We flip so I have him resting in my lap, holding him. My head turned to lean my forehead against his temple.
One hand stroking through his hair to smooth down his neck, I jerk him off with the other. The sweat beading and glistening against his skin tastes of Collin. The movement of my hand working him matches the movement of my hips.
His panting breaths and grunts become more erratic.
He feels phenomenal.
He makes me feel phenomenal being able to bring him the kind of pleasure he brings me.
Collin Pratt is the last man I want to be inside of for the rest of my life.
“Fuck, Col.” The words are weighted, from my realization as much as I’m about to come.
“Kip,” he breaths out, as he follows me over the edge.
Collin has his head resting against my chest, with his arm slung over my abdomen, half laying on top of me once we’ve completely finished and have moved back up the bed to lie down. My head on my pillow. Col has these beautiful back muscles sculpted from his time in the gym that I love to run my fingers over.
That’s how we spend the next several minutes, him laying half on top of me while I trace his muscles. Col keeps his eyes closed, a small, contented grin playing against his mouth. It’s almost more intimate than the sex.
Neither of us moves to speak. There’s no need to. We both know what we’ve done. Not just sex. I made love to him, which I haven’t done to a man since my ex. But more importantly, he made love to me.
There’s a loud clatter downstairs that echoes throughout the open floorplan of the apartment, loud enough to interrupt my thoughts and pretty much shatter the moment.
Collin looks up at me. “Back to reality.”
I suppose so. Nothing would make me happier than to spend the rest of the night just lying here with Collin in my arms. But if he’s in my bed, I want him naked. That clatter is the first noise of some of my roommates returning home. And there is no way for me to enjoy his naked company with a gaggle of females hanging around. Thus ends that thought.
“We should probably get dressed,” he says. Although still not moving from my chest.
“Probably. But hey, Benton will be gone the whole weekend. Let’s get dinner, and we can head back to your place.”
“Maybe you should pack for a few days, then.” Col kisses the dip in my throat below my Adam’s apple. The kiss has meaning, telling me he’s already ready to go another round.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready, willing and able. Jesus, Collin owns me. I’m just not sure how much farther to push this thing growing between us. I mean, Collin let me make love to him. Collin hasn’t let a man make love to him since Andrew. I can’t help think that he might need the chance to ruminate on what happened between us tonight. Time to come to grips with us being an us, so he doesn’t wake up tomorrow mid panic attack. The last thing I want is too much, too soon.
“You sure, baby? You really want me to stay for the weekend?”
In his eyes, he gives me the answer. They flash when I call him baby. It slipped out, but it feels right.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Let me pack.” Though, I hold on to him for a few minutes longer.
Chapter 12
Kip
“Let’s do something fun today?” It’s Saturday morning. We kept a late night. If I’m being honest, the best late night I’ve ever kept.
“Bored with what we’ve been doing?”
Under the comforter.
In his bed.
His head resting against my chest again. In his spot.
No. Bored is not a word I’d use to describe how I feel about our time together. But we’re a couple, and couples engage in activities other than bedroom romps. So I’d like to engage in activities other than bedroom romps.
And I feel like he’s hiding us. If we stay in the room, he can commit to being a couple without committing to being a couple to the world at large, with the exception of coffee runs and food runs. We’re new, but I’m not going back to holding hands under coats in the movie theater. I know how his mind works. If he gives me the campus and the three block area around campus (which includes The Brew and The Heron Deli), I’ll be tricked into believing he’s really put himself out there.
Collin is a beautiful man uncomfortable in the beautiful skin he was born in. I’ve never been with a man who has such a deep-seated hatred of himself before. But there’s no turning back, either. Not that there ever was a chance of that, not from the second we first locked eyes at The Brew. If we’re going to work, we have to live our relationship, our lives, like every other normal couple. Because we are—a normal couple. I’ll make him see we are. Sooner than later. I’ll make him see that we are.
