Midnight Iss

I stared, numb with horror, at the people I'd thought were my friends. Struck dumb with shock at the depth of their betrayal, all I could do was gape at them. How could they do this to me? How could they do this to anyone? Finally, I got enough control over my voice to accuse them of their crime.

"A blind date? You can't be serious."

Mike laughed. "Why do you say 'blind date' the way most people say 'blood sacrifice?' Besides, it's not a date, it's an introduction. He's gay, single, and an old friend of ours. You're gay, single, and a new friend of ours. All I want is for you two to meet. What happens after that is completely up to you."

"Well, not completely up to you," Angela put in. Mike's wife, seated in his lap, looked entirely too pleased with herself for my comfort. "Who else are you going to kiss at midnight?"

I blinked. "Um...no one?" I hadn't realized that was a requirement.

She snorted. "Nonsense. The Midnight Makeout is a sacred tradition. You need to kiss somebody, or else what's the point of the party?"

I eyed her. "You're actually serious, aren't you?"

"Of course! Why do you think our New Year's parties are so popular?"

Their apartment, though spacious, was pretty crowded, to be honest; and come to think of it, the other attendees were all fairly...coupley. Seemed like everyone in the place was snuggled up to someone the way Mike and Angela were. Everyone but me, of course.

Suspicion dawned on Mike's face. "Angela, did you tell him about the Midnight Makeout when you invited him? This is his first time with us at New Year's."

She was all innocence, of course. "It...may have slipped my mind."

"Angela..."

"Fine! So I wanted to see his face. It was totally worth it, too. You saw him a minute ago, gaping like a fish."

Mike shook his head. "Not okay, Angie." He paused. "The face was pretty good, though."

I scowled as Angela laughed.

Mike sighed, and gave me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Chris, I really thought you were fully informed going in. I understand if you want to leave, and you don't have to stay for the kissing bits if you don't want to. But, at least stay long enough to meet Greg. He's a great guy, and I honestly think you two will hit it off. Worst case, you don't get along, we call it my bad and move on with our lives. All I'm asking you to do is introduce yourself to a nice guy."

"Also hot," Angela put in, helpful as ever. "Nice and hot."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Thanks ever so much for pointing out that crucial detail."

"What? It is crucial. We're trying to set them up, after all. Chris is an eight, easy. I can't in good conscience let you fix him up with someone who isn't at least as good-looking as he is."

"It's just an introduction--"

"And besides," Angela went on, ignoring Mike's protest, "the best part of Midnight Makeout is watching hot folks go at it. Chris basically lived in his home gym for the entire pandemic; he's hotter than ever. If Greg wasn't hot, the whole thing would be pointless."

"What would be pointless if I wasn't hot?" A new voice, rich and low, interjected itself into Mike and Angela's habitual bickering. I turned to see the speaker, and...oh, my. He was hot, though I'd be damned before admitting it to Angela.

A hair taller than my own six feet, athletically lean, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a frankly beautiful smile. Not to mention his voice, which was damn attractive by itself. He wore a long-sleeved black knit top that clung to every line of his body and dark jeans so well-fitted they sent my brain wheeling off down inappropriate paths.

"Greg!" Angela squealed, leaping up off Mike's lap to hug the new arrival. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Hey, Angie," he laughed while hugging her back, and damn that voice was unfair. "Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time while unpacking."

"No worries, man, you made it before midnight, and that's the only time that matters at a New Year's party," Mike said, standing to shake Greg's hand. He turned to indicate me with his other hand, and said, "Allow me to introduce my friend Chris, who lives down the hall. Chris, this is Greg, a friend of mine from college."

Greg's eyes slid appreciatively up and down my body. I found myself glad I'd let Angela pick out my shirt, though that was another secret that would be going with me to my grave. She looked entirely too smug as it was. Greg extended his hand to me with a smile. "Pleased to meet you, Chris," and oh God, my name in that melodious voice should have been illegal.

"Likewise," I said, somehow managing to sound like a normal human despite the sudden dryness of my mouth. Though compared to him, "normal human" might as well have been "screeching monkey." His hand was warm, his grip firm but not alpha-asshole-domination strong. Mine, thankfully, was at least dry, and I did my best to match his grip and meet his gaze.

