Dilly and Boz

by John Inman

  “I really don’t want to go,” Boz said. It was more of a plea than a statement. Sort of a hint on steroids.

  But Dilly didn’t say anything. He stepped quickly past, appalled with himself not only for his boner, but for the heat in his face. Before he could pull the front door open, Boz reached out and snagged his arm to pull Dilly around until they were facing each other once again.

  Boz reached up and stroked his fingers through Dilly’s dark hair above his left temple. Dilly froze at the touch.

  “Do I really have to go?”

  Dilly closed his eyes against the quaver in his voice. There was a hungry ache in his cock that was about to push him over the edge. But his shyness won the war. “I think you’d better,” he heard himself say.

  There was a tremor in Boz’s voice too when he said, “Promise me I can see you again?” This time the plea was there for all to hear.

  Dilly nodded, his eyes still closed as Boz’s sweet breath blew over his face. He squeaked out the words, “I promise,” and a heartbeat later, Boz was gone. Dilly opened his eyes just in time to see his front door click closed in front of him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IT WAS late. Boz stepped from the shower and tried not to drip on Leon, who was lying sound asleep on the mat in front of the tub. Throughout the rest of the evening since he left the apartment across the street, there had not been a single thought inside his head that did not have Dilly Allan Jones interwoven through it.

  When Boz thought of Dilly standing there blushing and trying to hide his hard-on, it was all Boz could do not to whip his own dick out and stroke himself into a meltdown. In fact, the night was far from over. He might do it yet. He was still fairly astounded he hadn’t ripped Dilly’s clothes off on the spot and gone to town on the guy. God knows he needed it. Almost as much as Boz ached to give it to him.

  But Boz knew he could never have done that. There was something fragile about Dilly. Something an inch away from hurt. An inch away from terror, like a rabbit about to bolt. There was a past there, Boz decided. Just like Boz had his own past when it came to romance, and thanks to Bobby Mayfield, some of it not so nice to look back on. Dilly, too, must have his secrets. The only thing Boz had to do was draw them out of him. Only then could they skirt past all their bad memories and start to build a romance. And that’s what Boz wanted. That’s what Boz wanted more than anything in the world.

  To call Dilbert Allan Jones his own.

  “Jesus,” he mumbled, standing there naked, staring down at the dog and dripping all over him even when he promised himself he wouldn’t. “I’ve got it bad, don’t I, boy?”

  Leon snorted in his sleep. The bathwater hadn’t woken him up, so it was doubtful his master pleading for advice about his romantic dilemma would do the trick.

  Boz’s heart shot into his throat when he heard footsteps approach his front door outside on the stoop. Had he left the porch light on? He couldn’t remember. He made a point of leaving the light off, hoping, probably unrealistically, that if Bobby Mayfield came along he’d see the darkened porch and think Boz wasn’t home. And leave without making a scene. As if Bobby ever did anything without making a scene.

  Hastily cinching the wet towel around his waist, Boz ducked through the passageway into the living room and stared at the front door. The porch light was off, thank God. But still, he knew there was someone out there in the dark. He could hear the scrape of shoe soles and the rattle of what sounded like a paper bag. Boz quickly reached behind him and turned the interior lights off so the person, whoever the hell it was, could not see in.

  A horrible dread settled over him, and Boz stood there frozen, still dripping bath water all over the living room floor. Oh God, please don’t let it be Bobby. Not drunk. Not again!

  The footsteps were right outside the door now. Boz pushed his dripping hair back out of his eyes, at the same time accidentally dislodging the towel, which slid to the floor at his feet. Once again he stood there naked, waiting, with every tendon in his body as tight as a bowstring. A fist was going to hit the door. He just knew it. But before that could happen, he heard a gasp and a muttered curse.

  Oh shit. Whoever was out there, they had been snagged by his cactus. If it was Bobby, he’d be even madder than he was before.

  Boz rushed silently toward the door and, being as sneaky as he could about it, pushed the door curtain aside a fraction of an inch and peered through the glass. To his amazement, he spotted Dilly standing on his doorstep. He was bending down with his pant leg—he’d changed into jeans—rolled up to his knee, no doubt checking out the damage inflicted by Boz’s guardian cactus.

  Relieved, Boz freed a grin. Scooping the wet towel off the floor, he resecured it around his waist and yanked open the door.

