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ARZANALE

 

CHAPTER ONE

INTERCOURSE, PENNSYLVANIA

Kovak woke up with a start. His inner alarm hadn’t gone off at the wrong time. He knew where he was.

One of the bodies beside Kovak shifted and moaned in a way usually reserved for intimate moments.

Ugh.

Kovak looked at the LCD calendar on the opposite wall— an odd day of the month; Snyder’s turn to spend time alone with Hugo.

Kovak groaned and removed the covers to leave the bed so the other two could be alone. On his feet, he stretched, trying not to pay too much attention to the rustling noises behind him and the increasing nonsense growing in his chest.

Sharing the man he loved was atonement for Kovak’s past sins. Hugo accepted him back in his life when the relationship with Snyder was in its incipient stages, and, instead of giving the other man the boot, Hugo decided to give them both a chance to make him fall in love. One thousand and ninety-five days later, all three were sharing a house and sleeping in the same bed, but not exactly having three-ways every night.

Snyder chuckled as Kovak bent to pick up his underwear from the floor.

Kovak hadn’t bothered to put them on again after he and Hugo had sex before Snyder came home from an assignment last night.

“I’d say those glutes are getting bigger and rockier with each passing day, partner,” Snyder commented. “I can see you’re following the routine I found for you.”

Snyder’s voice was husky in its morning rustiness. It tickled something inside Kovak.

Pulling the black briefs up and casually turning to face the other two men, Kovak arched an eyebrow and smirked. “That routine wasn’t for my ass, you yahoo. But thanks, Hugo’s having a lot of fun with this rockier and bigger version of my glutes.”

Snyder saluted Kovak with his right hand then elbowed Hugo. “You’re welcome.”

Hugo rolled his eyes, elbowing Snyder back. Both were still spread over the bed, their bodies only half-covered by bedsheets now. “If you like his ass, just tell him you like his ass. There’s no reason to be beating around the bush among us.” Hugo’s eyes moved from Snyder (who was grinning like a moron) to settle on Kovak. “Martan, you don’t have to go.”

Hugo only called Kovak by his given name when he truly wanted him to do something— a private signal between them.

The few times they had tried to be all three together had been like Snyder and Kovak were brothers sharing a conquest— mostly avoiding touching each other and barely making eye contact. If Hugo wanted Kovak to stay, he would, just not as a participant but on the couch, watching the show and appropriately masturbating.

Like a damn voyeur.

Kovak nodded in agreement, removing his underwear. He noticed the quick but clearly deflated look both men had when he started moving toward the couch beneath the flashing LCD calendar. It was the first day of May, and they were officially off duty for seven days. He didn’t have to hurry to be anywhere else. Most people wouldn’t think a couch belonged in a bedroom, but it sure came handy now and then.

Hugo pushed himself upward and rested his back on the bed’s upholstered headboard. The bed had come with the house, and Snyder had brought that headboard from some undisclosed location. By its materials, it'd definitely been a tropical place.

“We didn’t kick you off the bed, Kovak,” Hugo sighed.

“I know,” Kovak agreed, lazily stroking his cock. “But things had been organized in a certain way for a reason.”

“Reasons and procedures can change,” Snyder added.

“True. Not today, though.” Kovak winked but didn't try to smile.

Kovak couldn’t say he didn’t like Snyder. The man was top of his trade, had a rocking body, and a winning personality. Nevertheless, they were opposite ends of the same spectrum. If they had met in normal circumstances (without Hugo being the main reason for their paths to have crossed), they’d have probably been good comrades in arms, perhaps even friends, but never lovers.

Snyder groaned. He looked from Kovak to Hugo and shook his head, yanking the sheets from Hugo’s lap. Hugo was hard and ready in all his morning-wood glory.

Kovak’s own cock gained more consistency as Snyder caressed the nice piece at hand. Hugo’s skin always reminded Kovak of the cinnamon trees he’d seen in Zanzibar— dark and strong, fragrant and beautiful.

With the three of them, it was all about contrast: in personalities, in skin colors, in points of view about many things. Snyder and Kovak were both blond and with fair skin, even if Snyder had a hint of strawberry in both hair and complexion while Kovak leaned toward peaches and apricots.

Kovak snorted quietly. Peaches and apricots were among the stone fruits, and he could relate to that easily. Now a different correlation to peaches emerged as Snyder moved to all fours, his ass high and his face low, dragging his nose along Hugo’s shaft avidly inhaling a fragrance Kovak knew too well.

Hugo combed Snyder’s long hair to one side.

Something in the back of Kovak’s mind told him their lover had done that to give him a better view of Snyder’s actions. He swallowed hard, seeing Snyder’s lips wrap around Hugo’s cockhead. The way Snyder used his plump lips to lower the foreskin gave Kovak goose bumps. For a moment he considered how that mouth would feel around his own member.

Hugo’s and Kovak’s eyes locked, and Hugo closed his eyes slowly with an imperceptible nod as if agreeing with him. Being caught by Hugo imagining Snyder’s mouth on his cock should have doused Kovak’s arousal, and yet it had the exact opposite effect: his nipples hardened and a slight tremor spiraled over his body.

Snyder worked with serious concentration; his big fist pumped the shaft as his head bobbed engulfing and releasing inches and inches with gusto.

With one hand, Hugo traced the perfect concave arch of Snyder’s back on his way to rocky cheeks— unhurriedly, just a wide expanse to glide over and enjoy.

A finger disappeared inside Snyder’s hole. The mercenary moaned, his mouth still full of sweet Hugo, and Kovak groaned in response because the sound had touched him in a place that wasn’t supposed to be touched by that sound or the image accompanying it.

