Charlie’s thoughts were skittering all over the place. He was walking into his living room with Rye after dinner and he was walking into the living room of his parents’ house with his grandmother. She’d flown up from Florida for the funeral and offered to take Jack with her for the remainder of high school.
Charlie, two weeks past the legal ability to claim guardianship, had claimed it, and sent her away empty-handed, the prospect of losing his brother as well as his parents unthinkable. He’d known it would be hard but he had been blessedly ignorant of how hard, because if he’d known then he might have taken her up on her offer.
Instead she sent what money she could, when she could, and came to visit for one week every summer, claiming that it was a relief to escape the July Tampa heat.
Every time she came she told Charlie that he was doing a good job. That his parents would be proud of him.
“You okay?”
Rye’s voice was soft and he dropped onto the couch next to Charlie. Charlie focused on Rye’s eyes, quicksilver limned in kohl. He’d never met anyone with truly gray eyes before. He’d known people with blue-gray eyes and brown-gray eyes and eyes that really light blue—like Simon’s—that they looked almost gray in some lights. But never someone with eyes the color of Rye’s.
“Charlie?”
They almost glowed. Like a church window with sun streaming through it, only this light seemed to come from inside Rye himself, blazing out—
“Charlie. Where’d you go?”
“What? Nowhere.”
Rye’s eyes were closer to him now, and they looked concerned.
“‘M fine,” Charlie said.
He was fine. He’d bought this couch so it would be big enough for him to lie down on. He’d painted the walls of the living room a warm cream color so it wouldn’t look too stark against the pine flooring. He’d hung a painting from Jack’s first book, There’s a Moose Loose in Central Park, over the mantle because it reminded him of what an amazing artist Jack was. How proud he was of Jack’s success at turning his passion into a career.
“I’m gonna do the dishes,” he said.
Rye followed him into the kitchen and hovered in the doorway.
Charlie concentrated on the familiar task. Rinse, scrub, rinse, dry. A few dishes in, Rye came over and started drying. He was humming to himself, a song that Charlie thought he recognized from the album Rye’d been playing while they were cooking dinner.
“You have a really nice voice.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks.”
Rye dried the final dish and Charlie put the lasagna pan to soak in the sink.
“You wanna watch Secaucus Psychic?” Rye asked.
Charlie nodded, glad not to have to make a choice, and followed him back into the living room, the scent of dish soap clinging to his hands.
Rye hopped over the back of the couch and collapsed gracefully onto the cushions. He stretched to grab the remote off the coffee table and handed it to Charlie. He said it was annoyingly complicated to use.
He was so beautiful.
He must’ve stared a beat too long because Rye’s eyelashes fluttered and he flushed.
“Charlie. Were you okay with what happened the other day? Because you seemed okay at the time, but you haven’t mentioned it. So I just wanted to check.”
“You haven’t mentioned it either,” Charlie said.
“I know. But I’ve thought about it a lot.”
Charlie’s breath caught. He had thought about their encounter at least ten times a day since it had happened, trying to commit it to memory in case he never got the chance to touch Rye again.
Those quicksilver eyes heavy-lidded with desire, his body shaking with need; the tiny gasps of pleasure when Charlie slid fingers into his long hair; the final shudder and jerk of orgasm while Rye was pinioned between Charlie’s body and the fist in his hair.
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean for you to think I didn’t enjoy what happened between us. Because I did. I really did.”
Charlie sat on the couch next to him and Rye drew his knees up, curling into the cushions.
“Then why hasn’t it happened again?” Rye asked.
“You’re the one who made it happen,” Charlie said without thinking. “I never would have.”
“Oh. Never?”
Was that hurtful to admit? Charlie wasn’t sure. He never would have initiated anything because he never did—never had. He wouldn’t have had the first idea how.
“Probably not.”
“Why?” Rye didn’t sound hurt, just curious.
Things to do with sex... Charlie had never talked about them with anyone.
