Secretly Dating the Lionman

by Sue Brown

  “Uh… coffee,” Cris said. “Creamer? Sugar?”

  “Uh, thanks,” Bennett said hurriedly.

  So maybe they were both affected, because Cris only had to look into Bennett’s intense eyes and he found it hard to breathe. He focused on making the coffee before he made a complete idiot of himself, and he managed not to spill the creamer or the coffee despite his shaking hands.

  They retreated to the sofa with their coffee. The last thing he needed was to lose control in front of Bennett. Silence reigned for several moments, and Cris searched for something to say that wasn’t, “Wanna make out?” Because, yes, he did.

  “You have a lot of DVDs and CDs,” Bennett said finally as he eyed the shelves that stretched along one wall.

  That was safe. Cris could answer that one. “I know. Too many. I used to be an addict when I was a student. I keep meaning to go through them and thin out the shelves. But I pick one up to start, and before I know it, I’ve put it in the DVD player, and I’m watching a pile of them. The family doesn’t help my addiction. I get all their castoffs, and I keep them even if I don’t like their taste in movies.”

  “I collect vinyl,” Bennett confessed. “I’ve got more vinyl than shelving space.”

  “Another hoarder.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “I keep saying I’m gonna stop,” Bennett said, “and then I find another one I haven’t got, and all my good intentions go up in smoke.”

  They grinned at each other again, and Cris thought that Bennett looked gorgeous with the crinkles around his eyes. He needed to move closer to Bennett, but before he could speak, Bennett rushed in.

  “So, you’re a movie addict?”

  Cris sighed and settled back into his corner. “If it’s made, I watch it.”

  “All movies?” Bennett flashed him a skeptical look.

  “Pretty much.”

  “There’s got to be one genre you don’t like. What about rom-coms?”

  “Love ’em.” Cris had every Sandra Bullock movie in existence, and he didn’t care who knew it.

  “Kids’ movies.”

  “Got them all.”

  “Marvel or DC?”

  Cris raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the bottom shelf?”

  Bennett held up his hands in horror. “Oh dear God, you’re a monster. You’re definitely worse than me. At least I only collect what I like. I’m going to need more coffee to deal with this.”

  Cris waved at the coffeepot. “Help yourself. You can go check the shelves out.”

  Bennett heaved himself to his feet, poured more coffee, and did as he was told. “You’re worse than Blockbusters.”

  Cris chuckled. “I told you. It’s an addiction.”

  Bennett turned to him, his eyes comically wide. “Oh my God, you even have—”

  “Yes, I have that too. The whole series.” Cris knew exactly what Bennett had discovered.

  “But—”

  “My sister bought it as a joke.” She’d been so sure Cris wouldn’t watch them, she’d bet him $100.

  “Did you watch it?”

  “Of course. I’ve watched them all.” Fifty Shades of Grey was in his collection.

  Chapter 7

  A SUDDEN shiver penetrated Cris’s comfortable sleep. Before he even opened his eyes he was aware he was cold—really cold. Cris raised his head and looked around. The TV showed the DVD menu and played the menu music on repeat. No, they hadn’t watched anything with love or het sex in it. Bennett confessed to a liking for sci-fi, so The Martian it was. Still drowsy, Cris sat up and yawned. He must have fallen asleep during the movie. He looked around, intending to apologize to Bennett, only to find him curled up in the corner, his mouth open, letting out a snore on every other breath. Cris contemplated snapping a picture with his phone, but he didn’t know Bennett well enough to play that sort of prank.

  He squinted at his phone. 2:47 a.m. Christ, when had they fallen asleep? He remembered finishing the pizza, and then they had another beer, but after that, it was a blur. Cris suspected he hadn’t stayed awake much past the opening credits.

  Bennett snored again. He could wake him, but Bennett looked relaxed and comfortable. Cris wondered how many evenings he got to chill out without work or family distractions. He grabbed the thick furry throw and his grandma’s quilt from the back of the sofa and covered Bennett, who grumbled and snuggled under the blankets without waking. Cris turned off the TV and DVD player and staggered to bed via the bathroom. He didn’t bother to undress and was asleep before he’d fully woken up.

