DUST BEFORE ASH - A PREQUEL STORY

Happy Valentine's Day, my readers! As a thank-you to everybody who's waited so patiently while I shopped the Dust & Ash series to publishers, I'm posting up a special prequel story.

As a disclaimer, because I try to be scrupulous about that kind of thing, this story contains sexual activity between minors.

ENJOY!

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DUST BEFORE ASH

By Tucker McCallahan © 2016

This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.

The lights in the hallway to the laundry room were broken.

Micah took in the gloom, the whiff of sulfur in the air, and the bits of broken glass still on the floor. He gazed down the hallway to where the heavy doors to the camp laundry room stood closed.

They were only supposed to be closed in emergencies.

Micah shook his head in disgust. It fucking figured. He quickly arranged his things into a bundle he could hold with one arm, eyes watchful. It was Monday, too, dammit.

He stalked down the hall taking slow, deep breaths to center himself. Sure enough, when he got within two yards of the doors, they opened. Micah recognized a member of Malos, one of the Hispanic gangs from So Cal. Despite his sneer and amateur ink, dude only hit Micah at mid-chest and was probably forty or fifty pounds lighter. Micah dropped his small bundle of laundry to the floor and loosened his stance.

It wasn't even a scuffle. Couple love taps and dude hit the floor.

Micah scooped up his laundry and rushed through the doors.

He heard them before he saw them. The steady hum of the machines backed a chorus of hoots and catcalls, punctuated by regular swearing, thudding, and thumping as three Malos wailed on somebody.

It was the new kid. Little white-haired ghost of a skate punk had arrived at El Paso de Robles School for Boys and Los Robles Camp right after New Year's. In just over a month he'd managed to almost off himself twice. Word around the camp was that he was a meth-head, bent, and totally fucking insane. At the present moment, three Malos fucktards were tearing his uniform off as they forced his legs open.

The gravity of that situation clearly outweighed any other concerns Micah might've had about the kid. He dropped his shit and launched his considerable bulk at the attackers.

Gangbangers were such pussies.

Micah's mitt of a hand closed around number-one's throat. Fingers sinking into damp skin, Micah yanked the closest guy off the kid and tossed him face-first into the wall. Number-two was too busy pulling his dick out to notice his friend slide to the floor, nose bloody and his eyes unfocused. Micah got a glance of the kid's face all pounded to hell, and then Micah's knee slammed into number-two's balls. He crumpled against a washing machine and heaved, vomiting everywhere. Number-three whipped around and rushed at Micah, the scraps of the kid's uniform pants falling from his hands. Micah dodged a sloppy combination that didn't even come close to connecting. With a lunge, Micah rotated from the hips up through his torso into his shoulders and threw all two hundred pounds behind his wrist. The power jab took number-three squarely in the face.

One by one Micah dragged the homeboys to the double doors and bodily tossed them out of the laundry room into the dark hallway. He had no way of knowing how much more time they had before somebody investigated why the lights were smashed. His left hand throbbed to the rhythm of his accelerated heartbeat. He shook it out and it hurt worse, but not even the possibility of a broken hand could dampen Micah's spirits. The whole world looked brighter and smelled sharper. It had been a nice little scuffle.

Micah jogged back over to where the kid huddled mostly-naked on the laundry room floor. One arm hugged his torso as he carefully wiped his swollen face. He peered up at Micah. His eyes were like creamy, golden toffee. Combined with his white-blond hair, the kid had an exotic look no amount of snot, sweat, or blood could ruin. A wave of protectiveness welled up inside Micah. Something clicked, and suddenly everything Gregos had been trying to tell him for the last three years made perfect sense. Micah stared at the kid with equal parts of wonder and gratitude.

The kid spit a mouthful of blood on the floor and winced. "Thanks," he whispered. His voice was surprisingly deep.

"Micah. Been watching you, blondie. You got a death wish?"

"No." At Micah's disbelieving smirk, the kid sighed. "Just…" He shifted on the floor and grimaced, an involuntary moan slipping free. "Well…" Tears cut tracks through the mess on his face. "Yeah."

"Come on." Micah grabbed a clean white towel and pitched it at the kid. "Let's get you cleaned up. I think we should talk."

"About what?"

"Options."

"Options? Options for what?"

"For you. Your future. Death isn't an option, man. There are other things that are far more satisfying."

Micah offered the kid his hand, but the kid ignored it. He crawled to the closest rumbling machine and used it to climb to his feet. One of his eyes was swelling shut.

"No offense, Micah, but I don't think you're my type."

"Yeah, I am. And you're totally my type." They couldn't hang out and rap here; they had to get the fuck out of Dodge. "Come on."

"Uh, maybe I'm not being clear. I'm gay. Really gay, not the play gay shit that the idiots here are doing till they get out."

Somehow the kid managed to look fierce despite being pulped only minutes before. A dozen scenes where Micah had thrown that same look at Gregos flashed through Micah's head, and he laughed. He jerked a dryer door open and rummaged through the contents. Micah offered the kid a pair of pants.

"I got a boyfriend who would eat you for breakfast, blondie."

The kid stared at him like Micah was going to use the uniform pants to strangle him. Micah tossed them at his feet. The kid had reason to be suspicious. He'd been jumped, beaten, and nearly raped.

"Sorry. But, if you've got a boyfriend, then…uh…"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not talking about sex." Micah's gaze roamed over the kid. OK, he shouldn't outright lie to his new protégé. "Not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

"C'mon." Micah moved several steps toward the double doors. "I've got all kinds of things to teach you."

