Grant heard a knock on his hotel room door. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand and down at his Superman pajama pants and white undershirt. He was not willing to get out of his warm bed to answer the door at 6 in the morning after a long night of ghost hunting. The knock came again and Grant decided against ignoring it.
“Steve?” he asked.
“Can I come in?” Steve asked, also clad in his pajama pants.
Grant stepped back to let Steve enter, but he didn’t move. “Steve?” Continue reading
Steve shoved Grant down on the floor in his office. Moans and grunts were exchanged as Grant’s shirt was ripped off his body. Lips crashed together, tongues viciously dueling as Steve’s hands roamed newly naked flesh. Grant slowly pulled his lover’s shirt up, revealing the colorful tattoos. He flipped them over, pulling Steve’s shirt off as they went. His tongue traced the intricate designs causing the younger man beneath him to moan and squirm in pleasure and impatience. Continue reading
Steve set the box of tissues he was carrying around on the kitchen counter when he heard the door bell ring. Grumbling his way to the door, he seriously considered not opening it. He was sick, hacking up a lung, blowing his nose constantly and he did not feel like having visitors right now.
Looking through the peephole, Steve saw Grant’s distorted face carrying a bowl of something. He sighed. How could he not open the door for Grant? “Hey,” he said as the door swung open.
Grant triumphantly held up the bowl. “Hey! I come bearing homemade chicken noodle soup!” He brushed past Steve and took the bowl into the kitchen, putting it in the fridge. Steve followed him silently.
“Hey, Steve! How’s it going?” Grant answered his phone.
“Not bad, but something’s wrong with my sink. Think you can come over and take a look at it?”
Grant shrugged at his wife, who was looking at him oddly. “Yeah, sure I can come take a look at it. I’ve got some time right now, that ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s perfect.” Continue reading