  The second time he woke up in the morning, he wasn’t sure what had disturbed him. He was just aware something was different. He shuffled out of his bedroom to find Bennett sitting up, the throw pooling around his waist and the quilt on the floor. He blinked like a startled owl and looked more than a little sheepish.

  “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.” Bennett yawned, and his jaw cracked. “You should have thrown me out.”

  “We both slept. You looked comfortable, so I left you there. Coffee?” Cris waved the coffeepot.

  “How about breakfast?” Bennett offered as he stood and rolled his shoulders. “My treat for doing my laundry yesterday.”

  “Aren’t you due at work?”

  Bennett grimaced. “Dad made me take a couple of vacation days. He says I’m working too hard. Anyway, breakfast?”

  Cris smiled. “Yeah, definitely. I’m starving. Do you want a shower?”

  “I’ll go home and shower after we’ve eaten.” Bennett rubbed his dark stubble. “I’ll have to shave before I go back to work tomorrow. Tata doesn’t approve of businessmen with beards. He says it looks untidy.”

  Cris thought the tousled and unshaven look on Bennett looked damn sexy, and from the fluttery feeling in his stomach, the rest of him agreed. “You look fine.”

  Bennett flushed under his regard. “So do you.”

  Cris rubbed his chin and felt the growth. His ginger stubble wasn’t nearly as sexy as Bennett’s but if the man liked it, who was he to disagree? He had the sudden mental image of listening to Bennett groan as he dragged his chin up and down Bennett’s sensitized skin. He put away that thought hastily and then caught Bennett staring at him as though he could read Cris’s thoughts.

  They shared a heated look, and Cris was on the verge of dropping to his knees when Bennett’s stomach rumbled. Then Cris coughed, laughed, and turned away to look for his boots. As Cris laced them up, the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach continued. Bennett was goddamn more than fine. He pushed all of Cris’s buttons. Cris could make a real fool of himself over Bennett if he wasn’t careful.

  Bennett refused to look directly at him when Cris raised his head again. They shrugged into their coats and scarves, and Bennett waited patiently for Cris to find his gloves.

  “You should sew your gloves onto elastic and thread them through your coat,” Bennett suggested.

  “My nana used to do that,” Cris admitted. “I think I was twelve before she stopped giving me mittens on elastic every winter.”

  Bennett chuckled as they left the apartment. “Nanas know best.”

  “You try going to school with mittens on elastic in the seventh grade,” Cris retorted.

  “The kids gave you hell?”

  “Between the ginger hair, the braces, and the mittens?”

  Bennett winced in sympathy. “You poor thing.”

  Cris grunted. That was an era he never wanted to repeat.

  IN THE overheated diner, they shed their hats, gloves, scarves, and coats and settled into a booth and waited for the waitress to pour coffee. On principle Cris ignored Bennett’s admonishment to put his gloves in his coat pockets. Then he rubbed his eyes and yawned. He wasn’t used to being up early in the morning. Bennett, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and way too cheerful for Cris’s liking.

  “I’m always up early,” Bennett said when Cris grouched about his cheerfulness. “By the time you go to bed, I’m about ready to wak
e up.”

  “You’re a monster,” Cris grumbled.

  Bennett looked at him over the rim of his cup. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”

  “I don’t do mornings or midday, or anything that involves having to be cheerful and talk to people.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Bennett said, his tone mild. Cris had the feeling he was laughing at him. “What do you usually do on your days off?”

  “If I’m not working, I’m painting. I share studio space in Dumbo.”

  “I remember. Is it possible to see your paintings?”

  Cris groaned at the look of expectation on Bennett’s face. “Okay, but you’re not allowed to be shocked.”

  “Shocked? You mean like when you opened the door to me in a jockstrap, or when I discovered a pole in your room? You mean that type of shocked?”

  The grin on Bennett’s face reassured Cris that he was mocking himself as much as Cris.

