by Clare London
They experimented as much as they could, while keeping their new intimacy a secret from everyone they knew. It was never going to be acceptable in their small community, and they both knew that from the first time. But they couldn’t stop. “Why should we?” Jerry would say hotly, though he was the first to suggest secret places they should meet. They met before work in the mornings and late at night, after their families were asleep. They borrowed cars; they lied to friends that they were meeting others. Corners and cellars and cubby-holes became their hiding places. Anywhere that was available, just to touch each other. Neither had access to sex toys or anything for lube beyond the Vaseline that the corner store stocked. But their enthusiasm was always fresh.
Until they grew careless and the rumors started. Faggots. Perverts. The bigotry and hostility raced quickly around the town like water finding its way through the smallest weaknesses in a wall. Jerry grew more desperate to meet, but Scot knew time had started to run out for them.
It was one of the reasons he’d been willing to consider Jerry’s plan to run away. He knew he cared for Jerry: knew he lusted for him. But he couldn’t have said what else was between them. After all, he had nothing else to judge it by. He didn’t want to examine it any further, and he didn’t want to think into the future. But he had wanted to escape.
Jerry had organized the whole thing. That was the pattern of their relationship. In all their make-out sessions, Scot had never initiated anything sexually. He’d always been enthusiastic, of course, and accepted eagerly whatever Jerry suggested. He’d caressed Jerry’s cock and balls, and jerked him off whenever they found the chance. He’d allowed Jerry’s cock inside his ass several times, after they both confessed their feelings for each other, and the need they had to ease each other’s lust. Jerry stole the condoms from under the counter at the store, and it seemed the right way to them both, that Jerry should take Scot. It had always been fast, and often painful. Afterward, Scot always had mixed reactions, between frustration and thrill. They desperately wanted to do more, but had so few opportunities.
There’d never been any suggestion that Scot should be the taker.
But now they were alone together, in a bedroom, with the night to themselves. A night steamy with remembered heat and a desire Scot knew had been gnawing away at them both since the beginning of their journey. He looked up at the ceiling, and saw Jerry’s pale skin and damp hair reflected in the mirror tiles, alongside his own, darker face. The distorted reflection flickered between the movements of the fan, like an old-fashioned slide show.
He rolled over, resting his chest on Jerry’s, savoring their skin rubbing against each other. “Fuck me.”
Jerry tensed up underneath him. “Scot?”
Scot didn’t answer. His limbs still felt lazy, from his sleep—from his dreams—and the smell and touch of Jerry’s flesh was stimulating beyond belief. He felt an extraordinary mix of his usual horniness and a deeper, far more relaxed need.
=talk to me=
His groin felt hot against Jerry’s legs. It had been days since they’d shared anything more than a kiss and a fumbled stroke. He ran his tongue down Jerry’s chest, nibbled gently at the flesh around his nipple.
=impatient!=
“Jerry, do you smell that perfume?” Scot wondered if it was in the shampoo Jerry had used. It was suddenly very vivid. “Like citrus. It’s fabulous.”
“What?” Jerry sounded irritated at being distracted. “Fuck, Scot, it’ll be something in the bathroom, I expect. I don’t smell anything different except you.”
Scot bit down on Jerry’s nipple, and the body underneath him arched and shuddered. He gripped the taut skin at Jerry’s hips, holding him in place. His groin tightened with familiar excitement. “Fuck me, Jerry.”
“I will, I—”
“No, listen to me!” Scot startled himself, his voice low and harsh, with a tone of command he’d never used before. “You’re going to fuck me tonight, you’re going to bury your dick inside me, deep and hard. And when you make me come, I want to hear myself begging and crying out your name.”
Jerry looked stunned but excited. Panting with anticipation, he watched, mesmerized, as Scot wriggled down the bed, settling in between Jerry’s legs. Jerry sucked in a breath and opened his legs wide.
