The Librarian's Rake

by Z. Allora

  “How’s the giver selfish?” Phillip scrunched his face, highlighting little wrinkles around his eyes.

  “You said it yourself. He doesn’t allow his partner to pleasure him.”

  Phillip rolled his eyes. “Let me assure you, hookups rarely give a shit if the bottom comes. That’s one of the bonuses. No pressure. No strings.”

  That just wasn’t for him. Tristan shook his head but hopefully kept the look of distaste off his face.

  “Tell me you wouldn’t like me to set up a profile for you. Teach you how to chat with someone, and within thirty minutes you could open the door, sit down, and have someone on their knees sucking your cock.” He traced a socked foot along Tristan’s calf on to his thigh. “Sucking you off like they needed your cum to survive. You’d shoot, and then you could walk them to the door.”

  Shaking his head didn’t knock the image out. Was it hot in the kitchen? Tristan stood and checked the temperature on the thermostat. He might have to get that looked at. The thing didn’t seem to be working. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  Sitting back against the chair, Phillip folded his arms across his chest and smirked a little. “What are you ready for?”

  Tristan paced over to the sink and got some cold water to avoid answering you, because that wasn’t even close to reality. He slipped back into his seat and drained his glass. “I’m not sure.”

  Phillip cleared his throat. “Maybe we can start out slow. Let’s go to a club.”

  “Clearly I don’t have the clothes for that.”

  “Well, let’s go see. I’m sure you have something.” Phillip jumped out of the chair and headed toward the bedrooms. “Which one has your closet?”

  “One on the left. I moved my clothing into the guest room ’cause I’m redoing my closet.” Both rooms were the same size.

  Phillip flicked on his bedroom light. “I love the color.”

  Tristan had recently torn down the dated wallpaper Frederick adored and painted the room a muted aqua, making the Monet-inspired bedding pop with the colors of spring. He’d hung white curtains and white blackout drapes, then added matching aqua throw rugs and two shiny white end tables he’d refinished.

  The approval made him ridiculously pleased. “Thank you. My attempt at bringing color into my life.”

  Phillip disappeared into the walk-in closet.

  Sitting on the bed, Tristan worried about the verdict, positive Phillip would pass judgment on his lack of style and selection. He had suits, sports jackets, and dress pants for work. In the drawers Phillip squeaked open, Tristan stored his exercise clothing, pajamas, socks, and underwear.

  Stumbling back out, Phillip made his way to the bed and sat next to him.

  Bed. Bed. Phillip Valentine sat on a bed with him. Though the potential only served to mock him.

  Patting his knee twice, Phillip said, “Are you available on Sunday to go shopping?”

  “That bad?”

  When Phillip didn’t answer, only gave him a tilt of his head with a grin, Tristan was defeated. “Do you even own any jeans or T-shirts?”

  “Um, I used my last pair from college to paint, but they were so stained I tossed them.”

  “So, Sunday?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s meet at the mall in the food court. We’ll begin restocking your wardrobe.” Phillip stood.

  Not wanting Phillip to leave and not caring if he sounded desperate, Tristan begged, “Do you want to watch some TV or something?”

  Heat flashed in Phillip’s indigo-rimmed blue eyes. He pushed the flop of his hair off his face. “Something sounds good.”

  Outright panic settled over Tristan, freezing him to the spot. Then he jumped off the bed and removed his jacket. He hung it up with shaking hands. Was this it? Were they going to—

  “Okay, then, TV it is.” Phillip grabbed his beer off the dresser with a sigh and glided out of the room. “Make sure you have your most current HIV test in your wallet.”

  “What?” Tristan followed him out to the living room.

  “Some guys carry it with them.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m texting you the name of a good clinic. Go there on Monday, and they can get you your papers fast.”

  Completely out of his depth, he asked, “My papers?”

  “Your results? Are you on PrEP?” Phillip put his phone on the coffee table, settled onto the sofa, rearranged the pillows, and pulled the throw around him. With the remote in hand, he started flicking through the channels.

