Pumpkin Spice and Chill: A Sunshine/Grumpy MM Romance, page 20
“Alright,” I say. “You’re free.”
“Free, huh?” he says.
I provided him with a robe. He slips it on as he stands, unfortunately covering up all that soft skin I’ve been trying to reproduce in clay.
“Can I see it?” he says.
“Oh, um, well, it’s not finished. There are still several parts that are in quite a rough state. It will probably take me a few more hours of work before it’s any good.”
“I don’t mind. Please?”
I’m helpless in the face of large, soft brown eyes that look up at me pleading. I nod, and he goes to my desk, leaning close to peer at the little figure I’ve been carving and molding while he sat so still and patient for me.
“Albert, oh my God. It’s me. Like, it’s actually me.”
“Well, not yet, really.”
“No,” David says, whirling toward me. “It is. I can already see it. That’s amazing. I … I don’t even know what to say. I’ve never had someone make actual art of me. It’s…”
He falters, and I can’t help going to him. Seeing him stumble even over something so minor makes me want to catch him. I slide my arms around him, our bodies so close he has to tilt his head back to look up at me.
“Albert, you really are incredible,” he says.
I chuckle wryly. “Hardly. You are the one who inspired me to sculpt that.”
Clay still clings to my fingers. I brush off what I can on his robe in order to tuck his hair behind his ear. I let my hand linger against his face, thumbing along his jaw.
“You’ve inspired so much more than a mere sculpture,” I say. “I’m not sure I fully realized it until today. Forgive me for my ignorance.”
He places his hand over mine. “You’re always apologizing for things you didn’t actually do wrong, do you know that? This has all been a lot. We’ve barreled through it pretty rapid-fire, too. It’s felt like we’ve hardly had a second to breathe all semester. But hopefully we’ll get a chance to slow things down and actually enjoy this now.”
“I would like that very much.”
There is so much worth taking slow with him, so much worth savoring.
And that could begin tonight.
David slides his arms around my neck in the same moment I pull him toward me, our mouths seeking each other as they have so many times of late. Except this time, we have all the time in the world, and absolutely no reason to rush.
Chapter Thirty
David
SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT about how Albert kisses me. I know it the second our lips meet. Every time before this, there’s been a frenzy urging on our kisses, a crazed urgency, like something was chasing us. But what is left to chase us? We’ve saved the café. We’ve chased off his unsupportive parents. I’ve been introduced to his friends. Classes are about to pause for a week in observance of Thanksgiving.
For the first time since we met, we truly have all the time in the world to simply be here in this moment with each other.
I want to make it last.
I hold him close, my arms around his neck, his hands on my hips. Only the robe stands between us, but with a flick I could loosen the tie and expose myself. Funny, that I should feel so much less awkward about this than I did mere moments ago. I don’t know what’s so different about this moment compared to when I was posing for him. Maybe it’s the sense that he’s as much a part of this as I am. I’m not a mere model for him to gaze at. When my hands go to his shirt, he lets me pull it off, exposing him just as much as me.
He responds by loosening the robe and sliding it off my shoulders. I’m completely naked before him, but his reverent touch banishes my shame. The hands grazing against my skin know me. They’ve learned everything they could about me, even in such a short time. Ropes or no, I’m so secure in his grasp that fear and bashfulness can’t penetrate the warmth of his skin against mine.
“I know I said I wanted to take this slow,” I say, “but God, Albert, as soon as you touch me I just…”
I don’t know how to finish that thought. It feels too big for any one word. His hands resting on my hips have my heart jumping all over my chest, frantic and restless. Suggesting we go slow seems absurd in this moment. How could we possibly take our time when every touch is a jolt of pure electricity?
A seeping smile curls Albert’s mouth. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “But perhaps you were right. Perhaps we should slow this down.”
He sinks, hands sliding down my thighs as he lowers himself all the way to the cold concrete floor. All I can do is watch, stunned, as he gets so low he can kiss the top of one foot, then the other.
It doesn’t end there. Albert remains bent all the way over, like he’s praying, his forehead nearly touching the floor as his lips tickle my bare feet.
He spares no piece of me as he makes his way from the tops of my feet to my ankles. His lips find the bony protrusions at the outside of each ankle. He treats them like they’re something precious, giving them the kind of attention normally reserved for plush lips that can kiss him back.
I shudder on my next inhale, unsure what to do with these sensations. No one has ever treated me like this. No one has ever spent so much time adoring every single bit of my body. Albert sets his hand softly on the back of my calf and starts working upward, kissing my shins, my calves, my knees. His lips tickle, but that isn’t the real reason I’m twitching in his hold. Being kissed like this makes me feel like something precious, something he adores. Every hair on my legs, every scrape on my knees, every crease in the skin he just spent so much time meticulously replicating in clay receives the awe-struck attention of his lips.
When he reaches my knee, he goes back down, as though he might have missed something and has to correct his mistake. I’m pretty sure his lips touch every part of me, but he never seems satisfied, constantly going back and kissing or licking at some piece of me he might have missed.
