by BA Tortuga
“Stop that.” His keys were in his coat pocket, but he pretended he couldn’t find them, just to make his tiger wait. He ducked away again, playfully refusing an advance on his neck. “Hang on.”
“You’ll not say that when I trim my beard, honey. You’ll want it.” Tucker’s chuckle tickled his neck.
The man had a point. He tried not to let out his moan, but he had a better chance of being struck by lightning. “You sure your fingers are steady enough? They seem to be itching.”
He pulled out his fucking keys.
“I’m sure. For you, they can be anything.”
Nope. Not going to kiss him. He’d lose the whole game if he turned around and mauled Tucker in the hallway. But it was really hard not to. He stuck his key in the lock, but it slid right back into his hand when Timmy opened the door.
“You two better come in before you scandalize Mrs. Papadakis down the hall. You’ve probably seared her retina through the peephole.”
“Oh, hey, Timmy.”
“Are you two drunk?”
“Nope, I had pizza.”
“Wow, nice work feeding Toothpick, Texas. That’s pretty impressive.”
“I’m a miracle worker.” Tucker’s hands were trying to drive him out of his mind.
“Thanks, sweetheart. Was having trouble finding my keys.”
Timmy snorted. “Always here to help.”
He rushed off toward the bedroom, Tucker right on his heels. “Door. Door.” He pointed. He had to; he couldn’t get around his lover. Tucker suddenly seemed to be everywhere. Fuck, that was hot.
“Uh-huh. Door. Bed. Floor. I’m easy.” Tucker nibbled his earlobe. “I want you, honey. I want everything.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Uh. I got it.” It was a good thing Timmy had no shame either.
He was on fire. He unzipped his coat and tossed it and all his other winter gear away. He wasn’t sure if Tucker was trying to help or just get those impatient hands under his sweater, so he tugged that over his head too. The rough front of Tucker’s jacket rubbed up against his bare chest, which was way hotter than it ought to be.
“Fuck, honey.” Tucker’s hands dragged over his back, one ending at the nape of his neck to pull him in and crush their mouths together.
He knew how needy that sound was, that high-pitched one that Tucker just forced from him and swallowed. That thing he’d been thinking earlier, about not being able to get close enough? This is what he meant. It was fingers and lips everywhere. It was wanting so bad it was impossible to know where to start. It was a cock so hard he could come if he thought about it enough. If he could think at all.
Calvin reached out and got his fingers around Tucker’s belt, pulling their hips together too.
Tucker needed as bad as he did, hips rocking in a perverse dance that promised to make him dizzy. Filthy, wanton words poured over him, praise and need and pleasure. It was like being in the center of Tucker’s painting.
Oh, that image was so impossibly real it made him groan, and Tucker’s voice along with it… fuck.
“Ache so bad for you, tiger.”
He tugged hard on Tucker’s belt buckle because he really couldn’t have the bruise it was threatening to leave on his abs, and shifted the clasp around in his fingers until it miraculously came undone somehow. With a little more blind fumbling, he managed to get them over to his bed, where he pulled his eager lover down on top of him roughly and rolled his hips right up into Tucker’s.
Tucker rocked back, devouring his mouth with wild, needy kisses that had teeth. “Damn, you too. I want more skin.”
Still, neither of them slowed, and hell, Tucker was way more dressed than he was.
More skin. That was what Tucker wanted. Okay. He reached out and shoved his leggings and briefs down to bare his hips just as Tucker thrust against him. Rough denim dragged across his sensitive parts. His eyes closed tight, and he saw streaks of light behind them as his balls drew up and his cock screamed at the abrasion. “Tucker!”
Jesus Christ, that was fucking awesome.
Tucker stared at Calvin, nodded, then gave him all that long body to work against while Tucker ripped his shirt off, one-handed.
That was so much better. The drag against Tucker’s hip was sweet, but the dark swirls on that lovely chest? He couldn’t get enough of it. He wasn’t sure how his fingers hadn’t gone completely numb by this point, but he managed to get a hand between them to yank Tucker’s fly open.
