Page 42 of This or That
“You’re right. But considering who he is, I suggest that we don’t enter holding hands like we initially planned. You know as well as I do that he has no clue that you’re bringing a dude to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Well, tough luck! He’d better get used to it. Otherwise—”
I clear my throat to cut him off and appease his racing mind. “The idea isn’t to deny who or what we are. You’re his son. I’m suggesting that you reach out to him first. Give him a chance to adjust to a situation that he’s not prepared for. Be the responsible one, even though he wasn’t there for you when he should have been. Talk to him, get to know his new wife a little better.”
“Sure, I could do that.” He rolls up his sleeve to check this watch. My heart melts at the mundane gesture; who has a watch in this day and age when a smart phone does everything for you? “Traffic was so light, we’re a half hour early.”
“Perfect! I’ve always wanted to check out the famous Cheers pub on Beacon Street anyway.” The air lightens; it’s about time! I force a laugh. It’s for the best, but I feel like a traitor for recommending that Mike approach his father solo. I fidget in the passenger seat. “I’ll have a beer and you just text me whenever. If it goes well, I’ll meet you back here.”
“If not, we’ll go home and I’ll do you.” The bastard doesn’t even blink while I shoot him a salacious look. The air grows suffocating, filled with sexual tension. He knocks the wind out of me, baffled by the nonchalance with which he alluded that he’s ready to top. “Either way, as much as I enjoy bottoming, I swear to God, as soon as we get home, I want to save a horse and ride my favorite cowboy… cowboy style. With your fucking cowboy hat on… If that’s okay with you, that is.”
Our sex life is anything but tame. Yet, this is the one thing that Mike’s been hesitant to try, claiming that he didn’t want to risk hurting me. Maybe nicknaming him Big Dick Richie was a mistake after all!
At the thought, a knot of pleasure coils tighter and tighter. My lungs seize, and I gawk while trying to gather my wits, to no avail.
He takes that as his cue to nibble on my lips. Whimpering, the sparks fly between us. Heat flares and goosebumps spread across my skin.
Desperately needing to be closer, I moan and scoot towards the driver seat where his firm and enticing body awaits. I rub my cheek against his; it’s rare for both of us to be clean-shaven, but the occasion called for extreme measures. My hand caresses his side over the fabric of his preppy oatmeal-colored sweater.
Being parked on this residential street prevents us from making out in the car. Nevertheless, his teasing tongue sweeps into my hungry mouth. We dance. We explore. We play. He tastes like happiness. Desire. Love. Our kiss is heady, and our nerves calm by the time that we come up for air. Enthralled, I didn’t realize that his hand traveled to my hair.
My hard-on begs for release, and as far as I can see, so does the bulge in his navy dress pants. Frustrated for a whole other reason now, we shrug and chuckle.
Pupils dilated, we catch our breath, and I slide back to the passenger seat.
“Look, Mike…” I start after a moment. The air shifts again, and I regret that I’m responsible for it. “I’m saying this because I fucked up years ago and let my parents decide how I fit into their family. I was young, stubborn, and proud. I’d hoped that they’d come around; they didn’t. I haven’t talked to them in over a decade.” At last, my confession tumbles from my mouth. My eyes capture his. Lust has been replaced with confusion. “They caught me making out with someone they considered to be the wrong person for their prodigal son. I was shunned and sent to live with my aunt. You see, I have younger siblings who I’m dead to.” His face falls.
Way to kill the mood, Hunter!
I carry on. “I didn’t mention it because the topic still pisses me off, even after all this time.” My beautiful man’s cheeks redden and he opens his mouth to speak, but there’s no sound. “It’s too late. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve learned to live with it.” I shrug at the bitterness in my voice. No matter how many years pass, the scars of my youth resurface on occasion. “I was hoping you could benefit from my experience and not make the same mistakes. A door should be opened or closed.” I will myself to curb my emotions and bite my lip so forcefully that it draws blood. “It’s not easy.” I swallow the lump that’s now lodged in my throat. “The in-between is what kills people softly.” Mike’s brows furrow. I’m not a mind-reader, and yet, I follow his train of thought. “I’ve already told you, being bi never meant we…Ifailed at choosing. It’s the complete opposite. Ichoseto be myself. Ichoseto live without compromise. Ichoseto let go of my fears and be with the person I love. And I love you.” Once again, I kiss his mouth, then whisper, “I know you have an awesome relationship with your mom, but he’s your father. Give him a choice to accept who you are. You two deserve a chance to settle your differences and move on. One way or another.”
Before I know it, his powerful hand cups the back of my head and softly draws my forehead to his. His thumb strokes my cheek, sending a whirlwind of lustful sensations that have no place in this moment. His muttered words warm my soul. “Thank you. I’ll be back… soon.”
After a short stroll, I’m nursing my Sam Adams at the bar while my lover unloads his excess baggage.
I’m on my second beer when the door opens, letting the icy November air filter inside, making me wish I hadn’t taken my coat off and laid it across my lap.
“Nice to meet you, Troy Hunter.” A commanding voice I don’t recognize intrigues me, and I turn my head to face an older version of the man that I love; and here I thought that Mike’s handsome face came by way of his mother, when he took the best of both worlds. Only Mike’s beauty is unique due to its raw appeal and blatant sensuality.
His extended hand is a peace offering I hadn’t anticipated. He’s not smiling, but his face isn’t aloof either, which I interpret as a good sign, considering Mike’s relaxed stance. Rubbing the back of my neck, I stare at the men with my heart in my throat. I take a deep breath and slide off of the barstool to properly greet the man. “Likewise, Mr. Clayton.”
We shake hands.
“Please, call me Edward.” I nod at his suggestion. “Do you mind if we join you so you don’t have to rush to finish your beer?” We proceed and make small talk. Mike manages to fill in the blanks. Saying that the conversation flows would be far-fetched, but I can tell that Mike’s father is doing his best, which he confirms shortly after. “I’m… I’m sorry, it’ll take some getting used to.” He insists on paying the bill. I thank him and tell him that I understand.
We walk back to his Beacon Hill brownstone in comfortable silence. Mike and I linger a few steps behind as his father opens the door. In a whisper, my lover says, “It went okay. He’s okay. We’re okay,” then pecks my cheek. “Thanks for your advice. I have one complaint, though.” I stiffen, although his arm snaking around my waist usually has the opposite effect. “Your favorite little game of this or that was biased. Wrong. Flawed. There was never a choice…” He shakes his head, his eyes full of mischief. “Or rather, the choice is obvious!”
Despite the upcoming snarky comment I sense, I play along. “Oh, really? And what is that?”
“You.”
Bonus epilogue – One Man Guy
Mike
SIX MONTHS LATER
Shifting his balance from one foot to the other—to keep moving in New York’s brutal January weather— Troy’s face contorts, feigning outrage. “I can’t believe you gave me a hickey this morning!” He closes the bar door behind him, locks it, and remains on the threshold, as if intimidated. At once, we’re immersed in complete silence, a stark contrast to Manhattan’s crowded 8thStreet, although it’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.
