“Okay. We’ll skip words.” Warren swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, trapping Stefan’s knees between his own. He laid his palm on the flat, silky, almost hairless stomach under that shirt. Stefan jumped and swore under his breath. Warren kept his fingers there, rubbing a little circle as Stefan shrugged the shirt off his arms. “Just tell me, how long has it been?”
At first he thought Stefan wasn’t going to answer. Those long, callused fingers brushed his as Stefan methodically unbuttoned his own trousers and pushed them down. Clean, white underwear tented out nicely from his groin; he was clearly still interested. Warren moved his hand lower, brushing over the bulge in the fabric. Stefan gasped, then said hoarsely, “Five years. So you will have to go slowly.”
“Five years?” He took his hand away, staring up into Stefan’s wide blue eyes. “Not since you came here?”
“No.” Stefan took Warren’s wrist and very deliberately placed his hand back where it had been. “And I do want this.” He stood still for a moment as Warren stroked him, then stepped back and took off his underwear too.
Stefan’s skin was very fair where the sun hadn’t touched it, with fine blue veins under the translucent pallor of his hips, and thicker ropey veins along his cock. He had almost no hair, just a small golden nest around that jutting erection. His arms and neck were tanned to caramel brown, but the rest of him was like one of those Greek statues, carved in marble. He straightened, tilted his head, and canted one hip, clearly inviting Warren to look at him. His prick stood out, arching up, long and uncircumcised, the pink tip just emerging from the hood.
Warren licked his lips. “Come here.”
“You will go slow?” Stefan took a step forward against the bed, back between Warren’s knees.
“I want to suck you, boy,” Warren growled, his deep voice surprising in his own ears. “How slow do you need that to be?”
“Oh!” There was an odd note in Stefan’s voice. “I have not done that.”
Warren wrapped his fingers around each angled hip and tightened his hands. “But you want to?”
“Yes.” It was more breath than words.
Warren leaned down and drew the tip of his tongue in one slow stroke up the underside of that pretty prick. Stefan shivered between his hands and gasped. Warren mouthed over the tip, already tasting the sweet seep of liquid. As he licked around the sensitive flesh, he mumbled, “What have you done, if not this?”
“I . . . Ah, Gott! I have used my mouth. And the rear, my ass. I have bent over . . . Oh! Yes!”
Warren sucked harder and released him with a pop. “Did you enjoy it? Getting taken from behind that way?”
“What?” Stefan’s expression was dazed, just from a few moments of Warren’s attention. “Oh.” The pause stretched a bit. “Yes. It was, um, sometimes good. Eventually.”
Sometimes good, eventually. Warren felt a sudden desire to ram a nice telephone pole up the ass of whoever had been Stefan’s first. “It should be good all the time. Not that there isn’t a bit of a stretch and a burn, but it should be more than worth it.”
“I have at times enjoyed it,” Stefan said, color rising higher on his cheeks and neck.
Warren decided then and there to show Stefan what bending for a man really could be like. Someday, not now, because he needed some Vaseline and a lot of time for that. For now, he put his well-honed oral skills to work, licking and sucking, sliding his tongue under the sensitive foreskin and around the sweet, smooth curves of the head. Stefan moaned and bucked into his mouth, hands clutching at the empty air.
Warren pulled off and nuzzled in toward his balls until Stefan slid his foot sideways, giving Warren more room. Warren licked his sac, then looked up. “Hold my head. Fuck my mouth.”
“You do not mind?”
“Stefan, I want you to fuck me with that lovely prick so deep that it’s down my throat when you come.”
“Oh!” Stefan’s hips jerked helplessly forward, his damp tip dragging across Warren’s unshaven jaw. Warren opened his mouth and let go of one hip to wedge his hand in where he could finger Stefan’s balls. He sucked hard on Stefan’s cockhead while stroking the thin skin under his soft curls, cradling his balls, tugging lightly. Stefan’s fingers clamped onto his skull. With a series of short, sharp grunts, Stefan took him at his word, thrusting deep in his mouth. Warren concentrated on opening his throat, pacing his breath, and letting Stefan take control, as much and as hard as he wanted. Even now, thrusting, thighs jittering and shaking, fingers clenched, making garbled wordless sounds, Stefan was more considerate than many men Warren had knelt for.
