The Buff Storm Type By Vic Winter He hadn’t officially won any awards as the greatest dancer in the world, but he was still pretty damn good and he loved nothing more than to go to the clubs and dance his heart out. He loved the music and the movement. He loved losing himself out there on the floor, under the lights, in the middle of hot, sweaty, writhing bodies. Everyone wanted to dance with him, rub up against him. Dancing was a lot like hand-to-hand combat; it was hot and sweaty and involved physical contact. A Torquere Press Sip - 1 .
Derek put down the pen and sighed. His fictional characters led way more interesting lives than he did. They got out more, they were sexier, and more confident, which wasn’t that hard, really, and most of all, they got laid more often. A lot more often. Of course, that wasn’t that hard, either, given Derek was practically a virgin. Not technically, but practically. Buff Storm was brave and courageous. He was gorgeous and suave and could kill you three hundred and forty seven ways, with or without weapons. And no matter what the adventure, what the story, he always got the girl. Of course, Derek wasn’t interested in that. Getting the girl, that was. No, if he was the hero of his own sexy action adventure, he’d get the guy in the end. Mind you, he was more the rescue-e type than the rescuer. He wasn’t alone in that, though, which was why his Buff Storm Adventures books sold like hotcakes. Guys wanted to be Buff Storm, girls wanted to do him. Everybody handed over their cash to read about him. It worked for Derek. Even if he sometimes felt a little invisible. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the ink on the paper, the words blurring into nothing more than blots on a page. That’s all that Buff Storm was. The man wasn’t real; he lived in Derek’s imagination. Hell, sometimes he didn’t even seem to live there, which was why Derek had switched to ink and paper to write a chapter or two. He was in a rut, and it was affecting his writing. He’d thought maybe a change of scenery would help, so he’d driven away from his place until he’d found a coffee shop he’d never been to before, installed himself in a corner with a fancy muffin, an even fancier coffee, a ridiculously fancy notebook, and a plain gel pen. So far it was turning out to be a waste of time. Maybe he needed a night out. Maybe it didn’t matter that he’d probably wind up sitting in a corner nursing a drink or two and then going home alone, having proven once again that he wasn’t one of the beautiful people or the type of guy who got lucky in the back room. Maybe then he could settle back into his routine of writing about Buff Storm and making lots of money. Maybe he needed to kill off Buff Storm. *** “You need a vacation, Derek. Somewhere nice and tropical and all expenses paid where you don’t have to think of Buff Storm or keyboards or pens or anything but working on your tan, getting a buzz on, and getting laid.” A Torquere Press Sip - 2 .
That had been Sheila, his agent, who’d been very, very adamant that killing off Buff Storm was a very bad idea. So, here Derek was, at an all-inclusive gay resort in the Caribbean. He had to admit it: he was having a good time. It was a ritzy place because, let’s face it, he had more money than he needed for his everyday existence. So, in a fit of 'who else will I spend it on anyway', he’d splurged for the super deluxe resort. It was the kind of place where if the sun wasn’t shining, they’d make a new sun to keep their guests happy. It was the kind of place Buff Storm would be welcome at, no payment necessary. They’d just be happy to have the guy there. He’d be a draw. They’d throw roses at his feet so he didn’t have to walk on the hot sand. Derek rolled his eyes at himself. Damn it, he was supposed to be forgetting all about Buff Storm. He grabbed his margarita from the edge of the pool and took a good long sip, made himself watch the other guys in the water. There was a volleyball game going on just beyond the pool, and that had all sorts of muscles being flexed. It was a great view. Nobody there was quite his type, though. Everyone was in good shape; there were all varieties of tanned and not so tanned skin. It was a cornucopia really. The real problem was that Derek’s type was, well, in two words: Buff Storm. He’d created his hero out of his ideal partner. Deep down inside, he wanted some muscled stud to show up and solve all his problems – not that he had that many problems, the biggest one at the moment being his lack of a lover and companion. He wanted to be swept off his feet. He wanted to feel like out of all the guys in the world, that one perfect specimen wanted him. It was romantic and unrealistic, and it was leaving him lonely. He had to get a more realistic view of who his ideal man was. Of course, it wasn’t like he was beating guys who didn’t fit the Buff Storm-mold off with a stick. The truth was that he didn’t seem to be anyone’s type, or he gave off I’m a leper vibes or something. Maybe it was his innate shyness that warded people off without him even realizing they’d been looking in the first place. Maybe he needed to try a ‘come hither’ look, see if that wouldn’t net him some interest and then he could see if he liked guys who weren’t Buff Storm. Derek shifted and looked at the various men in and around the pool. Nothing. Not even a blink in his direction. Of course that could have something to do with the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to do come hither. He should probably go back to his room and practice in the mirror. A Torquere Press Sip - 3 .
