Rock & Donovan

Rock heard something fall to the floor and brake, then the distinctive sound of water streaming from the facet into the sink filling the small bathroom with its sweet music. He rolled slowly over onto his left side and stared into the blackness beyond toward the only light which illuminating from the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar so he could just barely see the masculine outline of Donovan's left hand side. His head was tilted to the right, as his right hand messaged his neck rhythmically. The glow of the light above his head shimmer around the curve of his shoulder, and softly highlighted the contours of his torso moving down into the angle of his waist that was attached to the plump sphere that Rock so affectionately called sweet cakes. Rock let his eyes rest on the dent in his the left check before moving to the curve that tucked and attached his pretty round backside to his leg before finally settling on his muscular but almost feminine thighs. How Rock loved Donovan’s thigh’s they were the first thing Rock had noticed about him when first he'd laid eyes on Donovan.

As Rock sat quietly alone in the dark watching the muscles in Donovan’s back spread like an eagles wing and contract as he groomed himself in the mirror, Rock smiled at the idea of watching it every single night from there on in. The picture of Donovan's viral body folded over th esink, exposing his glory to an assumed Rock as ran his hands slowly lathered his hands beneath the running water, then caressed the taunt creases of his stomach, chest, groan, and thighs. Rock smiled at the thought of such a repetative event, as mondane a thought as it was, there was something so calming about watching Donovan. No matter what he was doing. It brought a peace over Rock whenever they were together, no matter where they were. It always seemed that Donovan's presence could silence the noise that usually accompanied Rock’s turmoltious thoughts. Especially when he was incarcerated and Donovan made the long ride up state to visit him. His presence was the equivilant of throwing a cone of silence over the caos of the world. Donovan was a symphony in the midst of a hip hop concerte.

For the five years that Rock langiushed in his cell he counted down the days in between visitations when it seemed the hours would trudge along into forever and the time spent waiting for Donovan to come felt like months instead of days. Now as he lay there, in their bed, his was absent of invading thoughts; worries of jail house feuds or fears making it through the night. In this place he didn't have to watch his back, because is was safe. Rock knew it was safe and the tranquility of being there; in their bed, in Donovan's presence, as he stood in the bathroom washing away the cum, was just the assurance he needed to know that finally he was home.
“What are you smiling about?” Donovan said as he pushed the door open with the hill of his foot.
“You can see me?” Rock was startled by the question. He had not even noticed that he was smiling.

“I can feel you smiling.”

“Can you really?”

“Yes, yes I can.”

Rock heard the water stop abruptly. He watched as Donovan grabbed the hand towel from the rack next to him and slowly begin to wipe away the moisture along his torso. Now Rock had a full view of his backside, and what a glorious backside it was giggling with his every move.

"Now what are you smiling about?” Donovan asked again

“You!”

Donovan spun around with satisfied grin across his lips as if he was glade for the reassurance . He discarded the towel on the toilet seat with a flick of his wrist. He leaned against the frame of the door; the soft light from the bathroom accentuated the definition of his well sculptured frame. Rock's eyes slowly ran the course of his body like a boat down the Nile. Donovan rubbed his hands together vigorously, then ran them slowly over his chest, stomach, waist, hips, limp manhood, and thighs; the whole time holding on to Rocks still gaze in the dark.
“What are you thinking about me?”

“I was just thinking about how I missed you.”

“I can tell, you tried to wear me out just now.”

Donovan made his way slowly over to the bed, his knees awkwardly knocking against one another. Rock loved his knock kneed saunter, he appreciated the birth defect as one of Donovan's many unique qualities. Donovan let his knee fall against the mattress, then he let gravitiy take him the rest of the way, falling gently into into the embrace of the warm comforter which accepted him happily, cradling his mass of legs, arms, chest, and thighs. Rock grabbed him by the waist and pulled him toward him so that Donovan's body rubbed against Rock’s perfectly architectured frame.

“I am sorry about that boo." Rock whispered into his ear. "I wasn’t trying to hurt you. It’s just been such a long time since…you know?”


