Best Gay Erotica of the Year Volume 2

by Rob Rosen

  The man shook his head.

  Redbone kissed him and pulled him into a crushing embrace. “Come,” he commanded and led him to the water.

  “Blackmouth will have us both,” the man sighed. “The demons await us in the fires.”

  Redbone drew him up in his arms and lifted him. “Not tonight.” He carried the man to the water, kissing his face and wounds as he went. “Certainly not tonight.”

  FOR ALL ETERNITY

  Rob Rosen

  I woke up coughing, groggy. The walls around me, which were blurring at the edges, were barely lit by a few flickering lanterns, and the smell of incense permeated the space. My hand reached out, over, and landed on a hairy thigh. I craned my neck to the side, squinting to bring my eyes into focus.

  “Zareth,” I rasped, my throat dry, voice weak.

  I waited, heart pounding. At last he stirred. “Stick?” he managed.

  I grinned at the sound of my nickname. Stick. I was a big man, far bigger than most, trained to be so, bred to be so, but next to Zareth, Stick seemed appropriate. “Yes, my love,” I replied, rubbing his leg.

  Slowly he turned my way, shaking his head as he did so, trying, it appeared, to clear the cobwebs from his mind. “What… what happened?”

  I gazed around us. We were naked on a slab together, the chamber small, darkness at the periphery, the air thin, but at least there was some left. In an instant, I knew what had happened. I sprang up, heart again pounding, but this time for an entirely different reason. “Hurry,” I coughed. “We have to hurry. Not much time.”

  He stared at me, eyes wide. “Not much time for what? Where are we?”

  I grabbed his hand. “The Pharaoh must’ve died,” I replied, yanking his massive frame off the slab. “This, I believe, is the fulfillment of his promise to me…”

  I’d met Zareth, long ago, in the slave quarters. We were barely men, taken from our parents as soon as the muscles showed on our bare chests. Such was the way. He shared a room with me, our cots barely a few feet apart, a small wooden table dividing us, a washing pitcher above that. This was all we had: meager-ness in a temple filled with untold riches.

  He was handsome, already massive even for his age. Me, I was nothing to scoff at either, but with training from dawn to dusk, I’d eventually grow to proportions that made other men cower, and rightly so.

  “Why must we guard the Pharaoh?” he asked, on our first night together in that small room of ours, once our fates had been sealed. This, after all, was what we’d been trained for, what we would do until we died: guard.

  I turned to him, the candle flickering in his ebony eyes. “Look at us,” I replied. “Not exactly the bodies of bakers, my friend.”

  He smiled and stood. He was naked, hard, his cock as long and thick as a tree limb. I gulped. He crouched to the side of my cot and kissed me. He did not ask permission, though that is what he nonetheless would’ve received. “No,” he said to me. “I know why we guard him. What I mean is, why does a god need guarding?”

  It was blasphemous to say such a thing, but I’d been thinking the same. Zareth and I were two of a legion, all with the sole task of guarding Pharaoh and all that he owned. “He is a god, yes,” I eventually replied, after much thought, “but a god in mortal form, and so as fragile as you or me.”

  He beat his chest. “Fragile? I think not.” A chuckle escaped from between his full lips, the sound running through me like thunder. And then he stood, his enormous prick hovering above my head until, at last, it was buried deep within my throat.

  Perhaps fragile was not the word for it, after all, I thought to myself as I sucked the come up from his huge, swaying balls.

  Our cots were pushed together after that night. That is where they remained, years into our servitude to the god-king. By then, our task was to walk the temple once the moon had risen. For Pharaoh lived with his priests in a complex of buildings that stretched far into the desert, all surrounded by nearly impenetrable walls, though these, of course, never stopped those stupid enough to try and enter, for reasons of thievery or worse. And so Zareth and I were always on the alert.

  We had indeed killed our share of the dim-witted who attempted to rob the temple, though none, it seemed, had ever sought to kill our master. Still, the grumblings could be heard on the desert breeze. Pharaoh, after all, was none too eager to relinquish his earthly body to rule with his kin in the after-world. Others, it was told, now sought to rule our own world, to dethrone the long-standing ruler by any means possible.

