Page 7

Chapter 7

Lying in the dark that night, listening to Duncan’s deep, steady sleep breath, Brodie knew he’d found the right loon. With Duncan, Brodie felt more at ease, more unguarded, more himself than he had with anyone since Geoffrey.

Still, there’d been a certain cozy luxury about their day together, knowing that all this touching wouldn’t lead to sex just yet. They could savor the simple warmth of contact, indulge in long snogging sessions until their lips went sore. Brodie didn’t mind wanting more than he had the strength to do right now, knowing that one day, he would have it.

He let his imagination take him there—or rather here , in this bed—picturing their naked, sweat-slick bodies moving in perfect sync. He imagined how Duncan would feel inside him, and how he would feel inside Duncan.

Then he wondered if the latter were even an option. If Duncan was like most macho gay athletes, he might think getting fucked was for sissies. He seemed so proud that his team played in a “regular” football league instead of an LGBTQ one, and he’d shown such disdain for River City ’s effeminate hairdresser, Robbie. Brodie had been kidding when he’d called Duncan “straight-acting,” but like most jokes, it held a kernel of truth.

Stretching his legs with pent-up frustration, Brodie noticed Duncan’s sleep was growing restless behind him. Perhaps he was dreaming of the same thing Brodie was imagining.

A sudden kick to his calf dispelled that illusion.

“Ow. Fit’s a dee?” Brodie asked as he turned over. “What’s wrong?”

Duncan rolled from his stomach onto his side, now facing Brodie but lying farther away, taking most of the covers. His eyes shifted behind his closed lids.

Then Duncan’s lips parted as he drew in a short, utterly adorable gasp, which turned into a guffaw. The sound of Duncan’s laughter, which had once cut Brodie to the bone, now made him feel like he was inside some protective inner circle.

Brodie turned back to face the wall, tugging the sheet and duvet. As he pulled the covers forward, Duncan came with them. He pressed close behind Brodie, one arm drifting over his waist.

This was exactly how they’d lain together last night. But tonight, everything was different. For one thing, Brodie wasn’t too tired to appreciate the insistent hardness pressing against him. For another, he wasn’t too tired to do something about it.

He arched his back and met Duncan’s cock with his arse, then eased slowly up and down, feeling the long, stiff shaft slide along the base of his tingling spine.

With a harsh sigh of desire, Duncan responded, moving against him. Whether he was awake or asleep, Brodie couldn’t tell. He didn’t much care, so filled he was with the thrill of being wanted.

Duncan’s breath grew more ragged, and his thrusts more urgent. His left thigh curled forward over Brodie’s, and together with his arm it held him tight in a double embrace.

Then suddenly he stopped. “Oh God,” he said, clear and loud, obviously awake now. “I’m sorry.”

“Dinna be.” Brodie reached back, held Duncan firmly against him, then ground harder then ever.

“Fuck…” Duncan clutched him close, hips jerking, breath hissing through his teeth as he pressed his mouth to Brodie’s hair. Brodie met his movements, reveling in the frantic, irrepressible desire between them.

Suddenly Duncan’s body went rigid, legs locked, until the paralysis gave way to shudders that rose and rose and rose before finally ebbing. Then, after a long exhale, he said, “I am so sorry. That was not planned, I swear.”

“Stop apologizing. It was hot.”

“You’re joking.”

Brodie took Duncan’s hand and shifted it lower. “Does this feel like a joke?”

“Oh,” Duncan breathed as he discovered Brodie’s solid, swollen cock. He began to stroke him through his pajama trousers, slow and steady. “No, it feels pure serious.”

“Seriously amazing,” Brodie said with a sigh, moving to meet the warm, firm caresses.

Duncan kissed his ear. “Can I suck you?”

Brodie shivered at those words, whispered with such pleading, as if Duncan were the one who wanted it more. “Aye,” he said, turning onto his back.

Instead of merely tugging Brodie’s trousers and briefs off his hips, Duncan removed them entirely. Naked from the waist down, Brodie felt exposed and vulnerable, yet strangely powerful.

Duncan bent over and pushed Brodie’s shirt up a few inches, then kissed a slow circle around his navel. Brodie felt himself relax, which made him realize, only now, that he was nervous. Duncan must have sensed it, for he was moving slowly, his palm caressing the side of Brodie’s hip as his mouth drifted lower, lower.

Duncan turned Brodie to lie on his left side. “Here, now I can use both hands. Also my neck won’t get stiff, so I can make it last longer.”

Brodie could only nod, his pulse throbbing in his—well, everything .

A moment later, Duncan began, with one long, slow, wet stroke of his tongue, from the base of Brodie’s shaft up to the tip. Brodie groaned, then slid a hand beneath his pillow, knowing he’d need to muffle his cries if the rest of this felt anything like the first moments.

The second stroke of Duncan’s tongue ended with a teasing swirl over the head of Brodie’s cock, which jerked in response, begging for more. And the third stroke…

The third stroke. God.

The third stroke began at the same place, but instead of traveling upward, Duncan’s tongue went lower, caressing Brodie’s balls.

Brodie pressed the pillow to his mouth and let it absorb the incoherent noises that came from his throat as Duncan continued, worshiping every inch. Brodie’s other hand reached down to stroke the soft, short strands of Duncan’s hair.

If only the room weren’t so dark. He would’ve given anything to see Duncan’s strong, wet lips as they wrapped eagerly around the head of his cock, as they stretched wide to take him all the way in.

Duncan didn’t hurry to make him come, but rather seemed to back off whenever Brodie got close. Brodie had read somewhere that each time one almost came, then didn’t, it made the eventual release that much more intense. He hoped he could take it without completely combusting.

