by Tory Temple
“What do you mean, it’s fine?”
“We still have leftover lamb chops in the freezer,” Chris mused. “I can make them with mashed potatoes, if you want. And I mean it’s fine. Why argue? You told me you were finished, so it’s finished. Lamb chops?”
There was a marked silence in which Chris very pointedly did not turn around. “Sure,” Morgan answered after a few beats. “Lamb chops. And can you put dill in the mashed potatoes again?”
“You got it.” Chris pulled the food from the fridge and freezer and went about preparing their dinner as if they’d never bickered at all. “Give me half an hour.”
“Okay,” Morgan said, and if Chris detected a note of confusion in Morgan’s tone, it was probably just his imagination.
Thirty-two minutes later, Chris produced a platter of four broiled lamb chops and a bowl of dill-and-sour-cream mashed potatoes. All those recipes his mom kept sending him were paying off. Chris made a note to tell her thanks as he watched Morgan dig into his supper appreciatively.
And speaking of his mom…. “My mom called this morning. She asked again when we were coming up for a visit.” Chris’s parents owned an almond orchard in central California, where he’d grown up. His mother was forever complaining that she and Chris’s father didn’t see enough of him and Morgan.
“We were just there a couple of weeks ago.” It didn’t come out as a protest, more like a stating of facts. Chris knew Morgan liked his mom and got along well with Chris’s dad.
“No. It was at the beginning of last month. She wants to make you a cherry pie, and my dad says he’ll take you skeet shooting.”
Morgan snorted and helped himself to more mashed potatoes. “These are good. And I don’t shoot. This isn’t a great time, though. The new academy class just graduated, which means I’ve got rookie hours coming out my ears and frantic captains who need classes scheduled for them.” He paused to swallow the last of the wine Chris had poured. “But… you could go on your own, if you want to.”
Chris blinked. “Without you?” He thought about the last few visits he’d made up north and realized that ever since he and Morgan had moved in together, he hadn’t gone to visit his parents by himself. There was no reason to, since his mom and dad were aware of his orientation and had welcomed Morgan into their family immediately. “Um. I could, I guess. Maybe next week for a couple of days.”
“Sure. Bring me back that pie.” Morgan smiled and shoved his plate away. “God, no more dinners like that for a while, okay? I’m due for my cholesterol test next month.” Even as Morgan said it, he licked potatoes from his thumb, and Chris chuckled.
“Sure, you got it. Chicken and brown rice tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” Morgan leaned over to kiss his thanks and any distance Chris had felt between them, real or imagined, evaporated.
CHRIS HAD a four-day break beginning Wednesday that would be the perfect time to go see his parents, so he called his mom.
“What?” his mother said, amid other unidentifiable background noise. “You’re not bringing Morgan? Did you break up?”
“No, Mom. God.” Chris shook his head. Maribel Matthews tended toward the dramatic at times, which was why Chris was often grateful for the calm, levelheadedness of his father. “We’re fine. He’s just busy. What the hell is all that noise?” It sounded to Chris like there was construction work going on right in his mother’s kitchen.
“Canning party!” Maribel yelled cheerfully. “I grew cucumbers this year, so Nancy and Jean from the church came to show me how to make pickles! Your father will be happy. Well, once the kitchen gets back to normal. What days are you coming?”
“Thought I’d come up Wednesday and leave Friday.”
There was a lot of banging and female laughter and Maribel was momentarily distracted. Chris tapped the fingers of his left hand against his thigh and waited.
“What was that, honey? Tuesday? No, Tuesday’s no good. Your father and I are due at the boating exhibition that day. Make it Wednesday to Saturday.”
He didn’t bother to correct her, and he didn’t ask what the boating exhibition was. His parents were forever getting involved in community happenings. “Okay, sure. I’ll be there Wednesday. Bye, Mom.” Chris hung up on another round of noise and laughter.
That left his Monday open, and by begging prettily and sucking Morgan off, Chris was able to convince him to move some classes around and go for a bike ride.
Chris expected they’d go their usual desert route and possibly hit Rosie’s for lunch, but Morgan shook his head when Chris suggested it.
