Chapter Twenty-One

It had gotten even colder by the time they reached what Truman thought of as their trysting spot down by the river, in the shadows on the big bridge crossing over into West Virginia. The wind had picked up, and it had begun raining—hard. It pounded on the metal roof of the truck like hoofbeats—a whole team of tiny horses cantered up there. The rain smeared the glass all around them. And if the smearing wasn’t enough, their own breath further isolated them.

Mike had left the heater on for a good ten minutes after they’d parked but then told Tru he was low on gas so they’d have to conserve, turning the engine off and on as necessary. With a nervous grin, he told Truman he’d need to do his best to keep him warm, and that if he was successful, they wouldn’t need to start the truck up again until they were ready to leave. Mike leered when he said, “Which I hope is hours and hours from now.”

Truman hoped so too. For the last half hour or so, they had been locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies melded to one another’s as though they were one being. It made Truman think of a phrase he’d run across in some bodice-ripper novel Patsy had left lying around—making the beast with two backs. Their lips and tongues left each other’s only long enough to explore the nape of the other’s neck, an earlobe, even an eyebrow. All of Mike tasted good. And Truman hadn’t even gotten to the best parts of him yet.

It was surprising to Truman that they’d never managed to get out of each other’s arms. Seriously, it seemed like they were clinging to one another every single second. And the thing that had Truman in a state of wonder? How they’d managed to accomplish the feat of staying together while at the same time getting undressed.

They were both stark naked now.

And Truman was grateful they were cocooned inside the truck in their own little world of raindrops and fog. If someone was standing on the running board outside his window, Truman believed they still wouldn’t have a clue as to what was going on inside.

And what was going on inside was lovemaking, passion, down-and-dirty, the kind of raw sex that takes your breath and your ability for conscious thought away. Truman felt he’d become an animal, a desperate, wanting animal that knew no satisfaction but only lusted for more, more, more.

He moved his lips away from Mike’s and started downward, licking and tonguing his ears, his neck, his chest, pausing to shower his nipples with pointed attention. From his moans and cries, Truman knew Mike was loving what he was doing to him. Truman had never had the experience of sucking a man’s nipples before, and he discovered a new joy. The light growth of dark hair around Mike’s broad nipples tickled his face—and he realized how those two pieces of salmon-colored flesh were hot-wired to Mike’s dick, which he was thrusting upward into Truman’s belly.

Things could turn very serious, very soon.

Or very messy…

Which was why, Truman supposed, Mike pulled him back up, grasping him under the armpits as Truman began to head farther south.

“No. If you get down there,” Mike said, panting, “I won’t be able to last a minute. And I want all of this to last much longer.”

Truman was glad Mike had faith in Truman’s powers of longevity, faith he didn’t have in himself.

“I wanna suck you,” Mike said. And then he did.

Mike was so hungry, so perfect at what he was doing, Truman flailed his head back against the truck’s bench seat and buried a hand in Mike’s dark hair. He thrust into Mike’s mouth, faster, faster, thinking this was it.

But Mike obviously had other ideas. Because just as Truman was about to shoot and, he thought, experience his most volcanic and delicious orgasm ever, Mike pulled away, grasping the base of Truman’s throbbing dick and squeezing. Truman thought the effort was too little and too late to interrupt the geyser of seed about to erupt.

But somehow—a miracle—the pressure worked, and it stemmed the flow.

For the moment.

Mike looked up at him, chin wet and breathing hard. “I want you to fuck me.”

Now that’s not what I expected. Maybe it was what I wanted—deep down—but I never thought he’d want me to. I thought he was going to say he wanted to fuck me.

Good God, I’ve never fucked anybody before. What if I’m terrible at it? I’m supposed to be the bottom here. I’ve always been the bottom boy. Aren’t all sissies?

Maybe not…

His thoughts, more than a little frantic, came to a screeching halt when Mike pleaded, “Please! I need you inside me.”

What do you do when a lover makes such demands?

You comply if there’s any way you can.

And Truman, staring down at the long, pale rod of steel that was his dick, knew compliance would be no problem. Staying power might be another story, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Got condoms?”

Mike reached over to fling open the glove compartment. “There.” He pointed to a box of Trojans.

Truman was grateful to see they were lubricated, because he didn’t see any lube in the glove box or anywhere nearby. With a trembling hand, Truman reached out to grab the box. He held it for a moment, looking down to see it contained a dozen condoms, wondering if they’d use them all tonight.

Wondering if they had enough…

Mike slid off him, sitting restlessly in the passenger seat, watching.

Truman removed one of the condoms, his hands shaking so badly he couldn’t open the foil packet. He tried once, twice, three times…and even the third time wasn’t the charm. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Why do they make ’em so hard to open?”

Mike said, “Fuck it.” And Truman thought they were going to bareback, which, at this point in the fever of his passion, would have been just fine. The odds were good there was little risk for either of them. But Mike snatched the packet out of his hand, tore it open with his teeth, and then proceeded to roll it onto Truman’s dick. When it was in place, he smiled up at Truman, proud. Breathlessly he said, “Trade places.”

They exchanged places on the bench seat, Truman sliding over to the passenger seat. He sat back, legs splayed, dick sticking up as though to point the way to heaven. Mike grabbed Truman’s dick and climbed on board his lap. And slid down, an inch at a time, a little bit faster with each inch…

In just a few seconds, Truman felt the wonder—for the first time—of being deeply inside another man, that embracing, clutching warmth. “Oh God,” he moaned. “I want to stay this way forever.” What do you know? I might be a top after all. Because, damn, this feels amazing.