Duncan grasped Brodie’s arse, pulling forward to sink him deep into his throat. Groaning, Brodie tightened his grip on Duncan’s hair.

Then Duncan’s fingertips slid between his cheeks. Brodie went still as he realized where he meant to touch him. Duncan hesitated too, as if silently asking Is it okay?

“Aye,” Brodie managed to choke out. “Please.”

Duncan proceeded, his mouth slowing its strokes of Brodie’s shaft, his finger circling the place Brodie had never been touched.

And when he did, with the lightest of tickles, it felt like the rightest touch in the world. Brodie’s moan escalated to a strangled, desperate cry as the electric sensation shot through him. Every muscle seemed to tremble at once, and he knew this time there was no turning back.

“I’m gonnae come,” he gasped.

Duncan didn’t pull away like most lads did. Maybe he hadn’t heard him.

Brodie pushed Duncan’s mouth off of him. “I said I’m coming.”

“I know. I want to taste you. I want to swallow you.” He paused. “If that’s all right.”

Brodie almost laughed. “Sounds affa fine.”

“Sorry?”

“Aye! Do it. Please.”

Wasting not a moment, Duncan took him in his mouth again. Brodie clung to the edge of the mattress, rocking his hips, shuddering as Duncan’s fingertip stroked the outside of his hole. Then every muscle clenched, for what seemed an eternity. Just as he thought he would snap like a rubber band, his orgasm swept over him in a wave that nearly knocked him senseless.

When he could finally move again, Brodie rolled onto his back, limp and trembling.

Duncan gave a satisfied sigh as he sat up. “Fit like?”

Brodie laughed with what little breath he had, at hearing his own Doric phrase spoken back to him in a Glaswegian accent. “I’m good, ta. Fair good.”

“Cool. Now I need to go and change, thanks to your hot self.” He leaned over and kissed Brodie’s knee.

“Are you coming back?”

“Are you kidding?” Duncan tossed Brodie’s trousers at him. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me from your bed.”

* * *

In a euphoric haze, Brodie pulled his pajama trousers back on, relegating his briefs to the laundry hamper—and not bothering with a new pair—before collapsing into bed again. He stared at the ceiling, unable to form thoughts beyond Och and Wow .

Duncan returned momentarily, using his phone screen to light his way through the room. The faint bluish glow illuminated his face, which held a contented smile.

He slipped beneath the covers, pressed a warm shoulder against Brodie’s, then took his hand. “I probably should’ve mentioned a rarely discussed symptom of glandular fever. For a brief window in the middle of the second phase, which would be about…now, one becomes irrepressibly wicked.”

“How does one treat this symptom?”

“That’s the thing, see. If one indulges this wickedness, it becomes a permanent state. There’s no known cure. Sorry.”

Brodie tried to smile, but he felt suddenly swept with guilt, remembering the lie he’d been telling all week. If he’d confessed to Duncan days ago, they might not be here now.

“You didn’t give me that virus,” Brodie said. “My symptoms started a week after we kissed, but the incubation period is more than a month.” When Duncan said nothing, Brodie continued, speaking faster and faster. “I looked it up on Tuesday. I should’ve said something then, but I-I thought you were caring for me out of guilt, and that you’d leave if you knew the truth. It wasn’t that I wanted free meals, though I did appreciate them. I just really fancied having you here. I loved it, in fact.” He squeezed Duncan’s hand, fearing it was the last time he’d hold it. “I’m sorry for being a manipulative prick. You were never the culprit. You didn’t infect me.”

Duncan stayed silent for a few more heart-pounding, breath-stealing moments. Then he turned his head to Brodie. “I know.”

Brodie was confused. “Know what?”

“I know about the incubation period. I looked it up too, on Monday.”

Brodie’s mouth opened wider and wider as this revelation sunk in. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because my alleged guilt gave me an excuse to be with you.”

A wave of relief swept over Brodie, almost sweeter than the orgasm. “You didn’t need an excuse.”

“Didn’t I? You had just told me to fuck off—politely, of course—so me caring for you round the clock just to be nice would’ve been awkward.” Duncan rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “You would’ve known I fancied you, and if you didn’t feel the same way, it might’ve been creepy. Like I was a stalker nurse or something.”

“So we were both lying.”

“More like sharing a convenient story. It suited our ulterior motive, didn’t it?”

“Which was?”

“This.” Duncan kissed him softly. “We couldn’t admit we wanted to be together, so we used your dreaded virus as an excuse.”

“And here we are.” Brodie slid a hand down the front of Duncan’s T-shirt.

“At last.” He pulled Brodie’s thigh over his own, giving it a possessive pinch. Brodie was glad he’d decided not to put on a new pair of briefs, the better to feel Duncan’s fingers through these thin cotton trousers.

“You’re incredible, ken?” he told Duncan. “No one’s ever made me come like that, like the world was ending. You’re utterly out of my league.”

“Out of your league because I give good head? It’s nothing you can’t do.”

“I haven’t got half as much practice.”

“Hmm. It’s true there are some things you can learn only by doing, through trial and error.” Duncan’s lips drifted across Brodie’s. “But other things, you can learn by observation. Close observation.”

Brodie’s mouth watered. “Are you saying I’ve just had my first lesson in Advanced Fellatio?”

“Intermediate at most, but cheers, that’s flattering.”

Brodie swallowed his nervousness and slid his fingers under the waistband of Duncan’s sleep trousers. “Then maybe I should practice what I’ve learned, pronto.”