Best Gay Erotica 2014 (12 page)

I still didn't want to do it, but I couldn't see any flaws in Mikey's logic or any reason why I
couldn't
do it without looking bad.

“Come on,” Mikey cajoled. “What's he going to say? You probably won't even see him.”

Pushing myself up on my feet, I announced, “I have to take a leak.” I'd worry about the beers when I came back from the bathroom.

The moment I stepped into the hall, Mikey's braying laugh erupted behind me as he shoved the bedroom door shut. I heard the insidious
click
as he locked me out. Angry, I stormed across the hall into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind me. “Asshole.”

Looked like I was going downstairs after all.

I considered hammering on Mikey's door until he had no other choice but to open up. Then I figured Mr. Pierce would hear the commotion and come upstairs to yell at us, so I settled for hitting Mikey's closed door with my fist, which set him snickering inside the bedroom—I know, I heard him when I pressed my ear to the wood. “You're dead,” I growled, my mouth against the doorjamb. “See if I bring you any beer.”

“You better!” Mikey hollered. The closeness of his voice startled me—he was right on the other side of the door. I wriggled the knob but it didn't turn, which meant he held it tight to
keep it from rattling. “You ain't getting back in here without at least two beers. One for each of us.”

I waited, silent, until I could hear him breathing; he must've pressed an ear to the door, listening to see if I'd left or not. So I hit the door again, harder this time, and heard a satisfying “Ow!”

Before he could open the door to retaliate, I hurried downstairs.

The first few steps disappeared quickly beneath my feet, but halfway down I paused. The darkness wasn't as complete as I had first thought. The lights in the living room were out, and if I moved a little to the left, I saw the kitchen was dark as well. But another step brought me closer to the bottom of the stairs, where I saw a warm glow of light spread in a small circle from the doorway where the living room and dining room met. As I crept closer, one step at a time, I realized that the folding louvered doors separating one room from the next had been pulled shut.

That gave me pause. The glow I saw came from under the door, where the wood was warped just enough that it didn't sit flush against the floor.

Straining to hear anything, I held my breath and listened. Someone cleared his throat, a discreet sound that told me Mr. Pierce was still in the dining room. Cards purred as he shuffled them, and a few poker chips clattered to the table as if he'd been stacking them out of boredom and they'd finally fallen over. But there was no other sound—no one talking to him, no nervous scuffling, nothing to indicate he wasn't alone in there. If he caught me…

At the bottom of the stairs, I peeked around the wall to get a good look in the kitchen. To my surprise, those louvered doors were also shut, though they didn't close all the way and the gap they left between the wall and the door allowed a shaft of light
to penetrate the darkened kitchen. It illuminated an empty beer bottle that had been left on the counter so it cast an amber glow over the sink's faucet. If I were quick, I could probably sneak in there, open the fridge really slowly so it wouldn't make any noise, grab two bottles of beer and dash back upstairs before Mr. Pierce even knew I was there.

My socked feet were silent as I inched across the carpet onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. My heart hammered in my chest, every nerve was on end, and my hair felt puffed in fear all along my arms and the back of my neck. If I were caught…

I wouldn't be caught. In my mind's eye I could see myself getting the beers. I crept closer, watched my hand reaching for the refrigerator door, felt cool metal as my fingers closed around the handle. I wouldn't get caught. I
wouldn't…

From the dining room came that sound again, half cough, half clearing the throat. With a voice steeped in gravel, Mr. Pierce spoke. “So you owe me what, three hundred?”

My hand froze on the handle.
Oh, fuck
. He wasn't alone.

I heard another sound, something sexy, a mingled laugh and moan. “Three-fifty. Don't round it down just because you're hard for me.”

The words drew me closer. Without conscious thought, I relaxed my grip on the handle of the fridge and turned toward the partially shut louvered door.
“Hard
for me?” Was that what he had said?

Oh, Jesus.

I expected an angry shout, a denial, something fast and quick that sent this fellow packing. Instead, I was surprised to hear the hint of a smile in Mr. Pierce's voice when he answered, “I was cutting you some slack. I know you ain't got the cash.”

