Fire & Ice - Teaser

I've completed a new short story called "Fire & Ice" that's posted on www.gayauthors.org under my author name "TMcCallahan." Here's the link to the complete story: http://www.gayauthors.org/story/tmccallahan/fireice/1

Below is just a bit to see if it's something you're interested in reading. Enjoy!

******

My toes were completely frozen; I couldn’t feel them at all inside my steel-toed boots. Stupid choice, but the Doc Martens looked tuff with the rest of the outfit, and like a true fag, I sacrificed comfort for fashion. I drew the line at the fingerless gloves, though.  Those were just too homeless, too grunge-ago for me to even bother trying to pull them off. Besides, it was really fucking cold out here, and my fingers were numb inside the black leather Thinsulate driving gloves I wore.

I stood in a field. That’s what it was, all pretenses aside, a big field out in the middle of Nowhere Pennsylvania, where a decent crowd of about three dozen gathered as the witching hour drew ever nearer. A bonfire burned off to one side giving us both heat and light, though there wasn’t nearly enough of either to suit me. The booze flowed freely, and a blue haze of cigarette smoke bolstered by other, thicker smoky textures hung around the crowd of post-adolescent men and women milling about, waiting to be dazzled. We all waited for the appearance of Paolo Strakos.

“He’ll be pissed about the fire.” Denny whined at us, the emo mop of his black hair falling into his eyes as he dashed a frantic glance at the bonfire.

“Too fucking bad,” one of the rugby boys growled, hands shoved in his letterman’s jacket. “It’s fucking cold out here.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Denny’s nasally whine was so goddamned annoying even I wanted to smack him.

The black Escalade rolled up, chrome spinning, windows dark, old Nine Inch Nails blasting that Trent wanted to fuck us all like animals. I shivered. That song always gave me a semi. The driver’s side window hummed down and Denny went scurrying over like the little bootlicker he was, that stupid haircut of his all but blinding him as it flopped into his eyes again.

“I told them,” Denny whined loudly. He stumbled back as whoever drove shoved him hard. He dashed a hand across his lip as though checking for blood, of which there was none, but he was a total drama queen. He slunk back up to the window. After another quiet exchange he returned to us, shoulders hunched, looking like a thoroughly beaten dog, though that’s not what I saw.

But on to that in a moment.

“He says you have to put the fire out or he’s leaving,” Denny said, authority in his voice. “And then everybody has to get into rows of six people, just like I said the first time.”

The grumbling was pronounced, but the jocks moved to douse the bonfire with the water from the coolers and the snow that was still deep in the shady areas. The rest of us dutifully lined up, and I jostled my way to a spot in the first row. This was far from the first time I’d come to one of these little midnight soirees. As a matter of fact, I was a regular repeat attendee, which disturbed me on a visceral level. I only knew that I was tired of the club scene, tired of the bar scene, tired of one night stands and anonymous fucks, and I wanted to see something exciting, wanted to see something that really proved there was more to life than fast food and reality TV. 

Paolo Strakos was all the proof I needed, and I kept coming back for more.

Denny was in his element, now. He loved this, his time to shine. His eyes were fever-bright, and his lips were swollen, though whether that was from him chewing on them or from the driver of the car smacking him no one could tell. He actually had the balls to put his hands on several of the jocks as he moved them from one line to another, snarking at them about their inability to count to six. God he was getting bold. Then he slipped on a patch of snow and stumbled into the girl next to me. Righting himself, his warm hazel eyes met my light green eyes, and for a moment, Denny looked at me like he knew. His gaze sharpened, then softened, then grew as frosty as the temperature around us, his hazel eyes narrowing suspiciously. His brown nose snapped up and he twitched his tight little ass back over to where the bonfire was being summarily dispensed. I did my best not to laugh at the little twink.

The great hissing rush as the water and cold snow hit the bonfire was immense, billowing clouds of steam blasted up towards the night sky and obliterated everything. The stench of wet wood, stale water, and old, damp earth was amazing, and I held my breath for a minute to let it pass. The doors on the Escalade opened, though the interior lights did not come on. Two sets of feet thudded against the frozen ground, clearly audible over the popping of the dying bonfire. As far as dramatic entrances went, the extinguishing of the bonfire couldn’t have served as a better audio-visual aid for Paolo.

A tall, dark figure, very lithe and graceful, next to one even taller who hulked over him moved through the steamy darkness to come and stand by Denny’s side. The hulk looped one arm around Denny’s waist, and I swear I heard the rush of Denny’s breath as he inhaled sharply, then the moan as Denny disappeared from my strained vision only to reappear a moment later, his lips bright and puffy, obviously kiss-swollen. Unexplained, unreasoned jealousy swarmed over me and I tried to tamp it down.

“All right, Paolo is here and he’s going to do one demonstration. Just one. If he stays afterwards, no questions. Anyone who bugs him gets banned from coming back, got it?” Denny was almost forceful now. Amazing what a little tongue can do for a shy boy. I fought the need to reach down and readjust my cock in my tight leather pants. Five minutes ago I’d been freezing. Now my skin was on fire, my heart raced, and my breath came in little pants.   

Denny walked a short distance away with the driver from the Escalade, and I could see enough to know that he was being thoroughly groped and well kissed. Good for Denny, I thought. He needed it. Insatiable little power bottom would end up a real pig if someone didn’t take him in hand and treat him like the bitch he was begging to be for somebody.

My attention wasn’t on Denny and his stupid antics anymore, though. Now that the fire was gone and the headlights of the Escalade winked into nothingness, the only light we had to see by was the half moon and the stars, which were unusually bright out here in Nowhere. A tall wisp of darkness within the night, his black hair gleaming under the moon and his dark eyes catching the starlight like ebon gems, Paolo stood before us, his hands clasped in front of him as though he prayed. The group of us stood in our lines the way Denny arranged us, utterly silent.

Paolo dressed all in black: bondage pants, heeled boots that buckled to the knee, a black shirt the clung to his torso, and a long, heavy, Australian Outback-style leather trench coat. He had black hair that curled riotously around his ears and face, faunlike, thick and luscious. What he didn’t wear in the icy weather was a pair of gloves; his hands were bare. He took a long, slow deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with it. My pulse sped. I’d watched this so many times. I was addicted to this man and I didn’t know why.

At that instant, his head snapped up and his dark eyes locked with mine. His hands came up in that prayerful pose and his odd, raspy voice whispered the same word he always said.

“Hořet.”

He pulled his hands apart and once again, Paolo Strakos cupped pure blue flames in his hands. Only this time he did it while staring straight into my eyes. My heart raced, my blood pounding frantically through my vessels. I wasn’t sure how that was possible. I thought all the blood in my body was in my dick; it felt like it was going to bust right out of the front of my leather pants.