Gilbert had himself draped in a slouchy mess across Alejo’s couch. He was being whiny, which was his default state, and more than usually dramatic. Alejo was kicked back across from him on a bean bag chair low to the ground, the better to admire the graceful cascade of Gilbert’s body at eye level. His jeans had slouched low over his hips, and his shirt was bunched up beneath him so that a stripe of cream-colored skin showed between the two pieces of fabric—a stretch of hip and the slightest hint of a treasure trail.
The two of them had been friends long enough that Alejo had seen Gil in practically every state of undress, but he particularly enjoyed this one—the unintentional flirtatiousness of it. Gil was too straight to flirt with a man intentionally, but when he went into emo mode, you would never guess.
“And then she said I was short, which is ridiculous. I’m five foot nine, which is—”
“Average height for an American man. I know. You’ve told me.”
Gil was sensitive about his height. One of the hang-ups that came from being heterosexual, apparently. His height suited Alejo just fine, but if Gil was going to approach unknown women in bars, he had to accept a certain amount of rejection.
“Maybe she just wasn’t interested.”
“But maybe she could’ve been,” Gil protested. “She wouldn’t even take five minutes to get to know me.”
“She’s got the right to enjoy a drink without you hitting on her, my man. I keep telling you a woman in a public place isn’t an automatic invitation.”
“I was just asking for a chance,” Gil insisted, not getting it, as usual. “I could’ve used the morale boost. I had a really shitty day, at the end of an even shittier week.”
“Not her problem.”
“Did I tell you—?”
“Yep,” Alejo answered without waiting to hear the details. Whatever Gilbert was about to complain about, he’d already heard it. He had troubles too, but it was Friday and he wanted to kick back and share a bottle of bourbon, maybe call in an order of wings, not listen to Gil whine all night like a child needing a binky. Alejo was gonna give him a binky in a minute.
“I just want—”
“I know what you want. You want me to co-sign your bullshit, tell you that woman oughta’ve sexed you up and your boss shouldn’t have reamed you out. But I told you before women don’t want you in their faces all the time, and your boss was right to ream you out. He’s paying you to work, not fuck around. You got a bad attitude lately.”
Gil put on a pouty face that brought his pretty pink lips closer to his soft brown eyes. Alejo sighed. This was how Gil got away with being so self-centered. He was too good looking, especially when he was feeling sorry for himself. At least to Alejo he was. Maybe chicks weren’t there for the sulky look, but it made Alejo want to take him in hand.
“I can’t help it.” Gil kicked his pink feet against Alejo’s sofa cushions like he was two. “I just feel… I don’t know. I hate everything, that’s all. That job is shit anyway. I wouldn’t even care if I lost it.”
“You’d care, believe me. You better turn that attitude around.”
Gil hadn’t always been such a constant downer, but since he and his last girlfriend had broken up six months ago, he’d been getting moodier and moodier. Now he was always over at Alejo’s, under his feet, practically asking for Alejo to do something about it.
“If I could get laid—”
“You need to get your rocks off to be a decent human being? That’s what hands are for, dude.”
Gil used one of his hands to flip him off. “It’s not the same, and you know it. I don’t see you going without.”
“Yeah, well, I got skills.” Alejo grinned, showing all his teeth. As a top—one who was decently good looking, but also decent—he found himself in demand. A guy with a need to be drilled could count on Alejo to do the drilling. “If I’d known you were going to be in such a pissy mood, I’d be hanging out with someone I could use them on ’stead of listening to you moan.”
“I thought you were my friend.”
“Here we go.” Alejo rolled his eyes up to the ceiling with a shake of his head. “I’m calling you out on your bullshit, so that makes you a victim.”
“I just need—”
“I know what you need. You need a good fuck.”
“See!” Gil sat up in a quick motion that sent his sandy bangs flopping into his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
“Nah, you been telling me you need to fuck someone. That ain’t what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?”
“That you need to be fucked, have your ass railed good and proper.”
“We don’t do like that, Alejo. You know I’m not gay.”
“Who said I was offering? Find you a woman with a strap-on.”
“I can’t find a woman at all.” Gilbert threw himself back down into a horizontal position. He raised a hand to toy with his bangs, flipping them back and forth with nervous energy while he pursed his lips in an expression of consideration. “You really think getting fucked would help?”
“Always helps the twinks who come begging me for it.”