Well, there had been Dickens, whom he’d met online and talked with for a while. Dickens had been an easy confessor, being completely anonymous and possibly on the other side of the world. Charlie—or JanesDad as he’d called himself on the site (he’d chosen the moniker while Jane lay on his stomach, making biscuits on his chest, so hush)—had spilled truths as he’d never imagined doing in real life.
He’d never needed to before. Now...
“Are you dying?” Rye whispered.
Charlie snorted. Rye’s mental leaps were something.
“Ah, not that I’m aware of?”
Rye looked slightly relieved.
“Then what?”
“Did you really think the most likely reason I hadn’t put the moves on you was that I was dying?”
Rye scowled. “No! I... Just making sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I watched a show the other day where this guy knew he was dying so he pulled away...never mind, anyway.”
He curled up even more and called for Marmot. Naturally, Marmot being a cat, nothing happened. Rye scowled again.
“I knew you could work the remote if you wanted to,” Charlie said absently.
Rye ignored that.
“Charlie, what’s up? I can’t stop thinking about it. If you’re not into me, that’s fine. If you’re not into guys, that’s fine. If you’re not into sex, that’s fine. It’s all fine, just please fucking tell me.”
Charlie’s heart started to race and his fingertips began to buzz and tingle. He had never said this out loud before.
“I don’t... I don’t know,” he croaked.
“It really is. It’s all fine, I promise.”
The shame welled up from his guts to his throat, choking him.
“No, I... I don’t know because I’ve never... I haven’t... I haven’t been with anyone. Well, one teenage fumbling. But other than that.”
Charlie broke off and squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to go back to the moment before he had confessed that. To a moment when Rye still thought he was normal.
After moments of silence, he darted a glance at Rye’s face, braced for laughter or shock, but Rye just looked like Rye. When he spoke, he sounded just like he usually did.
“Do you mean you’ve never had sex with anyone, or you’ve never dated anyone?”
“I...both.”
Charlie swallowed acid. He scratched the edge of the couch cushion and heard the soft thlump of Jane’s paws hitting the ground. Ten seconds later she was in his lap, her black and gray fur damp from a recent cleaning. He sank his fingers into her fur and felt the vibration of her purr.
“Why?”
Rye’s question was simple and neutral, and though Charlie searched for the judgment in it, he didn’t find any.
It was a question that had once plagued Charlie, then faded, slowly, into simple fact.
“Mom and Dad died two days before my eighteenth birthday. I was a high school student on the football team who’d never fried an egg or cashed a check. By the time they were buried, I was legally an adult. I was Jack’s guardian, I had a mortgage, and I owned a business that was in the red.”
Those first six months, Charlie had woken every night around three in the morning, gasping for breath, and had felt all over again the grief of remembrance slam into his chest. He’d lie there, in his childhood bed—because even though they were gone, there was no way he could sleep in his parents’ room—no longer a child, but with no clue how to be an adult. A guardian. A business owner.
“It took me years to get everything together. A year before I could sleep without waking up from nightmares every single night. Five years until Jack left for college. Six until Matheson’s Hardware was firmly in the black, but by then I was taking any extra work I could to help Jack pay for school on top of everything else.
“By then, all the friends I’d had in high school were long gone. Hell, they’d been gone within a month. I don’t blame them. We were stupid kids. We played ball together. What did they owe me?”
For a while, he’d expected them to come. Expected Martin and Tom to stop by, or call, or...whatever. But within the month it had become clear how shallow those relationships were; what little capacity any of the guys on the team had to voluntarily march into Charlie’s grief with him. He’d forgiven them. He couldn’t say with certainty that he’d have behaved any different.
But it had still hurt. Charlie had never spent much time alone before that, always surrounded by the guys on the team and their classmates who hung around the edges. And suddenly he was more than alone. He was alone and full up with all these feelings he had no idea what to do with. Fear and anger and impatience and yeah, resentment.
He resented Jack because Jack had him. He resented his parents because they didn’t have to do any of the work. He resented his father for not being better at business. And he resented every single friend he’d ever had for being able to walk away from him when he himself was firmly stuck in the bog that was his new life.
“Fuck,” Rye said.
