by E M Lindsey
Miguel flushed, but nodded. “Can I take your jeans off now or do you want me to wait until later? I want you to be comfortable.”
Amit dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, then sighed and took a step back, just out of reach. “Um. Now but…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and it was only the fact that his preferred language required eye-contact even in the most awkward moments that he was able to hold Miguel’s gaze. “I’m wearing uh. Panties.”
He didn’t miss the way Miguel’s eyes widened, or the way his pupils dilated, or how his hands shook a bit. “Like the other night? At the supermarket?”
Amit felt heat erupt from his belly, straight up his neck. “You…you saw…”
“They were red lace,” Miguel admitted. He took a step closer, and Amit realized he had no room to step back, not that he wanted to. Not really. “They hugged your ass—I could only see the tops when you bent down, but I got home and pictured peeling you out of your jeans, running my mouth over your cock as it stretched the lace. I came harder than I have in years.”
“Shit,” Amit gasped, and he stepped into Miguel’s outstretched hands without hesitation. He knew, logically, that someday he might have a partner that understood his needs and accepted them, but to find someone who actively wanted it the way Miguel seemed to…it was too good to be true. And yet, it was impossible to deny. Not with the way Miguel managed to get his button and zipper undone, jeans halfway to his knees.
There was no way to misinterpret Miguel’s expression of raw want and desire when his gaze roved over Amit’s erection, which was straining the blue panties almost beyond their capability. The lace was stretched so thin, he could see the outline of his head, a circle of the fabric dark blue from his precome, which had been leaking steadily since Miguel touched him at the club.
“This color is perfect on you,” Miguel said. He ghosted the tips of his fingers over Amit’s bulge. He was so sensitive, so primed and ready for touch, he groaned and thrust up against Miguel’s hand, chasing friction. “Can I,” he stopped and let out a shuddering breath. “Can I play with you?”
“Yes,” Amit said. He went a little boneless as Miguel urged him to the bed, laying him out carefully before removing his jeans the rest of the way. He was still clothed, his own erection pushing hard at the seam of his pants, but he didn’t pay it any mind.
He drank Amit’s form in starving waves with his gaze, roaming up and down, zeroing in on his erection before looking back to his face. He pressed his scarred hand to Amit’s hip while his other dragged a line with blunt nails from the center of his sternum, right to the edge of the panties. He dug his fingers into the elastic like he might pull them off, but instead he let it snap back.
Amit startled, gasped, the feeling electric and not quite painful. His hands twisted in the sheets as Miguel dragged his fingers lower, tracing around his erection before dipping his head in low and mouthing at his aching dick.
“I can’t wait to feel this inside me. I want…god, I want you so bad I can taste it. Do you want to fuck me, Amit?”
Amit thrust against Miguel’s face, his moan almost a half-sob as Miguel’s open mouth suckled at him, like he was drawing the weeping come from the end of his dick. “Please,” he breathed out. His voice was so breathy, he wasn’t sure he was making any sounds at all, but Miguel seemed to understand.
With some reluctance, he pushed past the elastic and curled his hand around it. He gave Amit a look of devastating want, then carefully freed his dick. He didn’t pull the panties all the way off, instead letting then nestle behind his dick, cupping his balls. He massaged them with a light touch through the fabric, then surged up to kiss Amit, deep and slowly.
“Is this okay? Like this? I want you to wear them when you fuck me,” Miguel murmured against his mouth.
Amit caught enough of the words to fill in the rest, and he twisted his fingers into Miguel’s shirt, nodding almost frantically. “Yes. Will you ride me?”
Miguel groaned, kissing him by way of answer before he sat up and began to undress. It took him a bit longer than it might have someone else, his shaking fingers making his work difficult, but it wasn’t long before he stood at the edge of the bed, his large cock standing proud, fist wrapped around it in a slow stroke.
Amit licked his lips, then climbed to his knees, shuffling to the edge of the bed so he could get his hands on the other man. He dragged his palms up Miguel’s hairy thighs, then cupped his hips and leaned in to nose along the other man’s erection. He smelled musky and a little sweet from soap, and Amit couldn’t stop himself from opening up his mouth to taste.
