A Kind of Home

by Lane Hayes

  “As a matter of fact… yes.” I ignored the good-natured catcalls as I hung up my guitar and reached for my jacket. “I think we’re done here. See ya, boys.”

  MY HEART soared with anticipation as I climbed out of the town car, waving absently at a few fans waiting outside the lobby, calling my name. I didn’t stop to give autographs and I didn’t worry one of them might be an unhinged fanatic. Nothing and no one could usurp the knowledge that Adam was upstairs and, according to the series of texts he’d sent before I left the studio, wearing a minimal amount of clothing. That could mean he was watching TV in his briefs, but I was kinda hoping for something sexier.

  I pocketed my cell as Brian and I traversed the hall toward my condo, and gave him a wry grin.

  “Whatcha doin’ tonight, Bri?”

  “That depends on what you’re doing, sir.”

  “I’m going to have a quiet night. No shenanigans from me.” I was going for trustworthy and dependable, but Brian’s dubious look made me think I was out of practice.

  “Is your roommate home?” he asked in a flat tone.

  “I thought you knew everything about my life,” I singsonged.

  Blank stare. Geesh. Just when I thought we were getting chummier.

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop my shit-eating grin from spreading. “Yes, he’s home. But he may not be decent… if ya know what I mean.”

  Brian didn’t respond. When he unlocked the door, I grabbed his wrist before he could push it open.

  “Adam’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sir, it’s my job to—”

  I held up my hand to stop him. I’d heard it too many times already. “Got it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I made a little more noise than necessary, stomping my feet on the mat in the foyer and calling Adam’s name in a loud voice.

  “In the kitchen!” he responded cheerfully.

  Brian and I rounded the corner into the great room at the same time to find a naked man behind the island stirring something in a giant blue bowl. I noted other things too—like the pizza box, the open bottle of red wine, and the single votive candle flickering nearby. But really, it was difficult to pull my gaze from Adam. He wasn’t actually naked. He was wearing an apron… and nothing else. Like some kind of wholesome porn fantasy come to life. If Brian wondered about my relationship with my roomie, he now had a pretty good idea we were more than friends. He put on a brave face and did what he considered his obligatory once-over of my condo. I snickered, studiously ignoring Adam’s bare torso, legs, and the bulge under the red-and-white-striped cloth tied around his waist. Adam and I grinned at each other like schoolkids with an awesome secret.

  The second Brian closed the door, we were all over each other. I threw my arms around Adam and immediately moved south to grope his ass as he ravaged my mouth in a possessive kiss. We made out in a tangle of tongues, with roving hands for a few minutes before I pulled back for air and then sank to my knees. I pushed the apron aside and immediately got to work, sucking him voraciously. He groaned in approval, spurring me to take more of him. I pumped his thick member in my fist.

  “I want to make you come.”

  “No. Not yet. Stand up,” he growled.

  He helped me up, then spun me to face the island so fast I had to brace myself on the counter or risk falling into the pizza box. He tilted my chin to the side and licked my lips as he unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped my jeans in record time. We sighed in unison when he closed his hand over my painfully hard member. Then he pushed his apron aside and jutted his pelvis suggestively against my ass. Energy coursed through him. He was wound-up and edgy. Like me.

  “Bend over, baby,” Adam commanded in a sex-hazed voice that made my toes curl in my shoes.

  I did as instructed and listened to him rummaging in a drawer for supplies. He returned a moment later and set a lubed finger on my hole. He massaged the sensitive skin as he licked, kissed, and nibbled my neck and my jaw. I relaxed in his arms. He surrounded me in the best possible way until my sole focus was him.

  “God, you’re sexy.” He pushed his finger inside, then reached around to jack me while he stretched me open. “I can’t believe I’m inside you.”

  “You’re not yet… and fuck, I thought I was going to be inside you,” I groaned.

  “You want to fuck me, Isaac? You want your dick in my ass?”

  “Yes… but I want this now.”

