Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com".
Brian slumped in the chair, wondering what time it was. Tommy was gone again, or at least unseen, and Brian was trying to wake up, trying to find enough energy to move from the chair. He hadn't gotten out of it since yesterday, when Leighanne had left. He was exhausted, and didn't think he would be able to move even if the room caught on fire, but he felt like maybe he should take a shower, or get something to eat. His body was stiff and sore, maybe from sitting in a chair all night, or maybe just because he was tired, and he didn't think he'd ever had so much sex in his life.
First there had been the blowjob, Tommy stripping him and then swallowing him whole, right before Brian passed out. When Brian had woken up again. Tommy had been right there, kneeling at his feet, coaxing him back to throbbing hardness with his tongue and his hands. When Brian was ready to go again, Tommy had climbed up onto the chair, his thighs flexing as he rode Brian, his whole body undulating as Brian ran his hands over it, feeling everything bunch and shift as Tommy squeezed and fucked him to another mindblowing climax. Brian had heard the phone ringing, dimly, as Tommy rode him, but then he had been right at the edge, and then Tommy's mouth had been over his again, and he had passed out again, falling into the blackness at the center of Tommy's eyes, thinking somehow that it was at the center of Tommy himself.
When Brian woke up again, the suite was dark. He hadn't turned on any lights before he sat down, since it was the afternoon, but now it was night. He started to move, to get up to turn a lamp on, and felt Tommy's hands slide across his chest from behind, running up and down his torso. Brian tried to stand anyway, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he sank back into the chair as Tommy's hands played over him, running from the tops of his pecs down to his thighs and back again.
"Brian," Tommy whispered, his mouth close to Brian's ear. "Brian, I love you."
Brian watched Tommy's hands roam up and down his torso, and then watched them drop into his crotch, stroking his balls and his limp cock. Almost against his will Brian felt his body start to respond.
"I'm here for you, Brian," Tommy whispered, his hand busily working Brian's rapidly rising cock. "I'm here to help you. I care about you, Brian."
Brian sighed, wanting to push Tommy's hands away, but also not wanting him to stop. He felt so tired, so spent, so drained, that he didn't think he'd be up for it again, but his body apparently had other ideas, and he felt himself getting hard as Tommy slowly, skillfully began jerking him off. Everything Tommy did sexually was skillful, Brian's every fantasy fulfilled. He might not have touched a guy in years, but Tommy seemed bound and determined to help him make up for that.
"Tommy," Brian sighed as Tommy began to play with his chest with one hand while still stroking him with the other. "Tommy, who are you?"
Brian barely recognized the sound of his own voice. It was so thin and reedy, and high, like he was out of breath. It was almost a whine, and he sounded so weak, even to himself.
"I told you," Tommy whispered. "I'm Tommy, and I love you. I want to help you, Brian."
"Why?" Brian sighed, his hips starting to press upward toward Tommy's hand.
"Because you have no one else," Tommy sighed, breathing it into Brian's ear, tugging at the earlobe with his teeth. "Only me, and I love you, Brian, only you."
Brian began to pant, feeling himself getting closer, short of breath. Tommy began to squeeze and stroke harder, more forcefully, and then he was sliding around the chair, grinning at Brian, his blue eyes sparkling as he opened his mouth and inhaled Brian's cock, sinking all the way down it to the root. Brian ran a hand over Tommy's hair, feeling it brush his palm, and then Tommy's hands were on top of his, holding them to the armrests as Tommy sucked harder and harder. Brian was whimpering now, his cock painfully sensitive, and he looked down, falling into Tommy's eyes again as they blazed into his soul, tearing through his mind as he cried out, falling into blackness as he shot into Tommy's mouth, feeling again like Tommy's tongue had somehow slid down inside him, wrapping itself around his balls and squeezing them. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't know how much later it was, but he was inside Tommy again, Tommy's back toward him as he rode Brian, the chair legs scraping across the floor. When he came, shooting deep inside Tommy, Brian felt like Tommy was somehow pulling it out of him, sucking him dry, and it was the last thing he thought before he blacked out again.
