FIREWORKS

Ally Blue
Jet Mykles
Kimberly Gardner
Laura Baumbach
Luisa Prieto
Maura Anderson
Willa Okati

a firework fantasy
by ally blue

“There’s a spot.”

Bo Broussard squinted in the direction his lover, Sam Raintree, was looking. “Where?”

“Under that tree by the water.” Sam hooked an arm across Bo’s chest and pulled him close, pointing with his free arm.

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 “See?”

Bo saw this time, but with Sam so near it was hard to concentrate on things like finding a spot from which to watch
the upcoming fireworks show. He leaned back against Sam’s solid heat and drew the man’s sunshine-and-sex scent
deep into his lungs. “Yes. I see it now.”

Sam chuckled, his breath warm against Bo’s ear. “So, should we grab it before someone else does? Or would you
rather go find a more private spot for a little while?”

Desire flared in Bo’s belly. God, but Sam did things to him no one else ever had. Just the sound of his voice was
enough to make Bo weak in the knees. It was intoxicating, and more than a little embarrassing. Sometimes he
wondered if their relationship would ever become familiar enough to quell this constant need.

Probably not, he thought, fighting the urge to arch against Sam’s fingers where they brushed his nipple through his T-
shirt. Almost a year after their first kiss, the hunger that kiss woke in him hadn’t faded one iota. If anything, it had
grown stronger, fueled by a love deeper than Bo had ever thought he could feel.

A warm palm cupped Bo’s chin, tilting his face back and sideways. Sam smiled. “Bo? What do you think?” The heat
behind the laughter in Sam’s gray eyes made it pretty clear what he thought Bo was thinking. Not that he was wrong.

Bo craned his neck enough to plant a kiss on the corner of Sam’s mouth. “I think we should go sit before I’m forced to
drag you off behind a building somewhere and fuck that evil smile right off your face.”

The evil smile widened. “We have plenty of time. Fireworks won’t start for another couple of hours.”

The idea was tempting, but there was no real privacy here at the marina where the Fourth of July celebration was being
held. No matter where they went, the chance that someone would see them was high.

Bo stubbornly ignored the tiny inner voice whispering about what a turn-on it would be to fuck where they might be
caught any minute. He didn’t want to hear it.

“Let’s go get our spot before someone else does.” Turning in Sam’s embrace, Bo nuzzled behind Sam’s ear. “When we
get back to the hotel tonight, you can ravish me like I know you want to,” he whispered. “You can even spank me, if
you like. For making you wait so long.”

Sam groaned, the sound low and rough, and Bo grinned. He’d surprised himself and Sam both a couple of months
before, when he’d asked Sam to indulge his long-secret fantasy of being spanked. Discovering that Sam liked it just as
much as he did was a huge relief.

Of course, the down side to that revelation was that the kinkier parts of his brain had become increasingly vocal.
Lately, he’d been plagued by fantasies he never would have allowed himself to imagine not so long ago.

Like public sex. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and hoped Sam wouldn’t catch on.

“Your ass is so getting it later,” Sam murmured, sliding out from behind Bo and taking his hand.

They made their way through the crowd to the patch of shade across the walkway from the water’s edge. They’d just
settled side-by-side on the blanket Sam had brought when something tugged Bo’s braid. Twisting around, he looked up
to meet Dean Delapore’s wide, teasing grin. “Hey, guys.”

Speaking of forbidden fantasies. Bo stifled a groan. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Bo had found himself wondering
lately what it would be like to be with Sam and Dean at the same time. One in his mouth, one in his ass, both taking
him without mercy…

“You want to join us?” Sam asked, smiling up at Dean.

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 Panic and anticipation churned together in Bo’s belly for one nova-bright moment before he realized Sam was merely
inviting Dean to sit with them. He licked his lips. “Yes, Dean, please do.”

“’Kay, thanks.” Dean plopped onto the blanket beside Bo, lifted his sunglasses to perch atop his head and fixed Bo
with a mischievous look. “So. Come here often?”

To his mortification, Bo’s cock hardened when Dean’s bare shoulder brushed his clothed one. He was painfully aware
of being sandwiched between Dean and Sam. Dammit, why did this keep happening? Why couldn’t he shake this
stupid fantasy?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dean laid a hand on his shoulder and twisted around to peer into his eyes. “Bo?
You okay?”

Bo forced himself to meet Dean’s worried gaze, but the smile he conjured was anemic as hell and he knew it. “I’m
fine, just… It’s hot out here. That’s all.”

Hot. The heat of Dean’s palm on his shoulder, of Sam’s arm sliding around his waist. Heat almost strong enough to
sear right through his T-shirt and brand his skin.

Christ, I’m going crazy.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy,” Bo said, the whirling in his head lending an authentic quaver to his voice. “Think I’ll just
lie down for a minute.”

Frowning, Sam lowered Bo onto his back and leaned over him with brows drawn together. “Bo, you look pretty
flushed, are you sure you’re okay?”

Bo reached up to touch Sam’s cheek. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just the heat, plus you know we, um…” He dropped his
voice, though he wasn’t sure why. “We didn’t sleep much last night. I’m a little tired.”

“The seizure meds are probably contributing to that.” Dean leaned over so that his head nearly touched Sam’s and gave
Bo the searching look that meant he was in medical mode. “You haven’t even been taking them two months yet. Your
body’s still adjusting.”

Bo tried without success to not imagine Sam and Dean kissing. “Yes, you’re probably right. Um…”

“Just lie there and rest for a while.” Dean patted Bo’s belly, sending waves of gooseflesh over his skin. “You won’t
miss anything.”

Before Bo could find his voice, Sam bent and kissed his lips, then his brow. “Dean’s right. Rest.”

Smiling, Bo ran his fingers through Sam’s sweat-damp hair. “Yes, sir.”

He felt the faint growl rumble through Sam’s chest, and had to bite his tongue to force back the groan that wanted to
come out. God, he loved that possessive sound. He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, who laughed out loud. “Behave,”
Sam ordered, giving Bo’s nipple a pinch through his shirt. “Or you’ll be getting that spanking right now instead of
later.”

Bo felt his face heat. Dean snickered. “Can I watch?”

Sam pointed a finger at him. “You behave too.”

“Or what, you’ll give me a spanking? Promises, promises.” Dean winked at Bo.

Jesus, they’re going to kill me. Doing his best to tune out whatever suggestive things Sam and Dean were saying, Bo
shut his eyes.

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 When he opened them again, full night had fallen. The crowd had thickened, becoming a forest of legs all around him.
Green and gold light flashed across the black sky. Hot on its heels came a loud boom.

Evidently the fireworks show had started. Bo frowned. It seemed like he’d only shut his eyes a moment ago.

“Must’ve been more tired than I thought,” he muttered to the leaves swaying over his head.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around. His mouth fell open when he saw Sam and Dean sitting on the other
end of the blanket, limbs entwined and crotches pressed together, doing their best to remove each other’s tonsils with
their tongues. Both were naked, swollen cocks sandwiched between their bare bellies.

To his shock, Bo felt not a twinge of anger or jealousy. Normally, he couldn’t help the faint stab of insecurity he felt
whenever Sam and Dean smiled at each other. He figured that was normal, considering their history. He’d always
thought he’d be furious if he caught them kissing like this, even without the naked-and-clearly-turned-on part. It
surprised him that all he felt was a lust so strong it threatened to choke him.

Before he could come up with a single thing to say or do, Sam and Dean broke their kiss and turned identical beaming
smiles to him. Disentangling themselves, they both crawled over to him. Sam pushed him gently onto his back again,
grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off. Bo felt Dean’s hands tugging off his shorts and underwear.

Bo squeaked when a hot, wet mouth closed around his prick. Dean. Oh, my God. He stared up into Sam’s eyes. “Sam.
What—“

Sam laid his fingers over Bo’s mouth. “Shhhh. Don’t talk.”

“But—“

This time it was Dean who interrupted him, letting go of his cock and moving up to plant a hard kiss on his lips. “We
want to make you feel good, Bo. Let us, yeah?”

At that point Bo couldn’t have answered if his life depended on it, so he just nodded. Dean grinned, kissed him again
and shimmied down to suck his right nipple. Bo groaned and arched into the touch. Sam’s hand curved around the
inside of his left thigh, stroking the sensitive skin there while his tongue probed the pulse point in Bo’s throat.

“Oh God,” Bo breathed when two hands closed around his shaft, squeezing and stroking. The world lit up red and
white for a moment, accompanied by cheers and whistles, almost as if the crowd and the fireworks and the whole
fucking universe was celebrating the fulfillment of Bo’s most closely-held fantasy. He let out a breathless laugh, one
hand caressing Dean’s neck and the other tangled in Sam’s hair.

When both men pulled away and urged him onto hands and knees, he obeyed gladly. He didn’t know why this was
happening, or why none of the strangers surrounding them seemed to notice, but he wasn’t about to question it. The
whole thing felt surreal. Magical. His gut told him if he studied it too hard, it would vanish, and he didn’t want to lose
this one chance to let his inner hedonist have its way.

