The Rebuilding Year (15 page)

He could have her, he thought. If he worked it right, she would take him home to that apartment she shared with her flight-attendant friend, who was conveniently out of town. The brightness of her eyes, the way she played with her hair, told him she was interested. Even his cane, that had made her flinch at first, was excused for an injury in the line of duty. In that context, it was even interesting, some kind of freaking badge of honor. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

He could throw her on a bed, put her on her knees, and get what he needed, what he wanted. Except…he didn’t want it. He thought about her, naked, and his body responded. But it was a tepid interest, like muscle memory. It was a reflex that bypassed his brain. Whereas remembering just one kiss with John…
fuck!
Voice, smell, touch, taste. He was instantly hard enough to drive nails.

He shifted in his chair and tried to put his attention back on Melissa. But he just didn’t care. His mind was home in Wisconsin. He wondered what John was doing now. Were the kids getting ready for bed? Was Mark holed up with his guitar, pulling comfort from those strings? Was Torey angling for one more bag of microwave popcorn? Or texting her friend back home for the two-hundredth time that day?

And John. Was John thinking about him? Was he sitting somewhere in that big warm house, eyes closed, remembering, anticipating. Was he in the shower, water streaming down those long, hard muscles until the last drop of heat was wrung from the water tank?

Ryan looked over at Melissa. She hesitated in her narrative, catching his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a very pretty girl. But I have someone back at home. And as screwed up as it is, I’m going back there in a week and I’m going to give it a try.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” He stood, fishing for his cane. “Thanks for the company. Have a good holiday.” She was still staring after him as he limped out of the bar toward the escalators. Ahead was family Christmas, one more week to be the old Ryan. At least on the outside. Because after that, he was going home to John.
 

Chapter Nine

There were still lights on in the house as the shuttle turned into the drive. Ryan wasn’t surprised, just…pleased. Because with one delay and another, his eight o’clock arrival had become midnight. And now it was after one, and John would have had every right to have given up on him and gone to bed. Especially because Ryan hadn’t phoned John to explain. Which he hadn’t because…he didn’t know why.

But the hall light came on as he was getting out, and then John was there, taking his bag out of his hand. “Let me get that. You must be beat.”

Ryan gave the shuttle driver an extra big tip, for waiting so late, and turned to John as the van rolled away. “I’m not
that
tired.”

And there it was, that heat, just like the past fifteen days had never happened. “Come on,” John said. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

Snow squeaked under Ryan’s shoes as they climbed the stairs. “Sorry, I should have cleared those off again.” John swiped a riser clear with his foot.

“Since when, twenty minutes ago?” The steps had a thin dusting of white, compared to the deep blanket covering the lawn. A few flakes still spiraled down, glittering in the porch light. Ryan pulled the door open, and inhaled the familiar smells of sawdust and coffee. It smelled like home.

He leaned his cane in the usual corner. “My family admired your work.” He pointed his chin at it. John had taken the commission and carved him a stick of twisted, entwined tree trunks, with the faces of small creatures peering out from between the curves. It was intricate and beautiful. And people who noticed it were so busy checking it out they forgot to check him out. It was brilliant. “I told them I was renting a room from an artist. They were impressed.”

“What else did you tell them?” John headed for the kitchen.

“Not much.” It had been weird, his first time home since the accident. His father and brother had made just a little too much of a point of not watching him, not helping him. His dad looked older. Brent had missed the visit altogether. Thank God for Drew’s boys. The adults had made sure the holiday revolved around the children. Ryan’s problems had been allowed to go unmentioned. And the changes that weren’t problems…well, he wasn’t ready to mention those either.

“Can I get you something?” John said. “Water, juice?”

“Nah. They kept serving drinks on the plane to keep us busy through the delays. I’m about drowning in soda.”

John nodded. “So.”

They stood looking at each other. “I wish you’d let me pick you up at the airport,” John said softly. “You’d have been home half an hour earlier.”

