DISCLAIMER: You are about to read a story that is strictly FAN FICTION and in no way represents true accounts. I do not - nor do I wish to imply that - I know Jake Gyllenhaal, his private life or his sexual preferences. This is also true of all other celebrities represented in this story. This is a work of fiction based in homo-eroticism, so if you are not of legal age, or if this type of content might offend you, please move onto something else.
For everyone else - ENJOY! -------------------------------------------------------------------- If only there were 48 hours in the day and I had no obligations and could simply write all day - everyday. Life would be perfect. But since life is not that generous, I must take what I can get and be satisfied with what I can accomplish.
For those of you who have hung out and chatted and emailed: thanks. It's appreciated. Keeps me motivated.
Come visit the group, we're still there, and comments and pictures and contributions are always welcome: http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew.
You can email me at avymac@hotmail.com, or chat with me under the same MSN name. Comments are always welcomed and appreciated.
Thanks for waiting.
Here's PART 17 . . . --------------------------------------------------------------------
The appearance of Jake's father was startling - the resemblance between the man and his son remarkable, the older man handsome in cashmere and twill, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed, a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles framing his face. What struck me most about him was not the perpetually-curved lips that he and Jake shared, but the powerful, almost tangible presence that exuded from him, filling the foyer where we stood together shaking hands. His grip was firm, his words cordial, but his voice was clipped and uneasy, a thin smile tracing his lips.
"Jake told us that you're a rancher," he stated.
I nodded. "Yes, sir. Cattle and horses."
He nodded as well but narrowed his eyes at me. Said in a flat tone, "Hope you enjoy your stay." Then he abruptly excused himself, claiming that he needed to prepare for his speech later that evening, hastily exiting from the foyer as though somewhere in the house a fire was burning.
I bit my lip in frustration. I felt fairly keen at reading people and ascertaining emotions, and my first impression of Stephen Gyllenhaal was, without a doubt, disconcerting - his inability to look me in the eye when speaking to me, the underlying tension he'd exuded when shaking my hand - his whole body language stating: "I don't know what you want with my son, but I'm not comfortable with it."
Although this type of reaction was not entirely surprising to me, the unfairness of not being given a chance by the man was disappointing. Being in a relationship with Jake was definitely going to be an uphill battle, no matter how much I wanted it to be otherwise.
I glanced over at Jake. He stood a short distance away, looking uncomfortable and irritated, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his suit jacket, his face turned down and away as if he was embarrassed to look at me, undoubtedly concerned with what I was thinking.
His father's brusqueness wasn't his fault, and I needed to reassure him of that. In an effort to gain his attention, I cleared my throat. He didn't respond at first. Then, when he finally lifted his head to acknowledge me, I flashed him a smile. He smiled back, mildly relieved, and we stood for a moment, gazing at each other, oblivious to our surroundings, including his mother, who stood beside us.
"Well, it certainly is nice to meet you, Travis," she said, bringing me back to reality. Her warm smile and relaxed demeanor were far different from that of her husband's. As she shook my hand, she added, "Jake doesn't bring too many friends around here anymore."
"It's a pleasure to be here, ma'am," I said. "Thanks for having me." Out of habit, I tilted my head forward as if tipping my hat, which I remembered too late that I wasn't even wearing. It was an act imbedded in me since early childhood - a habit not easily shaken.
Naomi Gyllenhaal laughed sweetly and squeezed my fingers. She was a woman simple in her appearance, dressed in a coffee-colored pant suit, wearing very little makeup, her mousy brown hair cut quite short with little style to it. Yet she was obviously also a woman who was unconcerned with this aspect of herself, as though she had deeper, more important qualities to define herself as a person, which I instantly admired about her, thinking that she and my mother would get along fabulously.
"Well, you boys come in and join the party soon," she insisted, gesturing to the main room, where others had already gathered, indulging in conversation and champagne - a crowd of both celebrity and non-celebrity status. I was fairly certain that I had already seen Paul Newman pass through.
"We will," Jake assured her. "I'm just gonna give him a quick tour of the house first."
