Vic felt Matt’s lips smile against his, and he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Whether Matt was trying to be funny, or whether Kyle’s dick was really that small, Vic didn’t know. He didn’t care. He appreciated the way his lover recalled the memory for him—Kyle’s flaccid member dangled like a forgotten flap of skin, little, bite-sized and God, so unappetizing. Vic laughed again and Matt’s tongue licked into his mouth with a possessive hunger that spoke of desire louder than words ever could.
In the memory, Kyle slid into the pool, naked. “Come on,” he cajoled. “You’re the swimmer here. Show me what you got.”
The look on Matt’s face in the past showed his distaste at the idea, but he stood and stripped. His body glowed faintly in the low light, his bronze skin gorgeous. Vic felt the start of an erection stir beneath his robe as he watched his nude lover approach the pool. Kyle’s greed shone in his face like sweat. “Oh, yeah.”
Matt’s reply was a splash as he dove into the deep end of the pool. As Kyle dog-paddled out to him, Matt’s long arms pulled him through the water without effort. With strong strokes, he circled the pool once, twice, three times in rapid succession, swimming circles around Kyle. Nothing the other man did or said could close the distance between them. Finally, worn out from trying, Kyle retreated to the hot tub and patted the churning bubbles beside him. “Get up here already,” he called out. “Damn, you turn me on.”
But Matt swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out. Water glistened on his skin, running in rivulets down his back to trickle around the valley just above his buttocks. Vic’s cock stiffened between them; noticing, Matt moved against him, his kiss deepening. “Hey!” Kyle called out in Matt’s mind. “Where—”
“I gotta go,” was Matt’s terse reply. He toweled off and dressed as fast as he could. By the time Kyle had extracted himself from the hot tub and reached the lounge chairs where his clothing lay, Matt was gone.
Against Vic’s mouth, Matt whispered, “And that was the only time I was ever in his pool.”
* * * *
Chapter 14
When Vic arrived at work, he found a note jammed into the vent of his locker. Without looking at it, he knew it was from Kyle. The damn idiot couldn’t take a hint, could he? Everything about that man pissed Vic off, no matter how nice a guy Matt claimed he could be. He wasn’t jealous of Kyle, far from it—he was the one with Matt now, he had everything he needed in the world in that one man alone. He trusted Matt; if his lover were to attend the cookout by himself, Vic wouldn’t question his loyalty. But something about his coworker just set everything in Vic on edge, and the thought of wasting his Saturday evening being social with the guy turned his stomach.
He considered knocking the note to the floor and kicking it underneath the lockers so he wouldn’t have to read it, but Matt would want to know what it said. Maybe the cookout was canceled—he could hope. Maybe Kyle couldn’t manage to rustle up anyone who’d pretend to be his current boy toy for the night. The hustlers and transvestite hookers downtown probably charged too much to make house calls.
But no—the cookout was still on. The note was an invitation, printed from an inkjet printer; the barbeque grill clip-art was ghosted on the bottom half of the paper where Kyle had folded it before the ink dried. In cheesy block script, the note read, Cocktails at 4! Grill heats up at 6! Margaritas at 8 poolside! Skinny dip—if you dare!—once the sun goes down! Saturday…be there!
The number of exclamation points alone bothered Vic. He balled the note up in one fist, ready to throw it away, but changed his mind and shoved it in the back pocket of his work pants instead. He’d give it to Matt, let him decide when to go. Maybe around 6:15 or so, Vic thought, slamming his locker shut. Say hi, grab a bite to eat, then head home well before the whole party moved to the pool. What kind of guy invited a bunch of gay men to his house to skinny dip anyway? Someone hard up, Vic concluded. Looking for cheap thrills. Fuck that.
By the time the sun went down Saturday night, Vic planned to be at home, in bed, with Matt beside him. Then they’d throw their own party, an intimate twosome, just between themselves.
Now that was something to look forward to.
It was a minor miracle that Vic managed to avoid running into Kyle all day. When he returned to the garage after his last route, he clocked out with something akin to relief coursing through him. Double shifts paid well but, damn, they were murder. This marked the end of the summer for him, and a return to his regular route. He’d be home for dinner from now on, and have more time to spend with Matt.