“What did you have in mind?” He finally asks.
“I was thinking, what if we hit up Henry Ford today? I’ve been wanting to go for a while now.”
“Kip, that’s really more of a family destination.”
“No.” I draw out the word. “It’s a museum. But just so we’re clear, your complaint is we aren’t married with kids or one of us isn’t a woman?”
When he rolls away from me, I hear his answer loud and clear. Although, I knew it before. I grit my teeth and count backward from twenty, so I don’t say something to piss him off. Pissed off Collin shuts down.
There’s nothing easy about the situation, so he doesn’t get to get off easy. Pulling him back into my arms, he tries to shrug away but I hold firm.
“You want to move to San Francisco, we’ll move to San Francisco. You want the East Village, I’m there with you.”
His eyes grow huge as he twists, fighting to get out of my arms.
I don’t give a shit if this scares him. It’s how I feel. And he’s here, and I’m here. So he’s going to listens to what I have to say. “But Col, we can’t sequester ourselves to gay-friendly communities. This is our life. Whether you chose to spend it with me or not, it’s who we are. And who we are will never be a woman in a relationship.”
He loses his fight.
“I don’t want to be a woman.”
“I’m nev—”
“I don’t want you to be one either.”
Scars like his don’t fade. At least not very fast. And I’m not stupid enough to think they would, let alone try to force them to fade sooner than they’re meant to. I know the people from his past hurt him or let him down monumentally. But I also know that he hasn’t even tried to let those scars heal and fade, scratching at those marks to keep them pink and potent, to give himself enough time to fortify the walls he’s built up to keep people who give a damn, people like me, from getting too close.
He’s not a kid any longer, relying on the adults in his life to help him make his world make sense. He’s an adult, responsible for making his own world make sense. So keeping people out doesn’t hurt them, it hurts us and him. The people who don’t give a damn, don’t give a damn.
If he would only stop and think about how loved he is. About how none of that other shit matters because we’re here. We’re all here for him. Benton, Elle, Errol and Sabrina… and me. Most of all me.
How lucky is he to have built the family he has? They welcomed me into the fold because they’re decent people and sensed I mean something to him. Period. My family will go crazy for Col when they meet him.
To my surprise, he sits up facing me, folding his legs in front of him. His palms to the bed. There’s a look of real contemplation
“You’d move with me?”
“Anywhere in the world.”
Even crazier than Collin so abruptly giving up the fight, he flinches at my admission as if I’d stuck him. Though he tries to play it off by stretching kinks out of his neck and shoulders.
“Okay.” Then after a long dramatic pause he finishes, “Let’s do Henry Ford.” Collin doesn’t even realize what he’s said. There’s an easy joke, right on the tip of my tongue. I don’t take it.
***
Collin likes to drive and there’s no doubt his
car is better than mine. His lead foot gets us to Detroit, well outside of Detroit, in just under two hours when it normally should have taken over.
The huge parking lot already has capacity parking when we pull in. We find one open spot in the very, very back along the fence separating lot from street. Col and I get out at the same time. I tug the collar of my coat up around my neck to block out the biting wind, then walk around to him, taking his hand in mine.
We keep our heads down to keep from getting blasted in the face. We’re both shivering so hard, I can feel his shivers through our connected hands.
Today we’re going to stop scratching at the skin around those scars and expand boundaries. There’s a hesitance to his step when our fingers lock. He doesn’t let go, though.
Yes.
The first step of a million more.
Most people don’t even notice us once we get inside. I mean they notice Col, how could they not? He’s the epitome of a walking, breathing sex god. The hands, most people don’t even register. Although I do notice a few looks. Some curious, a couple disgusted. I don’t point those out to him. Not when we’re having our breakthrough moment.
We stop at the ticket counter. I guess I didn’t think about how much tickets would cost. I just wanted us to have a fun day together, but I asked him out. The first rule of dating, pulled straight from The Kip Daniels Rules of Dating Handbook, whoever asks, pays. When I reach inside my pocket to pull out my wallet, Col stops me, putting his hand to my wrist.
