Promise Rock 03 - Living Promises (MM) (32 page)

“I know where you live, little man!” Collin had backed down. “Yeah,” he murmured, suddenly wanting to be alone with Collin more than anything.
Death knows where we all live, baby. About all we can do is hold hands until he comes knocking. If you're game, I am, 'kay?
“Sorry,” Natalie murmured. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Jeff shook his head. “No,” he said, then, more positively, “no—not at all. It's always a good thing to know where Collin is coming from.” “And where's that?” Natalie asked kindly.
“Same place I am,” Jeff admitted, feeling unaccountably vulnerable in front of this nice woman. “Blind fucking fear. He's just braver than I am at facing it.”
“Well, sweetheart, he was five. Maybe he's just had longer to plan his battle strategy, you know?”
Jeff offered a warm but shaky smile. “I think you managed to survive his childhood, and you're a very wise woman. I should probably listen to you.”
Natalie surprised him then with a kiss on the cheek—and then a careful wiping off of her lipstick. “I think you should come to Friday night videos next week. My daughters need to meet you so they know I talk sense.”
Jeff smiled and ducked his head, understanding this for the honor it was. “Martin and I will be there,” he said, and it was a date. At that moment, Collin stuck his head into the kitchen. “Mom, I'm gonna steal Jeff for a minute and take him out for my one-a-day, alright?”
Natalie grimaced. “Eww, Collin! Are you
still
doing that?” “Well, yeah. But only once a day!” Collin grinned cheekily, and Jeff excused himself and followed Collin out the back door of the little ranch house. He wanted to see Collin's old room, which was apparently completely devoted to model cars and trains in the hopes that one day Natalie's grandson would want to play there, as well as the room that had been painted for the granddaughters, and even the room that Collin affectionately called “Mom's crap room” because it was full of fabric, yarn, and scrap book supplies that never got used.
Jeff snagged his leather jacket because it was cold enough to make his breath white, and followed Collin to a small little alcove between the outside brick portion of the chimney and the garage.
“I haven't bought any cigarettes in almost a month,” Jeff told him as Collin retreated in the shadows. “Didn't want to show Martin any bad hab—”
Jeff felt two fists in his jacket lapels dragging him against a hard young body, and Collin's mouth was hot and hard on his.
“I didn't come out here to smoke,” Collin muttered, kissing the corner of Jeff's mouth and then his temple and then his throat. His hands were everywhere, down Jeff's pants, cupping his ass, under his shirt, stroking his back, and Jeff thought bemusedly that this was maybe one of the dangers of having a younger lover, because he'd thought they were done with this for the day, but Collin was kissing him like they were just getting started.
Collin gave Jeff's ass a squeeze, his finger slipping down into the crease, almost grazing Jeff's entrance, and his knees threatened to give out. “No, baby,” he muttered, trying to think rationally. Collin's hand slid to the front of his pants, and Jeff's eyes threatened to roll back in his head. Dammit, dammit, dammit, he didn't have a change of clothes or a come-cloth or a condom—although he wouldn't put it past Collin to have two of them, lubed and ribbed and ready to roll in his pocket—and they had maybe ten minutes, so they had to improvise.
He told himself he remembered how to do this in less than three and slid his hand down Collin's pants and squeezed.
Collin ceased his own groping, buried his face in Jeff's shoulder, and groaned.
Jeff laughed softly, pulled his hand out, and fumbled with the fly of Collin's jeans, then moved to his side. Deliberately he shoved one hand down the front of Collin's pants and pulled out Collin's (quite large and impressive) cock and started to stroke. Collin whimpered, so obviously in need, and Jeff wrapped his other arm around Collin's shoulders and stroked Collin's far cheek.
“Suck on my fingers,” he whispered, and Collin turned his head and did, in rhythm with Jeff's stroking on his cock, and Jeff nuzzled his ear and his neck as he did. “That's it, baby, make them nice and wet.
