“I know, but I don’t mean for them. Just maybe to get it off your chest. You don’t think it might help you to tell them how you felt about it back then?”
His jaw tenses.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to bring up a sore subject. Well, obviously I was, but only to make it better. I just meant that maybe it would be therapeutic to talk to them about it.”
“Like you talk to your dad about shit?”
“Fair point. Maybe I’m projecting a little bit here.”
“But you make a valid point. Maybe a point that makes me uncomfortable. I’ve thought about bringing it up again. But every time I do, I imagine what he’ll say. How he’ll make up excuses. Or blame me for bringing up something that doesn’t matter. Or that time when I tried to destroy our family.”
I see a tear forming in his eye. He turns away from me, and I don’t comment on it because I don’t think he wants to know that I can tell how affected he is by this.
“At least,” Mikey says, “when you talk about your dad, even if he’s being totally unreasonable or a jerk about something, you know he cares about you. That he doesn’t agree with everything you do, but he’s not blaming you for the demise of your entire family. When you tell me that he's worried about your job, it's something that he doesn't get. He doesn't have a clue what you do every day. Mine was just such a heartless, selfish bastard to me. I wish I could get in a time machine and go back and tell myself that I needed to tell Mom right when I saw the messages on his phone. But he scared me, Scott. He scared me to death. And even now when I think about it…” I can feel his arms trembling against me. “It’s like I’m eleven years old all over again, and he’s got this hold over me. And that’s why I blow up the way I do. Because I’m constantly keeping this thing bottled up, and there’s all this pressure inside… building and building until I explode. But even after I’ve let it out, I haven’t actually gotten rid of what causes all the pressure. And Mom, what she did… The betrayal. The hurt. It’s all just too fucking much. They were the two people in the world who I was supposed to be able to trust… who I felt like would be there for me when the shit hit the fan, and they destroyed any chance of that ever fucking happening.”
I don’t know how to make him feel better after what he’s shared or how to take away his pain, so I kiss him. He kisses me back, cupping his hand behind my neck and pulling me closer.
The tension in his body relaxes as he slides his other hand up and down my back, his tongue flicking against mine.
“We might… need a little… break after all,” he says, his words barely audible between our kisses.
And I’m so fucking hard and want to set him at ease so much that I sure as fuck am not going to be the one to discourage this.
His hands are tight against my flesh, like he doesn’t want to let go, so I start undressing without his help, maneuvering and shifting to get my jeans out from under my ass and forcing his hand back as I pull my shirt off over my head.
He pulls away long enough for me to kick my shoes off. Then he drops his jeans while I kick out of mine.
As he comes back at me, he lifts my legs and places them on either shoulder. With his hands around my legs, he slides me toward him across the counter so that my ass just barely hangs off.
He sticks his cock between my ass cheeks, rubbing up against me and making make me need him inside me so bad.
And I still see that, as into this moment as he is, there’s hurt in his expression, too. I want to do whatever I can to soothe that.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand you just rubbing on me like this. I need you hitting my fucking prostate.”
He kneads his hands against my thighs as he growls. “I left them upstairs.”
He continues stroking that dick along my ass crack.
“We just won’t do that, it’s fine,” I say.
“Fuck that.” He starts off, and then I see him dive to the floor. “Shit!”
As I prop myself up, I see he’s fallen, his hands before him as he’s crouched on the hardwood floor, his jeans still around his ankles.
“Thank God you caught your fall,” I tell him. “Wouldn’t have wanted you bruising that dick of yours.”
He rolls onto his back, his full erection resting against his abdomen. He plants his hand against his face. “Well, that was smooth of me, wasn’t it?”
His face is red, and now it’s my turn. “Are you blushing, Mikey?”
“Don’t. Shut up!”
“No. I get to savor this moment because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it happen before. Mikey Bradshaw is blushing because he just fell on his ass in front me of.”
“Technically, I nearly fell on my cock, but whatever.”
He’s trying to cover his face with both hands, so I hop off the counter and crawl on top of him, seizing his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face.
