Chapter 6
The January dusk seemed to flicker with anticipation. There were only a few other vehicles in the back lot, but I suddenly felt department-store-window public.
“Help me put the cart back.” He motioned for me to raise the gate to the back of the truck. He followed me and the cart in, then closed the roller door, casting us into pitch black.
“You know, it occurred to me that you didn’t exactly see me at my best the other night,” he said.
“I don’t know. It was pretty darn amazing to me.”
“Yeah, it was, but I didn’t get to show off my talents.” His breath was a warm pulse against my neck and goose bumps broke out down my back.
The space was narrow, barely enough room for both of us and the empty bakery racks. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark, so I shut them, just drinking in the weight of him. He reached around, unbuttoning my white coat and slipping his hands under my T-shirt. His stubble rasped a path down my neck and his dick strained against my ass.
“I . . . uh . . . don’t exactly have supplies.” I might have been okay with him fucking me in theory, but not in the reality of the tight confines of the truck.
“Relax. That’s not the talent I meant.” Laughing, he spun me. My back slammed into one of the racks. Without sight, all my other senses intensified. The feel of his fingers on my waist, dipping below the waistband of my chef’s pants, the rasp of my zipper being lowered, the scent of his ginger-and-citrus soap, the silky-yet-coarse feel of his hair under my fingers.
I’d spent two years imagining what his hair would feel like: thick and heavy like rope, but so soft and dense. Of course I’d also spent two years imagining what it would be like to have Robin on his knees for me, my hands tangled in that thick mass of hair, his breath warm on my cock.
“Breathe, Vic.” Robin chuckled, little puffs of air against my heated skin. And then his tongue was there, snaking up and down my shaft, making me crazy, making me wonder when he was going to—
He swallowed me down in one swift motion.
As the warm, moist heat of his mouth took me in, I had to clutch one of the racks for balance. My head slammed into the metal behind me as he worked his tongue all around my cockhead.
“Fuck. Ow.”
“You okay?”
I rubbed my head, testing. His breath was warm against my more-than-willing dick.
“Yeah. But this is a terrible idea.”
“Really?” Robin’s voice was all innocent as he licked me leisurely. “What was it you said to me the other night? Just let me make you feel good, Vic.”
“Ah . . . all right.” My stomach went quivery with each swipe of his talented tongue. I reached behind me, using both hands to hold on to the racks as Robin swallowed me again. I tried to stay perfectly still, tried to let him set the pace.
But Robin kept making these greedy moans around my cock, and it felt like white water was churning through me. He swallowed me deep and wrapped his strong hands around my hips, yanking me closer.
“Yeah?” I experimented with moving my hips on my own, sliding deep and then back again. He moaned hungrily, like he couldn’t wait for me to move again. “You like getting your face fucked?”
“Come on, Vic. Show me what you want.” Robin nodded eagerly.
The motion made his chin graze my balls. Sparks of pleasure /pain lit up my nerve endings, and I had to hiss out a breath. “Oh, yeah.”
His thumbs dug into my hipbones as I started thrusting for real. No way was I lasting long, not with an eager throat like Robin’s. Myself, I was a licker, but much as I liked using my mouth, I didn’t like when guys really unleashed and tried to fuck my face. I liked staying in control, and my gag reflex wasn’t quite robust enough to allow much throat fucking anyway.
Robin, however, didn’t seem troubled by things as mundane as gag reflexes and oxygen. He hummed low around me, and we slipped into a natural rhythm of me fucking deep and him swallowing hard around me before I slid back, letting him get a deep breath.
“So good.” My words got another happy hum from Robin, so I kept talking. “Take it. Just like that.”
God, even his deep inhales did something to me: hearing him gasp and knowing he wanted more, knowing he trusted me to cut off his air, even for an instant. The racks clattered behind me, the bars digging into my palm.
“Gonna come.”
No more talking. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out as I came down his throat. It felt like I’d been Tasered, muscles collapsing under the force of the orgasm. The shelves groaned in protest as I slumped down.
“Oh, hell.” I uncurled one hand, feeling for his head. “That was . . . something.”
“Something, huh?” Robin’s rough voice echoed off the metal walls. The bumpy metal floor had to be killing his knees, but he sounded all blissed out.
