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Ride A Cowboy	By : Prynesque Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2268 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ride A Cowboy
- 1
Title: Ride A Cowboy

Author: Prynesque

Pairing: 1x2

Rated: NC-17

Warnings: Slash, OOC (this is an AU � I think it�s a given), some swearing,
lemon, POV, possible Australian-isms, PWP-ish.

Disclaimer: You know the deal� not mine, etcetera�

Notes: It�s amazing where inspiration comes from. One moment
I�m at the gym, working entirely too hard, and suddenly this song comes on and
I�m having delicious Heero/Duo visions that could
only be satiated by writing this fic. I�ve got
visions of a Trowa/Quatre companion fic which may or may not ever be written. Please note that
this is my first actual sex scene� so be nice.

Be warned: this fic hereby
contains not a whole lot of plot. But there is sex and that hides a multitude
of sins.

Dedicated to SkyLark � who read
this first � and to Mike the Bartender at my local pub, who makes the best
Cock-sucking Cowboys in town and can be tempted to wear a cowboy hat if you ask
very, very nicely.

Ride A Cowboy:

I�m an average sort of guy. I think I always have been. Average. It�s a fairly meaningless word, really; stuck on
the fence between poles, it doesn�t really seem to
describe much of anything. Most people seem to use it synonymously with dull.

And who knows, maybe they�re right. Maybe I�m not an average
guy, maybe I�m just dull and boring� 26 going on 50,
one foot already heading for the grave.

After all, I�ve never done any of those crazy,
irresponsible, spontaneous things that one always associates with youth, and
with people who are completely un-boring and un-average.

I�ve never chugged half a keg of beer and then been
spectacularly half-dead the next morning� I�ve never snorted or smoked or
injected or swallowed� I�ve never joy-rided down the interstate at
two-hundred miles an hour, whooping in a giddy haze� I�ve never pressed a
half-naked stranger up against a wall and had anonymous, wanton, messy sex.

No, I�ve never done any of those wild, adventure-type things
that are supposedly an integral part of being a 20-something; because they just
never held any appeal for me. I just don�t see the point of participating in
illegal, dangerous, idiotic stunts simply for the sake of it, or so that I can
say that I have.

I�m perfectly happy being average. I show up to work on time
each morning. I pay my rent and my taxes. I give to charity when the compulsion
arises. I feed my neighbour�s cat when she�s out of town. Maybe that sounds
dull to you; maybe you think I�m a 20-nothing after all. But I�m happy with my
average little life.

The only trouble is that people tend to underestimate you.
They take one look at you, fit you into your neat little average category and
then assume that anything outside of that is completely beyond you.

But I�ve never cared about that, I�ve never cared what
people thought of me� which is why I�m having a little difficulty understanding
why it is that I�m currently standing here on this darkened street.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. It�s not a grand
story so I won�t bother with the ubiquitous �Once upon a time,� I�ll just get
on with it. It all started this morning, and it was as completely un-dramatic
as that opening probably suggests.

I had just arrived at the company conference room for my
weekly dose of unmitigated torture. Staff meetings� I hate the wretched things.
It would be alright if we just sat down and efficiently discussed this week�s
progress and next week�s itinerary. But it�s never that simple and never that
short.

No, there are the endless minutes of waiting for everyone to
settle, for the stragglers to arrive late and issue their lengthy apologies.
Then there is more waiting for refreshments to be sorted, for coffee to be
brewed and biscuits offered. And finally once the meeting actually starts, it�s
always interspersed with useless trivia and weekend plans and gossip.

It�s a perfectly pointless formality but of course, I would never not go.
Sometimes I have to wonder at my own dedication and consistency.

The meeting room was empty when I got there; a long, bland,
cream and beige room with a long, bland, cream and beige table at the centre. I
eased myself into my usual chair.

We don�t really have dedicated seats but that one has always
been my favourite; it
has an unobstructed view out the window of the Memorial park opposite. There
are often kites being flown mid-morning and I�ve always found the sight a
welcome distraction whenever Julie from Legal starts on about her husband�s
weekend amateur baseball games.

My reverie was interrupted by the sharp crack of the door
being flung open and hitting the wall with a bang. I heard the culprits long
before I actually saw them; their giggles wafted into the room minutes before
they did. I sighed heavily as they entered. They, of course, giggled even
harder and then ignored me.

Both tall and blonde and lean, they are probably two of the
most attractive women at work. Unfortunately, they are also exceedingly silly
and, from what I�ve seen of them, rather pointless as well. I�ve never bothered
to learn their names; they�ve always seemed fairly interchangeable anyway.

They seated themselves at the far end of the table and bent
their heads together, so close that their foreheads were almost touching. There
was a stream of nonsensical natter as they shared
whatever secrets their vacuous blonde heads had managed to come up with in the
ten minutes since they last saw each other. Their mouths were a whirr of red
paint and white teeth; I�ve often wondered how they can understand each other
when they�re talking so fast� perhaps it�s some kind of code.

There was a peel of laughter just as another co-worker
entered, a short, and balding, slightly round man whom my brain registered as
being from Accounting. He too ignored me, but leered at the blondes, all
yellowing teeth and saliva. He sat himself halfway down the table, leaning back
in his chair to stare at the stretch of bare skin that was revealed as the
closest blonde�s skirt rode up.

�What are you gorgeous girls giggling about?� he asked in
that supposedly suave manner that many middle-aged, slightly going-to-seed
business men still think they can pull off.

More giggling followed, which I suspected was more at his
expense rather than his compliment. I was filled with the dreaded sense that
this was going to be a long morning.

�I had a date last night,� one of the blondes revealed as though
this was on par with achieving world peace. �Total spunk!
Took me dancing and everything.� Still
more giggling. I tried to drown the sound out, tried to glaze over and
enter my own little world where petty, irritating blondes didn�t exist. The
blissful vision was punctured by a high-pitched squeal.

�Oooh!
Where did you go?� the other blonde asked, leaning forward even further. Her
pale eyes glinted, on the probe for juicy information.

�That new club on West 53^rd� Insomia. It�s brilliant!� Blonde Number One enthused, a slightly
superior tone to her voice.

I�d heard of Insomnia, of course. Anyone who�s anyone is
talking about it; I merely overheard the gossip when I was passing the office
kitchenette. It�s an exclusive nightclub with a guest list that costs your
right kidney and your first born to get onto. I
confess I was slightly impressed, though I kept it masterfully to myself;
whoever her date was, he must have had connections. A damn sight higher up the
social ladder than the incompetents she usually dates, I�m sure.

�Oh, wow!� gushed Blonde Number Two, the jealousy barely
hidden beneath her simper. �I�ve never been there. Have you guys?� She turned
slightly to look down the table. Her gaze was fixed on me but it was Mr.
Not-quite-debonair that answered.

�Not me,� he said, patting his portly stomach and smirking.
�I leave that sort of thing to pretty ladies such as yourselves.�
More giggling. I barely resisted the urge to roll my
eyes.

�What about you, Heero?� Blonde Number Two asked again,
smiling in what I suppose was meant to be coyness, and revealing rows of
straight white teeth.

