Flood Gates

He was told he would be compensated, but still he grumbled as he collected what little dry clothing remained to him in the flooded hotel room. Wading past the bed, he scowled at the torrential downpour outside, throwing his sodden clothes into the bathroom which was infuriatingly the driest place in the room. Sopping shirts struck the mirror with a satisfying smack, and slipped, soaking, into the sink. At least he had that. Damp and barely legible in his jeans pocket was a note from the hotel staff, which read in its scrawling print, “Mr. Gene Norris: Due to flooding, we feel that it is necessary to evacuate some rooms. You will be relocated to another room, but because of the holiday, the hotel is at maximum occupancy. We request your patience in this time of emergency, as you will need to share a room with another guest. Please proceed to the front desk at check-out to claim your compensation. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Damned if he was ever coming back to this godforsaken hell-hole. He couldn’t blame the staff for the storm, but he could easily blame them for their shoddy weatherproofing that resisted water like cheesecloth. He clenched his jaw as his shoes squished wetly in the water-logged hallway. His pants were drenched up to his knees, his hair hung matted and dripping, and his expression was one of long-suffering as he knocked on the door indicated by a number on the back of the note. No response. He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing. He knocked a third time, grew impatient, and used his key-card to open the door.

Through the doorway he had a perfect view of the other person in the room, or rather his ass. Whoever it was stood bent over, pulling up his pants, and Gene could do little but stare at thighs, ass, back, shoulders, all bare. The other man fastened his pants and turned to grab a shirt off the bed, saw Gene, and realized he’d just mooned his impromptu roommate. ‘Brush it off,’ the man thought, mortified.

“Sorry about that,” he said, as casually as he could. “I just got out of the shower and then got the call saying you were coming, so I had to throw something on.” Gene nodded. He felt like he’d just been audience to a burlesque show. “Well, come in, I guess.” As Gene crossed the room, allowing the door to close behind him, the other extended his hand. “I’m Michael, by the way.” “Gene,” he answered, shaking Michael’s hand. “Jeez, you’re soaked. Do you have dry clothes?” Gene lifted his two plastic shopping bags of clothing, and Michael suggested that he change into something dry. Gene changed as quickly as he could in Michael’s bathroom, considering the wet fabrics clung unpleasantly to his skin. He could smell Michael’s shampoo, or conditioner, or shower gel, or some product. He recognized it as some masculine brand, Red Zone or Old Spice or something. Showers meant nakedness, and that brought back the memory of walking in on a mostly naked Michael. The guy really had a great ass. Gene grabbed a mid-sized towel and rubbed his shoulder-length hair with it furiously, walking out of the bathroom with the towel around his neck.

“Hey, I’m heating up some soup,” Michael said, as Gene wandered over to the small microwave where Michael stood. “Want some?” Gene thought soup would probably be good, as he was still chilled, and said “Sure,” with a nonchalant shrug. Michael had put on a shirt, and Gene admitted to himself that he was a little disappointed. So sue him, who doesn’t like to look at a nice body? There was a small table shoved against a wall, and they sat across from each other, eating their soup as the power flickered in the storm.

“Sorry to be crowding your room like this,” Gene said as he finished his soup.
“Don’t worry about it,” the other answered, scraping the last of his soup into his spoon. “Wasn’t your fault.” He looked up at Gene and suddenly remembered, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. They said they’d send a cot up here for you to sleep on.”
“I wouldn’t hold them to anything.” Gene’s experience at the hotel had not been the best, and this was just the icing on the cake. Michael shrugged. “I can call housekeeping for it, if you want.”
“Eh, I’m not too tired just yet. Being soaked through in icy water tends to wake you up.” Michael laughed and accepted that.
The power went out and Michael said, “Damn it…and I was just about to see if there was anything on TV.” He stumbled to a window in the darkness and opened the curtains. A street lamp shone directly outside the window, giving the room some light.
“I bet that made it difficult to sleep,” Gene commented.
“That’s why the curtains were closed,” Michael said. Gene chuckled, not at the statement, but that the way Michael had said it. Gene had leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head as he reclined. Michael decided he’d been lucky; he had been afraid that whoever the hotel relocated to his room would be obnoxious or rude or old and gross. Instead, he seemed to be getting along pretty well with Gene, who wasn’t bad looking at all.

Still, the guy had seen his ass. Michael quickly pushed the thought out of mind over and over, but it was pretty humiliating. He went to the mini-fridge and pulled a beer from a six-pack he’d stashed in there. He offered another to Gene, who accepted it appreciatively. They sat and drank and chatted and laughed with nothing much to do. Finally, after they’d each had a few, Gene said, “So that was one hell of a greeting you gave me.” Michael choked a little on his beer. “Fuck you, I already told you what happened.” He looked dryly at Gene, “What, did you think I was giving you a show? Jesus.” He rolled his eyes.

