by Amy Lane
THEY spent a resting day—a healing day around the pool. Tino made sure Channing didn’t do anything that would tax his injuries, and Channing hired a crime-scene cleaner to come and take care of Tino’s room.
Channing made Tino write a list of everything that had been broken the night before. Tino made the list, complete with links, of every figurine he could possibly remember owning, but he didn’t feel right about making Channing foot the bill.
“You know,” he said helplessly, “I don’t really need my collectibles.” He wanted to complain about his computer, but it was expensive, and he’d spent Channing’s advance paying off most of his student loans.
“Bull,” Channing said, his warm hand on Tino’s shoulder starting to be something Tino couldn’t breathe without. “We’re going poolside shopping. Come here.”
Tino was in the kitchen doing a hurried cleanup from lunch, and Channing took his elbow and led him back to the pool. His laptop was set up there. While Tino had been in the kitchen, Channing had sent the list to the cleaner and had him check the salvageable remains.
What Channing showed him now was a workable list of collectibles for Tino to start ordering. And a laptop Tino could never have afforded in the first place.
“But,” he protested as Channing assembled the MacBook Pro online and ordered it. “I… I mean, it was like, four years old—”
“High-school graduation?” Channing asked perceptively, pulling Tino from his hover over Channing’s shoulder to sitting on his lap.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, if you’re going to get a job, you’ll need a grown-up computer,” Channing told him, wrapping his arm around Tino’s waist. “And besides, I’ve got homeowners’ insurance.”
Tino snorted softly, nuzzling the hair at his temples. From this angle he could see the bruises in full technicolor glory, and he felt suddenly vulnerable and teary. So he kept things as light as possible. “You sure you’re not going to use that up paying for the prehistoric Dell?”
“Ha-ha—I’ll have you know I’m getting an entire tank of gas for that computer. It’s not small potatoes.” His breath puffed warmly against Tino’s neck, and his body was just so… solid and real. Tino wanted to close his eyes and pray that he’d never ever have to stop touching like this.
“You’d probably get more for it if you just sent it to a refinery to see if you could process it into oil.” Because it was the alternative to whimpering in Channing’s arms and begging him to take Tino to bed.
“You really have a thing about that computer, don’t you? Are you trying to say I’m old because it used to be mine?” Gentle fingers on the back of Tino’s neck told him that Channing wasn’t unaffected.
And that meant Tino had to take the question seriously “Ten years? I’m more worried that you can’t count, because you’re certainly not old enough to piss dust.”
“Tino….” Channing regarded him with that steady look that probably had his employees plotzing in their pants to spill their darkest secrets.
“No,” Tino snapped. “I’m not worried that you’re too old for me. That’s not what the hesitation was about.”
“Then…?”
“Jen is a partner,” he said reluctantly. “She has her own business, she can be your plus one. Me? I bring nothing to the table but being a warm body for Sammy—” He cast a quick glance to where Sammy was reading quietly under the canopy. Sammy looked up and smiled and waved—he’d been keeping tabs on the two of them all day. Channing had spent most of the morning with Sammy on his lap, and Tino had spent another hour and a half in the pool, playing any game Sammy wanted. For them, it had been all about letting the boy comfort himself with their presence.
“For childcare,” he amended, not wanting to bring the little boy’s name into his list of insecurities.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Channing asked, gray eyes sober. “Not being a partner?”
“An equal,” Tino told him, steeling himself. “I’m….”
“Young,” Channing sighed, leaning his head against Tino’s chest. “And I’m selfish.” He closed his eyes and stroked Tino’s cheek with his thumb. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have kissed you that first day.”
Tino remembered that kiss and shook his head. “I might have shown up in your bed naked if you hadn’t,” he said.
Channing threw his head back and laughed, and with the distance between their bodies, they could make eye contact.
“Show up in my bed tonight,” he asked throatily. “Clothes optional, but welcome if you need them.”
