by Ashton Cade
“Have fun!” I call after him, eyes stuck on Eli. He’s so relaxed right now, so peaceful. I just want to pull him into my arms and hold on forever.
“He’s really nice,” Eli says after Clary’s gone.
“Yeah,” I answer absently, clearing off the table, trying to figure out how to convince Eli to stay longer. Clary gave us the green light here. We’re good to go—got the place to ourselves for the foreseeable future—so I’ve just got to make the moves.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asks, coming up behind me as I’m washing dishes, his brow furrowed.
“Huh? Oh, nothing,” I say, eyes traveling down his body, remembering every line, every groove, every shadow that’s under his clothes. My mouth goes dry, and I lick my lips just as my gaze falls to his crotch.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he says with a soft chuckle, eyes sparkling at me.
“I’m thinking about how to convince you not to leave,” I admit. No use dancing around it.
Eli’s grin grows. “Who said I was thinking about leaving? You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he says, moving in for a kiss. My hands are wet and soapy, but he doesn’t seem to mind as they slide around his waist, pulling him in closer. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he growls, dragging his teeth over my bottom lip. “I haven’t stopped wanting you.”
“Good,” I answer, yanking the button of his fly open, thrusting my hand into his boxers, around his thick, hot cock. I know I should take my time, I should tease him, engage in some foreplay, but just being with him is foreplay. Having him so close to me makes me hard enough I’m dizzy and gasping, unable to focus on anything else.
“I’m all yours,” I tell him, kissing him harder, tongue pushing deeper into his mouth as he clings to my shoulders, panting, gasping, bucking his hips into my hand.
It’s a frantic, frenzied pilgrimage to my bedroom, clothes flying off like dandelion seeds in a stiff breeze. And when we get to my room, there’s no hesitation, no fumbling, just us finding our rhythm, enjoying each other, melding together, becoming one. Eli’s eyes are dark and hungry as he takes my cock in his hand and tugs, hard enough to make me stagger forward a step, sucking in a breath.
“My turn,” he says, grinning as he moves in to kiss me, his hand on me like heaven.
“Your…?” I ask, but Eli’s answering me before I can fully form the question, reaching with his free hand for my nightstand, for the condoms and lube I keep there. He drips lube all over his fingers, then reaches between us, his fingers pressing against my taint, moving back further, circling my asshole, the first to ever venture there—and it’s fucking amazing. His fingers probe at me, pressing at my most intimate place, sliding in, stretching me, giving me the kind of pleasure I didn’t even know could exist and I never want it to stop.
Eli slides his fingers in and out of me with one hand, while the other masterfully sheathes his cock with a condom—I don’t think I could manage to do that one-handed, and it’s impressive enough to make me groan as his fingers curl slightly inside me.
“You want this?” he asks softly, fingers stroking me from the inside as his lips burn a hot trail down my neck.
“Yes,” I gasp, my head overwhelmed with need, with the buzzing insistence pulsing in my balls.
Eli’s fingers withdraw, and I suddenly understand that whimper, that sound he makes when I pull out of him. It’s this feeling of such loss, such disappointment.
But then he’s pushing me back, lifting my hips, settling himself right at my entrance and everything in my body goes tight and rigid all at once. Even though I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in a hell of a long time, I can’t seem to force myself to relax.
Eli’s patient, though. He drags his palms up my muscular thighs, back down to my knees, up again, each pass moving closer to my cock until his fingertips are brushing against my trembling manhood. I gasp the moment he touches me, and then when he wraps his fingers around my girth, I let out a sigh, unclenching enough that he manages to slip inside just a bit, stretching me, white-hot fire burning around where he’s opening me up.
“That’s it,” he coos, still stroking me, petting my legs, easing me into relaxation until I forget all about the pain and focus only on how fucking amazing it feels.
He slides in deeper, the thick head of his cock satisfyingly popping through the tight ring of muscle. Then he pushes again, and I’m suddenly so full, so stretched.
