by Kelly Jensen
“Ah!” A slick finger slid between his buttocks. Brian arched, giving Mal better access, and held in a needy whimper as Mal circled his hole, teasing and exploring.
“Feel so good,” Mal said. “Hot.”
Brian let all thought subside, then, even though his brain wanted to examine these words as well. Compare them to who he’d thought Mal might be and who he’d hoped for. Hold them up against the curiosity that had had him approaching this particular man with his broad, footballing shoulders and quiet, professorial manner.
Mal didn’t tease for long. He seemed to assume, correctly, that Brian didn’t require excessive prep. That he liked the burn. Brian held his breath until Mal touched his sheathed cockhead right there, pressing at his entrance, then let go and let him in. Mal slid forward slowly, giving them both time to adjust to the angle of being side to side, and managed to hit that magic spot on the first try.
“Ungh.” Shuddering, Brian grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and dragged it toward his chest, bundling it into his arms.
The sensation of Mal withdrawing pulled Brian’s hips backward, as though he was reluctant to let go. He was, but also needed to arch further. Wanted to further open himself.
“So beautiful.” Mal touched his hip, curling his fingers into Brian’s flesh. He kissed the back of Brian’s shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He licked Brian’s neck and drove forward. “So hot, so smooth.”
Brian managed another inarticulate sound as he absorbed the thrust.
With every forward movement of his hips, Mal seemed to close around him. He wasn’t measurably taller, but he was broader, and the feeling of him wrapping Brian from behind, holding him close as he drove deep, was almost more intimate than if they’d been face to face. He sucked and bit at Brian’s shoulder, traced a hand up and down Brian’s torso, pushing the pillow forward. Played with his nipples and stroked his hips. Ignored his cock until Brian thought to beg.
He could take himself in hand, but asking Mal for what he wanted held so much more appeal. “Touch me.”
“Here?” Mal caressed Brian’s upper thigh.
“My cock.”
“Say please.”
“Please, Mal. Please.”
Mal stroked down as he thrust, curling his fingers around Brian’s balls before withdrawing both his hand and cock at the same time, leaving Brian to float in some in-between place where he craved pressure from both sides. There it was again, Mal balls-deep in his ass, fingers wrapped tightly around his cock, and then away. It was almost like having two lovers, and Brian gave himself over to the sensation of both, jerking his hips forward and back, letting his body and need dictate the pace.
Arching, begging Mal to fuck him, pushing into Mal’s hand.
Behind him, Mal let out a keen. His chest, tickling Brian’s skin, was damp with sweat. Brian pictured Mal’s nipples sliding against him. Reveled in the slight friction of body hair and skin. Groaned as his balls drew up tight. As Mal squeezed his sac, his cock, his hip. Bit his shoulder again. Thrust deeper, harder, faster. Panted, sweated, called out, and came, jerking against Brian’s hips with bruising force.
The grip Mal had on Brian’s cock slackened as he gave way to the tide of his orgasm. Close and wanting to be there, coming with Mal, Brian wrapped his fingers around Mal’s hand and stroked harder and faster. Mal hugged him from behind, panting noisily against the nape of Brian’s neck, and the combination of his pants, murmurs, and skin—the tightening of his fingers again—his very presence there in the bed—worked to bring Brian to the edge of the cliff and toss him over the other side.
He came so hard it felt like he’d fallen off the bed, and facing away from his lover felt odd all of a sudden, as though he were in this alone. Then he jerked back against Mal, felt their connection once more, the slide of Mal’s cock in his ass, and he almost started coming again.
Brian lay with his thoughts shifting between the cool air at his front and the warm man at his back until Mal withdrew, eliciting gasps from both of them. Mal rolled away, and Brian heard the condom snap and hit the floor and wondered, vaguely, if Mal had tied it off before he tossed it aside. He probably had. Would it matter if he hadn’t?
Rolling onto his back, so they were lying side by side, Brian let his head flop toward Mal, who wore a lazy and contented smile. “How’s the knee?” he asked.
