by Anna Martin
“Ready for this?” Andy asked Henry as he pulled on the batsman’s protective gear.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t drop the fucking bat,” Ryan advised him sagely.
“Got it.”
The walk to the centre of the field felt like one of the longest of his life, and Henry was thrust back in time to when he was thirteen, playing his first real game of baseball. It had turned out to be the start of a long love affair with the game. He could only hope he got the same sort of luck with cricket.
He tried to remember all the rules Ryan had coached him on as he assumed the correct position to protect his wickets, waiting for the first ball and hoping and praying that he didn’t get sent out with the very first over.
In some ways, he didn’t really have to worry at all. When the ball was pitched to him, his training took over, and he smacked it as hard as he could. It probably wasn’t the best plan of attack. If there was a fielder in the right place, he’d be caught out for sure.
Some stroke of luck had the ball bouncing, and Henry was already running to the other end of the pitch, about twenty yards away. He touched the line with the edge of his bat to show the umpire that he’d got all the way there, before doubling back to attempt another full run. He made it safe, rolled his shoulders, and settled in to play.
“Jesus Christ, Henry, that was fucking awesome.”
Another pint of cider was placed in front of him, and he groaned. “No more cider, please. I’ll throw up.”
Ryan shrugged and pulled it over to replace his own almost empty glass. “Waste not, want not,” he mumbled.
“Seriously, though,” Andy continued, “You’re like a machine. A cricket machine.”
After the game, the whole team had piled back to the Dog and Duck, where Stella had cooked huge trays of sausages and chips for her “boys.” Henry had finally been sent out after scoring his “half century”—fifty runs—including several “fours” and two “sixes.” Secretly, he was a bit disappointed with his performance. He was just starting to get a feel for the game when someone on the other team had made a spectacular dive to catch him out.
Stella squeezed Henry’s shoulder as she passed, collecting glasses and the paper plates on which the sausages had been served. Henry had gathered it was an old tradition—going back to the pub for something to eat. Since he was pretty hungry after the match, it was one he approved of.
After Henry had proved his batting prowess, the teams had switched, and he’d been sent to the outfield. He wasn’t ever much of a catcher, but had a decent enough throw to send the ball back to another player, who could try and get the current batsman out by throwing the ball at the wickets and knocking the bales off.
The rules of the game continued to mystify Henry, and in the clubhouse after the game, while changing, he’d attempted to clear up his remaining questions with Ryan, a conversation which (perhaps inevitably) spilled over into the pub after.
Henry excused himself to the bathroom and was caught by Stella on his way back to the table.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asked.
“I’m good,” he said, pleased that she’d sought him out. “It went better than expected.”
“So I heard. The boys are proclaiming you the saviour of village cricket, sent from a faraway land to deliver them from another humiliating end to the season.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he said and, to his shock, felt himself blush. Stella noticed too and poked him in the side.
“I meant to ask you about something else, actually,” she said, and Henry hoped to whatever god was listening that she didn’t want to ask more about his sex life. Or lack thereof. “I know Ryan was teasing before, but I’ve been talking to Andy. And we’d like to get married at Stretton House. When it’s ready.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I figure if you’ve got some photos from a real wedding it’ll help build up interest for the next one. And, you know, it’s a beautiful building. I’d love to get married there.”
“Yeah, okay,” Henry said, suddenly filled with excitement at the prospect of hosting another wedding. “When were you thinking?”
“When will it be finished?” she countered.
“Ah,” he said, stalling. “Can I let you know?”
Stella laughed. “Sure. Will you plan it for us too? I really don’t have time, what with Jack and the pub. That’s part of the appeal, if I’m honest. Having someone else do all the work for me.” She gave him a winning smile.
“Of course. I’d be honoured to.”
“Henry—one last thing.” Stella grabbed his arm. “Your relationship with Ryan is none of my business. But you should know—he hasn’t looked this way for a long time. If ever.”
“Looked what way?”