Several seconds later, the handshake was still somehow going on, so I let go and scrambled to think of something reasonable to say. "Did you say unpacking? Are you moving?" Of course he's moving, idiot, why else would he be unpacking? You'd think after thirty years of life I could manage basic small talk, but clearly that was too much to hope.

Greg nodded, smile undiminished. "I am indeed, I've just rented an apartment on the fifth floor. If you're Mike and Angela's neighbor, then I suppose that makes us neighbors too."

"Oh, cool, welcome to the building, I guess. What brings you to town?"

"New job. This asshole," he jerked his thumb at Mike, "got me hired at his firm, so now I have to see him at work and at home."

I smiled. "My condolences."

Greg nodded gravely. "We all must bear the burdens life places upon us."

"Hey now," Mike said, glaring at us in mock outrage. "Maybe this was a mistake. I'm not sure I like the idea of you two ganging up on me."

"Oh, but I do," Angela purred salaciously. "Especially if I can watch."

Greg laughed as I blushed. I may or may not have met Mike by hitting on him--badly--in the building's gym, having not noticed his wedding band. Angela had never let me live it down.

"Anyway," Mike said, "my wife's sick fantasies aside, it's great to see you here, Greg. Angie and I should make the rounds of the party, but Chris, do me a favor and show him where the bar is set up, will you?" The "bar" was the kitchen counter, all of fifteen feet from where we were standing and in full view, but Mike grabbed Angela's arm and towed her away, her Cheshire cat grin on display.

Greg blinked after them, surprised at their abrupt departure. He turned back to me, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"We're being set up," I sighed. "Apparently they've been planning it for a while." Not that you could tell from the degree of subtlety they were exhibiting.

"I see," said Greg. He eyed me up and down again, more speculatively this time. I tried not to fidget. Finally, he gave me another of those remarkable smiles. "Well, there are worse fates than spending an evening with an attractive man."

Despite everything, I couldn't help but smile back.

The next few hours passed smoothly, mostly due to Greg's easygoing manner and dry humor. He managed to deftly slide past my more awkward conversational forays while keeping things moving along, never letting my tendency toward uncomfortable silence break the flow. I didn't even realize what time it was until Mike tapped his glass, drawing everyone's attention.

"Okay everyone, it's almost time. It's been a rough few years, but things are finally getting back to some semblance of normal. I know Angela and I are thrilled to have you all here, so I hope you're all having as much fun as us." He raised his glass. "Happy New Year, everyone!"

A general chorus of "Happy New Year" went through the room, and as it died down, Angela thrust her champagne flute into the air and yelled, "Now grab your honey and take his money, it's Midnight Makeout time!" As she finished speaking, the clock on the wall struck twelve, the muted TV showed the ball completing its descent in Times Square, and fireworks could be seen in the distance through the windows. Cheers and laughter roared up all around me, and Angela all but pounced on Mike and kissed him with furious passion. Couples started going at each other all over the room.

"Oh my," said Greg from next to me, his eyes a little wide. "It seems she wasn't kidding about this."

"I'm told it's a sacred tradition," I agreed. "Not that anyone bothered to mention it to me."

We were the only people not aggressively kissing in the entire place. Wet noises and the occasional moan filled the air. Hands slid under clothes and tongues dueled everywhere I looked.

"I suppose the little minx intended for us to...?" He jerked his head at the bedlam all around us.

"Oh, yes. She was very clear about it. Seemed quite pleased with herself, too."

"I've no doubt." He cleared his throat. "We don't have to, you know. We can just, uh, wait until they're finished, and get on with the party." Yeah, because that didn't sound fantastically awkward or anything. Also, they showed no sign of stopping. Angela had her legs wrapped around Mike's waist, her arms around his neck, and his hands were visibly groping her as they made out. No one was actively screwing, yet, but a few were well on their way.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was being surrounded by the closest thing to an orgy I'd ever seen in person. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't gotten laid since before the pandemic. I don't remember making a conscious decision to do it, but I surprised us both by reaching over, taking Greg's face in my hands, and kissing him soundly.

