by Lissa Kasey
“Okay, so you take bachelor pad to a new meaning,” I said after examining the cupboards. In the fridge there was almond milk, almond milk creamer, a newish carton of organic eggs, and a half dozen apples. In the pantry, which was one cupboard near the stove, there was a bag of rice, a jar of peanut butter, and a container marked sugar.
“Not home much,” Micah said. “Usually I make fried rice or something.”
I wasn’t sure how to make that. Eggs and rice maybe? I did know how to make one thing with the few things he had, and figured why not, then dug around to find a flat pan that would fit in the tiny oven. It took less than two minutes to whip up a batch of poor man’s peanut butter cookies. One egg, one cup peanut butter, and one cup sugar. It only made a dozen little bites, but that was all there was room for on the pan anyway.
“You like sweets, right?” I asked.
“Hmm,” Micah grumbled.
“Was that a yes or a leave me the fuck alone?”
“Yes,” Micah said. “I like sweets.”
It took less than ten minutes in the little oven for the cookies to bake. Jet curled up with Micah, taking the spot right beside Micah’s head and sticking his face under Micah’s chin until he laughed. “Brat,” Micah told the cat, reaching out to pet him.
“Does he need food or anything?” I asked, looking around the small space. There was an automatic fountain thing near the edge of the kitchen, but I didn’t see food bowls.
“He has an automatic feeder for at night. It’s upstairs in the loft. In the morning he gets wet food.” Micah stroked Jet’s back, his eyes closed and looking much like the cat in that moment, calm and content. That was much better than the panic earlier.
I took the cookies out and turned off the heat, found a plate and stacked them up. Then I poured a glass of milk for each of us and brought it to the futon. “Ever had poor man’s peanut butter cookies?” I asked him as I set the plate down.
“I’ve had peanut butter cookies.”
“These are a little simpler.” I took one and tasted a bite. Yep, just how I remembered it. The peanut butter made the cookie very rich, the sugar taking the edge off it a little. “A lot of Europeans don’t like peanut butter.” Since he had a jar in the cupboard, I assumed he probably was okay with it.
Micah sat up and took a cookie. He took an experimental nibble. The cookies were small enough to be one bite each, but his expression softened. “Wow, that is very peanut buttery. Not all doughy like most cookies.” He took a sip of his milk and finished the first cookie before taking the next.
“High protein. We always got peanut butter and sugar from the food shelf growing up. During the holidays we’d have the regular sort of peanut butter cookies with all the flour and stuff. I never liked those as much. I think because I grew up eating these, that everything else was sort of dulled down in flavor. When we got older and mom was making more money, she’d make the other kind, but neither Lukas nor I ate them, so she’d bring them to work or send them with dad. After a while she stopped making the other kind.”
Micah ate another cookie. “We have cakes a bit like this. Super simple, rice flour, eggs, and a bit of flavor added in sometimes like fruit or tea. Mom cooked a lot when I was little.”
“You still talk to her? Or your dad?”
“Yes. She calls once a week. I talk to them both. Dad is always trying to find me a job.”
“You have a job,” I pointed out, probably unnecessarily.
“One back home. He’s tried to get me to teach English in a lot of places. That’s not my world anymore. Not sure it ever was. He’s even been trying to find me something teaching history. I’m not sure I can pretend to be that normal.”
“I hear you there.” I held up my glass of milk so we could do a pretend toast. We clicked plastic cups. “To messing up all on our own.”
Micah smiled. “I think you’re doing okay. You make great cookies.”
“Thanks.” I snuggled into the bed beside him. Once the cookies were gone, and milk empty, he put the dishes on the end table and reached for a remote that killed the lights. The apartment was silent, just the quiet whir of the air-conditioner. I wiggled closer to Micah, until I could smell his Christmas scent and reach Jet’s furred side. Jet had a paw curled around Micah’s arm. I reached out and petted the cat for a bit, closing my eyes and letting the texture ease the last of my anxiety away. I counted backward, expecting it to take a while to fall asleep, but it didn’t. And even after all I’d experienced on the ghost tour, I didn’t dream of deserts or fallen soldiers. I dreamt of cookies, cats, and cosplay boys.