And so he found himself here, the morning after. He didn't think he'd ever cum four times in one night. Actually, he knew he never had. No wonder he felt so exhausted, so tired. He was just worn out. He wandered where Tommy had gone, and when he would come back. He had thought Tommy was some sort of dream, or hallucination, but he knew that couldn't be true. Tommy was real, at least in some way, but really what? Brian's rational mind tried to wrap itself around the concept, tried to process it in some way that made sense, but nothing added up. Did Tommy have a pass key? Was he a hotel employee? A voice in Brian's mind whispered that it couldn't possibly be that simple, and he knew it, but he felt caught somehow. He felt trapped, snared, but couldn't say exactly how. The same voice whispered to him again and told him that he needed to hurry and get out of this chair, before Tommy came back.
As if in answer to that voice, he heard a knocking at the door. He had thought he'd heard someone knocking before, last night, but he'd been buried inside Tommy at the time, unable to do anything but keep thrusting and trying to catch his breath.
"Who is it?" he called weakly, struggling to speak. He swallowed, and tried again, raising his voice above the dry croak that had just rasped out. "Who is it?"
"It's Howie. Brian, please let me in."
"Howie," Brian said, not sure if he was calling out to him or just repeating his name. He stood, and dizziness washed over him. The room spun, and Brian grabbed the back of the chair to keep himself from falling over. "Just a second, Howie. Just a second."
He struggled to stay upright, his legs shaking. What was wrong with him? Why was he so weak? He spotted his boxers in the tangle of clothes on the floor, and grabbed them, his head clearing a little. He couldn't answer the door stark naked, even if Howie had seen him that way before. As he stepped into the boxers he saw the curtains in the suiteroom rustle, drifting.
"Brian," the room sighed, the curtains rustling again. "Brian."
"Brian?" Howie asked again, knocking harder this time. He had heard Brian through the door, but it shouldn't take him this long to open it. What if he wasn't ok? He sounded funny, weak and tired. "Brian? Please, Brian, open the door."
Brian stumbled toward the door as the curtains billowed out behind him. He felt a hand sliding across his chest, a wispy, insubstantial hand, like a caress made of damp fog, but then he had his hand on the knob, and he jerked the door open, blinking at Howie as he realized that the lights in the hallway were very bright. Howie stepped back, surprised, but then reached out to grab Brian's shoulder as he stepped inside.
"Brian?" Howie asked, his voice carrying notes of fear and surprise. "Are you ok?"
What the hell had happened to him? Brian was white, not just pale, but white, almost like chalk. Even worse, his skin looked sallow, like he was made of wax. He looked sick, not like he had a cold sick, but terminal illness sick. His skin seemed stretched, his cheekbones sharper, his eyes sunken into the sockets. There were huge bags under them, dark bags, almost as if he'd been punched, and his hair was flat, matted down to his head. Not only that, he smelled. The whole room did, a musty, sweaty smell, and Howie wondered how the hell this could happen. He'd just seen Brian yesterday, and, granted, he'd looked a little pale, and tired, but not like this. Brian looked exhausted, like any second he was about to drop.
It wasn't just the smell in the room, either. There was something else wrong here. The room didn't just feel stuffy. It felt full somehow, oppressively so, the air thick. Howie shook his head, dismissing the thought, and turned back to Brian.
"I'm fine," Brian answered weakly, looking around. Was Tommy here? Was he still in the room?
"Brian, are you still sick?" Howie asked, wondering if he should open the windows. He noted the pile of clothing on the floor, and thought he saw sweat stains on the chair. He looked around for a bottle, thinking that maybe Brian had been on some sort of horrific bender, but he didn't see anything. "Leighanne said you weren't feeling well, and, you know, you don't look good. She called me last night, worried, because you didn't answer the phone."
"I must have slept through it," Brian said, wondering why he felt so dizzy. Maybe he just needed more sleep, uninterrupted by sex.
"Brian, we have that radio thing in an hour and a half," Howie said, running his eyes deliberately up and down Brian's barely dressed body. He looked too thin, not just in his face. His wrinkled boxers seemed to just barely hang on his slim hips. "Maybe you should shower?"
"Yeah, I should," Brian said. He turned, but too quickly, and he lost his balance, his knees buckling out from under him. Howie lunged for him, catching his arm.
