The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 05

At least Pete knew he could sleep in a little later tomorrow morning. Their flight to Ottawa wasn't until midday, and their roadies had pre-arranged a late hotel checkout. They needed to be on the road to the airport by 10am. He ignored the text message from Ace, it could wait until tomorrow morning.

He watched, in the darkness, as Carlos climbed back into his own single bed. He felt tired. He closed his eyes, and it could've been hours, minutes or even seconds before he fell asleep. He wasn't sure.

He didn't dream. Or, if he did, he had no memory. His slumber was pure blackout.

Morning arrived. His alarm sounded and he threw the covers back. He woke, feeling a little disoriented, but the room was warm. He yawned, still feeling tired, wishing he could sleep for another day. He glanced across at Carlos. His roommate was already awake, propped up on pillows, checking socials on his phone. "Hola," Carlos said cheerfully. He was painting his fingernails black. "¿Cómo estás?"

Pete rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed. Carlos was gorgeous, even when he'd just woken up. "Where are we?"

Carlos looked across at his drummer with mock disdain. "The north pole." He gestured to the window. He'd already pulled back the curtain. It was snowing outside. He got up and tiptoed to the kitchen area of their hotel room.

Slowly, Pete remembered that his band was on tour in Canada, and that they were scheduled to fly to Ottawa this afternoon. And then he remembered what happened last night.

He remembered having sex with Carlos, the lead singer of his band, a man he'd lusted after since like fucking forever. He remembered Carlos suggesting that he invite Ace, his boyfriend, up to Canada. And he remembered, just as he was about to drift off to sleep, his phone pinging with a message from Ace, saying he'd love to come up to Canada and hang with him on tour.

He covered his eyes with his hands.

Fuck.

A still-naked Carlos handed Pete a steaming hot mug of the best instant coffee a shitty hotel could provide. He remembered Pete liked milk in his coffee, so he squeezed a few precious droplets of toxic long-life milk (the only product stocked in their crappy hotel fridge) into the cup.

Pete smiled. "Thanks, dude," he said, accepting the mug. He took a healthy sip before placing the receptacle on his bedside table, throwing back the covers, and getting dressed. Today was a travel day, but not a gig day, which meant Ass To Mouth had the night off. If nothing else, he'd have some time to think after they landed in Ottawa.

Carlos watched Pete slip his pants on and throw a tight black t-shirt over his shoulders. He watched as Pete returned to his bedside table to collect his coffee. He watched Pete tilt his head back as the warm liquid poured into his mouth, spilled onto his tongue, travelled past his tonsils and down into his stomach.

He watched Pete throw his shoulder-length Irish red hair back.

He felt completely smitten. He wanted to tackle him back onto his mattress and kiss him forever, but they had a plane to catch.

"They speak English in Ottawa, right?" asked Pete.

"Both, I think," Carlos replied. "English and French. But not Spanish. In any case, you're the one with the Canada guidebook, you should know this shit."

Pete continued brushing his hair, and Carlos willed his dick to behave itself as he watched Pete tie it back into a neat ponytail.

They checked out of the hotel without further incident, made their way to the airport, and A2M's entourage landed in Ottawa on time. Pete noticed that the rest of their party parted ways upon leaving the airport. Maybe the others were staying in a different place tonight?

Carlos escorted Pete through the front doors of their temporary home for the next two evenings. From the outside, the hotel looked like a castle. He checked them in and collected their room keys. They rode the elevator up to their room, and as they looked out of their window, they saw dozens upon dozens of Canadians skating on the frozen canal that lay next to the hotel. They could see a river not too far away.

"Today is a free day," Carlos reminded. "We can do whatever we want!"

Pete didn't respond. He still felt confused. This hotel room must've cost Carlos a small fortune, and they were checked in for two nights.

There were no single mattresses to be seen. The only bed in the room was king-size, situated squarely in the middle of the suite.

"Do you know how to skate?" asked Carlos.

Pete turned to face him. "Do the sewers of Atlanta ever freeze over? I know how to ride a skateboard, but I've never skated on ice in my life."

Carlos beamed. "Neither have I," he said, beckoning Pete over to the window. "Look at the canal. You wanna go down and try? Could be fun!"

Pete wasn't sure. "If I break my ankle, I won't be able to play drums tomorrow night," he warned. "You'll need to buy a drum machine."

Carlos laughed. He looked deep into Pete's eyes. He wanted to kiss him, but he restrained himself. "Fuck it, we only live once. Let's go ice-skating!"