Kneeling on all fours, the night air cool on his heated skin and multi-colored radiance illuminating the trees and the
people and the starry sky, Bo wondered if he’d fallen into another world, and how long he would be allowed to stay.

A rigid, leaking cock swayed into view inches from his face. It wasn’t Sam’s. He tilted his head back to meet Dean’s
simmering gaze. Smiling, Dean wrapped a hand around his erection and cupped Bo’s chin in his other palm. The
smooth head of his prick brushed Bo’s lips. Bo opened his mouth, and Dean’s cock slid inside. Bo shut his eyes and
swallowed Dean down to the root.

Dean groaned, his fingers digging into Bo’s hair. Behind him, Bo felt Sam’s prick nudging his hole, then the quick
pain of penetration followed by the familiar, wonderful pressure of Sam’s cock filling him up. He moaned around his
mouthful as Sam gripped his hips and started thrusting hard and fast, just the way he liked it.

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 Bo had no idea how long they fucked him, taking him in a perfect simulation of his recent fantasies. For all he knew,
he’d always lived this way, on hands and knees with one cock down his throat and another up his ass, two pairs of
hands stroking his naked skin, two lust-rough voices telling him how beautiful he was, how perfect, how much they
loved fucking him. Bo felt as if his consciousness was expanding, blossoming under the touch of two men who loved
him in different ways. When they came at the same time, crying out in stereo and filling him with liquid heat, Bo felt
like a god. He lapped up the bittersweet taste of Dean’s semen, clenching his anus around Sam’s cock to keep it lodged
deep inside him.

Bo didn’t realize he was still hard until Sam and Dean had both withdrawn from his body. Only when they laid him on
his back once again and stretched out on either side of him did he notice the throbbing ache in his crotch. Without a
word, they spread his legs wide, each hooking one of his thighs over their hips. Dean’s hand closed over his cock,
while Sam’s fingers delved into his ass. Two sets of warm, damp lips pressed tender kisses to his neck, and Bo started
to think he’d died and gone to the heaven in which he’d never believed. He felt the impending release burning in his
belly, and moaned.

“Come, baby,” Sam whispered.

“Come for us,” Dean echoed, leaning up to kiss Bo’s lips.

Dean’s grip on Bo’s cock tightened, Sam’s fingers plunged deep to nail Bo’s gland, and Bo couldn’t hold out any
longer. He came hard, spine bowing as he painted his chest and belly with his seed. The shout torn from his throat was
drowned out by a thunderous explosion overhead. The world lit up in rainbow colors.

“I love you,” Sam murmured, nuzzling his cheek. “So beautiful, Bo. Bo…”

“Bo! Wake up, the fireworks are starting.”

Sam’s voice sounded sharper somehow. Clearer. Bo frowned. “Hmm?”

Dean’s full-throated laugh sounded from somewhere above him. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty. Rise and shine.”

Bo opened his eyes, sat up and blinked until his vision cleared. Everything looked different. A horde of people stood
around him still, but the sky had brightened to a clear indigo behind the arcs of glittering light from the fireworks.
Sam knelt on his right and Dean stood to his left. Both were fully clothed. Apparently they’d dressed again in the few
seconds he’d had his eyes shut.

They’d dressed him as well, he realized, staring at the T-shirt and shorts which had magically replaced themselves on
his body.

Dean dug the toe of one sneaker into Bo’s leg. “I think he’s still asleep, Sam.”

Bo blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Chuckling, Sam slipped an arm around Bo and hauled him to his feet. “You fell asleep, Bo. I wouldn’t have woken
you, but I knew you wanted to see the fireworks, so…”

“No, I’m glad you did.” Bo yawned and rubbed his eyes. A rocket hissed into the sky and erupted into sparkling silver
stars. He shot a surreptitious glance at Dean while Sam was grinning at the show overhead. “So. I’ve been asleep all
this time?”

“Yeah.” Sam raised a brow at him. “Must’ve been having a hell of a dream, too, judging by the sounds you were
making.”

“I was making sounds?”

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 “You were.”

“Moaning.” Dean gave him a lecherous grin. “It was hot.”

Bo dropped his head into his hands. “Oh God.”

Grabbing both of Bo’s wrists, Sam pulled his hands down, leaned close and kissed his nose. “Don’t be embarrassed.
We’ve all had those kinds of dreams before.”

“So what were you dreaming about?” Dean asked, sticking his hands into his back pockets.

Sam pulled Bo into his arms, Bo’s back against his chest. “I’d like to know that too.”

Bo relaxed into Sam’s embrace, his hands splayed over Sam’s, and studied Dean’s red-and-gold-lit face. Part of him
wanted to tell them what had just happened in his dream. Another, larger, part wanted to keep it to himself.

The second part won. This experience was his, and his alone.

“Sam,” Bo said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

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 the glory boy

by jet mykles

© 2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“The glory boy is home.” Eric rolled his eyes. “My life is complete.”
Nancy turned her head to look in the same direction “Where?”
Switching his weight to his other elbow, he lifted his arm from the wooden railing and pointed toward the gazebo.
“Over there, talking to Mr. Wilson.”
She tilted her head down to look over her sunglasses. “Oh yeah. Man, he’s still hot.”
Eric replaced his elbow on the railing and sunk his chin back on his palm. “Yes he is.”
She chuckled. “Too bad he’s not gay, huh?”
He made no reply. There was no need. Eric was the only openly gay person in the very small town of Linden Grove
and very few people let him forget it. Although he shouldn’t complain. Shocking enough that coming out to his family
had been completely anti-climatic. Doubly shocking when both of his parents proceeded to tell everyone they knew.
Like Eric’s being gay was a badge of honor, for chrissakes! Sometimes he really hated having hippie parents. Okay,
that wasn’t fair. He should be grateful they were supportive, and he was, but it was kinda weird that not only they but
pretty much all of their friends were so excited about it. According to them, he was a free spirit, going his own way,
doing his own thing. It was kind of irritating.
But then, just about everything about Linden Grove irritated him. He couldn’t wait to pack up for college in the fall.
Soon he would be on his own in a completely different world. Bobby Peck—the glory boy—had done that two years
ago. By all accounts, the former high school football star was doing well on his business degree and was third string on
his college team.
With nothing else to do, Eric studied the glory boy, using his sunglasses and the long brown bangs over his eyes to
hide what he was doing. Bobby stood among a group of greats and former greats of the Linden High Broncos, a
plastic cup in his hand and that ever-present, blinding smile on his face. Baggy gray cargo shorts and tight white t-
shirt with his college’s logo blazoned across perfect pecs. His dark blond hair was cropped short at the neck and sides,
a little longer at the top. He could have spiked it if he wanted, but that wouldn’t be his style. Sunglasses and distance
hid his eyes from Eric, but he knew they were this deep, sensual brown with surprisingly heavy eyelids. Always made
him look seductive. At least, to Eric’s wayward imagination.
Nancy slapped his arm, getting his attention. “C’mon, I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”
Finding no particular reason not to comply, Eric pushed away from the railing then followed his sister off the bridge
and headed toward where the temporary stalls had been set up for the locals to sell food.
***
“Eric Malloy.”
He thought it was his uncle Dave’s rich voice at first. But, as he turned, swallowing his bite of hot dog, he realized that
was stupid because his uncle wouldn’t say his last name. He couldn’t have been more shocked to look up, first into a t-
shirt with “USC” plastered across the front in red and gold, then into a face he’d jacked off thinking about many times.
Luckily he’d swallowed, because he might have choked. As it was, he stammered. “Bobby Peck.”