“Up Pacific Coast Highway,” Morgan said, sleek black helmet in his hands. “Maybe up past Malibu. I want to ride by the ocean.”
It was an eighty-mile ride that would take them nearly two hours by car, but only just over an hour or so on their bikes. Chris shrugged. “Sure. PCH it is. Can we stop for tacos?”
Morgan confirmed that with an eye roll. Chris grinned at him and tugged his helmet on.
There was less traffic than they’d anticipated, so they rolled into the beachside city of Malibu in time to catch the breakfast menu at one of Chris’s favorite ocean-view restaurants. He wolfed down a Denver omelet and stole bites of Morgan’s french toast until the other man threatened to stab Chris with his fork.
“We’re having tacos for dinner,” Chris announced when their plates were cleared and only their half-full orange juice glasses remained. “You said.”
“First of all, I don’t know how you think about food right after stuffing yourself. Second of all, I didn’t say anything like that. I said we could stop for tacos and you chose breakfast instead.” Morgan wiped his mouth and used the edge of his knife to draw a pattern on the plastic tablecloth.
Chris just smiled and sat back in his chair, stomach full of omelet. The ocean smelled saltier than usual this morning, or maybe that was just because he was on a different beach. His beach at home never seemed to have that tang in the air, but it was pretty. Chris had gotten some good pictures on his beach.
The thought of pictures reminded him of his camera, so he dug the small digital out of his jacket pocket. The little camera wasn’t as good as the Pentax he had at home, but there wasn’t usually room to bring the bigger one along on rides. Chris had gotten some decent shots with his smaller one, though. He took a picture of Morgan to test the lighting.
“Hey, come on.” Morgan frowned at the camera lens. He avoided pictures of himself if Chris would let him.
“No, you come on. Please?” Chris made his eyes big and pleading, one of the few rare tricks that Morgan fell for.
“Do I have to smile?”
Chris laughed. “No. Just look out at the ocean and brood, like usual.”
That was easy enough for Morgan to comply with, even though he gave Chris a rude gesture first. Chris snapped a few passable shots before a cloud passed over the sun and ruined the cool shadows he was trying to capture.
Another refill of coffee and orange juice sent them both to the restroom before they left. Chris was somewhat hoping for a quick blowjob in one of the stalls, but aside from getting in a fast grope by the sinks, there was no time. Too many people kept shuffling in and out of the bathroom, and Morgan finally growled low in his throat.
“At home, where I can do it right.” Morgan’s eyes flashed silver, and need coiled low in Chris’s belly.
“Let’s go.”
Chris really did think they were going to make it all the way home without stopping; at least, that was his plan, because it was awfully uncomfortable to ride with an erection pressing at the tight leather of his motorcycle pants. Not that he hadn’t done it before, on plenty of occasions when riding with Morgan, but it was still painful.
Thirty miles from Oceanside, Morgan veered off the road. Pacific Coast Highway was riddled with tiny side streets that either led directly to the ocean or through expensive neighborhoods that looked out over the water. Chris was alarmed at Morgan’s unexpected move and followed immediately, hop
ing there wasn’t something wrong with his bike.
The neighborhood was tiny, exclusive, and quiet. The million-dollar homes that lined the street had spectacular views of the Pacific, but Chris was only concerned about Morgan. His bike looked fine from here, but Chris knew there were plenty of things that could go wrong for a rider that other people couldn’t see.
Morgan finally stopped on a tiny cul-de-sac that only had four homes and was shaded by towering palms. None of the houses faced the little copse of trees and bushes where Morgan parked his bike. Chris parked too and turned his bike off, getting his helmet off his head almost before the sound of the engine had died away.
“What’s wrong?” Chris asked, ready to crouch down and examine Morgan’s motorcycle. “Did you hit a rock? What?”
Morgan stayed where he was, straddling his seat, both legs splayed out to keep his balance even though the kickstand was down. “I have an emergency,” he said solemnly.
“I know, otherwise you wouldn’t have stopped!” Chris dropped to one knee and looked for a flat tire or slipped clutch.
