Best Gay Erotica 2015 (14 page)

Come nightfall, Chase woke up hungry and asked me to find us a place. I pulled into a pancake house off the highway. Like all junkies, I need sweets. Something about the salt of blood mixing with it all. Divine. Glorious. I ate chocolate-chip pancakes with blueberry syrup while he had a western omelet with biscuits and gravy. Some of it got on his chin, and before I could stop myself, I wiped it off with my thumb and put it into my mouth. Instead of panicking because we were knee-deep in Southern-Fried Hill-billy Country, Chase grinned my way. Of course he didn't care; he loved the risky business just like me. I wanted to fuck him on the table right then and there. He saw it in me, and we left there right quick, big tip and all, taking a room in a cheap motel on the other side of the restaurant.

I fucked him deep and long, his face smashed into the bed, his fine ass in the air, my hands on his rocking, bucking hips. He moaned into the bed, a deep bellow that raised the hairs on my body. I fucked him faster, giving in to his voice like it was a siren's song. When I was spent, Chase rose up a little and took me down sideways, a quick wrestle, and I gave in to him, settling myself under his sweaty firm weight. His cock pressed against mine, his thigh opening my legs up a bit to keep me close. His forearms captured my head and he looked down into my eyes wonderingly.

Slowly, so slowly, he kissed me, his tongue and lips exploring my mouth. I gave him free rein. He took me like a hawk on prey, slow but deliberate, strong, confident. I kissed him back, echoing move for move. Chase captured my hands, then pinned my wrists. I arched into him, my cock still wet from plunder, but willing just the same. His cock probed my balls, the friction exciting me until I was begging blasphemingly by the names of the saints.

Chase reached for something on the bedside table. He whispered, “Do you trust me?”

I answered truthfully: “Not a lick.”

He laughed. Then, in a flash, he brought my pinned hands up over me head, handcuffing me to the headboard. He covered my mouth as I screamed, frozen. He then reached down with his other hand and lifted one of my legs and gently placed it over his shoulder. I was frozen still. I was thinking that these kinds of things had to stop happening to me, me being a monster and all. And then Chase got my other leg up and over his other shoulder before slowly, gently if you will, he started fucking me. He dug in deeply and then pulled out, over and over again, 'til the wanting in me overcame the fear, and I thrust back into him, meeting him all the way and back again, screaming his name. This time, when he came, he hollered and fell onto me, resting on my sweat-damp chest. Safe sex, no, but, then again, nothing about him nor me was safe to begin with—and as for me it really didn't matter.

I waited a bit for his breath to catch up, and then I rattled the handcuffs.

Chase's head rose and he sat there staring into me eyes. He said softly, “You'll just slow me down.”

“Have I yet?”

He smiled. “Not yet, but it's just a matter of time. And these things go bad.”

Chase sat up. He started looking for his clothes. I pulled on the handcuffs. They weren't too tight but they weren't giving in either. I was not in a good place. “What goes bad?”

Chase shrugged into his shirt. “We go wrong. We get caught, one of us turns on the other for a lighter sentence. I've seen it before.” Chase found his jeans and pulled them on.

I rattled the handcuffs. Would they stop my monster later when hunger woke it?

“So stop being a bad man,” I said lightly as if I were bored already.

Chase stared at me for the longest time and then looked at my cock. He smiled. Sitting down on the bed, he reached over and started playing with it. The little bastard betrayed me. I gasped, feeling pleasure and suffocation as one. Chase leaned over and whispered into my open mouth, “I can't stop being a bad man. And I can't take you with me. I'm FBI. I have a real life and I have to pretend to belong to it.”

I jerked up, straining against the handcuffs. Chase wiped his hand on my thighs. I trembled now, my monster stirring, peering from within me, looking for a weakness. FBI? Was he playing me? What did he know then?

Chase was an enemy and I was caught. I'd not left behind too many bodies since my family, but still, there was enough to hang me, yeah. And I was still wanted in Ireland. They don't forget family massacre and cannibalism there, you know. Add to all this, if I were being watched, it'd soon be obvious that I didn't age.

But is he lying to me now?

