I jerk fully awake as I feel my head fall off the hand that had been propping it up on the edge of the small bar table. I blink around at my surroundings, momentarily confused. Then I recognize I’m in my favorite gay drinking establishment.

Holy fuck! I didn’t think it was possible to be THIS bored at a place like Woody’s.

Of course, usually when I’m at Woody’s I’m too busy drinking, cruising guys, getting the occasional blow job or playing pool to fall asleep. Unfortunately, this evening, I’ve been sitting around all night listening to Justin and Mikey going on and on about their next issue of ‘Rage’ and it is boring me to death. How two grown men can spend - I pick up my phone and look at the time - more than two hours talking about a fictional superhero, simply astounds me. If I wasn’t worried about offending them and suffering the inevitable fall out, I would have already put my foot down and demanded they give it over already. But I’m not prepared to listen to another half hour of the Novotny Whinefest, let alone have my evening plans to head to Babylon and fuck the shit out of Justin’s hot, tight, twinkie ass in the backroom derailed. So I’m going to try and hold my tongue.

“. . . Then Cheetoh-in-Chief takes Rage prisoner and holds him in his galactic torture chamber on Planet Dumpistan . . .” Michael is still babbling, much to my ongoing discontent.

Justin, who is scribbling away at his sketchpad, drawing preliminary outlines of each idea, then pipes up to add his two cents. “Fine. But then how are we going to get Rage out of there, huh? CIC’s already disabled Rage’s mind control powers with his Twitter Ray. And if he’s off on some undisclosed torture planet, Zephyr and JT won’t be able to help him. So how does he free himself?”

“I don’t know,” Mikey answers, slumping in his chair dejectedly, seemingly stymied by this insurmountable snag in his plot line.

Both cartoonists sit quietly for a few more minutes, sipping at their respective beers while I struggle to keep myself awake.

“I know,” Justin finally offers a possible solution. “How about Rage befriends the other prisoners and they stage some kind of mass prison break. It would allow us to explore Rage’s more ‘human’ side. He has to actually let strangers in and make friends like a regular person for once. We could show how he grows as a person and . . .”

Mikey interrupts with a loud guffaw, as if Justin’s idea is simply hilarious. Justin initially scowls back at the man deriding at him, but then gives over and joins in with the laughter. I find I don’t like the implications that their hilarity implies. Do Mikey and maybe even Sunshine think my alter ego is somehow incapable of growing or maturing? That is total bullshit.

“Yeah, right!” Michael finally manages to quell his laughter long enough to get some words out. “I think Rage is much more likely to find a solution that involves fucking his way out of prison.”

“Well, there you go!” Justin agrees. “Rage has to fuck his way through all the prison guards to get out. Even without his memories or his super powers, he’s still got his mad fucking skills. Maybe he charms them into having a little fun and then fucks them so hard they pass out and that’s how he gets the keys . . .”

That’s when I totally tune out the rest of the conversation. Whatever. I have to remind myself sometimes that Rage isn’t real and isn’t really ‘ME’ in any case. Why should it bug me that my ‘best friend’ and ‘partner’ think the only way Rage could save the day this time is - once again - fucking his way through life. What the hell, right? It’s not like I would ever find myself in that kind of position. That’s just a comic book. This is real life. And in real life, as I should know well, the solution to your problems is never ‘fuck your way out’.

Thank fuck I finally escaped those two, I think to myself as I shoulder through the plastic stripping that separates the backroom from the rest of Babylon. If I have to listen to even one more minute of ‘Rage’ talk I WILL turn into Rage.

Now, THIS is much more amusing.

I walk around the room for a bit, surveying the possibilities. There are some seriously hot guys in here tonight. It’s hot and muggy and the smell of sex is all pervasive. Just the way I like my backroom. This is where I do some of my best work. This is my kingdom.