“After that I just kinda fell into a pattern. There wasn’t really time to think about that kind of stuff. Romance stuff. Sex stuff. It wasn’t...”
Charlie shook his head.
“Did you ever meet people you wanted to date?”
Charlie shrugged. Customers had tried to set him up with their daughters, sisters, cousins, and granddaughters often. He’d always demurred.
And the few times he had noticed someone he found attractive, it had made him think of Trevor, which had made him think of his parents dying, which...was a major anaphrodisiac.
Rye was worrying his lower lip and considering Charlie intently. Beautiful Rye. Full-of-life Rye who’d probably never been alone a night in his life if he didn’t want to be. Rye who knew what he liked. Who asked for it. Who could pick up and move a thousand miles with nothing but his cat and the promise of a new adventure.
Charlie admired him. Charlie envied him. And Charlie was viciously, gut-churningly intimidated by him. At least when it came to sex.
Rye unfolded from the corner and came right next to Charlie. He took Charlie’s hand in both of his and kissed it. His face showed so much pity Charlie wanted to run away from it.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m so sorry you were all alone.”
Charlie choked up. It hadn’t happened in a long, long time.
Jane plastered herself to his chest, arms on his shoulder, and put her face right up to his face. She licked his cheek and he realized he was crying.
“Well, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Rye muttered.
Then, very gently, he displaced Jane and put himself in her place. He put his arms around Charlie’s neck and pulled him close, stroking his hair.
No one had done that since his mom when he was a little boy. His hair was white-blond then, and she called him her little dandelion. He hadn’t understood why, because dandelions were yellow. So she’d taken him by the hand and searched the grass until she found one gone to seed. It was fluffy white. She stroked his halo of blond hair and held up the dandelion. Then, together, they blew, and watched the seeds cartwheel through the air.
“Baby,” Rye murmured, and something pulsed through Charlie like lightning.
He folded Rye in his arms and squeezed him tight. They lay there for a while, Rye stroking his hair, him stroking Rye’s back.
Then Rye said, “I think you’re pretty amazing.”
Charlie couldn’t quite accept that.
“Why don’t you think I’m a freak? Why are you so okay with this?”
Rye wrinkled his brow.
“You’re not a freak. Well, I mean, you are, but not because you haven’t had sex or dated people. That’s ridiculous. Tons of people aren’t interested in sex or dating. What’s there not to be okay with?”
Charlie shook his head, feeling even worse now.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. But it seems like you think there’s something wrong with it?”
“Just for me,” Charlie grumbled, and Rye snorted.
“Can I ask you something?”
Charlie nodded.
“The other night. When we... Why didn’t you want to come? Whatever the reason was, I swear it’s fine and I won’t be upset or feel bad or any—”
“I get it, thanks.”
Charlie smiled into Rye’s hair. It was easier to talk like this, pressed together but not looking at each other.
“I was worried I might, um, do something weird.”
“Weird how.” Rye remained utterly relaxed on top of him.
“Don’t know. Just, I wanted to concentrate on you and not worry about myself.”
“Sounds like you do that a lot,” Rye murmured against his neck.
Charlie blinked.
“Did you think of me later?” Rye’s breath was hot against his ear and Charlie swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
Charlie’s heart beat faster and he knew Rye could feel it against his own chest. He couldn’t get any words out.
“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?” Rye purred.
Charlie slid his hand up Rye’s spine until his fingers rested at his nape, fingertips in his hair.
“Yeah.”
“What did you think about?”
Charlie felt Rye’s cock get hard against his hip.
“About, um. The way you looked when I pulled your hair.”
“Mmm.”
“And how you were so...free.”
“Charlie.” Rye stroked his cheek. “Can I touch you?”
“I—Yeah.”
“Only if you want. Only what you want. I swear. Do you want me to?”
Charlie squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted it so much. He was scared of everything it could bring into his life—a flashlight beam exposing a hole that the darkness had concealed for years—but, goddamn, he wanted it anyway.
“Yeah, I want you to.”
And once he’d said it, like magic, it wasn’t quite so scary anymore.
