King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate

By Addison Albright

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2017 Addison Albright

ISBN 9781634863339

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

King Kong vs. The Skinny Pirate

By Addison Albright

Blaine sat on an empty barstool between a likely prospect and King-fucking-Kong. He lifted his chin, summoning the bartender as he ran freshly manicured hands over the textured cashmere of his Kiton pinstripe suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

“A Skinny Pirate, please.”

The bartender quirked an eyebrow but otherwise kept his face expressionless. “Coming right up.”

Blaine’s peripheral vision picked up movement to his left. King Kong was looking him over. He turned his head to the right, ignoring the hairy behemoth, to check out his hopeful hookup for the evening.

Maybe a couple inches taller than himself, the man was casually dressed in freshly pressed khakis and a clean navy polo shirt. His dark wavy hair was neatly trimmed, and his hands, while not professionally manicured, were well maintained.

The man concentrated on a Screwdriver, studiously ignoring him, though.

The bartender placed the drink in front of Blaine, and he slapped some bills on the bar.

“Why’s that called a Skinny Pirate? Looks like rum and Coke to me.”

Blaine sighed and turned to the muscle-bound hulk. “Because it’s made with Captain Morgan rum and Diet Coke.”

He picked up his drink and spun on the stool to cast his gaze over the room. No prospects. No singles, anyway. The patrons all appeared to be in couples.

King Kong turned on his seat and brought a domestic longneck to his lips. The man was big and hairy—except for his bald head—but basically clean, albeit slightly rumpled, in jeans and a snug T-shirt. Minute traces of grease stained his cuticles, and his beard could use a trim. A gold hoop glinted on his right earlobe.

“Not much hope out there. I’ve already scoped the place.”

Blaine glanced at the guy on his other side. Maybe there was still a chance.

“Preppy there’s got someone who’s going to be joining him.” King Kong shrugged. “I already tried.”

Blaine heaved another sigh and took a more thoughtful look at King Kong. How bad did he really want to get laid tonight?

King Kong grinned. “Feelin’ desperate, are ya?”

Maybe not that bad. Fucker.

King Kong actually waggled his eyebrows. “I showered and everything.”

Blaine crossed his arms, and his jaw tightened. The man was laughing at him. Sure, he was picky, but he had a right to be, goddammit. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, then took a sip of his Skinny Pirate. “What’s your name? Or should I just call you ‘King Kong’?”

The man’s laughter reached his eyes. “That depends. You wanna be my Ann Darrow?”

“Blaine will do fine, thanks.”

“George. My name’s George.”

It fit him. Not as well as Harry, but it matched him.

Blaine put out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, George.” What the hell, the man had “showered and everything.” He was huge, but not fat. Not Blaine’s typical hookup, but perhaps he’d do. He certainly had a nice firm grip. “So what do you do? Mechanic?”

George smiled and looked at his hands. “Never can get it all off, no matter how much I scrub.”

“It’s honest work.” Blaine was choosy but didn’t consider himself an elitist. Hell, he was lost under the hood of a car and had plenty of respect for those who understood an engine.

George leaned back and considered him. “It is. Hard, sweaty, and grubby.” He grinned. “Kinda like good sex.”

Jesus. Didn’t sound too much like the sex Blaine was used to.

“How ’bout you, Blaine? I don’t get the impression you work with your hands.”

“I’m an attorney.”

“I was gonna guess either that or some kinda corporate raider.”

Blaine smiled. “Well, I’m the attorney for a corporate raider, so you got a pretty good read on me.”

“There now, you see? We’ve got two things in common. We’re both pretty astute observers.”

“That’s one thing. What’s the other?”

George inclined his head. “We’re both horny gay men.” He grinned again. “And here I’d just complimented your powers of observation.”

Blaine laughed. “You got me there.”

“So the question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“I believe this is the point where one of us asks, ‘your place or mine’?” Blaine tossed back the rest of his drink and raised his eyebrows.

The lines around George’s eyes crinkled to life with his renewed smile. “I cleaned my apartment and everything, too.”

