The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” He stood, fishing on the back of the chair for his cane. “Thanks a lot for the company. Have a good holiday.” She was still staring after him as he limped out of the bar, hauling his suitcase toward the elevators. Ahead was family Christmas, one more week to be the old Ryan. At least on the outside. Because after that, he was going home to John.

  Chapter Nine

  There were still lights on in the house, as the shuttle turned into the drive. Ryan wasn’t surprised, just… pleased. Because with one delay and another, his eight o’clock arrival had become midnight. Now it was after one, and John would’ve had every right to have given up on him and gone to bed. Especially because Ryan hadn’t phoned to explain the delay. Which he hadn’t because… he didn’t know why.

  But the hall light came on too, as he was getting out, and then John was there, taking his bag out of his hand. “Let me get that. You must be beat.”

  Ryan gave the shuttle driver an extra big tip, for waiting so late, and turned to John as the van rolled away. “I’m not that tired.”

  And there it was, that coiled heat inside him, just like the past fifteen days had never happened. “Come on,” John said. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

  Snow squeaked under Ryan’s shoes as they climbed the stairs.

  “Sorry, I should have cleared those off again.” John swiped at a riser with the side of his foot.

  “Since when, twenty minutes ago?” The steps had a thin dusting of white, compared to the deep blanket covering the lawn. A few flakes still spiraled down, glittering in the porch light. Ryan pulled the door open, and inhaled the familiar scents of sawdust and coffee. It smelled like home.

  He leaned his cane in the usual corner. “My family admired your work.” He pointed his chin at it. John had taken the commission and carved him a stick of twisted, entwined tree trunks, with the faces of small creatures peering out from between the curves. It was intricate and beautiful. People who noticed it were so busy checking it out they forgot to check him out. It was brilliant. “I told them I was renting a room from an artist. They were impressed.”

  “What else did you tell them?” John headed for the kitchen.

  “Not much.” It had been weird, his first time home since the accident. His father and Drew had made a point of not watching him, not helping him. His dad looked older. Brent had missed the visit altogether. Thank God for Drew’s boys. The adults had all made sure the holiday revolved around the children. Ryan’s problems had been allowed to go unmentioned. And the changes in his life that weren’t problems… well, he hadn’t been ready to mention those either.

  “Can I get you something?” John said. “Water, juice?”

  “Nah. They kept serving drinks on the plane to keep us busy through the delays. I’m about drowning in soda.”

  John nodded. “So.”

  They stood looking at each other. “I wish you’d called for me pick you up at the airport,” John said softly. “You’d have been home half an hour sooner.”

  “Right. After an hour in the truck, sitting next to you, not touching you.” Ryan felt the heat ratchet up a notch. Not that he needed it. He’d spent most of the flight with a magazine over his lap, anticipating, dreading, wondering… something. “I didn’t want to do this at a public airport.”

  “Do what?” John’s voice was hoarse.

  Ryan let himself smile. “This.” He stepped forward, and ran his hand slowly up John’s arm, over his shoulder, and behind the man’s neck. He cupped the base of John’s skull, and pulled him down.

  “Thank God,” John whispered against his mouth. Then John kissed him. Ryan had wondered if his memory had exaggerated the feel of John’s mouth, but if anything, this was better. John kissed him softly, with his eyes closed, and all of his attention on just that one thing. Ryan opened his lips to a probing tongue, and stepped in closer.

  Warm and soft became hot and frantic. Ryan wrapped his other arm around John as they pressed together. John’s hands cupped his ass, fingers digging in hard. He found himself rutting against that tall body, wanting more, wanting closer. John’s moan vibrated against his mouth.

  “Let me.” He fumbled between them. John pulled back a few inches, to make room for their hands. It was clumsy and awkward, buttons and zips, as they still kissed, unwilling to break contact. Ryan slid his mouth to John’s neck, sucking hard, feeling the slick of skin under his tongue. John must have shaved for him, recently. His hands slipped down past the waistband of John’s boxers. Familiar unfamiliar sensation. He had a man’s hard dick in his hands and it wasn’t his own. And then callused fingers closed on his erection in turn.