Kovak knew it wasn’t a projection of his own reactions, knowing that Hugo also did these things to him. No, it was about Snyder; about how the mercenary gyrated his hips— eager for deeper penetration; about the way his long pale lashes caught the emerging light of the morning as he closed his eyes to receive more of Hugo’s cock in his mouth.

Three fingers were now readying Snyder. Kovak didn’t know what had changed, but this morning he had come to a new appreciating of Snyder’s form, of his reactions to Hugo’s touch. Kovak did not want to be just a silent spectator anymore; he wanted to be part of that, but his own conflict— his own sense of incomplete atonement kept him rooted to the couch.

Snyder straddled Hugo, his back to Kovak, his long hair falling like an unruly, sunny river down his wide shoulders. Hugo spread hard cheeks, exposing their sweet treasure. Snyder used saliva to coat his mark then with that same hand guided Hugo inside him.

Kovak held his breath. Snyder slowly lowered himself, taking it all with determination and abandon, the angle of his spine growing inward with every devoured inch. Snyder and Kovak exhaled together when Snyder was fully seated and in control of Hugo’s cock.

Kovak’s entire body tingled. The image before him and his memories entwined and swirled, bringing the flames engulfing his body to new heights.

Snyder started to ride Hugo. First a soft roll, quietly increasing from trot to canter to gallop until it was full command and utter possession. Kovak worked his cock in tandem with Snyder’s motions, getting closer with each heartbeat— with each moan and grunt escaping the other two.

Kovak’s hand became a blur, so in tune with Snyder, hoping it was Snyder. Abruptly, Snyder stopped. Kovak saw the rivulets of sweat sliding down the strong back and arms, damping strawberry hair. Both heaved, perhaps lost in the sudden quiet.

Snyder rested his brow over Hugo’s. He nodded as if coming to a realization. He straightened his upper body and turned to look at Kovak, his eyes wild and needy. Snyder extended his hand, but the word came from Hugo’s mouth, “Come.”

Kovak’s feverish brain thought they wanted to see him come, see him reach his climax for their enjoyment, but then he realized they’d meant, “Come to us.”

In a daze, Kovak went to his feet, hard and very close to bursting.

Before Kovak could reach the bed, Snyder got off Hugo and lay on his back.

Hugo moved to his knees to receive Kovak. He climbed on the bed, and Hugo gave an upward sweep with his middle finger over Kovak’s leaking cockhead to scoop some precum. Kovak thought Hugo would lick it, but instead he put the now dripping finger on Snyder’s lips.

Snyder took the finger in his mouth— his eyes locked with Kovak’s.

Kovak felt lightheaded, and all he wanted to do now was to have his mouth sharing that finger with Snyder. And he went for it, covering Snyder’s body with his body, covering Snyder’s mouth with his mouth, tasting himself and Snyder in the same heartbeat.

Hugo removed his finger from the equation, leaving Kovak and Snyder devouring each other’s mouths, their cocks grinding, the friction taking both higher and higher. Hugo began to masturbate, pushing his cockhead between their wrestling lips every two pumps.

Soon Kovak’s mind spiraled, enthralled by the powerful man beneath his body and the hard cock teasing their united lips. Hungry, feral, he shared a growl with Snyder as the first drop of cum fell in their greedy mouths. Hugo grunted as he came, more and more deliciousness reaching Snyder’s and Kovak’s taste buds.

Hugo smacked his wet cock on Kovak’s cheek, and that was it. Kovak cried as his body convulsed, and cum burst over and over, drenching his crotch and Snyder’s. And Snyder grabbed Kovak’s ass and ground their drenched cocks together and came and came, forcing Kovak to swallow the mercenary’s howl of completion with a punishing kiss.

****

“Fuck. That was…” Kovak said after enough time had passed for them to breathe evenly again. He lay on his back, Hugo and Snyder flanking him, all three staring at the ceiling— the bed sheets they’d used to clean themselves rumpled around them.

“Intense?” Hugo’s voice emerged a bit strangled from Kovak’s right.

“Eye-opening?” Snyder sounded unusually contemplative.

“I honestly do not have a word to describe it… yet,” Kovak finally offered after several heartbeats.

Hugo sprang up, resting on his elbow. One ear perked toward the door like a bloodhound. He covered Kovak’s mouth with a hand before he could open it.

Then Kovak heard it too, someone (or several) moving downstairs. They left the bed in silence. With practiced ease, they donned clothes and weapons quietly.

Snyder was the first out of the master bedroom. He moved toward the stairs and stopped at the edge. He stared at Hugo and Kovak and hand-signed “Fight or flight?”

Hugo and Kovak exchanged a glance. Kovak moved his hand, “How many?” They only used eyecode when other people were around or they couldn’t move their hands.

They all focused their senses on gauging the number of intruders in the house. Hugo’s hand traced the amount in the air. “Six?” Snyder and Kovak nodded. Hugo jerked his right thumb toward the guest bedroom.

They were swiftly inside the smaller room. “What do you think?” Hugo asked as they huddled close to the window.

“Effing Monday morning for crying out loud,” Snyder growled. “The low hangers on those fuckers.”

“You don’t suppose those are squatters, right?” Kovak asked just to be obnoxious.

Hugo shook his head a little. “Kovak, squatters would be making a lot more noise thinking the house was empty.” He made a face.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Snyder grumbled. “Those motherfuckers interrupted my afterglow, and I won’t be in the mood for questioning them.” His eyes landed on Kovak, but they had a naughty gleam instead of a murderous fog. “I might be inclined to simply end them.” He smirked easily.

