Cory Chases Cumming Home for Christmas

Tabooheat

Cory Chase, Luke Longly Pic(s)

The frigid December air bit at his cheeks, a stark contrast to the feverish heat blooming low in his belly as he watched the man stride ahead, the confident swing of his hips a silent, tantalizing promise. Each footfall on the icy pavement echoed the frantic rhythm of his own heart, a drumbeat of pure, unadulterated want that thrummed through his entire being. The sharp, clean scent of pine from a nearby wreath mingled with the faint, musky trace of cologne that lingered in the other’s wake, an intoxicating perfume that drew him forward like a siren’s call. He imagined the press of a strong, warm back agat his chest, the solid weight of a shoulder beneath his palm, and the shuddering sigh that would escape those lips as he leaned in close. His fingers, tucked deep in his coat pockets, curled into fists, aching to map the terrain of that body, to learn the landscape of muscle and sinew hidden beneath layers of winter wool. A single, fat snowflake landed on his lashes, melting into a cold tear that only heightened the burning intensity of his focus, narrowing the world to the space between them. He could almost taste the salt of sweat on heated skin, a phantom flavor that made his mouth water and his breath catch in his throat. The distant, cheerful glow of festive lights from the houses they passed seemed to mock his singular, primal hunger, a hunger that demanded satisfaction. Every nerve ending was alight, a live wire of anticipation for the moment the door would finally close, shutting out the winter chill and sealing them in a private world where only this desperate, aching need existed.