A Nashville Spicy Christmas

Cooper

Carson’s fist was a blur as I bent backward to avoid the blow. His hair, more orange than red, blazed as he spun and pushed off, sending a kick toward my chest. He was fast, especially for a skinny fourteen-year-old, but I was his master.
I reached out, grabbed the trim of his dobok, and threw my weight backward. The tall toothpick of a boy was caught off guard. His arms flew wide as he tried to right himself, but my weight and momentum were too much for him.
“Shiiiiiit!” he screamed, his voice cracking, as I crouched and rolled onto my back in a backward barrel roll, tossing him easily over my head and out of the circle. By the time he’d risen, I had already popped into a ready position facing him with both fists raised. He shook himself off and assumed his own ready posture.
I straightened, lowered my fists, and cocked a brow. “You are out of bounds, jey-jah,” I said, looking pointedly at his feet a good two strides outside the white perimeter.
Carson glanced down, then immediately snapped to attention, slammed his fists together, and bowed deeply. “Thank you, sabeom.”
The honorific of a master still rang strangely in my ears, despite running the dojang for more than a year. The clear adoration in the eyes of my students felt even more odd, though I understood. I’d competed at the highest levels—well, almost the highest level. I’d been knocked out in the final Olympic trial before making the US team. Moreover, as a master of a dojang with as many stripes on my belt as the boy had knuckles on his fist, his respect was appropriate, if a bit awkward.
“You did well today, Carson. Your mom is waiting.” I pointed toward a row of comfortable couches where parents watched practice. A woman whose hair was somehow more sun-kissed than his waved when she noticed us looking her way. “Tomorrow, we’ll work more on balance. When you are at a severe disadvantage in weight, balance becomes even more important. You made my job easy by falling over.”
Carson grinned, and his face nearly split in two. “I did kind of tip over.”
I laughed. “Tip over? I’d say you threw yourself at that wall over there, head first. Not a good look, my friend.”
He beamed. Carson’s dad left when Carson was five. His mom spent time in and out of hospitals and court-mandated treatment centers for addiction issues. I marveled at how the boy smiled and carried himself with a confidence I knew he didn’t always feel. It made me want to spend more time with him, to push him to be better, to put my arm around him and let him know there were people in the world who cared, who wouldn’t leave.
Instead, I donned my own dobok, cinched my belt tight, and welcomed him into my fold. Carson spent virtually every day the doors were open on my practice mats, at least ten hours each week, most weeks more. I tried to give him a “scholarship,” to let him train for free, but his mom paid me for one hour each week. It’s what she could afford, and she was too proud to let me waive that.
I understood that pride.
“Sabeom, see you tomorrow,” Carson said as he turned to retrieve his backpack from a chair where students sat to watch their peers. He’d hit a growth spurt this year, and his legs were too long for his body. It was like watching baby Bambi wobbling from one end of the gym to the other. I couldn’t suppress a grin.
All the other kids had left an hour earlier, and the only sounds in the gym were the whirring of the big-ass fans and the grunts and groans of our sparring.
I’d been turned to face Carson and hadn’t heard his mom cross the floor. Bony fingers snaked down my shoulder to grip my bicep, squeezing as if testing a grapefruit at the supermarket. She knew I was gay, but that didn’t matter. Her hands always found my biceps, or sought some excuse to pat my chest—and to leave her fingers on it a little too long.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Beasley,” I said, trying desperately not to jump off the mat.
“Hi, Cooper,” her voice purred. “You look so good out there … with Carson.”
Heat flooded my cheeks as her hand left my arm and pressed against my chest.
“Thanks. I mean, he’s great. Your son is great. Carson. He’s your son. Of course, you know that, and you know he’s great, but really, he did great. Sorry about the whole throwing him around thing, but that’s kind of what we do here, you know, in taekwondo. We throw people and things, and break them. Things, we break things, not people. Unless by accident. Sometimes they break things like arms or legs or things … you know?”
Her eyes weren’t quite as glazed as they’d been the last time I’d seen her, but her nails were a bit longer. She curled her fingers so they dug through the fabric of my dobok, teasing my chest in a way that would’ve been pleasant if she’d been, well, a man, and not the mother of one of my students. I took a couple steps back, freeing my chest from her claws—I mean, nails, … fingers … from her fingers.
