With breakfast a heavy lump in his stomach—questioning why he’d had eggs Benedict did him little better than wondering why he’d eaten both muffins and then snagged a piece of Simon’s toast to mop up the rest of the hollandaise sauce—Frank followed Simon’s trim damn ass around the upper floor of the main house. Simon ducked into each room, hummed softly to himself, made notes, and snapped pictures with his phone. Then on to the next one.
When he reached the end of the hall, he turned around, seemingly prepared to peek behind every door on the way back. Instead, he stopped and smiled at Frank. “Looks good on you,” he said.
“What?”
“Happiness.”
Frank made a rude noise in his throat and then ruined it all by asking, “What makes you think I’m happy?” Scowling, he tried again. “What makes you think I’m any happier today than I am on any other day? I live a charmed life, after all.”
Simon’s mouth quirked gently into an annoying half smile.
Straightening his spine did little to lessen the weight in Frank’s gut. He did it anyway. “I’m not the one who has turned all domestic in his old age.”
“Only because your house is about to fall down around your ears.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Close. Why have you never brought me here before? We’ve been to Cape May at least a dozen times.”
“We’ve been to Cape May six times. Anyway, Cape May is quaint. This place is a disaster.”
“A beautiful disaster.” Simon made a note on his phone. “It’s not going to be cheap, what you and Tom want to do here.”
“I know.”
Simon looked up and . . . just looked. Pinned Frank to the wall with intense scrutiny. “How did I never know you had a secret self?”
“What?”
“Tom, this house.”
“You knew about both.”
“I didn’t know how much you still cared. You seemed happy, Frank. You were always smiling, flirting. The life of every party. You were the wind that blew through my doldrums more times than I can count.”
“Listen to you getting all poetic.”
“Frank.”
“What? My happiness has never been your job.”
“Of course it has.”
“I have no regrets, Simon. I’ve achieved all I set out to achieve. More, even. I’ve been writing my own ticket in the most literal sense for the past ten years.”
“And yet you’re prepared to give all of that up to renovate a family resort in the Poconos. What about your writing, Frank? The travel, the parties.”
“What about this much-vaunted happiness you were just flapping about?”
“I know how seriously you take your career.” Simon’s consternation deepened. “I wish I knew how to advise you.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking, because on the one hand you’re warbling on about how happy I seem, while on the other you seem worried about my career.”
“Has he told you what happened that night? Why he punched you?”
Ah . . . Sucking in a short breath, Frank held it until his lungs ached lightly with the expansion. Then he let it go, his chin dipping into a quick nod.
“What did he say?” Simon asked.
“He hasn’t. I wondered what you were getting at, was all.”
“Frank . . .”
Frank held up his hands. “Does it really matter? After all these years?”
“Is that what he asked you?”
Damn it.
“Frank, he’s asking you to put—”
“He’s not. I offered. This is my inheritance, and this is what I want to do with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“You said I looked happy!”
“Not at the moment, you don’t.”
Frank backed up a step, shaking his head, and went to turn away. Simon caught his shoulder, halting his progress, and wrapped his hand around the back of Frank’s neck. Then he was right there, pulling Frank into—
“Is this a hug?”
“I know it’s not a thing we generally do.”
Bewildered, Frank shifted slightly so that the loose embrace was less sideways and more natural. “Why are you hugging me?”
“Because I love you, you idiot, and because I don’t know how else to tell you.”
“Words would have been fine.” Frank extricated himself from Simon’s odd little hug, but kept a hold of Simon’s hands. “Should we talk about you?”
“I’m fine. You’ve been there every time I needed you, Frank. I’m trying to do the same for you.”
Frank exhaled slowly. Squeezed Simon’s hands and let go. “Remember when you moved to Pennsylvania and I went on about how brave you were, upping sticks and crossing a border? Starting again on your own. A new business, a new town. I was so envious.” He felt a wistful smile edge across his mouth. “I love my work. I love what I do. But I’m tired of the travel and I’m tired of pleasing other people. This is my opportunity to please myself, and the best part is I can do this and keep writing. I can write about this and plan to. And if this fails, I can write about that. But in the meantime, I get to actually do something instead of watching other people and . . .”
And that was it, Frank realized. He hadn’t put the notion into words until now, but that was exactly why he wanted to do this. A part of it was for Tom, another for Robert, who had left him this gift. But mostly, it was for him.
