Morgan leaned back on one elbow, imagining he was somehow cool enough and suave enough to have a tryst like this with a train-hopping young man who’d landed in his life only a short while ago but who now was filling what had felt like endless emptiness.
It should have felt strange to suck in a breath as Jack’s mouth skimmed Morgan’s belly at the same time he tugged at Morgan’s blue jeans and briefs, but it didn’t. It felt good to have that mouth on him, that warm, smiling mouth that kissed and licked and made him quiver, his stomach curving inward, away from the tickling touches.
Sweet skims of Jack’s tongue left dreamy-cool sensations behind, and when Jack finally yanked Morgan’s jeans further down his thighs, Morgan abandoned any attempt to hold himself up and sank back into the cushions.
“Jesus,” he said, throwing his forearms over his head to block what little light there was.
“Jack will do,” Jack said, a smile in his voice to accompany a joke so old it had whiskers, and Morgan laughed in response, a deep-inside laugh that seemed to loosen all the overly tight corners of his soul.
Jack began working Morgan’s cock, an all-consuming sweep of lips and hands and tongue. Morgan could only groan and tilt his head back as his body gave itself up to the lushness of Jack’s attentions.
It had been long enough that the memory of anyone doing this, sucking him down like they meant to inhale him whole, was a mysterious dream, indistinct in comparison to the reality.
When he came, the sensations shook him, blackness filling his head as though he’d lost consciousness, and he only returned to awareness when Jack pulled away. Morgan’s eyes flickeredopen to see the outline of Jack yanking off boots and jeans before slithering half-naked on top of him.
“You’re freezing,” Morgan said, tugging the quilt over from the futon and wrapping it around Jack’s body. He felt the hardness of Jack’s cock on his belly, its heat pressing against him, and reached down to tuck his own now-satisfied cock aside so Jack’s bony hip wouldn’t dig into him. “Better?” he asked.
In response, Jack dipped his head beneath Morgan’s chin and curled there, perhaps shy for reasons Morgan was unable to fathom. The couch was wide and soft, and the room was dark and private, and they had all the time in the world.
“That was unexpected,” Morgan said softly.
“Not to me.” Jack’s words were a whisper-kiss of breath across Morgan’s collarbone.
Which meant that Jack had been thinking about it, about this, for a while. How long?
Morgan didn’t know. In any case, what Jack needed was far more important than Morgan’s curiosity. The question, then, was: What did Jack need? What did he want? Morgan was prepared to give it to him any way that he could.
“So now—” he began, unable to help himself.
“You really do talk too much.” Jack accompanied the scold with a kiss to Morgan’s jaw.
Then he pulled himself up to sprawl across Morgan and guided Morgan’s hand down so Morgan could curl his fingers around Jack’s cock and stay there for a moment, feeling Jack’s smile against his chest, as if this was what Jack had planned from the very beginning, when Morgan had seen him standing behind the counter of the feed and grain.
Maybe this was what Jack had wanted all along: a moment of intimacy, warm and sweet.
Morgan opened his mouth to ask how Jack liked to be touched and then stopped. He’d find out how Jack liked it, wouldn’t he.
Putting aside all his questions and concerns, he turned the two of them to rest Jack’s body on the couch, holding him close, and began slowly stroking the velvet hardness of Jack’s cock. Warmth grew between them, trapped by the quilt; Morgan was aware of the perfume of Jack’s body, the salt of Morgan’s own passion drying on his belly.
He felt like a teenager, savoring the almost virginal discovery of how Jack shifted when Morgan stroked firmly, how he sighed when Morgan eased off. How he arched against Morgan’s chest and clung to him when Morgan went fast, and how dark his eyes became, mere slits, before his whole body tightened and he tipped back his head, a sound coming out of his mouth like a faraway howl.
Then Jack collapsed, slipping, and Morgan had to grab him with both arms, holding Jack to him so he wouldn’t fall off the couch. The futon was right there, but Morgan wanted Jack to stay where he was. Wanted the moment to stay so he could roll in it forever.
But as with all things, it passed. The storm roared outside, the darkness growing, the chill settling in.
“Now I’m freezing,” Jack said. “An’ I need to pee.”
That made Morgan laugh again—such a good feeling, foreign for so long but welcome now. He struggled to get up, but Jack found his feet first. He yanked his briefs and jeans mostly up, then pulled Morgan’s jeans and briefs all the way off him, followed by everything else, and bundled him in the quilt before tearing off across the landing.
Morgan heard thumping footsteps, water running in the bathroom, a clatter in the kitchen, and then Jack was back.Dressed now in sweatpants and a T-shirt he’d clearly pulled from Morgan’s suitcase, with more of the same in his arms.
“Put these on,” he said. “Do it.” Out of the pockets of his sweatpants he pulled two jelly-jar glasses and the half-drunk bottle of Frangelico and put them on the coffee table. “You pour while I get the stove going.”
Jack was making this easy for Morgan—but then, he made everything easy. With lighthearted jokes and a happy-go-lucky air, and some amazing kisses, all laid out like gifts to a man whose only contribution had been to provide shelter to a stranger. But in so doing, it seemed Morgan had created something else, a bubble or a spell, and now he and Jack were inside it, together with the invisible ribbons of connection growing between them.
CHAPTER 26
jack
