ConvenientStrangers (3 page)

Stephen smiled, gaze slipping to the empty glass cupped in
his big hands.

“What do you do, anyway?” Adam asked, thinking they could
use a change of topic.

“Builder. Sorry—construction,” he translated.

“Damn. You out to your coworkers?”

“Most of ‘em know by now, I’m sure. A couple of them
definitely know, since it’s cropped up in conversation.”

“Awkward conversation,” Adam teased.

“Awkward for them, maybe. ‘Hey, check out the tits on her,’”
he said, in an amusingly heavy Southern accent. “Oh sorry, mate. Not really a
breast man. Prefer cock, actually, since you bring it up.”

Adam laughed.

“And you know how fucking obsessed straight blokes are with
cataloguing the benders walking among them. I’m sure the scandal’s spread
through the ranks by now.”

“How’d it go, in that environment? Were they cool about it?”

“What choice have they got? I’m their fucking foreman, and
I’ve been scrapping with guys over this shit since I was a teenager. I’m not
coy about it. If they have an issue with me and they want to sort it out, I’ll
help them sort it out.”

“I guess that’s probably the simplest language for guys like
that to get the message in.”

Stephen nodded. “But nobody’s made a thing of it yet, not to
my face. Generally, Americans are a little less punchy about it. Which
surprised me. I thought I was asking for it when I decided to move to the South,
but the North of England’s still in the dark ages about gay equality, far as
I’ve seen. I get more flak here for being an immigrant and stealing some
hardworking local’s job. Hardly anybody’s hassled me here for being a
cocksucker.”

“I think that’s more down to you than Nashville itself,”
Adam admitted. “But we’re getting there. Slowly.” He smiled, finding it odd to
catch himself thinking of it as “we”, when he’d spent so many years dreaming of
nothing except escaping this twangy-ass hick town. Funny how your home
imprinted on you, in ways you didn’t understand until you tried to leave…only
to discover you wanted to stay.

Stephen sighed. “So, you’ve heard all about my romantic
woes. What about yours? How long ago did you say you split? A month?”

“Three weeks.”
Three weeks and two days.
“We were
only together eight months, but… I dunno. It was the most grown-up relationship
I’ve had, sad as that may be. For the first six months I thought, wow, I’ve
finally got it together.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three. You?”

“Thirty-eight.”

Adam nodded, trying to ignore how perfectly sexy an age that
was. “Anyway, he dumped me. And looking back now, I can’t believe how surprised
I was. Because it made complete sense. Except,
we
made complete sense,
which is why I stayed with him so long…”

Stephen’s wry smile cut Adam off. “You’ve lost me a bit.”

Adam laughed. “You’re not alone. But before David, I always
stumbled into these really intense, really hot relationships. Or maybe more
like extended one-night stands. One-month stands.”

That earned him a low, curt, goddamn sexy chuckle.

“But David was the first guy I dated where we really
communicated, talked like grown-ups, fucking talked about the future, you
know?”

“Oh, I know.”

“But the passion wasn’t there. All the logic you want, but
not the filth. The good kind of filth.”

Stephen poured himself a fresh half-shot and raised it in
salute.

“We made sense, but we weren’t hot together. Not in the
spontaneous, effortless way I wanted. And to be totally honest, part of the
reason his dumping me stung so bad was that in the back of my head…”

“You always imagined you’d be stuck dumping him?”

Adam huffed a tiny laugh through his nose. “Exactly. It
sounds petty, but yeah.”

“We’ve all had one of those. One of those ones where you
want to shout, ‘I was going to dump you, you know! You just beat me to it.’ But
thankfully most of us don’t actually say that. Much as we want to.”

“Sort of wish I had. Well, no, I don’t. Would’ve wrecked the
best thing about that relationship, all that grown-up-ish-ness. And I put off
ending things because this was supposed to be my smart, successful
relationship. I was worried I was sabotaging things, throwing it all away
because we weren’t perfectly compatible, sex-wise, because maybe deep down, I
was just afraid of committing. Anyway.” Adam poured himself a swallow of
scotch, wincing as it went down.

“So now that you’re eight months—plus three weeks—older and
wiser,” Stephen said, eyes on the liquor swirling in the glass he held, “what
have you learned? You still fancy yourself a rational bloke? Or you going back
to the bad decisions you’d hoped he’d rescue you from?”

Adam shrugged. “Is it naïve of me to think I might find
both?”

