Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Part 5 of the "Rumors" Series
Pairings: Brian/OMC
Category: Angst, Drama
Rating: NC-17
Date: July 1, 2003
Summary: A night with Hammer...and then 6 days without him. Both men are similar, in ways, and different in others.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Author's Note: We've all known men like Hammer...attractive, independent...the loner.
All sin tends to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is what is called damnation. W.H. (Wystan Hugh) Auden (1907–1973), Anglo-American poet. A Certain World, “Hell,” (1970).
“Give me a couple minutes,” I said to him. “I need to get my jacket.” I assumed we’d be riding his bike…and shirtless cycling on a buggy night didn’t seem that appealing.
“I’ll be in the parking lot. Don’t be long.” He headed for the door.
I slipped behind the bar to take off the collar. Troy gave me “the look” that meant he had something to say.
“Be careful,” he said close to my ear so patrons wouldn’t overhear. “He’s unpredictable… especially if he’s high. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m smart…and quick…and strong,” I replied as I slipped into my shirt. “I can think fast on my feet…and even on my back.” I smiled, but he didn’t. “I’m not afraid of him,” I continued. “He abuses guys he uses…but he shares those guys with me. He thinks I’m a younger version of himself…and he gets off on my prowess…so I don’t think he’s gonna try to pull anything.”
“His buddies could easily overpower you, no matter how strong you are. I’ve seen it happen…right here,” he said, pointing at the center of the barroom. “Promise me you won’t take anything…no drugs…or even booze. It’s bad enough if his judgement is cloudy…but if yours is, too, something bad can happen. Just…be…careful.” He touched my hip tentatively, unwilling to share any intimacy with the guys sitting at the bar, even though most of them were watching the video.
“I’ll be OK,” I assured him. “And if I’m not back tomorrow morning, you know where he lives, I assume.”
“Yes,” he said with that distant, remembering look on his face. He’d worried like this before. I could tell. This was what happened when you fucked someone more than once. They started to worry…to care…and to control.
In the parking lot, Hammer waited under the buzzing neon sign, his face awash with eerie blue and red shadows. He turned toward the bike to grab the helmet attached to the saddlebag as he saw me approach. He turned then and tossed the keys in my direction. “You can handle this baby,” he said, handing me the helmet.
I’d never ridden a motorcycle before, except as a passenger, so I hesitated.
I don’t know,” I started…
You need to learn how to handle it, if you don’t already know…and I’ll teach you,” he interrupted.
He showed me the hand-throttle, the hand-clutch and pedal–shifter, the front and rear brake hand-grips, and where to put the key. It rumbled to an idle as I straddled it self-consciously. He threw his leg over the passenger seat and settled behind me as I put on the black helmet.
“Just keep it balanced with one foot,” he instructed. “Get it into first gear…and release the clutch slowly. As we accelerate, it’s easier to balance.” I was hard to hear his instructions through the helmet visor. My hand shook imperceptibly, but I could feel it.
We coasted-away slowly…perhaps too cautiously, as I got the feel of the wide-spread handle-bars. His hands on my hips were a minor distraction.
“Turn right,” he said as I approached the parking lot exit. “I live on the other side of the interstate.” We left the lights of the center-city and cruised under the I-99 underpass. When he wanted me to turn, he stuck his arm beneath my pit and used his thumb to indicate the direction. I nearly killed the engine at one intersection, but otherwise things went OK.
On a vacant stretch of darkened street I felt his hands sliding up under my jacket and shirt. He pulled himself tightly against my back as he felt my pecs harden in his hands. I accelerated a little, unconsciously.
“Turn right,” he shouted over the roar of engine and wind.
It was a dark street of small, dimly-lit houses. “This one,” he said as he leaned making the bike swerve to the left. The house was dark. I could barely make-out the gravel driveway in the star-light. We coasted to a stop and he reached up to turn off the key.
“Good job…for a beginner,” he said as I removed the helmet. “We’ll have you ready for cross-country cruising in no time.”
I started to dismount, but he held me on the seat with his strong arms. One hand slid into my crotch.
“I can see you like it,” he said, giving my semi-hard cock a squeeze. “Doesn’t it give you a feeling of power to feel that motor throbbing between your legs. I’ve never gotten over the thrill of it…even after all these years.” His hand gripped tighter.
