Davey and the Donaldsons

by BRK   

Davey, a high-spirited young twunk, decides to cheer up a forty-something couple he meets at a happening bar the night of his 25th birthday.

Daddy always told me to be extra-nice other folks on your birthday. So, on the occasion of my big 25, after the requisite daily post-work gym session (and feeling the pump—my delts were looking jacked), I decided to spend the rest of the eve prowling the Blue Goose looking for lives to brighten with my shiny, happy presence. I’m pretty ebullient as a rule and, in my experience, it tends to be catching. Just hang out with me and you’ll perk right up, which is totally cool. That night most folks I met were pretty chill already, though, so I spent a few hours shooting pool and swapping shots with a couple of different knots of guys my age or a bit older and generally having a sweet night out.

At some point I went up to get a cold bottled water and ran into this cute forty-something couple seated at the bar. I wasn’t sure exactly what their deal was, but there was… something. Despite their obvious closeness and contentedness with each other, right away I sensed a faint tinge of glum about them. Even so I was somehow drawn to them as a duo. I was sure it was just that I was feeling the call to action, and so right away I popped my perky butt onto the empty stool next to them, ready to “work my magic.”

“Hey, guys,” I said, sharing my most brilliant smile. “Having a good night?”

They turned to me as one and stared at me, obviously surprised that the shortish but sexy blond twunk in the rainbow tanktop had bounced over to say hello to them. Personally, I thought they were selling themselves short. They were both naturally handsome, just for starters, and they clearly took care of themselves: not only were they well-groomed in every way, but as they moved it was pretty obvious their baggy, nondescript tees were hiding a pair of very fit bods. Even their skin was perfect, nice and smooth and well taken-care-of with only a few laugh-lines around the eyes. I had a good feeling about them right from the start—almost affectionate, like these were guys I could relate to.

The sandy-haired one next to me looked like an office professional of some kind, clean-cut and reliable, with bright gray-green eyes and a stud in his right ear for shock value. Somehow, he seemed to be wearing a suit even when he was rocking jeans, boots, and black Foo Fighters tour tee. His darker-skinned hubby on the other side was bald up top with a short, very neatly trimmed deep-brown beard and eyes to match, and was similarly decked out in a thick plum tee and dark jeans. Between them they were exuding a bit of a daddy vibe. I did a little happy dance inside, because “daddy vibe” was exactly my mood that night.

“I would have said ‘no,’” Baldie answered drily, “but I think things are looking up.”

I beamed at them, and Mr. Executive seemed to actually draw in a breath. “That’s an amazing smile,” he told me, and it was almost as if he’d spoken the words without meaning to. Baldie nudged him, amused, and Mr. Exec looked suddenly abashed. To me it was a kind of adorable. “Uh, can I pay for that by buying you a drink?” he asked, embarrassed.

I laughed. “If I made guys buy me a drink every time I smiled, I’d be drunk as fuck!” I said. “But your next drinks are on me.” I waved to my buddy Jack behind the bar at the other end, pointing to them and then to me, and he nodded in understanding. A moment later he was sliding a new rocks glass of clear, gently fizzing liquid and ice to Mr. Exec—a vodka tonic, I guessed—and a fresh mojito to his hubby. I got a cosmo I hadn’t asked for, but Jack thumbed his chest to say it was on him before disappearing. Good guy, Jack—I’d have to do something nice for him later.

Right now, though, I had a couple of sexy guys who seemed to be feeling their age more than they were actually looking it. Maybe they were in a sexual rut, too—if so, a bit of fun-flirting and a carefully crafted ego boost for the pair of them might help in that department as well.

I took a sip of my cosmo as I looked them over again. “You know, I don’t think you guys realize just how hot you both are,” I said. “Because you two are seriously keen.”

