Authors: Skylar M. Cates
Ian bent down. He licked just above Cole’s erection, tasting the cum. It made his desire for Cole even greater, made him burn with need. He felt so alive and aware. Cole was his, meant to be his.
And he was Cole’s. The knowledge left him vulnerable, yet there was a sweet edge of happiness at its core. He could not hold his heart separate. He didn’t want to.
Without a word, Ian released his hold on Cole’s cock. He brought his lips to Cole’s erection and took him inside his mouth. He heard Cole’s breath quicken. Ian sucked firmly, bringing Cole easily to the back of his throat, feeling his cockhead pulsing and then start to spasm. Cole began to make the sexiest groans imaginable. Ian teased the underside of his cock with his tongue. His fingertips lightly brushed Cole’s sac.
That was it. Cole convulsed, emptying his balls, his cum shooting down Ian’s throat. The taste was so, so good. Cole was made for him. Ian tasted spurt after spurt of Cole’s cum until Cole ceased shaking. With a wicked grin, Ian ran his tongue over his bottom lip, still tasting Cole there, like manna from heaven. “Beautiful,” he murmured, letting the word float out of his mouth and hang between them. But it was no less than the truth. Cole was beautiful, amazing.
After, Ian kissed a path up Cole’s body. He licked the salty sweat from his skin, licked at the cum. Then he kissed Cole tenderly, a pressing of lips. Ian held him close. Their bodies molded together.
Cole’s gaze softened right before he kissed Ian back. They kissed for a long time, with heat and tenderness. They kissed, Ian hoped, with unspoken love. He’d never made out with somebody after sex this way, but it was wonderful. Cole felt perfect in his arms. Their mouths, at first gentle, soon searched for more. Ian caressed Cole’s chest and nipples. Cole held the back of Ian’s head, occasionally stroking his hair.
Their kissing caused Ian’s entire body to flush. He could go on kissing Cole forever, but soon all Cole’s kisses had Ian’s cock stiffening for more. He wanted him already.
Cole felt his erection and froze in surprise, and then he grinned. “Hot damn, Ian.”
A matching grin spread over Ian’s face. “I believe I made you a promise about being sore.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Ian captured his mouth in another kiss. When it ended, Cole traced Ian’s mouth with his finger.
“Oh yes,” Cole echoed.
Sweetly, Ian nudged Cole back to his stomach and then reached into his nightstand for some lube.
This time Ian didn’t orgasm until he buried himself deep inside Cole, pushing forward as far as possible, giving Cole everything that was in his heart with each thrust, holding him close, loving him far into the night.
L
ATER
I
AN
woke. He examined Cole’s features as he slept beside him. Cole had given himself to Ian in ways that amazed him. He felt Cole’s faith in him, and Ian didn’t want anything to jeopardize that fragile trust. He thumbed Cole’s lower lip gently, and Cole sighed in his sleep.
A pang of uncertainty coursed through him. Was keeping what he knew about Brendan’s long-lost brother a mistake? Or was it protecting Cole from further hurt? Usually Ian instinctively understood the right thing to do and acted accordingly. But here, with Cole, the right thing seemed inscrutable.
Cole excited him and thrilled him, but that very thing scared Ian too. Cole heated his heart and melted his brain.
Ian shifted. He had never felt so exposed before. He wanted Cole more than he’d ever wanted anyone. Ian did not want an hour or a day—he wanted it all. But it had never occurred to him that wanting somebody this intensely could open him up to heartache.
He rested his hand in Cole’s hair and stroked the dark locks away from his forehead.
“Don’t turn from me. And I’ll never turn away from you.” His words trembled with the depth of his promise.
H
E
WAS
sore. Achingly, deliciously sore. As Cole worked his shift the next night at It’s Five O’clock Somewhere, it was all he could do not to wince as he bent down. A smile lingered on his face. Tomorrow, after their planned date, Cole anticipated making Ian equally sore.
He couldn’t wait for their big night. For a split second, he thought about telling Brendan about his excitement at going down to Miami with Ian, because Brendan was the one Cole always shared all his big news with first… before reality knocked him back.
