Something Wicked This Way Comes

Friday, June 3, 2016


It's Friday, June 3rd. This means two things: a new flash fiction piece, and the release of Stardust, Always this weekend! 

June 5 is Cancer Survivor Day, and the Alan Rickman/David Bowie tribute anthology is set to release the same day. All proceeds from sales of the book are going to St. Jude's. Over 80 authors, poets, and editors contributed to this anthology, inspired by the lives and creativity of Alan Rickman and David Bowie. If you've lost somebody to cancer, if you have a survivor in your life, if you or a loved one is currently fighting the disease, please consider purchasing a copy. You can learn more about the book HERE.

Shameless plug out of the way, I hope you enjoy a bit more "behind the scenes" action from the Dust & Ash series. Part 2 will follow, of course. 

* * * *


by Tucker McCallahan

"He's in the main room again."

Dr. Gregos Kalogeros, better known as Dominus, paused in the act of skinning his honey-colored hair back into a short ponytail. Irritation and amusement warred on his face. Amusement won, and he smiled as he secured his hair with a rubber band.

"Have Ayana make sure nobody touches him."

"Yes, Dominus."


Club D's manager paused and raised an eyebrow as he regarded the owner.

"Is he dressed?" Dominus asked.

"That would be open to interpretation. He's covered…but not by much."

"He's a fucking minor."

"I know exactly how old he is."

"I'll be out in thirty minutes." Dominus took a deep breath as Kel left the room. Micah was going to drive them all insane.

A 14-year-old Micah

In the main room of Club D, Micah James perched on a padded leather barstool, body angled so that every inch was on display. His hair was a sooty mess of black that carelessly fell over his forehead. Frosty blue eyes that looked at least a decade older than his fourteen years scanned the room restlessly.

A couple approached, fit, trim, and in their thirties. Kel intercepted them before they made it to Dominus's new ward and steered them toward one of the club's employees. Brad might not've been as beautiful as Micah was, but he was nineteen and legal.

Nothing about Micah was legal.

Kel shot Ayana a look, his eyes flicking to Micah. She nodded from where she worked behind the bar. Kel fully intended to return to his duties and ignore the little bastard who had made his life miserable since moving into Dominus's house a month before, but as usual, Micah had other ideas.

"Where's Dominus?"

"With a client."

"So he's fucking somebody."

"Doctor Kalogeros is with a client. If that's too difficult for you to understand, perhaps you should consider attending the school in which he enrolled you."

"How many people do you fuck every night?"

Kel clenched his jaw to keep his mouth shut. He forced himself to turn and walk away to the sound of Micah's laughter.

Alone again at the bar, Micah swiveled around on the stool, wise eyes flickering around the room before they settled on Ayana.

"No TVs."

The pretty Latino girl pushed a red drink garnished with fruit and a little paper umbrella toward him.

"Nope. No TV." She dropped a straw into the fancy drink. "I'm sure there are several very nice TVs in the main house."

Micah sipped the drink and nodded.

"Oh yeah. Six high-end flat screens plus all the shit in the media room." Micah set the drink down. "But it's all bolted down."

"Dr. Kalogeros is wealthy."

Micah studied the girl.

"You don't call him Dominus. How come?"

"That isn't who he is to me."

"But it's his name."

"So is Dr. Kalogeros." Ayana wiped the bar with a clean cloth. "We can all only be exactly who we are." She held up a glass of water. "Even if I call this wine, it's still only water."

"That's pretty deep for a girl."

"Thank you." She looked past him. "Good evening Mr. Kristopoulos, Mrs. Kristopoulos. Scotch?"

"We'll have whatever this young man is having."

"Of course. Have you met Dr. Kalogeros's ward, Micah James?"

"Oh!" Mrs. Kristopoulos put a hand on her husband's arm. "This is the boy Dominus is adopting?"

"Nah." Micah eyed her jewelry before dropping his gaze appreciatively to her breasts. "I'm not the long-term type."

