If Christian were a speculating man, he’d predict that John naked while singing and bringing him coffee and/or folding laundry as he put out a fire would also arouse him.
Or just John naked. Being a writer, Christian knew how to cut out the unnecessary bits.
When the set finished, John hopped off the stage and came directly to him. Christian pushed on his cock with his empty plate and mentally told it to behave.
“Did you like it?” John asked. He squeezed into the space between Christian and a random girl. Even in the bad lighting, Christian could tell that John's cheeks were flushed. He wanted to reach up and brush the sweat from John’s brow, but John took care of that with a swipe of his forearm. Before Christian could regret the lost opportunity, John put an arm around him and settled back against the wall. His breathing was a little rough, probably from the rush of performing.
“It was amazing,” Christian said. “I had no idea you could sing like that.” He tried not to think about the heat radiating off John’s arm into his neck and shoulders or his desire to sink into it.
“Really?” John asked. “You thought so?” He looked hopeful.
“Yeah. I mean—wow. How are you just a barista?”
John grinned wider, and then his mouth was on Christian’s, hard and pleased and open. Christian opened too, wanting, but before he could take, John reeled backward and removed his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m—shit.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and moved farther away. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s not, it’s fine, it’s—” But he was talking to no one. John had already retreated across the room. “Shit.”
The girl looked at him. “Did you say something?”
“No.” Gathering up his bottle and plate, Christian stood and dropped them into the trash. John had suggested separate cars that morning since he had to arrive early to help set up. Looked like those separate rides would come in handy on the way home, too. John stood at the bar talking to a few people. From the distance, Christian couldn’t tell if they were friends or new fans. He waited to see if John would look in his direction, but when John moved it was only to turn away more.
When Christian stepped outside, the chilled ocean air smacked him in the face. He closed his eyes, thinking that it was about time someone smacked him. Might as well be God.
He stopped in the bathroom when he got home and tried to see the back of his neck in the mirror to ascertain how many fingernails’ worth of glitter he needed to scrape off from John’s arm lying on him. He hoped John wasn’t so mortified about kissing him that he wouldn’t give him tips for getting glitter off his skin. His bed would be ruined. It could be years before he was glitter free. It wouldn’t be so bad, except he wasn’t a glittery guy, and now he was going to associate glitter with John looking horrified.
Christian gave his neck a swipe with a damp washcloth and dropped it on the floor with his shirt as he headed back to his room. He got into bed and pulled the laptop in with him. At least the night had inspired another adventure for Lord John.
“YOU don’t have to do this,” Loring said. “I can kill them all.” He strained against the bonds that lashed him to the dank stone at the front of the great hall. He glared at the row of nobles who stared impassively back at him.
Christina brushed her petite hand over his grizzled whiskers. He turned toward her touch like a lion tamed, though his eyes remained alert and feral. “I will soothe them,” she promised, "and there will be no need for killing.” Her hand trailed down his bared torso, tracking through the dark, sweat-pressed curls to cup his leather-clad bulge. “You must trust me.” She squeezed him with confidence, her eyes on his, and turned to face their captors.
“I will sing for you,” she said, her voice steady and defiant, “exactly as you wish.”
Standing before them, Christina began her song, the song that held secrets, the song that had led them here, the song that was currently the only thing keeping her and Lord John alive because only she knew it. Surely Christina understood this. These men were not going to thank them for the concert and release them. Loring struggled, his muscles like fire as he reached for futile freedom.
“Don’t.” He did not mean for it to come out sounding like a plea. Was this what he was reduced to now? What she had done to him? “I have killed five hundred men,” he bellowed, but this also sounded like desperation and not the proof of his virility that he wished it to be. No one responded or even looked at him.
Christina’s voice lifted to the heights of the Gothic arches, carrying the Latin words with it. Loring stared out at the greedy faces of the nobles as they bent over ancient maps, tracing out the path that Christina revealed with her family’s song. His cock throbbed, though he fought against it. She was hypnotic, irresistible. He tried to keep his mind focused on freeing himself so that he could save them both, but the more she sang, the more he knew that their fates were sealed and there was nothing he could do about it.
Christian shoved the laptop over to the chair. He hadn’t heard John come home. He tried to sleep anyway. After an hour of listening to the house's noises, he fell into a fitful sleep.
Christian stood fidgeting on the stage. He stared at the crowd of people holding their drinks and looking at him with expectation. What was he supposed to be doing? Surely not singing. These people couldn’t expect him to….