It was like that, the grief came in waves. He would be happy, and then he’d think of something he’d like to tell Brendan, like today, and the sadness would crash over him. But other times he remembered Brendan’s laugh, the way he’d nearly hiccup when something struck him as particularly funny, and he’d smile too.
He wished he could help River find some happiness. He had retreated from them all. River was working all day and holed away in Brendan’s old room at night.
“It’s not healthy,” Cole had worried to Tomas.
“No. But give him a little more time. If he doesn’t come out of his shell soon, we’ll confront him.”
They all agreed to leave River small gifts. Cole gave him a book on motorcycles titled
A Hundred Motorcycles for the Decade
that he’d spotted at Barnes & Noble. He cut down on a few shifts too, and tried to spend time with River, but he gave up on that when River avoided him. Tomas did River’s laundry for him when it piled too high and changed his bedding. Marc cooked him meals, when Marc bothered to be around. He did make River his favorite sourdough bread from scratch. Cole caught him punching and shaping the dough that day, but Marc wasn’t one for discussing River’s situation. He simply greased a pan and let his dough speak for him.
Even Sandy tried. He attempted to talk with River, but Sandy had barely known River before he moved in, and River’s pain and fury clearly scared him. Cole couldn’t blame Sandy for that. River usually stood there, towering over Sandy, his arms locked at his elbows, as Sandy bravely attempted small talk.
They all respected River’s right to grieve, but enough was enough already. The problem was every minute Cole had waited now seemed too long. River had built too high a wall, blocking everybody out, and when Cole did try to discuss Brendan with him, finally, the look on River’s face soon had him retreating.
W
HEN
I
AN
knocked on their door for their date, Cole wasn’t ready. He struggled to decide what to wear. He finally settled on a black shirt and slacks. He figured he couldn’t go wrong in black.
“Hello.”
“Hey, yourself.” Cole knew he was grinning goofily at Ian, but he couldn’t help it.
Ian’s gaze skimmed his body. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You look good too.”
It was true. Ian dressed nicely. He was more casual tonight than usual, his feet clad in soft moccasins, but never had Cole seen Ian in a sloppy T-shirt and jeans. He wondered if Ian even owned any. Cole used to view that as a sign of Ian’s snobbiness, but lately he appreciated a well-dressed man. Ian’s tan pants hugged his lower body. Even at his most relaxed, Ian remained elegant, his body firm and lean. His blue shirt matched his electric blue eyes. The shirt was expensive, that was obvious from the material and the cut, and since Ian wasn’t wearing a tie, it was open at the collar. Cole stared at Ian’s beautiful tanned skin. Cole’s gaze moved over the attractive dip between his clavicles. Ian’s chest was hard and lean, with a hint of his light chest hair peeking out. Cole longed to trace that spot with his finger and slide it lower. He loved the firm lines and hollows of Ian, the hard point of his nipples down to the shape of his flat stomach.
“Are you sure a tattoo is on the list tonight?”
“I’ve always wanted one. But I never could decide what to get. It seems like a huge decision. It’s on your body. It should mean something to you, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess. Never thought about it so much.”
“Didn’t ever want one?” Ian asked.
Cole started for his front door, realized he’d left his keys, and went back inside to scoop them up from the kitchen table. “Bye!” he shouted for River’s benefit. River was the only one home. Marc was never around these days, Tomas had a new class, and Sandy was at work.
No answer.
Cole sighed. They needed to help River somehow. “I’m sorry,” he turned to Ian. “What did you ask me?”
“About not having a tattoo.”
“Oh, that.” Cole’s cheeks reddened. “I’m deathly scared of needles. Not so macho of me, I know. But I hate the feel of them going into my skin. And the drilling sound I imagine some of those machines make? Must be worse than the dentist.” Cole shuddered.
“Fair answer.” Ian ushered him to his car. They were first driving down to Miami for some French food and to visit the metal sculpture exhibit, then the plan was either to go for the tattoo or the skinny-dipping part of the night.
“I could get your name?” Ian thumped his chest. “‘Cole,’ right here.”
“Aww. No.”
“Aww no? That sounds like a contradiction.”
“It’s sweet of you, really. But think about it. Getting my name tattooed on you is like dooming our relationship to fail.”
“It is?”