* * * *

George’s place was small, but tidy and clean. Blaine preferred not to bring hookups home with him, but it was often a germaphobe’s worst nightmare going home with them. Some of the most well-turned-out men were such total slobs it was hard to even hold a boner in the surroundings. He gazed around the room, taking in the tasteful, if inexpensive, furnishings.

“Told ya.”

“You’re a man of your word, George. I like that.” Blaine followed him the few short steps to his bedroom.

George turned and looked him over. “I don’t suppose it’d be a good idea to just rip that suit off you in a horny haze.”

“I’d appreciate it if you managed to resist.” The suit cost more than George probably made in a month.

George pulled a straight-backed chair away from the wall. “Here…is this good enough to hang it on, or do you want me to dig a suit hanger out of the closet?”

“The chair’s fine.”

Blaine shrugged out of the jacket as George walked into the bathroom. The sounds of water splashing into a sink drifted out as Blaine worked on his tie and shirt buttons. What the hell was George doing? Brushing his teeth? That was new. He’d brushed before heading to the bar and popped a few mints on the way here, but hookups often didn’t bother, so he tended to avoid mouth-to-mouth contact.

He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants. After folding them carefully, he placed them over the back of the chair, then hung his jacket over the top. He lay his shirt, tie, and socks on the chair seat, leaving him standing in his boxers and undershirt.

When George reentered the room, something flew through the air toward Blaine. He caught it and stared at a small, cheap toothbrush in a plastic wrapper.

“I like to kiss.” George winked, then pulled his T-shirt over his head. Jesus fucking Christ. “King Kong” certainly was an apt nickname for the man. George had more fur on his body than could be found in all of Beverly Hills.

Blaine had never been attracted to bears. Hopefully he’d be able to get it up for the man. George was a nice enough guy, with all the personality characteristics Blaine looked for in a man, so he didn’t want to offend him.

When Blaine stepped out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, George was down to his boxer briefs and had drawn back the bedspread. There were no wrinkles on the sheets. Blaine smiled his appreciation for the fresh bedding.

George straightened up and returned the smile. “It always bothers me when I go to someone’s place and the bed has more life growing on it than a Petri dish.” His grin widened. “Sex might be grubby, but the sheets don’t need to be—at least not ’til after.”

George removed Blaine’s undershirt, tossing it toward the chair. Blaine’s eyes widened, and he stiffened slightly as George placed a large hand on his jaw and moved in for a kiss.

Minty-fresh breath and warm lips softly caressed his own. Blaine relaxed and closed his eyes, relishing the rare peaceful sensations radiating through him. He found his hands lightly holding George’s waist without remembering how they’d gotten there. George’s other hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to cup the back of his neck as the kiss deepened.

Blain moaned when George pressed their hips together, bewitched to discover how effortlessly he’d gotten aroused. Opening his eyes when George broke the kiss, Blaine found the man grinning mischievously.

“What?”

George shook his head. “Nothing. Just pleasantly surprised.”

That made two of them. No shocker that George hadn’t expected much from this hookup, either. Neither of them was likely to be a typical pickup by the other.

George gestured toward the bed. “Come on. Skivvies off.”

Skivvies? Blaine lifted his eyebrows, but he did like George’s assertiveness. He generally went home with men he sensed were tops, because he preferred to be the one getting fucked. But his personality—or perhaps his appearance—seemed to intimidate them so they weren’t particularly aggressive. Not George, though.

Blaine slid down his boxers and tossed them onto the rest of his clothes. When he turned to the bed, George was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle. He raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger.

Blaine had barely climbed onto the bed when George hauled him into his arms. George leaned back, dragging Blaine on top. God, the man felt solid beneath him. Muscular arms drew him down for another kiss. This time less soft, but still far from forceful.

The beard and mustache tickled Blaine’s face, and the hair covering George’s body was incredibly stimulating. His nipples peaked against the abrasive rub. Blaine ground his cock against George’s, and his lips parted easily when the man pressed in with his tongue.

Flipping them effortlessly, George maneuvered over him. Blaine wound his arms around George, hands settling on the man’s solid back. This time Blaine’s mouth sought George’s and welcomed the now-commanding offensive that the man returned.

