of fulfilling that promise. An hour later the sun was down, the thick tide of cars, floats, and marchers hadn’t stopped, and the crowd below was only getting more excited . . . and more colourful as handfuls of glitter were thrown from the marchers and onto the onlookers.

  “This is so crazy,” Mick said shaking his head. “Like . . . I don’t even have words.”

  “It’s nice being up here,” Joey added. “Really nice, actually. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of this before.”

  “Maybe because you weren’t with me?” Mick suggested.

  Joey’s eyes flicked towards him. “Maybe.”

  Their eyes met, and for a moment it was odd and awkward again. The same feeling he’d felt lurking in the back of his brain when Mick had stepped forward to hug him at the train station but stopped short. Mick moved quickly on, looking back down to the parade and heaving a mock sigh. “I wish I had something to wave. A feather boa. A flag.”

  Joey silently offered him one of the pink dildos.

  Ruefully, “Something a little less penis shaped.”

  “There might be a poster or a banner in the cupboards under the counter,” Joey said. “But—”

  Mick was already gone, and a moment later Joey heard him rummaging around. It didn’t take him long, but when he came back, it wasn’t with a rainbow flag.

  “Is this . . . beer?”

  “Oh shit. I forgot about that. It’s mine.”

  Mick’s eyebrows shot up. “You have beer stashed at work?”

  “No! Well, yes. But I’m not an alcoholic. My boss gave it to me.”

  “Your boss gives you beer?”

  “I swear this was the first time, and it’s not very good. She made it herself and—”

  “Can I?”

  “What?”

  Mick held the bottle up. “Can I?”

  “Oh . . .” Well, fuck. “I guess the occasion does call for it a bit, huh?” Joey had already broken into his workplace out of hours and now he was getting drunk there. Yeah. Kate was going to kill him if she ever found out. But Mick was looking at him expectantly and . . . Shit. He was doomed. He was doomed and he didn’t even care. “Go ahead.”

  Mick twisted off the top of the bottle. It hissed and began frothing, but he caught it with his tongue and then his mouth before any spilled onto the carpet.

  Yep. Joey was saving that one to the spank bank. But maybe he would swap out the bottle for something else.

  Mick’s eyes widened. “Oh wow.”

  “That bad?” Joey asked.

  “No. Not at all. It’s warm but good.”

  “Good?”

  “It’s weird,” Mick admitted. “A little fruity. But good.”

  Joey stared at him in shock. “You like it?”

  “Yeah . . . is that surprising?”

  Was it? It wouldn’t be the first time Becca had exaggerated. “Can I have some?”

  “It’s yours,” Mick reminded him and handed him the bottle. “You don’t need to ask.”

  Joey grunted, brought it to his lips, took a swig, and paused as he tasted . . . beer. Not the best beer he’d ever had but not bad and, like Mick had said, oddly fruity. “Okay. Was not expecting that.” He took another drink. A proper one this time.

  Mick leaned against the window frame, body facing the parade but eyes turned towards him. “Why did you think it would be bad?”

  “Her first bottle was, supposedly.”

  “Maybe she got better.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you . . .” Mick frowned. “Think people can get better at things? Things that they were bad at before?”

  Joey made a face. “Um. Yeah. It’s called practise, Mick. It’s not exactly a new concept.”

  Mick eyed him for a moment then nodded and turned his gaze back towards the parade. “Yeah. I know, I just . . . I just wanted to hear it from you.”

  For a while after that they didn’t talk, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t noise. The slosh of the beer in the bottle as they passed it back and forth. The whoops and whistles of delight from the crowd below. Their own cheers when someone or something in the parade caught their attention. At one point, Mick turned his phone around and took a quick selfie of the two of them hanging out the window, drinking beer.

  “Don’t upload that anywhere.” Joey said. “My boss will kill me if she sees it.”

  “Never,” Mick promised and for a short ugly second, Joey couldn’t help but think of all the reasons why Mick might not want to advertise the fact he was hanging out with him.

  It wasn’t long after that when it happened. The bottle was almost empty and Joey was starting to feel a warm happy buzz in his limbs. Beside him, Mick’s cheeks were the same darker shade they had been the first time they’d met.

  A blusher, Joey had thought.

  He hadn’t been wrong. Not in regard to that, anyway. But maybe, just maybe, he’d been wrong about some other things.

  “So, eh.” He licked his lips and tried to compose the sentence in his head before saying it aloud. “You met Becca right? My coworker? The short blonde girl with the big—”

  “Tattoo of a squid on her arm?” Mick said.

  “Yeah.” Joey had been going to say boobs but that worked too. “It’s a cuttlefish but . . . that’s not important. Anyway. I told her about our talk the other day, and she thought . . . well . . .”

  Mick was looking at him strangely.

  He’s twenty-five, Joey reminded himself. Not a swooning teenager. He wasn’t going to be impressed by Joey tiptoeing around like this. He was a man and men liked balls. Or his kind of man did. “So,” Joey said, voice tight and maybe a little terrified. “S-she-says-your-boyfriend-isn’t-real. She-says-you’re-into-me. She-says-this-is-a-date.” He said it too fast, the words falling out of him in a rush.

