Cabin Fever

by Roe Horvat

  “Yes. I should recover fast. Mainly because I need to fuck you again soon.” He sounded completely serious.

  “That too.” I smiled.

  “Now sleep. It’s four in the morning.”

  I closed my eyes again. “You too.”

  He hummed. “I like it when you’re asleep next to me and I can see you, feel you… It’s almost like I’m keeping you safe again.”

  “You are keeping me safe. And you’re making me happy. Exceptionally happy.”

  “I love you, Michael.” He pressed a butterfly kiss just under my ear.

  During the days that followed, Vincent read or worked on his iPad. I picked up my painting again, and a suspicious amount of deep green appeared on the canvas. Letting myself go without plans or expectations, I kept returning to the forest with Vincent, to the day he’d fucked me raw by the lake. So that was what I ended up putting on canvas, passion and pain and love in the middle of the forest… Never satisfied, I kept redoing it, adding details, then covering them up again. And I started a portrait of Vincent reading in my garden. Some days I spent ten hours working on it. It had been a long time since painting had brought me so much joy. I savored the feeling.

  Fairly quickly, my staff began treating Vincent as my boyfriend without me telling them anything. When my housekeeper, Ana, accosted him by the front door, asking which groceries he preferred for breakfast, so she could add it to the regular order, he looked a little bewildered.

  Louise and Vincent became friends, which didn’t surprise me in the least. They had never met before Louise began working for me, but their lives were connected. They often joked about their time with the Bureau. Apparently, Louise had spent seven years there as well, and they knew the same people.

  Through a video call, I met Vincent’s younger brother, Clive, and his wife and daughter, who lived in Wisconsin. A few jokes about my age occurred during the call, but it sounded like a good-natured ribbing between siblings. Clive was a nurse, as was his wife, and they seemed like nice people. Wholesome. Vincent introduced me to them as his partner, not his boyfriend. His partner. He looked so proud when he told them about the exhibition I was having in New York in a couple of months. By the end of the video chat, my cheeks hurt from my nervous, giddy grinning.

  Vincent was recovering, and every new thing we could do together felt like a gift. We took long walks, prepared dinner together every night, he taught me his family’s spaghetti recipe, and I showed him how I made sushi. He began physical therapy and was now allowed to take the sling off for a few hours a day.

  The sex had been… different. At first, we couldn’t do much at all because he was in pain, even though he tried to hide it. However, during the first couple of weeks, we got inventive, and it felt amazing. Last night, he just lay on the bed and watched me fuck myself with a dildo. He ordered me to come all over his hard cock, lick him clean, and then suck him. It had been deliciously filthy. While I missed the rough sex, the connection between us grew stronger. We talked more, kissed more, cuddled more.

  And we watched movies together.

  “There they are,” Vincent muttered at the screen. “The uptight feds who take over from the American hero cop and ruin the perfectly planned action with their indolent bureaucracy. Have you noticed that it’s always the same type of actor who plays the obnoxious federal agent? Tall, skinny and pale, facial expressions of a wax figurine.”

  “I’m going to hate watching action movies with you.”

  “Maybe.” He grinned down at me. “It’s not as bad as when the army appears, though. I dare you to put on Transformers. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “You’re going to ruin that one for me too, won’t you?”

  “Mhmm. Iron Man too.”

  “I love Iron Man!”

  “The part in Afghanistan is a huge pile of goat shit.” He kept his eyes on the screen, but I didn’t miss his mischievous smirk from my position, my head on a pillow on his lap. He was just trying to rile me up.

  “You’re not going to spoil the movies I love with facts. No way.”

  “This year, one with Vin Diesel will come out. A super marine who gets killed and revived with super technology superpowers. We should definitely see it together. I can’t wait for that one.” The irony dripped from his voice like syrup.

  “Sure. Bad action movies with your dry, data-based commentary. Sign me up. But I’m not watching Iron Man with you.”

  His right hand carded through my hair. “I actually like Iron Man too,” he admitted softly. He shifted underneath me, and I lifted my head, propping myself up on my elbows.

  “Are you comfortable? Not hurting?”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable. I’m great.” He pushed gently on my shoulder to make me lie back down. “Never been better, actually. I just need you to hand me the popcorn.”

  I stretched for the bowl on the coffee table and held it on my chest so Vincent could easily reach it with his good hand.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “Now it’s perfect.”

  I pinned my eyes back on the mindless flick and smiled. Watching movies with Vincent felt so… domestic. Simple.

  I lost track of the characters’ actions and motives, clueless as to why the good guy was now suddenly shooting for the baddies. Instead, I focused on the warmth exuding from Vincent’s body as I replayed the happy memories from the past few weeks in my head. Vincent’s fingers smelled of popcorn when they traced my cheek and jaw.

  Suddenly, his hand squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow. I’ve never taken you out on a date.”

