DISCLAIMER ========== This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2004 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males: - if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.
And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A bulky, well-muscled arm slammed down hard on the wall blocking my way.
When an ex-Marine glares at you with narrowed emerald-green eyes and slams his hard, ham-sized fist into the wall, it usually means run away as fast as your feet can carry you but when it came to this particular Marine, I had a particular death wish. After all, why else would I have gotten involved with him in the first place? As his other large hand reached for me, I swung away from him with a snarl. "Fuck, what does it look like?"
"You're really pissing me off tonight," he gritted out softly. The small, cunningly wrought USMC tattoo on his left arm danced beguilingly as his biceps rippled with his movements.
Resigning from the Marine Corps certainly didn't mean he'd slacked off on the relentless backbreaking regime and the results showed in the ripped, athletically built physique that was shown to advantage in his tight figure-hugging black tee and poured-on jeans. That award-winning build was one of the first things I'd noticed about him, hell everyone noticed that about him. The fact that I still enjoyed the quick, forbidden thrill the sight gave me annoyed me enough to heedlessly mouth off again. "Not that it's any of my damned business but what's pissing you off this time?"
Pissed off was an understatement. Like a crazed rabid dog straining at the leash, he was practically frothing at the mouth and it certainly wasn't a good sign. It wasn't often that I saw him like this, actually never. Alexandre Verga might have a nasty bitch of a temper - if the rumours were to be believed - but he always kept it under tight rein. The relentless discipline of the Marines had managed to control that particular brand of red-hot temper that had ruled his unruly, bad-ass teenage years but since he'd left with a honourable discharge 3 years ago, I frequently wondered what kept that bubbling volcano still firmly under the lid.
That tight-ass control certainly didn't extend to his mouth. Alex still had a sexy sneer and he showed it now, flashing a row of straight white teeth under the twisted lips. "My fucking boyfriend's become a scene-queen slut and I don't like it."
"Your boyfriend?" Something about Alex Verga usually triggered an alarmingly suicidal tendency in me. Faced with a rampaging Godzilla marine, everyone else in possession of a sane mind would run and hide but I enjoyed seeing the man snarl and bristle. Truth be told, it got me hot as hell and my nipples hardened under his glare. "Oh, who is that? Some new trick of yours?"
My pooh-pooh nonchalant reply got me a fiery dark-eyed glare that would have deep-fried me on the spot if I wasn't particularly flame resistant by now. His only answer was a single word filled with sizzling heat that would have singed me six months ago and left me with second-degree burns. "You."
When I set off from home to dance the night away in the clubs, I wasn't expecting vengeful men stalking me and chasing me into dark corridors. Trying to keep as calm as I possibly could eventhough I could feel my own usually cool temper bubbling, I replied. "That's where you're wrong. That's ex-boyfriend."
The emphasis on ex only caused his nostrils to flare in a particularly arousing move. Seeing that he blocked my way, I tried to evade him only for him to deal me a rough shove that crushed me to the wall. No doubt some other macho man would have fought back with teeth, muscle and claw but I'd had my share of rolling around with Verga, enough to know that he would end up on top soon enough. Verga was a leaner, meaner Rambo with better fashion sense. Since I'd also seen him despatch a group of musclebound ruffians armed to the teeth with only his bare hands - and without breaking a sweat, I knew I was no match for him. Muscles, height and technique were all on his side and I was only a 150 pound columnist/writer wannabe with no knowledge of martial arts apart from a reluctant appreciation for sexy, well-built exponents of the art and Jackie Chan movies.
Anyway, it was difficult to fight back when I was pinned like the proverbial butterfly to the wall. When I attempted to release myself from his chokehold, he backed me hard against the wall to shake my resistance. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" he shot at me.
"Back to my dates." I hissed out - as much as I could with his brawny forearm pressed threateningly against my throat. He wasn't applying much pressure, he might be mad as hell but I knew he wouldn't consciously hurt me. I might end up with a scratch in my throat but I wouldn't be getting my will read out loud anytime soon. Or so I hoped. "Tom, Dick and Harry as I recall. You'd know them - you've fucked them all."
Reference to his old hound dog days usually made him laugh but I could see that his sense of humour had deserted him. His dark eyes flared in aggression. "Now you're really trying to piss me off."
His voice had lowered to a soft whisper and I started getting worried. His bark was usually safer than his soft-voiced growl especially since the growl came just seconds before his painful bite. An odd analogy but it was true all the same. An alarm started ringing in my head, a quick splash of realization in my insane mind, and I slowly shifted my stance to escape when I met his gaze. Green fire, I'd called his eyes once, and I recalled the last time I'd been just this close. The memory of his betrayal slashed through my brain - the sight of two magnificent men entangled in our silken sheets, the quick flash of his dark olive-toned flesh over Drake's smooth ivory-white skin, the soft groans and creaks that came from our bed - and though the humiliation made me want to sink down to my knees, I stood firm this time and shot out heedlessly. "Well, if I'm a slut, I learnt from the best."
