by Tara Oakes
"I'm going to have you screaming 'My name is Parker Steele' by the time I'm done with you," I pant and start to kiss my way down his sexy body.
Parker lets out a breathy laugh. "In your dreams."
"We'll see about that."
Once I get down to where I'm between his legs, I shove them up high so that his asshole is on full display for me.
"Chance," Parker moans.
He loves when I eat out his ass so I dive right in. I keep going until he's begging me to fuck him. Finding the lube, I slick myself up and position myself at his hole. I slowly push my way in with Parker moaning the entire time. Once fully seated, I begin a nice slow and steady rhythm. Parker claws at my ass cheek.
"Harder, Chance," Parker gasps.
My lips curl into a slow mischievous grin. "What's wrong with slow and soft?"
"I want you to fuck me, dammit!" Parker barks.
"And I want you to change your last name to Steele," I reply.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" he asks incredulously.
"All you gotta do is tell me what your name is and I'll fuck you so hard you'll be seeing stars, and I don't mean Hollywood ones," I growl, slinging one of his legs over my shoulder and slamming hard into him to make my point.
Parker cries out, "Fuck! Yes, that's what I want!"
"Then say it."
Parker glares at me while I take my good ol' time working myself slowly in and out of him while I wait.
Parker makes an aggravated noise and slaps a hand down on the mattress. "Fine! My name is Parker Steele! Now fucking fuck me!"
"Anything for you, Parker Steele." I chuckle.
I pull out and flip him over. I grab him by his hips and pull him up to his knees where I quickly shove myself back into him. Parker's scream is muffled by the comforter he's chewing on. I give it to him hard and fast, just like he wants. Within minutes, he's coming hard with me following right behind him. We both collapse onto the bed, sweaty and panting.
I kiss the back of his neck. "You know I would never force you to change your name if you don't want to, right?" I whisper to him.
Parker turns his head to look over his shoulder at me. "Maybe I do want to change my name."
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "Really?"
He gives a little shrug and smiles softly. "I'd rather be a Steele than a Hamilton."
I gape at him. "Seriously? You want to change your last name to Steele?"
Parker rolls over so we can see each other better. "Yeah, I'll do it when we get home," he says sweetly and gives me a peck on the lips.
I smile. "Fuck, I love you, Parker Steele."
Parker grins in return. "I love you, too, Chance Steele."
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MAN-HUNGRY MEN
STRONG
Daryl Banner
It’s a really good thing I’m strong.
That’s what Ian tells himself, watching the second hand slowly draw circles around the clock in the waiting room.
She needs me to be strong. He clasps his hands and feels his jaw tighten, waiting.
He’s always been there for his big sister Kelsey. In school, he was the one who consoled her after she was kicked out of varsity choir. Who the hell gets kicked out of varsity choir? It had to do with some jealous bitch who defamed her and spread lies, even got the choir director involved. And he had to keep all of this a secret from their parents until she gathered enough courage to tell them herself.
“I don’t want them involved,” she kept saying. “We can handle this on our own, right? We got this, right?”
Ian remembers nodding so much, he gave himself a headache. The things I did for you. Doesn’t quite compare, somehow, to the things he’s yet to do. Everything their whole life has been a game of secrets. Except this. This is no game, and mom’s no longer around to keep secrets from.
We had plans to move away from all the drama and get an apartment together in Boston, he tells himself, clenching his fists. Finally, Ian was going to get out of this god-forsaken town and Kelsey was going to kiss all the haters goodbye. I’m being so strong. She’s lucky I’m so … Ian puts on a tight smile, baring his teeth.
And then she found the lump in her left breast. A lump that turned hard as a rock. A lump that grew. Things were going so well, he tells himself. And I’m … I’m so strong for her.
One minute later, he’s doubled over a toilet retching up a breakfast he didn’t eat.
