Alluring Passion: A MM Contemporary Bundle

by Peter Styles

  Hell, I don’t know if we had ever even said anything to each other directly about sex outside of the bedroom. Every meeting was set up the way we’d done it that night: one of us suggested “hanging out” before ruling out most of our regular activities. We had no shortage of things we could do together, so when it just came down to “a few beers”, we both knew exactly what that meant.

  I turned off all the buzzing neon signs in the windows; the Bat Signal, the Superman crest, and the extra open sign all flickered out, leaving me in shadow-infested pre-darkness. I avoided looking at the full-sized cardboard figures standing around the store as I walked out, locked the door behind me, and scurried around the building to the tiny parking lot—which was really less of a parking lot and more of a small square of dirt big enough to fit maybe five small cars—and jumped into my banged-up Subaru.

  Even though my workday was ending, when I got to my home in an old but well-kept boarding house, I could see that the hustle and bustle there was just beginning. The sun was nearly set, but the girls I shared my home with were scattered around the kitchen when I got home, eating lunch, painting each other’s nails, and taking turns primping in front of a mirror. Still, I barely registered it—when you live in a brothel, you stop reacting to a lot of things, including seeing ten women adjusting their lipsticks while wearing nothing but skin-tight cat suits or skimpy lingerie. They all chirped cheery but hurried hellos to me when I walked in. A mental headcount showed me that the only person missing was the Madame, who also happened to be my landlady. “Where’s Olga?” I asked.

  Christy, my closest friend of the bunch and my go-to confidante, answered without looking away from her pocket mirror. “Said she’s out running errands,” she said, rubbing her lips together and popping them, admiring the baby pink of her lipstick. “Something you need?”

  “No, I guess not,” I said, uneasily, “but the second-floor cameras have been on the fritz, so I’d advise all of you to be careful and stay near your panic buttons. I should get to them tomorrow, but I need the cash for replacements from Olga.”

  Another woman, Hallie, looked up at me gratefully. “You’re such a lifesaver, Harris.”

  I smiled. Hallie was sweet, but I thought she gave me a little too much credit, especially when Ronaldo—one of the massive bouncers always on hand—was standing in the doorway and scrolling through his phone. “Anyone have a free time slot for the next hour?” I asked.

  “I do.” Christy batted her lashes at her mirror. “Why?”

  “Just wanted to make sure there would be someone to let Gary in.”

  There was a chorus of “oohs”, and I tried not to roll my eyes. “No problem,” Christy said, finally looking at me and giving me a bright, glowing smile. “I’ll keep Ronaldo from roughing him up.”

  I laughed, but that was mostly to make Ronaldo think I was comfortable with his presence. The fact was, the hulking man terrified me and everyone else aside from the girls in the house. He had a tendency to forget faces, and he’d nearly punched Gary through a wall once before. I didn’t need it happening again. Even as I started up the stairs on my way to my small apartment in the attic, I could feel Ronaldo watching me skeptically.

  I didn’t feel that was warranted. Not only had I been living in the house for almost three years and working as the tech guy and bookkeeper the entire time, I was hardly in the closet. I hadn’t had any boyfriends in that time, but I was pretty open, and Gary came over often enough that any outsider should have been able to figure out what was going on. Besides, I had a pretty sweet deal: so long as I got along with everyone and took care of things on the money and tech side of the brothel, I could live there for free. I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that.

  When I made it up to my apartment, I locked the door three times behind me without thinking, using the chain, the deadbolt, and the lock on the doorknob. Realistically, I knew I didn’t need to do it—with the caliber of security around the brothel, there was very little chance of anybody coming in unwanted, and even less of a chance of them making their way up to my apartment. Olga had been surprised when I’d asked for multiple locks to be added to the door. I’d made up some bullshit excuse for it at the time, but I’d always known it was because of a deep-rooted sense of paranoia. It seemed at times like I’d been exceedingly jumpy ever since high school.

  Which was proven by the fact that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a knock at the door.

  I opened it to see Gary, standing on the landing and looking purposefully casual. “Hey,” he said, giving me his big, crooked smile.

  “You got here quick,” I said.

  “I was looking forward to it.” A series of thumps from one of the apartments below started up, and Gary grimaced. “I should probably come in before we hear something too… weird.”

  I stepped aside and waved him in.

  The first few seconds stretched on, feeling more like hours. Things always started off awkward, no matter how long we’d been doing it for. The rest of it had fallen into a nice rhythm, but we always started with a lot of sidestepping and uncomfortable shuffling.

  Which I got sick of pretty fast.

  Finally, I grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pulled him down to meet me, pressing my lips hard against his. It was always easiest when we didn’t talk, anyway.

  He responded immediately, groaning, the sound getting lost when I parted my lips and slipped out my tongue, swiping it across his full lower lip. Never much one for foreplay, Gary’s hand snatched at my belt, undoing it with surprising deftness while pushing me toward the bed. In my studio apartment, it wasn’t a long trip.

