Page 25 of Torch Songs

“Yeah, well….” Tad made little scooching motions, so Guthrie rolled over to make room for him. Tad sank onto the mattress and, natural as anything in the world, started rubbing Guthrie’s bicep. The touch, simple as it was, made Guthrie shudder, like he needed it, and he realized there was a mostly naked man on his bed andstillthey weren’t going to do anything.

“Well, what?” he asked, rolling slightly so he was on his back. Tad changed the stroke to the wrist of his other arm, the one with the bandaged hand.

“Well, Chris texted. Our workshop on Monday was postponed, so I’ve got the morning off. I was, uhm, thinking—since I don’t have to run out in the asscrack of dawn, maybe I could come back tonight, get you from the Washoe, and, uhm, take you home again.”

Guthrie smiled at him shyly. “I might not be a wreck tonight.”

Tad leaned down into his space and kissed the corner of his mouth gently. “You get some rest, take it easy, ask Roberta if she can give you a ride to the bar. If you’re a wreck, I still get to sit on your couch and hold you.”

Guthrie moaned a little and then wanted to take it back because he had morning breath, but it didn’t matter. Tad Hawkins fixed his minty-fresh mouth over Guthrie’s and kissed him, a sort of gently powerful kiss that rolled Guthrie over and over and over until his morning breath didn’t matter and his fear didn’t matter and all he had was Tad Hawkins, mostly naked, his bare skin under the palm of Guthrie’s good hand, his mouth…everywhere.Guthrie’s neck, his collarbone, his chest….

“If you suck my nipple, I’ll come and never forgive you,” he croaked, and Tad pulled away, chuckling gruffly.

“Feel better tonight,” he said. Then he took Guthrie’s good hand and placed it gingerly over the towel at his waist, and Guthrie groaned. His erection was a solid, earthy reminder that Tad Hawkins was every bit as human as Guthrie, and that he seemed to want Guthrie like Guthrie wanted him.

“Yes, boss,” Guthrie panted. “Anything you say. Oh my God, seriously?” He pushed, on instinct, and Tad arched against him, his head thrown back like this—just this—was worth everything Guthrie had put him through the night before.

“Gotta stop,” Tad panted, pulling Guthrie’s hand away and then, disconcertingly, kissing his knuckles. “I want you so bad. But I want to take some time, okay? I… I gotta get dressed, have some breakfast with you, and go see my sister. You’re my reward for being a good and virtuous boy, okay?”

Guthrie glared at him, his entirebodyreeling in the frustration of denial. “Son, I don’t know where you think I’m fit for anyone ‘good and virtuous,’ but I’ve got—”

Tad’s mouth cut him off again, this time overpowering, until he sagged against the mattress, his entire body limp with desire.

If he takes you this way, it’ll be face-to-face.

The fear of that was the one thing that got Guthrie to back away. “Don’t you got responsibilities, virtue boy?”

Tad panted a moment and then visibly pulled himself together. “You’re a tease,” he announced, throwing himself off the bed like Guthrie was lava. “And I hate being teased so much I’ll be back tonight to collect.” With a prissy little movement, he tucked the slipping towel in tight enough to stay put. He paused to give Guthrie a sultry wink before collecting his backpack from the chair and shoring himself up with another breath.

“I,” he said with dignity, “am going to go get dressed in the bathroom so you don’t get any ideas.”

Guthrie groaned as he walked away, but he kept his eyes glued on his best towel, just in case the damned thing slipped.

No such luck.

With a grunt he rolled over and pushed himself out of bed. Now that Tad was gone, with his smooth skin and the freckles on his chest (yeah, Guthrie had noticed) and the washboard abs and heavy bicep muscles (because God, every touch got better) and kisses that melted Guthrie’ssoulinto the bed and through the springs into the earth far below, every muscle in his body hurt.

He stood up, his legs wobbling for a bit, and teetered to his drawer for a ratty sweatshirt for warmth. This close to the ocean,mornings were chilly even in the summer, and besides the knife wound, his jaw felt stiff, and so did his neck and his stomach muscles—probably from clenching—and his thighs, probably from the same thing.

Urgh. Tad was right. He should probably text Roberta for that ride and spend the rest of the morning in bed. An hour or two to practice the night’s lineup and then work.

And then… would Tad really be there?

“You going to put that on?”

Guthrie glanced up and saw Tad had set some sort of land-speed changing record as he emerged wearing one of those flannel plaid button-up hoodies over his T-shirt and a nice tight pair of jeans. “Oh my God, do you ever slow down?”

“Obviously,” Tad told him wryly, “or we would have gotten laid by now. Do you need help with that?”

Guthrie stared dumbly at the sweatshirt in his hand and was unsurprised to find himself gently manhandled as Tad took the sweatshirt and helped him slip it on over his T-shirt, his injured hand, his stiff shoulder, and his frozen neck.

When he was done, Tad wrapped his arms around Guthrie’s shoulders, pulling him tight, back to front, as Tad nuzzled the back of his neck. Then he spoke in Guthrie’s ear.

“Now I know you’ll be tempted to get all up in your feelings about how we’re going too fast or too slow, or why would I want to come back or whatever. Don’t. I want to come back. If I can’t make it, I’ll text. If I don’t text, call the CHP because it means I went off a cliff or something, but otherwise, I’ll be there, at the Washoe, unless you tell me you’ll be somewhere else, okay?”

Guthrie nodded and leaned his cheek against Tad’s. “I really want tonight with you,” he confessed.

“Me too,” Tad murmured. “Now you go brush your teeth and I’ll plate up the food, okay?”

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