Artifacts

by Bailey Bradford

  “Okay?” Aldric murmured, perhaps not so much a question as in response to Darrell turning onto his stomach and curling his arms around his pillow.

  He nodded, feeling Aldric’s body heat a second before Aldric nudged his thighs apart to kneel between them, his torso curved over Darrell’s back and shoulders. “I’ll go slowly,” he promised.

  Darrell nodded again and breathed out at the touch of a wet finger at his hole. Aldric pushed it gradually inward, the firm probe hesitant and sensuous. And addictive—Darrell’s knees straightened under him so he could arch upward a little, giving Aldric more access. Within seconds, Aldric was past the first ring of muscle.

  “Stay still,” he said, and Darrell, despite craving more, tried, except when he had to turn his face, still buried in the pillow, to one side so he could breathe his anticipation out, instead of pushing back onto Aldric’s hand to assuage it.

  “I said I was taking this slowly,” Aldric whispered in his ear before he dipped lower, to kiss what little of Darrell’s face was visible and touchable. “This is amazing, how you feel, so tough and tender at the same time. Did you know I’ve been fantasizing about being inside you?”

  It wasn’t what anyone would consider filthy, and certainly not the kind of dirty talk Darrell loosed during sex and got Aldric so goddam horny that he moaned where he lay, stroking his cock and cradling his balls, demanding Darrell take him, now. And Jesus, how Darrell loved seeing Aldric come undone like that. Love undoing him. But the fact that it was Aldric, with his bouncy brown hair and doe-like eyes, saying such a thing here, now—it had Darrell seeking out Aldric’s lips and pushing upward and backward, onto his hand.

  But only for Aldric to use his body weight to hold him down to continue opening him up at his own pace. Darrell felt every millimeter of the second finger Aldric added, felt it in the increased pressure and stretch it brought. The hum of satisfaction Aldric gave resonated through his chest to Darrell, tickling his ear. Aldric twisting and turning his fingers had Darrell moaning—some of it in frustration.

  “Give me more,” he urged with a shake of his hips. “Not like I haven’t taken anything in the ass before, remember?”

  Aldric nipped Darrell’s ear, and the tiny bite sent tremors along Darrell’s skin. “This isn’t just about you. I’ll never have this first experience with you again. Not like this. So let me take my time and enjoy you.”

  It might have come out as a plea if he hadn’t trailed his mouth around to that spot behind Darrell’s ear that drove him wild when Aldric bit it—as he was now, increasing the pressure until Darrell shivered. Aldric twisted the fingers he had buried inside him, stretching him further, then added a third.

  Darrell forced himself to relax and accept the stretch and sting. He couldn’t hold in the moan of appreciation when Aldric twisted his wrist, sliding deeper and using his thumb to stroke the outer ring of muscles. Darrell’s cock wanted in on the action now but was trapped, rock hard and throbbing, under him. He flexed his hips, rutting against the sheets, and apprehension turned his moan sharper when Aldric glided his fingers out then replaced them with the head of his cock.

  “Ready?” Aldric asked, his voice low and almost steady.

  Darrell didn’t hesitate as heat raced through his body, surging with anticipation. “Yes. Please, please give me—”

  The breath was stolen from him when Aldric pressed forward, breaching the tight ring in one deliberate push. Sweat coated Darrell’s skin and he clenched his eyes shut against the burn and pressure, and when that wasn’t enough, pushed his face once more into the pillow, to blot any tears and muffle any sounds of protest. Aldric made soothing noises when Darrell’s body stiffened, despite his efforts—his instinctive reaction to getting his ass fucked.

  “Come here.”

  It took him a second to understand, to turn his head to where Aldric’s voice spoke, and when he did it was to meet his gaze. It took Aldric’s tongue poking at Darrell’s teeth to make him realize he was biting down on his lower lip. Darrell inhaled, deep and slow, letting himself sink into the burn in his ass. Aldric managed to kiss him, in that twisted-over position, and Darrell opened to him—in all senses—sucking on his tongue and pushing upward to take more of Aldric’s thick cock deep inside him.

  “I’m all the way inside you.”

