by Ranae Rose
“What?” Brom asked, his sense of self-preservation mingling with his lust again. “What is it?”
“There,” John said, motioning with his free hand.
Brom gazed in the direction he’d gestured. Several yards ahead, the tall grass rippled, the tops of the stalks waving as they were disturbed below. An animal emerged, small and sleek, its coat night-black. “A cat. It’s only a cat.” Brom glanced sidelong at John. Had he really come from the Connecticut countryside? Surely no one who’d grown up in a village approximately the size of Sleepy Hollow would be frightened by a barn cat making its way through the grass.
“A black cat,” John said, staring after the creature as it crossed the dirt road and slunk into the grass on the other side, probably in pursuit of vermin. “It’s bad luck if one crosses your path.”
Brom searched John’s face for some sign of a joke, but there was none. John was still watching the place where the cat had disappeared into the grass, as if worried that it would double back and cross the road again. His grey eyes were intent, and his grip on Brom’s shirt was still firm. So firm, in fact, that Brom could feel the crescents of John’s nails biting into his skin. Christ, how he would have liked to feel them that way with no fabric beneath them, with no clothing between their skins. “Are you serious?”
“Quite,” John said, though a hint of wariness had entered his voice, and he finally turned to Brom, his grey eyes locking with Brom’s dark ones.
Brom knew John had sensed the reproach in his voice, and had to feel it in his gaze. But Brom couldn’t stop staring, and couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. When John finally looked down at his hand, saw where it rested and pulled it away, Brom caught him by the wrist. “Superstitions. I’ve never understood them.” He maintained his hold on John’s wrist; a part of him had been angered by the fact that John’s foolish, careless touch had nearly been enough to bring him to his knees. Now he was hard, his frustration back in full force.
“It’s a well-known fact,” John said, keeping his eyes level with Brom’s, though the tip of his tongue peeked out, wetting his lips. What that meant, Brom didn’t know – when he saw it, he could only think about one thing.
“Is it?” Brom asked, tightening his grip just a little on John’s wrist. “I say it’s horse shit.” He didn’t want to be angry, but he couldn’t help it. He’d kissed John, not the other way around – there was no doubt about that. And John had walked away. Brom would have had no reason to blame him for his frustration if it hadn’t been for that thoughtless touch. But it had happened, and his blood was beginning to broil, both with vexation and desire. Who the hell touched a man that way – especially after what had transpired between them the night before – because of a cat?
“And I say we just dodged misfortune.”
Brom wanted to laugh, but it was so ridiculous that he couldn’t allow himself to do so. “Have we, now?” He gave John a long, hard look, and found himself looking forward to watching him squirm. If he was uncomfortable, let him admit it instead of hiding behind smiles and antagonizingly light-hearted conversation.
John didn’t look down, didn’t move, but a look of consternation crossed his face. When he spoke, his voice was lower than before, the cheeriness it had carried earlier gone. “You needn’t fret. About what happened last night, I mean. I won’t mention it to anyone.”
A jolt of some stinging, unidentifiable emotion pierced Brom’s consciousness. Finally, the subject had been broached, and all he got was a vow of silence. He released his hold on John’s wrist.
“I swear it,” John continued, his expression earnest. “It can be as if it never happened. I won’t… I won’t expect it to happen again.”
Brom’s heart skipped a beat at the mere mention of ‘again’. “It won’t,” he said, the promise spilling forth as confusion crept into his thoughts, twisting the inflection of John’s words and presenting possibilities, each accompanied by a silent whisper of ‘what if’? He stamped down on those dangerous thoughts. “You walked away, and I’ll respect that. But damn it all, you mustn’t touch me as you just did.”
A flicker of something passed through John’s eyes, accompanied by a determined quirk of his lips. “And if I do?”
“I’ll either make you extremely sorry or very glad that you laid hands on me.”
The light came back into John’s eyes again, and his tongue slipped from between his lips, wetting them again. He said nothing, but slowly – so slowly that Brom watched, his heart speeding with every passing second – reached out, pressing his hand against Brom’s belly again.
