Imperfect Harmony (10 page)

Rhys didn’t want to move. Secure with John’s arms around him, he felt safe and whole in a way he hadn’t felt in years—maybe ever. When he was with Lyle, there had been plenty of affection and the exhilaration of first love, but they’d hardly stopped partying long enough to enjoy any quiet moments of peace among the hectic pace of their life. Rhys inhaled, learning John’s scent where his face was pressed up against John’s neck. John’s beard scratched Rhys’s cheek. He smelled of warmth and comfort, with an exciting masculine edge that made Rhys’s heart beat a little faster.

At that point, Rhys realised he was practically sitting in John’s lap. He lifted his head from John’s shoulder to look at him.

John’s cheeks were wet from tears too, but he smiled at Rhys.

Rhys began, “I’m s—”

John shook his head firmly and spoke over him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Flooded with gratitude and the strange elation that sometimes comes after a period of intense emotion, Rhys didn’t stop to think about what he was doing. He pressed a kiss to John’s cheek.

John drew in a sharp breath, his arms tightening around Rhys as though in reflex.

“Thank you,” Rhys murmured against the soft patch of skin above John’s beard. “Thank you for understanding.”

When Rhys drew back, John’s eyes were darker and full of a new emotion that made longing surge in Rhys’s chest. John licked his lips and dropped his gaze to Rhys’s mouth.

Rhys waited, hoping… needing.

John moved his hand to cup Rhys’s cheek. Rhys leaned into the contact. “John,” he whispered, “please.” He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for.

John closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Rhys’s so gently at first it was barely a kiss at all. It felt like a question, a suggestion of
Hey, how about this?
He brushed his lips lightly over Rhys’s; his beard tickled and made Rhys shiver.

When John tried to pull away, Rhys brought his hand up to curl around the back of John’s neck. “Yes,” he whispered against John’s lips. “Yes.”

And he kissed John back.

They were closed-mouth kisses, soft and sweet, but full of affection with a delicious edge of desire that flowed through Rhys as sweet and slow as honey, making his skin heat and his heart beat fast.

CHAPTER NINE

John was breathing hard. He wasn’t completely sure what was happening or how they’d segued from their emotional disclosures into kissing, but he was completely on board with it. Rhys’s lips were soft, and his scent was intoxicating.

John slipped his hands around the back of Rhys’s head. His fingertips grazed the shorn hair there, and Rhys shivered and gasped. Rhys parted his lips, and John took the unspoken invitation, deepening the kiss into something hungry and desperate.

Rhys moved without breaking the kiss, changing his position so he was straddling John’s lap. John moved his hands down to Rhys’s hips. Rhys moaned, grinding down against the hardness in John’s lap. Suddenly John realised he was embarrassingly close to coming in his jeans. That thought was like a bucket of cold water, bringing him to his senses and making him pause and question what they were doing.

“Rhys.” John’s voice came out rough and sounding crazed. He broke the kiss, using his firm grip on Rhys’s hips to hold him still as he pressed his face into Rhys’s neck. “Stop.”

Rhys froze for a moment, then scrambled out of John’s lap, pushing away John’s hands as he tried to keep Rhys there. Rhys’s face was flaming. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing. That was so inappropriate.”

John caught his wrist and held on. Rhys was standing over him now, his cheeks flushed and his gaze fixed on the floor. There was a distracting bulge in his jeans at John’s eye level.

“Rhys, it’s fine. It took two of us. I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe we ought to talk about this before it goes any further?”

There was a long silence. When Rhys finally raised his head to meet John’s gaze, the defensive look had gone, replaced by a sweet hopefulness that made John’s stomach flip.

Oh, God. I’m in so much trouble.

“Do you
want
this to go any further?” Rhys asked. “I know this might not be the right time—for you, perhaps. But you should know, I’m totally up for this if you are.” He gestured between them.

John couldn’t hide the smile that plastered itself across his face. “Yes, I’d like this to go further.” He tugged on Rhys’s hand. “Come on, sit back down and we can talk.”

When Rhys sat beside John again, John looked into the blue of his eyes and let his gaze slide down to Rhys’s lips. They were wet and pink from kissing. John lost his focus for a moment, then realised Rhys was waiting expectantly.

“So?” he prompted John. “You’re the one who wanted to talk first.”

