Chasing Forever

by Kelly Jensen

  Brian’s cock jerked in his hand right as Brian shouted and came, hot semen hitting Mal in the chest before coating his fingers. He kept stroking, Brian’s cock almost becoming his as he eased his partner through his climax, and then he was coming too, pumping into Brian, his hips bucking up off the mattress, the back of his head whacking the headboard.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck . . .”

  Was that him? His lips formed another F and yep, it was him, yelling. Shy Malcolm shouting as he came and came and came.

  Later, he’d be embarrassed. Or maybe he’d simply acknowledge that he’d been as loud as Brian, that Brian’s cries had demanded he reciprocate, and that sex was already messy and noisy and why shouldn’t it be and . . . Oh God, why wasn’t sex always like this? He couldn’t even remember the date Vasco da Gama discovered . . . What had he discovered? And who was he, anyway?

  “Are you counting again?”

  “Fourteen ninety-eight.”

  “What?”

  “I have no idea.”

  After lifting off him—pulling another gasp and moan from both of them—Brian knelt by his side and brushed a quick kiss over his lips. “You’re adorable when you’re well fucked.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Stay there. I’ll get us cleaned up.”

  “I could get to really liking you,” Mal murmured, knowing he was already well past that point.

  Brian’s grin was light and bright and so much more than simply replete. “Good,” he said. “Because I could get to really liking you too.”

  Twin pains across his sternum wrested Brian from a dream where he’d stabbed himself in the chest with rusty nails for some inexplicable reason. One minute he was trying to decide which wound he should apply pressure to, the next he was staring into deep-orange eyes and wondering why everything smelled like fish. And if the bed was shaking.

  But no, it was that damn cat, standing on his chest—pinning him with a thousand-yard stare at a distance of less than a foot, and the weight . . . God, it hurt. How heavy was this beast? Vaguely, he remembered Mal’s warning about suffocation. He should be thankful he was face up, right?

  Brian nudged the cat, hoping merely touching its fur wouldn’t a) set off a vicious attack or b) increase the weight on his chest.

  The cat didn’t move.

  Brian lifted one shoulder, intending to roll over, and claws with the tensile strength and edge of Ginsu knives dug into the previously thick and cuddly quilt—now nothing but shifting layers of down, easily pierced. Hissing, Brian lay flat. The weight on his chest seemed to increase.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  He nudged the cat again, more firmly this time, already prepared for any flesh ripping that might follow. Lois resisted, claws flashing, then seemed to launch sideways, bearing down first so that her weight increased exponentially. Breath exploded out of Brian as she left, and he immediately pushed the quilt back to inspect his chest. He was actually surprised not to find rusty nails embedded in his flesh, or a circle of bloody pinpricks. He’d be further surprised if twin bruises didn’t develop later on. That cat weighed a ton.

  And Mal hadn’t stirred.

  Brian grabbed his phone from the nightstand and checked the time. Just before six. Still early. He checked his messages next, scrolling past the quick exchange of texts with Josh last night. Should he feel guilty about leaving him alone? Was it okay to leave a fourteen-nearly-fifteen-year-old alone overnight?

  He was only a mile and a half away . . .

  Brian tapped out another quick text, feeling like an idiot, but also unable to settle the underlying conflict between guilt and concern: Hey, checking in. Everything okay?

  Five minutes later, he hadn’t received an answer, Mal was still snoring beside him, also on his back, and the damn cat had settled in between them and was involved in some complicated licking exercise.

  Brian decided to indulge in a mini crisis. He’d nearly been mauled to death by a cat, he’d abandoned his ward and, most importantly, he’d stayed over—something he hadn’t done since . . . since Simon. Without quantifying and qualifying, he hadn’t had a lot of hookups since then, either. Not recently. Nothing like arriving newly single to the desert, but if he were honest with himself—and why not? He’d just suffered a near-death experience—he hadn’t really been trying. The game hadn’t been as fun, lately. Then he’d met Mal.

  He glanced past the huge cat at the man sleeping next to him. Mal had a great nose and a strong profile. He resembled the all-American football player he’d apparently been. Everything about him was square and firm, from his broad shoulders to his well-muscled thighs. He had big hands and feet. But he didn’t move like a large man did. It might be the injuries, but Mal had probably always been the sort of guy who didn’t know his own strength. Who had no idea he was powerful. It was sexy and endearing. Something Brian wanted to explore.

  His phone vibrated. Brian woke the screen.

  House still here. Me too. [crazy eye emoji]

  Brian smiled at the message. He was slowly becoming used to Josh’s sense of humor. No surprise that it was sometimes as terse as his. I’ll be home before lunch, he texted back.

  He’d happily spend the weekend in bed with Mal—fucking, cuddling, and doing the simple conversation thing. But it was early days, yet, and he wanted to spend a part of his weekend with Josh too. Maybe he was projecting, but at Josh’s age, he’d have given anything to have some secure adult company.

  Melancholy seeped across the edges of his thoughts. Memories of himself at that age and a little older, when he’d finally found someone to confide in. First Vanessa and then Tristan, the man who’d believed in him, championed him, and turned his life around. A man he’d loved like a father, and then lost too soon.