A door slammed somewhere nearby. The kid jumped, then limped after Micah. After checking the hallway, Micah led the kid to the stairwell.

"Huh uh." The kid shook his head. "I'm not going in there."

"Kid, if I wanted your ass I could've joined the line in the laundry room."

Grumbling, the kid stepped into the stairwell. Micah followed him in and held the heavy steel fire door so it didn't slam behind them. He strode forward, leading the way down the stairs. The kid followed, still mumbling under his breath.

"What's that?"

"I said I'm not a fucking kid. My name's Dustin."

"OK Dustin. What'd you do to piss Malos off?"

Dustin stopped and Micah, several steps ahead, paused to glance back at him. Dustin still hugged his torso with one arm, but Micah recognized the set of his body. Dustin was ready to run.

"Fuck kid, I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Sure."

"Look I need to know what's up in case I get questioned." Micah's sky blue eyes hardened. "You into them for dope?"

"No."

"Kid–"

"Dustin."

"Whatever." Micah led Dustin down to a door marked Maintenance Only. He opened it as carefully as he'd closed the other door. "I'm ten for homicide and I've already done two. You can't surprise me. Now what the fuck did you do to get on Malos' bad side?"

They stood in a maintenance tunnel partially lit by red emergency lights. Micah moved ahead and led the way, hunching down so his head didn't hit the reinforced archways of the tunnel. Dustin's answer sounded ghostlike as it reached Micah.

"S.O."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

Micah let that tidbit roll around in his head. Just because Los Robles was a secure facility for minors convicted as adults, that didn't mean it was any different from a regular prison. Dustin's suicide attempts might've saved his life. Malos was notorious for their hatred of sex offenders.  

Hitting a junction, Micah made a hard left and led Dustin from the camp tunnels to the school tunnels. Hopefully he could get Dustin to the infirmary before Malos found out their boys had failed. Otherwise, the kid would get his wish. He'd be dead within a week.

*

Dustin stood in the doorway to Micah's room. Everything he owned was stacked in a pile on the lower bunk.

It was a damn small pile.

Micah was in the middle of the floor doing push-ups.

"Just a sec. Have to finish the set." If he was counting, he was doing it silently. After four more push-ups, Micah stood. He was exactly like Dustin remembered: massive. He stretched his arms out, muscle straining the seams of his uniform shirt, and tilted his head left and then right. He pointed to Dustin's things.

"Didn't know if you wanted top or bottom." Micah's blue eyes sparkled. "I like both."

Dustin tried to scowl, but his swollen face refused. One day and one night in the infirmary hadn't done shit for a broken nose and a bunch of broken ribs. They hadn't even given him anything for pain, just doped him up on even more psych meds and kicked him out. He fully expected to land in protective custody, which was what Los Robles called solitary confinement. The director had been pissed that Dustin wouldn't say a word about the beating. Instead of a nice empty room to call his own, though, Dustin was escorted to a new room.

Micah's room.

Dustin stomped over to the bunk beds, throwing the best glare he could manage in Micah's direction.

"I've got broken ribs, dumbass. If you want to sleep on the lower bunk, I'll crash on the floor." Dustin deliberately refused to look at Micah. The psych meds might've kept the dragon asleep, but they did little to improve Dustin's mood.

Micah shrugged and dropped back down onto the floor. He resumed his push-ups.

Dustin sat on the bed, but his ribs hurt like a motherfucker. He tried to lay down and couldn't get comfortable that way, either. Even just lying flat on his back was excruciating. He shifted, moving gingerly, and a huge body pillow landed beside him. Micah sat down on the floor beside the bed.

"You need it way more than I do."

"No thanks."

"You look miserable."

Dustin closed his eyes. He might've been willing to believe a guy that looked like Micah would pull the savior routine. But ending up in Micah's room? The bad pun about tops and bottoms? Now Micah offered exactly what Dustin needed to sleep? Dustin sighed and managed to roll enough that he could see Micah.

"Look. Thanks for helping me out Monday. But I'm not gonna be anybody's bitch in here, especially yours."

"Dustin–"

"I figure since I'm here, you've got some pull with the director. Just tell him to dump me in solitary. Or back in the psych ward."

"Shut. Up."

Dustin's mouth snapped shut at the tone of Micah's voice.

"You know what Fate is?" At Dustin's confused look, Micah continued. "Fate. Predestination. The idea that our choices aren't really choices. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I don't believe in Fate. I'm here because of my choices. I know how real they are."

"You mean you think you know. You being here? It's Fate."

"No. It's fault. Mine."

"Ever heard the story of Oedipus?"

Dustin's head was ready to spin off. The anti-psychotics and anti-depressants made him feel heavy and dull. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Greek tragedy.

"Yeah. Guy killed his dad and fucked his mom. Could we talk about this next week?"

"No. How about Aristotle? Ever read his On Interpretation?"

"No. I'm tired."

"You're not tired; you're drugged. Pay attention."

"Did you miss where I said I wasn't gonna be your bitch?"

"I ignored it. And I'm not gonna leave you alone until you listen."

"Oh my god. You're like a toddler!"

"Aristotle said a chair is a chair, no matter what language we use to describe it. The thing, the chair itself, is a chair no matter what. With me?"

"A chair is a chair." Dustin's deep voice came out in a flat monotone.

"Right. He then tells us every statement is, out of necessity, either true or false."

"Well that's not right."

""Except it is. You just admitted it." Micah pointed at the pillow. "That is a pillow. Now my statement is either true or false. If that's a pillow, then it's true. If that's not a pillow, then it's false."