“You got me out of the house. I got this,” he says.
Riffling around in his front pocket, he slaps a couple twenties down on the counter in front of us.
Yet another misguided girl, behind the counter in her size too-small navy blue uniform T-shirt, leans forward with her whole body to slide his money off the edge of the counter. She uses one manicured finger. Her breasts strain against the top.
No doubt, she gets a lot of numbers. If we were different, if we got more from a pair of perky boobs and a vagina than an anatomy lesson in science class, she’d definitely be the kind of girl he’d go for. My eyes. My dark hair and olive skin coloring. Collin, I’ve noticed, has a thing for brunettes.
She’s trying so hard. And by the way he levels her with his flirtatious smirk, and those damn bedroom eyes. Right in front of me? I’m not a jealous man by nature, so I sure shouldn’t be jealous of a woman receiving his bedroom eyes. And maybe it’s not jealousy that I’m feeling. But he’s pretending with her. Pretending he’s interested. Pretending we’re not together.
What? So I’m not good enough? That’s what he’s telling the world when he pretends we aren’t what we are to each other. There are so many things I’ll let him get away with. I agreed to no kissing. Not pretending.
“You don’t have to, babe.”
He stiffens. Stiffens at the use of the word. Like an even bigger ass, not only do I not apologize for calling us out as an us in public, but drop my arm around his shoulder just to drive my point home. As if she didn’t get it from me calling him “babe.” Not my proudest moment.
“It’s fine.” He’s still stiff, shifting under my arm.
“Then I’ll get lunch. Thank you.” My lips hover only millimeters above his ear. My goal was to expand his boundaries, not to traumatize him. I move back quickly.
The girl’s smile, although remains big, dulls slightly. “Enjoy your time at Henry Ford,” she says, pushing the tickets at us.
As we walk to the museum floor entrance, he walks ahead of me, which I let him do until we’re stopped by a ticket ripper.
“I did not mean to do that.” That’s a lie. I meant every bit of the show I put on. Leaning in slightly, I speak softly. “Force of habit?”
Collin at least glances my way to acknowledge my halfhearted attempt at an apology. It’s tiresome, being expected to live a sham public existence. Back home, I never had to pretend. No one expected me to. Jake and I just were.
At a museum.
The movie theater.
On the basketball court.
Since Collin won’t give me more than a glance, I give my attention to the rest of the hall. Across from us, two women walk out of the family bathroom holding hands. One pushes a baby stroller and one holds the hand of a toddler, a cute little boy with bright red hair. Dammit, the signs are all around us. Is it a perfect world? Of course not. But the changes are coming for the better. The world hasn’t imploded from two women holding hands.
If I thought showing him would help in any way, I’d grab Col’s chin and force him to look. Knowing he’ll come up with some excuse to explain it away, I don’t bother.
The ticket ripper hands us back our stubs and moves aside.
Today was supposed to be fun. I want the fun. I want how it felt earlier, when we woke up happy. More than happy, content. Somehow, I’m going to get it back.
“I want to see JFK’s death car, first.” That’s as much of a warning as Collin gets as I leave him, heading in the direction of the automobiles.
“You are so morbid.” He calls after me. But then he jogs to catch up and takes my hand.
In public.
Inside, I’m jumping and whooping and punching the air. In reality, I don’t even sideways glance. I don’t want to call attention to Collin or his hand, because all of a sudden, my life doesn’t feel like such a sham.
We spend an exorbitant amount of time looking at the classic cars.
Then the freedom bus. Because even though times are changing, and I’ve been doing my damnedest to get Collin to see those changes, I’m not blind either. It’s still me and Col who have been metaphorically forced to sit at the back. To give up our seats to those who fear us. Fear our mingling. Our influence on innocent minds.