  “Well, first, we were hiding, and then you were shot, so…”

  “I want to go out with you.”

  “Okay, sure. I’d love to.”

  He picked up my hand, salty and greasy from the popcorn, and kissed the palm.

  23

  My boy, my love, my everything

  Vincent

  “Fuck, I missed your hole, boy.”

  Michael only groaned, rocking on his hands and knees, fucking himself on my cock. I held his hip to still him. I wanted to just feel him for a moment.

  “Stay still, Mikey.”

  With our bodies finally joined again, my love for him became an inferno of need. I let it burn, breathing through it, savoring it.

  “I love your mouth.” My voice sounded different to my own ears, deeper and rougher. “I love your lips, swollen from my kisses. I could stare at them forever. Your mouth is beautiful when you sigh, when you laugh, even when you pout. When you say my name in your sleep. You do that, did you know? Calling me in your sleep. And your lips seem to be begging for me to kiss you. Gorgeous.”

  Michael shuddered, and it rippled into me. My cock twitched in his hole, the slick warmth surrounding me, subtly quivering. Fuck.

  “But this, your pucker opening for me, letting me inside your tight hole, your body sucking my cock in like you need me to survive… so fucking beautiful.”

  “Daddy…” He moaned. “Love you inside me.”

  How the hell had I lived before I met him? Had I even known what pleasure was? How sex was supposed to feel? I didn’t know because I seemed to have forgotten everything before Michael. There were no lovers, no desires, no memories of lust. Everything before him was a gray blur of bodies and faces I’d barely recognize.

  Michael was kneeling on the padded bench by the bed, and I stood behind him, my right hand on his ass cheek. My left arm was still in a sling, but I had physical therapy five times a week, and chances were, I’d be able to regain most of my earlier strength. I would probably never carry Michael in my arms again, but I could always hold him. One day soon, he’d be sleeping in my embrace, safe and happy.

  And finally, finally, I could fuck him.

  I gave him a few slow thrusts to hear him sigh with the feeling. Then I pulled out, my cockhead kissing his open hole, and pushed in again to the hilt, letting my whole length tear through him. Michael’s groan reverberated throug
h his body into me.

  “Please, do that again. Please, Daddy!”

  I pulled out and pushed back into him, a slow, thorough fuck, marveling at the way his slick flesh molded around my cock. I rocked back and forth, savoring the friction, going faster.

  The sounds he made were delirious, the grunts and groans and growls. I heard it in his voice—the moment his mind emptied. Then he came, barely a couple of minutes after we started, his untouched dick spurting onto the sheet underneath him. Weeks’ worth of pent-up need broke free, and he cried out, his hole pulsing around me. I sped up, fucking him hard and deep. He mewled and trembled, and his pucker kept clenching.

  He dropped onto his elbows and curved his back, exposing himself as much as he could in this position.

  “Don’t stop,” he begged. “Keep fucking me.”

  Sweat trickled down my chest, but the burn in my muscles felt invigorating. After being useless and mostly bedbound for weeks, I was able to give Michael pleasure again. I could take care of him, make love to him, or spank him and fuck his brains out.

  Needing a break, I pulled out, knelt behind him, and licked his soft hole, ignoring the lube. I’d wrangle the second orgasm out of him if needed, but I wasn’t coming until he was spasming on my cock again.

  “Thank you, Daddy… thank you…” he mumbled. His spine bowed like a cat’s as he savored the sensations I was giving him. I rimmed him until he grew hard again. Then I suckled his balls and swiped my tongue over the underside of his hard length, my fingers in his hole massaging his gland.

  When I stood and shoved my cock back into him, I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. I backed out after only a few thrusts and slapped his ass, watching the red bloom on his skin.

  “More,” he pleaded.

  I impaled him again, gave him a few rough fucks, and then left him empty. When he whined from the loss, I spanked him—ten hard blows until my hand ached. Michael yelled, but held his position. His joyous cry when I pushed back inside his hole was life itself.

  “I love you.” He gasped the words, breathless. “Hurt me. Hurt me deep inside.”

  I fucked him thoroughly, as hard as I could. When my thighs began to protest, I welcomed the burn in my muscles.

  “Come on, boy. Let me feel you.”

  His elbow jerked as he stroked himself fast.

  I watched the base of my cock kiss his rim over and over until my vision blurred.

  “C’mon!” I shouted, my thrusts ruthless, my cockhead deep in his guts, hurting him just like he begged me to.

  He wailed, his body convulsing with another orgasm, and I could let go. Fucking bliss.

  Michael lay on the bed next to me, sprawled on his front, his head on a pillow he’d put over my legs, ass in the air, his reddened ass cheeks and his cum-drenched hole right in my line of sight. He was putting on a show for me, and I loved it. Torso twisted so he could reach back, he dipped the tip of his pointer finger into his hole and played with himself, pushing the cum back in, smearing it around his rim… The smile on his face looked like sin.

