subject. Worse, Michael suspected he wouldn’t like the answer.
“Sure.” Nicky accepted the packet Michael held out, pulling out an ammonia-scented towelette. Once he’d cleaned his face, he leaned back in his seat to check out the damage to the front of his pants.
“It’s not obvious,” Michael said by way of reassurance. A wet stain was spreading on the front of Nicky’s underwear, but he hadn’t gotten anything on his shorts.
“Yeah, right.” There was a rueful pain in Nicky’s eyes that got under Michael’s skin and made his chest hurt.
“No, seriously. If you can get your underwear off…” Michael grabbed a tissue out of a box tucked behind the seat, and pulled at Nicky’s waistband to clean his soft penis. “We’ll dry you off.” There was nothing Michael could do about what he suspected was Nicky’s crisis of sexual identity, but at least Michael could help his physical predicament.
“There.” He swiped a wet wipe around Nicky’s base, making sure to avoid rubbing the chemicals on any part that would be too sensitive. The head was pink and tender, and Michael leaned down and gave it a kiss. Under his lips, the skin felt silky, fragrant with a mix of masculine heat and the kind of hardcore antibacterial cleaners Michael’s own mom had never used but he’d envied at other peoples’ houses.
“You don’t have to do that.” Nicky’s hands fisted at his sides.
“I know I don’t.” Michael hid his expression by turning to stow the bits of paper by his feet. “That’s why I want to.”
Nicky turned pensive, like he was thinking too many things at once.
“So, you want to take those off?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” Nicky closed up his jean shorts by their button fly then opened the door to head to the front.
As Michael followed, he braced for the brush-off. And fuck—he’d been expecting it, but it still made his throat tighten. “So, we going?” Michael dropped to the passenger seat, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. Eyes straight ahead, Michael gritted his teeth, waiting for Nicky to start the engine.
“I’m sorry I’m freaking out.” Nicky’s chuckle didn’t cover the shakiness of his voice. “It’s just…I hadn’t done that before.”
“Yeah. I figured.” Michael splayed his legs so Nicky would know Michael didn’t give a shit.
“Why? Was I bad?” Nicky’s worry may have been cute—even funny—if Nicky hadn’t been acting like Michael could go fuck himself.
Michael should have told Nicky he’d been terrible, given him a blow to his ego, but Michael sucked at lying. “No. It was fine. You just seemed nervous.”
“Oh. Well, yeah.” Nicky gazed past Michael and out the window at the lake. “I guess I was.” His move tentative, Nicky reached for Michael’s hand. “I…”
“You don’t want to hook up again.” Michael figured he’d put the guy out of his misery. “It’s cool. I get it.” He’d already told Nicky he didn’t date guys in the closet.
“No, I mean…I want to do this again.” Nicky tugged at Michael’s hand like he wanted Michael to look at him. In the dark it was impossible to tell where his pupils ended and the irises began. And Nicky’s puffy lower lids made him always look like he’d been crying. Either that, or like he was just waking up. “You liked it, right?”
Michael didn’t know how to answer, so he ground his teeth, weighing the potential pain against the definite pleasure. There were plenty of things he still wanted to do with Nicky, to him even, if Nicky was game. But there were reasons Michael didn’t get involved with guys like Nicky—and it wasn’t all because Michael didn’t want to get hurt. Nicky would never grow or learn to deal with his same-sex feelings if Michael pretended that staying closeted was a viable long-term choice.
“I did like it.” Michael took his hand back, gently so Nicky wouldn’t take it as a rejection. “But maybe if you want to be doing this kind of
“Sure.” Nicky accepted the packet Michael held out, pulling out an ammonia-scented towelette. Once he’d cleaned his face, he leaned back in his seat to check out the damage to the front of his pants.
“It’s not obvious,” Michael said by way of reassurance. A wet stain was spreading on the front of Nicky’s underwear, but he hadn’t gotten anything on his shorts.
“Yeah, right.” There was a rueful pain in Nicky’s eyes that got under Michael’s skin and made his chest hurt.
“No, seriously. If you can get your underwear off…” Michael grabbed a tissue out of a box tucked behind the seat, and pulled at Nicky’s waistband to clean his soft penis. “We’ll dry you off.” There was nothing Michael could do about what he suspected was Nicky’s crisis of sexual identity, but at least Michael could help his physical predicament.
“There.” He swiped a wet wipe around Nicky’s base, making sure to avoid rubbing the chemicals on any part that would be too sensitive. The head was pink and tender, and Michael leaned down and gave it a kiss. Under his lips, the skin felt silky, fragrant with a mix of masculine heat and the kind of hardcore antibacterial cleaners Michael’s own mom had never used but he’d envied at other peoples’ houses.
“You don’t have to do that.” Nicky’s hands fisted at his sides.
“I know I don’t.” Michael hid his expression by turning to stow the bits of paper by his feet. “That’s why I want to.”
Nicky turned pensive, like he was thinking too many things at once.
“So, you want to take those off?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” Nicky closed up his jean shorts by their button fly then opened the door to head to the front.
As Michael followed, he braced for the brush-off. And fuck—he’d been expecting it, but it still made his throat tighten. “So, we going?” Michael dropped to the passenger seat, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. Eyes straight ahead, Michael gritted his teeth, waiting for Nicky to start the engine.
“I’m sorry I’m freaking out.” Nicky’s chuckle didn’t cover the shakiness of his voice. “It’s just…I hadn’t done that before.”
“Yeah. I figured.” Michael splayed his legs so Nicky would know Michael didn’t give a shit.
“Why? Was I bad?” Nicky’s worry may have been cute—even funny—if Nicky hadn’t been acting like Michael could go fuck himself.
Michael should have told Nicky he’d been terrible, given him a blow to his ego, but Michael sucked at lying. “No. It was fine. You just seemed nervous.”
“Oh. Well, yeah.” Nicky gazed past Michael and out the window at the lake. “I guess I was.” His move tentative, Nicky reached for Michael’s hand. “I…”
“You don’t want to hook up again.” Michael figured he’d put the guy out of his misery. “It’s cool. I get it.” He’d already told Nicky he didn’t date guys in the closet.
“No, I mean…I want to do this again.” Nicky tugged at Michael’s hand like he wanted Michael to look at him. In the dark it was impossible to tell where his pupils ended and the irises began. And Nicky’s puffy lower lids made him always look like he’d been crying. Either that, or like he was just waking up. “You liked it, right?”
Michael didn’t know how to answer, so he ground his teeth, weighing the potential pain against the definite pleasure. There were plenty of things he still wanted to do with Nicky, to him even, if Nicky was game. But there were reasons Michael didn’t get involved with guys like Nicky—and it wasn’t all because Michael didn’t want to get hurt. Nicky would never grow or learn to deal with his same-sex feelings if Michael pretended that staying closeted was a viable long-term choice.
“I did like it.” Michael took his hand back, gently so Nicky wouldn’t take it as a rejection. “But maybe if you want to be doing this kind of
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