The Rebuilding Year (25 page)

This was what he needed, John thought, taking that one small step that brought them together. This man, and this moment. His mouth, his hands, his touch. The kiss started slowly, as if they were rediscovering each other. But his lips knew where to go, his hands brushed beloved flesh. It didn’t take long for them to be wound together so tight, not even the water could get between them. And Ryan kissed him, and kissed him.

“Turn around.”

John turned willingly, and put his hands on the wall. They’d never done this standing up. He’d been unsure, and he thought Ryan didn’t trust the leg. But John was more than willing now.

Ryan’s soapy hands were all over him, stroking, lathering him. Streams of white ran down his chest, around his dick and down the fronts of his thighs. Ryan was pressed hard against his back. John moaned. Between them, Ryan’s finger pressed into him and then stopped. “No condoms.”

“Do we need one?” John asked.

For a long moment Ryan was silent, his tongue sliding over John’s shoulder, his neck. Then he said, “No. I’ve been tested. You’ve been…celibate. If you’re sure.”

“I want to feel it all,” John whispered, and it was Ryan’s turn to groan.

Slowly, carefully, Ryan stretched him. John bent and spread his legs, to ease the angle.

Ryan took his fingers away and came back with a handful of something slick. “This okay? It’s the cream for my scars.” He eased a finger in tentatively. “Does it feel okay? Maybe I should go get the lube.”

John arched as those greased fingers found him and moved deeper, wider. “No…fine…good.” He couldn’t work his tongue around it but the last thing he wanted was to slow down now. There was a little sting but it got caught up in the deep building sensations and shoved him higher, panting and breathless. Ry shifted again and upended the bottle. Then it dropped unheeded at their feet as Ryan moved in close.

“Goddamn.” John felt the hard-in-soft pressure of Ryan against him. Skin on skin. “That’s nice.” He pushed back and relaxed, waiting.

Ryan whimpered as he slipped inside. There was no other word for it. Then he stopped, barely inside John, hands brushing where they were joined. “So hot, baby. You should see how you look.”

John pushed back. “Less talk, more action.”

A slide, a pull. Ryan was going really slow. It was not that different, John thought. Warmer, less slippery, although that might be the cream in place of lube. The heat built nicely. And then Ryan pulled out and cursed painfully.

“What?”

“Damned leg. It’s not going to hold for this.” Ryan’s voice was shaking. Pain or need?

John turned. He kissed the other man hard. “Get out. Lie on your back on the rug.”

“It’ll get wet.” But Ryan did as he was told.

“Who cares? Add a towel. It’ll be softer anyway.”

John stepped out of the shower, leaving the water running, and looked down at Ryan. Wet skin, dark hair, nice cock hardening again as he watched. He reached for the lotion on the sink and sank to his knees, straddling Ryan’s hips. The younger man’s eyes glowed green. “What are you planning?”

John looked down and just smiled. Slowly, he poured out a stream of lotion over Ryan’s dick. The other man flinched. “Cold.”

“Let me warm it up for you.” John ran his hands over the velvet length, stroking and squeezing.
Yeah, get hard for me.
He didn’t stop until he had Ryan driving up under his hands. Then he worked himself forward, just enough, and guided that firm tip to his ass. For a moment he stopped, looking into Ryan’s eyes. He’d never done this, on top. Then he let his weight come down slowly.

His body spread, opened. He shifted, fixing the angle, taking the burn. Suddenly Ryan’s hands were iron on his hips. Ryan held him still, half impaled. The muscles in Ryan’s arms flexed as he took John’s weight. Then abruptly, Ryan pulled down with his hands and bucked his hips upward. John’s weight slammed down onto Ryan. Pain and pleasure rolled through him in a sweet, dark mix. His vision closed down to black. He was gasping for a breath left somewhere in the lighted world. And he was full and taken.

