DANNY'S DAD by Drew Hunt

DANNY'S DAD by Drew Hunt

Gary Levinson is in love with his best friend’s dad. It’s as simple as that.

Danny doesn’t think it’s simple. He’s okay with his best friend being gay. He can cope with the idea -- in theory -- that his dad is gay. But Gary and his dad being gay together ...?

Neil “Raw” Rawlings doesn’t think it’s simple at all. He’s a well-known rugby league player and Gary is too young, too immature, and too star-struck. Besides, he could do better than an aging sportsman close to retirement.

Finally giving in to Gary’s pleas, Raw agrees to sleep with Gary on his eighteenth birthday. But what happens next? Is this a once-only birthday present, or a gift that keeps on giving?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

He jogged round the table, through the living room and into the hall. As he took the stairs two at a time he could hardly believe what was about to happen. Finally, after years of suggesting, cajoling, and downright begging, Danny’s dad was going to make love to him.

It was the morning of Gary’s eighteenth birthday and the only gift he wanted was behind the closed door at the end of the landing. Reaching the top step he paused, suddenly nervous. He tried to calm his racing heart and slow his breathing. His stomach also felt funny, like a flock of doves -- or were they lovebirds -- flying around in there. Gary didn’t want Raw to see him like this, so he stepped into the bathroom. After washing his face and drying it on Raw’s towel -- taking a big sniff of the man’s unique scent -- Gary tried to do something with his unruly tangle of red hair. Frowning at the blackhead that was starting to sprout on his freckled, too-big-for-his-face nose, Gary thought about squeezing the zit, but that’d only make it look worse. He knew he was too thin, too gangly and uncoordinated, nothing like the strong, powerfully-muscled god who was waiting for him.

“Fuck!” he said under his breath, his hands nervously picking at the pockets of his jeans. He’d agonised that morning about what to wear. What did you put on when you were going to be made love to by the man of your dreams?

He’d quickly rejected one of the Leopards’ rugby shirts. Gary had narrow, rounded shoulders; the shirts just looked stupid on him, although that didn’t stop him from getting the replica kits -- both home and away -- each season. And of course they had Rawlings as well as 13 on the backs.

Eventually Gary had decided on his best -- and tightest -- pair of Wranglers and the white T-shirt with the broad blue horizontal stripe across the chest that Raw had gotten him the previous Christmas.

Realising he was wasting time, time he should be spending with Raw, Gary looked at the unopened box of Tums in the medicine chest, decided he could do without, and turned for the landing.

“For what I’m about to receive,” Gary mumbled, “may the Lord know I’m truly thankful.”

Crossing the landing, wincing at the creek of every floorboard, Gary knocked on the door to Raw’s bedroom, a room he’d only glimpsed the interior of once before.

“Come in.”

This is it, Gary thought, turning the handle. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open. “Sorry I’m earlier than I said I’d ...” His mouth fell open at the vision standing in the centre of the room. “Oh, God.” He felt his knees weakening. Goddamn it, he’d wanted to prove to Raw he wasn’t the infatuated fanboy he suspected Raw saw him as. And what did he do the second he laid eyes on the man? “Fuck!” he added under his breath.

“You just gonna stand there?” Raw’s question was delivered in his usual deep -- and to Gary -- sexy timbre, but the man was smiling, the dimple in his chin in full ... dimple. This did nothing for the floppy feeling in Gary’s belly, but judging by the painful tightness a little further down, his dick was far from floppy. “Come in, if you’re staying.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Gary stepped inside and closed the door.

Raw’s room was awesome. All glass and chrome with dark wood flooring. In the far corner was the Nautilus machine Gary had advised Raw to buy a couple of seasons earlier to help the man stay in peak shape. A huge bed was against another wall, the sheets were black and to Gary’s untrained eye, satin. Gary swallowed, his mouth had gone dry. But what dominated the room, kept drawing his gaze, was Raw himself. Raw was decked out in the Littleborough Leopard’s 2008 black away strip with its classic two V’s -- one above the other -- in thin white piping across the chest. Although Raw looked awesome in whatever strip the team chose ... the black and white was Gary’s absolute favourite. He’d wanked off in his own copy several times, but that was a secret only known to him and the washing machine. It was around 2008 that he’d insisted to his mother he do his own laundry.

