by Nya Rawlyns
Everything was numb. His fingers, his ears, the tip of his nose. Never not summer took on new meaning in the weak light of the new day. He could learn to hate the Snowys, hate the flip-flopping temps, the bipolar mania of clear, warm days lulling you into a calm suspension of all your cares and woes, only to hurl you over a cliff on a whim.
Warm arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him effortlessly out of the mud. Michael murmured, “Don’t worry, Tex, I’ve got you.” He swung Sonny in an arc, setting him gently on a patch of grass where the icy snow had already melted off. “Give me those buckets. I’ll run them up to the highline, see who’s thirsty. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Wobbling on feet he couldn’t feel, Sonny watched Michael trot uphill, envying the man his acclimation to the altitude and a level of fitness that had him bouncing back from hypothermia as if it was an everyday occurrence. If ever there was a time he felt fragile and unprepared to deal with his situation, it was right that minute.
The sun on his back was warm, the air piggybacking on his skin with the reminder they’d dodged a bullet. He wondered how many you got to avoid before one hit the target... you. Michael offered water, patted each animal and once more checked to see they were secure and happy. Sonny wanted nothing more than to have Michael shower him with that kind of uncompromising care and attention.
For someone who hadn’t given a rat’s ass about dying, Sonny found himself mulling over how he’d die a happy man just to have Michael Brooks touch him, gently, tenderly. Making love with his fingertips and his mouth. The denim board resisting his aching erection turned into an obsessive need for release. Undoing the button, then the zipper, he sighed with relief, never taking his eyes off Michael sauntering down the hill.
Even from a distance Sonny knew he had Michael’s undivided attention. Fingers thick with gnarled joints, pads roughed from hard work and exposure, unsnapped the denim jacket, the flaps lazily swinging in synch with the man’s rolling gait. Jerking to a stop, Michael kicked off his boots and dropped the jacket to perch on top of them.
Sonny counted the buttons as Michael unwrapped a body muscled into perfection, the tight silk thermal underwear outlining every mogul and bulge. Michael’s upper layers followed the jacket and the boots. Then he waited. Stroked and waited, content to frame the bulge in his jeans. Teasing Sonny... See what’s waiting for you, Tex? If you want it, come and get it.
Did he... want it?
No, a thousand times no. Want had nothing to do with it. It was like him saying he wanted to breathe, as if it was ever a choice. With his left thumb he pressed on his throat, his right hand sliding past the rigid fabric to cup his balls, squeezing and pressing until his ears thundered with the echoes of the vacuum of pleasure so intense he sank to his knees and willed Michael to approach.
The sun burned a cross of desire thick and relentless on his bare skin. He had no remembrance of stripping, no sensation of flannel caressing skin webbed with desire. His knees, saturated with the final submission of snow to heat, balanced on cloth bunched as a hassock. Fists locked tight, he bowed his head in supplication.
He heard nothing, saw nothing, eyes and ears blindly worshiping the image of Michael poised above him, knowing what waited for him was the kind of heaven only hell delivered.
****
When Michael had curled into Sonny’s embrace, helpless and close to succumbing to the cold, he crossed the line from giving up to the more subtle sense of submission, a line he’d never quite understood until that moment when the man’s warmth and bulk had possessed him so completely there was no longer a me or a him.
They’d both been playacting to that point, testing their boundaries, using power play to titillate and explore who would give in first. Sonny had dared him, taunted him, and challenged him to accept new terms and conditions. The lure had been masterfully cast. He’d taken the bait and the promise of a glorious battle to see who was the stronger, elevating an outcome that was never in question.
Long, elegant fingers once more claimed his flesh, kneading into thick muscle and drawing him closer. Pressure points pinged a warning as thumbs punished and pleasured at random. His body shivered, consciousness focused to a single point in time. His skin recognized the clarity of warmth, the tantalizing sensation of lips tracing a single-minded path inward and upward.
Michael widened his stance, rebalancing under an onslaught of sensual teasing, first with dry lips, then moist tongue darting in attack and withdrawal.