Rye kissed his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Then he nuzzled into the crook of Charlie’s neck and just breathed there while he traced patterns over Charlie’s chest.
“Just relax, okay? We can stop anytime you want.”
Charlie nodded, but kept a tight hold on Rye.
Rye stroked down his ribs to the hem of his shirt, fingertips just resting on his skin.
“This okay?”
He nudged Charlie’s shirt. Charlie nodded and he slid his hand underneath. He ran light fingertips over Charlie’s stomach and Charlie gasped. Rye pressed a kiss to his neck. A finger dipped into his navel, then traced a path up to his nipple. His breath caught. Rye’s fingers left a trail of fire and Charlie squirmed beneath his touch.
“You’re so hot,” Rye murmured, pressing another kiss under his ear. “Okay?”
Charlie nodded.
Rye touched him like there was nothing he’d rather do in the entire world than touch him. By the time he slid down Charlie’s body a little and stroked Charlie’s thigh, Charlie was aching.
“Want me to take these off?” Rye asked.
Charlie gulped, but he didn’t feel scared; he felt...cared for.
“Okay.”
Then Rye’s face was in front of his, Rye’s eyes gentle.
“You sure?”
Charlie tried to smile but he felt very serious. He nodded.
Rye kissed him, slow and sweet, then unbuttoned Charlie’s jeans and pulled the zipper down over his erection. Charlie shimmied out of his pants. Rye kissed his collarbone, then settled against his side again. When he slid a hand to Charlie’s inner thigh, Charlie gasped.
“Okay?” Rye murmured.
Charlie nodded.
No one had ever touched him there. He’d never really touched himself there. It was so sensitive he shivered.
Rye caressed the insides of his thighs, and Charlie squeezed his eyes shut to escape into the sensation.
“You’re so gorgeous, Charlie,” Rye murmured.
Charlie was so hard his erection threatened the bounds of his underwear, and he was leaking into the thin fabric. Every stroke of Rye’s fingers on his inner thighs crept closer to his aching flesh and each time Rye didn’t touch him there his arousal ratcheted higher.
“Charlie, can I touch your cock?” Rye purred.
“Please,” Charlie heard himself say brokenly.
Rye cupped Charlie between his legs and Charlie jolted, hips snapping forward, seeking contact. Rye moaned and fondled him through his underwear. Charlie threw an arm over his eyes because all he could bear to concentrate on was the way Rye was making him feel.
Rye stroked his cock through his underwear and squeezed his balls gently. Then he traced a finger along the line of Charlie’s underwear in the crook of his thigh.
“You can, um...” Charlie tried.
“Want them off?” Rye asked, and Charlie nodded, arm still covering his eyes.
He expected to feel Rye’s hand on his crotch, but instead he felt it on his cheek.
“Hey, look at me for a sec.”
Charlie moved his arm. Rye’s cheeks were flushed the way they had been in the woodshop, his eyes shining.
“Feeling okay?”
Charlie nodded. Rye studied his face for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him deeply. Then he moved his mouth to Charlie’s ear and murmured, “I want to stroke your cock until you can’t stand it anymore, and then I want to watch you lose it all over my hand. Then I wanna rub off on your hot-as-fuck thigh because these things are like tree trunks and it’s sexy as hell.”
A bolt of lust tore through Charlie and he made a choked sound.
“Do you want that?”
“Yes,” Charlie said instantly.
“You sure?” Rye’s voice was teasing now.
“Yes.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Um.” Charlie’s brain was lust fogged. “Abracadabra?”
Rye snorted.
“The magic word is please, Charlie. Ask me. Say please.”
White hot lust bubbled through Charlie’s guts.
“Please, Rye. Please touch me.”
“Touch you where?” Rye’s voice was just breath.
“Touch me...touch my...my dick.”
“Mmm,” Rye said, and with a nip to his earlobe, he went back to Charlie’s underwear, stripping them down and tossing them on the floor. Charlie groaned as his erection sprang free and kissed his stomach.
He kept his eyes open just long enough to see Rye’s graceful fingers close around his length, then he let himself fall into darkness.
