Saturday, November 28, 2009

Rip Cord by Jeanne St. James

Gil squeezed between the chair and Rip, his hip brushing against Rip’s arm.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing wrong with a tight fit.”

Heat crept up Gil’s neck. There was something about the words “tight fit” coming out of Rip’s mouth which stirred his blood. As he sat down, something brushed against Gil’s ass. He sucked in a breath.

No, he must have just imagined it because Rip was busy greeting everyone at the table. He introduced Katie as Gil’s date. But hardly anyone remembered Gil. In fact, every time he repeated his name, he received blank stares.

A couple of the guys attempted to identify him by bringing up stories from the past. They were all wrong.

Had he been so unmemorable? Apparently so. At least there was a silver lining to his being easily forgotten, his fear of being teased became nil since no one remembered him.

“Hey, Rip, is that your Harley out front?” Todd Cassel yelled across the table.

“Yep. That’s mine.”

Todd had played Varsity football with Rip. “That’s wicked. All blacked out with the straight pipes. I hope they put it in your contract you have to wear a helmet.”
And was still just as obnoxious as he was back then.

“No helmet.”

Gil remembered many a time when Todd had led other guys in the locker room to pick on Gil. Numerous pranks had been pulled on him during gym class. The locker room had been his most hated place to be in school.

“Dumb. Remember when that quarterback—”

Rip cut him off. “I remember. And he’s fine now.”

Gil bit back a smile. Rip was clearly irritated. He didn’t seem interested in his old jock friends.

A little giddiness rippled up Gil’s spine as Rip turned to pin him with a stare, ignoring the jocks’ significant others smiling at him, preening, bending over to show cleavage, and—

“Gil, you remember where our lockers were?”

Gil blinked. He did. He remembered. They had been only five narrow lockers apart. Just close enough to tempt Gil and he’d always had found a reason to hang out at his locker when Rip was at his.

“They were right near our homeroom. They were in F wing.”

“F wing,” Rip repeated. A smile flitted over his lips, almost as if he had a secret he didn’t want to share. “We should see if they look the same.”

Gil didn’t know how much lockers could change, unless they had been painted.
“Wanna check it out?”

Gil shrugged before leaning forward to eye Katie. She was engrossed in yapping with the guy next to her.

Rip shifted and whispered, his warm breath against Gil’s ear, “She’s busy. We’ll be back before she realizes we’re gone.”

Gil’s cock stirred and he squirmed in his seat. He was going to have a perpetual boner if he went off into the hallways with Rip.

He didn’t want to just desert Katie without saying something first, but when he opened his mouth Katie got up and headed towards the dance floor with that guy.
Gil sat there stunned. He couldn’t believe she didn’t even say anything to him first. But on the other hand, at least he was off the hook when it came to dancing with her.

Rip nudged him in the side with his elbow. “See, she’s busy. Let’s go.”

They both rose in unison and Rip pulled Gil’s chair back, clearing the way. Gil waited for him to lead, but Rip hesitated.

“You go first.”

Hell. Well, at least Rip might not notice the half chubby he sported.

Gil shrugged and wormed his way through the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood. He imagined Rip was staring at his ass as he shifted his hips around the people, chairs and tables.

He headed toward the nearest double doors and pushed his way into a dim hallway. He didn’t have to look to see if Rip was behind him. The larger man’s presence was unmistakable. Gil stopped short.

Rip bumped into him, his arm snaking around Gil’s waist to catch him from falling forward.

“Shit. Sorry. Why’d you stop?”

Gil turned around in Rip’s hold to look at him. He expected Rip to drop his arm quickly and step back, gaining some personal space. But he didn’t.

Gil was more breathless from the closeness than the fact Rip had slammed into him.
“Uh. I… I forget which way to go.” Gil’s hands fluttered aimlessly. He didn’t know where to put them. Where he wanted to put them was on Rip’s chest—underneath that heavy jacket, of course. His hands trembled.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Rip’s hand tightened on Gil’s hip, right below his belt. He leaned in.

Gil’s gaze locked with Rip’s and he held his breath.

“Liar,” Rip murmured, barely a hair’s breadth above his lips.

Of Death and Desire by Jude Mason

Soft wetness surrounded his cock. A gentle tugging, sucking, encouraged an erection. His balls churned. His hips rose, buttocks clenching to extract the last ounce of pleasure from…

The head of his cock brushed the back of a throat. He knew it was a throat—Philip’s.
He twisted to his side. The mouth followed; the sucking increased. He groaned. His hips pulled back, then thrust forward. The sensation was exquisite. Hot, tight, and the air brushing his belly was the sweetest tickle. His heart drummed wildly, threatening to burst from the emaciated confines of his chest. He slipped his hand down and paused, afraid.

He balled his hands into fists; one at his side with the sheet gripped tight, the other empty, aching, on his belly. His hips found a rhythm, a gentle thrusting that had him breathless with desire. Teeth scraped along his shaft, Philip’s signature sucking technique. Lips pressed to the base of his cock; again he was sure they were his lover’s. His climax neared, balls churned and crept in close to his body.

“Please!” He woke with a start. His heart raced. Sweat trickled from under his arms and formed a pool of coolness beneath him. Automatically, he rolled onto his back, right hand going to his groin, to his cock. Aching, rampantly erect and throbbing, he was a heartbeat away from spewing. “Philip,” he groaned, bewildered, filled with lust.

Thrusting the bedclothes aside, he stroked himself. The hard length slid through his fingers easily, pre-cum slick. A stroke, and his body tensed, another and his balls boiled. Too long without release, too long alone, he shuddered and sobbed as a stream of spunk arced toward the ceiling then splattered on his chest. Another followed a heartbeat later; his toes curled. He choked back a sob and thrust himself into his fist. The next few pulses coaxed only an oozing dribble of his essence from him and coated his fingers. He squirmed for a moment, enraptured in the much needed release.

But, then his dream came back to him. Philip’s mouth. Philip’s teeth and tongue. And then the memories of his death hit.

“No!” The single word tore from him, a vehement denial of his loss, his longing, and the heart-wrenching sorrow that just wouldn’t allow him any peace. But, even as he remembered the dream and thought of how much he’d loved Philip, the pain was just a little less.