“Jesus, Tex, keep doing that and...” He shivered and rocked back on his heels, hands clasping his own cheeks and ears and neck in a silent howl of approval. Oh shit that feels good, hips rocking into the rhythm of pressure behind his balls, his supplicant finding the sweet spot to exploit his advantage. A punctuation of there, there, oh fucking hell, there vocalized and echoed, only to be swallowed by the music of a silver rush of water and the sharp chink of steel hooves on rock.
Squinting against the light, Michael groaned and oscillated his hips as a playful flick of tongue teased his slit while nimble fingers slid the foreskin away, then back. Gripping the shaft, Sonny penetrated the loose fold, using his tongue to roll and circle, the sensation so intense it nearly undid him. The actions were hidden by a halo of angel hair gleaming blond-white in the ribbons of sun cutting across the meadow.
Was this business as usual?
Do me, then I’ll do you... Wham bam thank you, man. No expectations. No regrets.
That was enough, wasn’t it?
The spruce formed a natural canopy of spires supporting a vault of powder blue still watery with the creep of thin high cirrus clouds and the remnants of the squall lines that had danced across the meadow, leaving them cowering in disgrace and awe.
He’d been the one to cry uncle.
Now he simply wanted to cry as his body and his mind realigned to acknowledge that what he wanted and what he needed were light years apart. The touch of the night before, when he’d tried to crawl inside the man’s skin... that was the touch he wanted now.
Throat dry, he rasped, “Stop, please,” and gently cupped Sonny’s head, pressing back so he could sink to the ground to come even with the long, lean body and pale flesh rosy with passion. Lips glistening with the dew of his own pre-cum, those were the lips he longed to kiss. Wavering in place, he pleaded, “Dock with me,” and leaned in to savor his own essence with quick flicks as Sonny whimpered agreement. He asked, “Have you ever done it before?”
“No.”
A huff of breath that tasted like paradise, warm lips opening to exploration, tongues tangling... a singularity so intense, Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of the man’s taste or scent. Palms flattened onto nipples hard as pebbles, Michael reveled in his own erratic heartbeat as his fingers lightly followed the contours of Sonny’s body to a cock standing proud and upright. Long and narrow, balls drawn up tight from the cold, it glistened with pre-cum.
Michael’s finger twirled the head, lubing the glans before carefully angling Sonny’s cock to meet his own, tip to tip in frottage as Sonny groaned and hissed, “Fucking hell, Michael, that’s good.”
“It gets better, Tex.” With delicate movements, Michael slowly nested the tip of Sonny’s glans against his own, then rolled and stretched the foreskin as far as he could. As his hips undulated, he accentuated each thrust by rolling the foreskin back and forth over the glans. Eyes nearly rolling back in his head, he surrendered to the exquisite sensitivity and sensations flooding his body.
Sonny moaned, “God, Michael, what you’re doing to me... It fucking can’t be legal.” He leaned back, fists on the ground to brace his body. As his muscles tensed, words deserted him, leaving him grunting incoherently.
Michael recognized the signs, knew he was on the verge, both of them close to coming. But not yet... He’d waited so long to feel this way, to experience this kind of connection with another man. As his body ached and begged for his nerves to detonate, for pleasure to inundate his senses, it wasn’
t enough. Not nearly enough.
Watching Sonny, with his frame arched in the throes of passion and howling his lust to the heavens, he finally understood nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.
Michael paused and pinched the base of the tall man’s cock, silently counted to twenty, only to begin again, taking Sonny to the edge, repeatedly denying him release until his skin shimmered in the light, sun-streaked with sweat, desire and desperation. Pushing both of them to edge of madness, he forced them to teeter at the abyss.
Sonny begged, “Please. I need to come, Michael. This is torture.”
Voice thready, Michael asked, “Do you want me to stop?”
Eyes snapping open, Sonny yelped, “You fucking stop and I’ll hang you off the highline by your goddamn balls!”
Stroke, thrust. “You’re sure?”
“No... Yes, oh fuck, why are you doing this to me?”
“Just wait for it, Tex.”