“Who said I wanted to see what’s in your pants?” Gene joked back.
“I think you just insulted me!” Michael feigned scandalous outrage. “Just what are you implying?” he challenged Gene didn’t even answer, he just raised an eyebrow with a cocky expression that egged Michael on further. “Oh yeah?” he almost sneered, standing. “Well take a look at this!” Michael shoved down the front of his pants and Gene judged his length with a stoic face. “So what?” he asked, as though it was no big deal. Still, his pleasantly buzzed mind was racing with possibilities.

“You think you can do better?” Michael goaded.
“Well…yeah,” Gene answered matter-of-factly. He pulled out his ‘equipment’, and Michael stared.
“…You win,” Michael conceded. He tucked himself back in his pants, turning away. He was afraid that his thoughts would show on his face because DAMN if Gene didn’t have the kind of cock that would make him beg and scream like a little girl. Gene noticed how quickly the other had turned away, and briefly considered his words before deciding to just bite the bullet.

“Hey, you gay?” He asked, flatly, leaving Michael to guess at subsequent scorn or acceptance. Michael didn’t want to answer that question. If he answered truthfully, he might make the other man uncomfortable, and they had to spend the night together, and if he lied, well… he’d lose any chance of having Gene… in bed. He looked over his shoulder at Gene who was sitting relaxed and looking a little sly in is chair. “Why?” Michael asked, avoiding the question. “’Cuz I wanna know,” Gene persisted. It was the hint of mischief Michael caught in Gene’s manner that made him shrug casually and say, “Yeah?” in a ‘what of it?’ tone. Gene grinned and Michael’s heart pounded.

“Good,” Gene said. “C’mere.” He let his chair fall forward onto all four legs, again, the forward thrust allowing him to snatch the front of Michael’s shirt and pull him close. Michael was yanked forward and teetered on his balance, and Gene tugged the front of his shirt roughly enough to make Michael fall into his lap. “So what do you think of me?” Gene had a feeling that Michael wouldn’t reject him, and decided to take the chance. Michael wasn’t sure what to say, but he caught the expression on Gene’s face and thought, ‘Hell, if he’s being blunt, why can’t I?’ He looked Gene square in the face and said, “I think you’re sexy.” He kept his face stoic, and waited for Gene’s reaction.

“Alright, then.” Gene answered with a little smile, and leaned forward to press his lips to Michael’s. The whole set-up was pretty ridiculous, but life can be nutty sometimes, and take you for unexpected trips. Michael was having a hard time keeping up with how surreal this evening seemed, and wondered if it was better to give up, give in, and just go with it, or to back out before he did something he’d regret later. Gene bit Michael’s lower lip, and Michael made a sound in his throat. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, ‘How did he know?’ It would be really hard for him to resist Gene, now, and he wondered what he was really getting himself into.

“Hey,” he pulled back, but Gene followed. “HEY,” Michael said, a little more insistently, trying to evade Gene’s lips and get his attention, but every time he pulled back to break away, Gene leaned further to follow him. “Gene, I SAID, whoa--!” He’d leaned back too far and lost his balance, pulling Gene over with him, toppling the chair with a loud clatter.

“What?” Gene finally answered in a muffled voice, his face buried in Michael’s chest where he’d fallen. Michael looked up at the ceiling.
“What…What are we doing?” His expression was almost pained. He had some sort of inexplicable fear, and tried to rationalize it. Hell, he’d only known Gene for a matter of hours, and there he was, straddling the guy’s lap and making out with him like a horny schoolgirl. ‘I haven’t gotten any since fucking July,’ he thought to himself. ‘This is pathetic. I’m pathetic. What does he think he’s doing?’ Gene rolled over and sat up.

“Way to kill the mood.” Gene scoffed, half serious. He breathed a long sigh, craving a cigarette and knowing his pack was soaked. What was he doing, exactly? “I dunno, I was kinda leaning towards fucking you like an animal,” he stated blandly. Michael made an odd sound. Gene stared at the ceiling as Michael had been earlier, but as Gene refused to make eye contact, Michael studied him. He weighed his options, considered, and finally said, “Are you clean?” Gene couldn’t help the wide stare he turned on Michael, who fought to maintain his brazenly stolid expression. He wanted so badly to look down, look away, but that would be admitting defeat.

