Free Hand (Irons and Works Book 1)

by E M Lindsey

  And yet, Basil made that fear worth it. The mouth drifting from his own to press searing hot kisses along his jaw, down his neck, sucking at his pulse-point was enough to remind him that some risks were worth taking. His hands drifted lower, pushing Basil’s shirt up, splaying wide against his warm skin.

  He felt more than heard Basil’s soft groan, pressed into the crook of his neck as Basil’s hips shifted. He felt the hardness there against his thigh, felt Basil rut up into the V of his hip, and his eyes rolled back in his head. With a gentle pressure, he pushed Basil up just slightly, just enough to see the hand he lifted to sign, ‘Home,’ against his cheek, then pat himself in the center of the chest. ‘My home.’ It took him two tries to properly spell, ‘Condoms, lube,’ because his head just didn’t want to focus, but he got it, and Basil’s eyes widened.

  ‘Sex,’ he spelled.

  Derek shrugged as Basil pulled off him a little more. ‘I want you,’ he said. He knew those words might not be the exact ones a person might use when talking about sex—because ASL didn’t share the same structure as English, but the way Basil’s breath caught in his chest, his meaning was obvious and plain.

  He started to fidget with nerves when Basil continued to stare at him, and just when he thought maybe he’d crossed a line and ruined it all, Basil nodded. His hand lifted like maybe he was going to say something, but then it touched his cheek, drawing him in for another, hot kiss.

  Derek lost himself to the sensation, lost time as Basil’s tongue dragged across his, and it was okay. They’d been there half the night, a short conversation taking an eternity because Derek still needed them to go slow, still needed most of the words spelled out, but he barely felt it. The bubble he existed in with Basil was enough to make the rest of the world feel so goddamn unimportant.

  When he pulled away again, Basil signed something else, but in his daze, he didn’t understand until he spelled it out. ‘You live alone?’

  Derek nodded. He wanted to tell him that yeah, he lived alone, and they wouldn’t be bothered because everyone else knew that was his sanctuary and they couldn’t just barge in and make themselves comfortable. But he didn’t have the words to say it quickly and didn’t have the patience to go through the motions of it all.

  Basil didn’t seem to need all of that explanation right then, and really, it didn’t matter. He’d learn it all the longer he was around and got to know everyone. The more he learned Derek’s routine and how strict it had to be, and maybe he’d even understand how momentous it was that Derek was asking Basil to be part of that.

  Of course, right then, the only thing that did matter was collecting their things and leaving the shop, and not letting go of each other as they made their way down the street to Derek’s car. They had to part, but instead of Derek letting him go right away, he crowded him back up against the side of the car. Cupping his face, he felt the warmth of Basil’s cheeks under his palms.

  Basil made an involuntary noise in his throat, pushing his hips out, seeking friction, and Derek pushed right back. He’d dreamt of this from the moment he became profoundly aware of just how much he wanted Basil, and it was everything he imagined. No, it was better. It was overwhelming his senses, making him drunk on want. He tipped his head down and captured Basil’s mouth for a long, drawn out kiss.

  It was only when he felt the breeze, heard a bottle break and someone start laughing down the street, that he tore himself away. Panting heavily, he pressed his forehead to Basil’s for a moment, then finally stepped back. Basil looked just as dazed as he did, blinking slowly before he reached for the door handle and let himself in.

  Derek’s feet felt like they weren’t even making contact with the pavement as he rushed to the driver’s side, and he said a moment of silent thanks to the universe that his place was less than a ten-minute drive away. Basil’s hand rested over his on the gear shift, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that the dark interior of the car made conversation almost impossible. What he did know was that it was comfortable and as he pulled to his parking space, he didn’t regret a single second that led to that moment right there.

  Switching the car off, he palmed his keys and turned to see Basil watching him carefully. Without breaking eye contact, Derek reached up and flicked the overhead light on, the car flooding with a dim yellow glow above their heads. Basil blinked, the corners of his lips turning up into a half smile, and he bit down on his lower lip like he was trying to keep his grin from going any wider.

