Leap Year (Reconstruction Book 1), page 22
He began with a full-body massage that paid special attention to Patrick’s ass and hole, and both feet, which were sensitive but not ticklish. He rode the gentle, relaxing song through chorus after chorus, none ever reaching a real crescendo. On and on, until Russ nudged his own cock between Patrick’s lips. Patrick showed his thanks by sucking and licking Russ’s dick while Russ straddled his head, maintaining their pace while Patrick accepted what he was given. Being directed, no need to think or wonder or worry. His King Size would always take care of him.
More than once, Russ stopped thrusting and Patrick held him in his mouth, savoring the smooth skin and musky flavor of his boyfriend’s dick. Those pauses lasted seconds, sometimes minutes, and at one point it could have been an hour, he didn’t know. Without saying it, they both knew that right now, every part of his body belonged to Russ.
“So good for me, sweetheart,” Russ said. “Those pretty pink lips stretched so wide, just like your hole’s gonna stretch wide.”
Patrick gurgled his approval of this plan, using his tongue on the underside of Russ’s cock. Russ wasn’t thrusting, so he applied the tiniest pressure with his teeth. Russ growled so Patrick did it again. Russ reached back and pinched Patrick’s nipple. His attempted gasp gave Russ room to push deeper into Patrick’s mouth, nearly into his throat. He only stayed there a few seconds, not long enough for Patrick to choke or panic, before pulling out completely.
Russ rolled Patrick onto his stomach, hands firm but not rough. Patrick braced on his elbows, pulse racing when Russ straddled his upper thighs. The condom wrapper crinkled. Lube squirted. Thick fingers pushed inside Patrick’s body, and Patrick sighed, so ready for this final, intimate connection with the man he’d fallen in love with. The only man who’d ever taken care with Patrick’s heart, body, and trust.
“Get comfy for me,” Russ said. “Gonna be here for a long time.”
“As long as you want.”
Patrick didn’t expect Russ to take him quite so seriously. Russ’s cock entered him a half-inch at a time, stretching him so slowly he almost didn’t feel it sometimes. Then he’d move back and in again, waking up nerves and sensitive muscles, and pause. Repeat, over and over, torturing Patrick with his slowness. An eternity passed before Russ’s pubes tickled Patrick’s ass cheeks and there was nowhere else for Russ to go.
“Ugh, so full, fuck.”
“I know.” Russ’s body pressed down on Patrick, his own elbows braced by Patrick’s head so he didn’t put his full weight on Patrick. “Like your ass was made to sheath my cock.”
“Yes. Yours.”
Russ sucked on the back of his shoulder, leaving the skin tingling and hot, but he didn’t thrust. Didn’t fuck, he just lay there, their bodies connected, while he played with Patrick’s neck and upper spine. Patrick wriggled his hips; Russ dropped more weight on his ass, pinning him.
“Come on, fuck me,” Patrick whined.
“When I’m ready. Just feel us.”
“I do.” If he felt much more, he was scared his body might turn itself inside-out. Patrick closed his eyes and tried to relax, but the moment he thought he had some control over the sensations wracking his body, Russ would move. A slight shift of his hips, or the lightest of thrusts, and everything spun around again. Jolts of arousal danced up and down his spine, until it became too much.
Patrick lunged forward. Well, in his mind’s eye, he lunged. In reality, he barely wiggled. Russ laughed, grabbed him around the torso, and rolled them onto their sides, dick still deep inside Patrick’s ass. The new position shifted the pressure in his body but didn’t ease it at all. Patrick wiggled and fought with little might; he loved this game and knew Russ would release him if he complained.
Russ nipped his earlobe while one hand caressed his belly. “Isn’t this so much better than frantic fucking? We’ve got all the time in the world.”
“You’ll just take longer to kill me.”
“You’ll beg us to do this again.”
“Yeah.”
Patrick’s entire being was a cacophony of sensations and emotions, both a never-ending riot of noise and an eternal symphony of orchestral perfection. The best and worst notes, the highest soprano and the deepest bass. Time stood still. Russ pulled out, added more lube, and sank back in. Fucked him hard for a while, then stilled. They existed, rested, fucked, and kissed. Held hands and pinched skin and rode out eternity on an aria of bliss.