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 Surprising, Bobby held out one big hand toward him. “Good to see you. How you doin’?”
Eric blinked, stunned. On auto-pilot, he shifted his paper plate to his other hand and shook Bobby’s hand. “I’m good.
How’re you?”
Bobby shook his head. “Doin’ good.” That smile made him seem like he had more teeth than normal people.
“Uh.” At a loss, Eric pointed to Nancy, seated beside me. “You remember my sister, Nancy.”
Bobby held out his hand. “I do. How’re you?”
She did that awful giggle thing before taking his hand. “I’m great. What brings you back in town?”
“Just visiting. I missed the picnic last year and my mom barely forgave me.”
They laughed appropriately.
Bobby focused on him again. “You must have graduated in May.”
Again, Eric had to blink away surprise. “Uh, yeah.”
“Congrats, man.” To Eric’s further shock, Bobby sat himself down on the hay bale beside Eric, leaning elbows on
knees and holding the plastic cup by the fingertips. “You off to college in the fall?”
“Yeah.”
“Where to?”
“UC Santa Barbara.”
Bobby nodded. “Nice school. I’ve got a buddy down there. Gorgeous city.”
Eric nodded, still unable to figure out why the glory boy was talking to him. There were kids Eric’s age and older all
over the picnic who’d kill to have his undivided attention. It’s not like they really knew each other. Not well. Bobby
had been nice to him in school, but they’d rarely interacted. Eric had interviewed him once for the school paper and
Bobby had congratulated him on a good performance after one of the school plays, but those were their two major
conversations.
But here was Bobby Peck asking him what he was going to study and was he really into journalism and what type of
writing did he hope to do. At some point, Nancy left. Eric panicked at first, but Bobby just kept him talking. He’d just
started asking Bobby about what he’d been up to at college when others started coming to talk to him. Seemed leaving
the glory boy in just one conversation wasn’t acceptable. Two of Bobby’s friends from high school came up and joined
the conversation for a while, which was just too weird since they were really nice to Eric. But then they took Bobby
off to play Frisbee while the sun was still up.
“Nice talking to you, Eric,” Bobby said, shaking his hand again.
“Yeah.” He had a genuine smile for Bobby. “You too.”
“Whoa!” Nancy bumped him from behind, murmuring into his ear. “What was that?”
“I have no idea.”
***
Of course there were fireworks. What self-respecting town picnic didn’t include fireworks? And the park in Linden
Grove had a nice sized lake to reflect and support the colorful display. Eric remembered a time when he and Nancy
had waited eagerly for the sun to go all the way down and the show to start. Then, in high school, it was the signal to
go off in the wooded area of the park to drink and make out. Well, Eric had never done the make out part but he’d
done the drinking part. This year though? Eh. Maybe he’d just watch the show.
He stood off to the side near the trees, out of the crowd that was gathering in the clearing that faced the lake. The old
elm tree shaded him mostly from view and that was just fine by him. Nancy had gone into the woods with her friends.
He’d been invited but… nah. And he didn’t feel like hanging out with his own few friends. He wasn’t especially close
to any of them anymore anyway.
The whistle behind him got his attention. Startled, he glanced over his shoulder. At first all he saw what a silhouette.

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 He thought it might be his dad. Curious, he wandered back into the trees.
He stopped. That was not his dad. That was the glory boy himself. Filtered moonlight caressed one side of his face and
limned his white shirt into ghostly blue. “Bobby?”
The taller man stepped closer until that blinding grin was visible. “Hey.”
“What…?” Eric shook his head. “What’s up?”
Bobby glanced toward the crowd. There wasn’t enough light from the picnic ground to really light him, but Eric’s
vision had adjusted enough to make out a few details. His sunglasses were gone so Eric could see those sleepy eyes
under those heavy brows. Still couldn’t see the rich color of his eyes but he could imagine well enough. “I wanted to
talk to you in private earlier than this, but…” He stepped closer, gaze intent on Eric. “I heard you came out this year.”
Eric’s jaw dropped. He stared at Bobby’s very serious face for a moment before regaining himself. “Yeah, I did.”
Bobby shoved his hands into the front pocket of his shorts. “Takes guts, man.”
Oh no, this is so not happening. He shrugged. “I couldn’t hide it any longer.”
“I know what you mean.”
Jaw dropped again. Eric stared into that all-American wonder boy’s face. “No way.”
Bobby nodded. “Yeah.”
“No way!”
The bigger man chuckled. “Yeah, I know. The glory boy, right?”
Eric swallowed, unaware that Bobby knew what they called him behind his back. “Holy shit. Have you…? Does
anyone know?”
“My folks know. My brother and sister know.” He glanced toward the crowd again. “No one else around here. I just
told them this week. They’re adjusting.”
“When did…? How did you…?”
Bobby’s grin was back. “College is great for ‘finding yourself’.”
Eric couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. So that’s why Bobby wanted to talk to him earlier. Kindred spirits and all.
“Oh man, that’s great.”
His laughter faded as Bobby stepped even closer. “Y’know, I always thought you were really cute.”
Just like that, Eric was hard. He could feel it in his shorts and was so very glad he’d worn the denim instead of the
spandex. He backed up a step. “What?”
Bobby was close enough now that Eric could see the glint in his eyes as those sleepy orbs roamed his face. Hungrily.
Really? “I couldn’t admit it then, but, god damn, you have the prettiest mouth I’ve ever seen.”
Said mouth gaped. “You’re joking.”
Bobby stepped even closer. “I’m not.”
Eric stepped back, shaking from head to toe. “This can’t be real.”
Those eyes were on his mouth. “It’s real. And I’d really, really like to kiss you.”
Eric stumbled. Bobby reached out and caught his arm in one strong hand.
Bang! The first explosion of the fireworks sounded, followed by a cascade of pops. Echoing fireworks sizzled up
Eric’s arm to set fire to his spine.
Bobby swept his boneless body back, finding a nice, wide tree trunk to brace him against. Shocked, Eric stared up into
that face, vivid memories filling in the details that shadows currently hid. He knew it was more fireworks popping in
the distance but he got the impression that the detonations were happening in his gut.
Bobby leaned in until his nose almost touched Eric’s, close enough that visual details were no longer necessary. The

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 sound of his breathing, the warm, sunny smell of his skin, the heat of his strong body so very close, these were far
more interesting up close. His hands were steel bands around Eric’s slim upper arms, firm, not hurting. “Can I kiss
you?”
“Please.” The word spilled out without any conscious thought on Eric’s part.
Which was just as well. Bobby dove in to take possession of his mouth, scattering all thoughts but those of soft lips
parting on his and a tongue tapping for entrance. Gladly, he opened, sucking in a tongue he would never have thought
he’d get to taste.
When Bobby finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His hands had moved to cradle Eric’s jaw, tilting his head for better
access. Now he paused, lips just a whisper away from Eric’s, breath a tantalizing caress. “Oh fuck.”
Eric’s fingers dug into Bobby’s sides. “I’ll say.”
Bobby’s lips brushed Eric’s again. “I could kiss you forever.”
“Okay.”
Ba-bang! Zam! Whooosh! The show continued, colorful lights trying to penetrate the shadows around them.
Chuckling, Bobby nipped Eric’s lower lip, pulling out a moan. “I’m okay just kissing, but,” he swiped his tongue just
inside Eric’s lip, “I’d love to do more. If you’re willing.”
Eric squirmed, unconsciously trying to pull Bobby closer. He was on fire and needed Bobby to be the smothering
blanket for the flames. “Okay.”
“You know what I mean, right?”
“Yeah.” He knew. He was scared to death but he was also painfully aroused.
Bobby’s hands stopped him from pressing up into another kiss. “How far have you gone before?”
Eric swallowed. He so didn’t want to answer. It’d make him seem like a kid. But he didn’t think lying would be a
good idea either. “About this far.”
Gentle thumbs caressed the corners of his mouth. “How much farther?”
Couldn’t they just do it? Did Bobby really need to know about Eric’s lack of experience? “Jacking off?”
One hand adjusted so its thumb could toy with Eric’s bottom lip. Bobby watched its progress. “You ever sucked a guy
off with this mouth?”
Eric’s dick jumped in his shorts. Might be leaking. “Once.”
The thumb slid inside to trace the tops of his bottom front teeth. “Only once. Shame. You’ve got a mouth that’s made
for sucking dick.”
Fire crackled in the sky as Eric closed his lips over that thumb, sucking it in. He locked gazes with Bobby as he did it,
making his non-spoken invitation as blatant as he could.
Bobby groaned, pressing closer. One big thigh eased itself between Eric’s legs. “You never been fucked, have you,
Eric?” He kept his thumb in Eric’s mouth, sliding his other hand down Eric’s side until it reached his hip. Fingers dug
into one side of his ass. “Anyone ever sunk his cock balls deep in your hole?”
Eric groaned, grinding down on Bobby’s thigh. He was having a hard time concentrating.
“Answer me, pretty baby.” Bobby’s breath was a caress on his cheek. “Anyone ever fuck you?”
Unwilling to release Bobby’s thumb, Eric gave a minute shake of his head.
“Oh man. I didn’t think I’d be that lucky. I wanted to come back and find you.” Zim… crack! Explosions overhead
punctuated the shock to Eric’s poor brain. “Kiss you. Fuck you.” Bobby rocked his hips into Eric, making his own
arousal evident. “Didn’t know you’d be a virgin for me.” He kissed Eric’s cheek, the corner of his eye. “Can I fuck
you, baby? Can I do to you what I’ve been wanting to do since I admitted I liked guys?”
That warranted actual words. “God, yes.” Eric spoke around Bobby’s wet thumb. Boldly, he slid one hand down
between them and palmed Bobby’s erection. Ker-blam, pop! “Oh please, God, yes.”