  And so Zareth and I were now doubly vigilant. If Pharaoh was killed during our watch—well, we shuddered to imagine what would happen to us. Our bodies might’ve been muscle dense, our chests like boulders and arms as strong as marble statues, but they were still no match for a blade of thick metal.

  And yet we were men, men with desires and passions of our own. The nights were long, and with secret passageways not so secret to the likes of us, sometimes a quick break seemed best, if only for our sanity.

  Zareth had worked his cock out of his uniform and was stroking it as we walked to a wall that was not what it appeared. I pushed the stone, then the one behind it, and the wall gave way very nearly without sound, allowing us easy access to the narrow tunnel behind it. I lit the candle that waited on the other side.

  These passages, we had discovered, were used by the priests, allowing them easier access to move around the impossibly large temple complex, connecting rooms that would otherwise take much longer to get to. Over the years, they were also used for spying, by the priests and, we assumed, by Pharaoh himself. Once we found access to these hidden spaces, we also found the small holes drilled into the stone, revealing the rooms beyond and their occupants.

  Zareth and I had our favorites to spy on, men who found the nighttime best for their more carnal desires: men who fucked themselves with phallic-shaped candles; men who fucked each other, for women were not allowed in the temple once the sun went down; and men who simply abused their pricks until they erupted in torrents of come. All this we watched as we in turn prepared ourselves to spew, as we in turn fucked and sucked with wild abandon, hidden from the world that otherwise watched us so intently.

  That fateful night was no different.

  We were well within the passageway, around a corner, my eye pressed tight to the hole in the stone, Zareth on his knees, stroking his prick as he sucked hungrily on mine. I gazed upon the priest just beyond. He was a slight man, hairless, his shaved head, on those occasions when we were near each other, barely reaching my chest, but his cock, yes, his cock was a sight to see. Surely, Zareth and I had joked, his mother had been well fucked by a bull.

  He was on his bed, naked, furiously pounding his meat, hand but a blur as his small ass rose above the blanket. His club of a cock rose high above his nest of pubic hair, the head fat, glistening in the light of a nearby lantern.

  I moaned as my lover again took my cock in his mouth, gagging as I fucked his face and stared through the small gap in the stone. Despite the chill of the passageway, a bead of sweat trickled down my face and tickled my cheek. I wiped it away as I shoved my prick between Zareth’s lips, the candle we’d taken illuminating the scene.

  I smiled down at him as he stared up at me, sucking heartily as he beat the serpent that rose between his dense thighs. My cock popped out a moment later, the sound echoing around the narrow passage. He gasped for air and then asked, “What is the bull-priest up to now?”

  I chuckled and turned to stare again. “He is fingering his hole, my love, fingering and stroking, as he seems to do most nights.” Again I turned to him. “Care to see?”

  He nodded and rose, cock swaying as he did so. By then, he’d relieved himself of all but his tunic. I had done the same. Better to waste precious moments than to stain our uniforms, we figured. In any case, he was quickly staring through the hole while I was staring at his beautiful rump, at thighs and calves rife with muscle and hair. Again I moaned as I parted his cheeks and tickled his cri
nkled hole.

  He moaned as well, and the pace again picked up on his prick. “You can do better than that,” he whispered, the words sending a warm chill to my bouncing cock.

  I grinned and spanked a cheek. “You think so?”

  He nodded and spread his legs wider, his ass jutting out, the hair-rimmed center winking my way. “Think, Stick? No, I know you can.”

  I spit into my hand and wet his hole. “Smart man,” I purred, wetting my throbbing prick next. “Smart and handsome.”

  He sighed as I slowly, gently entered him, his eye pressed tight to the hole, massive chest to the stone wall. “Which is why you love me so,” he said, after a sharp exhale.

  I slid my way inside, the warmth enveloping me. “Among so many other things,” I panted, my arms wrapped around him now, my cheek against his broad expanse of back. “Yes.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, belly shuddering as I advanced farther.