“Holy shit,” I groan, not even able to open my eyes to look at him, not able to move, to do anything but lie here in a cold sweat, my body overwhelmed with a thousand sensations at once. Eli pulls back slowly, and I swear I can feel every ridge of him, every bump of his cock inside me, touching me, making cum surge through my balls, hot and ready to explode.
Then he’s fucking me. He’s pumping back and forth, long, steady strokes, bottoming out inside me, sending spikes of pleasure through me I didn’t even know were possible. It’s all I can do to just hold on for the ride, praying it’ll go on forever.
Of course it doesn’t. It’s over too soon—anything would be too soon when it comes to this guy—and we’re together in the afterglow, catching our breaths, sweating, holding each other. My heart’s racing, veins still feeling like they’re full of Pop Rocks, my insides feeling like jelly—and feeling oddly empty. It’s when my heartbeat’s finally settled down that Eli starts to pull away, moving toward the edge of the bed.
“Where are you going?” I ask, tightening my arms around him, pulling him back against me. “You said you weren’t leaving,” I remind him, nuzzling into the back of his neck, kissing there, making him shiver and purr.
“You really want me to stay?” he asks, turning to look at me, not sure he believes it.
“I do. Unless you got somewhere else you’d rather be?” I ask, holding my breath even though it’s halfway a joke. I don’t think Eli’s like that. I don’t think he’s going to go off and be with another person, two-time me and break my heart like others have done.
Well… one other.
But I try not to think about her. About the bitterness she left scarred on my heart.
And with Eli, I’m damn near close to forgetting all about how Amanda cheated on me and left me wallowing in my own misery and heartache without remorse.
“Of course not,” he says, wriggling back against me. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he mutters, sleep making his voice thick and hazy.
“Me neither,” I say, kissing his temple through the fluff of his soft hair. I tighten my arms around him, determined to keep him close, and we fall asleep like that, both of us with smiles on our faces.
Eli
Waking up in Garrett’s arms is like a dream come true. There’s nothing better than the feel of him around me, his warmth cradling me, the steady rhythm of his breathing enough to nearly lull me right back to sleep.
But I’ve got to get up. As nice as it is lying here with him, I can’t stay here all morning. There’s things to do—namely, going home for fresh clothes, and picking up Craig to bring him back here. Garrett’s peaceful in his sleep, his face relaxed, a soft smile on his lips. I extract myself from his arms carefully, and press a soft kiss to his temple before I head out of the room, steps so light I might believe I’m floating.
There’s a trail of clothes littering the hallway, right where we left them, and I get dressed one piece at a time, making my way back through the house, doing our whole route in reverse.
It’s way more fun the other way.
My keys are in the kitchen, but as I near, I realize so is Clary, who turns and gives me a look that makes me want to back right out of the room.
It’s not overtly hostile, it’s not even judgmental. I’m not sure what it is, but I don’t appreciate it. It bursts my bubble in an instant, and I’m left with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach in its place. I don’t really understand it. Clary’s seemed perfectly polite and pleasant to me on every other occasion. Is he being prudish about me
spending the night?
“Good morning,” I say, trying not to be embarrassed. We’re all adults. We’ve all slept with people and spent the night, right? I’m sure Clary’s no choir boy, despite his goody-two-shoes appearance.
He stirs his coffee, the rich aroma making my mouth water after the long night I had last night. The spoon clinks against the ceramic, clink, clink, clink, and Clary’s just looking down into the mug, not responding, his mouth a firm, thin line. I get the impression he wants to say something, but he’s not doing it. He’s dragging this moment out, making it more and more awkward the longer it goes on.
Finally, I reach for my keys, and that’s when he speaks.
“This is a very bad time for Garrett to be getting into a relationship with you,” he says.
I’m not even sure I’ve heard him right. I was expecting him to say something, but that wasn’t it, and the words don’t all make sense right away.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve tried to tell him, but he won’t listen to reason. This is going to hurt his chances of being elected.”
