The Rare Event

by P D Singer

  Good. Jon had to shove his trousers down, assisted front and back by Ricky, but didn’t get them farther than his knees. They shuffled to the black leather couch against the unadorned white wall, where Jon felt himself falling backward. Ricky knelt at his feet. His dark head traveled over Jon’s chest, bare now since his shirt had been unbuttoned and brushed to each side. Ricky’d wanted to lick—now he was licking, nibbling, finding smooth skin and hard nipples. Jon leaned enough to rub his face in the dark waves, mussing them with his fingers. Ricky’s lips wandered lower—he took Jon’s cock between them, dancing his tongue over the head, probing the little leaking slit.

  “Condom?” was only a vague objection, but Ricky shook his head.

  “Not for this, not for you.” Further argument was forestalled with Ricky’s mouth sliding over Jon’s cock.

  Some small part of Jon wanted to object, but it felt too good, too wonderful, and the risks weren’t his way, it was true. Ricky between his knees, pleasuring his cock with those sensuous lips and that talented tongue, was the most gorgeous thing he’d seen. Jon wove his fingers into Ricky’s thick, dark hair, not guiding, but sharing in the play. Stopping a moment, Ricky peeled Jon’s slacks the rest of the way off and threw them to the side.

  “I promised you a finger, didn’t I?” Ricky slipped one into his mouth, wetting it with each slow thrust. Jon wanted to scream with the anticipation and for the deprivation—watching Ricky moisten his hand was hot, but that mouth couldn’t do two things at once, and Jon wanted his cock back in there.

  “Ricky—” Jon managed to gasp. “Please—”

  Grinning around his finger, Ricky took a last swipe and pulled Jon sideways. With his back to the leather cushion, at least he couldn’t fall over twice. Jon spread his knees and raised one, wanting Ricky to fulfill that promise.

  “I’ll get you, don’t worry.”

  Jon wasn’t worried, no, he was just impatient, but Ricky returned to his mouth for kisses and cupped down below, searching blindly but expertly for his target. Their mouths crushed together; Jon stroked his tongue against Ricky’s, his eyes closed to better feel the anticipation. Ricky’s hand caressed his balls, rolling them a moment before moving on across his taint, one fingertip tracing a line up the center and at last to his hole.

  With a small gasp, Jon relaxed and let Ricky enter. This small breaching would ready him for more, but damn, it was good. Jon held Ricky tightly, feeling his lover’s tongue and finger move in concert with their moaning.

  Writhing under Ricky’s attentions, which were moving down his body now, with nibbles and licks, Jon wanted something to hold on to. One hand still in Ricky’s hair, he searched, stroking down the broad back and down to the muscular buttocks that Ricky obligingly swung into range. Ricky’s waistband was still fastened—Jon couldn’t work his hand inside and wouldn’t for anything ask Ricky to stop what he was doing, since he’d reached Jon’s groin once again. The fabric stretched taut over Ricky’s ass, but Jon could grab a good handful, and he needed something to grip and anchor himself against—Ricky had set to sucking and licking in earnest, and his finger slipped against the hot button inside. Jon cried out Ricky’s name once, but then set his teeth into his lip and moaned every time Ricky thrummed his tongue and stroked.

  This couldn’t last—Jon felt the waves building and tried to groan out a warning. Suddenly cold, empty, and imprisoned, he realized dimly that Ricky had pulled away and was gripping the base of Jon’s cock, chasing back the orgasm. Ricky left his hand where it was but came back up to brush his lips over Jon’s cheeks and forehead.

  “Don’t want to take you too fast,” Ricky mumbled. “Want you willing.”

  “Oh, I am.” Jon stroked Ricky’s back. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “I want your sweet ass, Jonny.” He let go and took a good grip on Jon’s thigh. “And I want it in bed, with lots of room, because we’ll start with you facedown, but we may not stay that way.”

  “Think we should take any of your clothes off while we’re at it?” Jon let Ricky pull him to his feet, pausing for a full-body press against fine wool and soft cotton, and a deep exploration of lips and tongue.

  “All of them.” Ricky squeezed Jon’s buttock and then slapped it. “Get thee to the bed, pal.”

