We parked the bikes in my bay at the garage, had a quick beer with the boys, and hoofed it to an Italian joint down the block. Conversation lagged as we waited for our drinks, reminding me that I knew nothing about this guy except his first name and that he was a hot fuck. Things didn't improve much as we ate, and I began to wonder if that's all this was - a one-night-stand in daytime guise. Normally that would be okay with me - hook up with a hot guy for a few days, maybe even a weekend or two, then move along before things got complicated, but this was different. Evan was different, and this time I wanted more.
We made it through lasagna and a couple more beers, and then we walked slowly - and mostly silently - to my place, an older house in an improving neighborhood a few blocks off the main drag. Evan stopped on the porch, turning to look back down the front walk and out across the quiet neighborhood. When he turned back to me, I let us in the door and showed him around the house. As we took a quick look into my bedroom, my hard-on returned with a vengeance as I started thinking about how this evening was probably (hopefully) going to end. If nothing else, I knew he was good for that.
When we stuck our heads in the third bedroom that doubled as my office, he glanced around in silence for a moment, taking in the computers, the laptops, the disassembled CPUs, the stacks of hard drives and CDs. "What do you do?"
"Build computers. Write code. Trouble-shoot for companies with more money than brains. Hack a little. Nothing like that," I added when he raised an eyebrow at me. "Games, mostly, trying to see if I can figure out the cheats, that kinda shit."
"A computer geek, huh?" He looked me up and down. "Where's the glasses and pocket protector?"
It was late afternoon, but still warm enough, so we went through the house to the deck out back. "Chewy," I said by way of introduction to the scruffy brown dog that came bounding up to greet us. I was determined to find out if there was more to Evan than a great ass, so I bared my teeth in my most winning smile and opened with, "So, you live around here?"
"No, down in Patterson," he said, naming a town a couple hours south as he tugged gently on the dog's ears. Chewy's an attention slut; he'd sit still for days as long as you kept petting him.
"What were you doing up here when you came into the garage that first time?"
"Business. I'm an attorney." He cut me a quick look. "No lawyer jokes, please; I've heard 'em all twice."
"Wouldn't think of it." I held up a hand in peace, chuckling. "And the second time? More of the same?" I wasn't going to let this go.
He was quiet for a minute, then turned to meet my gaze. "No... no, the second time I came to see you."
I stared at him as the implications of that statement sunk in. "You drove two hours, spent an hour with me, and then drove back home?"
"Yup." He was looking away again, and I could see only his profile. A small smile curled the corner of his mouth as he added, "And it was worth every fucking mile."
That shut me up.
Something was happening here, something more than a quick fuck in the woods - however exceptional that fuck had been. His comment about needing me to find him, the evasiveness when I asked him if he topped, and now his admission that he'd driven four hours to spend a hot hour with me in the garage all had me real curious about this guy. I had fantasized about finding him for months, yearned for him through more sleepless nights than I cared to remember, and now that he was here right in my own Goddamn house, I wasn't quite sure what to do with him.
So we spent another hour out back, shootin' the shit about motorcycles. He'd ridden dirt bikes as a kid, tearing around the scrubby pasture outside Patterson where his uncle ran a few cows. College brought an end to those days, but when he'd graduated, a bike had been the first thing he'd bought, and he'd had one or another since. Just a few days after our garage hook-up, he'd gotten the Fat Boy that was parked at the garage.
When it got dark, I took his hand and led him down the hall to the dim bedroom, pushing him down onto the quilt fully clothed. I threw a leg across his, put a hand on his chest and propped myself on one elbow, looking down at him. Then I asked him the question he had put to me earlier. Although I spoke softly, my voice sounded loud in the still room, and not as casual as I wanted it to.
"What now?"
He lay his hand over mine, running a fingertip up and down between my fingers, pinching the loose skin of my knuckles gently. Then he curled his fingers over mine and squeezed, not meeting my eyes.
"Can I stay? For the weekend?"
The weekend?!?
When I didn't reply, he glanced up at me. "I still need to fuck you, remember?"
Well, my dick certainly remembered, dancing around in my jeans at his words. If he was gonna be here another couple days, I had plenty of time to pry his story out of him. I leaned down and kissed him. "Fuck, yeah, you can stay, dude. That'd be great."