  Tristan had heard about the preventive and how it helped block the contraction of HIV, but—“I’ve never had sex without a condom.”

  “Extra layer of protection. The clinic can give you information and a prescription so you can start it, but it won’t be completely effective for at least seven days. Remember, freedom doesn’t mean careless.”

  He nodded and dared to offer a pedestrian snack option. “Should I make popcorn?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Phillip’s enthusiasm made Tristan smile.

  Tristan microwaved two bags of popcorn, emptied them into a bowl, and seasoned with salt and Parmesan cheese. He grabbed two more beers, even though he hadn’t finished his first one, and joined Phillip.

  “Your couch and I are going to get married.” Phillip snuggled deeper into the pillows, making Tristan glad he’d purchased the sofa over Frederick’s objections.

  “Glad you like it.”

  “I love it, but I share. Sit.” Phillip moved his legs, giving Tristan room to join him.

  Only the popcorn bowl separated them. “Did you find something?”

  “Yeah… oh, to watch. Um, between a slasher and a romantic comedy?”

  “Your preference?”

  “Well, considering I parted company with Monique and Chris, a slasher film.”

  “Your friends?”

  “Yeah. They’re in their own romantic comedy that will no doubt end in heartbreak and snotty crying. Since I work with Monique, Chris will lose custody rights over his gay, and then who’s going to teach him about pegging?”

  “Pegging?” Tristan sighed. This Chris was another man who got Phillip’s attention.

  Phillip giggled. Most men his age couldn’t have gotten away with a giggle, but it was the cutest thing and made Tristan want to cuddle him even more.

  “Sorry, Tris. I might be a little tipsy. I would have been fine after the two I had at the restaurant, but I didn’t eat much, and these beers….” He held up an almost empty bottle and gestured to the ones on the table.

  “Glad you didn’t drive.”

  “Nah, Chris insisted on dropping me off. I thought dance off the alcohol and I’d find a way to my bike from the club. Shame no one will take advantage of my drunken state.” Phillip shifted, and his body screamed invitations to Tristan.

  Tristan was sure Phillip would have found a man or two to entertain him for the evening, ending at his place or theirs. Bitten by guilt and annoyance, Tristan spit out, “After the movie, I can give you a ride back to your motorcycle.”

  “Okay, or I can Uber. No big.” Phillip seemed more concerned with choosing between slasher flicks than his bike. “How about this one? World War Z?”

  Tristan hadn’t a clue. The last horror movie he’d watched had been shown at the library. The kids insisted on Nightmare on Elm Street. “Sure.”

  Phillip started the movie and pulled his knees to his chest as the action started. Each time he jumped, he edged closer and closer. Soon the scenes of the zombie pandemic intensified, and he dug his nails into Tristan’s leg as more people fell victim to the zombie horde.

  The bit of pressure felt good, but Tristan dared to slide his hand under Phillip’s. He slid the popcorn bowl to the table and clasped their hands together. The connection felt warm and right and touched part of Tristan he didn’t even know existed. The pleasure of just holding hands… astounding.

  The movie didn’t seem to let the viewer go, and kept the watcher transfixed, forcing them on a
bleak roller-coaster ride. Phillip took to ducking into Tristan’s body during the unexpected scary parts while squeezing his fingers around Tristan’s hand, cutting off circulation.

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Tristan to wrap a protective arm around him. Phillip whimpered, then snuggled into Tristan, making little moans of delight.

  Tristan lost complete track of the film and only paid attention to Phillip moving against him. The tensing, relaxing, grabbing, clutching, releasing, and sighing made his entire body hyperaware of Phillip.

  “Oh my God! No!” Phillip jumped into Tristan’s lap and clung. He hid his face in Tristan’s chest.

  Tristan tightened his arms and held Phillip. The throw twisted between them, so if there were any grace in the world, Phillip wouldn’t notice the erection Tristan sported.

  Rubbing slow circles on Phillip’s back calmed the man’s racing heartbeat.

