Back Piece

by L. A. Witt

  The air was taut between them, like it was somebody’s line but they’d both forgotten the script. Or the script had gone up in flames and there was no telling whose move it was or what was supposed to happen next or who should call the shots and—

  Colin closed the last bit of space between them.

  Grabbed the side of Daniel’s neck.

  And kissed him.

  Time stopped. It just fucking stopped. Like a ship cruising along at too many knots and suddenly hitting rocks, it was moving, and then . . . it wasn’t.

  Daniel had been kissed before. Once. And making out with Lieutenant McEnroe had been kind of hot. More novel than anything, with a whole lot of that’s it? afterward.

  This was not like that. Daniel’s only experience with kissing had been a man trying to cram his beer-marinated tongue as far down his throat as humanly possible. He’d never known what it was like to have a man’s lips pressed against his, moving gently as a hand slid up into his hair. This sensual slow motion, not just hearing Colin breathe but feeling the rush of air, was unreal. And since everything was so slow and quiet, Daniel could feel everything. Body heat through clothes. Fingers twitching against his scalp. A thick erection pressing against his own and driving him out of his fucking mind.

  Drawing Colin back with him so they could use the truck for balance, Daniel put his arms around him. He held him close, marveling at how new and amazing it was to be wrapped up in another guy. Had he held onto McEnroe like this? Shit, he didn’t even remember. It had all been so fast and drunk and clumsy. This was the opposite. Though Daniel sure as fuck felt clumsy, Colin wasn’t. Everything he did seemed perfectly choreographed, like he knew exactly how to move his lips and where to put his hands and when another soft rush of breath across Daniel’s skin would make the whole world shift under their feet.

  Daniel wanted more, so he pulled Colin closer, and the low groan against his lips almost made him come unglued. They were pressed together enough that Colin was almost rubbing Daniel’s fresh tattoo, but somehow he didn’t. As if he knew exactly how to twist his torso just right to avoid brushing that spot.

  Colin tilted his head, and with his lip, nudged Daniel’s apart. Daniel opened to him—how could he not?—and Colin slipped his tongue past them. He wasn’t forceful about it. Not trying to lick Daniel’s tonsils, but just teasing him. Tasting him. Though this wasn’t Daniel’s first kiss, it was the first time he’d ever been kissed like this. Like someone wanted to kiss him and not just the nearest willing body.

  Colin touched his forehead to Daniel’s, and Daniel couldn’t decide who was more out of breath.

  “Holy shit,” he murmured.

  Colin laughed softly. “Yeah. That.”

  Daniel moved in this time, and Colin held him tighter as they kissed again. Daniel had always wanted to know what it was like to run his fingers through a man’s hair while they kissed, so he did, and it made his whole body tingle with excitement and God only knew what else. He did it again, enjoying the coolness of short hair between his fingers. Colin pressed against him, growling softly against Daniel’s lips.

  The truck’s shocks creaked quietly in the background. Daniel imagined him and Colin lying on the flatbed, giving those shocks the workout of their lives, and he couldn’t help moaning. His fingers tightened involuntarily in Colin’s hair, probably just enough to pull, and Daniel had a split second to panic that he’d killed the mood, but Colin sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and kissed him even harder.

  One of them moved—he wasn’t sure who—and his erection brushed the thick ridge beneath Colin’s belt, and Daniel didn’t know how he didn’t come unglued. Fantasizing was one thing. Actually having this gorgeous man rock-hard and pinning him against his truck and letting little sharp huffs of breath rush across his cheek was . . . holy shit, it was . . .

  How am I not literally on fire right now?

  When they separated this time, Daniel was dizzier than he’d been after his tattoo was finished. His knees shook. Hell, his whole body shook.

  And Colin didn’t seem much steadier. “Been wanting . . . to do this since the first time I saw you.” He was talking fast now, almost slurring the words like he couldn’t quite think clearly enough to enunciate. “Can’t believe . . .” He leaned down and let his lips brush the side of Daniel’s neck.

