by Damon Suede
“What?” Silas pushed his arms around Trip, the hot skin of their abdomens pressed together, and rubbed himself against the crisp trail that led into Trip’s trousers. Silas lapped at Trip’s tongue and only pulled back to breathe heavily. His eyes stayed half-lidded and happy. He whispered. “Y’okay there?”
“Nehhh.” Trip shook his head side to side slowly, but the slippery words wouldn’t congeal in his mind. The winter air should have chilled him, but it didn’t. His eyes should have itched from the wool coat or the glitter, but nothing. Everything smelled like vanilla bourbon, like Silas, and the world moved around them in trickle-time. He choked. “Oh-muh….” His shaft jerked out of control, a squeeze or two from squirting.
Apparently, he’d never kissed anyone. Or else he’d only practiced with amateurs.
Silas hunched and pushed against his erection, opened his mouth against the column of Trip’s throat and gently bit into the muscle. He didn’t slobber or gnaw, just nursed at the flesh with an unhurried hunger. He worked one paw down the seat of Trip’s jeans, tracing his crack and cupping the cheek.
Hypnotized by the buzz in his veins, Trip rolled his head to expose his throat to the demanding mouth, letting Silas’s soft stubble tickle and scrape him, and he thought he knew:
Silas wants to fuck me.
Trip’s handfuls of thick navy lapels held him steady even though his knees had given way. He imagined the kind of pleasure he’d feel, smothered under all this tender strength. The thought unnerved him, but some dark corner of his desire wanted to submit entirely. The weakness in his legs made kneeling and serving seem completely natural. Was that a rotten idea or a perfect one?
Is there a difference?
Trip usually felt too claustrophobic on the bottom of butt sex, squashed under oafs who called him things like “boy” and “bitch.” In general he’d kept his ass off-limits. Even with his big honker, once a date held a hundred and fifty pounds in their arms, the boners tended to head in one direction… and Trip’d ended up eating a pillow. Then he’d spend the rest of the week feeling like an alligator had crawled out of his butthole. Skip-a-doodle.
Silas panted through his spit-slick mouth as his rib cage expanded and contracted. A spatter of sweat shone on his chest, smearing the glitter into arcs. He still held himself back, bracing his weight against the doorframe as if afraid he’d flatten Trip.
“I won’t—” Trip kissed the side of his head. “—break.”
“I don’t wanna—”
“But I’ll bend.” Trip spread his thighs and dropped so that their faces were the same level, giving Silas nowhere else to go. “C’mon, Mr. Goolsby.”
“—smush you.”
“You won’t. I know you won’t.” Trip let himself feel passive, overpowered even under all that manly bulk, but for the first time in his life, he almost didn’t mind.
Only one way to find out.
Finally Silas dropped forward to press full-length and crush the breath right out of him in one happy sobbing exhale. “Unghh-ah.”
Trip squirmed against the delicious weight, loving all that heat wrapped around him against the cold door. He could take whatever Silas dished out. And actually… the big frame on top of him made him stronger somehow, not weaker. He rocked his pelvis in open invitation.
Change of plans. He’d—what had his friends said?—gamble a little. They’d told him one awful thing a day, right?
“We could go inside.” Trip scanned the block. How many passers-by had seen them already? Gack. He had no clue, but they were hidden back here. Besides, if they moved, the spell might be broken. Why was he so afraid?
“Nuh.” Silas wasn’t going anywhere, apparently. The contrast between their bodies seemed to fascinate him. He kneaded Trip’s arms and shoulders, driving shivery bolts of pleasure through Trip, so sharp they raised gooseflesh across his limbs. He hadn’t touched Trip’s outsized dick directly yet… which was strange.
Bottoming always left Trip anxious, but Silas’s sweet hunger and fierce attention eased him. He’d make the fucking good, even if Trip preferred other things. He preferred Silas, and that was the most important thing. What should have been a stupid mistake suddenly seemed like a wise move. He was fed up with letting his habits bury him alive. Trip let his knees fall wider, making room for Silas to press closer.
Fuck scruples. “Or stay right here.”
Instead, Silas swayed back. Whuh?
“Something wrong?”