  Dilly froze when the door clattered open in front of him. The moment he realized Boz was wearing only a towel, his jaw flopped open like an oven door. While his eyes took in every square inch of naked flesh before him, his lips formed one tiny, soundless word. “Golly.”

  Boz gave a shiver that started from the tips of his toes and shot all the way up to the top of his head. He wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to the cool night air blowing over his bath-damp flesh or a hormonal response to Dilly’s bright, appraising eyes traveling up and down his damn-near naked body. And frankly, it was such an enjoyable sensation he didn’t much care what the reason for it was.

  “If you’re going to ogle me, get in here and do it,” Boz crooned, bravely flashing every tooth in his head. He reached through the doorway, clutched Dilly’s arm, and unceremoniously yanked him over the threshold. Dilly stumbled, tripped, did an awkward little tap dance, and all but fell into Boz’s arms. In the tussle, Boz’s towel slipped from around his waist and slid down his bare legs to puddle at his feet once again.

  “Uh-oh,” Boz murmured, burrowing his lips through Dilly’s hair. “I’m in trouble now.”

  And with that, he extricated himself just enough to kick the front door shut behind them, sealing them inside. Dilly, fully dressed, stood trapped in Boz’s arms. Boz held on to him, as naked as the day he was born, with his dick growing exponentially every time he moved. In his mind, he was trying to figure out how to bend over and grab the towel without Dilly seeing his wienie, which had actually passed the wienie stage a couple of minutes earlier and was now more like a bratwurst.

  In the meantime, Dilly still stood there, seemingly content in Boz’s embrace. If he was uncomfortable or embarrassed, he was doing a bang-up job of hiding it. His hands slipped around to Boz’s back, and his lean fingers stroked the skin there. Boz’s breath caught in his chest when Dilly’s arms tightened around him. Suddenly it was a toss-up as to who was clinging to whom and who was the least embarrassed about it.

  “You feel so good,” Dilly mumbled in Boz’s ear.

  Boz’s cock had risen to full attention by now, and he was excruciatingly aware of it as it pressed against the fly of Dilly’s jeans, beneath which he felt another shaft of flesh straining to be set free as well. Boz reached down and outlined the denim bulge with his fingertips. He was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from the man in his arms, and then a tightening of Dilly’s embrace.

  Struggling to control his voice, Boz whispered, “I thought you were shy.”

  “I thought so too.”

  “Why did you come over?”

  “Because you told me I could.”

  Boz laughed. “I did indeed. Not twenty minutes ago.”

  Dilly’s fingers dipped lower along his spine, and Boz trembled when a finger rested not quite innocently in the trench of flesh between Boz’s asscheeks. Boz’s cock reached skyward, bumping the coldness of Dilly’s belt buckle. He could feel Dilly’s knees quivering down below. Or were those his own knees shaking?

  Dilly’s voice was little more than a nervous sputter. “This isn’t the welcome I expected,” he all but gasped.

  “It’s better, I hope,” Boz muttered.

  “Shit, yeah,” Dilly croaked.
>
  Boz ducked his head and laid his lips to Dilly’s throat. Dilly’s head lolled back as if he had suddenly been deboned.

  “You like that,” Boz muttered.

  Dilly didn’t speak. He simply swallowed, so Boz chased his Adam’s apple with a kiss until Dilly was a trembling mass inside his arms.

  Boz eased himself away a couple of inches so he could study Dilly’s face. It took a few seconds before Dilly opened his eyes and gazed back.

  “I heard you cuss on the porch,” Boz whispered, “Did you walk into my cactus?”

  Dilly struggled to reclaim his voice. “Sorry, but that cactus sucks.”

  “You’re here two minutes and you’re already finding fault with my decor?”

  “Yeah, but I find no fault whatsoever with the way you’re dressed.”

  Boz grinned, and his dick gave a happy lurch.

  At the same moment, Dilly frowned. “What sort of idiot puts a cactus on his front porch anyway?”

  Boz tried to look repentant, although he was too far gone sexually to even come close to pulling it off, and he damned well knew it. “Good point. Tomorrow I’ll move it. In fact, I’ll take it out in the desert, run over it with my car, and then bury it. No, I’ll blow it up with TNT. Does Walmart carry TNT?” He stopped blathering, and took a tiny step back. “Let me see how wounded you are.”

