Home and Away (13 page)

“Hey,” Rupert murmured, brushing his lips against Callum’s hot cheek, still pinning him to the desk. “Where are you going?”

Callum forced himself to look at Rupert and then tried to make sense of Rupert’s flushed cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes. His lips were red, swollen, and curved into a soft smile. He looked really, thoroughly kissed. The realization that Callum had done that, and that Rupert had maybe liked it, hit Callum hard.

He was such a loser. He was ready to come in his pants from a single kiss. Seriously, why would Rupert want anything to do with him?

“I just figured you were done,” Callum mumbled, still staring at Rupert’s mouth because he was too chicken to meet his eyes.

Callum watched, mesmerized, as Rupert’s tongue traced the inside of his lower lip. Not like some cheesy porn come-on, but as if he was tasting their kiss again. Tasting Callum.

Callum barely bit back another whimper. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay and pounce and
try.

“Do you want to be done?” Rupert asked, his voice rough, intimate.

Callum finally met his eyes. “No.”

Rupert smiled. “Good.

Watching Callum’s eyes dilate, feeling the way his hands clenched against Rupert’s back and hip, was dizzying. It wasn’t as sweet, as thrilling, as kissing him, though, so Rupert did that instead. Callum, who had clung to him like a limpet, offering up an endless and endlessly erotic litany of small sounds, was now stiff in his arms. Just as he had the first time, Rupert teased at his lips and dipped his tongue between them, coaxing him into reacting. Into responding.

And what a beautiful, beautiful response it was.

He almost smiled at how innocent Callum was. The man had no game. Like,
none
. He’d nearly suffocated Rupert in his enthusiasm, and Rupert had forgotten how thrilling that was in its own right. Not since he’d been a teenager had he, or any man he’d kissed, been so desperate to get closer, so without artifice or grace, that asphyxiation was better than letting go or even easing back an inch.

Kissing Callum wasn’t some grand, altruistic gesture to help Callum discover what he’d been missing. Rupert wasn’t kissing Callum out of pity. Because maybe he did pity him, pity the choices he’d made that had left him so completely alone for so long, but, honestly, Rupert kissed him
in spite
of that. Rupert kissed him because he wanted to, so much so that Callum’s lack of experience and long-standing residence in a closet Rupert had never so much as hung a jockstrap in didn’t matter. He kissed him because Callum needed kissing, because Rupert needed to kiss him. Because, somehow, Rupert had actually come to like and admire and respect the man, despite him being a gigantic pain in the ass.

So Rupert’s motives were pure, if not exactly chaste. But that didn’t mean some not-so-small part of his brain didn’t revel in the idea that he was the first. That he could, and would,
gladly
give this to Callum.

In return, he received far more than he expected. The noises Callum made, little moans that communicated his desire as effectively as the clench of his hands in Rupert’s clothing or the twitch of his hips, but with a hint of surprise, too. Like Callum couldn’t believe they were doing this. How
good
it was.

And that made two of them.

Rupert lost himself in the simple joy of kissing Callum. Their mouths meeting, changing angles, parting for no more time than it took to gasp in air and go back for more. Callum was passive in a way that Rupert never would have imagined possible. He was just beginning to meet him halfway, tentatively, tilting his head the way Rupert would have moved it had Callum not begun to anticipate it first.

First kisses were often ungainly and weird. And this one had certainly had its moments, but now they smoothed out. Found their rhythm.
Rupert’s
rhythm, he realized with a zing.

Everyone learned what they liked, and what they didn’t, from their earliest lovers. Experimentation, in all its awkward and wonderful moments, was how Rupert had figured out what he wanted from a lover. And what kind of lover he could be.

It was inspiring and more than a little humbling to think that was what this moment might mean to Callum.

With that in mind, Rupert pulled away long enough to relish Callum’s soft, disappointed murmur before he bent to drag his lips along Callum’s jaw. Callum’s head fell back without so much as a suggestion from Rupert, leaving his hands free to coast over Callum’s shoulders, his arms. He nuzzled in closer, abrading his lips on Callum’s heavy stubble until he reached the smooth, soft skin beneath.

He lavished attention along Callum’s neck, slowly working his way back up to trace the shell of Callum’s ear with his lips, tasting the lobe with a flick of his tongue. He spread his legs to steady himself against the increasingly powerful and desperate twitch of Callum’s hips, touching a hand to Callum’s lower back to steady him. Callum jumped, surprised, surging forward until his heavy erection ground against Rupert’s hip and Rupert’s was smashed against Callum’s firm belly.