You know where they're going, don't you?”
Collin groaned, releasing Jeff's two fingers from his mouth with a pop, and Jeff whispered, “Spread your knees, Collin. Spread 'em….” Jeff's fingers and cuticles were perfect, smooth, no tiny cuts, not even so much as a dry patch of skin. They were soft and clean after being in the dishwater, and Jeff had no qualms about sliding his fingers down the crease of Collin's pale, bare ass and probing gently.
Collin groaned when Jeff found his entrance, and Jeff leaned over, capturing the groan with his mouth as he thrust the first finger in.
Collin's knees almost buckled. He had one arm wrapped around Jeff's waist, and for the first time, Jeff felt like he was supporting them, supporting them both, his beautiful warrior who would face down Death for the hell of it but who backed out of the fight because he chose to love life instead. Collin thrust hard against Jeff's hand and spurted some precome, making his glide slippery and hot-cold with come and the chill of the clear night.
Jeff added another finger and spread them.
Collin screamed into the haven of Jeff's mouth and shot come over the dark space of lawn beyond their little patch of cement.
Jeff ignored his own bursting hard-on to nurse Collin through the aftershocks, holding him tight and fastening his pants with tender, trembling fingers.
When Collin was dressed and his shirt was pulled down around the waistband of his jeans and he was leaning against Jeff, shivering, he managed to speak. “God, man, I had no idea you were built for that kind of speed.”
Jeff laughed a little, wondering how long his own erection was going to last. “Men don't usually brag about that, sweets. Just a few techniques left over from my clubbing days.”
“If you don't get him off in three minutes, it wasn't worth leaving the club?” Collin asked dryly, and Jeff blushed a little and nodded. “It's
always
worth leaving the club,” he said, knowing his voice was smug and not really caring.
Collin laughed and groaned and suddenly caught Jeff up in a fierce hug, the kind that made Jeff want to lay his head against that hard, broad chest and concede everything to the gods.
He managed to lay his head on Collin's shoulder, and, after wiping his hands discreetly on the inside of Collin's shirt (since Collin could go inside and change right after Jeff left) he traced a high, sharp cheekbone with his knuckle as they stood and recovered themselves in the chill of the night.
“Collin?”
“Yeah?”
“This is going to be a long-term thing, isn't it?”
Collin's eyes were dark in this light and unfathomable. “I'm planning on it.”
“I'll plan on it too,” Jeff said. If Collin could plan on “long term” when he knew damned well and firsthand that there were no guarantees, then Jeff could too.
“I
….” I love you. I think I do. I think maybe I loved you a month ago. I think five years ago, I loved who you would become. I love you, but I'm terrified, and I think right now I'll just take this, my head on your shoulder, your breath in my ear, and tell myself that this is all I can hope for, it's more than I deserve, it's more than some people get in a lifetime.
I love you, but I'm going to tuck it up in my chest for a little while more, until I'm stronger, until I'm braver, until I'm sure I won't hurt you with the jagged parts of myself that are still catching on my own heart and ripping little holes in it.
“You what, Jeffy?”
“I should probably be thrown in the nuthouse for even thinking about this,” Jeff muttered. “But….”
“But?”
“But I'm glad. I'm glad it's not going away tomorrow. I'm glad you were here. Happy Thanksgiving, Collin.”
Collin captured his mouth with gentleness on his breath and kissed him so softly it was like they barely touched. “Happy Thanksgiving, Jeff.
When can I see you again?”
Next week, next month, next year…..
“Tomorrow night,” Jeff begged, and Collin kissed him again. “I'll come over at seven. I'll bring a movie—
Transformers
or something. Martin will love it.”
“Sounds awesome, Sparky. I can't wait.”
“Jeff?”
“Yeah?”
“I really like it when you call me „Collin'.”
“Well when I really like you, that's what I'll call you,” Jeff retorted primly, and was gratified by Collin's laugh.
“Bitch.”
“Fetus.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
“Bossy fetus… mmmmmm….”
Hope tasted even better than pie.

