Too Soon For Love (15 page)

“Yeah, you did. And you sound just like Phillip.” Michael’s face was turned toward the window and Alan couldn’t see his expression, but the words were spoken quietly with a note of sadness.

Still, they pissed him off, unaccountably but there it was.

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“I’m not Phillip. I’m me.”

“No, you’re not Phillip.”

“Is that what you want, a Phillip substitute? Because I don’t want to be that.” Alan cut himself off. Where the hell had that come from?

His question was met with absolute silence.

Alan took the turn into Michael’s driveway too fast, drove up to the house and stopped. Though he knew he’d been out of line, he resisted the urge to apologize. After too many apologies, they started to sound insincere.

“Want me to walk you up?”

“Where are we?”

“Your house. I thought you’d want to come home. You said you were cold and—”

“Making decisions for me now, are you?”

“No. I just assumed—”

“Well, don’t. Next time ask me.”

Alan’s temper snapped. He felt it go and was helpless to stop it.

“What the hell is your problem, Stricker?”

“My problem is that I don’t need, nor do I want, anyone taking care of me. I don’t need Jane or Karen or you or anybody else telling me where to live or what to do or who to fuck or when.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Forget it. I’m tired.” Michael opened the door. “I’ll see you.”

Fuck that.

Alan got out of the car and followed Michael up the steps.

“You can’t throw a statement like that out there then just walk away.”

Michael turned. He had his keys in his hand. “Look, Alan. I told you, I’m tired and I’m cold and I’m hungry and I don’t feel
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like an argument. So can we leave it for now?”

“I don’t want to leave it.” And he didn’t want to leave Michael either. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you couldn’t take care of yourself. I know that’s not true.”

“Do you? Well, that makes one of us anyway.” Jamming his key into the lock, Michael shoved open the door and stepped inside.

He wasn’t at all surprised when Alan crowded in behind him and closed the door. The man just did not give up.

“Michael…”

Michael took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. God help him.

“Don’t, Alan. Just … Don’t. Okay?”

He’d told the truth. He was tired and hungry and half frozen despite the car’s heater. What was worse, getting lost like that had shaken him to his core and rocked his already tenuous confidence in his abilities, though he would rather bite off his tongue than admit it. He had down-played the whole thing, including his reaction, though something told him Alan knew anyway.

He’d told Alan he’d been out there for close to an hour, in truth it was probably longer, wandering around with no clue where he was, where the road was or how to get back there. Even so, at first he had been only mildly annoyed by the melting snow seeping into his shoes and the mud trying to suck them off his feet. But when, after a few minutes of fruitless searching for the paved edge of the road he had reached for his cell, only to discover he’d forgotten it, at that point the little licks of panic had sprung into a full-fledged conflagration. He’d ploughed forward, utterly disoriented, utterly reckless, slipping and sliding in the mud and the slushy snow, straining his ears for some sound, some clue, anything at all that might tell him which way to go. But there was nothing. He was alone. When at last he’d heard the sound of the engine, he had nearly wept with relief. And when the driver turned out to be Alan… Well, he’d practically thrown himself into the man’s arms. And Alan had caught him, held him, steadied him. Michael had held on right back, grateful to be rescued, grateful to have someone taking care of him. And that was the worst, knowing that he wanted someone to take care of him, maybe needed someone to, which scared the shit out of
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him.

Now he was back home in the house he loved, the house, it seemed, that he couldn’t leave, not by car, and not on foot, not on his own.

“What is it?” Alan laid a hand on his shoulder. “You look like

… I don’t know what.”

Michael opened his mouth to say he was fine, just cold. And to ask, once again, to be left alone, But before he could speak, a lump lodged in his throat and hot tears pricked at the backs of his eyes.

Shit
. If only he’d left the damn glasses on.

He turned away, but not quickly enough.

Alan caught him by the arm and turned him around. “Michael, what?”

Michael shook his head. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud for fear that saying it would make it true.