His touch was lighter than before; his nails certainly weren’t digging into Brom’s skin this time. But the contact was undeniably deliberate, and he continued to meet Brom’s eyes, taking the smallest of steps toward him.
“Why here?” Brom demanded, feeling oddly suspended from reality. “Why did you walk away last night, if this is what you wanted?” He couldn’t fathom why John would have done so, but he remembered the way he’d kissed back, hungry, before he’d pulled away.
“The whiskey, and the nightmares… I didn’t think you meant it. I thought that perhaps, under normal circumstances, it never would have happened.”
“It probably wouldn’t have,” Brom admitted. “But Christ, I meant it.”
“Then…” His touch faltered a little, his fingers slipping against Brom’s belly.
Brom sighed, unable to keep from entertaining visions of them dipping just a few inches lower and encountering the hard rod of his erection. “Take a walk with me,” he said, closing his hand around John’s wrist again.
“All right.”
Those two words set fire to what was left of Brom’s inhibitions, and he reluctantly let go of John’s wrist, just in case anyone should happen upon them before they escaped view of the road. John accompanied him willingly though, and they waded through the tall grass, toward the farther reaches of the sprawling, unplanted field.
It had been lucky, or perhaps fated, that they’d stopped where they had, at the most remote section of the road between Brom’s home and the schoolhouse. After a few minutes of walking, the road was out of sight, and if they lay down in the grass, they’d be invisible to anyone for miles. Brom made that happen by reaching out and gripping John by the front of his shirt again, pressing his mouth against his as he pulled him down into the grass.
They sank to the earth together, their lips locked and tongues touching, gliding smoothly against each other’s. Brom pressed his body against John’s, eager to close the gap between them. John tasted so good, his mouth a combination of heat and faint whiskey flavor. And his leanly muscled body, snug against Brom’s… He groaned when John’s erection pressed against him, and ran a hand down John’s side and over his hip, reaching for it.
John’s cock was pleasingly firm, and Brom caressed it through layers of fabric for a moment before fumbling with the front fall of John’s breeches, seeking to free it. John was tense against him as he worked, though their kiss continued, deeper and harder.
When Brom laid open the front of John’s breeches and pushed the hem of his shirt up and out of the way, John shuddered. Their lips slid apart and their tongues untwined, and the few scant inches of space between their mouths afforded Brom enough room to look down, his gaze locking on John’s groin, his heart speeding and his mouth watering as he took in the sight he’d been day-dreaming of. Those dreams had fueled everything from lust to chagrin to teeth-grinding frustration, but most of all, they’d driven every hard thrust and desperate pump of his fist since he’d first laid eyes on John. And the reality shamed his fantasies.
John’s cock was as perfect as Brom had imagined; it was long and lean – not too slender, more like gracefully carved – just like the rest of him. Every inch of it was worth the lust he’d experienced when thinking about what it would be like to touch it, to feel the smooth, longed-for rod of flesh against his palm instead of the familiar girth of his own lust-struck member. It had on
ly been a day since he’d met John, but as he looked down at the hardness that beckoned him, it felt as if he’d been burning for him for an eternity. He wrapped his fingers around John’s shaft, his own cock throbbing as he made contact.
John groaned and thrust his hips as if driven by irresistible reflex, forcing his shaft through Brom’s closed fist like he couldn’t stand the thought of holding still.
Brom stroked John from tip to root, feeling his own balls tighten as he pleasured him. As friction warmed Brom’s calloused palm, John’s continued moaning sent his arousal spiking. He thumbed the slit that divided the blunt tip, then forced his fist down the shaft; it was long, smooth and ridged with veins that carried blood and heat, making John’s flesh burn hot against Brom’s palm – perfect. When John’s fingertips brushed the front of Brom’s breeches, Brom cursed.
John’s fingers slipped, scrabbling against the fabric that was tented by Brom’s erection. Each little slip was a tease that Brom could hardly stand. He reached down with his free hand and undid the front fall, his fingers tangling with John’s.
