Fear-boners and Unpleasant Dreams
As you may be aware, work I posted on Lit was recently plagiarised and published without my consent. I’ve had the stories taken down, but I didn’t enjoy the experience.
I write as herdirtymind on this site and as Jesse H Reign on others. If you see work I’ve published here under any other name, please let me know.
For the avoidance of doubt, no part of this story may be reproduced without my written permission.
Thanks, and Happy Halloween to those who celebrate.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” says Hadley. His incredulous tone draws the attention of Jeff, who comes to the door to inspect me.
“That’s it? Is this a joke?”
I’m wearing jeans and t-shirt and a cowboy hat I bought when I still lived in Austin. I knew I’d take flack for my low-effort outfit, but the hat’s the real deal. It’s made of tan leather that’s been worn in. I hoped that would count for something.
“We spoke to you about this last year, Dan. We were very clear.”
“Honestly,” sighs Hadley, “you spend so much time with us, sometimes it’s easy to forget that you’re not gay, but when you pull shit like this, it makes it abundantly clear.”
“Mmph, abundantly,” agrees Jeff.
In stark contrast to me, these two have spared no effort. Hadley is dressed as David Bowie, complete with make-up, a wig and a surprisingly authentic-looking asymmetric leotard. Jeff is a gladiator or a God of some sort. He’s wearing bootie shorts and a Caesar crown and is covered from head-to-toe in gold paint.
“It’s a real cowboy hat, I got it i…”
“Don’t care,” says Hadley, cutting me off.
“I don’t even think they’ll let you in like this, I really don’t,” says Jeff, in mock despair. “Take off the top, at least.”
Hadley nods his agreement, his eyes gleaming in mischief. “Yes, it still won’t be ideal, but the shirt off might help a little.”
“Take it off.”
“Take it off.”
“Take it off,” they chant in turns.
I shake my head and sigh as I pull the t-shirt off over my head. These guys have been my friends for a while. A long while. Mainly we’re friends, but sometimes we’re friends who fuck. The flirtatious banter between us is one of many reasons I like hanging out with them. I might not be gay, but I’m sure as hell bi.
“Much better,” says Jeff.
I almost manage to resist the urge to flex, but I can’t. They don’t miss it. Neither of them do.
“Oooh, hello abs,” trills Hadley, as Jeff rakes his fingers down my belly with a well-practised purr.
We pre-game at their place for a while. A handful of other guys join us and by the time it’s late enough to head out, we’re all in the mood to get into trouble.
We get to the club, and I’m instantly hit by the intense beat and the heat and the pulse of the sea of men dancing. The club is unreal. It’s new and has mirrored surfaces and avant-garde lighting that makes it look a bit like a spaceship. Despite fact that I’ve got a nice buzz going, I feel suddenly sober and a bit out of place. This always happens to me when I’m in a place like this. We’ve barely walked in when we spot a gaggle of cowboys. In contrast to me, their costumes are well put together. Hats and boots and neckerchiefs, shiny and perfectly co-ordinated with cut-off denim shorts that show half their asses, and that’s putting it mildly.
“You see, Dan,” says Jeff, never one to miss an opportunity to teach, “that’s how cowboys dress.”
I shrug and laugh and then I head to the bar and shuffle around until I find an open seat. I order a beer and lean back against the bar, watching the scene. The guys I came with are dancing nearby. They’re on top form. I love seeing them like this, though personally, I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t dance unless I’ve had shots, and lots of them.
I nurse that beer and the next one. I’m feeling removed from the vibe to the point that I’m almost ready to call it a night.
Maybe next year, I’ll do something more low-key.
I look around for the guys, planning to see if I can make an escape without causing a scene. I don’t spot them immediately. I scan the room slowly, looking for Hadley’s distinctive wig. I can’t find him, but I find something else. Someone else. Someone different. Someone I recognise instantly. Someone I didn’t realise until precisely this moment, I’ve been expecting. I’ve been waiting for him. I recognise him right away. I recognise him from a teenage dream. My dream. A rare combination of hair, teeth and limbs I concocted in my mind. Body parts and chemicals I assembled and sewed together in the night and then promptly forgot all about. But here he is, seemingly animated by nothing more than a spark of my imagination.