She nodded, smiled again, and then excused herself.
Jake steered me away by the elbow, leading me up the large winding staircase, the shimmering lights of the enormous crystal chandelier almost blinding me.
The house was both contemporary and traditional, with furnishings rich in color and design, hand-woven Turkish rugs covering the floors, African and Asian artifacts lining the walls. As we passed through rooms too numerous to count, I felt as though we were taking a tour of a museum. Was hesitant to look at - much less touch - anything.
Only when we ended up in Jake's bedroom did I feel as though I could finally breathe again. The spacious room was filled with remnants of Jake's childhood, including Lakers' memorabilia and old comic books, softballs and surfboards, Matchbox cars and posters of athletes. I tried to imagine what growing up in the Gyllenhaal home must have been like - with both parents successful in the movie industry, a life of luxury handed down to their two children, opportunities endless. No doubt it would have been easy to fall into a state of greed and over-indulgence, living a life of excess.
And yet, Jake, just like his sister, was one of the most down-to-earth, well-grounded people I'd ever met.
I looked at him yet again, just as I'd been looking at him all night, even long before we'd left his house. He was handsomely dressed in a light gray suit jacket and dark blue jeans, with polished black leather loafers on his feet, his hair perfectly ruffled, his face clean-shaven.
He noticed my gaze and said, "What?" that familiar crooked grin lighting up his face.
I smiled. Shook my head. "Nothing," I muttered. "I just can't help but stare at you sometimes."
He stepped forward and took my hands into his, drawing me near. "You look good enough to eat tonight, too," he stated.
I glanced at our reflection in the mirror above his dresser. Although I didn't appear nearly as stylish as he did - was clad only in a simple white button-down dress shirt and black jeans, a braided leather belt around my waist, my cowboy boots on my feet - there was no denying that we looked exceptionally good together - his dark hair in contrast to my blonde, my goatee in contrast to his smooth features, our shoulders the same height, our bodies meant to be entwined.
I pulled him closer and brought my lips to his, reveling in his nearness, once more feeling lost in the love I felt for him.
He moved through the large, high-ceilinged room, consuming yet another glass of champagne, his stance fairly unstable from intoxication. I watched as he spoke to the guests surrounding him with absolute animation, that trademark smile illuminating his freshly-shaven face. Everyone seemed enamored by his charm and humor, showering him with attention, listening closely to everything he had to say despite the fact that his words were slurred; I could tell simply by the way his lips were moving that he wasn't speaking as coherently as usual.
There was no doubt that he was in his zone. Happiness radiated from him like a blinding light, making everyone gravitate towards him, longing to be near him. It made me long to be near him as well, pulling him close, whispering in his ear, kissing his neck - but until the party was over, or until we could find a quiet, secluded corner, patience would have to prevail.
"Champagne, sir?"
I glanced up at the smartly-dressed server proffering a silver tray of bubbling flute glasses. I shook my head, smiled and declined. I'd already consumed several vodka martinis. Had hoped to quash my apprehension early on so that I could enjoy the evening, staying sober enough to drive us back home later; it had become increasingly obvious that Jake would be in no condition to do so himself when the time came.
I'd been introduced to at least a hundred people since the onset of the evening, including Mr. Newman and Susan Sarandon and dozens of other famous people, most of whom I could recognize by face but not necessarily by name. One question in particular was repeatedly asked of me: "And how do you know the Gyllenhaals?" To which I consistently responded: "I rescued Jake from a mob of autograph-seekers in Aspen."
Which wasn't a lie. And no one seemed to want to investigate the issue, including his godmother, Jamie Lee Curtis, whose hand had lingered a little too long in mine while her eyes had searched my face - as if she'd sensed a deeper purpose for me being there, but couldn't - or wouldn't - articulate it.
Jake continued to circle the room, laughing and joking with everyone. I sat on an Italian leather couch, watching him, contemplating how I would ravish him later, when suddenly a voice crooned, "Hey there."
My attention was swiftly averted as Kirsten plopped down beside me. I was pleasantly surprised to see her. Hadn't even noticed her arrival at the house. "Hey," I said.