He’d just decided to do exactly that when he nearly tripped over his own tongue. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He shut them, blinked a few times and then looked again. There, across the pool and just joining the volleyball game currently in progress was Buff Storm. Obviously the guy wasn’t actually Buff Storm, because Buff Storm was a figment of Derek’s imagination and if this guy was actually Buff Storm then Derek was hallucinating or had gone over the edge into madness or something. So. Not Buff Storm. The guy sure looked like him, though. In fact, the guy looked like Buff Storm enough that Derek forgot about his innate shyness and his lack of luck with making small talk, and he went over to the man. He stood right next to the guy and checked him out, because, dude, this man looked exactly how Derek had always pictured Buff Storm. The guy even had a little brown mole right next to his eyes, with their ridiculously long, dark lashes just like Buff Storm. Derek couldn’t believe it. All he had to do was reach out and he could touch the Buff Storm clone. He was going to, too. This dream, this figment of his imagination had been given breath and dropped down in front of him, and he wasn’t going to let this opportunity go. He would introduce himself and Buff Storm would take one look at him and sweep him off his feet. They’d go live somewhere exotic and fun and be the toast of the town. They’d go to parties and clubs, and everyone would want a piece of Buff Storm, but the man would only have eyes for Derek. They’d grow old together, but Buff Storm, being Buff Storm, wouldn’t become decrepit at all and he’d take care of Derek and it would be perfect. When they’d lived to be a hundred and two, they’d die in each other’s arms, just stop breathing and go peaceful into the hereafter together. The sex would, of course, be amazing and they’d spend as much time in bed exploring each other as possible. Derek’s very detailed, and no doubt soon to be extremely pornographic daydream was cut short as the Buff Storm clone shifted to get the ball and stepped on his foot, nearly knocking him down. The only reason Derek didn’t land on his ass was because one big hand wrapped around his bicep and yanked him up. What a hero. His hero. Derek’s swooning was interrupted as well. “What are you -- blind? We’re fucking playing here. Pipsqueak asshole.” Those laser blue eyes -- for yes, his Buff Storm had laser blue eyes and so did this Buff Storm -- looked at him like he was a bug to squash underfoot and then dismissed him entirely, the guy going back to his game. A Torquere Press Sip - 4 .
Oh. Wow. Okay, that had been way harsh. Derek blinked, too shocked to do much more than that and backpedal. What was he supposed to do now? Go back to the pool and down margaritas until he’d forgotten about it? Go to his room? Head for the beach? Go up and tell Buff Storm off? He had to stop thinking of the guy as Buff Storm, or he would never write another book with the guy as his hero again. Because wow, what an asshole. Come to think of it, why was he writing about a guy like Buff Storm in the first place? Why not write about hero like himself? Someone who wasn’t a stud, who didn’t find everything easy. If he could make a guy like that his hero he could stop writing about Buff Storm, who was everything he’d thought he’d wanted, but who was no doubt as big an asshole as this vacation Buff Storm was. The more Derek thought about it, the more the idea excited him and he headed for his room. Hotels had stationery and pens, right? Or he could call down to the front desk and get some delivered if they didn’t. He needed to write. Now. He laughed, the feeling exhilarating and one that had been sorely missing of late. He wanted to write. No, now that he’d given himself permission to write something other than Buff Storm Adventures he craved it. Sheila was going to kill him. *** Derek emerged from his room on his last full day at the resort and blinked at the brightness of the sun. He’d spent eight out of his ten days here holed up in his room, writing like crazy. His only human interaction had been calling room service for food and the front desk for more paper, another couple of pens. He’d barely taken the time to sleep. He’d done it, though. He’d written his next novel. By hand. In eight days. He was hankering to start the next one, but he figured he should wait ‘til he got home and could use the laptop. He hadn’t been this inspired in years. Not since the first couple of Buff Storm adventures. It made him feel giddy. Although some of that might have been because of the lack of sleep. He made his way to the beach and flopped down onto an empty deck chair. He’d spend his last day dozing on the beach so, when questioned, he could say he’d done that. He A Torquere Press Sip - 5 .
