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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Cocktails By kiehlter@gmail.com
"Are you gonna drink that?"
Mick glanced to his left. A man was staring at him with one eyebrow raised and a friendly smile on his face. Liked the way his short hair seemed to be in place without much effort, although Mick wondered a bit about that. His shirt was stretched in the front in a very sexy way that was sure to attract women - and undoubtedly some male glances - miles around. Mick found himself adjusting his glasses to get a sharper definition.
"A cocktail must stay chilled, or else it'll lose the intended tang and taste." He gestured to the cocktail glass before Mick. "Yours is already sweating away its chill." Mick coughed nervously. His fingers danced at the glass stem, the cold sweat of the drink moistening his finger pads. Maybe he could get a little essence of the drink and not have to really down the real drink itself. Without thinking he put his wet fingers between his lips. Smacking his lips together, Mick could only taste plain water.
Shaking his head, Mick groaned inward. Why would he agree to this idiocy?
Oh yes, Martha. Mick's editor, whose opinions he sometimes highly valued but most of the time refused to take. And regret about it later. Like drinking a cocktail that he never tasted before, only imagined.
He wrote about it before in his earlier book, and a reader tweeted to him about the description of the taste of Cosmopolitan is not correct. With all due respect, you, sir, seem to have never drunk a cocktail before in your life.
It was a bit harsh, but Mick hated alcohol for various reasons he would not want to recall right now and ever. So when the comment hit Martha, Martha hit Mick with this suggestion, which boiled down to `get drunk and forget sober for the next fortnight!' Her own words.
And like a good writer, Mick should have taken that reader's words as a criticism. He wanted to think of himself as a good writer. But the criticism stung, and he was not good in taking criticisms, constructive or otherwise. Put it plainly, Mick hated the reader for pointing this error.
"Well, do you want an invitation?"
Mick stirred from his reverie. The man with the friendly smile was closer now and had a tall glass of his own in hand. The drink looked dark and was garnished with a lime slice. Mick's active mind began wondering what the drink was. His was dark red and he had asked for no garnish. A Cosmopolitan.
"Since you're obviously a cocktail virgin, let me help you along." The blue lights highlighted his cheekbones and a possible broken nose that lent a mischievous air. He smiled again at Mick as he raised his glass. "Come on; let's drink to the last days of your alcohol virginity!"
The word virginity was lewdly appropriate tonight. He did feel like a lost man stumbling about in a bedroom on his wedding night. Figuratively speaking.
Mick shrugged it off, took his glass in his left hand and extended his right. "Name's Mick Lowe."
Mick's new friend shook the proffered hand warmly, his gaze penetrating but warm as well. "Nate Lebbets. You ready?"
Mick tilted his head. An interesting surname. But right now, as an answer, Mick touched his glass with Nate's.
Nate had been watching Mick since he ordered the cocktail and stared at the glass. He had stared at the glass since the bartender set it down before him. Another minute and the drink would've lost its chill. What was he trying to do, win a staring contest? With a glass? And when the man had suddenly licked his fingers, it sort of threw his prepared pickup lines out of orbit. Instead he had wondered how those lips and that tongue would feel around his rapidly hardening cock.
But right now they were on the subject of comic books. Nate forgot how they arrived at that subject. Listening to Mick talk, watching his hand fly about as Mick became deep in descriptions, his fine brows animate his emotions, those eyes widen when he tried to express his point, he thought it pointless to retrace the journey. The sight of a deeply passionate man, explaining why a certain feral comic book character should just get it on with a certain redhead, was so much better.
Nate wanted to hear him talk, which was a rarity, he realised with a small discomfort. That niggling feeling he chalked down to the hardening bulge in his pants, safely unseen beneath the bar counter. Why he was getting a hardon just by listening to a man was a question better left for after.
If there would be an after.
Nate ceased wondering and instead focused on the man before him. Now, somehow, this conversation suddenly veered into music and whether it really had died. Nate did not merely sit and sip his cocktail (and also manage his hardon with a straight face); he also provided some points that challenged Mick's. The other man in turn would rebut, often rationally and passionately. Even under the blue lights, Nate could see blush creep on Mick's cheeks and thought he's very fair, and probably very, very fair under all those clothes. Wonder if he has chest hair. That thought made him smile over the rim of his glass.
"What are you smiling at?" Mick narrowed his eyes behind those frameless glasses. When Nate said nothing but smiled back at him, Mick smiled too, and then let loose the loudest laugh that turned several heads and slapped Nate's broad back a few times.
Nate put down his glass, careful not to let Mick's act of fondness did not spill his drink. The art of drinking cocktails was to sip it. Mick however had been chugging his down like they were plain water. From personal experience, the sweetness of cocktails was often mistaken for a lack of punch, alcohol-wise. He had sneered at the fancifully coloured drink and gulped down more than a half, declaring that it was nothing compared to beer.
The next thing Nate knew, he had kissed the bartender. Fortunately, the bartender had been more than agreeable, took it all in good fun and in a day's work.
Also, Nate never looked at Tom Collins the same again.
This, incidentally, might explain Mick's increasingly loud voice. While Mick was already polishing his fourth, Nate was only on his second, and thought he should stop the increasingly drunk man. Happy, but deliriously drunk man. "Buddy, you might want to stop now."
