Cock and Balls

by Mia Watts

  Monty picked up a thick branch of dead-fall and whacked it against the trunk of a nearby tree. The reverberation stung his hands. It felt good, jolting, so he did it several more times before he finally leaned against the trunk to think.

  “Okay, Monty, let’s think this thing through,” he said, beginning to make his argument out loud. His father had always told him that hearing a plan aloud helped the brain work through the hitches. He needed all the help he could get now, whether he sounded crazy to the local squirrel population or not.

  “He has to be in control, so you can’t let him be.”

  Okay, that sounded sane.

  “He wants you. That’s okay; he can want you. You just can’t let him know you want him as badly.”

  He frowned as he came to that conclusion. An erection pretty much made that obvious.

  “You want him,” Monty confessed out loud. He closed his eyes and gave in to the truth. “Hell, yeah, you do. You want him bad. That’s okay. You can work with that too.”

  How? His conscience wanted to know.

  “No emotional involvement?” Even as he said it, he knew the opposite would have to be true, and it scared the shit out of him.

  “It’s the one thing he actually wants that he needs: emotional involvement,” Monty realized.

  He wanted it from his father, lost it when he lost his mother, avoided it with the guys he picked up. The trick to getting Hank to crack was to make him feel. But how the hell did he do that with an emotional icicle without falling into his own trap?

  Back to dominance. Make him give it up without him realizing he’s giving it up.

  Monty’s dick throbbed. He leaned against the tree and opened his fly. He pretended those pretty gray eyes were still looking up at him as he took himself in hand. He imagined the same stripped, naked hunger he’d seen there, the same neediness of his open mouth, the same fixated stare from the boat trip that had traced every line of his chest. God, if that hadn’t been the hottest thing he’d ever seen—to know the other man wanted him without pretense.

  Monty came hard, shouting as his cum spurted over his fingers and into the air, Hank’s name on his lips.

  * * * *

  Hank spent the next two days speaking to Monty as little as possible. He hated the guy, and he wanted him with a passion that had his prick hard almost constantly. The guy didn’t do anything that didn’t scream of slow, hard sex.

  He chopped vegetables, and Hank found himself staring at the way he held the carrot. He tied knots in a trap by lamplight, and Hank imagined the same skillful detail coaxing him to arousal. He drank coffee, and the moan he gave at the first sip made Hank think of what he’d sound like as he got off.

  He couldn’t even sleep and get away from him. There was only one room, for fuck’s sake! They slept in the same room where they ate and sat. The only escape was the front porch or the dock, and Hank had been out there so much, he was sporting a light burn across his nose and cheeks.

  He’d never been in a position like this, where he’d been the one who wanted and couldn’t have. It sucked. He resented the attitude that he should be taken down a peg or two. Every time he thought he’d had the upper hand, Monty had snagged control right out from under him.

  Two could play that game, he decided. On the morning of the fourth day, the clouds outside kept the cabin dimmer than usual as a storm system seemed to be brewing. Monty had the weather radio down and tuned in as he took a sip of his coffee and made the soft sound of pleasure that had butterflies dancing in Hank’s stomach.

  Hank took his towel and headed for the shower. He cleaned the dried sweat from overnight, and welcomed the breeze starting to blow in through the tiny bathroom window. After brushing his teeth, he draped the towel around his shoulders and paraded into the cabin stark naked.

  Monty’s eyes followed him. Hank tried not to let on that he’d noticed. Instead, he opened the front door, propping it with a doorstop and hung his towel to dry on the porch railing before wandering back in.

  He poured himself some coffee and was stirring in the creamer when Monty finally cleared his throat.

  “Thinking of getting dressed this morning?” he asked Hank.

  Hank took a long, thought-filled sip of the hot beverage. He sighed as he lowered his cup. “Nope.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Why bother? It’s just the two of us out here, and you’ve made it very clear you aren’t interested. If I put on clothes, I’ll just sweat in them with this godforsaken humidity.” He shrugged casually. “I figure I’m saving myself the grief of smelly damp clothes and enjoying the freedom of life without the glare of media to see me.”

