Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Dirty Birdies Blog Hop - Excerpt From Long Awaited Friend
Hello, flock hoppers! I'm happy to be part of the Dirty Birdies Flock Hop. Today I'd like to share an excerpt from my M/M short, Long Awaited Friend. I chose this backlist title because I am currently (some would say finally) writing the follow-up to this story. I have to confess sequels and series take time for me on occasion, but it's my goal in the future to write series en masse before releasing. This way, I don't leave readers hanging. If you've been hanging with me for a while, I thank you for your patience. I never want to disappoint readers, and I hope Closer to the Heart will be worth the wait.
For now, if Awaited is new to you, here's a hot excerpt to enjoy. The hop's theme is dirty sex, and I can't think of anything dirtier than a hook-up in a bar. (Maybe I need more imagination? LOL)
By set’s end he was wringing wet, and nearly deaf for the crowd and the speakers parked alongside him. He rubbed his sore shoulder, fully aware now of how out of practice he was, not that anybody noticed or cared. The crowd before him of pierced twenty-somethings seemed more enamored with the acrobatic guitarist than the older man tucked in the back.
Limply he rose from the drum set and staggered into the hallway, stopping short of the men’s room. His mouth was dry, his heart pounding in time to his head. He leaned against the cold brick wall and savored the sensation; he felt odd, as though living a recurring dream of being his present age in high school on exam day. Retaining no knowledge, yet somehow managing to pull through at the last minute.
From his hiding place, he noticed the crowd’s enthusiasm for the music diverted piecemeal by new rounds of beer and mild harassment of the band as they quickly packed their things to make way for the next act. He turned away, toward the glow of the exit sign and the back door for fresh air, when a hand grasped the collar of his dress shirt and pulled him back.
Evan’s eyes were red and wild, boring into him with blissful admiration as his free hand pinned a longneck bottle to his chest. “You fucking killed, bud,” he said breathlessly, and Keith wondered what else he had popped, smoked, or drank between their final bow and this moment. Judging from the crowd, and sniffing the lingering second-hand smoke still wafting in the air, Keith didn’t think it possible to get this stoned so quickly.
“Yeah, what can I say? All those lessons paid off finally,” he finished for the boy. Evan stood too close to him again. The temptation to run a hand through Evan’s sweat-soaked hair and guide him in for a kiss—to land that luscious bow-mouth on any part of his body—proved too much for him when accompanied by the cloying heat of the hallway. “I should be getting back...”
“Long ride ahead of me tomorrow. I’d like to get on the road before the rigs do.”
He hadn’t decided yet, and had told nobody when he’d left California and where he planned to go, so he saw no point in saying anything now. Briefly he wondered how long it took for Nat and Kurt to realize that.
“What’s so important that you can’t hang around for a while longer?” Evan asked as a crash of cymbals in the distance signaled an impending musical explosion from the next act. “There’s people out there who wanna talk to you.”
Bullshit. “Who?” If anybody had recognized him tonight, it would have been pointed out much earlier in the set. In the haze of weed and beer-glazed vision, he was just another drummer, one who rocked but probably offered little more than that.
Evan inhaled, then said, more softly, “Me.”
Keith moved forward and Evan stepped back. The neon and track lighting of the club filtered into the hallway spread over the boy’s face so Keith could better sense the desire smoldering in those dark eyes. What did Evan see: a temporary hero to admire until his head cleared and sanity prevailed, or a potential one-night stand deserving of a different brand of worship?
“I hadn’t planned to stay long anyway,” Keith said, rocking back on his heels. He turned away from the light and glanced longingly at the exit. In three steps he could free himself of Evan’s seductive hold, vault onto his bike, and roll to the nearest motel. Yet the slightest brush against his shoulder carried the weight of iron manacles locked to his wrists and ankles.
Those eyes…that face, so much like Nat’s. Evan kept him a prisoner, and the boy damn well knew it. Keith’s cock jerked in response, straining against his jeans zipper.
He offered one final, futile protest. “I do all my writing at night,” he said. “I’m writing a book, and I’d like time to concentrate.”
“Nobody’s gonna want to read a book about a guy who sits in his hotel room and does nothing,” Evan said.
“I’d read it to you. I imagine I’d have to.”
