Honey is Sweeter than Blood by Jeffrey Thomas Page B

pressed his erection more deeply into his own belly, as if it ached to tunnel through him if it must in order to reach the subject of its craving.
    Kot did not remove the muzzle of the Model 77B from against the former policeman’s head.  His former lover’s head.
    “Are you going to hurt me?” Cheung whispered.  He felt Kot’s hard prick nestle in the crevice of his ass.  Almost imperceptibly, Kot began rubbing his shaft along that dark channel.
    “I’m a cop killer.  A monster.  You expect me to kill you, don’t you?”
    Cheung swallowed.  “I don’t know what to expect of you.”
    “And I don’t know what to expect of you.  I trusted you.  But after those two bastards shot you, I heard you.  I was still close by.  You told them you were one of them, and I felt as if a bullet had been fired into my heart.  You told them my name, as well.  You betrayed me.”
    “I was doing my job.”
    “I loved you,” Kot rasped, grinding the cold gun muzzle more firmly against Cheung’s head.
    After a moment, Cheung said, “And I loved you, too.”
    Kot reached his free hand between them, and helped guide the head of his prick to Cheung’s pursed hole.  He urged the plump head inside roughly, and Cheung cried out, squirmed under him.  Kot held the gun steady, and once he was more fully inside the former policeman’s pinned body, wrapped his other arm around Cheung’s neck.  His thrusts continued to be rough, but were not violent.  Kot panted in Cheung’s ear, and the bed squeaked rhythmically, and the rainstorm pounded against the windows.
    “You don’t need the gun,” Cheung choked between his own panting.  “You don’t need to rape me.  I want you to fuck me, Kot.”
    “I’m not sure I believe you, Cheung.”
    “Believe me,” Cheung said, hating himself forthe truth.  “Believe me.”
    Kot bit Cheung’s shoulder, and then moaned and rubbed his stubbled cheek against it, as if torn between brutality and tenderness.  He rotated his hips, churning his cock inside Cheung.  He began a series of rapid staccato thrusts before reverting again to longer, deeper, more pummeling lunges.
    Cheung kissed the arm around his neck, ran his tongue along it, as if to demonstrate his sincerity.  “I want you, Kot.  We can go away together.”
    “Ahh, Cheung, how can I trust you? You aren’t a criminal.  You aren’t like me.  But even if I could trust you, I won’t leave Hong Kong…I won’t leave my home…but I won’t go to prison, either.  I was a boy in the Walled City.  I told you.  At last I was able to escape that prison.  I won’t end my life in another one.  I won’t let your friends take me away.”
    Cheung heard the Model 77B slide and click, as Kot depressed the trigger guard and chambered its first round.
    His throat convulsed, tried to seize up.  “Kot…please don’t…don’t hurt me…”
    “I wouldn’t hurt you,” Kot panted, more breathless, his thrusts getting closer together, pace quickening as he approached climax.  “I told you, Cheung…” he removed the pistol’s muzzle from Cheung’s temple “…I love you.”
    And then there was an explosion, a blast so loud that it blanked Cheung’s mind, robbed his hearing.  All at once he felt Kot’s body violently spasm as he shot his load deep inside him…and at the same moment, the pillows of the bed were spattered with a glittering red constellation.  Cheung felt a hot wet spatter across his neck and shoulders, like ejaculate.
    For a moment, he believed the gangster had shot him in the back of the head, but that the bullet had deflected off his skull.  He had heard of such things happening in suicide attempts.
    And then he realized that Kot was no longer moving.  His weight had settled heavily across his back, like that of an exhausted lover, but even more still.  Kot’s hard cock remained embedded inside his gut.
    With both terror and revulsion, Cheung realized the truth, and pulled himself out from