Chapter -12- #2
It’s a question he should have an automatic response to. Things like Money and prestige. To prove the aunties wrong. It’s a lifelong career goal. But that’s not the answer Denz gives.
“This company—what my dad’s done—is why my family has anything, ” he says. “It’s why I am where I am.”
Denz spent 90 percent of college avoiding the spotlight.
He didn’t want to be on twenty-four-fucking-seven.
When asked, he never went into deep detail about his dad’s company.
It’s not like Braylon couldn’t see it whenever they visited home.
How, outside of Athens, being a Carter was Denz’s entire world.
Back then, he didn’t know who he wanted to be outside of that.
Now, he does. He thinks. He hopes.
“All my life, I wanted to be my dad.”
Braylon’s seen the Marvelous Weddings clip.
Knows that part of Denz’s backstory. He decides, in this tiny kitchen scented with bacon and butter and a hint of cardamom, to tell him more, finally.
How he’s determined to make the impact Kenneth has on other people’s lives.
That losing the one thing that gave him purpose as a kid feels like drowning.
His constant fear of being… enough . For everyone.
He whispers, “Do you know what it’s like to be so scared you’re going to fail that you constantly fuck up anyways?”
“Um. ’Ello.” Braylon snorts. “I’m the gay son of an art curator and a first-gen Nigerian American doctor . My whole life is a severe case of impostor syndrome. But you’re not a fraud, Denz.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been there. Been you .”
Denz leaves room for Braylon to continue.
“I followed my dad’s dreams for me,” he says, taking his eyes off Denz to wash dishes. “Moving for a job. Starting a new life. I thought I was making him proud. Doing what he expected of me.”
Denz chews instead of commenting.
“I was wrong.”
Under the lights, Braylon’s face sharpens. His nostrils flare. That sad gleam returns to his eyes.
“I learned a lot about myself in London.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “But I—”
Denz holds his breath.
But he what? Regrets leaving? Wishes he would’ve given Denz more time to make a decision? Should’ve ignored Emmanuel’s advice? He wants to apologize?
“I would’ve done it differently,” Braylon says. He dries his hands on a towel. “I wish I could tell him how I felt back then. How I feel now too. But he’s gone and…”
Silence. Another unfinished sentence.
As Braylon puts away dishes, Denz says, “I really liked your dad.”
“He was a complicated man.” A wistful smile nudges Braylon’s lips. “But he loved you too, Denz. Truly.”
Denz looks away. He doesn’t want to give in to his thoughts. The guilt he feels for still being a little angry with Emmanuel, even in death.
“Maybe this is your chance to do things differently,” Braylon suggests. “What do you want for yourself?”
“I—” Denz stops short.
He’s known since the moment he put on his graduation robes where his future was headed.
Before that, too. Like freshman year when he picked his major.
Or when he was ten, watching his parents’ second chance at a dream wedding reception.
As a six-year-old, witnessing his dad save Audrey Hudson’s big day.
But he never bothered to ask if it was what he wanted? Is Kami right? Is this his fantasy, not his dream?
“I don’t know,” Denz confesses. “Guess I haven’t changed that much.”
Braylon doesn’t argue with him. Instead, he slots himself between Denz’s knees.
Their eyes meet. Denz inhales peeled oranges and cardamom. His tongue absently flicks over his lips.
He doesn’t know the proper etiquette for having your ex-now-fake-boyfriend’s hips bracketed by your knees. His hands rubbing your thighs. He’d check Reddit if all his brain power wasn’t already rerouted to his rapidly rising dick.
“Actually, I’m not so different either.” Braylon smiles wickedly. His hands inch higher. “There are certain things I still… enjoy .”
Denz can’t simultaneously focus on breathing and staring at Braylon, so he chooses the latter. Who needs oxygen anyway?
Ivory light halos Braylon’s messy, dark curls. Hunger creeps into the corners of his eyes. He leans in. Warm breaths ghost across Denz’s lips. Then, prickly scruff scratches down his cheek as Braylon bypasses his mouth.
He hovers in the space under Denz’s jaw to whisper, “Can I kiss you… here?”
Denz grips the counter’s edge. “Y-yes.”
The pressure is feather-light, then gone.
“And here?” Braylon’s mouth rests against Denz’s Adam’s apple. Denz barely responds before lips open around the cartilage. The kiss comes with a hint of teeth.
At the base of his throat. “Here?”
“Sure.” Denz clenches all his muscles as Braylon lingers, his tongue tracing. Fingers dance along Denz’s hips but never stay for long. Just enough to create a ripple of goose bumps across Denz’s skin.
