by Drew Hunt
“Wimp.”
“Fuck you!”
“Don’t worry, it’ll soon warm up.”
“Huh.” Brock wasn’t so sure. The stuff stank, too.
“Stop being a baby.” Calvin began to rub the stuff into Brock’s shoulders. For a while Brock didn’t notice any appreciable improvement in his pain level. The pressure of Calvin’s crotch as he straddled his hips, plus the man’s strong fingers and thumbs as they dug into his flesh, felt great. Slowly heat began to build in two places. Brock’s crotch and his right shoulder. The former was distracting and the latter amazing. He shifted around to try to ease the pressure on his engorged member.
“What’s wrong? You uncomfortable?”
“No,” Brock said quietly.
“Did I give you a stiffy?” Calvin bent down and kissed the back of Brock’s head.
“What do you think?”
Calvin’s low chuckle—that Brock managed to hear between claps of thunder—did nothing to ease the situation. “How’s your shoulder?”
Moving his arm experimentally, Brock discovered much to his surprise there was less pain. “Amazing.”
“Me or the massage?”
“Both.”
Calvin chuckled again and kept on working. Brock was so relaxed, the disastrous evening, the busted truck and the meeting with Mitch Madison became dim, fuzzy somethings on the periphery of his diminishing consciousness.
Calvin shifted from atop him. Kissing each cheek of Brock’s bare ass, he said, “Back soon, beautiful.”
Brock rolled to his side, careful not to get gunk on the sheets. They probably should have put towels down before starting.
“So,” Calvin said, coming back into the bedroom, towel in hand, “I did give you a stiffy.”
“Yeah. Wanna play with it?” Brock waggled his dick at a smirking Calvin.
“Hmm,” Calvin seemed to consider the offer. “First roll back onto your stomach and let me clean you up. Then we’ll see.”
Brock complied, but wasn’t sure if Calvin would agree to blow him. Hell, he’d even settle for a hand-job.
“There we go.” Calvin tossed the towel at the bedroom door.
Brock rolled to his side to face Calvin. Their lips seemed to naturally move toward each other. Brock had never known anyone to be so into kissing. He guessed some men thought it too intimate. Personally he could never get enough. As they continued to kiss—the rain hurling itself at the window, which was illuminated by frequent flashes of lightning—Calvin’s hands started to wander. Eventually they gravitated to Brock’s ass.
“Yeah, man,” Brock groaned between kisses.
“I so want inside your cowboy ass.” Calvin gave said ass a slap.
“Yeah.”
“You okay with that idea, beautiful?”
By way of answer, Brock pushed his ass harder into Calvin’s hands.
“Guess that’s a ‘yes’,” Calvin snickered.
“It’s a ‘hell, yes’!”
* * * *
Brock thought he would die, pass out or just come from all the prep work Calvin insisted on doing to his ass.
“Just fuck me,” Brock groaned after Calvin had been messing around back there for a good quarter hour. The storm was showing no signs of abating.
“Asses are like fine wine. They need to be savored.”
Jesus, his butt wasn’t a fuckin’ bottle of merlot. However, Brock couldn’t be too sore at Calvin. If he hadn’t got the slick and box of rubbers from the drug store then they wouldn’t be doing this now. Brock didn’t keep such things in the house, although with Junior getting to that age, he would have to revise that idea. Brock didn’t want any more unplanned pregnancies in his family.
“Wow, you’re tight. How long’s it been?”
Brock grunted when Calvin stretched him a bit further. “Couple of years.”
“Almost a virgin again.” Calvin bent down and kissed Brock’s shoulder.
“Yeah right. Look, man, I’m ready. Just slick yourself up and slide in. I’m dying here.”
“Patience, beautiful. This will be a pleasurable experience for you. Don’t want to hurt you. Never want to hurt you.”
Brock dropped his head, hoping the pillowcase and the thunder would muffle his sob. No one had cared enough to never want to hurt him.
“Okay, I think that’s got it.” Calvin withdrew his fingers, and Brock twisted his neck to watch Calvin wipe his hands, then tear open a foil packet. “You gonna roll over?”
