A Kind of Home

by Lane Hayes

  “How so?”

  “She said I was looking for ways for her to fail. Like I gave up on us because of a rumor. That I expected perfection and wouldn’t settle for anything less. It was a slow slide that eventually led us to divorce. One she orchestrated because she hated what we’d become. She was braver than me. I didn’t know how to undo ‘us’ gracefully, so she took matters into her own hands. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. She knew the one thing I couldn’t forgive was her cheating on me.”

  “Braver than you? She’s horrible,” I spat.

  “I was too, in a passive-aggressive way. I did give up. I thought we could get it back naturally. But I didn’t know how to do it. I was constantly throwing passes to a receiver who was running in the opposite direction. I couldn’t figure out how to correct whatever was wrong. How to get her to stand still and catch the fucking ball! We brushed everything under the carpet and just… drifted. Until one day, I became the grocery store version of me. The guy who walked the aisles looking for a way to pass the time and maybe solve what was beginning to feel like a bigger problem than I’d thought.”

  “You aren’t that guy anymore, Adam.”

  “No, but I’ve learned a few things from my time aimlessly cruising the supermarket. Everyone communicates differently. We don’t always use words. Sometimes we use time as a currency. More time equals more interest. We use our senses and read into looks, smells, touch, taste, hearing. We use music. Or food,” he added with a lopsided grin. “But I know now I can’t always expect the response I want just because I made the effort.”

  “You’ve become very wise in your old age.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m still trying to figure it out. I just don’t want to feel so disconnected to someone I’m attached to again. It’s lonely. I hated knowing I was where I was supposed to be and being miserable. And knowing she was too. The crazy thing is that I don’t think Deb and I were a mistake. We were a lesson to each other. Life is too short to be unhappy.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. “Are you happy now?”

  “Yeah, I am. Are you?”

  “Well, I’m on a ferry bound for Staten Island, standing outside in the rain, but… yeah. I guess I am.”

  We shared a smile. It was a knowing look between old friends. It tethered us to the moment and made our surroundings superfluous. I couldn’t decide if I was grateful or disappointed when I realized we’d arrived. It might have been cold, windy, and raining, but this cocoon was warm and comforting.

  The errand took less than twenty minutes to accomplish. It was a short taxi ride from the ferry to his instructor’s bistro. I couldn’t make out the street signs or the script on the glass door of the brightly lit restaurant through the pouring rain. When Adam suggested I wait in the cab, I didn’t argue. I sat in the backseat of the ancient yellow town car and reveled in the sound of the wind and rain and the feeling of absolute anonymity. This was fucking awesome.

  Adam returned with two hot cocoas in to-go cups. I beamed my thanks and purred happily as I cradled the warm drink like a rare delicacy.

  “This is so good,” I gushed.

  Adam huffed a half laugh. “You didn’t even take a sip yet.”

  “I know, but I can already tell it’s going to be fantastic. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It was a freebie. Nigel—”

  “No. I mean, thank you for… this. Tonight. For making me get out and telling me to quit feeling sorry for myself.”

  “You’re welcome. We can up the fun meter now. Where to next? A bar, a club, or—”

  “Home. I owe you a guitar lesson.”

  I reached out to squeeze his knee playfully, but when he captured my wrist and threaded his fingers through mine, I didn’t pull away. And I didn’t try to talk myself into thinking I was making another mistake. It felt too good to be wrong.

  THE TRIP back to Manhattan was quiet. We stayed inside the cabin on the ferry and found a somewhat private place to talk about important things like the healing properties of hot chocolate, which in turn led to a discussion about the best ones we’d ever had. It was goofy, and no doubt anyone within hearing range would have been convinced they were listening to a couple of adolescents. Adam made me laugh with his serious expression as he upheld his assertion that homemade marshmallows were the best thing that ever happened to a cup of cocoa. By the time we were back in the elevator on our way to my place, my feet were wet, my clothes were damp, but I felt lighthearted and happy.

