I wrote Enter Sandman for a specific imprint for a publisher, a line of stories titled after popular songs. Enter Sandman, of course, is a Metallica hit, and the title inspired this story about a man in need of extra help to cure his insomnia. I have expanded the story from its original version, adding about three thousand words and extending the story for two of the characters.
~
Multi-colored strobes cut the air and flashed in rapid, nonsensical patterns. The shrill beat of a Gwen Stefani tune, jacked up twenty more miles an hour than the law should allow, vibrated the floor and every panel of wood keeping the club intact. Men danced and flirted and reveled in the night’s celebration—as though anybody needed an official reason to indulge in good feelings and great friends. At Third Dimension, a gay man could shed his inhibitions and the conventions of the outside world and be himself.
Any other night, Len Crocker would be out on the lighted floor, grinding and gyrating amid crowded bodies, energized by the collective musk of hard men, horny men, queens and twinks and bears—oh my! Now, perched on a stool at the bar, hunched over a steaming mug of coffee, he just wanted everything to mute and morph into a Quaalude dream, slow enough to let him slip away without Spike and Gerry noticing. He wanted the bartender, hovering close with the coffee pot as though waiting to refill, to go away. He wanted Gwen to shut the fuck up. He wanted to go home and sleep, but knew that wasn’t an option. Hadn’t been for six weeks now.
As Gwen’s techno-driven, helium-voiced scat segued into more of the same from the month’s latest pop tart, Len felt a nudge at his wrist. The bartender had set a bottle of Jack in front of him.
“Maybe a little liquid inspiration in your coffee to get the heart pumping?” He punctuated another silent offer with a wink.
Len snorted. He didn’t even need the coffee, and God only knew why he’d asked for it. Alcohol proved useless in helping him wind down, otherwise he’d have chugged at least a fifth of Scotch on arriving.
He refrained from a response and the bartender shrugged. “Whatever, guy,” he said. “It’s a gay bar. Just lighten up, eh?” And he granted Len’s wish by shuffling to the far end to chat up a more amicable pair in matching Polo shirts.
Figuring his exposure at the bar might attract more unwanted attention, Len grasped the mug and loped off toward privacy. He found an empty, shadowed circular booth situated on the opposite end of the dance floor—couples used it normally for a clandestine blow job or jerk off—and slid against the cool vinyl to the middle. This granted him a nice panoramic view of Third Dimension, and easy spying access on Spike and Gerry, who twisted and tangled with another couple under the rainbow track lighting. They appeared totally in their element, and since Spike drove them all here—and had literally carried Len and shoved him into the backseat—Len knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
The coffee burned him, and Len pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, wincing at the odd sensation of heat mixed with dark roast. The bitter stench curled in beckoning fingers of steam above the rim of the mug, as though taunting this extended bout with insomnia. He pushed the mug aside and rested his head in folded arms—a futile effort, but the scenery proved too repetitive and uninteresting for him to watch anymore.
He didn’t know how much time had passed—the segueing in the music stream offered little help, everything sounded the same—before he sensed another presence close to him. A shadow fell across his narrowed line of vision, which previously granted him a sideways view of the path toward the bathroom and back area by the pool tables. He inhaled tangy cologne that burned his lungs and warmed his blood.
“I won’t keep you long,” the voice began, deep and smooth. “I couldn’t help but notice you slumped over like you’d lost your best friends.”
“I didn’t, I know exactly where they are.” Len jerked his head back slightly to indicate the dance floor. “And in all honesty, I’m not looking for a sympathetic ear...or penis,” he added as he turned his gaze, then immediately wished he could take back those words.
Shit. Of all nights for the object of his wet dreams to finally acknowledge his existence, here he’d nearly blown him off—not in the good way, either. Len straightened and offered Andrew Gibbons a weak smile that the other man might hopefully interpret as an apology and invitation to remain.
“Sorry, Gibb,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. Everybody called the gorgeous, tanned brunet by this shortened version of his surname. Len hoped this manner of address wouldn’t provoke an annoyed response, seeing as how he and Gibb had never before spoken privately. Len thought until now he had to stay content with admiring the lean gym god from afar, or listening in on a group conversation dominated by others.
“Been a rough week,” Len added.
“Looks like you’ve had a full calendar of rough weeks,” Gibb observed, tilting his head for an intense gaze at what Len certainly perceived were eyes darkened by bags underneath the lower lids. “Wanna talk about it?”
Len’s tongue thickened in his mouth. Words, he suspected, might come tumbling out in a garbled mess. After a swig of still molten coffee for courage, he smiled. “End of quarter reporting is always a son of a bitch,” he said. “I have to meet with the board of directors at my company next week and convince them to keep our budget the same, or at least not cut it to the point where they have to start laying off people.”
“Ouch.” Gibb winced. “I don’t envy you that. Do you really think you have to tell them to fire anybody?”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Len shook his head. “It’s just the anxiety getting to me. I haven’t slept well in so long. I got bills due, loud neighbors, ugh!” He’d hole up in a hotel room if he could afford it, but Gibb didn’t need to hear about his money woes. Spike and Gerry spotted his cover charge tonight, and that had embarrassed him plenty for the month.
Gibb clicked his tongue against his teeth, and reached into a back pocket. “That doesn’t sound good. If you could at least sleep, you’ve won half the battle. You’d think straight.”
Len really wanted to laugh. “I haven’t had a straight thought since I was sixteen.”
“Good one. Here.” Gibb pulled a card from his wallet and slid it on the table toward Len. “I had a problem with insomnia last year, contacted this guy, and he took care of it. You won’t find anyone better to help you.”
Len looked at the card but didn’t pick it up. He saw no designs or fancy fonts, just a white rectangle with bold, raised lettering:
THE SANDMAN – A PEACEFUL REST GUARANTEED
He frowned, then slid his thumbnail down to lift one corner of the card. “There’s no phone number, or e-mail address,” he said. “Not even a Twitter handle for a direct ping. How am I supposed to get in touch with this Sandman?” Len reached into his pocket for his phone, but after a few quick searches through his Web browser window he could find nothing remotely related to Gibb’s testimonial.
Gibb pressed his finger against the card and slid it back. “Now, now, I didn’t exactly say you had to make the call. Trust me, I know where to find him.” Gibb chuckled. “In fact, I could try him tonight, if you’re interested in getting some sleep this weekend.”
Len sighed. How deliciously forbidden that sounded. With two days of downtime ahead of him, he desperately needed to catch up on forty winks, times infinity. Suddenly, a sobering thought shuddered through him.
