Patchouli For Christmas (6 page)

Michael draped an arm around Jude as they settled comfortably together. “What about you?” he asked. “Greenpeace T-shirt two sizes too big, half-empty box of condoms? Who is he?”

“Who, Pierre? Oh, he’s just a friend.”

“Ooh la la, Pierre, is it?” Michael said in his most atrocious French accent. Jude laughed and dug his fingers into Michael’s ribs, drawing an undignified yelp from him.

When Michael had caught Jude’s fingers and tangled them in his, he asked in a more serious voice, “But surely more than just a friend?”

“He was. I met him in college when he was an exchange student. We were sort of on and off for quite a while. We believe in a lot of the same things, but where I do what I can from home, he always has to travel to the next big rally or the mega-concert to raise money or the government protests in some other country.”

“Do you still see him when he’s in town?”

“He hasn’t been here in a long time. He calls every now and then to fill me in on his latest adventures. Last time, he called from Alaska, but I don’t know if he’s still there.”

Michael played with his hair, letting the chestnut strands fall through his fingers. “Do you miss him?”

“I like talking to him. It’s kind of exciting to hear all the stories of his adventures. He asked me to go with him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It’s a little hard to paint when you’re on the road. You need a lot of supplies for art.”

“I noticed. And?”

“And—I loved him, while we were in college. But I was never in love with him. Not enough to run away and leave my home, my painting, my grandmother. I consider him a good friend.”

“You must. You’re still wearing his shirt.”

“Does that bother you? I’ll stop if you want.”

“God, no. You look sexy as hell in it.”

“I do? A ratty old T-shirt?”

“I think you’d look sexy in anything.”

That earned him another kiss, and then Jude decided to reciprocate the blowjob.

“You don’t have to,” Michael protested but, he feared, without much conviction in his voice.

“I want to. I haven’t tasted you yet.”

Michael watched Jude take him into his mouth and thought about all the different kinds of trouble that bobbing head represented. He closed his eyes and let Jude sweep away the nagging thoughts.

* * * *

When he woke from the orgasm that had knocked him unconscious, Michael found himself alone in the bed. At least he no longer harbored any doubts regarding Jude’s experience.

After using the bathroom and cleaning up, he pulled on his pants and the undershirt he’d worn under his silk dress shirt. Carrying the shirt to the living room, he hunted for his shoes. He spotted them on the floor by the front door, under the jacket that Jude had hung on its peg.

Then he smelled something that made his stomach rumble, and glanced toward the kitchen. Jude stood at the stove in T-shirt and sweatpants, stirring something in a pot. The table was set for two. Did that mean Jude expected him to stay for dinner? If he’d been planning on other company, he would have said so. Wouldn’t he? Michael wondered if he was being dumb again. It was so hard to tell.

After pulling the phone from his jacket pocket, he checked the time. Eight o’clock already, and there were three messages on the phone from businesses that would be closed by now. Frowning, he shook his head. He couldn’t neglect his business like this very often. Doug had once told him he could afford to hire an assistant. Maybe he should give that some thought.

Jude turned and spotted him by the door with his clothes in one hand and his phone in the other. “Where do you think you’re going?” He looked like the annoyed Jude who had first opened his door to Michael.

Michael held up his phone. “I really have to go. I have some calls to make and a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

Jude held up his wooden spoon as if mocking the way Michael had held up his phone. “And I had a lot of cooking to do. So damn it, somebody’s going to eat it.”

The scowl was definitely back in full force.

“Okay then.” Moving with exaggerated care, as if trying not to antagonize the wild animal glaring at him, Michael hung his jacket quietly back on the peg.

Jude waved his spoon. “Now sit down.”

Michael went to the kitchen table and sat down.

Jude leaned over him and whispered in his ear, “I’ve got your number now, buddy. You’re not getting away so easily.”

Michael couldn’t hide the panic on his face.

Jude snorted his laughter. “For God’s sake, Michael. It’s just dinner.”

Michael looked sheepishly down at the table.

Shaking his head, Jude said, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re a bit of a drama queen?”

Michael stared at him for a moment and then started laughing.