Instead he just stood there in mute misery, his throat aching, his eyes burning, and felt the last pretense of his independence slip away like the elusive lyrics to a well-loved old song.

“Oh, baby.” Alan slipped his arms around him. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay. We’ll work it out, I promise. Just please, don’t cry.”

Which, of course, was all Michael needed to get the tears flowing. His breath hitched as he fought for control and lost, the tears spilling over and running unchecked down his cheeks.

He scrubbed at them with the back of his hand. Goddamn it, he hated crying, hated even worse doing it in front of anyone.

He hadn’t cried in front of Phillip more than a handful of times in all their years together. Even then it was never more than a few tears. Phillip hadn’t known how to handle tears, how to give comfort. So Michael had conditioned himself never to give into them. Except here he was crying in the arms of a man he hardly knew. So much for self control and conditioning.

Somehow Alan managed to maneuver him into the living room without releasing him. “Sit down.”

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Gently he pushed Michael down onto the couch, sat down and pulled him into his arms again.

Michael went willingly. He rested his hot cheek against Alan’s shirt, inhaled the scents of detergent and starch and man.

Goddamn Phillip for dying on him. And goddamn himself for letting his independence slip away from him. He didn’t even know how it had happened, how he had lost the ability to function on his own, or what the hell he was going to do about it now.

He closed his eyes, sniffed back the fresh tears that wanted to come. And although he would have been perfectly content to remain right where he was, he forced himself to sit up and pull free of Alan’s embrace.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually lose it like that.” Again, he wiped at his eyes. God, it was mortifying.

“Not a problem.” Alan cupped Michael’s jaw, fingertips brushed at his wet cheeks. “Better now?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Not knowing why, only that he wanted to, Michael moved closer and once again laid his head on Alan’s shoulder.

Alan’s arms came around him and held him close. “How about now?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, better. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so—”

“Shhh. Me too. I’m sorry for what I said in the car.”

They sat quietly for several minutes, the only sound the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

“God, Michael.” Alan’s fingers sifted through Michael’s hair.

“You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe—you know, I’ve wanted to tell you that ever since I first saw you.”

“Liar.” Michael laughed. “I’m blind and even I know I must look like shit right about now.”

“No, you don’t. You’re beautiful. But you probably hear that all the time.”

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“No, I don’t.”

Something was happening here, between the two of them.

Alan’s fingertip brushed away a stray tear then traced over Michael’s cheekbone, trailed along his jaw and finally traced the outline of his lips.

“Beautiful,” Alan whispered.

Michael’s belly fluttered and his heart began a staccato thrumming. He swallowed and tried to make light of the nerves that were suddenly right there making him sweat.

“I think you’re confused. It’s the blind guy’s thing to feel your face so he knows what you look like.”

“Do you want to?” Alan’s breath wafted warm against Michael’s cheek.

Michael forced a laugh because he did want to. Not to know what Alan looked like. That didn’t matter. But because he simply wanted to touch him, to caress his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw and his lips. He wanted to begin learning the angles and plains of another man’s face, a new man’s face.

“Real blind people don’t go around feeling people’s faces, Alan. Only in the movies or on TV do they do that.”

“Oh.” Alan paused. “You touched my face before. That time…”

“When I almost kissed you. Yeah, but that was so I wouldn’t miss and end up kissing your chin or your ear.” Michael laid his fingers against Alan’s cheek and let his thumb graze the small cleft in the other man’s chin. He’d shaved and his skin was smooth and soft to the touch. “Just giving myself a point of reference, you know?”

“That’s all, just a point of reference?”

“That’s all.” Michael leaned in and brought their lips together.

He kept the kiss gentle, the softest brush of mouth against mouth, giving Alan the chance to back away, to break the contact if he wanted.

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But he didn’t. Instead Alan’s lips parted, the tip of his tongue sliding along the closed seam of Michael’s lips, seeking entrance.

