Illustrated Men
1 artist, 15 authors, 16 paintings, 17 stories.
Excerpt from End of the Line,
short story by Clare London.
Suddenly, the train banked more sharply than usual and he staggered forward. The other man leaned too, but against him, though surely the movement of the train should have jolted him the other way. Drew twisted his head back around to give a rueful apology, but the look that met his was bolder than he’d ever seen from a fellow commuter.
The brown eyes stared back at him, unabashed. And then
winked at him. The man’s mouth creased in a slight smile, unmistakable this time.
Drew felt – suddenly - very flushed. The guy’s smell was lingering in his nostrils; the warmth up against the front of his legs was all too good. He felt everything tightening inside the crotch of his jeans.
The train lurched forward, thundering through a tunnel. They were leaving the city behind, and the scenery outside plunged into the deeper blackness of unlit night. The auxiliary lights in the carriage flickered on once, then snapped off completely, leaving it in semi darkness. It was a common problem on this old stock. A couple of passengers groaned, and at the far end of the carriage a baby wailed.
“Hot,” came a murmur at Drew’s ear.
What the hell -?
The hand at his ass was even more of a shock. The train rattled on, the shadows rushing past the window, but the sudden grip on his cheek had become the only important thing on his mind. He peered into the gloom, his heart hammering with surprise. He had an umbrella digging into his ribs and the collar of some woman’s pvc raincoat kept catching on the back of his neck. But the hand behind him had still found enough room to slide down the seat of his jeans and cup his left buttock. He tensed, and felt the fingers trace firmly along his muscle. Fuck, but that’d feel even better
inside his clothes!
He felt his cock swell further, straining against the harsh denim. He wriggled a bit, settling his cheek more comfortably against the wandering hand. He flushed, imagining the embarrassment if someone saw him being felt up like this – and encouraging it. But no one gave a scandalized cry. Hell, it’d be hard enough to see anything in this lighting, let alone under cover of the mass of bodies and thick coats. He wondered for a wild second if the hand belonged to some innocent straight guy who’d yell
harassment as soon as the lights came back on.
Then the hand tightened. The thumb pressed very carefully and very deliberately along the crease of his ass. There was no mistaking the purposefulness.
It felt fucking brilliant. Drew bit his lip to hold the whimper in.
The train banked, and everyone leaned to one side. When Drew straightened up again, he heard a warm sigh and felt the brush of another man’s hair on his cheek. The guy opposite him was suddenly even closer. His nose nudged at Drew’s; his breath steamed against Drew’s throat. Drew let his head drop back very slightly, baring his neck. That was when he felt the breath move up to caress his jaw and then the swipe of a swift, wet tongue along his lower lip. His mouth fell open in astonishment. He felt the other man’s chin nudge in against him and then the tongue thrust into his mouth.
The taste was hot. Hot in heat terms, and hot in
taste terms! Drew sucked on a strong, assertive tongue, flickering in between his lips, licking in and around his mouth. He could taste coffee and mint and warm, live flesh. At the same time, the hand at his ass tugged him closer and his hips bumped up against the tightly muscled legs he’d been so appreciative of.
Yeah, he thought with delight, it figured that the hand would be just as forceful as the demanding - but oh, so delicious - kiss.
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