He shoved at me, daring me to say more. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Take it how you will."
"I'm not a fucking slut." Enunciating each word slowly, Alex glared at me coldly. "The man who goes home with a different man every night is one."
The fact was I usually left them standing frustrated at the stoop while I latched my door but I saw no reason to let him know that. Better that he believed I sucked and fucked half the male population of the city rather than the truth. The sad truth was I went home every evening miserably alone and spent my time catching up on television serials. It was better than facing the beautiful, desirable men in the clubs, bright flashy smiles, marvellously golden-tanned and wonderfully gym-toned, and realizing that none of them could even compare to the stud I'd left behind.
Radically changing my image after he left wasn't the easy solution I'd imagined. Picking up snazzier clothes, a new hairstyle and contacts - ala Queer Eye - didn't change who I essentially was inside. Sure it certainly got me noticed at the clubs and it got me plenty of numbers but I found that I wasn't looking for a mindless, sweaty one-night-fuck in the backrooms. It just wasn't me. Dancing up a storm on the dancefloor with the thumpa-thumpa music playing, the flashing strobelights and sweaty, shirtless men had never been my style and it was even less enticing without Alex at my side. When I came home late, I still picked up my stodgy wireframes, dug up my musty old books and listened to mellow jazz. And I tried my best to forget about him.
It wasn't easy forgetting. Everything I saw and touched in my apartment reminded me of him. The sink he'd repaired, the ornate shelves he'd griped and complained when I'd bought - and yet he'd put it up, the framed black-and-white pics we'd taken on a whim.
"That is the new me. You didn't like the old clingy one as I recall. Boring, dependable and reliable, I think you called me." It still hurt that a man I'd known for so long felt that way. Certainly I imagined myself the same way but I always hoped that Alex saw something else in me that was intriguing enough to make him stay.
"What the hell do you mean?" Alex hissed out and he reached out to grip my arms tight. His hands were strong and large - and I remembered the way his long, clever fingers had gone down my naked body. He narrowed his gaze as he looked at me closely. "Why do you take what I said seriously? I'm a stupid, self-involved shit who doesn't know any better. I loved the old, clingy man. I loved the man who dresses up in boring conservative suits, wakes up at precisely 7, works 9 to 5. Reads thick novels by the fire. Secretly mimics Sinatra in the shower when he doesn't think anyone's listening. The man who's already planned what he would be doing a year from now in his planner. The man who wipes the tabletop when there is a ring."
After having my fill of the clubs these past few weeks, I realized that I preferred my old self too but I wasn't about to admit that to him. "A regular boring stick-in-the-mud."
I got a quick wince from him as he recalled what he'd said. Letting out a sigh, Alex finally eased away from me a bit. "Look, I was a brainless asshole!"
"Well, that old man's gone."
"Bullshit." The thick, lush fan of his lashes swept down as he narrowed his beautiful cat-green eyes.
"What kind of fucking mixed signals are you sending me?"
"I don't know!" He raked his fingers down his inky black curls, crying out in frustration as he did so. For emphasis, he pulled his hand away and slammed his fist hard against the wall, causing chips to fly.
It would almost have been funny if it wasn't happening to me. And the worst part was I would normally have called my best friend to tell him all about the asshole who cheated on me and he would make it all better. Unfortunately this time around, my best friend was also my cheating boyfriend. "Send me a memo when you've finally got it analyzed."
"Where are you going?" As I tried to move down the hallway, he hauled me back. "Get back here."
"What do you want from me, Alex?" I asked him quietly. "You say you don't want a stay-home boyfriend, you don't want commitment, you don't want a relationship. You want some god-damned fucking space. I've given you all that. Now you don't want us to be apart. You get all jealous. You punch out my dates. What the hell do you want?"
My point managed to find its way across and he stared at me, his mouth gaping. "All I know is that I--I just want you, dammit."
Damn. It was difficult enough to deny what I felt without hearing him say it. If he only knew how hard it was to keep from falling headlong into his arms. Falling in love had never been easy, at least for me, but with Alex, it had been so natural and so easy that I'd never even realized it happening. "Well, if that's all you want, I'm fine with it. You were always great in bed. Let's go down to the backroom. I've got ten minutes to spare." Great in bed was another understatement since we practically spontaneously combusted each time we got together. Alex wasn't called Sex God for nothing. Not only did he look good enough to eat, he had the most incredible hands and mouth - and it didn't surprise me at all that despite his shitty behaviour, his discarded lovers frequently came back for more.