Another minute later, he’s staring at his face in the hospital bathroom mirror, feeling a sudden urge to cry. No tears come, even as he wrinkles up his face and starts breathing funny. He studies his less-than-attractive face. His weird nose. His big ears. His lost eyes. Maybe it’s just his currently depressed state of mind and he isn’t as unsightly as he thinks, but when he looks in the mirror, the sadness and tiredness and despair is all he sees.
You’re a big weak puppy, he tells his reflection. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, you dumb, sad, lonely homo.
Strong, he thinks bitterly, shutting his eyes and sparing himself the sight of his face.
Knowing he still has a fistful of hours to wait, he does not return to the waiting room. Leaving the bathroom, Ian wanders down the hall toward a large atrium that spans the height of seven stories, give or take, with giant glass walls that overlook the city skyline and waning amber sunlight of one terrible fucking day.
If I’m lucky, I’ll see stars, he reasons. Kelsey loves stars.
He finds himself floating through a commons area sprinkled with tables and, if he’s not mistaking-- trashcans or chairs for people, three lonely occupants. Finding that to be far too many humans to deal with, he plunges into another hall—who cares which one?—and dodges stray gurneys and carts of nursing supplies and empty chairs on his way deeper into the fluorescent hospital hell.
It’s somewhere between the fifth nurses’ station and the sixth set of elevators he passes that he stops, overwhelmed. He looks to his left and sees an endless white hall of doors. He looks to his right at the eerily calm and lifeless desk where two female nurses are typing at two separate computers, each wearing a smirk more wearied than the other.
Finally, one of them looks up, as if Ian were a fly that just few by her eyes. He’s been standing in place for at least two minutes now. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m waiting for my sister. Kelsey.” He feels a sudden urge to punch something and can’t explain why. “It’s the same way our mom died.”
The nurse wrinkles her face. “Sorry?”
“Isn’t that how it always is?” says Ian. “You spend your whole life worrying about a hundred other problems. Then the hundred-and-first problem’s the one that kills you.”
The nurse says something else, but quite suddenly Ian is not in the mood to listen. He walks down the hall, hearing the woman call out to him over and over. He doesn’t hear the words. The hallway becomes a white, suffocating tunnel, and it’s like their mom dying all over again, slowly and quietly and horribly. She was getting better. She was getting worse. She was telling him she knew exactly what to get him for his birthday, and then died before summer came.
That was the longest summer he ever knew.
When he stops walking again, he’s found himself freed from the too-bright hallways. Or perhaps he was somehow secretly drawn to the darkest hallway in the hospital. The lights in this hall are shut off, and along the far wall is an uninterrupted line of wide windows that overlook a parking lot. Tall trees reach up to tickle the glass when the wind blows.
It’s at this window next to an empty gurney that he stops. His hand touches the glass. Strong, he thinks, and a dry laugh escapes his lips. I’m such a fucking drama queen. I’m acting like I’m the one with cancer.
>
“Can I help you?” asks a gentle voice from behind, a man’s voice.
Without even bothering to turn, still staring out the window at the lazily swaying trees and picturing himself and his sister as kids trying to climb it, Ian says, “Probably not.”
“Hmm.” A soft pair of footsteps brings the man closer. “Can I try?”
“I think I’m lost.”
“You’re in the east wing, if that helps.”
“Not that kind of lost,” Ian confesses. “The other kind.”
The man brings himself to the gurney at Ian’s side, sitting on it. When stubborn Ian finally turns his head, what he finds before him is a male nurse with the handsomest face he’d ever dreamed of running into in a hospital … let alone a dark hallway of said hospital. The man’s face is kind, yet his jaw is square, his cheekbones chiseled of marble from some sculptor of demigods. His eyes are striking and grey, the fierceness of them made more so by the darkness of his lashes and eyebrows.
“Carter,” says the nurse, extending a hand, and Ian won’t know if that’s a first or a last name he just got thrown at him by this beautiful man in scrubs. Carter doesn’t smile, yet he seems so kind and inviting. Ian clasps the outstretched hand, then finds himself stunned by the softness of it.
“Ian,” he finally returns.