Blaine moaned and arched, rubbing against the amazing stimulation a large hard body covered in coarse hair provided. He couldn’t get enough skin-to-skin contact. He met the tongue invading his mouth with equal force, and the growly groan reverberating through George’s chest sent shivers through Blaine.

Suddenly George leaned back on his heels, then stretched, reaching for his bedside table. “Christ, Blaine,” he panted. “What is it about you?”

Him? Fuck. What was it about George? Blaine propped up on his elbows. He was hard as nails, already leaking like a damned teenager anticipating sex for the first time. He rolled over as George came back with lube and a condom.

He closed his eyes and fought to settle his breathing. He was not going to come thirty seconds after being penetrated, goddammit. A rustling of paper told him the condom wrapper was being torn open, and he imagined George’s large hands slowly rolling the latex over that thick cock. Then came the snap of the lube top and a pause as George slathered himself with the fluid.

Warm lips nipped at Blaine’s neck as a cool, slick-covered cock teased along the crack of his ass. Then the warmth of George’s body disappeared, and he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back.

Blaine didn’t object to a little manhandling—he rather liked that—but face to face? George’s mouth nibbling his Adam’s apple sucked the protest from Blaine’s lips and replaced it with a primal groan. Legs spayed out, Blaine’s knees bent naturally and he pushed his erection against George’s hairy belly.

When George pressed home, Blaine relaxed to welcome him. George sat back and lifted Blaine’s hips, pushing in, slowly filling him.

Fully seated, George’s weight settled on strong arms on either side of Blaine’s torso, and he leaned down to resume the assault on Blaine’s mouth. One of Blaine’s arms wound around George’s waist, and the other settled on the man’s chest as his hips rocked upward to meet teasingly shallow thrusts.

Sweat trickled down the side of Blaine’s neck. Some of it was his own, but George’s perspiration dripped onto him as well. That typically would have bothered him, but now it sent a thrill through his body, energizing him further.

Blaine’s heart raced, and George’s beat furiously against his palm. Blaine gasped into George’s mouth when the larger man adjusted angles and deepened his drives. Tightening his grip around George, Blaine pitched his body erratically upward, then shook. George moved his lips to Blaine’s neck, allowing Blaine’s moan free rein as hot spunk shot into the sweaty press of their grinding abs.

“Jesus!” George’s body tensed. He growled into Blaine’s ear while his thick shaft pulsed in Blaine’s ass, shooting its load into the condom. Time seemed to stand still for a moment before George pulled out and disposed of the condom. He fell to the side, dragging Blaine along.

Blaine pressed soft kisses to George’s chest, as he lay cocooned in the large man’s solid embrace. Breathing hard, he smiled, remembering George’s words. “Hard, sweaty, and grubby” was right—and it was the most deeply satisfying sex he’d ever had.

His limbs felt heavy and the ambient sounds of the night muted as if far away. As he relaxed in the nest of George’s arms, he closed his eyes, just for a moment.

* * * *

When Blaine next opened his eyes, he viewed the patch of sunlight on the mattress where George should have been. He sat bolt upright, looked around the room, and groaned, putting a hand to his heart. He’d spent the entire night in a hookup’s bed.

He got up, snagged his undergarments from the chair, and made his way into the bathroom. He was thankful for the toothbrush. He used the toilet, splashed cold water onto his face, and ran wet fingers through his hair.

Back in the bedroom, he pulled on his clothes and listened for signs of George. Nothing. Either the apartment was empty or George was being quieter than the proverbial church mouse.

A note on the door explained that George had a job to finish that morning, and that Blaine should turn the lock on the doorknob and not worry about the deadbolt when he left. No problem. Indeed, avoiding an awkward morning-after “sorry I fell asleep and invited myself to spend the night in your bed” conversation was definitely not a problem.

* * * *

Before scanning the room, Blaine’s gaze fell on the stools at the bar. It stunned him to admit his disappointment that George wasn’t there, but it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The very fact he’d returned to the same bar where he’d met George the previous Friday should have been a clue.

