by Z. Allora
Phillip leaned down and shimmied against Tristan, sending sparks of need cascading. “Same difference.”
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and focused. He couldn’t let that stand. “Very different meanings.”
Phillip straddled Tristan. He shifted his ass back and forth, allowing Tristan’s erection to settle between his cheeks.
Dear Zeus! The man was a master at changing the topic with his body.
Phillip tilted his head. “How so?”
Maybe it was a matter of semantics, but however Phillip classified what they were about to do, Tristan wanted it to mean more than getting off together. He hoped to be something to Phillip. He put all his tender emotions into his words and tone, hoping Phillip might hear the truth. “I want us to be together.”
Phillip opened his mouth.
God, this is it. He’s going to say “never,” or worse, laugh.
Tristan allowed Phillip to pull him into a seated position. Phillip pressed soft sweet kisses on his face, then along his jaw, conveying volumes of everything Phillip might never say. They set off flutters of happiness in Tristan.
Phillip trailed his skilled lips and tongue down a path to Tristan’s neck, and he sucked a bite mark onto Tristan.
“Oh, God, so good!” He’d take another hickey. This time the mark would be above where Tristan’s shirts covered, but he didn’t care. He’d wear Phillip’s mark with pride.
Phillip shifted off Tristan’s lap, reached into his magic sack, and pulled out supplies. He tossed lube and condoms onto the floor near them.
Tristan ignored the reasons Phillip was always prepared, and took Phillip into his mouth. He pushed down as far as he could and used his hand to stroke.
“Okay. Stop. I’m close. Stop.” Phillip pushed him away and grabbed the lube.
Tristan wanted to prepare him. “I can—”
“Quicker if I do it.” Phillip didn’t look at Tristan.
“It’s not a race.”
“Speak for yourself,” Phillip grumbled.
“Let me.” Tristan covered his fingers in the gel and brushed Phillip out of the way. He inserted one finger, then two, into Phillip’s heat.
“Come on, Tris. More.” He thrust back.
The desperate begging did a little something for Tristan’s ego. Adding more lubricant and another finger, he stretched Phillip.
Phillip rolled over onto all fours and stared over his shoulder. “Fuck me.”
Uncertainty ripped through him. It was time. Tristan needed to make his move. The usual uncomfortable dread settled around his middle. He offered a small prayer to any deity listening that he wouldn’t disappoint Phillip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He attempted to still his trembling hands by planting them on Phillip’s hips. He clenched his teeth and tried to bury the impending failure and disappointment this experience might bring. What was he doing?
Phillip stopped wiggling his ass and asked, “You have done—”
“Of course.” Tristan didn’t mean to snap. “Sorry. It’s… you know, I don’t have much experience. My two boyfriends preferred manual.”
Probably because he sucked at intercourse. Tristan tried to think of something to do or say to avoid confirming the big L he wore over his head. His flagging erection didn’t help him much.
“I guess maybe I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to—we don’t have to do this.” Phillip sat on his heels.
“I want to, I really do.” Tristan shook his head and reached out to touch Phillip but stopped midreach. He’d seen firsthand how much Phillip enjoyed something inside him.
Phillip grabbed a pillow from the chair and shoved Tristan back onto it. “Lie down.”
Tristan lay there, trying not to feel stupid, but as soon as Phillip’s mouth encompassed his erection, he didn’t have to try all that hard.
“There you go.” Phillip rolled a condom on Tristan with impressive precision, added lubrication, and straddled him. “You ready?”
Closing his mouth because he panted, Tristan nodded. Talking wasn’t a possibility.
Phillip lined them up and inched down onto Tristan.
So hot and tight and….
When Phillip hit bottom, he moaned like he’d just found something that had been missing. He wiggled his hips.
Gasping for breath, Tristan tried to convey everything he was experiencing with one word: “Phillip.”
