Best Gay Erotica 2015 Page 16

  “Gonna come soon,” Spencer says, because he cannot hold out. “You feel so good, so fucking good.”

  “Do it,” Josh answers, “come inside me. I know you need it, need to fuck me so bad, yes, yes, yes.” His voice spirals up, and Spencer loses himself entirely in the white noise of his own climax, light pulsing behind his eyes as he spurts deep, hard, harder than he has in fucking forever. When he blinks his eyes open, Josh has shifted off of him and is frowning down at his stomach, at the wet patch on his belly.

  “Have you got a towel?” Josh asks. Spencer props himself up on his forearms and pinches off the condom. The sensation makes his head swim.

  “There’s paper ones on the counter.”

  Josh detaches himself and Spencer groans to lose the weight of him, groans again when he sits up and feels the soreness from being ridden into the floor. By the sink, Josh dabs at the mess on his stomach with a wet paper towel, and then with a toe, picks up his sweats from the floor, where Spencer still lies, limp and fucked out.

  Josh must notice that he’s not moving, that he fucking can’t move, that all of his limbs and his central nervous system are shot, abuzz with endorphins and adrenaline. He paid to fuck this kid and he should be racked with guilt or shame, but instead he feels ten years younger.

  “Do you plan on sleeping there?” Josh frowns, head tilted with concern, an echo of the gesture of seduction from earlier.

  “It’s very comfortable,” Spencer lies. “I might.” Josh steps into the front room and returns with his tennis shoes tied and his blue backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes are bright with exertion as he bends down to kiss Spencer good-bye. Spencer’s feeble hand lifts to cup the back of Josh’s neck, unwilling to let him go so soon.

  “Take care, Mr. Bryant,” Josh says as he stands back up. “Call me, please, if you need anything.”

  Spencer lies there for a while, dozing a bit. He recounts what’s just happened, his mind already turning sensation into memory. The workday, the meal, the babysitter, the part where he came harder than he has since this time last year. And when he finally stands, wincing with every sore movement, to drag himself up the stairs, a card on the counter catches his eye. Joshua Winters, the card reads. Childcare and More. His email address is there, too. Spencer picks up his empty wallet and slides the card in behind his Amex, already sure in the knowledge that he’ll call on Josh again. He doesn’t need an excuse. Maybe he’ll see if Ming-Na wants to go with him to Ventria or, if she’s not interested, he’ll take himself out to a movie. After all, parents have to take care of themselves, too.

  Freyr’s Toothache

  Mark Wildyr

  Miserable with pain and sick from dismay, Nordus huddled atop a flat rock and gazed morosely into the silver pool of water below. His reflection in the calm surface disturbed him more than the fierce ache in his tooth. When he, a Light Elf of Alfheim, had accompanied Lord Freyr into exile as a hostage to the Aesir, the mighty god of weather and fertility had gratefully transformed him into a beautiful youth of fair proportions and fairer features. Now his handsome jaw was horribly swollen by a fierce toothache. It wasn’t right! It wasn’t fair!

  It was all Freyr’s fault. Well, perhaps Nordus shared a tiny bit of guilt, not being able to resist showing off his newfound loveliness by flouncing around the throne room of Odin’s hall, Hlidskialf, the high seat of the Allfather in Valaskjalf. After all, Nordus had been an imp all his life, and be they divine or magical or merely mortal, no one could see beyond the wee torso and tiny limbs of his kind. As a dwarf, he was an object of curiosity and suspicion, so it was only natural that he should enjoy the attention accorded his new physical proportions.

  Maybe he had gotten a little out of hand, but he certainly was not as wild or tiresome as Thor the thunder god, Odin’s odious son. Yet his strutting and flirting had nettled his divine master, and when Odin showed interest in Nordus’s long legs and trim behind, Freyr had roared a jealous oath, cursing Nordus with a stabbing pain in one of his molars and banishing him to the land of the mortals. Nordus was sure his lord did not truly mean those hateful words; after all, Freyr would miss his long appendage and fetching behind, too. Nonetheless, the damage was done. Nursing a divinely inflicted toothache of terrible intensity, he had fled the great hall hunched over in pain like the creature he once had been.