  The bed was only steps away in Ricky’s one-bedroom apartment, and Jon lay flat, watching Ricky strip. His own urgency had abated, but it would be back once he lay beneath Ricky’s ardent body. Jon sat up and fished in the bedside table for the condoms and the lube. He’d start greasing himself now, both to entertain Ricky and because he’d need all the slip he could get with Ricky’s long, thick cock inside.

  “Yeah, show me, Jonny.” Ricky had dropped his trousers over the chair and was working his underwear down over his ass.

  “Lube you too.” One finger in his own hole, spreading the slickness, wouldn’t make them slippery enough, but Jon enjoyed watching Ricky’s face, naked with need, and added a second finger to stretch his ring. When Ricky got that hungry look, he’d be a wild man; best not to make him wait too long. “Come here.” Foil fluttered to the floor, and Jon unrolled the condom over Ricky’s cock, throbbing under Jon’s fingers with each heartbeat. Jon leaned forward to nibble at the head of Ricky’s sheathed cock, bringing a throaty growl, before sucking him in deeply. He loved to play like this, swiping his tongue over the rigid heat that Ricky would thrust in wherever Jon offered. Leaving Ricky only partly slicked with spit, Jon offered more glide from the bottle, and cupped his balls with a greasy hand.

  Ricky threw him backward on the bed. “Can’t wait.” Jon flipped his heels up, ready to welcome his lover, but Ricky had said he wanted Jon face down, and he meant it, reaching under one thigh to grab the other and torque Jon to his stomach. “Now.” The hot weight of his lover’s body fell against him, pinning Jon with a welcome invader against his ass. He lifted his hips to help Ricky find his way in, and with a thrust and a gasp, Ricky breached him. Only the head—Ricky froze, gulping for air in Jon’s ear.

  “You good?” He halted a moment, then eased in by millimeters.

  “Oh, yeah.” Ricky’s hips were tight against Jon’s ass now; the stretching eased into pleasure, and Jon arched his back again.

  “No, you’re wonderful.” With nibbles and licks, Ricky nuzzled Jon’s neck and slipped his arms under Jon’s shoulders. Jon twined his fingers through Ricky’s and waited for the tiny slides inside to become the energetic thrusts that would bring him back to full arousal and the need to come. Ricky loved to keep him on the brink—would he take a long time tonight?

  Ricky arched above him now; the full-body pressure relented to the slow smack of hip to ass and wet caresses against his shoulders where Ricky bent down to lick him. Jon lifted his chin, offering his neck, giving Ricky another place to nibble. “Need to kiss you better,” Ricky groaned, sliding out and rising up enough to let Jon roll over under him. “Need more lube.” Damn, but Ricky was beautiful, standing on his knees over Jon and stroking more lube over his cock, making the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple under the skin.

  “Love the way you look.” Ricky hoisted Jon’s feet to his shoulders and found his way inside once more. He pushed every inch of himself back in, to Jon’s joy—he was hard again, and the bumping against his gland with every stroke Ricky took brought him back that much more. “Not gonna let you get dressed at all this weekend.”

  That would cause a stir at the Friends of the Opera fundraiser, Jon thought distantly, the notion pushed out with another bump of Ricky’s cock in his ass.

  “If you want to swim in the ocean, have to skinny-dip.” Ricky leaned down, capturing Jon’s mouth with open lips. “Make you salty all over.”

  “Not going swimming.” Jon held the ridges of Ricky’s lats, feeling them move with every thrust of his hips.

  “Get a tan on your ass.” Ricky tweaked a nipple, then balanced again on both hands and thrust faster, bouncing Jon fractions of an inch across the mattress. He’d lain down
too close to the edge to start with—his head hung over the void.

  “Not gonna be there.” There was no right way to say that, no right moment, certainly not now, but he had to say it, even with the words getting jammed out of him from below. His shoulders didn’t touch the blanket now, but he wouldn’t ask Ricky to pull back.

  “Yes, you are.” Ricky’s words came one per thrust, but he’d been chasing Jon across the bed and had to shift his hands. He skidded off the edge of the mattress, falling onto Jon hard enough to clip their chins together. Ricky kissed an apology onto the bruised spot, and then Jon couldn’t talk—Ricky claimed his mouth as fiercely as he’d claimed Jon’s ass. “You’re gonna be with me,” he repeated, twisting them both back on the mattress, though their feet were at the pillow end and they’d come unhitched.

