Hooked by the Bell

by Tanya Chris

  “Fuck, you shaved. You shaved everywhere.” It was all smooth—Tinkerbell’s calves and thighs, his balls, the space behind his balls, his cock. All of it. “I so admire your commitment here.”

  “Guh.” Tinkerbell pushed him down deeper on his cock.

  “Right,” Matt said, just as unintelligibly. “Keep sucking.” He sucked harder, running his hands appreciatively over all that flesh shaved for his enjoyment. A cock, but with soft skin. It was a fucking dream. His own cock was going crazy, and if he didn’t get his boots off he might die before he could get himself off. And he really wanted to fuck. Thank God for pirate pockets.

  He pushed Tinkerbell backwards, steering vaguely for that bed he’d seen before it went full-on dark. Tinkerbell tripped—fortunately onto the bed—and Matt jumped on top of him, spitting fake hair out of his mouth. His hair, Tinkerbell’s hair. He wasn’t sure who-all’s wig he’d been eating, but he had a mouthful of it.

  “Fuck?” he asked, pressing the condom and lube packets into Tinkerbell’s hands so he’d understand Matt had come prepared.

  He was answered by the bell. Color him impressed. If he’d been getting a blowjob as good as the one he’d been giving, he’d have lost the bell a long time ago, but it came in handy in the dark when a nod wouldn’t do and a word would spoil the mood.

  If only he could see the shimmering dress he hiked up around Tinkerbell’s waist, but he remembered every soft line of it, could imagine how Tinkerbell’s hard, naked cock thrust out beneath the bunching of net and glitter, how the hair on Tinkerbell’s chest ruffled with his panting breaths in a masculine contrast to the baby-smooth skin below.

  “Argh,” he said. Argh, right. That was how pirates talked. He almost smacked himself on the forehead but remembered just in time that his fingers were covered in lube. “Going to fuck me matey right up the arse. Ho ho ho and a bottle of lube.” There was an answering snicker that turned into more of a grumble when Matt thrust a couple of lubed fingers up Tinkerbell’s ass as announced.

  He was hot in there. Hot and tight and grabbing onto his fingers like he needed more already. Matt found his prostate and gave it a little love, getting him nice and squirmy and breathless until a shrill ring said Tinkerbell was tired of waiting. He withdrew his fingers and got his dick suited up, wondering as he did what real pirates used for lube and protection but not enough to stop and Google it.

  “Ahoy there, my pretty,” he said as he lined up his cock with Tinkerbell’s hole purely by feel. “Permission to come aboard?” When the bell sounded, he advanced, pressing his advantage home, imagining himself a swordsmen for real as he speared his opponent.

  “Mm?” he asked.

  “Mmph,” Tinkerbell answered with a thump on his back that he took to mean get on with it. He pulled back and came in again, relishing the slide. Even without the costume, this Tinkerbell was a hot fuck, meeting his thrusts perfectly. Definitely a power bottom. God damn, Matt was being fucked within an inch of his life. His opponent had him on the boards now. All he could do was hang on and flail.

  “Tink,” he cried, ramming in deep as Tinkerbell bucked up to meet him. “Shiver me timbers already.”

  Tinkerbell uttered a particularly heartfelt moan and went rigid beneath him. Matt groaned with a mixture of relief and pleasure and emptied himself into the body convulsing around him. That’d been maybe the best fuck of his life. He considered himself lucky to have survived it.

  “Tink, baby, you done me in.” He collapsed on top of his sparring partner, and Tinkerbell closed strong arms around him. Lips no longer shielded by silk pressed lightly against his cheek and Matt turned his head to return the kiss. They made out languidly as his dick softened inside Tinkerbell until he knew he needed to do something about it.

  “Lemme grab the lights.” His trousers were down around his ankles. His coat was still on, but his wig had gone missing, and his mustache was hanging on by a thread. He got his pants up so he wouldn’t kill himself and stumbled to the door.

  He flipped on the light and gave a shriek at what it revealed. There, lying on his stomach, his wig askew, his dress flipped up over his waist, and his ugly mug snuggled into a pillow in apparent satisfied bliss, was Harper Le Croix.

