Fall through Spring

by Amy Lane

  Carpenter had the words for it, though.

  “It should be,” he said softly. “Skipper, you deserve the whole shebang—an entire family reunion behind you.”

  Skipper’s full mouth curved up on one side. “Don’t we all?” He wrapped his arm around Richie’s shoulders—the kind of masculine PDA Carpenter had seen between the two of them, but not many other people had. “But this ain’t bad.”

  It wasn’t. Carpenter curled up on the couch while they sat on the floor, and they watched romantic comedies until the small hours, only breaking to walk the dog or refill on ice water.

  It would be great if Carpenter’s parents came around, and it would hurt if they didn’t. But they still loved him, however awkwardly, and in the meantime, Carpenter had brothers who would go to the wall for him if he needed it.

  He wondered when Dane would ask him to move in.

  At Last

  DANE HAD never watched two people make out in the middle of a soccer field. The experience would have been a lot more amusing if one of the guys hadn’t been Mason and the other one hadn’t been Terry Squirrel-Bait Jefferson.

  Jesus, this was a long time in coming.

  They’d seen the signs. Jefferson had shown up at a party the week before and spent the entire time looking longingly at Mason. Mason had been laughing quietly at texts during television time all week and had inadvertently propositioned one of the guys in the meat department of the grocery story by asking if the tri-tip was “cooked up hard, or did it stay limp and squishy and sad?”

  Given that he’d also created entire new career paths for Skipper and Clay while he’d been in his funk, Dane’s hero worship was still at full 1000-watt strength, but it was good to see him happy again.

  This enthusiastic foray into each other’s tonsils felt like icing on the Mason cake, and Dane was a fan.

  The kiss broke off, and Dane and Mason moved back with Singh as defenders, and together they watched Carpenter’s increasingly fit and lean ass as he guarded their goal.

  “So,” Dane said during a lull, as Jefferson took the ball to Skipper in what was looking to be a hard-fought play, “you want me and Clay to man the grill after the game today?”

  Mason gave him a beatific smile. “We may have some things to talk about afterwards,” he said with all the innocence of a puppy.

  Dane waited until he was watching the game and then turned to Carpenter and made the time-honored blowjob face using his fist and his tongue in his cheek.

  Carpenter lost his shit, laughing so hard he barely recovered when the ball got launched toward their end of the field.

  MASON AND Terry showed up a little before the pool party petered out, and since Dane and Clay had done most of the hosting, Dane told them they were losers and were on for cleanup.

  Mason looked so happy, he probably would have agreed to detail Dane’s car and Carpenter’s SUV at the same time, so Dane decided to go for the kill.

  “Also,” he said, “we’re getting a cat this weekend. Maybe two. We’re all on for cat box duty and vacuuming. Are we solid on that?” He had no idea if Jefferson was moving in or not—but he wanted a commitment, just in case.

  “Sure!” Mason said, idiot grin still in place. God, he looked like he’d been fucked through the mattress, the floor, and the foundation of the apartment beneath Jefferson’s. Dane was starting to wonder what else he could ask for—a new car? A porn subscription? A pony? The sky was the limit! “I’d love a cat! Wouldn’t you like a cat, Terry?”

  Terry’s smile back at Mason was just as disgusting. “Oooh, I could pet a cat when I came over, right?”

  “Yeah, Terry,” Dane said, dripping sarcasm. “You can pet that pussy ’til it’s sore.”

  Terry stuck out his tongue, and Dane laughed at his own bad joke. Clay grabbed his arm and pulled him away, murmuring, “Take the win, Dane. Take the win.”

  Clay dragged him past the pool, where stragglers were drying off and cleaning up, and out to the ravine, where Skip and Richie’s dog was playing “chase the half-a-tree” with Richie. Richie looked over his shoulder as they approached and smiled tiredly. He and Skip had finally gotten to their tile floor in July—their kitchen looked like real live people from this century occupied it now, and Skipper had been cooking like a madman ever since they’d gotten the new stove installed. Game night had achieved new heights.

  “What’s up? Your brother ever get back?”

  Dane smirked. “You mean get some back?”

