[This vignette, which takes place right after chapter 24 of DRAWING BLOOD, originally appeared in the online erotica magazine NECROMANCE. I canít remember if I wrote it for them or if I just wrote it because my dick was hard and then they wanted it. Ten years later, I still think itís kind of a nice, hot little piece. -- PZB]


Fuck It, We're Going To Jamaica!

By the time they got to Negril, Trevor and Zach were too tired to register more than the sapphire-warm air and the lush green scent of the island around them. They went with Dougal and Colin to a beachside stand where they all had fried fish and bammy, a cassava-root turnover that reminded Trevor of fried grits and Zach of gnocchi. Late that afternoon, Dougal dropped them off at a small hotel that faced Negril's white sand beach, leaving them with a ridiculously huge stash of ganja and a promise to meet them the following evening. The sun was setting over the ocean, bleeding into the dark water. The room was plain and clean, painted white, the bed huge and soft. They fell into it and slept for sixteen hours, occasionally changing position but never once breaking contact.

The clear light of dawn woke them. For a moment Zach had no idea where he was: he might have been in his New Orleans apartment with a rainy morning filtering through the windows; he might have been back in the house in Missing Mile, with everything yet to happen. But from the instant he woke -- before he woke -- he knew who was beside him, intertwined with him. And that was all that mattered.

He propped himself on one elbow and stared out the sliding-glass door. They had been given a second-floor room that overlooked the beach, and the sand was as white as milled sugar, the water a translucent blue-green deep enough to bathe the eyes and soothe the heart. Zach watched the light break over the beach, and then he watched Trevor watching it, barely awake. He would have sobbed with joy, but he could not bear to disturb the moment.

Trevor turned his head on the pillow and looked at Zach. His gaze was as clear as the water, as the air. Zach seized Trevor's good hand and pressed it to his lips. "We won," he whispered. "Trev, we WON!"

"The dream vacation..." Trevor murmured.

"And the set of steak knives too," Zach finished. He lowered his head to Trevor's chest, kissed the hollow of his collarbone, tasted one creamy nipple. Trevor's left arm encircled him. Trevor's right hand, bandaged and splinted, was cradled in a nest of pillows. Zach ran his fingers up the inner arm, dared not stray farther than the wrist. "Does it hurt?"


"Want a Percocet?"


Zach eased out from under the cool sheet into the hot, wet morning. He searched through Trevor's backpack, found the bottle of painkillers they'd gotten at the hospital in Raleigh. That delirious dawn, that stark emergency room seemed very far away. As he unzipped his own bag and retrieved a small vial of almond oil, he reminded himself happily that they were.

Zach got a glass of water from the bathroom and climbed back into bed. He removed a single white pill from the bottle, placed it on his tongue, and leaned over to kiss it into Trevor's mouth. Trevor received the kiss hungrily, gulping down the bitter pill, then sucking at Zach's tongue and biting at his lower lip. Trevor liked to kiss rough and deep sometimes. He would leave Zach's lips swollen, slightly raw, the pale skin around them a deeper shade of pink. It felt wonderful.

Trevor's whole manner of loving was part tentative, exquisitely gentle, and part brutal. Once he started doing something he liked, there was no stopping him until he was done. Zach couldn't imagine wanting to stop him. Trevor kept finding ways to penetrate him, to engulf him with fingers, tongue, wet silken throat.

The space-time continuum tilted again, and Zach did not know what year it was, what hemisphere he was in, whether there was a mattress beneath him or a yawning void. He was only aware of sensation, and gradually of the position of his body: lying on his side, his back arched, his penis deep in Trevor's mouth, Trevor's left hand cupping his buttocks, the middle finger teasing his asshole, slick with saliva, sliding slowly in and out, one inch, two, then up to circle the waiting prostate that throbbed and sang at his touch. No one had ever made Zach feel this good inside before. He'd gotten fucked, sure, partly because he'd found the idea of it sordidly hot and partly because it was hard to resist when you were drunk and horny and someone was simultaneously shoving his tongue down your throat and trying to stick his greased cock up your greased asshole. But after the first few times, when it had stopped hurting, there hadn't been much to it at all.

