by Con Riley
Jon focuses on the traffic rather than laugh. “You know that’s not exactly what I do.”
Tyler’s pat to his knee would be condescending if it wasn’t coupled with a blown kiss. “If you say so, hotshot.”
“I do. Besides, your theory got blown of out the water the first week. Someone already asked me out.” It’s gratifying how quickly Tyler’s head turns.
“Someone asked you out? From where you work?”
“There’s no need to sound so surprised.”
“I’m not, I’m just… okay, I am.” Tyler swivels as far as his seatbelt will allow. “They asked you out the first week you were here? Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Give or take a few days.” He pulls into a parking lot as his GPS instructs. It’s definitely the right place. The adjacent building looks fine from the outside, but stacks of blackened debris fill the far corner of the lot. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you weren’t exactly friendly.” Tyler unfastens his seatbelt quickly and tugs at Jon’s chin. “You weren’t, Jon. Actually, the first couple of weeks you were here were terrible. I couldn’t figure out what I did to get us off on the wrong foot.” His swallow is loud in the confined space, and he lowers his voice. “Then I guessed it was how you were 24/7. But you can’t have been so shut off all of the time if someone asked you out.” A frown looks alien on him. “Were you really only that way around me?”
Jon unfastens his seatbelt as well. “Listen. None of that was about you. That was all on me. I took one look at the apartment that first day, and then I heard what you said to Peggy about selling her house to live somewhere easier and helping her with her money, and I jumped to a conclusion.”
“I only said that so she knew she had an option. You know how she is about her home—she’ll stay put forever—but I had to let her know that if it got too be too much to manage, I’d help her find somewhere smaller.”
“Even if that left you homeless?”
“Even then.”
“Well I thought differently.” It’s Jon’s turn to swallow. “That was all on me. All of it. And all I can say is that I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of the history, and like I said, I jumped to the wrong conclu—”
Tyler interrupts his apology with a kiss, but there’s no time to make out more when Eric pulls up beside them in his car. The next half hour is a confusion of milling people that Jon stands back and watches. Tyler lingers beside him. “Don’t you want to start giving orders?” he asks. “Get them organized into teams or something?”
“Fuck no.”
“No?” Tyler nudges him with his elbow as they lean against the hood of Jon’s rental. “I thought being bossy was your skill set?”
It’s really not. “I’m off the clock,” is all that he says. “Besides,” he eventually adds, “this is a whole lot more fun. Watch Eric.”
“The kid who can’t quit talking?”
Jon nods. “He’s working the crowd. Give him ten more minutes.”
It only takes five.
A beat-up pickup pulls into the lot, and Eric jogs toward it. “Hey, big guy!” he exclaims and then marches at Carl’s side as he walks across the lot to the animal shelter entrance. “I have three teams for you.” He lists names, dividing everyone he’s talked to into sections. “These guys—” He points to the left where what looks like the entire defensive line of a college football team lingers. “They’ll clear the rest of the debris.” He gestures to the right. “And these guys all brought their own tools. They can do whatever you want.” His final gesture means he points directly at Jon and Tyler. “But these two….” His smile is wicked. “Well, they have nothing. No skills, no tools, and hell, I’m not sure, but it seems like the tall one’s got an attitude problem.”
Carl’s burst of laughter is loud. Jon just slowly shakes his head.
“Oh, sick burn.” Tyler steps forward and shakes Carl’s hand. “Tyler Waitt. Happy to help, if I can.”
Carl nods and then steps closer. “Jonathan.”
“Carl.”
It’s a moment of hierarchical dislocation: Carl’s clearly the boss here, Jon the unskilled intern. He extends his hand anyhow, but instead of shaking it, Carl presses a hammer into his grip. It’s old, Jon notices when he looks down, its rubber handle scuffed and well worn. “Looks like you got a good right arm.” Carl lets go once Jon has it firmly in his grip. “Follow my lead, and try not to brain anyone with that.” He passes another to Tyler, along with a couple of dust masks. “We got some stuff to do outside, but you’ll need these when we get inside.”
Tyler waits until Carl walks away. “I thought you said he was an asshole?”
