Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (25 page)

Collin kissed his temple, the corner of his mouth, his chin, and still kept thrusting, still kept stroking, using Jeff's pre-come as more lubricant, remembering to skate his thumb on the flat skin of their heads. “Come on, Jeffy, come on….”
Jeff's eyes closed tightly, and his whole body jerked under Collin's, and his come splashed, scalding, between them. It was hot in Collin's fist as he stroked, still holding their bodies together as Jeff's balls emptied, and it coated him, slicked him, and he buried his face in Jeff's neck, howling as he climaxed.
Jeff stroked his hair as he drifted down from his climax, and Collin laughed in exultation, their bodies rocking together, marking each other with lovemaking. He felt Jeff's kiss on his ear, his cheek, and he turned his head enough to capture his mouth in a sweet kiss.
“God!” Jeff muttered after the kiss had ended and they rested, forehead to forehead. “How could I possibly have lived without that?”
“Easy,” Collin said, still laughing. “You were waiting for me.”
“It was worth it.”
Collin had to kiss him again. He had to, more than breathing, he had to kiss him again.
“Yeah, Jeffy. So totally was.”

T
HEY
never did get to the condoms, but they did have to shower, one at a time, in Collin's little cubicle, twice.

Collin loved penetrative sex, and he loved making someone come with his mouth—he did—but right now, this first time, he didn't want anything between them, not even the thing that would keep them both safe from another strain of HIV. It was almost like being back in middle school, before he knew what the hell his pecker was supposed to be doing. In a way, that had been some of the best sex of his life—it had been breathless, sensitized, exciting sex, even if it had just been his hand down Mark Kittredge's pants and Mark moaning, “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod” over and over again.

That was the same thing with Jeff, except it was Collin, thinking “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” right up until they came.

And in the end, the final best part was the part that Collin hadn't even cared about until he'd grown and learned to appreciate it.
In the end, the part he loved the most was after their second shower, when Jeff went to put his pants on. Collin let him put his silk boxers on because Collin had put his cotton boxers on (having your junk flop around could be really uncomfortable sometimes), but he stopped Jeff from putting his jeans on.
“Kimmy's got it all under control,” he said softly, reaching out his hand to stop Jeff from getting dressed. “Stay.”
Jeff took a few breaths, just looking at him. Jeff's neck was red, and so were his lips, from being kissed and nibbled and sucked on. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were bright and lazily hooded, as though he was relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time since Collin had ever known him.
“Stay?”
“Yeah, Jeff. Come on.” Collin slid under the comforter and opened it up, inviting Jeff to come in and spoon. “Stay.”
And Jeff did. Collin reached above him and turned off the lamp at the headboard, and Jeff slid in next to him, smooth, silky from the shower, and softly skinned and warm with hairy legs and a smooth chest and sweet, sweet trust that Collin would wrap a strong arm around his chest and keep him safe from everything, everything bad in the world.
Collin did his best.

Deacon: Homecomings, Heartbreaks, and Hospitals

J
EFF
brought Martin with him on Wednesday night, when he brought dinner. Deacon was supremely grateful for the dinners—he'd told people so, and it had been hard for him, because it felt like such a compromise in pride not to be able to do something simple like cook for his family, especially when Crick and Andrew (and the kids from Promise House) were doing all of the real work.