"Sure. A chair is a chair. A pillow is a pillow. True is true, false is false, and I'm tired."

"And I'm about to prove to you that we're gonna have sex and it's Fate. Even if you say no now, it'll still happen."

"Not in this fucking lifetime."

"Sex between us will occur. Sex between us will not occur. Based on Aristotle's method, if one of those statements is true, then the other is false."

"Right. We're not ever gonna fuck, so that's the truth."

"Let's say though, that I'm right. Sex between us will occur. If that's true, then it's always been true. It's even true now, before it's happened."

"You talk in riddles. You're like a damn sphinx."

Dustin really was tired. He'd slept like shit in the infirmary. Micah's body pillow was the perfect firmness and it smelled really good, like some kind of musky cologne. He relaxed into it and wanted to weep at finally being comfortable. He was fully willing to listen to Micah babble for use of the pillow.

"Think about it. If my statement was always true, then sex was always going to happen. But if sex was always going to happen, then it's impossible for sex not to happen. That means that sex can't not happen."

"Huh?"

"If something can't not happen, that means it has to happen. If it has to happen, then it's necessity, and whatever choices you make don't really matter." Micah jumped up and went to one of several large stacks of books against the wall. He pulled one free and flipped through it. "I'm probably not saying it the best way. Aristotle is a lot easier to understand."

Micah found the section he wanted.

"OK, this is it. '…If it was always true to say that it was or would be, it could not not be, or not be going to be. But if something cannot not happen it is impossible for it not to happen; and what cannot not happen necessarily happens. Everything, then, that will be will be necessarily.'" Micah slapped the book closed with a triumphant smile. "Which means you being here? Fate. Us meeting? Fate. Sex? Fate."

All Micah got for his philosophical proof was a soft snore. Dustin was out cold, carefully wrapped around Micah's body pillow.

Micah returned Aristotle to his place, dropped back down to the floor, and resumed doing push-ups, a smile on his face.

*

Despite their rocky start as roommates, Micah and Dustin got along pretty well. If Micah wasn't eating, sleeping, or attending classes, he was either reading or exercising. Sometimes he read while he exercised. They got free time in the evenings, but Dustin had no desire to be in any of the common areas.

Surprisingly, Micah didn't socialize either. He occasionally went to the weight room, but he didn't play basketball, cards, or watch TV.

Unlike the crazy "sex can't not happen" debate, most of what Micah said was logical, practical, and made sense. He was starting his third year at Los Robles; he had their system and rules memorized. After a few weeks, Dustin stopped getting angry at Micah's sexual puns and double entendres. That was just Micah's personality, and as he'd proven over time, he wasn't going to hurt Dustin or force him into sex.

What Micah did push Dustin into was school. Back in Flordeperla, all Dustin had really cared about was getting high, skateboarding, and playing the drums. School was the place he went to see his friends and score meth. When Micah found out how far behind Dustin was, he insisted Dustin attend classes and do homework, often tutoring him. Dustin discovered a love for reading that rivaled Micah's, and in no time stacks of books cycled through their room from the county library's loan system.

The cuts, scratches, and bruises from the Malos attack faded. Dustin's ribs healed. Instead of watching Micah exercise, Dustin joined him, usually doing about a quarter of whatever Micah was doing.

They talked for hours. Dustin had been born and raised in San Diego, while Micah was a San Francisco native. One of their favorite topics of conversation was Southern California versus Northern California. Micah had no intention of ever leaving the state; Dustin couldn't wait to move as far away as humanly possible.

That duality permeated their relationship. Though they were both born in July and Cancer signs, they were as different as night and day. A lot of their conversations became debates, usually with Micah whipping out whatever philosopher he was currently reading to back up his argument. Several times their arguments got loud and passionate enough to bring staff to their door. That inevitably meant the nurse who made rounds first thing every morning stuffed extra drugs down Dustin's throat. His regular meds were so heavy Dustin napped every afternoon, so Micah did his best to keep his enthusiasm under control. He didn't like Dustin all drugged out any more than Dustin liked being that way.

The two settled into a routine together, a nice, comfortable friendship.

*

Dustin sat at his desk. He had an English essay to write and had spent the last hour procrastinating. A number-two pencil in each hand, he drummed on his book and paper, head bobbing to the rhythm. He looked over at Micah who was buried in some new book by Jean Genet.

For the last week, Dustin couldn't look at Micah without getting an erection. It wasn't just how massive and muscular he was, Dustin had never had a friend like Micah. He knew all about Micah's boyfriend, the very amazing, very rich, very old Dr. Kalogeros, which meant Dustin knew the relationship was open. He didn't understand it, but he knew Micah wasn't lying. Dustin's relationships had all been so awful, but his friendship with Micah was perfect.

Dustin missed being touched. He was alone in the world at fifteen. He didn't just miss being touched, he needed it so badly. Gathering his courage, he cleared his throat.

"Hey…remember that talk we had about Aristotle?"

"What talk?" Micah didn't glance up. "That paper is due Monday."

"I know. I'll get it done. You tried to explain Aristotle to me and I fell asleep. Remember?"

This time Micah turned in his chair. His blue eyes sparkled.

"You mean when I proved we'd end up having sex. I remember."

"Well, you didn't prove it."

""If something can't not happen, then it has to happen."

"But wasn't your whole argument based on your statement being true? What if it wasn't?"

Other than the visits he got from Gregos every two weeks, debating philosophy was what made Micah happiest in the world. His eyes gleamed and he turned his chair around so he could face Dustin.

"OK. Let's say your statement was true. What was it again?"