Fifteen minutes later, they had pairs of rented ice-skates strapped to their feet, padding for their elbows and knees secured in position, helmets on their heads, and mittens keeping their fingers warm. They were ready to step out onto the frozen surface.

Carlos's skates stepped confidently onto the ice and he instantly fell over. "Fuck, it's slippery!" he exclaimed as he desperately tried to haul his ass back up.

Pete grinned as he ventured out onto the surface. "Like I said, I can ride a skateboard, so I should be OK at this ... oops ... wait ... oh no ... shit ... fuck ..."

Pete's feet slipped and gave way beneath him. His ass made serious contact with the ice. "Help me up, Carlos?" he pleaded.

Carlos crawled over and tried to assist, but they both struggled and fell.

Half of Ottawa skated past as they lay helplessly on the ice.

They rolled over to face each other, laying on the ice, their breath turning into vapour as they exhaled. Carlos gazed into Pete's eyes. "Te amo," he whispered.

It felt like there was nobody else around.

Pete knew what Carlos had said, but he couldn't find a way to respond.

Somehow, they regained their slippery feet and grasped a handrail, holding on for dear life. A vendor skated confidently by, selling warm mulled wine from a small portable keg, and they each purchased a cup. They stood on their skates for a few moments, talking crap while they drank their warm wine with one hand, desperately holding onto the rail with the other. The vendor skated back around, and they bought another cup each. It was delicious. Their breath vapourised in the air as the alcohol went to their heads.

"Help me skate, skaterboi," said Carlos.

Pete did his best, but they were both flat on their asses again within seconds. Their wine splashed everywhere.

Their helmets collided seconds before their faces did.

Ottawa skated past as one of Carlos's warm mittens gripped Pete's face, pulling it towards his own. Pete's mouth opened wide, and Carlos's tongue drove deep.

"I wanna fuck you so bad," said Carlos.

The equipment rental guy skated out to break this shit up before it got started. He cleared his throat noisily and deliberately -- the universal noise that meant 'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' -- and both Pete and Carlos looked up guiltily at the authority figure towering above them.

"Looks to me like you two are about to try to get into each other's pants," semi-lectured the ice-skates rental guy, "but this is a family environment. And I can tell you from personal experience, sex on ice ain't as romantic as you might think, unless you've got a kink for frostbite. Ain't you both got someplace warm to be?"

Carlos inelegantly scraped his way back to his feet, clutching the handrail. "We do," he said, addressing the rental guy, "but we want to try to skate first. We've never been to Canada before. My friend (he pointed his mittened thumb at Pete) said he knows how to ride a skateboard, but I think he's full of shit. Can you give us some tips?"

The rental dude gave them a few basic hints which helped them gain a rudimentary sense of balance on ice. And before too long, Pete was skating slowly, holding Carlos's mittened hand. Carlos's other hand was gripped tightly to the rail, so they both felt safe. And then they swapped places, so Pete held the rail.

Carlos squeezed Pete's hand through his mitten. "Check me out, dude!" Carlos said proudly. "I'm skating on ice!"

Pete grinned evilly as he let his bandmate's hand go. Carlos's feet panicked like an accident-prone cartoon character. His skates clattered, and he fell hard.

Pete couldn't stop giggling. "You OK, dude?"

Carlos feigned injury like an Italian soccer player in desperate search of a free kick, but Pete knew he was hamming it up.

Pete held the handrail as he reached out a hand to help Carlos back up. "That wasn't funny," huffed Carlos.

"Yeah, it totally was," Pete laughed.

Pete was having such a great time with his lead singer. They continued to hold hands.

"Hey, Carlos," said Pete.

"Yeah?"

Pete paused for a moment, briefly glancing down at his wobbly skates. "I wish Ace wasn't coming."

Carlos smiled, hugging Pete with all his might and all his love. Yet as soon as they let go of each other, Carlos collapsed onto the ice again. He landed like a sack of potatoes, and Pete cackled like a maniac. "You ain't going to the winter Olympics any time soon, dude."

Carlos looked up from the frozen canal. "Suits me just fine," he pouted. "Us Mexicans are too proud for bullshit winter sports anyway."

Pete helped him back up for the millionth time. They hugged, and Carlos rested his head on Pete's shoulder. "I'm cold," he whispered.

Pete kissed him on the cheek. "Let's get you warmed up before you fall over again, Mexico boi."