  “Yes,” I repeated, now to the hilt, our bodies at last united.

  He turned his head to the side. “The priest appears close now,” he informed. “Shall we all come together?”

  I grinned and pushed my face away from his back, my hands now at his hips. “Is that what the gods desire?”

  He shrugged and picked up the pace on his prick. “You would have to ask the priest that, Stick, but it is what I desire.”

  I retracted my cock and rammed it in again. “Then so be it, my love.”

  Out it came, for the briefest of moments, hovering like a hummingbird before I slammed in again, out and in, out and in, until his mighty legs began to buckle. Sweat now cascaded down his back as it crisscrossed his spine. Lightning sizzled through me now, my hips rocking on instinct, the sound of our love-making echoing down the passageway.

  One final shove, deep, deep inside of him, and my cock erupted, come filling his hole before dripping out of it and down his thigh. He came a moment later, his body tensing as his head fell back, mouth agape. His aromatic load slammed into the stone, then slid down it, gathering on the dirt floor in a white pool.

  “Well?” I managed to puff out.

  He chuckled as he turned to look my way. “The priest will have to change his linens, I’m afraid.”

  “Or have his slave do it for him, but good for our bull-like friend. Even the pious should have a little fun.”

  He started to reply when we suddenly heard a noise. The stone walls were thick, so it couldn’t have been coming through one of the many holes we knew of; it had to have originated from our side of things.

  I closed the gap between us. We dressed, quickly. “A priest?” I whispered.

  He shrugged and gripped his spear. “At this time of night? Doubtful, Stick. Piety has working hours.”

  I nodded, my spear also held at the ready as I listened again for the sound. “Perhaps a mouse then?”

  Again we heard it. Louder now, more distinct. “A mouse with a heavy tread, it sounds like to me.”

  And still I nodded, moving toward it now, slowly, silently, my spear to my right, his to his left, the bulk of us filling up the narrow passageway as my heart picked up speed. Onward we moved, as one, always as one, united in both love and war. The sound moved away now, perhaps turning a corner as it became less distinct, fading as we sought it out.

  We reached a divide, the tunnel splitting right and left. It was impossible to tell where the sound was coming from. It was almost too distant now to even hear it. Then it was gone completely.

  Zareth lifted his spear and pointed right before indicting with his head that I should go left. “Be careful,” I whispered.

  He smiled and moved away. “Always am, Stick. Always am.”

  To the left I went, the sound of Zareth’s footsteps quickly muffled before vanishing altogether. I crept along the passageway, my ear held up, listening for the sound again. I stopped when I thought I heard it. My heart rate doubled, not out of fear, of which I had very little, but with the knowledge of where I now was, where I was inevitably heading. After all, Zareth and I knew these hidden trails intimately.

  “Pharaoh,” I whispered, with a gulp, as I sped along, praying to the gods that I wouldn’t be too late or that I was perhaps mistaken as to the intruder’s intent.

  I was running now, not caring about the noise I was making, my breath lodged in my throat as I sped through the stone tunnel, my spear clanking against the wall. Ahead I saw a dim light, moon glow. A hidden door must’ve opened somewhere. I rushed toward it.

  “Pharaoh!” I hollered, my voice booming as I raced there. I reached the door and sped through it, eyes darting right and left, then center. I’d never been inside the god-king’s chambers before. It was, after all, forbidden. I was very nearly blinded by the glint of gold, and yet my eyes managed to land not on that but the dull metal. “Pharaoh!” I yelled, yet again, the intruder’s dagger already raised.

  My master stirred all too late. Fragile, I thought. Oh so fragile. I did not realize my spear was aloft, did not feel it rise, feel the bone and muscle flex and move and release in one fluid motion. It was instinctual now, branded into me. I was born to guard him. This was my destiny. I heard the sound clearly enough, just the same. Heard it slice through the air, then heard it again as it pierced through flesh. So fragile.

  Pharaoh rolled away just as the intruder gasped and toppled onto the bed, his weapon dropping from his hand before clattering loudly to the floor below. Time seemed to stand still then as the man took his last gasp, as my master stared from him to me.