  He replaced his fingers with his sheathed cock and gently made his way inside. He trembled with the effort to go slowly, inching forward, then went still when his balls finally rested against my ass. I sank into the feeling. I wasn’t used to bottoming as much as I had recently. I liked being on top. I would have said it was a matter of preference, but truthfully it was a trust issue. I felt vulnerable and exposed bent over the kitchen island with my jeans around my ankles, but I was also extremely turned on.

  “Move. Fuck me!”

  Adam clutched my shoulders and drove into me over and over. I reached behind to claw at his ass, urging him to go harder, faster, while I jacked myself with my free hand. This wasn’t going to be part one in a sex-a-thon where we changed positions and moved from one piece of furniture to the next. This was a rhythmic dance with a steady, forceful tempo. He splayed his hands down my spine and along my sides while he thrust forward. When he pulled my arms behind my back, like a cop arresting a wily prisoner, I arched and begged for more. My cock bounced under the onslaught of his quickening strokes.

  The second he reached around to grip me in a firm hold, I came apart. Cum spurted over his hand and onto the counter. Adam didn’t stop. He bucked his hips and then let out a feral growl when his release hit him a moment later.

  I was still shaking when he disengaged to take care of the used condom and wash his hands. I re-dressed and sat on one of the barstools on the other side of the island.

  “Wow.”

  Adam grinned and handed me a plate with two slices of veggie pizza. “Wow,” he repeated.

  We stared at each other, wearing matching goofy grins as we munched on pizza. “This is good. Everything is good,” I said in a dreamy tone he had to know meant I was not referring to food.

  Adam leaned over the island and kissed me. “It’s incredible. Want some wine?”

  “Sure. Tell me about your day.”

  “I walked some dogs, went to school, did some baking. I made oatmeal raisin cookies for Mrs. Hanson. She offered to introduce me to the owner of a famous Midtown restaurant via my baked goods. Kind of like what I’m doing at Nigel’s place, but this one has a more prestigious address. It’s how I got my business started back home,” he said as he poured wine into two glasses.

  “You already started your business in Springville?”

  “Loosely. I made cookies for a couple restaurants in town or for the occasional party at the country club. I kept it on the DL because I didn’t want to deal with anyone’s opinions about the construction worker who suddenly decided to put on an apron.”

  “Too gay?”

  “It wasn’t that. It was more a matter of having to explain myself. I wasn’t ready, and honestly I couldn’t put it into words.”

  “I get it.”

  Adam raised his glass in a toast. “You do, don’t you? Maybe that’s why I like you.”

  “Is that why we’re drinking red wine and eating pizza in the candlelight?”

  He flipped the switch so we were in fact dining under the glow of a lone candle. Then he sat on the stool beside me, still wearing nothing but an apron, and clinked his wineglass against mine.

  “Yes. Bon appétit.”

  This was a study in simplicity. A quiet night, pizza, wine, and candlelight. I was reminded of our recent conversation about nuances. Learning to speak to someone in a language they understood. He didn’t go for the obvious. There was no music playing. He’d replaced it with silent ambience, then added comfort food, wine, and mind-blowing sex. The sudden rush of heady affection made
me dizzy.

  I took a sip of wine as I studied him over the rim of my glass. “I have a couple questions. Sex questions,” I added, arching my brow for effect.

  “Ask away,” Adam said before taking a giant bite of pizza.

  “Have you ever bottomed?”

  Adam’s eyes creased with humor. He put a hand over his mouth and snorted while I waited for him to swallow his food and answer.

  “Well?” I prodded. “What’s so funny about the question?”

  “You. You look so fucking serious. It’s sex. It’s fun. What difference does it make who’s on top?”

  “None whatsoever. I just—you seem like you might be interested in… you know.”

  “Taking it up the ass?” His twinkling eyes and silly grin were endearing, but I smacked him upside the head anyway.

  “That’s rude. But… yeah. Are you?”