Collin: A Tickle of Panic

D
EACON
came home the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Collin was in the quiet welcome-home party that lasted just long enough for the man of honor to fall asleep. After that, Collin was amused, and then impressed, as Jeff, Shane, and Benny worked out a schedule in which some of the kids from Promise House came out and helped with the horses and other members of the family would cook. Mikhail got miffed, at one point, when he was not allowed to help as often as he would have liked, and turned around and huffed off in Collin's direction.

Collin regarded him with a smile over his soda, and Mikhail crossed his arms and sulked. “I'm sure someone else will cook just fine,” Collin said helpfully, and was regarded by Mikhail's scowl.

“You do not understand,” he muttered. “Last year, these people— after my mother died, they… they rode to my rescue. You cannot do enough for these people. I cannot do enough.”

Collin raised his eyebrows, impressed yet again. “I'm sure you'll get your chance,” he consoled, feeling trite, and was rewarded by a bored roll of Mikhail's eyes in his direction.

“Just you wait, engine-man. They will help you, someday, and you will be at a loss. You have family now—lucky you. But this family, they will stand for you, and you will be lost as to how to pay that back, and I would laugh at you, but here I am. Only allowed to cook chili.”

Mikhail stalked off after that, and Collin was left looking at him in surprise. An exasperating little diva? Yes. But a beloved member of this little family? There could be no doubt.

Crick came in from doing the horses and looked at the finished schedule with a face that'd he seemed to have set on “stoic.” “You guys… this is awesome,” he mumbled. “This… this will help so much….”

He smiled a little, kissed Benny on the cheek, and ducked his head as he walked off to check on Deacon.
Benny shook her head. “Oh my God! He gets any more terse, and he's going to be just like Deacon!”
Jeff looked after him thoughtfully. “I think,” he said quietly, “that Deacon just did what Iraq didn't.”
“Fuck,” Benny muttered, forgetting about Parry Angel's big ears for a minute. “Man, even I know that's a shitty way to grow up.”
Jeff looked up and locked eyes with Collin for a moment, his own dark and brooding thoughtfully. “You're telling me.”
Collin didn't have to ponder what he was talking about, and for all of a week or so, he wondered if Jeff wasn't going to try, once again, to convince him to find another crush. That would have been impossible, of course, because this thing had gone
way
beyond “crush” and right into “I'll live in your pansy-assed condo with its-embarrassing white carpeting if only I can sleep next to you every night and watch your insanely long beauty routine every goddamned morning.”
It was getting perilously, insanely, awesomely close to love.
So everything was roses, right? (Roses—Collin made a mental note to send Jeff roses. Jeff would appreciate roses, and it wasn't a thing Collin had
ever
gotten to do with another boyfriend. Most of his other boyfriends were wiry little men who would rather have a gift certificate to Sharper Image.)
That was until two weeks after Thanksgiving.
The week after Thanksgiving, which was also, coincidentally, almost three weeks before Christmas, Collin felt a tickle in his throat.
This was a bad thing.
The week itself had been wonderful, in fact. Spectacular. Awesome.
The Monday after Thanksgiving—the night after Deacon came home—Colin went over with a movie, and they'd had a boys' movie night. It was complete with microwave popcorn, which Con, the fuzzy gray mountain with the bugged-out eyes, liked to steal off of their laps one kernel at a time and bat around the lovely Berber carpet until it was dead. They drank too much soda, and there were boos at the screen from all parties involved. Collin loved watching bad action flicks—he'd always considered them interactive entertainment.
The second movie had been a romantic comedy, and while Martin had sat cross-legged on the recliner, Jeff and Collin were sitting next to each other on the couch. In the dark. By the end of the movie—and bedtime for all—Jeff was leaning back in Collin's arms, and they'd both been dozing enough to snap to attention when Martin stood and turned the lights on.
“Oh gag me!” Martin muttered, rolling his eyes as they startled and remembered where they were. “You guys are just so damned sweet it's giving me sugar-shock.”
Collin blinked sleepy eyes and then grinned when he realized that the “gag me” hadn't been about the gay—it had simply been about the sweet.
“Go, Martin,” he mumbled. “Way to let the love in.” God, he was tired. He and Jeff had both worked the day after Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving had been sort of a helluva day.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You want me to
really
let the love in? I'll tell you what. You spend the night in Jeff's room instead of on the couch, so I don't have to see your skanky ass when I'm up trying to watch cartoons in the morning, I'll take it as a personal favor.”
Collin had been planning to drive home, but he wasn't going to look a gift night in Jeff's bed in the mouth. Or the ass. Or whatever. “Aren't you a little old for cartoons?”
“Just the fact that you have no idea how awesome cartoons are at my age proves that you are too old to try to relate to me. Get to bed, old man.”
“Hey!” Jeff protested, standing up with Katy in his arms, which was difficult when you were tired. It must have been—Jeff had to stop and sway for a minute in order to get his balance. “If he's old, what the hell am I?”
“You hella old. Now go to bed. I know you both have to work tomorrow, and I want you dressed before you come out of that room, or I really may have to vomit.”
Martin stalked off to bed muttering about too many men in their underwear, and Collin and Jeff stood and blinked bemused eyes at each other.
“Was I dreaming, or do we get to actually sleep in the same bed tonight, Sparky?”
“I don't know. Let's go fall into bed where we can dream about it some more.”
They did, tired enough that really all they did was run slow hands over each other's bodies and tease each other into a languid hardness before they fell asleep, but they were together, healthy and happy, and it was enough. Collin had forgotten how lovely it was to just
sleep
with a man, and he decided he should do more of it.