Page 86 of Sweet T

Tucker couldn’t mask his enthusiasm. He got on his knees and rotated to where his head was facing the foot of the bed. He took Evan’s cock into his mouth upside down, exploring the shape of its crown and tip with his tongue first, before taking him deeper and experiencing that wonderful swell in his mouth.

Evan’s urge to reciprocate was strong. Like Tucker, he was a Southern boy and manners prevailed.

“Straddle me while you do that,” he said.

Tucker, mouth full, obliged.

Now, having Tucker’s big dick dangle so tantalizingly close was all the motivation Evan needed. He reached up, cupping the smooth globes of Tucker’s ass, and pulled him down.

They fell into the classic position with ease. Tucker rolled over to his side, and they nursed each other to a near-simultaneous completion. It was slow-going, relaxing, and every bit as hot and fulfilling as the crazy-monkey sex they’d had an hour before. More so, in fact.

* * *

Later, as they lay in each other’s arms with the sheet pulled up, Evan said, “Had I known you were a bottom, I would never have tried to force you into fucking me earlier. It was pure ignorance on my part. I made a stupid assumption that a big, handsome, country boy like you would naturally be a top. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I’m not sure that I did either, Ev. I mean, I do mostly fantasize about that role when I’m jerking off, but I’ve never actually done it... other than my finger when I’m feeling froggy. I didn’t dislike it. Whatever you need me to do, I will do it. It’s just–I was worried I was hurting you, and that was putting a damper on everything.”

“You were. I’ve never been good at bottoming. The only reason I let Rick do me was that A, I thought he was cute. B, I had already decided to have sex with him. And C, I looked at it as an exchange of currency–payment for getting me closer to Atlanta. He also had a small dick, and I knew it wouldn't take long. I just wasn’t expecting a self-loathing segue, or that he would take it out on me.”

Tucker grew agitated at Evan’s every mention of Rick. Still, Evan continued, “But since he was all up in my business, I thought maybe having you there instead, a man I care about–with a much larger appendage, mind you–would erase any trace of him. It’s weird logic, I know.”

“When I think of the way we found you, hurt and barely conscious, it makes me want to break his neck.”

“Then you’re giving in to the same impulse he did. Different reason, same reaction. Look at this way, T... had it not happened, we would have never met.”

Tucker mulled that one over. He shook it off quickly. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“I don’t either. I’m very happy you’re my guardian angel.”

“You keep saying that. Truth is, I feel the same about you. I was in a rut, Evan. I felt like I was going nowhere, with no one, ever. Now that I get to wake up with you, every day feels fresh. I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave.”

Evan looked into Tucker’s sad brown eyes. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“I could come with you. I could sell the tavern, pack up, and move to Atlanta with you.”

“No. Maybe eventually, but not yet. It’s too soon. I would be open to a long-distance trial, but I couldn’t let you squander all you’ve built here and then us not work out. I would feel horrible.”

“You don’t think we’ll work out?” Tucker asked, his voice wavering the tiniest bit.

“I want it to, T. But it’s so new. And Spoon is your home. You may blow it off, but I can see how much you love it here. Your family, friends—I can’t take that from you.”

“But what if you meet someone else?”

Evan put his hand on Tucker’s chest and silenced him with a kiss. When they parted, he said, “Let’s stop with the what-ifs, and start concentrating on the what-is.”

Eighteen

... which is exactly what they did.

The summer rolled along as summers do, blisteringly hot in middle Georgia. The days often seemed endless, interrupted occasionally by an afternoon thundershower. Nature’s rock concerts, Evan called them, when the sky would grow ominously dark, the wind would stir, and the landscape would glow greenish yellow. Eerie silence would soon be interrupted by a stark crack, then boom-trembling bass, flashing strobes, and rain that smacked the asphalt so hard it sounded like applause.

These storms were rare though, and adding to their frightening–yet often thrilling–allure was the speed at which they vanished. Old man sun always returned, burning bright, and steam would rise in misty tendrils from the pavement, drying up all the evidence–well, except for the air. The humidity after was thick enough to slice and serve on a plate.

Evan and Tucker embraced the days with renewed vigor ignited by possibility and the knowledge that every day would end in each other’s arms. They spent all of their time together, including work. The only exception was the four hours a day Evan devoted to rehearsals with Sebastian for King Lear. Any time off was also theirs to spend together, and they made use of it with the boundless energy that only twenty-somethings can muster.

Saturday, July fourth, they spent at home. Titus’s annual cookout and pool party had grown into a tradition for a small group of their friends and family, including Shelly and Ben, Barb and Cassie, Chuck and Brody, Alden and his wife, Shelia, and now Evan. They ate hamburgers, hot dogs, baked beans, potato salad, watermelon, and peach cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream. Beer and sweet tea were also plentiful and flowing. It was an all-day and into-the-night event, including lunch, dinner, the pool, horseshoes, badminton, croquet, and fireworks.

Everyone took notice that Tucker and Evan were no longer hiding their affection for each other. Pedro was the first to mention it as he, Titus, and Tucker sat poolside, watching the others play an inventive and somewhat inebriated version of Marco Polo.

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