Take This Man: Gay Romance Stories (6 page)

His heartbeat flutters beneath Shawn’s touch, thready and quick. “And?” Shawn bends his head to press his mouth against his pulse point. Words, he can’t master, but the touch is doing the trick.

His lips part, “And I think you need to go get your credit card back,” he answers, “because I’m holding you to that promise.”

“You said you’ve got a room?” the point of Shawn’s tongue flicks out, cleaning away the salt on his skin.

“Upstairs,” he says, eyes half-shut in drowsy pleasure; it’s late for them both. “Do you want to come see it?” As if this hotel could be all that different from any other, with its luggage racks and industrial towels, miniature bottles of booze and shampoo, cheaply framed art depicting local scenery.

“If you’ll let me,” he says, teeth grazing the fleshy meat of his thumb. The other man stands quickly on shaky legs. Shawn’s face is nearly level with his groin, and the pants are so tight, the outline of his cock is already noticeable. He looks around, checking that they won’t be seen, and then cups the other man’s crotch appreciatively.

“I really want to see what’s underneath”—he tugs on the pants leg—“these.” With one finger he traces the stiffening curve of his cock, a soft swell in the fine, silky fabric. Shawn is fairly sure he’s not wearing any underwear, and he licks his lips, meaningfully, trailing his fingers down the other man’s quadricep. The muscle twitches there, too, the nerves electric. His thighs are wonderfully sensitive, even with the barrier of cloth between probing hand and bare skin. Shawn wants to seal his mouth over the bulge and lick the expensive wool until it’s sodden with his own spit.

“We don’t have to go upstairs,” he says softly, making every word count. “I could take you in my mouth right here, right now.” The man flushes even more deeply, his breath coming fast and ragged, face twisted up with shameful pleasure. He delivers his words to the expensive gray fabric, whose exorbitant cost is now forgiven because of the way it so beautifully gives away every twitch and flex of the hard cock beneath. He continues, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For everyone to see how you are, all these people watching you come apart, watching me suck your cock?”

The tug on his hand yanks him up from the booth, and Shawn chuckles as the man walks to the doorway sideways and stiff-legged, hiding his hard-on behind a hibiscus topiary, as he signs the tab and avoids the curious gaze of the bartender. Then together they begin the long journey from bar to lobby to bedroom.

“You fucker,” the man says, once they are alone in the elevator, with only the security guards watching on their basement monitor, “you absolute fucking bas—” Shawn swallows the words, and the kiss floods his mouth with the herbal tang of gin, and the sweetness of his mewl, the slam of his hand atop the stranger’s, pinning him to the wall. “Tsk,” he says, at the swearing. “You want me to put my cock in you?” Shawn asks, cupping his buttocks with his free hand. The man wriggles in his grasp.

Already he is panting, a flush painting his cheeks, his mouth red and kiss-swollen. Shawn, tongue loosened with alcohol and want, is suddenly on a roll with the dirty talk; the guy fucking loves it, so he continues, “You like that? The idea of me fucking you”—for a moment he hesitates, since they haven’t exchanged names, have simply been thrown by chance into the delirious momentum of an anonymous hotel fuck, but he has to call him something, right, something besides
Lips
or
Pants
or
Tanqueray
, so he tacks on—“baby?”

“God, yes.” He shudders when Shawn’s teeth catch his earlobe. “Want it, all of it, all of
you
.”

“Course you do,” he growls as he palms that perfect ass, hitching the man’s leg around him. The movement draws the new pants tight around slimly muscled thighs. His own cock clamors for more attention, but his hands are busy grabbing fistfuls of tight ass. With their tongues pressed together, Shawn grinds his hips down at the same time.

The door pings on the fifth floor, sliding open with a swish. They tumble forward into the hallway. Ten paces past the foyer he sweeps the stranger up in a wet, filthy kiss. He wriggles away and veers left. “This way,” he says, blue eyes gone dark.

Shawn walks stiff-legged himself now, as he trails his prey down the still corridors. His lips seek the stranger’s once more as they sneak past the ice machine. He stands a head shorter than Shawn, and when they kiss, he lifts onto his toes, the better to fit their mouths together. His mouth trails below his jaw, a slick motion that earns a heated gasp. God, the
sounds
he makes when Shawn pulls on his hair, red silky strands that slip between his fingers.

“Has it been that long?” he whispers to the sensitive spot that sits right behind his ear, “because you’re practically begging me to fuck you here in the hallway.” Shawn seals the indecent words with a lick from ear to neck, as the green light flashes, and together they stumble forward into the room.