With a grin, Phillip placed his hands on Tristan’s shoulders, undulated his way almost off Tristan, and then slid back down. He groaned. “Tris! God, you’re the right size.”
His whole body felt Phillip taking him. He could barely think past the friction and heat.
“Yeah,” Phillip muttered to himself as he eased off again only to shove back down, his eyes slamming shut.
The raw pleasure written on Phillip’s face each time he descended fascinated Tristan. He reached out and cupped Phillip’s cheek, craving more of a connection. “Look at me.”
Their gazes met. Phillip’s mouth dropped open, and his breath mingled with Tristan’s as he moved confidently over him.
Phillip rode him with much more experience than Tristan ever hoped to have, but he didn’t look away. “God, more, Tris. I need more.”
Tristan grabbed on to Phillip’s tensing thighs for something stable to hold in this storm. This was everything. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to give Phillip what he needed.
“Come on, Tris. Give it to me. I can take it.” Phillip’s lusty grin suggested he enjoyed sex talk. Geez, Tristan’s previous lovers never uttered more than a sigh.
More, he wanted more. Tristan changed the angle of his hips. Phillip’s keen assured him that he was on the right track. He started meeting Phillip’s ass with firm thrusts.
“Fuck! Yes, like that.” Phillip groaned and tried to grab himself, but his balance was unsteady. “I can’t….”
Yes, keep giving sexy instructions. It was like a road map to orgasm. Hearing Phillip’s moans and groans mixed in was making everything go nova. God! Tristan focused and wrapped a hand around Phillip’s shaft and stroked in time with his thrusts.
“God, you’re perfect in me. You’re going to make me come.” Phillip’s husky whimper of pleasure went right to Tristan’s head, and his words soothed the hurt.
He was doing this. Him. Tristan Cooper, quiet librarian, was making his rakish lover lose control. Stroking a little quicker got the job done.
“Tristan,” Phillip strangled out with a grunt.
No one had ever called out his name. The tight clenching around him was too much. Tristan stroked Phillip and thrust into him until he passed the stratosphere.
When he arrived back on earth, Phillip leaned down and pressed against Tristan’s mouth with sweet and sugared kisses. The tenderness ended with Phillip whispering, “Hold on to the condom.”
Tristan did as instructed. Phillip tightened his ass and slid off, making Tristan shiver.
Phillip made the condom disappear, and then he grabbed the towel and wiped them both off. He folded the terry cloth over, then lay facing the fire.
What should Tristan do? Should he say something? Do something? He leaned over and tried to read the expression on Phillip’s face. It appeared an impossible task, so Tristan skimmed a hand along the muscles in Phillip’s back.
Phillip grinned over at him and wiggled his bubble butt that had taunted Tristan’s daydreams.
He ran a palm across Phillip, squeezed the lovely rounded cheeks, and then slid Phillip closer.
Phillip tensed and scrunched his face. Then he turned and kissed Tristan’s shoulder. “Look, about what you said before…. Nothing against you, but I don’t do the whole love thing.”
Inhaling hurt. Tristan was an idiot. Had he ruined everything? “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I really like you.”
“And I really like you.” Phillip didn’t have to say the but—the one that pointed out he didn’t see Tristan as a boyfriend.
“Why don’t we chalk it up to words in the heat of the moment,” Phillip answered.
Tristan wanted to deny the explanation, though to do so would eliminate any chance, so he nodded.
Phillip relaxed into him with a soft sigh. He combed his fingers through Tristan’s nest of chest hair and snuggled until he actually purred.
So close physically, yet miles apart.
Chapter 9
PHILLIP GLANCED out the side window of the salon. The day had the good grace to be gray, gloomy, and miserable. He focused on reorganizing the two drawers at his station until even the Bossman would be impressed. Then he sprayed and cleaned his mirror again.
Monique snatched the paper towel from his hands. “For God’s sake, it’s been three days! Text him back.”