“We don’t even know what they want,” Hugo huffed.

“I agree with Snyder. Let’s get the fuck out. This can’t be a friendly visit. They didn’t ring the doorbell.” Kovak shook his head. “People have no manners anymore.”

Snyder snorted. “You’re an idiot,” he said, opening the window slowly.

The roof of the tool shed attached to the house was below that window. The sun was fully out, and the neighborhood was coming alive around them. Hugo stepped out first, then Snyder. Kovak used his sliding momentum to close the window behind him. From the shed, they jumped to the backyard.

They never parked their jeep in front of the house. It was something they did in every house they rented after an assignment, foreseeing situations like this one. Since Snyder had been the last to drive it, he’d guide them. Always ready to leave everything behind, they didn’t have anything really personal to forget if escape was needed. Their true sentimental possessions were in safe storages around the world. They’d been in that house for three months, though, and Kovak really liked that headboard.

Well, shit happens.

The backyard grass was still dew-soaked, and it squished under their boots. There was something indecent about that furtive noise after the moment they’d shared in bed.

Before they could jump the low chicken wire fence, Snyder elbowed Kovak. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Asshole,” Kovak grunted under his breath.

“You two can flirt later. C’mon,” Hugo urged, moving over the fence like an Olympic hurdler.

They were in the middle of their neighbor’s yard when the house exploded.

They stopped in their tracks and turned around. They gawked as debris flung in all directions and flames soared.

“What the Helheim?” Snyder blurted, frowning. He had started to use that word instead of hell since he read the Magnus Chase Series by Rick Riordan.

Kovak liked the ones around Percy Jackson better; he was more in tune with Greek and Roman mythologies than those of the Norse even if he had been born in the area where the Vikings had thrived.

Snyder crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Well, that’s just wrong.”

Their house was practically across the street from a weapons museum. Kovak could only imagine the news headlines. He too shook his head.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before the police arrive,” Hugo commanded, and Snyder took the lead toward their jeep.

As they trotted away from the fire, Kovak realized the house had exploded before the invaders could have been out of it. Screaming police sirens and deafening firetruck honks were definitely not the best soundtrack for that disturbing realization.

 ****

#comingsoon #fiction #mmromance  #triad #action #adventure #international #menofgabbo #paranormal #mystery #ancientartifacts #contemporary #ebook #mercenary  #treasurehunter #naughty  #scourger #humor #gabbodelaparra

 

Wisdom Wednesday FlashBack

When I wrote this story for the 2012 M/M Romance Group Summer Event Love is Always Write, our concern was about the end of times according to the Mayan Calendar. 

Who would have thought then that eight years later the world of that sci-fi story would resonate so much with the world we're experiencing in 2020, not just for the face-covering situation but the mental and physical isolation becoming such common ground? Also The Mandalorian vibe with the mask and stuff...

Take a look...

CHAPTER ONE

Blast me.

If Alaric Aquinas hadn’t been ravenous, he wouldn’t have been chasing the furry thing; ergo he wouldn’t be in this predicament, hanging from a precipice. A damned man-made precipice nonetheless, outcome of the improvised junkyard when people started to throw everything they didn’t need anymore, into this former depression of the terrain.

Perhaps, today was his last day on Nova Gaia.

A mighty fine day to end twenty-six years of shenanigans.

The straps about Alaric’s torso (preventing his fall) were not meant to support his weight, just to carry the few things he used whenever he was away from his quarters. Weak after so many days without food, he wasn’t strong enough to propel himself upward, not even to promote a swift, undramatic death by swinging a little.

His pappa would have said Alaric should give a better fight before giving up. The only thing he was fighting right now (besides hunger) was fricking gravity, and one needed machines to win the constant battle against that bitch.

Every time Alaric opened his eyes in the dwindling twilight, vertigo seized him. He was pressing his eyelids so hard they trembled in a rebellious effort to betray him, to make him meet his last moment with frightening awareness and flailing arms.

Something smacked him between his closed eyes. Luckily, he was wearing his goggles. That would have been annoyingly painful otherwise.

A rope.

Can it be?

The miraculous rope was long enough to circle his waist. If the straps yielded now, he wouldn’t fall. Phew, he wasn’t afraid of heights, but it’s not the same when you don’t have anything under your feet.  All he needed now was to find strength to pull himself up and fast. Maybe this time he could have the chance to talk to his savior.

Helping Alaric every time he met with trouble, the strange man in a gas mask had kept his distance, never exchanging words, just letting his presence be known.

Curiosity moved Alaric to act swiftly more than the actual sense of danger. He longed for an opportunity to face his protector. The masked man had been haunting his dreams and— lately—even his waking moments. It had become a compulsion stronger than hunger and survival. It had inflamed his desire for company.

Alaric knew it had a lot to do with worldlier things than gratitude, in a very testosterone-seeks-testosterone kind of way. In his dreams, he unclothed the stranger without removing the gas mask. He frankly did not care what his savior looked like. The only important thing was how good that man had been to him, without asking for anything in return.

In a place with so few people left, kindness was a rare oddity. All went about their lives paying as little attention as possible to other survivors. The natural, human instinct to seek the comfort of a group had been forsaken for that of isolation. Fears fathered on the illogical claim that gatherings might bring back the dust plague.

Alaric was finally on his feet, running toward the place where he saw the glint of the dying light on the visor of the gas mask. It was too late though, all he found was the rabbit he had been chasing impaled on a stick, like a macabre offering. His protector didn’t even give him the chance to blow a kiss in his direction now that he had summoned the courage to do so.

I have the shittiest timing in the galaxy.

