by GR Richards
Through gritted teeth, he said, "Kawa, I'm past the point of just fucking any guy who comes along. You mean a great deal to me--you should know that by now. If I wouldn't look you in the eye..." Steven took a sharp breath in. This was a dangerous path he'd set off along. There was a sinking feeling in his heart of hearts that told him Kawa's accusation was at least somewhat pertinent. It was true--he hadn't wanted to look Kawa in the eye. That damsel in distress act irked Steven. Sometimes he just needed to fuck a man, not a bony little queen. All Steven wanted to do in that moment was spread some ass cheeks and fuck the hole between them. Was that really so terrible? Kawa would think so. And Steven didn't want to fight. He'd save that conversation for another day.
"We were playing a game," he went on. That was an excellent cover, and it was at least in part true. "Remember? I was the rough farmhand, and I was taking you, no questions asked. You shouldn't have started this little role play if you weren't prepared to carry it through to its natural conclusion."
A smile grew across Kawa's lips. When he looked up at Steven, the smile had jumped into his eyes as well. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted. "I'm just being stupid."
"No, not at all." But even as Steven hugged Kawa tighter, he felt like a liar. It wasn't just his words. His body was lying, too. His consoling embrace was put on. In reality, he was tired of bickering. Why did Kawa have to act like such a...
"Can we go to the beach now?" Kawa asked, pulling on his capris and glam top.
He was cute--Steven couldn't deny that--and when they walked arm in arm along Church Street, he always felt like other guys would be jealous. "Sure. Let's just get the car unpacked, and then we'll check it out."
Even fully dressed, Steven felt a little skittish about leaving the tent. Those guys would be out there setting up, and when they looked at clothed Steven, they'd still be seeing naked Steven. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of in the nudity department. He jogged when he could, did a few sit-ups in front of the TV...he had a pretty respectable body. All the same, a sense of relief washed over him when he stepped out of the flap and found the truck across the way abandoned and the trailer left folded.
When he'd finished unloading the car--he didn't actually expect Kawa to lend a helping hand--Steven put on his board shorts. Kawa showed off a hell of a lot more skin in a bright green thong.
"Christ, you're not wearing that in public!" Steven laughed.
Kawa rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist to the sky. The tent was nearly high enough for him to stand up straight in. "North America, a continent of prudes!"
Sensing this was a winnable argument if he took the right tack, Steven said, "This isn't a gay resort, it's a provincial park. There are families camping here."
"And families don't know what a butt looks like?" Kawa smiled as he stuck his ass out and gave it a smack. "Everybody has a butt! Even the little girl on the sunblock commercial has a butt!"
Kneeling on the tarpaulin floor, Steven grabbed Kawa's tight cheeks with both hands and gave them a squeeze. The visceral stir of pinching his boyfriend's firm ass elicited a physical sensation in his board shorts. Sure, Kawa could be annoying, but he was also a lot of fun.
"Maybe I don't want to share your butt with the world," Steven growled. He pulled Kawa close by the hips and gave his cheek an animal love bite. "Maybe I feel possessive about your butt."
Kawa shrieked at the nibble as he spun around. Falling to his knees, he wrapped his arms around Steven's neck. "Maybe you should, because my butt belongs to you." He was quiet for a moment. As he looked up at Steven with those huge dark eyes, the significance of that statement weighed down. Kawa wore his heart on his sleeve--that much was certain. "I'm all yours," he said. "To do with as you please."
The air inside their tent felt humid and heavy, and Steven had trouble breathing it in. "Come on," he said. "Put on your Speedo and let's hit the beach."
Steven stepped out of the tent before he could allow himself to initiate another fuck that ended in tears. Moments later, Kawa emerged wearing nothing but a tight black bathing suit. All it took was one look, and Steven wanted to bend the boy over the hood of his car, strip off his Speedo and plunge his erection into that tight little ass. What was it about Kawa that drove Steven wild? He had next to no muscle, he was skinny and short, his nose was a little too big and beak-like, and his skin broke out with acne if they so much as walked by a fast food joint. Yet, every time he looked at Kawa, he wanted to fuck the boy. Maybe it was all a matter of confidence--a quality Kawa possessed in no short supply.