We got up, pissed, brushed our teeth, and met back up at the bed. He walked slowly around to the far side and began to unbutton his shirt. As we undressed separately and silently - that was getting to be a disturbing trend - I wondered how this was going to go. It didn't take Einstein to figure out there was something about topping that he had problems with. I didn't think it was performance related, since he'd had no trouble getting it up and keeping it up, even when I was balls-deep inside him. Maybe it was just the idea of sticking his dick up some guy's ass. A lot of boys who loved to get fucked wouldn't dream of trying it from the other side.
I studied him as he tossed his clothes onto a chair. Physically, he was just what I liked - dark haired; tall; lean, hard muscles; broad shoulders to hang onto when I fucked him; nice round ass that my fingers sank into when I gripped it. His face was a little too normal looking to be beautiful, but his eyes and mouth were compelling. He held your attention, and made you want to find out what a smile looked like on those lips. In a word, he was seriously hot.
Okay, okay - two words. Jesus.
When he turned to me, I felt my cock begin to rise in response to his intent gaze. He watched it swell and lift until I was hard, and then cupped his balls in one hand, squeezing them and tugging on his sac. As he lifted his eyes to mine, his cock followed along to stand erect, swaying slightly with his pulse. I walked slowly to him, my heavy dick leading the way, weaving in front of me like some kind of thermal divining rod, seeking his heat.
I kissed him lingeringly, sucking his tongue, then sank to my knees and pressed my face to his belly. His stiff prick bumped against my neck as I gripped his ass and took a deep breath of him. Despite our dip in the creek, he smelled of sex from the woods with a faint touch of soap from his morning shower. I dropped my nose down to his balls where the scent of our earlier fuck hardened me completely, and my dick kept time with each beat of my thudding heart. I groaned into him, mouthing the underside of his dick, licking my way to the top as he held my head with both hands, his fingers spread behind my ears, moving softly in my hair.
I sucked him for a while, enjoying the involuntary clutch of his hands on my head when I flicked the tip of my tongue into his slit, then almost reluctantly got up and led him to the bed. I flopped down on my back so that he could come to me and handle this however he wanted. He crawled partway up, stopping with his legs straddling one of mine and his arms braced stiff, lightly trailing the tip of his dick up my leg, leaving a shiny precum trail behind. As he tipped his hips to drag it back down, he watched me, smiling just a little. He did that a few times and my cock bounced wildly up and down on my belly as his dick tickled its way up my thigh, ruffling the hair on my leg. Nobody had ever done that to me before and it felt fantastic. I've always gotten off on having my legs stroked, and for this particular man to do it with his oozing cock was one of the hottest things I've ever experienced.
He dropped down and began to thrust along the bunched muscles of my thigh, grunting softly at the top of each stroke. When he bent to lick my nipple, I groaned and scrubbed my cock up the tight ripples of his stomach, eager to get things going. He left my chest, pushing my knees up and apart, nibbling his way down the inside of my leg until my balls were in his mouth. Rolling them with his tongue, he hummed softly, vibrating them in the liquid heat of his mouth, and I felt my eyes roll back in my head.
He put his hands under my ass and lifted me to his mouth, dragging his warm tongue repeatedly from my hole up to my nuts, using his thumbs to spread me open. The feeling that washed over me when he slid his tongue into my ass was almost enough to make me shoot. His tongue was firm but resilient, pushing its way in past the bazillion nerve endings there. He withdrew it, flicked it up and down several times, then made slow circles, sucking lightly. It's at times like this that I think about that first crazy homo caveman who thought, Let me lick this dude's hairy ass and see what happens.
Anyway, my point is that whatever Evan's problems with fucking, he sure as hell had a handle on the preliminaries. Boy, did he ever.
Finally, I couldn't take any more and pushed him back a little, sitting up with a bottle of lube in my hand. I poured some into my palm, taking my time slathering his steely rod with it, pulling up snugly on the head of his dick in quick little jerks, smiling at his tight-faced winces. I shoved a fingerful of lube into my ass, tossed the bottle aside, and looked at him. He met my gaze, his eyes a darker grey than I'd seen them so far.
