Goldilocks and His Three Bears (2 page)

Paul helped him, breathing hard and hot in Brian's ear, and out of those pants popped the cock Brian had been fantasizing about all week. He thought maybe he whimpered a little bit, feeling its silky length sliding through his fingers.

Paul moaned and tipped Brian back onto what turned out to be a table. Brian lifted his legs, and Paul's only hesitation appeared to be about getting a condom on, and then he was sliding on spit into Brian's urgently wiggling ass.

Oh man, that felt too fucking good.

Paul lay on top of Brian, hilt-deep inside him, breathing hard. Paul's eyes, staring into his, looked stricken.

“Move, for Christ's sake,” said Brian, gripping Paul's sides with both hands.

Paul's forehead lowered to Brian's shoulder, and his hips shoved. Only slow for a few strokes, rapidly becoming a frantic pistoning in and out. Brian's brains shattered, the wooden table creaking and bumping, Paul's hand closed around Brian's cock, and their voices echoed in the big house as they came.

Then Paul's huge torso spread over Brian, shudders moving through the back under Brian's hands, his breath loud and harsh. He didn't seem about to move in the near future, so Brian had to pat him and make the request.

“Legs are cramping, Daddy,” Brian whispered.

Paul scrambled back and gently helped Brian off the table. Hands petting and soft all over Brian. “I like it when you call me that,” Paul admitted, looking almost shy. “Come on.” He led Brian into the bathroom.

Brian was inclined to go anywhere he was led at the moment and leaned against that big arm, letting Paul guide him into the running shower, taking the soap that was given him. There was a triangular rubber bag hanging from the showerhead, the enema ball looped over it. Brian looked at it. Looked at Paul.

“If you want to,” said Paul.

Something about the way he requested it... “I will if you like,” said Brian.

Paul cupped Brian's chin in one hand, thumb tracing his lower lip almost with reverence. “You're really something.” And then Brian was standing in the steaming shower, warm water on his back, big wet arms around him, soft, warm lips covering his. He felt utterly safe, utterly happy. When the kiss broke, he was grinning like a crack addict.

“Lemme take a shower, Daddy,” he said. “I'll be right out.”

“Hey, I bought something the other day,” said Paul. They were lying back on the futon, Paul nuzzling Brian's neck with such devotion, Brian found himself wondering if he could still swallow. “Let me show you.”

If any other guy had pulled out what Paul pulled out of that little box, Brian would have been halfway down Melrose, heels flying and elbows pumping.

The straps were shiny new, and the buckles clinked as Paul spread it out to show him. “I thought of you when I bought it,” he said.

Aw, sweet. The man had bought him bondage gear. Wasn't that the leatherman's version of a bottle of perfume?

Brian took it into his hands. It felt... serious. “Nobody's ever given me anything like this,” he said.

“No? Hon, let me show you.” Paul's voice was husky. He helped Brian stand and gently slid the straps into place. They really did feel like they'd been made for him, thought Brian, tingling a little. One strap fit across his chest. Open rings, worked into the leather, fitted over his nipples.

“There are attachments that go here,” whispered Paul, caressing Brian's nipples. “But we can build up to that.”

Brian felt goose bumps descending his rib cage and peppering his thighs.

Other straps went between Brian's legs, attached to the cock-and-ball ring in the front, fitting snuggly up his ass in the back.

Paul massaged the soft skin on either side of his crack. “Sometimes guys will wear this under their clothes all day. With a dildo that fits in here.” His fingers demonstrated, and Brian's knees turned to water.

“Daddy... ” he whimpered.

“Yeah,” said Paul, practically swooping him up and setting him back on the bed. “You're a natural for this, honey.” His fingers ran over the harness. “Next time I'd like you to do me a favor?”

Brian's head was swimming. Who knew dressing up like this could make him so horny? “Yeah?”

“Clean yourself, you know? Put the harness on yourself and wait for me here.” Paul's voice was shaking, his skin flushed with arousal. “Christ, you're sexy like this.”

Brian lay back and lifted his legs, spreading them wide. The harness didn't feel strange at all. It felt right. “Fuck me, Daddy.”

With a growl that had a suspiciously helpless little whimper in it, Paul fell on him and did exactly that.