“That’s from you having your hands up my shirt,” I teased. “But I like riding the bike fine.”
“Just wait until we’re fuckin’ on a bike goin’ ninety-miles-an-hour.” He continued. “The fear of Death will make your ass so tight, you’ll never fall off.” He chuckled softly, then released me. I took a deep breath at the exhilaration of the visual image he’d planted in my imagination. “Get you ass inside,” he concluded.
The blackness of a pickup truck blocked the stone walk to the front door. Hammer cut across the grass. He fumbled with the lock, then threw open the door and reached inside to turn on a light.
I’m not sure what I’d expected… a leather sling in the front room?… Devil-worship?… bars on the windows? It was just a simple bungalow, sparsely furnished, but clean…something built during World War 2, probably…just two rooms in front, a small kitchen, and two rooms in back. No rack. No cell. None of the things I’d read about.
“It’s nice,” I said, looking around.
“Not what you expected, I’ll bet. Most people probably think I live in a rat-infested Hell-hole with a front yard full of empty beer cans. But this house belonged to my folks. I was raised here. My basketball hoop is still on the garage.” He stepped to the center of the small living room and waited for me to join him. “I seldom bring guys here,” he said. “Almost never. That’s why I go To Rumors to get my rocks off.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket and retrieved the familiar snuff canister. “Want some?” he asked.
“I don’t need that shit to get playful,” I said, stripping off my shirt.
“Well, maybe later,” he replied, returning the tin to his pocket and unbuckling his belt.
“It’s suddenly hot in here,” I said.
“Why don’t you get comfortable?” he said, sitting down on a hassock to remove his boots.
We stripped then, in the light of the single, small lamp. We never took our eyes off of each other.…and we matched each other’s pace until we both stood naked facing each other.
“God damn,” he cursed. “You’re the best lookin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re pretty hot yourself,” I countered. “For an old man.” I smiled and stepped back as he lunged. He caught me by the biceps and spun me around until he had the pit of his elbow under my chin.
“I can out-wrestle you any day, you young punk,” he growled in my ear. I relaxed into his arms, not struggling. His grip became lighter; his voice softened. “I didn’t bring you here to overpower you,” he continued. “I can get plenty of that in the Pit. They struggle because they think I want them to…and they’re usually right. But you’re different. You like it that way, too…but there is so much else we can do. I like to fuck in a bed even more than on-my-feet. And we have all night,” he added.
“The tough guy has a tender side?” I said, turning my face toward him.
“Naaahhh…” he said, shaking his head. “I just like someone who can give it back to me like I deal it out. Slow, fast, soft, hard, up, down…any way. It all feels good. And despite what you may think, I like giving someone pleasure, too, instead of just using them as a cock-sheath. But, I don’t find that at Rumors. No, sir. You get type-cast as a heavy-weight…and everyone has their expectations. Sometimes living up to your reputation gets to be a drag.” I smiled, because it was his reputation that I found attractive, too. He released me and turned me to face him.
“You’re the best thing to happen to Rumors in a long time,” he said, changing the subject. “That youthful arrogance of yours reminds me of myself when I was your age.” He pulled me close and wrapped me in his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, in-turn. Our cocks dueled for position against our bellies.
He kissed me, quickly and hard. My hands moved to his chest, feeling his heart beneath my palm….the smooth expanse of muscle-slab with the defined, hard edge. His tongue explored my mouth and I responded with probing darts. As unaccustomed as I was to kissing guys, this felt natural and spontaneous.
He broke the kiss. “You kiss like you’re kissing a girl,” he said. “You’ve done that, haven’t you.”
“Yes,” I answered. “A few times…mostly because it was expected.”
“It could be worse,” he said with a slight smile. “You could kiss me like you were kissing your mother.”
He didn’t know that I hadn’t kissed her for years.
He brought his forehead against mine. “Well, kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like you need it. Kiss me like you fuck someone…hard, demanding, full of power. I won’t break.”
I initiated the kiss this time…mouth wide…covering his…working his lips in mine before I penetrated deeply with my tongue…filling his mouth with it…wanting to gag him. He stepped back from the power of it, then met my force with his own as our mouths rotated ninety-degrees and noses deviated past each other. I broke the kiss that time.
