The Librarian's Rake

by Z. Allora

  It was ridiculous how a night of good orgasms could make him want…. Ha! What, Tristan sucked his cock and all of a sudden Phillip was looking to settle down? Did coming that hard make him lose track of reality and melt his common sense? Whatever! He needed to get a grip.

  He tried to ignore it was the time he had been spending with Tris that made his feelings of lust and friendship morph into—

  Shit! How did this happen? He needed to get the hell out of here.

  Fuck! Where were his clothes? He not only wanted the barrier clothing would give him, but needed it.

  Everything seemed too much.

  He wrapped a towel around his waist, braced himself, and opened the door. Damn! His clothing from last night had been washed and folded and set outside the door, along with a plain blue T-shirt, giving him the choice so he didn’t have to wear a T-shirt proclaiming, “Save A Lollipop, Suck A Cock.”

  Pulling on his underwear, he chuckled at what Tristan must have thought while washing his unmentionables. They were little more than a black pouch to hide his cock, with bands of rainbow elastic highlighting the availability of his ass.

  Phillip wiggled into his jeans and did some knee bends to loosen them. He grabbed the two T-shirts and stared at them.

  It was just a fucking T-shirt. However, one yelled fun and flirty, and the other said… I have a boyfriend.

  “God, Tris! What the hell are you doing to me?”

  How could this be happening? T-shirts didn’t talk! It was a goddamn shirt. He tugged his own on and stared in the mirror. Without product in his hair, he looked a bit of a mess. After a search under the sink, he found a sad can of generic mousse and did what he could.

  He washed his hands and headed for the door. Catching his image in the mirror on the back of the door, he stopped. “Shit!” He ripped off his T-shirt and pulled on the other, resettled his hair, and ignored any implications the change in T-shirt meant. Folding his shirt neatly, he told himself he wanted to save it for the next time he went out.

  Phillip followed the rattling of pots and pans and found Tristan in the kitchen, cooking.

  Tris glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you might like a ham-and-cheese omelet.”

  His stomach growled. “I’d love one. What can I do to help?”

  “You can fix the coffee and pour the juice.”

  “Sure.” He poured the coffee and juice into the cups and glasses already on the table. “Anything else?”

  Tristan flipped the omelet like a professional. “You can take the croissants out of the oven, and when they’re cool enough, put them in the basket. Pot holders are in the small drawer next to the stove.”

  How could anyone leave this incredible man? He was too perfect! Phillip concluded, “Your exes were assholes.”

  “What?” Tristan spun around and almost flipped the omelet out of the pan.

  Oh, fuck! He’d said that out loud. Well, it was true. Phillip shrugged and confirmed, “They were.”

  Tristan shifted his gaze back to the stove. “Um… okay.”

  Shit, now he’d made it awkward.

  When they were sitting down to gorge on the feast, Phillip finally thought of a nonstupid question to break the silence. “So, what are your plans today?”

  Tristan looked out the window. “I was going to do some yard work, but it’s raining, so I’ll probably do some reading or… watch a movie or six. You up for a movie marathon on this gloomy Sunday?”

  Not exactly a “Let’s watch Netflix and chill” proposition, but it gave him a reason to stay.

  Wait, he wanted to hang longer? Grinning across the table at the beautiful man who styled his hair completely wrong, Phillip said, “Sounds great. What do you wanna see?”

  WHAT WAS Phillip still doing at Tristan’s on a late Sunday afternoon, still cuddled around his… the librarian and his many soft blankets? Enjoying himself, and as the third movie credits rolled, he didn’t want it to end. But maybe he should….

  “Do you like Thai or Indian better?” Tristan continued to play with Phillip’s hair, and it lulled him into such a sense of calm he didn’t care that it was probably all over the place.

  “Um… I’ve never tried Indian.” Phillip burrowed down deeper into the blankets and closer to Tristan.

  “That’s great.” With a big smile, he handed Phillip his phone, where an Indian menu was displayed. “Let’s pick out some things you might like.”

  “For?”

  “Dinner?”

