by K-lee Klein
“Only if you wear your leather one,” Scott countered.
With another tug on the tie, Devon dragged Scott closer and kissed the end of his nose. “You got it.”
“I can't wait,” Scott promised. He leaned up for another kiss, cupping Devon's chin and gazing into his eyes. “I think I’ll take that shower tonight instead. Want me to give you a sponge bath?”
Devon snorted. “Do you have a cute nurse uniform you've been hiding from me?”
Seemed like no matter how hard Scott tried to one-up Devon, he never quite rose to the occasion. “I just can't with you,” he muttered then paused. When he spoke next it was from the heart, but he had to concentrate on Devon's chin instead of looking him in the eyes. “I had a really great time tonight, Dev. It means a lot to me. You have no idea how much.”
“I'm glad. I had a great time too,” Devon replied. “I could go for a shower too. Someone got me all hot and bothered in the bathroom after all.”
They undressed each other slowly, but there was nothing sexual or desperate about it. And when they stepped into the shower it was a simple process of washing, shampooing hair, and sharing a few chaste kisses. Teeth brushed—it still thrilled Scott that Devon had his own toothbrush—they crawled under the covers in Scott's bed, settled into their own sides—when had Scott started thinking of it that way—and met in the middle in a tangle of arms and legs.
Sleeping with someone was a new experience for Scott, at least it had been before Devon became a part of his life. He'd always tried to convince himself that he wasn't missing anything, that he was better sleeping by himself so he didn't disturb anyone else, or be disturbed himself. But Devon had spoiled all that because as much as Scott liked his space, he liked Devon more. And as much fun as sleep-stalking was, being wrapped in Devon's warm arms was so much better.
Devon rolled onto his side, shifting until his back was pressed against Scott’s chest. Scott complied with the silent request, sliding his arms around Devon, kissing the back of his neck and burrowing his nose in the damp hair. Devon twined their fingers together over his chest, sighed, then fell still and quiet.
Scott had questions about the evening, but sometimes things had to play out on their own. It seemed like this was one of those times. Devon was struggling with something, but it wasn't Scott's job, or privilege, to press him until he was ready or asked for help. He snuggled Devon tighter, sliding his right leg between Devon’s so they were as close as humanly possible. Closing his eyes, Scott willed sleep to take him.
Early morning brought more kissing and reciprocal hand-jobs before a kissy-feely shower session. Then Scott was off to work, leaving a towel-wrapped Devon to lock up and leave whenever he was ready. It was domestic to the point of Scott feeling a little dose of panic tighten his chest, but he managed to shrug it off, the image of a half-naked Devon and their bathroom encounter helping him get through the day.
CHAPTER SIX
They fell into a Saturday night groove with Devon showing up right before midnight, tired from a long week but not too tired to spend time with Scott. They talked a little but generally that was their night to fuck themselves into exhaustion, and then curl up together in Scott's bed. It was a routine Scott hadn't sought out—hadn't been his idea in the first place—but it made their relationship seem more real. Devon showed up on other nights as well, but Saturday nights and Sundays had been designated as Devon time, at least in Scott's head.
Sunday mornings were pretty routine, as well. No. Routine wasn't the right word; it implied they were boring and mundane and there was no way Devon would ever fit under that description. The day usually started the same way, with Scott doing his stalker act and then making coffee and one horrible-smelling tea or another. It was comfortable and comforting, a familiarity and intimacy that Scott hadn't known he even needed in his life. They never rehashed what had happened on their evening out and rarely talked about what was happening between them, yet Scott was content. He continued to fight his natural instinct to believe he was only a Saturday night booty call even though Devon did nothing to encourage Scott’s anxieties.
The last thing he wanted to do was make Devon uncomfortable about their Saturday night sleepovers and chilled Sundays at Scott's house. And he was pretty sure the insecure questions marching round his head would make things more awkward than informed.
