Authors: Drew Hunt
Calvin took the glasses and put them on Brock’s face. “They look even sexier on you.”
They kissed again; evidently Calvin didn’t mind the glasses getting in his way.
“You don’t taste as though you’ve put on any sunscreen,” Calvin said once they’d parted to draw breath.
“Nah, don’t usually bother with it.”
“Well, mister, you will be bothering from now on.”
Calvin opened the car door and got out, Brock doing the same at his side, but on trying to exit the vehicle realized he hadn’t undone his seatbelt, which made Calvin snicker.
* * * *
“Good thing I got some high factor sunscreen the other day,” Calvin said, coming back into the kitchen where Brock was leaning against the counter, finishing his cup of coffee. “You’re blond and light-skinned; you need to look after your skin.”
“Uh huh.” Brock yawned. He wondered if there was any more coffee.
“I’m serious. It’s the only skin you’re going to get.”
Brock shook his head. This was more of the same from when Calvin had thought he had skin cancer.
“Want me to put it on, or can you manage?”
Brock smirked. “Which would you rather do?” He knew which he’d prefer.
“I’d rather you let the crew do all the work while I take you back to bed and love on you all morning.”
Brock chuckled. “Then what would we do in the afternoon?”
“You could love on me.” Calvin popped the cap on the bottle of sunscreen and squirted some into his palm. “Arms first.”
Brock could have predicted that. Calvin sure kept jonesing on his arms. Brock did a bodybuilder-type biceps pose as Calvin began to rub the lotion into his skin.
“God, that’s sexy,” Calvin groaned into Brock’s ear.
Next came Brock’s face, Calvin asking him to put on the hardhat. “And why’d you take off the shades?”
“We’re indoors. And you can’t add sunscreen if I’m wearing glasses.”
“I guess,” Calvin conceded. “Now come on, put on the hat.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause you look beautiful in it.”
Brock did as he was told, and Calvin began to slather the lotion on Brock’s cheeks, nose and—lifting the hat, much to Brock’s amusement—his forehead.
“And besides, I want something to jerk off to while I’m in here by myself and you’re up on the roof hammering in nails.” Calvin spread the stuff all around Brock’s neck, even under the collar of the jersey.
“We use a nail-gun these days, not a hammer.”
Calvin sunk to his knees. “And what a gun you have.” Calvin bit at Brock’s jeans clad dick.
“Calvin!” Brock stepped back a pace.
Following him, Calvin kept on biting Brock, who tried to take another step backward, but only managed a half step before coming up against the cabinets.
“Need to get at this nail gun!” Calvin growled.
“You’ll get sunscreen on my jeans.”
Calvin looked up at him with a devilish expression. “Who needs hands?”
Flicking out his tongue, Calvin captured the zipper tab, gripping it between his teeth and pulled down.
Snuffling inside the fly, Calvin said, “My cowboy is going commando!”
“Yeah, well, it’s going to be hot today.”
“It’s hot all right,” Calvin said, licking the underside of Brock’s dick, which was painfully trapped inside the jeans with no more room to grow. “Need to free this bad boy.”
Calvin raised up slightly and within a few seconds had undone the button on the waistband, separating the flaps with his nose.
“Calvin, don’t.” But even to Brock the protest sounded half-hearted.
Brock’s jeans began to slide down his legs. Before Brock’s dick could slap his belly, Calvin had it in his hand.
“Got you now, my pretty!” Calvin kissed the weeping head. “Yep, this is a mighty fine tasting gun. Tonight, or just as soon as the crew finish, I want you to nail me with it.”
Brock groaned as Calvin slid his mouth all the way down his length. “Yeah, darlin’, that’s it.”
It was a good thing Calvin was sucking him off now, because otherwise he’d be hard all day just thinking about getting inside the man’s hot ass. The slurpy noises, sensual licks and the wicked suction, all combined to scramble Brock’s brain, making rational thought almost impossible.
“Yeah, darlin’ just like that. Swallow it all, yeah.”
Brock’s hands found their way to the sides of Calvin’s head, directing the action. God, this man was an expert cocksucker. He’d go right down, then slowly pull back, increasing the suction as he went. Then when the head was at his lips, Calvin would work his tongue around the foreskin, rub along the pee-slit to capture the steady ooze of pre-seminal fluid that Brock knew he was producing. Now and again Calvin would gently bite on the loose foreskin before moving his teeth out of the way again for the rapid descent, swallowing Brock to the root. And while all that was going on, Calvin’s oily hand kept rolling Brock’s balls around in their sack.