  It was clear that Freyr regretted his curse, but the mighty lord was too proud to renounce his decision. To the sorrow of both, the youth had trudged out of Asgard, the realm of the gods, across Bifrost, the Bridge of Rainbows, down into Midgard, exiled until the toothache went away. In a moment of weakness, Freyr confided the malady could be transferred to another, but refused to explain how to accomplish the deed or whether even Heimdall, the watcher of the bridge, would readmit him afterward.

  Nordus angrily roiled the calm surface of the pool with a gracefully tapered finger and turned to observe the road behind him. Fortunately, the sun had sufficient strength to cast a modicum of warmth over Norseland, allowing him to remove the heavy winter clothing of furs and to sheathe his long limbs in more shapely attire so as to draw the envy of passing strangers.

  Little traffic moved along the road as he pondered, as best he could amid the roaring ache in his head, how to rid himself of this affliction. Freyr had cautioned that pulling the hateful molar would bring no relief. Besides, an extraction might alter the smooth planes of his right cheek, something Nordus simply could not endure.

  Reason dictated it would require the touch of a mortal for the pain to pass from his tortured jaw, but he had learned, when he offered the hand of friendship to the first human he encountered, an old man with a load of tanned skins upon his back, that casual contact was of no value. Nordus reacted with childish rage as his agony failed to magically transfer to the bent old peasant, who likely would not even recognize a foreign ache among the lifetime accumulation of his own ills.

  Inspiration struck when a tall warrior, accompanied by a fair maid, appeared on the trail. A kiss! A kiss would allow Freyr’s wretched toothache to pass directly into another’s mouth. As the couple neared, Nordus examined the Norseman carefully. Rich red lips peeking from a thin, youthful beard presented a more tempting target than those of the budding lass. Very well, then it would be a man, but not one with the aggressive step and fierce scowl of the Berserkers, warriors who fought as though crazed. Besides, this one wore Ull’s Ship, his shield, on the right forearm and carried a spear in his off-hand. As a true follower of Tyr, the one-handed god of war, this youth was left- handed, the mark of evil! Were Nordus yet an elf, he could have scampered out of the tree line, stolen a kiss and wiggled away before either could object. Alas, normal size brought normal speed and agility. And so, with an aching sigh, he decided to wait for a more acceptable prospect.

  Pain finally galvanized him into activity. Nordus strode down the road with anguished purpose until he finally espied a form moving with manly grace at the edge of a small village of thatched huts. For a moment, he believed it was some sturdy lass in trousers, but as he neared, the figure took on definition. No girl had shoulders that broad and square. The swelling of the breast was masculine. Brawny arms, a waist as narrow as his own and strong thighs sent a ripple of excitement down his back. But the ass, the ass was surely the crowning glory of this creature! When the youth turned to face him, any lingering doubt fell away. That full groin was no mound of Venus; it was the living, pulsing flesh of manhood. The stranger noticed his glance and flushed with an enchanting shyness. Nordus met the blue eyes with astonishment. This man was as fair as he, and the elf had assumed Freyr gave him unmatched beauty. Not so! Here was the living proof—and in a common mortal yet.

  Nordus winced from the ache in his molar as he boldly spoke up. “I have traveled far and am thirsty. May a stranger beg a drink of cool water?”

  The youth’s bright, intelligent eyes quickly swept him. “It will be my pleasure to accommodate you.” The young man peered at Nordus intently. “Are you in discomfo
rt?”

  Nordus’s hand flew to his inflamed jaw. By Thor’s wrinkled stones, he had intended to hide his condition. After all, who would willingly accept his agony? “’Tis but a twinge of the tooth,” he lied, then changed the subject. “My name is Nordus, and I travel from a land far removed, a stranger in your midst.”

  “Welcome then, stranger. I answer to Olaf, Olaf of Thur- mingen.”

  “Nordus of Alfheim,” he responded carelessly, extending his hand. Balls! Was it Olaf’s beauty or the beastly toothache that rendered him a dolt? Olaf’s grip was firm, and if he made the connection to the land of the Light Elves, it did not show in his clear eyes.

  “May I offer you food, as well?” the yellow-haired Norseman asked.

  “That would be most welcome.” Though Nordus was not even certain he could gnaw in his present ill condition. “Will your goodwife not resent another belly to feed?”

