Chapter 10
TEN
Emmett didn’t think through the mechanics of asking Lincoln to come into his bedroom until he shut the door, sealing them both into a small space occupied by a twin bed, a long dresser, and a computer desk.
The room had once been an office space for Beatrice, before she took him in, and sometimes he hated that she’d lost her home office because of him.
She’d told him he could redecorate if he wanted, but he’d never been able to do that.
Which was probably why Lincoln stared at the dark purple walls, bright yellow trim, and shimmery silver curtains that came with the place.
“I’m guessing this isn’t your personal touch?” Lincoln asked.
“No. Beatrice decorated it a long time ago.”
“I can kind of tell.” He settled on the bed and ran his hand over the bedspread, which was a patchwork sari material in bold colors and patterns. “It’s all very Beatrice.”
“Yes, it is.” Emmett sat next to him so their knees touched, and the fact that he was on his bed with a man he very much wanted to have sex with made him instantly, painfully hard. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Lincoln glanced at his lap, his smile easygoing and open. “Don’t worry, Em. As much as I want to see you naked, I’m not going to accost you, I promise. I really would like to do a few songs with you.”
As long as I can do you after.
The unexpectedly bold thought unnerved Emmett. Being around Lincoln destroyed so many of the walls he’d built around his sexuality. Lincoln made him want to be open about himself and what he wanted, and as a nineteen-year-old man with a healthy libido, he very definitely wanted sex.
Sex got your family killed.
Stop. No, it didn’t. That’s fear talking.
“I’d like to do you, too,” Emmett said. Then blushed like a madman. “I mean, um, do some songs with you.”
Lincoln’s smile went absolutely feral. “Good.” He pushed buttons and switches on the surface of the QChord like someone who’d done it his entire life. “‘Sound of Silence’?”
Emmett blinked hard. “Yeah?”
“Sure. It’s your favorite, right?”
He remembered. “Yes, okay.”
Lincoln counted off to himself, and then began to strum his fingers across the flat, black rectangle on one end of the synthesizer. Instead of the expected guitar sound, the notes were closer to that of a classical piano. Emmett was so surprised by that he almost missed his cue to begin singing.
He wasn’t warmed up, so he didn’t put as much force into the lyrics as he usually would, but he felt them inside just the same.
“Hello darkness, my old friend . . .” As he sang, he watched Lincoln.
Watched the intent way he created beautiful music out of a truly bizarre-looking instrument.
How the tip of his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth.
The way he sang along, nearly inaudibly so, during the refrains.
What little Emmett heard wasn’t all that bad. With proper vocal training, Lincoln could sing backup with no problem.
“And echoed in the wells of silence. . . .”
Lincoln drew out the final measures of the song, and they both went silent.
Emmett’s mouth was dry, his pulse racing, his dick rock-hard in his jeans.
Lincoln was also breathing hard, his gaze still fixed on his QChord, as if afraid to look up.
The song lyrics held the weight of so many things within them—the way silence could destroy a chance at creativity and joy; the way fear could hobble your entire life.
Destroy it, even.
Something inside of Emmett’s chest fractured, allowing those lyrics to seep in and, for the first time, truly take hold. He was one of those ten thousand existing in silence, never breaking free. Not allowing himself to be happy. Not allowing himself to truly be himself, because silence was safer.
He was tired of being silent. He had a voice and he wanted to use it.
The tears didn’t register until one dripped off his chin and splashed onto the back of his hand. Emmett wiped them away, and that got Lincoln’s attention. He put the QChord on the floor and cupped both of Emmett’s cheeks.
“Are you okay, babe?”
Emmett nodded, wrapping his hands around Lincoln’s wrists. Needing the contact. “Yes. I think I finally heard that song. Really heard it. Is that ironic, since it’s about silence?”
Lincoln kissed his forehead then nuzzled his nose. “It’s beautiful.”
“I don’t want to be a ghost anymore, Lincoln. I have a voice. I want to use it.”
“To sing?”
Emmett laughed. “To sing, to speak, to be myself. Really be me. I know it won’t always be easy, but I have people who support me.”
“Yeah, you do.”
He stared into the blue depths of Lincoln’s eyes and saw truth there—as well as a silent promise that he had Lincoln’s support, no matter what.
And that meant everything. That support gave him the courage to slide his right hand along Lincoln’s arm to his shoulder, then down past his ribs to squeeze his waist.
Lincoln’s eyes went heavy-lidded, and his lips parted. “Tell me what you want?”
