Page 10 of The No Repeat Policy

Wind bites at my face and whips around my torso. I should have worn a mask, dammit. My forest-green hoodie and matching sweats take the brunt of the cold over a pair of running tights, but it’s still so goddamn cold up here. Running up this hill feels like I’m breathing in shards of ice, like they’re cutting my throat on the way down, which is the only thing keeping my mind off the way my calves are burning.

It’s so quiet out here though in the early morning hours before the sun’s had its chance to overtake the mountains. Only a few glimmering rays peek between the trees and trickle over the mountaintops. It’s ideal for my morning runs before work, even if half the houses are decorated in creepy spiders and skeletons for Halloween and it feels more like winter than fall.

A familiar set of fake boards with the words KEEP OUT stamped ominously across their plastic rungs are affixed to the front door of the next home. I look away immediately. Fuck. Just focus on something else.

I pump my legs harder, letting my feet follow the cracks on the sidewalk on autopilot. Just don’t think about that. It zigs and zags from right to left, until finally coming to an end and begins again in the next paved block.

The noise behind that door…it slips between the cracks and finds me. Rhythmic. Constant. Pleasure-filled. I stumble and shake my head, willing myself away from those sounds and back to the innocent sign. We’d hung it on our door just days before for the little trick-or-treaters who would visit soon. Not even that, Kolton. Stop. I try not to think about it, to block it from my mind, but every time I blink, the words KEEP OUT flash behind my eyes.

KEEP OUT. KEEP OUT.

Then, like a movie, it takes over.

I’m reaching for the door, but I stop. There’s a noise coming from inside. It’s not a voice. It’s something else. Something familiar, but I can’t seem to understand it. My hand pulls back and tightens into a ball.

The door to our apartment is covered in pieces of cardboard meant to look like old boards nailed to it. Two of them have a single word printed on each in large black letters. KEEP. OUT. I know it’s meant for the trick-or-treaters next week, but my chest tightens. It feels like a warning.

If Michael’s in trouble I have to go, I have to be there to protect him. I can’t stand here, so I reach out and shove the door open. The noise I’d heard muffled through the door becomes clearer, a mixture of breaths and creaking furniture and walls. I squint, eyes peering at my bedroom door. It’s just barely cracked open. We rarely close it.

The low shriek of metal shifting against screws and wood grates my ears. Then a moan, a voice I don’t recognize. I close my eyes. Not again. Please no. Not again. Then a shout.

“Fuck me harder!”

Michael yells, his voice shrill and cracking with euphoria.

“You’re such a bad boy,”

another voice crows, panting between words. He bellows the next sentence. “A fucking little slut.”

At that, the moans get louder. But I know those moans. It’s Michael. It’s the sound that’s serenaded my ears for over a year at night, or at least it had months ago. But there’s something more in it.

“Does your boyfriend fuck you like this? Does he use your little hole like this?”

the voice asks my boyfriend.

“Hell no,”

Michael groans. “You’re so much bigger. It feels ten—”

I can’t hear any more of this, so I step forward, shoving the door open all the way. The first thing my eyes catch is the naked backside of a guy I don’t know. He looks older than me, his back molded in muscles contracting and loosening as his body thrusts.

Then Michael.

He’s on all fours, hands and knees, ass in the air, looking back with his eyes fastened on me, but his mouth is open and he keeps moaning. My eyes flick to his body and the man just keeps fucking him, thrusting inside my boyfriend. The man I love. Who I thought loved me.

“You want to join?”

Michael asks, like this is common.

“Get in here and get some ass,”

the man says. I don’t know if he knows who I am or not, but my insides are boiling.

“How…”

I start, but I can’t get the words out. The look in his eyes. It’s like nothing changed. It’s like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to walk in, as if I’d just walk in and swap places with this stranger. But no. This isn’t us. This isn’t the Michael I fell in love with.

My breathing narrows and I’m frozen in place like something is forcing me to watch hell unfold in front of my eyes…again. And he doesn’t even care.

“Either join us or get the fuck out,”

Michael says, his body jumping with each thrust.

Then it all goes blank. I don’t remember what happened after that, I just know I left, and everything fell apart. I fell apart.

The first time had been like a sword puncturing my heart, but he’d managed to stave the bleeding with fake apologies and assurances I should have never believed. He’d convinced me that it was a one-time slip up, that he’d not been thinking, he’d been drunk.

This time it was a sword impaling my heart, then pulling back out to be thrust in me again and again and again, once for every moan he made in front of me, eyes locked on mine, while someone else had him. The careless look in his eyes had sapped the very life out of me.

It had killed my soul. He’d not meant a word of his apology, and he never had. I came to find out later he just hid it better.

I was so stupid. I was so fucking stupid.

* * *

You know, for all the times I swore I’d never go to a country bar, I’ve been there an awful lot the past few weeks. At least Madison’s here. I could be stuck here alone trying to act like I’m having a good time while I drank the night away. Instead, I’m at the bar with Katniss—aka Madison, ponytail and all—ordering tequila shots.