  ‘Nervous,’ Derek signed. He didn’t indicate it was a question, but it wasn’t entirely a statement either.

  ‘Me too,’ Basil signed.

  He felt a puff of air escape his lungs, then he reached out and Basil reached back, and they were kissing again. It was a slow dance between them, awkward with the console pressing into his stomach as he leaned over as far as he could go, but feeling Basil’s warm hands on his shoulders, holding him steady and keeping the little space between them from growing, it felt right.

  ‘Inside,’ Derek spelled with his fingers after they pulled away. Basil nodded, and Derek got out, leading him over the walkway and to his front door.

  The key in the lock sounded like a gunshot in the profound silence, and he was hit with the all-too familiar scent of drying paint and old coffee. He turned to apologize, but Basil’s gaze was drifting around the room, taking it all in.

  Derek had always been a minimalist, even long before he left home. Growing up, he never had to clean, his father had employed a housekeeper to do the fine tuning, so their place always looked like a show-room. His bedroom had never contained any of him in it, just the things his father wanted to present to the world, even if no one ever saw it. Derek often wondered if it was simply to convince him and Sage of the people they should be instead of the people they were.

  Part of him wished his father was in his right mind now, so when Derek stood in front of him in his glory—inked up and pierced and everything he was told he was never allowed to be—his father would be able to absorb the impact of it. But it was what it was.

  He approached Basil, who was standing in front of three canvases which were hanging to set the varnish, and he let his shoulder gently rub along the other man’s. When Basil looked, Derek shrugged. ‘New,’ he signed.

  Basil nodded slowly. He reached out, letting his finger drift along the corner of the canvas where Derek would eventually paint a black coating to give it a frame, and his face softened into something sweet and understanding. ‘Beautiful.’

  Derek turned and studied the painting. He never really considered his art in terms of beautiful or ugly. He never really wanted to qualify or quantify his work, because he could show it to a thousand people—a million people, even—and only get a handful of similar opinions. The only thing that mattered was that it represented what he saw when he closed his eyes.

  These paintings were simple—dream-like images of his past when he was a child and he and Sage would sneak off during their stay in Missouri. His mother and father had purchased a little cottage on the banks of the Lake of the Ozarks when they were six. They hired a full-time caretaker for the place, who looked after the cottage and his father’s hunting dogs.

  Derek and Sage would sneak off into the woods and explore and feel how different it was there to anywhere else they had ever been. Growing up in New York, he understood profoundly the term Concrete Jungle, but it never really made sense until he had something to compare it to. There were trees everywhere, vines growing up out of the earth, wrapping around thick, brown trunks. Moss covered the ground, fallen leaves making a cushion for when one of them climbed to a low branch and fell.

  Derek discovered a cluster of trees with branches so close together, they made a hammock between them. His father had been angry one day when Derek was thirteen, the year after his mother died. He’d been frustrated by a phone call Derek had been around for, but he’d taken his temper out on Derek with the edge of his thick leather belt. Derek rested his welte
d back against those soft branches and spent hours watching the sun through the leaves make strange shapes. He laid there for hours until Sage found him and talked him home.

  He didn’t think about that trip for years, but right after he met Basil, right after he knew Basil was someone he wanted and didn’t think he could have, he dreamt of that day. He closed his eyes and saw those shapes and felt a promise of a life he didn’t think would ever be his. Now it was, and the thought almost brought him to his knees.

  ‘You okay?’ Basil asked after touching his arm to get his attention.

  Derek cleared his throat, then turned to him. ‘Yes,’ he signed, his wrist hurting just a little from work. ‘Yes, I’m fine. These are a memory from my childhood. We had a cottage in Missouri, and we would stay there some summers. It was nice before my mother died.’ He licked his lips, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling for a second before looking back at the other man. ‘I’m happy you’re here.’

  Basil’s eyes seemed to glow at that, and although he didn’t smile, there was something about his lips that spoke of a shared joy. He stepped closer and his hands came out to touch again, and Derek let him. Derek stepped into him and let himself feel every second of that impact.

