Page 47 of True North
Misha nodded. “Yeah, you so—” He gestured with the bottle. “But, if you don’t want—”
“You just surprised me. I thought you’d want to fuck me.” JT pushed the sheets out of the way and turned onto his side, his back to Misha. “We can do it like this.”
Misha said something in Russian. JT closed his eyes and smiled as he felt Misha curl up behind him. He had been wrong before:this, right here, was the nicest way to start the day.
JT had never been much of one for morning sex. He liked to get up and eat breakfast and start his day. Evenings were good; afternoons were even better. He napped most days during the hockey season, especially on game days, and he had loved to fool around with Marcus before his nap and then pass out still blissfully come-drunk.
He couldn’t say it wasn’t really great, though, to lie in Misha’s arms as Misha kissed the back of his neck and murmured quiet things in Russian and expertly worked his fingers in JT’s ass. He mostly saw fingering as a means to an end, but Misha didn’t seem to be in any rush with it, just kept gently stroking and teasing until JT was overheated and squirming.
“Misha,” he said, reaching back to touch Misha’s wrist. “You’re making me nuts.”
Misha laughed, nosing at JT’s hairline. “Good.” But he stopped playing around so much and focused his efforts on JT’s prostate, and after another couple of minutes said, “Touch your dick.”
“I’m all over it,” JT said, which made Misha laugh again. JT eagerly curled his hand around himself but didn’t do much more than toy with his foreskin where it had pulled down to bare the head of his cock. Misha was having fun, and JT didn’t want to cut him off prematurely.
Still, he couldn’t hold out forever, especially not when Misha was nailing his prostate like that. Even light touches to his shaft quickly became overwhelming. He would brush his fingers over the head of his dick and then have to clench his jaw and take several slow breaths to calm himself down again.
“I’m going to,” he said, after walking himself back from the edge for the fourth or fifth time. “I can’t keep, uh—I’m gonna come, Misha. Misha—”
“Good, come,” Misha breathed into his ear, and so JT did, spectacularly, clenching hard around Misha’s fingers.
Misha eased him over onto his stomach and jerked off onto his ass, groaning extravagantly and squeezing JT’s cheeks. JT had been a little unsure about how Misha would feel about topping, because you never really knew, but by all indications, he was fully on board and JT was in for a great summer of getting plowed as often as he liked.
A great summer… and then what? He would head back to Toronto.
He didn’t need to think about that now.
He lay puddled on the bed while Misha cleaned off his ass with some tissues. “Do my hand, too,” he said, offering it, and Misha laughed and wiped the sticky, drying come from his fingers. He’d need a shower, too, but that could happen later.
“Good morning,” Misha said, bending to kiss the back of his shoulder, then pressing his face alongside JT’s to kiss the corner of his mouth, sweet with affection.
JT closed his eyes, warmed through. “Good morning.”
* * *
Working up the nerve to call Brent’s brother about the dishwashing job took Misha most of the afternoon. He wrote out a script of what he wanted to say and practiced aloud a few times, grateful that JT had gone to lunch with a friend and wasn’t home to hear him fumbling his pronunciation. Then he decided he was too sleepy and made another pot of coffee, and because coffee couldn’t be drunk without a snack, he cut himself a slice of the zucchini bread JT had baked that morning, still cooling on the counter. Then he was out of excuses and had to buckle up and make the call.
“Gianni’s,” said the man who answered the phone.
Misha swallowed. All of his rehearsed phrases went out the window. His own handwriting blurred before his eyes as he stared in desperation at his notes. “Hi, um—I call about dishes? Job?”
“Dishes—oh, the dishwashing job.” The man paused for a moment. “Are you that Russian guy?”
“Yeah, Russian,” Misha agreed, grateful that Brent had apparently conveyed his interest. “I talk to brother?”
“Yeah, he mentioned. Listen, we’ve only got one dishwasher right now, so we’re in a tight spot. If you’ve worked in a kitchen before, I’m ready to offer you the job. When can you start?”
“Um, tomorrow,” Misha said, hoping JT would in fact be able to drive him. Well, he could always get a cab.
“Perfect,” the guy said. “We open for dinner at five. Get here at four thirty and I’ll show you around.”
“Okay, thank you,” Misha said, and hung up feeling a little dazed but thoroughly happy. He had a job.
He went to meet JT in the mudroom when JT got home, too excited about his news to wait. JT came in the door with his habitual absent-minded frown on his face, then smiled as he saw Misha hovering and said, “Hey, greeting committee.”
“I get dishes job,” Misha said, then belatedly, “How lunch?”
“Lunch was fine, but that’s not important.” JT leaned against Misha for a moment, and Misha took the invitation to lean in for a quick kiss, still thrilled that he could take these liberties now. “You called the guy, eh? That’s great.”