Ayana pushed two drinks identical to Micah's toward the pair.

"Micah will be starting high school soon."

The Kristopouloses grabbed their drinks and damn near fled the bar. Micah glared at Ayana.

"I thought you were cool."

Ayana's gaze was full of pity as she looked at the beautiful, troubled boy.

"As I told you, I can only be what I am."

Micah leaned up onto the bar, his face twisting into an ugly sneer.

"Got news for you, babe. You're a paid whore, just like everybody in this joint. Pretty it up all you like, but you fuck for money."

"You won't win him this way."

"We'll just see about that." Micah hopped off the barstool and almost collided with Dominus. Dominus's face was utterly blank as he wrapped a hand around Micah's arm.

"You cannot be here."

"Cause I'm jailbait and it'll get you in trouble?" Micah slid his free arm around his guardian's waist and stepped close enough to rub against him. Micah's voice dropped to a sexy purr. "Or cause I'm jailbait, and I'll get you in trouble?"

"Because my club is licensed by the City of San Francisco to allow only adults over the age of eighteen through its doors. I employ over two dozen people; I will not allow you to put them or this establishment at risk."

"So yes…and yes."

"We're leaving."

Dominus escorted Micah from Club D without another word.

Theo Theodoridis, the inspiration for Dominus

Vasilis Kalogeros chuckled as he plucked an olive from the platter on the table.

"A dick, eh?"

"Dildo," Gregos mumbled. He poured more ouzo into a glass he'd already emptied twice.

"Éna megálo?"

"Yes. A big one."

As the senior Kalogeros roared with laughter, a smile spread across Gregos' face. In short order he was laughing with his father over Micah's latest stunt: the ruination of a Dimitris Mytaras sculpture. Vasilis lifted his linen napkin and wiped his eyes.

"How did he…"

"Super glue. He super-glued a big black dick to my favorite statue."

That started the laughter up all over again. When the chuckling died away, Vasilis eyed his only child.

"Perhaps this one isn't meant to be your son."

"He's fourteen."

"Age is merely a number, and numbers are only important where money is concerned."

"I can't take a boy as a lover."

"This boy sounds exactly like you at that age."


"Do I lie?"

"No," Gregos groaned. "But he can't consent. He's still a child; he needs love, guidance."

"A firm hand and a hard dick, that's what it sounds like he needs."

Gregos rubbed his eyes.

"You aren't helping."

Vasilis sat forward, his face serious. Eyes the shade of the Aegean Sea locked onto an identical pair in Gregos' face.

"How much of your life will you let him destroy? If he were truly a child, you would already have dealt with him. You want him, Gregos."


"Handle it."

"How? I can't take my foster son as a lover."

"Why not?"

"It's illegal!"

"So take him where it isn't."

Gregos sighed and shook his head.

"I can't take him out of the country."

"Adopt him."

Gregos mumbled something around the lip of his glass as he finished the ouzo.

"What was that?"

"I'm working on it."

Vasilis pushed back from the table. He stared at his son.

"Work harder."

The Ultimate... Dominus

Micah, a few years older

The sub was belly down, arms stretched out and restrained. His legs were spread wide, knees bent and feet up. Cuffs around his ankles attached to pulley lines. He hung from the ceiling, upper body resting on the table and his dick pointing toward the floor. He couldn't have escaped even if he wanted to, which of course, he didn't.

Dominus stood between those spread legs, fingers tracing and pinching the swollen, reddened marks on his sub's glorious ass.

"Was it a good spanking?"

"Yes Dominus."

One hand strayed down to lightly caress his sub's cock and balls.

"You're quite aroused. Would you like to come?"

"Yes, please, Dominus."

"A please. You must be very close."

The sub remained mute. He was nearly perfect. Working him was never a chore, and given Dominus's level of sexual frustration lately, this session was necessary for them both.

Dominus rolled a condom on. Two lubed, practiced physician's fingers slid inside his sub, who moaned and squirmed. Without another word, Dominus replaced fingers with cock and set a hard, deep, punishing rhythm.

