Tom gave a start as Frank lifted him away from the couch. Then he wrapped himself around his man, his Frankie, and let himself be carried, hoping it was toward a bed. Confessions were exhausting.
As Frank dropped him onto a large, neatly made king-size, Tom took note of the framed photograph above the headboard. The view from the top of Mount Tammany. It was his, as was the opposing view from the summit of Mount Minsi on the opposite wall. The realization that he’d been here all along, a part of Frank’s life, was somewhat surreal. Or maybe the aftermath of intense emotional overload lent more significance to what were, essentially, just a couple of prints. Nice views. Nothing special.
Frank was looking at him with that single eyebrow raised in a questioning arc.
Tom pulled him down. Kissed him. “Thank you.”
“Whatever for?”
“For being you.”
Tom pushed Frank sideways, encouraging him to sit on the bed. Then he climbed around so that he was in control, nudging Frank backward, putting one knee between Frank’s legs and his hands to Frank’s shoulders. He gave Frank a push before covering him like an inefficient blanket and kissing him—hopefully senseless.
He quite liked the idea of Frank senseless.
Could it really be this easy to move on? Beneath him, Frank moaned softly. His big body seemed to mold around Tom, pulling him down with attractive magnetism. He wrapped his hands around Tom’s back, his palms warm, and enticed Tom’s tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. Tom’s cock hardened in a teenage instant. Yes, it could be this easy. Should always have been. He pressed down and Frank pressed up. The groan passing between their mouths was a combination of hot breath and want.
Once started, the grinding between their hips continued, Tom rocking into Frank, and Frank arching up. As Frank hardened beneath him, Tom shifted so their cocks rubbed together. Constrained cocks, the fabric of his jeans and Frank’s tidy slacks working both for and against. The friction was nice, the constriction something he could work with as a method to line up and press. Nothing equaled the feel of hot flesh to hot flesh, though.
But before they went there, Tom needed to express the emotions swirling through his body. To find the words to finally put the past where it belonged so that he could make love to his future.
“I’m—”
Frank kissed his lips closed. “Unless you’re going to tell me you want me, we’re done talking for now.”
“Of course I want you. Frank—”
Another kiss. “I know. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Then get on with living the rest of our lives.” Frank smiled up at him.
That sounded . . . so good. Tom kissed Frank’s smile. Then kissed him again. He dropped one more kiss to Frank’s lips, openmouthed and light, and sucked Frank’s lower lip between his. Caught the flesh with his teeth. He let go and nipped Frank’s jaw, licking across the nearly smooth skin beneath. The remnants of Frank’s aftershave numbed the tip of his tongue. Tom licked lower, enjoying the quiver of Frank’s throat. Pushing up to an elbow, he started undoing the buttons of Frank’s shirt, dipping down to kiss newly exposed skin. He sucked on the just-visible rise of Frank’s collarbone, and finally, spread his hands across Frank’s bared chest.
Frank didn’t have a lot of body hair. His pale, freckled skin seemed to discourage it, which suited Tom quite well. He rubbed his cheek to Frank’s pecs, feeling dense muscle beneath the softness of Frank’s outer “self.”
Fingers tangled with Tom’s hair. Frank massaging his head—no, pulling him away from a nipple. “You’re killing me.”
Tom tugged free and bit the rosy little nipple right beneath his lips. “Never.”
Frank shifted his hips sideways and rolled, the movement swift enough to catch Tom by surprise. He landed on his back, Frank hovering over him. Frank dipped down to kiss him, then began tugging his shirt upward.
Lazy minutes, hours, nights passed as clothes were shed, nipples tortured, belly buttons explored, ribs tickled, lips trailed across miles of skin. Tom lifted his face from an affectionate burrow in the side of Frank’s hip to discover Frank—on his back, with his head propped up on folded arms—smiling at him, and realized the urgency had passed. Somehow they’d progressed from “toss down and fuck” to “roll around naked and lick every inch of skin” stage. After unpacking and dumping so much emotion in such a short time, it was . . .
“This is nice.” Yep, he’d just referred to their foreplay as nice.
Uttering a short laugh, Frank grabbed Tom by the shoulders and hauled him upward. Tom grinned the whole way, sure he’d never get tired of Frank’s big strength. Frank kissed him. “This is nice.”
