Learned Reactions

by Jayce Ellis

  Just the slightest hint of hesitation laced his voice, and Carlton would have none of it. He stood and stalked toward Deion, then braced his hands against either side of Deion’s head and leaned in, enough to make sure Deion could feel how hard he was. “Yes. You belong with me. With us. I don’t like you out there alone.”

  Deion grunted, rocking his hips up. “I’m not someone you can just walk away from.”

  “I don’t want to do that. Not at all,” Carlton said. “I’ve been trying to be good, to not push too much. To not want too much. You make it fucking impossible, you know.”

  Deion gripped Carlton’s waistband and rolled his hips again. “I’m not the impossible one.”

  He snorted. “I’m not arguing with you.” He was intimately aware it was his indecision and cowardice that formed the heart of their problems. He wanted it all but was scared of commitment. Deion had every right to walk away. It was Carlton’s job to give him a reason to stay.

  He pressed in and sucked a mark on Deion’s neck. Whether or not it would show was anybody’s guess, and he couldn’t much say he cared. It was enough to know he’d done it.

  “Damn, C. What’s gotten into you?” Deion’s voice had gone low and husky, even as he tilted his head back to give him better access to his Adam’s apple.

  Carlton sucked a mark there, then pulled back and waited for Deion to meet his eyes before palming his cheek. He needed Deion to see him, close and vulnerable and without the veil of his daily bullshit hanging over them. “I need this. I need you.”

  Deion paused, his eyes roaming over Carlton’s face, and he wondered what Deion saw in them. Could he feel the depth of Carlton’s sincerity? Or was part of him still uncertain, still afraid Carlton’s words held no meaning?

  He held his breath, but eventually, he relaxed into Carlton’s arms and nodded, pressing the barest of kisses to the base of his throat. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

  The words nearly made Carlton come right then and there, and he had just enough presence of mind to drag Deion down the hall and into the bedroom, so as not to wake Olivia.

  The minute the door was closed, he pounced, sucking Deion’s lip into his mouth, forcing his tongue in, trying his best to make sure Deion knew where he belonged. Where Carlton wanted him to say “stay forever,” even if the words refused to come out.

  Deion broke away with a pant. “Take me to bed, Carlton.”

  He huffed. “Or what? Lose you forever?”

  Deion paused for a moment, then bent over laughing. They’d probably watched Top Gun one too many times in college. The boy had a soft spot for Goose. But something about that calmed him, set his mind at ease, and Deion followed Carlton to the mattress, where they collapsed unceremoniously.

  “You’re so goddamn pretty,” Deion whispered, running his hand up and down Carlton’s chest. He fluttered his lashes in response.

  “Aww, shucks. You say the sweetest things.”

  “You’re also an asshole, and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

  “Like I said, the absolute sweetest things.”

  Deion tickled his side and Carlton yelped. He’d forgotten Deion knew how ticklish he was and, he could admit it, he squealed like a little girl. Deion rocked on top of him, grabbing his hands and holding them above his head while Carlton panted beneath him.

  “Dear God, don’t do that,” Carlton panted out.

  Deion chuckled and nipped his earlobe, tugging gently on it. Carlton moaned, that spot on him an erotic landmine. It had been almost twenty years since he’d felt Deion’s mouth on him like this, more confident and sure than their first time a week ago. Somehow, and Carlton thanked whatever deity was looking down on them that Deion remembered what he needed.

  “Deion, please.”

  He hummed in Carlton’s ear. “What? I’ve been here for almost a month, in your bed for weeks, and haven’t been able to touch you how I want. Almost two decades of not being able to touch you how I want. You’re not going to rush me.”

  Which meant Carlton was in for a long-ass night. Deion released Carlton’s hands and trailed them down his arms, to the side of his armpits, and Carlton exhaled into his caress. Deion snickered.

  “Worried I was going to get you again?”

  “No doubt. You’re enough of a jackass to do it.”

  “True that.” Then Deion dipped and kissed both armpits, which made Carlton shudder for an entirely different reason. “Dude, that’s—”

  “Gay as hell?” Deion finished for him.

