Left on St. Truth-Be-Well Read online

“Yeah, yeah, a towel. There’ll be a cold beer on the porch when you get out, ’kay? Make it quick.”

  The bathroom was all white tile, inexpensive but new and clean. The man products were simple—shampoo, bodywash, comb, razor—and Carson felt almost at home as he stripped mindlessly and turned on the spray. He froze for a second when he saw the gecko on the upper portion of the shower, where the tile faded to white-painted wall, but the critter seemed to be ignoring him, so he returned the favor. He was getting the feeling more wildlife lived in this portion of the States than human life, and he’d already embarrassed himself enough. Running out into the other room screaming because of a fairly innocuous lizard was just too embarrassing, even for Carson.

  And speaking of embarrassing:

  Carson, Carson, what are you doing? You’re having an affair with another man.

  You’ve banged your share, why does this surprise you?

  Because I want it so bad.

  Yeah, well, enjoy that. You know this can’t end well.

  I’m going to pretend it can.

  By the time he had himself all set up in Denial Hotel, he was done soaping everything that mattered, twice, and had given his hair a cursory scrub too. When he was done, he dried off, wrapped himself in a towel, gathered his clothes, and padded out to the porch, which he could see adjoined the living room. As he walked by the bedroom door, Dale popped his head out and grinned.

  “Nice. I’ll be out in a sec.”

  “You know, I don’t usually plan so much for sex. It had better be worth it.”

  “Hey, right backatcha. I don’t usually throw my clothes in a hamper for anyone.”

  Carson smiled in spite of himself. “Did you watch out for geckos? There’s one on the wall in the bathroom.”

  Dale winked. “That’s Roger. He keeps me company in the morning.”

  “Well, he’s good company,” Carson said, because talking to the lizard about getting laid seemed a little less embarrassing than talking to himself.

  Dale winked again. “You can throw your dirty stuff into my hamper. I can do it in the morning while we’re surfing.”

  Carson ducked his head. “Appreciate it,” he said, and Dale disappeared into the bathroom. Carson ventured into the bedroom for a minute and had to smile at the evidence of a quick cleanup. The bed quilt and sheets had been pulled up to the pillows, but the bed was still rumpled, and the hamper had been filled and overfilled, but the lid hadn’t been closed. An old-fashioned dresser stood in the corner, in black wood instead of the cherry-red kind, with an oval mirror that reached about chest high. A solid, brand-new pedestal candle sat reflected in the mirror, the kind with three wicks, all of them flickering as it emanated faint sandalwood.

  Carson swallowed, touched. It was sweet. Not seduction so much, since it was pretty clear Carson was a sure thing, but… but care. A small gesture. Carson took a deep breath, dropped his clothes in the hamper, and went out to the porch.

  It was a small place, enclosed on all sides by screens, with two big wicker chairs that faced the ocean. Those butt-warmer pads nestled at the bottom of the chairs, and Carson sank gratefully into one. On the small white foldable table between the chairs waited two local microbrews, condensation sliding down the sides, and a bottle opener. He popped the top and dropped the lid with a metallic little clink, leaned back, and watched the silver of the ocean beyond the darkness of the critter-infested lawn.

  There was something soothing about it, rolling beyond his reach, something vast and awesome about the sound and the arrhythmic glitter of a half-hidden moon. Carson’s usually busy brain was lulled by the shush-shush, by the darkness, by the breeze coming in through the screens. He sat and sipped his beer and simply was, not even noticing the passage of time until the living room light shut off behind him and then a hand snuck across his vision and stole his beer.

  He glanced mildly over his shoulder at Dale, who was wearing the other towel, and cocked an eyebrow. “There is another beer out here, you know.”

  Dale tipped the bottle back and killed it with a few gulps. Carson spent the time watching him swallow, noting that his cheeks and his neck were smooth and stubble-free, and feeling the heat prickles and chills simultaneously break out all over his skin. The last of the beer gone, Dale thunked the bottle down on the little table, then reached around the back of the wicker chair and nuzzled Carson’s ear.

  “Did you get tested after your girlfriend?” he asked into the hollow of Carson’s neck, and Carson made an affirmative sound.

  “Yeah. No bugs of any sort.”

