By Any Other Name (3 page)

Andy’s legs shook as he stood up out of his seat. Michael’s face—oh, god, Michael’s face. The way his eyes were all jewel tones of green and amber with just hints of their normally predominant dark blue. The muscle flexing in his jaw as he told Andy to get the hell inside was the final thing that shut Andy’s brain off. He wobbled toward the door into the kitchen with one hand pressed to his stomach and the other reaching up to furtively touch his swollen lips.

Dropping the house keys twice before he got the door unlocked brought enough embarrassment to restore minimal brain function. He dropped the keys on the kitchen counter as he passed it, continuing on to his bedroom in a daze. His bedroom faced the backyard, and had sliding glass doors to the small patio beyond. Andy had put the patio in himself the summer after—no, he wouldn’t think about that now. He turned to his beautiful walnut dresser, smiling as he remembered the day he’d found it at the flea market in Rochester. Michael had taken him, saying Andy had to go. He’d been right, because Andy had found some of his favorite pieces of furniture that day. The walnut dresser, the old kitchen table made of pine, and best of all his queen sized brass bed. A shiver chased up his spine as he thought of the sight he’d present to Michael when he came into the bedroom.

The foot of the bed faced the door. If the bed had straight up and down bars, or a solid footboard the view would be impeded. Andy smirked at his bed. The footboard was made up of swirling tubes of brass that formed a flower with a central circular space, which, if he positioned himself carefully, would frame his ass perfectly. Andy hastened over to the nightstand he’d stripped and stained to match the dresser. He’d even managed to find brass handles that looked like the thin pieces on the bed so the whole set tied together. Pulling out his lube, he eyed the bottle, shook it and then shrugged. There was enough there for one trip to the fair, at least. They really didn’t have time for more, and it wasn’t like Michael would be back for seconds.

Andy’s mouth turned down at the corners as he snagged a condom. He—hey, it wasn’t like he wanted more from Michael than one more go around. Well, maybe some assurance that they’d stay friends after. He didn’t really want to think about what life would be like without his resident stalker-pal-annoying know it all dropping by with regularity. Andy considered the matter as seriously as he could with most of the blood that ought to be fuelling his brain headed southward to his cock. He shrugged. Even if their friendship was the price, he’d wanted a piece of Michael ever since they first met, and then when he finally got one it was only due to Michael feeling sorry for him. Andy knew some of Michael’s hands-off-treat-Andylike-a-fragile-freaking-flower attitude was due to the snotty, sobbing mess he’d turned into immediately after they finished. Well, he wasn’t planning to go all mental patient on Michael again. He also had no intention of waiting for years to have sex with the Dumkopf again.

Andy touched his lips again; pressing down to feel them tingle where they were kiss-bruised. Clearly, Michael was at least a little bent because there was no way a totally straight man could kiss another man like that. Shaking his head, Andy pushed the memory of that humiliation back in the figurative box at the back of his brain were it belonged. At this point, with his dick so hard it hurt, Andy really didn’t care if Michael spent the whole time they were fucking pretending he was some chick. He just wanted Michael’s hands all over him, and his ass so full of Michael’s dick he didn’t know where one of them began and the other ended. He tossed his head to flip his hair back and then remembered. He’d cut off most of his hair earlier that week. He lifted one hand mournfully to touch the almost militaristically short hair at the base of his neck. The other hand went straight to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them with the ease of long practice. Deliberately lowering his shoulders, Andy sucked in a deep breath of the cedar-scented air of his bedroom. The familiar scent eased something deep within him, allowing him to release some of the tension starting to invade his body.

Andy twitched his shoulders, focusing back on the orders Michael had given him. He could follow orders easily. Shucking out of his dress pants, underwear, shoes and socks in one go Andy kicked them all to the side next to where he’d tossed his shirt. Michael hadn’t said anything about neatness. He’d specified being ready when he got to the bedroom door. Andy drew the heavy comforter to the foot of the bed. He made sure it was folded neatly so the line it made wouldn’t detract visually from what he was doing when Michael entered the room.