He quickly changed his goggles to thermal recognition in a last effort to see if the man was still around. Useless, everything around him was colder than a dog’s nose.

Strained and frustrated, Alaric decided to set camp in the first decaying building he found outside the improvised junkyard. He hadn’t encountered survivors this far in the outskirts of the city before. He did a cursory examination of the place (to confirm he was alone) and started to skin the rabbit.

He broke some chairs to start a fire and used the stick the rabbit had been delivered on to roast it. His place was almost at the other end of the city, and the night was too cold to be wandering when he could rest here by this nice fire with a sated stomach.

If the man hadn’t scurried like a scared pigeon, Alaric would have loved to share his food.

Be honest with yourself Alaric, you’d share with him food, mouth, hands, cock, hole, and everything in between.

As he chewed a roasted strip of meat, he pondered all the things he couldn’t do with the masked man, adjusting his intruding cock. He was messy enough after the junkyard snafu to consider a hasty masturbatory release. No, he was going to wait until he could do it at his own leisure in the security of his own quarters. GM deserved better than a mechanical, uninspired tug, and Alaric deserved to clean himself properly afterward. He had an adequate amount of water contained for a decent bath.

Alaric chuckled inwardly; this was the second time he had thought about the masked man as GM. Calling his savior Gas Mask was too impersonal, GM sounded like a friend’s nickname, and he wanted to feel close to this silent protector. Not to mention that little interaction with other human beings really helped with the unrestricted explosion of wishful thinking and fricking gas-mask-gazing fantasies.

He readied himself to sleep on the marble floor of the abandoned hotel lobby, draping about him bedclothes from one of the rooms and hoping with all his heart for the opportunity to be face-to-mask with the stranger without the need to be in danger.

The founders had brought myths saying a rabbit’s foot was a good luck charm, maybe Alaric’s good luck charm was a gas mask at the end.

 

****

 

Blessed be the Universe, for I was able to help him again.

Sule Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.12

When Sule discovered the handsome lad, it had been raining. Sule rounded a corner and by pure chance looked up. The vision was there, naked and pale in the filtered light of the morning. The weathered green, double doors behind him and the ochre and pink façade of the two-story building did nothing but enhance his lean frame. The contours of his long arms ended in manly hands firmly grasping the wrought-iron balcony. With his body tilted a little forward as if to catch the blessing of the rain more easily, the naked dream had his eyes close and a line of happiness curved the plump lips on a square masculine face.

Struck by something more powerful than lightning, Sule staggered out of sight, just in case the young man looked down. Sule stood there frozen until he tasted the rain and realized he was gaping in idyllic awe.

Nova Gaia architecture had been designed after Earth’s Belle Époque before the Great War, and the ornate building had two statues not far from the vision’s balcony. Those representations of beauty were mere children’s doodles compared to the willowy godling enjoying the rain.

The place wasn’t far from his own; ergo it amazed him how it was possible he hadn’t seen this man before. Sule floated—enthralled—on the street until the lad became bored or cold and moved inside without even looking down at the street once.

The first time Sule helped the handsome lad, he was wearing his gas mask. It had been a particularly dusty day, and he had it on as a precaution. Now, he kept using it so the lad would know it was the same stranger helping him every time because it had a distinctive blue mark. However, Sule had never had the courage to introduce himself.

Nova Gaia recovered quicker than the humans who thought they had conquered her. A lustrum after the dust plague, Nova Gaia was lush again, while the sparse human population had reverted to an age long before the colonization of this planet. The devices running on extended-life batteries still worked, but those that needed constant renewal had been abandoned since there weren’t enough skilled survivors to keep things in working condition.

Hundreds of years of human civilization in Nova Gaia had been destroyed in less than six standard months by a plague with no rational or scientific explanation. Powerful furnaces, wielders of the metallurgy-based industry of the planet, had been used to incinerate the insane amount of bodies left by the dust plague in its wake and to avoid the second tide of disease originated by the indiscriminate decomposition. Ironic since during the Second Industrial Revolution and France’s Belle Époque on Earth the theory to eradicate diseases had been developed.

Large Industries were inconsequential; there were no masses to consume. Cattle and poultry roamed freely in the mountains far from the outskirts of the one-time prosperous colonies. People survived mostly from the animals that were never truly for human consumption: rabbits, dogs, doves, cats. All former pets and therefore stuck within the cities.

Sule hadn’t eaten a dog or a cat yet, he tried to stick to rabbits and doves. Occasionally, a hunting party would go to the mountains and come back with meats. Meats, they would exchange for sexual favors.

As long as the man was clean, Sule hadn’t had problems with it, and his stomach had always thanked him greatly afterward. Now, after the vision at the balcony had entered his life, the thought of another man joining him felt somewhat on the verge of disloyalty. So invested was his mind in the lad, it was only appropriate for his body to follow suit.

The plague had left the survivors so melancholic that there weren’t even the usual hoarders trying to keep goods for themselves and profit. Anyone could go to the stores and get clothing and footwear. Scarves and hoods were the most popular articles since many survivors presented facial abrasions.

Perhaps the lad thinks I’m disfigured because of the gas mask.

Saddened but grateful to be alive, most people kept to themselves, interacting very little with others, just attentive to their com-devices, waiting for the signal of the long-awaited rescue, coming from any of the other colonized planets a couple of light-years away from Nova Gaia.

Sule stared at the two moons, muted guardians of their night. Nova Gaia had three moons but one was retrograde, and they were so infrequently together in the dark sky that a myth existed saying every time the three moons were together a catastrophe would befall.

Many said the dust plague had started after the three moons had been seen together.

