Best Gay Erotica 2015 (22 page)

The two young men stood straddle-legged, arms on hips, as the great craft drifted to a halt beside them, hovering in the air above the ground, bobbing gently as if riding the ocean's waves. One pale face appeared over the rail, a second and then a third.

Nordus's heart thudded. Freyr's messengers were the Norms, the three fates: supernatural women who determined the direc- tion of a man's life. He muttered as much to Olaf, who swallowed his terror and remained steadfastly at Nordus's side, a measure of his love.

“Hail, Nordus of Alfheim,” a raspy voice called down. It was Urd, Fate.

“Has there been a mistake?” Skuld, Necessity, inquired. “He has not the appearance of a Light Elf. In fact, he looks quite delicious.”

“Stop playing the fool!” snapped Verdandi, Being. “You well know Freyr transformed him. That's what got the beauty into trouble in the first place, showing off those wide shoulders and long legs, not to mention that fetching bulge beneath his codpiece.”

Nordus ignored the byplay. They were always fussing among themselves. He concentrated on the eldest sister, Urd. “Has my Lord Freyr sent for me?”

“In a manner,” came the reply. “He dispatched us to see if you have recovered your senses. Are you rid of Freyr's ache?”

“For the moment,” Nordus answered, glancing at the hand- some youth beside him.

“Then you are ready to return to the bosom of your master. Good!”

“Only if Olaf accompanies me.”

“Impossible!” hissed Skuld. “You know better than that. This handsome handful is mortal! He belongs here in Midgard.”

“That is not for you to say!” Nordus cried. “I am ready to return to my lord, but Olaf comes with me. I demand it!”

“You demand it?” Verdandi laughed. “A Light Elf makes demands of his divine master?”

“Nay, Nordus.” Uld shook her head sadly. “Freyr permits but two choices: come to his bed or return to Alfheim. But he gives you the right to decide your own fate. Unless,” she added archly, “you cannot make up your head; then it becomes our decision.”

“But if I return to Alfheim, I will once again be an elf!” he protested.

“Just so.” Skuld smirked. “And it would be criminal to cast off such beauty as you possess. Criminal!”

Olaf nervously cleared his throat and overcame his fear. “Wherever he goes, I, Olaf of Thurmingen, go as well. This I swear!”

“Take care of what you swear, you beautiful man.” Verdandi gazed down upon the two of them. “Are you certain you wish to go to the land of the elves?”

“I will accompany my love anywhere he goes in whatever form required,” Olaf announced stubbornly.

“You may go, but only as an elf, fair Olaf. We would not want you stomping the little dears with those big feet, now would we?” The Norm called Being laughed. “Besides, think on this, his little rear would not admit you. And his pole would be but a splinter in your flesh!”

The three women shared a ribald laugh over the imagery those words conjured.

“Then I will be an elf!” Olaf declared, struggling to sound as if he meant his words. “Provided,” he added, “you rid me of this accursed toothache!”

“So be it. Climb aboard so we may get underway,” Urd ordered. “'Tis a long trek, even for this fine vessel.”

Nordus laid a hand on his lover's arm. “Think on it, Olaf. Are you certain you wish to be transformed? You are a hand- some man without the artifice of the gods…as was required for the likes of me.”

“I cannot believe you were much different in your other form. And if you are willing to give up your present stature for me, can I do less for you?”

“Then it will be so!” Nordus breathed with a tremble in his voice. No one had ever sacrificed so much for him. Nor he for another, come to think on it.

As they climbed aboard Skidbladnir, each of the Norms struck Olaf smartly on the right cheek. Startled, the young human rubbed his jaw.

“It's gone!” he declared. “Freyr's toothache is gone! Oh, Nordus, now I can love you without distraction!”

“You can love me any way you wish!” Skuld simpered before her sisters drew her away.

In the privacy of their cabin, the two young men made love so enthusiastically they dropped into a deep sleep afterward. It was morn before they woke. Nordus opened his eyes to find Olaf sitting beside him, staring down the long expanse of a gigantic mattress. The bed, Nordus knew, had not grown; they had simply shrunk.