“That’s more like it,” he said after sucking a breath. “An A-plus.” He grinned out of one side of his mouth, as if he’d gotten what he wanted. “Let me show you the bedroom,” he said, guiding me with his hand in the small of my back.
It’s hard to describe what happened then, but I will do my best. The positions are hard to describe in-words; it’s hard to describe the differences in intensity between one fuck and the next. The passage of time is also a problem…because sleep intervened occasionally… and some memories may be dreams…and some dreams may be memories. Time stopped sometimes, as particularly intense moments burned their memory into my brain like the image of a bright flash of light in a darkened room leaves an image on your retina. Some memories are totally the recollection of a touch…with no way to know what was touching where. Some of it happened in total darkness, and my mouth caressed parts of his body that are far from the usual erogenous zones. Without drugs, I was still crazed…overcome by the sensory overload and addicted to it totally. We swirled like eels, at times, entangled in the bed-clothes as if they were sea grass. Our sweat provided the lubrication. Sometimes he lifted me effortlessly and I felt as if I were floating….his hands on my body the only connection to the Universe. I gasped for more. I begged for more. And so did he.
At one point, I remember, he pressed my cock into his ass…not giving permission, but brazenly taking what he wanted. And I wanted him, too. I mounted him in three different positions…taking him hard…slowing down to fuck him gently…then resuming the brutality. He urged me on with words of pleasure and encouragement. I plunged into him with a cock magnified in proportion beyond reality. He gasped…and wanted more.
Sometimes the motion would subside and I would lie trembling in his arms, overcome by the intensity. It was then that he talked to me…softly…like a mentor…explaining what he was going to do next as I tried to recover from what had just happened. I was ravenous for the taste of his skin…the silkiness of his hair…the hardness of his body.
He fucked me once with my face pressed down into the pillow, my knees planted wide, and my ass in the air. I remember him kissing my jaw-line as he pistoned into me…raking the ridge of my jaw with his front teeth…and then clamping my mastoideus in his teeth as he held me down for the final thrusts. He pulled my head back with a fistful of hair, opening my mouth so I could moan loudly.
Darkness again…and quiet. And then the hand in my ass-crack and two fingers hooking up into me, gripping and twisting me like a bowling ball until my cock was throbbing in his throat from his fingers rubbing my prostate. I cried then, wanting it never to end…so overcome with sensations that the tears streamed down my cheeks and my sinuses clogged. I was gasping for breath when he detected my tears with his tongue and slowed down. He held me tightly…comforting…encouraging…promising. It would never end, he said….he would be there for me whenever I wanted him…whenever I needed him.
I kissed him hard, the way he had taught me…then tasted his pec once more, suckling from his nipple like a starved puppy as he jacked me slowly with his hand. He reverse directions, and sank his cock deep into my throat as I felt my cock being engulfed by his mouth. His knees held my wrists against the mattress, stretched in a wide spread-eagle under his body. I lay back and let him have his way. His pubes brushed my chin; my nose probed his ball-sac. His hands massaged my inner calves. Unable to breath from his weight, I felt the euphoria of asphyxia…and came for the sixth time, perhaps, as his cum filled my throat.
I awoke to find his mouth on mine, filling my lungs from his. He stroked my face, brushing away the sweat and cum.
Later, we lay in each other’s arms, legs entwined like tangled branches. It was getting light. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow. I snuggled closer.
“You’re the first man I’ve slept with,” he murmured in a hoarse voice.
“No way,” I said. “That’s a laughable lie.”
“No,” he repeated. “I mean…I usually send guys into the next room to sleep…after we’ve fucked…the few times that’s happened here, anyway. I usually can’t sleep with someone in my bed. An old habit.”
“Well, I’m not sure we slept much,” I volunteered. “So you can send me away now…and your record will be intact.”
“No,” he said. “I want you to stay right here. I’m not exactly feeling sleepy at the moment.” His body rolled toward me again, and the big arms surrounded me. He slipped downward until his face was against my chest; his hair brushed my Adam’s apple. He was quiet…listening to the rhythm of my heart.
