by Sue Brown
It didn’t take long to bring Tom to another climax. Another long thrust and Tom was spilling over his fist, the sight and smell triggering Dave’s own orgasm, the feel of Tom’s body clenching around him drawing out the spasms.
Wearily, Dave collapsed onto Tom’s broad chest, listening to the fast thump of Tom’s heart beneath his ear as he rested. Tom was quiet now, not objecting to the extra weight on top of him as he stroked Dave’s back again.
“You look good on my sheets,” Dave said suddenly. For some reason it was important for Tom to know that.
Tom squeezed Dave hard enough that he coughed in protest. “I might have guessed the color.” His breath stirred Dave’s hair.
“I like it,” Dave said, listening to Tom’s chuckle.
“I had worked that one out for myself.”
“I like you,” Dave admitted in hushed tones.
Tom kissed the top of his head. “I knew that one, too. I rather like you. Do you still like me now that I’m unemployed and probably going to have to live with my parents when the money runs out?”
Raising his head, Dave propped his chin on Tom’s chest. “I do,” he confirmed. “Do your parents know what’s happened?”
“They do. I don’t think they’re too thrilled at the idea of me coming back home, but they can see that I don’t have a lot of options.” Tom sounded resigned and Dave knew where the guy was coming from. He would hate the thought of living with his mother again.
It was too soon, far too soon to say it, Dave knew that. And he wouldn’t, not yet. But Tom wouldn’t have to go and live with his parents. Tom had other options, he just didn’t know it yet.
Dave tucked his face into Tom’s neck and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Tom’s arms around him. That discussion could wait for another time.
***
Only once did Dave ask why Tom always started with the laundrette. Tom thought for a moment before replying.
“I think it’s because meeting over a cup of coffee is so prosaic, so normal.”
“And meeting over a pair of boxers is less normal?” Dave asked.
Tom nodded and Dave mentally gave a shrug. He didn’t really care. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t care what story his lover gave out about their first meeting. In his heart he remembered it started with the sleeves of the takeaway coffee cup and the day he got the first plum-colored one. Nobody needed to know that Dave still had it tucked away in his wallet, next to a photo of his man.
End.
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