Despite the late hour, his lover was still awake when Vic arrived home. The light in the kitchen was on, and the radio played softly in the living room, a low jazz number that made Vic sleepy to hear it. Closing the front door behind him, Vic shrugged out of his work shirt and let it fall to the floor, then kicked off his boots as he sent a thought his lover’s way. ::Looking for a midnight snack?::
Matt’s laughter erupted in the kitchen. ::Come here, you. If you’re hungry, I have something for you to suck on.::
Unbuckling his belt, Vic padded down the hall to lean in the doorway to the kitchen. “You’re bad,” he announced.
At the counter, Matt sliced skinned potatoes into a pot of water. “You’re the one with the dirty mind,” he said with a grin. Reaching out, he popped a piece of raw potato between Vic’s lips and chased it with a kiss. “I was talking about tubers.”
Vic crunched on the potato. “I’m sure.” When Matt started to turn back to the counter, Vic caught his waist to stop him. “Not so fast, pretty boy. You call that a kiss?”
“I call it a taste of things to come,” Matt said. But he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Vic’s for a bit more. “Nice day?”
With a shrug, Vic let Matt get back to the potatoes. “Nice enough. You?”
“I took a nap,” Matt admitted. “What an exciting life I lead, eh? I’m so glad your shifts are back to normal again. God, I’ve missed you.”
Vic laughed. “We sleep together every night.”
That earned him a sexy leer. “Lucky me.”
Stepping into the kitchen, Vic leaned against the fridge and watched Matt’s knife slice through the potatoes. When his lover moved from one cut up spud to the next, Vic snatched another piece of raw potato from the counter and popped it in his mouth. “So, no phone calls today?”
“Nope.” Matt’s smile turned wicked. “I told Roxie she had to screen all my callers from now on. If they couldn’t answer one simple question, then they couldn’t get through.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “When she asks, tell her it’s behind your left testicle.”
Vic choked on the potato in his mouth. “What?”
“There’s a freckle behind your left testicle,” Matt explained. From his deadpan expression, Vic couldn’t tell if his lover was kidding or not. “Just this tiny little brown dot. You’ve never seen it, I’m sure, but it’s the first thing I kiss whenever I’m down there. I’ll show you next time if you want. We’ll need a mirror—”
“And you told her this?” Vic asked, incredulous.
Matt’s enigmatic smile didn’t answer the question, and his lover skirted a reply. “Did you ask Kyle what time we have to be there tomorrow?”
“Every time she looks at me,” Vic countered, “she’s going to be thinking about my balls.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Matt raised one eyebrow. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”
With a groan, Vic shook his head. “She’s going to be checking me out whenever I’m at the gym.”
“That’s what I do,” Matt admitted. “Let her look, so long as she keeps her hands to herself. Did you find out when the cookout starts?”
Vic pulled the balled up piece of paper from his back pocket and tossed it to the counter. “He’s turned this into a damn block party,” he grumbled. “I thought it was just you, me, his new boyfriend—”
“Who’s he seeing now?” Matt asked. He prodded the note with the tip of his knife.
“What’s this say?”
Smoothing out the paper, he held it up for Matt to read. As Matt’s gaze drifted down the paper, Vic told him, “I don’t want to show up before six.”
“Five thirty,” Matt conceded. Vic’s brow furrowed in displeasure and Matt laughed. “Free booze, babe. That’s all I’m saying.”
“If what you want are some free drinks, hell.” Vic crumpled the paper in his fist and tossed it into the trash can. “I’ll take you out to a bar tomorrow, how’s that? You can get shit-faced all you want and I’ll pick up the tab.”
“Vic—”
“Why are you so set on going to this thing?” Vic wanted to know.
Without answering, Matt scooped up the sliced potatoes in both hands; as he began to drop them into the pot of water, Vic snatched another piece to munch on. He waited for Matt to speak, but his lover busied himself with cleaning up the counter and didn’t reply. When he tried to heft the full pot, Vic nudged him aside and lifted it for him. “Just put it on the stove,” Matt mumbled.
