Stranger Placres Read online

  Stranger Places

  A Torquere Press Single Shot by Willa Okati

  He's a punk.

  A short, blond-haired, blue-eyed, chain-smoking punk, pierced and tattooed in more places than you can count -- unless you know him as well as Daniel does. He's got an attitude the size of Texas, has enough balls for a herd of cowboys, and rides a Harley chopper almost as tall as he is.

  Not Daniel's type at all.

  But here they are, committed to each other, and they have the tattooed wedding rings to prove it. Who'd have thought?

  Daniel's sitting on his front porch one afternoon, sipping a glass of iced tea and admiring the inked band on his finger, when things start to shake up a little. First, it starts with Rack bounding out to his bike, parked in their driveway, and giving it a thorough check over.

  "You just rode that this morning," Daniel calls. "What happened; did something go wrong?"

  "Nah, love. Just want to make sure it's in tip-top condition." Rack continues tinkering with the cycle's innards while Daniel watches idly. It's a lazy afternoon, and if he's not busy in the workshop, this is the kind of day he loves best. Just him and Rack and hopefully, later, sex. Lots and lots of sex.

  This is pretty much a sure bet when Rack is part of the equation.

  Rack gives the bike a final pat and stands up, stripping off his T-shirt. Daniel admires the view of that inked-up chest full of nifty little studs and rings before he realizes Rack's using the T to polish his bike. "Hey!" he protests, because he's the one who does the laundry. "Easy on the garments, there."

  Rack has the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, sorry. Got a bit over-excited is all. I'll go and get one of the dusting rags from the shop, shall I?" And he's off, all energy on a day hot enough to make you want to sit and sip tea in the shade. Daniel's mildly entertained, though, so he sits and waits, watching to see what happens next.

  Rack bounds back out with cleaning rags in hand and bends to his task, still naked from the waist up. Daniel takes a long drink of his tea because his mouth is watering. Rack naked in any way, shape, or form is never a bad thing, and he's getting hot just looking at his partner's chest, at the lean muscles that line his torso, and in particular at the new titanium hoops through his nipples. He remembers playing with those last night, and the fun he had when Rack arched and yelled after Daniel played too rough -- but he loved it.

  "What are you up to?" he asks in a bit, because Rack is taking so much care with his bike that it's a cause for curiosity. He's even got the polish out and he's brightening up the chrome. "Is there a show in town or something?"

  "Nah, love, better than that." Rack puts his rags and can of polish down and runs up to the porch, bending to give Daniel a kiss that smells like gasoline but tastes like cigarette smoke and coffee. Daniel licks his lips when Rack pulls away -- it's a hurried kiss -- and reaches after the man.

  "What's your hurry? We could go back inside, maybe have a nooner…"

  "No time to waste, pet. We're burning daylight as it is. Got to get there before midnight or they all turn into pumpkins, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" Rack sprints into the house, where Daniel shortly begins to hear a series of clanking noises.

  He swivels on his chair and gives his house a dose of hairy eyeball in lieu of Rack. What kind of bee does he have in his bonnet now? They're supposed to be resting up for their big trip around the world, the tattoo tour that will be their real honeymoon. And what's all this about burning daylight and turning into gourd vegetables? Sounds fishy to him, and he has a feeling that Rack's forgotten to tell him something.

  Standing, he heads into the house, pausing to appreciate the blast of air conditioning that hits him when he enters the living room. He appreciatively inhales the scent of good cedar and pine wafting from his workshop, then continues on toward the increasing rattling noises, and, presumably, Rack.

  Got it in one. Rack is standing in the kitchen, rummaging through pots and pans. "Eh up, there you are," he says cheerfully as Daniel enters. "Where's the cast-iron skillet, then?"

  Daniel looks warily at him. "That thing weighs a ton. It's at the bottom of the stack."

  "Ah! Cheers." And Rack's diving down into the mess of cookie sheets and baking pans, going for the gold.

  "Rack…?"

  "Yeah, love?"