“You know,” he put away the phone, “the way that card looks, he’s probably very exclusive. I doubt somebody like that would be available on a whim—”
He looked up just as Gibb put his own phone to his ear, and pressed a hand against his other ear to listen without too much distraction. Ignoring Len, Gibb conversed with the party on the other end. “Hey, I have a last-minute appointment if you can do it,” he half-shouted. Len watched as Gibb’s face lifted in a smile, and Gibb winked.
“Great! I’ll text you the address in a few minutes.” Gibb rang off and beckoned to Len. “He’s in between clients, but said since he’s on this side of town he’s happy to squeeze you in if we get you home now.”
“This late?”
“People sleep at night, don’t they? What do you say? Are we going home?”
Home? The idea of having a strange man poking around his apartment so close to midnight unnerved him. Gibb, on the other hand...
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ugh! Under any other circumstances, he’d welcome the opportunity to entertain Gibb at his home...on the couch, in bed, wherever the man felt most comfortable or willing. As Gibb tried to lead him out of the booth another thought struck him.
“Wait, how much is this, uh, service?” he asked. A cryptic business card hinted at a possible bill equal to his rent payment. “If he’s expensive, I can’t do this. And what does he do, anyway?”
Gibb waved him closer, stepping toward the exit. “Relax. It’s on me. Crane’s kind of a pay it forward guy, and so am I.”
“Crane?” The name evoked an image of a burly, homophobic construction worker, come to cure Len’s insomnia by bashing him upside the head with a crowbar. Maybe he and Gibb worked together, and would rob him blind after rendering him unconscious. “First or last name?”
Gibb kept pushing him to the door. “The fewer questions you ask, the sooner we can get you to sleep. Don’t worry about your friends, I’m driving you. You got everything you came with?”
All this and insomnia, too. Once out into the lot, Len looked sheepishly around. He didn’t know Gibb’s car. “Uh, you have to take the toll bridge to get there,” he said. “You got change?”
“How much?”
“Fifty cents.”
Gibb scratched his chin, as though considering the expense, then winked and led Len to a black Lexus. “You’re worth it.”
“Gee, thanks.” He’d roll his eyes if he didn’t think Gibb looked so damned adorable when he said that.
***
Len blocked his front door from Gibb’s view, and fumbled with the lock. “A word of warning, I take my work home every night,” he said, “and my organization system is somewhat...scattered.” Like my brain right now.
Gibb, rocking back on his heels, hands in his jacket pockets and a small backpack hanging off one shoulder, nodded in understanding. “A new approach to carpeting and upholstery, then?”
“You could say that.” With the bolt unlatched, Len flicked a switch and illuminated his cramped quarters. The living room, blending into a galley kitchen and small dining cove, looked as though a paper factory had exploded in it. Reports and statistics and invoices covered the coffee table, sofa, and large patches of floor. A visitor might see chaos here, but Len had everything in its place for the data he needed to collect. One false step, one surge from the air conditioning vents, could ruin everything.
Gibb, taking a cue from Len’s obvious discomfort, side-stepped the area and walked deeper into the apartment. He gestured to a doorway. “No worries,” he said. “We’re here to help you sleep, so we need to be in your bedroom, which I assume is this way?”
Holy shit. Gorgeous Andrew Gibbons with the crystal blue eyes and wavy brown hair...in his bedroom! “Uh, yeah.”
Gibb smiled, then turned and entered. Len locked up behind him, then remembered something. “Hey,” he called. “This guy knows where to find the place?”
“I texted the address from my GPS, while you were staring out the window watching traffic.”
“I didn’t know you did tha—” Len stopped at the threshold of his room. Easily the cleanest part of his small apartment—since he spent so little time there—it suddenly appeared to him as a more peaceful environment than before. It amazed Len how quickly Gibb had candles lit on the dresser and night table by the bed. Granted, they were short tea lights, and the faint aroma of lavender teased his senses...
Wait a minute. “I don’t have candles like that,” he said. “I’d swear on it. Don’t tell me you carry those things around with you?”
“Well, usually I have vanilla, but there was a sale.” Gibb looked up from lighting the last one and extinguished his cigarette lighter. Offering Len a charming grin, he added, “I kid. I had gone by Target earlier today to pick up some stuff for my mom. Figured this might help with relaxing the mood a bit, so I’ll just get her more candles tomorrow.”
“Oh. Well, thanks.” Len didn’t know what to do, if he should lie on the bed or sit and wait. “How long did this...sand guy say he’d be?”
His answer came in the distant chime of his front doorbell. Gibb snapped his fingers.
“I think you have your answer,” Gibb said.
“Hello?” called a deep, very male voice, and Len’s heart stopped. “Anybody here?”
“Come on back, Crane,” Gibb called from behind Len, startling him further. Len watched a shadow fall across the bedroom doorway and in stepped the personification of any gay boy’s dream. Tall and broad-shouldered, Crane wore a curly mess of short blond hair over two arched, inquisitive brows. A strong jaw twitched, as though the man deeply assessed his new surroundings and planned his next move. He wore white, loose-fitting pants and a skin-tight, light blue tank that nicely set off defined muscles and lean arms, one of which flexed as he lifted a black leather bag.
“Can I put this here?” Crane pointed one end of the doctor-style satchel to a small table that held spare change and a boring science fiction novel Len had tried as a sleep aid.
Len shrugged, then nodded, all the while swearing to himself that he had locked the door earlier. He stood to lean forward a bit, which would have given him a straight line of vision toward the front of the house, but Crane blocked his view.
“I’m Crane. Nice to meet you,” he said, extending a large hand that engulfed Len’s in a warm, constricting handshake. “Gibb tells me you’re having trouble sleeping.”
“Th-that’s right, yes.” If the man wasn’t a doctor, he seemed to do a good job with the masquerade. Len wondered if he should at least ask the man for some credentials, then worried Gibb might take the question as uncertainty toward his referral of the guy.
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” Down went the bag, and a loud zip filled the silence between chatter. “Do you have any specific allergies, Len?” Crane asked as he extracted a number of brown apothecary bottles from the open flaps.
“Not that I’m aware of.” Len turned to Gibb, as though seeking confirmation, and he noticed his friend appeared a bit anxious. He watched Gibb watch Crane, curious to know to what extent their relationship ran. Crane had helped cure Gibb’s insomnia—that much he knew—but the way Gibb licked his lips and shifted his stance told Len quite a bit more must have happened.
Or, perhaps Gibb wanted more from Crane. Len’s heart sank at the thought. Story of my life.
“Good enough,” Crane murmured. “How about nightmares, night sweats?”
Len shook his head. “You gotta be asleep for that kind of thing.”
“True. Well, I think, since we’re probably looking for a good weekend of rest, we’ll try my extra strength formula.” Crane showed Len a bottle bearing a handmade label. “Rosewood with oil of valerian to knock you out, and...do you have any snoring issues?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Yeah, as if. Surely one of my myriad of bed partners would have complained by now.