Stefan drew back eventually and hesitated, clearly balanced on the cusp. Warren let him try to hold on, then sucked him deep and swallowed and swallowed, closing his fingers on tender balls with a firm tug. Stefan moaned, cursed, and came in a shaking flood that even Warren couldn’t handle. He slipped off enough to let the slick drip out the corner of his mouth, keeping up a slow, sensual suckling and a soft rub of his fingers.
At last Stefan said, “Gott im Himmel. Warren. So fine you are.” His hands eased their grip, stroking Warren’s hair.
Warren let that softening prick slide out of his lips and smiled with satisfaction. Stefan put out a shaking finger and swiped a trail of cum from the corner of Warren’s mouth. “Thank you. That was . . . I have no words. That was excellent.”
Warren rubbed against Stefan’s hand, dragging his whiskered jaw over those calluses. “My pleasure. Truly.”
Stefan looked down at Warren’s groin and smiled. “I see that it was. Shall I, er, do something about that?”
Warren rubbed his own erection, standing ruddy and needy between his hairy thighs. “You want to?”
“Oh, yes. This I have done. I enjoy it.” Stefan pressed Warren’s knees wider and knelt. “Let me.”
Warren put his hands on Stefan’s bowed head as he took Warren’s erection in his mouth. Stefan licked at him tentatively, then shifted position and went deeper. Warren played his fingers through the fine blond strands of Stefan’s hair while he sucked with far more enthusiasm than skill. It was clearly not his first time, but no one had taught him much. Warren couldn’t keep from asking, “How old were you last time you did this?”
Stefan pulled off and looked up to meet his eyes. “Eighteen. Am I not doing it right?”
Warren felt an oddly tender rush of sentiment and smiled at his anxious face. “You’re just fine. Better than fine. Don’t stop.”
Stefan bent again, and Warren stroked him, hair and temples and the translucent curves of his ears, as he licked and slurped. There was a line where his tanned neck gave way to the tender, pale skin of his shoulders, and Warren brushed his fingers there. Stefan whimpered and suddenly Warren came, heat flashing through his groin until he cried out.
Stefan choked, licked him, and then sat back on his heels, looking endearingly pleased with himself. “This skill I have not forgotten.”
Warren held in a laugh. “Indeed not. And I’ve found that talent like yours just gets better and better with more practice.”
Stefan nodded. “I should endeavor to practice again soon, then.” He frowned and stood. “Will you . . .? Do you . . .?”
“I hope we both get many chances to practice on each other,” Warren told him, pleased to see the frown between those pale brows smooth out. “If you want to, of course.”
“Oh, yes.” Stefan’s smile was almost shy. “I would like that.”
They dressed side by side. Warren stole frequent glances, emboldened by the way Stefan kept his eyes down on his own clothing. God, the man was beautiful. Amazing that no one else had seen it yet, on this continent anyway. Amazing that Stefan had enough interest in Warren’s ordinary, almost-thirty carcass to take him up on his proposition. It couldn’t last, of course. Once Stefan broke through his shyness or whatever had held him back, he’d be in high demand. He’d have his choice of partners. Like prodding at an infected tooth, Warren couldn’t resist saying, “Have yo
u been out to any lavender bars, in Madison maybe?”
Stefan looked over, startled. “No. Are there any?”
“Bound to be at least one,” Warren said. “A town that size? It’s just a matter of finding it. Do you want to?”
“I do not know. Why?”
“To meet other men? For variety?”
“Do you like variety?” There was a bleak note in Stefan’s voice as he looked down at his fingers fastening his braces more snugly to his waistband.
It hit Warren that right now variety was the last thing on his own mind. Well, variety or sharing Stefan with other men a moment before he had to. “Not really. But I did when I was your age. It was all new and an adventure.”
Stefan’s wry smile was years older than the rest of him. “I believe I have had enough adventures.”
