by Anyta Sunday
Rory stepped toward him, smelling the ocean that clung to the both of them, and nervousness clenched his stomach. Nose to nose, Eric staring right into him, he felt more open and vulnerable than he’d ever let anyone see before. Still, it was not close enough.
A shiver rolled through him as Eric’s nose dipped over his cheek and he whispered in his ear, “What do you want, Rory?”
Fingers slid back into their spot on his hips, and Eric drew him in tight, kissing the spot below his ear. Rory sucked in a breath and blew it gently onto his shoulder, trying to say the words locked behind a surge of shyness. He knew Eric knew what he wanted. He also knew Eric wanted him to say it. To know he was ready.
And he was. He wanted Eric to be as close as he could get to him—wanted to be filled with his love.
“The . . . bedroom,” he murmured, locking a hand in his and leading him there with excited, edgy steps.
As soon as they entered, the mid-day sun bright in the beige-painted room, Rory stilled. He remembered painting all these walls, remembered Yowler watching him do it, remembered Eric kissing him when he saw it the first time. . . . He hadn’t left that night. Had barely left since. ‘The bedroom’ had a cold sound to it now. He shook his head. “Our bedroom?” he whispered.
As if to answer, though Rory wasn’t sure Eric had heard him, Eric kissed the back of his neck. All the little hairs prickled and blood rushed to his core, hardening him even more, so much he ached. He leaned back into his chest, and Eric slipped his hands around him to the front of his pants and snapped the buttons open. Rory sighed as a firm hand released him and rubbed through his cotton briefs. He arched into it and then pressed his arse back against Eric. That’s what he wanted.
Again, a soft voice—huskier now—spoke in his ear. “What do you want?”
Still rendered speechless with nerves and want, Rory twisted and motioned to the bed. “Get, um, naked.”
Eric’s gaze was soft and longing on his, and he started undressing without taking his eyes off him. Rory swallowed, closed his eyes, and murmured. “I . . . just need . . .” he ripped himself away from reaching out and touching him, slipping into the hall. In the bathroom, he found exactly what he needed and came back to the room. Eric sat on the edge of the bed, naked—and for a second—looking just as nervous as he felt.
Rory dropped the supplies onto the bed next to him, and waited for his response. Eric glanced at the condoms and lube. Rory heard the hitch in his breath, then felt his soft touch as Eric reached out and took his hand, pulling him between his legs.
Eric stared up at him as he slipped his pants off him completely, followed by his briefs. His cock sprung free, bobbing so close to Eric’s lips, he could feel his breath over him.
Eric kissed the tip of his head, and then stood, their legs and arousals meshing together as hands dragged over his arse and under his t-shirt until for a second he couldn’t see. But he felt the pounding of his blood as Eric gently thrust against him, smelt the first signs of their need leaking, and tasted the hint of both their nerves in the air. His t-shirt hit the floor with barely a sound.
“Please,” Eric said a third time, “what do you want?”
Rory almost stepped back, but didn’t want to give up the heat of Eric against him. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“You know I want to hear you say it.”
He felt a blush spreading from his chest to the tips of his ears. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he aimed for playing it cool. “You once said you’d never fuck me in a million years, but maybe you’ve changed your mind?”
Eric took a sharp intake of air, and ran a smooth hand over his shaking arms. “Calm down, love. We don’t need to hide behind jokes or insults anymore. It’s okay to want what you want.” He gripped the sides of his face and kissed him. “Let me start. I want to be inside you, Rory. I’ll eat my words for sure on the not ever wanting to fuck you, but not today, because I don’t want that. Today, I just want to be as close to you as I can get. I want to fill you up and make love to you.”
He whimpered and nodded. “I want that too,” he said. “All of it. All of you. In me.”
They fell onto the bed, exploring each other with fingers, lips, tongues until Rory couldn’t stand it any longer. He twisted onto his front, pushing back the condoms to Eric, but Eric didn’t take a foiled package. Instead, a cold liquid dribbled onto him, sliding down the crevice between his arse cheeks and he shivered.
Eric lowered himself on top of him, cock sliding slowly with the lube and sending shocks rippling to Rory’s crotch. “If you change your mind at any time—”
“No,” he croaked, half into the pillow.
This was exactly what he wanted, what he’d wanted for a while now. Though it was better now they did this with a blanket of trust beneath them. Eric grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers, rocking against him, building up his desire to a point where every second breath he felt a carnal desire to thrust back on just the right angle so that Eric would slide home into him. But Eric was taking it carefully, and for that he loved him and cursed him more.