“Um, yeah, I actually just got tested last week. I’m not carrying anything.”
“Good to know,” Michael answered, nodding slowly.
“Why, you aren’t infected, are you?” Gene asked suddenly. Michael shook his head violently.
“No!” he coughed, realizing how loud he’d been. “I get regular check-ups. I’m clean.” Gene nodded. There was an uncomfortable silence broken by the drum of the rain.
“So…” Michael finally drawled.
“So?” Gene encouraged, hopeful. A pause.
“Fuck it,” Michael almost growled, throwing his arms around Gene’s neck and kissing him fiercely, their kiss deepening as Gene slowly laid back onto the floor, rolling them over again so his larger frame caged Michael below him. He broke the kiss with an audible smack and mouthed his way over to Michael’s ear. He tugged on the lobe with his teeth and grinned impishly at Michael’s sharp intake of breath. Only when he made his way down to Michael’s neck did Gene get the reaction he was looking for, though. As Gene attacked Michael’s neck and shoulder, he felt the body below him twitch, and then Michael groaned and arched into him, pleading. Gene discovered that Michael had a little bite fetish, as the sharper he bit, the better Michael’s response. Gene took his sweet time, not because he wanted to torture Michael who was obviously clamouring for something more, but because he was nearly drunk on the sounds Michael made. This was going to be a good night. Gene loved vocal bedmates, loved being able to hear how much they were enjoying themselves.

“God DAMN it, Gene! If you’re trying to make me cum in my pants, just fucking keep that up,” Michael complained, his hips bucking into Gene’s, never quite getting enough friction.
“What’s the fun in that?” Gene asked, finally pulling his mouth from Michael’s skin. Actually, he thought there would be a LOT of fun in that, but of course, he had other plans. Gene sat up, kneeling over Michael, looking him over. Michael felt uncomfortable under the weight of Gene’s stare as he hadn’t under Gene’s physical weight. He shifted, propping himself up on his forearms and giving Gene a questioning look, which earned him a smile and a chaste kiss before Gene stood and walked into the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” Michael called from his position on the floor. Gene leaned out of the bathroom’s doorway and answered, “You got any oil or lotion or Vaseline or something?” Michael actually felt his face heat. This was it, the point of no return. He stood and walked to the nightstand, and in his efforts to look casual nearly pulled the drawer completely off of its track before tossing a brightly-coloured tube to Gene who caught it, and quirked his eyebrow at it suggestively. He raised his gaze to Michael, peering from under his eyebrows at him.

“Blue raspberry, Michael?” He asked in a saccharine tone.
“It was what the store had,” Michael replied, shrugging. Gene smirked. Tossing and catching the tube, he walked over to Michael and crowded him until Michael backed into the bed. Gene leaned forward and pressed Michael backward until the position got uncomfortable and Michael scooted back to lie on the pillows. He lay in a deliberately suggestive pose and beckoned to Gene with an upward tilt of his chin, trying desperately to look like he knew what he was doing. He was trying to suppress the fear, the feeling that this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be offering himself up like this to a stranger, but his pulse still fluttered like a caught bird under Gene’s lips. Gene felt heady with desire. He felt like he could watch Michael all day, stare at him, watch his body move, curve and curl and clench and… Gene’s blood surged just thinking about it. He turned a pilgrim’s face to Michael, wanting nothing less than to worship the wiry body beneath him. Michael’s stomach quailed under that look. Something in him urged flight. Gene looked predatory in the worst sense. And as Gene’s mouth descended again, scalding Michael’s skin like a branding iron, he could not help but feel devoured.

Michael writhed, his muscles bunching of their own accord, his mouth running off on him and barking pleas and encouragements and the blackest of curses. The onslaught of feeling never let up, and Gene was sucking him perfectly and he was all but howling, his eyes clenched shut and his quadriceps twitching uncontrollably. His back bowed into a perfect arc and his breath caught on a ragged scream as he climaxed, and Gene pulled off, allowing Michael to come all over his own chest and stomach. Michael collapsed onto the bed after a few moments, panting, his body still humming with the aftershocks. Gene let the puddle that was Michael luxuriate for a little while, before nudging him with a low, “Hey.”

“…Hm?” Michael’s conscious mind was out to lunch, floating in pools of black and red and little zinging specks of light. He turned his head to Gene, who looked like… Michael’s deliciously fucked mind couldn’t come up with anything more creative than, “You look like sex on wheels.” And then he laughed at himself for sounding like a goon. Gene grinned like a wolf. He wanted to burn into his mind this image of Michael, spread out and pink with a sex-flush, hair hanging damply at his temples, a semi-translucent splash of release on his stomach. Gene groaned and all but fell over Michael’s body, a lump of clay, molding himself to the slimmer figure beneath him, grinding mindlessly as his teeth found interesting places to dimple flesh.