“What?”
Calvin tipped his head to one side. With a puzzled look on his face, he repeated, “Roll over. So you’re on your back.”
A surprised Brock shifted position. No one had ever before asked him to do it missionary.
Brock’s emotions must have shown on his face because Calvin said, “Why wouldn’t I want to make love to you face-to-face? You’re beautiful. I want to see you.”
Brock couldn’t do anything about the sniff or the lone tear that rolled down his cheek. Jesus, had Calvin actually said “make love”? Brock didn’t think his heart could stand it. The man had feelings for him. Brock could no longer hide the fact from himself that he reciprocated those feelings back at Calvin.
“Ready?”
Unable to trust his voice, Brock nodded and raised his legs.
“Hang on.” Calvin reached for a pillow and folded it in two. Brock got the idea and rolled onto his shoulders, allowing Calvin to put the pillow under the small of his back.
“Yeah. You’re at the perfect height now.” Calvin smiled down at him. “You okay?”
Brock nodded again, and swallowed. The guy really did care.
Calvin’s entry was long, slow and so god-dammed amazing, Brock thought he would come just from that.
“Still okay?”
“Never better,” Brock managed to reply.
It had been too long since he’d been filled. Most of his admittedly small number of sexual partners had wanted Brock to top. He guessed his size and build had folks assuming he preferred the dominant role. Sure, Brock could top, but given the choice, he much preferred to spread his legs and receive.
Calvin started slow…and kept it slow. Every third or fourth stroke saw the head of Calvin’s dick rub across Brock’s prostate. This resulted in a steady ooze of pre-come flowing from Brock’s dark red cock-head.
“Jesus, man, you’re tight.”
Brock squeezed his anal muscles on Calvin’s next outstroke.
“Nice!” Calvin groaned. He pushed in a bit harder, but still kept things slow…maddeningly slow.
“God, man, fuck me!”
Calvin leaned down and—although their sizes made it awkward—captured Brock’s lips for a kiss that had Brock’s balls tingling.
Releasing the kiss, Calvin said, “Knew you’d be a pushy bottom.” He raised up and resumed his slow pace.
“Oh, man.” Brock threw his head from side to side. He had to get off. Despite knowing Calvin would stop him, Brock couldn’t prevent his hand from latching onto his dick and giving it a few hard pumps.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Calvin pried Brock’s fingers off his dick. Lifting the hand, he gave each knuckle a separate kiss.
Brock had never known anyone who went in for kissing different parts of the body. He had to admit it was romantic and nice and… “Oh, Christ, Calvin, can’t stand it. Need to come!”
“That’s what I like to hear, a man begging.” Calvin’s grin was evil…pure evil.
“Fuckin’ bastard.”
“Yep.” The grin widened.
Calvin picked up Brock’s right leg and began to rub the sole of the foot against his right nipple.
“Knew you’d be a kinky top,” Brock moaned, feeling the nub harden.
“You inspire me to ever loftier heights of kinkiness.” Calvin pumped a couple more times. “Jesus, Brock, your ass is amazing. It was made to be plowed.”
Brock appreciated the compliment, but his need to climax was becoming more of a necessity. �
�God, Calvin, if you don’t let me come I’ll…I’ll—”
“Okay, cowboy. Hang on tight, ‘cause I’m gonna ride you hard and put you away wet.”
Fuck, where did Calvin get these dumbass phrases?
Calvin’s next in-stroke was so powerful it made the wooden headboard bang into the wall, competing with the crashes of thunder outside. And that was just the start. Who knew such a leanly muscled guy would have such power? Brock felt himself being pushed up the bed, but Calvin was onto it and—grabbing him by the thighs—pulled Brock back onto Calvin’s pistoning rod. Brock knew he’d have bruises in the morning, but he didn’t give a shit.
Brock couldn’t help it. His hand reached for and began to flog his dick. Calvin must not have noticed as he didn’t stop him. Brock would have punched him if he had.
“Yeah man, do it!” Calvin had noticed. “Come on, cowboy, shoot that fuckin’ load.”