  Daniel’s head was spinning too fast to comprehend all this. “You . . . really?”

  Colin pressed a firmer kiss beneath Daniel’s jaw. “Yeah. Really. Never struggled that hard to concentrate on a tattoo.”

  “Oh my God.” Daniel was so turned on he was trembling, and tilted his head back to expose more skin to Colin’s lips.

  Colin took full advantage, trailing kisses down the front of Daniel’s throat, which was so much hotter than it had any right to be. And it only got hotter when Colin whispered, “I cannot even tell you how much I want to suck your dick right now.”

  Daniel’s knees almost wobbled right out from under him. “Y-you do?”

  “You better believe it. Look what you’re doing to me.” Colin took Daniel’s wrist and pressed his palm against the thick hard-on beneath his pants.

  “Oh God . . .” Daniel shivered.

  “Just say the word and I will. I am—”

  “Yes, please.”

  And then he stood there, silent and frozen, disbelieving as Colin dropped to his knees right there on the pavement. Daniel’s belt buckle jingled, and his pulse shot up for the millionth time tonight. Was he really . . . ?

  Zipper down. Waistband down. Oh God. Yes he was really . . .

  Daniel gripped the truck bed’s side rail for balance, and it was a damned good thing because in the next instant, his cock was between Colin’s lips, and his knees were useless.

  He stared down at Colin. This was better than any porno he’d ever watched. A man sucking another man’s cock was a thing of beauty, but when it was his cock, and when the man sucking it was this gorgeous tattoo artist with the wicked smile and beautiful eyes and that laugh that made his whole body tingle . . .

  “Holy shit,” Daniel moaned. Sweet Jesus. Now he understood why guys raved about blowjobs all the time. No fantasy he’d ever had could hold a candle to the real thing. Colin sucked cock just like he kissed—deliberately, with his lips and his tongue, teasing and tasting. This was more precise. An art form. Colin didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but he wasn’t holding back, either.

  Then he added his hand, stroking Daniel with a tight, slick grip, and Daniel thought he heard himself moaning, damn near sobbing. Nothing had ever been this intense before, and if he was losing it now, he was seriously going to burst into flames when he came.

  He held the truck’s side rails even tighter, and pressed back against the truck to keep from melting to the ground. “Oh fuck. I’m . . . gonna . . .”

  And right then, Colin gave him even more. Stroking faster. Twisting just slightly with his hand. Swirling and fluttering his tongue over every sensitive nerve ending.

  Daniel couldn’t have stopped his orgasm if he’d tried, and he didn’t try. What little presence of mind he had left, he used to keep his lips pressed tightly together so he didn’t announce to all of Virginia Beach that he was coming . . . coming hard . . . coming harder than his own hand could ever make him come . . .

  “Fuck.” The word slipped past, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except how utterly amazing his entire body felt in the wake of an orgasm that strong.

  So that’s why everyone likes blowjobs so much.

  The thought almost made him laugh out loud like a drunken idiot. And he still didn’t care.

  As Colin backed off, Daniel sagged against the truck, panting and trembling like mad. “Whoa.”

  Colin laughed softly. “You’re welcome.”

  Daniel laughed again, sounding even drunker. He blinked a few times, and it took a moment for his vision to clear, but when it did, he watched Colin rising from his knees, pausing to dust off his pant legs. G
aze locked on Daniel’s, Colin ran his tongue along his lips. The gleam in his eyes burned even hotter now, and as he straightened, a shadow slid over the bulge of his own erection.

  Daniel froze. Panic knifed its way past bliss.

  Now what? Am I supposed to do the same for him?

  But how? How the hell do I blow a guy?

  Oh God. He’ll laugh his ass off once he realizes I don’t know what I’m doing.

  Colin came closer, reaching for Daniel’s waist, and fear got the best of Daniel.

  “Shit.” He glanced at his watch and blurted out, “Um. I have to muster at zero six hundred tomorrow. I should . . . I should go.”