"That sex wouldn't happen."

"If that's true, then it's always been true. That's Aristotle's theory, right?"

"Yeah, see, I actually had a question about that."

"Go ahead."

"Well if what I said was true, there'd have to be a reason for it to be true."

"Aristotle says–"

"Forget Aristotle." Dustin had long since stopped drumming with his pencils. He stood up and tried to ignore his shaking hands. He took the five steps to where Micah sat, and with every step, the vibe in the room got heavier. Dustin's voice was breathy when he finally spoke. "Is what I said true because sex between us would be bad?"

Micah's pupils expanded. Anything that came out of his mouth might ruin this, and he'd waited more than patiently. He stared up at Dustin and shook his head.

"Is it true because you're with Dr. Kalogeros?"

"No," Micah whispered. "You know that."

Dustin melted onto Micah's lap, one hand clutching at Micah's shirt for balance.

"Maybe we should conduct an experiment."

Dustin's head dipped, and his lips trembled as they met Micah's. Dustin moaned and sank into the kiss with everything he had. Micah took that for consent. His big arms wrapped around Dustin, one hand cupping the back of Dustin's head to hold him steady as they devoured each other.

Micah stood taking Dustin with him. He carried Dustin with one arm, mouths still locked, as he dragged his chair over to their door and wedged the back under the handle. In three steps they were at the bunk beds, and the body pillow went flying as Micah swept the lower bunk clear. He deposited Dustin on the mattress and rose up long enough to yank his uniform off.

Dustin had been fully solid since his ass met Micah's lap. Micah naked and looming over him was almost too good. Dustin scrambled to get his clothes off. He wanted skin, heat, pressure, and he wanted it all right fucking now.

Micah knew he was more experienced than Dustin. Their talks over the last seven weeks had strayed to sex and boyfriends more than once. He also knew what Dustin had done to end up in Los Robles. Micah gazed down and couldn't help blinking a few times. Dustin fully erect was…daunting.

"I'll bottom." Dustin reached out a hand to Micah with a smile. "This time."

Micah laughed, and suddenly everything was all right. He kissed Dustin's hand and then spun around, heading for his books. Micah grabbed his beat-up dictionary, opened it, and removed condoms. He dropped the paperback on the floor and stalked back over to Dustin grinning like a lunatic.

It was so good. Hands, warm lips, Micah's weight pressing Dustin down into the mattress. As Micah slid home, the burn and fullness almost eradicated how empty Dustin felt inside.

Almost.

Though it felt like they moved and slid against each other for hours, in reality only minutes elapsed before Dustin buried his face in Micah's shoulder and came with a soft cry. Micah followed him over the edge a few seconds later, his dark hair sweat-dampened.

They laid on the thin bed, sated and breathless. Micah held Dustin, and kissed him gently.

"I need a shower."

Dustin smiled.

"I think we both need a shower."

"I didn't even look at the clock. How long do we have before checks?"

"Not long." Dustin looked guilty. "I couldn't help it. I've been trying to figure out how to ask for this for a week."

Micah kissed him again and chuckled.

"What're you laughing at, sphinx?"

"You. I told you sex would happen."

"And you're always right."

"Not always, but often enough to room with a dragon."

They rose and dressed. Micah reclaimed his chair. Just as they returned to their studies, the door opened. A staffer stood there. He frowned and sniffed.

"How long have you two been hitting the books? It stinks in here."

"We skipped showers to study." Micah lifted his book. "Test Monday."

"Don't skip showers anymore."

"We won't."

The staffer closed their door. Dustin and Micah looked at each other. They burst out laughing.

* * * *

Hope you enjoyed a little taste of life at Los Robles Camp. This was mostly written for character development, so if you're interested in reading more, please comment and let me know. Once again, I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day!

FREE FICTIONS FRIDAYS - WE CAN CALL IT PARADISE, PART 2

Welcome back to Free Fiction Friday! I chose to continue last week's flash; I hope you enjoy the conclusion! This week's pictures are the inspirational artwork for my two characters, Shawn and Connor.

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WE CAN CALL IT PARADISE, PART 2; by Tucker McCallahan:

The hotel was not posh.

It wasn't even technically a hotel. The sign advertised it as an inn, whatever that meant. It was one step up from those shitty motels where you park in front of your door, meaning this place had interior hallways. But that was about the only difference.

The room had two double beds, both mussed as if they'd been slept in, and given the state of the room, they probably had. Shawn shrugged his leather jacket off and surprised me by taking the time to hang it up in the twelve-inch space they called a closet. I bent, untied my boots, and kicked them off by the wall, making a mental note not to put my socks back into my boots after walking on the carpet.

Shawn was between the beds, fiddling with his phone. Within seconds, we had music. Disturbed's "The Vengeful One" filled the room and Shawn straightened up, turning to me.

"Too much?"

I shook my head. I didn't give a flying fuck what he played. The only music I was interested in was the symphony of moans and whimpers I intended to conduct over his naked body. I stripped my shirt off and went to him.

Shawn was a little taller than I was without my boots, but it made no difference. I wrapped one hand around his nape and drew him down, mouth hungry for more of what I'd tasted outside the bar. He melted against me, soft and strong at the same time. His mouth was still sweet from those frou-frou shots, and for some reason that made me harder than granite.

SHAWN

His hands went straight to my belt. I stopped him only long enough to get him out of his shirt. Tattoos, some complete and some not, spread across his chest and shoulders. My eyes locked onto two words prominently inked between his nips: PROMISES KEPT. I smirked. Shawn noticed and licked his lips.