His reaction to my proposition was immediate as he stumbled back away from me as if I were carrying a contagious life-threatening disease. His green eyes spit fire as he hissed out his reply. "Fuck you. That's not what I meant and you know it."
"That's all you're gonna get. A one-night-stand that I can deal with. You're not messing with my head again." Just to antagonize him, there were some pills I'd been handed earlier by the twigged out twink I'd bumped into and I dragged them out from my pocket. God knows what that cockail contained but then I didn't have any intention to use it.
Alex stared down at the pills and then back at me as if I'd sprouted two heads. "Jesus. What the fuck... is that crystal? You're doing drugs?"
"It's fun, it's hip, it's as far away from boring as I can get." Sure, I usually tossed them in a bin but he didn't have to know that. Better he thought that I was some drugged out circuit queen. "Bye-bye old and stodgy. Hello youthful ecstasy."
Grabbing the small packet before I could hold on to it, he snatched them and tossed them behind him. "Fuck that. And if you think I don't know you well enough to know that you'd never use them, you've got another thing coming."
"Now, that was constructive." I followed the direction as the packet landed on the floor and a club patron crushed it underfoot. "Well, if you don't care to use them, we can just get on with it then." With him standing that close, I reached over, caught the waistband of his tight jeans and tugged him close. Alex's familiar scent drifted close, the clean scent of the soap he used, tangy musk of his sweat and the spice of his cologne. It never failed to raise my temperature and I could already imagine the heat and sweat of his hard physique sliding against mine. A tingle sizzled up my fingers as I neared the seductive bulge of his crotch, feeling the hard, pulsing meat growing steadily in his pants.
For the first time, Mr Ever Ready for a Fuck slapped my hands away angrily from his crotch. As he stepped back, he gave me another one of his searing looks. A muscle started twitching reflexively on his tensed jaw. "Stop that. I don't want a quick fuck."
Talk about something for the history books. It was the first time he'd rejected someone's advances and I wondered whether I should be insulted. Alex Verga usually took on all comers - and left them all blissfully satisfied and well-fucked. "That wasn't what you were thinking when you were dickin Drake's butt." My God, I was sounding just like a jealous queen.
Stung by my comment, a wave of guilt ran through his dark, handsome face. "I didn't plan on any of that happening. I was drunk. I was high."
It had been the excuse he'd tossed at me before and I didn't buy it anymore than I did then. "Yeah, did drunken lil you just innocently fall over and accidentally land into his tight bubblebutt? All I've gotta say is you've got real good aim, Verga, you learned that kinda sharp-shooting in the fucking Marines?"
"Damn, you've got some hell of a mouth on you." Before I could react, he snatched me close and kissed me. The classic snatch and grab method always worked on me, and it worked even better paired with a pair of tight guns and a hard, brawny chest, and I soon found myself melting irresistibly as his warm, sensuous lips dragged slowly across mine. I loved Alex - and I knew that he was more than just a sum of his parts but it was hard to think of his intelligence and his sense of humour when he had his beautiful, hard body pressed against mine, the solid contours of his muscles flexing powerfully against me, the impressive length of his erection burning against my thigh.
Used to the wild shenanigans in the club, no one paid any attention to us as Alex really got into this kiss. Men desperately groping each other in the corridors didn't merit a glance from the clients, apart from an admiring glance at Verga's impressive glutes. As I found myself delighting in his taste and his scent, I found my hands stealing down the hard muscled ridges of his back, following the sinuous curve of his spine down to the perfect curves of his ass. Alex Verga might have gained fame as a top but that didn't discount the fact that he had a butt begging to be fucked. Even Drake couldn't possibly compare...
"Get the hell away from me." For the first time in my life, I resorted to physical violence as I slugged him on his face. In the battle against the solidity of his jaw, my right hand lost and it started feeling numb.
Hardly moved by my punch, he wiped the blood from his lip with an arrogant sneer. "Picked up some moves. That's on the house, Sutton, coz I admit I've been a fricking asshole but don't think you're gonna land another punch on me again." As he scanned me and let his glance rest lightly at my crotch, he laughed wickedly. "You're still mine, Sutton. Oh yeah, you still want me so damned bad."
With the insistent boner in my pants, there was no denying the truth. There was a dangerous gleam in his green-eyed gaze and I knew that I'd crossed the line somewhere. One free punch was all I was gonna get, the next one would have me landing flat on my butt with him on top. And even with an audience, I doubt it would stop him from doing whatever he wanted - and I doubt I'd be in a position to stop him.
It was all I could do to spit at him and get the hell out. God, I needed some ice on my knuckles.