Insomnia
Flash
Fiction
Copyright
2013 @Lee Brazil
"I
can't sleep." Zeke yawned and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand as
he noticed his host's eyes narrowing. Of course, his modesty would have been
better served clutching his shirt closed over his thong underwear, but since he
couldn't sleep…
"Maybe,"
Frosty disapproval echoed in Jordan's voice and his eyes were cold enough Zeke
had to resist the urge to shiver. "You're just used to having someone else
in bed with you."
And
now he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's big brother's
prudish attitude. "I don't think that's the problem, Jordy. I sleep alone
plenty." Where the hell had Jordan McIntosh gotten the idea he was some
sort of slut anyway?
"You
forget I had the pleasure of being your next door neighbor for three years,"
Jordan's lips curled in a sneer. "The parade of men in and out of your
door…"
Blinking,
Zeke sipped the whisky in his tumbler and remembered those days. During
college, he and Perry had lived in a duplex that Perry's parents owned. The
unit next to theirs had been occupied by Perry's older brother Jordan, who had
been ordered by his father to keep an eye on the young boys and keep them out
of trouble. "That wasn't just my door." He pointed out calmly. He
could say more, but the truth of the matter was that if Perry hadn't told his
brother about his gay adventures during their years of schooling, then it
certainly wasn't Zeke's place to do it.
"Oh,
right. Perry is straight, or have you forgotten he's getting married next
weekend? Which is why you," This was accompanied by a derisive, assessing
glance that left Zeke's skin tingling, "are sleeping, alone, in my guest
room."
"Whatever.
I can't sleep because I'm too keyed up. It's been a hell of a week. I thought a
drink might help, but you're right. A good fuck might turn the same trick. Are
you offering?" He threw the last bit in just for shits and grins, and
because he was annoyed with his friend's brother's judgmental attitude. Not
like he didn't know damn well that Jordan McIntosh had been promiscuity itself
until an HIV scare in his last year of college had reformed his habits.
""I'll
pass. I’m not desperate enough for release to fuck just anyone." His
distaste was clear in the way his head lifted and his nostrils flared. Or was it?
Zeke
set his tumbler down and stretched his arms over his head, relishing the relief
to his tense muscles as much as the flutter of Jordan's nostrils and the white
line that bracketed his mouth. Smiling the sexy smile that made a million
hearts throb on his daytime soap opera, he couldn’t resist teasing a little
more. "But Jordy, Perry swore you'd take care of me." He let his
lashes flutter, peeked at the six foot mountain of stoke broker in front of him
from under them.
And
found himself crushed between the marble counter top and what had to be at
least two hundred pounds of hot, hard muscle. This time his eyes closed for
real and he dragged in a breath, trying to jumpstart his heart after the
foolish organ stalled with the contact. "Fuck." He breathed, feeling
a branding iron of steely cock rubbing against his groin.
"That's
all it would be, movie star." Hard hands closed on his shoulders. Jordan
bent forward, and Zeke retreated, leaning back, struggling to unpin his arms. The
movement brought their grins into even closer contact, and Zeke's cock made its
own preference for resolving the sleep issue with sex instead of alcohol clear.
"Who
needs anything else?" He wormed his arms out of Jordan's embrace and made
the most of his freedom by wind his fingers in Jordan's thick, dark hair and
dragging his mouth down for a kiss.
Jordan
jerked his head back with a wordless snarl. "No kissing. Kissing is for
lovers, and this is most definitely not going to be any of that romantic drivel
you put on for the world."
The
nearly hysterical urge to laugh at that little bit of prunes and prisms was
overcome by dwelling on the fact that it made it sound like Jordan actually watched his show. "That's not me,
it's script writers. I can give up on the kissing, as long as it's only mouth
to mouth you're saying no to." He let his gaze drop, inventorying places
on that hard body he'd like to kiss. The man wore pajamas, for Christ sake,
silky green fabric that matched his eyes, clung to his body and did absolutely
nothing to conceal the length and breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his
belly, or the mouthwatering stretch of cock tenting the fabric.
"Yes…you
can kiss me anywhere else you like…" The sentence ended on a groan as Zeke
took immediate advantage of the permission, latching his lips onto the fabric
that covered Jordan's nipple. Dampening it with his tongue, he fancied he could
taste the man through the silk, and twisted his hips. His cock pulsed, and he
shuddered, liking the feel of the silk.
"It
would be better…" Zeke pulled away, breathing hard, "naked." He
finished, sliding his hands under the silk and lifting. Jordan took over, stripping
the shirt over his head and tossing in on the black marble counter top. He
stepped back and holding Zeke's gaze, hooked his thumbs in the waist band of
the pajama pants.
"Go
on," Jordan's voice had lowered, roughened, and the husky new tones
conveyed a desire that encouraged Zeke to shake off any doubts. Shaking his
head, he shrugged his shoulders and let his own shirt fall, leaving him
standing in his thong while Jordan looked him over hotly.
Pouting
slightly, he lifted a brow. "I'm still ahead of you here, McIntosh."
The
pajama pants fell to a silken swirl around Jordan's feet and Zeke's gaze
followed them. He kept his glance there, trained on the pool while he got his
breathing under control. He was suave, debonair, a heart throb. He was
experienced, this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, or on stage, or up to bat
or whatever fucking metaphor you wanted to fill in the blank with.
Just
because Jordan McIntosh had always been the unattainable fantasy, the image
he'd jerked off to for the first time at thirteen, the crush who'd never known
he was alive, was no reason to act like a virginal idiot. And he knew he'd
waited too long to look back up, because
Jordon was forcing his chin up, searching his eyes and all Zeke could do
was swallow and close his lids against the intrusion of that pale gold gaze, to
hide everything he shouldn't be feeling.
"Fuck."
The
kitchen door slammed, and Zeke crossed his arms protectively over his chest. Fucking
whisky. Now he'd never sleep. And, he'd be lucky if he didn't find himself
shuffled off to some hotel in the morning despite the way the press hounded him
at every sighting.
Sighing,
he tossed back the last of the whisky and returned to his guest room, lying on
the bed and feigning sleep when he heard footsteps in the hall outside his
door. The sound stopped, as though someone stood outside the door, then
continued, fading into the darkness, leaving him alone in a strange bed, with
the fear that had originally sent him to the kitchen, and a healthy dose of
humiliation in case that jittery someone's watching you feeling ever faded
enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can also pick up the first book in my Pulp Friction series on sale at Smashwords this month!
Chances Are $0.99 (~66% off) with code FM25N until 2013-10-22
No comments:
Post a Comment