Sweet Summer Sweat

by Clare London

  “And… is that it?” Scot felt pain from Connor now, an astonishing thing that he’d never associated with the apparently confident man. What would it be like to have no memories, and no history? No anchor in life even if, like his, it’d been an anchor that tried to drag him under the water.

  “Yes.” Connor’s voice was calm enough and he said nothing more. But Scot heard other words as if he’d spoken aloud.

  =don’t ask me for more. I have no more to offer you there. No one has asked me for that before=

  Had Connor been in an accident? Lost his family, or something awful like that? And, perhaps, his memory. Or was it some kind of abuse, that he’d deliberately shut out? Scot sat up beside him and slung his arm around Connor’s shoulders. “I want to share it all with you, Connor. Maybe I can help.”

  “I told you, I don’t remember—”

  “Try again,” Scot said gently. He linked the fingers of his free hand with Connor’s and gripped hard. It was the tattooed hand and at first Connor tried to pull away. Then he went suddenly still.

  “Fuck,” he said softly.

  Scot didn’t know if the curse was from pain, anger or confusion. The single word could have meant any of those. “Connor? I’m sorry, are you okay…?”

  “Hurts,” Connor said abruptly, but he clung onto Scot’s hand regardless. His voice sounded odd.

  “What does? To talk? I know—”

  Scot suddenly saw the long, jagged scar running up the inside of Connor’s arm, from his wrist to his upper arm. Scot had never noticed it before—how the hell could he have missed it? He’d been naked with the guy, kissed him, fucked him! Scot’s head hurt again, matching Connor’s grimace of pain. The scar was brutal, as if Connor’s arm had been caught in a metal vice and then ripped free.

  “What the hell happened to you? Was it an accident?”

  “They’re dead,” Connor said, his tone clipped and simplistic. His eyes were unfocussed. “They’re burning. I can smell it. I can see it.” His voice picked up, suffused now with panic. “Have to get out! It’s on my clothes! My arm—my arm!”

  “Connor!” What the fuck was he remembering? Sounded like he’d been in a serious fire. Scot’s mind whirled, in a panic himself about the reaction he’d gotten.

  However, just as swiftly, Connor’s voice calmed. “I don’t want to go with her,” he said. He sat rigidly on the bed, now with the truculent tone of a kid. “Want my mom.”

  Scot’s stomach turned. “Connor, where is your mom?”

  “Dead,” he said sharply. “Gone. Never see her again. They’re all gone. Only me left. The kid no one wants to be bothered with. The weird one who can’t sleep, who won’t eat, who hates to be touched.” His voice sounded older now, and much harsher. “So now I’m here. Bastards call this place a home. But it’s just like all the other ones, isn’t it? I’ve had years of this crap. Rooms dirty like shit, not enough food, full of bullies and assholes, and guys trying to get me alone in the rest room.”

  “Jesus, Connor!”

  “No more.” And now Connor spoke gently, almost as if he was trying to comfort Scot’s horror rather than his own. “Gonna find my own way now, right? Old enough to look after myself, whatever the fuckers say.”

  Oh God.

  “The smell,” Connor said, almost thoughtfully. “I can still smell it—them—some nights. You know? Only thing keeps it out is the scent of citrus.”

  Jesus. Connor was hiding here, the same as Vincent and Oliver. Fuck it, the same as Jerry and Scot had been. And did Scot blame him? It sounded like the kid had been through hell. This place had been a sanctuary. Something about the motel had allowed Connor to be at peace again, though at the expense of his memory. But was that so bad? It sheltered him from the agony of his past: it brought him friends for the present, and indulgent, non-judgemental passion for the future.

  For maybe the first time, Scot understood what running away could really be. He slipped his hand from Connor’s to embrace him properly. “Connor—”

  The scar faded from his arm.

  Scot surreptitiously turned Connor’s arm, peered on the underside, but there was no sign of the previously vivid wound. How the fuck…? Yet why should Scot be so amazed? This whole place was full of weirdness and really-shouldn’t-be.

  Connor looked bemused now. He glanced down at Scot’s hand. “I like it,” he said simply. “Just holding hands. I never had that before, except for sex.”

  “You mean, you can’t remember it before,” Scot murmured.