“What’s a twink?”
“I’m not a twink. Five foot nine is—”
“Average height, yeah. I thought you didn’t know what a twink was.”
“Well, you got it wrong anyway. Twink isn’t a physique, more like a state of mind. A twink’s a little prima donna who doesn’t know how good he’s got it, who needs his mind taken off his petty troubles by having his brains fucked right out of his ass. You should see how they come to me all wound up, babbling and bitching.”
“And you fix them?”
“Ain’t nobody bitching when my cock’s done with ’em, I promise you that. They got no energy left to be feeling sorry for themselves. Nap time. That’s all they’re good for.” Alejo swallowed the last shot of bourbon in his glass and got to his feet. He snagged Gil’s glass from the coffee table next to the couch and wagged it at him. “You want more of this?”
“I guess. I don’t know. I need something.”
Alejo snorted. “I got what you need.” He grabbed his crotch so Gil wouldn’t miss the implication, then went to the kitchenette and filled both their glasses. A little ice, a lot of bourbon. Didn’t seem like they were going out or doing anything other than talk about Gil’s woes tonight. Might as well be lubricated for it.
“Here.” He handed Gil the glass, forcing him to sit upright to take it. Gil looked at it like he’d never seen booze before, sloshing the liquid around as Alejo sat down next to him.
“I don’t see how it’s gonna help.”
“Numbs the existential dread of living under the boot of capitalism, so my mami always says.”
“I don’t mean the alcohol.” Gil gave his glass another shake. “I mean your dick. How it would work.”
Alejo took the glass away from him. For one thing, maybe Gilbert should stay sober. For another, Alejo didn’t need bourbon all over his couch. “My dick works great.”
“For you, sure.”
“I’m not the only satisfied customer. You want referrals?”
He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on here, but he was down for it. He’d fucked enough twinks out of enough funks to have faith in the medicinal properties of a good railing. He ditched both glasses on the coffee table, then threaded the fingers of one hand through Gil’s bangs, sliding them over his scalp until he caught the hair at the back of Gil’s neck. He used it to turn Gil’s head in his direction. Gil’s brown eyes, widened. He licked his lips, then left them parted even when his tongue retreated.
“I could take care of you, pretty boy.” Alejo thumbed at his lower lip. “Friday night special. Fuck all the whine right out of you. No charge for friends.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
Alejo tugged Gil’s head back harder.
“Probably wouldn’t work.”
A little harder.
“Okay,” Alejo repeated slowly. He could see fear in Gil’s eyes, but that was all right. A boy oughta be scared about the kind of fuck Alejo was capable of delivering, especially an ass-virgin like this boy right here. “Yeah, all right. I got you, fam.” He popped off the couch to fetch the lube and condoms from his bedroom.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” Gil called after him in a sulky voice.
“Oh, I’m doing you a favor plenty. You’re going to be writing me thank you notes on real-life paper when I’m done. Dear Alejo, thank you for putting my head on straight by giving my ass what it needed.”
“I’m not going to be saying that.”
Alejo came back into the room to find Gil sitting with his feet on the couch and his arms wrapped around his knees, one cheek resting on his knee caps. Such an emo boy. Alejo grinned at the back of his head. This was going to be fun. And productive.
“Get yourself over the back of the couch. When a bottom needs a fuck to put things in perspective, he needs it over the couch. Let’s go.”
Gil pulled himself slowly to his feet, then ambled equally slowly around the end of the couch. “This is demeaning.”
“Yep.” Alejo applied pressure between his shoulder blades until he had him bent all the way over. Gil’s bangs flopped against the couch cushions, and his ass thrust out into the room.
“How are you going to fuck me when all my clothes are still on?”
“Listen here.” Alejo draped himself over Gil’s back to speak straight into his ear. “This ain’t about you managing anything, understand? You’re gonna leave the details to me. You’re just a hole. Say that for me. Say I’m just a hole.”
“I’m not just a hole.”
“Tonight you are. That’s all you gotta be. Say it.”
Gil made a choked sound, as if Alejo’s weight was too much for him, but Alejo knew Gil was weighed down by his attempts to arrange the world to suit him, not by Alejo’s body. He was going to make Gil weightless. Like a hole.
“Fine. I’m a hole.”
“There you go. It’s gonna be okay now, dollface. You’re a pretty thing when you’re not bitching, you know that?”
