by River Jaymes
Alec parked behind Dylan and exited the car. “Is that the sex swing you keep referring to?” Alec asked with a nod at the front porch swing.
Unfortunately, Alec’s comment held more humor than heat. In fact, the lack of heat in Alec’s look was disappointing.
Dylan let out an amused grunt. “Hardly.”
He tried hard not to think about how much he longed to tease the fire back into Alec’s eyes as they made their way around back, up the stairs, and into his garage apartment. The sparse living room and bathroom were functional. His bedroom on the other hand? Definitely a contender for the Worst Bachelor Pad Ever award. The kitchen was almost none existent, but he didn’t cook anyway. Dylan had never cared before, so why did he feel awkward and anxious now?
He just needed to grab his tools and get them both back to Alec’s place, where everything felt more…normal.
Alec’s gaze swept over the furniture pieces that looked exactly like what they were, a starter set for a college student who’d used the shit out of them and then paid Dylan to haul the stuff away.
“Homey,” Alec said.
As a teasing comment, the words fell flat. Mostly because Alec no longer looked relaxed; he looked distracted. And not in a good way.
Dylan rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Noah,” he said. “The rent is good and includes the garage beneath.”
Before Alec could comment further, Dylan escaped into his bedroom. Yep, good plan. Get some clean clothes and then get the heck out of here. In the meantime, he wracked his brains to come up with something to fill the strained silence. Anything to get them back to more familiar ground.
“Have you and Tyler decided on a fundraiser yet?” Dylan called out.
“Maybe. Jack Davis sits on the board at Charity Regional Hospital. He’s invited us to a Tigers’ game to tempt us into teaming up for a bachelor bid, with Noah in charge.”
Dylan gripped the doorway of his bedroom and leaned around to stare at Alec. “Are you friggin’ kidding me?”
The pained look on Alec’s face was almost comical. “I wish.”
“Man, I shudder at the thought of Noah acting as MC at a bachelor auction.”
Alec chuckled, and Dylan grinned at the laugh lines around Alec’s eyes. Dylan’s grip eased on the wood trim. Good, awkwardness gone. Finally, progress.
“Are you going to put yourself up for bid?” Dylan asked.
The look on Alec’s face sent Dylan’s stomach into a tailspin.
Damn, what a way to shine a spotlight on the ticking time bomb between them.
Referencing Alec’s bachelor status had been a moronic move on Dylan’s part. The oblique reference to their dead-end relationship went over like gut-splitting laughter at a funeral. Dylan totally owned the blame for this one. He should have known that, to Alec, a commitment took priority over a good time. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spent two years trying to make things work with Tyler. He held babies as if he liked them, for fuck’s sake. But, for some reason, Alec had decided being with Dylan for a while was worth putting his significant-other goals on hold.
Making Alec unhappy sucked. In fact, the look on Alec’s face now was kind of crushing.
Shit.
Dylan pushed the turbulent thoughts aside and escaped into his bedroom, blindly rifling through his dresser. His fingers fumbled as he randomly selected a clean shirt and jeans. No getting out of his plans gracefully now.
“I’ll shower at your place after I work on the Harley. Next stop”—he avoided Alec’s gaze as he exited the bedroom and swiped his keys from the kitchen counter—“the garage and my tools.”
Though at this point, why bother? The universe had mucked with his plans from the beginning, and Dylan had sabotaged the rest with his dumb mouth.
Jesus, Alec was right about him.
He really didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.
~~~***~~~
Still numb from Dylan’s question, Alec trailed behind the man as they headed outside and down the stairs, the sun almost an afterthought in the late-afternoon sky.
And where in the grand scheme of things had he thought he could sleep with Dylan and keep everything simple? If Dylan didn’t mind Alec selling himself for a date to the highest bidder, then why bother sticking around?
Christ, Alec. You’re being as melodramatic as Noah.
Dylan had asked him about participating in a charity bid, not signing up for a dating service. Alec shoved his hair behind his ears. He needed a major attitude adjustment, feeling completely off kilter.
Because the moment he’d entered the apartment, his heart had suffered a strange kick.