Theo, the bartender, echoed his words. "You should listen to your friend here."
Mick slurred something as he tried to grab the cocktail glass. Nate deftly pulled the glass out of his reach and the bartender took it away.
"Hey!"
"Buddy, listen to me. You've had a little too much. Now, we're going leave this bar and you're going to tell me where you live."
A drunken laugh gurgled from Mick. "Oh, mister, you really need -- hic -- to work on your pickup lines."
Nate could rise to that occasion, but Mick was seriously drunk. "Okay. Off we go now." Nate bodily lifted the now flailing Mick. To Theo Nate asked: "Did he come alone?" The bartender nodded.
"I'm ALONE!" Mick suddenly shouted as Nate tried to manoeuvre the man - who was now flailing his arms, potentially making a scene - off the bar. "I'm a loser, I'm alone, and I am drunk!"
Trying his best to silence the screaming man, Nate hurriedly slung Mick's right arm over his shoulder and made their move to the exit.
Once in his car, Mick seemed to have fallen into a stupor. This made it easy for Nate to arrange his seating and buckle the man in the seat. Under the streetlight Mick's face was relaxed. Some sort of soul patch was growing on his chin, and his sensitive lips muttered wordlessly. His glasses were all askew on his fine nose. Nate leant down and carefully took it off Mick, pocketing it in his pants.
He straightened and looked at the drunk in his car. Gorgeous, but drunk. He shouldn't be having thoughts about this man when he was in a vulnerable state, but Mick was pushing all the right buttons for Nate. And here the man was, oblivious to anything and everything. The devil in Nate tempted him: he could have his way with Mick and the man would not even remember a shred of it.
But he would never forgive himself because of it.
Shaking off the thought, he closed the door, got into the driver's seat, and began a journey home that would test his ability to focus on the road.
Am I Alone?
He heard a snore as he woke up. Mick thought it impossible to hear his own snore if he was waking up.
Opening his eyes was torture because his eyelids felt like lead. Mick forced them open anyway. He saw vertical lines running from the floor up to the wall opposite him. There was a low hum in the air, possibly the air conditioning unit running. The bed felt comfortable, and the feel of an arm around him was also quite comfortable --
Wait, what arm? Whose arm!?
Mick's whole body went stiff. He realised now that this was not his bedroom. His bedroom had curtains, not blinds. He always had a timer for his air conditioner, and, if the clock that was not his, sitting on an end table that was also not his, was anything to go by, the timer should have stopped the cool air hours ago, at eight thirty a.m. The clock that was not his blinked back at him its electronic lights. 10:30.
Holy crap, was I date-raped? Was my drink spiked?
Then it all came back like that bicycle accident he had when he was eleven, only this time it was the hangover, and not Mrs Morrison's mailbox rushing toward his forehead. Mick groaned aloud unintentionally. He felt whoever that was behind him stir and tighten the hold around his chest. His naked chest. In fact, he was naked all over under the comforter.
Mick never felt this close to a man before. Scratch that; he had never been physically this close. The arm that draped around him felt hairy and relaxed, the fingers tickled Mick's own sparse chest hair. It felt interesting. His dick decided to tell his brain that it was happy with that feeling. Its immediate reaction was to languorously rise to half-point.
A warm, solid thing tapped his ass and his eyes widened. Wait, is that...? Mick closed his eyes and tried to ignore it; warm, pliant, fleshy, it just made another contact with his bare ass. Just once, and Mick shuddered. He could not ignore it and he could not push away the only possibility of what it could be.
Then again it poked him in the ass, as if reaffirming its existence. And firming up as well.
*A man. A man is behind me, his arms around me, hugging me and naked too, and I'm also naked and turned on by this whole thing.
That's so many `and' in a sentence.
His cold grammatical mind evaporated when there it was again, a soft pat, right in the middle of his crack. Mick could not help but shudder again, and a soft moan escaped his lips. He heard a deep rumble from behind him, like a laugh, and the hold around his chest loosened for a bit, only to tighten again.
"Morning, Mick." A whisper right next to his ear, husky and slightly amused. Mick closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered at the voice. A strange scent filled his nostrils. Strange, because it was not his, and strange, because it made him want to seek for more.
But he is a stranger, and he might have done things to you. Things he did while you were knocked out. Bad things.
That stilled Mick's rising emotions. His whole body went rigid with tension. The man felt that too. "Mick, what's wrong? You okay?"
Finally gaining the control of his limbs, albeit still a bit stiff in the muscles and joints, Mick pushed the arm aside, perhaps too harshly, sat up on the bed and muttered almost to himself: "I need to use the bathroom."
"Sure," the man said, "just go through that door."
Mick saw only one door in the room, and he did not even bother to look behind him. He rose and stepped toward that door, opened the door, and -- saw darkness. Overhead, a lamp clicked to life. Clothes, coats and shirts on wooden hangers were bathed in a warm yellow light.
"That's the closet."
Mick heard a slight humour creep into the voice, that voice which just now made him shudder. God, I have to turn and face my captor. He did that, and saw - now he finally recalled the name - Nate Lebbets.
Naked from the waist up, the hair on his defined pecs were disorienting in their orderliness, so Mick looked somewhere else which was waist down. That portion was covered by the comforter, and Mick wondered briefly why he felt slightly disappointed, then chided that emotion altogether, focusing instead on his face. Slowly logic permeated his brain and saw the other door that Nate must have meant.