  Before he could push me onto the bed, I turned, jerking him around with me before shoving him down onto the mattress. He let out a breathless gasp of surprise, and I climbed between his legs. I hurriedly removed his belt and jeans while he slid out of his shirt. He made a tiny noise of acquiescence, and I grinned—it was a little bit of a competition for us to see who could get the other naked first, and I almost always won. I was small, but I was quick—plus, I don’t think he minded losing all that much, especially when I slid down to his hips and took his half-hard cock in my mouth, massaging it with my tongue.

  I sucked slowly, enjoying the feeling of his shaft hardening in my mouth. I felt a rush of power over the effect I was having on him, and I flicked my tongue around the rim of the head. As his cock stiffened, it was harder to keep in my mouth; even taking it into the back of my throat left some of it exposed, and I had to use one of my hands to stroke in time with the bobbing of my head. My tongue swirled over the underside, spelling out whatever words I could think of on the sensitive skin. I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me with his lips parted and eyelids drooping with lust, and I hummed happily around his shaft.

  When I felt one of his big hands on the back of my head, I started going faster, responding to the very light pressure he used to guide me. He had never been forceful about head with me and never would be, which I appreciated—I was never a fan of guys who tried to choke me with their dicks.

  I got a taste of precum, the bead of it sticky and salty on my tongue, and I sat back on my heels, smirking at him and licking my lips. He sat up and tugged gently at the hem of my shirt. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he complained.

  “I was a little busy,” I teased, but I let him pull my shirt over my head and I wriggled out of my jeans and boxers, then stretched out over the bed. “You going to return the favor?”

  Gary answered by pushing my legs apart, settling between them, and kissing me softly.

  The beginning was always a race but, when it was his turn to take over, he took his time. He ran his hands through my dark, curly hair, planting little kisses on every part of my face he could reach: my forehead, my nose, my temple, my chin. It took him a while to move down to my neck, where I felt his tongue start to flick out over the sensitive skin there. I shivered, and I almost told him to just do the damn thing, but I didn’t want to give
him the satisfaction.

  The lingering kisses continued down my chest and my stomach, then spread out over my hips, tingling over my skin so much that I barely felt the way his hands kneaded at my thighs. It seemed to take years for him to stop kissing and lapping gently at the V of my hips and finally place a kiss on the tip of my now-hard cock. I hoped that he’d start sucking to give me some relief but, instead, he licked up the underside, teasing the sensitive spot just under the tip with his tongue before pulling back with a grin. “Looks like I didn’t even have to suck your dick to get you ready,” he said, noting the bead of precum at the tip of my cock.

  “Fuck you,” I said, but it came out as more of a request than an insult.

  Gary reached into the drawer of the nightstand by my bed and pulled out a small bottle of lube. He worked some over his cock—which, I noticed, he did slowly, obviously trying to hold back—before rubbing a slick finger over my entrance. I bit at my lip and closed my eyes, whimpering and thrusting up against his hand, but he only barely slipped in the tip of his finger. “Oh, come on,” I growled.

  “Last I checked, that’s not how you ask for something,” he said, sounding way too proud of himself. He slid his finger in to the first knuckle, and I could practically hear his smirk when he said, “Come on, ask nicely.”

  “Fuck off,” I said, but the way my hips twitched betrayed how much I needed it.

  He slid his finger deeper and started stroking at a spot that almost made me scream. “I know you want to,” he said. “Just say it.”

  “I… hate… you…” I panted.

  He worked in a second finger, scissoring me open and slowly thrusting in and out. I grabbed at my pillow, twisting it in my grip. “Say it,” he said, his voice warm and smooth and annoyingly controlled. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “N—not going to… happen…”

  He crooked his fingers. “Be good and ask nicely,” he crooned.

  I opened my eyes. I could see that he was as painfully hard as I was, but his eyes were locked with mine and full of determination. I let out a huff, then broke down. I couldn’t help it; the way his fingers stroked at my insides felt so good it almost hurt. “Please,” I said finally, and it came out as a groan. “Please, just fuck me already.”

  He leaned over me and kissed my cheek, a chaste gesture considering his fingers were already inside of me. “With pleasure,” he murmured, and I felt his hand slide away, his fingers replaced by something much thicker and hotter.

  I closed my eyes again as he pushed into me. He always went slow and gentle at first, which I usually appreciated, but I was so frustrated that I thrust up against him, forcing him in deeper. He gasped. “Fuck,” he whispered. “So it’s that kind of night, huh?”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, capturing his lips in a burning kiss. “I told you to just fuck me,” I replied.

  Before I knew it, he’d pulled out. I let out a little whine of complaint, but he turned me gently, but firmly, onto my knees and thrust back in. I let myself cry out this time; it was amazing just how deep he could go and how much he could fill me up.

  He started thrusting in earnest, helped along by the way I moved back against him. I didn’t want him to have too much control, and he didn’t try to take it; instead, he gripped my hips and guided me more than he actually moved, letting me fuck myself with his hard shaft. I groaned, thrusting back into his hips harder and harder. I found myself babbling out curses and incoherent moans. “Oh God… fuck… oh fuck…”

  Gary’s grip tightened. As hard as I was going, it wasn’t enough; he started thrusting up to meet me, his motions hard and fast, his hips slamming against my ass. He fought to go deeper, and I nearly saw stars. Pleasure was boiling up in my stomach, and I grabbed my cock, trying to stroke in time with our fucking. His big, strong hands shifted from my hips to my ass, pressing me tighter around him, and the edge of pain I felt only made it better.