“Right. An hour in the truck, sitting next to you, not touching you.” Ryan felt the heat ratchet up a notch. Not that he needed it. He’d spent most of the flight with a magazine over his lap, anticipating, dreading, wondering…something. “I didn’t want to do this at a public airport.”

“Do what?” John’s voice was hoarse.

Ryan let himself smile. “This.” He stepped forward, and ran his hand slowly up John’s arm, over his shoulder, and behind the man’s neck. He cupped the base of John’s skull, and pulled him down.

“Thank God,” John whispered against his mouth. And then John kissed him. And Ryan had wondered if his memory had exaggerated the feel of John’s mouth. But if anything, this was better. John kissed him with his eyes closed, and all of his attention on just that one thing. Ryan opened his lips to a probing tongue, and stepped in closer.

Warm and soft became hot and frantic. He wrapped his other arm around John as they pressed together. John’s hands cupped his ass, fingers digging in hard. He found himself rutting against the man, wanting more, wanting closer. John’s moan vibrated against his mouth.

“Let me.” He fumbled between them. John pulled back a few inches, to make room for their hands. It was clumsy and awkward, buttons and zips, as they still kissed, unwilling to break contact. Ryan slid his mouth to John’s neck, sucking hard, feeling the slick of skin under his tongue. John must have shaved for him, recently. His hands slipped into the waistband of John’s shorts. Familiar unfamiliar sensation. He had a man’s hard dick in his hands and it wasn’t his own. And then callused fingers closed on him in turn.

He squeezed, pumping firmly. Slick precome coated his fingers and he spread it, fisting over John’s unfamiliar length. Soft sac, firm round balls, hard velvet shaft.

“God, Ryan,” John breathed. “We can…”

He caught John’s mouth in a punishing kiss. He pushed the man back against the counter, hands frantic. No waiting, not this time. He
wanted
.

John went with him. His fingers were just as busy on Ryan. The sensations of heat and ice ran through Ryan’s groin, building. He kissed John, plunging his tongue deep. He wanted to undo this man. Wanted to feel him come apart.

John’s hands fell away. His head went back, eyes half-closed. Ryan sucked on his neck, biting. John’s hips jerked, thrusting hard into Ryan’s hands. Ryan laughed against his skin.
Yes. Shit, yeah!

Then John groaned, shaking hard. Ropes of spunk slid through Ryan’s fingers, spattered his jeans. John’s knuckles went white on the edge of the cabinet. Ryan leaned forward. His hard dick pressed into the angle of John’s hip, gliding over hot skin and rough curls. He moved in tighter, panting, thrusting hard. And then John’s arms around him kept him from falling as he came. Came against John, on him, in a blinding rush that took his breath, forced his eyes closed.

“Holy, holy shit,” he whispered. John’s shoulder was there, and he laid his head on it for a moment. “Wow.”

“Are you okay?”

Ryan breathed a laugh against his neck. “Stupid question.”

“Good.” John’s arms kept their warm hold, hands gently rubbing. He bent and kissed the top of Ryan’s head.

“Don’t waste ’em.” Ryan pulled the man’s mouth down again.

This kiss was different, slow and sweet. He touched his tongue to John’s teeth, traced his lower lip. John sighed into his mouth.

“What?”

“I was so scared you wouldn’t want to, after having all this time to think.”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking,” Ryan said. “It’s a good thing my nephews aren’t telepathic, or they’d have gotten a real early education.”

John kissed his jaw, his cheek. His eyebrow.

Slowly, Ryan became aware of the chill on his thighs. “We’re kind of wet.”

“I guess.” John’s arms dropped away reluctantly, and he stepped back. “Here.” He dampened a paper towel and passed it over. For a minute they pursued cleanup, not looking at each other.

“You’re probably tired,” John said tentatively. “You’ll want a shower and sleep.”

Ryan pulled his jeans into place and deliberately left them unbuttoned. “John. Every single soda I drank in the last five hours had caffeine in it. Fuck sleep.”

John’s slow smile was a gift. “You have something else in mind?”