Chapter 16
At first I wasn’t sure what had roused me. The hiss of a cat was unfamiliar enough to have me jolting up in bed. I hadn’t put the eye mask on and the room was its normal semi-dark with multicolored lights outside. Jet sat in front of the door, hissing and yowling at it, while the knob rattled.
I had to admit, heroics weren’t my first thought. Instant fear carved agony into my gut. A glance back at Micah proved him to be awake and ghost white with terror. I threw back the blanket ready to get up and confront whatever the fuck it was and demand it leave us alone, but he grabbed my hand.
“Don’t,” he begged.
“You said it didn’t do that anymore. Not since you got Jet.”
“Apparently I was wrong.” He climbed out of the bed, keeping his distance from the door but not letting me go. Instead he tugged me toward the loft.
“Micah?”
“It can’t get in. All the windows and the door are painted with a mix of salt and holy water. Had the place blessed by both the Catholic church and voodoo priestesses. It’s never gotten in.” Yet he ran like hiding in the loft could turn off his terror. We stumbled into the small space above and Micah frantically dug into one of the chests for something, then found some sort of mat like thing and pulled it out. He laid it over the rug, then added a blanket to the top and got under it, holding it open for me. “Please,” he begged when I didn’t move.
I could still hear Jet’s angry hissing from below and the vague rattle of the knob, but I crawled beneath the blanket with him. The entire loft was sort of like a big blanket fort. All it needed was a few little curtains to block off the rest of the main area. Micah curled up into my arms, trembling, his face buried in my shoulder, and his lithe body pressed against mine.
Of all the inconvenient times to wake up with wood. And of course, my hip hurt, perhaps from being overworked from all the walking, or even the climb up the stairs. The sound of the air-conditioner kicking in downstairs covered up the sounds from the door. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and let some of the fear go away. A thousand things could be at the door, or nothing at all. Micah needed reassurance more than I needed answers.
“You’re safe,” I told him. I kissed Micah’s head, brushing his hair off his face and holding him close. He tilted his head, lips finding mine, not with the butterfly kisses I’d been giving him all night, but a fierce, possessive kiss which I couldn’t recall ever experiencing before in my life.
His tongue dueled mine, mouth feeding at my lips like I still had the crumbs of cookies on them. I tried to mimic him, but gave up the battle and let him explore. He shoved me onto my back, straddling my hips and kissed me. That was okay. Well more than okay. My body was on fire with need for him, but I could live with kissing. He could have every bit of me in that moment if that was what he wanted.
His fingers stroked my face as the intensity of his kisses eased a little. He slid back until his ass was parked over my groin, and my erection nestled in-between the spread of his legs. Even with the fabric separating us, I could feel the heat of him, the shape of his crack and the swell of his balls where the head of my cock was nestled. I groaned, trying not to move my hips despite my body saying, fuck yeah. Each time I moved pain echoed through my hip, sharp and unforgiving.
“Fuck,” I grumbled into Micah’s lips. “Worst time ever for my hip to go out. Getting old sucks.
”
Micah chuckled a little and pressed a hand to my right hip. “This one?”
“Yeah. Cracked it ages back. Took forever to heal. Doctors said it would be weak for the rest of my life. Sometimes it feels like the joints don’t fit together right anymore.”
Micah put his other hand on my cock, stroking me through the boxers. “But the pain isn’t bad enough to wilt this.”
“Apparently not,” I agreed. “It’s only a little ache in my hip.” Though I knew if I tried to move it too much it would really begin to hurt.
He sighed against my lips and kissed me again. “Can we have sex?” He asked, bluntly. “I’d really like to have sex with you.”
“Um, okay?”