The most beautiful boy in the world.
The place is packed, but there’s space all around him. He’s dancing. He’s moving like water. Like magic. No-one can touch him. The lights are bouncing off his face. Pink and then blue.
His hair is shoulder length and blue-black. He has large doe eyes, impossibly long lashes and heavy eye make-up. There’s a soft, fleshy curve to his lips.
His jawline is sharp. Could-cut-ice-on-it, sharp. His limbs are long and lean. He’s tall and lithe, but as he moves shadows cut into arms and his abs, in perfect time with the music.
That little hint of musculature, of masculinity, combined with his beautiful face, is so sexy I start to stiffen immediately. I watch him for ages. I forget all about my beer. I don’t move a muscle. He’s bare-chested and is wearing a black combat-style kilt and boots. I have no idea what he’s dressed as, possibly some sort of anime character I’m way too uncool to know about. It’s neither here nor there though. Whatever or whoever he is, I like it.
I’m not the only one who has noticed him. He’s drawing a crowd. Guys are jostling to get close to him. They’re dancing hard and wild, shaking their cocks and their asses to get his attention. For his part, he pretends not to notice, but he must. No way he couldn’t. Maybe for him, this is normal. Maybe causing this type of stir is just par for the course for him.
The song changes and he stops moving. He says something to one of his friends and then starts walking to the bar. I don’t take my eyes off him. I can’t. He weaves his way through the crowd and walks towards the bar, straight towards me. My heart beats harder, pulsing in my neck and my ears.
I sit up straighter, shoulders back, subconsciously widening my stance. I raise my beer to my lips and take a careful sip. I flex without thinking. I hate myself for it, but I flex hard enough to burst something.
He squeezes into the spot beside me and looks at me with a little disdain, “Don’t worry, Cowboy, I see you.”
He’s even more beautiful up close. He’s wearing lilac contacts that make his pupils look bigger than they would if he was a mere mortal. His chest is coated with a fine sheen of perspiration from dancing. Both his nipples are pierced and God, that excites me.
By some miracle, I don’t skip a beat. “How’d you know my name was Cowboy?” I say, looking down and tipping my hat at him.
He cracks a wry smile, “I guess I’m psychic, or something.”
“You know, I wouldn’t put that past you.”
He smiles a little more.
“So, d’you want to know my name?” He says, cocking his head and raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Oh, I know your name,” I drawl, leaning into my Texan accent and allowing my words to swirl around in my mouth.
“Mmph, psychic too, are you?”
“I have my moments.”
“Go on then, tell me my name.”
I lean in close. I’m careful not to touch him. I don’t want to be like all the other guys grabbing and groping him, but I hope he can feel my breath on his neck.
“Your name is Trouble.”
He rolls his eyes and laughs despite himself, eyes creasing and then lighting up. “Well, who’d have thought it. You really are psychic.”
“What are you drinking?”
I look at the barman with a desperate look that says, “I will tip the unholy hell out of you if you serve me next.” It works. We watch as he mixes it, and Trouble smiles as he takes his first sip.
“Thanks, Cowboy,” he says, taking a step back, ready to head back onto the dancefloor.
“Don’t mention it. I did it more for myself than for you.”
“Oh really, and how’s that?”
“Well,” I shrug, “I like tequila, see? And now I know you’re going to taste all sweet and salty when I kiss you later.”
He widens his eyes and drops his mouth open in an attempt to show contempt for the sheer audacity of me, but I can see he’s trying not to laugh.
He heads back onto the dancefloor, and I watch him go. He walks like he has music deep in his bones. I follow his legs from his ankles to his knees up as high as his kilt will allow. I wonder what he’s wearing underneath.