“You, on the bed, naked,” Ryan said firmly. “Your bed, because it’s bigger than mine.”

“We could do that.” John led the way upstairs. Ryan’s mind was racing a million miles an hour. So far, he’d stuck to the plan. He was damned if he knew what he was doing, but this time he had a plan. John’s room was warm. The big bed was neatly made, pale blue sheets, dark blue comforter. Ryan reached out and stripped the covers back in one motion. He felt great. He felt like a god.

“Get those clothes off.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not in this case, no.” John’s fingers went to hem of his sweater. Slowly, he raised it, and pulled it over his head. His auburn hair fell tousled into his eyes. He tossed the sweater on a chair. Staring into Ryan’s eyes, John began to methodically unbutton his shirt. Slowly, the edges fell open, exposing his chest. Lamplight glinted off a scattering of copper curls, between the hard planes of his pecs. Ryan had always thought a woman’s breasts were beautiful. So why did his breath come so hard in his throat at the sight of a man’s flat nipples?

John dropped the shirt on the chair and slid his hands to his jeans. “Let me,” Ryan told him. He moved in close, twisting the metal button out of its hole. The zipper slid down with a whisper. Cotton briefs, damp from the first time, barely contained this man. Ryan shoved all the bunched fabric downward. As he dropped awkwardly to one knee to finish the job, John’s erection bobbed beside his cheek, jerking to the man’s pulse.

“Ryan?”

He looked up into John’s eyes. “Lie down on the bed.”

John did as directed, sliding up on the pillows to look at him. “Are you going to undress?”

“Eventually.”
As late and as little as possible.
He crawled up the bed toward John, straddled him, and leaned in for a kiss. John ran his hands through Ryan’s hair.

“Let me.” Ryan wanted to explore, to look and taste. John lay back, eyes half-closed, stroking Ryan’s neck and shoulders as Ryan took his time. Licking, tasting, touching his lips to eyelid and jaw, neck and throat. He swirled his tongue around John’s nipple, loving the way the nipple tightened to his touch. He bit it, lightly, and the other man jerked under him.

“Lie still.”

He moved lower. He still didn’t know exactly what he was doing. But he’d been on the receiving end often enough, and he’d imagined it. More than often enough. A dozen times he’d typed “
gay sex”
into his browser, and as many times he’d erased it. He wished he had directions. At the same time, he didn’t want this first time to happen with the image of any other man on his mind.

John’s dick was bigger than his own. The skin was one shade darker against the man’s pale groin, the head wide and flaring. John’s curls were soft, not wiry, and a little sparse. Ryan moved lower, kissing below John’s navel. “Hey,” he whispered against the man’s skin. “You’re a true redhead.”

John laughed. “No kidding.” He cupped the back of Ryan’s head and pulled. “Come back up here.”

“Not yet.”

Ryan slid his hand around that hard shaft, raising it. John drew in a sharp breath. A drop of precome formed, rolled down. Ryan bent and kissed him on the silky skin beside the slit. Then he touched the tip of his tongue to that droplet.

“Shit,” John hissed. “Ry?”

Salty, a little bitter, not that bad.
It didn’t taste like his own which, yeah, Ryan had tasted, wondering, planning this. He licked again, harder, and another drop rolled across his tongue.

“You don’t have to.”

Ryan blew a breath over him. “Told you I have plans.”

“I never argue with a man who has my cock in his hand.”

“You’ve had experience with that?” Ryan asked, taking a long slow lick from root to tip.

“Unh. No, just you.” John jerked in Ryan’s fist.

“Good.” Ryan closed his mouth on the dark plum of the head. John groaned. Slowly, experimenting, Ryan licked and sucked. His fist was tight around John, and he leaned in, taking the other man in his mouth up to his hand.
Not too bad.
At least he hadn’t choked himself. He pulled back, sucking hard.

“Oh Jesus,” John babbled. “Jesus God, Ryan. I’m not going to last if you do that. God, I can’t.” His words became hoarse groans as Ryan dipped his head, speeding the motion, fast plunge, and long slow suck upward.