"Sitting all alone?"
I shrugged. "Just hanging out."
She was dressed in a short burgundy velvet dress, the sleeves of which were tight and long, reaching almost down to her fingers. She had on a pair of black platform sandals, her long legs bare except for a sparkling chain wrapped around her ankle. She crossed one leg over the other and sat back, a slight grin on her face. "I see that Jake is enjoying himself."
I glanced back over to find him arm-in-arm with Maggie, who was looked beautiful in a royal blue sleeveless satin dress, her pregnant belly merely a bulge yet fully visible in the tight-fitting fabric.
"He's enjoying the champagne is what he's enjoying," I commented.
Kirsten smiled and nodded in return. "Indeed . . . So how long are you staying in town?"
"Just a few more days."
Her expression changed, frowning slightly. "That's not very long."
"No," I agreed. "It's not."
"Going back to the ranch?"
"Yeah," I said. "A cowboy's job is never done . . . or some such cliche. You know - got cows to herd, horses to ride, shit to shovel."
Kirsten laughed, her dimples showing. "I would never have believed you were a real cowboy," she stated, "had it not been for those boots." She pointed to my foot, which was propped up on one knee, the supple leather newly polished yet still utterly worn, the sole turning threadbare. I couldn't recall how long I'd had the boots - footwear tended to wear out easily and quickly on the ranch - but I realized then that I was probably due for a new pair.
Suddenly, there was a slight commotion as Jake's father appeared in the wide cherry-framed archway of the room, a leather-bound book open in his hand. He cleared his throat several times, trying to summon the room's attention. But the chatter was too great, and it wasn't until Jake stood up on a table and shouted, "Quiet it down, folks!" that the extraneous conversation dissipated.
Just as quickly as he'd hopped up onto the furniture, Jake toppled from his perch, grabbing at thin air, landing with a heavy thud on the floor.
At the sound of his fall, everyone grew silent and turned to look at him. He remained still for a moment, just a clump on the floor, eventually stirring to stand up on uncertain knees, his suit jacket askew. He grinned that cute, crooked grin, waving curtly, and said, "Just tryin' to get your attention." Then he hobbled away, his gait crooked as he disappeared through an open doorway leading to the rear of the house.
I excused myself from Kirsten and found him in the darkened sunroom, lying face-up on a wicker couch, an arm thrown across his eyes. He didn't notice my arrival at first.
"You sure know how to quiet a crowd," I said.
At the sound of my voice, he drew back his arm and grinned at me. "You liked that one? It's one of my better tricks. I only use it on special occasions."
I stepped closer and took a seat on the wicker table beside him. "Didn't injure yourself, did you?"
He shook his head. "Naw. I don't think so . . . Can't feel anything right now, anyway."
His hand shot out and grabbed me by the shirt collar, yanking me towards him, forcing me to brace myself against the edge of the couch lest I fall directly on top of him.
"Come here, cowboy," he mumbled, pulling me in closer, reaching up with puckered lips to kiss my mouth. It was a drunk and sloppy kiss, but I couldn't help but respond, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.
"Jake. Honey," a voice rang out, entering into the shadowed room, startling the shit out of me. I jumped back, tripping over myself to stand up.
Jamie Lee stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind her, her short hair illuminated by an odd glow as though a halo adorned her head. I couldn't decipher her expression, but her silence spoke volumes.
Jake sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. "Are we missing Dad's speech?"
Somehow, perhaps due to his drunken blissfulness, he didn't immediately comprehend that Jamie Lee had witnessed our embrace. I, on the other hand, was all too painfully aware of it. I stood with hands shaking and heart racing, feeling as though we'd just been caught with our pants down.
"Yes . . ." she whispered. "You and . . . uh . . . Travis . . . should come out . . ."
Jake stood on unsteady legs and attempted to straighten out his shirt and jacket. "All right," he said. "We'll be right there."
His godmother hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for something. Perhaps reassurance that what she'd witnessed had been nothing more than a shadowy illusion.
But no one spoke.
The room seemed to close in on us.