“For the sake of all mankind, I hope not.”

“Me neither. But I’m not in a rush to settle down. I’m in
rebound mode, so shallow as it is, I’m only really preoccupied with the hot
factor. Not for revenge or anything. I’m just all OD’d on good decisions for
the foreseeable future. Um, no offense.”

“None taken. Rather fancy the idea of being someone’s bad
decision.”

“Oh good. I think.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “What do you do, anyhow?”

The liquor spurred Adam’s reply, turning what could’ve been
a simple, neutral answer into a shameless flirtation. “Guess.”

Stephen took the bait, leaning back in his seat and giving
Adam an over-the-top, thorough study. “You’re clever.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“But you look pretty fit.”

“Thank you even further.”

“But I bet that’s the gym, yeah?”

Adam smirked. “Guilty, Mr. Foreman. Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m not bothered. So you’re clever and you can
afford a gym membership and a terrible leather couch. You an academic?”

He shook his head.

“Something utterly dull under the vague, catchall banner of
‘business’, then?”

“No, thankfully not. I’m a physical therapist.”

“Ah, right. Like sports injuries? All these college football
players crippling themselves for a chance at going pro?”

“Oh God, no. A gay guy, hired to, like, rub a bunch of young
straight guys’ pulled groin muscles…?”

Stephen blinked, seeming to be struggling to find an issue
with such a scenario.

Adam laughed. “No thank you. That’s an invitation to get
sued for harassment by parents or students the second I mention my orientation.
Not a cause I’m brave enough to champion. Plus younger guys don’t do much for
me.”

“Whose pulled groins do you rub, then?”

“Very few people’s. I work for a medical center, doing a lot
of rehabilitation. Car accidents, mostly, and some post-surgery rehab.”

“That’s terribly noble.”

Adam shrugged the compliment away. “It’s just a job. When I
was nine my mom was in a horrible wreck and lost her right arm. I thought the
guy who worked with her after she got out of traction was the greatest thing
ever. Now that I do that stuff myself, I know it’s nothing heroic. It’s just a
hard, rewarding job that needs doing.”

“You’re rather fascinating,” Stephen said, giving Adam a
squinty, calculating look that made his skin turn feverish.

“Let’s not go crazy.”

“So what’s your ex like?” Stephen asked. “In say, four
words.”

“You going to answer this question, too?”

“Sure.”

“Fine. David in four words. Um, stylish. Rational,
intelligent. Uh, predictable?”

“Heh, fair enough. And Ethan…”

Ethan.

“Let’s go with handsome, funny, clever… Spineless.”

Adam nodded.

Stephen sighed. “Sorry if I’m coming off as bitter.”

“You broke up with him more recently than I’ve
showered—don’t worry about it. That’s beyond fresh.”

“Yeah, okay. I just hate being a whingey little bitch about
it.”

“You’re not. You’re just being a human about it. If you were
still moping six months from now, sure, that’d be annoying. But seven hours?
That’s less than one shift in the Singlesville misery plant. Don’t fret it.”

Stephen laughed. “‘Don’t fret it.’ You’re so adorably
American.”

“Going to focus on the part where you called me adorable, if
you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Now me,” Adam said, pouring himself a sip of scotch. “I’m
pushing it, still moping three weeks on from a relationship that barely spanned
two seasons.”

“You don’t come off that way, trust me.”

“Well. Good.”

“You plan to stay single for the foreseeable future?”

Adam stared at his drink, thinking about it. “I’m not sure.
In some ways, I liked myself more when I was with someone steady. I was less
self-obsessed, less worried what people thought of me. But I’m not doing that
again, settling for steadiness over real chemistry. And I’m discouraged, so no
rush. I’m ready to meet people and date again, but I’m not looking for anything
serious. If I find something serious by accident, I won’t run screaming from
it, but I won’t be disappointed if Christmas arrives and I don’t have a date
for every party, you know?”

Stephen nodded.

“How about you? Bet you’re not eager for anything serious
anytime soon.”

“It’s not the seriousness that’s put me off. It was the
hiding. I wouldn’t run screaming, either, if I met the right guy tomorrow.
Though
he
might, if I keep acting like such a moody arse.”

“Cut yourself some slack. Seven hours,” Adam reminded him.

“I know. I just hate people who’re like this, the way I feel
now. And I hate that I let him turn me into this.”