“I’m not so good with adjectives.” I laughed. “Fabulous. Good. Amazing. Damn, you’re good at that. Give me a second and I’ll show you—”
“Nah.” Robin cut me off, and I could feel his shrug against my thigh. “That was incredible. Best endorphin rush I’ve had in a long, long time. I kind of want to just ride that wave a bit. Don’t want to ruin that feeling with whether or not I can get off.”
“Hey. I told you. I’m a patient guy—”
“Which is why I can wait for your house. Your bed.”
“All right. Bed it is.” I pulled him up to standing and kissed him. The faint taste of spunk didn’t put me off; instead it turned me on, getting me even more interested in getting him to my bed.
“And I want a coffee drink on the way to your place.” His voice was ragged. I should have felt a bit bad for going rough on him, but he sounded all smug.
“You can have whatever you want as soon as we get out of here.”
“Crap.” He pulled away, and I could feel him turning around, his head moving back and forth. “Are we trapped in here? I didn’t think about it when I pushed you in.”
“No. There’s a latch release on this side, too.”
“My God. Can you imagine needing to pound on the truck until wedding guests helped us out?”
“You can laugh. I’m the one who’d be facing a pissed-off wedding coordinator. Delay to her schedule and all.”
We both collapsed in a fit of laughter, Robin’s deep chuckles working me over like a massage.
We grabbed sandwiches and coffee drinks on the way back to Portland, and Robin came with me while I dropped the truck back behind the bakery and collected my car. Hell of a lot of maneuvering, but Robin didn’t complain, seeming game to go along with whatever the night brought. In a fit of hopefulness, I grabbed some breakfast pastries from the store. I parked in my usual spot in the garage out back of my house and brought Robin into the house through the kitchen door.
As we came in, I threw my hat on the hook and my bakery coat in the laundry basket I kept under the row of hooks.
“Jeez, I need a shower,” I muttered.
“Excellent idea.” Robin clapped his hands together. “Lead the way.”
Heck. I’d almost forgotten he was behind me.
“Uh. Okay.” My feet did a nervous shuffle.
This was a new one for me. I’d never showered with another guy before. Never really thought about it as sexy until Robin peeled off his shirt right there in my kitchen, his golden skin gleaming. My hands clenched, ready to sponge him down. Yeah. Fuck my reservations. I couldn’t wait to get him wet.
I led him to the main bath. Manny and I had put in new tile and painted, but the claw-foot tub was original. Big sucker in theory, but not so much when confronted with the reality of two dudes over six feet.
Any concerns I had fled as Robin skinned out of his jeans. Good lord, he was pretty to look at. Hard, lean muscles, bare chest, but a little trail of brown fuzz started right around his belly and worked its way south. Strong thigh muscles and a dimpled ass. People around the shelter liked to joke that Robin should model or be in the movies, but that ass was made for a porno.
“So how does this work?” Robin hopped in the tub and inspected the faucets. It was one of those old-fashioned things where the switch to flip the water to the shower was hidden. I had to reach around him to pull it, my fingers grazing his warm chest.
Watching the first droplets of water roll down his lean muscles, I licked my lips. I would’ve been perfectly happy to watch Robin bathe, but apparently I was supposed to join him. I got out of my clothes as quickly as I could, trying not to think what I looked like in the bright overhead light. There was no hiding behind a darkened room this time; every part I wasn’t crazy about was on display. My stomach sucked in and my shoulders rolled back, my neck was all tense, like the right viewing angle might help things. Fuck. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t seem to turn off the spastic bunnies hopping around my too-thick middle. I hopped behind him, hoping he hadn’t been looking too hard.
“I like this tattoo.” Robin touched my chest. Of course he’d been looking. He was always looking.
“Thanks. Getting it redone.” My voice was too gruff, but I was a bit tetchy about how the weight loss had fucked with my tats.
“This one’s cool, too.” He touched the band around my biceps. That one still looked half decent, especially now that I had bigger guns to show it off. “You ever think about getting a neck tat?”
“Nothing visible was allowed when I worked mortgages, but Cliff wouldn’t care. Maybe someday. But first I gotta fix the others. Make ’em look decent again.” I shifted around, shivering, not sure exactly how this two-guys, one-nozzle thing was supposed to work. Maybe this was one of those things that was a lot sexier on film than reality; reality was cold and slightly cramped.
