by Ker Dukey
An exhale shivers past his lips. I’m not sure if it’s panic or excitement, but I take it as the latter and swipe my tongue against the seal of his mouth, testing him. When it parts, I plow inside to caress his tongue. Peppermint and cigarettes attack my taste buds. Warm, wet flicks of his tongue drive me fucking crazy.
Come out of your shell, little boy. See what’s out here. Show me you’re a man.
The kiss is slow, exploring, as he traces the recesses of my mouth.
I offer persuasive encouragement, groaning with pleasure, dancing my tongue against his. It soon becomes hungry, our mouths dueling, caressing with urgency, ravishing each other. I pull back, breathless and ready to fuck him raw. His eyes are expressive and shine bright with lust. The furrow of his brow tells me he’s fighting with himself, wanting this, but scared to admit it to himself.
Keeping myself from being reckless with him, I trace the outline of his mouth with my fingertip. “Why are you so afraid to feel what you do?” I implore, desperate for all his secrets, his words, truths, confessions.
“I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Turn what off?”
His bottom lip quivers, emotion consuming him. I grasp his face, stroking the pads of my thumbs over his cheeks, my eyes begging him to open up to me.
“The pain, fear, truth of what I think I may be,” he rushes out.
It’s painful to see him so troubled. Being this invested is new to me, and it’s dangerous because I’m going to love it even more when he finally accepts what he’s feeling—when I get to be inside him, mind, body and fucking soul. He’s got me all caught up in him, snared by his achingly defined beauty and tortured soul—the desperate need he has to be rescued. That’s what I fucking do.
He was meant for me.
And here I am, boy.
“You can be free here. It’s just you and me.” I touch my lips to his before pulling away. “Take a shower. It was a long drive,” I urge him, leaving the room so he can regain his composure.
I retrieve our bags from the truck, grab wood from a stack I left here last time to start a fire, and load the kitchen with the groceries before I even hear the shower blast from above. I snag our suitcases and head upstairs, dropping his in one of the spare rooms. He’s going to want space.
Going into my room, I find a pile of his discarded clothes left at the shower entrance.
The spray hums, pitter-pattering against the glass wall, steam distorting the top of the glass, but not hiding his form from me. I see him fully beneath the spray.
His stance emphasizes the lean muscle of his thighs and ass, tapering off to a slim waist and structured back. His head is bowed as if in worship.
Worship me, boy.
Creamy, flawless skin beckons me to blemish it.
Soon.
His physique is athletic and undeniably fucking delicious. I want to devour every inch of him until he’s a quaking mess of sweat and cum.
Swiping the water from his face, he turns toward the glass, our gaze’s clashing. He freezes, fists tightening beside him, jaw ticking, dick stiffening to a salute. I stride over to the divide between us and rest my palms on the see-through barrier. Licking my lips, I groan, my mouth filling with saliva. “Touch your cock for me, boy. Show me how you punish yourself for feeling shit you think you shouldn’t,” I tell him.
He falters, his shoulders collapsing and eyes closing, but the steady rise and fall of his chest betrays him. He’s so fucking turned on, his dick looks harder than granite.
The veiny, thick length must be a good eight inches and pulsing with an ache I know too well. The tip is glistening like a juicy fucking treat begging to be engulfed by my throat.
The prolonged anticipation nearly has me smashing the glass and taking his ass roughly against the outer wall. But then his eyes open, flaring with a newfound light. Confidence and sureness he hasn’t displayed up until this point.
He grasps his cock firmly in his palm and strokes, slow and tortuous. “Are you just going to watch?” he asks, muffled by the sound of pouring water behind him.
“It’s only fair,” I say with a smirk. “You’ve seen me. Now, it’s my turn.”
Reaching out, he pins his hand where mine lay on the other side of the divider. Our eyes meet, and we stare at each other as he tugs and pulls on his dick, his thumb caressing the tip, rubbing in the juices leaking there. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans, screaming at me to take it out and mimic the boy’s movements.