“Still there, trying to hurt, but so far down the scale of importance, it’s barely registering.”
“Know what the best part about getting together while you’re recovering is?”
“Finding a position that works?”
“That.” Definitely. “And knowing that we might still be getting to the good stuff.”
Mal seemed about to take offense. For a second. Then he laughed. “The good stuff might actually kill us.”
Brian managed a quiet chuckle. “But what a way to go.”
Sobering, Mal simply gazed at him for a while before showing a smile that could be called shy. “So, about Josh’s headphone situation. If we’re going to continue looking for accommodating positions, you might want to get something noise canceling.”
Was this Mal’s way of asking if they were going to continue seeing each other? If so, it was cute and awkward and very, very Mal. Also damn practical, which for some inexplicable reason, warmed Brian right at the center of his chest. Where his heart was. God, he could fall for this guy. Fall hard. Had maybe already started on the headlong slide.
“You’re looking kinda thoughtful over there,” Mal said, his expression sliding in a direction Brian would not allow him to go in.
Rolling toward him, Brian put a hand to Mal’s cheek and leaned in to kiss him. Sweetly, because that was their thing, and because he loved the feel of Mal’s lips against his. “You were pretty loud,” he whispered.
“Me? I think the neighbors know, to the second, when you came.”
A memory of his yell echoed not so softly in Brian’s ears. “Noise-canceling headphones it is, then.”
The morning of the Winterfest dawned cold and lonely. Mal poked at the snow with his cane, waiting for Brian’s car to turn into the end of the street. His cell phone rang, and he had to take his glove off before extracting it from his pocket. Organizing his hands and gloves and cane and phone was frustrating. He was going to miss the call. Hurriedly, he swiped the screen before checking the number, and pressed it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Brian still picking you up?”
“Yes, Donny. Jesus. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Are you outside?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you outside? It’s freezing.”
“I’m fine, Donny. See you soon.” Mal hung up, returned the phone to his pocket, and was fiddling with his glove when Brian’s car pulled up alongside. Then Brian was out of the car, hands to either side of Mal’s face, gloved palms warm against Mal’s skin as he leaned in for a hello kiss.
“Oh my God, you’re cold. Why are you waiting outside?”
Mal smiled into the kiss and wondered how long it took to develop an ache in the happy muscles.
“Someone’s sunny this morning,” Brian observed.
“What’s this thing you needed to tell me?”
Brian had been keeping a secret for the past week. Mal guessed it was the good kind of secret, because Brian smiled every time he mentioned it. Still, Mal didn’t like not knowing something.
“Soon.” Brian tweaked his nose. “I like it when you’re this happy.”
“Doesn’t take much. No snow is a good start.” Having his nose tweaked by Brian shouldn’t be an excellent follow-up, but what the heck. “C’mon, I’ve got the tables and chairs ready to load up.”
“Snow would make the theme, though, right?” Brian said, smacking the roof of the car. “C’mon, Josh, there’s stuff to carry and you’re younger and fitter than we are.
Mal led the way up the driveway. “Do you remember last year’s festival?”
Brian blinked. “Not sure I’ve ever been to a Winterfest.”
“Never been to a— How long have you lived here?”
“Hmm, maybe ten years?”
“Tourist.”
Brian laughed. “Whatever.” He cocked his head. “Wait, last year it snowed, didn’t it?”
“Yep. It was a freaking blizzard. We got about an hour in before everyone packed up to go home and mostly ended up getting stuck on 202.”
“Good times.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Brian slung his arm around Mal’s shoulder. “And this year, we’ve got Mr. Sunshine warming the day.”
Scoffing, Mal pushed him off. “Enjoy it. Supposed to snow again by the end of next week.”
“I so regret thinking that you guys being together was in any way good,” Josh said, holding a hand to his stomach.
Brian tackled his nephew, putting him in a headlock, and Mal watched them tussle for a moment, thinking this much happiness should be a warning. Or maybe it was their reward. Brian hadn’t had an easy time of it lately and neither had he. Maybe it was their turn.
