The Sweet Side Of The Ropes: Enthralling Tales Of Male-Male Romance

by Kiernan Kelly

  Ash nodded, swallowing hard to keep the bile down in his gut where it belonged and not splattered all over the inside of his mask. Together, he and Joe shouldered the bodies in a fireman's carry and carted them down the staircase, past firefighters who were training hoses on the flames downstairs.

  Relieved of his grisly burden by other firefighters as soon as he cleared the house, Ash managed to walk away from the scene before collapsing to his knees near the rear tires of their firehouse's pumper truck. He ripped off his helmet, facemask and hood, gulping in a lungful of clean, fresh air, and fought the nausea threatening to overwhelm him.

  A pair of boots appeared in front of him. Murphy squatted down, his own helmet tucked under his arm. “That was a trial by fire, rookie.” He looked grim. “It doesn't get much worse than we had in there, but you did good. You okay?"

  Ash looked up into Joe's handsome, soot-streaked face and nodded,. “Yeah, I'm fine, Lieutenant. Never better."

  Joe chuckled. “Why don't I believe you? .You're looking green around the gills, rookie. Captain wants to know if you want to talk to somebody now, or later.” It was departmental policy for firefighters to speak with a counselor whenever they encountered a fatality in a fire.

  "Later. Right now I feel as if my body is ready to combust.” Ash, wiped a hand across his sweat-beaded forehead, leaving a black smear behind.

  "A shower should take care of that. We've been relieved of duty for today. We're to take the Captain's car back to the station.” Murphy stood and offered a hand up to Ash.

  Ash frowned as he stood up. “I don't need to go back to the station, Murphy. I'm fine."

  "Sure you are. That's why you look like you're ready to puke up last week's breakfast."

  "It's just the heat. I'm fine.” Ash twisted his Nomex hood between his hands, wringing out some of the sweat, and started to pull it back over his head.

  Murphy snatched it out of his hand, shaking his head. “Not a chance, kid. The Captain says we go back, so we go back. I'm not any happier about it than you are, but we follow orders in this department. Just because we're a volunteer outfit doesn't mean we can do as we please. Trust me, this is going to catch up with you pretty damn soon, and you don't want it to happen here in front of civilians.” He nodded toward the crowd that had gathered in front of the barricades, not far from where the pumper was parked. “We have more than enough manpower to cover this fire. Let's go."

  Ash knew better than to argue with his Lieutenant. If his time in the Fire Academy had taught him anything, it was the importance of following orders. Still, he felt like a schoolboy sent home packing from his first game of the season because he'd skinned his knee at first base.

  * * * *

  The ride back to the firehouse was a silent one. Ash tried closing his eyes, enjoying the cold air conditioning that blasted him full force in the face as he rode shotgun next to Joe, but every time he did, the image of the burned bodies he and Joe found in the upstairs bedroom of the house danced behind his lids. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep that night, or any night for that matter.

  Arriving back at the firehouse, Ash followed Murphy into the bay where the trucks were usually parked, and toward the stairs that led up into the living area of the firehouse. The kitchen was located downstairs, behind the truck bay, but aside from cooking and tending the equipment, most of the firemen's activities were centered upstairs.

  A huge bar, surrounded by barstools, took up most of the upstairs room. Behind the bar hung a large mirror surmounted with their company's logo, a bulldog set in the center of a fireman's cross. Next to the bar a brass pole shone, rising up from the first floor truck bay through a hole cut in the floor. It was mostly for show and tradition, and although Ash had a go at sliding down it, the majority of the firefighters simply used the stairs. A pool table, three small round tables, a few chairs, and a television set on a rickety entertainment center rounded out the furnishings of the room. Near the back of the room a door led to the showers and another small room that held three single beds.

  The showers and the beds were for the convenience of the firefighters of Engine Company 4, but were rarely used for their intended purpose. The community in which the firefighters served kept their company as a volunteer organization, and most firefighters went to their own homes to shower and sleep. The beds were used more by firefighters who had a date and needed somewhere to fuck other than their own beds. Considering that most of the company was married, with the exception of Murphy, Ash, and a few others, it was a convenient, discreet place to bring their dates after hours.