Rupert groaned, his lips buzzing against Callum’s skin as they clutched each other closer, tighter, and took up a slow, dirty grind. Callum’s breath stuttered hot and unsteady in Rupert’s ear.

Rupert sucked a dark mark into Callum’s skin, the idea that he shouldn’t discarded in the face of Callum’s heartfelt groan and the way he arched his neck against Rupert’s lips, pressing into the suction. When Rupert released the abused spot, it was already florid, and he wanted to do it again. And again.

But not before he laid the flat of his tongue against Callum’s neck at the point where it met his heavy shoulder, then slowly dragged it up the taut cord of muscle beneath, licking a broad stripe and not stopping until his nose brushed Callum’s jawbone.

He leaned back to admire the flush on Callum’s cheeks, his heavy-lidded gaze. He looked lost, his breath almost panting from between his soft lips, his mouth slightly open, as if shocked. And impossibly turned on.

Rupert felt the first frisson of unease, only because he was uncertain when this would stop. When it
should
stop. Because he didn’t want it to, not even a little, but he was suddenly, acutely aware of Callum’s inexperience.

Then Oliver’s voice cut like a knife through the fog of arousal surrounding them.

“What are you doing?”

Callum shoved Rupert a good two feet away, plunged into regret the moment his hands dropped away from the warmth and strength of Rupert’s body. He gripped the edge of the desk instead of falling to the floor in a puddle of embarrassment and frustration.

“Oliver,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out as little more than a scratch, “what are you doing up? Are you okay?”

“You weren’t making any noise,” Oliver said, and Callum mentally kicked himself for not turning on the television—and thanked all that was holy Oliver hadn’t heard what noises they had been making.

Rupert looked at his brother over his shoulder, which struck Callum as weird until his eyes locked on the very obvious erection tenting the front of Rupert’s soft flannel slacks. Callum felt branded where it had been pressed against his stomach.

His own dick fucking
ached
, and his breath was still hectic as he tried to come down from wherever the hell Rupert had taken him, but his tight jeans and untucked t-shirt put him at an advantage in this situation.

He stood. “Come on, I’ll tuck you back in.”

Rupert shot him a grateful look Callum had no idea how to return. He felt awkward and embarrassed, and it had little to do with the four year old and his epic cock block, or even that Callum could barely walk upright.

Based on glint of humor in Rupert’s eyes, he was perfectly aware of the latter. Callum’s heart clutched at the small smile and the secrets it hinted at. Rupert looked so comfortable with it. With what had just happened. While Callum felt as though his life had gone sideways.

He followed Oliver into the bedroom and boosted him back into the tall bed. By the time he’d tucked him in, Callum’s body was back under control, and his mortification was through the fucking roof.

He didn’t want to go back out to the living room and face Rupert. He couldn’t.

So, like the complete coward he was, he toed off his shoes, changed into his pajama bottoms, and lay down next to Oliver.

Maybe it was the stress of the day, or the comfort of Oliver’s hand on his arm, or maybe even his subconscious wanted to run and hide from what had just happened, but Callum was asleep almost instantly.

Rupert spent the next week trying to figure how he’d made such a huge mistake. He was
supposed
to be working on the Ice Cats travel schedule for next year—organizing the hotels, buses, planes, meals, and equipment was like mobilizing a bloody army for six months straight—but more often than not, he was spacing out, thinking about Callum and that kiss instead.

He’d watched Callum, curled up next to Oliver, for a long time that night. He’d looked peaceful and handsome and really fucking asleep
,
while Rupert had been anything but. In the end, he’d let Callum have his escape, knowing it was probably for the best.

The days since had been strange. Given Callum’s previous sexual experiences, or lack thereof, it was hardly surprising that he might freak out a little. But any time Rupert so much as
hinted
at talking about the kiss, let alone anything else sexual, sexy, or even mildly erotic, Callum turned adorably pink and changed the subject immediately.

It was remarkable, really. Callum Morrison was capable of prudery to rival that of a Victorian maiden.

Which would be fine if he hadn’t also taken to touching Rupert,
all the time
. It was a light stroke of fingers down his arm as they passed in the narrow kitchen of their hotel room. Or a hand gently pressed to his back while Callum held the door. Their shoulders constantly brushed when they were seated next to each other, bumping when Callum wanted to give his silent support in a meeting, pressing steadily when they were working together to help Oliver with something. Worse, Rupert was starting to anticipate Callum’s touches, hope for them, fleeting though they were.

