Michael & Vee (a smutty short)

It's a quickie! Working my butt off with my food-giving job. I love August.
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"I don't know about this, Vee," Michael whispered, his voice misting through the cool night air.

"What? Suddenly you don't like my kisses?"

"It's not your kisses."

Michael's eyes were wide, but the world around them was dark, and there was little to be seen for it. He could make out the haphazard lumps of the hedge across the way, the curb of the sidewalk past Vee's shoulder, the damp reflection of an oil-streaked puddle in the abandoned street. There was a sodium light somewhere far above, illuminating the statue of Christ set in the nook of the church and scattering yellow ghosts on the bleak pavement. The recessed doorway around him felt dark as any abyss; Michael could scarcely make Vee out, even when the gentle contour of jaw was presented in silhouette against the world beyond.

"What then?" Vee's heated breath was shocking as it pooled into the chilled shell of Michael's earlobe.

"What if someone comes?"

Tires passed along the wet pavement a million miles away. Vee laughed and pressed in closer. He was taller than Michael by a solid six inches, and though Vee's frame was slight and bones delicate, Michael's was moreso. The crowding had Michael feeling with one hand along the carved wood of the door behind him, using it for support as he sank his weight downward. He was intercepted by the press of Vee's knee into the black denim that ran too-tight over too-thin legs.

"Who will come, Michael? It's eleven o'clock at night," Vee paused to graze his lips and teeth along the outer shell of Michael's ear. "On a Tuesday," he continued before kissing the corner of Michael's jaw. "And," another kiss, this time to the soft hollow beneath, "it's fucking," and still another dabbled to the frantic hammering of Michael's pulse alongside his throat, "cold out."

"It's a church," Michael hissed.

"You're atheist."

"Agnostic."

"Whatever. You're not Christian."

"It's not ri-ah. Jesus, your fingers are cold."

"Such language," Vee purred, his fingers slipping further along the inside of Michael's waistband. "And at a church."

The sound of his zip peeling down echoed in Michael's ears. He sank further against Vee's knee, stilled as he was met with a grind of thigh. Michael gave a shuddering exhale, ducked back into the doorway for the chill graze of fingers over hot skin.

"Oooh, Michael," Vee chastised teasingly, his words pooling behind the knot in Michael's bright orange scarf. "No underwear at church? What would your mother say."

"Don't be a fucker, Vee. Christ your fingers are cold."

"You said that already. Just give it a moment; they'll warm up. Not like you went all the way soft."

Heat spread in a steady blossom from Michael's collar, flowering from the loose wrap of his scarf to the crests of his cheekbones. He laughed and squirmed again. One arm nudged to the stucco wall, the other to the carving of the heavy wooden door. He pushed himself up, away from the press of leg at the inside of his thigh, the cup of warming fingers between his legs. Fingers that squirmed and shifted, prying beneath the tight cling of his trousers to squeeze and stroke at his balls.

"Oh, Christ. Vee," Michael hissed.

"Hmmm?"

The hum came from near Michael's shoulder, where Vee had tucked his face for shelter from the cold. Or perhaps to further trap him, keep him wedged in the alcove.

“Someone’ll see. The cops give a shit in La Jolla, yanno? Don’t want people knowing I had my junk out at church.”

“We can move to the bushes.”

“Or that I had my dick out in the bushes. That kinda thing goes on your permanent record.”

Vee’s laughter warmed Michael’s shoulder, bleeding through the dark wool of his coat. Michael sagged backward, his fingers easing in their grip of the chill wood, the abrasive stucco.

“You’ve been out of highschool--what? A year now? And you still believe in permanent records.”

Vee picked his head up, the tendrils of his hair teasing along Michael’s jaw. Vee’s hair was coarse from too many dye jobs, prickly against soft, smooth skin. Michael ran his fingers up along the flat of Vee’s chest, feeling out the covered buttons of his frock coat. They curled, pressing tight as Vee’s newly-warmed fingers went stroking and squeezing up the length of Michael’s shaft, as the side of Vee’s thumb found the slit in the head.

