Safe House

by Charley Descoteaux

  Not that it’s any of my business.

  Bran suppressed a blush, but only pulled it off because most of his blood had pooled into his lap the first time Kyle touched him. As soon as their table was served, last (one of the drawbacks of being friends with the proprietors), Bran noticed immediately that Kyle was not a lefty. If he wasn’t careful, their elbows would be knocking together all through the meal—which also had probably been scripted by Nathan. Paulie too, if Bran knew him at all. They really were shameless.

  It would be a shame to disappoint them.

  He decided to let Nathan’s plan unfold as he’d envisioned it, so he stopped being careful about where his left elbow went while he ate. A gentle nudge against Kyle’s arm earned Bran a smile. If that smile made Bran sigh, it just as easily could’ve been the food. If anyone was paying attention.

  It sounds and feels like sex waiting to happen in this room anyway.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  The rest of the meal passed quickly and with surprisingly little conversation around the table. Bran guessed the rest of the men were so at ease with each other as longtime friends that a silent meal didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the man beside him, and thoughts of how he could get him alone, Bran would have been far less comfortable with the silence. He was used to directing the flow of any scene he found himself in, or at least making a good show of it, but tonight he wasn’t accomplishing that. He devoured the heavenly food and told himself there would be time to take control of the situation later.

  When everyone had finished their quesadillas and chili, which sounded simple but tasted delightfully complex, Nathan stood again. Bran had been attracted to Nathan since the first time he laid eyes on him, but right then he found his fascination had dulled to a simple appreciation for his beauty and sense of style. He would have been happier focusing his attention on the man beside him, but Kyle wasn’t the one delicately clinking his knife against the rim of a wineglass.

  “Derek, that was heavenly, darling. Thank you for a lovely meal.” Nathan smiled in the direction of the kitchen, and all heads turned to look at the chef—happy and handsome, he also looked tired and a little bit wilted. Not surprising. If everything Bran had heard about Guest Chef Night was true, he’d even made the tortillas from scratch. Considering the full dining room had a capacity of thirty-five, that meant a bit of work.

  The diners all applauded. Someone near Bran whistled—not at full volume, but enough to be heard over the applause and smattering of cheers. He could’ve sworn it was Kyle, but since all Bran could see was the back of his head, he couldn’t be sure.

  When the noise level began to taper off, Nathan cleared his throat and drew the spotlight back to himself. “Once all the tables have been cleared, we’ll start the dessert course. Buñuelos are traditionally served with hot chocolate, so we have that. If you’d rather get your party started faster, we also have Trato Hechos—a fruity, spicy drink with mescal. Choose your poison, men, but if you drink, please don’t drive.” Nathan winked in Bran’s direction, and even though a groan or two was audible from the dining room, his smile didn’t falter. “No need to fret, gents. We have a designated driver and a van that seats about ten—a dozen if you’re friendly—leaving at eight for dancing in Lincoln City!”

  Bran started to worry that he’d already had too much to drink when he pulled his attention from Nathan and realized their table had been cleared and fresh plates set. Servers descended on the room with drinks—steamy mugs on one tray and pitchers with light greenish drinks in martini glasses on the others—filling the room with the aromas of chocolate and pineapple. Brandon took a mug, as did everyone at the table except the two new guys.

  Paulie laughed his infectious laugh. “You two are incorrigible. Do you plan on remembering any of this weekend?”

  The smaller of the two men, delicate, with pale skin and auburn hair and fingertips stained black—Garrett—laughed and raised his glass. “Not if I can help it.”

  Before anyone could comment, the kitchen doors opened again and flooded the room with such cinnamony goodness that all conversation stopped. The servers worked even faster than before, leaving plates with three crispy circles stacked like pancakes and dusted with powdered sugar.

  “Oh, God, I love these.” Paulie sighed and picked up his fork even before his plate arrived. “Be careful, they’ll be hot.”

  Bran watched as their desserts arrived, catching a whiff of something fruity along with the cinnamon. He’d just taken a bite when a warm hand clasped his shoulder. He jerked in surprise and turned to find Derek standing between him and Kyle, a hand on each of their shoulders.