  "Why do you need the cast-iron skillet?" Daniel rests his arms on the kitchen counter. "What are you doing; making cornbread?" The idea causes his stomach to rumble. Rack's definitely not Southern, but one of his clients is, and she's traded recipes with him. His home-fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, and bacon cornbread are not to be believed. Out of this world. "Are you hungry for dinner already?"

  "What? Oh no, no. I just need to pack it, is all. Ha! Got you, you sorry little bastard." Rack hauls out the skillet and wields it proudly. "God, this thing's got some heft on it. If those stories were true, you could likely knock me out with one blow from this thing."

  "Forget stories, I could probably crack your skull. Not that I'm planning on it." Daniel captures the waving skillet and removes it from Rack's hands. "Okay, you've got me. What's going on?"

  "The camping trip, love. Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

  Daniel stops in his tracks. It's kind of hard to forget something you've never known. He's about to say as much when Rack leaps off for the bedroom, like Tigger on speed just as always, and Daniel hears the closet doors open.

  He follows his lover in there, where he finds Rack dragging two oversized knapsacks off a top shelf and dropping them with noisy thunks to the floor. "There, those ought to hold everything," he says with a degree of pride, as if he were the designer. "Daniel, doll, this one is yours, right? Fill her up, but go easy, eh? We'll be riding with these on our backs. I couldn't find a hitch to rent or borrow to save my life."

  "Rack whoa, whoa, back up. Camping trip? Since when are we going camping?" Daniel leans against the doorway. Watching Rack jump around with so much energy is making him tired on a day when he'd pretty much planned to laze around anyway, and he's not geared up for this level of activity.

  Rack looks up, surprised. "The gathering, Dan. I showed you the brochure and all a few weeks back."

  Daniel tries to remember. He can't. "Not that I recall. What brochure? When?"

  "Look, right here." Rack jumps to their shared dresser and digs among a pile of flyers, leaflets, and coupons (those belong to Daniel). He comes up with something Xeroxed on lavender paper, and already Daniel can tell that this is a Bad Idea, capital letters. "It's for blokes like us, who've committed to each other, see? A campout in the woods not too far from here. Few hours' ride. We can make it in three on the bike. Lake Shining Water. They've got cabins and all." He pushes the brochure at Daniel. "Well, go on, have a look, it won't bite."

  Daniel isn't all too sure about that, but he takes the flyer. Nope, definitely never seen this before, and he thinks he'd remember. The front features two "male" signs linked together, with a large-font, bold "Commit to a Weekend Together!" logo. "Rack…"

  "I know, I know, it's a bit precious and all that." Rack waves his hand absently as he yanks open a dresser drawer and starts rooting amongst his jeans. "But read the inside. They've got the whole weekend planned out; it's brilliant. And we get to hang out with our own kind, like. Men who've taken the plunge and all."

  Dubiously, Daniel opens the flyer and reads on. There's a diagram of cabins, one of which Rack has circled in a red pen. Must be theirs, then. A slip of paper flutters out, which he catches and reads -- a confirmation of reservations, featuring more smiley faces than should be allowable by law.

  Putting that aside, he focuses on the text. Canoeing, swimming, nature trail hiking, campfires, fishing… it all sounds great. Just the kind of vacation
Daniel would love, except that no one had told him he was going.

  "Rack, you never mentioned a word about this," Daniel says, tossing the flyer back onto the dresser. "I've got plans for this weekend. I was going to work on that hand-carved headboard. That's five thousand dollars if I get all the characters right." He's been referred to a rich customer with a Shakespeare fetish, and they want a scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream on their custom-made bed. The wood he's working on is heavy as hell, the artwork is only half done, and his promised date of completion is coming up fast.

  "You're fast, love, you'll catch up soon. Barely notice a day or two off, you will."

  Daniel shakes his head. "And what about the tattoo parlor? Is that just going to take care of itself, too?"

  "Nah! I shut it down for the weekend."

