Fifteen Shades of Gay (For Pay) (26 page)

“So they say.”

“But the good news,” Andrew continued, going to Cormac and sliding his arms around the other man’s neck, “is I appear to be completely immune to that sort of stress. This place suits me perfectly. Adaptation to the finer things… it’s probably my superpower or something.”

Chuckling softly, Cormac turned to look Andrew in the eye. “Funny. Vacation weekends have always been Kryptonite to me.”

“So I see. Planning on staying buried in your email the whole time?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” Cormac closed his laptop. “No more work today. In fact, no more work until we say goodbye tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s more like it.” Smiling, Andrew lowered himself onto Cormac, straddling the other man’s lap. “The bed looks inviting. Think we have time to test the mattress?”

“Probably not.” Cormac’s tone suggested this answer caused him actual physical pain. “As soon as everyone’s settled, Peg will come looking for us. She’ll want to introduce you to the others.”

“Oh. Well. Damn.” Andrew traced the shape of Cormac’s mouth with a fingertip. “Can we make out till she calls for us?”

His answer was a kiss, slow and gentle at first, then administered with increasing urgency. Before long, Andrew forgot about Peggy Laguire, the upcoming barbecue, everything except the slick heat of Cormac’s tongue. Digging his fingers into the other man’s hair, Andrew was planting wet kisses in the hollow of Cormac’s throat when someone coughed. A knock followed, of necessity on the open door, since Andrew had neglected to close it.

“Oh.” He blinked at Peggy Laguire, trim and pretty in capris and a boat neck sweater. If she’d looked embarrassed, Andrew might have blushed, but Peggy didn’t seem the least bit disturbed. In fact, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes than reminded him of Marie.

“I really hate to interrupt, but the gang’s all here.” Peggy’s smile was warm. “Andrew, do you feel like coming downstairs and running the gauntlet? This is the first time Cormac’s brought a date, so curiosity levels are off the scale.”

“I look forward to it.” Extricating himself from Cormac’s lap, Andrew hastily wiped his mouth. Fortunately, he’d decided not to tuck his rugby shirt into his jeans, so the oversized red and blue-striped jersey fell to the middle of his thighs. Sporting a massive boner was one thing; taking it downstairs to meet the Long Island cocktail set was quite another.

Tommy and Peggy’s friends were, as Cormac had promised, nice people. Doug and Lisa, a pair of artists who ran a Manhattan gallery, were passionate Democrats who loved to tease Cormac, forever challenging him to explain or defend certain Republican ideals. Cormac clearly relished the opportunity, impressing Andrew with his debating skills. The other couple, Pete and Helene, gravitated toward Andrew, fascinated by his tales of the NYC theater scene. After a few beers, the men marched onto the lawn to play touch football while the females sat around the fire pit to talk. Andrew, who had little interest in the game, tried to take part, fascinated by the fiercely competitive, trash-talking gladiator who had co-opted Cormac’s body. But after suffering his third illegal tackle—Tommy, Doug, Pete, and Cormac all seemed unclear on the basic premise of “touch” football—Andrew feigned a pulled muscle and strolled off to chat with the ladies. Once upon a time, he would have grimly endured pain and humiliation rather than abandon the game and risk “looking gay.” Now Andrew was free to opt for intelligent conversation with Peggy, Lisa, and Helene, leaving Cormac to the pseudo-warfare he so clearly enjoyed.

“Did you have fun?” Cormac asked when they finally retired to their guest bedroom, long after one o’clock in the morning.

“Mostly. Except when you tried to kill me during the most violent, psychotic game of quote-unquote touch football I’ve ever seen.”

Pulling Andrew close, Cormac kissed the top of his head. “I might have been showing off a little.”

“You might have been auditioning for Ultimate Fighter.” Andrew pretended to resist the embrace, making a show of trying to get away. “Every time I got my hands on the ball, you tossed me around like a rag doll. Ever heard of the
Burning Bed
? You gotta sleep sometime, buddy.”

Cormac overpowered Andrew, holding him in place with ease. “I’ve spent years tackling guys I wanted to fuck. But if you think it’s time to teach me who’s boss, I’m ready.”

Andrew held Cormac’s gaze for a moment. Then he pointed at the floor. “Fine. Get on your knees and suck me.”