  “No.” Connor shook his head. “I don’t think anyone ever held me like that. Makes me feel close to you—”

  We’ve had sex, Connor—

  “In a whole different way.” Connor stared at Scot, his eyes wide, his brow furrowed.

  Had it been Scot’s hand that triggered the memories? How the hell could that be?

  “I’m tired,” Connor said with a yawn. “Though not that tired. Never that tired.” He grinned. The usual appetite was back in his expression, and his fingers played with Scot’s nipple. “No more quizzing on the past, eh?”

  “Right.” Scot agreed readily. “But what about the future?”

  Connor’s gaze lingered on Scot’s moving lips, still wet from the champagne, then flickered down to the small puddle of sweet, soft fruit above Scot’s twitching cock. “What do you mean?”

  Scot shifted carefully on the mattress, his eyes still on Connor. “I mean when you leave here… you know. You won’t stay here forever surely. You’re young and smart.”

  “What I am is horny.” Connor bent his head to Scot’s stomach. His tongue flicked out and lapped up the crushed redcurrant, ghosting over Scot’s damp skin. Distraction? But Scot heard so much more from him now than mere words. Under Connor’s lust, he felt a shiver of fright; the growl of wariness.

  =listen to me. Leave it be=

  “Yeah, sure, but you’ll want to do something else with your life, won’t you? Besides run this place, and fuck passing runaways—”

  Too late, he knew his flippancy had either hurt or angered Connor. Pain stabbed behind his forehead, like he’d been punched in the face.

  “Don’t!” he cried out, more in anger than pain. He pushed Connor away from him, scrabbling back on the bed. “You can’t do that, you bastard!”

  “Scot—!”

  “You can’t treat me like that! Things have been tough on you, okay? But no more than the rest of us. Don’t fuck with my head anymore or I’m out of here, faster than you can pick your fucking redcurrants!”

  Connor stared at Scot’s hand, now clutching the sheet so tightly that his knuckles were whitening—startled by Scot’s angry retreat. Connor opened his thick, lush lips, and nothing came out. The pressure in Scot’s temples eased: the invasion relaxed and melted away.

  “Scot, I’m sorry!”

  “Well. Guess it’s okay,” Scot said gruffly. Shit. Connor’s pupils had swelled, filling his eyes with darkness, and Scot’s heart started beating fiercely. “I didn’t mean that part about runaways, either. It was just some badly timed pillow talk, I guess.”

  It was a feeble joke, and Connor’s sense of humor seemed different from his in many ways. He shimmied back toward Connor, but Connor sat as still as if he’d been stunned.

  “You don’t understand after all,” he whispered. “I must stay here, Scot. I can’t leave. The others need me. You’re the first man I’ve ever talked to about this. It’s not… easy.”

  “But that’s what I mean, you know?” Scot protested. “What about you? Don’t you need things as well? Things in your life—something more than you get here?”

  Connor shook his head slowly. He looked back at Scot, his eyes clearer yet now shot with misery. “When I said I don’t remember my past... I feel like I’m between places. There’s confusion and pain sometimes. But this is the place that gives me peace. This is where I’ve belonged for a long time. I’ve always felt that there’s some kind of delay in my life, you see… waiting for a decisi
on to be made. And I’ve always assumed I was safe here, waiting for the true one, the one I could love completely, to help me with that.”

  Scot didn’t really understand much of this except for the nagging ache in his body, and the desire to draw Connor into the comfort of his arms again. He tentatively tugged at Connor, and was more than pleased when the lithe body bent to his whim. He kissed Connor and then pressed the head of glorious curls gently down toward his chest, toward the small trails of fruit juice, now spotting out along his sides. Connor’s tongue was warm and familiar as he began again to lap at Scot’s redcurrant-colored skin.

  “It’s okay. I understand that’s how it’s been for you.” Scot sighed with pleasure, beginning to relax again. “Jerry and I were on our way to Las Vegas, you know? There are lots of opportunities there. Plenty of other things to see and do.”

  What the hell am I trying to say? He suspected—feared?—that this conversation with Connor was always going to be a minefield.

  Connor’s reply was muffled, his mouth sucking a deep mark onto Scot’s naked hip. “Here is the best. Jerry knows where he wants to be now.”