  He chuckled. “Probably so.”

  Deion worked his way down Carlton’s body, his lips trailing his fingers, cataloging every inch of Carlton’s frame. He couldn’t remember the last time any partner had taken such care with him, had wanted and sought his pleasure above their own. Deion reached his hip bone and trailed a tongue over the juts in Carlton’s thighs. He wanted to take control, to shove his hand in Deion’s hair and press him where Carlton needed him, but Deion moved lower, his lips grazing along Carlton’s balls, humming when they drew up tight.

  “Deion, fuck. Fuck me. Let me fuck you. Something.”

  Deion’s laugh rumbled low in his throat, right up against Carlton’s balls, before he pulled one into his mouth and suckled gently. Carlton shoved a fist in his mouth to keep from yelling, but god, the sensation was so intense, and that it was Deion doing it to him? Notched it up a level.

  Deion gave the same treatment to his other one, taking his sweet time laving them thoroughly, then pushed Carlton’s thighs wide and dipped lower. Over his taint, down to his hole. It was almost more than he could take.

  He shuddered and took a few deep, soothing breaths. Despite his claim that Deion could fuck him, he hadn’t bottomed in probably a decade. He was sure Deion would make it good—exceptional—but it would take time, prep, and Carlton’s ability to come more than once, which was honestly debatable at his age. And with Deion’s size? Shit, he’d feel it for days.

  That idea didn’t bother him nearly as much as he’d thought.

  Deion pressed one finger to his hole and sat back, sucking his other fingers into his mouth. Carlton watched him, his eyes trailing down to focus on his dick. Deion was, to put it mildly, huge. Thick, long, the kind of dick most men, and probably most women, ran from. In college, Carlton had made Deion whip it out and had taken a measuring stick to it. A smidge over ten inches, with a four-inch circumference.

  He’d looked almost ashamed of it, and back then, no way was Carlton letting Deion top. He hadn’t seemed to mind, but Carlton wondered if Deion’s sheer size had scared other people away. Which seemed like such an absolute waste, and Carlton wanted to make up for lost time.

  Carlton tapped Deion on the shoulder, and he carefully withdrew before climbing back up to drape himself over Carlton. He ran his hands down Deion’s chest, marveling at the smoothness. Deion hummed in his ear as Carlton reached his waist, and he sucked in a breath when Carlton gripped his dick. Deion threw his head back, canting his hips forward, removing his glistening fingers from his mouth and moaning long and loud. He looked down at Carlton, his mouth hanging open, his chest bulging, looking like a man possessed. Like he wanted everything. He pressed his wet fingers to Carlton’s hole, and Carlton tightened his grip as Deion pushed a finger in.

  They both groaned this time, and both clapped their hands over their mouths. Carlton was struck with the urge to giggle at their pathetic attempts to keep quiet, but held back. Barely.

  “How do you want to do this?” he finally asked, and Deion looked down. He paused, like he was considering the question, and Carlton clenched around that finger. Deion’s eyes rolled and his mouth fell open, and Carlton wanted to see that look on his face forever. Then he smiled.

  “Fuck me.”

  The words were nearly enough to make Carlton come, and he tightened around Deion again. Deion pressed a second finger i
n, spreading and pumping them in and out of Carlton’s ass, then angling them to graze over his prostate.

  “Oh, fuck!” Carlton yelped. “Give me a condom before I bust.”

  Deion huffed, looking too pleased with himself, then reached in the top drawer of the nightstand, apparently the standard hiding spot for condoms and lube around the world, and rolled it down Carlton’s length. The sensation of Deion’s fingers was almost too much, and he gripped the base of his dick to keep from spilling.

  “I need to prep you,” Carlton whispered, and was rewarded with a soft snort.

  “Just a little,” Deion muttered, “and quick. I can’t hold out much longer.”

  Shit, neither could he. Deion didn’t change position, just moved farther up to straddle Carlton and fuse their lips together.