  So few people had touched him with tenderness in his life, and this was almost too much. It was like the softness was painful in a way, but he didn’t want to let it go. His hook-ups before had been quick and dirty, never shameful—he’d never let himself feel like that about who he was and what he wanted—but they’d never been kind. Biting kisses when he let himself be kissed, and harsh thrusts and stinging pain.

  But never this. Never a soft mouth at the hinge of his jaw threatening to bring him to both climax and tears. His breath stuttered and shook in his chest, even as he dragged his hands down Basil’s arms and linked their fingers together.

  He gently tugged him, his chin jutting toward the bedroom and Basil let himself be led away. The walk felt like it took a hundred years, and yet not time at all, and suddenly they were in the dim room with the door closed, and Basil had Derek pressed against the wood behind him. The door knob dug into the small of his back, but he didn’t notice it. How could he, when Basil’s hands were suddenly everywhere, scrambling for every inch of skin he could reach.

  With the faintest groan, Basil shoved his thigh between Derek’s spread legs, gently pushing upward as his lips closed around his stretched lobe. His tongue toyed with the ring inside, giving sudden sensation to skin he’d long-since thought was numb. His eyes rolled back, head falling until it thudded against the door, and he ground down on the heavy weight of Basil’s leg holding him up.

  ‘Bed.’ Basil had to sign it three times before it registered, but when it did, Derek nodded frantically and pushed him back the ten steps before they fell onto the unmade covers. The sheets beneath them were cool, soothing to his overheated skin, and he suddenly felt choked by his clothes.

  The sensation lasted only seconds, though, because Basil immediately got to work. He pulled at zips, yanking at buttons, stripping away fabric from both of them until it was just hot, slightly tacky skin pressed together as their mouths melded again.

  It was a strange thing, not saying anything, knowing that his groans were felt and not heard. He was profoundly aware of what Basil’s hand was doing as it rested on his throat when he gave a particularly loud moan, and part of him wished he could block his ears to experience it that way.

  “Fuck,” he breathed, unable to help voicing aloud as Basil’s other hand snaked between them and cupped his balls. His fingers were gentle but insistent as they rolled his soft flesh, palming their heavy weight in his hands. He was already close—too close for comfort—but he found he couldn’t care. He was here, finally, with the man he’d wanted for weeks and weeks and it was happening.

  “Uhng,” Basil groaned. His voice was rich and deep, muted but so absolutely perfect in the silence of the room that it made Derek’s head spin. Basil shoved at him until they were lying side by side, facing each other, and Basil had a hand around both their dicks.

  Derek reached behind him, a fumbling hand until he got his nightstand drawer open and pulled out the lube. It was barely used—his night anxiety making it difficult to rub one out successfully and he’d stopped trying a long time ago. But that was the furthest thing from his mind right then. When he slicked his palm and coated both their cocks, all he could think about was Basil touching him again.

  He didn’t have to wait long as a warm palm closed around him and began a furious rhythm. His stomach clenched, balls already going tight with anticipation, and it was all he could do to reciprocate. Basil carefully grabbed him by the wrist and tugged his hand over his hip, down between his cheeks, and Derek’s breath stuttered in his throat as he realized what Basil was asking for.

  He looked down at Basil’s eyes, almost all pupil, mouth slightly open, cheeks red as he panted and thrust his hips back against Derek’s hand. ‘Please,’ he mouthed.

  Derek circled one finger around his hole as he felt Basil thrust their dicks together, the sensation almost distracting. But he wanted this to be good for the other man, wanted to give him every single reason and more to come back, to do this again and again until they simply became part of each other’s lives without wondering if this time was the last time.

  He pushed the tip of his first finger inside Basil’s impossibly tight hole, and Basil let out a deep, heavy moan, his body vibrating with it. He fucked himself backward, Derek’s finger slipping in even deeper, and Derek felt his orgasm starting to crest. His dick throbbed, and Basil’s hand tightened over him, stroking faster.

