DISCLAIMER ========== This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2004 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:
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if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON,
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if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON,
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if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.
And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002
What can I say, the man was a bloody romantic. Granted with such a golden opportunity - a moonlit night, a reasonably attractive man ready and willing - well, any other sexually active gay man would have started feeling me up and getting it on. Not this steady Montana fella. No siree, Mikey Muldoon was a mannerly gentleman through and through. Okay, so I was a mite pissed that he hadn't tossed me on the proverbial haypile and ravished me under the moonlight as I had planned for months. After all, celibacy was fucking overrated and lately I'd been seeing my own fair share of that. Hope springs eternal and I'd rushed out during dinner to get ready. The lube and the condoms were prepped and ready on my bedstand, and I had a bunch of other assorted goodies that I was willing to bet Mike would be intrigued by.
It seemed to be the correct assumption after all. Flashing that sexy smile at me, the occasional come-hither glances he shot at me with those dazzling blues, the titillating flex of his sleek muscles as he moved around the table gathering the dishes... damn, he'd gotten me all hot. But instead of showing me how the horny Navy boys did it at sea, the man had dragged me out onto the terrace to stargaze when I was all ready to see some stars of my own as he fucked me till my head caved in.
Far from showing any signs of frustration over his enforced celibacy, Michael was quietly smiling with his eyes closed, humming a folksy country song tune to himself. The light breeze in the night air picked up the strands of his curly black hair, playing it across his handsome face. Irritatingly enough, there didn't seem to be any ill effects after the months he'd mentioned earlier that celibacy had been his middle name. No pimples, no stress ulcers, no frown lines. No desperate urge to slam me down on the floor and push himself deep inside me. Damn, the man looked as if he could lie down on the terrace floor staring at the stars forever.
And here my crotch was hurting like hell in my pants.
"Asshole," I muttered aloud.
His gaze shifted for a second to me, the edges of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You said something, doc?"
I was hardly going to admit that I was going crazy waiting to get him naked. Earlier I'd made my own moves and he'd turned me down flat for stargazing. No way in hell Cam Kincaid got turned down twice. "Nothing."
Sensing my growing frustration, he turned slowly to watch me with those vivid blue eyes and started twanging out a tune aloud. "Any man of mine better walk the line. Better show me a teasin', squeezin, pleasin' kinda time. I need a man who knows how the story goes. He's gotta be a heartbeatin' fine treatin'. Breathtakin' earthquakin' kind. Any man of mine."
Odd as it sounds, his voice was as smooth as Irish cream, and went down just as easily. It made irritating sense though that he'd have a voice like an angel. Why else would God skimp on such a marvellous package? But I sure as hell wasn't going to admit it.
"Sing all you like, sweetheart, you're not gonna convert me." If he'd just tear off that suit, I'd certainly love singing my heart out for him myself, all night long.
Those wicked blue eyes turned on me. He knew exactly what he was doing to me with that fine, sexy body and he obviously enjoyed making me suffer. "You're a snob, Kincaid. I'll have you know that country music actually derived its roots from.."
As Mike leaned closer to me, I felt a faint stirring in my pants. What can I say? Hot Italian-Irish men with blue eyes get me going in seconds. "Spare me the lecture, prof. All I want from you is..."
It wasn't the best move I'd made but he didn't seem to mind. Instead of nudging me away as he'd done earlier, Mike laughingly allowed me get on top of him but as I started groping him up, he stopped me. "Uh.. Uh.. " Catching my hands as they made a failed attempt to get into his pants, he shook his dark head, his blue eyes gleaming with a teasing light. "Not yet."
The man from Montana obviously wanted me to explode from sheer frustration and from my superior vantage point, I growled furiously at him, making him grin even wider. Knowing intimately the generous treasures he kept hidden in his pants only made me even more frustrated. When was he just going to call it quits and screw me? Taking quick notes from the SEAL, I decided to modify my tactics since the direct, non-subversive method didn't seem to be working. Nothing like making him all riled up and heating that cowpoke blood a little bit. "You know what, you can't sing."
He rolled his blue eyes. "You're trying to make me mad and I'm having none of that."
"Country music stinks."
A quick flash crossed his dark, handsome face. "Now, you've done it."