  Inside me. The psychological weight anchored him, and he absorbed the physical impact a heartbeat later, when Aldric rocked gently within him, barely moving, then pulled out so just the tip of his dick sat inside Darrell’s still-tight, still-resisting ass. Then what Darrell could see of Aldric’s face contorted in pleasure when he plunged in once more, hard, sending too many sensations through Darrell to chart them. It only took two or three thrusts for any residual pain and discomfort to swirl and mix into pleasure, making his world nothing but heat and pressure and Aldric.

  “Babe, angle that way.” Darrell shifted his hips to show him, then failed to hold in his cry when Aldric’s dick rubbed over his prostate. The next few thrusts had Darrell jerking like a puppet with Aldric pulling his strings. He didn’t think Aldric would last, not with the way he was clenching hot and tight around Aldric, spasming as his channel and his cock, still imprisoned under him, were worked mercilessly.

  “Darrell, I can’t—” Aldric’s lunges became erratic and he thrust deeper than before, banging so fiercely against Darrell’s ass that a guttural shout was torn from him as pleasure enveloped him. His climax hit him without warning. He arched into Aldric’s next thrust, his world reduced to the white roar in his ears, and every nerve sizzled with fire while his untouched cock pulsed and spent. He gripped the sheet under him, his fingers clawing hard.

  Aldric pushed in, deep and deliberate. “Darrell!” he shouted as he came, then loosed a hoarse string of expletives. Aldric’s release, the hot throb of semen inside Darrell, was the most intimate thing he’d ever felt.

  Darrell needed the silence and stillness that followed, and Aldric still lying connected to him. When Aldric pulled out, his torso slipping off Darrell’s sweaty skin, the loss of sensation had Darrell aching all over. That was a different pain from the more localized throb in his ass. Did Aldric have his face buried in the pillow too, Darrell wondered, once his heart stopped its thundering and his brain started up again so he could form thoughts. Now that he could move, he closed his legs to trap Aldric’s between them and wriggled his hand that rested in the middle of him and Aldric, for Aldric to seek out and grasp.

  They lay quietly for a while, fastened together while the sweat and cum cooled on their bodies, then laughed when they both moved at the same time, to curl onto their sides to face the other. They moved in unison again, to get close enough to kiss, both too exhausted to exchange more than tiny touches of their lips. When Darrell pulled back, he searched Aldric’s face, just as Aldric was examining his.

  “Was that…” Aldric peeked up at him through his eyelashes in that coy way Darrell found endearing. It also made him want to throw Aldric down and screw him stupid. Even now, his cock, drained limp, sticky, tried to stir at the sight and the idea. “…all right?” Aldric finished.

  “All— Jesus! I can’t move, so what do you think?” Darrell exclaimed. He caught the giggle that bubbled through Aldric. “You liked that.” He didn’t make it a question. “Liked fucking me.”

  “No.” Aldric’s tiny head shake worried Darrell, for half a second. “I loved it. But I’m confused.” He blinked, wide-eyed, but Darrell wasn’t falling for it. “I don’t know which I prefer.”

  “No problem. I’ll fuck you, soon as I’ve recovered, and you can compare,” Darrell started to say, but Aldric’s rumbling stomach drowned out his words, making Darrell realize he was hungry too, and that they’d skipped dinner.

  Annoyed at himself for not taking better care of Aldric, Darrell grabbed the towel he’d dropped to the floor and cleaned them both up. “C’mon. Let’s hunt up some supper.” He stood carefully, his ass throbbing. Good.

  The fridge contain
ed enough shredded lettuce, grated carrots and sliced tomatoes to make a bowl of salad, into which he tipped some cubes of cheese. He turned to see Aldric stretch for a bag of marshmallows behind the jars on a shelf then grab a pair of scissors and run their blades under the faucet to wet them and make the candy easier to cut.

  Darrell narrowed his eyes at Aldric’s proficient, practiced move and at him having snuck crap into their would-be-healthy kitchen. When Aldric snipped the pink and white cubes into smaller squares and let them fall into the salad, Darrell couldn’t contain himself any longer.

  “I love you.”

  Aldric stirred the contents of the bowl. “Yes, I know.”

