Stephanie Vaughan

Excerpt: "Sharing Spaces"

DJ hitched the bag of groceries he carried up on his hip while
unlocked the front door. He hated himself for even having the
thought, but he halfway hoped Joe wouldn't be home tonight.

He liked his new roommate. A lot. But how long did he have to give
it before he could admit that things weren't working out and not
look like a jerk?

As DJ set the bag on the low bar separating the kitchen from the
entry hall, he heard a door closed softly upstairs and realized his
wish hadn't been granted. What else was new? He separated the
things that belonged in the refrigerator from what went in the
cabinet and rededicated himself to no repeats of this morning's
fiasco.

He and Joe had worked out a schedule for the shower in the
morning. Since Joe's bank job started earlier than DJ's job as a
sports injury therapist, Joe got the first shower. The schedule had
worked well enough for the first ten days or so, but this morning it
had unraveled badly. Like a squadron of Blue Angels, it only took a
slight deviation to produce disaster. Instead of exiting the bathroom
promptly and finishing his grooming in the privacy of his bedroom,
Joe had spent an extra five minutes using the room's multiple mirrors
to get his thick, black hair just the way he liked it.

Which wouldn't have made a lick of difference if he hadn't been
doing it nude.

Miles of lovely olive skin covering chiseled muscles an underwear
model would envy and DJ had been able to confirm the presence of
just the kind of high, rounded butt he would love to worship --
complete to the divots in the sides and two perfect dimples at the
base of Joe's spine.

DJ sighed.

How high school was it to lust after your roommate?

Extremely.

He was an adult -- pretty much. He could share living space with
someone and not fuck them. It wasn't like DJ needed to prove
anything. He'd done it repeatedly, four times at least in the past
three years.

But, half-awake and slurping coffee, he'd nearly scalded himself
when he'd pushed open the bathroom door and realized the room
was still occupied. He'd stood there frozen, his brain unable to keep
up with his roving eyes, forgetting to swallow the burning hot liquid
in his mouth.

Maybe it had only seemed like forever that he'd remained there,
motionless except for his eyeballs, taking in broad shoulders, trim
waist, and -- holy shit -- a long, pretty cock resting quietly
between two hairy muscular thighs. He'd been just awake enough to
notice that Joe must trim down there though because, despite
wonderfully hairy legs and chest, the hair surrounding his personal
package was only modest.

In retrospect maybe it was a good thing he'd been paralyzed after
all, otherwise he might have gotten down on his hands and knees to
examine everything in minute detail. DJ paused in mid-stretch as he
stacked soup cans, knowing he shouldn't be allowing himself to think
about Joe's dick and what he'd like to do with it, but unable to
resist.

He'd start by touching his tongue to the very tip and feel the soft
skin there as he breathed in the scents of sex and skin. Run his
tongue around the head, tasting any stray drops of pre-come that
might have leaked out. Next, he'd pull just the head in with his lips,
suction and the seal he'd make with them keeping it inside. DJ would
slowly, ever so slowly, take the rest of the shaft into his mouth
where he'd begin--

"Hey, how you doin'?"

DJ nearly jumped out of his skin when Joe came around the corner
and into the kitchen, looking tired but amazing in nothing but a pair
of worn jeans.

© 2006, Stephanie Vaughan, Torquere Press
All Rights Reserved

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