“Want to see who gets blacked out first?”

Madison asks as the bartender pours.

“That depends on how the night goes,”

I say, hoping to whatever the fuck controls this shithole of a universe that it goes better than the rest of my day so far.

I came to impress, like any gay worth their queerness on Halloween. I’m dressed as a half-naked gladiator. If it weren’t for 300, I have a feeling the straights in here wouldn’t find the sole thick red cape draped over my shoulder and leather thong-like bottoms and wrist cuffs to be as cool as they do now. Thank you, Gerard Butler. I’ve garnered the attention of a few people, women mainly, or the bro who came up the moment I walked in and screamed, “This is Sparta!”

The way I see it, if there is a dick-loving boy in this building, this is how I find them.

“You plan on ditching me?”

Madison takes the shot glass from the bartender and hands it over before taking hers.

We maneuver through the crowd, and I think it’s Rob Zombie playing through the speakers as the lights strobe purple and orange, in a country “nightclub.”

I have to give it to them, other than the random country song they slip in, it’s a lit Halloween party.

“Planning? Wouldn’t say that.”

I take a seat across from her and place my shot on the table. “But you know how it is. Never know if a hot guy might need taking home tonight.”

“One cute guy and you’re going to leave me here all by myself.”

She pouts.

It sounds a lot worse when she puts it like that, but I mean…

“Basically, yeah.”

I shrug, trying not to grin.

“Fuck you,”

Madison laughs and holds up her shot.

I pick up mine, my chest shaking in amusement.

“Well then, to getting fucked tonight.”

Madison yells and we both throw our heads back and gulp down the shots.

It burns good. I shake away the sensation as it warms my throat.

“Both alcoho…alcoholic…ical…ically and sexually,”

I say before I realize how hard a word that is to say after a few shots and also how weird a statement it is.

“You haven’t had near enough to be fucking that up.”

She shakes her head and huffs.

“Shut up,”

I bite back with a smile. “It’s a big word.”

“Little-dicked lightweight.”

Madison sits up proudly and eyes the crowd around us.

“I got a big dick, thank you,”

I say before thinking, but keep a straight face.

“Sure you do,”

Madison laughs. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I nod, realizing maybe I have had one too many already. Slow it down, Kolton.

“Any potentials?” she asks.

It feels cold.

Any potentials? Like they’re just flesh, a body.

Something to be enjoyed.

What the fuck are we though, if not sacks of meat covered in lush skin, silky hair, and lips that need to be explored and enjoyed? Maybe some people find their “person,”

those lucky fucking bastards, but for the rest of us, it’s a hunt for something that comes close to that feeling.

Pleasure.

There’s little more about this life worth living for than pleasure, because for us, the pursuit of love is deceit and pain.

It’s misery.

Yeah, it’s still cold, I guess, which stings a little, like we’re just here to pick a guy, fuck them, and leave, but it’s my life, and as long as I’m not hurting anyone else, who the fuck cares.

“Kolt?”

Madison says and I catch her hand waving in front of my face. “You good there? You zoned out.”

“Uh…yeah, perfect. All good,”

I assure her. I have to stop getting so in my head.

“So?” she asks.

I take in the room.

The costumes are never-ending.

Gumby—who I can’t believe I still remember—is bopping his big green stick of a body on the dance floor below.

Several Harley Quinns roam the tables looking for their Joker, of which I’ve seen one so far.

There’s someone wearing a Walmart Deadpool suit up by the bar.

A Morticia Addams is swaying, practically on top of a Jedi in the corner.

And of course, there are the country boys whose only semblance of a costume is that they wore a fake western sheriff badge along with the cowboy hat and boots they’d normally don here.

Aka, their normal cosplay plus a fake badge.

“You must be more drunk than I thought,”

she says. “You’ve never taken this long.”

“You haven’t seen me drunk yet, darlin’.”

I let a little of my own country slip out. It’s masking. I’m not ready yet to tell her all about me, and why today has been harder than most.

“What a shame,” she says.

“If we hang out enough you will, don’t worry about that,”

I assure her. I take another glance at the crowd. “Nothing’s looking too great so far.”

Which also means, no one appears queer enough to take a chance on yet.

“I plan on it,”

Madison says. Then she shifts on the barstool. “Well, shit. So what else do you do in your free time? Outside of work I’ve only seen you here.”

In my defense we had planned to come together tonight, but it’s a valid question, even if I haven’t figured it all out yet.

“Not much lately,”

I tell her. “I used to live just down the mountain, not that far from here really, and I always said I’d never live there or here.”

“Really now?”

She glares at me. “You sort of fucked that up, didn’t you?”

“Eh, a little,”

I agree. It definitely wasn’t in my five-year plan back in high school. “Life has a way of changing things.”

“Now that’s just cheesy,”

Madison moans.

“But true.”

I laugh. She shrugs. “You go where the money is, right?”

“Unless the money is in Russia.”

She cocks her head at me.