With a shuddering sigh that sent arousal rocketing to all parts of his body, Emmett let that questing hand shift lower, to the very top of Lincoln’s thigh, thumb pressing into the crease of his pelvis.
Lincoln shifted slightly, angling into the touch, never breaking eye contact.
They’d been building to this for days. An inevitable outcome for two men who were incredibly attracted to each other.
Emmett wanted Lincoln with a ferocity he couldn’t explain and it kind of scared him. “You” was all he could manage to say. “Please.”
“Please” seemed to do it every time.
Lincoln inhaled him in a kind of kiss Emmett had never experienced before.
A claiming kiss that was all lips and tongue and wet and promise.
Emmett pressed the heel of his palm over the hard length of Lincoln’s erection, and Lincoln growled into his mouth.
A growl as seductive as it was fierce, because it pushed a bunch of Emmett’s buttons.
And as much as he wanted to stay inside their kiss and live there forever, Emmett wanted something else more. Something he’d craved and missed and needed now before he exploded from the want.
He ripped away from the kiss, his lips damp and already missing Lincoln’s, and then slid to his knees in front of Lincoln.
Lincoln stared down at him, cheeks blazing, panting through his open mouth.
When he finally caught up with Emmett’s train of thought, his lazy grin nearly undid Emmett.
Lincoln popped the fly button on his shorts, then leaned back on his palms. Emmett pulled the zipper with shaky fingers.
Lincoln lifted his hips long enough for Emmett to tug his shorts and briefs down to his ankles, and then Emmett’s entire world was the long cock in front of him.
He’s so much bigger than Eric.
By several inches, at least. Eric’s small penis hadn’t bothered him in the least back then, because penis. Now he worried that his lack of experience sucking bigger dicks was going to end in choking embarrassment.
Lincoln cupped his chin, that lazy smile still in place. “Don’t overthink it, babe.”
“I’ve only . . . with one . . .” He wasn’t sure what he was saying, because he didn’t want to mess up, but he also didn’t want to bring another guy into bed with them. Not even in the comments section.
“You’re about to go down on me,” Lincoln said, so much gentleness and adoration in his lyrical voice. “It’s going to be amazing because it’s you.”
Emmett would have melted into a puddle of goo if he didn’t have something more important to do. He wrapped his left hand around the base of Lincoln’s cock, watching how Lincoln’s nostrils flared at the touch. Emmett maintained eye contact as he flicked his tongue out, receiving his first taste.
Lincoln hadn’t thought anything could be sexier than Emmett going to his knees in front of him.
Then Emmett exploded that theory by looking directly at him while his pink tongue swiped across the head of Lincoln’s cock for the first time.
Something deeper, stronger than arousal surged through him at that first touch.
It seeped into his pores, his bloodstream, every nerve ending and cell.
Mine.
Emmett sucked the crown into his mouth, and Lincoln’s arms trembled, no longer wanting to support him.
The wet heat around his cock threatened to send him to the moon, and he relaxed into the beautiful way Emmett played notes on this part of his body.
He collapsed onto his bent elbows, desperate to see every moment, while his body wanted him to shut his eyes and surrender to the gorgeous melody that was Emmett blowing him.
His Emmett.
Blowing him.
So good. Lincoln’s balls drew up way too fast, warning him how good it was. He ran his fingers through Emmett’s soft brown hair, enjoying a brief discovery of almost black roots, then tapped his cheek. “Too close, babe.”
Emmett pulled off, his damp lips slightly puffy and so goddamn sexy. His eyes were bright, his cheeks red; he looked like someone who truly loved what he was doing. “You don’t want me to get you off?”
Oh yes, he did. “Not yet. Wanna suck you first.”
A new hesitation in Emmett’s expression sent all kinds of weird feelings through Lincoln’s stomach.
Emmett had said that he and his high school hookup had progressed to blow jobs—but not who blew whom.
Anger rocketed through him. If that Eric jerk had let Emmett blow him without returning the favor, Lincoln would hunt the asshat down and shove his size-thirteen shoe so far up his ass he’d choke on the shoelaces.
Emmett climbed back up to sit by him on the bed, extra inches of distance between them now. “Are you angry at me? Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Lincoln curled his hand around Emmett’s, grateful that he didn’t pull away. “Sorry, my brain spun away on me. You’ve had a blow job before, right?”
“Of course. I told you I had.”
“Okay. Then why did you seem so hesitant about me sucking you?”