Freebie Fireworks Story: “102 in the Shade” (Willa Okati)

Lighting a Roman candle and setting off the fireworks… a freebie story served hot and fresh!

July fourth dawned at ninety degrees, with no relief in sight from the heat wave. By the time happy hour rolled around and the thermometer was over a hundred, Knox knew he’d have to rearrange his Independence Day plans.

Brandt would be disappointed. Could be far, far worse, though, if you asked Knox. So they’d miss out on picnic ants and things going boom. They still had a dark, quiet den, its heavy shades blocking out the sunlight, in which to while away the afternoon, and nothing better to do than each other.

Knox’s bruised, palm-warmed ass was still tender from playing with Brandt earlier. Didn’t stop him from going back. In point of fact he wanted more, and Brandt never failed to deliver.

He walked gingerly but with great satisfaction as he ferried two glass bottles of weak American to the den. Brandt had set up camp on the couch, nose-deep in his research. His ever-present array of trade journals and notebooks looked extra-specially disorganized today. How he ever managed to find anything in the mess, Knox would never know.

“Heads’ up.” Knox passed Brandt one of the bottles, dark glass dripping with condensation. “I know, it’s fucking close to water.” He nudged Brandt’s chin. “Best I can do with the stock running low. No way I’m going outside before the weather breaks.”

“No fireworks?” Brandt marked his place with one finger. “You’re serious? I’ve looked forward to those. My first Fourth in the States.”

“Sorry, babe.” Knox hopped the back of the couch and landed next to Brandt, their knees knocking comfortably. “North Carolina summers can be tricky. Hasn’t rained enough. No fireworks for anyone around here.”

Brandt shut his book completely and tossed it aside. “Damn.” He deliberately kept his attention focused on selecting a paper clip from a pile, teasing Knox with his lighthearted: “Suppose I’ll have to stick around another year, then.”

Knox couldn’t say he’d mind that one bit. “Mi casa es su casa.”

“Indeed. Another year, and I might even teach you how to tell the difference between watery grain and decent stout.” Brandt wrinkled his nose. “This tastes as if someone waved a stalk of slightly wilted wheat through pond water.”

“Hey.” Knox tweaked a curl at the crown of Brandt’s head. “Snob. Watch the bitching.”

Brandt saluted Knox and tipped his bottle back, long throat working as he swallowed. Knox followed suit, then let out an almighty belch, rattling the windows.

After a pained look that didn’t fool Knox for a second, Brandt thumped his chest almost delicately and let rip with a beer burp as rich and deep as the dregs in a oaken barrel.

“Very nice,” Knox approved, clinking bottles with Brandt. “Okay, your turn.”

“Ah. Yes.” Brandt wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t playing ‘I Never’ strike you as a bit immature at our age…?”

“You just made a marked point out of besting me with your belching skills,” Knox pointed out. “We’ve got nothing else to do.”

Brandt cocked a not-so-sly glance at Knox’s crotch. “I beg to differ.”

“It’s one hundred and two degrees in the shade out there,” Knox countered.

“It’s seventy-two degrees and blissfully breezy inside,” Brandt said. “As for missing out of the fireworks… I could apply ice to your delicate, bruised ass to cool you down, if you’d like. With my tongue. That ought to have you seeing sparks.”

Knox almost sent a swig of beer down the wrong pipe. He dragged the back of his hand over his lips. “Don’t say things like that when a guy’s drinking.”

“You’re not drinking now, I see. What would you say about the heat if I dragged you out behind the complex? I could strip you naked and stake you out foursquare in clear view of anyone who wanted to watch. Blow you with a mouth full of beer that tasted like actual beer. Have you ever tried that? The bubbles are the next best thing to heaven.”

Knox’s collar had grown too tight during that spiel. He cleared his throat before he answered. “I’d say screw the heat, and also tell you that you’re a bad, bad man.”

“Good thing you like the dangerous type.”

“Damn skippy I do.” Knox tugged Brandt’s crisp cuff. “Even when they look like mild-mannered newspaper reporters.”

“And well you should,” Brandt said, fifty percent unrepentant and fifty percent aroused. “Do you really want to waste any more time playing games?”

A question like that didn’t usually deserve an answer, but in this case it was still part of the fun. Instant capitulation did way less for Brandt than a little struggle, a little balls and bravado. Only a smidge. Knox lacked the patience for more. When ADD met the long game, life got interesting.

“What, are you scared I’ll win?” Knox clucked chicken-style, leering at Brandt over his bottle. “One more round. Whoever wins gets to top.”

Brandt’s nostrils flared slightly. “What forfeit does the loser pay?”

“Huh.” Knox guessed losing would still be winning. How to make the challenge worthwhile, then?

Inspiration struck. He pointed at Brandt, triumphant. “The loser has to enact a fantasy of the winner’s choice.”

Brandt sat up straighter. “Anything?”

Knox tapped the mouth of his bottle against his temple. “Whatever the winner’s heart desires.”

“I accept.” Brandt thoughtfully shredded the label on his bottle, taking his time, no doubt methodically calculating the most evil of all possible challenges. “I’ve never…” He paused to nibble at his lip. Knox couldn’t help but track the indentations of Brandt’s sharp white teeth. He imagined them grazing the tender skin of his inner thighs. Prickling just enough to feel it around his engorged cock while Brandt sucked him off.

Knox coughed, adjusting the swelling length of his dick in his jeans. “Hurry it up already.”

“Temper, temper. I’ve never…”

“Hey now!”

“Something the matter?” Brandt’s smiled was far too innocent for a guy with his hand down Knox’s pants. He molded his palm over the prize inside and kneaded. “I’ve never lost a game like this in my life when a prize as valuable as you is on the line.”

Knox revised his plans. Fast. Uncle, already. “Yeah? Then to the victor can go the spoils.”

“I win?”

“You bet you do. Get over here.” Knox cradled the back of Brandt’s head and tugged him closer.

Just to rattle Brandt’s chains, the smug Brit, Knox thrust a finger between them in the nick of time, blocking Brandt’s triumphant kiss. “I still want that damn ice, though. And that beer BJ.”

Brandt laughed, dark and smoky and breathless. “I think that can be arranged.”

Knox tucked two fingers in the front of Brandt’s crisply pressed shirt collar and began flicking open buttons. “Fireworks, huh? I’ll show you fireworks, and then some.”

Written by Willa Okati

Possesses an abundance of crazy ideas, writes constantly, always tries new things, and drinks an insane amount of coffee. Meredith Brooks said it best: "I'm a bitch, I'm a mother, I'm a child, I'm a lover, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint -- I do not feel ashamed -- I'm your "F", I'm your dream, I'm nothing inbetween - you know you wouldn't want me any other way..." Manlove (and femmelove) is more than a passion -- it's a way of life.
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