“Well, this isn’t Russia, so—”

My words catch in my throat as a boy in what I can only explain as a slutty Grecian costume walks past our table to the bar.

“Obvious much?”

Madison eyes me widely.

“Sorry.”

I yank my eyes back to her, focusing on her pupils in the strobing lights, and I can’t remember if her eyes are green or brown or the black they seem to appear now between the flickers. At the same time it’s like the strobes are pulling my gaze back toward the bar. I fight it. “Uh…”

Green! That’s right. Her eyes are this uber dark green color.

“You’re definitely into subs,”

she jests.

“Not wrong.”

I shoot her a grin and take a quick glance toward the bar, catching the single thin white sash that hangs over his shoulder and plunges toward his hip. It’s the only thing on his upper body beyond the mask covering his eyes. The smooth skin of his back is bared to the world like a gift. Before I can trail farther down, I yank my eyes back to Madison. “But what’s to say he’s a sub? He could be a freak for all you know.”

She stares at me with this look that screams, are you a fucking idiot, of course he is. “Oh, I bet he’s a freak all right.”

A grin climbs over my lips and I let my eyes roll back to the bar.

“You’d be surprised how wrong your assumptions can be,”

I tell her.

I can’t stop looking at the boy though. His waist is so slender, like it’s meant to have hands gripped around it. Beautiful. The boy starts to twist around, and as he does my eyes trace the sash once more. It clasps at his waist behind a golden button, affixing it to another white sash. Except this one’s larger, a little. It’s bunched at the end, exposing every taut inch of his thigh and the bottom half of his left ass cheek before it drops down to cover the other fully.

Fuck!

“Okay, yeah, whatever,”

I roll my eyes. “Probably.”

“So?”

Madison questions. “You going to talk to him, then?”

I cock my head to the side and eye her, lips skewed in thought. Hell. Why not? The worst that can happen is he’s just a sub top and doesn’t want anything to do with me, right? Actually no, the worst thing that could happen is he’s straight and he’ll feel his masculinity is threatened by my advance, and then I’ll have the whole bar, crazy rednecks included, trying to raze me out of the place.

So, like any self-respecting person, I dismount my barstool and stand up.

“Yeah, I’m going to.”

I tower over Madison and nod confidently.

It isn’t my first rodeo, but I think mentally it’s been different lately.

My no-repeat policy is keeping my head above water, but it’s exhausting too.

“Watch and learn, bitch.”

I puff my chest, and Madison gives me a crooked smile and a not-so-confident snort.

Just remember, love isn’t the goal.

It’s ripping that tiny little sash off and pinning him against a wall.

I put on a confident gaze and start off, weaving through the crowd, shuffling against bodies as the lights play with my vision.

He’s looking the other direction, so I let my eyes play along his neckline, tracing the slope of his shoulders to bare arms.

They’re not thick, but that’s how I like them.

Thin but strong limbs, covered in pale skin flexing over healthy triceps.

Then his back, that glorious area where it slops between his shoulder blades and narrows above his ass, just out of sight.

“Can I get another tequila shot?”

I ask the bartender as I steal the space directly behind the guy. I could touch him without moving if I wanted, but I’m not about that invasive shit.

“Coming up,”

the bartender says and walks to the other end of the bar.

Grecian boy turns and spies me from the corner of his eye. He looked. That’s a good sign. No better time than now. I purposefully throw my gaze his way and lock eyes with him. A boyish grin creates little dimples on his cheeks. I smile and nod. He returns the gesture and then turns back to his conversation.

He’s even more beautiful up close. In the brief glimpse I managed, I caught perfect lips, a cute nose, and vibrant eyes, although I couldn’t make out their color in the hued lighting. He doesn’t have the typical model V-chin, it’s more subtle than that, and his skin looked soft and flawless.

“One tequila shot.”

The bartender returns with my drink in hand and pops it onto the bar top.

I turn and put my back against the bar and immediately catch Madison staring me down, brow raised. I grin and nod. I don’t know her that well yet, but I think that’s the universal you got this? questioning look.

Finally Grecian boy turns to face the bar like he’s considering his next drink. In his hand he’s holding a martini glass. Perfect. My favorite.

“Martini?”

I lean toward him, not too close, but enough to make it clear I’m talking to him, not the rando bobbing his head next to me.

“Huh?”

His head ducks as if that’ll help him hear me better over the music.

“Martini?”

I ask again, then clarify. “You were drinking a martini, right?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He laughs and shakes his head like he’d made some stupid mistake.

He has such a beautiful smile. I can’t tell for sure, the light in here is all over the place, but his lips look to be a natural pink as they slope into his cheeks.

“Just vodka martini, plain?”

I ask further.

“Nah,”

he huffs as if he’s worried to say the next part. “Strawberry. I know, I know. Too fruity.”

“I like fruity.”

It rolls off my tongue before I fully process the double meaning in my own words. Damn. That was either good or super lame. Before I can think more on it, I pick back up. “Could I get you another?”