Scot rested his hands on the inside of Jerry’s thighs, feeling the muscles tensing up. He pushed his fingertips into the flesh, fascinated by the way Jerry’s balls tightened up in response. His heartbeat quickened. Leaning down, he licked at the sac, his nose nudging Jerry’s cock, by now swollen with need and jutting out from his groin. “I want to taste you, Jerry.”
Jerry moaned. “You’ve never—”
Then he yelped with shocked pleasure as Scot’s lips slid over the head. Jerry had sucked Scot off before: they both liked that. But Scot had never wanted to return the favor, preferring to use his strong, nimble fingers to make Jerry come for him.
Until tonight.
The taste was amazing, the soft skin surrounding the rock-hard core of Jerry’s arousal. Scot took as much in as he could before he started to gag and let it slide back out. He sucked at the top, then pushed his pursed lips gradually down the shaft. He was clumsy, he was sure, but he wasn’t nervous. He pumped at the base, his tongue licking around the column with surprising greed. He’d always said he learned well, didn’t he? Tonight he wanted this so badly it was a physical hunger.
Underneath him, Jerry groaned loudly. “Scot… God! Your mouth… so fucking good.”
=it is, isn’t it?=
Scot was concentrating on his new experience. He sighed around Jerry’s balls and, bravely playful, nipped at the crinkled skin at the base of the cock. It bobbed up eagerly against his nose, making him want to laugh.
=so, so good=
“Scot—soon! Coming soon…”
Scot moved his mouth back up Jerry’s cock, licking long strokes along its length. He ran his fingertips along the skin below Jerry’s balls, teasing. Kneading the little creases back and forth, tantalizing his lover with a sudden, thrilling audacity that he never knew he had. Jerry’s hand landed on his head, tangling fingers into his hair, tightening sharply, guiding Scot’s torturous path up and down his dick. Scot could taste salty drops on his tongue, could hear Jerry’s harsh panting—
And something else.
“Can you hear that noise outside?”
“Huh?” Jerry managed a desperate grunt.
“There must be other guests.” Scot knew his voice was muffled, his mouth pressed against Jerry’s groin. “I can hear the voices. There’s laughter… people calling out.”
Jerry shook his head. His dazed expression implied he couldn’t hear anything except the sound of blood hammering in his brain. “Nothing… can’t hear anything. Don’t leave me like this, Scot. So close!”
=so close=
Scot sighed. He slowly drew his mouth off Jerry’s cock, letting it slide off his tongue and bob back up toward Jerry’s belly. His saliva glistened on the flesh, silver and blood-red together. He rolled slowly to his knees and lifted himself up on his arms, presenting his ass to Jerry. He looked over his shoulder, considering, admiring, wondering at his body offered up like this. His flesh was smooth, paler in the moonlight, stroked with flickering fingers of brightness from the candle flame. When he looked back down, the shadows between his thighs were dark: he could imagine the crease between his buttocks even darker, promising a tight, damp sanctuary, teasing painfully at the need in both of them. “Fuck me,” he whispered, fiercely. “Now, Jerry. I want you inside me. I want it now.”
Jerry groaned. He struggled to his own knees beside Scot’s crouching body. “I—yes, of course I… lube?” He looked confused, obviously trying to remember if he’d brought anything like that with him when they left. It had been the early hours of the morning, and they’d taken nothing but a few changes of clothes and any money they could lay their hands on. Scot knew Jerry would be cursing his lack of forethought, getting angry as he so
often did—
“On the dresser,” he said quickly. “There’s a small basket there now. Did you bring it in from the bathroom?”
Jerry shook his head, his expression puzzled. “No. No, I didn’t.”
Scot shrugged. Maybe he just missed seeing it before. “Well, it looks like there’s all sort of stuff in there. Oils, creams… and isn’t that a box of condoms?”
“Why would you find all that in a crappy motel bedroom like this?” Jerry sounded even more puzzled.
Scot glanced at his boyfriend. Jerry had a cock so rigid, his body was shaking, and yet the promise of satisfaction was beside him on the bed, waiting for his next move. “We can talk about it,” Scot said hoarsely. “Or we can fuck.”
