On the Streets of New Orleans (9 page)

“Here, we’re going to need this.”

“What is it?” Tony took it from him.

“Lube. I want you inside me.”

Scott rode the shudder of Tony’s body. “Damn, man.”

For a moment Scott thought he’d made a mistake. “That’s okay, isn’t it? You want to fuck me, don’t you?” he whispered.

“Oh yeah, baby boy. So much.” Tony’s breath puffed on his neck, then he reached up, took Scott’s head in his hands, and brought him down for a kiss.

They kissed for a long time, dueling with their tongues, their bodies rubbing and pushing against each other. If they kept this up, Scott would come too soon. He wanted to come with Tony inside him. For once he wanted to really enjoy, not just tolerate, having sex with another man.

He came up for air. “Lube, now.”

“Fuck, I dropped it. I can’t see a damn thing.” Tony scrambled for the tube, his hands searching for it on the bed.

“Shit! I forgot the flashlight.” Scott reached under his pillow and retrieved the flashlight he’d stashed there and turned it on.

“Yeah!” Scott laughed as they both blinked in the hard light until their eyes adjusted. He put it back on the floor next to the bed, on end, the light shining up to hit the ceiling, throwing a soft halo of illumination onto the bed.

“Here it is.” Tony popped the top and squirted some on his fingers. His free hand grabbed Scott’s cheek again and pulled it to the side as his other hand slipped between.

Scott shivered. “It’s cold.”

“Sorry.”

It soon warmed, and Scott pushed back into Tony’s fingers as they stroked up and down his valley. Damn, it felt so good, his hands down there, his fingertips brushing over his hole. With each swipe, Scott pushed up as they passed over, trying to get Tony to delve a little deeper.

“You want it?” Tony asked, his voice not much more than a growl.

“Yeah, please. Put your finger in.” Scott needed to feel that finger in him, needed to have some part of Tony inside.

Tony pressed against his opening. Scott pushed back, and Tony’s fingertip slid inside.

“Oh God.” Scott sighed.

Tony groaned, arching into Scott as he pushed deeper, pulled out, and thrust in again. Shameless, Scott worked himself on Tony’s finger. He knew what it felt like when someone hit his prostate, and now he angled his hips for it, unsure if Tony would know where to find it.

Tony’s finger slid over it, and sparks shot off behind Scott’s lids. His eyes flew open, and he looked down at his lover. Tony, eyes wide open, stared back at him.

“God, you’re so beautiful, all sexed up,” Tony whispered. “I love when you make that little noise.” He crooked his finger over the gland again, and Scott mewled. Guess he did know after all.

“That’s the one. Oh, baby boy, shit, I want inside you.”

Scott nodded. “Condom,” he gasped, barely able to speak except for grunts, groans, and kitten-like cries.

“You do it. I don’t want to stop.” Tony’s cock felt like a thick steel rod against his belly, demanding more.

Scott leaned over, grabbed the condom box, opened it, and pulled one out. After ripping the packet open with his teeth, he paused and looked down at Tony’s dick. He’d never seen it, and now he couldn’t seem to get his fill. Thick, darker than Tony’s dark skin, the rim a lighter ring, the bulbous head dripping precum, just took his breath away.

That was going in his ass.

He shuddered with desire and need, unafraid. He’d been fucked before, so this was nothing new, except this time he was so turned on, this time it was his lover, a man who cared about him. His boyfriend. And that made all the difference in the world to Scott.

He balanced the rubber on the tip and unfurled it, covering Tony’s length. He scooped up lube and smeared it on, then worked the slick over his own cock. God, it needed to be touched too.

His entire body had never felt like this before, needing to be fucked and touched, and he wanted to be kissed and bitten and handled by Tony. All by Tony. Only Tony.

“Hold it for me.” Scott leaned forward as Tony positioned himself, pressing the head of his cock against Scott’s opening.

Scott settled down onto the head, the pressure almost too painful. He relaxed, then Tony thrust up with a cry and entered him.

“Oh God!” Scott cried out as the pain ripped through him. “Fuck, you’re big!”

“Yeah, you right! The better to fuck you with.” Tony laughed, groaned, then withdrew, his length sliding out, returning only to impale Scott again.

“Yessss.”

