Covert

by Kelly Fox

  Yes, yes, yes.

  “What are you doing to me?” he gasps against my lips.

  “I’m kissing you, Senator,” I say, pulling his shirt from his slacks so that I can slide my hands across his warm skin.

  His inhale is sharp, and just as I smile into his lips, he goes limp in my arms.

  Oh, fuck.

  Also: I think this means he’s really excited.

  I pull him up into a bridal carry and by the time I’ve knelt down and laid him out on his couch, he’s stirring. He blinks awake and mutters in frustration.

  I’m guessing he doesn’t appreciate the vulnerability of his condition, so I don’t make a big deal of it.

  “You good?”

  He sits up, slow and steady, and I stay kneeling on the floor, running my hands up and down his arms. He looks me over from my hair to my features to my shoulders—I think he likes those—to my lower body. Reaching for his resolve, he asks, “What’s your play here, Magnus? Don’t think I didn’t notice that I’m up for re-election in three months. Is this from the right? Or did the other Dems get in on the act this time?”

  “Christopher, no. I just…you’re the first Vietnam vet I’ve kissed and, yeah, I’m sold.”

  His lip snarls up and a disgruntled sound comes from his chest.

  I unbutton my shirt, untucking it as I go. “There’s no conspiracy here, I promise. I wanted you to bend me over the minute I walked into your office because…fuck, you’re all man.”

  His eyes seem to go unfocused at the sight of my chest. After a brief moment, he remembers himself. “All old man. Hand me my sticks, won’t you?”

  I stay on my knees and lay back, fully extending my arms to reach where he’d dropped them, displaying my body like a shameless hussy (as my mom used to say). He grunts as I slowly bring them around and hand them to him. He takes them with a snarl but remains seated as he leans forward on them.

  “You’re, what, four to five inches taller than me, thirty years younger, and more than able-bodied…and you want me to do that to you?”

  “God, yes. By the time you were my age you’d already been blown up, started a family, and won a Purple Heart. You intimidate the fuck out of me.”

  He licks his lips. “Intimidation is not the same as attraction.”

  “True, but it gives it that kick, doesn’t it?” I say breathlessly, my mouth still saying things my mind can’t keep up with. “Anyway, I must be way more attracted than intimidated because right now, I’m just pure fucking brain stem when it comes to you.”

  I like us like this; I’m on the floor and he’s on the couch, able to look down on me. He widens his legs and I move quickly into the space between his knees.

  “This is probably a huge fucking mistake.”

  Without further preamble, he pulls me in, his firm arms around me, kissing me as though he’s been holding back. Compressed gasses exploding into a universe of passion and lips and hands…everywhere.

  Christopher

  Kissing this man who is kneeling between my legs is a revelation. This isn’t some back alley hand job or some well-paid escort; this is a man who is unabashedly, undeniably attracted to me.

  I lost my wife to cancer when our son was still young, and while we hadn’t had the most passionate relationship, it was a good relationship. Her death spurred me on, and I ran on a platform of progressive family values, the first non-Republican to win in my county in over 50 years.

  All of which is to say, I’ve sublimated my desires, numbed myself to my physical needs, in order to focus on the next horizon, on the next political stop. And now I am a shaken bottle of champagne, unable to shove these feelings down for a second longer.

  I attack his mouth, pulling him against me hard so that he can feel my reaction. He makes the sweetest sounds, as if given a choice to be anywhere else in this world, he’d choose right here, right now, pressed up against me. Finally, I have to pull away from him.

  “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. I’m going to need a bed unless I wanna spend the next three days on muscle relaxers.”

  He looks up at me from his kneeling position, his blue eyes a dark navy. “Yes, please.”

  “Go to Nau’s Pharmacy and pick up supplies. I’ll leave a few minutes after you do so as not to arouse suspicion.”

  He grins at me and eagerly fixes his clothing in record time.

  I just ordered a man to buy—I don’t know, lube? Condoms?—for a sex act I’ve never participated in. I don’t know if I want to pitch or catch, but I want to be in a room naked with this man and access to lube and condoms.

  A man who is younger than my own goddamned son.

  I rip off a sticky note and jot down my home address and phone number, which he slips from my fingers before walking out of my office with a neutral, pleased look on his face.

  “You understand, of course, that this means I’ll never be able to hire you.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit about that.” His smirk is genuine, which confirms my suspicion that he’s weighing other offers.

  It twists my guts, the thought of someone else getting to spend all day with him. I brush it aside because there are more important things to tend to right now.

  After several very long minutes, I make my way over to Clarksville, the little artistic neighborhood where I’d purchased a second house so that I had a place to stay when the state congress is in session. It’s a smaller cottage on a tree-lined street and I like it almost as much as my sprawling property back in Fredericksburg. I drive to the garage in the back, shocked to see an unfamiliar bicycle and Magnus waiting for me, leaning against my back door.

  “That was fast.” Do I sound breathless? I swear, if I faint again, I’ll be so fucking mad.

  “I’m highly motivated,” he says, a smirk across his full lips.

  I brush past him and open the door, grateful that he can’t see how much my hands are shaking. I step into the kitchen, fidgeting with my sticks, unable to hide my nerves.