“Like something has lit him up from the inside,” Stella said gently. “You’re making him so, so happy. That’s probably too much responsibility to put on you, but for goodness’ sake, don’t go wasting it. Love with all your heart.”
“I don’t love him,” Henry said, but his voice cracked on the words. He cleared his throat.
“Okay,” she said indulgently. “Maybe I’m projecting. Either way, don’t let something amazing slip through your fingers.”
Henry leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, aware that, whatever relationship he had with Ryan aside, he was rapidly learning to love his sister. “I won’t,” he promised.
Chapter Fourteen
Henry wasn’t sleeping, not really, when he heard footsteps on the stairs that led up to his bedroom. The light on his nightstand was still on, although this was the only light in the room, and he’d long since put his iPad away with the intention of going to sleep.
But sleep was evading him.
And Henry had a good idea that the reason sleep was evading him was currently ascending his stairs.
When Ryan appeared around the corner, Henry wasn’t surprised, wasn’t excited. He couldn’t feel much except bone-deep relief. Finally.
Saying nothing, he pulled back the edge of the duvet, silently inviting Ryan in. Ryan hesitated for a moment, playing with the string that held up his flannel pyjamas. Then he took a step forward, then another, then climbed into bed next to Henry and lay down stiffly.
Henry shifted on the bed and rolled over to face him, reached out, and gently stroked Ryan’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Then he leaned in and placed the softest kiss on Ryan’s lips.
It took a moment for Ryan to react, a moment in which Henry wondered if he’d just made a terrible mistake. Then Ryan lifted his hand to thread his fingers through Henry’s hair, and suddenly it was okay again.
When Ryan tucked his head under Henry’s chin, resting his cheek on Henry’s chest, Henry wrapped his arms around the man so intimately invading his space and tugged the duvet up to cover them both.
He’d never really held anyone before. As that thought flitted through his mind, he wondered why it seemed so entirely ridiculous. He was nearly thirty years old, for fuck’s sake, had been in a long-term relationship and had many more fleeting ones. But not once had he ever laid back and comforted a lover in his arms.
Ryan though—Ryan wasn’t simple, not on any level. He was the more masculine one out of the two of them, and that wasn’t a problem. It was the fact he’d never been with another man before that was causing those feelings of uncertainty for Henry, making him wonder if this was the right choice after all. Ryan needed a lot of guidance. He needed to be reassured, every step of the way, that he wasn’t doing things wrong.
When the realisation hit Henry, it almost stole his breath away.
This was what being an equal in a relationship was like.
He wanted to laugh, the idea was so absurd. He wasn’t the strong one. He wasn’t the masculine one. He couldn’t be that if he tried. And he wasn’t even really the emotionally stable one. But it was his turn to lead someone else through the highs and lows of being gay, just like his first boyfrie
nd had done for him.
Instead of terrifying him, it was actually quite a warming thought. Henry squeezed Ryan tighter. It took a minute or two, during which neither of them spoke, but took up the task of caressing each other’s skin. Ryan wasn’t wearing a shirt, so Henry’s hands had the whole expanse of his back to explore, finding their way around the strong muscles that so contrasted with his puppy fat around the middle.
They had been dancing around sex—or even the possibility of sex—for so long that to think that they might ever reach a place where they were both ready for it was almost laughable. Despite this, despite everything, Henry wanted the man in his arms. Wanted him a lot.
He was trying to decide whether to disguise his erection, wondering what Ryan’s reaction to another man’s arousal might be. They were also both conveniently ignoring the fact that Henry was bare-ass naked. It clearly wasn’t a problem, although any chances he might have of disguising his rapidly hardening cock were severely hampered.
When Ryan leaned up to kiss Henry again, Henry found it almost impossible to hold back all the desire and need and wanting he’d been trying to keep locked up for weeks and weeks. And then he decided to let go, just let it all go and find out what would happen.