There was only one bright thing in Sule’s firmament, and he wondered where his lovely vision was spending this night.

CHAPTER TWO

The thick head of GM’s cock painted Alaric’s lips with delicious fluids in rapid brushes. His body was aflame waiting for the imminent penetration after so much yearning. Then GM did a wicked thing, sweeping Alaric’s nostrils with the raging head. So naughty.

Blast me.

Alaric opened his eyes to discover a dog licking his nose.

He could hear the amused voice of his maman in the distance. “That’s what happens when you don’t wash your mouth before bed.” He sprang to a sitting position, startling the little perpetrator covered in a mane like an unruly mop. A mop that must have been white when brand new and now was dirty-water-colored.

At least the doggy wasn’t feral. It wouldn’t have been nice to wake up to the pain of his face being ripped unceremoniously. “Little fellow, the lick-fest is over.”

Alaric hadn’t used his voice in a long time, and it was rough, sounding more like a fricking growl, which drew a yip from the little mop. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He stood up and went to the sealed container where he had left the entrails of his gas-mask-delivered supper. He opened the can and put it on the marble floor. “Here, you can have this. They are not my favorites.”

Leaving the little mop, munching desperately, he walked to the entrance of the abandoned hotel. It was that surreal moment—darkest before dawn—when for a second everything stood frozen waiting for the sun to chase away horror and obscurity. The promise that no matter what, day always followed night.

A muffled noise snapped him out of his contemplation, like many people heavily dragging their feet. Alaric turned his head away from the changing sky and saw it.  At the far end of the street, an irregular column of survivors walked. As he stared agape, more survivors joined the bizarre march.

In five years, he had not seen this concentration of people before. Alaric gathered his few things and went toward them, happy that the little mop didn’t follow him. It would have been sad to resort to eating him at some point.

Almost at the end of the silent procession, an old lady in a hovering cart (with a battery so low that it was moving sadly as if somebody was pushing it) smiled at him. Alaric walked beside her cart. “Good morning, mother. What’s going on?”

“A blessed day for you, boy. Hadn’t you heard? Rescue is coming! The survivors in this area should go to the spaceport close to the Tyrrhenian Sea.”

That was a journey of three standard days, and it would take them a standard-week to get there at the pace the survivors were moving. “Wonderful news, mother.” Alaric wondered why she was alone. Probably all her family was dead; at least she had it in her to look forward to a new life somewhere else.

Alaric pondered as he walked beside the hovering cart. He must keep with him a few mementos if he was to start anew on another planet. He didn’t want to get old and forget what his parents, brothers and sisters looked like before the plague yanked them away from him.

“Excuse me, mother. I wish you a safe journey. I must go back to my quarters.” Alaric took her bony hand and kissed it. “Your blessing, please.”

“May the spirits of your ancestors guide you, and my blessing goes with you, my boy.”

Alaric bowed to her and left running with all his might.

Panting heavily, Alaric reached the top floor of the two-story building he called home. He retrieved the hand-size painting of his family in its beautifully gilded frame. As much as technology gave them the opportunity to have holographic files, it was tradition to keep a painted family portrait. He had requested to have the full-sized that adorned the family room reduced to have it on his nightstand. Now, it would be the only important thing from Nova Gaia flying with him to a new planet.

He studied it one last time before wrapping it with a cloth to secure it in his backpack. His maman and pappa sat while he and his siblings stood behind them. Alaric was in the center since he was the youngest, his sisters each on one side, and his two brothers completing the group on both extremes. His maman and sisters looked ethereal with their high hair and jewels, short sleeves, and pristine gloves beyond their elbows, all dark-haired beauties. His pappa sat with his top hat resting on his lap, elegant and stoic with such a thick moustache that always tickled Alaric when his father kissed him goodnight as a kid. All the brothers had their top hats on, and all men wore morning frocks, waistcoats, and cravats. They were the image of cordiality and prosperity.

His pappa would have wanted him to give a good fight and not be sad and pathetic at this crossroads. His maman would have been encouraging him to take several changes of underpants for the journey. His brothers and sisters would have been fluttering around him jesting and laughing and wishing him a safe trip.

Alaric hastily packed water, flashlights, and underpants. He was used to going without food for a couple of days, and surely, their rescuers would feed them.

He ran; it was time to join the throng of survivors on their way to a new planet.

By the time Alaric reached the limits of the city, the survivors were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they had realized they were moving insanely slow.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A very unfriendly voice called behind him.

It was a trio of men, who usually came back to the city from the mountains with cattle meat to trade. “Oh, hello, gentlemen. Heard the good news?” Alaric commented, happy to find out he wasn’t the last one to leave the city. He had never been around them long enough to learn their names, maybe this time he would.

“Yeah, we heard. Mind if we join you?” The tallest of the group said, ogling him strangely.

“Sure, the more the better,” Alaric answered nonchalantly, although inside him alarms were furiously sending distress signals.

The shortest and most menacing of the group had a wicked look on his flat face and said gleefully, “Exactly, the more the better.”

Alaric wasn’t sure if the right action was to flee or prepare himself to fight like a feral beast. These men had never been extremely friendly, he had exchanged sexual favors with them for food, but something was wrong this time. What could they do, kill him? What would be the point? The only thing worth killing on this planet under the circumstances was food, and Alaric didn’t think these men had suddenly turned into cannibals.

If they wanted sex, they could ask for it, couldn’t they? After so many weeks of wet dreams with the man wearing the gas mask, he might not enjoy it, but it wouldn’t be an aberration of the customs. Alaric wondered if GM had received the rescue signal and was on his way to the spaceport with all the others.