  “You and Stassy?”

  “Just kissed.”

  “Good,” Dale murmured with a kiss on his cheek and then the corner of his mouth. “I get tested once a month—”

  “You’re that busy?”

  Dale laughed softly and smacked him on top of the head. “Let me finish. The kids will come to us, and they’ll want to be tested, ’cause they’re stupid about condoms and shit, but they’re scared. Toby and I will go in with them, show them it’s no big deal.”

  “You’re being really cagey,” Carson accused, and Dale sighed and straightened up.

  “My last relationship was two years ago. He moved away because he got tired of waiting for me to get my shit together. There. Are we even?”

  And finally, finally, Carson felt like he had something to offer. He stood and moved behind the chair. “He was a fool,” Carson said softly, standing in front of this surfer guy who was more complicated than he seemed. “Anyone can see you already got your shit together.”

  Dale’s faintly defensive stance melted, and he leaned forward, putting his hands on Carson’s hips. “I think it’s amazing that you think that,” he said with a faint smile. “And I really want to kiss you when there’s nothing there to stop us.”

  Carson closed his eyes and tilted his head. “Knock yourself out.”

  He felt Dale’s body heat first, and then his breath, and then the soft skin of full lips. A gentle stroking, Dale’s hands burning through the towel at his hips, more stroking, the gentle insistence of Dale’s tongue…

  Carson gasped and put his hands on Dale’s shoulders, feeling the strong, smooth skin, pulling him closer until they were bare chest to bare chest, and the sound that rumbled bass in Dale’s chest resonated deep in the pit of Carson’s stomach.

  Dale moved, quick and hard, thrusting Carson back against the doorjamb, and the kiss exploded into pure need.

  Carson returned, plundering, welcoming, begging, giving. God, he needed the next thrust of Dale’s tongue, the next stroke of his lips, the restless hands that kneaded, felt, possessed, up and down his shoulders and his ribs, and even that made Carson shiver because it meant there was too much space between them.

  Carson pulled back to gulp breath, muttering “Damn!” before Dale claimed his mouth again.

  “No talking,” Dale rumbled, and Carson nodded mutely.

  No talking. Okay, good rule, can do, don’t talk. “Ah, God!” Dale sucked on his earlobe, nipped along the side of his neck, pulling in a mouthful of tender skin at the base of his throat. Carson tipped his head back to give him better access and wondered if Dale could manage to get him to the bed, because that would be good, the bed would be great, right? That’s where they should—” Oh my God!”

  Dale had taken one of Carson’s nipples in his mouth and was suckling it, hard, and the bite of pain made Carson crazy, made him desperate, made him need.

  “Jesus, Dale, could you… oh God, that’s… uhm… oh fuck!” His entire body shuddered, and his cock, erect under the sagging towel, gave a short spurt of precome. “I’m gonna come from that,” he muttered, knotting his hands in Dale’s damp, curly hair.

  Dale released the nipple with a pop and grinned up at Carson, and Carson loved that his usually composed face was now flushed and blotchy under his tan. “If I make you come, and then promise to do it again, do you think you could maybe not talk so much?” he asked lazily, but given that fuck-me smile, he
obviously already knew the answer.

  “No,” Carson said shortly, and he pressed Dale to his other nipple because: “Oh God… yes… yes yes yes yes yes….”

  His hips bucked and the towel slid off, and suddenly he was shaft to shaft with Dale, whose towel had apparently slid off at hello. Again, Carson’s entire body quivered, and he couldn’t remember feeling that during sex ever. When Dale straightened, pushed his body against Carson’s, and seized them both in one big hand, rocking his hips slowly for rhythm, Carson shoved back against the doorway for no other reason than to ground himself.

  Carson groaned and buried his face in Dale’s shoulder, the pressure of that gently stroking hand and the sweet, hard friction of their dripping cocks both delirious and frustrating.

  “I’m never gonna come from this,” he half sobbed, and Dale kissed his ear softly.

  “I know it. I just need you to calm down. God, Carson, we’re both needy, but it’s like you’ve never been touched before.”

  I haven’t. Oh Jesus, I don’t remember it ever being like this. “Please,” he moaned, his voice gravelly and breathy at the same time.

  “Sh… just sh….”