I have yet to work out why she persists with flirting with
me; short of actually telling her I�m gay, I�ve done everything I can to deter
her. In fact, I�m fairly sure I�ve given her clear signals that I would be more
interested in doing the rumba naked with a hippo than returning her attentions.

I was still trying to decide whether I should deign to
answer or not when Blonde Number One laughed derisively, raising one immaculately
plucked blonde eyebrow. �Please! Heero Yuy
clubbing? What a joke!� Yet more giggling.

And that was it� that was the moment. It was just a stupid,
thoughtless comment from a stupid, thoughtless person and yet for some reason I
took it to heart. I was irked by her assumption; by the way she coolly looked
right through me and wrote me off with less than a second glance.

That, I suppose, is why I�m standing here on this gloomy
street at midnight� to try and prove
her wrong. It�s ridiculous. I�m Joe-Average, remember? I don�t do irrational
things like this just for the Hell of it or just so that I walk up to her
tomorrow and tell her that I did. And yet, here I am.

The street is dark, save for the gleaming green neon light
flashing in the corner of my eyesight. All
Hallows. Infinitely popular and trendy, this place attracts every sort of
20-something and good deal of 30-somethings as well; they flock here like moths
to a flame.

The line at the door stretches halfway down the street, full
of barely dressed waifs shivering in their glittering pumps and spaghetti
straps. The wind whistles down the road and they shiver as one, huddling
together for warmth. The bouncer on the door, a big beefy man with dark skin
and a goatee, is unrepentant and the line remains at a stand-still.

I had dithered at home for a good half hour before I decided
to come here, a rare thing, as I pride myself on not being a ditherer. But now
that I�m here I�m starting to wonder whether I shouldn�t have just dithered for
a bit longer.

Suddenly I remember why it is that I never go clubbing� it�s
not because I can�t, like that blonde bimbo assumed, but because I just don�t
like it�

The loud, pumping music that rattles in your chest and
pounds in your head, even days later� the blinding ecstatic bursts of brightly coloured light that
illuminate the crowd, mixing with the grating, jolting robotic flashes of the
strobe light� the dusky swirls of dry ice, ghosting across the dance floor,
weaving through the pulsating, sweaty bodies that gyrate against each other in
one massive barely-clothed orgy� I detest it all.

And if I�m being perfectly honest, which I might as well be,
it actually rather scares me� all those people, pressing in on you, drawing you
into their sweat-soaked throbbing circle; it�s far too intimate a situation for
public places and relative strangers.

Nightclubaphobia someone once
joked at my expense. I�m not talking paralyzing panic attacks and irrational tremors; I�m just talking
about a disquieting, unnerving sense of discomfort; the instinct that tells me
I don�t belong there.

I�m torn inside, a sensation that I�ve always found
intolerable. The memory of the last time I was dragged out to a club by one of my
more persuasive friends comes back to me in sickening flashes of unease� all
that sweat and noise and claustrophobia� it�s not me and I just want to turn
around and go home.

But at the same time, that derisive laugh echoes in my ears,
the look on that pretty, empty face taunts me, and that little coil of stubborn
determination deep inside urges me to do it� just this once�

I hunch back into my jacket, stuffing my hands deep into the
pockets, wavering with indecision. A second gust of wind whips down the narrow
street, tousling my hair like the hands of an invisible prankster.

I eye the shivering crowd� a mixture of rich brats with
designer clothes and platinum credit cards, and professional yuppies with
mobile phones and fixed sneers. I try to imagine what it would be like to be
pressed up against them on the vast smoky dance floor beyond those doors.

And there�s my decision right there. Fuck the blondes� fuck
being a wild 20-something� fuck this whole stupid idea. I turn sharply on my
heel, anxious to get away.

I�ve gone barely two steps when I see him. He�s sauntering
down the street towards me. Normally I wouldn�t give a stranger a second glance
but he�s unusual enough to catch my eye.

Dressed all in black, he is wearing a tight t-shirt that
clings to his body, hinting at the smooth muscle beneath. Similarly tight
leather pants grip long, lean legs, flaring out at the bottom; the seams that
run down the sides are trimmed with black tassels that shake and quiver with
every step. Silver-toed boots click on the side-walk and round violet eyes
twinkle mischievously beneath the wide-brimmed hat. He�s a cowboy; a wild,
sexy, enticing cowboy.

Despite his distinct lack of warm clothing, I�m the one who
shivers� a full body shiver that begins at the top of my spine and ends in my
groin with a sharp stab of attraction. I�ve felt this feeling before but it�s
never been this strong and there has never been the overwhelming urge to act on
it.

As he approaches, his mouth cracks into an impossibly wide
smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth and the barest glimpse of the tip of
his pink tongue. He draws level with me, winking and flicking the brim of his
hat up with long, pale fingers in an impossibly sexy sign of salutation.

He brushes passed me and the sharp, spicy scent of his
cologne fills my nostrils� and it�s intoxicating. But then he�s gone,
meandering on down towards the club. Before I know what I�m doing, I�ve done a
complete 180. Facing the club again, I let my gaze linger on his back as he
wanders away from me.

He has the most incredible length of hair. Pulled back in a
braid, it hangs down his back to his waist, following the line of his spine,
and swinging back and forth with every step. It points, temptingly, teasingly,
to the curves of his arse, beckoning me to follow. And suddenly, I am.

I stop abruptly in the middle of the road, barely a metre from the club door. The
cowboy has paused by the bouncer, one leather-clad hip jutting out in mock
impatience as he waits to be let in.

The bouncer grins and then looks past him to where I�m
frozen, mid-street. �Back of the line, mate,� says the bouncer, pointing one
solid, brown finger down the street.

His accent is broad and foreign, a lazy, comfortable drawl.
South African, I wonder. Up closer I can see the sinuous, twisting design of a
tattoo crawling up both arms and disappearing beneath his t-shirt. Australian, maybe?

I must have said that aloud because suddenly those deep
brown eyes are fixed straight on me again. �Nah, I�m a Kiwi,� he says smoothly.

Ah, a New Zealander. I swallow heavily wondering whether
I�ve just invited myself to a right royal beating; I know I�m particularly edgy when people mistake my Japanese heritage for
Chinese. I�m fairly fit but this guy is built like the Empire
State Building,
and although he�s pretty heavy, I�d be willing to bet that he�s quicker than he
looks and not one for messing around.

But before anything can happen, suddenly the cowboy is
talking, �But we don�t hold that against him,� he laughs, tipping his head back
and giving me a perfect view of his smooth, pale neck. I wonder what it would
be like to run my tongue� I shake my head, trying not to go there.

The bouncer�s attention is drawn away from me and he fixes
his gaze on the cowboy again. �You�re late� your break finished ten minutes
ago.�

The cowboy laughs again and then he�s looking straight at
me. �Hey, you can�t rush perfection, can you?� he says, winking that same
tempting wink.

The bouncer rolls his eyes dramatically and jokingly cuffs
the cowboy around the head, knocking his hat forwards into his eyes.

