The Darker Side of Trey Grey

by Tara Spears

  “As I said, you’re okay. Maybe I’ll see you again.” He danced his fingers suggestively across my shoulders on his way past.

  “What did Ernie want?” Justin asked, coming around me and taking my cig out of my hand.

  He pulled deep then handed it back. He had thrown on a pair of navy track pants and a grey Newport Yacht Club long-sleeve tee, yet he hadn’t fixed the damage I had done to his hair, and looked like a man just stepping out of bed. It was a good look for him. Flushed and mussed up.

  “We were both out here smoking and started talking,” I said vaguely.

  He shook his head, sneering. “I can guess.”

  “I don’t think you’re in trouble. He told me I was welcome back anytime.”

  He snorted, incensed. “You are. They forget this is my fuckin’ house.”

  “Nice place,” I said, not missing a beat.

  “Thanks. It’s still my grandparent’s place, but they’re in the process of gifting it to me because they haven’t stepped foot here in two years. My inheritance early.”

  “That’s kinda sick, Justin. Using your grandparent’s place for sex parties.” I shook my head, giggling. “It is a nice place though.”

  I lifted my smoke to my lips, realized it was down to the filter and snubbed it out on the side of the damp deck railing. He took my hand, leading me down the stairs. I felt like I was going on a date rather than somewhere to be drilled.

  “Thanks,” he finally answered. “And it is kinda sick, but the perfect place so I try not to think about it.”

  He led me down a flagstone path that twisted through a formal garden full of huge Hostas and Pampas grass. The path ended at an oblong glass gazebo housing an empty hot tub. Everything had been stored. Chaise in clear plastic covers leaned against the glass on one side, while a pull shower in the corner was encased in heat tape. I knew where he was headed the second I saw the low varnished bar at the other end.

  “Curious, why did you bring me in here?”

  “Privacy. I can be a little rough, sometimes my partners cry.”

  He was serious and I couldn’t stop the silly giggle. He shot a huffy look over his shoulder at me.

  “Sorry. Just... found that amusing.”

  He spun me around and shoved me against the bar. “We’ll see whose laughing when I’m done with you, pretty boy. You won’t be able to walk out of here.” His face descended towards me.

  I wasn’t sure if he had a truly demented side or if this was all an act. Either way, he could get as rough as he wanted since he couldn’t really hurt me. Anything he might do, or could think of for that matter, had already been done to me.

  “Promise?” I taunted just before his lips closed on mine. He hesitated, grinning against my mouth, then kissed me forcefully as he hauled my hips against him.

  Soon my lips were sore and swollen, and my fingers were tangled in his gelled spikes holding his mouth to mine. The boy could kiss, and I sooo wanted to let myself go and drown out my past with him. I wasn’t to drunk not know how truly odd this was for me.

  When his hands slid to the waistband of my jeans and began undoing the buttons, a flutter of expectation rose in my stomach. I debated on whether to stomp it out or not. I knew from experience that excitement generally led to disappointment. Then Justin’s knuckles skittered across “IT” and my eyes closed. I allowed the flutter to grow into a tempest.

  I let my hands find their way down his back and under the slippery fabric of his pants. My fingers dug into the firm flesh there. God he had a nice backside, and I had felt quite a few in my line of work.

  Once he had my jeans undone, his hands slid under my shirt and up to my chest. Fingers pinched my nipples roughly and I felt, rather than heard, the moan vibrate through my chest. He tore his lips away. His face was flushed and his eyes glowed with barely contained lust. Our sighs mingled as our hands explored and teased, and I felt very real desire beginning to burn inside me. It took my breath away.

  My hands traveled forward, around his hips, to his cock. I touched him and felt stretched latex. Jesus, he was already dressed for the party. I took hold and felt him throbbing intensely beneath my hand. I let my thumb caress his tip as my fingers traveled down, he moaned, and I almost jerked back in shock. He was wearing a cock ring.

  Shit. The bastard wanted to make me sore. Honestly, he could fuck me all night and it wouldn’t happen. The fact he wanted to brand me like that was surprisingly, and disturbingly, erotic to me.

