The Rebuilding Year

by Kaje Harper

  As he set the bags on the counter, he took note of voices in the living room. Ryan and another man. Conversation sounded cordial. John put the milk and orange juice in the fridge, then wandered in.

  Ryan was sitting in the wingback chair. Across from him, another man sat on the couch. He looked vaguely familiar, but John couldn’t place him. Dark brown hair, dark eyes, a pleasant face, slightly overweight. He was dressed in a business suit, the tie pulled loose and one button undone.

  Ryan looked up as John came in, and he smiled, but it was a strained, pale version of his usual. “Hey, John, I’d like you to meet my brother, Brent. Brent, this is my roommate, John Barrett.”

  John held out his hand. “Hey, good to meet you. Ryan’s told me about you.”

  Brent’s handshake was solid. “Wish I could say the same. But I haven’t heard from my little brother in six months. I missed the Christmas family thing.”

  “I sent you a card,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, great, so I knew you were still alive and able to sign your name. Thanks, bro.”

  “You could’ve called me.”

  Brent looked uncomfortable. “Well, I wasn’t sure, you know, you weren’t very talkative last time.”

  Ryan looked almost as pained. John said, “So, what brings you out here? This wasn’t a planned visit, was it? Not that you’re not welcome.”

  “Oh, I’m not staying,” Brent said quickly. “I had a client down this way, had to make an in-person call to straighten a problem out. And it occurred to me it was less than fifty miles out of my way to visit Ryan.”

  Ryan said, “He blew into town, called my cell and asked for directions to the house.”

  “Yeah.” Brent looked around the room. “You know, this is a cool place. You could do a lot with it. Do you own it?”

  “John owns it,” Ryan said. “I just rent a room.”

  “Better than a dorm,” Brent said heartily.

  “Right.”

  “So, would you like to have some dinner?” John wasn’t sure what was going on with these two guys. Ryan had always talked about his brothers with affection, but you could cut the tension here with a knife. “I bought groceries,” he added. “So we actually have food.”

  “No, no,” Brent said, getting quickly to his feet. “Let me take you guys out to eat. My treat. I can expense it. My boss is always giving me a hard time about making his meal charges look bad by comparison. He’ll be happy if I spend a few bucks.”

  “You two should go,” John said. “I’m sure you have catching up to do. You don’t need a stranger horning in.” He wanted Ryan to invite him, to deny he was a stranger, ask him to meet the family.

  But it was Brent who said quickly, “No. Really. You should both come.”

  “You’d better have an unlimited budget if you’re offering to feed this big lug,” Ryan said, motioning to John with humor that seemed forced.

  “I doubt he can out-eat you,” Brent said. “At least the way you used to eat. I mean, you look good, so you aren’t overeating, clearly.” He flushed. “Look, I’ll go warm up the car. We can ride in mine, so you can give me directions.”

  John stared after the man as he headed to the front door. “What’s his problem?” he whispered to Ryan.

  Ryan’s lips twisted sourly. “He doesn’t deal well with weakness, emotions, all that shit. I told you, when David died he left the country. When I was hurt, he did the same thing. Suddenly a week later he had a rush job in Mexico that lasted for months. I make him uncomfortable.”

  “Still? You’re pretty normal now. Well, for a maniac.”

  Ryan smiled briefly. “Thanks, John. Yeah, apparently, still uncomfortable.”

  “So we’ll go out, have a meal. Let him see you’re fine.”

  Ryan nodded unconvincingly.

  They chose to go to Luigi’s. John found himself in the front seat of the car, directing Brent, while Ryan sat in the back. The drive was quiet. As they pulled in to the restaurant, Brent cleared his throat and said, “Ryan, do you want me to drop you off in front?”

  “Huh?” Ryan frowned. “No. I can actually walk quite well now. I even run, climb rock walls, complete a mean triathlon, kickbox.”

  “Really?”

  “No, dumb shit. But I can make it as far as the parking lot.”

  John reached back and smacked Ryan’s arm. “Don’t tease your brother.”

  Brent gave them a startled look, but pulled obediently into a regular parking space. He headed toward the door ahead of them, not looking back at Ryan. “I’ll get us a table.”

