Poppa's Cub Ch. 04

by LadyTigeress


Chapter Four

Kyle blinked groggily as the door was pounded upon again. He gasped and realized that he'd slept straight through to six, and grabbed for his jeans.

He opened the door to find Mike standing there, in a thick leather jacket, gloves, jeans, and black Doc Martins.

"What? Don't tell me you slept in," he grinned.

Kyle waved him in as he rubbed his eyes.

"Serious? I didn't mean to wake you, I thought you'd be up." Mike said.

"I was pretty groggy, Mom woke me earlier when you guys came by," He admitted, buttoning his fly.

"I'm starving, so get it together," Mike replied, ruffling him on the head.

Kyle smiled his winning smile, and pulled on a light jacket, stuffed his feet into his sandals and grabbed his wallet.

"Yeah, you better take that. I don't want you leaving it at some strange guy's house," Mike poked.

"You're right, my girlfriend might not like it." Kyle retorted.

Mike snorted at him and leaned over, pursing his lips.

Kyle leaned into his strength and kissed him solidly.

"You kiss better than any of my girlfriends ever did, anyway." Kyle said.

"I've often been told I'm an old softie," Mike admitted.

"So I've heard," Kyle said as he locked the front door and headed down the stair.

"You must have been talking to Darla," Mike said, somewhat seriously.

"Frankly I didn't want to talk to either one of them. I wanted to go home, then she grabbed me, and drug me to Frankie."

"That's good," Mike said. "I sort of like my private life, private."

"I can respect that," Kyle replied as they hit the street level. "Where's your car?"

Mike pointed to a fifteen hundred cubic-centimeter Harley-Davidson touring bike.

"Car? I don't do cars," Mike said.

"That's quite a bike," Kyle said. He was no motorcycle aficionado by any means, having only been on one once or twice.

Mike handed him a helmet and swung around, kick starting the beast with a single swipe.

Kyle took a moment and got on the back of the bike, pulling himself tight against Mike and leaning in. The throb of the machine was powerful, and Kyle felt it down to his very bones. He felt Mike's butt against his crotch and smelled leather and Mike. These were good smells.

He clenched just that much tighter and Mike took a hand to tap his affectionately and then let loose on the throttle, gliding into the minimal traffic of the Sunday night.

Softly, he went up Main street, past Joe Brown's and the Kiggen's theater. He cut right on Mill Plain, left at the Fort Vancouver Library and whizzed passed Clark Collage. He drove through a couple of neighborhoods, over the State Route interchange, and into the edge of the neighborhood of Minnehaha. He cut through a parking lot, and landed in front of Smokey's Pizza. Their trademark, the little red devil, sat on a large illuminated sign for, 'hot oven pizza'.

Kyle was sorry when the machine was turned off. It was like a flying on a cloud, sweeping in and out of traffic. Mike didn't go very fast at all, and the machine had little noise to it.

Mike took his helmet off and offered his open hand for Kyle's.

He took his off, ruffling his unruly mane, handing it to the leather gauntlet.

Mike left them both on the machine, and they walked in. Kyle stood as close to him as he could while trying to give him space, and not wanting to seem like a couple. Yet, if Kyle had his way, that's exactly what he wanted to show. It was frustrating.

"What's your poison?" Mike asked, looking at the menu board.

"I don't really care." Kyle replied.

"Large Double pepperoni, extra well done, and a pitcher of beer," Mike ordered.

The clerk looked at Kyle's boyish face, then looked at Mike.

Mike looked back impassively.

The clerk took in Mike's leathers, and thought perhaps it wouldn't be the best thing in the world to mess with the big man. He put two beer glasses next to the pitcher as Mike laid a twenty on the till.

Mike's stuffed a couple of bucks in the tip cup and carried the tray to the darkest corner he could find.

The restaurant was not well lit at the best of times, being largely made of thick, old, dark-stained oaken panels. It had high, heavily padded bench seats with brass rivets holding the Naugahyde together. A tubular, vertically mounted light fixture came from the ceiling. It was filthy and had cobwebs that clung to the metal cap that covered the wiring.

Kyle slid in on the other side, against the corner as Mike poured him a beer.

He looked at it, and sipped.

"Not your first, I hope," Mike said.

"No," Kyle admitted.

Mike seemed resigned, worried.

A silence ensued.

It became slightly darker as the moments drug on.

"What did Darla say?" He finally asked.

"She noticed the hickie, assumed you'd put it there. She told me Sunday was her best day, and then drug me down to Frankie. He said you were an old romantic softie and that he liked using his hands."

