by M. C. Roth
Trent let out a whine, long and low. “I didn’t mean to.” It was a lie. There had been times when he’d known the others would be there, but he just couldn’t help himself. Then there was the time Ian had hung up on him when he’d attempted phone sex. He’d been upset at the time, but his face burned as he thought of Ian jerking off in a tiny bus stall.
“I know you can’t help it, T, but I gotta pay you back anyway.” He mouthed down Trent’s neck and sucked a bruise just above his collarbone. The shifting weight had left him free to wriggle and move, so Trent ground into the hard belly above as his cock ached.
“None of that.” Ian’s hands gripped his hips and pushed them back so he was pinned to the mattress. He tried to roll them, but Ian was strong, even stronger than he looked. Trent didn’t doubt that there was no way he could ever actually overpower the man.
“Lie there and take it. You gotta learn your lesson,” said Ian as his teeth scraped over the same bruise. Trent was already hot and sensitive, and it sent a bolt of sensation directly to his groin.
Ian slipped Trent’s shirt over his head and Trent shifted his hips as Ian dragged his pants down with a quick tug. His boxers followed a moment later with a smooth slide of cotton. Ian’s lips hardly left him except for when he dragged Trent’s shirt off his chest.
Ian groaned against his chest he drifted his hands across his heated flesh. “I missed this so much.” He latched over a pierced nipple. The bud went tense under his ministrations and Trent cried out as teeth tugged the piercing.
“I missed seeing every inch of you and being able to touch you whenever I wanted,” said Ian. “I wanted to hold you so bad, and just keep you in my arms so I could wake up beside you instead of alone on my shitty bunk. I wanted to hear your voice, your actual voice, not the tinny, delayed voice on the other side of my phone. I—”
Ian’s voice cracked and he suddenly went quiet. Trent lifted himself and rested his hands on Ian’s shoulders. Ian was shaking and there was something wet dripping onto Trent’s belly.
Trent froze when the first sob broke from Ian’s lips. Any thoughts of sex disappeared faster than snow in summer. With unknown strength, he pulled Ian to him and crushed the man in the force of his embrace.
“It’s okay, Ian. I’m here.” Trent smoothed over Ian’s back as the man cried. Tears ran down his neck and shoulder as the crying grew louder. “Hold me now, Ian. Hold me while I fall asleep, and I promise I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll be here whenever you need me, no matter what. I love you.”
They fell back in a tangle of heavy limbs and a sweet sorrow that stole the breath from Trent’s lungs. Ian’s sobs slowed as he pressed his face into Trent’s chest. His arms clenched so hard that it was nearly painful, but Trent ignored the discomfort.
Despite the early hour and the winter sun peeking through the window as the gale passed, Trent fell into a deep sleep with Ian in his embrace.
Chapter Seventeen
Trent pushed at the blanket that was across his shoulders as he tried to roll onto his side. The air was thick with something smoky and sweet that he couldn’t quite place, and sweat stuck to every part of his skin. The seam where his legs met was sticky and damp, making him dread throwing the weight off himself completely. The winter air seeped through the thin insulation of his house and coated the walls with a sheen of frost on the coldest days.
His bladder throbbed as he shifted again and brought his arm up over his head and into the cold. He kicked at his blanket again, but it refused to budge, as if it was tucked around him on all sides like his mother used to do when he was young. He shifted his legs apart and tried to pull them out and to the side of the blanket. He met something solid with his toes.
His eyes flew open and he twitched as he realized that his blanket wasn’t a blanket at all. The heat lancing across his chest was Ian’s cheek stuck to his skin. The sweat on the side of his neck was the warmth of his breath, and the throb of his bladder was made worse because of the heavy weight splayed across him.
Ian was buried against his chest with a tiny line of drool seeping from the side of his mouth. The man was still clothed completely, including the thin white socks that peeked from beneath his pants. The slacks had ridden up, displaying a stretch of fading tanned calves that looked thicker than Trent’s thighs.