  Harper

  “Oh, please,” Harper said in response to Captain Hook’s decidedly unpirate-like shriek. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know I was a dude. You had my cock in your mouth.”

  “I don’t care that you’re a dude,” Captain Hook said, in a voice different from the one he’d been using a minute ago, a voice Harper found uncomfortably familiar. He rolled over and took a hard look at the face behind the drooping mustache and the eyepatch dangling from one pointy ear. Matt fucking Felding, tearing at the stubs of his own short hair.

  “What the fuck?” Harper arranged the petals of his dress ineffectively over his drooping dick.

  “How the hell did this happen?” Matt screeched.

  “You were using a fake voice.”

  “You didn’t talk at all.”

  “You had a wig!” In fact, that probably explained what he was lying on. There was something warm and fuzzy under his ass. He pulled it out and shook it in illustration.

  “You had a veil. What the fuck even is that? Tinkerbell doesn’t wear a veil.”

  “Oh, forgive me for my inauthenticity. Did you have your actual hand amputated?” The hook had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, which was a good thing considering where Matt’s fingers hand been. And ugh. That thought. Brain bleach. He needed brain bleach. Felding-fingers had been in his ass. Worse than that. Felding-cock had been in his ass. He pulled a pillow over his face. This was the most mortifying thing that’d ever happened to him.

  “Get out,” he muttered from under the pillow.

  “No snuggles then?”

  “Get. Out.” He heaved the pillow at Matt, who only caught it and threw it back into the mound of pillows Wendy had piled along the headboard of the bed in her guest room, which room Harper was supposed to be staying in tonight so that he could drink heavily. He was definitely going to need to drink heavily, but there was no way he could sleep in this room. Ever.

  “Why won’t you leave?” he moaned at the man still lurking by the light switch.

  “I have to find my things.”

  “You really don’t.”

  “My boots, at least. Besides, you look kinda pretty like that, all disheveled and debauched. I never knew you’d be such a hot lay, Le Croix.”

  That was it. He’d had it. He charged the door, and Matt wisely chose to escape through it before he could get there. He found Matt’s boots and chucked them out after him, not even caring if someone saw him. His day couldn’t get any worse if the whole party paraded in for a post-mortem. He’d fucked Matt Felding. Had let Matt Felding fuck him.

  “My gratitude, m’lady,” Matt said in response to the violent return of his boots, making another one of those ludicrous bows that’d been so dashing when Harper hadn’t known who was making them. He slammed the door and flounced back over to the bed where the long wig of black curls seemed to look back at him mockingly. If it wouldn’t do damage to Wendy’s plumbing, he’d flush the fucking thing down the toilet. Damned deceptive wig.

  Instead of despoiling Wendy’s drains, he washed up in the en suite and reassembled himself into his costume, leaving the mask and wig off. He’d had enough surprises for one night. Then he went in search of Wendy.

  “What happened to your costume?” she asked when he stalked up, taking no notice of his rage. “I have a cowboy for you.

  “I thought,” Harper said between his teeth. “That you had a pirate for me.”

  “Noooo, not a pirate. The only pirate I’ve seen is—”

  “Yes.” Harper pulled the plastic stump of Matt’s hook out from behind his back and waved it in her face. “I figured that out.”

  “Oh my God,” Wendy said. “Did you kill him?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Wait, your wings are crushed
, your wig’s missing, and you look like you’ve had sandpaper rubbed all over your face. Oh my God, you fucked him.”

  “Quiet!”

  “You fucked Matt? You hate Matt.”

  “I know. That’s why you promised me you wouldn’t invite him. You lied to me.”

  “Only because you were being a pill, saying you wouldn’t come if he was here. I’m not going to choose between the two of you.” She smacked him on the arm. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Come on, don’t you think it’s about time you made up?”

  He did not.

  “Remember, I made the two of you pinky swear you’d never fight?”

  That’d been when their mothers left—both his and Matt’s, sharing a taxi the day after their graduation. The three of them had watched the scene from Wendy’s house: one confused taxi driver, two angry men—for once on the same side of an issue—and their mothers piling suitcases into the trunk.