  And before Dilly could respond, Boz dropped to his knees at Dilly’s feet. He crouched there naked, his dick still as stiff as a hammer handle. With shivery fingers, he tugged up the pant leg he had seen Dilly peeking under when he was out on the porch.

  Boz sucked in a great glob of air when he found a mass of dark hair covering Dilly’s extremely shapely shin. “Wow!” he sputtered. “This is one sexy leg!”

  “I’ve got two,” Dilly managed to croak.

  So Boz slid his hands around to the back and cupped both calves, one covered with fabric, the other bare. His fingers gently outlined the muscles he found there.

  “Do you run?” Boz gasped, pretty much in glee, sort of like a miner whose shovel has unearthed the motherlode.

  “When I have to,” Dilly answered, his voice somewhere between a gasp and a gurgle.

  Boz was suddenly so turned-on, he almost forgot what he was doing down there on the floor at Dilly’s feet. Then he remembered.

  He carefully dug through the hair at the side of Dilly’s knee and unearthed a scratch about two inches long. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was red. In Boz’s admittedly limited medical expertise, he decided the patient didn’t look like he’d be dying anytime soon, so he carefully pressed his lips to the wound to kiss away the booboo.

  When he heard Dilly’s sharp intake of breath, Boz took it as sign of encouragement, so he decided to go exploring.

  He rose up on his knees and pressed a kiss to the bulge protruding under the crotch of Dilly’s jeans. Dilly arched up on tiptoe, thrust his hips forward, and took a fistful of Boz’s shower-damp hair. A wicked smile blossomed unsummoned on Boz’s face, and peering up past Dilly’s belly and chest, he came eye-to-eye with Dilly staring down.

  “You like that,” Boz said.

  Dilly swallowed loud enough to resemble a backed-up sink. As if he knew his voice was out for the count, he simply nodded.

  Boz’s hands slid along Dilly’s jeans legs, stroking the denim and imagining the feel of the flesh and hair and muscle beneath. His smile died as quickly as it came.

  “I want you in my bed, Dilly. Please. Right now. Right this fucking minute.”

  And again as if speech were beyond him, Dilly simply nodded. He stepped closer as if pleading for one more touch, so Boz happily answered by pressing another kiss to the bar of hard flesh under Dilly’s fly.

  Boz watched in awe, as Dilly, still staring down at Boz kneeling naked at his feet, began unbuttoning his shirt with shaky hands. When he shrugged it off from his shoulders and it slid down his back in a rustle of cloth, Boz, still on his knees, pressed his face into the heat of Dilly’s suddenly exposed belly. He dragged kisses through the trail of hair there, and with his own hands trembling like he had malaria, he reached up to unclip Dilly’s belt.

  Dilly tugged Boz to his feet, and his fingers immediately circled Boz’s cock as if he had longed for the feel of it since the day they first met. Boz quaked at the sensation of Dilly’s warm, probing fingers surrounding him.

  His heart leaped in his chest when Dilly pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “I want to drink you.”

  “Oh God,” Boz mumbled deep in his throat. On rubbery legs, he tugged Dilly toward the bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  DILLY WOKE hours later with a smile on his face. He twisted his head and stared between unfamiliar curtains to the gray, distorted haze of a summer dawn settling over the city. As if the curtains weren’t unfamiliar enough, there was also a strange sound on the air. A pattering sound. He finally realized the patter and distortion were caused by raindrops plunking against the glass. A streetlamp outside cast sparks of light on rivulets of rainwater sluicing down toward the sill. Seen through those tiny streamlets of trailing raindrops, the waking world outside was skewed and deformed. Fairy taleish. Making it even more bizarre, Dilly could not remember the last time it had rained in San Diego. Must have been months ago. Funny it should show up now after the long drought the city had suffered through—and hot on the heels of the incredible night he had just experienced after his own long drought. In Dilly’s experience, it was rare for two spectacular events to occur simultaneously.

  Something fuzzy tickled his hip. He reached down and discovered Boz’s tiny dog—what was his name, Leon?—snuggled against him, gently snoring. On the other side of Leon lay Boz.