  He nipped at my neck as he took my hands off him.

  “Turn around and grab the other side of the bar,” he said, his voice gruff.

  I did what he wanted, and he tugged my jeans all the way to my ankles then kicked my feet apart. I heard the smooshy sound of lube and braced, smartly, as he spread my cheeks wide, and entered me in one smooth movement. He groaned, and I felt his fingers tremble on my hips.

  God, I could feel him inside me and normally I didn’t feel much of anything anymore. He rocked his hips in a circle several times and my head lolled back at the sensation. I could feel every inch, and damn...

  When he started to move it wasn’t a slow transversal. The tempo was swift then pounding as he shoved me repeatedly against the bar. His hands ran up and down my thighs, his fingers digging in now and then. The prickle of pain his nails caused quickened my blood, sending it roaring hotly through my veins. I was leaning over the top of the low bar when I suddenly realized I was hard. My dick kept bumping the polished wood, and soon “IT” was straining for the next impact. Each time my cockhead hit, a spark of sensation shot up the shaft. I gripped the rounded edge of the bar tighter.

  Justin slowed, rounding his hips again, and we both groaned.

  “Come for me, Trey.” Justin pounded out with punishing thrusts.

  “I think... Mmm... I need a condom,” I managed between sharp stabs of pleasure that were coming much too quickly now. Definitely more than just a fucking release. Oh, Jesus.

  “Why?” he breathed as he lowered his hips, ramming in several short fast thrusts that had my legs shaking.

  “Ahhh... fuck, Justin... I just do.” My center was aflame and “IT” was jerking around like a Mexican jumping bean. He pulled out and I gritted my teeth, working to hold onto my sanity. God, what this fuckin’ boy could do to me. I felt like Scotty, needful, unashamed, and willing to beg.

  He slid back into me and I shuddered. I actually shuddered. His hands reached around, rolling the condom on.

  “Oh, man, that’s hot. Your cock’s on fire and dripping,” Justin panted into my neck. He wrapped a hand around “IT’s” shaft, and began to drive hard and fast. He didn’t stroke my dick, and didn’t have to. He just held it, and I could feel pre-cum trickling out, filling the tip of the condom. Justin started to make a growly noise with every thrust that I found sexy as hell.

  He squatted down then drove straight up, and muscles I didn’t know I had tensed and rippled as a sweet, slow pain spiraled up. He was rocking into me furiously, and my sanity slipped deliciously. Every one of my muscles clutched. Justin cried out, his hand clamping down on my dick, and I felt the burn as cum traveled down the shaft in pulses of delirious pleasure. His hips rocked, his hand stroked, and my knees buckled.

  He went down with me, half-falling, half-catching me. My palms hit the rock floor with bruising force, arresting my fall. Justin grunted as we landed. We both sat there leaned onto our hands with me sitting in his lap. Justin was breathing hard, his thighs still tight, and we were both sweating heavily. I had never been so satisfied in my life— with anyone. What I remembered with Freddie had been a wild romp, but this was different on so many levels.

  Sated. That was the word people threw around, and I’d never understood what they meant, until now. For the first time I actually felt sated.

  “Off, off, off,” he muttered. “Damn, Trey, you’re like a girl.” His hand took hold of my hip and pushed me sideways. I slid off him, my ass going from Justin’s warm body to the cold concrete flo
or.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked offended.

  He chuckled quietly. “Fuck. Your muscles were still clenched and... Jesus. It was becoming too much.” He lowered onto his back, an arm over his eyes, and a hand loosely wrapped around the inside of my thigh.

  When I didn’t get nervous, when I stayed there letting his fingers glide back and forth, enjoying the softness, enjoying the afterglow of good sex, I began to wonder... What was responsible for this serenity? The alcohol? I’d been drunk more times than I could count through the years on the Ave. The X? Yeah, it had to be the X.