"Come!" Dominus barked.

His sub cried out, jets of milky white semen pouring from his dick to splash onto the floor.

The door slammed opened.

Dominus turned his head. Micah stood two feet away. His icy blue eyes were trained on Dominus's dick still buried in his sub.

"Dammit!" Kel arrived at a flat run, breathing hard.

Lust, betrayal, and fury filled Micah's face. He shoved Kel to the floor and fled the room the same way he'd barged into it, slamming the door behind him.

"Gamó tin tréla mou gamó," Dominus muttered. He slid free and caught sight of Kel, picking himself up off the floor. "Are you injured?"

"Just my pride. Little shit packs a punch."

"See if you can catch him before he leaves the club."

Kel opened the door and dashed out of sight. Dominus ripped the condom free, tossed it in the bin, and got down to the business of apologizing to a sub, something he never did. His father was clearly correct about Micah, and Dominus had a very bad feeling about where this situation was headed.

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

And don't forget about Stardust, Always, a tribute to Alan Rickman and David Bowie, on sale June 5, 2016!

Friday, May 20, 2016


Hey friends and readers. It's that time again. I'm recovering from some pretty major oral surgery (which is way worse than any other kind, IMO) so the conclusion to this week's flash fiction is fully a homage to the food I *can't* eat, and the food I've largely been living on for a week. How's that for some vague? At any rate, I hope you enjoy the second part of This I Know.

* * * *

This I Know Part 2; by Tucker McCallahan:

The heavenly scent of genuine Mexican food rolled out the door as it opened. Angel strutted out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked as good as he smelled. He saw me and did the head-tilt-chin-lift thing that passed as a greeting, but then his lips curved up into a sexy smile.

"Hey china."

"My name's Anthony."

He laughed.

"I like china better. My little brat."

I ducked my head as a blush stained my cheeks. This guy drove me crazy. He started walking down the alley behind Harvey's at a brisk pace. I had to jog to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Gonna take you to TJ's and feed you." His dark eyes danced as he glanced in my direction. "Less you want me to call you flaco instead of china."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"Mexican." His spine straightened and that chin came up again. "I'm Mexican."

"I'm a mutt. Melting pot American."

"Maybe you got some Mexican in you."

"I don't think so," I said.

"You want some?" he asked with a throaty little purr. I blushed–again–but met his eyes this time.


We walked the four blocks to Tijuana, also known as TJ's, in silence. Angel's presence at my side keyed me up like nothing else had in longer than I could remember. I was hyper-aware of him, of his every movement and expression. I wanted his arm around me, or my fingers entwined with his. It was all totally out of character for me. I was anxious and aroused at the same time, my heart thudding and lurching as we got closer to the restaurant.

As far as I could tell, TJ's was closed for the night. Not surprising since it was after 2AM. The entire building was dark and closed up. I frowned, unsure of where to go. Angel jerked his head to the side, and we headed around to the back of the place. He produced a heavy key ring from his pocket and unlocked the back door. He opened the door and held it for me before following me inside. With an ease that could only come from being fully familiar with the building, he reached a hand into the darkness and flipped a few switches.

Light flooded the commercial kitchen and left me slightly dazzled. The kitchen looked like all it was missing was Gordon Ramsey front and center, barking orders. Every surface inside the massive space gleamed.

"You look surprised."

"It's huge."

Those luscious lips curved up for me again as he held my gaze with his. "Yes." His smile transformed into a smirk. "It's huge."

I went up in flames on the spot.

"You have to stop doing that." 

"I like watching you turn pink." He strolled over to one of the industrial refrigerators and opened it, peering inside. "You still hungry?"

"What I want isn't in that frig."

"Don't be so sure." He vanished into the depths of the tremendous machine and reemerged with several covered containers. "You like spicy, yeah?"

"Love it."

Settling the containers into the crook of one arm, he extended his free hand to me. A zing sailed from my chest down to my balls as I curled my fingers around his. He led me through the kitchen into the dining room.