He felt Miguel thicken more against his tongue, felt fingers brush through his hair as he opened his throat and let the other man fuck his mouth for a few shallow thrusts. When he pulled back, his jaw felt stretched, and he looked up to see Miguel watching him, eyes heavy with desire, mouth pulled into a thin line.
“Do you still want,” Miguel started to say.
Amit realized what Miguel was worried about and he pushed all the way up, hands reaching for Miguel’s shoulders. “I still want to fuck you.” One hand drifted down his back, brushing over thick ropes of scarring, down to his ass. He parted his cheeks, the pad of his finger brushing through his whorls of hair to his pucker, which twitched under the light pressure. “I want to be inside you.”
Miguel let out a whoosh of air, letting his forehead fall against Amit’s shoulder. He mumbled something far too low for Amit to catch, then his face turned and he sucked gently at the spot just below Amit’s ear. “On my back, okay?” he asked, loud enough now.
Amit nodded. “Whatever you want.”
Miguel groaned, then peeled himself away, only to move around Amit and fall with his back to the mattress. His body language made it clear this was something he had either denied himself, or been denied, in the past, and Amit ached for him. It wasn’t a far leap to see Miguel’s wants rejected, his desires mocked, and he hated it. He wanted to give Miguel everything he’d ever craved in a partner.
He caught the sight of the lube and condoms resting at the edge of the bed, and he put one knee down between Miguel’s spread thighs as he took the bottle in his hands. He snapped the lid open with the edge of his thumb, then ran his hand up Miguel’s leg, cupping his balls. They were heavy against his palm, his dick twitching when he gave them a gentle squeeze, then he dragged his hand away to drizzle lube on his finger.
He was generous with it, determined to make this good, to make it perfect. Miguel had his eyes squeezed shut, his right arm behind his head, his left twisted in the sheets. He was a portrait of anticipation—for agony or pleasure, it was hard to tell—but it was fucking beautiful. Taking a breath, Amit adjusted his position, then swirled a finger around Miguel’s waiting pucker.
He couldn’t hear it, but he saw the way Miguel’s chest twitched as he sucked in a breath, then saw it leave his lungs in a silent shudder. Amit bit down on his lower lip, then pushed in. There was resistance, and a little bit of fear in Miguel’s expression, but it quickly faded into want. Miguel’s hips twitched down, urging Amit on, and he didn’t waste time after that. He fucked him slow with the first finger, then a little harder with the second. By the time he got three fingers inside, Miguel was babbling and begging, a red flush making his neck stand out against the white sheets.
Amit was probably too close to the edge and he worried that the second he slipped inside it would be over, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted Miguel too fucking much. As he moved to slip the condom on, he became profoundly aware that he was still in his panties, the stretch of lace in front of his balls now front and center. He let his free hand reach around back to drag along where the lace stretched over his ass, and he used his other hand to position his cock at Miguel’s entrance.
“You ready for me?” Amit asked.
Miguel’s mouth moved, but Amit couldn’t tell if any sound came out. He nodded though, which was enough for Amit, and he took Miguel’s legs behind his
knees, pushed them toward his chest, and thrust home. It took a minute, short, stuttered movements to bury himself, but then he was in. His lace-covered balls pressed against Miguel’s ass, and the feeling of it was so fucking erotic, so intense, he almost lost it right there.
“God,” he gasped, rocking forward, circling his hips. “God, I’m so…I can’t…”
Miguel lifted onto his elbows, looking Amit right in the eye. “I want to feel you come.”
Amit’s breath rushed out of him. “I want it to be good for you. I want…”
“It is,” Miguel told him. His hand curled around his cock and he began to stroke it, a furious rhythm that looked borderline painful. “Fuck me, Amit.”