  Adam gave me a curious look when I pressed the button for the twentieth floor.

  “I want to show you something,” I said with a smile.

  He stayed close when we exited. I stopped at the first door on the right and typed a code on the keypad, then held my arms open in welcome when the lock unlatched.

  Now I was really home.

  Adam’s awestruck expression was priceless. He wandered toward the wall of guitars on the far end of the room, stopped to touch a cherry-red one, and moved toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. He stared out at the spectacular view of downtown, then flashed a wicked grin over his shoulder. I was tempted to ask what he thought, but it was obvious he was impressed. Besides, I didn’t like to speak in this room. Words didn’t belong here. I figured I’d show him instead. I headed directly for my prize Gibson Les Paul and plugged in the sleek, shiny instrument before securing the strap over my shoulder. Then I closed my eyes and began to play.

  The melody of the Spiral song I chose was sweet, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I changed the chords slightly and layered new ones over old with fiery licks that reverberated in the air around me. I was like an artist defiling a perfectly beautiful canvas only to reconstruct it into something new. I heard the notes before I played them. I was two steps ahead, painting broad strokes of color over the dulled notes. If I listened carefully, I could hear the guitar sing… or weep. The music was alive.

  One song bled into the next. Time passed, but I couldn’t say how long I played. I just kept going until my fingers cramped. I ended with a simple chord progression and bent my head like a marathon runner at the end of his race, and sucked in a well-deserved gulp of fresh air.

  “That was amazing.”

  I started at Adam’s awestruck tone. “Thanks.”

  “So this is your personal studio? I wondered if you had something like this. Pretty fucking cool,” he gushed. “How come you never mentioned this place?”

  I set the guitar on a stand by a keyboard, then turned toward the kitchenette around the corner. I returned a minute later with two water bottles. I wordlessly handed one to him before uncapping mine and taking a sip.

  I moved to the windows and stared at the twinkling lights across the river. Adam’s reflection in the glass caught my attention. He set his water on a low table and came to stand beside me.

  “It’s private. I never bring anyone here. It’s like a tree house for one.” I smiled at him in the window before turning toward him. “Or two. If you want to play one of the electrics, this is where you should come. It’s soundproof. No one will bother you. What do you feel like playing now? We could….”

  His gaze roamed over my face, seemingly detailing the shape of my eyes and nose before fixating on my mouth. He cocked his head and inched closer. I forgot what I was going to say.

  “What is it?” he whispered, brushing his fingers tentatively along my jaw.

  When he rested his thumb on my bottom lip, I went completely still. My heart pounded like a drum. I wanted more than I should ask for, and the way he was looking at me told me I wasn’t alone.

  “I know I said I didn’t think we should, but….”

  “But what? What do you want?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  What a question. It had to be all too obvious. I swallowed hard. “You.”

  Adam closed the distance and gently pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was featherlight and sweet. I wanted to catalog the feel of his nearness. The way he smelled and the taste of hot ch
ocolate on his tongue. The way he surrounded me but gave me room to change my mind. He was balance and harmony. Light and dark. I couldn’t push him away without compromising the fragile accord. And frankly I couldn’t justify it. Sure I wasn’t drunk this time. There might be consequences, but I couldn’t remember if they were important.

  So I gave in and took what I wanted.

  I melted into his touch, weaving my arms around his neck to draw him closer. I groaned when his tongue brushed mine. His kiss was languid but possessive, a gentle persuasion rather than the heated collision we’d succumbed to the first time. I was panting when I resurfaced and rested my forehead against his. He rubbed his scruffy jaw against mine, then backed up slightly.

  “We weren’t going to do this,” he said in a low, gravelly tone.

  “I know. It’s really not smart at all,” I moaned, slipping my arms around his waist and pulling him close enough he could feel my erection through my jeans.

  “Does this mean you want more?”