Gil made another choked sound, torn between pissed and flattered. Alejo laughed in his ear, then gave his earlobe a nip before straightening up. He wouldn’t mind having Gil all the way naked, to be honest, but that wasn’t what this was about, so he’d just have to use his imagination for Gil’s top half. For the bottom half, he reached around and undid Gil’s fly, then yanked his jeans down to his knees, taking his boxers along for the ride. He’d seen what kind of underwear Gil wore—nothing worth wasting time on.
That right there was a picture though: Gil’s pants bunched around his ankles, his legs rising pale and skinny out of them. He might only be five nine, but a lot of it was leg. Nothing to complain about anyway. And his ass was amazing. A perfect peach with a hint of blond fuzz on both sides of a tantalizing cleft. Under other circumstances, Alejo would be all in there with his tongue, but this wasn’t the time for worship. Gil needed to be reamed. Filled with cock and emptied of his troubles.
“This is weird.” Gil had his forearms braced against the couch, staring straight ahead out of the window at the fire escape. “I feel like I’m about to get a proctology exam.”
“You could think of it like that.” The mechanics of being opened up wide enough for an energetic fuck might be a little off-putting on your first introduction to them. Especially if you were a straight boy who’d never had anything up your ass bigger than a single gloved finger. “This is medicine. You just relax.”
“I am relaxed,” Gil insisted, but he made a nervous squeak when Alejo slid a lubed-up finger between his cheeks to find his hole. “Wait! Are you sure I’m going to like this?”
“Never said you were going to like it. Said you needed it.” He eased his finger in, letting Gil’s sphincter ooze around it with that delicious mixture of yielding and resisting.
“You just want to humiliate me.”
“Little humiliation does a bottom bitch good.”
“I’m not your bottom bitch.”
Since Alejo had two fingers in Gil all the way up to third knuckle, that seemed debatable, but he didn’t debate it. He just worked his fingers around until Gil was good and slippery, and then he went looking for Gil’s prostate, which was right where it ought to be. Funny how straight guys had the idea they didn’t have a prostate or that it didn’t work the same. Gil jolted when Alejo tagged it, even though Alejo had hardly given him more than a friendly tap. His cock would be doing the real work, but it never hurt to get a head start.
“That’s weird,” Gil complained again. “It feels… I don’t know how it feels.”
“Good. It’s okay. You can say it.”
“I don’t know if it does though. It’s too…”
“Gentle?” Alejo applied more pressure. He smiled to himself when Gil jolted again. “That’s why you need a cock. Fingers don’t do it.”
“Then why are yours all up in there?”
“Because I’m not a caveman. I gotta get you ready for what you’re about to receive. I’m trying to heal you, not kill you.”
“Yeah, right. You’re getting off on this. Admit it.”
Sure, he was. He’d better be. “Cock only works when it’s hard, my man.” He pulled his fingers out and butted up against Gil’s ass with his bulge. “How’s your dick doing?”
“Not interested in the slightest.”
“Mm.” He kicked Gil’s legs apart as wide as they’d go given that he had his jeans bunched around his ankles and took a look for himself. It was true. Gil’s cock dangled soft between his legs, hanging peachy-pink over the weight of his browner balls. “Good thing we only need one hard dick then, which I got for you right here.” He gave Gil’s ass a second friendly bump, then stepped back to undo his fly and fish out his cock.
“I thought I was supposed to be getting off on this.”
“Not mandatory. Lesson one, you’re here to serve your top.”
“You’re not my top.”
“Lesson one,” Alejo repeated as he used his thumbs to spread Gil’s ass cheeks nice and wide. “You’re here to serve your top.” He slotted his cock between Gil’s cheeks and got his head pleasantly wedged into the tight inner ring of his sphincter. This was his favorite spot, right at the entrance, poised for the long inward glide.
Gil was surprisingly quiet. With his head turned to the side, Alejo could see that his eyes were closed and his lips were separated, could hear the steady, deep breaths rasping out between them. He soothed a hand up Gil’s spine.
“See? You’re feeling better already, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.” Gil buried his head in his arms. “Didn’t say you were my top either.”
Alejo pushed the rest of the way in, letting his cock answer for him. They both knew who the top was. Gil made a damp, choked sound.
