Angel

This story is fiction. Any likeness to persons living or dead is coincedence.

This story contains material that may not be suitable for minors.

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This chapter rhymes.

Tryst: Part Eleven of Angel Gabriel Duncan

"... Inside is me Is all that I am Inside is me And in you extend ..."

There was a flurry of activity right before Sam and Helen arrived. We had finished the Alfredo sauce, added the blanched broccoli, boiled the pasta, browned the chicken breasts and cooked them the rest of the way in the oven. We thought we wouldn't have enough time. The potatoes were quartered and scalloped and seasoned and keeping warm in butter by staying covered. The wine was drug up from the cellar. She had pulled out a bottle she had saved for stormy weather. She said I could drink some, too; which made it even better. Only one thing left to do. Change my clothes, and swipe the deodorant, too. They're coming soon. But there was still the Alfredo sauce I had to watch or it would burn. And then the pot would be an urn to represent the wasted night we'd spent trying to make things right. And I know Macy wants to cheer me up. I don't want to disappoint her. So I might as well make Sam feel welcomed and top off his cup.

They arrived on time. On the dot, even. And Sam looked as nervous as I felt. He was dressed in baggy jeans, a black band tee with a black bag and a baseball cap. Macy took care of introductions. I'd never just sat down straight to dinner at a party before. But I figured there was much more in store. Macy told me that she and Helen usually had a girls' night. So it was alright if Sam and I wanted to have time to ourselves. In fact, she preferred it. But she didn't want to make me feel marginalized. She just thought I'd like it better hanging out with another guy. And I was thankful.

Macy sliced the chicken up and threw it into a pot with the pasta and the sauce. Sam and I sat down next to each other. Helen and Macy the same, Sam said he'd brought a PS2. Did I play video games? Of course I did, I told him. But I haven't played in a while, and he's probably better because he owns them. Of course, I am a quick learner, I said, so I would end up owning him.

Sam laughed and dinner began. Helen started asking the questions. She wanted to know if I would be staying for long. I said I didn't know. She asked if I would be going to school once it began again. I said I didn't know. She got the hint, though, and we moved on to other avenues of conversation. I asked Helen about her job and she paid our cooking a compliment.

After dinner, we sat around sipping our wine. Sam and I looked nervously at each other. Soon we would have to talk. It would be that time. Now, up to that point, we'd been skirting around the reason for our presence. The fact that we were unhappy was unarguably evident. But I was absolutely elated to have someone else to play with. I'd spent the last week alone, on the train and I was starting to get sick of it.

Macy and Helen excused themselves to go into the living room, down the hall. Sam and I sat at the table. We tried to talk, but couldn't come up with anything to say at all. I expected myself to be fun and entertaining. Maybe I'd just let down my walls and ask him if he was up for some gaming. Instead, I was sitting across from him and this felt like a blind date. I was too worried about what kind of first impression I would make. He wanted to know why I'd run away. I told him Los Angeles was hell. If he'd ever been there then he'd know it as well. My father was an asshole who liked to drink a lot. My mother never confronted him so it was my face that his hook caught. I tried not to tell him my whole life's story. But I told him the clean version, in all its blue-and-purple glory. Sam took a moment to consider my words. He said he'd never been in that situation, but he had some friends who were. Sam said I could talk to him when I wanted, any time. He said Macy had his number and he knew that Helen had mine.

I said, "Macy told me about you and your ex."

"I know," He said, "Jason leaving me was something I would have never suspected."

"I know what you mean. When I was on the go, I had to cut mine clean."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend, too?"

"No," I tried to save face. His question seemed to touch deep inside; the shadow in the dark, still trying to hide.

"Used to," I told him, "We broke up before I left."

"Oh no. Why? Were you two upset?"

He died, I thought. So we didn't have a choice. But yes, of course, was the answer that I voiced. Denying the truth has its advantages. Sam was caught up in the hopeless romanticism of being gone with the wind and being endlessly abandoned. The "here's looking at you kid" of my train ride to Penn. State. But the merit of the term "romantic" was one I wanted to debate. But the contents of his backpack were not going to wait.