He turned to his lover. Elf he might now be, but Olaf had lost none of his fair beauty. The limbs were straight and layered with firm muscle. The nose was snubbed, the mouth and ears well formed. And his eyes yet held the wonderful blue of the sky. Nordus glanced at his own body, still slender. He understood from his companion's adoring gaze that his features remained comely. Freyr had been generous. Tiny they were, reaching but to the knees of the men they once had been, but the great god of weather and fertility had allowed them to retain their beauty.

The two handsome, shapely elves fell upon each other to prove all of their parts were in good working order. Absent the divine toothache, they did indeed function better than ever!

Rob Rosen

So I dropped the soap on purpose. As if anyone would know. Well, anyone as in
him
. See, I sort of planned my showers to coincide with his. Dan's, that is to say. We always worked out at the same time, the gym not too far from either of our offices. And it didn't take me all that long to figure out his routine. Meaning, I knew when he'd be showering. Ergo, I knew when I'd be showering. Ergo again, I also knew when to drop that aforementioned soap of mine.

There were three showerheads in the locker room. Dan routinely took the far right; I took the middle. When he would bend down to clean his feet, cheeks jutting out, hairy crack spread, hole just slightly visible, that was my cue.
Whoops
. And, voilà, my face would be a fraction of an inch away from his ass, so close I could almost lean in and give it a lick and a slurp and a tender if not completely eager bite.

Only, of course, I never did—what with us being in the gym and all, and him not knowing of my intentions. Or spotting my semi-woodie, which I'd will with all my might to keep semi as the warm water rushed over it.
Shhh
, I'd whisper to it, if only in my head.
Down boy
. Besides, it would eventually get its turn. See, I had a routine, too: work out, shower, drop the soap and then jack off lickety-split in the nearest bathroom stall. Lonely if not entirely expedient.

Except, as it turned out, I'd been mistaken about certain things, namely Dan's recognition of my intentions. Go figure.

A couple of weeks into all this, after enough dropped soap to clean up a nice-sized schooner, I, as usual, headed for a crapper to relieve my burgeoning stiffy. I closed the metal door behind me,
clank
, and a second later heard the door next to mine also go
clank
. I stared down at the bare feet beneath the divider.
Gulp
. I recognized them. Dan's. After all, by then I knew them quite intimately, each hairy knuckle and clipped toenail.

Then there was nothing but quiet, not even a stream of piss to break the silence, until he said, in a hushed whisper, “I know.”

Gulp
again. “Know what?” I whispered back, heart racing like a jackrabbit's on meth.

He didn't answer. I mean, not in words. Instead, he stood, moved to the side of the toilet, and crouched. And then there, all of a sudden, was his stunning ass, those magnificent alabaster cheeks aiming for the tile. “Oops, dropped the soap,” he finally replied, with a raspy chuckle that caused quite a few beads of perspiration to suddenly appear on my face.

Which meant that my subtlety obviously left a lot to be desired. In any case, since it was his ass he was offering and not a knuckle sandwich, it didn't rightly matter. In other words, I too was standing and then crouching, shaky hands reaching beneath the metal divider, grabbing for his glorious flesh, my cock pulsing upon three-two-one contact.

“Better?” he whispered.

My fingers kneaded his ass like well-worked dough, index fingers tickling the fine hairs that ran down his crack. “Much,” I groaned.

“Good,” he moaned back. “Have at it.”

I stared at the gray metal in front of me. It was an odd yet utterly enticing offer he was making. And since an ass in the hand is worth…well, you get the picture. So, as he'd instructed, I had at it—limited though my
it
might have been.

My hands mapped every inch of that fabulous ass of his, working from the outside in, from the top down, tickling and tweaking and tugging at his cheeks before my digits arrived dead center. He pushed his butt into my fingers as they swirled around his crinkled hole, tracing every nook and cranny, yanking at the fine hairs that circled it.

“More,” he grunted, ass rocking as, I figured, he started stroking his cock out of my line of vision.

Naturally, his disembodied rump quickly got just that:
more
. I got on my knees, my steely cock sliding beneath the metal divider. The meaty head got slapped up against his tender hole, the shaft gliding across it, back and forth, my prick slamming into his nut sac. Sweat started to trickle down my chest as every nerve ending in my body went off like Fourth of July fireworks.

