Page 84 of Torch Songs

“Yeah,” Guthrie murmured, and allowed himself to be taken again, led away into the sexual haze that Tad had been creating for them both.

A part of Tad was fine with this—he’d always loved to top—but part of him was sorrowful.You can trust me to guide you, Guthrie. You can trust yourself.Later. They’d deal with it later. Right now, Tad felt a freedom in Guthrie’s arms, a blessing, a knowledge that all their touches tonight would be the good kind; all of it would be right.

His two-finger breach into Guthrie’s body elicited a groan that raised the hairs on the back of Tad’s neck. Something huge and needy had opened up in his boy, something painful. It was Tad’s job to fill those empty spaces. How could he forget?

He stretched Guthrie’s entrance, aware of Guthrie’s finely muscled trembling, and then slid inside him, unable to draw this out because Guthrie needed him so bad.

Guthrie gave a sigh of completion when they were merged, and his caresses on Tad’s biceps, his flanks, his neck, never stopped. Tad felt worshipped and treasured.

And loved.

When Guthrie was writhing with the need to come, Tad rocked back on his thighs and stroked him, thrusting slowly in time to his strokes, just to watch Guthrie fall apart, arms flinging out, head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, his orgasm rocking him into the stratosphere while it triggered Tad’s like a rocket.

As Tad’s vision went white and his breaths screamed in his ears, he recorded the tears steadily dripping from Guthrie’s eyes, squeezed so tight there was no room for anythingbutthe tears.

“Shh…,” Tad whispered as his own climax rushed him. “Shh… baby… I gotcha. I love you. I gotcha.”

“Love you too,” Guthrie whispered, fingers digging into Tad’s arms. “So much. You gotta know how much.”

That frisson of fear that had brushed up against Tad’s senses when he’d seen Guthrie texting so violently returned, and he took Guthrie’s mouth with all the possessiveness in his soul. Guthrie returned the kiss, drinking him in like water, and as their bodies stilled in the apartment hush, Tad tried to tell his fears to quiet. These weren’t the kisses of a man who didn’t want to stay. This wasn’t the body of a man who was halfway out the door.

They fell asleep, limbs tangled, Guthrie’s head on Tad’s shoulder, eyes still leaking the tears he knew Guthrie hated.

A man who hated his life, or was afraid of his lover, didn’t sleep naked in his arms like this was the only home he’d ever know.

Which was why Tad was poleaxed, gobsmacked, destroyed, when he woke up and saw Guthrie, fully dressed in his jeans, hair ruthlessly pulled back from his face, tying his boots with white fingers as he sat on the edge of the bed.

His knapsack, the one Tad had grown to hate when Guthrie had been playing at Scorpio in those last weeks, was fully packed and sitting next to the bed.

And Tad knew the other shoe, the one he hadn’t realized had been hovering over their heads, had finally dropped.

Awkward Teenage Blues

GUTHRIE’S HEARTpretty much fell out of his body when the first text appeared on his phone.

This is Jock-o—how you doin’ kid?

He’d stared at it in shock while he and Tad had been waiting in line at the sub shop. Jock? Texting himnow? This was apparently his punishment for not changing his phone number out two years ago, when his father had made it known that Guthrie was nothing to him.

I thought I was dead to you. Can we go back to that?

That’s not fair, Guthrie. Your dad made that decision, not me.

And you sure stood up against him, didn’t you? I’m blocking you.

So Guthrie had.

But Jock wasn’t stupid. Sure, his father hadtreatedhis little brother like he was stupid, but Robert Coltrane Woodson was, in fact, a pretty smart cookie. Unlike Butch, he might have gone to college if the family had believed in education.

Guthrie had managed to put the text and its implications out of his mind. That blissful moment on the couch with his head in Tad’s lap made him feel safe and cherished and loved. That feeling sank into his bones, making him feel confident and joyous and so, so ready for Tad to come to bed and touch him with that amazing sensuality Guthrie had just discovered.

And then his phone had buzzed again.

Goddammit, I can only afford one burner so don’t block me on this one!

Fuck. This was pretty tenacious for Jock. He was usually the first to quit. Guthrie remembered plenty of times when, “C’mon, Butch, the boy wasn’t doing no harm,” turned into “Never mind, never mind, he’s your kid,” before the first sentence even ended.

I’m broke too. I got nothing you need. Go away.

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