Just What the Truth Is

by Cardeno C.

  During the drive back to Micah’s place, I made little bargains with myself. If I didn’t hit any red lights, he would still be sleeping and wouldn’t know I had snuck off. If I made it to the next corner before the clock changed to the next minute, he wouldn’t be pissed at me. If I remembered all the words to the song on the radio, things would turn out fine.

  Despite what you’re probably thinking right now, I was thirty-one, not twelve. But I was also a little OCD, and being a baseball nut came with a predisposition to being superstitious. Plus—and I’m not gonna lie to you about this because, let’s face it, I’m sure you already figured it out—I’m batshit crazy. On the credit column, though, I have a great ass and a nice smile, a combination that’s been known to compensate for a lot of personality flaws.

  I sure as hell hoped it would be enough with Micah, because I got stuck at every red light on the way there, and not once did I make it to a corner within the minute timeline I had set. Oh, and they were playing a Nirvana marathon on the radio. Great band, legendary, even, but don’t even try to pretend that you can decipher Kurt Cobain’s mumbling.

  When I got back to Micah’s house, I knocked quietly and held my breath as I awaited my fate. It took him a long time to answer the door. I took that as an indication that he was still sleeping, which was great. I mean, I felt bad about waking him up and everything, but if he was asleep, then my cover would work and he would never have to know about my embarrassing morning episode.

  “Hey.” He stood in front of the open door, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. The same sweatpants I had worn the night before were barely hanging on his hips, and he didn’t have anything else on. Damn, was he ever gorgeous.

  None of the lights were on in the entryway or the adjoining living room, and a wave of relief washed over me. He had just woken up and I was safe. I smiled at him and walked inside, stopping to lean in for a kiss. He hesitated, which I thought was strange, but then he moved his hand from his nape to the back of my head and drew me to him, nibbling on my lower lip before pulling away.

  “I went to get breakfast,” I said as I held up the box of bagels in one hand, the drink carrier in the other.

  He furrowed his brow and chewed on his bottom lip for a second. Then he reached for the drinks and started walking toward the kitchen. “That’s perfect. I don’t have anything to eat in the house because I always clean out my fridge before I go on business trips, and I didn’t have time to go to the grocery store yesterday.”

  I felt the remains of the tension leave my body. Everything had worked out just fine. I’d had a really good talk with my brother for what might have been the first time in my life, I was a hero for bringing in food, and Micah didn’t know about my momentary lapse of reason and decency. Total hat trick. Go me.

  When we got to the kitchen, Micah got a couple of plates out of the cabinet and a knife out of the drawer. “Did you happen to pick up some cream cheese? I think I have that spreadable not-really-butter stuff and a jar of jelly, but that’s about it.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry, I gotcha covered.” I held up the cream cheese container. “You weren’t kidding about throwing everything out before traveling, were you?”

  “It’s a lesson learned the hard way after I came back from a trip that lasted longer than expected and ate what I thought was blue cheese,” he replied with a wince. “While it technically had some blue-green parts, it had started out as Colby, which I didn’t realize until I was sick as a dog a little while later.”

  I laughed. “You couldn’t tell old Colby from blue cheese?”

  He came over to me and circled his arms around my waist. Damn, but did it feel good to have him touch me. I rubbed my cheek against his beard and then turned into his neck, resting against his shoulder. He rubbed circles on my back and kissed my forehead.

  “Hey, it was late. I was tired and jet lagged. I just wanted to eat something and crawl into bed, and I wasn’t paying all that much attention to what it was.”

  I nodded as I lifted my head up and looked at him.

  Micah took a long breath, and then he cupped my cheek and stroked my lip with his thumb. “Late night snacks aside, though, I pay a lot of attention to what happens in my bed. It’s not something I take lightly. I hope you know that.”

  As Micah’s words sank in, my eyes landed on the kitchen table. His laptop was open, a case file was spread out around it, and an empty mug was sitting next to it. None of those things had been there when we had eaten dinner the previous night.