His fingers stroke and dance over his cock, working himself like he’s making a dark, edgy, euphoric riff.
His lips part as he pants and moans. Quickening his pace, he cocoons the girth in his fist, jerking with ferocity, up and down, squeezing, rubbing, embracing. His face contorts almost in agony. His moans bounce around the shower as white ribbons of cum spurt against the window, his bulging mushroom head pulsating his release all for me.
I want to lick the salty seed and fuck his face with his load all over my tongue.
He sucks at the air to fill his spent lungs, his dick softening but not going completely flaccid, then releases his dick like it’s on fire. Stepping into the spray, he turns his back to me, shame coating him more than the water.
I’m going fucking burst a vein if I don’t take care of my own raging hard cock, but he needs to know what he just did is okay.
He’s fucking safe with me.
I strip out of my clothes and slide open the door, stepping inside. The water dampens my skin in its warmth, doing nothing to cool my heated flesh.
“What are you doing?” he balks, fear glimmering in his eyes.
“Taking a shower,” I reply, ignoring him and going about washing myself, trying not to relieve the ache down below.
“Do people know about you?” he asks after a moment of nothing but the splashing of water.
“Know what?” I turn to face him.
His eyes dance over my body, lowering to my cock and back up to my eyes. “That you’re into guys?”
“If you’re asking if I hide who I am, the answer is no. I am who I am. I’m not ashamed of my sexual preference. It doesn’t define me in any other aspect of my life. It’s not a choice I made. It’s not something we can control. It’s a part of who we are, not all we are.”
“So, who are you?” he asks with a sense of urgency.
I ponder his question for a moment. “I’m a detective, a good friend, loving son. A compassionate, loyal, happy, and slightly depraved, gay man.” I take a step closer. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know,” he chokes, his eyes holding mine, sending my heart pounding. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?” I ask, gruffness making my voice sound like a growl.
He swallows, and I watch the movement of his throat. “Being with a man?”
The water showers down around him, providing him a sense of shelter, obscurity.
“It’s freeing.” My attention darts to his full, pink lips. “When it’s something you want, crave—when it’s a strong desire gnawing away at you, begging for release, relief, permission, it can be everything.”
“I don’t want it. I fucking hate that I even think about you,” he snarls, desperate to convince himself more than me.
Fucker.
I step toward him and clench his balls in my fist, making him holler and grab my arm.
“What the fuck! Let go,” he cries out, panic in his expression.
“You let go. Fucking drop your hands now,” I order, squeezing his balls, making his torso tense, the lean muscle contracting.
His hands drop, and his breathing increases in massive swallows.
“Apologize for being a little brat,” I demand.
When he doesn’t respond, I tighten my hold. I use my other hand to grip his throat, dragging his head toward me. “Your cock is thickening with every passing second I hold your balls at ransom, boy. Your lips are aching to be kissed again, and your ass is twitching with anticipation of whe
n I’m going to sink my big, fat cock inside it—to the hilt. I’ll have you coming in seconds with my hand, my tongue, and my dick. And you won’t hate it. You’ll fucking love it.” I tease his lips with a swipe of mine. “Now, tell me you’re sorry and I’ll let you touch my cock.”
The tip of his dick pokes into my thigh, his labored breathing almost out of control.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he blurts out. And he is. His brows are furrowed and all confidence is gone. He wants acceptance and approval.
This is a reward I can give.
I kiss the tip of his nose. “Good boy. Now, wrap your hand around my cock and play me like you played yourself earlier. When I come, I’ll release your balls.”
His touch is soft at first, unsure and sloppy, but when I tighten my hold on his throat, his hand grips my cock more firmly, stroking the length. Dark orbs search mine, pupils dilated to pinpricks, a glaze of yearning shimmering. The water turns cool, saturating our fevered flesh. I want to lick all the beaded drops from his skin.
Feeling his palm on my cock is driving me insane. My composure is slipping. All I want to do is hurt and fuck him.
