The Tinder Stories

by Tory Temple

  Chris let the wall hold him up as they kissed and nipped and pawed at each other, both of them knowing that clothes would have to eventually come off but neither of them willing to let go of the other long enough to actually strip. Finally, a frustrated groan breaking the silence, Morgan dropped to his knees in the front hallway and dragged Chris down to the ground with him.

  They kicked off their jeans—well, Chris got his down enough to at least wiggle out of one leg, and then Morgan tore them off his ankle—and they attempted to get rid of their shirts also. Chris got his off, but Morgan seemed to abandon the idea when he noticed Chris’s bare chest and lowered his head to a nipple. Chris sucked in a breath and arched up when he felt the man’s warm, wet mouth, and Chris tangled shaky fingers in Morgan’s hair and guided him as he licked and sucked.

  Morgan kept his lips attached to Chris’s chest but let a hand wander lower, first brushing Chris’s cock but not lingering. Chris whimpered a little and attempted to move his hips in the direction Morgan’s hand had gone, but only got a wicked chuckle for his efforts. When talented fingers crept lower, tracing the sensitive skin beneath Chris’s balls and pressing in just a little, Chris tightened his fingers in Morgan’s hair as a warning and request.

  “If you tease,” he whispered harshly between panting breaths, “you’ll regret it.”

  Morgan lifted his head, his mouth swollen and red, a grin playing there. “I don’t think I’m the one who’ll regret it.”

  “You don’t get blown,” Chris stated, clenching a little when he felt a probing finger at his hole.

  “Oh,” said Morgan thoughtfully, smiling down at him. “You’re right. I might regret it.” And with that, he licked the tip of his finger and pushed inside.

  Chris held his breath and closed his eyes while Morgan stretched him with just the one finger. It was rare for them just to use spit instead of lube, but Chris sort of liked it when he could feel the stretch and burn. It gave him something to feel the next day, a sort of physical reminder of what they’d done together. The condom was always lubed, anyway, so that helped.

  Damn. Condoms. Chris hoped Morgan still had some around, since after the last time they’d had sex almost two months ago, Chris hadn’t bothered to stash one back in his wallet. “Rubber,” he hissed when one of Morgan’s fingers became two. “Tell me you have some.”

  “I have some,” Morgan answered, but made no move to find one. He did rise up and over Chris, however, making sure his cock dragged along Chris’s crack before positioning himself perfectly in front of Chris’s opening.

  Chris stopped himself from rolling his hips forward. “Well?” he asked, dropping a hand to his own cock and feeling it already slick with fluid. “Go get it, Jesus Christ.”

  Morgan looked down and watched Chris squeeze his cock for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “You had your yearly fitness test for the department two weeks ago.”

  Chris didn’t bother asking how Morgan knew that, because he’d learned by now that Morgan knew every damn thing that Chris did in regards to the fire department. “Yeah. And?”

  “And your results for blood work should have come back by now.” Morgan continued to brush his cock back and forth over Chris’s hole, which was making Chris a little insane.

  Chris took another stroke with his hand and shuddered at how good it felt. “Holy Jesus. This is what you want to talk about while I’m waiting for you to fuck me?”

  Morgan cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said pointedly. “This is what I want to talk about before I fuck you. Are you being dense on purpose?”

  Chris furrowed his brow. Fit test. Blood work. Results… oh.

  He blinked up at Morgan and met his gray, stormy gaze. “Yeah,” Chris said softly. “Results. Clean.”

  “Clean,” Morgan repeated, and Chris nodded.

  “Clean?” Chris asked, already knowing the answer. Morgan was too careful to be anything but. And just as Chris had thought, an arched brow was Morgan’s response, and Chris laughed. “Then what the hell is taking so damn long?”

  Morgan’s eyes went from a rainy gray to a flashing silver, and just like that he surged forward and buried himself inside Chris.