Then, �Back of the line, mate,� he says again to me. �It�ll
be a long wait, though. It�s already packed inside.�

A shot of disappointment rips through me. Do I really want
to spend hours waiting in the cold just so I can get closer to the cowboy? At
that moment, said cowboy pushes his hat back to reveal those eyes again.
They�ve taken on a green tinge from the neon sign overhead.

The tight feeling in my groin is back and before I�m even
aware of having made the decision, I�m wandering away down the line.

I�m half-way down, passing endless shivering bodies, when
there is a sudden whistle, sharp and arresting. I glance back reflexively.
�You�re in, mate,� the bouncer calls down to me, jerking his head in the
direction of the door. The cowboy is lingering just behind him and I swear he
winks at me before he disappears into the pitch blackness of the club beyond.

I cross the threshold and the pounding beat of the bass hits
me almost instantly, rattling in my rib-cage, daring my heart to keep the pace.
Already I feel that edgy sensation of discomfort creeping over me.

A long dark corridor stretches out before me ending in two
sets of stairs, one leading up, and the other down to where the violent
thrashing music is playing. To my immediate right is the cloak room; a black
leather-topped counter framed by thick, heavy black curtains.

The door-bitch looks up from her glossy magazine and casts
me a seductive glance. She�s a vampire� all impossibly pale skin, long midnight hair, smoky eyes and blood red lips.
The tips of her plastic fangs are just visible as she smiles.

�Take your coat, sugar?� she asks in a thick southern accent
that seems far too sweet and wholesome and all-American for this place. Her
black eyes glint in the dim green glow from the outside sign.

I nod, dry-mouthed, and shrug my jacket off, laying it
across the counter. I smooth my shirt awkwardly and wipe nervous hands on the
rough denim of my jeans. I feel hideously out of place.

�Give us your hand,� the vampire purrs, waving what looks
like a date stamp.

I hold my left out to her and she takes in hers, long black
nails curving around my wrist� little red droplets are painted at the centre of
each one; the image is rather unsettling against the pale bronze of my skin.

She stamps my hand in one swift motion, inking a black
number into my flesh before doing the same to the slip of cardboard now pinned
to my jacket. 01-31-93.

She twiddles the dial on the stamp, moving it on to the next
number and then peers down at the neatly printed digits. I can feel her breath
on my hand. She grins, plastic fangs bared. �Hey, January 31^st, 1993. The Dallas Cowboys won
the Super Bowl on that day. My dad�s a big fan,� the vampire says, grinning at
me, unnervingly cheerful for someone representing the un-dead.

Cowboys� that figures; suddenly my entire world seems to be
revolving around them. �Hn,� I grunt.

The vampire ignores my rather unsociable response to her
trivia and waves one black-nailed hand in the direction of the stairs. �Candy
Bar�s up; Dance Floor�s down.� She
looks me over critically, taking in my tense, awkward stance. �You look like a
Candy Bar kinda guy to me, cowboy.� She pats my hand.
�You head on up there� Duo�ll take good care of you.�

She winks, though I�m not sure why. �Have a good night.
Don�t do anything I wouldn�t do.� I stare at her. �Don�t worry, that don�t rule
much out.� She winks again, running her tongue over the shiny plastic surface
of her fangs, and waves me off.

I shuffle down the length of the corridor. The mild
discomfort inside me is growing exponentially. The floor is slightly sticky
beneath my feet; I focus on it to try and stop myself from turning back. When I
reach the stairs I take her advice and go up.

The door at the top swings open as I approach and a fairy
appears. She�s wearing a silver, sparkly outfit that leaves little to the
imagination and the tips of blue-silver wings are just visible above her bare
shoulders. The glitter on her skin twinkles and she flashes me a cheery smile.

She�s carrying a heavy rack of empty glasses and I step back
out of her way. She slips past me and continues down onto the Floor. Her floral
scent lingers in the air, mingling with the swirling curls of cigarette smoke
that are seeping out from beneath the door at the top of the stairs. I watch
her until she disappears into the darkness below and then I turn back and cross
through into the Candy Bar.

It�s not what I�m expecting, though if you asked me exactly
what I was expecting, I doubt I�d be
able to tell you. It�s a refreshingly old-style cocktail lounge� or at least,
as old-style as a lounge can be when it�s filled with ultra-modern, high-flying
business men and women.

The interior is all smooth, clean lines of red and black leather
barely lit by soft, glowing candles and shimmering lamps that cast a gentle red
hue across the room.

The air is thick with smoke; it clings to the scarlet
shadows, making them almost tangible. The tips of cigarettes burn amber through
the gloom as drags are taken and smoke exhaled.

A bar runs down the left hand side of the room, black
leather-topped like the cloakroom downstairs. Empty glasses hang from racks
over head; they glint in the dim light, the flickering candlelight dancing
across their sparkling surfaces. Beyond are rows and rows of bottles, filled
with glowing liquids, translucent greens and blues and oranges beside creamy,
opaque grays and browns.

There are tables and chairs and long soft lounges dotting
the room, mostly filled with professional-looking types in smart designer
clothing. They are about my age or slightly older and all seem to be members of
a rather obnoxious-looking breed of yuppie. They remind me of the vacant
blondes from work. They sip fancy drinks in fancy glasses and laugh at their
own spiteful jokes.

But I�m relieved because I would rather deal with these
people than the twinked out bright young things that
are probably thrashing around on the Floor downstairs. These people I can
ignore; these people will ignore me back� they will make no move to draw me
into their narrow little world.

The far side of the room is one long window, framed by heavy
black curtains. Bright, throbbing lights flash on the other side and when I
approach I find myself looking out over a massive dance-floor packed with
violently pulsing bodies� a swaying mass of sparkles and bare flesh.

It�s a vision of everything I�ve always hated about
clubbing. But from up here, I�m delightfully removed and the voyeuristic sight
is strangely compelling and even enticing. A good-looking young man grinds
himself indecently close to a pretty girl with curly red hair. They laugh into
each other�s mouths as the dance continues. I can feel their sexual energy from
up here and I find myself blushing.

The music carries up through the vibrating floorboards,
clear but not overwhelmingly loud. The latest pop-remixes blend seamlessly
together and the sharp techno beats pulse in the air, seeping into me. I resist
the urge to tap my foot.

I spot the fairy pushing her way through the crowd; her
short dark hair, streaked with glitter, weaves through the throng of bodies.
She is holding her rack of glasses as high as she can, skillfully maneuvering
around the vibrant dancers. She disappears into a room on the far left.

I survey the other pumping bodies. Soon I�m spotting more
oddly-dressed characters. A black cat emerges from the DJ booth on the opposite
side of the room. She�s dressed in form-fitting lycra and a little silver bell hangs playfully from
the red collar around her neck.

She saunters through the crowd, looking gracefully feline
and attracting more than a few lewd glances. A young man, giddy from too much
alcohol, makes a grab for her gently swaying tail. A dark figure is at her side
in moments, prying clutching fingers away from her. She nods to the security
man and he releases his charge, disappearing effortlessly back into the
shadows.

