Date: Tue, 15 Jun 2004 19:45:20 +0800
From: paul sung <psun@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Ex Boyfriend

DISCLAIMER
==========
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights
(copyright (c) 2004 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not
copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this
disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:
- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON,
- if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to
psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit
my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002


"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A bulky, well-muscled arm
slammed down hard on the wall blocking my way.

When an ex-Marine glares at you with narrowed emerald-green eyes and
slams his hard, ham-sized fist into the wall, it usually means run away
as fast as your feet can carry you but when it came to this particular
Marine, I had a particular death wish. After all, why else would I have
gotten involved with him in the first place? As his other large hand
reached for me, I swung away from him with a snarl. "Fuck, what does it
look like?"

"You're really pissing me off tonight," he gritted out softly. The small,
cunningly wrought USMC tattoo on his left arm danced beguilingly as his
biceps rippled with his movements.

Resigning from the Marine Corps certainly didn't mean he'd slacked off on
the relentless backbreaking regime and the results showed in the ripped,
athletically built physique that was shown to advantage in his tight
figure-hugging black tee and poured-on jeans. That award-winning build
was one of the first things I'd noticed about him, hell everyone noticed
that about him. The fact that I still enjoyed the quick, forbidden thrill
the sight gave me annoyed me enough to heedlessly mouth off again. "Not
that it's any of my damned business but what's pissing you off this
time?"

Pissed off was an understatement. Like a crazed rabid dog straining at
the leash, he was practically frothing at the mouth and it certainly
wasn't a good sign. It wasn't often that I saw him like this, actually
never. Alexandre Verga might have a nasty bitch of a temper - if the
rumours were to be believed - but he always kept it under tight rein. The
relentless discipline of the Marines had managed to control that
particular brand of red-hot temper that had ruled his unruly, bad-ass
teenage years but since he'd left with a honourable discharge 3 years
ago, I frequently wondered what kept that bubbling volcano still firmly
under the lid.

That tight-ass control certainly didn't extend to his mouth. Alex still
had a sexy sneer and he showed it now, flashing a row of straight white
teeth under the twisted lips. "My fucking boyfriend's become a
scene-queen slut and I don't like it."

"Your boyfriend?" Something about Alex Verga usually triggered an
alarmingly suicidal tendency in me. Faced with a rampaging Godzilla
marine, everyone else in possession of a sane mind would run and hide but
I enjoyed seeing the man snarl and bristle. Truth be told, it got me hot
as hell and my nipples hardened under his glare. "Oh, who is that? Some
new trick of yours?"

My pooh-pooh nonchalant reply got me a fiery dark-eyed glare that would
have deep-fried me on the spot if I wasn't particularly flame resistant
by now. His only answer was a single word filled with sizzling heat that
would have singed me six months ago and left me with second-degree burns.
"You."

When I set off from home to dance the night away in the clubs, I wasn't
expecting vengeful men stalking me and chasing me into dark corridors.
Trying to keep as calm as I possibly could eventhough I could feel my own
usually cool temper bubbling, I replied. "That's where you're wrong.
That's ex-boyfriend."

The emphasis on ex only caused his nostrils to flare in a particularly
arousing move. Seeing that he blocked my way, I tried to evade him only
for him to deal me a rough shove that crushed me to the wall. No doubt
some other macho man would have fought back with teeth, muscle and claw
but I'd had my share of rolling around with Verga, enough to know that he
would end up on top soon enough. Verga was a leaner, meaner Rambo with
better fashion sense. Since I'd also seen him despatch a group of
musclebound ruffians armed to the teeth with only his bare hands - and
without breaking a sweat, I knew I was no match for him. Muscles, height
and technique were all on his side and I was only a 150 pound
columnist/writer wannabe with no knowledge of martial arts apart from a
reluctant appreciation for sexy, well-built exponents of the art and
Jackie Chan movies.

Anyway, it was difficult to fight back when I was pinned like the
proverbial butterfly to the wall. When I attempted to release myself from
his chokehold, he backed me hard against the wall to shake my resistance.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he shot at me.

"Back to my dates." I hissed out - as much as I could with his brawny
forearm pressed threateningly against my throat. He wasn't applying much
pressure, he might be mad as hell but I knew he wouldn't consciously hurt
me. I might end up with a scratch in my throat but I wouldn't be getting
my will read out loud anytime soon. Or so I hoped. "Tom, Dick and Harry
as I recall. You'd know them - you've fucked them all."

Reference to his old hound dog days usually made him laugh but I could
see that his sense of humour had deserted him. His dark eyes flared in
aggression. "Now you're really trying to piss me off."