  Ryan followed, careful on the icy sidewalk. “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Shit, what?” John held station, close enough for a catch but casual enough not to look like he was hovering.

  “He still won’t look at me.”

  “What?”

  “In the hospital, when he would visit.” Ryan pulled the door open. “He looked everywhere except at me. And then he left town.”

  “Maybe you’re exaggerating.”

  The restaurant was warm after the winter air outside. It was modest, but clean and bright, with red chairs and paper tablecloths. A savory smell of tomatoes and garlic filled the air. John breathed in appreciatively. “Well, if he’s willing to buy me a great meal, he can look anywhere he wants.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Right this way, sirs.” The maître d’ led them toward a table. Brent went first, and John decided Ryan was right. The extra time it took Brent to get settled in his chair wasn’t random. He’d made sure that Ry was fully seated, before he looked up.

  They ordered drinks, which amounted to beer all around. When the waiter had gone, Ryan reached down and pulled out his cane. “Hey, Brent,” he said. “You have to see this. I commissioned it from John here. He’s some kind of artist.”

  Brent swallowed as he took it, but then his attention was caught by the intricate carving. He turned it in his hands, checking it out. “Hey, this is great.” The man looked less uncomfortable as he lost his pinched expression. “John, this is pretty amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  The waiter brought their beer and took their orders. Brent raised his mug and said, “Listen, little bro. I want you to toast my good news.”

  “You finally learned how to play that ukulele you bought in tenth grade?”

  “No. Asshole. I met a girl.”

  “Really?” Ryan leaned forward. “A real girl, not a blow-up one.”

  “That’s your specialty, Ryan.” Then Brent looked stricken. “I mean, not that you can’t find… I mean, I heard about Marla.”

  “Jesus, that’s ancient history. Quit tiptoeing around my frailties, and tell me about this lunatic female who is actually willing to date my brother.”

  “Her name’s Anne.” Brent pulled out his cell phone, and brought up a picture. “That’s her.”

  Ryan tilted it so John could see too. “She’s very pretty,” John said quickly, to head off whatever brotherly comment Ryan might have made.

  “Too pretty for you,” Ryan said. “You sure this isn’t some kind of fantasy thing?”

  Brent smiled. “I asked her to marry me.”

  “Hey.” Ryan’s return smile was genuine. “That’s great! Assuming she said yes.”

  “We haven’t set a date, but she took the ring.”

  Ryan held out a hand. “Congratulations, brother.”

  John echoed the handshake.

  “So, have you told Dad?” Ryan asked. “Has he met her?”

  “I called him a week ago. He was thrilled. He said, the way that all I talked about for years was the other guys at the office, he was worried I was turning queer. I told him I was never that desperate. Anne’s amazing. I hope you’ll meet her sometime.”

  Smiling down at his phone, Brent probably missed the look Ryan and John exchanged. John held his breath to see where Ryan would take this.

  “I’ll see her at the wedding, if not before,” Ryan’s tone was perfectly level. “I as
sume I’m invited?”

  “I’ll even let you bring a date, if you can find one.” Brent stopped, and flushed bright red.

  “Brent, listen up,” Ryan said firmly. “I’m fine. I gimp a little, but I’m doing well. I’m even dating. Not everyone is as superficial as Marla. You need to quit worrying.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brent said. “I’m just… concerned about you, I guess.” He glanced at John. “Kid brothers. When you’re not beating them up, you have this instinct to protect them. What happened to Ryan… We all feel like we screwed up.”

  “I’m an only child.” John let his voice drawl. “But I think Ryan’s big enough to take care of himself.” He took a long draught of beer to drown his frustration. Ryan was being very careful with his dating pronouns, or lack thereof. Clearly this was not going to be meet-the-family night.

  “So, this dating. Do you have anyone special?” Brent asked Ryan.

  And sure enough, there was Ryan saying, “Not that I want to introduce you to.”

  “Afraid she might like me better?”

  “No, I’m not worried about that.”

  John couldn’t resist running his finger around the rim of his beer mug and saying, “Oh, I don’t know, Ry. Your brother’s a good-looking guy. Some people might find him very attractive.”

