by T. J. Klune
This is real.
“You’re staying with me,” he says quietly. “In my bed. Tonight, and probably many nights from here on out if I have any say in it. Take what you need for tonight. For tomorrow. You’ll come home Sunday. If that’s what you want.”
Sean nods, a quick snap of his head. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I want. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m not usually so nervous. You don’t make me nervous. Okay, you do, but it’s a good—”
Mike kisses him. He cups Sean’s face in his hands and kisses him, swallowing down whatever other words were going to fall from his mouth. He’s insistent now, more so than he’s been before with Sean. Sean sags against him, and his tongue is against Mike’s, and it’s wet and warm. Their teeth clack together because they’re going too far, and Mike lets it happen for one and two and three, but then he’s the one that pulls away, the one that puts a stop it. Sean leans in after him, groaning when Mike pushes a big hand against his chest, saying, “Pack.”
“You’re a tease, Mike Frazier,” he says with a scowl.
“Not trying to be,” Mike says. “And if you hurry up, I’ll show you as soon as we get home.”
Sean doesn’t even bat an eye at that last word. Home. Like he’s okay with it, like he’s already thinking it. Mike didn’t mean to say it like that, but now that it’s out, he won’t take it back. He likes the way it sounds, like they live together, like maybe he’ll get to wake up with Sean every day, curled around him in the winter to keep away the cold, lying side by side in the summer, their hands joined under the thin sheet resting on their bare stomachs.
(He feels it, the pulling, the slipping, like it’s trying to take this moment away from him. He keeps his expression calm, but inside he’s saying, No, no, no, you can’t have this, you won’t take this from me, this is real, this is real, and I won’t let—)
Sean’s moving quickly, he’s at his closet, throwing the doors open. They bang against the walls and he chuckles nervously. He reaches up to the shelf above and pulls down an old duffel bag, army green and well used. Mike wants to ask where it came from, if it was his dad’s, if his dad had been in the Great War, either of them, but he knows that the moment he does, Sean’s eyes will glaze over and he’ll start to shudder and shake. Mike won’t have that. He won’t let that happen again. Sean’s migraines have begun to hurt worse each time than they ever have before, and he won’t do that to him or anyone else. Even if he’s the only one who knows the things he doesn’t quite know. It’s better this way. That’s what he tells himself.
Mike’s leaning against the doorframe again, watching Sean move. Sean’s not talking, but he’s going back and forth between the closet and the old Chesterfield set of drawers. He’s got underpants and socks and sleep pants. He’s got black dress trousers and a red dress shirt. Mike’s not surprised when he sees him pull out black suspenders, and he wonders if it’s Mrs. Richardson’s doing. He thinks it probably is. Sean puts this all in his duffel bag, and he turns to Mike.
“I, uh,” he says. “I need my toiletries. From the bathroom.”
Mike says, “Okay.” And doesn’t move. He knows the bathroom is behind him across the hall and he knows he’s blocking most of the door, but he wants to see what Sean will do. Wants to see how he’ll react.
Sean narrows his eyes, like he knows what Mike’s thinking. And maybe he does. That nervous little boy is gone and when Sean moves next, he’s slinking toward Mike like he’s stalking prey. Mike thinks, I’m going to fuck you so goddamn hard, and even he’s shocked by the crudeness of it. That’s not how he is. Not normally.
But Sean’s walking like he is, like he’s the cock-of-the-walk, and Mike likes it. He likes that Sean can go from the bumbling kid to this beautiful man in front of him like it’s nothing. He’s nervous still, Mike can see it in the set of his shoulders, but he’s not taking Mike’s shit, and even more, he’s playing with him.
Mike doesn’t move.
Sean presses up against him far more than necessary, even with the small amount of space in the doorway Mike has left him. He moves slowly around Mike, hands trailing along Mike’s arms. Their groins brush together, and Mike has to grind his teeth together in order to not pin Sean against the door. It takes minutes and hours and days for Sean to move by, but he does and then he’s behind Mike, hurrying down the hall like he’s a kid again, like he’s packing for a trip and he’s too excited to keep still.