Sauntering to the car, Kawa parked his ass in the passenger seat. "So, how far is the beach?"
Classic Kawa! Steven had to laugh. "You're kidding me, right? You think we're driving there? The beach is in this park!"
Clicking his teeth, Kawa whined, "What? We have to walk?" He grabbed the beach tote he'd left on the backseat and crammed his feet into those ridiculous rhinestone sandals before handing the bag to Steven. "Now I'm going to get blisters between my toes from the flip-flops."
"Then wear running shoes." Steven threw the bag of towels and other beach necessities over his shoulder. Sometimes he felt like he was dressing a five-year-old when they went out, and he couldn't deny his resentment. He was Kawa's boyfriend, not his caregiver, and sometimes it seemed as if Kawa made no distinction between those two roles.
They walked in silence interspersed by Kawa's complaints of foot pain. It was his own fault for not bringing a pair of sensible walking shoes, but, as always, Steven didn't want to start a fight by saying so. The tree-lined walk to the beach wasn't terribly long--maybe fifteen or twenty minutes--but the more Kawa nattered, the more adamantly Steven wished he'd come on this trip alone. He felt like his life being torn in two directions: his body wanted to fuck this immature little twit every chance it got, and his mind guilt-tripped him for wasting time better spent investing in a real relationship. He wanted two things at once, and he just couldn't figure out which he wanted more.
When the beach came into sight on the horizon, he and Kawa both stopped and stared. Beyond the relative darkness of their leaf-enclosed path, sun illuminated sand and shone on scintillating water. The laughter of small children gleamed through the summer air, greeting his weary ears like bursts of music. Steven felt like he'd walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and he'd at last been delivered to the glory of the heavens.
They walked, slowly, almost as if they had trepidations about actually setting foot in that joyful sand. Was this place really for them? Would they be admitted among the playful masses?
In the shade of the maple trees and birches, Steven came to a halt. Kawa closed in on him, setting an arm around his waist, and for an eternal moment, they both looked out into the sunlight sparkling across the water. When he looked down to his left and met Kawa's adoring gaze, his heart felt full of emotion. This was an instant he'd remember for the rest of his life. Long after he and Kawa had split up--and he'd be kidding himself to imagine they'd stay together forever--he would look back on this day and recall the sheer bliss of witnessing god's multitudinous creations mingling in perfect harmony.
Leaning down, he kissed Kawa's lips softly. Just once. And then he smiled and said, "Want to swim or want to tan?"
"Look who you're talking to!" Kawa laughed, vogueing to showcase his tawny brown skin.
He was a funny guy. "Okay," Steven corrected, "swim or sunbathe?"
"Duh!" Kawa cried, smacking Steven's ass. "First we sunbathe, and then when we're all hot and our chests are glistening with sweat, we go for a swim. Have you never been to the beach before?"
"It's been a while," Steven admitted.
Kawa hooked his arm around Steven's and offered a dapper grin as they set foot on the pristine sand. "Don't worry, kid. I'll show you the ropes."
THE BROTHERS OF HOGGS HOLLOW
ISBN: 978-1-60272-752-6 (Electronic)
Genres: Gay / Contemporary / Romantic Comedy / BDSM (Light) / Interracial / Multicultural
> Heat Level: 3
Length: Novella (24k words)
To Fernando, family means everything. He works as the brawn of his big brother Gerry's decking business, and he lives with Gerry's family. Nothing in life could make him consider leaving his flesh and blood...except Malcolm.
Despite Gerry's rule against fraternizing with clients, Fernando can't hide his attraction to "Professor Hottie," the young classics instructor who put himself through school working in construction. When Gerry takes an impromptu vacation to save his marriage, he leaves Fernando to babysit the kids and the business.
Malcolm lends an expert hand around the jobsite and helps out around the house, but can he convince Fernando to leave his brother's home and build a life together?