The cat meets up with a curvy girl dressed as Wonder Woman,
gold headband and belt glinting beneath the flashing lights. Together they
collect the empty glasses from the few tiny tables that dot the edge of the
dance floor.

Behind the downstairs bar are two guys that seem to have
stepped right out of a Village People video; a bare-chested builder with a
thick mop of dark hair sticking out from beneath a plastic yellow hard-hat, and
a cop in dark sunglasses and a uniform two sizes too small. They are laughing
at something a customer on the other side of the bar has said as they twist the
tops off damp bottles of beer.

Further down the bar is a pirate with a red bandana and an
eye-patch. He is twirling a bottle of something in one hand. He tosses it up
high, the light glinting off the cool green liquid inside, and then catches it
neatly in the other hand. He makes a show of filling the shot glasses lined up
on the bar-top. The girls at the bar giggle and clap.

I watch him as he repeats the trick for another customer and
winks his one visible eye. �He�s a show-off,� says a voice behind me, catching
me off-guard. I don�t need to turn to see who it is. I can smell that same
sharp, spicy scent even through the cigarette smoke.

I incline my head slightly and the cowboy grins, revealing
that crooked smile again. Instantly, another sharp stab of attraction hits me
and I feel the slow burn of arousal curling around me.

�He only chose to be a pirate so he could make cracks about
the length of his sword,� the cowboy tells me with a low throaty laugh.

�What�s with the costumes?� I ask. My voice is too soft to
be heard over the music and the cowboy leans closer so that his ear is almost
pressed against my lips. Resisting the urge to capture that tempting earlobe
between my teeth, I repeat the question and he gives me a sly look as he leans
back again.

�This is All Hallows�
it�s Hallowe�en every night
here.� His tongue darts out, smoothing across his pink lips. �So� trick or
treat?�

�I don�t have any candy,� I tell him. Is he flirting with
me? There is a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that certainly hopes he is.

�I�m sure you�ll think of something,� he says with a wink.
Yep, that�s definitely flirtatious. I feel a corresponding tightness in my
pants.

�So why the cowboy?� I ask. My
voice is slightly husky, part arousal and part nervousness. It�s been a long
time since I flirted.

He laughs, seemingly delighted by my question. �Because I
like to ride,� is all he says, his eyes twinkling enticingly.

My mouth goes dry but before I can reply he�s already
sauntering away, his braid dancing alluringly across his arse.

He settles himself behind the bar; he looks instantly at
home there. I follow automatically, seating myself on one of the red-leather
bar stools. My heart is racing, pulsing even faster than the quick, resounding
beat of the bass downstairs. Tight anticipation coils in my stomach. The dance
is about to begin� I can just feel it.

The cowboy flicks his hat back and leans forwards across the
bar, resting his elbows tantalizingly close to mine. His scent fills my
nostrils again. �So what do you want from the bar?� His tone is light and even�
daring?

I�m tempted to respond in kind, to tell him that what I
really want is him� right here, right now, even up against that wall. I am
alarmed by the wantonness inside me. I try to remind myself that I�m average
and in that last moment, my courage fails.

�Vodka and lime,� I croak. My arousal throbs painfully,
telling me what it thinks of my cowardice. I try to ignore it, to reign it in. This isn�t me, I tell myself firmly� so why
does it feel like it is?

For a split second, I think I see disappointment in those
big, round eyes but he covers it with a grin. �You mean you don�t want a fancy
drink with a pretty paper umbrella?� he teases, glancing pointedly down to
where a couple of rather intoxicated women in power-suits are giggling over
their cocktails.

I shake my head, not quite trusting myself to speak. His
grin widens even further. I try not to think of what else he might be able to
do with that mouth.

�Good,� he nods, leaning even closer. I can feel his breath
on my face. �You�re too gorgeous to be a stuck-up asshole like that lot,� he
whispers. I feel my face flush, not quite disguised by the dim lighting.

The cowboy smiles to himself and turns away to make my
drink. His t-shirt slides up ever so slightly when he reaches up to grab the
vodka off the shelf. Two inches of smooth, creamy skin are revealed, stained
red by the smoky lighting. I feel an almost overwhelming desire to leap across
the bar and press my tongue to the curve of his lower back.

He swings back around, the hem of his t-shirt falling back
around his waist again. I don�t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Setting the drink down on the bar before me, he throws me a
casual smile. The shot of green curls through the clear
liquid. �There you go, cowboy,� he purrs, the sound going straight to my
groin.

I swallow heavily, pulling the drink towards me. Cowboy. That�s the second time I�ve been called that, though
I�m not sure why. �I thought you were the cowboy,� I venture, staring up at him
through my eyelashes.

He considers me for a moment and then in one swift motion,
he plucks the hat off his head and settles it on mine; the head-band is warm
against my hair, his body-heat still lingering there. He lets one long, pale
finger slide around the brim. I shiver when it brushes against the curve of my
ear.

�There you go, cowboy,� he says again. �Much
better.� He regards me with an indecipherable expression. �I�m Duo, by
the way,� he says suddenly.

The vampire�s words come back to me� Duo�ll take good care of you� There is a heady feeling in my stomach. I
sincerely hope she meant that in the way that my erection is telling me she
did.

�Heero,� I manage to croak.

�It�s mighty fine to meet you, cowboy.� Duo laughs, tugging
the hat down over my eyes.

By the time I�ve pushed it back again, he�s gone. Further
down the bar, he grins at an exotic-looking woman who is waving her
Sex-on-the-Beach in a rather dangerous fashion.

I feel a stab of envy and jealously before I can stop it. It
ripples over me, seeping into every crevice of my body. And then slowly it
gives way to disappointment. I bet he�s like this with everyone, I think
bitterly. Cheeky and flirtatious� isn�t that what bartenders are supposed to
be?

I stare glumly down at my drink and then drain the lot in one go. I want to hurl this stupid hat at him, scream
at him for making me feel this way, for making me want to do things that I
would never dream of doing.

But I don�t� because average people don�t cause drunken
scenes in nightclubs. Instead I slowly slide off my stool and turn to go.

�Not leaving so soon, are you, cowboy?� asks that
now-familiar voice. �You know� I don�t just give my hat to anyone�� he muses.

Hope kindles inside me. I dampen it before it can turn into
a raging forest fire. But it�s still there, flickering steadily along with that
familiar tightness in my jeans.

�Just stretching my legs,� I lie unconvincingly.

He grins. �Good idea. We wouldn�t you getting all stiff now, would we?� comes the
flirtatious response.

Suddenly the grey-suited, Sex-on-the-Beach woman is gone
from my mind. In fact, the entire universe has suddenly been reduced to him and
me and the burning of my cock.

I desperately wish that I was the sort of person who could
think of a snappy retort on the spot. But I�m not. I stare down at the bar-top
instead. Duo must think I�m a complete loser. Any minute, he�ll lose interest
and move onto someone with a gregarious nature to match his own.

I risk a glance up. He�s staring at me like I�m the most
fascinating thing in world. His eyes dart away when I catch him staring. The
hope inside me is now flickering at a rather dangerous rate.