"Like that?" Shawn tugged my zipper down. "Guy in NYC did those."

"It's a good motto."

Shawn's gaze roamed over me in the low light of the lone lamp.

"No ink?"

CONNOR

Smirk still firmly in place, I slowly turned around, dropping my jeans and boxers as I went. My bud Kyle had finished up his apprenticeship about five years earlier, and he'd done the work that stretched from the back of my neck to my tailbone. I stripped down pretty regularly to show it off, and Kyle had pics up of it on the internet. Shawn's soft gasp made me clench inside, and that had never happened before.

I finished my three-sixty and found Shawn staring at me like a starved man. His eyes flicked down to my erection and back to my face. I loved how desperate he looked, how needy.

"Strip." My voice was raspy with lust. The longer I stared at him the more I wanted him. Shawn's pants, belt, and wallet hit the floor with a soft whuff. His knees hit the floor exactly one second later.

His pretty face nuzzled my groin. Those bitable lips trailed up one side of my hard dick just before his hot tongue licked the tip. Fuck he was perfect.

His hand wrapped around my base. Liquid fire enveloped my cock as he swallowed me, and I groaned. He sucked dick like he loved it. The world spun as his mouth slid up and down. His lips were silky and his tongue…he was driving me crazy.

"Slow down," I panted.

A cocky grin spread across Shawn's face as he stood.

"Why? I liked you all hot and angry." Shawn leaned in and bit my left nip. I yanked him against me, our erections jousting between us. His big dark eyes locked onto my face. "I like you hard and horny even better."

"My opinion of you has greatly improved over the last thirty minutes."

He chuckled and then my hand trapped our hard dicks. As I stared into his face, those lush lips parted and his eyelashes fluttered closed. I stroked us nice and slow. Shawn moaned and I took his mouth again, tongue sliding over his in a wet tease. He writhed and wiggled, the fingers of his right hand clutching my hip in a death grip.

I maneuvered us to one of the beds and was about to toss him down when he wrenched away from the kiss.

"Other bed. Nick would rip my balls off if I fucked on his bed."

My eyebrows went up, but I let him turn us around and took the one step necessary to get to the other bed. He pulled the drawer out on the nightstand and set a bottle of lube beside his phone. He offered me a condom.

"Do I need that?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not gonna let you do me bare."

"Just what do you think I'm gonna do?"

"Fuck me into oblivion. I hope." Shawn's dark eyes narrowed. "Aw hell. Don't tell me you're a bottom…"

"Definitely not." I took the condom and tossed it on the nightstand beside the lube. "But I don't usually bang guys on the first date." I crowded him against the bed until he sat down.

"What date?" He snorted. "We didn't go on a date."

I slowly climbed onto the bed right on top of him, forcing him down. His big eyes widened even further and that sexy little gasp came out of his mouth again. Damn I liked that sound.

"Sure we did. I came to see your show, and you met me for drinks afterward." I gazed down at him and dipped my head to kiss him again, rubbing against him in a slow undulation. He whimpered, and it was almost as good as his gasp.

"I suppose that part where you told me I sucked and you wanted your money back was just my imagination?"

"Mmm, musta been."

"Oh my God." Shawn shivered under me as I ran my tongue along his collarbone. I dipped lower and nibbled at one of his sweet little nips. "Don't stop."

"Don't have to worry about that." I licked lazily down his breastbone and went to the other nip. He thrust up against me, whining like a neglected puppy. I snickered and kissed his chest. "Roll over."

Anal sex wasn't usually my thing, especially with one-night stands, but Shawn was a temptation I couldn't resist. He flipped onto his belly. One look at his ass and any doubts I had flew right out the window.

"Spread your legs. Nah, as wide as they go. I want your feet hanging off the sides of the bed."

I couldn't tell if my demand embarrassed him or not, and I didn't really care. He looked fucking delicious facedown and spread-eagled. I palmed the lube and flicked it open. The noises that boy made as I got him ready were the sexiest sounds I'd ever heard, a million times better than his singing.

His howl as I pushed inside him made every hair on my body stand on end.

"Oh Jesus. Fuck me. Oh God. Oh shit. Harder. Fucking tear me up." His mouth ran like a porno soundtrack; prayers, curses, and pure filth flowed out in a continuous stream of babble. It turned me on. I laid over his back, arms looped under his so I could pull him down onto my dick as I thrust into him.

His whines and whimpers turned into passionate cries and growls as his dick rubbed against the sheets. And that mouth… Holy shit he only got louder and more explicit. I bit my lip. Sinking into his body was perfection: soft and yielding, yet tight and hot. I tried to make it last, but I couldn't stave off the rush of pleasure. It swallowed me whole and I collapsed against his back, my teeth in his shoulder as my balls tried to climb out of my body by way of my cock.

We laid there through a couple of songs before he wiggled under me.

"As awesome as that was, I'm sticky and you're heavy."

"Sorry." I crawled off him and let him roll over. He'd come pretty impressively and the sheets were a mess. I chuckled. "I almost feel bad about you laying in that."

The look he gave me turned my chuckle into full-out laughter.

"No you don't." He stretched and grinned at me.

Awkwardness quickly consumed me, the itch to get my ass out of there crawling across my skin. His grin fell away and he sat up.

"Feel free to use the shower if you want."

"Nah. Thanks though." I bent over and retrieved my shorts and jeans. "I should take off before your friends get back."

"Yeah, sure."

"You guys playing anymore shows around here?"

"We're stuck here until our guitarist gets out of the hospital."

"What?"

