Date: Fri, 25 Jul 2003 16:16:36 -0400 From: Noni Y. Mouse Subject: Kiss of Life Chapter 9 Replacement Sorry guys- I got some emails, and as I re-read the ending, I saw that I'd made a couple of typos. (embarrassed grin) sorry about that- in the future I'll try to do a better job of proof-reading! This is the repost- with hopefully all of the typos corrected. Thanks for the heads up! NM Guys- I want to thank ALL of you for your wonderful emails. I want you all to know that I've read them all, and sorry for being so slow in responding. I'll try to respond to everyone as quickly as I can. But thanks for your support and your continued reading of this story. It's a pleasure writing for everyone- believe me! You can send an email to NoniMouse440@hotmail.com to send in any comments. I always appreciate feedback, or just a nice hello from readers. Thanks to all again for making this a special triumph for me. NM Chapter 9 John Anderson stood at 6'4" tall, weighed a good 230lbs of muscle, had brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes. He was not an easily shaken man, being a detective and having to maintain a tough guy image both on and off the job. On the job, it was to get to the truth of the matter from the people he had to come in contact with during his day. Off duty, it was because he was gay, and generally, people are much more hesitant to attack a tall, muscular, confidant looking guy- gay or not. He knew that both men and women stared at him as he walked by on the street- but he paid it no attention. Physical beauty, he knew, faded over time. But surprisingly, it's how people seem to fall in love- they look at someone, feel an animalistic attraction to that person, and then swear that it's love. But John had been through enough to know that looks aren't any kind of an implication to the soul of the person beneath. A person could be handsome, but have a vapid personality beneath a Colgate smile. Or, a person could be handsome and have a wonderful, charming personality beneath a bright, warm smile. You could never judge the gift by the packaging. And this was an important lesson for all Prince Charmings of the real world to understand at once: the superficial packaging sometimes has nothing to do with what's on the inside. There's real "sleeping beauty" in everyone, waiting for someone to come along and unlock it, no matter their situation. Sometimes it takes a kiss, sometimes it takes more; patience is a great virtue, something which they sort of never tell you about in the fairy tales. Not all heroes must slay a dragon to claim the love of their princess. Sometimes all it takes is for a hero to have a great ear, to make him a really great man. And if you understand that, then you'll understand why John did what he did next. John leapt across the room, as Mike opened his mouth, and firmly clamped a hand over Mike's lips. Mike looked up, startled at the cat-like quickness of this man in front of him. John stood there, breathing, looking into Mike's eyes. He slowly lowered his hand, not breaking the eye contact. Everything between them was so intense that it was getting scary. But he knew that this, what he was doing right now, was the right thing. "Don't Michael. You're not ready to tell me. When you are, remember that I am here- waiting to get to know you. But only as much as you'll let me in at a time. I don't want to force you baby. You'll tell me when it's time." He silenced Michael with a kiss, so that any further words, protest or otherwise, were smothered. With that, he took Michael by the hand, and led him into the living room, and stood him in front of the window again- the window that was the scene of his almost-demise. John wrapped his arms around Michael's waist again, hugging him from behind, and whispered into his ear. "Weren't you going to order us some food, baby?" Mike, shivering from head to toe despite being enveloped in the warmth of the man behind him, raised the phone to his ear, and dialed the number for Sal's Slices. A sliver of de ja vu ran through him as Joe answered the phone in his customary greeting. "Sal's Slices, this is Joe. Is this a pick up or delivery?" "Hi Joe. It's a delivery." "Mr. Dana, how are you? It's good to hear you're out of the hospital! Eh, this one is on us, ok? In fact, Sal himself heard about what had happened to you, and he told us to make sure that whenever you call, we take care of you special, eh! So what would you like, Mr. Dana?" Mike stood there, phone in hand, mouth open, tears glittering in his eyes. He'd never imagined that so many people had actually noticed him. The neighbors, Sal... he looked back to catch John rolling around on the floor with a very perplexed looking Jeff, who then joined in on the apparent