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 Bobby ripped his hand free of Eric’s mouth so he could take possession again with his own. Eric gave it all he could,
squeezing the steel rod in Bobby’s shorts. He’d never wanted anything so much in his life.
Growling, Bobby grabbed Eric’s hips and yanked him up farther so that he was precariously balanced on Bobby’s
thigh. The toes of his Nikes barely touched the ground. When he was settled, Bobby attacked the button and fly of his
shorts. “Can’t do everything I want here.” His voice was low and raspy, the vibrations shaking Eric to the core. “Too
many people and no lube.”
Eric heard the crowd’s oooo’s in the distance, knew this wasn’t smart. Anyone could come up and see them. He cried
out when one huge hand wrapped around his cock.
“Oh shit, you’re wet.” Bobby groaned, looking down as he stroked Eric’s erection. “Knew you’d be gorgeous. Bet you
taste good. Ah, fuck.” One handed, he popped open the fly of his own shorts, releasing his cock. “We’ll just do this
now, then go somewhere where I can fuck you all night. Yeah?”
Eric would have answered, but first the sight of Bobby’s cock, even in shadow, took his breath away. Boom! Hisss.
Then Bobby wrapped his hand around both cocks, pressing them together.
“Oh fuck!” Eric whimpered, barely remembering not to scream. This was better than anything he and Paul Fiddle from
Grainger High had done on their few, secretive dates. All new to the gay thing, he and Paul had only had the guts to
suck each other before they broke up over an argument. Why hadn’t they thought of this?! He dug his fingers into the
solid meat of Bobby’s shoulders and rocked his hips in time to Bobby’s hand.
“That’s it, pretty baby.” Bobby crooned into his ear, licking the rim while his grip pushed Eric to the edge. “Come for
me now and I’ll make you come again later.”
“God, Bobby.” Eager, he reached up to wrap his hand around the back of Bobby’s skull, guiding those delicious lips
back to his. Desperate, he fed at Bobby’s mouth as the orgasm took him. Fireworks above the trees around them
sounded out the fireworks shattering in Eric’s belly. He shot his own version between them, coating Bobby’s hand.
His mouth went lazy as the sensations drained from him, but Bobby held him fast, still squeezing, still making him
squirm for another minute until he grunted and spurted his own cum to mingle with Eric’s.
They kept kissing, all the urgency gone, only sweet enjoyment remaining. Bobby toyed gently with their cocks,
keeping them together as they subsided. Eric squirmed at the sensation but not enough to get away.
“Do you need to stay?” Bobby asked finally.
Eric thought about it. The sound of the fireworks show were gone. People would be heading home. No doubt there
were other teenagers within the trees, doing similar things to what they’d just done. Geez, had anyone seen them?
Swallowing, he pulled back a little. Even if anyone had been watching, they wouldn’t have seen much. Bobby’s body
hid just about everything. “No.”
Bobby pressed their foreheads together. “Let’s drive to Grainger. Get a room for the night. I just made promises I’d
really like to keep.”
He stared up into those big brown eyes, amazed. Had this just happened? “Really?”
Bobby’s thumb swiped over the soft, wet head of Eric’s cock, making Eric gasp. “Really.”
Eric smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Let’s do it.”
Grinning, Bobby kissed him thoroughly once more before backing away so they could both adjust their clothes. Eric
watched him wipe cum off his hand with the hem of his t-shirt before tucking it back into his shorts, seemingly
unconcerned.
The glory boy was gay and wanted to fuck Eric into next week. Who would have thought?

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 getting lucky
by kimberly gardner

Copyright Kimberly Gardner, 2008

If it wasn’t for that goofy, pink dinosaur, They would never have met.
“Uncle Chris, look!” His niece’s little girl voice rang through the summer evening as she seized Chris’s hand in a
death grip.
He was dragged out of the flow of pedestrians and toward one of the brightly painted booths that lined this stretch of
boardwalk. This particular booth nestled between Franco’s Pizzeria and The Day Late dollar store. It looked no
different from a dozen other games where wheels spun, balls were tossed and money was spent by the fistful in an
attempt to win some cheapo stuffed animal or mirror bearing the name of some soon to be defunct rock band.
Chris inhaled the spicy aromas of pepperoni and sausage emanating from Franco’s. His stomach growled.
He pulled the little blonde to a stop before they reached the booth. “Bailee, let’s go get pizza first.”
“I don’t want pizza. I want to play a game.” Bailee towed him toward the game with more force than any six-year-old
should have been able to manage.
An orange and yellow sign read: Duck Races! And showed a cartoon duck riding a stream of water and grinning
madly as he shot toward what looked, at least to Chris, like a gaping mouth.
The prizes, if you could call them that, were lined up along shelves, a conglomeration of crap you could buy at any
junk store for five bucks or less. And the game itself, in which you used a water pistol to shoot little floating plastic
ducks into even littler holes looked close to impossible, especially if you actually hoped to win one of the chintzy
prizes.
Chris stopped before they reached the booth. “You don’t really want any of that cra– stuff, do you?”
Wide brown eyes blinked up at him. “You said you’d win me a prize.”
“And I will. But–”
“And you said I could pick whatever I wanted.”
Chris sighed. “Yeah, I did.”
“Win me that.”
He followed her pointing finger. On the higher shelves the prizes got better until on the very top shelf sat an array of
plush animals. Probably the same animals would sit there all summer since no one would stay long enough or spend
enough money to actually win one. Bailee pointed at a pink dinosaur, the shade so glaringly bright Chris barely
resisted shielding his eyes. A pair of rhinestone-studded sunglasses perched atop the dinosaur’s fuzzy, pink head, and
this was the kicker, the animal had eyelashes that had to be at least three inches long.
“That’s Lizbeth,” his niece announced. “She wants to come home with me.”
“Step right up and give it a try. Winner every time.”
Chris wondered briefly how much it would cost to just buy the dinosaur outright. Probably less than he’d spend trying
to win it.
“That little girl looks like she needs a prize. What do you say, man?”
Chris turned his attention from the pink dinosaur to the huckster running the game. And froze.

Oh my freakin’ God.
Behind the counter stood an angel in shorts that were more holes than denim. A faded Metallica t-shirt hugged a
slender torso. And a pair of small, wire-framed glasses perched on a slightly up-turned nose lightly dusted with
freckles. Big blue eyes pinned Chris to the spot like a bug on a cork board. Then the angel smiled.
“Winner every time,” he repeated. “What do you say, gorgeous? Want to play?”
Bailee giggled. “He called you gorgeous.”
Heat flooded Chris’s cheeks even as something tightened low in his belly. “I think he was talking to you, Bail,” Chris
lied. He tugged on her hand. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can get lucky.”

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 Chris plunked down a twenty and was given a blue water pistol.
“You want to play too, sweetie?” Without waiting for an answer, the hottie behind the counter handed Bailee a yellow
water pistol. “See if you can beat your daddy at this game?”
“He’s not my daddy,” Bailee informed him. “He’s my uncle Chris.”
Hottie’s eyes flicked to Chris, speculation clear in their blue depths. “Is he now?” A pink tongue slipped out to wet
full lips. “I’m Tim, Uncle Chris.”
Chris swallowed and licked his own lips. “Nice to meet you, Tim.” He let his gaze drift down Tim’s leanly muscled
body. “Anybody ever get lucky at this game?”
Tim’s cheeks colored. It was adorable. “I have a feeling someone is just about to.”
***
“That boy likes you,” Bailee announced as they walked along Magnolia Avenue in the direction of the rented condo.
Under one arm she clutched Lizbeth, the dinosaur’s tail dragging along the ground behind her. In the other hand, she
held an enormous cone of cotton candy.
“How do you know?” Was it possible for a six-year-old to already have functioning gaydar? He had no clue.
She took a bite of her cotton candy and sent him a shrewd look. “Because he kept smiling and making lovey-dovey
eyes.” Chris started to ask what ‘lovey-dovey eyes’ were and how the hell did she know anyway, but Bailee wasn’t
done. “Then when you couldn’t get that purple duck through the hole he knocked it in for you.” She hugged her
dinosaur. “He was so nice.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Chris laughed. He was feeling good. Not only had he won Lizbeth for his niece, and done it with
only a little help from Tim, but he’d managed to get a date too. Later, once he returned Bailee to her parents, he would
go back to the booth for Tim and see if the night had just a little more luck left in it.
***
Tim was already waiting for him outside the game booth. Chris saw him as he made his way through the crowd toward
the designated meeting spot.
Chris let out a low whistle and slowed his pace, taking a few moments just to enjoy the view.
Tim leaned against the railing, his back to Chris. He wore the same ragged shorts and t-shirt from earlier, but his hair,
which had been tied back in a stubby tail, now hung loose. It flowed in rich chestnut waves just past his shoulders and
made Chris’s fingers itched to touch. He imagined plunging his fingers into all that hair as he ravaged that oh-so-
kissable mouth.
Chris’s cock twitched and began to fill. Down boy. There would be plenty of time for that later, of that he was just
about certain.
As if sensing Chris’s gaze, Tim turned and their eyes met. He was eating an ice-cream cone, a double-dip of some
pale color, possibly vanilla. As Chris watched, Tim’s tongue slipped out and took a long, slow lick of the dripping ice-
cream, his eyes never leaving Chris’s face.
In two heartbeats Chris was fully hard. Thank FSM he’d worn a pair of his baggiest shorts, anticipating that he might
need just this kind of coverage.
“Hey,” Tim said, “you’re early. I haven’t finished my dinner yet.”
“You’re having ice-cream for dinner?” Chris leaned against the railing. His leg brushed Tim’s.
The other man nodded and held out the cone. “Want some?”
“Sure.” Chris leaned in and licked a drip of ice-cream from the corner of Tim’s mouth. The almost-too-sweet butter-
scotch mingled with the slightly salty taste of Tim’s skin. Heat flared in those pretty blue eyes. “Mmm, butter-scotch.
My favorite.”
“have some more.” Tim’s free hand slid to the back of Chris’s neck and he pulled him in for a kiss.
Their lips fused and Tim’s tongue pushed into Chris’s mouth. The kiss was cold and tasted of butter-scotch and
promises.
Oh yeah, he was so getting lucky tonight.
***
“This is nice.” Chris sipped his beer then set the bottle down.
They were sitting on the roof of the garage apartment Tim was renting with a group of guys who all worked the
boardwalk games. “I bet you can see the fireworks really good from here.”
Tim nodded and took a swig of his own beer. “You can. But do you really want to watch a bunch of lame-ass
fireworks?” He rested his hand on Chris’s thigh just below the hem of his shorts. Slowly, he slid his fingertips under
the material. “Or maybe we could do something else. If you want.”
Chris spread his legs, giving Tim better access as his hand slipped farther up the leg of Chris’s shorts. “Something else