The fact that he felt disappointed, despite there being a number of suitable singles prowling the dimly lit room, hit him like a brick wall. Suitable? What did that even mean to him now?

He found an empty bar stool and sat.

The bartender stood in front of him. “Skinny Pirate, right?” The man had earned his forthcoming tip.

“Please.”

Blaine sighed and gazed around the room. He spotted a few men he’d gone home with before but wouldn’t hook up with again, and another that he’d been with and would typically consider as a possible repeat. The man caught his eye and started toward him.

Fuck.

Christ, why was that his instinctive reaction? Double fuck. Fucking King Kong getting under his skin. He should leave with this man and put George out of his mind once and for all.

“Hey. Blaine, isn’t it?”

He supposed it was a good sign that the man remembered his name. Sadly, he couldn’t return the compliment. “That’s right. I’m sorry…”

The man smiled cordially. “Aaron.”

“Right. Sorry, I’m usually pretty good at remembering names.”

“Guess I wasn’t that memorable, then. Damn.”

“No, no. I remember you. Just…shit. Got something on my mind right now.”

“Something?” Aaron laughed. “I recognize that lost look. You’ve got someone on your mind, man.”

Blaine barked a short laugh. “I’m not generally that readable, but yeah, that’s pretty much it.” His drink arrived, and he turned to settle up.

Aaron laid a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Well, good luck with that. See you around, eh?”

“Yeah, sure.” Blaine’s reply was absentminded. He knew in his heart that he wouldn’t have gone home with Aaron even if the man had asked.

What the hell was he going to do, though? If he wasn’t going to move on with another hookup, then he needed to do something. Pursue George? Fucking date? Hell, what had George thought of him? Would George even be interested in a second hookup, let alone want to try a relationship?

Blaine took a drink of his rum and diet cola and decided what he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t going to haunt the fucking bar where they’d met hoping to run into the man, and he wasn’t going to show up on George’s doorstep unannounced. A last name would have been nice. Or a phone number. Maybe the bartender knew George.

Blaine drained his glass and set it down.

It took the bartender less than a minute to notice. “More of the same?”

“Actually, no. I’m hoping you might have some information for me.”

The bartender raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Ah, there was a man in here last Friday. Big guy. Bald head, scraggly beard.”

The bartender nodded. “George. The guy you left with.”

“Right. I’d like to get in touch with him. Got an address, of course, but neglected to get a phone number.”

“’Fraid I can’t help you out with that one.”

Can’t? Or won’t? Either way, it was a dead end.

“I hadn’t seen him around before,” Blaine commented. “Does he come in here often?”

The bartender grinned. “I’ve been here only a few months. Last week was the first time I’ve seen you around, but I generally see George two or three times a month.” He glanced at his watch. “I think he’d be here by now if he was going to show tonight.”

The man was forthcoming enough. Maybe it really was “can’t.” “Would you be willing to pass on a message next time you see him?”

The bartender shrugged. “I could do that.”

Blaine pulled out a business card. “Give him this. Tell him I’d like for him to call me.”

“Will do.” The man stashed the card under the bar.

“Thank you. Hey, I will take one more of those.”

The bartender nodded and made another Skinny Pirate.

Blaine liked his plan. There were ways he could discover George’s phone number, of course, but he’d rather leave the decision in George’s hands. Blaine downed the fresh drink a little too quickly, left a tip that should keep the business card from being forgotten, and went home to his empty bed.

* * * *

What the hell was the matter with him? Blaine couldn’t help questioning his own sanity as he found himself standing again just inside the door, scanning the barroom for a particular, familiar face. He was acting like a lovesick fool. He’d just about convinced himself to turn around and go home when his gaze landed on the man at the far end of the bar.

George leaned forward, chin on one hand, staring at a small card in his other. He slowly spun the card around, tapping each side in turn on the bar. His head rolled to the side, as if he couldn’t quite fathom what he was looking at.

A good-looking, casually dressed man chose that moment to plop down on the empty stool beside George and speak to him.

George sat up straight and slid the card into the front pocket of his well-worn plaid shirt. He smiled at the man and said something back.

What the man uttered next must have been amusing, because George laughed.