  “Well done,” he croaked out, his hand to his still-intact chest and neck and face. “May the gods smile upon you.”

  I bowed. “And to you, Pharaoh. And to you.”

  He rose and strode toward me. He was old, yes, but still retained the vigor of youth. To be alone with a god was one thing, but to be so close to one was another matter entirely. And so I merely continued bowing, averting my gaze as best I could.

  “I shall eventually join my ancestors,” he said with a rumbling laugh, “but clearly not tonight.”

  “No, Pharaoh,” I managed to squeak out. “Not tonight.”

  He put his hand to my chin and lifted my head. “Do you wish for something? Gold perhaps?” He pointed with his free hand all around him. It was, after all, everywhere. “Jewels?” Again his hand pointed. “Please, please name it.”

  And it was then that Zareth appeared, his massive frame blocking the doorway, eyes surprised at what he was witnessing. And with my own hand I pointed his way. “Eternity, Pharaoh,” I replied. “Eternity with my one true love.”

  “I don’t understand,” Zareth said as we hobbled away from the cold stone slabs. “Fulfillment? What fulfillment? What promise did the Pharaoh make to you?”

  I turned to him. “Eternity,” I uttered. “We must’ve been drugged and dragged here when the god-king died. To be buried with him meant that we’d be taken to the afterlife, to guard him…”

  “For all eternity,” he said, finishing my train of thought.

  I nodded. “Together, for all eternity. A wish granted, yes, though I’d have preferred it a bit later than today, my love.”

  His nodding joined mine. “Same here, Stick. Same here.” He looked around. We were trapped, clearly inside a tomb. He then scratched his head. “How do the lanterns still flicker, though?”

  I stared at the nearest one. “There must be air in here still.” And it was then I remembered the priests. After all, we’d spied on them enough over the years. And they didn’t always abuse themselves at night; sometimes they practiced their rituals. “The body,” I said. “It must be anointed over several days before the tomb can be sealed. There is air in here, Zareth. There is. But where is it coming from?”

  He bent down and picked the lantern up. We stared at it, at the flame, at its gentle orange sway. “There,” he said, pointing to the far end of the chamber we found ourselves in.

  We raced to the wall. Tables were positioned on either side of it, jars and bowls and pitchers
scattered about, the same items we saw in the priests’ chambers. “They must be coming back this way. We couldn’t have been asleep for more than a day or two. The lanterns still burn, so we still have a chance.”

  He touched his hand to his chest and smiled. “Much still burns, Stick.” And then he moved said hand to the wall, feeling his way across the stones. My smile echoed his, my hand feeling the opposite way, pushing, prodding, listening for some sort of give.

  “Here,” I finally exhaled, many minutes later, as one stone pushed inward, another quick to follow, until a small entryway was revealed. Zareth started to push his bulk through when I stopped him. “Wait,” I added.

  “Wait?” he said, turning his face my way.

  I nodded and reached for a jar I recognized. I poured the liquid inside onto my hand, then on to one of my lover’s. I then touched the wall, my handprint remaining as I pulled my fingers away. Zareth did the same, our prints side by side.

  “For all eternity, my love,” I said, pushing him out of the tomb and into the cold air beyond. “Just as Pharaoh promised.”

  MOJAVE

  Dale Chase

  Battle gets my dick up. I don’t know if it’s the streaming bullets or gun barrels heated from the action, but it’s an arousal greater than the thrill of bringing down the enemy. Best part is fucking, which is what I often do, while the battle rages. Get my lieutenant into whatever cover I can manage, this time being a shade spire. Before I can get my dick out, he’s dropped his pants, and when I spear him I savor a barrage of machine gun fire.

  We’re presently defending the Modesto desalination plant from attack by Sacto forces who wish to claim this border facility as their own. We’ve mobilized a company to push them back, but it’s a challenge to do this and not damage the plant.

  Lieutenant Lake works his cock as I ride him, bullets striking the spire, those that miss buzzing my ear. Then I’m the one shooting. I drive a load into Lake as he sprays jizz onto the spire, all to the sweet sound of war.