More than once, an orgasm taunted him before fleeing—or being chased away by Russ’s deft hands. Patrick begged and praised and pleaded and moaned, and he wasn’t ashamed of any of it. He was semi-delirious with pleasure when Russ withdrew and gently turned Patrick onto his back. Slid back inside his willing hole, which Patrick hazily mused was now molded to the shape of Russ’s cock.
Russ fucked him with long, forceful thrusts that meant this was almost at its end—and also just the beginning. Russ came first, panting hotly against Patrick’s neck, hips giving small thrusts that drove Patrick mad because they weren’t enough. He needed more.
He nearly sobbed when Russ pulled out again, but when Russ slid down his body and sucked Patrick’s dick into his mouth, Patrick shouted. Lightening pulsed up his spine and short-circuited his brain, leaving him floating in a fog of endless bliss. He was vaguely aware of Russ near him, touching him, whispering to him. Of blankets covering them and Russ spooning up close in the dark. Of sharing kisses before sleep stole Patrick’s thoughts away.
Russell spent a dizzyingly perfect weekend playing house with his boyfriend and Frog, with Bryan only appearing to assure Patrick that Frog would get to bed on time in the carriage house. Patrick stayed over Friday and Saturday nights, and they made excellent use of the big, empty house, but Sunday evening broke their spell of domestic bliss.
“It’s a school night,” Patrick said. He and Russell were cuddling naked on the couch, snuggled under a fleece blanket, with a news program on TV neither of them were really watching. Frog had gone off to bed an hour ago, and they’d instantly gotten down to fucking on the couch.
Russell had sensed they wouldn’t have hours of playtime tonight, not like they’d had the last three nights. “I get it. You need to be there in the morning to get Frog on the bus.”
“I do. I trust Bryan, but Frog is used to me being the one to make him breakfast and wait with him for the bus. I don’t want to shake things up too much, too fast, not when we’ve just gotten settled.”
“It’s okay, I mean it. I love having you here, but I understand that you need to put Frog first. It won’t—” The words stopped as Russell realized what he’d almost said. It won’t always be like this. But Patrick could take that in more ways than one, and it seemed too soon to bring up them living together full-time.
Patrick raised his head and met his gaze. His eyes were…hopeful? “It won’t what?”
“It, um, won’t be long until it’s Friday again, and we can have another sleepover. If you want, of course.” Lame. Coward.
“Sure. Yeah, I’d love to do this again next weekend. The sleepovers.” He pressed a soft kiss to Russell’s mouth. “Take a shower with me before I go home?”
You are home, sweetheart.
“Definitely.”
Watching Patrick walk through both pool gates later hurt in a way Russell had never felt before. It wasn’t a sharp stab or even a dull throb. It was an emptiness in his heart and in his arms. It pressed down on him with the four walls of this big, empty house with far more rooms than people. A house that lacked laughter when Patrick and Frog weren’t here. Sometimes he swore the sun didn’t shine as bright when they weren’t with him.
Yeah, I’m in love.
Now he had to figure out the right way to say it and ask Patrick and Frog to move into the big house with him.
His family.
Monday trudged by like a hiker navigating deep mud, and Tuesday wasn’t much better. But Russell’s usual excitement to see Patrick and Frog arrive on his doorstep amplified when Patrick asked if Russell wanted to go out for a late dinner, just the two of them.
“I called Bryan earlier when I knew he had a break,” Patrick added. Bryan had taken the construction job, and yesterday was his first day. “He’s fine watching Frog for a couple of hours.”
“So it’s a real date?” Russell asked. They’d yet to manage an evening date out that was also childfree, and he loved the spontaneity of the offer. “Sounds great. Did you have someplace in mind?”