“You want to buy me a drink?”

He lets his glass rest on the table as he twists his body to face me fully, hip resting against the bar. He bites at the corner of his lip. I’m not sure if that was involuntary or him taking advantage of the moment. Either way it is working. God, he’s both cute and hot as fuck.

“Yeah,”

I say, and wave the bartender over before he has a chance to disagree.

“Sure,”

he says, tilting his head at me inquisitively. “So what might the name of my gladiator be?”

“Oh, your gladiator, huh?”

There is no way under all the gods of Greece and Rome I’m letting that one go unnoted. I’ll be your gladiator any day if you’ll be my little Grecian slut. Hell, was it even the Greeks who did the gladiator games? I’m thinking it was the Romans, but I don’t really care.

To that he simply shrugs.

“Kolton,”

I say. “And more like your Spartan warrior.”

There was a moment I wasn’t going to correct him, but I do anyway. For better or worse, I don’t know yet.

“Ah, my warrior?”

He leans in closer.

“Easy mistake,”

I laugh. “And what might be the name of this Grecian god?”

I intentionally refrain from calling him my Grecian god. Attachments are bad, and they can start anywhere, even with a simple little word. And attachments lead to feelings, and feelings end in pain.

“I’m the goddess of desire,”

he says, then puts a hand on his neck and slides it along his chest.

I swallow back the lump that suddenly appears in my throat as his fingers leave his smooth, lightly sculpted stomach. But then he laughs.

“Sorry, I couldn’t pass that up. I’m just a Greek boy,”

he says, and his smile broadens.

Guess I’m that obvious and that easy. Dammit. I cough. It’s not nerves as much as it’s trying to keep my eyes where they belong. I still haven’t gotten his name though.

That’s when I realize the bartender is staring me down, waiting for what I pulled him over here for. I frown in amusement at my goddess and then the bartender.

“Could you get my friend here a strawberry martini?” I ask.

“Eh.”

The bartender frowns and goes to work behind the counter. I doubt he makes many strawberry anythings around here often.

“Your costume looks great, by the way.”

I return my eyes to Greek Boy, letting them flick down to his perfectly smooth chest, again. I clamp my teeth so I don’t audibly moan at how gorgeous it all is. “What little there is, at least.”

“Doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it?”

he laughs, jumping down from his stool, and does a slow twirl with his hands up. He wants me to look. So I do. I take him all in. His arms. His chest, his stomach. His thighs and ass. His neck. Every last bit of him, until he returns back to his stool.

“Not much at all,”

I agree. “You want to dance?”

The moment I say it I wish I could reel it back. It’s not that I’m afraid of his response. It’s where we’re at. I’m used to this at the clubs in Charlotte. The gay clubs. Not this club, a decidedly not-gay one, where two guys dancing might not be the highlight of everyone’s night.

“Uh…”

He clicks his teeth together nervously. His confidence sheds for a moment while his eyes shoot to the dance floor full of couples and singles.

Fuck. I should have thought before speaking.

“I think I’m going to have to pass.”

He smiles at me and raises his glass. “Thanks for the drink though.”

And with that he turns and urges his friends to leave the bar, and me. Fuck. I huff at my own stupidity, my supreme lack of situational unawareness. All because of a pretty boy.

“Well, okay.”

I turn to find Madison staring me down, her cheek skewed. I huff and resign myself to returning to our table.

All I had to do is not ask for a dance. Anything else. I could have asked for his number. I could have asked to fucking take him home, and it probably would have worked better. But I asked him to dance in the middle of one of the most homophobic places in the mountains probably. Fuck.

“It was going so well,”

Madison says as I mount the barstool. “And then just—"

“Down into flames,”

I finish the thought.

“What happened? His expression changed so fast,”

Madison asks.

“I didn’t read the room well enough,”

I tell her.

“Can’t win 'em all I guess.”

She slaps my shoulder.

I nod. “Oh, for sure. I mean you are still sitting here.”

“Ooh, damn.”

Madison squints like it hurt. She’s still smiling though, so I think I’m okay. I should probably get to know her better before giving the friendly low blows. “Someone will buy me a drink before the night’s over. Bet.”

I laugh and shake my head at her. That confidence. I used to have it, before. I’m slowly getting it back, but it’s taking some time.

“Bet, huh?”

“Yeah.”

She looks around the room and back at me, lights flashing in her hair, giving her dark skin this mythical quality. “Fifty bucks says I get a guy to buy me a drink before the end of the night.”

“Bet,”

I call it, even though I feel like I’m going to lose.

“Another fifty if I can get a second guy to buy me one?”

She smiles.

“I’m stupid, not rich.”

I shake my head and adjust my chin toward the bar. “I’m guessing you’ve scoped out a few already?”

“Duh.”

Madison’s eyes flick to the bar and she squints. Her face is washed in purple, then white, and then again purple, before a flash of orange. Then she nods. “That one.”

I look, following her line of sight as best I can. It could be anyone. There are so many.