“God,” Gary said again. He remained rooted to the spot, just inside the room.

Raw smiled and held out his arms. “Not exactly, but I knew you liked this kit. I’m surprised I managed to fit into it.”

Gary shook his head. “You’re still the same size you were three years ago.”

Raw had remained a steady one hundred and ten kilograms for the past three seasons, and probably before that, too. Gary knew this because he’d built and still maintained Raw’s website which contained every possible statistic about Littleborough’s loose forward and goal kicker. Gary could quote every one of those statistics when asked, and tried hard not to when he wasn’t.

Raw tilted his head to one side and regarded Gary quizzically. “You’re quiet.”

Swallowing yet again -- maybe he should have had one of those Tums after all -- Gary said, “You’re ... you’re ...” He wanted to say ‘You’re a god, but for once he was shy. So he shut his mouth.

“Gar?” Raw approached the newly-minted eighteen-year-old and put a huge hand on his shoulder. “You okay? We don’t have to do this if you don’t --”

“Kiss me!” Now and again Gary had sneaked a kiss to Raw’s cheek, but Raw would never reciprocate, not even on birthdays or at Christmas, saying it wasn’t appropriate.

Raw smiled, showing off his dimple again. As soon as he cupped Gary’s face, Gary stopped breathing. When their faces grew to within centimetres of each other Gary found himself closing his eyes, even though he wanted to keep a visual record of every second of the encounter.

A waft of warm minty breath was almost immediately followed by soft but firm lips touching his. The kiss only lasted a second, but it was the most wonderful second of Gary’s short life.

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BURNING BRIGHTER by Drew Hunt

FIRESIDE ROMANCE BOOK 2: BURNING BRIGHTER by Drew Hunt

After declaring their love for each other on Christmas Day, Simon Peters and Mark Smith settle down to a cosy life of domestic togetherness.

A new year brings new joys and challenges. Sam, a neighbour boy comes to stay for a few days and adopts Simon and Mark as honorary dads.

A promotion at work gives Simon more responsibility. Mark finds employment at the local café. The purchase of a car allows the couple to get out and about to explore the Yorkshire countryside.

Snuggle up in an easy chair and toast your toes in front of the fire as you read Simon and Mark’s continuing romantic adventures.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



We’d just finished eating when there was a knock at the front door. I went to answer it.

It was Paul Bates and his fourteen-year-old son, Sam.

“Sorry to bother you,” Paul said in a rush, “but Helen’s waters have broken, and --”

“She’s early,” I said, then realised Paul didn’t have time to debate such things. “Sorry. How can we help?”

“Would you mind looking after Sam? My parents are on holiday and --”

“No problem.” I interrupted.

“Thanks.” Paul dashed back down the street, leaving Sam standing on the doorstep, not looking terribly happy.

I gave Sam an encouraging smile, then stuck my head out of the door and called, “Paul! If you need to stay with Helen overnight, Sam can bunk on the sofa.”

“Thanks.” He waved before disappearing into his house.

Turning around, I saw that Mark had come into the living room. “This is Mark ... a friend of mine.” I told Sam, beckoning for him to come inside. “Are you excited about having a baby brother or sister?”

“No, not really,” came the meek reply. Sam’s eyes were hiding behind long lashes, which I suspected many girls would be envious of.

“Why’s that?” Mark asked.

“He or she will probably cry all night.”

“But it’ll be nice to watch the baby as he or she grows up, starts crawling, walking and talking.”

“Suppose,” Sam said with little enthusiasm. “What happened to your hands?” he asked Mark.

“Someone I knew was playing around with chemicals, and things went wrong. I should be okay in a week or so though.”

“That’s good.” Sam smiled; he seemed to be warming up to Mark.