“I do, and it’s a surprise. Don’t worry about wearing anything fancy, business casual is fine. I’m going to help Frog with a project for school, and then I will pick you up in my car at six. Okay?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Without Patrick and Frog to distract him, Russell mostly paced, wondered and at the last minute, decided that when they got home tonight, he’d give Patrick the painting. Use that as an opening to finally say, “I love you” out loud. Angelo would be giving him hell right now if he knew how badly Russell was worrying about this, which was exactly why his best friend didn’t know Russell was in love.
He adored Angelo’s friendship, and maybe Angelo’s recent heartbreak with Nat meant he was loosening his previously firm rules about not getting emotionally involved with his fuck buddies. But he’d tell Angelo after he told the person who needed to hear the words the most.
Russell spent way too much time trimming his beard, which he’d let grow out since late October. It was perfectly symmetrical but he fussed anyway. Anything to move the digital clock on his phone closer to six. He was combed, dressed and ready to go at five-fifty, and at five-fifty-two, Patrick’s car rumbled into the circular driveway and idled behind Russell’s car.
He’d never been happier for someone to show up early.
Indecision seized his muscles, and Russell stood there with his hand on the knob, unsure if he was supposed to walk down to the car, or wait for Patrick to come get him. Patrick said he’d pick Russell up in his car, and this was an official date, so did traditional dating etiquette apply?
Patrick solved that problem by getting out of his car and walking up to the porch. Russell took a few steps back, heart hammering, not wanting to appear as eager as he was. Patrick rang the bell; Russell counted to five before opening the door. Patrick grinned at him from the porch and brought his left hand out from behind his back. At first, Russell thought he held a bouquet of flowers. A more careful inspection produced a bark of genuine laughter.
The flower stems were paintbrushes, and each “flower” was a simple wad of colorful tissue paper attached with florist tape. The creativity and thoughtfulness made Russell’s eyes sting a little. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“I wanted to do something besides flowers,” Patrick said with a shy smile. “Something you could use, instead of just watching them droop and die.”
“I love it, thank you.” Russell accepted the bundle and pretended to smell them. “Ah, my favorite scents. Glue and paper.”
“Cute. Ready to go?”
“Absolutely.” He placed the bundle on the hall table then followed Patrick outside. Patrick even opened the passenger door for him, which was insanely romantic. Russell hadn’t been treated like this…well, ever. His ex hadn’t even been so considerate when they first started dating.
Probably because their relationship had been built around great sex, rather than an intimate, emotional connection. It had never had as strong a foundation as what he was building with Patrick.
“So any new hints about where we’re going?” Russell asked.
“Only that tonight’s date has two stops. Dinner first, followed by a special entertainer.”
“A stripper?”
“No, but I like how you think and you might get a special present to unwrap later.”
Yes, please, and thank you in advance.
They chatted about familiar, nonsensical things on the drive through Reynolds. Russell couldn’t begin to guess their destination so he didn’t try; he relaxed and enjoyed the novelty of being driven around for a real date. Patrick eventually parked on the street in one of the town’s older neighborhoods, where small stores shared the street with turn-of-the-century homes, and the sidewalks had both benches and shade trees.
Patrick led him to a white house with a sign that said “River Bistro” in fancy font. They were nowhere near a river, but this was apparently the sister location to the first restaurant. The screened front porch had two-top tables and strings of twinkle lights, but it was closed for the season, so the host stand was inside. Instead of the downstairs being gutted into one large dining area, the restaurant had what looked like three different rooms, each with a slightly different theme and number of tables. It was half-full as the host led them to a table in a room decorated in a style that reminded Russell of a French flower garden.
“How did you find this place?” Russell asked after the host left.
“Angelo actually recommended it.” Patrick angled his head slightly down like he did when he was embarrassed.
“You talked to him about this?”
“A little when we went shopping Friday. I mentioned wanting a small, romantic spot that wouldn’t bleed my bank account dry, so he told me about this place. Says he brings clients here sometimes.”
“He definitely knows the best places in Reynolds to wine and dine.”
A cheerful woman with white-blond hair came over with glasses of iced water and introduced herself as Linda, their server. She practically sang off a list of tonight’s specials, including cocktails, before asking what they’d like to drink.