Mike takes a breath and lets it out slowly.
MIKE’S CARRYING the bag as they walk in the dark toward his house. There’s a chill in the air, and the houses are lit up around them as people settle in for the evening. There are only a few people on the streets, and they’re all hurrying home. There are lights on at the park down the road behind them, and undoubtedly Mrs. Richardson is there still, ordering her minions around, making sure everything is the way she wants it.
That’s fine. That’s for tomorrow.
Mike’s hand is in Sean’s and they’re moving with purpose toward something inevitable. It’s taken this long for them to get where they are, and these last few minutes feel like they’re being drawn out. It’s almost unbearable, and Mike gives very serious thought to throwing Sean over his shoulder and running the rest of the way.
“We’re almost there,” Sean says, reading Mike’s mind yet again. It’s just what he does.
Mike has to say it. He has to, because he loves Sean too much to not. “We don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to, or if you’re not ready. We can just go home and have some supper and sleep. That’s all we have to do.”
“I know, big guy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sean says, and he’s making fun of Mike. Mike knows that now. “I know. Is that what you want?”
Mike’s honest to a fault. Always has been. “No. But it’s not about just what I want. It’s about what you want too.”
“Good,” Sean says. “Because I know what I want.” He reaches down between them, and before Mike can stop him, there’s a sharp pinch to his rear. Mike makes what is undoubtedly an unflattering noise, and Sean’s laughing, laughing, laughing.
And then he’s running, shouting over his shoulder for Mike to catch him if he can.
Mike chases him all the way home.
IT MIGHT have started the moment they left the diner.
But this is where it finishes.
Sean’s in the house first, panting and smiling his just-for-Mike smile. “Beat you,” he says. “I beat you. Getting old, big guy?”
And it sounds so cocky, so full of life, that Mike drops the duffel bag near the door and says, “You sure about this?” He needs to ask one last time.
The smile fades a little. “Yeah, Mike, I am. You don’t have to keep—”
But Mike’s already moving. One moment he’s near the door, and the next he’s kissing Sean, really kissing him. It’s quick and heated, and Sean’s arms are around his neck. His breath hitches in his chest as Mike’s hands skate down his back, over the swell of his ass to the back of his thighs. His fingers dig in and Sean gets with the program, lifting up, wrapping his legs around Mike’s waist as Mike carries him. They’re eye to eye now and Mike is pleased with this, pleased with the weight of Sean in his arms, the way they feel against each other. He knows this is real. Nothing that feels like this could be anything but.
Sean’s a little breathless when he says, “This shouldn’t be as good as it is. Manhandling me. I’m not a—” but it breaks off into a strangled noise when Mike latches his lips and teeth on to Sean’s neck. Sean tilts his head back, arching into Mike. He’s heavy for such a skinny thing, and Mike presses him up against the wall to keep from dropping him before he kisses his way up Sean’s neck to his ear.
Sean’s hands are in his hair, digging in, and he’s saying Mike’s name, saying “Please, Mike, please” and “Come on, come on, come on.” Mike’s a little light-headed as he takes Sean’s mouth with his own, squeezing a handful of his ass just because he can.
It’s sweet and heady, and Sean starts fumbling with the buttons on Mike’s shirt, and his hands are shaking like he’s nervous. “Take me to bed,” he demands. “Do it now, Mike Frazier. Come on, big guy. Do it now.”
“Maybe I want to take you right here.” Mike laughs low at the look of indignation on Sean’s face. “Maybe this is good enough for me.”
Sean’s going for coy but missing by a mile when he says, “I’ll let you do things. I’ll let you do things to me. Mike, I just want to be in your bed. Please. Please just take me to your bed.”
Almost from the very first day that Mike met Sean, he knew he’d have a hard time ever saying no. It isn’t that he can’t or that he isn’t capable. No, he can say no if it’s needed. The problem (though, in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t a very big one) with that is that he never wants to say no to Sean. There may have been a time or two when he resented that, when he thought that Sean held too much sway over him, but he let that go that day on the dock, the day he finally gave in to what he wanted most. They took their time to get here after, but it’s all the sweeter because of it.