  “Good point.”

  “I thought so,” Hank agreed.

  He felt pretty smug about the decision too until Monty did something completely unexpected. He stripped out of his clothes too. Hank tried to swallow his latest sip of coffee but sputtered it all over himself instead.

  Monty whipped a kitchen towel at him. “Clean that up, will you? I don’t want ants.”

  Hank’s eyes riveted to the thick, filling cock swinging heavily as Monty walked past him to the refrigerator for some eggs. Hank nearly sprained his neck to watch Monty’s firm ass flex and relax on each step. He silently begged Monty to turn around again so he could have another look at the gorgeous cock and nest of thick black hair at its base. He’d known the man was beautiful. He had no idea Monty was the real-life representation of every erotic fantasy Hank had ever had.

  By the time Monty head back his direction, Monty’s cock was at full mast. So was Hank’s.

  “You’re hard,” Hank noted tightly.

  “It likes attention, and you haven’t stopped looking at it.”

  “I could give it a lot more attention than just looks,” Hank heard himself offer.

  “I’m sure you could,” Monty agreed. “But the benefit of having a brain is that I don’t have to listen to my cock to make my decisions.”

  The implication that Hank did wasn’t missed on him. It would piss him off later when he wasn’t staring down the beloved hope of having Monty’s cock all for his own. He blinked, trying to control his reactions with a bit more dignity than he’d showed so far.

  “And yet you’re walking around naked in a kitchen while cooking. Which brain is thinking that one through?” Hank snarked.

  “The one that tells me you’re trying to get under my skin and knows that the only answer to your ploy is to throw it back at you.”

  “You can throw anything you want at me. I’ll catch it.”

  Monty smiled but didn’t answer.

  Hank took up a position where he could watch the other man without the obstruction of the counter. He leaned back and began to stroke himself.

  Monty watched him from hooded eyes, poised to crack an egg over the skillet. “What are you doing?”

  Hank smiled. “Enjoying the view. Eggs really turn me on. Crack ’em, baby. Crack ’em good.”

  Monty chuckled as he cracked two into the pan.

  “Mm. Yeah, that’s it,” Hank murmured.

  But he wasn’t paying attention to the eggs. He was locked on the way the tip of Monty’s cock nudged the counter when he got close, the slow jostle of his balls when he twisted to reach for something.

  “I think you should scramble them,” Hank suggested.

  Admittedly he was thinking more about what scrambling would do to make Monty’s dick jiggle, than out of any palate preference. Damn, eggs were never going to look the same to him again after today.

  “Scrambling doesn’t happen once they hit the pan. You’d scratch the Teflon,” Monty informed him.

  Monty picked up the pan and slid the eggs onto a plate. Picking up a fork, he moved to stand in front of Hank. “I’d offer you one, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

  He rocked the side of his fork through the cooked egg white, speared it and held it to Hank’s lips. Hank took it and chewed slowly. “I could eat the rest o
f those if you’d take over for me.”

  Monty glanced down. “You’re doing just fine on your own. I’d hate to mess up your rhythm.”

  Monty put the plate on the countertop, braced a hand on either side of Hank and leaned close enough to kiss. Their noses brushed.

  “Do it,” Monty said.

  Calling Hank’s bluff? Hank pushed his hips forward until his stroking hand rubbed the tip of Monty’s cock with every pull. Monty’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t move. He seemed to be assessing Hank, and it turned Hank on.

  “Everything you do is designed to provoke,” Monty said calmly. “Including this.”

  “Only if you mean that it’ll provoke me to come.”

  Monty gave the slow head shake, his eyes locked on Hank’s. “For you, sex is a weapon. You use it to piss off your dad, to piss of the Secret Service and you’re trying to use it on me.”

  Hank’s strokes slowed, damn Monty. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to fucking come. He wanted Monty to watch him come and see if it worked Monty up—finally. But Monty stood too close, pinned him with a stare too hard, assessed him too coolly for Hank to keep jacking off like nothing was happening.