“What are you talking about? All those NBA guys the other night—you can’t even tell what most of their tats are because of how their muscles distort them. It doesn’t matter really. Ink on muscles is hot period.” Robin’s appraising glance warmed me up, made me a little less self-conscious.
My biceps flexed under his roaming fingers. Muscles. He saw muscles. I had muscles now—firm pecs and defined guns. I resolved to lift a little more next week.
His hand swept over my stomach. It was a soft touch, but I still winced. Six-pack abs were never going to be a reality for me, and no amount of “cuddly” compliments could make me okay with having my stomach touched.
“If ink’s so hot, why don’t you have any?” I twisted to reach for the soap, dislodging his roving fingers.
“Needles.” He shivered. “Hate needles. And honestly, that fear probably kept me alive, so I’m not in a huge hurry to get over it.”
I buried my face against his neck, glad he was alive and here with me. He turned, letting the warm spray hit me, too. And then he was kissing me, and I wasn’t so cold anymore, and I saw a glimmer of the appeal of this.
We didn’t try to get it on in the tub, though. That didn’t seem to be the point. Instead, we made out under the warm stream of water, kissing and touching and pressing together. Eventually Robin reached for the soap, lathering me up between more kisses. He washed my chest, his fingers dancing against my scar.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was as soft as his hand.
“Not anymore.” Didn’t hurt precisely, but my stomach lurched. No one other than me and the doctor had touched the scar. I hadn’t shown it to anyone save that one bad hookup. But Robin wasn’t flinching away in horror. Instead, his eyes were kind and curious.
“Can you . . . feel it?”
“What? The band?”
He nodded. “Sorry. That’s rude.”
“Nah. It’s okay. No, not really. I mean, I’ll get a really sick stomach if I eat too much or the wrong stuff.”
My fingers drummed against the tile wall. I grabbed shampoo and motioned for him to let me lather up his hair. Not that he needed it, I was just eager to get my hands tangled up in it again. And okay, I was also eager for a change of subject. Talking about what I could and couldn’t eat depressed the hell out of me. And nice as his touch was, him petting my scar and washing my saggy stomach gave me weird prickles down my back.
But Robin’s hair, slick with shampoo, sliding between my fingers—that was the furthest thing from a downer. Massaging his scalp and neck, I tried to work out some of the tension I felt in his muscles.
“Sometime will you let me watch while you shave your head?” Robin’s eyes were closed, his voice all relaxed.
“Eh. Sure.” He seemed so comfortable, talking like this might be a regular thing, like he would be happy simply to watch me get ready, like we were a real couple. It was only too easy to picture a morning like that, and I had to look away. Robin was talking just to talk; he didn’t know how much I wanted that, and I couldn’t let him see.
After he was all rinsed we kissed again, long and slow. And I might not have been willing to let him see my eyes, but I knew it was in my kiss—how much I wanted him, and not only for tonight. Our cocks slipped against each other, but it was a slow, almost accidental slide. Like the rest of him, his cock was long and slender next to my thicker meat. It would have been easy to wrap a hand around us both, but I liked holding him under the water, my hands still in his hair, his arms around my waist.
“Aaeeoo.” Robin pulled away with a grimace as the water went cold.
I fetched us both towels, but instead of handing him his, I toweled off his shoulders and flat stomach. More touching. I wasn’t ever going to get tired of touching him.
He laughed and I looked up, surprised at how young he looked with his hair wet and slicked back. He looked seventeen, not—
“Hey, Robin? How old are you?”
“A bit late to be asking if I’m legal, isn’t it, Vic?” His laugh echoed off the white subway tile walls. “I’m twenty-three.”
“Oh, heck.” My stomach went sour. I’d guessed twenty-seven or so. Not that young. I felt suddenly old and kind of creepy.
“Why? How old are you?” He was laughing again, and the wide grin didn’t make him look any older.
“Thirty-three,” I mumbled at my feet.
“See, not so bad. Paul was thirty-five.”
“Hardly want to be in the same category as him.” The sourness in my gut spread, chasing out all the warm happiness of the shower.
