39. Orion
Orion
Three months later
There’s a hell of a commotion in the bedroom.
Heavy thuds on the floor, a lot of banging on the wall, and a few cuss words thrown in here and there.
It’s so loud that I can hear it in the shower despite the din of the water.
I turn the faucet off and poke my head out of the cubicle to investigate.
It’s gone quiet, but eerily so. I get out and dry myself, throwing on a pair of shorts hurriedly before making my way to the bedroom.
Jordan intercepts me, holding my bedroom door mostly closed with only his head and neck visible. Nothing about this is normal, not even for Jordan, and that’s a worry.
“What are you doing in there?” I demand.
He doesn’t smile exactly, but he pulls his lips into a tight, pleased-with-himself dot. “I got you a present.”
“What? Why? It’s not my birthday.”
“’Cause I wanted to,” he says, shooing me away from the doorway. “Go wait in the living room. I’ll come and get you when it’s ready.”
He closes the door firmly, so I’m left with no choice but to get coffee and breakfast started. It’s all very strange. For the next few minutes, there’s more noise from the bedroom, and at one point, I hear Jordan say, “Shitting hell,” quite loudly.
After that, it’s quiet, and then I hear his footsteps padding down the hall. He appears in the living room, coming to a sudden stop when he sees me. His lips part slightly and the gold in his eyes turns to mush. “Oh God,” he whispers reverently. “There you are.”
His gaze travels slowly down my body, sticking on my pecs before gliding down my abs. They get to my dick and his top lip flares into the goofiest, sappiest of grins. He raises his hand, forefinger pointing at the floor, and draws a small circle in the air.
I roll my eyes with an elaborate huff. He does this every day, and every day I pretend not to enjoy it.
“Come on, baby.” He quirks his brows ridiculously. “Show me. You know you want to.”
Sadly, he’s right. Despite myself, I love this little ritual, and I love how this part always plays out.
I put my coffee on the counter, sighing loudly, and spin around. When I turn my back on him, Jordan whimpers softly. “Oh God, there’s your perfect ass. Just attached to you, like always.”
He closes the space between us in less than a second, and big, warm hands are all over me immediately.
He kisses my neck as he slides both hands in my pants and kneads my ass cheeks with meaning.
His touch is gentle, slow, and sure, just how I like it.
Blunt nails graze the underside of my cheeks, squeezing to test their weight.
He does it until my thoughts slow. Until my blood runs thick.
I know from experience that there are a million different ways this little ritual could play out.
I could end up bent over the counter getting my ass enthusiastically eaten, or I could find myself on my knees on the floor with his dick rammed inside me.
I could get my prostate pummeled, or, if I play my cards right, I could swallow Jordan’s load before my coffee has gone cold.
One thing’s for sure: no matter how it plays out, since Jordan and I got together, my first dose of caffeine is no longer the highlight of my morning.
Today is different though. Jordan peels his hands off my ass, whining softly in my ear as he does it. He kisses me lightly on the lips and holds his hand out to me. I slot mine in his and our fingers lace together.
Holding hands with Jordan still makes me giddy.
It makes me smile whether I mean to or not.
There’s a softness to it. A sweetness that rouses butterflies low in my belly and makes them flutter uncontrollably.
It happens every time he reaches for my hand, but there’s something familiar about it now.
Something natural and known. Something I’ve gotten used to.
Something good that I’ve started to accept is a permanent fixture in my life.
He leads me to the bedroom and swings the door open.
The lights are off and the curtains are drawn. It’s dimly lit, with only a little light stealing in through the cracks. Despite that, I spot the change in the room instantly. I can’t miss it because it’s quite literally glowing.
My jaw drops and my free hand flies to my mouth.
There, on the wall above my bed, is one of the most spectacular creations I’ve seen.
It’s large, almost as wide as my bed and at least three or four feet high.
I’m not sure if you’d call it a painting or an installation, but it’s a work of art either way.
It’s a night sky with a mythical slant. A dark, moody sheet of midnight blue pierced with a galaxy of stars that have been lit from behind.
On the left, above my side of the bed, there’s a figure that has been subtly carved into the night. A hunter pinned in the stars.
“Orion,” Jordan says softly. “My love. My friend.”
My eyes sting and hot tears spill down my cheeks.
Jordan takes me into his arms and wipes them away, taking care to kiss each eyelid when he’s done.