He was naked. He moved to cover himself, but suddenly there was someone behind him drawing him backward by the shoulders to stand against a strong chest. A firm, confident arm slid around his waist.
“Trust me,” John said.
Christian found himself nodding and pushing backward as John’s erection prodded the small of his back. He sighed and let his legs fall open when John grabbed his cock and stroked.
“Don’t do anything. Just feel.”
Christian crumbled into him, neck arched to expose more skin for John to mouth over with delicious nibbles as his hips rocked Christian forward into his hand.
“John. John. God. Touch. God.” His eyes closed. He sank down until there was nothing but he and John. John touching him, licking and kissing him, his hand slick and smooth on Christian’s cock.
When he came, it was like awakening. His eyes flew open and his heart pounded as he cried John’s name.
And then he was awake. In bed. And staring at John. The actual John, who was sitting next to him with Christian's laptop. John, for his part, stared right back at Christian.
“Morning,” John said. He sounded stunned, as if he were just as surprised to be in the room as Christian was to see him.
“Um,” Christian said. John arched an eyebrow, as if to say he expected more eloquence from a writer. Christian ignored it. The running joke in his family was that if he wrote anything before ten a.m., all his characters would be monosyllabic. He scooted backward so he could sit up, sticking his hand beneath the blanket to check. Sure enough, his pajamas were damp. Shit. He’d had a wet dream about John while John sat beside him. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to stop panicking. Why was he getting defensive? John was the one in his room. “What are you doing in here?” Christian put some fire into his voice. Maybe John would get the hint and clear out so he could wallow in his embarrassment alone.
John’s stare seemed to get more intense. He gestured to the laptop. “I… spilled tea on mine, and I needed to check my e-mail and—”
Christian sat up, intent. "That’s not an excuse. It’s the middle of the night, and you don’t just use someone’s laptop without asking, and you were sitting on my bed."
"It’s almost noon," John said. He sounded snappish. "And I’m sorry. I was going to wake you up, but you said my name, so I stayed to see what else you were going to say. And then I just—when you—" He gestured at Christian’s lap. Christian pulled his legs up beneath the blanket. "I read your book, okay? I didn’t come in here intending to, but it was already up when I opened the computer. I was going to close it, but after you kissed me last night, and now saying my name�
�� I had to know."
"Had to know what?" Christian felt cold all over. John wasn’t supposed to find out like this. He’d leave now and then what was Christian supposed to do? If John could pretend nothing happened, it would be fine. Christian could go back to having a secret crush on John, to jerking off thinking about him, and John could go back to being his oblivious muse. Win-win.
“Christian.”
“What?” Christian tugged the blanket up farther and shifted around, trying to wipe himself off in his pajamas without being obvious about it.
“Were you dreaming about Lord John Loring or about me?”
“I….” He froze with no idea what to do. “It’s not uncommon for a writer to dream about his characters,” he said, making a last-ditch attempt to dig himself out.
“Christian, this is us.” John poked the laptop. “You’re writing us.”
Christian folded his arms over himself. It was a poor substitution for the hug and words of reassurance he needed at the moment. Hey, you’re not nuts, this is fine. That sort of thing. This was not supposed to happen. He looked over at John, and hoped John recognized how much effort meeting his eyes took. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll change it if you want. I know you were just being yourself, and I went and twisted everything around into something you never intended and… I’m sorry.”
John looked back at him for a few seconds. Christian watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Who said I didn’t intend it?” John asked. He was quiet, as if talking was just as much a task for him as making eye contact was for Christian.
“What?” Christian asked.
"I meant it," John said.
Christian registered the words, but the bindings of fear and dread wrapped around him didn't loosen until John set the laptop down and scooted closer onto the bed beside him. When John pulled him into his arms, Christian’s body went easily, although his mind struggled to understand.
John held him close and petted his hair. Gradually, Christian laid his hand on John’s stomach to make sure that John was there.
John lifted Christian’s chin with his finger and kissed him. Christian stretched up to reach it, taking his chance to respond as he hadn’t been able to the night before. The fear that he had lost John fell away. He fisted John’s shirt to keep him close. He wouldn’t let go again.
John laughed against his mouth. “I thought writers were supposed to be great observers of human nature.”
Christian tucked his head down and rubbed John’s chest over his T-shirt. “Yeah, with me that’s mostly not true.” He looked up, baring whatever embarrassed expression he wore for John to see. “I, um, only ‘observe’ human nature as it occurs to the people I’m making up.”