“Would you like anything to eat?” I asked Sam.

“No thanks. We just ate when Mum decided she needed to go to hospital.”

“What about watching some television, or maybe a video?” I asked, pointing at the shelves of tapes. I felt out of my depth, never having had to keep a teenager entertained before.

He shrugged and walked over to the shelves.

“So, Sam, what are you studying at school?” Mark asked.

He shrugged again. “Oh, you know, the usual boring stuff.”

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“There must be something you’ve done that you’ve enjoyed.” Mark wasn’t giving up.

“We’ve just finished a project on 1930's Britain. The differences between those who had a job, and those who didn’t.”

“My grandfather went on the Jarrow March,” Mark said.

“Really?” Sam turned from examining the rows of video tapes. “Did you know the march was fifty years ago this year?”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, 1936,” Sam said. “Did your granddad say much about the march?” he asked Mark.

“He said he felt betrayed.”

“Is your grandfather still alive?” I asked.

Mark shook his head. “He died a couple of years ago.”

“Sorry,” Sam said.

The subject moved back to the Jarrow March and Mark told us more about how it had affected the area where he’d grown up. “Basically the government couldn’t have cared less about conditions in the traditional industries.”

I had no idea Mark was so political.

“Things were a lot better for the newer industries like car making and electronics,” Sam said.

“But most of that was in the Midlands and the South,” Mark pointed out.

“That’s true.” Sam nodded.

The room grew quiet. Then Sam, who had gone back to choosing a film, said, “Can I watch this one?” He’d pulled out an action movie I’d bought for Mark but we’d never gotten around to watching.

“Of course,” I said. “Put it in the machine and come and sit on the sofa.”

Sam sat in the chair looking at first Mark then me.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked.

“Erm ... I, are you ... I mean, do you mind me asking, is Mark your boyfriend?”

I looked at Mark. He gave a slight nod.

“Would it bother you if we were?”

“God, no. My uncle Steve is gay, he’s cool!”

“Do you get to see him much?” Mark asked.

“No, he lives in the north of Scotland. He doesn’t have a boyfriend though. How long have you and Simon known each other?”

“A few months, but we only became boyfriends yesterday.”

“Really? Wow, that’s great!”

“I think so, too,” Mark said.

I smiled, touched that Mark would say such a thing. But thinking we should change the subject, I said, “Shall we watch this film?”

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ROTC RON by Drew Hunt

ROTC RON by Drew Hunt

Joe Barnes is infatuated with fellow college freshman Ron Driscoll. Ron is in the ROTC program and Joe starts to dress in military clothing to emulate his idol. But apart from discussions in philosophy class, Joe is too shy to speak to Ron, and Ron doesn’t break away from his circle of admirers long enough to notice that Joe is alive.

Joe all but throws himself at Ron during a discussion of Kant’s views on beauty. But Ron remains unaware of Joe’s feelings.

One Friday after class Joe visits the bathroom and finds himself blindfolded and put in handcuffs. Having a secret kink for bondage Joe is by turns scared and aroused.

Ron has planned a romantic and kinky weekend with Joe in the Allegheny mountains where soft rope will be needed, but clothes will not.

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EXCERPT:

Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



Gathering his books, Joe put them in his backpack and left the classroom, his mind still amazed at how he’d managed to daydream through an entire session. He’d have to see if he could get the notes from someone, but that would mean asking, initiating a conversation. Joe quailed at the thought.

As was his usual custom, Joe paid a visit to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He was nothing if not consistent in his behavior, a fact that he would soon learn someone else had bargained upon.

Closing his eyes as his stream began, Joe felt someone take his hands and pull them behind his back. “What the ...!”

Joe felt cold metal surround his wrists and heard the snap of a lock being closed. This was immediately followed by a hand clamping itself over his mouth, muffling his further protests. Joe began to struggle, but the man’s other hand had a firm grip on him.

“Quiet,” a breathy voice said in his ear. “You won’t come to any harm if you do exactly what I tell you.”

Joe began to turn to see who was ambushing him.