  Carson gulped a deep breath, and then another, and that almost-friction continued, rhythmically, building, building, and Carson managed to breathe through the terrible urge to hump everything, including furniture, if only that delirious pressure would continue.

  “That’s right,” Dale soothed. “That’s right. Good. You ready to come now?”

  “Oh fuck yeah!”

  Dale chuckled and then sank to his knees on the damp towels and took Carson in his mouth. There was a minor fireworks explosion behind Carson’s eyes, and then another, bigger one as Dale moved back and licked Carson’s crown, and then another one, huge, as Dale swallowed him deeper.

  Carson threw his head back so hard it cracked on the doorframe and he saw more fireworks, and still, Dale’s slippery grip on his shaft and his mouth on Carson’s cock head felt so good, Carson didn’t even grunt with pain. Dale raised his hand and cupped the inside of Carson’s thigh, and Carson spread his legs to accommodate. The hand slid in higher, until Dale was cupping his balls and teasing his crease with a long finger at the same time, and Carson suddenly wanted Dale’s touch everywhere. He bent his knees a little, spread his thighs, and begged silently for about two seconds before begging out loud.

  “Oh God, please. Please please please please… oh God, yes. Touch me, oh please, everywhere, touch me touch me touch me—oh God yes!” Because Dale’s finger, slick with spit, slid up and teased his rim before slipping inside.

  Carson grabbed Dale’s hair with both hands, bucked deep into his throat, and came and came and came.

  Dale pulled back after the first spurt and let it hit his face, his cheeks, his chin, and when he turned his burning gaze upward, he was dripping with Carson’s spend, white and clear and thick.

  For a moment, Carson forgot to breathe, much less speak, and Dale stood up slowly, regarding Carson with a laconic, faintly predatory gaze.

  “I’m wearing you on my face,” he murmured, and Carson nodded, thinking he looked raw and dirty and beautiful. “You gonna clean me up?”

  Suddenly Carson couldn’t imagine anything sweeter. He licked the corner of Dale’s mouth, his full lips, his chin, tasting his own come and Dale’s sweat, and then he moved to Dale’s cheeks, to his temple, across his cheekbones, and the whole time Dale was kneading his backside, thumbing his nipples, grinding their groins together. By the time the gentle rasp of Dale’s skin no longer tanged of come, Carson’s breath came faster, his cock filled with blood again, and Dale held his hips hard enough to leave marks.

  “You feel good about yourself?” Dale muttered in his ear.

  “Yes.”

  “You feel hungry again?”

  “Oh God yes.”

  “Good. I’m going to take you into my room and throw you on the bed face-first, and then I’m going to fuck you. Can you deal with that?”

  Carson’s knees actually trembled, and he dug his fingers into Dale’s shoulders, trying to stay upright. His cock gave a giant throb, and so did his balls, and so did his asshole, and he clenched them all, craving, dying for the feeling of Dale’s flesh inside his own.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Louder.”

  “Yes!” he said, rutting up against Dale’s thigh like he hadn’t just come. Dale grabbed him by the shoulders and swung him around, steered him around the living room corner, along the tiny hallway, and into the bedroom. The sheets were turned down, which must have happened after Carson had gone in, and the candle had burnt down about a half an hour’s worth. The room smelled even more like sandalwood, and suddenly the scent wasn’t a frivolous gesture—it was a deep, drugging complement to the smell of sex and desire that coated their skin.

  Dale pushed him forward almost gently, and Carson scrambled onto the clean beige sheets, pulling his knees to his chest and offering himself up. Dale smacked his bottom playfully and then eased the sting with a gentle palm.

  “Not that you don’t look pretty like that,” he said, bending over and kissing Carson’s shoulder, his bicep, the harsh drop of his shoulder blade, “but I changed my mind. I want to see you when I’m inside you.” He wrapped his arm around Carson’s chest and pulled, and Carson sat up and leaned back against him, nestled into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. “Do you want that, Carson?”

  “No,” Carson confessed, because he’d never felt so naked in front of anyone, man or woman, and he was frightened.

  “Too bad,” Dale whispered, nuzzling his ear. “You’re gonna be all mine tonight. You’re gonna be so much mine, you’re not ever gonna want to belong to anyone else. Now lay down on your back and spread your legs for me, ’kay?”