  Scot didn’t know what made him persist in talking. Connor’s lips were already licking at a stray seed on Scot’s belly and swirling around the curling hairs of his groin. The edge of his chin caught Scot’s rearing cock, and the tantalizing sensation made Scot gasp. His head was swimming.

  “Christ, that’s good… but listen, this true one business… ohhh…” Connor’s lips rounded over the head of Scot’s cock, and the anticipation was like needles through his taut skin. Scot struggled to continue. “Look, I think I know what you mean. About finding someone special…”

  To love. He’d never said something like that to another person in all his life, not even his parents. He and Jerry had rarely expressed anything beyond lust and dependency. Maybe they’d felt more deeply about each other or might have done—but ‘love’ had never been spoken aloud. They hadn’t dared. Scot didn’t think he even had the vocabulary, but he could borrow from Connor, surely?

  I feel the same about you.

  He gasped and laughed, and grasped a handful of Connor’s hair, trying to get his attention, half-seriously, half-nervously. His flesh ached for him so much. “Connor, listen to me. Will you come with me when I go?”

  Connor ceased the licking and sucking, but didn’t lift his head. “What do you mean?”

  “When I leave here. When I go on to the city.” Scot frowned. The conversation felt odd, like their respective languages were diverging somehow.

  Connor’s tone was very tight. “That won’t happen Scot. You’ve just seen what it can be like here. You’ve heard how I feel about you. I want you with me here.” His breath enveloped Scot’s cock, his tongue swiping the head.

  Scot groaned, reaching helplessly for Connor, begging him to continue, his desire overshadowing the twist of confusion and fear. “And I want you with me. But not always here… surely?”

  There was no reply.

  Instead, there was a sudden change in the air—a hiss that whispered outside in the corridor. Connor shifted around to kneel beside Scot on the bed. When Scot looked up at him questioningly, Connor reached down and stroked his face, staring deeply into his eyes.

  =you want me, Scot? Take me here. Fuck me, I want you to. I want you inside me. I’m yours!=

  Chapter 13

  “What?” Scot was shocked, though he tried not to show it. What would Connor think of him? Some kind of idiot virgin lover, was what.

  =it’s okay=

  “I’ve never… I mean, I want you, I really do.” Speech failed him, though the emotions continued. But I don’t want to get it wrong…to hurt you. I can’t.

  Connor’s voice was stronger now, more assertive. It slid its tendrils around his neck and mouth, murmuring seductively into his ear.

  =you want it to be Jerry? You want him to be your first? Or Oliver? He’s wanted you all along=

  “Christ, no! I mean… no.” God, was he blushing? “I want you to be my first.” I just…

  “Good.” Connor crawled into the center of the mattress, balancing on all fours. “I’d want to see you with them, Scot. I’d enjoy seeing your sweet body arching and wriggling and fighting with theirs. It would be a joy for me. But whatever you did, at the end of it I’d want you in my bed, and your body and heart to be mine.”

  =just mine=

  He turned so his naked ass presented itself over Scot’s lap, and he gazed back over a dropped shoulder. “And I want your cock to be the only one that takes me.”

  “Huh?”

  “You will be my first as well, Scot.”

  Scot had read some trash paperbacks that used phrases like ‘suddenly, time stood still’. But in that minute, he felt it did. Shaking with amazement and desire, he ran a slow, tentative hand over Connor’s ass, the muscles tight and thick under his palm. “I—don’t know what to do, Connor.”

  Connor turned again and faced him. “Then we take it slow.” With a warm smile, he slid them both down onto the bed. Slowly, he began to stroke Scot’s body, running a hand from his shoulder to his hip then over his belly. Scot surrendered to the gentle, soothing movements, totally fascinated. He could feel every light touch of Connor’s fingertips, every tease across his nerves.

  “Lie back, Scot. Let me prepare things for us.”

  The ease seeped through Scot’s veins with his warming blood. His eyes drifted half closed: all he could feel or sense was Connor. Connor’s lips kissed him; Connor’s hair fell forward over his face, brushing at his neck; Connor’s hand stroked his belly and his cock, gently, firmly, bringing it to a thicker agony.

  There was a small bottle lying on the edge of the coverlet and Connor reached out for it lazily. Scot could smell the tang of citrus again, but this time he knew it was from the lubricating gel. Connor opened the bottle and started covering his fingers and palms.