His smile isn’t burned paper. It isn’t easy, and it doesn’t look like it costs him nothing.
It looks like it costs him a lot. It’s all the smiles I’ve ever seen on him heated and rolled into one.
“Jordy,” I cry, winding my arms tightly around his neck. “It’s— It’s incredible. It’s unbelievable. Thank you so much.”
He raises a careless shoulder, though I can tell he likes my reaction. “It’s no biggie. Andy did the painting, but I poured the resin, drilled the lights in, and had the idea.”
“The resin and lights are my favorite part,” I tell him quickly. “And the idea.”
His brows shoot up happily. “They are?”
“Absolutely. I hardly even noticed the painting.” He shakes his head at me and laughs, reaching behind me to swat my ass. He gets distracted on contact and starts fondling it instead.
He releases me suddenly and steps back, unzipping his hoodie and slipping it off. “Almost forgot. I got something for me too.”
He stands in front of me, just out of arm’s reach, looking outrageously pleased with himself. “How do I look?”
He’s wearing sweats that fit like a dream and hang sadistically low on his hips. So low that a decadent sliver of skin is exposed when he moves. I see a hint of the V that cuts into his body and leads to the bulge in his pants. My hand floats up, tracing the line where fabric and skin meet.
I finger the drawstring of his pants, mind wandering to hot, sexy places as I tug on it. “Like a total slut show,” I mumble.
He slaps my hand away playfully and laughs. “I don’t mean my pants, bud. Check out my new top. I had it made specially.”
I drag my eyes upward with a little reluctance.
Jordan’s top is one of those things that takes a moment to fully come into focus.
It’s a boxy white T-shirt with a round neck.
It’s a little more cropped than the tops he usually wears, which is why I got so distracted by his sweats.
There’s a vintage-style print on the front, a ripe orange-pink peach with curly retro lettering above it.
I admit, I’m a little slow right now. I must be because it takes me the longest time to read what it says.
I’m dumbstruck when I do. “D-does that say Addicted to Ass?”
“Sure does.” Jordan beams. “But look closer. Look! I had Orion’s constellation drawn on the peach. Right here on the cheek.”
On closer inspection, I find that he’s right. One of the peach cheeks has little stars dotted on it that mirror those on the art above my bed.
“So you see, other people will think it says Addicted to Ass, but really, what it says is Addicted to Orion’s Ass. Neat, huh?”
“Sweet Jesus.” I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re not wearing that out of the house.”
“But, O, I need a new lucky T-shirt because of what happened to my old one.” He lost his old one under mysterious circumstances.
According to him, it went into the wash after I wore it to Dorothy’s and never came out.
“But I’m totally fine only wearing it at home because you’re the only one I’m trying to impress anyway. ”
“It scares me that you think this would impress me,” I tell him.
“Bullshit.” He laughs, draping a heavy arm around my neck and pulling me into a headlock of sorts. He jabs at my sides, tickling me until I’m helpless with laughter. “What scares you is that you are super impressed by this.”
The headlock turns into a push and pull that ends as one of those hugs that sees me backed against the wall with my legs wound around Jordan’s waist. We rut against each other slowly, our cocks stiffening quickly.
“See,” says Jordan with a cocky glint in his eye. “My new lucky T-shirt is working already.”
“The T-shirt isn’t lucky, okay, Jordy? It’s just, it’s just that it’s cropped…and your body is hot.”
It’s late, and The Pardon is packed. The lights are low, reflecting through colored glass bottles on display behind the bar, throwing long, sultry rainbows around the room.
Riley and Rowan are out, and so are Andy, West, and Tyler.
We’re having a blast. We have a booth near the bar, and we’ve spent the past couple of hours talking shit and yelling at each other over the music.
Jordan is sitting next to me. His leg is pressed against mine.
My body is warm where we’re touching, cold where we’re not.
He’s wearing a pale chambray shirt that’s doing spectacular things to his eyes.
When no one’s looking, I whisper, “I’m so glad you’re wearing that shirt and not the Addicted to Ass one. ”
“Me too.” He nods and smiles agreeably. A little too agreeably.
“I was thinking about it earlier, and I realized you’re right.
” That sets me at ease slightly, but something about his expression is concerning.
“I shouldn't waste it on some random night out. I’m going to save it for a special occasion.”
Oh Jesus.
I cock my head, pressing my lips together firmly. “Um, what kind of occasion would warrant that?”