  Carlton reached around Deion and spread his cheeks. Deion moaned and deepened their kiss, and, fumbling, Carlton applied lube to his fingers and massaged Deion’s hole. Above him, Deion’s dick leaked, the precome leaving a sticky trail down Carlton’s abs.

  “C’mere,” he said, and rose as best he could to one elbow, then sucked the tip of Deion’s dick into his mouth.

  Deion slapped a hand against the wall and held Carlton’s head with one hand. Not letting him go farther, just keeping him right on the edge, lapping up his precome, one finger lodged in his ass. Deion released Carlton’s head just long enough to reach behind himself and pull one cheek to the side, and Carlton inserted another finger.

  “Fuck, C. So goddamn good.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth. Carlton couldn’t get enough of his best friend’s touch, his taste, his need. For him.

  “That’s enough,” Deion muttered. “Need you, now.”

  Carlton pulled away and fell back to the mattress, gently withdrawing his fingers. Deion scooted down Carlton’s body, gripped Carlton’s dick, holding it straight up and, slowly, carefully, lowered himself down over it.

  Carlton had to crane his head back into the pillow, the pressure was so good. Not just because it had been a long while since he’d gotten laid, but because this was Deion. His best friend. The person he compared every companion, every lover—hell, everyone in general—to, whether he’d been conscious of it or not. Deion hovered over him, wanting him, not letting the outside world or obligations or family feelings get in the way of what they both needed.

  When he finally bottomed out, Deion held still for a moment. Then his posture relaxed and he looked at Carlton with a sigh. “You feel better than I remember.”

  Carlton beamed and squeezed him. “Good. Now let’s see if I fuck better than you remember.”

  Deion laughed, which turned to a groan, then raised up and lowered down on him. Carlton tried to let him set the pace, he really did. But there was no help for it. He planted his hands on Deion’s ass, spread his cheeks apart, and set his feet flat on the mattress. Then he powered into him from below, watching as Deion stripped the length of his cock in time with Carlton’s thrusts.

  It was too good to last, and Carlton didn’t even try. He tightened his grip on Deion and pressed his head back into the mattress, biting his lip until he was sure he’d draw blood, and came. Above him, Deion worked his dick with a couple more sure, steady strokes, then nutted all over Carlton’s chest. He was goddamn glorious like this, his locs hanging low across his shoulders, his chest and arm muscles defined by the fierceness of his release, that massive, huge piece of equipment he walked around with satiated. Because of Carlton.

  Deion stayed like that for another couple seconds before he let his dick go and hunched over Carlton. Not enough to press their chests together, and just enough for Carlton to slip out of him. “That was...”

  “Yeah,” Carlton finished for him.

  Deion shifted, sitting up enough to look at Carlton’s chest. He winced. “My bad. Didn’t mean to do all that on you.”

  Carlton surveyed his chest, then looked up and winked. “Why the hell not? That’s what we were here for, wasn’t it?”

  Deion snorted, then leaned down to press in for another kiss. “Yeah, I guess so.” He rolled off Carlton and to his side, staring up at the ceiling.

  The silence between them was comfortable, but Carlton finally rolled his head to look at his friend. “Don’t overthink this.”

  He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that, but he saw Deion nod even in the darkness, then he turned and pressed a kiss to the side of Carlton’s lips. “You’re right, and I won’t.” He swung his legs off the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  Deion pulled up his sweatpants and grinned. “I’m going to clean up, and I don’t know about you, but I could murder some fries right now. You in?”

  With his best friend? Hell yeah.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Deion was in love. Deeper in love. And no, it came as no surprise to anyone who’d seen him and Carlton together at any point in the last twenty years, and especially not in the past few weeks. But once they’d broken that seal, had that phenomenal night in bed, there was no stopping it.

  At thirty-eight, Deion didn’t think he’d have the stamina to get it up twice a day, every day, without fail. But Carlton sure as hell pulled it out of him, and Deion’s ass was more tender than at any point he could remember. Enough that he’d told Carlton if he came near him for two days, he would sock him. Carlton had just laughed and winked and slapped him on the ass.