Then, finally, she turned and exited, leaving a hollow uncertainty in her wake.
Jake wasted no time in pulling me back to him, his lips once more searching for mine. I stepped away, disentangling myself from his arms. "We're not being careful, Jake."
"Fuck it . . ."
"No," I insisted. "Not 'fuck it'. You're drunk and not using good judgment, and I can't resist you when you're kissing me."
Even in the shadowy darkness, I could sense him frowning. "Let's get out of here, then," he mumbled. "Go to the Strip. Hit a few clubs."
I shook my head. "This is your dad's night, Jake. He needs you here. We should go back out there."
There was silence. Then he sighed, long and deep. "All right," he conceded. "Let's go."
We headed back out into the main room, the bright lights harsh, our eyes needing to adjust. A few heads turned at our arrival, but for the most part, it seemed no one had noticed we were gone. Only Jamie Lee was staring, her eyes fixed firmly upon mine, her expression completely unreadable.
Jake made his way through the crowd, swimming through the bodies until he could join Maggie at his father's side, the older man just finishing a tale of his son's misadventures: ". . . and then Jake looked at me and said, 'Did I fall?'"
The room laughed. Jake grinned. His father threw a paternal arm around his shoulders to pull him in tight.
The atmosphere was light, but my stomach remained in a knot. It was time to hit the open bar again for another vodka martini - or perhaps a shot of whiskey. Something. Anything. If premonition served me right, it was going to be a long night.
The music was loud. Pumping. Multi-colored lights flashing wildly, illuminating the writhing bodies on the dance floor like glass in a kaleidoscope.
I stood on the edge of the parquet floor with beer in hand, watching the crowd move and sway like a giant wave - sweating bodies connecting, bouncing away, reconnecting, the beat of the music driving and hypnotic. Kirsten and Jake were among the mass; I'd lost sight of them some time ago but had decided to remain rooted where I stood in case they appeared again.
We'd arrived at the club a couple of hours before, greeted by paparazzi and some of Hollywood's young elite, flashbulbs flashing, hands shaking, everyone scrambling to reach Jake and Kirsten. Once inside the establishment, we'd headed straight for the bar to consume tequila shots - hoping to numb some of the shock of the after-party and Jamie Lee's interrogation of the kiss.
"We weren't kissing," Jake had insisted upon her questioning, running hand after hand through his hair, his once-happy demeanor quickly plummeting.
It had hurt me to hear his denial, but I'd remained quiet, standing there with arms crossed and head bowed - wondering where Jake's parents were, praying that none of it would escalate and get ugly.
But Jamie Lee hadn't threatened or admonished us. Simply stated that she was concerned for Jake's welfare and hoped that he knew what he was doing. He'd nodded, unable to meet her gaze.
She'd pleaded that he tell his parents soon - that, God forbid, they not discover it the way she had. "They deserve better than that," she'd scorned.
"I know," Jake had agreed.
But we'd left the house without following through on that promise.
Kirsten had offered to drive us to the club, which had been a good thing, because by the time we'd left the Gyllenhaal residence I'd been fairly drunk myself. Had, luckily, been wise enough to know that I didn't belong behind the wheel of a car - especially not Jake's Mercedes. And especially not in L.A.
I felt an elbow brush against mine. A voice shouted, "Hi there!"
I turned to find an Hispanic-looking boy standing beside me - thin, meticulously dressed, dark hair slicked back, silver hoop earrings in both ears, brown eyes accentuated with heavy eyeliner, hips swaying to the beat of the music, everything about him overtly effeminate.
"Nice hat, honey," he said in a high-pitched lilt, like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. "You ride horses, too, cowboy?" he asked.
At Jake's insistance, the Resistol had been perched on my head as soon as we'd exited Kirsten's car - the explanation being that this was Hollywood and therefore no one would give me a second look.
But so far half a dozen people had commented on it, including several girls who'd fawned over me briefly before grasping the concept that I wasn't interested in their flirtations.
I grinned slightly at the boy next to me but returned my gaze to the sea of dancers, intending to ignore him. But he stayed near, touching his fingers to mine, moving closer until I finally looked at him again.
