by K. C. Wells
That smile and those words lifted Tommy’s spirit. “I’ll follow you, then.”
Mike leaned closer and kissed him, nothing like the peck he’d received earlier. This was slower, more thorough, like Mike was relearning how Tommy tasted. He broke the kiss and stepped back. “Let’s go.”
Tommy got into his truck and followed Mike’s car to the house. The neighborhood was peaceful, only a few lights showing in the windows of the houses nearby. He parked in Mike’s driveway and climbed the steps to Mike’s front door, where Mike awaited him. Once inside the hallway, Mike took Tommy’s jacket and hung it up, along with his own.
“I’m gonna pour myself a drink,” Mike said, heading into the kitchen. “You want something?”
Tommy followed him. “You got somethin’ soft?”
Mike poured out a couple of fingers of bourbon and then reached into the fridge to pull out some cans. “I got pink lemonade, Coke, and cider.”
Tommy accepted the can of pink lemonade. He emptied its contents into a glass and watched Mike take a long drink from his tumbler. Tommy couldn’t keep silent anymore. “You wanna tell me what’s botherin’ you?”
Mike paused, the glass midway to his lips. He sighed and put down his bourbon. “It’s a long story, and talking about it wouldn’t help, but thank you for asking. Let’s just say I have a few things on my mind, and I have to work through them, okay?”
“Okay. I just wanted to help, is all.” Tommy watched as Mike drained the glass and then ran it under the faucet. He turned to face Tommy, such an air of fatigue about him that Tommy’s heart went out to him. He put down his glass of lemonade and grabbed Mike’s hand. “How ’bout we get you into bed, huh?” When Mike arched his eyebrows, the ghost of a smile on his lips, Tommy felt the red flush of heat that crept up his neck and cheeks. “To sleep, okay? Maybe some cuddlin’?” He could still recall how damn good it had felt to have Mike’s strong arms encircling him the previous weekend.
That smile widened. “Cuddling, huh?” It was so good to see that sparkle in Mike’s eyes. “Y’know, that sounds damn near perfect.” He tightened his fingers around Tommy’s. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll have a shower in the morning.” He led Tommy out of the kitchen, flicking off the light as he passed the switch, and across the hall into his bedroom.
Tommy thought a night of snuggling with Mike sounded perfect too.
MIKE YAWNED and stretched, warm and relaxed. That had been the best night’s sleep he’d had in a while. Of course falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Tommy’s lean, warm body might’ve had something to do with it. He’d lain there under the soft cotton sheet, his face buried in Tommy’s neck, inhaling his scent until he’d drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Wait a moment…. It was only now that he realized something was missing, namely Tommy. Mike raised his head from the pillow and caught the sound of running water, followed by the faintest whiff of freshly brewed coffee. He’s made coffee. The thought brought a smile, and he fell back onto the pillows, feeling absurdly happy.
Tommy’s arrival at Woofs the previous night had brought with it a certain amount of internal conflict. Mike was pleased to see him, that much was certain, but he was in no mood to even contemplate taking the young man home for a night of hot sex, which was undoubtedly what Tommy was expecting.
Mike smiled inwardly. Boy, did I get that wrong. It had become apparent after a while that Tommy wasn’t there for the sex. Not only that, Patrick had made some comment about Mike being a lucky son of a bitch. Tommy must’ve said or done something pretty impressive to gain that reaction. Patrick was a tough customer, fiercely loyal and supportive.
He bit back a groan. Patrick and Kevin. He owed them big time. Mike knew he’d been a bitch ever since he’d gotten back from the shoot. He’d been unable to shake the incident, and the memory had clung to him like a bad smell. He figured he’d better treat the boys to breakfast soon to make up for being an asshole.
The aroma of coffee grew stronger.
Mike looked up from the bed to see Tommy standing in the doorway, hair damp, wearing nothing but his briefs and carrying two mugs of coffee. “Good mornin’.”
Mike beamed. “Any morning where I wake up to coffee and the sight of a gorgeous young man is a good one.” He sat up and held out his hands for a mug.
“Was it okay for me to take a shower?” Tommy worked his bottom lip. “I tried not to wake you.”