Anchoring Sonny’s cock, he twisted and rolled his sheath in a gyrating motion, the sensation rocketing him to the point of no return. With a final thrust he wrapped his hand around the foreskin, anchoring it in place as first his, then Sonny’s hot cum expanded and filled the walls in violent pulses that nearly tore him apart.
Eyes bulging, Sonny whimpered as Michael extricated their ultrasensitive cocks from the confines of the sheath. Cool air alternately bathed and soothed his tender flesh. Michael knew he’d be sore, having overstretched his sheath, but he didn’t care. It had been worth it, seeing Sonny’s eyes smoldering in passion, his face and mouth pinched in a rictus of pleasure so intense his skin still crawled with the aftershocks.
Tentatively, Sonny reached to cup Michael’s face, his eyes questioning and mouth forming words he couldn’t make out. Blond hair lay plastered on Sonny’s forehead, sweat dripping off his chin. He looked beautiful. Michael wanted to tell him that, but he worried it would be taken the wrong way, as an obligation—as something more than just mind-blowing sex.
The truth was, he had no idea what came next. He’d never slept with a man, never cuddled or whispered sweet nothings until sleep took hold. He’d always wondered what it was like to wake up with his partner’s mouth on his morning wood, sucking him off. Teasing him, bringing him coffee or shoving him into the shower and bending him over, pleasuring him to the point of insanity.
How did two men come to that juncture, sharing lives and enjoying each other? Was it even possible? The epiphany was that this was exactly what he wanted, but he also recognized epiphanies didn’t automatically lead to wishes coming true.
“Michael?” Sonny pinched his chin. “Michael. Look at me.”
He tried looking away, not wanting to hear the platitudes and the excuses... the let’s be friends mantra that translated into a kiss of death. He didn’t want Sonny as his friend, the friend with benefits. He couldn’t handle that. Regret spilled over, flooding his chest with an ache so wicked he struggled to hold back the anger that always followed pain.
Sonny’s lips brushed his, and warm breath kissed his cheeks, his chin. Teeth nibbled at an ear lobe as a voice softly whispered, “You aren’t getting off that easily, Warden. I keep my promises.”
Confused, Michael muttered, “Promises, what promises?”
Sonny chuckled. “That orgasm fried your brains, Brooks. I said, I want to climb back in that sleeping bag and hold you like I did last night. But this time, skin to skin.”
Flushing, Michael gulped, “Um...” feeling a stirring in his chest, a defib of hope.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sonny stood and pulled Michael upright, both of them swaying with the effort. “I’m declaring today a rest day, and I don’t want any arguments.”
Michael’s mouth twitched in amusement. Mister Zero was back and dictating terms. He countered with, “A rest day will set us back. I think we should...”
Sonny held up his finger and pressed it against Michael’s lips. “Don’t think, Warden. I can see it’s not your strong suit under certain circumstances.”
“Such as?”
Grinning, Sonny took Michael’s hand and dragged him toward the water’s edge. “Let’s get cleaned up, first.”
“First. Wait, what about that promise you mentioned?” Michael had no intention of letting tall, blond and fuckable off the hook so easily.
“Oh, yeah, you mean the one where I have you howling like a banshee while I bottom you so hard you won’t walk right for a week? You’re still up for that, right?” He looked down at Michael’s cock, eyebrows raised.
“Well, I’m going to need a little time.”
Sonny sneered, “Ergo, rest day.”
Michael permitted himself a brief glimpse at a future that might include Seamus Rydell. But it was early days, so he reverted back to teasing banter, the kind that friends used. “Just one rest day, Dr. Rydell?”
Sonny waded into the frigid water and barked, “Holy shit, this is cold.”
Michael dove after Sonny, tackling him and driving them both under the surface. They resurfaced, sputtering and laughing. Sonny shouted, “You bastard, I’ll get you for that.”
“Answer the question, Dr. Rydell. How many rest days do you need?”
Shivering, Sonny wrapped his arms around his torso and smirked. “As many as you want, Warden Brooks, as many as you want.”
Following Sonny as he lunged for the shore, Michael murmured, “Good answer, Tex, that’s a very good answer.”