John grinned at the
first
. He couldn’t help being flattered by Rhys’s enthusiasm. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought his attraction might be reciprocated, but Rhys hadn’t been faking it. It was obvious he wanted this as much as John did—physically, at least. Was that all this was? John wasn’t sure. They’d shared so much today. Rhys had seen more of him than anyone since David, and John was eager to get closer to him, but he was afraid too. Afraid of getting hurt. More than that, he was afraid of hurting Rhys. They were both so vulnerable, so raw from their losses.

“I just want to be sure we’re doing this for the right reasons,” he finally said.

Rhys shrugged. “Well… I like you, I’m attracted to you, and I want to do this—assuming that by
this
you mean have sex with you. What other reasons did you have in mind? Or will those do?” Rhys had a determined set to his jaw. It was kind of adorable, but no way was John going to mention that.

“Doesn’t it bother you that I’m so much older?”

“Not in the slightest. Does it bother
you
?”

John hesitated. He wanted to be honest with Rhys. Whatever they were on the cusp of, he knew they needed to be careful with each other. “Only because I’m afraid it might matter to you. I’m old enough to—”

“Please don’t say my father, because my father was thirty-five when I was born, and I’m not interested in technicalities. Plus the last thing I want to be thinking about right now is my father.” Rhys’s face grew shadowed, and John made a note to question him about that later. “John, I see you as a man. A kind, talented man who I’m attracted to. I don’t care how many more birthdays you’ve had than me, okay?”

“Okay.” It was clear Rhys wasn’t going to let John argue any more. Instead, John admitted, “I never thought for a minute that you’d fancy me.”

“Seriously?” Rhys raised his eyebrows. “You’re really hot—if you’re into that whole daddy-bear look. And I totally am.” The expression on his face turned teasing and his lips curved in a sexy smile that made John’s cock start to take an interest in the proceedings again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rhys sidled closer and put his hand on John’s thigh.

John’s heart surged with a combination of excitement and anxiety. “I haven’t had sex since David,” he admitted. “So I’m nervous about this. Plus David and I were exclusive for years. So this feels incredibly new and scary. It’s almost like it’s my first time all over again.”

Rhys’s expression softened and he patted John’s thigh reassuringly. “Same. I mean… I haven’t had sex with anyone since Lyle. But we don’t have to if you’re not ready. We could slow this down, save it for another day?” He didn’t manage to entirely hide his disappointment.

John bit his lip. It was so tempting to wimp out and ask for more time, but Rhys was here now and sex was on offer, and he might not get another chance like this. Rhys might change his mind or find someone else who wouldn’t turn him down. John let his gaze stray across the room to where his violin lay on the table in the open case. It was clearly a day for new beginnings.

“I want to,” he said quietly. “If I stop and think too much about it, it will only make it harder. Can we just—”

Rhys chuckled. “Get it over with?”

John laughed, the tension lifting. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Sounds good to me.”

There was an awkward pause while they stared at each other, and then John took the initiative. He stood and offered Rhys a hand. Pulling him up, he said, “My bedroom will be more comfortable.”

John led Rhys upstairs, and it was only when he opened his bedroom door that he remembered what a mess it was.

“Oh God.” His face flamed as he surveyed the dirty washing on the floor, the rumpled sheets that had been on the bed for at least a fortnight, the piles of books and collection of dirty mugs on the table by his bed. At least the curtains were only partly open, so his shame wasn’t visible in full daylight. “I’m sorry it’s such a shithole. How romantic. Not!”

He went in ahead of Rhys, scooped up a pile of clothes off the floor, and dumped them on a chair. Then his eyes lit on the underwear he’d been wearing last night, which he’d used this morning to mop spunk off his stomach.

Jesus
. He kicked them quickly under the bed.

“John.”

Rhys’s voice and a touch on John’s shoulder made him turn. “I don’t care about the mess.” He cupped John’s cheeks with both hands and pulled him down into a kiss; the height difference was obvious now they were standing.

Suddenly the mess didn’t matter to John anymore. All that mattered was Rhys in his arms, Rhys’s lips moving with his, the sweet touch of his tongue and the warmth of his body as he stepped closer. Just like that, John was hard again, his cock straining inside his clothes. After two years of disinterest, his libido was awake and raring to go. He felt like a teenager again, desperate and awkward, wanting everything all at once but clueless about how to proceed.