“I’ve been—ah—busy. With work and—things. Oh, oh, shit that’s good.” Shawn chuckles to himself: who’s doing the swearing now? With one hand, he tugs open the man’s belt buckle, unbuttons, unzips: the silky trousers slither to the floor; the other hand steers their mouths together, the shorter man straining around to reach Shawn’s lips. Commando, he realizes, as his hand grazes bare skin, just as he’d thought down in the bar. Shawn brushes his fingers across the man’s belly. At the touch, the stranger lets out a strangled cry. “Oh, god, Sh—”

Shawn grabs his jaw once more, catching him in a rough kiss before he can get out the words, swallowing his moan. “Shh,” he says, smoothing a hand down the front of his body, “not now, baby, not when you’re being so good. You want to be good for me, right?”

He opens the blue shirt, hands dipping down between each button so he can stroke that lovely cock, tugging on it from root to tip, an overhand pull, one hand after the other. Up and down, avoiding the glans, tugging down on his balls to keep him grounded. He needs that small bite of pain in everything they do, be it the yank on his hair, or the smack of his ass, or the twisting bite of teeth on his inner thighs while he’s getting fingered. It doesn’t make him any less impatient, though, for even now he’s mumbling, pleading. “Fuck, need you, need you in me, please. Please.”

He swallows hard. Lord, but the begging gets him low in his gut, loud and twisting like crumpled cellophane, every fucking time. “Go get on the bed.” The pants tangle and slow him down, but Shawn still manages to lag a step behind. He pauses to take in the perfect composition of his partner’s body, how his shirttails frame his dimpled ass. He lies down with his feet propped on the floor, tracking Shawn’s movements as he pulls open the bedside drawer, looking for lube. A copy of the yellow pages; eyeglass case; a heavy gold wedding ring, engraved with two pairs of initials; a black plastic prostate stimulator and a matching rubber cock ring; a plastic bottle, newly opened, barely used. He picks the last of these.

The man watches quietly as Shawn slicks his fingers. His hands unfurl and close in anticipation, picking a rhythm out from the folded edge of the sheets. The movement reminds Shawn of a kitten, tentatively feeling out its first steps beyond the whelping box. He sinks to his knees in front of the open drawer and presses a kiss to the inside of his left knee, lifting the foot to place it on his thigh. White teeth grind against his full bottom lip, swollen from Shawn’s stubble. A flick of tongue to soothe away the burn.

Face gone flaming, he rolls his hip open so Shawn can see him, pink and perfect. One finger surges forward, for Shawn finds hardly any resistance there. “Oh,” the man sighs. Inside, too, he is slick and stretched, quick to take a second finger. “Yes,” he breathes. “So good.”

Open, Shawn can feel, and his own cock surges to think of him here, late afternoon light picking out the muscles of his arms and the rucked-up sheets as he fingered himself, surrounded by the mess of shopping bags and the casual disarray of a space not his own. He would have been on his back, legs spread, slim fingers slick with lubricant as he made himself ready to take Shawn’s cock.

“You did this,” he breathes, the realization hitting him low in his gut, the heat of his lover spreading down Shawn’s whole arm, suffusing him with warmth. “Here, on this bed, getting yourself all ready for me.”

The man’s pale chest heaves in time with his frantic nods, “Y-yes,” he utters, and looks down the length of his body—naked and exposed from the waist down, precome smearing his smooth stomach, mixing with sweat, staining the hem of his shirt, Shawn crouched between his open thighs like a predator—and as one they watch his ass clench, then yield, as Shawn adds a third finger, slowly thrusting them in and out. “I wanted to be ready—oh fuck—right there, Jesus, sh- shit—you, fuck…” His head falls back against the pillow.

“What did you think about,” Shawn asks, “when you did it?” He swallows. “A strange man filling you up, splitting you open?” Without removing his fingers, Shawn comes to stand, towering over his partner. “You,” the redhead gasps, a sound made all the sweeter by the knowledge that it is Shawn, only Shawn, who can do this to him. Strands of hair cling to his forehead, a blotchy flush dots his cheeks. They share the air as Shawn leans in and closes the distance between them. The words are full of love and pleasure so thick it fills the room.