Brock let out a scream that would have woken the neighbors, if it hadn’t happened at the same time as a huge clap of thunder. Semen shot out of his dick, arcing high into the air before landing in several splats on his belly.
“Oh, God, Oh, God!” Brock kept pumping until the last little bit had oozed out. He had to stop because his dick head was too sensitive.
Calvin had slowed his strokes, but Brock was pretty sure the guy hadn’t climaxed.
“You okay?” Calvin asked.
There was a flash of lightning quickly followed by a boom of thunder. The house shook.
“You made the earth move.”
Calvin let out a bark of laughter, then continued to thrust slowly.
It didn’t seem as though the guy was in any hurry to climax. Brock did the tightening of his anal muscles thing again, which made Calvin curse and slam in harder a couple of times.
The lightning and thunder were getting closer together.
“Hell of a storm,” Calvin observed.
Jeez, this guy’s a real talker during sex, Brock mused. “Yeah.”
“What say I pull out and shoot all over your beautiful belly?”
Brock looked down at his semen-stained belly. It was probably his least favorite part of his body. He knew he should do crunches to get back his muscle tone, but never found the time. “Okay by me. You’re running the show.”
Thunder and lightning happened simultaneously. The lights flickered, but stayed on.
“Hell, it’s overhead,” Brock said, lowering his legs to the mattress and pulling Calvin on top of him. “Maybe we should turn off the lights?”
“No way. I don’t want to miss a second of looking at you.”
They kissed. Brock wasn’t scared of storms or anything, but could admit they weren’t exactly one of his favorite things.
Calvin discarded the condom and began to rub off against Brock’s belly and chest. Brock brought his arms around to pull Calvin closer.
“Really dig your broad shoulders,” Calvin admitted, kissing the right one.
“Thanks.” Brock realized it was a pretty dumb thing to say. “Like yours, too.” Shit, that wasn’t much better.
Calvin stiffened in Brock’s arms and let out a soft gasp. Brock felt warmth spread between them.
“Wow. I’m surprised I lasted that long,” Calvin admitted.
Brock kissed him. “You were amazing.”
“No, you’re the amazing one.”
Brock didn’t feel like arguing. He was tired, happy and felt safe cuddled up with Calvin.
“Of course, pumping out a couple loads this afternoon while thinking about you in your sexy-as-sin construction-worker gear probably helped me last longer.”
“What?”
“I had to test out the new toilet seat didn’t I?”
Brock shook his head. “Idiot.”
“I’m serious. I wasn’t lying the other day in the home-improvement store when I told you how I managed to bust the old seat.”
“Why?” The post-coital glow was wearing off, and his fears and insecurities were starting to crowd back in.
Calvin huffed. “One day, John Brockwell, you’ll finally realize what a totally awesome man you are.”
“That’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Not until I’ve paid off my daddy’s hospital bills, cleared my rent, bought a new truck and…” It was never going to happen. Brock clung tighter to Calvin, wishing the world would just go away.
“This is what we’re going to do.” Calvin said, hugging him back. “You won’t like it, but I’m not giving you any choice. Tuesday morning we’re making an appointment to see a bankruptcy lawyer. You are going to sit that beautiful ass down in front of him and tell him everything.”
Brock shook his head in the negative.
“This is not negotiable. I’ll either go with you, or mind Junior, whatever you want. But this shit starts to end Tuesday.”
Brock shook his head again. This wasn’t right.
“Then after we see the lawyer we’re going to go talk with Bill. If your truck can be fixed then I’m paying to have it fixed. And if it can’t, well…we’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”
“No,” Brock said weakly.
“Yes,” Calvin replied, brooking no argument. He began to rub circles on Brock’s back. “But we’re not going to think about any of this until Tuesday. Tomorrow we’ve got that ballgame at Junior’s camp to go to, Saturday you’re on my roof, and Sunday is the Fourth. Don’t know what’s happening Monday yet, but I’m sure we’ll find something.”
“Why are you doing all this?” Brock asked through a tightening throat.
Calvin paused. “Because I want to.” The man sounded almost as choked up as Brock. Swallowing, he continued “Because…because you deserve a break.”
