After the most hellish day at work Brad thinks he’s ever had, he goes to Nate’s place. Nate isn’t expecting him and he answers the door in a pair of ratty jeans and a heathered FBI t-shirt, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He takes one look at Brad’s face and tugs him through the open door. Brad sets his helmet down on the keystand and then collapses on Nate’s couch. It’s just big enough so that his legs don’t hang over the edge. There are papers and files all over the coffee table, and half-drunk glass of red wine sits on the corner.
“Just trying to get my taxes together,” Nate says softly and presses a cold bottle of Amstel into his hand. He sits down on the sliver of cushions left next to Brad’s hip and doesn’t ask him to talk about it. Brad takes a swallow of beer and sighs in relief. He feels like the knot in his stomach has loosened a little and he runs a hand down Nate’s thigh in silent thank you. Nate nods and pulls his glasses off, squinching his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“So what’d you do on your day off?” Brad asks.
“Slept late, made pancakes, taxes, you know.”
“Mm,” Brad says and sets the beer bottle down on the coffee table. He leans up and kisses Nate, focusing on the sweet curve of Nate’s lower lip rather than all the bad stuff running through his head. Nate tastes like expensive Zinfandel and Brad smiles inwardly at the image of Nate uncorking a good bottle to sit down and do his taxes.
Nate pulls back and runs a thumb down Brad’s jaw. His irises are dark, swallowed by pupil, and Brad feels it in his gut that Nate represents everything that’s good in his life. It’s a bit frightening. Nate shifts so that he’s straddling Brad, knees tight around Brad’s hips.
His smile is closed-mouthed, Brad’s hint that he’s up to something, and then he’s bending to brush his lips over the shell of Brad’s ear. He blows softly and says, “Want to come to bed?”
Brad closes his eyes, takes a minute to just enjoy Nate’s touch, his smell, the way his weight feels right on top of Brad’s awakening erection. “Yeah.”
Brad’s spent the night before, rubbed off on Nate on top of his six-hundred thread count sheets, kissed him until his mouth was sore and swollen, jerked Nate off and imagined sliding his dick between Nate’s lips. Something about this feels different. Nate gets up off of him and drains the last of his wine. He shoots Brad a come-hither look over his shoulder and disappears into the bedroom. Brad follows at a more sedate pace, shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his jeans. He’s careful to fold them over his arm because Nate will freak out if he leaves them in a pile on the floor.
Nate’s pulled the covers down and piled up all the pillows when Brad gets to the bed. He pushes Brad back onto the sheets and nips at his mouth before Brad tugs Nate down on top of him. Nate cards his fingers through Brad’s short hair and then pulls, directing Brad’s mouth where he wants it. He strokes over Brad’s lower lip with his tongue and then slides it over the roof of Brad’s mouth. Brad moans and shifts so that their dicks are lined up. He feels warm and comfortable and being turned on seems minor compared to just touching Nate.
“Why are you still wearing clothes?” he breathes and pushes Nate’s shirt up his spine, fingertips dragging in the groove so that Nate arches, catlike. Nate pulls his clothes off between kisses. He drags Brad’s boxers down his thighs to get to his dick. Brad thinks for a second with Nate’s head bent over his dick, about asking him to suck it, but then Nate slides up his body to lick over his collarbone and the hollow of his throat and he forgets all about it.
Nate makes these soft breathy noises when he’s turned on, like he’s savoring it, and he’s making them now as his swollen red lips close over Brad’s left nipple. Brad’s hips lift and Nate chuckles softly. His eyelashes flutter, brushing over the skin of Brad’s shoulder.
Part 1
“Just trying to get my taxes together,” Nate says softly and presses a cold bottle of Amstel into his hand. He sits down on the sliver of cushions left next to Brad’s hip and doesn’t ask him to talk about it. Brad takes a swallow of beer and sighs in relief. He feels like the knot in his stomach has loosened a little and he runs a hand down Nate’s thigh in silent thank you. Nate nods and pulls his glasses off, squinching his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“So what’d you do on your day off?” Brad asks.
“Slept late, made pancakes, taxes, you know.”
“Mm,” Brad says and sets the beer bottle down on the coffee table. He leans up and kisses Nate, focusing on the sweet curve of Nate’s lower lip rather than all the bad stuff running through his head. Nate tastes like expensive Zinfandel and Brad smiles inwardly at the image of Nate uncorking a good bottle to sit down and do his taxes.
Nate pulls back and runs a thumb down Brad’s jaw. His irises are dark, swallowed by pupil, and Brad feels it in his gut that Nate represents everything that’s good in his life. It’s a bit frightening. Nate shifts so that he’s straddling Brad, knees tight around Brad’s hips.
His smile is closed-mouthed, Brad’s hint that he’s up to something, and then he’s bending to brush his lips over the shell of Brad’s ear. He blows softly and says, “Want to come to bed?”
Brad closes his eyes, takes a minute to just enjoy Nate’s touch, his smell, the way his weight feels right on top of Brad’s awakening erection. “Yeah.”
Brad’s spent the night before, rubbed off on Nate on top of his six-hundred thread count sheets, kissed him until his mouth was sore and swollen, jerked Nate off and imagined sliding his dick between Nate’s lips. Something about this feels different. Nate gets up off of him and drains the last of his wine. He shoots Brad a come-hither look over his shoulder and disappears into the bedroom. Brad follows at a more sedate pace, shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his jeans. He’s careful to fold them over his arm because Nate will freak out if he leaves them in a pile on the floor.
Nate’s pulled the covers down and piled up all the pillows when Brad gets to the bed. He pushes Brad back onto the sheets and nips at his mouth before Brad tugs Nate down on top of him. Nate cards his fingers through Brad’s short hair and then pulls, directing Brad’s mouth where he wants it. He strokes over Brad’s lower lip with his tongue and then slides it over the roof of Brad’s mouth. Brad moans and shifts so that their dicks are lined up. He feels warm and comfortable and being turned on seems minor compared to just touching Nate.
“Why are you still wearing clothes?” he breathes and pushes Nate’s shirt up his spine, fingertips dragging in the groove so that Nate arches, catlike. Nate pulls his clothes off between kisses. He drags Brad’s boxers down his thighs to get to his dick. Brad thinks for a second with Nate’s head bent over his dick, about asking him to suck it, but then Nate slides up his body to lick over his collarbone and the hollow of his throat and he forgets all about it.
Nate makes these soft breathy noises when he’s turned on, like he’s savoring it, and he’s making them now as his swollen red lips close over Brad’s left nipple. Brad’s hips lift and Nate chuckles softly. His eyelashes flutter, brushing over the skin of Brad’s shoulder.