After a couple of minutes, I finally decide on a pumped up gym bunny with short-cropped light brown hair. He is leaning against a spare piece of wall near the back, stroking himself languidly, and just begging me with his doe-brown eyes to let him suck my dick. Who am I to refuse such a heartfelt offer, right?

I strut my way across to him, run my fingers down his naked, well-muscled chest, and smile. I DO love the male body so fucking much. I love to touch firm, hard muscles. I love a man with good pecs. And good abs. And let’s not forget about a good ass. This guy definitely seems to qualify.

I nod approvingly and lean back against the wall myself, using one hand to guide my selected trick to a position standing in front of me and then apply pressure to his shoulder till the beefy boy drops obligingly to his knees. Just the way I like them. On their knees, head tilted back and mouth wide open.

I’ve got my eyes closed so I can better concentrate on the moist heat of my trick’s mouth as my dick glides in and out of it. His technique isn’t bad. He’s got decent suction, covers his teeth adequately, and he does this thing with his tongue that has me well amused. I mean, he’s not even close to the level that Justin maintains even on an average night, but compared to the rest of the herd of men I’ve had suck me off over the years, this guy is more that acceptable. So I’m definitely enjoying myself.

Just when that tingle in my balls is starting to get good, though, I hear a commotion going on amongst my fellow backroomers. There’s a lot more talking than I‘m used to hearing and none of it involves the words ‘harder’ or ‘fuck me’. Which is strange. If the blow job I’m currently enjoying wasn’t so good, I might even care. But it is good so I really couldn’t be bothered. I’m pretty sure I can ignore whatever's going on at least long enough to get off, right?

My plan is working just fine, too, until the disturbance in the club is exacerbated by the fact that the fire alarm starts going off about ten seconds before I would have blown. Fucking stupid fire alarms. What the hell is going on? Don’t they know I’m busy here?

The peeps around me are making so much noise now that their voices almost match the decibels of the damn fire alarm. My trick pulls off my dick and I heard his voice joining the others. They all sound pretty upset by something. So I reluctantly open my eyes to see what the fuck is going on.

All the men around me are milling around, facing the exit  and yelling. They seem a little panicky. I pull my pants up so I won’t trip over them and then force my way through the crowd till I can see what it is they’re all so freaked out about.

Fuck! There's actual smoke coming into the backroom from the hallway that leads out to the main part of the club. I guess it’s not just a false alarm or a fucking fire drill after all. Guess my evening is going to be shot to hell. And I didn’t even get to finish that damn blow job. Oh well.

I turn toward the back of the small space and face the wall where the emergency exit door is located, only to find a shoulder to shoulder log jam of bodies blocking the way. Everyone’s hollering at each other and jostling their neighbors, but it’s too hard to hear over the people and the alarm so nobody knows what the problem is.

I put my fingers in my mouth and create a really loud, ear-piercing whistle that manages to cut through the chaos. “What the fuck is the problem up there, boys? We need to get the hell out of here. Let’s go already!” I yell into the mob.

“The door’s jammed or something, Kinney,” a random voice from near the emergency exit door yells back at me. “Even with three of us pushing on it, it won’t budge.”

“Fucking A . . .” It’s probably that asshole Sapperstein trying to make sure guys weren’t letting their buddies in for free or something. I wouldn’t it put it past him to have locked the emergency exits just to make sure he was able to wring the last penny out of everyone. Of course, that isn’t going to help us get the fuck out of here.

I - along everyone else standing around me - look back at the hallway out to the main room of the club. There is more and more smoke pouring through the doorway now. It’s thick and black and seems to billow from the top of the doorway up towards the higher ceiling of the backroom. Definitely NOT a good sign. But it looks like that’s our only way out at this point, so we’re going to have to brave it.

The backroom denizens around me are starting to panic. A few of the more volatile queens are whimpering and wringing their hands. The rest are just milling around as if they don’t have a clue what to do. Fucking sheep - that’s all they are, just sheep. If I don’t do something real quick they’re going to totally freak out on me.