He was frozen with shock at first, just standing there rigidly, but after a second he warmed up to the kiss, his mouth starting to move with mine. Greg's hands slid around my waist, pulling my body snugly against him. My hand slid from his face up into his hair, cupping the back of his head, and my other hand wandered up his lean torso, eventually coming to rest on the curve of muscle between his neck and shoulder. Greg's tongue found mine as our hips met, grinding and pressing together until I could feel him getting hard, as I'm sure he could feel me. I could taste champagne and hors d'oeuvres on his tongue, and the smell of something citrusy on his skin was almost overpowered by the clean, sweaty musk of an aroused man.

A sharp cry of pleasure and the sound of something getting knocked over with a clatter brought me back to reality. I broke the kiss, trying to pull away, but Greg's hands curled tighter, holding me in place against him. Our eyes, scant inches apart, stared into one another for a long moment, and then he relaxed his grip and eased away. Certain parts of me were greatly displeased by this action, and demanded that I rectify the unacceptable situation, but my rational brain managed to squeeze into control.

Unable to keep looking at him, I glanced around the room, and saw that we were the only ones to have split up. Several couples were clearly rounding more bases than was proper in public, and and least one pair was sliding--ahem--into home. Mike was on his back on the couch, Angela atop him, but I tried not to look too closely. Getting stuck in the middle of some kind of straight orgy was not really my idea of a good time, and watching my friends heavy petting was just weird and uncomfortable.

Greg's finger on my chin pulled my face back toward his. His smile was gentle, but tinged with hunger. "Didn't Mike say you lived just down the hall?" he asked, that damnably sexy voice just a purr in my ear. "I could go for a bit more privacy, what do you think?"

I swallowed, but nodded, and whatever tenuous control of the situation my big head had drained away in favor of the smaller. "Yeah, okay. It's not like they'll miss us."

His chuckle sent tingles down my spine. His hands, which he had not removed, felt very warm against my body. "No, I imagine not." Fortunately, we happened to be standing reasonably close to the door when midnight struck, so we only had to step over and sidle past a few couples to reach the exit. Not one person glanced up at us as we slipped out into the hallway.

It's fairly tricky, it turns out, to unlock a door with someone else's tongue in your mouth, but I eventually managed to get mine open. We spilled into my darkened apartment three doors down, Greg kicked the door shut behind us, I flicked up the lightswitch, and that was all the time I had before he was bearing me down onto the couch, our mouths crashing together again.

Greg peeled open my shirt--though I have no recollection of it being unbuttoned--and slid his hands up my torso, tracing the ridges of muscle with his fingertips and making goosebumps rise all over me. Wanting to feel his skin against mine, I dragged his clingy top off of him, unfortunately breaking the kiss. As soon as it was off he lunged back down, his mouth finding my nipple and making my whole body arch up against him.

"God, you're sexy," he groaned against my chest. "I wanted to jump you the moment we shook hands."

"It took you that long?" I gasped in reply. "I wanted you as soon as I heard your voice." He chuckled that low, stupidly arousing laugh of his and kissed his way up my throat to find my mouth again. Even as my tongue slipped into his mouth, I discovered that my hands, apparently on their own initiative, had found their way to Greg's belt and were pulling it open. His jeans soon followed, and Greg groaned into my mouth as I plunged a hand down behind his waistband and wrapped my fingers around his shaft.

Giving him a squeeze, I used my other hand to try and peel down his pants and underwear--the downside of jeans that tight is getting them off in a timely manner--and only partially succeeded. I got what I most wanted, though, as his erection popped free with my hand still around it. I gave it a slow stroke up and down, relishing that singular feeling of silk over steel, and Greg shuddered in pleasure with the motion. He started fumbling with my own pants, though he couldn't see what he was doing with his mouth still locked to mine, and there was a moment of awkward scrambling as we tried to get pants and shoes off without losing contact.

Finally we were both naked, and I dragged him back down to the couch with me on top this time. I wrapped a hand around both our cocks, sliding them deliciously against one another. He was longer and I was thicker, but they fit together well enough, and I wrenched another groan out of him as I squeezed and stroked them. A bit of precum added some exquisite slipperiness to the equation, though I've no idea whose it was.

Greg's hands slid down my body to my hips, pulling me hard against him, and then dropped further to seize a double handful of my ass. I groaned this time, gasping into his mouth, and as our mouths lost contact he slid down beneath me, pulling up with his hands. I let go of our cocks and allowed myself to be drawn up his body as he slid lower, soon finding myself straddling his chest with my cock bobbing right in front of his face.

