Full Exposure

by Jerry Cole

  Evan makes a come hither sort of motion, raising the camera to his face and letting out a little ah! when Scott’s moved to where he wants. He fires off a quick succession of test shots, humming appreciatively before twirling his finger at Scott again. Scott turns onto his stomach, bending his legs up at the knee and splaying his head and arms out on the mattress in what he hopes comes off as a seductive pose. It seems to do the trick. Evan gets a genuinely lecherous grin on his face as he snaps a couple more photographs and sets the camera back off to the side.

  It occurs to Scott, suddenly and somewhat surprisingly, that he doesn’t feel awkward at all. He can probably chalk it up to this not actually being his first time with Evan, but even then, the first time butterflies are still swooping uncomfortably in his stomach, so he doesn’t particularly think he can use that as an excuse. He’s just at ease with this effortless intimacy, for the first time since April died. He had never really imagined how nice it would finally feel to not doubt his every decision for once—not that he could doubt this. He doesn’t think he could ever doubt his love for Evan, not now. Not after everything is said and done.

  He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until he feels Evan’s fingers hook at the waistband of his briefs, and he comes back to himself in a rush of air to see Evan hovering over him, expression tender enough it makes Scott’s chest ache. Evan bends, gives him a kiss, slow and sweet.

  “Are you sure about this?” Scott asks, because he doubts he’ll come away the same person if he has to stop now. “We can wait on this, put a pin in it now and come back in the morning.”

  Evan shakes his head, presses a kiss to Scott’s collarbone and lingers there. “You’re afraid I’ll run away again.”

  “You did book it to Europe last time I got you in bed.”

  “And I came back in love with you.”

  Scott pauses, one hand hovering in the air just above Evan’s curls, the other stilling where it had been trailing lightly up and down his spine. “So you love me, do you?”

  Evan scoffs, as if Scott even asking is absurd. Scott’s chest swells with warmth, spreading past his ribcage and down to his fingertips. God, he’s so gone, so incredibly head over heels for the man in front of him, and he finds that he hardly cares if it’s written across his face in screaming red ink. “I thought it was obvious by now,” says Evan, cocky, and Scott melts. He reaches up, squeezes Evan’s hand where it rests right at the curve of his hip.

  “Cut me some slack, I’m still getting used to all of this.”

  With a laugh, Evan leans up, detaching himself from Scott’s chest to peck his lips lightly. “As much as you like, but I do want you to know I won’t run away again.”

  “I’m still not sure why you did in the first place.”

  A curious expression flits across Evan’s face, halfway between confusion and concern. “You know,” he says, rubbing his thumb absently against Scott’s hip. “A week ago I would have said I needed to figure out my feelings, but now I can hardly remember at all.” His thumb rubs deeper as he speaks, pressing more firmly into the skin, and Evan leans down to kiss Scott’s neck. As if in a trance, Scott turns his head, presses his lips to the crown of Evan’s head.

  God, this is the most romantic, feelings-y sex he’s ever had, and they aren’t even fully naked yet. Scott figures he should fix that.

  He reaches down, hooks his fingers in the waistband of Evan’s briefs like a question, pauses when Evan looks up at him and shakes his head.

  “You first,” he says, and Scott’s heart resumes its frantic pounding. Evan licks his lips, tugs at Scott’s briefs. Scott can’t say no to that, even if he wanted to.

  Quick enough to retangle himself in the sheets, Scott sits up, raising his hips to shimmy out of his underwear. He’s hard as a diamond, courtesy of the hours long foreplay session they had just come out of, and he can feel himself ache to his core when Evan exhales, long and slow, his eyes fixed on Scott’s cock like it’s gilded and covered in priceless gems.

  Evan bends at the waist, scoots his knees back on the bed until his face is hovering above Scott’s pelvis, and Scott really can’t argue against a blowjob. He reaches down, pressing one hand to Evan’s cheek in lieu of a kiss. At the touch, Evan reaches up, places one hand over Scott’s fingers and the other on the soft skin at the inside of Scott’s thigh, and bends to swallow him down in one smooth stroke.

