When Irish Eyes Are Smiling Ch. 04

I laughed, thinking how close Robbie’d come to hitting the nail on the head. “I’ll remember that. Hell, maybe I’ll fuck him in the monkey house, eh?”

“Like Hell, you will!” he said emphatically. “That boy is a confirmed top. Mark told me that he asked him about it once and he’d said that the day he let someone bust a nut in his ass, was the day he’d sign up for a sex change since his dick would have already fallen off anyway.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I wasn’t an aggressive top, but I was used to it. Eric always preferred bottoming; sometimes I’d nearly had to beg him to top. I’d been hoping Devlin would want to try receiving once I got him used to the idea, convinced that he’d like it. I wondered if Robbie was actually trying to be helpful and warn me, or if he was deliberately trying to undermine my growing confidence in my relationship with Devlin. I didn’t know if he was habitually sarcastic and catty or not.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me and Devlin, because I’m Betty Cocker. I ride a Harley, and I cook, so he doesn’t need anything that I don’t have.” I wished I felt as confidant as I sounded. That’s one of the advantages of being a lawyer. It’s not necessary to believe what you’re saying to sound like you mean every word of it.

When I got back to Devlin, the music was just getting started again. I gave him the coffee, and settled myself behind him, enfolding him in my arms, needing the contact. Especially needing him to let me do it. I held the desert container while he fed it to the both of us, leaving each of us a hand free to hang onto our drinks. The kisses I placed on the back of his neck, cold from my coffee and sticky from the desert, made him shiver and laugh. When we’d eaten two thirds of the tiramisu, I made him put it away, saying that I wanted to save the rest for a snack later in bed. His breath caught in his throat when I whispered that into his ear, and I knew he knew exactly what I intended.

Amazing as that Saturday was, I prepared myself for things to finally start tapering off. Surely Dev was getting tired of me by now. To my surprise, however, our relationship got even better in that third week, from lolling on the couch with our laptops catching up on work to playing Scrabble for a blowjob. As a lawyer and a logophile, I was sure I’d win that game hands down. Much to my chagrin, Dev beat me easy (“Quitclaim” was his winning word. Damn real-estate vocabulary), which meant he got to decide who got the blowjob.

“Off with the clothes, Sexy,” he said, even I demanded a rematch, and then, shoving me on the couch, he sunk to his knees and gave my hard, aching dick the most loving attention it’d ever known. He told me it got him off knowing that I was watching him taking down my cock.

He also, miracle of miracles, got me out of the house. I become something of a hermit in the last couple of years and wasn’t sure I was ready to venture out into the big, wide world, but Dev’s determination was greater than my own. He took us on an evening run for frozen yogurt, to a midnight showing of a film we’d wanted to see and even insisted we go to the local farmers’ market, which I'd never attended, but very much wanted to.

Dev didn’t say a word when I ended up dragging home three bags of fresh produce. He just took two off my hands and shook his head when I tried to apologize for going overboard

“I did this for me, Biker-boy,” he insisted with that boyish grin of his. “It’s my way of getting you to cook us dinner.”

As if all this wasn’t enough, I was still hopelessly in lust with my golden guy. Spotting for him as he lifted weights at the gym, I’d stare, enthralled, at the way his teeshirt rose up, bearing his sweaty abs. And every morning I’d watch him get dressed, loving that moment when his pressed slacks came up over his tight ass.

The morning of Pop’s party I woke with my cheek resting on Devlin’s shoulder blade. We always seemed to fall asleep with him holding me, and wake up with me holding him. I wondered if it was because he felt more comforted while he was asleep to be held rather than to hold, or if I was trying to assert I was equally masculine like I kept doing when we made love. I was still subtly trying to encourage the idea of him letting me have him. I was going slowly, asking with actions rather than words. I hoped his body would tell me when he was ready to take that step, until then I just had to be patient.

I wasn’t feeling very patient this morning though. He had his ass snuggled against my morning wood, his crack cradling it in a warm invitation that was almost more than I could say no to.

Aching to be inside of him, I stroked my fingers over his nipples, while grazing my teeth over the crook of his neck. His nipples hardened into nubs as goose flesh rose across his shoulders; I felt the shiver that ran down his back. He sighed softly when I lifted his upper leg onto mine so I could run my hand up the inside of his thigh to cup his lightly furred sack. Massaging his balls gently, I nuzzled my lips into the back of his neck, right at his hairline.