“No, eyes front and center.”

“Hum, um.” Joe mumbled unintelligibly into the man’s palm, and recommenced his struggles.

“Quit wriggling, your piss is going everywhere.” The voice was calm, unhurried, strangely soothing.

But all his senses told Joe to fight, to run away.

“Joe, please don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

Somehow the words penetrated Joe’s feverishly racing brain, and much to his surprise he began to relax. The rest of his stream flowed into the urinal.

“Great, man. I’m gonna take my hand from your mouth now. Will you promise not to yell? I promise you won’t be harmed.”

Joe considered the question. There was a certain element of kinky enjoyment mixed in with his fear. He slowly nodded his assent and the hand was removed.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” Despite everything Joe remembered to talk quietly.

“It’s okay, little one. I know you have questions. All will be revealed soon. All I ask is that you trust me a bit longer. Can you do that?” The voice sounded odd, as if its owner was trying to disguise it by talking gruffly.

“Uh, yeah.” This was seven kinds of weird, but oddly Joe didn’t feel scared. He was miffed the guy called him little one though. Joe may have only been five feet even, but that didn’t give him the right to ...

“Thank you, little one.”

Joe ground his teeth. Where did this dude get off calling him that? He was about to say something when the guy’s next words froze the comment in his throat.

“I’m going to put a blindfold on you.”

Joe tried to turn around, but the hand went back to his mouth and held him still. An arm wrapped around him to prevent the rest of his body from moving.

“Joe, don’t fight me. I repeat what I said earlier. If you cooperate, you won’t be harmed.”

Joe’s struggles slowly began to lessen, and the man loosened his hold.

“You’re being very brave, and trust me, this will be rewarded.”

A strip of cloth fell over Joe’s eyes and was tightened at the back of his head.

“Doing great, bud. Really great.” The voice never lost any of its calm reassurance or its gruff disguise.

Joe’s mind, now it had had time to process things a little, began to wonder as to the identity of his attacker. The guy was certainly strong, but from what he could tell, wasn’t much taller than he was.

Joe felt a warm, dry, gentle hand take hold of his dick. The hand stroked it a few times, then after a couple of quick shakes, Joe felt his equipment being put away. Once his fly was buttoned up, he felt a tender pat on his bulge. All of this diverted Joe’s mind from its previous task of trying to identify his assailant.

“Now the adventure truly begins. I’m gonna lead you out of here and to the parking lot. Then we’re gonna go on a long ride to somewhere real special. Somewhere where we can spend the weekend together.”

Joe tensed.

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing. It’s all been taken care of. I’ve called the restaurant and told them you’ll be, uh, tied up all weekend,” the guy laughed softly at his joke.

Joe shivered; he’d long held secret bondage fantasies, of being bound with rope. Could, would this guy do that to him?

“I ...” How did this man know where he worked, and ...

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, watching you real close. Oh, almost forgot.” Joe heard a zipper then rustling. He felt something being draped over his shoulders. “It’s to cover the handcuffs, we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves.”

Joe nodded uncertainly. And walking around with a strip of cloth over my eyes and being guided like a blind person wouldn’t draw people’s attention?

“Now we’re ready,” the voice said close to Joe’s ear. “Don’t make a fuss, and I promise you’ll have the most wonderful weekend you could ever imagine. Draw attention to us, and I’ll just release you and it’ll be over before it’s really begun. Capiche?”

“I’m scared, this is all --”

The rest of Joe’s words were cut off by a pair of lips closing over his. A hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him in closer, increasing the pressure of the kiss. After a moment the hand and the lips were removed, leaving Joe reeling and breathless.

“That’s just a taste of what’s ahead for you if you’re willing to cooperate.”

“I ... Uh.” Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed so completely, so passionately, so ...

“You want this weekend to happen?”

“Uh,” Talk about being in the Twilight Zone. “You promise not to hurt me, or --”

“I promise, babe.”

Did he say ‘babe’?

Joe felt the guy wrap an arm around his shoulders in jock casual fashion.