Mike looked displeased.

"I didn't think I could be that easily summed up," Mike said.

Kyle gave him a half smile, and shrugged.

"Is that so wrong, that your friends know you? My friends in high school never really knew me."

"I've known Darla for about as long as you've been alive, Kyle. I would think, that perhaps she might give me some leeway."

"Frankie said she's got the hots for you," Kyle said.

Mike nodded, "you remember that picture on my wall, those guys in 'Nam? Darla's the one on the far right. We used to take our leave together, and pick up the Thai hookers. She was tossed out when she was shot. They peeled her clothes to get to the wound and was found wearing panties."

Kyle mouthed, "Wow."

"As a guy, we'd have sex, like out in the jungle. It'd be all quiet, she'd come back from a scout patrol, or be on rotation, and if I was up, we'd do the dance. Whole squad knew, didn't care. I treated 'm good, but everybody knew, Papa was queer. Best damn scout I ever had."

Mike drained his beer and poured another, topping Kyle's.

"So what happened?" Kyle asked, "What made him become Darla?"

"I don't know. Don't get me wrong, Darla was never masculine. Nothing like, say, you," Mike said.

Kyle did not think of himself as a masculine man, under any circumstance. In some ways, he thought being male was a bit of a cruel joke.

The serving girl wandered up and down with their pizza until Mike snapped his big paws. She brought it over and set it down.

"Thank you," Mike said, dismissively.

Kyle dished Mike up, and then himself.

"So you came back, and she was Darla?" Kyle asked.

"Pretty much. Don't get me wrong, she still has a tool down there, and she uses it from time to time. I guess on some weekends she does a little show at Darcelle's in Portland. Mostly she turns tricks. She tells me she's trying to save up enough money for the surgery."

Kyle was mid-bite into a piece, and an eyebrow cocked up.

"Surgery?" He asked, with a mouthful of pizza.

Mike made a snipping motion with his fingers.

Kyle gulped the food down.

"You're kidding," He said.

"It's who she wants to be. She says afterward, she'll marry one of her good little church boys and be his wife," Mike said.

Kyle drank beer.

Mike nodded, and drank some too.

"So she wants to be your wife?"

"I'm sure that's in there. I just can't go for that. I admit it, I'm gay. A queer. A fag. A homo-freaking-sexual," he said each word clearly.

"I don't like to sleep with women. I like real men, men who don't shave themselves, men who are casual, men who are real. Maybe that's why I came on to you." He gestured.

Kyle finally got down to the end of the beer.

"I'm not much of a man," Kyle said. "I have a short dick, and I'm fat."

Mike wagged his finger in Kyle's face.

"Those Thai hookers I told you about, they had," he gestured with his thumb and forefinger a span of about two inches, "nothing. But they used it, they made you feel good. They were skilled in pleasure."

"I don't have that, either," Kyle said defiantly.

"Not yet. Word will get around, though," Mike said.

"How? I don't want to do things with Darla, or with Frankie, or with any of those other guys. That's not what I'm about. When Frankie offered to do me, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I'd be screwing over your head.," he said.

Mike looked at him.

"Do you want to come home with me again?" He asked.

"Yes," Kyle replied.

Mike nodded.

"Put up your feet," Mike said

Kyle looked at him oddly.

Mike beckoned with a slice of the pizza.

Kyle shrugged and stuck his feet up. Mike slipped off the sandals, eating with his left hand, and kneaded toes with the right.

Kyle's eyes lit up.

Mile smiled.

"Kyle, you're a man. Maybe a young man, but you're a man, to me."

Emotionally the words struck Kyle. No one had ever told him he was a man. Not even his own father, much less his mother, and brother.

"Thanks," Kyle said.

"I mean it," Mike affirmed. "You took a chance on me, last night. You did things this you'd never done before. You could of thrown me and Jimmy out of your flat. I know guys that would have."

Kyle looked hurt.

"How?" He gasped.

"The gay community, the gay male at large community isn't known for a lot of long-term relationships. In all the people I know, I only know of a few couples who have made it in the long haul. They have to work hard. It's a lot easier just to turn a trick in a booth somewhere. For me, it's not easy on the heart to do that. I mean, I at least wanted to know your name. I wanted to talk with you, I wanted you to meet my friends. To me, at least, that makes sense."

"I was pretty scared," Kyle said.

"You still are, but we have the same fear, Kyle. I just suppress it more," Mike said.

Kyle looked at him. He was in awe of the big man, for having any fear at all.

"We're afraid of not having someone. We're afraid of being alone."

