Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

"It's you," Devin said, as, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes the next morning, he answered the door. "I thought you still had a key."

"I do," Lionel said. "But I didn't think we were on that ground of familiarity anymore."

There was something in his voice, something smug, that had Devin look sharply at him before he turned and padded toward the coffee pot in the kitchen. Lionel entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. He looked around for evidence of what he expected to see. Yes, the sofa looked like it had done battle and lost. He could see through the door to the bedroom that there'd been a frantic skirmish in there too. Devin was a neatnic, definitely neater than this, when left to himself.

"So, you said you wanted to date other guys. How is that working for you?" He sat on the sofa and gave a good sniff. Yep, smelled like sweat, musk, and lust. He smiled a little smile.

Devin came out of the kitchen carrying two cups of coffee. Looking around at him, Lionel saw the two wine glasses on the dining table—and the liquid spill. He smiled into his cup as he lifted it to his mouth.

He also saw that Devin grimaced as he moved and wasn't walking straight. Andre had told him about Marcus Black and how he dated—that he was hung like a horse and had a powerhouse thrust. Lionel almost felt sorry for Devin, but not really. The little prick had dumped him. Well, the little prick had found out how rough it could get out in the dating world.

"I'm doing just fine," Devin said, giving Lionel a level stare. He'd worked it out in the middle of the night. Marcus' connection to Andre. Andre's connect to Lionel. Lionel's pettiness—which was a big reason Devin left him—leaving him for that and because Lionel was a vanilla fucker. No excitement or testing with Lionel. Never had been. Never the feel of a breathtaking date. They might as well have been . . . married.

"In fact I had a date last night with a big black football player one and a half times my size and with a cock twice the size of yours. We had a great date and then he came home with me and fucked the stuffing out of me. I've been up for hours writing black bruiser on white twink fuck stories for an anthology for my publisher. I think he's going to love them."

"You're shitting me," Lionel said, setting his coffee cup down on the coffee table lest he spill it in his consternation. "You got banged hard by a black bull last night, and you aren't curled up in a fetal ball this morning?"

"Nope. Marcus is coming back to scout the Nighthawks' game next Saturday. We have a date to do it all over again. He agreed to stay the night this time and do me on the hour. He fucked me just the way I've been aching to be fucked. He really knows how to date a man."

It had been worth it—his little speech—to see the expression on Lionel's face. The most rewarding part was that it all was true. Marcus had called him on his cell from the Solstice fifteen minutes after he'd left, asking Devin for a follow-up date, and Devin had been quick as he could be to say yes.