by Con Riley
Now Marco really sounded breathless. “Do it like you mean it.”
Aiden did, rising to the challenge by finding a perfect patch of skin to bite and suck, leaving Marco squirming and incoherent. There was simple, easy pleasure in this—in feeling Marco’s pulse against his tongue and his cock pressing wetly against him.
As he worked over Marco’s neck, he moved his hand from cupping Marco’s ass to pressing his finger against Marco’s asshole and was acknowledged with loud cursing. Marco hung onto his shoulders, ass thrust out in open invitation, making demands in Italian that needed no translation. Aiden quickly sucked on a finger and pushed it slowly into him.
Marco shook, his face buried in Aiden’s shoulder.
“You okay?”
He felt Marco’s nod.
“What happened to communicating?” His finger pushed in farther as Marco gradually relaxed. “I thought you said that I had to tell you what I liked. Isn’t that chatty shit a two-way street?”
“Shut up.” Marco’s voice was rough. “I cannot take this teasing either.” He met Aiden’s gaze, his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed dark. “You have no idea how much I like this.”
Aiden thought he might. Before long he had the lube out, and Marco stretched along Aiden’s reclined body.
“I could kneel up,” Marco offered. “That might be easier for you.”
“No. That might be easier for you. This is awesome for me.”
And it was.
Marco lay along his body, squirming every time Aiden’s finger pushed inside him. Aiden could feel every single change in Marco’s tension levels, from his hip rolls of enjoyment to his rigid moments of stillness when Aiden opened him further.
Soon he was moving constantly, his weight on Aiden’s cock driving Aiden crazy.
Marco wrapped his arms around Aiden’s neck, kissing him and making desperate noises. “You need to fuck me now. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“How do you want it?” Aiden asked. His usual preference was to do it from behind, avoiding eye contact with strangers. No wonder he did that so rarely. It seemed to him, as Marco put a condom on him and slicked him with so much attention to his pleasure, that he might as well never have bothered.
What he’d done before wasn’t like this.
No way.
It was a step up from an impersonal blowjob, perhaps. But no way had it been comparable to how sex with Marco felt. Yet again, Marco made things Aiden had already experienced seem brand-new and freshly minted.
Marco said, “Like this. Do me like this.” He knelt over Aiden’s cock, one foot flat on the mattress, and gradually lowered himself.
“Jesus—”
Marco caught Aiden’s gaze after his abrupt exclamation, maintaining their visual connection as he slowly, slowly eased down. His face creased, and he rose up some, puffing out a breath. He leaned, and Aiden met Marco’s forehead with his own as he took a minute.
“You don’t have to—”
Marco interrupted. “Shut up. You must know by now how much I like a challenge.” His breaths came quickly as he panted on his second attempt, hands clutching at Aiden’s shoulders.
It was so hard to stay still.
So hard.
Every cell in Aiden’s body screamed for him to thrust upward, but he held back, biting his own lip at the amazing, awful pressure. It took a while, and a whole lot more lube, but eventually Marco’s sighs sounded less annoyed at himself and increasingly more encouraging.
“Aiden,” he gasped. “Tell me that you don’t like to bottom.”
He couldn’t do that, no matter how Marco grumbled that from now on he only wanted to take Aiden’s cock. Aiden had enjoyed it just as much as Marco.
“You feel so good inside me.” Marco kept up a steady rhythm, sweat beading on his forehead and slicking his hips and shoulders where Aiden’s fingers gripped him. He only faltered when Aiden’s hips rose up to meet him. Even then, he soon recovered, speaking through teeth that were firmly gritted.
“Like that. Again. Like that.”
Marco lurched when Aiden followed his directive, losing his balance. He cursed when Aiden slipped out before he’d regained his seat, his temper a sudden burst of pissed-off noise.
Aiden tried not to smile as he was ordered out of bed and told to get with the program as Marco bent before him. He couldn’t hold in a laugh when Marco figured out for himself that their height difference meant getting creative. Marco soon was back on the bed, kneeling while Aiden stood behind him, only quitting bitching when Aiden pushed inside again.
The slow give—a slick, hot constriction, subsiding as Marco groaned—took Aiden’s breath away for a moment. He leaned over Marco’s back, pulling him up for an angled kiss, hip thrusts steadily accelerating.
Marco’s groans grew in volume, and he slumped down on one elbow, trying to jack himself. Aiden reached around him, pushing Marco’s hand out of his way, coaxing out an orgasm that spilled in time with his movements. The sounds Marco made were incredible. Aiden wished he could hold onto them forever, especially the moment when Marco called out that he loved him.
He yelled it without any hesitation, and then looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, his face describing intense and prolonged pleasure as Aiden kept on going. His expression got Aiden off, adding his own voice to the sounds that filled their sunlit bedroom.
Before Aiden knew it, Marco removed his condom, his fingers sure and steady where Aiden’s were suddenly trembling. He pulled Aiden down onto the mattress, both of them still breathing hard. They lay down together, sticky, sweat-covered, and smiling.
Outside, the sun shone over Seattle, rainclouds only a faint threat in the distance.