“That doesn’t sound all that certain,” Micah said.
I wasn’t sure now, while something was downstairs scaring the cat, was a good time to get our groove on. Was Micah even awake enough to be in the right mindset? Was it fear driving him to want me? I thought about all the porn I’d watched in my life and the romance novels I’d read. What was it in the books that had always been a turn on when someone was afraid and seeking physical comfort? It was always the slow, discovery love making, right? I could do that. I probably wouldn’t last long myself, but I was pretty sure I could get him off a time or two.
I reached up to cup the back of his neck with my hand and bring him down for another kiss. This time I led a slow and sensuous dance, exploring the shape of his lips, and the taste of his tongue.
“Hmm,” Micah grumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad response, but he wasn’t pulling away. “Don’t want slow,” he told me after a few minutes and a dozen similar kisses. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I thought maybe I could worship you for a bit. You know, like they do in romance novels.”
He tilted his head to look at me and I wondered how much he could make out in the pale light of the loft. “That’s sweet, but I’d rather you fuck me.”
“Not sure I can at the moment since my hip is being a bitch,” I pointed out.
He seemed to consider that. “I can ride you.”
Oh boy did that make my dick twitch at the thought.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Micah said, obviously feeling my body’s reaction against his. He leaned over to reach in a small cupboard and pull out a little zippered bag. Inside was a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms. He wiggled out of his underwear before I could protest and turned on a small lamp near the sewing machine. I sighed as I looked over his lithe body. The small ass, smooth legs, and generous cock made for a lot of fantasies in my life. None of which I’d ever thought I’d experience in person. He was hard and leaking, dripping precome onto my stomach as he tugged off my boxers.
I was not the same delicate perfection. My hips, legs, and thighs were scarred, hairy, and a little bony. My cock wasn’t bad in size, thick, rather than long, and not the video ready sort that apparently Tim had been, but I’d never thought it wasn’t enough. Our flesh bared, he sat back down, nestling my cock against his taint and leaning over me to take the lube he’d applied to his hands and press it into his own hole.
I wish I could have watched that bit, his fingers swallowed up by his own heat as he made himself ready. Only I wasn’t sure I would have lasted more than a few seconds. As it was, with my dick trapped between us, the weight of him keeping a steady pressure against me, even as his hips wiggled a little, I struggled to hold back. I could feel him pressing his fingers inside himself with our bodies aligned so tightly together. I could feel the way his body trembled in reaction, tightening and loosening, and I could feel the rest of his fingers against my balls as he changed directions or added a finger.
There was a bit of frenzied anxiety in his touch. I knew that sometimes sex could ground people, though I’d never seen it in real life. It was like he was trying to use my body to ground himself, only it wasn’t working. He panted for breath and didn’t seem to want my help, though I didn’t want him to hurt himself.
“Micah?” I asked, putting my hands on his cheeks and making him look at me. “Breathe, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulled away almost fierce in his need. He reached down between us with his other hand and coated the head of me in slick. I gasped, my hips moving without conscious effort, pain spiking through my right side and easing some of the immediate need to come.
Micah opened a condom and slid it over me, then applied more lube before wiping his hands on a tiny towel that had been in the little zipper bag.
My stupid hip screamed at me, while my cock begged and twitched to be encased in Micah’s warm heat in a fantasy I’d longed forever to fulfill. He frowned at me, an expression I didn’t like to see while he sat over me like some avenging angel of sex and fantasy. He glanced down at my hip, then placed both hands on my waist and leaned forward to kiss me. I accepted his kiss again. This one more subtle, a pressing of lips, and mingling of air. I closed my eyes to savor the feel of him against me, his heat, and his touch.
“Sorry,” he whispered two seconds before my hip exploded in a fire of pain as he pressed against it to shift the joints and something popped back into place.
“Fuck!” I cried out, but just as quickly the pain was gone and my hip seemed back where it belonged, smooth and only a hint of the prior discomfort. My dick was still hard so that was something. I stared at Micah, turned on and highly confused.