“The cowboy, Mr.—”

she starts but I interrupt.

“That’s like everyone,” I say.

We’re in a goddamned country bar. They cosplay as cowboys every fucking time the doors are open, not just on Halloween. Telling me it’s the cowboy only narrows it down by like five percent of the guys here.

“—Denzel.”

She pauses and eyes me. “Give me a damn second, mister. Denzel.”

She nods again, and then I see him. He’s the only black guy at the bar, also dressed in full cowboy gear. Not sure why he’s Mr. Denzel, he doesn’t look a thing like the Denzel Washington. That man is fine. This one, not bad, but no Denzel.

“Ah.”

I nod agreeably. “Good choice. You going for it?”

“Don’t rush the proc…”

Her voice catches halfway through the word.

“You okay there, Maddie?”

I ask. I’m not sure why I shorten her name. It just happened. Then I see a hand pat the table, and when it moves, a piece of paper is left in its place. I follow the hand up a slim white arm, smooth skin wrapping around small muscles, until I make eye contact with the Grecian boy. He grins, and then takes off into the crowd.

“Did he just—”

“Don’t jinx it,”

I say, and swipe the little piece of paper from the tabletop. I unfold it and there it is. A phone number. “His number. I hope, at least.”

She laughs at that. I mean, it makes sense it’d be his number, but you never know. I’ve had assholes give me “their number”

and it be one of those stupid cunty hotlines or prank numbers. One time it was even a funeral home in some town I’d never heard of.

“You going to text him?”

Madison asks.

“Huh?”

I look up at her. “Like now?”

“Why not?”

I shrug. She’s got a point. “Why not?”

I pluck my phone from the table and send a quick text.

KOLTON: Hey, it’s your warrior.

I hit send. Sort of wish I’d said something more stupid like, Want to be my little Grecian boy tonight? But I didn’t.

The dots begin jumping at the bottom of the screen. Well, at least he’s not an Android guy.

* * *

I pull into my apartment’s parking lot and take the spot closest to my unit. The joys of unassigned parking. Headlights flash through my side windows and disappear as my hookup stops in the spot next to me. I offered to drive, but he wanted to drive himself. I’ll give him props for that. He doesn’t know me.

“Told ya it wasn’t far.”

I cast my voice over the roof of his midnight-black Audi TT RS. It fits him. New. Beautiful curves. Seductive. Probably driven rough. The moment he pulled out behind my now even older-feeling Passat, especially when the transmission jumped as we attacked the main road, my mind did a dip. Rich kid.

“Not too bad,”

he says, rounding the front of his car, and follows to my door. He’s still dressed in his Greek outfit and I have to imagine what I could see of his face from memory. The moonlight and the streetlights don’t reach here. I want to grab his hand and pull him into me now, but I wait. “I live way out in the country though, so anything is closer than that.”

“I feel that.”

I slide my key in the door and unlatch it with a click.

“I’m freezing,”

he complains with his arms wrapped around himself.

When I turn he’s next to me, but I have to catch my breath. I was going to say something cheeky like, Of course it is, you’re half-naked in October, but I can’t get it out when his side presses against me. The mask is gone and he’s…he’s beautiful. Generous ice-blue eyes peer back. And he’s…he’s…oh my God. He's the guy I saw at the club a few weeks ago. The one who caught my eye in an instant. I catch myself from staring too long and swing open the door. I wave him inside, doing a half bow to cover my sudden awkwardness. I don’t know, it just felt right in the moment. Deference to the god, right? And then I start talking. “I grew up not all that far from here, down the mountain. Way out in the woods.”

“So you know the area?”

he asks, his eyes examining my minimalist lifestyle, and the damn empty paper bag from Taco Bell on the couch. I meant to throw that away last night.

“I mean, not really,”

I admit. “Boone was never my favorite place. I’m more of a city guy.”

He turns and faces me. A silly grin greets me. “That makes sense.”

He looks around the room again and back at me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I grin back.

“Just sort of…empty,” he says.

He’s not wrong. And I think I like it like that. I think. I don’t need clutter. But my focus jumps back to him. Those eyes, and thighs, the gently sculpted stomach and arms, and that exposed waist just begging to be reeled in.

“Needs to be filled up a little,” he says.

“You need to be filled up a little,”

I repeat, my voice dropping a note. I lock my eyes on him and step forward to erase the space between us. God, he is gorgeous and he’s here for one reason. It’s not a date. It’s not love. It’s not any of those things. It’s pleasure. He knows that. I can see the need in his eyes as I put my hand on his bare chest and push him back. His shoulder blades crash against the wall and I go in for his lips. Our skin touches, my eyes close, and his mouth spreads as my fingers grasp his waist and press him against the wall, pushing my entire body against his. I give him all my weight.

He kisses back and pulls me in to him, tighter. He likes where he is. Trapped between my chest and the wall. So I press harder, grinding our half-clothed bodies together. His smooth perfection slides against my chest, and the softness of his waist is like reins in my grip. I bite at his lip and then kiss ravenously at his cheeks.

