Feeling braver, I blazed a trail of kisses from his tattoo leading up to his shoulder, then his velvety neck, finally up to his wet, warm mouth. My fingertips traced the ridges in his abdomen and chest. His skin was satiny smooth. My tongue danced around his nipples and my teeth nibbled their tips to draw them out like little soldiers. I wanted every part of him at attention. I kissed his chest, moving southbound, and followed the strip of hair that led to his cock. It bobbed like a buoy and beckoned to me.
“Kind of does look like a cactus,” I remarked, which made him chuckle.
I stroked his cock a few times, reverently, then took him in my mouth as deeply as I could. He was bigger than most. I sucked him off until he begged, “Get inside me.” He rolled over onto his knees and presented his ass to me.
I took my time teasing him open. I had an artist’s fingers in more ways than one. I wanted him to know how good it could be, how tender and loving a man could handle him. I wanted him to be consumed by the desire to have me inside him, the way I was consumed by my desire for him.
He shuddered in my hands, his back rippling like a foreshock. Unable to endure the buildup anymore, he started to buck. Kneeling behind him, I slipped the condom over my shaft, coated it with lube, and slid inside him. He pushed back into me, forcing me deeper, taking me in my entirety. Even though we were new to each other, it felt as though we’d danced before. My hand guided his lower back as I thrust into him. He fed my rhythm. He felt even better than I’d imagined, smooth as silk, warm and tight. His back and shoulders spread out before me like a work of art, so beautiful. I groaned in ecstasy, pumping faster, drilling into him.
He rose up on his arms, and I reached around to grab his rigid cock, rocketing into him from both sides. “Damn, Martin,” he groaned and I loved the rumble of my name on his lips. I pumped my fist along the length of him, maintaining my rhythm, our bodies bumping and grinding like we were on the dance floor. My pelvis knocked against his muscular ass with the satisfying smack of skin on skin.
“I’m going to come,” I panted. A surge of pleasure rolled through me and converged in my cock. I drove into him one last time, weak-kneed and trembling. When I came it felt as though a piece of my soul gave itself up as well. With my cock still twitching inside him, I finished him off with my fist.
He arched his back and ejaculated with a guttural groan. “Fuck,” he uttered, panting and slick with sweat.
I wanted to stay there forever, curl up inside him and have him curl up inside me, like those two lovers I’d painted with fish tails, twining with each other to form one continuous loop. I’d chase him for an eternity.
I withdrew slowly, careful to keep the condom from slipping.
I rubbed his back and kissed the space between his shoulder blades. “Cool?” I asked him.
“Cool.”
After we cleaned up, I lay with my ear pressed to his chest, listening to the gallop of his heart. He held my hand to his lips and tasted each finger in turn like he was eating chicken wings.
“What are you thinking?” I couldn’t stop staring at him. I was afraid that if I looked away for even a second, he might disappear.
He sighed with contentment. A slow smile spread across his face, stretching from ear to ear. “I’m thinking how much I fucking love Miami.”
I grinned. “Miami loves you too, Andre.”
Miami wasn’t the only one.
11. Happy Gay Couple
HE LOOKEDyounger when he slept.
I awoke the next morning in a dreamy haze, my body still warm and content from our night together. I admired his sleeping form, his face and body relaxed, the tension in his muscles gone. I remembered his full lips pressed against mine, my fingers tracing the ridges of his chest and abdomen, the smoothness of his skin, kissing the inside of his arm, his arrow tattoo, and his back, a masterpiece. I remembered what it felt like to fill him up and make him writhe in ecstasy.
I wanted him, again and again.
I had a vision then, of a woman who looked like Andre but with longer hair, lying in my bed just like this. It lasted for only a second, but it was so vivid, it made my heart race.
Simone.
The name came to me like the whisper of a ghost. I glanced around the room to make sure we were alone. Andre slept on, unaware. I suddenly had the urge to draw him, in slumber, to work through this strange vision of mine.
I wasn’t in the habit of questioning the source of my inspiration. I just went with it.
“Andre, can I sketch you?” I whispered into his ear. With my chin, I nudged his shoulder, smelled his skin, then because I couldn’t resist, kissed him there.
He reached out and pulled me to his chest. In his raspy morning voice he said, “Only if you stay here till I wake up.” Then he released me, threw one arm over his head, and his face went slack again.
I retrieved my sketchbook and charcoals, spent a few minutes sketching him, but something about it was wrong.
Gently, so as not to disturb him, I rearranged his arms, turned his chin to get a different angle, then began again, sketching fast and loose to capture the pose before it was gone. Moments later he stirred.
“Come here,” he murmured, holding out his arms. I set aside my pad and returned to bed. Andre pulled his phone off the bedside table. “Smile for Demarcus.” I pulled the sheet over our explicit parts, and Andre snapped a picture. He sent it to his brother with the message,Told you I’d hit that.