It didn’t matter that he was undulating his hips, slowly working my shaft between his firm cheeks, because I knew that he wasn’t fully awake and didn’t know what he was inviting me to do. Having him right now would be taking advantage of him, and he’d probably never forgive me for it, but I was so tempted to do it anyway. I spotted the bottle of KY on the edge of the bed, on the verge of falling to the floor, and wondered if we could come to a compromise that would satisfy my anxious need to be inside of him without pushing him to do something he wasn’t ready for yet.

Reaching past him, I grabbed the bottle then leaned away from him, nearly rolling onto my back. He started to roll with me, trying to stay in contact with me, but I kept him on his side, telling him I just needed a second. He was more awake, but still groggy, when I pressed up against his back once more, moving his legs so they were together and asking him to squeeze them together while I lifted my leg on top of his.

“What? Why?” he asked sleepily.

“I’m just—I just need to…” I panted into his ear as I hesitantly began to slide my aching, heavily lubricated dick between his legs, right at the juncture of his thighs.

“What are you doing?” he said, sounding more awake as he looked over his shoulder.

“Please, I really need this. Just trust me,” I said huskily against his cheek. Pushing harder, I glided forward as I wrapped my lube-coated palm around his shaft. After a couple of thrusts, I adjusted the angle so my dick would push against his perineum to massage his prostate externally. I stroked my thumb over his glans. He exhaled loudly in a hiss, his hips jerked, then angled so the head of my cock would jab his prostate harder before skidding forward.

I was surprised at how good this felt. It wasn’t exactly what I was craving, but it was better than a hand or blowjob because I wasn’t lying docile while it was done to me. I was free to thrust as it pleased me, so it simulated the freedom and control of topping him well enough that I could nearly forget that I was clamped between his thighs, rather than buried in his ass.

Gripping his cock harder, I began stroking him firmly from base to tip, rotating my fist around his helmet each time my hand reached the apex. I felt his legs tighten, his inner thigh muscles clenching around my pistoning shaft as he began driving his cock through my fingers. Growling almost loud enough to drown out his grunting breaths, I bit down on his shoulder and thrust harder between his tightly clamped legs. He reached back and clutched my hip as his back bowed, his moan merging with my continued growl.

“Oh, man…yeah, yeah…fuck…I—Goddamn,” I stuttered into the crook of his neck between grunts. I felt myself rushing toward the precipice faster than I wanted to, but couldn’t make myself slow down. Intense pleasure crawled from the head of my cock, down into my inner thighs and up into my stomach, becoming a core of quivering tension that trembled on the ragged edge of bursting into pure gratification. It broke like surface tension, flooding through me like water through a burst dike. His cock throbbed in my fist, streams of sticky come bursting through my fingers. All I could do for several minutes afterward was gasp and shudder, while clutching him to my chest and hoping he wasn’t pissed at me.

*Devlin *
Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!

I was trembling, and I swear my guts had turned to water. It was all Joel’s doing and I didn’t know what to think. It had started with a dream of Joel fondling and spooning me, heavenly sensations. I remembered trying to keep close to him, murmuring something when he kept me on my side, as he reached over me. Then I’d felt his thick, hard cock poking between my ass cheeks, no dream, and an adrenaline spike woke me up. I almost panicked.

“What are you doing?”

“Please,” he’d said in my ear, his stubbled cheek rasping against mine, “I really need this. Just trust me.”

Trust? Trust him? Fuck! My heart was racing now, but as frightening as it was to feel his cock, now slippery with lubrication, gliding between my thighs, it was also exciting. Exciting in a way I didn’t want to admit, exciting to have Joel in complete control, his steely arms enfolding me, his slick hand jacking my rod.

His cock slid back and forth, rubbing the sensitive spot below my balls. Little electric shocks of pleasure flickered through my groin with each stroke and I found myself placing a palm on the bed so I could thrust my ass back against him. Soon, he had me rocking uncontrollably.

As if that weren’t enough, his hand was twisting and gliding expertly up and down my shaft, stroking and caressing it until it felt ready to explode with pleasure. I was gasping and groaning, writhing in his hands and at his mercy. There came a moment, lost in exquisite sensations, when I knew I’d surrendered; he could have done anything right then, raped me blind, and I would have begged for more.

