That had seemed like a good decision this morning, when they were making out in the cab of Ian’s pickup in their secluded spot behind the English building.
Right now, Sam’s romance novel was a pretty poor substitute for Ian.A sci-fi romance he’d read at least three times before, and one of his favorites.It was het romance, about two spaceship captains on opposing sides of a war.The hero was in love with the heroine—crazily, madly in love—he kept a journal about his abject devotion to her.The heroine was scornful of the hero.By the end of the book, of course, he’d won her over, the war had ended, and they warped off to the edge of the galaxy in sexual and romantic bliss.
The best thing about the book—what pushed it into Sam’s “favorites” category—was the hero’s geekiness and social ineptitude.He was misunderstood and disliked by his crew, while the heroine’s crew (and the hero’s, for that matter)lovedher.But somehow they got together anyway, and she fell in love with him in spite of knowing just how pathetically desperate he was for her (because she’d infiltrated his computer system and read his email).
It was very, very satisfying, not to mention it had lots of potential for him and Ian to “play.”Plus it was romantic enough that Sam occasionally caught himself clutching at his heart.Sometimes with a simultaneous hard-on.
Which was his state when a vehicle pulled up alongside the bus shelter.Sam froze.Shit.He hated when this happened.He sighed heavily.“Really,” he said loudly over the growl of the running engine, refusing to look up, “I’m just waiting for the bus.I’m not looking for a ‘date.’”At some previous point in his life, he might have been flattered to be mistaken for a rentboy.Until he was actually mistaken for one and realized how low-rent rentboys were.Seriously, he wore an apron and held a battered backpack in his lap.How did that make him look like he had sex for money?
“If that’s the way you want it, squirrel,” Ian’s amused voice replied.
Sam stood up and his backpack fell on the ground.“What are you doing here?”Did he sound short of breath?He felt short of breath.Ian was stretching across the cab of his truck, the passenger window rolled down.His caramel-colored hair was shining bluish in the streetlight, and he was smiling.He kept on smiling, leaning over and looking into Sam’s eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said.He reached for the passenger door from the inside and opened it.“Hop in.”
Sam picked up his pack and climbed in.“What are you doing here?”he asked again, smiling back at Ian.
Ian still leaned toward the passenger side, like he had some important business to take care of on Sam’s side of the cab.“I came to see if you needed a ride.”He moved closer, gripping Sam’s chin and kissing him.Not an explicit, we’re-so-gonna-fuck-when-we-get-home kiss.Just a kiss—a boyfriend kind of kiss.Just, “Hi there.I’m glad you’re here.”
“I could’ve taken the bus.”
“You’d have to transfer twice to get to my place from here.”Ian’s fingers dug into his jaw slightly.
“I’m going to your place?”Sam managed to contain his happy wiggle.
“I want you to.”
Sam bit his lip, and Ian’s eyes dropped to his mouth.“I want to.”
This time when Ian kissed him, it was a full-on, explicit, we’re-so-gonna-get-it-on kiss.“Good,” he whispered against Sam’s lips.Sam couldn’t help but trail fingers across his cheekbone.Ian let go of his chin, finally—with reluctance?—and sat up straight, putting the truck in gear.
“Do you need to go by your place first and get your stuff?”
“Oh.Um, no.I brought clothes and my razor and stuff I’ll need in the morning with me.Just in case.You know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ian said, looking at him before pulling away from the curb.
Ian probably should have let Sam shower alone, but Sam didn’t object when Ian got in with him and started soaping him up.He didn’t object when Ian dragged him out, toweled him off, and herded him toward the bed.He really didn’t object when Ian pulled Sam on top of himself in the bed—in fact, he went so far as to lube and stretch himself, which had to be the hottest thing Ian had ever seen.
Afterward, Ian let Sam doze, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of him.He spooned Sam tightly, caressing his skin, even though it was ridiculously early in the morning and they should both be asleep.But Ian couldn’t seem to stop, and after about twenty minutes of his usual postcoital nap, Sam woke up.He yawned and stretched, then hugged his corner of the pillow they shared.“Did I fall asleep?”he mumbled into it.
Ian kissed a vertebra on the back of his neck.“Yeah.”
“Mmm.”Sam rolled over and wormed his arm under Ian’s waist.“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Sam yawned again.“Marley used to give me crap for falling asleep after I came.”
It was the first time Sam had volunteered anything about his ex-asshole, and Ian had been looking for an opening.He hadn’t wanted to talk about Marley the other night, but he sure as hell would pursue it now.
“Tell me about him,” he said, bringing Sam even closer to him, pulling one thigh up over his so he could do a little exploring while Sam spoke.He slid curious, hungry fingers up the back of Sam’s leg, getting his skin fix.He stopped at the sensitive place where Sam’s buttock met his thigh, stroking lightly, waiting for Sam to squirm.
Nothing.Sam kept his leg where it was, one arm trapped under Ian’s waist and his other fingers swirling in Ian’s chest hair.Ian pushed his upper body back far enough to see Sam’s face.He looked unhappy.Ian stroked the skin under his fingers, trying to comfort.
But okay, it hurt a little.“You don’t want to tell me about him?”
“It’s not that I don’t ...I don’t want to talk about him at all.”