Tony pushed up, Scott lowered himself, and they began an easy rhythm. Scott rode up and down on his knees; Tony lifted his hips with his feet planted near his own ass. Scott ran his hands over Tony’s chest, plucking at the dark nipples, feeling the contours of Tony’s body, loving the way the fine sheen of sweat made Tony’s skin shine like polished ebony.

“Touch me, Tony,” Scott whispered. “I need you to touch my dick.” His shaft stood against his belly, aching, dripping a long stream of precum onto Tony’s body. Scott ran his finger through it and then tasted it. Not as strong as cum, but tasty.

Tony slicked up his hands again and took hold of Scott. His oiled hands slid up and down the shaft, a tight circle, squeezing hard at the bottom, then softer at the top, jerking Scott off as he fucked him.

It was the hottest thing Scott had ever experienced, and he wanted it to last forever, but when Tony shifted and his dick scraped over Scott’s gland, Scott nearly came.

“Gonna come soon.” Scott panted, leaning forward to find that angle again. Tony picked up the pace, slamming into Scott. “Harder.”

Tony pumped, the muscles in this thighs, belly, and arms standing out, his cock breaching Scott with each thrust, going so deep and hitting his sweet spot each and every fucking time.

His body on fire, every nerve sensitive and aware, the shaft of his cock sent waves of ecstasy through his body to his balls. They slammed up tight, and the clenching of the muscles in his groin told him he was moments away from coming.

“Gonna come,” he shouted.

“Fuck, yeah. Do it, baby boy. Come on me. Give it to me, baby boy.” Tony’s hand was a blur as he jerked Scott’s dick, his hips like pistons, pumping into him, driving him up the wall, and with a heart-lurching burst, Scott exploded.

Sprays of white semen jetted out, arching over Tony’s belly to paint his chest, hard white against soft black, and Scott shuddered, his orgasm dragging out the pleasure with each spurt, until Tony had drained him, and his dick was limp in Tony’s sweet hand.

“So good,” Scott whispered.

Tony let him go, grabbed his hips, and grinned. “Hold on, baby boy. I’m going to fuck you ’til I come.”

Scott nodded, leaned back, and let Tony have his body to use any way he needed to. His lover’s eyes narrowed to slits, his teeth caught his bottom lip, and he grunted with each slamming thrust.

Scott rode him, letting Tony push and pull him, knowing he’d have bruises where Tony’s fingers clamped on him and not caring. Fuck, he’d show anyone his marks, proud of his lover, proud of how he turned Tony on and how he’d satisfied his man.

Tony cried out, thrust up so hard and deep Scott thought he’d rip in two, and froze, filling the condom with his cum. The look on Tony’s face was so beautiful Scott wanted to cry.

He’d done that. Given Tony that pleasure. Made his face look like an angel.

Both men shuddered, then Tony’s dick slipped from Scott, and Scott collapsed on top of him, his cum spread between them, and neither of them caring.

Once they could move, Scott slid off Tony. Tony pulled off the condom and dropped it over the side of the bed. Scott wiped Tony’s chest off with his T-shirt and then they rolled to face each other.

“Hey, I was thinking.” Tony touched Scott’s face with a single finger, tracing his jaw to his ear.

“About?”

“Think one day we can get a real place?”

“We have a place.” Scott tilted his head, not sure what Tony was talking about.

“No, I mean a
real
place. An apartment. With hot water, electricity, and furniture. You know—a home.” The desperation in Tony’s eyes read so clear to Scott. He understood that longing completely.

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded. “I think, with your money and mine, we could get a little place. I’ve got some money saved.”

“Money? Saved, how?”

“In a bank.” Scott smiled.

“How’d you do that?”

“All you need is twenty-five dollars and an ID.”

“Really? I got that. I got a driver’s license.” Tony grinned.

“You do? Hey, maybe we could even get a car?”

“One day.” Tony chuckled. “You so crazy, baby boy.” He kissed Scott softly. “Let’s work on the apartment first, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Think on Monday, I can open a savings account?”

“Sure. I don’t see why not.”

They were quiet for a while, then Scott reached over and turned off the flashlight, plunging them into warm, familiar darkness. Tony surrounded him, in the air, in the bed, his scent, his heat. Scott knew he’d just met Tony, but he knew life could change in an instant, and he wasn’t sure if what he felt right now was it, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

Silence.

Scott’s stomach rolled over.

“I love you too, baby boy.”