My thighs tightened, squeezing his cock as he continued thrusting and I pressed a hand to his hip. Arching against him was almost like fighting him, fighting and losing as he was still toying with my pulsing cock. He released a loud groan and bit down on my shoulder as he shuddered and began coating my ass and thighs with his warm, milky fluid. At almost the same time, my own cock spasmed, shooting over his hand and the sheets.

He left me weak and trembling. “Jesus Christ,” I managed to breathe at last. I had never experienced anything so intense. He held me for a long while, his heart beating against my back, and then, at last, he released me. I shifted until the sides of our bodies touched, my abs lying on the wet sheets. I rested an arm over his chest while keeping my face buried in the pillow. I was experiencing an agonizing mix of shame and excitement. I knew I was dangerously close to admitting I wanted his cock inside me. If I looked at his deep green eyes and soft, moist lips right now, I was sure I’d tell him that.

Finally, I nuzzled my face against his neck, avoiding eye contact, and gathered my cloak of airy confidence about me. “Yum, you sure know how to wake a guy up, Joel.”

He let out what sounded like a relieved breath and relaxed. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said earnestly. Had he thought I’d be mad?

“Of course, now we’ve got this mess on our hands. We’re going to need to change the sheets, but first, a shower.”

I headed into the bath and my hands shook as I turned the faucets in the shower. I was still a bit shaken and confused by what had happened and how I’d felt about it. I was leaning against the tiles, letting steamy water pour over my head when Joel joined me. His arms encircled me and I turned around a bit more quickly than I’d intended. I guess I wasn’t so comfortable having him behind me at the moment. I smiled to hide my nervousness and brought our lips in contact, allowing our tongues to dance tenderly together.

“You’re keeping me in a constant state of horniness, do you realize that?”

“It’s my master plan,” Joel wiggled his brows.

“Well, dial it down at the party, okay? As a favor to me. I don’t want your family to think I actually like you. I’ve a reputation to maintain.”

He answered that by scrubbing me with a soapy washcloth until I groaned. After we’d rinsed and dried off, Joel slipped back into his clothes from last night and headed for his own place. Which was sad, as I loved it when he made us breakfast. I scarfed down a couple of bowls of Wheaties and a half-container of cottage cheese. I would have eaten more, hungry as Joel’s morning workout had made me, but he’d said there would be a ton of food at the party.

That ton of food was going to include one amazing cake. Joel had ordered it from Buon and I’d been terrified that we were going to have to haul it to the party. We’d gone by the restaurant to see it last night. It was an enormous chocolate hazelnut monstrosity with white chocolate frosting. Joel had eased my near heart attack by assuring me that Lucia and her family would be delivering it. It’d been easier to admire after that: a masterpiece bejeweled with glazed berries and sugared roses. Across the top, delicate green calligraphy spelled out the words: Go n'eiri an t-adh leat! which Joel said meant “good luck.”

Good luck. I was going to need it. I noticed that in spite of breakfast, my hands were still shaking. What Joel had done to me this morning had left my body vibrating, and shot my concentration all to Hell. Three weeks together and he was still able to make me feel like I’d just been released from hours of torture and teasing.

It wasn’t fucking fair! I wanted to be able to do that to him.

I turned my attention back to my clothes. Meeting the parents of girls I’d dated had always been easy for me. The girl was usually Daddy’s little princess and very much like her mom, which meant I was already halfway in the parents’ good graces simply by being tattoo-free and well groomed. From there it was just a matter of smiling and calling them “Sir” and “Ma’am” while exchanging firm handshakes.

Since college, I’d also had the advantage of that question: “So, I hear you’re a real estate agent…” which was my invitation to discuss the housing market and compliment the parents on their cozy nest. Any reservations they had about me usually vanished in that instant and I was in-like-Flynn. People like to have their primary asset valued and admired.

Somehow, I didn’t think that was going to fly this time.

One thing I did know, appearances mattered. I’d picked out my wardrobe very carefully: a pale, apple green, linen shirt, sand-colored Dockers and closed-toed leather sandals, casual and summery, but respectful. The crowning touch was a pair of y-type leather suspenders from Italy. I knew Joel would be wearing one of his fedoras and I wanted to match his retro style.

I also figured he’d like them.