Frank let his smile widen, and what he felt inside must have finally reflected outward, because Simon’s eyes lit up. His own hesitant smile stretched to full.
“Okay,” Simon said, his chin bobbing up and down. “Okay.”
“So I have your permission to fuck up my life now?”
“As if you needed it.”
Frank snorted. Then, sobering, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “Brian is the one we should be talking about. He’s—”
“I know.”
“Is he making a nuisance of himself?”
“Not really and Charlie likes him, which is not as bewildering as it should be.”
“We’re not going to have to find him a boyfriend, are we?”
Simon barked out a laugh. He patted Frank’s arm. “Brian can take care of himself. He always has.”
Frank wasn’t so sure about that, and he wasn’t even sure why he cared—except for the fact that Brian obviously wasn’t over Simon. It made little sense, but it also made a lot of sense. Sometimes it was hard to appreciate just what you had until it was gone. He glanced toward the middle of the upstairs hallway, to where the grand staircase descended to the main level. To where Tom and Brian were firming up an outline of their plans.
Was that how Tom felt? Was that why he was receptive now? Frank knew Tom still had secrets, but didn’t they all? They weren’t teenagers anymore. What mattered now was what they chose to share, and how—and the fact Frank wouldn’t allow himself to be so easy to dismiss this time.
Frank started at the soft touch on his shoulder. He’d dragged a chair out onto the front porch to think back on the day while watching color bleed from the sky. Sunset was burning a ragged line behind the trees, and when he blinked and looked up at Tom, he was surprised at the darkness gathered around him. Night truly fell here in a way it never did in the city, where streetlights threw back the dark as though denying every day its end.
Tom moved around to the front of the chair, and guided by Frank’s hand, straddled his lap again. Frank found he enjoyed the weight of Tom across his thighs and the manner in which the seat evened out their height so that their faces were almost level. He also liked that this wasn’t something they’d done before. It was a new habit, one for now.
He touched the side of Tom’s face, laying his palm against Tom’s cheek. With the sun all but set behind him, Tom’s face was a mystery of dark shadow, but the tilt of his head so he could press his cheek into Frank’s hand more than made up for it. He turned, touching his lips to Frank’s palm, then leaned forward to kiss him lightly.
“You’ve been quiet this evening,” he said, resting his forehead against Frank’s for a second before lifting his chin to press a kiss there.
“Just tired. Long day with an abrupt start.”
Tom shifted in his lap. “How’s Little Frank?”
Frank wrapped his hands around the back of Tom’s hips. “Probably fine.”
“Didn’t hurt to piss or anything today?”
“This is not quite the conversation I envisaged us having after dinner.”
Tom bent down to kiss his lips. “Mmm?”
“Mmm.”
Frank let himself be drawn into a deeper kiss and the further he drifted, the less important his thoughts became. Questions faded into the warm night air, replaced by a happy thrum of blood as his body came alive. Tom’s kisses already felt familiar—the tease of his tongue now anticipated as he flicked it back and forth, inviting Frank to give chase, and the small, pleased sounds he made, as though kissing was the most joyful act.
Which it was.
Before they could get carried away on an old chair on an even older porch, Frank wrapped his hands around Tom’s buttocks and stood, easily lifting him out of the chair. Walking proved a little less easy, though Frank thought pressing Tom against the porch post and kissing him harder well made up for his slight stumble.
Tom pulled out of the kiss. “Nice save.”
“Humph.” Frank backed them away from the post and carried Tom inside, dropping little kisses onto his face along the way. His arms were sore by the time he got to the stairs, but he persisted until they arrived at the first landing. There, Tom wriggled out of his arms and jumped down, only to grab Frank’s hand and drag him up the rest of the stairs. “Are we going to your room because you have supplies?”
“That and I’m not sure sex on the mattress downstairs would be advisable.”
Laughing, Tom led the way to room 206, kicked open the door, and dragged Frank toward the bed, where he immediately began tugging Frank’s shirt upward.
Frank caught his hands and looked down into Tom’s face. He wasn’t sure why he’d pressed pause, and a quick study of Tom’s expression revealed no clues. Tom’s dark eyes were full of want and desire. His quick mouth was crooked into a genuine smile.
Now wasn’t the time for thought. Frank had waited too long for this.
Mentally backing down from the moment, Frank let go of Tom’s hands and reached for his shirt, helping Tom pull it over his head. Then he dispensed with Tom’s. Pants came next. Neither of them was wearing shoes, which should have been disturbing; Frank never went without shoes. He hadn’t been wearing a belt, either. Boxers and briefs followed, and Frank stepped away from the mess of clothes on the floor, determined not to be the man who took the time to fold everything before having sex.
