Latest gay erotic stories: Safe Deposit – Chapter 4
Author: Transverse
What the hell was he even doing? How long had it taken him to get stable and build an existence for himself? And now he was a hop, a skip, and a jump from getting fucked on a couch by a dark elf. Which really shouldn’t excite him as much as it did.
And Harold! Harold, who had no family who loved him, or even hated him enough to flush his ashes down the shitter. Why was Harold his problem, again? He was picking at old scabs that weren’t even his.
Why was he so willing to jeopardize his peace of mind for someone he’d never even seen?
The box was resting on the edge of the coffee table. Sam pushed it back with his foot, his cock deflating as his thoughts returned to the contents.
“I don’t think he was very happy.” The seduction had seeped out of Thomas’s voice and he was no longer whispering in Sam’s ear. Just talking. “Harold, I mean.”
Sam hadn’t noticed, but Thomas was further away, his back resting on the other side of the couch. His feet were still in Sam’s lap, and wasn’t that just perfect.
“He leave a diary or something?”
Thomas shook his head. The anger was gone; he was back to being almost bubbly. “No. But there were no pictures anywhere in the house when I first came, and there were tons of clothes and boxes piled everywhere. Niece didn’t seem to know much about the guy, either. Which is weird.”
“He died in a nursing home in Pittsburgh.” Sam thought of the time he visited. The smell. “Medicare kind of place. No visitors, according to the log.”
“Yeah, there was nothing here about any other family.” Thomas picked at a thread on his sweater. “He liked knitting, though, I think. Or someone did who lived here. There’s a ton of potholders and coasters.”
It was a perfectly innocuous thing to say, that Harold had like to knit potholders. Even as he turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t find anything about it that should make him feel like he’d just gone over a cliff in a barrel. But he was getting that feeling again — the stationery feeling –and he had to close his eyes so the room would stop spinning.
Thomas hadn’t noticed, or had pretended not to notice. “Lots of old magazines, too. Mostly Time, really old Playboy. How old was Harold when he died, do you know?”
“Ninety-six.” Sam said it like a mantra to steady himself. “He was ninety-six years old.”
He could feel Thomas lift his eyebrows even though he couldn’t see it.
“He had a lot of nice dishes, too. I still have the crystal ones. They — ”
There was a groan on the roof and what sounded like something large being dragged. For an insane moment, Sam felt sure it was Santa and his reindeer up there. It would be a perfect end to this acid trip of a visit.
“It’s just the snow,” Thomas said. “When it builds up too high, it all slides off in an avalanche. The roof isn’t gonna col — ”
“Oh my god…” Sam got up and trotted over to the window, pulling back the old curtains. “Oh my fucking god…”
He couldn’t see far. There were street lights on, but the snow fell so heavily they couldn’t illuminate more than a few feet. His car was buried, a sedan-shaped mound sitting on the road.
This really was The Shining.
“What?” He was surprised to find that Thomas was beside him. “You didn’t check the forecast?”
Sam swore and turned away. “I was supposed to be out of here by now,” he said. He felt a misery that the situation didn’t warrant. “I was supposed to be home.”
How had so much time passed without him noticing?
“Hey…” Thomas’s hands were on his shoulders, pressing. “It’s okay. I’ll help dig you out once it’s over. You could call your — ”
“No!”
He didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh. He felt like a baby throwing a tantrum; he couldn’t remember ever feeling less in control of his emotions.
Thomas stopped touching him, clasping his hands together.
“Sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to — ”
Sam ran his hands through his hair. They were shaking and he both understood and didn’t understand why. The stationery, the potholders, being trapped here — it was all too much. Loose threads were being pulled, and he was unraveling.
So he grabbed Thomas and kissed him.
It took him a moment to respond, but he melted into the kiss and Sam was relieved beyond words that he wasn’t asking questions. He slid his hand under Thomas’s sweater and gripped him tighter, the hot skin under his hands filling his mind and driving out everything else. Thomas’s hands were buried in his hair, massaging his scalp. Tension drained from his body even as his cock strained against his jeans.
“You can be a hard one to read, Sam,” Thomas breathed into his mouth.
His mind raced too quickly to think of a reply, so he moaned and made sure Thomas could feel his cock through his pants. He’d never been much for blabbering in the act, anyway.
Thomas didn’t seem to mind being the only one talking. He laughed, and more blood drained out of Sam’s brain at the sound of it.
“Somebody’s eager.”
Thomas’s hand was playing with his fly, tugging on the zipper with minimal force. Sam growled and reached for it, but Thomas blocked his hand, grabbing it and forcing it from between them.
“Don’t rush me,” he said. The words brooked no argument. “We’ll get there.”
His voice sounded like someone else’s, someone larger, more commanding. It was just as smooth but not nearly as sweet, and Sam was so worked up he was afraid he’d pass out. Thomas’s must have felt him swaying on his feet because he pulled away, stepping back a foot or so.
“Come on.” He took Sam’s hand and started down the hallway toward a room at the end. Sam had no choice but to follow; he couldn’t think.
Thomas deposited him on the low bed, and Sam sat there, unsure of what to do next. Thinking felt like wading through syrup.
He didn’t have long to wonder. Thomas stood in front of him shirtless, unzipping his own pants. He kicked them off; he wasn’t wearing underwear.
Sam gasped and Thomas rolled his eyes and grinned. He wasn’t terribly large, but he was pretty — smooth, and thick at the head. The dark hair surrounding it was unruly but short, and Sam thought he could keep it out of his teeth easily enough, if he…
“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you it was rude to stare?”
Sam’s face heated; he hadn’t meant to stare for so long. He tried to look up, to look anywhere else, but he couldn’t. The head of Thomas’s cock was now glistening, and Sam could feel body heat wafting in his direction.
He couldn’t move.
“You look desperate.” His voice was ice, and started to stroke himself. He sighed, and the whole thing was glistening now. “For what, though?” The words were drenched in mock innocence.
Sam’s cock hurt so much he could cry.
Thomas laughed again and closed the distance between them, pressing his cock to Sam’s lips. Sam moaned and tried to turn his head. Thomas was studying him intently, still stroking, and Sam still couldn’t manage to look away.
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