  Richie grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. So, did he finally get laid? Because I sure would like to worry about something else for a while.”

  “Like what?” Carpenter asked curiously.

  Richie shrugged. “I don’t know. Like how Skip’s going to deal with his new job. How we’re going to afford a new car. How I’m going to lie to Skip about the next thing he cooks, because, guys, I could sure use some plain old spaghetti with meat sauce about now.”

  Clay guffawed. “Oh my God. Tell you what. I’ll buy a cookbook, and we’ll see if we can’t come up with some shit that doesn’t make you want to hurl.”

  Dane eyed him irritably. “How about first you give up the lease on your apartment so you can stop pretending you live there?”

  Carpenter turned mild eyes toward him. “How about you ask me to live with you? Maybe take me out to dinner? Wine me, dine me—make it classy. I like flowers. Don’t you like flowers, Richie?”

  Riche’s cheeks, always ruddy, escalated to almost purple. “Skipper brought me flowers last week,” he mumbled. “I like flowers fine.”

  Clay and Dane both held their hands to their chests, the sweetness straining the snark from the moment. “That’s adorable,” Dane said. He couldn’t find any irony at all.

  “We should take lessons,” Clay said.

  Richie shrugged uncomfortably. “You can’t take a good mate for granted, you know? I… I can’t imagine a life without Skip. C’mon, Ponyboy. Let’s go find Daddy.”

  They shambled off, and Dane took the opportunity to kiss the love of his life. “I won’t,” he said softly, after Carpenter’s taste had saturated his senses.

  “Won’t what?”

  “Won’t take a good mate for granted. Move in with me. I know I still live with my brother—I don’t care. Your parents are having us over for dinner next week. We can tell them then.” Carpenter had been worried, but Dane hadn’t been. He’d been watching the kids all summer, and Carpenter’s parents had been kind to him the whole time. Maybe it was just with your own children that shit got awkward. “My education is up in the air, you start your new job on Monday—I’m over it. Life is never perfect. It’s never settled. If it gets settled, I get bored, and you and me are never boring. Someday we’re going to go for a car ride and come home married, and I’m fine with that. Are you fine with that?”

  “I’d like to meet your parents first,” Clay said softly. “Maybe they can come.”

  “My mother will love you. Just like I do.”

  Clay caught his breath softly, and Dane knew the rarity of the declaration hurt him. He would get better at saying it—it was more the truth with every heartbeat. “You love me?” he asked pitifully.

  “More with every breath. She’ll see that. First thing.”

  “You think?”

  Dane couldn’t even object to the insecurity, because they got to take turns doing this, needing the other one. It’s how they worked. “You’re the sanest person in the family. It’ll be great.”

  Clay grinned at him through maybe a day’s worth of scruff, looking almost lean after a very active summer. Dane didn’t care. The first time he’d seen Clay Carpenter, he’d been a big guy—but the bigness had been like body code. It had just shown Dane the bigness of his soul and the impact he’d have on Dane’s life. Now that Dane knew how big he was—in all the places that counted—it was fine that he lost a little physical weight. But even if he gained it back, he wasn’t getting any smaller in Dane’s heart.

  “
I love you,” Clay said, with that way he’d always had of being honest to the bone.

  “God, I love you. Through thick and thin.”

  “Through crazy and sane,” Carpenter said, and Dane brushed careful fingertips along his jaw.

  “Through you and through me,” he said, liking the sound of it. “We’ll be perfect.”

  Clay Carpenter laughed, because they wouldn’t be. There was no perfect—perfect was the one thing they wouldn’t be.

  THAT NIGHT, after everybody had gone home, Dane waited until Clay was in the shower before pulling out the flower petals and the chocolate.

  Yeah, he’d come prepared.

  His brother’s happy ending had pretty much announced itself, but it was more than that. Even if Mason had still been in his funk, Dane had concluded that he couldn’t let his own happiness be dependent on Mason’s.

  That seemed like such a small thing—but it wasn’t. It was huge.

  He could be happy on his own. He’d made his own happiness. Well, Carpenter had made most of it, but Dane had chosen really, really well. And more than that.