Mike gripped Tru’s shoulders and then started to move, sliding up and down. Truman grabbed his hips to stop him, holding him down, impaled. “Don’t fucking move.” It seemed like his whole body was twitching. The prospect for this being over in less than a second was very likely. He breathed rapidly through his mouth, willing himself not to come. Please no. Please no. Not yet.

And yet another miracle occurred. The spasms coursing through him slowed just enough to reassure Truman he wasn’t going to come. At least not for the next minute or so.

He thrust upward and into Mike slowly, smoothly. Back out, up again. He started to establish a rhythm. Mike was doing a sort of groaning, humming thing, so Truman knew he was pleasing him, delighting him, leading him to the edge of ecstasy. He smiled.

“I’m doin’ okay?” Truman managed to ask.

“Better. Much better than okay.” Mike’s eyes were beginning to roll back in his head. His mouth was open, and Truman could feel Mike’s ass tightening down on his dick.

Heaven is right here on earth.

Of course, as Truman had known they would be from the moment he’d slid inside Mike, things were over all too soon. With one mighty thrust upward, Truman cried out as the first gush of semen jetted out of him, filling the tight rubber to capacity. Mike groaned, guttural, and within a second, hot splashes of come landed on Truman’s cheek, chin, and chest.

They collapsed against each other, shuddering. Truman couldn’t help it—he started laughing almost hysterically, with relief, with joy. Mike followed in the laughter after a second.

When he could get his breath back, Mike asked, “What the hell are we laughing about?”

Truman squeezed him, still buried deep inside. He wondered if he’d stay hard enough for round two without having to pull out. This top thing, he thought, agreed with him. “We’re laughing because we’re happy. We’re laughing because we’re together—and that brings us joy. Right?”

Mike inclined his head so his forehead rested against Truman’s. “Right,” he agreed breathlessly.

“Where do we go from here?” Mike asked after a while, when their bodies began to relax, their muscles to at last loosen a bit, their blood to redistribute, maybe a bit, to the more regular places. He softly planted a small kiss on Truman’s neck, just below his earlobe.

“What do you mean?” Truman grinned. He was beginning to get hard again.

“Sexually. Geographically. Us,” Mike said.

“Sexually, I want to try fucking you on your back, with your legs on my shoulders.” He gazed into Mike’s eyes, serious as a heart attack.

“In this cramped little cab? I mean, I like the idea, but—”

“Hush. You can lay across the seat, and I’ll stand outside on the running board.”

Mike snickered. “You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

Truman nodded. “The little head down south helped me put all the puzzle pieces in place.”

“Won’t you get cold?”

“With your ass around my dick? I doubt it. No, I know I won’t. No matter if a fucking monsoon is pounding down on my back and Arctic winds are blowing.”

“Well then, maybe we should see how this little plan of yours works out.”

Truman nodded eagerly. “Maybe we should.”

Mike slid off him.

“But before we get started again, I think I need to answer your other questions—you know, about where we’re going. Geographically, I want to bring you home. I want to fall asleep in your arms. No worries—I think I can sneak you in, even if Patsy’s up late listening to her namesake, Patsy Cline, and doing a crossword puzzle. You can just slip in my window.” He winked. “I’ve done it before.”

Mike frowned. “Really?”

Truman gave him a tap on the arm. “Don’t get the wrong idea. With Stacy. Never with a guy.”

Mike’s long exhale indicated he was both appeased and relieved. Maybe relieved because he was appeased. Was he going to be the jealous type? Truman wondered.

Mike said, “Well shit, man, if we have a bed, wouldn’t you rather have me on my back there…where it’s warm and cozy?”

“Maybe later. Right now I want to play out this fantasy. Hot guy. Pickup truck. You know the drill.”

“Honestly, I don’t. Not really.” Mike reached over Truman to push open the truck’s passenger door. Cold night air rushed in, an assault, almost like a third presence in the cab, causing goose bumps to rise on both their skins.

Rain pattered against the truck’s interior. Mike shoved Truman, laughing, out of the truck.

Truman watched Mike, his heart rate accelerating, get into position on his back. He drew his legs up near his ears, and Truman regarded his ass with wonder, with lust, with a small sense of ownership. He marveled—even Mike’s ass was crowned with a mat of dark hair. Truman thought he could come just looking at it.

But he didn’t want to come from just looking at it.

He leaned to reach into the glove box, undeterred by the rain sliding down his back, the cold wind blowing. He pulled out another condom, and this one he opened like an accomplished pro. He slid it onto his upward-pointing dick and maneuvered himself into position between Mike’s spread thighs.

Before he plunged in, though, he said, “There’s one more area you asked where we’re headed to, and I wanted to answer that”—he grinned—“before we completely lose our minds. You asked about us—where we’re going.”

And with simply saying those words, Truman’s mind and heart shifted a little. Tears sprung to his eyes. A different kind of warmth seized his heart. A happy future began to take shape in his head, like a flower opening in time-lapse photography. As he looked down at this man-feast laid out before him, he realized Mike was someone he could love, really love—maybe for a very long time. Maybe forever. That his dreams and Mike’s could be compatible. That they could be there for one another, as support and refuge. From the way Mike gazed back at him, with adoration and expectation, he was certain Mike felt the same.

“Us. We’re a thing now. And I hope for a long time.”

“Me too,” Mike said. “You’re my heart.”

“And you’re mine. I love you, Mike.”

“And I love you, Truman Reid. You are a true man.” He smiled. “And you need to fuck me again before I completely go crazy.”

And Truman did.