  Mick seemed to understand, despite that. “She says a lot.”

  Joey laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  A pause.

  “But,” Joey went on. “I’m honestly more interested in what you’ve got to say right now. And if what you’ve got to say is ‘thanks but no thanks,’ then that’s fine. I get that this is a bit forward and probably pretty awkward if you were just looking for a friend. The truth is, I wasn’t planning on saying any of this but . . .” His voice failed him.

  God, he sounded pathetic.

  Mick didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he seemed to be considering Joey’s words.

  “Joey, I—” He stopped, brows pulled together for a long moment, before he leaned forward, across the window frame, and pushed a single warm kiss onto Joey’s lips. Gentle, prying, and not half as innocent or unaware as Joey had imagined those lips to be in his fantasies. Joey shivered and opened his mouth to taste Mick’s lips. Bitter like beer. Sweet with the barest hint of nervous sweat. Mick made a small sound and opened his own mouth, changing the flavour of the kiss from sweet to something far more intoxicating. Fuck, this was happening. Joe
y was kissing the cute boy who had walked into his shop and stammered when he’d asked for a dildo.

  And the cute boy was kissing him back . . . kissing him back with none of the hesitation he’d expected from Mick. In fact, Mick was totally taking charge of this thing.

  Fuck that.

  Joey shoved the bottle aside so he could get his hands on Mick. Or, more accurately, get his hands all over him. The body he found beneath his clothes was lean but firm, and shivered at his touch. Mick evidently took the contact as permission and reached out to touch Joey as well. Fingers squeezing his arms and looping around to feel the muscles in his back with obvious admiration.

  Joey had no idea how long they stood mashing their faces and bodies together in the window. All he knew was when they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, he was undeniably hard.

  “Wow,” Mick gasped. “Fuck. Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Joey said, the word light and breathless. “Yeah . . .” He has a boyfriend. The thought sprung small and wretched into his mind. A bitter black reminder of why this was wrong. “Your boyfriend?”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s real?”

  “He doesn’t care.” Mick tried to drag him in for another kiss.

  Joey shied back. “Wait. Wait a sec. He doesn’t care?”

  “No.”

  Dumbly, “You sure?”

  “Yes.” Mick’s voice was sharp, almost angry. “I’m sure.”

  “But if—”

  “Trust me,” Mick interrupted him. “Please. Just . . .” And then they were kissing again and nothing else mattered. Not Mick’s absent boyfriend, not Joey’s lingering doubts, not even the parade flowing by below them. All Joey could think about was how gorgeous Mick was, how amazing he felt, and how much he wanted him. Mick. Beautiful. Perfect. Mick.

  This time, when their lips parted, Joey didn’t say anything.

  He looked at Mick.

  Mick looked at him.

  Something passed between them. Something like permission. And with it came the single easiest decision of Joey’s life.

  “Fuck Mardi Gras.” He grabbed Mick and hauled him off the windowsill and into the shop. Halfway through the manoeuvre, Mick’s arms wrapped around Joey’s shoulders and their lips crashed back together. A tongue breached the line of his teeth and scraped hard against his own. Oh fuck, he’s perfect. He’s actually perfect. How is that possible? Their legs tangled and they went down in an uncontrolled sprawl across the floor. It didn’t matter.

  Mick was kissing him and wrestling his shirt up over his head at the same time. Joey pulled back, helped him yank it off his arms, and threw it across the room.

  In the flashing light spilling in through the window, he could see the contours of Mick’s muscle, the bony hollow of his chest, and the splash of short dark hair above his navel. The shape of his cock was visible through his jeans.

  Joey reached out to feel it. It was long. Longer than he’d expected and already rock-hard. He moved his thumb a little, and Mick’s eyes fluttered closed.

  “This okay?”

  “So okay.” Mick’s hands slid down, yanked open the front of his jeans, and wriggled them over his hips. Once they were around his thighs, he took Joey’s hand and pushed it against the much thinner cotton of his underwear. Joey could feel the ridge of Mick’s dick and the damp patch of pre-come already soaking through onto his palm. Oh yeah, his brain chose that moment to pipe up. Did I mention he’s perfect? Cause he totally is.

  “Fuck, you’re—”

  Mick made a broken breathy groan and rocked his hips into Joey’s hand. No elegance. Just raw primal need.

  That was what undid him.

  The next thing he knew, he was on top of Mick, pinning his wrist to the carpet with one hand and cupping his cock through his underwear with the other. And oh holy shit that was probably too much, too fast. That was probably way too rough. That was probably everything he shouldn’t do with someone who hadn’t even bought lube before they met. He opened his mouth to say all that, to apologise. Mick arched up and kissed him again, smothering any sound he hoped to make and setting his head spinning with a blurry mix of want and need. Mick wasn’t telling him to get off. He’d planted his feet, was bucking up into Joey’s hand, and pressing against where Joey had him pinned.

  On a hunch Joey pushed him down harder, and Mick keened, cheeks darkening and cock throbbing against Joey’s fingers.

  Huh. Okay, then. Good to know.