He ached at the thought of Dylan coming home to such a stark environment. Tan walls, threadbare carpet. The furniture looked like rejects from a second-hand store. There’d been no attempt to decorate. No color. Nothing personal. The kitchen didn’t even look used except for the motorcycle part sitting on the scarred dinette table.
Frowning at the disturbing memory, Alec followed Dylan into the garage through a side door. And then Alec stopped short, too stunned to move as he stared at the scene.
While the no-frills apartment clearly bordered on depressing, this space, however, was a thing of beauty. Tools filled two of the four walls, as well organized as Dylan’s shop. Seven motorcycles were lined up along the middle of the room, each carefully covered. The eighth had the chain removed, now lying on the drop cloth beneath the bike. Colorful license plates filled the free walls in an artistic design. One side of the garage contained a table with a small TV and a patio lounge chair—more comfortable looking and certainly newer than any of the furniture upstairs. There was even a mini refrigerator.
Not only did Dylan work in a garage, he practically lived in one as well.
The years Dylan had spent on the streets had left a bigger hole than Alec had first thought. No wonder the idea of a real relationship wigged Dylan out. He barely knew how to live in a home.
Alec couldn’t decide which hurt worse, his head or his chest.
Hoping to recover from the turmoil, he headed for a rack of what looked like memorabilia. Antique helmets, saddlebags, and a few things Alec couldn’t identify lined the shelves.
“Looks like you spend most of your time at home down here,” Alec said.
Dylan stopped at a shelf and picked up a small set of tools shaped like tiny crowbars, all easily fitting into his palm. “Most of my waking hours anyway.”
Alec mulled this over as he ran his hand over an old helmet.
Dylan glanced at Alec and stuck the tools in his back pocket. “That belonged to my dad.”
Surprised at the share, Alec said, “Your dad was into motorcycles?”
“Yep. But he was into the booze more. Spent the majority of his time passed out drunk.” He paused and shifted on his feet awkwardly before crossing to pick up the chain on the drop cloth. “I preferred passed out over awake though. Didn’t have to dodge his fists then.”
Alec’s heart caught, and he had to fight the urge to press his forehead to Dylan’s back, to wrap his arms around him. Not for sex, but to hold on to Dylan and simply be.
But Alec knew that kind of touching wasn’t welcome. “I’m sorry.”
“Happens,” Dylan said with a shrug
“Not much of a home life.”
The bark of laughter held less bitterness than Alec would have thought. “Growing up,” Dylan said, “I made sure to spend most of my time elsewhere. When things finally got bad enough, living on the streets became the better option.”
Alec waited, but Dylan didn’t go on. In light of Dylan’s closed-lip behavior so far, Alec knew he wouldn’t get this opportunity again. He hated bringing the subject up, but he plowed ahead anyway.
“Do you know where your mother is?” Alec asked
“Nope.” Dylan absently fingered the motorcycle chain dangling in his hands. “And I don’t know whether my old man’s drinking caused my mother to leave or was triggered by her departure. Guess I’ll ne
ver know.”
Though the words were far from cheerful, they lacked the starkness present when he talked about Rick. Obviously losing his friend had affected him the most, which only made Alec’s heart hurt more.
“Doesn’t really matter,” Dylan said, placing the chain on a worktable. “Gone is gone.”
Gone is gone.
Alec had been curious about Dylan’s past since learning about the three years he’d spent on the streets. Now that Alec knew more, he hardly felt better. Their seriously nontraditional relationship didn’t help matters either. Although Dylan did the buddies thing well, he avoided anything truly personal. And Alec had no idea how to negotiate a relationship based on two fractured pieces: easygoing friend and sexual partner.
How could he offer comfort when he wasn’t allowed to touch outside of sex? And how was he supposed to initiate sex with someone he wasn’t allowed to show affection for?
The nonstop merry-go-round in his head left him dizzy. Fortunately, in the bedroom, Alec’s awkwardness didn’t matter because the man was on Alec every chance he got. In that sense, letting Dylan set the pace had worked out well. Sadly, Dylan seemed obsessed with taking showers, which made Alec’s fantasy of garage sex with a dirty, sweaty Dylan unlikely.