"You should look at where I'm pointing," Nate said with a smile that was widening with each passing second. Mick remembered that smile through his hazy, alcohol-tinged recollections of yesterday, and thought Nate looked good then due to the drinks.
Now, a lot of other physical aspects also contributed to that fact. Dark stubble lining the square jaw, his powerful neck, those wide shoulders and again that muscular chest, and a neat, happy trail chasing down, down, down.
"Just like Alice," Mick blurted.
"Who?" That surprised look was adorable in its goofiness.
"Nothing. Where's the bathroom?"
Nate pointed again to the same direction, and Mick went and closed the door. The bathroom was bathed in bright light, coming in from a small window above him. As he turned on the water and washed his face, the entirety of his position literally came into light.
*I had slept with a man. *
Mick knew he was gay all this while, and even when it always occurred to him to act out his desires and needs, Mick always wondered whether he was good enough for another man, especially one as handsome as Nate, now lying naked in the bedroom.
Mick checked himself, especially his neck and ass. No hickies, no awkward stings and pains. But those would not be proof alone.
Every time he saw himself in the mirror, like now, he always saw faults. Classic case of low self-esteem, Martha once told him. Mick begged her not to put his face behind every novel he had written, even went as far as letting her put a short-story clause in their contract. His excuse was -- damn it, he even forgot his excuse right now. A dull throb began in his head, making the whole effort of trying to remember a herculean task right now.
Those damned Cosmopolitans, Mick cursed as he shook his head and turned off the tap. Warm water had steamed up the mirror, and he wiped it clean with his hand. In the mirror, Nate stood behind him with an expression that was hard to explain. It wasn't a scary one; that was for sure. It was a look that was both foreign yet warm. It was a look Mick often imagined in his writings, his musings, but never saw in real life.
I'm a writer, and now, for the first time, I am at a loss of words.
A few long minutes before...
Mick sure took his time in the bathroom, Nate thought. He wondered whether Mick saw his clothes that Nate had folded into a neat bundle across the room. Although, Nate reconsidered, the fact that nothing happened last night between them might be lost on Mick.
Nate had forgotten how to wake up next to someone in bed in the mornings. Mick had been a dead weight all through the night, and Nate's golden rule of fucking was not to fuck a drunken man. Even if he was as hot as hell, and did not throw up everywhere. Come to think of it, Mick was Nate's own personal hell from the moment he had taken off Mick's clothes off, laid him on his bed, and somehow during the course of sleep, found himself spooning Mick.
Yes, Mick was Nate's own hell of a night.
Nate heard the water run for a while, Mick pad about in the bathroom, stop, then pad about again.
He got off the bed, and without bothering to put on a robe or a boxer, went into the bathroom. The door was well-oiled as it opened without making Mick jump, or maybe the man had a lot in his mind that he did not even notice Nate enter.
"Mick," Nate began, and then stopped.
The view of this wonderful man in his well-lit bathroom was something that Nate would probably take to his grave. Mick's tousled red hair, his shoulders gleaming under the sunlight, that strong back which tapered into slim hips and waist, and his ass. Nate looked up again, trying to stave off the urge to push Mick on the sink and push his rapidly filling up cock up the gates that he knew were hiding between those fair globes. As Mick wiped the steam off the mirror, Nate saw his reflection in there and the wide-eyed look of surprise in Mick's. Their eyes met, connected, did not let go. That look took Nate's rampant urges down a few notches. Maybe Mick had something to say. Nate waited, yet Mick was still silent.
It looked like he had to start, Nate thought.
"Mick, you were drunk last night."
A snort that resembled a laugh issued from Mick. "That was a given."
He allowed himself a smile. "I brought you to my apartment because you were seriously drunk last night and I don't know where you live. I took off your clothes and I laid you down on my bed. As you can see just now, I have nowhere else to sleep but on the same bed, so I slept with you."
"Oh goodness," Mick said, covering his face. "Did you fuck me while I was out?" Nate shook his head slowly. "No, Mick. You were hammered as hell, and I had to carry you all the way up here. You didn't even wake up when I had you lying face down on the bed to take off your shoes and socks. And everything else." Nate recalled doing, and it brought a strange ripple of pleasure up his spine. He had been as Nate imagined, not so hairy and his skin had freckles that were tantalising. Even now, Nate wondered about how his skin would taste under his tongue.
But back to Mick, who was looking at him with a confused expression. "So, nothing happened last night?"
As much as I wanted to devour you then and right now, nothing happened. Nate shook his head. "We slept on the same bed. That was all. Nothing happened."
"Oh." That word sounded like dejection. "Of course. Nothing happened last night between us. Of course!"
Nate sensed pain somewhere within that voice and the humorous look Mick had on his face. While Mick laughed aloud, the pain became more obvious. Nate narrowed his eyes at him. Then it dawned upon him.
Mick wanted something to happen to him, with Nate.
Who am I kidding? He's a handsome, magnificent hunk of a man. Of course nothing happened. I am way below his league.
