Chapter 30
The note on the table had Hannah’s familiar handwriting—good handwriting, the letters clear and distinct. Scipio decided he wanted a sleepover.
A single lamp burned in the living room, and the rest of the house was dark. Quiet, too, at this hour, and without the click of Scipio’s nails on the hardwood, or the Lab’s excited breathing, or the conversation that the dog’s existence created, by necessity, between Jem and Tean.
Jem hadn’t really thought about that before. How long had they not been talking, but they hadn’t realized it because they’d filled the silence by talking about Scipio? The straights probably did the same thing with kids.
Tean was sliding out of his jacket, the movements ginger, and it wasn’t until he was free of it that Jem saw the mud stain on the back of Tean’s shirt. The fabric was stiff when he touched it, and dirt flaked away.
“What happened to you?”
“Remember how I, uh, assaulted that rancher?”
“Tried to knock his block off, I think you mean. Hold on, did that piece of shit put a hand on you?”
“Jem, I swung at him first.”
Which counted for jack shit in Jem’s opinion. Some of that must have made it onto his face, because Tean laughed and said, “He shoved me, and I fell. It’s not a big deal.”
But in the bedroom, when he tried to take the shirt off, he looked stiff, and he made a soft sound of discomfort.
“I’m going to murder him,” Jem said in the same tone he used to tell people about the satellite radio feature.
He pushed Tean’s hands away, grabbed the shirt by the hem, and rolled it up and over Tean’s head.
Tean made that sound again when Jem tugged the fabric over his shoulder, but then the shirt was free.
In that same bright, helpful tone, Jem said, “I’m going to cut his balls off. ”
Tean laughed as he resettled his glasses.
Jem took the opportunity to start undoing Tean’s belt, then the button on his waistband.
He kept the movements businesslike, but all the contact was the same: the backs of his fingers pressing into Tean’s flat stomach, the tickle of that soft, dark hair that led in a trail down from his belly button, knuckles bumping against one hip bone.
Sometimes, Tean was way too easy to read.
“Shower,” Jem said with a laugh as he yanked Tean’s khakis free.
Tean gave him a surprisingly disappointed look, but all he said was “You can go first if you want.”
“Yeah, I know what the inside of a cell feels like. Go. You probably want to claw your skin off.”
This time, the smile was a sad, curled-up one, but Tean kissed Jem’s cheek and headed into the bathroom in nothing but his briefs and socks.
The water began to run, and then the sound changed to the spray of the shower.
Jem threw Tean’s clothes in the hamper. Then he made his way around the house, just in case.
Hannah had cleaned up all of Scipio’s toys.
The trash didn’t need to be taken out. He checked the deadbolt, turned off the lamp, and stood there, for a moment, in the dark.
Porch lights up and down the street were fixed in the front window like fireflies.
The shower cut off, and by the time Jem got to their bedroom, Tean was pulling on a fresh pair of briefs.
He was so thin: bone and muscle under soft brown skin.
The hollow of his shoulder filled with shadow when he bent to pull up the briefs.
The stripe of hair down the center of his chest was fluffy from the towel.
He had more of that thick hair around his dick and balls, where his skin lightened.
The elastic waistband snapped into place.
“Aren’t you going to rinse off?” Tean asked.
Jem’s answer was a crooked smile. Tean laughed as he found an oversized sweatshirt in one of the drawers—one of Jem’s, an old Smith Fieldhouse one that was perfect for fall days. Or nights.
Jem reached for the sweatshirt.
“I can do it,” Tean said quietly.
But Jem helped him into it anyway. Tean’s little grunt when he tried to raise his shoulder made a light flash behind Jem’s eyes, but he kept his face smooth, his smile easy. When he let the sweatshirt fall against Tean’s body, he said, “That looks good on you.”
Tean touched his glasses. He angled his body away. “I wanted something warm.”
Jem made a sound that could have passed for agreement or acknowledgment or anything, really, and began undressing as Tean got into bed. The doc was reaching for one of the books on his nightstand as Jem passed into the bathroom.
The water was still warm, and Jem was quick, and quick again with the towel. He pushed his hair around until it looked decent. He studied his face. He tried a smile. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. And then: I’m going to throw up.
But he didn’t.
He padded back into the bedroom, found a pair of trunks, and pulled them on. When he crawled into bed, the sheets were ice, so he dragged himself over to Tean and lay against him as Tean read.