  Olivia thought that shit was cute and disgusting in equal measure, and today, she was grumbling about it as they meandered through the mall. They’d gone to her match this morning, and after, he’d mentioned making Carlton’s house a bit more family-style, not quite so starkly bachelor-esque, and after witnessing the excitement on Olivia’s face, Carlton had grinned tightly and told them they had free rein. They were at Pentagon City, planning to hit up Macy’s, where they knew Kingsley Enterprises already had a few outstanding collections. Deion wanted to hit up Bernhardt, which was one of his faves, but not until Jaq’s collection launched on Black Friday.

  Olivia walked just ahead of them down the wide walkways, then they stood back to back to back on one side of the escalator for two levels, until they got to the Macy’s main entrance. They moved in that direction, past the kiosk with the hair straighteners who salivated when they saw Olivia, past the women drawing blood while threading eyebrows, past the multicolored phone cases and electronic cords.

  They were almost to their destination when a group of teenagers barreled out of one of the stores—Claire’s, it looked like—directly into their path.

  “Hey, Olivia,” one of the kids said. He was tall, with a high top that Kid would have been proud of in the ’90s, dark-skinned, with a smirk that Deion would bet covered some deep insecurities. He also looked vaguely familiar. A few beats later Deion placed him. It was the same kid he’d seen in the hallways at Olivia’s tryouts. He’d looked like the ringleader then, and the way the rest of the kids surrounded him and looked up at him only confirmed his suspicions.

  “Hey, Devon.” Olivia already sounded sick of Devon’s shit, and he’d only said two words.

  “What’re you doing out here?”

  She shrugged, scraping the heel of one shoe with the toe of the other. “Nothing. Just grabbing some stuff.”

  One brow rose, then Devon looked like he noticed Deion and Carlton for the first time, which Deion knew was a goddamn lie. “These your two dads? God, that is so disgusting.” He laughed, like his bigotry was utterly hilarious, and the other kids joined in. Discomfort rolled off them, though, but not enough to stop.

  Olivia’s arms, which had been crossed behind her back, fell to her sides, and she rolled her shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of what she did right before a match, and Deion laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. “It is not.”

  Devon stopped mid-laugh and stared her down. “I mean, I get not wanting to live with
some old fogies after your parents croaked, but listening to two dudes grunt and fuck is worse, isn’t it?”

  Olivia smiled—one that would strike fear in anyone who really knew her—and sprinted toward him. Deion ran to catch up, throwing an arm across her upper chest. “Olivia, calm down. He’s not worth it.”

  Devon snickered, and Deion wanted to punch the kid out his damn self. “Fucking sad, having a girl try to defend you. What, your wrist too weak?” He shifted his weight to one hip, and held his hand out in a limp wrist motion. Then he muttered something under his breath, just loud enough for Deion’s head to snap up.

  “What did you just say?” Carlton’s voice was closer than Deion expected. Hell, he’d almost forgotten he was there.

  Devon’s attention shifted from Deion to Carlton, and he grinned. “What, old man? You gonna do something?”

  Carlton’s grin matched Olivia’s, and Deion had a flashback to their college days. Before Carlton became a debonair, happy-go-lucky shit talker, when he was a kid whose parents did only the bare minimum before doing nothing at all, and he was still a bit angry at the world and quick to throw hands. The kid who had no problems tussling with folks older than him then, and apparently younger than him now.

  Shit. Deion wasn’t going to be able to hold them both. Intellectually, he knew Carlton wouldn’t lay a hand on the kid, but if Olivia was anything like her uncle had been, she just might. He’d seen her in the ring. No doubt she could topple Devon’s ass, height difference be damned. But that would lead to a whole other host of issues, ones that could impact the adoption.

  “Hey, Devon, what’s the holdup?” another, older kid said, stepping out of the Skechers store next door. He frowned, then looked at Carlton and his eyes lit up. “Mr. Monroe! Hi, is everything okay?”

  Carlton looked at him for a minute, then closed his eyes. He stepped back, stretched his neck from side to side, and straightened his spine. “Bryan. Good to see you again. How are those grades coming along?”

  The guy grinned. “Good, getting straight As, like you told me.”