fun. Most of all, he wasn't exactly sure why John had noticed him... and then a flashback to the "bathroom incident" brought a flush right up to his cheeks, and he coughed into the phone. "Sorry about that Joe. I uhm... my ... usual?" Joe laughed into the phone. "I shoulda guessed, Mr. Dana. Your usual coming right up. Be there in 30 minutes. Stay safe, ok? If you ever need any help, me and my boys aren't too far away, ok? I mean it, Mr. Dana! We can't lose our best customer!" Mike grinned into the phone- if grins made sound, Mike's was shouting. He almost felt like... well, like Joe's little sister... he supposed... protected, really... by "the boys." He laughed out loud as he hung up. If only those "boys" knew that he had a full grown man rolling around on his kitchen floor... Well, backup couldn't be such a bad thing, all things considered... He stood back for a moment, hesitating to intrude into the picturesque scene. Was it moving too fast? Damnit- it was only the first night, and already, they were at "baby" and "sweetheart" and non-stop kissing and serious emotional intensity. Mike needed to know of himself - why did he want to get to know Detective John Anderson? Was it his charm? His beauty? His forward and gentle masculinity? More importantly, Mike wanted to know of himself why he wanted the Detective to get to know him! Was he just feeling desperate at the moment? Aching for human contact, and had so snagged the first thing to come along? Was it good to have all of these doubts. He stood there, watching the scene in the kitchen with his eyes, but traveling at thousands of miles per second in his brain. The doubts were overwhelming, and he almost wanted to tell John to leave- that he needed space... time... something. This secure man was making him extremely insecure about himself- about his own intentions. And to think that he'd almost told him... But John had stopped him. He seemed so noble- considerate. Mike turned to his left, and caught his reflection in a mirror hanging there on the wall. It was at face height, oval, and large enough for Mike to really pause to take a look at what he saw there. The thing that had been troubling him all along, all his life, kept him so isolated and hurt... was he worth it? Wasn't he damaged goods? Didn't John deserve someone better? Damaged goods... he'd always be tainted... but how much DID that matter... to anyone else? Could they see past that? See to the desperate him, yearning for something to love, something to hold on to? Perhaps, for... maybe... forever? John looked up to see Mike standing there, studying himself in a mirror, and wondered what was going through his mind. Jeff's cold, wet nose edged its way into the crook of John's neck, and he giggled, and got back to wrestling the dog on the kitchen floor. In his own mind, John couldn't help but to think of what Mike had been just about to tell him. He knew that he had his own share of things to say- hurtful things, loving things, and hopeful things- but that it was too soon. Too soon to do anything but roll around on the damned floor with the damned dog when what he really wanted was to be rolling around on the damned bed with this man standing there staring at himself as if he were looking into his very own soul. And that was right where John wanted to be- standing there, staring into Mike's soul, and being a part of it. But why...? Why was that where he wanted to be? What was it about Mike that drew John to him like a thirsty horse to water? And that's what he really wanted to do- draw Mike to him, and drink from him- slake his own desperate thirst for love and affection- to touch and be touched- really touched. John stood up off of the floor. He was a rumpled mess, but he moved with purpose, to stand in front of Mike, still gazing and lost in his own reflection and thoughts. When John crossed into his view, Mike jumped a bit, startled, and then looked up into John's face. John stared down at him, into his eyes. "Where did you go, Michael?" John asked. Mike shook his head, indicating that he couldn't answer. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't say all of the things that were trying to force their way out of his head at once. The congestion... "Why me, John?" And there. A sentence constructed of the simplest grammar, yet requiring of the most complex conscious reasoning our cerebral cortexes have to offer... and then some. And Michael cocked his head to one side, and a smile played out across his full, beautiful lips. