Layover
Author: CJ Black
Published by CJ Black at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 CJ Black
Cover Image From PhotoXpress Free Stock Photos
by Galyna Andrushko
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Layover
By
CJ Black
One
Why did I wait so long?
Ian stretched his long legs out in front of him as he adjusted his lanky frame on the hard plastic chair.
They were right, Ian wasn’t prone to musing. Now there was a word he seldom used. But what else could he do sitting in a bus terminal at two in the morning except dwell on the obvious?
His father was dead.
“Okay, it was stupid,” Ian said aloud. Juvenile, his lover had called it before he’d packed his bags and left. Well he’d had a good reason to act like a prick. His old man had brought it on himself.
“God damn it,” Ian said aloud.
“Hey man, are you all right?”
Ian hadn’t even noticed the black guy sitting across from him. He could have sworn the seat was empty a moment ago. He was tall and lean, he worked out, Ian was sure of that, his own long muscular legs stretched out from a pair of loose-fitting shorts.
“No,” Ian didn’t have the energy to lie or be an SOB.
The man extended his hand, “Grant.”
Ian leaned forward and grasped it. Grant’s hands were big and calloused, “Ian.”
“So what’s up?” Grant asked.
“My dad’s dead.”
“Oh damn man, I’m sorry.” Grant leaned back into his chair. “Was it sudden?”
“Actually the old bastard was dying a long time. The damn booze,” Ian leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs. “He went into the hospital and never came out. I just didn’t go when my family called.”
“Why the hell not?” Grant straightened in his chair.
“He was an SOB and I hated him.” Ian expected Grant to be shocked.
Now it was Grant’s turn to muse. Finally he just shrugged. “So what, are you on the way after the fact?”
“I was, but I’m tired of waiting.” Ian got up.
“So you’re not going to take care of business?”
“So I’m a pansy bitch ok?” Ian walked away even though he knew there was no place to go. He’d taken a cab here since his piece of crap car had broken down and he doubted he’d get one to take him back to his apartment anytime soon. There were only three rooms in the whole damn place.
Ian stepped through the doorway into the next room where someone had gotten the bright idea to cram vending machines, video games and two of those bistro chair and table sets. The tables were filthy, the vinyl of the chairs torn and the choices in the machines looked like they’d been there since when he was in diapers.
And who the hell played arcade games anymore? Ian only knew about them from older relatives and the net. He was a child of the home console age. Ian dug into his jeans pocket. Two of the games were rip-offs of better versions but the other two were ones that Ian actually liked and had played online.
He let the two quarters fall into the slot of the first-person shooter. Did it make him an asshole to imagine his father’s face? Probably but Ian didn’t give a damn.
“He must have been a real dick.” Ian supposed the sound of the voice should have surprised him but it didn’t.
Ian kept his eyes on the screen. “I already said he was.”
Two minutes later he got his ass handed to him by a knife-wielding mercenary. “Damn it!” Ian slammed his fist into the screen. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a goddamn two-year old. Ian moved away from the machine and pulled out one of the chairs far enough away from the table so he wouldn’t have to look at the filth.
“If he was such a dick why are you crying?”
In just a few minutes Ian had forgotten Grant was there. Ian scrubbed the tears away with the back of his hands, “Fuck off.” In hindsight, Ian figured that probably wasn’t the best thing to say to a dude that could probably beat the crap out of him.
Grant just looked at him for a few seconds, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed at his chest. “Come on,” Grant pushed himself away from the door frame, approached Ian and grabbed him by the elbow, pulling him to his feet. “I’ve been watching you all this time and you look like you’re about to have a coronary. You need to chill.”
Then Grant was dragging Ian out of the room and across the terminal to the other room, two doors – bathrooms. Grant dragged him over to the men’s room and pushed the door open with the flat of his palm. It was empty and surprisingly clean, smelling of disinfectant. From there, Grant shoved him into the large stall, locking it behind them. Ian didn’t fight when Grant pushed him against the wall, undid the zipper of Ian’s jeans and began stroking him over top his briefs.
“What--,” He cut Ian off when he jammed his tongue into Ian’s mouth, working it around, before taking Ian’s lower lip in his teeth and biting down. Ian’s hips bucked once, and Grant spread his legs with one knee, jamming both his hands down inside Ian’s underwear. For a while the only sounds heard in the stall were their grunting. Ian clumsily searched for the button to Grant’s fly, somehow managed to get it undone. His cock was huge, already swollen and hard and Ian fisted it with both hands.
Ian was about ready to come when Grant pushed away from him, knelt and lowered his mouth over Ian’s cock. Grant licked up and down, ran his tongue over Ian’s balls. Ian growled through his teeth, his fingers dug into Grant’s shoulders, hard muscle underneath his shirt resisting.
Ian shoved his fist into his mouth to muffle his scream as he came. His hips bucked, his come filling Grant’s mouth and the man greedily accepted it. When Ian was through he slid down the wall into a heap on the floor, drained. It was a few minutes before he lifted his head and saw Grant stroking himself. Ian wasn’t going to let it go like that. He reached out, grabbed the thick length again and pushed himself forward. As big as Grant was, Ian wasn’t certain he could get it all in but he was damn well going to try.
He kissed and licked the hard length, muttered against it, “Damn you taste good.”
It wasn’t long after that Grant finished, making a mess on Ian’s face and Ian let the rest spill into his mouth. They were on their knees facing each other, Grant’s chest rising and falling, and his breath brushed against Ian’s ear. They kissed and rested their foreheads against each other.
Grant was the first climb to his feet and pulled up his shorts. He pushed open the stall door and approached the sink. Grant ran the hot water, then pulled a wad of paper towels from the dispenser, wet them and returned to the stall. He took time to clean Ian up, washing the come off his face.
There was an announcement over the PA system as Grant pulled Ian to his feet and he glanced upward, “That’s my bus.”
The two of them walked out together. A few more people had arrived while they’d been in the men’s room. To Ian it brought back reality in more ways than he cared to admit. Right now he was focused on Grant. He’d probably never see the guy again but hell, who knew? “Thanks man,” Ian rested his hand on Grant’s shoulder for a moment.
Grant took Ian’s face in his hands, forcing Ian to look into his eyes. “Go take care of business.” Then he climbed onto the bus and he was gone.
Ian walked back inside and stretched out again when he returned to the seat. “Son of a bitch.” And he smiled.
###
About The Author:
Bio: I'm a multi-published author of erotic and fantasy fiction, usually M/M. My full length work Illusion of Night is currently available from Liquid Silver Books. I also have short stories published with Noble Romance Publishing, Cobblestone Press, Ai Press and Ravenous Romance as well as works in online magazines including Clean Sheets and Good Vibrations.
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