Never underestimate a frustrated cowboy. Even as Mike flipped me over easily and held me down in a simple maneuver, I only managed to pant out a short laugh. "Fuck. You'll never convert me."
"I have my ways of making you talk." As I laughed into his face, he growled and tugged my hands up above me. Earlier, he'd tossed the jacket in the living room and the quick flex of his firm, well-defined pecs showed tantalizingly through the sheer white of his shirt.
Finally.
The brief, short-lived triumph in my eyes wasn't left unnoticed by Michael however. Despite my decidedly erotic expectations, the man did an about turn and started tickling me in the ribs instead. Frustrated yet again, I started struggling and gave him a hard shove against his broad shoulder. A futile move, it would have been significantly easier moving a solid brick wall. When I attempted another poke at his tight belly, he snatched my hand, wrenched it around and somehow flipped me onto my back in some magical kung fu maneuver. "You're a feisty lil fella."
He'd flipped and turned me as easy as if I weighed nothing. If I intended to pursue a relationship with Mr Macho SEAL over here, I knew I'd have to sign up for the martial arts lessons that I kept putting off. There was no way in hell I'd keep on losing like this. Since time immemorial, the Kincaids never lost a damned thing and I didn't intend to be the first to do so. Pinned under 200 pounds of Navy testosterone, I grunted angrily, spitting my words onto the marble terrazzo. "Shit. I've got to learn some moves."
Even as I gritted out some choice words for him, he grinned triumphantly. "Say you love it."
"Fuck you."
"Sorry but that comes later."
Slowly twisting my head around, I eyed him carefully. "That's what you think, cowboy. After I get up, I'm taking up the saintly life of celibacy in a monastery."
Knowing that for a perfect lie, he laughed easily. "What's your rush, Cam? The sex? We'll get there sooner or later." Leaning closer until we were almost face to face, he watched me closely. It was amazing how vividly blue his beautiful eyes were even in the moonlight. How lusciously full and soft-looking his lips looked this close. I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek, smell the musky fragrance of his sweat mixed with his spicy cologne. "We'll get there. For sure. I promise."
Why did it all have to make such perfect sense coming from him? How sensible. How logical. How mature. There certainly was no urgent need to rush into mindless sex when we had all the time in the world. That would have suited Dr Kincaid, the self-sacrificing, goody-two-shoes Samaritan I'd tried to be but that certainly didn't suit the old me. Giving a frustrated grunt, I bucked under him. "Fuck that. What are you waiting for?"
"Damn, you city boys can't wait, can you?" Mike leaned forward again and gently bit my lower lip, offering me a brief taste. "All you want is a taste of my hot Montana cock?" Showing me exactly what he meant, Mike deliberately shifted his position, sliding one hard, well-muscled thigh between mine. Something down south was large, hard and pulsing in his pants, silently nudging its insistent way against my butt. It was painfully obvious that he was as desperate as I was but there was nothing on his cool face that hinted at that.
Somewhat mollified by the fact that he was apparently suffering too, I eased back on my struggles and replied softly. "You know the answer to that."
"You think I'm not hurting?" The edges of his deep-set eyes crinkled as he tried for a rueful smile. "I've been stuck in the middle of the desert with a bunch of dirty, stinky SEALs for months. What do you think?" He eased off a little on his hold.
I looked back at him with some guilt. Oddly enough, the idea of being cramped up with a bunch of sexy, built, sweaty guys for months in the desert seemed like an excellent idea to me. I couldn't even begin to imagine the number of Falcon video scenarios I'd painted in my mind with all the hot guys in his team.
"Don't get any dirty ideas, doc." He ran his fingers up my cheekbone, leaving a trail of lust in their wake, and tucked my tousled hair gently behind my ear. "It has to be more than just us two guys getting our rocks off, Cam. I didn't fly all the way back here and track you down just for a good fuck."
Even as he spoke, I tried to focus on his other words and not on the lurid images conjured up by fucking and two guys getting our rocks off.
"While I was away, I couldn't help imagining the things that we would do. What we would do once I came back to look for you." A faint blush started creeping up his sinewy neck to his high cheekbones and he found himself avoiding my thoughtful gaze. The heavy sweep of his curly black lashes fell over those perfect blues. "I thought of us having a simple dinner, just talking. I pictured myself sitting with you looking at the stars. It was something I used to do as a kid, ride out somewhere and just like down on my back staring at the stars. You should see it, the sky back home's just perfect, a perfect sea of black with the stars laid out almost like diamonds."