�Can I get you another?� he asks hurriedly, indicating my
empty glass.

I hesitate and then nod. I don�t drink very often but I have
a fairly good tolerance for the stuff. I can manage another few drinks without
starting to lose my self-control.

He turns away and again I�m treated to that strip of
tempting flesh. The urge to touch him there is even stronger. He turns back to
me just in time.

My drink is set in front of me with a click and I take a
tiny sip. Duo grins at me and then leans back against the far side of the bar,
busying himself with a tray of slightly damp glasses. He takes each one in his
hands and gently wipes it down with a cloth.

I find the sight mesmerizing. I can�t help but wonder what
it might be like to have those hands on me. It won�t ever happen, of course,
because I just don�t do things like that� but there�s no harm in fantasizing,
right?

I sip my drink slowly, my gaze still fixed on Duo. He looks
up at me every-so often and grins. Occasionally he�ll wander away down the bar
to serve someone else. But he always comes back, those round, violet eyes
always returning to mine, whispering something indecipherable to me.

Eventually he pushes himself away from the bar, a movement
so fluid and so impossibly sexy that I feel the almost painful throb of my cock
intensify. I wonder how much longer I�ll be able to stand this. But more than
that, I wonder if he�s feeling the same heady sensation.

�What brings you here, cowboy?� he asks me unexpectedly.
�You don�t exactly look like the clubbing-type� no
offense.�

I�ve always found it incredibly irritating when people say
�no offense� after they�ve just said something that could only be offensive.
But when Duo says it, I find myself not caring in the least. In fact, I don�t
even care that he�s implying exactly what Blonde Number One implied that caused
me to come here in the first place.

�I�m not� I�m just an average guy,� I confess, my voice loud
enough to be heard over the music but not loud enough to draw the attention of
the yuppies further down the bar. �I�ve always hated clubbing� the noise, the
sweat, the intimacy�� I trail off, suddenly feeling hideously embarrassed by my
admission.

�You�ve just never been clubbing with the right person,� he
tells me, a twinkle in his eyes.

�What do you mean?� I ask, hopelessly curious.

�The right person� someone who completely fills your senses
to the point that nothing else in the world exists� dancing with them down
there, surrounded by sweaty, pulsing bodies that will never be as close to you
as that one person is, no matter how hard they try� imagine how exciting that
is� to be able to press up against them in public and do things with them that
would normally be reserved for dark corners and private places��

He trails off but the sound of his voice still echoes in my
mind� But then I realise the intimacy of his revelation. The
right person. I wonder who his right person is� the person who makes him
feel like they�re completely alone, even when they�re surrounded by strangers.
I feel a pang of something that I don�t know how to describe.

�Or at least, so I�m told,� he concludes. I look up at him,
too afraid to ask the question but needing to know anyway. �I haven�t found the
right person yet. But I�m more than willing to thrash around with that lot
downstairs until I find him.�

Him. I didn�t know a single word
could bring so much hope. His words fill me and suddenly I find myself thinking
that maybe all that sweat and gyrating flesh isn�t such a bad thing after all.
My cock is suddenly making me very aware of its presence. Evidently it doesn�t
think gyrating flesh is such a bad thing either� as long that said flesh
belongs to the incredibly sexy cowboy grinning at me.

�So then, if you�re not really the clubbing-type� why did you come here?� he ponders aloud.

I hesitate, wondering whether I should tell him the story.
It probably makes me sound horribly lame. I don�t want him thinking of me like
that. But something in his eyes inspires confidence.

�I�ll tell you, if you promise not to laugh,� I offer.

He grins. �I�ll try,� he swears, attempting to look solemn
but really just looking mischievous.

I decide that that will have to do. And so I tell him. About
the Blondes, about the sleaze from Accounting, about how they laughed at me and
thought I was a complete non-entity� the whole stupid story. It�s much longer
when I tell it aloud and of course, Duo does laugh. But it�s a fantastic sound�
and I discover that he�s not actually laughing at me, but with me. I�m not
entirely sure I�ve ever experienced this.

To the yuppies who are casting us the odd glance, I must
look like one of those drunken losers that cling to bartenders as thought
they�re best-friends. But in this moment, I couldn�t give a shit.

�I wasn�t going to come in. I got here and chickened out.
But�� I stop suddenly, not sure whether I should continue.

�But?� he prompts, resting his elbows on the bar-tops and
leaning dangerously close to me. The red light casts hollow shadows beneath his
eyes and that familiar spicy scent goes straight to my cock, making it twitch.

�But then I saw you and decided I was willing to risk it,� I
say in a rush.

Apparently that was the right thing to say because he grins and
then winks. �You�re something, you know that?� he tells me. I smile but I�m not
entirely sure what he means.

He leans back again, regarding me for a moment with an
indecipherable expression. �Fancy a Cock-sucking Cowboy?� he asks me suddenly,
catching me completely off-guard.

Hat or not, he still a cowboy to me and my mind is suddenly
filled with the most delicious interpretation of those words imaginable� up
against a wall, the hard stone digging into my shoulder blades and that hot
mouth, always that mouth, wrapped around me�

�What?� I splutter. Is that panic in my voice?

Duo laughs. �Relax, it�s a drink, not an offer,� he says
smoothly. I nod and then the disappointment sets in. �Unless you want it to
be,� he adds, voice so low I barely catch it.

I flush immediately. �So how �bout it?
The drink, I mean,� he clarifies.

I take a deep breath to stop myself from asking for both.
You�re average, remember? I tell myself. Average people don�t suddenly go
having wild fantasies about complete strangers. And nor do that act on them.
Suddenly I hate that word. Average. I�d give anything
to something else right now.

�What is it?� I croak belatedly.

�It�s a shooter. Half Baileys, half
butterscotch Schnapps. Sweet and tasty. You�ll
like it, I promise,� he says, temptingly. I nod because right now I don�t think
I could refuse this man anything.

He sets the shot-glass on the bar in front of me and
expertly fills it with liquid. The two layers sit snugly on top of each other,
twinkling golden brown and opaque, dusky grey. Duo casts me a glance and then
makes another. They sit side by side, rims just touching.

He pushes one towards me and takes the other in his own
hand. �So what shall we drink to, cowboy?� he asks.

�The right person?� I suggest,
wondering if my face is a red as I think it is.

Duo grins. �The right person,� he echoes,
voice low and sultry.

My pants are so tight now that I�m fairly sure the pattern
of my denim jeans is permanently imprinted on my flesh.

�And to cock-sucking cowboys, of course,� Duo adds after a
moment.

We drink simultaneously, throwing our shots back in one go.
The sickly sweet liquid dances on my tongue and then trickles down my throat.
In my mental fantasy, where I�m pressed against that wall with Duo�s mouth
around me, I come and it�s my essence that�s gliding down Duo�s throat. My cock
twitches violently, impossible to ignore, reminding me how much it wants to
follow suit for real.

Duo smacks his lips, snapping me out of my daze. Focusing on
Duo�s mouth doesn�t do anything to reduce the strain in my pants. He grins at
me but there is a slightly wanton tinge to his smile. I get the distinct
impression that he�s thinking exactly the same thing as I am.

