“Yup. You got a whole fetish set there.” Olly surveyed the rest of the gear.
“Not fetish. Protection.” Rich decided against the pants and boots—he didn’t plan on going far, after all—but put the gloves on. “Let’s go.” He had to open the big garage door to roll the bike out to the driveway. Out in the sun, Shadow looked even more glorious. He hopped on and waited for Olly to climb behind him. “Hold on firm and move with me. No sudden movements.”
Olly gave a thumbs-up and wrapped his arms around Rich.
The ride was nothing like being out on the open road, but the small streets he stuck to had little traffic and wound up and down the hills. Being on a bike was a world of difference from cars. You could feel the road, the speed, the machine thrumming between your legs. You were not a passenger in a metal box; the bike became an extension of your body, and zipping down the road felt like flying. It was the closest Rich had ever felt to freedom. Olly pressed against his back, and his hands on his ribs didn’t diminish the sensation one bit. If anything, Rich experienced a moment of pride hearing Olly hoot on a tight curve. He ended up riding around twice as long as he’d planned, but he had to go back to the house eventually.
Chapter Seven
Olly stumbled getting off the bike in the driveway. “Whoops, my legs have gone wobbly,” he announced and began to fumble with his helmet. He got it off at last and shook his head. Rich had to fight the urge to smooth his messy mop down for him.
Rich tossed his gloves into his own helmet and marched up to the front door. He needed a cold drink of water, or maybe something stronger.
Olly clambered after Rich, chattering. “Oh my God, it was awesome. We should do this up in the mountains—it would be rad.” They barely got inside when he pushed his helmet at Rich. “Hey, hold this.”
Rich turned and watched Olly struggle out of the jacket, fingers trembling on the zipper, face flushed from excitement. As Olly pushed the jacket off, the too-small T-shirt rode up, flashing his tattoo.
At the sight of blue tentacles coiling from under the jeans, something inside Rich snapped. The helmets thunked on the floor as they slipped from his grasp. An emotion as powerful but different from anger engulfed him. Want. He wanted to touch, feel, devour. He wanted Olly with every desperate pore of his body.
Olly froze, eyes huge, locking with his. Rich seized Olly by the hips, shoving Olly back against the door. Impelled by the mad thrumming of his heart, he pressed his lips on Olly’s before either of them could utter a word. It was the point of no return—he was kissing another man, and not only that, but was getting turned on by it. Every wet, squirming second of their tongues and lips pressing together made him harder. He pushed his thigh between Olly’s legs, and, taking hold of Olly’s buttocks, he pulled Olly tighter and swallowed Olly’s moan.
Far from being passive, Olly responded to Rich’s assault in kind. Digging his hands under Rich’s shirt, he raked his fingers along Rich’s back—slowly along the spine and none too softly. He canted his hips and pressed his crotch harder against Rich’s thigh. He groaned again and scrabbled at Rich’s belt.
An image danced in Rich’s head: coils of blue tentacles and blond hair. He had to see them and touch them. Breaking the kiss, he dropped to his knees, and with shaking fingers, he undid Olly’s jeans. To his surprise, Olly wore no underwear. The inked monster was all dark, swirling limbs in stark contrast to the pale skin.
Olly’s pubes were ash blond, and his cock jutted from its nest, slender with a pink head. A pearl of pre-come glistened on the tip. Rich tasted it experimentally. Salty. He took more into his mouth, and his eyes drifted close. He felt the same pangs of guilty pleasure as when he’d first discovered the joys of masturbation but, like then, he couldn’t stop. He tried to take in even more, but he choked and had to pull back.
“Would be easier in bed,” Olly suggested in a croaky whisper.
Rich shook his head. The bed was too far. He was afraid he’d lose his nerve.
Olly seemed to understand. “Couch.”
Yes, it would do. Rich stood awkwardly and watched Olly shimmy out of his jeans and pull his shirt over his head. He sat on the edge of the couch, all milky skin and cock glistening with Rich’s saliva. His nipples were two tiny, almond-colored circles. “Come,” he said and stretched out his arms.
Rich kicked off his boots and shed the rest of his clothes before closing the three-step distance on unsteady feet, but Olly’s hands braced him. Olly opened his fly with practiced ease and wrapped his lips around his cock. The sensation of warm wet heat engulfed him, and he couldn’t look away from the blond head bobbing up and down. He finally gave in to the need to touch.