Rodney Mansfield is tiny, flamboyant and, oh yeah, a black belt in karate. He is also one of southern California’s greatest artists. Too bad the work of art he really wants is firefighter, Hunter Fallon. But the gorgeous “straight gay” guy could never want the Runtback of Notre Dame, so when Rodney’s handsome, surfer friend, Jerry, develops an unexpected passion for the beautiful firefighter, Rodney breaks his own heart by helping Jerry land his man. And then Rod makes it worse by embarrassing Hunter when he protects him from a firehouse bully. Hunter hates gay guys like Rodney – doesn’t he? Then why can’t he get the powerful pipsqueak’s face out of his mind… and his heart? And why does he risk his job and his life to rescue Rod from a burning building? Isn’t it time for him to admit he’s not an alpha male after all and that he is the property of the artist?
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Rodney glanced over to see how his model was doing. Total heart stop and brain malfunction. Perfect. Every line and curve. Every angle. Hunter’s body was so lean that each muscle stood out against his tan skin like a piece of sculpture. The pose twisted his torso just enough to make his narrow waist seem even slimmer against the breadth of his shoulders and his hard, curved pecs. His legs were long and looked carved from marble. Even his feet were perfect. Oh God. Rod wanted to suck each toe in homage.
And in the middle of all this art, surrounded by light tan skin and at the end of a happy trail of silken dark hair, was a magnificent cock lying relaxed against Hunter’s right leg. He was a low hanger, a real shower. Long and graceful, framed by loose balls and a soft pubic nest, this was a penis of the gods. Rodney wanted to paint it all alone in every possible posture. Yeah, preferably erect. Shit, he had to quit staring, or at least pretend the staring was professional and not prurient. Sure, right.
Hunter’s cock might be relaxed but the rest of his body was vibrating with tension. Rodney tried not to think how much he would like that to be reversed. Had to put the guy at ease before he had a coronary.
He grabbed his camera from the worktable and started snapping. “Looks great, Hunter. Perfect. Just relax as much as you can while I snap some photos. I’ll use these to work on the painting when you’re not here. I can use the shots to get general massing and proportion but I like to have the model live to put in texture and shadow. Nothing beats life for that kind of detail.” He was babbling but he hoped it would help the guy relax.
The beautiful body seemed to melt into the daybed, his arm over his eyes relaxed, and his fingers opened. Rod drew closer to capture a close-up of that graceful, powerful hand, then hurried back to the table and grabbed the sketch pad, leaving the camera behind. God, those long fingers. He stared at the calluses that seemed in conflict with the dance-like beauty of the relaxed hand. Scribbling, he committed the pose to paper before shifting his attention. A fast interpretation of Hunter’s carved mouth, the top lip intriguingly fuller than the bottom, giving the architectural symmetry of his face an unexpected pout. A quick swirl to capture his cleft chin, then a loving sketch of the gorgeous collarbone that defined the hard, muscular shoulder.
Down and down. Rodney hummed. Hunter seemed unconcerned, his breath having slowed. Maybe he needed a good nap. Man, look at those abs. That was a twelve-pack, baby. Down the happy trail and…he stopped sketching in awe. What a cock. Had to capture it. His fingers flew over the paper as he quietly chuckled. Yeah, he’d like to capture it. In his hands or mouth. He did study after study glancing up to be sure Hunter wasn’t watching Rod fixate on that dick.
OK, enough. “Hunter, move if you need to,” Rod murmured.
“Huh?” The arm came off his eyes, and he raised his head. “Oh man, I think I was nearly asleep.”
“Sorry to wake you. Go ahead and sleep and I’ll just draw.”
He sat up. “No. I better stretch or I’ll get really stiff. Sorry. I just got off a double shift. Didn’t realize I was so tired.”
Rod pointed to a clothes tree beside the platform. “Need a bathrobe?”
Hunter gave a shy grin. A-fucking-dorable. “Nah, I guess not. We’re both guys.”
Rodney struck a pose with hand on hip. “But since we’re both gay guys the implications are slightly different, wouldn’t you say?”
Hunter shook his head. “No fishing in another guy’s pond.”
Rod’s heart tripped. “You mean you and Jerry?”
“No, I mean Bill. He seems like a great guy.”
Rod smiled. “He is, but we’re just friends.”
Hunter sat on the edge of the daybed, that gorgeous cock hanging down between his legs. Distracting much? Rod busied himself blocking out the figure on the huge canvas.
“I thought you two were on a date.”
“Yeah. Our first and last. Dutch from now on. We realized we make better pals than lovers.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Rod looked up. “Nothing to be sorry about. Not everyone fits.”
“But wouldn’t you have liked it to work?”
He stopped drawing. Would he? “I kind of have a thing for someone else. Unrequited. But it makes getting into a relationship harder.” He spoke the truth.
“You need to find someone who appreciates you. A talent like you doesn’t come along every day.”
“Yeah, well, maybe.” A small crack opened in his heart.
“Shall I lie back down?”
“Need the bathroom or anything?”
“No, I’m good.” Hunter lay down.
Rod looked away. Shit. He would not cry. Deep breath. He returned to the canvas and tried for a rakish smile. “Besides, I imagine Bill’s a top. We would have killed each other. He’d push me down and I’d fight and grab him. It would have been ugly. Blood all over, both of us trying to dominate.”
Silence. Deafening silence. Rod glanced up. Hunter lay in the prescribed position, arm over eyes. But his formerly relaxed cock had risen to half-mast. What had gotten him going? Bill? Being a top? Killing each other. Hmm.
Let’s find out. “I’d try to stick my cock in his ass, and he’d be trying to grab me and hold me down. What a battle.”
Sure enough, the slow rise continued. Rod edged closer. Crap, the fireman wasn’t just a shower. Look at that gorgeous thing. Closer. What would happen if he touched? He wanted to touch so badly. His hand rose as he took another step.
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