“You ready for the filling?”

I breathe into his ear.

He groans against my cheek as I slide my hand past the sash at his waist, fingers crawling along his hip until my palm slides under the tiny veil. Like little spiders my fingers explore his skin, moving under the sash, feeling the curve of his ass. He’s not wearing anything underneath. Fuck, that’s so hot. I keep my hands moving as I kiss him, until his thighs curve back in, and I grip tight, cupping his ass in my palms and pulling him harder into me. “Fill me the fuck up, daddy.”

His ass is so soft under my palm. Pliable and in need of attention. I squeeze it and knead it while our mouths work together, tongues taking in every morsel of flavor, feeling every texture, sensing every breath he gives me.

I separate from his lips and breathe, “How important is this costume?”

into his ear before kissing him again.

“Worthless,”

he grunts.

I pull my hand out from under the garment and grasp it with both hands at his waist. “Good.”

Gripping tight, I pull and rip the fabric.

It tears in two with little effort and I yank it away and let it fall to the floor.

I step back long enough to watch the entirety of his costume fall to the floor, exposing every inch of his body’s perfection.

I’m about to grab his waist and fling him around to see his ass, but he lunges forward and kisses me.

His hands grip my side and wander along my chest.

Fingertips tingle against my pecs, then my abs.

I smile when I realize what he’s after.

My belt.

His fingers wrap around the latch and he looks me in the eyes with the dirtiest smile, stating his intentions.

I smile back and his hands go to work undoing my belt and letting the bottom half of my costume fall to the ground.

Unlike him I’m wearing a pair of burnt-orange briefs, but that doesn’t get in the way of his hands as they work their way down my stomach and grasp my hard-on. I look down long enough to see his fingers clasped on me. He starts to , but his eyes never leave me.

Once he’s below my crotch his eyes flicker to their goal and then back up at me while he slips his tongue out and licks along my briefs. I put my hand on the back of his head, fingers lacing through golden hair, breathing excitedly through clasped teeth. We’re just getting started. Damn.

“You ready?”

He grins up at me. It’s like he knows what he’s doing to me. Like he knows that even after I pushed him against the wall and ripped his clothes off, that he’s really the one in control. And I’m not sure how to take that. I like a guy who knows what he wants and goes for it but lets you feel like you’re in control, but… No, just enjoy the moment.

“Yeah,” I say.

His grin widens as his cheek presses against my crotch and his fingers peel my briefs from my body. The warmth of his cheek and lips on my shaft is immediately insane. I step out of my briefs and his hand replaces his cheek, sliding up and around my cock. It throbs as he caresses my sensitive skin, and I fight back a shiver. I look back down and he’s waiting for me, eyes staring up expectantly, wanting me to see what he’s going to do next.

“Oh my God,”

is what I get out. Apparently it’s enough because his mouth opens and the tip of his tongue touches the base of my shaft and he licks all the way up my eight inches, his pretty blue eyes never leaving mine. I grip his hair, my own mouth gaped open, as he opens wide, tongue licking the head then swallowing me whole. My cock disappears in his mouth and his eyes close while his head begins to bob, sending pleasure-filled shocks through my entire body.

Fuck yes! A guy who knows what he’s doing.

I let him do his good work for a few minutes before I start thrusting deeper into his mouth. After a few thrusts I grip his hair with my fingers and push him deeper on to my erection. He chokes the first time but rebounds quick, more eagerly taking it on. I feel it slide into his throat. He gags, and fuck, I love it, because it doesn’t dissuade him. He goes right back to it, licking and sucking and squeezing until I pull his head back and look into his eyes. His mouth is still open like he wants more.

“Come here,”

I command. He stands without complaint and our mouths meet while my hands slide around his bare skin and clasp around his dick. It’s hard and throbbing. I squeeze and stroke it, and he does the same to me. We breathe into each other's open mouths before I grip his waist and twist him around. With another push I press him against the wall again, my hard dick pressed up against his perfect cheeks, chest shoved against his back. He tangles his leg around mine and gasps as I attack the back of his neck, lifting his hair to kiss his soft skin.

“Fuck me! Please fuck me!”

the beauty yells, and I don’t even care how loud. I don’t care if my neighbors upstairs or the ones on the opposite side of the wall hear. Let them have a little show.

“Hell yes,”

I breathe into his ear, and then bite his neck. “Come with me.”

I grab his hand and pull him into the hallway, but the eight feet down the hall to my room is just too far, so I stop and shove him against the wall. His chest slams against it. It’s a good thing I haven’t any picture frames up. I kiss his neck and grab his ass, wrapping an arm under his armpit and over his other shoulder. “Your ass is so perfect. Literally perfect.”

He doesn’t respond because my fingers slide inward, touching his hole, teasing it with my fingertips while my other hand snakes up his neck and my fingers shove inside his mouth and his sucks on them. I pull my hand back from his hole and wet it in my mouth to make certain I don’t hurt him, then go back to his tight ass. My finger touches the breach and I slide it inside. He gasps.

