Page 168 of Something Like Winter
If Ben wanted to stop there, if he only wanted Tim to sleep next to him the rest of the night, he could have been satisfied with that. But even at the worst of times, they had always shared the same appetite. Ben moved his hands back down to their belts, and this time Tim let him do what he wanted, putting his hands behind his head as Ben finished undressing him and then stood to take off his own clothes. Tim glanced over, Ben standing at the side of the bed as he kicked off his jeans. In the dim light of the room, he was a dark silhouette, the edge of his body illuminated with light from the window, neck shiny with saliva where Tim had kissed him last.
“Come be with me,” Tim said, reaching out a hand. He meant more than just this moment, this simple act. Ben responded, crawling into bed, and for awhile all they did was hold each other. He waited for Ben to cry, feeling relieved when he didn’t, but still he took it slow. Rolling over on his side, he let his fingers trace up and down Ben’s skin, delighting in each shiver he caused. Then Ben began to reciprocate, rubbing his hands over Tim’s body just like he used to, exploring him.
“Any new scars?” Ben asked.
“None you can see,” Tim said, but his breath caught in his throat when Ben kissed his chest, his stomach, and then traced a path south with his tongue.
“Hold on!” Tim said, grabbing Ben’s shoulder. “That’s exactly what I want to do to you.”
Ben resisted, wearing a mischievous grin. “We’re starting over, and if you’ll recall,youwere first.”
“That was then,” Tim said, but an idea occurred to him. “Sesenta y nueve.”
Ben paused as he tried to recall his high school Spanish. Then he snorted. “It sounds so much more romantic in your language.”
“It’s not romance I’m going for,” Tim replied.
Ben’s gaze could have made a volcano sweat. Crawling down to the end of the bed, he swung his legs over each side of Tim’s head. Tim was tempted to make a joke about the Sword of Damocles, but instead he moaned in pleasure—Ben having claimed his prize at the other end. The sensations made Tim writhe before he regained control. He put a hand on Ben’s butt to bring his hips lower so he could return the favor.
They risked small moans and whimpers as their hips pumped, rolling to their sides, then over again with Tim on top. Though he felt he could ride these waves of ecstasy forever, he wanted to get back to those lips of Ben’s that drove him wild. Tim crawled in a quick circle, lifting one of Ben’s legs with his shoulder as he sought another kiss.
“Do you think we can—” Tim let the question hang.
“Have any lube?” Ben asked.
They glanced around the room in mad hope, finding only a sewing machine, doily-covered lampshades, and a statue of the Virgin Mary who appeared more smug than scandalized. Tim laughed. “Guess Nana is fresh out.”
Ben’s finger traced a path across Tim’s pecs, running circles around one of his nipples. “Remember when we used to kind of fake it? Before I got up the nerve the first time.”
Tim grinned at the memory, adjusting his hips. Both of Ben’s hands lowered to hold their cocks tightly together. Tim began pumping, eyes locked on Ben as they rediscovered this old game. Then the sensations made them somber, Tim leaning forward and kissing Ben as he thrust harder and faster. He moved his kisses to Ben’s chin, tracing the jaw line with his tongue before nibbling on his neck. Tim was leaking enough pre-come that Ben’s hands were slick. He wondered if it would be enough to do more without needing lube when the thought sent him over the edge.
Ben’s muscles tensed, his breath held, so Tim kept pumping until Ben bit his lower lip to keep from moaning. Then Ben’s breath came out as a sigh and he relaxed. Tim gently lowered on to him, holding himself up just enough to keep from crushing Ben with his weight. Their heaving breaths soon turned to hisses of quiet laughter.
“¿Ya no estás triste, mi mariposa hermosa?” he asked. “No longer sad, my beautiful butterfly?”
“No.” Ben shook his head with a dopey grin. “Not anymore.” * * * * *
«I’ve been going to a new church,» Nana said. She stretched her legs out straight, pushing back into her favorite recliner and wiggling her toes before she put her legs back down.
«That’s nice,» Tim said, turning his attention back to the SpanishEnglish dictionary he was thumbing through. Being back in Mexico City always made him aware of the holes in his Spanish. The other day he was trying to ask a shopkeeper for aftershave and had to settle for saying “face water” instead.
«If you were staying longer, you could go to church with me,» Nana continued. «You would like it.»
He doubted that!
«Can’t you stay longer?» Nana pressed.
«No. The flights are booked, and even if we changed them, Ben has to go back to work. So do I.»
«You must like him a lot to bring him here. I always pictured you bringing a beautiful American girl to meet me one day, but I like Ben.»
Tim listened to make sure the shower upstairs was still running before he remembered they were speaking in Spanish. Ben wouldn’t know they were talking about him even if he was in the room. «I love him, Nana.»
«So will you build a home with him?»
Tim shook his head. «He already has a house, and so do I.»
«Those are places, not homes. A home is what you make together.» Nana picked some lint off the recliner’s arm. «Two houses! How will that be a home?»
