know you kissed like this?" He slid his
hand down, thumb teasing a nipple briefly before continuing down.
"Because I don't know how I kiss?" Because most guys Artie had been
with didn't like to kiss, thought it was girly and stupid. Artie liked
it. A lot.
"Kissing is amazing. Your kisses are. Don't stop." He was a fan.
His fingers found that heavy cock and he groaned. Oh, he was a fan of that, too.
"Mmmhmm." Artie gave him everything. Lips swollen against his, Artie
fucked his mouth and his hand, tongue pushing in as that cock rubbed
and rubbed. And he got his quota of touching, too, every bump of his
spine counted, the small of his back worshipped.
His toes curled. Fuck, he was aching, and he had to move, had to rub
against that body and touch, and if he sort of shorted out, Artie'd
have to forgive him.
"Greg." The rough way Artie said it told him loads about how far
gone Artie was, too. So did the tension in Artie's body. Neither one of
them was gonna last long.
"Yes. Yes. Please, Artie." He tugged a little harder, his own cock catching between them just right.
"Oh. Oh, fuck. God." That was it. Just like last night, Artie let
loose, coming like a ton of bricks. It was a raw, pure feeling, just
hot and wet and full of Artie's white noise as he shorted out.
He might have come, he might not—he got caught in Artie's orgasm, entire body shaking with it and nothing else mattered.
They came down slowly, both panting and kind of shaking. Artie's
eyes were almost black, the pupils still dilated, when they met his.
"You're gonna ruin me, man."
"It's big. The ... us." He rested his head on Artie's shoulder.
"It is. I knew it would be. Hey, we got leftover pie."
"Mmmhmm. Coffee, too."
There they went again. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to take this slow, talk about it in stages. Have pie.
They'd been waiting for years. A nice cup of coffee wouldn't hurt a thing.
Maybe they could go feed Duke.
* * * *
Interesting.
He has always known Pearsall was a slut. The man had been before,
flaunting himself with the little red-head artist, meeting in bars,
dancing. Laughing like there was a joke no one else knew.
He watches the video flicker as another tape ends and he hits rewind.
Slut.
He takes his knife, wipes the blade clean. "Do you see? Do you see
what happens when you sink into the filth? Do you see? He has been
clean for so long and all it took was one touch."
The whimpers are softer now than they had been earlier this week,
even an hour ago. So lovely. Just the barest repairs necessary. He
drags the knife along his palm, the infected skin breaking open, pus
pouring out. "You did. You little bitch. You bit me and you were dirty.
Dirty just like all of them. Not worth collecting."
Not worth keeping.
Chapter Five
Duke was Not Pleased.
Why it was that the damned cat spoke in capital letters when he was
pissed, Artie had no idea. But he did. The chicken thigh went a ways
toward pacifying him. The Krispy Kreme cookies and cream doughnut
helped. But it wasn't until Duke was firmly ensconced on Greg's lap,
growling and hissing every time Artie came near, that the damned fiend
seemed happy.
"Asshole cat."
"He's beautiful." Greg was crosslegged in the middle of Artie's bed,
cradling and stroking Duke, long fingers smoothing the ruffled fur. "He
missed you."
"Bullshit." Artie stretched, pulled his T-shirt off over his head,
and tossed his pancake holster on the table. "Whassa matter, Duke? I
didn't leave you enough credit on pay-per-view?"
Duke ruffled and hissed, Greg hushing him and stroking Duke's ears.
Man, that move would get him torn to ribbons. "What kind of movies does
Duke order? Porn?"
"He likes swashbucklers. The ones with the pretty boys. And girls." Artie tilted his head. "I think he's bi."
Greg laughed, "Sweet baby. He abuses you, doesn't he? No cream and tuna and long bouts of brushing?"
"The last time I tried to brush him for any longer than it took to
get him smooth? He tried to eat my left
hand down, thumb teasing a nipple briefly before continuing down.
"Because I don't know how I kiss?" Because most guys Artie had been
with didn't like to kiss, thought it was girly and stupid. Artie liked
it. A lot.
"Kissing is amazing. Your kisses are. Don't stop." He was a fan.
His fingers found that heavy cock and he groaned. Oh, he was a fan of that, too.
"Mmmhmm." Artie gave him everything. Lips swollen against his, Artie
fucked his mouth and his hand, tongue pushing in as that cock rubbed
and rubbed. And he got his quota of touching, too, every bump of his
spine counted, the small of his back worshipped.
His toes curled. Fuck, he was aching, and he had to move, had to rub
against that body and touch, and if he sort of shorted out, Artie'd
have to forgive him.
"Greg." The rough way Artie said it told him loads about how far
gone Artie was, too. So did the tension in Artie's body. Neither one of
them was gonna last long.
"Yes. Yes. Please, Artie." He tugged a little harder, his own cock catching between them just right.
"Oh. Oh, fuck. God." That was it. Just like last night, Artie let
loose, coming like a ton of bricks. It was a raw, pure feeling, just
hot and wet and full of Artie's white noise as he shorted out.
He might have come, he might not—he got caught in Artie's orgasm, entire body shaking with it and nothing else mattered.
They came down slowly, both panting and kind of shaking. Artie's
eyes were almost black, the pupils still dilated, when they met his.
"You're gonna ruin me, man."
"It's big. The ... us." He rested his head on Artie's shoulder.
"It is. I knew it would be. Hey, we got leftover pie."
"Mmmhmm. Coffee, too."
There they went again. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to take this slow, talk about it in stages. Have pie.
They'd been waiting for years. A nice cup of coffee wouldn't hurt a thing.
Maybe they could go feed Duke.
* * * *
Interesting.
He has always known Pearsall was a slut. The man had been before,
flaunting himself with the little red-head artist, meeting in bars,
dancing. Laughing like there was a joke no one else knew.
He watches the video flicker as another tape ends and he hits rewind.
Slut.
He takes his knife, wipes the blade clean. "Do you see? Do you see
what happens when you sink into the filth? Do you see? He has been
clean for so long and all it took was one touch."
The whimpers are softer now than they had been earlier this week,
even an hour ago. So lovely. Just the barest repairs necessary. He
drags the knife along his palm, the infected skin breaking open, pus
pouring out. "You did. You little bitch. You bit me and you were dirty.
Dirty just like all of them. Not worth collecting."
Not worth keeping.
Chapter Five
Duke was Not Pleased.
Why it was that the damned cat spoke in capital letters when he was
pissed, Artie had no idea. But he did. The chicken thigh went a ways
toward pacifying him. The Krispy Kreme cookies and cream doughnut
helped. But it wasn't until Duke was firmly ensconced on Greg's lap,
growling and hissing every time Artie came near, that the damned fiend
seemed happy.
"Asshole cat."
"He's beautiful." Greg was crosslegged in the middle of Artie's bed,
cradling and stroking Duke, long fingers smoothing the ruffled fur. "He
missed you."
"Bullshit." Artie stretched, pulled his T-shirt off over his head,
and tossed his pancake holster on the table. "Whassa matter, Duke? I
didn't leave you enough credit on pay-per-view?"
Duke ruffled and hissed, Greg hushing him and stroking Duke's ears.
Man, that move would get him torn to ribbons. "What kind of movies does
Duke order? Porn?"
"He likes swashbucklers. The ones with the pretty boys. And girls." Artie tilted his head. "I think he's bi."
Greg laughed, "Sweet baby. He abuses you, doesn't he? No cream and tuna and long bouts of brushing?"
"The last time I tried to brush him for any longer than it took to
get him smooth? He tried to eat my left
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