He opened his mouth and let his tongue slide easily against Ryan’s, taking him deeper in his own mouth and kissing him with everything he had and everything he wanted. He wasn’t prepared to hide his cock any more either, and shoved his groin forward until it lined up with Ryan’s… where Ryan was half hard too.
A long moan of need escaped from Henry’s throat as he grabbed at Ryan’s shoulder, urging him closer and for more, more friction, more kissing, more touching. He was ready to take hold of anything that Ryan was willing to give or even willing to share. He’d have that and more if he could.
Ryan broke out of the kiss first, only to lick at Henry’s jaw and place open-mouthed kisses down his neck, then bite his earlobe and run a flat palm down Henry’s stomach.
“Can I…?”
“Touch me. Please.”
It still took a few more minutes of caressing and exploring before Ryan’s fingers started their slow descent, and eventually, with more than a little encouragement, wrapped around Henry’s cock.
“I’m not that big,” Henry said. It was true. Ryan had no problem encasing Henry’s cock in his palm, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing gently.
Ryan’s lips were at Henry’s neck. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
He didn’t suppose it would. Some guys, before, when he was younger, had loved the fact that he was on the smaller side of average. It made them feel bigger in comparison, and Henry had played the role of young, submissive twink for many years, until it became clear to everyone involved that he was closer to thirty than eighteen. Even now, he liked to trim his body hair, keeping his chest and stomach almost completely smooth.
While Ryan gently stroked him, Henry closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the feeling of someone else touching him for the first time in a long time.
“You know I haven’t been with another man before,” Ryan said, encouraging Henry to open his eyes.
Henry smiled slowly. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said.
“Tell me if I do something wrong?”
Henry wrapped his hand around the back of Ryan’s neck and drew him into another kiss. “Go slowly, be gentle, and do what feels good,” he said. “And you won’t go wrong.”
Emboldened by Henry’s statement, Ryan started to kiss down his neck, over his collarbones and chest, stopping to lick and nibble at Henry’s nipples. His hand never ceased its task of gently stroking Henry’s cock, although it did stray to explore Henry’s testicles and down, farther between his legs, before returning.
“You’re so beautiful,” Ryan said as his hand skimmed over Henry’s abdomen.
The combination of the tickly fingertips and sweet words made Henry laugh, and Ryan pressed his lips to Henry’s chest, seemingly hiding his face in embarrassment. Henry ran his own teasing fingers through Ryan’s hair and encouraged him back up for another kiss.
They lay like that for a while, tangled in each other and gently rocking their hips, erections sliding tantalisingly together. The “more” seemed to be lingering just out of reach, neither man knowing quite where to take things next.
It was Henry who broke first, kissing down Ryan’s neck, then asking, “What do you want?”
“You. Everything.” Henry groaned in frustration, then suddenly found himself pinned to the bed, hands over his head, with Ryan’s knee pressed between both of his own. “I want you, Henry,” he repeated. “I want you so much it scares me.”
Henry could feel his heart thumping in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears, as Ryan licked, then bit the curve of his shoulder.
“Ryan….”
“I want to suck you,” Ryan said, interrupting. “Will you just fucking… stay still for two fucking seconds?”
“I didn’t realise I was moving,” Henry said honestly, stopping the instinctive rolling of his hips that was causing their cocks to slide together deliciously.
Ryan pushed himself up to sit back on his heels and gave his cock a few good, solid tugs, then kicked his pyjama pants off. His eyes, normally such a rich, deep brown, looked almost black in the dark, and no one who looked in them would be able to miss the desire with which he looked down at his lover.
Henry held his breath while Ryan, not breaking eye contact, leaned in and licked a long, wet stripe from the base of Henry’s cock to the very tip.
Henry groaned. “Oh my God.”
Apparently encouraged by this reaction, Ryan gently gripped the base of Henry’s cock and closed his mouth around the head. What he lacked in skill he certainly made up for in enthusiasm as he worked his lips up and down the shaft of Henry’s cock, running his tongue over the ridges and swirling it around the head over and over.