  Scott realizes very quickly that Evan isn’t the type to just suck him off to get it over with. It’s not a chore. He treats it like a privilege. He’s the kind of person to tease, to edge and go slow just to draw noises out of Scott’s throat, borderline oral fixation as he eases himself down over Scott’s length. He kisses the tip of Scott’s cock before he sinks down onto it, sending shivers ricocheting up the length of Scott’s spine and smiling at the long, low groan it drags from him. When Scott looks down, he makes a point to meet his gaze, locking eyes as he drags the flat of his tongue soft and slow from base to tip, relishing every second of it. Somehow, the eye contact feels more intimate than the fact that Scott literally has his dick in Evan’s mouth.

  Scott inhales, has to take a couple breaths to collect himself when he breaks eye contact. “Jesus shit, where did you learn how to do that?” he whines, voice pitching up at the end of his sentence when Evan does something particularly tricky with his tongue that leaves Scott gasping and clutching for purchase against the mattress. He pulls back, wraps his elegant pianist fingers around Scott and tugs, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the thick vein on the underside. The feeling sparks through Scott’s nervous system, and he reaches a hand down, fists it gently in Evan’s hair just for something to hold on to.

  “It’s a secret,” Evan says, the cocky little bastard, before swallowing Scott down to the hilt again. Scott groans, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as he tries desperately not to embarrass himself by finishing down Evan’s throat less than five minutes into real, actual sex.

  “Evan, if you keep that up, I swear—”

  “What?” Evan asks, with that smirk still present on his face when he lifts off of Scott. The lack of tight, wet pressure is almost a relief. He can collect his thoughts long enough to give Evan a mockingly irritated glare. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

  “I will be, if you keep that up.”

  “What if I make a dumb face, like this?” he chuckles, pulling his lips into a ridiculous smile that prompts a startled laugh from Scott. They both dissolve into giggles after a moment, Scott’s worry forgotten as he leans forward to bundle Evan into his arms. Evan’s mouth tastes slightly bitter when Scott kisses him, the lingering taste of Scott still on his tongue, but it’s hardly a problem.

  “You know,” Scott says after a moment, when Evan pulls away to catch his breath. “I don’t really laugh with anyone like I laugh with you.”

  Evan gives him a searching look, gaze flicking from one eye to the other. “You should laugh more,” he says eventually. “Your smile knocked me off my feet, the first time I saw it.”

  “You still remember that?” Scott teases, even though he knows he can recall every single detail of their first meeting from memory, down to Evan tripping on the porch and the taste of his coffee, acrid and disgustingly sweet on Scott’s tongue.

  “Of course,” says Evan, and his voice is soft.

  ***

  They manage to get into some semblance of a rhythm eventually, once enough time has been spent alternating between hot, heavy strokes that bring one or both of them to the brink of release, followed almost immediately by tender and chaste kisses. Scott gets his hands on the backs of Evan’s thighs, right at the crease where the curve of his ass begins, and pulls him forward to straddle Scott’s lap. Evan goes willingly, grinding down as he settles himself, and Scott all but moans at the friction. That manages to pull a smirk from Evan, and he grinds down again, pressing himself flush against Scott from hips to collarbones. It’s so much, almost too much, and when Scott gets his hands on
Evan’s hips to pull him down a third time he finally manages to coax a low, strangled groan from Evan’s throat.

  The friction burns, nearly unbearable in the sweetest way imaginable. Scott still can’t believe that he gets to have Evan here, like this, splayed out above him like a work of art on a museum wall.

  Evan leans forward, reaching for something on the table next to the bed, and Scott places kisses on whatever expanse of bare chest he can get his lips on. There’s a snap, a shuffling as Evan shifts further up into a kneeling position above Scott, and Scott nearly swallows his tongue when he sees Evan reach back with one hand. A breathy little moan fills the air, falling from Evan’s lips like honey as he presses into himself.