He says, “Okay. Okay, Sean.”
“Damn right.” Sean goes back to kissing Mike.
It’s awkward. The angle is slightly off, their noses knocking together. Sean’s squirming in his arms. Mike’s trying to not walk either of them into the walls or the sofa. He could set Sean down, sure, but now that he has him here like he is, he’s doesn’t think he can let Sean go.
So they bump their way down the hall, hitting the wall a time or two. Sean’s laughing against Mike’s mouth. He can feel the smile on Sean’s face, making kissing him all but impossible. They just keep their faces pressed together, and it’s terribly endearing to Mike, who thinks that it’s been worth it. The years have been worth it. Because he feels like he does, and he thinks Sean might feel the same. It would have been different, had he given in that day on the dock. It would have been good, but this is better. This is what he was waiting for.
(And maybe, just for a second, he can’t help but feel sorry for that poor bastard on the balcony, that man who was tired and sad and angry. He didn’t love the woman (Jenny), but he cared for her, even after they became this twisted thing that grew like cancer. Mike doesn’t know how he knows this, doesn’t know why he’s even thinking about it, but it’s there, and he thinks, This is what’s real. This is what’s real.)
They reach the bedroom door and Sean’s still snickering, his hands on either side of Mike’s face, thumbs brushing Mike’s eyebrows. Mike kicks the door open and it bangs sharply against the wall, though neither of them can find a reason to care about that. Martin walks out between Mike’s legs, glaring balefully at them for waking him up. He disappears down the hall.
“Your cat doesn’t like me,” Sean says.
“I really don’t care right now,” Mike says. Then he drops Sean on his bed.
Sean laughs again as he bounces, and it really hits Mike then. He’s thought about this moment, this exact moment, so many times over the years. Sean’s smiling, sitting up on his elbows, gazing up at him like he’s something special. Like he’s something just for Sean, and Sean couldn’t be happier about it. He’s in Mike’s bed, and it’s a sight that knocks the breath from Mike’s chest.
“Okay there, big guy?” Sean asks, pressing a foot against Mike’s knee.
“Yeah,” Mike says hoarsely.
“Yeah,” Sean says, rolling his eyes. “You just gonna stand there all night?”
No, he’s not. He reaches down and takes Sean’s foot into his hands. He’s careful with it. Sean’s not fragile, but Mike knows what damage hands can cause. He knows what power they have. He’d never do that to Sean, never raise a hand to him, so he’s going to do this right.
He unlaces Sean’s shoe before pulling it off and dropping it to the floor. Sean’s still smiling at him, but it’s a different smile than the one he’s used to. It’s the smallest of curves, knowing and heated. There’s a hint of teeth to it, and his eyes are bright.
He sets Sean’s foot down on the edge of the bed. Without needing to be asked, Sean raises his other leg. Mike worries the knot a little before it untangles and he slides the other shoe off.
It’s quiet in the room when Sean’s leg falls back to the bed.
Sean drops onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. He flexes his arms a little, that little smile widening slightly. He’s rail thin, and the muscles are too, but Mike likes that about him, always has. Granted, Sean could look however he wanted to and Mike’s sure he’d feel just the same.
“See something you like?” Sean asks, voice husky.
Mike wants to laugh at him for being so corny, but he doesn’t, because he can hear the barely there tremor to Sean’s words, the way his eyes dart to the side before flitting back to Mike.
He’s nervous. It’s okay, Mike is too, but Sean’s nervous. Mike opens his mouth to ask again if Sean is sure about this, but Sean narrows his eyes like he knows what Mike’s about to say. “I do,” Mike says instead. “I see a lot of things I like.”
Sean breathes out slowly, like he was worried about the answer. “Good. That’s real good. Mike, I need this. From you.”
Mike knows that, because he needs it too. Instead of saying anything and running the risk of the words getting tangled on his tongue, he uses his knee to knock Sean’s legs apart. Sean goes willingly, pupils dilating. There’s a strip of skin where his shirt has risen up, a little trail of hair that disappears into the top of his jeans. Mike bends over, putting one hand flat against the bed on one side of Sean. He takes his other hand and hovers it briefly over that strip of skin before he slides his fingers under Sean’s shirt and presses down.