“Who? Carl?” Jon looks over his shoulder to where Carl schools Eric on how to use some kind of heavy-duty power tool. He’s patient, especially when the tool skitters across the surface of the lumber he holds. He doesn’t lose his shit or take it from Eric’s hands. Instead, he holds the strip of lumber steadier and helps Eric perfect his grip. There’s no raising of his voice or burst of explosive temper, like Jon’s seen evidence of at work. He simply claps Eric on the back when he gets done and gets him to repeat the same actions over again while he stands back.
He’s thorough as well, showing volunteers better ways to remove the charred fabric of the shelter while saving the structure. He’s strategic, too, in planning ahead, getting a team to string up lamps with him as the twilight deepens. When he fires up a generator so the site is flooded with bright light, everyone whoops and hollers, but he just bows his head, bashful as he chuckles.
“He seems like a decent guy to me,” Tyler adds a while later. “And that kid….” Tyler nods in Eric’s direction. “He’s a one-man cheer squad.”
They’re casual observations, but they’re right on the money. Tyler lifts his hammer again and gets back to work with a will while Jon processes what he’s seen. Much like when he works in the backyard—weeding, planting, watering—the mindless repetition of this manual work encourages his thoughts to settle. If Carl’s like this on a worksite, why’s he so different with his team back at the office? He’s still mulling it over when they move from the animal shelter yard into the scorched storage area.
Eric’s relentlessly cheerful as he reminds then to wear masks. “You two ready for the smell inside?”
They’re really not.
Tyler’s voice is muffled as they use their hammers to wrench scorched panels away from their fixings. “What the hell is it that stinks so bad?” The stench inside is acrid and cloying, so much worse, Jon decides, than the bitter taste he had in his mouth earlier. “It’s the worst,” Tyler concludes. There’s no hiding the smoky smudges on his face, now that the light is brighter, or the fact that his hair’s worse than ever when he takes off his borrowed hardhat to wipe sweat from his brow. His eyes crinkle over his mask when he sees Jon staring. He tugs it down. “Jesus, Jon. I really thought you were kidding about getting dirty.” He shifts to avoid a puddle of liquid ash and bumps Jon’s hip with his own. “Just in case you were wondering, this is the worst date ever. I don’t care how big your dick is, I’m definitely not sucking it when we get home.”
Carl clears his throat behind them.
There’s no mistaking his surprise, even masked, when Jon turns.
Carl avoids meeting his gaze and, instead, speaks directly to Tyler. “Uh… the smell is from melted plastic and cleaning products, mostly.” He glances Jon’s way, but with only his eyes visible, it’s difficult to assess his expression. “The fire crews removed the real bad stuff, but this is the kind of smell that lingers. It can’t be good for the puppies.”
Tyler lets out a small distressed sound. Carl clears his throat again and speaks directly to him. “You like dogs?”
“Love them.”
“He walks a pug named Princess,” Jon blurts.
“Is that so?” Carl’s still gruff, but it’s possible his eyes twinkle.
Jon stands stock still as Carl walks away, until Tyler touches his elbow. This time h
e keeps his voice low. “I know you said someone asked you out at work, but I’m guessing you’re not out to everyone there.”
“It never exactly came up.” And it’s no one’s business.
Tyler presses his lips together. “Fuck. I can’t believe I outed you like that.” His glance flickers to each side. “You think… you think he’ll give you shit?” Another frown wrinkles his nose. “He seems like a good guy—”
Jon pulls Tyler’s mask so its elastic stretches way out, then lets go with a snap. “Don’t sweat it.” There’s no way of guessing Carl’s reaction while so much of his face was covered. “It shouldn’t matter at all, and I won’t let it matter at work.” Still, it’ll be interesting, if depressing, if Carl attempts to use what he overheard to shift the power balance.
Thinking about that weighs heavily for the next hour, only lightening each time Tyler cracks a joke or finds a way to tease him, before getting heavier all over again when Carl returns to find them. He raises his mask completely so they both see and hear him clearly. There’s no reservation in his tone, only a hint of awkwardness as he says, “Why don’t you two follow me?” That weight shifts entirely when Carl unlocks a door on the building’s far side, where they’re greeted by tiny barks of welcome.