The reminder that he knew very little about this man caught Warren with an odd sense of surprise. It shouldn’t have. Stefan was a stranger, really.
In the past, Warren had fucked guys he hadn’t even seen clearly, let alone known by name, in bar washrooms and back rooms he’d never visit again. This time had felt different. But really, it was only a small step up. It would pay for him to remember that. “I’m not complaining if you want to do your practice with me,” he said lightly. Time to ease back. “I should head home. Will you let me know if you come up against other chores that need an extra pair of hands?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”
He saw the curtain of politeness come down, erasing the animation of Stefan’s features. A moment later, Stefan was once again that remote Greek statue. “Come, I will show you out.”
As they unlocked the front door, Warren glanced over at the boards now covering both windows. “You should tell Mr. Tolliver that you need replacement windows now, even if it has to be multiple small panes. He must have something that would work, either new or reclaimed.”
“Thank you for your help.” It wasn’t agreement.
Warren hesitated, frowning a while longer at that makeshift slab of weathered wood. But eventually, without looking back, he made his way down the steps. His mother would be back from church soon. Behind him, he heard Stefan’s door click shut. And heard the lock snap closed again, too.
His frown deepened as he made his limping way around on the grass to his mother’s front door.
Warren woke the next morning to the almost forgotten smell of bacon frying. It got him out of bed faster than he would have believed possible. He washed quickly, scraped the whiskers off his chin, and dressed in his second best suit. When he got down to the kitchen, his sister, Laura, stood at the stove. She looked up as he came in, gave a little squeal, and jumped into his open arms. “Warren!” She hugged him hard, then smacked his arm. “Mom told me in church yesterday that you were here, and asked me to come by because she had early prayer meeting. You didn’t write to me. I’m hurt.” She faked a sniff.
He set her away carefully. “I didn’t tell anyone. Your bacon’s burning.”
“Oh!” She hurried to dish it onto a single plate, added toast without butter but thickly spread with jam, and a little dish of applesauce, and handed it to him. “Here, eat.”
“Where’s yours?” He sat at the kitchen table, where a single place was set.
“Are you joking?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The babies are up by five a.m. I ate hours ago.”
“What time is it? And where are your sweet, lovely offspring?” He put a little sneer into that for siblings’ sake, although he realized with a pang that it had been nine months since he’d seen his niece and nephew. They must be walking and talking by now.
“It’s after eight. And Joe’s working an evening shift. He’s home with the twins.”
“Lucky man,” Warren said, more softly than he’d planned.
“I’m the lucky one.” She came and sat beside him, putting a glass of milk at his hand. “Oh, Warren, I wish you would have children too. Is it so impossible?”
He winced and looked down at the slice of toast he was tearing into pieces. “Yeah. It is.” He’d told his family, perhaps five years ago now, when he hadn’t been able to take one more wistful hint from his mother about grandchildren and the family name, or one more round of having her introduce him to every girl she knew in his short visits home. He’d somehow found the nerve, back before Pearl Harbor, when that sort of thing had mattered more. He’d told them he was a “confirmed bachelor” and didn’t have an interest in marrying, or children, or the trappings of family life. He’d almost said, “the trap of family life.” He’d seen too many men of his persuasion convinced into unhappy marriages. Not for him. But he did regret the children.
Laura gave his arm an awkward pat. “I’m sorry.”
He managed a sideways smile. “Oh, don’t be sorry. I’m not the one getting up at five a.m.”
“You would make some woman such a wonderful husband, though. And I’d love my little ones to have cousins, with the Burch family name. Now that Charlie . . .”
“Don’t you start that.” Warren took a big bite of his toast to stopper his mouth. Once he’d convinced his mother that it wasn’t a joke or a phase, which had taken some doing, she’d fastened her hopes for a namesake for their father on Charlie. But a grave over in blood-soaked France was never going to produce an heir for Thomas Burch. Neither was Warren, though, ever.
Laura sighed. “You just . . . You don’t look or seem . . . that way.”