Jude rolled his eyes and then turned to dish out whatever smelled so good. “Fettuccine primavera with breaded tofu. If you don’t like the tofu, you can pick it out. I won’t be offended.”

“It smells great.”

“I don’t cook meat, but it doesn’t bother me if people order it. Like, when I go to a restaurant with someone.”

Was that a hint? Was he supposed to ask Jude out to dinner now? Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out an actual date.

He picked up his fork. “I don’t cook much. This is nice.” He didn’t want to admit that most nights ended with him and a bowl of shredded wheat—the frosted kind—in front of whatever
Star Trek
marathon was running.

He sampled. “It’s really good.”

“Even the tofu?”

“Even the tofu. I know it’s all in how it’s cooked. I managed a couple of nice restaurants before I decided I’d rather work for myself.”

Jude sat, and the conversation turned to restaurants and movies, which Michael knew a lot about, and then politics and art, which he didn’t. But he found he loved watching how excited Jude got as he talked. His face flushed, and his dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

Before Michael knew it, they’d finished dinner and he’d landed on the couch with Jude snuggled against his side and their legs tangled together.

Finally, Jude asked the question—
that
question. “So what are you doing tomorrow night?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Jude raised an eyebrow. “It’s not rocket science. Do you want to see me again or don’t you?”

“Of course I do. It’s just—you mean—like a date?”

“I get it. You don’t date much. We can call it something else if you want. A couple of guys having a beer and talking about football.”

“Know a lot about football, do you?”

“Never watch it. You?”

“No. I like baseball, though.”

The sudden ring of Michael’s phone made him jump. “It’s too late to be work.” He pulled it from his pocket. “It’s my brother.”

Jude nodded. He rose and headed for the kitchen to start the dishes and give Michael at least a semblance of privacy.

Michael answered the call. Before he could get a word out, Doug was speaking in rapid, slurred tones. “I went to visit tonight. The kids asked when I was coming home. They don’t understand.”

“Of course they don’t. We didn’t at their age.”

Doug didn’t seem to hear him. “I tried. I swear. She shut me down even though she looked like she was about to cry or something.”

Doug sounded like he might be the one crying. The shaking voice hardly seemed like his brother. “Have you been drinking?” Michael asked.

“Why won’t she give me another chance if she’s so upset about getting divorced?”

Michael stood and paced the living room. “Doug. Listen to me. Where are you?”

For a moment he heard only heavy breathing. Then a loud thump, followed by a creaking noise.

“Doug! Where are you?”

“I’m on the crappy couch in this crappy apartment. Where the hell else would I be?”

Relieved, Michael listened as Doug continued speaking. His words were almost too indistinct to understand, but at least he was safe at his place. “…goddamn vodka bottle fell off the goddamn table. Goddamn empty anyway.”

“Why don’t you stretch out on the couch for a while?”

“Sorry, Mike. Gotta go. I think I need to lie down. I’ll call you back tomorrow, okay?”

The phone clicked. Michael stared at it for a moment, then shook his head and sat on the couch again. He leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling.

A solid, reassuring presence settled next to him. Jude took his hand. “Do you want to tell me about it? If not, that’s okay.”

Did Michael want to tell him about it? What kind of impression would whining about family problems make on someone he’d just met? He had no idea if that constituted proper dating etiquette, but it seemed unlikely.

He looked over at Jude. Their fingers were still entwined, and Jude returned his look solemnly. His long lashes were dark. Michael would have thought they’d have more red in them, like his hair, but they were almost black.

“Shit,” he muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose sharply to keep from making a fool of himself.

Jude remained quiet, giving him time to collect himself. Michael took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned against the hard body next to him. Jude slung an arm around him, and that was all the encouragement Michael needed. He found himself telling Jude about Doug, his family, and the impending divorce.

Jude listened in silence. When Michael ran out of words, Jude pulled him close. “I’m so sorry. I can see how much you care about them.” After giving him a brief kiss, he asked, “Have they considered a marriage counselor? I know someone.”

“Have a lot of need for one, do you?” That thought made Michael smile. Proper dating etiquette or not, he felt better, and Jude seemed to be okay with listening to him go on about his family.

