Page 46 of Spread Your Wings
Mustafa filled him. He slowly sank inside until his balls slapped Sammy’s behind. Sammy had never really cared for the position, but now he couldn’t get enough. He stared into Mustafa’s darkened pupils as they moved together toward ecstasy.
“Harder,” Sammy said, canting his hips so Mustafa’s cock nailed his prostate with each thrust. Mustafa quickened his pace. Sammy relaxed into the mattress, losing his mind as Mustafa pounded into him. Pleasure built in his balls like electricity during a storm. He arched his back as Mustafa sank into him. His orgasm raced through him like a storm. Lightning flashed behind his eyelids. Cum spurted across his stomach and chest. Mustafa groaned as he surveyed their bodies and the display of ecstasy all over Sammy’s body.
Mustafa muttered in Bosnian as he came. Sammy didn’t need to understand the words to know Mustafa wanted him, loved him. His body shook with his release, and he collapsed on top of Sammy, gulping air.
“Love you,” Sammy whispered as he kissed Mustafa’s temple.
“Volim te,” Mustafa answered. He grabbed the condom and pulled out, but Sammy held him when he tried to move away.
“Stay, for a little while.”
“I’ll stay forever, if you’ll have me.”
Sammy wrapped his arms around Mustafa’s wide shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that.”
Mustafa kissed his temple. “I’m sorry I believed that jerk in your old apartment.” He snorted. “I also doubted myself.”
“And now?”
“I have a plan, at least.”
“I believe in you.”
Sammy let Mustafa go so they could get cleaned up and ready for bed.
“I should have just listened to Freddie,” Mustafa said as Sammy turned out the light.
Sammy climbed into bed with him, content to cuddle with his back to Mustafa’s front, one arm draped over his chest. “How so?”
“‘Being natural and genuine is what wins.’” Mustafa chuckled. “I thought you would only love me when I had a big hot-shot job like you do.”
“Nah. All you have to be is yourself,” Sammy said, snuggling closer. He brought Mustafa’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. They fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s love.
EPILOGUE
August 2, 2017
Twenty-five years later, Sammy still hated standing in line. Worse, he felt like everyone was staring at him. He’d dyed his prematurely white hair a brilliant shade of Cîroc blue. The temporary gel ad said it would wash out with one shampoo. He hoped it did. He would be on the air tomorrow morning to report whatever dumpster-fire the President had created overnight. Blue hair would only exacerbate his naysayers’ cries of democratic bias.
They’d driven almost four hours from Atlanta to Nashville to see Adam Lambert and Queen.
Ahead of them in line, he overheard a girl whine, “I hope he sings his original songs tonight.”
“Adam Lambert could perform with anyone and I’d still go,” answered the girl directly in front of Sammy in line. She wore a pink cut-off shirt and Daisy Duke shorts, usual summer attire for the south. She flipped her stick-straight black hair over one shoulder, hitting Sammy in the face. The acrid scent of burned hair filled his nose.
“I love everything about him,” her friend gushed. “Especially his eyeliner.”
“I love his bubble butt. It goes on for days.”
“The music, though,” the friend said. Her hair was brittle blond from too much bleach.
“He could sing the phone book and it would be better than some of those songs.”
Sammy couldn’t control his rage at these girls’ poor taste in music.
Then, the blond girl broke the camel’s back. “‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ is the longest, most pointless song. I hope they skip it tonight.”
“You have absolutely no taste in music.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Go home and listen to Bieber or something.”
