Page 40 of True North
He was clearly waiting for JT to do something. JT closed his eyes for a moment and considered playing possum. Then he turned onto his back and shielded his eyes with one hand so he could look up at Misha’s face.
Misha wouldn’t meet his gaze. He started his mole tracing again, going down JT’s arm, then back to his shoulder and going down his chest and belly, low enough that JT started to wonder where he was going to end up. JT’s breath came quick and shallow as Misha’s finger dragged across the sensitive skin of his abdomen. He was way too naked for this.
Misha stopped, finally, his hand at JT’s hip. At last, he met JT’s eyes. His serious expression was at odds with the deliberate way he had touched JT’s body.
JT’s voice was only a little rough when he said, “What are we doing?”
Misha snatched his hand away and looked aside. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” JT reached up and took Misha’s hand in his and tugged until Misha looked at him again. “I didn’t say I had a problem with it.”
Misha studied his face, his gaze wary. “It’s okay?”
JT brought Misha’s hand back to his hip, where it had been last, and held it there until Misha exhaled shakily and curved his palm around the ridge of JT’s hipbone. JT could feel his whole body coming alive beneath Misha’s hand, waking from a long sleep.
“Not a problem at all,” he said.
Seventeen
Misha watched him all through dinner, a wary, sidelong observation that reminded JT of their earliest days together. He knew Misha much better now, though, and was familiar with Misha’s characteristic mixture of boldness and caution. He would crawl into bed with a stranger but have to be dragged kicking and screaming to a cookout. Having made a daring foray, he would now retreat and assess the situation.
JT left him to it. They had already, as far as he was concerned, passed the point of no return. Whatever was going to happen next was inevitable, and there was no use worrying about it or wondering if they were making the right choice. They probably weren’t. JT was okay with that.
He moved to the living room after dinner clean-up was finished, as he usually did. Misha didn’t join him, which JT took as permission to turn on the Jays game.
A couple of innings went by. The Jays were losing, but not horribly, so there was still time for a comeback. The next hitter had just come up to bat when Misha appeared in the doorway.
They looked at each other. JT sat up on the couch. Misha’s expression was less guarded than JT had maybe ever seen it. He could read uncertainty there, but also anticipation and sweet, open happiness.
“Hey,” JT said. He repositioned so that he was wedged into the corner of the couch with one arm stretched along the back, making a space for Misha. “Want to watch some baseball?”
“Baseball,” Misha said derisively, but he came into the room and sat right where JT wanted him, tucked beneath his arm. He sat stiffly, but he was warm and he smelled good and he felt even better than he had on the porch swing earlier that day, because now they were alone in their own house and he was probably going to let JT kiss him. JT hoped he would.
The Jays loaded up the bases. Misha relaxed bit by bit, slumping against JT’s side. JT decided he no longer gave a fuck about baseball and pressed his face into Misha’s hair. He’d never understood what people meant with the whole butterflies in the stomach thing, but he was really feeling it now.
The game cut to a commercial. Misha squirmed around a little and then sat up and turned to face JT, one leg pulled up onto the couch. He looked rumpled and pink-cheeked, sleepy and relaxed, and he was wearing a shirt with JT’s number on it to boot. JT was almost dead from how much he wanted Misha and how terrible of an idea he knew it was and how little he cared. The eye contact was intense and also contributing to his imminent demise. He could see every individual fleck in Misha’s eyes.
He needed to say something to release some of the pressure. He had no idea what. He opened his mouth, hoping the words would come to him. Then Misha leaned in and kissed him.
His mouth was soft and dry, a quick press of lips before he sat back again. He was even pinker now, and he looked wary again, as if there were any chance in any universe that JT was going to shoot him down.
“It’s okay?” Misha asked.
“Better do it again to make sure,” JT said.
Misha’s smile made JT feel like he was bungee jumping, like he had just jumped off a bridge and was hurtling head first through the air. “You like,” Misha said, and moved in to kiss JT again. JT held perfectly still and let Misha do what he wanted, which was to kiss JT gently, on his top lip and then his bottom, the corner of his mouth. Misha’s lips were politely closed, the kisses dry and exploratory. JT waited, and he was rewarded when Misha sighed a little and pressed in closer, and put a hand on JT’s thigh, and kissed him for real.
JT’s stomach swooped around wildly as he learned how Misha liked to kiss: slow and soft, and wetter than JT usually liked, but the careful slide of Misha’s tongue was so good that he was immediately converted. Misha slid his free hand into JT’s hair and tugged gently, making JT’s scalp prickle wonderfully. His other hand gripped JT’s thigh, squeezing the muscle. JT felt held in place, pinned down, and loved it. Everything Misha was doing was just right.
The game cut back on with a sudden blare of ballpark music. Misha sat back, heavy-lidded, and blinked at the TV.
“Oh for—here.” JT reached for the remote and jabbed the power button. In the sudden silence, JT became aware of the sound of his own unsteady breathing.
“Again,” Misha said, reaching for him.
JT pressed him down into the couch cushions and kissed him until his mouth tingled. Their bodies sank into the overstuffed cushions so that even JT, on top, felt cradled. Misha’s hands slid beneath JT’s shirt and traced lines of fire across his back. JT’s hot blood pounded through him. Misha felt so good beneath him, lithe and living. They rocked together, kissing and groaning, increasingly frantic, until JT tore himself away and sat up.
Misha blinked up at him, sprawled on the couch. He was visibly hard inside his shorts, and he looked so dazed and so well-kissed that JT could barely stop himself from lying down again and letting events reach their natural conclusion.