Could he be any more pathetic?
Crane palmed a smaller vial topped with a dropper cap. “Okay. If you find that you do, and your snoring wakes you, I’ll leave this thyme oil. Rub a bit on your feet, and that should take care of it.”
“Sure.” What the hell? “Uh, so I guess you’re basically a masseuse?”
Crane flashed him a dark glare, and Len wanted to take back the question. A more foolish man might have asked a Bostonian if he favored the Yankees this season. To Len’s relief, however, Crane offered up a response in a pleasant voice.
“I prefer to call my line of work sleep aromatherapy,” he explained. “I am a licensed massage therapist, yes, and I’m trained in sports medicine and cranial sacral osteopathy. However, I find what I do here more rewarding. I’ve been in your shoes, too, and I can truly sympathize.”
Len nodded and relaxed a bit, yet suspicion continued to nag at him. Long soliloquies in the movies usually resulted in somebody receiving a frying pan to the head. He’d lost track of Gibb while watching Crane make himself at home. The man only needed a few seconds to dip into Len’s adjoining bathroom for a razor and a spare shoestring to use as a garrote.
He turned around and noticed Gibb emerged from there instead holding two folded bath towels. “These should be big enough, I think,” he said, setting them on the foot of the bed.
“For what?” Len asked.
“For you, Len,” Crane said, and pulled out a small digital music player with a detachable speaker. “I need one towel for the bed so we don’t stain your sheets with the oil.”
Len nodded. That sounded reasonable. “And the other?”
Crane’s smile touched his ears. “Please undress, and you’ll find out.”
***
Len thought back to a variety show his parents once enjoyed decades ago. A comedian had joked about how he could disrobe in front of his doctor without embarrassment, and do the same in front of his wife. Put the two in the same room with him while he was naked, however...
Now, twenty-five years later, Len could relate. As he lay face down on his mattress, buff to the world save for a folded over towel covering his ass, he felt the heat of his humiliation overpower the air conditioner. That Crane and Gibb had waited outside while he prepared himself should have put him at ease, but with every item of clothing discarded he wondered if the two discussed other topics than the edgy, skeptical nude man stretched out in a bed seeing more action now than it had since...well, ever.
Sigh. His cock throbbed under his own weight. Even if this so-called therapist did some magic, would his efforts come undone by a growing hard-on?
“I’m ready,” he called to the closed door behind him, and seconds later came the creaking of their entrance. Len took a deep breath and reminded himself why he chose to do this. He needed sleep and, having tried everything else, resorted to placing his faith into the hands of somebody with cryptic business cards calling himself the “Sandman,” who worked odd hours.
Oh, well. This certainly beat the alternative: another lonely night in the dark, wide awake.
Gibb and Crane stood at either side of him, quiet yet in motion. Gibb adjusted the compact music player to Crane’s specifications while the mass—rather, the sleep aromatherapist—opened a vial and released the pungent aroma of rosewood into the air. As Len rested on his right cheek, he couldn’t see Crane, but heard the slight slapping together of the other man’s hands as he presumably applied the oil for rubbing.
“Len, you just relax. You’ll feel a warming sensation from the oil. It’s brief, but it’ll feel nice. You’ll see.” Crane hovered over Len’s shoulders, and seconds later multiple fingers touched down on Len’s flesh.
“You’re not kidding,” Len murmured into the mattress. Crane’s hands seemed to leave little spots on heat on Len’s back, but as the man spread the oil more evenly Len sensed an overall shocking sensation that quickly gave way to relaxation. Like hot water sizzling on a block of ice, he decided. Combined with the aggressive way Crane rubbed the tension from his knotted muscles, the experience so far seemed very nice.
“How’s that, Len?” Crane asked, and Len answered with a multi-syllabic, guttural moan. The Sandman chuckled, then eased up with smoother strokes up and down the back.
“I’ll take that as a sign I’m going in the right direction,” he said. “Just let me know if you feel any pain or discomfort. Gibb, if you could reach into my bag you’ll find an empty test tube with a rubber stopper.”
“Sure.”
Gibb left Len’s line of vision, and Len watched his shadow on the wall fade and blur into the paint. He listened for the other man’s movement, hearing a brief rustle of papers and glass before Gibb returned to his post.
Hmm. In this position, Len had a full-on view of Gibb’s crotch. Had that bulge been so prominent seconds earlier?
Len didn’t have time to ponder the question, when a heavy, ungainly weight settled on his lower back. He realized then that Crane now straddled the bed...and him.
“Huh?” He tried to lift himself to see better, but his body had suddenly turned leaden. His skin tingled and numbed, and Len wondered what else comprised that magic massage oil. A sedative, perhaps? By that logic, though, wouldn’t Crane be affected as well?
He managed to catch a glimpse of Crane, still dressed, seated gingerly on his haunches with his knees pressed to Len’s sides. The man held a clear test tube—wide enough to allow a man to stick in a finger without getting stuck—in one hand and the stubby black plug in the other.
“Don’t be alarmed, Len,” Crane assured him. “We’re almost done here, I just need to do one more thing to ensure your good night’s sleep.”
Len relaxed his head again, but didn’t surrender his suspicions. “Are you going to take blood?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m going to draw your anxieties out so they don’t bother you anymore.”
Ooh-kay. Len sighed and looked up at Gibb, who smiled and nodded like a proper sycophant. Whatever. So long as he didn’t pay for this, and would find his bank and credit accounts intact tomorrow.
“Relax.”
Len sensed Crane lower himself toward Len’s head, and soon the open end of the test tube touched down on the nape of his neck. The glass rim felt cool and smooth sliding over his vertebrae and all the way down to the towel’s edge, where it breached to settle at the crack of Len’s buttocks. Crane pressed it down and twisted before lifting the tube altogether, and in that moment it felt as the Sandman had peeled away a layer of exhaustion from Len’s body, leaving him contented and sedate.
“Gotcha!” Crane snickered and moved away from the bed. As Len’s eyelids drooped, he caught sight of the blurred blond kneeling before him, waving a stick in his face.
No, not a stick. Len forced his eyes open and his vision to clear. Crane held the tube, now filled with a curious, gray-black smoke.
“Check out that little bugger,” Crane cajoled, and tapped on the glass with a fingernail as though to aggravate the curling cloud trapped inside. “No wonder you haven’t been sleeping. The darker they are, the worse it is for you.”
“They?” Len’s voice sounded sluggish to his own ears. Sleep had a hold on him now, and though he didn’t wish to resist Crane’s words intrigued him.
“Anxieties. Spooks, the demons in your closet. No worries now, though. You sleep tight.”
A spot of drool pooled on the mattress by Len’s parted lips. All he could do was nod as he did just that.