Warren gave her a deliberately saucy grin. “Many don’t. I knew this stevedore once, arms bigger around than my thighs . . .”
She smacked him on the arm again, harder. “I don’t want to know.” It had the effect of shaking off their melancholy, though, and Laura stood briskly. “So how long are you staying?”
“A long time, I hope.”
She turned back from the sink to stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes. My job got cut, and I thought, if I had to find a new one, why not here, close to Mother and your little ragamuffins?”
“My children are angels,” she said haughtily, then laughed. “At least when they’re asleep. But that’s wonderful news.”
“Yeah. I thought, well, Mother seemed a bit . . . off, the last few letters. More sad than ever.” Worse than sad, although he didn’t put his worry into words.
“Yes.” Laura’s voice thinned. “It’s hardest for Mother, of course. Charlie was her baby. It’ll be lovely for her to have you here.”
“This morning I’m going to check with Uncle Sebastien and see if there’s work for me at the plant.”
“You’d seriously work for Uncle Sebastien?”
Warren shrugged off his own unease. “Well, he’s a bit of a prig, but it’s the best war production work in town and I want . . . I need . . . After Charlie, I want to feel I’m doing my part.”
Laura’s expression softened. “I understand. Good luck, then. And eat your breakfast. You’ll need the energy.”
As he ate, Laura filled him in on extended family, between accounts of the things her children were doing and saying. He didn’t have to do more than nod, laugh now and then, and finish his bacon. But when he was done and carrying his plate to the sink, she said, “You’ll have to come and see us as soon as you can. Drop in any time. And we’ll be over here for Saturday lunch, of course. I hope you won’t be too lonely or bored after Philadelphia. This isn’t like the big city, or even Madison. We’re a pretty small town.”
“I know. I grew up here.” He gave her a hug. “I’ll find interests, I’m sure.” Unbidden, a vision of blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and a straining neck came to mind. He shoved the thought away. “I’ll be kindly Uncle Warren and take the infants to the park to feed the ducks.”
“Good luck doing that.” She blinked and smiled up at him. “Last time, Stevie almost fell in, looking at his reflection, and Suzie tried to catch a duck and got pecked.”
“I’ll bring a leash. Two leashes.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Damn. I’ve got
to clean up and get going. Thanks for breakfast, sis.”
“You’re welcome. Say hello to Uncle Sebastien for me.” Her smile developed a hint of mischief.
“I don’t want to know why that makes you gleeful, sis, but I think I’ll skip the family greetings.” Uncle Sebastien was all about business anyway. If he had any family feeling, it was well hidden under layers of stuffed shirt.
“He came to the twins’ christening,” she said. “Suzie spit up on the shoulder of his best suit.”
“Ooh. Good for Suzie.” They exchanged looks reminiscent of long, tedious Sunday visits when they were supposed to be seen and not heard. “But maybe I’ll skip the hellos.”
“I hope you find the job you want.”
“Well, much easier now than ten years ago, right? If there’s not an opening there, I’m sure I’ll find something good.” With so many men at war, jobs were going begging. Uncle Sebastien was far from the only game in town.
“I’m sure you will.” She leaned in for another hug. “Oh, it is good to have you home. And staying with Mother. I worry, sometimes.”
“I’m here to stay,” he assured her. “I’ll look out for Mother.”
“Uh-huh.”
That could have been agreement, but he thought he heard doubt behind it. The way she looked at him seemed to reserve judgment. Which was only fair. He’d planned not to mention the elephant in the room if she didn’t, but suddenly he wanted to clear the air. He took a breath and said, “So when are you going to let loose and really let me have it?”
“For what?”
He didn’t figure he had to add anything.
After a moment she sighed. “I’m trying not to, you idiot. Trying hard. Because what good will it do now to yell at you for not coming home for Charlie’s service?”
“It might make you feel better,” he suggested softly.
She shook her head. “No. If it’d happened a year or two ago, yeah, I’d have blown your ears off your head for being a coward, but now? I’m all grown up, and I know that nothing’s that simple. You had lots of acceptable reasons not to make it back here.”