“Don’t be an ass.” Jude shoved him onto his back and landed on top of him. Michael’s breath left him with a grunt.

Jude eased up a little but didn’t get off. Michael wrapped his arms around him to make sure he wouldn’t.

Jude stretched out on top of him and tucked his head under Michael’s chin. “She’s the wife of a therapist I know. A guy I went to for a while.” He sounded hesitant. Michael stroked his back encouragingly. “My grandma sent me to see someone. I had a hard time after my parents died.”

“Jeez. Of course you did.”

“I was only fifteen. I couldn’t understand why I walked away with hardly a scratch, but they…”

Michael stilled. “I didn’t know you were in the car. Oh, Jude.”

He hugged Jude until he finally lifted his head to look at him with a smile. A small, sad smile, but still a smile.

Michael had a sudden realization. “Hey, maybe that’s why you—” Then he bit his lip and cursed himself. Why did every stray thought have to pop right out of his mouth?

But Jude nodded. “The therapist told me all about survivor’s guilt and trying to atone.” He looked away as he added in a low voice, “And I know in my head it wasn’t my fault, but I don’t always feel it.”

Michael didn’t know what he could possibly say that would help with that kind of sadness. So he didn’t say anything. Instead, he wrapped his legs around Jude and pulled him closer. His action might be inappropriate considering their topic of conversation, but heat had been pooling in his lower belly since Jude first stretched out on top of him. He thrust upward a little.

Inappropriate or not, Jude seemed to feel the same. He rocked his pelvis against Michael’s and ground their hardening cocks together. Michael lifted his knees and gripped Jude with his thighs in an attempt to bring them even closer. Then he twisted his fingers through Jude’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. He broke the kiss and reached down to unzip his pants, while Jude immediately started nuzzling his neck.

Michael freed himself with a sigh of relief. Since his hand was in the neighborhood anyway, he thought Jude might appreciate the same consideration, so he hooked Jude’s waistband and pushed the sweatpants down around his thighs. This conveniently bared his bottom so Michael could fondle it with one hand while reaching in between them to grip their cocks in the other hand. He squeezed the shafts together and began a long stroking motion.

Jude never stopped kissing his neck, although he did shift a little to give Michael room to reach between them.

Jude moved his mouth to Michael’s shoulder and bit him gently through the white undershirt. “You’re so beautiful. Sometimes I think I could eat you right up.”

“But you don’t eat meat.”

“Funny guy. I could do without your horrible sense of humor.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“You have my dick in your hand.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Asshole.” Jude bit his shoulder a little harder and then sucked up a mark on his neck.

Was that supposed to be punishment? The sensations shot a jolt of pure heat down Michael’s spine. He arched up with a gasp and heard Jude’s answering groan as he thrust more vigorously into Michael’s hand.

Michael used his thumb to gather the now pouring precum and spread it for lubricant. Jude’s mouth landed forcefully on his, and they rocked together in earnest as they explored every inch of each other’s mouths with their tongues.

Pressure moved down Michael’s body and landed in his balls. They drew tight with the need to explode. Michael strengthened his grip until their bodies twisted frantically and their slick cocks thrust hard together into his hand.

“So close,” he groaned into Jude’s mouth. Jude grunted an incoherent answer. Then his grunt turned into a loud moan, and Michael felt Jude’s dick spasm as warm liquid spilled over his hand.

Jude’s ecstasy pushed Michael into his own orgasm. His back arched again as long, slow waves of pleasure rocked him and his fluid spurted to mingle with Jude’s.

Michael’s arms fell to his sides, lifeless. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Jude’s body was just as limp as Michael’s. He felt like a lead weight on top of Michael’s chest, making it a little difficult to recover his breath. But Michael didn’t have the energy—or the desire—to push him off.

Especially when Jude started trailing little kisses up his neck to end at his mouth. But the kiss only lasted a moment. Jude pulled back a little to look down into Michael’s face. His eyes were wide and serious. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Michael felt it in the warm fluttering in his belly and in the rapid beat of his own heart. Excitement. Anxiety. Hope for connection. Fear of falling too fast and too hard.