Goldilocks: A Man, a Jersey, and a Tight End (7 page)

“It’s a short hike from here,” Jim said calmly. “Help me carry the supplies.”

He loaded them both up and then led the truculent, but silent, Scott down a root- and rock-defined path to a small sandy area that seemed almost scooped out of the surrounding cliffs by a gigantic sand shovel.

Scott dropped his pack and looked up and around. Dusk was settling quickly around them, and in the tiny bowl they had entered, it was almost completely dark, the stars clean white dots almost filling the sky above them.

“We won’t have a fire,” said Jim, opening the tarp he’d been carrying. “Besides being against the law, it’d attract attention. But unless someone comes down that path, no one’ll see us.”

A wave chose that moment to heave itself against a strand of rocks some hundred yards out. Scott jumped a little as the deafening crash echoed off all the walls.

Jim grinned. “Not conducive to lengthy conversation, I guess. But we didn’t come here to talk.”

“No?” Scott eyed the things that Jim was busily laying out in the sand. “What’d we come here to do?”

The last had been said a little nervously. Jim strung the tarp from one stake to another and said, “Make love,” drawling the vowels out like some kind of Elvis Presley impersonator.

“What?” sputtered Scott, his face going deep red. He turned away, hands flying out expressively. “Christ, you sound like some kinda Oprah special, man.”

Jim just finished assembling the tent. He brought out the blankets. “Help me with these.”

Looking troubled and thoughtful, Scott did as he was asked. Very quickly, they had a snug tent erected. Thick warm blankets from one edge to the other, the canvas billowing around them, a small sterno Sterno stove casting a glow, and the incoming tide now a deafening roar of wind and waves.

Scott sat in the far corner of the ten-by-ten space, watching Jim. He was wearing cutoffs, and his arms, covered with curling golden hair, were wrapped around his legs.

“C’mere,” said Jim, but the waves crashing drowned out his words. He reached toward Scott instead, making a beckoning gesture.

Scott gave him the most distrustful look imaginable, but Jim just kept gazing at him, hand outstretched, and finally Scott came.

Jim wrapped his arms around Scott and pressed him down into the blankets. Jim physically engulfed Scott, holding his wrists to the blanket, albeit gently, and kissed his face, his chin, his throat.

Scott made some mewling sound of both protest and pleasure, and Jim fastened his lips to Scott’s mouth.

Scott’s clothes disappeared rapidly, his body stroked and explored, kissed and sucked. The scratchy wool blanket, the cool ocean air around them, Jim’s soft warm curling chest and beard hair, his mouth wet and tasting of pot and Jim’s own taste: Scott was so overwhelmed he could think of nothing but the sensations that enveloped him.

Jim whispered at his ear now, his hand busy between Scott’s legs. Scott couldn’t even distinguish what Jim was saying; it was the nature of his voice. Needy, sexy, demanding. His breath warm and wet. His body urgent, heavy, and moving against Scott’s.

Jim’s cock was a weight on Scott’s stomach. Cool moisture rubbed into Scott’s belly. Jim’s finger stroked and circled and slowly penetrated his hole, rubbing something cool and slick there, pushing in and out, penetrating farther and farther. Muttering something mildly obscene against his lips, Jim kissed Scott deeply, tongue taking possession of Scott’s mouth, and pressed his prostate persistently and firmly.

Scott’s entire body thrust up against the warm weight that held him down, his mind full of ocean and need.

Jim slid his finger out and looked down into Scott’s eyes. Then he lifted his body just enough for Scott to roll over. Scott’s mouth inhaled the wooly smell of the blankets that also smelled vaguely of popcorn and charcoal and Jim, his body sweaty despite the cool air around them. He could feel Jim’s mouth and hands on his back, his neck, at his crack, and then the heaviness of Jim’s thick cock pushing slowly and inexorably into him until he was arching, head straining back, Jim’s kisses on his neck, his cheek. Scott turned his head back so he could find Jim’s mouth, kissing him even as Jim’s hips undulated and shoved again and again at that spot.

Waves crashed, and like he was exploding inside and out, Scott crashed, held in Jim’s arms. Safe under Jim’s body, he lit up.

Then he lay there for a long time. After a while, Jim rose, drawing a soft cool down comforter over Scott’s supine body and rummaging in the picnic basket.

