Flynn was hot in fits and starts of partial nudity, but he was beautiful taken as a whole.
The bastard didn’t look forty.
Stretched out on the bed, his cock pressing against the fly of his trousers and his stomach sucked in so hard he could feel it behind his ribs, Nate wished he’d pushed through the pain to that second push-up. It wasn’t that he was fat—he spent too much time running up and down stairs and hauling trestle tables for that—but he didn’t look likeFlynn. He didn’t even look like the “before” version of Flynn they’d have in a sports magazine.
“You could grate cheese on your abs,” he muttered. It sounded a bit more sour than he meant it to. He covered the moment by unfastening his trousers and lifting his hips off the bed to push them down.
Flynn crawled onto the bed and straddled Nate’s thighs. He yanked the trousers down to Nate’s knees and left him to kick them the rest of the way off himself. Then he leaned forward and braced his arms against the mattress so he could look at him.
“So, exactly how long do you think you can suck your stomach in like that?” he asked.
It should have been mortifying. Instead Nate creased up with laughter. It snorted ungraciously out of him on the breath he’d been holding. The grin on Flynn’s face didn’t help. It was slow and wickedly amused at Nate’s embarrassment. Finally he covered his face with his hands, shoved his fingers into his hair, and admitted between snorted giggles, “I think I was hoping you’d just flip me over. Then I could let go.”
Flynn lowered his body down on top of Nate. The weight of muscle and bone pinned him to the bed and twisted eager heat in his balls.
“That doesn’t sound like me.” Flynn caught Nate’s wrists in his hands and pulled them away from his face. He pinned them down to the bed behind Nate’s head and then took a second to cock his head to the side and admire the view. “I’ve rarely been a ‘just flip ’em over’ kind of guy. I like to take my time.”
Flynn leaned down and kissed Nate as though he were trying to prove it. His kiss was slow, wet, and thorough, and Nate made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and squirmed under Flynn’s weight. He wanted to touch Flynn, to trace the ink-etched cross on his bicep and map the scattered nicks and scrapes that a lifetime had left on him.
Mostly he justwanted.He’d thought he was happy enough on his own, with Netflix and his own hand, but he missed this. Not getting fucked—notjustgetting fucked—but the intimacy of being naked with someone, of being so close you were breathing their air.
Nate hooked a leg over Flynn’s hip and rubbed a bare foot down his thigh. His toes caught on a thick seam of scar tissue, the mirror of the slash Nate had noticed on the front. That hadn’t been a flesh wound.
“… used to be in the army,”he remembered Flynn saying. He wondered if that was why the past tense.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Car accident,” Flynn said. He bit kisses along Nate’s jaw and down his throat and muttered the words into his shoulder. Lust prickled under Nate’s skin, like pins and needles of pleasure. “It was in Somalia. A coach sideswiped a minivan, overturned it on the side of the road. I got a kid out, but then the vehicle shifted, and I got trapped. They had to cut me free. Army invalided me out before I left the hospital.”
There was no emotion in Flynn’s voice, but it obviously wasn’t something he talked about often. None of the gossips had ever even hinted at that bit of backstory. It was an old scar, though, and well-healed.
“That’s not why you came back.”
“No.”
Flynn didn’t elaborate. He let go of Nate’s wrists and trailed his fingers along the inside of Nate’s forearms down to the crease of his elbows as his mouth found a path to Nate’s nipple. He swiped his tongue over the flat bud and then sucked it into his mouth. His teeth scraped over the nerve-rich flesh, and Nate made a mangled sound that would have been a curse if he could have put the vowels together.
He reached down, ran his hands over Flynn’s back, and traced the hard swoop of Flynn’s shoulder blades and down across the taut drum of his ribs. The strips of dense muscle twitched and clenched as his touch set off a chain reaction that made Flynn’s dick jump where it was pinned between their bodies.
“What about you?” Flynn asked. He pressed a last, wet kiss to Nate’s chest and sat back. His weight settled across Nate’s thighs as he idly stroked his dick. The head was wet and shining as he pulled the foreskin back and the thin skin wrinkled under his fingers. “What’s with the Converse?”
Nate snorted again. “Seriously?” he asked.
“I’m curious.” Flynn leaned back and reached toward the bedside table. He dragged a drawer open and pulled out a condom and a tube of lube.
“It’s just my thing,” Nate said as he got up on his knees on the bed. He plucked the condom out of Flynn’s fingers and tore the packet open. “I was running late for school one day, and Max had hidden all my shoes. I grabbed a pair of his sneakers and ran in.”
He rolled the condom slowly down Flynn’s dick as he talked. His head was bent as he watched his fingers work around the hard shaft, and his tangled hair hung in his eyes. Maybe bare skin felt better, but he always liked the way condoms looked on a man’s erection, the latex slick and shiny with lube, howtightit looked under the thin skin. He reached the base and slid his hand back to cup the heavy swing of Flynn’s balls. They twitched in his hand, and Flynn groaned. His thighs clenched, and his muscles knotted like cords under the skin.
“That was the first day that no one asked why I was gray at nineteen,” Nate said. “So I made it my thing.”
Flynn pulled him into his lap. Their dicks pressed together, slick and hard between their stomachs, and Nate’s belly clenched eagerly as Flynn reached around to press a slippery finger into his ass. Another finger joined the first and worked more lube inside him. Nate gripped Flynn’s shoulders and groaned as he pushed back against the fingers inside him.
“You know,” Flynn said raggedly as he pressed deeper into Nate. It stretched Nate almost uncomfortably wide and made him mouth eager pleas for more against Flynn’s throat. “I think you’re old enough that no one’s going to wonder why you’re gray anymore.”
“You’re a bast—” The curse turned into a whine of protest as Flynn pulled his fingers out. Nate squirmed so their cocks rubbed together. The press of hard flesh, sweat, and precome twisted pleasure through his balls until he ached with it. “Jesus, Flynn, just fuck me.”
Flynn snorted. “You’re a brat.”