Ten minutes might have passed before Tean said, “I’m going to turn off the light.”
Jem’s muzzy “’kay” was all he could manage.
The light went out. Tean adjusted the pillows, squirmed around, and eventually stopped moving. He was probably two inches away from Jem, stiff as a board, and Jem guessed he had one cheek hanging off the edge of the mattress.
“C’mere,” Jem murmured, and he looped one arm around Tean and drew him closer, until Tean’s back was pressed to Jem’s chest. Under Jem’s hand, Tean’s heart was racing. Jem kissed his ear. “’s’alright. Go to sleep.”
Tean took a deep breath. And then another. And his heart slowed.
Jem took his own advice.
The dream was of a kitchen with a vinyl tablecloth and worn linoleum.
A page Jem had done from a Power Rangers coloring book hung on the old fridge.
The front door was open, and a cold breeze came in from the landing, making the page from the coloring book flap under the Pizza Hut magnet.
His feet had been so cold, even though sun filled the window over the sink, flashed on the glass in the oven door, turned everything white.
He woke with a jerk, confused by the darkness after everything had been so bright, his throat tight. Pieces of the puzzle: he was in a bed, a body warm against his, the familiar smell of skin and hair.
And then Tean took Jem’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed Jem’s knuckles. Then he kissed his fingertips. Then nothing, in a moment that yawned. And then he took Jem’s index finger into his mouth.
Jem started to harden, his dick still trapped between their bodies, constricted by the trunks. “Hey,” he whispered, and he kissed Tean’s ear again. “Slow down. We don’t have to do anything.”
In answer, Tean’s tongue swirled around the tip of his finger.
The blow job from the other night aside, it had been a long time.
And even counting the blow job, a long time since the interest had felt…
mutual. Jem was still caught between that place of sleeping and waking, his body loose and warm and relaxed, and it was all so intense, so easy, happening without thought, without even waiting.
But he made himself say, “Today was a lot. We can just be here together.”
Tean dragged his tongue along the length of Jem’s finger, and then it popped free of his mouth. Without speaking, he brought Jem’s hand under his sweatshirt until Jem’s fingers touched his nipple. The faint hair there clung to still-wet skin.
Jem rubbed, and Tean’s nipple stiffened. He caught it between two fingers and tugged. Tean made a pleased noise.
“Slow down,” Jem said, but he dragged his beard along the side of Tean’s neck, and he lowered his mouth to Tean’s ear.
Tean twisted, trying to get away from the scratch of Jem’s beard and, at the same time, moving into it.
When Jem blew out lightly, Tean started at the brush of hot breath, and then he shivered.
Jem ground his trapped dick against Tean’s ass.
He twisted his nipple harder this time, and Tean moaned.
“What are you doing?” Jem asked with a little laugh.
“I said slow down.” But then he pinched again, and scraped his beard along sensitive skin, and bit the shell of Tean’s ear.
Tean’s breathing sounded punched out. He brought Jem’s hand down to his dick; the briefs were tucked behind his balls, and pre was slick against Jem’s fingers.
Jem stayed just long enough to make sure Tean knew he’d gotten the message.
Then he brought his hand back up to Tean’s other nipple and started the process again: light brushes, and then gentle tugs, and then, as his beard rasped along Tean’s neck, those harder twists and pulls that made Tean lose control.
Tean pushed at Jem’s hands. He flipped over. In the dark, Jem couldn’t make out anything except the shape of him, but his breathing was fast and shallow. Tean kissed him—tentatively at first, trying to find him. And then, when their mouths connected, harder.
With a catch to his breath, Tean pulled back and said, “I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking.”
Jem’s eyes stung. He blinked them clear and ran a hand through Tean’s wild hair. Then he cupped the back of his head and brought him into a kiss again.
Somehow, they ended up with Jem leaning over Tean, kissing, touching, hands wandering.
Tean kept trying to bring Jem’s hands to his dick.
Jem let him. And then he pulled away again, tracing Tean’s leanly muscled thigh, following a jutting hipbone, curving up the small of his back so that Tean arched up toward his mouth.
When Jem tried to kick his trunks off, he fell out of bed.
A thud. And then answering silence. And then, through laughter, Tean trying to ask, “Are you okay?”