  It turned out that Mason needed him.

  Not as dramatically as Dane needed Mason, but the last couple months of making sure Mason ate dinner, clowning around to cheer him up, shooing him to the movies once in a while—Dane had done that.

  Dane and Carpenter and Skip and Richie had been Team Mason, all the way, and when Mason might have let his sadness overwhelm him, he had, instead, developed an entirely new department for Skip and Carpenter to work in.

  Dane hadn’t been an albatross around Mason’s neck. He’d been a crewmember on board the ship that had seen Mason home. All of them were. Being part of that team, being necessary, not just to Mason but to Carpenter—that made him realize he could be that guy. Even helping Skip and Richie figure out IKEA instructions and tile their kitchen floor—that had made him important. He wasn’t a brick, drowning the people he loved. He was a brick they could stand on so they could get their heads above water and take a breath.

  When he’d left the Bay Area, he’d lost all his gaming friends, just like that. He and Carpenter could move to Timbuktu tomorrow, and not only would Mason help them find a house, but Skip and Richie would be on the gaming headphones next Friday and badgering them to find a soccer team.

  Having people mattered. Having people made you a better person.

  He figured this was probably a realization Mason had made a long time ago, but then, Mason was older. He’d had a couple of years without Dane at the beginning to get used to the idea.

  But Dane was getting used to it now. If nothing else, the breakup with Terry had proved that Mason was not just more than human—he was vulnerable. He’d needed Dane these last two months, and Dane needed to take care of himself so he could be that guy too.

  Part of being that guy too was taking care of Clay. Making him happy. Making him smile. Managing his illness had taught him that nothing was certain from one day to the next—not his reaction to medication, not his mood, not anything. This day he felt good and he was in love.

  This day, he would do something special for the guy he loved.

  So Dane sprinkled the sheets with rose petals and put the chocolate on the bed stand, loving it because it was corny and overdone and so full of schmoop, it almost gave him hives.

  When Clay got out from his shower, Dane was naked, sprawled in the rose petals, hard cock in his hand in preparation. He was also grinning like a kid. Well, being naked had made him happy then too—and that was before he’d learned the real uses of naked!

  Clay came out, toweling his hair, another towel wrapped firmly around his waist. “I had underwear on the back of the toilet,” he said from under the towel. “But they’re gone now. Do you have any idea where they—”

  He pulled the towel off his head and looked at Dane in surprise.

  “Went?”

  Dane grinned gleefully. “What underwear? There are no underwear. Underwear are an illusion.”

  Clay laughed softly and dropped both towels on the ground. God, he looked good. Not a six-pack—but who needed a six-pack when they had that smile?

  “An illusion?” He climbed into bed and reached for the light, and Dane stilled his hand.

  “An illusion,” Dane said softly, before kissing down Clay’s body. Ah, nipples. They were such an enchanting shade of pink in the light. They even tasted pink. Carpenter let out a little sound of excitement before Dane released him. “So’s the light. The light’s an illusion.”

  “Why do we need the illusion of light?” Clay asked throatily, squirming and obviously thinking about reaching for the lamp again.

  “Because I want to see you,” Dane said. “Before, you know, I fuck you.”

  Clay pulled in a hard breath. “You, uh… I mean, uh—”

  Dane had kissed down to his hip by now. “Did you wash all the places?” he asked playfully. He knew Clay had—he was meticulous about it. They’d had a lot of sex in the last few months—his asshole practically smelled like roses.

  “Yeah—are we going to, uh… you know… go all the places?”

  Dane gave his cock a teasing lick, noting that it was getting hard fast. “Salty,” he said, licking again. “Sweet.” He pulled it all the way into his mouth, bottoming out now, before it was fully erect, while he could.

  “Nungh!” Clay’s hands knotted in his hair, which had been trimmed recently and hung right below his ears. Dane sort of liked it like this—not nearly so many knots. “Dane!”

  “What?”