  He squeezed, pumping firmly. Slick precome coated his fingers and he spread it, fisting over John’s unfamiliar length. Soft sac, firm round balls, hard velvet shaft, curved head becoming slippery.

  “God, Ryan,” John breathed. “We can…”

  He caught John’s mouth in a punishing kiss. He pushed the man back against the counter, hands frantic. No waiting, not this time. He wanted.

  John went with him. His fingers were just as busy on Ryan. The sensations like heat and ice ran through Ryan’s groin, building. He kissed John’s mouth again, plunging his tongue deep. He wanted to undo this man. Wanted to feel him come apart.

  John’s hands fell away. His head went back, eyes half-closed. Ryan sucked on his neck, biting. John’s hips jerked, thrusting hard into Ryan’s hands. Ryan laughed against his skin. Yes. Shit, yeah!

  Then John groaned, his body shuddering. Jets of spunk slid through Ryan’s fingers, spattered against his jeans. John grabbed for the edge of the counter. Ryan leaned forward. His hard dick pressed into the angle of John’s bare hip where he’d tugged those boxers low. The sensitive head dragged over hot skin and rough curls. He moved in tighter, panting, thrusting hard. Then John’s arms wrapped around him and kept him from falling as he came. Came against John, on him, in a blinding rush that took his breath, and forced his eyes closed.

  “Holy, holy shit,” he whispered. John’s shoulder was right there, and he laid his head on it for a moment. “Wow.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Ryan breathed a laugh against his neck. “Stupid question.”

  “Good.” John’s arms kept their warm hold, a hand gently rubbing Ryan’s back. He bent and kissed the top of Ryan’s head.

  “Don’t waste ’em.” Ryan put up a sticky hand and pulled John down to reach his mouth again.

  This kiss was different, slow and sweet. He touched his tongue to John’s teeth, traced his lower lip. John sighed against his mouth.

  “What?”

  “I was so scared you wouldn’t want to, after having all this time to think.”

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking,” Ryan said. “It’s a good thing my nephews aren’t telepathic, or they’d have gotten a real early education.”

  John kissed his jaw, his cheek. His eyebrow.

  Slowly, Ryan became aware of the chill on his thighs. “We’re kind of wet.”

  “I guess.” John’s arms dropped away reluctantly, and he stepped back. “Here.” He dampened a paper towel and passed it over. For a minute they pursued cleanup, not looking at each other.

  “You’re probably tired,” John said tentatively. “You’ll want a shower and sleep.”

  Ryan pulled his jeans into place and deliberately left them unbuttoned. “John. Every single soda I drank in the last five hours had caffeine in it. Fuck sleep.”

  John’s slow smile was a gift. “You have something else in mind?”

  “You, on the bed, naked,” Ryan said firmly. “Your bed, because it’s bigger than mine.”

  “We could do that.” John led the way upstairs. Ryan’s mind was racing a million miles an hour. So far, he’d stuck to his plan. He was still damned if he knew what he was doing, but this time he had a plan. John’s room was warm. The big bed was neatly made, pale blue sheets, dark blue comforter. Ryan reached out and stripped the covers back in
one motion. He felt great. He felt like a god.

  “Get those clothes off.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not in this case, no.” John’s fingers went to hem of his sweater. Slowly, he raised it, and pulled it over his head. His auburn hair fell tousled into his eyes. He tossed the sweater on a chair. Staring into Ryan’s eyes, John began to methodically unbutton his shirt. Inch by inch, the edges fell open, exposing his chest. Lamplight glinted off a scattering of copper curls, between the hard planes of his pecs. Ryan had always thought a woman’s breasts were beautiful. So why did his breath come so hard in his throat at the sight of a man’s flat nipples?

  John dropped the shirt on the chair and slid his hands to his jeans. “Let me,” Ryan told him. He moved in close, twisting the metal button out of its hole. The zipper slid down with a whisper. Cotton briefs, damp from the first time, barely contained this man. Ryan shoved all the bunched fabric downward. As he dropped awkwardly to one knee to finish the job, John’s erection bobbed beside his cheek, jerking to the man’s pulse.

  “Ryan?”

  He looked up into John’s eyes. “Lie down on the bed.”

  John did as directed, sliding up on the pillows to look at him. “Are you going to undress?”