He needed no further encouragement. He gripped Miguel’s legs harder and let himself go. He lasted longer than he expected, the hot heat surrounding him, the slippery glide of lube, the punched-out groans that he could barely hear did enough to drive him close. His thrusts became uneven as he felt his orgasm start to pool in his stomach. His balls twitched, and it was only seconds before Miguel cried out that he lost it.
Somewhere in the haze, he felt Miguel double over, clutching at the back of Amit’s sweaty neck with his right hand while his left finished him off. He was shaking as he kept himself half propped up, the aftershocks rocking him forward until he had nothing left to spill.
He was only half aware of Miguel guiding him down to the bed, and came to with the soft press of skin on his cheek, dragging down to the crook of his neck. He blinked, Miguel’s face coming into focus, and he couldn’t stop his smile.
Miguel looked hesitant only for a moment, then he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Amit’s mouth. “Thank you.”
“Seriously? Thank me?” Amit asked.
Miguel rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yes. Thank you. That was…” He swallowed thickly. “No one has ever wanted to do that with me.”
Amit felt something intense and possessive in his chest, burning, demanding, wanting to be the only. It was far too soon to say anything like that aloud, but he couldn’t stop himself from curling his hand around Miguel’s wrist and pulling it to his lips, kissing the soft skin there. “You were the first person to make me feel brave,” he admitted, his throat a little tight against the words. “At the supermarket, when you saw me with the makeup, I was petrified. But I knew you knew why I was there. My friend found out tonight—he saw the panties when I bent down. If you hadn’t given me that little push the other night, I would have run.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Miguel told him. He cupped Amit’s cheek with his palm, his other hand dragging a finger down his torso. “You’re perfect.”
Amit snorted. “Far from it, trust me.”
Shaking his head, Miguel let out a sigh, but he didn’t try to argue, and Amit knew why. It would be a never-ending battle between them—scars both inside and out. Propping up on his elbow, he tentatively lifted a hand, and when Miguel didn’t flinch away, he traced over a collection of scars near his right nipple. He moved to the other side where two smaller ones sat, round, knotted things that looked different from the rest.
Miguel’s hand closed over his. “I was shot.”
Amit’s brows lifted, his heart thundering for a second from the shock of it. “You were shot? Like…with a gun?”
Miguel’s cheeks went a little dark and he sighed, his head turning away and his eyes closing. “…when I…fourteen…mistake…my dad.” His voice was so soft, Amit could only catch part of it, so he touched his cheek and waited until Miguel’s eyes opened.
“I couldn’t catch that. Can you repeat it?” He appreciated the lack of guilt he felt now when asking, or the fear that Miguel would brush him off and tell him never mind.
“Sorry,” Miguel said. He cleared his throat and turned back to face Amit. “I was kind of a dipshit when I was fourteen. I grew up in a motorcycle club and made a nasty mistake. I tagged along on a run when I wasn’t supposed to, and it went bad. Two stray bullets caught me, and the guys dragged me home and threw me to my dad.”
Amit’s brows furrowed. He knew what motorcycle clubs were, but he’d always been so damn sheltered, they didn’t exist beyond TV or the occasional romance novel he’d binge on quiet weekends. Facing the reality of it was a little more terrifying. “Are you still…?”
Miguel laughed, his smile lighting up his whole face. “Nah. I was never actually patched in, and I was glad to see that shit disappear in my rear view. I went back a couple years ago when my old man died, but there was hardly anyone left.”
“Is that why you have these?” Amit stroked his thumb over the scars on the right side of Miguel’s chest.
Miguel nodded. “My old man was president of the club my mom’s family had been in for generations. But he was a total fuck-up. He was run out after they burned our house down.”
Amit felt his throat tighten. “And you were inside?”
Miguel blew out a puff of air, and even though his face was stern, there was a slight tremble to it. “I was seventeen. They didn’t know I was home. They pulled me out after they heard me screaming. Uh…I was in the hospital for a while, and when I got out, I met my old man up in San Antonio and lived there until I met Martin.”
