Page 123 of Torch Songs

But maybe the fact that they’d held hands at the table for the entire meal—and even a dessert of fresh peach cobbler—had given them a pass too.

Guthrie had followed Tad through the black night of the mountains with tingles rushing down his skin. Now that he’d touched Tad’s hand, kissed him, held him so tight his breath had hitched, he had the patience for excitement, the emotional reserves to be thrilled.

He wasn’t just following his lover through the night for a hookup or a moment.

He was following Tadhome.

There’d been a bustle when he’d arrived, as Tad took him through the ranch-style home and showed him whereeverythingwent. Guthrie followed along while he took turns petting and releasing (and then petting and releasing and then petting and releasing) the now gigantic kittens, who seemed to remember him fine. There was a study where his instruments went, along with Tad’s desk. There was the garage where the egg crate and the sleeping bags went. There was the hamper in the hallway bathroom where Tad dumped out his threadbare canvas knapsack, and the mudroom for laundry, which Tad vaguely gestured toward as he hustled Guthrie—holding April’s much-loved blanket—down the hall.

Guthrie would see the bedrooms and the kitchen later. After… after….

He and Tad fell into each other’s arms like tumbling into a canyon. Clothes melted, and breath mingled, every kiss more sacred than the last. It wasn’t until Tad’s hands, cupping Guthrie’s cheeks as they sank onto the bed, wouldn’t stop shaking, that Guthrie realized what this moment was for Tad, and how badly he’d been missed.

And what Guthrie needed to do for Tad that maybe he’d learned in the last four months.

“Here,” he’d whispered, taking the lubricant from Tad’s still shaking hands. “Here. Let me.”

Tad—always so good at planning, at giving orders, at organizing the world, fell backward onto the mattress in the moonshine streaming through their peaked window and gazed up at Guthrie with such hunger—and such trust.

But Guthriecouldbe trusted. He wasn’t at the mercy of the world anymore, tumbling like a shoe in a dryer. He’d wrestled with his past and come out the better man, and he’d made good on promises to the future. He’d learned to trust people in his life, and his reward?

He was trusted in return. He wouldn’t hurt the people he loved—not for the world.

His mouth on Tad’s length was urgent but not hard, and his fingers, slick and stretching at Tad’s entrance, were gentle but insistent.

Tad let out a wordless cry when he was ready, and held out his arms, clearly having faith that Guthrie would fill them—and fill him.

Guthrie did, sliding into him gloriously, awed and humbled by the feeling of his lover’s flesh embracing his own. The tears still came, but they were tears of joy, and he pumped his hipsand let them fall, because a man should never hide his joy from his lover.

Tad’s shuddering climax felt like a stream of stars, pulling Guthrie’s own orgasm along in their wake. They cried out together, softly, their skin so sensitized it only took Tad’s lips on his chest, his shoulder, to send him over again, and it only took his come, pumped into Tad’s entrance, to send Tad into the same river.

When they finally washed ashore, Tad wouldn’t let him go fetch a cloth, wouldn’t let him leave the bed at all.

“Later,” he murmured. “Later. Just… just stay and hold me now. God, I missed you.”

“Me too,” Guthrie said, his voice throaty and choked. “God, it’s gonna take me a week to leave to so much as get milk, you know. I amsohere to stay.”

Tad chuckled a little and then buried his face into Guthrie’s chest. “Good,” he whispered. “’Cause I’m planning to marry you someday.”

Guthrie smiled, thinking of the permanence of that. “Good,” he said. “Looking forward to it.”

“You topped,” Tad said a minute later, putting the obvious up for discussion.

“I trust myself now,” Guthrie told him, the words resonating in his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know that nine-hundred-pound gorilla I was so afraid of?”

“Yeah.”

“I set him loose. You know what he did?”

“What?” Tad asked, but he didn’t sound worried.

“He talked about all the beauty in my life, and how there were people who loved me. Mr. Hyde….” He swallowed. “My father—he died knowing I wouldn’t sing at his funeral. And I hadpeople in my life who would sing to me every day. That’s… that’s some damage there, not gonna lie. But it could have been worse, and… and worse didn’t happen.”

“So you trust yourself,” Tad said in understanding.

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