Brian and Paul established a pattern in the next few weeks. Nothing official, really. Just, Brian would head over to the Faultline, and Paul would show up sooner or later. They didn't have to say that they went there to meet; it was simply known.

And they didn't only have sex during their time together. Sometimes Brian would stay and watch television while Paul worked. Or cooked. He'd wander around the house, checking out the other bedrooms, or he and Paul would curl up on the leather couch and watch stupid television. Like a couple.

And then there were the things that Paul kept here for him. The harness, the cock ring. His own soap and toothbrush. A light blue bathrobe and matching towel that always hung on the door, freshly laundered and ready for him. Just a few things Paul had in his bedroom that made Brian aware he had a place here. That he was something special to Paul. And that was enough for him.

For the first time since he'd moved to Los Angeles, Brian felt like he belonged somewhere.

“Brian, I need to talk to you about something.”

Brian was playing a video game in the living room while Paul putzed around in the office. He set down the remote and padded after Paul as he was led toward the kitchen. Paul pulled out a chair, and Brian plunked down into it.

“I'm going out of town next week,” said Paul.

“Okay.”

“I do most of my sales work up north,” said Paul. “I may be gone for several months.”

Several months? Brian knew something had scored a hit on him emotionally, but he wasn't sure what to call the feeling yet.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Paul studied him for a few minutes in silence. Brian thought there was something that Paul should say. Or something that he, Brian, should say. But he didn't know what it was.

“So I wanted you to know,” said Paul simply, and he turned to the sink. “Will you help me with the dishes?”

Later it hit him. Paul had dropped him back home on his bike. And what Brian realized as he watched Paul riding off was that neither of them had said anything about seeing each other again. About what each expected of the other during Paul's absence.

Several
months.

Paul had been gone about two weeks. No letters or phone calls. Of course Brian really hadn't expected any. Paul didn't talk on the phone. He hadn't, even when they were seeing each other. It was like the man had ridden over the horizon and fallen off the earth. Brian was tootling down the boulevard, pining, when he saw a string of choppers parked all in a line outside a leather store.

Ooh, shiny
. Brian bounced over and petted one chrome handlebar. The bike reminded him a little of Paul. Big and burly, with a worn leather seat and embroidered saddlebags.

“Hey, whatareyadoin'!”

Brian jumped out of his skin and, of course, because wasn't that exactly his life, he banged into the bike behind him.

“Oops,” said Brian. “Sorry.”

There was a crunch and then a slow, ominous creak and then so much crashing and banging that Brian didn't even want to turn and look. But he did. And it was even worse than he'd imagined.

Every bike along the line was on its side.

Brian wanted to curl up in a ball and die, a wish that was going to be fulfilled, apparently, by all the bikers who were now running out of the leather store.

Then the guy who had scared him in the first place had him by his collar, and Brian's toes left the ground while voices yelled at him from every direction. He figured the pain was coming soon and was accepting that inevitability in a kind of philosophical way when someone worked through the crowd, parting it like Moses through the Red Sea. Then Brian was on solid ground again, and gentle brown eyes were looking down at him in amusement.

“Well, for a little thing, you sure caused a helluva mess,” said the hairiest man in America, his eyes sparkling.

“I'm sorry, it was an accident. I'll... I'll help... ”

The bikers seemed to acquiesce to the man somehow. He had a big paw on Brian's shoulder, and it was like the protective arm of Zeus, because not one of the other guys was making menacing moves toward him.

“Hey, don't worry about it, man. Let's move on and let these boys take care of their rides.” Brian found himself trotting down the sidewalk and away from the scene of the crime, a big warm arm wrapped securely around him.

“Name's Jim,” said the man who didn't seem about to relinquish Brian anytime soon. “The boys call me Momma Bear, though.”

“Brian. Thanks for saving my life.”

Jim laughed, a big Santa Claus laugh.
Ho ho ho
. It made Brian tingle all over in a nice way. “Don't mention it, man. Where you headed?”

Brian shrugged. “No place, just walking.”

“You get high?”

Brian frowned, considering. The usual answer to this question when asked by a stranger was no, just for safety's sake. But this guy had dragged him out of a pit of angry bikers. He doubted the man meant him harm.

