No Regrets (8 page)

Scott's head slammed back so fast he damn near hurt himself.
Oh, shit. Yeah. Yeah, please. Goddamn.
Dee's fingers spread and pushed, stretching him quickly, the burn so damn good, full of promise.

"You, now. Your cock." He shifted, demanding. Now.

"Sure that was enough?" Dee asked, even as his fingers slid away and Dee's hands wrapped around his hips, tugging him into place.

"I'm sure." It burned and stretched, but that heavy cock was just what he needed, just what he wanted.

Dee's eyes sort of rolled back into his head as his cock slid deep, but then they snapped open again, Dee's smile a little wild, and bright in his face. "Scotty." His name was a song, Dee starting to hump up into him.

"Yeah. Yeah, honey. Welcome home." They laughed together as he leaned down, taking a hard, deep kiss.

Their mouths clung together, Dee's arms wrapped around his back, and he shifted so that Dee's cock brushed past his gland, and then again as Dee's hips rolled. His eyes went wide, body rocking, keeping Dee's prick right there.

"Yeah. Scotty. Oh, damn. That's." The words came, jerky and hoarse, Dee biting at his lower lip.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Don't stop."

"Never," grunted Drake, hands holding him tighter, bringing him down harder.

Their bodies slammed together noisily, breath panting from them both, the old couch starting to rock with their movements.

"Fuck. Love. Dee. I..." Oh, yeah. Babbling.

Dee just nodded, eyes holding his, head bobbing in time to their movements. Then Dee bit his lip, a soft whimper passing his lips--it wasn't going to be long. He nodded, moving faster, ass squeezing tight.

Eyes going wide, Dee gasped and one hand made a grab at his cock, wrapping tightly around it and pulling on him. "Come on, Scotty. Come on."

Scott groaned, hips jerking, seed pouring out of him.

"Scott..." Dee groaned, hips bucking up hard, filling him with heat.

Panting, Dee leaned their foreheads together.

"Hey. Hey, honey. Merry Christmas."

Dee laughed, kissing him. "Yeah, Scotty. Merry Christmas. Love you, yeah?"

"Love you." Home. His Dee was home.

"Good." Dee's arms held him, head resting on his shoulder. "You should know. Your lover is now an unemployed bum."

"Unemployed?" He stroked Dee's hair, smoothing it out. "You didn't renew your contract?"

"Nope. I figured they'd had enough of my soul. Which sounds cheesy and melodramatic. Let's say I was tired of dancing to their tune."

"You'll write music, honey. You'll write and be happy. It'll work."

"I hear there're some indie labels out there that treat their artists really well." Dee shrugged. "Hell, it's not like I need the money. You think you can put up with me hanging around here a little more?"

"I think that you belong here. With me. At home. Your home."

Dee shook his head. "No, Scotty, not my home. Our home."

"Yeah. Yeah. Our home." Oh, God. Yes. "Merry Christmas to us."

Dee just laughed, face happy and bright.

Oh yeah, Merry damn Christmas to them.

Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the
Kama Sutra
by channeling the long-lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to
Chicago.

A long-time writer of complicated haiku, Sean is currently attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate-spinning and soap-carving sex toys.

Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.

To learn more about Sean, please visit: www.seanmichaelwrites.com.

Kendall Webber is deep in the closet. Between working as a mechanic in a garage, having served in the army during the era of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, and being raised by a fundamentalist-preacher stepfather who sent him to summer camps to make him straight, he's learned to hide his sexuality from absolutely everyone.

Still, when a tall, dark, and handsome stud named Barton Willis III roars into the garage in his vintage Mustang, Kendall can't help but look admiringly and longingly at the man, just a little. And when the flirtatious Barton not only looks back but eagerly invites him to explore his hidden desires, Kendall's whole world is turned upside-down.

Now, the question remains...can Barton help Kendall let go of the past and the attitudes he's had, literally, beaten into him?