needed the break, anyway. Eight days straight of writing had left him with a terrible cramp in his hand. One of the resort’s cabana boys stopped by and asked him if he wanted anything. The guy was pretty cute. In fact now that he thought about it, all the cabana boys here were cute. “Yeah, I’d like a burger and a Coke, please.” “French fries, sir?” The cabana boy’s dark eyes smiled down at him. “Yeah, that sounds great. With some of that mayonnaise-y type sauce you do.” The young man nodded and trotted off. Derek watched him go. The guy didn’t have a Buff Storm body, but he had a lovely ass, nice long limbs, and his skin, of which he was showing a lot, was a lovely dark brown. Derek suddenly wondered just how much vacation he could pack into one day. He rolled his eyes at himself. Ten days in paradise and he’d spent the first day moping and the next eight holed up in his room doing exactly what he did every day at home, leaving him only one day to actually enjoy his vacation. Only he would do something like that. Still, for the kind of inspiration he’d already found, he thought maybe he needed to make this vacation thing a yearly habit. He’d just finished his burger and fries and was working on his third Coke when he realized he was beginning to burn. He needed sun block on. One of the cute cabana boys serving him – there seemed to be a different one coming by his chair every fifteen minutes or so, showing off their cute bodies and adorable smiles -- had dropped it off along with his food, but right now there was not one cabana boy around to rub it on for him. Oh, well. He could do his front himself and then when the next cabana boy came to offer to top off his drink for him, he’d get the guy to do his back. Yeah, that sounded like it could be a lot of fun and definitely something he should enjoy before his last day in paradise was over. Just as he popped the lid on the lotion and started rubbing it on himself, a shadow blocked his sun. Derek looked, blinking, trying to make out the guy’s face. Was this a cabana boy? “Derek Jeffreys, is that you?” A Torquere Press Sip - 6 .
Derek kept blinking, but he couldn’t make the guy out with the way the sun was shining behind the lanky figure. Then the guy shifted and sat in the deck chair next to Derek’s. Youngish, probably about Derek’s own twenty-six, the guy had greyish blue eyes, brown hair that curled over his ears and didn’t quite fall into his eyes, and a skinny body that was maybe ninety percent arms and legs. Oh, Derek did know this guy. Now he just had to place the face. “The Swan Apartments back home. You’re seventeen oh four, right?” The guy held out his hand and Derek nodded, shaking it. “I’m seventeen twelve, just down the hall.” Laughing, Derek nodded, finally placing the friendly, open face. “I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.” “I don’t think I’ve ever told you. We haven’t actually progressed beyond sharing the elevator. It’s Orson Bomgarden. I know, I know. It doesn’t sound real. My friends usually call me O.B. or Boom.” “I like Boom, actually,” Derek replied, reluctantly letting go of Boom’s hand. “Yeah, so do I. Kind of makes me sound exciting, doesn’t it? Like a double agent or a comic superhero or something.” Like Buff Storm. Maybe Derek had been jonesing on the wrong thing with Buff Storm, maybe it hadn’t been the guy himself at all, but his name. Derek sure found himself attracted to Boom and, while the guy had a nifty name, he was nothing at all like Buff Storm. Definitely a different type altogether. “You just get here?” Boom asked him. “No, actually, today is my last day.” “Yeah? Me, too. I wonder why I haven’t seen you around before today?” Derek blushed. “Um. probably because I’ve been holed up in my room, writing.” “Oh, yeah, you’re a writer. I remember you telling me that once as we were going down.” Boom paused, went crimson, and added, “The elevator. As we were going down in the elevator.” Boom tilted his head. “Do you always work on your vacation?” he added quickly. Laughing, Derek shook his head. “No, and it’s a long story. Let’s just say that this vacation did me a ton of good, despite the fact that I spent most of it working. And can I say that so far, my last day totally rocks.” Boom looked pleased about that. “So it’s okay if I sit with you?” A Torquere Press Sip - 7 .
“Sure. It would be even better if you offered to do my back for me.” Derek held out the bottle of sun block. “I’ll do you, too, if you want.” “Sure.” Derek turned over onto his back and Boom settled on his thighs to slowly work the lotion into his skin. Derek could fee the heat of Boom’s body and the softness of Boom’s balls through his suit every time he moved. Boom’s voice was deep, husky and made Derek want to listen as long as he possibly could. Had Derek said his type was Buff Storm? Well, he’d been wrong. Very wrong. It seemed he was more into the Orson Bomgarden type. What was more, it wasn’t just his cock that was saying ‘hey, this guy we like’, it was the rest of him, too. They wound up spending the rest of the day talking, laughing together, and then having supper in the swanky indoor dining room, eating steak and lobster and making the most of their last day at the resort. They didn’t go to bed together. They did make a date for next Friday night. *** Sheila was pissed. Derek didn’t call her to tell her the good news about his renewed writing inspiration until Friday for two reasons. One, because he was a chicken and wanted to put it off, and two, because there was already something good planned for Friday night so his weekend wouldn’t be ruined by a pissy call with his agent. She’d torn him a new one, from top to bottom, going on and on about how well the Buff Storm Adventure books sold and how he needed to continue to deliver what the fans wanted. Apparently the public was fickle and she doubted they’d buy anything else from him. That’s when he’d started getting angry. If he could change and no longer be into the Buff Storm type, well then, so could his audience. He was not going to continue to put out mediocre crap that literally hurt to write just to make his publisher money. He was growing as a writer, as a person, and if she was going to stifle his creativity then maybe she wasn’t the agent for him. In the end, she’d grudgingly agreed to take a look at the new manuscript as soon as the transcriptionist was finished with it. And they’d hung up on a positive note. Well, that had gone better than advertised. Sure his ear was sore, but she hadn’t yelled nearly as long as he’d expected, and she had agreed to read the new stuff. A Torquere Press Sip - 8 .