Tears began to well in his eyes, and not from laughing that fake laughter Mick was doing too well and way too often for his own sanity. When it ended, he wiped his eyes and said something to Mick like "Thank you and I need to go now" or something to that effect. He was not paying much attention to his own words because he knew it would not matter, and he realised whatever happened in the bed before, what Mick felt behind him, was just a normal reaction. Like getting tapped on the knee by your doctor and your leg jerks up. That meant you were healthy and your nerves were okay.
An arm stopped him in his tracks. No, make it a bicep and triceps. Hard, well-defined, veiny bicep and triceps. Nate stood before him and between the door, naked and all hairy. Mick kept his eyes above the neck, but this meant meeting Nate's eyes -- those clear hazel eyes -- that bored deep into his own.
"Move your arm," Mick said, after trying to steady his voice.
"What do you mean `of course'?" Nate was not moving his arm, and the armpit display was disconcerting to Mick's already chaotic mind. "Why are you tearing up?"
"I'm not." Mick's quavering voice betrayed his words, however. "Now move your arm, or I'll scream."
There was a quick movement, then Mick found himself surrounded by Nate's arms. "Go ahead. Scream." The look in Nate's face was goading him to do so. Nate's voice was also harsh. "But I'm never moving my arms."
Mick worked out. He knew his own strength and for a writer, his strength was rather formidable. But Nate's arms were like steel bands around him. He struggled and struggled in vain.
So, like the good writer that he was, he resorted to words. "So now you're going to rape me because I'm all awake? You enjoy raping men who are sober, awake and screaming? You will find me a major disappointment because none of that is going to happen. Because that's what I am - A Major Disappointment."
The look melted away, replaced by something that Mick might associate and describe as tenderness were he writing one of his stories, but he had only known this man for one night and not even half a day. It could be pity, which made Mick feel bitterer and resolved to struggle again.
Nate's arms slowly gathered even tighter around him, and one hand went up the back of Mick's head, stilling his movements. Nate slowly shook his head. He spoke into Mick's ear in a low, comforting tone: "You cannot -- and do not -- disappoint me." Feeling the hold loosened, Mick stopped his struggles. What did he mean by those words? His look must have informed Nate because the man went on:
"When I saw you enter the bar last night, I thought hell, that man can't be single. Then I waited for a man to meet you, come up to you or something, but you just sat there, staring at the glass for goodness how long, and I said to myself, if I don't make my move now, he's gone forever, or some other guy will take him. So I went and made my move."
"But I got drunk," Mick protested weakly. Nate released his steely bands of arms and cupped Mick's face. His surprisingly rough hands felt good on Mick's face. It made his stomach flutter with huge butterflies that travelled happily down to his cock.
"So what? Should I be disappointed in a guy who cannot hold his alcohol?"
"I talked to you when I had alcohol. I was brave only because I got loaded."
Nate let out a sigh. "I mean this when I say that you do not disappoint me. And this is how I prove it to you." Without as much as a warning, Nate pulled Mick close and kissed his lips. No -- Mick's writer's mind expounded on that verb -- devoured his lips. As their lips opened wider, their tongues were free to dance and twist around each other.
Mick's mind exploded behind his closed eyes with all the stimulations that ran across his nerves, back and forth his brains. He could feel each taste bud rubbing his own, each line within Nate's tongue and mouth stroking his, and yes, morning breath was also there, but this was Nate at his worst, and if Nate's worst felt and tasted like little blessings, Mick wondered how would Nate feel and taste at his best. The remains of his mind thought whether Nate thought the same.
Since he did not break off the lip lock, Mick assumed they were on the same page.
The tongue twisting seemed to go on forever, but it lasted only briefly. Nate pulled away and Mick whimpered in protest breathlessly. Smiling, Nate drew a line between Mick's brows and up to his forehead.
"What really makes me want you is this." He tapped Mick's forehead. Then with a teasing tone he added as he grabbed Mick's hardening cock: "And also this."
"Oh, no, Nate," Mick teased back, tasting the name on his tongue, "you get to choose only one."
Nate's voice when he replied was even, as his teasing expression eased to a sober, honest one. "Then I choose you." His hand caressed Mick's cheek very slowly. The sensation of fine hair made Mick close his eyes.
Right now, in the bathroom of a complete stranger, buck naked and not even had his teeth brushed, bathed by the sunlight, Mick wondered if this was how those lottery winners would have felt. "Then you must know that I am clingy, easily jealous and might want to break any furniture at random."
Mick felt Nate's arms drew him closer, and their very hard tools sparred joyfully between their bellies, lending an erotic edge to Nate's deep voice. "So I have to be very careful handling you."
"I'm serious, Nate." This might not be the best time to go back to the past and relive bad relationships and parental issues, but he thought Nate had the right to know. "I don't -"
Mick felt a kiss on his forehead. Nate's lips stayed there and he could feel them curve up into a smile. He said: "You talk too much."
Nate did not give him any more chance to protest; he pulled Mick even closer and kissed his lips softly, then demanded entry. As Mick relented and opened his lips wide, his unseen tongue wove its way around Mick's and inside his mouth as Mick tried his best to outdo Nate, but felt his knees buckle when the other man decided to play unfairly and suckled at his tongue instead.
"Come back to bed," Nate whispered after they broke apart for air, his voice thick with desire, as was his wonderful eyes. They were honey under the streaming light, golden and deep. He felt Nate's hand pull him out of the bathroom into the darkened sanctuary.
