Chapter 17

 

 

 

 

Satisfied with his day’s work, Donovan swiveled his desk chair to glance at Sam, who was lifting a new canvas onto his easel. “I think I want to invite my dad over for dinner one night soon. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. Go for it, but remember, no expectations.”

“Right.”

It had been a month since he’d moved out of his father’s place. He’d seen Raymond briefly a few times when he’d returned to the Manhattan apartment to collect more of his things, and while the visits had been reasonably cordial, they were also strained. Sam had cautioned him that his dad might never be fully able to accept all the changes in his son, but that didn’t mean they should stop trying. “He loves you, and that’s the first and most important step toward reconciliation. I know it’s hard, but give him the space he needs to adjust. Do keep reaching out, though. Let him take baby steps.”

Donovan placed the call and waited for his father to answer. He could visualize Raymond sitting in his favorite chair, a law journal on his lap, the TV murmuring nearby. “Hi, Dad. Everything good?”

“Everything’s well enough, thank you,” Raymond said somewhat stiffly. “How is the book coming along?”

“Really well, thanks. It was kind of tough to get started, but I sent the first three chapters to my editor and she offered some very helpful suggestions and criticisms. I should be done with the rough draft by the end of this month.”

Raymond made a sort of harrumphing noise that Donovan chose to take as approval. He pushed on. “Listen, the reason I called was that I—that Sam and I—wanted to invite you to dinner. The place is really coming together, and we’d love to have you over to share a meal with us. Maybe this Friday around seven?”

There was a long pause. Donovan glanced again at Sam, who was mixing paints on his palette. As if feeling Donovan’s gaze on him, Sam turned to him and flashed an encouraging smile.

“Dad?”

“Yes. All right. I’ll come to dinner.” He didn’t sound especially enthusiastic, but at least he hadn’t flatly refused.

“Great,” Donovan said, not trying to hide his happiness. “I’ll send you the exact address in a text. You can park on the street in front of the building. You shouldn’t have a problem finding a space. There’s no doorman or anything, so just let me know when you’ve arrived and I’ll come down to get you. See you soon.”

 

On Friday, Donovan took the morning off to grocery shop for the upcoming dinner. He was going to make his mother’s lasagna recipe, along with a salad and garlic bread. When he returned from shopping, Sam was, as always, hard at work on another canvas. The guy was incredibly productive and focused as he worked toward his second solo show, which was scheduled for March, only four months away.

Donovan went to work in their kitchen. They had bought a larger refrigerator than the college dorm thing Sam had first acquired, along with a decent oven with stovetop and a large wooden island with cabinets beneath to store their dishes, pots and pans. When he had the lasagna assembled and ready for baking and the garlic butter made, he moved around the large loft space, dusting, sweeping and tidying.

The place had come together nicely. They’d hung several of Sam’s large canvases of beautifully painted scenes of their private island over the concrete block walls between the large windows. They’d created a nice sitting area complete with the futon now placed across from two comfortable chairs, a coffee table between them. They’d further partitioned the bedroom area, and bought a real bed. They were doing more than just living together. They were creating a home.

When he was done with his tasks, including making the salad and a homemade dressing for it, it was still only two o’clock. Five hours to go. The initial expectant excitement of having his father over was giving way to nervous jitters.

“You haven’t stopped moving since you got up this morning,” Sam commented as he peeled off his paint-spattered T-shirt and lifted his arms in a sexy stretch. “I think a break is definitely in order. Get naked and meet me in the bedroom. That’s not a request,” he added in a low, sexy purr, his words sending an instant jolt of desire through Donovan’s cock.

Donovan eagerly complied, pulling off his clothing and dropping it in a heap beside the bed. He lay down, his hands behind his head, his cock already hard as iron and ready for his lover.