Rye stroked him soft and quick, hard and slow, and everything in between. Even Charlie had never spent as much time exploring his cock as Rye did. When he started running a finger around the tip, Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. He was panting and sweating and his breath felt shallow.
“Please, Rye,” he begged.
“Please what?” Rye murmured, all attention on Charlie’s body.
“Please l-let me come.”
Rye made a soft sound of satisfaction and went back to stroking Charlie’s inner thighs. Charlie groaned and he didn’t even have to open his eyes to see the wolfish expression that would no doubt be on Rye’s face.
“There’s so much to see if you like,” Rye mused. Charlie truly hadn’t expected this level of patience from him. “What would you think about me on my knees, sucking this gorgeous cock while you pulled my hair?”
The picture flashed through Charlie’s mind like something out of a dream.
“Oh, god.”
“I could spread you out on your bed and finger you until you’re ready for me to fuck you.”
Charlie heard a whimper. It was him.
“I could bend over in your huge shower and you could fuck me under the hot water.”
Charlie groaned.
“Ooh, I could spread my legs and teach you exactly how I like to have my cock sucked. I wouldn’t let you stop until you were an expert. Yeah, I like that idea.”
“Rye,” Charlie begged. “Rye, please.”
“Good use of the magic word. Which? Which of those did you like the sound of?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie slurred.
“Yeah? Mmm.”
Rye trailed a finger over Charlie’s balls and up his aching erection to slide in the liquid there and Charlie gasped. Rye fisted his cock and began to stroke, hard and slow. It was like every touch Rye had scattered along his skin coalesced into a deep, throbbing ache, and now that Rye was touching him like this Charlie felt like he’d die if it stopped.
Rye shifted so he was pressed tighter to Charlie’s side and started a slow grind against Charlie’s hip. The denim felt rough against his bare skin, a flick of discomfort that stoked the fire between his legs.
“So fucking hot,” Rye murmured.
His hand on Charlie was sweet torture and Charlie felt his orgasm building like a tidal wave. He tried to press harder into Rye’s hand, and Rye moaned as Charlie’s hip ground even harder against Rye’s cock.
Finally, Charlie couldn’t take any more. He was hot all over and his skin felt like it could hardly contain him.
“Please, please, please,” he heard himself chant, and Rye moaned, his breathing getting heavier.
Charlie thought if he didn’t come right the fuck now he might die. He did the only thing he could think of. He slid a hand into Rye’s hair and yanked.
“Oh, fuck!”
Rye’s hand sped up on his cock and Charlie groaned. He gathered Rye’s hair into his fist and pulled slowly, feeling Rye’s rolling grind stutter and become more desperate.
There was a finger at the sensitive tip of his aching cock that sent sparks all through him, then Rye was jerking him hard and fast.
Charlie’s orgasm barreled through him like a freight train, flattening every thought in his head to Oh, god, Oh, god, Oh, holy fucking god, as he came his brains out in Rye’s hand.
The pleasure pulsed out of him, shattering the world behind his closed eyes to a supernova of light and bowing his body in ecstatic relief.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, still shaking from the pleasure.
He’d let go of Rye’s hair when he came, and now he grabbed it again, tugging sharply. Rye’s hand tightened on his spent cock like he’d forgotten he still held it, and he thrust against Charlie’s hip, moaning.
For the second time, Charlie saw Rye freeze for a moment and then go wild against him. He threw his head back as he came and Charlie gave his hair another long tug.
Rye was fully clothed while Charlie was naked except for his rucked-up shirt, but Rye still managed to look vulnerable in his pleasure. His cheeks and throat were red and he was writhing against Charlie, trying to wring one last moment of pleasure from his body.
With a final groan, Rye collapsed against him, still cupping Charlie’s cock in his hand.
They lay together that way for a minute, as their breaths slowed. Then Rye kissed Charlie’s shoulder and shifted so he could look at him.
“Are you okay?” It was probably the dozenth time he’d said it but this time he sounded tender, concerned.
Charlie cupped his face and drew him down for a kiss.
“I’m good,” he said.
And he really, really was.