  Memories of their night together suddenly flooded over him, and Dilly clutched at his chest, at right about the spot where his heart would be, remembering back.

  As carefully as he could, Dilly eased onto his side so he could study Boz beside him. It was really cute the way Boz was snoring as softly and innocently as the dog. Boz’s face was turned in his direction, his blondish hair a disheveled clump of cobalt gray in the steely dawn light, his lips parted slightly in sleep. Dilly carefully pulled his arm from beneath his pillow and reached out to slip his fingers through the wispy mass of Boz’s hair. Boz stirred but didn’t wake, so Dilly left his fingers there, enjoying the softness, enjoying the connection. Heat rose to his cheeks as the night’s memories continued to pour in. Had he really told Boz he wanted to drink him? God knows he had suffered no hesitation about actually doing so when Boz exploded beneath him from inside their sweaty tangle of arms and legs and dicks and tongues. But the fact that Dilly had said it beforehand somehow shocked him more than the actual deed.

  He set free a guilty smirk just as Boz groaned in his sleep. Dilly froze, holding his breath as Boz scooted closer and pressed his face into Dilly’s shoulder without once opening his eyes. Dilly could feel Boz’s lips, sleep warm and heavenly, moving across his arm. His cock rose at the sensation of Boz’s closeness, but Dilly tried to ignore it. He wanted to savor this quiet time in Boz’s bed, with Boz’s mouth pressed against him. God knew what Boz would do when he awoke. Act all embarrassed, maybe? Hustle Dilly out the door like he would any other trick? Like Dilly had been hustled away so many times before.

  In the darkness, Boz’s mouth worked slightly, as if tasting Dilly’s skin. Dilly looked closer, and among the shadows, he saw a glint of light in Boz’s open eyes. Boz was watching him as closely as Dilly was watching Boz.

  “Good morning,” Boz mumbled and immediately snuggled closer, laying his cheek on Dilly’s chest. “Thank you for last night.”

  Dilly lifted his head with a grunt and planted a kiss in Boz’s hair. “Thank you too,” he muttered back. And after a brief pause, he asked, “Should I go?”

  Boz propped himself up on one elbow and stared into Dilly’s face. “Do you want to go?”

  Dilly was surprised by the intensity in Boz’s gaze. “N-no,” he stammered. “Not if you don’t
want me to.” Boz physically relaxed. He lowered his chin to Dilly’s chest but continued to study Dilly’s face in the silver light. His eyes skittered to the window for a minute to view the rain. When they returned to Dilly, they were more awake. More aware.

  “You’re not as shy as I thought you were,” Boz said around a smile. “Maybe you’re not even as shy as you thought you were.”

  Dilly was grateful the pale morning light would hide his blush. “Not when you’re around, I guess.”

  Boz burrowed a warm hand under the covers and stroked Dilly’s hip. He squirmed closer, then pulled back for a second to lift Leon and deposit him on the other side of the bed. The dog didn’t wake, and Boz, snuggling closer now, pressed a kiss onto Dilly’s stomach. Dilly was hard, of course, and he closed his eyes at the sensation of his dick bonking Boz’s chin.

  Boz crossed his hands over Dilly’s chest and looked up to study his face again. Dilly watched him watching and tried not to wonder if his breath was okay.

  Dilly jumped in surprise when Boz stretched upward and planted a kiss at the base of his throat. When he spoke, his voice was guttural and slow, as if sleep still laid claim to it. Boz’s body was as warm as embers against Dilly’s skin. Boz’s big toe was digging at the hair on Dilly’s shin as if Boz really liked the way it felt.

  “You’ve ruined me for other people, Dilly. You know that, right? We’ll have to start seeing each other now.”

  “Wiseass,” Dilly muttered, his fingers at the back of Boz’s neck, holding Boz close against his chest. He knew Boz was joking, but he was pleased anyway. Too pleased, maybe. Dilly closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Boz against him, of Boz’s fingers caressing each individual wale of Dilly’s rib cage and his hard-on pressing comfortably against Dilly’s leg.

  It was that last sensation that really captured Dilly’s attention. While the rain spattered the window at the side of the bed, Dilly reached down between them and trailed his fingers along the length of Boz’s cock, causing Boz to tense above him. A softness transformed Boz’s lips into what was almost a smile, but then it quickly warped into desire.