  Needless to say, since the rest of the company was still at the house fire and likely would remain there for several hours at the least, the entire second floor of the firehouse was deserted. Ash and Joe wearily made their way across the recreation room, and toward the showers.

  Murphy plopped his helmet on the pool table, stripping off his coat as he walked. He was in still in top shape, despite having seen the far side of thirty-five. His shoulders bulged with muscles clearly outlined under his thin, sweat-soaked t-shirt, and his narrow waist seemed to swim in his bunker pants, which were held up by red suspenders.

  Tired and hot, feeling disturbed, by his first real experience in a blazing building, Ash couldn't prevent the rush of blood to his groin as he walked behind Murphy toward the showers. He'd been attracted to Murphy's dark good looks since his first day on the force, and had been thrilled when the Captain had assigned him to the Lieutenant as his partner during his probationary period. Still, Murphy had never given him the slightest indication that Ash's attraction was reciprocated, and Ash kept his feelings to himself.

  Now, as they both stripped in the small dressing room next to the showers, Ash purposefully took his time, not wanting to drop his bunker pants and reveal the erection rearing against his belly.

  Murphy showed no sign of noticing Ash's reluctance to undress, busying himself by shedding the rest of his turnout gear. His sopping wet t-shirt and underwear came off. He walked naked into the showers.

  In a moment, Ash heard the splattering of water against the tiles.

  Murphy's rounded ass, dusted with dark hair rolled nicely with each step away from Ash and walked toward the showers. The sight had done nothing to dispel the problem that rose between Ash's legs. Ash took a deep breath, and finally gave himself the pleasure of removing his turnout gear and underwear, wrinkling his nose at the smell of smoke and sweat clinging to them.

  He walked into the showers, already clouding with steam from Murphy's cubicle, and slipped into another stall, pulling the shower curtain closed. He breathed a sigh of relief that he'd made it past his Lieutenant without Murphy noticing his hard-on.

  Standing under the hot water of the shower, Ash allowed it to sluice away the worst of the grime that covered his skin. Picking up a bar of soap, Ash rubbed it over his tired and sore muscles, trying desperately to think of something, anything, other than his Lieutenant doing the same to his naked body not five feet away from where Ash stood. Just as Ash thought that he was going to have to jerk himself off in the shower to relieve his erection, the memory of the bodies they'd found that day loomed up in his mind.

  In a flash it was almost as if Ash were back in the burning bedroom. The oppressive heat, and the sight of the burned flesh came roaring back. Ash groaned, leaned forward to brace himself against the slick tiles of the shower stall from assault of the memory.

  He didn't hear the shower curtain move or realize that Murphy slipped into the stall with him until a pair of strong hands on his shoulders turned Ash away from the wall.

  Ash trembled, his eyes wide and still seeing the inside of the burning bedroom.

  Murphy appeared, reaching behind Ash to turn off the water. “Aw, kid, I warned you that it was going to catch up with you.” He led Ash out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack nearby. Leading Ash out of the showers and into the small dressing area, he sat Ash down on a bench, and gently toweled him dry before sitting d
own next to him. “Let it out, kid. Talk to me."

  "I can't get it out of my head, Murphy. It's like I'm stuck in that bedroom with those two poor bastards. I can still smell them, Joe!” Ash ran his hands through his light brown hair, twisting the wet strands in his fingers. It was crazy, he knew. His facemask had prevented him from smelling anything, but his brain refused to admit it. He was gagging on a phantom smell of burned pork.

  "I know, Ash. Believe me, I understand. Come on, I know what you need,” Murphy pulled Ash up by the arm and led him back out into the common room, heedless of the fact that they were both still naked. He sat Ash on a barstool and slipped behind the bar, filling a couple of glasses with two fingers each of good scotch. He placed one glass on the counter before Ash., “What you need is my patented Crispy-Critter Recovery Plan. This is step one. Drink up. It'll do you good, kid.” Murphy tossed his own back.

  Ash lifted his with a trembling hand to his lips and slowly drained the glass. He coughed as the fiery liquid slid down his throat to warm his belly.