“Jesus, man, you’re killing me.”
Brock felt Calvin laugh around his cock-head, which just then was down Calvin’s throat.
Through the fog of lust Brock heard the rumble of a truck engine. He looked out of the window.
“Ah shit!”
Pedro, José and Juan were here, the last lowering the front passenger seat to get out of the back of the truck’s cab.
“What?” Calvin said, pulling off.
“The crew is here.”
“Oh, that is bad timing.” Calvin’s look was pure evil.
Cursing up a storm, Brock pulled his jeans up and made for the door, hoping the guys wouldn’t notice he was packing wood. It had definitely been a bad idea not to put on underwear.
“Ask them if they want some sweet tea. I made up a pitcher last night.”
“Okay,” Brock said, leaving the house. “Hey guys. Looks like it’ll be another hot one.” He looked up into a clear, cloudless sky.
“
Si
,” Juan observed.
Brock offered the tea, which they drank while the air compressor for the nail guns built up pressure.
* * * *
It was about nine thirty when Calvin came out with more tea, telling Brock he was heading into town.
“Thanks,” Brock said, taking one of the frosted glasses.
“Is everything going okay?”
“Yep, we’re a bit ahead of schedule I think.”
Brock had teamed up with Pedro, the latter laying the three-tab while he operated the nail gun. They’d change over after their short break. Juan and José emerged from the other side of the house, and Calvin offered them their own glasses.
“
Gracias
,” José said, smiling and nodding at Calvin.
Juan merely grunted before downing the tea in a couple of swallows.
“Thirsty work, especially in this heat,” Calvin observed.
“
Si, señor
,” José smiled and nodded again.
“I’ll leave the pitcher on the garden wall over there in the shade in case you need some more while I’m gone.”
“
Gracias
,” Pedro smiled.
“Thanks, darl…Calvin,” Brock said, hoping no one had noticed the slip.
“I’ll stop off at the garage while I’m out and ask Bill about your truck.”
“Okay, thanks.” Brock wanted to protest, but they had their agreement about not discussing it until Tuesday, and it wouldn’t look good arguing in front of the roofers.
“Shouldn’t be too long. I’ve left the door unlocked if you need the bathroom or anything.”
“Thanks.”
Brock smiled as he watched Calvin reverse KITT out of the garage and gave Brock a salute before turning right and heading down the driveway.
“
¡Pinche puto!”
Juan spat.
“
¿Qué
?” Brock whirled on him.
“El paga tu
sueldo.
”
“
Ni mi importa. ¡Sigue siendo un joto!”
Brock was instantly brought back to high school and all the times the kids used to call Calvin a fag. He’d stood back then, but he’d be damned if he would now. “
¡Cállate la boca!”
“¿Por qué? ¿Eres un maricón también?”
Juan smirked and pushed Brock, who immediately pushed him back.
Within seconds fists were flying, and José and Pedro were parting them.
“
¡Lárgate de aquí!”
Brock yelled at Juan and pointed at the street, which only a few minutes earlier Calvin had driven down.
“
Sin problema
.” Juan looked at the others and insisted that if he were made to go, they should leave, too.
Pedro shook his head, and José refused to meet Juan’s eyes.
Juan hawked up a mouthful of saliva and spat it at Brock’s feet. If it had touched him, Brock would have laid the guy out, but chose to let it go. Unfortunately for Juan he hadn’t been the one driving, and Pedro—who had the truck’s keys—refused to hand them over. Juan walked down the driveway, cursing with every step.
Only when he’d gone did Brock realize the area around his left eye was hurting. He raised his hand, it came away dry, but his face sure was tender.
“Juan’s very religious,” Pedro offered quietly.
Brock didn’t think God would have appreciated the foul language only some of which he’d been able to understand, and he thought he had a pretty good grasp of Spanish cuss words.
“Okay, back to work, guys. And thanks for staying.”
“No problem,” José said, climbing the ladder.
“You need some ice,
Señor
Brockwell,” Pedro said.