Mr. Exec actually rolled his eyes. “Come off it,” he said, the pink of his cheeks telling me he was pleased by the compliment even if he couldn’t believe it. I was a bit baffled by their modesty, honestly. Looking closely at them now it was obvious both of them were seriously handsome, to an extent I hadn’t fully appreciated when I’d sat down next to them. Heck, just their razor-sharp jawlines alone would get them a few modeling gigs with a guy I knew, and that wasn’t taking into account their mesmerizing eyes and kissable lips.

Shit, I was actually getting turned on—it was almost like they’d gotten more handsome while I was sitting here. I’d had a few shots already that night, though, so I figured it was all in my head and kept going. I took another pull of my cocktail—tart-’n’-sweet, just like me, I thought happily. “It’s true, though,” I told them, really wanting to sell them the idea of their self-worth. “You may not believe it, but the two of you are amazingly gorgeous.”

Baldie smiled at me, and it was my turn to suck in a breath—he was devastating. “Josh is,” he said humbly, pointing a thumb at Mr. Exec next to me. “I’m… pretty ordinary.”

Mr. Exec—Josh, apparently—had just been in the process of lifting his V&T for a sip, but at this he set his glass forcefully back down on the bar and turned to his hubby in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “Emory, you’re the sexiest guy I’ve ever met.”

Easily true, I thought. Emory was probably the hottest guy I’d ever met, and that was saying something. I tended to live in a cloud of beautiful men. Then Josh turned back to me with this crooked smile that actually made my heart flutter a little, and I was like, okay, it’s definitely a tie. “Can you believe he doesn’t know how hot he is?” he asked me.

Pot, meet kettle, I thought, consciously refraining from adjusting my rapidly burgeoning hard-on. Thank god I’d decided to wear my black club pants, the ones that were loose in the leg but still showed off my modestly thicc ass. I might be only 5’8”, but I had a decent layer of sweet, grabbable muscle and slightly more than my share of junk in the trunk.

“You’re both primo,” I assured them. “Nice that you keep fit, too. Looks great.”

“Thanks,” Josh said.

Emory patted Josh’s shoulder and added, “We work out together a few times a week. It’s good ‘us’ time.”

“I can tell,” I said, grinning. “You guys are like Olympic gymnasts under there!”

I’d meant it as a joke, but fuck if I didn’t look down to see their tee shirts straining over thick, compact pecs that I could have sworn hadn’t been popping out like that a minute ago. Their neck holes were suddenly showing off nicely sloping traps that I also somehow hadn’t noticed, too, and—man, those tee shirt sleeves were filled. On Josh it looked like he was shooting for the fitness-model aesthetic, while Emory’s more solid build was now emanating serious bara vibes. I wondered how hairy he was under that plum tee—smooth or furry would both be hot on him.

Fuck, how many shooters had I had? My dick was raging hard now, flexing excitedly against my thigh and suggesting all kinds of things I had not been thinking when I had first joined up with these two.

Josh shrugged his newly-bulging shoulders, still bent on dismissing any praise about their superlative looks. “We don’t go for size or definition or anything,” he said. “We just like working out. As you obviously do as well,” he added, allowing himself a quick up-and-down ogle. Emory joined in with a smile that would have boned me up instantly if I weren’t already as stiff as a post.

It was my turn to blush. What was going on here? I might work out every day to keep myself tight and ripped, but I was pretty sure I didn’t hold a candle to these two hard-bodied muscle-hunks, even without being able to see all the goods in their magnificent detail. “Uh, thanks,” I said. “I’m Davey, by the way.” Instinctively, I offered my hand. I didn’t normally when I was meeting guys at the bars, but old-fashioned introductions seemed appropriate with these two.

They shook my hand in turn and gave their names, Emory and Josh Donaldson-Kitts, and we all sipped our drinks. There was a good kind of tension crackling between us. I felt like we were on the cusp of something, and I was pretty sure my couple was feeling it, too. “What do you do, Davey?” Emory asked after a moment.

