by Kelly Jensen
“Don’t you dare.”
Brian moved his lips to the top of Mal’s ear and nipped it. “Okay, what’s next?”
Take these kisses to the bedroom?
Mal would not have guessed Brian could be so sweet, but it fit. And he liked it. He directed Brian toward plates and silverware and let him set the table. Either that, or he was going to cut or burn himself. Brian’s lips anywhere near his . . . anything was way too distracting. Brian also carried out the dinner when it was done, leaving Mal to make the walk unencumbered—which was nice. In fact, the past half hour had been nice, and different to what he’d imagined. He’d prepared for awkwardness, because Malcolm Montgomery was awkwardness personified. But somehow they’d got through that part.
Brian ate with apparently genuine hunger and savor. It was always fun to watch someone who enjoyed food, especially when the meal had been prepared with them in mind. He didn’t seem to mind the simplicity of their dinner and defiantly washed down his tuna steak with a glass of red wine. Under the table, his foot rested casually next to Mal’s. As they talked, he’d apply subtle pressure now and again, as though to emphasize a point.
Their conversation was quiet and limited to food and drink. Favorites, things they each encouraged the other to try. Brian poured them both another glass of wine and touched Mal’s hand gently after setting the bottle back down on the table.
Why had the idea of this date been so daunting? Brian was as congenial as a bobbing starling. Bright, happy, and interested.
“Thanks again for coming to the meeting on Monday,” Mal said.
“I didn’t just come along to snag this date. I want you to know that. I’d have wrangled a date out of you another way if I’d had to miss the meeting. But—” Brian licked his lips “—I felt like Josh needed me to be there, and it’s the weirdest thing because I am not that guy. I’m selfish as fuck.”
“An asshole. Yes, you’ve explained that a couple of times.” Mal had to wonder who’d planted that idea so firmly in Brian’s head.
Brian gave him a weary grin. “And I have no idea how to look after a kid. But when I think about myself at that age? At fourteen, without the blue hair and all the”—he waved a hand around his ear—“stuff, I know I’d never go to a meeting like that. I mean, hell, when I was fourteen . . .” A wrinkle appeared between Brian’s eyebrows and something of the haunted look he’d worn during the GSA meeting passed through his eyes. He shook both off with a version of his rascal smile. “That’d have invited a beating, right?”
Mal offered a cautious nod. “Yep.”
“I don’t get people.”
“What do you mean?”
Brian drew in a tight breath. “Josh is staying with me because his mom kicked him out.”
Mal could feel his jaw unhinging. “For being gay?”
“Not for having blue hair. At least, I don’t think that was part of it.” His expression hardened. “He told me. The morning after he arrived. She called him perverted, a crime against God and nature, and told him to leave and never come back. Gave him fifty bucks and pushed him out the front door.”
“What . . . How . . . Why?”
“Because he decided to trust her and tell her he was gay.”
“Oh God.”
“I knew it still happened. But . . .” Brian rubbed a hand over his face, pausing to massage his forehead, and Mal couldn’t help thinking the gesture had been made in part to cover the dark look in his eyes. “Sorry. Not the best dinner or date conversation.”
“So, the rest of your family . . .?”
Brian shook his head.
What did that mean? That they were gay-friendly, or . . . Not, Mal. Decidedly not. Otherwise Josh would be staying with them, wouldn’t he?
Should he change the subject or ask Brian about his own experience? With a flash of insight, Mal figured he probably didn’t have to ask. The pain in Brian’s posture told part of the story. Would Brian ever tell him the rest?
Brian interrupted the broody silence by asking, “Yours?”
“Huh?”
“Your family?”
“Oh, they’re great. I told them when I was in college. That’s when I figured it out for myself, mostly. At the time, I thought . . . Heck, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Mal gestured toward his braced leg. “I was feeling like this, I guess. Down about life. I went to college on a football scholarship and got injured toward the end of my first season. Tore my rotator cuff and broke my other wrist. Accident on the field. A bad play, an even worse takedown. The other guy . . . God, I think I ruined his career as well. Anyway, Donny deferred the rest of his first year of college to come babysit me. I was pretty morose and couldn’t use my hands.”