“Okay, ready to do this?”

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TRUCKER AND PUP by Drew Hunt

TRUCKER AND PUP by Drew Hunt

For months, office worker Kevin Lawrence has carried a torch for Joey Goldman, head driver at the haulage company where they both work. One rainy night, Kevin slips and falls on a patch of motor oil and Joey is there to catch him.

Despite being damaged both emotionally and physically from previous relationships, Kevin is helplessly drawn to the dominant trucker. Joey’s muscles and rugged good looks means he never has trouble finding men to take to bed. But no man has managed to get under his skin ... until Kevin.

Life for Joey soon becomes complicated. He isn’t out to his family, but feels an increasing need to be Kevin’s Sir -- to love, protect and guide his submissive lover.

Can Joey and Kevin make the journey together, or will outside forces and internal fears cause them to travel in opposite directions?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



As they stood side-by-side in the rain, Joey’s six feet three inch frame dwarfing that of Kevin’s five feet two inches, Joey couldn’t resist wrapping a protective arm around Kevin’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d ever had any prolonged physical contact with the slightly built man.

“Can you walk on that ankle?” he said, staring down at the shorter man.

Kevin tried to look away, but Joey held his gaze.

“I think so.” Kevin took a step but would have fallen if Joey hadn’t caught him.

“Well, that answers that question, then.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sir? Did he say sir? Joey asked himself. “Um, I can take you home on the back of my bike, it’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, no, honest, I can wait for the next bus, I’ll be all right.”

“Give over arguing, it’s decided.”

The smaller man sagged, seeming to resign himself to his fate.

“Come on, lean on me.” Joey wrapped an arm around Kevin, helping to support his weight as he hobbled along. The rain was beginning to creep under Joey’s leather jacket, causing him to shiver. “Shit, this is too slow.”

“Sorry, I can’t go any faster.”

“Sor-right, I know you can’t.” Joey picked Kevin up. As he carried him towards his motorcycle Kevin began to squirm. “Stop wriggling!” Joey commanded.

“Sorry.” Apart from the occasional shiver, Kevin managed to lie still.

After gently placing his charge on the pillion seat, Joey got out the spare helmet and made sure it was correctly positioned on Kevin’s head before straddling the bike and kick starting the engine. As usual, the throaty roar and the vibration between his legs gave Joey a thrill.

“Put your arms around me, and hold on!” Joey shouted, but Kevin didn’t respond. Obviously the guy didn’t hear him, or was too panicked to comply. Reaching behind himself, Joey grasped his passenger’s arms and wrapped them round his chest. Letting out the clutch, Joey sped out of the car park.

As he travelled down the rain-swept streets, Joey realised he hadn’t asked where Kevin lived. Maybe this was a conscious oversight; he’d just have to take the man back to his place. Joey smiled, his dick twitching at the thought.

The evening traffic was light, so it only took ten minutes to get home. Pulling up outside a set of garages, Joey hopped off his bike, unlocked the garage door, then got back on and drove the pair of them into the dark interior. Cutting the engine, Joey waited a few seconds for his ears to stop ringing before he took off his helmet.

Leaning back in the saddle, Joey was certain his passenger was sporting wood. Hmm, interesting.

“Okay, time to dismount.”

“But, but, I don’t live here.”

“I know, I thought I’d get you dried off and everything at my place first, okay?”

“But, but ...”

“Don’t argue. Come on.” Joey gave a light whack to Kevin’s behind; Kevin shot upwards in shock, and started to shake.

Christ, he’s a timid one. Better go careful.

The two made slow progress towards the back entrance to the block of flats, Kevin needing to lean quite heavily on Joey, the latter finding it strangely appealing.

“It’d be quicker if I carried you up the stairs.”

Kevin stiffened.

Turning Kevin round to face him, Joey stared down at the smaller man. “It’ll be okay. I don’t bite. Well not often anyway.” Joey laughed, but Kevin didn’t join in. “What’s wrong?” Joey lifted the smaller man’s drooping chin with a finger.