“Oh.”
My heart plummets, the world fading away into a vacuum as everything comes crashing down all at once.
Of course it is. Of course this is going to hurt his chances.
It’s obvious—so obvious—now that I think about it.
Garrett’s got a great chance of winning this thing on paper, but a relationship with me—a gay relationship—isn’t going to look good to voters in a small town like this. Even in the bigger cities it can be a detriment, and I don’t think anyone’s going to claim Umberland’s that tolerant, no matter how many same-sex couples we’ve got in town.
“Just cool it until after the election, then you can do whatever you want,” Clary says, giving me a firm look. “Be the reasonable one, here. He’s not thinking clearly, that much is obvious, but what’s waiting a little while—a few weeks, a month tops?”
“Mmm,” I answer, grabbing my keys and pocketing them without saying anything else. I’m not sure what else to say. I don’t really agree with Clary—from the sounds of it, he’s already told Garrett his concerns and he’s not worried about it. But I’m not interested in arguing with him about it either. This is Garrett’s choice to make. I respect him too much to make it for him.
I do think we should talk about it, though. Maybe he’s worried about hurting my feelings, but I understand. I get what it’s like to have pressures from outside, to need to play a part to get through something.
I wouldn’t blame him for that if it’s what he wants to do. Is he just afraid to bring it up for fear I’ll be offended? I’d be way more offended if he let his dream of politics die because of our fling.
After a quick shower and change at home, I head to pick up Craig, who’s surly and aloof as usual, hood pulled up over his head, perpetual frown in place. As much as I wanna know what’s going on with Craig—and I probably should put more effort into needling it out of him—I know he’s not in the mood to talk about it.
It suits me just fine, to be honest. Even though I want to say that I’m not bothered by what Clary said earlier, it’s not true. I am. I’m worried that Garrett’s not thinking things through, not considering all the possibilities.
I’m worried I’m not worth it.
My hands tighten on the wheel and I try to shove those thoughts aside. He wants me. He’s made that damn clear. I can’t let insecurity grab hold of me. I can’t let Clary get in my head when it’s already been an uphill battle to let myself enjoy Garrett.
I don’t know what it is that we have, exactly, but I know I like it. I know I’m not ready to let it go. I don’t want to put it on pause, I don’t want to risk it. Things are going well.
Or… I thought they were. I guess I didn’t realize what a problem being with me could create for Garrett. I should’ve. I should’ve thought about it, but I didn’t. Sometimes I forget. Umberland is pretty progressive for a little town, but ballots are secret, and bigotry thrives in the shadows.
I just don’t know if Garrett’s confidence is well-founded. I don’t want him to wind up disappointed and blaming me.
He’s there to greet us as usual when we pull up, and Craig’s out of the car in a hurry. Garrett’s at my door side when I open it, and he goes in for a kiss right away.
Clary’s warnings still playing in my mind, I turn my head, feeling instantly guilty at the rejected look Garrett gives me.
“Don’t you think we should be a little more discreet?” I ask softly, hoping to soothe the hurt. That frown of his is breaking my heart, the rejection in his eyes too much to bear.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re together,” Craig says, earning a sharp look from me.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s everyone else. The townspeople. The voters.”
Garrett growls, eyes flashing hot, and I realize I said the wrong thing. “Clary talked to you, didn’t he?”
I shrug.
“I may have run into him,” I say, clearing my throat before I finish with “in your kitchen this morning.” I can see from his expression that he’s able to fill in the blanks himself.
Suddenly, Garrett’s hands are on my hips, his fingers tight, his eyes intense.
“Eli, I wanna win this election, don’t get me wrong, but I want you more. Clary’s said his piece, and I don’t think it’s an issue. He doesn’t know Umberland the way I do. If he’s right, if it’s an issue, I’ll lose the election. It’s not a big deal. I’d rather that than any of the alternatives. The only thing you could do to make me not want you is cheat on me, or tell me you don’t like The Beatles,” he adds with a quirk of his lips.