"Our guitarist got hit by a truck yesterday out in the hotel parking lot. Bust leg, busted ribs, concussion." Shawn shrugged. "He's fucking lucky to be alive."

"So who played at the show earlier?"

"Some guy off Craigslist. We were stuck. Club wouldn't let us cancel so we threw an ad up and that's the guy who answered it." He shook his head. "I'm sure you weren't the only person pissed off."

I pulled my shirt over my head and ran my hands through my hair to smooth it down before sitting back down on the bed beside Shawn.

"Not so pissed anymore," I murmured, and kissed him again. He made little happy sounds against my mouth and damn if I didn't feel my dick stir in appreciation. "How long you gonna be around?"

He laid his head on my shoulder. "Could be a week or more."

"Gimme your phone."

Dutifully he turned the music off and handed me the phone. I stood up and pulled my boots on; clean socks didn't seem to matter as much now. I sent myself a text, and pitched the device back to him.

"If you want company, text me."

"Maybe I will."

My eyes zeroed in on the huge, sticky mess in the center of his bed. The grin that split my face hurt it was so wide.

"You will."

I left to the sound of him pulling the sheets off the bed. As I walked back toward the bar and my car, my phone went off with a new text.

I want company.

What the hell. I turned around.

The End  

+ + + + + + + +

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UPDATES - FROM DUST & ASH TO A BIG SURPRISE

I got an interesting comment on the flash story I posted last Friday. One of my readers asked about the status of several stories. Rather than leave that information as a comment response, I figured a status update would be a good idea. 

DUST & ASH

The one on everybody's mind... Including mine. I have to be honest. Last year sucked for The Boys Of Summer. Three different mainstream LGBTQ publishers rejected Book One. Talk about a blow to my ego. However out of the darkness come stars. One of the editors (who's rejection letter was quite kind and lovely) sent me a very long list of suggested changes.

The thing is, D&A has an ensemble cast of characters, and while I did a good job of giving all my boys equal page time, in the process I created a subplot tangle that terrified the publishers. (One unnameable editor called it "a gay version of Jackie Collins." Given the overwhelming success and fame of Ms. Collins, I took that as a compliment.) Up until my new friend made his suggestions, I really didn't know how to fix the problem. Now, with his very cool suggestions in my grubby little hands, I'm pretty excited about some of the changes that are going to turn a really good story into an awesome series. 

Long story short? (Too late!) DUST & ASH is getting a plot overhaul, and I'll be subbing it again at that point. Also, because so many of my readers have been begging... I'll be posting up additional chapters to Gay Authors, just to whet the appetite. Fair warning though... The remaining chapters are rough, and not my best work by far. But you'll get the end of your story - at least the story you started reading, which probably won't be the exact same story that ends up published as a saga.

STATUS: IN REWRITES

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

This was, by far, one of my favorite stories when I started writing it. I still love the premise, and the outline. What I don't love, and the reason I never posted more, was the amount of research I had to do to create a believable world and scenario. I'm a classically trained writer, which means I don't write what I don't know. So if a story idea grabs me by the guts and demands attention, and it's outside my realm of experience, I dive into research. I've been scuba diving exactly twice - in an ex-boyfriend's swimming pool. Never ended up in even a lake, much less an ocean, and I never got my certification. The scuba apparatus gave me panic attacks. The ex had no trouble diving off the sunken fuselage of a DC-3 off the coast of Honduras, and worked as a rescue diver for the Bahamian Islands. I like to swim... but damn that scuba gear is heavy, awkward, and holy hell do I have more respect for him now. 

What this means is that until I have the time to devote to research, there won't be more of HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO. 

STATUS: ON HOLD

THE FOREST LORD

My pretty drow boys and their dangerous companions. Honestly, I didn't get much of a response to this series. My page visits dropped pretty significantly while I was posting this story, particularly as it lengthened. When nobody is reading and nobody is commenting, it's pretty easy to take the hint and switch shit up. I love the story and loved writing it, but I had a professor at CMU tell me once, "If there's something in your writing that you love, it doesn't belong there." Didn't understand that at all at 19 when he said it, but man do I get it now. 

I'm fully willing to go back to posting up an epic drow fantasy - but only if people actually want to read it. I'd appreciate suggestions or comments on this!

STATUS: SUSPENDED

BIRTH DAY

This story is very personal to me. It's also finished, scrawled out on Notepad when I was at the side of my partner's hospital bed. I'll freely admit to taking bits and pieces of the people, places, and experiences in my life and sticking them shamelessly into my work. But this story kind of went beyond that. It's a reflection of what I was dealing with and going through last year - a personal apocalypse. I have no excuse for not posting up the remaining portions of the story - except for the grief I'm still dealing with on a daily basis. 

Hopefully as time does its work healing, I'll muster the strength to post the remaining chapters. I'm going to make a huge assumption, and say thank you to all my readers for bearing with me on this one.

STATUS: COMPLETED

And finally... The last update and the project I'm really excited about right now.

READ MY MIND

This was an epic fantasy series I originally posted on Literotica about six years ago. The version that went up (while edited by a very nice lady) was not great writing, the plot wandered, and most of what was there was overwritten and gratuitous sex. (snickers) I never believed this series would be published, because it breaks the two big no-no's of digital publishing: non-consensual sex/rape and incest. And no matter how I attacked the plot, there was no way to remove these things. (For fans of the series, you'll remember a good amount of it takes place in the Abyss, in the land of flesh demons, and two of the main characters are a half-brother/sister who are incubus and succubus respectively.)