Jerry scrambled hastily to the side of the bed. The cramped size of the room allowed him to reach out easily to the dresser, and grab supplies. He rolled on a condom, fumbled the lid off a pot of gel and coated his fingers. He slicked up his cock, quickly but awkwardly. “I… shit.” His voice sounded even hoarser than Scot’s. “It’s been a while since we did this.”
“Do it!” The suspense in Scot’s gut was almost unbearably taut. Sweat sprang up on his body again: the fan seemed to have little effect the minute they started moving. The night threatened to be as hot and sticky as the day had been sweltering. Jerry’s greased hand slid over Scot’s hip, but his grip tightened as he slipped one finger of his other hand into Scot’s ass. He was trying to stretch him as carefully as he could. Scot knew the moves. Pity they were often clumsy. Scot tried not to wince at the occasional pain, he really did.
“Enough,” he groaned, his head dropping down. “Slick up my fingers. I’ll help.”
Jerry tensed up behind him. “You’ll… what? Stretch yourself?” His voice caught in some kind of awe. “You do that?”
What do you really know about me? Scot felt a strange distress. But how could Jerry know what Scot might have been trying in the secrecy of his own room at home, back when he was an inquisitive, horny teenager? Before Jerry had even met or touched him?
=touch yourself for me=
The idea of fingering himself in front of Jerry made Scot’s chest tighten with lust. His cock swelled thickly, hanging heavily down between his thighs.
Jerry’s hand was shaking as he poured lube onto Scot’s hand. “Can I watch?”
Scot didn’t bother answering. He reached his arm back over his ass cheeks, and slid a finger inside, slower but firmer than Jerry’s attempts. Starting gently, but with increasing force, he pumped in and out. Moved on to two fingers, arching his back to get a better angle. His muscles relaxed and the anticipation sparked in his groin.
Jerry moaned beside him, soft and deep.
“Fuck me now,” Scot muttered, pulling his hand away and supporting himself on the bed again. “Get on with it!”
Jerry maneuvered himself back in place, and with a deep, guttural sound, he pushed the head of his slicked cock past Scot’s loosened ring. He pressed on in—hard—the tightness making him gasp aloud.
Scot moaned too, the force of the penetration robbing him of breath. But he grit his teeth, determined not to pull away. No more the nervous, hesitant inching of previous attempts. The fear of hurting, the frantic need conflicting with the awkward inexperience. No, Jerry had obeyed Scot’s order, and the insistence inspired Scot’s enthusiasm in return. His cock bobbed beneath his belly, straining, his arousal weeping drops of precome. Jerry’s dick throbbed inside him as his passage stretched less painfully now to accommodate it. His legs shook with the tension of holding himself up.
Jerry began to thrust into him in earnest.
Scot’s body was pulled back and forth, the sheets crumpling beneath his knees. “Fuck.” Jerry was groaning loudly, and the bed creaked beneath them, but Scot didn’t care about the noise they were making. It still hurt a bit, but it was good. Definitely better than before; definitely different from before. Hell, it was nothing like before! He and Jerry were different men now, weren’t they? They were new lovers, they were in another world.
And that world was in them.
=nothing like before=
Scot wondered briefly what the hell was happening to him. Was he really hearing voices that weren’t there? Where had this sudden, fierce desperation come from? He hadn’t felt right in himself since they arrived, but just at this moment, he welcomed the change. Was thrilled with it! He’d never felt so good, so passionate in all his life. He’d known very little physical affection since he was a small child, with no siblings or close friends, and until he met Jerry, precious few romantic adventures. But now Jerry was fucking him—truly fucking him, with all his passion and need—and it was consuming him, the incredible sensation happening inside him.
=enjoy. Don’t question=
Panting, he shifted on the mattress to release one arm and reached down to fist his own cock. He begged Jerry to keep going—to fuck harder, to come with him. Like one of those stupid porn movies Jerry smuggled out from the back of the store! All straight sex, of course, but enough to get them even more excited. But tonight he wasn’t going to be held back by embarrassment. He cried out, he swore, a stream of coarse, provocative language he’d never used before. He knew Jerry would hate it—he didn’t like Scot losing control like that—but somehow he knew Jerry would be excited by it at the same time. With a final, heartfelt groan, he felt his climax building inside him, the tip of his cock swelling painfully. He squeezed himself, just as Jerry thrust his hardest into him.