It would’ve been the most beautiful thing in the world if his bladder wasn’t currently being crushed. There was an ache in his spine that he only ever had when he slept frozen in the fit of a nightmare. There was also a slit of light peeking through the blinds that spoke of the early hours of morning before the winter birds had awoken to perch fluffily on evergreen branches. His stomach was hollow from a day with little more than breakfast and a light snack before lunch. His bladder was much more pressing, though. If not for that, he could’ve tolerated the heat and the stiffness.
He shifted to the side, cupping his hands behind the back of Ian’s head as he moved. He cradled it as he used his abdominals to slowly turn them both onto their sides. Ian snorted once in his sleep as he pulled away from Trent’s chest, leaving a line of connection between them that made Trent smile. There was a red smudge of colour that covered the entire side of Ian’s face and a matching one on Trent’s chest.
He snatched a blanket and tugged it up over Ian’s shoulders as he extricated himself from the bed. The air was just as cold as he’d thought it would be. The wind outside had gone silent overnight, but the temperature must’ve dropped even more. He could hear the hum of the furnace that was probably close to overheating from the strain.
He quickly relieved himself and pulled a housecoat over his shoulders. It was the blue fluffy one that he had received for Christmas years prior. It was something he rarely used, except in the dead of winter while walking around the house naked in the wee hours of the morning. His neighbours were probably asleep, and if they weren’t, then they got a free show. He hadn’t heard a complaint yet, and hadn’t seen a video on any questionable websites either.
He snuck into the living room and switched the Christmas tree lights on. They flashed in a pattern of gold, blue, red and green before spiralling back to the beginning. The light caught the silver wrapping of a small box beneath the branches. Ian’s name was scrawled on the tag taped to the top that was partially obscured by a glossy blue bow. It was the only thing beneath the tree this Christmas, as he had already given everything else away in preparation for Ian’s arrival. He’d wrapped it quickly when Ian had first said he might be coming to visit. Two hours later he had it unwrapped again and shoved back into his drawer. In the end, after several rounds of struggling with delicate paper and tape, he’d set it back under the tree. The name could hardly be seen, so he could still back out at the last minute if he needed to.
He slipped back into bed and pulled the housecoat from his shoulders before he settled into Ian’s side. Ian’s forehead, furrowed in sleep, smoothed out as he shifted to wrap his arms back around Trent. The tears from the day before had disappeared into the sheets, but the black lines of exhaustion still remained. Ian mumbled softly against his skin before he let out a tiny, huffing snore.
A feeling bubbled up from Trent’s core, so powerful that he could scarcely breathe. His gut clenched in longing to hold Ian close and never let go again, but he was terrified at the same time. He realized that he never wanted to wake up alone again, no matter what he had to do to make that happen.
As he tried to fall back to sleep, he kept opening his eyes wide just when he was on the brink. He would reach out to feel Ian’s solid shoulders and the dip of his waist before he could finally relax. The little snores brought a smile to his lips, and he listened to and cherished each one.
He closed his eyes again, only to open them a moment later as the cold of the room seeped in. The warmth of his side had disappeared and had left the stale heat of cotton sheets that never reached his toes or fingertips. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his toes, treating the cold with the palms of his
hands. He was alone.
A crash from the kitchen made him shoot up in alarm. He was out of the bed and in the kitchen before he even heard the curse that followed.
Ian was bent over a bowl that was lying in pieces in the middle of the floor. There was another piece missing that was currently pushing into the soft centre of Trent’s foot. Something was smoking on the stove, with acrid clouds puffing above the pan, and the smell of burning protein was thick in the air.
Trent grabbed the blackened eggs and thrust the pan under the running tap. The pan sizzled and jumped to life, splattering against his naked torso and sensitive belly. He flinched from the heat of the handle as he dropped it into the sink. The flames were still curling high on the stove at the maximum setting. He reached for the switch at the same moment the smoke alarm went off. He was glad that he was already awake, otherwise he definitely would’ve had a heart attack at the sheer volume of the alarm.