“Of course it was okay.” Mike sipped the coffee and sighed. “Damn, you make good coffee too. Boy, I think you’re a keeper.” He loved the way Tommy blushed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in a snuggling kinda mood.”
Tommy’s face lit up. “That sounds like my kinda mornin’.”
Mike pulled back the sheets. “Then get back in here.” Tommy moved around to the other side of the bed, and Mike cleared his throat. “I should warn you, there’s an unwritten rule in this house.”
“There is?” Tommy seemed startled, his gaze fixed on Mike.
He nodded, keeping his face straight. “Nudity at all times.” He inclined his head toward Tommy’s briefs. “Lose ’em.” Then he grinned. “Now.”
Tommy’s breathing hitched, but he placed his mug on the nightstand. He eased his briefs down over his hips and firm, muscled thighs, and stepped out of them. Mike gazed up at Tommy’s wide chest and taut belly with appreciation. The young man was beautiful. He lowered his gaze to take in that long, thick cock. Tommy noticed his observation and quickly climbed under the sheets, pulling them up around him. Mike hid his smile. Tommy’s modesty was delightful, a refreshing change from the guys he usually mixed with.
Then it struck him. How many of those guys, when faced with the prospect of sharing Mike’s bed, would be happy to cuddle?
In that instant, Mike’s plans for Sunday morning changed. He wanted nothing more than to spend an hour or so in bed, holding Tommy, kissing him, caressing him, maybe having him touch Mike. And judging from Tommy’s reaction, that was fine by him too.
It was exactly the balm Mike needed.
“MIKE, THIS place is amazing!”
Mike loved hearing the note of genuine awe in Tommy’s voice. He smiled to see Tommy craning his neck to stare up at the curved acrylic tunnel, eyes wide as a manta ray floated serenely above their heads.
“How big is he, d’you reckon?”
Tommy shook his head, difficult as that was to do when he was staring up. “Eight feet across, maybe nine? Lord, just look at him. Isn’t he beautiful?”
Coming to the aquarium had been a great idea. It had been an idle comment during breakfast when Mike had mentioned the glass tunnel. Tommy’s reaction had been instantaneous. From that point, Mike couldn’t wait to watch Tommy’s face as they walked around the exhibits. All around them were visitors wearing the same expression, small children tugging at their parents’ hands to pull them toward the acrylic wall.
Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed. There was no pressure, just the simple enjoyment of spending time with Tommy. And after the rage and frustration of that last shoot, this trip to the aquarium was exactly what Mike needed. Space and time to be himself, to leave Scott Masters behind, even for a little while.
When did I last feel so comfortable with a guy? It certainly didn’t feel like it was only their second weekend together. Tommy was easy to be around, made no demands, and seemed free of artifice. What was there not to like about a guy like that?
The most refreshing thing about Tommy was his innocence. This wasn’t some twink playing at being coy; Tommy was the real deal.
He took a moment to study the young man from a distance. Tommy seemed relaxed, dressed in a pair of jeans, boots, a sweater, and a jacket. Even the way he looked was refreshingly different. Mike could easily picture Tommy working on the farm. Those calloused hands spoke of a young man who wasn’t afraid of hard work.
“Y’know, this is the second largest tunnel of its kind in the world? How much water do you suppos
e is behind that acrylic?”
Tommy whirled around to look at him. “Hell, I don’t have a clue.” He squinted at Mike. “Bet you already know, don’tcha?”
Mike nodded. “Would you believe, over six million gallons of it?”
“Lord,” Tommy exclaimed softly, eyes wide with wonder.
“You know this was built by the Homo Depot, right?”
“The what?” Tommy’s mouth dropped open.
Mike chuckled. “And you call yourself gay? That’s how every gay man refers to the Home Depot.” An embarrassed Tommy was truly a thing of beauty. Mike smiled and then jerked his head up, frowning. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
Mike stretched out his hand, palm facing upward. “I swear I just felt….” He shook his head. “Nah, I must be mistaken.”
Tommy gaped at him. “No, what did you feel?”