Silas’s forehead clouded. “Whaddayamean?” His jacket hung wide, exposing the little eddy of fuzz around his navel. The loincloth had skidded lower to reveal the top of his pubes. “Slow down….” A sneaky smile.
Trip chewed his lip. “Every time I think you’re going one way, you go the other.”
Silas’s eyes twinkled. “And that’s bad?”
“No! No. I just don’t know what you like and I’m trying to read you….”
Silas tilted his head to one side and shook it. “You don’t need to read me, mister. I’m right here. In the flesh. Yeah?” He fell forward again. Trip flinched and held up his hands defensively, but Silas caught himself on his hands at the last minute. “Your heart’s knocking something fierce.” He even spoke slowly. “You in a hurry?”
Trip didn’t fully trust himself. “Well, yeah, but I guess not.”
“’S’okay.” Silas arched. “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Spector.”
Trip smiled wide. He felt stupid with testosterone and blue balls. “Then we’d better stop.” He worked to catch his breath. “Or I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Naw. I like taking you in easy doses. You’re pretty strong medicine for a weak man.” There was so much of Silas: a ripe wall of bourbon-scented muscle, springy calico hair, sly smiling eyes that wouldn’t look away.
“Are you sure?”
“No sir.” Silas kissed him again. “I’m not good at being sure of anything.”
Trip surrendered to the tickling, itching insanity he associated with hay fever and spring. The fizzy energy gathered in his hands until he growled, spun Silas sideways against the wall, and pressed chest-to-thigh against him. He couldn’t curb the sweet tumble of his heart in there somewhere.
They grappled against the door. Mouths and legs tangled with aching slowness. Who was in control here?
“Mmrhh.” Instead of resisting, Silas sighed and sagged against the cold metal. He clutched at Trip’s T-shirt and yanked him closer.
Again he worried that if they moved from this dark nook, the moment would vanish. Abracadabra. Trip ran a possessive hand over the swell of Silas’s chest and shoulder to pin him down playfully, firmly. He expected Silas to wrestle with him for control, but everything against him was hungry permission. Had he misread the situation? He pushed farther, braced his forearm on Silas’s sternum, not high enough to choke, but hard enough to dominate.
Silas struggled but kept himself restrained by Trip’s wiry arm. Against all odds, Silas didn’t push back. His arms hung impotent and his loincloth tented comically over a trapped erection with a wide knob. No words, but the silky glint of his eyes held Trip’s, asked something painful, shameful. Silas dropped his gaze and couldn’t seem to raise it again.
Trip reached around Silas with both hands and took two handfuls of that jutting ass, grinding their rods together painfully. Emboldened, he knocked Silas’s legs wider with his knees and held him firmly against the bricks. Breathing hard through clenched teeth, he ran his hands over the exaggerated chest, his manners and patience lost as he went. He pinched Silas’s nipples harder than Keith could have, claiming them.
When Trip gripped a square pec roughly, Silas shivered and gave a little rustling laugh of approval. For all the manly bulk, a boyish vulnerability had stolen over him.
Another change of plans?
“Big stud.” Trip sucked on his own lip and shook his head with wonder. “Huh?”
Silas didn’t answer. His downcast eyes stared, unguarded, at Trip’s insiste
nt erection, angled toward the waistband like an axe handle jammed into his pants. The narrowness of Trip’s torso and hips made it even more obscene.
Silas’s tongue snaked out to wet his upper lip, and his fingers twitched. He appeared hypnotized. His stillness and Bruce Wayne chin left Trip feeling like the Boy Wonder, only he didn’t wonder at all.
He’s a bottom.
Trip fumbled for restraint and gave it up for lost. Nothing mattered. The sight of all that gilded muscle needing to surrender just withered his boyhood fantasies of brute control like shrink-wrap in a furnace. The hidden, wicked part of Trip that had tied up his action figures as a boy whited out with satisfaction.
No plans. Fuck plans.
The discovery felt like stealing something from the straight and narrow, breaking some Boy Scout code, even though no one was watching and he knew better. For a moment, he was at summer camp out on the lake with one of his secret jock-y crushes, the wholesome boneheads he jerked off to every night under the covers who had that same lazy charm Cliff swung around so casually.
Stop! Trip refused to think about that smug bastard. He refused to dwell on the bullshit betrayal and the dead book. He had all the permission he needed. He was here with Silas. In the flesh.
