Date: Fri, 17 Dec 1999 00:31:19 -0500


I shook all over, standing in the constant temperature lab next to the cold
body of my lover. Rawhide looked as though he were about to start
breathing, about to sit up and smile that soft mocking smile at me.

The smile I'd fucking woken up to for the past ten years. Not that I loved
him. I didn't. I couldn't. Wouldn't. But it was the closest I'd ever
been to love. He'd been my lover and my best friend, which was more than
the Knight of the Lesser Boulevards had any right to expect.

More than I'd expected when Buckaroo found me, fifteen years ago, selling
my body to pay for college, at any rate. Rawhide was with him even then,
thinner, barely twenty-two, long muscular legs, broad shoulders, hands that
made me think indecent thoughts.

His hands were cold and still now, and it was hard to believe that last
night they'd run over my body, warm and firm; probed inside of me--opened
me gently for him, as gently as if I were some nervous virgin, not a man
who'd first been fucked at fourteen and who had been his steady lover for
ten years. The hours and days of heat and sex and sweat between us; the
years of working side by side--every instant he kept me grounded and sane
and even now I could hear his voice in my head.

"No strike teams, Tommy, y'hear?"

"Tommy, baby, they're just kids--put the gun *down*."

"Tommy, you're worth it. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're not
a worthless whore, buddy, you never were."

"Tommy, I *said* no strike teams!"

"Shut up and fuck me, Tommy."

I reached out and touched him, ran my hand from his temple down the side of
his face to his neck, down the neck, over the broad muscles of his shoulder
and chest and stomach to his groin. I cupped the cold genitals, remembered
them firm and hard inside me.

He didn't move, didn't breathe.

I leaned forward and kissed him, his lips chill against mine; slid my hand
from his cock up under his shirt. The soft hair of his chest hadn't
changed in death: it still curled around my fingers like a living thing,
and I sobbed against his mouth.

I stretched out on top of him, wanting to warm him. If I could warm him,
he might wake, might wrap his arms around me and move his hips under mine.
I tore at his clothes, wanting him naked beneath me one last time--one last
time, my friend, I need you. Keep me whole just one last time, just for
one more night. Please.

I couldn't stop thinking of the first time, when he ran his hands over my
hips and wrapped his mouth around my cock. Something no man had ever
bothered to do, to take me inside, to make me feel as though my own
pleasure was something to care about. His beard scraped my thighs gently
and his fingers traced my hipbones and my ribs and I cried out as I came in
his mouth.

God, to feel that mouth one more time--I kissed the stiff lips again,
rubbing my body frantically over his, trying to warm him with friction and
body heat, trying not to feel the stillness of the chest beneath me. I
shuddered above him and came, hot semen slick against my body--and from
him, nothing, nothing--not a breath or a touch or even warmth.

For all that he'd given me, he couldn't give me one more night.

--

The End

laura jacquez valentine -+- http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/~jacquez
Unused Steven Seagal Movie Title: RENT TO OWN
Jesus is a meme. -+- http://www.memepool.com/