In the Blaze of His Hungers

IN THE BLAZE OF HIS HUNGERS

- BY -

DOMINIQUE FROST

COPYRIGHT
:
© December 2013 by Dominique Frost. All rights reserved. This copy is intended only for the original purchaser of this ebook. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, duplicated, given away, transmitted or resold in any form without the prior written permission of Dominique Frost.

ISBN:
978-0-9924038-1-2.

COVER PHOTOGRAPH
:
Dmitry Bairachnyi
,
used under license from Shutterstock.

COVER DESIGN
:
© Dominique Frost.

DISCLAIMER
:
This ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WARNING
:
This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and is suitable ONLY for adult readers.

NOTE
:
The title is from the poem “Some Beasts” by Pablo Neruda, which can be found
here
.

- ABOUT THE AUTHOR -

BIOGRAPHY:
Dominique Frost lives in Sydney, Australia. She’s thirty years old and escapes the inevitable onset of maturity by waxing lyrical about fictional characters’ love lives. Which is to say: She writes. A lot. She is exceedingly grateful to her partner for his patience and support, without which she would likely be wandering in the wilderness, scribbling stories on fallen leaves.

PREVIOUS BOOKS
:
The Art of Touch
,
The Bitter Rednesses of Love
and
The Price
.

BLOG:
http://dominiquefrost.tumblr.com
.

TWITTER:
http://twitter.com/Frost_Dominique
.

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Epilogue

It’s just a thing.
A normal thing. It’s perfectly normal for Ryan to be attracted to tall, built guys with bodies like well-oiled machines. And with actual oil on those glistening muscles, because Javier is a car mechanic and walks around in a tank top, his bare arms gleaming with sweat and engine lube.

It’s absolutely, utterly normal. Ryan doesn’t even question it – pays no attention to it – because it’s another
dead-end fixation that won’t go anywhere. It’s not like it’s even a crush. It’s just this… thing, that’s all. A thing makes Ryan wonder what it would be like if Javier folded him in half and fucked him silly, fucked him till he was making the sorts of sounds that would embarrass him to remember, later.

Just a thing.

The fact that Javier is Pete’s deadbeat dad is something Ryan tries not to think about, because Pete is Ryan’s best friend and practically his brother. Thankfully, Ryan mostly succeeds in not thinking about it, because his ability to think gets severely derailed when Javier’s around, and Ryan ends up stuttering like someone short-circuited his brain. It makes him look stupid and has the added risk of potentially making him sprout a boner, but Pete isn’t around when Ryan gratuitously takes his car for servicing, so. Small mercies.

Ryan would like to be serviced, too. No, he’d like to be doing the servicing. Down on his knees.
Javier’s jeans gaping open, thick cock hanging out, waiting to be sucked on. Damn. Just the thought of being down there, mouth parted and watering and flooded with the strong scent of musk…

“Ryan,” says Javier, and Ryan leaps about a foot in the air.

“Jesus!” Ryan exclaims. “Surprised me there.”

Javier levels him a look. “You’re in my shop. Where the hell else am I supposed to be?”

“Um.”
Pulling my hair as I suck on your dick?
“I’m sorry, I – ”

“Your car’s ready.”

So am I
, Ryan doesn’t say. He’s used to this. Fixations that don’t go anywhere, right? He sighs and moves to get his wallet out, preparing to pay, but then – to his shock – Javier lays a hand on his arm.

Ryan stares at it. Thinks, objectively, that Pete’s father is touching him.
Pete’s. Father. Which is why suddenly popping an erection is a no-no.

“Yeah?” Ryan rasps, feeling his brain split neatly down the center, like a sliced coconut. One side is filled with crazy, crazy thoughts, and the other half is doing its best to
rein itself in.

“How’s Pete?”

Oh. Advanced Boner-Killing Technique: Deployed. “Uh,” says Ryan, “doesn’t, I mean, don’t you guys meet? And talk? And stuff? Occasionally?”

Javier grimaces. “You know he’s Fiona’s boy. Through and through.”

“He’s also
your
boy,” Ryan points out, because, hey, Javier may be the star of at least a million of Ryan’s sexual fantasies, but that doesn’t make Javier any less of a jackass for running out on Pete and Pete’s mom all those years ago, and making such a lame attempt at coming back. “Fiona might be his mother, but you’re his father.”

Javier’s eyes narrow.
“You’ve got balls, huh?”