I hover, on the verge of asking what I�ve been
wanting to ask since I first saw him outside on the street. But
subconsciously I�m waiting for him to make the first move. He�s been leading
this dance since the very beginning. I�m average, remember. And it requires
someone distinctly un-average to make such a bold move.

Suddenly there is a sharp bang. I whirl around. The door has
been flung open and the fairy from earlier is stomping across the room, a tray
of dirty glasses in her hands and a distinctly disgruntled look on her face.

The yuppies all follow her progression across the room. It�s
only when she finally makes it behind the bar and sets her tray down with a
heavy sigh that they turn back to their pink drinks and their pointless
conversations.

�They need clean glasses downstairs,� the fairy grumbles to
Duo, smoothing short, spiky strands of hair back off her forehead.

Duo grins that shit-eating grin of
his at her. She doesn�t react. �They�re right there,� he says, indicating the
two racks of glasses he�d been wiping earlier.

The fairy stamps her foot and pouts. Her glittering silver
wings tremble beneath the smoky red lights. �I�ve been lugging fucking glasses
around all night. I want the cushy job behind the bar, flirting with the hot
guys!� Is the indignant exclamation. �Nice hat, by the
way,� she says to me. I blush.

Duo holds his pale hands up in defense. �OK, OK. Relax!
Don�t get your tutu in a twist.� She glares at him. It bounces off his grin
like a tennis ball off a racket. �I�ll take �em
down.�

It takes all my strength not to slump in disappointment. I
don�t want Duo to leave. Not now when our flirting has almost reached fever
point.

Duo heaves the trays up onto the bar, right beside my left
elbow. I ignore them spitefully. Suddenly Duo is standing right beside me. His
skin is hot against mine. He pushes his hat firmly down onto my head. �Fancy
giving me a hand?� he asks smoothly.

I wonder if he�s aware of the double entendre in those
words. The saucy grin he gives me tells me that he is. I nod, suddenly dry
mouthed again. I hesitate for a moment, uncomfortably aware of the erection straining
against my jeans. I try to think incredibly un-sexy thoughts in a vain attempt
to will it away. But of course, with Duo standing so very close to me, it�s
impossible. If anything, my arousal is just getting worse.

�Down there?� I ask, stalling. Suddenly I�m feeling edgy
again. Regardless of what Duo said earlier, I really don�t want to go down
there into that seething mass of people.

�Down there,� Duo confirms. �Don�t worry, I�ll protect you.�

I bite the bullet and stand. Duo grins and murmurs something
encouraging. �Here you go, cowboy,� he says, handing me a tray of glasses.
�Come with me,� he whispers a moment later. His breath ghosts across my cheek,
hot and slightly sweet from the Baileys and Schnapps. Coming is all I�ve been
thinking about for the past hour and a half, I want to say. But again my
courage fails. Instead I just trail after him out of the Candy Bar.

As soon as the door swings gently shut behind us, we�re
plunged into almost darkness. I stumble inelegantly down the stairs after him.
Two steps before the bottom, a couple of excited girls come hurtling down the
corridor from the cloak-room. They�re slightly blue with cold and have probably
been waiting in the queue outside for hours. Giddy anticipation rolls off them
in waves as they giggle together.

Duo stops abruptly and then so do I. The tray of glasses in
my hands narrowly misses plowing into the back of Duo�s head, merely skimming
the top of his bangs. But my body is not quite so lucky and before I know it,
I�m pressed right up against him on the step above. My erection brushes against
the small of his back and twitches, as giddy with anticipation as the
glittering girls.

I can�t see Duo�s face but I could swear that his voice is
slightly huskier than normal when he speaks. �After you, ladies,� he says with
a nod and probably a grin.

They giggle again and hurry away down the stairs to the
Dance Floor, the sound of their sparkling high-heels clicking on the steps
almost lost in the deepening bass.

They disappear through the door at the bottom. The music in
the air grows thicker as the door opens and then drops back when it closes
again. I�m really not looking forward to what lies beyond.

But then suddenly Duo is leaning back ever so slightly, the
light muscles of his back firm against my throbbing cock. I think I hear him
snicker, but frankly I can�t think of much else beyond my own need.

We continue down and I hesitate at the bottom. My shoulders
are tense and I�m not sure if that�s because of what I�m about to walk into or
what I may or may not be about to do with Duo or both. Either way I take a deep
steadying breath and Duo nudges the door open with his hip.

The noise hits me like a wall� like a wave, rushing over me,
around me, sucking me down. It�s so loud, so deep, so pulsating that I can
almost feel the marrow in my bones quivering from its force.

Duo grins a wild, ecstatic grins
that is lit up by the flashing lights overhead. He jerks his head onwards. It�s
with the strength of that grin alone that I manage to step forwards into the
crowd, my tray held high in the air.

Hot, jittery bodies press against me from every side� hands
grab at me, sliding across my thighs, my arse, my back� wet, sweaty hair
brushes against my face� cold beer slops over the edge of a glass and trickles
down my arm�

It�s entirely overwhelming. I fix my gaze fiercely on Duo�s
arse, following it through the throng, trying to drown everything else out save
for those perfect, tempting curves.

We reach a clearing in the crowd. �How�re you doing?� Duo
roars over the ear-rattling noise. The voice is lost but I follow the movement
of his lips.

I nod shakily. �OK,� I mouth back.

There is a momentary flash of gold to my right and suddenly
Wonder Woman is standing in front of me in all her glory. Her breasts,
straining against her costume, are dusted with gold glitter, an abstract part
of my brain notices.

She holds her hands out to me and I happily deposit my tray
into her waiting arms. She grins and winks but I don�t notice it because I�m
too busy staring at Duo who has already handed his tray onto the bare-chested
builder and is now staring back at me with something that I can�t identify but
goes immediately to my cock.

Suddenly he�s so much closer to me than he�s ever been. He
presses himself against me from forehead to toe and I know I moan aloud when I
feel the outline of his arousal pressed against mine.

And now I know exactly what Duo was talking about earlier.
The entire world just seems to fade away� all the noise, the sweat, the hot,
pulsing bodies� they are nothing. There is just me and Duo and the delicious
feeling of him against me.

He nudges the brim of my hat with the top of his head so
that it sits back further on my skull and then he looks me straight in the eye.
Slowly he starts to move. I�m vaguely aware of the beat his body is dancing to
but really all I can feel is the sensation of his hands on my hips, gently
twisting me in time with his own confident moves.

I let him guide me. I�ve never felt anything like this
before. My erection is hot and heavy against his and every time he moves I�m
afraid that I�ll shoot my load right then and there.

He slides his arms up and over my shoulders, pulling me
down. �Listen to the words,� he mouths against my ear before flicking his
tongue teasingly against my earlobe.

And so I make a concentrated effort to listen. It�s hard at
first; partly because it�s so loud and partly because I�m so absorbed with Duo.
But slowly the music comes to me, swirling through the thick, smoky air, like a
leaf caught on the wind.