  “What do you guys think? Ever had a tortilla cookie before?”

  Bran shook his head. “Good. The whole meal has been delicious.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Derek grinned and might have pulled Kyle closer but might not have.

  Which is none of my business.

  Bran wanted to say something more, to show his appreciation and maybe not seem so much the stereotypical plodding hick, but he didn’t get the chance. Derek dropped a kiss onto the top of Kyle’s head and then sped around the table doing the same for the rest of the Portland family before moving farther into the room to mingle. Bran watched as he worked the room, chatting with almost everyone and basking in the well-deserved kudos aimed in his direction.

  The buñuelos disappeared in moments, crispy little cinnamon bombs with sugar and sugary syrup that Bran thought meant an extra workout or two so they wouldn’t show on his gut. Then the dining room started to clear.

  Kyle turned to Bran for the first time since they’d started eating and looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you going into town?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it. You?”

  Kyle shrugged, an elegant gesture that sent a shiver down Brandon’s spine. “I’ll save the van space for paying guests.”

  Bran didn’t point out that he hadn’t seen Kyle drink one drop of alcohol. He could barely form the thought while captured by Kyle’s gorgeous dark eyes. It took a few beats too long, but he finally recovered enough to speak. “I haven’t had anything to drink—” He checked his watch. “—for almost an hour. If you wanted to go dancing, you could ride with me.”

  “Sounds good. I need to work off some of this food.”

  Bran didn’t want to seem overeager, but he did fold his napkin and place it beside his plate. When he uncovered his lap, his dick seemed to take that as a signal that it was game time and jerked to life. More than one way to work off extra calories.

  “Let me run upstairs first?”

  “Sure.” Bran wasn’t able to keep his eyes from roaming to the tempting tan skin at Kyle’s throat, exposed in the open vee of his shirt.

  They both stood and said their see-you-laters to everyone else at the table. Bran pointedly ignored the look of triumph on Paulie’s face and the questions on Chase and Garrett’s.

  As they headed for the lobby, Kyle said, “I’m in room eight.” And if he hadn’t meant the invitation Bran heard, someone was about to be very embarrassed.

  Bran stood in the lobby as Kyle mounted the stairs, his heart pounding at the view of Kyle’s trim but round ass. He waited there as long as he could, not more than a moment or two, and then followed. His knock on the door of room eight was met with silence and then slow footsteps. The door opened slowly, revealing a slightly startled Kyle.

  They stood and looked at each other for what felt like a long time. Kyle’s eyes seemed a little wide. Either he was surprised, or….

  This isn’t appropriate. I’ll just—

  Before Bran could tell himself to apologize and leave, Kyle stepped aside, opening the door a little wider. Bran realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out in an audible sigh as he stepped into the room.

  Kyle closed the door without a sound and turned to face Bran. Bran felt the tingle of embarrassment starting at the back of his neck until
his gaze swept down Kyle’s body and back up to his face. Kyle’s pink lips glistened in the low light of the room, parted invitingly as though he’d just licked them, and maybe another button on his shirt had been undone.

  After a short moment of indecision, Bran moved toward Kyle. His hands closed around Kyle’s upper arms as Kyle bent his head to meet Bran’s lips in a kiss. The chocolate and cinnamon from dessert made it hard to taste the man beneath, so Bran slipped his tongue into his mouth. In response, Kyle molded his body to Bran’s, moaning softly as he wrapped both arms around Bran and squeezed. Bran ran his palms over Kyle’s silky shirt and down to his ass, pulling him even closer as he deepened the kiss.

  Both were breathing hard by the time they came up for air, bodies trembling, the room starting to smell like men at work. Kyle pulled Bran’s shirt free of his slacks and snaked both hands up underneath it. They were soft and cool on Bran’s heated skin. Thinking only about getting down to skin and feeling that long, lean body against his, Bran went to work on the buttons of his shirt. It was as soft as Bran had guessed, but not as soft as the skin underneath it. When the last button was opened, Bran pushed the shirt from Kyle’s shoulders and buried his face in the crook of his neck. The scent of Kyle filled Bran’s head with more need than he expected, freezing him in place.

