Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (23 page)

I need to wrap my brain around this thing. Just give me a few days,

yeah?”

Dylan clenched his teeth briefly, then nodded. It wasn’t what he

wanted to hear, but it was probably the best he was gonna get.

Pressing his lips to Jake’s in a chaste kiss, he turned and walked to his

own room giving his friend the time he needed.

By the end of the second week, they’d fallen into an easy sort of

routine: up at 6, for breakfast—Dylan happily let Jake do the honors,

because he couldn’t boil water without burning it—mucking out stalls,

groundwork with the horses, both on and off the lunge-line, feeding

and watering the colt and the studs stabled in the barn. Lunch (which

Dylan traded out the feeding/watering duties to escape from

preparing), exercising the stud-horses, one at a time, in a separate pen,

and saddle-work, if there was any to be done, in the afternoon. By

evening, they were usually exhausted, but managed to find time to sit

on the patio, and talk about nothing in particular.

Dylan was capable with the horses, as Jake had known he would

be, and he also found it pleasant to have someone besides horses to

talk to, as he worked. Not much had changed about his friend, in ten

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 129

years. He was still every bit as funny, charismatic, and intelligent as

he’d been all the years Jake had known him. He caught himself, more

often than not, day-dreaming about Dylan—a fact that hadn’t gone

unnoticed.

Jake jumped, when that slow drawl surprised him from his reverie,

“We’re out of mineral tubs, boss-man. I’m gonna run into town and

get ‘em. Need anything else, while I’m there?”

“Nickel’s worth of hundred-dollar bills. Otherwise, I think

everything’s pretty good.” Jake tossed him the keys, “Take my truck.

Trailer’s still hitched to yours, slacker. I’ll call the feed store, and tell

‘em to put it on my bill.”

“Kiss my ass, slacker. Easiest way I know of to get to drive your

truck.” Dylan dodged, laughing, as Jake threw his discarded shirt at

him half-heartedly, and exited the barn. Jake heard the small-block

350, in his old Chevy, roar to life and the tell-tale scatter of gravel, as

Dylan headed off, tires spinning. He laughed softly to himself,

absently chewing on a clean piece of straw he’d plucked from a bale.

Some things would never change.

They hadn’t revisited their earlier conversation. Dylan knew Jake

well enough to leave it alone for now, in fact, Jake mused, as he

finished with the stalls he was cleaning, he knew him better than

anyone. They’d only had one secret between them: the fact that Jake

had a huge crush on his best friend, and now…well, that was kind of a

non-issue, considering Dylan apparently felt the same way.

Considering this turn of events, as he took the colt out for some

exercise, Jake allowed his mind to drift back in time, to the fumbling

kisses and caresses they’d shared a decade ago. He’d been so

nervous—fearful of what the other kids would say, sure, but mostly

too afraid of the enormity of what he felt for his best friend, and what

it could do to that friendship. Being loath to lose the friendship, he’d

done what he did best: he’d suppressed those feelings, for years. He’d

thought, after he left, that the want would fade with time. It hadn’t.

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 130

Putting the colt back in his stall, with fresh feed and water, Jake

shucked his shirt, damp with sweat, and scratched at his lightly-furred

stomach, enjoying the feel of hands on his body, even if they weren’t

the hands he’d have preferred. Allowing his mind to wander, once

again, his imagination turned them into Dylan’s hands, as he combed

them through the hair on his chest and abdomen. His barn-pants

seemed to grow several sizes too small, as his cock began to harden.

He released the button and zipper, intending on giving himself a little

more room to breathe, but his right hand had a mind of its own, and

dipped into the opening, freeing his erection, beginning to stroke it,

lazily. He’d a half-hour or so, before Dylan returned. He’d ignored his

desire long enough.

Shoving his barn-pants low on his hips, Jake lay back on pair of

straw-bales that were conveniently sitting side by side in the barn hall-

way, and let his imagination—and his right hand—take over. He

imagined Dylan’s full, well-sculpted lips, stretched around him,

taking him into his mouth, swallowing him down, and cheeks

hollowed on the upstroke. A low moan escaped his lips, as his hand

began to work his cock faster, squeezing and twisting at the head,

before stroking back down. And what about Dylan’s ass? It would feel

so good to be inside him, lube-slicked and hot, sheathed deep in his

body. He could almost see Dylan straddling him, riding his dick.

Another moan, louder, as he fucked up into his fist, hips thrusting, as

he slid balls-deep into his imaginary lover.

He found his nipple, with his left hand, pinching and twisting it,

rolling it between his thumb and index finger, just this side of too

much.
FUCK!
biting his bottom lip, he stroked himself once, twice,

and then he was coming, in great, white spurts, splattering over his

abdomen and hand, eyes clenched tightly shut, as he cried out

wordlessly, at the force of his climax.

He was still attempting to regain control over his breathing, ten

minutes later, when the sound of the Chevy’s motor registered at the

periphery of his thoughts. The big ¾ ton was backed up to the barn,

and he barely had time to cover himself, before Dylan strolled around

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 131

to the tail-gate, grinning for all he was worth, “Hey Jake? Lady from

the feed store says you can have all your mineral tubs for free, if I

come in shirtless, next….”