  Chris cried out at the delicious burn and stretch, relishing the feel of being skin to skin with Morgan and wondering what the fuck had taken them so long to do this. Especially now that Morgan was taking small, experimental thrusts, his eyes closed tight and the muscles in his arms shaking.

  He closed his eyes too and prayed not to come too fast, although it was becoming more difficult with every second. And then when Morgan changed his angle enough to bump up against Chris’s prostate, the task became almost monumental. He tightened his hand on his prick and pulled, sliding more easily now with all of the precome he was leaking. “Yes,” he grated out, trying to draw it out just the littlest bit more. “God, yes.”

  Morgan nodded and bit down hard on his lower lip, a wrinkle between his brows as he concentrated. “No condom,” he whispered, eyes glittering. “Just skin. Just you.” He kept his hips moving and his cock in just the right place, and Chris knew they were both almost done.

  “Just us,” Chris whispered back, watching him and feeling the pressure in his balls, in his spine, everywhere he had nerve endings. “Just us. You and me.”

  Morgan groaned and dropped his head and began fucking Chris hard, driving in over and over until both of them were gasping and crying out and clutching at each other with urgent fingers. Chris tugged once more on his dick and then he was coming with a wrenching moan, his cock pulsing in his hand and warm spunk spilling over his fingers and onto his belly.

  Morgan looked for a brief moment, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he watched Chris come. Then his eyes closed once more, and he slammed in a final time, freezing as he spilled deep inside Chris with shuddering spasms.

  Their harsh breathing filled the small hallway, and Chris realized his shirt was balled up uncomfortably beneath him, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Morgan, lying heavy and warm atop him.

  Morgan gingerly pulled out after his breathing had slowed, wincing a little when Chris was unable to hold back a small hiss. “Sorry,” he said, looking contrite and stripping off his T-shirt to wipe up with.

  “Nah,” Chris said, rolling to a sitting position and kissing him. “You couldn’t control yourself. I’m used to it.”

  Morgan lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. “You were the one who came first.”

  “This time,” Chris answered, and Morgan laughed out loud.

  THEY KILLED their engines at the same time and dropped their kickstands. Chris took off his helmet and ran a hand through his sweaty hair before getting off his bike. Morgan removed his helmet too, but stayed where he was and looked up at the house. “I’m too old for this.”

  “For what?” Chris laughed, balancing his helmet on his seat and unzipping his jacket. “Meeting people?”

  “Not people,” Morgan said, eyes still on the house. “Parents. Men in their forties shouldn’t have to meet parents.”

  “Men in their forties who want to stay in their permanent relationships should be willing to meet parents,” Chris said, unconcerned with Morgan’s attack of nerves. “But you can stay out here if you want.” He started walking toward the house, pulling his gloves off as he went.

  Chris heard the muttered curse behind him and grinned to himself when he heard Morgan hurrying to catch up. “You owe me big, Mr. Matthews.”

  He banged one fist on the door and turned to look over his shoulder at Morgan. “A word of advice. If you call me Mr. Matthews while we’re here, my father will think you’re talking to him. Considering the context, that could be messy.”

  Morgan rolled his eyes but looked chagrined, then snapped to attention when the door opened.

  “Christopher,” his father said warmly, and Chris reached up to hug him.

  “Hey, Dad. Good to see you.”

  “Yes.” John Matthews
smiled and then looked at Morgan. “Hello.”

  Morgan nodded and managed to look vaguely uncomfortable. “Sir.”

  Chris snorted at “sir” and said, “I brought someone for you and Mom to meet, Dad.”

  “Mm-hmm,” his father said with an interested tone. “Your mother said you were.”

  “Yeah. Um. This is Morgan. Morgan, my father, John.”

  John reached out and shook Morgan’s hand firmly, studying him. “Well. Morgan. Do you like cherry pie?”

  “Uh… yes, sir,” Morgan answered.

  “Christopher,” his father said, eyes still on Morgan, “bring the man in and cut him a piece of your mother’s cherry pie.”

  Chris grinned and led the way to the kitchen.