Jon’s never seen anyone wash up as fast as Tyler does then. By the time Jon gets done soaping ash and grime from his skin, Tyler’s already sitting in a pen with a lapful of puppies. He watches him press his face into a bundle of wriggling fur and then look up, beaming. Tyler says, “Thanks so much,” to Carl, before he leaves them to it, and his laugh is delighted when pups nibble at his fingers. “I changed my mind,” he says when Jon kneels down beside him.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” He nods and scoops up a honey-colored pup with adorable brown eyes. “This is the best date ever.” He still has a smudge of dirt over one eye, and his hair is speckled with ash. “Tell me,” he asks as he holds the pup up. “You ever seen anything cuter?”
Jon’s not even looking at the dog.
There’s no competition.
“Nope. I really haven’t.”
Chapter 19
IT’S FULLY dark when they get back to their neighborhood. Streetlamps periodically illuminate Tyler’s face, along with the flicker of the pizzeria sign right before Jon pulls into the driveway. Once parked, he takes a longer look at him across the console. The ashy smudge is gone from Tyler’s forehead now, but his eyes are deeply shadowed. Almost ten isn’t late exactly, but switching from day shifts to night and back again during the same week likely means he’s wiped out. Jon’s words come out more heartfelt than he intended. “It was the perfect night for you to have off work. Being there was so much easier with you.” His blurt of honesty leaves him exposed. Then he thinks, fuck it, and goes all in. “It really was. I had such a good time.”
“Yeah?” Tyler leans back in his seat like he’s boneless. “I had a good time too. I mean, who wouldn’t? I stink of smoke, I managed to hammer my own thumb a couple times, and I got peed on right at the end there.” He tilts his head Jon’s way, and his tone is more soft than mocking. “It was great. It was cool to see you around other people. Especially Eric. He’s your number one fan.” He’s insistent when Jon laughs. “He is! It’s obvious he looks up to you. And the older guy seemed to have a lot of time for you too.”
“Carl?”
“Yeah. I liked him the best.”
“Only because he let you play with puppies.”
“Exactly. Or maybe I liked him because he seemed like a good judge of character.”
“How do you mean?”
“He kept coming back to check in on you. He didn’t have to do that.”
“Huh. That’s because I had his hammer.” It had fit so comfortably in his hand, like each worn spot on its handle corresponded with his own palm and fingers. “Maybe he thought I was about to steal it.”
“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you, Jon.” Tyler’s expelled breath is soft. “I’m only telling you what I saw.” There doesn’t need to be much light in the car to gauge the warmth of his expression. “He was surprised to see you at first. Once he got over that, he was impressed.”
“Yeah?” And he’d thought Carl had been just waiting for him to fuck up.
“Yes. You did good, and he saw that, so maybe you should go ahead and let people appreciate you.”
It does something to Jon inside to have that much partiality leveled at him. He wars between telling Tyler to quit it and asking exactly what else he noticed before finally ducking his head to mask a grin that shows no sign of quitting.
“So,” Tyler continues, “now that you got me good and dirty, don’t you think you should help me clean up?”
They’re as quiet as they can be climbing the stairs so not to disturb Peggy, but things get louder inside when Tyler pushes him against the door and it slams. He’s not one bit sorry about that if the way he keeps kissing Jon is any indication. “Wanted to do that all night,” he finally gets out when he breaks off to drag in a deep breath. His nose immediately wrinkles. “Jesus, we really do stink.” There’s no hesitation in the way he unfastens Jon’s belt and his button fly. “Come on,” he simply demands as he toes out of his own sneakers and deposits his wallet and phone on the nearby table. “Get everything off before we stink out the whole place.”
It’s hard to strip quickly when Tyler’s so unhelpful. His hands get in the way over and over, grabbing at the curve of Jon’s biceps right when Jon’s trying to pull off his T-shirt and feeling up his chest the moment Jon’s head is covered.
Jon curses, blinded as the fabric tangles, but when he pulls his T-shirt free, all his grumbling dies out.
Tyler’s completely undressed, bare-assed as he bends from the waist to gather their discarded clothing. It’s a sight that has Jon’s hand on his own cock in an instant, already getting hard by the time Tyler straightens.