  A shadow blurred the features of the incredible youth. “Alas, I have no wife. You will, I’m afraid, have to suffer a meal of my own preparation.”

  “Gladly!” Nordus gave a broad smile only slightly twisted by pain. And then, amazed at the depth of his hunger and the pleasant taste of the simple fare, Nordus wolfed the food, careful to chew on the left side of his mouth. Nonetheless, the accursed tooth flared.

  He learned a little of the handsome Olaf as they sat in front of the small hut. The young man’s father, the village smith, had recently passed into the arms of Hel, daughter of Loki, Goddess of the Underworld. Olaf, an apprentice, succeeded his father as blacksmith. No wonder his lithe frame bore an overlay of hard muscle, thought Nordus. As to his single state, his father’s lingering illness had cost Olaf time to pursue a certain lass who now belonged to another.

  At the fall of darkness, Olaf offered shelter for the night, which Nordus readily accepted. As he lay back against a rude pillow, his jaw pulsed with unbearable pain. He sat up abruptly.

  “What is it?” Olaf asked in some alarm from his own pallet.

  “I…I forgot myself,” Nordus fumbled for a reply. “I had intended to render a small reward for your kindness.”

  “Unnecessary,” Olaf scoffed. “I did not offer hospitality out of a desire for gain.”

  “My reward is less venal, more, shall we say, personal.” Nordus rose and crossed the scant distance between them by the light of a single candle. “Much more personal,” he added, lowering his head to meet the open, astonished lips of the comely mortal.

  Olaf responded, while Nordus laid aside his aches and pains in the sweetness of the moment. He drew away believing his mission had been accomplished, only to have the traitorous tooth stab his head anew. He had failed! Still, abandoning his usual selfishness, Nordus was almost glad. After all, the youth lying beneath his gaze, his sleeping shift open to expose a strong, pulsing throat, was desirable beyond all things. With a cry, Nordus threw himself atop the stunning Norseman and sought yet a second kiss, a third. Olaf surrendered without resistance, Nordus’s tongue invading the willing cavity. Desire raged so strongly that the aching jaw was half-forgotten. His staff rose and pressed against Olaf’s groin. Through the furred bed covers, Nordus felt the other’s manhood swell as well.

  When naked flesh at last met naked flesh, they ceased to think and merely functioned. Nordus tasted the youth from head to toe. Unlike many of his countrymen, who resembled golden bears, the smith had a thick, yellow pelt only at his groin. Nordus sucked greedily just below said patch until Olaf purged a heavy load of seed from his dangling sac.

  Glorying in the taste of the nectar, only partially marred by his throbbing tooth, Nordus raised the boy’s muscled legs and moved against the firm, rounded orbs. Inflamed by more than a toothache, Nordus ruthlessly stabbed his sword of fertility into the boy’s fundament. Pain twisted the beautiful features below, though the youth’s face soon cleared. Olaf smiled with apparent joy.

  Exultant at the conquest of this mortal masculine beauty, Nordus attacked so eagerly he almost failed to draw the full measure of pleasure from the thing. And then, as Freyr had taught him, he settled into a gentle rhythm he could maintain for a long time. Only when Olaf spewed his seed yet again did Nordus rut with unbridled passion. When his milk of life finally shot from his swollen testicles, Nordus roared his ecstasy for all to hear.

  At first, he took Olaf’s own cry as one of sensual excitement, but when the boy’s hands flew to his jaw, Nordus realized his tooth no longer ached. The molten pain had flowed along with his seed to infect his partner. Nordus drew himself to his feet and raised clenched fists, delighted to be free of the infernal ache!

  Now, Freyr, now I can come home!

  The former elf’s thoughts slid to the beautiful young man writhing before him in pain. Triumph died as something so foreign swelled within his breast that Nordus almost failed to recognize it: regret! Sorrowful that the stupendous smith had inherited his pain and unaccustomed to such selflessness, Nordus helplessly hovered over Olaf.

  “Your…your toothache,” the boy moaned. “I have your toothache!”

  “Oh, my love!” Nordus startled himself with his own words. “What can I do?”

  Olaf sat, bravely attempting to contain his agony. “Pull it! Pry it from my head!”