  I wanted to laugh, because fuck… he had to feel my cock straining against my zipper. I started to make a smartass reply accompanied with a salacious pelvic thrust to show him what I wanted, but the hint of vulnerability in his expression stopped me. He was trying to get this right. I caressed his jaw and ran my fingers through his thick hair before nodding.

  “Yes. I want more. I want everything.” I flicked my tongue over his earlobe and whispered, “Once wasn’t enough. I want to feel you. And… I want to taste you again.”

  He captured my mouth in a brief but demanding kiss before backing up to yank my shirt from my jeans. He pulled it over my head and then removed his sweatshirt and tossed it carelessly behind him. We worked on belt buckles and zippers with our lips fused. I raked my fingernails down his back and along his sides before dipping under the elastic of his boxer briefs.

  He grasped my wrist and stepped back, panting for air. “Let’s go downstairs.”

  “No. I don’t want to stop.”

  I stepped aside to find the remote control to lower the blinds. Then I turned to Adam and held his stare as I pushed the denim along with my briefs over my ass and stopped just as I exposed the barest hint of pubic hair. Adam gulped. His gaze traveled down my chest to my crotch like he was telepathically hoping to spur me into action. I grinned at the thought as I pushed my jeans down.

  “Oh. Fuck.”

  I toed off my damp shoes and socks and kicked the denim aside. I would never have thought standing bareass naked with my dick in my hand was particularly empowering, but the look in Adam’s eyes changed my mind. I moved closer and ran my fingers down his toned abdomen.

  “Don’t slow down. Keep going,” I urged with a wicked grin.

  He nodded, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and pulled his jeans low on his hips. He stopped when I licked my right palm and then stroked myself leisurely. We stood like that for a long moment. I grew harder with each passing second, and it was easy to tell he was in the same condition. The bulge in his jeans looked almost painful. The building tension unnerved me.

  When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I flattened myself against him and wound my arms around his trim waist. I pulled back to nuzzle his neck and lick his jaw. Then I slipped my hands under his jeans and squeezed his ass before pushing the denim down his legs. I traced his crack and pulled his cheeks wide to caress his hole. Adam let out a low groan and crashed his mouth over mine, bucking his hips backward in a quest for friction.

  I wasn’t sure he’d let me go any further, so I moved on to something I knew he’d like. I nibbled at his lip before sinking to my knees in front him. Now his thick erection was inches from my lips. I laid my head against his upper thigh and breathed in his manly, musky scent. I had to taste him. I stuck out my tongue and rested it over his slit before looking up as though awaiting his command.

  It came by way of a firm hand on my head and the insistent tapping of his dick against my cheek. The wordless instruction was clear: get to it. I grinned at him, then lowered my head to lick his wide head and fondle his balls. I sucked each one before returning to his rigid shaft and swallowing as much of him as I could.

  “Oh fuck! Feels so good.”

  Mmm. That’s what I wanted. I twisted my wrist as I alternately sucked and licked his length. My own cock was begging for attention. I was so hard and so turned on, I knew it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge. The scene playing out in my music room was a gay rock star’s dream come true. I was on my knees sucking off a guy who looked like freaking Superman, while surrounded by a treasure trove of instruments. Sure reality was slightly more complicated, but fuck, this was hot.

  “Fuck! I’m close.”

  Adam pushed my forehead until I let go. Then he jacked himself roughly and let out a fierce roar when he came a few seconds later. His release hit my cheek just before I rested my head against his thigh. When his trembling subsided, I twirled my tongue in a lazy circle around the tip of his spent penis.

  “Mmm. You taste so good,” I purred.

  When I was sure I got every last drop, I licked my way up his body, moving to stand so I could suck his tits one at a time before I draped my arms over his shoulders. Adam sighed into my mouth.

  “I’m dizzy. And… you’re hard,” he said in a raspy tone.

  “So fucking hard,” I agreed, gripping myself fiercely. “Lick my cheek.”