Mike softly rubbed Kyle's feet and listened to him:

"My friends in high school, I don't think any one of them got laid. We'd all get together and play Dungeons & Dragons, and other games. It was crazy, this group of guys, we never talked about girls, we all were too fat, or too ugly. It wasn't who we were. But none of them were gay, I don't think. My best friend, Roger, we'd sit in his backyard on sunny days and draw. I'd put myself just down south of him so I could look up his shorts, as he never wore underwear. He had," Kyle gestured with his hand, "these big fucking balls. I always wanted to touch them."

Mike gestured to him to continue.

"We'd spend the night, stay up late, just wearing bvd's. I wished I had an ounce of courage."

Mike softly stroked Kyle's feet, and Kyle wiggled his toes playfully.

They picked at the last two slices of the pizza.

"So what do you do?" Mike asked.

Kyle explained his technical knowledge and his job at St. Joe's. Mike listened intently, fascinated.

"You?" Kyle inquired.

"I'm a driver manager for Swift Transportation. I used to run for them, but got a hazardous material exposure and ended up doing desk duty. I work the night shift, three twelve hour days, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. It's not bad work. I have a lot of time off," he shrugged.

Kyle nodded. He rarely worked more than four days a week.

"I like to take long rides on my bike. I try to make the coast a couple times a month. Sometimes do the mountains, camp out under the stars, that kind of thing."

Kyle grinned, "My folks hate all that stuff. I like it as long as I'm comfortable. I don't like being cold."

Mike nodded.

They talked softly for quite some time, almost intimately, Mike started to feel more relaxed with Kyle, and Kyle started to feel safer.

When they left, Kyle clung even tighter to Mike, literally grinding his crotch into the butt of the older man. Mike's erection stayed with him the entire ride to his flat, and he nearly tore Kyle's shirt off after the door clicked shut.

Kyle's lips sought out the bushy moustache, he felt vulnerable, and excited with Mike's tool poking at his own.

Mike took off his leather jacket, and then draped it around Kyle's shoulders. Kyle looked at him quizzically and then Mike pulled on the arms, enveloping him in the rich scent of the tanned cowhide. Kyle shivered softly and opened his mouth as Mike's tongue pressed into him.

Feverishly, Kyle ran hands that unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to feel the soft, scratchy fur against his own chest. The stim causing him to become even more aroused.

Both men hit the mattress, Mike on top, pinning Kyle, and marking him on the other side of the neck. Kyle quivered and then gasped as each of his nipples was given a similar treatment. Mike softly rubbed his nose into Kyle's small blonde tuft of chest hair, and trailed kisses down his tummy.

He unbuttoned Kyle's pants and let his flag fly free.

Mike smiled at Kyle, and then opened his mouth.

Softly, his tongue rolled under the shaft deftly rubbing the underside of his glans with the tip, near the younger man's circumcision scar.

Kyle's eyes went wide as he felt his penis go past the tip of Mike's tongue, and into the tip of his throat. His eyes closed and he writhed.

Mike sucked ever so tenderly, and then started to move his head up and down, draining his lover of ever drop of preseminal fluid that came out.

It took very little time at all, as Kyle couldn't withstand the pressure. His hips rose up, thrusting into the mature man's mouth, and fired a huge load down his throat.

Mike paused movement only slightly long enough to swallow, and let Kyle's damp penis flop out of his mouth.

"Holy shit." Kyle gasped.

Mike grinned, and pounced, kissing Kyle with the vestiges of sperm in his mouth. He raised his hands to the neck of the big man and held their heads together as hard as he could.

Mike responded by tickling Kyle ever so slightly, making him squirm, which turned them both on.

Kyle reached under Mike's arms and found him incredibly ticklish, and eventually ended on top.

They were hungry for each other, in a way that only men can be hungry for one another.

When Kyle's erection manifested itself again, Mike lubricated his hand, and got him very slick.

Softly, Mike sat on his tool, feeling the penetration. It was an act of trust on his part. Mike liked to be fucked.

Kyle had never felt anything like this whatsoever. He immediately understood the power that was fucking, and slowly thrust up into him, seeing the pleasure. He stroked Mike with one hand, and held off his own ejaculation until the big man sprayed all over his belly.

He sensed Mike's pleasure and then fired his own load into Mike's bowels.

Kyle piped up, "I guess I'm the one that needs cleaning now, huh?"

Mike laughed his gentle belly laugh and then proceeded to give Kyle his first tongue bath.

They did not part until Kyle had to go to work on Tuesday morning.

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