Sam appeared a moment later from around the screen. As Donovan watched, Sam shucked off his jeans and underwear. His long, thick cock popped out, perpendicular to his flat belly. His eyes were hooded with lust. He lay down beside him and Donovan took him into his arms. They kissed for several long, lingering moments. When they parted, Donovan whispered huskily, “I want you inside me.”

They’d been tested together for any STDs and had both been given a clean bill of health. Since they were monogamous, they had stopped using condoms for anal sex, and the experience was all the more intense because of that.

Sam nodded and reached for the tube of lubricant they kept beside the bed. Donovan started to get on his hands and knees, but Sam stopped him. “I want to do it differently today. I want to be face-to-face while I make love to you.”

“Okay,” Donovan said slowly, not exactly sure how that would work, but ready for anything.

“Lie on your back,” Sam instructed, “knees up, feet flat on the bed.”

As Donovan complied, Sam moved down and crouched between Donovan’s bent legs. He smeared the lubricant over Donovan’s puckered hole, and pressed a finger inside. Donovan sighed his pleasure as Sam slowly, carefully moved first one finger and then two inside him.

After a while, Sam withdrew his hand. Donovan’s cock pulsed with need as he watched Sam smear more lube on the head of his own thick, hard shaft. Then he positioned himself between Donovan’s knees. “Arch your hips up a little,” he directed. “Since this is a new angle for you, I’ll go slow, and you let me know if I’m hurting you.”

Donovan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His heart hammered in his chest and he drew in a sharp, sudden breath as Sam pressed the fat head of his cock between Donovan’s splayed ass cheeks.

“Relax, my love,” Sam crooned, stroking Donovan’s face. “I’m going to make love to you, sexy boy.” As he pressed deeper inside, he took Donovan’s shaft in his hand.

It throbbed and pulsed in Sam’s grip, and Donovan moaned with pleasure, lust and raw need. “Yes,” he breathed. “Do it, Sam. Fuck me. I want it. I need it.”

Donovan tried to keep his eyes open and focused on Sam’s handsome face as Sam swiveled and thrust inside him. He looked so fucking hot, his lithe, strong body lightly sheened in sweat, his pupils dilated with lust. As Sam fucked him, he stroked and pumped Donovan’s cock. The dual sensations were wildly intense—heaven on earth.

He began to pant, his eyes finally fluttering shut as he gave himself over completely to the powerful experience. Sam stiffened and gave a small, sharp cry as he ejaculated deep inside Donovan. Aroused beyond measure, Donovan spurted ribbons of pearly seed over his stomach and chest. After a moment, Sam lowered himself over Donovan. Donovan reached for him, pulling him into a tight embrace as their lips met in an impassioned kiss…

~*~

Donovan’s phone dinged and he glanced down at the screen. “My father’s here. I’ll run down and bring him up. Check on the bread, will you? I don’t want it to burn. Oh, and open the wine so it can breathe.”

“I will,” Sam assured Donovan with an indulgent smile. Aside from the delicious and intense respite of their lovemaking that afternoon, Donovan had been a bundle of nerves the whole day. Sam fervently hoped things went well tonight. He was proud of Donovan for continuing to reach out to his father without compromising his own principles.

The place was tidy and smelled wonderful from the baking lasagna and buttery garlic bread. Sam went over to the oven and peeked in. Everything was fine. He found the corkscrew in the drawer and picked up one of the bottles of cabernet Donovan had brought home that morning. He uncorked it and set it down on the island countertop.

He surveyed the kitchen table with a smile. They’d hidden the bright red Formica with a thick white tablecloth, and set out the cool set of actual silverware they’d bought for next to nothing at a flea market and polished back to its original silvery shine. Everything was ready and perfect. They’d done their best to welcome Raymond McNair into their home. How he chose to behave once he got there was up to him.

The two men came to the door a moment later, Raymond slightly out of breath from having climbed the three flights of stairs, as the elevator of the old warehouse building was broken, as usual. Donovan took his father’s coat and hung it on the coat rack near the door.