Together they hauled the table and a couple of chairs to the car. The short drive to Morristown Green passed in companionable silence. Then they hauled the same table and chairs (Brian and Josh on the table, Mal limping along behind with a folding chair under each arm, cane dangling from his wrist, legs sore, always sore, but doing their job) down Speedwell to N. Park and Morristown Green, which already had the appearance of a half-dressed circus. Pavilions filled half the festival space, the rest of them being assembled. The smell of coffee bit at the cold air, and every time Mal walked past someone clutching a grease-stained bag of hot donuts, his mouth watered. The food end of the festival would be warmed by barrel fires and gas lamps. The opposite side already glittered with assembled ice sculptures, many sponsored by local organizations, a handful still being crafted by local artists.
The last snow had melted earlier in the week, leaving the ground an off shade of browny-green that didn’t complement anything. But by the time all the pavilions were set up, the tables arrayed in front of the food trucks, the makeshift stage erected and strung with pennants, and the sound of conversation and ice picks filled the air, the color of the ground faded to insignificance. The Green felt full of life and a bit like a party, despite the chill.
By ten o’clock, Mal had eaten three donuts and was finishing his second cup of coffee. His kids had signed up to work their table in shifts, and the first two groups were already there, red cheeked and bright-eyed. Optimism radiated from their faces. Donny and Rachel had visited and given the stall a halting stamp of approval, even though a vital component was missing.
Mal let out a relieved sigh as Leo and Kelsey arrived, each behind the handle of a wheelbarrow. Their ice sculpture was here, and obviously not grand if the huddle beneath the small tarp wasn’t supposed to click together like ice-Legos. But it was here.
Leo put down his barrow handle and whipped back the tarp. “Ta-da!”
A grinning Kelsey blew on his hands.
Brian started laughing. Donny was clearly trying not to laugh, probably because Brian was, but soon gave in, clapping his hands to his sides.
Mal couldn’t figure out what the lumps in the barrow were until Rachel asked, “Is that two frogs kissing?”
Kelsey was pulling something out of his coat pocket. “Here are their crowns.”
“I think you should stick to painting,” Mal muttered.
Kelsey seemed to be trying, unsuccessfully, for a hurt expression. “You’re right there.”
“They are sort of frog-like,” Brian put in.
And they were, once you knew they were supposed to be frogs. Maybe the crowns would help.
Mal squeezed Kelsey’s arm and gave him a smile. “Thank you. Kissing frogs is perfect. We’ll be memorable!”
They got their ice sculpture set up, crowns in place. Now they just needed the flyers that Brian was having printed. The idea for their stand was two-fold: people would come to see . . . two frogs kissing . . . and make a donation to fund the LGBT drop-in center. Which still had no location.
Pamela pushed her way through the crowed, her arms loaded with wrapped bundles of flyers.
“Hooray, the day is saved!” Ethan said.
Josh and Brian exchanged a look that might have been secretive.
Frowning, Mal extracted a bundle from Pamela’s arms and studied the top flyer. “This is a sketch of the Colonial.” More than a sketch, actually. It was a complete drawing, with a vague, architectural style about it. The inked lines had been shaded here and there with hints of color. Mal glanced at Josh. “Did you do this?”
Josh answered with a shy smile.
“It’s great, but why do our flyers have a picture of a bar on them?”
“Read it,” Brian prompted.
Judging by the not-shy smiles on Leo’s and Kelsey’s faces, they already knew what it said. Mal read the flyer.
“Oh my God!” He looked up. “Is this true?”
“Yep.” Brian rubbed his hands together. “It’s perfect, right? We get to save the bar, the whole row, and the second floor will make a great drop-in center. It’s a good location, close to the school. Olive from the café has already indicated she’d be interested in catering for it.”
Brian had it all planned out except for one detail: who would be staffing the place. But that was a worry for later. First, they had to save the building.
Mal looked back down at the flyer, reading the first paragraph: The Wheelhouse Building, erected in 1837, served as part of the Underground Railroad network between 1847 and 1852.
