Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) (9 page)

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Authors: Scott Sherman

BOOK: Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery)
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“Like I’m making you hard?”
“Yesssss,” Shaggy panted.
Brent ran his hands higher, up and down, almost touching Shaggy’s balls then sliding back down. Over and over while he made Shaggy talk.
“Tell me what I’m doing to you, buddy.”
“You’re making me so fucking hard, man,” Shaggy moaned.
“Like this?” Brent spread his legs and displayed his own tented shorts.
“Aw, fuck.” Shaggy sounded like he was going to cry. His hard-on seemed to stretch almost to his navel as it discharged another round of precome, soaking his white pants to the point of transparency, the pinkness of the head now evident against the see-through cotton.
“You’re so sensitive down there,” Brent said. “Did they touch you anywhere else?”
Shaggy could only nod.
Brent took his hands and brought them to Shaggy’s nipples, which strained against his light blue tee. “Here?” He alternately squeezed and flicked them, playing them expertly. Shaggy’s hands gripped the bedspread in an attempt to keep them from doing god-knows-what, while he unconsciously humped his hips into the air, unable to keep them still, causing his clearly overstimulated cock to thrash around in his pants.
“You like that, man?” Brent asked.
Shaggy nodded.
“Tell me.”
“I like it.”
“What about this?” Brent squeezed Shaggy’s nipples harder.
“Oh, fuck,” Shaggy cried.
Brent twisted them. Shaggy threw his head back and let out a high keen. His lap jerked upward, desperate for contact, but Brent sat back.
“What do you want?”
“Come on,” Shaggy moaned. “Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t.”
Brent kept one hand alternating between Shaggy nipples while bringing the other to Shaggy’s lips. He lightly traced them with his index finger.
“Don’t what, baby?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Shaggy tried to catch Brent’s finger in his mouth, but Brent teased him, moving it just out of reach.
“What do you want, baby?” He took the finger not at Shaggy’s mouth and returned it to the inside of Shaggy’s thigh, this time running it right under his balls. Shaggy humped uncontrollably, spastically, like a man receiving an electric shock.
“Oh,” he panted. “Uh-uh-uh.”
“Tell me.” Brent was insistent.
“Everything,” Shaggy shouted. “I want everything.”
“Good boy,” Brent said. He put one finger against Shaggy’s lips, then slipped it inside. Shaggy sucked vigorously, like a man dying of thirst.
Brent stood, his grin triumphant, his own crotch bulging insistently in Shaggy’s direction. He removed his hand from Shaggy’s crotch and unzipped himself, letting his own oversized hard-on pop free and point at Shaggy’s hungry face, an angry crimson sword that had its own dew gathering at the tip.
Shaggy moaned around Brent’s finger. Brent stepped closer, straddling his sex-dazed captive. He removed his finger and replaced it with the tip of his cock against Shaggy’s now glistening, plumped lips. “Did they make you do this? Did they make you suck their dicks?”
Shaggy nodded again. He lunged forward, but Brent stepped back.
“What are you doing?”
“Come on, man,” Shaggy pleaded. “Give it to me.”
Brent took his cock in hand and wagged it in small circles. “Give you what, man?” At the same time, he gently, gently cupped Shaggy’s balls, eliciting another mewling cry.
“Your cock, man. In my mouth. I gotta have it.”
Brent stepped forward and let just the tip of his dick slide between Shaggy’s lips. Shaggy’s eyes flew open then fluttered ecstatically as he nursed like a baby, trying desperately to swallow more while Brent controlled the pace.
In the meantime, Brent extended a finger again and placed it at the base of Shaggy’s long dick, still encased in his pants but now completely visible through the drenched cotton. Slowly, agonizingly, he slid it toward the head.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Shaggy cried, his words intelligible but muffled by the mouthful Brent was feeding him.
Brent began a fucking motion, back and forth, in and out, using Shaggy’s mouth like a sex toy while teasing him mercilessly.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Shaggy humped against Brent’s lazy finger like a crazy man, rubbing his ass against the bed and sliding his pants down just enough that his raging hard-on broke free, popping from his pants like a jack-in-the-box, splattering precome all over his T-shirt and Brent’s hand.
“Yeah, baby,” Brent said, “that’s it. Good boy.”
Brent drove in deeper while still running his finger up Shaggy’s pole, but now skin against slick skin.
“Uuuuh!!!” Shaggy wailed. I was willing to bet he was incapable of speech at that moment. The sound that came from him was primal, animalistic.
Brent slid all the way in, pubes to chin. Shaggy’s eyes bugged open as if he couldn’t believe what had found its way inside of him. But, if anything, his cock got even harder, stretched beyond what I’d have thought possible.
