Awais raised his glass. “To disappointing our grandmothers by supporting the wrong sports,” he said. “Because I cannot stand cricket.”
Kevin grinned, his eyes sparkling in the low light of the bar. “I’ll toast to that.” He clinked his glass against Awais’s. The tips of his fingers, cool with condensation, brushed Awais’s own.
It was Awais’s turn to swallow hard. “Are we winning?” he asked, waving at the screen.
Kevin blinked. “Are we—” he tore his eyes from Awais’s and glanced up at the big screen above the bar. “Yeah, up by six.”
Awais settled in beside him, leaning a little closer so every time he lifted his arm, his elbow brushed Kevin’s. There was definitely something here, some kind of spark, and he was going to enjoy it.
He turned his gaze to the television. He hadn’t been exaggerating—he did enjoy football, when he got a chance to catch a game. And he loved it best in a bar like PJ’s, surrounded by a few others who were watching with the same halfhearted attention he was. He’d been to a few games at Patriot Place, but it was cold and crowded and smelled like beer, BO, and performative masculinity. He’d take a bar in a queer town over that, any day.
“I can’t believe they’ve got that kid from Minneapolis starting,” said Kevin. “He can’t keep his hands on the ball.”
“Yeah, the passing’s been pretty terrible this year,” agreed Awais. “Did you see what the commissioner said?”
Kevin laughed. “If I hadn’t watched that man play for FSU, I’d think he’d never even seen a football.”
“He’s not going to last long.”
“Hey, Tish,” said Kevin. “Can I get an IPA? Awais, it’s my turn to buy. What can I get you?”
Awais squinted at the taps. “What’s local? The last time I lived here I was too young to drink.”
“We’ve got a couple of Jack’s Abby drafts on tap,” said Tish. They leaned their elbow on the counter, draping themself over the old varnished oak. “Man, you’re right, that kid just keeps fumbling. I feel bad for him.”
“I like their coffee stout,” said Kevin. “If you like dark beers. Otherwise, they’ve got an orange wheat beer my ex loves.”
“That sounds great,” said Awais. “Dark beers give me reflux.” He winced internally. Come on, Awais. Too much information to give a guy you’re flirting with.
But Kevin only laughed again, flashing his bright white teeth. “I’ll toast to aging when Tish brings the next round.”
Awais smiled back. He couldn’t help it. The moment stretched, until a cheer broke out from the other end of the bar.
“Larson scored,” commented Tish. “Guess he finally got a grip.”
*
Kevin was having a good time.
He looked sidelong at the man beside him, who he’d been chatting casually with for nearly an hour. Awais was waving his hands at the television, despairing as Cincinnati celebrated their touchdown and tied the game. His long arms were wiry, corded with muscles where his sleeves were rolled up to expose browned forearms coated in a dark fuzz of hair.
“Come on,” groaned Awais. “You’re just killing time. I can’t believe we’re being creamed by the goddamn Bengals.” He spun on the stool as the station cut to commercials. His knees bumped Kevin’s thigh as he turned, one of them resting gently against Kevin’s. It felt hot through his suit pants, the warmth spreading up his leg and through the pit of his stomach. He leaned into it, almost not believing his own daring.
This was ridiculous. He had to admit it, after this evening: he was bisexual, just like Marianne—and wasn’t that a trip—all this time he and his ex-wife had had that in common and he had been too much of a fool to realize it.
He was smooth with women. Marianne teased him about it now, but it had been an issue before the divorce. He had not been smooth so far with Awais. Shouldn’t those skills translate?
Awais was interested in him. That much he could tell. Those instincts weren’t that much different from what he was used to. Did he want to take him up on it? Was he really going to keep flirting with a man and seeing where it went?
Kevin was a bit of a hedonist. He knew this about himself. He wasn’t great at self-denial, or at carefully considering pros and cons before leaping. He loved good food, beautiful people, feeling good and being comfortable. He didn’t love the amount of self-reflection this realization was awakening in him.
Yeah. He was going to do this. How else would he know what he really wanted? He didn’t think this was a fluke, but there was only one way to make sure.