  Kyle made quick work of Bran’s shirt and had undone both of their belts and zippers before Bran could think past that intoxicating scent. He found himself moving back toward the unmade bed, Kyle’s hands roaming over his shoulders and chest, soft but appreciative sounds coming from his parted lips.

  “Oh, fuck….” Bran surprised himself by groaning that out loud. He couldn’t believe he was about to get lucky with Kyle Shimoda. Sure, it was what he wanted, but Kyle was so far out of his league he hadn’t thought it would really happen, even with the flirting.

  Bran let Kyle push him down onto the bed, and they watched each other toe off shoes and struggle out of pant legs. It would have been easier if they’d watched what they were doing, but for himself, Bran couldn’t have torn his eyes away if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t. He had no intention of wasting one moment of this hookup on something as inconsequential as getting undressed a few seconds faster. If his burning need was any indication, it would be over far too quickly anyway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hard.

  Kyle stood in front of Bran for a short moment, his lean chest rising and falling fast, his long, slim cock bobbing with each movement. Then he crawled up and onto Bran, pushing him farther onto the bed and onto his back at the same time. Stronger than he looks… yes….

  Bran shivered and fought to keep from crying out as Kyle stretched out on top of him, gently rubbing the length of their bodies together. Even with four or five inches of height on him, Kyle’s body fit well with his, connecting in all the right places.

  He knows how to use that body, no doubts there.

  They seemed to move into a kiss at the same time, Bran’s hand cupping Kyle’s jaw as Kyle’s hips found a rhythm against his. Bran gave up control, but not for long. He couldn’t help himself—he rolled them over, trapping their cocks together between their sweaty bodies as he pinned Kyle to the bed beneath him. Bran moved his lips down across Kyle’s chin, over his throat, and back to the spot where his neck met his shoulders. The practiced move earned him a sweet moan and a muscled leg curling around his waist.

  Kyle buried a hand in Bran’s hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips, sending tingles down his spine. “Fuck me, Bran.”

  The combination of the command—because it wasn’t a mere request—and the shortened version of his name spiked Bran’s desire so fast it felt like a cramp. Nobody had called him Bran for a long time—at least not in the breathy way Kyle had just done. Kyle moaned again, a wordless plea. Bran opened his mouth to answer at the same time Kyle grabbed his ass and squeezed. Bran was already resting most of his weight on Kyle’s body, but with that squeeze Kyle pulled, throwing Bran off-balance. Unable to hold himself up, Bran fell, and the sudden weight against Kyle’s chest forced out a sound that tugged at more than Bran’s cock—he felt the soft cry reverberate in Kyle’s body and shake his own. Kyle sounded vulnerable, needy. His wasn’t the voice of a man only interested in a quick hookup. Stunned, Bran couldn’t react right away. He was too busy trying to figure out whether the sound had been more pain or pleasure… or the something else he’d thought he heard.

  Bran’s head cleared enough to realize he might be making it difficult for Kyle to breathe, and he quickly got his knee back under himself. He pulled back to check Kyle’s face for actual pain, but what he saw caught him off guard, shaking his resolve to make this a quick fuck and nothing more. Kyle’s expression was glazed, but he wasn’t unthinking behind it—just the opposite. His eyes seemed to blaze with an interest Bran almost wanted to see, something he hadn’t seen in anyone’s eyes since he and Tim had been together. Something he had been longing to see and thought he never would. To say it confused Bran about his objective for the evening—not to mention scaring the hell out of him—would have been a massive understatement.

  Bran’s gaze traveled over Kyle’s handsome face as he tried to decipher what it might mean, what he might be thinking… and then Kyle pushed against Bran’s shoulder.

  “The drawer—either side, top drawer.” Kyle slipped out from under Bran and stood in a fluid, graceful motion. He pulled the top drawer of the bedside table open and got a condom and a small bottle of lube.