The Neanderthal inside him, the primal force Trip shared with every man, grunted in the amoral satisfaction at conquering another so completely.
Wolverine on all fours. Superman with his legs in the air. Batman choking on his pole.
“I wanna—” Trip swallowed, because his mouth was so wet. “—do things to you, Mr. Goolsby.” He couldn’t think any further than this slow, sliding moment.
“Yeah?” Silas smiled slightly as if expecting a punch line. Trip pressed forward again, to give them both a feel of the hot iron bar against his belly, the crest swollen fat as a plum. “If you’ll let me.”
Silas moaned and peered at him, so close he seemed blurry.
What now? What next?
Wild and witless, Trip shifted his hips side to side, hidden in the dark vestibule. “I wanna open you up. Put my tongue, my fingers, my cock in you.” He skimmed the back of his shaking hand over the stubble on Silas’s face. “If I can.”
Silas swallowed. He didn’t blink.
Trip leaned close to his ear and took a deep breath of sweet glue and sweat. “You make me crazy.” He couldn’t seem to stop telling the truth. “Maybe I can return the favor.”
Silas didn’t respond at first. He admired Trip’s face greedily, and a crooked grin carved his dimple deep again. Finally he relaxed a little and crooned in that soft rasp, “Hell yeah.”
I can’t stop. I don’t want to. Trip’s own total abandon terrified and thrilled him.
He licked his hand and reached under Silas’s balls. Without taking his eyes off Silas or asking out loud for consent, he felt for the edge of the loincloth, then the stretchy Speedo beneath, pushed roughly against the musky, warm skin with his wet fingertips.
At the top of Silas’s throat, the pulse jerked.
Trip petted the broad ridge behind his balls and farther beneath until he found the tiny dry opening. The skin scorched his spit-slick fingers. He pressed upward with the pad rather than the tip so he wouldn’t penetrate right away.
Silas gulped, misunderstanding.
“Not inside. I’m just there. You feel me there?” Trip’s cockhead had surged above his belt loops, but somehow, with his back to the street and his hand against Silas, he didn’t care. He tapped the hole lightly, then waited for Silas to drop his shoulders.
Silas whistled slowly—phewwww. “’Kay.”
Trip kissed him, licking the upper lip. “Beautiful.” He brought the hand back up to their faces and put his knuckles in Silas’s mouth. Silas sucked his index and middle fingers, licking between them until his saliva ran to Trip’s palm.
Good.
“Thank you.” Improvising, Trip snaked his hand back under the Speedo, and this time the wetness let him slide right back. This time the tips pushed inside a little.
Silas blinked then and shuddered.
“Hurt?”
He shook his head and gasped. “Go.” His wet mouth hung open, and he breathed hard.
Trip whispered and pushed closer. “That where you need scratching?”
Silas nodded and blinked again.
“Or is it deeper?” Trip pushed inside just past the first knuckles, panicked by his lust and recklessness.
Silas yelped and groaned roughly. “Augh. Ugh.” His mouth fell open, and his head smacked against the metal door with a doonk. He bent his legs and bore down, sucked air in sharply through his teeth as he used Trip to get at what he needed.
“Yeah?” Trip pushed farther. “Almost there. I don’t wanna miss the spot.” He pushed to the second knuckle and bent his wrist for leverage.
Over his shoulder, Trip heard some vehicle pass by in the street without pausing, but now the risk excited him, the madness of claiming his horny barbarian on a stoop, taking Silas apart with his bare hands to get at the sticky gold inside.
“Go. Hngh.” Silas grunted and pushed as far down as he could. “Go on. Gahhd.”
Trip lurched forward and covered that open mouth with his own, tasting butter from the movie popcorn. He drove his tongue back and flexed his digits inside Silas. He only moved them a few millimeters, up and back, to pet the inside carefully.
“Oh, that.” Silas hissed and pushed back. He turned his face to the opposite angle and kissed in kind, reached behind Trip’s head to pull their lips together. He bent his knees more and whined at the back of this throat.
Trip crouched and twisted his arm a bit to keep the fingers where they needed to be. Again he flexed them and wrung a hoarse bark out of Silas. He flexed his wrist and pressed directly into Silas’s fundament while he massaged the little nut from the inside, fucking his barbarian with two hooked digits.