They gingerly made their way off the ice, surrendering their rented skates and padding before walking back towards their hotel.

They noticed that free hot chocolate was on offer in the hotel lobby, so they poured a cup each before riding the elevator back to their floor. It was warm, rich, and delicious.

Pete closed their door behind them and, almost immediately, Carlos was pawing him. Pete responded in kind. Their tongues mashed together, and the sweet taste of hot chocolate was everywhere.

Everything felt raw, urgent and immediate, almost as if they were looking for a way to climb inside each other's skins.

Carlos sank to his knees and unzipped Pete's pants before sucking his drummer's raging erection into his mouth. He was desperate to taste, savour and swallow Pete's semen, and he got it sooner than he thought he might.

"Carlos ... slow down," Pete panted.

Carlos didn't reply. His only response was to suck and stroke faster. He massaged Pete's balls, knowing how badly he wanted what was inside them. His sexy Mexican lips enveloped Pete's shaft as his tongue flickered across the tip of Pete's penis.

"Carlos ... please stop ... I can't ... you're gonna make me cum ..."

Pete exploded, and Carlos choked for a moment as he gulped Pete's load down. A few drops escaped his lips and dribbled down his chin. He collected them with his fingers and sucked them back onto his tongue.

Carlos took a few deep breaths before standing up. He kissed Pete tenderly.

Pete's mind might've been confused, but his dick knew exactly what it wanted.

Carlos's hands wrapped themselves around Pete's frame, slowly making their way down to his ass. Carlos caressed and squeezed Pete's cheeks before teasing his opening with a finger.

"You feel so good," Pete swooned.

Carlos's continued to tease Pete's tender boipussy.

"I want you inside me," Pete whispered. He led Carlos to their hotel bed and threw back the crisp sheets. He lay on his back and spread his legs, exposing his hole. His penis was still wet from Carlos's blowjob, but soft now that its load had been extracted. Carlos kissed and tongued Pete's pussy until it was ready; he watched it begin to gape in anticipation. He stroked himself once or twice to make sure he was hard enough before plunging in.

As Carlos's entered, he watched Pete's pupils dilate. He felt Pete's pussy clench around his dick as if to never let it go. He felt his drummer's hands grip his ass cheeks, holding him close, pulling him in.

Pete felt Carlos's hair tickling his chest and nipples. "Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned.

Carlos moved slowly. He wanted this to last as long as he could, he wanted this to mean something. This wasn't just a quick, convenient fuck; he wanted to build a connection, laden with meaning.

What he didn't fully realise was that he'd already built it. Pete was in two minds, feeling completely torn.

Carlos thrust back and forth so slowly he thought he'd implode.

Pete began to gently touch his soft penis and it began to grow in his fingers. His fingers formed a fist and he began jacking himself off. His eyes closed, rolling back into his head as his lead singer fucked him like syrup.

"Te amo, mi hombre," whispered Carlos as his hair rained down onto Pete's sensitive chest.

Pete came all over his hand, moaning uncontrollably. And as his pussy clenched involuntarily around Carlos's penis, his lead singer impregnated him, flooding his bowels with jets of sweet Mexican sperm.

Carlos began to pull out, but Pete's hands gripped his ass, holding him in. "No, not yet," pleaded Pete. "Please, not yet."

Carlos leaned down to kiss him, their tongues bound together and wrapped around each other like thick vines slowly climbing up a wall. They tasted hot chocolate and Pete's sperm.

Carlos eventually deflated, and his dick beat an honourable retreat, falling out of Pete's tight pussy. He lay down beside his drummer, wrapping an arm around his torso. They stared at the ceiling, breathing, thinking, feeling, hoping, wondering.

Moments of silence passed like liquid glass.

"I'm so confused," worried Pete.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I wish Ace wasn't coming."

"You said that before," replied Carlos, "when you were trying to kill me with frostbite."

"I'm gonna text him and say not to come."

Carlos didn't respond. He didn't want to influence Pete in any way.

Pete frowned in uncertainty as his fingertips massaged the screen of his phone.

"What did you tell him?" asked Carlos.

"I said the weather is bad, we're snowed in, and to stay where it's warm."

Carlos half-smiled. "Well, that's kind of a half-truth. Would it stand up in court?"

Pete giggled. "Don't know, but you'd make *me* stand up in court."

Carlos laughed as he lovingly tickled Pete's ballsack.