Phillip didn’t need to be reminded how long it had been since he’d awkwardly left Tristan’s house. Nor of how he hadn’t responded to any of the man’s texts. What could he have said? He didn’t do relationships? Tristan should find someone better? They could be friends? Or it had been fun….
None of those things would have covered the chaos in Phillip’s brain. He didn’t do love. He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Avoidance? A ton easier… much simpler. Monique should know him better.
“Mind your own business,” Phillip snapped, harsher than he meant to.
Monique stepped back with a gasp. She slapped her hand over her heart, but she regrouped quickly. “Oh my God! You’re like an emoji with two hearts for your eyes whenever you reread his texts.”
So he’d been reading past texts from Tristan. Never mind that he hadn’t ever kept texts from anyone. But those cherished words had petered out yesterday morning.
The last text tore at Phillip’s heart.
I won’t push, but I’d love to see you again.
Once the “I love you” was out there, it couldn’t be walked back. How was he supposed to react? Even if he might possibly sort of most definitely feel the same way, the whole thing would just implode. No. Simply much easier not to let this go any further. It felt shitty right now, but that would pass.
“Come on, it’s lunchtime and you don’t have another appointment until two.” Monique dragged him out the back door of the salon.
“I’m not hungry. I’m busy—what’s he doing here?” Phillip pointed to Chris, who sat in the car with an intervention-type determination in his expression and folded arms.
Since there was no escape, Phillip slid into the passenger seat and accepted the foil-wrapped grilled chicken sandwich Chris handed him. “Thanks.”
Monique settled into the back and handed him a soda marked Other.
He sipped the root beer, waiting for the onslaught.
Chris studied him. “What’s the deal?”
“With?” Phillip would be difficult if he wanted to be. Screw them for playing two against one on him.
Without missing a beat, Chris said, “With you and your librarian.”
“Not—” He moved Chris’s cell phone out of the cup holder and set his soda in it.
“Oh, shut the fuck up. Your denial is bordering on delusional,” Monique muttered under her breath but loud enough to be heard.
Phillip glared at her in the passenger side mirror, but she appeared beyond done with his nonsense. He snarked, “I don’t remember asking the Queen of Denial.”
She squirmed. Good, she got his reference of the tricks she played on herself when it came to Chris, but fuck if that stopped her. “You’ve been moping around for days.”
“Sorry your token gay can’t always be gleeful. Must be tough keeping me around for diversity.” He turned with his sandwich opened so she could take his tomato and he could acquire her lettuce.
Monique’s growl meant she was considering taking him apart, which he preferred to them analyzing his actions. “We keep you around in spite of you sounding like an asshole, not because you like to be fucked in yours.”
If he wasn’t furious with her, he would have high-fived her creativity.
“Hey. Knock it off, you two. Phillip, who you stick your dick in isn’t our concern unless it’s making you….” Chris paused and seemed to search for the right word.
“A miserable prick,” Monique helped him out as she handed Phillip and Chris some napkins.
Phillip scoffed. “All this concern for my dick. It’s touching—”
“I won’t pretend to know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to relationships….” Chris peeked into the rearview mirror and shrugged, then returned his focus to Phillip. “But I… we want to help if we can, even if that’s just to listen.”
Phillip set his sandwich on the wrapper and put it on the dash. “I know. It’s just I don’t know. Things got a little….”
“Too good.” Monique hit the obvious, ’cause how could anything with Tris not be great?
“Too serious?” Chris nailed his issue to a tree like a dead fish.
Phillip played with the straw in his soda. “He L-worded me.”
Monique squeed.
Chris paled. “Isn’t that too soon?”
Nodding like a bobblehead doll, Phillip agreed, as he wondered if time factored into the equation.
“No, it isn’t,” Monique answered. She showed off her habit of pulling the answer out of Phillip’s heart—one he’d never let out his mouth.
“It’s been less than a month,” Chris pointed out, showing Phillip he might not be the only commitmentphobe in the car.