John pulled him forward by the arms and laid a gentle kiss on his mouth. “You aren’t making me up.”
Christian stretched across John’s legs, letting his palm “accidentally” brush John's cock. It twitched, warm and ready through the light cotton trousers. “So you actually were trying to seduce me? With the bad cooking, calls to the fire department, using me as a guinea pig to test your new coffee flavors, and giving me erections in public?”
“And walking around soaking wet in a towel. Don’t forget that.” John grabbed Christian's hand as Christian started to remove it and kept it in place. Christian curled his fingers around John’s cock, squeezing it through the fabric.
“Can’t,” Christian said. John had repeated that one several times.
“Good. So, are you all right with that? Because I can try a little harder. I mean, if you need more material for your book.” His hips thrust upward, pushing his cock into Christian’s hand.
“I think I might need a little more,” Christian said.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” John moved then, not thrusting anymore but getting up and rolling forward, taking Christian with him until Christian was on his back and somehow they both had their pants off and John’s fingers were slick inside him, and John's mouth and glitter were everywhere.
“Will you take my weapon, you lovely boy?” John asked. He hovered over Christian, holding Christian’s legs up with his shoulders, and grinned wickedly down at him.
“I’m changing that line,” Christian said.
“Don’t you dare. And was that a ‘yes’?”
“Yes,” Christian said, wrapping his arms around John’s neck and pulling him down. John pushed inside him slow and steady, only stopping once, but there was no getting used to the stretch, not when Christian wanted it so much, to feel John inside him, with him, finally. He’d have to remember this for his next chapter when Christina rescued Lord John.
John kissed his ear, startling Christian out of the space where he had drifted. “Write your book later. Stay with me now.”
Turning toward him, Christian kissed him back. “Okay.” He felt overwhelmed with happiness, as if there were too much of it to stay safely inside him, so he held tight to John with his arms and legs and released it in laughter and gasps and noises that he couldn’t identify.
“CHRISTIAN, I’m not trying to critique your novel or anything, but you do realize it’s obvious you’re writing two guys, right?”
Christian pushed himself off John’s chest so he could get to a proper angle for indignant staring. “What? No. Christina’s a girl. I described her dress in detail.”
John did not look cowed. Or any less amused. “You don’t mention her breasts, though. And frankly, your description of her other girl parts could just as easily work for an asshole, as could the sex. Fingering first?”
“It’s called foreplay.” Christian lay back down, but he did it with added oomph to get his point across that even though he was open to cuddling, he still thought John was full of shit. Even if he was, possibly, right.
“Yeah. Funny that the only foreplay you mention is the one that’s pretty much essential for gay sex. No one’s going to believe she’s a girl. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, who asked you?”
John laughed and rubbed Christian’s arm.
“At least help me think about adjectives for breasts,” Christian said, muffling the request into John’s side.
“I know tons,” John said. “You’d be surprised.”
Christian bet that he would. First, though, he had something else to do. He rolled over and reached for his laptop.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing Cindy.” He tugged John down so he could kiss his cheek. “She told me to write when I was ready for someone real. I’m going to tell her I am.”
“Are you going to tell her you fell for the real Lord John? You’d better send a picture if you do that or else she’ll call the mental institution on you."
Christian looked at John. His hair was mussed, and his eyes twinkled with good humor. “I’ll risk it,” he said. “I want you to myself for now. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to begrudge you the chance to come to my rescue.”
“I can always accidentally set something on fire,” John said agreeably.
“Exactly.” Christian pulled him down for a brief kiss that turned into a long one when John rolled on top of him. Christian wrapped his arms and legs around him. The letter could wait.
About the Author
RYAN LOVELESS is the half-pseudonym of a farmer’s daughter. She has a B.A. in English from a private college in Illinois and is pursuing her master’s degree in library and information science with an archival certificate from a university in New York. Raised in a conservative family, she was shocked and relieved when her coming out was largely uneventful, at least compared to some. She has been writing since she could read and has always drifted toward M/M because she enjoyed the relationship dynamics between men, even before she understood what sexuality was. It’s possible that her first story was about G.I. Joe. She really wishes she still had that story.
Visit Ryan at http://ryanloveless.dreamwidth.org/. You can contact her at [email protected].
Copyright
Off the Page ©Copyright Ryan Loveless, 2011
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected]
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
April 2011
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-803-7
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