  What? “Silly. You buy dinner before, to get the sex, not after.”

  Tristan kissed Phillip’s forehead. “You’ve been with the wrong type of men.”

  The truth in his words punched Phillip in the heart.

  “WHERE AM I?” Phillip grumbled as he rolled over into a pile of Tristan-scented pillows and something crinkly.

  He patted around the pillows until he found the piece of paper. Enough daylight streamed through the crack between the drapes to read the note.

  Good morning!

  I had to cover a shift at the library. Your jeans are hanging in the closet and you can borrow another T-shirt if you want. I left muffins in the basket and coffee for you.

  Thank you for the great weekend,

  Tris

  With too much familiarity, Phillip used Tristan’s bathroom and took a shower. The new toothbrush Tristan had given him last night hung next to Tristan’s in the holder.

  He stared at the toothbrush. Another first—his purple brush hung next to a blue one. The gesture should have screwed with his mind, but it didn’t bother him. And that freaked him out.

  “Get a damn grip.” He trudged over to the closet. His clubwear hung nestled next to Tristan’s suit and work clothing. He petted the suit.

  Phillip’s stuff looked good next to—“Christ on a cupcake!” Was this really happening?

  He dressed quickly and headed out the door. The entire ride to visit his grandfather was spent convincing himself nothing had developed between him and Tristan. He’d pretty much believed he and Tris would go back to being friends… maybe now with benefits on occasion?

  And he’d persuaded himself the bathroom incident where Tristan might have been about to confess something had nothing to do with affection. Phillip had just overreacted. Tristan probably would only have said he loved his contacts or dance clubs or something. Anything other than what he’d thought Tris was going to say at the time.

  Why had he stopped Tristan? Now he’d never know for certain.

  No, he definitely should have stopped him from lighting that keg of dynamite. Once that was said, it could never be unsaid. It probably wasn’t where he was headed, anyway. Besides, Phillip didn’t do feelings.

  Phillip used his key and stumbled into his grandfather’s town house, then looked down at the unfamiliar pair of shoes next to his granddaddy’s. Scuffling movements came from the living room.

  Peeking into the room, he caught Mr. Cooper struggling to sit upright. “Oh, hey Mr.—I mean, Thomas. I was looking for—”

  “Here I am.” His granddaddy crawled out from between the couch and the table. “I forgot you were coming today.”

  What the what? “Oh, um, if this is a bad time….”

  “For you, never.” His granddaddy ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he stood.

  “I have to go anyway.” Thomas pushed himself off the couch and limped to the door.

  His grandfather frowned. “But I’ll see you later, right?”

  “Yeah. Sure, sure.” Thomas slid on his shoes and hobbled out the door without looking back.

  “What did I interrupt?” The question wasn’t necessary, but it seemed better than to just assume he’d walked in on his granddaddy putting the moves on his friend.

  “An almost glorious afternoon.” His grandfather stood by the front window as Thomas limped by. He waved, but Thomas didn’t see him or didn’t respond. “But anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Don’t let me forget to show you the postcard your grandmother
sent. She and Sylvia are in New Mexico now. So tell me what’s going on at the salon—”

  Phillip’s phone sang, “I Would Walk 500 Miles.” His heart skipped a beat, and he said, “Sorry, let me answer this.” He ignored his granddaddy’s wide eyes and said, “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Tristan’s bubbly, happy voice seemed contagious and made him smile. “I was just wondering if you had plans tomorrow night.”

  Phillip paced over toward the window and toyed with the curtain. “Um, no. Why?”

  “I was going to make my chicken corn soup and wanted to know if you were interested in another movie night.” The hopefulness wound itself around Phillip’s heart, and instead of making him feel stifled, it made him feel safe and wanted. Tristan wanted to spend more time with him.

  “I’d love to.” God, he really would, and he typically never wanted to spend much time with others. But Tris was different.

  “Me too.” Somehow Tris made that sound like a lot more than soup and movies.

  “Okay, tomorrow, then.” Try as he might, Phillip couldn’t avoid turning around.

