Country Boys, page 15
I felt Paul relax in my grip. He turned his head, catching a glimpse of me working him. His eyes got dark. “Are you close?” he asked, huffing with each word because of me thrusting into him.
“Yeah,” I managed to whisper.
He reached down, grabbed the billy club in one hand and held it to his mouth. His smile was dark. He kissed the black metal, watching me. Then he licked the billy club, his pink tongue working over the metal, up and down. That did it.
I bent over him, biting his neck and shoulders. I couldn’t stop my groans; I just growled and fucked him faster and harder, faster and harder.
“Come in me, Denny!”
The world narrowed to my cock. The fire and heat of coming made my knees loosen a little. With one last groan, I shot into him, the waves of orgasm spurting from my cock. My breathing turned into gasps and I grabbed his hips and pushed further into him. I fell onto him, my chest covering his damp back, his asscheeks warm against my groin.
Our heavy breathing filled the truck cab. I heard the birds outside again and the silly quack of cormorant out on the pond. I was too happy where I was to worry if Mr. Gator was still outside, so I just lay on Paul’s back until I was completely soft. He turned to kiss me again, one of those awkward half kisses, and I pulled away reluctantly.
I tugged the condom off and my pants up. Paul turned to me, looking sexy as hell. We grinned at each other.
“Thanks for the welcome to Florida,” he said, and kissed me again, for real this time.
“You’re more than welcome. We always like to keep the tourists happy,” I said. “You got a number here I can call you at?”
“Sure.” He jotted down a phone number on the back of one of my business cards.
“I gotta get this gator caught. I’ll call you tonight.” I smiled. “Maybe I can find another way to use that billy club on you.”
“You’ve got enough club for me.”
We got dressed and just as Paul left, I saw the gator slip back into the pond. Eight hundred dollars’ worth of reptile. Gone.
But I smiled anyway.
HOT EATS
Kal Cobalt
Near midnight, my diner shifted from quiet to dead silent. Darlene’s shift was over, and I’d sent Barry home early to tell his wife goodnight. The standard graveyard-shift crowd—freighttrain railroaders from the depot across the street who liked their burgers well done and their steak with A-1—had come and gone.
The first customer after Barry left was a tall, rangy man in a gray T-shirt streaked with dirt. He greeted me with the cautious smile of the truly exhausted, though I could tell he was no railroader: no grime under the fingernails, no heavy bag of on-the-road necessities. “I didn’t think there’d be anyplace open,” he said, sliding his narrow ass onto one of my counter stools.
“We’re open till two.” I poured a hot cup of coffee for him, unasked.
“Thanks.” He sipped at it, then looked up at me with slightly wider eyes. “Fresh.”
I nodded. “We treat graveyarders right.”
“I think you just secured yourself a regular.”
“Good to know.” I slipped him a menu. “Pies are half off after midnight.”
“Definitely a regular, then.” He wore the same kind of black-rimmed glasses Barry did, although I suspected they were at least twice as expensive.
“What would bring you here regularly in the middle of the night? You don’t work the rails.”
He shook his head. “Film. I lens the production shooting in the valley.”
“You lens it? Cameraman?”
“Sort of. Cinematographer. Lord of the cameramen,” he grinned, wrapping long, ropy fingers around the coffee mug. “Lord of the night shoots, too. It’s hell down there.”
“Sounds like hard work.”
“Grueling work. I’m starved.” He eyed the menu, flipping its single laminated page over. “You guys do the fried chicken this late?”
“If you’ll take mashed on the side.”
“I was going to ask for that. And the corn, please.”
“Sure thing.” I’d seen Barry assemble that plate often enough. I headed back to the kitchen, smiling to myself, and then it hit me: Shit. I like him. What little sex life I had, I kept separate from the diner scrupulously, and from the whole town of Grange if I could manage it. I barely broke even as it was, and the slightest whiff of homosexuality would drive the hardworking, big-tipping railroader crowd off me faster than a failed health inspection.