Chase took the handcuff key out of his pocket and laid it across the bedside table. He tapped it with his finger. “I wish it was different, Lochlan from Ireland.” He walked to the door and opened it, then turned back around and faced me. “I wish I could fuck you for all of eternity.” He smiled, shaking his head. He was gone in a flash.

And the monster within me woke up even though the hunger for blood was not yet stirring, mainly because there was another hunger he was answering to.

Under the monster's careful distant observance, I broke the bones in my left hand and reached over to the bedside table for the key. Just metal, the handcuffs. Gingerly, painfully, I opened the lock on them and sat up in the bed, my right hand cradling my broken left. It hurt like hellfire but I knew with the monster's guidance I'd soon knit it up tight in bandages and go on like nothing was wrong. That was just like it, you know, always persistent, waiting silently for the right time to pounce.

Monster then said out loud, “Well then, I'm guessing you'll be getting your wishes filled, Chase of the FBI. And eternity is a damned long time.”

First thing I found out was that Chase was not my man's real name. And I was guessing that maybe Robin A. Hood, the name on the credit card he'd paid for our room with, wasn't neither. Nothing makes a monster happier than a mystery I can tell you now, and that's just what this was. Which meant there'd have to be a hunt. Sharpens the senses, after all, makes the hunger grow. But of course I didn't know where to start up after that. All's I had left was to ask the general direction he took off in. That got me to the gas station across the highway. And from there, I got a description of my blond, handsome FBI agent heading north-west in his Jeep. I put my thumb out and sparkled my whites for the next hour 'til a trucker stopped and took me on farther.

We wound up on the edges of some big American city. The trucker was gonna head south then, but before a farewell, we had some pints at a bar, and later I took enough drink to last me while we found ourselves in a rundown hooker motel. I left him his wallet but took a few bills to keep me heeled. Before I left, I noticed I'd put some bruises on his cock, chew marks like a dog with a bone. That was a first in a long, long time. Monster must be upset, I figured. I checked the trucker's pulse, though, and he was breathing. He'd live, and I'd live, and it was time to move on.

I then walked into the big American city hoping desperately for some inspiration.

To be honest, I was at a bit of a loss. I had no real plan. No insight. I just wanted to get my man back. Maybe pay him back a little. Most definitely fuck him, that was a sure thing, but the how-to, the getting, the whole of it, well, I was baffled. Before the monster took over, I worked like normal fellas. Had me a job in a bailiff's office, doing accounts, had been thinking of going to university, maybe for accounts and records so I wouldn't be passed up on raises by fellas with degrees. After the monster came my way, I'd been a drifter, a hustler, and I didn't really know how to help my monster find my man with just that education to go on.

So I decided to call the credit card company and report my card stolen, find out when someone used Robin A. Hood's card last and their whereabouts. After all, I had relieved Chase of some of his wallet just a few days ago, yeah? Looking at my pocketful of licenses and credit cards, I found Robin's social security card, along with Chris Edward's and Jonah Woodsmith's. I was charming with the gal on the phone, and even though I'd forgotten the password and only had a social, she let me have the info—bless her sweet, trusting, American heart.

Would you believe that my luck'd changed for the better? The card was being used right at that moment at some strip joint. I flagged a taxi and set off.

I walked up behind him. It was a skank-hole: dark and dismal, the women strippers run-down and tired looking. He was sitting up front of a middle stage, drinking a tall glass of beer, his back to the door like a mark. It was too easy. I sat down next to him and opened my mouth to say something smart, and he pushed a warmish glass of Guinness my way. He took a long swallow of his beer while I stared at mine.

Then he said, taking off his glasses and putting them into a black case in his coat pocket, “Took you long enough.”

“You're a right charmin' bastard, you are.”

Chase nodded, not even looking my way. “That I am, Irish.”

“So who the fuck are you then?”

He raised his glass of beer to his mouth, pausing midway to point toward mine. “You should drink that.”

I looked at the Guinness. I gotta say, I've never met a Guinness I didn't want. No harm in that, anyway. I drank, and neither of us said a word for a long time while a tired, worn-out gal crawled on the stage in front of us, bills in her crotch and mouth.