He shot Brian a wry smile and Brian returned a smaller grin.
“He stayed with me for three months and all he could talk about was his girlfriend.”
“Rachel?”
“No, his first wife.” Mal waved a hand. “Another long story. Anyway, he kept pressing me about who I liked and what I’d gotten up to while I was away, and when I told him I liked guys, it was like I was telling myself at the same time. Admitting it. I remember feeling like the weight of the universe shifted in that moment. I was floating, but also afraid of falling. I was so damn scared, but also exhilarated. Does that make any sense?”
Brian nodded, but his eyes continued to tell a different story.
“Anyway, Donny hugged me and thanked me for telling him.”
“He knew,” Brian guessed.
Mal nodded. “He knew.”
“And your parents were cool.”
“Yeah. They were confused at first, like the idea had never occurred to them, but then they literally shrugged and said, ‘Okay.’ Then my mom started trying to fix me up with guys.” He smiled. “They don’t always get it right. They’re not members of PFLAG or even politically active. None of us are. But they’ve never denied me. Not to my face and not to their friends. I think that . . .” Mal swallowed over an unexpected bubble of emotion. “That’s always meant more, you know?”
“Because they didn’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
Brian’s smile took on a grim aspect, and Mal knew he was correct in his guess that Brian’s experience had been something like that of his nephew. Rather than allow the conversation to go there tonight—they had time, didn’t they?—he pushed back from the table, wincing slightly as the action sent a pain through his right knee. “Time for chocolate?”
“Would you be more comfortable on the couch?”
“You don’t have to—”
Brian held his hands up. “That’s my way of asking if we can get cozy again. I’m having a nice time, Mal. Heavy conversation aside.”
“It’s like a rite of passage, isn’t it? How you come out.”
“I wonder what straight people talk about on first dates.”
“According to Donny, nothing so exciting, unless they’ve just broken up with someone. Then it’s that. On loop. All night.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“Right?” Mal glanced up.
Brian had moved in close, supposedly to help him stand and hobble to the couch. Instead he leaned in with the same smile he’d worn at the front door and kissed Mal lightly on the lips. “I don’t think straight people invite each other over for first dates, either.”
“More fool them,” Mal murmured.
“Can we take the chocolate to the bedroom? Or are you a ‘no cookie crumbs on the sheets’ kind of person?”
“I’m a ‘sheets can be washed’ kind of person.”
“I knew I liked you.” Brian kissed his top lip, teased his bottom lip, and licked into Mal’s mouth. He tasted of wine and sesame seeds. He tasted good. And somehow, he managed to kiss Mal all the way to the bedroom, practically carrying him up the short flight of stairs, pausing at the top to ask, “Which door?”
Mal pointed out his bedroom, the largest of three, and they shuffled over t
here, slow enough for him to keep upright on his braced leg—slow enough to have their shirts and pants undone again by the time they got in there.
“Forgot the chocolates,” Mal muttered before nibbling the side of Brian’s neck.
“I’ll get them later. Want you first.”
Brian’s kisses became urgent, touching down and lifting off like dancing birds, and it felt good to be this desired. To have Brian sucking at the skin over his collarbone, and pushing at his jeans. Cupping the bulge under Mal’s fly, and whispering all the things he wanted to do, the most enticing of which was, “I want to ride you.”
Oh God.
Mal hadn’t hooked up with so many guys that he had a line for discussing preference. A trusted conversational opener. He usually left it to the other party. Being flexible was good for that. The idea of fucking Brian, though . . .
Oh God.
Brian was chuckling against his lips. He squeezed Mal’s cock. “I can tell you like that idea. You got even harder.”
“I really, really like that idea.” Also, logistically, it worked. He could . . . “Be careful putting weight on my right leg.”
“Gonna take such good care of you, baby.”