Everything was pressed and iron-crisp from the cleaners, the trouser pleats knife-edge sharp, and the linen shirt wrinkle free. With each article of clothing I slipped on, I felt my self-confidence notching up; like putting on armor. I attached the suspenders to buttons sewn on the trousers, adjusted them, and then brought them up. Damn. I had nice shoulders, and I liked the way the suspenders hitched up the pants over my ass. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I stepped back and grinned.

There. That was what I was talking about. I rolled up the sleeves to just below the elbow. Behold: one all-American, golden-haired boy. No slick real estate agent here, no siree! Just a friendly, charming, honest lad.

“I’m back!” Joel shouted coming in through the front door. “Ready to go?” I caught a glimpse of him and sucked in a breath. He was wearing his black fedora with charcoal slacks. They were matched up with a deep blue, cotton dress shirt. That was my favorite color on him. I never met a man who looked more beautiful in blue.

“Dev?” he called impatiently.

“Just let me get my wallet,” I said, stepping out. He stiffened and gawked, which was gratifying.

“When did you get those?” he demanded as I deliberately bent to fetch up my keys.

“The suspenders? I’ve had them for a while. Just waiting for the right place to wear them.”

“The right place would have been in the bedroom,” he said, reaching out and grabbing them. He pulled me in and growled as he kissed me. “Preferably without a shirt.”

That made my cock stir. I dueled with his tongue and bit at his lower lip. “Afterwards,” I promised.

We drove to the pub. It was a freestanding, white building right on the corner of a fairly busy street. Joel parked in the crowded lot behind, and walked us around to the front. There was an old fashioned, wooden sign: a pair of decidedly feminine, green eyes surrounded by shamrocks and the words Irish Eyes Pub and Tavern. The place was already alive and hopping. There were folk seated at umbrellaed picnic tables out front, and kids darting about on skateboards. Chatter and fiddle music hit us as we stepped in, along with the malty fragrance of beer.

The inside of the pub was both what I’d expected and not. There were the usual white-washed walls and wood ceiling beams, the stone fireplace that dominated one end, a dart board, and, of course, a beautiful oak and brass bar where patrons stood two deep, reaching, as bartenders handed out dark beers and pale ciders.

What was unexpected was how airy and bright the pub was. I’d anticipated some place enclosed, but it had large, open windows that, on the outside, held flowerboxes filled with marigolds, asters and daisies. There were vases of these on the tables and festooning the fireplace mantle. The wall décor was equally uncluttered and eye catching: framed photographs of Irish meadows, brooks, stone bridges and quaint cottages.

“Whoa,” I said, hand on Joel’s arm. “This is where you spent your formative years?”

“It was my second home,” Joel acknowledged. “Everyone in the family had to do their share. Serving tables, cleaning up, stocking, and counting out the register. We were always threatening to call child services,” he added wryly. “As I wasn’t the most sociable kid, I usually stayed in the kitchen with Mam.”

He guided us over to a buffet table, which was indeed loaded down with an impressive spread. There was soda bread and wheels of dark, yellow cheddar and creamy blue cheese. There were steamed carrots, a mountain of corned beef and cabbage, a leek and bacon quiche, shepherd’s pie, and an enormous poached salmon.

There were also two men and two women, standing nearby, calling to Joel and waving. The next thing I knew, he’d been snatched away. They had to be his brothers and sisters, the way they pinched and punched him, ruffled his hair screamed of older sibs toying with a baby brother. Finished with the hugs and kisses and pokes to the ribs, he said something to them and waved my way.

Green eyes fastened on me. Four pairs of them, five counting Joel’s, and except for Joel’s, none of them looked friendly.

I put on my most confident smile. If they thought to intimidate me, they were going to have to think again. I stepped up, hand out.

“This is John, and this is Rosie—” Joel introduced the two eldest. John looked like an older version of Joel, black hair threaded with a bit of silver, laugh-lines about his green eyes. Conservatively dressed, he was tallest of the siblings, also the thinnest and palest, as if he didn’t get out much; his expression was cautious, as if reserving judgment.

Rosie had short, dark hair and a pixyish face. A plum colored, sleeveless dress revealed long arms. Her eyes were hard, and so was her handshake. She looked like she wanted to interrogate me and, if she didn’t like the answers, have me shot.