“What if I kiss you—” Braylon’s head dips. “—here?” He tugs at Denz’s sweater, exposing his collarbone.
“I, uh.” Denz gasps. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” Braylon skims his mouth along the bone’s shape. “Because I can—”
“Please.”
Braylon complies enthusiastically. His tongue glides across the surface. Numbness tingles into Denz’s fingertips. He’s gripping the counter too hard. His thighs tremble as Braylon presses into him to taste more skin.
Each kiss comes with an arch of Denz’s spine. Every yes or more that crawls up his throat, he swallows back.
Braylon grabs his hips. Yanks him forward. He positions Denz close enough to nip at the tendons along his neck, returning to places he’s already been, renewing the tender soreness under Denz’s skin.
“What about h—”
“God, yes. Just do it.”
Denz hates Braylon’s laugh against his damp throat. He wants more teeth, less talking.
Braylon tugs his sweater up. “What if I kissed you here?”
“Hnngh” is all Denz can reply with when Braylon tongues one of his nipples. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t so impressed with his ability to form any noise as Braylon delicately kisses the other side of his chest. He’s aware of the thumbs slipping into the waist of his jeans.
The fingers playing with the button.
“Denz,” Braylon breathes against his sternum. “I have another question.”
A hand strokes the line of Denz’s cock behind the denim.
He practically yelps. “ Shit, what?”
“Can I kiss you,” Braylon pauses, looking up through his eyelashes, “down here?”
Either the thunder’s returned or Denz’s heart’s about to combust. He bites his lip hard, unsure how to answer. Their arrangement has rules.
Something-something about sex, right?
“What about the no-sex rule?” he manages, thighs spreading.
“This isn’t sex.”
Denz laughs, head tipped back. “It’s literally called oral sex .”
“I call it a blow job.”
“Same difference.”
“Technically, not.” Braylon exhales contently when it’s Denz who undoes the button, yanks at the zipper. Together, they work his jeans and boxers to his ankles. Braylon crouches, tongue sliding over the unshaven hair under Denz’s navel. “Sometimes I call it head.”
“S-same… d-diff—”
Denz gives up after Braylon’s teeth pinch the valley of his hipbone. Dizziness overtakes him. More kisses smooth along the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. He can’t breathe. Then, Braylon’s mouth dips into the dark hair surrounding Denz’s cock.
“I love watching your toes curl when I—”
Instead of finishing, Braylon swallows half of his erection in one go.
Denz dissolves into nonsensical words and noises.
In college, Braylon was clumsy and self-conscious about sex. Denz was his first everything . But each time brought out an eager, more determined Braylon. A renewed need to find ways to leave Denz speechless.
Now… he’s deliberate and thorough. Fucking godlike. Denz doesn’t want to think about where he learned any of this. Who he’s practiced on. To stop himself from screaming, he says, “I hate tea.”
Braylon sinks lower.
“I hate vinegar on fries.”
Soft kisses tickle from the base of his cock to the tip.
“Union Jacks.” Denz fights the compulsion to grab the back of Braylon’s head. To keep him in one place. “Stupid Big Ben. The 1975. Wembley. Buckingham fucking Palace—”
Braylon’s mouth slides off. The noise his throat makes is somewhere between a groan and growl.
“Are you quite finished?”
Almost, Denz thinks. He makes the mistake of looking down. Staring into wide, blown-out eyes. A slick pink mouth hovering above his shiny cock. Braylon’s left hand is braced against the front of his own joggers, palming his hard-on like he’s on the edge too.
It’s enough to undo Denz.
“Um, yes?”
“Good.”
With zero hesitation, Braylon takes him fully. He doesn’t choke. There’s no pause for adjusting. Only a throat swallowing. Warmth and velvety softness and holy shit .
Denz can’t watch anymore. He can still hear it. The slurping. Braylon’s hand moving faster along his own erection. The tiny, eager noises he makes around Denz’s dick.
Like he can’t get enough.
It’s an overstimulating hurricane that leaves Denz shivering. Against every shred of will he has left, Denz’s toes curl. He hisses a “fuck the monarchy” before going boneless on the countertop.
He barely has the energy to lower his eyes again.
The sight sets another wave of trembles through him:
Joggers pooled around Braylon’s thighs. A tight fist around his flushed, wet cock. Tremoring shoulders. Swollen lips letting out hot, choppy breaths as he comes. His expression is as blissed out as Denz feels.
Maybe Braylon hasn’t changed that much after all.