“It’s not down there. Up here, Mr. Matthews.”
Chris squinted up at Morgan, wondering if he’d gotten a crack in his windshield or something minor. “Where?”
When Morgan patted his own crotch, it took a moment for Chris to understand what he meant. Realization finally dawned a moment later, and Chris rose to his feet with a slow smile.
“You’re kidding me.” Chris slid a leg over Morgan’s seat and sat on the bike so they were facing each other. “You don’t like sex in public.” He reached out a hand and squeezed the bulge in front of him. Apparently, Chris hadn’t been the only one trying to ride with a hard-on.
“I like sex with you. And this isn’t exactly public.” Morgan glanced around and Chris noted that he was right; they were effectively hidden from the quiet street and all the houses. “It’s at least another half an hour before we get home and I can get your ass in the house. I can’t wait that long. You did that… that thing with your eyes at the restaurant.”
Chris chuckled and squeezed Morgan’s cock again over the leather. “What thing?” he asked innocently, widening his eyes in an exact illustration of what he knew Morgan meant.
“Christopher.” Low growl. “Suck me off and I promise you can fuck me when we get home.”
He’d be crazy to turn down that offer, so Chris grinned and pushed at Morgan’s chest. “Lean back. I don’t have a lot of room to work, here.”
Morgan leaned back and grabbed on to the handles at the rear of his seat, the ones meant for carrying a second rider. The movement thrust his crotch up, and Chris was able to unzip Morgan with no trouble. The man’s cock sprang from its confined space, hard and pink with infused blood.
“Poor baby,” Chris murmured before bending at the waist to suckle Morgan gently. “Trying to ride home with this.” Chris ignored the fact that he’d been trying to do the same thing, but with the promise of Morgan’s ass available for him when he got home, Chris figured he could make it another thirty miles.
He hoped so, anyway, because the taste of Morgan on his tongue was going straight to Chris’s dick. The head of Morgan’s prick was soft and velvety and warm in Chris’s mouth, and the sounds of appreciation Morgan was making only served to make Chris harder in his leathers. Better get this over quick, Chris thought, otherwise he’d be getting come all over the inside of his expensive pants.
Chris kept his mouth open and wet and loose as he suckled on Morgan’s cock. By the way Morgan was already thrusting his hips up, Chris figured he wouldn’t have to worry about it taking too long. There were little clear drops of fluid that Chris could taste, and he swallowed them greedily, looking for more.
“Now is not the time to tease, Mr. Matthews,” Morgan gritted out. His knuckles were white on the seat handles.
“I think it’s a great time for it.” Chris smiled against Morgan’s dick and took another gentle lick. “But lucky for you, I want to get off too. That means we’re doing this fast so we can go home.”
A soft groan was Morgan’s only response, so Chris took that as an “okay, I’m all yours.” He drew Morgan in again and went down farther than before, far enough to feel coarse hair brush against his nose. The position didn’t allow Chris to get at Morgan’s balls, so he stayed where he was and swirled his tongue, then fastened his lips around Morgan’s cock and began sucking in earnest.
“Like that,” Morgan panted above him. “Keep going.”
Chris hadn’t intended to stop, but the encouragement was nice to hear anyway. He sucked more tightly, ignoring his own twitching cock, and swallowed a couple of times. Morgan’s prick swelled harder in Chris’s mouth. Almost there. Chris knew Morgan well enough to be able to count seconds before the man came. Chris had about nine seconds left to make this the best hurry-up-we’re-outside blowjob ever.
He hummed very softly around Morgan’s dick and received more of Morgan’s flavor in return. Five seconds. One more good, hard pull with his mouth and Chris felt the pulse right before he tasted the sugary bitterness of Morgan’s come and heard him bite back a cry.
Two swallows and a good tongue-bath later, Chris tucked Morgan back inside his leathers and sat up. He used a thumb to wipe the corner of his own mouth and offered Morgan a wink. “See? Fast. Can we go now?”
Morgan slouched in the seat of his bike, his entire posture exuding relaxation. “Sure.” He grinned. “A nice, leisurely ride the rest of the way would be great.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Chris warned, trying to adjust his erection so it wouldn’t pinch while he rode. “You promised.”