It�s the twang of a country song twisted into a pulsing
techno re-mix� And I saddle up my horse
and I ride into the city, I make a lot of noise �cause the girls, they are so
pretty... I catch the words; they ring in my head just as the strobe light
starts the flash.

The next lines come in time with the blinding jolts but I
don�t notice that, or the way the crowd freezes robotically with every beat,
because all I can hear is those words and the feel of Duo mouthing them, hot
and wet, against my neck... Riding up and
down Broadway on my old stud Leroy,
and the girls say save a horse, ride a cowboy�

Duo�s arms draw me closer and now we�re really moving as
one, and his scent is intoxicating and the pressure of our cocks grinding
together is almost unbearable� Everybody
says save a horse, ride a cowboy�

Suddenly Duo is drawing away from me and in that moment, the
noise and heat and the pressure of the crowd comes rushing back to me, hitting
me with the force of a tornado. It�s only Duo�s hand in mine, pulling me away,
that keeps me upright.

He pulls me out of the crowd and away towards the bar. I
catch a fleeting glimpse of the Pirate laughing and bottles flying through the
air. And then suddenly there is darkness and the noise is dampened sufficiently
that I can begin to hear my own thoughts again.

I stumble against something hard. My hands seek it out and
eventually my eyes adjust to the gloom. It�s a beer keg. I look up. Duo is
lingering in the shadows, just feet from me. My arms itch to reach out and pull
him against me again. My cock seems to think that it�s a very good idea.

�Everybody says� save a horse, ride a
cowboy�� Duo quotes, his voice oddly removed from the heady beat pulsing
on the other side of the store-room door.

I sense a question in his words but I don�t know what it is.
�Lucky horse,� I venture hoarsely.

Suddenly there is a flash of white in the gloom as Duo gives
a feral grin. �Lucky cowboy,� he replies.

And then he is pressed against me again and his mouth is on
mine for the first time. His lips are firm and commanding and his tongue forces
its way into my mouth, probing and searching. It slides hot and heavy against
my own and then we�re kissing for all we�re worth.

It�s not soft and tentative like many first kisses are� it�s
demanding and rough and full of the passion that has been bubbling away beneath
the surface since I arrived.

Duo draws away and then plunges back in, lapping at me in an
exhilarating combination of lips and tongues and teeth.

And I think I�m going to explode because now his hands have
found their way to my erection. He kneads my cock through the roughness of my
jeans and I cry out in a strangled voice, breaking the kiss.

�Fancy a Quick Fuck?�
He drags the last words out, long and sensuous, in a voice that promises so
much more.

I swallow. �Is that a drink or an offer?�

�Both� so how �bout it?� he asks for the second time this
evening� and this time I know he�s not talking about a drink.

I forget about being average. I forget about the fact that
I�ve never done anything like this in my life. All I can think of is pressing
him against the nearest wall and having wild, messy sex, and not just for the
sake of it or so that I can say that I have, but because I think I might die
right now if I don�t.

�Fuck yes!� I moan my answer, dragging him to me again. Our
lips mash together as though we�re trying to consume each other.

He pushes me away harshly. �Right answer, cowboy,� he
mutters and then grins. �You�ll like it, I promise.� He echoes his words from
earlier and I groan again.

And then he�s ripping at my shirt. Buttons slide through
button holes. Two are ripped clean off. But I don�t care because suddenly my
shirt is gone and Duo�s mouth is laving my nipples. Teeth graze here and there,
reducing me to a shuddering, groaning mess.

I�m dangerously close to losing it. My entire world seems to
consist of my cock and his mouth. But I want more. I want him.

I pull him back up to me, attacking his mouth with mine. I
bite his lips hard enough to make him moan and then smooth them with my tongue
and my heavy breath. He grins against my mouth, thrusting his tongue against
mine. We duel fiercely for a moment, slick and heavy and reckless.

We break apart again, our breathing so heavy it�s almost as
loud as the music beyond. For a moment, we stare wild-eyed at each other.
Slowly, he stalks towards me, stopping mere centimetres away. I back up slightly until the backs of my legs
make contact with the stack of kegs behind me.

The heat from his body flows across the space between us and
into my skin. He reaches over me and scrabbles around in a box just above my
shoulder. His lips are so close that I just have to lick them. And so I do. He
laughs and licks me back teasingly.

His arm retracts, gliding down over my shoulder and then now
my chest, brushing against my left nipple. I shiver. His hand presses something
into mine. I look down. Lube and a condom. I shiver
again. We�re really going to do this, aren�t we? A voice in my head asks. Wild,
messy sex in the store-room at a nightclub� oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, chants the
voice.

�Prepared?� I croak. There is a stab of something
uncomfortable in my chest as I wonder how often Duo does this. Whether I�m just the latest in a long series of store-room
conquests.

�Not me,� he whispers, suddenly very earnest. �But Drew the
Pirate was a boy scout.�

I laugh, inexplicably relieved. There is a pause in which I
place my charges down on the nearest keg� and then we�re on each other again,
clutching at each other like the apocalypse is about to dawn. Our heads bump
and our fingers fumble but within seconds Duo�s lost his pants completely and
my jeans are now around my ankles.

Duo takes a sinuous step towards me, his silver-toed cowboy
boots clicking on the store-room�s cold stone floor. The tip of his cock
brushes against mine and I moan. I reach a tentative hand out and it slides
around him. He�s about my size, I figure, but slightly narrower. But he�s hot
and heavy, jutting proudly out towards me. I squeeze gently and he twitches in
my hand. It�s such an enthralling sight that I just have to moan again.

An opaque bead of pre-cum oozes from his slit as he pants
under my ministrations. I feel an overpowering need to lap it up. And so I do.
Sinking to my knees, I bury my nose in the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
Slowly, I dart my tongue out and let it run down the length before swiping the
head, sucking in wetness there. It�s tangy and sharp and overwhelmingly Duo.

Above me, Duo laughs through his strained breathing. �Cock-sucking cowboy, indeed.� His voice is shaky and I�m
suddenly aware that I�ve done this to him; that I�m the one making him moan and
pant and quiver with need. Me.

I move forwards, preparing to swallow him whole, but then
there is a hand in my hair, pulling me upwards. �No, wait�� Duo pants.

I stop, confused, staring up at him through my messy bangs.
Duo moans wildly and tugs me up forcibly by my hand. He captures my mouth,
attacking me passionately. Our cocks grind hot and heavy against each other,
and we gasp into each other�s mouth. And then as quick as the assault came,
it�s gone.

He fumbles for the condom and suddenly he�s the one on his
knees. His breath is hot and moist against my skin and I�m finding it hard to
breathe. Suddenly his mouth is wrapped around me and it�s better than I could
ever have imagined. My pitiful fantasy is nothing in comparison. The tight coil
of impending release starts to well up inside me and I panic. Duo laughs around
me, the buzz rippling up and down my erection. Slowly he draws away� just in
time. The next thing I feel through my lust-soaked haze is the sensation of his
hand sliding down my length, cool latex trailing in its wake.

He straightens up and looks me right in the eye. �I like to
ride, remember?� he says throatily, echoing the flirtatious words that started
this whole thing.

