Hot Weather

Copyright January 28-31, 2007
by Matthew Haldeman-Time

I am writing about men having sex with other men.  You must be eighteen or older to read my fiction.  This site is for consenting, responsible adults only.



Publication Date: October 23, 2007 by Samhain Publishing
Cover art by Scott Carpenter

        There’s more to summer than just hot weather.

        Fresh out of college and new to the working world, John faces reality—spending the rest of his life stuck behind a desk instead of having fun in the sun with his friends. His boss is on his back, his car is breaking down, and the oppressive heat is broiling him alive. There’s no end in sight to his misery.

        Tall, slender, green-eyed Keith runs the lunch shift at the local diner, an air-conditioned oasis away from what John’s life has become. Keith’s cheerful personality, constant smile and unbearably sexy body help to remind John that summer is what he makes of it. And with Keith’s cooperation, John plans on making this his best summer yet.

Warning: This story contains two hot guys having hot sex one hot summer. Lots of hotness.
Please be advised that a fire extinguisher may come in handy; so would ice cubes, used at your discretion.



        Second excerpt:

        On his way to the diner, John contemplated what Keith might want from him. He couldn’t pin it down, but he did figure out what he wanted from Keith, besides sex. So, when he got there, the first thing he did was ask, “How long have you lived here?”

        “Hi.” Keith climbed right over the counter to hug him. “You came back.”

        Surprised, John wrapped his arms around Keith’s slender body. “I said that I would.” This felt good. Really, really good. Satisfying, and arousing, at the same time. Keith was almost as tall as he was, and firm against his chest, arms tightening around his shoulders.

        “Joe,” Keith said without moving away, “John’s here.” His hand slid, slowly, down John’s back, and he made a quiet noise, like he was turned on. “God, I knew you’d feel amazing, but this is even better. What the hell have you done to yourself?”

        “Weight training and years of a strict nutritional program.” He let his fingers creep down Keith’s side. “You like it?”

        “Your body makes me so hot, I have to question all of my priorities, because I always swore that I was attracted to intelligence and strong morals, but this is really doing things to me.”

        He kissed the shell of Keith’s ear. “You want to know what else I can do to you?” He gently began to tug up the hem of Keith’s shirt.

        “Oh, wow.” Twisting away, Keith hurried behind the counter again, putting that barrier between them.

        “If you want, I can do mine, instead,” he offered, teasing up his shirt, aroused and loving it, knowing that Keith wanted him and loving that, too. “If you like how it feels, you’re going to love how it looks.”

        “Ah! Stop,” Keith protested, holding up both hands as if to ward off a blow. “No, no. I’m not strong enough to withstand that kind of temptation, so you’re going to have to—although that creates a fox guarding the henhouse kind of situation, doesn’t it?” He dropped his hands.

        “Okay.” He could do that. Settling onto one of the stools, he rested both elbows on the counter and leaned forward, grinning. “Give me a kiss and I’ll play fox for you.”

        “A kiss?” Keith immediately lounged beside him as if drawn there.

        “A kiss,” he whispered, nuzzling Keith’s cheek, kissing his neck, nibbling his earlobe. “Give me a kiss and tell me about you.”

        “About me?” Keith asked, his voice distracted as his hand stroked the side of John’s neck.

        “Mmm.” That felt good, that was making him nice and warm inside. “Why you’re here, what you like, what you’re into.”

        “I’m into you,” Keith whispered, and kissed him.

        Slow, wet, with a soft rhythm. Keith’s mouth was receptive, welcoming, and when their tongues met, Keith moaned and slid his thumb along John’s jaw, sending fresh prickles of heat and awareness down John’s neck. John was eager for more, and more was right in front of him, and his body was hot and ready, and his dick was hardening fast, but Keith had just asked him to take it slowly. Breaking the kiss, panting softly against Keith’s mouth, he struggled to find his voice.

        “Oh.” Keith kissed him again.

        John pulled back, groaning at the effort it took. “I’m trying to stop.”

        “Stop?” Keith repeated, like he didn’t recognize the word. Then it sunk in. “Oh,” he said, blinking and realizing. “Oh.” Swallowing, straightening, he coughed. “Thanks.”