  Colin’s eyebrows jumped. He backed off, but his shoulders sank a little, and the palpable disappointment made Daniel wish the pavement would open up and swallow him.

  Sort of like how Colin just swallowed you.

  And probably expects you to swallow him.

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  “I’ll, uh, be in touch. About”—he gestured over his shoulder—“the bigger tattoo.”

  Colin smiled, but it seemed forced. “You know where to find me.”

  “Right. Yeah. And I’ll probably see you . . .” He motioned toward the gym. Why was he having trouble speaking? Finishing simple sentences? What the hell was wrong with him? “Anyway. I’ll see you. Soon.”

  Colin nodded. “See you soon.”

  Then Daniel got into his truck and didn’t look back. He didn’t even check to see if Colin was watching him, or if he’d gone back into the shop, or if he was flipping him the bird because “Dude, I just sucked your dick and now you’re going to leave me with blue balls?”

  Whatever. He got the fuck out of there as fast as he could.

  On the way down the freeway, he pressed his elbow against the window and rubbed his forehead. The tingle in his lips and the dull ache below his belt were more intense than the burning of his new tattoo. God. Every nerve ending was registering something that ended with Colin touched me here.

  What the hell just happened? And why is it not still happening? Why am I so fucking stupid?

  He drummed his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel. Everything that’d happened in the parking lot had been totally unexpected, but not unwanted. Not even close. The opposite of unwanted, for God’s sake. So why did he freak out? He could’ve let Colin touch him all night long, but the prospect of returning the favor had practically paralyzed him.

  What do I do?

  Reading smut, watching porn—none of that was the same as doing it. He’d read about cars and watched adults drive when he was a kid, and the first time he’d gotten behind the wheel himself, the county’d had to replace a stop sign.

  And screwing up at sex would be as bad as a car crash?

  It seemed stupid now, but in the moment, the fear had been real. Wasn’t like he could go back and start over. Colin was probably on his way home. Or maybe in the tattoo shop, taking care of his own hard-on in the bathroom since Daniel had neglected to do anything about it.

  Daniel cringed, his cheeks burning with shame and fresh embarrassment. Forget going back to finish the job. Forget going back to see about more ink.

  Good one, Moore. Finally get a shot at a man—at that man—and you torpedoed it like you always knew you could.

  What a fucking shock.

  * * *

  That tattoo was sore for the next couple of days. Every time he moved, his uniform brushed it.

  Then it started to itch. He couldn’t scratch it because he’d been emphatically warned not to, and even if he could, it was under two layers of clothes when he was in uniform. He’d have to really dig at it, which would hurt because the damn thing was still tender. He couldn’t breathe or move or exist without feeling that damn tattoo, and it was driving him insane.

  He didn’t regret it. He just wanted it to quit itching and hurting so he could quit thinking about Colin for five goddamned minutes.

  But what if it did? Would he actually stop thinking about Colin?

  Groaning, he sat back in his rickety chair and rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t going to stop thinking about him, not even if he avoided going to the gym like he’d been doing the last few days. Especially not when he had two unanswered texts on his phone.

  From this morning: How does the new ink feel?

  And later in the day: LMK when you want to talk designs.

  He’d read them each the moment they’d come in, but just thinking about responding wound his guts into knots. He’d been embarrassed about his lack of experience, and now he was ten times more embarrassed about how things had ended that night.

  Over the next few days, while Daniel made his excuses to stay away from the gym where he might see him, Colin texted him two more times.

  Daniel ignored him two more times.

  The texts stopped coming.

  And Daniel couldn’t decide if he was relieved, or if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Chapter 9

  “Colin Spencer, what the fuck are you doing?”

  Amanda’s icy tone made Colin’s stomach plummet. He opened his eyes and met hers in the full-length mirror in front of him. She stood behind him, arms folded across her T-shirt, and she had an expression that said he was in deep shit. He didn’t have to ask why, either.