  Murphy took the empty glasses and tossed them into the sink behind the bar, then walked around and grabbed Ash under one of his arms, urging him up from the barstool. “Let's go, rookie. That scotch is just step number one in Murphy's Two-step Program.” He smiled as he Ash into the back room where the beds were located.

  Murphy put his hands on Ash's shoulders, pushing him onto his back on one of the cots, then sat himself down on the edge of the bed. “Remember what I told you about the heat, Ash? You've already learned that it's our worst enemy because it kills everything it touches. Now you need to learn about how it can be your best friend. Heat can make you forget, Ash. At least, this kind of heat can.” He leaned down over the reclined firefighter. Gently he pressed his lips against Ash's. He trailed fingers lightly over Ash's furred sac, and ran them over Ash's softened cock.

  Ash moaned into Murphy's mouth as Murphy deepened his kiss, pushing his tongue inside of Ash's mouth as fingers tightened around Ash's newly awakening erection. Murphy's thumb teased at the tiny slit on its head for a moment, before his fingers wrapped around the length of Ash's cock and stroked it slowly.

  Tasting the scotch on Murphy's velvety soft tongue and the warmth of his hand curving around Ash's erection drove all thoughts but those of the muscular Lieutenant from Ash's mind. He tentatively reached out with one hand, and let his fingers slide over Murphy's hairy chest and belly. Murphy's cock was thick and heavy, and already beading with droplets of wetness. Its heat burned Ash's palm, and ignited his own groin with a fire much more pleasant than the one they'd attended to earlier.

  Breaking away from Ash's soft, warm lips, Murphy stood up, and bent over the cot. His voice was rough with need. “Move over."

  Ash scooted over as far as the narrow cot would allow and twisted onto his side, giving Murphy just enough room to lower himself down next to Ash. Murphy hovered over Ash's erection, and Ash found Murphy's cock bobbing close enough to hit him in the chin.

  Murphy parted his lips and drew the head of Ash's cock into his mouth. His tongue swirled over the rounded head, flicking lightly along the ridge before drawing the length in deeply.

  Ash's breath came in heavy pants as Murphy's talented tongue and lips did a number on Ash's cock. He lifted one of Murphy's muscular thighs and urged the Lieutenant to spread his legs. Faced with Murphy's hairy ass, Ash spread the Lieutenant's cheeks with his fingers, exposing his small, puckered brown asshole. Ash breathed deeply, allowing the musky scent of Murphy's sex to fill his lungs and overpower the lingering odor of smoke that Ash could still smell with every breath. Flicking out his tongue, he rimmed Murphy's wrinkled asshole, sucking and licking at it, before finally pushing his tongue into the Lieutenant's body.

  Murphy rose to his knees, straddling Ash's shoulders.

  From his moans, Ash could tell the tongue in his ass was driving him crazy. Encouraged, Ash's fingers wrapped around Murphy's erection, and jerked him with smooth movements as his tongue continued to lash Murphy's ass.

  Bending over, Murphy renewed his attention to Ash's cock. Between the sweet suction on his dick, and the taste of man in his mouth, Ash couldn't hold back any longer. He came, hard, every muscle in his body becoming rigid with the power of his release.

  As soon as Ash's orgasm waned, he thrust a finger deeply into Murphy's ass without warning, fucking him hard as Ash's other hand continued to pull on the tender foreskin of Murphy's cock. Being finger-fucked was evidently enough to do Murphy in, because he came in great, hot white spurts over the rookie's fist.

  They lay together for a few moments feeling each other's spunk cooling on their skin before disentangling and sitting up on the bed.

  Murphy grinned at Ash “Feel better?"

  Ash blushed and nodded, unable to speak, and not sure of what to say.

  "Good. Hit the showers, rookie. I'm going to take a quick one then go fry us up some burgers.” He smacked Ash on the ass when Ash stood up and walked past him on the way to the showers. “Don't look so shocked, kid. Before it was my two-step program, it was the Captain's."

  * * * *

  It was a year later, almost to the day. Murphy sat next to Ash in the cab of the pumper as they sped along the streets of the city in route to a fire, sirens wailing and lights flashing.