  And Carson did, feeling a little helpless and a lot vulnerable. Dale reached up to the head of the bed and grabbed a pillow to shove under Carson’s hips, and Carson was splayed even further.

  “You know,” he said, fighting to keep his words, “I might want to see you too, you know that, right?”

  “Not this time,” Dale told him patiently. Then he reached under the remaining pillow and brought out a bottle of lube, some of which he smeared on his fingers and his cock. Carson watched him, fascinated, because the skin of his cock and ass was pale but still gold-toned, and his cock was a decent length, thick, and uncut. He wanted to touch it, feel its girth in his palm, taste it against his tongue, but he was starting to shiver again, to desire, and the things he wanted to do to Dale were secondary to the things he needed Dale to do to him.

  “Spread your thighs for me, ’kay?”

  Carson braced his forearms under his thighs and spread himself out, lewd and trusting, and waited for a man who’d been a stranger less than a day ago to touch him, to invade him, to—” Oh God!” Dale was using his greased fingers to rub his rim, pressing gently with his thumb. In that breath, the promise of pain was breathtaking, but that pressure was gentle, insistent, and Carson pushed against it to welcome the intruder inside.

  “Ohhhh….” Inside, oh yes, that’s right, that’s where it was supposed to—wait, no, don’t pull it out! “No… wait… oh my God, yes!” Two fingers replaced the thumb and stretched Carson, who was panting, accustoming himself to the burn.

  “Jesus, if I’d known you were going to talk this much, I would have asked if I could gag you!” Dale was laughing, but Carson had the image of himself, hands tied with scarves to the headboard, gag and blindfold firmly in place, and his cock jerked and drooled, landing back on his abdomen with a smack.

  Dale ran the fingers of his free hand through the little puddle on Carson’s stomach and chuckled darkly. “You liked that. I think you’ve been waiting for someone to come and tell you what to do your entire life, Carson O’Shaughnessy. I think I’ve been waiting to do just that.” He emphasized that with a quick twist of his two fingers in Carson’s ass, and Carson spread his thighs wider and grunted, bearing down, wantin
g more. He’d never had this, never asked for it, never even dreamed of begging for it, but when Dale stroked his cock slowly with one hand and spread those wicked fingers, Carson gave a whimper and pleaded.

  “Oh Jesus, please… please, oh please, Dale, I need….”

  Dale stopped moving his fingers, and Carson let out a cry that probably scared the gators.

  “Please!”

  Dale laughed, low and evil. “Please what, Carson?”

  “Please, Dale, c’mon, I’m begging you, please, I need… oh geez, I need—”

  “You keep saying that, but I got to hear what you want, okay? I need to know, ’cause I’m hurting too. I mean, I think you’d suck me off if I asked. I don’t think you’d leave a man hurting, but—”

  Carson’s cock and balls gave a big fat throb at the thought of wrapping his mouth around Dale’s erection, but his ass clenched on Dale’s fingers, and Carson bore down and groaned from his toes up. “For Christ’s sake, asshole! Stop talking and fuck me!”

  Dale tilted his head back and drove his fingers inside Carson again. At the same time, he thrust forward, rubbing his cock in the crease of Carson’s thigh.

  “Yes, sir,” Dale panted and then pulled out his fingers, positioned his cock, and surged forward.

  Carson thought he’d black out.

  For a moment, it was from pain, as the rim of his ass burned bright and hot behind his eyes, but then the head of Dale’s cock popped in and the brightness faded, replaced by a hard, achy pleasure, a dull throbbing, and he gasped and jerked, still holding his thighs open.

  “Yes!” Dale gasped, pitching forward onto his forearms and driving into Carson, who groaned and raised his hips to meet the thrust. He was out of words, but he wanted it, wanted the edge of pain, wanted the cock inside him, wanted Dale’s hot, sweating body engulfing him, and when Dale pulled out and thrust back in, Carson clenched down tight to keep him there.

  “God, yes!” he hissed, needing more, and more and more.

  Dale’s rhythm wasn’t slow and gentle, and Carson was glad. He wanted fast and desperate, and Dale rocked into him harder and faster and perfect.