They took turns making breakfast, nothing scheduled or set in stone, but it had turned into a Sunday morning ritual. Scott's breakfast usually consisted of scrambled eggs and toast while Devon was more creative with fluffy cheese, veggie or spicier-than-fuck omelets. He always added some sort of fruit to the plate along with grits and sausage, or bacon, or whatever other groceries he'd taken to bringing every other week. And somehow a juicer had taken up residence in Scott's kitchen too, ready and waiting to lay waste to the oranges for Devon's fresh-squeezed juice.
Scott had mulled over the idea of having Devon add to his shopping list every week, but the emotional side of his brain had shut down that notion very quickly. It was a little too far into the realm of living in each other's pockets. It was far too domestic and bold for Scott to even be thinking about, and despite recent appearances, Devon did not seem like a domesticated guy in any sense of the word.
Late mornings and afternoons were spent on the sun porch or the couch, wrapped in one of Scott's knitted blankets, the two of them snuggled together reading or doing a Sudoku or Kakuro puzzle. Scott was not a fan of crosswords, but numbers he could totally relate to. They talked, but never about anything too personal, though Devon did ask more questions about Scott than he answered about himself. He was a master at changing the subject or distracting Scott away from whatever he'd asked, not a hard task when all he really had to do was flash a dimpled cheek Scott’s way.
There was always quiet kissing and fondling, but the heat level on Sundays was like the day itself—lazy, relaxed, content, unless there was a Saints game on television. One Sunday found Scott and Devon cuddling on the comfy settee on the sun porch. Devon had his eyes closed and head tilted back, his rugged face sucking up all the light and warmth in the room while Scott leisurely mapped out and traced the magnificent designs and colors on Devon's left arm.
“This face on your arm—ex-girlfriend?” Scott asked, dragging a finger over Devon's inked skin.
Devon chuckled, eyes still closed, arm twitching a little where Scott was touching. “Not even close, and for the record, I never had one of those.”
Scott leaned over and licked at the spot he'd been tracing. Another amazing thing about Devon; he was ticklish as all hell. It was adorable and though Scott had never been tattooed himself, he wondered if the pain overwhelmed the tickling feelings.
“You didn't even let one girl feel your love?” Scott teased. “I find that hard to believe.”
Devon's head moved from side to side against the back of the settee. “I was a very good boy when I was young. And there was never any doubt about whose team I batted for.”
“Poor deprived girls.” Scott caressed the inked woman's face again. “Kind of looks like 80's Madonna.”
Laughter filled the porch and Devon leaned forward to clutch his belly. “That's definitely another swing and a miss.”
But Scott was determined. “My other guess was the Virgin Mary…but you don't seem to be a religious kind of guy.”
“Bingo.”
“What?' Scott reached for Devon, cradling his face. He guided him until they were face-to-face. Chocolate brown eyes cracked open, glimmering and deeper than the damn ocean. “Bingo? You mean the religious part?”
“Nope,” Devon said, popping the P. “But you were right. It's the Virgin Mary.” His sweet smile shot sparks directly to Scott's heart.
But he was still confused. “Was it a dare or something?”
Devon's expression turned soft and a far-off look settled behind his eyes. “My mom was religious in her own way. It's sort of a tribute to her.”
Devon closed his eyes again while
Scott ghosted his fingers over the planes of his face, mapping the strong cheekbones, the soft cheeks with the hint of dimples, the stubbly, masculine jawline. “You must be a very loving son.”
“I got it after she died.”
Letting his fingers fall from Devon's face, Scott shifted away uncomfortably. “Oh crap. I'm sorry.”
Devon shrugged off the apology. “How could you have known?” he asked, tipping his head to the side.
“Well I…I didn't but um…” Scott stuttered. “I'm really sorry for your loss, Devon. How did she—” Shit. Get it together Scott.
“Cancer. She had cancer.”
Scott’s heart hurt. “God, I'm sorry, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out without thought. It felt weird as hell, but also natural, and strangely enough, made him blush. “When did you lose her?”
“About eight months ago.” Devon slid his fingers into Scott's, eyes sliding closed again. “She would've liked you.”
