Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (31 page)

I’m going to make him fly
.

Ian stopped.

Sam groaned, gripping the ropes until his hands were white. Ian couldn’t crawl up his body fast enough, or lube his dick quickly enough—he’d give thanks for the no-condom thing later, when he had the time. His cock met barely any resistance pushing into Sam’s ass, and he watched Sam’s back muscles strain, trying to reach out for Ian and bring him inside.

It was hard as hell, but Ian slowed himself down. Making Sam vibrate with need, his arms taut and his shoulder blades vividly outlined under his skin. Sam was whimpering incoherently by the time Ian had sunk all the way in, his balls pressed up tight against Sam’s.

He stayed still, propped on his elbows over Sam, shaking and gulping air. “I don’t know how long I can—”

“Oh God,” Sam groaned. “
Please
.”

Ian fucked him. Each stroke in reverberated through him, like shocks from an earthquake or a tidal wave, forcing his lungs to gasp out air and his toes to curl and his hips to jerk. And Sam to cry out.

Ian made it for about a minute, and then—thank fuck—he could feel the first spasms of Sam’s muscles contracting around his cock, and Sam started screaming himself hoarse.

Ian’s eyes rolled back in his head and his nuts shrunk up tighter than peas. He slammed into Sam, trying to force Sam to take him all, pelvis and hips and everything. His whole body was one giant ache and it all ignited at once, making him shout. Then everything—all that sensation—drained out of him, leaving him completely sated.

They lay there, panting and twitching, sweat sealing them together, until Ian worked up enough muscle control to shakily reach for the bandage shears and cut through the ropes on Sam’s wrists. Sam’s arms flopped on the bed, and he groaned from his belly.

“Okay?” Ian panted.

“Oh fuck yes,” Sam answered. Ian worked up to freeing his ankles and yanking the pillows out from under his hips. Eventually he curled around Sam, kissing him endlessly, feeling Sam’s consciousness sink away from him with each heartbeat.

This time, Ian fell asleep too.

Sam popped into consciousness in the morning with that tingly sense that something specific had woken him. Ian had, by staring at him. Sam blinked until he brought Ian into focus, giving him time to look away.

Ian blinked back. He reached out with his finger and lightly stroked Sam’s nose. The side of his face was smashed into the pillow, sunlight lining the other cheek. His lips parted, close enough for Sam to feel his breath. He followed his finger with his eyes, stroking Sam’s nose, then ran his finger across Sam’s cheekbone. He pushed off from his pillow, and Sam rolled onto his back as Ian came over him, pressing him into the bed, forcing his thighs to make room.

“Missed you,” Ian whispered right before he kissed Sam, and somehow it made sense, even though Sam had lain next to him all night.

Missed you, too
, Sam thought. He couldn’t say it because Ian was keeping his mouth busy, full of his tongue and taste and breath. Sam couldn’t even gasp at the sensation of Ian’s foreskin slipping in the groove between Sam’s groin and his leg. He fought Ian’s hold—his arms were everywhere, caging Sam in—to slide hands around to Ian’s ass and feel his muscles flex while he rocked against him. When Sam gripped him and squeezed, just to feel the resilience there, Ian tore his mouth away from Sam’s and gasped. He bit at the tendon at the base of Sam’s neck—Sam’s turn to gasp. Not just from teeth but from scratchy whiskers and heat and the feeling that Ian was trying to consume him. Gnawing up his neck to Sam’s ear, then panting in rhythm with his hips as he ground against Sam. Sam pushed back, helping Ian along, giving him resistance to thrust against.

Ian wrapped one arm around Sam’s neck, fingers clamped on his shoulder, holding him still for leverage. “Oh God,” he whispered, and Sam realized how close Ian was. In a rush, he was there, too, right on that edge.

“Ian,” Sam whispered for encouragement. Ian moaned low in his ear, and Sam gripped his cheeks harder, rubbing his finger against that tender spot between them.

“Oh God,” Ian whispered. Sam wrapped him in his legs, trying to pull him closer, and felt goose bumps sweep across Ian’s skin under his hands. He held Ian tighter, kneading his ass and rubbing hard and steadily.

“IthinkIloveyou,” Ian gasped when he shuddered and came, slippery heat flowing between them. Sam nearly let go, but he gripped Ian tighter instead and gave it up himself. Coming hard, the emotional tension of the moment and last night amplifying the physical feeling of Ian’s cum on his body and Ian’s hair rubbing against his dick. He arched up and hung on tight with his entire body, trembling.

Ian shook afterward, panting in Sam’s ear, a dead weight on his ribs, but Sam couldn’t care. He stroked Ian’s naked back, sifted fingers through his hair, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. The room was filled with sunlight, and Sam was certain he’d never felt so
aglow
in his life.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Ian groaned.

Sam’s heart fell through the bed and bounced once on the floor.

“That wasn’t how I was going to tell you,” Ian muttered.

Sam’s heart climbed back into his chest. Ian lifted his head and looked down at him. “I meant to make it special, but I sort of lost control,” he said, stroking Sam’s face with one fingertip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be sure about it.”