“Massage lessons come in handy every once in a while.” He lifted his hips and stroked my cock which was now very excited to be given attention.
“Warn a guy next time,” I grumbled at him.
“You would have tensed up.”
Probably. And I’d have hurt more, which would likely have ended our play. I stared at his beautiful body, thrilled for the light so I could examine his perfect skin and gentle curves. He was paler than I, more cream than the tan I’d always been. And tiny freckles decorated his skin in light kisses that I’d never noticed before on any of his videos. It made me giddy to find there was something that not everyone knew.
I reached for him, hesitating a moment. “Is it okay if I touch you?” I’d met a few guys who liked to give but not be touched. Or receive and not be touched. But being gay in the military had been a delicate balance of a lot of fragile emotions.
“Yes,” Micah said. He continued to stroke my cock, then positioned it against him. I trembled at the idea of what was happening. The pulsing heat of him against the tip of me, the shadow of my dick visible behind his balls and between those amazing thighs.
I put my hand in his hair, running my fingers through the softness as he began to lower himself down. He gasped when the head of me finally breached him, pausing and letting himself adjust. For me it was a teasing bit of fire. A strong warm grip around the tip of me. The muscles of his hole clenching around the underside of the glans. I grabbed at the blanket trying to stave off coming like it was my first time or something.
He slid down slowly. Easing up a little, sliding me in further, the look of concentration on his face, intense. I struggled to breathe fearing that letting out a full breath meant spoiling the moment and ending the pleasure.
Finally I was balls deep, awed at the beauty of our bodies meeting, mine deep inside him, encased in heat. He rocked from side to side slightly, ass resting on my hipbones, legs spread on either side of me. It was like he was searching for something.
“Tell me what you need,” I said.
Micah shook his head, concentrating rather than speaking. He leaned forward, shifting the angle or something before he started to move. It was heaven. A dream. Like a porno happening to me right that moment all at once, and yet I felt detached because he seemed to be detached.
I caught his hips, stopping him despite my body demanding more, faster, harder. “Hey, maybe we should slow down a bit?”
He looked down at me with half-lidded eyes, glazed, not with lust, but more that earlier panic I thought we’d washed away in the shower. He wasn’t seein
g me. Was he imagining someone else? Had someone hurt him? I frowned, and lifted his hips to unseat him. He gave a small protest.
“I’m not even sure you’re awake right now,” I told him.
“Because I want to have sex with you?”
“Because I’m more than a blow-up doll.”
He blinked hard at me and sat back on the rug, frowning as my words began to sink in. Some of the fear seemed to leak away from his face. He glanced around the small loft. Was he just now seeing it?
“Micah,” I called.
“I’m okay.”
I didn’t believe that for a hot minute. “Talk to me. What’s in your head?”
“Nothing.”
A lie. Okay. It was fine if he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
“Is this a one-off? I’m okay with comforting you,” I told him, focusing on the broad picture instead of unspoken suspicions. “But if we’re going to have sex, I’d like you to at least be emotionally present.”
“Most guys don’t want that.”
“I’m not most guys.” I pulled the blanket up around myself and lay back down on the mat. Micah sat a few feet away, either unconcerned with his nudity or unashamed of it. He was still hard, though I was quickly losing my erection. Maybe this too, was a sign that I was broken. Most guys would have jumped at the chance to fuck Micah. Emotional connection or not. I didn’t want to look into his pretty blue eyes and think he was imagining I was someone else. Or that he was somewhere else. Or worse, reliving a past nightmare.
Some people fantasied about being in the middle of a porn video. I was beginning to think that wasn’t the fantasy most people thought it was. After watching for over a decade I knew how much of an act it was, how unrealistic the positions and expressions were. It was one of the reasons I’d stopped watching pro stuff and gone to amateur videos, which was where I’d found Micah’s stuff. I was looking for some realism. This wasn’t it.