Monique snarled, “You should give the whole relationship thing a try.”
“Right. ’Cause I know you have no problem not taking that advice.”
She held out her hands in front of her, clutching the burger, and stated, “This isn’t about me. You know what happens to old twinks?”
He chuckled. “They get fat and die?”
“No, they move past living on their cuteness, and have adult relationships that last longer than it takes to swallow.”
“Going for the jugular!” He glared at her. “Wait, are you calling me old?”
Monique smirked for a second before she probably remembered she was pissed at him and put her glare face back on.
Chris sat back and sighed. “Look, you’re a great guy, and from what Monique says, Tristan’s a great guy….”
His friend always had a way of boiling things down to their simplest form, but Phillip needed to point out the obvious. “It wouldn’t work out.”
“What happened?” Monique kicked his seat back. “Spill, Phillip.”
“We had sex….”
“And?”
“It didn’t feel like just sex.”
“Well, he did say he loved you.” Monique squeezed his shoulder.
“We fucked… but it was more like….” Phillip sighed and bit into his chicken sandwich.
“Like what?”
Around a mouthful, he muttered, “He treated me like something he treasured…. Me?”
“So he made love to you…,” Chris said.
Monique gagged dramatically. “Stop! Don’t make me throw up in my mouth. I hate that expression.”
Chris looked over his shoulder and stared at her for a second. Then he turned to Phillip. “It’s okay for sex to mean something.”
“I’m used to the guy leaving before the condom comes off.”
Monique wiggled her fingers, and Phillip passed her his root beer. “Thanks.” After a long sip, she reminded him, “Tristan’s not like that.”
Exactly! “I know.”
“Are you aromantic?” Chris asked, proving without a doubt he’d been reading relationship books.
Monique laughed. “The boy’s got the tux he’s going to get married in all picked out.”
Phillip turned to stare at her. How did she know that? He’d been in high scho
ol, but he still thought the classic styles suited him the best.
She shrugged. “Admit it. You want Prince Charming and the white picket fence.”
No, dammit, I’ll admit no such thing. “It’s easier being an exchangeable hole—”
Monique clocked the back of his head. “Shut the fuck up!”
Chris cleared his throat. “Don’t you like him?”
That was the damned problem. Phillip groaned and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I like him.”
“A lot,” Monique added.
“A lot….” Fuck, he really did.
Chris scratched his head. “So why don’t you tell him and see if—”
“I’m only good at catch and release.”
Monique laughed. “Well, that’s just déjà moo!”
“What?” Chris waited. He glanced back and forth between Phillip and Monique.
Sighing, Phillip translated, “Bullshit she’s heard before.”
Chris gave him the patented I’m-serious stare. “You should talk to him.”
“I think so too,” Monique added as if Phillip couldn’t read the look on her face.
When cornered, Phillip went with humor. “Well, if you want to, I can give you his number.”
Chris shook his head.
“Look, I really appreciate what you two are trying to do, but I’m calling this intervention a failure. Thanks for the sandwich, Chris. Back to work.” Phillip slipped out of the car. “See you on Friday.”
Before the door shut, Monique called out, “I swear, the smartest thing to ever come out of your mouth is that librarian’s cock.”
TRISTAN WAVED to his grandfather, who was already seated at their usual table at Mario’s. The restaurant’s clichéd Italian atmosphere, with the white-and-red checked tablecloths and candles leaking over wine jugs, didn’t take anything away from the fact Mario’s was one of the Capital District’s best restaurants.
The waiter meandered over. “How wonderful to see you both. The usual?”
Tristan almost said yes without thinking, as he’d done for the past five years he’d eaten his weekly lunch with his Pop-Pop, but he was done with settling for the same old thing. “Um, no, Angelo. I’ll have—” He quickly peeked at the menu. “I’d like to try the wedding soup and the spicy meatball sandwich.”