Alaric selfishly hoped that if he were in danger surrounded by these men, GM would be close to give him a helping hand—again.

What a shitty moment to be unarmed.

They walked for a standard hour when they reached a part of the road with trees on one side and a burnt field on the other. The trio paced behind Alaric, and that kept his hair on ends. He was seriously considering going back to the city when two of the men grabbed him by the arms and the third yanked his trousers down, underpants included. “What the…?”

“Shhh, we just want to play a little,” said one in his ear, licking his earlobe.

Alaric thrashed to free himself, but he couldn’t use his legs to kick with his trousers around his knees and the awkward face down position. “Sons of bitches, you don’t need to force me. Be decent and ask.”

“Ah, pretty thing, but this ain’t trade, this is rape.” The one holding his legs, spat evilly as they carried him toward the group of trees.

“Let me go, you fuckers. Let me go!” Alaric was frantic, and the men were easily overpowering him, no matter how much he thrashed.

“Yeah.”

“That’s what we want.”

“Put up a fight.”

“Make it interesting.”

Alaric heard the voices, but in his wild struggle he couldn’t discern who was speaking.

The one holding his legs, let go with an “Ouch!” One of the others jerked his arm before releasing him with a “What the fuck?”

Alaric landed ass first on the ground and before he lost consciousness (thanks to the angry reception of a tree trunk), he saw the man in the gas mask serving steaming jabs and ferocious kicks to his attackers.

A gas mask was indeed his lucky charm.

 

****

 

Blessed be the Universe for the lad is safe in my arms.

Sule Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.13

Sule had taken care of the three idiots trying to force his lad, bringing him back to the city in his transport. They had several days before the rescue party arrived at the spaceport. It was sad to think that now that help was on its way, the survivors would start turning against each other.

Trying not to traumatize the lad further, Sule had just pulled his clothes together and waited patiently for him to come back on his own. He caressed the disheveled locks he had dreamed about so many nights. Long, dark lashes begged him for a kiss, a kiss he couldn’t bring himself to steal.

Since Sule had never been close enough to the lad to learn the color of his eyes, he wondered. Sule knew they were fair, in plain contrast with his dark, manly eyebrows; eyebrows he tentatively traced not wanting to disturb the peaceful unconsciousness of this dreamboat.

 

And when your eyes’ve shone

Upon my face

And your smile’s blinded me

With nonnatural radiance

I will happily die

Knowing  there’s

No more to yearn.

 

Sule recited mentally as he caressed a pale cheek, with the back of his fingers, in a silent glide of nails and knuckles. As much as Sule didn’t want to disturb the lad, he couldn’t help himself. So close for him to have, it was impossible to put distance between them now.

The vision leaned onto his hand with a pleased hum and opened his eyes. They were pale blue, like a cloudless sky at the moment the sun was at its highest. “Your name,” the lad murmured, his voice rasped as if his throat was extremely dry.

The gas mask came off, as Sule was just waiting for the lad to recognize him first, and, holding the lad’s hand, he spoke, “My name is Sule Sarong, your humble servant.” He drew the hand to his lips and kissed it. “Allow me the gift of your name.”

The vision smiled, caressing with trembling fingers his stubbly cheek. “Alaric Aquinas,” he pronounced calmly. “I owe you so much, Sule.” This time he traced Sule’s lips with a single, now steadier, finger.

“You owe me nothing, Alaric. Your safety is my biggest reward.” Sule went to his feet to get something for Alaric to drink. He settled the gas mask on a nearby table and poured water.

Wasn’t Alaric a king who conquered Rome? How fitting.

Alaric sat, looking at Sule with adoring eyes, and then assessed his state, as he accepted the offered glass. “Thank you. I’m a mess.” There was mud and grass all over him. “I’m defiling your bed.” He chuckled softly. “Please, forgive me.”

Sule sat again—close, so close—and smiled openly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not that we will stay here for long. We must go to the spaceport by the Tyrrhenian Sea soon.” He took the emptied glass from Alaric’s hands. “I can offer you a bath if it pleases you.”

“Only if you share it with me,” Alaric uttered with a falsely solemn face.

“Are you sure? After what happened to you, I wouldn’t impose my presence in such an intimate way.”

“I’m positive I want you there with me, as I am positive there will be another dawn tomorrow.” 

CHAPTER THREE

Sule had said his name, stressing the final E, in the same way his tutor had done when Alaric was learning his vowels as a child. The tutor had held a card showing an animal with large, hanging ears and a long trunk that didn’t exist on Nova Gaia but was still used to teach children the alphabet. “E-le-phan-t,” his tutor had enunciated condescendingly. An action Alaric hadn’t understood at the time but now was clear as water.

Lately, Alaric learned that the inhabitants of an outer-rim planet had characteristics very similar to Earth’s pachyderms. “The patterns of the Universe are repeated endlessly and with wisdom,” his pappa had said in the middle of one of their frequent and entertaining discussions.

As Alaric watched Sule strip out of his brocade morning coat and waistcoat, and discovered the sultry coat of hair adorning Sule’s chest as the white shirt became undone, he wished he hadn’t gone through the chemical removal of all his body hair. The only follicles active in his body were the ones on his scalp and eyebrows.

With the gas mask gone, a stark new concept of desire exploded inside Alaric. His fingertips still tingled with the sensation of Sule’s incipient beard, and Alaric wanted that wonderful stubble scratching every inch of his body.

“Are you unwell?” Sule asked, just underpants covering his magnificent, lean body. “Is the lump on your head hurting?” His dark locks swayed forward as he tilted his head inquisitively.