Scott looked up and saw a bottle of water and a chocolate cupcake inches from his nose. He grinned. “Chocolate.”

In the lull of the waves’ crashing, Jim said, “I brought fudge too.”

He crawled in under the comforter with Scott and wrapped himself around Scott again. Kissed his nose. Scott reached for the cupcake, and Jim fed it to him a bite at a time, taking kisses between bites. Their mouths were chocolatey, and crumbles fell in Jim’s beard.

A hissing sound accompanied the waves crashing, and the surf’s noise seemed to be abating somewhat.

“We above the tide line?” asked Scott.

Jim petted him, put another dollop of frosting on his finger, and fed it to Scot, who suckled it from Jim just like a puppy. “Mmmhmm. Tide’ll start going out now. In the daytime, people can come around the point at waterline.”

The hiss and dull whoosh of water was all they heard, the canvas of their tent still flapping sporadically. Scott felt his ears were still numb though his body almost floating, and the men still whispered to each other. “You’ve been here a lot.”

Jim petted him. “I have.”

“Guess you’ve been with a lot of guys. No big deal. So’ve I.” Scott snuggled closer to Jim, head tucked under the man’s chin so he could use his beard as a kind of pillow.

Jim let his fingers play over Scott’s golden crew cut, slide down to stroke the tip of an ear. “Not like this,” he said definitely.

“No?”

“Have some water,” said Jim. “If you dehydrate, you’ll get cold.” Jim cradled Scott’s head a bit so he could lift up to drink the water. If Scott had let himself think about it, he would have pushed the image from his mind. A grown man holding and feeding a bottle to another grown man. But he didn’t think about it; he just enjoyed the feeling of being cared for and surrounded.

A soft kiss pressed against his lips. Warm brown eyes looking into his. He wrapped his fingers in Jim’s hair and drew his face down so they could smooch some more.

“It’s nice not talking,” he said when they parted. “I’m not good at it anyway.”

Jim’s eyebrows went up, and he looked down at Scott.

“Not like Brian.”

Jim let one finger play across Scott’s chin. Traced his lower lip. Scott licked that lip, feeling the nervousness trying to sneak up his spine again. Jim’s body, his presence, kept it just over there.

Truckers talked about their girlfriends to other truckers. They talked about their wives. Sometimes they just grunted and drank their beers and let the other men draw conclusions from the set of their shoulders and the squint in their eyes.

Because, you know, nothing lasts forever. And you’re always on the road, and really, what difference is it gonna make if you’re the man who comes home to her or some other? It’s the sort of thing that starts going through a man’s head somewhere up on the I-9 at three a.m. when there’s nothing but three hundred miles of black asphalt and the sound of your truck’s wheels spinning over it to keep you from going crazy.

“Bet you know lots of smart guys,” said Scott. “Me, all I know are rednecks.”

“Plenty of smart rednecks,” Jim pointed out, his voice a question mark.

“Not me,” said Scott. “I’m nothin’ special.” He sat up suddenly and began rooting around among the Tupperware strewn about them. “Is there any more fudge?”

Aha
. Jim wrapped his arms around Scott, burrowed his nose behind Scott’s ear, and didn’t answer. He could feel the man starting to twitch, though.

“I told Paul I wanted to take you away for a while. Just you and me,” said Jim after a long while.

He
felt
Scott stiffen. “Yeah?”

“But he asked us to stay.”

Scott took this in. Turned it over in that odd little head of his. Over and over. Jim could almost see the wheels starting to turn.

“We all need each other,” said Jim. “Brian and Paul and I. We need
you
.”

Scott frowned and ran his fingers through Jim’s beard. There was no quick cure for this. Jim could see that. So he held Scott close, laid kisses on his head, and said, “Sleep, baby. We’ll go back at sunrise.”

Scott sighed and let Jim gather him up against him, winding his fingers and toes and even snuggling his head in so Jim couldn’t have released him if he wanted to.

The slow thud and drag of the receding tide, Jim’s humming little lullaby, and the shaking of the canvas around them was all there was, and Scott fell asleep.

* * * *

“Where is Scott going?”

Paul thought it interesting that Brian had said
Scott
and not
Scott and Jim.

“Jim thought it would be nice for them to have some alone time.”

“But he just got home. I haven’t even gotten to
talk
to him.”

