Unwrapping Hank

by Eli Easton

  “Maybe we can sneak some alone time,” I said, my voice low and rough.

  “Maybe.” Sloane was playing hard to get, but the bloom of red on his cheeks wasn’t from the cold.

  It was midnight before the house finally fell silent. I sent Sloane a text, slipped on my boots, and went outside. He met me on the back patio, wearing his pajamas, a coat, and his boots.

  “We’re going out?” he whispered. “Lemme go change.”

  “No, you’re good.” I grabbed his wrist. “We’re not going far.”

  I led him out to the barn. I’d been out earlier while the family was playing Trivial Pursuit and gotten everything ready. I’d left a lantern hanging just inside the door, and I lit it and held it up. It was much cozier than the overhead lights. Sloane raised an eyebrow questioningly at me.

  “Are we cow tipping? That’s a thing, right?”

  I smirked. “Wait and see.”

  I felt almost faint with anticipation and nerves as I led him down the feeding aisle. Would he like this? Was it too presumptive on my part? It was too late to back out now.

  We passed the cows, who were huddled in the back of their free stall for warmth, and into a storage room with stacked wood. I opened an old door on a slatted, box-like structure.

  “Are you going to murder me and leave my body here?” Sloane asked, with a not entirely carefree laugh.

  “Nope.”

  I stepped up into the bin. “Wait here a second.”

  I lit the two other oil lanterns I’d put in there earlier and then reached out my hand to pull him up. He looked around in surprise.

  It looked good, if I did say so myself. The barn was old, and the bin had been used for hay most likely. But now we stored straw bales in it, close to where we needed them when we mucked the stall. The box was about 4 x 8 and wooden on three sides, but the side that faced the cow stall had horizontal slats only intermittently, so you could see the animals.

  I sat down on the wool blanket I’d spread out over the bales of straw. “This was my secret place as a kid. At least I thought it was. I’m sure everyone knew about it.”

  “Nice.” Sloane sat down next to me, his back propped against some bales. “It’s not that cold in here.”

  “It’s the straw,” I said. “And the heat from the cows.”

  He looked up at the distant wooden ceiling and spread his arms out on the straw. “I feel like baby Jesus.”

  I laughed. “Thankfully, you don’t look a thing like baby Jesus.”

  “Good.”

  “Because that would be a turn-off.”

  “And thank God for that.”

  I smiled and leaned back, stretching out my legs and sharing a bale for our backs. “Back then, we had a few goats and an old horse as a pet. I used to sleep out here a lot. Especially that year my mom was….” My throat refused to say the words. Weird. I shut my mouth.

  Sloane’s hand found mine and squeezed. He didn’t say anything. I cleared my throat. “I’d watch the animals until I fell asleep. Which may explain my level of patience with extremely boring television shows.”

  Sloane huffed a laugh. “I’ll remember that. You don’t have a barnyard kink, do you? It’s best to know these things about each other.”

  “Nope. Just being here with you is already pretty kinky for me.”

  Sloane looked at me, his expression unreadable. Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want him to think I was just experimenting with him, the way Micah would have. I sat up, suddenly nervous again. I scooted around to face him, keeping his hand in mine.

  “There’s something I want to say.” I took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

  His face registered a moment of shock. “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “Pretty sure. Like ninety-five percent. Which is as much certainty as we get in life, I think.”

  Sloane’s face betrayed nothing. “Since when?”

  I thought about that. “I didn’t want it. I mean, I was always attracted to guys, but I thought I could ignore it, grow out of it. Something. I… I didn’t want to be like them.”

  “Like who?”

  “My parents.” It was hard to explain. Obviously, my parents weren’t gay. “I wanted to be… normal. In control. I dunno… grounded, not flaky or… airy fairy. I didn’t want to be anything they’d approve of. It sounds moronic when I say it out loud.”

  “I think I get it.” Sloane sat up and cupped my cheek. His fingertips played with my fuzz. “I’ve never told you how much I like your beard. It makes me swoon.”