“Well”—he puts his hand on my leg under the table, sending a fizzy charge through me—“you know how it’s been hard for you to come to terms with your sexuality?”
Over the past few months, I’ve spilled all my secrets.
I’ve talked to Jordan a lot about what my experience of being queer has been like.
What it’s meant to me and how it’s affected the way I feel about myself.
I’ve told him how I’ve struggled with the external stigma and prejudice, and how I’ve spent years buckling under the internalized shame of being who I am.
I give a small nod to show I know what he means.
“So, I was thinking that I won’t wear my new lucky T-shirt out until the day you wake up, look in the mirror, and truly, deeply feel good about what you see. How ’bout that?”
I raise my glass to my lips to stop him from seeing how sweet I think that is. Technically, it’s not an agreement per se. It’s definitely not an official acceptance of terms, but Jordan takes it as one.
I’m in the process of clarifying that I haven’t actually agreed, quietly, so no one else at the table hears, when Tyler drops both hands on the table with two distinctive little slaps.
His eyes drift to someone or something behind me and his tongue darts out, moistening his lips to a high-gloss sheen.
“God,” he says prayerfully, “he is so beautiful.”
“Who are you talking about?” asks West, a little too loudly.
“Iver,” Tyler says like it’s a prayer. Not the start or the end of a prayer. An entire prayer contained in a single word. “Iver Deacon.”
Across the table from me, Riley starts choking out of nowhere. His eyes bulge and he splutters loudly, coughing until his face is bright red and his eyes are streaming.
Rowan pats him hard on the back until he stops. “You okay, Ri?”
Riley doesn’t answer for so long that Rowan asks the question again. And again.
Eventually, Riley recovers. Sort of. He blinks several times, still not quite himself. “Er, sorry,” he mumbles vacantly. “W-what was the question?”
I don’t hear the rest of the conversation because Jordan clamps a hand to my ear, hissing urgently. “Do you think Iver is beautiful?”
I turn to him, cupping my hand on his ear like he just did to me. “I think you are way more beautiful.”
“Really?” His eyes widen comically, voice lilting up happily. “You think I’m beautiful? You’ve never told me that. You’ve only said I’m hot, and you’ve called me handsome twice.”
Looks like my jealous guy likes compliments more than I realized. I’ll have to make sure he gets a lot of them in the future. “I think you’re more than beautiful, Jordy. To me, you’re the personification of male beauty.”
He gives me an intentional look. The kind he usually gives me when I’ve done something he considers impressive. “Damn, O, that was good. That was some charming shit right there. I’m telling you, lucky T-shirt or no lucky T-shirt, you’re definitely getting lucky tonight.”
My ability to hide how I’m feeling around Jordan has taken a serious beating since we got together. I’d love to keep a straight face when he gets like this, but instead, I find myself with my lips peeled back embarrassingly broadly, grinning like an idiot.
Under the table, Jordan caresses my leg. His hand moves down to my knee and gently curls there, dipping between my legs to tease the sensitive skin on my inner thigh as it tracks up. It moves slowly. Painfully, seductively slowly. So slowly the air in the room thickens to lava.
“Wanna head home soon?” I suggest, voice a little throaty.
As we get ready to leave, a lot of things happen at once. Rowan drifts to another group, talking to a girl he knows, and Tyler and West start arguing about something. Riley sits as still as a statue and stares into the middle distance. In all the commotion, Andy makes his way over to me.
Coffee-black eyes soften and a flicker of the sadness that usually shadows them retreats briefly. “Did you like your gift?” he asks softly.
As he speaks, Jordan finishes saying his goodbyes and shrugs his jacket on.
It falls into place on his shoulders with a careless, devastating sort of grace.
The collar stands up just enough at the back of his neck to make him look like a wet dream.
As he does it, throngs of people mill around him on their way to the bar.
A pretty head turns to take him in. He doesn’t react in the slightest. I honestly don’t think he notices it.
He’s completely and utterly oblivious to the attention because his eyes are fixed on me.
Like always, mine are on him too. They travel up and down the hard planes of his face, pausing where his lips bow and getting lost in the gentle waves rippling in his eyes.
The only difference is that now, when I look at him, I’m not trying to hide it.
After a beat, I remember Andy is waiting for an answer.
“I don’t like it,” I tell him as Jordan cracks a smile that melts bone. “I love it.”