  “You’ll be at college,” Harper’s mother had told him, pinching his cheek like he was a little boy as she packed her bag. “You’ll be fine. I’ve waited eighteen years to walk out on that maniac. I’m not waiting another day.” And Harper had sworn he would never be an unreasonable ass who lived to fight the way his father did.

  But that’d been before—

  “He came to my father’s funeral,” he reminded Wendy, “to the luncheon after, right into my father’s house with him freshly buried in the ground, and handed me an affidavit to sign swearing that the land belonged to him. At my father’s funeral!”

  “You hated your father though.”

  “Hate is a strong word.” Which he reserved for Matt Felding. “And regardless of how I felt about my father, his funeral wasn’t the time for a territory dispute.”

  “I’ll grant you that, and I’ve told Matt the same, but that was two years ago. What color underwear are you wearing?”

  “Why?” He glanced down at the tights beneath his tunic. Could she tell he didn’t have underwear on beneath them? He sort of liked the way the tight nylon rubbed against his waxed balls.

  “Because I’m thinking you waved the white flag tonight. Get it.” She elbowed him with a grin. “Waving the white flag?”

  “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.”

  “Joking? I’m laughing my fucking ass off. You’re lucky I’m not literally on the floor right now, that’s how hard I’m laughing on the inside. You and Matt Felding.” She snorted extra loudly. “So, how was he?”

  “A better kisser than you’d think from that mouth.” A better cocksucker too. And a damned good top. Harper hadn’t been railed that well in quite a while, and Matt’s cock had nothing to be ashamed of other than the personality it was attached to. “I’m going home.”

  “What? Come on, the party just started. I don’t even see Matt. I think he did the walk of shame right out of here.”

  Just then a braying laugh from the dining room confirmed that the exact opposite was true. Matt was probably in there laughing about how he’d pulled one over on him, maybe telling everyone how Harper had shaved his legs, maybe guessing that Harper liked shaving, liked dressing up a little now and then, liked having the chance to giggle. Matt would get good mileage out of that, no doubt. Harper could just imagine what prank he’d pull next—book him for a day spa or have a bunch of panties delivered to his house. Anything to get under his skin.

  “You’re going to have to choose, Wendy. Me or him.”

  “I just told you I won’t choose. You’re both a couple of dunderheads, but you’re my oldest friends.”

  “Then you’re choosing him.” Harper slammed his wig onto his head and wobbled for the front door with all the dignity he could muster.

  A good offense was the best defense, so he had an extra-large order of Extendze, the Natural Male Enhancer, delivered to Matt’s address with a gift tag that read, “Seems like you could use these.” In retaliation, Matt used the pills to spell out HARPER LE CROIX IS A SIZE QUEEN on the Felding back nine.

  Harper had to admire the dedication. Matt had done the work overnight, conscientiously laying the pills out by the light of his cell phone, not that Harper had watched from his bedroom window or anything. And the only reason he’d had his dick in his hand at the time was because he’d been interrupted while jacking it to some totally non-Matt porn by weird rustlings and the gentle rattle of a thousand-count bottle of pills. What was he supposed to do? Let his boner go to waste? It’d been funny, actually, Matt working so diligently while Harper stroked off to it.

  Until the next day when he figured out what Matt had been up to out there, the shimmer of a thousand white pills nestled into the close-cropped grass of Matt’s back lawn spelling out Harper’s preferences which, he had to admit, were actually true. Nothing like a well-hung top. Still, it wasn’t something that Mrs. Baker, whose backyard abutted Matt’s, ought to have to read with her morning coffee, so Harper went out there with his lawnmower and ran over Matt’s work.

  Which turned out to be a mistake when the crushed pills killed the grass, leaving HARPER LE CROIX IS A SIZE QUEEN emblazoned in dead brown letters. Still worth it though because if there was one thing Matt loved more than he apparently loved a good power bottom, it was his lawn. Every last fucking inch of it, including the inches that belonged to the Le Croixs. Matt had to re-sod the whole thing, which was no less than he deserved.