He swallowed hard and held himself back. Tucker had to be as close as he was; those blue eyes had practically gone feral. “Tiger, can you help…?” Oh, hey. Words.
Tucker managed to kneel up, drag his jeans down toward his knees, and then leaned forward and wrapped both their cocks in one callused hand.
He curled up off the bed just long enough to get a look. “Holy….”
And that was the last coherent thing on his mind. He collapsed back into his fluffy pink comforter with a long moan, instantly light-headed, everything Tucker touched burning hot. “Fuck… fuck!”
“Come on. Burning for you.” Tucker growled the words out, eyes laser-focused on him.
He nodded and let go, his climax both a wild relief and utterly devastating. Tucker’s touch was the only real thing in the whole world.
Tucker watched him, watched every second of Calvin’s orgasm, before starting to tug his own cock again, low, needy sounds pouring down on him.
He hauled himself up on his elbows to watch, still trembling from his own release but unwilling to miss one second of this. “My turn, tiger. I’m watching you. Love how you want it. Do you feel good, baby?”
“Got your spunk slicking my cock. I feel like I’m fixin’ to fucking fly.”
God, he’d never known anyone so easy in his own skin. So honest. It was the hottest thing ever. “Do it, tiger. Let me see. You’re so beautiful.”
It took a few more hard pulls before Tucker arched, whispering his name and shooting, seed dripping from one tanned hand.
That was hot, but watching Tucker’s face was so much better. Calvin wanted to slow everything down so he could see how all the little muscles in Tucker’s forehead and under that beard rippled and contorted and then relaxed. Instead he closed his eyes a second, hoping to burn the image into his memory, then leaned up and took a kiss.
Tucker moaned for him, slowly easing down on him in a tangle of clothes and limbs. “Christ, honey. That was…. Whoa.”
“Uh-huh.” Whoa just about said it all. It had been a while now. Usually this kind of desperate, hormonal stuff would chill out after a while. But he was glad it hadn’t. He wanted it. Loved it. The urgency made the rest of the insanity feel real. “That was so… us.”
“Yes.” Tucker began to laugh, the sound deep and real and pure happiness ringing out and filling the air.
He couldn’t stop the grin and laughed out loud along with Tucker. It felt like almost as good a release as his orgasm had. Almost. Just free and honest. “At least now if you decide to trim your beard, your hands won’t be shaking.” He snorted, a gross little piggy noise. “Oh. Haha. Oops.”
Tucker leaned down, grunting against his throat, teasing him and making him gasp with laughter.
“Tuck! Oh my God.” Those whiskers tickled like mad.
He wiggled under Tucker, trying to roll away, but that was a losing battle. He was shackled by his damn leggings. “Tiger!” He stuck a hand out and gave Tucker’s ass a pinch.
Tucker snorted, rolled half off him. “Shit, I need to get out of these jeans before I kill myself. I’m gonna have a bruise on my butt.”
“Blame the ice skating.” He playfully pushed Tucker the rest of the way off, and sat up to ditch his sneakers and wiggle out of his leggings. “I’m going to have denim-burns on my dick.” Holy fuck, that had sent him to the moon for a minute.
“I like the stubble burns better, but….” Tucker stood up and worked off his boot, stumbling around like a dancing bear.
He did too.
“Your stubble burns are way better, tiger. Promise.” Calvin watched Tucker wrestle with his boots, jeans sitting low on his ass, and wondered if he would manage not to fall over. Cowboys must have a lot of practice at that, right?
“Good.” Tucker managed to get naked without falling into a pile, which was impressive. Who knew this was a skill?
He scrambled up on the bed and climbed in, scooting the covers down and patting the empty space next to him. “Two lies and one truth.” It was a good game. Tucker hadn’t complained yet, and he learned all kinds of wonderful things he might not otherwise.
“I wanted to be a paleontologist when I was a kid, I’m bad at math, and I have a room full of books in my house.”
He was getting cold. He pulled Tucker into bed with him and settled the comforter over them. “You don’t have the attention span to read, there’s no way you have the attention span to dig stuff up slowly over several days, so I guess you’re a math whiz?”