He trails one hand down my chest and then captures my hand, slowly he slides it across his hip. My knuckles brush
the material of the t-shirt that I didn�t quite get around to removing. And
then my fingers are questing further� down over the curves of that perfect
arse.

Duo turns in my arms, bracing himself
against the wall. He spreads his legs and I�m treated to what has to be the most
incredible view in the world. I draw my hand up again, smoothing it down the
length of his braid. Slowly, I curl fingers around the end, tugging gently. His
head tips back, revealing that long, lean neck. I press my chest to his back,
sucking on a spot just below is ear so hard that I know I�ll leave a mark.

I release him, my fingers dancing lower again. There is that
tempting patch of flesh at the small of his back that affected me so badly at
the bar. I bend at the waist, pressing my lips there, dancing my tongue across
the smooth, warm skin. Straightening up, I reach for the lube. My fingers are
shaking, I realise.

Slathered with glistening, translucent oil, my fingers dance
around the edge of his opening. Slowly one slides in
and there is a long, low throaty moan from Duo that makes my cock throb and my
heart pound. It�s hot and tight and I can just imagine what it will be like to
have that around me.

�Oh God,� Duo pants as I insert a second finger. �Oh please,
for the love of God��

I hesitate, wanting to go slow, determined not to hurt him.
But Duo has other ideas. �It�s fine, cowboy, it�s
fine��

And then there is another low moan that ends in a hitched
squeak as I brush against something inside him. �Fuuuuckkk!� I discern from his gasps. �Now, now,
now,� Duo is chanting shallowly. And I oblige. He moans as I withdraw my
fingers and then quivers with anticipation at the sound of those fingers
slicking the lube up and down my length.

I ease myself forwards slowly and the tip of my cock gently
bumps against his waiting entrance. But something feels wrong. I hesitate,
trying to pinpoint it.

�What are you waiting for, cowboy?� Duo asks heatedly,
looking over his shoulder at me.

And then I know. I swing him around until he�s facing me.
There is surprise in those big violet eyes. I plunder his mouth with my tongue
and then my hands slide down over his hips, lifting him up and away from the
floor. His legs settle around my waist, his cock bumping happily against mine.

I prop him up against the nearest stack of kegs. He�s
perching awkwardly on the silver rim of the keg, precariously balanced, and
just held up by my arms around his body. In fact, this is an altogether
uncomfortable position. My legs are shaking under his weight, threatening to
cramp, my arms are straining at the effort to keep him upright and I�m sure
there is probably something awkward digging into Duo�s back. But I don�t care
and judging from Duo�s delighted gasps, he doesn�t either. This feels right.

My cock is back at his entrance and this time I don�t stop.
Duo inhales sharply as the tip breaches him and I stop automatically. �God no,
don�t stop!� Duo squirms enticingly and slowly I�m sliding further and further
in, until I�m buried to the hilt.

And the feeling is� God, indescribable; hot and tight and
everything it should be. I almost lose then and I can tell Duo is similarly
close. His arousal throbs against my stomach, smearing pre-cum against the
muscles of my abdominals.

�Oh, God yes, Heero!� Duo pants into my ear. And that�s the
moment. Hearing my name fall from those swollen lips for the first time� I
couldn�t stop myself even if I�d wanted to.

I start to move, slow at first, struggling to gain momentum
in our cramped position. I stumble backwards clumsily, dragging Duo with me.
Suddenly I�m the one precariously perched and Duo is in my lap, my cock still
buried inside him. And then we�re gliding together and it�s so hot and fast and
unbelievable that I don�t think I can bear it.

Duo�s breath is wet against my neck and his moans are echoing
around the darkened room. Or are those mine? I can�t
tell. All I know is my cock and his arse and my name chanted over and over
again.

I can�t last long and I don�t. Suddenly I�m no longer
standing on the precipice, I�m falling, wild and glorious and all-consuming. I
crush Duo against me as I come longer and harder than I even thought possible,
riding out the shock-waves like a drowning man clinging to a raft. There is a
burst of hot wetness against my stomach and Duo is clinging to me just as hard.

Slowly the white light at the corner of my vision starts to
fade and there is just Duo and I in the darkness, gasping for breath, our skin
hot and damp and tingling.

Duo shuffle back slightly, gently sliding off me. I gasp at
the loss of sensation and so does Duo. More than anything I want to be buried
inside him again.

I release him and he slides down off my lap in one fluid,
boneless motion. He rocks slightly on unsteady feet
and I lend him my weight for support.

�Wow, that was� wow,� he pants into the empty air. And I
know exactly what he means. �You are anything but average, Heero,� he tells me
and I blush, wanting nothing more than to bury my face in his neck again.

But now I feel horribly awkward. So we�ve just had wild,
messy, fairly anonymous sex pressed up against a stack of beer kegs. We�ve done
the crazy, irrepressible, spontaneous thing that I never thought I would� but
now what?

Do I just go home and store up this memory for when I�m old
and tired and need to be reminded of what it was like to be alive? Do I never
see him again? Do I maybe pass him in the street one day and nod and hurry
away, pretending this never happened?

I don�t know� but I know that I don�t want that. I don�t
want this to be just some wild, stupid thing I did when I was young.

He�s bending down gathering up his pants, sliding them back
on, covering up all that bare naked flesh again.

If this were a date, like the ones that normal people go on,
I�d be walking him back to his door. I�d be trying to find the words to tell
him what an amazing time I had. I�d be asking him when I could see him again.
But this isn�t a date. And so I�m silent.

He chuckles in the darkness as he draws closer again. His
body radiates heat and I just want to cling to him and soak it up. I want to
bask and glow and I want to do it with him.

Duo peels the condom off my now-flaccid length and flings it
at the bin in the corner. It hits the mental with a satisfying splat. His teeth
flash white as he grins. He wipes my stomach with a rag. I catch his hand and he
finally looks up at me. I wonder if he can possibly be feeling what I�m feeling
right now.

He frowns slightly at the expression on my face. Tugging the
hat down tighter on my head, he gives me a long look. �You know, I don�t just
give my hat to anyone,� he says, voice suddenly very serious. And then he
kisses me long and deep, but slower and softer than our earlier attempts.

The flickering candle of hope is back. Can I see you again?
The question lingers on my tongue, desperately trying to get out. But I bite it
back.

Slowly, he reaches out and cups my cheek with his hand. The
pad of his thumb brushes against the corner of my mouth.

�I�m working again on Sunday,� his voice playful again and a
tempting twinkle in those violet eyes. My heart skips a beat. He flicks the
brim of my hat back. It�s become my hat now. And then he winks and is gone and
I�m left alone in the darkness to gather my clothes and my wits. But I don�t
care because there�s a beacon shining in the gloom. Sunday.
I smile to myself.

And Friday becomes Sunday which becomes Thursday and then
Saturday and Tuesday and Friday again and then I lose track because its every
night at home with that cowboy hat hung jovially on the bed post.

And you know what? Maybe I�m not so average after all, and
maybe clubbing does have its perks.

Fin
- 1
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Ride A Cowboy