When Aiden went to his mom’s place later, there was a kid he didn’t recognize mowing the lawn. He watched him raise his hand—Hey, how are ya?—as Aiden swung his truck into the driveway, stalling it in a cloud of acrid smoke. When he got out, the kid called, “S’up?”
Aiden nodded at the universal greeting, answering, “Not much,” just like he heard from so many kids at the store. That was met with a sanguine nod of cool approval. The kid, no more than fourteen—all stick-thin legs under shorts that were far too low slung—asked, “You Mr. Daly? Your mom said to tell you that you need to pay me before you leave.”
That would be right. Aiden dug in his pockets. “How much do I owe you?” To be honest, he could live with paying a kid to do this. Time hadn’t been on his side getting the mower repaired. Now that he had Marco, he couldn’t see himself wasting hours over here mowing his mother’s yard each week. He doled out his last few bills, then headed for the front door, pausing as he squinted at the mower.
“Hey, is that ours?” It looked like the same make and model.
“Sure is. It didn’t take long to repair.” The kid looked proud. “I’m good at fixing wrecks.” He pointed at Aiden’s truck. “You want me to tune her up while you’re here?” His grin was wide and cheeky.
“There’s nothing wrong with my truck.”
The kid headed back across the grass toward the mower, calling over his narrow shoulder. “Man, you need to get your hearing tested. I could hear you coming for at least the last mile.” He added, “Mrs. Daly said you should let yourself in. She said that she won’t hear anyone at the door because she’s up in your attic.”
“What?” His mom never went up there. It was their boys-only place.
“Just passing on the message.” The mower started easily, its noise only fading as Aiden rounded the side of the building.
Inside, the house was quieter. Aiden stood in the hallway for a moment. Instead of the usual low background hum of the TV cycling through daytime soaps, all Aiden could discern were hollow-sounding footsteps coming from overhead.
He climbed the stairs, wondering what fresh hell he was about to walk into. First, his mom had thrown him for a loop with her sudden financial interest. Then she’d made her surprise request that he come play at family therapy. Finding her upst
airs, in the place he and Evan had spent so much time with Dad, increased his underlying tension.
He recalled Marco’s words before he’d left that morning.
“Go. Talk. Start a conversation, and try not to cut her off.”
He’d almost argued at that point, until Marco raised one eyebrow. Then he admitted that stopping his mom in her conversational tracks was how he avoided lying.
“I know. You don’t have to explain these things to me.” The way Marco seemed to understand and accept him had made Aiden stop his fretful pacing and hug his lover.
“Mom?” He waited but heard no answer.
The smaller staircase that led up to the attic room had its own narrow doorway. Aiden pulled the door slowly open, wondering for a moment if he could hear his mom talking with another person.
Marco had sent him off with a stern warning, delivered between the kinds of kisses that made Aiden want to take him back to bed.
“Go and listen to her. She is a woman caught between an old life and a new one, and that cannot be easy. I grew up without a father, so that seems normal to me. Ben said it was awful for my mother—that she was never the same after Papà’s passing.” He paused, biting his lip. “You have a chance to help her make sense of what happened. I’m not saying you should dump all the facts on her right away. Just pick the most important thing and maybe raise that in therapy. Let someone qualified help her work her way through it.”
It was straightforward advice. The kind that sounded simple. But making himself discuss his dad’s death and everything that had come after still left him feeling nauseous.
Marco had guessed what he was thinking.
“I cannot believe that she was oblivious to his addiction. That kind of thing colors someone’s entire life experience. I bet she had a good idea of what he was doing.”
Aiden wasn’t certain.
Right after his dad’s death would have been the obvious time to talk all this shit out. But his mom had been put under psychiatric evaluation after a few days at home that had badly frightened him and Evan. She’d been deemed a danger to herself due to the extent of her breakdown. Then Family Services had been alerted. They’d turned up at the house, wanting to know who was responsible for Evan. That whole time had been a nightmare.
The caseworker had looked around and had even checked the refrigerator contents before telling Aiden that someone needed to step up to the plate. The place had been a mess. They’d been too lost in grief and shock to think about keeping up with the laundry or going grocery shopping.
She had concerns about how they both were coping, but added that Evan was her priority. He was still a minor, and Family Services had to think of his best interests. When she mentioned that foster parents or a group home might be better for Evan until their mom came home, it had made Evan withdraw even further.
She couldn’t have said a worse thing.
Evan shut himself in the attic room and wouldn’t even speak.
No way in hell would Aiden ever send his brother back to where he’d had such a tough time.
It was easy enough, now that some time had passed, to see that the group-home experiences Evan took years to finally share were unlucky rather than usual, but that caseworker’s comments back then made an already bad situation awful.
The thought of Evan going back to that had messed with both their heads.
Just when things were getting really bad—Evan’s nightmares had escalated hugely—their mom had come home on heavy medication.
It hadn’t seemed the right time to talk about why his dad had died or how they were going to manage. Her medication left her unlike her usual self. She’d been lucid enough to pass a home evaluation, but conversation about important things had seemed impossible.
She and Evan had both needed someone strong to lean on, so Aiden had tried to take their weight.
