by Amy Lane
“Yes!” he cried. “God yes! Oh please don’t—don’t—don’t—” Orgasm swept him, everywhere, sweating from the soles of his feet to the back of his neck, turning his body into a big central nervous system earthquake and shooting white light from his fingers, toes, eyes, mouth, and his ridiculously sensitive little outtie belly button that had so charmed Clay Carpenter in the first place.
He also dumped come down Carpenter’s throat, a thing he couldn’t even think to regret until he heard the protest noises Clay was making as he tried to swallow.
He would have said, “Sorry! So sorry! Was going to warn you!” But his language centers were still on hold. His limbs flopped out, and his frenzied pounding on Carpenter’s back turned into a desultory stroking, and his entire body melted into the mattress, the excess come dripping from Clay’s mouth sliding off his abdomen and onto the sheets.
He felt amazing.
“Dane?” Carpenter said anxiously, pulling himself up the bed and grabbing a tissue to wipe all the things. “You okay?”
“Kiss me,” he mumbled, wanting the warmth, the earthiness of come in Clay’s mouth, Clay’s body covering his own.
Clay didn’t say anything, just framed his face with gentle fingers and touched his lips to Dane’s. Dane closed his eyes and let him in, the taste of the two of them glorious, Clay’s warm body just amazing as it moved against his.
His lassitude started to fade as he ran his hand down Clay’s backside, along his hips, over his waist, and he was not surprised—but a little hurt—when Clay backed away.
“Stop it,” he commanded, grumpy. “The ship has sailed. I’ve touched your stomach and your chest and your back and your cock, and I’ve found it to be all good. Delicious even. You can’t suddenly go, ‘Oh, wait! He’s seen my fat!’ Now come back here and kiss me some more!”
Clay regarded him soberly. “You need to know,” he said. “You need to know that, as awesome as what we just did was, I’m not going to be okay with you seeing my body right away. I’m… I’m gonna keep towels on until you worry them off of me. I’m not going to swim in your brother’s pool if the whole world is there to see. This—” He smiled, the expression making his plain face transcendent and beautiful. “This thing we just did, it was awesome. But it was private. I feel like I can fly—but I’m going to remember sometimes that only small elephants fly.”
“You’re not an elephant, you big dumb jerk,” Dane said, his eyes burning. He rolled over and draped himself on top of Clay, playing with the hair between his pecs and not looking him in the eyes because he was vulnerable too. “But since that was in all other respects, a really sublime sexual experience, and I don’t want to do that with anybody else but you ever again, I’m going to let that bit of self-deprecation slide.”
“Really?” Carpenter said, face lighting up.
Dane managed to meet his eyes. “Which part?”
“The part about only doing that with me for a while—”
“Ever again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Clay’s expression reached a serenity that Dane had to appreciate. “Good.”
Dane kissed him again, and again, and their blood started to thrum and their urgency increased. He took his time, since Carpenter seemed to enjoy doing that, and stroked everything—Clay’s upper arms, the sides of his neck, the spot behind his ear. Clay mapped Dane’s skin in return, like a path to the holy land, both of them completely avoiding the erogenous zones which were still delightfully sloppy and used and swollen from their first orgasms.
Dane finally felt down to Carpenter’s cock and realized he was dripping precome, and he shuddered.
“Lube?” he panted, stroking Clay hard.
“What?”
“Do. You. Have. Lubricant.” He enunciated carefully, because what he really wanted to say was “Fuck me! Fuck me now! Fuck me dry! Fuck me raw!” But he figured it might be a little soon for that.
“Uh, oh!” Clay rolled toward the end table near the bed and reached inside the drawer. He came out with basic lube, two steps above KY, and Dane reached out imperiously.
“Give me!”
Clay did, his bemused expression indicating absolute trust.
Dane slid to the side and pushed on Clay’s shoulder. “Lie back,” he commanded. “Spread your legs a little.”
Clay took a deep breath, like he was fortifying himself, and did what Dane asked.
Dane dripped a dollop of the silky lubricant on Clay’s cock and spread it around with his fist, while Carpenter took a deep, surprised breath.