“What about Sammy?” Tino whispered, his fear for the little boy’s heart almost as great as his fear for his own. “What will he think?”
Channing winked. “That I’m sleeping with the nanny.”
Tino smacked his head.
“Ouch!”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I.” Channing rolled his eyes when he realized Tino wasn’t backing down. “He’ll think I’m serious about you,” he said. “He’ll think I want you in my life.”
“But what if….” Oh, Tino couldn’t finish that thought.
“Then it just doesn’t,” Channing said, stroking Tino’s cheek again. “And we’ll all have broken hearts.”
“Yeah,” Tino breathed. “Fine. Let’s all have broken hearts.”
Channing captured his mouth then in a subtle kiss of promise. He pulled back and whispered, “So you’ll stay with me tonight?”
“I’ll stay with you until I can’t,” Tino whispered back. “That is all I have.”
And he fell into Channing’s next kiss like he was falling into a well full of eiderdown and ether.
So… so sweet.
CHANNING took Sammy up to his room that night, the better to make sure the little boy didn’t have nightmares.
“Your room isn’t ready anyway,” he said, looking at Tino like maybe this was his last excuse.
“My room is plenty ready,” Tino said. “My room is your room, you said so yourself.”
Channing just smiled before he carried Sammy up the stairs, complaining as he went about what a big guy Sammy was and how seven was almost too old to be carried to bed.
Tino watched them go for a moment, and then he turned off all the lights and set the alarm codes—Channing had changed them, and even though Mirella was gone, he was going to make the security codes his religion.
Then he walked up the richly appointed staircase and into the darkened hallway. For a moment he was afraid it was going to get all stretchy, like in a horror movie, but then, much to his relief, it seemed to shrink. One, two, three steps and he was past his old room, past Sammy’s room, and at Channing’s door.
All he had to do was blink and he was back in Channing’s bedroom—but this time nobody was drunk and they both knew what would happen. He realized that the cleaner guy had put his clothes—which had been untouched by the destruction of the room—in neat piles on top of Channing’s dresser. Tino could have put on his sleep shorts and a T-shirt and just crawled into bed.
But that wasn’t why he was here. Channing had other guest rooms—and Tino wasn’t staying in one of them.
Trying really hard not to be stupid nervous, he toed off his flip-flops into the corner and stripped his cargo shorts and T-shirt and threw them in the hamper.
Then he threw his underwear in with them, turned off the overhead light, and slid into bed. He paused for a moment and heard Channing talking softly and Sammy answering—and contemplated putting his underwear back on. Sammy would need a lot of reassurance, and he was sleepy.
But then, maybe it wasn’t that they’d have sex that night—maybe it was enough that he was naked and willing.
Tino yawned.
Yeah… maybe naked and willing would be as far as he got that night.
HE felt the warm hands along his back and upper arms even as he slept.
“Mm….” He writhed sinuously, loving the touch of palms and fingertips against his skin. The
n an entire warm, naked male body slid into the bed behind him. A knee came up, nudging his thighs, and Channing’s voice rumbled in his ear.
“Move forward, Tino. My ass is hanging off the bed.”
Tino scooted forward and chuckled sleepily. “Is it your bare ass, mi rey, because that would be very attractive hanging out of this bed.”
“Yes, it was my bare ass.” Channing rippled his hips against Tino’s bare bottom, and Tino shuddered, his skin coming awake before the rest of him. “And did you just call me Ray?”
“Mi rey,” Tino corrected, remembering that Spanish class. Channing ran a hand down Tino’s chest and Tino stroked the back of it, enjoying the exploration.
“You going to tell me what it means?” Channing spread his hand over Tino’s abdomen, and Tino arched a little, hoping for more touching.
“My king,” he said, without holding back. “Mi sol, my sun, mi corazón, my heart. And mi rey means my king, and you are, and I am happy to live here under your roof.”
“Why Tino”—Channing propped himself up on his elbow—“that’s almost poetry.”