“What’s your name?” I asked when I brought out the stranger’s plate.
“Ted.”
“Nice to meet you, Ted.”
“Are you the owner?” he asked, ripping meat off the chicken breast with gusto.
“I am.”
“You still get stuck with graveyard, huh? Can’t find someone reliable to take it?”
“I prefer it. I’d keep the place open all night if I could.”
Ted gave a surprised little nod. “So you could have any shift you want, but you pick nights. And I can’t have any shift but nights on this production, and I hate them.”
“I think life thinks that’s funny.”
Ted snorted agreement. “I think you’re right. Life’s got one hell of a sense of humor.”
You’re telling me. “I’m just going to start wrapping up the pies. Should I leave one out for you?”
“Slice of key lime, please,” he said around a mouthful of mashed.
It was ridiculous to think I could intuit something about a man based on his dinner, but that didn’t stop me from entertaining the notion. I speculated that this was not his traditional diet; he was far too lean and ropy to exist on fried foods and pie. Then again, if the dirt stains on his T-shirt were any indication, he worked hard; that, combined with irregular meals and a fast metabolism, might allow him to manage it all.
I shook my head. I’d had some strange flights of fancy while wrapping up the pies night after night, but this one took the cake. So to speak.
“Are you the only graveyard grub around here?” Ted asked. “Not that I’m going to jump ship, I just wonder. Everything else seems closed up tight.”
“Everything else closes at ten, unless you want a bar.”
Ted grunted. “Flashback to childhood. I grew up in a small town like this.”
“Yeah?”
“I probably would’ve stayed, too, except that it’s hard to make a living as a cinematographer in a town of ten thousand.”
I nodded. “It’s more suited to diners than movies.” And more suited to people with conservative sex lives; that Ted grew up in a small town and wished he still lived in one didn’t bode well for my attraction, and I made myself tune out after that. I feigned exhaustion on a par with Ted’s and pretended I liked to get all the cleanup done before I closed. I tried, very hard, not to watch the way he stuck his tongue out slightly to receive every forkful of key lime pie, and gave him only the standard thanks-and-good-bye nod when he stood. He left a good tip.
I convinced myself he was none the wiser, and I’d almost rid myself of my attraction to him. That lasted right up until I slid into bed, when I envisioned him on his knees in front of me, his mouth open, his tongue stuck out slightly to receive my cock.
“How are things with the wife?”
Barry eyed me over the rims of his glasses as he washed his hands. “Nothing new to report.”
I nodded, trying to seem casual. Ted had been in every night for five nights, enjoying Barry’s far superior fried chicken, and every night for five nights I’d tried to be just friendly enough, hoping neither Ted nor Barry would suspect me. Tonight, if Ted came in, it would be his night off; we’d have time to talk, I thought, and maybe—just maybe—I’d see some glimmer of interest from him. “Want to knock off early?” I asked Barry as smoothly as I could.
Barry grunted. “Not sure that’ll make any difference. She yells no matter when I get home.”
I pointed at the slightly wilted spray of wildflowers in an empty milk jug that a sixth-grade class had offered me as a tip. “Take those with you, see if she yells.”
Barry dried his hands and gave me a sideways look. “Your marriage counseling isn’t exactly subtle.”
I patted him on the back. “Your personality demands straightforwardness.”
“Mmm. Don’t work too hard.” He picked up his jacket, eyed me a little, and took the wildflowers, too. “If I still get yelled at, I’m blaming you.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
The diner fell into an eerie quiet in Barry’s absence. I watched the clock. Ted only got one night off a week, he’d told me, and slowly I realized that without the stricture of a meal period, he could cook something himself, back at his hotel. Or eat early and catch up on sleep. There were a dozen reasons he wouldn’t walk through my door.
Instead, he was later than usual; he wandered in at one forty-five, sheepish behind his black rims. “Any chance of grub?”