His voice had lowered to a soft whisper and I started getting worried.
His bark was usually safer than his soft-voiced growl especially since
the growl came just seconds before his painful bite. An odd analogy but
it was true all the same. An alarm started ringing in my head, a quick
splash of realization in my insane mind, and I slowly shifted my stance
to escape when I met his gaze. Green fire, I'd called his eyes once, and
I recalled the last time I'd been just this close. The memory of his
betrayal slashed through my brain - the sight of two magnificent men
entangled in our silken sheets, the quick flash of his dark olive-toned
flesh over Drake's smooth ivory-white skin, the soft groans and creaks
that came from our bed - and though the humiliation made me want to sink
down to my knees, I stood firm this time and shot out heedlessly. "Well,
if I'm a slut, I learnt from the best."

He shoved at me, daring me to say more. "What the hell do you mean by
that?"

"Take it how you will."

"I'm not a fucking slut." Enunciating each word slowly, Alex glared at me
coldly. "The man who goes home with a different man every night is one."

The fact was I usually left them standing frustrated at the stoop while I
latched my door but I saw no reason to let him know that. Better that he
believed I sucked and fucked half the male population of the city rather
than the truth. The sad truth was I went home every evening miserably
alone and spent my time catching up on television serials. It was better
than facing the beautiful, desirable men in the clubs, bright flashy
smiles, marvellously golden-tanned and wonderfully gym-toned, and
realizing that none of them could even compare to the stud I'd left
behind.

Radically changing my image after he left wasn't the easy solution I'd
imagined. Picking up snazzier clothes, a new hairstyle and contacts - ala
Queer Eye - didn't change who I essentially was inside. Sure it certainly
got me noticed at the clubs and it got me plenty of numbers but I found
that I wasn't looking for a mindless, sweaty one-night-fuck in the
backrooms. It just wasn't me. Dancing up a storm on the dancefloor with
the thumpa-thumpa music playing, the flashing strobelights and sweaty,
shirtless men had never been my style and it was even less enticing
without Alex at my side. When I came home late, I still picked up my
stodgy wireframes, dug up my musty old books and listened to mellow jazz.
And I tried my best to forget about him.

It wasn't easy forgetting. Everything I saw and touched in my apartment
reminded me of him. The sink he'd repaired, the ornate shelves he'd
griped and complained when I'd bought - and yet he'd put it up, the
framed black-and-white pics we'd taken on a whim.

"That is the new me. You didn't like the old clingy one as I recall.
Boring, dependable and reliable, I think you called me." It still hurt
that a man I'd known for so long felt that way. Certainly I imagined
myself the same way but I always hoped that Alex saw something else in me
that was intriguing enough to make him stay.

"What the hell do you mean?" Alex hissed out and he reached out to grip
my arms tight. His hands were strong and large - and I remembered the way
his long, clever fingers had gone down my naked body. He narrowed his
gaze as he looked at me closely. "Why do you take what I said seriously?
I'm a stupid, self-involved shit who doesn't know any better. I loved the
old, clingy man. I loved the man who dresses up in boring conservative
suits, wakes up at precisely 7, works 9 to 5. Reads thick novels by the
fire. Secretly mimics Sinatra in the shower when he doesn't think
anyone's listening. The man who's already planned what he would be doing
a year from now in his planner. The man who wipes the tabletop when there
is a ring."

After having my fill of the clubs these past few weeks, I realized that I
preferred my old self too but I wasn't about to admit that to him. "A
regular boring stick-in-the-mud."

I got a quick wince from him as he recalled what he'd said. Letting out a
sigh, Alex finally eased away from me a bit. "Look, I was a brainless
asshole!"

"Well, that old man's gone."

"Bullshit." The thick, lush fan of his lashes swept down as he narrowed
his beautiful cat-green eyes.

"What kind of fucking mixed signals are you sending me?"

"I don't know!" He raked his fingers down his inky black curls, crying
out in frustration as he did so. For emphasis, he pulled his hand away
and slammed his fist hard against the wall, causing chips to fly.

It would almost have been funny if it wasn't happening to me. And the
worst part was I would normally have called my best friend to tell him
all about the asshole who cheated on me and he would make it all better.
Unfortunately this time around, my best friend was also my cheating
boyfriend. "Send me a memo when you've finally got it analyzed."

"Where are you going?" As I tried to move down the hallway, he hauled me
back. "Get back here."

"What do you want from me, Alex?" I asked him quietly. "You say you don't
want a stay-home boyfriend, you don't want commitment, you don't want a
relationship. You want some god-damned fucking space. I've given you all
that. Now you don't want us to be apart. You get all jealous. You punch
out my dates. What the hell do you want?"

My point managed to find its way across and he stared at me, his mouth
gaping. "All I know is that I--I just want you, dammit."

Damn. It was difficult enough to deny what I felt without hearing him say
it. If he only knew how hard it was to keep from falling headlong into
his arms. Falling in love had never been easy, at least for me, but with
Alex, it had been so natural and so easy that I'd never even realized it
happening. "Well, if that's all you want, I'm fine with it. You were
always great in bed. Let's go down to the backroom. I've got ten minutes
to spare." Great in bed was another understatement since we practically
spontaneously combusted each time we got together. Alex wasn't called Sex
God for nothing. Not only did he look good enough to eat, he had the most
incredible hands and mouth - and it didn't surprise me at all that
despite his shitty behaviour, his discarded lovers frequently came back
for more.