“Oh, come off it. I dig older guys.” He grabbed the towel, rubbing his hair and then shaking his head like a puppy. His hair fell back into more of its usual shag. “Now kiss me again. That was hot in the tub.”
I pulled him to me, but not without a few misgivings. He was so damn young. And Paul was an opportunistic asshole and I so didn’t want to be lumped in the same category as him. But Robin was warm and hard and smelled like my soap, and all reason fled as soon as his lips touched mine.
Robin kissed my neck and jaw in a rather determined fashion, cutting a quick trail down my chest. I grabbed his arm right as he was about to sink to his knees.
“No?” He looked at me through long lashes. “I thought you liked it in the truck.”
“Loved the truck. Your mouth is too fucking talented. But it’s your turn now.”
“We can try fucking,” he said, but he didn’t sound all that confident. He looked young and uncertain. Much as my body was clamoring for the chance to fuck, my brain wanted better for Robin.
“Nope.” I kissed him lightly. “I don’t want something you have to try—I want what you need.”
“I don’t know what I need. That’s the problem. I know what I want, but my stupid body doesn’t cooperate.”
“What do you mean?” He’d hinted at it before, but I still wasn’t sure what he meant.
“It can take me a really long time to get off. It’s like my neurons don’t understand what to do without a buzz. And sometimes orgasm just doesn’t happen. My brain won’t shut off. I’ve been sober three years and I still haven’t managed to figure it out, and I feel guilty and terrible—”
“Breathe, Robin. It’s okay.” I rubbed his shoulders. “Nothing to feel terrible about.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done, Vic.” He looked at me with big, sad eyes.
“You turned tricks, yeah?”
“How did you guess?” His eyes went wide. “Did Paul tell you?”
My heart squeezed, like a piping bag oozing out sympathy. I wrapped a hand around his neck, pulling him closer. I’d guessed as soon as Robin mentioned sobriety. I’d been around the shelter long enough to know what kids did to survive.
“You were what? Seventeen? Eighteen? On the streets?”
He nodded. “My folks cut me off because they thought it would help if I didn’t have access to their money. But it didn’t. Not until I finally let Melissa talk me into calling home, taking their help to get clean. And in the meantime . . .”
“You did some stuff you’re not proud of. I get it.” I kissed him lightly.
“You really don’t care?” His head tilted to one side, appraising me.
“Why should I? That’s not who you are now.” Possessiveness made a bitter stew in my gut, but empathy kept it from reaching toxic levels. I wouldn’t say I was thrilled about the idea, but mainly Robin’s revelation just made me want to hold Robin close, smell his hair, tell him he was safe now.
“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s . . . ironic that now I can’t seem to relax enough to fuck when before . . .” He waved his hand dismissively, banging against the sink.
“Paul make you feel bad for that?” I frowned. I wanted to put a serious hurt on everyone from Robin’s past who’d ever used him or hurt him. Paul would be an excellent starting point.
“God, I shouldn’t love it when you look like you’d like to eat him for breakfast. I really shouldn’t.” Robin’s laugh was a nervous little thing. “But yeah. I told him about my past, thinking it might help him to understand, but it just made things worse. Sex between us was . . . problematic.”
“He was the problem.” I said it emphatically, gripping his shoulders tight. “Doesn’t matter what you did in the past. Look, I’ve done all sorts of shit I’m not proud of. But that’s not who I am now. And it’s not who you are either. You deserve to go as slow as you need. Get the time you need. It’s not a fucking race.”
“I love your glower.” Robin kissed me, a quick brush across my lips. “And I’m a mess and you don’t care.”
I care too much. I couldn’t say that, even though my heart felt tight in my chest and my stomach felt all twisty. I really did want to pound Paul for making Robin feel bad about his past. He’d been a kid. A kid under the grip of an illness I’d seen drag too many others down. A kid, all alone and scared. How could I judge that? My knees felt unsteady, unable to support the weight of my heavy heart.
I kissed him back, deepening it, trying to tell him with lips and tongue and heart that all I cared about was that he was safe now. Robin sucked on my tongue, making the same needy sounds he had in the truck, sending heat straight to my dick.
And yeah, my ego perked up a bit, too. I wanted to be the one who made things better for Robin, wanted to be the one who made sex good for him again. There were plenty of areas where I was a fuckup of epic proportions, but maybe I could give him this.