"I'm Andre!" he announced, offering a limp-wristed hand.
To his surprise, I gripped it firmly - more firmly than I normally would have. "Travis," I replied.
My gruffness only excited him more: drool pooled at the edges of his mouth while his eyes continued to drink me in. It was like going to the gay clubs in Denver with Doug and being approached by queen after queen, asking for a dance and considerably much more; if there was one thing that completely turned me off, it was being propositioned by a man more feminine than my own sister.
Andre gestured to the dance floor. "Wanna go?"
I shook my head.
"Aww, come on," he pouted in pure baby-face fashion, sliding his hand into mine, attempting to pull me away. "I won't bite . . . unless you ask me to."
I detached my hand from his. "Maybe later," I hollered. "I'm having a drink right now." With that, I brought the beer to my lips and took a long swig.
Andre frowned, his playful pout returning. Stepping closer, he practically grazed my ear with his lips to say, "You're gorgeous, honey."
I opened my mouth to express my disinterest once-and-for-all when suddenly a hand grabbed mine and yanked hard, thrusting me forward until I tripped into the crowd of dancers, struggling to keep my beer from falling. When finally I righted myself, I discovered that Jake was the culprit, leading me through the maze of sweating bodies, his hand still firmly gripping mine. Despite the immense heat, a chill ran through me, traveling from head to toe.
I moved close enough to yell in his ear, "Jealous?"
He flashed me a playful scowl and yanked harder, drawing me through the crowd until I slammed straight into Kirsten. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around my neck and began to dance with me - despite the fact that I wasn't a dancer and had already explained this fact to the both of them before we'd entered the club.
Jake withdrew the beer from my hand and swiftly finished it off before setting it on the floor to be kicked away later. He then proceeded to slither around the two of us, taking every available opportunity to run a hand across my ass or squeeze my hips, his eyes heavy-lidded as he peered lustfully at me. He'd removed his suit jacket and was clad only in a lightweight t-shirt, the sweat-drenched fabric clinging to his torso, accentuating his well-toned pecs and abs while his denim-covered hips swayed to the music, every movement sexy as hell.
Seeing him this way was beyond arousing. I felt my cock expanding. Couldn't tear my eyes off of him.
Suddenly, Kirsten released her hold on me and spun away, pushing Jake towards me in her stead. She smiled mischievously at me - dimples flashing, eyes clearly expressing that which she did not say.
Jake barely missed a bit as he sidled up to me. No one seemed to take the slightest bit of notice that we were now dancing together.
The space was so cramped, the floor so crowded, that it was difficult not to touch each other as we moved; we were brushing hips, sliding fingers, connecting thighs, both of us clearly yearning to do more yet trying to contain the urge to consume one another right then and there under the strobe lights.
The music was so driving, loud and hypnotic that a talent for dancing wasn't even remotely required, and so I found myself effortlessly moving to the beat, enjoying the release of tension it afforded, feeling better than I'd felt all night. It wasn't long before I was sweating profusely as well - I couldn't be certain there was even air conditioning in the place - but the body heat was exhilarating.
We forgot about Kirsten's presence completely until she moved in close to inform us that she was going to the ladies' room. We watched her disappear into the crowd, and then Jake reached up and plucked the Resistol from my head to place it on his own. Lacing his fingers with mine and pulling me in close, he said just loud enough for me to hear: "You're fucking hot as hell, Cooper . . ."
My dick jumped. Instinctively, I placed a hand on the nape of his neck and brought his ear to my lips, nipping it lightly before responding, "The feeling is definitely mutual, Gyllenhaal. I think we should get the hell out of here . . ."
I grabbed him by the hand and began to push a path through the mass of bodies, everyone's sweat sliding against me. Near the edge of the dance floor, a body stepped in the way of my exit and brought me to an immediate halt, causing Jake to slam into me from behind.
Andre stood before us, hips eternally swaying, eyes raking over not just me, but now Jake as well. "I guess Travis isn't the only cowboy in here tonight," he crooned loudly, his hand running over his crotch while he unabashedly flicked his tongue across his lips. "Even Jack Nasty's here . . ."