Mick recalled Martha who was probably waiting for his feedback. She was probably worried sick, called his phone a million times in one hour, and might be considering putting him on the missing persons list.
Then Nate touched his arms, and rational thought took flight.
Hell, Martha could do for one day without a writer.
It is possible to know a person after only a while, Nate thought, and a bit surprised that he felt possessive of the man standing before him.
Right now, Mick was looking at him, but not really looking. Those green eyes were glazed over, and Nate bet if the noggin behind those eyes were gears, they wouldn't be spinning; they'd be falling out of his ears. Feeling possessive, Nate grabbed hold of Mick's arms and pulled him close. He wanted Mick to think of them right now, and not some less important things, like maybe work.
That seemed to work, because Mick blinked and smiled with those green miracles. Nate pulled him close, caressed that red curly mess that was his hair, and rubbed his stubbly chin on Mick's nose. A chuckle escaped Mick's lips. Nate loved hearing the man chuckle.
He began by kissing Mick gently on the lips, whose response was to worry his lower lip. It stung in a good way, and Nate forced his tongue into Mick's moist cavern. Their hands were not idle; Nate grabbed hold of Mick's ass cheeks and found them firm yet pliant. A pleasant combination.
Mick's hands meanwhile ran up and down Nate's front. Like a hiker discovering a new trail, those hands explored every crevice, hairy nook and muscle twice, and when they arrived at the small of Nate's back, they stopped just at the top of the curve of his ass.
"You like that?" Nate asked breathlessly, breaking their kiss for a moment.
"Immensely," said Mick, whose fingers found a few hairs there and ran his fingernails about, and pulled on them a bit. That was a good kind of hurt. He found himself swelling a bit more. "While you seem to be stuck."
"What can I say, I'm an ass man."
Mick's laugh this time was a genuine eruption. Different from what Nate heard last night. Before, Nate rolled his eyes at the poets' notion of songbirds and choirs. Now, with a man that responded so readily to his words and touch, not to mention hot and all his, he might give those poets a little credit.
Nate's hands left those glorious ass cheeks. He wrapped them around their weeping cocks, jostling and driving their breaths into short, ragged pants. Their breaths caught as their dicks moved as one in Nate's tight grip, surging upward greedily, driving more of the moisture out of their cocks, so now the two cockheads looked red and shiny under the spare daylight that sneaked into the bedroom through the blinds.
Thinking that both of them were too charged up, Nate stopped and took his hands off their cocks, and grinned at his man when a curse escaped those lips.
"What are you, a closet sadist?" Mick frowned. "Come on!"
For an answer, Nate pushed him onto the bed. On his bed. This wonderful, fine man whose mind was as wide as the ocean, but thought of himself less than a drop, was all his to explore. And ravage. And love.
Self-conscious for the umpteenth time today, Mick tried very hard to meet Nate's look as he lay naked on the bed. Nate's scent surrounded him, that spicy, woodsy scent of his. "Nate?"
"Yeah?" The reply was hoarse and filled with desire.
"Are you done looking?"
The look on Nate's face shifted from serious to playful. "Maybe I want to look a little longer."
"Damn you." His cock, however, thought it a major turn on, for another stream of precum dribbled down the purplish head.
"Oh, would you look at that. You like it. You like me watching."
And I like you watching me. Wait. Where did that come from?
"If that's so..." Nate turned to walk to the dresser. He went through it for a moment, and Mick never thought that the view from behind was better, but Nate's backside should be on his laptop wallpaper, to cherish whenever he wanted an inspiration. Because right now, Mick was inspired to get fucked.
Before he could rise off the bed, pull Nate down and ride him long and hard right on the bedroom floor, Nate turned around with a strange item in one hand and a bottle of lube in another. Mick realised the strange item was a fleshlight. It made his cock wept another long dribble of precum in appreciation.
Oh, Mick knew about it, feeling strangely turned on as Nate padded toward him. He even considered of buying one. Hands could get very lonely at times, but he thought it would be traced back to his paranoid self, a writer whose books were almost always listed in bestseller lists around the country.
Now Mick saw it in Nate's hand and the other hand was pouring lube on the head of his cock. "What are you doing?" Mick asked, groaning when Nate lovingly caressed the now slicked-up cock.
He grew even harder under Nate's excruciatingly slow handjob. His breaths grew shorter and grabbed the bed sheet for support to not fall over the edge, both figuratively and literally. He screwed his eyes shut in an effort to stave off that call.
Nate's voice materialised across the sexy haze that slowly enveloped his senses. "If you liked my hand, you'll love this." Nate's hand on his dick was quickly replaced by a tight receptacle that resisted slightly before slowly yielding to his now very hard cock. He began that unmistakably jacking off motion, building up the speed for the finale.
Mick arched his back and his breath caught. That sensation was amazing, electric. Every pore in his skin was open, and the electric sensation continued to hum across his body, making him trash about for something. Then Nate's lips caught his and Mick anchored all that want to those damnably masculine lips. He felt them curve again in a smile, and Mick could hold back no longer. He let go.
His orgasm began from the tips of his feet and head, and then shot out of his being from the tip of his cock that was now encased in the fleshlight. He barely felt Nate's shift in speed, whose kisses and tongue drove the wave forward. He felt like a candle burned super-fast from both ends, and the burning was one fast rolling wave like what he felt right now.
