Austin
That they ended up in Clay’s bed to sleep together didn’t surprise him as much as it might have only weeks before. They’d gotten back late from the star watching party, as Quint and Brody had gotten to talking, while Austin and Clay had become entwined in the truck bed, too caught up to note the passage of time.
When the night-sky show had slowed down, Quint had trundled the truck slowly back over the dirt road to the ranch and bid them goodnight to head back to his little cabin next to Leland and Jamie’s cabin.
They’d walked to the staff quarters with Brody, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, and bid him goodnight on the second floor. Then up on the third floor, completely silent and still, they said goodnight, kissed, and said goodnight again.
Only Austin had followed Clay to his room, as though Clay had something to show him, and indeed he had: the painting Austin had done of the place where the rivers met and of Clay, a shadowy, watercolor cowboy drawn from life, had been carefully thumb-tacked to the wall.
“Will you stay?” asked Clay. His eyebrows went up, like the question mattered to him very much.
“Yes,” said Austin without hesitation. “I can’t—you know—but I’ll stay.”
“We’ll just cuddle,” said Clay, the words muffled as he pulled his white t-shirt, now streaked with dirt that came from somewhere, over his head. His chest was bare, with only a small swirl of dark gold hair along his breastbone.
Somewhere in Austin’s mind was a bit of shock that he was looking at another man getting undressed and he wasn’t running away. He was moving close, reaching up a hand, though he did not dare touch.
“Here,” said Clay. He took Austin’s hand and gently placed it across his heart, and kept his hand on top of Austin’s hand so he’d know it was okay. “How’s that?”
Austin could only nod wordlessly as Clay guided his hand to trace over the swell of muscle, the curve of shoulder. Clay was sturdy, the muscles dense from everyday work, but his skin was soft and warm beneath Austin’s touch.
“Okay?” asked Clay, and the question seemed to encompass so many questions behind it, in particular whether Austin was comfortable and behind that, perhaps, if Austin liked what he saw.
That took Austin right out of his own concerns inside of a heartbeat.
I saw you looking, Clay had said to him once. And maybe people did look at Clay, for he was pretty to behold, shapely and strong, dense thighs, broad shoulders. But maybe nobody ever told him, thinking he already knew?
“You’re more than okay,” said Austin, dipping his head to brush a kiss across Clay’s cheek. “You make me want to paint you, even if I don’t know how to paint people. At all.”
“You can practice on me,” said Clay, grinning now, as he undid his belt buckle. “Every day, if you like. But for now, you’re not going to sleep in your clothes, are you? You can if you need to, though. You can borrow my toothbrush or just let it go till morning.”
There were a lot of things Austin was prepared to let go of, past ideas about gay men, his marriage to Mona, his apprehension about how all of this should go and, yes, brushing his teeth. All for the pleasure of stripping down to his boxer briefs, though he kept the t-shirt he’d worn under his cowboy shirt on, tugging it low over his hips.
His legs felt too gangly and long, the red-gold hair on his legs to stark against his pale skin. His cock lay nestled in the curve of his boxer-briefs, and beneath that his balls, cupped together, seemed surprised at the draft that felt like it was shooting up between his legs, like everything in the room was focused on his flaccid cock, his nasty bits, as Mona called them. His arms and hands felt like they had nowhere to go.
Though when Clay smiled at him, all of this seemed unimportant including his lack of any kind of erection which, yes, he could plainly see Clay had. Like he had so much energy to spare, his cock inside of his white briefs wanted to make the most of this moment.
“Later, little man,” said Clay, petting himself, laughing as he lifted his head to look at Austin while he stood there, naked except for his briefs, bare feet curling and uncurling on the wooden floor, his sturdy thighs flecked with dark gold hair that thickened as it made its way up to his groin. “Dicks got a mind of their own, am I right?”
“You’re right,” said Austin, breathing a sigh that Clay could make light of this, but in the nicest way.
“Dibs on the wall,” said Clay. He clicked off the light and padded to the bed, swinging the curtain closed as he went. Then as he got under the sheet and light blanket, holding them open for Austin, he laughed again. “Remind me to tell you my little fantasy about the monk and the Viking.”
“The monk and theViking?” It was a joke, surely it was, but it made getting in that bed harder, now that all of him was awake for some reason. But when Clay patted the bed, Austin took a breath and got in next to Clay and shivered as Clay drew up the sheet and half the blanket.
“Okay,” Austin said, his voice definitely not squeaking. “Tell me about the monk and the Viking.”
“Well,” said Clay, in a serious way. “I had this idea that underneath your clothes, you had long, tight muscles, which I know you do because I can feel how dense you are. Do you work out?”
“I used to,” said Austin, mulling the idea of this over in his mind, deciding not to mention that he’d worked out because Mona wanted him to.
“Well, see, that makes sense.” Clay turned on his side, bumping his knees against Austin’s thigh. “Don’t forget, I’m a sprawler.”
“I won’t.” How could he forget anything about Clay when he was only inches away, inches that kept getting smaller with each heartbeat?
“But back to the monk and the Viking.” Clay yawned and stretched and flopped one arm over Austin’s belly, like Austin was his giant sleep toy and this was just how they were when they shared a bed at night. “In my mind, I figured you were as fit as a Viking. But then with your red hair, and if the Vikings raided Irish villages, that madeyouthe monk, which meant I’d have to be the Viking. For which I’m a little short, though I do have blond hair.”
Austin laughed, low in his belly, as he waded through all of this. “You can be the Viking, as you are not that short.”