The voices come at us through speakers while we sit, listening. Those voices from the past bridging the fifty year gap, telling our story simply by telling theirs.
Beautiful.
Giving me chills.
Collin absorbs the words with his eyes closed, whereas I sit transfixed on our hands, still linked, fingers intertwined like lovers. Not that their struggle is over, not by a long shot. But listening while sitting next to the man I love gives me a naive hope that maybe fifty years from today, all our struggles will be lessened.
“Well, shit just got entirely too serious,” Collin jokes, wiping at his eyes. He tugs me up from the actual bus seat for us to leave. “You like morbid, let’s hit Lincoln’s assassination chair next.”
I’ve never spent so much time looking at a chair in my life, but part of me just couldn’t leave. How surreal to be looking at the last artifact of the most famous assassination in history. I swear, blood spatter still stains the silky red fabric.
They have a perfect replica of an early Holiday Inn motel room as well as the Wright brothers’ Kitty Hawk plane and The Spirit of Saint Louis. We move from one exhibit to the next blissfully ignorant of everyone else around us.
“You hungry?” I ask. “Because I really could eat.”
“I could eat. Where we going?”
I know exactly where to go, one of the main reasons I initiated the Come-To-Henry-Ford plan to begin with. Leading us, we turn left from the Spirit of Saint Louis, to make our way over to the little 1940’s diner car. We only make it a few steps when Collin takes back control, tugging me up the steps to the interactive exhibit. I knew he’d love it. It’s an honest to goodness aluminum luncheonette decked out with a bar and bar stools, wooden booths with mini juke boxes at each. Even soda in glass bottles. The place is perfect. We wanted the true diner experience. That came with him ordering the Club Sandwich platter, and me, the hot open-faced roast beef with mashed potatoes.
I want to try his sandwich because, hello, bacon. So I reach over, grabbing a half off his plate, and manage to take a big bite while he grabs at me trying to get it back.
“Fine,” he finally huffs, but says it reaching for my fork. He takes a large bite of potato. And he does it laughing, light-hearted and e
asy going for the time being. Then when the waitress comes back to our table, he orders us a cobbler with ice cream to split. One cobbler. Two spoons.
The first bite he offers to me, from his spoon. As in he feeds me. It’s kind of a chick thing for me to accept it, but I refuse to do anything to dampen his playful mood. Collin wants to feed me, he can feed me buckets full. He doesn’t, just the one bite. But that could quite possibly be the single best bite of ice cream I’ve ever eaten in my life.
Chapter 13
Kip
Fucking hell—the hand punches my shoulder blade from behind. A sucker punch. Stumbling me forward.
“The fuck, man?” Collin spins on him faster than I can ever recover my step.
“I saw you in there. Holding hands and feeding each other like the rest of us weren’t disgusted. I couldn’t finish my food. You fucking make me sick.”
I make him sick? We make him sick? We’ve never met the guy before, and he thinks he has the right to spit his bullshit at us? His voice rising as he steps closer.
“Back the fuck up,” I warn. We’ve had such a good day. Col has come so far. Jesus, way to ruin a perfect day, man.
The jackass takes another step forward. Things are about to get ugly in the parking lot when the three of us are halted by an angry female voice intruding, carried from between a couple parked cars.
“What is wrong with you?”
I turn ready to defend myself, to defend Collin. But she isn’t looking at us. She’s looking at the asshole. Her husband, surly looking dude—bald, beard, big as a Mac truck, full of tattoos and a septum piercing—steps up behind her. I know it’s her husband as they both have gold bands on their left-hand ring fingers. Two kids, a boy and a girl about eight and ten, hang back by a parked SUV.
“What made you think it was okay to harass innocent people on a Saturday outing?”
“Did you see them?”
“Yeah. We were inside, too. What I saw was a couple enjoying their day. You didn’t seem to notice me and my husband kissing. I wonder why?”
Underside of Courage (Beautifully Disturbed Series Book 2) Page 9