  "Shut it -- Rack, are you out of your mind? Saturday and Sunday are your busiest days!"

  "So? I'm already rolling in it from being the best and fastest inkslinger in the West." Rack mimes two shooting pistols, grins impishly at Daniel, and stuffs a pair of particularly worn jeans in his knapsack. He follows those up with a pair of boxers, a swimsuit that's barely more than a Speedo -- granted, Rack has the kind of body that can wear a Speedo without shame -- and a couple of paint-stained T-shirts. "There!"

  He sprints for the bathroom. Daniel follows, still trying to get this all straight in his mind. "So you signed us up? Without even asking me?"

  "Course I asked you. You said yes, too."

  "When, Rack?" A suspicion is forming in the back of Daniel's mind. "When did you ask me about this? Because if it was during sex, you really ought to know that I would promise you I'd fly to the moon and see if it was made out of green cheese or not."

  "We were a bit occupied at the time," Rack agrees cheerfully. "But you said sure, anything I wanted." He pauses, a fond smile on his face. "Then you finished letting me blow you. God, I can still taste the come in my mouth. That was a good one, that was."

  He picks up his toothbrush and paste, dropping them into a small travel kit. Hesitating over a shaving kit, he leaves that behind, grabs a wrapped bar of soap instead, and heads back out into the bedroom.

  Daniel sighs, picks up a washcloth, and follows him. "Here."

  "What? Oh, cheers, pet." The whole kit and caboodle disappears into Rack's pack. "There, all done. You haven't even started yet, have you?" Rack shakes his head. "Get a move on, would you? I don't fancy arriving after dark. We'll miss dinner. I hear they do a fantastic grill every night."

  "From who?"

  "Eh, now?"

  "Who do you hear this from?"

  "Oh, a few people, you know, here and there." Again with the hand wave. "Believe one of my customers mentioned it. They do this every year. Yeah, that's right; he's the one who gave me the flyer, now I think of it. Guy sounded right enthused about the whole thing. S'what gave me the idea that you and I should go."

  Daniel's wavering, about to give up. If he told Rack he'd go, then it's his word of honor. However, if he promised during sex, he definitely wasn't thinking with his big head, so in his opinion the promise is compromised. "How long is this trip going to take us again?" He's developing a headache behind his eyes. "And do I have to sing or dance or share my feelings or anything?"

  Rack sits back on his heels and laughs. "Nah, nah, none of the above! It's just a good time in the woods with a bunch of the lads. Now, let's see. Have I forgotten anything?"

  "Condoms," Daniel says, deadpan.

  "Condoms!" Rack bounces up and heads for the bedside table, before stopping in mid-flight. He turns around accusingly. "Here, we haven't used a rubber in ages."

  "I know. I just wanted to see if you were listening to a word I say."

  "Absolutely, every syllable." Rack's fingers twitch. "Say, d'you mind if I --"

  "Yes, I mind." Daniel has one steadfast rule: no smoking indoors, not even after sex. Rack has to get up, get dressed, and go outside if he wants to tar up his lungs when they're done making the bedsprings bounce. "Rack, I honest to God don't really think I can spare the time to go off like this."

  Rack looks as crestfallen as a child who's dropped his ice cream. "Oh, eh, then. You should have said. We're booked and all now. Money paid down. It's a bit late to be backing out, if you ask me."

  "Yeah, well, that's the point. I don't remember you asking me." For all his tough talk, Daniel is wavering. He can't stand up to the power of the pout, and Rack knows his weapon all too well.

  "I did, though." Rack saunters toward Daniel, a certain look gleaming in his eyes.

  "You asked during sex. That's dirty pool."

  "Oh, yeah, it was. Nice and raunchy." Rack's slow stride has brought him chest-to-chest with Daniel now, and he's pressing up against him, letting Daniel feel all his chilly metal piercings through Daniel's own loose workout shirt. "I had you screaming, as I recall."

  "Not like screaming doesn't happen too often." Daniel's going to lose this argument, he just knows it. "At least not when you blow me. Or fuck me."

