Counting Down

by Kelly Jensen

  Why had he needed that kiss so badly? Beyond needing to have a plan, Marc could only come up with answers that disturbed him. He’d set himself a task, a test. The kiss was to be the proof of his attraction to Henry. That it was real and something he wanted to declare.

  “Hey.” Henry tugged on his hand. “We’re going to miss the fireworks, but it’s not so bad down here. We’ve got heat. Chairs. We’ve crawled through a duct together. Not many dates get into ductwork. Sad fact. Oh, and we nearly had our first fight.” Henry’s smile widened, and once again, the transformation took Marc’s breath away.

  He remembered why he’d wanted this date so much.

  “I wanted to take you home, Henry. After midnight. I… dammit.” He pressed his hands to his eyes again, then pushed them up over his forehead, as if he could massage his thoughts into sensible words. “It feels stupid now, that I wanted to stamp the beginning of the year I decided to be gay with this huge event, this big kiss. Then take you home and seal the deal. Have gay sex and—”

  “Marc.” Henry reclaimed one of his hands and pressed it to his lips.

  The sweetness of the gesture, and the difference of it, slowed Marc’s thoughts once more. “It’s so different with you. I keep trying to figure it out, but I can’t.”

  “Not everything is about rules and choices,” Henry said. “Sometimes things just happen. It’s how we react that defines us. You’re processing a lot, and most of it can’t be set down on paper and analyzed like a financial statement. All things considered, I think you’ve been cooler about the whole deal than I would have.”

  “You’ve known you were gay for a long time. I just found out.”

  “You weren’t happy for a long time. Now you can see how you might be, and it scares you.”

  He could be right. “But why? Why would anyone be scared of happiness?”

  “Because it can hurt when it’s taken away.”

  A sigh of… everything… left him. Marc slumped back into his chair, his and Henry’s joined hands dangling between them. “You know, in my fantasies, before Christmas Eve, I figured if I ever acted on my attraction to you, it would be all about the sex. I even went to a gay bar one night.”

  “I bet you got a lot of looks.”

  “I did, and they made me really uncomfortable.” He tapped his chest and glanced over at Henry. “Me. Uncomfortable. I was curious, but figured if just being looked at made me feel weird, then maybe I wasn’t gay. But I still couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

  Henry didn’t say anything to that. Really, what could he say? A flippant response would change the timbre of their conversation, and the fact that Henry seemed to realize that only made him more attractive.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much to a date before. Or anyone. Even in the car we talked.”

  Henry’s lips twitched. “Yeah.”

  “I think I’m beginning to realize why you were hesitant to take me on.”

  “Because you talk too much?”

  Marc returned the lip twitch, then let the grin happen. Then he squeezed Henry’s hand again. “This is good. I like this. I don’t want to bare my soul every date, though. It’s exhausting.”

  “Okay.”

  Marc raised their hands and pressed Henry’s knuckles to his mouth. “You fascinate me. I can’t wait to get you naked.”

  Henry unleashed a laugh, bending his head back to do so.

  Marc leaned in to kiss the column of his throat, humming as barely there stubble tickled his lips. Instantly, he was hard. That one touch—or maybe it was the taste of Henry’s skin, the tang of salt and hint of shaving soap, the whisper of familiarity and difference that tied him into a complicated knot of want.

  Henry’s chin dipped, and Marc kissed the brilliant smile, the beautiful mouth he’d fantasized about. The part of Henry that proved again and again how distracting it could be. Henry’s fingers tightened over his. Marc slipped his other hand behind Henry’s head and drew him closer. Their lips fell into the synergy he’d only found with Henry. It was as if he’d been born to kiss this man. He answered the invitation of Henry’s tongue and… fell.

  Time slipped—midnight could have come and gone. All that mattered was Henry. The scent of him, the feel of his skin, that tiny prickle of roughness catching his lips as he wandered in and out of the kiss, exploring the line of Henry’s jaw, sampling an earlobe, darting back to kiss him again.

  Every moan had his skin tingling. Every groan reverberated through him. He could barely feel his hands, and he’d lost touch with his legs. All of his blood, all of his being, was centered at his groin. His erection pulsed and throbbed, painful behind his zipper. He savored the ache and the anticipation.