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 is good too.”
“You think?” Tim moved closer, angling his body and leaning in until his lips brushed Chris’s ear just as his fingers
closed around Chris’s erection. Teeth nipped his earlobe and fingers squeezed his cock. “The whole time you were
playing, I kept picturing you on your back with my cock up your ass.”
Chris gasped as Tim’s thumb swiped over the head of his prick. He slid his arms around Tim’s waist and pulled him
close. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Tim pressed him backward onto the blanket they’d spread on the roof. “That okay with you?”
“Yeah,” Chris breathed. He had expected a guy who looked like Tim to be a bottom, not that it mattered. Chris would
take this little hottie any way he could get him. But finding this new, dominant side of his little beauty was definitely a
plus.
Just as the first boom sounded in the distance, Tim rolled on top of him and captured Chris’s lips in another of those
soul-searing, mind-blowing kisses. Slowly his tongue fucked Chris’s mouth, picking up the rhythm of his hips as he
thrust against Chris’s belly.
Behind Tim’s head, the night sky lit with red and gold sparkles. Their cocks slid together, so hot, so good, even
through their clothes.
“You are so fucking gorgeous,” Tim murmured against Chris’s lips. “I can’t wait to get my cock up your ass.”
Boom! Purple, blue and silver stars filled the sky. Chris moaned. His hips jerked, his cock thrusting into the hollow
beside Tim’s hipbone. He couldn’t wait either, he really, really couldn’t.

mexican heat snippet

by laura baumbach

Mexican Heat by Laura Baumbach & Josh Lanyon

“I think…” There was a deliberate pause. “I’d prefer it the other way around.”

Huh? Gabriel tried to remember exactly what he’d said, and hissed as he was unexpectedly hauled off the desk. Hands
momentarily free, he lashed out, managing to land a couple of largely ineffectual blows at the other’s head. A second
later his arms were yanked behind his back, wrists pinioned by one large, capable hand.

Christ, this guy was strong. Gabriel felt a flicker of genuine alarm. Even if he really wanted free, he wasn’t sure he’d
manage it. Once again he was manhandled over the desk.

Fingers threaded his hair, caressing, curling through the long strands. “So soft,” the big man murmured. “Like a
kitten.”

“K-kitten? I remind you of a goddamned kitten?” Gabriel stuttered his indignation, trying to shake off the tender
touch. He didn’t want tenderness, didn’t want caresses. He tossed his head, but the questing fingers merely clamped in
his hair, demanding stillness.

“Shhh.” And the guy said it gently like he fully expected Gabriel to hush up now.

And appallingly Gabriel felt a melting in his gut, a desire to shut up and do whatever this prick told him to do. “I see,”
he sneered instead. “So what animal are you supposed to be?” He made his tone as offensive as he could. “A goat? A
rooting, rutting pig maybe?”

The larger man sucked in a sharp breath, and the expansion of his chest pressed Gabriel against the desk’s edge already
biting into his hips.

“D’you…mind…” he gasped.

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 “I might,” he was informed mildly. “I might be quite sensitive, gatito. You might have seriously hurt my feelings.”

Once again the sonofabitch was laughing at Gabriel. He ground out, “Yeah, right. Okay, asshole. Fun is fun. Now let
me up. I’ve got things to do and places to go. Not that this hasn’t been a night to remember…”

A breath of tequila huffed against the side of his face, tickling his ear. “Is that what you really want, little tiger? You
do not like my…attentions?”

Gabriel shivered as the man plastered himself closer still, his stiff member rubbing up and down Gabriel’s ass. “You
do not want my…warmth against your body?”

Gabriel swallowed hard. Yeah, he wanted the big man’s warmth. He wanted his attentions all right. His ass was aching
for something more than a rough rub through the layers of their clothing. But this was…it was outside of his
experience, outside of his control. Why not admit it? This guy scared Gabriel. Yeah, a tough street cop, a guy who’d
seen it all and even done a lot of it in the interests of justice, he was scared. His body was literally shaking with a
crazy mix of desire and alarm.

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“We both know you’re lying, mi gatito parvulo.” A big hand slid between Gabriel’s legs to grope the hard bulge there.
“You desire me, si?”

“No, I don’t see,” Gabriel gritted. But, oh God, the feel of that big hand fondling him through the stiff denim of his
jeans. It was all he could do not to beg.

The exploring hand found his waistband, and expertly worked the button fly of his jeans. Before Gabriel could do more
than grunt out a protest, his Levi’s were roughly dragged down. Cool air wafted over his bare cheeks as the jeans slid
down his long strong legs to pool at his feet. He was left standing there in his jock strap.

“Silk,” the big man murmured approvingly. “Yes. That is you. That is perfect.”

Perfectly embarrassing, maybe.

Gabriel gulped, “Were you planning to do something, you faggot greaser or were you just going to admire my
underwear all night?”
And the wisp of silk and elastic went with one swipe, freeing Gabriel’s swollen cock to jut up against the polished
wood of the huge desk. He started to turn, then thought better of it, tensing at the chink of a belt buckle. This was
followed by the slide of a zipper. Gabriel stood frozen, the blood pounding dizzily in his ears. His cock was already
leaking in excitement.

The big man said something soft in Spanish, something Gabriel couldn’t quite catch, but the velvet growl of words
nuzzled into his hair set his heart tumbling.

Long steely fingers wrapped around his shaft. The blunt, callused pad of a thumb slowly massaged the head, teasing
the underside and tracing the now creamy slit. Gabriel bit his tongue to keep from moaning, but as the edge of that
thumb smeared the pre-cum, a faint sound escaped him. His knees went weak. Gratefully he acknowledged the hard
arm about his waist, only noticing then — distantly — that his hands were free. Good thing. He needed them to steady
himself on the edge of the desk.
Hard callused fingers moved between his legs, exploring the tight sac and then leisurely moving on. A sliding caress of
one angular hip and then the long blunt fingers slowly traced the crack of Gabriel’s taut ass.

Then came the delicate press of a thick fingertip on the hot pink hole of Gabriel’s anus.

“Holy mother!” the man said huskily. “You feel so ripe, so ready for me.”

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 Gabriel moaned again, shivering. “Oh…fuck!”

The fingers pierced him slowly, sweetly. Slickly. Slickly? Lube? Where had this guy got lube? Was he some kind of
always prepared sexual Boy Scout or had he found it in a desk drawer? It wasn’t hard to believe in this place: tubes of
KY dispensed with the bottles of Wite-Out.

“Is that a request, gatito?” The man pressed his lips next to Gabriel’s ear. The hand holding Gabriel’s straining cock in
its callused warmth stilled. “Because if it isn’t, I’ll stop now.” Though the voice was no less seductive, an undertone of
inflexibility cut through the haze of Gabriel’s lust. “I have no wish to take what is not truly desired.”

Gabriel twisted, staring back at the stern handsome face watching his own. The big man’s cock was nestled hotly in
the crease of his ass. His own shaft rested trustingly in the other’s tight grip. And now the guy wanted to discuss it?
Jesus fucking — no pun intended — Christ!

Of course Gabriel wanted him. He wanted this man with every fiber of his being, but he hated being forced to admit it
out loud.
Tall, dark, and perverse’s moral soft spot was going to spoil the whole goddamned thing. It was part of the game
Gabriel played with himself. He relied on the illusion that he was being physically forced, restrained against his will,
overpowered by a greater strength and will than his own. He craved the pretense of his helpless submission — and this
man with his hard hands and silken voice, his velvety kisses and brutal strength was Gabriel’s fondest wet dream come
true. A man who instinctively knew it took more than just a thick cock to take Gabriel to the peak of sexual ecstasy.

But not if they had to talk about it for chrissake!

The blunt head of the man’s cock rubbed over his fluttering asshole, and Gabriel deliberately pushed backward. The
tip of the slick, thick cock nudged into his ring of tight, quivering muscle. Gabriel groaned and thrust his hips to gain
more of the deliciously teasing shaft. But infuriatingly, the big dick didn’t shove past his sphincter muscle.

