Payback (2 page)

The delicious wet heat of his mouth working away at my cock had me so turned on, I knew if I looked down there I wouldn’t see my nuts at all. They’d be absorbed into my body all the way up to my spleen. If my dick got any harder, I’d be able to cut glass with it. Or drive a fucking nail.

My breath stuck in my throat. My back was arched so high I must have looked like a footbridge. I drove my tongue as far up Spence’s ass as it would go, and in my excitement I flopped around like a curtain flapping in the wind. “I’m gonna I’m gonna I’m gonna—”

“Hmmm,” Spence murmured around me. “Give me your come, baby. Let it go. Fill my mouth. Feed me. Let me drink you down.”

Beyond all expectation, my back arched a little higher. I was surprised not to hear a bone snap or see tendons go zinging across the room like rubber bands. With Spence’s heavenly ass splayed across my face like a Halloween mask, I felt my balls begin to churn and my cock strained upward as Spence sucked and stroked and slavered and drew me all the way in.

And just as I was about to explode, he scraped his cock over my chest, bumping his balls against my chin when he did, and the next thing I knew he was crying out too. Two seconds later, after a moment of tense silence when all the oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the room for a couple of heartbeats and the two of us froze in an absolute rictus of ecstasy, he suddenly cried out like a banshee at the same time I did.

My come burst forth just as Spence shoved his mouth down over my cock all the way to the root. And at precisely the same moment, his legs clutched me in a grip of iron and his own hot come spilled out across my chest where he was frantically humping me as if he had lost all sense of control, which I’m pretty sure he had.

I quickly grabbed his legs and pulled him up so I could stuff his creamy, heaving cock in my mouth and maybe lay claim to the last few surging jets of come, but I was too late. I got a dribble or two, but the rest was smeared across my chest from my tits to my crotch. Never one to show much restraint or willing to do without, I scraped up as much of his jism as I could and licked it from my fingertips while his throat worked and his hands kneaded and his tongue continued to coax the last drops of come from me.

Still trembling but finally sated, we collapsed against each other and buried our faces into each other’s nests of come-splattered pubic hair. Slowly, Spence’s cock softened against my lips, and even then I felt more juices oozing out, so I licked them away, shuddering yet again at Spence’s trembling response to my continued feeding.

When we were finally able to speak, it was Spence who found words first. His voice was husky and weak. Almost as weak as I felt. “Well, that was new and different.”

My heart was still thudding like crazy. “It was wonderful.”

“I love you, Tyler Benjamin Powell,” Spence crooned, pressing his lips to the base of my cock and pulling me close yet again.

“I love you too, Spencer Walter Chang. More than ever.”

We both chuckled at the corny use of our full names, then we let the growing darkness settle around us. I peeked across the heaving terrain of Spence’s chest and gazed through the sliding door leading out to the second-floor terrace. The stars were waking in the California sky. A line of palm trees on a hillside in the distance was silhouetted against the last shimmering streaks of an orange sunset.

As we lay there still in a 69 position, Spence stroked the back of my legs with gentle hands and pressed his face into my stomach. “You smell heavenly,” he said softly.

I laid my hand to his cheek, and he twisted his head to kiss my palm. “Not tired of me yet?” I asked with a smile. I already knew the answer to that question, or I wouldn’t have asked.

“I’ll never be tired of you, Tyler. Every day I’m with you, I love you more than the day before. Even when you’re a racially insensitive twit and call me a full-fledged Chinaman when you know my mother’s as white as you are.”

“So you’re saying she likes Chinese dick too.”

He chuckled. “By all accounts. If you want, I’ll ask her next time I see her.”

I grinned into his softening cock and another smear of juices spilled across my cheek. I squeegeed it off with my finger and poked the finger in my mouth. “I think you’ve busted an O-ring. You’re still leaking.”

He stiffened in my arms.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s Franklin?”

At the mention of that name, we both froze.

“Holy crap. He’s too quiet. He’s probably in the living room, eating your roses.”

“Fucking mutt,” I growled, “If he is I’ll kill him. Those roses you brought me couldn’t have been cheap.”