  Darrell frowned. “Babe, you’re supposed to say—”

  “I love you too.” Aldric gave that more sly than shy grin at having tricked Darrell. Again. And held out a fork, on which he’d speared tomato, cheese and marshmallow, for him to taste.

  “Good.”

  “Good?” Aldric echoed, looking at the empty fork.

  Darrell swallowed the forkful. “Not that, no. Jesus, it’s vile. But, good. As in, this is good. Life is good.”

  It was. He picked out a bit of candy for Aldric and fed him with his fingers. He thought of that odd little antiques store, a place of one-offs, both items and people, and how it had brought Aldric into his life.

  Where Darrell would work hard every day to keep him.

  Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!

  Something Shattered

  Bailey Bradford

  Excerpt

  Jesse Martin sat on the porch steps of his rented trailer, looking at the sparse patches of grass in his tiny yard. The New Mexico sun was bright in the clear blue sky, the heat beyond oppressive and bordering on hellish.

  The beer bottle in his hand was sweating almost as much as he was, and he wondered if the yellowish-brown color of the grass meant it was dead or just severely dehydrated. Maybe if he watered the grass, it would eventually become a lush green carpet like his neighbor’s. That was one pretty lawn across the street.

  Right. Like he would remember to water the pathetic splotch that was his yard—and he sure didn’t want to know what that would do to his water bill. If the landlady didn’t like the crappy lawn, then she could foot the bill and take care of the stuff. At least this way he didn’t have to mow.

  Still, he couldn’t help but be a little envious of that thick, green grass across the street. The neighbor must be some kind of plant-life miracle worker. Even the man’s back yard was flourishing. It was possible that he had an in-ground sprinkler system or something, which was well beyond Jesse’s means.

  Jesse took a drink of his warm beer. Still nasty. If he were smart, he’d sit out here with a little ice chest, though even then he’d have to really chug the beer to get it down before the temperature did a number on it.

  Glancing at his watch, he saw it was five till three. He turned his attention to the house across the street. From behind darkly tinted sunglasses, he watched, waiting for the door to that home to open. A ripple of anticipation went through him.

  Sure enough, as had happened Monday through Saturday every afternoon for the past month, the door slowly opened.

  Jesse’s anticipation doubled. He tensed, waiting for what would happen next. When he saw it, he slumped with relief. Nothing had changed today.

  One thin arm slipped out of the opened door, inch by inch.

  Then, Jesse’s heart did its usual odd skippy-thing that happened every time he watched.

  A man appeared, cautiously moving through the doorway. Beat-up tennis shoes, baggy denim jeans, a ratty T-shirt about two sizes too big for his frame, a cast on his lower right arm that had gotten dingier since Jesse had first seen it. Everything the neighbor had on was pretty much the same outfit Jesse had seen before. Whether this was due to the guy having a bunch of the same shirts, bad hygiene, or a limited wardrobe, Jesse hadn’t a clue. It wasn’t like he could just ask either—they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

  After only a few seconds’ hesitation, the man moved through the doorway and stepped onto the little cement porch. Jesse checked him out as inconspicuously as possible. Not quite short, and thin to the point of gauntness, the man was a mystery to everyone in the small town of El Jardin. Tongues were wagging, and gossip spreading. Some of the stories people told were unbelievable and, to Jesse, solid proof that the creators of those tales had too much time on their hands.

  Besides, he remembered very clearly what it was like to be the new kid in town, even though ten years had passed. Jesse still wasn’t completely accepted by all the natives. More than a few of them talked about him, but he ignored them. For some reason, that was harder to do when the gossiping was about his new neighbor. Even his coworker, Officer Pat Monroe, made remarks here and there. But that didn’t surprise Jesse. Monroe was an asshole who never missed an opportunity to make snide remarks. Some days it seemed Monroe spent more time talking trash than performing his duties as a police officer.

  Jesse tried not to give such talk any credence, with the exception of ensuring there wasn’t some pervert living across the street. No, he’d rather get the truth from the source, but that was kind of hard to do when the source wasn’t talking.