  Magnus closes the door and locks it, then comes up from behind and snakes his arms around me, brushing a kiss against my jaw before resting his chin on my shoulder.

  “This is a nice place,” he whispers into my ear, his caramel voice destroying any residual hesitation.

  “I’ve been here for forever. It’s close to things, which makes it easy to get around. Plus, they’ve got a lot of old growth trees in this neighborhood, so it keeps the AC bills down.”

  I don’t even know what inane blather is falling from my lips. What matters is that he’s molded his body to my back and is walking us towards the hallway, the one that leads to the master bedroom. He’s supporting my weight like it’s nothing and I can barely breathe from the thought of whatever’s next. I swear, if I don’t calm down, I’ll pass out again.

  We make it down the hall, bumbling a bit as we do, and his laugh is rich like butter and chocolate. We approach the bed and the act of separating from him feels like trying to remove a suction cup from a mirror. I have to sit down, so that I can put my sticks on the hook without falling over, and I wonder if this is the moment that Magnus realizes that he’s about to bed a crumbling old man.

  He smiles and leans forward, so I crawl backwards and lay back on the pillows. He follows my movement, holding himself over me on his forearms and toes, his body barely brushing mine, skimming our covered bulges against one another.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asks, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone.

  “No, not even a little bit.” I let out a breath, chewing my lips, nothing like the tenured congressman of one of the largest districts in the state. “But I want to get these fucking clothes off.”

  His grin is the devil as he stands back up, slowly removing his shirt before thumbing open his pants and unzipping them. He toes off his shoes, removes his socks, then strips down his pants and underwear in one go. I manage to get my shirt off, but in my distracted state I get stuck when I try to pull my pants down over my shoes, whic
h are still tied to my feet.

  I can't drag my eyes away from him.

  He chuckles and removes my shoes, then pulls my pants and underwear down the rest of the way, and I'm sure that my face is scarlet. Getting this first look at each other we're both a little shy, but his interest in me seems to be overriding the shyness. He pushes me against my pillows and runs his fingers through my chest hair, skirting along the lines of the scar.

  He lays on top of me and we kiss again, gently at first, but quickly we start rubbing against each other, a shared need for more friction. It takes only a few minutes to feel the orgasm start to spin up in my lower belly. Magnus pulls away and I whine in protest.

  Coming up to all fours, removing his delicious pressure from my body, he asks, “So, what kind of limitations are we talking about here? I would love for you to get up in my ass, but…I don’t know how that’s gonna work for you.”

  Maybe it’s my desperation to follow that line of thought, or maybe my body is thrilled that it is going to experience the things it’s begged for years to do, or maybe it’s this young man looking at me like we could devour each other if I’d just get up the nerve, but I now know exactly what I want. “Maggie, sweetie, there is very little I can’t do. Now, let me out of this cage and stay on your hands and knees.” He smiles and skooches over, freeing me from his body.

  “Condoms? Lube?” I ask, sounding more stern than I feel.

  He grins and stretches over the side of the bed to grab his jeans, pulling out a small paper bag and dumping its contents onto the bed.

  “From what I could feel back at the office, I figured you’d need these.”

  I roll my eyes at the gold and black packets, but grab one anyway, opening it and rolling it down quickly, like I know what I’m doing.

  Hint: I don’t know jack shit about what I’m about to do. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even used a condom, and I’m pretty sure the only education I got on how to put it on came from a poster in a bar bathroom. I’m just going to wing it.

  Confronted as I am with his tight pink hole, I try to remember the elicit bit of gay porn I had on one old VHS tape. I don’t think it’s a good idea to just…go after it. I mean, the size differential between his asshole and my dick is pretty fucking significant.

  I put some lube on my fingers and stroke it up and down on my dick, then brush my thumb over his tight little pucker. That one brush sends a moan coming from his side of the bed, and I push my thumb in, getting an even bigger moan to reward my efforts. I stroke in and out while I reach for his balls and dick, swinging between his spread legs, just begging to be played with. It’s beautiful. Shorter than mine, a little on the thick side, and uncut. A pearl of precum grows, then spills onto my covers.

  Stroke, pump. Stroke, pump.

  “Senator, if you keep on doing that, I’m going to ruin your sheets.”

  “I was hoping that you’d ruin them for me anyway,” I say, slapping his pale cheek. I nearly come from the sight of it and brush my second thumb over his hole. I add more lube before slipping it in alongside the first thumb, a hand on each cheek, thrusting while stretching his impossibly tight hole in opposite directions. After a few more minutes his sounds become whimpers and he whispers into the bed, “Please, please. I’m ready. I’m so ready for you.”

  Okay, good…I didn’t know how much was too much. Or too little?

  I look at his lithe, strong body and a deep part of me wants to protect him. I press the flat head of my cock against him and gently push in. Fuck, he’s tight. Almost uncomfortably tight.

  I slip out and rub his lower back. “Oh god, am I hurting you? Do you need more preparation?”

  A soft chortle makes its way to my ears. “No, Christopher. I don’t need any more preparation. You can push in, honey. It won’t hurt me.”