  He let his longer limbs take control of the smaller man and pulled down Mick’s underwear till that long, hard cock sprung free. In the dim light and with it crushed between the press of their bodies, he couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Stiff, slightly curved, and soaking wet around the foreskin.

  Joey took hold of him.

  He jerked him, relentless and rough, while Mick panted in his ear, hips thrusting into his fist, and free hand scratching at Joey’s back. Everything felt too hot, like there was nothing but gasoline beneath their skin and someone had just struck a match.

  “I think I’m . . . I . . .” Mick’s whole body shuddered, and his heels dug into the carpet.

  “Yeah?” Joey breathed. “You gonna come for me?”

  “F-fuck.”

  “That’s it. Go on. Come for me. I wanna watch you come.”

  Those massive brown eyes slammed closed, and Mick’s face contorted with bliss. A splash of heat spilled across Joey’s hand, followed by another and then another and another. Joey kept stroking him throughout his orgasm and watched in fascination as Mick twitched, shuddered, and finally moaned in pleasure.

  “Fuh . . . Ah . . . I’m sorry . . . Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Joey asked softly.

  Mick didn’t seem to understand. “Huh?”

  Again. “Why are you sorry?”

  “I . . .” Mick was frowning, a beautiful unfocused sort of frown. “I came on you.”

  “I told you to,” Joey reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I . . .” Mick blinked slowly up at him. “That was too fast. I can do better.”

  “Hm.” Joey decided not to waste time trying to figure that one out and sat back on his haunches to wipe his hand on the hem of his shirt and gaze down at the beautifully dishevelled body beneath him. Mick’s pants were tangled around his knees, skin slicked with a fine sheen of sweat, and belly spotted with come where he’d overshot Joey’s hand. It was the most erotic thing Joey had ever seen. Raw, real, and messy. A million times better than any fantasy.

  He began fumbling with his fly.

  Mick saw what he was doing and sat up. “Hey, wait a sec.”

  “Ah. Yeah. That’s a steep ask right now.”

  “No, listen, I want to suck you.”

  Those words did a whole lot of somethings between Joey’s legs. “Shit, Mick . . .”

  “Please.” Mick looped his fingers in Joey’s jeans and tugged his hips forward beseechingly. “I think I can do a bit of deep-throat if you want.”

  “If I want?” Joey stared at him. “Fuck, Mick, you’re out of this world. You know that, right?”

  A fluttering smile. “Was that a yes?”

  “It sure as hell wasn’t a no.”

  Mick’s smile bloomed in earnest, and Joey couldn’t help but hook a hand behind his neck, bend forward, and kiss him again. To taste that smile, those lips, that tongue. To feel Mick’s frantic inhale and low, hungry exhale against his mouth. To possess him for one terrifyingly beautiful moment before pushing him back onto the carpet and straddling his chest.

  Mick’s eyes were wide but greedy as he watched Joey yank open the front of his pants and finally pull his aching dick out of his underwear.

  “Oh my God,” Mick said on an exhale.

  “Yeah? You like that?”

  “I just . . .” Mick looked from Joey’s penis, to his face, and back. “I can’t believe I’m having sex with the hot guy from the sex shop.”

  “Me neither,” Joey said and
shuffled forward so his cock brushed Mick’s lips. They opened like the gates of Buckingham Palace for the Queen.

  It was awkward. Messy, imperfect, and clumsy. But that didn’t stop it from being amazing.

  Mick grabbed a fistful of Joey’s arse through his jeans, both urging him on and guiding him as Joey pushed his cock into the other man’s mouth. Joey had expected one of Mick’s hands to wrap around his base, to hold him and prevent Joey’s dick from going all the way into his mouth, but Mick seemed determined to go ahead with his plan to deep-throat him.

  Mick took him in as far as their current positions allowed and then sucked, his cheeks hollowing and tongue scraping roughly along the ridge of Joey’s cock. Wet. Deliciously wet. Disgustingly wet. And encouraging him in deeper.

  “Fuck, Mick . . .” Joey fell onto all fours and groaned as Mick arched up and took more of him in.

  He didn’t thrust into Mick’s mouth. God knew he wanted to, but he didn’t. Despite Mick’s eagerness, a part of Joey couldn’t forget the bottle of throat-numbing spray Becca had sold him. Mick clearly had some experience sucking cock, but that didn’t mean he would welcome Joey shoving his dick into Mick’s throat, especially if he had an overactive gag reflex. What he hadn’t counted on was how hard it would be to hold himself still while that mouth moved up and down his shaft.

  He panted, muscles twitching and sweat prickling at the back of his neck as Mick worked, taking him in deeper and deeper until Joey could feel Mick’s throat swallow around him. It forced a groan out of Joey, as broken and wretchedly needy as Mick had sounded a few moments ago. Mick hummed in response. The vibration that caused, paired with the mouth swallowing wet and hungry around him was enough to make him dizzy.

  “Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh . . . ah. Ah. Shit fuck.”

  Mick made another sound that might have been laughter. Joey couldn’t tell. Couldn’t bring himself to care. All he knew was that unbelievable mouth, the hard press of fingers digging into his arse, and the impossible task of not thrusting into the warm wetness gulping greedily around him.