  “What is that?” Justin asked, lifting his head slightly. I felt his fingers brushing over the pitted skin on my inner thigh, a permanent reminder of a particularly bad night with my scrub brush over a year ago.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. I didn’t move his hand or react in any way and he let it go.

  Justin sat up, tugged his pants over his bare feet, and stood. I hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes when we walked out here. He went around the back of the bar, rummaged around, then set an unopened fifth of Jim Beam on the glossy top. A cabinet door slammed closed, then the sound of bearings clicking, followed by a hand towel flying over the bar at me. I tugged my boots, and jeans off.

  Justin was holding up the condom he had been wearing, looking at it with a twisted grin. He shot me a sideways glance and shook his head, trying to hide his mirth as he tossed it down, hopefully into a trash can. I stood up, headed around the bar, and tossed my own condom into the little green can before wiping myself off with the towel. Justin pointed to the sink containing another towel and the rubber cock ring. I left the towel there while I searched my coat pockets. Locating my sani-wipes, I automatically tore one open, then wiped myself down thoroughly.

  Justin had uncapped the bottle of JB and was lifting it to his lips when he stopped.

  “You’re one of those. Good to know.”

  “One of what?” I became acutely conscious of my automatic habit under his eye.

  “Can’t stand cum on your skin.” He gestured to my crotch, “We have one of them in the group.”

  I tossed the wipe in the trash, and dug out another one to wipe my hands. He took a long draw on the bottle of amber liquid.

  “It doesn’t freak you out?” I asked, waiting to hear his answer.

  He shook his head. “No.” His shoulders lifted. “He’s pretty bad, and honestly, at least you always know he’s clean.”

  “Yeah, I’m a bad one,” I found myself admitting. He tapped my shoulder with the bottle. I tossed the wipe, then accepted the bottle and took a big swig.

  He turned on a floor heater, and we dressed then sat down with our backs against the bar. Justin threw his legs over mine, I laid an arm over his shoulders, and we leaned against each other, passing the bottle back and forth as we talked.

  We didn’t talk about anything important. Just conversed. It was nice. He wanted to be a painter, but he was taking courses towards a nursing degree as a practical approach.

  I lifted his hand. “That explains this.” I ran a finger over what looked like bruising between his first two fingers.

  “Charcoal and pencil. Probably some paint if you look hard enough.” He folded his fingers over mine. “What about you?” he asked softly.

  I ticked my head. “Kinda boring actually.”

  I told him I was working towards my master’s in business with an associate in accounting. He joked that he hated math, and I told him I did too, nonetheless I was a natural mathematician. He talked passionately about what he wanted to do with the house, and a little about his family. I skirted the subject of mine or lack there of.

  Soon we were passing passably drunk and I staggered to my feet, heading out for a smoke and a piss in the woods. He came with me, hauling the bottle of Jim Beam with him. Was that the same bottle? I couldn’t remember. And that was the last thing I couldn’t remember remembering.

  Chapter Ten

  I woke shivering, and squinted into a world much too bright for my sleep riddled eyes. Through the muzziness in my head, I realized my crotch was soaked. A bottle of JB lay over my hip, the neck clutched in my hand. Well, at least “IT” was disinfected.

  A boy lay sprawled across my chest, with a hand around my ribs and his leg thrown over mine. I glanced down and saw mussed short blond hair. Justin. Justin... fuck, I remembered his name. I braced, waiting for the rush of insanity to take control.

  After several minutes lying there smelling like whiskey, afraid to move or think, I sighed shakily. I was tense and nervous, but not out of my mind. My eyes grew hot with tears, and I closed them tightly. I refused to cry over this.

  I tossed the bottle of JB off to the side and lay my arm over Justin’s waist. He stirred with a long moan as he huddled tighter against me. We were outside on the dewy grass along the side of the house, and it was somewhere around mid-morning.

  “Trey?”

  “Yeah?” My mouth was so dry everything stuck together and the word came out a croak.

  “I haven’t spent the night with anyone in a very long time.”

  “I don’t think it was intentional. I think we passed out.”