  “Yeah. That type of shocked.”

  “Just what is it you paint, Mr. Peters?” Bennett obviously wasn’t going to let it go.

  “The male form.” Among other things, but Cris started with the one that would more likely shock a Petrovski.

  Bennett’s eyebrow shot up. “You mean nudes?”

  “Some. Not always,” Cris corrected. “Just always men.”

  “Would you show me?”

  Cris blinked at him. “Now?”

  “You can finish your pancakes first.”

  “Thanks,” Cris said drily and stuffed a pancake in his mouth before Bennett changed his mind.

  WHEN THEY left the diner, Cris almost left his gloves behind, and he could feel Bennett’s smirk burning into his back all the way out to the sidewalk. Cris ignored him with the expertise of years of ignoring a bossy older sibling.

  He was nervous as they made their way to Cris’s studio, and his stomach churned, although he tried not to show it. Plenty of people had seen his work over the years, but never a man who he was attracted to like this. Bennett’s opinion counted, and that annoyed him.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact they were shaking as Bennett stared at the huge canvases leaning against the wall. Bennett had said nothing, but murmured softly, which made Cris more nervous as he waited for Bennett to say something—anything.

  Finally Bennett turned to him, his eyes wide, and Cris licked his lips nervously.

  “My God, Cris, these are amazing.”

  Relieved beyond measure, Cris nodded so fast he felt like the bobblehead dog his aunt used to have in her car. His latest paintings were outstanding. He knew that. He’d taken a different approach and painted a series of buildings in the stages of construction. In each one he’d focused on one man working on the building.

  “This is one of our buildings.” Bennett pointed at a shell of a structure and a man, covered in brick dust, his arm muscles bulging as he pushed a wheelbarrow.

  “Probably several of them are. I constantly hunt for new sites and take photos.” Cris drew Bennett to one corner of the studio. He was lucky. Because he and friends leased the space privately, he could keep all his equipment there. “I have folders of photos of the city.”

  “You don’t take digital photos?”

  “I do, but I prefer something physical to look at. I’m tactile. I need to pick up something and look at it.”

  Cris opened one of the folders to show Bennett hundreds of photos of the partially constructed building from all angles. “It takes me a long time to decide how I’m going to paint the building. I plan it from beginning to end.”

  Bennett traced the lines of the building. “You’re still an engineer at heart.” Cris opened his mouth to disagree, but Bennett continued. “Tata would love to see these. I think he’s more excited about the design and construction of the building than he is the end result.”

  “I can understand that. My dad’s like that too.” Cris was the same about his painting. He was always proud of a finished painting, but the planning was the thing that excited him.

  “You have a real talent,” Bennett murmured.

  “Thanks.” Cris closed the folder of photos and put it away. “Now I’ve just got to get ready for my exhibition.”

  “I can’t wait to see them hanging in a gallery.” Bennett slowly looked at each painting again and shook his head. “You should be doing this for a living.”

  Cris laughed. “All artists want to be painting full-time. But we know that’s probably a pipe dream.”

  Bennett sighed. “It’s like my dream of becoming an architect—maybe one day.”

  Cris slid the folder back onto the shelf. He wanted to challenge Bennett on his comment about being an architect. But he didn’t want to ruin the peace between them. “I’m gonna spend some time here before I get ready for work. Do you want a coffee before you leave?”

  Bennett hesitated and then shook his head. “I should get home. But thanks for showing me your art.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He showed Bennett to the door, but as Bennett went to leave, Cris said, “How would you feel about me painting you?”

  Bennett blinked and blinked again. “You want to paint me?” He sounded shocked like the mere thought was outlandish.

  But Cris nodded. “I’d like to see you holding plans by one of your buildings.”

  “Not naked?” Bennett asked suspiciously.

  Cris couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. “If you want to be naked, I’d be more than happy to—”

  Bennett shook his head vehemently. “No, no, that’s fine.”

  “If you’re sure….”

  “I’m sure.” Bennett gave a wry grin. “No one’s ever wanted to paint me before. I’m not really a model.”