Balls. And suddenly, Ryan’s brain is back on the sex-track. Curse his teenage hormones. Evasive maneuvers are desperately required, so Ryan decides to take advantage of Pete’s tormented childhood in order to dampen his own arousal. Yeah, it’s a dick – god
damn
it – move, but he’ll self-flagellate himself for it another time.

“You’ve been back in town for three months,” Ryan says, like a concerned citizen instead of a guy urgently in need of a fire extinguisher to put out the fire in his pants. “And you have to ask
me
how Pete is? That’s pretty bad.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Can you blame him?”

“No.” For a moment, Javier’s eyes are pensive, turned inward, but then th
at moment is gone and he’s his douchebag self again. “Fiona told him not to talk to me.”

“Oh, so we’re blaming her, now? The woman you left? That’s classy.”

Javier’s eyebrows arch. “You don’t hold back on the sass, do you, kid?”

For some reason, Ryan is flushing. He’s looking Javier in the eyes, because Javier
is
a bastard, but he’s flushing. Why is he flushing?
ABORT ABORT
, he tells his body, but it insists on pumping blood both north and south, continuing to stiffen his cock and make him blush. Damn it, he hates being eighteen.

Javier’s expression turns sly. And even more douchebag-y. Seriously, what did Pete’s mom ever see in this man? He’s nothing but a – a sex god.
A callous, psychopathic sex god from the Greek pantheon, totally capable of disguising himself as a swan and forcing himself on bathing maidens. Maybe Ryan should change his name to Leda. Fuck.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Ryan blurts, “it’s wrong.”

“What am I thinking?” Javier’s got this disturbingly knowing look, and the corner of his mouth is quirked in a predatory hook that makes Ryan’s throat run dry.

“I’d like my arm back,” Ryan lies, because if Clinton could get away with it, so can he. “Please.”

“No, you don’t. Want it back, that is.” Javier steps nearer, sweaty and rock-solid as always, and Ryan can’t stop ogling Javier’s corded forearms and wondering what they’d feel like, wrapped around his waist. This close, it’s not possible that Javier’s missing out on the fact that Ryan is hard. Ryan’s pants are tented like a tent erected on a goddamn camping trip.

“
Listen, this is a – it’s just – it’s a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding,” Javier echoes. He’s so fucking tall. The closer he gets, the more Ryan has to crane his neck to maintain eye-contact, and he doesn’t
want
to maintain eye-contact. He wants to turn tail and run. The reality of Javier is very different from the fantasy; in the fantasy, he’s a random DILF with six-pack abs and manly stubble (and Ryan isn’t even usually into stubble), but in reality, he’s Pete’s dad, and an asshole, and
Pete’s dad
.

“Y-you should let go.”

“No.” Javier slides his hand up Ryan’s arm and reels him in. “I don’t think I will.”

“I’m your son’s best friend.”

“So?”

“So,” Ryan says, with the sort of exaggerated patience that doesn’t accurately reflect how he’s falling to pieces on the inside, “this is bad.”

“Everything about me is bad to you, isn’t it?” Javier tilts his head contemplatively, and wraps one of those corded arms around Ryan, just like Ryan had imagined. Ryan’s heart starts hammering at a mile a minute. “You think you’re so great, you and your father, the perfect little pair.”

“We’re not – ”

“Don’t lie. You’re proud of it, how the two of you get along, how you’re always there for each other.”

It’s
true, Ryan’s dad is awesome. They’ve only had each other since Mom died more than a decade ago, and Dad didn’t bat an eye when Ryan came out to him, last year.

“But some of us didn’t get fathers like that, Ryan. Some of us don’t get to
be
fathers like that.”

“Oh, boo-
hoo.” Ryan pretends he’s not two seconds away from coming, just from the fact that Javier’s hand has now found its way to Ryan’s throat and is cupping it, broad and callused and warm. “Tell someone else your sob-story.”

“I
wanna see what someone so righteous looks like on their knees,” Javier says, almost conversationally, and Ryan’s pulse spikes. It’s just like he envisioned, just like – “I wanna see what the angel does, when push comes to shove.”

“I’m no angel,” Ryan says, scarcely hearing himself over the thundering of his pulse.

“No?” Javier brushes a thumb across Ryan’s chin, presses it into Ryan’s lower lip to make it dip. “Show me.”

Ryan opens his mouth.

Later, he’ll wonder why he did that. Why he went along with it.

Every single rational thought in his mind is telling him not to do it, to get the hell away from a carnivore like Javier, to forget any of this ever happened, to go home and jerk off like usual, imagining digging his nails into Javier’s
pecs.