  “Probably... it’s nicer to think of it the other way though.” He groaned. “I think I’m gonna puke.” But he didn’t move right away.

  “Me too.” I could feel the curdle in my stomach and knew if I moved everything was coming up. Not from anxiety for once, just a plain old hangover. “Make sure you don’t barf on me, okay?”

  “K.” He took a long slow breath. “I’ll take the rose bushes, you take the azaleas.”

  “Mmm,” I answered as a shiver ran through me, causing my stomach to roil.

  He struggled to his feet, swayed a second then lurched towards the roses.

  Coughing and gagging sounds turned my mouth sour and sent me scampering to my feet. I hit the azaleas just as I retched. The bile that passed my tongue tasted strongly of Jim Beam, bringing another surge of alcohol induced vomiting on. A few minutes later, pretty sure the last of my stomach contents now fertilized the azaleas, I stood carefully. The world stayed fairly level and that was generally a good sign this would be a short hangover.

  I looked around and saw the place was emptied. You couldn’t even tell there had been a party here. Kitten and Fawkes were the only cars left, and they looked bereft so far from the house. I contemplated whether Fawkes had shown her as good a time as his owner had shown me. I hoped not. She was just an innocent, unlike her raunchy father.

  Justin was rubbing his arms vigorously. “Let’s go inside and get warm. Wish we had passed out in my bed, I’m freezing.”

  I was too. The whole backside of my body was wet from the grass and I was still shivering. Of course that could be from the hangover, or the X.

  I followed Justin through the front door, shocked to see how clean the living room was. There were remnants of the party, but nothing like you would expect. He led the way to the kitchen. Other than a light trail of dirty footprints from the door to the living room, the kitchen was cleared out.

  Justin pulled down two glasses from an oak cupboard, filled them with water then handed me one. I took it and peered at the liquid apprehensively. I knew I needed to drink it, but I wasn’t sure my system would keep it down quite yet. I took a tiny sip and waited. He guzzled his down, and set the glass near the sink.

  He wandered into the living room, and on down the hall. A few minutes later I heard him throwing up again in the hall bath. My stomach quivered but held, so I took another tiny sip of water.

  He returned looking wretched, and tossed me a dark green bathrobe. He riffled in a drawer, belching as he set a bottle on the counter. He hipped the drawer closed as he popped the bottle open, shook some pills out, and handed me two. I took the tabs of Maalox.

  “Thanks.” I shoved them through my lips, crunching them hesitantly.

  He nodded once, tossed two in his mouth, and chewed with a close-lipped cringe on his f
ace. What the hell was I doing? Going through hangover aftercare with someone I barely knew. I watched him re-fill his glass and take a small sip. His back was tense as he gripped the sink waiting. God, even pale and about to puke he was damn cute.

  He belched again and his shoulders relaxed. Still cute. Jesus, what was wrong with me.

  He turned around, looking less pallid, and even managed a weak grin.

  “I should go. I can still make my afternoon class.” It was a flight reaction. Even if I made it back in time for class, I knew I would shower and spend the next twenty hours huddled in my bed. As I took in the hung-over blond, I wasn’t sure that was what I really wanted to do. The fact I had remembered him and where I was floated around, teasing me— caressing me.

  He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or you could stay,” he said quietly, glancing at his feet— when did he put slippers on? Were those hippos?— before looking back at me. “Stay,” he said with more conviction.

  I shook my head at him, but I couldn’t even convince myself.

  “Trey, I’d hate to have you puke all over that sweet ride of yours.”

  “Is that the reason you want me to stay?” I said teasingly. “So kitten doesn’t suffer the wrath of my idiocy?”

  “No. It seems a logical reason though.” He tipped his head, smiling shyly. God, he’s adorable, and I don’t think anything is adorable. “I’d prefer you stay because you want to.”

  I looked away, taking a breath that flared oddly in my chest. The Maalox must have given me heartburn. My eyes slid over, catching Justin watching me optimistically.

  “I want to,” I found myself admitting aloud.

  His shoulders relaxed as he smiled warmly. I smiled back and it felt stiff.