        John needed to feel his mouth again. “Do you give head?”

        Turning his back, Keith said, a little shakily, “To you, as soon as you ask for it,” and poured a glass of water. Instead of offering the water to John, he drank it himself, draining the glass and breathing hard once he’d finished.

        That had not been a safe answer. John’s blood pounded, hot and eager. They had to talk about something else. “Tell me about you.”

        “My middle name is Alan, I’m twenty years old, my dad repairs computers, my mom sells shoes, I’m from a tiny town an hour away that nobody’s ever heard of, and I came here because I could afford it and I liked the curriculum.” Running his hands through his hair, he finally faced John again. “And I’m totally devastated by the way you kiss.”

        Ding! “Food!”

        John stared at the plate. That wasn’t possible. He’d just shown up!

        Keith stared at him. “How long were you kissing me?”

        Slowly, feeling very, very pleased, John grinned. “Do you have a car?”

        “I…” Hesitating, Keith eyed him cautiously, trying to decipher his reason for asking, then went to fetch his plate to buy time. Giving him the plate, finding ketchup and silverware, Keith finally said, “Yeah,” but didn’t ask why, which made John want him more.

        “I need a ride to the shop after work, to pick mine up. Can you take me?”

        “Sure.” Keith wiped his hands on his apron. “I can pick you up outside Walker and Lindstrom. What time?”

        “I get off at six. Is that okay?”

        “Yeah, that’s fine.” He moved a napkin dispenser, then fiddled with a salt shaker.

        Keith was making such an obvious effort not to lean down beside him, John couldn’t bear it. “Come here.” He reached across the counter and tugged on Keith’s arm. Immediately acquiescing, Keith rested easily beside him, not touching, but close enough that John could see the green of his eyes through his half-lowered lashes. There was still too much that John didn’t know. Even if the question of Keith’s major was off limits, there were still ways for John to learn about him. “What kinds of books do you like to read?”

        “All of them.” The answer sounded honest, but then Keith laughed and met his eyes. “Fiction, mostly. The older, the better.”

        “How old?”

        “Anything written since the industrial revolution is crap,” Keith told him. “Don’t fall for the hype. Anything from the Renaissance onward is pretty iffy. The best stuff predates anything written in the English language, Old English certainly included.”

        “Wow.” John stared at him in amazement. “You’re serious.”

        “It’s going to be the subject of my thesis. I’ll let you read it when I’m finished.”

        John grinned. “Won’t it be crap?”

        Laughing, Keith said, “Yeah, but that’ll have more to do with my lack of talent than the date it’s written.”

        He’d never heard anyone talk like Keith. “You’re either really smart, or just opinionated and kind of crazy.”

        “My professors would argue the former. My friends, the latter.”

        “What kinds of friends do you have? Do you live off-campus during the semester, too? If I want to read something good, where should I start?”

        They talked until the hour was up. John fed some of his ice cream to Keith, who licked the spoon and kissed his fingers and made him ache. They kissed again before he left, at the door, a slow, cool, vanilla-flavored kiss, and when he nudged his thigh between Keith’s thighs, when he cupped Keith’s high, taut ass in his hands and made sure Keith felt the swelling of his arousal, Keith moaned and clutched at his back and ground against his thigh, humping a little and groaning.

        “Tonight,” John whispered. “Come home with me tonight. I want to make you come with my mouth, with my hands, with my—”

        “Oh, God,” Keith breathed, kissing him hungrily, rock hard against his thigh.

        “I’m not too macho,” John whispered, cupping his face, looking into his eyes, “to give you what you need. I promise that if you come home with me tonight, I’ll come back here on Tuesday, and I’ll be here on Wednesday, and I’ll pour tea for little old ladies on Thursday. Just let me have you tonight.”

        “You’re saying such good things,” Keith said, sounding dazed, “and I’m so hard that I can barely understand you. Yes, yes, I’ll come with you tonight, you can do whatever you want.”

        Smiling, John kissed him and let him go. “Just remember to pick me up at six, and I’ll take it from there.”



"Hot Weather" available through Samhain Publishing

matthew@matthewhaldemantime.com
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