As Jake did up the zipper and button, the smile died, wide green

eyes taking in the fine sheen of sweat, bits of straw sticking to Jake’s

flushed skin, and the small, tell-tale splatter-marks on his abdomen.

Dylan raised one finely-arched eyebrow but said nothing further, a

grim look on his face.

Jake swallowed the lump of apprehension that lodged there, in his

throat.
FUCK!
he’d forgotten how fast Dylan could get where he was

going. He offered a conciliatory gesture, hands open, small smile

playing at his lips, “Sorry, D. You…uh….you caught me with my pants

down. I—uh…”

“Save it, Jake. Just fucking save it. I’ve got work to do.” Dylan

spun on his heel, dropped the tail-gate, and began hoisting the 40-

pound mineral tubs from the truck-bed, like they were made of

Styrofoam. Jake, blushing furiously at having been caught, made to

help him, but Dylan would have none of it. “Go clean yourself up.

I’ve got this.”

Jake tried again, “D….I….”

“You know what? I made the offer, Jake. Woulda’ been kinder if

you’d just told me you weren’t interested, instead of letting me hope.

But fuck no! You had to let me go on thinking I had some kind of

chance with you. I was right the fuck here, Jake! But you’d rather

fuck your own hand, than be with me? Guess I should’ve known

better.” Dylan stood there, the muscles in his jaw working agitatedly,

eyes blinking back tears that he’d be damned if he’d let Jake see,

when they fell.

Jake’s gaze dropped to his feet, as he chewed his bottom lip,

searching for the words that would fix this fucked up situation. He

should’ve just thrown caution to the wind. Calling himself fifteen

different kinds of asshole, he grabbed Dylan, and pulled him close,

lips sealing over his in a savage kiss, pouring every ounce of want and

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 132

lust and love he’d ever felt into it. Dylan tensed, and then relaxed, as

his arms came around Jake, pulling him closer, still, lips parting to

return the favor.

Jake tore at his shirt, unable to bare Dylan’s torso quickly enough,

needing the feel of his naked skin like he needed air. He could feel the

hard ridge of Dylan’s arousal pressed against his thigh, and pressed

closer, not sure, after his explosive solo climax, he could follow

through with the promises he wanted to make.

Dylan pulled away first, chest heaving much as Jake’s own, his

pupils blown wide with desire. He licked his lips, nervously, a slight

tremor in his voice, “I…I really can handle this. You go shower. Wait

for me in your room. I’ll see you after my shower.”

Jake nodded his understanding, and stole one more quick kiss,

before somehow making his way to the house on legs that seemed to

be mostly jelly. The warmth of the shower felt good, as he washed the

evidence of his minor indiscretion from his skin. He washed quickly,

trying to save some hot water for Dylan, lingering under the spray for

just a moment longer, before turning the water off and stepping out

into the steam-fogged bathroom. Wrapping his lean hips in a towel, he

padded barefoot to the bed, and tried to arrange himself to his full

advantage, but finally settled on just being comfortable. He lay back

against a mountain of pillows, ankles crossed, his pose much more

casual than he felt.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, even less certain how he’d

actually managed to fall asleep, what with the butterflies dancing in

his stomach, but he heard the sound of the shower, and Dylan’s clear

tenor as he sang. Jake had to smile. Dylan singing in the shower was

such an integral part of who he was. Checking the clock, he saw that a

couple hours had passed, and smiled wider—leave it to Dylan to find

a way to give him whatever recovery time he needed. He’d bank on

the fact that D had finished up all the chores by himself.

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Snuggling back into the blanket that Dylan had obviously tossed

over him, he waited until the shower shut off, and quickly closed his

eyes again—‘playing possum,’ so to speak. He was curious how

Dylan would handle waking him up, and managed, somehow, to keep

from smiling when he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Feeling the bed dip, as Dylan sat beside him, he had to fight the urge

to laugh, feeling unaccountably giddy with the sure knowledge that

his most secret wish was about to come true. He felt like a kid on

Christmas.

When nothing happened, and continued that way for several

minutes, Jake risked a look through one slitted eye, to see his friend

studying his fingers, which were laced loosely together, elbows on his

knees. The pose spoke of uncertainty, as he appeared to be actually

considering something, which just wasn’t like Dylan at all. His motto

was ‘act first, think later’, not the other way around. That was Jake’s

territory.

Deciding that the ruse had gone on long enough, Jake opened both

eyes, and laid a calming hand on Dylan’s shoulder, propping himself

up on one elbow. “Something wrong, D?”

Smiling his crooked smile, and looking askance at Jake, he

chuckled low in his throat, “Wondered how long you were gonna’

pretend to be asleep. I was just sitting here, waiting ‘til you got tired of

it.”

“Asshole!” Jake groused, “You had me worried! I thought you

were actually having second thoughts, or something.”

Dylan leaned over, and nibbled lightly at Jake’s bottom lip,

flicking it teasingly with his tongue. Moaning softly, lips parting to

deepen the kiss, Jake pushed up so that he was sitting, able to feel the

shower-damp warmth of Dylan’s skin against his own. Inhaling

deeply, he caught the clean smell of soap, and Stetson, and some

subtle undercurrent that was just uniquely Dylan—sunshine and rain

and wind
and freedom
, his brain supplied. Enjoying the embrace just a

moment longer, Dylan leaned back, and looked into Jake’s deep blue