Are You Loathsome Tonight? by Poppy Z. Brite Read Free Book Online Page B

the foot of the bed, pressed his lips against the velvet concavity of the boy's stomach. “Don't move,” he murmured. “Be still. Be quiet. Be cold..."
    His tongue flicked into the cup of the navel, around the curve of a hipbone. The gun moved lower, nudging Jesus’ thighs apart, kissing the dark sweet cleft of his buttocks.
    â€œ ... wait..."
    Billy's head jerked up. His hand flashed out and smacked the boy's face hard enough to make his palm sting. "Don't talk!"
    Helplessly, Jesus gestured at the nightstand by the bed. Billy saw a large jar of Vaseline half-hidden in drifts of tattered Kleenex.
    â€œOh...” He blinked, sheepish. “Okay.” He grabbed the Vaseline, popped the top off and stuck the Luger's barrel deep into the opaque snot-colored whorls of petroleum jelly. It came up glistening with grease, its notched sight nearly hidden in a thick coat of the stuff, the tip of its bore clogged. None of this mattered.
    He eased the barrel back between the cheeks of Jesus’ ass and found the tender hole, hesitated only for an instant, and sank six inches of greased steel deep into the boy. Jesus’ eyes went wide. He sucked in a harsh breath, then let out a long shaky one; his penis gave a little jump and wept a single crystal tear.
    As Billy struggled to free his own hard-on from the tangle of jeans and underwear, then kick his legs free of confining fabric, he felt the rest of his life peeling away. There had never been anything but this, no stuffy parlor where his grandfather slept in a long wooden box, no pretty mother who disappeared forever into the Summer of Love, no brittle bleached skull shipped home in a cardboard box, no withered years or husked dreams. There was only the giddy throb of his cock in his hand, only this boy's willing pain that flowed over him and into him, burning like napalm.
    Billy felt orgasm stalking him, moving fast and close, then drawing away again. It had eluded him this way on so many lonely nights when his own hand was not warm enough, was not slick enough, was too obviously his own unsundered flesh. But all at once Jesus was tugging him up on the bed, nearly making him lose his sweaty grip on the gun. All at once Jesus was wrapping skinny arms around Billy's hips, sliding a mouth hot as an open wound around Billy's cock.
    It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. It was a feeling he wanted to last a thousand years, to last forever. It eclipsed his feeling of moments ago. This was all there was. This was all there had ever been. He and Jesus, their wet flesh melting into one another, the linkage of their bodies by orifice and cold metal, the mingled smells of sweat and Vaseline. The mattress beneath them was insubstantial, a cradling hand of mist; the tawdry hotel room shimmered and began to dissolve at the corners of Billy's eyes. He was dimly aware of Jesus thrusting his hips against the Luger, letting the barrel slide in and out of his ass.
    Nothing else had ever mattered. There was only this moment, this unique point in space and time. There was only this boy he had met perhaps half an hour ago, and given ten crisp twenty-dollar bills. There was only the sweet ass inches from his face, glistening with Vaseline, accepting his love. There was only the gun, an extension of his body, of his very being.
    â€œDo you love me?” Billy whispered.
    Jesus twisted his head to look at Billy. His lips still encircled the head of Billy's cock, pale pink petals half-concealing livid purple fruit. His eyes were very wide, very clear. “Yes,” he mouthed, and swallowed Billy deep again.
    Billy felt a burst of light fill his skull, travel down his spine, go blazing through his balls and down the shaft of his penis. Then it was spilling into Jesus’ mouth, and there was the answer to the hateful scrawl in the Port Authority men's room: yes, yes, absolute and indelible yes.
    And in the final moment of orgasm, all Billy's muscles cranked