With Trevor it was totally different. He wanted Trevor's cock inside him, wanted to squeeze Trevor deep in his guts and drive him mad with pleasure. And it felt so damn good. Zach had been amazed to discover that he could actually come that way. Even if he didn't shoot off, even if he didn't have a hard-on at all, it seemed that his sphincter and groin muscles and prostate gland could have their own mind-shattering orgasm.

And, of course, Trevor didn't rely too heavily on lubricant. He had developed an absolute passion for rimming, better described in his case as ass-eating, and he practiced it with the same intensity and determination he must have used drawing at five. He was a veritable ass-eating demon, was formerly virginal, celibate Trevor, and he seemed to be trying to make up for the twenty-five years he hadn't had Zach's ass to chew on. Zach wasn't complaining at all.

Trevor sat up, grabbed one of Zach's hipbones, and turned him over on his stomach. Zach arched his back, made the graceful ridge of his spine ripple. Trevor pressed his cheek against velvety-pale skin, rubbed his lips across a nub of vertebrae, then worked his way lower, kissing each small bone, flicking with his tongue when he reached the downy hollow just above the buttocks. Zach shuddered and raised his sweet ass, offering it like the delicacy it was.

Trevor touched his tongue to the very top of the crack, tasted only a tinge of clean sweat caught by fine black hairs. Farther down it had a spicy flavor he could not quite define, and the skin was very soft, faintly puckered, ever so slightly damp. Then his tongue slid into the molten honeyed center of the asshole, and that was possibly his favorite taste in the world, the taste he still could not believe even existed. Zach made a sound of abject contentment, part sigh, part whimper, and spread his legs wide. His asshole opened to Trevor's mouth like a ripe firm fruit. The meat inside was slick, tender, a deep, intensely vulnerable pink. Trevor made the tip of his tongue into a pointy dart and slid it in as far as it would go. Zach gasped and ground his ass into Trevor's face, trying to impale himself on the warm slippery tongue. Trevor grabbed a handful of asscheek, kneading the fine smooth flesh in a fit of tactile ecstasy, pulling Zach wider open, fucking Zach with his tongue until the small connective membrane on its underside felt ready to tear.

Then he got a finger in again, and feeling Zach's asshole rippling in joyous waves around it, sucking it instinctively deeper, he couldn't wait to put his cock in there. His concentration had been so fully centered in his lips and tongue that he had to check to see if his cock was hard. It was desperate, fairly weeping with desire.

Catching Trevor's intention, Zach rolled over and retrieved the vial of almond oil from the bedside table. He stroked a few drops onto Trevor's cock -- Trevor's eyelids fluttered at the touch, and his sigh was almost painful -- then rubbed some on his own asshole, snaking a finger inside. He raised his legs in invitation and wrapped them around Trevor's hips, positioning the tip of Trevor's cock against his fragrantly oiled asshole. Trevor lowered himself carefully, managing to get his injured hand off to the side and forget about it. Zach's ass surrounded him, silky-slick, sliding and squeezing, so hot, so generous. This seemed the most intimate invitation anyone could offer: sink into my insides, let your pleasure grow in my gut, explore my convoluted maze.

They settled into a slow, deep rhythm. Trevor felt the Percocet beginning to kick in. It made his muscles feel watery and dreamy, made his cock pulse with his heartbeat. Cradling Zach in his arms, a perfect intact package of flesh and blood and bone, Trevor thought he had never been so purely alive. When he came, he stared into Zach's green eyes and saw everything he felt reflected there.

Afterward, they smoked a joint of fresh, fragrant ganja and walked down to the beach in the silent dawn. The sand was so soft that their footprints made almost no impression. The clear blue ocean was as warm as blood. They were home for a while.