It was goddamn distracting.

With a sigh, Rupert spun his chair to face his desk and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. Callum and Oliver were off investigating something called Magnetic Hill, but they would return soon, and Rupert didn’t want to have to take work back to the hotel tonight.

He and Callum and Oliver had fallen into a nice routine of eating dinner together, then tubby time, stories, and bed for Oliver. Rupert didn’t let anything disrupt that, but once Oliver was asleep, he often had to do more work. Tonight, though, he wanted to sit with Callum and watch some television. Or maybe even talk.

He was contemplating whether he should employ duct tape to prevent Callum’s escape, should the kiss come up, when his office door burst open.

Didn’t anyone knock?

A pale, wild-eyed Reese staggered through his door. Rupert shot out of his chair and around the desk.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded, searching over Reese’s shoulder for Matilda or Hodges or
someone
who might have brought his friend this far. The entire Ice Cats office staff stared back.

Rupert tugged Reese further into his office and shut the door.

Reese stood stock still, a line of sweat-darkened hair along his forehead and smudges on his camel-colored slacks where he had rubbed his damp palms. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to speak, possibly wasn’t
capable
of saying anything, Rupert did the only thing he could think of.

He did what Callum would do.

Reese went rigid. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, you wanker. Enjoy it.”

Astonishingly, that didn’t help. Reese’s arms hung limp at his sides, his shoulders locked up around his ears. Rupert squeezed tighter.

“Why?” Reese asked, as if mildly curious.

“It makes you feel better.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. Now shut up and put your arms around me.”

After a beat, Reese arms curled around Rupert’s waist hesitantly.

“Now, take a deep breath,” Rupert instructed, waiting until Reese complied. “And let it out. Now another. One more.”

On his third exhalation, Reese thawed, just a little, his weight shifting against Rupert.

“Go on, give it a go,” Rupert encouraged.

Reese took another deep breath and let his chin perch on Rupert’s shoulder, his fingers curling into Rupert’s shirt.

“Better?”

“Kind of,” Reese admitted. “Did you read this in a book or something?”

“This is what Callum does when Oliver or I freak out,” Rupert admitted reluctantly.

“Oh,
really
?” Reese asked, dragging the last word out far too long.

Rupert sighed and released his now much more stable friend. “Shut up.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No, there really isn’t,” Rupert replied primly.

Reese crowed, “I knew it!”

“You knew what?”

“That you had the hots for Callum,” Reese said, insufferably smug.

“I do not,” Rupert said, mostly because “the hots” was a stupid expression and he didn’t need to hear how ill-advised this whole thing was. He was perfectly aware.

“Yes, you do!”

“Bah,” Rupert said, fighting the blush he could feel growing by the second.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Reese sang childishly.

“I do not. I should think I would be aware if that were the case.” Rupert cringed at his own stupidity. He sounded exactly like Reese had hit a nerve and Reese very well knew it.

“You’re smitten.”

“I am not.”

“Absolutely twitterpated.”

“Do stop this nonsense,” Rupert pleaded, knowing it was futile.

“Oh ho, look at you getting all uptight. It’s adorable, how you lie, and yet it’s so obvious your twitter is well and
truly
pated,” Reese said with glee. “That’s great.”

That brought Rupert up short. “It is?”

“He’s certainly a departure from your usual taste in men.”

“Is he?”

Reese gave him the look that deserved. “By about four inches and fifty pounds, I’d guess. I think Callum might be able to break that last one…what was his name? Melvin? No, Pointdexter! No…”

“His name was Sheldon, and well you know it.”

“Yes! Of course,
Sheldon
. I think Callum could break Sheldon in half without working up a sweat.”

Rupert rolled his eyes. “Sheldon was very nice.”

“Sheldon was very
boring
.”

Callum certainly wasn’t that, but Rupert would sooner stick razor blades in his eyes than admit it to Reese. “Sheldon was a good person.
Is
a good person. I’m sure he’s making some nice man very happy right now.”

Reese harrumphed. “I think it’s far more likely he’s slowly forcing some very nice man into a coma, but that, fortunately, is no longer your concern.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t like Sheldon. Or Gavin, for that matter.”

“Peas in a pod. A terrible, pale, unassuming pod of boringness. A milquetoast pod, if you will.”