Shore Leave

Chapter One: Overlooking the Fleet from the 17th Floor

"You're being a bit frisky today," Alex Holden said, peering over a copy of the

LGBT Weekly

and putting his coffee cup down on the nightstand. He'd just noticed that his younger partner, Terry Duncan, was doing his morning aerobic exercises there in the bedroom, beside the bed, in a sparkly red jock strap. It wasn't unusual for the forty-one-year-old owner of a San Diego men's gym to scan a newspaper and drink a cup of coffee Terry had brought him in bed before getting up, but it was unusual for Terry to do his extensive morning exercise routine there in the bedroom, especially while making it evident that he had exercises more of a sexual nature in mind.

In fact, after eight years together, friskiness was rarely a word you'd use for their relationship anymore. They'd been quite an active pair when they first were hooking up. Terry had been a nineteen-year-old dancer with the semiprofessional San Diego Musical Theater. Alex had owned his serious-body building men's gym for five years and was a walking advertisement for the place. It had been a regular David and Goliath matchup, other than that the battles lasted longer, Goliath definitely took charge, and they both won the victories they were after.

Terry still was in the musical theater, working part time as the theater's assistant artistic director as well as prancing on stage, and still spent much of his time keeping his cute little body limber. For his part, Alex still had a body-builder's body—albeit one of a more mature man in his forties.

Over time, though, they had settled down into a domestic, committed relationship that included shared assets, delegated responsibilities, and, more often than not, a same-same sexual relationship relative to what they once had had with each other. They still fucked but not with the same explosiveness, challenge, and variety they once had. If they'd thought about it, the sex flared up a bit when the naval fleet was in, but they didn't think about it much.

Terry's morning exercises didn't usually arouse Alex, but then he usually did it in the spare bedroom in their seventeenth floor Harbor Loft apartment in the Gas Light Quarter of San Diego, overlooking the north end of Coronado Island, home of a secondary naval base of the U.S. Seventh Fleet.

"Come her'," Alex muttered, as he put his newspaper aside and patted his flat, if thickish, stomach. That was a signal between them that the younger Terry would be riding his cock. That's how they liked to start it these days. But their sex times were usually Wednesday and Friday nights, not Friday morning.

Terry gave him a shy little smile, walked over to the bed, climbed up on it, and moved his lithe, slim body over Alex's thicker, more muscular, larger one. Terry stretched out on top of Alex's prone, naked body in reverse, holding himself hovering over the larger man by supporting himself on his knees and elbows. Alex grabbed and separated the younger man's butt cheeks and pulled Terry's buttocks down to where he could stick his tongue up between the cheeks and start preparing Terry's hole for a supersized cock. He ran one hand up under the pouch covering Terry's shaft and fondled the younger man's cock and balls while he slowly ate his ass out and opened him up. He periodically slapped Terry's butt cheek with his other hand. Alex was a bit of a BDSM fetisher—he'd been more so when they first were hooking up than now, after they'd been together for eight years. What had once been bondage, the sting of a whip, and listening for the groan of passion-pain had mellowed into a bit of bondage and a slap or two on the rump.

Meanwhile, Terry worked Alex's cock with his mouth at the other end.

When Terry wanted the cock, he pulled his ass away from Alex's mouth, slid down his body, poised his hole over the cock Alex held erect for him, and sank down on it. At the beginning Alex bent his legs and Terry grabbed the older man's knees and fucked himself on the cock. A few minutes into the fuck, Alex, who liked control and bondage, pulled Terry's arms back, grabbed his wrists, and held Terry arched forward, taking over control of pumping Terry's ass. When they had more time than they did today, he would bind Terry's wrists together with leather restraints and might even use a collar and leash. They didn't often have the "more time" they'd once had, though.

Ten minutes and it was done. Alex had shot his load. In the early days he would have made sure Terry had gotten off, but this morning, he picked up his paper and his coffee cup, and remained on the bed on his back, while Terry rolled off to the side of him, on his back, pulled the pouch of his jock strap under his balls, and masturbated himself to an ejaculation.

After coming, Terry rolled off the bed, checked the gym bag he was taking off to the theater, and went to the bathroom to shower. Time was when the two of them showered together—before sex, during sex, and after sex. But they'd been a couple now for eight years, and, as Terry sometimes reminded Alex, he was forty-one and not getting any younger.

