Essence of Time (8 page)

Tossing the dregs of his cup into the potted trees he willed himself under control. There was a shit ton of work to be done, including meetings with his accountant to finalize payroll and a potential PR mess involving a certain NBA star who’d gotten way too rough with one of the subs a few nights ago.
Asshole.
Used being a Dom as an excuse to beat on a girl. Kyle shook his head and wandered inside, his brain still clanging with one word: Rob.

A few hours later he looked up from the laptop and groaned, stretching his large body out in both directions under and above the large wooden desk. Glancing around his space he frowned. He’d had the giant loft transformed to his exact specs a few years ago. Taking what was once a huge two thousand square foot empty room and making into his dream home, with partial walls, a resort-worthy bathroom, a mini-gym and his bedroom. A place he had never, ever taken another person, until a few weeks ago, when he met Rob. He hadn’t had any trouble being alone either, until recently. Now, he wanted nothing more than to flop on the big leather couch in the man’s arms, drink some beer, watch a game—which more and more leaned to soccer, at Rob’s request—then kiss, and fuck himself silly.

Jesus, Summerlin, get a grip. It’s just a fling. He’s out of here in another six weeks. Out of your life
. Rob was not a natural submissive by any stretch, but he’d shown the guy a thing or two about how erotic it could be to give up control. Just a few nights ago he’d let Kyle blindfold him, lay him out on the bed, use the nipple clamps and ice cubes to his heart’s content. The whole thing had been mind blowing for them both.

Rob had been interning the last month down at the Detroit River Brewing Co. for something to do before heading to Chicago and had gotten completely sucked in to the craft microbrew thing. He’d learned to brew, or mostly to clean up after brewing, best Kyle could tell, and came to their bed redolent of malt and hops. Kyle loved it but the obsession escaped him.

 The night after they’d done the first blindfolded play, Rob shown up at the flat with a huge grin, but had winced when Kyle had gripped his shoulder. “What the hell did you do?” Kyle demanded, yanking the soft polo over the other man’s head. He’d run a hand over the angry-looking artwork marring Rob’s perfect shoulder. Fury had shuddered down his spine but he’d kept quiet. Rob was an adult. Welcome to do whatever the hell he wanted to himself.

“Looks like it hurts.” He’d brushed at it, wishing he could take it away. Rob met his gaze, leaned into his lips. Kyle tasted the perfection that was his lover, and decided to let it go.

Now, Rob’s skin had healed, and the perfect hop vine trailed along his shoulder and bicep, but he’d been scarce for over a week. It was making Kyle insane. And horny. He stalked over to the couch, flopped down, ran a hand up his stiff cock. Damn the man. His disappearing acts were beyond frustrating. But he had him tonight, along with Jack and Evan, for their regular poker night. It was Kyle’s night to host. He glanced at his phone, automatically counting the hours until he could have the blond god back in his arms again, as he stroked himself to a loud, yet mostly unsatisfying climax.

Rob slid the heavy wood and metal door aside, as Kyle watched from the dark recesses of the room. Kyle’s nerves jumped like a live wire at the sight of him—he was letting his hair grow out, and it brushed below the collar of his soft, white oxford cloth shirt. “Hey.” He called out, tossing his keys onto the antique tabletop as he took a few steps into the room. “You here?” Kyle stayed quiet, just drinking in the sight of him. His long legs were clad in denim, and as usual he smelled of brewery. Taking a long, deep breath, Kyle rose, took the few feet between them in a couple of quick strides and gripped the man’s neck. Rob smiled at him, put a hand to his face.

Kyle frowned, berating himself for the thousandth time to let it go. Not to get so damn attached, but all logic and thought disappeared as Rob met him halfway and they went down onto the couch in a tangle of long, firm legs, and torsos. 
So much for that
, Kyle thought, groaning as Rob yanked his jeans down and swallowed his length, sucking and stroking his balls. Fisting his hands in the man’s soft hair, he whispered, just once. “I love you.”

Rob stopped as Kyle was on the ragged edge of a monster orgasm, licked his way up Kyle’s pebbling skin, biting on each nipple before yanking his hips down to the edge of the couch. Their eyes stayed locked together as Rob rolled a condom down his shaft, and poised, at the edge, pressing in on Kyle’s ass. “Yes.” He grunted. “Now.” Rob eased in, slow, using the lube they kept handy, filling him as he stroked Kyle’s aching flesh. He pulled back and pressed in again, deeper this time, increasing his hand’s rhythm at the same time.

