Page 66 of Hush

Mike’s eyes smoldered, a scorching inferno that sizzled against Tom’s skin. He leaned in, kissing Tom gently, so at odds with the heat in his gaze. He promised delirious passion with his eyes, and gentle, lingering sweetness with his kiss. A lover’s touch, and a night of unbridled desire, enough to make Tom’s bones melt. His gaze said he would devour Tom, and his kiss, his touch, said Tom would love every moment of it.

“Let’s go upstairs. To the shower.”

It was silly, but Tom zipped up his pants. Mike had already seen everything worth seeing, but a touch of shyness still lingered. Mike mirrored him, and they padded upstairs in their suit pants and wingtips and nothing else.

Tom started the shower, adjusted the temperature, and then turned into Mike’s hold. They swayed together, hands roaming, chests pressed together. Warm skin against warm skin. The feel of another man. God, how he’d craved this. He’d never really allowed himself to acknowledge just how much he missed the feel of another man, or wanted another man’s hands on him.

Mike cradled his face. Kissed him gently. Ran his hands down Tom’s chest, down his abdomen, to his fly. He waited, his eyes flicking back up to meet Tom’s.

Tom nodded as his body started to tremble.

Slowly, Mike peeled Tom’s pants and briefs down. In a moment, Tom was naked, completely naked, in front of Mike.

“Beautiful,” Mike whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”

Tom snorted. He ran his hands down himself, seeing only patchy chest hair, narrow hips, his slender legs, the hair on his thighs mostly rubbed off and bare in places because of the friction of his swimsuit. “I’m not.”

“You are.” Mike kissed him, and kissed him again.

Tom found Mike’s fly and reciprocated, peeling Mike’s small, sexy briefs and suit pants down his legs. He smiled, and a burn raced through every nerve in his body. Mike was going to be an amazing lover.

Naked together, for the first time. Mike tugged Tom close, wrapping him up. Their bodies aligned, fit perfectly together. Tom clung to Mike. Mike groaned, curled over him, and ran his hands down Tom’s back, over his ass. Squeezed. And then—

“What isthis?”

Shit.

Tom’s cheeks burned, center-of-the-sun hot, suddenly. He stepped back and covered his left ass cheek with both hands. “Nothing.”

Grinning wide, Mike tugged at Tom’s elbow. “C’mon. I saw it. Show me.”

“You saw nothing.”

“Oh yes I did.”

“Nope.”

Mike stared at him. Tom sighed. He turned, but kept his hands over his left cheek. Finally, he dropped them, and watched over his shoulder as Mike got his first good look at his one lasting youthful indiscretion.

A rainbow tattoo sat in the center of his left ass cheek, a bright, gaudy stamp. On top, a golden crown perched askew, like a queen’s tiara that had tipped after a wild night. He’d had a wild night when he got the tattoo. One night in 1991, an alcohol-blurred evening filled with Peter and laughter, hopes and dreams, and then and this lifelong tattoo. He’d loved it when he first got it. A statement, a declaration to the world. He was who he was.

And then he’d hated it, and hated looking at it in the mirror. He decided not to, and for years, averted his eyes, never catching sight of it. Shame crawled under his skin whenever he inadvertently did. But, eventually, the tattoo and his own identity settled into a quiet solitude, both hidden from the world forever. Or so he thought.

Mike ran his fingers over his tattoo, tracing the arch of the rainbow, the tilt of the golden crown. “I’ve wanted to get one, but never have.”

“It’s not as painful as they say. Feels like a fingernail scratch.”

“Maybe I’ll get a matching rainbow tattoo on my ass.” Mike winked.

Tom kept his mouth shut. He looked away.

Steam poured from the shower, and Mike held open the wide glass door. He’d renovated his master bath along with everything else, widening the shower, making it big enough for two, like everything else. He and Mike easily fit under the spray. They took turns wetting their hair, shaking the water out of their eyes. Mike’s blond hair turned dark, plastered to his head. He reached for the body wash and Tom’s loofah, and then started to soap Tom down.

He washed every finger and up his arms, across his chest. Around his neck, and then down. Down, skirting past his groin to his thighs and his legs. Mike squatted, washing his feet, in-between his toes.

“Turn around.”

Tom did, and braced himself against the shower wall, beneath the spray. Water sluiced down his back, down the canyon of his spine, and into his cleft. Mike’s soapy hand trailed up the back of his thigh.