I’m just about to take control of the situation when suddenly I notice that Justin is now standing next to me. Which is really strange because, not only did I not see him there before, but I don't even remember him coming with me from Woody’s. And now I’m starting to feel panicky too because it’s one thing for me to be trapped in a kinda dangerous situation like a fire, but it’s a whole other thing when Justin’s been put in danger along with me.

Then, as if THAT wasn’t bad enough, another familiar face pops up on my other side and it’s Mikey. Fucking hell! This can’t be happening. How did all three of us manage to get into this situation? Damn it. I have to get us all out of here. NOW!

With renewed resolve, I face the doorway, determined to find some way to get us out despite the smoke. Maybe if we put our shirts over our faces and get down on our knees and crawl out? I take a few steps closer to the hall and look out, trying to assess what our chances will be. The fire must have finally got to the electrical system right then, though, because all the lights go out except for the few, dim emergency lights. The hallway is almost pitch black.

Or at least I think it is at first. But then, as my eyes adjust, I see a light that I really DON’T want to see at all. Creeping slowly towards me down the hallway is a glowing line of fiery red-gold light. Fuck! It’s the fire. It’s already starting to make its way down the hallway!

I frantically look at the walls around me, trying to rack my brain to remember where there’s supposed to be a fire hose or extinguisher or something, but there's nothing. There's no way to put out the fucking fire. The emergency exit is blocked. And the only way out is already in flames.

Shit! The man I love, my best friend, and myself are all about to die in this fucking hellhole! This can’t be happening! It just can’t! I can NOT let this happen.

As I get more and more panicky, the men around me follow suit. Everyone is screaming and sobbing and nearly hysteric. I look at Justin, who has moved closer to me, his arms cinched tight around my waist and his face buried in my chest. Even in the dim light I can tell he’s crying silently.

“Do something, Brian! You have to stop the fire!” Michael begs me.

Yeah, right. What the fuck does he expect me to do? I can’t just wave my magic wand and make the fire disappear or blow out the flames like some fucking superhero. If I could, you can be damn sure I would. But I’m not Rage. I’m just Brian Fucking Kinney. My only super power is fucking.

Which is when I suddenly remember that stupid discussion from earlier about Rage saving the world by fucking his way out of a dungeon or some other stupidity like that. And, without really even trying, I instantly come up with a brilliant, albeit totally ludicrous, idea. I know there’s not much of a chance it will actually work, but it’s the only thing I can come up with right at the moment. And nobody else seems to have any better idea . . .

I do my whistling thing again and most of the hubbub dies down. “Listen up, guys. We only have one way out of here and it’s through that door. But we can’t get through there unless we find something to dampen the fire. And, since we don’t have any water or a fire extinguisher, we’re going to have to make our own fire suppressant.”

They all look at me expectantly like I’m their savior and they’ll do anything I ask. Nice of them to be so compliant, right? I guess terror-inducing panic will do that to people. I just hope they won’t laugh at me when they hear my actual plan.

“We’re going to fuck our way out of here and use our jizz to put out the flames!” I announce.

And then I wait for the backlash.

Which, strangely enough, never comes. There’s no laughing at all. Nobody tells me off. Nobody calls me on my shit and says what a fucking stupid idea this really is. Nope. They just stand there like the sheep they are and wait for me to put my plan into action. Well, okay. Maybe the idea isn’t as totally idiotic as it sounded in my own head. What the fuck. We might as well give it a try, right

I start by lining up as many men as I can get into a semi-circle surrounding the doorway. I tell them to drop trou and start jerking off while aiming their jizz so it'll line the floor across the doorway creating a sticky wet barrier that, at the very least, will hopefully slow down the fire and prevent it from burning wholesale through the backroom. It takes a little effort to get them all arranged and by then the fire is almost on us. I’m standing between my twink and my best friend, right at the center of the line of defense. And then we all start whacking.