  Scott groans at Evan’s expression. The sight is glorious, a pink flush sitting high on his freckled cheeks, his eyes fluttering, his lips a perfect pink “O” as he works himself open. Resettling his hands on Evan’s hips, Scott runs them lightly across the expanse of skin—up the small of Evan’s back, pressing into the dimples on either side of his spine, then back down to squeeze lightly at the backs of his thighs where they spread into a wide “V” over Scott’s hips. Evan moans at that, low and keening, and Scott’s hips thrust up on their own accord.

  Scott has a funny way of remembering the scenery surrounding experiences. The first time he kissed Evan, it had been silent, full of dark rooms and ticking clocks in the background and the hum of city traffic beneath the window. He can remember the dampness of his hands, the clothes he had torn off in his rush to get Evan into bed, every single taste of Evan’s tongue and teeth over the course of the night.

  Now, the first time he presses himself into Evan, it’s none of that. It’s ocean air and the sea breeze filtering in through the window. It’s the flutter of thin sheets against his bare skin and the sounds of seagull cries echoing in the distance. It’s tight heat and the blissful, magnificent way Evan tips his head back to the ceiling with a groan as soon as Scott is fully sheathed in him. He makes a breathy little noise after, shifting his hips like he’s testing the waters and exhaling through his nose at the feeling. Scott has to physically restrain himself from bucking up into Evan at the first hint of movement.

  He’s tight, a vice grip of pressure around Scott in a perfect ring, and when Evan begins to rock his hips gently it takes all Scott has in him not to fall over the edge then and there.

  “You all right?” Scott murmurs, running his hands along Evan’s skin to distract himself from the coiling heat in his gut. Evan gives him a cheeky smile, pulls himself up with a slow drag that shifts the ring of pressure up the length of Scott’s cock, then drops himself back down fast enough that it feels like a sucker punch to Scott’s gut.

  “Never better,” he says teasingly. God, Scott loves this man.

  Evan leans forward, braces himself against the headboard as he begins to fuck himself down onto Scott’s cock. The rhythm he sets is a breath shy of too much, and every nerve in Scott’s body lights up like a live wire as he snaps his hips up to meet Evan’s on every downstroke.

  It’s blissful, tight and hot, and when he manages to angle his hips just right Evan keens, collapsing forward onto Scott’s chest. Scott ruts into him again, relishing the way Evan groans out a nearly unintelligible more, please, god as Scott aims again for the little bundle of nerves that had made him see stars.

  When Evan cums, it’s over Scott’s fist wrapped around the length of him, and it’s hardly a breath before Scott tips over the peak after him.

  ***

  They lay together in the aftermath of it all, limbs tangled together so closely Scott isn’t sure what belongs to him and what belongs to Evan. There’s a jut of bone in front of him, Evan’s spine, and he bends forward to press his lips softly against it.

  “I love you,” he whispers, a confession, an undeniable truth.

  Evan turns, his back shifting and pressing up against Scott’s chest as Evan tries to move far enough to see Scott’s face. “Mmh,” he hums, wrapping his delicate fingers around Scott’s wrist and pulling it up to his lips to press a kiss to the soft skin there. “Tell me more.”

  Scott noses idly at Evan’s shoulder. It’s an easy kind of intimacy here, both of them too weary and bone tired to do much more than slow touches, words filling the spaces that their hands can’t cover. He eases his wrist from Evan’s grip, snakes it over the curve of Evan’s waist and pulls him close.

  “I love trying to figure you out,” he says, voice barely audible, lips pressed feather-light to Evan’s skin. “You were like a puzzle I couldn’t solve for so long. I didn’t know whether you wanted me or you wanted to run away again.”

  Evan laughs, melodic and full. “To be fair,” he says, “I think it’s more a question of what I wanted more at any given moment.”

