Authors: Drew Hunt
“That’s what I like to hear, a man begging.” Calvin’s grin was evil…pure evil.
“Fuckin’ bastard.”
“Yep.” The grin widened.
Calvin picked up Brock’s right leg and began to rub the sole of the foot against his right nipple.
“Knew you’d be a kinky top,” Brock moaned, feeling the nub harden.
“You inspire me to ever loftier heights of kinkiness.” Calvin pumped a couple more times. “Jesus, Brock, your ass is amazing. It was made to be plowed.”
Brock appreciated the compliment, but his need to climax was becoming more of a necessity. “God, Calvin, if you don’t let me come I’ll…I’ll—”
“Okay, cowboy. Hang on tight, ‘cause I’m gonna ride you hard and put you away wet.”
Fuck, where did Calvin get these dumbass phrases?
Calvin’s next in-stroke was so powerful it made the wooden headboard bang into the wall, competing with the crashes of thunder outside. And that was just the start. Who knew such a leanly muscled guy would have such power? Brock felt himself being pushed up the bed, but Calvin was onto it and—grabbing him by the thighs—pulled Brock back onto Calvin’s pistoning rod. Brock knew he’d have bruises in the morning, but he didn’t give a shit.
Brock couldn’t help it. His hand reached for and began to flog his dick. Calvin must not have noticed as he didn’t stop him. Brock would have punched him if he had.
“Yeah man, do it!” Calvin had noticed. “Come on, cowboy, shoot that fuckin’ load.”
Brock let out a scream that would have woken the neighbors, if it hadn’t happened at the same time as a huge clap of thunder. Semen shot out of his dick, arcing high into the air before landing in several splats on his belly.
“Oh, God, Oh, God!” Brock kept pumping until the last little bit had oozed out. He had to stop because his dick head was too sensitive.
Calvin had slowed his strokes, but Brock was pretty sure the guy hadn’t climaxed.
“You okay?” Calvin asked.
There was a flash of lightning quickly followed by a boom of thunder. The house shook.
“You made the earth move.”
Calvin let out a bark of laughter, then continued to thrust slowly.
It didn’t seem as though the guy was in any hurry to climax. Brock did the tightening of his anal muscles thing again, which made Calvin curse and slam in harder a couple of times.
The lightning and thunder were getting closer together.
“Hell of a storm,” Calvin observed.
Jeez, this guy’s a real talker during sex,
Brock mused. “Yeah.”
“What say I pull out and shoot all over your beautiful belly?”
Brock looked down at his semen-stained belly. It was probably his least favorite part of his body. He knew he should do crunches to get back his muscle tone, but never found the time. “Okay by me. You’re running the show.”
Thunder and lightning happened simultaneously. The lights flickered, but stayed on.
“Hell, it’s overhead,” Brock said, lowering his legs to the mattress and pulling Calvin on top of him. “Maybe we should turn off the lights?”
“No way. I don’t want to miss a second of looking at you.”
They kissed. Brock wasn’t scared of storms or anything, but could admit they weren’t exactly one of his favorite things.
Calvin discarded the condom and began to rub off against Brock’s belly and chest. Brock brought his arms around to pull Calvin closer.
“Really dig your broad shoulders,” Calvin admitted, kissing the right one.
“Thanks.” Brock realized it was a pretty dumb thing to say. “Like yours, too.”
Shit, that wasn’t much better.
Calvin stiffened in Brock’s arms and let out a soft gasp. Brock felt warmth spread between them.
“Wow. I’m surprised I lasted that long,” Calvin admitted.
Brock kissed him. “You were amazing.”
“No, you’re the amazing one.”
Brock didn’t feel like arguing. He was tired, happy and felt safe cuddled up with Calvin.
“Of course, pumping out a couple loads this afternoon while thinking about you in your sexy-as-sin construction-worker gear probably helped me last longer.”
“What?”
“I had to test out the new toilet seat didn’t I?”
Brock shook his head. “Idiot.”
“I’m serious. I wasn’t lying the other day in the home-improvement store when I told you how I managed to bust the old seat.”
“Why?” The post-coital glow was wearing off, and his fears and insecurities were starting to crowd back in.
Calvin huffed. “One day, John Brockwell, you’ll finally realize what a totally awesome man you are.”