Amit gently laid his head on the side of Miguel’s chest, and he couldn’t hear his heart, but he could feel it thudding rapidly against his temple and he wondered if it really was possible to outgrow your demons. His own were pressing enough—mostly because he still didn’t have the courage to face them, but he wanted to know it wouldn’t always be this hard.
“Can you hear me alright?” Miguel asked.
Amit nodded against his chest without looking up, putting all of his concentration on the rumble of Miguel’s voice.
“You were brave tonight, and seeing you in that make-up, in those panties, it turned me on. Not because you were in them, but because you had the courage to be yourself. For now, that can be enough.” His hand dug into Amit’s hair and held him there, and Amit let himself sink into the quiet feeling of contentment—even if he knew it wouldn’t last.
Chapter Twelve
Miguel walked into James’ shop the next afternoon, his body still deliciously sore from his night with Amit. His phone had died sometime during the ride over, so he grabbed his charger on the way in.
He could hear the sounds of James working in the back, he was talking but it was only his voice, so Miguel assumed he was on the phone. He slipped behind the desk, finding an outlet, then wandered into the bay where James was leaning against a pickup truck with no tires.
James saw him, giving him a nod, and quickly finished up his conversation. “…by four-thirty tomorrow. Yeah. No, no checks. Cash or card. No, I can’t make an exception. The policy is stated for the…yes. No, ma’am, I know for sure it’s not illegal. Well that’s real nice, but if you want your truck back, you need to pay for it. Have a nice day.”
As he jammed the end-call button, Miguel couldn’t stop his laugh. “That kind of day?”
James rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pushed off the truck. “That kinda month, let me tell you.” He beckoned Miguel over and smiled at him. “Heard you had a real nice night.”
Miguel flushed and shrugged, glancing away. He was no stranger to sex lives being public business. He’d grown up walking into the club bar while someone was getting head, or fucking someone on the pool table, but he’d been closeted for so damn long too, it was hard to remember he was safe.
“Sorry,” James said. “My dang mouth.”
Miguel shook his head and wave off his comment. “It’s fine. I…we had a nice night. I gave him a ride back to his car before I headed over. I…” He took a breath, made himself be brave. “I like him.”
“He’s a good guy,” James said easily. “Been wonderin’ why he hasn’t settled down. Makes sense now. Needed his big bad biker.”
Miguel rolled his eyes at the way James laughed at his own joke, and he followed as the other man led hi
m out of the main bay, across a dirt path, and into a secondary shop with room for one small car. “This is a nice place,” Miguel mused as he took in the equipment. The bike project was in the middle of the floor, the body mostly done, but he could see parts missing and strewn across the floor.
“My uncle had all this property when he died. Only queer one in the family besides me. He got out long a’fore I had the balls, but I think he knew which way I was headed. Left me all this shit when he died.” James waved his hand around in a half-circle.
“So, you’re not at the shop full time?” Miguel said. He wasn’t surprised by that. James and Mat were only occasionally around when Miguel had appointments, and almost always on weekends.
“I thought about it. Still do, from time to time, but I’d probably go out of my damn mind stuck in a chair all day. Need to get my hands dirtier’n’that.”
Miguel smiled at the sound of his accent—the way it crept out sometimes when he was comfortable—or drunk. The night before he’d been full of twangs and slang Miguel had never heard of, and it had been nice. Up until he’d been an idiot and tried to run away.
He snapped out of his thoughts when James beckoned him over, and the pair of them fell into a crouch, James taking up residence on a small stool. He explained his project, his issues, and Miguel scratched his head, then began to toy with some of the parts.
“You got any ideas?” James asked. “I was hopin’ to get this done in the next few weeks.”
“I can probably come up with something,” Miguel said. Truth be told, he’d put together a bike with far more hope and prayer than parts, and had guys running and back on the road. A shop full of whatever he needed—he could probably take care of it.
“You’re a good man,” James said. “I need to get workin’ on that woman’s truck before she busts a capillary, but you holler if you need me. I’ll keep a clock of your time, make sure you get paid.”
Miguel looked up with a frown. “This is a favor.”