Four by Flash #5 – Not Him

Happy New Year! Here’s a piece I wrote during the flash fiction challenge, and specifically as a Kink Bingo fill for the word “silence.” Hope you enjoy!

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Michael smiles at the man as his lips wrap languidly around a beer bottle. The stranger is tall and tan, long hair falling into blue-green eyes. The similarities end there, proportions off, not tall enough, muscle and bone sloping in ways that are unfamiliar and wrong. He likes it. Michael takes his time on the bottle, playing it up, and when he returns it to the bar empty, he winks, drops a bill on the counter, and slides off his stool. He walks away confident that by the time he hits the back door, he’ll be followed. He isn’t wrong.

The guy clears his throat as they step into the alley, and Michael turns, smiles, nods.

“I, uh,” the stranger starts.

Michael is on him, shoving roughly against the cool brick, pinning him there with hips, hands, and mouth. The stranger groans, pushes back with his groin. That’s all the encouragement he needs before he shoves his hands down to the guy’s pants, unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping. He draws back, catching his breath, and the stranger decides to talk.

“I’m Jared,” he laughs shakily.

Michael grunts a response and latches his mouth on Jared’s neck, sucking and biting a bruise.

“How about you?” Jared’s squirming, a low moan rumbling in his chest.

Michael’s wrapped his hands around the guy’s cock now, and it’s leaking, precome oozing out heavily. He slip-slides his thumb through it, strokes the guy steadily. “Don’t wanna talk. Wanna fuck you.” The cock in his hand surges in agreement, and Jared thrusts into Michael’s hand.

Jared nods, exhales hard, and his hands go for Michael’s belt and fly, pushing jeans down to his knees.

When they’re both exposed, Michael takes the time to kiss the guy again, grinding his bare cock against Jared’s. Maybe some other night, under some other circumstances, he’d take this guy home, take his time, do things right. Not tonight. Things are different these days. He tears open the package he’s palmed, slides the slick condom on, and pushes away.

The guy turns, pressing hands to rough brick. Michael lines himself up and just before he thrusts in, he hisses, “Not a fucking sound.” Jared whimpers quietly and nods.

With that, Michael’s inside him, biting his lip against a groan, and he sets a punishing pace, unsure of just who the punishment is really for. His thrusts are hard, pelvis pressing flat against ass each time, and he lets himself focus on the way the stranger’s hair falls into his face, the way sweat trickles down the strong, tan back despite the chill, the tiny, whimpering noises Jared is trying to suppress.

Michael leans forward, wraps a hand around Jared’s cock as he feels the heat pool tight in his groin, strokes expertly with the abundant slick there. Jared groans quietly and comes on Michael’s hand, hot and thick, and Michael follows right after.

As he comes, the only thought that pounds through his head is Not Jake, not Jake, not Jake.

Four by Flash #3

Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates! I present to you an explicit masturbation scene, het implied.

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She was at it again. He hated nights like this. He loved nights like this. Thanks to an inconvenient floor plan their bedrooms shared a wall. It was hard enough to be her neighbor, to bump into the beautiful Anna on a daily basis, his cock twitching at even the sight of her like he was some goddamn teenage boy again, but this… this was torture.

In the hall, in the elevator, they’d share pleasantries, and she’d laugh when he flirted with her.

“Can you imagine the scandal?” she’d giggle and wink, leaning hard on his arm.

He couldn’t help it, the surge of lust he felt when she did that, hot inside him, and it took everything he had not to grab her tight and make her his.

There was no nice way to put it. Anna was a slut. At least, that’s what she called herself. She brought a different boy or girl or both home at least three times a week and fucked them for hours before sending them on their way. Since his bedroom was right against hers, he could hear her every movement.

He slithered a hand under the blanket, brushed fingertips along his aching cock. He was already hard, leaking precome onto his belly, dampening the sheet. Trailing his fingers up his length, he rubbed his thumb across the slit, sliding across his head. His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation and his hips rocked up into his hand. He swallowed a groan as someone cried out next door.

Fuck it. He gave himself over to abandon. With his free hand, he rifled through his drawer until he pulled out lube. He was in the mood for the slick of it tonight, and he coated himself in two strokes. Bottle tossed away, he began stroking, listening perversely, wishing it was him in the next room. He ran his fist, gripped tight, up and down his cock, thrusting hips upward. A flick of the wrist at the top of each stroke, thumb pressing inward, pushing him closer. Behind his eyelids, he imagined Anna, red hair flying, beautiful lips, the melody he would make her to sing as he had his way with her.

Without conscious effort, his climax neared as the fucking next door seemed to come to a crescendo. He could feel the tension draw up in his balls, the clenching deep in his belly, his cock head swell at the impending orgasm. Through the walls, Anna – he could tell it was Anna this time – cried out, and that sent him over the edge.

He came in thick spurts, letting go of his restraint and allowing his gasps and groans to come as loud as they needed to. His hand continued to stroke, to milk out the last bits of his orgasm, until he was too sensitive to continue. He lay there for a long moment, listening to the noises next door reach inevitable conclusion, before crawling out of bed to clean himself up.