Jem hopped to his feet. He flipped on the lamp. Tean shaded his eyes, but he kept laughing, rolling his head away and then back to study Jem.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Jem said as he plucked the trunks from where they still hung around one ankle.
Tean reached out to press down on Jem’s dick. It bobbed back up when Tean released it. “I can see that.”
“Ha ha,” Jem said as he climbed onto the bed.
A grin splashed across Tean’s face. He was always so serious. Always so responsible. And the expression now made him look younger, playful, alive. “Give me that big cock.”
When they’d first started fooling around—no, Jem thought, that wasn’t right. When they’d first started making love, even though Jem hadn’t known that was what they were doing, Tean had tried dirty talk. In a moment of maybe not-too-smart honesty, Jem had told him he sounded like a robot.
Well, he didn’t sound like a robot now. He sounded like Tean. He sounded like Jem’s Tean. When he needed a good dicking.
Smirking, Jem settled himself between Tean’s legs. He ran his hands up Tean’s calves, the hair whispering against his palms. He was so goddamn thin, but under Jem’s hands was the dense definition of muscle built from miles of hiking. Up to the knees. Then sliding along Tean’s thighs.
He thought about saying, I love you.
Instead, he hooked his arms around Tean’s legs and dragged him down the bed.
Tean’s head slid off the pillow. Jem opened the drawer in the nightstand and found the lube.
He squeezed some into his hand, lifted one of Tean’s legs over his shoulder, and found Tean’s hole.
He moved slowly at first, spreading the lube around, pressing at the opening with his thumb until it started to give, and then stroking away the pressure again.
When he slid his index finger in, there was a moment of resistance, and then Tean let out a breath and raised his hips fractionally.
At two fingers, he shifted again, but when Jem curled and dragged and searched, Tean hissed, and his heel dug into Jem’s shoulder blade.
Jem kissed his leg. He eased his fingers free and scooted closer.
Both of Tean’s legs were over his shoulders now, and Tean had raised his head.
The angle made his eyes fall into shadow, but it didn’t matter.
The tightness that had marked his expression for months now was gone.
No more of that dark, almost angry seriousness.
In its place, he looked exposed. Vulnerable.
A hint of a blush. Lips parted. Hair standing up like he’d been fried by lightning.
The first thrust was slow. Even after being loosened up, Tean’s body tried to resist. And then Jem was past, sliding into the tight ring of muscle. Slow. Slow. Slow.
Tean had his head back, and the lamplight ran over him like a river. His face was scrunched up. And tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. He must have sensed Jem’s hesitation because he whispered, “I’m fine. I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.” And a heartbeat later, “Don’t stop.”
Which was good, because Jem wasn’t sure he could stop.
He moved carefully at first, because the temptation was to rush.
Even with the lube, there was still that pleasant grit, still that intense tightness before Tean’s body began to surrender.
But when Tean tilted his head back, his Adam’s apple jutting out, and whimpered, Jem rolled his hips.
And when Tean grabbed at the sheet, fingers opening and closing, Jem adjusted, rising up, angling Tean’s body, until Tean let out a short, shocked “Oh shit!”
“Fuck yeah,” Jem said and let himself go.
He lasted longer than he expected, but he didn’t last long.
As the orgasm made his vision tunnel, he drilled into Tean, hips bucking, trying to get as much as he could as fast as he could in those final seconds.
And then he jittered to a halt, leaning over Tean, propped on his hands, dragging down harsh breaths.
Tean wiggled a little, turning his head to the side, the movements slow and stretching like he was getting comfortable. The light glowed like bronze on his skin. A dime-sized spot of come marked his belly.
“Fuck,” Jem said, sitting back so he could rub Tean’s legs.
“I was a little pent up,” Tean said with a smile.
He closed his eyes, head still turned to the side, and began to stroke himself.
Jem bent over him, kissing his shoulder, his jaw, the chafed skin of his neck.
He was still mostly hard. Tean started to move, angling his hips until he was pressing that spot inside himself against Jem’s dick, and then he made a choked sound and came.
They stayed like that for a while: Jem kissing him slowly, carefully, trying not to miss an inch of skin, and Tean uncoiled beneath him.
“Lie down with me,” Tean finally murmured, curling his fingers through Jem’s hair.
Jem did. A few minutes, and then he’d clean them both up.
But he closed his eyes. And Tean ran his nails lightly up and down Jem’s forearm. And then he was gone.