"Brian!" Howie said, alarmed, holding him up. Brian felt so light, and his skin was cool. The curtains rustled, but neither of them noticed. "Brian?"
"I'm ok," Brian said, pulling himself up. "I'm just a little dizzy. I haven't been sleeping good, you know."
Brian began to walk carefully through his bedroom to his bathroom, his head down, and Howie followed behind, waiting to see if he would stumble again.
"Brian, what's happening to you?" Howie asked. "I know that, you know, we're not exactly close, but I'm worried about you."
"About me?" Brian asked, blinking at him. No one was worried about him. No one cared about him, none of the guys, only Tommy.
"Yes," Howie said, looking down guiltily when he saw the surprise in Brian's eyes. It shouldn't have ever come to this. "Brian, I feel really bad about not being here for you. When you came out, I accepted it, but I didn't help you. I didn't say anything when the other guys railroaded you into this thing with Leighanne, and maybe I should have. Maybe if I did, you wouldn't be where you are now."
"Do you mean that?" Brian asked, suddenly feeling his eyes sting. The room started to get colder. Howie looked up, his brown eyes warm, meeting Brian's blue ones.
"Yeah, Brian, I do," Howie said, feeling his own eyes water as well. "We don't have time to talk about this now, because, you know, you need to get ready, but I want you to know that I'm sorry that I didn't do more, and I'm ready to now. Whatever you decide to do, this thing with Leighanne, and whatever you do after that, I don't want you to do it by yourself, ok?"
"OK," Brian said. They stood facing each other for a moment, both awkward. Brian lifted his arm a little, and suddenly they were hugging. Maybe they weren't friends yet, not close friends, but someday they might be. A vase on one of the side tables fell to the carpet with a loud thump, startling them both, and they broke apart. Howie realized that the room suddenly felt very cold, and Brian looked guiltily at the floor. "I'm gonna get in the shower, ok?"
"Yeah," Howie answered. "I'll go pick you out some clothes. Kevin says casual trendy, but not flashy, and it should be black, white, or beige. And not leather or denim."
They grinned at each other.
"As long as he's not being picky," Brian said, walking into the bathroom. "Howie, maybe we should go get an early dinner after the interview, and maybe we can talk?"
"OK," Howie said, watching Brian close the bathroom door.
Howie turned to Brian's closet, looking through it at the many clothes hanging there. He thought of what he'd be wearing, and picked out some stuff for Brian that would go well. Howie laid the clothes out on the bed, wondering if he should get out the rest for him. They weren't quite that close, though, Howie though, smirking. Brian was more than capable of picking out his own boxers and socks. The shirts and jackets hanging in the closet rustled suddenly, hangers clicking a little, sleeves brushing against each other, and Howie turned to look at the closet, feeling a draft rush through the room. The clothes were still when he looked into the closet, and he turned to the windows again, seeing that none of them were open.
In the bathroom, Brian turned the shower on. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he waited for the shower to warm up, and he jerked to a stop. He looked thin, like he'd lost weight, but that was impossible. You couldn't lose weight in a day, not enough to be this noticeable. It must just be some trick of the mirrors, or the lights in here. It had to be the lights, because he looked pale, too, a lot paler than he had when he had been evaluating his tan. Your tan could fade, but not overnight. Brian turned, watching the steam billow out of the shower, but realized that the bathroom didn't feel warm. Maybe it was just him. He climbed into the shower, ducking his head under the water, not noticing that the shower curtain was still moving because his eyes were closed.
Out in the suiteroom, Howie picked the vase up, carefully setting it back on the table, wondering why it fell over in the first place. Nothing was near it, and the table seemed both level and sturdy. Howie stomped his foot, trying to jar the vase, but it didn't move. He looked around, and scooped up Brian's clothing off of the floor, tossing it into the bedroom. The plates and silverware from the cheesecake Brian and Leighanne had shared the other night were still sitting on the table, and Howie gathered them up and set them in the hallway outside the door, knowing that housekeeping would be along eventually to pick them up. He shut the door and felt a little tickle in the back of his throat, thinking again about how stuffy it was in here. The air was heavy, and Howie realized he was having trouble catching his breath.
In the bathroom, Brian leaned on the wall of the shower, letting the warm water course over him. He reached for the soap and the washcloth, and felt a cold hand brush across his back.
