an: there is obviously more between this and ridin' but this story is a dA exclusive. if you want the in between, gotta gallop over there. the directions are on my lookup
He's got me hissing through my teeth, and I grip at the hood of the car like it's gonna give beneath my fingertips. I writhe against cherry red metal, cold under my cheek and chest and arms— thought it'd be hot, with a color like that, with my skin burning all over like it is. His cock's just thick, the kind of thick that throbs in me and has me purring his name like a goddamn whore. He keeps saying it against my ear, in that accent of his, but it don't mean what it used to.
I'm starting to think it don't mean anything and never did, like when he calls me a spic or a wetback or some half-creative slur he picked up from the niggers just south of Bridgeport. The way he grips my waist is reverent, the way he tastes my skin is downright sweet; his teeth remember the spots that make me quiver and gasp, that have my cock leaking obscenely and begging worse out of him. He cups my sac and gives it a too rough squeeze, rasping amongst his curses, "Alejandro."
Tyler says my name all wrong; he pulls the letters too tight and don't let it roll off the tongue, don't let the R have its Spanish life. He says it like something falling down the stairs, but he says it like it means something to him. He says it like I'm a saint, and I ain't just the thing he ravages then sobs at and holds when he gets too drunk cuz—
He's sober now. He's sober now, breathing all over my slick neck, and I tense under him. He only gotta touch me, and I'm spilling all over his knuckles, sticky and thick. He murmurs something about me being easy, and I snap back something caustic that I don't remember a second later. I'm soaked, and it ain't raining. We're just outside, too late for anyone else, and he quivers on a high like he's not known it before. When he collapses over me, he holds my wrist and says, "Yuh come here a lot."
"You ask me here a lot."
"I think y'should be 'round more." He kisses behind my ear, and he's called me beautiful before, but I think that's the sweetest thing he's said. I know it's the sweetest thing he said, sweeter than the time he took me real nice on his couch and kept kissing my mouth. Sweeter than when I picked him up at the garage and he walked me back home all disappointed and consoling because my papi called and screamed I was out too late.
I'm out too late now. If I turned over, I could see the city haze and dream of stars in Chicago silence, but Tyler's got all his weight on me, and I've been thinking a long time about him. I've been thinking about wanting him, and I've been thinking he ain't something I wanna have, he's something I gotta have.
Twisting beneath him, I catch his mouth and think of his neighbors and think of my parents and thinks of all the homophobic shit he likes to say about me. Think of the time I rimmed him, and he moaned so hot I almost came on myself. Think of the time he tucked my hair behind my ear, not thinking about it, just did it. Think of the times in his car, on his car, walking to his home and from it. Of the dank attic apartment and how much I love him.
I love him, and I know I'm thinking young and dumb, but I love him. Ain't gonna say it, but all I gotta say is, "All right."
He draws me up, we traverse the rickety fire escape that's grown to know my weight, and I don't think we're liaisons anymore.