Farewell
But as they came to the set of stairs leading to the small corner park, Casey grabbed his arm and they ran up to the iron gate. It wasn’t locked and they slipped inside, easing the gate shut behind them. It closed with a ghostly clang.
The park was dark and shadowy. The street lamps didn’t reach beyond the tall maple trees lining the
spiked fence, and they made their way down the dirt path to the small, open-air gazebo. Flynn started to climb onto the gazebo, but Casey pulled him back.
“No. Not there. Over here.” Casey led him behind a great flowering barberry bush and unzipped his
trousers, freeing himself. Flynn unfastened his own trousers.
The fact that they’d had a good deal to drink, and that Flynn had been craving this release
since…anyway, it made it easier. Made it simple to push aside the faint dismay that their joining was so blunt, so businesslike. What was he looking for? This was not Paul, this was not romance, let alone love.
He didn’t look for that at home, why should he look for it here?
They stumbled together, and Flynn could feel the heat coming off Casey through his clothing. They
were both perspiring with excitement—and humidity. He could feel Casey’s heart thumping against his own as though he were scared to death. They clutched each other like drowning men. Casey’s hardness
jutted against his hip. His hands were going to leave bruises; his mouth was like a cave, dark and empty. It opened to Flynn’s and their tongues slid together, wet and hot and slick.
Strangely, in that moment, Flynn remembered that delicate, expert kiss Julian had pressed upon him
in his room. He remembered how Julian had felt in his arms: light and ardent as a raw flame.
The impression was gone in the next instant. The tang of Casey’s sweat and the sweet scent of his hair oil mingled with the sharp, acidic scent of the barberry bush. Casey’s fingers dug into Flynn’s buttocks, urging him closer. Flynn pushed against him, rubbed against him, hunting eagerly for the release he knew was coming.
Casey’s mouth opened wider, his tongue pushed deeper. Flynn drew back from that fever heat, from
the bite of the whisky and the unfamiliar taste. He didn’t want kisses, he just wanted the relief. He slicked his palm with spit, reached down, got both their stiff cocks in one hand and began to work them, rubbing them together.
Casey groaned into his mouth and then tore away, tipping his head back and gulping great lungfuls of night as Flynn rolled them forward, shoving them along. They humped and fumbled against each other, nearly overbalancing in their thrusting, grinding, frantic…like two stags rutting.
A roiling blaze of heat soared between them, and Casey made a sound like he was choking to death.
Hot wet come spattered between their bodies. Breathing hard, they hung onto each other—mostly to keep from falling over.
Then the hasty, limbs trembling, business of wiping off, doing up the zippers and buttons, moving
quickly, putting it behind them.
www.samhainpublishing.com
35
Josh Lanyon
They looked each other over, not that there was much to see in the uncertain light, and they moved in accord down the dirt path back to the iron gate. They stepped through it, the gate shutting with a faint chime behind them. They walked down the steps to the pavement.
To his horror, Flynn realized there was a man a few feet in front of them. He must have just passed by the park as they were reaching the gate. Flynn felt a sudden, guilty alarm that they would be discovered—
what the hell explanation could they give for being in the park at that hour?
Casey realized their danger at the same instant. He stopped in his tracks. The man must have sensed
their presence, for he glanced over his shoulder and jumped visibly.
“Didn’t see you behind me,” he said. His hat brim hid his features, but he sounded nervous. “Were
you in the theater too?”
Casey appeared struck dumb. Flynn said,
But as they came to the set of stairs leading to the small corner park, Casey grabbed his arm and they ran up to the iron gate. It wasn’t locked and they slipped inside, easing the gate shut behind them. It closed with a ghostly clang.
The park was dark and shadowy. The street lamps didn’t reach beyond the tall maple trees lining the
spiked fence, and they made their way down the dirt path to the small, open-air gazebo. Flynn started to climb onto the gazebo, but Casey pulled him back.
“No. Not there. Over here.” Casey led him behind a great flowering barberry bush and unzipped his
trousers, freeing himself. Flynn unfastened his own trousers.
The fact that they’d had a good deal to drink, and that Flynn had been craving this release
since…anyway, it made it easier. Made it simple to push aside the faint dismay that their joining was so blunt, so businesslike. What was he looking for? This was not Paul, this was not romance, let alone love.
He didn’t look for that at home, why should he look for it here?
They stumbled together, and Flynn could feel the heat coming off Casey through his clothing. They
were both perspiring with excitement—and humidity. He could feel Casey’s heart thumping against his own as though he were scared to death. They clutched each other like drowning men. Casey’s hardness
jutted against his hip. His hands were going to leave bruises; his mouth was like a cave, dark and empty. It opened to Flynn’s and their tongues slid together, wet and hot and slick.
Strangely, in that moment, Flynn remembered that delicate, expert kiss Julian had pressed upon him
in his room. He remembered how Julian had felt in his arms: light and ardent as a raw flame.
The impression was gone in the next instant. The tang of Casey’s sweat and the sweet scent of his hair oil mingled with the sharp, acidic scent of the barberry bush. Casey’s fingers dug into Flynn’s buttocks, urging him closer. Flynn pushed against him, rubbed against him, hunting eagerly for the release he knew was coming.
Casey’s mouth opened wider, his tongue pushed deeper. Flynn drew back from that fever heat, from
the bite of the whisky and the unfamiliar taste. He didn’t want kisses, he just wanted the relief. He slicked his palm with spit, reached down, got both their stiff cocks in one hand and began to work them, rubbing them together.
Casey groaned into his mouth and then tore away, tipping his head back and gulping great lungfuls of night as Flynn rolled them forward, shoving them along. They humped and fumbled against each other, nearly overbalancing in their thrusting, grinding, frantic…like two stags rutting.
A roiling blaze of heat soared between them, and Casey made a sound like he was choking to death.
Hot wet come spattered between their bodies. Breathing hard, they hung onto each other—mostly to keep from falling over.
Then the hasty, limbs trembling, business of wiping off, doing up the zippers and buttons, moving
quickly, putting it behind them.
www.samhainpublishing.com
35
Josh Lanyon
They looked each other over, not that there was much to see in the uncertain light, and they moved in accord down the dirt path back to the iron gate. They stepped through it, the gate shutting with a faint chime behind them. They walked down the steps to the pavement.
To his horror, Flynn realized there was a man a few feet in front of them. He must have just passed by the park as they were reaching the gate. Flynn felt a sudden, guilty alarm that they would be discovered—
what the hell explanation could they give for being in the park at that hour?
Casey realized their danger at the same instant. He stopped in his tracks. The man must have sensed
their presence, for he glanced over his shoulder and jumped visibly.
“Didn’t see you behind me,” he said. His hat brim hid his features, but he sounded nervous. “Were
you in the theater too?”
Casey appeared struck dumb. Flynn said,
Similar Books
