Hiding the Moon–Part 7

So, not much doin’ today–my friend Berry Jello is still sick, and I visited her. I want her to feel better–she’s usually got so much life! And then Chicken visited us and we watched X-Files when her father got home. We were dying by the end–God, the reboot is wonderful.

And mostly we just caught up on TV. Mate and I are the biggest emotional babies though– we were watching 9-1-1, and it’s such a good show. But the part came when the fire chief (Charlie?) had his coworkers on either side of him, and they said, “Okay. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

There was silence. Then he said, “I won’t.” Beat. Then, “Help me?” And he burst into tears.

And Mate and I were toast–we sobbed in stereo. Ah, a little harmless entertainment.

Good times.

So, that being the state of things–how about some Hiding the Moon. *Note– for those new, Hiding the Moon is a crossover story between Racing for the Sun and the Fish Out of Water series. 


Hiding the Moon–Part 7


Burton woke up on a sudden inhale, panic flooding his body.

The boy in his arms (there was a boy in his arms?) mumbled, “Go back to sleep. An SUV passed by. Bad guys, but not your bad guys. Sleep some more.”

Burton thought, It is time to wake up, and then his eyes closed and he slept for another two hours.

This time when he woke up, Ernie had rolled away and was facing him. His skin was pale–almost pasty, given the kid’s hours–but his eyes, luminous, brown under the fall of hair held an appeal Burton couldn’t explain.

“What?” Burton asked grumpily. He could feel the lateness of the afternoon in his bones, and he was still sluggish with sleep. A part of him knew he could leap up and commence giving orders at any time but…

But the kid was just looking at him, almost in wonder.

“What?” Burton demanded again. “Was I snoring?”

“Yes, but who cares.” Slowly, the boy reached out to brush Burton’s lips with his fingertips. “They’re like cut from stone. You must press them together a lot.”

Burton blinked and tried to remember if he did that a lot. “My job is sort of tense,” he said, feeling silly.

“You think?” Ernie rolled his eyes, and then pressed his hand to the side of Burton’s neck. Burton didn’t flinch from a man touching him–it was something he’d dreamed about enough that it felt… natural. “Warm. Just… body heat. Lots of it. You must be very fit.” Ernie’s mouth twisted wickedly and he squeezed Burton’s hard bicep with impish delight. “Very fit.”

Burton licked his lips and hated himself a little for it. “I work out,” he said with dignity.

Ernie nodded, a slight smile pulling at his full mouth. “You do. And nobody ever gets to appreciate it. I mean, there’s girls sometimes. One nights, because you gotta keep moving, but…”  Ernie ran his hand appreciatively over the contours of Burton’s arm–bicep, tricep, shoulder–coming to a stop with his hand splayed over Burton’s collarbone, close to his neck. “No chance for someone to feel every hard inch.”

Burton almost told the lie then– it was on his lips. Son, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Sorry, Ernie, but I’m not bi. Please stop touching me, it feels invasive.


But Ernie arched a sardonic eyebrow, and Burton’s heart rate sped up, all his blood rushing to the surface of his skin.

Ernie’s touch didn’t feel invasive at all. It felt amazing.


“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Burton managed, and Ernie scooted a little closer.

“I need a shower,” he whispered, and Burton could feel his breath dusting along Burton’s throat. “And I need to brush my teeth.”

Burton swallowed and nodded. “Me too.”

“You go first,” Ernie told him gravely. “Brush your teeth before you get in the shower.”

Burton’s brows snapped together and he scowled. “Who does that? People brush their teeth while their nuts are drying–everybody knows that! Why are you giving me–“

Ernie brushed those lush, playboy lips against his, and Burton opened his mouth on a gasp. Ernie sucked his lower lip into his mouth and nibbled before letting it go.

“Yes, Lee Xavier Burton, I’m giving you orders. You can blow me off if you want, but you’ll regret worrying about bad breath for the next few hours, so maybe just don’t fight me here.”

Oh Lord, Burton’s blood was pounding in his ears. A kiss. A man’s kiss. It trembled along the edge of his skin and Burton could suddenly taste the acidic paste of morning breath.