Scott avoided the comment. He couldn't imagine his blandness impressing anyone's parents, let alone being high on any list of acceptable partners for someone as awesome as Devon. But he was confused. “So, your mom, she supported your lifestyle despite her religion?”
Devon cracked open one eye, the hint of a something sweet gracing his lips. “Oh yeah. My mom was very special. She was my biggest fan. I could tell her anything, and I did. Like I said, she would've liked you, except for the fact you mixed up the Virgin Mary with Madonna.”
“Jesus Murphy. I don't think I could come off as more of a weenie.” Weenie? Really? He tried to untangle his fingers from Devon's but was tugged and dragged until he ended up sprawled backwards over Devon’s lap.
“I don't date weenies, so I think you're okay.” Devon smirked and leaned in to kiss Scott. It was sweet, tender, but as had been the case lately, such teasing from Devon only brought out questions and concerns for Scott.
“Is that what we're doing, Devon?”
Devon's fingers rubbed over the tight muscles at Scott's nape. “Can you be more specific?”
Scott cringed. “About not dating weenies?. Are we, you know, dating?”
“Well, we've been getting together for almost three months now. Not every day but a lot—”
“Nineteen!.“ Oh crap. Did he say that out loud?
“Huh? That's some pretty good number-crunching. Is that how many days we were together or how many times we had sex?”
Devon's sexy smirk might have been contagious had Scott not been positively mortified. He tried to move but Devon's strong arms held him hostage. “Please forget I said that,” Scott implored with a sigh. “Here I am trying to have a serious conversation and I end up sounding like Rain Man.”
“I liked Rain Man if that makes a difference,” Devon teased. Why did he always have to be so kind?
“It doesn't and I'm sorry. I honestly didn't sit down and mark off on my calendar how many times we were together.” Well, not quite.
Devon flashed that adorable smile at Scott again. “It's okay as long as you used little red hearts to do it.”
“I'm serious, Devon. All my life my big brain has gotten me ridiculed or made fun of and now, when I want exactly the opposite, I act like a…a—”
“Weenie?” Devon offered with a snort. Scott couldn't even be mad.
“You're a jerk. Do you know that?” Scott asked. There was no heat behind the question though. And he suspected no one had ever been safe from falling in the charming honeytrap of Devon DuCaine.
“Come on sweetheart. You know I'm only joking right? I like your big brain and all the other big things you've got. A lot.” Devon waggled his thick eyebrows and if Scott had been standing, his knees would have weakened yet again.
All this swooning and knee-weakening was beginning to make him feel like his favorite heroine, Scarlett O'Hara. Instead, he needed to channel Cher and snap the hell out of it.
He cleared his throat, attempting to stay in control. The last thing he needed, wanted, was to get emotional. That wasn't how things worked between them. “It's just that…we're so different. In absolutely everything. Doesn't that bother you?” He choked out the latter part of the question. Non-emotional fail.
Devon's expression softened. He reached for Scott, squeezing his thigh and rubbing circles into the muscle. “I wouldn't want to date myself, would I? Differences are what make people unique. I'm sure there's a lot of things you think are really strange about me.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. He wanted to thank Devon for the comfort but something inside him held him back. “I make the same list week after week and coordinate my clothes by color and pattern. And I know exactly how many days I've made love with my boyfriend. I mean, had sex—”
“Not just sex, Scott. And I have a lot of strangeness in my life. Trust me.”
“You wear leather and ride a motorcycle. That's cool not strange,” Scott clarified a little more forcefully than intended.
“Depends who you ask,” Devon replied with a shrug. “One guy's cool is another guy's weird as fuck.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “And one person's strangeness is another person's unfortunate reality.”
Devon answered with a snort. “See that? That right there—the sarcasm. I love that. It's uniquely you. What I don't like is how you beat yourself up. I don't think anything about you is unfortunate,” he argued, his intense gaze aimed directly at Scott's soul.
“All right. Name one thing then.”
“Huh?” Devon cocked his head and squinted.