The orgasm rolled up from the base of his spine, exploded across his vision, filling all his senses as Rob pumped harder into him, their cries combining in the cavernous space and rolling through Kyle’s brain as his body spasmed and pulsed with release. “Dear god!” Rob groaned as he slumped down over Kyle’s torso, licking at the sweat beading up on his flesh.

“Mmm…” He forced himself to deny the extreme emotion crashing through him, and just cradled the man to him as their bodies calmed and their breathing eased. Rob slipped out of him stood and stretched. “Missed you.” Kyle called to the guy’s retreating form as he headed for the shower. Then winced at himself,
Don’t be a sap, Summerlin.

By the time Rob had re-emerged, Kyle had the full-sized, regulation poker table set up, beer on ice, and snacks on a side table. He jumped at the sensation of Rob’s hand on his shoulder, closed his eyes at the feel of the man’s lips against his neck. “I missed you too. Sorry. I needed to stay in Ann Arbor a few days.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to check in with me.” He flipped the switch on the full-loft music system. Rob grabbed his hand and tugged him close, kissing him, making him dizzy and prone to forget his vow to be nonchalant. To treat this for what it was—a fucking hot summer with a new guy, nothing more. Rob gripped his neck, held him close, and deepened the kiss as “Night Swimming” poured through the place. He threaded his fingers through Rob’s hair maintaining their connection, sighed as Rob put his head on Kyle’s shoulder as they listened to the song. 

“Yo, Summerlin,” Rob jumped away from him at the sound of Jack’s voice and his pounding fists on the loft door. Rob laughed and backed away, winking, as he slid the heavy door aside to reveal his friend and Evan standing with six-packs and grins.

A few hours later, having divested all three men of a fair bit of cash, Rob leaned back, nursing his second beer. He hadn’t felt like drinking much lately. His stomach had been iffy since he’d gone off the deep end and gotten the tattoo. Likely a stupid thing to have done given his medical history, but he didn’t care. He watched Kyle bullshit with Jack and Evan, but stayed quiet.  He startled when Jack yelled his name and snapped fingers in front of his face. “What?” He tried to look annoyed.

“What did the doc say about your little body art project?” Jack sipped, not realizing the shit storm he’d just started.

 Kyle frowned. “What doctor?”

Jack glanced at Kyle, and then back at Rob, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah Rob,” Jack’s voice deepened into what Rob recognized as pissed off territory.

He shut his eyes a second then opened them and shot Jack what he hoped was a “back the fuck off” message. “Just had to get it checked out. You know,” he downed the beer, and winced at how it roiled in his gut. “Making sure it wasn’t done with rusty needles, whatever. It’s fine. See?” He tugged up the sleeve of the soft tee shirt he’d borrowed from Kyle, revealing the complex green and gold hop flower and trailing vine that wound around his shoulder and bicep.

Truth was it still stung. His oncologist in Ann Arbor had shaken his head and told him that while it was probably not advisable, it wasn’t forbidden either. It might take longer to heal, as did most minor wounds he’d incurred since starting the remission ride.

But he had not told Kyle anything about why he had to be in Ann Arbor. He sure as hell did not appreciate Jack opening his fucking mouth about it either. He’d tell him in his own good time. If at all. He glanced at his phone. “It’s late gentlemen. Get the hell out.” Jack gave him one more glare as he rose.

“Gordon, what is this I hear about you and real estate?” Kyle walked the men to the door while Rob sat and tried to calm down. “I mean really, you think you can make a living selling houses?”

Jack laughed and clapped Kyle on the shoulder. “Hell yes. I was sitting at the title company one day, signing one giant commission check after another for these bozos and thought—fuck this, I’m gonna do it. I have my license already. Have to so I can be a closing officer. Talked to Greg Stewart and he showed me a desk. Watch, I’ll be killing it soon.”

Evan scoffed. “Right. Whatever.”

“Oh yeah, and you have room to talk, brew boy?” Rob looked up at that. Evan and some investors had started the Big House Brewing Company in Ann Arbor about a year prior.

 Evan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “You make your first million before me, and I’ll let you fuck my wife.”

“What wife?”

“Exactly.”