“For you? Sure.” I reached for the coffeepot.
“None of that tonight, thanks. I’ve got to sleep.”
I nodded. “Beer?”
“Perfect.”
“Bud?”
“You know me well.”
I knew him well enough to risk what I was about to do, at least. I had no liquor license, and had suggested Bud simply because I had a couple of bottles stashed in the fridge for myself. “On the house,” I told him, and came around the counter to turn the sign to CLOSED and lock the door.
Ted grinned. “My lips are sealed.”
“Thanks. The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
As I fried the chicken, I pondered how to approach him. Beer rather than coffee was a good sign, but it was still dicey. I figured he wouldn’t exactly run out to ruin my reputation now, but I risked losing his casual friendship if I spoke up. Then again, if we felt the same way about each other, he was probably out there thinking the same thing.
“How’s that sitting?” I asked, nodding toward his beer when I brought out his dinner.
“Very well, thanks.” He tore into the chicken breast first, as usual, and made panicky little huffing sounds as he sucked air into his mouth to cool off that first searing bite, as usual.
I watched him eat. I could say something, anything, to get the dialogue started, especially now that he was committed to the meal and a more or less captive audience. Especially now that he was licking the buttery mashed potatoes off his fork. Especially when he wrapped his lips around the beer bottle so perfectly.
I fetched his slice of pie instead, my cheeks hot.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Ted noted.
“Preoccupied.”
“If you want to talk, I’ll listen. You’ve listened to me whine often enough.” Ted licked a stray streak of butter from the corner of his mouth.
“Not sure you’d be interested in what’s on my mind.”
He gave me a come-hither motion with one greasy-fingered hand. “Try me.”
I stared at him, trying to convince myself to speak. “Relationship problems,” I finally said.
He laughed. “I can definitely lend an ear to those.”
“It’s not like that. It’s not knowing if how I feel about someone is reciprocated.”
“There’s a good way to find out.” He sucked an especially greasy finger into his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm. Ask.”
I shook my head. “Good idea, wrong situation.”
“Mmm. Sensitive arrangement?”
“You could say that.”
“You could drop hints. You know, hang around a little more than you have to. Be friendly. Stop by for dinner, even on the nights when you’re not working.”
I blinked. “Are you serious?”
Ted shrugged.
I fought with myself over what would be better: confess attraction to him, or just my orientation? Pros, cons, and my moment slipping away. “I’m gay,” I said, my cheeks hot.
“I’m bi.” Ted’s voice was completely level, his gaze firm.
Oh, god. “I’m attracted to you.”
Ted grinned. “Your fried chicken’s nothing compared to Barry’s. Why do you think I keep coming back?”
I laughed. Just shook my head and laughed. “Well, thank you. And I know. About the fried chicken.”
Ted shrugged. “Your conversation makes up for it. And your ass.” He wiped his hands thoroughly on his napkin, grinning at me. “Can I have a tour of the kitchen?”
“Come on in.” I beckoned for him to come around the counter.
He got to his feet, offering me a sly smile. “Always wondered what it was like back there.”
I pushed open the double doors and made a wide Vanna White gesture. “Welcome to the kitchen. Here’s the standing freezer—”
“Stop right there. I like the standing freezer.” He backed me against it, his big, wiry hands tight on my hip bone.
I swallowed. This close, I could smell the fried chicken on his breath, the warm tang of his sweat. He just watched me, lips curved slightly upward, waiting for me. There were windows. We could be seen. My reputation—
Fuck my reputation.
I slid my hands up the sides of his face and gently pulled his glasses off, resting them on the top of the freezer. I’d seen him without his glasses once before, on a bad night, when he’d pulled them off to rub at his eye sockets with the heel of his hand; seeing his eyes this way was much more satisfying. I pulled him toward me, tilting my head to place a kiss on his upturned lips.