  Wincing—but trying not to do so visibly—Colin set down the barbell he’d been using for curls. Of course he nearly dropped it because it was heavier than he had any business lifting today, and his arms were this close to exhausted. The plates clanged hard on the floor, giving away the less than graceful motion, and as he stood again, every muscle in his body threatened to melt right off his bones. He didn’t dare let the discomfort show as he turned around.

  “Hey.” He cleared his throat. “I, um. I thought you were off today.”

  “I was. Right up until Josh”—she gestured over her shoulder—“texted me to tell me you’ve been in here kicking your own ass for the last two hours.” Folding her arms again, she inclined her head. In a softer voice—more concerned now than irritated—she asked, “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Colin deflated. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t be mad at the gym’s owner. Or at Amanda, for that matter. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time, and all he could do was be thankful anyone gave enough of a shit to protect him from his own stupid self.

  He sank onto the weight bench, and wondered for a moment if he’d be able to get back up. His legs were not pleased with him. The jig was up and there was no longer any point in pretending he hadn’t overdone it, so he rubbed his tender biceps. “It’s been a rough few days.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

  Colin kept his gaze down, avoiding the mirrors and the rest of the room. To anyone else, this was just a weightlifter chatting with his dressed-down trainer while he rested between sets, but he felt conspicuous and ashamed, as if the whole gym knew why she was here.

  He ran a shaky hand through his sweaty hair. “I . . . things went kind of weird with a guy. The one I was checking out here. And I haven’t heard from him, so I keep wondering how bad I fucked things up, and I’m . . .” He exhaled. “Just trying to distract myself.”

  Amanda sighed and sat beside him. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Heat rushed into his cheeks.

  “Colin. Honey.” She touched his arm. “I know it’s hard. But I’m here if you need me.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it. I just . . .”

  “Look at me.” When he did, she said, “This always plays out the same way when you try to handle it on your own. You’re going to take out your frustration on the weights, overdo it, hurt yourself, and be out of commission for weeks. I know you’re frustrated now, but remember how bad you feel when you can’t come to the gym at all. Or when you hurt yourself bad enough that you can’t draw.”

  Colin shuddered. There’d been a period last winter when he
’d been angry about something and lifted so hard, he’d been unable to grasp his tattoo needle for two days. That in turn had pissed him off, and he’d overdone it again, which jacked up his neck and shoulders, and he couldn’t lift or tattoo for almost three weeks. When his weight had started creeping up, he’d panicked, started running, ran until he couldn’t move and . . .

  “Colin.”

  He turned to her.

  She put a calloused hand over the top of his. “What happens when you start lifting too hard?”

  Avoiding her eyes, he sighed. “I fuck myself up.”

  “And when you fuck yourself up?”

  “I can’t lift.”

  “Or . . . ?”

  “Tattoo.”

  “And when you can’t lift or tattoo?”

  He swallowed. “I binge.” He paused. “And gain weight.”

  She squeezed his hand and gently prodded, “And when you gain weight . . . ?”

  He rubbed his other hand over his face. She wasn’t being cruel by running him through this. They both knew he needed it. She’d done it before, and she’d do it again, all in the name of reminding him why she kept him on a very strict workout regime that pushed his limits without putting him at risk of injury, and—more than anything—losing all the progress he’d made since he’d started working with her and with his therapist.

  He didn’t want to backslide because it had taken too long and too much work to get this far. To a point where he was usually comfortable with his body and mostly had his mind under control enough that he could keep from killing himself in the name of perfection. Mostly. All it took was a depressive episode or some serious anxiety, and suddenly the only way out was to stop letting himself go, getting fat, getting gross . . .

  It’s just the demons talking. Ignore them. They’re lying.

  “All right. Point taken.” He rolled his aching shoulders and blew out a breath. “Thanks for the pep talk. I’m . . . sorry you wound up coming in on your day off.”

  “It’s okay.” She patted his forearm. “I want to make sure you’re all right, so even if it’s my day off, you know you can call me.” She tilted her head toward the rack of weights. “Maybe before you try to blow off steam.”