8. Diego #2
“Too bad your abuela isn’t here, bless her soul, she would have loved to see you with the family like this. Todos juntos.”
Todos juntos. Everyone together. Well, not everyone.
Diego got a little choked up then, because he’d always had a special relationship with his abuela.
Mamama, they called her. She took care of him a lot when he was little and his mom had to work, cooked him his favorite meals and doted on him, gave him affection in a way that his mother never had.
He’d known she was sick–too sick to visit him.
She’d passed away while he was in prison, precious moments with her he’d lost and would never get back.
“I really miss her,” Diego said.
Tía nodded and smiled softly. “We all do, mi amor. She’s in Heaven now, watching over us. Especially you. Now, you take care and be a good boy. Don’t forget to come to church. Frederico’s been asking about you.”
“Ay,” Diego said and practically shoved Wylie out the front door. He’d had more than enough nostalgia for one day. The regrets kept piling up like debris in a river bend, clogging his spirit. Back in the passenger seat of Wylie’s car, he finally felt like he could relax and take a full breath.
“That’s a big family,” Wylie said as he looked him over.
Diego nodded at the man’s generous assessment. “That wasn’t even all of them. There are more in Miami.”
“Damn. They’re nice, though. And fun. They really love you.”
Diego shrugged. “Most of the time. When I’m not setting a bad example.”
“Your mom is…intense.”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of like you.”
Diego glanced over at him.
“What? You are,” Wylie insisted with both hands raised defensively.
“Whatever, I’m a teddy bear.”
Wylie shook his head at that. They were quiet for a moment, but Wylie seemed to want to say more. “What is it?” Diego finally asked. He’d never known the man to be shy with his words.
“This is probably none of my business, and I know things between your mom and you are tense right now, but she is your mom. You only get one. And I really miss mine.” He rubbed at his chest with his hand as if trying to soothe the heartache.
“I guess that’s what this is about. Me, missing my mom. Don’t give up on her though, okay?”
Diego felt bad then, for being so down on his mom.
Wylie was right. You only got one mother, and despite them not seeing eye-to-eye on most things, his mother had always stuck by him.
Visited him in prison, even though she absolutely hated it.
Claimed him as her son, even when he was a lying, thieving drug addict.
She was loyal and she loved him, in her own way.
“You’re right. I’m glad I came tonight. I’m going to make more of an effort with this…family stuff.”
Wylie smiled like he’d won something and started up the car.
The rumble of the engine, a soothing lullaby, put Diego further at ease.
They took the long way back along the beaches, taking in the cotton candy clouds edged with gold as the sun set over the water and twilight faded into dusk.
Diego was lost in his own thoughts of family and didn’t think about their destination until Wylie said to him, “So, I’m trying to be nonchalant about this, but I’m discovering that I only have one mode, which is pretty fucking chalant. ”
Diego chuckled at the truth in that statement and glanced over. “Well, what is it you’re chalantly trying to say?”
“Wanna come back to mine for a bit?” Wylie asked with a sly smile.
Diego considered several possible outcomes of his decision, and every one that involved Wylie Sommers was an enthusiastic yes. “Yeah, I do.”
“Bet.”
The rest of the drive was fraught with tension, anticipation building in his chest that was equal parts excitement and terror.
His cock hardened in his pants like some kind of Pavlovian response to Wylie’s teasing smile.
No part of this was keeping his head down or minding his own business, but something about the man made him want to take a risk.
Once inside the trailer, Wylie got them both drinks.
Diego sat on the couch while Wylie took the arm chair, both pieces of furniture relics from decades past, worn but well-maintained and cozy in a way that modern furniture wasn’t.
It reminded Diego of his grandmother’s house before she’d been moved into his mom’s place for her final years.
Wylie definitely had a “grandma core” aesthetic, probably due to all the hand-me-downs and crocheted blankets he got from his neighbors.
Wylie asked a few more questions about his family, probably giving Diego the opportunity to back out gracefully, and Diego tried to explain how the people he’d met that evening were all related, a complex family tree that included a few divorces and affairs.
Wylie loved a good yarn and marveled at the story of Diego’s great grandfather, who’d been a political prisoner in Cuba during Castro’s regime and had come over to the U.S.
after spending several years in a labor camp in the Isle of Pines.
“What a history,” Wylie marveled. “So, you’re practically Cuban royalty then?”