Mike bit his lip. “Well, for a moment there, it felt like a drop of water landed on me.” He stared up at the curved surface of the tunnel. “Do you suppose… I mean, it could happen, couldn’t it? All that pressure, all that water… must put a real strain on the tunnel….” He snuck a peek at Tommy’s face and tried to hold back his laughter. Tommy was staring up at the tunnel, mouth still open.
Then suddenly he jerked his head back to glare at Mike. “You… you…”—his gaze narrowed—“you’re just yankin’ my chain, ain’tcha?”
Mike was really fighting the urge to grin. “Maybe.”
From the expression on Tommy’s face, he was trying not to grin too. “Damn, you almost had me believin’ you.” He shook his head. “Not gonna believe nothin’ you say after this.” He walked off, head held high, but Mike didn’t miss Tommy’s shoulders shaking.
They walked on together, marveling at the fish, the sharks, the rays. It really was impressive. Tommy caught sight of a giant grouper and burst out laughing.
Mike peered at it, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see what was so amusing. “I give up. What’s tickled you?”
Tommy pointed at the huge fish. “I swear, Mike. That fish is the spittin’ image of my aunt Jeanie.”
Mike gazed at the huge, downward curving mouth of the gray fish. “I’m just guessing, mind, but… your aunt Jeanie, she’s not a very cheerful person, is she?” He tried not to smirk.
Tommy stared at him and promptly dissolved into giggles. When he recovered, he wiped his eyes. “Shit, no. She’s an ornery ol’ lady who doesn’t have a pleasant word for anyone.”
It was the first time Mike had heard Tommy talk about anyone in his family since that awful day when he’d told him about their intervention. He left it there, unwilling to risk spoiling Tommy’s good mood. “Let’s go to the touch tank next.”
Tommy nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.” As they walked along to the tank, Tommy was humming to himself, a happy little tune.
“You enjoying this?”
Tommy smiled. “Oh yeah, this is just great. Thanks for suggestin’ it.” He gave Mike a sideways glance. “How much longer do we have ’til you have to go to work?”
“Another hour or so.” Just thinking about it brought him down. It took a moment or two for him to realize it wasn’t the idea of going into Woofs that depressed him—it was the thought of calling an end to their time together.
Enough of this. Mike gave himself a mental shaking. Day’s not over yet. “C’mon, let’s go stroke a baby shark and some rays,” he said with a grin.
The way Tommy’s face lit up did wonderful things to his insides.
Damn, he’s good for me.
Chapter Eighteen
FIRST WEEKEND in February and it was pouring rain, so Mike’s idea of going to the arboretum on Sunday afternoon was a no go. Still, Tommy had to admit his backup plan was original—playing Scrabble.
He was feeling mellow, warm and content, not surprising after a morning spent in bed. But what a morning. Hours of languid touching, kissing, and listening to the sound of the rain as it hit the windows. Lying in Mike’s arms, just talking, more kissing, everything slow and sensual. And that was just fine by Tommy; the night before had been plenty hot enough. Just thinking about some of it sent the blood rushing south.
“Where’s your head at?” Mike demanded, tapping the table with a Scrabble tile, the sharp sound snapping Tommy back into the present.
Tommy gave a start. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat and shifted on his chair.
Mike’s grin widened. “Do I need to guess what you were thinking about?”
Damn the man. “Whose turn is it?” He peered at his tile holder and realized it only had three letters sitting on it. “Oh.” Apparently it was his. Tommy ignored Mike’s rich chuckle and rummaged blind in the green fabric bag that contained the remaining tiles, drawing out four. He placed them on the holder and gazed intently at them. Another shit selection. Tommy glanced at the piece of paper by Mike’s right hand and pursed his lips. Mike was winning. Again. Not surprising when his last word had been seven letters on a triple word score.
“How about I make us some hot chocolate while you’re working it out?” Mike suggested. “It’s just the sort of day that’s perfect for hot chocolate.”
“That sounds real nice,” Tommy admitted. “Thank you.” Mike rose to his feet and left the room. Tommy listened to the sounds emanating from the kitchen before it sank in that he had the perfect opportunity to sneak a look at the letters on Mike’s holder. Then he reconsidered. He couldn’t bring himself to cheat. That just wasn’t him, even if his own letters were worth shit. Damn it.
