Fran got into position and lined himself up, pushing the blunt head of his dick against my lubed opening. His eyes came to mine and my breath caught.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you. I haven’t wanted to. I was so damn glad you were out in the world being happy, but you have no idea how many times I wished I could call you just to hear your voice. How many nights I wanted you right here. With me.Underme. Like this.”
He slid inside me slowly, carefully, the way he did most things, and his eyes stayed locked on mine.
Fran’s girth was fuckingconsiderable, and it burned as he stretched me, but like the other tiny pains earlier, I welcomed it. Grounded myself in it. Craved it. Because it meant that Fran was hot and hard andinside of me, filling me, and I was living a mother-flipping miracle.
Once he was fully seated inside me, he braced one hand on the ground while the other went to my cock to stroke me off. It felt so fucking good, and I was so amped from both his preparation and the intensity of the moment, I was on the brink before he’d even fully established a rhythm, like I was a freakin’ teenager again.
“I can’t… I… Shit, I’m so close, Fran.Fuck.”
He rocked against me faster, moving his hips in tiny thrusts that hit me perfectly. His hand on my cock shuttled faster, twisting over the tip exactly the way he knew I liked it, because this was Fran, so of course he did.
“I missed you,” I babbled. “I missed you so much, and I—”
My breath hitched.
“Come for me, Mark.Fuck. Let me see it, baby.”
I groaned as I came, coating my chest and Fran’s hand. And then, while my cock was still twitching, Fran lifted his fingers to his mouth to taste me and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Good. God.
Fran’s hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering, and he came a minute later, flooding my ass with warmth that I’d only ever felt with him and it almost got me hard again.
We didn’t say a word as he collapsed beside me, wrapping me up in his arms.
He roused me a few minutes later—way before I was ready—and led me to the bathroom tucked away beside the kitchen. He let the water run to get warm while his hands roved my body, keeping me warm. His fingers trailed over the crack of my ass and lingered, feeling his cum there. We both shivered.
“I feel like I should say I’m sorry,” he said softly and I stiffened before he trailed his lips, light as a feather, over my temple. “But I’m not remotely sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be. And neither am I,” I said firmly, pulling him into the shower with me. And just to prove a point—not for any other reason, obviously, we got each other off again with our hands, kissing all the while, before the water started to run cold.
Fran bundled me up in his flannel shirt and sweatpants. He brought me to the kitchen that took up most of the back wall of the house, got some kind of homemade sauce out of the freezer, and we sat on the counter and shoveled pasta in our mouths while we talked a little bit about our lives now—how Fran’s business had exploded, and how he’d found a whole new side market for his technical drawings in the private sector, doing maps and illustrations for Dungeons and Dragons players and other fantasy enthusiasts; how I was still writing little kids’ stories but hadn’t published any yet; how Fran grew a huge organic garden in the summer; how I’d become an uncle for the fourth time, and was planning to go home in a couple months to meet my new niece. As always, Fran drew me in and made me laugh… almost enough to forget the bakery box of blueberry pancake cupcakes sitting on the table, taunting me with all the things wehadn’ttalked about yet.
After we ate, Fran washed our dishes and I dried them. When I hopped down from the counter, he pushed the hair back from my face and kissed me gently.
“You look better now. Not peaky. You warm?”
I felt myself blush, but I nodded. I was warmer than I’d been in months. “A couple orgasms and some pasta will do that to you.”
“Are you tired?” He led me over to the couch and took a seat on one end so I could curl up with my head against his chest. “’Cause there are so many stories I want you to tell me, Mark. Every single thing you’ve done since the day I left California. Every person you’ve met, every place you’ve visited.” He picked up my hand and played idly with my fingers. “Everything that’s made you smile.”
I swallowed hard. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About… about wishing you could call me?”
“Oh yeah. God, so many times.”
I shifted so I could see his face. “Why didn’t you? You said you would.”
He blew out a breath and his fingers tightened around mine, then he pulled me against his chest again, like the story was easier to tell while I was in his arms. “When I came back to O’Leary, Grandpa Sid was dying. Advanced kidney failure. At first, I was really busy taking care of him. Spending time with him. Then, later…” He shook his head. “I was angry at the world. At Grandpa for dying. Mostly at myself for not being here all the years in between when I could have made his life easier. I felt like I’d abandoned him, and I was mad that he hadn’t called me home sooner. I was mad at everyone in town, too, for obeying his wishes and not letting me know how sick he really was. Rationally, I know it wouldn’t have changed anything for me to be here, but…”
“But grief isn’t rational.”
“Right. I went to a really dark place, Mark. Cutting myself off from the world felt safer than getting hurt again.”
“Even from me?”
Fran hesitated. “Maybe, yeah. Besides, what did I have to offer you? You had so many dreams, and I didn’t want to hold you back. Even in my worst moments, part of me was happy that you were happy, even if it wasn’t with me. And you were, weren’t you? I read some of the stuff you wrote. A piece on, ah, Tikal, Guatemala? Hiking up a pyramid. And one on your favorite spots just outside London—there was a picture of you standing on a hill by Leeds Castle. They were brilliant pieces, by the way. They made me feel like I was there with you.”