  Henry pulled out of the kiss, and Marc’s entire body protested the loss. More, more, his synapses screamed. “Want you, all of you, so bad.” He curled his hand around the back of Henry’s neck. “But—”

  “Shh.” Henry quieted him with a quick kiss. He pulled away, stood, and held out a hand. “C’mon. These chairs are doing some ominous creaking.”

  That’s what that sound was.

  Marc got up and followed as Henry led him along the row of washers and nudged him up against the wall, pressing a knee between his thighs. Groaning, Marc let his head flop back. His view of the ceiling shifted and blurred as Henry pressed kisses to his neck, lips tickling, teeth grazing. He let his hips rock forward, the pressure of Henry’s thigh between his somehow exciting. Weird, because he couldn’t figure out why he liked it so much, but…. Oh. His balls met resistance, pushing up beneath his straining cock. “Oh God.”

  Henry leaned into him, grinding their hips together. Marc could feel the heat and hardness behind Henry’s fly. One of his hands fluttered down there, completely without his permission. But really, he wanted to feel that heat against his palm. Stroke Henry’s erection. Have Henry’s hand on his.

  A tug at his belt had him looking down. Henry’s lips found his, and they kissed through the loosening of his jeans, zip going down, Henry reaching in to caress the outline of his cock through the cotton of his briefs.

  “You good?” Henry’s breath tickled.

  Marc answered by pushing into Henry’s hand. Then he reached for Henry’s belt. “Want to feel you too.”

  “Not gonna say no.”

  Henry dropped small kisses along his cheek as Marc bent to the task of unbuckling Henry’s belt and unzipping his jeans. He grasped the bulge he found there, marveling at the heat for a second. How often had he had his own cock in his hand? He knew this heat and hardness, the ache of a dick straining toward some sort of release. But the dark circle of moisture on Henry’s boxers was someone else’s excitement. It was because of him—his hand, his attention.

  Stroking a woman had never felt quite like this. He hadn’t felt… was there such a thing as sexual empathy? He squeezed Henry’s dick and felt a reciprocal pressure against his own. It seemed they pulsed in sync, pushing against each other’s hands.

  He wanted more than a handful of hot cotton. Pulling his lips from Henry’s—when had they started kissing again?—Marc glanced down long enough to pull Henry’s boxers down and over the head of a very happy cock. He quickly grasped the warm, rigid flesh awaiting him and squeezed.

  Henry’s groan punched through his chest, as if he’d made the sound himself.

  Henry pushed Marc’s jeans and underpants down, taking less care with the out and over so that Marc’s erection snapped out of its confines with an almost painful jerk. Then warm fingers had him too and they were stroking in time.

  This was new—the closest yet they’d come to what Marc called sex. Henry had sucked him off twice. Moving together felt different. Almost as though they were making love. Already, their hips and hands had acquired a rhythm. Already, his impending climax clutched his nuts.

  Henry bit his ear, and Marc shuddered. A whisper of stubble across his cheek—already sensitive from repeated brushes of not-quite-soft masculine skin—had him shivering. H
e couldn’t think. Myriad sensations robbed him of coordination, speech, the ability to do anything more than twitch and moan as he pushed through the clasp of Henry’s hand. Was he giving as good as he got? Did he still have his fingers wrapped around Henry’s cock? Yes, and oh God, it was so hard and heavy against his palm. Marc squeezed, and Henry’s hips stuttered into his… and there was his thigh again, pushing insistently between Marc’s legs.

  Why did that feel so good?

  Henry’s fingers pulled and twisted, catching the head of Marc’s cock just right. With a swipe of his thumb, he spread precome down the shaft and stroked again. Marc tried to do the same, but his concentration was scattered—and he was going to come soon. Dammit, he didn’t want to come so fast. Being with Henry felt too good.

  “Wait…. Oh, shit.”

  Henry nipped at his earlobe and pushed his thigh between Marc’s legs. Marc bucked and shuddered and came, his entire self flowing down and out, spurting through his dick. His knees shook as he mindlessly humped Henry’s leg, pushing his cock through the hot and wet pocket of Henry’s hand. His voice cut into small words. “Oh, oh, oh….”

