Small City Heart

by Erin McLellan

  By the end of Patrick’s monologue, Charlie was up and moving with Patrick wrapped around him. Patrick’s legs tightened on Charlie’s waist, and Charlie pressed him into a wall by his bedroom door.

  Their lips crashed together—their first real, full kiss—and it was messy and hurried and a little uncomfortable. Perfect. Charlie would have relived it a million times over if he could have.

  Patrick managed to unbutton Charlie’s dress shirt, which was impressive. Charlie could hardly focus on anything besides the sleekness of Patrick’s tongue, the warmth of his mouth. Prickles of pain ripped Charlie out of his dazed kissing, and he glanced down at his chest where Patrick was scoring his pecs with blunt fingernails.

  Charlie allowed for a moment of regret that he didn’t get to see Patrick do that same thing with those bright blue fingernails from yesterday before he staggered off the wall, took a handful of steps into his bedroom, and flung Patrick onto his bed.

  The smile Patrick sent him proved that he was definitely here to play.

  “Take your shirt off,” Charlie said as he finished unbuttoning his own. He slung it off and then glanced down at the little crescent-shaped marks on his chest.

  “Too much?” Patrick asked, watching closely as Charlie admired the scratches.

  “I liked it.”

  “Good.”

  “Take your shirt off, Patrick.”

  “You want it off? You can come and get it.”

  Charlie huffed a laugh and launched himself at Patrick, tackling him flat on the bed. He managed to pin the squirming man and rip the shirt open. Patrick fought him a bit, but he was laughing, breathless, and obviously wanted Charlie to win this one.

  They finished undressing this way, fighting to hold the other down, writhing to feel their bodies touching. Finally they were mostly naked save a spare sock and Charlie’s underwear. He restrained Patrick’s hands by pressing them to the bed and then straddled his thighs.

  Patrick was lean but solid, no longer the wisp of a boy he’d once been. He didn’t have a six-pack, but his abs were firm. His chest was hairless, and a line of soft blond hair trailed from his belly button to his cock. Patrick’s arms strained against Charlie’s hold, and Charlie couldn’t help but lean down and kiss the curve of his biceps.

  Patrick’s hair was wild around his head, and across his face. He had to spit a lock out of his mouth. This close, Charlie was even more drawn to Patrick’s dark blue eyes and his plush, generous lips, so Charlie stretched out over him until their bodies were pressed together everywhere and their mouths could touch.

  They kissed and thrust, their cocks separated by the cotton of Charlie’s briefs. Patrick fought his hold, but moaned each time he found resistance, so Charlie didn’t let go.

  “Naked,” Patrick finally gasped, ripping his mouth away from Charlie’s. “Want you naked too. Want to see you.”

  Charlie stared at him. Patrick’s mouth was dark red from their kisses, and he had stubble burn all over his throat and cheeks. “But then I’d have to let you go.”

  “Take your fucking panties off, Charles.”

  “It’s Charlie,” he said, but he laughed. He released Patrick’s hands, and surprisingly, Patrick left them limp above his head, so Charlie rushed through removing his briefs. Normally there was that moment of self-consciousness, that doubt, or wariness when he got naked with another man, but he only felt stark relief when their skin was touching again. They both moaned when he lay back out over Patrick, and Patrick hooked his legs around Charlie’s thighs in a tight clinch.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Charlie threaded their fingers together, and then said, “I like the way you say Charles though.” He drove his hips forward, their cocks rubbing all over each other, and groaned.

  Patrick chuckled breathlessly, then tried to get his hands free. Charlie didn’t let him, holding him down, and frotting against him until static started to buzz in his ears. Their bodies were sliding together, all sweat and pre-come, and Charlie couldn’t keep his lips off Patrick’s skin.

  “So good. I want to come like this,” Patrick breathed in his ear, and Charlie shuddered.

  Patrick finally got a hand loose, and Charlie used the opportunity grip Patrick’s hair in a fist. Patrick’s reaction was instantaneous. He cried out and grabbed Charlie’s ass, urging him into a faster rhythm. Charlie hadn’t come like this in ages, but a dim sparkle of pleasure was already building in the base of his spine, heat flooding his stomach and dick.