Michael opened for him on a sigh. His fingers slid into Alan’s hair. He loved good hair, and Alan had great hair. It fell in thick silky waves over his collar, not long enough to tie back in a tail, but long enough to really sink his fingers in. He wondered what color it was. Maybe a nice rich brown. In his head he didn’t see Alan as a blond, but who knew? He wasn’t curious enough to ask.

His lips were nice too, firm and soft.

Michael sank into the kiss, the silky heat of Alan’s mouth, the stroke of tongue against tongue, the slide of lips against lips.

God, it was glorious.

Michael sighed. Toeing off his shoes, he twisted around until they faced each other, chest to chest, and drew his legs up onto the couch. Alan’s hand gripped his hip, fingers digging in. It felt so damn good to be held, and kissed, and touched like this.

Michael angled his body, trying to show Alan without words what he wanted, where he needed that hand. He was already hard, just from the kissing, his dick aching for Alan’s touch.

Please, he begged silently, please. I need …

The kiss broke.

“Michael, I want to take you to bed. Is that all right?”

Michael grinned. Taking Alan’s hand he pressed it to the bulge at his crotch. “What do you think?”

They held hands as they ascended the stairs. At the top, Alan paused.

“Which way?”

“To the left, all the way at the end of the hall.” Michael tugged him in that direction, toward the master suite, the room he had shared with Phillip.

God, Phillip.

He needed this, needed to be touched and held, needed the connection of sex and the affirmation that came with it. He
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needed Alan. And if there was some barely acknowledged part of him that suspected by sleeping with Alan he could keep the man with him, he didn’t want to think too closely about that.

Michael paused just outside the bedroom. He wanted this, he did. He forced himself to get moving again.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He pushed open the door. “This is the master bedroom. I have a king-sized bed. I want lots of room when I’m fucking you.”

Alan’s stomach fluttered and his cock jerked. He had assumed, though why he didn’t know, that Michael would prefer to bottom.

Alan himself preferred getting fucked to doing the fucking, so the sudden reversal of fortune suited him just fine. Not that he wouldn’t take Michael any way he could get him, not at all.

“Have you got condoms? I’ve got one in my wallet if you don’t.”

“Do you, now?” Turning, Michael linked his fingers behind Alan’s neck and pressed close. He was grinning. “Were you a boy scout, by any chance?”

“Yeah, I was. Why?” Alan rested his hands on Michael’s slim hips then slid them around to grab twin handfuls of delectably tight ass and squeeze.

“Always be prepared.” Michael nipped at Alan’s chin. “I’ve got some condoms, but do you know if they expire? These are pretty old, I think.”

“How old?” Alan angled his hips to bring his cock into contact with Michael’s, hard flesh against hard flesh. But the clothes needed to go.

“A couple years.”

“A couple years?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly keep them around. We were monogamous.” Michael wormed a hand between their bodies too soon FoR Love
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and tugged down Alan’s zipper. “Then a couple years ago, while we were on vacation, we met this guy and sort of …”

“Sort of what?” Alan slipped his hand down the back of Michael’s pants. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. Alan ran a fingertip along Michael’s crease then pressed lightly at the entrance.

Michael moaned and tried to push back against the finger.

“He was a nice kid. A hot, young college boy on vacation at mommy and daddy’s expense. We took him back to our room and had a threesome. Ah, Alan.”

“And that’s when you bought the condoms.”

“Yeah. Phillip must have saved them. I found them the other day when I was going through some of his stuff. Can we get these clothes off? I want you naked.” Michael was already shoving at Alan’s pants.

Alan laughed. “Impatient much?”

But he started on the buttons of his shirt while Michael worked on getting his pants off. He couldn’t wait to be naked and wrapped around Michael. It would be great. He would make it great, slow and sensual the way it was whenever he’d imagined it.

Toeing off his shoes, Alan retrieved the condom from his wallet, passed the foil packet to Michael then kicked free of his pants and underwear. Impatient hands shoved the shirt off his shoulders before he even had all the buttons undone. Alan’s fingers were clumsy as he ripped the last two free.