  Then he was slumping forward, chin hooking over Henry’s shoulder as he nestled into the embrace of his arms, and they felt so good around him. Protective and sweet. The small kisses and murmurs dropped around his ear and hair stirred the gentle poke of feeling in the center of his chest.

  Was he too old to be “in like” with someone?

  Lifting his head away, he kissed Henry’s cheek. His jaw. The corner of his mouth, his wonderfully inviting lips. Huffing breath kept him from engaging in a deep kiss, so he pecked and licked. Whispered against Henry’s mouth. “So, so good. You make me feel so good. God, being with you… it’s just so good.”

  He’d been turned to a puddle of mood goo by a hand job.

  And Henry was still hard and still in his hand. Jesus, he’d forgotten to reciprocate.

  “S-sorry,” he stuttered, giving Henry’s cock a quick stroke. “But totally your fault. I got lost somewhere along the way.”

  Henry grinned into the wordy kiss. “’S okay. Not like you’re going to walk away and leave me wanting, right?” He pushed into Marc’s hand, and that damned thigh nudged between his legs again.

  “Why does it feel so good to have your leg between mine?”

  “You never humped a leg before, never had someone between your legs?”

  “No… I don’t know. Ask me later. I want to get you off first.”

  “Mmm.” Henry bucked into his hand again. “I’m close.”

  The scent of semen wafted up, combined with warm skin and Henry’s arousal. What would he taste like? Surprisingly, Marc’s mouth watered. A brief imagining of the feel of Henry’s hard shaft against his tongue teased—and then became an itch, an insistent niggle. More than an idea. A want. A need.

  “I want—” Marc clamped his mouth shut. Sudden embarrassment stung his cheeks. His hand stilled.

  “What?” Henry kissed the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

  Words left Marc in a rush. “You, in a bed. Naked. I haven’t seen all of you. I want to feel your skin. Figure out where you like to be touched. I want you beneath my hands. Your hips bucking. The muscles of your legs and arms. Your… guy-ness. That’s what I wanted to do tonight, after the party. Take you home and talk you into bed. I want more than this. I want to make love to you, however it works. Come together.” He was babbling.

  And Henry’s hard cock was still pushing through his palm. Most awkward sex talk ever?

  “We’ll get there.”

  “I want to suck you.”

  “Jesus, God…. Marc….” Henry’s breath puffed across Marc’s face as he groaned and shoved against Marc’s palm again. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, but Marc Winnamore didn’t back away from a challenge. Ever.

  After delivering another stroke, Marc let go of Henry’s cock and tried to kneel. Somehow his head hit the wall behind him, probably because his jeans and underwear were still down around his thighs.

  “Hold on.” Henry pulled away from his grasp, and the sense of loss was weird. Almost terrible. How could a hand feel bereft?

  Marc groped after Henry, then followed him to the sink. He sighed jerkily as he figured out what Henry was up to. Washing his sticky hands. Henry passed a dampened towel over his shoulder, and Marc attempted to clean himself up a bit. He was half-hard again. Would he shrivel or plump as he blew Henry?

  Was he really going to suck another man’s dick?

  Nerves fluttering in his belly, Marc pulled up his underwear and jeans. He looked up to find Henry waiting for him, sensuous mouth crooked into an easy smile.

  “You’re thinking again, aren’t you?”

  “Good thoughts.” Marc advanced upon Henry, putting a hand to each shoulder, and backed him toward the wall. “Thinking about how much I want to taste you, feel the weight of you on my tongue.”

  “Mmm. Very good thoughts.”

  They kissed again, slowly, almost languidly. Marc moved to nuzzle Henry’s cheek, tucked his nose beneath Henry’s chin. Kissed his neck. Tasted his skin. Moving down, he pressed a kiss to the collar of Henry’s shirt. He tugged at the buttons, got one undone, and slipped a hand inside. Found cotton.

  “Dammit, you’re wearing an undershirt.”

  “It’s winter.”

  Marc tweaked a nipple through the soft cotton. “Do you like that?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Henry rocked forward, poking him in the thigh with his very hard cock. “But my dick is starting to think you’ve forgotten about him.”

