Sweet Summer Sweat – Clare London
Scot had been dreaming, he was sure he had, though he couldn’t recall it clearly. It had been a suffocating, disorientating dream: he could still feel the shudder in his limbs, the throb of his heart. A wet dream?
…you were happy. You were laughing…
The details were slipping away from him like smoke, even as his mind cleared. But he remembered a tall stranger leaning over him with a hypnotizing smile, and an expression of delight. Someone welcoming, with hands on him, soothing him, caressing him. A comforting, sensual presence beside him, within him, talking to him….
…I’ve been waiting for you…
Scot shook his head to clear such nonsense. A presence? What the hell kind of weird word is that? He and Jerry had been to plenty of movies about vampires, succubi and other monsters, though they’d spent most of the time making out in the darkened back seats of the theater. Was one of those special effect creatures teasing his dreams now? But he hadn’t watched a movie like that for a long time. They didn’t scare him like they were meant to, and besides, he knew all too well the difference between movies and reality.
He stretched, his movements languid. The tangible feeling persisted. It felt soft and thick, flowing like viscous liquid, stroking like feathers, full of warmth and color and a really delicious smell.
…talking to you…
It wanted him. It slid inside his clothes, between his legs, seeking an entrance to his body.
Startled, Scot sat bolt upright. His heart was beating far more quickly than usual. For the first time, he acknowledged he was in nothing but his boxers, with no memory of undressing. And he had a throbbing erection. It tented the fabric, causing a damp patch at its tip. This was fiercer than his normal waking reaction, and it showed no signs of dying down.
Shit. He’d never had such a strange, erotic dream before, not even about Jerry!
He shifted on the bed, unsettled and horny, the sheet creased beneath him. Had Jerry undressed him? Surely it wouldn’t have been anyone else. The erection nagged at him, persistent and demanding. He toyed with the idea of running his hand a little lower, and giving it what it needed—
Then a door at the back of the room opened, bringing a waft of scented, wet air from what was obviously the bathroom.
“Scot? You’re awake then.” It was Jerry, his voice soft and sleepy too. The hard edge of their last conversation had gone, replaced by the caressing tone Jerry often used when they were making out.
“Where have you been?” Scot grumbled. “Come closer.”
Jerry walked over to the bed, toweling at his hair. He was naked, except for another towel twisted around his slim waist. A fuzzy patch of moonlight bathed his bare chest, highlighting a single, erect nipple.
Scot ached somewhere deep inside, wondering at the emotions that stirred him so strongly. He lusted after Jerry, of course he did, but this ache was something else. Damned dreams. “How late is it? Have you had a shower? I thought the lights were working now.”
“They are.” Jerry’s smile was more relaxed. “But I liked the candlelight in the dining room, so I thought we could have the same in here. It’s only ten p.m. or so. My headache was easing off so I left you sleeping and took a shower. It’s a very small bathroom so we’ll have to take a turn.” His gaze flickered over Scot’s stretched limbs, the shape of his swollen cock under the sheet. “I thought you needed the sleep.”
“Thanks.” Scot sighed and wriggled his hips on the bed. “But now I need something else.”
Jerry laughed and turned to the dresser, lighting a candle in one of the holders there. When he turned back to Scot, the chiaroscuro effect made him look alternately sensual and sinister. The faint smell of sulfur from the match trailed in the still air.
Scot sighed contentedly, and fell back on to the bed. “Didn’t I say to come closer?”
A strange expression flitted over Jerry’s face, but he grinned easily enough and climbed onto the bed beside Scot. “Yes, boss.”
Scot chuckled, then caught his breath. Jerry’s body beside him was so different from his dream. It was real. “It’s just us now, isn’t it?”
“Yes, thank God. This is our new beginning. For us, Scot—together. They won’t chase us any more, there’s no one to keep us apart. To tell us who we can and can’t see.”
It sounded rather melodramatic to Scot, but no less the truth. “To swear and spit at us?”
Jerry nodded. He stretched out a hand and slid it around Scot’s neck. “I know how bad it was—”
“No, you don’t.” Scot tried to keep the pain and anger out of his voice, but sometimes he wondered if he ever would. He’d struggled with life for as long as he could remember, first of all trying to keep beneath the radar of his miserable home situation, then to hide the true nature of his friendship with Jerry. He’d once told Jerry that he lied so much to his family and colleagues, he couldn’t always remember what was the truth and what was his cover story. He’d been forced to do it all because he’d been drawn to a man: they’d wanted each other.
Was that so wrong? He didn’t know which caused him the more pain—the persecution and abuse he’d suffered, or the cowardly way he’d tried to cope with it all.
“Hey, it’s okay. There’ll be no more of that crap,” Jerry whispered. He rolled across the bed, nudging against Scot’s body. “You’re so damned hot.” He winced as he shifted his cock under the towel. “You make me so fucking horny.”
Scot smiled and pressed his mouth to Jerry’s shoulder. His heart was beating fast again, but for a very different reason. “No more sneaking around, doing it in corners. In cars and alleyways.”
Jerry grinned. “Not always so bad, though? Sometimes the danger adds to the excitement.”
Scot hid his shiver. “But we have a choice, now, Jerry. A choice of when and where. Not just snatched half hours at lunch, or after dark, or while my parents are getting wasted at some bar or other.”
Jerry nodded. “Sure, whatever.” His hands ran gently down Scot’s chest, cupping his belly.
Scot’s muscles tightened. So maybe he’d found their secret life much more distressing than Jerry had. And it had been exciting, in its own way. Jerry in particular had seemed to enjoy the risk. Their groping sessions had been desperate and awkward, but Jerry had never hesitated to take any opportunity to fuck. Scot had been carried away with the desire too, but he regretted the fact they’d never had much time together to explore each other’s bodies. Everything had been rushed, the feelings anguished, the lovemaking awkward. Scot felt he had years of frustration and repression still to set free.
“My choice is now, Jerry. I want you here—and now.”
“Sure.” Jerry smiled at him. He didn’t seem to be listening that carefully, his eyes unfocused and his breathing shallow. Scot could feel Jerry’s cock thickening under the towel. He reached down, jerked the cloth away, and took firm hold of it.
Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her here:
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