Calvin’s Cowboy (15 page)

“Those things can bounce.”

“No they can’t. They’re guaranteed that the funds are…” Calvin decided to save his breath. “Cash. I’ll bring cash, okay?” He just wanted the man gone.

“How do I know you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass?”

Calvin dug deep into his rapidly dwindling reserves of patience to avoid telling the guy that he had no interest whatsoever in his scrawny ass.

Calvin started walking to the man’s car, a green Camry with spots of rust around the wheel wells. “You don’t, but here’s my card. I’m co-owner of this company. You
will
get your money, all of it, tomorrow.”

The man looked at the business card. “New York?” He said it with distrust, if not downright distaste.

Calvin opened the car door for him. “Tomorrow. Let’s say ten o’clock. When we’ll also discuss a repair schedule.”

The man got into his car, still muttering. Calvin closed the door, and, not looking back, walked up the porch steps and back into the house. Brock was just coming down the hallway, a towel wrapped around his middle, another being used to dry his hair.

“Enjoy your shower?” Calvin asked.

“Was there someone at the door?”

Calvin considered lying and saying ‘no,’ or telling Brock it was the Jehovah’s Witnesses or the Mormons, but he couldn’t. “It was your landlord.” He folded the papers and stuck them in his back pocket.

“Shit. He’s a fuckin’ menace.”

“Also as dumb as a box of hammers,” Calvin muttered.

“What?” Brock was rubbing at his ear.

“Nothing.”

“I bet it was him that left a message last night.” Brock stared at the answering machine.

Calvin saw a light blinking on it. “You probably should listen to the message, it could be Junior.”

Brock didn’t look convinced, but pressed the button anyway.

“Brockwell, this is Ralph Fitzgerald, your landlord. But not for much longer if you don’t pay me what you—” Calvin reached over and punched the stop button.

Brock turned and trudged into his bedroom.

“I saw him off. He won’t be back again today,” Calvin said.

“You didn’t pay him or nothing?” Brock loosened the towel around his waist and sat on the unmade bed.

Calvin held out his arms. “Don’t usually carry a few hundred dollars cash in my pocket.”
Obfuscation is still lying,
his inner voice told him.

Brock grunted and began to scrub at his neck with the towel. The movement caused the towel at his waist to come open, giving Calvin a glorious view of Brock’s soft cock.

With effort, Calvin raised his eyes and looked into Brock’s troubled face. “Remember, you promised you wouldn’t worry about any of this shit until Tuesday.”

“You told me not to worry. That’s not the same as me promising.” The frown on Brock’s face deepened.

Calvin cupped Brock’s face, and, using his thumbs to massage away the frown, said, “We’re not talking about this until Tuesday.” Calvin leaned down and kissed him.

Brock tasted of spearmint toothpaste. One taste wasn’t nearly enough. Before Calvin knew it they were seriously sucking face. Breaking their lip-lock, Calvin slowly sank to his knees and devoured Brock’s cock, which was now standing at rigid attention.

“Oh, God!” Brock groaned, flopping back on the bed, his legs coming up and bending at the knees, giving Calvin access to the man’s beautiful rear.

Not gonna look this gift ass in the…
Calvin giggled, unable to complete the metaphor.

“What?” Brock mumbled, evidently too far gone in lust to really care if Calvin answered his question or not.

Answering would mean Calvin would have to break away from sucking Brock’s balls, and he wasn’t about to do that. Well, not unless it meant going lower to eat out Brock’s ass. The man tasted clean, fresh, and wholesome. Calvin couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, darlin’, that’s it!”

Calvin knew it was the lust talking, but the words still made him shiver.

When Calvin’s jaw started to ache, and he feared Brock’s whimpers and moans were likely to attract the attention of the neighbors, he reluctantly pulled away.

“Why’d you stop?” Brock wanted to know, still holding his legs behind his knees.

Calvin stood and smiled down at the wanton cowboy.

“Fuck me!”

“You sure? We’ve got a long ride ahead of us. Don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I said, fuck me!”

Calvin slipped off his flip-flops, pulled his T-shirt over his head, dropped his shorts and boxers and stepped out of them. “Where’d you put the lube?”

Brock growled in frustration, but lowered his legs, rolled over and went hunting under the side of the bed, emerging a few seconds later with a plastic bottle that he threw on the bed. Rolling back into position, he raised his legs for a second time.