“There you go,” Alejo said as he pulled out and came back in again, keeping his strokes long and slow, feeling out the angle. “How you doing?” Gil made some more noises—smaller, needy ones. Alejo knew what those were. Acceptance. That was what those were.
“Good boy. Going to take care of you.” He ran both hands up Gil’s sides and over his shoulders, settling onto the mound of his deltoids, gearing up to go hard. “This is where the rubber meets the road, little boy. You might want to hang on.”
Gil didn’t—because he was a whiny bitch who never made the smart choice or he wouldn’t need to be bent over Alejo’s couch in the first place—so his upper body came rearing up when Alejo yanked hard on his shoulders to slam into him.
“That’s why I said hold on. So fucking hold on.”
He pushed Gil back down, and this time Gil’s hands scrabbled to grab hold of the edge of the couch. His knuckles turned white as Alejo railed him, ramming into him with progressively more forceful thrusts, taking care to hit Gil’s prostate on every one. Gil’s hands might be tense, but his body relaxed, giving in to the helplessness of his position. His mouth gaped open, and his eyes were open too—vague and unseeing. A trail of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the cushions.
Alejo’s balls were full, ready to explode. He was doing this for Gil, but fuck if he didn’t love it. A hot, tight ass. A good-looking twink. A chance to finally shut Gil up. Because there were no complaints issuing from between those pretty pink lips now. No jokes, no sass. Only that line of drool and a low echoing moan.
Alejo could come now. If his job was to take all the starch out of his self-centered friend, he’d done it. Gil wasn’t going to be saying anything to anyone, for at least a few hours. But he wanted to make Gil come, to destroy him so thoroughly that Gil would be back for more. Any little thing that was bothering him—he’d know who to call for relief. So Alejo slowed down a bit, taking care to brush his cock along Gil’s prostate not just jab at it.
“Fuuuuck,” Gil groaned. He shook the hair out of his eyes and turned his face up to Alejo. “Fuck, Alejo. Why is that so good?”
“’Cause I know what I’m doing.” He slid one hand around Gil’s hip to find his cock, which had plumped up but was caught against the back of the couch. He freed it, then gave it a few strokes until he had it at full hardness.
“You think you can do this part, so I can go back to railing on ya? Come on, baby. Give me your hand.”
Gil got his hand down there, and Alejo swapped it out for his own, then moved both of his to Gil’s hips. He needed leverage for a last, hard burst. All out now. No mercy. Full destruction guaranteed. Gil was loving it, not trying to pretend he was doing anything other than getting his ass fucked, pushing back to meet Alejo’s cock and wringing his own cock like it was a turkey neck.
“Yeah, yeah,” Alejo urged when Gil shifted from moaning to keening. That was the sound he liked to hear. That was a boy who was getting it good—who knew he needed it and was grateful for it and was about to get off on it. Gil came, his back and ass and arm all convulsing together. Splashes of white coated the back of Alejo’s couch as Gil’s screeching moved into fire-alarm range.
Which meant Alejo could let himself go too. He did with a grateful groan. Being a top was a fucking responsibility, but it had its moments, and this was one of them: come pumping into the unresisting body of the twink you’d hit hard, knowing you’d done right by him.
He lowered himself onto Gil’s back, resting there for a moment until his cock stopped twitching. Then he gave Gil’s earlobe a little kiss so Gil would know he’d been a good boy and pulled out to deal with the condom. When he came back from the kitchen, Gil was right where he’d left him—draped over the back of the couch like a corpse. Alejo helped him pull up his shorts and step out of his jeans.
“Can you walk?”
Well, all right. That was how it was done. He scooped Gil up under the knees. Gil wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but Alejo managed to stagger around to the front of the couch and deposit him on it with more care than if he were a sack of potatoes.
“Where are you going?” Gil asked when he left
“Just getting a drink.” He stifled a sigh as he snagged the bottle of bourbon off the floor and found a clean glass. That was the trouble with giving these boys what they needed. They always needed more. “All right, baby.” He got onto the couch and Gil immediately glommed onto him, curling around him like they were dating. “Feel better?”
Gil nodded against his chest. “Thank you.”
Well, that was more than he sometimes got. “Anytime, little boy. Anytime. You need a chill pill, you just let me know. Papi’s got you.”
“Thank you,” Gil said again. So that was all right. Gil had gotten what he needed, and Alejo hadn’t hated giving it to him. Amazing what you could find if you knew where to look.
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