“Whoa-ohh.” Silas dropped his head to the side to gasp for breath and cry out. He braced his legs and pushed down harder to ride the hand. “Ohh! Wait! Naw!” His eyes went white and wide in shock. “Making me—”
Trip reclaimed his lower lip, sucked at it, tasting his tongue. “Nnnph.”
“Trip? It’s too—” Silas battled for breath like a gladiator strung for whipping. His thighs quaked and his fists lost hold of the edges of Trip’s coat and twitched in the air, clawing at Trip’s T-shirt to expose the skin underneath. “You.”
Trip twisted the hand and drove straight upward into the spot, skewering Silas implacably and staring directly into his eyes. Silas’s quads quivered and his joint stabbed the air between them. Trip pressed as close as he could, as close as he dared. He could feel Silas’s heart galloping.
Silas howled low against his chest. The wet rumble echoed in the dim entryway. His hands shook and his eyes shut and he rose all the way up on his barbarian-booted tiptoes and braced his arms on each of the vestibule walls. “Gah! Eesh…. No-no—”
And for one perfect defenseless instant, he owned Silas and Silas owned him and they both knew-knew-knew it for the first fierce time like light flashing in a dark cave to render them weak and invincible.
Thwit-thitit-thwit. Silas spasmed around his fingers, and pleasure boiled out of him onto them both.
Molten wetness lashed Trip’s arm and soaked into his T-shirt until the stickiness striped his belly. Semen dripped to the threshold around their feet like hot vanilla butter.
“No. No.” Silas shuddered against the door, choking and moaning in animal satisfaction. “Ho…. Man.” He sagged and smiled. “Oh, Trip.” He couldn’t seem to lift his head. “You made… me.”
Gingerly, mindful of the abraded skin, Trip eased his fingers free and stole another smooth kiss. “Don’t know what that was.”
“Made me.” Settling gradually, Silas regarded him with total boneless surrender. He opened his mouth and shut it. “No idea.” He breathed hard and smooth, as if he’d run a race.
“Good?”
Silas ch
uckled silently and got his legs under him. He scooped the load from his leg and wiped it on his solid, fuzzy chest. He tasted the slick fingers. “That wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Tonight.”
Trip stopped fidgeting. “Meaning you didn’t want to.” He fought the awkward urge to flee or faint.
“Trip…. No.” Silas took a deep breath and released it. “Meaning, it’s all I’ve thought about since the zombie run. I been trying to act a gentleman and not jump your bones.”
“I jumped you.” Trip’d been caught completely off guard. The hell was I thinking? Silas left him stunned and stupid.
Silas clasped his forearms. “Sure did. Juh.” He slid down the door until he knelt on the little stone stoop. He leaned forward and lapped the streaks of cum off Trip’s arm with his flat tongue. Then he did the same with Trip’s shirt and the skin of his belly, sucking it nearly dry and clean.
“Whoa!” As he watched Silas’s patient sleepy submission, Trip worried he might bust without anything touching his cock. He held his jittery hands open, his eyes wide, almost terrified by the sensation.
When Silas stood and craned up to kiss him, Trip tasted briny nectar, their mouths loose and soft together. Silas had short-circuited him again.
“Can’t… think.” Silas fumbled at Trip’s basket. “You taste so good.”
“Oh-kay.” Trip blushed, defenseless. He pulled back to reclaim control. Their surroundings swam back into view along with his anxiety. His boner hurt now, and it wouldn’t go down. His balls had drawn so high up, he was racking himself. “It’s okay.”
“You kidding? Now you got me crazy for it. You. All my grown-up control shot to shit.” Silas ran a broad palm over the ridge of flesh behind Trip’s zipper. “Please. Please let me.” He licked Trip’s jaw.
Trip hissed in pain. “Blue balls.”
“Oh!” Silas stilled and straightened. “Oh man, that’s my fault. Please lemme. I had to jerk off twice before I met you so I didn’t—”
“Molest me in the street?” Trip quirked his mouth. “Same! Three times since this morning, and a lotta good it did me.”
Silas licked his plump lip. “I can handle that beast for ya.”