“Condom?”

Brock searched under the bed again, and on finding a rubber, tossed the foil packet onto the bed. He reassumed his position and glared up at Calvin.

“Pillow?” Calvin smiled.

“Jesus, do you want me to do all the fuckin’ work?” Brock reached above his head and threw a pillow at Calvin, who caught it.

“Nope, it’s me who’ll be doing the fuckin’.”

“Smart ass.”

Calvin popped the top on the bottle of lube and started working on Brock’s hole.

“For a man who had a dick up his ass less than twelve hours ago you sure are tight. It’ll take me ages to loosen you up.”

“Stop fuckin’ around and just fuck me.”

Calvin had to laugh at the versatility of the F-word. “Why’s my beautiful cowboy so impatient this morning?”

“Jesus, Calvin, just fuck me, will you?”

Calvin had managed to work three fingers in; Brock really needed some more stretching. Although he would never admit it out loud, he was just as eager to get back inside Brock as Brock was to have Calvin inside him.

Calvin withdrew his hand and wiped it on the sheet. Looking down at Brock, who was biting his bottom lip in anticipation, Calvin couldn’t resist one last tease. Picking up the condom wrapper, he said, “You know, I always like to put these things on real slow. Millimeter by slow millimeter. Gives me such a thrill.”

“CALVIN!” Brock shouted.

“Okay, okay.” Clearly he’d pushed the man as far as he dare. Calvin rolled the rubber on quickly, slicked on some lube and positioned himself at Brock’s entrance.

“Yes!” Brock sighed as Calvin began to push forward.

Even though Brock was in a hurry, no way would Calvin rush this part. He couldn’t hurt his cowboy; also the pulsing, tight heat was just too delicious to squander on a quick entry.

“Yessss!” Brock said when Calvin was all the way in.

“You okay down there?”

Brock closed his eyes, an expression of total bliss on the man’s beautiful face. Calvin just had to kiss that face. Their relative sizes made that a little difficult, but if he pulled out a little, and Brock bent forward…they could manage it.

“Want another slow one?” Calvin asked once they’d finished kissing.

“No, fuck me hard.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

Calvin pulled almost the whole way out, and then slammed back in…hard. The impact pushed Brock a couple of inches up the bed, Calvin having to pull him back.

“Jesus!” Brock yelped, his eyes opening wide in surprise.

“Much rather take my time and enjoy loving you,” Calvin told him, trying out a few more gentle strokes.

* * * *

Calvin wasn’t sure how long their lovemaking lasted; both of them were bathed with sweat by the time he’d edged away from his climax for a fourth time. Brock looked completely wrung out, Calvin had stopped him from jerking off a couple of times, each occasion with Brock growling threats of physical violence, which Calvin laughed off.

“Okay, cowboy, it’s time to gallop back to the barn. Hold on tight.”

“About fuckin’ time!” Brock grumbled.

“I never leave my men unfulfilled.”

Why the hell was he talking about past fucks? To his shock Calvin realized all his previous sexual encounters were just that, fucks. Here, now, with Brock, this was something different…something more. Calvin closed his eyes. He couldn’t…mustn’t fall for this man.
Too fuckin’ late!
the voice told him. Calvin tried to ignore it, but he knew.

“Oh, shit!” Calvin’s climax had snuck up on him unaware. And because he’d delayed it several times it was a doozy.

The room spun…Calvin was falling forward…falling onto Brock, who was holding him tight. The lights went out.

* * * *

“Yo, man. You okay?” Brock’s concerned voice floated somewhere above…below him.

Calvin opened his eyes and saw Brock inches from his face. “Uh.”

“You must have passed out or something.”

“Or something.” Calvin felt life return to his body. It was hot in the room, or was it him?

“You need anything?”

Calvin shook his head and worked his arms around Brock’s wide chest. “Not a thing.”

Brock kissed him. “Me neither.”

They lay—Calvin atop Brock—for several minutes, their breathing and heart rates slowly returning to normal.

Calvin felt the full condom slipping down his now soft dick. Thankfully he must have had the sense to pull out sometime earlier. “Did you come?”

“Oh, yeah,” Brock chuckled, the man’s broad chest vibrating under him. “Can’t you feel it?”

Thinking about it, there was a cold slippery something between them.

“If we don’t move soon we’ll be stuck together.”

“So?” Calvin yawned. “Can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck to.”