“Take my cock out, baby,” he murmurs, the dirty words filled with tenderness. He reaches up through his spread legs to fumble at Shawn’s fly. The pink tip of his tongue presses against his teeth, his brow contracts. Concentrating. Metal clanks as the buttons open and the zipper is yanked down. Both hands grasp for Shawn’s erect cock, the trailing brush of fingers and caress of cool air.

The stranger’s mouth spills open when Shawn pulls his fingers out; a filthy wet sound fills the silence. With a soft gasp the man watches wide-eyed, staring down past his stomach. Shawn positions himself, slings one leg over his shoulder, as the man underneath him groans. He doesn’t bother to reach for more lube, since they’re both soaked through, but swipes the fat head of his cock along the man’s crack, gathering the excess, then lines himself up. He cradles the back of the man’s head with his hand, forcing his gaze down to watch.

“Look,” Shawn breathes. “Look at yourself, picking up strangers, so desperate for it. Look at how I’m going to fuck you, baby, look.” The fistful of hair he’s grabbed is sweaty, but it doesn’t matter, Shawn’s got him pinned, pretty well bent in half, perfectly ready to split open.

The words come out as a moan, “Yes, yes, fuck me, please,” the man whimpers. Together they watch the tip of Shawn’s cock as it disappears, the gleam of the wet shaft sliding into the darkness of their conjoined bodies.

The man clenches and fucking wriggles on Shawn’s dick. He mouths his shoulder, scraping teeth along the muscle. “You feel even bigger than you look.” “Christ,” Shawn groans, stilling his hips. He settles in deep until he’s fully sheathed. The other man’s cock twitches, red and heavy against his belly. The stranger clenches around him, and then releases, tilting his hips so Shawn can fuck in deeper. Through his nose, he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to shoot off right away. The other man, though, his partner, does not like that decision one bit. He wriggles, again.

“No,” he pleads. “Don’t stop. Fuck me harder,” he insists, ass clenching, and Shawn bites off a curse and starts to move. Sliding out, and coming home, so tight every time. He pounds him into the mattress, because they cannot hold back the tide. Tomorrow, he decides, rocking into the narrow cradle of the other man’s hips, tomorrow I’ll eat him to delirium, wake him with my mouth on his balls and a finger up his ass, and in between we’ll call for room service, for mediocre hamburgers gussied up with aioli, French fries that will be cold before they even arrive, losing their crisp heat on the ride up five floors, but it won’t matter one bit, lazy and sated, wild-haired and fucked-out, he’ll eat them anyway.

“Yes,” his lover moans, as Shawn fucks him, “there, Shawn, Shawn, oh—god, please let me let me.” His cock is gleaming, twitching each time Shawn slams into him, nailing his prostate on every thrust.

“Do it,” Shawn commands, to the humid curve of his husband’s pale throat, “come for Shawn, come for me, baby.” Their hands intertwine, and Shawn shoves down his hand, pinning his partner as he comes undone, spasming and moaning so loudly, like they can’t at home, never alone, and fucking out all those little sighs and groans makes him drive into Brian all the harder.

He awakes with a start, as he does every morning. The kids are with Cathy, and he has overslept. The sun streams in at an angle too high for early morning. It is quarter till ten, Shawn sees, when he looks at the clock, and Brian—hair mussed from sleep, swaddled in a white terry-cloth bathrobe and wheeling in a cart that promises to contain French roast and multiple varieties of melon—smiles fondly down at his husband.

“It’s late,” he gripes, accepting the china cup from his position on the bed.

“Mm,” Brian hums, sipping his own coffee. “Someone needed sleep.”

Shawn scrubs a hand over his face and takes another sip of coffee. Brian cracks his fingers. Shawn, as he does every morning, winces from the sound. Brian tips his head from side to side, stretching his neck, and in doing so, exposes the pale line of it to Shawn’s hungry gaze. There are bruises purpling there, faint teeth marks scored against the skin, which Brian absently traces a finger over.

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he purrs.

Shawn swallows, heavily, the unspoken suggestion to Face-Time the kids and Brian’s mom now stuck in his throat. Brian catches the furrow of his brow, reads there the anxiety of the full-time dad and gently he detaches the coffee cup from Shawn’s hand and places it on the end table.

“It’s their naptime,” Brian says, unknotting his bathrobe. A pale sliver of skin reveals itself as the fabric parts. “We don’t want to wake them up,” he adds. “We’ll call after.”
After
, his eyes sparkle,
after you fuck me into the mattress again
. Already, he feels a stirring, a need to glut himself on Brian, to mold his body to his own and feel him anew. Today, and every day from now until they die.