“Troy only wants you because I like you…because I want you,” he said, finally…quietly.
I didn’t reply, but brushed my fingers through his hair. He seemed vulnerable for the first time…and I wasn’t sure what to do.
“I know you're staying with him…but I’m not sure why,” he continued.
“Spring break,” I said. “I didn’t have anywhere to go…”
“Always taking in strays,” he said, looking up and smiling as if he liked the image of me as a bedraggled puppy or a lost calf.
“He told me about Owen,” I began. “How you took him away…”
He gazed deeply into my eyes with a look of total honesty. “Owen was a weakling…it was so easy…no effort. He didn’t love Troy…he was just another stray that Troy took-in. Does he still have that damned cat?”
“But you lured him with drugs…got him hooked…”
“Is that what Troy says? Is it? Well, Owen had the habit long before he showed-up here. He just needed a source…and he lured me as much as I lured him. He only wanted one thing…and he was willing to give up anything to get it. He had a nice, tight ass, I’ll admit it." He paused, remembering. "Troy has to blame someone,…but he can’t blame Owen, because he loves him…so he blames me. Hell, I didn’t want him beyond a few hot fucks. He was a spineless piece of shit. If I’d wanted him, he’d still be here.”
“Troy told me about Nicky, too.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yep. I’m sure he would….and, yes, I do blame him for that…but, to be honest, that kid woulda moved on without any influence from Troy. His kind never stays either.”
“His kind?”
“He was like me…a lot. The Lone Wolf only hunts alone because he CAN. He doesn’t need a pack to drag down a young elk. He goes his own way…wherever and whenever he wants. We drift in and out of people’s lives, taking and giving. That’s enough for us. That’s how our ‘breed’ was meant to be.”
“Should we call you ‘Wolf’ instead of ‘Hammer’?” I asked, brushing my fingers over his ear to see if it was pointed.
“I can close up this place anytime I want…the utilities are paid by direct withdrawl…I can hop onto my chopper and be anywhere in a matter of days…I can always get a job to tide me over…construction jobs are everywhere, and they don’t ask many questions. My needs are minimal. I’m free as a fucking bird…no ties, no responsibilities…”
“Never had any?” I asked.
He gave me that raised-eyebrow-look that let me know I was pushing a bit too close to the edge. “When I was younger than you,” he said. “…it was my older brother who ‘showed me the ropes,’ figuratively and literally, I guess. We were as close as twin lambs, despite the difference in age…almost 8 years. We loved each other beyond the usual ‘brotherly love’.” He paused, not knowing whether to continue, then lifted his head and settling back onto the pillow with his hands behind his neck. “He got killed in Viet Nam when I was only 14. He’d only been there a week and some bastard shot him right through the head.” He paused again, closing his eyes as if he could still see it. “I’ve touched his name on The Wall late one night,” he continued after a sigh. “And I poured a whole bottle of Jim Beam onto his grave in Indiantown Gap cemetery. He woulda liked that.” A faint smile faded from his lips. “Since then, I’m the Lone Wolf. Ready to eat you up!” He rolled onto me quickly with his teeth on my throat. He grasped my wrists and held them down to the mattress. “Another helpless victim,” he said as his menacing bites became sensuous licks along my pulse-points.
We fucked again as the sunbeams lit the ceiling…pure, white light permitting us to see clearly what we had only been feeling the night before…the veins in his forearms…the scar on his right shoulder…the stubble of a day’s beard-growth…the encrusted, dried cum on his belly and cheek…the gorgeous details of the cock that had thoroughly skewered me last night. I watched it go into me this time as I clutched my knee to my chest. He had lain me on my side and had one forearm against my chest, with his chest against my back, fitting together like my hand now cupped his against me. He rocked slowly into me, letting me adjust to each surge. And he whispered into my ear what he loved about my body.
………………………
I worked with Troy that afternoon…Sunday…in almost total silence except for the sounds of the power tools. He didn’t ask about the night-before…and I didn’t volunteer much. We silently agreed not to discuss it. I found blood on my tee-shirt when I removed it…from a long scratch on my back. He noticed it, but didn’t ask.
