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I MET HIM ON A SUNDAY - David Fisher's Little Death

Keith held David around the waist, moving him around in a little dance until he was pressed against the wall next to the open bedroom window. He used his considerable strength to flatten David hard against the wall, pushing against him with his body weight, exerting just enough force to gently squeeze the air out of David's lungs. He could feel David's breath expel into his opened, probing mouth, and only then did he ease back a little, and let David take a breath, even as the kiss continued. They were breathing together, pressed so close that Keith could feel David's heart pounding through his shirt. He scrunched down a little, then thrust his groin up into David's pelvis, hard, causing him to yelp a little.

Keith held David's head firmly in both his hands, and wouldn't let go.

Couldn't let go.

More gently now, he pumped David, still pushing him against the wall, each hump forcing a breathy moan from David's smothered mouth. When Keith realized that he was on the verge of climaxing, he stopped, pulled his mouth away, and looked him up and down.

David's face was hard to read in the soft shadows of the dim light of the bedroom. Keith knew he'd bruised his mouth, and was sorry about that. His own lips were sore where they'd bumped hard against David's slight overbite. As if to reassure him, David reached for Keith, pulled at the belt-loops of his jeans, and helped pull them down to his feet. Keith stepped out of his jeans and offered himself to David's scrutiny. Though he was exactly David's height, he was twice broader in the shoulders and hips, his thighs and upper arms thick and muscular, his belly impossibly taut underneath a barrel-thick chest. His hardened dick twitched below a sparse patch of springy black pubic hair.

Keith turned his attention back to his prize, still fully dressed - over-dressed for the balmy night of a typical LA summer. David leaned forward for a kiss, but Keith gently pressed his hand against his chest, pushing him back against the wall.

"We gotta slow down, baby," he whispered in David's ear, then, since he was in the vicinity anyway, began to lick and suck at David's ear lobes. "We got all night, all night."

"I can't," David said. As if to shut him up, Keith pressed his lips over David's, thrust his tongue deep into his mouth, sliding the tip of his tongue over David's palate as he pulled away from the kiss. "I can't stay. I can't."

"Why not, baby, we just got started. I'm not going to let you go now."

Keith pulled the zipper of David's windbreaker down and slid it off his shoulders.

"There's a viewing tomorrow morning. I have to assist with the preparations. Frederico....he's the assistant, the guy who does the embalming and...anyway, he's got some family thing and..."

Keith stopped working at the buttons on David's shirt long enough to touch a finger against his lips. "Shhhh. What time do you have to be back?"

"Seven. No later than seven. It's an hour's drive and I...I..."

Keith squeezed his eyes shut tight, forcing himself to relax, to not let go of the fire inside of him, but to put it aside for one split second. He took a deep breath, and put his hands under David's armpits and lifted him off of his feet. "Hold me," he commanded. David obeyed by putting his arms around Keith's shoulders. "HOLD me," Keith said again. David wrapped his legs around Keith's hips, and allowed himself to be carried to the bed, where Keith dropped him onto his back. "I want to make love to you, David. Don't you want to make love to me?" As he spoke, he forced David's legs apart and crawled between them. Leaning back on his haunches, Keith began to stroke himself. From the look on David's face, Keith knew he could proceed. He took David's hand and pulled him into a sitting position so they could kiss.

"I just can't spend the night," David said.

"Do you know what my favorite part of a man's body is?" Keith asked. He'd decided to forego the buttons and pulled David's shirt over his head. He did the same with the tee-shirt. "My favorite part of a man's body," Keith continued, as he circled David's wrists in his hands, then used the weight of his body to press him back into a lying position, stretching David's arms over his head and holding him down, simultaneously pumping his groin into him. "Is the axilla."

With that, Keith buried his face in David's armpit and gobbled at it, forcing David to guffaw with laughter. Keith looked up to a beautiful sight: David radiant with a bona fide grin on his face. The sound of his laughter was music to Keith's ears. He raised up slightly and dug his knees into the bed, on either side of David's hips. Still holding David's arms above his head, Keith pumped his dick into the rough denim of David's jeans until something like a heart attack squeezed at his chest, then shot down into his dick, and exploded onto David's belly.

Keith collapsed onto David's chest, wanting him to feel every ounce of his dead weight. David was panting loudly, and Keith heard him swallow, hard. He put his ear against David's chest, and listened, moved down to David's abdomen and kissed him there. He pulled his jeans open, tried to tug the fly of the boxer shorts down into the crotch of the jeans, finally managed to expose enough of David's pubis to lick at the salty sweat beading on his bush. He hadn't climaxed.

Serves him right, Keith thought. Now he'll have to come back for more.

End, I Met Him on A Sunday

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