It was just so hard to move.
Every five steps involved a big gasp of air; every time he lifted himself up to walk, he had to get up carefully because of the ache in his shoulder; every trip to the bathroom was like an Olympic event. His most practical use was to entertain Parry Angel, but walking outside to play with her took a tab of nitro and a nap. He'd once thought failure was his worst nightmare, but he was starting to rethink that. Alcoholism was horrible, and it had taken more will power than he cared to admit to decide to never drink again, but this? This was completely outside his control. This was his body betraying him, in the prime of his fucking life, and it wasn't fair.
God, Crick deserved someone who could make love to him every night.
The doctors were making promises, though, and Deacon had learned to live on hope back when Crick had been in Iraq. Hope was what he talked to Crick, hope was what he fed Benny over the computer, and hope was what he sang to Parry Angel every night. His family fed them food and Deacon fed them hope—it was all he had.
So when Jeff came to sit by him and Jon as Amy took over the kitchen for the night before Thanksgiving (which he was starting to understand was equally as important as the big day itself) he wanted to give Jeff some of his favorite dish.
It helped that Amy had recovered from her worry and her grief somewhat, since the night he'd made his announcement and was her spunky little self again.
“So, Jeff, you bring me all this food and then think you can take over the kitchen?”
“Amy, darling, Martin and I just—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… I don't care. Your stuff will get served in about an hour, and I'm going to decide what to do with the rest of this, because I think we may need to use Shane's refrigerator
and
my refrigerator to house all of this! My God, boyfriend, how many people do you think are going to be here? I cooked too!”
“Fourteen,” Jeff said dryly. “Fourteen people are going to be here.”
“What about Collin?” she asked sharply, and the disappointment in Jeff's voice was obvious.
“He's got his own family.”
“Did you invite him over for dessert?”
“No, but—”
“But what in the hell, Jeff. Get on the phone!”
“Amy, he's got—”
“Now!”
“Okay, okay, okay!”
Deacon smiled a little as he continued to read Parry Angel her story. All was quiet for a minute while Jeff went into the mudroom with his cell phone and then came out scowling—but looking excited anyway.
“He's coming—”
“Over the phone? You're good!”
“You are so not funny!”
“I'm fu-ricking hysterical. Now get the hell out of my kitchen!”
Deacon chuckled for real then, even though it meant he had to stop and catch his breath, and Jeff flounced in and sat on the far end of the couch with his arms crossed and his eyes in the attitude position.
“So he'll be here for dessert,” Deacon ventured when Parry's story was finished. “Parry, you want to go get your baby dolls out here? Uncle Jeffy will help you bring the furniture, and you can play.”
Uncle Jeffy smiled immediately and disappeared, coming back with an armload of assorted dolls and rocking chairs and tables and things, and the little girl commenced a secret ritual of her own in the setting-up.
“Is Lila still asleep?” Deacon asked, and Jeff nodded, toeing off his loafers and turning in the corner of the couch so he sat facing Deacon, his knees up to his chest.
“Yeah, I never would have known she was there,” Jeff said with a sigh. “We'll have to wake her up before dinner.”
“Better waking Lila than pissing off Amy. Jesus, Jeff—you cooked like you don't have any faith in the woman.”
Jeff blushed. “Sorry, Deacon. It's just that Martin was sort of homesick, so we started looking into recipes and how many things we could make that were like the cooking in Georgia.” Jeff sighed then and looked a little guiltily at Deacon. “Amy needed to cook anyway, Deacon. You can't eat half the shit we brought—it'll kill you at first bite.”
And for some reason
that
seemed funny too.
“Maybe offer to take it to Promise House. Shane's family is going to eat there at one and then be here by three. A little home-cooked and some leftovers wouldn't hurt.”
Jeff perked up. “Good idea—Martin will like that too.”
“So,” breath “how's that going?”
Jeff stopped and looked at him, really looked at him. “It's going great, actually. The kid's been raised right, just like Kevin. He… he just wanted to know about his brother, you know?”
Deacon shifted on the couch to give his ribcage more room to expand. “So what have you told him?”
Jeff shook his head. “Nothing. He just… just keeps asking me questions about… well, really, being gay. „Do all gay men wave their hands so much? How come Collin doesn't use herbal shampoo? If Deacon and Jon are such good friends, why didn't Deacon turn Jon gay?'.”
Deacon made a sound on that last one that he was sure wasn't good for him, and Jeff made the same sound.
“Yeah, I know—he's tactless and he's invasive, but… it's like he doesn't mean any harm by it, you know?”
“It's just his way,” breathe “to figure out if his brother was still his brother,” Deacon told him. “He figures if he can get a handle on what „gay' is, he'll have a handle on Kevin.”