And then he felt it.
Something was moving as he moved—jerking as he jerked forward. It was inside him, curling inside his groin, stretching itself along the veins of his cock and into his fist. And it demanded he follow, it demanded a satisfaction of its own. It was laughing at him and at his eagerness in allowing it to inhabit him! But at the same time, it promised a glorious reward….
What the hell’s happening?
His vision blurred and he came explosively, yelling Jerry’s name as he pumped the thick, creamy stuff all over his hand and the sheet.
“Yesss!” Jerry’s own movements sped up. His hips had been rocking in the same rhythm as Scot’s, but now they were fiercer, even as Scot’s excitement began to ease. He clutched Scot around his waist, holding them both up, crushing himself against Scot’s back as he thrust again and again, more and more shallowly.
Scot grunted as Jerry’s fingers dug painfully into his flesh.
“Scot!” Jerry groaned aloud. “So fucking good.”
He came at last, shuddering against Scot’s back, hoarse cries of satisfaction wrung from him, his breath harsh against Scot’s ear.
Scot stretched back against Jerry, his skin sticky with sweat, Jerry’s limbs tangled with his. He could hear his own deep, rasping breaths of shock and effort.
=a glorious reward=
They fell to the bed, Jerry still inside Scot. Scot lay still, exhausted and panting. Sore, thrilled. Dammit, it had been glorious! It had been more of a frenzy than he’d ever known. He’d never sworn like that before—never been so vocal. How could he? They’d had a courtship of whispers and groans and biting their lips so no one would overhear them when they came, spilling and jerking over each other’s hands, and into towels, and onto the cool grass of a dark evening.
Scot knew he’d never wanted to shout like that before. He’d never felt the desire race through him like setting a match to a fuse. But now? His limbs still trembled with it. Sweat trickled in gentle rivulets down his side, and the skin behind his knees and at the pulse of his throat was wet. The sheet was tangled in between his legs, and Jerry’s limp arm lay possessively across his belly. He wriggled and Jerry’s softened cock slid out of him.
Jerry gave a low, tired sigh.
Scot glanced over at the window, wondering if there’d be any breeze at all tonight. Trying to muster the energy to go and get a cloth to clean themselves up. Trying to decide whether he really had seen the flash of a blond head at their window, when he’d first
knelt on the bed, and begged Jerry to take him.
Wondering just what sort of a place this was.
***
The dream was deep and yet strangely elusive. Scot stirred restlessly in his sleep, half aware he was still in the motel room but too languorous to wake. He could see Oliver’s face in his imagination and hear the young man’s voice, but the words didn’t always match the soft, smiling movements of his mouth. And there was another male voice beside Oliver’s. Deeper, slower. New, yet… familiar. Words came quietly but clearly, interspersed with the rhythmic thwup, thwup of the ceiling fan above Scot’s head.
=do you feel me?=
Scot felt an unfamiliar response in his body: a raw, needy twist to his emotions.
=reaching out for me, to touch me in return!=
“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they? We’re lucky to have found them.” That was Oliver’s voice now, and Scot could ‘see’ him quite clearly. Oliver sat cross-legged on the ground in the walkway, his blond head resting against the wall by the locked gate. He was dressed in his loose shorts but he had no shoes or shirt on, his bare nipples tightening into small buds in the cooler night air. His tattoo was still indecipherable: Scot wasn’t even sure if it was in the same place as before. Oliver’s head was tilted to one side as if he were listening. His face was flushed, and his body shivered with anticipation. A hand rested on his shoulder, but that’s where Scot’s vision blurred. Was it Vincent? Somehow Scot knew it wasn’t, yet he couldn’t see properly who was standing there.
“So what do they tell you?” Oliver’s tone was a soft sing-song.