What a man. Pictured us looking in wonder at astrological constellations while I had pictures of us in several improbable positions that would have me twisted like a pretzel around his magnificent body. "Could I take a look at that list? We can cross off some of those items."
"It's all in here." He prodded his temple with his index finger.
"You're a strangely romantic man, Michael Muldoon."
What I'd said left him strangely silent for a moment as he kept his contemplative gaze down on the tiles. There was a quiet moment between us but I didn't care, it wasn't a chore to look at that face of his. Patiently, he gently traced the intricate designs on the Italian marble beside me before replying softly. "You find all this strange, huh."
The man was trying his best and here I was being a cynical bastard. Albeit a cycnical bastard crossed with a perverted sex maniac. Disregarding the urgent demands of my rampant libido, I amended with a smile. "Don't forget romantic, Michael Muldoon."
"Aw-shucks, you're just saying that." Michael chuckled and his laugh reverberated through his broad chest. "Look, we skipped all these parts jumping to the end in Kandahar. Not that I necessarily regret what we did, it was great but..."
In this modern day and age, I couldn't believe that I'd managed to find the last old-fashioned American cowboy in Kandahar. Had I gotten so used to guys who were so eager to jump straight into the sack with me that I'd forgotten the simple pleasures of wining and dining, or walks in the parks and stargazing? Perhaps it was time I let Michael remind me what it was like to go a-courting.
"But Mikey Muldoon doesn't skip the bases."
"Yeah." He shrugged easily, slowly easing back from me. As I rolled my shoulders, he tossed me a scornful look. "And it's not Mikey."
Damn. And here I thought I had hit the jackpot. Didn't he seem like a Mikey? Easy enough to imagine a rangy Mikey Muldoon riding the range checking out cattle and whatever else macho cowboys like him did at the ranch. "You cowboys don't have a callsign, codename or some macho nickname?"
"It's not Mikey." Admitting that with a sigh, he released me and rolled back to sit on the tiles.
Slowly pulling myself up to face him, I gauged my quarry quietly before trying again. "Mike then?"
"Nope."
Trying to think of the many charming diminutives that could come from his name, I just blurted them out. "Mickey? Mick? Mack?" I hazarded with a raised eyebrow.
Pleased that he'd evidently talked me out of my sexual perversity, Michael just shook his dark head. "No."
"I'm only gonna keep on guessing."
Leaning with his back on the wall just a few feet away from me, he just watched me, that dark, handsome face wreathed in shadows. There was a wicked secret smile on his face as he stubbornly kept his silence on the subject. "You might have slept with me, darlin', but it'll take more than that for you to find out that embarassing name."
Come to think about it, I recalled his teammates in Kandahar calling him by a certain name. A nickname of sorts. Something at the back of my head that just refused to come to light now. "Nothing like throwing down a challenge for a Kincaid."
There were already some half-made plans in my head to search for his nickname when he suddenly stood up, brushing the dust from his sharply creased pants. Peering up at him and noticing the dangerous glint in his blue eyes, my nerves started revving up and the vague plans I'd dreamt of faded away in a stampede of overwhelming lust as I started wondering which wicked Karma Sutra position we were gonna test out tonight. As Michael held out his large hand to me, my overactive hormones started a delirious dance. Finally, it was time for Papa to get some.
Taking my hand in his, he pulled me to a standing position and drew me close. Those sexy Irish-Italian genes made him taller than me by a couple of inches and my eyes reached just about level to his luscious lips. As my hands crept down his trim waist to rest on his firm butt, he started grinning like a fool. "Darling, that ain't the plan. Come on, let's dance."
The crushing disappointment was evident in my reply. "You're joking, right?"
He twisted his head around to look over the expanse of the terrace. "Sure, the terrace is certainly large enough, even for a lumbering cowboy like me."
Here I was thinking he was ready to show me how they do it in Montana and he's wanting a dance. "There's no music and.."
"Well, that I can certainly provide.."
As he started humming a country music tune, I laughed and stopped him. "Stop. Wait, you know what, I think I can hear it already."