He knows he shouldn’t do it.

He does it anyway.

He opens his mouth, and Javier’s thumb slips right in, like it belongs there, cushioned by Ryan’s lips. Ryan sucks at it, because it tastes like motor-oil and heat, sucks at it because he has to get it clean. And he keeps looking Javier in the eye, like they’re still in the middle of a battle of wills, as though that’s what this is about,
rather than sex.

Well.
Just
sex.

Ryan hasn’t done much, sex-wise. He’s been blown once, by a
drunk cheerleader whose name he no longer recalls (but he knows she’d had golden hair) and he’s given head once, to a guy at the local gay bar.

But that’s about it. He isn’t in any way equipped to handle a full-grown man and his friend’s dad, on top of the general newness of engaging in sexy-times with another person while sober. He’s knows he’s unsure of what he’s doing.

He
knows
he’s scared.

But, again, he does it anyway.

Maybe it’s the same instinct that drives lemmings to leap off a cliff. Maybe it’s the same instinct that makes rabbits go limp in the mouth of a tiger. Maybe it’s simply that Ryan has been so hard for so long that anything that gets him closer to an orgasm seems like a mighty fine idea.

Or maybe it’s because Javier knows that Ryan is scared – Ryan can see it in his eyes – and isn’t doing the right thing, isn’t
driving Ryan away. Like this is a dare of some sort. Like he’s waiting for Ryan to cave. To say he can’t do it. To say it’s too much for him.

Ryan
bites
, before he lets go of Javier’s thumb, and claims the hitch in Javier’s breath like it’s a victory.

“I think I’d like to suck you, now,” he hears
himself say, as if from a distance, through the fog of lust that surrounds him, confuses him, makes everything seem strangely inevitable, like the crumbling of an ancient wall. He doesn’t think he
could
say no, even if he wanted to. He just needs to be sucking cock, right now, needs to be jacking himself off while doing it.

And as if he knows that, Javier says, “Do it,” his pupils blown wide, looking as stunned and momentarily lost as Ryan. Hadn’t he expected this? Hadn’t this been the point? “I’ve seen how you watch me. How often do you think about sucking me off?”

“All the time,” Ryan confesses, like it’s nothing, and sinks to his knees gradually, letting his palms slide down Javier’s chest and across the damp tank top, curling his fingers in the hoops of Javier’s belt.

Javier is breathing fast, his
eyes unerring on Ryan’s face as Ryan unbuckles him, unzips him, frees him.

Ryan’s hands are shaking. They feel cold and clammy, even though Ryan is burning up, even though he’s dead certain he must have a fever.

“Take it slow,” Javier says, like it’s a kindness, but Ryan knows it’s because Javier wants to see him take it, see every last detail, catch every anxious twitch of Ryan’s fingers and every nervous gulp of his throat.

Pervert.

The term is almost fond, disconnected, floating to the surface of Ryan’s mind like a chit of paper caught in a dark, roaring current.

Ryan can smell Javier’s dick, from here. See the shape of it in Javier’s Y-fronts, and it’s just as intimidating as Ryan had imagined, just as mouthwateringly huge.

Ryan reaches for it, nearly flinching away from how furnace-hot it is, and eases it out, looks at it. Studies it, as it swells further in his hands, heavy and long and moist at the tip. Ryan is struck by how surreal it is, coming over to get his car fixed and now kneeling at another man’s feet, about to take that man’s cock into his mouth. How did he get here? Does it even matter?

What matters is that Ryan is
inhaling it, the salty musk of it, swaying toward it like he can’t help himself, and then he’s taking it in, god, he’s
taking
it, and there’s a hand that lands on the back of his head and urges him forward, a big hand, guiding him in what to do and how to move, and he moves with it, helpless, taking it and taking it –

He
halts, when he can’t go any further, fights against the pressure of that hand – thrills at the growl from above – and he can feel that his eyes are wet, so he blinks up through the blur of them to see Javier’s face, alien with hunger, staring down at him.

No, not hunger.

Starvation.

It’s –

It sends a shocking flare through Ryan’s body, makes him shudder, makes him gasp around the cock in his mouth – because he’s never been needed like this, not like
this
, and he can feel his own dick jump and leak pre-come inside his underwear.

I want to make you come
, he thinks, as loudly as he can, as loud as the slurping noises he makes when he draws back, Javier’s hand fisting in his hair, stopping him from pulling off completely.
I want to make you come until you forget who you are.