  Marc’s instant grin wavered only a little as he dropped to his knees in front of Henry. He took a moment to admire the jut of rigid flesh. Henry’s uncut cock was nice. No, fucking sexy. Well-proportioned without making Marc feel inferior. He inhaled the aroma of arousal and sex. A pearly bead of precome rolled down the slit, paused, and dropped toward the floor on a gossamer thread. Before he could get caught in the gridlock of thought, Marc stuck his tongue out. He missed the drop and licked the underside of Henry’s cock instead—right where he liked to be touched.

  Hissing softly, Henry curled his hand behind Marc’s head. He didn’t pull or jerk; he simply clutched at Marc’s hair and waited, his legs—his presence—tense and taut.

  Marc wrapped his hand around Henry’s shaft and pulled back a little, causing Henry’s foreskin to retreat fully. He opened his mouth, moved forward. The absurdity of his situation poked at him. For a second he hung there, Henry’s cock just inside his mouth but not touching his lips—like a snake poking its head into a hole that was much too big. Or something.

  Do it, Marc.

  Marc closed his mouth and gave an experimental suck. Henry jerked lightly between his lips. He curled his fingers a little tighter into Marc’s hair. Marc acknowledged these things while being swept away on another wave of new. The taste of sex, the heat against his tongue. The very fact of having a cock in his mouth.

  He knew what to do next. It was instinctive as well as informed. He’d been on the receiving end often enough. He sucked his way down Henry’s shaft until the tip nudged the back of his throat. After pulling back a little, he did it again, then again, stopping short of choking each time. Once he had a rhythm established—one met by gently enthusiastic thrusts of Henry’s hips—Marc experimented with his tongue.

  Swirling was hard. How had Henry managed that with such dexterity and ease?

  Marc rewrapped his fingers around the base of Henry’s cock, steadying the shaft, and tried again, pressing his tongue to the underside before sort of letting it slip up and over.

  “Yes, like that.”

  Emboldened by Henry’s approval, Marc did it again, just like that. He found that grinning while sucking made for a sloppy connection. Humming made Henry groan and shudder. Using his hand helped him cover more territory, and enthusiasm had him sucking too hard an
d fast. He backed off before he choked and pulled away entirely.

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re doing fine. I’m really close.”

  “Really?” His mouth felt weird. Also, talking up at a guy while a cock stared him in the eye? Very strange.

  Marc started again, and the weird feeling became an overstretched feeling. His jaw ached and his cheeks hurt. He wouldn’t be letting a little thing like that stop him from finishing his task, though. Nope. He sucked and slurped and hummed. Stroked up to meet his lips and back to Henry’s balls. Reached between Henry’s legs to play there, nudge his tight sac.

  Then Henry was pushing at his shoulders. “Stop…. Marc!”

  Marc had felt the hitch in Henry’s balls. The jerk in his cock. It was time.

  Oh my God. I made a guy come with my mouth.

  For all his enthusiasm, he didn’t think he was ready to taste or choke on Henry’s spunk, though. Moving aside, he continued stroking with his hand until Henry tensed, cried out, and shuddered into his release, shooting over Marc’s shoulder. Now Marc knew just what to do—how much handling would feel good, how much would be too much. He carried Henry through his orgasm, standing so he could kiss lips parted by happy grunts and sighs.

  His mouth still felt weird.

  “My cheeks hurt,” he murmured.

  Henry huffed out a laugh. “All to a good cause.”

  “Lemme get you a towel.”

  “Hold on.”

  Henry pulled him in for another kiss that quickly deepened into something that was suddenly necessary. When Marc thought to come up for air, he still had Henry’s dick in his hand and his other arm around Henry’s shoulder. Henry held him just as closely and was nuzzling his neck, just below Marc’s ear. Man, he liked being this close, this involved. Cuddling had never felt so good.

  Marc didn’t know what pulled him out of the sweet and lusty trance. A whisper of air at the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched. By the time he heard the throat clearing, it was too late to jump back, tuck Henry’s cock away, or worry about the mess on the floor or the pungent odor of sex in the air.

  “Not sure you two really need rescuing.”