Then he got himself positioned on the bed with shoulders lowered and ass high in the air. Slicking his fingers up, Andy reached around behind himself to circle one finger around his hole. He hadn’t had time to really play like this for weeks, and god knew despite the fact that everyone thought he was a total tart, it had been years since he had someone he trusted enough to get naked with actually express that sort of interest in him. Oh, he went on dates, and he even blew some of the guys... he just didn’t let them in his pants. Skinny twinks like himself or his friend Adrien did nothing for him sexually, and big guys, though they did it for him... well, after the devastation he felt about the way things went down with Devon, and then the even worse debacle with Patrick, he just didn’t trust them. Except for Michael, but he’d thought that Michael was straight. Hell, Michael banged every perky breasted cheerleader who put out during high school. Andy should know, since he’d been on the cheer squad during his freshman year. That had been Michael’s senior year, and he’d ploughed two-thirds of the cheer squad. What they did together after Michael rescued him from Patrick’s kennel-dungeon-weird assed basement didn’t count. Sure, Michael had fucked him, that one time… and yes, he’d gotten off on it, but that was just mechanics. Nature in action. The only reason Michael’s dick had gotten anywhere near Andy’s ass in the first place was because Andy had flat out begged for it. With those husky, salt soaked pleas whispered to him in a shaking voice, by the guy he’d just rescued… well, a guy like Michael would never say no to that, even if his professed preference was for bubbly, breasty, and vaginated.

The thought of those pretty, popular girls screwing Michael caused a pang in Andy’s chest— yeah, that would never do. Andy erased the cheerleaders’ picture from his mind, choosing to think of Michael sweaty and covered in mud, muscles rippling in his football gear. They’d be standing on the sidelines after the game, just the two of them alone at the foot of the bleachers. His hair would still be black like he’d dyed it during his freshman year, and Michael... well, his fantasy Michael was exactly like the real Michael... except fantasy Michael wanted to put his hands all over Andy as badly as Andy wanted the same.

He slid another finger into himself quickly. Scissoring them just a bit, he tried to hurry the process along as much as possible. The door to the garage opened and shut loudly. Andy grunted, eyes flying open. He grabbed the bottle of lube, pulled his fingers out of his hole and added more lube to them. When he returned them to his ass he exhaled slowly, pushing out with his internal muscles as he thrust three fingers in.

Turning his head to glance back over his shoulder didn’t help much. With his shoulders down against the soft cotton sheets Andy could only see to just past the edge of the bed. Michael stepped quickly into view, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. He was already naked, and dear god, he looked even better than Andy remembered from the pity fuck Michael had given him after the “doggie daycare rescue”. Then he was on the bed leaning over Andy to whisper in his ear. Andy stifled a grunt of protest, because even though he hadn’t gotten to see the goods, he could feel every inch of Michael pressed up against him.

As Michael spoke, he wrapped a hand around Andy’s wrist and tugged. Andy’s fingers slid out with a wet noise. Andy whimpered as a sensation of emptiness rolled through him. He drew a deep breath to push away the feeling. So much of his life was empty.

Michael didn’t leave him empty long though. Before Andy had time to voice his dissatisfaction, Michael had suited up and pushed against the barrier of Andy’s barely loose enough sphincter. God, Michael’s cock really was huge. The bite of pain grounded Andy, reminding him to relax and push out. Then he was blissfully full again. He craved that feeling all the time so much that some days he even wore a plug to work. The heavy feeling of the small plastic plug he preferred to wear to work filling him helped to ease the tensions of his days. He liked to pretend that he’d been told to wear one but forbidden to come. He’d been in a rush this morning though, so he hadn’t worn one today, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again, especially if there was a chance of a repeat encounter with Michael.

Michael’s hand flexed urgently against Andy’s hip. The roughness of the touch pulled him out of his head and back into the moment. With the one hard hand at Andy’s hip and another spread low on his back, Michael began to move in long slow thrusts. The sound that left Andy’s throat then was high and light—and very like something a kitten would make when being petted into a limp pile of joyous fur. In the moment, Andy could admit to mewling, though if anyone brought the embarrassing noise up at a later date he would vehemently deny making it. Michael eased into a deep, steady rhythm. He didn’t speak. In fact, he didn’t make any sound at all. Only the flexing of the fingers at Andy’s hip, and the light brushes of the ones Michael held against Andy’s back showed how much the other man was feeling.

