by Willa Okati
"More?" Clay whispered.
Seth nodded eagerly.
"You asked for it, then," Clay said. He kissed the tip of Seth's cock again, and then carefully slid the organ into his mouth. Seth almost forgot how to breathe as Clay worked his way down the shaft. This was unbelievable. He'd had blow jobs before, sure, but they were from women acting like they were doing him an incredible favor. They loved it when he went down on them, sure, but when it came to playing turnabout? No deal.
Not Clay. He loved to suck cock, and it showed. The lashing of his tongue sent a third surge through Seth, who began to take deep breaths in an effort to steady himself. Clay's hands kneaded his thighs, telling him silently that it was okay, that this was a lot to deal with all at once.
Clay didn't stop with just tongue-play. As Seth watched, Clay's cheeks hollowed out and he felt the most incredible suction on his dick. The sight blew his mind, and he was afraid that his balls would follow. They were already drawing up tight to his body, and the sensation, the burning need to come, was only increased when Clay freed one hand to cup and roll them. He knew just how to do it, too, hard enough that he could feel something, but lightly enough that it didn't hurt.
Seth heard a low moaning sound, and realized that it was him. Clay petted him again, as if promising things were okay. He could let go if he wanted -- he could --
Then Clay swallowed, and Seth lost control. Giving a sharp shout, he raised his hips in his orgasm and felt pulse after pulse of seed burst from the tip of his dick. Clay's tongue was there right away, licking up the dribbles that escaped, swallowing them down. As Seth panted, trying to put his brain back together, Clay sucked gently, cleaning him up.
Then he was pulling off, and it was over. Seth's head felt loose on his neck. He stared up at Clay, who was carefully pulling Seth's shorts back up.
"That's what it's all about," he said softly. "Or at least as much as I think you're ready for right now."
Seth's body burned. He wanted -- something more. Thing was, he didn't know what. A kiss, maybe? The idea of tasting himself on Clay's lips sent a surge of heat to his lower belly, and he began to raise up, wanting to touch the man's mouth with his own --
Clay's hand on his chest stopped him. "Not yet," he said, his eyes tinged with a sort of sadness. "That was for you, not me. I'm not taking anything you're not ready to give yet. Really ready. Just cope with what we've done, and then maybe we'll talk tomorrow."
As Seth watched in disbelief, Clay stood, grabbing his juice bottle. He lay unable to move while the man who'd just given him the sweetest blow job of his life walked away, heading for the house they shared.
At the doorway, Clay paused and turned around. "It's not about being gay," he offered quietly. "It's about caring for the person you're with. Maybe you need to consider that, Seth. Then, ask me some more questions about what it's like to live as a gay man."
And with that, he was gone, disappearing inside. Seth stared for a moment, then collapsed back onto the blanket. The waves sounded louder in his ears, until he realized it was his own blood pressure roaring. His throat was parched dry, his body hummed with satisfaction, and yet he wanted more. What, he wasn't sure, but just -- more.
Slowly, he stretched out his arms and legs like a starfish, as if he were making snow angels, and let them slide back and forth. Did he have any of his questions answered? He wasn't sure. His first gay sexual experience, and it had been wonderful, but it left him aching in ways he'd never experienced before.
It's about who you're with, Clay's voice echoed in Seth's head. Seth closed his eyes and imagined Clay over him again, those dark eyes warm with lust and tenderness.
"Clay," he whispered, testing and tasting the name on his tongue. "Clay, I think I'm falling for you."
But his words were lost in the roaring of the surf. And he didn't know that inside, Clay was leaning against a wall, face buried in his arms, sobbing as if his heart were about to break. Thumping the plaster with a fist, muttering words under his breath, and fighting against the urge to run back outside and take Seth where he lay.
Seth had no idea. And so he lay underneath the stars, awash with sexual satisfaction, his mind roaming over curiosity after curiosity. Peace tugged at him, and he sighed, shutting his eyes. Sleep wasn't far away, and it'd be nice to spend the night underneath the stars…
And before he knew it, he was asleep.
Not knowing that inside the house, Clay was dialing the phone…
Chapter Nine
"It'll be okay, baby." Anthony's slim arms wrapped around Clay's back, pulling him in close. He tucked his head into the curve of his friend's shoulder, smelling the fragrant shampoo he used and the indescribable scent that belonged only to him. He felt one small hand petting the back of his head as Anthony crooned, and closed his eyes.
With Anthony, just for a moment, he could pretend he hadn't just made the single biggest mistake of his adult life.
"Whatever's wrong, we'll work it out," Anthony was promising as he rocked Clay. Despite the difference in their sizes, he managed it pretty handily.
Must be the mothering instinct he drags out from time to time, especially when I've put my foot in it, Clay thought, clinging tightly. "You have no idea how deep I'm in this time," he muttered against Anthony's soft skin.
"How bad is it?"
"Eyeball level and sinking fast."
"Oh, Clay." Anthony released him and stood back, taking his hands. "What did you do? Is it Seth?"