  Granted, Jesse hadn’t tried too hard, just knocked on the door the day after the guy had moved in. When his knock had gone unanswered, he’d figured his new neighbor was either asleep or maybe at a doctor’s appointment, considering all the injuries he’d had. Jesse had walked back to his trailer and gotten ready for work. Right before getting in his car to leave, he’d glanced across and noticed that a printed sign now graced the door. Curious, Jesse had walked to the sidewalk, squinting in an attempt to read it.

  DO NOT DISTURB THE TENANT.

  Well. That had seemed pretty clear. Jesse hadn’t been offended by the snotty sign at the time. Easy enough to understand, since the man was so banged up. Except, over a month later, the sign was still up. Pretty clear, but not so understandable. Now the sign just seemed rude.

  Jesse took another drink of his beer, grimacing as the heated liquid hit his tongue. The neighbor was at the mailbox now. Well, not exactly at the mailbox—that would mean he had to step off the sidewalk and into the street. Instead, as was the norm on these little treks, he kept his feet firmly planted on the edge of the walkway while he leaned forward and stretched out his left hand to retrieve the mail. Probably not uncomfortable, Jesse mused, but still, why not just take the few extra steps to actually walk to the mailbox?

  The man slapped the box lid shut and pivoted carefully. Jesse quit trying to pretend he wasn’t watching and tipped his glasses down. Without the dark tint impeding his vision, he was treated to a brilliant display of gorgeous, curly auburn hair. The sun brought out streaks of red as well as glints of gold and orange in the silky-looking mess. Jesse’s fingers tightened on the beer bottle—the urge to touch the colorful curls was nearly a physical thing.

  He sat on the steps for several minutes after the neighbor had disappeared back inside, wondering how pathetic he’d become when this was the highlight of his day.

  Caleb took a deep breath and steeled himself. He could do this, he could. It was a pretty sorry thing when a grown man had to work to find the courage to walk fifteen feet to his own mailbox. Some days it took longer than others to even open the door.

  Maybe that cop will be sitting on his steps. He’d seen the man numerous times—there were times it made his trip outside easier, knowing there was a police officer just a few feet away. Sometimes it made him nervous, though, because Caleb was pretty sure the guy was watching him. Maybe it was all innocuous, or maybe the cop was watching him for other reasons. Did he think Caleb was a criminal, some kind of threat to the people in this town?

  Caleb actually snorted at the idea as he made himself unlock the deadbolts then slip on the glasses. His fingers shook as he reached for the doorknob, but he managed to turn it with a slight twist of the wrist.
Caleb gingerly opened the door, fighting to keep his muscles from trembling. A deep breath, then another, and he was able to take the step that brought him outside and onto his porch.

  I can do this. Keeping his head down, Caleb willed his feet to move. Slowly, he shuffled down the sidewalk. The sun’s heat seemed to seep inside him, warming the dark, frightened places in his mind. Caleb tipped his head up just enough to see the man sitting on his porch. He looked big and fit, a tight T-shirt clinging to sculpted muscles. Safe. I’m safe as long as he’s out here too.

  Caleb stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, fighting against the flush that crawled up his cheeks. Why can’t I take even one step off it? The very idea made his heart race erratically, pound so hard he wondered if he might have a heart attack. Just check the damn mail! Caleb reached for the mailbox lid, not thinking until that moment just how bizarre his ritual must seem to an observer.

  No wonder he watches me. I’m a damned freak. He dared a glance at the man. Now he was certain the guy was watching. Caleb fumbled as he grasped at the mail, his fingers not cooperating, hands shaking a little. Bending forward more, he managed to grab the envelopes and pull them from the box. Caleb slapped the lid shut and turned back to his house. He would not peek over his shoulder, he wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t run either.

  It took all his concentration to keep his steps slow and steady, embarrassment and shame pushing at him as he felt the man’s gaze prickling his spine. By the time he was back inside, the deadbolts firmly in place, Caleb’s nerves were shot. He wondered how much longer he could go on the way he’d been doing the past month or so. Will I always be this fucked up? He didn’t really want an answer to that because he knew it’d just depress him.

  Caleb called his puppy to him. “Loopy! Come snuggle.”