  He wiggles his adorable, tight, perfect ass at me, and I gather myself. I mutter, “Semper Fi”, and push in again, this time more easily but still with that mind-bending pressure. Fuck, this feels amazing. I can’t believe I’m actually having sex with a man, and I’m grateful that I do not say that out loud. I don’t want him to know how little experience I have.

  As he begins to relax, I push farther and farther into him, and the sexy sounds coming from him get louder and louder.

  “Oh, god. Right there. Please don’t stop. Right. There.”

  “Good to know,” I say, pulling back and rocking into that bit, again and again. My hips are getting a little sore and I’m getting a shooting pain down my arm, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I don’t know what I thought this would feel like, I don’t know what I thought it would smell like or sound like, but everything, everything is better and different from what I’d expected.

  There’s a beautiful man below me, his skin so perfect that my hands can’t help themselves from running up and down his back and his arms, over his ass, around his thighs. I can smell his arousal and mine.

  His head falls forward as he begs. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  I grab his lean hips and thrust as hard as I dare while he grabs his gorgeous, hard cock, moving his hand up and down in time with my thrusts. Just as his body begins to tense up, he looks over his shoulder and we lock eyes as I rock into him and he rocks against me. So much passes between us with that one look. His confidence falls away, and he’s looking at me to…I don’t know, reassure him? To make sure that I am as into this as he is.

  He has no idea. He has no idea how much I’m into this. “God, you are so beautiful. Do you know how beautiful you are?”

  Magnus doesn’t break our look, but tears fill his eyes, one reaching the edge and tracking down his face. I’m a modernish 90s man, but I rarely give into the impulse cry, so the tears that slip down my own cheeks are a bit of a surprise. We both smile at each other and laugh at the emotion. Not dismissing it. No, not that. It’s the joy of discovering someone so tuned into you that their emotions are yours and your emotions are theirs.

  His eyes widen and I feel him tighten around me; he faces forward and drops his head to the bed letting out a little, panting groan. I lean forward and wrap my hand around his, following his strokes until he tenses all around me and warm cum dribbles over our joined fingers.

  This is him falling apart. This is what Magnus Larsen looks like in ecstasy. That someone like me could do that for this beautiful young man…I shudder and start to spill into the condom, knowing that I didn’t just get my rocks off with some young thing.

  No, whatever you call this, I call it the truth. I call it home.

  Chapter Six

  Magnus

  I’ve just come harder than I’ve ever come before in my life, and now I brace for the inevitable. I wait for him to realize that his dick is in my ass. I wait for him to be grossed out by my cum on his fingers, for him to mumble about how nice this really was, and how we should do this again, with a subtle hint of get the fuck out.

  But that’s not what’s happening here. Christopher throws the soiled cover off the bed and grabs one of his crutches before making his way over to a chair in the corner of his room to grab an afghan for us. Throwing that over his shoulder, he looks at his fingers, curious, and licks my cum from them. He’s not trying to look cool or seductive; his gentle, exploratory licks are accompanied by an expression on his face that reads…new.

  “You know, you’re not supposed to do that without first knowing someone’s status.”

  His eyes go wide, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth. “Oh my God, I hadn’t even considered that. Are you…?”

  “No, I’m not. But a lot of men my age are, and they’re dying out there in droves, so show a little goddamn respect.”

  Again, I find myself saying things around this man that I have no idea where they come from. He walks over to his bathroom and washes his hands, then comes out, wiping his hands on the towel, curiously moving his fingers as though they are still dripping with phantom cum.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry.�
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  We each acknowledge the other shyly, which is strange considering I had him in my ass not minutes ago. That’s when something…impossible occurs to me.

  “Was this your first time with a man?”

  He looks down at his hand again and shakes his head. “First time for anal, but I’ve had a couple of experiences.”

  I don’t know him well, but I can’t imagine that Christopher Morris is given to hyperbole. If he says a couple of times, I’m certain that he means exactly two times. I can’t imagine how much he’s held back.

  Actually, that’s not true. I could feel how powerful it was to let himself go.

  “Wow.”

  I walk across the room to him as if pulled on a string. We embrace and kiss, fervently, passionately, and yet with the sweetest ache. His kisses are long and slow and deep and he’s in no rush. I am in no rush. After some indeterminate time, we separate and look at each other in awe.

  He turns back to the bed and his steps are tentative, but his grip is strong, and he’s directing me to follow him. Again, no indication that I should be putting on clothes or saying my goodbyes. Maybe he’s so new that he doesn’t know that this is where we’re supposed to part ways. Where he’s supposed to indicate that our time is done.

  And all I can feel is relief.

  I don’t want whatever this is to be done and his eyes show the same sentiment. We lay on the bed, kissing and caressing one another for no other reason than it feels so damn good. He arranges the sheets and the afghan then wraps his arm around me, pulling us together so close that every part of me is connected to every part of him.

  He touches his forehead to mine. “I didn’t know that it could be like this. That it could be more than just sex, that I could feel the way they show it in the movies with a man and a woman. The intensity, the desire. I’ve never let myself feel that before.”