“Ngh, Gene, Fuck, I--” He made a guttural noise, slowly regaining hardness and Gene rubbed his body against his own. “Fucking do something USEFUL, you goddamned cocksucking shit-eating sonnuvabitch!” And he moaned again, long and low, as Gene rocked their naked lengths together, taking them in hand. Michael forced his eyes open and rolled his eyes from his erection pressed flush against Gene’s in the other’s rough hand, up a tasty torso to a face where he expected a leer… but Gene seemed far, far, gone. He was panting, and his long hair was hanging in sweaty strings in his face. His eyes were closed, and he was making pleased noises in his throat. Michael’s heart lurched, swelling and hammering with want.

“Gene,” he croaked, wishing his voice had come out less strained.
“…Hm?” Gene didn’t look up. Michael fought with his voice, and finally managed, “Fuck me.” Gene stilled. He swallowed. He dragged his eyes up to Michael’s flushed face and Michael had to smile at Gene’s expression. Gene nodded and fumbled for the little blue tube he’d tossed on the bed earlier. He warmed the gel between his fingers, the fruity scent spreading in the air. Michael watched as Gene took a lick and hummed at the flavour.

“Not bad, not bad,” he commented. Michael blushed. “Ready?” Gene asked, his fingers dancing around Michael’s entrance. Michael shivered and nodded. Gene steeled himself, gently easing a finger in. Michael tried his best to relax, but thoughts of what was to follow had his heart pounding and his breath heaving. Gene mumbled little assurances, meant to calm the other, but the low growl of his voice only stimulated Michael further. He panted through one finger, keened through two, but three, at a certain angle, perfectly nailed his prostate and he bucked, rasping his throat on breathlessness, his lungs too empty to scream. Gene petted Michael’s stomach absently, his own mind frantic with visions. By the time Michael was spewing pleas and nonsense words, Gene couldn’t hold out much longer, and decided the tight ass was as prepared as it was going to be. He positioned himself, waited a beat, Michael whined, high and long, and Gene pushed in, slowly, Michael groaning low in his throat until Gene was seated fully and they could begin.

Michael panted, adjusting, Gene’s muscles twitching and shaking and begging to snap him back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until he was raw and red and satisfied and there was no space between him and the other, and maybe, maybe if he rammed him hard enough, they’d fuse together and he’d never never have to be away from the clenched glove squeezing him so hotly and perfectly he didn’t ever want to lose the feeling. Michael shifted and Gene knew. He drew back and Michael clenched his jaw, swallowing the noise of protest. This was always the worst part. It stung and he rolled his head waiting for the pain to fade. Gene snapped forward and Michael found his rhythm, his months of inactivity being plowed away.

“You’re quiet,” Gene commented sparsely. He’d become accustomed to Michael’s constant noise.
Michael faltered with his answer. “Because… you…AGH.” He was moaning. “GOD, Gene… You’re so. Fucking. UNGHH.” It felt like Gene was fucking his guts, his heart, his throat. “So big, so good. Oh god--!” He was being hammered with pleasure, and knew what it was to be a breakwall, the onslaught of waves unrelenting.

Gene growled appreciatively, loving the compliment. He speeded his thrusts and soon Michael was keeping up a constant stream of noise, and Gene gritted his teeth as he changed his angle, and Michael all but screamed, his voice hoarse, and Gene gripped Michael’s hips and pounded in harder than he had ever done and he could tell Michael was loving it and Gene fisted Michael’s erection with his other hand and listened to the way Michael’s breath came shorter and faster and his little noises became more broken and he knew, oh he knew that Michael was close, and Michael screamed and came, Gene’s name a thousand times on his lips as he panted and bucked against Gene’s continuing thrusts and Gene followed him, roaring with his orgasm, and time stood still.

Later when they were lying in bed, lethargic with the aftershocks of great sex, Michael lay stretched out while Gene sat upright with his legs crossed. Gene craved nicotine even worse than before, and he looked over at Michael when the other stretched luxuriously.

“Mmm, fuck.” Michael said, a lazy grin on his face. Gene had to laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, stretching out next to Michael in the bed. He suddenly realized the hotel never had brought him a cot, and he laughed harder. Michael didn’t know what was so funny, but he started laughing along with him, most likely laughing at the situation in general.

As luck would have it, they didn’t live too far away from one another, and Michael saved Gene’s number in his cell. Gene decided that yes, indeed, he had been compensated.



If you enjoyed this, please take the time to read my other stories, which can be found on my author's page.