Setting his fork down, Fredric leaned back and sighed into the phone. “My darling…” He stopped and smiled when Ilan made a soft noise. “I want this. I know it might sound ridiculous, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“It’s just not…I mean. Twenty-five-year-old hipsters do these paint parties,” he said, and Fredric chuckled.
“Yes, and you and I never really got the chance to be that, did we?” He dragged his fingers along the table until they touched the stem of his wine glass, and he took a long drink. “I’m not saying we should go bashing around town trying to reclaim our dating youth, but…I want to do the silly stuff too. I want to be romantic and ridiculous. I want to take our time and get a little buzzed and kiss you goodnight at your doorstep.”
“God, you,” Ilan breathed out, then made a strangled noise. “I’m not going to survive this. I was not built for this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” Fredric asked, but he had some idea.
“You give killing with kindness a whole new meaning. When you called me dear heart, I thought I was going to combust.”
“I can stop if you want me to,” he offered.
“No,” Ilan said in a rush, and Fredric couldn’t hold back his laugh. “No one’s ever called me anything like that.” He swallowed thickly, and Fredric instantly sobered. “I like it.”
“You’re making it exceedingly difficult not to invite you over right now,” Fredric told him.
Ilan breathed out, a little heavy. “Why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t trust myself.” The truth was dangerous, but so was lying. “I touched myself the other day, thinking about you.”
“Fuck,” Ilan gasped. “You…did you really?”
“Yes,” Fredric told him. His face was flaming hot, but his cock was getting hard again, and he couldn’t seem to stop his words. “I felt it when you were hard, when we were dancing, and I thought about what it would be like if you…”
Ilan groaned into the silence when Fredric trailed off. “If I what? Please.”
“If you touched me. If you put your hands on me and stroked me. If you put your fingers inside me.” Fredric had never done this before. Never. The most he’d ever indulged was the sound of porn, of skin slapping together and men grunting and begging and the quiet, rushing groans of orgasm. But he never thought he’d be brave enough for this.
“I want that,” Ilan breathed out. “God, I want…I want to put my hands all over you.”
“I know,” Fredric said, his voice nearly a whisper now. He pushed back from the table and started to reach for himself, but he realized he didn’t know if lights were on, if the windows were open. He got to his feet, dizzy with arousal, and used his hand on the wall to guide him because concentration on anything but his own pleasure seemed beyond him.
“Are you…what are you doing right now?” Ilan asked, and there was strain in his voice.
“I’m walking to my bedroom.”
“Oh, fuck.” Ilan’s voice was wrecked, hoarse, and Fredric wanted to obliterate the few short miles between them and put his hands all over that man. “Are you going to…”
“Yes,” Fredric said, then stopped just inside his bedroom door. “Ilan, wait.”
“No,” Ilan said. “God. No waiting.”
“Yes.” Fredric gathered himself, swallowing thickly and refusing to take another step. “This—what we have—it’s important to me. It’s everything to me. And I don’t want to push you or rush you. I’m not doing this because I’m hard, and I want to get off. I’m doing this because I want you, and I need you. So, if this is too much, or too fast…”
Ilan let out a very soft noise, something between a sob and a sigh, and he didn’t speak for a long time. “No one’s ever,” he said, then stopped. “I have never cared about sex before,” he amended. “And I specifically picked up partners who didn’t care about sex. We wanted to have fun and get off, and if we ran into each other at a club a few weeks later, neither of us gave a shit. I didn’t know it could be like this.”
Fredric made his way to the bed, touching the edge of it before he sat. He was still hard, still wanting, but it fizzled into a slow, careful simmer just under his skin. “I don’t want to do this wrong.”
“I don’t think we are,” Ilan told him, “but I’ve also never done this with someone who matters.”
Fredric bowed his head and squeezed his fist as tight as his fingers would allow. “I’m not sure I want to do it like this the first time.”
“Shit,” Ilan said through a laugh. “I mean, you’re right, but I’m also really hard.”
“So am I,” Fredric admitted, and Ilan groaned. “I don’t want to wait forever. I don’t even know if I want to wait twenty-four hours. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you the moment I get you alone.”
“You know I’m okay with that,” Ilan said roughly. “And not because I want to get off. Though I do. God, I’m not sure I’ve ever been this hard. And I’m not sure I’ve ever been denied like this.”
Fredric tipped his head back and laughed. “First time for everything?”
“You are so cruel,” Ilan shot back.
“And you are worth it,” he offered, making Ilan sigh. “This will be worth it.”
Ilan was quiet another moment. “You think?”
“I know,” Fredric answered. He shuffled back on his bed, the new comforter more scratchy than the last, and the thought of why made him smile. Especially after all that. Laying back, he draped his arm over his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “I’m not saying after we hang up you shouldn’t touch yourself, though.”
Ilan grunted a little. “Watch it, old man. You have no idea how close I am.”
Fredric laughed, the sound giving away just how damn close he was to the edge. “Oh. I think I do.”
Chapter 20
The relief was almost visceral when Ilan stepped into Fredric’s touch. It was familiar and strange all at the same time—a shift between them changing not who they were, not even the love between them, but the shape of it. But though the ground beneath his feet felt uneven, he still breathed out a sigh and leaned in to the hard, warm body in front of him. His hand grazed over a shirt—silky and expensive, small buttons done up, leaving only a patch of skin exposed at Ilan’s throat.
He trailed fingers down his arms, feeling the sleeves rolled up at the elbows, then moved them back up toward his face. The arm of Ilan’s glasses went askew, but he just laughed and ran his fingers over Fredric’s bottom lip before he leaned in and spoke so close, Fredric could feel the rush of his breath.
“Can I kiss you hello? Are we at that phase of the relationship?”
Fredric laughed and instead of answering, closed the distance between them. He wasn’t sure how so few kisses could feel like they’d been doing it for a lifetime, but the press of their lips felt like home. It felt right, like the world had been shaken and was finally settling back into its proper shape. He let the moment between them linger, not going deeper, but the passion was there. It was a low simmer in the pit of his stomach, a promise for more—if he felt like he could take that step and not ruin everything before it even got started.