Brock didn’t get it. No one had ever cared this much for him. No one had ever been willing to spend so much money on him.
“I’ll pay you back…every penny. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll pay you back.”
“It isn’t necessary, but if you insist, then we’ll sort something out later.”
“Thank you. Sorry, ‘thank you’ doesn’t even come close.”
“It does, and you’re welcome. Now come on, let’s get cleaned up, this come is starting to dry.”
Brock smiled.
“Don’t know about you, but I’m beat. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and while you might not need your beauty sleep, I sure as hell do.”
Brock reluctantly let go his tight grip of Calvin. “Crap. You’re handsome. Way more than me.”
Calvin laughed. “Not from where I’m laying, buster.”
Brock found a smile from somewhere.
Calvin kissed him. “You’re so beautiful when you smile. Now go on, it’s your bathroom, so you get to use it first.”
* * * *
They were in bed. Calvin was snoring softly, the lights were off, and the storm had blown itself out. Brock lay sleepless, unable to get his mind around Calvin’s generosity. However, he was doing his best to follow Calvin’s advice of not thinking about it until Tuesday.
Remembering the time Calvin had used his finger to trace out words, Brock began to write, I LOVE YOU on his savior’s spine.
“Wish you could stay here in Texas,” Brock whispered. “Don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
In his sleep, Calvin pulled Brock tighter to him.
Chapter 7
Bright sunlight peeked in through the not-quite closed drapes at Brock’s bedroom window. Calvin—who lay spooned behind Brock, his right arm over the cowboy’s waist, his right hand cupping a handsome-sized set of balls—didn’t want to get up, but his increasingly full bladder was leaving him with little option.
Sighing, Calvin removed his arm. Brock mumbled something and shifted in his sleep.
Calvin kissed Brock’s right shoulder. “Back in a minute.”
Before leaving the room, he turned in the doorway to take another look at Brock. The man’s face was peaceful, his mouth was slightly open with a small line of drool
running down the side of his chin and pooling on the pillowcase. Brock’s blond hair was all sleep-tousled and just so cute.
Calvin turned away. “God, I’m so screwed,” he muttered, leaving the room.
Once up, Calvin could never return to bed, no matter how alluring his bedmate. Dressing as silently as he could in the spare set of clothing he’d brought with him, he left the bedroom and went in search of coffee.
* * * *
Calvin sat at the kitchen table, mug of black coffee in hand, running through his options, quickly realizing he didn’t have any. He’d have to call Tim, who—Calvin knew—would spend ten minutes bitching him out and a further ten pleading with him to be careful. Brock appeared in the doorway just as Calvin reached for his cell phone. Calvin was sad to see he’d put on a pair of blue striped boxers. Calvin’s eyes traveled up the man’s wide physique, past the eyes that only looked partially focused, and up to the hair that stuck out at odd angles.
“Yep, I’m screwed,” he whispered into his coffee mug.
“What?” Brock yawned and scratched at his nuts.
“You want any food?”
“What is there?” Brock shuffled to a chair and flopped down into it.
Calvin resisted the temptation to tell Brock that as this was his house—and presumably he’d bought the groceries—how should Calvin know what was available?
Instead, feeling domestic, Calvin asked, “What would you like?”
Every morning since Brock had been working on Calvin’s folks’ place, Calvin had cooked the man breakfast, fixed him lunch and often supper, too. So Calvin couldn’t be too mad at Brock for expecting he’d make him breakfast today, too.
Brock scratched his chest and looked around, possibly seeing this was his kitchen, not Calvin’s. “Uh. Don’t think I have much.”
Calvin smiled. A dopey and unfocussed Brock was an irresistible sight. “We’ll grab something on the way to Junior’s camp. My treat.”
Calvin expected an argument, but Brock simply nodded.
“Coffee?” Calvin held up the pot.
Brock grunted. Evidently his cowboy wasn’t much of a talker first thing in the morning.
Your cowboy? a voice asked.
Calvin refused to acknowledge the taunt, concentrating on pouring a mug and sliding it across the table.