Working my cock like it’s his own, he massages my length, giving the tip attention until my balls draw tight and warmth unfurls up my spine. Then I’m fucking coming, hot, furious, and all over us both. The creamy fluid decorates his torso and my forearm. I groan and shudder as the remaining wave of pleasure ripples through my cock.
Releasing my grip on his balls, but not his throat, I swipe my finger through the cum before the water washes it away and bring it to my lips, tasting myself, then crashing my lips to his, forcing my way into his waiting mouth. I ravish him, and he fucking takes everything I have to give him. Then, I release him.
“Thank you. Now, thank me,” I demand.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice quivering and body shaking from the cold water now beating down on us.
I switch off the shower and grab us each a towel. “Get dry, then come down for some food. I put your bag in the guest room down the hall,” I tell him as I make my way to the closet for some fresh clothes.
“Does that make me gay now?” he calls across the room.
A sigh rattles my chest. “Xavi, you don’t need to label things, especially when it makes you so on edge. Do you want to tell me why you’re so afraid of being gay or people thinking you are?”
No.
He’s going to hold onto that shit until I force it out of him.
And I will.
“I want to sleep. Can I just be alone for a while?” He frowns, rubbing his hand over the sores on his wrist.
“Sure. I’ll keep something in the microwave for you in case you wake up and get hungry.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I watch him leave the room, head bowed and shoulders slumped. I don’t know whether we’ve taken a step forward or two steps back.
Either way, he’s stuck here with me, and we’re not leaving until we make headway.
Holy shit.
What have I done?
I knew this would happen…us. At least to a certain degree. Hell, I agreed to it. Now, though, I’m rethinking my reasoning.
If this gets out…
The urge to check social media is more addictive than any drug I’ve ever consumed. I throw on some sweatpants after my shower and hunt down my phone. When I swipe to turn it on, I’m irritated to discover I have zero bars of service.
What. The. Hell.
We’re in butt fucking Egypt, so of course we don’t have signal.
My hand trembles as I set the phone down on the dresser and stare at it. What do I do? I told Blaine I wanted to sleep, but my mind is buzzing. I need a smoke, but I don’t think he’ll like it if I light up in his house. I grab a pack of smokes and my Zippo, and pocket them before throwing on a shirt. I’m not eager to face off with him right now, so I sneak through the modernized cabin on a trek for the outdoors.
The heat of his stare burns into me as he cooks in the kitchen, but I ignore it. My stomach grumbles the moment I inhale something savory. I’m too jittery to eat, though.
As I step outside, the chill of the evening air nips the exposed flesh of my arms and bare feet. I relish the sting. There’s a swing on the darkened porch, so I plop down on it, propping my feet up on a table in front of it. I fish out my smokes and light the end before sucking down a drag, trying and failing to get my body to stop shaking.
I jacked off in front of him.
And then…
Fuck. I’m so fucked.
Ignoring the stiffening of my dick at the memory of how it felt to hold Blaine’s cock in my grip, I take another drag. I blow out the calming air harshly and study my Zippo in the moonlight.
If Lex were here, I’d demand he fix what’s wrong with me. Because he saw it even when I couldn’t. And he loved me anyway. He was awesome like that. Not judgmental. Wise. Always straight to the point. My throat aches with emotion. He was too fucking young to die.
Tears prickle at my eyes, and I fucking hate it. I hate how fragmented my mind feels all the damn time. I just need…I need a reprieve, goddammit.
I need a reprieve from me.
“I need a reprieve from me,” I croon, my voice husky from emotion. I like the way the words sound. Raw and brittle. It’d make a good hook.
The crickets are chirping in a relaxing cadence that chills my nerves a bit. I think about more lyrics that could work while tapping my Zippo on the wood of the swing for the beat. My mind drifts back to Lex.
What would he think about Blaine?