  It wasn’t long after that that I felt the tickle of his chest hair and his breath in my ear. “Can I come inside you?” he panted.

  I glanced over my shoulder at him best I could and, with a grin, gasped out, “Ask… nicely…”

  He smirked. “Please, please—” his breath hitched and his eyes glazed over— “fucking please, holy shit, please let me come inside you.”

  I felt my own orgasm bubbling up, and all I managed to say was, “Fuck yes.”

  At that moment, stars popped in front of my eyes, and my vision went white. My one hand twisted in the bedsheets while the other milked my cock as I came. My ass tightened hard around Gary’s cock and he let out a strangled groan. I felt him start to twitch inside of me, shooting rope after rope of hot cum into me while my cum splattered against the sheets and ran down over my fingers.

  We paused for only a second before he slipped out of me, which made a shiver run up my spine. He collapsed on his back beside me. I sat up, looking down at him, not wanting to look too exhausted and not wanting to be outdone in terms of endurance. Gary and I had always enjoyed a bit of friendly competition with each other, and we were more than happy to bring that into the bedroom with us.

  “Jesus.” He ran a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Man, I really needed that. It’s been a while.”

  I snorted. “It’s been, like, a week.”

  “That counts as a while.”

  He wasn’t wrong—we usually ended up in bed together every few days. We saw each other almost every single day, but it was never clear when that was going to involve sex. “You haven’t said anything,” I pointed out.

  “Neither have you.”

  “Maybe I’m not as desperate,” I joked, and I laughed when he gave me a half-hearted kick. “Maybe I found someone else.”

  “In the past week? Doubt it. Unless you started fucking Leonard.”

  “Ugh, stop. You’re going to turn me straight.”

  “Sorry. Too gross?”

  “Significantly too gross, yes.”

  Just like that, all the tension died away, and we were back to being friends. I vaguely remembered a therapist telling me I was good at compartmentalizing. You have no idea, I’d wanted to tell her.

  We practically never talked about sex, even after we were done with it, but that night he looked up at me with a knitted brow and asked, “You’d tell me, right?”

  “Tell you what?”

  He shrugged. He seemed embarrassed about even asking. “If you were sleeping with someone else.”

  “I mean, yeah. Of course.” Even if we hadn’t been sleeping together for years, I would have told him. He was one of my best friends. “It was just a joke, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, but he sounded unsure. “I know we’re not a thing or anything. We’re not exclusive—shit, we’re not even dating—but I guess I would just like to know.”

  “I would tell you,” I said, shortly. “Relax, alright? It’s not like I’m hiding anything from you.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” he said, but he left it at that. He must have seen the tension in my shoulders.

  We were silent for a minute. I went to flop down beside him, but was met with cold wetness on my back. “Aw, Goddammit!”

  “What?”

  I sat up, swiping my hand irritably across my back. “I laid in cum,” I complained.

  He laughed. “Dude, it’s your cum.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want it all over me!”

  He shook his head. “You’re so weird.”

  “Why? Because I don’t want to sit in my own jizz?”

  He shrugged. “Okay, fair point.”

  I rolled off the edge of the bed, picking up my clothes from where they fell. “I’m going to take a shower,” I said, still feeling oddly grimy just from the sensation of lying in the wet spot on the bed. “Order us some food?”

  “Sure. What places around here do delivery?” he asked. I could hear him starting to shuffle into his clothes too. “I really don’t want to drive. That bou
ncer downstairs still freaks me out.”

  “Don’t blame you.” I pointed at a list by my computer, on the very tiny desk I’d stashed in the corner of my apartment that I referred to as my “office”. “That’s everyone who’s delivered here before. Just so you know, you can get just about anyone to deliver here if you tell them it’s Olga’s place. All the delivery guys keep hoping they’ll get an extra-special tip.”

  “Has it worked for any of them?”

  “Not yet. But if there’s one population on earth that has an endless supply of unwarranted hope, it’s straight guys. Hell, I got someone to deliver McDonald’s here more than once. If they catch a glimpse of a girl, they’ll come back over and over.”

  “Well, their extremely humiliating loss is our gain,” he said, and he went over to the list.

  I, instead, went to one of my least favorite places: the shower.

  Chapter Two

  Now, unlike some of the guys who came into the comic-book store, my aversion to showering didn’t keep me from doing it. I showered regularly, even when it was a challenge. I just had to keep a system in place.

  First of all, I had to use completely scent-free soaps. Some scented soaps brought back way too many memories, and I didn’t want to run the risk of using one of them—after all, “mountain spring” was a disturbingly common fragrance, and it always made me break out into a cold sweat when I smelled it, which defeated the purpose of the shower. I also had to keep the heat at a particular temperature because, once it started getting cool, I would freeze up. Fortunately, the girls in the house were all morning showerers, so I usually had the hot water all to myself. Finally, a washcloth was an absolute must; I couldn’t stand to touch my bare skin in the shower.