***
Oh, the dreams!
If only he’d known about Mr. Sandman sooner, he could have spent the last few weeks enjoying the most vivid, erotic imagery ever conjured by his unconscious. Whatever voodoo Crane had performed not only eased Len into a state that permitted sleep to reclaim him, but it had also improved his dream state. Deep in REM euphoria, Len experienced all five senses and then some...including an orgasm explosive enough to wake the rest of the neighborhood.
This scenario, while not the most creative, proved quite exciting nonetheless. Len kneeled in bed and grasped the headboard, his ass raised and knees apart to better accommodate Gibb’s attentions. The other man pressed close to Len’s backside, working his thick, hard cock between Len’s buttocks before positioning the tip at his hole.
“You ready for this, babe?” Gibb fingered the puckered eye with lubricated fingers, preparing Len for what promised to be a fucking more intense than any he’d experienced in the waking life.
Len let out a ragged sigh and craned his neck to look at his lover. Normally when he had such dreams, the guy turned out to resemble a fuzzy Hugh Jackman or Jude Law, but Gibb’s smile appeared clear as day. Len felt Gibb’s hands caressing his hips and Gibb’s cock gently pushing into him, and heard Gibb’s pleasured moaning break the silence.
“Fuck.” Gibb gasped as his slow thrusting built into a frenzied rhythm that nearly sent Len’s head through the bedroom wall. “You’re tight.”
You’re huge. Gibb stretched him, and rubbed all the right spots. Underneath them the bed swayed and rocked with their vigorous lovemaking. Len met each forward press with a hard push, extending his arms as he braced his body. The friction that resulted radiated a delicious heat in which he wanted to bask forever.
Thank you, Mr. Sandman. Why wake?
***
“Mmmm. No, go away.”
The sun didn’t listen. Rays of light cut through the half-closed blinds of his bedroom window, enough to irritate Len to the point of waking. With an annoyed grunt he rolled over to prolong his relaxation, but curiosity eventually got the better of him and one eye opened to check the bedside clock.
Eleven-thirty on a Saturday...nice! Len couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in on a weekend—probably college. Snuggling deeper under the comforter—Crane or Gibb must have covered him before they saw themselves out—Len sighed and stretched his legs, relishing the coolness of the sheets.
Then his foot hit something warm and hard, and moving.
“You awake?”
Len’s heart expanded and nearly burst with adrenaline. He bolted upright to discover Gibb, fully clothed and reclining on his side, next to him. A cursory glance around the room revealed little else had changed about his surroundings from the previous evening.
“Crane?” Len began, certain his eyes had widened to saucers, given the change in Gibb’s expression.
“He took off right after you conked out, had another appointment. I slept on your couch. I figured I should hang around since this was Crane’s first visit here.”
“Really? Are there side effects?” Damn, were there risks involved in this...procedure? Why else would Gibb see the need to watch over him?
“No, nothing like that. Crane’s methods are unconventional, and I guess I’m over cautious. Are you okay, Len?” Gibb asked. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I heard you stirring so I came in to check on you.”
Len kept the comforter close to his chest—a futile move, he now realized, considering how Gibb had ample opportunity to look. Why the modesty, anyway? How often had he fantasized about this very thing? Len shook his head and sank back into bed, blaming his sleep-addled nerves for his behavior.
“I didn’t expect you’d still be here,” Len said. “Thanks, though. I appreciate your help.”
“No worries,” Gibb said. “I suspected you hadn’t been exposed to the essential oils Crane used on you, and I figured somebody should stick around in case you had some kind of allergic reaction. But, as we can see, you appear to be fine.”
The emphasis on that last word sent a chill through Len, which ended at his stiffening cock. “Trust me, as careful as I am about meds, I’d have told Crane about allergies,” he said. “I can’t help but notice your clothes aren’t very wrinkled for somebody who’s slept on my couch.” Ugh! Who questions a man in his bed? Clearly he’d been given a gift...what the hell was wrong with him?
Gibb, to Len’s immediate relief, appeared to take Len’s apprehension in stride. He smiled. “I stripped down to my undershorts and used the blanket draped over your couch. I’m particular about things, too, and folded my clothes. I didn’t bring any pajamas,” he added, “and I thought it presumptuous to delve through your drawers.”
“I see. Uh, speaking of ‘drawers,’” Len cleared his throat, “I had one hell of a dream last night.”
“Not surprising. Usually after a session with Crane, you tend to experience more vivid dreams. Was it a good one?”
I’ll say. “Good to know. Seeing you here in bed, and thinking about my dream, I have to ask: did anything...else happen that I’m not aware of?”
Gibb had propped his head on a bent arm. Now he relaxed his pose and moved to sit up in bed. “No,” he finally replied. “It’s true we aren’t intimately acquainted, but I hope you know me well enough to believe I wouldn’t do anything while you were in a vulnerable state.”
“I hope not. If you did do anything, I’d definitely want to be awake for it, and more involved.” See, this is how you act when a gorgeous man gets into bed with you.
“I don’t like to disappoint people.” Gibb shrugged with a smile. “I’m also not a creeper, hope you know that.
Len nodded. He’d be disappointed if Gibb left his apartment today without playing a bit. The good night’s sleep gave him a good dose of energy he wanted to burn.
“How do you feel?” Gibb asked. “Rested? Relaxed?”
“Better than I’ve been in weeks.” Len sighed, rolling his head from side to side on his pillow. “Will I be able to sleep as well tonight, though? I’d hate for this to be a one-time thing.” He didn’t think, either, that he could keep calling Crane to help him. Gibb never did reveal how much the guy charged, but judging from how expensive his bag looked, he couldn’t be cheap.
“You’ll be fine, really. I saw that bugger Crane pulled out of you. I don’t think it’ll be back.”
“Uh, sure.” Seconds passed before Len remembered the cloudy substance in the test tube. Len imagined Crane had pulled some magic track to toy with him on a psychological level. Show him a physical interpretation of his anxieties and relax his mind. Well, it worked last night, maybe Len could keep that mojo working on his own.
“Thank you for making the call,” he said. “I owe you big time for this.” That they both remained in bed gave Len some hope Gibb might take a hint. “Whatever you want, name it.”
Gibb chuckled, and reached over to stroke Len’s bare arm. “I’d like to try and make you feel even better now.”
***
Never before had Len experienced a sensation that matched the soft, smooth texture of Andrew Gibbon’s kiss. When those lips neared to touch down on his, Len leaned forward and closed his eyes. Clearly the hard work had been done—the man was in his bed—and he didn’t want to come off as too eager and rattle his companion.
Gibb pursed, then parted his lips. The tip of his tongue brushed the corner of Len’s mouth as though seeking entrance, and Len readily granted it. What began as mild affection escalated into aggressive necking, with limbs entwining and hands grasping heated skin.