“This is it,” Donovan said with a smile, waving his arm around the large space. He appeared relaxed, but Sam could feel his nervousness.

Sam moved closer to the pair and held out his hand to Raymond. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. After just the slightest hesitation, Raymond accepted Sam’s hand and crushed it as he had the first time they’d met, making a mumbling noise that Sam chose to take as something positive.

“Let me just check the bread,” Donovan said, rushing toward their kitchen area. Glancing back at Sam, he added, “Did you open the wine?”

“I did.” Turning to Raymond, Sam said, “Would you like a glass of wine, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes. Yes, that would be good, thanks.”

Sam retrieved the open bottle and snagged a wine glass from the table. He poured a glass and handed it to Raymond. Then he poured two more glasses and gave one to Donovan, who was still in the kitchen, poking at the lasagna. “Relax, sweetie,” Sam whispered. “It’s all good.”

Donovan took the glass and drained over half of it in a single gulp. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right,” he said, flashing a nervous smile. They moved together back into the main area of the loft.

Raymond was standing in front of a seascape Sam had painted from his memories aboard the ship that first time he’d encountered Donovan. It had taken him a long time to get the colors just exactly right, with the aquamarine blending into azure and then fading into royal blues at the horizon. He’d placed two white seagulls wheeling together in the sky, the sunlight glinting on their feathers. He was quite pleased with the result and would include the work in his upcoming show.

“This is very good,” Raymond said. He turned to Sam. “You did this?”

“I did,” Sam admitted with a smile.

“He did all the artwork on the walls,” Donovan said, the pride in his tone warming Sam down to his toes. “Sam is working hard toward his next solo show, which is in March.”

“You’re industrious,” Raymond said approvingly as he turned slowly in place, taking in the various canvases on the walls. “You work here?”

“Yes. That’s my studio area right there just beyond those screens.”

“We found these partition screens at an Asian thrift shop in Queens, believe it or not,” Donovan said, pride in his voice. He led Raymond beyond the screens into their work area. “You can’t tell now because it’s dark, but we get great southern and eastern exposure through these windows. It’s great for Sam’s studio. And I work over here.”

They moved to Donovan’s L-shaped desk, which contained his laptop, a printer and piles of pages he’d printed out to edit before submission. When Sam had asked why he didn’t just read the words on the screen, he’d explained he caught typos better on the printed page.

There were also several framed photographs, including one of Donovan and Sam together on the Brooklyn Bridge, both of them laughing. Raymond stared at that one for a long moment, and then his gaze shifted to a large black and white photo of Donovan’s parents. The photo had been taken, Donovan had told Sam, when the couple was in their early twenties. They looked very young and very happy. Like Sam and Donovan, they were also laughing in the picture, their heads close together as if they shared a special secret.

Raymond picked up the older photo and stared at it for a long time. “Ella,” he said softly. Then, turning to Donovan, he said, “I haven’t seen this photo in years. I didn’t realize you had this.”

“I had it at my office,” Donovan said with a sad smile. “I chose it out of one of Mom’s albums just after she died. I love how happy the two of you looked in that photo.”

“We had only known each other a few months when that was taken,” Raymond replied, still looking down at the photo. He glanced up and Sam saw there were tears in his eyes. “I was in my first year of law school when we met. We’d actually been set up on a blind date by two well-meaning friends. I was prepared to suffer through it and then be on my way, but I was smitten from the first moment I laid eyes on her. When you fall in love like that, it’s like an arrow goes right through your heart. You know it’s for real and you know it’s for keeps.”

“Yes,” Donovan said softly, moving closer to Sam. “I know the feeling.”

Raymond set the picture carefully back onto the desk and turned to face them. He looked slowly from Donovan to Sam and then back to Donovan. “Are you happy, son?”

“Yes, Dad. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Raymond nodded slowly. “Okay, then.” He smiled—a genuine smile—and suddenly Sam could see the resemblance between father and son. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”