Alluring Passion: A MM Contemporary Bundle

by Peter Styles

  Jeremiah groaned even louder. “No way! You’re not that old yet.”

  Chris laughed and picked up another form from one of his many stacks. “Good to know.”

  The way their lives had become so seamlessly intertwined still amazed Jeremiah. When he moved in with Markus, he always felt pushed to the side, like the other was simply accommodating him. Now that he was with Chris, he knew how it really felt to have his life blend with another’s. Their routine established itself quickly, as if they had always been meant to live together. And maybe they had.

  Awareness crept up his spine, the knowledge that he was being watched. He calmly set his book aside and then turned his head to look at Chris, who was openly staring. “What are you doing?”

  “Marveling.”

  Jeremiah shook his head and pretended to reach for his book again. His muscles tightened, bunched up, and he threw himself across the couch and landed directly in Chris’s lap. Papers exploded up into the air, blown around the living room by the ceiling fan.

  All Chris could do was sit there and watch as everything he so neatly organized went off in every direction. It would take hours to put everything all back in order again, especially because he hadn’t gotten around to stapling any of it.

  Jeremiah grinned up into his stunned eyes. “Oops.”

  Chris growled and grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him up higher in his lap and holding him tight so that he couldn’t go anywhere no matter how hard he struggled. “You little rascal! Look at what you did!”

  Jeremiah beamed. “I am. Are you going to punish me for it?”

  He laughed at the stunned look that crossed the other’s face. “What, you’re into that? Like… spanking?”

  “Hell, no.” Jeremiah reached up and wrapped his arms around Chris’s neck, feeling his groin start to burn and his cock stiffen. Hard pressure from beneath his ass told him he wasn’t the only one feeling playful. “So then, if you aren’t going to punish me for making a mess of your work, what are you going to do?”

  I suck at dirty talk. Good thing Chris appreciates my efforts.

  Judging from how quickly the bulge beneath him was lengthening, he appreciated it quite a bit. Keeping his grip firm, Chris lowered his lips to Jeremiah’s and kissed him roughly. Chris’s tongue pushed into his mouth, seeking out his own to rub against and play with. Jeremiah whimpered, tasting sweetness and heat, clutching at Chris’s back and digging his nails into his skin.

  When they finally parted, Chris murmured to him, “How long do we have until dinner is ready?”

  Perhaps Jeremiah’s favorite discovery was Chris’s crockpot, an ancient gift given to him by someone a long time ago. Even the worst cook couldn’t screw up cooking dinner in a crockpot.

  “Half an hour.”

  “Plenty of time,” Chris growled. He stood up with Jeremiah in his arms and carted him away to the bedroom.

  Plenty of time, Jeremiah agreed. Because now we have forever.

  The End

  I Need a Hero

  Peter Styles

  © 2017

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

  Chapter One

  “I just think it’s dumb that there’s more than one kind.”

  “Why? I mean, there’s more than one mineral on earth. I don’t see why it would be any different on an alien planet.”

  “Sure, yeah, but the chance of them all being different colors and all of them doing different things to him? You don’t think that’s weird and contrived?”

  I sighed, tossing the thick, heaving issue of Previews down on the counter with a thump. Gary and Leonard both turned to look at me. “It’s Superman, you guys,” I pointed out. “Of course it’s weird and contrived. Comics do dumb stuff, end of story.”

  “But,” Leonard said, doggedly, his nostrils flaring with self-righteous irritation, “don’t you agree that it would make more sense for there to be multiple kinds of Kryptonite than for there to be just one?”

  “But wouldn’t you also agree,” Gary snapped, “that it’s ridiculous that they all have specific effects on Superman? Logically, wouldn’t they all have the same effect on him, or at least similar ones? Or maybe just medical effects? I don’t think I would argue if red Kryptonite gave him, like, a headache or something but, in this continuity, it just turns him into a douchebag.”

  “Dude, red Kryptonite has turned Superman into a dragon,” I said. “It changes issue to issue, continuity to continuity. Does it really matter?”

  Leonard pointed at me triumphantly, as if I’d agreed with him. To cut down his smugness a little, I added, “And pink Kryptonite turns him gay. The fact is, it’s dumb and contrived but, after seventy-five years, I think that should be expected.”

  “So what exactly are you saying?” Gary asked, narrowing his eyes.

  I groaned, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes. “I’m saying that we’ve been watching Smallville all week, and we could all use a break.”

  “No!” Leonard whined. “We said we were going to watch the whole thing in order!”

  “It’s ten seasons, Leonard!” I cried. “I haven’t watched anything since you brought up this idea. I haven’t even gotten to catch up on Gotham or anything. I constantly have the theme song stuck in my head. Last night, I dreamt that I was sitting in a coffee shop and telling Tom Welling that he could totally fly if he just believed in himself enough. I’m tapping out, guys.”

  “Ah, don’t quit now,” Gary advised, a small smirk on his face. “We’re almost on season three. Wait until season eight rolls around.”