With a throaty chuckle, his friend replied, “I know it's not cash you want from me.”

I couldn't help it—my feet moved forward, heading for the louvered door. I stopped at the counter and tried to peer around the gap where the door and jamb didn't quite meet, but all I saw was blank wall. Were they talking about what I
thought
they were talking about? What I
hoped
they were talking about?

Then I heard muffled moans, a slight gasp, indistinct words. I inched closer and prized the louvers up slowly, careful not to let them squeak. Through the wooden slats I saw Mr. Pierce sitting at the head of the dining room table. He was turned toward me, facing a friend of his I recognized as RC, who sat on the bench closest to the kitchen, the same seat Mikey always preferred to use. Only RC wasn't exactly sitting any longer. Both hands leaned heavily on Mr. Pierce's thighs, rumpling the work pants he wore as RC fisted the dark blue material. RC stretched above Mr. Pierce, face buried in his neck, and as I watched, Mr. Pierce's thick lips parted in a low, guttural moan. One hand rubbed over RC's strong arm, kneading through his shirt. The other trailed down RC's chest to tug at the waistband of RC's jeans.

Suddenly my own jeans felt two sizes too small. Without thinking about it, I thumbed open the fly and felt the zipper part beneath the erection straining at my crotch. My whole body flushed at the sensation of my hard dick released from confinement and I pressed my palm against it before my fingers encircled my shaft through the cotton of my briefs.

When RC's mouth covered Mr. Pierce's, I bit my lower lip to keep from whimpering.
Yes
, I prayed.
Thank you, God, for letting me see this
.

Apparently Mr. Pierce didn't share my appreciation. With his hand flat against RC's chest, he held the younger man at bay. “Sweet as they are,” he purred, “your kisses aren't enough to pay your debt.”

“You're the one who knocked off fifty bucks.” The coy smile I heard in RC's voice excited me and I rubbed the front of my briefs, which had grown damp beneath my growing erection.

Mr. Pierce's laugh was like a warm hand that wrapped around my balls and squeezed gently. I almost moaned at the sound, but bit down harder on my lip to keep quiet. “I can get these for free whenever I want,” he murmured.

The thought of these two men doing this—
this!
—after every card party with Mikey and me upstairs, ignorant, made me want to weep. I had never loved anyone as much as I did the both of them, right at that instant. Though I knew I should just tiptoe back up to Mikey's room without a word, before they knew I was there, nothing could force me to move. I wanted to see this, I
had
to see it.

My hand slipped into the waistband of my briefs. My fingers smoothed down the kinked curls at my crotch, then strummed along the stiffening length jutting from my unzipped fly. When my thumb rubbed over the tip of my cock, I whimpered a little with desire. Oh, hell yes. I needed this.

In the dining room, RC had folded one leg beneath him and now sat perched on the bench before Mr. Pierce, whose spread legs and slouched posture looked like an invitation I knew I would have never been able to resist. With sure hands RC explored the wide expanse of Mr. Pierce's chest, flattening his undershirt flush against his flesh. At the waistband of his pants, RC untucked the shirt, plucking it free from the belt buckle, and flicked it up to expose a pale swath of stomach. My fist tightened around my cock at seeing the hair swirled around his navel, black and gray as if seasoned just right; the slight paunch from the way he sat, the hint of belly fat that pooched over the top of his belt, the way the skin seemed to quiver when RC's fingers tickled over it. Leaning down, RC pressed his face to
Mr. Pierce's stomach and rested his cheek in the tufts of hair as he snuggled close.

Jealousy flooded me.
I
wanted to be there, held in the safety of Mr. Pierce's embrace, clutched tight to the man I had loved all these years. My cock ached at the thought of doing that,
just
that, and nothing else. I stroked myself as I watched RC's lips pucker and kiss Mr. Pierce wherever he could reach without moving—belly, navel, the underside of one pectoral muscle that peeked out from beneath the shirt.