"Liar." Pulling me close, his strong, muscular arms drew tight around my waist and he let out a warm, sexy laugh. It was one of those deep, full-bellied laughs, masculine and low, the kind that drew secret thrills up my spine. "Just come on."
"No two-stepping, no line-dancing, no shimmying." Recalling something else, I added with a wry smile. "No do-si-do-ing either."
"Hell, doc, you just damn near killed my entire repertoire." His teasing grin grew slowly wider as he clasped both of my hands in his larger grip and dragged me closer to the center of the terrace floor. Looking down at our joined hands, I realized with some surprise that it was an almost perfect fit. "Now, what am I gonna do with you?"
I certainly had some ideas on that but whatever lurid comment I was about to make went back down my throat when he kissed me. It wasn't the mind-blowing kisses we'd shared in Kandahar, those breathless, passionate kisses with lust and passion entwined that threatened to swallow you whole. This was different, a brief peck on the lips, a gentle introduction if you will - and they still left me weak in the knees.
Just when I thought he'd changed his mind about dancing, the man started moving his feet. As I got over my watery knees and finally saw his true intentions, I sighed and realized that it would be the last time I underestimated the book-reading, cow-chasing Montana stud. Unlike some of the macho men I'd seen, he didn't dance as if he was a puppet on strings - and a severe overdose of Ecstasy. A natural born dancer, that innate grace and power I'd seen him display on the field came in perfectly on the dancefloor as he gently maneuvered us across the terrace. After a while, I could have sworn I heard music - and it certainly wasn't the ear-piercing loud, head-shaking boom-boom of the gay revues but the subtle romantic strings of Strauss. An old-fashioned waltz.
It was easy enough to succumb to the sweet romance and I placed my head gently on the muscular pillow of his shoulder. The perfect spot. "Golly, this certainly isn't some hokey-pokey you picked up at the annual barn dance."
"Stop that," Michael glared at me playfully. Chuckling softly, I quickly sidestepped to the side as he aimed a mock punch at me.
"Fine. Cowboy jokes aside... but waltzing in Montana? You're a regular Astaire."
"Tell anyone, especially the guys in the team, and I'll deny it to hell and back." He grinned roguishly. "And I learnt to dance from my grandma. She always loved dancing and since she was stuck in the middle of nowhere for a while with us, she taught us all some steps during the evenings. Lucky for her, the Muldoons have always been light on their feet so it certainly wasn't a hardship. Took a while for Jake to get into it though. He always thought it was a dance for sissies."
The generous smile on his dark, handsome face faltered a little when he spoke of his younger brother and I immediately felt an urge to jump in so I came up with the first story that came to mind. "Lucky you then. First time I was dragged to the debutante ball, I found myself bored to tears and finally sneaked out to the balcony to smoke dope with James."
The sudden change of subject caught his attention and effectively banished the faint line of worry on his forehead. "Damn, really?" Mike laughed.
"James Cunningham, the old bastard, you've got to love him." Funny how he'd popped straight into my head. One of my earlier crushes of my life as I'd mooned over the lightning grin, the surfer blond hair and those cat-green eyes. Of course James and I had laughed it off after our first failed experiment in our youth. Some things were better imagined rather than in real life.
"James?" His blue eyes darkened in suspicion.
There was a hint of possessiveness in his cool voice, just enough to have my heart give a short somersault in my chest. It wasn't something usual for me. Coming from a family like mine, usually words such as commitment, loyalty and picket fences had me screaming out into the woods but this time I felt a pleasant little thrill that Michael could feel some jealousy. Blue eyes and a sexy body always did that to me. "No need to get your jockstrap in a twist. He's cute but hopelessly straight, happily married with three kids, one of whom I stand as godfather."
He swung me close and held me tight, his powerful arms wrapping around me like steel. Before I could look away, Michael held my chin in his hand and caught my gaze, keeping his eyes even with mine. "It's not just plain jealousy. I'm an old-fashioned guy, Cam. If I'm stepping out with you, I don't intend to take on any other."
It was an odd turn of phrase and I couldn't help the smile that split my face. Years back the concept of monogamy would have had me squirming in my seat - if not running straight for the exit but this time, I felt a queer thrill in my heart. Odd what the right man could do. "Why would I look elsewhere when I've already got the perfect dance partner right here?"