  Taking advantage of his temporary position on top, Jon swung over Ricky, aiming that hard cock but not sliding it in. “Not going,” he repeated, and stayed poised, waiting for Ricky to admit that was so.

  “Yes, you are.” Ricky lifted his hips and tried to shove Jon back down, but Jon had braced for that. He wouldn’t be bulldozed into agreeing, although not sitting back onto Ricky was killing him slowly.

  “No, I’m not.” He kept his hand wrapped around Ricky’s cock, keeping it from going anywhere.

  Ricky didn’t answer, but flipped them over again, Jon’s head landing on a pillow and Ricky’s face close enough to kiss but not coming those last few inches. Looking into Ricky’s eyes, Jon saw unwarranted depths of betrayal looking back. “Why not?” Squirming to get between Jon’s thighs, Ricky hadn’t really admitted defeat, had he?

  “Told you. Other obligations.” Jon nipped at Ricky’s neck. “Say, ‘Okay, Jon’, and we can get back to business here.”

  “’S not okay.” He drove one knee between Jon’s. “They don’t get to be more important than me.”

  What! What a fucking joke, coming from this man. “Like I don’t get to be more important than strangers in a bar?” There was a rock, and there was a hard place, and there Jon was caught, not spreading his knees in welcome.

  Ricky hadn’t stopped frotting against him. “You don’t choose Davis over me.” He dove after Jon’s mouth, but Jon twisted away and refused to thrust back.

  “He’s an accident—I made other commitments.” How dare Ricky even say a word about Jon’s plans! Not wanting to start that fight, knowing how it would end, Jon tried to stick to the particulars of the moment. “You didn’t invite me until after he called.”

  “I was going to. Didn’t get the chance.” Ricky reached down to pull Jon’s thigh into the air, but Jon had had enough and shoved Ricky away, throwing him onto his back. Springing to his feet, Jon turned to look down at Ricky—long, muscular, beautiful, faithless, roused, and possessed of a double standard Jon hadn’t previously suspected. Too bad for him.

  “How much chance do you need? You’ve had all summer to reconsider this ‘on one weekend, off one weekend’ schedule.” Jon wouldn’t swallow a line of that. “I’ve learned to deal with it, plan around it, and, may I add, didn’t complain about it. I can’t drop everything because you crooked your finger and said ‘come’.”

  “Does everything have to be all planned out?” Ricky snarled, suddenly on his knees and ready to pounce. “Can’t we just once do something without setting it all up ahead of time?”

  “We do that all the time, only it’s usually you deciding to break off plans with me to do something else,” Jon snarled back, gauging Ricky’s reach and wanting his clothes. “Like last week.”

  “I was pissed off last week, and I did show up.”

  He wanted points for that? “Yeah? I’m the one who’s pissed off now, Ricky. You’re making assumptions about what I do when you’re not around, and that is a lot of the time.” Where did his pants end up? Living room. Jon retrieved them, sitting down on the couch to pull them on. “I am not some kind of toy to leave on the shelf when you don’t want to play with me.” He buttoned the shirt, starting over once because he’d mismatched the button and buttonhole in his anger.

  “Hey! I am damned good to you!” Ricky did a double take at this assessment. “I can’t keep my hands off you.” He’d followed Jon into the living room but didn’t try to grab, which was a damned good thing—Jon was ready to take a swing at him.

  “You can’t keep your hands off anyone.” Shoes and jacket were worth retrieving, but Jon wouldn’t bother hunting for his tie. “You won’t even let me keep any clothing here, even though it would save an argument like we had earlier; it might spoil your random pickups.”

  “Right.” Ricky disappeared into the bedroom—the scrape of metal against metal sounded, and then he was back, holding familiar clothing on a hanger. “Don’t let me keep your fancy custom suit, even though it would have been fine to wear to the office tomorrow.” He thrust it into Jon’s arms.

  “It’s here because you wore it, Ricky, not because you invited me to leave it.” That difference stung.

  “You can take it home now, Jon, and you can wear it to go look at Davis’s apartments. Choose him a nice cozy one; he’ll want to share it with you.”

  “That is such complete bullshit, Ricky!” Jon’s hands tightened on the hanger lest he reach out and punch the man he’d been making love with not ten minutes before. “Davis doesn’t feel that way about me. He’s straight.”