And Awais wasn’t his regular mailman. He barely saw Doris most days, and Awais was a substitute when the regular guy who covered her route was off. If things went bad, or weird, they might never see each other again. Or never more than just an awkward wave across the produce section of Market Basket.
Vaguely, Kevin heard the commercials end. The game returned, but Kevin wasn’t watching the screen anymore. His eyes pointed at the television, but his entire being focused instead on the tiny point of contact where Awais’s knee met his thigh.
“Well, Engel was definitely not worth the money,” said Awais with a sigh, finishing his beer and raising the bottle. “This was a good suggestion, though, Kevin. Thank you. I liked it a lot.”
“What was?”
Awais smiled. “The beer you recommended. Or, I guess, your ex recommended.”
“Well, she’s a baker, so she knows good food,” he said.
Awais blinked, and Kevin realized suddenly that he hadn’t used a pronoun for Marianne before. Shit. Shit. Awais probably thought he was subtly hinting he was straight, when he was doing his fucking best to do the opposite. “Do you want to come over to my place?” he blurted out suddenly. “I, um, have some of her croissants left over, and I could use something to soak up this alcohol. I’m not really a three-drink guy anymore.” He was babbling now. He knew he was babbling. Oh god. He sounded like an idiot.
But Awais had a tiny smile curving his lips, pulling up the corners of his mouth. Kevin had the faintest hope that maybe he thought it was cute or something, having an absolute dipshit flirt with him. “I’d like that,” he said.
“Yeah?” asked Kevin, the warmth in his belly spreading further into his chest and lower. “The raspberry ones are fantastic.”
“I never turn down pastries,” said Awais, dropping a five on the bar and standing. “Lead on.”
Kevin did the same, leaving a hefty tip himself for Tish under his empty beer glass. He caught their eye as he left, and whatever they saw in his gaze made them raise their eyebrows and glance between the two of them a few times before nodding slightly. He didn’t want to try to interpret that. Tish was good people. Tish would also keep their mouth shut. That was important in a bartender. He’d also known Tish more than thirty years and knew where all their bodies were buried.
“I’m right around the corner,” he said, leading the way out of PJ’s. His legs were jelly, barely able to support him. He was really doing this, bringing a guy back to his apartment.
“I know,” said Awais, gently. “Hey, are you all right?”
*
“Of course you know,” said Kevin, an edge of hysteria in his chuckle. “You know where everyone lives.”
“Kevin.” Awais stopped after they turned the corner, reaching out a hand to curl his fingers around Kevin’s shoulder. They were nearly the same height, Kevin an inch or two taller than him, and his gaze darted back and forth, meeting Awais’s eyes and flicking away. He was panicking.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t have to come back to your place,” he said gently. “If you’re not comfortable.”
“I’m—” Kevin sighed heavily, running a hand across his face and combing it through his hair. The movement left his silver hair in disarray, a wavy hank of it dropping over his forehead. He brushed it back impatiently, but the damage to his coif was done. Awais thought it looked better this way. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”
> “Don’t be sorry.” Awais let go of his shoulder, stepping back and raising his hands placatingly. “I thought you were maybe interested in me, but it’s fine if you’re not.”
“I am!” Kevin stepped forward, into Awais’s space. His eyes were bright, his jaw tense. “It’s just—” He groaned, obviously frustrated.
“You’ve never been with a man before,” said Awais quietly, heart sinking. He’d had a feeling Kevin wasn’t that experienced with men by the sidelong glances and jittery fingers. The mention of an ex who used she pronouns clinched it. He’d gone along with Kevin’s sudden invitation because—well, because Kevin was good-looking, and he’d had a nice time with him. And it was flattering, to have somebody look at him the way Kevin did. Especially someone who looked like a senator from a disaster movie.
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “But I find you attractive.”
“That’s nice to hear,” said Awais. “But it doesn’t mean you have to invite me home. If you’re still figuring yourself out—”
“I’m not.” Kevin took another small step forward, and Awais’s back hit the brick of the building behind him. He didn’t even know what building it was, where they were, nothing but Kevin’s burning gaze on his face. “I’m not. I know what I want.”