Andy’s eyes burned. With the exception of his little brother David, Michael only touched people fleetingly. Once, back when he’d first started hanging around with Adrien, and the whole ‘Twink’ group, Andy overheard several of them talking about how sad it was that Michael never hugged anybody. Benji even asked if they thought an intervention was needed. Andy snorted at the memory of Benji’s earnest face as he’d asked that question and gone on with the following.

“Sure, he’ll give a handshake in greeting, a pat on the shoulder or, even make the occasional exception of a quick skim of a finger along someone’s cheek, but that’s it… and that’s just not normal, not even for a straight guy.”

In light of a clear preference to avoid touching most of the time, those feather light touches moving continuously back and forth across the small tattoo where the dip of Andy’s back met the high curve of his ass told clearly how Michael felt. Andy snarled, pushing back hard and fast against Michael’s slow thrusting.

Michael stilled his hand over the stylized Japanese characters at the small of Andy’s back. His mouth tipped up at one corner, and he thanked every kindly force in the universe that Andy couldn’t see his face in that moment. He slid his thumb over the stark black lines on Andy’s back, loving both the aesthetic of the dark shape on Andy’s milky white skin, and the meaning behind the shape. He released Andy’s hip for a moment to give him a sharp tap on his thigh.

“We’re having high tea, Andy, so lift your ass a little higher please. This form would never pass muster at Buckingham Palace.”

“Oh, that will never do. Now you’ve lost the chance to move at all. I expect you can keep yourself still without being tied, can’t you, Andy?”

Andy’s ass clenched around Michael’s shaft, and for a moment, Michael couldn’t speak or even see clearly. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a silent but deep breath. Andy shivered under him before speaking.

