Tree Fingers (2 page)

“—for Luke,” Alan finished Graham’s sentence.

“I would have buried him here if they’d let me. He loved the spot so.”

Folding Graham in his arms, Alan said, “I see why it means so much.”

“You’re great,” Graham said. He leaned against Alan, more grateful than he’d ever be able to impart to the other man, for Alan’s sympathy, his lack of jealously or bitterness when Graham spoke to him of his lost love.

“You’re not too bad, either,” Alan said, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, “for a tree hugger.”

“Satanist,” Graham taunted back playfully.

Pressing closer, backing Graham into the walnut, Alan kissed him hard. A tiny puff of air was pushed from Graham’s lungs. Alan drove relentlessly into his mouth, nipping at his lips and tongue and passing along a contagious and delirium-inducing lust. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, he said, “So how do I get my name on the wall of fame here?”

“Just keep doing that,” Graham muttered, his eloquence stolen by the way Alan’s lips closed around the muscle of his neck, and the heel of his hand supported Graham’s inundated balls.

Without disengaging their tangled arms and legs, Graham and Alan stumbled back to Graham’s yard. Graham walked backward, both of his hands trapped inside Alan’s waistband.

Alan led, though his eyes were closed most of the time. No matter; Graham would have followed him anywhere. When they reached the spot in the grass strewn with walnut leaves, they collapsed on the ground. Graham’s back hit, and he felt thankful for the scant padding of the fallen foliage. He rolled on top of Alan and whisked away his striped sweatshirt. Bits of leaves clung to his straight, dark hair, and grass and gravel dented his pale, slender torso. He lay complacent as Graham unfastened his studded belt, unzipped his pants and pulled them down. Alan never wore shorts, so nothing hid his erection from Graham’s sight or touch.

For a few minutes Alan let Graham explore the terrain of his chest, belly, and groin with his hands and mouth. He folded his arms behind his head while Graham’s lips moved across the plateau of his chest, down the gully between his stomach muscles, and over the ridge of sinew that angled toward his cock.

Long fingers held Graham’s hair, urging his head gently downward. Happy to comply with what Alan wanted, Graham positioned himself perpendicular to the other man and boosted himself up on his elbow. He cupped Alan’s balls and gave his sack a light tug and twist that made his cock skip. Grasping it at the base, Graham admired it a moment in the clarity of the autumn light before taking it into his mouth. Leaves showered them, golden against Alan’s smooth pallor.

Sliding his tongue slowly back and forth over Alan’s cock, Graham savored the texture of his skin and the flavor of his sweat and pre-come. He also enjoyed the way Alan’s waist twisted, grinding and crushing the grass, leaves, and soil, releasing their fragrances. The vegetative perfume mingled with the aroma of Alan’s aroused body, evoking even more of Graham’s ardor. He increased his pace, opening his throat.

Alan’s hands tugged at his hair and tore at the collar of his shirt. His hips bucked off of the ground.

“Graham, oh fuck!” he moaned, hands pulling up clumps of grass. “Fuck yes!”

After a brief respite to re-position himself between Alan’s legs, Graham swallowed his cock again. Alan seized the back of his head and drove Graham’s mouth down with savage speed. At the same time he drew his legs up, heels alongside Graham’s face. With one hand wrapped around the sole of Alan’s foot, Graham sucked hard, drawing out a drizzle of semen. From the way he shuddered, muttering nonsense, Graham could tell Alan’s orgasm was close.

Arching his back, spreading his legs farther apart, Alan said, “You can touch me, you know.”

Ignoring this request, Graham continued sucking until Alan could no longer withstand the onslaught. With a yell, Alan came in Graham’s throat. Semen mixed with saliva trickled from the corners of Graham’s mouth, splashing among Alan’s sparse black pubic hair. With one hand slapping the ground and the other tugging at Graham’s hair to end the delicious torment, Alan spurted a few more drops of seed. Whimpering, he kicked at the air beside Graham’s ears.

Finally Graham sat up and wiped his mouth with his hand.

While he stripped off his stifling garments, Alan hurried the rest of the way out of his pants and socks and boots. Clothing lay scattered over the yard, intermingled with dead grass and leaves.