  His granddaddy perched on the edge of his chair, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t listening. “That Tristan?”

  Phillip shrugged. “Yup.”

  “Interesting.” His granddaddy folded his arms and sat back.

  Feeling exposed, Phillip evaded with “What?”

  “Usually you ignore beeps, songs, and rings from your phone, but you answered it immediately.”

  “I’ve answered my phone before,” Phillip pointed out.

  His granddaddy smirked. “You answer Monique’s calls, and you text Chris back. Everyone else you ignore.”

  Caught. No sense lying. “I like him.”

  “I thought you would. So do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Nothing to tell. We’re friends.” He didn’t repress the sigh that screamed he wanted more.

  “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

  Phillip nodded. “Of course. And I almost believe it.”

  Chapter 8

  SILLY, BUT Tristan couldn’t help being excited to have Phillip come over for dinner. They were friends, though after the past weekend, they had to be more, right? Tristan just wasn’t sure how much more.

  He hummed as he sparked a fire to life in his fireplace. Closing the grate, he let the flames lull him.

  Overcast clouds darkened the room and added to the atmosphere of needing hot soup. Chicken corn soup simmered on the stove, and the scent of warm cornbread filled the house.

  With a crack of thunder, the clouds opened and poured buckets down.

  “Oh no.” Tristan threw some big towels in the dryer to warm them, then paced from the kitchen to the living room window. Phillip is a safe driver. He was only five minutes late. Tristan added a couple of logs to the fire, making the flames roar to life.

  Nothing could stop the worry of wet roads until the soft roar of Phillip’s bike reverberated in his open garage. He grabbed the warmed towels and headed to rescue his half-drowned guest.

  Phillip hopped from the bike, took off his helmet, and put it on the seat. “It wasn’t the moving, but the stopping.”

  Tristan took Phillip’s pack and set it on an odd chair he kept meaning to refinish. He put the wet leather jacket over the back. Phillip’s T-shirt was soaked, showing off his body, nipples standing out in stiff peaks. Ashamed of his ogling, he wrapped Phillip up in a big fluffy bath sheet.

  “Mmmmm, that’s nice.” Phillip continued to towel off.

  Tristan dried off the motorcycle with a clean rag. “It’s a beautiful bike.”

  Phillip smiled. “Thanks. Just don’t burn yourself on the pipes.”

  Avoiding the hot chrome, Tristan lifted the helmet and dried the seat, then wiped the handlebars, instrument panel dash, and mirrors.

  “Thanks. That’s good enough.” Phillip frowned down at his pants. “I’m drenched. If I go into the house, I’m going to make puddles.”

  “And not the kind I want you to.”

  Phillip hooted. “Nice.”

  Tristan shrugged, and he wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. “Let me fetch you some warm towels.”

  “Great.” Phillip kicked off his boots and toed off his socks.

  Tristan fetched some more warm towels out of the dryer. When he got back to the garage, he couldn’t help but notice how Phillip’s wet jeans clung seductively to his hard thighs. In order to escape the denim, Phillip had to do this cute little wiggle jump.

  Tristan froze at the bizarre sight of a naked… near-naked man in his garage. He shook his head to snap out of his stupor. He wrapped a towel around Phillip’s shivering body and guided him. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  He stood Phillip in front of the fire and went to the garage to grab Phillip’s pack. On the way into the living room, he grabbed a smaller towel, which he used to pat Phillip’s blond hair dry.

  “I got it.” Phillip rubbed his head briskly. “There.”

  Tristan snapped out of his bemusement. “Let me get you some soup.”

  He fetched the hot soup and warm cornbread with two bottles of water, placed everything on a tray, and carried their feast into the living room.

  Phillip sat cross-legged in front of the fire. The towel had slipped and pooled around his waist. Shadows played across his face and body as he stared into the dancing flames.

  The vision punched Tristan in the gut. Phillip sat there without his cloak of barbed snarks. Tristan felt he could almost have a chance with this Phillip.

  He wanted, no, needed to make this perfect for Phillip. “Here. We can eat by the fire.”