  Harper watched him at it one Saturday. Matt had his shirt off, and even from his bedroom window, Harper could see the drops of sweat running down his back. He was dirty as well as sweaty, with bits of grass clinging to his torso as he threw a roll of sod over his shoulder and carried it from the curb to his backyard. Pity they’d never gotten around to taking their clothes off that night they fucked. Matt had grown into a man’s body—thick and furry and rippling in all the right places.

  The dude looked hot. Hot, like lugging turf was hot work, not hot like Harper wanted to fuck him. He should do the neighborly thing and bring him a cold drink.

  With an anticipatory snicker, he went down to his kitchen and poured out a tall glass of sweet tea in an opaque plastic tumbler, then added a few extra ingredients for his very extra buddy. A dash of Worcestershire, a splash of Balsamic, topped off with soy sauce and stirred to an icy perfection.

  “Thought you could use this,” he said, extending the glass dripping with condensation to Matt the next time he came to the curb.

  Matt looked at it like he didn’t trust it.

  “It’s sweet tea. I’d taste test it for you, but you probably don’t want my germs.”

  “I’ve had my cock in your ass,” Matt said, because of course he would rub that in. “I’m not worried about your germs. Go ahead and try it out for me. Make sure you got the recipe right.”

  “It’s my mother’s recipe,” Harper said with a disapproving frown. Whatever might be going on between the two them, Matt had no right to disrespect his mother’s sweet tea. He raised the glass to his lips, braced himself, and took a genteel sip. “Mm. Just like Mama used to make.”

  “Well, thanks.” Matt peeled off a glove to take the glass. “This’ll really hit the spot.” He took a few hefty swallows before the taste caught up with his brain and it all came back out in a splutter that Harper managed to avoid.

  He dashed for home, aware of Matt on his heels, and almost made it to his front porch before an icy drenching drew him up short in shock. Matt’s heavy weight slammed into him and then he and Matt and a bunch of ice cubes were sprawled out on the grass. From his position straddling Harper, Matt gathered a handful of ice cubes and stuffed them under the hem of his shirt, spreading them across his abdomen with angry glee.

  “Quit,” Harper begged, bucking his hips up to try to bronco Matt off, but Matt clamped his knees tighter and brought the ice to his face, smearing him with sticky frostiness. Harper burbled against the onslaught, tossing his head back and forth and keeping his lips pressed tight to avoid the taste until Matt threw the ice to the side and sat back o
n his heels.

  The position brought Matt’s ass in full contact with his groin, and all that tossing Harper was doing only added friction to the equation. Matt Felding was his mortal enemy, a buffoon, and a dangerous narcissist, but there was nothing wrong with his ass, which Harper was getting a full appreciation of from this position.

  “Got a little natural male enhancement going on there, Le Croix?” Matt ground his ass down even harder until Harper couldn’t help panting a little through the pleasure of it. God damn, his traitorous dick, but it wasn’t like he was alone in this.

  “Is that a king size bottle of Extendze in your pocket, or are you just happy to be sitting on me?”

  “It’s pretty king size, all right.” Matt rocked his hips forward which made Harper grunt out another moan and also made Matt’s package appear even more prominent. “Glad you recognize that.”

  Harper licked his lips. He hadn’t gotten off with anyone since that night with Matt, and his dick was remembering that it’d been pretty fucking good. At least until the lights came on and he saw what he’d done. Who he’d done.

  “I have no complaints about your dick,” he said.

  “You sent me a bottle of fucking penis enhancement pills.”

  “Because you’re an ass,” Harper pointed out helpfully. “Not ’cause you actually need them.” He bucked up a little to remind Matt that they’d been grinding each other pretty good there and could get back to it.

  “Yeah, well.” All the maniacal fury dropped from Matt’s face at the compliment. He was handsome when he wasn’t grimacing like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. “Speaking of asses, I happen to like yours.” He snaked a hand up under Harper’s ass cheeks and gave a squeeze.

  “Jesus. You just had ice in that hand.”