Alex didn't want to feel forty-one, though. And he would have been more aroused to be fucking a nineteen-year-old as he was eight years previously rather than a twenty-seven-year old who one of these days would be forty-one too and would look a little silly doing cartwheels across a stage at that age.

"Your turn in the shower," Terry sang out, as he came out of the bathroom, patting at his toned little body with a towel. "Breakfast in twenty minutes."

At the breakfast table in front of a full-length window overlooking San Diego Harbor, it was Terry's turn to scan the

LGBT Weekly

, although no coffee for him. He was drinking orange juice and spooning wheat germ somethingorother from a bowl. Terry was a vegan and Alex was a carnivore. Terry did the cooking, though, and Alex was snarfing up three fried eggs and four link sausages.

"The fleet's in," Alex said to Terry's newspaper.

"Is it?" Terry answered from behind his paper. "Yeah, I think I read something about that in last week's paper."

"Destroyer Squadron 15, I think," Alex said.

"Is it?"

"You can see them lined up out there beyond Coronado—the naval ships. Tenders are already out there to bring sailors in for shore leave."

"City will be busy," Terry answered.

"You remember that I go up to LA for a meeting today. I'll be back tomorrow, maybe late."

"Yes, I remember," Terry responded.

"I'm taking the Corvette."

"We get better mileage on the Rav4," Terry said, lowering his paper to give Alex a pointed look. The red Corvette convertible was a bit of a bone of contention between the two of them. Terry had made the mistake of saying that Alex wanted them to get it just because he was feeling old—having his midlife crisis. The topic of getting old didn't go over well with Alex these days—especially when Terry combined that with the remark that Alex seemed to be slowing down on the sex. The more practical and economical of the two, Terry, had balked a bit about having a maintenance-demanding sports car in downtown San Diego. They both were busy and barely went out of town. It seemed like Alex went to LA whenever the fleet was in, though. Terry couldn't say much about expense, however. He didn't make much at the theater. Alex was the sugar daddy here. One reason they'd lasted for eight years probably was because Terry recognized that and was the economical one.

"The Corvette needs to open up its jets. It needs the highway workout."

"Whatever," Terry answered. "Since you're gone overnight, I may just stay at the theater tonight. We're putting in the lights for

Guys and Dolls

and we're short on time on that. They need my help and it's got to be finished by tomorrow night."

"Whatever," Alex said. He'd finished his breakfast. "I'm late. Gotta go."

"Leave your dishes. I'll take care of them," Terry said, adding, "like always," under his breath. But he didn't feel in a bitchy mood, so he didn't say it loud enough for Alex to hear, as he sometimes did. Alex treated him like a wife of eight years. But Alex had given him the cock today, and Terry was keyed up in anticipation of a special day anyway. And it was Friday. And the fleet was in. Nothing to complain about there.

Chapter Two: Terry on the Make

He couldn't help humming as he sorted through the costumes in a dressing room at the theater. It wasn't just about what had been this morning; it also was about what could be later. The costumes were going in three piles—those that could go back on the rack and be worn again before cleaning; those that were being kept but needed to be dry cleaned before further use; and those that could be tossed or washed and cut up for other purposes. The box office assistant manager poked his head into the room.

"If the lights are going to be set for the dress rehearsal, Tony out here is going to need some help setting them, I think," he said. "You're the only one around who would know what to do." Then he was gone.

"Shit," Terry said out loud. He'd been trying to avoid Tony. "Shit," he said again in case the otherwise empty room hadn't heard him. He tossed the red velvet dress he was inspecting in the "toss" pile and tromped out of the dressing room. Another "shit" floated in the air as he moved down the hallway toward the stage.

"You got some last night, didn't you, Terry?" Tony, the temporary light man at the theater, said, as the two knelt shoulder to shoulder on the scaffolding and worked on adjusting spotlights on one side of the theater hall. Tony had come in to cover the honeymoon trip of the regular lighting technician. He was leaving almost as soon as he'd arrived, but he was such a hunky top that he'd run through the gay bottoms in the theater company, which the company had in depth, in record time. He had tried with Terry but not yet been successful.

"You got lots of something, didn't you?" His hand brushed across Terry's crotch.