  He winced as Ryan’s foot connected with his ankle under the table. And yet even that contact raised his spirits. Barrett, you’re pathetic.

  The food came and they ate, mostly listening to the latest nephew stories from Brent. He and Drew obviously stayed in close touch. Ryan added a couple of family items from Christmas. John would’ve felt more neglected, except that halfway through the meal, Ryan’s hand landed on his knee under the tablecloth. The strong fingers inched their way upward, while he tried not to react. Luckily, Ryan could only reach so far. John concentrated on listening to Brent, and not getting up from the table with a hard-on.

  Brent dropped them off at the house, saying something about a hotel reservation and an early flight. Ryan didn’t even make a token protest. Once they were inside with the door shut, he blew out a breath and relaxed visibly.

  “Were you that scared he might find out about us?” John asked.

  “Huh? No. Not that. It’s just, when he looks at me, he’s remembering the hospital, and thinking about me as his crippled younger brother. And he makes me remember how it felt to have everyone hovering and worrying. And I fucking hate it.”

  John stuffed his own issues away and put his arms around Ry. “I promise I won’t protect you. In fact I might wrestle you to the bed, and forcibly have my way with you.”

  “Queer sex? Are you that desperate?”

  Clearly, Ryan was a little hung up on his brother’s reactions. “Desperate.” John nodded. “Yeah. Ravenous. Demanding. Insatiable.”

  Ryan softened in his hold. “Wait. I thought that was me.”

  John kissed him. “Shall we go to bed and find out?”

  Upstairs in their room, with the door shut, it was just him and Ryan. John took a kiss, hot and wet, as he struggled with the buttons of his shirt. Ryan was naked first, and he dropped to the bed, watching John with an expression of heated impatience. So John drew his undressing out slowly.

  He was playing with the waistband of his briefs when Ryan reached over, hauled him close, and stripped the shorts off his ass in one smooth move. “You’re a tease, Barrett,” he growled.

  “A tease is someone who won’t put out,” John protested, stepping out of the shorts and running his hands down Ryan’s fine chest. “I plan to put out real soon.”

  Ryan bit John’s stomach, nibbled his way over to his thigh, and sucked on one hip bone. He looked up. “How soon?”

  John shivered at the feel of Ryan’s mouth, the touch of his hand sliding down between John’s thighs, deeper, as he spread his legs for that touch, a finger stroking around and behind his balls. They hadn’t yet gone there, but he’d been thinking about it. A lot. “Let me run to the can, and then I’ll show you.”

  When he came back out, Ryan was propped on his elbow in the same spot, waiting, his expression carefully blank. John bent to open the bedside drawer. After that first night, he’d invested in some good lube. He pulled it out. Then he reached back in and pulled out the unopened box of condoms.

  Ryan froze. John looked steadily into Ry’s green eyes as he sat down and set the box on the sheet beside them. I don’t know if I can do this.

  He’d rehearsed it, planned it, done his research. He’d tried it out in the shower several times, testing himself with a finger, then two, even three, thinking about Ryan touching him, stretching him. He’d gotten himself hot enough to melt steel, and then chickened out each time he thought about mentioning it to Ryan. Not tonight, though. He cleared his throat. “Ry. I want you inside me.”

  He could see the jolt of reaction in Ryan’s body. But Ryan’s voice was soft as he said, “You? Are you sure?”

  “I think so.” Now that’s passionate. “I mean, if you like. If you want to.”

  Ryan reached out and ran a warm hand slowly over John’s thigh. “I’ve done it a couple of times with women. When they asked.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  His voice was hoarser. “Did they?”

  “They seemed to. No complaints.”

  John nodded. “I’m asking.” He stretched out, trying to look confident.

  Ryan bent over and kissed him, soft and sweet. But John didn’t want soft. He clamped a hand behind Ryan’s head and opened his mouth. The kiss went from soft to desperate in five seconds. Ryan’s tongue was way down his throat and John couldn’t hold back little whimpering noises. Ryan’s hand found his dick, and then stopped.

  “Christ, don’t stop.”

  Ryan pressed him down into the bed and rose over him. “Don’t worry, man. You’re gonna get fucked. But we’re doing this my way. By the time we get there, you’re not just going to be asking. You’re gonna be begging for it.”