  Cris took Bennett by the shoulders and swiveled him around to look at the paintings again. “The guys in this series aren’t models. They’re workmen doing their jobs. I’m not interested in stylized models. For these paintings I wanted blue-collar guys doing their jobs. Although I paint models and dancers too.” He led Bennett over to another series of paintings. Cris was in the middle of a series of male dancers and hoped to show them when the group was finished. He’d spent hours watching a male troupe practice. He focused on the play of their muscles across their backs and legs. “I paint all kinds of men. Look at the musculature on these dancers. Those guys are all muscle. They have to be, with the lifts and moves they do.”

  “You remind me of them,” Bennett said suddenly. “When I saw you use the pole yesterday, I thought how graceful but strong you looked. I’ve never seen anyone use the pole like that.”

  “Thanks.” Cris patted his shoulder. “It’s a good workout.”

  “Do you really want to paint me? Wouldn’t Mikey be more your style?”

  Cris growled, frustrated by the mention of Mikey yet again. “No. You’re the one I want to paint.”

  “Uh, okay. When and where?”

  “How about starting now? I need to take photos of you first.” Cris was excited again at the thought of a new project.

  “Now?” Bennett looked startled.

  “Unless you’re busy.” Cris left it there. He didn’t want to pressure Bennett. The last thing Bennett needed was added stress.

  “I guess not.” Bennett sounded like he wanted to bolt, so Cris beamed at him.

  “I’m gonna make us coffee, and then we’ll get started.”

  “I’m so gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

  Bennett scrubbed a hand through his hair, sending the curls every which way. Cris stepped forward and gently combed the thick hair back into a neat shape. As he pushed the last lock into place, Cris became aware that Bennett was holding his breath, so he bent down and brushed Bennett’s soft mouth with his. Bennett growled against his lips and hauled him closer, his mouth opening under Cris’s, demanding more than a teasing kiss. Cris obliged, and the kiss turned deep and passionate. They pushed their hands through each other’s hair, and Cris disturbed Bennett’s curls again. After
a long while their kissing gentled to something more tender, and they relaxed their clutching hands as they took one last kiss.

  Cris buried his face in Bennett’s neck and inhaled his musky scent. Yeah, he needed a shower, but he smelled male… exciting. “You smell so good,” he murmured.

  “So do you,” Bennett said as he steered Cris against the wall. They kissed again, and the part of Cris’s brain that was still south of his navel was amazed at Bennett’s enthusiasm. He seemed to have no fear of touching Cris.

  They entwined their fingers, and they rubbed against each other, arousal pressing against arousal. Bennett rubbed his palm over Cris’s erection and squeezed gently.

  Cris groaned and pressed into his hand. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Likewise,” Bennett gasped. “Can I?” Bennett rested his forehead against Cris’s and placed a hand on his waistband.

  “Oh yeah.” At that point Bennett could do whatever he wanted.

  He sucked in his stomach as Bennett gently undid the button and slowly pulled the zipper down. Cris didn’t breathe as he waited for the instant Bennett reached in to press his hand against his damp briefs. He closed his eyes at the exquisite feel of Bennett’s sure touch.

  “All right?” Bennett breathed in his ear.

  “Touch me,” Cris demanded.

  Bennett did as he was told and wrapped his warm hand around Cris’s cock. Cris groaned, and scrabbled at Bennett’s waistband, needing to feel him, to touch him in exactly the same way he was being touched. Bennett stilled his hand and seemed to wait in that same breathless anticipation that Cris felt.

  Cris grazed Bennett’s furry belly with his knuckles and looked down. The head of Bennett’s cock poked above the waistband of his dark green briefs. Fixing Bennett with his gaze, Cris licked the pad of his thumb and gently swiped it over the head and dipped into the slit and around again.

  Bennett groaned. “Do that again.”

  Cris did, then he slipped his hand into Bennett’s briefs to cup the soft sacs below. Bennett did the same to him, and they stood for a moment, panting into each other’s ears.