Is he going commando?
God, I hope so.
I watch him intensely, hoping that a turn or a spin will give me some clue. It doesn’t. All it does is give me the impression that if I want him, I’m going to have to get my ass on the dancefloor. There are guys all around him. Not just flirting or hinting now. They’re making a serious play for him. From where I’m sitting, he seems to be into one of them. Or, if he’s not into him, he’s not exactly averse to him. To me, the guy looks like a dick. A good-looking dick, but still a certifiable dick. The type of guy who has the word, ‘alpha’ in every single one of his bio’s, if you know what I mean.
I order myself a tequila and shoot it. It doesn’t help. I’m still not ready to leave my perch at the bar, so I just keep watching him. Now and again, he meets my eye and gives me the slightest hint of a smile. When his drink gets three quarters of the way down, I order him another and wait, hoping he’ll come over to me to get it. He does.
“Thanks,” he says, lifting the swivel to his lips and taking it into his mouth. His lips curl around it, so soft and so full, all I can think of is replacing that swivel with my finger, or even better, my cock. “Hey Cowboy, why’d you keep looking at me like that?”
“Can’t help it,” I answer truthfully, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oof,” he says grimacing slightly, “God, don’t tell you’re sweet.”
I put my hand on my heart and smile, “I swear I’m not sweet.”
“Phew. A sweet Cowboy would be too rich for my blood.”
“Nah, I won’t give you a sugar rush, Trouble, I promise. There’s no chance of that. In fact, I was just sitting here daydreaming about what you’re wearing under that kilt. I sure do hope you’re being authentic about it.”
“I hate to disappoint, but I’m not.
“You’re not? That’s a damn shame. Tell you what though,” I say, tracing my jaw thoughtfully, “I won’t report you to the Proper Decorum of Kilt-Wearing Authority if you come to the bathroom with me right now and show me what you’re wearing under there.”
He gasps an exaggerated little gasp and places his hand over his mouth. “I will do no such thing.”
I raise my hands in surrender, “Okay, okay, just tell me then.”
He leans in close, “I’m wearing lace panties,” he whispers. I swell and stir in my jeans, more than I already was.
“Mmh,” I say, a little out of breath and a lot out of words.
“Yeah, I have to,” he sighs, “I have to wear something. I can’t go commando.”
He takes a step back and throws his head back a little, cracking a wicked smile, “You see, Cowboy, the thing is, my dong is so thick and so long, if I don’t wear panties, I just keep tripping over the darned thing.”
I burst out laughing. It’s the last thing I was expecting him to say, “Damn, boy, you sure know how to live up to your name, huh?” He takes a couple more steps back, ready to head back to his friends. “Trouble,” I call after him, reluctant to let him leave, “just tell me one thing…these panties of yours, what colour are they?”
He smiles angelically, a picture of mock-innocence. “They’re black, Cowboy,” he shrugs unapologetically, arms open wide, eyes darkening. “Black like my soul.”
This time when he leaves, I feel a pit in my belly.
I have to have him.
I won’t be alright if I don’t.
He disappears into the throng of bodies, and I lose him. Hadley and Jeff and the guys come to get a drink and check up on me. I’m so distracted, trying to find him in the crowd, I can hardly follow the conversation.
Shit, I can’t find him.
Has he left?
“Guys, can you give me a minute,” I say, “I’ll be right back.”
“Rude,” says Jeff, with an indignant click of his tongue.
“Sorry! This round is on me, okay?” I peel off a bunch of notes and give them what I hope is a my most winning smile.
I check the bathrooms quickly and then I head upstairs to one of the balconies to try to get a better outlook. I spot him at last. He’s sitting in a booth on the other side of the dancefloor with his friends.
By the time I get downstairs and work my way through the crowd, he’s moved again. I scan the place again and this time I spot him immediately. He’s on his way to the bar. I intercept him.
“Are you looking for me, Trouble?”
“I was actually. I’m leaving now, but I wanted to say good-bye.”
