Not that Henry was counting or anything, but it had been a while since he’d bottomed. Riding Mac’s cock that one time didn’t count. And not that he was opposed to it in theory—just that there was probably a reason he’d made a living sweet talking old ladies. However far things went with the pearls and cardigan set, it was unlikely to end up with Henry taking something up the ass. When he’d worked on the streets he’d bottomed all the time. The johns who wanted a skinny rent boy to top them were few and far between. And he hadn’t hated bottoming, except for the few times a john had gone out of his way to make sure he did, but even the thought of it took him straight back to that place in his head where he counted down the minutes and made all the right noises while some guy got off inside him. It had been tedious. Depressing. As soul-numbingly repetitive as standing on some production line, but without the health care benefits.
He and Remy had played around a lot. Exchanged blowjobs and handjobs without anal. Because it would have been too much like work if they had.
So this thing with Mac was kind of a big deal.
Everything with Mac was kind of a big deal.
He let Mac draw him into the bedroom. The afternoon light was slanting through the blinds, making Mac’s brown comforter look like warm gold.
“You’re not even my type, you know,” he said, jutting his chin.
“I know.” Mac tugged him forward by the belt loops on his jeans. Ground their cocks together through too many layers of denim. “You’re not my type either.”
“Crazy, right?” Henry kissed him, then closed his teeth around his lower lip and pulled gently until Mac growled. Then he pulled harder before he let go.
Mac swiped his tongue over his lip, and the dents Henry’s teeth had made in it. “You’ll pay for that!”
Henry stepped back, unfastening his jeans. “Yeah? Come at me, bro!”
Mac laughed. Shook his head. Laughed again.
Henry warmed from the inside out.
Maybe this was okay. Him and Mac, maybe they were okay. And maybe the fact that he loved this guy didn’t need to come with a huge serving of Bad Things Happen To People I Love on the side. That was pop psychology bullshit. It was daytime talk show level stuff, and he hated that he was so fucking transparent, his patterns of behavior as predictable as any mark’s. That he was oh so clever, but not clever enough to escape his own neuroses.
He pulled his zipper down, shoving his jeans to his thighs and showing Mac those stripy boxer briefs he liked so much. “You want some of this ass, Mac?”
“I want all of that ass,” Mac said. “And the smart-mouthed sidekick it’s attached to.”
“I am the best sidekick ever,” he said. “My action figure would sell more than yours.”
“Oh.” Mac stepped closer to him, and Henry’s legs bumped the end of the bed. “There are action figures now?”
“Action figures,” he said, his heart hammering as Mac ran his mouth up the side of his face. Not quite a kiss. Something more visceral, as though he was trying to capture Henry’s scent. “And, ah, lunch boxes. Trading cards. And Pez dispensers.”
Mac leaned away for a moment. Henry didn’t even realize he’d grabbed the hem of Henry’s shirt until he was drawing it over his head. “That’s a lot of merchandise.”
“Sure,” he said, closing his eyes as Mac bent down and followed the line of his collarbone with his tongue. His skin prickled into goosebumps. His cock leaked into his stripy underwear. “But these are the things you have to do if you want a private island in the Bahamas.”
“Is that what you really want?” Mac straightened up and ran a hand through Henry’s hair.
“No.” He leaned into his touch. “Kind of okay with things just like this.”
“Well,” Mac said, his thumb brushing Henry’s temple, “not just like this.”
“No,” Henry breathed. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
Mac pushed him gently back onto the bed.
He sprawled there, legs apart, rubbing his cock through his underwear as he watched Mac undress. Mac’s shirt went first. The shirt that Henry had objected to that morning.
“A button up shirt with jeans, Mac? Really? Why not throw on a T-shirt? You’re probably not allergic.”
But there was something very fucking nice about watching Mac unfasten a button at a time. Heat coiled in Henry, tightening low in his stomach, and tingling in his balls. He stroked himself harder.
Mac’s eyes were hooded. He stared at Henry as he popped the fly on his jeans and pulled his zipper down. Shoved his underwear down and freed that cock of his at last.
Henry licked his lips. His mouth watered. “Fuck. Gonna feel that, aren’t I?” Mac looked a little uncertain, and Henry smiled. “Want to.”
Mac shoved his jeans and underwear down and stepped out of them.
“Look at you,” Henry said. “Is that an ab?”
“Shut up,” Mac growled, running his hand over his stomach. He looked pleased anyway.
Mac had been spending a lot of time at the gym. Personally, Henry would have preferred if Mac stayed at home eating donuts off his naked body, but Mac was trying to get into shape, so he was trying being supportive about it. He thought it showed real personal growth, even if nobody had noticed and congratulated him on it yet.
“Not everyone,” Mac said, placing his hands on either side of Henry’s thighs and then crawling up the bed on top of him, “can eat shit and still look as good as you.”
“I have the metabolism of a racehorse on Chinese diet pills.” He lifted his mouth for a kiss. Broke that kiss when he grinned. “Any other comparisons to horses you might want to make would be totally appreciated as well.” He tilted his hips, rubbing his cock against Mac’s hip so that Mac took the hint.