He tried not to compare Rhys to David, but he couldn’t help himself. Rhys felt small in his arms, shorter and more slender than John was used to. In a way, he was glad the difference was so obvious. That helped him stay focused in the present with Rhys despite the ghost of David lingering at the edge of his consciousness. He wondered whether Rhys was thinking about Lyle.

John groaned as Rhys worked a hand between them, rubbing at John’s erection through the denim. Then Rhys pulled him, tugging him down onto the bed. They broke the kiss as they tumbled, both still fully clothed, onto the covers. Rhys curled his hand around John’s nape and dragged him back into another feverish kiss.

John was on top of Rhys now, and Rhys spread his legs so John fitted between them. John could feel the hardness of Rhys’s cock against his own and rutted against him. They needed to stop kissing so they could take off some clothes, but the kissing was all-consuming. John couldn’t bear to stop.

Rhys got his hands on John’s arse, guiding the motion of his hips as they rocked together. Then he slipped a hand into the waistband of John’s jeans and pushed inside his underwear. The slide of Rhys’s palm and the grip of his fingers on the bare skin of John’s arse cheek coincided with a moment of just-right pressure on John’s cock, and it was game over.

John tore his lips away from the kiss and buried his face in Rhys’s neck as he came, groaning, thrusting against Rhys, chasing the sensation until he finally stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Um,” Rhys said. “Did you…?”

“Sorry.” John’s voice was muffled. Now the distracting thrill of his climax had passed, mortification flooded in, making his face burn. He’d come in his pants like a fucking idiot. He could almost imagine David laughing at him.

“It’s okay. It’s actually kind of cute.”

“Cute?” John wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He rolled off Rhys and glared at the ceiling, furious with himself for ruining the moment.

Rhys turned onto his side and put a hand on John’s belly. “I don’t know. Cute, flattering, whatever. But it’s fine. It happens, especially if it’s been a while.” He slipped his hand down to cup the softening bulge in John’s jeans. “It’s kind of hot that you were so turned on just from kissing me.”

“It wasn’t the kissing that was the problem. It was the grinding that finished me off.” John glanced sidelong at Rhys.

Rhys grinned. “Yeah, the grinding was doing it for me too.”

John realised that in his fit of embarrassment, he was being a selfish prick. Not only had he come too soon, he’d also left Rhys hanging. So he turned onto his side to face him. “Okay. Well… now it’s my turn to make you come.”

“Yes please.”

“Can we maybe take some clothes off first, though? Because mine are getting kind of uncomfortable. Cooling spunk is never a good feeling.”

Rhys laughed. “So you want to get naked? I’m all in favour. I’ve been wondering what you look like under those clothes ever since I met you.”

“No pressure, then,” John said wryly.

It was the same for him, though. He was eager to see Rhys’s graceful limbs, to discover what hidden ink might lie beneath his shirt or trousers, to see how much body hair he had. If he focused on Rhys, maybe he could ignore his own self-consciousness. God knows, John was no underwear model. He was big, solid, and hairy all over. But Rhys seemed to like him anyway.

Rhys sat up and shrugged off his hoodie, then peeled off his T-shirt. In the dimness of the room, his skin was pale where it wasn’t inked. Both arms were covered in colourful designs that John wanted to study more closely sometime soon, and he also had some ink on his torso.

“Come on,” Rhys poked John in the belly. “This isn’t a striptease. You were the one who wanted to take some clothes off.”

“Okay, okay.” John stood up to undress, turning his back on Rhys in a moment of modesty to undo the buttons on his shirt and slide it off his shoulders. When he turned back, Rhys was staring at him, his gaze roaming over John’s broad hairy chest and shoulders. John resisted the urge to pull his stomach in or make a comment about not having time to get to the gym. He didn’t want to draw attention. But Rhys’s expression was entirely appreciative, so John relaxed a little.

“And the rest.” Rhys flopped back on the bed to undo his jeans and started to shimmy out of them. His legs were long in proportion to his body, a little skinny by most people’s standards, probably. Rhys was pretty skinny all over, the bumps of his spine clearly visible as he sat up and leaned forward to ease the jeans off his feet. John noticed the tattoos on Rhys’s back were of wings, one on each shoulder blade. The feathers were outlined in stark black ink, but the artist had used white ink to highlight parts of the design. Paler than Rhys’s own skin, it made the feathers stand out, looking almost three-dimensional.