  Bran tried not to feel disappointed. Kyle had been thinking of getting the supplies and getting fucked, not about—well, it wasn’t worth articulating, not even in his head. Bran stood and took Kyle’s hand, but Kyle didn’t let go of the supplies like Bran thought he would. Instead he dropped to his knees and wrapped the long, slender fingers of his other hand around Bran’s cock. Widening his stance so he wouldn’t topple back onto the bed, Bran watched as Kyle slowly licked the swollen head and sucked it into his mouth.

  “God, that feels good.” Bran’s voice sounded even rougher than usual, harsh with desire, with the effort it took to keep himself from grabbing Kyle’s head and fucking his sweet mouth, his lips still swollen from kissing. It had been so long since he had felt anything in another man’s touch beyond the need to get off, but he had felt it in the past, so he should be able to identify it. He pushed those thoughts away again and palmed Kyle’s shoulder, the soft heat of his skin making Bran’s knees weak.

  Kyle took him deep, all the way to the back of his throat, once, twice—and when Bran thought his legs would buckle, Kyle pulled away. He sat back on his heels and locked eyes with Bran, one hand slowly stroking Bran’s dick. Then Kyle ripped the condom open with his teeth and rolled it on, never quite stopping his rhythmic stroking. When Kyle stood, another graceful move that almost made Bran swoon, he also somehow opened the lube without Bran noticing, because the hand that was gripping him turned slick. Bran felt hard plastic against his palm and grabbed the lube bottle by reflex.

  Awareness was something Bran would have had to work at, and he wasn’t willing to do that. It was already taking a startling amount of energy to keep from popping off before he’d even gotten the chance to dive into Kyle’s lovely ass.

  Kyle slipped around Bran and rested one knee on the bed. After a quick glance behind him, he dropped forward onto his hands. Bran’s breath hitched in his chest as Kyle moved his legs apart and pitched his ass into the air. So beautiful.

  Tentatively, Bran ran a hand over the smooth skin on Kyle’s ass. Grasping his hip with the other hand, Bran slipped his slick hand between Kyle’s legs, over his balls and down the length of his shaft.

  “Yeah. Fuck me. Please….”

  Bran circled Kyle’s hole with his slippery fingers, an inelegant grunt escaping when Kyle pushed back against his hand. Despite his best efforts, things progressed rapidly from there. Bran barely had time to prep Kyle before he was bucking against Bran’s hand and begging to be fucked. Brandon slowly pushe
d the head of his cock inside Kyle, only to have Kyle lean back and practically impale himself, both of them crying out in unison.

  “Oh, God yes.” Kyle’s voice shook. “Harder.”

  Bran gripped Kyle’s hips, planning to slow things down and try to make it last, but somehow he found himself pounding into Kyle’s tight heat while Kyle kept up a string of dirty talk as surprising as it was charming. Also surprising, Bran had to direct his thoughts away from the sexy younger man before he shot off too soon. That wasn’t easy, because Kyle kept encouraging him to go faster and harder and couldn’t stop talking about how great Bran’s big fat dick felt pounding into his ass. For the past few years, the reverse had been true—Bran usually had to think about something sexier than his partner du jour to have any hope of getting off before the other man got off, got bored, and left—but with Kyle, he might blow at any second.

  After another few minutes of holding Kyle’s hips in his hands, fucking his delectable ass, Bran realized they’d traveled halfway across the bed and he’d ended up resting on Kyle’s body again. He made a move to lift himself, and Kyle lifted to match him. Bran gripped Kyle’s cock. As soon as his hand closed around it, Kyle’s toned, slender body tensed, his back arching as he climaxed. Bran wanted to watch—he’s so beautiful, every move and sound—but Kyle’s ass grinding into him was too much to think around. Bran cried out as he pumped into the condom, his arms tightening around Kyle.

  THEY MUST have collapsed onto the bed after coming, but the next thing Bran was aware of was waking up with Kyle in his arms. Bran had softened and slipped out of the warmth of Kyle’s body, and the condom felt cool and slimy against his thigh. Kyle didn’t seem to mind, though. He slept—deeply, by the sound and rhythm of his breathing—the little spoon to Bran’s big spoon. The last thing Bran wanted was to let go, but the condom needed to be dealt with, so Bran slipped from the bed and into the bathroom.