by Rachel Kane
Skin prickled in the night air. Mason spread his shirt, like opening the drapes, as though Liam's chest was a window he had long desired to stare through. And stare he did, his eyes close, his mouth close, kissing the muscle and the bone, the nipple and the hair, all the parts somehow adding up to Liam, even though in this moment, it felt like the only parts of him that existed, were the ones Mason was paying direct attention to, like maybe his hands and feet had faded, and only his chest was real, in this series of kisses from rib to belly, special care paid to his navel, which tickled and made Liam shudder with a laughing delight…
…but then a look of seriousness took hold, as Mason worked on his belt, undid Liam's jeans. There was, here, no slow, careful reveal. Mason wanted him too badly to wait. No time for flirtatious slowness now.
Liam's cock stood in greeting. Look at me, it seemed to say, and Mason obeyed.
Something occurred to Liam—as though rational thought were even possible!—as Mason began to lick his cock in quick, wet circles, his tongue lingering over Liam's slit.
It was only half an idea, something that could not fully form when his head was so fogged by lust, when what he really wanted to think about was how the two men might somehow fuck each other at the same time, and also suck each other, and also kiss, as though there were a thousand of them there on the porch, a riotous orgy of two.
I have always been treated with such passivity, he thought.
People have always acted like I should be the one in control. They expect me to be the top…in everything. In practical living. Relationships. I'm always the one in charge.
"Fuck me," he said simply.
Mason looked up from his ministrations. "What's that?"
"You. Fuck. Me. Not the other way around. You get off first. I want to bottom for you. I want you to do whatever you want to me. No questions asked."
It was a credit to Mason's goodness that he took a moment to think this over. He seemed to understand that this was a significant thing for Liam. That he wouldn't have brought it up if it weren't important. As for Liam himself, he hardly understood what he was saying, and didn't want to think about it, not one bit. He just wanted…Mason. He wanted Mason to be just as strong and protective inside him, as he seemed in his normal life.
No further words were spoken on the matter. They didn't need to be. Mason had accepted control—responsibility—and, if only for these next precious few minutes before the real world came in, ownership.
He returned to his place between Liam's trembling thighs, although now he was less focused on the cock. In a series of small kisses, he worked his way down first to Liam's balls, which had already tightened up as though ready to shoot his load without any warning…but then worked down further. He kissed, he nibbled, he tongued his way down.
Even now the old habits came up. Liam wanted to order him, Eat my ass, get your tongue in there— But that was the opposite of what he really wanted, which was for Mason to do it all without asking, without urging. To have him do it because he was in charge and it brought him pleasure. To have him simply take over.
He needn't have worried. When Mason reached his entrance, his tongue was hot and wet and eager for the task. Liam felt a shudder pass through his spine, one that shook him where he lay, and Mason grabbed one of his hands to steady him. In that one moment was more pleasure than he had felt in a year. That one touch.
But Mason wasn't done. His tongue was masterful and knew exactly what to do, to leave Liam shaking. The teasing, light touches, like being attacked with a feather, followed the more thorough tongue-lashings that elicited a groan from him, and his free hand scraped the porch, trying to find purchase, because Mason's mouth made Liam feel like he might fall off the edge of the world.
Liam closed his eyes. He felt Mason pull away, and tried to tell what he was doing through sound alone. It was hard, in this brief pause, not to grab his own cock and start pulling on it, but he was not under his own control, was he? Instead he listened. The shuffling of fabric, yes, yes, that could mean exciting things. Then a sound he wasn't sure of, plastic, tearing. Then sound was replaced by touch, and he hissed an inhalation through closed teeth as Mason's fingers, covered in freezing lube, pressed against him.
They didn't stay cold long though, just long enough to set up a bit of agony in him, a need for relief, but as Mason pressed forward, as he entered Liam with one thick finger, the chills were replaced with something else, a vibration, a hum in his body, like his entire self had become a stringed instrument, with Mason the expert player, who knew exactly how to pluck a note from him.
How did he know?
How did he know Liam's body so well already?
It was like they had done this a thousand times, as though they'd been together their entire lives. How did he know the way to slowly, slowly pull his finger from Liam's tunnel, so slowly it didn't feel like movement at all, but he seemed to know, once his finger was out, that Liam would feel this strange and tremendous loss, on the verge of opening his mouth and begging Mason to put it back in, but forbidding himself from saying a word.
But Mason knew. Of course he did. When his hand returned, it was with two fingers, then three, gently stretching, preparing the way. That third finger nearly did it, nearly pushed Liam over the edge. He was already as hard as he could get, and when those fingers brushed his prostate, his whole body said time to come, and it was only by force of will that he could get himself to calm down, to keep going and enjoy the delights Mason was offering him, without letting it end too soon.
There was one more thing he wanted. One more thing he wanted Mason to do, and as though the big man could read his mind, Mason pulled his fingers out of Liam.