  They clutched each other tighter, and it felt like heaven to grapple until their bodies were locked together, no space between them.

  Patrick bit him hard, right on the side of the neck, like a little vampire, and Charlie cried out. “God, you kinky fucker. You’re wild, you know that?” But Patrick didn’t let up, and Charlie didn’t want him to.

  “Close,” Patrick whispered, his voice rough and dark, right before he nipped Charlie’s ear. “Harder.”

  Charlie fucked him into the bed, their dicks sandwiched between their stomachs, and sweat slicking the way. Suddenly, Patrick’s body went taut, his back arching harder, and his head hitching back. He dug his hands, his fingernails, so hard into Charlie’s skin, there would be evidence left tomorrow.

  Wet heat flooded the tight space between their bodies, and Patrick gasped out a series of surprised moans as he released all over both of them. The smell of Patrick’s come sent a detonation to Charlie’s brain, and that flame of pleasure that had been right on the edges of his consciousness tightened his whole body up. It flashed through him like a line of firecrackers going off, and all his pent up need exploded out him in hot pulses.

  He collapsed on top of Patrick, and half-expected to be pushed off or for the wrestling to continue, but instead Patrick ran a trembling hand up and down Charlie’s spine until their breathing evened out.

  Charlie lifted his head and couldn’t hold back a grin at how wrecked Patrick looked. “That was . . . dang.”

  Patrick laughed a little. “Yeah.”

  He kissed Charlie square on the lips, which sent a jolt of surprise through him. They traded lazy kisses and soft touches until lethargy started to draw Charlie’s eyelids down.

  “We’re messy,” Patrick whispered, like he was scared to speak too loud and break the moment.

  “I’ll get us a washrag,” Charlie said, but he didn’t move. Didn’t stop his soft, languid kisses over Patrick’s throat and shoulders.

  “Great. When?”

  “Ugh. Fine.” Charlie swung himself off Patrick’s body, and closed his eyes through the dizziness that hit him when he was upright. The orgasm had sapped his strength and tilted his world on its head.

  When he got back with a wet washrag, after cleaning himself up in the bathroom, the mood in his bedroom was perceptively chilly.

  He froze in his doorway. “What?”

  Patrick frowned and shook his head. “Nothing.” He held his hand out for the cloth, and then wiped the come off his stomach before sitting up. His eyes were a bit feral, like he’d been cornered.

  A lump of fear rolled Charlie’s stomach. He wasn’t ready for Patrick to leave, didn’t know if he could handle him walking out already.

  Needy Charlie was back in the building.

  “Stay.” The word ripped from Charlie’s throat, and he flushed at the clinginess. He continued on anyway. “I know this doesn’t mean anything. Or it can’t, I guess. But I can be your rebound. Your vacation lay.”

  Patrick eyed him, his eyebrows furrowing down. “Why can’t it mean anything?” Charlie mentally recalibrated, ready to lay his heart on the line, but before he could open his mouth, Patrick laughed humorlessly. “Who am I kidding? How could it?”

  That shut Charlie right up. He didn’t have a right to push for more than this wonderful night of pleasure. He wouldn’t repeat his mistakes, wouldn’t let his past and baggage poison something as pure and nice as a reunion hookup with his longtime crush.

  With his ex, Donovan, he’d pushed for
more, for forever, for a compromise that was untenable. For over a year, his ex had wanted to leave Small City, but he’d stuck around because he’d loved Charlie. Then one day, Charlie had found himself holding so tight to the reins of their relationship that it was strangling both of them. He’d never do that again.

  Even if it were an option, he couldn’t imagine saddling Patrick with that kind of pressure. No, Patrick was a free spirit and the best kind of weirdo. Charlie would never tie him down or hold him back. Small City was too small for Patrick Pearl.

  So Charlie simply said, “Stay. For the next hour or the whole night. Or the weekend. Stay.”

  Patrick nodded, a vulnerable quiver in his smile, and Charlie dragged him down onto the bed. They clutched each other close, like they had to fight to feel the other’s breath, their skin, as if they could hold each other so close they’d feel bone and marrow and soul.

  Chapter 5

  Morning sunbeams fell in stripes through the blinds and gilded Charlie’s skin with gold. Patrick itched for his camera. He’d left his bag in the living room last night, so he slipped out of bed to retrieve it.