Tino rolled over, so conscious that he was naked, skin to skin with another man, that even his scalp tingled. “Do we not get poetry because we’re men?” His voice was quiet, and he realized he was letting Channing see exactly how much this meant to him.
Channing lowered his mouth to Tino’s ear. “All lovers need poetry,” he whispered.
Tino shivered, and Channing took over, kissing down his neck, down his throat. Tino tilted his head back as Channing’s clever tongue traced his collarbone and between his pecs.
When Channing nibbled on his abdomen, Tino moaned softly and knotted his fingers in Channing’s silky hair.
“Teasing,” he whispered.
“Playing.” Channing looked up at him and grinned and then pushed toward Tino’s bare nipple. He closed his mouth over it just as he began to nibble, and Tino bucked up against him. The sensation of soft skin against Tino’s nakedness made him buck more, and he whimpered, afraid he was going to fly apart.
Channing was there, drawing even and taking his mouth unequivocally. They ground up against each other for a moment, and then Channing seized control, reaching between them and stroking Tino’s erection, his grip firm, caress sure enough to drive Tino closer to his peak.
Tino wanted to reciprocate. He could feel Channing’s body, aroused, full, and hot with desire for Tino and Tino alone—but his hands shook and he could concentrate on one thing only. His body was dominated by the set of sensations currently thrusting Tino toward the top of the cliff, wild and ready to crash into the thrashing surf of orgasm below.
“Let go,” Channing whispered against his cheek. “Let go, Tino. We have all night.”
Tino gave a little cry and made the leap, flying into climax, only to be caught and held safely in Channing’s arms.
They panted a little, and Tino realized that Channing was still thick and hard against his thigh. He pulled back and smiled, trying to be brave, and then it was his turn to explore Channing’s body, his turn to torture little male nipples and to lave a wicked tongue around Channing’s fascinating belly button.
“You’ve never seen an outie before?” Channing breathed, and Tino looked up at him under the covers and grinned.
“This doesn’t count?” he asked, stroking Channing’s length, and Channing groaned into the crook of his arm. “Guess not!” he chuckled, and then he stopped licking Channing’s belly button and started licking the thickened manhood he’d been squeezing.
The taste was… exquisite.
Lovely enough to take Channing fully into his mouth, to swallow him and stroke him until Channing’s stifled moans and sexy little whimpers filled his ears.
And the feel of him, the texture of the smooth skin against his tongue, started the buzz of desire building in his stomach again.
Taking Channing into the back of his throat almost sent him spinning into climax, and he squeezed hard and dragged Channing’s crown over his palate again and again and again….
The pulse of that rampant erection against his palm, Channing’s groan in his ears, the thick hot spill of Channing’s spend—it was too much. He swallowed the earthy tang as much as he could before bucking against the bed and letting his second orgasm wash over him.
Channing’s fingers knotting in his hair and tugging him up were his only reminder that the night would not end this early.
Then they were face-to-face, Channing’s hot eyes taking in Tino’s swollen lips and the glaze over his mouth and chin.
“You look so pretty,” Channing whispered into the sensitive hollow of his ear. “You look like I’ve taken your mouth and used it as my own.”
Tino hid his face in Channing’s shoulder, suddenly shy. “You have.”
“Because you gave me your sex,” Channing replied, very serious. “It’s the giving that makes it the best.”
“Oh….” Tino arched against him, aware that all their moving had tumbled the covers off the bed and they were naked under the soft glow of the lamplight.
“You came,” Channing said crudely, reaching down to knead his backside. “You came just from having me in your mouth.”
“Yesssss….” Tino threw his leg over Channing’s hips, the better to feel the contrast of hard muscle and smooth skin, and Channing grinned.
“That’s twice tonight,” he said, looking smug and self-satisfied. “How many times do you think you can do that in one night?”
Tino shook his head, not sure he even wanted to count, given the heady power of sex and tenderness thrumming through his blood. “I don’t know,” he said, nipping at the blond stubble that covered Channing’s jaw. “Are you going to find out?”