“Sure.”

So then they were in the guy's van, passing a little pipe back and forth, and the next thing Brian knew, he had both fists full of soft, curling chest hair, and his mouth full of a sweet, gentle tongue, and those pretty eyes were gazing into his and asking and... well... he said yes, didn't he?

He found a little nipple ring amid all the hair and played with it, making Jim hum like a happy top and go at his neck. Soft warm tongue lapping and drawing tingles up Brian's spine and down his ass to his thighs.

Jim lay back, his shirt and fly open, and Brian crawled on top of him. Jim was like a big furred couch— with good springs. He gave enough to bounce, but underneath was a nice bed of muscle.

His cock was about six inches long and thick as a soda can, straight and red. Brian peeled off his jeans and shorts while Jim slid a glow-in-the-dark condom down over that tree stump. Brian crawled up over him again, wrapping his legs around the soft hair of Jim's thighs, and sat down on the glow. The tip pushed into his prostate, just
there
, and he quivered and moaned, barely moving, while Jim chuckled and jacked him off.

The orgasm climbed his spine, setting off flares throughout his body, while Jim arched a bit, hips jerking, that thick cock throbbing against Brian's spot, and he was just thinking
man, that was something
, when another orgasm started rippling through him.

Hours later, it seemed, and Brian was lying against Jim's chest, blinking the stars from his eyes.

“So,” said Jim softly, twining Brian's hair around his fingers. “You come around here often?”

They both laughed at that. “Yeah,” said Brian. “You?”

“I get around,” said Jim. “So I'll see you here and there again, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure you will,” said Brian. Fuck, he hoped so.

He could barely walk up to his door when Jim dropped him off. And his asshole ached all the next day. It was a nice ache, and it masked the ache of missing Paul pretty well.

So the next night he had off, he went tootling down the boulevard again, and, sure enough, a white van slid up to the curve, a certain hairy bear grinning at him from the driver's seat.

“Want a ride?”

Brian grinned and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he climbed in. “Momma, I've been wanting a ride all day.”

Jim seemed to drive aimlessly. Up into the hills above the Bowl, the old van lumbering through narrow streets, around sharp turns, until they sat under black night, looking down onto the pink and blue dish of Los Angeles. The end of the doobie glowed in the dark cab as Jim passed it to Brian.

“So what do you do?”

“You mean for money?” Brian inhaled until he felt the burn at the base of his lungs. He spoke around trailing smoke. “I clerk at a grocery store.”

Jim blinked at the joint in his hand. “You seem pretty smart for that.”

“Lots of smart people do what they have to do,” said Brian. And then he laughed. “'Sides, where'd you get that I have brains?”

Jim inhaled slowly. Stared out the window. “I do, that's all.”

“Well, yeah, maybe. But there was trouble at home and no money for college. I guess I'm okay where I am.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Brian laughed nervously. “Nosy guy.”

Jim's head swiveled and he smiled at him. Soft and easy. Big gentle bear. “I've heard it all, kid.”

“Well, not trouble like legal stuff. My old man... ” Brian shrugged, compressing his lips over the sudden sharp pain in his gut.

“Hmmm.” Jim carefully stubbed out the joint and leaned back in his seat. He sort of waited. Like Brian could keep talking or not.

“You know those Saturday afternoon specials on TV where the kid tells his dad that he's, like, gay? And his father tells him he loves him no matter what?” Brian spoke, looking out the window at the lights blinking below.

“Sure,” said Jim, noncommittally.

“Well, it wasn't like that.” Brian frowned at his knee and worked a crease into his jeans. A minute later a new lit doobie appeared in front of him. He took it gratefully.

“Why Los Angeles?” asked Jim.

Something about the softness of his voice. Warm and deep and serene. It made it easy to talk. Like Jim really cared.

“Good place for people like me, I'd heard,” said Brian. He inhaled deeply. Passed the stub back.

Jim nodded and smoked thoughtfully. “You met a lot of guys since you came out here?”

“You mean did I go crazy and work my way through the male population of West Hollywood?” Brian gave him a grim smile. “No. I saw guys doing that, and it scared the shit out of me.”