This time he couldn't keep his eyes closed. He had to see. Needed to see, the way Mason's shirt unsnapped and opened, rolling over those huge shoulders, stuck on the biceps before falling to the porch. Half-bare before him, Mason loomed, all muscle and lust, eagerly yanking belt from jeans, a rush to get himself completely naked.
He was a vision. If there had been more light—if only there had been more light! There was so much of Mason. Those baggy shirts he wore hid a body like a god's, strong and perfect. But not too perfect. There, on his shoulder, was a scar whose history Liam didn't know. And another, smaller scar on his belly. There were stories about this man that he wanted to listen to…later.
Right now he wanted Mason over him. Towering above him, thrusting, panting, loving—
No. Not loving. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. This was no-strings. This was one step up from an anonymous hook-up. Nothing more than that. Nothing.
So Liam's mind said. His heart, his body…they weren't in on that conversation. They were too attuned to what happened next, the way Mason slid on a condom, the way the rubber reflected the moonlight, so that instead of being this practical little device, it became something else, armor, shielding, something mystical and ancient. More lube poured down, and Mason coated himself thickly with it, to ease his path.
Now that Liam had seen Mason’s cock, he wanted to see it closer, wanted to bathe it with his tongue, wanted to feel it hit the back of his throat, and he prayed there would be time for that in the future, but the point of what he'd seen now was its size. Because here, at the beginning, there was always that moment of worry. Would it hurt? Would he be gentle with that thing? And part of Liam didn't care, part of him wanted Mason to be as rough with him as he deserved. After all, hadn't he just admitted to practically murdering Richard with his ignorance, with his distracted attention? He deserved to be hurt. He deserved to be pounded into the ground, treated like nothing, like ashes, like dust—
But as Mason slowly and carefully pressed the head of his cock against the entrance of Liam's ass, Liam knew that another part of him cared very much. Knew that if Mason were gentle, it would be a signal of something else.
Perhaps a sign that Mason forgave him for everything he'd ever done wrong.
A sign that Mason thought he was worth the gentlene
ss, the kindness.
That Mason believed he could be healed.
And in some ways, that was even more painful. Not physically, no…by the time Mason was sliding into him, Liam found his body was totally ready for it, accepting him with a sharp intake of breath, a gasp born of wonder and pleasure.
What hurt was that Mason was wrong. Liam couldn't be healed, and didn't deserve it, and— And—
And there was no more room for thinking like this. Not with that massive cock inside him, not with Mason's chest touching his, the closeness of their bodies on this cool spring night, sternum to sternum, hip to hip. Liam raised his knees, his ankles, clasping Mason, not letting him go. Maybe this was a little break in the rule about Mason having control, or maybe none of his prior words mattered, as much as the care and love Mason was showing him right now.
Liam took Mason's face in his hands and kissed him, kissed him with passion and gratitude and some unnameable warmth in his heart, something he had no words for, and then all the thoughts went away, all the words went away, and he was just there, enjoying the attention of this new, powerful lover, the way he thrust all the way in, the way he took possession of Liam's body as though it were his own, and when Liam gasped that one last time, because all the stimulation had sent shockwaves through his cock, making it come even untouched, pressed between their bellies, when he gasped, it was as though Mason took it as a signal, and with one last push, he groaned, coming inside Liam, kissing him, holding him, two little figures clinging together as the whole cosmos exploded around them.
"It would probably ruin the moment if I said thank you," Liam said, his arm resting against the passenger-side door. The truck bumped and tumbled its way back toward town.
Mason's face was consumed with emotion. He reached out his hand and took Liam's. "Go ahead," he said. "Ruin the moment. I just want to hear you say anything."
"I needed this. It's like a little vacation from my life, a little break…"
He realized that wasn't what he meant, even as he said it. He looked again at Mason, whose eyes were steadily on the road, as though he were afraid to look at Liam.
"A vacation?" Mason asked calmly.
"No. No."
"Because look…I know it's much, much to early to even ask this—"
"Trust me, I realize that."
"And I have no right, you've got this life of your own out there—"
"I know."
"But I like you, Liam. And I wish you'd hang around. At least for a while. What's up there at the city for you? Memories? More grief you won't even let yourself feel? Come down here."
"My job—"
"I don't know what to say about that."
"Where would I live? I can't let Roo run around Superbia Springs, it's not safe—"
"I know. I know. I don't care. Liam, look, just stay a while, okay? Please? I have no right to ask. But if you leave now, after what we did… I didn't mean to get into heartbreak territory, I really didn't."
He gripped Mason's hand more tightly. "I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll stay."
There were a thousand objections. Good as the sex had been, they'd just met! And there were complications with the house, and his job—
He laughed. "This is so ridiculous."
Mason looked at him now, a shade of fear in his expression, as though he thought he might be the ridiculous one. "What?"
"Worrying about my job. I work from home. As long as I can get internet here, I can work here. I don't know where I would stay. Cozy as the motor lodge is—"
"I can find you a place. Don't worry, I'm not asking you to move in with me! But there are some vacant houses over on the other side of town. I can hook up internet for you, rewire things if I have to—"
"Are we really talking about this? Are we actually saying this? This is the stupidest, most impulsive thing I've ever done!"