  I chuckled. “Can’t argue with that. Michael Rosenbaum makes this show. It’s rare for a guy to pull off bald so well.”

  Leonard wrinkled his nose. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

  “About what?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. I knew exactly what he was going to say, but fucking with him was way too much fun to just pass up the opportunity.

  “About… you know.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Gay stuff.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you really have to wear sweatpants every single day?”

  Gary barked out a laugh and Leonard scowled. “I’m a paying customer, you know,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height. His shirt rode up over his ample stomach. “I can take my business elsewhere.”

  “You’re not going to do that, Len,” I said, reopening the Previews and thumbing through the pages.

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Because the closest shop to this one is half an hour away and there’s no way your mom is going to drive you out there every day.”

  “I told you that I’m getting my license!” he sniffed.

  “Sure, dude. And I’m going to get a postgrad degree in engineering,” Gary said, rolling his eyes. “It’s good to have dreams, but let’s be realistic.”

  “I think a thirty-five year old man having his license is pretty realistic,” I commented.

  “Yeah,” Gary agreed, “but what about Leonard having a license?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. Totally unbelievable.”

  “You guys are dicks,” Leonard grumbled. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not. Your mom is still at work.” Gary leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

  Leonard blushed. “I can still stand
outside.”

  “Don’t be such a bitch, man,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to watch Smallville so bad. Sit the fuck down and watch it.”

  Leonard mumbled something I couldn’t hear under his breath, but he obeyed, slumping down into one of the beat-up, overstuffed chairs crammed into what we generously referred to as the reading corner and glaring moodily up at the TV, where Lex Luthor and Clark Kent were having one of the show’s trademark homoerotic conversations.

  “I’m actually pretty glad we’re doing this re-watch,” Gary said. “I haven’t seen Smallville since it aired. Plus, I’d take literally anything over the usual crap we watch in here.”

  “Keep talking shit about Star Trek,” I challenged him. “See where that gets you. The next issue of All-Star Batman just might not make it to your pull box.”

  “That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “I’ll agree with you on the second part, but it’s hardly cruel. If anything, I’m being merciful.”

  “You’re such an elitist.”

  “We’re geeks, Gary. We’re all elitists.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Leonard interjected from across the room.

  “Says the guy that was just lecturing us about the importance of different kinds of Kryptonite,” I snorted. “You don’t get to throw nerd stones in this particular glasshouse.”

  “I don’t know why I put up with this abuse,” Leonard huffed.

  “Because we’re your only friends and you have nowhere else to go?” Gary guessed.

  “Wha—I have plenty of friends!” Leonard scoffed, affronted.

  “Aw.” I gave him a sad, knowing look. “Sure you do, buddy. Sure you do.”

  Leonard sniffed in indignation, but he didn’t seem to be able to reasonably argue with me. He folded his arms over his wealth of a stomach and glared at the TV.

  I checked the clock. “Hey, either of you idiots going to buy something?” I asked. “I want to get out of here.”

  “We haven’t even reached the end of the episode!” Leonard whined, gesturing at the TV.

  “I don’t care. It’s almost eight, and I’m not staying open just so you can dick around.”

  “But we’re paying customers!”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you? You come in here every day, Len, and I only see you put down cash on new book day.” When Gary snorted, proud of himself, I added, “Don’t throw stones in this glass comic-book store, bud. You buy, what, one or two comics a day? And they’re usually cheap, busted-up back issues.” He dropped his eyes in embarrassment, and I said, “Face it, guys. You’re my friends and I love you dearly, but you come in here every day, tell me what to watch in my own store, pull me into stupid fights, and then barely drop five bucks on merchandise. I mean, you can’t even find a trade or a figure you want?”

  Gary had the decency to look ashamed. Leonard harrumphed, clearly indignant, which didn’t really bother me; after all, Leonard was indignation personified. Something was always going to be pissing him off. This wasn’t even the first time I’d had this conversation with the two of them and, although we all knew nothing would actually change, it felt good to remind them of my benevolence once in a while. I may have been a pushover, but at least I was a pushover who recognized what was happening.

  Gary bought five discount back issues instead of his usual two and, even though his purchases didn’t even reach ten bucks, I appreciated the gesture.

  Leonard set a Heroclix figure down in front of me, eying me up. I grabbed it, glaring at its wobbly, uneven, tiny eyes. “This is one click,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s Sharon Carter,” I said, looking disdainfully at the pocket-sized figurine.

  “I know.”

  I sighed. “This is from the four for a dollar bin, Len.”

  “I noticed.”

  I glared. There was no point in arguing. Leonard was a stubborn bastard— emphasis on bastard—and I knew there was no way I was going to badger him into rounding the purchase out to one dollar. I rang it up for twenty-five cents and flicked the figure across the counter, watching as it rattled to a stop on its tiny round platform. Leonard handed me the quarter, then asked, “And where is my card?”