Rumors was closed on Sunday night, even though it was legal to serve liquor after noon. So Troy and I worked two shifts…a second one after dinner. The space was beginning to take shape. I could begin to see it. He knew exactly what he wanted, and it was planned perfectly….narrow passageways with walls ten feet tall that twisted and branched into a complex maze. I tried to imagine traversing it in pitch-blackness with only my sense of feel. There were several paths through it, but one could be lost in it for days, I guessed. Sometimes the passageways were wider, and sometimes they opened into larger rooms. Occasionally there were niches where someone could stand, and also low, inset ledges where someone (or two) could lie. My favorite spot was a location where someone, feeling his way along the walls in the darkness, would suddenly find one wall disappear…and after ten more steps, the other wall would end, and he’d be in the middle of a large open space. I could imagine guys flailing in the darkness trying to find something…only to find another guy flailing in the darkness. What a way to meet! There were different levels, platforms and ramps that would be covered with black carpeting…occasional glory-holes where guys in one passageway could stick their cocks into an adjoining passageway…even a latrine bathroom with a wide, metal, thigh-high trough. Troy had thought of everything. I asked him where he got the idea.
“A bar on the dockside end of Christopher Street,” he said, “on my one-and-only visit to New York. I got trapped in there, stripped, and used in every way imaginable. I wonder if it’s still there?”
“If you went there now, you’d never come out,” I said, laughing at the bulge in his jeans as he described the occasion.
Later, as we got ready for bed, I asked more questions about Rumors. “How do you advertise this place?” I asked. “I had a Hell of a time finding a gay bar within driving distance of State College. I found this place almost by accident.”
“Just lists in gay magazines and newspapers,” he replied. “Nothing fancy. In the beginning, I tried not to attract too much attention. But the town knows we’re here now, and they leave us alone. Hell, a couple of the cops show up occasionally in street clothes and dark glasses to get their rocks off.”
“When you open up the new space, you’ll have room for lots more patrons,” I continued. “And you could sell tickets to the upstairs…make it an additional attraction to bring in some income. Guys who get lost up there won’t be coming downstairs for drinks, that’s for sure…so you’ll lose a little bar-business. The whole place would be a destination, like you said.” He shook his head, taking it all in.
“That costs money,” he said.
“Listen,” I interjected. “I’m a communications major…I’m specializing in advertising… and up until a month ago I worked for this guy whose research showed that a touch of eroticism in an advertising image could attract lots of attention. Can I try to come-up with something…a few ideas…a few sketches or pictures…to show you how you could promote this place? Free-of-charge,” I added. “You’re being so nice letting me stay here.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Why not?”
“I can apply what I’ve learned and help you out at the same time. I’m not sure it’s anything I can use in my portfolio, but…” I let the idea trail-out to nothing. We both nodded in a verbal agreement…and my mind began to race with ideas. What was it about “rumors” that made them so attractive? I wanted to capture that in a few words and images…and to give guys a hard-on as soon as they read it.
We lay side-by-side, not touching for several minutes which seemed like a few hours.
“You can still touch me,” I said. “I’m not dirty or diseased after last night.”
“I missed you so damned much I nearly went crazy…thinking about you being with him. I can’t compete with that. He’s too good.” He paused. “Well, ‘good’ may not be the right word for it. He’s attractive...seductive.”
“He fucks just like everyone else,” I said. “In and out.” I was sorry I said it that way when I saw the pain in his face. “And here I am….back in your bed…if not in your arms.” His eyes were dark when he looked up at me…either anger or sadness, I couldn’t tell. He reached for me as he slid closer.
“How can I ignore an invitation like that?” He said.
“And there are still seven days until I go back to school,” I added. “You can’t ignore that, either.”
“I love you, ...you know,” he said, gathering me in his arms.
“Don’t say that,” I countered. “Not now. It may seem like it’s almost too late for you to love again, but…” I couldn’t tell him that I doubted whether I would ever love again…that it was too early to say. “I just can’t. Not even you.” I didn’t pull away or struggle, but I felt him release his grasp a little. “Don’t,” I added. “Don’t make me feel guilty for telling you the truth.” To Troy, I wasn’t a new-found love...I was a replacement for Owen, the stray returning to live-out the unfulfilled life. He might love me someday, but he still loved Owen...that was clear.