  My head jerked back to look at Micah. He hadn’t been sleeping. From the look of things, I guessed he had probably woken up not long after I had left. No way did he believe it took me over an hour to pick up bagels from a place down the street.

  My heart slammed against my ribcage as I tried to figure out what to say. Micah leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose. Then he moved over and turned away as he started digging through the box on the counter. “Did you get savory or sweet? Oh, a mix of both. Perfect.”

  I came up behind him and pressed my chest to his back, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a tight squeeze. Grateful didn’t begin to express how I felt about him letting me off the hook without demanding an explanation. I kissed the back of his neck. “Perfect’s just the right description,” I mumbled against his warm skin.

  I meant it. I really, really meant it. It was the crap I spewed a few weeks later that I didn’t actually mean.

  MICAH had a case scheduled to go to trial in mid-September. To say he was working hard through the end of April and early May was an understatement. But it seemed as if he spent every free moment with me. Because of his long hours at the office every day, he didn’t really have time to go out, so we had been spending our free time at his place. Usually we would pick up some takeout on the way out of the office or throw together a quick dinner in his gourmet kitchen and catch up on our days while we ate.

  It was incredibly domestic, which amazed me. Yes, I had a gay brother. And yes, he had been in a committed relationship with the same man forever. But spending time with Noah and Clark together was a relatively new phenomenon for me, and my brain was still processing the realization that my fears about what being gay would mean—loneliness, indiscriminate screwing around, partying all night, body glitter (okay, the last one was a secret wish on my part; don’t tell anyone)—weren’t really true. Or at least they didn’t have to be true. Strangely, my relationship with a man had already lasted longer and felt more settled than what I’d had with any ex-girlfriend.

  And that doesn’t even get into the sex. Dear God, the sex. No matter how tired Micah was at the end of each day, he always found the energy to attack me when we got into bed. Actually, there were a few nights when he didn’t even wait that long.

  I had cum in his entryway when he pressed me against the front door, shoved his hand down my pants, and tugged on my cock as he stabbed his tongue into my mouth. I had cum in his living room when he put his laptop on the coffee table, took the remote control and muted the baseball game, and then dropped to his knees and went down on me. And, in a move that would have seriously made my parents lose their shit, I had cum in his kitchen, pressed against the counter, with Micah draped over my back pushing deep into my body.

  Despite the long hours working, our relationship was flourishing on every level. And the happiness and peace I found with Micah permeated every aspect of my life. Work was going well. I had been getting along with my brother and Clark. The time I spent with my parents was bearable because I always knew I would get to see Micah as soon as it was over. Basically, everything was going great.

  So of course I had to fuck it up.

  IT WAS Sunday afternoon, and we were at Micah’s place watching a Glory game. Well, I was watching baseball. Micah was alternately watching and reading a deposition transcript in preparation for his trial.

  He was sitting at the end of the couch, his feet resting on the ottoman, his right hand holding the documen
t, and his left hand petting my hair. I was lying across the couch with my head pillowed on his lap. It was relaxing, and I found my eyes dropping closed every so often, but I couldn’t quite fall asleep.

  I decided the problem was my unattended erection. The crazy thing about really frequent, really great sex was that it made me hornier. I’ve already mentioned that sex hadn’t been a big thing for me before Micah. I mean, sleeping with women didn’t really get me going because… yeah, okay, you’ve already figured that one out. Anyway, I had always liked beating off, and I had done it regularly. But by no means had I ever gotten hard as often, or needed to cum as desperately, as I had since I had gotten together with Micah.

  We had already fooled around that morning before we got out of bed and I had no doubt he would take care of me again that night. Still, I found myself wiggling around, unable to get comfortable and wanting to turn my head so my face was buried in his lap and I could inhale his scent. My mouth watered with the thought of his taste.