“Fuck. Yes. Fu—”

I cut him off with my hand pulled tight around his mouth, reeling his head back.

I breathe into his neck as my finger slides in and out of his ass. I want more of him. I want all of him.

I need all of him.

I pull him away from the wall and lead him the final few steps to my room. He eyes me seductively and smiles before jumping on the bed and propping himself on his knees, ass up and ready to be used.

“I’m all yours,”

he says, peering around to see me as I walk around the bed and pick up the condom on my nightstand. He grins thankfully.

I go back to the edge of the mattress and move in, grabbing his hips to pull him closer to the end. I spit on his hole and rub it in with my fingers. They slip inside effortlessly this time, and a small moan escapes him.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I step forward and put my tip against his hole. I’m about to push forward when he reaches back and his fingers wrap around my dick, lining me up where I need to be. I don’t let it faze me as I lean in. My dick slides in and he yelps. I stop to give him a second.

“Don’t stop.”

No problem there. I push forward slowly, not wanting to hurt him, but he throws himself back, piercing himself with my cock. He screams, but there’s a deep pleasure in it. I pause for the tiniest second, then pull my body back and slam back into him. Again and again, and each time the sound of his breath, the groans, the whimpers, the wet suction of his ass around my dick meeting my ears like music.

“Harder. Harder,”

he grunts, so I give it to him harder. My dick throbs and aches with each thrust, each one daring to be the last before I spill inside him. “Fuck me like a slut.”

I grab his hips and pull him back onto me, diving deeper into him than before. His head throws back, mouth wide, a stilted scream echoing from his lips as his hips tighten under my grip. I want to see his face. I want to look him in the eyes while I fuck him.

“Turn over,”

I command as I pull out.

When he does, I shove him back onto the bed and yank his legs into the air. He doesn’t have time to react before I stake my place and begin thrusting again.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,”

he says, his body bouncing, half-hard dick flopping on his stomach.

I grab it and start jerking him without letting up.

“I want you to cum all over yourself,”

I tell him.

He grins between involuntary squints and grunts.

“I want you to cum in my mouth,”

he replies.

My eyes widen in pleased surprise. You don’t have to tell me twice, and I think the thought turns me on even more. I breathe harder as I thrust quicker, his body bouncing and shivering from all that I’m doing to him.

“You sure?”

I ask just to be safe. It isn’t every day a guy wants their dessert.

“Give it to me,”

he comes back. “Give it all to me.”

I think that does it for me, because I can feel it coming. My body starts to tense and heaven floods my veins.

“I’m going to cum,”

I nearly whisper it, but he hears me loud and clear.

I don’t even have to move. In an instant he jumps forward, my dick flopping out of his ass, and flips around to face me on all fours. His perfect round ass is in the air as his hand grabs my dick, rapidly rolls off the condom, then starts stroking with his lips wrapped around the head.

“Oh fuck, yes, yes,”

I breathe. “I’m cumming.”

My world goes light and euphoria overcomes me as my eyes lock onto his face and my load shoots inside his mouth. He doesn’t stop stroking. It’s like he needs it. His hands keep pumping and those lips keep sucking. It’s almost too intense, too amazing. I finish cumming and he swallows me whole one more time, cleaning up anything that might have been left behind before leaning back and looking up at me.

His blue eyes gaze at me and he licks his lips. Oh my God, he’s amazing. He even has a little bit of cum on his lip. I reach down and slide it from his lip into his mouth. He licks the mess from my finger and swallows.

“You’re something else.”

I step back, almost falter. My body feels lighter now, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.

“Really?” he asks.

“Hell yeah,”

I affirm, and fall onto the bed.

Instinctively I twist to face him, and he’s already followed along. He yelps and jumps, looking down at the bed where he’d tried to settle. “Oh yeah. I might have cum on your bed.”

Seriously? I look at the globs of white and dark wet spots on my sheets. Yep. I’ll have to clean that tonight. That’s the least of my concern right now though.

My hand falls on his waist and I pull him close, wrapping my arm around his back. Our faces move closer until we’re nearly nose to nose. I close my eyes and breathe him in. Hints of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla greet my nose and hopefully scent my pillows for later. When I open my eyes he’s looking back at me, mouth skewed, catching his breath.

He needs to leave. I know I should get up and get dressed, head toward the hall. I should make it clear I’m ready for him to leave. But…I don’t. Instead, I allow myself to keep looking into his gaze.

“You are beautiful,”

I hear myself say as if I weren’t the one to speak it.

“Thanks.”

He shies away. “You’re rather hot yourself.”

I grin and lean in to kiss him on the forehead. Fuck. Not forehead kisses, Kolton. He giggles and hugs me tighter before turning over and pressing his back into my chest and tightening my arms around his stomach.

“This is nice. You’re warm,”

he whispers.