“You’ll get over it. New apartment, change of scenery, and
you’ll look back in a month or two and wonder why the fuck you were ever with
him.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?” Stephen asked,
holding Adam’s stare a couple seconds before cracking a grin. “Enough moaning.
You feel like messing around?”

The question flipped a switch in Adam’s body. “I wouldn’t
mind that.”

Chapter Four

Stephen picked up his glass and followed Adam back to the
living room. He glanced around again as Adam switched on a lamp and flipped off
the overhead lights. Nice space. Clean but not fussy, stylish but not as though
he’d ripped a spread out of an interior design magazine. Then Stephen sat on
the horrible couch and winced.

“Bloody hell. A man could chip his tailbone on this thing
and sue you.”

“That’s my evil plan,” Adam said, taking a seat himself.
“Half my clients are being rehabbed for spinal injuries resulting from visits
to this very room.” He smiled, damn handsome. Blue eyes, bright even in the
mood lighting. Perfect teeth, not-quite-cleft chin,
dimples
even, and
that accent. Pearl snaps running up his collared shirt, ones Stephen longed to
pop open, one by one. As if he’d been plucked from a casting session seeking
the textbook American. Only with a little edge, a sliver of something wicked
that made him more sexy than cute. Stephen set his glass on the coffee table.

They each turned a bit and Stephen laid an arm along the
back of the couch, against Adam’s shoulders. Adam seemed to like him taking the
lead, so Stephen leaned in, putting a hand to the man’s neck. They kissed
slowly, and he felt Adam’s pulse against his palm,
thump, thump, thump
.

He’d been too rough before—too soon, anyhow. Too angry, and
they’d spoken too much now for Adam to remain a two-dimensional object, a
convenient, new body to get lost in. He wasn’t a friend yet, but something
between hook-up and mate, maybe a blind date Stephen hadn’t known he was going
on. One thing was for fucking sure though—the man could kiss. The man could
get
kissed as well, and heaven knew what else he might be eager to be on the
receiving end of.

Stephen’s curiosity forced his mouth from Adam’s to ask,
“What are you into?”

His gaze lingered on Stephen’s lips. “I’m easy. You?”

Stephen leaned in to kiss Adam’s neck. “Top, usually,” he
muttered, taking in the taste of his skin, how different he smelled, how
exciting.

“Lucky me.”

Stephen backed off to look him in the eye. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “I’ll go both ways, but I’d rather get topped.
Hands down.”

“Lucky
me
. Not that we’re going to have sex tonight,
of course.”

“Of course not.”

He brought his mouth back to Adam’s throat, fantasizing.

He’d been drunk for ages on the dynamic he’d had with Ethan,
its wrongness, that power imbalance from one experienced, secure partner, one
fledgling closet case. But that thrill had gone stale months earlier, and the
thought of messing around with a guy who knew what he wanted and who he
was
had Stephen hotter than he’d felt in forever. A guy with needs and appetites
and hopefully the balls to insist they get satisfied.

He pulled back and found Adam smirking, an evil little smile
that had Stephen’s brain filling with far better ideas about what to do with
that mouth. Those things could wait a while longer, though. For now, he took
them back to the kissing, keeping the possibilities brewing in his mind… Adam
on his knees, opening Stephen’s pants. Fondling him through his shorts, getting
him hard, taking him out. His mouth would feel different than Ethan’s. How,
Stephen didn’t know. Shameless, he hoped. Eager. He’d fantasize that they were
being watched, on display for anyone to see. He’d never detected an
exhibitionist kink in himself before, but goddamn, two-plus years of secrecy
had one forming.

When his hand slid down Adam’s chest to his belly, Stephen
barely realized it. He could feel the man’s breaths rising and falling beneath
thin cotton and firm muscle. He wondered how Adam would look naked. On his
back, thighs spread. Ethan had rarely let Stephen fuck him that way,
face-to-face, and never sober. He missed a man’s eyes on him, missed reveling
in sex, the dark, shallow excitement of taboo long ago paled. He missed sucking
cock, missed having demands made of him, being treated as something more human
than a caricature of coercion.

His hands roamed Adam’s arms, chest, abs, and after a minute
of the too-familiar sensation of being solely in charge, Stephen felt something
wondrous—more of that curious touch, the one so potent he’d stomped on the
brakes earlier.

