Page 32 of Tinsel & Tools
My gut clenched. The last thing I wanted was to pick apart what had happened between us before I had the words for it. I shook my head. “I’ll check the water heater this morning. If it needs a plumber, I’ll set one up.”
Gavin’s mouth closed around whatever he’d been about to say. He blinked, then gave a slight nod. “Sounds good.”
I set my mug on the counter, still half full. “I’ll meet you over there in a bit.”
“Okay. I’ll head out soon. Just come over when you can.”
He lingered with his coffee, eyes darting between me and the floor. I busied myself at the dishwasher, opening it and sliding my cup onto the rack after pouring out the mixture.
After a few quiet sips, he carried his mug over and handed it to me, not bothering to finish it either. Our fingers brushed when I took it, quick but enough to spark the memory of last night all over again.
“See you soon.” He turned and headed for the front door.
“Yeah.” I loaded his cup next to mine and kept my eyes on the dishwasher until the door shut behind him.
By the time I pulled into the lot, Dad’s van was already parked in front of the inn. I’d called him after Gavin had left my place, figuring it was better to have him with me. Water heaters weren’t my specialty, and after last night, having my father around would hopefully make things less awkward.
I grabbed my tool bag from the back of my truck. My boots crunched over the packed snow, breath puffing in the cold air, until I reached the back steps.
“Morning, Son.”
“Morning,” I answered, shifting the bag on my shoulder.
Gavin waited just inside, his hands buried in the front pocket of his sweatshirt. His eyes met mine and dropped quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I returned, then followed Dad through the kitchen and down the narrow stairs.
The basement was colder than outside, the air damp and still. The water heater sat in the corner, rust spreading along the bottom and dust clinging to the top.
My father crouched with his flashlight and gave the burner a closer look. I stood next to him, tool bag open, ready to pass what he needed. Gavin stayed near the stairs, his arms crossed tight as he watched. I tried to focus on the job, but his eyes stayed on me, and I didn’t hate it.
“Pilot’s out,” Dad told us, striking the lighter until the flame caught. He watched it for a moment, then checked the connections. “That’ll hold for now, but this tank’s at the end. You’ll need a plumber to put in a new one before long.”
Gavin exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “At least I’ll have hot water again.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll start calling around. You’ll be set until someone can come out.”
He nodded. “Appreciate it.”
We went back upstairs, and Dad closed up his jacket and looked at me. “I’ll let you handle the plumber. Keep me posted once you have a date.”
“Will do.”
He headed out the back, leaving me alone with Gavin.
I shifted the bag in my hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll start building the new porch. I’ve got Pete lined up to help me.”
“Sounds good.”
That night, I was stretched out in bed, the blanket shoved to my waist, my cock hard and pressing against my boxers. Sleep wasn’t happening. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Gavin on his knees, my dick buried in his mouth, his hand gripping my hip.
I dragged a hand over my face, told myself to knock it off, to just turn over and try for sleep. I rolled to my side, shifted, pulled the blanket up, but it was useless. The throbbing in my hard-on refused to go away as my mind kept returning to him. To the wet pull of his lips. To his tongue running down the underside of my shaft. To the way he swallowed when I exploded in his throat.
I cursed under my breath and shoved the sheet and my boxers down. My dick sprang free, flushed and leaking at the tip. I wrapped my fist around my thick length and stroked once, slowly, just to feel the pleasure race through me. The tension in my body kicked harder, heat rising low in my gut.
I pumped again—tighter, faster. Pre-cum slicked the head, and I spread it with my thumb, groaning into the darkened room.
My hips lifted off the mattress as I worked my shaft. The memory replayed in flashes: his lips working down, the scrape of his stubble, the pull of his throat when he took me deep. Every stroke of my fist matched the rhythm of his mouth until I was gasping, chasing the thought.