Tom landed on his back again, and Frank went directly from nice to hell yes by crouching between Tom’s legs and slurping up his dick. Tom’s erection plumped an extra degree as Frank swallowed him down. He could feel Frank’s throat around the head of his cock. Tom’s hips bumped up involuntarily. Frank pushed them back down, moving his mouth along Tom’s length at the same time, the ring of his lips tight, the flat of his tongue tracing contours that hadn’t been explored by anything other than a hand in far, far too long.
The groan building in Tom’s chest felt like the precursor to an orgasm. It almost hurt to let it free, and then he had to figure out how to suck air into his lungs as Frank sucked his way to heaven.
Tom groaned again. “Oh my God. So good.”
Way better than the fantasy he’d conjured while standing over the bed in room 206, Frank’s pillow clutched to his face.
Frank murmured something, the vibration traveling along Tom’s shaft. Tom wrapped his hands around Frank’s head and . . . didn’t pull. Didn’t pump, didn’t fuck Frank’s face. Oh, he wanted to, though, and it was damn hard to keep his hips still and let Frank do the work.
With every suck, Tom’s self edged through his body, burning through arteries and veins, dragging against his skin. His spine became a highway of sensation, his lower back a collection of tingling nerves. His groin ached and his balls drew up high and tight. When Frank nudged a finger backward, beneath his sac, stroking, beckoning, Tom raised his knees and flung them apart, making his invitation obvious. He hadn’t been fucked in a long, long time, but if that was what Frank wanted, that was what Frank would get.
That first touch to his hole sent a lightning bolt up his spine, halting the downward flow of pleasure. Tom hissed and bucked. Frank stroked him again, gently, and the electric touch restarted that downward pulse. Abruptly, Tom wanted to come—quite badly. Putting a restraining hand to Frank’s shoulder, Tom stiffened and drew back.
Frank lifted his head, letting Tom’s cock pull from his mouth. Tom nearly yelled at the loss of hot suction. He nearly lost it too, which would have been strange and embarrassing. Climaxing with a finger on his hole and a wet mouth hovering over his harder-than-hard cock? Squeezing his eyes shut, Tom fought his way back from the edge. He breathed slow sips of air until the tide turned. Frank shifted above him, removing his finger and stroking the top of his thigh instead.
When Tom opened his eyes, Frank wore a troubled expression.
“I’m okay,” he said before Frank could ask.
“You sure about that?”
“I didn’t want to come yet. God, Frank. One touch and I was ready to explode.”
Frank let his hand drift back between Tom’s thighs, down toward the crease of his ass. “One touch, huh?”
“Don’t. Not yet.” Tom clenched. He aimed a grimace-grin at Frank. “How are you so incredibly hot?”
“It’s a talent.” Frank dipped down to kiss his lips, then rubbed their noses together. “Do you bottom much?” The whisper was quiet, warm, curious.
Tom shook his head. “It’s been a while. That’s why I’m so sensitive.”
Frank nosed his cheek. “Would you, for me?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Frank kissed him again, longingly, but with a languid heat that suited the shift from must-fuck to roll-around-and-talk. Frank kissed his eyes, his nose, his lips. His jaw. When he got to Tom’s ear, he whispered, “Can I fuck you?”
“Yes, please.”
Frank rolled away, probably to collect supplies.
When he rolled back, Tom put a hand on his. “Do you test regularly?”
“I do.”
“Me too.”
Frank looked at him for a long moment, his gaze searching. Then he nodded, and the gift of his trust felt more momentous than Frank hearing out his confession and accepting it. Frank tossed the condom back toward the nightstand and uncapped the lube. Prep became a competition between the dazzling allure of Frank’s mouth over his cock and the sweet press of fingers. Tom learning again—and why did it always feel like the first time?—to unclench more than one muscle. To open his self. To let go. To ask for a pause when he needed one. And, above all else, to be able to give voice to the pleasure of it all, to let Frank in and tell him how good it felt. How raw and real.
By the time Frank hovered between Tom’s knees, the blunt tip of his cock pressed to Tom’s hole, Tom felt as though he’d come twenty times. Exhaustion and elation combined to press his limbs into sharp angles. His skin stretched taut between. In the middle, in the center of his chest, he lay loose, however. Open and ready.
Frank inched inside Tom, the pleasure of feeling him—truly feeling him in the way he couldn’t have with even the thinnest layer of latex between them—far outstripping any discomfort. Frank was careful, pausing when Tom would have told him to continue. Then he was inside and Tom could only lie there, breathing shallowly.