“But if you’re so worried about someone seeing,” Vee paused, the heat of his words on Michael’s cheek momentarily replaced by the cool of indrawn breath. “Then we should be sure to hide the evidence.”

The shelter and warmth of Vee’s body was replaced by the cool smack of the night air. The salt of the not too distant ocean was abrasive in the wake of musk and cloves. Michael shivered, trembling backward, his hands tucking into his armpits for warmth.

“That’s a terrible line.”

“I know,” Vee mumbled to the inside of Michael’s thigh. “But think of all the evidence jokes we’ll have later.”

Michael’s retort was stalled by the slick draw of Vee’s tongue along the belly of his shaft. He groaned and sank his weight into his heels, hips tucking forward for the scrabble of nail along his pulse. The joining of door and wall caught his head as it fell backward.

“So easy,” Vee purred.

Long fingers speared through Vee’s hair, feeling along his scalp with curls and flicks of the tips. Michael gave a grunt that was partially amused, mostly resigned. He tugged at the tip of one cool earlobe, pinching and pulling.

Vee was happy to oblige, it seemed. His lips skipped and stuck, catching smooth skin with a thick applique of gloss. His tongue was warm and soft, slick in its trail along the side, withdrawing up to the tip one moment, down the next to slip past his lips and ease the passage of his mouth.

“Oh God,” Michael groaned as Vee’s throat worked in a series of warm pulses and slick tugs. “Vee.”

Vee drew slowly upward, thrumming with soft, amused laughter. The toes of his shoes poked from beneath the gather of his coat, and Michael stared distantly at the barely-there impressions of them in the darkness. Vee’s slender fingers worked about the narrow lines of Michael’s thighs, grasping from behind and digging at the tips. He slid free with a soft pop and chill cut of air through the generous coating of saliva.

“Awful noisy for someone afraid of getting caught,” Vee teased.

“Your fault,” Michael hissed.

Vee grinned and went still as his teeth touched to Michael’s shaft. His mouth twitched there, warm and promising, suspended in movement. He waited until the grin faded, then swept down again. Sucking, pulling, eager to swallow down the salty aftertaste and the eager forward press of rigid flesh.

Down and up and down again. Vee pressed faster, neck and shoulders straining, fingers tight in their grip. Michael’s knees gave more and more, so that he was all but sitting into the corner of the alcove, gasping loudly and muffing obscenities into the arm of his coat.

Michael’s fingers twisted and curled into the black of Vee’s hair, grasping tight. He squirmed and shifted, nearly losing his perch between the stucco and wood, driven as he was to pump eagerly into the constant fluctuation of Vee’s mouth and throat. He tugged again at Vee’s ears, pulled at his hair, raised his chest in heavy heaves and shudders. Michael came in a quick burst, a wash of tingle and warmth that was shocking as it smacked against the cold air on his cheeks. He thrust forward hard as he could manage, pulling at Vee’s hair to hold him close. Pumped, rocked, rocked again before sagging back with a delighted tremble.

Vee pulled off slowly, mouth tight and tongue working. He sucked as hard as he dared, cleaning the traces of cum from Michael’s cock with a mind for its gradual softening, its hypersensitive state. Vee shifted in the dark, wiping at the corners of his mouth and the curve of his lower lip with delicate decorum. His fingers were still warm as they touched Michael’s cooling skin, tucking away his flagging arousal and hauling hard on the zip to his too-tight trousers.

“There,” Vee murmured as he pushed up to stand. “I told you I’d find something for us to do before the movie starts.”

Michael caught at the side of Vee’s coat to help pull himself upright. “We’re gonna miss the previews if we don’t get going.” He rocked on his heels, tugging his clothing to rights.

“We wouldn’t want that.” Vee stepped for the sidewalk as he spoke, twisting to flash the whites of his teeth at Michael. “You might miss part of the movie repaying the favor.”

“Yeah right,” Michael replied with a roll of eyes. He flicked the trailing end of his long orange scarf over his shoulder. “As if I were half so talented with my mouth.”

“We’ll see.”