Revamping Delaney

an excerpt

Delaney - Chapter One

Grayson Todd's reason for being in The Backroom Bar, at 9pm, on a Saturday night, was pure and simple: he was horny, his cock was hard, his ass was twitchy for want of a good fuck, and his mouth was starving for a substantial meat course, hopefully that came with its own natural salty leakage by way of seasoning.

He wasn't there for small talk, or for the beer, although both might be added to his agenda later. In the meantime, he merely nodded to people in the crowd he knew, bypassed two waiters and the shirtless leather-man behind the bar, and made a beeline for the thick black curtain, one of two-in-a-row, which provided access to the bar's infamous backroom.

On the way, he was gratified to see the place crowded: usually a good sign that there was plenty of action going on in the dark for which he was headed. Then, again, maybe everyone needed more liquid fortification before obligingly dropping pants to make cock and asshole available for servicing.

At first, of course, beyond the concealing drapery, it was kind of hard to tell what, if anything, was available. Though it wasn't the complete pitch blackness of a cavern without access to any natural light, it was certainly black enough, at least until the pupils dilated, to make Grayson pause, just inside the threshold, for fear immediate farther progression would see him bumping into, or tripping over, someone.

The sounds were encouraging: the slurping of mouths over cocks, or cocks sliding back and forth inside assholes. Grayson wasn't there for long, standing dead-still, before there was an exploring hand on his crotch, pausing atop the existing bulge with an obvious hesitation born purely of appreciation.

Grayson removed the hand from his crotch, albeit gently in that he had no need, purpose, or intention of offending anyone at this stage, especially since those quickly to the table could often offer just as satisfying sex as any second or third alternatives. It was just that, as horny as he was ... that hand on his cock, before he'd moved it away, having begun to knead what was proof-positive that his cock was as big as it was, and as hard as it was, and as needy as it was ... Grayson wanted at least a vague perspective of what was going on around him before he jumped in to become a willing participant with the rest of the players.

By the time he felt someone's fingers gliding the bubble contours of his ass snug-fitted inside his tight and worn-thin jeans, Grayson was beginning to distinguish figures within the gloom, many not moving but merely standing along the walls, most having assumed sexy come-and-get-me poses that remained unappreciated until eyes adjusted to the murkiness. Grayson left the wandering hand to its continued roam of his buttocks, well aware that what the fingers discerned was an anal landscape of which most men merely dreamed: matching well-muscled butt-cheeks mirrored across a crack so tight that even the hardest cock had trouble maneuvering far enough to find the even tighter asshole couched at the bottom.

Grayson began a slow shuffle, more confident, now, that he could avoid any potential collisions. The hand on his ass rode right along with him. That was okay with him, because he found it anything but unpleasant the way those exploring fingers wanted to experience each anatomical dip and curve, from the small of Grayson's back to the tops of his muscled thighs. Who knew but that the owner of that hand might get lucky, soon enough, if Grayson's once-over of the premises didn't provide possibilities for anything better?

It was still hard to tell exactly who was whom, and what was what, but Grayson was pretty sure he recognized some of the guys and didn't need much additional input to know a bobbing head was likely eating a cock, and hips on a back-and-forth swing were likely plowing a cock up an asshole not nearly as tight as the one Grayson provided.

Someone grabbed Grayson's arm and gave a distinctive tug that, while insistent, wasn't so forceful that it put Grayson off balance. What surprised him was that while his arms were as impressively muscled as the rest of him, attention was less often focused on one of them than on his shapely ass or on his very big, usually very hard, cock.

"Tell me it isn't really Grayson Todd," someone whispered so close Grayson could literally feel lips moving against his right earlobe. Sexy! Very sexy, indeed, supplemented by the warmth and decidedly minty smell of the guy's warm, slightly moist, breath.

Grayson turned toward the voice, his cheek making contact with a definitely smoothly-shaved counterpart. Soft. Sensuous.

In the meantime, whoever the guy who had been hand-exploring Grayson's ass, and had momentarily found his fingers put adrift by Grayson's unexpected shift of position, returned his fingers to where they'd been and to what they'd been doing.

"Who wants to know?" Grayson asked. No way could he identify the voice from its whisper. Too many times, by too many whispers, had he been addressed, in too many ways, in his lifetime, in too many dark rooms, not to need a few more clues.

A very hard body greeted Grayson's fingers as Grayson slid both hands, one to each side, around the man now more in front of him, and into the small of that man's well-muscled back. A slight additional rotation of Grayson's body presented his hard cock, his hard belly, and his hard chest, to a mating with the man's equally hard erection, wash-boarded stomach, delineated pectorals. A face, too, was brought into better focus as Grayson's eyes adjusted even more to the darkness.

"Delaney?" Grayson asked.

Actually, it was the wrong city for Delaney Jackson! Had it been New Orleans and not San Francisco, then, maybe; although, Delaney hadn't been of New Orleans, either. Had he ever said? From wherever, he'd been merely shepherding some kind of tour group on a Circle USA bus tour that had had them in New Orleans for four days, en route from the East to the West Coast.