  Stop.

  Brian rolled over, slid his phone back onto the nightstand, and tested the air outside the comfort of Mal’s bed. Cold. But his bladder was becoming insistent, so he’d have to brave the floor sooner rather than later. The lingering ache in his ass made him smile as he padded around the end of the bed toward the bathroom. Sex with Mal had been good. Better than good. He cast a glance over his shoulder before stepping through the door and warm, fuzzy feelings surrounded his heart with a gentle squeeze.

  After taking care of business, Brian checked his reflection in the mirror, taking a minute to smooth his hair—which was, of course, sticking up in every direction but normal—and then he noticed the window behind him. A curve of white clung to the lower pane. He crossed to the window and peeked through the upper portion, out into a world freshly blanketed by snow. Another four to six inches, judging by the layer of white along the top of the fence.

  Mal was still sleeping—and still looking like a cuddly lion of a man next to his feral cat—when Brian returned to the bedroom. Without disturbing him, Brian collected his clothes and tiptoed out into the hall. After dressing in the hall bath, he tiptoed downstairs where a quick exploratory mission turned up a snow shovel in the garage, and a door that opened onto the driveway. He snagged a coat from the peg right there, tried on a pair of gloves and ducked out into the crisp, white morning.

  He’d have to shovel some to get his car out, anyway, he reasoned as he started with the walk to the front door. He was half done with the driveway when a car stopped at the curb and idled for a minute. Then a man dressed for similar exercise jumped out and strode up to meet him. With a wool hat pulled down low and jacket zipped up high, it took Brian a handful of seconds to recognize him.

  Mal’s brother spoke first. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Donny reached for the shovel. “I can take it from here.”

  Riddle of who’d been shoveling Mal’s walk and drive: solved.

  Brian held on to the shovel. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

  Donny took note of Brian’s snow-shrouded car. “You’ve been here all night?”

&nb
sp; “What business is that of yours?”

  Donny glanced between the car and the house a few times, and then back at Brian. “He’s not your type.”

  “And what is Mal’s type?”

  “He needs someone dependable. Someone quiet, like him.”

  “What makes you the expert on what Mal needs?”

  “I’m his brother.”

  “And I’m the guy who shared his bed last night. I think I’ve got a handle on it.”

  Donny’s already red cheeks burned redder. “Listen, I don’t . . . I’m sure you’re . . .” He chewed on a sigh for a second before letting it go. “I got a letter from some lawyer.”

  “Huh?”

  “About the kitchen contractor. Someone lodged a formal complaint, and they’re forming a class-action thing. Your name was on it.”

  “Mal told me what happened. I’d never have recommended them if I’d known they were that bad. I don’t even remember why I had their card. I must have gotten them confused with someone else. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s all good. I just . . . Damn it. I don’t want you to be decent.”

  Brian jerked back. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I asked around about you.”

  “And?”

  “Everyone says you’re a player.”

  “I’m single, Donny. And have been for a couple of years. So I like to hook up on occasion. That does not make me a player.”

  “Mal needs—”

  “I think Mal is well old enough to know what he needs.”

  “You don’t understand. His accident, this thing with his legs. He nearly died. And he’s been—” Donny broke off and fidgeted in place.

  Knowing, or guessing what Donny had been about to say, Brian offered him a respectful nod. “Worst case, he’ll get bored of me or figure out I’m not his type. Until then, maybe I’m the distraction he needs.”

  Donny shrugged, then turned toward the shovel. “He’s not that easily impressed.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t think you can get to him through me. I appreciate what you did with the contractor and all, but I’m not his gatekeeper.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Donny said nothing for a minute. Then he ducked into the side door and grabbed another shovel. “I’ll start on the sidewalk.”

  “Thanks.”

  Between them, they had the drive and sidewalk cleared fifteen minutes later. By then, Mal was at the front door, all cozy-looking in sweats. “C’mon in. I’ve got breakfast started,” he called.

  It wasn’t the breakfast Brian had hoped for. Donny’s presence pretty much precluded another round of sex. But it was interesting to measure the closeness of the brothers. They had similar builds and their eyes were the same muted shade of gray. But they didn’t look like twins. After observing them together for longer than a few minutes, however, Brian conceded they were intensely connected. As close as he’d imagined twins might be. He knew Donny had given up a semester of college to care for Mal, and suspected Mal had probably made several similar sacrifices for Donny.

  If Brian wanted more, Donny would be a permanent part of the equation. Was he prepared for that?

  Mal walked him to the door a short while later.

  “How’s the leg holding up?” Brian asked.

  “A little sore.” Mal grinned. “Last night was worth it.”

  Brian smiled, and when Mal leaned in, he met him halfway in an altogether too sweet kiss.

  “Thanks for last night. All of it.”

  Mal kissed him again. “Thank you.”

  “See you soon?”

  Mal’s grin was adorable. “Yes.”

  Josh was in the kitchen when Brian got home, something turning endless circles in the microwave.

  “What are you making?” Brian asked.

  “Lunch.”