John traced the length of Brom’s shaft lightly with his fingertips, sending a shiver of sensation down Brom’s spine, making him tremble against the earth, sending a ripple through the tall grass. John’s fingers were so warm, so capable of giving Brom exactly what he craved. But there was a tentative edge to John’s touch, and it was driving him mad. He stroked John even harder and reached between their bodies, placing a hand over John’s and guiding it, making it close around his impatiently-throbbing cock.
As John exhaled sharply, his breath hit Brom’s face in a warm rush. When Brom removed his hand from John’s, John continued to grip him, moving his hand up and down Brom’s shaft, the edge of his fist kissing the head at the end of every other stroke, making Brom dizzy with sudden pleasure. He groaned, pressing his lips against John’s again, kissing him hard, fucking his mouth with his tongue like he wanted to fuck his body.
Though still slightly tentative, John’s touch felt so good that Brom couldn’t help flexing his hips, driving his cock deep into John’s fist, wanting more, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it for much longer. Removing his hand from John’s shaft, he reached below and caressed John’s balls before dipping lower, running his fingertips over the lean curves of his ass.
As Brom’s touch trailed lower, John’s hand stilled on Brom’s shaft, and he gripped it hard, blurring the line between pleasure and pain as he tensed against the ground, against Brom. The ache caused by being held so tightly fueled Brom’s lust, and his cock sent desperate messages to his brain, urging him to get inside John’s body, sooner rather than later.
Ignoring his more animal urges, Brom went slowly, teasing John’s entrance, pressing a fingertip against the heat of it. John tensed a little more, sucking in a breath. “Have you ever…” Brom asked, continuing to stroke him there, his fingers tingling with the urge to fuck John.
“No,” John said. “Not with a man.”
Brom kept his touch light, resisting the impulse to push a finger deep inside, to test John’s tightness. John’s balls had drawn up, close against his body. So had Brom’s. “You’ve never been with a man?”
“No,” John repeated, his answer half-gasp.
“Christ. Last night, then… The kiss was that good?” He might have laughed if he hadn’t been on the verge of being the first to be inside John, if he hadn’t been fighting the urge to come at just the thought.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” John said, his eyes hooded and half-closed. “After I returned to my room, I…” He pressed his free hand to his own groin, running a thumb down the underside of his shaft and cupping his balls, shuddering lightly.
“Damn, what a wasted night,” Brom said, vividly imagining John in the next room, desperately seeking release just as he himself had, spilling onto the sheets instead of into a warm body.
A bright flush had crept over John’s face, staining his cheeks pink and highlighting his youthfulness. His eyes glimmered as they met Brom’s. “I’ve thought about it before. Being with a man, I mean.”
“But you’ve never done it.” Brom ceased his stroking and cupped John’s ass instead, drawing him close so that they lay hips to hips, their cocks touching. He pulled John’s hand away from his shaft so that there would be nothing between them besides their disheveled clothing. John would be his, and he would be John’s first. It seemed too good to be true, and he wasn’t about to let John go before it happened.
John shook his head, and a few locks of hair that had escaped the tail he’d tied them into streamed across his reddened cheeks.
“When you thought about it, how did you imagine it?” Brom asked, tightening his grip on John’s ass, his fingers curling possessively into the firm flesh.
“I – I don’t know.”
“If you won’t tell me, I shall take it upon myself to show you exactly what I imagined when I thought of you.” He pulled John so tight against himself that his cock ached as it pressed against John’s, caught between their entwined bodies. He’d have no trouble living out his fantasies; between the way John’s cock felt pressed against his and the two years and some months he’d spent celibate, he was beyond qualms. Besides, was there anything less than perfect about the way he and John had found each other, had ended up lying half naked and hard in the field together, ready to give in to their mutual desire? Things had been awkward at times, but it had all been worth it for this.
John didn’t protest, and didn’t tell his secrets, so Brom took action, undressing and helping John to do the same, resisting the urge to rip the clothes from the other man’s body instead of removing them with relative care. When at last they were both bare, he rolled so that John lay on his back beneath him. Their bodies fit together nicely – Brom was only a little taller than John, though John’s lean build stood in contrast to Brom’s frame of thicker muscle. A perfect combination, so far as Brom was concerned.