  “Yes.” Adam picked up his wineglass and stared at me thoughtfully. “My experience is limited and maybe a little one-sided. Mutual blow jobs and hand jobs are one thing, but other than letting a guy finger my ass—” He paused when I mumbled a sarcastic “nice,” and then continued with a shrug, “I’ve only been on the giving end.”

  “So you’ve done everything but….”

  “Yes, everything,” Adam said in a mockingly serious tone. “But I want to… with you. If you want to, that is.”

  I gave him a pirate’s grin. It was a look I’d perfected over the past few years. It made fans scream with glee. I’d had girls take off their thongs and toss them onstage and men grope their packages meaningfully when I flashed that knowing smile. It was a “yeah, I’d totally fuck you” look laced with the right amount of arrogance. It worked like fucking magic. Too well sometimes. I’d been more than a little surprised by how easy it was to find a willing partner who just wanted to fuck a rock star. I rarely took those offers. The rock star me was a ruse. And Adam knew it.

  “You want me bad, don’t you?” he whispered with a cocky half smile.

  My nostrils flared appreciatively as I leaned over to push the cotton fabric of the apron aside to cup his balls. He shivered but didn’t pull away. “Yes.”

  Adam set his hand over mine, then lifted my fingers to his lips. “Don’t worry, Ize. You got me.”

  He didn’t let go of my hand. In fact he held on a little tighter and laced his fingers through mine before picking up his wineglass with his other hand. I was hypnotized by the intoxicating combination of sweetness and potent sexuality. It wrapped me in a gossamer veil that felt so damn decadent I didn’t want to move and risk upsetting the perfection. I didn’t have to stop to wonder if this was a publicity ploy on his part. That wasn’t Adam’s style. I was content for now to enjoy the improbability of “us.”

  DECEMBER WAS one of my favorite months in New York City. The energy level cranked up a few notches with holiday madness and more tourists than ever. We had another three weeks of tour dates on the calendar and then the holidays to get through. Adam had commitments to his family and I had my band. But we also had each other now. We spent every spare minute together.

  If Adam offered to walk me to practice, I never refused, even though it meant having Brian trailing somewhere behind us. The thrill of an accidental touch of fingers or the brush of his shoulder against mine was too enticing to pass up. People stared and occasionally called my name in a crowd, but when I was with Adam, I didn’t notice anyone else. A couple of photos of us had turned up on entertainment sites, but so far they hadn’t tagged him. No doubt they assumed he was another bodyguard. He was bigger than the one I had and certainly protective enough to stand in for Brian. The anonymity of our relationship was sweet. I knew to enjoy it for as long as it lasted, because it certainly couldn’t be found anywhere else in my life.

  Luxury buses, private jets, and limos definitely eased the strain of back-to-back performances, but the constant demands on Spiral’s time were stressful. This leg of our tour was easier in a way because we at least had a few days at home between jetting off to concert destinations. But it was also a tease. I was very aware my time with Adam was limited. He was an unexpected breath of fresh air who was ironically from a place that had choked the life out of me. I couldn’t see a way we’d make it in the long run, so I followed his lead and just enjoyed what we had for now.

  When I was on the road, I looked forward to daily phone conversations and texts. It made the separation and stress palatable. Adam entertained me with exaggerated tales involving anything from puppy hijinks with Charles and the crew in the park, to colorful descriptions of some of the clientele at Jock’s.

  A highly amusing conversation about a drag queen he’d met who favored blue-tinged cosmetics and sparkly sequin mermaid gowns evolved into a half-hour discussion about our favorite contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race. The silly segues kept me from looking longingly at the calendar and wishing time away, and then remembering that was the last thing I should do.

  Two more days ’til we were back in New York, I mused as I fumbled for the remote control on the nightstand next to my hotel bed.

  “I can’t believe you watch that show.” I chuckled, pressing the Guide button until I found something interesting.

  “My mom loves it. She doesn’t even blink when the queens talk about tucking their junk anymore.”

  “And your mom doesn’t know you’re bi? What do straight guys know about tucking?” I asked with a laugh.