  Damn! When had I become so needy? I had always been fine on my own. I mean, yeah, I had kept girlfriends around, but that was just for events or group dates. I rarely spent time alone with them, and when I did, I was fine when we went our separate ways after a couple of hours. I forced myself to get up and walk into the kitchen, hoping some distance would help me put things in perspective.

  What was it about Micah that made boring, everyday things more enjoyable when I was with him? I downed a bottle of water, paced, and cracked my knuckles. Then I peered around the corner to look at Micah sitting on the couch, chewing on the end of a highlighter and running a hand over his beard.

  He looked so intense when he was concentrating on work. It reminded me of his expression when he looked at me sometimes, like I was important, like I meant something. I found myself walking toward him on autopilot, just wanting to get a little closer.

  Knowing he was busy, I approached the back of the couch so I wouldn’t distract him. He set the paper and highlighter down on the end table and reached his hand over his shoulder. “C’mere, honey.”

  I walked over and rubbed his shoulders, trying to massage away some of his tension. I knew how important the case was. Half our firm had been working on it since things started heating up. A good outcome for the client would be great for all of us, especially Micah, since he was the lead attorney. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I know you’re busy.”

  He covered my hand with his, turned his face, and then brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my palm. “Mmm. Not too busy for you.”

  I draped both arms over his shoulders and caressed my way down his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of hard muscles under my hands. By the time I got to his waistband, his head was leaning back against the chair, his eyes were closed, and his expression was nothing short of blissful. I took that as encouragement and unbuttoned his jeans, letting my hands slide in and stroke his hard cock while I leaned over and kissed his neck.

  “Feels so good, honey. Love the way you touch me,” he murmured softly.

  I continued stroking his cock, keeping my pace steady and my grip firm but not too tight. Micah turned his head and met my lips, kissing me, nibbling and tugging on my bottom lip and occasionally darting his tongue out and taking a taste. When my left hand joined the party and cupped his balls, Micah’s hips shot off the chair.

  “Damn, Ben, that’s good. Yeah, just like that. Roll ’em in your hand.”

  So I did. I rubbed his balls, squeezing and rolling them, stroked his cock, and peppered his face with kisses. And it wasn’t long before I was rewarded with a triumphant shout and wet heat pouring onto my hand.

  My desire to taste Micah had me acting without any thought. I brought my cum-coated hand to my mouth and licked his seed off. Oh, damn, the taste of him turned me on even more. I closed my eyes and moaned.

  “Ahh, shit. Get over here.” Micah’s voice sounded like it was being dragged over gravel.

  He turned around, grasped my waist, and encouraged me to move around to the front of the couch. When I was standing in front of him, he made quick work of my button and zipper, and before I knew it, my pants and briefs were at my ankles and my cock was lodged in Micah’s throat.

  The man sucked like he was on a mission, a swiping tongue, a tight seal of his lips around my dick, and hard pulls as he bobbed back and forth. His hands made their way to my ass, and he pulled me forward, encouraging me to move and pump into him. I clasped his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other as I plunged in and out of his warm, welcoming mouth.

  “Micah. So good, so good,” I rambled unintelligently as my orgasm neared. The hands on my ass held me tighter and spread me apart, exposing my rosebud. Then long fingers dipped into my crack and rubbed over that sensitive spot.

  “Yes!” I cried out. “Want you inside.”

  I rocked against him, hoping he would give me what I needed. I shouldn’t have worried. Micah had never left me hanging. He pushed one long finger into me and increased the pace of his sucks, inspiring a knee-buckling orgasm. I shot down his throat and called out his name before I collapsed onto his lap and rested my head on his shoulder.

  Chapter Twelve

  MICAH rubbed circles on my stomach and kissed my forehead as my post-orgasm pulse slowed to a normal rate and I caught my breath. I snuggled into his embrace, resting my head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck. “You make me feel amazing,” I whispered.

  He tightened his hold on me. “The feeling’s mutual.”