Then Eric kissed down his spine; his finger had found his ring and was circling it tenderly. Rory pushed back, giving him permission, and when Eric’s finger breeched him, he almost came. They’d played around with each other a little before, but it’d always stopped at a couple of fingers, and today it felt more intense for the promise of how far they were going to go.
After Eric had stretched him enough, and Rory was begging him to hurry up, he turned him over.
“This is the way I want you.” Eric dipped down and left a kiss on the corner of his lips. For a moment, the room brightened with sunlight, and Rory smiled through it to him.
“Yes.”
He felt Eric tremble as he placed a pillow under his hips. Heart galloping, his breath came out in pants. He squeezed the free hand that Eric offered him, bringing his wrist to his lips and kissing the koru there.
Once the condom was on, smothered in a generous helping of lube, Eric was kissing him again. A sweet chill swept over him when Eric lifted himself off and raked a longing gaze over him.
Eric’s hands shook as he lined himself up, pressed against his opening, and began to push.
He sucked in a breath when the head of his cock entered him.
Eric stopped, almost luminescent green eyes catching his. “Are you okay?” To answer, Rory tilted his hips and Eric slid in a little more, gasping.
Rory loved the lust in that sound, and even more the way Eric tried to control himself to keep him from hurting. Sweat beaded the man’s brow and all he wanted to do was lap it off. He wrapped his legs around him and urged him closer. “More than okay, love.”
His use of ‘love’ had Eric moaning and pressing all the way in. It was tight and Rory felt so full. Even with lube and Eric’s carefulness it hurt a bit, but the pain soon gave way to little sparks of pleasure, and he was rocking with the rest of the room, doing his part to make the mattress under them sing.
And their melody was simple and honest. One Rory doubted he’d ever get tired of hearing. He arched and held Eric deep, for the first time unafraid to hold anything back. Fear, uncertainty, grief—they didn’t exist in this moment. It was just him and Eric.
It was just right.
Eric stopped thrusting to seal his lips in a kiss. “My ideal life would be you here every night for the rest of your life.”
The thrill of those words and Eric’s next few thrusts triggered his orgasm. He spilled in hard, hot waves against their stomachs, and Eric came right after, clutching him so tight he couldn’t breathe.
After Eric lifted off and cleaned them both up, condom thrown into the bin and washcloth back in the bathroom, Rory snagged him back against his side. “Aubergine.”
“Sorry?”
“When I was born my parents thought I looked like an eggplant. They didn’t have a name for me, and for the first month of my life I was their little eggplant. I guess they were fond of that, so whe
n they finally came to naming me . . . well, you can guess the rest.”
Eric buried his head into his armpit, stifling a chuckle. “Aubergine?” His middle name came out muffled and tickled his skin.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever told. Not even William knew that. This really is just for you.”
Eric groaned and pecked his lips. “Why’d you have to say that? Now I can’t tease you and feel good about it.”
Rory clapped the back of his head. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty else to tease me about. . . .” He shuffled into an upright position.
“What?”
“I completely forgot. I made you another pumpkin pie.”
“You—you did?”
“Yeah, I did. Want to come around and grab a piece?” And let me introduce you properly to Uncle Davy and Lily.
“You sure?”
Rory got off the bed and pulled Eric up to him. He clasped Eric’s wrist and ran a thumb over his koru tattoo. “Things are getting better. Today is a new beginning for us.” Smiling, their eyes locked. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.”
Something wasn’t right when he opened the door. It was the smell in the air. Something maybe subtle to others but so familiar to him it slammed against Rory’s nose. His hand, linked in Eric’s, went limp and Eric stopped.
“If this is too much right now . . .” The offer was there. He knew Eric would leave quietly and forgive him for it if he asked. It was tempting, too. For a second, anyway. Then he shook his head and doubled his grip.
“I think—I think my—”
Then he heard her voice tinkering in the distance.
“Jesus, Rory, you’ve gone so pale. Are you okay?”
He nodded, but it quickly switched to a shake. He hadn’t spoken to his mum in months. Sure she’d suggested coming up there and seeing him in her mails, but he hadn’t ever believed she would. Didn't think she’d bother with the effort, really.
“It’s . . . my mum. She’s here.”
“Ahh,” Eric murmured. Then he quickly brushed a kiss on his forehead. “I get it. I’ll—I’ll see you later, okay? Ring if you want dinner or . . . well you have a key, just come around whenever it fits.” Eric began pulling away.
