Blind hearts-ManxMan-boyxboy

Chivalric Male Chauvinist

Alex was a half-hour late when he pulled into the visitor parking area of Frank’s apartment. The sycamore shaded over the grainy hood of his car, and he could see through its reticule of leaves winged dots in the sky. A tingle still glowed at the base of his groin, the air soothingly damp down his nape. He wiped down his face and mussed his hair and hoped before the mirrors of his imagination he looked presentable enough.  Leaning back against the hood, he called Frank, but not before sneering at the toilet color of the two-storey complex, its monk and nun roof tiling running off hues of the same toilet color, and the green blandness of the angular lawns. Frank’s parents, evil capitalists they were, paid for the rent and utilities of the two-bedroom apartment. Frank, niggard he was, divided the second room into two and rented at high college rates to the mousiest girls. Supposedly girls were cleaner and would bake him cookies in their simpering gratitude.

Alex descried bumping down the stairs a figure in straight leg jeans and lime green jersey, that same jersey Frank had worn when they were kicked out from a casino for making too much money on Black Jack.  Alex’s eyes shriveled from the too-bright light of the day and slid away the portent of soon-coming mischief.  And confirming all unease, Frank’s square face sharpened from the distant blur, and there was an annular bruise shading his left eye.

“Rawwrrr, you look ravishing, ma chérie,” Alex said in a fake French accent. Frank shot him a tiger look, daring Alex to contort an even dirtier face at him.

Frank’s face was still a beast of scowls; Alex gave his best poker face. “Sorry I’m late. Mom needed me to do shit for her.”

“Yeah, like sucking her nine-inch cock.”

“You said you loved my mom. I’m so, so hurt.”

Frank sneered as he made his around to the passenger side of Alex’s car. “You drive, darling.”

Something up in the sky was fucking with him, Alex moped, opening the door to his car. A drive down PCH open top in Frank’s convertible would have been a fitting addendum to topping Tony. But compromise… he had been late afterall.

After a few minutes of driving, Frank said, “Sucking dick on a Sunday morning... There ought be a law against that.”

“Fine by me. Tony was too fucking stoned to be the man this morning.”

Frank snorted. “Tony, snuck-into-the-Emmys Tony?”

“The one and only.”

Frank ticked his head ruminatively. “Man, you’re a walking cliché.  I can count the number of chicks I’ve nailed on one hand. And you … God, I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Not my prob. You can always come over to the dark side,” Alex said.

“Yeah that, when the moon falls out of the sky.”

That unexpectedly hurt.  Alex slid in his seat, blustered, “What the fuck happened to your face?”

“Janet is what.  But don’t worry.  We’re going to remedy that in a few hours.”

Oh boy. Alex didn’t want to ask. Surprises were better left as presents unopened. He rolled to a stop at the traffic and glimpsed Frank’s hand thumbing at the car radio. A small hand with astonishingly symmetrical and lean fingernails. A tightness grew below in his belt, and he flicked his eyes back to the panoptic of the parched brownness. Tony hadn’t been nearly enough. First time fucking the 6’ 2” of hard muscle though.  Nice, great… He rarely did that these days but Tony had proved such a rickety intoxicated horse; it was easier to just roll him over and take charge. Now Something was unmistakable under his pants as the image flashed of Dimov under him moaning just as shatteringly as Tony did.  Alex shifted, his balls tingling, loathed the restraining fact of Frank beside him. But Frank shouldn’t mind if he took care of it right there. Frank understands needs …dear God, Frank would—He looked back to the slim back profile of Frank giving his full attention to the window. Frank shouldn’t mind if he reached over and rough up the shingled layers of his black hair.