They don’t let go of each other’s hand for almost too long. This is the first moment all day that’s allowed him to, for just five fleeting seconds, forget what’s troubling him so much. I don’t want to let go, Ian realizes as he holds the beautiful man’s hand.
Then they let go. “So, Ian … you were saying you’re lost?”
Ian swallows, then brings himself to nod. “Yes.” He clears his throat, looks at the man’s chest, somehow unable to meet his eyes. He feels his face going red. “Lost in not knowing what to do,” Ian goes on. “Feeling … stupid and weak and helpless. My sister’s the one being put under right now and, as usual, I’m making all of this about me.” His forehead rests against the window, making a hollow thud against the heavy glass. “I’m suddenly embarrassed.”
“Why embarrassed?”
“No idea.” Ian shuts his eyes, feeling his face go redder and redder. “There are hundreds of better brothers out there that my sister could have. Stronger brothers. And she’s been cursed with me, the one who’s selfish, who doesn’t have his shit together … the one who can’t keep a boyfriend and gets lost in hospitals.”
“Can’t keep a boyfriend?” His tone of voice might suggest he’s amused. “I find that hard to believe.”
Ian moans into the glass, the compliment going right over his head. This is so humiliating. The hottest male nurse he’s ever seen is engaging in an intimate conversation with him in a dark hallway. Isn’t this how gay porn starts? “No,” he says back. “Boys run from me. I’m a mess.”
Nurse Carter is so patient. “I’m not running. Staying put, in fact. I’m on a break, spending it with you.”
“Shouldn’t you spend it sleeping in one of those on-call rooms with all the beds until your pager beeps at you to come save a life, or is that just what happens on Grey’s Anatomy?” Ian says this all with his head still pressed to the glass, muffled. Carter chuckles emptily, finding that amusing as well, apparently. “What’s so funny?”
“Maybe I’m here to save your life,” he says back.
Wow, isn’t he just so self-important. “I need my sister’s life saved,” replies Ian. “Not mine.”
The nurse shifts his weight on the gurney, folding his hands. Ian sees it in his peripheral, yet still refuses to face him. “You’ve been … pretty worried about her for a while, huh?”
Worried, Ian thinks, marinating in that word. Worry, worry, worry. Finally, Ian lifts his head off the window. “It’s all I ever do,” he confesses to the nurse’s knees, unable still to meet his eyes. “Not that my worry helps. It isn’t worry she needs. It’s strength, and … and I’ve fooled her into thinking I have a lot of it when really … who the fuck am I? I’m just the annoying, ugly brother.”
“Ugly is not a word that crosses my mind.”
Letting himself hear that, Ian finally dares to look at the handsome man’s face … at Carter’s face. His eyes are so sincere. How can he tell big-eared me that I’m not ugly and keep such a straight face? This man is sexy as fuck. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings,” says Ian. “I’ve been lied to by many doctors before with those sweet words of comfort. ‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ they tell you. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ they tell you. ‘You’re doing great,’ they say. They build a false sense of security around you with all their sweet lies. I know how you doctors are. Just like shady boyfriends, easing me with your sweet words.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
Carter keeps his face so even and his voice so calm that Ian feels this inescapable comfort around him. That’s the point, he realizes. He’s a nurse, a healer, a caregiver. “So what am I, if I’m not ugly?”
“Burdened, perhaps,” he answers. “In need of a little … escape, maybe? Need to blow off some steam. He needs a bit of therapy, definitely.”
The last sentence was a joke. Or at least Ian hopes so, because suddenly Ian’s laughing. “You know a decent therapist?” he asks when he recovers.
“I could get you a good deal in the psych ward,” says Carter. “I have friends there.”
“Friends in the psych ward? Are you sure you’re not the crazy one?” Ian smiles, despite the hot nurse’s insistence on being strangely stoic yet calming.