Clay drew in a deep breath which was, apparently, all Anthony needed to hear. "Okay, come inside. This requires serious bonding time. I'll put on some coffee. You go through to the art patch and check out my latest while I brew." With one hand, he stroked back a tangle of Clay's hair. "Sometimes I don't know why I love you so much," he said frankly. "Right about then, you usually remind me. So go in there and start getting your story ready. I want to hear every word of it."
"All right." Clay knew he sounded gravelly. He cleared his throat and nodded. Anthony cupped his cheek for a moment, then smiled at him. "I really did screw up," he confessed.
"I know you did. So we'll fix it. Now, scoot."
Clay scooted. Anthony's apartment, really more of a studio, had sections blocked off by elaborate rice-paper screens of his own design. To get to the sunniest space by the windows, where Anthony painted, Clay had to weave his way through a tangle of den, library, storage room, and finally a new partition, set up with a cat tree and a litter box.
"Don't tell me you're going to get a kitten," he called back to the kitchen area, where he could hear Anthony puttering around with jars of instant and a canister of cream.
Spoons tinkled as Anthony called back to Clay, "Already got one! Be careful you don't step on him. He's kind of skittish. You probably scared him underneath something when you knocked on the door."
"What kind of cat?" Clay picked his way with extra caution, watching for any waving tails underneath furniture. "Regular old American stew, or a purebred?"
"Vintage supermarket box breed. I think he's half Siamese. All the points, but white paws." Anthony clanked and clunked a little more. "I actually had the coffee out earlier. Have you ever seen a kitten drink the stuff? Add a drop of it to his milk, and he goes to town."
"I don't actually think you're supposed to give kittens cow's milk," Clay said, finally making his way to the art "room". Two paint-spattered stools sat empty, one drawn up in front of a half-finished canvas. He examined the painting with curiosity. Looked like Anthony was trying to copy the weird old sunflowers masterpiece, with the addition of a foxy little feline weaving his way in and out of the stalks. "True love, huh?"
"Sometimes it happens." Anthony appeared with a tray full of cups, sugar cubes, and a carton of half-and-half. "Besides, it was soy."
The non sequitur took Clay by surprise. "Say what now?"
"What I fed the kitty. His name's Raku. Soy milk, not cow's."
Clay eyed the carton on their coffee tray. "And this is…"<
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"Good old Bessie's best. Don't be so skittish." Anthony plopped down on the stool next to the canvas, and gestured for Clay to take a seat. "Okay, the doctor is in. Tell me all about it. What did you do?"
Clay dragged in a deep breath. "It's bad, Toni."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. It's bad, it has to do with Seth, and you smell like sex. For some reason, these facts aren't adding up in my mind. Want to start at the beginning and see how far we get?"
"I blew him," Clay admitted, head downcast. "We were out in the backyard. He'd been asking all these questions about what gay men like to do, and he grabbed my hand. Swear, Anthony, it felt just like electricity. I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried."
"Did you try?"
"No," he admitted, staring at the cup Anthony passed him. "He was asking for me to touch him. Really asking, not just playing around. I kept stopping to check if this was all too much, but he pushed me further and further until I just… I did what I did. I gave him a blow job."
"Mmm." Clay heard Anthony take a delicate sip of his coffee. "How did he react?"
"React? Like any other guy who'd just had his brains sucked out via his dick. Like a happy puppy rolling around on the grass."
"Still not seeing the bad here," Anthony prodded kindly. "He enjoyed it and you must have, too, so why the tearful phone call and the late-night visit?"
A kitten meowed as it jumped up between them. "Hey, Raku." Clay extended a hand for the animal to sniff. It hissed at him before drawing back and hiding underneath Anthony's painting stool. "Geez."
"He's temperamental. Probably recognizes the same thing in you, hence the instant dislike. Raku will come around. The question is, though -- will you?" Anthony took another sip. "You're not answering my questions, Clay. If Seth was happy, and you enjoyed yourself, why the drama?"
"Do you even have to ask? He's straight, Toni. This was just a curiosity thing for him. I might as well have been a hooker he'd paid to scratch his itch. When for me…"
"It meant so much more." Anthony's cup clinked into his saucer. "I'm starting to get the picture now. For you, it was a moment right out of a chick flick. Granted, a chick flick that only me and my ilk would appreciate, but you get the idea. Soaring violin music, fireworks going off overhead, finally getting to taste your one true love…"
"And then realizing it wasn't about what we felt for each other," Clay said softly. "This was just an experiment, and I happened to be convenient."
Anthony sat in silence for a moment. "Clay?" He looked up at him. "Come over here, would you?"
Frowning, he obeyed. "What's up?"
"Closer." Anthony angled himself with thighs parted, inviting Clay to kneel between them. "Bend your head."
"Anthony, this isn't some kinky -- ow!" He'd smacked Clay. Hard.
Clay reared up, rubbing his smarting scalp. "What the hell did you do that for?"
"Because you're being such a man, you dummy!" Anthony brought his hand down again, this time to help rub away the sting. "You earned that one for acting like a jackass. You left Seth all alone after his first time with a man to come over here and cry on my shoulder?"