The first touch was electric. His mouth opened immediately for my tongue, his hips arching up for me at the same time. I wrapped one arm around his waist, dragging him against me, but he shoved me back, pinning me against the cool exterior of the freezer.
“Goddamn,” he moaned against my mouth. “Why the hell didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I slid my hands along his belt, easing the tongue out of the buckle.
“Small town. Not a good place to go professing attraction for boys,” Ted grinned, tugging my shirt out of my jeans.
“Same here.” I yanked Ted’s zipper down, shoved my hand down his Calvins. His cock was thick and heavy already, a hot moist heft below crisp, dark curls. His hips bucked toward me uncontrollably, and I grinned and made a fist for him to thrust into.
“Not enough.” Ted pulled the bar apron from around my waist and dropped it to the floor, then tore into my slacks with a hunger I hadn’t seen in him, even for Barry’s fried chicken.
“Not enough,” I agreed. In moments his jeans were around his thighs and my slacks were at my ankles, my ass cold against the freezer door.
“I suppose the health department doesn’t look too kindly on this kind of thing,” Ted moaned against my mouth, his rough hand wrapping around my cock.
“Health department guy’s on vacation.” I grabbed Ted’s ass, dragged him hard against me. “I’ll clean up, promise.”
“Suck me off?” Ted bit at my neck, just below my ear, and words failed me.
I moaned instead and slid to my knees, my discarded apron cushioning them from the cracked linoleum floor. Ted’s cock bobbed upward in anticipation, and I wrapped my lips around the head, humming softly at the dark, salty taste of him.
“Fuck,” Ted moaned, leaning forward to brace his forearms on the freezer. “Won’t last.”
I pulled back, rubbing my hand over his spit-slick cock. “Don’t want you to.” I took him deep then, wrapping my arms around his waist. I heard his fingers claw at the lid of the freezer, so fucking hot, and kept going as quickly as I could.
Ted cupped one strong, calloused hand around the back of my head, and I opened wide to receive his thrusts all the way into the back of my throat. His groans echoed off the walls of the tiny kitchen as he came, hot salty jets across the back of my tongue, and I closed my eyes as I swallowed him down.
“Christ,” he breathed, clinging to the freezer as he backed up to let me off my knees. “That was really good.”
I kissed him lightly, still savoring the taste of him in my mouth. “It was.”
Ted gave me a sudden, boyish grin, pressing me up tight against the freezer. “Ever been sucked off in your diner before?”
“Uh—no,” I gasped, shuddering at the way his hip bone was snugged just so against my cock, “but if you keep coming around I’ll be happy to—make it a habit….”
Ted snorted out a little laugh, leaning down to brush a kiss against my lips. “Me too.” He pressed closer, forcing my ass firmly against the cool freezer, and slid one hand down over my cock.
“Fuck—won’t last long,” I groaned, shifting so I could wrap my hand around his.
“Mmm. Show me.” Ted leaned his hand up gently into mine.
So I did: I gripped his hand and showed him how to stroke me, tight and long. There was a certain lightness to his eyes, a joy in the playful aspects of our situation even as he worked hard to drive me completely out of my mind. He leaned down over me, brushing his lips against my ear. “Wanted you from the first time,” he panted. “Thought about bending you over the counter and having to untie your little apron before I unbuckled your belt.” He slid down to his knees, and I braced my arm against the wall behind the freezer in preparation.
“Wanted to suck you off right there on the barstool,” I offered in return, barely breathing. His lips nearly touched my cockhead. I felt his breath against my slit.
Ted gave me another one of those brilliant, half-crazy smiles. “No reason we can’t do all of the above,” he said, and sucked me down.
It was like Ted’s mouth was made for my cock. He hollowed his cheeks, playing his tongue up along the underside and teasing the spot where the shaft met the cockhead. I tangled my fingers in his hair, watching him find a slow, steady rhythm. He cupped my balls in one hand, teasing behind them gently with his fingertips, and my knees buckled. “Close,” I hitched out.