Then he kisses me. There’s no turning away this time, no fighting the pull there always is for me to be closer to him. Kissing him feels natural, easy, something I could lose a whole day doing, and before I know it, my fingers are in his hair, pulling him in holding him to me tight. A hungry growl rumbles up his chest, vibrating through me, making me perch up on my toes to have more of him, hips pressing into his. I don’t want this to end. I want to lose myself in how much we want each other.
“Ahem,” Craig clears his throat loudly. “I don’t care if you’re together, but could you not get it on right in front of me?” he grumbles.
Hot embarrassment flushes through me, and all I can do is laugh, hanging my head. Garrett laughs too, his hands still tight on my hips.
“Sorry, kid,” he says, still chuckling. “Let’s get to work.” He looks back at me, steals another quick peck, then heads off with Craig to the greenhouse for more repairs.
I’m still tingling from his kiss, blood running hot, cock pulsing hard, almost painful with how much I want him again. Last night wasn’t enough. I’m not sure I’ll ever have enough.
But is it the same for him? We’ll see. At least, I’m sure he’s not experimenting or playing around. Trying to “find himself” or something. Those are all thoughts I’ve had to consider in the course of this relationship, but I think I can honestly say that I’m not worried about any of it anymore.
I am worried about this election thing. Garrett can act flippant and aloof about it all he wants, but I know he’s invested a lot of time and money into this campaign. He’s driven to serve, eager to make this place better. That’s way bigger than the relationship between two people. He can have a real impact as a council member. Isn’t that what’s important in the grand scheme of things?
And like Clary said, what’s waiting just a little while?
I know how important this whole thing is to Garrett, and I know that he says it doesn’t matter right now, but there’s a kernel of worry that he’s going to change his mind. That he’s going to realize it is more important after I’ve let my guard down, and then it’ll be too late for me to protect myself from the rejection.
For now, I’ll believe him. He believes it, I know that much. The way he looks at me leaves no doubt that he wants me more than the election.
But
isn’t that something in itself to be worried about?
I don’t know. He’s got so much potential for goodness, so much capacity in that heart of his. I don’t want to get in the way. I don’t want to prevent anyone in the world from experiencing the joy of having Garrett Rainier in their life.
But if I let him ignore Clary’s advice, am I just being selfish? I know the likely outcome, and I know the potential for Garrett to regret it when it’s too late. To let bitterness fester and grow because I kept him from achieving more.
I groan, slipping back into the driver’s seat of the car to drink my coffee in peace. Garrett and Craig are working hard putting up panes of glass in the chilly morning, and I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see Garrett get a smile—even a little laugh—out of Craig. It makes my chest ache and swell and yearn all at once.
What the hell am I going to do?
Garrett
Eli and Craig left a little while ago, and I’m working on another batch of firewood when Clary comes back from wherever he’s been. The ax in my hand makes a satisfying thwack as it splits the log in two. My hands are burning from fresh blisters that haven’t hardened for the season yet—calluses from chopping wood and from paddling are very different—and I readjust my grip on the ax before taking another swing.
“I got new posters and signs,” Clary announces brightly.
Guess that explains where he ran off to after freaking Eli out this morning.
I grit my teeth and shove back the tsunami of anger coming up at the thought. I specifically asked him not to say anything to Eli. To keep his worries to himself. And then he had to go behind my back and spook him anyway.
I know for now Eli’s okay. He still looks uncertain, like he thinks I’m making some kind of mistake. That’s all thanks to freaking Clary.
“I thought I told you to butt out of my relationship with Eli,” I say, wedging the ax in the stump I’m using as a chopping block. I’d planned on having a calmer, more rational conversation about the whole thing with him, but then that’s what came out, so I guess that plan’s out the window.