One glance at Tom, naked, crawling back across the bed, was enough to distract him. Frank put his knees to the bed and followed, pinning Tom down as soon as he caught him, reveling in the full press of flesh to flesh. Oh to feel Tom’s skin against his own. The hot, hard length of Tom’s cock against his thigh. Tom’s hands were everywhere, fingers caressing Frank’s back, groping his ass, fondling the nape of his neck, skimming up over his ribs, and finally grasping his erection. Frank did the same. Bracing himself over Tom with one knee and one elbow, he explored the tightly packed body beneath him. Tom’s neat little pecs, the dark nest of chest hair between. The lean line down between his ribs. The enviably flat abdomen. His skin was a study in contrasts. Soft and rough at the same time. Tanned darkly along his arms and around his neck, and the color of washed stone across his torso.
Frank kissed both nipples until they pebbled. Tom’s hiss as he bit each point made him smile. He kissed a path to Tom’s lean cock, thoughts of teasing his way around that no doubt aching point disappearing as soon as he caught the scent of arousal. He circled the head with his tongue, taking his first taste, then swallowed Tom down, lips parting noisily over his delicious mouthful at Tom’s short, sharp shout.
The blowjob was inelegant. Frank was too turned on to think about how to make it good—and he didn’t want Tom to come like this. Not tonight. They’d been fooling around for two days. Now he wanted more.
He let Tom’s dick slide out of his mouth and pressed a kiss to each hip bone. Then he crawled back up to kiss Tom’s mouth.
“Why did you stop?” Tom asked, though the answer seemed to shine from his eyes.
“Because I want you inside me,” Frank said.
Tom’s smile widened. “I hoped you’d say that.”
Grinning, Frank went in search of supplies. Nothing in his suitcase. When he turned toward the bathroom, he noticed Tom had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching him move about the room. Frank ducked into the bathroom to find his kit bag. Tom was still watching him as he returned to the bed.
“What are you looking at?” Frank asked.
“Something I’ve wanted for a very long time.”
“My ass?”
“You, Frank.”
Frank’s heart gave a little leap. Tom’s words felt true and Frank wanted them to be. So why was he still standing here? Chalking up the small interlude to the fact he was naked, vulnerable, and very turned on, Frank dropped the bag on the nightstand and crawled back into the bed, condom and lube in hand. “How do you want me?”
“On your back. I . . .” A flush unfurled across Tom’s cheeks. “I want to make love to you.”
“I want that too.”
Settled on his back, a pillow beneath his hips, Frank watched as Tom uncapped the lube and slicked up his fingers. It was weirdly clinical and intimate. He hadn’t let a lot of men go there. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d bottomed. Any anxiety fell away as soon as Tom put the bottle aside and looked up, though. The wonderment on his face stole Frank’s breath, and when Tom leaned forward, not aiming for his ass but coming up to kiss him, Frank was back on that damn bench beside Lenape Lake. Full of emotions he couldn’t contain. On the verge of tears and so damn scared that his hands shook as he lifted them to wrap around Tom’s shoulders.
Then they were fully involved in the kiss, and the thrum of his pulse changed, picking up, sending tingles down his spine. The first touch of Tom’s cool fingers to his hole was electric and wonderful. Fucking necessary. Frank’s entire self seemed to slip down to that one place, and though the metaphor was crude, as Tom worked him open, he felt parts of himself giving way. One finger was the past, two was the hurt and fear. The soft rhythm, in and out, the pace of their newness. The brush across his prostate the spark—the core of everything that had always been between them.
By the time Tom pressed the sheathed head of his cock to Frank’s entrance, first a nudge, a breath, then a quiet easing inside, Frank felt as though they’d done this a hundred times. More than. It was always meant to be this easy between them, this splendid. He wanted to be joined with Tom. To feel Tom move inside him. Wished only that they’d been together long enough to dispense with that last barrier.
Tom paused once he was fully seated. His narrow hips a perfect fit between Frank’s upraised thighs, his arms straight out before him, a hand planted to either side of Frank’s ribs. He smiled. Frank smiled back up at him, at the halo of dark, floppy hair, the large dark eyes, that pixie smile.
“You ready for this?” Tom asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent.
“Bit late to ask, isn’t it?”