“So full,” he moaned.
“So good, Tommy. You feel so damn good.” Frank moved his hips.
Tom moaned again and closed his eyes. Tipped his head back. Frank bent forward to skim his lips over Tom’s throat, the motion shifting everything down there once more. Warm breath touched Tom’s jaw, floating up toward his ear. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Frank started to thrust and Tom’s world ended. Everything he’d known up to that point disappeared in a rush of sensation. Stars collapsed, black holes expanded, devouring the stuff of life. The universe died . . . and was reborn, surging into being with a dizzying pop.
“Frank!” Tom drew in a ragged breath. His first of a new existence. He clutched at Frank’s hips. Smoothed one hand around Frank’s ribs and up his back. Rocked with him, with the gentle in-and-out motion. Contemplated moving his hips.
“Shh.” Frank’s lips grazed his temple. “Ah, Tommy.”
“I’m having an is-this-real moment,” Tom admitted.
“Me too.”
“We should have been doing this forever.”
Frank grinned down at him. “Yes, we should.”
The laugh felt good, sparking nerve endings in his newly born body, and that shift of self began all over again. The downward motion of sensation—the gathering in his groin. The imminence of orgasm. Only the slight pinch kept everything in check . . . until Tom acknowledged that small pain as an essential part of the whole. Wrapped it into the ball of everything settling low in his back.
“You’re so beautiful, Tom.”
Tom opened his eyes. When had he closed them? He gazed up at Frank. “So are you.” Not just a rote response. Frank was radiant. “You were always golden. Still are.”
“Like brass, you mean.”
“Stop that, and fuck me harder. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
“Darling, you already will.”
“More, Frankie. More.”
Tom grabbed his cock. He barely needed to stroke it, but the feel of his fingers notched everything a single note higher. Frank moved, and now every stroke hit that perfect spot inside. Tom clenched and let his eyes cross. He could hear Frank laughing softly. He smacked Frank’s side. “Keep going. So close.”
“Mmm.”
Hard, faster. Skin slapping. The scent of sex rising between them, intermingled with the now familiar whiff of Frank and sweat. Their skin and their selves. Frank’s breath washed across his face in rhythmic pants. Tom nipped at Frank’s lower lip. Their lips brushed and parted. Breath turned into grunts and the world became a twisted pendulum, the shorter swings coming faster and faster, knocking, almost breaking.
Tom came with a shout, his body stiffening without permission as control ripped through his fingers and balls, shooting out the end of his cock. The wild stroke of his hand became slippery, fast, and completely unnecessary. But to not touch himself right now was unthinkable. He bucked and writhed. Could feel his ass tightening over Frank’s cock. Could hear Frank wheezing over him and then he was yelling too. Frank’s cries were deeper and a little hoarse, as if his orgasm had been long buried, then suddenly unearthed. He slammed into Tom in a way Tom would feel for more than a day. Tom didn’t protest. This was giving himself to Frank. Giving Frank something no one else could. Because even through the cotton wool stretched between real thought and orgasm thought—or perhaps because of it—this was a moment only they could share. This was theirs, uniquely. A climax held off for thirty years. It was love—long and deeply held. It was their future. And it was every second in between.
Also, it was sex, and sex with someone you wanted this much could only ever remake the world.
Frank eased off and out of him and flopped onto his back. Lying beside him, utterly wrecked, Tom breathed until fingers tangled with his. He rolled his head to the side and met Frank’s light-brown gaze. After a mutual stare that lasted a few breaths, Tom let his own gaze roam, taking in the faint freckles gathering across Frank’s cheek. With as much time as they’d been spending outside, he’d be speckled by summer’s end. Tom traced the ginger arc of each eyebrow in turn, studied Frank’s nose and lips. Looked up toward his hairline and frowned at the slightly darker color framing his face. Lit only by a lamp, Frank appeared much as he had all those years ago, even to the color of his hair.
“Was I worth the wait?” Frank asked.
Tom squeezed Frank’s hand and shook his head.
Frank opened his mouth, and Tom leaned in to kiss it shut, gently, before whispering over his lips. “More than, Frank. More than worth it.”
Frank pulled him close, and Tom let himself melt into his lover’s arms. He might never have left the place where he’d been born, but now he felt as if he was truly where he belonged. Nestled in against Frank’s chest, he was finally home.