Kyle laughed at them both.  Jack started back toward the bathroom in the rear of the loft, tapping Rob on the shoulder indicating he should follow him. Kyle talked to Evan about liquor licenses, city permits and random shit while Rob followed his friend, dreading what was coming next.

“Look,” Jack muttered as he unzipped and walked into the toilet room outside of Kyle’s enormous bathroom. “Not my business, fine. But you should tell him. You can’t keep that shit to yourself. Not if you two are…you know, together.”

Rob leaned against the wall outside the room, tried not to get mad. “We are fine the way we are, thanks. I’m leaving in a few weeks. I’ll tell him before that.”

The toilet flushed, water ran, and Jack emerged, his dark blue eyes intent. “He deserves to know your whole story.” Rob nodded, unwilling to admit his friend might be right, heard the other two men leave, and smiled at the sight of Kyle, his strong torso bare, backlit from the larger room.

“Come here,” he whispered.

****

Six Weeks Later

Kyle stared at the dawn sky. The dark purple, bruised-looking grey clouds matched his mood perfectly. He sipped the espresso, wincing as it burned its way past the newly ever-present heartburn. Hearing stirrings inside, he fixed a smile on his face and looked up. Rob, in his glorious, sleep disheveled perfection, leaned in the wide-open door wall. Naked but for a pair of boxer shorts, which were tented in a thoroughly tempting way, he yawned and stretched and Kyle felt his heart shatter for the millionth time. He forced his voice to remain casual.

“Morning.” He glanced back out over the Detroit River, swallowed past the lump in his throat and rose. “All packed?” As he made to walk past Rob, the other man gripped his arm, leaned in for a kiss, but Kyle turned his head. He had to stop this, and now seemed like as good a time as any. Rob sighed, and sank into one of the lounge chairs. “Coffee?” Kyle called from the kitchen.

“Sure. Thanks.”

He returned with two small cups, and nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of Rob, his tall, lean, amazing blond god with a hand behind his head, and the other fisting his long cock, easing up and down as if he were alone. His movements were nonchalant, almost half hearted. Kyle gulped and wrestled his better self up and out, and cleared his throat before setting the cups on the table between the chairs, as if Rob were sitting there reading the morning paper instead of casually jacking off. “Cut it out.” He grunted as he dropped into the matching seat.

Rob sighed and tucked himself away, kept staring out over balcony.  “I have cancer.” The voice came from far away, and for split second, the words hung between them, as poisonous as the disease itself. Kyle sputtered as he sucked in a lungful of coffee. Rob’s eyes were hooded and distant.

Kyle wiped the back of a shaking hand across his lips.  “What, I mean, when… shit.” The day darkened. He felt splatters of rain on his feet. “My god, are you...?” He stood, and then sat again, his brain buzzing.

“I’m in remission. Have been for nearly ten years now.” Rob sipped, kept his gaze trained over the river. “The tattoo sort of…set me back a little I guess. I had to see my, uh, specialist, at the U.” Kyle stared at him.

“And.” Kyle gritted his teeth, tried to stay calm.

“And, while they didn’t like it, they say I’m fine. Did another scan in addition to my regular six-month one. All is well.” He stood. “So. Now you know.” He strode back into the loft, leaving Kyle open mouthed, furious, and speechless.

Chapter Seven

Rob groaned and fell onto the bed, his entire body aching from bones to teeth. His new sous chef job had begun with a four-week lesson in back-of-the-house food prep. He’d been up at three a.m. every god damned morning for a month, chopping peppers, onions, shredding cheese and pounding bread dough. It sucked. The chef was an utter asshole, determined to make him feel about three feet tall each and every day, a task he took pretty damn seriously.

Rob had arrived in Chicago in the white-hot heat of an Indian summer, leaving behind Detroit and a man he loved, knowing it had to be that way. After he’d dropped his little cancer bomb, the guy had barely had two words to say to him. They’d parted in awkward silence. Since then they’d been together some. Kyle had driven out twice, they called, texted. But it was wrong. Rob knew it. They had sex, but the connection was broken. He broke it—and it killed him. The conversation he’d had with the man the previous night just confirmed it for him.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Kyle’s softly accented voice had hit Rob’s brain like it always did. Soothing, sexy and perfect.

“No, you don’t.”

“Sorry but you don’t get to tell me how I feel. I’ve lived in this skin for nearly thirty-two years. I know what my heart is telling me.”