“That’s not gonna happen anytime soon. Not until I’ve paid off my daddy’s hospital bills, cleared my rent, bought a new truck and…” It was never going to happen. Brock clung tighter to Calvin, wishing the world would just go away.
“This is what we’re going to do.” Calvin said, hugging him back. “You won’t like it, but I’m not giving you any choice. Tuesday morning we’re making an appointment to see a bankruptcy lawyer. You are going to sit that beautiful ass down in front of him and tell him everything.”
Brock shook his head in the negative.
“This is not negotiable. I’ll either go with you, or mind Junior, whatever you want. But this shit starts to end Tuesday.”
Brock shook his head again. This wasn’t right.
“Then after we see the lawyer we’re going to go talk with Bill. If your truck can be fixed then I’m paying to have it fixed. And if it can’t, well…we’ll cross that bridge if we have to.”
“No,” Brock said weakly.
“Yes,” Calvin replied, brooking no argument. He began to rub circles on Brock’s back. “But we’re not going to think about any of this until Tuesday. Tomorrow we’ve got that ballgame at Junior’s camp to go to, Saturday you’re on my roof, and Sunday is the Fourth. Don’t know what’s happening Monday yet, but I’m sure we’ll find something.”
“Why are you doing all this?” Brock asked through a tightening throat.
Calvin paused. “Because I want to.” The man sounded almost as choked up as Brock. Swallowing, he continued “Because…because you deserve a break.”
Brock didn’t get it. No one had ever cared this much for him. No one had ever been willing to spend so much money on him.
“I’ll pay you back…every penny. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll pay you back.”
“It isn’t necessary, but if you insist, then we’ll sort something out later.”
“Thank you. Sorry, ‘thank you’ doesn’t even come close.”
“It does, and you’re welcome. Now come on, let’s get cleaned up, this come is starting to dry.”
Brock smiled.
“Don’t know about you, but I’m beat. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and while you might not need your beauty sleep, I sure as hell do.”
Brock reluctantly let go his tight grip of Calvin. “Crap. You’re handsome. Way more than me.”
Calvin laughed. “Not from where I’m laying, buster.”
Brock found a smile from somewhere.
Calvin kissed him. “You’re so beautiful when you smile. Now go on, it’s your bathroom, so you get to use it first.”
* * * *
They were in bed. Calvin was snoring softly, the lights were off, and the storm had blown itself out. Brock lay sleepless, unable to get his mind around Calvin’s generosity. However, he was doing his best to follow Calvin’s advice of not thinking about it until Tuesday.
Remembering the time Calvin had used his finger to trace out words, Brock began to write,
I LOVE YOU
on his savior’s spine.
“Wish you could stay here in Texas,” Brock whispered. “Don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
In his sleep, Calvin pulled Brock tighter to him.
Chapter 7
Bright sunlight peeked in through the not-quite closed drapes at Brock’s bedroom window. Calvin—who lay spooned behind Brock, his right arm over the cowboy’s waist, his right hand cupping a handsome-sized set of balls—didn’t want to get up, but his increasingly full bladder was leaving him with little option.
Sighing, Calvin removed his arm. Brock mumbled something and shifted in his sleep.
Calvin kissed Brock’s right shoulder. “Back in a minute.”
Before leaving the room, he turned in the doorway to take another look at Brock. The man’s face was peaceful, his mouth was slightly open with a small line of drool running down the side of his chin and pooling on the pillowcase. Brock’s blond hair was all sleep-tousled and just so cute.
Calvin turned away. “God, I’m so screwed,” he muttered, leaving the room.
Once up, Calvin could never return to bed, no matter how alluring his bedmate. Dressing as silently as he could in the spare set of clothing he’d brought with him, he left the bedroom and went in search of coffee.
* * * *
Calvin sat at the kitchen table, mug of black coffee in hand, running through his options, quickly realizing he didn’t have any. He’d have to call Tim, who—Calvin knew—would spend ten minutes bitching him out and a further ten pleading with him to be careful. Brock appeared in the doorway just as Calvin reached for his cell phone. Calvin was sad to see he’d put on a pair of blue striped boxers. Calvin’s eyes traveled up the man’s wide physique, past the eyes that only looked partially focused, and up to the hair that stuck out at odd angles.
“Yep, I’m screwed,” he whispered into his coffee mug.
“What?” Brock yawned and scratched at his nuts.
“You want any food?”
“What is there?” Brock shuffled to a chair and flopped down into it.