Cormac knelt without missing a beat. Unbuttoning Andrew’s fly, he pressed his mouth into the gap, finding the opening in Andrew’s boxers with his tongue. Then, curling his fingers around Andrew’s buttocks, still encased in those second-skin True Religion jeans, Cormac worked with tongue and lips until he managed to draw out Andrew’s cock. The sensation—licking, fumbling, nudging, and pulling—made Andrew feel a bit like a cherry stem, twisted into a love knot by an inexperienced yet eager mouth.

“Keep those lips apart.” Seizing Cormac’s head with both hands, Andrew pushed all the way inside, like a funhouse car plowing into the Tunnel of Love. Hips rocking, slow at first, then faster, he slid in and out of Cormac’s mouth. All the way inside and all the way out, he paused each time the head of his cock balanced, slick and red, on Cormac’s lower lip. The sight was gorgeous enough to make Andrew shoot, if he'd wanted to. But he had to control himself, numb himself to all temptation until he delivered the lesson Cormac really wanted. Taking a deep breath, Andrew pulled away, putting space between himself and Cormac’s mouth.

“That was good.” Cormac’s fingers fumbled at his shirt’s top button.

“I never said take your shirt off.” Andrew kept his voice stern. “Drop your pants and get on your hands and knees.”

Cormac obeyed. Still on the floor, he faced the opposite wall, unbuckling his belt with a couple of soft clicks. Then he worked pants and shorts down, exposing buttocks that were all muscle, two modest curves atop long, lean, greyhound thighs. The pose was perfect, except he was still upright.

“I said hands and knees,” Andrew snapped. As the other man complied, Andrew managed to withdraw the lubricated condom in his wallet without making a sound. Tossing the foil packet on the floor, he knelt behind Cormac, stuffing himself inside just enough to knock on the door—to make Cormac stiffen with anticipated pain.

“Does that hurt yet?” Andrew murmured.

Cormac shook his head.

Andrew pushed in a little more. The squeeze on his member was breathtaking, which meant the violation surely caused Cormac pain.

“How about now?”

“Keep going….”

“You didn’t answer the question. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah. I don’t care.”

“In a minute.” Andrew moved against the barrier, exciting himself so much, he bit back a groan. “Tell me the truth. What have you put up there?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Andrew pushed so hard and so suddenly, the other man winced. “You’ve sat on a butt plug or stuck a dildo inside yourself. Admit it.”

“Just… just my finger. Last night,” Cormac gasped.

“Why?”

“Thinking of you. Wanting you. Please… do it….”

“I will. Now take a deep breath. Give yourself a minute.” Pulling out, Andrew spoke to cover the sound as he ripped the condom open. Fitting the lubed barrier in place, he held himself at ready with his right hand while gently touching Cormac with his left. “Sure about this?”

“Yes. Oh, God, yes….”

Grasping Cormac’s waist, Andrew pressed hard, sheathing himself with ease. Crying out softly, Cormac tried rising to a kneeling posture. Andrew clapped a hand around the other man’s neck, pushing him down again.

“Hands and knees! Remember your place!” Even as Andrew said it, he was losing himself to that instinctive motion, to an impulse as old as humankind. At this pace, as hard and fast as he could go, Andrew knew he couldn’t last long, but all self-restraint had fled. Even so, it was Cormac who came first, shuddering all over. Swept away, Andrew heard himself whimper, the sound as distant as events on some other planet. He wanted to flood the other man, to make a primal exchange only two men could fully understand. This time the condom did its job, but it occurred to Andrew that perhaps he and Cormac were evolving past that stage. Maybe next time, or the time after, a new understanding would exist between them?

By the time they climbed into bed, it was three o’clock, less than four hours until dawn. Andrew reopened the drapes to let in the starlight, allowing him to watch the other man’s face as they lay side by side. This version of Cormac was Andrew’s favorite: post-coital and relaxed to the bone, hair mussed and eyelids at half-mast.

“I have to be careful,” Andrew murmured, cupping Cormac’s cheek in his hand. It had already grown rough in preparation for the next day’s shave.

“You
were
careful.” Cormac gave Andrew a lazy smile. “I expected a battering ram. It would have hurt like hell, but I was ready. Instead, you did the stealth lube job and I’m hardly sore at all.”

“Not that.” Andrew wriggled closer. Now they were truly face to face, nothing but comingled breath separating their lips. “I have to be careful of you. I’m falling in love with you.”