  I groaned. Aside from the fact that a lot of them weren’t worth much, my main problem with Heroclix was that each one came packaged with a card and, when I sold them unpackaged, those cards had to be held behind the counter for me to sort through and find when one was purchased. Considering just how many characters had been turned into the mini fighting figurines, finding the right card could take upwards of fifteen minutes. I turned to see the clock striking eight precisely. “Come on, Len,” I reasoned, trying to be charming. “You don’t even play the damn game”

  He shrugged, haughtily. “Maybe I want to start playing.”

  “But you don’t,” I asserted. “You hate the game with a fiery passion. You called it ‘a game for losers who aren’t smart enough to win a game of Magic: The Gathering.’ You’re never going to play it.”

  Leonard’s gaze didn’t waver; my resolve did. I sighed in defeat and spent at least ten minutes shuffling through the box of cards. I found Sharon Carter and flicked the card at him, wishing I could use it to blow a hole in his chest like one of my favorite X-Men. Unfortunately, all my feeble toss did was make Leonard look a little bit annoyed, which could also be achieved by existing too loudly. It was hardly a feat. Still, I had to take what I could get.

  There was a honking in the distance and, through the front window, I saw Leonard’s mother huddled over her steering wheel and looking exhausted. “Your ride’s here,” I said.

  Leonard sighed and rolled his eyes. “Took her long enough. She knows you close at eight.”

  I managed to bite my tongue when I saw that the clock read twenty-past-eight. I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Leonard any more that day. I needed to go home and rest up for our inevitable rematch. I watched him go without comment.

  Gary lagged behind, watching me start to close up shop. I would have been annoyed that he didn’t help, but it really didn’t matter as the store was so tiny, I could close it all by myself in about three minutes. It was the size of an average living room, or maybe just a smidge bigger, but it looked miniscule with the rows and rows of comics on every wall and countertops full of long boxes taking up most of the space. Adding in the counter and some display cases, every crack and corner was filled, which meant that there were parts of the store that could only be accessed by someone tiny and quick— for example, me.

  I shut down the cheap laptop I used for business, turned off the ancient cash register, and flicked off all the lights using one light switch. I gave the room a small spritzing with Febreeze—even though I hadn’t noticed anything, that didn’t mean that some sort of funk hadn’t floated off an errant customer and become embedded in the old carpeting. I had just been working in the store for so long that I’d become immune to what I described as ‘Eau de Nerd’: a potent combination of body odor, basements, and Mountain Dew that seemed to cling to certain members of the geek species. Gary and Leonard may have been a little irritating, but at least they weren’t examples of the small but noticeable percentage of our clan who thought showering was an act akin to Satan worship. Gary watched with mild interest as I flipped the sign around to say “CLOSED”.

  “So,” Gary said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, “what are you up to tonight?”

  Oh boy, I thought. This conversation.

  It was a conversation I’d had with Gary at least a hundred times, though there were plenty permutations of it. Even though we’d been doing it for four years—ever since our sophomore year of college—I was still never able to predict the outcome. Gary had the best poker face I’d ever seen. It happened at least once every single week, but I never managed to figure out where it would end until it was already over.

  I played along by keeping my voice casual, straig
htening the new issues sitting on the shelves on the wall. “Nothing, really,” I said, which was true. “I was thinking about playing some Overwatch.”

  “Yeah.” Gary pursed his lips in thought. “I like it, but I’m getting a little burnt out on that, honestly. I’m still just disappointed it doesn’t have a story mode.”

  “I know. You mention it every single time we play.”

  He shrugged and gave me his goofy, crooked smile. Gary reminded me of a slightly plump puppy dog: always happy and eager to please. He was much more handsome than the average clientele at the shop, with a bear-like figure, deep auburn hair and a spray of freckles over his face. “I was mostly planning on just having a few beers tonight,” he told me. “I figured I might swing by. Share the wealth.”

  “I’m always up for free drinks,” I said, but my heart was pounding a little harder. “Did you want to watch something?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. I wasn’t really planning on it, though.”

  I nodded easily, trying to stay completely composed. “Alright. Cool. Meet me at my place in like an hour?” This put the ball in my court. As much as I preferred having some kind of control over what was going on, I sort of hated being in this position in case I guessed wrong or said something Gary didn’t want to hear. It was stupid, but since when has anxiety ever been smart?

  “Yeah, that sounds good.” It was Gary’s turn to send out feelers. “Want me to bring anything else?”

  “Nah, just the beer,” I said, decisively.

  He nodded with a small smile. “Cool. I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah,” I said, with a small wave. “See you.”

  I watched him walk out of the door and sighed. I stopped shuffling with the comics and instead ducked behind a display packed to the brim with trades and hard covers to take a breath.

  No one who had seen that conversation would have realized that I was setting up a tryst with my friend, which was by design. I was openly gay, and Gary was openly disinterested in labels, but there had always been something a little strange about our decision to hook up with each other. We’d been friends since high school and, while he was a good guy, I made sure to never consider him boyfriend material, and he seemed to do the same with me. It was just instinct to avoid any kind of romantic entanglements that could damage our friendship.