Chairs were turned up on wooden tables that had probably been all the rage in the 60's. The wooden floors and pillars gleamed with high-gloss polish. The lush aroma of live plants filled the air, and in my mind I imagined a Aztec temple scene, exotic blooms side by side with ferns and banana trees. Without all the lights on I had no idea where the scent actually came from, and I didn't really care. My fantasy was no doubt better than reality.

Angel handed me the containers and divested a large table of its chairs, righting them and setting them on the floor. I started to open the top container and he stopped me, taking the covered dishes from my hands and setting them on the table. His dark eyes smoldered.



"What, you want the men's room instead?"


"So strip."

My fingers went to the collar of my shirt, fumbling with the slick little buttons. At the rustle of cloth, my eyes flicked up. Angel's t-shirt fell to the floor. His skin was the same dark honey color of the polished wood and gleamed just as brightly. I wanted to see more of him so badly I wasn't sure whose belt to reach for: his or mine. He made the decision for me by tugging my belt free and opening my pants with a few quick jerks.

Clothes flew in a frenzy, neither of us paying any attention to what landed where. Angel's lips hit my chest, his hot mouth closing around my collarbone and sucking as cool air swirled up over my exposed flesh. I yanked at his tight jeans. He chuckled and I shivered, chill bumps racing ahead of his breath. My hands connected–finally!–with his skin and we came together in a clash of heat that sent my eyeballs rolling back into my skull.

Nothing that had happened in the Harvey Wallbanger men's room excited me even half as much as Angel. His mouth moved like a machine, chewing and sucking along my chest and up my neck. I trembled against him, sweaty and aroused, hands gripping and sliding over his perfect ass. His shoulders bunched and bulged as he lifted me off the floor and plunked my ass down on the table. My thighs fell apart, eager to cradle his body against mine. He was like some dark god, all burning eyes, black hair, and eager hands.

He laid me flat on the table and I moaned, back arching to keep our flesh pressed together. I heard the telltale tear of a condom wrapper and shuddered. My hips tilted up, but the pressure and slick fulfillment I needed were not forthcoming. I opened my eyes and found him staring down at me. He looked as hungry as I felt.

One of his hands reached above me. Just as my lips parted to ask what he was doing, the smooth tip of the condom nudged me. I tried not to squirm and failed. His low chuckle caressed my ears like velvet.

"So eager."

"Need you." That breathy voice couldn't possibly belong to me.

"Open your eyes, china."

I obeyed, though I didn't remember closing them. Angel hovered over me, his mouth curved into a sensual smile. A long, finely tapered, green chili pepper dangled from his fingers. My heart skipped a beat.

Angel rested the tip of the pepper on his full lower lip long enough for me to admire the contrast between red and green, and then slowly sank his teeth into it. My pulse hammered as he chewed. The scent of fresh jalapeno saturated the air. He bent his head and wrapped his lips around my left nip.

The oil from the fresh pepper in his mouth hit my skin like lava.

I hissed, hands shooting into his hair. His mouth came away exactly long enough for him to eat the rest of the pepper. Nip burning and eyes wide, I watched, fingers twisted in his hair as he chewed. The tip of the condom pressed against me. Then Angel lunged, and liquid fire rained across my chest as he thrust inside me.

The sex was like a detonation. Flames licked along my flesh in the wake of his tongue. Heat poured over me as his mouth landed on mine, his lips burning me with every kiss. Sweat rolled down my skin and tears leaked from my eyes as he fucked me hard and deep. My arousal built so fast and hot I had no control over it. My orgasm was a splatter of cool wetness, consumed by the inferno of Angel's body.

He fucked me until I gyrated on the table, a writhing mass of burning skin. Inarticulate sobs slipped from between my clenched teeth and were lost in the noise of the table pounding the floor and Angel's roar as he came.