  Embers

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHRIS MATTHEWS didn’t know why, after nearly two years, he still let Morgan piss him off so badly.

  Most days, they got along. Small, petty arguments were either over by the time one of them left for work or forgotten somewhere along the way. There were a lot of petty arguments, but most of them were good-natured ones. Chris was used to them by now.

  But then there were days when the small arguments exploded into big ones. It didn’t happen often. Usually Chris was able to diffuse the situation or ignore Morgan’s bitching about one thing or another. But some days… well, some days Morgan was just impossible to ignore.

  Today was one of those days.

  “The fucking paper was in the fucking bushes again.” Morgan stalked into the kitchen with the offending paper under his arm.

  Chris took a bite of cereal and talked with his mouth full. “So call the delivery service. Again.”

  “I thought you did, last week.”

  “Well, yeah. Because you told me to. That’s why I said ‘again.’” Chris shoveled in more of his cereal and eyed the clock. He had a bet with Tucker that he’d beat him to work for the third shift in a row. Of course, since Tucker was probably getting laid and that was why he was always late, it couldn’t be considered much of a loss.

  “I’m canceling this paper. I only read the Wall Street Journal anyway.” Morgan glared at the newspaper and dropped it onto a chair.

  Chris picked it up and eyed him. “Uh, no. I read this paper, and it runs good articles on the fire department. We’re not canceling the paper.”

  That was met with something muttered under Morgan’s breath about the fire department and then stony silence.

  Chris raised a brow. “Excuse me? Are we back to the same old argument about firemen?”

  “I didn’t say firemen, I said fire department. Did you buy mango juice?”

  He ignored the juice question. “For fuck’s sake, Morgan. You work for the fire department.” Morgan was one of the educators who worked with the department captains. He presented the coursework that was necessary for the firefighters to meet their forty-five hours of required classroom time per year.

  “I know. So do you. In fact, isn’t it time for you to be there?” Morgan glanced at his watch in a truly infuriating way.

  Chris shoved back his chair and stood. “Sure. I’ll just take the paper with me. It’ll make room in the house for your pretentious Wall Street Whatever.”

  Morgan glanced up from the paperwork in front of him. “You’re offended by my choice of reading material?”

  “Sure, that’s it.” Chris shook his head in disbelief. “Why does it always come back to this? I’m not offended by most of the shit you say, but I thought we covered the fact that you bashing firefighters or the fire department isn’t cool. You’d think after two years together, you’d try to be less of an asshole about it. You live with a fireman. You used to be one. You work with firemen. So when you can’t shut your mouth about how above them you are, then I’m offended.”

  “I know, Mr. Matthews.” Morgan was calm as he watched Chris grab his keys from the counter. “And you would think that after two years together, you’d try to be less sensitive.”

  “Less sensitive.” Chris blinked. “That’s how you think we should solve the problem? By me ignoring you when you’re a dick?”

  Morgan leaned back and took off his glasses. “Sure. I ignore you when you’re being one.”

  Chris left his bowl on the table and the front door standing wide open when he left for work.

  HIS SHIFT passed quickly and slowly by turns. They ran four calls during the day, two of which were false alarms, one was nothing more than an elderly woman who’d slipped and bumped her head in the grocery store, and one was a kitchen fire that was mostly out by the time they got there.

  “She didn’t know how to work the damn extinguisher.” Tucker shook his head in disgust. “And she had real pretty pots and stuff in there that got all ruined. You know when they hang ’em from the rack and you know they’re all shiny and pretty? They ain’t pretty anymore.” He laughed to himself, amused, and swung back up into his seat on the engine.

  But you are, Chris thought before he could help it, then rolled his eyes at himself. He’d gone after Tucker hard, once upon a time, but those feelings had long passed. There was no question that his paramedic partner was pretty, though, and sometimes Chris couldn’t help wondering if life with Tucker was easier than life with Morgan. It had to be.

  Life with anyone had to be easier than with Morgan.