Len imagined if he could view the scene outside his body, he’d see two people going at it like horny teenagers, one naked. Not that he’d ever indulged in such ecstasy himself back in high school...but with Gibb now groping his buttocks he figured it best not to dwell on his lonely past.
They broke free and Gibb gasped for air. “Oh. That’s nice.”
“You’re wearing way too many clothes, Gibb.”
“Yeah.” The man rolled off the bed, bouncing into an upright position. Wrinkles no longer a concern, he pulled and yanked at everything until his clothes puddled in a heap by the nightstand. Gibb stretched his arms and arched his back, while Len admired the lean lines of his thighs and the cut of his biceps before his would-be lover rejoined him.
A deep inhale brought Gibb’s bare chest just touching Len’s hardened nipples, and Len shivered. When Gibb pulled him even closer so that his hard-on rubbed over Len’s pelvis he thought his heart might pound right through bone.
“You don’t know how difficult it was, lying next to you even in clothes and doing nothing.” Gibb nuzzled his neck. “All last night, I thought about how I could slip in here...”
“Yeah?” Len sensed hardness now, and welcomed it.
Gibb nodded and looked past Len’s shoulder, pulling him to a side-recline. “You got a sweet-looking ass, you know that?”
Len wanted to laugh. Nobody had ever said that to him before, not even as a good-natured jest.
Gibb lifted his head to glance over Len’s side, and smoothed his hand over the curve down to where it met the back of Len’s thigh. Fingers grazed the lower crack, causing Len’s sac to tighten and ache for more than idle teasing. Rather than anticipate Gibb’s next move, he pulled away from their embrace and turned in place.
“Actually, no,” he said finally. “I don’t get to look at my ass much, but maybe you’d like a better look now and show me what you had planned.”
“With pleasure. Mine and yours, I hope.” Without another word, Gibb sank deeper under the sheet while guiding Len to lie on his stomach. Len folded his arms over his pillow and rested his chin in the crook of one elbow. He had a good idea of what to expect, yet braced himself all the same.
When fingers pried apart his buttocks and Gibb’s tongue swiped over his puckered hole, Len thought his cock might bore through the mattress.
Yikes! Nerve endings in places Len figured would remain unexplored ignited and spread warm euphoria up Len’s spine and skull, rippling down to tingle at his fingertips. He feared closing his eyes now, in the event sleep inconveniently took him away from this incredible moment.
Gibb licked and moaned, then pulled back to tease Len’s anus with his finger before breaching. “You’re tight,” he said against Len’s skin.
Déjà vu. Would Len get a chance to say his line and mean it? He twitched and squirmed as Gibb continued to work his ass. Finally, with the threat of orgasm growing, he bowed his back and drew himself up on his knees.
“Gibb.” It came out in a whimper. “I can’t wait anymore. Please.”
“You got it, babe.”
Len braced his upper body on the heels of his hands, and let his head hang. The bed dipped and rose behind him as Gibb quickly straddled the mattress and the floor, presumably to reach for something. He heard a belt buckle jangle, then the soft rip of a condom wrapper. Seconds later, a covered cock tapped against his backside.
“Do you have any lube?”
Len answered with a quick point to the bedside table, where Gibb would find a sealed bottle. He’d bought it on sale, wishful thinking. He chuckled at the memory as he righted himself on the bed.
Gibb took a few drops and massaged Len’s hole again, testing it with his fingers. Len cleared his head and let his body give in to his lover’s touch. “If it gets too much for you, you let me know,” he told Len. “I wouldn’t want—”
“You won’t,” Len broke in quickly. Like hell would he let Gibb inadvertently talk himself out of sex, especially since Len had gone without for so long.
“I gotta tell you,” Gibb added as he touch his cock to Len’s ass, “it’s been a while for me. I, uh...well, I know where everything is supposed to go, at least.”
Len laughed at that, shaking the bed. “For real? With all those guys coming on to you at 3-D...not one of them?” He turned back to see Gibb arch a brow at him.
“So you noticed?”
“Who wouldn’t? You’re the only guy worth looking at there.” Len’s voice softened with each word, happy to hear himself finally admit it out loud.
Gibb’s cock breached the outer ring of muscle, and slowly he thrust deep. “I wonder what you were really looking at,” he said, “if you never noticed me watching you all that time, too.”
Len smiled, certain he blushed at the remark. He opened his mouth to retort when Gibb pushed into him harder, rendering him speechless. Now, he could only concentrate on this man’s marvelous, thick cock as it filled him. In and out, Gibb fucked him slowly at first, as though using his shaft to gauge Len’s pleasure and find that right spot to launch the fireworks.
“You’re huge,” Len moaned, then gritted his teeth with the increasing speed. Gibb didn’t answer, but grunted and grasped Len’s hips for better leverage.
So it went for several minutes. Len lost track of time. Gibb panted and thrust and muttered little curses as the bed creaked underneath them. When Len’s knees ached he cried for mercy, then whimpered at the temporary loss of Gibb’s cock as the other man withdrew to guide him into another position. Now on his back, Len drew his knees to his chest and Gibb resumed pumping into him.
“I like this view better,” Gibb said, reaching down to stroke Len’s cheek.
“Better than my sweet-looking ass?” Len teased.
Gibb answered by wrapping his hand around Len’s stiff cock and tugging. Len hissed a breath and tried his best to hold back a spill. As it was, the tingling in his sac signaled a fast approaching orgasm—he would release soon.
Yet, a part of him felt he owed it to Gibb to experience his pleasure first. Gibb had orchestrated his cure for insomnia, and Len was forever grateful for that. How could be repay his kindness and concern?
There’s a way.
“You all right, babe?”
Len nodded, and wondered what Gibb read on his face then. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes—soon, very soon...
“Yeah, I’m there, too,” Gibb said. “Now...”
Gibb voiced his orgasm in a low growl compared to Len’s higher pitch. Right at the pivotal moment Len grasped his cock for one final yank and warm cum spilled over his knuckles. Gibb offered one, two, three hard thrusts before shooting. Len sensed the pulse within him and clamped down on Gibb, who let out a long yessss in response.
Once his breathing calmed, Gibb slowly slid free and crept alongside Len to spoon him. Kissing his neck, he said softly, “That was so much better than I dreamed.”
“For me, too.” Len recalled his dream from earlier, and nearly wanted to slip into another one, he was that tired.
Yes, tired. And actually sleepy, too! He wished he could have at least tipped that Sandman.
“Thank you for staying with me,” he told Gibb, twining their fingers together. “And thanks for helping me sleep.”
“That wasn’t me, that was Crane.”