Rock let the words linger on the folds of his inner ear, then slip away into the dark. It had been such a very long time since their bodies had collided in that egotistical way that two men collide. violent egotistical, with defiance, and almost with out reguard for well being. Just a mass of grunts and vicious pounding of flesh. But with Rock and Donovan it was so much more. Masses of huungry kisses placed in unidentified places. Nail and teeth pearcing skin tactfully and mercilously. When they were together they were dangerous and protective the way that lust and love should be together.

“Yes, I know" Donovan thought of the last time before tonight that they had consumated. "It is such a shame they wouldn’t let you have any conjugal visits.”

“If you really missed me like that then maybe you should have dressed up in drag, and told them your were my girl.” Rock laughed softly.

“You ain’t funny boy.”

Donovan said as he struck him with his fist, hard in the chest.

“Yes I am.”

“Me in a dress….that wouldn’t be cute.”

“Fuck yea it would have. This cute face and this phatt ass in some apple bottom jeans.” Rock slapped him across the backside. “You would’ve been the badest bitch in the place.”

Rock rolled onto his back laughing; he let his head fall to the pillow as his voice sprang from his throat and he pulled Donovan on top of him. Their bodies melted perfectly into one another like cool aid and water.
“You still ain’t cute.”

Donovan chuckled into his neck.

“Yea but you are.”

Rock managed between heaving breaths and loud out burst of laughter. He ran his hand over the side of Donovan’s round plum face.
“Honestly though, I missed this right here. You…me…us…like this. I missed it. Everyday I was away from you felt like I was missing my dick or something.”

Rock and Donovan had been separated by stone walls, plexi glass plate windows, and steel doors for the past five years. It was a shame because the had only known each other two months before Rock was arrested. When they had met it was a whirl wind romance. Boy meets boy on the subway train to Brooklyn, boys flirt and laugh the entire train ride up town, Boys catch a quick bite, then a good nut. It was like out of a HollyQuinn romance novel. But five months in Rocks street lifestyle took him abruptly out of Donovan’s life, and they were forced to apart. Yet some how their love for one another had grown persistent and strong as Rock’s prison sentence slink slowly by. The long love letters, twenty-minute phone conversations accompanied by brief visitations on Mondays and Thursdays kept them enchanted. While their imaginations and lustful memories spurned the burning fires of their sexual appetite for each other. It was in that sell alone with those sweet letter from Donovan that kept Rock smiling, and alive inside, because prison had a way of killing a person from inside out. But the upbeat scribbling of his daily grind, sewn together with his words of encouragement and promises of a rekindled love affair made the time easy and just a tab bit bearable.

Lying with Donovan now, his body practically thrown atop of his, Rock remembered the nights alone on the sheet of a mattress pretending to play the part of his Serta. How he longed to wrap his arms around Donovan, and fall asleep with him there curled up beneath his body, listening to the soft purr of his snoring, and feel the breath filling up in his chest. And when the time for visitation came around and he watched him through that thick plate of glass, how Rock wanted to throw his body through it and ravage Donovan there under the watchful eyes of the guards, nosey girlfriends, and wailing mothers. When the day had finally come for his release, oh the anticipation that swelled inside of him was volcanic. His heart slowed to a steady and almost frightening rhythm. Rock really didn’t know what to expect when he walked out of those doors into the streets. Was Donovan really going to be there? He was, there, waiting for Rock in those jeans that he loved so much. Those same faded down the front, torn at the knee, fray at the hem washed out jeans. A white Lenin shirt open at the chest, where a soft patch of chest hair peaked from over the fabric all tided together by the timberland boots. The same timberland’s he wore ever Monday and Thursday, the ones that Rock had bought him the day of his arrest. His hair was braided in corn rolls to the back, with a smile a mile wide. It was the sexiest thing that Rock had ever seen in his life, and it was then that he knew that Donovan would be around until death pulled them apart. Donovan snuggled deep into his arms and cradled his head between the craves that parted Rock’s pectorals. The weight of Donovan’s masculine build pressed down deep into Rock’s body so that the moisture of the lotion was messaged into his flesh too. Rock closed his eyes, and he could feel air passing between his lungs expanding the inside of his chest against his own. He hears the light misty sound of the breath as it escaped his lips, the sweet sound of him snoring. But best of all was the beat of his heart thumping in perfect syncopation with his. Rock smiled to himself, He was glade to be home.