“I don’t want to say good-bye.”
“No? What do you want to do instead?”
“I want you to come home with me.”
He smiles, “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because,” I say, digging deep, scraping the bottom of the barrel, “if you do, I’ll fuck you and I swear, I’ll fuck you better than anyone has fucked you in your whole life.”
“Ha!” he bursts out laughing. “A bold claim if ever I’ve heard one.”
“I give you my word,” I say solemnly. “You may not know this about me, but my word is oak.”
He laughs again, “In that case, colour me tempted, Cowboy. The problem is, I’ve got a feeling you can’t handle me.”
“Why not? What makes you think that?”
I can handle him. Believe me.
“Oh, just the fact you assumed I’m a bottom.”
Ooh shit, maybe not.
“Huh? Come on, Trouble, don’t tell me you aren’t a bottom.” I clutch my chest, “I can’t take it.”
“I’m vers, okay?”
“That’s cool,” I’m so relieved, I can’t help smiling a little too wide. “That’ll work just f…”
“I don’t mean I’m a vers guy who sometimes tops. That’s not what I mean.”
I feel a little lost and a lot horny and I’m struggling to see the problem, “What do you mean then?”
“I mean, if I let you top me, there’s a price you have to pay. A high price. A price you pay with your ass.”
I’m suddenly uncertain. I’m almost exclusively a top. It’s been ages since I’ve bottomed and when I’ve done it in the past, I’ve always been in a serious relationship with the guy.
“See,” he shrugs, “told you you couldn’t handle me.”
“It’s not that, I just…”
“Nah, you look unsure. I’ll pass. It was fun meeting you though.”
He turns and starts to head off. As I see the flick of his raven hair and the sensual curve of his back, I’m filled with an indescribable sense of panic and loss. I feel like I’m losing something big. Something major. I feel bereft, even though what I’m losing is something that was never mine in the first place.
“Trouble!” I yell, “Wait!”
He turns back, shaking his head and laughing at me. “Tell you what, Cowboy,” he says, “if I see you again, I’ll take it as a sign that it’s meant to be.”
And with that, he disappears into the crowd. I push my way through, desperately trying to get to him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” says Jeff, catching my arm playfully.
“I told you, didn’t I? I told you Dan was going to do a runner tonight. I could see it written all over him. I’ve got a sixth sense for that type of thing,” says Hadley.
I’m in a full panic now, “I’ve got to…there’s this…there’s a guy, I’ve got to go!”
“Rude!” says Hadley.
“Mmph, rude,” echos Jeff.
“But also go. Go, go, go!” says Hadley shooing me in the direction of the door.
I bolt out of the club, hit hard and sobered slightly by the cool night air. I look left and right. There are a few stragglers here and there, but no trace of him.
Which way did he go?
I head right. Quickly scouting four or five places that are still open. Each time I tear in and look around frantically. There’s no sign of him. I look up and down the street desperately. He couldn’t have gone very far. He must have gone left.
I run down the street, feeling increasingly aware of the fact that I’m shirtless and chasing a phantom. I run back past the club and check out two more places. Nothing. My heart sinks. It’s been fifteen or twenty minutes since he left. I get the feeling he’s not the kind of guy one should keep waiting. I’m about to give up, but I decide to try one last place.
It’s the kind of place that’s open late but feels more like a coffee shop than a bar. It’s pretty quiet and has a chilled vibe. I bet if you asked, they’d have a few board games stashed away somewhere. I spot him right away. He’s sitting on a bar stool drinking coke out of a glass bottle. He looks down at his watch when he sees me.
“I was about to give up on you, Cowboy.”
“I, uh, I went right,” I pant. “You went left. I thought I lost you.”
“Nah, you’ve got me.”
I smile and nod and move so close to him that his knee touches my thigh and sets it alight. He tilts the bottle in his hand towards me, offering me a sip of his coke. I take it. Relieved and refreshed by the sweet coldness of it.