Wet lips brushed over his ear and drew a line of moisture down his neck. “Yes, gatito?”

The words tore out of him. He couldn’t help it. “Yes! You cholo bastard. Yes!”

In one long smooth stroke the stout cock sheathed itself to the hilt in Gabriel’s taut body. The man whispered into the
crook of his neck. “Spanish, my little gatito. Not Mexicano. Not Americano. You are conquered by a true son of
Spain.”

“Like I give a shit.” Gabriel gasped fretfully, “Just fuck me blind.”

“Si, mi gatito, si. I will give you what you most desire.”

Slow, strong, thrusts jarred Gabriel’s teeth and knocked his bobbing hard-on into the desk with a heavy thud at each
languid stroke. He could have wept at that solacing mix of pain and pleasure.

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 the dark hours
by luisa prieto

The door shut behind Jason with a crunch of a breaking bone. Evening light bled through the door’s glass, casting
blue and green shadows over the room. Frowning, Jason turned the light on.

Denied shadows, the house opened up before him. The entry room was small, leading the wall to either the living room
or a hall. Down the hall were a set of stairs, the entryway into the dining room and kitchen, a spider infested closet
under the stairs, the bathroom, and a door that led into the kitchen.

Jason stepped into the living room. He would’ve liked to do this walk through in daylight, but Fourth of July traffic
had argued for otherwise.

Remembering the drive, he shuddered and silently thanked the Flying Spaghetti Monster, patron everything of
agnostics, atheists, and people who wanted to annoy their uncle, the former priest.

Jason studied the room. There was an office somewhere, but he couldn’t remember if the door to it was in this room or
down the hall. He was more familiar with the upstairs and its labyrinth of rooms. A master bedroom he’d never liked
going into because his grandmother had died there, his old room and its window looking out over the neighbor’s small
graveyard, his mother’s old room, the room his parents had always assured him wasn’t haunted but wouldn’t go in
themselves, and a couple bathrooms. No attic, though he had found a small crawlspace above his room. There’d been
books there. His grandfather’s journals . . .

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 The memories teased him, giving him an image of old leather-bound books and then fading. The books might be real.
They might also have been a fancy, something his then twelve-year-old mind created to make his wasted summer in
this old house seem more interesting. The house had a secret attic room and it was filled with magic. The neighbor was
a monster. Sparklers had the power to keep the formless monsters that lived in shadows at bay. Jason had saved the
world.

At least, he’d thought he had.

His parents had paid a small fortune to a therapist for the next two years after that summer. In the end, it was decided
that he’d simply daydreamed too much.

It was an embarrassing assessment, but then, it made living with the shadows under the bed easier. He was an
imaginative child, they were concerned parents. The two did not always mix.

The air in the living room smelled stale, so Jason circled the room, opening windows.

Cool, evening kissed air snaked into the room. The distant pop of fireworks echoed from down the street, making Jason
smile. As a child, he’d barely had the patience to wait for full dark before wanting to set something on fire. It seemed
that impatience was eternal.

Air crept through the room, stirring the curtains and dust. His parents had always meant to sell the hundred-and-fifty
year old house, but several normal and not at all suspicious deaths over the years had turned the place into a
stigmatized property.

Thankfully, the deaths happened around the house and not on the antique furniture, so they’d sold those and funded
everything from cruises around the world, to a couple IRAs, and Jason’s college fund. It also meant there were no
white-sheeted ghosts to greet Jason in any of the . . .

Through an open door in the corner of the room, Jason saw a sheet draped over a couch.

Jason headed toward it. It seemed he’d found the office.

His steps thumped softly, giving the house a heartbeat. Despite his childhood promise to never return, he’d returned.
His reasons were financial; he was a dark fantasy writer. He was doing well, able to keep himself fed and clothed. His
studio was charming, his car reliable, but money was forever tight.

The house, for all of the memories it inspired, was in a nice neighborhood. If he lived here, he could build up his
savings account. Right now, the poor thing clawed its way into three digits, only to be gutted when emergencies came
up.

Inside, the room was a shadow of what it had once been. Beneath white sheets were his father’s desk and chair, as
well as a faded black leather couch.

Jason drew the sheets off each of the items and scanned the room. At one time, gold trophies and books competed for
space on the shelves. Now, the shelves were gone, the curtains were open, and . . .

The back door was unlocked.

A tremor darted through Jason. No one was there. The house was quiet.

Despite that, the few steps between him and the door were slow. No one was there. Anyone could have been.

Jason turned the lock. Waited. If anyone had come in . . .

Silence.

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 He was alone.

Jason released a breath. When he’d last spoken to the lawyer, the man had assured him he had locked every door
behind him, and that he’d closed the curtains at the back of the house.

At another time, Jason would grant that it was an odd request. Now, when the blue hour was bleeding into night, he
wanted doors locked and curtains drawn. When he finally allowed himself to look outside, he wanted it to happen
during the daytime, when sunlight made nightmares shrink.

Jason approached the windows. There were six, creating a frame over the pretty yard outside. There were a handful of
oaks to the left, a gazebo to the right, and a tall stone fence . . .

At the sight of the fence, Jason stopped. Past it, the top of a stone tower rose into the night.

The house was fairytale beautiful. As an adult, he would call it a Tudor-style manor. As a child, he’d thought it was a
castle.

Jason forced himself the last few steps and then yanked the curtain shut. In theory, the fence separated the house from
a neighbor’s on the next block. In reality, there was a break in the stones out behind the trees. The crevice was waist
high, and when his parents had seen it, they’d shrugged it off. The gate was there; no one was going to trespass.

They’d forgotten they had an imaginative child. To them, the fence was insurmountable. To him, it was the gateway to
a castle. Under the cover of night, when the fireworks bathed the sky in flashes of blue and silver, he’d slipped out and
...

And what?

Jason continued pulling each curtain closed. He had no idea what had actually happened. At the time, he’d thought
he’d seen monsters. Dead bodies appeared in the neighborhood; he’d been certain the monsters were responsible. He’d
sharpened sticks, tried to use his father’s pottery kiln to melt his grandmother’s silver but only succeeded in creating
chaotic lumps that would never fit inside a gun, and got a slingshot.

A pop rang out, making Jason jump.

He laughed, and then headed out for the living room. He’d forgotten about the fireworks.

Thankfully, the rest of the world hadn’t. It was dark; a chaos of light would now erupt over the downtown area.
Vibrant greens and golds would shimmer and dance, each burst growing larger and larger until–

Cool fingers slid around his forearms, stopping him.

“Mr. Williams?” he asked. It couldn’t be the lawyer, the lawyer was supposed to be with his family downtown, but
still Jason wondered. Hoped.

Breath teased Jason’s neck, his ear.

“No,” a man whispered.

Jason’s breath caught. That voice. He knew that voice. It had belonged to one of the monsters.

No.

That time hadn’t been real. He’d imagined . . .

He wasn’t imagining now.

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 A sigh crept down his neck, teasing him.

“I’ve waited for you.”

The voice stabbed Jason, making him tremble. Memoires teased him, just out of reach. He remembered . . . something.
Sneaking through the broken gate between the houses’ yards. Making his way through a cluster of oak. Approaching
the golden glow of a large window. Looking inside and seeing . . .

Two dozen costumed figures moving in a dance. They turned and pivoted, leaving their shadows to catch up.

“You’re real,” Jason whispered.

Laughter tumbled over him.

“As are you,” the monster–Thayer–said.

Jason slowly slid a hand into his coat pocket. He’d dialed numbers when he was half asleep. If he could dial nine-one-
one now, and just started screaming, maybe someone would trace the call and–

Cool fingers slipped past his. It pushed his hand away from his phone and held it.

Beside his fingers, something crunched, and then the hard edges of his phone bit his skin.

Jason tore his hand out. Flying Spaghetti Monster, the guy just broke his Blackberry. Oh–

Cool fingers caught his wrist. Sharp claws lightly caressed his skin.

“Sshhh,” Thayer said. “No need bring anyone else into this.”

“You killed people.”

“You never proved that.”

Something popped outside.

The sharp sound jerked the figure behind him, loosening his grip.

Jason threw himself forward, breaking free.

The steps to the door were a mile. He’d just grabbed the knob when something–someone–grabbed his shoulder.

Jason twisted the knob, his body, and then he was breaking free of his coat and running out the door.

He ran toward his car, hands patting his pockets. His keys. Flying Spaghetti Monster, his keys–

Left pocket.

Jason yanked them out and stabbed his key fob. Ahead, his car lights winked at him.

“Can I help you?”

The calm voice caught Jason, making him stumble into his car. He turned and found a handsome man in a dark trench
coat standing beside his trunk. Behind him, a large green circle trembled in the sky. It shimmered into gold and then
faded.

Jason looked at the man, back at the house, and then laughed. Thayer hadn’t followed him.

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 “Sir?” the man asked.

“Do you have a phone?” Jason asked.

The man reached into his coat. “Do you need Triple A?”

“No. Call the police. There’s–” No one would believe him. “–something behind the house. A trespasser.”

The man withdrew two shapes. One was a phone; the other a wallet.