Tucker chuckled softly and drew him close. “You met me in a library, honey. I have a whole room in my house of weird old art books, history, architecture, monsters, and Greek gods. All sorts.”
“Oh, yeah.” Duh. “See what you do to me? I can’t think straight.” It was good to be wrong sometimes, though, wouldn’t want Tucker to think he was too predictable. “Anyway, that feels like it was so long ago. No wonder I forgot.”
Eons. Ages. They’d packed so much connection into a handful of weeks it was like they’d never not known each other.
“You have a great average, honey. Your turn.” Tucker was touching him again, stroking him in long, slow motions.
“My guilty pleasure is Rodgers and Hammerstein, I love oysters, and I’ve lived in New York for nine years and have never had a bagel.”
“I’m going with guilty pleasure because oysters are slimy and bagels here are, quite possibly, the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
“Ding ding! I don’t even know anything by Rodgers and Hammerstein, do I?” Imagine living in New York and not having a bagel. Oh, those poor gluten-free people. What a tragedy.
“Fuck if I know, honey. I’m more of a Nine Inch Nails guy myself.”
“Oh! Good. Me too. Mmm.” He snuggled into Tucker. “You could touch me like that all day long.”
“You’ve got a deal. So are you excited about your… is it an audition? Is that the right word?” Tucker’s hands never stopped moving.
“Yes?” And a hundred other things too. Nervous, worried, stressed, intimidated, clueless. “And all kinds of not nearly good enough for this.” Also like he had them fooled and they would figure that out as soon as they met him. Though just at the moment a lot of that was pretty back-burner, because mostly he felt fabulous. But he knew it was there, and he knew it would get worse.
“Bah. You’re…. You’re beautiful. I mean, honey, you’re the finest man I’ve ever known.”
“Thank you.” He leaned up and kissed Tucker’s nose. “But pretty isn’t nearly enough. Everyone there will be pretty.” It was about attitude and working the camera, and giving them whatever they wanted. Whatever that was. And worse? It was about looking right with whomever he had to shoot with. He either had what they wanted or he didn’t.
Michael would tell him in the morning. He needed to talk to Michael.
Tucker grinned at him, the expression warm and knowing. “I understand a little. It’s like the art. You put yourself out and hope it’s what someone wants, and that’s all you can do.”
He found himself nodding slowly for a bit before answering. “Yeah. That’s exactly it. I mean, I can tailor my audition to what they want, assuming I understand what that is, but in the end it’s just their gut feeling.”
He made the cut. He was going to see them in person. He had something they wanted, right?
“I want to have something deep and wonderful to say, but I just know you’re special.”
“That’s something wonderful. Thank you.” He propped his head up on an elbow and smiled at Tucker. They just didn’t make a man any sweeter. “So. How’s Marge?”
“Good. She’s thinking about going to Hawaii for a few weeks and soaking up the sun.”
“Oh, nice. I’ve never been, but I hear it’s beautiful. And warm.” Normally he was looking for a winter getaway about now too, but he’d been plenty warm with Tucker around. “Where do you like to vacation?”
“I go to Corpus. I like to walk by the ocean, and it’s not a terrible drive.”
“Who do you go with?” Friends, he hoped. Good friends. Like the best friend who was a tattooing bass player… um. Stan? Stu. It was Stu.
“I guess by myself. I mean, I just go, rent a place and take a few days, a week, watch the ocean.”
That sounded like heaven, actually. “And you don’t paint?”
“Nope.” Tucker grinned suddenly. “Well, I sketch. You know I always sketch, but I mostly watch and breathe.”
“The ocean is good for that, right? Waves coming in and waves going out endlessly. Relaxing in the warm sand. At least it’s a real vacation. But you should try inviting people next time. It’s more fun.”
“Well, next time, maybe you’ll come. There’s got to be a beach on this wide earth where I can hold your hand and walk on the sand without having to kick a bunch of ass.”