There’s humor in Tyler’s voice when he asks, “Think you can spare a hand to open the door?” When he dumps his bundle of clothes and shoes outside, it lands with a loud thump. He stills for a split second, silhouetted in the doorway, long limbed, lean, and laughing.
Jon’s mouth is dry when he says, “Way to go, Mr. Let’s-keep-this-on-the-down-low.”
“Oh, hush.” Tyler quickly closes the door, shutting it with a soft click this time rather than another loud slam. “You’ll thank me in the morning when the air in here is breathable.” He reaches out and slides both hands from Jon’s shoulders to his chest, letting out a hum of appreciation when his palms skim Jon’s pecs and peaked nipples. “Come on,” he repeats. “Shower. Now. So I can get my mouth on you without tasting any more ash.”
There’s precious little room under the spray in the shower stall for one well-built big man let alone another who’s not much shorter. The water just about hits Jon’s shoulder, and when he bends to wet his hair, Tyler lets out a harsh exhale. His hands on Jon’s hips are slippery. “Watch it, wide load. You nearly took me out with your ass. Hold still a minute before you give me a concussion.” He rubs shampoo into Jon’s hair from behind, and then he lathers his back too. Soapsuds slip down Jon’s crack, and Tyler’s slick fingers follow.
It’s poor ventilation, Jon blames, when it’s increasingly hard to inhale—too much steam in a confined space, not Tyler’s touch that leaves him breathless when it teases across his taint, nudging his balls before he pulls his hand back to soap up the cheeks of Jon’s ass.
Maybe the steam affects Tyler as well. His order to turn around sounds equally thick, as is his cock when they face each other. His low-pitched “Damn” is barely audible when he curls a hand around Jon’s length, his grip firm but slippery like his lips when they kiss under lukewarm falling water. His hold tightens when Jon reaches for him as well, just as the water runs cold.
For the second time in a week, Jon’s grateful for the apartment’s restricted dimensions. The few steps between bathroom and bedroom pass in a blur of towels rubbing
over wet skin and Tyler running his mouth off.
“Think they know about this at work, Jon?” His touch moves north instead of southward like Jon needs, ruffling the trail of dark hair that widens over his chest. “Think they know you’re hiding all this under that fancy business suit you leave wearing every morning?” His mouth is hot on Jon’s shoulder, the press of his teeth setting up a dull ache as he sucks at his clavicle. His next shove has Jon on the bed, flat on his back, the comforter rucking against his still-damp skin as Tyler kneels above him. Water falls from hair that actually lies flat for once, rivulets trickling from his temples to drip onto Jon’s stomach, tickling when they meander lower. Tyler catches them with his tongue when they reach the hollows at his pelvis, and his breath gusts warmly over the head of Jon’s cock. “Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah, do it.” Jon’s hips buck, and his head tilts back at the first touch of Tyler’s tongue there, getting him wet all over again. He clamps his eyes shut as Tyler sucks, his lips an oh-so-tight ring, the tip of his tongue devastating where his frenulum stretches. His eyelids flutter open, and he prays, “Please, God, please, please—”
Tyler lifts his head, pupils blown, lips shiny.
“No, no, no. Don’t stop.” Jon tilts his hips up, his cock knocking the underside of Tyler’s chin. There’s something almost terrifying about the way Tyler only dips his head, his eyes on Jon’s the whole time, like he has no idea that countless nerve endings are now screaming for more of his mouth. He only touches it with the very tip of his tongue when Jon needs so much more already.
He’d do anything to get him to continue right this minute.
Promise him the moon, if he’ll only dip his head lower.
That desperation must translate. Tyler’s next suck is a slow, slick descent that Jon can only groan at. He grips whatever he can, clutching at the comforter, his pillow, the headboard behind his head, until Tyler shifts out of his straddle to lie alongside him. Tyler’s cock presses hot and hard against Jon’s leg, and he bobs his head steadily while putting his free hand to good use. He pushes at Jon’s thigh, shoving until the space between his legs widens. The next time he stops to take a quick breath, he cups Jon’s balls and strokes beyond his perineum, keeping up the pressure when he gets back to sucking. It’s an overwhelming feeling, especially when Tyler sinks his head even lower.