“I didn’t promise we’d get home fast. I promised you could fuck me when we got there. Eventually.” Morgan put his helmet back on and slid his face shield down, but not before Chris caught the twinkle in his eye.
Sometimes games were fun.
CHAPTER THREE
CHRIS LEFT Morgan on Wednesday morning when the sun was just beginning to peek into their bedroom window. “I’ll be back Saturday. Probably early.” He kissed Morgan’s head, the only part of him that was visible above the bedclothes.
Morgan yawned and stretched, and for a minute Chris was tempted to crawl back in bed with him. “Saturday? I thought you were there until Sunday.”
“I have to work on Sunday. I’ll be back by afternoon on Saturday. Hey, maybe we can get dinner, okay?”
“Um.” Morgan yawned again and scrubbed at his face. “I might have to teach. I’m waiting on Station Four’s captain to get back to me.”
“Oh. Then I’ll call you when I’m on my way home and see where you are. Are you going to sit up and kiss me goodbye the right way?”
Morgan snaked out a hand and grabbed the front of Chris’s T-shirt. He yanked hard and Chris toppled over on top of him. “Oof, God. I didn’t know you had your backpack on too.” Morgan shifted under Chris’s weight but made no move to push Chris off. “Be safe, please.” He nuzzled at Chris gently and brushed his hand across Chris’s cheek.
“Yes, sir,” Chris whispered, and kissed Morgan.
“Watch it, Mr. Matthews.” Morgan kissed him back before shoving Chris away. “Go. I don’t want to think about you driving in rush-hour traffic with the insane business crowd.”
Chris bent and kissed Morgan once more. “I’ll call you.”
“Call my cell,” Morgan mumbled, nearly asleep again.
“You never answer it.”
“If you call, I will.”
CHRIS DID manage to escape the worst of the freeway rush-hour drivers, only hitting a bit of traffic just outside of Los Angeles. The rest of his ride up the central coast was scenic and easy, if you didn’t count the lady who was too busy turning around to scream at her children instead of watching how she was drifting into Chris’s lane. The only reason he refrained from giving her the finger was the blonde, ringletted little girl watching him from her car seat.
Visiting his parents in March meant the almond orchard
s were in full bloom. The trees spread their low branches out to touch each other, and everything was tufted with white, including the thick green carpet of grass that lay like velvet beneath the trees. Chris turned off onto the private road that led straight through the orchard.
He passed the acre of land that grew wild mustard seed, and then his childhood house came into view over the top of the hill. Chris smiled to himself, the scent of almonds and almond blossoms rich in his nose. He glanced around as he pulled up the driveway and regretted that Morgan hadn’t come with him. Morgan had never come during the spring, only in late summer when the trees were stripped bare of nuts. Springtime was Chris’s favorite.
Maribel Matthews sat on the top step of the porch, a bowl of snap peas in her lap. “Chrissy.” She smiled, presenting her cheek for Chris to kiss. “There are warm sugared almonds in the oven for you.”
“That’s a girl’s name,” Chris replied with a grin, as he always did. “You wished I was a girl.” It was a familiar back-and-forth between them.
“I did no such thing. I was thrilled to have a son.” Maribel shook a finger at him, and her eyes twinkled. “I didn’t know at the time I couldn’t have more children.”
“Ha,” Chris laughed. “So later you wished I was a girl. That’s okay, Mom.” He bent and kissed her again, reaching a hand into the bowl and stealing a pea pod.
Maribel looked over Chris’s shoulder. “So Morgan really didn’t come with you? I thought he would change his mind.” She sounded disappointed and Chris chuckled. Morgan had charmed his mother immediately upon their first meeting.
“Sorry. He had to work. He sent you something, though.” Chris shrugged off his backpack and unzipped a side pocket. He pulled out a small square piece of fabric and handed it to his mother.
She unfolded it and her eyes lit up. “A new pot holder! Oh, for goodness’ sake. I told him the one he burned last time was an old one!” Maribel smiled at the cherries that decorated the pot holder.