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, lights seemed to dance between his irises. "I have faith in you, Michael, that you won't hurt me. I have faith that you're here to rescue me. I have faith that it's no one else but you, and I don't need a reason beyond that. Do you?" Mike shook his head and looked down. Is that what it really took? Faith? Did he have faith? When he thought of faith, he thought of God... and where had God been when he'd been so wrongly taken advantage of. A fork of lightning ran jaggedly across the sky, and thunder rumbled outside of the windows. It had been a cloudless, almost perfect night before- but now, it looked as though it were going to rain. "Faith... that's a hard subject for me, John. I don't want to hurt you... but who's to say that I won't? How can I be sure, if I've lost my faith?" Mike looked back up, honestly, into John's eyes. For a conversation of a few hours, this was suddenly getting very intimate. "Maybe that's why I'm here then, Michael. To help you regain your faith. Maybe I can teach you... I don't know what I have to offer, except myself, Michael. But isn't that really all that we can expect of anyone else? To give us what's there? If we really care? I'm not asking for your heart overnight, Michael. Just maybe... give us an honest chance." John stepped back, another flash of lightning illuminating the two of them, suddenly so distant from one another. Mike turned away from John, but stood his ground, leaning against a wall. His voice sounded distant and far away. "I feel like my faith abandoned me a long time ago, John, before I had a chance to really develop that kind of a skill. Then why now? Why all of this now?" "Do you really want me to answer that question, Michael? Because I can't. No one can, and it's a waste of time trying to figure that out." "But isn't that what fate is, John? Things have a specific meaning at a specific time? That the now is as important as the what? That the now and the what are closely related? If that isn't the case, if the now doesn't mean anything, then how can you have faith that the what means what you think it does?" John looked at Michael for a moment. "Michael... I have no idea what you just said. It's not that I'm not smart... I think that you're just convoluting yourself. Think about it like this, Michael. You can't see why the now is so important at the moment, and you know what- not a lot of people can. That's because you're in the moment, Michael. It's hard to gain perspective on something when you can't see it all. And right now, this is something that's just beginning. Can you tell me about how you ran a race, before you've even run it? Give it time, Michael- that's what fate is. Taking the blessings, and taking the time to appreciate it. Understanding will come with time, as you appreciate more what you've been given. And not to sound cocky, but I think that the fates have been pretty damned kind to you- they practically gift wrapped me and dropped me off at your door." John was grinning, and Michael was laughing. He had managed to back himself into John's warm, hard body, and stood there, blood pumping down to this sensitive crotch as the information trickled in and took root. He wondered if it were normal that just standing close to a person was cause enough for a hard on. He then figured that it must be, because John had a hard on too. He could feel it, massive and hot and throbbing like a scalding lead pipe, trapped sideways and downwards across John's massive thigh. It was so ridged and thick- Mike could feel it through his jeans- his downy soft ass clenching at the suggestive presence of the raw power behind the rod. Mike moaned, closed his eyes, and fell hard back against the detective. He ground his ass into the detective's crotch, and inhaled sharply, as he felt John's stiff cock throb hard against the confines of its denim prison. He wanted that monster to push itself into his ass, lube squelching, hot throbbing cock racing into his steaming, soft guts, over and over, John on top of him, groaning, crying out his name, belonging to him, he belonging to John, impaled and happily going no where except to bliss. He wanted it so bad- to have this naked hunk doing him until John was the only name that he knew that existed. He could see the sweat dripping off of John's abs as he pounded that piece of hot sausage meat in and out of him, the head flared out to its maximum, scraping his ass walls with every movement. He shuddered, and came out of his reverie in time to feel John's hands roaming on the outside of his jeans covered cock. John was breathing in his ear, slowly grinding his cock into Mike's ass, while his hands ran lightly up and down the outline of Mike's sensitive cock, from root to tip, and back down again. Mike shuddered, and pulled away, mixed feelings welling up inside of him. He hadn't minded the making out... just... it reminded him that he had something to do... The doorbell rang, and Mike went to get his