His reaction to my proposition was immediate as he stumbled back away
from me as if I were carrying a contagious life-threatening disease. His
green eyes spit fire as he hissed out his reply. "Fuck you. That's not
what I meant and you know it."

"That's all you're gonna get. A one-night-stand that I can deal with.
You're not messing with my head again." Just to antagonize him, there
were some pills I'd been handed earlier by the twigged out twink I'd
bumped into and I dragged them out from my pocket. God knows what that
cockail contained but then I didn't have any intention to use it.

Alex stared down at the pills and then back at me as if I'd sprouted two
heads. "Jesus. What the fuck... is that crystal? You're doing drugs?"

"It's fun, it's hip, it's as far away from boring as I can get." Sure, I
usually tossed them in a bin but he didn't have to know that. Better he
thought that I was some drugged out circuit queen. "Bye-bye old and
stodgy. Hello youthful ecstasy."

Grabbing the small packet before I could hold on to it, he snatched them
and tossed them behind him. "Fuck that. And if you think I don't know you
well enough to know that you'd never use them, you've got another thing
coming."

"Now, that was constructive." I followed the direction as the packet
landed on the floor and a club patron crushed it underfoot. "Well, if you
don't care to use them, we can just get on with it then." With him
standing that close, I reached over, caught the waistband of his tight
jeans and tugged him close. Alex's familiar scent drifted close, the
clean scent of the soap he used, tangy musk of his sweat and the spice of
his cologne. It never failed to raise my temperature and I could already
imagine the heat and sweat of his hard physique sliding against mine. A
tingle sizzled up my fingers as I neared the seductive bulge of his
crotch, feeling the hard, pulsing meat growing steadily in his pants.

For the first time, Mr Ever Ready for a Fuck slapped my hands away
angrily from his crotch. As he stepped back, he gave me another one of
his searing looks. A muscle started twitching reflexively on his tensed
jaw. "Stop that. I don't want a quick fuck."

Talk about something for the history books. It was the first time he'd
rejected someone's advances and I wondered whether I should be insulted.
Alex Verga usually took on all comers - and left them all blissfully
satisfied and well-fucked. "That wasn't what you were thinking when you
were dickin Drake's butt." My God, I was sounding just like a jealous
queen.

Stung by my comment, a wave of guilt ran through his dark, handsome face.
"I didn't plan on any of that happening. I was drunk. I was high."

It had been the excuse he'd tossed at me before and I didn't buy it
anymore than I did then. "Yeah, did drunken lil you just innocently fall
over and accidentally land into his tight bubblebutt? All I've gotta say
is you've got real good aim, Verga, you learned that kinda sharp-shooting
in the fucking Marines?"

"Damn, you've got some hell of a mouth on you." Before I could react, he
snatched me close and kissed me. The classic snatch and grab method
always worked on me, and it worked even better paired with a pair of
tight guns and a hard, brawny chest, and I soon found myself melting
irresistibly as his warm, sensuous lips dragged slowly across mine. I
loved Alex - and I knew that he was more than just a sum of his parts but
it was hard to think of his intelligence and his sense of humour when he
had his beautiful, hard body pressed against mine, the solid contours of
his muscles flexing powerfully against me, the impressive length of his
erection burning against my thigh.

Used to the wild shenanigans in the club, no one paid any attention to us
as Alex really got into this kiss. Men desperately groping each other in
the corridors didn't merit a glance from the clients, apart from an
admiring glance at Verga's impressive glutes. As I found myself
delighting in his taste and his scent, I found my hands stealing down the
hard muscled ridges of his back, following the sinuous curve of his spine
down to the perfect curves of his ass. Alex Verga might have gained fame
as a top but that didn't discount the fact that he had a butt begging to
be fucked. Even Drake couldn't possibly compare...

"Get the hell away from me." For the first time in my life, I resorted to
physical violence as I slugged him on his face. In the battle against the
solidity of his jaw, my right hand lost and it started feeling numb.

Hardly moved by my punch, he wiped the blood from his lip with an
arrogant sneer. "Picked up some moves. That's on the house, Sutton, coz I
admit I've been a fricking asshole but don't think you're gonna land
another punch on me again." As he scanned me and let his glance rest
lightly at my crotch, he laughed wickedly. "You're still mine, Sutton. Oh
yeah, you still want me so damned bad."

With the insistent boner in my pants, there was no denying the truth.
There was a dangerous gleam in his green-eyed gaze and I knew that I'd
crossed the line somewhere. One free punch was all I was gonna get, the
next one would have me landing flat on my butt with him on top. And even
with an audience, I doubt it would stop him from doing whatever he wanted
- and I doubt I'd be in a position to stop him.

It was all I could do to spit at him and get the hell out. God, I needed
some ice on my knuckles.