  “Swoon? Really?”

  He nodded, his face overly grave. “Yes. So do you think you can be normal and in control and grounded and like rolling around in the hay with males too? Even if your parents wouldn’t object?”

  I laughed. “I think so. Honestly, you don’t leave me much of a choice, Sloane. I can’t seem to get away from you. I’m still running, but I seem to be going the other way now.”

  He just looked at me.

  “Closer.” I tugged on a lock of his hair.

  Something heavy turned over in my chest at the act of admitting it out loud—I want you. The air felt charged with a million tiny lightning bolts. I wanted to flee and at the same time, felt like if this didn’t happen I’d shatter into a million pieces.

  Sloane’s dark eyes studied mine. Then he sat up and pressed me back against the bale of hay and straddled my lap.

  Oh God.

  He brought his lips near mine in an almost kiss. His eyes were open and sparkling with teasing humor. He was testing me. Or trying to drive me insane. Or maybe letting me make the choice. As if there was one.

  I pressed my lips to his.

  * * *

  Sloane

  Mmmm. Merry Christmas.

  Life does not always turn out the way we want, and that’s a fact. Especially when it comes to mad crushes. Especially when it comes to mad crushes on big, burly men. But Hank Springfield just admitted that he was gay. Either I’d been amazingly perceptive from the start or I was lucky as fuck.

  His kiss was less tentative than it had been on the dance floor. This time he latched on to me right away with a sense of needy relief. And, damn, that was hot.

  Straddling his lap, it was easy to relax into him, press myself against him, lap to chest, as we kissed deeply. My tongue slid lusciously against his. His hands were on my head as if to keep me there, but when I slid my arms around his neck and lay against him, making it clear I wasn’t going anywhere, he let his palms slip slowly down my back.

  Damn, he still had that gentle touch, the one that made me want to scream for more. Reverse psychology, I was cognizant enough to realize. The lighter his touch was, the more I craved it. Or maybe it was the idea that Hank could look so tough and yet be such a gentle lover.

  I had the feeling I’d be deciphering Hank Springfield for a long time to come. I smiled against his lips.

  “What’s funny?” he asked, pulling away.

  “I am. I want to do everything to you at once. And it’s got to be fifty degrees in here.”

  Hank smiled. He reached over and picked up another thick blanket that had been folded nearby. “Scooch off for a sec.”

  I did. I watched as he spread the blanket open and put it on top of the one we were sitting on. Then he took off his coat and shoes and, holding my eyes, his thermal shirt.

  On cue, my knees went weak. Damn, those sweet muscles did me in. His skin glowed in the lantern light, the tattoos like an engraved invitation. He flicked open the top button on his jeans and unzipped, still holding my gaze while my heart stuttered in my chest. Then he lay down on his back and flicked the top blanket aside in invitation. He put both arms under his head, looking relaxed, but I could see the tension strung in his body, in his smile.

  “How’s that?” he asked. His voice quivered a little.

  In answer, I tossed off my own coat, shoes, and shirt and crawled onto the blanket in my pj bottoms.

  “If there’s something you don
’t want to do, just tell me and I’ll stop. Because—” Because I am going to eat you alive. “I don’t want to push.”

  Hank reached up and ran his fingers down my bared chest, his eyes smoldering. It was only then I realized I was half naked too, and maybe I had some effect on him.

  “I thought you liked to push, Frenchie.” There was a challenge in Hank’s eyes.

  I gave in, running my hands over his chest the way I’d wanted to since the first time I saw him. His skin was just as soft as it looked, silk over steel, and he squirmed and breathed harder when my fingers ran over his nipples. The second time I did it, his hips lifted unconsciously. I swallowed at the sight of the large bulge under the denim.

  “It’d be more comfortable with these off,” I said, fingering the waistband of his jeans. He took a shaky breath and shoved them off, leaving his briefs on.

  And then, because it was chilly, I lay down and pulled the blanket over us.