He’d probably be jealous at first, then laugh and give me shit. Me with a cop is fucking insane enough as it is. But Lex would want me to be happy, no matter if it was with a man or a woman. I know this deep down. Yeah, Lex would smile, his whole soul shining, and say, “You do you, brother.”
But I don’t even know who I am. I don’t even know who I want to be.
Lex’s laughter echoes in my head, and I tremble. I press my cigarette between my lips and flip open the Zippo. The flame dances in the darkness, enticing and alluring. I run it across my forearm, hissing at the sting. When I can’t take the burn any longer, I flip the lid closed and exhale the plume of smoke. I finish my cigarette before tossing it to the porch floor and stubbing it out with my bare foot.
“I don’t even know who I am,” I sing, my voice low and sad. “I don’t even know who I want to be.” I scrub at my face, fighting the confusion warring within me. “I need a reprieve from me.”
“New song?”
I jerk at the sound of Blaine’s deep voice. “Maybe.”
“I like it.” He steps over to me and hands me my acoustic. “Heard you singing and thought this might help. Dinner is in the oven.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I set it on the table. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll leave me alone.
“What the hell, Xa?”
Pain lances through my arm as he grips it, his features dark and menacing in the shadows.
“What?” I growl.
“You need to quit this shit,” he bites out, releasing my arm. “It’s fucked up.”
“Whatever, man.”
He squats down in front of me so we’re eye to eye. “In my house, have some respect, boy.”
I tense at the husky way he calls me “boy.” Every time he says it, heat burns up my spine.
“I like the pain of it,” I tell him, meeting his glare with one of my own.
“As long as you’re here, you’re not doing that shit,” he says, nodding to my Zippo.
I ignore him until he stands and starts to walk away.
“Why won’t you let me burn?” My words are whispered, mostly to myself. Maybe they’re lyrics, maybe they’re a plea.
He walks back over to me and sits down. His fingers dig into my jaw as he turns me to look at him. My body tingles from his touch.
“You like pain?” he asks, a challenge in his tone.
Of course I rise to the
occasion. “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”
His lips curl into a sinister smile that makes my stomach clench in anticipation. “I’ve got a problem that you’re inflicting the pain yourself. That’s my job, boy.”
“You want to hurt me?”
“Among other things.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it. And based on your need to feel as a distraction from what’s going on inside you, I’d say you’ll like it too.”
“Like spank me?”
At this, he laughs. The sound is rich, deep, and vibrant. I decide right then, I really fucking love his laugh. Reminds me of the way Lex and I would laugh until we cried. My bandmates and I are close, but I’ve never been as close to them as I was with Lex. The thought of laughing without a care in the world like so many days in my past has a trickle of hope flickering inside me.
“Spanking is for the Christian Greys of the world,” he says, smirking.
“Like the dude from that porn movie?”
“I know you’re not sheltered, boy. That was far from fucking porn. Mr. Grey is refined and structured. Contracts and bullshit.” He lifts a brow as he drags his stare down to my split lip. “I’m more of an animal. Feral and possessive. The need to dominate. Control is threaded into my DNA. Every breath, every thought, every action is fueled by my desire to hunt my prey. It’s what drove me to join the police force.”
“So, spanking’s out,” I say tightly.
He rubs his thumb along my jaw, making my hairs stand on end. “I’m not limited on my ways of punishing. If I need to whip my boy into shape and the only thing I have available is my hand, then I’ll use my damn hand.”
I’m not sure how I feel about getting spanked.
My dick’s semi-hard in my sweats, though.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, his palm sliding down my throat. He squeezes slightly. “Tell me—and don’t fucking lie.”
I swallow and close my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You want to burn so goddamn badly?” he asks, his voice a deep growl.
I snap open my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Then I’m going to let you burn.” He leans forward and kisses my lips chastely. “But I’m going to be the one to burn you.” His teeth tug at my bottom lip, sending curls of pleasure dancing down to my dick. “Not just on your arms.” He releases my neck and drags his knuckle down the side of my throat. “Here,” he says as he circles my nipple over my shirt, “and here.”