I put a fingertip to his cheek and he turned his head slightly to bite the pad of flesh at the base of my thumb. "You okay with this?" I asked him. He nodded slowly, watching me solemnly, and I looked back at him, wondering about the things he hadn't told me yet, and a little amused to realize that I was nervous. In less than a day together, Evan mattered to me more than I was ready to admit.
He leaned forward and kissed me wetly, licked my mouth, then pushed me down onto the bed, lifted my legs, and scooted up to my ass, angling his cock to press snugly against my pucker. He stayed like that for a long moment, looking down at the meeting of our bodies, and I thought maybe it wasn't going to happen, but then he closed his eyes, wrapped his free hand around my leg and pushed firmly into me with a soft grunt.
The feel of him wiped everything else from my mind. He was incredibly hard, and his cock got a little thicker toward the base, so the sensation of it sliding home just got more and more intense. He didn't stop until his balls were squashed between us, and when I looked at him, he was motionless, barely breathing, with his eyes still closed. His jaw muscles were knotted tight and the death grip he had on my leg was starting to hurt, so I tapped his hand and he loosened up some, but still didn't look at me.
I watched him for a few more seconds as I adjusted to his girth, but finally I couldn't stand it. "Hey, man," I said softly. "Evan."
His eyes opened slowly, and I was surprised to see them awash in tears, his black lashes wet and spiky, his irises the turbulent gray of a stormy day. He took a few deep breaths and blinked a couple times, then gave me a lopsided smile.
"Sorry. It's been a long time..."
He didn't volunteer any more, and I let it go because he started moving in slow, gliding strokes that put delicious friction on every nerve ending in my happy, happy ass. He kept it up for a long time, not going anywhere with it, just swinging his hips in a steady cadence that sent me off into some other place. He stroked out until the head of his cock tugged at the muscles of my hole and I tightened on him each time, enjoying watching his jaw muscles clench rhythmically.
I began to breathe with the strokes, and I got the weird feeling that we were two parts of the same organism, moving and breathing together, in tune in a way two separate people couldn't be. When he eventually quickened his strokes, I was right there with him, my breath coming short and hard, and after he angled himself to catch my sweet spot, it was all over in about ninety seconds.
When I came, I cried out loudly, something I hadn't done in years, and convulsed under him, coming up off the bed with each pulse of my cock, dragging the sheets loose in my fist. I didn't even feel him pull out - I just felt his hot spurts skidding up my chest further than my own had. He was braced over me on one quivering arm, gasping for air, drops of sweat flying from his face as he jerked shot after shot from his swollen cock.
When he was mostly done, I pulled him down to me, wrapping my arms around his back, and buried my face in his neck. He relaxed onto me, but it was only a moment before I felt him start to shake, and then his ribs heaved under my hands. I held onto him until the worst of it was past, then pushed him partially off me, and shoved a handful of tissues at him.
After he blew his nose, he fell back on the bed next to me, but only a moment or two later, he rolled to his feet and started yanking on his clothes, his movements quick and jerky.
I pushed up onto my elbows. "Evan, what the hell are you doin'?"
"Gettin' the fuck outta here."
"Ah, come on, man, don't go. Evan!"
But my words fell on deaf ears because he had turned the corner into the hall and disappeared. I stared at the empty doorway for a second, and then fell back, stunned at the sudden end to what had been such a promising day. This is why you pick up tricks in bars, I reminded myself, because then you don't give a flying fuck when they get up and leave. I stared at the ceiling, going over what had just happened, remembering the feel of being speared on Evan's cock, but then it hit me that I hadn't heard the front door open and close. In the next nanosecond, I realized he probably didn't know exactly where the garage was from here, since we'd detoured to the Italian joint in between. Add to that, that he didn't have keys to the building, and I was out of bed in a flash.
I peered around the corner into the living room and there he was, sitting on the edge of the sofa - elbows on spread knees, hands dangling, shoulders hunched, head hanging low - the pictorial definition of dejection. Chewy was lying there with his chin resting on Evan's bare toes, a mournful expression on his face; he whined softly when he saw me.