Chapter Ten
On Trail
Sonny groused, “The cantle,” and jiggered his heavy saddle to sit more comfortably on the Mule-Called-Spot. He hated the name with a vengeance. For years, it had been just “the mule” or whatever expletive suited the occasion, but now he was supposed to address the beast as if it deserved dignity instead of a two-by-four upside his ornery skull.
“The horn.” Michael was moving beyond argumentative to the point where it was safer being on the other side of something, anything, than to invoke a more assertive point of view.
“Oh boo-fucking-hoo, Warden Brooks. Who’s the one who had a monster dick nearly shoved out his throat?”
Michael grinned. “Monster, huh?” He strutted around the mustang and adjusted the breast collar. “Didn’t rightly hear any complaining, Tex. In fact, I made you sing like a boys’ choir.”
Rubbing his ass, Sonny shrugged and pretended super-dick hadn’t delivered more than once. Muttering, “I need a fucking rest day from that rest day,” he maneuvered Spot into position and prepared to mount.
Michael came up behind him, in stealth mode. The spurs jingling as they connected with the rocks sort of ruined the effect, though the tongue in his ear and two warm hands cupping his privates made up for the blown entrance. Sonny snickered. When Michael was around, and that was all the time, he found himself prone to turning even the most innocuous thoughts lewd and downright dirty.
“What’re you giggling about, Tex?”
“About you being a bad influence.”
“Really.”
The tongue did a thing, then another thing. The thing with a thing was it distracted Sonny from thinking clearly, what with his blood supply so easily diverted to points south. He opted to concede defeat rather than find out just how far Michael was willing to push to get his way. “Okay, the horn’s the worst. You happy now?”
“Not yet.”
“Fuck, now what?”
“Turn around.” Michael looped the mare’s lead rope on Sonny’s left hand and the reins in his right. “Lean against the fender.” Spot shifted slightly. Sonny got a sinking feeling in his belly his sudden capitulation had simply piqued Michael’s interest. The man clearly didn’t like losing, but he also wasn’t keen on winning unless he’d earned it.
Sonny figured his learning curve for all things Warden Brooks had just ratcheted to a new level.
Michael said, “Here, hold these while you’re at it,” and distributed his two geldings’ reins and lead rope such that Sonny was forced to manage all four
animals. For what purpose was still to be determined.
He didn’t have long to wait as Michael kicked his legs apart, then quickly undid the zipper, spreading the fabric just enough to access his cock. When the mule twitched, Michael barked, “Whoa, Spot,” as he knelt to assess the goods on display.
“Jesus, Brooks. I think he likes you better than me.”
“How’s that?”
“He listens to you.”
Michael chuckled. “Maybe you should, too.”
Sonny sucked air as Michael’s mouth swallowed his erection to the root while nimble fingers massaged the seam in his jeans, driving the denim into the crack. He felt stretched and vulnerable, plastered against a movable object, his center of gravity shot to hell, and his arms and legs in an X. Sort of like being on a St. Andrews Cross, though he’d never actually seen the real deal except on some porn videos, so he allowed his imagination some wiggle room. Wiggling seemed a bit counter-productive, what with Spot and the gang in position to draw and quarter him without notice.
To distract his thoughts from that scenario, he looked down. Naughty blue eyes gazed upwards as tongue, lips and teeth teased him into a state of bliss. Managing a few hip thrusts, he panted, “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t expect an answer, but Michael stopped and gave him an assessing look.
“Well, Dr. Rydell, seems I recall you saying you preferred research to just about anything.” He squeezed Sonny’s balls, eliciting an oof in response. “So, that’s what this is.” He suckled the prominent vein.
“Wait, research? Research... fuck...for... Jesus... for what?” Michael’s mouth was magic. He had never been a believer in magic. Now he wondered how he’d live without the warden’s special brand of it.
“Cantle. Horn. Any of that ringing a bell?” A thumb invaded the slit, turning Sonny’s eyeballs inside out. “Figured you nailed the business end of the cantle, but you needed the horn part worked on. For a fair comparison.”
The horses had backed apart far enough, Sonny wondered if he was going to pop his shoulders. Only the mule stood rock solid, giving him a platform to lean against.
