Fierce & Fabulous (Sassy Boyz) (7 page)

“It depends on what you mean by
trans
. Transgender, I am not. I don’t identify as female. I enjoy everything male about myself. But technically I guess you could call me a transvestite. We prefer androgynous more than anything, a little bit of both and neither at the same time. Completely ambiguous. But personally I don’t like labels. I’m just Ansel fucking Becke and screw anyone who has a problem with it. I like heels. And I love makeup because it’s fun to play with color. It’s like painting.”

Fitch’s brow creased, but he didn’t speak.

“Listen, you don’t need to understand. It’s a bunch of bullshit created to separate us with categories and distinctions. Oh look, there goes that white, Catholic, German, female, lesbian, mother, nurse. Why can’t it just be, there goes that human fucking being?”

Fitch put up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, I agree. I’m just curious about the definitions. I’m new to this whole thing, remember?”

Ansel pushed his fingers through his hair and leaned back. “Sorry. Sore subject.”

“I get it. My sister has given me speech after speech about gender equality, LGBTQ interests, and separation of humanity. I just want to understand you. Just you, not the whole world.”

Absurdly touched by Fitch’s statement, Ansel gave in to a small smile. “This is all you need to know about me. I like pretty things, but I also love my cock. I don’t want to be a woman, but I happen to look like one. I enjoy wearing heels, experimenting with makeup, and sparkly things. I also enjoy sticking my hand down my pants and scratching my balls, ’cause, yes, I do have them. So, if you asked me out tonight because you thought I was almost a woman or might eventually be one, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“That’s not why I asked you out.”

“Why did you, then?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah, you can’t stop thinking about me. But what do you want to happen? Are we just going to share a meal and go our separate ways? Did you want to kiss me good-night? Or do you want to come back to my place and get naked?”

Chapter Eleven

Fitch’s burger was halfway to his mouth when Ansel stopped talking, the proposition clear in the arch of a blond brow and the sparkle in those green eyes. He swallowed the saliva pooling on his tongue. Would he ever get used to the guy’s utter frankness? He put his burger on the plate, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance, and debated his options for about five seconds before meeting Ansel’s challenging gaze.

“Is that last option on the table?”

Ansel’s slow smirk was ten times more mind-blowing than ever before. He blinked his long lashes. “Can we finish our meal first? These fries are too good to waste.”

Fitch somehow managed to make his food disappear in less than two minutes. When he was finished with his own plate, he started helping Ansel with his, not that he needed much help. He was doing an admirable job shoveling the rest of the fries, cheese and chicken into his mouth. He was smarter than Fitch and actually chewed his food. Their plates were empty in record time, and in complete silence. When the waitress came to clear their table, Fitch asked for the bill and paid.

“Thanks,” Ansel said as they left the diner. “For dinner.”

“It was all part of my plan to get in your pants.” He prided himself for speaking his mind without checking for witnesses first.

Ansel’s laugh was husky and sent another cascade of shivers down his spine. All night, the little noises, tempting looks, flirtatious smirks, rolled over Fitch like a tsunami of pleasure and left him trying to catch his breath in the aftermath.

“Honey, all you had to do was ask.”

Fitch led the way to his Chevy and even opened the door for Ansel, like a gentleman. His date might be of the same sex, but that didn’t mean he would abandon everything he was taught.

“Which direction?” Fitch asked as he pulled away from the curb. It was still dark and the streets were empty.

“Left here and a right at the next light.” Ansel dug around in the leather satchel he carried and came out with a pack of gum. He pulled out a stick. “Want one?”

Fitch took the offered piece and pushed it into his mouth. Fresh breath meant longer kisses and, damn, did he want to kiss Ansel senseless.

“Is this the purse you were looking for?” Ansel asked, pulling out a blue envelope-looking thing from his bag.

“You found it?”

“Terry picked it up after closing. Your sister’s girlfriend is lucky.”

Stashing the purse on the seat between them, Fitch said, “I’ll tell her, thanks.” He didn’t ask who Terry was because he was afraid of the answer. The familiarity with which Ansel said the name spoke of some kind of intimacy. The guy had said he didn’t date, he hadn’t said he wasn’t currently fucking someone on the regular. The idea made the burger in his stomach congeal and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“It’s okay, you know.” Ansel’s voice was quieter than usual, distant. And when Fitch glanced over Ansel was staring into his lap, his fingers tangled together.

