Date: Mon, 11 Aug 2008 03:15:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: niftystoryteller <niftystoryteller@yahoo.com>
Subject: Black Sun, chapter two

Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between
consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such
materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your
jurisdiction, then read no further.  If you have any feedback or would like
links to other of my stories, feel free to drop me a line at
niftystoryteller@yahoo.com.


	It was summer when we met, one of those miserably heavy afternoons
that define Washington in July.  Although it was a Saturday, I had gone
into my office to clear away some of the paperwork that grows like kudzu
during the workweek at every DC law firm.  By mid-afternoon I decided that
I had suffered enough, and I opted to get some exercise and run home rather
than take the Metro.  Lamont, the weekend security guard, shook his head
when he saw me on my way out the door, clad in running clothes.

	"You know how hot it is out there?" he asked as I passed his desk
in the lobby.

	"Hotter than Hades?"

	"You got that right.  You crazy or what?"

	"Just stir crazy after being in here all day.  And anyway, isn't it
supposed to be good for you to sweat?"

	He shook his head again.  "White folks.  What're we gonna do with
y'all?"

	I laughed.  "We're probably just hopeless.  At least I know I am.
See you next weekend."  He tipped his cap and went back to the sports
section of his newspaper.

	I stepped out of the building into tropical air that felt like a
wet wool blanket.  Heat shimmered off of the pavement, and there wasn't
even a hint of a breeze.  I turned down 12th Street and headed for the
Mall, hoping that its intermittent shade would offer at least the illusion
of relief from the sun.  Stopping for a red light after two blocks, I bowed
to the inevitable and skinned off my shirt.  It would have been soaked
within a couple of minutes anyway.

	I quickly established a comfortable gait and began to empty my mind
of all the details of the legal brief I had been working on for too many
hours.  After a day of pure mental work, it felt good to dwell in the
completely physical world.  Other than scattered groupings of hapless
tourists clustered around the monuments and museums, few people were in
sight, all the way down to the Lincoln Memorial.  There wasn't even much
traffic when I crossed the Parkway and began to make my way along the
river.  And that's where I saw him.

	He was maybe twenty-five yards ahead of me, loping along easily.
He had tucked his shirt into the rear waistband of his shorts, and it
flapped like a flag as he ran.  I guessed that, like me, he was in his
mid-thirties, and he carried his years very well.  Even from the rear, I
could tell that he had a muscular build.  His tan skin glistened with
sweat, and I was seized by a desire to inhale his aroma.  I increased my
pace and began to gain on him.  He glanced back ever so slightly when I was
about five yards back, and he slightly increased his speed.  I responded in
kind, and I had almost completely closed the gap by the time we crossed
under Pennsylvania Avenue, cruising along in Rock Creek Park.  We continued
along that way for about fifty yards, and then I made my move, cranking it
up and pulling ahead.  As I passed, I glanced his way.  I couldn't see his
eyes because of his wrap-around shades, but the rest of his face was
strikingly handsome, in a dark and rugged sort of way.  Heavy stubble
covered his cheeks, echoing the dark hair that covered his solid pecs.  A
rivulet of sweat trickled down his sternum and joined the trail of hair
that led across his flat stomach to his navel and points further south.
Tall, dark, and sexy just about summed him up, though the look he shot me
at that moment made me wonder if there was also some danger in the mix.  I
breathed deeply the scent of a sweaty man.

	I was just getting ready to comment on the challenging pace that he
had set for me when God, or Allah, or whoever is out there decided to throw
the monkey wrench.  The police report said that a northbound car on the
too-narrow Parkway drifted into oncoming traffic, causing a chain reaction
of swerves in the southbound lane that resulted in a Honda Civic jumping
the curb and plowing straight towards us, guided by a driver whose face was
buried in a giant airbag.  My reflexes were just a hair slower than his, so
I was the one who received the glancing blow and was tossed aside by the
impact.

	I must have briefly blacked out.  When I came to, my initial
reaction was to jump up and see what the fuck had happened, but a calming
voice told me to stay still.  I paused and took a mental inventory of my
limbs.  My right thigh hurt like hell, but it did not feel like it was
broken.  A dull ache spread from my left shoulder, which had received the
impact of my fall.  Most importantly, my noggin seemed to be operating
normally.