Brock kissed him. “You were…amazing.”

“You’ve changed your tune. Earlier you were threatening to cut off my balls for not letting you come.” Calvin returned the kiss.

“Yeah well. What can I say, I’m impatient.” Brock nibbled at Calvin’s right ear. “But, darlin’, it was sure worth the wait.”

Calvin snuggled closer. “Like it when you call me darlin’.”

“Gotta call you something.”

“What about Calvin?”

“Need something more…special, more personal. You call me beautiful an’ cowboy an’ Gary Cooper.”

“That’s because you’re a cowboy, and you’re beautiful, and you remind me of Gary Cooper.” Calvin just wanted to sleep. Why was Brock suddenly being so talkative?

“Unless you’d prefer something else?”

“Such as?” Calvin yawned and closed his eyes. Brock made for a really comfortable mattress.

“I dunno. ‘Sugar cakes’?”

Calvin’s eyes shot open. “Huh?”

“Or maybe ‘Shnuclekins’.”

Calvin raised himself up and glared at Brock. “Shnuclekins?”

Smiling, Brock then suggested, “‘Pootipops’?”

“No fuckin’ way.”

“‘Ukiscrumptiousness’?”

Calvin raised his arm to slug Brock, but the big guy grabbed him and rolled them both over. Calvin found himself squashed into the mattress. Brock’s teasing smile morphed into something Calvin recognized but refused to acknowledge.

Oh, God, it had got to the silly name stage. He was totally, completely, absolutely screwed. Closing his eyes, Calvin whispered, “You can call me darlin’, and we’ll work on something else another time.”

Calvin felt Brock give him a tender kiss. “You got it, darlin’.” The moment was broken when Brock got off him and said, “Shit, look at the time!” we need to hustle if we’re gonna have breakfast on the way.”

Calvin sighed, opened his eyes, and looked at Brock’s old-fashioned brass alarm clock. It was a little after ten. There wouldn’t be time for them to stop off at his folks’ place. “Okay if I shower here?”

“No problem.”

“You gonna have another shower?”

Brock sniffed his pits, an action which had Calvin’s dick coming back to life. This reminded Calvin that he needed to dispose of the rubber, which had come off and was hiding somewhere in the folds of the sheets.

“Yeah, guess I should. Want me to come with you?”

Calvin ran his hands along Brock’s wide shoulders and down his strong arms. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s hard enough keeping my hands off a dry beautiful Gary Cooper cowboy, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions if I got them on a wet and soapy Beaut—”

Brock silenced him with a kiss. “You’re crazy.”

Crazy for you,
Calvin thought, getting up and leaving for the bathroom.

* * * *

Once he was showered, dried, and redressed, Calvin used the time while Brock took his own shower to pick up the bedroom. After discovering the errant condom and burying it in the trashcan, Calvin stripped off the sheets. He’d wait until Brock finished before starting the washing machine. Performing these cozy little chores for his man further rattled Calvin. One thing he definitely wasn’t was domestic. He thought about calling Tim, but instantly rejected the idea. There wouldn’t be enough time. Sure enough, within a minute Brock emerged.

“Thanks for stripping the bed. I wouldn’t have wanted Junior to come home and see anything that’d, well, you know.”

“No problem.” Calvin remained on the bed. If he were to touch Brock they’d start messing around again…and it’d be nightfall before they got on the road.

Brock opened a drawer and got out a clean pair of boxers.

“So, what sexy duds is my cowboy gonna wear that’ll leave me with a perpetual hard-on all day?”

“Want to help me choose?” Brock grinned over at him.

Fuck! I shoulda kept my big mouth shut!
Calvin thought, standing up and walking toward Brock’s closet.

* * * *

They were making good time. KITT had been programmed with their destination and had set a course that Calvin hoped wasn’t the quickest. Not long after they’d left Parish Creek, Brock had reached over and taken Calvin’s right hand. Calvin had glanced over to his passenger, who steadfastly refused to look his way. Calvin had raised their joined hands and brought Brock’s knuckles to his lips. Brock had looked over at him then, giving him a shy smile. Calvin knew it wasn’t easy for his cowboy to show affection to another man in public, so was very proud of him for being willing to go as far as he did.

As the miles rolled by, Calvin settled into a deep contentment. The only fly in the ointment was Brock’s choice of music.

“Isn’t there anything else but George Straight?”