Unexpectedly, Carter hops off the gurney and comes behind Ian. When the nurse’s hands touch Ian’s shoulders, he turns to stone. The hands begin to work Ian’s shoulders, firmly and confidently. It doesn’t take much before Ian’s eyes close and a moan tries stubbornly to escape his chest. What powerful hands you have … Ian feels himself involuntarily leaning back, as if wishing to be drawn into this gorgeous nurse’s arms. Strong hands, he realizes.
“This,” Ian finally decides. “This is what I needed.” The nurse’s kneading fingers send pulses of pleasure through Ian’s whole body. He feels tension releasing in his head. He feels his own fingers tingling as they hang useless and dumb at his sides. Strangely, he even feels a warm sensation around his thighs.
Or maybe that’s his cock stiffening. “Who are you, anyway?” Ian asks.
“You can just call me Carter,” he says with his silky voice to Ian’s neck. Was that a kiss? He could almost mistake the nurse’s tuft of breath for the light pressing of lips on his neck. I’ll just pretend it’s his lips, Ian decides. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed.
“I know your name. But who are you really?” Ian asks this to the reflection of the nurse’s face, which he spots in the window. “Let me forget why I’m here … Tell me who you are and why you go around with your gorgeous cover model face and your magic hands and torture lost souls like me.”
He lifts those dark eyebrows of his, surprised. “Torture? I’m torturing you?”
“A lot.”
Carter seems to consider this notion for a moment. “Well, then. I’m not doing my job that well if I’m torturing you. Really, I was hoping to calm your nerves.”
“You’re doing a fine job of exciting them.”
“What do you think you need?”
Ian doesn’t have to think long. “Strength.”
The massage has moved from his shoulders down to his back as the nurse kneads him like a lump of dough. “Strength,” he whispers to Ian’s neck. “Hmm.” His knuckles press and fold and roll down his back. Ian lets out a tiny, private gasp; the nurse hears it anyway. “I can give you that.”
“Give me what?”
He hardly gets the question out when Nurse Carter draws Ian toward a nearby door. Protesting not at all, he finds himself in a dark room lit only by a bright digital clock on a table sandwiched by a pair of bunk beds.
“We’re not supposed to be in here,” Carter points out, “so, if you can, try to keep yo
ur voice down.”
“If I can?”
Then, in an instant, Carter’s mouth crashes into Ian’s. Only seconds ago they didn’t know the first thing about one another; now, they are sharing breath and heat and saliva. Carter’s tongue slips in so gently, Ian can’t tell where one face ends and the other begins.
And when the moaning starts, Ian realizes why he’s been instructed to keep his voice down. Pulling apart, Ian asks, “Are you going to get in trouble?”
Carter pulls Ian toward one of the beds. “If I do, let’s make it worth it. Take off your shirt.”
It’s Ian’s turn to be surprised. “What?”
Nurse Carter starts to remove Ian’s shirt for him. Quickly converted from emotional nut bag to sexually-objectified patient, Ian finds his cotton shirt slipped over his head in seconds, then their mouths reconnect, kissing heatedly as Carter tugs on Ian’s belt and jeans, releasing them to the hungry floor. Tenting in his boxers, Ian stands almost naked in front of the beautiful nurse as their mouths make work of one another.
Ian pulls away. “I’m here for my checkup,” he says, trying for humor. “What’s my temperature?”
Carter presses a cool hand to Ian’s forehead, then runs it down to his cheek. “Feverish,” Carter decides. “We gotta do something about that.”
Now it’s Carter’s turn to slip out of his scrubs: first the pants, then the shirt. Even in the dark, Carter’s muscles play against the scarce light of the digital clock, spilling a gentle greenish light over his abs and pecs. He reaches for a drawer near the bed, rummaging for something.
“Blood pressure?” Ian whimpers excitedly.
Then, Carter drops to his knees and makes one deft tug, bringing Ian’s boxers to his ankles. “Through the roof,” he answers. A warm wet mouth finds home on Ian’s stiff cock, swallowing its every inch in seconds. Ian gasps, overcome by the sensation, his cock growing all the more sensitive as Carter sucks and twists his skillful mouth. It takes everything in Ian not to holler out in ecstasy.