I didn't know who Jack Nasty was, but glancing at Jake, I could see he was annoyed by the comment. I squeezed his hand, unwilling to let it go. Peering defiantly at Andre, I said, "Go get your own cowboy."
He pouted that irritating pout, which only made me want to hit him. I restrained myself, choosing instead to shove through the crowd, pissing several people off in the doing.
Jake shouted, "I gotta grab my jacket!" and shook free of my hand to go retrieve it. A few moments later, he caught up with me again and we found Kirsten returning from the ladies' room. Jake took her by the elbow and steered her towards the exit.
"We're leaving already?" she asked in surprise as the cool night air hit our faces.
"Yes," Jake simply stated.
Cameras flashed. Elijah Wood approached to say hello. We continued on, walking briskly down the sidewalk, heading for Kirsten's car.
"You look good in Travis' hat," she commented, grinning as she squeezed Jake's arm. "I do believe that Jack Twist lives on."
Jack Twist. Jack Nasty. Jake didn't respond.
Then Kirsten said, "I suppose that makes Travis Ennis."
And Jake's head shot up, eyes wide.
Kirsten shrugged. "Just an observation."
We climbed into the car - Jake in the back, me in the front. Kirsten glanced sideways at me, but I kept quiet.
We headed down Sunset Strip, following behind a long line of cars cruising the boulevard. During our crawl, I looked out of the window at the whirlwind of pedestrians cramming into the bars, night clubs and restaurants - all of the establishments brightly lit in neon and teeming with life. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before.
"Am I taking you back to your car?" Kirsten inquired, navigating miraculously well through the chaos.
Jake said, "No. Just drop us home. I don't want to deal with driving, and I need to get my ass into bed as soon as possible."
I felt the tip of his shoe nudge my elbow.
We headed into the Hills, the night quiet, each of us slowly coming down from our inebriation, the lateness of the hour creeping in. Once passing through the front gates of the house, Kirsten shut off the engin and requested that I give her a few moments alone with Jake. I nodded, slid from the seat and slammed the door shut, leaning back into the window to wish her a good night. She smiled. I glanced at Jake, but he was expressionless.
I cruised the front lawn for awhile, listening to the crickets, gazing up into the trees and at the clouded night sky beyond. Not too much later I heard a car door slam and found Jake standing in the driveway, waving to Kirsten as she pulled out, the gate closing securely behind her.
I sauntered over, treading lightly, uncertain as to what the situation was. He stood staring at the ground, my hat still perched on his head, his suit jacket draped over one arm. I waited for him to speak.
Finally, he said, "I never thought I would be having that conversation with her."
I let out a deep breath, unaware that I'd even been holding it. "Jake," I sighed. "She already knew. And was obviously okay with it. It's no big deal."
He nodded. "I know. But it's still difficult to talk about."
I slid an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. "It'll always be difficult. That's just the way it is."
His eyes were strained as he peered at me. "I thought I could approach Mom and Dad about it tonight," he said. "But . . . fuck, I just don't know where to even fucking begin. You saw how my dad reacted to you. How do you think it's gonna be when I tell him we're together?"
"Your godmother was right, Jake," I stated. "You gotta tell people the truth before it's discovered some other way."
He sighed heavily and turned with slumped shoulders, heading to the house. Boo and Atticus were already barking and pawing at the front door, ready to jump on us as soon as we entered.
I touched Jake's arm, making him face me, and we stood looking at one another for a moment. Then I stated with complete conviction, "We're together, Jake. No matter what. Okay? . . . Forever."
His eyes searched mine, blue orbs peering into green, an eternity of unspoken sentiments spiraling between us. Then he smiled, nodded, and whispered, "No matter what," before turning the key in the lock and pulling me inside.
Sheets and comforter slid soundlessly from the bed, falling in a pile on the carpet as we wrestled across the wide mattress, our mouths fastened together, our arms and legs entwined.