The verbal exchange continued for a few moments before George lay a hand on the man’s shoulder and shook his head, smiling kindly.

They stood and hugged. Then the man wandered off and George sat, took a swig of his beer, pulled the card from his pocket, and stared at it again.

Without consciously moving his legs, Blaine found himself halfway across the room before he could talk himself out of it. He took a deep, calming breath, straightened his already erect posture, and closed the distance.

Apparently not noticing him, George didn’t immediately look over when Blaine sat on the recently vacated stool.

The bartender came over. “Skinny Pirate, Blaine?”

George started and turned to him, casually tucking the card into his shirt pocket.

Blaine nodded to the bartender, then looked at George.

“People don’t usually surprise me, Blaine, but you’ve done it a couple times now.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t mind sayin’, I didn’t hold out much hope for a particularly good time a couple weeks ago. I know I was a last resort for you, too.” George grinned. “We might as well be honest and say that neither of us is the other’s usual type.”

Blaine smiled. “Yeah, that’s true enough.”

“I was pleasantly surprised. I had a great time with you on all levels. I got the feelin’ you did, too, but I still didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“That rather surprised me, too. I sure never expected to come back to the same place a second—let alone a third—week in a row, hoping to run into you, let alone take steps to contact you.”

“How do you picture this playin’ out?”

Blaine swallowed. He had no fucking idea. “This is new territory for me.”

One side of George’s mouth quirked upward. “Well, I can’t say I haven’t tried the relationship thing before. Hasn’t worked out for me yet, but I keep tryin’. Let me ask you this…why me? What’s the draw? ’Cause if it’s just that the sex was extra good, I can tell you right now it won’t be enough to make it work in the end.”

“I know. I’ve thought about it, believe me. I’m not sure I can put my finger on it, but I know there’s more to it than just great sex. You’re none of the things that have bothered me about other men, George. I like your style, the way you carry yourself.”

“Our lives are worlds apart. I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Neither do I. We don’t know much of anything about one another yet, but I don’t know that it won’t, either.” Blaine took a drink of his Skinny Pirate. “We’re not as far apart as you might think. I was raised blue collar. My father was a welder.”

George chuckled and widened his eyes. “Can you bowl and everything?”

Blaine laughed. “I was tops in my league. I’m fairly confident I wouldn’t embarrass you on the lanes.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I wasn’t so much worried about you embarrassing me, though.”

“You’ve got no worries, George. The people I work with? They run the gamut themselves, and so do their spouses and dates. Trust me, they weren’t all raised with silver spoons in their mouths. I have to attend plenty of social events in my line of work and would have no qualms having you by my side.”

George sat there a moment staring at him, slowly nodding. “I believe you.”

“Worth a shot?” Blaine held his breath.

A grin spread across that tanned, ruggedly handsome face. “Yeah, worth a shot.”

They stood, and George pulled him in for a hug. Blaine wound his arms around George’s torso and up to the big man’s shoulders, then felt his chin tipped back for a kiss.

When the kiss broke, Blaine smiled into George’s eyes. “My place?”

“Sure, what the hell. Might as well find out now just how far out of my league you are, eh?”

“Money doesn’t define leagues, Kong.”

George dropped an arm around his shoulders. “That’s King Kong to you, matey.”

Blaine laughed and held George’s waist as they walked toward the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Aaron approach the bar and slap down bills in front of the bartender. He could just make out Aaron’s words. “You win the bet, but I know you’re a damned cheater. No way you pegged that match-up without some inside knowledge.”

Blaine looked up at George and smiled when the big man winked. No way he would have predicted it, either.

THE END

ABOUT ADDISON ALBRIGHT

Addison Albright lives in the middle of the USA with three peculiar cats. Her stories are gay (sometimes erotic) romance, and tend to be sweet man-love in contemporary settings. Her education includes a BS in Education with a major in Mathematics and a minor in Chemistry. Addison loves spending time with her family, reading, popcorn, boating, french fries, “open window weather,” cats, math, and anything chocolate. She loves to read pretty much anything and everything, anytime and anywhere. For more information, visit authoraddisonalbright.com.

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