  “Fuck, I love this.” His eyelashes fluttered, mouth parted, when he pushed the finger in deeper. “Love your cum inside me.”

  He looked so gorgeous, so ridiculously perfect, like the erotic fantasy porn had been trying to mimic for years, but kept falling short.

  “Got enough for now, my little slut?” I chuckled at his shamelessness.

  “Daddy, after the way you wrecked my hole tonight, I need at least five days to put myself back together.” He twisted the finger inside his ass and hummed. “You hurt me so good.”

  “What if I want to fuck you again tomorrow, hm?” I waggled my eyebrows.

  His tongue darted out, and he licked his lips playfully. “Then you have to wait.”

  “Your mouth sounds like it needs a good reaming.”

  He laughed. He flipped around and, straddling my hips, leaned over me.

  “You can make me shut up anytime.”

  I grabbed his hair and pulled his face to me.

  “Like this?”

  I kissed him for a while, just drifting on the cloud of pure happiness. Then I tugged on his hair to break the kiss and took in his features, his subtle smile, his forehead smooth with contentment…

  “I love you, Vincent.” He stared into my eyes, honest and open.

  He refused to clean up and dozed off, hugging my torso, naked, his hole full of my cum. I loved the way he clung to me, needy and trusting. While he slept, I traced the shapes tattooed on his forearm and thought of the future we could have together. I wasn’t afraid anymore. Even if one day he left me, I’d treasure these memories forever. The more time we spent together, though, the more convinced I became that we fit perfectly. However unlikely, our love was real, and it grew stronger with each passing hour.

  For the past few days, Michael spent a lot of time hiding away somewhere on the first floor, painting. I asked him to show me, but he refused, saying it wasn’t ready. I swallowed my curiosity and waited. One day, he’d show me.

  A couple of weeks back, I’d begun working as a personal security consultant. The job consisted of mostly research from home and online calls with a few meetings in the city. It was tame and sedentary, but I thought I’d learn to like it. I was quickly getting used to the peaceful way of living, spoiled already by Michael’s attention and constant closeness.

  However, I was now completely self-sufficient again. We’d never explicitly talked about continuing living together after I recovered. My instinct told me that broaching the subject with Michael could be a potentially dangerous idea. He acted as if me living with him indefinitely was settled, a matter of course.

  And I wanted it. I wanted a future with him, real and solid.

  One evening after dinner, about a month after I’d arrived at his house from the hospital, we were having beers on the back patio. Michael sat on my lap on the lounge chair and toyed with the collar of my shirt.

  “I think we should set up an office for you on the ground floor.” He tried hard to sound casual, but failed. “You know, the second guestroom, next to where Uncle Bart stayed last week. You shouldn’t have to work from the living room. I know you have an office in your apartment in town, but we can move the furniture here.”

  The subtle insecurity in his voice prompted me to speak.

  “Mikey, I’d ask you to live with me, but my apartment is tiny compared to what you’re used to. The question is, do you want me to stay here?”

  He lifted his gaze, his eyes pleading. “I can come live with you. I don’t care where we are. Just… not apart.”

  Oh, my sweetest boy.

  “No, never apart.” He sighed with relief against my chest. “I love you, Mikey.”

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  I smiled. “That’s good. Because I need you to do something for me.”

  He sat up and raised one eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “I need a ride to Bradford next week.”

  “Okay. That’s random.”

  “To pick up Julie.”

  “Who’s Julie?”

  “A border collie.”

  “A border collie,” Michael repeated, face blank.

  “A puppy. I chose her before I took the job with you and your uncle. I need to pick her up.”

  “We’re getting a puppy?” His voice was breathy, ending with a slight squeak on the word puppy.

  “I have to. It’s been arranged months ago.” I studied his face for clues of a freak-out.

  Michael’s grin was wide and a little crazed. “We’re getting a puppy.”

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  About the Author

  Queer fiction author Roe Horvat was born in the post-communist wasteland of former Czechoslovakia. Equipped with a dark sense of sarcasm, Roe traveled Europe and finally settled in Sweden. He came out as transgender
in 2017 and has been fabulous since. He loves Jane Austen, Douglas Adams, bad action movies, stand-up comedy, pale ale, and daiquiri. When not hiding in the studio doing graphics, he can be found trolling cafés in Gothenburg, writing, and people-watching.

  Facebook group: Roemantics & Antics

  Website: roehorvat.com

  Also by Roe Horvat

  Gay fiction and romance

  The Layover

  Dirty Mind

  A Love Song for the Sad Man in the White Coat

  Vanilla Clouds

  Erotic romance/kink

  Cabin Fever

  Those Other Books (erotic romance)

  The Other Book

  Adam Only

  One in Between

  Third One

  Beautiful Beast

  Short stories

  Swiss Experiment (The Layover)

  Something More (Those Other Books)

  Vacation (Those Other Books)