  We made out, body-to-body for the first time. I wriggled out of my pj bottoms in short order, so I could feel his bare legs against mine. It was heaven. It was perfect—his mouth, the solid feel of his body, the warmth and rusticity of our nest. It got even better when he rolled me onto my back and lay on top of me. His prick was hard and heavy against my hip through both our briefs. Christ.

  Sex had never felt quite like this, like I craved someone so much I just wanted to absorb them into my skin, like I wanted it to last forever because any moment not touching them was a waste of time. It was a little overwhelming. I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything as heavy as love, and if this wasn’t that yet, it had the potential to be.

  Hank’s elbows were on either side of my head, and he gazed down into my face. When had he stopped kissing me? My prick throbbed against his stomach, begging for attention.

  “I’m not really sure… what do you want?” he asked tentatively.

  And I remembered that he’d never been with anyone like this.

  “Everything,” I said, my voice gravelly. “But since it’s Christmas and you’ve been such a very good boy, you should choose. We can use our hands or maybe mouths.” I pulled up one of his hands and sucked the tip of his index finger into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. He drew in a sharp gasp and dug his prick into me. “Or… we can just do this.” I released his hand and moved down to hold his hips, rocked up into him so that we ground against each other. Damn, that felt good. Honestly, it wouldn’t take much.

  “I won’t last like that,” he said, lying on me more solidly to stop me from moving.

  “You don’t have to. We can do more later.”

  “I know. And I want it all eventually, but….” There was something in his eyes, something he wanted, a lot.

  “Tell me.”

  He looked abashed, though he tried to tough it out. “Remember when you gave me a backrub?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That. Only… naked.”

  “Oh, you kinky boy,” I teased.

  He really looked embarrassed.

  “I’m kidding. I’d love that. Let me get on top.”

  We shuffled around until he was on his stomach. I took off his briefs, marveling at the wonder that was Hank’s naked derriere. It was plump and rounded, hairless and smooth. Fuck, I wanted to eat it.

  “You too,” he croaked, looking over his shoulder.

  I took off my briefs. There was no way to hide how ripe and eager I was.

  “God,” Hank breathed as he stared at me. He shut his eyes as if getting himself under control. “On me.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but I straddled his back as I had that night. I pulled the top blanket up around my shoulders.

  It felt decadent, sitting on Hank’s lower back naked, my balls making contact with his skin, and the curve of his delectable ass rising up against my perineum.

  “You have brilliant ideas,” I said, rocking back and forth.

  He wriggled slightly as if he just couldn’t help it. “Wanna feel it.”

  I leaned forward and rubbed my stiff prick against the bare skin of his gorgeous back. Damn, that looked so hot, and it felt good too. His back was muscled, making his spine more of a grove, particularly when he flexed as he was doing now to get more contact. I moved my hands up to lock fingers with him and shifted my hips back so I was partially lying on him. The muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled. I rubbed myself against him all over, my chest lifted up so I could see it. He lay with his head turned to the side, his eyes closed.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, sounding as turned on as I was. Then, “Lower.”

  “Wish we had some lotion,” I panted, as I shifted back to run my about-to-burst prick along the cleft of his ass.

  He pulled his right hand away from mine and felt around under the bale of hay at the head of the blanket. He brought out a bottle and tossed it at me. It was lube, a brand new bottle.

  I barked a laugh. “Jesus, prepared much?”

  “Don’t stop,” he said, sounding desperate.

  So I flipped the bottle open—the little paper insert was already removed. Note to self: never underestimate the foresight of Hank Springfield. I squeezed some over his lower back and ass, enjoying the sensation of my slick hands squeezing and rubbing that meaty flesh.

  He pushed his ass up. “Sloane.”

  I wrapped a hand around my ridiculously hard length to oil it and then lay back on him, fitting myself in the top of his crack.

  “Fuck,” I said as I thrust against him.