"Brian," he heard, whispered over the spray of the shower and the patter of the water. "Brian."
The shower felt colder suddenly, even though he knew the hot water was turned almost all the way up. Brian felt hands kneading his shoulders and his traps, rubbing and massaging the back of his neck, and he leaned forward, arms out, holding himself up against the wall of the shower as the hands traced up and down his back. They were firm, kneading and caressing him, tracing up and down his spine, rubbing his shoulders, tilting his head back as an urgent, insistent mouth began to worry at his ear and the side of his neck. Brian sighed, not thinking, letting the washcloth drop out of his hands. He felt Tommy's hands sliding around to the front of his torso, running over the tops of his shoulders to reach down and feel the tops of his pecs, sliding up and down along his hips.
"Brian," he heard again, and knew that Tommy was with him, there in the shower.
"Tommy," he sighed, leaning back, everything else forgotten.
Brian leaned back, feeling Tommy behind him, wet and slick, as Tommy ran his hands up and down Brian's chest and abs. He could feel Tommy's pecs against his back, firm and curving, Tommy's pointed nipples rubbing against his shoulder blades. Tommy was chewing on Brian's ear, tugging at the earlobe again, nuzzling the side of his face with his own as his hands continued to slide back and forth, squeezing, caressing. Brian felt Tommy's legs against his, their knees rubbing together, Brian's thighs resting on Tommy's. One of Tommy's hands drifted up to begin twisting Brian's nipple as the other dropped down to Brian's hard cock, the palm rolling back and forth over his spongy hard cockhead. Brian groaned, throwing his head back, and felt Tommy's hard cock pressing against his ass, sliding in and out of his crack, but not inside of him.
Out in the suiteroom Howie coughed again, trying to clear his throat, and felt his eyes watering. The air in here was thick, overwhelmingly thick, and Howie's lungs felt like they were struggling to expand, churning as if he was inhaling syrup. He grabbed the back of the couch, holding himself up as he struggled to inhale. Sucking in a huge breath, he felt his stomach lurch as he smelled the air. The room was thick with a stench he hadn't noticed before, a thick smell of decay, almost like a cloud. Howie looked around, wondering how he could not have noticed it before. It was a thick, earthy smell, the smell of dead things, the fetid aroma of rot. Howie blinked, his eyes stinging with tears now as they darted around the room, trying to figure out if Brian had left some food out under the furniture or something. Howie's heart raced, and his lungs felt like someone was squeezing them, holding them tightly to prevent him from getting a full breath. He was suffocating, and his nose and mouth were thick with the rotting miasma of the room.
Howie looked toward the windows, realizing he needed to open one, needed to air this place out. As he staggered toward them, coughing, his eyes streaming with tears, his stomach churning, he realized he wasn't alone in the room. He couldn't see anyone, but someone was here. Someone dangerous. The curtains rustled, and Howie realized that he could hear something, like a whispering, almost as if the room was talking to him. He pushed the curtains aside, coughing hard, wheezing, and heard it clearly as he looked for the window latch.
"Get out."
Howie spun, searching the room with his eyes, but there was no one there. He didn't have time for this, couldn't jump at shadows now. He needed air. His lungs were burning, like he'd just run a marathon, and he was starting to feel dizzy from the smell. Whatever was in here was overpowering him, smothering him, and he needed air, needed it now. His fingers, sweaty, frantic, slid over the latch, fumbling with it, before he finally grabbed it and jerked the window up. Air rushed into the room, billowing the curtains, and Howie leaned forward, hands on the window frame, sucking in a huge gasp of wind, so clean and cold. He felt hands on his back, and realized how badly he'd been tricked.
"Tommy," Brian sighed, his head leaning back as Tommy nipped at the side of his neck, scraping his teeth over it.
Brian looked down and saw Tommy's pale hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it, jerking it, the long white fingers sliding up and down his shaft, stopping every few seconds to squeeze and tickle at his balls, or run over the head. Tommy's thumb brushed the bundle of nerves just below the slit, and Brian groaned, his hips jerking forward as he almost came. He was panting now, urgent pants, almost moans, as Tommy continued to jerk him off, his arm flexing, the veins in his forearm standing out amid the bulging, flexing muscles. Tommy's other hand continued to drift back and forth between Brian's nipples, playing with one and then the other, twisting and pinching almost painfully. Brian felt Tommy's lips brushing his cheek as he whispered in Brian's ear, his hands not slowing down or missing a beat.
