True to my word, I release him.He inches back, and I wonder if that might actually be worse—his shorts are gray, and it’s impossible to miss the wet spot on the front.Or, for that matter, on my shirt.He’s staring down at the space between us, misery painting his expression.But he doesn’t run.
“That was hot,” I say again.“I really enjoyed that.What about you?How are you doing?”
“How am I doing?I shot in my shorts, that’s how I’m doing.”More words burst out of him: “Like I’m twelve fucking years old.”
I wait a beat before I say, “So, is that an A?An A-plus?”
When he looks up, I don’t even have words for his face.A hint of outrage, maybe.Chagrin.Maybe even anger.But he catches my tone, I guess, because then it all gets hammered into a not-quite scowl.“I thought the gays didn’t have a scoring guide.”
I shrug.“Improvise.”
He sits there for a few seconds.His shoulders sag.“It’s so embarrassing.I swear to God, that’s never happened before.”
“Why the hell would it be embarrassing?Sam, it’s a compliment.I liked getting you off.Like,reallyliked it.I’m attracted to you.I like kissing you and touching you.And I promise I’m not saying this to make you feel better, but it was hot, watching you come, knowing I did that for you.”I feel a hint of heat in my cheeks.“In case you didn’t get the memo, I have some serious issues around attention and validation.”
His posture is a mix: the defensive tilt to his shoulders vying with the unmistakable desire to believe that this had been good for me—and the satisfaction that went along with that.Finally he says, “It’s not like I have a problem.”
I’m careful not to smile.“I know.”
“It was just…a lot.”
“In a bad way?”
He says, “No,” in a way that would have sent Gran running for something to tan his hide.And now Idolet myself smile.
“So, we could do that again,” I say.
He shrugs.Then he looks at me.“What about you?”
“I’m fine.I’m great, actually.I want to make sure you’re okay too.”
He shrugs again.But he relaxes a little more, and then, to my surprise, he reaches for my hands and takes them.
I can’t help the little laugh that escapes.
“What?”he asks, and he’s all bristles again.
“Nothing.It’s—a lot of guys freak out after they nut.I was waiting to see if you were one of them.”
“Why do they freak out?”
“That’s kind of the big question, isn’t it?”
He seems to consider it.He’s still holding my hands.His are soft in some places, callused in others.He turns mine palms up like he’s inspecting them.And then, slowly, he brings them up, and he kisses each palm once.His eyes are dark and impossible to read.
“I guess you’re not going to freak out,” I say, and my voice has a little burr in it.I don’t know what to make of it, but if Sam hears it, it doesn’t show in his face.
“I want to get out of these shorts,” he says.
“Yeah, of course.”
He cocks his head.
“Oh,” I say.“Oh!Wait, are you sure?”
In answer, he slides off my lap.He keeps one of my hands and tugs, and I follow him into his bedroom.
He shuts the door and turns on a lamp, and he’s already turning himself out of his shirt and bucking out of his shorts.So much for undressing each other by candlelight.I strip down to my briefs, not sure if I should go farther, but when I glance over, Sam’s already bare-assed.