“What is?”

“If you’ve changed your mind.” Those long lashes fluttered as Ansel looked up at him and for a breath of an instant they were so easy to read, it was like looking into Ansel’s mind and knowing exactly what he was thinking. It was just a tiny crack in his armor, but it shined so much light it was almost blinding. And all Fitch saw was the fragile, yearning core of a man hardened by circumstances. A man he wanted to understand. A man he
needed
to know.

“I haven’t.”

Ansel glanced at the steering wheel where his fingers still clutched the leather and then back at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say,
really
?

Fitch huffed a laugh. “Okay, I’m nervous, but I’ve never let that stop me before.”

They didn’t speak again until Ansel guided Fitch to his street, not far from the club. As they were climbing the cement steps to the front door, Ansel looked at him over his shoulder.

“My landlord is a huge dick so try to be quiet until we’re up the stairs.”

Fitch nodded and followed Ansel through the front door of a dimly lit building. He spotted half a dozen code violations in the entryway alone. And Ansel had to work two jobs to afford the rent? Thank God Fitch didn’t live in the city. He’d rather pay for gas than live like a squatter. Though the building needed work, Ansel’s apartment wasn’t bad, in fact, it was kind of cozy. He walked a few steps into the living room while Ansel flipped the light switch and closed the door behind them.

“My roommate is working tonight so we’ll have the place to ourselves for a few hours.”

“You have a roommate?” Fitch turned to take in the layout and decor. The kitchen, dining, and living space were combined, but a hall led to what he guessed were the bed and bath. The whole place was an explosion of color and texture. It was vibrant and warm, just like Ansel.

“Yeah, Ange. She has odd hours because she’s working to be a nurse.”

Fitch raked his gaze over Ansel from the top of his blond head to the tips of his pointy heels. Now that they were alone, he didn’t know what to do next. Normally, he’d make the first move. He was big and had always been the more dominant partner. But that was straight sex. How should he handle gay sex?

Gay sex. Fuck. Was he really about to go through with it?

He took stock for the hundredth time since leaving his apartment to make sure this was really something he wanted to do, and found his interest hadn’t diminished during dinner. In fact, the small glimpses of vulnerability he’d seen in Ansel’s unguarded moments had embedded themselves in Fitch’s mind and refused to let him go. He wanted to see more of that. He wanted to see Ansel open and free. Somehow, he knew the sight would be spectacular.

All his worry flew out the window when Ansel came forward and pushed him back against the island separating the kitchen from the living room.

“I think we discussed something about me getting on my knees?” Ansel expertly unfastened the fly of Fitch’s pants.

Breathlessly, with trembling hands Fitch replied, “I do remember someone boasting about his skill.”

“The best you’ll ever have, baby. I promise.” Ansel pressed their lips together and Fitch forgot all his reservations.

In that moment, he didn’t care about anyone or anything other than Ansel and the way Fitch felt when he was near him.

* * *

Ansel kicked off his shoes and watched Fitch’s face as he lowered to his knees. God, he enjoyed the flare of nostrils and the hunger in those deep brown eyes. He kept watching while he tugged down Fitch’s jeans and cupped his hard cock through the soft fabric of his briefs. Fitch sucked in air, but didn’t break eye contact.

There were nerves in that stuttered breath, in those hooded eyes, Ansel could see it and moved cautiously, scared to frighten the rabbit. But Fitch just kept looking, his cock stiffening impossibly under Ansel’s hand.

Ansel’s asshole clenched in anticipation. Did he even have any lube in the apartment? Hell, and condoms. He never brought guys to his place. It was always more convenient to go to theirs, that way he didn’t have to worry about kicking them out. None of that awkward morning-after shit, because he always left five minutes post climax. But no way was he going to trek his sorry ass all the way back to Manhattan from bum-fuck Bayonne, New Jersey. He didn’t even know if there was a subway line so far out in the middle of nowhere. He’d blown all his cash on the cab to the club earlier, and like hell he’d expect, or even ask, for a ride after he’d had the guy’s dick in his ass. So, here he was, on his knees for the very first time in his own kitchenette, wondering if he even had supplies to get what he really wanted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard before.” Fitch’s voice was so deep it sent shock waves through him.