Slowly, he could hear a harsh breathing, more like a bellowing, and realised with a relief that that was him breathing like a wounded animal. Nate was lying with one arm propped up on his side and he was looking at him with a slightly stupefied look. His hand still held the fleshlight above his still hard cock, from which his semen was dripping out like molasses. Some of it fell on his rippling belly and he marvelled at the sight.
"What?" Mick breathed out and tried to smile at Nate, after gathering enough air to expel that single syllable.
He thought the webcams were sexy.
He thought those videos on the porn sites were a turn on.
He thought wrong, as Mick lay before him trying to catch his breath and sweating. Mick's fair skin was flushed a deep red as he neared his climax just now, and it propelled him to devour his mouth in a deep kiss. That must have been the push over the edge because soon after Mick came, convulsing so hard Nate had to grab his shoulders to steady him. Now he lay there, flushed, gleaming, sweaty, beautiful. Should a man be this beautiful? Nate was glad that only he thought Mick, a man like Mick, is beautiful. Selfish thought? Yes, Nate's possessive, primal brain suddenly roared its agreement.
Maybe only this man, and Nate thought it unbelievable that Mick was here, in his bed. Nate had half a thought to just stuff his cock inside Mick's mouth and fuck his face until he'd ran out of sperm. Precum oozed out of his cock, reminding Nate that he also needed to come. Fuck my cock. I want him to enjoy this.
"What?" Mick asked, smiling. Tired, but smiling.
Hell, that smile alone could drive him crazy for days onward if he could not bury himself within Mick now. Instead, Nate let the fleshlight drop onto the floor behind him and grabbed Mick close.
"That," Nate growled, all sweaty and musky and the tang of Mick's cum filled the air, "was the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
"Oh, well," Mick shrugged and tried to make it sound trivial, but failed signally. "I have never had a helping hand before. Never this handsome, anyway."
Nate felt Mick's hand creep from his nipples, down onto his flat belly to his pubes before coming to a close around his painfully erect cock. "And this is also the sexiest thing I've ever seen. But I think there's something wrong with it."
Before Nate could say anything, Mick pushed him on his back, flipped himself in the process and swallowed his eight-inch cock halfway. After what he had just seen, this action was the last thing he could stand, but Mick's gag reflex kicked in.
Nate laughed, not because Mick failed, but because in Mick's eagerness, he seemed to forget the most important rule in sex; preparation.
"Come on," Mick protested, sulking. "I wanted to suck that." He sat down beside Nate, legs folded. His cock lay between those fair thighs, a reminder of what Nate wanted to do to him next.
"Well, we have plenty of time." Nate smiled at him, thankful for the existence of gag reflex. Otherwise he'd be shooting into Mick's mouth, and doing that so early in a relationship was not be a wise move. "But right now, I want to fuck you."
"Really? You get to fuck me, but I don't even get to suck you off?"
Nate gave him a patient look, which did not fit quite well when viewed across the tip of his own extremely hard, purple knob-headed cock. It bobbed up and down and made a slapping sound on his belly, as if agreeing to Mick's words. "We get tested first. When we know we're both clean, then you can take me down in that hot mouth of yours anytime, and I can come down that throat as much as you want." After those words left his mouth, Nate wondered why. In the past, such thoughts never entered his mind. Now, with Mick eyeing his cock as it bobbed again and smeared a patch of precum across his hairy, muscle-hard belly, Nate had a hard time of trying to find a reason not to think about it.
Mick lay down beside Nate, snuggling his chest. It felt good, as good as Mick's left thigh that was rubbing against his cock in a very delicious manner. "Promise?"
"Hey, look here." Nate grabbed hold of Mick's face, kissed him on the mouth as deep as he could stand without going over the edge, and whispered, "I promise." He ran his thumb down Mick's jaw that now had a few sharp hairs. "Plus, I don't want you breaking my furniture."
"Maybe I'd break just one." Mick bounced at the bed they were on. Nate grinned as he reached for the end table. "Scoot up a bit," he said, as he poured lube on his fingers. "Open your thighs for me."
Those fair thighs, sprinkled with fine red hairs, fell open readily, and his ass was presented, like a shrine. His receptacle was adorned with few red hair, and Nate could not help himself but lean down and place a kiss on the hole he was about to plunder. A sigh shook Mick's body and a moan mutated into a groan as Nate threw caution in the air and proceeded on alternately licking and suckling that now rapidly winking gate.
Nate heard Mick moaned his name, and as much as he wanted to continue, he pulled back, made sure his fingers were slick with lube again, and thought, hell, he could handle two fingers by now. Nate did just that: two of his thick, slicked-up fingers pushed into Mick's fleshy passage. Mick choked on a sigh and the passage tightened a bit around Nate's searching digits. He looked away, his eyes closed while his mouth hung open. Nate heard Mick's breathing hitch again as he tried to push further. "Don't fight it, Mick. I won't hurt you."