My head spun. I twitched and jerked uncontrollably. As good as the orgasm was, the relentless burning was getting to be too much. I was frantic for relief and moaned in agony.

The splash of cold shocked me. My whole body jolted. Angel's laughter sent tingles racing along my skin. I blinked in surprise as more cold liquid drenched me.

Milk. He was pouring milk all over us.

I stared in utter astonishment as streams of white liquid ran all over me, puddling between our bodies, on the table, and dripping onto the floor.

"Open," Angel commanded.

I blinked again, fluttering my eyelashes to see through the huge mess.

"Your mouth, china," he explained patiently. "Open your mouth."

Like an idiot, I opened my mouth, and he poured a thin stream of milk into it. I choked, coughed, and spit half of it out before managing to swallow. I rose up on my elbows and surveyed the damage. I'd had messy sex before, but this was a definite record.

Angel stood at the foot of the table, a lazy smile on his gorgeous face, body covered with sweat and milk. He backed up and helped me to climb off the table.

"How much trouble will you get in for this mess?"

"Eh. Not much." Angel shrugged. "My cousin owns the place."

I glanced around and couldn't see my clothes. My stomach growled loudly. Angel laughed.

"Guess I should feed you for real."

"If you feed me, you might have to keep me."

Angel wrapped his t-shirt around his neck and held out his hand.

"This I know."

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

Friday, May 6, 2016


Hey all! Welcome to another round of Free Fiction Friday. This week's story is posting in two parts, so the conclusion will post next Friday, 5/13.

Head out this weekend and enjoy the eye candy and action of Marvel's Civil War if you get a chance. Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man is always good, and my resident comic-geek spouse has informed me the actual movie is good as well.

That said, enjoy Part 1 of This I Know.

* * * *

The problem with fucking in the men’s room at Harvey Wallbanger’s wasn’t the tiny little toilet, or the fact that it had no tank for balancing. It wasn’t the graffiti on the walls, either. The crude cock and ball drawings, dirty limericks, and “for a good time call” phone numbers that looked vaguely familiar were actually entertaining. It wasn’t even the guy I’d taken in there, whose name I couldn’t remember now. Ted? Ned? He might’ve just said, “Hi, gimme head.” The volume of the dance music in Harvey’s and my general social malaise made meaningful conversation impossible.

No, the problem with fucking in Harvey Wallbanger’s men’s room was the smell.

I stood there, perched really, on the tiny little toilet that had no tank in a stall that was too narrow with walls covered in familiar graffiti, while Right Said Fred tried his best to slot up and make some magic happen, and the smell of Mexican food overwhelmed me.

I don’t know if the bulimic twinks who populated the club’s VIP section finally eliminated the middle man and just threw their food straight into the toilet, or if some idiot got so stoned he ordered Loco Louie’s all-natural Mexican eatery to deliver his dinner directly to the men’s room. But somebody had authentic empanadas and tamales. The spicy combination of the chorizo and corn masa in the tamales perfumed the air with a sultry aroma that teased my senses far more effectively than Jed, who was still mindlessly rutting behind me, clueless.

I inhaled deeply, letting the fantastic mélange of scents bombard my olfactory nerves. For the first time in my life, I lost all interest in the sex I was having. My erection fell like a deflated meringue as my stomach growled. The sound effect was so loud that Ahmed froze mid-thrust.

“Bra, what the fuck was that?”

“Did you just call me ‘Bra’?" I slid off his dick and looked at him with utter scorn.

"It's not like I got your name."

"And that's a good thing." I didn't even bother wiping the lube off. I yanked my jeans up and exited the stall, buttoning and zipping as I went.

I ignored the pair of guys doing lines of anonymous white powder off the sink and followed my nose. It led me through the men's to the janitor, who leaned against the wall waiting to mop. I stopped short and stared at him. He was gorgeous.

"You got a problem?" His voice was heavily accented.


His chin came up, heavy dark brows furrowing over darker eyes as he shoved off the wall into an upright position.

"Fuck you, mariposo."