We'd just barely managed to shake out of our clothing after stumbling into the bedroom, hands pawing at one another, lips sucking, the need to fuck so great we were nearly causing bodily harm to one another. Somehow, the evening's ongoing conflict of being discovered and not being discovered, then needing to keep everything secret while yearning to be free had managed to bring the intensity of our desire to a whole new level.
I wanted him so badly, it hurt. Equally, his ache for me was beyond palpable.
Together, we shared an immense, mutual yearning - beyond comprehension.
Continuing to roll across the bed, I clutched his waist, digging my fingertips into his flesh, inhaling his scent of sweat and cologne and liquor. I couldn't get enough of him. Craved him beyond all belief. Like an addiction.
Without warning, I flipped him over onto his back and slithered to lay on top of him, pressing my full body weight down upon him while my tongue probed his mouth in search of a deeper connection. He responded by firmly gripping my ass, gyrating his hips so that his cock rubbed up against my thigh, pre-cum smearing across my skin. I groaned at the sensation and began to gyrate my hips right along with him until his legs suddenly spread and my cock slid down against his perineum. At this, we both groaned and kissed even more fervently, saliva pooling on our lips and chins, tongues frantically sliding everywhere.
I gripped the back of his thigh and pushed his leg up, allowing better passage to his anal area. As the tip of my dick grazed his hole, he shivered and moaned into my mouth, his hands rubbing up and down my back, almost abrading my skin.
I sunk my head down and began to kiss and suck on his neck and collarbone, my tongue licking the salty sweat of his skin.
"Goddamn, Cooper . . ." he gasped. "Fuckin' get in me."
I wanted to. Desperately. Wondered why it was that we tended to want to go straight to the fucking instead of just sucking and stroking one another, as though the intensity of penetration was the sensation we both craved the most. Again, we shared a mutual yearning. Unlike anything else I'd ever experienced.
I rolled from him and yanked the drawer of the nightstand open, digging inside for condoms and lube, deciding to pull the black dildo out as well, hefting it in my hand as I rolled back on top of him. I rubbed the phallic piece along his neck, across his skin, nudging it against his ear, then bringing it to his lips, coaxing him to kiss and lick it, which he did with great enthusiasm, making my dick harder than it had already been.
"Tell me about this," I said huskily. "Tell me why you have this."
As I began to slowly slide the dildo down his chest, running it over each nipple, he responded through cracked voice, "'Cause I needed to feel something in me when I couldn't have your dick."
I came close to slamming my cock straight into him at that comment, disregarding all precautions. But instead I scooted down to take his cock in my mouth, licking the pre-cum off, flicking my tongue across his piss-slit, causing him to arch up and slide his fingers through my hair. I shifted the dildo into my other hand and ran the bulbous head down along his perineum, just barely grazing his puckered hole, thick silicone rubbing against taut, sensitive skin.
He arched up again, breath turning heavy, the palms of his hands pressing firmly down against the mattress. I squirted lube onto the dildo and then also onto my fingers, spreading some of the viscous liquid onto his hole before sliding a couple of fingers inside, his sphincter immediately clutching at my knuckles, a long moan escaping from his lips. I took a moment to loosen him up, gliding my fingers in and out of his warm, tight chute while I lapped at his ball sac with my tongue, dragging more and more moans from him.
Suddenly, I pulled my fingers out from inside him, feeling his sphincter pop, and slid the dildo down in replacement - carefully pushing just the head of the silicone object through the tightening ring of muscle. I could feel Jake's entire body tense up, and he gasped loudly while at the same time spread his legs open further, welcoming the intrusion.
I sucked one, then both, of his balls into my mouth and pushed the dildo in deeper, loving the way it seemed to stretch him open, making me want to fuck him even more.
"Fu-u-u-ck," he gasped, arching up with toes curled and hand stroking his cock.
I brushed his hand aside and lifted his dick into my mouth, swallowing the thick, dripping member straight down to the hilt while simultaneously pushing the remainder of the dildo deep inside him, making him writhe and squirm and curse, fingers pulling at my hair.