It’s not easy, let me tell you. What with the distraction of the sobbing queens standing behind me and the fire creeping nearer with every minute, it’s tough to keep a boner. Not for me, of course - I’m the Stud of Liberty Avenue and I can always get it up - but some of the other guys have a difficult time of it.

However, with some dedicated stroking, after a couple minutes a few of us guys manage to come. The sight of the first few shooting seems to encourage the rest and as they finish, more men step up to fill in the line from the reserves standing behind us. Stream after stream of cum shoots out, splattering on the stained linoleum. Slowly the floor in front of the threshold gets coated with jizz and it does seem to help a little. The fire is no longer progressing towards us.

There’s a little cheer of encouragement.

But even with all our efforts at jerking off it's not enough. The fire isn’t moving towards us anymore, but it’s not really dying down much either. The smoke coming through the entryway is thicker than ever. The heat is increasing too. It’s not going to be enough to just hold the line at the door. We need to get the fuck out of here. But there's not enough jizz for that. Not at this rate, at least.  

After I come for the second time and notice my companions flagging, I decide that maybe it would be faster if those of us who have already done our duty, fuck the ones that haven't come yet. Perhaps that will speed up the process and maybe actual fucking, as opposed to the more mundane jerking off, will help these losers generate more jizz per ejaculation. I know it probably isn’t going to help all THAT much, but in the craziness of the moment, it seems like a good idea to me.

I grab the nearest fresh trick and order Justin, along with a couple of the other well known tops, to do the same. We line our tricks up in front of us and, on my count, thrust our way into the waiting jizz makers. The guy I’m fucking isn’t exactly a catch, but that doesn’t matter. It’s an emergency, so I can’t get picky, right? I just have to fuck the guy. And that old cliche line about how ‘I wouldn’t fuck you if the world was coming to an end’ doesn’t seem so funny anymore.

Whatever my qualms about fucking a troll are, I must do a pretty good job at it because Troll Trick Number One gets off pretty damn fast. Not that that’s a surprise, because he IS getting fucked by me. Who wouldn’t come screaming when I fuck them - even if the room we’re fucking in is on fire.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Justin’s trick coming pretty fucking hard just a minute after mine does. And then the guy to my right gets his guy off too. Nice. I don’t take the time to admire their feats, though, because I’m already gesturing to those behind me for a new trick to take the first one’s place.

So we all fuck like bunnies for several minutes. The screams of delight from the guys getting fucked is almost louder than the still-wailing fire alarms. The jizz is literally flying through the air. There is cum all over the floor and it’s starting to really beat back the line of fire. The stench of the sizzling cum is a little nauseating, but none of us tops let it stop us. We have a fucking job to do and we’re going to keep fucking no matter what.

Just as it seems like we’re going to make some serious headway, though, the fire appears to get a fresh grip on the wood of the hallway. It starts to bloom up the walls and the heat increases exponentially. It looks like the fire is going to win. Damn it!

I increase my pace. I’m fucking as many guys as I can, as fast as I can. They are coming one after another. I’ve never been so focused on fucking before in my entire life. I shove my dick into one hole after the next and one, two, three, they come faster and harder than I’ve ever seen. But it’s STILL not enough. And the other tops around me just aren’t keeping up. Their tricks are so slow. These losers just can't come fast enough or create enough jizz to save us.

Which is when I realize that my expectations are just too fucking high. I can’t really expect the average joe in the backroom to meet MY standards. Nobody else has my stamina or my infinitesimally short refractory period. If I want to get out of here and save both myself and Justin, I’m really the only one that can do this.

I quickly pull Justin off the guy the boy is currently fucking, roll a fresh condom down the kid’s pretty pink dick and then, bracing myself against the doorjamb and bending my knees so that even with Sunshine’s shorter legs he can still have at me, I order Justin to fuck me as hard and fast as he can.  