Scott replied, swallowing a sigh. “Something that makes you weird, Dev.”
“Okay. Sexual or non?”
“Devon.”
Devon ducked his head and dragged his hand away from Scott's leg. “Fine. I still have my dead cat's collar in my sock drawer at home.”
“That's not really…weird.” But it was freaking adorable. Scott thought he might melt into a puddle of goo right on the spot.
“She died when I was twelve, Scott.”
Scott struggled to sit up then settled cross-legged while he faced Devon. “Oh my god. That's so sweet, and a little creepy.”
A sharp shake of his head preceded Devon's words. “Right?”
“More sweet than creepy though. I'm actually jealous. I always wanted a cat but that wasn't an option when I was growing up. What was his…her name?”
Devon's cheeks pinked. “Her. Smokey…Smokey Grey-Grey, actually.”
Scott leaned into Devon, resting his forehead against the side of Devon's head. He snickered softly. “She had three names? How old were you when you got her?” he asked, amused.
Devon blew out a breath before averting his gaze. “I was three and refused to call her Smokey like my mom wanted.”
Scott's insides danced with delight. “Jeez, if my grandmother were here she'd pinch your cheeks so hard.”
“Which ones?” Devon's eyes sparkled with mischief again.
“You're impossible,” Scott said. He folded his arms over his chest, amazed at Devon's propensity to turn a simple statement involving a wrinkly old woman into a sexual innuendo—amazed.
“Ah. How can I make it up to you?” Devon asked. Scott glared at him. “I was kinda planning on going down on you but if I'm too impossible—”
“Definitely not that impossible.” Scott immediately regretted his forwardness. Was Devon trying to stop his heart? Plus, they were on the damn porch. There was no way he'd let Devon—
“We should move inside. Easier on my knees.”
“You're so…you're. I give up.”
Devon simultaneously hauled Scott off the settee, kissed him hard on the mouth, then dragged him into the house. Scott went willingly, even when Devon shoved him onto the couch and looked at him with the feigned innocence. “How would you like me?”
Scott gave up any pretense of serious conversation. He eased back against the couch, peering up at Devon. “On your knees and pay your penance.”
“Yes, Father,” Devon teased, his tone
deep as he slid easily to the floor.
“Okay, that's a little creepy. I’m totally not going…” Scott's words trailed off and he grasped Devon's hair. “But, oh my god, yes. Go there. Right there. Oh Hallelujah! Praise the strange and weird.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Unfortunately, not every Sunday was perfect or even lazy because they had to live in the real world. Scott and Devon had been up pretty late the night before, but not for any kinky or pleasant reason. Scott had waited patiently for Devon to show up; midnight turned to one o'clock then eventually turned to two.
There hadn't been any specific promise that Devon would be coming over at all, but he hadn't missed a Saturday in a while, so Scott had unwittingly developed a pattern of waiting up for him. He really wanted to give Devon a key but hadn't worked up the courage yet.
Devon had finally arrived a little after two; drunk as a skunk at a bring-your-own-stink party. The poor man had apologized up one side of Scott and down the other, promising to make amends for keeping Scott waiting. He'd been cuter than hell, so Scott let him grovel a little before tugging the clothes from his body and practically dropping him ass-first in the shower.
He hadn't even tried to cop a feel when Devon's guilty, goofy grins turned to half-closed eyes and an almost boneless wet body. Scott managed to wrangle Devon from the bathroom, tucking his still-damp sexiness under the clean sheets. Devon flashed a smile that was more pathetic than sexy—though Scott thought he was going for sexiness—as his head lolled and a tiny drop of drool slipped from the corner of his lips.
After Scott made sure the doors were locked and turned off the lights, he slipped into bed next to a passed-out Devon. But despite his current status, he still managed to maul and crush Scott, manhandling him into a suitable sleeping position. Scott might have complained a little, but there was no denying it was his favorite place to be—in Devon's arms. He went to sleep feeling satisfied, complete with the terrifying knowledge that he was completely in love with Devon.