“Are you sure?” Awais’s hands came up of their own volition, resting on Kevin’s biceps. His arms were warm and solid through the fabric of his suit and shirt. He wanted this. How long had it been since he’d been this close to someone he was attracted to? Months, at least. Not since he and Bashar broke up back in the spring. And even then, he hadn’t felt this way. But he didn’t want to push Kevin, didn’t want to pressure him into something he wasn’t ready for. God, he hadn’t been someone’s first queer experience since he was in his twenties. And Kevin was—well, he was older than twenty.
His eyes were intense. “I’m sure. It took me some time to figure this out about myself, yeah, but I’d like to get to know you better. If that’s something you’re interested in.”
Awais slid one hand up Kevin’s arm and over his shoulder until he reached his collar, spreading his hand and brushing his thumb against the V of skin revealed by Kevin’s open collar, his fingers curling around the back of his neck. Kevin shivered, his eyes drifting closed for a moment when Awais’s hand reached his warm, soft skin. Awais let his thumb drift up until he could feel the pulse pounding under thin skin at his throat, fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of Kevin’s neck. They were close enough together now that the heat of Kevin’s body radiated out against his own chest, a bare few inches away. He bent closer, until their faces were so near each other Kevin’s breath, hot and whiskey-scented, wafted against his own lips.
And then Kevin leaned in, his eyes open and passing back and forth between Awais’s eyes and his mouth, and pressed his lips to Awais’s.
Chapter Three
He was kissing Awais.
There was a beard against his nose. This was new.
And it was great.
Kevin’s hands fluttered, as if not sure where to land, reaching for Awais’s face but coming to rest instead on the sides of his ribs and sliding down to his waist. His body felt scorching under the thin cotton of his shirt, and Kevin realized his hands had slid under Awais’s jacket to curl around him closely. His lips were smooth, warm, dry, his beard soft and the slightest bit scratchy against Kevin’s cheeks. It was nothing like kissing a woman, and somehow exactly the same. Awais’s body pressed against him, the wall behind him digging into Kevin’s hands where they’d ended up clasped around his waist, his weight pressing Awais into the brick. Awais tugged his hair gently as he parted his lips and tilted his head to slide their mouths together more closely, and sparks flickered in Kevin’s belly. He gasped against Awais’s mouth and dragged himself back, trying to pull himself together. He was kissing a man in the middle of the sidewalk where anyone could see him. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes to ground himself.
“Well,” said Awais, a little breathless. “Maybe we should take this inside.”
Kevin unlocked the front door and led Awais up the stairs to the third floor and through his apartment door. Awais stayed back the whole way, a few steps back, and the ease of their earlier kiss seemed to have evaporated. Kevin locked the door behind him. “Can I get you a drink?” He asked after a long moment of silence.
“Can I kiss you again instead?” replied Awais, and a tiny part of Kevin’s mind, the part that wasn’t consumed by the sight of him stepping closer, crowding him against the wall, stood to applaud that stellar line.
“Yes,” he finally replied, realizing he hadn’t said anything yet.
Awais reached out, pulling him closer. Kevin went. He’d never been manhandled by someone. He found he didn’t mind it. More than didn’t mind.
“I wanted to do this when I saw you last week,” said Awais, the words barely above a whisper, breathed against Kevin’s mouth. And then they were kissing again, lost in the press of lips.
Kevin buried his hands in Awais’s short hair, running his fingers through the soft, wiry curls and over the back of his neck. His shoulders were firm with muscle, and his back flexed under Kevin’s palms. He slid one hand down farther, past his waist. God, it was nothing like kissing Marianne, or any of the women he’d been with since. He didn’t know what was different about it, not really—the motions were the same, the bodies, though the beard was new, and hot. Awais was a man. He was—he was really fucking good at kissing, is what he was. Kevin cupped his hand around Awais’s firm ass, letting his thumb slide along the swell of it. Awais gasped against his mouth, grinding forward. His cock—yep, that’s what that was—that was Awais’s solid line of cock pressing into Kevin’s thigh, and oh god, Kevin was hard, too, throbbing in his pants. He pulled back enough to mutter, “Bedroom, come on,” and then pushed forward, shoving Awais down the hallway, before turning and grabbing his wrist to tug him through the bedroom door. Then Awais was grabbing him again and tugging him close.
