Game Over, this is Ted.”

“Is this Ted Olson?”

While I confirm my identity, I sit back in my leather desk chair, the one I bought special after running through three other ones that broke apart if I did anything other than sit in them like a prim librarian at afternoon tea.

“This is Richard Decker, Attorney at Law. I’m sorry to inform you, but Dylan St. John has passed away.”

Even this sturdy chair creaks underneath me as I fling forward to attention. My knuckles whiten under the force with which my hands clamp down on the edge of the desk.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” the attorney continues after the pause has gone on long enough for him to determine I’m too shocked to respond. “But I also must inform you that you were named executor of his will.”

“What? Why me? What happened?”

The words spill out without thought. I’m shocked that he’s gone. I’m almost as shocked that he still tied himself to me in some way.

“Mr. St. John died of a heart attack. It was unexpected. But he came to me years ago to set up his will, and he chose you because he said that you were very responsible when it came to finances and investing.”

The irony isn’t lost on me, but the laugh that I stifle turns into a sob that won’t be held in. My fingers fumble for the mute button, but not before I’m sure the lawyer hears the beginnings of my blubbering. It’s like a leaky faucet, and once that first drip slips out, there’s no stopping the rest of it.

“Mr. Olson?” he asks after giving me a few muted minutes. I unmute and respond with a shaky breath.

“Sorry. We didn’t stay in touch, but when I imagined where he was or what he was doing, it was always a party, living the high life. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Our junior high years were an uneven balance of admiration on my side for him, while he didn’t realize that I existed. I first noticed him in English class when he proclaimed that Meg Murry was a queen and the teacher took him literally and they argued for the next half hour. He never withheld his opinions and I found him fascinating. Once we reached high school, I finally got the nerve to approach him. His parents loved that he was friends with me, thinking I would or could somehow “butch” him up. But the time we spent as secret boyfriends weighed on him. He wasn’t the type to back down or hide. He was always the life of the party, always on the go. It’s what ultimately broke us up. His irrepressible energy got bored of my staid and responsible nature. I think had it not been for my grandmother and the family she was for us, he would have left a lot sooner than he did.

“I understand. In my line of work, unfortunately, I see way too many young people leave the world too soon. I hate to rush you, but will you be able to come out to California soon? Mr. St. John’s boyfriend is handling the service, but there is much to be done to settle his financial affairs.”

Flying out to California. Figures he’d move there.

“Right. Sure. Can you email me the address and I’ll start making plans?”

I don’t remember hanging up or giving Mr. Decker my email address. I think I’ve cried myself numb. And all in my work office, which, truth be told, does not have adequate soundproofing. I wonder how many customers and employees have heard my breakdown.

A timid knock on my door has me calling out, “Come in,” while I scrub at my face to try to eliminate any traces of my tears.

“Hey,” Laura says as she cracks the door open and peeks inside. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I close my eyes and steady my breath, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the flurry of stirred-up emotions that were dormant not ten minutes ago.

“I got some bad news about an old boyfriend.” I’m shocked that the words fell so easily out of my mouth, but Laura doesn’t bat an eye. I never really thought about sharing my sexuality with my employees because until recently, there hasn’t been anything to share. Hell, I worked with Craig for five years before he even found out. “He passed away suddenly.”

She crosses the room in three strides and has me wrapped in her arms before I know it.

“I’m so sorry, Ted,” she says, and though I’ve never been a big fan of the idea of being smothered in a woman’s bosom before, it’s strangely comforting. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We can take care of everything here.”

“Actually, can you bring Craig back here? I need to talk to you both.”

I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Kieran. He was coming over for our usual Monday night dinner.

Ted: Have to cancel dinner. Emergency thing came up. I have to go out of town tomorrow.

Next, I pull up a travel site on my computer and set about making flight, rental car, and hotel reservations. Open-ended. Fuck. I can’t be gone too long. Jonathan’s graduation ceremony is in a few weeks.

I feel like I’m numbly going through the motions. Laura and Craig and I go through the mundane task of schedule coverage as if it is any other workweek. I text Jonathan to help out on the weekends with inventory and he readily agrees. By the time Game Over is all squared away, I get a return text from Kieran.