"No, you don't understand." I groped for the right words before the hot Mexican janitor beat the fuck out of me. Then his words registered. "Wait. Did you just call me a butterfly?"


A string of what I'm sure were negative and derogatory insults spilled from him mouth in a foreign language flood. Now I was hungry, horny, and confused. The four years of high school Spanish I'd taken were so hazy I didn't remember much past being able to ask where the bathroom was and say thank you.
The men's room door opened and a guy in a suit came in. He glanced at the guys doing lines, and then at me and the janitor. He made a face.

"No fucking while you're on the clock, Angel."

My inspiration for "Angel," Draven Torres.

The janitor's hands clenched his mop so tightly I was sure he was going to crack the thing in two. But his eyes and face reflected perfect blankness. The suit made a quick circuit of the bathroom and left. The instant the door closed behind him, the janitor glared at me and growled through clenched teeth.

"Get the fuck out!"

I fled.

I didn't go far, though. That heavenly aroma faded the moment I got back inside the club, and I felt like I was starving. Besides that, the janitor was more interesting than Ted-Ned-Fred-Ahmed-Jed-Zed.

I didn't bother with another too-strong drink. Instead I waited against a convenient pillar, one eye on the door to the men's. When the janitor emerged shoving the rolling mop bucket before him like a plow, I snaked through the writhing bodies of sweaty boys in that direction. I caught up to him at a door marked Employees Only. I had to shout to be heard over the din.


He either didn't hear me or he ignored me, and walked through the door. Before it could close and separate me from that holy aroma of goodness and the body it was attached to, I stuck a hand out, pushed it open, and slipped inside behind him.

"Hey–" I stopped as he brandished the mop like a weapon. "Whoa! I just wanna talk."

"You can't be in here."

"Who's gonna say anything?"

"My boss."

I inhaled. I couldn’t help it. He smelled so fucking delicious.

"What's wrong with you?" He let the mop drop back into the bucket with a plop.

"That's what I wanted to say to you." Like some high school kid, I blushed. "You smell amazing. Like tamales and empanadas."

"I work at TJ's before I come here."

"I've never been there. I've heard it's good, though." I inhaled again and my stomach growled. A surprised look spread across his face and he laughed.

"When's the last time you ate?"

I shrugged.

"You don't remember when you ate last?"

"Eating isn't a big priority–usually."

His eyes darted nervously to the door…and then to me. He checked me out like I was a side of beef. My legs went weak.

"Meet me at the back door in an hour."

He turned away without waiting for my answer. We both knew I'd be there. 

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

Friday, April 15, 2016


Welcome back. I've working under a serious time crunch here, so we got nothing fancy this week. I hope you enjoy this little flash piece. Have a great weekend!

* * * *

by Tucker McCallahan

A twenty-ounce Mountain Dew sat beside my feet.  Three or four other guys in wife beaters and long shorts lounged around me on the stoop of 746, drinking forties, smoking cigarettes, and generally looking like lazy thugs. Old school Public Enemy blasted from a random phone. My head bobbed to the hardcore beat. Couple of the regulars showed up and I took care of them with the easy slide. I was in the middle of a text to Shane telling him to shuffle his ass my direction and take over for me when I looked up.

I deleted the text.

One of my dudes stopped the kid ten feet in front of the stoop. I read the body language going on and knew he was telling the kid to take off.

"It's cool, bro." My words didn't carry over "Fight the Power." I raised my voice and repeated myself, adding, "I know him."

"Smell like bacon, yo."

I grabbed my soda and stood up.

"He's aight."

I left the comfort and safety of the stoop and approached the kid. I didn't know him, but I knew the look. I could practically smell the desperation. I held my hand out and the kid stared at it for the longest second ever. He finally reached out and slapped my palm. I gripped his fingers before he could pull them away and yanked him toward me for a shoulder-bump-back-slap.

"Long time, man. Let's talk."