“No.” Rory didn’t let his fingers slide out from his. “No. I haven’t been able to talk to her—I haven’t wanted to—because every time I tried I felt sick. I’m not the son she thinks I am. And I’m not going to start talking now. I’m done pretending. If”—he swallowed—“if I see her now . . . ” He locked his gaze with Eric’s. “I’d like you with me this time. I want to do this together.”
“Together?”
He nodded and gently dropped Eric’s hand before turning toward the chorus of voices.
They were out on the deck, the doors into the lounge open. The first he saw of her was the top of her greying hair, peeking out over the back of a deck chair.
Uncle Davy, manning the barbeque, was the first to see him and Eric. He straightened, looking between the two of them, and nodded. As if he knew in a heartbeat the significance of this moment.
“Lily, could you grab some more meat from the freezer? Some paper plates and cups would also be helpful.”
“Slave driver,” Lily threw back at him and came into the house smirking. As soon as she saw them, she paused in the middle of the living room where Rory’s feet had somehow planted themselves, her grin widening. “Jeez, my dad ain’t subtle, is he?”
After a wink, she disappeared. Uncle Davy excused himself next, clapping a light hand on Rory’s shoulder as he passed.
Eric whispered. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, then shook his head. “I will be.”
Taking in a lungful of smoked sausage and he hoped courage too, he went out onto the deck. Eric didn’t follow him, choosing to stay on the threshold.
When his mum saw him stepping toward her, she leapt off her deck chair and wrapped him into a tight hug. “Rory. I’ve missed you.” She dropped back, rubbing the tops of his arms. “Why haven’t you called? I was sick with worry.”
He pried her hands off him, replacing them with his own. Hugging himself, he cleared his voice and answered.
“Y-you want to know if I’m okay? I am.”
“I see that. But why couldn’t you tell me? Ring me, dear?”
Rory took a long look around them, shivering. This was the exact spot Uncle Davy had told him he knew—had offered him the support he’d shoved back in his face. If he closed his eyes, he could see the man standing next to him where he was now. You have some family that understand. That would listen.
It was true. He had people that would love him no matter what. With them behind him, he had the courage to finally tell his mum the truth. “There’s nothing wrong or disgusting with me. Never has been, mum.”
She frowned. “What? I—”
“I’m more than okay, you know. I’m great. The reason I couldn’t call you was because until now . . .” He swallowed. “Until now I wasn’t able to be honest. Wasn’t able to give a damn. But now I am.”
“Honest with me? What—”
“I’m gay.”
His mum opened her mouth to say something then closed it again. She sat back in the deck chair and braced her hands against the metal poles at the sides. “I—”
“No,” Rory said, “don’t talk. I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter if you hate me or think me disgusting, or even if you’re okay with everything. Nothing you say will change my feelings and the fact”—he glanced at where Uncle Davy’s ghost of support stood and then to Eric framed in the doorway, watching him—“I’ve met the most amazing man, and he loves me as much as I love him.”
He moved over to Eric and stood before him, hearing rather than seeing his mum peering around to look, the legs of the deck chair scraping.
“This is Eric.” He said it to him, to himself, to the world, to his mum if she cared to hear. He leaned in and grazed his lips in a soft kiss. “This is my boyfriend.”
* * *
And though he might not be fearless, though he might always be a little nervous admitting who he was, with Eric there at his side—fun, friendly, faithful Eric, if he was to have an F word list at all—he was grounded. He was safe. Happy.
Home.
* * *
*** The End ***
Acknowledgments
Thanks to all my betas for reading and making suggestions on earlier versions of this story. It was great to work with you all.
A big thumbs up to my editor, Teresa Crawford, for fine-tuning this story, catching both grammatical and consistency errors.
Cheers to Natasha Snow for the laying out of the cover.
And last, but not least, a big thanks to my husband and kid who gave me the space to write, despite our big move back from the States to Germany. You’re awesome!
About Anyta
A born and raised New Zealander, Anyta Sunday has been exploring the literary world since she started reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Inspired, stories have been piling up in her head ever since. Fast forward to her mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), and she started putting pen to paper. When she’s not writing or chasing her kids around, she’s reading, hiking, watching a Joss Whedon series, attempting pilates, or curling up with her two cats. Updates on her projects can be found at anytasunday.com.
Anyta loves writing romance, mainly contemporary gay M/M. Another favorite genre of hers is fantasy, but also there the romance is never far away. Her books have been translated into German, Italian and French.
Contact: http://www.anytasunday.com/?page_id=386
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