  “That will not do,” Nordus answered slowly, deliberately. “This is not, shall we say, a usual toothache.”

  Holding his jaw, Olaf squinted up at him. “Nay, it’s a fierce one!”

  Anxious to be of comfort, Nordus dropped to his knees before the virile Norseman. “Mayhap we can take your mind from it. When I loved you, I forgot about the ache. Mount me, and perhaps it will do the same for you.”

  The miserable boy shook his head. “I am in too much pain. Besides, I have bled my sac twice. I’m not up for more of that.” “Of course you are,” Nordus cooed, pushing him flat on his back, brushing a pink nipple as he gazed longingly upon the impressive staff. Despite the bitter pain, Olaf’s long rod firmed until it stood alone and unaided, pulsing wetly in the light of the candle.

  Nordus straddled the boy and impaled himself on the magnificent column. The glorious heat of the living sword radi- ated throughout his body, and Olaf’s manhood flowered in Nordus’s dark recesses. Despite his pain, the blond Norseman began to thrust. Nordus cooed and murmured and moaned in ecstasy as Olaf applied the strength and stamina of a village smith pounding his anvil. Unaided, Nordus spewed his milky seed across the youth’s fair torso. At last, Olaf delivered his own load in long, grunting thrusts. Nordus gloried in the sexual fever inflaming his partner until Olaf ceased his efforts and content- edly closed his dazzling eyes of blue.

  Nordus gave the weary smile of the truly sated and then winced with sudden pain. Freyr’s toothache! It was back! The wily god of fertility had outsmarted him, ensuring that Nordus would not abandon his ruler for a handsome piece of mortal flesh. The humanized elf paced the hut and raged against the fates for half a candle span until his loving companion drew him back to bed and cuddled him into a restless sleep.

  Nordus endured horrible pain for an entire fortnight, that and a deepening love for his handsome mate. The two smitten youths passed the divine toothache back and forth, each accepting the agony out of love for the other. Unable to hide the reason for this mysterious affliction, Nordus confessed all, causing Olaf to with- draw in fear as he learned that his enamored was ruled by the gods. But the Norseman could not long deny his love. Accepting this as beyond both his ken and his ability to forego, the youth soon returned to claim his share of both pleasure and pain.

  Eventually, the day came when Nordus realized he must return to beg Freyr’s mercy. In order to do so, he had to be rid of the toothache, but he was unwilling to abandon the burden to his lover, a realization that stunned the former elf. By the gods, he loved this mortal! Loved him more than…than himself! When Olaf declared his intention of accompanying him, Nordus protested, uncertain over the reception of a mortal in Asgard.

  “I don’t care what happens, Nordus. I will not
be parted from you until Hel calls me to Niflheim.”

  “But that may in fact be the ultimate result,” he objected. “And its great hall, Elvidnir, lives up to its name in full measure. It means misery, you know.”

  “Then so be it. We will make love now and return the ache to you, but before we cross the Rainbow Bridge, I will take it again so you are free to enter Asgard.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “As certain as I am that I love you.”

  “And I you. That sounds strange to my ears. I have never loved another beyond myself, not even Freyr.” He laid a hand on Olaf’s firm, fair chest. Gratefully, he sank to the pallet and accepted the gift of love and the bane of the curse from the most beautiful man on earth and all of the seven heavens combined. Still, it pained him that the glory of their orgasmic culmination was compromised by the hateful torture of Freyr’s toothache yet again.

  As his mate lay recovering, Nordus nursed his pain and gathered the things they would require for the trip. Then he sat outside the hut and drew runes in the sand: Fehu, the sign of Freyr and his sister, Freya, then the Algiz for protection and defense, and finally Raido, the sign of journeying.

  When Nordus explained he was calling on the ancient Futhark for their magical properties, Olaf scratched a jagged lightning streak to beseech Thor’s favor. Odin the Allfather was preferred by the warriors and kings of Midgard, while common folk worshiped Thor the thunder god. Nordus permitted his lover’s crude scratching, though it was not a proper rune.

  After passing the hateful toothache back and forth during the night, the two rose early and embarked on their journey. Although he had easily found his way to Midgard, Nordus was not at all certain he could locate the pathway to the Shining Plain of Asgard. At length, the former elf was forced to admit he had no idea where he was going.