The shattered bowl hit the floor a second time, but the curse was drowned out by the piercing alarm. Trent grabbed a chair in a practised move and slid it under the alarm. A few seconds later, it was disconnected and silent in his hands.
“Sorry,” Ian grumbled from across the room as he bent to pick up the shards of glass for a second time. “I’ve never used a gas stove before, and to be honest, I don’t usually cook breakfast for myself.” He glanced up and down Trent’s form at the same time as Trent realized that he was still naked
“It’s okay,” said Trent with a shrug, turning his face to hide his blush. “It’s not like I don’t set this thing off at least once a week.” He set the detector on the table next to a haphazard array of mismatched forks and knives. “Were you making me breakfast?” He tilted his head as he spied two cups brimming with orange juice. His stomach fluttered with warmth. No one had made him breakfast since he was young.
Ian shrugged and snagged the last sharp edge of shattered porcelain.
“Thank you.” Trent smiled. “Even if you tried to burn the house down, I really appreciate the thought.” His grin broadened at the pale blush on Ian’s cheeks.
“Come on. Let’s shower first, and I’ll make French toast. It’s my favourite,” said Trent. It felt so good to be able to cook for Ian again.
“Mine too. You made it for me the last time I was here. I’d never had it before then,” said Ian as he followed Trent back around the corner to the bathroom.
The room was tight with both of them in it, but the water was quick to heat, despite the chill of the outside. Trent stepped under the spray while Ian was still stripping the clothes off his body. He tilted his head back to soak his hair, leaning into the warmth. The touch on his belly made him jump. Ian was already there, jammed into his space in the tiny shower.
“Can I?” Ian motioned to the shampoo.
Trent’s mouth went dry as he nodded. He spun in the water and tilted the spray down the wall so it didn’t hit him in the face. He heard the pop of the cap before Ian’s hands were combing through the short locks of his hair. Dexterous fingers massaged his scalp and swirled the strands around.
“I haven’t had hair on my head for so long that I almost forgot what it’s like,” said Ian as he massaged Trent’s scalp. Trent melted into the touch, having to grip the wall so his legs didn’t fold beneath him.
“Do you miss it?” Trent asked as he leaned back into Ian. Heat was rising on his cheeks as he relaxed beneath Ian’s talented hands.
“No, not really.” Ian shook his head, his breath brushing over the back of Trent’s damp neck. “It was a pain in the beginning when I would have to shave it or wax it all the time, so I lasered it off. Haven’t had to deal with it since. I never even really thought to miss it. Never really liked it.”
Trent reached back and brushed a hand over Ian’s scalp. It was completely smooth, without a hint of stubble or the dark flush of a five-o’clock shadow. It was slick and soft beneath the hail of water, with no trace of the greasiness that he half-expected after so much time since having a shower. It felt just like the naked skin on the inside of his wrist, only thicker and less delicate.
“I wish I could’ve seen you with hair, though, even just once,” said Trent as he tilted his head back, careful not to let any soap drip into his eyes.
“Nope, not happening.” Ian chuckled and shook his head. “Here, rinse.” He guided Trent’s head under the spray and carefully massaged the water through the strands. “It was red. Like ‘holy shit, my head is on fire’ red. Best day of my life was the first time I shaved it off.”
Trent turned, his gaze dropping to the thin curled hair that dusted along Ian’s chest. It was soft brown, almost blond, with no hint of red, and the farther his eyes dropped, the lighter the hair became. Ian’s gaze followed his, simply shrugging. Trent squinted, trying to imagine a mop of curly red hair on top of his head. He came up utterly blank.
Ian swept his hands down his body as he spread soap over ridges and shallow valleys. The touch was soft and tentative as his skilled fingers flowed over every exposed inch. They stopped all together as they approached Trent’s groin.
“Is this okay?” Ian’s words were hesitant. Trent inclined his head, happy to oblige the exploration. There was heat pooling in his gut, and the familiar feeling of tension in his groin, but there was no urgency.