Alaric shook his head. Absent (like a dummy) and sure that he had the silliest star-struck look on his face. He wasn’t drooling because the Universe was merciful. He swallowed audibly and said, “I’ve dreamt of you so much. I still don’t know if this is just another of my naughty dreams or blissful reality.”

Sule smiled, with his mouth and his amazing steel eyes, and walked toward him. Sule took Alaric’s hand and rested it on his chest over his heart, the hairy plain— hard and enticing. “Do you hear this?”

Alaric did, hating the clothes that still covered his own body. He nodded, hearing and feeling the steady heartbeat scorching his hand, melting his body.

The underpants close to his chest were tented—proof that Alaric wasn’t alone in his ardor.

“Let me help you out of these clothes,” Sule murmured as he pulled Alaric up and held him in his arms for a moment.

Sule’s eyes were the color of flaming steel, and they devoured Alaric. Every single cell about Alaric’s body tingled in anticipation. Why was he still clothed?

The removal of each garment was accompanied by a feathery caress on the discovered area, Alaric wanted to close his eyes and drift, but Sule’s eyes held him in place, alert, conscious. And that mouth, that mouth surrounded by amazing stubble was an equally powerful magnet. It took all the restraint his body was capable of not to be the first to venture for a taste of those lips.

“Oh,” Alaric gasped, remembering he didn’t have his backpack. He was happy to be there, but losing his family portrait immediately dampened his mood. 

“Don’t worry, it’s over there.” Sule pointed toward a corner, as Alaric leaned on him to remove his shoes. The backpack lay inconspicuously, covered by dirt, but apparently whole.

Alaric thanked Sule in hushed tones as they moved to the next room, which was an ample bathroom. Sule took a low stool and settled it in the middle of a large bathtub. “Let me sponge you first to remove all that caked dirt.”

Sule moved about, collecting items for his chore, while the bobbing of his tempting cock, behind thin fabric, enthralled Alaric.

Blast me. I’m going to make a fool of myself.

“Where did all this water come from?” Alaric asked (just for the sake of asking) to distract his feverish brain.

“It’s the filtered water of a hundred rains.” Sule beamed, pride coloring his tone. He pointed to an immense tank in the middle of the inner patio. “It also irrigates a little greenhouse.”

Then Sule wasn’t simply lurking around the corners waiting to rescue him. Alaric didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or grateful that Sule wasn’t just a harebrained stalker.

By the time Sule finally started to sponge him with soapy water, his cock head peeked from its foreskin cocoon demanding attention, and no amount of fresh (or filtered) water could conquer the fire running over Alaric’s face.

Hey, horniness trumps embarrassment.

The worst (or should he say the best) part was when Sule circled Alaric’s ass cheeks with maddening slowness and spread them, rubbing lovingly his puckered hole, as if to make him beg to be fucked senseless without remorse. Who could have told him that a man literally wiping his fricking ass would be the most erotic thing he had ever experienced? He was lost, light-years beyond propriety.

None said a word. The only thing accompanying Sule’s torturing and delightful ministrations was the heavy almost strangled breathing of both.

An eternity later, all the filth of the morning’s bad experience had been drained, and they were face-to-face, knelt in the bathtub with water happily splashing about them. Alaric couldn’t get enough of Sule’s hairy chest rubbing against his, nor the celestial scrape of that stubble over his swollen lips.

Sule’s ass was a masterpiece, and Alaric refused to cease his kneading of the hard muscles. They were mutually obsessed with their behinds because Sule couldn’t stop either. He pulled their groins together, steering Alaric’s ass and making their cocks mingle their encouraging fluids.

“I’ve dreamt of you so much,” Sule whispered moving one hand from Alaric’s ass to his groin.

That strong hand around his shaft was Alaric’s undoing. “I’m sure I did it more.” He chuckled with a strangled gasp.

“Who did what is not important anymore. You’re here in my arms.” Then Sule did something Alaric couldn’t have foreseen. Inserting a finger in Alaric’s foreskin, Sule circled the head like a warlock from an ancient tale stirring a concoction, perhaps to destroy, perhaps to create life.

“Blast me,” was all Alaric could hiss as he rolled his eyes. A thousand commands escaped from his purpled head, ordering goosebumps and flashes of light, and Sule inserted one finger of the hand still kneading Alaric’s ass into that burning hole, making him whimper.

Squeaky clean as they were after the meticulous bath, the fluids oozing from their cocks could only taste like ambrosia. Sule proved this, licking the smeared finger and sharing the flavor with Alaric in a passionate kiss.

Invaded and giddy (thanks to both hands commanding him), Alaric replicated Sule’s maneuvers, extracting moans of approval and grunts of encouragement.

Each mirrored the other’s actions, tasting and kissing, fingering and rubbing. Water splashed with their efforts because they only gave each other space for narrow moves, bucking and grinding, until all that was left was to stroke their cocks to completion.

Alaric exploded first, torn between the hand stroking his cock, the finger plucking his prostate, and the mouth covering his mouth. He became a million pieces, his consciousness still whole—thanks to Sule’s sweet gravity.

The wicked clench around Alaric’s finger (with Sule’s orgasm not far behind from his) brought a new wave of ecstasy to his trembling frame. Both rode the high crest not wanting to untwine their bodies now or in the future.

 

****

 

Blessed be the Universe, for I’ve known bliss on the lips of Alaric Aquinas.

Sule Sarong’s Personal Log - Standard date 5772.03.15

They made love for two standard days. They learned each other’s geography, from north to south, from east to west, kissing creases, licking plains, engulfing summits. They discovered and adored every inch of their inflamed bodies with abandon. The diminishing of that bonfire was never in sight.

