Beneath the Stain - Part 1 by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

it didn’t matter.
    Grant was there, and for the moment, Grant was helpless wanting him.
    He mouthed Grant’s erection through his briefs first, because Mackey wanted to taste the spot of wetness at the tip. Through the cotton and the fabric softener it was still salty, still bitter, and Mackey would write a song about that, bitter come—but later, much later, when he hadn’t just yanked Grant’s underwear down and taken Grant’s cock into his waiting mouth.
    “Nungh….” He wanted. Wanted with everything. Straining, he shoved his mouth farther over Grant’s cock, taking it back in his throat like Grant had done to him. He had no time to compare their erections or to linger over the taste of skin—Grant felt huge in his mouth, big enough to force out his breath and his pain and his thoughts. Mackey swallowed, wanting more, wanting it all, and Grant dragged him back by the hair and then let go.
    Mackey shoved his head forward again, not even close to the root. He grasped the rest of it in his fist and let his spit drip, making it slick and wet. Grant spurted, salty, and spurted again, bitter, and then muffled his groan in his palm and he came, hard, dumping down Mackey’s throat and again and again and again.
    Mackey couldn’t swallow it all, and it spilled out on his new shirt with the busted buttons, down his chin, down his throat, and he kept trying to swallow until he choked on it, sobbing for breath, wanting all of it, wanting to be good, wanting to be good enough for Grant to keep him, for Grant to stay.
    “Shh….” Grant whispered, tugging on his sweat-stiff hair. “Shh. C’mon, Mackey, let me hold you a minute.”
    Oh! Of all things. Mackey felt himself engulfed, held, cuddled, all the things he’d wanted that desperate moment in his bedroom, all the things he’d needed when he’d been coming down from the performance in the gym.
    He let out a little whimper, and Grant palmed the back of his head, forcing Mackey closer to Grant’s chest.
    “Grant….” he whispered brokenly, and Grant hushed him again.
    “’S okay, Mackey. It’s okay. You did good. I needed…. God. I get so lost in you.”
    Grant said that, again and again and again. The thing Mackey wanted to say sounded stupid. I’m found here. You find me. You know me.
    He couldn’t have spoken anyway—he was absurdly near tears.
    Eventually Grant pulled up their pants and did the belts. His hands were shaking, but they felt so firm, so warm, Mackey was comforted just the same. When he was done, Grant stood up and pushed Mackey’s hair from his face with both warm, comforting, shaking hands.
    “Hey,” he whispered. “I love you.”
    Mackey closed his eyes, lit up inside and torn up too. Because there was no promise in those words, just the words themselves. “I love you too,” he answered, because like Grant right now, the truth was all he had.
     
     
    G RANT TOOK him home a few minutes later, texting Sam to tell her that he’d seen Mackey after he’d “cleaned up” and that he didn’t want the boy wandering around by himself.
    Mackey was so grateful for the ride, for the small show of aftercare, that he didn’t resent the lie or the implication that he couldn’t take care of himself.
    He opened the door to the minivan as Grant stopped outside the apartment building, and Grant risked a touch to his hand.
    Mackey turned to him, uncertain.
    “Mackey?”
    “I….” They’d lived in this apartment complex for years, knew their upstairs neighbor, their downstairs neighbor, the people on either side. People would be looking out at them, would know the minivan, would know the people inside. There would be no goodnight kiss, no gentleness. Mackey had gotten all he was going to get in the alcove next to the boys’ locker room.
    “You and me, we’ve got… we’ll find a moment, okay? That may be all it is, but… man, you’re in my blood. I need to work you out.”
    Later Mackey would look back and wonder where his pride