"Er…"
"No 'er' about it, mister. You were right -- you did screw up, and big time. What do you think is going on in Seth's head at this moment? Gee, Clay's a pro, he helped me discover something important about myself, hey, wait a second, where did he go?" Anthony pinched one of Clay's ears. "Gay or straight, the Y chromosome doesn't know its ass from its elbow, I swear."
"You think I did the wrong thing by leaving him alone?"
"Think? I know." Anthony looked at him with all the sagacity of a yenta who'd spent his life around men, regardless of orientation, which never failed to give Clay a top-grade class of the creeps. No one person under the age of eighty should have Anthony's degree of 'wiser-than-thou' going on. "Clay, what he needed was you by his side, not running away like you hated what you'd done." He paused. "Did you? Hate it, I mean."
"No! God, no. Touching Seth the way I've always wanted to was…" Clay paused, at a loss for words. "Magical. Violins and fireworks, the way you described the moment."
Raku hissed.
"Good boy," Anthony said with a scratch between the furry little ears. "My mother was right. Cats are smarter than men. Who knew? Look, Clay, don't you think Seth felt a little of that enchantment himself? When the afterglow wore off, he probably came looking for you. Wanting to talk about things. And where were you? Burning rubber over here for coffee and comfort. Dummy." His expression softened into a smile. "Clay, honey, you have to go home and sit down with that man."
Clay blanched. "Toni, what the hell do I say? Great sex; now, do you want to talk relationships?"
"Actually, something along those lines, yeah." When Clay groaned and would have turned aside, Anthony caught his chin between two fingers and forced him to look into his eyes. "Oh, no you don't. No running away from this. I've listened to you going on and on about Seth for I don't know how long now. He's been your number one, your big dream. But he was straight, which kept you both safe. Now that he's stepped out of the comfort zone, do you have the guts to follow him?" Anthony shook Clay gently. "Well? Do you?"
Clay gazed up at his best friend, who had his stern face on, mixed with kindly eyes. He sighed. "I'd like to."
"Then go home." Anthony released Clay. "Find that man, and sit him down for a conversation. Talk about all the things that scare you shitless, the both of you. Maybe he's still straight, or maybe he's bi now. Figure out what to do about Sophie beyond making her the butt of a joke. Especially talk about Sophie. I don't trust her. She gives off vibes that make my spine tingle." He looked intently at Clay. "Do we have a deal?"
Clay clenched his fingers, unclenched them, and dipped his head once. "I'll go."
"That's my boy." Anthony rubbed Clay's shoulder briefly, and then the pint-sized powerhouse was on his feet again, dragging Clay up off the ground and giving him a hearty push between the shoulders.
"What are you doing?"
"No time like the present, Clay! You're heading home right now."
"I can't finish my coffee?"
"It's instant. You actually want to drink the whole thing?"
Clay had to concede Anthony's point. Besides, he was starting to get mental visions now. Going home and finding Seth waiting for him in their den. Probably pissed at his having left, but willing to talk things through. Seth, looking good enough to eat in his short blue shorts and his tight T-shirt. Seth, with his soft blond hair and his eyes like the ocean itself.
Seth, the man he loved. The man who might just be interested in loving him back.
"I'm gone," he said, turning just long enough to kiss Anthony on the forehead. "Give me a call tomorrow? I want to let you know how things went."
"I want good news," Anthony informed him seriously. "Make this right, Clay."
"I'll try." Clay squeezed Anthony's hands briefly, then took off out the doorway, down the wooden steps leading up to the studio, and down to his car parked haphazardly across two spaces. Thank God, no one had ticketed or towed it.
All the way home, Clay beat a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel, keeping one eye on the road and focusing all of his mind that he could spare on what he'd say to Seth. Words like I love you and I need you kept flashing into his head, but he decided it'd be too soon.
We need to talk was where he should start. This wasn't about curiosity. Not for me, and I don't think it was for you, either. There's something between us, Seth.
He imagined himself taking Seth's long, strong fingers in his own. Let's figure it out.
The drive took less time than he would have thought, but Clay figured he'd just gotten lucky with traffic. Pulling into his parking space -- neatly, this time -- he bounded up to his door, thrust the key into his lock, and stepped into…
A dark living room. No Seth in sight.
"Hello?" he called, sensing the utter emptiness of the home. "Seth?"
Crossing
to the back door, he peered outside. Their blanket still lay on the lawn, in imminent danger of blowing away with the winds off the sea, and his bottle of juice, but no Seth. Clay stared at the spot for a moment, then ducked back inside. "Seth?"
No one in the kitchen. The bathroom door stood open, the lights off. That only left…
Clay pulled to a stop in front of Seth's door. It had been shut tight, but what worried him more was the note taped to the outside. His name was scribbled across the front in Seth's bold, angular handwriting.
He unfolded the missive slowly and read. When he'd finished, he went back a second time, just to make sure he hadn't mistaken any of the words.