Adam stroked Stephen’s side and stomach, ran his fingertips
along the waist of his jeans. The eagerness was hot as sin. Stephen was a top
at his core, but he’d gotten far too used to being the sole initiator with
Ethan. He was a
top
, not a fucking Dom. He wanted to be in charge, but
not the only one allowed to express his desires. Adam’s touch was insistent,
telling Stephen he wanted more, but wouldn’t take anything until he was told.
An order masquerading as a plea. Gorgeous.

Stephen smiled, reveling in the sharp, hot energy coursing
through his veins. His cock was heavy and warm, half-hard and beginning to
protest its angle. More needed to happen, and “more” demanded choreography, a
space befitting two large men, not this rock-slab Stonehenge of a couch.

“You wanna go to your bed?” he asked Adam.

“Sure.” He stood and took Stephen’s hand, leading him. It
wasn’t a sweet gesture, more an impatient one, and it got Stephen nearly as hot
as the kissing had. Shit, he really hadn’t meant to do this tonight. But it
wasn’t petty, he reminded himself. This wasn’t vengeful, merely precipitous.

Adam switched on his lights and eased the dimmer down,
revealing a queen-sized bed and more tasteful décor, no stacks of wacky fetish
mags or pump-top industrial jugs of lube on the bedside table. Stephen sighed
loudly.

“You sound relieved,” Adam teased, watching Stephen as he
looked around the room. “Afraid I was going to have some crazy dildo collection
or something?”

“Just so nice to be around a normal gay guy for a change.
Not closeted, not over the top.”

Adam smiled. “I’m just a guy who likes guys.”

“Amen to that.” Amen to simplicity.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks,
then lay down. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Bought my mattress from a completely
different company than my couch.”

Stephen tugged off his own socks. “You mind if I turn the
lights up, just a little?”

“Be my guest.”

He went to the door and nudged the dimmer. “Okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

As he crossed the room, Stephen felt nervous for the first
time in ages. There was nothing at stake for him with the handsome, funny man
waiting on the bed. They might pass each other in the drugstore someday, see
each other at the same bar again, but probably nothing more.

He lay down next to Adam and kissed him, the contact slow
and easy.

This was a casual hook-up, but it didn’t feel the way
Stephen remembered. Then again, he’d never messed around with a guy to help
himself get over someone. It was always an itch being scratched, a need being
met, a curiosity satisfied. Yet he’d told Adam too much about himself to go
into this mechanically. It’d be too mushy to say he
cared
about the guy,
beyond what all of this was. But he cared about getting him off, being a good
memory and not a regret. Those concerns had never muddied his one-night stands
before.

They’d both been on their sides, but Stephen pushed at
Adam’s chest until he turned onto his back. Stephen slid a forearm beneath his
shoulders and stroked his side with the other hand, kissed him deeper. Adam ran
his hand lightly over Stephen’s head, seeming preoccupied by his hair, barely
longer than the stubble on his face. Felt good, being above him, if only a
little. He slung his thigh over Adam’s, pressing his erection to the man’s hip.
His stroking hand roamed lower, and he felt Adam’s fingers clutch his shirt
collar.

Fuck, he could kiss this man for hours. It was like a dance,
with a leader and a follower, but still equitable, balanced. Adam kept pace,
let Stephen dominate, but teased him with sweeps of his tongue now and again,
his hunger so much hotter than his receptivity.

Stephen felt a tug at his side, Adam’s request that he take
his shirt off. Stephen broke their bodies apart to comply, feeling Adam’s hands
on his bare skin before he’d even tossed the garment to the floor.

“You too,” Stephen said. Adam unsnapped the fasteners on his
Western shirt then peeled away the undershirt beneath it. Nice. Very nice.

He touched the soft, pale hair on Adam’s chest, stroked his
hard belly and watched his muscles tense. He memorized the sight, eager for new
experiences to overwrite the most recent ones. Then Adam’s hand moved to
Stephen’s belt, and all thoughts vaporized. Adam toyed with the buckle, a
request or suggestion.

“Go ahead.”

Stephen groaned at the sensations—his buckle releasing,
Adam’s fingers glancing his erection as he opened the button of his jeans, drew
down the zipper. Adam eased Stephen’s pants down an inch, just enough to give
his cock space. It needed it. One real stroke and he’d be as hard as he got. He
imagined bold hands freeing him, fondling him, imagined rubbing his bare cock
against Adam’s as their mouths reconnected. No—no kissing. After so long with a
near-silent lover, Stephen wanted this man’s mouth free, wanted to hear every
groan and curse and plea it issued.

