next to the only faggot in Columbia County. That rest stop over on Highway 47, sometimes you can get lucky out there. I wasn’t a blushing virgin when we met, dude.”
Dylan grinned at him. “You seemed to know what you were doing.”
That made Chris leer so heatedly that Dylan’s cock stirred. “Let’s go,” he said, standing abruptly. Chris laughed and waggled his fingertips at the waiter as they walked to the door.
Home Depot was fun. Dylan picked out a couple hundred square feet of ceramic tile for the floor and a coordinating pattern for the backsplash. Then he got bags of mud and grout, spacers, plastic barrels, a mixer blade for his drill, and a couple of trowels. The big splurge was a midrange tile saw. He winced a little when it was time to pay the bill, but Chris was almost bouncy. “I like your tools,” he said, helping to load the truck with their purchases and stopping to slap Dylan’s ass.
Traffic was slow as they headed home, but Dylan didn’t mind. He liked sitting next to Chris, listening to him sing, feeling the engine rumble. They chatted on and off, mostly about their construction plans for the next day. But as darkness fell they grew silent, and the cab became somehow more intimate, the air thicker, the heat enough to fog up the windows and create little beads of sweat on their scalps that dripped down their necks. By the time Chris pulled the truck around to the back of Dylan’s house and cut the engine, they might have been the only two people left on earth.
They sat in the dark of the cab, just breathing.
Then Chris twisted a little in his seat and set a heavy hand high on Dylan’s thigh. “God, I want you,” he whispered.
Dylan was slightly embarrassed as a needy little whimper escaped his throat, and then they were kissing hard enough for teeth to clack, and Dylan’s hands were fisted in Chris’s hair, holding him tight. Most of Dylan’s previous sexual experiences hadn’t involved much kissing, and he’d never before realized how much it could feel like fucking when a tongue penetrated his mouth, how the taste of another man could make his balls tingle and his skin feel tight and hot.
When they pulled apart, panting, Chris’s teeth gleamed in the darkness.
They fumbled at one another’s clothing, and Chris half straddled him, but the front seat of a Chevy didn’t offer much room for two grown men. The gear shift was jammed uncomfortably into Dylan’s leg, while half his body was pinned under the big steering wheel. “Let’s take this inside,” he suggested.
Chris kissed him again—this time fast and teasing—and opened the passenger side door. They both tumbled out, nearly ending up in the mud but just barely managing to keep their feet by grabbing at each other and the truck. Dylan’s dick was so hard that it actually hurt to run, but neither man wasted any time rushing into his house. Chris looked around curiously when they got upstairs. It occurred to Dylan that Chris hadn’t seen the second floor yet, although this was no time for a tour. He tugged at Chris’s sleeve and dragged him down to the bedroom.
Chris glanced around at the horrible wallpaper and ugly brown carpet. “ Love what you’ve done to the place,” he said in a terrible falsetto, flopping both his wrists dramatically.
“Yeah, we’ll get to it eventually, handyman.”
With a grin, Chris walked across the room and sat on the bed. He bounced up and down a few times. “Mattress works.”
“Hold that thought,” said Dylan. He ducked into the bathroom and tried to remember where the hell he’d put the packet of condoms and bottle of lube, neither of which he’d used since the move. There were three cardboard boxes full of miscellaneous crap shoved in the corner—extra towels, a shower squeegee, soap dishes, things like that. He tossed these items everywhere as he burrowed in. Naturally, the two things he was looking for were in the bottom box underneath a half dozen spare boxes of
Dylan grinned at him. “You seemed to know what you were doing.”
That made Chris leer so heatedly that Dylan’s cock stirred. “Let’s go,” he said, standing abruptly. Chris laughed and waggled his fingertips at the waiter as they walked to the door.
Home Depot was fun. Dylan picked out a couple hundred square feet of ceramic tile for the floor and a coordinating pattern for the backsplash. Then he got bags of mud and grout, spacers, plastic barrels, a mixer blade for his drill, and a couple of trowels. The big splurge was a midrange tile saw. He winced a little when it was time to pay the bill, but Chris was almost bouncy. “I like your tools,” he said, helping to load the truck with their purchases and stopping to slap Dylan’s ass.
Traffic was slow as they headed home, but Dylan didn’t mind. He liked sitting next to Chris, listening to him sing, feeling the engine rumble. They chatted on and off, mostly about their construction plans for the next day. But as darkness fell they grew silent, and the cab became somehow more intimate, the air thicker, the heat enough to fog up the windows and create little beads of sweat on their scalps that dripped down their necks. By the time Chris pulled the truck around to the back of Dylan’s house and cut the engine, they might have been the only two people left on earth.
They sat in the dark of the cab, just breathing.
Then Chris twisted a little in his seat and set a heavy hand high on Dylan’s thigh. “God, I want you,” he whispered.
Dylan was slightly embarrassed as a needy little whimper escaped his throat, and then they were kissing hard enough for teeth to clack, and Dylan’s hands were fisted in Chris’s hair, holding him tight. Most of Dylan’s previous sexual experiences hadn’t involved much kissing, and he’d never before realized how much it could feel like fucking when a tongue penetrated his mouth, how the taste of another man could make his balls tingle and his skin feel tight and hot.
When they pulled apart, panting, Chris’s teeth gleamed in the darkness.
They fumbled at one another’s clothing, and Chris half straddled him, but the front seat of a Chevy didn’t offer much room for two grown men. The gear shift was jammed uncomfortably into Dylan’s leg, while half his body was pinned under the big steering wheel. “Let’s take this inside,” he suggested.
Chris kissed him again—this time fast and teasing—and opened the passenger side door. They both tumbled out, nearly ending up in the mud but just barely managing to keep their feet by grabbing at each other and the truck. Dylan’s dick was so hard that it actually hurt to run, but neither man wasted any time rushing into his house. Chris looked around curiously when they got upstairs. It occurred to Dylan that Chris hadn’t seen the second floor yet, although this was no time for a tour. He tugged at Chris’s sleeve and dragged him down to the bedroom.
Chris glanced around at the horrible wallpaper and ugly brown carpet. “ Love what you’ve done to the place,” he said in a terrible falsetto, flopping both his wrists dramatically.
“Yeah, we’ll get to it eventually, handyman.”
With a grin, Chris walked across the room and sat on the bed. He bounced up and down a few times. “Mattress works.”
“Hold that thought,” said Dylan. He ducked into the bathroom and tried to remember where the hell he’d put the packet of condoms and bottle of lube, neither of which he’d used since the move. There were three cardboard boxes full of miscellaneous crap shoved in the corner—extra towels, a shower squeegee, soap dishes, things like that. He tossed these items everywhere as he burrowed in. Naturally, the two things he was looking for were in the bottom box underneath a half dozen spare boxes of
Similar Books