“Yes, but if not for you I wouldn’t have had Crane over. I’d like to do something for you in thanks. I could make breakfast,” Len offered, but as he lifted his head to note the sunshine’s angle through the window, he added, “or an early supper.”
Gibb laughed and kissed Len’s shoulder. “You know, I heard from Gerry and Spike that you make a mean stack of blueberry pancakes.”
“That I do.”
“Good. You can make some for me.” Gibb then straddled Len’s groin and lowered himself. “Tomorrow morning.”
***
In an empty field covered in grown wheat, far from the beating heart of the city, a golden, god-like figure materialized underneath a starless night. Crane inhaled the cold air, feeling no discomfort despite his inappropriate attire for the weather. Being immortal, what harm could a chill bring?
He set down the large bag he carried at his feet and unzipped the main compartment to extract three corked test tubes. Each contained a cloudy substance—one black, two green—and as Crane held them close he could make out twisted facial features and pouting mouths begging silently for mercy. Even in the blackest of environs, his gift of night vision helped him deduce exactly which demons he had rescued from the mortal population. As a Sandman, however, he had no authority to destroy, only to catch and release. This way, he maintained some kind of job insurance.
The two green goblins, procured from the bedrooms of a large suburban family, seemed stupid enough to wander in the wild for a long time before finding civilization again. Holding both tubes together, Crane yanked their stoppers free and out hissed the smoke, which soon morphed into two very rotund, very ugly frog-men.
Crane winced, noting how one’s tongue slithered, not unlike that of an amphibian, to wipe over its eyes. He shuddered, and almost didn’t bother with a lecture. Would they understand what he had to say?
Hell, worth a shot. “I don’t want to see either of you spooking any more little kids,” he said. “Stay out of closets. Now scat.”
The goblins only stared, licked their faces grandly once more, and slowly turned to amble into the wheat. Crane stepped back to ensure he didn’t stand downwind of their exit, trying to focus his attention on tube of black smoke—the anxiety extracted from Len Crocker, personified in an old friend.
Sighing, Crane pulled the stopper free and out slithered the contents, which took the shape of tall demon with long dark hair and pale skin. Dressed entirely in black, the figure directed glowing green eyes in Crane’s direction and offered a wicked smile full of sharp teeth.
“It’s about time you let me out of that blasted tube,” the demon snarled. “Any longer and I’d have suffocated.”
“Spare me any drama, Sven. I have enough to do tonight.” Crane turned away to avoid his antagonist’s glare. “You know the rules, too. Six months, you go nowhere near Len Crocker or cause him anymore stress.”
“Yes, dear,” Sven said, bored. “Tell you the truth, I almost left of my own accord. What a dull human being...hardly a challenge to torture. He seemed to ask for it, with that horrible job of his. The masochist.”
Crane ignored him. “I’d appreciate it, too, if nobody else bothered him in that time. Call off your friends.”
“I can’t do that,” Sven said, smiling. “What makes you think I have any sway over my colleagues?”
Crane scoffed at Sven’s false modesty. It was common knowledge among all the active duty Sandmen that of the legion of nightstalkers, goblins, buggers and beasts, none commanded more admiration and awe from the lower ranks than Sven. The demon enjoyed legendary status among all night creatures, having rendered world leaders sleepless and irritable on the eves of summits and peace talks. Why he had chosen to go slumming and bother a regular joe like Len Crocker baffled him.
Of course, it wasn’t for Crane to ask why—he worked to expel the demons, monitor their suspensions, and ensure the mortals who required his assistance rested.
“Six months,” Crane repeated. “There’s a billion people in the world to bother. It’s not like none of you have opportunities elsewhere.”
“True, but I reckon you wouldn’t be as bothered if my friends and I messed around with anybody but your precious ward.” Sven tilted his head and regarded Crane with some amusement. “What your deal? What’s so special about your little bean counter?”
“He needs his sleep. I’m in charge of the sector where he lives, and it’s my duty to see that he gets it.” Crane pointed into the distance. “You need to get moving.”
Sven pushed out his lower lip in a pout. “No goodbye kiss?”
“Go!”
Instead Sven was practically on top of him, his lips a hair’s width from Crane’s. The slightest brush of skin against skin as Sven poked his tongue through the seam of his closed mouth set Crane’s heart into overdrive.
“I suppose not,” Sven said. “Then again, this really isn’t goodbye. Is it, love?”
Before Crane could answer, Sven disappeared in a puff of smoke. It seemed forever passed before Crane could relax.
He stuffed the tubes and stoppers back into his bag and breathed deep to gather his bearing. He still had work tonight. Later, perhaps, he’d check on Len and Gibb and make sure they were okay. Len was a nice guy and deserved some peace. A six-month reprieve from work anxieties would do the trick.
Of course, that depended on Sven’s charity.
Right. That asshole had better not violate the terms of his release.
Yet, as Crane prepared to return to work, a part of him hoped Sven would.
***
Six Months Later
With his personal shields activated, no mortal could see or hear him. Sven thought for a moment of releasing them to see if he could get a rise out of his latest victim. This gentlemen—tall and greyed way before his time—appeared so preoccupied with his thoughts that a line of nude girls kicking the Can-Can could have streamed into the hotel suite and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Yes, the man had aged poorly in eight years. Sven saw it in nearly everyone who accepted the position of Commander in Chief. What’s more, he was incumbent, so it wasn’t like he was stressing over an election. He’d come to this backwater town to speak at his nephew’s college commencement, but Sven knew that wasn’t keeping him awake at two in the morning.
I am, Sven thought, and smiled.
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” he admonished as the President reached for the cigarette pack on the coffee table in the sitting area. “You promised the missus, remember? How’s it going to look, with her wagging her finger in every public service announcement to the country’s kindergartners? ‘Say no to smoking, say no to drugs.’ Live clean and breathe free, and here you are puffing away.
The President pinched the filter between his lips and shook his lighter, checking for fluid.
“I hope you brought whitening toothpaste. High definition television shows everything, and you know the media wouldn’t miss even the briefest of speeches at some cow college,” Sven taunted. “The second you step off that stage, the reporters will descend upon you, wanting to know about what you plan to do about all this unrest around the country. All these shootings and protests...” Sven’s lip quirked up one side when the focus of his attention blew out a long plume of gray smoke. “Don’t think that’s going to relax you.”
Something cold touched down on Sven’s shoulder just then, and the numbness spread quickly down one arm until he no longer had sensation in his fingers. Damn it. The warning gave him no time for one last jab before his body buckled inward and the scene around him turned black.
Crane, the Sandman—that gorgeous, infuriating bastard—caught up with him again. Got him before he could cause some real trouble.