“Well….”

“Well what?”

Spence was laughing against my stomach. “Those roses were actually from my sister in celebration of our anniversary. I just changed the card and told you they were from me.”

“You cheapass Chinaman.”

“There you go again.
Half
-Chinese.
Half
-Chinese. And thank you. But I got you something else.”

That perked me up. “You did? What?”

Spence pulled away from me long enough to fish around in the drawer of his nightstand beside the bed. He hauled out a velvet box about the size of a cellphone and, flipping on the light, handed it to me. “It’s for both of us actually.”

I sat up beside him, and he snaked his arm around my waist, watching my every move.

I flipped open the velvet box and saw two rings, standing side by side, tucked into a bed of black silk. The rings were gold with a band of onyx circling one and a ring of lapis lazuli circling the other. A diamond rested in the center of each. And it was a pretty good-sized diamond too.

“Wedding rings,” Spence whispered in my ear. “The blue one is for you. The black one is for me. Unless they sized them wrong. Then it’s the other way around.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Doesn’t matter which is which. I love them both.”

We had married at City Hall on a whim a year earlier. We told each other we would find the right wedding rings eventually, but work interceded, and we never got around to it. Apparently, Spence had finally grown tired of waiting.

He plucked the lapis ring from the box and said, “Hold out your hand.”

I did as he asked, and he slipped the ring over my finger. It fit perfectly.

“Now do me,” he said.

So I did. Holding Spence’s warm hand in mine, I gently pushed the onyx ring onto his finger, and after a bit of a nudge, it slipped over his knuckle and settled into place.

“They’re perfect,” I murmured, admiring the sheen of gold on our two hands—one with an inner band of blue, the other a band of black.

I turned and laid my mouth over Spence’s. Still clutching hands, our new rings tapping against each other, our kiss seemed to last forever.

Just as I knew
we
would.

How could a love like ours
not
last forever?

F
RANKLIN
HADN
’
T
eaten the roses, but he had managed to scoot a kitchen chair over to the sink and climb quietly onto the counter while we were in the bedroom doing things Franklin didn’t need to know about. Once he was on the counter, he ate every last speck of leftovers, including an entire untouched loaf of garlic bread I had purchased for the
next
night’s dinner.

Spence was tugging his underwear on as we stood in the kitchen doorway surveying the destruction.

“Where’s the dog?” I growled.

We heard a whimper behind us and spun around.

Franklin stood at the front door with his stomach distended and a piece of tinfoil hanging from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were as big as Ping-Pong balls and he looked like he was about to either poop or barf or explode. Or maybe all three.

I took one look at the poor miserable mutt and said, “DEFCON 4. We have to get him outside. Now!”

Spence and I both took off running, scooping our clothes off the floor where we’d thrown them earlier and dressing so fast I didn’t realize until we were done that I was wearing Spence’s shirt and he was wearing mine. Even with the time restraints at hand (Franklin was groaning now and looking truly desperate, so the time restraints were growing dire), I had time to relish Spence’s scent on the shirt I was wearing. Surprisingly, less than five minutes after our comefest in the bedroom, I again felt my dick twitch in anticipation of whatever
other
sexual escapades might be in store for us on this most extraordinarily romantic anniversary night.

After four years, even the scent of Spence’s dirty shirt was enough to drive me crazy.

Unfortunately, if we didn’t get Franklin outside pronto, the romantic part of the evening would be over, and we would spend the rest of our anniversary night cleaning up after the dog. And we both knew it.

I grabbed the leash, Spence grabbed the house keys and a fistful of doggy poop bags, and we were out the door like a shot, Franklin dragging us along in his wake.

Franklin did his business less than two steps away from the front porch, so at least the deposit was made in our front yard and not one of the neighbors’. As soon as he had finished, and while Spence was cleaning up the mess, which was spectacular, Franklin
did his doggy version of
Cats
, dancing and frolicking around the lawn like he was up for a Tony for best post-poop dance ever. Tongue lolling inside his big toothy grin, he finally settled down, and when Spence was finished with the clean-up and had tossed the nuclear waste in the trash can at the side of the house, we took off down the street for our evening constitutional, Franklin leading the way.