He didn't make me wait, and ran his tongue up the length of my erection from root to tip. My head lolled back in pleasure, which unfortunately meant I missed seeing his lips wrap around the head of my cock. Greg's tongue started in on me then, tracing the edge of the head all the way around in a move that made me grab the back of the couch for fear of falling over, as I briefly lost control of my legs. His hands were still working my ass, kneading and squeezing, and he pulled me in closer so he could swallow me down. The angle was wrong to properly deep throat, but Greg gave it an excellent try, and all I could do was groan and surrender to the sensation as his mouth slid rapidly up and down my length.

Fearing that too much more of this would end things prematurely, I reluctantly pulled out of Greg's mouth. Stepping back and off of him, I knelt next to the couch and bent down to return the favor. His cock was longer and slimmer than mine, with the slightest upward curve. It was almost easy, therefore, to align my throat and slide my mouth all the way down his shaft. Greg gasped out a cry and tangled his hands in my hair, holding my head so he could thrust up with his hips. I let him fuck my face for a bit, breathing shallowly through my nose. Soon enough, though, I could see his balls rolling up tight against his body, his toes reflexively curling, and I knew that I was pushing things close to the edge. No way was I letting this end without getting inside him.

I pulled my mouth off of him and turned to meet his lust-crazed eyes. "Bedroom," I panted. "Lube." He nodded fervently and let me go. I helped him to his feet--his legs were rather wobbly, and I tried not to feel smug about it--and we half-carried each other across the apartment to my bedroom. I slung Greg out across my bed, his lithe frame beautiful and boneless, hard cock standing proud like a glistening flagpole.

A quick rummage in my nightstand produced the bottle I kept in there, and I turned back to find Greg already pulling his legs up toward his chest. His ass was breathtaking in the soft light of my bedside lamp, gleaming golden, and I took a second to just appreciate the view before diving in.

A haze of citrus and sweat and clean male musk filled my senses as I buried my face between the taut globes of his ass. I ran my tongue around the edge of his hole, making him gasp. I plunged in gleefully, rimming him as thoroughly and relentlessly as I could until his whole body was a shuddering, squirming wreck. Greg's cries, sharp and staccato at first, soon blended into a low, continuous moan as he writhed beneath my touch.

The lube was next, one slick fingertip sliding ever so gently across his sphincter before pressing inside to produce another shuddering groan. A second finger followed, scissoring apart the tight clench of Greg's hole. More lube. Another finger, stretching him yet wider, slipping deeper to just tickle that most sensitive spot. Greg's body arched, precum dripping off his cock in long strings. I think he tried to talk, but the noises that came out weren't recognizable words.

When it was clear he could no longer stand it, I gave my aching cock a lubricating stroke, and stepped up to the bed. I pressed my cock against his hole and slowly, so slowly, pushed it in until the sphincter swallowed the head. The slick heat of him, the tight press of flesh all around, almost did me in right there. Greg gave an inarticulate cry and clutched desperately at my sides, my hips, trying to pull me in deeper. I could only obey, leaning down to support my weight with my arms as I let myself slide further and further inside him.

Finally I was buried to the root, my pelvis pressed flush with his ass. My head hung just above his, our gasping breaths mingling in the few inches separating us. Greg hooked his legs over my hips, and with his arms now free, wrapped them over my shoulders and pulled my mouth down to his. His tongue pressed hungrily into my mouth as I started to move, gently rolling my hips to slide in and out of him. Greg's body shuddered as each stroke hit his prostate, making his inner muscles clench and sending shocks of pleasure coursing through me.

He was so tight. So warm and slick. I moved faster, hips starting to slap audibly against his ass, and we both groaned at the increased friction. One of Greg's hands slipped down toward his cock, and I pinned it to the bed, certain he would come immediately if he started stroking himself. I was barely hanging on as it was; the sight of his orgasm was sure to set off my own, and I didn't want this to end.

Faster and faster, thrusting with my entire length, I slammed into him. Over and over, I pulled back until just the head was inside, the ridge caught by Greg's hole, and then shoved all the way down to the root. Each thrust wrung cries from us both, and with our mouths pressed together it was hard to tell which sounds came from whom. My balls boiled with mounting pressure. Desperate to keep going, to dance along the precipice for as long as I could, I decided to see if a bit of rearrangement would help drag things out.