“What the fuck is in your kitchen?”

“A sloth. Sheila. Keep your voice down, you might wake her up. She needs a lot of sleep.”

Their shirts were already halfway off. Blane was pressed up against the wall, already fumbling with the button and zipper of Tuck’s slacks.

Maybe the first date had gone a little too well. They’d had great chemistry, Tucker had laughed about some of his zoo stories, and Blane had conveniently omitted some of the quirkier parts of his job.

Like his turn taking home a baby sloth who needed extra help. He’d gotten Gregory, one of his coworkers who lived nearby, to drop in earlier and sloth-sit. Then he’d peeked in on her when he and Tuck made it home after the date. Around midnight, he’d have to get up and check again.

Sheila was just about old enough to stay on her own now, so he had a couple hours before the next feeding. But that wasn’t what he was supposed to be thinking about right now.

Blane had been able to picture Tuck on his arm at the next staff party, neighborhood barbecue, you name it. If all went well tonight…

“Wanna move to the bedroom?” he offered with a sly smile, hoping to distract Tuck. “I hear there are more comfortable things there. Like beds.”

“When there’s a nice wall here? I’m light enough you can lift me,” Tuck retorted, taking the bait as he ground against Blane, then pulled back. “Which way?”

Blane pulled him toward the bedroom and shut the door, then shoved Tuck playfully toward the bed. “Get over there.”

“Yes, sir,” Tuck responded, smirking. “So, do you always smuggle babies home from your zoo?”

“Only when they need TLC.”

“That’s…” Tuck trailed off. “Sweet?”

Now that he thought about it, Tucker had come off as kind of a stick in the mud. He’d worn a button-down and a tie for a first date. Accountant in an accountancy firm, white picket fence, two-point-five dogs or whatever the hell the American average was. Definitely not shared custody of one baby sloth.

He gulped, then redirected Tuck’s attention to their growing hardnesses pressed together through their slacks. “More importantly…”

“Wanna trade? You suck me, I suck you? 69?” Tuck suggested casually.

“69s are so awkward,” Blane laughed. “One at a time.”

Tuck licked his lips pointedly and squeezed Blane’s crotch. “Come on, then.”

Blane was RSVPing a firm yes to that invitation. He slid up the bed to straddle Tuck’s chest as he unfastened his slacks, letting Tuck reach inside to work him out into the open air.

This was feeling less like a trial run for a date and more like a hookup, but hey. Blane was fine with that. He wasn’t desperate for a relationship or anything. He took what he could get, when he could get it.

The heat and tightness of Tuck’s mouth were wonderfully distracting. He hadn’t gotten laid in a little too long, and he knew he wasn’t going to last that long. Especially with the skilled way Tuck worked in his limited space to bob his head, swirling his tongue along the sensitive ridges of the head.

God, I hope I can be that good for him.

“God, Tuck. S’good,” he approved, gripping the headboard and trying not to push into his mouth too hard.

At last, as the tension worked through his whole body, he couldn’t help himself. He pushed once or twice, then gasped Tucker’s name as he finished, shuddering.

It was a good orgasm. Not great, not memorable, but also not a letdown. Fiftieth percentile on the charts.

Getting Tuck’s cock in his own mouth was a treat. He loved making his partner squirm—especially before fucking them, although that was off the table now, because refractory periods were an unfortunate reality of life.

The solid, warm weight of Tuck’s cock across his tongue was pleasing. He licked the velvety shaft, teasing the veins and head before swallowing it slowly. Blowjobs were great because it didn’t take great skill to get a guy off this way, but it felt good for both parties. And it could be intimate, too, more so than hand jobs and making out like teens.

This time, it wasn’t, though. Tuck’s eyes were closed as he bit back sounds like he didn’t want to be overheard losing control. Blane’s interest in him was fading, but he still wanted the guy to feel good. He kept sucking firmly, guiding Tuck’s hands to his hair to give him a little more control.

Tuck thrust hard when he was feeling it, his nails digging into the back of Blane’s head. “Yeah,” he breathed out, still barely audible. “Yeah, that’s—oh!” Warm wetness spilled over Blane’s tongue and he swallowed automatically, sucking gently now until the other man went soft.

He pushed himself off Tuck and flopped next to him. It felt good between them, but comfortable like friends, not intimate. No spark of more like they’d felt before they came to the bedroom. And it wasn’t from bad sex, either. Just one of those missed connections.

“I better get going.”

He’d expected it, but it still stung before he brushed away the initial hurt. The guy’s allowed to not like me. Jesus. “Sure,” he answered. “Want me to call a cab?”

“Nah, I’ll get an Uber.” In his haste to get dressed again, Tucker didn’t even hit the bathroom on the way out.

Blane got naked and wrapped himself in a robe. He saw Tuck out to the dark car at the curb a couple minutes later. “Okay. Cool. See you,” he said, but he didn’t phrase it as a question. They both knew it was just a polite phrase.

“Thanks for the fun night,” Tuck answered, raising his hand in an awkward wave instead of a good night kiss. It could have been from the Uber driver’s presence, but Blane suspected not. Sure enough, his gaze slid over Blane’s shoulder toward the kitchen once more before he nodded and strode out the front door.

Blane sighed as he closed the door, then looked toward the kitchen himself.

The noise of the front door had woken Sheila. She was making little noises, probably hungry.

“Hold on, baby. I’m on my way.”

Blane shelved his disappointment, which was a familiar routine by now. Not everyone was suited for romance. Not everyone clicked. He didn’t need it right now, anyway. He had a rich, fulfilling career and life. He’d forget Tuck tomorrow. Crazy cat lady? More like crazy sloth guy.

And it wasn’t a bad life. He really couldn’t complain, could he?

The ache in Blane’s chest told him otherwise.