He just hoped this didn’t mean that his date this evening was going to be worse than advertised. Because he was really looking forward to it. He made sure he looked okay, but not dressy, in a new pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. Then he headed down the hall to Boom’s apartment. He could have spent more time fussing with his hair and what he was wearing, but he knew if he started down that road, he just might not make it back. It was best to just go. He knocked on Boom’s door. It took a moment or two, but Boom met him at the door wearing a goofy apron with “Kiss the Cook” on it in large, bold letters. Laughing, Derek did exactly that and they wound up spending a good ten minutes leaning against the open doorway, making out like a pair of teenagers. The sound of a door opening farther down the hall finally split them apart, and they stepped into Boom’s apartment, then slammed the door and locked it, giggling like teenagers. Boom brought him into the kitchen to show off the beer stew he was making. It smelled great. “It can sit a couple of hours. In fact it probably should – it tastes better if it’s had time to sit. So we could watch a movie or just sit and talk or.” Boom’s voice trailed off. Derek nodded. The kissing in the doorway had primed his pump, so to speak – granted, it had been quite awhile since he’d last done anything so his pump was ridiculously easy to prime. He thought maybe he’d best not try to articulate that, though; it was too embarrassing. Boom grabbed his hand and led him to the living room where they settled on a large sofa. They turned to look at each other, and Boom started giggling. “So do we just like go at it, or what?” “I think if we do that, then we’ll have gotten past this awkward moment.” It sure was an awkward moment. You didn’t make appointments specifically to make out, did you? At least not after you were no longer a teenager, though Derek remembered now that he was thinking about it, that these moments were pretty damn awkward as a teenager, too. Maybe even more awkward. “Kiss me.” Boom, it seemed, was happy to acquiesce. Derek found himself gathered up into Boom’s arms, his chest pressed against Boom’s apron and then they were kissing. This was better than it had been at the door, mostly because they didn’t have to stop anytime soon, and it wasn’t their first kisses, so his mind could pay more attention instead of rabbiting on going ohgodwerekissingheskissingmeohgod. They kissed for a long time. He couldn’t say for sure how long, because he was totally lost in it and didn’t care what the time was. At all. A Torquere Press Sip - 9 .
What Derek did care about was how Boom’s lips felt against his own, and how Boom tasted and how Boom’s tongue was hot inside his mouth. Then he cared about the way Boom’s hand slid over his crotch, warm even through the layers of denim and cotton. He returned the favor and soon the kissing became a little more frantic, and his hips were in on the act, humping, pushing him up into Boom’s touch. He pushed Boom’s apron aside and undid Boom’s zipper – he didn’t want all that material between his hand and Boom’s cock. This time Boom took the cue from him, and soon they were both partly undressed, their breathing sounding so loud. He groaned and Boom moaned and, just like that, they were both coming hard. If it had been just him he might have been embarrassed to go off so quickly, but Boom had been right there with him. Then he realized he could smell them and it made his dick jerk right there in Boom’s hand like he hadn’t just come. Derek smiled and stretched and didn’t even care that he was lying there with Boom, all disheveled and hanging out. “That was good.” And that was an understatement. “It was.” Boom gave him a lazy smile. “You want to see my bedroom next?” Oh, Boom was thinking on the same wavelength as him. He liked that; their cocks and their heads were in the same places. “I do.” “There’s only one thing.” Oh, man. Derek held his breath. Had he read it all wrong? Was Boom a one-night stand kind of guy? He hadn’t thought so, but you never knew. And while in general -- in theory -- Derek thought one night stands were fine, he didn’t really want a one night stand with Boom. He liked Boom. A lot. He wanted to see Boom again and not just in that we’re taking the same elevator up or down kind of way. “What’s that?” he finally asked. “You’ll need to be naked to see it.” Relief went through him and, if his laugh was a little bit on the too happy side, Boom didn’t seem to mind. “I think I can handle that. Lead the way.” Boom stood and held out his hand. Derek took it, wrapping their fingers together. They went down the hall, laughing and tugging at each other’s clothes. The kiss the cook apron nearly tripped them both up, making Derek snort he was laughing so hard. Boom just looked at him like he was the cutest guy ever. But Derek thought that title probably belonged to Boom himself. It was funny; Boom was no Buff Storm, and that suited Derek to a T. A Torquere Press Sip - 10 .