"I love you, Brian," Tommy sighed, his breath like a caress across Brian's wet cheek. "I care about you, Brian. Only me."
"Yes," Brian moaned, both in answer to Tommy and in appreciation of his efforts. "Yes."
Brain's face was lined with need now, etched with strain as he felt himself getting closer and closer. His whole body was tight, the muscles bunching, but he wasn't there yet, and he felt Tommy's hands slide off of him as Tommy stepped away. Brian turned, and saw Tommy leaning back against the shower wall, his ass pressed to the cold tile as he watched Brian, grinning. The water splashed over him, running down his strong neck, and over his curved marble chest and abs. It dripped off of his pink nipples, and streamed down his strong arms. His cock, hard and throbbing, jutted out like a pale spike from his barely blond pubic hair, and water splashed off of it, running off of the pale pink head in rivers down Tommy's strong legs.
"Brian, take me," Tommy said, holding out his arms toward him. "Love me."
Brian stepped into Tommy's arms, feeling them slide around his neck, resting on his shoulders, as he grabbed Tommy's leg and lifted it up off the floor. Throwing it around his hips, Brian leaned forward, and felt his cock pressing against Tommy's hole, the head almost inside. Tommy's body slid against him, hard and beautiful, and Brian was almost quaking with need as he pressed against Tommy.
"Love me," Tommy whispered, kissing Brian's cheeks as the shower spray pounded down on Brian's back.
Brian lunged forward and felt his cock sliding into Tommy's hole, so hot and tight as Tommy clenched around him.
"Yes," Brian sighed, bracing himself against the shower wall with one hand while he used his other arm to grip Tommy's leg, keeping it wrapped around his hip. Tommy's arms were still over Brian's shoulders, flexing as Brian began to thrust into him. Brian groaned, lost in the sheer pleasure of it all. "Yes. Yes."
"No!" Howie yelped, dropping and rolling at the same time as he felt invisible hands shoving him toward the open window.
Howie hit the floor hard, his head glancing off of the window sill as he rolled onto his back, pressing it to the wall as his eyes rolled wildly around the empty room. The curtains were still, and the smell was gone. The room was completely empty, no pressure, no smell, no presence. He didn't see anyone, and didn't feel anything. He stared at the ceiling, panting, trying to catch his breath, sucking in big lungfulls of clear air. He reached up carefully, not standing, keeping his back to the wall, and pulled the window closed, latching it again. He waited to see if the room would start to fill again, start to become overwhelming, but nothing happened. Sliding along the wall, Howie waited until he was several feet from the windows before standing and raising a hand to feel his forehead, where he'd struck the sill.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" he whispered.
"Harder, Brian, harder," Tommy chanted, one hand clutching Brian's ass, squeezing the muscle and urging Brian forward while the other hand scratched up and down his back. "Love me, Brian. Love me."
"Unh, yeah," Brian panted, trying to get his breath, slamming into Tommy again and again, his feet slipping a little as he fought for traction in the shower.
"No one else cares about you, Brian," Tommy whispered, licking his ear as Brian thrust into him again and again, shoving him roughly against the back wall of the shower. "Only I want to help you, Brian. No one else."
Brian groaned, straining, his eyes closed, and suddenly he felt Tommy's hands on his face, turning it toward him. Brian opened his eyes and saw Tommy's right in front of him, and then Tommy's mouth fastened over his again, clamping down, sealing all the way around their lips. Tommy's tongue pushed its way in as he sucked at Brian's mouth, seeming to pull the air right out of his lungs. Tommy's ass clenched around Brian's cock, impossibly tightly, and Brian felt himself shooting again. He yelped, but his cry was lost, pulled into Tommy's mouth as he fell into Tommy's blazing eyes and the dark pools at their center. Blackness rolled over him again as his whole body tensed.