“Lie back down,” Graham urged, pressing softly against Alan’s chest. He looked lovely stretched on the lawn, ivory against the ochre of the deceased flora and the rich umber of the soil, black hair fanning around his head. What a gorgeous painting he might make. Graham placed a knee on either side of his waist and knelt gazing at his lover’s splendor. He couldn’t believe how fortunate he’d been meeting Alan. Alan was nearly perfect. Though young, he possessed an autumnal quality, both in his wry wisdom and stark, startling coloring. Not long ago, Graham thought he’d never again feel the way he felt now, looking at Alan. He thought he’d lost the ability to find beauty in anything.

“Graham,” Alan said in a voice heavy with fulfillment.

“Lie back.” Holding his cock, Graham nudged his foreskin back and anointed it with the leftover fluids from pleasuring Alan, scooping them from his groin. Sufficiently lubed, he rubbed his head up and down the center of Alan’s belly. He enjoyed the sensation, satin skin against his glans, but it took a while for him to reach orgasm this way. He worried the technique might bore Alan.

As if reading his mind, Alan grasped Graham’s thighs and said, “You can fuck me, Graham.”

“No, I like it this way,” Graham said. It wasn’t a complete falsehood, though Graham couldn’t deny his desire to be inside Alan. “Give me your hand.”

When Alan didn’t respond, Graham lifted the other man’s wrist and laid Alan’s palm over the top of his dick. Since Alan didn’t squeeze, Graham did it for him, smashing both Alan’s hand and his own cock in his fist.

“Fuck me Graham,” Alan repeated.

“This is good,” Graham argued.

“But I want you to fuck me. Just because you’re not ready doesn’t mean I’m not. I want you. In me.”

Ceasing his motion, Graham looked down at the beautiful young man beneath him. He could see himself reflected in the black mirrors of Alan’s eyes, looking indecisive, pathetic. Alan’s gaze smoldered with the focus and intensity that both aroused and unnerved Graham. He wanted Alan, yes, but—

“I don’t feel like it’s right,” he said. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you hear me saying I want it?

Fuck me, Graham. And then some day, when you feel like it’s time, you can let me do it to you. Until then, no pressure. It’s not an exchange or a debt. I just want you.”

“You’re sure?” His fingertips brushed the pale cheek that burned with yearning. So many years had passed since he’d felt so tempted by another man, so willing to do anything to please him. So much time had gone by since he’d felt any desire. But he felt it now, felt it smoldering inside and threatening to overwhelm him.

“I love you.”

Those words convinced Graham. “I love you too, Alan.” He slid down his body and dropped between Alan’s legs. The other man lifted his feet and rested them on Graham’s shoulders. After kissing and caressing the graceful calf and ankle beside him, lingering over interlocking knobs of bone at Alan’s knee, Graham turned his attention downward. Tenderly he eased Alan’s cheeks apart and grazed his crevice. A finger, still dampened with saliva, slipped inside.

“Yes,” Alan panted.

Feeling out and finding Alan’s prostate, Graham pressed against it, evoking a few more droplets of seed and a grateful groan. He couldn’t believe how excited he’d become watching his finger disappear into Alan, watching Alan’s ecstatic response to it. His cock bounced with the beat of his heart, leaking as Alan’s had. Graham continued, wanting to touch all the beauty he saw: the tongue wiping the swollen, shapely lips, the black eyes staring at the sky, reflecting the few stray clouds, the twining of the white waist, and the cock darkening to oak-leaf burgundy as it filled with blood. But he contented himself to watch, to provide more pleasure to his love.

“Now, Graham, please,” Alan said. “There’s lube in my bag. Gods, I need you now!”

Darting across the lawn, Graham opened the flap of Alan’s messenger bag. Inside he saw another old book, a demon pinching a woman’s breast and something Latin on its cover. He wished Alan would give up his pursuit of this kind of material, but for now he put it out of his mind. Behind him, the swish of skin against skin told him Alan had taken matters into his own hands. The way his cock throbbed, Graham almost did the same while he dug through the mess of gum wrappers, match boxes, broken bits of jewelry, bags of herbs, jars of stones or oil, and crumpled pieces of paper inscribed with strange symbols. Finally he felt the cool corner of a plastic tube.

Before he even knelt back down, Alan seized Graham’s body, wrapping him in his arms and legs and yanking him onto his chest. “Fuck me,” he panted, over and over, grasping Graham’s cock and positioning it outside his opening. His legs crossed behind Graham’s back and his arms interlaced around Graham’s neck, pinning him. Graham hardly had enough range of motion to open the lube, but he managed. His arm cleaved their sweaty bodies apart just enough to squirt the cinnamon-scented gel between Alan’s cheeks and over his cock.