  He snuck a peek at his cell every hour for a missed call or a text message. Morgan had weird ways of apologizing without saying he was sorry. Chris had grown used to curt voicemails after the two of them had argued, asking what kind of pancakes he wanted or if Chris wanted to go see a movie on their day off. It wasn’t as obvious as chocolates and flowers, but Chris never wanted that shit anyway.

  There was no message. Not at noon when Chris checked the first time, and not at one or two or three o’clock. By four o’clock he was even more pissed off than he’d been when he’d left Morgan in the kitchen that morning.

  “Man, come on. You gotta learn how to just let shit go. He ain’t gonna change and neither are you, so how come you let it tie you in knots?” Tucker slouched on Chris’s bunk and flipped through a stack of photographs Chris had recently taken. “These are pretty. I wanna go out to the desert soon.”

  “Thanks. Those are from the ride we took last week. And usually I do let shit go. I think that’s the problem. How much shit do I just… let go? I never get to call him on anything? That’s fucked.” Chris slammed his locker closed, locking his cell phone inside so he wouldn’t look at it.

  Tucker snorted. “Didn’t say don’t call him on anything. Call him on all the shit you want. But then let it go. That’ll confuse him.” He looked up and grinned, flashing the dimples that had hooked Chris from the first day he and Tucker had met on the job.

  Chris sighed. “I don’t know, Tuck. Morgan’s not like Chance.” The tall, handsome department captain was Tucker’s romantic partner and not Chris’s favorite person, but living with Chance was probably easier than living with Morgan.

  “No one’s like Chance.” Tucker laughed. “And believe me, things ain’t all hearts and flowers round our house. But that’s what I mean, see? Chance does shit that pisses me right the hell off, and you better believe that I let him know. But once I let him know and we yell it out for a while, I feel better. It might take a couple days, but things settle down and I get a blowjob for an apology. It’s a good system.”

  Chris was pretty sure that Tucker did his share of apologizing as well. “Okay, Tuck,” Chris said, ignoring the impulse to get his phone out of his locker. “I’ll try letting it go.”

  “Uh-huh, give it a try. Lemme know how it goes. Wanna get your ass kicked at Xbox?”

  The soft chimes of the overhead alarm saved Chris from having to answer. He and Tucker both got up immediately and headed toward the station’s garage that housed the engine and truck.

  They dressed quickly and methodically in their heavy turnouts and swung up into their respective spots on the engine. Tucker whistled a tuneless melody to him
self as their engineer started up and pulled out of the bay.

  Chris watched the neighborhood pass by and envied Tucker’s easy outlook on life.

  SOME NIGHTS at work were quiet, some were interrupted by one or two calls, and then there were the nights that Chris didn’t get more than an hour’s sleep before the alarm went off again, summoning them to the engine.

  When dawn finally broke, he and Tucker met the rest of their crew in the kitchen. Everyone looked haggard and grouchy as they poured generous cups of coffee and prayed for no more calls before their relief arrived in an hour.

  Their wish miraculously came true, and when Chris’s relief arrived to take his place, Chris grabbed his gear bag and left without even saying goodbye. He loved his job, but some days were just draining.

  Morgan’s car was absent from the driveway. Chris was glad; there was no way he was in any shape to deal with their situation right then. Too tired.

  He hadn’t had breakfast or a shower, but Chris went straight to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He managed to kick off his tennis shoes before falling into an exhausted sleep.

  The house was still quiet when he finally woke up at noon. Chris rolled to his back and blinked at the ceiling. He had no idea when Morgan would be home; his schedule varied from day to day depending on where he was teaching and how many classes needed to be done. He could be back in an hour, or not until evening.

  Chris’s hand drifted automatically to his cock, as it often did when he was alone in bed and had free time. He loved sex in all its forms, but there was something about jerking off that appealed to him a lot. The power over his own body, the self-control (or lack of it), the knowledge of what he liked best. He and Morgan had a varied and satisfying sex life, but sometimes rubbing himself off was what Chris liked best.

  Especially when he was pissed at Morgan.