“Detective Seth Larsen. I’ve lived across the street for the last year and the only one who’s ever gone in there was a
lawyer.”

“Jason Cavernaugh. The lawyer gave me the keys last week.” Larsen . . . Larsen . . . he was familiar.

Something popped, and then red stars exploded across the sky. The color was so bright. It reminded Jason of blood.

The man stepped up to him. His eyes were odd, one blue, one green, and then memory clicked; Jason had met him
before. Larsen had just joined the force when the murders started. Jason had babbling to him once about vampires.

Inside, Jason winced. It’d almost been fifteen years. Maybe the man wouldn’t remember.

Larsen frowned. “Jason Cavernaugh.”

Fuck. The man remembered.

Larsen slipped his wallet and phone back into his coat.

“There’s something–someone in there,” Jason said.

“Really.”

“Yes!”

Larsen studied the house. “My first partner disappeared investigating something for you.” He turned and looked at
Jason. “We found a hand two months after you left. A hand.”

The monsters had eaten the rest. Jason had tried to tell them but no one believed him. Hell, that poor dead man hadn’t.

“Here’s my theory,” Larsen said. “There was a serial killer in the area. You saw him do something. He saw you.
Maybe molested you.”

Flying Spaghetti Monster. “He did not.”

“I’m sure you’d like to believe that. He did something, though. Whatever it was, it had you seeing things in the dark.”

“There were things in the dark.” They had teeth and claws and–

“Let me guess. They had tentacles. Something pleasantly eldritch and phallic shaped. Look, that shit messed you up
and I feel for you, but we never found some of the missing people. Get yourself some therapy and when you can talk
and make sense, call me. You call the station at any time screaming about monsters, though, and I’ll haul your ass into
observation so fast you won’t have time to say boogeyman.”

Jason watched him leave.

Then, he yanked open his car door and got in. He slammed the door shut, frowned, and then considered and decided

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 against screaming.

It would feel good to cause a disturbance that Larsen couldn’t punish, but the act would accomplish nothing. The
officer would still think he was suffering from some kind of abuse inspired fantasy and if pressed he might decide to
drag him off to a hospital now.

Blue exploded into the sky, followed by red, then white, then gold. They were beautiful. And loud. If he screamed, no
one would hear him.

Jason started the car. As a kid, no one had believed he’d seen monsters. Ironic that now people were willing to believe
he had, provided that the things that went bump in the night were human.

An insult to injury thought; Jason couldn’t believe he’d wanted to argue about that. No officer, the monster never
touched me back then. It waited until I was an adult before considering it.

up in flames
by maura anderson

Up in Flames
© 2008 by Maura Anderson

Noah took a swig of cold beer and stared at the collection of fireworks laid out on the picnic table. “Hmm. Where to
start?”

Not that anyone was going to answer him. Boone had moved out more than eight months ago. He’d never begrudge his
long time friend and roommate his new partner and the solitude was nice—for about a week. Now the house

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 practically echoed.

For a while Noah could bury himself in his new project at work but that had been shipped off two weeks ago.

Hell, he didn’t really want another platonic roommate. The thought of someone he didn’t know enough to trust rifling
through the contents of his house really made his stomach churn. Boone he’d known since junior high and their trust
and friendship had cemented when they’d come out together as teens. Nothing like shared trauma to bond two people
for life.

He swigged the rest of his beer and immediately opened up another from the several in the small ice bucket on the
picnic bench.

Maybe some amateur pyrotechnics would liven up his night. At least he could shoot the mortars and not worry too
much about setting his nearest neighbor’s house or shop on fire. The property had been sold to a blacksmith who’d
made a bunch of improvements, including a standing seam metal roof on the house and a big metal shop building.

He’d yet to actually meet the new family, though. He’d been too busy working and hiding from the world. He
probably should have invited them over or at least warned them that his Fourth of July tradition included fireworks a
small town might envy. At least they weren’t illegal…much. There were lights on in the shop but it was probably just
for security.

Was it dark enough yet? It wouldn’t actually be sunset for a while but surely it was dark enough for a mortar round or
two. The so-called meadow that substituted for grass on his property was still moist from the rain they’d had over the
last few days. The mugginess of the day had started to give way to the cooler evening breeze as well.

Setting down the beer, Noah grabbed a fireplace lighter and a mortar, then trooped across the yard to the launch
platform he’d set up with the mortar tubes and sand buckets. He straightened the fuse out and dropped the mortar in
the tube, lit the fuse and trotted back toward the house, turning around midway to watch the round go up.

Ka-boom!

The mortar shot skyward and exploded in a flower of yellows and reds, then faded away in a forest of crackles and
pops.

“Nice bunch this year.” He chuckled to himself. It sounded like he was judging a vintage of wine. The mortar had
gone almost straight up, though, and he didn’t like it that close to his roof. He needed to angle the plywood platform a
bit more.

Another swig of beer and he took another mortar shot downrange. Adjustments made, he lit the fuse and trotted away
again.

Ka-boom! Boom!

Wow, that was a double round. Fuchsia, then yellow before it started to subside into crackling and popping embers.
Except the embers didn’t go out before they fell right onto the neighbor’s shop. “Fuck.”

He winced and waited for a moment. Maybe no one was home. Just as he thought he’d gotten lucky, he saw the lights
in the shop flick off and a few seconds later someone was walking across the acre of thigh high grasses between the
two houses.

The figure was obviously a man, with broad shoulders and a heavy chest above narrower hips and long legs. He
walked over the uneven ground with an easy grace that ate up the distance.

“Hot damn.”

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 He barely kept himself from drooling. Was this his new neighbor? Even if he wasn’t gay, he was a real piece of eye-
candy.

The man stopped to examine the mortar launch platform and decreased its angle a bit before he continued toward the
patio.

Red hair. Fuck, the guy had long red hair pulled back into a thick braid. Noah loved redheads. Shit, his cock was
throbbing uncomfortably against the button fly of his jeans. He didn’t need his neighbor—at least he thought it was his
neighbor—offended in addition to having fireworks debris landing in his yard.

At the edge of the patio, the other man paused and smiled a sexy, slow smile. “Evening. You must be Noah Collins.
I’m Jim Rissolo.”

Muscular indeed. Thick muscles rippled and tugged at the green long-sleeve T-shirt he was wearing while well-worn
jeans fit like a glove over slender hips and long, strong legs. Noah was no slouch at the gym and this man made him
feel small.

It took a supreme act of willpower to not stare at the other man’s crotch.

Jim glanced at the pile of pyrotechnics on the table. “Some of the other neighbors warned me that it would be a war
zone in your backyard tonight. Guess they weren’t exaggerating.”

“Umm. Hi. Nice to meet you.” Noah struggled to gather enough brain cells to form a complete sentence. Too bad his
blood was too far south to allow much thinking. “I’m sorry I overshot my yard and got your shop. It wasn’t
deliberate.”

A warm, deep laugh from Jim made Noah’s cock ache even more. Slightly thin lips curved in an easy smile. His
silvery-grey eyes were fringed by red lashes, slightly lighter that the color of the hair on Jim’s head. Noah couldn’t
help wondering what color the rest of the hair on his body would be. Or what those lips would look like wrapped
around Noah’s cock.

Aaargh. Now was not the time for his long-dormant libido to decide to come to life.

“It’s okay. I’m a blacksmith so the shop is pretty well fireproof. And I like fireworks, I just didn’t have any time to
investigate the legalities or find a good place to shop.”

The tight lump in Noah’s chest eased a bit. “Want to join me? I’ve got beer and lots of things that go boom. I can pull
some steaks from the fridge to grill later, if you’re hungry.”

“Sounds great. I just finished the last piece of a commission I had to get done, so I’m free to enjoy myself now.” Jim
helped himself to a beer from the ice bucket.

Noah tossed him the opener. “Is anyone else at home?”

Subtle, jackass.Way to sound nosey.

“Just me.” Jim took a long swallow of beer. “What about your roommate. The other neighbors I’ve met said two men
lived here.”

“My roommate fell in love and moved out over six months ago. Guess you can tell I don’t talk to the neighbors too
much, huh?” He fussed with the fireworks and laughed nervously.

“Well, we all need distance sometimes. It’s when alone becomes lonely that people need to take some action. Maybe
meet some new people or go some new places.”

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 That seemed to be the voice of experience.

Jim picked up another lighter and a big roman candle. “May I?”

At Noah’s nod, he walked a few feet out into the yard and lit the firework, holding it at arm’s length and pointing it
away from himself and Noah’s house.

The five shots of the roman candle went off, one pop-boom after another. The firework may have been more
impressive if Noah had been watching the show instead of Jim’s ass. Though the blacksmith’s ass was a damned show
in and of itself.

Well accustomed to the routine, Jim stuck the spent roman candle into the big bucket of water Noah had stationed near
the patio for just that purpose. With a huge grin, he picked up his beer again and sat perched on the edge of the table.

“Fireworks are so much fun. Thanks for letting me join you, I needed this.”