Brent’s finger finally reached just below the tip of that extended member, his finger right in the triangle where head meets base, the most sensitive spot on a man’s body. He quickly reached it up to gather the freshest, thickest precome flowing from Shaggy’s dick and brought it back to that juncture, circling it once, twice, three times.
Giving one last push into Shaggy’s throat, he said, “Come for me, baby,” and with a quick flick of his finger against Shaggy’s hot spot, he got what he wanted.
Shaggy arched his back and screamed around Brent’s cock, shooting a stream of come so strong that it arced over Brent’s head and fell on to his own. Subsequent shots were equally massive, drenching Brent’s back with a flood of thick white liquid. The whole time, his body jerked spasmodically and his throat clenched out of control. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and Brent pulled out, stroking his dick for a few seconds before he also shot, grunting lustily, painting Shaggy’s face with his own hot juices.
He collapsed on to Shaggy’s lap and they kissed voluptuously, rapturously, like two men who, at the least, just had the best sex of their lives. Again, this was the part where a director usually cut away, but in this case, the afterplay was almost as exciting as what had come before.
You wanted to see this, the aftermath of an encounter that in some ways was tamer than the movie’s earlier scenes—no orgies, no anal—but in other ways was the most scorching encounter I’d
ever
seen on screen. Their kisses were hungry, then tender, then almost sad.
Shaggy was still trembling, but Brent’s weight seemed to relax him. They settled into each other like two parts of a whole. Brent pulled his head back and Shaggy’s eyes brimmed with an emotion I hadn’t expected to see.
I couldn’t imagine a film set was a place you could achieve a real emotional connection. Sure, you could go through the mechanics of sex, and, our bodies being what they are, it might even feel really good. A warm mouth is always a welcome place to be, and being paid to receive even a bad blow job is more fun than painting houses for a living.
But how could it be possible to be truly intimate with all those cameras and crew around? Yeah, you can believe the love scenes in mainstream movies, but those are some of the most talented actors in the world working with great scripts and highly skilled directors. Plus, those actors aren’t actually Doing It, which exposes you in ways that makes it hard to maintain the illusion of a character.
Yet, what I’d just witnessed put the lie to my presumptions. Maybe the scene between Brent and Shaggy had started off as a performance, but, by the end, it looked like love.
12
More of a Man
The screen faded to black on the two boys as the credits began to roll. Smart choice. What could have followed that?
“That was very . . . wow,” I said.
“The wowest,” Freddy agreed. He extended his once-again empty bowl to me. “Only one thing could make it any better. You mind?”
“Don’t you have legs?” I asked. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded getting him more ice cream, but I didn’t want to stand up. There was no way he’d miss the unexpected tenting that had occurred in my pants. I don’t usually get hard from watching porn unless I’m playing with myself, but that scene really got me going. I think if Brent ran his finger along me at that moment, as he’d teased it out of Shaggy, just that slight stimulation would have had me hosing down the place, too.
Meanwhile, I tried to ignore that I had an even hunkier specimen lying right next to me who’d be only too happy to relieve my suffering. But Freddy and I agreed long ago that we were better off keeping things platonic, and I wasn’t about to blow that.
Okay, that was a bad choice of words to talk myself off the ledge. Don’t think about “blowing” anything, Kevin.
“What’s his name?” I asked. “The one who wasn’t Brent.”
“Lucas Fisher,” Freddy answered. “Not bad, huh? He’s got that whole hot, semi-stoned surfer thing going on, he’s ripped to shit and has an ass like two delicious, oversized scoops of ice cream, which I wouldn’t mind right now, thank you very much.” He passed his bowl to me.
I put it to my side. “It’s not just that. He can also . . . act. I mean, he totally sold that scene. He wasn’t just going through the motions—he seemed genuinely turned on. Infatuated, even.”
“That wasn’t acting,” Freddy said. “I’ve seen him in plenty of other movies—he’s always snackable, but a little boring. Put him in a scene with Brent, though, and he comes alive. Comes a lot, too.”
“They worked together before?”
“After. A couple of movies and, eventually, when the studio realized the chemistry between them, they capitalized on it.” Freddy scooted over to the end of the bed and reached into the cabinet under the TV that held his DVDs. Sure, he couldn’t be bothered to feed himself, but for this he was Mr. Get Up and Go.
He handed me the case for
Brent & Lucas: More Than Friends
.
 
