Page 12 of Not Even A Mouse
I need him
Andy
Andy slumpedbackwardsinto the uncomfortable hospital seat with a sickening sense of relief as he watched the hospital chaplain lead a sobbing woman out of the waiting room. When the chaplain had walked into the room accompanied by a surgeon, Andy’s chest had seized, air clogging thick in his throat.
I just need to hold on. Myron will be here.
Since the single night Myron had spent in his bed, breakfast painfully truncated by an awkward wash of memories, there had been only a few quick encounters between the two men. Tiny slices of time where their lives glanced off each other. Like cue balls careening off the bumper of a pool table, they didn’t stay in the same place long. When they were there, though—occupying the same space—it was extraordinary.
It wasn’t without downfalls, however. Since officially coming out at eighteen, Andy had never tried to be with anyone deeply closeted, and he found being with Myron was equal parts frustrating and thrilling. His panicked alarm when Andy would initiate anything other than casual contact in public was only offset by an equally greedy hunger when they carved out a moment to be alone.
There’d beenno more sleepovers, but after only having calls and video at first, over the past couple of weeks, they’d worked out a rhythm where at least once every few days Andy could be guaranteed a visitor at the end of his shift. He’d carry out the last load of trash to find Myron patiently waiting in the shadows.
The back room of the bar had ample vertical surfaces for Myron to push him against, andAndy eagerly went with the wordless demands, needing to get his hands on more of thebroodyman. The making out part of each meeting?Beyondgood. He took his time, as if he were determined to explore every sensitive inch of flesh, and Myron was hands-down the best kisser Andy had ever been with. His kisses were an enlightening experience, every time, and Andy had come to anticipate those momentswhere they could be together, maybe more than he should. It was as if he came to life in Myron’s hands, needing Myron’s touch and caress to light up every nerve in his body. Shaking hands fumbling with shirts and belts, the strain and arch of their bodies as they sought out skin—just thinking about it always made Andy rock-hard in moments.
To fill the desire for each other in between visits,those phone and video calls were still regular. Frequent, and filled with filthy murmurs, they were too short to do anything except ratchet up a need that had become a constant companion for Andy. It was there, inside him, always bubbling just under the surface, ready to boil over the moment Myron was near.
Andy liked looking at him, too, especially when Myron didn’t know he was. Just watchingMyron interact with the other bikers in the bar filled him with pride. His man was held in high esteem. Even if no one knew Myron was his. That pride was balanced by an even greater sense ofdanger,because if Andy had been asked to think of a single group in the city who were not gay-friendly, it would be the biker gangs. Which meant Myron was walking a dangerous line by even as much as they’dmanaged.
I shouldn’t have called. Andy ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grimace. He might have unintentionally outed Myron to his friends, and that could be disastrous not only for them together, but for Myron. The club was his whole life; it showed in the way he talked about them, about the man Mason.I shouldn’t have.
But I need him.