wallet, leaving the boned up and horny detective to stand there looking down at his own massive tool, aching steadily in his shorts. He could feel precum drenching his thigh. He turned and went into the kitchen, searching for plates, cups, soda. He just wanted to spend some time with Mike- quiet time, where he could relax, and let Mike relax into him. They moved towards the couch, both of them a little nervous suddenly, but not backing away. Mike set the pizza down on the table, and scooped up the remote. He turned on the television as John placed plates down next to the pizza box, and then stood, not sure of what to do next. Would they sit on the couch? The floor? Mike looked up to John, and then laughed. "We'll sit on the floor for now. No pizza near my cushions!" John smiled, and settled himself down, while Mike got him a slice of pizza, and placed the plate next to him. As Mike was about to sit next to John on the floor, John reached up, grabbed the waistband of his jeans, and pulled him down to sit right between his legs. Mike slipped down to the floor, twisted, and his butt brushed against John's nuts, firmly held in place by his confining underwear. The hot slab of John's man sausage lay in an upright position- not hard, it was soft, but still hot with the warmth of his recent erection. Mike turned back to the television, and a very curious and somewhat hungry Jeff came padding silently out of the kitchen. He knew that he wasn't allowed up onto the couch, but he figured that he'd at least try to push the boundaries a little bit. He silently hopped up into the couch, and settled himself in behind the two on the floor. He closed his eyes, feeling supported and somehow secure, and went to sleep. The night seemed to slip away in comforting quiet. Pizza done, cold and forgotten, John's hands first rested themselves on Mike's shoulders, and then made their way down to his lap, to clasp themselves there, not in so much of a sexual move. It was more of a claiming ritual- their bodies pressed tightly against one another, enjoying the closeness of one another's bodies. And that's as far as it went that night, to be honest. There wasn't even anymore kissing. Their intimacy had taken a break- formed some boundaries, in order to give the prospect of their dating a chance. As John stood at the door, waiting to leave, Mike leaned in, and gave him a kiss of the cheek, which John returned. They parted ways, Mike turning around after closing the door just in time to see a very guilty Jeff scooting off of the couch, tail between his legs, and making a bee-line for the laundry room. Mike growled, and rolled his eyes at the retreating dog. He'd let it go, or deal with it later. Either way, he hurried over to the window to watch the detective get into his shiny black Volvo, and speed off into the night. He realized that he'd had no idea where the detective lived, or if he lived in an apartment, or a house, or if he even lived alone. He had no idea if John's parents were dead, or alive, or how he'd even arrived at having become a detective. He smiled to himself. Was it worth holding on to life? For... a man? Or was it for himself? Could he rightfully give himself a chance to be happy? He smiled, the spark of hope warm in his belly, and he made his way back to his bedroom to call his lovely evening to an end. A certain someone, driving away from Mike's place, suddenly boned up hard in his jeans. He boned up so hard in fact, that a deep ache ran from the tip of his rod through to the root of his balls, and he had to pull over onto the side of the road to avoid an accident. The road was framed in by trees on either side- about 10 feet back from the blacktop. John had pulled over there, and shut his lights off. It being late, and a very definitely a back road, there were no overhead lamps lighting the way. John sat there in total darkness, his seatbelt off, his seat back reclined, and his hands grasping for his zipper and belt buckle at the same time. It was frenzied- this action- of trying to free his throbbing, and hopefully not blue cock and balls. He freed himself, covered in precum, a drop oozing out of the tip. He grasped the head, and as the shivers ran through his body, his arm began to move up and down his turgid, veined shaft, slowly at first. As his fist hit bottom, he gave it a squeeze, and the head gorged with more blood, a brilliant scarlet color, contrasting with the deep brown of his furry pubic hair. He released the clench of his fist, and began the journey back up his shaft, ever so tantalizingly slowly. When his fingers found the sensitive underside of the head of his cock, his entire body convulsed, flew up off of the seat, and he arched his back. He was so out of control, so full of