  Ash ignored Murphy's snort as he lectured the rookie who'd been assigned to him by the Captain that very afternoon “Heat is a firefighter's worst enemy and best friend..."

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  THE SWEET SIDE OF THE ROPES

  Cameras clicked and whirred, lights rapidly flashing his shadow against the brick wall of the restaurant as he was hustled out of the building and into the waiting limo by thick-necked bodyguards. Fans and camera crews had shown up outside the restaurant while Travis was ecstatically shoving a cannoli into his mouth, powdered sugar dusting the front of his black tee shirt.

  Travis! Travis! Travis!

  His name echoed all around him, screamed by the crowd of people who swarmed on the sidewalks. No doubt word leaked out that he'd be having dinner at Mamma Giovanni's tonight, and a throng of fans and curious rubber-neckers had gathered outside the tiny restaurant.

  Travis supposed that he should be used to it by now. That's how it always happened in Tinseltown—somebody would post a word or two on their blog and the next thing you knew, you were clutching a garlic-scented doggy bag to your chest like a football, flanked by men big enough to have actually played for the NFL as they rushed your ass into the limo while fans screamed, and the paparazzi clicked away.

  If Travis ever found out who leaked the news that he'd had a sudden hankering for spaghetti and meatballs, he'd beat the guy to a pulp, fire and then rehire the guy just so that he could have the pleasure of beating and firing him all over again.

  All Travis wanted was a plate of Mamma Giovanni's homemade spaghetti and meatballs smothered with Romano cheese, and to eat it in relative peace and quiet. What he'd gotten was a media feeding frenzy and his face—mouth smeared with marina sauce, cheeks puffed out like a goddamn chipmunk—plastered on the front page of the tabloids in the morning.

  And Bernie, Travis’ manager, on the telephone, screaming his head off about it.

  "Travis! What the hell were you thinking? Are you trying to kill me? Is that it? Oy! It would be kinder to just mix arsenic with my ulcer medication. Did you see the papers this morning? Did you?"

  Bernie's voice wasn't easy on the ears on his best day. When he was angry, as he was now, it was positively shrill. Travis closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and let Bernie rant. Eventually, he'd run out of steam—he always did.

  "Haven't I told you—begged you—to give me the heads up before you make a personal appearance? Did you see the photo on the front page of Entertainment Now?"

  Of course Travis had seen it, although he wouldn't add fuel to Bernie's fire by telling him so. Country Music's Most Eligible Bachelor Binges at Restaurant—Alone! Does America's Favorite Boy-Next-Door Suf
fer From Eating Disorder?

  "Do you have any idea of what could happen to you if people spotted you on the street without a bodyguard? They'd rip you to pieces, Travis. Is that what you want? To be sent back to Hog Holler in a box? Hell, make that a baggie, because there wouldn't be enough left of you to fill a box."

  Travis sighed. “I'm from Shelby, Tennessee, Bernie, not—"

  "Wherever—you're missing the point, Travis! Wasn't it bad enough when they started that rumor about you being you-know-what when you were spotted near the Tiger's Club? I still have a headache from trying to deal with that picture of you dancing with that underwear model, whatever his name was, that popped up on YouTube."

  "I've already apologized for that, Bernie, and his name was Joshua. What do you expect me to do, anyway? I am gay, you know."

  "Not to the millions of hormone factories who buy your music and posters, you're not! And what have I told you about using the “G” word? Do you want the Moral Majority to boycott your albums?"

  "Bernie—"

  "Don't get me started again, Travis. This fame you're sitting on is like a house of cards. One ill-blown breeze and it's going to come crashing down around your ears. It's not just you anymore, kid. Think about all the people who work for you who'd be out of a job if you crash and burn. Think about me, for chrissakes! My alimony isn't going to pay itself, you know."

  "I understand, Bernie. I'm sorry. I only wanted a nice, quiet dinner out, no press, no fans, no spotlight..."

  "That's impossible, and you know it. Look, Travis, you wanted to be famous, right? Wanted your songs on the radio and your CDs on the shelves, and a nice, thick bank account? Well, you got your dream. But I told you when I first signed you that it was going to come at a price. Every time you fart it makes the evening news, Travis. You have to be careful!"