Sean’s stomach is trembling under Mike’s hand, but he’s warm. Mike’s fingers run over the skin of his stomach, rucking his shirt up until it’s up around his chest. He likes the contrast of his skin against Sean’s. They’re both pale, but Sean’s skin more so than his, and he looks almost delicate under Mike’s hand, like he’s something that needs to be handled with care.
Sean looks a little dazed as he props himself back up on his elbows, looking down, watching Mike’s hand. Mike’s fascinated with the hairs on his stomach and he leans down farther, pressing his lips right below Sean’s belly button, feeling the skin jump under the kiss.
He’s dragging this out, and he sees the aborted move Sean’s hips make, like he’s about to jerk his hips up but thinks better of it. He sees the outline of Sean’s dick straining against denim, and his mouth suddenly goes dry.
“Mike,” Sean says. “I need you.”
“Yeah,” Mike says.
He unbuttons Sean’s jeans, the zipper loud in the quiet room as he slides it down. Sean’s hand goes on top of his, resting on the bed, squeezing around his fingers. It’s consent, it’s saying now, it’s saying move, move, move. Mike does. He pulls down the waistband of Sean’s underpants, the head of his dick exposed, flushed and red. The tips of his fingers brush against it, and Sean groans.
Mike thinks, I’ve done this before. Not with him, but I have. Because I know what to do. I know that I’ll take his cock in my mouth. I know how to use my tongue. I know how to work my throat around it. I know how to take him all the way down until his pubes rub against my nose. I know all of this, but I can’t remember how I know.
And it’s there, the low-level panic, but Mike pushes it away.
He bends over and kisses the tip of Sean’s cock, darting his tongue out and tracing the underside of the head. He wraps his lips around Sean’s dick, taking it into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. Sean cries out above him, and Mike thinks, Am I your first? Have you ever done this before? Would you even remember if I asked?
Sean’s hands are in his hair, not pushing, not pulling, just holding. Mike works his way down Sean’s cock, reaching up to pull his pants down farther. Sean lifts his hips to help, inadvertently thrusting his dick farther into Mike’s mouth. Mike br
eathes through his nose, throat constricting around Sean. Sean grunts above him, fingers tightening in his hair. He’s holding Mike in place and giving these shallow little thrusts, like he’s unsure of how far he can go but is too afraid to push for it. Mike groans through a mouthful of dick, the taste of skin heavy on his tongue. Sean’s balls bump against his chin, and he’s trying to get more, trying to push himself down farther. He wants to choke on it, wants to take in as much as he can.
Sean moans Mike’s name above him as his eyes water. He wants more. He pushes for more. His hands come up and grip Sean’s thighs, and he sinks to his knees, trapping Sean’s legs under his arms. Sean’s cock slides from his mouth with an obscene pop and slaps wetly against his stomach. Sean’s gasping above him, but Mike doesn’t take time to admire the flush on his face, the way his eyes are blown out. He jerks Sean toward him, the comforter bunching up underneath him. Between Mike’s grip on his thighs and the jeans pooled at his ankles, Sean can’t move very far. Mike sucks him down again, the angle better.
Sean pushes himself up on his hands, towering above Mike as he works his cock. He’s upright now, and resumes that shallow thrusting, back hunched and curled over Mike. His hands are on the back of Mike’s head and he’s pushing him down in time with the thrust of his hips, and Mike lets him. He lets him control it, because even if Sean can’t remember having done this before, that’s not to say he has. This could be his first time for any of this. And he’s been waiting for Mike. Mike wants to give him everything he can.
It’s too much, though. Sean says, “Mike, Mike, Mike, I don’t want to come like this, please, Mike, please,” and Mike pulls off with a gasp, fingers wrapped around the base of Sean’s cock, squeezing tight. He presses his face against Sean’s chest, Sean breathing raggedly near his ear, his chin hitting the top of Mike’s head.