Tommy hadn’t realized until then just how competitive he was. By the time Mike returned with two steaming mugs, he was no closer to coming up with a decent word. What’s the point of havin’ two decent scorin’ letters and nowhere to use ’em?
Mike said nothing but sat facing him, sipping his drink, peering at his tiles and smiling smugly. “It’s a good thing we’re not timing this,” he said with a smirk.
“Not helpin’,” Tommy said under his breath.
“You could always change all your letters and forfeit your go,” Mike said with an innocent air
Tommy snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll just bet you’ve already got another seven letter word lined up, haven’t ya?”
Mike feigned a suspicious gaze. “Did you peek while I was out of the room?” He chuckled. “Aww, c’mon, it’s just a game.”
“Yeah, an’ you’ve already won once.”
“I have, haven’t I?” There was that smug smile again.
That. Was. It.
Tommy stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We-ell,” he began, “there is one word I could put down.” He strove to keep his face straight.
“Go for it.” Mike peered at the board. There were a few open areas left, but so far Tommy hadn’t come up with anything worth putting there.
Tommy tapped his index finger against his lips. “Okay, then.” He chose six tiles and placed them carefully on the board. “There.” He started adding up the score. It wasn’t great, not in the same league as Mike’s last effort, but it was better than nothing. “That gets me fifteen.”
Mike’s brow furrowed. “What’s ‘reborum’? I’ve never heard of that.”
“Oh?” Tommy arched his eyebrows. “It’s a natural fertilizer. It’s been used in cotton fields since forever.”
Mike shrugged. “You learn something new every day.” He added the score to the sheet and then gazed at his holder. “You did better than me. I’ve got mostly consonants.” He chose four tiles and added them to another word. “That gets me five, plus another eight for making a plural, so a total of thirteen. Still, not bad.”
The game progressed for another thirty minutes, with Tommy coming up with more words to do with farming and agriculture. With each new addition, Mike noted the score, but Tommy had a feeling he might have pushed his luck with the last one.
Mike sat back in his chair and gazed levelly at Tommy, arms folded across that broad chest. “If I was
to look up that word in an online dictionary, would I find it?” His eyes bored into Tommy.
Well, shit—busted. Tommy went for a bluff. “Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Mike stared harder, and Tommy fingered the collar of his shirt. “Of course, maybe my spellin’ might be wrong, but yeah, I’m pretty sure it’d be in there.”
Mike’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. Tommy Newsome, did you just lie to me?”
“No-oo,” Tommy protested, but he could tell from Mike’s face that the jig was up.
Mike shook his head, tut-tutting. “Wow. What can I say? An’ there was I thinking what a nice, good, wholesome young man you were.” He gave Tommy a sad smile.
Tommy stared at him, aghast. Aw crap. His heart sank—until Mike’s smile suddenly morphed into a shit-eating grin, and Tommy didn’t know whether to weep with relief or hit Mike for putting him through all that. Then he caught sight of a wicked glint in Mike’s eyes. Uh-oh….
“Gonna put you over my knee and paddle your ass for that,” Mike said, rising to his feet and making a show of rolling back his shirtsleeves. That grin of his hadn’t budged an inch.
In spite of his racing heartbeat, Tommy chuckled. “You gotta catch me first.” He stood up slowly, trying to work out what Mike would do next. Tommy edged around the table, his gaze trained on Mike. “An’ who says I’m gonna let you whup my ass, even if you do catch me, papaw?” He grinned. “I’m bigger ’n’ you.” He started to back away carefully from the table, unsure of his footing but not daring to take his eyes off Mike.
Mike laughed. “Yeah, but I’m faster.” Suddenly he lunged toward Tommy, hands ready to grab him. Tommy squealed, turned—and went flying over the arm of the couch, to land on the seat cushions with a whump. Mike yelled out a triumphant, gleeful shout and dived on top of him, those fingers going to work immediately, pulling up Tommy’s sweater and T-shirt and tickling his ribs.
“Arrgh, Mike, no!” Tommy yelled, squirming, but there was no way to escape the torture when Mike’s weight was pinning him to the couch. He tried to heave Mike off, but damn, he was stronger than Tommy had reckoned on.