“What?” Dane asked absently, snicking the cap closed and handing him the bottle back. Carpenter just sort of dropped the bottle next to his hip, and Dane pushed up on one knee and threw the other around Clay’s hips, straddling them and scooching back until his asshole was immediately over Clay Carpenter’s thick and amazing penis.
“Just… I don’t know… thought we were doing this the other way?”
Dane snorted and reached behind him, positioning Clay just… right. “Seriously?” he breathed, settling down with that large, delicious head at his entrance, just starting to stretch. “When you went….” He slid down a little, shuddering as Clay’s cock widened him, the head pushing at his dilated opening enough to burn… oh-so good. “To all that trouble…,” he continued. “Oh!” Clay popped in, and he kept lowering his ass, because the glide was just too damned good. “To stretch… oh yeah. Yes. Oh my God. Stretch me out?”
Oh damn. He settled himself down completely, full in ways he didn’t think he could be. He paused for a moment, his face tilted toward the ceiling, back arched, ass thrust out, and just breathed, shaking all over with the need to move.
“Dane?” Carpenter’s voice quavered a little. “Uh….”
“Touch me,” he said throatily, keeping his eyes closed and rocking forward. Clay’s tentative fingers skating on his cockhead were pure torture. “Fist me,” he begged, although if Clay had wanted to just palm his inner thighs, he wouldn’t have minded that either.
Then Clay wrapped his fist around Dane’s cock and Dane let out a groan they could both feel where they were joined.
“Dane?” Clay said uncertainly, and Dane started rocking back and forth a little faster. And a little harder. Oh God, his thighs burned, and his knees ached and… “I can’t go fast enough from here!” he complained.
Carpenter grunted, grabbed hold of the outside of his thighs, and in a move of unprecedented smoothness, rolled them both over until he was on top and Dane was where he loved to be best, his knees pressed to his chest being fucked through the floor.
And Carpenter wasn’t holding back.
Hard and fast and deep—it was like he’d read a manual or something, because every thrust hit hard and hit home. He wasn’t rabbit fucking, but that was fine. Rabbit fucking made Dane’s ass numb. He was just… solidly fucking Dane until Dane felt another solar wind of orgasm rushing up his body. He reached down for his cock, needing and not caring at this point if Clay saw him stroke himself.
Everything was tingling, and damn if Dane didn’t need to—oh yeah! More! More! More! He shuddered, gripping his cock hard enough to hurt, and this next orgasm didn’t explode so much as roll out of him, slowly, powerfully, both helped and hindered by Clay inside him. As his muscles clamped around Clay’s cock, Clay cried out in surprise.
“Holy wow! Jesus—oh my God!”
His voice cracked on that last word, but Dane was still spasming too hard to laugh. Clay shuddered and fell forward, catching himself on his arms and sliding out of Dane as his angle changed. Dane moaned and came again, rolling to his side so Carpenter could spoon him from behind.
For a moment, he heard nothing but his own heartbeat and harsh breathing.
Then he heard Clay’s.
Clay’s hand rested lightly on the outside of his arm, and Dane reached over and pulled it tighter across his chest, shoving back hard against Clay’s chest and stomach so that meaty, muscular
arm could wrap all the way around his shoulders and keep him safe.
“Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“In case you’re wondering how that went, it went really fucking well.”
Carpenter laughed weakly. “I was wondering. Thanks.”
“Well, don’t. I’m not sure if anyone ever told you this, but you’re an amazing lover.”
Clay grunted. “Nobody has ever told me that.”
Dane rolled over to look at his face and make sure he was serious. “For reals?”
Dane’s hair had come loose from its bun and was falling in his eyes. Clay shoved at it with the palm of his hand. “Only you, Dane Hayes.”
“The rest of the world is stupid,” Dane said thickly. “You need to stick with me because I’m the only one who appreciates you.”
They dozed for a little while then, and Dane startled awake about an hour later.
“What? Who?” Carpenter sat up, confused, and Dane saw the exact moment he recognized who was in his bed and what they’d done together.