“Albert,” I say, voice breathy.
God, he hasn’t even touched any particularly erotic part of me and I’m trembling from his attention. How the hell can knees be so hot? Yet when he holds onto my thigh and leans around me to lick right at the hollow behind one knee, I flinch, standing a little straighter. I wonder for a moment if I’m going to crumble, especially when Albert pauses, hums to himself, and licks me again. He blows a soft breath against the skin he just licked, and gooseflesh breaks out over my whole body.
“Wh-why does that feel so good?” I say more to myself than him.
He sits back, hand still on my thigh as he gazes up at me. He doesn’t answer, but he reaches for my hand, tugging me toward him. I have to bend over a little so he can bring my fingers toward him. He licks along one, pausing to suck at the webbing between two digits when he reaches it. I quiver as his mouth trails back up that finger and he sucks the tip into his mouth.
Albert draws that finger deeper into his mouth, letting me pet over his tongue as he gradually sinks down me. All the while, his dark eyes peer up at me. That intense, unbroken eye contact almost undoes me faster than the fabulous work his lips and tongue are doing, but then he places two fingers in his mouth and licks the seam between them, and my mouth drops open around a moan.
He makes an obscene noise as he eases himself off my fingers. Then he switches to the other hand.
I’m trembling with anticipation. Somehow, it’s worse when I know exactly what’s coming, like the threat of his adoration is too much to bear. No one I’ve ever been with has treated me like Albert, like I’m precious, like I’m everything. Try as I might to feel inadequate compared to him, I can’t when his lips close tightly around my fingers, tongue sliding along every crease and crevice.
He frees my fingers from his mouth, then kisses along my palm. His lips graze my wrist, lingering against the place where the skin is so thin you can see the blue veins just under the surface.
There’s something terrifying about that, terrifying and thrilling. The barrier between us is so thin, so precarious, that we can literally see right through it. He even grazes his teeth along my wrist, and it only makes me feel more alive, more his.
“Albert,” I whine again, not even sure what I’m requesting, only sure I can’t get enough of the sound of his name.
“Touch yourself for me,” he says, each word brushing against that delicate skin. “Show me.”
I’m so, so eager to obey the moment he makes a request. I want nothing more than to please him. It takes an effort to go slow, to touch myself with any kind of dignity or composure. But then, that’s exactly what he’s after, isn’t it? Me falling apart at his command; me breaking before him.
He waits, watching, letting my other hand fall back to my side. He’s right under me, so when I stroke myself, my cock is just above his head. It means I can see it when he smiles from the first slow pump of my hand.
“That’s it,” he says. “That’s perfect.”
He goes right back to kissing me, his lips dancing along my thighs. He slides toward the insides, places nearly as tender as my wrist. It makes every pump of my hand that much more intense, like somehow his lips are on my cock and not just my thighs. He licks a stripe along the inside of my thigh just as my hand passes up my cock. Heat wells in my gut, sitting heavy inside me, a molten, hot thing searching for release.
Albert seeks a little higher, nearly at the crease between my leg and crotch. It places him dangerously close to my sac, so close he could accidentally brush against it, if Albert ever did anything accidentally.
He doesn’t, of course. When his roving tongue touches me there, it’s entirely intentional, perfectly calculated to shatter my composure.
I squeeze myself, groaning between my teeth. He doesn’t let up, replacing his tongue with his lips, moving so delicately across the most tender skin on my body. Every kiss is a bloom of heat that seeps through me. Kiss by kiss it gathers, collecting inside me, urging me on with soft insistence.
Somehow, this feels different from anything I’ve ever done. All he’s doing is kissing me while I touch myself, yet every brush of his lips, every stroke of my hand, is unlike any sensation I recognize.
He opens his mouth a bit wider, sucking gently. I twitch in my own hand, my cock aching for me to go harder and faster. I force myself to stay slow and steady, but it’s a struggle to battle back what wants to surge through and out of me.
He pulls away with a pop, perhaps sensing the tension coiling through me.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Do whatever you feel you’d like to.”
“But you’re here,” I say.
“Do you think I would not move if I wished to?” I hesitate and he smiles crookedly. “Continue, David. Keep going. Give yourself to me.”
When he phrases it that way, I can hardly resist. I’m not just touching myself, potentially making a mess of both of us — I’m giving myself to him, giving myself to every soft brush of his mouth. I’m surrendering to the attention he’s so lavishly poured over me. To deny the pleasure would be an insult.
When he starts kissing and sucking on my balls again, I don’t hold back. I let my hand glide along myself a little faster, though it’s still calmer than the furious pace I’m used to. My eyes drift shut, leaving me with nothing but the feeling of his mouth and the friction of my own hand. The rest of the world disappears, only the gift of his generous attention remaining.
“Oh, Albert,” I shudder.
“Yes,” he breathes against me. “Yes.”