Ansel shivered and closed his eyes. Goddamn, the man could turn him on with just the sound of his voice. Still rubbing Fitch’s erection through the fabric, he pressed his face into the bulge and inhaled sexy man musk and soap. He flattened his palms and extended his arms up so he could slide under Fitch’s shirt. Skin to skin, the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles reminded Ansel of an old brick wall, solid and unyielding. The only difference was the heat. Fitch’s skin was on fire. He wished he’d taken a moment to rid them both of their clothes because he wanted to see all that lovely simmering flesh tense and flex as he sucked down Fitch’s cock.

More than ready, Ansel curled his fingers around the hem of Fitch’s briefs and drew them down, slowly exposing Fitch’s package. Damn. What a beauty. He hummed in appreciation and smiled when the shaft twitched. It was about seven inches long and just as thick as Ansel had guessed. He hoped he had lube. If he didn’t, he was desperate enough to scrounge the kitchen for oil or something.

He rubbed his hands up Fitch’s thick, hairy thighs and met his burning gaze before licking the beautiful cock from root to tip. Oh, yes, now that was a treat. Ansel closed his eyes in pleasure as he swirled his tongue around the crown. In the dark, his other senses heightened to exaggerated levels. Fitch’s ragged breaths and muttered groans sparked Ansel’s own burning desire. The rough graze of hair under his palms made him think of virility and domination.

Submission wasn’t his kink. He was versatile and bossy, but his partners typically assumed control because of Ansel’s rather slim figure and feminine appearance. He was slutty enough not to care—most of the time. But for Fitch, he could go ass up, cheeks spread, and happily die in surrender, just to feel those magnificent muscles overpowering him.

His body shook with the visual, and he quickly unfastened his own pants with one hand while he gripped the girth of Fitch’s member in his other.

“Oh, fuck,” Fitch moaned when Ansel sucked hard enough for his cheeks to hollow.

He managed to pry his own dick out of the entrapment of denim and lace and squeezed hard. Good thing he was fucking coordinated after years of practice—jerking two cocks at once took some major concentration. With all his blood rushing south and his mouth full of cock, it was hard enough to breathe, let alone follow the choreography of strokes. Still, even with all his practice, he faltered when Fitch brushed hair out of his face.

The touch was so goddamn gentle Ansel tipped his head toward it, seeking more. He opened his eyes and looked up. Fitch’s gaze was filled with awe. Yeah, that was pretty damn satisfying—made him feel like a fucking rock star. Could he help it if his heart took a flying leap toward insanity in that moment? Best to forget the stupid thing even existed.

Keeping the eye contact, he teased his tongue into Fitch’s slit, gathering the purest essence on his tongue. He raked his fingers over the taut skin covering Fitch’s hips, reveling in the shiver of reaction. It was potent enough to overwhelm him. His balls pulled up, ready to shoot.

To regain his control, he stopped to ask, “How quick is your recovery time?”

Fitch blinked at him. “What?”

Just to tease, Ansel stroked the thickness in his hand, saliva making it nice and sloppy. Fitch grunted.

“How fast can you get it up again?”

Fitch lowered his lashes again. “I don’t know, ten minutes or so, why?”

“I am dying for you to come down my throat, but not if it means I can’t feel you pounding my ass as soon as possible.”

The hand that was previously resting gently on the back of his skull suddenly tightened into a fist and Fitch cursed. His cock twitched in Ansel’s hold. All muscle control in Fitch’s neck seemed to disappear. His head fell back and his hips thrust forward.

“Please, God yes. Fucking do it,” Fitch said.

Ansel’s smile widened. It was a heady feeling, making a man like Fitch surrender.

Reveling in the grip in his hair and the panting moans, he descended on Fitch’s cock until it hit the back of his throat. He worked it up and down, swirling his tongue around the veins, flicking the lip and small opening where the heaviest flavor leaked. Just when Fitch’s groans were about to reach the high note, he swallowed the entire length again. His throat muscles closing over and over again, and every time, Fitch’s whole body shuddered.

The big man cursed, endlessly. His entire body tensed, and his face crushed into a mask of painful bliss.

Ansel lingered, tongue swirling, and held his breath until his lungs began to burn and his vision grayed. Finally, Fitch roared, doubled over, and spurted his release down the back of Ansel’s throat.