He pulled the coverlet up to his chest in maidenly modesty and tried to be a rational human being.
“Uhm, was there something we forgot?”
Dane held his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. I need to take my meds and we need to go sleep at my house.”
Carpenter frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just drop you off—”
Dane regarded him with deep disgust. “Do I look like I’m sure? Now drop the damned quilt, get dressed, and let’s find some chocolate milk. I liked sleeping in your arms, and God willing, I shall do it a lot more in the future. Now move!”
“Yikes,” Clay muttered, rolling out of bed with the cover still wrapped around him and scrambling on the floor to find his underwear. “Somehow I thought when I fell in love again there would be fewer orders and more flowers.”
“I’ll send you flowers next week. Right now, obey me, okay? We’ve got to get going!” Dane paused. “And what do you mean, ‘again’?” He widened his eyes. “Wait! What do you mean love!”
“There were girls,” Carpenter protested, sliding on his underwear with his back to Dane. “Relationships. You’re my first guy, not my first person.”
Dane grunted. “No, I beg to differ.” He plastered himself along that broad back and kissed Clay’s neck softly. “I’m your first person, because nobody knows you like I do. So I’m the only one you ever loved. And what do you mean by love?”
Carpenter kept his face turned away. “Are you dressed yet? I was very close to sleeping, and I’d like to get back there. Get dressed and let me get some shitty clothes for tomorrow.”
“No, seriously, what did you mean, ‘love’?”
“Dane, pack your stuff so we can go to your place and hope Mason and Terry are done having their own Saturday night.” He paused. “I mean, they’ll still be together, right?”
“As far as I know,” Dane said. “What did you mean love?”
Carpenter took a deep breath, pulled up his shorts, and turned to face him. After fumbling with the button and the fly, he wrapped his arms around Dane’s waist and pulled him close.
“Dane, do you like this?”
Dane melted a little. “Mm?”
“Yeah, me too. Can we… can we just do this for tonight? Tomorrow, we have to move Terry, then we’ll probably sleep in our own beds tomorrow night—”
“Says who?” Carpenter frowned, and Dane tried to fix his wayward tongue. “Says who? What do you mean? Why would we not sleep together again?”
Clay took a deep breath. “I have work. You have school—”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m well aware you haven’t done relationships, Dane—”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“We’ll definitely have sex again—”
“I mean sleep together. Why would we not sleep in the same bed tomorrow night?”
Clay cocked his head. “Because I have an apartment and you have a house,” he said slowly. “But let’s get to your house, get some sleep, and discuss it tomorrow.”
“And get my meds, you mean,” Dane said without heat. “But this is not me being crazy. This is me being… well, me. I am bipolar, but this isn’t the cray-cray talking. This is the guy who hasn’t had a boyfriend since—” He stopped himself, because the end of that sentence abruptly contradicted the first part, when he said this wasn’t the cray-cray.
“Since your diagnosis,” Clay said softly, but he didn’t let Dane go. “I am aware. One thing at a time, Dane. Clothes, meds, your house. Terry’s move, tomorrow night, who sleeps where. Next week, your finals, what comes next.”
“When do we get to the part about you love me?” Dane asked suspiciously.
“When it doesn’t freak you out.”
All of Dane’s muscles relaxed at once, completely, not just the little bit that had happened when Clay first hugged him. He rested his head on Carpenter’s shoulder like they were dancing, and let that magnificent powerful body support his weight a little. “It doesn’t freak me out,” he mumbled, not sure how to catch the tiger’s tail that his brain had become.
“Sure, it doesn’t.”
“Much.”
“Yeah, baby, I know.”
“The sex was good?” Dane brightened at the thought.
Clay chuckled a little. “The sex was fucking amazing.”
“So that’s a win.”
“Oh yeah.”
Dane had to nod, wanting nothing more than to rock like this in Clay Carpenter’s arms forever. “One thing at a time,” he said. “We’re taking the win. Okay. I can do this. We can do this.” Suddenly he frowned and stood up. “But you love me best. If that word’s hanging between us, I have to be the one you love best.”