Now Mason laughed. "You wanted honest, so here's honest: I'm not ready to let you go yet. Stay for a week, a month, a year, just…stay."
Sometimes you have to set practicality aside. Sometimes you have to realize that what you've been calling home is really a graveyard, full of ghosts and regrets and all the sins of the past, and it's time to escape. The city had become toxic for him, had become more trouble than he could bear. Superbia would be, if nothing else, a fresh start. Away from his trouble, away from his problems.
"My mom is going to flip out."
"She can come too."
"Yeah, she's not going to leave Judah—"
"He can come too."
"Sure, sure, and I'll bring Noah down here for good measure."
"I don't care who you bring," said Mason, "as long as you're here."
If only that voice of practicality had been a bit louder. If only Liam had let himself listen to it, rather than letting himself get lost in the excitement—and, it had to be admitted, lost in the lust, because while they were in the truck, driving to the motel, Mason's hand was between Liam's legs, toying with him yet again, and he was so excited that they might have to stop and pull over for just one more fuck…
…if only he'd listened to his head, rather than his heart, he might not have gotten hurt.
But he didn't realize yet where that hurt would come from.
20
Liam
Morning was kind to the old house. The early sun set it aglow, hid the imperfections and accentuated its grandeur. Each leaf of the overgrown walk had turned silver in the beginnings of dawn, and the patches of mist seemed painted by a nostalgic artist intent on capturing a dream.
Mama sighed, looking up, taking it all in. "I swear, Liam."
"It's beautiful."
"To think we could have had this place. To think that it was right in our hands."
"It's in our hands now."
He didn't think she would find what she came here for. In real life, people didn't leave behind caches of important documents, outlining their secret reasons for doing things like willing houses to nephews. There was not going to be a secret panel leading to a secret room. No old reel-to-reel tape, the scratchy audio beginning, I have recorded a conversation wherein I have offered this house to the younger Cooper heir…
Then again, he was questioning how a lot of things worked lately. Last night had upended one or two of his assumptions about people. Last night… He wanted to hold the memory close to his chest, so his heart could beat right next to it. It wasn't just the sex, although the sex would go down as one of the best times he'd had in his adult life. It was the closeness he'd felt, the way, for a brief moment, someone had cared for him, someone had wanted to protect him from the strange dual-grief he was caught up in.
He hadn't told Mason how confusing it was. How sometimes he got his tragedies mixed up, like Richard's death was somehow related to his dad's. They happened years apart, but sometimes, in the way two different dreams on the same night can seem connected by the most tenuous sense of overlapping, the events that most marked his adult life got tangled, and Richard's heart problem was due to anonymous sex at clubs, and his dad's infection was due to an electrical failure. It didn't make any sense, but the human mind did what it could to set a narrative around loss, even when no narrative was readily available.
Before him, his mother—Mama, who still survived, who had no secrets from him, who demanded total honesty—was looking up at the triangular pediment atop to the portico of the house. There, in granite, was the word SUPERBIA, and a year, 1925. "I did some reading," she said. "Did you know the meaning of superbia is pride?"
Liam chuckled. "You think I didn't do my homework? I didn't know the difference between Richardsonian Romanesque, Greek Revival and Georgian and…I dunno, Victorian, until a few days ago."
"But it's not just pride," she said. "It's overweening pride. The kind of pride that goes before a fall."
"Seems appropriate, under the circumstances."
They climbed the porch, Liam lifting both baby and stroller up the steps, when he suddenly had a
fear that evidence of last night might've been left behind. Stepping ahead of his mom, he set the stroller down and scanned the area for wrappers, stray droplets of lubricant, or worse, obvious butt-prints in the dust.
"What are you doing over there?" she asked.
Mason had done a good job of cleaning up, while Liam had lain there in mute ecstasy for a while, watching his naked form move in the moonlight. "Nothing," he told her. "Just testing the porch for integrity."
She used his key to unlock the front door, and pushed it open. It pivoted without a sound, courtesy of a few quick sprays Mason had given the hinges. He's already making your life better, see? Not that Liam needed to convince himself of that.
What he wanted was for Mason to be here. To share in this excitement he felt every time he entered the house. What was Mason now? Were they boyfriends? What was the status? Did it matter? Why did his thoughts keep fluttering over to him from wherever they had been before, like a butterfly lighting on first one flower then another?
"I don't even know where to start," Mama said.
"It'd help if we really knew what you were looking for."
"I know. And…I don't know. Maybe it's useless. Maybe it was silly of me to think there would be evidence somewhere. If there was one thing your father was good at, it was hiding the evidence—"
He put his hand out, touched her arm. "It's okay. We're here, and we're going to look."
She nodded. No more needed to be said. She knew that he understood, knew that he had the same questions, and that all those questions were really one question: Why had his father hidden everything from them? Why had he had a secret life, and what did it have to do with this house?