“You do not need to dwell on what happened. You are a great son and an amazing brother.” It was hard recalling Marco’s words from earlier when Aiden still had yet to face his mother.
He stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs that led up to the attic, sure he could hear his mother’s voice. Then he heard someone else’s. He hurried up to find her.
The room was exactly as he’d last seen it. The card table was covered with a cloth, and boxes sat atop it. His mom sat by its side, an old yearbook open on her lap. She looked up and smiled at Aiden as a talk-radio host described a controversial issue, his voice echoing around the room from the radio set near the window.
“Look.” His mom brandished the yearbook until Aiden stepped forward and took it. “See what people wrote about your father.”
Jesus.
Aiden wasn’t sure he could handle a trip down memory lane. He looked at the page, unable to focus on the scrawled messages left forty years or so before.
“Everyone liked David. Everyone!” His mom sounded emphatic. The talk-radio host sounded strident also. Aiden moved to turn the radio off.
“Stop. I’m waiting to hear the answer.” His mom explained that this particular show was one of her favorites. “People call in and argue. Sometimes they yell. But even when they don’t fight, it makes for such interesting listening.” She pulled out a chair, and Aiden sat down beside her. “Do you ever listen in?”
Aiden shook his head. The radio in his truck hadn’t worked for a while.
“The host always starts with a problem. Like, should we have to pay for healthcare, or should schools serve more fruit and vegetables? Then people call in and say what they think.” Her cheeks were flushed with color. “Sometimes I argue with them.”
“You call in too?”
“No!” His mom sounded shocked. “I couldn’t talk in public.” She shuddered at the thought. “I guess I talk to myself.”
She took the yearbook back from Aiden. “The therapist asked me to bring in something that summed up David to me. It’s like she does the same thing as the talk-radio guy. She provokes me into speaking. I really hope you’ll come with me.”
She looked at Aiden, her cheek color deepening. “I didn’t think talking would help me, but it’s easier each time I see her.” Her gaze drifted a moment before focusing on him once again. “I know you’re angry that I asked you to come along.”
That last remark made Aiden startle. “I wasn’t angry.”
“Yes, you were. I could hear it in your voice. Then you suggested having a family meeting instead.” Her head bowed before she looked back up, and this time her expression shifted. She looked like a different person as she said, “David used to do the same thing to make things go the way he wanted. You reminded me of your father.”
Aiden wasn’t entirely sure how to take a comment that sounded so much like an accusation.
She flipped yearbook pages quickly before he could reply. “See all these messages saying that your dad was a great guy? And here, look.” She thrust the yearbook at him, reading out a title. “Most likely to succeed.” Aiden heard her swallow. “These people didn’t really know him.”
“He was a great dad.” Aiden’s voice sounded hoarse. “And he was—” The word successful lodged somewhere in his chest, resisting his urge to lie about this now that he’d confessed everything to Marco.
The yearbook closed with a snap. His mom’s voice shook as she next spoke.
“I would like you to come along, Aiden. But I can’t make you. My therapist says that if I’ve struggled this badly, there might be things you’ve dealt with by yourself while I was mentally out of it.” Her fingers clutched the book tighter to her. “I feel ready to make some changes.”
Aiden wet his lips.
“Changes?”
Outside, the faint sound of the mower ceased and was replaced by tuneless whistling.
“Yes. Changes. Like hiring someone to do the yard work. Why didn’t I do that sooner? It’s crazy to expect you to drive across town just to mow the lawn, then leave to get back to work without having a minute to stop and visit. I ask too much of you.
”
“No, you don’t.”
His mom stood, putting the book under her arm as she headed for the stairs.
“I’m not arguing with you, Aiden. I’m just letting you know that I’m getting better, and part of that process means saying what I think.” She stood on the top step, pausing before descending. “You can come along and listen, or you can come along and contribute. I don’t mind which, just as long as you bring something that represents David and you don’t turn it into a family meeting.”
Her voice drifted up as she reached the hallway. “I think we’ve all had enough of Vegas.”
Aiden hesitated before following.
What had she meant by that?
Probably that she was ready for a conversation that didn’t have a foregone conclusion, like his dad’s talks always had.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, hoping for a message from Marco. Instead it was just the low battery warning. It wasn’t holding its charge lately. It really was a piece of shit. He’d been avoiding replacing it, but he was going to have to do so soon.
Avoiding this therapy session seemed impossible too. He tried to summon some of Marco’s optimism. He’d told Aiden to participate—to engage and to give freely of himself for once, as he’d started to do with Marco in private.
He’d have to go along.
He’d have to find something to take with him, something that symbolized his dad.
The sun slanted through the window, casting light on the shelves to one side of the card table. He crossed to them and picked up the perfect representation of his adoptive father before heading downstairs after his mother, pocketing a dog-eared deck of playing cards.
Chapter Twenty
The next three days were the best Aiden could remember.
Seventy-two hours that changed his whole outlook on life.
He put in long hours at the store, but they passed in a flash with Marco working beside him. Aiden had watched, fascinated and delighted, on the first day of that week as Marco made protecting Aiden’s livelihood his primary objective.