  When he returned, Charlie was still dead asleep. Patrick sat gingerly beside him in bed, camera in hand. He felt weird about taking pictures of Charlie without permission while he was so vulnerable, so instead he simply stared.

  Patrick had only found the one firefighter-pride tattoo last night, but Charlie’s body was a work of art on its own. He had thick dark hair dusting his muscly chest, stomach, legs, and forearms, and Patrick had enjoyed that roughness pressing against his smoother skin. Add to that the perfect cupid’s bow lips, sexy stubble, and outrageously long eyelashes casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones—the man was a walking, talking advertisement for all firefighter calendars everywhere. He was hot, okay. Just ridiculously, unfairly attractive—it practically hurt to look at him, especially against the contrast of crisp white sheets in the morning sun—but he’d seemed almost shy the night before.

  Patrick felt funny. Melancholy, almost. That had been some of the best sex he’d ever had. It hadn’t felt like he was shredding a piece of himself, of his dignity, when he’d let himself fall apart in Charlie’s arms. Not like it had with his boss, Richard. With Charlie, his stomach hadn’t ached with wrongness. There had been no humiliation. And that in itself was a relief.

  Charlie had also been perfectly happy to get rough one moment and then cuddly the next, which was Patrick’s own brand of kryptonite. It’d seemed special.

  It was special.

  Patrick was smart enough to know chemistry like this didn’t come around every day, and he felt his stupid heart yearning to make this last longer, make this more permanent.

  But their night together didn’t mean anything to Charlie. He’d said as much, and Patrick didn’t know how to broach the subject now without opening himself up to a world of hurt.

  Patrick must have made some kind of noise, probably a moan of abject longing, because Charlie’s eyes fluttered open and he greeted Patrick with the sweetest smile.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie’s voice was raspy.

  “Staring at you, wishing I could take your picture. And getting boners over your perfect eyelashes.”

  “You can take my picture.”

  “You sure?” Patrick lifted his camera and took a close-up of Charlie’s face. “I feel like I’ve propositioned you when you’re defenseless.”

  Charlie laughed, and Patrick clicked away, moving onto his knees to have a better angle.

  “I’m not defenseless. Just sleepy.”

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Stop flirting.”

  “Why?” Patrick said, with a grin. He fixed the sheets around Charlie, arranging them so they appeared effortlessly messy but also covered his dick. As much as he’d love some Charlie North nudes, that wasn’t something he felt like negotiating this morning.

  Eventually Charlie stretched, showing off the whole glorious length of his torso and ripped arms before rolling onto his stomach with a hmmmph.

  “Come back to bed.”

  “I am in bed.” Patrick tugged the sheet down so it barely covered Charlie’s ass, which was quite impressive under the flimsy cotton—all round and bubbly. Patrick stood so he could get shots of Charlie’s whole body.

  It wasn’t until Patrick had been snapping pictures for a good three minutes that Charlie snuck a hand underneath his body. The sight of his ass thrusting, his back rippling with movement, was what finally made Patrick put his camera down and yank the sheet off.

  God, Charlie’s butt was even better like this. Patrick grabbed it and smiled as Charlie moaned. All of that undulating muscle was making Patrick lightheaded. He squeezed and separated Charlie’s cheeks, seeking that perfect, secret part of him.

  “You want to fuck me?” Charlie asked.

  Patrick’s head jerked up at that, and he shivered. Last night, Charlie had acted kind of toppy, so this was a surprising turn of events.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I like it both ways, but being fucked when I’m all sleepy and relaxed is my favorite.”

  “Oh, so I can do all the work, is that it?”

  Charlie laughed and buried his face back in his pillow. He was still thrusting into his hand, so Patrick spanked him lightly.

  “Stop that.”

  With a groan, Charlie pulled his hand out from under him.

  “Anything you don’t like?” Patrick said while he shoved a spare pillow under Charlie’s hips. Then he pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table, hoping to find supplies.

  Jackpot. There was a line of condoms, lube, and a prostate massager, which Patrick stared at for a long second before deciding against it. He loved using toys by himself, but it’d always been a private thing and he didn’t want to push in case Charlie felt the same.