“So,” he says, “now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”
“Come home with me, Trouble. You’re way to pretty to be roaming the streets on your own at this time of night. Come home with me and I’ll give you shelter.”
“Shelter, huh?” he smiles, “Is that what they’re calling it?”
“Yeah,” my voice is deep and hoarse with longing.
“So you accept my terms?” He raises both eyebrows, “I’m yours for tonight, but tomorrow you’re mine.”
“I accept ’em.” I put my hands on his thighs, under his kilt. I rub them up and down, feeling his hair on my palms. “Is this okay?” I murmur.
He gives me a nod and a smile. His lips are parted and despite his contacts, I see a dark swirl of desire in his eyes. I grip his thighs tightly in each hand and spread his legs roughly, moving between them, and jerking him to me, so our groins press hard up against one another.
“And this?” I ask, knowing full well he’s just as hard as I am.
This time he just nods. I stroke a strand of his hair out of his face before wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and leaning in. His lips are parted, and he closes his eyes before I even tilt my head to kiss him. His mouth is so soft and inviting, I groan, right there in the bar. Our tongues touch. Just slightly. A light touch. A flicker. The second they do, chaos is ignited in me. Complete chaos. Not just chaos, carnage. I pull away quickly, as if I’ve been burnt.
“We need to get out of here, now.”
By the time we get to my place, I’m so worked up I can’t keep my hands off him. I hand him my keys and sweep his hair to the side so I can kiss his neck while he unlocks the front door. As soon as we’re inside, he turns to me and we kiss. We kiss for real this time. Hungry. Both of us desperate. Soft lips. Mouths yielding. He arches his neck and sighs softly as he opens his mouth wider, causing the kiss to shift gears. Now it’s not just a kiss, now it’s me fucking his mouth with my tongue. Deep. Hard. Until he omits a sweet, soft little sound.
I pull back and take in his beautiful face, more perfect now than it was before. His eyes are narrowed slightly, lips parted and there’s a tension in his jaw that’s new. I turn him around with one hand on his hip. He spins fast. His kilt flaring out a little. I catch it by the hem and lift it sharply, exposing the back of his thighs and his panty-clad ass. Flawless, pale fleshy globes both hidden and exposed by the sheer lace.
“Damn, boy, you sure do know how to wear the hell out of these,” I say, running my hand in a big, slow figure of eight over both of his pert cheeks. I tuck the kilt into its waistband to keep it from falling back down. I stroke his ass down the middle, “You sentimental about these?”
He looks back at me and gives me a quick shake of his head. I use both hands to test the gauzy fabric. Pulling it. Stretching it, before taking the flimsy garment in both hands and ripping it. Not just ripping it, shredding it. Destroying it until all that’s left is the waistband and the little frills of elastic that cut delicate diagonal stripes into his ass. He’s exposed now. He’s how I want him. His crack and his cheeks are bare.
“Show me,” I murmur, rubbing my palm over the silky-smooth flesh of one cheek, “show me what I want.”
He cranes his head, looking back at me over one shoulder. He bends his knees slightly, pressing his ass out, arching his back hard. I gasp and exhale, a long jerky breath as I see the pale pink of his hole. Puckered. Knotted tightly.
Mine to undo.
I sink to my knees, garbling senselessly as I rub my face against his skin. He leans forward, steadying himself on the post at the bottom of the staircase. I part his cheeks. Pressing my palms into them and holding them open. He squirms slightly. I lick him firmly from just above his scrotum all the way up to his hole. He squirms more. I don’t stop, neither does he. I flick my tongue over his hole again, and again. Up and down. I do it almost without thinking. Without any plan. Just because I want to. When he groans, I probe him gently with the tip of my tongue. Just a hint. Just a taste. Just testing his tautness. Tasting his willingness.
“Unng, come on, Cowboy,” he whispers, “don’t be a tease.”
He groans his response.
