“God. Damn. Fuck. Yeah.” Crandall was rambling incoherence, but he didn’t care.
“That good, huh?” Mike put an arm around his shoulders.
Crandall rolled into Mike, snuggling closer and burying his face against Mike’s armpit. Mike squeezed Crandall closer and kissed his temple. “Mm, good. Great. Excellent. Fan-fucking-tastic.” Crandall flicked his tongue out, making Mike jump.
Once he settled again, Mike said, “That had to taste nasty.”
Crandall took a deep breath. He knew about pheromones in the animal world, and while humans didn’t necessarily work the same way, they must have some. Mike’s scent put dirty, wild thoughts in his head. He was tired, sore, and probably incapable of getting it up again for a few minutes, or maybe an hour, but Mike filled his senses and turned his thoughts to what he’d like to do to him next.
It was difficult to be around Mike sometimes. Especially after a show. When Crandall rode the high of performing, and they were both sweaty and exhausted from the show, Crandall never could focus on much more than Mike’s ass in his tight leather pants, or the way his long hair hung in sweaty, damp clumps around his head, or the way he grinned and laughed like there weren’t any numbnut vampires fucking with their lives…and Crandall wanted to jump him. After every gig, he wanted to slam Mike up against the wall and devour his mouth, lick the sweat off his chest, wrapped his fingers around his cock as he dropped to his knees and sucked that thick, weighty boner into his mouth.
“Crank?” Mike nudged him, breaking through his thoughts.
“What the fuck?” He shoved back, and rested his head on Mike’s shoulder.
“You’re going to bruise me with that thing,” Mike said. “What are you pounding that you’re hard again already.”
“I was thinking about sucking you off.” Crandall grinned to himself, knowing damn well that talking like that would get Mike’s blood flowing too. Tired or not, Mike couldn’t resist a good blowjob. And he was always good.
“Why think about it when you can do it?”
“And you say I’m demanding.”
Mike shrugged, and the motion made Crandall’s head fall into Mike’s armpit. Crandall licked him again and then pushed up on one elbow. “Mike, why do you hide it?”
“My cock? Because I don’t want to get arrested.”
Crandall narrowed his eyes, scowling at Mike’s chest. He could tell by how Mike looked everywhere but at him, he knew exactly what Crandall asked. After a moment of waiting, Mike sighed loudly.
“Don’t be passive aggressive. Just tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to answer.”
“That would be passive aggressive.”
“No,” Crandall said. “That would be aggressive.”
“Whatever, man, we’ve talked about this before.”
“I want to know why you hide. I’m not trying to talk you out of it.”
“Or maybe if you know why, you think you can change my mind.”
Crandall met Mike’s gaze, but Mike pressed a hand to Crandall’s chest and then watched as he caressed a path up and over his shoulder. Crandall studied Mike’s face. Mike could be so confident on stage, or in the dojo, or in bed, but whenever they talked about hiding their sexuality, he closed up, withdrawing almost as bad as Crandall’s own anxiety attacks, but without the dysfunctional lungs and blinding tunnel vision.
Crandall caught Mike’s hand and stopped it from roaming. He said, “I want to understand why it scares you so I stop wondering if I can convince you otherwise. You’ve always trusted me. I don’t understand why you won’t with this.”
Mike looked up from where Crandall’s hand covered Mike’s. “I trust you,” he said. His eyes filled with disappointment, maybe at himself by the tone of those three words.
“You think I’d use this to hurt you.”
He shook his head. “No.” He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing twice before he spoke again. “No, I don’t think you’d hurt me. Not intentionally, but Crank – Crandall – you can be, uh, abrasive… about stuff you don’t like.”
Crandall snorted and let his hand fall. Mike had a point. His nickname had been well earned, and he didn’t care to change that for anyone else, but when it came to Mike, Crandall needed his friendship, his trust, his faith… Crandall stood. Mike tried to catch him before he left the bed, but Crandall needed to move. He eluded Mike’s grasp and paced across the ancient carpet and over landmines of dirty clothing, shoes, and computer equipment.
“I’m sorry,” Mike said. “Come back to bed.”