  "Or vice versa," Rack purrs. He finger-walks his hand up Daniel's arm, curling his fingers around the bicep. "Mmm, lovely strong man. I do adore the way you're built. Nice and solid, like a brick shi--"

  "Rack."

  "Hush, now." Rack stands up on his toes and gives Daniel a kiss. A long, slow, wet kiss, sliding his tongue into Daniel's mouth. Daniel moans and kisses Rack back, because he can't not. When Rack pulls away, he's got the look on his face that might as well be a traffic sign warning for Sex Ahead. "So you forgot. Not a big deal. I didn't remind you. But I can make things up to you, can't I?"

  "Rack…"

  "Quiet now," Rack insists, pressing a finger to Daniel's mouth. "We've got time for a quickie before you pack and we head out. And now that it's on my mind, I'm dying for a taste of you. What do you say?" He moved his other hand to Daniel's fly. "Eh, I see part of you doesn't mind the idea. Come on, then, Dan," he wheedles. "Let me have you, and come along with me on this trip."

  Daniel's almost over the edge into compliance. "One of the good kind?" he asks. "My favorite?"

  "Best you've ever had," Rack promises, already starting to sink to his knees. He pulls Daniel's zipper down, and takes him out of his jeans. He's hard -- difficult not to be, around Rack when he's in an amorous mood -- and ready for action. He is Action Man, except he's anatomically correct.

  Rack traces the tattooed pattern up Daniel's cock with the tip of his tongue, stopping to manipulate each stud along the way. Daniel groans and tilts his head back, fingers already reaching for Rack's hair, his shoulders, anything to grab onto.

  "Easy, now," Rack croons. And Daniel knows that he'd better hold on, because he's in for a hell of a ride. A long, slow descent into madness.

  He's right. Rack spends what seems like ages doing the delicate, finicky work of licking Daniel's cock from tip to base, teasing him until he's harder than stone and oozing a bubble or two of pre-come. Rack licks those off and gets an expression like a cat that's been in the cream. No pun intended. Looking down at him, Daniel feels his cock jump in Rack's grasp.

  With the preliminaries over, it's time for the real show. Rack lowers his mouth to the head of Daniel's cock and slowly slides his mouth over it, careful of all the piercings, but running his own tongue stud up the length of the long vein. He takes Daniel in completely, until Daniel can feel his dick bumping the back of Rack's throat, and then swallows.

  All hell breaks loose. Daniel's knees almost give, and he has to brace himself against the wall. Rack makes a low, humming sound that almost drives him insane, like the buzzing of bees, and hollows out his cheeks with the force of his suction. Ever so slowly, he draws his way back down again, the piercings pulling with a sharp sting of pleasure calculated to drive Daniel out of his ever-lovin' mind.

  It works, too.

  Rack slides back up Daniel's cock, busy tongue working and suction applied with the force of a man who truly loves sucking dick. He pauses after the next down stroke to suck D
aniel's balls into his mouth, one at a time, rolling the nuts on his tongue. Those are pierced, too, and while it hurt like a bitch to have the work done, there's nothing that can compare to the feeling of having the studs jostled along with his sensitive balls.

  Daniel groans and leans back, breathing in short, raspy gasps. Rack laughs, soft and low, and lets go of Daniel's balls to return to his cock. He's working it in earnest now, practiced movements that never go old, sliding up and down with a pressure almost as sweet and tight as being inside a taut, rounded ass. Daniel sees stars, fireworks, and the sweet baby Jesus, as he feels his orgasm coming on.

  "Rack," he pants. "Gonna come. Can't wait."

  Rack hums again around his cock, and Daniel explodes in his mouth. Rack swallows around him gulp after gulp, and then his busy tongue is working at the shaft, cleaning him up with one lick after another. Daniel sucks in air like a man who's almost drowned as he tries to keep his balance and almost fails. In the end, he has to half-bend and brace his weight on Rack, who's still not done lavishing Daniel's cock with the love.