Page 70 of Torch Songs

Tad moved his other hand and took his mouth, letting Guthrie taste himself, letting him get lost in the kiss, in the sex of it all. Guthrie opened his legs, wishing Tad was naked and realizing that hewas. Guthrie ground up against his hard cock, wanting more even though he was still soft from his orgasm and not likely to get hard in the next few minutes.

Tad let go of the kiss long enough to reach under the pillow behind Guthrie’s head.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmured. “You may have to buck your hips a little, but I think we can do it.”

Guthrie whimpered, suddenly needing to be taken. “You’re better?” he managed to rasp.

“God, I hope so,” Tad muttered, pulling the lube out from under the pillow. “I stroked myself last night, thinking about you. I wanted you so bad.”

“Ooh,” Guthrie breathed. “I had no idea.”

There was a moment of fumbling and then Tad’s fingers breached him, not roughly but with intent, and Guthrie bore down on them, accepting their stretching and the gentle ache that came with it. He shook, overwhelmed again, and without meaning to, raised his hips to give Tad better access.

“God, you’re so needy,” Tad whispered, but not like it was a bad thing. “I’ve needed to be needed like this my whole life.”

And then he was there, at Guthrie’s entrance, and oh… oh God. Oh damn. Guthrie shuddered, and he felt the damned tears again, and Tad took him over, invaded him, made him whole. He tried to raise his hand to cover his eyes as Tad took up a gentle rhythm inside him, but Tad stopped him, took his hand, laced their fingers together, and nuzzled his cheek.

“No hiding,” he whispered. “It’s fine. Whatever you feel, as long as you want this, it’s fine.”

Guthrie let out a whimper and arched his back, torn between wanting to hide and justwanting. Tad took him at his blatant invitation and thrust in again, keeping their hands laced as he balanced his weight on his good knee and used his abs and good thigh muscles to fuck.

Guthrie watched, helpless, through blurred, stinging eyes as Tad tilted his head back and smiled, obviously enjoying himself. The sight madehimsmile, made him catch his breath, made him raise his hips and wrap his legs around Tad’s, inviting him deeper, begging him to go harder, wanting more.

Tad complied, a look of such open joy on his face as he thrust that Guthrie’s eyes stung even more, spilling over. He was finally forced to close them, simply feeling, allowing the dark pleasure to overtake him, detonating him from the center out until he convulsed around Tad’s cock, his body swept into another orgasm he hadn’t even known was coming.

Tad gave a gasp of his own, almost a laugh, as Guthrie shuddered, and then Tad was rutting, coming inside him, burying his face against Guthrie’s neck and collapsing against him, still coming even though the position forced him out of Guthrie’s ass.

For a few moments they simply clung to each other, their orgasms stuttering to completion, and then Tad gave a littlesound of discomfort, released Guthrie’s hand, and rolled to the side. Guthrie tried to turn away then, so he could bury his face in the pillow and let the shame wash over him, but Tad grunted and pulled him so his head rested on Tad’s shoulder and he had nowhere to hide.

“It was good?” Tad was still breathing hard, and he had the smuggest smile on his face. “Tell me it was good. My ass is gonna hurt for a week after that.Tellme it was good.”

Guthrie couldn’t help the smile and little sputter of stupid, useless sex tears that came with that. “You know it was good. Whoever taught you the sex things, gotta give ’em props.”

“Taught me?” Tad harumphed. “Nobodytaughtme anything. All of that was good old-fashionedstudy.I read every gay romance book known to man in my late teens.” He paused. “Not as many as there should have been. Anyway, you learn a few things.”

“Such as?” Guthrie prompted, mostly to hear him talk. God, it was easy, lying here with him. Guthrie’s fears subsided, and he tried to keep his eyes open so Tad would keep saying shit.

Tad turned his head, then, and with a throat-tightening tenderness, pulled the long strands of Guthrie’s hair out of his eyes. “Like you gotta make love to the person in your bed, not the ghosts that follow him,” he said softly. “And you gotta listen to them, to their noises, to their expressions, to see what’s going on. Don’t turn away from me, Guthrie. Not when it’s you and me. Okay?”

Guthrie swallowed, eyes still burning. “Do youknowhow embarrassing this is?” he asked.

Tad kissed his temple. “Maybe if you let some of your heart show sometimes when you’renotin bed with me, it won’t all be backed up when you are,” he said. “You ever think that? You’re so guarded, but you’re one of the best people I know.”

Guthrie shook his head. “One good deed doesn’t make me a good guy,” he said, and unbidden came his childhood, growing up with two rednecks who made fun of anyone not straight, White, and moderately poor. Those years of struggle, of trying to figure out who he was, hadn’t come without hurting feelings, without being the douchebag who’d take a girl to bed because his father was getting suspicious and then try to let her down gently because he just wasn’t feeling it. Until Seth had walked through the door, Black, with blond hair and green eyes, his head in the clouds, his clothes ill-fitting and falling apart—hell, even his sneakers had been unlaced—Guthrie hadn’t known how small his world had been. No matter the years of heartbreak that had followed, of stupid, hopeless yearning, Guthrie would always have Seth to thank for showing him that the world was as big and as small as the kid in your own backyard that you might not have seen for the blinders put on you by family.

“Tell me,” Tad murmured. “Why aren’t you a good guy?”

“I don’t know,” Guthrie mumbled, not wanting to talk about himself. “Tell me why youare?”

Tad grimaced. “I’m not such a good guy,” he said, and Guthrie turned to stare at him.

“Oh I doubt that. Why not?”

“Fine. My turn. Because April didn’t go into rehab voluntarily—not at first. I mean….” He puffed out a breath. “Man, how good a guy can I be if I handcuffed my sister to a bed and gave her sedatives until the meth shakes were gone, and then kept her there and cleaned her up? I mean… I had to shave her head, Guthrie. And then I had to shave myownbecause lice don’t go away. I had to treat her for fungal infections and… and bed bugs and pressure sores and the whole time she was begging me for one more goddamned hit.”

Under Guthrie’s head, Tad’s shoulder was shaking, and Guthrie could hear the pain in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling this with all his heart. “My dad’s a real bastard when he drinks. Sometimes the only way I could cope with it was to be a real bastard back. There’s no… no magic pill to help us deal with people when they become someone else. It’s like Dr. Jekyll was a real nice guy but Mr. Hyde would kill you. Sometimes the only way to deal to deal with Mr. Hyde was to become… you know. The nine-hundred-pound gorilla Mr. Hyde’s afraid of.”

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