  “Eventually.” As late and as little as possible. He crawled up the bed toward John, straddled him, and leaned in for a kiss. John ran his hands through Ryan’s hair.

  “Let me.” Ryan wanted to explore, to look and taste. John lay back, eyes half-closed, stroking Ryan’s neck and shoulders as Ryan took his time. Licking, tasting, touching his lips to eyelid and jaw, neck and throat. He swirled his tongue around John’s nipple, loving the way the bud tightened to his touch. He bit it, lightly, and John jerked under him.

  “Lie still.”

  He moved lower. He still didn’t know exactly how he wanted to do this. But he’d been on the receiving end often enough, and he’d imagined this. More than often enough. A dozen times he’d typed “gay sex video” into his browser, and as many times he’d erased it without looking. He hadn’t wanted this first time to happen with the image of any other man on his mind.

  John’s dick was bigger than his own. The skin was one shade darker than on the pale groin, the head was wide and flaring. John’s curls were soft not wiry, and a little sparse. Ryan moved down, kissing below John’s navel. “Hey,” he whispered against that flat stomach. “You’re a true redhead.”

  John laughed. “No kidding.” He cupped the back of Ryan’s head and pulled. “Come back up here.”

  “Not yet.”

  Ryan slid his hand around the hard shaft, raising it. John drew in a sharp breath. A drop of precome formed at the tip, rolled down. Ryan bent and kissed the silky skin beside the slit. Then he touched the flat of his tongue to that droplet, swiping across the flared head.

  “Shit,” John hissed. “Ry?”

  Salty, a little bitter, not that bad. It didn’t taste like his own which, yeah, Ryan had tasted, wondering, planning this all through the last week. John’s flavor was just like him, better than expected. Ryan licked again, harder, and another drop rolled across his tongue.

  “You don’t have to.”

  Ryan blew a breath over wet skin. “Told you I have plans.”

  “I never argue with a man who has my cock in his hand.”

  “You’ve had experience with that?” Ryan asked, taking a long slow lick from root to tip, tracing the raised veins.

  “Unh. No, just you.” John’s length jerked in Ryan’s fist.

  “Good.” Ryan closed his mouth on the dark plum of the head. John groaned. Slowly, experimenting, Ryan licked and sucked. He wrapped his fist tight around John, and leaned in, taking the head in his mouth, slowly pushing down to meet his hand. Not too bad. At least he hadn’t choked himself. He pulled back, sucking hard.

  “Oh, ah, Jesus,” John babbled. “Jesus God, Ryan. I’m not going to last if you do that. God, I can’t.” His words became hoarse groans as Ryan dipped his head, speeding the motion, fast plunge, and long slow suck upward.

  John’s hands fisted in Ryan’s hair. His hips took up the rhythm, jerking upward. Ryan tried to slide his hand and mouth together, letting John control the speed.

  “Oh, Ryan, oh, Ryan, oh, man.”

  Ryan’s mouth filled with slick cum and he jerked back, gagging a little, letting it dribble out onto John’s belly as he kept up the pressure and rhythm up John’s length with his hands. John shot again, across his chest and abdomen, slick and white with the smell of sex. Ryan stroked until the last shudders were done, and then reached over for a tissue and wiped his lips. And another for his hand, and John’s stomach. Clearly some practice was in order at the end there. But he had the general idea.

  John’s grip in his hair guided him up the bed, and down against a sweat-damp shoulder. Ryan laughed with satisfaction, then took John’s kiss, sharing the flavor. John moaned and shuddered again.

  “Good plan,” he breathed eventually into Ryan’s hair. “Well thought-out, well executed.”

  “Thank you.”

  John’s arms tightened around Ryan’s shoulders. “Give me a minute to get feeling back in my legs and it’s your turn.”

  “I’m fine.”

  John’s hand slid down and over Ryan’s hard dick, drawing an involuntary sound from him. “You’re excellent. And gonna be better.”

  Okay. Planned for this too. Ryan rolled onto his back beside John on the bed. He lay flat, letting his weight press him into the mattress, as John eased up on one elbow and wiped himself off. That electric grin on his face was hard to resist, as he flicked the tissue in the direction of the trash, then slowly opened Ryan’s shirt, and unzipped his jeans.