“Sorry, Sir,” the man said, still shaking.

What’s with all this sir shit? Joey mused as he picked the bloke up. Though he had to admit Kevin’s deference did give him a bit of a thrill. He’d role played with a few of his more adventurous tricks, Joey always taking the role of the master, of course. He wondered what would happen with a man who was naturally submissive.

Finally reaching the third floor, Joey gently set Kevin down as he fished out his key. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Joey said, carrying his human cargo into the hallway.

Joey was about to apologise for the mess which he knew would await them, he wasn’t much into housework, but the place shone like a new pin. Joey could even detect the faint odour of lavender furniture polish. He didn’t think he owned any furniture polish.

After setting Kevin on a stool in the kitchen, Joey went to the fridge to confirm his suspicions. Not finding what he was after, he depressed the pedal on his waste bin and pulled out an unopened packet of bacon. “For fuck’s sake!”

The harshness of his tone caused Kevin to start in alarm.

Joey noticed it and immediately went to reassure his guest. “Sorry. It’s just when I saw that the place had been cleaned, I knew my mother had been round.”

“Oh, right.”

“She’s Jewish, so’s my dad. Which of course makes me Jewish, too, though I don’t observe.”

“Okay.”

Looking at the clean kitchen, Joey went on, “And like mothers the world over, she can’t help sticking her nose in.” He put a set of flowered tea-towels in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, before fishing out his usual plain white ones. “Trust me, Yiddish mothers are the worst for interfering.”

Kevin looked sad.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, Pup, you can tell me.” Joey wondered why he’d used the epithet. It seemed to suit Kevin, those chocolate drop eyes of his looked so much like those of his dog, Bertie.

Kevin couldn’t meet Joey’s gaze, even though the latter had made a conscious effort to soften it. “My parents disowned me, um ... When they --”

“When they found out you were gay.”

Kevin stared at Joey in absolute terror.

Joey suddenly realised what he’d said. “It’s okay. I’ve known about you and Cal for ages, Cal didn’t exactly keep it a secret.” Joey recalled the many macho boasts Cal had imparted to his mates about how he was able to dominate his submissive partner. Though he’d remained unusually quiet on the subject recently.

“I’m not out to my family, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Joey shuddered at the thought of them knowing. Needing to change the subject, he said, “Listen, we’ll have to get you out of those wet things, otherwise you’ll catch your death. I’ll run you a bath, then I’ll find you something to put on, though none of my stuff will fit you.”

Kevin’s panic appeared to have lessened. “That’s okay, Sir, please just take me home, I’ll be fine.”

“Rubbish.” Joey was feeling protective towards his guest. “Come on, I’ll carry you to the bathroom, you can strip off in there.”

“No, honestly, I --”

“Pup,” Joey held Kevin’s face in his hands, “You’re staying for a bath, and it’s not negotiable.”

Kevin sagged, obviously giving into the inevitability of it all.

Joey hoisted up his burden and carried him into the bathroom. Putting Kevin down on the closed toilet lid, he began to run the water, making sure he added plenty of bubble bath.

“Now strip.”

“Um, it’s okay, Sir, I can manage, please.” Kevin looked up pleadingly into Joey’s face.

Something inside Joey shifted, making him feel…what? He wasn’t sure he could identify it. “Okay,” Joey said softly, backing out of the room. In the hallway, he slapped the side of his face. ‘You’re turning fucking soft, Joe.”

He walked back to the kitchen to rustle up some food. Deciding it probably wasn’t safe to use the bacon, he opted for his old standby of a couple of frozen TV dinners. Joey knew he was no cook.

Once the foil trays were in the oven, Joey remembered he hadn’t seen any towels in the bathroom. No doubt his mother had taken them back to her house to be washed. Reaching into the airing cupboard, he pulled out a couple of large bath sheets.

Pushing open the bathroom door, Joey said “Here’s some fresh ...” The rest of his statement died on his lips as he stared disbelievingly at the sight that greeted him.