Eventually, Chase said, “So, do you trust me, Lochlan?”

I nearly choked on the Guinness. I glared at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “No fuckin' way. After our drinks, I'm thinking of murdering you, honestly.”

Chase turned, looking off behind us a ways, and said, “Hmm.”

A hand fell on me left shoulder. I sighed. After all, there's only so much a man can take. I then slammed the Guinness on the table and jerked upward. The hand shoved me back down again and squeezed my shoulder. Something burned me, so I glanced over. Silver bloody rings: fat silver rings on fat, hairy fingers. Bloody fucking hellfire. I turned the other way and saw the other fella. There were two of them: one thin in a suit, the other a gorilla, with me in his paws.

“Is this him?” a tall, thin, dark man asked from behind us, his voice soft and nasal.

Chase drank from his glass leisurely, observing the beer in the light of the skank-hole as if it were diamonds. “Yes,” he finally said, nodding.

“Come along, Robin A. Hood,” the larger man behind me growled.

I'd been set up, one monster fucking with another. I shot a quick look at Chase; his eyes glistened with amusement all the while.

The man jerked me up, my arm wrung behind my back and held tight in a silver-ringed hand. His other meaty paw circled my neck and helped guide me. Wouldn't you know it, we were headed for the lavatory. Beauty. My entire life seems to have been spent in the crapper. The gorilla steered me in and bellowed for two other fellas to get the fuck out. He shoved me hard, and when I turned back around, he hit and spun me again. After a few of those, I came around on the floor, damp with piss, needle teeth humming behind the canines, my own blood in my mouth and eyes.

They were all there, Chase and the thin man and the gorilla, the latter polishing up his knuckles for another round while the thin man kept repeating his words 'til I figured what he'd said, and even then I wasn't sure I was hearing them proper. “Where's the money, Robin? Boss wants the money back.”

“What money?” I croaked out.

Gorilla came forward and hit me in the side of my bloody head. Saw me some stars then, I did. Monster howled inside, wanting out of his cage. Something slid across Chase's face, guilt, a bit, and maybe a touch of remorse. Catholics like me, we know it when we see it. I knew then where the money was. Chase met my eyes and quickly looked away. His head still turned, he opened his coat a bit to show me his gun. Then he locked eyes with me, nodding just a little.

I said,
Go monster, be free!

And he was. And I was.

When the gorilla came forward this time, I jumped up into him, his throat quickly in my needle teeth. I jerked my head in kill bite. I held him tight and close as we hit the back wall. He tried to rip away, but I dug in deeper, tooth and nail. His fists thundered on my head and back all the while. The gorilla roared, angry at first, then panicked, frantic. I tore cartilage, muscle and sinew, and drank deep: his blood, his voice, his very breath. His fists hit me then, slower, weaker, and I growled a wolf's pleasure as his blood spurted into my throat. I'd not had a real drink like that in so long, I'd nearly forgot the intoxication, the power of it. Every life holds a song, and even the death song of gorillas is sweetest poetry. Wetly, we slid down the wall and I raised my head to find my FBI man.

They were both staring at me, thin man and Chase. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Chase coolly took a gun out of his jacket and put it to the thin man's head. Gun went
pop
. Thin man shot out sideways, dropping hard and sudden.

I rose up then. Chase slowly backed up toward the door. I circled and trapped him, slamming the door shut. I turned the deadbolt, then reached out and took the gun from his hand. Chase raised his hands in surrender, stumbling backward. I put the gun in the back of my jeans. I stepped forward, walking toward him, head cocked sideways to regard him. He pedaled back farther into the lavatory, his fine shoes slipping on the blood and the piss on the floor.

“I like you, Irish,” he said, cool as you please, as if he weren't walking backward in a toilet of piss and being stalked by a predator. “You keep your cool even when your balls are to the wall. It's a refreshing quality really.”

“Izzit now?”

“C'mon, tell you what, let's have a beer and a fuck on it, cement our new partnership, contemplate our next adventure.”

“I dunno. I'm thinking now's a good time for you to die.” Chase slipped, just barely catching himself. I leaned into him,