  “Get out of my face. You’re ruining my buzz,” Hank snapped.

  Monty only seemed to settle in. His body heat didn’t have to travel far to be felt, and his breath still had the minty quality of brushed teeth. He used his body to show dominance and Hank didn’t even understand how it was effective.

  The guy was naked! He wasn’t wearing a gun, a suit or a condom, just those inquisitive blue eyes and his hard, lean body poised to strike the minute he found a weakness. It unnerved Hank, to say the least. It made his heart pound uncomfortably and made him second guess how he was going to get Monty off his case. The typical cockiness that usually gave Hank the desired results wasn’t working on Monty.

  The man had balls. He didn’t play into any level of forced discomfort Hank dished out. He remained steady and patient, always wanting to know what made Hank tick. Always trying to psychoanalyze him like he was a specimen to be studied.

  “Why are you stopping?” Monty asked a small smile tugging his lips. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To jack off in front of me, come on my chest. Watch me watch you losing your load and see if I do anything about it?”

  Hank blushed. He actually blushed. Was he that transparent? No one had ever challenged him before. They just accepted that Hank’s go-to mode was about making the most out of every opportunity, without fear.

  “You’re all about control,” Monty murmured. “You’re fine as long as whatever you’re doing is your idea and it shocks people. But what happens when it doesn’t?”

  Hank’s heart pounded so hard he was sure the other man could hear it.

  “You want to take, take, take and if you can’t readily take it, you want someone to pay for your unhappiness. Except I won’t. So what happens now, Junior? What happens when you’re stuck with someone who doesn’t give a shit how much you try to take because he’s not going to give in like everyone else?”

  Anger tightened Hank’s jaw so that all his words sounded forced. “It’s easy for you to knock me down, isn’t it? It’s easy for you to say what you think, accept it as fact and never bother to find out if you’re right.”

  “Tell me where I’m wrong,” Monty said.

  Monty spat on his hand, then reached between them to hold Hank’s cock loosely. It surprised Hank to realize that he’d forgotten about his dick the minute discussion got serious. Monty gave him a stroke that twisted around the sensitive head. He felt every callous, and Hank gasped on a shudder.

  “Where am I wrong?” Monty asked this time. “You don’t use sex as a weapon?”

  He stroked to the base of Hank’s cock, swiped the side of a finger over Hank’s balls making Hank groan.

  “You don’t like to be in control?” Monty questioned.

  Up to the tip. The thumb swirling through the moister at the tip.

  “You don’t shock people to deflect them from the real questions?” Monty continued.

  And down, but Monty’s hand moved faster now, pulling Hank’s breath from him as surely as he pulled on his dick. Hank wrapped his fingers around Monty’s wrist, not sure if he wanted the man to stop or keep going. If he could just make Monty shut up.

  “That’s what I accused you of,” Monty recounted. “Where am I wrong?”

  He wasn’t. But Hank had reasons, damn it. And despite what Monty believed, they weren’t about attention. At least not the way he meant.

  “Tell me, or I’ll stop,” Monty said.

  He wanted that, right? He wanted Monty to stop touching him in ways that made Hank want to forget everything but throwing himself at the other man and beg to be fucked, held, understood? His eyes flared wide as the thought hit him. God, no. No, no, no, no, no! He did not need Monty to understand him. He did not need this callous-handed goon of his father’s to hold him, want him.

  Did he?

  Tears squeezed from the corners of Hank’s eyes as he tried to block out the thoughts.

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you or anyone else,” he snapped through the haze of tears.

  Monty leaned in, kissed him softly. “Tell me what you’re really after.”

  Monty’s pace remained steady. Hank was gasping now. Release was so close, so fucking close. Monty’s lips brushed his cheek, his ear.

  Hank swore.

  “There’s no one here but us,” Monty whispered. “No one here to know what you say to me. No one but me. Tell me why you fight so hard, Hank.”

  Hank gritted his teeth. He wanted to say it, to confess all of it. He just didn’t think he could stand the judgment or hear the words come out of his mouth without crying. He didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not with Monty. Not for his father. Not for anything.