My own cock was throbbing, aching for attention, but I concentrated on Jake for the moment, continuing to suck on him while sliding the dildo in and out of his chute.
"Fuck . . . " Jake moaned, hands pushing my head down farther. "I'm so fucking close . . ."
I began to shove the dildo in and out of him more earnestly, sensing his impending orgasm, noticing his balls ride up as his entire body suddenly went rigid. Then waves of cum exploded in my mouth and washed down my throat - Jake's hips off the bed, his hands pressing against my scalp to keep me locked in place.
I swallowed everything I could, allowing the rest of the semen to drip from my lips and pool down around his pubes.
After Jake's orgasm subsided, I gently pulled the dildo from his ass and released his cock from my mouth, leaving him to come back down from his euphoria while I slid a condom on; I was nowhere near finished with him.
Through staggered breath and half-closed eyes, Jake looked at me and said, "You think my ass can take another pounding . . .?"
But I was already lifting his hips and prodding him to turn over, perching him up on all fours, kneading his buttocks, sliding two fingers inside his lubed hole. He groaned and instinctively pushed back on my hand.
I could wait no longer. Lining myself up behind him, I pushed my throbbing cock into his rectum, continuing to push all the way in until there was simply no more of me to push in, my balls slapping against his inner thigh.
Jake let out a low, guttural growl and leaned down on his elbows, his forehead pressed to the mattress, his ass pushed up to meet me. Despite the use of the dildo, his chute was just as tight and constricting as ever, bringing me to near orgasm without so much as a single thrust being made.
"Jesus, Jake," I gasped, gripping his waist. "Asshole's so tight and perfect . . . I could cum just from this . . ."
He moaned again, wiggling his hips, pressing back against me.
Already losing myself in the moment, I began to slide in and out of his hole, the sensation of being inside him phenomenal, the need to fuck him unparalleled. Soon I was literally pounding him, low grunts escaping my lips, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. At the pace I was going, I wouldn't be able to control myself for very long.
"Fuck yeah, Cooper . . ." Jake bellowed, head still down, fingers clawing at the fitted sheet, every muscle in his arms, shoulders and back rippling. "Slam me as fuckin' hard as you can . . ."
This perpetuated me to grunt louder, pound harder, clutch his hips tighter. Then, hot lava rising up through every nerve and muscle, I clamped my eyes shut and saw a burst of stars as my cock swelled and released, infinite ropes of cum exploding into the condom - my head spinning, my whole body overcome with orgasm, the sensation of ejaculating shaking me down to the very core.
The euphoria held on, clutching at me. I remained still for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to regain a sense of equanimity. Then I slumped down upon Jake, stretching out across his back, our sweat melding together, our bodies breathing as one. I wrapped my arms around his chest and rested my cheek against his spine, feeling his heartbeat race in time with mine.
"I don't want you to leave," he said, breaking the spell.
I hugged him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Not now," he said. "Friday. I don't want you to go. I don't want to spend another night with that dildo."
Slowly, I pulled my cock from his ass and rolled from him, landing face-up on the mattress to look at him, tucking a hand under my head. He followed suit, leaning up on an elbow, his face stricken.
We peered at each other for a moment.
"Jake," I said quietly. "I don't have a choice."
It pained me to say it.
He nodded. Ran a fingertip down my side, sending a shiver through me.
I reached up and cupped his cheek, rubbing the new stubble on his jaw with my thumb. "Come here," I whispered, pulling him to me, bringing his lips to mine.
We kissed for a moment, and then he slid down to lay beside me, throwing an arm across my chest, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. I moved a hand to lightly caress his forearm and pressed my lips to the top of his head.
As we lay there, time ticking by, I searched for the best way to explain to him that I would gladly and without any reservation stay with him forever if life could somehow be that obliging - but in the end it did not matter; his light snoring indicated to me that he'd already fallen asleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------- As always, thanks for reading - feedback welcomed: avymac@hotmail.com ------------------------------------------------------------------- Brokeback Mountain copyright 1997 by Dead Line, Ltd. / 2005 Focus Features LLC -------------------------------------------------------------------