  “Mmmm, you smell delicious. Is that my Colonia Leather? Ha, ha, ha. Not mine, but you know.” Phillip’s words slurred just a little, making Tristan look at the four bottles of beer that were now empty. Phillip must have helped himself to Tristan’s.

  “Yeah.” Tristan’s voice sounded more like a growl.

  Phillip inhaled and proclaimed, “It smells way better on you.”

  More zombie trauma on the TV drew Phillip’s attention, but he remained perched on Tristan’s lap as if he belonged there. He could stay there forever if he wanted.

  As the end credits rolled, Phillip yawned, closed his eyes, and tucked his face into Tristan’s chest.

  Tristan’s pounding heart had nothing to do with the ending of the movie. No, he held a man who trusted him enough to slip into sleep while in his arms. That had never happened before, and it felt like some sort of miracle.

  He indulged his fingers and stroked the blond stubble on Phillip’s cheek. Trailing a finger around the delicate shell of one ear, he touched the small gold hoop that pierced the lobe. His itching fingers couldn’t be denied, and he slipped them into Phillip’s soft hair. He combed his fingers through the strands, fascinated how even in the low light coming from the end credits, there was an infinity of shiny variations.

  Phillip stirred and glanced around. “Oh.” He laughed. “I’m sorry.” He shifted off Tristan’s lap, wiping his mouth.

  “I think you should stay the night.” He hoped that sounded logical as opposed to desperate.

  “I’d love to stay,” Phillip purred.

  If Tristan had been anyone else, there was no doubt he’d be deep inside Phillip within the next five minutes, but he wasn’t. He was the quiet librarian who men left for being lackluster and boring.

  Phillip had the dazed look of sleepiness and maybe still a bit drunk.

  Tristan straightened. “I’ll go turn down the guest bed.”

  Phillip sighed. “No. That’s okay. I can Uber.”

  “Nonsense. We can leave early enough for you to change your clothing before work.”

  “I don’t want to put you out. Though I’ve got stuff with me so I don’t need to go back to my apartment, but I’ve got an early appointment. I’d have to leave by eight.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” He took Phillip’s outstretched hands and pulled him off the sofa.

  Phillip bumped into Tristan and remained pressed against him. “You’re a good movie watcher. So calm.”

  Tristan didn’t know what to do. He recognized the opportunity Phillip was giving him, but yet again he couldn’t make a move. Argh! He hated himself more than ever.

  “Are you going to tuck me in?” Phillip flirted and batted his long eyelashes.

  “Um…. Let me plug your phone in. ABC. Always be charging.” He rambled insane stuff as he fussed over things Phillip made clear he didn’t care about. “Let me make sure there are towels under the sink.”

  Phillip followed him into the guest room.

  After checking for towels he knew were there, Tristan asked, “Do you have enough pillows?”

  “Yeah.” Phillip didn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  Tristan closed the drapes. He rushed to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water and aspirin. “You should take some and drink the water so you don’t have a headache in the morning.”

  Phillip stared at him. “And thank you, Tris. Really.”

  Nodding, Tristan made his graceless exit by slipping on the throw rug and banging into the doorframe, not once but twice. Ow! “Night.”

  Phillip’s backpack sat by the door. Maybe he had stuff he needed in it. Tristan grabbed the leather sack and brought it to the guest room. He hesitated but finally knocked. “Phillip?”

  After some rustling, Phillip poked his head out the door. His eyes were shining. “Hey? You need something?”

  Ignoring the blatant offer not even he could miss in Phillip’s tone, he said, “Um… you left this by the door. You might need it.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Phillip took the bag and tossed it on the floor. Leaving the door open, clad in only silky red bikini underwear, Phillip slipped into bed. He turned toward the door with a frown. “Night.”

  As soon as Tristan closed his bedroom door, regret swamped him. It would be a long night.

  AFTER A near sleepless night, nervous excitement ran through Tristan as he stared at the table set for two. It was ridiculous, but he’d even cut a couple of flowers and put them in the middle.

  “Wow, you made breakfast?” Phillip stumbled in, pushing his shower-damp hair out of his eyes. His bag must have had an extra T-shirt in it because he wore a black one. Without hair product, he appeared to be less of a force to be reckoned with and more the guy next door.