“Yeah, maybe later. We’ve got to work harder now Juan’s no longer here.”
Pedro shrugged. “More money for the rest of us.”
Brock smiled.
* * * *
During their next short break, sweat now rolling down Brock’s back, making him consider taking off his football jersey, Pedro tentatively asked about Calvin.
“Brother of my wife, he,” Pedro seemed to struggle for the English word, “homosexo.”
“Homosexual.” Brock supplied.
“
Gracias
.”
“And, you’re okay with that?” Brock knew many Latinos had a hard time understanding the idea that one man could love another.
Pedro shrugged. “So long you love someone, what it matter who they are?”
Brock nodded.
“You love
Señor
Calvin?”
Brock felt his face drain of color.
“Is okay. I not care.”
Swallowing, and taking a huge leap into the unknown, both in coming out to a relative stranger and also admitting his love for Calvin, Brock nodded.
“
Si
.” Pedro smiled. I see how you look at
Señor
Calvin, it like how I look at my Gabriela.”
“Thanks, bud.”
Brock was saved from any further embarrassment by Calvin coming back up the driveway.
“What’ve you done to your eye?” Calvin asked on opening the driver’s door.
“And good morning to you, too.”
Brock hustled Calvin and his purchases into the house; he hadn’t had a chance to warn Pedro that he hadn’t told Calvin how he felt about him.
Safely inside the air-conditioned kitchen, Brock wanted to kiss his man silly, but knew the men were still on their break and could look in at the window.
Calvin moved toward him. At first, Brock thought it was to kiss him, and so he stepped back.
“Not that again,” Calvin said. “I just wanted to get a closer look at your eye. What happened? Did a piece of shingle get you? I hope you gave as good as you got.”
Brock shook his head. He related some of what had happened, telling Calvin Juan had called Calvin a fag, how Brock had told him to shut up, and then, when Juan had asked if Brock too was gay, that was when things had gotten physical.
“But you are gay.”
“Yes, but he didn’t say it nicely.” Brock realized he sounded childish.
“Violence doesn’t solve anything.”
“He pushed me first.” Shit, that wasn’t much better.
Calvin got out a bag of frozen peas and made Brock hold it against his eye.
“I can’t sit in here while the others work, especially as we’re a man down.”
“Five minutes won’t make much difference. And I’ll come out and give you a hand.”
“What?” Brock took the icepack off his eye.
Calvin pushed it back. “I bet I’d look great in a hardhat and plaid shirt.”
Brock shook his head. “For one thing you’ve never shingled a roof before, for a second you’re not insured, and for a third you—”
“Okay, okay. I’ll just stay here in the kitchen and bake cookies or something.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Brock let out a breath. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. It’s a dirty, hot job. Trust me, you’re better off in here.”
“Baking cookies.”
“Only if they’re oatmeal raisin.”
“Goof.” Calvin lightly punched Brock’s left arm. “Sorry, was that your playing arm?”
“Nope.”
Calvin started to kiss Brock’s arm to make it better.
Brock pulled away. “I’m sweaty and dirty.”
“Yes you are.” Calvin resumed his kissing.
The noise of the nail gun started up above them. Brock felt guilty for being inside an air-conditioned house while the others were working in the hot sun.
Putting an arm’s distance between them, Brock asked, “What did Bill have to say about my truck?”
Calvin pouted at Brock’s retreat. He looked so fuckin’ sexy Brock couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him.
“What was that for?” Calvin asked.
“Just because.”
“Hmm.” Calvin smiled.
“My truck?”
“Oh, yeah. Bill wondered which you’d prefer, burial or cremation.”
“Shit. That bad?”
Calvin shrugged. “I asked Bill to patch the truck up as best he could. He said he should be able to get most of the parts from the junkyard.”
Brock didn’t think that would cost too much.
Calvin’s mind must have been on the same wavelength, because he said, “Bill agreed to take a check when the work is done because he knows my daddy. At least there’s something good about these small towns.”
Brock chose to stay silent about how Calvin was paying for the repair, as well as his dislike of Parish Creek. Instead he asked about his hat.
“Jake said it’d be ready Tuesday.”
Thanks.” Brock gave him another kiss.
“Wow, if I’d known running errands for you would get me kissed, I’d have run them for you earlier in the week, too.”