They both waited for Pete's phone to ping with Ace's reply, but Ace didn't respond. They knew it was spring break down in Florida, and maybe Ace was ... busy.

"Hey, Carlos?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask a question?"

"Sí, hombre mio."

"Look around you," said Pete. "Look at this hotel we're staying in. I've never been in a place like this before in my life. Isn't this where kings and queens live? There are six of us on the road, the four boys in the band and our two roadies, but I noticed the others peeled off from us at the airport. I'm assuming they aren't staying here with us?" He paused.

"No. They aren't."

"Huh?"

"They aren't staying here with us," confirmed Carlos. "They're staying at a slightly more modest establishment."

"So why are we here, in this expensive place? I'm an college intern, and you work at a bar. Neither of us can afford this. Please don't tell me you're setting up a Ponzi scheme?" Pete tried to look stern and official, placing a hand on his hip. "You know I'm a lawyer-in-training, don't you? I'll fuckin' bust your ass if you are."

Carlos sighed. He knew he had to come clean. Pete's questions were reasonable. He took a deep breath. It still hurt to think about his recent past. He looked down at his hands, studying them for a moment or two before he began to speak.

"Three weeks after Gorilla died, I got an email from an address I didn't know. It was from a law firm. I deleted it, thinking it was spam. I checked my email the next day, and there was another email from the same address, so I deleted it again. The following day, they emailed me again. This time, I read the subject field and noticed the words URGENT and WILL. Me, being an idiot, thought 'I don't know anyone called Will', and hit the delete key again." He paused for a second to look up at Pete. "You see where this is going, don't you?"

"I think so," Pete nodded, and Carlos continued.

"The next day, I got a phone call from an unknown number. I'd been thinking about the unusual emails I'd been receiving. They weren't the usual 'you've just won the Portuguese lottery, call this number to claim your prize' type of emails, but I couldn't go back to check because I'd already deleted them. So I took the call. Some attorney dude asked me if I knew a guy called John Ernest McGrillor, from Wilmington, Delaware. I asked if he was referring to Gorilla the truck driver, and he said yes. The attorney told me Gorilla had made a will before he died, and he'd left some money for me, on condition that I spend it on Ass To Mouth."

Pete was lost for words.

"I still find it hard to believe Gorilla thought of me in his will when, for all the time we knew each other, he never told me his actual name. Anyway, here we are. But I want you to know I didn't pre-plan for us to be staying in this top-shelf hotel tonight. Until yesterday, we were booked into the same regular place the others are staying in. But I checked online last night and found a sweet deal for this room, so I changed our booking. I thought it might be nice, and it didn't cost as much as you might think."

Pete tried to blink back tears, though it wasn't easy. "Fuck, dude, it's better than nice. I've never stayed in a place like this before in my life, though when we're world-famous rock stars, we'll probably get to stay in hotels like this every night. When we're accustomed to this kind of luxury and we take it all for granted, I'll remember back to this moment. But really, I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything," Carlos replied. "This is what he wanted, and this is what I want. And I'm glad you're here with me."

Pete wrapped his arms around Carlos's waist and began to cry. These past few days had been incredibly emotional for both men, for different reasons. Carlos stroked Pete's beautiful hair, trying to keep it away from his snot.

"Listen to me, Pete," whispered Carlos. "I know I've put you in a difficult position, and I'm sorry; but I honestly couldn't live with myself if I couldn't tell you honestly how I feel about you. I know Ace has your heart, and if this tour turns out to be nothing more than a few days of you and me together rocking out on stage, having sex in hotels and dodging show, I'll cope. I'll be sad, but I'll cope. So don't worry about anything. I mean, we're going to be in the same band forever, so we need to stay friends no matter what happens, don't we?" He felt Pete nod and sniffle. "Maybe let's just try to have a good time together up here at the north pole before we head back home?"

Pete nodded again, wiping his eyes and nose on Carlos's naked chest. "I'd like that," he sniffled.

Carlos kissed him tenderly, thanking him for the unexpected deposit of snot on his chest, and explaining that when they came to bed to swap bodily fluids, tears and mucus weren't part of the deal.

Pete laughed. "Sorry," he said, wiping his eyes and nose. "We don't have anything to do tonight, do we?" he asked.

"No, babe. We could stay in, but it might be fun to do something."

Pete sat up. "I noticed this hotel has a pool," he said. "Wouldn't it be cool to go for a swim while it's snowing outside?"