Standing in the bedroom, waiting for the shower to turn off, Howie heard a loud thump from the bathroom, and he raced over, pulling open the bathroom door. A blast of steam rolled out at him, and he thought he saw something, someone, moving in it, but then it was gone, the cloud sucked out into the room and dissipated. The shower was still running, but he couldn't see anything behind the curtain.
"Brian?" Howie called, a little scared.
He heard a low whimper, a sound so small it was almost lost beneath the noise of the shower spray, and he jerked the curtain back. Brian lay on the floor of the shower, arms and legs limply sprawled wherever they'd landed. He was completely still, his eyes closed, and for a second Howie thought he wasn't breathing.
"Jesus!" Howie blurted, grabbing Brian's shoulders.
Brian slipped out of his hands, slumping to the floor of the shower like a rag doll, and Howie reached over him to shut off the water. He felt a blast of cold air race up his back, and as he reached for the handles he saw a glimpse of his own panicked face reflected in the tub faucet. He also saw another face behind him, over his shoulder, a cold, pale face, with bright blue eyes and blond hair that was almost white, but it was gone as fast as the wave of cold air. Howie shut the water off and grabbed Brian again, pulling him up. Brian's head lolled against him.
"Brian? Brian?" Howie asked, trying to pull him to a standing position, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have moved him.
Brian had said he was a little dizzy before, but Howie hadn't stopped to think that he might slip in the shower. Howie noticed as he pulled him up that Brian was sporting a rapidly deflating hard on, and the thought crossed his mind that maybe Brian was in here jerking off, but he quickly pushed it away. What Brian did in the shower alone was none of his business, especially when it was something all guys did at one time or another. Brian gasped suddenly, sucking in a huge breath, and tried to get his feet under him as Howie held him up.
"Brian?" Howie asked again. "Brian, are you ok?"
"I'm fine," Brian whispered, clinging to Howie. "Just a little dizzy."
Howie sat Brian down on the toilet and began to towel him off, checking his head for a bump or a cut. As he blotted at Brian carefully with the towel, he noticed Brian wincing, as if he were in pain.
"Brian, am I pressing too hard?" Howie asked.
"No, just sore," Brian answered, starting to come around. His whole body felt sore and tired. Everything hurt, every muscle, even his bones. It wasn't full out, mind numbing pain, just more of a low ache that seemed to fill him. "Howie? What happened?"
"I think you fell in the shower," Howie answered, the rational part of his mind dismissing everything else, pushing it aside. He'd just been a little freaked out and had a panic attack or something, that was all. "Do you think you can stand up now?"
"Yeah, I think so," Brian answered, looking away. He pulled the towel across his lap, feeling a little guilty that Howie had seen him hard. "Can you help me up?"
"Yeah, of course," Howie answered, taking his arm carefully. The tottered over to the sink, and Brian combed his hair sloppily, barely glancing in the mirror. Howie took the comb from him. "Hold still."
Howie quickly combed his hair, knowing that it wasn't of life or death importance, but it might keep Kevin from yelling at him later. Howie didn't know how Brian had gotten so weak, or what was happening to him, but he suddenly felt very protective. He had to make up for all the times he hadn't helped Brian before. When they were done Brian began to walk slowly into the bedroom, and Howie hovered along at his side, waiting to catch him again. Standing in front of the dresser, Brian let the towel drop as he fished out a pair of boxers and stepped into them, and Howie glanced away, knowing that Brian was a little shy about showing other people his body. Brian turned to the bed, and reached for the clothes Howie had laid out, and Howie turned to walk back into the suiteroom.
"No!" Brian said quickly, startling them both. Howie turned back, questioning. "I'm sorry, Howie. Just, please, stay in here with me. Please?"
"Sure," Howie answered, shrugging. "Do you need help?"
"No, I'm ok," Brian lied. He didn't want Howie to leave the room because he knew that Tommy wouldn't come while Howie was here.
"Brian, what's happening to you?" Howie asked quietly, watching as his friend trembled, his arms shaking as he slowly dressed himself.
"I don't know," Brian answered. "I'm just tired, Howie, so tired."
"Tired of what?" Howie asked, afraid to hear the answer.
"Tired of everything," Brian said quietly, pulling up his pants. "I just want this all to be over."
Howie watched him, wondering how it had come to this, and wasn't sure of what to say.
To be continued.