Arm in arm, Spence and I followed.

San Diego is lovely on a summer evening. The air is balmy, the night sky endless. A gazillion stars were just now blinking on as the heavens darkened around them. Only the faintest trace of the red sunset still colored the western edge of the horizon, faintly outlining the city skyline off in the distance.

Spence and I had bought the old Craftsman house in the South Park section of San Diego only two years earlier. The neighborhood was quaint and slowly becoming snootified, as Spence called it, with gentrification gradually transforming the Fifties look of the place into a more modern-day version of itself. As younger, moneyed
people began moving in, bringing upscale businesses and maître
d’ed restaurants with them, the housing market benefited too, with older homes being spruced up and remodeled and sold for twice the amount they would have pulled in earlier.

I suppose Spence and I were moneyed people too. He was a software engineer, and I was in charge of bookkeeping for a major fast-food chain. Between the two of us, we were pulling down about two hundred and fifty grand a year. Together for four years, married legally for one, and the proud parents of a dog with no scruples
whatsoever we had acquired from the Humane Society because we thought it would be wise to have a guard dog—which Franklin most certainly was not—Spence and I were now considering more important additions to our little family. And I don’t mean another dog.

“A boy would be nice,” Spence said out of the blue, strolling along at my side. I had the impression he was speaking more to himself than he was to me, which didn’t stop me from joining in.

“A girl would be nice too,” I said. “Or one of each.”

Since Spence was holding both the leash and my hand, he quickly dragged the dog and me to a stop, narrowing his eyes and giving me a look that, had he been naked, would have really been a turn-on. “Let’s not get carried away,” he said, gazing down his nose at me. (He was four inches taller.) His delicately slanted eyes were full of laughter.

I raised my hands in submission. “Fine. One or the other. Not both. But which would you prefer? A boy or a girl? It’s a question we should probably settle before we really get the adoption thing rolling.”

Spence took exactly two seconds to answer, and therein lies the reason I loved him so much. His answer would have been my answer, only with less blathering and with infinitely more sincerity.

In the moonlight, Spence’s face shone soft and sweet as he said, “Whichever one most needs a home.”

I nodded and brought his hand to my lips. “Of course.”

We walked on beneath the streetlights, Franklin leading the way, happily wagging his tail and sniffing at everything crossing his path. Off in the distance, down the long rolling slope of the city, we could see the sparkling lights of Tijuana shimmering brightly, like a string of jewels laid across the horizon. The night air was scented with woodsmoke from someone’s fireplace. Since it was summer and anything but cold, maybe someone else was enjoying a romantic evening, lying cuddled, perhaps, on their living room floor beneath the flickering lights of a fire, naked bodies intertwined, wine glasses forgotten at their side, whispering words of love only the two of them could hear but would never forget.

“God,” I said aloud, “I’m having erotic imaginings of
other
people now. I must be feeling romantic tonight.”

Spence nudged me with his shoulder. “Good. I like you needy.” And for the tenth time since leaving the house, we both looked down at the rings on our fingers.

I leaned in to brush Spence’s ear with my lips. Then I pulled away since we were approaching the business section of our little piece of San Diego called South Park. While gays were supposedly accepted, I was still averse to public displays of affection, even if Spence wasn’t.

He smiled as I edged away from him, knowing full well what I was doing. “Little Catholic boy is still afraid to be himself.”

“You bet,” I gently growled. “But don’t worry. This little Catholic boy will show you a thing or two later when I get you naked in my bed.”

He laughed. “But we did that already.”

I cocked an eyebrow high for his benefit. “Yes, and we’ll do it again.”

“Good,” he repeated, and this time it came out in a sexy little purr.

We passed the coffee shop on the corner, and as always the place was packed. Two old men sat at a table outside the front door, playing chess and eating muffins in the spill of light from the window behind them. A yellow Lab curled up at their feet lifted his head to nod at Franklin as we passed, and the two dogs sniffed noses.