Calvin resisted the temptation to tell Brock that as this was his house—and presumably he’d bought the groceries—how should Calvin know what was available?
Instead, feeling domestic, Calvin asked, “What would you like?”
Every morning since Brock had been working on Calvin’s folks’ place, Calvin had cooked the man breakfast, fixed him lunch and often supper, too. So Calvin couldn’t be too mad at Brock for expecting he’d make him breakfast today, too.
Brock scratched his chest and looked around, possibly seeing this was his kitchen, not Calvin’s. “Uh. Don’t think I have much.”
Calvin smiled. A dopey and unfocussed Brock was an irresistible sight. “We’ll grab something on the way to Junior’s camp. My treat.”
Calvin expected an argument, but Brock simply nodded.
“Coffee?” Calvin held up the pot.
Brock grunted. Evidently his cowboy wasn’t much of a talker first thing in the morning.
Your cowboy?
a voice asked.
Calvin refused to acknowledge the taunt, concentrating on pouring a mug and sliding it across the table.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow, but Brock didn’t notice as he was devoting all of his limited concentration skills on finding the handle of the mug and lifting said mug to his lips. Calvin rather liked the endearment, but suspected Brock had only used it because he wasn’t fully awake.
“When you’ve drunk your coffee and,” Calvin sniffed, “taken a shower, we’ll head out, okay?”
“Mmmkay.” Brock stood, and, mug still in hand, shuffled off, presumably to the bathroom.
Calvin adjusted himself in his shorts. “Yes, totally screwed.”
* * * *
A minute or so later Calvin heard the water come on. He could do with a shower himself, but figured they would stop off at his folks’ place, so decided he’d use the bathroom there. Remembering he needed to call Tim, Calvin reached for his cell again.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Fuck!”
Calvin went into the hallway, looked at the closed bathroom door, then at the front door. Whoever was there was persistent as they knocked again. Calvin guessed he’d better go see who it was.
“Who are you?” the visitor asked. He was thin and balding, and the suit he wore was made of cheap, shiny cloth. Calvin took an instant dislike to him.
Calvin thought of several retorts, but decided to be good, for the moment. “Hey there.” He put on a big smile and held out his hand. “Nice day, isn’t it? But the storm last night. Wow.”
“Don’t know what your game is, mister,” the man said, puffing himself up. “I’m Ralph Fitzgerald, the landlord, and I’m here to collect my overdue rent.”
Calvin kept his hand out. Finally Ralph seemed to feel obliged to take it.
“Pleased to meet you, Ralph. I’m Calvin.” Calvin let go of the man’s sweaty palm and none too discreetly wiped his hand on his khakis.
“Sub-letting from Mr. Brockwell isn’t allowed. It says so in the rental agreement.” Ralph pointed at a sheaf of papers in his left hand.
Calvin stepped off the porch and walked around the side of the house furthest from the bathroom. As he expected, Ralph followed. “No, I’m not sub-letting. But see up there?” he pointed to the guttering and the patches of missing shingle. “As the landlord, you’re responsible for maintaining the property. I’m sure it says so in the rental agreement.” It was Calvin’s turn to point at the papers.
“And Mr. Brockwell is responsible for paying the rent, which he hasn’t done in two months.”
“And how long haven’t you done these repairs? Longer than two months I would imagine.”
“That’s beside the point. I’m owed—”
“And Mr. Brockwell is owed repairs. Now, as you know, Mr. Brockwell is a contractor. He could do the repairs and you two could come to some arrangement and—”
“Just who the fuck are you anyway?”
Calvin sighed. It was too early to get into an argument. “I know Mr. Brockwell owes you money, and as you are no doubt aware he’s having some financial issues at the moment and—”
“Not my problem. I just want my money.”
Calvin held up a hand. There was no reasoning with the man. He knew Brock would be out of the shower any minute and he wanted the guy gone. “Look, I’ll pay what he owes.” Calvin took the pieces of paper the man had been holding. “Can I keep these?” Glancing at the final total, Calvin said, “Just give me your bank details and when I go home in an hour or so I’ll transfer the money to you online.”
“I ain’t givin’ you my bank account details. No way. You could clean me out.”
Oh, brother.
Calvin sighed again.
Trust Brock to have a Luddite landlord.
“Okay, okay.” Calvin held up his hands. “Tomorrow I will come to your office with a certified check.”