Diego laughed. “My grandmother would have said so. She insists that we are the descendents of Spanish royalty.”
“I don’t know if you know this, but some consider me the prince of Sunset Village.” Wylie nudged his foot playfully.
“Definitely a royal pain,” Diego teased back.
The good mood he’d been building all night hadn’t faded, much of which he attributed to the man sitting across from him.
Wylie had been willing to stand by his side, meet his mother, and joke around with his snarky cousins.
And as he gazed over at Wylie splayed out so casually on a decades-old plaid recliner, all long limbs and youthful ease, he wanted a taste of that carefree abandon, felt compelled by an almost obsessive desire to go down on his knees for the man.
Wylie, sensing the shift in the air, set aside his glass of water and leveled his gaze at Diego, both hands resting on the arms of the recliner like a jungle cat eyeing its prey.
“What’s up?” Wylie said with a little up-nod while daring him with his eyes to make a move.
Diego shook his head slowly as if waking from a dream. “Just thinking about some things.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of things?” Wylie licked his lips suggestively, rolling that damn piercing across his teeth, tempting him.
Diego’s heated gaze tracked from Wylie’s mouth to the bulge in his khakis, and he figured, fuck it, why not? Wylie seemed to appreciate the direct approach, and he seriously doubted he’d be denied. “Mainly I was thinking about what your dick tastes like,” Diego said.
Wylie’s nostrils flared, clearly shocked by his candor, but he recovered quickly, then smiled wide.
“You are one hundred percent welcome to find out.” He shot up to a standing position and unbuttoned his shirt with alarming dexterity before tossing it aside.
In record time his belt was unbuckled and his pants and boxers were down around his ankles, so that his hard dick flopped up against his stomach when he sat back down.
His thighs were paler than the rest of him, and his dick was a dark, ruddy hue, already slick with precum.
Cut and thick and long, with a nice set of branching veins along the underside of his shaft.
Big, hairy balls. Dang, Wylie was hung. The younger man grabbed his rod with one hand and pumped it a few times like priming an air gun, the head of it all wet and shiny.
His strokes were confident and strong, just like when he gripped that stick shift.
“Been sportin’ that for a while?” Diego asked while swallowing back the saliva that had flooded his tongue.
“Yeah, can’t help that you’re hot as fuck. Come on over, sexy. Don’t be shy.”
Diego hadn’t exactly planned for this, but now that they were here…
He dropped to his knees on the carpet and crawled across the floor, arriving at the armchair to yank Wylie’s pants and boxers all the way off of him and toss them aside.
He still had his socks on, but Diego kind of liked that.
Light blonde hair dusted his tanned legs.
Muscular calves, knobby knees, thighs meant for long-distance running.
His gaze traveled upward to the man’s broad shoulders and toned arms. Tiny, pink nipples on a set of pecs that Diego would love to train if he could get Wylie to a gym.
A light dusting of freckles across his chest.
“You should eat more. Prioritize protein,” Diego said.
“Yeah, I get distracted and forget to eat. You wanna write me a meal plan or suck this dick?”
Wylie was still pumping his shaft slowly, hypnotically, and Diego was completely riveted by the show.
It’d been so long since he’d given into his baser desires, and this was a truly exceptional specimen.
He batted Wylie’s hand away, feeling possessive of the tool, and took over to slowly stroke his thick shaft.
Warm and pulsing against his palm with a thick, syrupy thread of precum dribbling from the slit, Diego was enthralled.
Wylie put both hands behind his head and slouched back a little in his chair, legs spread wide like a king in his castle.
“Fuck yeah,” he murmured, his half-lidded eyes focused on Diego.
“Use this.” He produced a tube of lube from under the cushion–Diego would ask about that later–and squeezed a blob of it onto his tip.
Diego gathered it up in the hollow of his hand and stroked downward, the soft skin glistening as it slid through his fist. Ridged veins throbbed in his hand, and Diego felt the flicker of a tremor pass through Wylie’s body.
“Hope you don’t mind the taste. It’s cherry,” Wylie said, stretching his neck.
“Of course it is,” Diego replied with amusement. The lube could taste like dog food, and Diego would still be into it, into this.
On a particularly sweet downstroke, Wylie groaned, abs clenching. “I’ll come,” he warned. “It won’t take much. It’s been a while.”