Crane robbed him of a solid perception of time during every capture. The routine changed little: Sven wreaked havoc in the mortal world, Crane snatched him away to restore a person’s restful sleep, then the release into the wild. Always in the same field, too, and Sven had to figure out for himself how much time had elapsed. Once, presumably out of spite, Crane kept him confined in one of his blasted tubes for an Earth week.
The temporary imprisonment worked like anesthesia for demons like him. He didn’t dream, though. His existence remained black until the sudden, jolting return. This time, Sven didn’t touch on grassy ground but in a closed, comfortable space.
He regarded the dim lighting, the eclectic furnishings, and steel-jawed Crane with his arms folded across his chest. It looked too elegant for a detention cell. “You said no contact for six months,” he told Crane. “I complied—just barely, but it’s no reason to hone in on me so quickly. Let me have a bit of fun first.”
“Most demons start small after the ban expires. You go for the throat, don’t you?” Crane chided. “That man has enough on his mind without the likes of you piling on.” Sven undid his utility belt, on which several empty confinement tubes fit snugly in their loops and draped it over a chair.
“Hey, if I’m not bugging the president, who’s to say some other bugger won’t?” Sven shrugged. “Think about it, I was doing him a favor. Right now a herd of nightmare trolls could be scaling the hotel toward his suite.”
“If so, they won’t last a minute. There are patrols stationed nearby. Quite a few patriotic Sandmen on duty.”
“And called it macaroni,” Sven sang and, assuming Crane had no immediate plans to release him, slumped down on the sofa. He could attempt an escape, but Sandmen had become more sophisticated in their capture methods of late. Crane no doubt had shields around this place strong enough to prevent him from even turning a doorknob. Repeated rebellion would result in stricter punishment, too, namely revocation of his abilities.
Circle of life and all that crap. Sven relished the role of bad guy, despite the rules.
“It’s not like I set out to be a nightmare demon,” he said. Crane had returned from the galley kitchen with two cold bottles. He opened the one proffered to him and pulled long. “I could have joined the Tooth Squad, leaving money under pillows. Given the rising demand for baby teeth, I wonder sometimes if I could switch careers.”
“Everything you like involves sneaking into somebody’s bedroom at night. How would you assure the Tooth Fairy you wouldn’t multitask and leave the children with nightmares?”
Good point. Imprinting his special brand of darkness within a resting mind gave him a high like no other, his own special serotonin.
“At any rate, you have a reputation, Sven. Nobody else will have you, not the Guardian Angels, Spring Patrol...” Crane took the chair, moving his belt to one side.
“Why am I here then?” Sven set his bottle on the carpet beside him.
“I’m not just anybody else.” Crane smiled. “I followed up today on your last target. You remember Len Crocker, yes?”
Sven let out a snort. “He made it too easy. It almost wasn’t work. I suppose he’s snoring up a storm, alone in his pajamas.”
“He’s less stressed, but any lack of sleep hasn’t happened by way of your kind.”
That meant only one thing to Sven’s ears. He smirked. “Lucky boy to receive a blessing from Cupid’s arrow.”
“He and Gibb are going at it like rabbits.” Crane’s face took on a faraway expression, a touch of bliss mixed with envy. Must be nice somebody’s getting laid on a regular basis. Don’t we all want that, Sven wanted to scold. Maybe this was why Crane brought him here, to rub it in so the Sandman wasn’t the only one suffering blue-balled jealousy.
“If you think I’m going to horn in on all that bliss, don’t worry. Once you go executive in this game, you don’t slum around with low-earning bean counters. I’m thinking of rattling an oil baron next, keep him up all night with guilt over those poor fish and seabirds choked by tanker spillage.” Sven stood and arched his back. “Maybe hit up somebody about to launch a phone app, instill a bit of self-doubt in him.”
“It can wait a moment, you think?”
“For what?”
Crane rose to stand next to him, a healthy-sized bulge denting his loose trousers. Nice. Who needed Cupid, or any of his minions, to interpret the Sandman’s intent?
“Why, Crane,” Sven chided. “Who’d have thought you had it in you to proposition the enemy. Not that I’d mind having it in me.”
“You’re not the enemy, just an annoyance.” Sven wanted to protest but Crane added, “Part of life’s balance, but not necessarily undeserving of some fun.”
“You’re the one to provide it?”
“You’d rather fuck a nightmare troll?” Crane raised his eyebrows.
“Apparently you wouldn’t. I commend your good taste when it comes to choosing partners.” Sven reached forward and curled his fingers into Crane’s. The Sandman took care of his hands, of course. Like with a musician or artist, the hands proved too important to his livelihood and the mental health of those who required his help. Crane may not have known it, but he’d seen the man in action, and watched those strong hands massage away nightmares and free a body of doubt and unrest.
“I never thought I’d feel your hands on me,” he said. “I don’t have anxieties to expel.”
Crane stroked a finger up Sven’s arm, past the loose cuff of his sleeve and along his collarbone. The heat trailing in the wake spread quickly through Sven, and he shifted at the tightening in his groin.
“I’ll bet you feel tenser than you let on,” Crane said.
“How do you suggest I find relief?”
***
Crane rarely brought home lovers, mortal or otherwise. That he now led Sven to his bedroom and helped him undress seemed surreal, particularly given how he initiated this. He’d kept close tabs on Sven throughout his probation, and despite his penchant for stirring up trouble the demon had focused his energy away from humankind. Like others in banishment, he haunted the wilderness and inspired renewed interest in “boogeymen” legends that kept people to safer spots for camping and recreation.
He could have made Sven’s expulsion from the human population permanent, but for all of the demon’s irritating qualities Crane knew deep down he wasn’t dangerous. Sven lived to instill fear and discomfort, but he wasn’t violent. Humans seemed to need exposure to nightmares and bad visions, too, in order to strengthen themselves and conquer the bad. Of course, people like Len Crocker didn’t deserve the pain twenty-four-seven.
Sven stood naked before him now, vulnerable yet confident—still a nice contrast from his usual menacing self. Irritating, but not repugnant. Crane was reluctant to admit how he admired the demon, lest Sven take advantage of it. Crane reasoned if he made the first overture they could enjoy each other and find a balance without one of them seizing control. He wanted Sven, and looked forward to touching every inch of that gorgeous body, but intended to approach him with care.
“Here I am.” Sven gestured to show himself off. Crane admired the defined muscles in his arms and legs, and the nice cock dangling between his thighs. “What will you have me do?”
“Lie down. You know the position. You’ve seen me with clients, I’m sure.”
Sven huffed. “You flatter yourself.” All the same, he crawled onto the bed and stretched in a prone position, resting his chin on his folded arms. Crane decided the extra ass wiggle happened for his benefit. Sven had a nice one, smooth and asking for a quick spank or fuck.