For a long moment they just held still, bodies deep into each other. John’s hands clenched tight around Ryan’s forearms. Ryan’s fingers dug into his ass. Then they both eased their grip. Slowly, almost gently, Ryan flexed and arched, moving inside John. John lifted and leaned forward on trembling thighs, to give him room. Ryan found a pace, slow and easy, heat and drag that was like nothing John had felt. He fumbled for the lotion and reached between them, his fingers sliding on hot silky skin. Lubrication on Ryan, more lube on himself, no barrier between them. He stroked with his fingers where they connected, and moaned through clenched teeth. He flexed his hips and slipped down.
Oh yeah.
Then they began moving together, a driving rhythm that stole thought, stole breath, stole vision, and filled his world.

His climax was almost unwelcome, shaking his body out of that heat. Or so he thought, until it hit again, and he was coming in thick jets on Ryan’s chest, Ryan’s face, while blood roared in his ears. Dimly, he heard Ryan grunting. The liquid heat in his ass was part of it all. And he slid forward into the sanctuary of Ryan’s arms.

Ryan’s mouth moved against his temple.

“I love you,” John whispered, below the threshold of true sound.

“Keep some lube in the shower, definitely,” Ryan murmured.

John had to laugh, his body shaking until Ryan slipped free.

Ryan held him close. “What, you maniac?”

“You,” John sputtered. “Me. Us. Romance. Lube. Oh God.”

Ryan kissed him. “I love you too, John Barrett. And not just for your ass.”

John could have lain there forever, basking. But somewhere outside those closed doors, his kid might be wondering just how long his dad could shower. “Up,” he told himself.

“We need a shower,” Ryan said as they peeled apart, wiping a fingerful of cum off his chest.

John’s laughter threatened to erupt again. “Fast one.”

“Yeah.”

They stepped in together, sharing lukewarm water and handfuls of soap. John cleaned himself carefully, half wincing and half turned on by the sloppy wetness of his ass and the afterburn of using lotion. So worth it. He wouldn’t change a minute of what he and Ry had done. But he
was
going to invest in more lube for in here. The water was pushing cold as they got out, and John shut it off. Ryan tossed him a towel. “So, babe, how long will that hold us for?”

John looked at him, his chest so tight it hurt. “Half an hour?”

Ryan snapped him with the towel. “Go make dinner, you insatiable fool. It’s your turn to cook. I’ll follow discreetly.”
 

Chapter Fourteen

A few days later Ryan paused at the top of the stairs. It was only six o’clock, and Tuesdays weren’t a bad day for him, usually. Especially after the long Presidents’ Day weekend. But for some reason, he was beat today. He’d dragged himself home after the last class. He had meant to go into his own room and crash for an hour, but Mark’s door was open. Today the kid had started back at school, and then gone to band practice, but he clearly still had energy. From inside the boy’s room, the low tones of noodling on the acoustic carried to him. It seemed like an invitation.

He stuck his head into the room. Mark looked up and nodded.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Back from practice? I didn’t see your dad’s truck.”

“Dad had a thing to fix. He made me take the bus.”

“Me too,” Ryan sighed. “You can’t get chauffeurs like you used to.” He stepped into the room. “Can I sit?”

Mark waved toward the chair. “Sure.”

Ryan sat and watched the boy’s fingers dance across the strings. The tune was soft and plaintive. Ryan rubbed his thigh, digging his fingers in to loosen the tight muscles, and waited.

Mark looked up at him. “Does it hurt?”

“My leg?” Ryan shrugged. “Some. I lost a bunch of muscle, so I have to use what’s left differently. It aches sometimes.”

“Will it really not get better?”

“Don’t know. This is better, though. I had a brace for a while.”
Six fucking months.
“Hated the hell out of that thing. Now I don’t need it.” The doctor, of course, had wanted him to keep using it, just in case. Fuck that.

Mark nodded.

Eventually, Ryan said, “School going to work out, you think?”

“Hard to say. First day and all. And I’m a freshman and a transfer. Lowest of the low.”

“I remember.” Ryan eyed him. “Can you do the class work? It would help your case for staying here with your dad if you can bring your grades up.”

Mark gave a short laugh. “No sweat. They looked at my grades from Loyola, and put me in basic everything. No honors, no AP. It should be easy.”

“Good.” Ryan leaned back in the chair and listened to the kid play.