Kieran: I hope everything is okay.

Ted: Yeah. You remember the ex I was telling you about? He had a heart attack and passed away. And for some crazy reason, he left me in charge of handling everything.

Kieran: I’m so sorry. Do you want me to go with you?

Ted: I would love that. But I doubt your boss would be so understanding.

Kieran: It never hurts to ask.

Now that the focus is no longer on what I have to do, the emotions come flooding back to the forefront of my brain. How could this happen? And I never expected to see him again anyway, so why does it suddenly hurt?

I still remember the day he left. It was around Christmas, almost a year after Nana passed away. I was so excited to show him my acceptance letter to the community college.

“I guess that means no Puerto Vallarta in January?” was his response. He had been hinting for months. When he discovered that my present to him was a watch, an Omega five-thousand-dollar watch, but still a watch, he lost it.

“You forget I know how much you inherited. We had the money. You’re never going to spend it on us, are you?”

I thought those wounds were closed and the scars faded.

Kieran: I take it back. Totally hurts to ask.

Ted: What happened?

Kieran: I’ll tell you over dinner. I’m bringing over Gardentop right after work. If I can’t join you, at least I can help you out as much as I can before you have to leave.

He arrives at my doorstep and sets dinner by his feet, freeing his arms so he can immediately envelop me into his arms. I sob, outside on the front porch for all to see, and he holds me until he’s taken as much of my pain as his slender frame can withstand. When I finally manage to release him, he still leaves an arm slung around my waist, dipping just enough to grab the food, and walks me to my couch.

“Sit,” he says, with a bossy frown and pointy finger. “I bet you’ve been running around all afternoon trying to take care of everything, haven’t you?”

“I have to be out of here by five in the morning in order to catch my flight.” I do as he commands although my legs are still itching with restless energy to do something.

“Your flight is taken care of? A rental?” I nod in response. “Then you’re going to relax.”

Kieran pushes at my shoulders until I settle back into the couch like a normal person, not hanging on the edge like I might have to jump up at any second. He goes into the kitchen and returns with a plate and utensils and doesn’t stop until I have a plate full of food resting in my lap.

“Eat. I’ll be right back.”

I don’t notice what he’s off doing or how long he’s gone. As soon as the scent of the food hits my nostrils and I realize I haven’t had a single bite to eat since long before I took that phone call from the lawyer, my focus is solely on filling my belly. I get lost in the taste of the curry smothering perfectly fluffy rice, and the crisp, fresh lettuce for the wraps filled with spicy and aromatic diced filling. When Kieran reappears by my side, my plate is empty, and I’m slightly embarrassed to have him see me using a piece of flatbread to mop up the remaining juices from the plate. It’s so clean, someone could mistakenly put it back in the cabinet.

Kieran pulls out his own food, a sandwich wrap, and throws his legs across my lap as he eats. It’s so easy and domestic it makes my stomach hurt.

Ever since last weekend when it seemed like we explored each other’s bodies nonstop, we’ve fallen into a comfort level that Dylan would have hated but that I love. I crave. I only hope that Kieran enjoys it as much as I do. I have to trust that he will tell me if he doesn’t. If he needs something more exciting than the man that I am.

“Where in California will you be?”

“Somewhere outside of San Diego. I can’t remember the name.”

He stuffs the last of his sandwich into his mouth, giving himself adorable chipmunk cheeks. After crumpling up the wrapper and tossing it back in the bag, he stretches his arms out wide and pulls up a knee, shifting his other foot so that it is now directly in my lap and not just tossed across a thigh. His heel digs into the crease between my thigh and my crotch, and his toes curl under until they are practically clutching my cock outlined in my jeans.

“You, uh, have long toes,” I say through a cough that catches halfway in my throat.

“You know what they say about men with long toes,” he says, his voice getting husky, his toes grasping with a firmer grip.

“No. What?” My voice cracks on the final question, something it hasn’t done in almost two decades.

Kieran presses his whole foot down, jacking me through my clothes, and pulling a gasp from my parted lips.

“Fuck,” he says, his voice suddenly back to normal. “I was hoping to come up with something really sexy between the time I asked and the time you said no, but my brain isn’t working that fast.”