“I know, I know.” Jeff's face fell a little, and it wasn't hard for Deacon to read between the lines.
“You wanted to talk about Kevin,” he said softly, and Jeff nodded.
“Having Martin in the house is as close as I'll ever get,” he said softly.
“Well,” Deacon said, trying hard to make the pause sound like deliberation, “what do you know now that you didn't know before?”
Jeff laughed a little. “I know arrogance is a family trait, that's what I know!”
Deacon smiled too. “And…?”
“And I know that they were raised to be good Christian boys. They went to church every Sunday, just like I did, and as soon as Martin starts getting hit on, he's going to be screwing everything with an Xchromosome, same as Kevin did with the Ys.”
Deacon did laugh then, and it was a breathy, thin sound.
“I learned that I was lucky,” Jeff finished softly. “Really, really lucky.”
“But not dead yet,” Deacon interjected, and Jeff blushed. Crick entered the doorway at that moment, and Deacon looked up and smiled at him. Crick didn't smile back, not even to make Deacon feel better.
“Who told?” Jeff was asking, and Deacon turned his attention back to maybe the most lost person in his little family. If Jeff was opening up, that was a reason to focus.
“Who didn't?”
“Yeah, yeah—I asked Kimmy to babysit, I might as well have taken an ad out in the paper or had a banner run across the news.”
“Hey,” Crick said, finally walking into the room and joining the conversation, “if the news actually ran a banner screaming „Jeffy got laid!' I might finally watch the damned news!”
“It would do you good,” Jeff snorted. “Where's Benny?”
Crick had gone to pick her up from the airport, and now he rolled his eyes and smiled wickedly. “Andrew was right there to help her with her bags. Want to see?”
Jeff made big eyes. “Oooh… other people's love lives—that's even better than television!” and hopped up to go out on the porch.
Crick came over to Deacon and offered his good hand to help him up. Deacon took a deep breath and gave his hand up, allowing Crick to help him from the stuffed chair, for sweet heaven's sake. Crick was about to put his hand under Deacon's elbow, but a fulminating glance from Deacon stopped him.
“I'm not dead yet,” he ground out, and Crick shook his head.
“Your lips are blue. When was the last time you took your nitro?”
“An hour ago,” Deacon admitted, and Crick hissed out a breath. He wasn't supposed to take the nitro more than once every two hours.
“Man, your color is the south side of shitty. How you doing?”
“Not so bad I don't want to see Benny and Andrew,” Deacon evaded mildly, and Crick grimaced at him, not fooled for a minute.
It didn't matter—they were all on the porch now, even Parry Angel, who had toddled out with Jeff, and lined up just in time to see Benny set her luggage down as Andrew clicked the trunk of Crick's sedan shut.
“You miss me at all, Drew?” Benny asked, her teasing voice floating up to them under an early evening sky of velvet-black. All the men on the porch caught their breath. Miss her? Of course he'd missed her. Every time he'd come up the porch steps, they'd seen his face fall when he remembered she wouldn't be there. Every time he'd played with her daughter, they'd caught the wistfulness when he saw the shape of Parry's nose or of her eyes and realized she was the spitting image of her mother. He'd hidden it well—he'd chatted on the phone with her about everyday things like horses and what Parry Angel had said that day, and probably thought none of the people who came to The Pulpit noticed, but Andrew missed Crick's little sister with the same heartache and intensity with which Deacon had missed Crick.
The only difference was Benny's life hadn't been at risk. That, and Andrew had the family to talk to, every minute of every day.
“Did I miss you?” Andrew asked, rubbing his hand absently on the wiry black curls buzzed close to his scalp. “Not so's you'd notice.”
The three men at the banister all held in a collective smirk, and Deacon hoped Andrew would get this kiss going before Parry noticed that her mama was out there, or his chance would be gone for good.
“No?” Benny said, hiding a smirk of her own. “That's too bad. I missed you every fucking minute of every fucking—mmmm….”
They waited for the shock to wear off as Andrew took her chin in his hand and met her lips with his, and then they waited until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started to respond breathlessly. Then they watched as Jeff waved his fingers in the air with a one, and a two, and a three—
“Awwwwwww,” they all said collectively, and then burst out laughing when the only change in the attitude of Benny and Andrew's first kiss was Benny's carefully extended middle finger. Deacon's jaw, which had been tight and sore while he was waiting for Benny to get home, relaxed fractionally, and the pain that radiated down through his arm eased up.
The kiss lasted, of course, until Parry Angel suddenly realized who was being kissed by her favorite Drew.
“
Mommeeeeeee
!” she squealed, and Benny broke away from Drew so fast he was left stumbling forward so she could run up the porch and sweep her ecstatic little girl in her arms.