“I’ll try the Pretty Floral Bonnet special,” Patrick said. When Russell raised an eyebrow, he added, “What? It has chamomile liqueur in it. I like that.”
“Fine, make it two,” Russell said. “How do you feel about the Alsatian Onion Tart? It sounds like French onion soup on a pastry.”
“Absolutely.”
Linda scribbled on her pad as she walked away. Russell picked up the menu, which was a single sheet of laminated paper. He wasn’t used to places with so few options. His go-to were either five or more multi-folded pages, or a long list of combo-plate specials. It was nice not having to think too hard and pick from the limited options. He was no foodie but all the dishes sounded vaguely French.
When Linda returned with their drinks, they ordered entrees, and then chatted about their days. About Frog’s school project and a classmate’s birthday party this Saturday. Easy things that were completely devoid of awkward, first-date talk because they already knew the important things. They were still filling in all the details and embellishments, but they’d established the broad strokes of the magnificent family portrait they’d begun painting together months ago. A living painting that would never truly be complete, but that would alter and adapt with time and new circumstances. Its core, though, would always remain the same.
The meal was fabulous, and Russell was a little sad to see it end. But the second stop on their date was coming up, and he had no clue what Patrick could do to top dinner at River Bistro. The very last place he expected Patrick to take him was the large public parking lot across from Neighborhood Shindig. The lot was close to several blocks worth of restaurants, bars, and small businesses, but no entertainment venues or exhibition halls.
“Any hints?” Russell asked.
Patrick texted someone then smiled. “Nope, but despite the two drinks I had with dinner, I’m really nervous right now. Like, jumping out of my skin nervous, so will you do me a favor? Trust me and don’t ask too many questions?”
If Patrick had said that while they were home alone, Russell might have wondered if things were about to get kinky. Beyond intrigued, Russell nodded. “I trust you.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
Russell joined Patrick by the car’s fender. His curiosity rose several more levels when Patrick led him right toward Neighborhood Shindig. He might not have questioned it any other night, but Tuesday was the only day of the week the venue was closed. It gave all tenants one guaranteed day off, and they could choose whichever other day they wanted based on their individual businesses. With Shindig closed, they had no reason to be there.
Patrick walked to a solid metal door left of the main gate and knocked. Someone from the other side pushed. Pulse jumping, Russell followed Patrick through the door. An unfamiliar man wearing silver-wire glasses had opened the door, and three other people flanked him. A black-haired man might have worked at one of the food trucks; Antoni Fratelli definitely worked the pizza truck; Angelo grinned at them both like a man with the best secret in the world.
“What the hell?” Russell asked.
“It’s a surprise.” Patrick’s voice had a slight quaver to it. He slid his hand into Russell’s and pulled him forward. “Come on.”
Most of the lights bordering the lot were off, but the center pavilion was lit up at the far end near the stage. They headed that way, trailed by the quartet of silent observers. Russell glanced over his shoulder once but Angelo’s face gave away nothing. No hint as to what he’d obviously schemed up with Russell’s boyfriend.
The stage was well-lit and empty of most equipment, except for a single microphone and stand, a stool, and a classical guitar. A handful of folding chairs sat in a row facing the stage. Patrick directed him to sit in the center chair, and then Patrick perched on the edge of the one beside him, never letting go of Russell’s hand. Fine tremors raced down Patrick’s arm and made his chin tremble, but his eyes were determined.
“I wanted to do something special tonight, to show you how I feel about you,” Patrick said. “When I told Angelo what I wanted to do, he talked to his cousin Antoni, and Antoni was kind enough to enlist the help of Clancy Jons over there.” He pointed to the tall man wearing glasses. “He’s the general manager of Shindig. When Clancy agreed to the plan, I couldn’t say no to him asking his boyfriend Samir to join us.”
Okay, everyone finally had names. Russell shook Clancy and Samir’s hands, nodded at Antoni, and then cast a suspicious glance at Angelo. “Okay, what’re we doin’ here? Angelo gonna serenade us?”