Keep your hands right where they are, too.” Andy made that breathy half-gasping sound
again, and Michael pulled his hips back slowly. “I-M-Michael.”
Oh, hell yes. If Andy was stuttering on a
slow upstroke then Michael had just the right angle.
He pushed back in at the same torturously slow
pace. Andy let out a low whine as Michael thrust
the final inch of his cock in. Andy wriggled
slightly, but a warning flex of Michael’s hands had
him stilling immediately. Michael stretched out over Andy’s back. Brushing his lips against the high curve of Andy’s cheek he crooned hotly into
the smaller man’s ear.
“Good boy. If you can stay still for me, I’ll
let you come.”
Andy moaned, but except for a faint
shudder rippling through him, he didn’t move at all.
That suited Michael just fine. When he’d first
discovered Andy was into BDSM he’d almost
given up. It wasn’t in him to beat Andy, not even if
that was what Andy got off on. However, with a
little research, and a whole lot of being willing to
ask stupid sounding questions, he’d figured out
that what Andy was into wasn’t so much about
pain as it was about giving up control.
Under him Andy started to tense his
muscles. Michael flexed his fingers against Andy’s
hips again to remind him to be still. Most of the
tension left the smaller man, but not all of it.
Michael thrust all the way in and stopped. “Put your hands behind your back.” Andy let out a soft sigh. As he slid his arms behind him, he grabbed the wrist of his right arm in his left hand. Michael lifted up onto his knees. Keeping one hand on Andy’s hip, Michael placed his other hand on top of Andy’s. Pressing down slightly, he watched the last of Andy’s tension slip
away.
“You can keep still without restraints... but
you can’t relax without them, can you?”
A beat of silence passed before Andy
answered.
“No. I have to think about staying still, and
then I can’t just let go.”
Michael started up a steady rhythm again.
At the same time, he spread his hand wide over
Andy’s and got a good grasp that included the
wrist of the right arm.
“We’ll talk about that more when we’re not
fucking. For now I want you to try to pull your
arms free.”
Andy went utterly still under him, not even
wriggling.
“W-what?”
Michael gave another tsking sound. “You
heard me, Andy. Try to pull your arms free.” Andy tried. Michael increased the pressure
he used until it almost reached the level that would
cause Andy actual damage.
“Enough. Lay still now. Keep your hands
right where they are.”
He let go of Andy’s wrists then, and leaned
in close to breathe his words directly into Andy’s
ear.
“See? You can’t get away unless I allow
you to. That’s what you needed to know, isn’t it?” A small, quickly drawn in breath lifted
Andy’s sleek back. Michael had seen that exact
movement once before, and understood what it
meant. He increased the power and speed of his
thrusts, leaning a fraction farther to ensure he
stayed in contact with Andy’s prostate for as long
as possible. A tingle began low in his spine. Andy
was gasping beneath him and the fingers of his left
hand were turning white from the pressure he was
applying to keep himself still. Michael’s balls drew up hard and tight against his body. Michael reached underneath Andy’s hips to take his long slender cock into his hand and stroke out the same rough rhythm he was pounding into Andy with his
hips.
“You’re doing so beautifully, Andy. You
may come.”
As soon as the words left Michael’s mouth,
Andy howled. With his back bowing and hot
spurts of come flowing over Michael’s hand to fall
against the cream colored sheets, Andy continued
to shiver and shake. Sliding his arms around his
slender lover’s chest, Michael pulled him up and
back to nestle against him as he stilled and allowed
the rhythmic contractions of Andy’s body to milk
him of his own orgasm.
After his climax eased, Michael gently
lowered Andy back to the bed, pausing to run his
fingers over the small tattoo at the base of Andy’s
spine. He wondered when Andy had gotten the
tattoo. By the look of the ink, the design was at
least two or three years old. For a moment, anger burned hot and sour in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the events surrounding the first time he’d seen Andy’s tattoo. Then Andy sighed, a soft sound of repletion easing from his full lips as he grasped Michael’s hand and pressed it against his chest. With the gentle susurration and the seemingly unconscious motion, Andy blew away every iota of Michael’s anger. Pressing his lips against the back of Andy’s neck, Michael breathed
in deeply.
Then Michael’s phone rang once, twice,
three times, pealing out some annoying damn
Bieber song. The Sergeant had obviously found a
moment alone with Michael’s phone to pay him
back for the last time Michael altered his ringtone
in the big Puerto Rican’s cell. Just before the
fourth ring sent the call to voicemail, Michael
snagged his phone off the nightstand. He had no
memory of placing it there, but he always put his
cell on the nightstand at home so he’d probably
done it on autopilot. Blowing out a warm huff of
air, he answered.
“Hello.”
“Rose. Thank God. Come get me. Now. I’m at Mrs. Simpson’s apartment. I’ll explain
when you get here.”
The corners of Michael’s mouth pulled
down as Andy tensed under his hands and then
pushed out of the bed, storming off into the
bathroom. Michael growled his frustration at his
former platoon sergeant’s sucky timing.
“Sarge, you’re damn lucky I owe you for
Kandahar, or I’d tell you to fuck off. I know
Adrien; whatever you did wrong was a fucking
doozy. Yeah, you’ll be explaining. I’ll be there in
about an hour and forty-five minutes—it’ll take
that long to get back to town, get your Jeep and get
back over to Adrien’s place. Don’t piss Catherine
Marie off or she’ll let that damn wolf killer of hers
eat your nuts.”
A gulping sound followed by a beat of
silence preceded Sergeant—Devon’s next words. “I am well aware of that particular variable,
Rose. Just—thanks.”
Michael bit the inside of his cheek,
ruthlessly pushing back against the hot tide of sour
words fighting to splash out all over Devon. Only
the thought of consoling himself with some of
Catherine Marie Simpson’s delicious treats
allowed him to speak in a level tone.
“Ask Catherine Marie if she’ll make me
some cocoa. I’ll see you in a bit, Sarge. Bye.”
Rose didn’t wait for Devon’s response, and he
stood for a moment with the phone to his ear
before he finally hung it up.