“Uh-huh. It’s like having a reality television show about how much the two of you love each other. Next stop—divorce. Tattooing your partner’s name is asking fate to jinx you.”
Ian laughed. “You’re weird at times.”
Cole ignored that and buckled his seat belt as Ian started the car. “And think about the later consequences. After we break up, you have to either remove it or do a Johnny Depp.”
“Johnny Depp?”
“Yeah, remember he had ‘Winona forever’ tattooed on his arm? Then, when they split, he changed it to ‘Wino forever’ or something? What would you change Cole to?”
“I don’t know. Corona?”
“Ian, you don’t even like beer.”
“Huh. Okay, maybe no tattoo tonight. I’ll need to give this some thought.”
“Pinball is in your immediate future, though. I can’t let you remain a pinball virgin for a second longer.”
“Understood.”
Cole enjoyed the drive to Miami and the balmy summer night air. Ian’s car was comfortable, and he liked how Ian wasn’t at all self-conscious about singing along with the radio. His voice was gravelly and slightly off-key. And three songs out of five, Cole noticed that Ian belted out the wrong lyrics on the chorus.
He found it adorable and wondered if he’d still be finding Ian’s singing adorable years from now or whether he’d find it irritating.
Ian sang along with an old Sting song. He glanced Cole’s way, his eyes holding a happy expression.
Adorable, Cole thought, he’d always find this quirk adorable. Dorky and adorable.
Cole ran his finger over the dashboard radio, careful not to change the station. This was the first time he’d allowed his mind to imagine a future with Ian.
Ian exited I-95 and headed down the ramp toward the fashion district of Miami. It was apparently the new area for art galleries. He parked in front of the Gallery One lot, and gave the cute valet his keys. It cost a freaking arm and a leg to park, Cole noted, but Ian didn’t seem to care. Cole slowly got out too. He looked at the stark white building in front of him. Admittedly it was white, but it had style, the sides more curves than straight lines. The second story of the building boasted a big patio, and people drinking wine looked down at them. A bongo drummer and guitar player were out in front, playing for the crowd in an eclectic mix of Latin music meets jazz.
“Like it? This is the new hot gallery here. At least, according to what Sam told me.”
“I like it so far.”
Inside the gallery, Cole and Ian wandered. Some art pieces Cole got, others left him perplexed. He liked the nude male sculpture made of quarters, but he didn’t get the thing that looked like a regular white fence mounted to the wall.
“Here.” Ian handed him a cool glass of chardonnay. He shared a plate of cheese with Cole. “I don’t want to eat too much. We have reservations in an hour.” As they walked around some more, Ian nodded at a pretty sculpture. The metal was twisted into an elaborate flower and a hummingbird fluttered at the petals. “I like that one.”
Ian admired it for a moment. Cole liked it, but he didn’t love it. He felt frustrated for a little while, sipping his wine and trying to connect with something in the exhibit.
“Ahh! That’s fabulous!” Cole pointed. He’d finally found something he liked. It was one of the featured metal sculptures. A giant robot. Its legs were springs of some sort. Its head looked like a metal goldfish bowl. “Cool.”
The room was cramped. More and more people pushed past them. Cole never realized gallery openings could be so crowded. He expected them to have a few people, tops. He scanned the crowd. A lot of guys with thinning hair and ponytails, some women in skirts so small and tight it looked painful for them to walk, a few pimple-faced teenagers scamming some wine, and a whole lot of people in black.
“I’m in style here,” Cole said.
Before Ian could comment, a woman in a tiger print top and yoga pants rushed past them. “Oh my Gawd!” She shrieked. “Gawd.”
They followed her to see what had her heavy New York accent all aflutter.
It was a metal penis. Big and erect.
“Oh Gawd! I just wanna touch it.”
“Holy balls of steel, Batman,” Cole whispered.
“This was not in the brochure,” Ian whispered back.
“Imagine wrapping your lips around that bad boy.”
“Or putting it other places.”
They cracked up, acting like little kids.
“Step back!” A man, probably the gallery owner, came running. She was about to stroke the metal penis with her manicured nails. He reached out and stopped her. The woman struggled at the grip the owner had on her fleshy upper arm.
The giant dick wobbled threateningly.
As the owner of the gallery led her away, Cole said, “I never knew art was so much fun.”