  “I’m,” Derek said aloud. Basil’s eyes were frantically moving between Derek’s cock and his mouth, like he didn’t want to miss a second of anything. “I’m,” Derek said again.

  Basil nodded, and sped up, and fucked against Derek’s hand until suddenly Derek’s vision whited out and his mouth opened in a silent cry. His entire body seized, pleasure shooting from his core, into every limb, making him go almost numb for a second as he felt himself spilling and spilling over Basil’s hand.

  He came back to himself in fits and bursts, realizing he’d somehow managed to slip two fingers inside of Basil now, and was fucking him with a slow rhythm as Basil stroked his own cock. Derek’s eyes fixed down at the motion, unable to look away. He saw the tension rising in Basil, the way the muscles in his arms bulged, looking up to see the pulse in his neck beating against the skin.

  Basil groaned again, and then huffed, then cried out louder than Derek expected to hear as he fell back and came. He splattered his stomach with it, the dark curls going sticky and off-white, and his hand slowed down, knuckles a mess from the both of them.

  Derek’s breathing began to return to normal as he gently pulled himself out of Basil’s ass and laid his hand flat on the mattress. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, overwhelmed with the sensation to kiss Basil, to hold him, to keep him there because he’d had this now and he didn’t want to lose it. He couldn’t. It would wreck him.

  He became aware of the silence in the room, nothing more than the soft breathing between them, and the gentle hum of electricity somewhere in the front room of the apartment. Derek was still frozen in his position, halfway over Basil, staring down at him when Basil’s dark eyes came open and their gazes locked.

  After a moment, Basil’s mouth stretched into a grin. ‘Hey,’ he mouthed.

  Derek couldn’t help it. His head fell into the crook of Basil’s neck and he laughed, the sound far too loud for him right then, but he was helpless against it. Happiness was flooding through him, and he knew logically it had everything to do with the orgasm, but it also had to do with the fact that for the first time, a moment like this felt right, and good. He laid several open-mouthed kisses to the warm crook of Basil’s neck simply because he couldn’t help it.

  When he pulled back, Basil was watching him, a small grin still turning his lips up. He lifted his clean hand to Derek’s face a
nd brushed his hair back, dragging his fingers down his nose, scratching at his stubble. He went lower, to the ink on his shoulder, tracing the old, slightly faded lines of the face on his left shoulder.

  Derek gently fell onto his back, Basil following him, propping up on his elbow to watch him. He didn’t stop touching, his finger now tracing the word etched along his forearm. Sinner.

  When their eyes locked, Basil raised his hand. ‘Why?’ he signed. ‘Gay?’ He signed the word, thumb and forefinger touching his chin before he spelled it to make sure Derek understood.

  Derek shook his head. ‘No.’ He considered it, then spelled, ‘Irony.’ He struggled, but he wanted Basil to understand him. ‘My father,’ he began in painfully slow motions, ‘hated me. Everything about me was bad.’

  ‘No,’ Basil told him, his face going stony.

  Derek shook his head. ‘I know. Now, I know. But when I was a kid, he said I was bad. He hated me. Hated this,’ he tapped his hand over his heart, then at his temple. ‘My mind. Hated where I came from. Hated my mother. Jewish,’ he spelled.

  Basil swallowed thickly. ‘Jewish,’ he spelled, then offered the sign and pointed to himself.

  ‘My father was catholic,’ he told him. ‘Just one more thing to hate me for. He said I was born a sinner. So, I took that identity back.’ He brushed his hand down along the word. It had been a long time since he hated himself for what he was, a long time since he’d let himself believe anything his father had told him. He didn’t love his PTSD, or his sleepless nights, or moments when he was so overwhelmed with his brain that he couldn’t leave the house. But he didn’t hate himself.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ Basil told him.

  Derek flushed, which felt ridiculous considering what they’d just done. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry my signing is slow.’

  Basil shook his head, a fierce look coming over his face. ‘No. I want you to understand how much this meant to me.’