“Only like twenty I can think of off the top of my head.” He searched Tucker’s eyes, taking in their soothing blue. Tucker was inviting him places. Texas, the beach… people only did that when they were serious about someone. But he was still expecting to hear Tucker say “I’m going back to Texas” soon. He should ask. He was going to have to ask soon.
But he didn’t have to ask right now.
God knew, he didn’t want to know.
Chapter Thirteen
LORD, LOOK at that weather.
Back home, spring was right there, waiting, but not here. Not yet.
Weird.
Cool, though. The gray of everything fascinated Tucker’s eyes, and he did a short series of colorless paintings until that bored him. Then he started a series of Calvin for his house.
Those needed color.
Pinks and reds and deep greens that made him grin. The curve of Calvin’s shoulder and that secret smile. He slept with the sketchbook close by, waking up randomly to watch the sunrise or the first people coming out of their buildings, the black coats and the umbrellas and hurrying.
The hurrying made him wonder. Where can you possibly be going where you have to go so fast?
His phone started chirping at him over and over. Weather app? Something on the radar? He blinked away from the windows, trying to remember where he’d put his phone.
He found it charging on the floor and picked it up.
morning!
in car
omg got up late ran out door
rain murder on my hair so mad
wanted 2 call u last nite but fell asleep w/ phone in my hand
miss u
lots of kisses
another long day
not fluttering
fuck that. hands are shaking. yesterday went great
Oh, honey.
So glad. I miss u too. Have a great day. I’m thinking about going outside today. Need bagels.
save me 1. had tea yesterday. Will B toast 2nite but could crash with u…
You can. You know you can. No strings. God, he would love that. A good old-fashioned nap.
cu2nite lvr! Calvin’s text had a line of hearts after it. One for each color of the rainbow.
Lord have mercy, that was about as cute as anything. Love you honey
He waited a minute but didn’t get a reply.
Tucker shook his head and grinned, then put his phone down. He had a few hours to paint before he needed to hide his canvases. For someone who made a living letting folks take his picture, Calvin sure didn’t like Tuck drawing him. He really wished Calvin had explained to him why, because it didn’t make any sense to him.
A photograph could be
made into a lie. You put it in a computer and mess around with it and a man could lose his personality. No wrinkles of joy next to his eyes, no pale little mole in front of his right ear, no tiny little scar on his hip. The beautiful bits. The special parts that made Calvin stunning.
Like the stray bit of blond hair he was painting, dark with sweat and stuck to Calvin’s forehead.
“OKAY, CAL. They’re done with you.”
Calvin sighed with his whole body. “Thank God.” He was tired. Like, deep-muscle tired. Like, “he couldn’t get up off his chair without help” tired. Michael’s briefcase landed on the table next to him, and warm, strong fingers started working into his shoulder muscles.
Damn, Michael knew what he was doing. “God, that feels good.”
“You did everything right, Cal. You really have a shot at this. You’re in the top two, easy.”
“You think?”
“Positive. And you’re hands down the easiest to work with out of the four of you. I think it’s yours.”
He couldn’t really explain how much getting this gig would mean to him. For him. Validation, maybe. He just felt like his spine would be straighter, and something other than unreasonable determination and stubbornness would hold his head up. He tried not to hope too hard, but at this point that was more or less useless. He wanted this job.
“I need some rest.”
“You’ve got until Monday. Sleep. Eat something. Monday’s not half-naked.” Michael let his shoulders go, and he groaned.
“Do you have to stop?”
“Your car is here.”
“Oh, thanks.” Although, that meant he had to get up.
Michael chuckled and helped him, and he didn’t faint once he was on his feet, so he figured he’d make it to Tucker’s okay. He could sleep there. He wanted Tucker’s arms around him.
He got in the car and pulled out his phone to look at the last text he’d gotten from his very own cowboy. Was it time to say things like “I love you”? He didn’t really have words for how he felt, so maybe it was love. All he knew for sure was that he needed Tucker like he needed air, even if it was sometimes hard to breathe around him. Everything outside of his work had Tucker all over it.