Wasting no time, Alan pushed his heels into Graham’s back, coercing him forward. He guided Graham’s cock back to his ass, where the head waited just outside his hole.

“Graham—,” he pleaded.

Gingerly Graham thrust forward, feeling resistance from the tight ring. Pressing slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he waited for Alan’s body to surrender, to soften and open to his advances. When it did, Graham let his cock slide slowly inside his lover. Alan threw his head back, moaning with what Graham knew was a luscious blend of pleasure and pain. Leaning forward, Graham pressed Alan’s thighs closer to his chest, allowing himself greater access. His cock slipped deeper, and Alan moaned again.

“You’re all right?”

“Gods, yes. Graham. It’s good.”

The sensation was incomparable to the hand-jobs Graham had insisted upon receiving until now. The heat and pressure, the embrace of Alan’s muscles, the way his body reacted to Graham’s tiniest movement, were almost enough to make him come. But then Alan grabbed his hips, pulling their bodies together. He did it again and again until Graham took over, moving slowly in and out of the dark-haired man.

Below him Alan’s handsome face flushed until it looked sunburned. He gulped quick breaths through his opened mouth.

His hands had left Graham’s hips, and now held his own knees, which bent beside his chest. More liquid had leaked from the slit in his cock, and pooled in his belly button. Graham dipped his pinky in it and lifted it to his mouth.

“You taste so good,” Graham breathed. “Feel so good. I can’t hold it.”

“S’okay,” Alan said. “Touch me?”

Lost in the intoxicating warmth of Alan’s body and his love, feeling drugged, besieged by the other man, Graham had forgotten. He fumbled with the lube again and squirted a dime-sized amount into his palm. Then his hand closed around Alan, working his head with short, quick strokes. To match, his thrusts inside Alan diminished. He drove as deep as he could, and then moved his hips in the smallest of circles, providing constant stimulation to his lover’s gland and a dizzying pleasure to himself. Their subtle dance continued until Alan’s semen splattered against his stomach, running off of his waist and into the leaves. The noises he made were between laughter and sobbing.

As he came, Graham lifted Alan’s head by the back of his neck, driving his tongue into his mouth as he drove his cock as far into his ass as he could. Alan’s arms and legs wrapped around him again; his shoulders lifted from the ground as he clung to Graham. Wave after wave of pleasure passed through Graham like electrical current. Alan’s body reacted, his tight anus squeezing Graham’s cock each time it convulsed. It felt like he’d never be empty of seed. Each time Alan’s body contracted, more shot out. Even when he thought he’d been drained, a bicuspid pricking his lower lip drew forth a few drops. By the time he’d finished, Graham could do nothing but fall forward, cradled by Alan’s body and the growing pile of leaves.

As they lay whispering love words, a trio of crows pranced brazenly across the garden, scratching in the pumpkin patch and flapping their onyx wings at the withered tripods of departed tomato plants.

***

The next evening, Alan and Graham returned from dinner just as the sky was deepening from sunset cranberry to pie-filling blueberry. As soon as he turned off his black Jeep, Alan heard the whine of the saw. He slammed the door and hurried to the back yard just in time to hear old Mr. Cook saying, “That’ll do for today, boys. Getting dark earlier and earlier. We’ll finish ‘er off in the morning.”

Limbs littered the small patch of lawn, some as big around as a human thigh. It smelled of wood sap and gasoline. Realizing where they’d come from, Alan tried desperately to think of a way to shield Graham from the sight. Before he could conceive of any way to spare his lover, Graham came running into the yard, parting the thick blanket of leaves with his feet. Both of them burst through the gate.

The walnut tree, a limbless, amputated stump, looked as horrific, Alan knew, to Graham as a person who’d suffered the same treatment.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, the faded British coming back strong with his anger.

“What the hell does it look like?” Cook said, taking a cigarette from the pocket of his plaid shirt and firing up.

“But, why?”

“Tree’s dead,” Cook said.

“No, it isn’t,” Graham responded incredulously, less offended at being treated like a fool than Alan would have been.

“There’re leaves, and—”

“Tree’s on my property.” Behind the old man, a crescent moon ascended into the indigo sky. Porch lights and jack-o-lanterns sprung to glowing life, dotting the darkening landscape with orange.