raging lust. He caught sight of himself in the rearview mirror- his lips parted, his eyes slanted closed with animalistic passion for his own body. He looked into his own eyes, and knew that sitting in the car jerking off would not abate his feelings at all. He opened his car door, and got out, dropping his shirt, his pants, his socks, shoes and underwear in the car. Something hit his foot, but he paid it no attention. He was on a mission. John stood outside, naked, near the warm hood of his car. He found his right nipple with his left hand, and his right hand ran down his body until it connected with his wet, dripping cock. As the two made the connection, cock and fist, he threw back his head, and sat down on the hood of his car. It made his knees weak, he was so horny. He thought back to the evening- to having his hand on Mike's ass, the warm, sweet taste of Mike's mouth, the feel of his cock through his jeans, the feel of that firm ass on his cock... John grunted, and broke down into an almost uncoordinated rhythm of jerking his cock, grabbing on his nuts, and twisting his right nipple. It was sore, sparking off intense waves of pleasure through him as he tweaked it, and pinched it, and wet the tip of his finger and ran it over and over lightly over the engorged areola. His balls, drawn up into his body, it felt, tingled as he rubbed them, and then under them to his puckered hole. He'd never really explored back there on his own- maybe once or twice, and he'd bottomed before, but never really got into the hang of it. But now, as he coated his fingers with spit, almost in a trance, he thought of fucking Mike- of Mike fucking him. Those fingers found their way to his anus, and he began to rub around and around and around his hot pulsing hole. He pushed the first finger in, and spread his legs wider, laying fully on back on the hot hood of his car. He began to almost punch that finger in and out of himself, nearing his climax as groans and whimpers shuddered out of him. He deep-fingered himself for a moment, and found that hot, slippery bump that brought so much joy to the number of men that had been pinned and anally pummeled by him. He pressed on it, and almost rolled off of his car. He clasped his legs around his arm, squeezing his anal opening, and crushing his finger in the hot muscular warmth of his inner body. He then continued to push in and out against this resistance, nearing his orgasm, groaning louder and louder. The tremors started way before fluid ever left his body, and he cried out, naked underneath the stars, sweat pouring off of him. He convulsed, his taught 6 pack clenching and releasing, as he cried out, over and over, and his body released a gush of cum, the first spurt flying over his head, and landed on his windshield. It dribbled down, and was joined by two more spurts, and then the rest painted John's body from chin to crotch, in scalding sperm. Orgasmically spent, John wiggled under the intense sensations spreading out from his sensitive ass, as he rubbed his hole a little more. He sighed, and lay there, breathing in the clean night air, underneath the stars, naked and contented. He thought to Mike- to what he was thinking of doing to Mike- invading Mike's warm hole, making room for himself literally and figuratively inside of Mike. He sat up suddenly- thinking of Mike made him realize that he was on his car, naked, sweaty and covered in semen. What if someone else came along?! If someone drove up, he'd be for sure noticed in the glare of the headlights. He jumped off the car, and moved quickly to the driver's side of the car. He pulled at the door, and to his dismay, the door did not open. He pulled again, and the door still didn't open. His blood froze in terror- was this really happening? He raced around to the other side of the car, and grabbed at the handle there. It wasn't open either- in fact, none of the doors were open. He raced back around to the driver's side, panic setting in, and he stepped on something. He looked down- and holy shit, it was his cell phone! He breathed out a sigh of relief, and picked it up; as his rear was poised so vulnerably in the air, a bright burst of headlight beams picked up on it, and illuminated its alluring creaminess. John dropped to the ground reflexively, and rolled under the car. He couldn't be caught by anyone out here- naked and smelling of sweat and semen. The headlights slowed, and then pulled off to the side of the road. John peered out from under the car. He knew how suspicious it looked- a car sitting there on the side of the road, relatively new, and unattended. He saw a flash or red and blue lights, and groaned out loud. It looked as though he were fucked- with something quite larger than his left middle finger!