“And you can’t shut up when you’re nervous.”
He ran a hand down Mac’s side, feeling the scar against his ribs. “I’m not nervous.”
Liar liar liar.
Well, it wasn’t bottoming he was nervous about, even if it had been a while. It was Mac. It was what this meant. What he thought it meant, what Mac thought it meant, and whether those two things were even anything alike.
“Okay.” Mac kissed him again.
He squirmed. He got his thumbs under the elastic of his underwear and pulled them down. Wanted to check with Mac that they were just having some fun, just fucking, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. Because he knew it was another lie. This was Mac. He loved Mac. That made it different. Made it scary.
Mac slid a hand down between them and cupped Henry’s balls. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Same old, same old.” He shivered. “C’mon, Mac. I don’t want to talk anymore. Let’s do this.” He snaked a hand up toward the bedside drawer, but couldn’t reach it.
Mac captured his wrist and tugged it down again. “Not yet.”
Henry hummed as Mac’s cock dragged against his thigh. He spread his legs wider. “Don’t play hard to get now, Agent McGuinness. You wanted to fuck me the day you met me.”
“I wanted to punch you in the head the day I met you.” Mac leaned down and swiped his tongue across Henry’s left nipple. Henry arched, and Mac caught the nub in his teeth. Waited until he was moaning until he released it. “But you grew on me.”
“C’mon, don’t make me beg.” He hooked his legs around Mac.
“But you’re so hot when you beg.”
“And now it’s gone.”
Henry laughed and closed his eyes. Actually relaxed back into the mattress as Mac continued to explore his chest with his mouth. When Mac shifted off him, he took the opportunity to shuffle further up toward the head of the bed. He drew his legs up, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the comforter. Stared at Mac through half-closed eyes as Mac fiddled with the lube.
“Been a while,” he said in a low voice.
“I’ve got you.” Mac settled in the space between Henry’s thighs. He ran his fingers over the scar on his hip. It wasn’t a proper scar yet. Not knotty or raised. It was still red, like the edges of the wound had only just knit together. It was tender as well, every touch sending a little jumbled warning to Henry’s brain to look out, it could hurt any second now. Mac kept his touch light. “If you need to change positions, let me know, okay?”
“Yeah. Stoic indifference has never been my strong suit.”
“I noticed that.” Mac drizzled lube onto his fingers.
Henry almost arched off the mattress when Mac touched his hole. His fingers, thick and blunt, worked against Henry’s resistance until one slipped inside. Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Closed his eyes again. Ran his hands over the comforter to stop his fingers from clenching.
That same nervous warning spiked along his nerves: Could hurt. Any second now it could hurt.
But it didn’t. Mac was slow, and careful, right up until he fucking nailed Henry’s prostate and Henry almost came. “Fuck!” He fell back onto the mattress, panting, and glaring at the smug bastard kneeling between his thighs. “Oh, shit.”
Mac shuffled closer on his knees.
Henry heard the crinkle of foil.
Then the head of Mac’s cock was nudging his hole, and Henry was taking him in. And holy fuck, he was thick. Difficult to take. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and then Mac was inside him.
“Okay?” Mac whispered hoarsely.
“Mmmm.” He rolled his hips, tilted his pelvis. Tried to figure out if he was hurting or not. He was stretched to all hell, but not in any pain. He lifted his legs and crossed them behind Mac’s ass. Pulled him tight and shivered at the sensation as his cock was pressed between their stomachs. “Take it slow, okay?”
“Okay.” Mac held himself up, his hands planted on either side of Henry. He caught Henry’s gaze as he drew back slightly, and rocked forward.
“Yeah.” Pleasure sparked up his spine as Mac’s cock filled him. “Right there.”
Mac nodded, eyes wide, and began to pump his hips slowly.
Henry stared up at him and let everything except the pleasure slip away. Each thrust lit him up as Mac unerringly hit the right spot every time. He clenched his muscles around him, and Mac groaned. Henry worked a hand between their bodies, into the space that was already slippery with sweat, and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Squeezed it to match every one of Mac’s thrusts.
Mac picked up the pace, and Henry arched off the mattress to meet each thrust. He ignored the ache in his hip.
“Mac,” he hissed, his heels digging into Mac’s ass.
The bed rocked underneath them.
Henry moaned, struggling to draw in a breath. He came in a sudden burst between them—it was over before he’d even realized it was imminent—and aftershocks twitched through him as Mac thrust a few more times before coming as well.
Mac rolled onto the bed beside him.
Henry gasped for breath and stared at the ceiling. He was warm. He was tingling. He was also probably floating several inches above the bed, horror movie style.
“Well,” Mac said at last, his voice ragged around the edges. He ran his hand over Henry’s fluttering stomach, through the smears of cum shining there. “I’ve finally found something that will shut you up.”
He blinked at the ceiling and didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
“Henry?” Mac’s voice was full of concern. He rolled onto his side and looked into Henry’s face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” He lifted a shaking hand and touched Mac’s face. “I love you.”