* * * *
CHAPTER 1
"This one has what he calls 'exacting tastes,'" Gerry warned as they pulled into the driveway.
Fernando flipped up the passenger seat visor to get a better view of the house. His stomach plunged six stories when he got a load of the place. In all the years he and Gerry'd been in business together, he'd never felt nervous walking onto a jobsite. Now there were some mean butterflies groovin' in his gut. His stomach rumbled, and he pressed his hand to his side until the growl subsided.
With a furled brow and a cheap smirk, Gerry asked, "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," he said, breathing past the anxiety. "Exacting tastes--what the fuck's that supposed to mean?"
"Means he wants the job done right the first time." Gerry opened the driver's side door, but the large double-double in the cup holder seemed to capture his attention and hold him transfixed. Instead of getting out of the pickup, he reached for his coffee and took another sip. "He wants it done to his specifications, on time, and on budget."
Fernando laughed as he unbuckled his seat belt. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen."
Shooting him a death-glare, Gerry said, "It's gonna happen." He downed his coffee before quieting his voice. "When the client's within earshot, it's gonna happen."
With a smirk on his lips, Fernando hopped out of the truck and wandered to the border of the pitch-black driveway. The lawn was perfectly edged. This guy's gardener must go at it with a level and a pair of manicure scissors.
Shading his eyes from the early May sun, Fernando looked up at the house. Barn doors on the garage--those were pricey, especially when they were paired with leaded-style glass windows to match the rest of the house. The musket brown casements coordinated so perfectly with the front door, he was willing to bet they'd all been replaced when the barn doors were installed. The southern portion of the two-story house was stone. The northern half, which housed the garage, must have been a later addition, because it was all brickwork.
Would this place be called Victorian or Georgian, or something else altogether? He couldn't remember. That was Gerry's area of expertise, anyway. Gerry was the brains of the operation. He took care of everything on the business end. No way Fernando would be offering to file zoning ordinances or building permits or whatever bullshit paperwork Gerry handled. Red tape drove him nuts. He'd rather run than stand still. He'd rather be hauling the shit than shooting it. Someone he was trying to forget used to tell him he had a go-go-go personality. Fernando blamed his elementary school classmates for that character flaw--seven years straight they'd called him Speedy Gonzalez. Andale, Andale! In eighth grade he'd grown some balls and taken on any punk-ass kid who called him names. That was the end of Speedy Gonzalez.
Fernando's stomach quaked. What the hell had he eaten that morning? A bear claw and a coffee, just like every other day. He couldn't figure a reason for the rumbling. It had to be nerves. He'd worked in and around houses this big and bigger all over Hogg's Hollow. But his apprehension wasn't about the size of the place, though it was a behemoth, or even about the area in the north end of the city, though it was affluent. No, the house had an intangible quality that made him inexplicably anxious.
On the other side of the truck, Gerry had his case up on the hood and he searched through it for God knows what. Fernando pressed a hand to his gut. All this waiting around bumped his tension to a fever pitch. "What're you looking for, bro?"
Gerry held a pencil between his teeth. "I just gotta find those contract amendments..."
When the front door of the monster home opened up, Fernando nearly jumped out of his shorts. "Geraldo!" the homeowner called. "Good morning!"
Squinting against the sun, Fernando tried to make out the shape in the doorway. All he could see was a dark figure waving a hand in the air. Fernando took a few steps forward, until he was inside the morning shadow cast by the house. By the voice alone, he could tell it was a man, but the voice didn't tell him it was a black man. The guy talked the same way Gerry did--in a tone Fernando found purposefully condescending. Still, Fernando smiled to see a black guy living in Hogg's Hollow. From what he'd seen over the years, Hogg's Hollow had remained a totally white bread community even as the rest of the city diversified. Walking down the streets here, he always felt like every granny peeking out from behind lace curtains was looking at him and thinking, "Trades." He obviously didn't belong. So, even just a glimpse at a fit, youngish, good-looking black man living in this community gave Fernando a small sense of redemption.