Kevin lowered his shaking shoulders, a sob escaping from his lips. This snapped Joey out of his inactivity; he moved into the bathroom and went down on his knees in front of the bath. Reaching out a hand, he began to touch the numerous thin raised scars on Kevin’s exposed back. This only seemed to cause Kevin to weep harder. One of the more obvious marks was in the shape of a belt buckle. Joey battled to suppress his anger.

“Did Cal do this?” Joey asked through clenched teeth.

“Sorry, Sir. I ... I ... I didn’t want you to see them, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ...” Kevin dissolved totally.

Joey counted to ten, using the time to dig deep into his reserves of strength. Taking a deep breath -- and despite being fully clothed -- he reached for Kevin. Using as much gentleness as he could muster, Joey plucked the little bloke out of the bath. Wrapping a towel round the shaking ball of human misery, Joey sat on the closed toilet lid and seated Kevin on his knee, holding him close.

“Hush, Pup. Please hush.” He began to rock the smaller man.

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TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

High school quarterback Zack Pierce’s life is spiralling out of control.

To hide from his growing attraction to Sam, his best friend and team mate, Zack drinks, smokes dope, and has sex with any girl who will have him.

Things reach a crisis point when Zack’s girlfriend dumps him after she finds out he’s got another girl pregnant. Not knowing what else to do, Zack breaks out his father’s bourbon and calls Sam for help.

The call in the middle of the night scares Sam, who rushes to his friend’s side. Dare he risk everything by confessing what he feels for Zack? The next twelve hours will either make or break them.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.


Zack paced the floor of the den. It was all such a fucking mess. For years, he’d tried to ignore his problems, drinking, smoking or fucking them out of his mind. But in recent weeks, no matter what he did, the scary thoughts kept creeping in. He couldn’t stop them.

Zack reached up and tugged at his hair. It was all over the place, but he didn’t give a shit. He would normally spend ages on his hair, combing, gelling, and styling it just right. Jill would joke he spent longer on his hair than she did on hers. When she’d found out Janet was pregnant, and that he was probably the father, she’d dumped his ass.

He’d been at her house. She’d screamed and stamped her feet. She’d picked up everything from a hairbrush to CD’s, to a little statue of a pony he’d bought her, and had thrown them at him. He’d tried to talk her down, but when he’d gotten close, she’d slashed his cheek with her nails.

Zack reached up to his face. At least it had stopped bleeding.

He’d gotten the hell out of there. Her high-pitched screams had still been audible from the sidewalk. Once home, he’d lost no time in getting wasted on a bottle of his dad’s bourbon. Then not really knowing why, he’d called Sam. He hadn’t known what to say, and, fuck, he hadn’t meant to start crying. What a fuckin’ pussy. But he couldn’t hold it in any more. He needed another drink.

Stumbling in the direction of his parents’ bar in the corner of the den, Zack tripped over the coffee table.

“Who the fuck put that there!”

As he tripped, the glass in his hand knocked against the table and broke, shards scattering over the carpet.

Recovering, he stepped around the broken glass, made it to the bar, splashed a healthy slug of bourbon into another tumbler, added some ice, and threw back the glass’s contents.

“Zack?”

Sam’s voice startled Zack. He jerked his arm, and some of the liquor splashed onto his cheek, stinging like a motherfucker.

“Sumbitch!”

“Zack?” The voice was closer. “What the fuck you been doin’, man?”

Sam’s fingers touched the edge of his cheek.

Zack found himself leaning into the touch. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he jerked backward and swung at Sam. “What the fuck! You a fag or something?”

Sam stepped back, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

The momentum of Zack’s punch caused him to overbalance. He landed face first on the carpet, the glass landing next to him, its contents forming a puddle near his right ear. He could smell the alcohol as it soaked into the carpet. His mom would go ape shit! Suddenly, it all became too much. For close on six years, he had guarded the secret he’d held inside. But now, the break up with Jill, his shitty parents, the pain in his cheek, and now in his chest, were too big a burden for him to cope with any more. He curled into a ball and started to sob.

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