Eyes still closed, Mick nodded. Taking that as an encouragement, Nate pushed and pulled his fingers within that slowly relaxing passage. Gently coaxing Mick to sitting up, he placed Mick against the headboard. He saw Mick biting those blood-red lips that contrasted with his fair face. Little cries ensued from between those lips as and the crease between his brows relaxed and deepened alternately. Nate stretched over him and rewarded Mick's perseverance with another deep kiss that made Mick push a bit further down on his fingers. "There, not so bad, isn't it?" Nate cooed again, pushing a little more of his fingers deeper. Another choked moan, but this time, Mick did not look away. Probably in awe that he could take two fingers up that pleasure gate so far. Mick's hole was positively gulping down his fingers almost to the knuckles by now.
Nate wanted that. He wanted Mick to observe what was happening. He wanted to drive Mick insane again, like just now. He wanted Mick to see how Nate would pleasure him, and left Mick to imagine how Nate would feel like instead of just his fingers. He guessed this would turn Mick on, and he wanted that to work to his favour. Judging from the way Mick's eyes trained on his fingers' motions and the way his cock was hardening again, Nate felt confident it worked very well.
Right now, Nate wanted to tease him. He pulled his fingers slowly out. Disappointment and relief shook Mick's body as the man stared at him in a silent plea. Come back, his green eyes told Nate.
Nate sealed his unspoken promise with another kiss. In return for the delay, Mick grabbed Nate's cock and gave it a few strokes. Precum appeared at the head and Nate groaned, brushing Mick's hand away. Not now, he thought, strangely unselfish. He wanted to please Mick first, then take him shivering with release. That thought made his cock surge higher, and he could feel his cockhead damp with precum. Nate realised that his balls were literally soaked with that moisture, so turned on he was.
Nate applied more lube on his fingers. He edged Mick's hole open a bit wider, and another finger was added to the whole. By now, Mick was a restless mass, grabbing the bed, the sheet, the pillow and any part of Nate's body that was the nearest to Mick's restless hands. Nate stretched Mick's hole even wider and Mick kept on banging his head on the headboard. Nate moved closer and bit on Mick's pebbled nipples, red and swelling on the solid curves of his chest.
Mick took revenge on the stimulations the only manner he could: he bit down on Nate's shoulder. That surprised Nate, and drove the three digits even deeper inside Mick. As the man moaned, Nate began that unmistakable motion of push-and-pull, igniting the man's nerves around that sensitive opening. Mick was also into this, as evidenced by him pushing downward at every push, and following the fingers as Nate pulled.
"Fuck me now, man," Mick begged him at one point after grabbing his ears and pulled him close for a frenzied kissing. "I don't know..." Nate breathed out; barely registering what he had just said made no sense at all. Of course he knew. Mick was as ready as he would ever be. His slick fingers told him that Mick would be able to accept all of his thickness -- and then some. "Fuck wide! I'm not made out of glass! Fuck me now!"
Nate took a deep breath, steadying himself, pulled his fingers out of that slick passage and as fast as his shaky hands could muster, unrolled a condom over his now angry cock. He wondered if his balls were blue by now, he had been on the edge for so long. He wondered if Mick was ready for him.
He looked one more time at Mick, whose green eyes flashed a lusty plea to him, and the argument was lost.
Mick saw a gleam in Nate's brown eyes. That gleam told him his request was about to be fulfilled. It made him suck in a breath through pursed lips as he willed his thighs to unlock in order to accommodate this wide-shouldered hunk of a man between his legs. Somehow it worked -- or it could be his years of yoga training -- and Nate fitted well between his now wide-open legs, even if he might feel sore afterward. His heels were now upon those strong shoulders. He could feel the hot, sheathed head of Nate's cock at his now slightly open hole. The blunt head was ember-hot even through that latex coating.
"Here goes," Nate muttered. Mick nodded and as added encouragements, wrapped his legs around Nate's neck, and his hand grabbed hold of Nate's hairy thighs that shifted as he pushed forward.
And there it was, the white hot pain. Mick forgot to breathe, forgot to speak, forgot who he was, and his heart probably skipped several beats. Another stab and Mick's head snapped up and back, hitting the headboard with an audible bam. But there was no pain. All pain was centred in his being, where it changed one iota at a time into pleasure.
Pleasure trickled in, then rushed headlong into his nerves like blood. His skin slowly began picking up sensations that informed his mind that this was a mouth, peppering kisses about his shoulders, his neck, his eyes, and finally his lips. That pair of lips; that shape -- thinner upper and sensitive lower; those stubbles that teased his slightly hairless jaw and chin, and the voice that kept saying something like a litany. He was saying something familiar to Mick.
Mick, I'm sorry, I should've held back, are you okay, say something, Mick
These... words, for that was what they were, words, floated around in his stream of consciousness, like stories, nebulous but solid, not there but there, like the number zero, there but not there.
Then all senses returned. The world, this dark sanctuary, fell into order again, materialised, all emotions made motion. This is Mick, his brain reminded the now barely associated self. And before him and inside him, all the way, was Nate, this wonderful man who was apologising for giving him pleasure. That was what it was, that strange forgetfulness; pleasure. Why would a man apologise for pleasuring another? Mick took a breath that filled him, returned his faculties to order somewhat, and opened his eyes.
Nate was before him, his arms on Mick's chest, splayed wide but not moving. There was worry in his beautiful brown eyes. There was a crease between those beautiful thick brows. There was a hesitation in his strokes that must not stop, deep inside him. "Are you okay?" When Mick did not answer, Nate began to lift him up, pull away, concern colouring his expression.