I lick the pad of my thumb and strum it over and around his hole. Pressing a little. Testing. Tasting again. I press a little harder and moan before he does, as his sphincter gives way. He’s tight and warm, gripping my finger and sucking it in. I work him over, cupping his balls and kissing his cheeks until he’s breathless. I pull out and stand behind him, unzipping and spitting in my palm. I coat my dick and then slide myself between his ass cheeks. The second my dick touches him, I almost loose myself. Everything I am now, is hot and hard, straining. Hurting.
I need relief.
I need it.
“Do it,” he says, rubbing himself against me. “Do it, do it hard and fast. I can take it.”
I kiss his neck like before, but this time I use teeth. His head lolls to the side, exposing his jugular completely.
“Just do it,” he says again, “I can feel how much you need you need it.”
“Argh,” I moan, “I can’t. That’s not what I promised you, and I’ve already told you once, my word is oak.”
I untuck his kilt and then unbutton and unzip it, sliding it off his narrow hips and onto the floor. I give him a light slap on his ass.
“Upstairs,” I say.
He walks up the stairs, wearing nothing but his clunky combat boots and a pair of panties that have been shredded to the point they look like a jockstrap that could have been used as a prop in some sort of zombie apocalypse porno.
“Second door on your left,” I say, “when he gets to the first floor.”
He heads right.
“Your other left,” I laugh.
He waves me off, but I’m pleased to see that my plan to undo him is taking shape nicely. I run my hands up and down his chest when we get to the bedroom, flicking his piercings and grinding myself against his hip and his ass. He turns to kiss me and just before I get lost in the kiss, I let my hand drop down to his cock. I pull away sharply.
Is he for real?
Peering out of the top of his lacey waistband is the engorged head of his cock and a hell of a lot more of his shaft that I was expecting. A hell of a lot more.
“I, uh…” I stammer.
“Told you I’d step on my dick if I’m not careful,” he shrugs.
“A-actually, I think you said you’d trip over it,” I smile, trying to recover.
His dick is beautiful, it’s not that it isn’t. It’s perfect. If I hadn’t agreed to the bargain I made to get him into my bed, I’d be gagging for it. And, I am horny for it, make no mistake about it. I’m horny as hell. It’s just that horny isn’t the only thing I feel. I also feel a quick flurry of nerves. My ass twitches involuntarily in anticipation of what’s headed its way.
“You scared, Cowboy? You can still back out if you want.”
“No,” I lie, sinking to my knees and tracing the outline of his mammoth member before relieving him of the remnants of his underwear. His dick springs free, bobbing once or twice and then straining as if it’s determined to make contact with his navel. “It’s not that I’m scared. I’m not scared. It’s, it’s just a little excessive, is all.”
He smiles and shrugs apologetically, “We can just blow each other, if you’re scared.”
I push him back roughly, so he falls back onto the bed.
“I told you I’m not scared,” I growl, crawling over to him on all fours, “and if you think I’m letting you out of here without a huge load in your ass, you’ve got another thing coming.”
He giggles and takes hold of his veiny truncheon and tilts it back towards my mouth. I open as wide as I can and take as much as I can. My jaw clicks with the effort, but I’m resolute in my intention to blow his hair back. I’m going to give him a night he’ll never forget, no matter what. I go down on him over and over, until he’s sighing and pressing his head back into the mattress behind him.
I don’t stop. I don’t pause, until he whispers, “Unng, close, Cowboy. I’m close.”
I get up and get the lube out of my dresser. I slicken him up, and myself too. For the first time in my life, I feel a small fizz of inadequacy as I stroke my dick, while looking at his.
“Do it,” he moans. “Just do it.”
He seems to be slipping into a world of his own. He’s blinking slowly and his eyes are unfocussed. When I’m sure he’s ready, I push his knees back and part them as wide as I can. He strokes his cock lazily. Tugging almost mindlessly. I pull him to the very edge of the bed and penetrate him in a single, deliberate thrust.