“Hardy har. Why don’t you tell me a story I want to hear?”
The husky tone of the challenge issued caressed Keith’s ears and slid down his chest toward his cock, prickling his skin along the way. If he could last at least the first song now playing, he’d consider that a happy ending.
“You’re on,” he said, and crooked his head toward the men’s room door. Evan winked, he clearly knew the score. Nothing changed at The Clover at all.
He chose the end handicapped stall for the ample space it provided and latched the door after Evan followed him inside. He pressed his back against the cool, wobbling metal panel, which appeared a sickly blue-green in the dim of the overhead light.
He moved to one side to avoid being poked by the coat hook. “Once upon a time there was a young man from Paterson, New Jersey who nursed few ambitions outside getting high and getting laid.”
Evan sank to his knees and undid the leather belt securing the waist of Keith’s jeans.
“He figured the easiest way to achieve both would be to join a rock and roll band, since even the ugliest mugs spinning on vinyl seemed able to land quality pussy. He bought a guitar at a local pawn shop, but quit after a few weeks because pressing on the strings proved too hard on his fingers.”
Buttons popped, zippers unclenched. Evan grinned and shook his head, likely thinking him a pussy himself for not sticking it out with the strings.
“So he traded the Strat for a set of drums, and he discovered he took to them more naturally. Read every drumming magazine in circulation, watched all the footage of the masters he could find. Buddy Rich, Keith Moon, Ginger Baker…”
Both jeans and Jockeys pooled on the ground, Evan freed Keith’s cock and stroked the shaft with one hand while the other cradled his sac. Each gentle squeeze shot an electric bolt through Keith’s veins. His nipples tightened and his throat dried. The play of shadows veiling Evan’s face gave the boy an eerier resemblance to a young Nat that he couldn’t stop watching.
“H-he answered an ad in some New York City rag,” he said, his voice losing its earlier strength, “when he felt confident enough in his skills.”
Certainly Evan matched that bravado, in both types of play. The young man’s tongue first circled the tip of Keith’s cock before pursing his lips over the crown and applying suction. His doe-eyed gaze met Keith’s and the drummer instantly fell back twenty years.
“They played small clubs, mainly throughout Jersey. He perfected his methods, learned to read music…found he could write a few lyrics with his new partners, too. Gradually they morphed from an all-cover band to throwing in the occasional original composition.”
Evan took him deeper and faster, working Keith’s cock with a smooth rhythm Keith found incredible, more so when Evan released his balls to finger his anus.
“Jesus,” he hissed, then quickly recovered. “Well, one night at the Stone Pony, turns out some record exec there to listen to the headliner decided he liked us more. Signed us
The rapid, slick in-out motion stilled for a few seconds and Keith watched the reaction play across Evan’s face. Amusing to watch since the young man still had Keith’s cock in his mouth, but he could swear the light of recognition in Evan’s eyes brightened. This seemed to spur greater fervor in the bassist, and he worked the shaft harder on an enthused groan.
The movement affected Keith as well, so much that he lost his train of thought. Assuming Evan figured it all out, he knew the end of the story, anyway, and the end of the coming chapter.
Keith rested his head against the door and closed his eyes, centering wholly on the delicious friction as Evan fucked him orally. The first tingle of his pending orgasm expanded and spread, tightening his balls and threatening to consume him. “Gonna come now,” he whispered, unable to hear himself over the thud of distant music that vibrated the enclosure.
Evan offered no protests, just a hard squeeze to his buttocks that Keith interpreted as permission. Unable to contain his pleasure, Keith thrust his hips forward so Evan had him completely, down to the root, before he came.
He lost count of the seconds passed from shooting his load until Evan drained the last drop and licked his softening cock clean. As the final shudder of orgasm gave way to pleasant afterglow he relaxed against the door, reaching up to cuff the edge so he wouldn’t collapse. Evan quietly restored his underwear, replacing his cock and scrotum with near-reverence before standing to face him.
The young man smiled shyly. “And they all lived happily ever after?”
Keith shook his head. “I wish,” he said. “But he does ride off into the sunset.” Sunrise, rather. It had to be past three now.
Evan sighed and nodded his acceptance. “Would it be rude to ask for an autograph?”
“No. It would be rude of me to give one with my pants still down.”