A sequel to Captain Ellison Loses Command

Author's Acknowledgments: I'd like to thank the gals at SentinelWorkshop, Lady Jaguar and Angelee for the Spanish help and Pattrose for the stunning art. And just in case anybody's worried, I do plan another sequel.

I break off the kiss and back away. Turning to the bed, I tiger crawl to the center, grinning at the sharp intake of breath from behind me. Still kneeling, I lower my head down onto my arms and push my knees wide apart, making my ass completely accessible to his gaze. "What are you waiting for? Get over here and fuck me."

A delighted chuckle makes my balls tighten with anticipation. The bed dips under his weight as he moves behind me. The light, almost reverent touch along my back and down to my ass is not what I'm in the mood for and I growl impatiently.

Another chuckle and the big, warm hands tighten on my hips. "Oh no, you're not gonna distract me from getting my fill of this view. If you could see yourself from this angle, you'd know why."

I throw a half-annoyed look over my shoulders. "Less talk; more action!" He grins unrepentantly and opens the lube. I put my head back down and spread myself wider. My breath is coming faster and my cock starts pulsing with anticipation. Slick fingers probe at my entrance and I open up to let him slide right in.

Oh yeah! His fingers are plunging in, teasing my prostate and widening me. Impatiently, I force myself to hold still until I can tell I'm ready. "Do it! Do it!" I mutter.

He slaps me on the butt and says, in that sultry voice that makes me shiver, "Hang on, Jim. I'm going to fuck you right, baby. Don't you worry." His cock presses against me and I groan hard, as he pushes, filling me up. God, I love this. I fucking love this!

I can't help it and start pushing back onto his cock, teasing myself with the friction. He chuckles and grips my hips hard. Then he's moving, pumping steadily, giving me what I need. I move with his rhythm, pushing back to meet him, hips rolling around his cock, and grinning as he moans approval. He leans his weight forward onto my back and I can feel his hair swinging and brushing against my skin. I almost come from just that alone.

My thighs and arms tense and I arch my back, finding just exactly the right angle for his cock to rub against my prostate with every stroke. Oh god oh god so fucking good. I'm moving faster and faster, slamming back eagerly to meet his thrusts, my breath sobbing in my throat as I drown in the shivery, aching lust radiating from deep inside.

He's moaning behind me. "God, you're such a slut. Such a beautiful, beautiful slut. You want it bad, don't you? Move that ass. Oh yeah!"

The combination of being fucked hard and that voice and his hair whispering along my back is too much and I reach down, working my cock furiously until I fucking explode. I actually see lights flashing in front of my eyes, my hips jerking as I spray the hotel bedspread. Yes yes yes oh god YES!

He pumps helplessly into my convulsing ass, chanting, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" as he comes.

Then we both collapse, gasping for breath. He rolls to the side and laughs, "Wow! You are something else, chulo."

I smile at him, drunk on the afterglow, and reach up to run my fingers along his generous lower lip. The mouth and the long, dark hair made me notice him. It was the richness of his voice that made him the one fucking me tonight.

Miguel bites my fingers gently and asks, "Would you like something from the mini-bar? My treat."

***

Over the years, I've developed a type. There's just a certain kind of guy that really turns me on. I don't always find the entire package, but I can generally find a guy who's got something that reminds me....

Blue eyes, deep voice, hair that's long or curly or brown with reddish highlights, short, young, confident, breezy manner. Oh yeah, and a definite top.

I was very careful in the army. Now that I'm a cop, I follow the same rule: Never in Cascade. There, I'm Detective Ellison, dating only the most beautiful women. But once a month, I take a trip over to Seattle and I cruise the bars, anonymous in the crowds.

I look for the guy who fits my type the closest and I go after him. Some time later that night, I'll be braced against a brick wall or crouched on a bed, ass in the air, getting the living daylights fucked out of me. God fuck me fuck me fuck me! And my eyes will be shut and the guy pants in my ear and when I come, I can almost think it's....

I don't really remember him. I remember things about him, like he had a girl's name and he had long, curly hair, but I can't see his face. It's just that I vibrate like a tuning fork around certain guys and I've built up a picture out the familiar pieces. This kind of hair, this color eyes, a certain slant of cheekbone, a fuck me mouth.... I could probably walk by him on the street and not recognize him, although I bet I would check him out thoroughly as I pass.

I went back to the bar after two months, pretending I wasn't really looking for him. He wasn't there and asking around didn't help. At the time, I was disappointed but relieved, figuring it was for the best. Ships that pass in the night.

I'd been fantasizing about him and playing with my ass while I jerked off. I didn't realize that I'd gotten a taste of what I really wanted and the hunger was growing. Six months later, I bottomed for the second time in my life and had to face facts. This was who I was. The kid... he pegged me right and showed me what I was missing. It took me a long time to realize I was grateful to him for that. A longer time before I was okay with it.

An even longer time before I realized I was missing more than a skillful cock and a sweet, dominant manner. By that time, I really didn't remember him, couldn't see his face in my mind. It wasn't that other guys weren't as good or better--especially once I learned what worked for me--but no matter how good they were, they weren't right. They weren't him.

And I walked away. I don't have a name; I don't know where he comes from. There's no place to start looking. He's gone. The only place he exists is in my memory and he won't let go of me.

Life goes on and I don't think about it much. Just afterwards, after the still-amazing sex and the spectacular orgasm, I'll stare out into the dark and it'll be the wrong guy snoring next to me. And nothing I do can change that.

End
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