Vic obeyed, setting it down with a splash. As Matt stepped around him to turn on the burner, Vic traced the curve of Matt’s spine from his shoulders down to the small of his back, where the apron he wore was knotted. Picking at the strings, Vic asked softly, “Hey. You all right?”
Matt’s hefty sigh told him no. His mood shift was almost palpable; before Vic had asked why he wanted to go to the cookout, Matt had been all smiles, with a tease in his voice that hinted at a fun time in bed later. Now his shoulders slumped, his head hung down, and he looked so damn defeated that Vic took him into his arms without a thought, hugging him close. “It’s cool,” he murmured into Matt’s thick black curls. “You want to go, so we’re going. I don’t need more of an answer than that.”
Matt wrapped his arms around Vic’s waist to hold him tight, and he buried his face against Vic’s neck. They stood like that for a long moment, the heat from the stove warming Vic’s side. Then, concerned, he began to ease into Matt’s mind, peeling back the complicated layers of his lover’s swirling thoughts like a botanist peeking into the tender heart of a newly opened bud. Beneath a myriad of emotion, he found Matt’s essence hidden away at the core of his being. He held something in his arms, something he kept sheltered, away from Vic. The gentlest of touches relaxed him enough so Vic could see the memory that burned against his lover like a brand, a memory Matt was reluctant to share.
::Let me see.::
Slowly, Vic convinced Matt to let him look. Unfurling his arms, Matt held out a snapshot in his mind. When Vic tried to take it, his lover didn’t want to let go; his fingers gripped the edge of the photograph, unwilling to relive the painful moment. With loving hands, Vic smoothed over Matt’s, cradling them until they gave in to him.
When Vic took the photograph, the memory in it began to move like a movie on a handheld screen. Matt and Kyle again, this time on a couch in a living room Vic didn’t recognize. One he’d see Saturday, he was sure. Seated at one end of the couch, Matt crossed his arms in front of his chest, his legs angled away from Kyle, closed off. Kyle, of course, didn’t notice. With one arm draped around Matt’s shoulders, he rubbed along Matt’s arm, then down over his stomach, then over the front of his pants to cup his crotch. When Matt pulled away, Kyle’s hand retreated back to a safe distance but still hovered nearby, ready to swoop in when Matt let his guard down again.
The glint in Kyle’s beady eyes pissed the hell out of Vic. Can’t you see he doesn’t want to? he wanted to scream at his coworker. Just leave him the fuck alone. When Kyle leaned in for a kiss, Matt turned away.
That seemed to be the breaking point. “Fuck you,” Kyle growled, pushing Matt as if he were the one coming onto him and not the other way around. “I got news for you, Matthew. We all have dreams, okay? We all have ideals, the perfect man in mind, the one we want more than anyone else in the world. The proverbial ‘Mr. Right.’ But let me tell you something—he doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as ‘true love,’ or ‘soul mates,’ or any of that romantic crap Hallmark wants you to believe. There’s you, and there’s me, and for a few great moments maybe we can make it mean something more between us, but you got to settle for what you can get. It’s all anyone can hope for out of life.”
In the memory, Matt’s lower lip trembled. His dark eyes shone like pools of reflected starlight. Vic could see the emotions warring across his features, denial mingled with desire, want and need as blatant as the hurt and fear they struggled to suppress. A lifetime of guilt ate away at him; Vic knew he thought of Jordan, and the unusual powers his seed might bestow on Kyle. The basic human need for comfort and love fought with the fear of rejection, or abuse, or betrayal. Every nerve of Matt seemed to tremble, as if at any second he’d burst into flames and put an end to the internal fires that burned deep within him.
More than anything else in that one moment, Vic wanted to take that man in his arms, the one years ago trying so hard to hold out for something more than what the guy beside him offered. He wanted to hold that Matt close, to kiss away the tears, to tell him to just wait a little longer because he knew how the story ended, he knew things got better. A few months after this memory, Vic had connected with Matt again. But here, on the cusp of that relationship, Matt’s heart dangled in the balance. Don’t give in, Vic pleaded silently. The memory was so alive to him, so real, that he felt he needed to plead with his future lover to be strong and hold out for him. You’ve waited this long. Just hold out a little longer and then I come into the picture, Matty. I am that man in your dreams, the one who will love you more than anyone ever could. Just wait for me, please…
As Matt teetered on the brink of surrender, Kyle’s hand drifted to Matt’s crotch again. “Come on,” he cajoled, running his other hand through Matt’s tousled hair. “You can’t hold out forever.”
