head away.
Only then did Tom let go of Prophet’s hip to allow the man to slide down the wall.
“Now that’s a sight for my old, sore eyes,” Dave murmured against Roger’s ear as they watched the bodies in the shadows. It was too dark to see much, but it was more than obvious what was happening, the two men moving in unison, one pinned to the wall, the other covering him.
“Young love.”
“Young lust.”
“Looks like he doesn’t need our company after all.”
In the dark, Dave reached for Roger’s hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. “Were we ever that beautiful?”
“You still are,” Roger told him. “Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane.”
“This was definitely foreplay.”
“It’s like Tumblr, the live version.”
Dave chuckled. “True. But I did not see it coming.”
“Maybe hurricanes affect gaydar?”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Enough to pretend we can still have sex like that.”
With Tommy collapsed half on top of him, Prophet lay on the kitchen floor, spent. Sweaty. Unable—or unwilling—to break the almost spell-like silence that covered them like a blanket. He hadn’t been this wet or dirty since BUD/S, but BUD/S definitely hadn’t felt this good.
Tom was still breathing hard, and Prophet’s legs still shook from the exertion. But if Tom wanted more, right now, Prophet would be game.
“You know they watched us, right?” Prophet asked finally, his voice rough as he drew lazy circles on Tom’s back with his fingertips.
Tom shivered at the contact, then snorted. “Yeah.”
Prophet laughed. And then laughed more, which made Tom laugh.
They both stopped when sideways hail began hitting the window above the kitchen sink. The house creaked, the lights flickered, and then went out.
Prophet blinked and tried to swallow the panic. He started counting as soon as the reassuring hum of the generator kicked in—ten seconds down—and he continued to count, even as Tom nuzzled his chest, then bit his nipple hard enough for Prophet’s cock to stir.
He wound his hand in Tommy’s hair and breathed, and then the kitchen lights returned.
Tom’s head lifted. “You installed a generator in my aunt’s house?”
“Someone had to.”
Tom balanced his chin on Prophet’s chest. “Hope you bolted it down.”
“And alarmed the fucker too. And set up a trap to catch anyone who went near it.” Prophet paused. “I wasn’t going to tell you that before you went out to check the oil.”
“Fucker,” Tommy muttered. “You didn’t even know I was coming.”
“You said you couldn’t.”
“Don’t look at me that way—I didn’t come here to see you.”
“God forbid,” Prophet grumbled.
“I didn’t know you’d be here, Proph,” Tom said, his voice gentler now.
“Cut the innocent act, Voodoo. Unless you always carry condoms in your pocket when you travel.”
“Dammit, Proph . . . okay, look, I just knew it was as important as fuck for me to get here. I don’t ignore my gut. Not anymore.”
Jesus, Prophet didn’t want to do this yet. Things were so goddamned fragile between them, and the second either one of them pressed for more, it could all fall the fuck apart. Prophet refused to risk any of it to the threat of reality. Because the indisputable fact remained that he’d come here for Tommy, yes, but Tom had come for Della. No matter whether he’d thought Prophet might be here, Tom still hadn’t chosen him. “Things are better when we’re fucking. Simpler, at least.”
“I’m up for keeping it going.”
“You can’t even move.”
“Neither can you.”
Prophet held up a hand, then gave Tom the finger. “See? I moved.”
Tom lunged to completely pin him. Prophet was quicker, and they rolled underneath the table and hit the bench. Tom ended up on top, and as he leaned in for a kiss, Della cleared her throat in the most obvious of ways before coming into the kitchen.
They both glanced over and saw her feet, and Tom
Only then did Tom let go of Prophet’s hip to allow the man to slide down the wall.
“Now that’s a sight for my old, sore eyes,” Dave murmured against Roger’s ear as they watched the bodies in the shadows. It was too dark to see much, but it was more than obvious what was happening, the two men moving in unison, one pinned to the wall, the other covering him.
“Young love.”
“Young lust.”
“Looks like he doesn’t need our company after all.”
In the dark, Dave reached for Roger’s hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. “Were we ever that beautiful?”
“You still are,” Roger told him. “Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane.”
“This was definitely foreplay.”
“It’s like Tumblr, the live version.”
Dave chuckled. “True. But I did not see it coming.”
“Maybe hurricanes affect gaydar?”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Enough to pretend we can still have sex like that.”
With Tommy collapsed half on top of him, Prophet lay on the kitchen floor, spent. Sweaty. Unable—or unwilling—to break the almost spell-like silence that covered them like a blanket. He hadn’t been this wet or dirty since BUD/S, but BUD/S definitely hadn’t felt this good.
Tom was still breathing hard, and Prophet’s legs still shook from the exertion. But if Tom wanted more, right now, Prophet would be game.
“You know they watched us, right?” Prophet asked finally, his voice rough as he drew lazy circles on Tom’s back with his fingertips.
Tom shivered at the contact, then snorted. “Yeah.”
Prophet laughed. And then laughed more, which made Tom laugh.
They both stopped when sideways hail began hitting the window above the kitchen sink. The house creaked, the lights flickered, and then went out.
Prophet blinked and tried to swallow the panic. He started counting as soon as the reassuring hum of the generator kicked in—ten seconds down—and he continued to count, even as Tom nuzzled his chest, then bit his nipple hard enough for Prophet’s cock to stir.
He wound his hand in Tommy’s hair and breathed, and then the kitchen lights returned.
Tom’s head lifted. “You installed a generator in my aunt’s house?”
“Someone had to.”
Tom balanced his chin on Prophet’s chest. “Hope you bolted it down.”
“And alarmed the fucker too. And set up a trap to catch anyone who went near it.” Prophet paused. “I wasn’t going to tell you that before you went out to check the oil.”
“Fucker,” Tommy muttered. “You didn’t even know I was coming.”
“You said you couldn’t.”
“Don’t look at me that way—I didn’t come here to see you.”
“God forbid,” Prophet grumbled.
“I didn’t know you’d be here, Proph,” Tom said, his voice gentler now.
“Cut the innocent act, Voodoo. Unless you always carry condoms in your pocket when you travel.”
“Dammit, Proph . . . okay, look, I just knew it was as important as fuck for me to get here. I don’t ignore my gut. Not anymore.”
Jesus, Prophet didn’t want to do this yet. Things were so goddamned fragile between them, and the second either one of them pressed for more, it could all fall the fuck apart. Prophet refused to risk any of it to the threat of reality. Because the indisputable fact remained that he’d come here for Tommy, yes, but Tom had come for Della. No matter whether he’d thought Prophet might be here, Tom still hadn’t chosen him. “Things are better when we’re fucking. Simpler, at least.”
“I’m up for keeping it going.”
“You can’t even move.”
“Neither can you.”
Prophet held up a hand, then gave Tom the finger. “See? I moved.”
Tom lunged to completely pin him. Prophet was quicker, and they rolled underneath the table and hit the bench. Tom ended up on top, and as he leaned in for a kiss, Della cleared her throat in the most obvious of ways before coming into the kitchen.
They both glanced over and saw her feet, and Tom
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