  “Connor?”

  “Hush,” was all he said in reply, as he stroked Scot’s cock again. Except this time his hands were cool from the gel and impossibly smooth, and his fingers slid quickly and easily over the crown.

  “I’m going to come.” Scot groaned. It was exquisite agony. I can’t do this!

  He could hear the ‘hush’ noise all around him now, and the anguished suspense abated. Connor shifted in front of him, rolling on to his side so that his back spooned into the harbor of Scot’s front. His soft, thick, sweet-smelling hair brushed against Scot’s chest, and his ass nudged warmly against Scot’s groin.

  Scot’s erection probed desperately at the crevice between Connor’s buttocks, sliding across the pucker of Connor’s hole. His slicked cock spat frustration, come leaking from the slit, and the vein throbbing viciously along its length.

  =No need to rush=

  Connor’s hips rocked on the bed as he reached between his legs, pressing his gel-covered fingers into his ass. To prepare himself for Scot, the first man to fuck him like this.

  “I’ll do that!” Scot reached for the bottle himself. He dropped the lid in his impatience and nervousness; his hands were shaking, even as he lathered gel over his middle fingers.

  “Lie behind me,” Connor murmured. “Kiss me, kiss my shoulders. Grip my waist with your strong hands. Lift my leg and slide your wet fingers into me.”

  Scot wriggled up closer and, as instructed, gripped Connor around the waist. Connor arched against him, and bent his upper thigh forward over his body. Scot could now slide his hand easily in between Connor’s cheeks and find his entrance. He found an impossibly small, tight pucker. Despite the heavy coating of gel all over his hand, he still had to press his finger in hard against its resistance, but Connor hissed encouragingly. The muscles gripped, and Scot marveled at how different it felt from accepting a finger inside him. Like he always had. He slid another in, and began to roll them firmly, seeking to stretch the hole. But every time he withdrew his hand, he felt the entrance close behind him.

  Too tight.

>   =No!=

  Connor was panting heavily, his words thick and guttural. “I don’t want to wait any longer, Scot. I’m ready. For God’s sake, this is what I want, I want you inside me, possessing me. Be as harsh as you like, as greedy as you desire.”

  =Fuck me, Scot!=

  Condoms? Scot was so used to being careful, even in the heat of the moment with Jerry.

  =No need=

  Scot believed Connor—that he’d never been fucked this way before. And Scot had never touched another man’s ass either.

  +you’re safe, Scot. We’re both safe. This is special+

  Scot pressed Connor’s legs wider apart, and placed his swollen cock at the dark hairs over his asshole. Connor groaned. Scot couldn’t help the unbidden thought; Connor’s rosy pink hole reminded him of the redcurrants in their love play. He smiled, relaxed a little. He could have sworn he saw Connor’s hole flex open for a second and swallow the smallest drop of Scot’s eager pre-come. He took a deep breath, gripped harder at Connor’s hip, and forced the thick crown of his cock inside.

  =Fuck!=

  Connor gasped and thrust his hips back hard against Scot’s groin. The rest of Scot’s cock sank in smoothly.

  Scot sobbed aloud. He was fucking embarrassed about the sound, but he’d never realized this could feel so good! To be buried deep in a tight, hot sheath; to have hips grinding back into him, moving in rhythm with him. He felt squeezed inside, but he also felt harbored, and incredibly stimulated. Connor’s body fit snugly against his, allowing itself to be manipulated, almost passive in its acceptance, and matching Scot’s awkward thrusts with graceful ones of his own. With every thrust, Connor gave moans of encouragement. It was astonishingly erotic.

  Connor’s hand slid back over Scot’s hip, and grabbed hold of his cheek. It helped keep them anchored together. Scot wanted to reach around and stroke Connor’s cock for him, but he didn’t think he’d be able to concentrate on more than one thing at the moment.

  He moved as slowly as he dared, savoring the incredible feeling of sliding in and out of the tight channel; his dick sucking its way out, tugged by the gripping muscles, then sinking eagerly back into the very depths, until he felt he was thrusting up into the heart of Connor himself. Then, encouraged by Connor’s enthusiasm, he began to thrust more speedily. As the astonishing feelings and the tight, moist heat plucked at him, he lost all sense, and his thrusts grew even fiercer.