Clothes seemed to flee their bodies, the rush paused only for the puzzle of Mal’s leg brace, which Mal removed as carefully as he could with his hard cock objecting to every movement not designed to bring him off. Brian hovered close and took the brace away after Mal lifted his leg, and stashed it close to the bed. Then Mal pushed his jeans down and Brian took those too, dropping them with a lot less ceremony than the brace.
Brian didn’t wince at the scar tracing the swollen knot of Mal’s knee, or at the fading staple marks. No comment on the bruising, or the slightly twisted appearance. He did glance at Mal’s other leg, his gaze darkening as he took in more surgery scars. His hand hovered over one. Then he looked up and smiled. “Up you get,” he said, indicating the pile of pillows he’d made.
“You’re . . .” Mal bit his tongue, sure what he wanted to say would be interpreted incorrectly.
“Not always a selfish prick? I’m getting fucked here. I’ve got pretty good motivation to help you get comfortable first.”
Still standing, Mal put a hand to Brian’s shoulder. “You need to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Putting yourself down. I don’t know who gave you the idea you weren’t a nice guy, but you should let it go.” Mal moved his hand over Brian’s bare shoulder, enjoying the feel of his skin. Stretching his fingers out, he cupped the back of Brian’s neck and drew him closer. Kissed his mouth. “It’s okay to want things.”
Brian’s eyes widened. His breath hitched. Then the grin arrived, the one Mal now recognized as a defensive maneuver. “And you need to stop thinking so hard. All the time. Let stuff happen.”
Closing in for another kiss, Mal murmured, “I think I can do that.”
Brian’s laugh rumbled through his skin, stirring Mal’s fingers and touching his lips. They kissed, braced against the side of the bed. With one hand, he learned the shape of Brian, from his shoulders to his arms, the space between his pecs and hips, tracing goose bumps across his ribs, discovering soft chest hair—all pale gold—and the trail leading south to a neatly trimmed nest and jutting cock. Brian gasped into his mouth. He had his hands at the back of Mal’s hips. One smoothed upward, the other down to cup his ass. Mal nudged their hips together and moaned as their cocks collided with flesh, pressing into each other’s hip bones, his tracing the crinklier hair at the top of Brian’s thigh.
His knee twinged and instead of feeling inadequate, Mal said, “Need to get off my feet.”
“Best idea yet,” Brian returned.
Mal eased himself back onto the bed, careful of his leg until he was settled up against the pillows. Brian knelt across his hips and leaned in for another kiss before grasping Mal’s upright and very needy cock.
“You’re nearly slick enough without lube,” Brian said, dragging his thumb across Mal’s slit and spreading the moisture over the head. Mal’s cock jerked in Brian’s hand. “But I’m still going to ask where you keep your supplies.”
“Drawer. Right there.”
Brian found the lube and condoms and got back into position. When Mal reached for the stuff, Brian smacked his hand away. “Let me.”
“Is this a control thing?”
Brian’s eyelids fluttered. “No, just me wanting to take care of you.” He peeked upward. “We can make it about control, if you like.”
“You mean like this?” Mal grasped Brian’s wrist, arresting his movement, and said, “I want to watch you prep yourself.”
A low groan left Brian’s throat. “Yes.”
Mal took the condom and put it aside for the moment, then picked up the bottle of lube. “Hold out your fingers.”
He applied a generous amount to Brian’s hand and put the bottle aside so he could watch. Brian was on his knees already, straddling Mal’s thighs. Lifting up a little higher, he reached behind his hip, eyelids lowering right at the moment he touched himself.
Mal could come from this—from watching Brian finger his own ass. Watching Brian’s cock harden and knowing how much Brian got off on his own touch, and showing that to Mal. It was hard to move his own hand, grab the condom and get ready. Brian was mesmerizing.
“We ready to do this?” Brian asked, wiping his fingers on a small towel he’d also pulled out of the drawer.
“God, yes. I nearly came watching you.”
“Good.”
“Line me up,” Mal ordered, knowing it was exactly the right thing to say.