Channing’s chuckle was low and dirty. “Mr. Owl,” he said, “how many licks do you think it will take to get to the creamy center of Tino’s Tootsie Pop?”
Tino laughed indulgently. “I think we already got there.”
Channing pulled back and regarded him with hooded eyes. “Oh Tino. I have so much to teach you. Starting with this….”
And it was his turn to visit Tino’s most sensitive parts again, and Tino learned that the one aria did not make the opera, and two orgasms did not by any stretch of the imagination mean sex was over.
THEY fell asleep in the middle of a kiss, and Tino woke up near dawn to pull the blanket they’d discarded over their bodies in the gray chill of too-early morning.
Channing burrowed under the covers and pulled Tino closer from behind.
“Mmm… regrets?” he asked, serious in spite of the hour.
“No,” Tino murmured, kissing the back of his hand.
“We didn’t do the lift,” Channing cautioned, and Tino laughed. No, there had been no penetration—but that didn’t mean the evening wasn’t a success and hadn’t achieved Tino’s much-belated intended goal.
“I’m still not calling myself a virgin anymore,” he declared.
Channing’s tongue along the curve of his ear made Tino’s deflated erection give a valiant rally in spite of a truly epic night. “Good. Because I’d feel really guilty if I had to sleep with a virgin in my bed.”
Tino chuckled himself to sleep after that. Hooray! Pesky virginity over! He was going to celebrate with some sleep.
Summer Loving
THE next day Tino tried to institute a little bit of structure back into Sammy’s life. It was Sunday, but they had a routine on Sunday that started with Sammy and Channing breakfasting together and then reading comics at the table and talking quietly. For three out of the past four Sundays, Tino had gone to visit his parents, taking Sammy the one time but mostly just getting out of the house to let Channing and Sammy have alone time.
This time, when Channing asked him to sit at their table and be a part of their intimate little comic-reading circle, he said yes.
He texted his mom to let her know he wouldn’t be by, and then he allowed himself a chance to be part of another family.
&nbs
p; He missed his sisters, of course, and Sammy asked about Elaina’s guinea pig, but that tranquil, crystal moment was worth it.
At noon Carrie came by with her daughter, Hope. Carrie was a sunny blonde woman with long twin braids of yellow hair wrapped around her head, a peasant shirt, and faded jeans, and her daughter was a tiny clone of her irrepressible freckle-faced mother.
Hope and Sammy played together while Channing and Tino took Carrie on a tour. When they got upstairs, Channing took over, saying, “Tino’s room will be used mostly as an office, but it still needs to be dusted and the laundry hampers checked. As soon as the cleaner is done, we’re moving the rest of his clothes into the spare drawers in my room—I’ll show you. They’re empty now, but that’s where you’ll be putting his stuff away.”
“Not a worry,” she said cheerfully. “I get it—the moving-in stage. Congratulations.”
Channing grinned at her. “Thank you—I’m rather pleased myself!”
Tino blushed and hoped his mother was ready for the report from Carrie, because he had no doubt she’d get it—intimate details and all.
But as Channing took them through the guest rooms and down the stairs to the garage and the laundry room, Tino reflected that as embarrassing as it was to be out in the open, it would have been even worse to be Channing’s dirty secret. He wasn’t sneaking into Tino’s room to have a quickie—Tino was moving into his bedroom so they could pursue a relationship. And Tino’s room was still Tino’s room—if Tino needed the space, Channing had made it ultimately clear that the decision was his.
Tino had time to think that teenagers got laid—adults had relationships. Tino might have missed out on some meaningless encounters or some bad decisions before Channing came along, but that didn’t mean he had to have them in order to appreciate what Channing was offering him now.
As the summer progressed, he realized that what Channing had put on the table was really a wonderful deal.
Channing had told the truth—it was not all sunshine and roses just because he’d moved part of the business to Sacramento. He still had to make one trip a week down to the Bay Area, and he still worked long hours.