Paul was unpacking, and Brian sat at the desk, printing out a paper he’d written for class tomorrow. Paul paused, hand halfway to a hanger, and said, “You’ve been talking to him all afternoon, Brian. Teasing and arguing and talking.”

Brian poked at a tiny, imperceptible flaw on the wood of his desk.

Paul sighed and set his suitcase aside. Unpacking could wait. He went over to the bed and sat down, stretching out his arms. Brian stepped across the room and slid into his lap without question, wrapping his arms around Paul’s neck and laying his head on the man’s broad shoulder with an unhappy sigh.

“Scott’s got a lot on his mind,” said Paul.

“He always talks to
me
,” said Brian. “Sometimes you guys are…” He shrugged, expressing the eternal impenetrable denseness of tops around the world and through the centuries. “But he talks to
me
.”

“I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it when he’s ready,” said Paul. “Haven’t you ever found it hard to talk about things, Brian? Even to Scott?”

This may have struck a little close to home because Brian was silent, head lying on Paul’s shoulder. He was silent until Paul stirred, gently dragging the tie from his hair. Brian whispered against his neck. “Time for bed?”

“Mmm,” said Paul, mouth traveling to Brian’s temple, to his cheek, to his mouth.

They fell back on the bed and Brian let Paul unwrap the tie of his robe as if Brian were a gift. Laying the sides open, Paul gazed down at his body with hungry eyes. Brian felt like a box of chocolates, and he smiled, opening his arms and legs.

It was slow and easy; they rocked together, taking their time. Brian let his hands travel over Paul’s back, never tired of the feel of those muscles moving, his daddy’s tight backside tensing and quivering as his need mounted, and he hardened against Brian.

“Lie still.” It was a gentle command, but Brian did his best to not move at all. Paul kissed each collarbone, moving to the gold rings in Brian’s nipples and spending time on each, licking and giving short quick bites that made Brian gasp and struggle to remain still. Paul moved down quickly and swallowed Brian’s cock in one go, then drew off in a long, wet sucking motion, then bobbed down again.

Brian couldn’t help the restless movement of his feet against the sheets, and Paul’s hands clasped his legs, and his voice rumbled. “I said. Be. Still.”

A shiver ran up Brian’s spine, and Paul was above him again, his weight on his elbows on either side of Brian. Their cocks aligned, and Paul rocked, eyelids half-closed, bright blue watching Brian.

“Daddy…” whimpered Brian, and Paul sat back on his heels, hands traveling over Brian’s legs and buttocks, finally coating him with something cool.

Brian was unable to be still now. Twisting against the sheets, hips arching, until Paul’s blunt presence pressed against him and then in.

Full and ready to burst, his legs wrapped up around Paul’s shoulders, entire body under the control of the powerful man who now pumped rhythmically against him, Brian breathed hard, skin slick and hot, and that mouth descended on his even as he strained against Paul, groaning. Warmth flooded Brian.

Still gasping, Brian felt Paul withdraw and descend again to pull Brian into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue wrapping around him like one of Paul’s snakes until, panting and thrashing and crying out, Brian came into Paul’s mouth.

Under covers then, he was safe in Paul’s arms. Paul was almost asleep—Brian could tell from the deep rumble of his breathing—when Brian whispered, “I still want to do it.”

Paul’s lips on his head. A reassuring squeeze. “I know.”

“Love you, Daddy,” Brian whispered.

And Paul hugged him close, cheek against his head. “I know.”

Chapter Eight

“He wants to do
what
?”

“Brian has indicated an interest in it and…”

“
Brian
has. You mean Paul has said he wants to do it, and Brian is afraid to say no.” Scott stomped from one side of the room to the other, banging his feet with every step. Since he rolled when he walked and as he was wearing nothing but a white T-shirt, the image he presented was very much like a well-endowed troll with pretty eyes; Jim was having trouble being properly attentive.

Of course, Scott noticed this. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” Jim raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

“I’m not pretty,” growled Scott, though certain parts of him pinked a little as if he were pleased. His cheeks. And his belly. Jim noticed the rosy flush spreading. He was getting distracted again.

Scott crawled up on the foot of the bed, on all fours, stalking Jim, still growling, those blond eyebrows lowered and fierce over eyes just like a tiger’s. “I’m not pretty. I’m dangerous.”

“That’s the truth,” said Jim as the golden-haired body of his boyfriend straddled him, and Scott bent his head to nuzzle and lick Jim’s cock.