  John shuddered. Ryan closed one fist over his cock, stroking firmly, while the other hand slid lower, now lubed and wet. John spread his thighs apart, tilting his hips up. Ryan worked him, rolling his balls, pressing behind them, running a finger around his hole. Then one fingertip pressed in, slowly. It felt weird, but it didn’t hurt. Prickly heat burned through John, arcing from his ass to his dick. He was leaking hard. Ryan slid his palm over the dripping slit and added the slick fluid to the slow hand job.

  Two fingers in his ass now, and the stretchy burn hovered near pain. Then Ryan slid down lower on the bed, and took John’s dick in his mouth. A white-hot arc of need made John’s eyes cross.

  “Holy crap, Ry. Don’t! I don’t want to come yet. Not yet.”

  Ryan hummed around him, as he pressed in deeper with his fingers, stretching John’s tight opening. All John could focus on was the vibration of Ryan’s tongue on his cock head, and the overwhelming need to thrust, or pull back, or do something. John knew he was gasping nonsense, but it was out of his control. He was out of control. He arched upward, wanting more pressure, more touch. Ryan pulled his fingers back out of him, and ripped open a condom. His other hand still slid rhythmically over the base of John’s hard, aching length.

  Then John watched, his breath coming short, as Ryan slid the thin latex down his own erection. “Roll over,” Ryan told him.

  John followed orders. Ryan tucked a pillow under his stomach as he turned. John’s erect dick pressed into the fabric, and he fought not to hump it like a dog. Ryan’s hands spread his cheeks open. The bedroom air was cool on his overheated, lube-wet, waiting crevice. He clenched, involuntarily, and tried to breathe evenly.

  “Jesus, John,” Ryan whispered. “That’s so hot. You’re so hot.” He bent and kissed the base of John’s spine, his hip, the top of his ass. Ryan’s thumbs pressed him wider. “Ready?”

  John was vibrating between need and fear. “Yeah, ready, please, I’m ready. Just… go slow?”

  Th
e touch of latex was just odd at first, then there was building pressure, then pain as his body fought against it. He struggled to relax. He could hear Ryan’s rough, fast breaths. Then suddenly his body consented to be taken.

  Ryan slipped inside with a groan, and stopped moving. “You okay?”

  “Only if you don’t fucking stop there,” John grated through clenched teeth. Ryan felt huge and hard inside him. He slid a hand underneath himself, needy and shaking, to touch his softened dick. His first stroke made him shudder. His ass still hurt, but in an odd way that didn’t stop the craving for more. He jacked himself hard, and the friction spiked into him, pain fuzzing into an itchy, building need.

  Ryan pressed in an inch or two, slowly, and then drew back.

  Jesus God, that was freaking amazing. He’d never thought that pain went with sex, but this mix of sensations was beyond anything, the edge sharpening the pleasure. “Do that again,” he begged.

  Slow slide of pressure, sharp drag outward. The sound he made had no words. He fisted himself urgently.

  “Yeah, John,” Ryan groaned. “Touch yourself.”

  John had to brace, as Ryan’s hips moved harder, each drive a little deeper, each pull a little faster. Ryan’s hand clamped onto John’s right hip. Ryan’s thighs lay heavy against his own. John gasped, again and again, as Ryan drove him up and up, pain swamped by the heat. The sounds from Ryan’s mouth were ones he’d never heard before.

  Then suddenly the last resistance of his body was gone. Ry sank deep, and brushed hard against John’s prostate. John arched, convulsed, coming in waves that rolled through him, spurting into his cramped hand. He heard Ryan cry out, but could feel nothing more over the black velvet relief that darkened his vision.

  A moment later, Ryan collapsed on John’s back, breathing in rasping shudders. Ryan’s thighs brushed his sweaty, chafed skin, and Ryan’s chin dug into his shoulder. John couldn’t have moved if the house was on fire. He lay boneless, feeling Ry’s breath hot against his neck.

  “Wow,” Ry whispered. “I think I broke something.”

  “Not literally?”

  “No.” Ryan bit his shoulder lightly. “Moron.”