physical work, and he rarely had a partner, so he was slightly startled to realize how much he was enjoying himself. Taking an armful of flooring out to the backyard, he was dismayed to see how late it had become. He trotted back inside, trying not to seem too panicked.
“Hey, I think I’m ready to call it a day,” he announced.
Chris twisted around to look at him. “You sure? Another forty, fifty minutes and we’ll be done.”
“No, I gotta… I’ve got stuff to do. We’ll finish it off day after tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow I’m busy.” Well, more like recovering, but Dylan wasn’t going to tell him that.
“You’re the boss,” Chris said with a shrug. He stood and stretched and twisted his back a little. Then he picked up his tool belt—removed because it was in the way when they were down on the floor—and buckled it around his hips. Dylan hovered near the back door. He felt like an asshole, just kicking the guy out like that, but he didn’t have time for social niceties.
Chris sauntered by, and Dylan thought he was just going to leave without another word, but then Chris stopped and backtracked a few steps. “You don’t have a TV,” he said.
“Um… no.” Dylan actually owned a television, but it was tucked in a box, and he hadn’t bothered to unpack it yet. He didn’t watch it that often.
“I do. Satellite.”
Dylan stood there awkwardly, not sure how to respond. Chris rolled his eyes. “Do you want to come over tonight and watch it with me? After you finish your stuff. I got beer.”
“I’m… uh… I can’t. But thanks.”
Was that really disappointment he saw flash across Chris’s face? If so, it was gone very quickly. “Whatever, dude.” Chris took a step toward the door.
“Wait.”
Chris stopped and cocked his head a little. “Yeah?”
“Look, I probably should have….” Dylan paused and huffed impatiently at himself. “You do realize that I’m gay, right?”
The other man’s mouth curled in amusement, and he crossed his arms on his chest. “Yeah, I kinda guessed that. Even before this morning’s lovers’ tiff.”
“He’s not my— It doesn’t bug you?”
“Yeah, Backwoods Chris should be gatherin’ his redneck buddies so they can kick yer faggot ass, huh? Or at least runnin’ screamin’ back to his shack before he catches your queer cooties.”
Put like that it did sound pretty stupid, and Dylan was ashamed to have misjudged the man. “I didn’t mean—”
But he was cut off abruptly as Chris moved forward, pressing his chest against Dylan’s, forcing Dylan back until he was pinned against the peeling wallpaper. And before Dylan could gather his wits enough to push back, Chris was grabbing Dylan’s hair in both fists, pulling his head down a little, and capturing his lips in a kiss forceful enough to hurt.
But it only hurt for a moment, a nice counterpart to the sweet twinge of tugging at his scalp. And then Chris’s lips were soft and warm, his tongue was agile as it danced with Dylan’s, and he tasted of rich, bitter coffee.
Dylan’s dick had been restless all day, but now it surged to attention. Dylan found himself grinding his hips against Chris’s, where a heavy thickness met his own.
When Chris pulled away, the smirk was back on his face, and Dylan was slightly breathless. “It don’t bug me,” Chris said.
Dylan gaped stupidly.
Like a cowboy who’d just captured the cattle rustlers, rescued the stagecoach, and foiled the bank robbery, Chris swaggered to the door.
“Chris!”
What Dylan wanted to say was Stay . Stay here, in my home . Or at least Stay inside your own house tonight . But he couldn’t say either of those things, and Chris was waiting, eyebrows raised.
“See you on Wednesday,” Dylan said.
That curl of the lips was already so familiar. “G’night, Dylan.”
Chapter 6
U SUALLY , fifteen minutes before the sun set on the night of the full moon, Dylan would be an anxious, pacing wreck. He would be locked in
“Hey, I think I’m ready to call it a day,” he announced.
Chris twisted around to look at him. “You sure? Another forty, fifty minutes and we’ll be done.”
“No, I gotta… I’ve got stuff to do. We’ll finish it off day after tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow I’m busy.” Well, more like recovering, but Dylan wasn’t going to tell him that.
“You’re the boss,” Chris said with a shrug. He stood and stretched and twisted his back a little. Then he picked up his tool belt—removed because it was in the way when they were down on the floor—and buckled it around his hips. Dylan hovered near the back door. He felt like an asshole, just kicking the guy out like that, but he didn’t have time for social niceties.
Chris sauntered by, and Dylan thought he was just going to leave without another word, but then Chris stopped and backtracked a few steps. “You don’t have a TV,” he said.
“Um… no.” Dylan actually owned a television, but it was tucked in a box, and he hadn’t bothered to unpack it yet. He didn’t watch it that often.
“I do. Satellite.”
Dylan stood there awkwardly, not sure how to respond. Chris rolled his eyes. “Do you want to come over tonight and watch it with me? After you finish your stuff. I got beer.”
“I’m… uh… I can’t. But thanks.”
Was that really disappointment he saw flash across Chris’s face? If so, it was gone very quickly. “Whatever, dude.” Chris took a step toward the door.
“Wait.”
Chris stopped and cocked his head a little. “Yeah?”
“Look, I probably should have….” Dylan paused and huffed impatiently at himself. “You do realize that I’m gay, right?”
The other man’s mouth curled in amusement, and he crossed his arms on his chest. “Yeah, I kinda guessed that. Even before this morning’s lovers’ tiff.”
“He’s not my— It doesn’t bug you?”
“Yeah, Backwoods Chris should be gatherin’ his redneck buddies so they can kick yer faggot ass, huh? Or at least runnin’ screamin’ back to his shack before he catches your queer cooties.”
Put like that it did sound pretty stupid, and Dylan was ashamed to have misjudged the man. “I didn’t mean—”
But he was cut off abruptly as Chris moved forward, pressing his chest against Dylan’s, forcing Dylan back until he was pinned against the peeling wallpaper. And before Dylan could gather his wits enough to push back, Chris was grabbing Dylan’s hair in both fists, pulling his head down a little, and capturing his lips in a kiss forceful enough to hurt.
But it only hurt for a moment, a nice counterpart to the sweet twinge of tugging at his scalp. And then Chris’s lips were soft and warm, his tongue was agile as it danced with Dylan’s, and he tasted of rich, bitter coffee.
Dylan’s dick had been restless all day, but now it surged to attention. Dylan found himself grinding his hips against Chris’s, where a heavy thickness met his own.
When Chris pulled away, the smirk was back on his face, and Dylan was slightly breathless. “It don’t bug me,” Chris said.
Dylan gaped stupidly.
Like a cowboy who’d just captured the cattle rustlers, rescued the stagecoach, and foiled the bank robbery, Chris swaggered to the door.
“Chris!”
What Dylan wanted to say was Stay . Stay here, in my home . Or at least Stay inside your own house tonight . But he couldn’t say either of those things, and Chris was waiting, eyebrows raised.
“See you on Wednesday,” Dylan said.
That curl of the lips was already so familiar. “G’night, Dylan.”
Chapter 6
U SUALLY , fifteen minutes before the sun set on the night of the full moon, Dylan would be an anxious, pacing wreck. He would be locked in
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