Tom chuckled. Rocked his hips forward a little.
Frank felt his smile winnowing. He fought it, then said, “I didn’t know I was still waiting.”
“Neither did I.” Tom’s voice was the barest whisper.
Frank touched the side of Tom’s face. “Love me.”
He only realized what he’d been asking, what he could have been asking, when Tom answered: “I never stopped.”
Tom started to move then, as though he knew the moment would swell too wide if he didn’t do something. Frank closed his eyes and tipped his head back into the pillows. He let his hands fall where they would, both loosely folding around Tom’s hips. And for a while he simply breathed and experienced. Lived the burning path of pleasure Tom wove inside him. In and out with a slight rock at the end. Images of Tom’s face passed across the blackness behind his lids. Tom’s smile and brightness. Tom as he was now. Tom the man. The man inside him, making love to him.
“Frank.”
Frank opened his eyes. Tom leaned forward, and they kissed in that frantic and breathless way—their lips just catching, their need pulling them together, making their lips cling between kisses as Tom moved harder, faster, his breath puffing against Frank’s cheek.
“You feel so good,” Tom said, and the bland comment was the most wonderful compliment.
Frank gripped Tom’s hips. “So do you.” But he wanted more, he wanted . . . more. He pressed his hands to the front of Tom’s hips. “Can I turn around? I want it harder. I want you to fuck me, Tom.”
The pixie smile widened to feral proportions. Tom pulled out and Frank got to his knees. Tom wasted no time, spreading Frank wide before pushing back in. The stretch was just what Frank needed. He gasped and groaned, ground back into Tom’s thrusts. Immediately the soft tingle that had been gathering with agonizing slowness at the base of his spine began to pulse forward, squeezing his balls into a tight knot. He reached for his dick and met Tom’s hand there. Together, they jacked him in time to Tom’s thrusts.
“Harder, Tom.”
“Oh God.”
The slap of skin became a pleasant sting as Tom drove into him from behind. Balls-deep with every thrust, skewering him, turning him inside out. The angle struck his prostate, sending electricity through his veins. It was the most delicious sort of burn. The pain of being alive.
Tom picked up the pace, thrusting faster. Leaving Frank the care of his own cock, Tom put one hand on the back of Frank’s hip and the other hand flat against his spine. When those fingers curled, pressing nails into Frank’s skin, Frank knew Tom’s peak must be close. He arched back, meeting the next few thrusts with near bone-jarring force.
Tom cried out and stiffened. Then he jackhammered into Frank, his frenzied pace and misfiring thrusts so damn Tom that Frank nearly laughed. Instead he groaned at the feel of his lover coming inside him, thin skin of the condom notwithstanding. He squeezed his cock harder. Stroked up and back, pleading for his own release.
When it came half a minute later, the bedroom disappeared. Noise ceased battering his eardrums—Tom’s shouts and moans, the creak of the bed, his own ragged breath. His body went numb and white light blotted out his sight. Then everything returned on a cymbal crash, and Frank fell forward. His cock jerked in his hand, and he had just enough presence of mind to protect his precious before landing flat on his face, Tom sprawled across his back.
Time ebbed and flowed and finally steadied.
The sheet beneath him was cold and wet and his balls felt empty. “Holy fuck.”
Sliding off him and to the side, Tom echoed the sentiment in his own way. “Jeez.”
“Thirty years, Tom.”
“Huh?”
“We could’ve—” No. They couldn’t go back. Forward was the only way, but his thoughts were a broken jigsaw puzzle. Pieces scattered everywhere. “Just wondering if that’s why.”
Tom cuddled up next to him. “Why it was so good?”
Frank had to get off his stomach. If he fell asleep this way, his neck would hurt all day tomorrow. And they’d have to peel the sheet away from him with acetone. Also, his hand was already tingling. He shouldn’t sleep with his fingers wrapped around his cock.
“Yeah.” Frank made the effort to roll onto his side, facing Tom. “Not sure we can top that.”
“But we’re going to try?”
Frank’s answering grin felt stiff. His face hadn’t quite recovered from that weird bout of numbness. “Further exploration is going to have to wait until morning. I can’t feel half my face, and I think my hand is stuck to my cock.”
Tom started laughing and his mirth was infectious. Laughing in his current position wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but Frank gave in. And though the orgasm had been amazing—better than—this might be the best part. Lying wrecked in a puddle of spilt joy, laughing with Tom.