"I'm flattered, Grayson," Delaney said. "I sure as hell remember you, but I doubted you'd ever given me a second thought."

As if any two people could share as many body fluids as they had, through the multi-orgasmic gyrations of several hot and muggy New Orleans' nights, for Grayson ever to have forgotten! Hell, how many times had he jacked off, since then, just to the memories of those French-Quarter nights?

The hand on his ass lifted off. Someone had obviously decided the ongoing reunion left very little by way of a three-way opportunity, and he was right. If Grayson's cock had been hard before, and who was there on God's green earth who could deny it, it was suddenly beyond-hard, brought that way by what Grayson remembered of Delaney, and of New Orleans and sex that occurred there.

"What in the hell are you doing in San Francisco?" Grayson finally managed to ask.

"Here, at the moment, to suck your cock, stud," Delany said, "as soon as I ..." His hands were on Grayson's fly. "...can get your mother of all erections free of your pants."

Not an easy task, and, as it turned out, requiring a helping hand, actually two, from Grayson who was suddenly as anxious for his cock to be free and sucked as Delaney was to have it free and suck it.

"So, I wasn't merely imagining the size of this monster?" Delany said, both of his hands wrapping the finally released behemoth that was standing impressively thick and tall between them. He gave it a squeeze. "I thought for sure I must have dreamed it."

When Delaney had stated his intentions were to suck Grayson's cock, he hadn't just been whistling Dixie. He was soon down on his knees in front of Grayson without a seeming care in the world as to what manner of spent body fluids he may have knelt into. After that, he didn't waste one damn second in getting down to business, first with a long wet lick of his tongue that managed to travel from Grayson's cock-root all of the way to leaking cock-head, then with a tight-lipped mouth that slid over, around, and down Grayson's cock-corona and kept right on sliding.

If Grayson had experienced more than his share of cocksuckers who had stayed face-anchored over just the upper half of his big cock, a fisted hand or hands merely jacking off the bottom half, he didn't find Delaney doing any of that. Nor, as had happened with other cocksuckers, did Delaney gag, even once, on his increasing mouthful. He just went right on eating, slow and easy, until all of Grayson's cock was lost inside Delaney's face, Delany's pursed lips suddenly pressed up tightly against Grayson's scrotum and burrowing even deeper. Then, his tongue was out again, this time curled up and under Grayson's nuts.

"Sweet Jesus, Delaney," Grayson couldn't help but compliment. If anything -- if possible -- Delaney had gotten even better at sucking cock than he'd been in New Orleans, and Grayson remembered Delaney as being a cocksucker among cocksuckers, even back then. If practice made perfect, Delaney had been doing a lot of practice, and Grayson couldn't help wondering what else the handsome stud had been improving upon since their last meeting.

Automatically, Grayson's hips rocked forward, just to see if there was even the slightest possibility that some small fraction of his cock was still not swallowed. Delaney, though, had gobbled up the entire thing, nothing left, Grayson seeming, for all intents and purposes, not to have a cock, at all, but a head attached to his crotch.

While just the rhythmic fluctuations of Delaney's throat, locked so securely around Grayson's cock, would likely have seen Grayson getting his rocks off in no time, Delaney, nonetheless, eventually began a return glide up the shaft of the big cock, his head managing a kind of corkscrewing motion as it lifted, causing the stiff cock to revolve in Delaney's mouth and throat, like a swizzle stick in a stirred cocktail. When Delaney's tightly pursed lips tightened even more firmly in their slide over that highly sensitive spot on the underside of Grayson's cock, where corona flared from cock-belly, Grayson literally responded with a full-body twitch. Taking his cue from that, Delaney focused on that exact spot for several seconds more; during which time, he miniature-sucked only the cock-crown before sliding back down, all of the way, to Grayson's cum-filled shifting nuts.

Grayson put his large hands in Delaney's head of thick tousled hair and held on. Not because he needed to provide any kind of guidance, any pulling or pushing, to make the cock-suck work any better. It was going fine just the way it was, thank-you very much. It was more a case of Grayson needing to maintain his balance. When you had that much goodness-graciousness steamrolling through your body, it wasn't that easy to maintain equilibrium.

In the end, Delaney commenced a full-steam-ahead cock-sucking mode. His head dropped all of the way to Grayson's contracting scrotum. His head raised all of the way to where his mouth was again cupping tightly that tender spot where cock-head flared from cock-stalk. Then, over and over again, only faster each time. Grayson's hands, on Delaney's, head went along for the ride. The pronounced pumping of Grayson's hips was purely reflex.

When Grayson's orgasm finally came, multi-canon blasts of sticky hot cum, from tender nuts and out pulsing cock-mouth, Delaney greedily made sure, as if a starving man, not to lose even one nutritious drop.