  “Are you uh… I mean I’m uh… but you’re uh—”

  “I was worried about hurting you,” Dane said. He licked the underside again and plied the bell with his tongue, practically giggling as Carpenter moaned. God, he was fun in bed. Everything was exciting to him, even soft kisses on places like his shoulder.

  Skipping straight to the goodies always made him hypersensitive too.

  “And now?”

  Dane grew quiet now, meeting Carpenter’s eyes soberly. “I still might,” he said softly. “Human bodies are an inexact science. It may hurt. It may not be as good for you as it is for me. But I want to try. I’ll do my best. I’ll stretch you out and make it sweet. We can only do our best.” He breathed softly on all of Carpenter’s vulnerable bits. “I want to do my best to make you come.”

  Carpenter let out a gasp that was probably part laugh and probably part arousal, because Dane had just taken a furry testicle very gently into his mouth.

  He rolled it around there a little, letting spit trickle down between Clay’s cheeks before letting it go with a lick.

  “Hand me the lube,” he said softly, and Clay’s fingers shook a little with the hand-off. Dane set the bottle down and took a moment to lace their fingers together.

  “Trust me?” he asked, semiseriously.

  Clay bit his lip and nodded, wholly serious. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll be great!” Dane promised, praying to the god of sex, whoever she might be. “Or, well, it’ll be a learning experience. Either way, there’s chocolate at the end.”

  Clay snorted, and Dane realized what he’d said and giggled.

  “Well, hopefully the other end,” he clarified. “You said you were squeaky clean.”

  “In all the places,” Clay agreed, voice tight with arousal and probably embarrassment.

  “Then this’ll be fine. It’ll be like I never said that.” And with that, he clicked the bottle and drizzled a little bit of lubricant on his fingers, then probed gently.

  Clay’s head fell back against the pillows and his knees fell open and he made the most amazing sound. Mm… he was hot inside, tight and slick. But he’d relaxed enough for Dane’s finger to slip in, and he stretched gently, listening to the sounds coming from Clay’s throat.

  They were mesmerizing.

  His rim grew lax and wide, and Dane watched in awe as Clay’s thigh muscles started to tremble and his hole grew to accept the invasion of another person.
r />   “How we doing?” he whispered, entranced.

  “Peachy,” Clay rasped. “Don’t stop.”

  “Really?” Oh, how wonderful. He added another finger, and Clay’s moan went straight to his groin. He was doing this. He was making another person—his person—amazingly happy.

  “Really!” Clay squeaked. He reached down to stroke his neglected cock, and Dane let him.

  “Slow,” he cautioned. “You come, your asshole gets all tight—it doesn’t always end well for the top, okay?”

  “Ended well for you!” Clay whined.

  “Yes, but that’s because my body worked that way. Let’s make this good before we experiment.”

  “Oh my God! Now you want to be careful?” A thick pearl of precome leaked out of his almost purple cockhead, and Dane realized how close he was.

  “Hey, hey….” Dane put a gentle hand on Clay’s. “Here. You’re ready. Are you ready? I think you’re ready.” He ground his own aching erection on the bed. “I’d sure like to see if you’re ready.”

  Clay let out a rusty chuckle. “Baby, if you could, you know, hurry this thing along a little….”

  “Yeah. Ready to roll over? It’ll be easier on hands and knees at first.”

  Clay whimpered, but he trusted Dane and rolled over, his powerful arms and shoulders shaking with the promise of what was to come.

  Dane got behind him, oiling his own cock, and appreciated the view. “You… you’re all mine,” he said happily. “All of you.” Clay had definitely slimmed down in the last year, but that wasn’t what was making Dane’s heart tighten in his chest. It was… all of him. His heart, his willingness to try, the way he got Dane and had, right from the first.

  “Yup,” Clay said, voice as shaky as his body. “Including that part that I’d really love you to fuck right now.”

  “Heh, heh, heh….” Dane placed himself carefully. “It’s going to be uncomfortable until my head pops in—ready, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dane went slow, in spite of his body’s craving for release. He was in charge here—for once, someone was trusting him with the penetration, and God, he wanted to do it right. Slowly, slowly, slowly—he relished Clay pushing out, which made him open wider, to accept what Dane was giving.