Alec gazed at Dylan, the sweat-dampened T-shirt plastered to the broad back, muscles shifting with every change of Dylan’s posture. Given the end-of-the-day, stuffy temperature in the garage, the additional surge of heat nearly did Alec in.
From the first moment he’d laid eyes on Dylan, he’d found the man thrilling. He adored the brash attitude and rough edges and finely honed physique. Three days ago Alec had come home and found Dylan working on his motorcycle built for speed, looking like a fantasy incarnate. Alec had almost choked on his own tongue. But, as usual, he kept his hands to himself and waited for Dylan to make the first move.
His decision to let Dylan set the pace had worked so far. What Alec had today was so much better than Dylan’s absence, and Alec feared upsetting the status quo. Besides, by now he’d figured out that this relationship would proceed one small step at a time. He was willing to be patient. But the bachelor bid comment still ate away at his confidence, reminding Alec of the massive question that constituted their future.
Suddenly, those small steps forward felt grossly inadequate. What if Dylan got skittish? What if tomorrow he woke up and declared their lopsided relationship over? Alec had known from the beginning their time was limited.
Damn, this was limited.
Alec scraped his hair back from his face, willing his pulse to quit freaking out. Before he’d wanted to push Dylan away to protect himself, now all Alec wanted was to pull him close and hold on tight.
Dylan eyed Alec with concern. “I should open the garage door,” Dylan said, passing by Alec. “Let in a cool breeze.”
Alec’s arm shot out, stopping Dylan in his tracks. “Don’t,” Alec ground out. “I need…”
Chapter Twelve
Dylan’s confused expression sent an awkward wave of heat up Alec’s face, and he briefly lost the ability to speak. He couldn’t wait anymore. Just like the discussion about Dylan’s parents, Alec might never get this chance again.
He gripped Dylan’s wrist tight and managed to croak out five more words. “Just don’t open the door.”
Because how could he take advantage of Dylan if he knew the neighbors might see? Dylan now looked more worried than confused.
He probably thought Alec was suffering from heat stroke. And, as usual, Alec failed to get his ridiculous tongue to work. But, thank God, this was a time for showing not telling. He placed his hands on Dylan’s chest, turned them both, and then pushed Dylan backward. Alec tried hard to forget that the last time he’d behaved this way he’d been flying high on alcohol. Shit, maybe he should drink more often.
On the third step back, Dylan bumped into the shelf behind him. Tools rattled, and comprehension lit his eyes.
“I’m all dirty, man,” Dylan said.
“Just how I like you.”
Dylan let out a bark of skeptical laughter. “You like me sweaty?”
How could the man be so dense? Alec traced the sweat-dampened hollow below Dylan’s rib cage, the ripples of abdominal muscles, and an embarrassingly loud sigh of contentment escaped Alec’s mouth. But, damn, he just couldn’t afford to care about keeping his feelings to himself anymore.
“Yes,” Alec said. “I like you sweaty.”
Dylan looked doubtful. “But I’m covered in grease from that rustbucket of a Triumph.”
Alec pushed Dylan’s T-shirt up, his palms sliding over Dylan’s nipples, and Dylan sucked in a breath. Apparently his concerns about hygiene were beginning to waver because he grabbed Alec’s hips and yanked him closer.
“Man.” Dylan’s voice sounded rough. “You have the smoothest hands. But I’m getting you all messy. Now your kakis have stains—”
“God, yes,” Alec groaned.
Alec glanced down and admired the black fingerprints smudged on his pants, courtesy of Dylan handling the bike chain. Oddly proud of the marks, Alec pushed Dylan’s shirt off with more force than necessary, tossing the fabric aside before burying his nose at Dylan’s neck. Alec inhaled the scent of motor oil, hot man, and musk, giving the moment the time it deserved. So perfect. So right. Except for one thing.
“Clothes,” Alec said as he slid his knuckles down the hard cock beneath Dylan’s jeans.