A brief history of the other uses of the building followed, ending with the Colonial Tavern, described as an institution close to the heart of Morristown High School and Football alumni. Reading it over again, he had to blink mist from his eyes. The pitch was perfect. He doubted anyone reading this would fail to be moved. Brian might just have found a way to save the building . . . and to add to its history.
“This is amazing.” The uneven ground jostled his knee as he stepped up to give Brian a hug. Wincing, he leaned against Brian’s chest. “I wish you’d told me, but it’s a great surprise.” He watched as his students crowded in close, many of them reading their own copy of the flyer.
Ethan was grinning. “This is going to be great.” He exchanged another look with Josh, then, and it was less secretive than before.
Someone bumped Ethan from behind, and he tripped forward before falling to his knees, exposing two boys behind him, both snickering into their hands. Josh whirled on them, and one of the boys held up his hands in mock dismay. “Oh no, Ethan. Your new girlfriend is growling at me.”
Josh was growling . . . and advancing.
Brian put a restraining hand on Josh’s shoulder, and Leo loomed over the boys, both of whom were probably larger than him, but so damn young.
“You got a problem?” Leo snapped. He had disgruntled pared down to an art form. Even his dreads were more crooked than usual.
One of the boys backed up, but the other sneered. “Yeah. With you. What are you going to do about it?”
Leo held up a hand, causing both boys to flinch. He extended a finger and tapped it as though preparing to make his first point. “Nothing. Because I’m an adult. Now grow up.”
The boys stood there for a minute, probably waiting for the second point.
Leo waved them off with a growl, and they backed away, obviously confused.
Josh had wriggled free of Brian’s hold and was trying to talk to Ethan. They’d moved off to the side, their conversation low but heated until Ethan shoved past Josh saying, “Just leave it.”
Josh acquired a kicked-puppy expression as Ethan strode away. When he started after Ethan, Brian grabbed his shoulder. “Give him some space, okay?”
Mal stepped up to Josh’s other side. “Text him. Let him know you’re here. But don’t crowd him. He’s probably got a lot to think about r
ight now.”
Mal could feel Brian nodding next to him.
Josh nodded as well, and stalked off in the opposite direction.
Brian let out a sigh. “I warned him not to get involved with that kid.”
“Ethan is good people. He won’t leave Josh hanging.”
“You sure about that?” A dark shadow lurked behind the blue of Brian’s eyes.
Mal inspected the ground, now churned up by the passage of many feet. It’d be a total mess by the end of the afternoon. He glanced up and shrugged. “Either way, Josh will be okay. He has you, Brian. Support begins at home, right?”
Brian’s answering smile was as grim as the cloud in his eyes.
Mal jostled his arm. “How about another donut?”
Brian’s smile softened. “Fine, I’ll get us another bag. But if you vomit red jelly all over the ground, I’m not holding back your hair.”
Mal widened his eyes. “You wouldn’t? We might need to talk about where this relationship is going.”
“Don’t make me say rude things about donuts. There are juveniles present.”
And said juveniles needed the adults to stop flirting and step up to the table.
Brian was returning from the food vans again—this time with a wrapped cheesesteak for Mal, who seemed to have a bottomless appetite for festival fare—when someone called his name.
He glanced toward the sound, the movement almost furtive. People didn’t often recognize him for good reasons. Picking the distinctive figure of Franklin Tern out of the crowd, Brian couldn’t decide whether having Simon’s best friend track him down in the middle of a street fair was good or bad. Probably bad.
What had he done now?
Rather than drag trouble back to the GSA setup, Brian stepped out of the flow of traffic and waited for Frank to catch up to him. Belatedly, he noticed Frank’s sidekick had come along for whatever this was. Thomas Benjamin could be intense. Brian liked his energy, particularly when it came to the resort renovation Brian was overseeing for them. It was a big job and Tom wanted it done right. Tom had a dark aspect, though. Something Brian recognized and never wanted to discuss. But the effort of keeping their conversation light always came at a cost. Every time he walked away from Frank and Tom, he felt even more like an asshole than he had waking up that morning.