  Phillip accepted a bowl with a hunk of cornbread and tasted the soup. “Oh, God! That’s incredible.”

  Tristan smiled, pleased to have someone appreciate his culinary efforts. “Glad you like it.”

  “Like it? If I wasn’t engaged to your couch, I’d marry this soup. We’d have babies… cream of corn soup.”

  The vulgar imagery made Tristan snort.

  “Tris, you’re dirty! I know you’re thinking of me having my way with the soup. Giving it my hot, creamy goodness.”

  Tristan howled with the sheer silliness of the adorable man sitting practically naked by his fire.

  PHILLIP FINISHED the meal and grinned at Tristan. “That was amazing. I want to kiss the cook. May I?”

  Tristan melted. “Of course.”

  “Thank you for the amazing dinner.” Phillip kissed Tristan’s cheek, then trailed his lips to Tristan’s mouth. He branded his mouth with a fiery kiss.

  Phillip pulled at the T-shirt Tristan was wearing. The towel that had been wrapped around Phillip was lost.

  He pushed Tristan into a reclining position and slithered down his body.

  The determined sparkle in Phillip’s gaze told Tristan they were done playing.

  Tristan wiggled around, helping Phillip remove Tristan’s pants and underwear so the accumulating pile of fabric could grow. He was rolling around nude by his fireplace with Phillip—if there was any time to dwell, he’d probably be shocked.

  Phillip rubbed back and forth over Tristan’s naked cock, gliding over him sensuously.

  God, skin to skin. He bit back a moan, but it escaped when Phillip found Tristan’s cock and gave him a slow lick root to tip.

  Phillip grinned, then licked the drop easing its way out of the top. “Mmmm, you taste sweet.”

  Tristan tried to respond, but Phillip sucked him down so only a broken whimper came out. He reached out and twined his fingers into Phillip’s hair. The fire crackled and warmed him, but nothing was hotter than the vision of Phillip’s bobbing head—and then Phillip glanced into Tristan’s eyes.

  Their gazes caught. All the romantic clichés in the world seemed to collide, and they were all true.

  “I love you.” Tristan had to say it. Heck, singing it from the rooftops felt right.

  Phillip pulled back and smiled. But a heartbeat later, he stiffened and a frown m
orphed the happiness on his face to sadness. He shook his head. “You love what I’m doing. Don’t get confused, Tris.”

  The soft-spoken denial slashed through Tristan, making him want to refute Phillip’s assessment. Like it or not, he had fallen head over heels in love with Phillip. He didn’t have to hear the words back to validate his own. This intensity of emotion might be new to him, but it had nothing to do with Phillip’s hot, wet mouth going to town on his erection.

  Granted, that was an incredible bonus, but right now, he couldn’t have this debate with words. If Phillip didn’t want to hear the words, Tristan would do his best to show him. “Come here.”

  Phillip shook his head and ducked back to refocus his attention on Tristan’s shaft.

  No. Tristan wouldn’t allow him to completely avoid the emotions swirling between them. He used Phillip’s training-wheel hair flip and guided Phillip away from his arousal and within kissing range, doing his damnedest to transfer raw, pure emotion into a kiss.

  The press of their lips started out soft and sweet. Irresistibly drawn in, Tristan increased the pressure.

  Phillip moaned, and his body became pliant as he surrendered to the kiss.

  Taking the invitation, Tristan deepened the kiss, trying to convey the precious miracle of the love that coursed through him with the sweep of his tongue. He wouldn’t push, but he could no longer hide his affection.

  Pausing, Phillip leaned back. His face scrunched in confusion as he stared into Tristan’s eyes with wariness and worry. Did he think Tristan would try to trick him?

  In that moment, Tristan could feel Phillip’s indecision and fear. Wanting only to reassure, he whispered, “It’s okay, Phillip. Really.”

  Within a heartbeat, Phillip plastered on a practiced smile and coyly asked, “Said the spider to the fuck…. You want to fuck?”

  “No, but I want to be with you.” He stopped short of saying something utterly romantic because Phillip looked ready to bolt.