Just as Fernando reflected on how glad he felt to be working for this guy, he realized the man in the gray-pinstriped pants and light blue shirt wasn't waving hello. He was motioning his hand, all right, but in a back and forth motion. "Would you mind terribly parking on the road?"
Fernando whipped his head right to left like he was following a shot on goal. For a split second, Gerry blinked incredulous eyes. Then he self-corrected and offered the homeowner a sycophantic smile. "Of course." Gerry nodded like a dashboard bobble-head. "Yes, of course." Hopping into the truck, he started 'er up. Before he'd even closed the driver's side door, it must have clicked that he'd left his bag sitting on the hood, because Gerry got back out of the truck, picked up his shit, and tossed it on the passenger's seat. Fernando stepped to the edge of the drive as Gerry pulled out to park in front of the house.
Although he could feel their new client's eyes burning the back of his head, Fernando felt oddly disinclined to turn around without Gerry at his side. He stood in the shade of the Hogg's Hollow home and waited for his brother.
"It's no trouble, I trust." The prim and proper tone of this homeowner's voice vexed Fernando, even though the guy was talking to Gerry and not him. "Only, I won't be able to get my car out garage later with your truck in the way. You understand, I'm sure."
Gah-rawge. That's how the guy pronounced it, with the emphasis on the first syllable: Gahhh-rawge. It's grrawge, not gah-rawge. Why was this dufus pronouncing words like he was British? He didn't have a British accent. And how dare he speak to Gerry that way? Would you mind terribly parking on the road? What the fuck was that?
"Of course, of course," Gerry said to the guy. He jogged up the drive with a clipboard in one hand while the other hand pressed sweaty creases into a stack of paper. "I have those amendments you requested, and I wanted to review the site plans with you one last time so we can sign off on the permit request."
"Very good, very good," the client said. Fernando stole a quick glance at him as he stepped out of his house and closed the front door. Did he realize he was still in his slippers? Gray and blue checks, and the left one looked like a dog had chewed it. Fernando pressed his lips tight together and stared down at his work boots, trying not to laugh.
"Come, let's head around to the backyard so we can observe the area we're discussing."
Hopping down the front steps, Mr. Gah-rawge trotted across the driveway. He moved at a brisk pace, like he needed to show the world nobody could get ahead of him. When he got to the side yard gate, he reached over top to flip the latch. That small metallic click aroused a cacophony of barking from around back. He swung the wooden gate wide open and held it for Gerry and Fernando to pass through.
"The girls are out," he said as
Gerry walked swiftly into the narrow side yard.
Fernando wasn't normally claustrophobic, but there was something enormously daunting about the side yard. It was really nothing more than a strip of patio stones blocked in by the house on one side and a high wooden fence on the other. His stomach rumbled. He didn't move, even as two smiling greyhounds raced around to greet their visitors.
"Oh." The slippered man's words tumbled out of his mouth, outracing the greyhounds. "I hope you're not afraid of dogs."
"No," Fernando replied just as quickly.
Their new client glanced back at him exactly as Fernando's gaze rose past the pants that seemed one size too large. They clung to his hips thanks only to a worn leather belt. His shirt was such a light shade of blue it looked almost white in the morning sun. Where the top few buttons were left casually undone, he got a good glimpse at a firm, hairless chest. For an eternal second, Fernando met the man's gaze straight on. "Hot" didn't do this guy justice. Fernando could see in his deep brown eyes that he was more than just a tasty slab of beef. There was, without a doubt, a thoughtful mind in that gorgeous shaved head. Gorgeous! Fernando couldn't even figure out what it was about the guy that made him so good-looking. Was it the apparent smoothness of his deep brown flesh, or the fullness of his pinkish lips? The hint of white in his midnight goatee leant him an air of distinction, while the slight curl of his ears seemed almost playful.
When the gorgeous guy smiled, Fernando's stomach quaked--and, man, was it ever loud! He tried to suppress an insistent blush when a look of concern overtook his client.
"Are you okay?" the man asked. Without waiting for an answer, he glanced at the greyhounds as they licked Gerry's hands. One dog looked toward the open gate, and then the other one did.