  “Now that,” Ricky snorted, “is where you’re wrong. He’s as gay as you and me, he’s damned interested in you, and it’s not brotherly! How the hell can you not see that?”

  “How the hell can you see it when it isn’t there?” Jon choked back worse words. “Okay, maybe he’s gay, but I doubt it.” He’d have known years ago, he was sure of it. He stumbled toward the front door.

  Ricky followed him, still spewing nonsense. “I can see it, and he told me, not in so many words, but yeah, he told me, and maybe you’ll believe it when he’s got his tongue down your throat and suggesting you test-screw one of those apartments for comfort!”

  Jon whirled around, ready to strike out again. “He isn’t going to do that, and neither am I. Why exactly does spending some innocent time with someone I grew up with bother you so much when you’ve screwed half the gay men in New York since I met you?”

  “Why exactly are you going to spend time with him when you are the one and only gay man I want to screw this weekend?” Ricky lunged at Jon, trapping him between his arms and the wall, leaning into Jon’s face, not touching but challenging with his nearness. Ricky’s breath was hot on Jon’s skin, his words hot in Jon’s mind, and it softened him, but not enough to back him down.

  “Because it’s a last-minute idea and it’s only for this weekend. I don’t like being manipulated, and there’ll be someone else soon enough.” Jon put a hand up to Ricky’s cheek, cupping it gently. “We both know which one of us is the faithful one.” The kiss he gave Ricky was softer than any they’d shared so far tonight. He slid under Ricky’s arm and out the door.

  BUSTED. Busted, busted, busted. Ricky hadn’t had the slightest thought of spending the weekend with Jon until that pezzo di merda Davis had called. It was one of Jon’s bye weeks, but it would have been fun, and it would have kept him well away from big, handsome blonds with domesticity on the mind. Ricky smashed the side of his fist against the wall where Jon had stood while he’d called bullshit.

  Part of the bullshit was Jon’s, though. Was he really so naïve that he didn’t see what Davis was up to? Or was he just so confident in himself that he could withstand whatever temptation Davis put his way? And he’d put some soon, Ricky was sure of it. That mocking question about whose idea the non-exclusivity was, oh yeah, that was an opening the guy would exploit, playing on Jon’s hopes.

  I could exploit it too, knock that smug bastard right out of the park, except… I tell Jon the truth. And I don’t know if it would be the truth.

  Well, hell, why should it be the truth? It wasn’t as if Ricky’d made any promises. Jon had made some
, now broken and littering the tumbled bed. He’d taken off and left Ricky high and dry, unfulfilled.

  Hungry too. All hopes of Cuban food shattered, and his balls hung heavy and aching, unreleased. He’d been coming up on that final explosion, fueled with thoughts of Jon naked on the beach, and then—nothing.

  Scrubbing his teeth got the taste of Jon out of his mouth but not out of his mind. Ricky’d find another way to do that and satisfy every desire Jon had left incomplete. Tight black jeans and an even tighter T-shirt that might as well have had “Come and Get It” written on the front looked good in the mirror, and he’d take that package down to Sharkie’s and take his pick of the men who’d fall all over themselves for the chance to have a weekend on the beach with him.

  Not that he’d take a one of them—he might have to actually talk with them between blowjobs, but they’d stand in line for the opportunity, and they were starting to queue up now, in the low light and pounding rhythms of the music.

  “Hey, Ricky!” Someone he recognized but couldn’t name wrapped an overfamiliar arm around his neck, slowing his progress through the club. “Come dance.”

  “Not yet.” Ricky squeezed the man’s ass and broke free. He wasn’t taking the first one available. Not everyone who offered a drink, a dance, or an inviting smile got such a pleasant reception; a few got the total brush-off, though a handful got an appraising glance, and some a grope. Dustin, dancing with Xander, waved to him, and that did bring Ricky to the dance floor.

  Sticking little Dustin under his arm, Ricky danced with Xander, throwing an arm around his shoulder and taking a nip out of his neck. He’d whip the two of them up and leave them to sort each other out without him, spreading the misery, but he stayed through the next song, not entirely willing to let them go. Nor were they willing to let him go, either; their hands trailed down his body when at last Ricky pulled away, only to careen into the good-looking simian that had been trailing Logan around last week.