What happens when two of the hottest adult video stars realize their feelings extend beyond when the director calls “cut”? When super-cute Brent Havens teams up with fan favorite Lucas Fisher, what starts out as fireworks turns into a nuclear blast of naked desire that can’t be contained. Even a steamy bathhouse encounter with mega-hung Pierce Deepley and a jizz-draining three-way with
Freshboy
cover model Ashton Pusher aren’t enough to keep Brent and Lucas from discovering their true feelings for each other and coming together in an explosive climax that will leave you drenched and begging for more, too.
 
“Wanna watch?” Freddy asked.
Yes. “No.” There was only so much temptation a boy could take. “Can you tell me what happens?”
Freddy gave me a “duh” face. “They play research scientists who discover a cure for malaria. There’s a lot of talk about gene therapy and the ethics of stem-cell research. In the end, they triumph over the evil pharmaceutical companies and distribute the lifesaving vaccine via crop duster over the plains of Africa.”
He smacked me on the head. “What do you think happens? They have sex with each other, with a few other people, and then with each other again. Cut, print it.”
“No, I meant between them. Are they always that intense?”
“Pretty much. But it’s kind of one-sided. They wrote about it on some of the gay porn blogs.”
“There are gay porn blogs?”
“There’s a blog for everything,” Freddy asserted. “I read one the other day for people who like to cook with crickets. As ingredients, mind you, not assistants.
“Anyway, there was a lot of gossip in the industry that Lucas had a big crush on Brent, but his feelings were unrequited. Supposedly, Lucas was the one who got SwordFight to make
More Than Friends
in the hope that more scenes between them would get Brent to fall in love with him.”
“Life imitates art,” I said.
“Or not. The studio tried to put it out there that the two were really a couple, sending them to industry events and circuit parties together, but the blogs said it was just to build publicity for the movie. There was another rumor, though, that it was Lucas who arranged to be where he thought Brent would show up.
“Probably there was some truth to both versions. SwordFight might have been pushing them together to build excitement for the movie, but it isn’t hard to believe Lucas had a bad case of the unrequiteds for your friend Brent. It’s there on screen—Brent looks like he’s having a good time and all, but Lucas looks like he’s found a new religion.
“In any case, a few weeks after
More Than Friends’
release, you never saw them together again. The movie was pretty successful and won some gold at that year’s Gay Video Awards. There was talk of a sequel, but it never happened. My guess? After a while, Brent got creeped out by Lucas’s affections.”
“Or maybe he just didn’t want to lead Lucas on,” I offered, realizing that I was once again trying to defend Brent by ascribing to him the best possible intentions. Over-identify much?
“Maybe. Whatever happened, that was pretty much the end of Lucas’s career in the industry. He appeared in one or two more films and that was it. In his last one I saw, he wasn’t looking too good, either.”
“No? What do you think it was? Drugs? Did he get sick?”
“Oh honey.” Freddy patted me on the hand and then squeezed it. “He had a terminal case.”
Given his line of work, it was tragically probable what had happened to him. “AIDS? I know the studios say they take precautions, but—”
“No, sweetie, not that. It was heartbreak that did him in. You could see it in his eyes. I believe that boy really did love Brent Havens. I think he’d have done anything to have him. He loved that boy to death.”
 