This time he let Kevin take the lead, allowing him to explore his mouth. Somehow Kevin had lost his suit jacket along the way. He spared the idlest thought for hoping it was in the apartment, and then his shirt was untucked from his pants, and Awais’s broad, hot hand was against his back, his ribs, fumbling at his belt. Kevin’s hands were on Awais’s ass, kneading the firm flesh, and one of Awais’s thighs had settled between Kevin’s. Kevin ground his cock forward, pressing it against that hard-muscled flesh. Awais’s hand cupped his ass, curving around the muscle. The feel of those hot fingers through his suit made Kevin shiver, heat spreading low in his belly and groin.
The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet bedroom, like a bucket of cold water over his head, and Kevin pulled back suddenly, breathing hard. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, pants unzipped and slipping down until they hung loose around his thighs. Awais’s hands still pressed into his hips, holding the fabric up, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“Something wrong?” Awais asked. His voice was low, gravelly, and it vibrated in Kevin’s chest.
“Just–give me a second to catch my breath,” said Kevin, staring at him. When had his shirt come unbuttoned an extra button? So much of his chest was exposed, dark hair sleek against brown skin, a sharp contrast to his pale oxford shirt. Kevin’s blood was pounding in his temples, in his hands, in his cock. He wanted this person. He didn’t even know what he wanted to do to him, but his body would figure it out if he gave it a chance.
He wasn’t gay. Not that there’d be anything wrong with that. But he liked women. Liked sex with women. Janie would be so disappointed in his trouble here—she’d come out in middle school, and god, he really needed to not think about his kids right now.
I’m bisexual, he said to himself firmly, eyes sliding over Awais’s chest and over his rumpled shirt, drawn downward to his dark jeans and the thick line distorting them. I want to touch his cock. I want him to touch mine.
&
nbsp; He mentally opened a drawer, packed his freak-out into a neat little box, and slammed the drawer shut.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing. “I’m ready.”
Awais’s gorgeous face was marred with a slight frown, a thin line between his brows. “You sure? We can stop, I can go—”
Kevin reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him forward. Surprised, Awais stumbled toward him and went easily when Kevin pushed him down to the bed. Kevin knelt beside him, tugging Awais’s shirt from his pants and reaching for the buttons. “I want you,” he said. His voice was husky too. “Show me what you want.”
Awais swallowed audibly, his eyes going wide. His pupils dilated with arousal, his dark brown irises a ring of near black around them, his eyes looked bottomless. Kevin let himself fall into them, shoving the shirt from Awais’s shoulders as he pushed him down to lay flat on the bed and lay beside him. Awais rolled and knelt above him, tugging Kevin’s pants the rest of the way off and getting to work on his buttons. With every button he undid, he pressed an openmouthed kiss on the newly exposed flesh. Kevin thought he might be having a heart attack as Awais reached his sternum and continued downward, his hot mouth leaving a trail of goose bumps down his stomach.
Sharp teeth nipped at the patch of softness right under his navel. Kevin gasped, arousal spiking through him. He stared down at the top of Awais’s head, hands clenching at his sides. Awais lifted up slightly to meet his eyes.
“You can put your hands in my hair,” he said.
Kevin groaned and did, weaving his fingers in the soft strands, too short to really tangle in but long enough to tug gently.
Awais shuddered. Kevin could feel it through his whole body, and he ground up into the sensation, his cock already leaving dampness on the cotton of his boxer briefs. Awais bit him again, lower, just above his waistband.
“Can I blow you?” he asked.
Kevin’s head dropped back as he drew a deep, shuddering breath.
Give Way Page 3