“How’d you know my–“

Ernie’s grin was a force to be reckoned with. “I can’t always tell if the bad guys are after me,” he said honestly. “If I’m stoned I can’t always read the scumbag who wants to feel me up. But I’m cold sober right now, and I know who’s in my bed.” His voice was low and mesmerizing and Burton couldn’t look away from his wide brown eyes.

“Who do you think I am?” he asked, curious. For all Ernie’s dreamy oddness, Burton couldn’t fault his accuracy.

“You kill the bugs,” Ernie said, cupping his neck again. “You’re good. Dangerous, but good. And you… you look at me like I’m nectar. I’ve never been nectar before. I really want you to drink me.”

Burton shuddered, thinking about “drinking” him, and rolled out of bed jerkily, shocked and aroused by the mental picture. “You’re right,” he said, pretending that terrible suspended moment of intimacy had never happened. “I should shower first.”

Ernie chuckled and propped his head up on his hand. “Sure.”  But he didn’t sound put out, and he sounded like he knew something Burton didn’t, which made Burton just a little bit nuts. He stomped to his duffel bag, pulled out his shaving kid and a fresh pair of boxers and a Tee, then stomped to the bathroom.

He was in the shower, letting the water pound his neck and chest before felt the cool of mint at the inhale and realized he’d done exactly what the kid had asked and brushed his teeth first.  He groaned softly to himself and rested his head against the wall while the water pounded his back. The hotel wasn’t bad–and the shower was amazing. A big space with enough water pressure to power hose all his crevices. He was still there, leaning his head, when Ernie came into the bathroom and started going through his shaving kit.

“What’re you doing?” Burton asked, staring through the clear glass of the cubicle.

“You got an extra brush,” Ernie said happily, pulling it out and using the toothpaste. “That’s nice.”  He started brushing his teeth and Burton felt embarrassment crawl up his spine.

“The, uh, glass is clear,” he muttered. He’d been in the military. He’d showered in the barracks with his entire unit. You didn’t worry about some other guy seeing your pits and he didn’t worry about you scoping him out. That was the rule.

“I don’t mind,” Ernie said guilelessly, looking at him through the glass.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Burton muttered, grabbing the washcloth and squirting some soap on it. He’d managed his face, neck, and chest before Ernie spit and started to strip down. “Hey, what’re you–“

The door slid open and Ernie stepped in, naked, pale body glowing like the moon.

Burton swallowed hard. He was lean–almost skinny–but his chest and arms had some definition, probably from working at the bakery. His thighs and calves were wiry–he walked lots and danced all night, so of course they were–and his stomach was flat, almost concave.

His little pink nipples were fascinating, and for a moment, Burton stared at them, the only bit of color in that lean body besides that thatch of dark pubic hair at the end of the happy trail below.

Ernie held out is hand for the washrag, and Burton passed it to him in a daze. Ernie took a step forward, then another one, close enough to catch the shower spray, close enough for their bodies to touch if either one of them took so much as a deep breath.

“Did you finish?” Ernie asked, the water spiking his dark lashes around his eyes like points in a star.

“No,” Burton said, voice dry. “Uh… pits, crevices–“

“Mm… lift your arms.”

Burton did. The washrag was wielded firmly–it didn’t tickle under each arm, but it did scrub, and Ernie turned him, so his back was to Ernie’s front.

“I’m going to get real personal,” Ernie said softly in his ear. He was taller than he seemed, only an inch or two shorter than Burton himself, who was over six feet. “You are built like a tank, but all you gotta do to stop me is tell me no.”

No. I don’t do this. I don’t do this with strangers. I’ve never done this with a man before. You and me need to talk–


“I’ll tell you everything when we’re done,” Ernie murmured, lips skimming Burton’s shoulders. “But Lee, I think you need this now. I mean, it’s practically the only skill I have.”

The washrag moved low over Burton’s stomach, and Burton took a breath to tell him that wasn’t true.

Then it drifted to his cock, and Burton lost the wind to tell him anything at all.

“Spread your legs a little,” Ernie whispered. “I’m going to get your… ah, yeah.”