It’s more than permission. He’s almost begging, eager to see the results of all those kisses he’s pressed against my skin so they could sink into my body. They’ve gathered in my belly, so warm, so heavy. Everything in my body pulls in close, seeking the core of that heat, and my hand strokes a little faster. Albert is right under me, but I don’t dare tell him to move. He wouldn’t, even if I begged him to, not when he’s positioned himself exactly where he intends to be.
Despite everything, I try to catch most of it when the orgasm surges through me. I manage a strangled little cry, then I’m spilling into my hand, all that warmth flowing right back out of me. It isn’t explosive and dizzying like some of my other times with him. This is far quieter, but no less powerful for that. If anything, it’s more earth-shattering this way, more destabilizing to know he can undo me with nothing but those gentle kisses, most of them falling on places that aren’t even especially erotic. To Albert, every part of me is erotic, every part of me is beautiful. That’s what he’s really shown me today, through his sculpting, through this, through the way he keeps kneeling under me until I have nothing left to give but a sigh.
I sink to my knees, joining him on the floor. I have to close my fist around the mess in my hand. There’s no way I’m going to get right back up and deal with it.
I don’t realize my eyes are still closed until he cups my face and strokes his thumb along my cheek. I open them to find him before me, watching my every breath.
“Come,” he says. “We can run a hot bath or get in the shower.”
“What about you?” I say. Once again, he’s given to me without affording any opportunity for me to give to him in return.
He leans forward to kiss me. “The night is not yet over.”
His tone is dark and low. His voice shivers through me, and despite still holding my orgasm in my hand, my whole body yearns to respond to him.
“But first,” he says, “that shower.”
He guides me to my feet and we leave the chilly garage. We have the whole night ahead of us, the whole night and so, so much more. And I’m eager for every second of it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Albert
I DON’T GO HOME for Thanksgiving break. David does, and parting with him for an entire week opens an ache in my chest I didn’t expect.
But I have my reasons for staying in Montridge.
A hush falls over the whole campus as it empties. Cars rarely traverse the street outside my house. Most of the people living here are students or professors, and the overwhelming majority have traveled elsewhere for the holiday. The trees shed their final tenacious leaves, as barren as everything else around me. The sky clouds over, tensing for rain and snow.
It made for a lonely Thanksgiving Day, but even a day later I don’t regret that. I sit in my kitchen with a cup of pumpkin spice tea and a couple leftover apple cider donuts, combing through the paperwork David and I filed with the city. David assured me everything was in order before he left, and I can find no flaw in our plan, but re-reading the forms has become a sort of ritual, a calming morning routine.
A shrill ring interrupts my concentration.
I sigh, but the call is not unexpected, and I’m prepared even before I hit “accept” and place the device on speaker.
“You’re really not coming home?” My sister Caroline’s voice fills my kitchen. “I can’t believe you skipped Thanksgiving. Are you okay, Albert?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
“Albert, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Our parents have made it clear that my decisions consistently disappoint them. I will only disappoint them more by returning home and confirming their beliefs about me.”
Caroline sighs. “They’ll forgive you. They love you.”
They might. It’s honestly difficult for me to tell. But that’s not really a debate worth having.
“I’ll be happy to reunite with them at the appropriate time,” I say.
“Albert,” Caroline says, drawing out my name the way she has since we were kids. “You aren’t doing this for me, right? This isn’t some weird guilt thing?”
“It is not and I am not. Though, I have to admit I don’t dislike the idea of you being the one to take over the company.”
“Albert!”
“You’re better suited to it. You always have been. We all know that. Why should the happenstance of my earlier birth outweigh your competence?”
She hesitates for a long time. Despite everything, despite the way our parents raised us to succeed them, despite the expectations that have sat on our shoulders since we were children, despite the strangeness of our upbringing, Caroline and I have never held any bitterness toward each other. She’s always felt like my strongest ally, rather than a foe I had to compete against. When I say she’s better suited to the future our parents had in mind for me, I mean it. Truly and sincerely.
“Okay, I don’t disagree with you,” she finally says, “and I’m not going to insult you by pretending I do. We’ve always been honest at least with each other. But this still feels kind of wrong, Albert. I don’t want you to lose your family over this.”
I consider this. I’ve been considering it ever since my parents showed up at the Boyfriend Café and attempted to pull me away from it.
“I don’t believe I will lose any family worth keeping,” I say carefully, picking each word. “This isn’t a decision I haven’t considered carefully.”
“I know,” she says. “You consider everything carefully.” She sighs again. “Well, I had to try at least. They said this is probably how it would go though.”
“Who said that?”
“Huh? Oh… Um, no one. Don’t worry about it.”
“Caroline.”
“Sorry, I think I have to go.”
“Caroline, what are—”
The line abruptly goes dead. As suddenly as she apparently needed my attention, she cuts me off. I’m left confused, but I don’t bother calling her back or digging into it. Caroline is still in her final year of high school, and high schoolers are not exactly known for their stable temperaments. It’s probably just something a friend said to her.