I reach my hand to grab him where his cock is pressing hard against his jeans. “Could be because all that blood has flowed elsewhere.”

He whimpers as I give him the same treatment with my hand that he has been giving me with his foot. I can feel his cock grow and throb with each tight squeeze I give him.

“Yes,” he pants. “Elsewhere.”

I reach underneath his legs and flip him over so that he’s bent over the arm of the couch, his ass directly in sight. My fingers fumble blindly until they find the fastener of his pants and I lower both them and his briefs down in a single motion. That pale ass, probably the only part of him that doesn’t have freckles, on display makes my mouth water. So, I do what any reasonable person would. I bite it.

“Ow! Nngh.” His protest quickly turns into a moan when I lick the spot all better. I can’t resist and continue my ministrations all across both cheeks, scraping my beard, kissing and licking the prickling skin, until he shivers from over-sensitization.

Only then do I spread his cheeks and lick a stripe up his crack, from taint to top.

Kieran shouts and his grip slips from the arm of the couch. Thankfully his other arm holds him in place as I begin my feast. Kieran has a tiny ass, nothing like the round bubbles I call a butt, but it is absolutely perfect for his frame and his size. And it allows for maximum penetration. I can get my tongue as deep as my mouth will allow as I stroke the silky inside of his hole and push my saliva as deep into him as I can.

I reach to my wallet for a condom, but I don’t have any lube. Kieran whines at the loss, but I run the few steps to the kitchen and return with a tub of coconut oil. A quick swipe of my fingers into the jar, and I push two thickly covered fingers into his hole.

“Ahhh,” he moans as I stroke my fingers in and out, crooking them just right. Trying to put on a condom one-handed, and the wrong hand at that, though, is too much of a challenge, and I have to withdraw from the warm depths of his body in order to get the damn thing on.

I cover his body with mine, lining my cock up with his waiting hole.

“Hold on,” I whisper in his ear, and his hands go white around the arm of the couch.

It’s hell holding back, but I do it for his comfort and also because I’m afraid of blowing my load too quickly. Kieran is so damn tight.

“Harder. I want to still feel you while you’re gone.”

Holy Mother, that’s all it takes to spur me on. I withdraw quickly and slam back in, the breath ripping from his lungs along with a wail of pleasure.

“Yes. Just like that.” His voice sounds like he’s crying again, but I take his words at face value and continue to pummel his ass with hard and deep thrusts.

It’s too intense, too necessary, and soon I’m reaching the edge of the cliff.

“Kieran, will you come for me?” I try to keep my voice gentle, but the effort of holding back to please him first turns my words into a plea.

“Yes!” he shouts and erupts all over the couch cushions beneath him. The tremors that run through his ass trigger my own orgasm, and I pump two more times to unload into the condom, buried deep inside him.

I wrap my arms around his chest and waist and pull him back into my lap as I sit back onto the couch. We hold each other as our breathing and heart rates return to normal.

“I know I’m being selfish,” he whispers against my arm, tickling the hairs there with his breath, “but I’m going to miss you.”

My grip tightens even as my softening cock slides from his hole.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

Kieran finally stands on wobbly legs and pulls me down the hall and into the shower with him. It’s all business, but he scrubs my back, and his fingernails gently scratching across my body feel so good, even if I’m too worn out, physically and emotionally, for another round.

“What’s this?” I ask once we exit the bathroom and I notice two packed bags on my bed.

“I went ahead and packed for you while you ate. All you have to do is pack your toiletries in the morning and you’re good to go.”

I wrap my arms around him once more. It’s too early to say how his care today has broken the final barrier to my heart and that I’m filled up with love for the man. But hopefully my arms can convey some of my feelings without scaring him away.

“Will you stay? I have to get up early.”

God, the neediness in my voice makes me wince, but I want him to stay. I think I need him to stay at this point.

“Of course. I’ll even make you breakfast this time,” he says. “Hop on in and I’ll join you in a second. I just want to make sure the living room and kitchen aren’t too shocking for when Jonathan gets home.”

Part of me thinks I should fight him and do the cleanup myself, but it is almost as nice having someone take care of me as it is to take care of someone else. I stretch out onto my pillow, asleep before Kieran even returns.