Despite these problems... The READ MY MIND series is going to be published! I'm still doing formatting and editing work, and there's no release date yet, but Book One will come out this year. I'M SO EXCITED. This project is massive and awesome, and reunites me with an amazing graphic designer who's agreed to do the cover series, which you can be damn sure I'll reveal here first! So for the fans of Pika, Shar, Zan, Cari, Ny'Litha, and Adim... They're baaaa-aack!

STATUS: SOLD, TO BE RELEASED 2016

That's what I've got right now. The trouble with being a writer and not doing it full-time is that the ideas never stop coming. Right now, I could quit my (new) job and write steadily for the next decade using nothing more than the ideas and outlines I've created and archived in the last few years. It's painful not having time to do what makes you the happiest - but writing is rarely a full-time thing (unless you're famous, retired, or living in your parents' basement). My sitch is unique. The House That Love Built has seven adults and five kids in it right now, which means we all have to work day jobs, we all have to manage chores/household maintenance, and we all have parenting duties. 

And I wouldn't change a thing. 

My writing and stories are what they are because of my experience. I'm a bisexual, genderqueer person in a polyamorous house - and it works for me. I hope the stories I produce reflect the personal acceptance and satisfaction available to the LGBTQ community, and as always...

I'll keep writing as long as you keep reading.

Cheers my friends, and BE WELL.

~ Tux

FREE FICTION FRIDAYS - WE CAN CALL IT PARADISE

Welcome back to FREE FICTION FRIDAY here at "A Little Something... Wicked." My holiday break ended up extended because I made an unanticipated job change. This was a very good and necessary thing, so YAY! for me. I once again have *time* to write, which kind of makes my life worth living.

This week's post is a flash piece I did based off of a writing prompt. I like where it's headed - but don't know if I'll continue it. So if you like it and want more... ASK. :)

Also, since it centers around a concert performance, I decided to throw in pics of some of the sexiest performers around. If you think I left anyone important out, feel free to mention their names in the comments.

WE CAN CALL IT PARADISE; by Tucker McCallahan:

"I need a beer."

"No kidding. A beer and a shot."

"Did the guitarist really drop his guiter?"

"Twice."

"So I wasn't hallucinating."

"If we'd been hallucinating that show might not've sucked so bad."

I headed straight for the only empty table I saw and put my back to the wall. I was pretty pissed about spending twenty dollars on a ticket for a thirty minute show that was, without a doubt, the worst concert of my life.

Tim made his way to the table I'd snagged after a stop at the bar. I snickered as I watched him undulate through the crowd, a pair of long-necks in one hand and two shots balanced in his other hand. He set the booze on the table and I downed my shot.

"Ugh. What the hell was that?"

"Slippery nipple." Tim sat down beside me. "They're the shot special tonight."

"Man can't get an honest shot of Jack anymore?"

"I'm sure you could, but it'd cost a lot more."

"It'd be all alcohol."

"These are all alcohol: one part Baileys, one part Sambuca."

"You know what Baileys is, right?" Tim gave me a tired look. "It's whiskey mixed with cream. If I wanted milk with my liquor I'd pour Jack in my cereal."

"Damn you're one grouchy sonuvabitch tonight."

"Show was shit."

Tim drank from the tall bottle, nodding his head as he swallowed.

"No argument here." Tim waited until I'd drowned my sorrows with half the bottle of beer. "Cute blond at the bar."

"Balls or boobs?"

"Like you care."

That made me smile, even if the smile itself didn't last very long.

"Maybe tonight I do care."

"She has nice little tits." Tim pushed his chair back a few inches and not-so-subtly turned to scope the bar. "And a bangin' body."

I gave in and followed Tim's gaze. I zeroed in on the chick immediately. Tim was right; she was smokin' hawt. Obviously another concert-goer, she wore a sparkly red push-up bra under a tiny cropped denim jacket with puffed sleeves. Her matching denim skirt didn't look any wider than my hand, and covered only a fraction more.

"Slut-tastic," I murmured.

"Speak for yourself, ya picky bastard." Tim gave the anonymous girl his version of a slow, seductive smile. She winked at him, turned her back to us, and then looked over her shoulder with a toss of hair that hadn’t been its natural color since grade school. I suppose the look she aimed at us was her version of coy. Female had the subtlety of a great white shark.

"Hey man, if you're into groupies, go for it."

"Looks like groupies are into me." Tim grinned hugely as the blond and her sidekick, a chubby goth girl with her hair in pigtails, headed our way with more drinks. "Handle the baggage, would ya bro?"

"No. Fucking. Way." I gripped the empty beer bottle in my hand so hard I thought it would shatter.

"Be a pal."

"Suck my dick."

"I will. Later."

I rolled my eyes but kept my mouth shut. The girls were within earshot, and if I was nothing else, I was a decent wingman. My eyes traveled over blondie's friend. She caught me doing it and hit me with a disintegration glare. I smiled and shrugged.

Blondie set four shot glasses down on the table, leaning down so we could get the full view of her bra-top. My eyes flicked to the glasses. Sure enough, they were filled with that shitty slippery nipple crap. I bit back my sigh.

Just as blondie launched into her introduction speech, the crowd at the front door swelled in greeting. I glanced up.

"Hol-ee fuck."

Tim stopped right in the middle of inviting the girls to have a seat and glared at me.

"What?"

"It's those motherfuckers from the show."

Everybody at the table turned to stare. The lead singer, the bassist, and their drummer strolled in to a weak welcome. The world's clumsiest guitarist was nowhere in sight.

"Oh my god!" Blondie waved at the trio like her hand was on fire and she was trying to put it out. "Over here!"

