Page 110 of Beneath the Stain
“What?” Trav asked, and Mackey shrugged.
“Lotta strangers got the key to that room,” he said, clearly embarrassed.
“I am shocked,” Trav said dryly. “Shocked and appalled by anonymous rock star sex. I shall turn in my orgasm card now, never to go backdoor again.”
Mackey smirked at him irritably. “Now who’s being a snarky little shit?” he asked.
Trav smiled, feeling slow and mellow. He’d been keyed up for so long. “Scoot over, Mackey. I want some covers too.”
“Wait—let me get my underwear. My balls get in the way if I sleep naked.”
Oh geez. Of all the things. Trav started to giggle. “Are you saying you don’t want to get your balls in a twist?”
Mackey glared at him, but his lips were quirked up and it had no real heat. “Well, sinceyouseem to have yours in a twist enough for both of us, I’m thinking one of us has to keep hanging low.” He’d wiggled out of bed, and Trav rolled into his place, not even grimacing at the wet spot. When he was situated, he turned sideways, extending one arm over his head and waiting for Mackey to snuggle in next to him.
Mackey fished his tighty-whities out of his sweats and wiggled in, then looked at Trav warily. “You meant it—I’m staying the night.”
Trav swallowed. “You promised,” he said, unnerved at how easily this man made him feel about twelve years old.
“What if I get up to write?” Mackey asked, holding very still.
Trav remembered those times in the hotel room, Mackey up, tuning his guitar, playing softly, making notations in the cheap notebooks Trav now bought in gross.
“Come in here,” Trav said, his throat dry. “I can sleep through anything but shelling and antiaircraft fire.”
“Okay, then.” Mackey slid in next to him and mirrored his position, arm over his head, eyes wide in the dark.
Trav put his hand out just so he could flatten his palm against Mackey’s chest and feel the air move it in and out. “What are you thinking?” Trav asked softly.
“You said the big scary word, and I’m a coward.”
Trav closed his eyes. “It’s real,” he said. “Let’s go with real for now.”
Mackey’s kiss surprised him, and he opened his eyes.
“I do, you know. Love you. That’s real.”
Trav felt the smile before he knew it was going to happen. “Then turn around and let me spoon you, McKay. Can we do that?”
“Yes, Travis Ford, we can do that.”
Warm, warm and still, trusting, limp as a sleeping puppy. He filled up Trav’s arms like nobody had in his life, gave himself more wholly than any other lover Trav had known.
Sure, Trav was borrowing him against a time when he felt whole and complete inside. But Trav was certain Mackey would claim himself whenever he was ready.
The Difficult Kind
MACKEY’SSTOMACHmuscles flexed under the sting of the needle. “’Kay,” he told the muscular woman with the black-and-purple hair and heavy eye makeup, “I’mma roll my ass here a little and let out some tension. You ready?”
“Go,” she said, and the electric buzz of the needle paused while he took a deep breath and adjusted his position. His cock tightened in his jeans, and he tried really hard not to be embarrassed.
The nice woman behind the needle gotthatout of the way. “Don’t worry ’bout the package,” she said, her voice carrying over the death metal echoing through the parlor. “Happens to some guys—especially this area.”
Mackey looked down at the waistband of his jeans and grimaced. The waistband was at his standard jean fit, so odds were good none of his other pairs would rub on this thing in the next ten days.
“Well, it’s tender,” he muttered, and then the needle returned. Once again he grabbed the bar at the head of the backless couch he was stretched out on and tried hard to get back into that Zen place in his head where the pain didn’t matter.
It was hard when dumbshits kept trying to talk to him.