Personal wasn’t even the word for it. The washrag moved between his legs, spending a lavish, soapy moment on each ball, and then… oh Lord, the crease of Burton’s ass. Burton made a whimpering sound.

“You want me to stop?”

Yes because I like this and I shouldn’t and–


Burton put his hands flat against the wall and leaned forward, spreading his legs. It was like his brain  was saying all the things it should be but his body was on a whole other mission.

Ernie reached over him and grabbed the shower head then hosed off all of Burton’s vulnerable bits. For a moment, Burton watched as the soap went down the drain and wondered if his inhibitions went with it.

“Your turn,” Ernie said, sounding happy. Well of course. Ernie was just fine with sex, just fine with being gay. Ernie went to clubs and trusted that only the nice people would feel him up, put their hands on him, take him home to those tangles of bodies where the sex protected his fragile mind.

Burton felt a moment of hostility as he took the washrag, thinking it wasn’t fair that Ernie should know all these things about showers and bodies and how what they  were doing was going to end. But when he turned around, Ernie had assumed the same position Burton had, and his bitterness washed away too.

He was totally and completely vulnerable.

And Burton had just made himself that way for Ernie, and Ernie had done nothing but washed him, gently and firmly.

Burton took a deep breath and began to soap his back. Ernie let out a happy sigh and wiggled his shoulders, helping Burton out as it were. Then Burton worked his way to Ernie’s pits, and took his cues from Ernie’s own ministration, being firm so he didn’t tickle. Flanks, hips, backside–but not too personal–and the back of the thighs followed, and then he paused.

“Chickening out?” Ernie taunted softly.

Burton moved closer so he could wrap his arms around the boy’s (man’s!) chest and soap that. His front to Ernie’s back, his groin pressed against Ernie’s bottom.

His cock swelled and he pretended it wasn’t happening.

Instead kept his movements to the washrag, but he could tell by the way Ernie shivered that he liked the roughness over his nipples.

Just keep going… and then what? You’re going to wash each other and this is going to end?


His hand stalled out below Ernie’s navel, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Then Ernie grabbed his wrist and guided him, slowly, over his groin, between his thighs. He let go of Burton’s hand for a moment and propped his foot on the side of shower, and spoke into the sudden silence.

“Everything, Lee. You can do it.”

Burton closed his eyes against the wave of arousal that swept him, and his cock–already thick and hard, grew to the point of aching. More than anything he wanted to wash this guy’s crease, his asshole, the taint below his balls.

His hands shook and he tried not to be rough, but Ernie grunted, not sounding put off at all.

“My God you want me,” he moaned breathily. “Now rinse.”

Burton didn’t even ask why. Ernie leaned forward, legs spread, and Burton could see his hole, clean and pink, and fought the urge to lick absolutely everything he’d just dragged the washrag over.

Everything.

He used the shower head to rinse away the sides and thought longingly of clean skin and not too much soap.

He turned around and shut off the shower, almost disappointed when he realized Ernie had reached outside for a towel for each of them. Burton took the towel and wiped his face first, then started drying everything off, when Ernie stopped him.

“What?” Burton whispered, cock aching, body confused and aroused, heart crying out for a thing it had never defined.

“Now’s when you’re glad you brushed your teeth,” Ernie whispered back, and after touching each other privately, intimately, his mouth on Burton’s felt overdue, like they should have kissed the moment they met.

Burton groaned, pushed harder, devouring him…

Drinking him in like nectar.

Ernie pulled his hips forward, until their bodies were grinding together, only the towels between them. Burton dropped his towel and cupped Ernie’s lean behind, kneading and pulling, until Ernie broke away and moaned.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“For what?” Obvious question. Obvious answer. But Burton had never felt less like the obvious was true.

“To taste all the parts of me,” Ernie asked. “To know my body inside.”

Weak. Burton’s knees went weak, as he imagined thrusting inside Ernie’s pink and winking hole.

“All of it,” he begged, no longer surprised when his mouth or his hands or his cock took over and ran the operation. “I want to know all of you.”

Ernie bit his lip again, sucking it into his mouth.

 “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to ask.”