Ian moved quickly, pausing every so often as his fingers found something new. He paused first at the small ridge of the mole at Trent’s hip before he dipped lower. Ian gripped the girth of his cock with one hand, spreading a thin layer of soap before it disappeared just as fast. He dropped lower to caress the smooth skin of his sac before reaching back to his opening.
A gasp worked its way through his lips before he could stop it, but Ian was already pulling back. He could feel the answering hardness, but Ian was still. He followed Ian’s nudge as he moved him forward and into the spray before Ian leaned back ever so slightly and started on Trent’s back.
The throbbing died down to a simmer as Ian caressed his shoulders and down his back. With sweeping movements. Trent tilted his ass as water seeped between his cheeks, followed closely by soapy fingertips. He pressed when there was a brief nudge against his rim, but the feeling disappeared again and he was being turned so he was facing away from the spray.
“I just want to remember how you feel.” Ian answered his questioning gaze. They were both very obviously aroused, but Trent was beginning to understand what Ian meant. There was a thrill to standing naked together without the heat of sex between them. There was a deep intimacy instead, which somehow felt more penetrating than any sexual act.
Trent returned the favour, soaping up Ian and lathering every bit of him that he could reach.
The water was growing cool by the time Trent turned the knob to shut off the shower. The small bathroom was full of steam, the tiny fan in the ceiling having no chance to keep up. The room was cold, though.
“Why is your house so cold? Don’t you have a heater or a fireplace or something?” Ian asked from underneath the towel on his head. His skin had broken out into an array of goosebumps.
Trent shrugged, looking off to the side to try to avoid the question. “I have a furnace, but I think it might be on the way out.”
“But what about the fireplace? There’s one up front, right?” Ian peeked at him from behind the towel. “I saw the stockings on it this morning.”
“Yeah,” said Trent, biting his lip. Ian paused in his drying, obviously waiting for an answer. Trent turned around to the mist-covered mirror, unable to look Ian in the face. “I didn’t have enough saved up to buy wood this winter. My usual guy doesn’t deliver anymore and the only one who will is really expensive. I used all my wood money on the hotel this summer. Things kept coming up after that, and I wasn’t able to replenish the fund.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” A look of grief passed over Ian’s face as he let his towel fall to the ground. Trent bent over automatically to pick it up. “I could’ve given you the money.”
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��I don’t want your money, Ian,” said Trent, trying not to let his frustration shine through. He tossed the towel over the rack, looking for any excuse to avoid facing Ian. He knew Ian had money—and a lot of it, according to Google—but Trent didn’t want the money. He only wanted Ian.
“Yeah, but you came to see me, T. It’s not a big deal,” said Ian as he grabbed for Trent’s arm.
Trent slunk to the side and managed to narrowly miss the outstretched hand. He saw rejection spread across Ian’s face and his expression fell like a shutter. Despite the moisture still clinging to Trent’s chest, he wrapped his arms around Ian’s broad shoulders and sank into an embrace.
“It was my money to spend, Ian. I would sell this house and live on the streets if it meant I could see you.” He leaned back and met the man’s gaze with a joking smirk. “And until there’s a ring on this finger, I’m not spending your money. After that, all bets are off.” Trent broke into laughter and turned back to the mirror. “I’m just joking. I know I’m not exactly marriage material.”
He glanced up from the sink and into the foggy mirror as a wave of cold air swept against his exposed skin as the door opened.
“Fuck, it’s colder out here,” said Ian as he pushed his way out of the room and disappeared. “How do you keep your balls from shrivelling up like raisins? Fuck.”
“You get used to it.” Trent chuckled and shook his head, sending water droplets around the small room. He hung his own towel on the rack and quickly brushed his teeth. By the time he was done, the humid air had been completely sucked from the room, leaving his feet chilled and numb.
“Do you need a toothbrush?” asked Trent. “I think I still have that one from when you were here last.” Trent rounded the corner as he licked the remnants of mint from his lips.