So he does. Over and over and over and over again. His thick dick sliding in and out of me, hitting my prostate dead on with every thrust and making me shake with pleasure. Shit, he’s good at this! I know I don’t let him top nearly often enough, but I really should rethink that stance considering how truly great he as as a top. Nobody can fuck the way Sunshine can. I love being fucked by him.

And It shows.

As the amazing blond fucks me - and fucks me well - I literally cum buckets of jizz, reaching ever greater levels of ecstasy at the hands of my amazing blond boy toy as we go. It seems to go on for hours but slowly and surely, it seems like we are succeeding. With each fuck, Justin and I are able to make a little more progress. Every time I come, screaming with delight at the unbelievable pleasure my boy is giving me, my jizz sprays out and yet another few inches of the fire is extinguished. Inch by inch we are slowly able to beat back the flames and creep our way step by step down the hall towards our freedom.

This is going to work. Justin will fuck me to safety. Together, we are going to save all the men stranded in the backroom. We CAN do this. With Justin’s magic dick and my unending ability to come, we’re going to make it! I can almost see the end of the hall where it joins to the gallery next to the back bar. After that it’s only a few meters to the main exit. We’re almost there. I hang on and enjoy the burn as Justin seems to thrust into me even harder, as if he can drive my cum out with sheer force. But it works. I cum again and again and I’ve never shot so much, never before in my life.

“Yes, Sunshine! YES! Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Yes! YES! YES! YES!” I scream out my delight.

We’re going to make it! It’s going to work! Justin will fuck me free!

“Yes. Sunshine. Yes . . .”

“Brian. Hey, Brian. Come on sleepyhead. Sorry to interrupt whatever you’re dreaming about big guy - it sounds like it’s a good one - but it’s time to wake up and go home.” I hear my boy’s voice whispering in my ear.

“Can’t go. Have to put out the fire first. Gotta keep fucking me,” I mutter, trying to concentrate on the line of fire in front of me even though my vision seems to be getting obscured and fuzzy.

It must be the smoke . . . Although, as I blink around me, I don’t see much smoke at all any more.

In fact, I don’t see any smoke. And the fire-engulf club doesn’t seem so dark anymore. Actually there doesn’t seem to be any fire around me anymore at all.  

“Wakey, wakey, Stud.” This time the whispers are accompanied by a kiss on my cheek and I blink my eyes all the way open. “I can’t believe we bored you so badly that you actually fell asleep in the middle of Woody’s.”

Justin is quietly laughing now as I slowly push myself up into a sitting position. I gradually realize I’m not at Babylon after all. I’m still as Woody’s. There’s no fire. No backroom full of trapped men. Just Michael and Justin smiling down at me as I wipe the accumulated drool off my cheek.

“I think it’s time we head home, Brian. If you’re this exhausted, maybe Babylon isn’t the best idea tonight,” Justin suggests as he finishes stowing his drawings and notes from his discussion with Mikey into his bag. “You look like you could use a some sleep in an actual bed.”

I don’t bother to argue. I’m still a little disoriented. Fuck. That dream seemed so real.

We say goodnight to Michael and, with Justin’s arm around my waist, half guiding me, we head out of the bar.

“So, what was it you were dreaming about, Brian,” Justin asks with an impish smile as we make our way down the block together. “You started to whimper a bit at one point, and I thought you were having a bad dream. But, after I kissed you, you seemed to calm down. I would have woken you, but then you got this huge-assed smile on your face and I just didn’t want to ruin it for you. Care to share what had you so blessed out, Mr. Kinney?”

“How about you take me to bed when we get home and I'll let you act it out instead,” I offer.

And then his smile matches mine and we’re both grinning like fools all the rest of the way to the loft.

Maybe fucking your way out of problems is a good real life solution after all? I don’t know. But I’m willing to test the idea out. Even if I do end up with a sore ass and it takes Justin and I all night. Right?