	When I opened my eyes, I saw that he was kneeling next to me, his
face floating above mine.  He had lost the sunglasses, so I could look
directly into the dark pools of his eyes.

	"Try moving your fingers and toes."

	Obediently I did as I was told.

	"Good.  It doesn't look like anything is broken, so you're probably
going to be OK, but they'll still want to take you to the hospital, I bet."

	I could hear a couple of sirens in the distance.

	"Thanks for checking me out," I said.  "Are you a doctor?"

	"No, but my brother's a neurologist, so I've gotten the lecture
about not moving accident victims, or letting them move themselves."

	By this time a couple of police cars and an ambulance from nearby
George Washington University Hospital were pulling up to sort out the mess.
I realized that my window of opportunity was closing.

	"I'm Ben, by the way, Ben Hendricks.  I'd shake your hand, but that
would be contrary to doctor's orders."

	He smiled and reached down and squeezed my right hand.  "Nice to
meet you, Ben.  I'm Richard."

	And that, as they say, was that.  The EMTs swarmed around me, and I
was put on a stretcher and taken to the hospital.  The examination revealed
some nasty bruises and scrapes, but fortunately nothing more serious.
After the doctors were through I gave my statement to an officer, and he
kindly offered to drive me home in his cruiser.  Even though I was just
banged up, completing my run was out of the question.  Once home I did
manage to shower and put on some clean clothes, and I had just stretched
out on the couch and started to give in to the effects of the pain pill
when the buzzer from downstairs rang.  Cursing mildly, I hoisted myself up
and hobbled to the intercom.

	"Yeah, what is it?" I said in a less-than-friendly tone of voice.

	"It's Richard."  The voice paused for a minute.  "The guy who led
you into the path of oncoming traffic."

	It would be an understatement to say I was surprised, and my
codeine-addled brain was not entirely sure how to respond.  So I took the
path of least resistance.

	"I'll buzz you up.  I'm in 4C."

	A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at my front door, which
I had left ajar, and he poked his head in.  I had retreated to the couch in
the meantime.

	"Knock, knock," he said.

	"Come on in.  Sorry if I don't get up, but I'm a little unsteady on
my feet."

	"No problem, I just wanted to check and make sure you're OK."

	"Only a little worse for wear.  Nothing that time won't heal."

	There was an awkward pause.  "If you don't mind my asking, how did
you track me down?" I asked.

	"The police told me where I could find you.  I told them I had to
return this to you."  He held out the T-shirt that I had lost when I took
my little flight.  "As it happens, I have the exact same one, and I didn't
want to risk getting them mixed up."

	I realized at that point that the T-shirt in question had a
prominent HRC logo on it, and the subtext of his comment was pretty clear.
I was a little surprised that the police had given him my address, but I
decided not to press the point.

	"Thanks, it's a favorite.  I'd hate to lose it.  Listen, can I get
you something?  Something to drink?"

	He shook his head.  "You're in no shape to play host.  I should be
getting something for you."

	And that is exactly what he did.  As I settled into my
opiate-induced haze, he took care of me.  I normally would have thought it
odd that a perfect stranger would show up at my door, get pillows for me,
cook a simple dinner of scrambled eggs and toast, and then, when it was
clear that I couldn't stay awake any longer, help me down the hallway to
bed.  Normally that would have seemed very odd.  But fortunately there was
nothing normal about that evening, and I just accepted what was happening.

	"I'd better stop in here first," I said as we passed the bathroom
on the way to my bedroom.  Bracing myself on a towel rod with one hand, I
pulled down the front of the loose athletic shorts I was wearing with the
other and started to pee.  I could feel his presence out in the hall, and
the thought of him so near had a predictable effect on my cock.  Since I
wasn't wearing any underwear, it would be a little difficult to hide.  He
did glance down at my crotch when I rejoined him, but that didn't stop him
from tucking me in like a perfect gentleman.

	"I'll be out on the couch if you need anything.  I can stay the
night just in case the doctors missed something."

