Page 37 of Iron

I slip a forefinger into my mouth, making sure to get it sloppy wet, then slide it between his cheeks, probing softly, searching, resuming my sucking, hollowing out my cheeks. He raises his knees so I have better access.

“There,” he groans as I feel the pucker. I circle gently, and he opens under the tip.

“Go in,” he grits out.

I let my fingertip enter him. He’s hot and soft inside, tightly grabbing at my finger as if trying to pull me in deep. He moans loudly. I am only up to the second knuckle, but I brush over a bulge, and he gasps, his cock thickening even more, balls getting tight.

“Fuck. God, gonna cum,” he grunts.

I tighten my suck, making it clear I want it in my mouth. His hips stutter, then his body locks up hard, arching up into my mouth. I keep sucking as the big vein in his cock pulses and he fills my mouth.

“Fuuuck,” he bellows as he thrusts up hard. “Jeezus fuck!”

I swallow fast, but some dribbles out as he spurts again and again, and a fourth time. After two more, he collapses under me and I let his cock slip out of my mouth softly, pulling my finger from him then licking up his shaft for the cum that escaped. When I’m satisfied I got it all, I climb up his body and flop onto his chest, nuzzling under his chin.

“You ok?” he pants.

“Mmm, very ok,” I reply.

His arms wrap around me tightly, and his fingers tilt my chin up so his mouth can press against mine. I open for him and he licks inside, then presses his forehead to mine.

“Yeah, fireworks,” he mumbles.

I smile. He gets it.

30

GAVIN

After both of us have signed our scorecards for Saturday, we leave in my rental car. I picked the place on purpose. Not some quiet, hidden spot where we can hide in a corner, but a real Greensboro institution. The locals take their barbecue seriously, and there’s a line out the door we will stand in to get led to a shared picnic table. Zero privacy.

I open his car door, and he eyes me before we get in line.

“You sure about this?” he asks. “There are easier places.”

“I’m sure.” I hold my hand out. It isn’t a big gesture. But it is. I wait, hand out.

He looks, and I watch him understand what I’m asking, what I’m offering. No hiding. Out and proud. So fucking proud. That smile across his face nearly takes out my knees, and he takes my hand. I know photos will hit socials within the hour. I lead him to the line.

Inside, the place smells of hickory and vinegar sauce. We only get a couple of second glances, just two guys in line for barbecue like everyone else in the place. We order way too much food. TJ wants to try everything.

We find a spot we can sit shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee.

“This is so good,” he grunts around a mouthful of pulled pork, sauce on his chin that I have to sternly stop myself from licking off. “Why does it always taste better outside?”

“Ancient mystery. Caveman cook meat over fire,” I grunt.

He laughs, easy, unguarded, and for a few minutes it’s just easy, good food, his knee pressed against mine under the table, his foot wrapped around mine.

Then I catch it. Two tables over, a guy in a golf polo doing a poor job of pretending he’s not filming us on his phone.

TJ notices me noticing and goes still. “Is someone…”

“Yeah.”

His hand, halfway to another bite, sets down slowly. “Okay. Okay, that’s…” He blows out a breath. “That’s fine. This was going to happen eventually, right?”

“TJ.” I put my hand over his on the table, deliberately, visible, exactly the opposite of hiding it. “You ok with this? Because we can leave if you’re not.”