We set up the system quickly and went straight towards the Gauntlet, keeping score and playing our hardest. It seemed like his skill was offset by mine. And we tried the hardest in the games that were timed. But when it came to strength and brute force, I won half of all. But we never seemed to get ahead. Behind was not a way to fall.

By the end of our games, we both conceded: we were the same. So we no longer needed to play versus again. We spent another two hours on the same team. We played against bots, set to highest difficulty. We still picked them off, as if they were fleas. I didn't think we'd have that much fun. All too soon Helen said our night was almost done.

Sam and I both had to protest. Neither of us wanted to part yet. Macy spoke up and said Sam could stay the night, it was okay. Helen said alright, Sam could stay. They hugged, and Helen went her own way. Macy sat down with us and watched us play.

"Looks like you two made quick friends." She said. She watched me spatter a bot. Her eyes were far away. She seemed lost in thought. "Ah, to be young again"

I looked away briefly, from the screen. Macy stood up and started to leave. "Where are you going?" I just had to ask.

"It's getting late, guys. I need to hit the sack. Feel free to stay up as long as you want. But don't be too loud, or else you're gonna get smacked."

I made that last part up. Macy isn't one to attack. The PlayStation 2 would be the only thing assaulted in those rooms.

"By the way, Adam," She couldn't abstain, "Your bed will come the day hereafter. Don't leave any stains."

Sam and I played until one in the morning. It seemed only minutes. But the hours were soaring. My eyes were burning and my thumbs felt numb. We put the system and games back where they came from. Sam helped to fold down the couch. I wondered if I'd get the chance to head south that night; as we shed most of our clothes and I snapped off the light.

I don't sleep well. And I'm sure you can understand why. Especially when every night in our house a tornado tends to stop by. So by the time I was tired and wanted to sleep, I couldn't close my eyes, or even pretend all was well in my keep. Now, more than ever I was up on the edge. I was lying facing his back and focusing on keeping my heartbeat out of my head.

It was obvious he was still awake. So when he asked if we could, he rotated so we faced. Holding him felt good. It didn't hit me at first, because it was caught between my thighs. But my phallus was growing and close to reaching its full size. I became worried about the puddle it would make. There was no mistaking the impression of the snake. Worried was the wrong word to use; because he was hard, too.

At first, our friction seemed by chance. We didn't make eye contact, hardly even a glance. I was almost sure it was my hallucination. But my eyes met his and he was prompt to realization. Caught! I rocked forward, my blood was boiling hot. He gasped softly, and clutched me closer, in appreciation. I pulled down the covers and his face, things were about to get heated. We kissed firmly and furiously repeated.

I couldn't help but gasp when he grasped me firmly. His skin was molten, and my passion was burning. It took concentration; but I managed not to let go. After we flipped and joined head-to-toe. His head popped out, then I sucked it back. He moaned so loudly, I took all of him in.

We grunted and humped, vying to find release. We stopped and I pulled him to his knees. I was led to his orifice by his pungent smell. He was sucking harder, and I could feel it swell. He gasped and went rigid, upon my first taste. I almost asphyxiated, when he pushed back in his haste. He begged me to please, don't ever stop. His phallus was dripping, my chest catching every drop. When I finally let up, I made him lick it off.

Sam grunted when I entered. He took it all at once. Then he moaned in ecstasy as he began to take the brunt. The feeling of his bowels quickened the pace of our dance. Then I hit his prostate and his cock thickened in my hand. We were flying high, pounding hard and thumping fast.

"Hold fast!"

I stopped, for fear of having torn. But then he let out a low, holy moan. I watched Sam's body turned to stone, and then the first shot was born. It sprayed out and splattered, up along his chest. His muscles were clenching and brought me to the crest. We gasped at the same time and came, ever closer together. And turned to a sail, torn and drenched, finally tamed by stormy weather.

I floated adrift, lost in the deep blue ecstasy. We didn't have the energy to turn or pull out, we simply pulled up the covers and soon fell asleep. As I was crashing, I heard him recite, a poem that would last in my mind, long after the night.

"Inside is me; is all that I am. Inside is me; and in you extend."

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