Clay’s eyes grew suspiciously bright, and he was doing something with his mouth that suggested he was squashing his initial emotional response. “I love you best,” he confirmed.
“That’s more than Skipper.”
Clay’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to point out here that I wouldn’t ask you to pick between Mason and me, and then I’m going to leave this subject alone.”
Dane felt it welling up—felt the tantrum, the pout, the desire to pick a fight that Clay couldn’t win, not if he wanted to keep his self-respect intact.
And for once—oh dear God, for once—Dane got a handle on that bullshit. Maybe it was the new meds, which had been working astoundingly well. Maybe it was that he’d never felt like the stakes were this high. He wouldn’t just lose Clay, the guy he’d been rolling around naked with an hour ago, he’d lose Carpenter, the buddy over the intercom when he was gaming and the gentle man who hadn’t let him be alone during that weird lost month when every breath he’d pulled into his lungs had hurt.
Carpenter was already family. If Dane didn’t get a handle on his demons, he’d lose more than just a fuck buddy.
“Okay,” he said, his concession obviously taking Clay by surprise. “That was a twatty thing to ask of you. I’m sorry. I just—”
Clay kissed him with so much tenderness, he thought his heart would stop. “Call me your boyfriend,” he said, smiling a little.
“You’re my boyfriend,” Dane said, and the wonder of that hit him. Not a fuck buddy. Not a one-night stand.
“Good. I’m taking my boyfriend home so I can stay the night, and we need to get a move on.”
Dane nodded. “Okay. That’s a plan.”
Finally—finally—they got dressed and out of the apartment.
Safety and Caution
“OH MY God.” Dane yawned. “Am I glad that’s over with!”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Carpenter shrugged. “Jefferson looked so proud—I mean, you know. First apartment. Big deal.” The apartment was dinky. In Fair Oaks, in a small apartment block that sported a grass-covered quad and minimal air-conditioning. Carpenter figured the one outstanding feature was that it was close enough to Mason’s house that maybe—maybe—Terry Jefferson of the teen
y-tiny attention span and the limited knowledge of human relationships might not forget about the truly decent guy who’d fallen totally in love with him.
“Did you talk to his friend? Rude?”
Carpenter snorted. “Rud-y. It’s a name.”
“Short for Rudolph. The red-nosed reindeer. The rude nob rounder. Whatever. He was a total prick to my brother. Let’s shank him.”
Carpenter couldn’t fault Dane for the sentiment. Mason had made excruciatingly polite conversation with Jefferson’s friend, and Rudy had pretty much told Mason that he was a relic and should piss off. Of course, Jefferson didn’t see it. Jefferson thought Mason was invulnerable, a fortress of solitude.
It seemed like only the rest of the world could see that Mason wanted to be a duplex of duality, and it hurt to watch him hope.
“Skip says Jefferson wants him on the team,” Carpenter warned him.
Dane practically choked. “Over my dead body!”
Clay rolled his eyes. “You don’t even play on the team. You get no say until you have bruises under your shin guards and a pair of cleats that live in your car.”
Dane pouted, and Carpenter let out a sigh. He’d been doing a lot of that today, and Clay got the feeling Dane hadn’t really “forgotten” about his little slip the night before.
Stupid. So stupid. Clay knew about Dane’s past—Dane had been more than candid. And while Dane hadn’t said it in so many words, Clay knew, as sure as he’d sky-written it, that Dane had been avoiding a real relationship since his diagnosis as bipolar, six years earlier.
Clay got it.
After following Dane down the rabbit hole that spring, Clay could see how people could be scared off. Clay wasn’t afraid—he saw the darkness and the light so evenly blended inside Dane, he didn’t want to think about separating the two.
You had deeply cynical Dane, who would blow a professor into giving his class a break, and then you had the bright and shiny Dane, who would play with Clay’s niece and nephew for an entire day without blowing up about the two entitled little punks who possessed every game system known to man. That was the guy who could make Clay laugh during the shittiest day.