Henry bunched his hands in the sheets under him as his toes clenched and curled. His thighs trembled with the effort of staying still and not distracting Ryan from this task, especially since Ryan actually seemed to be enjoying it.
“Breathe, baby,” Henry gasped as Ryan attempted to pull him to the back of his throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
Ryan pulled away but used his own spit as a lubricant to keep gently pumping Henry’s cock.
“I’m not ready for you to come in my mouth,” he said softly.
Henry nodded. “That’s fine,” he said. “That feels so fucking good,” he added with a laugh.
He was treated to one of Ryan’s shy, sweet smiles before he lowered his mouth back to resume its gentle sucking. Keeping his hips still was becoming more and more of a challenge for Henry as his instinct to buck into this sensation got stronger, and it was only Ryan’s quelling hand on his stomach that reminded him not to scare off his adorable, inexperienced partner.
When Ryan’s fingers explored between his legs, Henry didn’t think, just moved one of his legs to plant his foot on the bed, exposing himself to whatever it was Ryan wanted from him. He was, after all, a horny-as-fuck bottom most of the time, and the thought of Ryan inside him—hell, any part of Ryan inside him—was one hell of a turn-on.
He was close, though, so close to coming that even the slightest pressure was going to send him over the edge. Ryan’s fingers were fairly insistent, gently stroking over the soft, puckered hole and igniting all the nerve endings that hadn’t been explored in so long.
“Please, Ryan,” he said, not caring that he was begging. “Fuck. Close.”
The area of his brain responsible for complex sentences had apparently abandoned him as each individual sensation crashed together: the tongue still swirling around the head of his cock and the soft stroking of one careful fingertip over his hole, and above all, the knowledge that it was his Ryan who was doing this.
He pushed Ryan’s head away, and thankfully Ryan understood, reverting to the quick, slick movements of his hand over Henry’s coc
k until Henry shuddered and came, his back arching off the bed as he allowed one long moan to escape from his throat.
After a moment, he found the energy to lift his eyelids and was glad he did. While one of Ryan’s hands was still pressed to Henry’s stomach, caressing the curve of his hipbone, the other was flying over his own cock. With his head thrown back and hips pumping into each action, it only took moments for Ryan to come too, adding his own come to the mess on Henry’s stomach.
Breathing heavily, Ryan collapsed to the bed and rolled onto his side, his hand smearing the silky come over Henry’s taut abdominals.
“Ohh,” Henry moaned, but in a very different context. “You’re disgusting.”
Ryan laughed, delighted, and pressed slack lips to the curve of Henry’s shoulder. “You had to get up and wash it off anyway.”
“Yeah, but now you have to get up too.”
“I was getting up anyway.”
He proved himself by heaving his body off the bed, and meandered through to the small bathroom. Reluctantly, Henry followed him.
In the bathroom, Ryan had already washed his sticky hands and passed Henry the washcloth so he could clean himself up. While Henry rinsed the cloth under the warm water, Ryan set about brushing his teeth with the red toothbrush Henry hadn't bothered to throw away since he moved in.
When he was finally clean, Henry loaded his electric toothbrush with FreshMint and ducked in front of Ryan to get good sink and mirror space. It was disgustingly normal, standing side by side with someone, sharing a sink while they brushed their teeth before bed.
While Henry was economical with his movements, rotating the buzzing circular brush in rhythmic patterns over his teeth, Ryan bashed away, foaming at the mouth with all the frothed up toothpaste.
They took it in turns to spit.
Like this, naked in front of a mirror, their physical differences only seemed to be highlighted further. Ryan’s skin was different colours all over. He’d been working in the sun without a shirt on recently, so his arms and shoulders were a deeper tan than his belly and thighs. And his ass was practically lily-white. There were patches of pink on his neck and the tip of his nose—Henry reminded himself to add sun cream to their next grocery order.