  “Feels good. Feels so good. Sloane…”

  I answered by lying completely on top of him so I could lick and nuzzle his neck and the border of his beard where he shaved it. Thrust, thrust. Pause because I have to. Thrust again because I can’t help it, feels too amazing.

  I shifted minutely lower, embedding myself more deeply. He spread his legs wider. I thought I felt his opening against the base of my shaft. My balls slapped lightly against his with my thrusts. I wondered briefly if he was getting as much out of this as I was, but I could feel the tension in his thighs, the harsh pants and low sounds of pleasure in his throat. His hips were busy circling and grinding against me, and thus against the blanket under him.

  “Don’t come,” I said, forcing myself to stop.

  He lay there shaking. “Why not?”

  “Because the first time you come with me, I want it to be in my mouth, or at least where I can see it.”

  He lay still as we both tried to climb back from the edge.

  “Will you… will you rub it against me?”

  That’s what I had been doing, but I knew he meant something different this time. I had no words, I pulled myself upright a bit and put my hand on my prick. The sight of him laid out and oily, legs spread, made me groan.

  “You’re sex on legs. You know that, right?”

  He pushed his ass up in the air. “Then do it.”

  Dear God, he was going to kill me. That muscled, tattooed body, that gorgeously butch man, presenting himself to me like that.

  “You’re ruining me for anyone else, damn it,” I whispered. I tilted my hips forward and rubbed my head against his hole. I tried to do it lightly, just teasing, the way his light touches drove me crazy. He held still for that for about ten seconds, then he raised up on his elbows so he could look over his shoulder and watch me. We both stared, mesmerized.

  “Harder,” he urged.

  I circled around his hole with more pressure, around the outside, and then sliding right over the center.

  “There,” he said. “Right there.”

  I jiggled myself against him, almost ready to come at the sight, at what he was asking for. “God, Hank! I can’t.”

  “Please.” He pushed back into me hard.

  My head penetrated just a little, just the very tip.

  We both stopped, a bit shocked.

  “Hank… we can’t… if we…”

  He reached under the hay bale in front of him again and brought out a few packs of cond
oms. “Do it, please. I want it.”

  “Are you sure? We can just—”

  “Fuck, Sloane, I want it.” His voice was desperation-edged anger, like I was trying to deny him air.

  “Okay, okay.” I’d only done this a few times before, with a guy I dated in high school. I’d topped twice and bottomed once. But mostly, we didn’t have the space or leisure to get that nitty gritty. I picked up one of the packets, my hands shaking so bad I could barely tear it open.

  Goddamn, I couldn’t believe Hank wanted this. But he did. He really did.

  I managed to get the condom on somehow, and I poured some lube into my palm, slathered it on the condom and then poured a generous amount on my fingers. I rubbed the oil against him, causing him to moan and circle his hips, but when I tried to press in a finger, he stopped me.

  “No. Don’t want that. Want you.”

  “Hank, I need to open you up.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I want it just like you did it before. Just… like it’s… like it’s almost an accident. A little at a time.”

  I blinked. For a guy who hadn’t done this before, he sure knew what turned his crank. But then, he obviously had a very good imagination.

  “Did you… did you think about me doing this after I rubbed your back?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  Oh good lord. I couldn’t even think about that right now or I’d lose it.

  So I did what he asked. I lay back on top of him and rubbed myself in his crack. The condom dulled the pleasure a little, thank God, because I was already close to coming. The oil made everything so slick. I pulled my hips back and dipped my prick down. It caught on his rim and held there as I rocked, gently.

  “Oh.” Hank sounded like he was dying. I definitely was. He pushed back against me, and I felt that small breach again, wiggled there, pulled back.

  Moment by moment, brush by brush, we teased and baited, my prick sinking a little further every time. He was tight as anything, but I didn’t push hard enough to worry about hurting him, and I could feel him slowly opening up, grasping for me. I paused once to pour a little more oil over everything, and then, then, the top inch of me was inside him and I slowly sank home.