“See you tomorrow, Coach Cooper,” she singsonged, as she looped her hand into Carson’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
“It’s sabeom, not coach, Mom,” Carson said with a heavy note of adolescent annoyance.
“Of course it is, dear,” she said, glancing back and winking.
I nearly peed myself right there. And my dobok was white. That would’ve been terrible.
Mrs. Beasley couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. Why she flustered me so badly was a mystery. Nate thought it was funny. He thought the blush that flooded my face and neck and arms and toes—and everything—each time she grabbed me was even more hilarious. I loved him, but my man was useless in defending my honor with cougars, and, while I might’ve been capable of beating most men into submission, I was no lion tamer.
Cougars scared me. They had claws … and teeth … and boobs.
The bell on the front door tinkled, letting me know Carson and his mother had left. I padded over to the wall and began shutting off the lights. One row after the next winked out with each switch. I paused at the last bank that illuminated the center ring.
This was my dojang. I was the master here.
It hadn’t been that long ago that I worked in a cubicle, crunching numbers for a boss who cared more about whipping his subjects than making them better employees. Except for him—and a coworker or two—I liked my job. Numbers were fun. But having my own dojang and getting to help kids every day—that was like living a dream.
I glanced back as I clicked off the last of the lights and locked the doors. My phone buzzed before I could press the button on my key remote to unlock my truck. A tiny caterpillar tap-danced in my chest when I saw a text from Nate.
God, I loved that man.
NateStringerOfficial: You done beating up children?
HawkeyeBB: Never. There’s always more to punish, although I’m not sure training counts as punishment. It’s actually more of a reward, especially coming from a master. Have I mentioned how weird it is to be called that? I know, it’s been over a year, but still, it feels weird. Good, but weird. Speaking of feeling good, I need you naked.
NateStringerOfficial: I’m ignoring everything before the word naked. Yes. I will be stripped bare and oiled up when you get home.
HawkeyeBB: Please don’t. You know how much I love squirting all over you.
HawkeyeBB: Oil. I love squirting oil all over you. Your body. All over your chest and arms and … everywhere.
HawkeyeBB: I didn’t want you to think I meant actually squirting all over you with my private part thingy.
HawkeyeBB: Although, now that I say that, I kind of want to do that too. It looks so hot against your dark skin, all creamy and gooey.
NateStringerOfficial: I can’t decide if we’re going to have sex or ice a cupcake.
HawkeyeBB: CUPCAKES! Yes! I’ll stop by the Donut Den on my way home. That’s a great idea.
NateStringerOfficial: You’re killing me, Coop. Get home. I missed you today.
And just like that, I forgot about cupcakes.
***
I punched in the code and opened the door. Our house was strangely quiet and dark. Even the kitchen, which served as the center of our universe on most days, stared back all shadowy and silent.
“Babe? You here?” I called out, setting my gym bag down by the door.
No answer.
I took the stairs two at a time.
The guest bath was open and empty. At the end of the hall, our bedroom door stood open. A dim glow flickered from somewhere within, but I heard nothing.
“Babe?”
Still no reply.
I was suddenly nervous. That wasn’t unusual for me. I got nervous when I held my pee too long. But this was different, more fear than nerves. I wasn’t sure what there was to be scared of, but some sixth sense told me to clench, so I did.
When I peeked through the doorway, those nerves morphed into a completely different racing of my heart.
Nate had spread giant beach towels across its surface and lay in their center, completely naked. The light of a dozen candles scattered throughout the room flickered in the oiled surface of his rich brown skin. The only part of him that wasn’t glassy slick was his head and face, which rested with closed eyes on two fluffy pillows. A gallon jug of massage oil sat on the nightstand.
I stood in the doorway and stared.
He was stunning.
And he was mine.
His eyes fluttered open. “Hey, you. Sorry, I know you wanted to squirt all over me, but I decided that meant the icing, not the oil. Hope you like it.”
“Sweet baby Jesus and the llama and alpaca.”
He spat a laugh. “Jesus didn’t have a llama … or an alpaca.”