	I nodded, the room faded from view, and I was asleep.

	My body hurt like hell the next morning, especially my thigh.
Groggily I pushed down the covers and saw the dark purple bruise that had
developed.  It was ugly.  Over in the corner, Richard was sleeping in an
overstuffed chair, curled up under the afghan my grandmother had made.  It
only covered a fraction of his long frame.  I watched him as he dozed.  Had
I really allowed a perfect stranger to spend the night in my apartment
while I was incapacitated?  The head trauma must have been worse than I had
thought.

	Richard's eyes fluttered open and he looked momentarily disoriented
before he focused on me.  His eyes crinkled as he smiled.  "So the patient
survived the night.  That's good.  How do you feel?"

	"Like shit," I replied.  "Did I get caught up in the running of the
bulls in Pamplona, by chance?"

	"Nah, it was a Civic, not a Taurus."

	I laughed, which only made me hurt more.  "Ohhh, don't make me
laugh.  I suppose I should offer to make you some coffee."

	"Don't even think about it."  He came over and sat on the bed next
to me.  "Is there anything you need?"

	I shook my head and reached out to grasp his hand.  "No, but I
should thank you for being my nurse.  Can I ask why you've taken on this
case?"

	"I thought it was very rude of that driver to cut you off right as
you were about ready to say something, and I wanted to hear what it was."
He looked down at my crotch, where a very conspicuous erection had formed
and was tenting my shorts.  "But I think that we may have moved on from
there."

	I nodded as I reached up to grasp the back of his neck and pulled
his lips down to meet mine.  We kissed softly at first, but slowly the
intensity increased.  His stubble was rough, but I loved the sandpapery
feel.  He stretched out on the bed next to me and we just lay there for a
while, kissing and touching each other through our clothes.  My injuries
left me in a strangely passive role, one I normally don't play during sex,
which is usually a time when I want to move around.  But that wasn't going
to be possible that morning.

	"I don't think I'm going to be able to get this shirt off of you
very easily," he said as he slipped his hand underneath.  "Your shoulder is
probably pretty stiff."

	"The shorts, however..." I said.

	"Ah, yes, the shorts."  He pushed my shirt up partway, allowing him
to kiss my stomach.  "The shorts are another matter."

	By this point I was completely hard, and the tip of my cock was
protruding from the waistband of my shorts.  A shiver went through me when
he snaked his tongue out to lick it.  All sorts of delicious sensations
emanated from my groin as his mouth began to move down the length of my
shaft and blow through the thin cotton fabric.  Direct physical contact was
not even necessary.  But it was most welcome when he slipped my shorts off
of me and began to lick the length of my shaft.

	"Nice, very nice," he breathed, reaching down to his zipper.  He
paused briefly to skin off his T-shirt and drop his shorts and underwear,
and then he was completely naked.  Reaching out, I grasped his thick cock
as he took me into his mouth.  The combination of the residual effects of
the codeine painkillers and the feeling of his lips traveling down my shaft
made me feel like I was melting into the mattress.  I threw my head back
and moaned before trying to hoist myself up.

	Very gently he pushed me back.  "Just lie back and enjoy.  This is
purely medicinal, for pain relief."

	I followed his orders and received the most delicious blowjob of my
life.  Time after time, very slowly and methodically, he brought me right
up to the edge of an orgasm before backing off.  All the while he
manipulated his thick, uncut cock, rolling the foreskin back and forth over
his dark purple knob.

	"I want to cum at the same time as you," I breathed, running my
fingers through his hair.  He groaned, causing exquisite sensations to
vibrate through my cock, which was buried in his throat.  He simultaneously
began to jerk himself faster and to apply greater pressure to me.  The
excitement built rapidly for both of us.  I could tell that he was getting
ready to shoot when his balls began to draw up into a hard package, and the
knowledge that he was approaching the point of no return pushed me right
over.  As he sprayed cum all over my thigh I pumped it deep into his
throat, and he drank deeply of every drop.  Waves of endorphins completely
overpowered the pain from my injured body, and I was left floating on a
cloud of good feeling.  This was exactly the medicine I needed to heal.