An encouraging sound scraped from Dylan’s throat, and he gripped Alec’s waist for balance, toeing off his work boots. Suddenly clumsy in his eagerness, Dylan shucked the right one easily enough but took two tries to finish the left. Alec scrambled to unfasten Dylan’s zipper and push the denim, along with the briefs, down. Once they were around his ankles, Dylan kicked the clothing aside and shed his socks.
Since the beginning, Alec had been fantasizing about Dylan streaked with grease and sweat. The day had come to stop being patient and do something about fulfilling the mental image keeping Alec up at night. Why had he waited so long? Now, he had every intention of seeing this through to the logical conclusion: Dylan…filthy and compliant, bared skin and muscle on display.
So when Dylan reached for Alec’s clothes, he caught Dylan’s wrist, stopping the attempt. Alec loved topping the hell out of Dylan, and they’d spent two weeks going at each other like crazy. But right now Alec needed more.
Eyebrows raised in question, Dylan stared at Alec. “What’s wrong?”
How to explain? This was all about being greedy and selfish, putting Alec’s need for more than just a fantastic fuck before everything else. For once he wanted to slow this wild roller-coaster ride down and simply enjoy Dylan’s body.
“Absolutely nothing,” Alec replied.
In a fit of inspiration, he turned Dylan until he faced the shelf. Alec lifted the man’s arms until they extended straight out, angled slightly above the level of his shoulders.
“Whatever happens,” Alec said as he threaded Dylan’s grease-stained fingers through the bars of the stainless steel shelf, “don’t move unless I say so.”
Alec placed his foot at Dylan’s instep and pushed out until Dylan complied, widening his stance. The spread-eagle position displayed his naked body in all of its beautifully-proportioned glory.
“Okay.” With a smug tone, Dylan tipped his ass back in invitation. “I know what you want.”
Alec ignored the smirk in Dylan’s voice.
“No,” Alec said softly. “I don’t think you do.”
You don’t know the half of what I want.
Two muggy seconds ticked by. Dylan waited, maybe patiently, although Alec couldn’t be sure. Dylan’s submissive posture tempted Alec to do exactly what Dylan expected, what the man no doubt wanted.
For Alec to bury his cock in Dylan’s ass.
Desire crawled up Alec’s spine, and he closed his eyes, imagining the sweet, tight heat, the pressure and the glorious friction. But Alec wanted something less frantic, less primal
and more…personal.
And during all their activities in bed together, not once had Dylan sucked Alec off. Alec had thought Dylan was immune to sexual hang-ups. As time went by, Alec realized he might have been wrong.
He pushed the thought aside. “Leonardo Da Vinci’s drawing of the Vitruvian Man was on the cover of my anatomy textbook in medical school,” Alec said, admiring the tanned skin and the toned muscles. “He dedicated himself to studying the proportions of the human body.”
And, dear God, Dylan’s form deserved that kind of dedication.
Over his shoulder, Dylan stared at Alec as if he’d lost his mind. “Is this really the time to regurgitate the facts from one of your research hunts?”
Alec ignored him and went on. “Most of his drawings were of the male form. In his essay about Da Vinci, Sigmund Freud claimed Leonardo was gay.” He caught the who the hell cares? look Dylan tossed him but went on anyway. “I think Freud blamed Da Vinci’s mother.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said with a roll of his eyes. “Now there was a dude with issues.”
Alec suppressed the smile. “You are now arranged just like Leonardo’s anatomical drawing.” He placed an appreciative hand on the wide expanse of Dylan’s back. “His interest in perfect proportions could have been inspired by you.”
Dylan snorted, no doubt an attempt to cover the flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks. Despite his cocky attitude, Dylan always looked uncomfortable when someone praised his looks.
Feeling lucky as hell, Alec slid his gaze from the top of Dylan’s hair, matted and damp at the temples, down past the black smudges on his arms to the back that glistened with sweat. The muscular legs and enticing ass were so tight they looked carved from stone. They also looked entirely too clean. Alec scanned the shelf beyond Dylan’s head, his gaze landing on a small container labeled wheel-bearing grease.
“There’ll eventually be touching during this seduction scene, won’t there?” Dylan asked.