  Tristan turned the burner off and guided his creation onto Phillip’s plate. “Just some omelets.”

  “And toast, and muffins, and bacon, and sausage, and oh my God. Is this fresh-squeezed orange juice?” Phillip took a swig from the champagne flute. “It is. Wow.”

  “I have a machine.” His grandfather gave it to him because he said no one should be working that hard for a cup of OJ.

  “You’re a miracle,” Phillip gushed, making Tristan thrilled he’d gotten up an hour before he needed to.

  He tried not to blush with the praise but felt his face heating. He passed around the breakfast goodies with butter and jams.

  “God, the corn muffins are still warm.” Phillip spread butter onto one and bit into it, then chewed with moans.

  Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played in the background, echoing Tristan’s mood of hope.

  Running a gentle finger over the flowers in the middle of the table, Phillip grinned. “You know, no man has ever made me breakfast before.”

  “Maybe you’ve been with the wrong men.” Tristan pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

  Phillip didn’t say anything for a moment and then caressed his fingertips over the back of Tristan’s hand. “I think you’re right.”

  Say something! What? Here another opportunity presented itself. No one was drunk. He should ask to be the right man. No, too much. He needed to ask for a date.

  Did Phillip date? Would he ever want a boyfriend? Tristan wasn’t into sharing.

  Who’s saying he’d even say yes to a date… let alone more. Why ruin their budding friendship? He should….

  Phillip blinked a couple of times, chuckled, and rushed to the sink with his plate and glass. He rinsed both, put them in the dishwasher, and finished scrubbing the two pans that were in the sink soaking before Tristan snapped out of his stupor enough to tell him not to bother.

  “You’re a wonderful cook. Thank you for breakfast.”

  They finished cleaning the kitchen. Tristan poured coffee into travel mugs.

  “Wow! And coffee! You’re the complete package.” Phillip prepared his with skim milk and nothing else.

  If only. “We’re still meeting at the mall tomorrow, right?”

  “Of course.” Phillip blew into the opening of the cup.

  “Let me unplug the coffeepot
and we can head out.” Tristan flicked the device off and unplugged it. He locked the door and ushered Phillip into the car.

  “So, where should I take you?” Tristan asked.

  Phillip gave him a demonic smile, then pressed his lips together. “I’m not taking the bait. You can drop me off at the salon.”

  Tristan couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder. He drove, hoping his face wasn’t too red.

  Phillip hummed along with the Vivaldi coming through the car speakers.

  Smiling, Tristan couldn’t stop the lovely feeling having Phillip in the passenger seat gave him. What would it be like to have this every day?

  It wasn’t until they were halfway to the salon and Tristan’s what-if fantasy was well beyond white picket fences, that Phillip gasped and touched his pockets. “Oh shit! Where’s my cell phone?”

  So discombobulated by his houseguest, Tristan had forgotten to get his own too. “I plugged it in by the front door. I forgot to give it back to you.”

  “Oh no. I can’t believe I didn’t check my messages. I usually do that first thing in the morning, but… I didn’t.” Phillip stared at Tristan like he had the answer to whatever was unasked in Phillip’s head.

  “Don’t worry. The library doesn’t open for an hour. I’ll drop you off and go back and get it.” And his own.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Phillip directed him to pull around back.

  “It’s my fault. I’ll bring it to you at the shop.” He dropped Phillip around back of the salon. “See you soon.”

  Phillip’s grin did things it shouldn’t to Tristan.

  Chapter 5

  “NICE OF you to show, especially after you gave Chris and me the bum’s rush out of the restaurant last night,” Monique snipped before the salon door even slammed behind Phillip.

  Damn her for being right! He only had five minutes before his appointment. Normally, his ass should be there fifteen minutes prior to an appointment so he could prepare everything to receive a client.

  “Please! Don’t give me bullshit. I’m sure the two of you found something to occupy your time.” He rushed over to his station to find it already set up, and he smiled over his shoulder at her. “Thanks.”