I shoved one hand in my pocket and headed around the side of the building. I didn't check to see if the kid followed me; I could feel him. Two massive dumpsters sat cockeyed up against the peeling paint of 746 about halfway down the alley. I turned sideways and dipped between them. Normally I would've tapped one of the dumpsters to make sure the spot was unoccupied, but I'd been out all day. I already know nobody was back here getting off.

I slid sideways and leaned up against the naked brick. The kid stood in front of me, his face telegraphing his nervousness. I set my soda on one of the three plastic crates among the used condoms, rubber gloves, dirty needles, balloons, and wadded-up bags scattered all over the concrete. Hooking another crate with my foot, I dragged it over in front of me, and then grabbed some serious eye contact with the kid.


"Jamie. Uh, he goes by Lil J?"

"I know him." I motioned to the crate in front of me. "Cop a squat."

"I really need–"

"I know what you need. Question is whether you can pay for it."

He fidgeted, eyes skipping around the ground.

"Look at me, kid."

His eyes snapped back up to my face; they were blue like summer pool water. I bet he'd been a looker before he got strung out. His face was all hard planes and sharp edges, fined down from more dope than food. But his skin was the golden brown of the toasted cheese that came on the top of a bowl of French onion soup, and I had no doubt he'd be just as delicious.

"You got no cash, right?"

He shook his head and shivered. His nose was running. He was gonna be in a real bad state three-four hours from now.

"So it's your thing. Pay in trade or break out."

He said nothing, but reached for me. I brushed his hands aside. In exactly three seconds I had my dick exposed and in my hand, stroking slow. Usually I amped up with my eyes closed, my head filled with the visual of sliding between my last boyfriend's full, moist lips. But this kid hit some kind of nerve, and just staring at his dark eyelashes fluttering at he gazed up at me turned me so solid I had to stop.

He licked his lips and leaned in, but I retreated.

"Chill baby."

I slid a condom from my pocket and rolled it on. I treated everybody like they were infected with Ebola. Last thing I needed was my dick rotting off. He stared at me like I'd done some incredibly sweet thing. I wasn't sure if his gratitude was because I'd called him baby or because I didn't intend to make him swallow. Didn't really matter either way. Another stroke or two over the latex and the show was all him.

And he was perfect.

Those dark eyelashes fluttered again as he engulfed the head of my dick. The heat of his mouth was fucking fantastic, and I put my hands behind my head so I wouldn't be tempted to touch him. His hands fisted the heavy denim of my shorts, drawing the material snug across my ass. I didn't expect that sensation and groaned. When he yanked my hips forward and used his grip on my clothes to fuck me deeper into his throat, I gave up hope of making it last. He worked me like a machine. Several more deep thrusts and I came hard.

If my hands hadn't been behind my head, I would've slammed it into the brick wall.

As it was, I scuffed my knuckles and didn't care in the slightest.

Kid drew off nice and slow, his tongue tracing all the way up my dick. Then he sat back and let me deal with the condom. I dropped it and tucked up, fixing my shorts. As I did, I reached into the little pocket inside and pulled out a bundle.

"What do you need?"

Those pretty blue eyes flicked from me to the dope and back.

"One to get well, one to get off."

I counted three off and held them up, pulling my hand back as soon as he reached for them.

"The third's yours…if you tell me your name–your real name–not some street shit."

"It's Aaron."

I handed over his dope.


He pocketed his stash and turned to go.

"Ain't gonna get right here?"

He turned back, his face a picture of disgust as he shook his head. I cocked my head, considering.

"I'm 'bout ready to bounce. You wanna hang for five?"

He briefly considered a proposition I hadn't made to another customer, ever. Finally he pulled a bag from his pocket. With easy proficiency, he opened it, slipped a pinkie in, and brought a taste up to his nose, inhaling hard. Then he closed the bag and made it disappear.

"I can hang…if that's what you want."

Those long black eyelashes fluttered and I was totally lost. I nodded and pulled my phone out to send that text to Shane. We squeezed through the space and headed for the stoop.

* * * *

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

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