“Arrrgh!” he exclaims, throwing his head back and arching his back, lengthening his body to make space for my invasion. I pull of my hat and fling it across the room like a Frisbee, then I wait until his breathing slows before I start fucking him in earnest. He takes it. He takes it all. He takes it beautifully. His chest rises and falls. He bucks gently, moving like liquid. Like ripples and waves. He moans soft and sweet. So softly and so sweetly it makes me feel like I’m going break. Like I’m going to crack. Split open. My dick feels so good as I slide inside him, I feel like I could blow right from the start. I don’t though. I keep myself in check. When I get dangerously close, I pull all the way out and cover his cock with my mouth. Sucking and slurping until he squeals. When he does, I shove the full length of myself back inside him.
At a certain point, I lose myself. I lose him too. I can’t tell where he starts or where I end. We fuck like things that aren’t human. Like things that go bump in the night. We fuck until we’ve used all four corners of the bed. We fuck until his hair is a mess and his teeth are gnashing and grating. We fuck until he’s no longer pretty but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
When he can’t take anymore, I slow down. He strokes his cock frantically now. I thrust up, hitting his gland and making his eyes roll back slightly. He’s moaning low now. A hushed sound, rumbling from some place deep inside him. His ass clamps down all around me, clenching and tugging, as he finally explodes. He shoots and sprays an unending load all over his neck and his chest, convulsing and pulsing with each consecutive spurt. When I’m positive he’s found every ounce of his pleasure, I pull him to the edge of the bed and stand with my feet on the floor, hoisting his feet over my shoulders. I hold onto his hips and fuck him hard and fast. I fuck him with mindless abandon until my orgasm crashes into me with such force that I don’t feel anything for a second. Nothing at all. I’m weightless. And then suddenly I’m not. Suddenly I’m a raging inferno of pleasure, filled with lava and fury. My seed erupts out of me, pulsing and gushing, as it finds its home deep, deep in his rectum.
I collapse onto him heavily and neither of us move for a while. Eventually he squirms and I lift my weight off him and lie at his side with an arm and a leg over him.
“Well, damn,” he murmurs, sounding a little distant and stunned.
I push myself up on one elbow and lean down and kiss him. I kiss him slowly and deeply. It’s the type of kiss that’s open and honest because both of us have just been stripped of any and all of our bullshit. I dip my tongue into his mouth and taste sex and tequila. The taste of tequila is faint, and the taste of sex is strong and is mingled with something else. Something I know. Something I haven’t tasted in a long time. I know that taste though. It gives me pause. He must sense it because his eyes widen slightly.
“What is it, Cowboy?”
I kiss him again. One more taste, just to make sure, then I sigh, “You don’t taste like a one-night stand, Trouble.”
“Oof,” he says, closing his eyes and turning his face away from me briefly. He looks back quickly, trying not to smile, “I thought you promised not to give me a sugar rush.”
I pull him close and say, “Well, we can’t be completely sure that was a sugar rush, can we? I mean, there’s a chance you’re just cum drunk, right?”
He laughs a soft, dry cackle and then gets up and heads to the bathroom.
When he comes out, he’s washed his face and has removed the lashes and the make-up and the crazy lilac contacts. His eyes are blue-grey and soft now. His face is shiny. Clear. He looks a little younger than he did before but no less beautiful. He gets into bed beside me, pulling the sheet over himself and gestures to his face sheepishly, as if he’s unsure I’ll like what I see. He looks up at me, looking more naked than he did earlier when he was bare, legs splayed open putting his hole on display.
He roles onto his side, facing me and I do the same. We consider each other silently for a while and then he runs his hand down my chest and my belly, cupping my balls gently and stroking my shaft with one finger.
“You better get some sleep,” he says, eyes lighting up and lips cracking open, “you have a, um, big day ahead of you.”
My dick twitches and pulses against his palm in nervous excitement. He throws his glorious head back and laughs in a way that can only be described as pure evil.
“Happy Halloween, Cowboy,” he teases, “here’s to fear-boners and unpleasant dreams.”