At those words, Cormac seemed to stop, everything freezing. His eyes didn’t blink, his chest didn’t move. Andrew had the idea if he grabbed the other man’s wrist and squeezed it, no pulse would beat within. Then Cormac unfroze, coming back to himself, and when he spoke, only his voice betrayed the depth of his emotion.

“You don’t have to be careful with me. I’ve loved you since that first time. Maybe even before.”

Andrew didn’t pull his hand away. “You live three thousand miles away.”

“I’ll rack up Frequent Flier miles.”

“You’re in the closet. I don’t know if I can handle that. I’ve already come out as bi to my sister. It’s just a matter of time before everyone knows about me.”

Cormac blinked. “But I thought you wanted an acting career. Leading men still have to pretend to be straight. In movies, at least… dramatic roles….”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time I replaced that dream with one that might actually come true. There are plenty of other things I can do,” Andrew said. “I’m not a bad writer. And no one cares if a writer is gay, straight, or bisexual. But how can we be together when one of us is completely open and the other is completely closeted?”

“Hey.” Cormac pulled Andrew close. “This is all new to me, but give me time. I’ll find a way to make this work.” He kissed Andrew, slowly and sweetly. “I won’t let you down. I love you, Andrew. I love you.”

* * *

The next day ended all too quickly. Andrew and Cormac never had time for a carnal episode in the Jacuzzi, which to Andrew felt like a criminal omission. However, everyone squeezed in a Sunday morning swim in the heated pool, then enjoyed a decadent brunch that included pancakes, goose liver pâté, blueberry compote, and mimosas. Andrew hugged all the females twice and took a final, longing stare at the house before forcing himself into Cormac’s rental car. This time Cormac drove, the route seemed gray and miserable, and they reached LaGuardia before Andrew had finished mourning. Leaving the comfort of the Laguire home was bad enough; sending Cormac back to California was perfectly miserable.

“Call me tomorrow,” Andrew told the other man, trying to sound unaffected.

“I will. Hey, maybe I can get back next weekend. There’s always some environmental fête or other in New York City. All I have to do is find one, and I’ll have the perfect excuse. Besides, I’d like to see Marie again. And meet your mother. I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” In LaGuardia’s busy concourse, Andrew restrained himself from all the things he wanted to do, like throwing his arms around Cormac’s neck and kissing him until they were both hard again. The morning’s post-shower, pre-shave quickie, best known by the
Kama Sutra’s
designation, #69, had worn off, leaving Andrew hungry for Cormac all over again.

“Mind you, Mom’s no dummy. If we don’t tell her the truth, she’ll figure it out in nothing flat,” Andrew warned. “My dad’s the only man who ever fooled her.”

“We’ll tell her. Maybe not right away, but eventually. I promise.” Cormac lowered his voice. “I love you, Andrew.”

Andrew caught his breath. For a second he thought it wouldn’t come to him, not sincerely, and he’d be forced to nod or look away or otherwise prevaricate. But then he felt the emotion, weak and newborn but indisputably real. “I love you, Cormac.”

Cormac’s grin took his breath away. “Then I have everything I’ll ever need.”

* * *

The afternoon was nothing special. Andrew bought groceries, made himself a pot of spaghetti, and ate a plate while working on his gay-for-pay manuscript. After some TVLand reruns, he went to bed around ten o’clock. When his mobile started ringing after midnight, Andrew was so deeply asleep, it had to stop, go to voicemail, and restart three times to rouse him from his slumber.

“Marie?” He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice.

“I’m okay. It’s not about me.” Coughing twice, Marie cleared her throat. “This damn cough’s keeping me up, so I’ve been channel surfing. Have you seen CNN?”

“No. Why?”

“Turn it on. Now.”

Groaning, Andrew maneuvered himself out of bed and lurched to the living room. Snapping on the TV, he managed to find the twenty-four hour news station, thinking of 9/11, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the O.J. Simpson low-speed chase. Instead, Andrew saw footage of at least ten reporters in an airport baggage claim, crowded around a tired, rumpled politician. And that politician was Cormac Donovan.

“—condone what Rep. Fontaine has done?” a woman demanded, thrusting her microphone in Cormac’s face.

“I—no. Of course not.” Cormac cast a glance directly at the camera before forcing his gaze back to the reporter. “Martin’s a family man. He’s broken faith with his wife. But what happens between two people in a marriage is none of my business. I don’t—”

“He’s been your mentor since the start of your career,” a man called. “Did you know he had a history with male prostitutes going back to 2002?”