Clay wanted to figure Brody out. And to do that, he needed to sleep with Brody. But Brody, after one awkward flirt from Clay, wanted none of it. He never spoke of it, either, never joked about how Clay had practically thrown himself at Brody after only one beer at the Rusty Nail. It was like it never happened.
In return for Clay leaving it where it lay, Brody would sometimes come to the bar to sit and be moody with Levi, though Brody never seemed to be waiting for someone who would never arrive. Rather, he seemed to be waiting, out of friendship for Clay, for when they could just go home, back to the ranch. He was a good wingman and, sometimes, he too went into the alley with a boy from the city. Levi never did.
“Here,” said Clay. “This is a good spot.”
“Scoped it out, did you?” asked Mr. Grey Suit, looking at their surroundings with dubious eyes.
“Second I laid eyes on you tonight,” said Clay, smiling because they both knew that was a lie. The confidence with which Clay had led them both there spoke volumes: this good spot was Clay’s spot.
Mr. Grey Suit was looking at Clay with eyes that told Clay he suspected that perhaps three of Clay’s friends were lying in wait to jump out and hornswoggle Mr. Grey Suit out of all his world possessions, along with whatever he had in his wallet. Maybe they’d take his city-fancy shoes with the tassels, too. It was up to Clay to reassure his new short-term friend what the alley was good for.
“I like to get my cock sucked good and hard,” said Clay in a low, conversational tone. “I like to suck cock, too, and if you want me to stick my fingers or dick up your ass, I’m good to go. What d’you say?”
He was hard inside his blue jeans, and getting harder as he watched Mr. Grey Suit swirl these ideas in his city-boy brain. Maybe where Mr. Grey Suit was from, people had hangups, or maybe he’d been caught in the act before in an alley just like this one, somewhere in Cheyenne. Regardless, Mr. Grey Suit licked his lower lip, his eyes gleaming as he reached for Clay, hand shaking a little bit as he curled his fingers around the back of Clay’s neck.
It might have been a testament to Clay’s allure, or it might have been his own healthy ego, but Mr. Grey Suit clasped Clay’s shoulders and sank down to his knees in the grimy alley like he’d just come to a shrine he regarded as holy. As Mr. Grey Suit unzipped Clay’s jeans and tugged on the gap in his tighty-whities, Clay planted his hands on the brick wall behind him and grinned and sighed and waited for that first whisper-soft rush of breath across the head of his cock.
That’s what Clay liked. That was the moment of reverence, of delight, when someone pulled his cock out to suck on it.
Clay might not have a foot long or one as big around as a baby’s arm, but he had a pretty one. The doctor who had circumcised him had worked with steady hands and an artist’s eye. The result had been a picture perfect penis, rosy and sweet, lined with strong veins, ending in a sturdy root.
And no, he’d not examined himself in the mirror, not at all, or at least not hardly. He’d just made sure, more than once, that what he had on offer was something another guy would want. Maybe even salivate over. He could never bring himself to fully groom the bushes, so to speak, as other guys did, though sometimes he used a small pair of scissors to keep his pubic hair under a dull roar.
Mr. Grey Suit’s sigh was audible, and the lave of his tongue along the underside of Clay’s cock was slow and warm and shivery good. The mouth that enveloped him was soft-slow but sure, sending ripples up the backs of Clay’s legs, a low, steady evolving of warmth and heat in his belly.
As Mr. Grey Suit sucked hard and then soft, using one hand to coax Clay along, Clay drifted into the moment, the growing focus on his body’s pleasure, the growing distance of the world around him.
There was no way Mr. Grey Suit wanted more than this, of course, but in that moment, it was enough. The suck-suck-suck of Mr. Grey Suit’s mouth was practiced and equally spaced, sprinkled in with darts of his tongue along the slit of Clay’s cock.
Mr. Grey Suit had learned this method from somewhere, Cheyenne, perhaps, or even as far away as Denver. It was a good method, effective, as Clay was hard and his balls were drawing tight beneath him as though preparing for a leap from a rather tall cliff.
When he came it was with a bang, an uncoiling of his muscles, a gut-deep curling and uncurling, and all the while Mr. Grey Suit sucked and licked until Clay’s cock was soft in his mouth. Then he released Clay’s cock with a pop and a smile as he stood up.
“Shall I fuck you or let you suck me?” asked Mr. Grey Suit.
This was not Mr. Grey Suit’s first time at the rodeo, even if it was his first time in Clay’s Good Spot. Shame. Clay liked to introduce guys from the city as to how cowboys in the country liked it. And while he’d done that, done it good and proper, in fact, there had been more than one city boy in Mr. Grey Suit’s past.
“Whatever,” said Clay. He was still shivering, still coming down, and while he would have liked to have been held and petted, it was Mr. Grey Suit’s turn.
Mr. Grey Suit reached into the pocket of his sharp grey trousers and brought out a crinkly packet to show Clay.
Clay squinted to look at it, then nodded. Pre-lubed was fine with him.
“Want any help with that?” he asked, like he was offering to open the door for Mr. Grey Suit.
“Just turn around,” said Mr. Grey Suit. “And pull ‘em down.”
It sounded very much like Mr. Grey Suit had his own Very Good Spot in another town where he was used to going to fuck whoever was willing. Well, Clay was willing, so he turned to face the alley wall, smiling as he tugged on his already-undone jeans and slithered them, along with his briefs, down to his knees. Planting his hands on the grimy, sharp-edge bricks, he leaned forward and stuck out his ass, then smiled some more at Mr. Grey Suit’s appreciative sigh of pleasure.
He listened to the crinkle-crinkle of the packet being opened, then the slick, plastic sounds of Mr. Grey Suit unrolling the condom up over his cock, which Clay could now imagine as he liked, since he’d not yet laid eyes upon it. It’d be thick and strong and long and as Mr. Grey Suit snubbed the head of his cock against Clay’s ass in a bit of a hello and warning all at once, Clay realized Mr. Grey Suit’s one-eyed-wonder was wide. And that was just fine with him. Nothing he liked better on a Saturday night than a pounding up the ass. His ass. Him getting reamed in his Very Good Spot.
Pressing against the brick wall, Clay braced himself as Mr. Grey Suit pushed in, withdrew, then pushed in again. The first breech was always a little tight, accompanied by a snap of pain, the fraught tense feeling that maybe he’d picked the wrong guy and he’d end up in the hospital with a ripped up ass. Bleeding out while he called Leland to explain exactly why he wouldn’t be at the Sunday morning meeting.
But that didn’t happen. Mr. Grey Suit was steady and careful as he went in, his cock filling Clay, solid and slow. Then as Mr. Grey Suit sped up and began pumping, Clay bit his lip and closed his eyes and sank into the moment. Being pushed into. Being full.
He shivered at the feel of Mr. Grey Suit’s pubic hair scratching the back of his ass cheeks, the slippery feel of Mr. Grey Suit’s silk-lined jacket whisking across his bare hips. At the sound of Mr. Grey Suit’s fancy belt clinking. The sigh of another man behind him, pleasuring himself, a damp hand on his hip, one on his shoulder pulling him close for each pumping thrust.
The pleasure-garden in Clay’s head was disrupted by the front door of the Rusty Nail banging open and the chatter of happy patrons spilling out onto the sidewalk. They wouldn’t be able to see the two men fucking in the alley unless they came all the way into the alley and stepped across the last barrier between light and shadow.