Brian did as bid, shuffling forward, grasping Mal’s sheathed cock, rising over it, and pressing the tip to the hot center of his being. He kept his gaze locked to Mal’s as he lowered down—not too fast, but with an ease Mal envied. Brian’s expression didn’t change as he came to rest with Mal’s cock tucked deep inside him, but he looked different. Not . . . full, though that was the obvious descriptor. More . . . replete.
“You like this,” Mal whispered, lifting his chin for a kiss.
Brian leaned in to touch his lips to Mal’s. “I love this.”
He shifted his hips, rolling forward and back. Mal groaned. “So, so good.”
Brian squeezed next, and Mal put his hands to Brian’s hips. “Stop. Do that again and I’ll come.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I think you want to watch me ride you for a while first.”
“Fuck, yes. I want that. Ride me, baby. Nice and slow.” Mal didn’t know where he’d found the wherewithal to issue instructions, to ask for what he wanted so plainly, but Brian’s reaction—the quickening of his breath, the hooding of his eyes—had made it worth the effort to try. To be more bold.
Brian raised himself up—slowly. Then lowered himself down. Rocked his hips forward and back, gently, and did it again. His eyes fluttered closed on the second go ’round. His head tipped back and his mouth dropped open.
“Look at me,” Mal said.
Brian opened his eyes. He grasped the headboard, bracing his hands, and moved up and down, lifting until Mal thought his dick would pop out, then lowering, welcoming him back into that wonderful place of intense pressure and heat.
“You feel so good,” he said into a moan.
“So do you.” Brian was clearly trying hard not to close his eyes, not to bliss out. He was beautiful in his struggle and so much more real than he had been previously—out at the bar, tonight between Mal’s knees, then beside him at the dinner table. He was here and now and having absolutely no trouble taking what he wanted.
“Faster,” Mal urged. “Eyes open. I love watching your eyes.”
“God, you’re making me so hard.”
“Want me to touch you?”
“Yes . . .” Brian was working harder now, rising and falling in an easy rhythm and obviously moving toward his peak.
“Ask me,” Mal said, still not sure where the small demands were coming from. Brian’s rea
ction to each, though . . . He could get used to this.
“Please touch me.”
Mal ghosted his hand over Brian’s straining cock, touching but not. “Again.”
“Oh . . . Hmm.” Brian’s eyes fluttered closed. His lips compressed. “Please, Mal. Touch me, jerk me.”
Mal was having a hard time concentrating. His balls had tucked the minute Brian had lowered himself onto his cock. The steady rhythm was working for him too. He was so close. So damn close. “Slower,” he panted as he grasped Brian’s cock and squeezed.
“Oh, God.”
The strain of the decreased speed showed in every line of Brian’s face—nearly every line. His mouth was curved.
Mal’s cock pulsed. His earlier orgasm seemed to count for nothing. His balls felt as though he hadn’t come in a month. Desperately he searched for something that would hold his climax at bay. His lips started moving, forming a familiar cadence: 1413, 1417 . . .
“Are you counting?” Brian asked.
“Dates, God, I’m listing dates. Don’t want to come yet.” Mal switched his thoughts from history to the present and stroked Brian’s cock. “How close are you?”
“So close.”
“Don’t come.”
Brian actually whined, though the sound was low and sexy.
“Slow down again.” Somewhere in between 1452 and 1456, Brian had sped up.
“You’re killing me,” Brian gasped.
“You’re loving it.”
“I am.”
He rocked his hips again, circled them, squeezed. Mal reciprocated, stroking Brian’s cock in a similar pattern, taking advantage of the pause. The end would come quickly now. If only he could get onto his knees and drive into Brian from behind. Drill him into the mattress.
Brian leaned forward. “You’re not supposed to be thinking.”
“Sorry, I just wish—”
Brian clenched around him.
“Ungh . . .”
“You were saying?”
“Faster. Fuck yourself on me. Ride me to the end.”
Brian’s grin spread wide. “At your command.”
Time ceased to have meaning about a second after that. Brian rose and fell at an ever-increasing pace—the movement jarring Mal’s knee now and again. He was so beyond caring. Sex like this was worth another week in the evil black brace. Worth being laid out and all but helpless, worth . . .