  John’s mouth tickled across his skin. “You need to lift up a bit.” His fingers slid into Ryan’s briefs. “So I can get these off.”

  “I like it like this,” Ryan returned. “You naked, me half-dressed. Sort of a master-slave thing.” When John paused, he added. “What? Too challenging to work around a little clothing?”

  John kissed him slowly. Mouth, neck, chest, nipple, stomach, navel, hip. And there he paused and looked Ryan in the eyes. “What do you think I’m going to say when I see your leg?” he asked gently.

  Ryan could feel the heat of his blush. Busted. “I don’t know.” He worked for a light tone. “The last person I was naked in bed with said, ew, gross!”

  “Dating fifteen-year-olds, were we?” John asked calmly, kissing his belly.

  “She was twenty-four.”

  “Damned immature for twenty-four.” John licked back over his hip and looked up again. “Ryan, I’m thirty-seven. I’ve seen dead bodies. I saw all three of my children born. I’m not likely to be bothered by a few scars.”

  A few scars. Ryan sat up, staring John in the eyes, pinning him in place. He yanked off his shirt, dragged down his jeans, his underwear. Everything went on the floor. Then he rolled over, naked, and buried his face in the pillow.

  John said nothing, not an intake of breath, not a sound. After a moment, Ryan felt warm fingers on his back. They traced slowly downward. Ryan knew what they were outlining, although half the time he couldn’t feel the touch.

  The burning beam that fell on him had been scorching and heavy, and he’d been pinned with his suit ripped. His shoulders weren’t bad. Just a few patches of paler skin where the grafts hadn’t matched. But from his left hip, downward and inward, the real mess began. Deep ropes of scars, gaps in his thigh and calf where the dead, cooked flesh had been removed. His skin was fish-belly white, where it wasn’t red or silver-gray. On his ass, on his right thigh, the sites where grafts had been harvested showed their own scars, neat and surgical.

  John said nothing, just trailed his fingers over the mess. Ryan couldn’t take the silence. “Pretty, huh?”

  “Must’ve hurt like hell.”

  “Wasn’t fun.”

  John slid a finger
tip around Ryan’s left knee. “Looks like you had a bunch of surgeries.”

  “One more than the insurance would pay for.”

  “Well, they got you walking. That had to be a minor miracle.”

  “More like a major one.” The tightness in Ryan’s chest was easing. “They didn’t think I would keep the leg.”

  John just bent and kissed Ryan’s left ankle. The one he would have lost. “Roll over, Ry.”

  Ryan turned. The damage was much less visible from this side. Although if you knew where to look, the scars from the surgeries and grafting sites were scattered across him, and the deep burns wrapped around below his knee.

  John began at his ankles, kissing his way up Ryan’s legs. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

  “Will you kiss it better?”

  “I might.”

  Ryan pointed at his hip. “There.” A soft brush of a kiss on skin.

  His stomach. “There.” Warm lips, a rasp of teeth.

  “There.” And oh, yes, John’s mouth where he wanted it, John’s hands, John’s tongue. Ryan closed his eyes, lay back, and abandoned himself to sensation.

  ****

  John gathered Ryan in against his side and pulled the covers up over them. Ryan made a soft sleepy sound and curled tighter. The man had to be exhausted. John was wide awake.

  It had taken everything he had to not react to Ryan’s scars. When Ry rolled over… God! He hadn’t imagined anything that bad. He thought he’d done okay. That tight, false tone in Ry’s voice had faded. And there was no doubt about how hard Ryan had eventually come, with John’s first-ever blow job. He’d swallowed it all down, too, even though he’d been worried about that part and planned to pull back. When the moment was on him, he’d wanted to take anything Ry was giving him, just wishing he could take the pain with it.

  He didn’t need the details to imagine Ryan, pinned to the ground in some burning hell, as the fire ate into his leg. He brushed a kiss over the sleeping man’s hair, silky dark strands against his lips. He wondered how close he’d come to never meeting this man. It seemed inconceivable. But Ryan could have died. He’d lost his career, but not his life. Was it selfish to be glad that his lover would never again have to walk into another burning building?