I didn’t want to talk about me. “Right now, ‘what I do’ is flirting with these two sexy guys I just met and seeing if they want to hang out some more,” I said with a grin. As I said that I realized my quest to make this couple feel good about themselves had morphed somewhere along the way into low-key craving someplace private where all three of us could enjoy each other. Wanton harlot, I chastised myself playfully, though truth was even my conscience couldn’t blame me with these two.

Seriously, how had I not noticed—?

I was returning Josh’s intoxicating stare as I swallowed a mouthful of cosmo. “You’ve got beautiful eyes,” I told him absently, feeling almost literally captivated by his unexpected beauty. “They’re so bright, and vivid…”

As I watched, Josh’s gray-green eyes visibly brightened—not to the point of incandescence, sure, but pretty well gathering and reflecting every damn particle of light imaginable in this place and shooting them back at me. I stared, feeling the cranberry burn of the drink on my throat.

Impulsively, as if I instinctively guessed at the truth without knowing it, I heard myself say, “…and blue.”

I watched, stunned, as Josh’s eyes shifted again, becoming not only unnaturally bright but a vibrant, crystalline blue. Josh only said, “I like your eyes too,” like I hadn’t just fucking remade him to suit the needs of my own rampaging libido.

I gulped down the rest of my drink and smacked the glass down on the bar, no longer sure what was happening. I looked over at Emory, who was watching the byplay between his husband and me with avid interest. It had to be a fluke, I thought. The lighting in here—it was a bar, right? Who could tell what color anyone’s eyes were? I needed a real test. “I… love your upper arm tattoo,” I told Emory in a shaky voice. “Those… celtic knot bands have always looked so sexy to me, wrapping around a guy’s biceps like… that…”

Before my very eyes, a series of interlaced knots swiftly welled up onto Emory’s skin, peeking out from the edges of Emory’s now-taut tee-shirt sleeve. It was as though the ink were emerging from hiding into the layers of his skin. My jaw hung loose for a moment as I goggled, taking in how fantastic the tat looked on him—I hadn’t been kidding about how much I liked them.

Either way, I think my intense reaction to the tat finally convinced them that I was truly into the pair of them, because Emory’s smile was just a bit coy as he said, “Thanks. I went through a phase where I thought it was important to look cool.”

“Mission accomplished,” I murmured.

I felt Josh’s hand on my shoulder and flicked my gaze back to him, almost having to fight back an orgasm as I did so. Seriously, I could stare into that face and those eyes for days, just like with his partner. And they both wanted me. I was pretty sure that part, at least, was not something I had made happen, though I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.

Despite his looks, which had honestly been pretty fine even before things got weird, Josh was obviously not experienced in picking up guys; but now he plucked up his courage and said, “Davey, did you maybe want to come home with us tonight?”

My brain was short-circuiting, or maybe realigning. I busted out my best cocksucker grin. “Why else would I chat up a pair of sweet, humble, crazy hot, and obviously ridiculously hung guys?” I teased.

I couldn’t really see their laps very well, not in this lighting and not the way we were sitting given the overhang of the bar, but I… caught motion down there, like their crotches had suddenly inflated with cock. Like, alarmingly. Fuck, I thought, panicking slightly in the midst of my lust like the size-queen bottom I was… because that might be a little too much of a good thing…

Though, as I met their heated gazes, it dawned on me that I could, just perhaps, hmmm… fine-tune things. One of them being well hung rather than ridiculously hung might be even more fun then both of them being inhumanly endowed…

The two men were eyeing me intently. “You shouldn’t get the wrong idea,” Josh scoffed.

“We’re above average, maybe,” Emory said.

I licked my lips. “I’ll be the judge of that,” I said in my sauciest tone, making no secret of exactly how I intended to reach my decisions on the matter.

At this Emory turned dramatically and waved to Jack the bartender. “Check please!” he called, and we all laughed. As we got up and slipped out of the Blue Goose, Emory’s hand on my ass and Josh’s on my shoulder, I knew my funtimes with the Donaldsons were only just beginning.

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