  Especially when this was only a casual hookup.

  Casual, casual, casual.

  “Not a huge fan of lots of prep. Don’t care for being finger-fucked for a long time. A bit is okay, but . . .” Charlie shrugged. “Not my favorite.”

  “Good to know.”

  Patrick kissed a line down Charlie’s spine, savoring the sleep-warm skin against his lips. When he got to the small of Charlie’s back, he asked, “How about my mouth? My tongue?”

  Charlie hissed in surprise and his muscles clenched. “God, yes.”

  “Excellent.”

  He licked down Charlie’s crack until he found his target, and slowly went about loosening him up. Charlie’s reactions—small hitching moans and restless hip twitches—made Patrick’s head spin. He loved doing this but hadn’t gotten the chance in a long time. There were a lot of things he’d missed out on in the last year, and it felt good to be with someone who allowed himself to be vulnerable, who didn’t seem concerned with who topped or bottomed or who pinned who to the bed.

  Patrick shook his head, trying to dislodge uncomfortable memories. He hadn’t had fun like this in ages.

  Once Charlie’s hole was soft and messy with spit, and his gasps sounded almost dire, Patrick sat up and got himself ready.

  Condom on and slick with lube, he spread out over Charlie, hovering over his big body. Charlie’s hands were clenched into fists beside his head, and his face, what Patrick could see of it in profile, was flushed pink.

  “Gorgeous,” Patrick whispered. Charlie moaned and closed his eyes, like this was all too much. “Still with me?”

  “Yes. Please. Already feel close.”

  Now, it was Patrick’s turn to groan. He held himself steady and pressed inside. Patrick paused to give Charlie a second to adjust, but he didn’t clench or tighten up, so Patrick slid deeper, waiting for a resistance that never came.

  Once he was as deep as possible, Patrick lay out across Charlie’s back and kissed his neck. Their fingers found each other, like magnets, and Patrick held Charlie’s hands tightly in his own. Charlie was panting below him, an expression that could have been pain or ecs
tasy on his face. His mouth was open, his eyes scrunched shut.

  He squeezed Patrick’s fingers. “Move.”

  Fuck. Okay. Charlie wasn’t the only one who was already close. That initial thrust had rocketed Patrick’s heartbeat to double-speed.

  Patrick swiveled his hips, giving Charlie a small retreat before pushing back in. He repeated the movement again and again, until Charlie wasn’t quite so tight, and they were both gasping.

  Sweat beaded between them, and Patrick was shocked by the ache in his sternum, by the desire to be closer and closer.

  Charlie’s body locked up on a harder thrust, and he tried to rip his hand from Patrick’s hold. The sudden movement surprised Patrick so much that he let it happen at first, until he realized where that hand was heading.

  A flip switched in his brain, just like last night, and he wanted to fight for it. Wanted Charlie to have to fight for it too. So he grabbed that wayward, sneaking palm and pinned it back on the pillow. He fucked into Charlie harder.

  “Oh, God. Patrick.” A shudder rippled through Charlie, and he humped the pillow under his hips, which made Patrick’s eyes roll back in pleasure. Charlie wasn’t relaxed any longer as he writhed, trying to get his hands free. He chanted, “Yes, yes, yes,” every time his efforts were thwarted.

  Patrick bit the back of his neck and stretched their entwined arms out wide. Charlie’s body was tight and trembling, and his pleasure made Patrick’s world tilt.

  He scraped his teeth up to Charlie’s ear. “You’re unreal.”

  “No.” Charlie shook his head, his sweaty hair sticking to Patrick’s face. “This is real. It’s real.”

  The words pierced Patrick’s heart, like someone had shot him, a slug lodging deep, and a sound like a sob pushed against his chest. He gentled his biting into frantic, thankful kisses all over Charlie’s cheeks, jaw, and neck.

  With his lips pressed to the sweet hollow behind Charlie’s jaw, Patrick started to lose his fight for control. Not of the situation. Not of Charlie’s hands. But of himself. Of his heart.

  Suddenly, with a surprise jerk, Charlie got one hand free, but rather than grabbing his cock, which Patrick was sure he was dying to do, he reached back and threaded his fingers into Patrick’s hair.