I got back to my apartment around nine. The lights were on and the radio was tuned to a classic rock station. A half-eaten carton of something Chinese was on the kitchen table next to a can of Bud.
Yes, Budweiser beer. Another reminder that no matter how many times Tony plowed me like the fields of Idaho, he’d always be a straight boy at heart.
Speaking of which, where was he? I called his name but got no answer. I turned down the radio and heard the shower running.
Hmmm . . . interesting. I was still kind of worked up from watching Brent’s movies, and the thought of a naked, wet Tony twenty feet away brought me back to full salute.
It’s amazing how fast you can get naked with the right motivation.
 
Twenty minutes later, we were drying off together in the bedroom. “That was a nice surprise,” Tony said, grinning.
“I figured we might as well get a little more dirty while getting clean,” I explained. “You know me. Mr. Efficiency. Screwing in the shower saves time.”
“Well, I’m glad you could squeeze me into your busy schedule,” Tony teased. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants
sans
underwear. It made me flash back to the scene with Brent and Lucas in the dorm room and I started to swell up again.
“As I recall, you were the one who did the squeezing in.”
“Apparently, you liked it.” Tony nodded toward the growing proof of my enjoyment. “Again?” he asked.
“What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”
Tony sank to his knees and grabbed my ass cheeks. He pulled me toward his face. “Let’s see about that.”
He took me in his mouth. It had taken a while before our sex was reciprocal in this way. For a time, as long as Tony was the one being done—as opposed to the one doing the doing, so to speak—it helped him maintain his identity as a heterosexual.
Feeling the heavenly warmth of his tongue and throat, I was glad he’d gotten over it.
“God,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders.
For a guy who’d taken to it late in life, Tony gave a pretty good blow job. Maybe not the most technically proficient, but the contradiction with his natural butchness, the incredible interplay of his back and shoulder muscles working in perfect harmony as his head bobbed, and the fact that I loved him more than I should elevated it to an erotic wonder. Despite the fact that I’d deposited about a gallon of come down the shower drain fewer than fifteen minutes ago, I wasn’t going to last long.
“Tony, I’m about to . . .”
He pulled back and finished me off with his hand. While he was definitely making progress, swallowing was not on the menu for him.
“Whoa!” he said with boyish enthusiasm as my first shot rocketed past his head and on to the bed five feet away. Subsequent jets were of diminishing, but still impressive, velocity and volume. “Guess I really do bring out the best in you,” he said, arching his eyebrows. He looked behind him. “All over the place, apparently.”
The sight of Tony, who for so long fought against accepting his feelings toward me, on his knees in front of me, in such a submissive position and covered in my spunk, made me a little dizzy.
“Hey,” he said, noticing my unsteadiness. In a flash of naked flesh, he stood up and scooped me into his arms, holding me under my hips. I wrapped my legs around his waist. Tony could hold me like this for hours without tiring. My Big Strong Man. I hugged him, and the semen I contributed to his chest became a shared deposit.
“We’re going to need another shower,” he said, kissing me. “Not that I mind.”
“Or I could do it like a cat.” I wiped my tongue over his neck and disentangled from his embrace. I licked him clean from collarbone to navel, stopping only when something very welcome rose to knock against my chin.
I grabbed it possessively. “Looks like I’m not the only one available for another feature,” I observed.
Tony looked down at me in the position he’d been in moments earlier. “I don’t know,” he observed ruefully. “I’ve got a couple of years on you, Kevvy. I’m not so sure I’m up for another show.”
I waved him in my hand. “You look ‘up’ enough to me.”
I believe bad puns are only acceptable in sexual settings, where the mental energy needed to craft more sophisticated repartee takes away too much attention from the main event.
“Guess it depends on how good the show is,” he observed. “What’s the next movie?”
“Duh,” I said, again not bothering to be clever.
“Deep Throat.”
Unlike my still-evolving lover, I had enthusiasm
and
technique. I could pull off that title and had no problem swallowing. A few minutes later, Tony was calling my name in a hoarse and climactic shout and neither of us was any messier than when I started.
Like I said, I’m efficient.

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