At that motion, Mick's energy returned to his arms with a vengeance, which had been lying uselessly on his sides. They rose to capture Nate's hands. "If you take it out," Mick said with intensity that he never knew he had, "I'll ride you so hard, you'd need a circumcision."
Nate laughed, which made his muscles stand out in relief for a glorious moment, then he stopped when he noticed Mick's look. "You're serious."
"As a heart attack. Or a buttfuck."
That shocked look morphed into a resolute grin.
Mick thought that looked sexy.
"Well, Mr Serious, I love my penile covering, so there's no need for all the threats." As he pushed himself slowly and deliberately into Mick's hot, slick channel, he said with equally mind-blowing slowness, "But I like to punish my man who thinks I don't treat him well."
He said penile covering. Not bad. And he also said my man. That alone made him shudder and his eyes rolled back into his head with joy, like those who claimed they were touched by the Holy Spirit, but it was Nate's thick, veiny cock that slid into him, brushed against his inner wall that created wonderful tingles everywhere on his being.
Nate tried to hold back a little bit, but Mick's fingers, with those short nails ran down his back served as a very pleasurable encouragement to sink all the way to the balls. Which Nate did.
Every push Nate made threw Mick's nervous circuitry into chaos, rewiring them back on and breaking them off again as Nate's thick cock eased its way within. The sensation was enough to make Mick come, but he tried to stay on the edge. Nate seemed to sense this, and hastened his ascent, filling him up to the brim with sensations, over and over.
Finally Nate decided to play unfair: he caught Mick's lips and did not let go. It hit Mick hard and he felt his balls boiling. Just then Nate's hips suddenly sped up, pushing his glans over and over again at that secret buzzer.
"Jesus fuck!" were the last comprehensible words Nate heard as he felt Mick begin shaking in his hold.
Thus pushed to the edge, with a very hoarse shout Mick felt Nate completed his ascent into the depths of his being, and, without even touching himself, spraying his hot load all over his own chest. He shuddered several times and the world seemed to slide away in a haze of pleasing darkness.
"Oh no," he heard Nate's voice as if from a far shore. "Not yet."
"Oh God," Mick heard himself say, as Nate slowly, and then speeding up, rocked him up and down his ramrod cock, now buried deep, now almost half-point, and again buried deep, and then almost lost to the tip. Mick found himself strangely energised by this, and his cock rose again. Perhaps due to the contact his traitorous member had with Nate's hard, muscular chest and his own come which provided some aid in terms of lubrication, it felt the need to rise to the occasion.
Nate tested the angles of Mick's now tight but yielding channel, which Mick met with joyful cries of his own, and after much variations, they landed finally on Mick's back, with Nate drilling into him ever faster. Sweat and moans poured off both men, with hormones and individual scents mingling, rising and falling, just like their own hard sweaty bodies which danced in that rhythm all knew.
"Mick," Nate almost groaned. His voice was hoarse and thick with need.
"Do it, Nate!"
What Nate did next was unexpected. He pulled out of his channel with Mick whimpering after the emptiness his cock left, but felt the breath caught in his lungs when Nate, with extreme concentration and deftness, peeled the condom off his raging cock and began jacking himself off before Mick. He fell on his knees on the bed, pointing his thick member at Mick's chest, his hands a blur as they both Nate groaned and moaned. Mick also found himself jacking off and felt his orgasm rising, trying to meet Nate's.
Nate leaned over as he kept jacking himself off and Mick met him midway, lips locked, tongues sweeping, sucking each other and trashing chaotically within each other's mouth. That was when they both came.
Each moaned their curses into the other. Mick in short spurts, Nate in massive sprays that threatened to coat Mick's chest in white coats of come. Their free hand grabbed the other's head as they kissed, not willing to let go during this indescribable union of two men. It all ended too soon, and Mick felt more than saw Nate fall upon him, a weight that he found comforting. This man felt right in his arms now. His arms caressed the sweat on Nate's back and arms and ass, and their scent, now intermingled, filled his senses. Actually, Mick felt that everything fills his senses. Nate's sighs, Nate's sweaty scent, Nate's weight over him, Nate's hairy body...
Nate filled him. And Mick was thankful because it was Nate who filled him.
Nate felt Mick beneath him shift and realised it was his arms that gathered around him. He, on the other hand, could not move a muscle. He felt boneless. Mick could fold him in two for all he care and he would not have the energy to say no.
He moved a bit and felt his come. Was it his, or Mick's? He didn't care. This was amazing. Years ago he would have leapt off the bed, washed off and bid the other man to do the same. Now, after so long of the automated No-Strings-Attached reaction, Nate felt Mick was not worth that treatment.
He deserved something more. Mick deserved something more.
Something permanent.
That phrase forced his eyes wide open. It also made him stare down at the man beneath him.
Wait, now they lie on their sides. When did that happen?
"As much as I love a man atop me, I think I breathe better when he's on the same level," Mick said with a cheer in his voice. His green eyes -- hell, was it possible that they were a lot brighter?
Nate moaned, closed his eyes and felt a stir in his loins. Opening his eyes, he saw Mick looked to where the stirring was happening, and those green eyes widened in appreciation. "Nate, you stud. Ready again so soon?"
Nate grinned. "I am."
And thanking whatever powers that be that made love possible, he added for the rest of our lives.