“He should have,” I said, stepping into the room. “Nate Stringer, you might be the most beautiful man to ever don the slickyness.”
He chuckled. “Don the slickyness?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing. At least, it is now.”
He sat up on his elbows, flexing his abs as he did. My cock pulsed at the sight.
“Coop, I love you. Now, shut up and get naked.”
“Oh, yeah, naked. I forgot I had clothes on,” I said, ripping my T-shirt over my head faster than anyone ever had in the history of T-shirts and head-ripping. In seconds, my dick flopped free and slapped against my stomach. I was so fucking hard already.
“Happy to see me?” His grin was predatory.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh”—he reached out and stroked me, the oil sending shivers across my skin—“I have an idea.”
I was still struggling to kick off my tennis shoes when I felt the warmth of his mouth surround me.
“Oh, fuck, Nate.”
He swallowed me down to my balls, and I nearly tumbled over. His hands gripping my cheeks and pulling me into him were the only things keeping me upright.
“Babe, wow. That feels—”
He pulled back and ran his tongue around my head. I was so sensitive. My whole body trembled.
He smiled up at me, and the sight of his crinkled eyes just above my cock sent my heart sprinting. I ran my fingers over his head, scratching his scalp the way I knew he loved. His eyes grinned further, then he dove again, resuming his swallowing and teasing.
Oil coated my fingers as I trailed them across his shoulders and neck.
A moment later, he scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, wrapping his arms around me and pressing himself as tightly against me as possible. A squishing sound made me giggle.
“Think this is funny?” he reproved playfully.
A second later, he’d spun me around and shoved me onto the bed on my back. I watched as he grabbed the KFC-bucket-sized jug of oil, popped the cap, and poured it like he was filling a Fry Daddy onto my chest.
“That’s so cold!” I squirmed.
“Shut up and take your medicine.”
I smeared oil that had pooled across my chest. It gleamed in the candlelight.
“Gotta admit, my nipples look hot all oiled up,” I said, grinning.
He capped the oil and set it on the table, then climbed over me and sank his teeth into my right nipple. I nearly leapt out of the bed.
“Ahh!”
He reached up and pinned my arms. Our bodies slid against each other, and his cock slapped mine as he wiggled his hips back and forth.
I started to say something, but his teeth left my nipple and smothered my mouth in a ravenous, tongue-forward attack of passion and lust.
I could barely breathe. I didn’t care.
Consuming Nate, letting him consume me, was all I could think or feel. His body blazed with heat and sweat, making the oil ooze between us with frictionless pleasure. He let his full weight settle onto me, and I felt his cock throbbing and pulsing. A warmer wetness coated where it pressed, and I knew he’d leaked himself all over me.
“Cooper Hawk, I fucking love you more than anything,” he growled, his breath filling my nostrils with the heady scent of our peppermint toothpaste. “I want to make you feel so good.”
He scooted down, gripped my legs with his hands, and hauled them over his shoulders. He’d poured so much oil on me that it dripped from his chest where we’d pressed together, dribbling trails through the curly patches of black hair on his pecs and stomach. I poked one bead with a finger, then gripped his chest and squeezed as much as his hardened muscle allowed.
“God, I love your body. It feels so—”
My breath caught as he slid inside me. There’d been no warning, no prepping, no easing in. The oil granted him entry and he took it, shoving the length of himself until my balls squished against his stomach.
“Oh shit!” I called.
I ran both hands across his chest, then gripped his arms. Corded muscles resisted my touch, sending yet another thrill through my chest. He looked so fucking hot in the candlelight. I wanted to lick him and eat him and fill my soul with his presence. I couldn’t get enough of this man until . . .
He drew back and slammed into me harder. Then again, and again.
Nate’s eyes flared with need. His whole body pulsed with desire.
He braced himself with his hands on my shoulders, then shoved into me even harder.
“Fuck me, deeper, please,” I begged.
And he did.
Nate was normally more passion than heat, but that day he slammed me so hard I saw stars.
“Your cock is so hard,” I said, my head rolling against the pillow.
“You’re going to take all of it. Every. Last. Inch.” He punctuated each word by slamming into me like some maddened lumberjack mutilating a hunk of wood with his axe.