It came spilling-out then...the story of my liason with John...our work together...our growing love for each other...his willingness to sacrifice everything--- his work, his family, for me... and the tumultuous break-up only a month before. I tried to explain how I couldn’t watch him destroy his family for me; his boys loved him and needed him...even though they could never have all of him.
I told him of my plans...my future...how I needed to finish school with top grades and get a good job in advertising...how it would consume all my time and energy for several years until I had built a strong resume and a solid reputation. There would be no time for anyone else...no residual energy to invest in a relationship...no ounce of me not dedicated to success.
He lay silently, taking it all in. It brought back the feeling of loss and rejection in his own life, he said, ...feelings that he had held at-bay for so long.
“I’ll be with you any way I can,” he said, finally. “Short-term, off-and-on, just buddies, or anyway you’ll have me. I can make it work for me...any way that it’ll work for you. I’m sorry I lost it there. My self-control usually works better than that.”
I fucked him then...because he needed it....on our sides, like Hammer had fucked me. I cupped him in the curve of my body and lifted his right knee to his chest with my right hand; he guided my cock into him like the sealing of an agreement. I paused to let my column fatten in the warmth of his interior, then began the slow rocking that would take us both away from the reality of the moment....saying with the rest of my body what I could not say with my heart.
.................................
They were similar in some ways, but different in others. They were both alone, Troy and Hammer...one by rgw sheer force of will, the other by choice. Troy couldn’t break the bonds of a former relationship...and Hammer couldn’t form a link with anyone. One was needy...the other was needless. I couldn’t find the middle-ground. There was nothing that one could learn from the other. Was I more like Troy...or Hammer? Would I never love again, by-choice or by-necessity?
..................................
The following week went by quickly. We nearly finished the third floor using the “production line” method we developed for wall-section construction. And I had more sex than any frat-boy who went to Cancun…actually, more sex than a peg-boy in a male-brothel in New Orleans. Hammer stayed away from Rumors from Monday through Friday. Some guys said he had gone away; others said he was just busy. But I ruled the back room and the Pit in his absence.
“He’ll be back tonight,” Troy said as we got the place ready for another Saturday night. “He hasn’t missed a Saturday for a year.”
I had been wearing the collar each night, just on-the-chance that he might stop-in. So I put it on once more…then wiped-down the bar one more time.
Because it was a warm evening, the crowd spilled-out into the parking lot. I heard his chopper rumble as he glided into a parking place near the door. Then he revved the engine just to say “I’m here” before it settled into silence. He took his time coming through the door, probably greeting guys on the steps, I guessed. I turned to look at the video monitor before he caught me waiting for his entrance. I sensed his presence behind me before I felt his touch. His index finger slipped beneath the back on the collar and he pulled my ass roughly against the steel counter as my shoulder struck the inside edge of the fake-mahogany bar. He smelled of whiskey as he growled in my ear. “Remember me?”
“Hi, Jake…I mean ‘Hammer’” I said, regaining my balance. He had two fingers in the collar now and he was tightening his grip.
He licked the back of my bare shoulder along the scratch he had put there the weekend before. “You taste good,” he said. “Just like I remember.”
Troy had stepped away from the bar to deliver some beers to a table, but he returned at that moment.
“Cut out the rough stuff. Don’t choke him,” he said.
“And who’s gonna stop me?” Hammer asked in a menacing voice.
I tried to grip the collar with my fingertips to get a little room to breath or swallow, but I couldn’t. When I reached back to grasp Hammer’s hand, he loosened his grip. Troy had stayed at the far end of the bar.
“My place, again…tonight,” he rasped. “He’s had you all week. It’s my turn.”
He was right. I had been with Troy for six nights straight. Sometimes we took turns…sometimes he just wanted to blow me…and sometimes we just fell asleep in each other’s arms. Once, when I couldn’t sleep, I crept back downstairs to watch part of a video that had attracted my attention…a scene that looked like something Hammer would do, not Troy. And I jacked-off sitting there on the barstool, dreaming of the danger and the power. He was like a drug…addictive…seductive…requiring higher and higher “doses” to test the limits…and probably just as dangerous.
I was ready to go with him when he gestured that it was time to leave. I left the collar on.