Brom’s cock throbbed with longing to be inside John’s body, but he ignored it as he placed his hands on John’s knees and pushed, spreading them farther apart. Reluctantly, he removed himself from on top of John and knelt in the grass between his legs instead, admiring the view of John open wide before him, ready for Brom to show him the pleasure he’d imagined.
He reached out and grasped John’s cock in one hand, cradling his balls with the other. He was determined to make this good for John, to give him an experience that would fulfill whatever secret cravings he was too shy to put into words. He wouldn’t last long after he was inside him, anyway.
Brom stroked John until he feared he’d push him to climax if he didn’t stop. The grass around them swayed as John writhed, his head tipped back and his hair wild, entangled with the vegetation. But it didn’t matter – they were alone, and the only sounds were John’s heavy breathing and the occasional chirp of a lark. Unwrapping his fingers one by one from the base of John’s shaft, Brom pressed them to his mouth and wetted them with saliva. He had an excess of the stuff; it kept flooding his mouth as he looked at John, longing, even hungry as he greedily eyed every inch of flesh, every scrap of hair. He didn’t want to hurt John, but God, he wanted to fuck him.
His fingertips slid easily over John’s hot skin, pressing against his entrance. His other hand rested on the inside of one of John’s thighs, and he felt the muscles go tense. “It will be easier if you relax.”
“Easier said than done,” John replied, but he opened his thighs a little wider in a gesture that Brom guessed was born half of trust and half of bone-deep want, inviting Brom in.
Slowly, Brom slid one finger inside him, breaching his entrance to be embraced by the tightness within. Carefully, he began to fuck him that way, his single finger being crushed by impossible tightness. John gasped as Brom continued, and Brom noted with a sense of satisfaction that John was still rock-hard. With his free hand, he gripped John’s cock again. John’s passage tightened around his finger as soon as he began to strok
e him, his fist wrapped snugly around his shaft. Taking the cue, he added a second finger, his own cock aching as he stretched John. “How is it?” he asked as he used his hands to fuck John from both the inside and outside.
In answer, John bore down with his hips, forcing Brom’s fingers deeper inside.
“Damn,” Brom breathed, running a thumb over the blunt tip of John’s cock. It was moist, crowned with a small bead of wetness that sent a thrill of pride through Brom. He slowed his stroking, not wanting to make him come – not yet – and added a third finger.
The fit was impossibly tight, and it made his entire body buzz with anticipation to imagine the snug sheath of muscle and heat around his cock. Soon enough, he silently promised himself as he buried his fingers to their knuckles, readying John. He had to relinquish his hold on John’s cock when John arched against the ground, moaning. But he kept him on the edge by continuing to push and pull his fingers in and out, and it was pleasing to see that John’s cock remained firm as he breathed hard, his deep breaths interspersed with gasps and moans. He was ready.
Brom withdrew his fingers and pressed his other hand to his mouth, wetting his palm with more saliva. It was the only lubricant he had available in the field, and combined with desire, it would have to be enough to smooth the way. He smeared it generously over his hard cock, causing it to gleam with dampness in the sunshine. When he was done he leaned down, pressing his mouth hard against John’s in a brief but fierce kiss and then letting his lips brush John’s jaw. “On your knees.”
John’s pupils were dilated, his grey irises reduced to thin rims, and his lips were parted. His breathing was still rapid, and too shallow, but he obeyed.
Brom squared up behind John’s hips, letting the head of his cock rest on John’s firm ass. “Breathe deep,” he said, reaching around to cup John’s balls, fondling them and liking the way they rolled hot in the palm of his hand. “I won’t harm you.”
He could easily see the rising and falling of John’s sides as he tried to control his breathing, but it made little difference. John’s heart was probably pumping a thousand beats per minute. So was Brom’s. Taking a deep breath, he grasped his cock mid-shaft and positioned the moist tip at John’s entrance as he relinquished his hold on John’s balls, letting them hang freely, close to his body. “Relax.” He ran his other hand up John’s thigh and then gripped his hip, unsurprised to detect faint trembling. Carefully, he flexed his hips, breaching John’s entrance and pushing inside, inch by torturously slow inch.