They reached for each other in the dark, finding their hearts and losing them to each other, to the cocoon of safety they shared, and to the city that care forgot.

“Know what I’m thinking?” Tony whispered.

“No, what?”

“We should get breakfast at Tiffany’s. You know, to celebrate.”

“Sounds good. I’ll pay.” Scott knew Tony had more pride than money.

“Okay. But I’m getting dinner.”

“Deal.”

Tony pulled him close, wrapping a leg over Scott’s legs, claiming him, surrounding him, loving him.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby boy.”

Scott blinked away the tears and buried his head in Tony’s neck, holding on so tight he could barely breathe.

“I need you, Tony.”

Tony kissed him, smiling against Scott’s lips. “I knew you did.”

To the survivors—it does get better.

New Orleans

November 2007, two years after Hurricane Katrina

CHARLIE MACAFEE
had only worked at the shelter in Mid-City for a few months, but he’d seen all the men before—homeless, addicts, drunks, petty criminals, young men, middle-aged, and ancient. Once you’d spent much time working in the system, like Charlie had, you’d seen it all.

Or at least Charlie thought he had, until he answered the night bell at the front door of the shelter. He scrambled out of bed, cursing whomever it was who thought he could just show up hours after they’d closed, looking for a warm bed and a hot meal.

Charlie padded down the chilled tiled corridor in bare feet and pajama bottoms to the door, unlocked it, and jerked it open. “Yeah?”

The wind rushed in, damp and cold, lifting Charlie’s hair straight up, as if he’d seen a ghost, and his nipples tightened in reaction to the cold.

“Take him.” A man dressed in black and about Charlie’s height cradled a younger man in his arms like a child. They stood under the faint light over the door, their blended shadow cast upon the concrete steps like some weird creature.

The young man, looking scarcely out of his teens, clasped at the older man’s worn black leather jacket. “No, I want to stay with you,” he whined, then coughed, leaning into the man’s chest.

“You can’t. Told you that before.” His voice, hard, cold and deep, sent a shiver up Charlie’s spine “I can’t take care of you.” The man looked at Charlie, his piercing dark gaze raking over Charlie’s half-dressed body, holding Charlie in place. He offered the man to Charlie, extending him out like a gift. “Take him.”

Charlie moved forward and took the teen in his arms. The kid’s frigid body wicked away what little warmth Charlie had. “He’s freezing.” Charlie pulled him in tighter as he frowned at the man.

The man nodded. “He’s sick.”

“Who are you?” Charlie peered through the darkness as he clutched the slip of man-child to his chest. “Who is he?”

“Just a kid I found.” The man shrugged. “He said his name is Billy.” Then he turned on his heels, trotted down the steps to the street, and faded into the night.

“Fuck.” Charlie exhaled. He stood on the steps for a moment, blinking down at the young man in his arms. His featherlight body, barely clothed in a T-shirt and jeans, shivered, possibly with fever. Perhaps he was an addict going through withdrawals, but Charlie wouldn’t know until he got the kid inside and checked him out.

He backed up out of the cold, shutting the door with his foot. He’d return and lock the door after he got the kid settled. He headed to the infirmary, pushed through the swinging door, and laid the kid down on one of their four empty beds.

Charlie had limited medical training; he could do the basics—first aid, take temps, pulse, blood pressure, even stitch together a wound if he had to, but something told him this kid needed more than just his meager skills.

He quickly undressed the kid, noting the ribs showing under pale skin, the patchy beard growing in, maybe three or four days’ worth, and the struggle to take in a breath.

Possibly pneumonia. The man in black was right to bring him in for help, and with most of the hospitals closed after Katrina, including Charity, the number of places to bring people had shrunk down to a handful.

The shelter was as good an option as any and a hell of a lot closer than the hospitals over near the river. He hadn’t seen a car, so he figured the man had carried him from somewhere nearby.

There wasn’t much left of the neighborhood where the shelter sat. Mid-City had experienced six to eight feet of water for four months, and only two years later, too few had moved back to reclaim the severely damaged homes and businesses.

The shelter, near the long-closed brewery on Tulane Avenue, was in an old building once used as an office annex. Built of concrete and brick, and raised, only three feet of the first floor had been damaged, and with the hard work of the local priests and some of the homeless men, they’d gotten it up and running as a men’s shelter only a few months ago. Charlie had transferred from the other shelter at the edge of the business district.