I watched Evan for a moment, getting my words together, then walked over to him. He didn't acknowledge my presence, and when I lay a hand between his shoulder blades, he shrugged it off with an abrupt motion. I sat down a foot or so from him, thinking to give him some space. I was starting to think maybe this guy had too much baggage to bother with, but then I remembered the gut-wrenching relief I'd felt when I saw him in the woods this morning. I wasn't ready to abandon this just yet, so we sat there silently for a few minutes before he spoke in a voice choked with emotion.
"I don't think I can do this. I'm just too fuckin' scared."
I digested that for a moment before asking, "What was his name?"
Evan turned slowly until ours eyes met and I could see him make the decision to tell me. "Lucas. Luke." Saying the name aloud seemed to steady him and he continued. "We met in high school when his dad got transferred. He's the only guy I ever..." His voice trailed off and he gave a mighty sniff, prompting me to hand him some more tissues.
"He dumped you?"
He barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "No... fuck, that woulda been great." Great? He sighed, and said more softly, "No, he was killed."
Ahhh, shit. You sure can pick `em, Jeff - following up a dead guy is next to impossible.
"What happened?" I asked quietly.
"Car wreck on graduation night. Some drunken asshole hit us." He paused. "Luke was killed, the rest of us were pretty fucked up. One guy's in a chair for the rest of his life; another was burned pretty bad."
What the hell do you say to something like that? I gave his statement the moment of silence it deserved, and then said, "Jesus. I'm really sorry, Evan, but running off in the middle of the night isn't gonna change anything. Come on back to bed, and if you still wanna split in the morning, fine by me."
He was silent, so at least he was thinking about it. I tried the hand again; this time he left it there, so after a second I slid it up to his neck and gave a little tug. He came slowly to his feet, pushing up from his knees with a heavy sigh. He hadn't gotten as far as his socks and boots, so we padded silently down the hall in our bare feet - me buck naked, swingin' in the breeze; him in his t-shirt and jeans. When we got to the bedroom, I turned him to me and pulled his shirt over his head as he unbuttoned his pants. A long day and lots of sweaty sex had me wanting a shower, so I turned around and took him into the bathroom with me.
When I bought the place, I'd knocked out a useless closet to install a four foot square shower stall and it was one of the best improvements I'd made. There was enough room for two guys to move around comfortably, but it was small enough that you couldn't help but come into contact with each other now and then. I turned his back to me and scrubbed him good, working the muscles of his shoulders hard enough to get a groan of pleasure out of him.
As I ran my hands down his legs, for the first time I noticed the jagged scar that rippled down the outside of his left thigh. Fully a foot long, it was wider and slightly puckered in the middle, then thinned down towards the ends. As I traced a finger around the center, Evan glanced down. "That's where the bone stuck out; it was shattered all to hell. There's a titanium rod in there now. Aches like a bitch when I'm tired or cold."
I looked at it for another moment and then straightened. I put my arms around him and washed his front, not loitering too long in his crotch, but giving his chest a lot of attention, brushing his nipples lightly with each pass of my hands. Before long, he was slumped against me with his head tipped back on my shoulder, his hands lightly gripping my thighs. Just before the hot ran out, I pushed him under the water, soaped myself quickly, and leaped out as the water turned icy.
We dried off, and then wandered back to bed, climbing in from our own sides like we'd been doing it for years. We lay down next to each other, on our backs, not touching anywhere, but after a few moments, he rolled to me, pressing his face to my upper arm and spreading a hand on my chest. As he curled up, his knees bumped into my thigh, and he sighed deeply, making a warm, humid spot on my arm. I stacked my hand on top of his on my chest, and slid my other between his legs just above his knees to hold his thigh loosely.
I was sleepy, but I just didn't want to let this day go. Almost no matter what happened tomorrow, it could hardly beat finding him like I did today, looking just like the painting on the Pan's gas tank. And the real man was so much more - warm and gentle, a little mysterious, haunted by the past. But now I had to worry about whether he'd still want to leave in the morning. Coming back to bed with me had been a good sign, but.
I heaved a big sigh of my own, and without thinking much about it, brought his hand up to my mouth and kissed his knuckles. As I was drifting off, I thought I felt him press a kiss to my arm.
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