He opened the drawer of a side table and brought out a tube of lubricant and a jar of unscented shea butter. He scraped a large dollop and let it soften via body heat before rubbing his hands together. Straddling Sven on the bed, hovering over the backs of the demon’s thighs, Crane began massaging at the shoulders.
“Why are you still dressed?” Sven’s muffled voice sounded disappointed.
“All in good time.” Surely Sven felt his cock brushing against his backside through the thin trousers. Crane rubbed the liquefied shea butter down the demon’s back and worked some of the upper muscles. “For a nightmare maker who claims never to be tense, your body betrays you.”
“It’s work, you know. I do more than others, mainly because I get it right.” Sven groaned as Crane loosened a nerve. “That’s nice. Perhaps if other demons could properly invade dreams, and if the trolls stayed away we’d have a nation of insomniacs.”
“You almost succeeded once. Though I think 9/11 had something to do with it,” Crane said. Bad things happened in the mortal world, and demons like Sven took advantage of the paranoia. He recalled the overtime spent lulling scared children back to sleep.
“Inflicting late nights on people is one thing. Destroying them en masse...” Sven hissed in his breath when Crane touched a tender spot on his lower back.
“I understand, Sven. Just relax.” The next several minutes passed in silence as Crane massaged the demon’s arms, neck, and lower back. He moved off the bed to work on the legs, and thumbed a few knotted muscles in Sven’s thighs. He could benefit from regular sessions, Crane thought, and sighed to think of another man touching him so intimately.
Edging back onto the bed, he kicked a knee over Sven and settled into place again, his cock hardening. Sven’s entire backside glistened from the shea butter and went rigid after one last stroke across his shoulder blades.
“Crane,” the demon sang, “if I relax any more I’ll fall asleep. I’d rather not if you plan to fuck me.”
***
“One moment,” Crane said, and his hands lifted. Sven grunted. He’d loved the massage, but it worked too well. He’d never experienced such relaxation, and an extended rubdown would certainly leave him comatose. If this was Crane’s idea of keeping him from pestering humans, he couldn’t fault the Sandman’s methods. He lived to inflame mortal anxieties, but Crane’s hands came in a close second.
Until this very moment, however. He felt a pinch at the base of his spine. “Hey!”
“Sorry,” Crane murmured, and seconds later a kiss touched down on the sore spot. “Better now?”
“A bit.”
“How about this?” Slick fingers drummed his fleshy backside, then slid deep to tease his hole. Sven drew in his knees and raised his ass, and felt the mattress dip as Crane maneuvered for a better position. Lifting his upper body, he turned to see Crane bury his face. The touch of the Sandman’s tongue against his ass and balls sent a shockwave over his skin.
Yes. His head drooped and his eyes closed to better center on the sensations. Fingers danced along his cock then gripped and tugged. Crane alternated between rimming him and fucking him with his other, shea butter-slathered hand. One, then three at a time, circled around then stretched him, prepared him. He sucked in a breath and imagined Crane’s girth taking him with a pain he craved.
“You’re tight, Sven. This is either going to feel incredible or you’ll howl for mercy and curse me until the end of time.”
“You’re quite the confident lover,” Sven laughed.
“Right now I’m lucky. I love your ass. I don’t want to think about anybody else having it.”
Sven had to admit, Crane turned him on with his alpha bravado. That fact that he’d entertained one other lover prior to this might boost Crane’s ego, but he kept quiet. This wasn’t the time to bring up the past.
When Crane hooked his finger in and pressed the right spot, he all but forgot his name anyway. His cock ached and he clamped down on Crane. “Do that again and I’ll come.”
“I won’t hold you back, but I want you to feel this.” Crane pulled back and reached for the jar. Sven watched the Sandman squeeze a line of lubricant directly onto his cock and spread it all the way down to his balls. He felt slighted for not having the job, but as long as Crane ended up inside him it didn’t matter.
Crane brushed the tip of his cock up his scrotum and around his hole. Heaven. Sven relaxed and pushed back as Crane slowly filled him.
He strained to hear the low rumble of words. Yes and tight he got immediately, then Crane pumped faster and the monologue faded into sexually charged grunts. Mattress springs squealed under bent limbs, skin slapped together, and their exhaling came in short bursts and drawn-out groans.
Sven cried out his release, coming on the hand still stroking his cock. The wet warmth slid between Crane’s fingers and along his shaft. He felt the splatter hit his abdomen and he pushed back harder to bring Crane with him. The Sandman didn’t disappoint—one thrust later and Crane pinned his groin against him. His cock pulsed with his climax and stretched Sven once more before relaxing.
“Oh!” Crane fell forward and braced against the bed, his hands close to Sven’s. Light kisses rained on Sven’s neck and shoulders, then a loud sigh warmed his skin, damp with sweat. “I think I need the rubdown now.”
They collapsed to their sides, Crane spooning him. He’d happily comply...if he could move.
***
“How long this time?”
“Three months,” Crane said. A fair sentence, he decided. He could have busied himself with other offenders instead of tracking Sven’s movements at the end of his last probation. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t see each other again, either.
They’d come to their field again, after a long shower and make-out session. He’d enjoyed the interlude, but knew they had to resume their roles. He was tempted to waive this last indiscretion altogether, but the council wouldn’t allow Sven to get away with a slap on the wrist after targeting a world leader.
“Three months,” Sven agreed, and nodded. “Sufficient time to recover. What punishment can I expect if I keep the Pope up at all hours?”
“The missionary position.”
Sven groaned. “If I only had a gong.”
“You should go now before I double your sentence. I can’t be seen going soft on crime,” Crane said, and moved close to kiss Sven before he disappeared. “Until next time.”
“I look forward to the chase. Catch me if you can.” Sven winked and, with a wave of one arm, disappeared. Crane waited a moment, making sure to sense no trace of his lover, before pulling a corked test tube from a loop on the back of his belt. Inside, a green cloud churned and swirled.
Crane had pulled his from Sven during the massage. The demon probably hadn’t realized the troll latched onto him, since their kind operated on little sleep. The presence of the troll might have explained why Sven would bother bringing insomnia to the likes of Len Crocker. Sven prided himself on targeting high profile mortals, and he’d called Len “hardly work.”
He went for Len because he was exhausted, Crane realized. This troll had drained.
On release, the warty bugger burped and waddled in a circle in the high grass. “Go now,” Crane ordered of him, “and stay away from everybody, mortals and otherwise.”
The troll eyed him, glazed over with no hint he understood a word. Crane tried not to feel sympathy, but he smiled.
“If you do glom onto Sven again, wait a few months first? I wouldn’t mind catching him easily, but also I love the chase.”
The troll answered him with a slurping belch before toddling into the woods. Crane replaced the cork on the tube, ready to fill it again and hoping the next three months passed quickly.
THE END