“More,” he soon repeated, like a greedy-Gus. So out my dick slid, reluctantly, and back my fingers went, though now slicked up with copious amounts of spit. I teased his hole and gently slid the tip of my index finger inside. He sucked in his breath and clenched, but soon enough allowed the intrusion. With my free hand I pumped my prick, the other beneath the divider, that index finger of mine soon joined by its shorter neighbor. In and out, in and out, sliding and gliding and pumping and pistoning, feeling the smooth, muscled interior of him all the happy while.

Despite my eager ministrations, even that wasn't enough for good old Dan. That ass of his, it seemed, was super hungry. “More,” he moaned, yet again, the sound low and deep and needy, rumbling across the metal divide and then through me like a speeding locomotive.

More?
I thought, looking around the tight stall. And then I smiled, the proverbial lightbulb above my head suddenly shining like a beacon. Thankfully, my years as a Boy Scout finally came in handy. In other words, I made do with what was provided for me by Mother Nature. Or, in this case, Black & Decker.

The toilet roll came off, the metal tubing in the center released from its holder. It wasn't as thick or as long as my cock, though it was equally hard, and would, I figured, do the trick. I spit on it, the thick saliva dripping down the metal as it glistened beneath the fluorescent lighting. Then I lubed him up again, soaking his hole with a loogie.

Slowly, I inserted the tip. He chuckled, softly, when he realized my ingenious methodology for getting him off. “Nice,” he rasped, pushing his ass down over it, until the silver started to disappear, inch by metal inch. I watched it slide in, strangely jealous of it. I stared down at my prick and frowned, as if to say,
Sorry, big guy; maybe next time.

And so I pumped away at my prick, balls steadily rising as they swayed to and fro, all while I fucked that perfect little ass of his with the toilet-roll holder. Up and down his butt went, his feet firmly planted as he ground into it, moaning softly from the other side of the divider. My own moans joined his, until there was a hushed symphony of it, climbing steadily to their inevitable crescendo.

“Close,” he soon whispered, now huffing and puffing.

I pumped faster, both on his ass and on my cock. “Closer,” I whispered back, eyes glued to his flawless cheeks as his legs started to tremble, his feet bouncing atop the cold tile.

And then I watched as thick streams of pungent come, namely his, came splattering down,
plop
,
plop
,
plop
, onto the floor beneath him. The sight of it caused my cock to twitch and then erupt. My face tilted back, mouth agape, and I came as silently as I possibly could. Great streams of spunk shot out, slamming into the metal partition before gliding down in a torrent of white and then dripping onto the floor.

Fighting to catch my breath, I popped the tube out of his ass.
Pop
. He sighed and stood, cleaning up his mess before flushing it down the toilet. “See you tomorrow, Todd,” he whispered as he exited the stall, quick as wink.

I grinned. “Tomorrow, Dan,” I whispered back. “No ifs, ands or
butts
about it.”

I heard him chuckle yet again as he disappeared back into the locker room. Then I cleaned up, flushed and also made my way back. I didn't see him, so he must've been changing on a different aisle than I was. Still, the next night, as was our routine, there he was, stellar ass encased in tight nylon shorts, while he pumped his iron, perspiration pouring off his handsome face. He nodded and smiled at me, and I at him, my cock already thickening in my sweats at the mere sight of him, the image of his very nearly perfect ass burnished in my mind.

The shower, of course, came next. Him on the right, me in the middle, his finely etched body lathered up, me staring on, watching, waiting for my cue. And then, sure enough, he bent over and started in on his feet, legs wider than usual, hole winking out at me as if to say,
Come and get it!
Meaning, my soap was quickly dropped, landing achingly near his feet. Slowly, I craned down, face so close to that hair-lined crack and hair-haloed hole of his that I could smell the lingering musk and sweat. I snapped a thousand mental pictures of it as I leaned there, but then, all too soon, and all too sadly, righted myself.

Feet clean, he also righted himself. Then he pointed his finger out of the shower and across to the sinks. “Ah,” I groaned and nodded, spotting our reflections staring back at us. “That's how you knew. Mirrors.”