After a while, without lifting his fingers from the strings, Mark asked, “Did you have, like, acne when you were a teenager?”

“Some. Not as bad as yours. If it’s bugging you, maybe your dad could see about getting antibiotics for it or something. I hear there’s more treatments now. Although I expect you’ll grow out of it eventually.”

“Not soon enough,” Mark muttered. “I get so tired of being called zit-face.”

“Already? First day?”

“I guess I was talking to this guy’s girlfriend. But we were just talking. He told me to get lost. How was I to know she was taken?”

“No one gets taken,” Ryan said, and then flashed on John, last night, underneath him. “In an ownership sense, anyway. He must be pretty damned insecure if he won’t let her talk to a lowly freshman.”

“I guess.” Mark squinted at him. “I can handle him. It wasn’t serious. This gay thing with you guys though. I don’t need anything else for them to get on my case for. You’re not going to, like, show up for teacher conferences with Dad or anything?”

“God, no. Why would I want to walk into a high school again if I don’t have to? Don’t worry. John put me down on your paperwork as an alternate local contact, because it makes sense. It doesn’t make me an alternate parent. Most likely no one at school will know your dad is gay, unless you tell them.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Mark looked him over. “You’re too young to be my parent anyway.”

“Yeah,” Ryan reflected. “I’d have had to be fourteen. I was probably a virgin then. No wait, maybe not.” He grinned.

“Yuck! Jesus, TMI, dude.”

“Hey, I’m talking girls here,” Ryan told him. “Mary Jo Peterson. Red hair down to her butt, face like an angel, brain like an empty sponge.” He made a face. “Man, I had bad taste back then. But she was the hottest bod in the freshman class, and at fourteen I wasn’t thinking much past that.” He eyed Mark. “Did you leave a girl behind in California?”

“Nope.” Mark picked out a dissonant chord. “Not enough money for the Loyola girls. They wanted the guys with serious bank.”

“Well, now you’re in a band,” Ryan pointed out. “Lead guitar is a hot ticket.”

“I guess. Cal’s the singer though. The guys won’t even let me sing backup until my voice quits breaking.”

Ryan laughed. “Won’t be long. Is practice going to work out with your school schedule?”

“Yeah. I had plenty of time to get there today, even with staying late to get all the assignments written down. Band practice is good. Although Patrick broke up with his girlfriend. I guess she dumped him. He was pretty down.” Mark shrugged. “On the plus side, he wrote this song called Bitter that’s really cool. The melody needs a little work, but the lyrics are sharp.”

“Nothing like suffering to improve one’s art,” Ryan quipped.

Downstairs, they heard the door open, and then John’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Hey, where’s my dinner?”

“In the Domino’s Pizza oven where you left it,” Ryan yelled back. “If you call for it and pay them, of course.”

He heard John’s footsteps on the stairs and then the man poked his head in the door. “Here you are.” He smiled at each of them. “Hey, Mark, how was school?”

“Fine,” Mark grunted.

Ryan stood slowly and then turned to John, an eye on Mark as he did so. “You go shower,” he told John. “I’ll call Domino’s.” He laid a palm on John’s cheek and kissed him, lightly and briefly. Mark didn’t look up, but he didn’t wince too badly. It was a start.

By Saturday, he was less certain. Mark was spending a lot of time locked in his room, appearing mainly for meals. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was not wanting to see him and John together, or some other source of teenage angst. Direct questions got monosyllabic answers at best. School was okay. Practice was good. Homework was done. No, he didn’t need anything. Ryan figured they had no choice but to let him stew.

John would have backed off on any contact with Ryan when the boy was in the room. Ryan, remembering past discussions, made a point of brief hugs and occasional dry kisses in front of Mark. Despite occasional exaggerated winces and mutters of “yuck” or “get a room”, Ryan got the feeling that Mark was struggling as much or more with other issues. When the boy wasn’t paying attention, their gestures of affection didn’t even rate a glance. Mark’s studied reactions seemed more a way to guilt trip his dad than genuine. Unfortunately the guilt thing was wearing on John.