  We sat quietly together, just sharing soft touches and enjoying each other’s presence. But I knew he had work to do, so eventually I sat up. “Sorry for distracting you. I need to visit my parents today. I’ll be out of your hair and you can get some more work done.”

  Getting away with seeing my parents less frequently was one thing. Saying no to Sunday dinner after I had made excuses for why I was out of pocket all week was something else. If I tried to pull that move, I would be subjected to pursed lips and disapproving looks for months.

  “I’m actually pretty caught up. I mean, there’s always more to do on this fuckin’ case, but if you want me to….” Micah hesitated. His hand, which had been rubbing my chest, paused. “If you want us to go somewhere today, I can.”

  There really wasn’t anywhere I wanted to go. Being at Micah’s house meant privacy, which worked out great for me. As long as it was just the two of us, everything was wonderful. I got to be with him without anyone finding out that I was with a guy and without said guy finding out I was a chickenshit. Win-win as far as I was concerned. Plus, I didn’t have time to go anywhere that day. I needed to go to my place, do some laundry, and eat dinner with my parents.

  “No worries. I have dinner with my parents today anyway.” I sat up and kissed his cheek. “Actually, I need to get going. Even with light Sunday traffic, the drive takes forever.”

  When I stood, Micah rubbed the nape of his neck, a move I had come to realize meant he was frustrated about something. “Yeah, I know. And like I said, I’m fine taking a break from work if you want me to go anywhere with you.”

  That’s when his meaning hit me. He wanted to come with me to dinner at my parents’ house. Was he out of his mind? What possible excuse could I use to explain why I was bringing a buddy to Sunday dinner? If we went there together, they could figure out what we had been up to.

  My eyes widened as realization dawned. That was exactly what he wanted. He thought I would introduce him to my parents as my… my what? The man I’d been screwing? They were the last people on earth I would grace with that information. Hell, Clark had been a regular fixture at our house for years before my parents found out about him and Noah. But as soon as they’d realized he wasn’t just a friend or roommate, he had become persona non grata, no longer welcome at dinners or holidays or anything else. And because my brother refused to go where Clark wasn’t welcome, that had been the death knell in their relationship with Noah too.

  How could Micah expe
ct me to choose him over my family? Things were fine as they were. I spent more time with him than I had with any girlfriend. The sex was good—amazing, even. It was enough. Why did he need to push me for more?

  “I’ve gotta go,” I mumbled as I stalked out of the room.

  The clothes I had worn that weekend were in Micah’s bedroom, folded on a chair in the corner. I stuffed my feet into my shoes, gathered my wallet, clothes, and keys, and turned toward the bedroom doorway.

  Micah was leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed over his firm chest, a concerned expression painted on his uniquely handsome face. I refused to feel guilty about not inviting him to dinner. Hell, my mother could get a job as a travel agent with the skill she exhibited putting guilt trips together. Micah had nothing on her. And if she found out what we had been doing, if my father found out…. I shook my head.

  No. Just no. I couldn’t do that to them, couldn’t stomach the look of disappointment on their faces, couldn’t leave them without a relationship with either of their children. I forced myself to keep an even expression on my face as I approached the doorway and Micah standing in it.

  He put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “Come on. Don’t do this again, Ben.”

  All attempts at holding in my feelings evaporated, and I exploded, shouting at him. “Do what? What do you want from me? I say I’m having dinner with my parents and you get all pouty. I don’t appreciate the pressure, Micah. It’s too much. I think I’ll stay at my place tonight. Maybe some time apart will help you start acting like a man and not a little girl.”

  Yeah, I know. You’re thinking I’m a total asshole. Or maybe a dumb shit. Oh, a fucktard? That sounds about right. Hey, it’s what I do. I really know how to make the worst of a good situation. It’s a special talent. What can I say?

  He gasped, dropped his hand from my shoulder, sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and squeezed his eyes closed. There was a part of me that itched to take it all back, to drop the things I was holding on the floor and wrap my arms around his chest. But the bigger part of me was scared, terrified even.