"Stop that, Tony," Terry said, pushing the hand away—the push was a gentle one, though, which gave Tony hope and confidence. "We've got to get these spots lined up and I want to be out of here by 5:30. And, no, I didn't get laid last night."

"I don't believe you. You've been humming and acting taken care of all day," Tony said. "And you know I want to take care of you too."

"It wasn't last night," Terry said. "It was this morning, if you must know."

"Was it that older sugar daddy of yours—the one with the gym—or have you come to your senses and gone for younger cock—like me, for instance?"

"Yes, Alex Holden fucked me this morning," Terry said. "You know we live together. We sleep together too. There wouldn't be anyone else in the morning."

"There could be. You come home with me tonight and you'll come back in the morning singing, not just humming. I'll do you tonight and tomorrow morning too. You've been with this dude how long? Can he do you night and morning too?"

"Eight years," Terry answered. He didn't respond to how often in a day Alex could or would do him because that was a sore point after eight years. "We're doing just fine. We're in a commitment. We made vows to each other. Everything's going just fine. Just fine."

"You said that twice," Tony said, "that everything's coming up roses in your bed. That makes it a negative. Things are not really going fine, are they? Not so exciting after eight years, is it? And he's older than you are, isn't he? By lots of years. He's burning out. You're feeling the need for younger cock. I've seen that in you. You've been jittery. You're jittery today, like even though he fucked you this morning, it isn't all you wanted, all you deserved. It's like you came in this morning primed but not satisfied. What you need is some thick Italian cock."

He had his arm around Terry and a hand on Terry's crotch. He'd made moves on Terry before, but not this seriously. It was like he'd known that Terry hadn't been fully satisfied this morning, that there was something about Terry today that was vulnerable and anticipating a need being scratched.

Terry didn't push Tony's hand off his crotch.

"Tony, don't," Terry murmured, but his objection was stifled by Tony taking his mouth in a possessive kiss that didn't stop until Terry had melted to him, was moaning, and was tracing Tony's hard on through the material of his shorts. Terry hadn't brushed Tony's hand off his crotch. Tony was seasoned enough to know that he'd won and could start taking charge. Terry was a submissive. He needed someone to just tell him he was going to lie on his back and open his legs—that he was going to take cock and love taking cock—Tony's cock.

"You're going to let me fuck you now," Tony whispered.

"I can't. Not someone from the theater," Terry said. "I have a commitment."

"And you'll be more open for him after I've done you," Tony answered. "I don't do commitments, and you know I'm moving to Chicago in the next few days. You're unfinished business for me. You know me—One Time Tony. It's just a fuck. It's not like you're a virgin. You take cock. You're strange today. You want it—more than on most days. One fuck. It will be good for both of us."

"Tony . . ." Terry meant to object, but Tony kissed him again, giving him tongue, unzipping him, cramming his hand in the fly, but not going for the cock. Going for Terry's hole and pressing his finger in, moving it in out as they kissed, feeling Terry relax to him, give in to him.

"You're hungry for the finger. You'll love the cock. You're going to let me fuck you now," Tony repeated.

"Not here. Not on the scaffold," Terry answered. "One or both of us will roll off and leave a mess that will be hard for the other guys to explain."

"I've fucked most of the other guys," Tony said. "They'd figure it out."

And so he had, Terry knew. And his reputation was a good one for fucking. And, what the hell, it was a day that the fleet was in.

Terry came down off the scaffolding, Tony came down after him. They walked to the costume room he had been in earlier, where Terry pulled his trousers and briefs down and off his legs, lay down on his back on the pile of "toss" costumes on the floor, and, grabbing his ankles, raised and spread his legs. Laughing, Tony came down on his knees between Terry's thighs.

Tony fucked Terry in a missionary position, Terry arching his back and giving a little gasp as Tony penetrated him. Terry let loose of his legs, holding them raised and spread on their own, and grabbed Tony's biceps, immediately, by long experience, falling into the rhythm of the thrusts.

Tony was good, very, very good. His cock was thick and his technique was off cadence, causing Terry to jerk and shudder as the shaft rubbed all walls and gave Terry's prostate enough attention that he unexpectedly ejaculated, but not with a full evacuation of cum.