He returned the taunt, loosening the military-style clasp of
Adam’s canvas belt, opening his fly. He spread the fabric, liking the bulge
that greeted him, clad in striped, snug cotton briefs. He edged closer,
wrapping his arm around Adam’s side and sliding his knees between Adam’s
thighs. The button of Adam’s jeans teased Stephen’s erection, and he pressed
their cocks together amid the jumble of belts and denim. A couple thrusts of
his hips, a couple strokes of their clothed cocks, and he was rock-hard.

With Ethan, the comfort of familiarity had soured to pure
boredom in the end, made more rotten by the resentment. The newness of Adam and
the uncertainty of their two bodies together was thrilling. Stephen didn’t know
yet how to touch this man to make him crazy, but he needed to find out. Maybe
he’d even get told. The idea left him panting.

He wedged an awkward hand between them, lining up their
shafts, stealing a feel of Adam’s erection through his shorts. Adam moaned
against his neck, the sound hotter to Stephen’s ears than the breath steaming
his skin.

“Feels good,” Adam muttered.

“Yeah, it does.” Stephen wanted their underwear gone, pushed
down or shed completely or vaporized so he could feel his hot bare skin against
Adam’s, all that friction and the scent that accompanied it. But no need to
rush. He slid his palm around to Adam’s lower back, pushing his jeans down and
sliding his hand inside. He kneaded his firm muscle through the cotton, palmed
his cheeks, drew his fingertips along the cleft.

Don’t get any ideas
, his brain reminded him.

Fuck that. Nothing wrong with ideas. Nothing at all wrong
with talking about said ideas.

“Thinking about all the stuff we aren’t going to do,” he
whispered, lips just an inch from Adam’s ear.

“Like what?”

He let his fingers roam lower, rubbing between Adam’s
cheeks, and was rewarded with a groan, a fluttering of the hand on his arm.
“About fucking you.”

After a deep, noisy swallow, Adam muttered, “No harm in
thinking about stuff.”

“My sentiments exactly. You do anal, right?”

Adam nodded and Stephen glimpsed pleasurable strain written
all over his handsome face.

“You like it, or you just open to it?”

“No, I fucking love it.”

Stephen smiled, unseen. “Not that we would.”

“No, definitely not.”

“Just useful for theorizing.”

“Theories are good,” Adam concurred, sounding extremely
distracted by Stephen’s caresses.

“On your back, on your knees?” he asked.

“Either,” Adam said. “Sometimes I like to be flat on my
stomach, so I can’t touch myself.”

Stephen conjured the image, Adam’s thighs pinned between his
own, ass ripe and tight, body at his mercy. Still, he craved more from this man
than mere access. “Think I’d like to stroke you while we fucked.”

“I won’t stop you.” Adam caught himself. “I
wouldn’t
stop you, I mean. Since we definitely aren’t fucking tonight.”

“Certainly not. But if we did, maybe I’d take you from
behind, let your cock fuck my fist as you took me in your arse.”

Adam’s reply was breathy, spacey. “Yeah.”

“Then on your back, so you can watch me. And let me watch
you, touching yourself.” Let him see everything that’d been relegated to the
dark for so long. “Lemme watch you come,” he added, and brought his palm
forward to stroke Adam’s abs, right where he fantasized such a release would
erupt.

Jesus, he wanted to suck him. Too fast though. Stephen
didn’t want the fun to end anytime soon. Rebounds were cheap but he’d make this
one last, the rebound to end all others, completely tape over the old footage
of Ethan playing on a loop in his head.

Slow down.

He moved his hand, cupping the back of Adam’s head and
kissing him, slow and dirty as their hips shifted, cocks brushed. Felt like his
first year of fooling around—terrifying, exhilarating teenage fumblings that
had always left him with a mess in his shorts and guilt eating him alive once
the pleasure had fled. But that had been more than twenty years ago. Now he had
staying power and no fear, no shame. And the new man he was with was just the
same, he hoped—filled to bursting with need and desire, no room left for
regret.

Adam moved, pulling Stephen out of his thoughts and pausing
the kissing. He felt him tugging at his pants, and Stephen did the job for him,
kicking them down his legs and off, then moving to his knees to wrest Adam’s
jeans away. He climbed on top of him, spreading Adam’s thighs wide, centering
their cocks. He studied Adam’s body and ran admiring palms up and down the
calves hugged to Stephen’s ribs.