Fuck, I wanted to be mutilated.
His pace quickened.
His breath shortened.
His abs tightened and he gritted his teeth.
“Wait!” I cried.
He froze. “Are you okay? Was I hurting you?” he said through labored breaths.
“I’m good. You weren’t hurting me nearly enough.” I grinned at his stunned face. “I just don’t want this to end so … quickly.”
He smirked for the first time since I’d come home. “You saying I’m a minute man?”
“If you keep going, you’ll be more like a seven-minute man. I need a lot more than that tonight. I want the cake and the cream and the cherry on top—which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to try this new cherry-flavored lube. I saw it on … never mind. It looks tasty, and it’s supposed to heat up as you … you know. It sounds like fun, and I really want to slather your asshole and lick it out. Would you like that?”
Nate stared down, still throbbing inside me, his smirk now more an amused grin. “You can pop my cherry anytime.”
I cocked my head. “I love you, babe, but you haven’t had a cherry in years. There’s nothing to pop, unless you count the sound your ass makes when I pull out. That’s definitely—”
“Coop! Are you calling my ass a noisemaker?”
I shrugged. “It does pop. I think it’s cute.”
“Cute. Great. That’s what every man wants to hear about the sounds his asshole makes after sex.”
I giggled. “Do men really think that much about the sounds their assholes make?”
“Absolutely. I think,” he said, then shoved his now semi-hard dick inside me. “All this talk about pooping sounds made Little Nate take a break. See what you’ve done?”
“Can’t see it, but I can feel it. It’s cute too,” I said, then switched into little kid voice. “Wittle Nate taking a nap. Aww.”
He shoved my chest and pulled out—soundlessly. “Jerk.”
I reached up, grabbed his shoulders, and flipped him so our positions were reversed.
“Little Cooper isn’t tired,” I said, glancing meaningfully at my fully erect dick.
He followed my gaze, and his eyes widened. “He’s so pretty.”
“He’s hungry for some popping,” I said, lifting his leg over my head as he’d done mine moments before.
“Oh, babe, I’m not sure—”
Whatever he was going to say died as I shoved in just as hard as he’d done to me.
“FUCK!”
I pulled back and slammed into him again, using all my taekwondo-enhanced leg and hip strength.
“Easy, damn,” he called out, one hand reaching up to grip my arm and beg for mercy.
There would be no mercy.
I slammed into him again and again, and his protests died. His fingers pinched my nipples, and bolts of lightning seared my skin.
I grabbed his other leg and tossed it over my shoulder, then hefted his body and shoved a pillow under his lower back to give me a better angle.
When I slid forward the next time, Nate’s eyes rolled back, and I knew I’d found his prostate. I could feel it against the head of my penis, a tiny punching bag screaming to be jabbed.
I squeezed his legs tight with my arms and pounded his ass, savoring every moan and the way his chest heaved with each thrust. His nails dug into my skin as he grabbed my hips and urged me deeper.
But rather than speed up, I slowed until my movements were slow and steady, then I spread his legs and leaned forward to graze my lips against his. His eyes shut, and his fingers found my hair, kneading and pulling as I slid in and out. I swallowed his breath, fed on his tongue, gave myself wholly and completely to the yearning of the moment. Every thrust of my hips pressed our oily bodies together and slid my cock past the last of his inner walls.
His cock was wedged between our oily stomachs, so each time I pressed forward, it got its own thrust.
“Damn! Babe … God. You’re gonna make me—” His arms flew around me and he held me close. “Shit! I’m coming … babe!”
I shoved harder and faster. My own abs tightened, and I welled deep inside. I was so close.
His body convulsed and he clung to me, as if afraid he might fly away in his ecstasy. Warmth and moisture shot between us, and I felt each pulse as his balls emptied against our oil-slickened bodies.
Still, I pressed inside him, deeper, harder.
“Nate!” I called out.
“Fucking fill me up, babe.”I shoved deeper, and the first waves of pleasure forced me upright. I slammed my hands to his shoulders and pushed up, then pressed myself in again, flowing freely into the man I love until nothing was left to give.
Spent, I fell atop him, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck.
“I love you so much, Coop,” he whispered in my ear.
“I love you too, babe.”