  “No,” Hank ground out.

  Monty’s hand stopped moving on Hank’s cock, and Hank thought he might lose his mind.

  “Why’d you stop?” Hank rasped in a near panic.

  “You said no. Are you asking me not to stop touching you?” Monty clarified.

  “Yes. Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

  Monty smiled. “Do you like what I’m doing?”

  “Of course not. My dick gets leaky for shits and giggles,” Hank snarled.

  Monty tsked. “Be nice.”

  Hank gave a muffled shout of frustration that had Monty chuckling again. “What do you want from me?” Hank snarled.

  “The truth.” Monty’s hand closed around Hank’s cock again as he waited.

  “I want you to touch me.” He fought himself to finish the statement. “I like it. I like your hands on me.”

  Monty resumed stroking.

  When Monty didn’t patronize him, he risked another confession. “I want you. I’ve always thought you were hot, but when you got assigned to me—” So close! Just a few more strokes.

  “When I got assigned to you?” Monty reminded him.

  “I wanted you. Crazy want. Different having you in close quarters.”

  Monty flicked his tongue along the side of Hank’s neck. “How bad did you want me, Hank?”

  “Pretty blue eyes over me. Makes me hard thinking of you over me.”

  “You’re already hard,” Monty pointed out. “Look at me.”

  Monty pulled back enough that Hank could see those eyes he’d mentioned. Hank stared into them, even when his vision glazed over slightly. His ass tingled. His balls ached. Monty thumbed Hank’s slit, tapped it, focused his efforts on the bundle of nerves on the underside of Hank’s cockhead. Hank gasped, trying to pull in air, but his lungs acted like they didn’t work properly.

  “Give it to me, Junior. Paint my chest. Show me how much you want me. Prove it to me.”

  Those hot, dark words rumbled over Hank’s skin like thunder across the desert floor, promising, promising. Hank’s lips were parted, unable to make more than basic sounds as pleasure overrode him. Monty took advantage,
kissing him deep and long. He tangled their tongues and sucked Hank’s into his mouth.

  Hank shuddered as cum streaked up his cock and pumped in thick jets away from his body. He gave everything to the man who’d coaxed it from him until there was nothing left. Still Monty’s mouth battled for dominance, though Hank was far from interested in stopping him.

  Finally, Monty’s sensual mouth lifted. He looked Hank in the eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Hank pushed them both away from the counter. He lowered to his knees and looked up at Monty. “Let me?” he asked.

  A strange expression filtered across the agent’s face, but he nodded as though uncertain he should. Still Hank waited for permission. He didn’t know why he needed to hear it. Maybe it was because of the way Monty had made him confess to his needs earlier.

  Maybe it was because he didn’t want this to be a fight of wills. All he knew for certain was that he needed Monty to tell him it was okay. That Monty wanted him to continue. That Monty knew Hank wouldn’t take his cock without permission.

  Monty held Hank’s gaze. The younger man waited for Monty’s permission. He didn’t have to say it for Monty to see it in his gray eyes. There was a need to please and insecurity trapped in those depths. He sifted his fingers through Hank’s hair. He felt a small measure of pride for the man, knowing the wait wasn’t easy and knowing too that Hank hadn’t had time to think about it yet. When he did, when the haze of lust had worn off, he’d be fighting mad.

  Monty wanted to give him that space of seconds to really think about what he was offering. But like the last time Hank had been on his knees, his eyes told Monty he had no reservations. His pink lips parted, and he swished his open mouth over Monty’s engorged crown.

  “Let me,” Hank repeated, the words working like a wet kiss on Monty’s flesh.

  “Hank,” Monty said gruffly.

  He waited for Hank’s gaze to find his and found the composition of hungry gray eyes and open wet mouth at this angle to be the most erotic thing he’d seen to date. His cock wept. A pearl of liquid slid to the center of Hank’s bottom lip and still Hank waited even though he fairly vibrated to taste Monty.