“I’m glad you came over.” Before he could say anything to give himself away, Noah grabbed up bottle rockets and set
them off in a shriek of high pitched noise.

His jaw almost dropped open when Jim stood up and peeled off his T-shirt. Not only was the man built like a
bodybuilder, he had amazing tattoos. Both arms were covered with intricate flames that started at the wrist and trailed
all the way up to his shoulders. Whoever the artist was had done a masterful job of making them look realistic, like real
fire.

“My god, I love your arms.” Noah blushed when he realized what he’d said. “The tattoos, I love your tattoos.”

“Thanks.” That sexy smile again. “Some people are really turned off by any body mods.”

“Not me. Especially those.” Noah choked out the words, then grabbed a lighter and fireworks to escape for a moment
and try to regain control of his tongue and his cock.

When he got back to the patio, Jim had sat on one of the benches and leaned back as if to watch him, elbows back on
the picnic table. “So, got a girlfriend at the moment?”

Amusement lightened the mood and Noah laughed. “Umm, not my side of the buffet table. No boyfriend for a while
either.”

Jim’s sexy mouth curved in a broad smile. “Then we have something else in common besides fireworks. I’m gay, too.”

Crap. If Noah’s cock got any harder, he wouldn’t be able to walk. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

Jim chuckled and stood up, walking toward him like a predator stalking delicious, helpless prey. “I must have stunned
you into silence, hmm?”

The closer he got, the faster Noah’s heart seemed to beat. Was this really happening? To him? This was not anything
Mr. Antisocial should have happen.

Jim’s big hands framed Noah’s face, callouses rough against his cheeks and the faint smell of smoke and musky man
teasing his senses.

“Can I kiss you?” His deep voice seemed to run over Noah’s nerve endings, making goosebumps rise despite the
warmth of the night.

“Please?”

As if unable to wait, Jim’s lips caressed Noah’s. Warm, tender skin brushed feather light, then nuzzled at the corners

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 of his mouth. The tip of Jim’s tongue teased the edges of his mouth, flicking and licking as if savoring the taste.

An electric arc seemed to jolt from Noah’s lips to his cock and his lips parted in a gasp for air to plead for more.

The blacksmith’s strong fingers moved to the back of Noah’s head and held him still as Jim’s tongue tenderly explored
the inside of his lips then wrapped itself around Noah’s own tongue.

The intimate caress made him moan and he finally lost all control and pressed his rock-hard cock against Jim’s crotch,
only to discover the other man was huge and thickly erect.

With a final lush swipe of his tongue across Noah’s lips, Jim pulled his head back and panted for a moment. “Damn,
Noah. Just your mouth tastes incredible; I can’t imagine what your cock tastes like.”

“Want to stay the night?” Noah prayed the other man would accept.

“I’d love to stay, as long as I can taste my fill.”

102 in the shade

by willa okati

Lighting a Roman candle and setting off the fireworks… a freebie story served hot and fresh!

July fourth dawned at ninety degrees, with no relief in sight from the heat wave. By the time happy hour rolled around
and the thermometer was over a hundred, Knox knew he’d have to rearrange his Independence Day plans.

Brandt would be disappointed. Could be far, far worse, though, if you asked Knox. So they’d miss out on picnic ants
and things going boom. They still had a dark, quiet den, its heavy shades blocking out the sunlight, in which to while
away the afternoon, and nothing better to do than each other.

Knox’s bruised, palm-warmed ass was still tender from playing with Brandt earlier. Didn’t stop him from going back.
In point of fact he wanted more, and Brandt never failed to deliver.

He walked gingerly but with great satisfaction as he ferried two glass bottles of weak American to the den. Brandt had
set up camp on the couch, nose-deep in his research. His ever-present array of trade journals and notebooks looked
extra-specially disorganized today. How he ever managed to find anything in the mess, Knox would never know.

“Heads’ up.” Knox passed Brandt one of the bottles, dark glass dripping with condensation. “I know, it’s fucking close

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 to water.” He nudged Brandt’s chin. “Best I can do with the stock running low. No way I’m going outside before the
weather breaks.”

“No fireworks?” Brandt marked his place with one finger. “You’re serious? I’ve looked forward to those. My first
Fourth in the States.”

“Sorry, babe.” Knox hopped the back of the couch and landed next to Brandt, their knees knocking comfortably.
“North Carolina summers can be tricky. Hasn’t rained enough. No fireworks for anyone around here.”

Brandt shut his book completely and tossed it aside. “Damn.” He deliberately kept his attention focused on selecting a
paper clip from a pile, teasing Knox with his lighthearted: “Suppose I’ll have to stick around another year, then.”

Knox couldn’t say he’d mind that one bit. “Mi casa es su casa.”

“Indeed. Another year, and I might even teach you how to tell the difference between watery grain and decent stout.”
Brandt wrinkled his nose. “This tastes as if someone waved a stalk of slightly wilted wheat through pond water.”

“Hey.” Knox tweaked a curl at the crown of Brandt’s head. “Snob. Watch the bitching.”

Brandt saluted Knox and tipped his bottle back, long throat working as he swallowed. Knox followed suit, then let out
an almighty belch, rattling the windows.

After a pained look that didn’t fool Knox for a second, Brandt thumped his chest almost delicately and let rip with a
beer burp as rich and deep as the dregs in a oaken barrel.

“Very nice,” Knox approved, clinking bottles with Brandt. “Okay, your turn.”

“Ah. Yes.” Brandt wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t playing ‘I Never’ strike you as a bit immature at our age…?”

“You just made a marked point out of besting me with your belching skills,” Knox pointed out. “We’ve got nothing
else to do.”

Brandt cocked a not-so-sly glance at Knox’s crotch. “I beg to differ.”

“It’s one hundred and two degrees in the shade out there,” Knox countered.

“It’s seventy-two degrees and blissfully breezy inside,” Brandt said. “As for missing out of the fireworks… I could
apply ice to your delicate, bruised ass to cool you down, if you’d like. With my tongue. That ought to have you seeing
sparks.”

Knox almost sent a swig of beer down the wrong pipe. He dragged the back of his hand over his lips. “Don’t say
things like that when a guy’s drinking.”

“You’re not drinking now, I see. What would you say about the heat if I dragged you out behind the complex? I could
strip you naked and stake you out foursquare in clear view of anyone who wanted to watch. Blow you with a mouth
full of beer that tasted like actual beer. Have you ever tried that? The bubbles are the next best thing to heaven.”

Knox’s collar had grown too tight during that spiel. He cleared his throat before he answered. “I’d say screw the heat,
and also tell you that you’re a bad, bad man.”

“Good thing you like the dangerous type.”

“Damn skippy I do.” Knox tugged Brandt’s crisp cuff. “Even when they look like mild-mannered newspaper
reporters.”

“And well you should,” Brandt said, fifty percent unrepentant and fifty percent aroused. “Do you really want to waste

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 any more time playing games?”

A question like that didn’t usually deserve an answer, but in this case it was still part of the fun. Instant capitulation
did way less for Brandt than a little struggle, a little balls and bravado. Only a smidge. Knox lacked the patience for
more. When ADD met the long game, life got interesting.

“What, are you scared I’ll win?” Knox clucked chicken-style, leering at Brandt over his bottle. “One more round.
Whoever wins gets to top.”

Brandt’s nostrils flared slightly. “What forfeit does the loser pay?”

“Huh.” Knox guessed losing would still be winning. How to make the challenge worthwhile, then?

Inspiration struck. He pointed at Brandt, triumphant. “The loser has to enact a fantasy of the winner’s choice.”

Brandt sat up straighter. “Anything?”

Knox tapped the mouth of his bottle against his temple. “Whatever the winner’s heart desires.”

“I accept.” Brandt thoughtfully shredded the label on his bottle, taking his time, no doubt methodically calculating the
most evil of all possible challenges. “I’ve never…” He paused to nibble at his lip. Knox couldn’t help but track the
indentations of Brandt’s sharp white teeth. He imagined them grazing the tender skin of his inner thighs. Prickling just
enough to feel it around his engorged cock while Brandt sucked him off.

Knox coughed, adjusting the swelling length of his dick in his jeans. “Hurry it up already.”

“Temper, temper. I’ve never…”

“Hey now!”

“Something the matter?” Brandt’s smiled was far too innocent for a guy with his hand down Knox’s pants. He molded
his palm over the prize inside and kneaded. “I’ve never lost a game like this in my life when a prize as valuable as you
is on the line.”

Knox revised his plans. Fast. Uncle, already. “Yeah? Then to the victor can go the spoils.”

“I win?”

“You bet you do. Get over here.” Knox cradled the back of Brandt’s head and tugged him closer.

Just to rattle Brandt’s chains, the smug Brit, Knox thrust a finger between them in the nick of time, blocking Brandt’s
triumphant kiss. “I still want that damn ice, though. And that beer BJ.”

Brandt laughed, dark and smoky and breathless. “I think that can be arranged.”

Knox tucked two fingers in the front of Brandt’s crisply pressed shirt collar and began flicking open buttons.
“Fireworks, huh? I’ll show you fireworks, and then some.”

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