That decided it. In a huff, Matt stood up, knocking Kyle aside. “I’ve got to go.”
“Fuck you then,” Kyle muttered again. He fell into Matt’s seat and stretched out along the couch. “I’m not playing your games, Matthew. A relationship is ninety percent sex—if you won’t give me that, what do we have?”
Matt’s voice was dull, listless, as he stepped into his sneakers. “Nothing, I guess.”
“You walk out now and that’s it,” Kyle warned. Not realizing that it was himself driving the man away, he watched in disbelief as Matt headed for the door. “We’re through, you hear me? If you leave now, I—”
The memory ended with the slamming of the door.
In Vic’s arms, Matt sniffled, bringing them both back to the present, where the water on the stove had begun to bubble and the burner hissed like a spitting cat as the water boiled over. Matt pulled away and Vic let him go, but not very far—he kept one hand on Matt’s shoulder, unwilling to lose his lover’s touch. “That’s why I’m so set on going tomorrow,” Matt muttered as he turned down the stove so the potatoes could cook. “I’ll show that bastard just how wrong he was. I didn’t settle for less. And look what I got.”
He grabbed Vic’s hand in both of his, brushed his lips over the rough knuckles, then pulled Vic to him. His mouth covered Vic’s with a demanding kiss as if to prove the depth and breadth of his love. That insistent kiss let loose a tumult of feeling that rushed over Vic like a tidal wave, dragging him under, taking his breath away. He stumbled against Matt, his knees weak. His chest felt too small for the heart swelling inside, and the zipper on his pants parted beneath an erection that rose from the strength of Matt’s kiss.
He felt Matt smile against his lips, and then his lover murmured into him, “I got you. And I’m going to shove his face in it, show him just how damn good it can get. Let him choke on that.”
* * * *
Chapter 15
Vic spent the early part of Saturday lounging around the apartment, dressed in his bathrobe. A little before noon, he changed, pulling on an old tank top and a thin pair of boxers. Matt wore something similar; they looked like a pair of bums but it f
elt damn good not to have to dress in work duds. He wouldn’t bother with clothing at all if not for Kyle’s damn get-together and Matt’s desire to show that ass just how wrong he’d been about holding out for…
For me.
Vic felt an unusual twinge of pride. He wasn’t a catch in anyone’s book—he knew what he looked like, he faced off with that big lug of a man in the mirror every morning. He wasn’t about to start winning any beauty pageants this late in the game, God knew. There were sexier men out there, handsome devils with bewitching smiles and beguiling personalities that sparkled and bubbled like champagne. But no one, nowhere, could love Matt the way Vic did. The sun rose with that man, it set on his command. Vic would stop the world if Matt asked. The only thing he lived for was to love him.
By early afternoon Matt sat at one end of the couch, a book in hand; Vic stretched along the cushions, his head in his lover’s lap, as he flipped through the channels on the television. He settled for something on the History Channel, not so much because it interested him but because he was tired of looking. Matt’s hand strummed along Vic’s chest, petting him, an absent gesture that sent shivers of delight coursing through Vic’s body. Every so often he’d catch that hand in both of his and raise it to his lips to kiss the blunt fingertips before letting it swirl away across his abdomen again. Soon Matt shifted on the couch, sliding down a bit in the seat, until the pillowy softness at his crotch pressed against the tattoo on Vic’s temple and stiffened at the touch. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, Matt let the paperback drop to the arm of the couch and cradled Vic’s chin in his hand. When Vic glanced up, he saw his lover’s dark eyes blink slowly shut as his head leaned back against the sofa. “You tired?” he asked, taking Matt’s hand in his own.
Matt rolled his head to one side, a sleepy smile on his face. “Just going to close my eyes a bit. Wake me for the cookout?”
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