  “I should teach you how to actually cook.”

  Josh replied with one of his habitual shrugs. “How was your date?”

  “Good. Mal’s brother showed up this morning, which was all kinds of awkward.”

  A grin flashed across Josh’s face, spreading when he glanced down at his phone. His thumbs raced across the keyboard for a couple of seconds before he looked back up. “So weird you’re dating my teacher.”

  “Does it bother you?’

  Shrug.

  “You seemed a little put out by it on the first day of school,” Brian added.

  “Everything’s weird on the first day of school. And I was still getting used to the idea of being here and stuff. But I can see you guys together.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re both, like, old and stuff.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Should he ask for a definitive definition of stuff?

  Josh’s phone grabbed his attention again. Grinning, he tapped out another text.

  “Who are you chatting with?”

  “Ethan.”

  The microwave dinged and the sound replaced the warning bells already tolling in the back of Brian’s psyche. “Be careful, Josh. I know he’s probably got a lot of questions right now, and he’ll need friends like you to talk to, but don’t fall for him, okay?”

  Josh frowned. “Who said anything about falling for him?”

  The clearing of his frown as he checked his phone screen and the smile edging his lips as he moved his thumbs across the keyboard, that’s who.

  “He has a girlfriend,” Brian pointed out.

  “They broke up.”

  The microwave repeated its call to duty.

  “Josh, look at me for a sec?”

  Josh glanced at him. “What?”

  “You know I got kicked out of home like you did, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know it was over some straight guy who was experimenting?”

  The wrinkling of Josh’s brow indicated he’d finally started paying attention.

  Leaning past the renewed frown, Brian opened the microwave and retrieved the steaming tray of vegetarian gunk. “Here.” He put the tray on the counter. “Ethan seems like a nice guy, but you don’t want to be the one he experiments with, okay? Because it never ends well. Not for him and not for you.”

  “Easy for you to say. You had one bad experience.”

  “Not just one. I’ve been around for a while.”

  “Bisexuality is a valid orientation.”

  “I’m not trying to argue that it’s not. I know a bunch of bisexual guys. Hell, Simon’s new partner was married to a woman and has a kid.” Brian tried not to shudder.

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “My ex, and not who we’re talking about.”

  “What do you care who I hook up with? You’re getting some. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Josh . . .” Brian dug his fingers into his scalp. “Okay, you said we don’t need to have the sex conversation, but . . .” God, forgive me. “Have you ever—”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  So that was a no, then.

  Brian thought back to his first time and blew out a tight breath. “I’m going to sound like a freaking Hallmark ad here, but your first time should be with someone you like and trust, okay? It’s a big deal. It’s scary and exciting and not a little life changing. Especially if you’re doing more than fool around.”

  Josh’s skin took on the shade of an overripe tomato. He opened his mouth.

  Brian waved him off.

  Josh’s situation was different. He’d already been kicked out, based only on a confession. He hadn’t been caught by . . . He hadn’t . . . His first time wasn’t yet a permanent scar. But Brian couldn’t think of a way to share that sentiment without spilling a story he’d never told anyone, or without ruining what had, so far, been a pretty decent Saturday. So he let it go, for now.

  “Rachel isn’t coming?” Mal frowned over his brother’s shoulder at the car parked in his driveway. The suspiciously empty car. “We always watch the Pro Bowl together.”

  It’d been a w
eek since his first official date with Brian. They’d seen each other twice in the intervening days, outside of the GSA meeting at school, and each date had been better than the last. Mal could feel himself getting used to Brian’s attention. His kisses, his taste, the intensity of his orgasms. And his company—to counting on it. Which was why he wanted to spend today with his brother and sister-in-law. Before he forgot what it was like to be simply Mal.

  Of course, the fact that he’d be meeting Brian and Brian’s friends at the Colonial this afternoon as well had nothing to do with him needing company of his own to walk through the door.

  Nothing. Nope. All’s good here.

  “Hayley was running a fever, so Rachel decided to stay home with her,” Donny said.

  “And miss the game.” Rachel rarely missed a game at the Colonial, not with Grandma and Grandpa ready to babysit anytime, anywhere.

  “We do have a TV at our house,” Donny pointed out. “Three of them, in fact.”

  Mal delved beneath the glib humor in Donny’s expression. “Why is she really staying home?”

  Donny sighed. “C’mon, get in the car. It’s cold. I’ll tell you on the way. Where’s your crutch?”

  “I’m only walking as far as your car and then as far as the front door of the Colonial. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why couldn’t you have been the one to stay home?”

  Snorting, Donny stepped off the walk and waited for him to pass before following him.

  “I can feel you waiting for me to slip,” Mal said.

  “And I can feel you trying damn hard not to,” Donny returned.

  Mal continued his slow progress toward the car. His left leg, the one that was supposed to be good, ached in a bone-deep way, and his right knee was still swollen. He was finding it hard to remember what it had looked like before his accident and, at the moment, the act of walking felt mentally taxing—weighing thoughts of not slipping against more dire fantasies of wrecking his new knee so badly that walking with a brace would become a full-time sport.