Ian nodded. “I’m as sure as I can be.”

Sam decided that was good enough for now, and he’d worry about whether this could possibly be real later. For now he felt the glow.

The redistricting plan was completely fucking with Ian’s proposed interagency radio communication protocols, and he had less than a week to figure out all the angles and redraft his plan—while making all parties happy, of course. The trick was to make each one think they were somehow getting an advantage the others weren’t.

So far, he hadn’t quite figured out how to do that. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at his chart. If the city fire department got the extra fifty addresses from the county fire district, that made them th—

“Ian?” Dalton’s voice broke his concentration. He looked up from the document and rubbed his eyes, blurry from effort.

“Yeah?”

“A Chief Carl Cully’s on the phone? He says he’s your father,” Dalton said in a hushed voice.

Ian slumped in his chair.
Hell
. The chief. Fucking lovely. Had he given his father this number? That was stupid. Ian took a slow, calming breath, puffing his cheeks out as he released it.

It didn’t work. He tried another.

That one wasn’t any more effective, so he gave up. “Thanks, Dalton,” he said tiredly as he reached for his handset. If Carl wanted to talk, Ian probably couldn’t avoid it.

“Dad,” he said in greeting.

“Ian!” his father said, sounding like he was hailing a buddy from across a crowded bar.

He silently implored the ceiling for fortitude. “Yep, it’s me.”

“How’s the new job? Must be boring as hell, driving a desk after being on a rig for fifteen years,” Carl said jovially.

“Eleven years. Actually, I like this job.”

That knocked his father on his ass for a few seconds. “Huh. Must’ve gotten some of your mother’s genes,” he finally said.

“Must have,” Ian agreed. He waited silently for his father’s next volley.

“So, meet any nice women up there?”

For fuck’s sake
. Way to be subtle, Carl. “Oh, yeah.” He faked cheerful. “Lots of nice women.”

“Good, good,” Carl encouraged, a note of relief in his voice.

“But since I’m attracted to men, the women don’t really do much for me.” Ian felt tension invading his muscles as his adrenaline spiked—just like it did every time they had this conversation.

Silence. The first pleasant thing Carl had said.

Ian went for broke. “I met someone, though. Sam.” He straightened his spine, pressing the button on the end of his pen up and down.
Click click
.

“I don’t suppose Sam’s short for Samantha?” Carl said.

Jesus
. “Nope. It’s short for Samuel.” Wasn’t it? He should probably check that.

“Ian . . .” His father’s voice took on that pitiful, deflated balloon quality.
Fuck
. He dropped the pen and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to jump out of his seat and pace around the room.

“Think of your poor mother—”

He slammed his palm down on the desk, then took a breath to calm himself and enunciated carefully. “Mom wouldn’t care.” Another breath, trying not to shout. “You know what I remember when she died? I remember sitting beside her bed in the hospital, and she took that fucking oxygen mask off and told me to be happy no matter what.
You’re
the one who wants me to be straight.”

“I want you happy!” Carl thundered. He breathed audibly in Ian’s ear. “You’re my youngest son, I want to see you married like your brothers. I want you to have someone who takes care of you. You think you’ll ever get that with another man? Men aren’t like that, Ian. You should know, you’ve been with enough of them and none of them worked out, did they? This Sam, he’s just another lay. You keep looking for something you’ll never find. You can’t marry another man, you can only fuck him.”

The fight drained out of Ian, leaving a sick feeling in his gut. “The sex is your real problem, isn’t it?” he asked. “You don’t like it that I’ve been with men. You can’t see past that.” He felt weak and light-headed, but he didn’t let any of that invade his tone. “Mom wouldn’t have cared.” Hell, his voice shook a little there.
Barely a quaver
.

“She would have been as disgusted as I am!”

Ian slumped in his seat. “Fuck you,” he said tiredly, then hung up the phone.

The weather matched Ian’s mood. They were finally moving out of the Indian summer and into the stormy season. Right now it was gray and threatening rain, and Ian figured that was pretty much perfect. As soon as he stepped foot outside the health division building, he knew it would start raining on him.

So much for not letting the chief get to him anymore.

Ian tried to do the thing Janet had been teaching him: identify his emotions and label them, figure out what was what and who was who. But it was all a painful mishmash, and the only thing he could reliably identify was the twisting ball of fear whenever he thought of Sam.
Fuck
. He thought about calling Janet, but he had an appointment in the morning. He could hang on that long, right?

Besides, if he didn’t leave right now, he’d be late to pick up Sam. They were supposed to go back to Ian’s place so he could change, then go out to some movie Sam wanted to see. Probably get dinner somewhere.

The fear fisted around Ian’s stomach, giving him heartburn or something. He wasn’t hungry. Didn’t want to see that movie, anyway; it sounded dumb.

This is all about your father
. Things had been so easy lately, his life and his job. Sam. Everything had been clear, but after talking to Carl it was all murky again. It was the way his father saw things that was screwed up. Didn’t mean that’s the way things actually were.