"You know those dicks?" I couldn't keep the scorn from my face or my voice.

"The bassist is my brother, jerk." The doom-cookie spoke for the first time. She shot me another hateful look that I matched.

"Well they suck."

"So tell them, not me."

"I will."

The three dudes ended up at our table, a waitress with a tray full of drinks trailing along behind them.

"Casey, Sara…Nice to see you." The lead singer bent down and exchanged kisses with the two chicks. He straightened and turned so the waitress could set her tray down. "Compliments of the bar."

I helped myself to another beer. I didn't particularly like Heineken, but if it was free, I was drinking it. For Tim's sake, I tried to keep my face neutral. The lead singer was a walking stereotype, right down to his Hot Topic wallet chain. If that's what tripped blondie's thermostat, Tim wasn’t getting shit tonight.

"Who're your friends?" The tallest one, the bassist, tugged a black pigtail and the doom-cookie aimed one of her destructo-gazes at him.

"This is Tim." Blondie was now in Tim's lap, having given the lead singer her chair. "And that's Conn."

"Conn as in Connor?" The lead singer smiled, beer in hand, relaxed as could be.

"You guys suck."

Conversation halted as the entire table stared at me.

"Conn–"

"Rude much?"

"S'cool." The singer held up his hands surrender-style. He glanced at me. "Opinions vary."

I folded my arms over my chest. I didn't bother hiding my disgust.

"It's not an opinion, dick. It's the truth. You had no business charging for what you put up on stage tonight."

Everybody talked at once: band members, groupies, and Tim. The lead singer, though, said nothing. He just stared at me, eyes narrowed. I stared back, unapologetic, and grabbed a third beer. I had a nice little buzz going and was starting to look forward to the prospect of a fight.

"You got anything else to say?" The bassist looked ready to grind bones for bread. Perfect.

"I haven't even gotten started."

He started around the table for me but the singer shoved his chair back and blocked the dude's path.

"Nick… chill." As the bassist returned to his seat, still glowering at me, the singer's dark eyes locked on me again. "Speak your piece, man. Get it all out."

"What kinda band plays a thirty minute set? And where's your ax-man? He drop his brain beside his guitar?"

"What answers will make you happy?"

"None, motherfucker! I want my fucking money back!"

"Are you requesting a refund?" His lips puckered into a cute little smile. Damn he was pretty.

"Did I stutter?"

"I'll make sure you get your money's worth tonight."

The two girls and the bassist gaped at him.

"You ain't pimping my sister out, Shawn."

"Not my intention." The look Shawn-the-singer gave me was unmistakable, and he wasn't subtle about it. Tim choked on his beer and laughed. I glared at him.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

"Nothing man. Not a thing. Guy wants to taste your rainbow that's between y'all."

"Whattaya say?" Shawn's seductive smile was about a thousand times sexier than Tim's. My jeans got tighter the longer he aimed it at me, and all that did was crank my anger up.

"That you prolly don't suck dick any better than you sing." I stood up and glared at Tim. "Later."

I headed for the bar. I wanted to salvage my buzz before my night got any suckier. Bounce was within walking distance, which meant there was a nice uncomplicated blowjob in my future. I bulldozed my way through the crowd and ordered a double shot of Jack. I tossed it down and relished the burn of real alcohol.

The crowd parted for me on my way to the door. My mad face will do that sometimes. I stepped out into the cool night air.

"Hey!"

I turned automatically. Shawn stood to the side of the doors, that damn smile still on his face. He really was pretty. He walked over.

"You leaving?"

"Nothing here I want."

His big dark eyes flicked down to my zipper, his smile widening.

"Liar."

"You want my fist in your face?"

He stepped up, close enough that I could smell the leather of his jacket and see the perfect fan of his eyelashes in the sodium vapor lights. Goddamn he was beautiful…and he knew it.

"Not in my face." This time his soft seductive smile set a bomb off in my gut that was twice as hot as the Jack Daniels.

Shawn pressed into me, one hand gripping my hip as our thighs and chests kissed. His lips were fucking bitable.

"You've got a nasty temper." Shawn's other hand slipped up under my t-shirt. When that hot hand hit my abs I couldn't help it; I growled. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Sure you want to leave all mad?"

"I'm getting less mad by the second."

I took the kiss I wanted. Shawn tasted like slippery nipple shots. And damn if I didn't like them better secondhand. He whimpered against my mouth and pressed even tighter against me, his fingers gripping my side.

I left his bitable lips to suck at his throat, my hands gripping his ass so I could grind against those stupid trendy pants he wasn't going to be wearing much longer. He shuddered in my arms, and I reached for his zipper. He pulled away from me reluctantly, like taffy stretching, and chuckled.

"You wanna do this out here in the parking lot?"

"You think it would be better in front of the bar?"

"Come on." He stepped further away from me but jerked his head toward the nearby lot. "I got a place." He walked backwards, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, that seductive smile cranked up to maximum and aimed right at me.

What the hell. I followed him.

For the clueless, the photos, in order from left to right beginning at the start of the story are:

Brian Molko, Placebo
Jared Leto, 30 Seconds to Mars
Jim Morrison, The Doors
Dave Navarro, Jane's Addiction
                      Red Hot Chili Peppers
                      Nine Inch Nails/Marilyn Manson
                      Guns 'n Roses
                      Spirits In the Sky
Layne Staley, Alice In Chains
David Bowie
Joe Perry, Aerosmith
Henry "Hank" Rollins, Black Flag
                                Rollins Band

* * * *

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: 

Free Fiction Friday