  “And what do you want now?” Scott punctuates the question with another kiss, lips brushing over the nape of Evan’s neck, and he savors the way it makes Evan shiver in his arms.

  “I told you before,” says Evan. “I’m tired of running away.”

  “No more last minute flights to Europe, then?”

  Evan places a hand over Scott’s own, laces their fingers together. “Not unless you come with me. Now, what else?”

  A laugh falls from Scott’s mouth, unbidden. “You’re pushy, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I love that too,” Scott admits. “I love that you pushed into my space, that you didn’t let me close myself off again. I love that you wanted to know me, really know me.” He can feel himself starting to ramble, but Evan doesn’t cut him off, just squeezes his hand where their fingers are joined. “I love that you know yourself. I love that you were brave enough to give everything up and go become a photographer because it just meant that much to you. I love your pictures, even though you already know that.”

  “You told me that the first time we met,” Evan replies cheekily, and Scott can hear the smile in his voice. It fills him to bursting with a warmth that he hadn’t thought he could ever feel again at one point, a warmth that doesn’t ever fully seem to leave him when Evan’s around now. He spreads his hand wide, flattens it over Evan’s chest from where his arm is draped around Evan’s side. If he presses, he can feel the thump thump thump of Evan’s heart behind his ribcage, mirroring the tempo of Scott’s own.

  “And I’m telling you again, as many times as I need to. I love you.”

  There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and open, where Evan manages to turn around to face Scott without dislodging much more than the palm pressed up against his pulse point. His eyes are wide, emerald as deep as the ocean and as green as the trees, framed by golden lashes and a sheen of moisture. He’s teary eyed, and Scott reaches up to brush the drops away even though he knows they’re tears of happiness.

  “You too,” says Evan. “Always, always,” and it sounds like the snap of a camera shutter, like the waves crashing on the shoreline, like the last missing piece of Scott’s jigsaw puzzle life finally slotting into place. He steps back, and the finished picture feels like coming home.

  Inhale, exhale, fall in love. Easy as breathing.

  Epilogue

  The engagement party is small, a quiet affair held in a secluded section of the beach near Evan’s house. Frances is a sight in her dress, all violet and fuchsia against the soft sea-gray backdrop, Mitchell in a toned down suit and unable to leave her side. April’s ring, now Frances’, sits on Mitchell’s ring finger, all sparkling ruby and clear cut diamond. It doesn’t hurt to look at, hasn’t for a long time. Frances had nearly cried when he had given it to her, large doe eyes welling up with tears at his insistent she would want you to have it.

  Evan stands next to him, magnificent in a soft gray suit, dressed to the nines with a pair of champagne flutes in each of his hands. His hair is lying flatter than usual, pomade and sea spray working together to tame his usual wild nest of sandy curls into something more manageable. He looks a vision. One Scott thinks he’ll never tire of looking at.
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br />   Behind the two of them sits Evan’s house, freshly repainted. It had taken some convincing to change the glaring pink exterior. Scott has a feeling it was because he had grown a little fond of it, his heart wasn’t quite all into seeing it go. Still, it looks stunning, cream with dark brown trim, a perfect little cottage by the sea. A little burst of pride swells in his chest, looking at it. This is tangible. This, a house that Evan had put his own work into, that held Scott’s mugs in the cupboards right next to Evan’s and Scott’s toothbrush on the bathroom counter. This is what putting down roots feels like, for him and Evan both.

  As Frances raises her glass, giving a toast meant mainly for Mitchell that Scott only half takes in, a gust of wind kicks sea spray up off the waves and onto Scott’s side. Evan laughs at the way he jumps, reaching up to wipe the moisture off of Scott’s cheek with the fabric of his sleeve, and that’s when it hits him. This is home.

  Here, with Evan warm at his side, with Frances and Mitchell celebrating their engagement, with April’s ring glinting in the sunlight and her picture framed next to Evan’s on the mantelpiece:

  This is where he wants to be.