BODYWORK: GAY EROTICA by M. Christian

Author:M. Christian [Christian, M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
Publisher: Renaissance E Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

TORCH SONG

"I can't believe you're doing this.

A small, nervous laugh, then: “I can't believe I'm doing this.

"You don't have to, you know. I mean it,” said the man in the hospital bed

"Yeah, I do,” he said. “I want to. Honestly.

"No you don't. I know you don't. You shouldn't be doing something you don't want to do, darlin'.

A distorted announcement, every word from the speaker garbled except for the doctor's name: Rich. It wasn't that funny, but Bobby wanted to laugh anyway

The moment became too long, tipped towards awkward. Before Bobby could say anything, Sandy did. “You are so pretty,” he said from the bed, his voice soft, sweet and melodic. Even though it was low, crushed by what had happened and where he was, Bobby could hear a tiny ring of the singer's old voice

Yes, I do, Bobby thought as he pulled his sweater over his head. “Yes, I do,” he said to the man on the bed

A whistle, not too loud; a whistle, not too soft. A conversational whistle, a casual whistle. It wasn't a whistle as a taunt, to draw attention to the subject or the whistler. Just a sound, a kind of a high pitched, single note hello.

It had been bad, but it could have been worse. Still, that it came almost every time Bobby left his apartment was enough to make him clench his jaw, grind his teeth, and turn his hands into fists.

One day it became too much for just a clenched jaw, ground teeth, hands made into fists. The night before had been a rough one, a five-alarm downtown that'd started with roaring flames and towering smoke as the sun set and ended with crumbling charcoal, rivers of black mud in the street, and a drifting sooty snowfall as the sun rose the next morning.

Far beyond too tired, he'd staggered away from two weeks in the station. Far too tired, he'd stumbled home. Far too tired, he'd tripped on the front steps. Far too tired, he'd been mostly asleep when he passed the first apartment on his floor—the door that had been open.

Then the guy in the apartment, who'd been standing in the doorway, whistled at him just one too many times.

“You're hard, aren't you?” Despite the place, the time, what had happened, his voice still had those lingering notes of his old timbre.

Bobby had been prepared to say something else, but as he opened his mouth to say it—whatever that would have been—he didn't have to. He was hard. Naked, standing in a hospital room, feeling many things, none of them even close to arousal, he was hard.

The world, which included that hospital room, seemed to get very quiet. He was hard. Very hard. He shouldn't have been, but he was.

He knew he should be bothered by it, disturbed by the fact and the degree of his erection. But even as he began to do just that he stopped: that was for later and that day, in that hospital room, was for Sandy.

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