He drove the cock in deep and held while Terry panted and begged him to work him. Then he revolved his hips around, paying attention to Terry's passage walls all around, and making Terry give little yipping sounds and gulping in his breath. Then the deep dive again, held until Terry got frustrated and tried to roll out from underneath Tony. When he did so, though, Tony clutched him tight and pumped him hard until Terry's teeth were rattled and his head was bouncing on and off the pile of costumes. Tony continued fucking him to a second explosion before Tony too dumped his load in the bulb of his rubber.

Most of the men in the company were gay bottoms and on the make, and the women had all gone to a workshop in LA today, so there was little chance that anyone would care that Tony was fucking Terry in a dressing room even if they were discovered. Tony was always fucking one of the bottoms somewhere in the theater, and none of them complained about that.

"OK, you can let me up now," Terry said, irritated with himself that he'd let Tony fuck him, and more so because Tony had done it so well and that Terry had begged him for more of it.

"Not yet," Tony wished in his ear. "You're such a flexible little snit. I've wanted to try something with you for a long time."

"Tony. We need to get back to the lights."

"In a bit. Can you feel it? Can you feel it? I didn't go completely soft. I'm young and virile. You're used to that old man. I have more than one fuck in me in a go. I told you I could fuck you at night and the next morning. In fact, I can fuck you twice in an hour. You want a man who has more than one fuck in him. Feel me? I'm going hard again."

Terry did feel Tony hard inside him, and he was panting shallowly. Yes, he remembered when Alex could go hard again quickly. There were some days when he still could. But young and virile? Yes, that was Tony. And, oh shit, was he hard and filling again.

"Here, let me change rubbers and we'll go again. Something special this time."

Terry panted, harder this time, as Tony pulled out of him and he saw the spent condom arcing toward a wastebasket. It was irritating that it went in without touching the rim. He moaned as Tony turned him over onto his stomach, no resistance in him, God help him, wanting Tony inside him again. He gasped as, kneeling between his thighs, Tony lifted Terry's legs to rise up Tony's torso and his ankles to hook on Tony's shoulders, leaving Terry's chest and cheek plastered to the red costume on the floor. Terry pressed his palms into the material, raising his chest a bit to take the pressure off. And then he jerked and gave a little cry as Tony penetrated him with his newly crowned cock. He was hard as a rock—so soon after the first fuck. And then Terry groaned as Tony laced his arms under his armpits and locked his fists behind Terry's neck, putting the young man into a full nelson, raising and bowing Terry's torso back to him. With Terry bent back and hanging in front of the strong lighting technician, Tony began rocking their bodies together, Tony's cock moving inside Terry's channel to the motion of the rocking.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," Terry squeaked.

"You like that?" Tony asked, putting his mouth close to Terry's ear. "Your old man can't do this with you, can he? You've got to be lithe and flexible to take that. Every time I looked at you, practicing for this show, I wanted to do this with you. I knew you could do it so we'd both like it. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes, oh shit, yes. Oh, holy fuck. Yes, I love it."

"Something your old lover can't do for you."

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit."

And they rocked on to a mutual ejaculation, Terry's flexibility being put to the test, but up to it—and aroused to it, getting a good release from it, with Tony fucking on, as Terry's hard cock rubbed rhythmically to the rocking in the folds of a red velvet costume, now ruined even more than it had been before by prodigious sweat and cum stains.

"There, that's done," Tony said immediately after ejaculating and rolling off Terry and going into a sitting position. "You're a good lay. Your sugar daddy better be paying you good attention, but he can't do that. You need someone like me to give that to you. Too bad I'm off to Chicago soon—maybe as soon as I've spiked Craig too."

Terry turned his face away so that Tony couldn't see the slight hurt on his face. It might have been guilt, having let Tony fuck him when he was in a long-term, committed relationship, but that's not what bothered him—the fleet was in today. It might have been that he was just a notch on his belt for Tony. But then Terry had let Tony fuck him with no intention of taking it any further either. Maybe it was because Tony had done him so well—that he couldn't complain about Tony's cocking. No, what bothered him was how perceptive Tony had been that his relationship with Alex wasn't all it could be.

"I can check you off the list," Tony said, his voice breezy. "There's just Craig on the list now, and then I can whistle my way off to Chicago."