  Adam hesitated, then shivered before leaning in to obey. He licked a trail from my jaw to my cheekbone and tasted himself on my skin. His low hum moved through me like a sexy bass riff. I turned my head just as he drove his tongue between my lips as if he wanted to share. His blissed-out groan was a crazy turn-on. I thrust my hips rhythmically while our tongues twisted in a frenzy.

  “I just need your hands on me. I’m… so close,” I gasped.

  He bit my bottom lip and then nodded. “Sit on that stool and spread your legs wide for me.”

  I gulped but did as I was told. My dick was so hard it had its own pulse. I needed release fast.

  Adam knelt between my legs. He pressed a chaste kiss on my inner thigh, then reached for me. I arched my back as he stroked, tentatively at first and then with a firmer grip. I braced my hands on the back edge of the stool and lifted my ass, looking for more friction.

  “Relax. I got this.”

  He licked his middle finger and set it on my hole just as he swooped down to suck me. The dual effect was sensory overload. I pushed at his forehead to warn him, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m gonna come.”

  He looked up at me, releasing me with a pop. “Do it.”

  I immediately fell apart. It was a cartwheel-turning, free-fall-through-space kind of orgasm. It left me feeling unmoored and adrift. I quaked with the intensity of my release while my lover sucked me dry. I didn’t stop shaking until he grabbed my chin and thrust his tongue between my lips. The carnal offering made my head spin all over again. And when he stood and pulled me into his arms to hold me close, I melted into his embrace.

  This felt different, though I couldn’t have said why. I might have thought it was the anomaly of having sex with a friend, but this went well beyond physical intimacy. It was poignant and meaningful. It was an intentional repeat that was going to change everything. And somehow I didn’t mind at all.

  Chapter 7

  THE NEXT day I gave Adam the key to the music room and the invitation to play on his own whenever he felt like it. In return, he continued his efforts to introduce me to the joys of baking. Or the misery of baking, depending whom you asked. I hated it. Maybe it was because I didn’t feel attached to the outcome. I liked cookies and brownies just fine, but I didn’t crave them, and on the rare occasion I did, I had a steady supply of Adam’s on hand.

  And I didn’t like kitchen chaos. Flour all over the counters, on the floor, and in my hair wasn’t my idea of fun. Adam, on the other hand, thrived on it. He’d perfected a system, so he wasn’t nearly as messy as me. He could crack eggs with one hand and scribb
le notes with the other. I couldn’t open a package without the contents flying everywhere. When his third attempt to teach me how to make vanilla frosting from scratch resulted in both of us covered in powdered sugar, I was banished to the other side of the island and given strict instructions to stay out of his workspace.

  It became a personal quest to see how long it took to lure him away from snickerdoodles and brownie bits. I went for subtle tactics at first, like playing my guitar for him while he worked. Serenading him with cheesy songs from the seventies worked surprisingly well. My soulful rendition of “Dust in the Wind” made him laugh until his eyes watered. Humor was the trick. If I could pull his attention from his concoctions with silly banter or music, chances were good we’d be naked and writhing soon enough. Though truthfully persuasion was unnecessary. We’d crossed the No Repeat line, and there was no point in denying we were equally fine with the decision.

  Sex with an old friend should have been weird, but it wasn’t. Or maybe it was, but nothing about being with Adam felt typical. I was mesmerized by him… the way he walked, talked, held a fucking mixer. I was consumed by a compulsion to be near him. I could have happily listened to the merits of unsalted butter over salted for hours on end if it meant I could stare at him while he worked. The starry-eyed adoration of my youth was nothing compared to now. This was the feverish desire of two grown men who’d finally given themselves permission to explore a powerful attraction. Somehow the comfort of being old friends stripped a layer of reserve away. Adam liked sex. A lot. As in, any time and as often as possible. If he was a bad idea, I wished I’d had more just like him. And I wished I had more time to spend with him. A few hours after practice didn’t seem like enough anymore.

  Today was a perfect example. I’d glanced at my watch countless times as the afternoon wore on, until my bandmates shared an amused look.

  “Are we interrupting a booty call?” Rand asked with a chuckle.