Pressing his mouth against Mr. Pierce's skin, RC suddenly blew a wet raspberry, the sound loud and startling in the silence.

Mr. Pierce growled as he shoved RC back and wiped at the slobber on his stomach. “Come on,” he muttered, sounding exactly like Mikey when my friend wanted me to do something and I was too busy being silly to comply. “Are we going to do this, or what? Because you can leave.”

RC's hands found Mr. Pierce's belt buckle. The teasing grin on his face made my whole body flush. “You don't want me to

go.”

Mr. Pierce grunted in reply, but stayed silent. With expert ease RC unbuckled the belt and let it fall open, then unzipped the front of Mr. Pierce's work pants. I leaned forward, squinting through the louvers, holding my breath as one word tripped like a litany through my mind.
Please, please, pleasepleaseplease
.

He tugged open Mr. Pierce's fly, pushing the material down out of the way as he parted it. Dingy white briefs appeared in the gap, rising like dough over Mr. Pierce's erection. I had to grip the counter with my free hand as I fondled my dick, my underwear chafing now, my body trilling with desire. Gently RC rolled down the top of Mr. Pierce's briefs, and the large cock that swung into view was ruddy and veined and so goddamn
huge
that I squeezed my balls when I saw it. When RC leaned
down to rub that thick length against his cheek, I wanted to rush in there, push him aside and take his place.

I wanted that to be
me
.

I watched, giddy and light-headed, as he wrapped his tongue around the base of Mr. Pierce's shaft. I wondered what such flesh tasted like—I pictured myself in that position, head in Mr. Pierce's lap, tongue buried in the graying hair of his crotch. It was
my
tongue I saw slide up the length of his cock, my tongue that swirled around the bulbous tip, my tongue that dipped down the dribbling slit before my mouth opened wide to take him in.

As RC went down on Mr. Pierce, I gasped. I pushed my underwear below my balls and squatted a bit, leaning back against the counter to get comfortable. My erect dick hardened in the cool air, my nuts hanging low between my legs, and I licked my palms, first one, then the other, before resuming massaging my own length. The spittle helped, easing the friction. My fingers flew over familiar territory as not five feet away, Mr. Pierce leaned back in his seat, a blissful smile on his face while RC sucked his cock. This was my daydream come true, my fantasies made real. It was me in there with him, my throat working his erection, my fist tight around the base of his shaft, my fingers rubbing under his scrotum to rim the hairy darkness at his core.

In all my eighteen years, I had never seen a man pleasured by another. Oh, I had seen pictures—those magazines under my bed had their fair share of cum-flecked and dog-eared pages, to be sure. But they were staged images, hard cocks that had been stroked and polished until they gleamed for the cameras. All the pinups were solo shots, not couples. I didn't Google gay porn online because the last way I wanted to come out to my family was by someone—my mother perhaps, or a teacher at
school—discovering the websites I had visited recently. I knew gay porn existed; I just didn't have access to it. RC's kiss was the first time I ever saw two men show any affection toward each other that extended beyond a handshake or a clap on the back. So this,
this
—Mr. Pierce shoved deep into RC's willing mouth, one hand holding the back of RC's neck, the other cradling RC's unshaven cheek…this was my first glimpse of heaven.

After several long minutes, Mr. Pierce clenched his hand into a fist at RC's nape. The next time RC bobbed up, the hand on his face eased beneath his jaw, holding him back. The look Mr. Pierce gave RC smoldered—even across the distance that separated us, I felt that look deep in my groin and had to bite into the fleshy base of my thumb to keep from crying out with want. “Damn, you're good,” Mr. Pierce said, his voice soft.

My cheeks blazed at the compliment as if it had been directed toward me.

A slow smile softened Mr. Pierce's stern features. “But you know what I want.”

RC laughed and turned his face to press his mouth in Mr. Pierce's palm, planting a kiss there. “What you
always
want. A piece of my ass.”

There was the slightest hint of a tease in Mr. Pierce's voice when he countered, “It's an oh-so-fuckable ass.”