  He didn’t respond right away. I was about to ask if he was still there when he finally spoke again. “I think she does.”

  “You do? How? Did Ned say someth—”

  “No. Ned wouldn’t say a word. But my mom is—she’s a good mom. She knows me, you know? We talk a lot. She asks about my life… and she asks about you.” His careful inflection indicated she might not be surprised to know Adam and I were more than friends.

  “Oh? And what do you say?”

  “I keep it real. Today, for example, she asked, ‘How’s Isaac?’ and I told her I was lonely as hell sleeping in that big bed without you.”

  “Really? So she knows our roommate status has evolved into sharing a room?” I asked dubiously.

  “I didn’t get specific. I didn’t tell her you’re a blanket hog or that you never put the fucking cap back on the shower gel. I just told her…” He waited a beat before continuing. “…I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.” I gulped around the words, overwhelmed by emotion.

  “Is that why you sent me flowers?”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “There was a bouquet of… I think they’re carnations. They’re red with that white wispy stuff, like you see on sticky diner tables next to salt-and-pepper shakers and a container of paper-thin napkins. In other words… they’re ugly.”

  I gave a half laugh. “I didn’t send you flowers, Adam.”

  “No? Well, maybe I have a secret admirer. Or maybe they weren’t for me at all. Jensen was the doorman on duty last night. He might have given me these accidentally. He said a dark-haired woman personally dropped them off.”

  “Was there a card?” I muted the TV and sat up, instantly alarmed. Maybe it was Tara. No. That didn’t make sense. My admirer had gone quiet again. Between the craziness of constant travel and the holidays, I hadn’t thought as much about my “biggest fan.” I had Adam to thank for that. He was the perfect distraction.

  “No. Just your penthouse number.”

  “Why did you think they were from me? I mean, no offense, but I’m not the type to send flowers… no matter how excellent you are in bed. But if I had, I definitely would have left a note.”

  “What would it say?” he asked in an over-the-top seductive tone.

  “It would say, ‘Thanks for the good time, baby,’” I countered lasciviously.

  “So I’m a piece of meat, eh?”

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  Adam chuckled at my deadpan delivery. “Oh, right. What’s the vegetable-world equivalent? Cucumber? Kale?”r />
  “Eggplant?” I suggested.

  “Ahh. So it’s a dick thing.”

  “It’s always a dick thing.”

  “Good to know,” he said with a hearty laugh.

  We let a sweet silence float and bridge the miles between us. I couldn’t wait to get home. It wasn’t the city, my place, or a familiar routine I missed this time. It was Adam. I’d never been here before. It was comforting on the one hand, but the heightened emotional angle freaked me out. I had to change the subject fast before I said something sappy and gave myself away.

  “Maybe you should just give them to the doorman.”

  “My eggplant?” Adam asked with a comedic gasp. “Oh, wait. You’re talking about the flowers. I left them next to the door. They’re already close to dead. I’ll toss them before you get home. Two days, right?”

  “Two days.”

  Chapter 8

  WEATHER CONDITIONS delayed our flight home Friday afternoon. By the time we arrived in New York, it was too late and too windy to take a helicopter into the city, which meant a long drive instead. My hopes of spending the day having hot, sweaty man sex with my roommate were dashed. I wouldn’t be home until close to midnight at this rate, and Adam was working. I was hungry, grimy, and weary. If my roommate wasn’t there, my next best bet was food, shower, and bed.

  I yawned and stretched my arms wide enough to hit Brian’s chin. He didn’t flinch or give me the “what the fuck?” look I deserved. He sat stoically beside me, staring straight ahead with his usual unreadable expression in place. The poor guy had to be sick of me. I knew I was sick of him. He’d been glued to my side for the better part of ten days. Make that four months. It was weird to spend so much time with someone and still know so little about him. I’d peppered him with questions and tried to get him to talk about his family, friends, and where he was from, but I learned as much as I would on a stale Facebook bio page. Akron, Ohio, unmarried, unattached, hetero (so he said), no children, age thirty-two. Yawn.