“It’s time to leave this nest, Alaric.” Sule told the object of his desire with sadness. They didn’t know under what conditions they would do the interplanetary journey, ergo if they would be sharing the same living space. Many, many people would certainly surround them by the description of the column of survivors Alaric had given him.

But even if there are a thousand survivors, it would be nothing but the meager remains of a city with more than two million inhabitants before the dust plague.

“Are you sure your transport has enough energy to take us there?” Alaric asked, still tangled in dark sheets, making him look like one of the moons in the midnight sky.

“More than necessary. If we depart tonight, we could arrive at the spaceport in less than forty-eight standard hours.” Sule sat on the bed, offering Alaric a plate with his share of the roasted doves and Nova-Gaian potatoes he had prepared for their meal.

Alaric ate silently, just looking at Sule, a mixture of adoration and apprehension in his pale blue eyes, cross-legged and immersed in a pool of satin darkness.

“Speak your mind, sweetheart.” Sule caressed one cheek when Alaric stopped chewing. The lad leaned into his touch.

“What if they separate us?” Alaric scrunched his nose as if not wanting to delve too seriously into that thought.

This fretting lad was the one who even in the middle of an ordeal kept fighting, as Sule had witnessed every time he had come to his rescue. Sule didn’t want to make Alaric weak just because he was near. “Would you let that happen?”

The response was a hissed syllable. “No.”

After a sip of his water, Sule encouragingly murmured, “That’s the answer I was hoping for.” He took their plates and settled them on a nearby table. He crawled on the bed until they were face-to-face, his eyes boring into Alaric’s. “I’m absolutely positive, if I’m the one who needs rescue at some point you’d prevail.” He slid his lips over Alaric’s without kissing, just relishing their texture. The tip of their noses brushed in silent invitation, an echo of things they did earlier.

Alaric gave him a quick smooch. “Totally true. My middle name is berserk.” He chuckled softly. “There’s something about you that makes me want to be rescued, and I swear I didn’t look for trouble just to see if you appeared. They were all honest-to-Universe mishaps.” He lifted his right hand as if making an oath.

“I believe you. I know there’s spunk in you.” Sule pushed Alaric to lie down, savoring the muscles of Alaric’s square shoulder.

Snickering, Alaric blurted, “There’s not much left, after what’s been going on in this bedroom.”

It took five standard seconds for Sule to grasp the meaning of Alaric’s words, and he exploded in laughter. “And there’s going to be less in a moment.”

“I’m banking on that,” Alaric whispered as he closed his eyes and opened his lips to accept him.

 

They left the abandoned city that night, the bark of dogs their only farewell.

Having learned about their bodies previously, they used the journey to learn about their life before the dust plague. The expectations that were, and those that were coming to be with the nearness of a new start on another planet.

They reached the spaceport with the second night more than well advanced. Two enormous spaceships, phallic and stunning, illuminated the area, and a male voice continuously gave information through a loud PA.

Gathering their backpacks, they walked toward the reception booth at the gate of the spaceport, hand in hand, leaving the transport and their previous life behind them.

“Did you notice that?” Sule pointed at the sky with his free hand, stopping their march.

“Oh, GM.” Alaric sighed, somewhat embarrassed. “I did, and it’s supposed to be a bad omen. That’s why I didn’t mention it.” Alaric pressed his lips, squeezing Sule’s hand and looking up in the direction of the three moons, visible after the dispersing clouds.

Sule liked that moniker; it would always remind him of how they met. He squeezed the lad’s hand back, “Never for us, Alaric. These three moons, we will never see again, proclaim the beginning of a different life.” He winked and nodded—smiling—lost in the pale blue eyes that seemed molten silver thanks to the scarce light. “Besides, it’s almost a new day.”

Alaric stood on his toes to nuzzle Sule’s cheek and gave him a quick smooch. “Yes. It’s always darkest before dawn.”

 

THE END

#mmromance #scifi #dystopian #rescue #menofgabbo #SuleSarong #AlaricAquinas #NovaGaia #ColviriSaga #foreseen #MayanCaledar #2012 #2020 

Flash Fiction Friday
This week: Multiple/Fantasy 

Oct23-20

 “I’ve never seen an elf handle a maul like that,” the oldest of the warriors said enthusiastically.

Ugnis caressed his spiked maul (a gift from a Dwarf lover) fondly as he nodded in acceptance.

“You swing that thing like it weighs nothing. You are obviously very strong.” Now the prettiest of the group eyed Ugnis with open interest.

Ugnis saw the appraisal in all six elves as they sat around the campfire— the night sky moonless and cloudless.

“You saved our lives,” said the only bearded elf of the group. “I think you deserve Vatrena Ponuda.”

The fire offering.

The other warriors made sounds of approval. The oldest of the warriors spoke again, “Choose one of us to do as you please with him tonight. You have our deepest thanks, and we are all keen to give you this prize.”

All six warrior elves puffed their chests, and some flexed their biceps unabashedly. The prettiest of the group waggled his eyebrows; a provocative smirk made his face even lovelier.

“This is an unexpected honor. You’re all very handsome. How can I choose one?” Ugnis tilted his head a fraction. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other five if I just engage with one.” He let his eyes linger on each of them for a heartbeat.

The warriors looked among themselves then nodded as if reaching a silent resolution. The dancing flames of the campfire gave their features a fierce visage. All stood up and faced away from Ugnis and, after lowering their pants, spread their cheeks.

Dead Troll: Zero.

Ugnis Stronghorn: Six.

* * * *

#fiction #flashfictionfriday #erotica #elves #warriors #fantasy #grouplove #menofgabbo #gabbodelaparra #mmromance