It’s like we didn’t just have rough, crazy sex, as if this were a cute date almost. The odd part is that as much as I loved fucking him, something about this is suddenly so sweet. I breathe onto the back of his neck and kiss him gently. I know I shouldn’t.

“So…”

I start, knowing full well I probably shouldn’t ask. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t give it when I asked at the club, so I’m guessing he doesn’t want to say, and honestly I’d be better off not knowing. He can remain a Greek goddess in my mind. Names breed attachment, but the only thing I need to be breeding is him.

“Uh…”

He sighs. Yeah. I shouldn’t have asked. “It’s Xander.”

“Xander.”

I repeat it. That’s a bit unusual but it fits him. Xander.

“And now that you know my name, guess I should ask yours.”

Xander shrugs.

“That’s fair,”

I tell him, and pull my hand away from his in favor of his chest. “I’m Kolton.”

“Hmm,” he huffs.

“Hmm what?”

I giggle. What is that supposed to mean?

“Just not what I would have guessed. A little different.”

Xander twists his neck enough to glance at me.

“And Xander is normal?”

I give him wide eyes and for some reason—for the life of me I don’t know why—I tickle him.

“Oh hell.”

He squirms under my fingertips, but I’m not letting up now that I’ve started. He wiggles and laughs under my hands, so I dig my cheek against his neck and wrap my legs between his. My hands and fingers race along his stomach and waist, searching for the most ticklish part while he laughs and squirms. “It’s on now.”

Xander manages to get out from my grip and twists around. He reaches for me and his fingers prance over my stomach. Chills and goosebumps pop up along my skin and I can’t hold still. I’m a ticklish person and I can’t handle it for long.

I grab his arm and throw him back on the bed. I take his other arm and lock it against the mattress while I cross my legs over his and hover over him. Our heavy breaths mist each other’s cheeks.

“Okay, okay,”

Xander laughs. “Xander isn’t that normal either.”

“Damn right it ain’t.”

I dip down and kiss him before I can tell myself to stop. He tastes so good, but I need to calm down. “But it’s nice.”

And there I go with the compliments. During sex, sure. But after, they need to stop. This is a hookup, Kolton, a hookup. That’s it.

“It’s too modern for my dad,”

Xander says, sort of off the cuff as he shakes his head.

I skew my lips to the left. Dare I ask? Actually, no. Don’t. I don’t need to know what he’s talking about. It’s not relevant to me. It’s his problem. Just his.

“Too modern?”

I find myself saying anyway, and I curse silently.

“Yeah,”

he grunts, and turns away from me.

Without question, like it’s simply the most natural thing, he slides back and I scoot forward, cupping his body in mine. I wrap my arm around him again and let my chin rest on his neck.

“I’m a film and journalism major,”

Xander says as if that’s supposed to make it all come together for me. It doesn’t, and he must realize it because he continues. “But I want to act. I want to be in movies and shows. He doesn’t see it though. It’s all too abstract for him. It’s always, ‘Be a journalist, actually use your degree’ or ‘Do something useful.’”

I can’t see his face, but I can sense the irritation. I see him rolling his eyes, letting them settle on my pillows and scrunching his mouth up. I’d do the same.

“Useful, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s what he always says,”

Xander says.

“Art’s useful. How’s it not useful?”

I ask. I feel like I know the arguments. The self-defeating that think only hard labor is useful or worthy of being called work. The ones who think work isn’t supposed to be something you enjoy. The old-fashioned way of looking at it all.

“It’s not just art. He gets that sort of—it’s acting and movies that he finds a waste.”

Xander huffs and nudges back into my stomach. “He’s old-school. You know, just old.”

He giggles at himself and I let myself join him. It’s still annoying. I hate the mindset. Half the reason I do web development is the artistic side of it, the creative component. Sure, it’s something businesses need, but I do it because I enjoy it.

“Old people do be like that sometimes,” I say.

“Yeah,”

he agrees. “It’s just annoying, like…actually, no. I don’t need to be venting my problems to you. I don’t know you. I’m sorry. This is stupid. Sorry.”

His words start to become stuttered syllables as he slides away and off the bed. I avert my eyes so I don’t see his naked body. Normally I wouldn’t care, I’d intentionally look, but something about the nervousness in his voice makes it feel wrong, like I’m invading his privacy if I glimpse his beautiful skin. So I don’t. Instead, I turn my head and grunt as he puts his clothes back on.

“You’re okay, I promise,”

I try. I’m no therapist, and I’m not even a friend I guess, but I’m a person. I’ve dealt with shitty people and family. “I can listen. If you want.”

Normally those words wouldn’t come out of my mouth, and in the moment it scares me. No, Kolton. He needs to leave. You can’t sit here and let this cute guy spill his problems to you, pretending to care, because before long you will care, and that’s a no go. Period. I’ve already let him stay and talk after sex, my first mistake. Now this.

“No.”

He shakes his head, and this time I don’t talk back. I let him slip his feet into his shoes and make sure his torn sash is covering all the important areas. “I’ll show myself out.”