Fredric bowed his head and rubbed at his left eye. “I want you. I think that’s obvious. I hope it’s obvious.”
Ilan let out a small hum and stepped in close, one hand going up to the back of Fredric’s neck. His fingers swirled in abstract, gentle shapes, and in spite of himself, he relaxed a fraction. “Yes,” he said, and let his lips brush up against Fredric’s jaw, “it’s obvious.”
Fredric couldn’t stop a small groan, and Ilan wrapped both arms around him, pulling him tight. “I want this to be good for you.”
“It will be,” Ilan said, and Fredric couldn’t help a small, bitter laugh.
“But,” he said with quiet protest, “what if it isn’t? I haven’t done this with a man before. I haven’t done this at all in years—more than I can count.” He tried to pull away, but the effort was half-hearted, and Ilan didn’t let him get far. “It probably won’t compare to what you’re used to.”
Warm hands framed his face, and Fredric couldn’t stop himself from leaning into a large palm. “You’re right. It could never compare.” Before his heart could shatter, Ilan leaned in and rubbed his nose alongside Fredric’s. “No one will ever compare to you. I might have done this a lot, but I have never done this with someone I…”
And there they were again. Syllables unspoken, but so heard.
“Before this, no one meant anything to me. It was a way to pass time, to feel good, but it was always empty.” Ilan’s thumb brushed along Fredric’s cheek. “This will never be empty, and that alone makes it so much better.”
“Are you nervous?” Fredric asked, and Ilan chuckled, low and quiet.
“I’m fucking terrified.” The admission did something to settle him, to calm the swelling in his chest down to something manageable. He curled his fingers around Ilan’s wrists, and he wanted to kiss him, but he needed to wait.
“Are we covered in paint?”
“Not enough to care,” Ilan said.
“Then I’m going to get Bas settled. If you want to wait for me in the bedroom…?” What he needed was five minutes alone to re-center himself, and then he’d be ready. He could accept the sex being mediocre. There was no chance in hell he was going to blow Ilan’s mind. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing apart from the experimenting he’d done on himself, and he knew that wasn’t close to the same as putting his hands on another man.
And the weight of it being Ilan, of it actually mattering— it felt heavy. But he wanted it, and he wasn’t willing to wait any longer. He just…needed a second.
Ilan seemed to understand it, because he rubbed his thumb over Fredric’s lower lip—just a single touch—and then he was gone. Fredric listened to him walk down the hall, and when the bedroom door opened and shut, he breathed out and quickly put his cane away before making his way outside with Bas at his heels.
He didn’t linger this time, making sure the porch lights were off so it didn’t invite conversation from the neighbor. He gave Bas the bathroom command, then waited until the dog nosed his hand, and they went inside. He checked his water, then filled up his treat chew and walked him to his bed.
“Lie down,” he commanded, and Bas flopped over with a sigh. Fredric knelt carefully on the hard floor, and he buried the fingers of his left hand in the soft fur at Bas’ neck. “Be good. I won’t lock you out all night,” he promised, then sighed. “Probably.”
He took a long moment after that of locking up, of making sure all the switches were down and the dog door was closed. He drank a glass of water, then he made his way out of the kitchen, trailing a path to his bedroom with his fingers grazing the wall.
He felt off kilter, like his space wasn’t his own suddenly. Ilan had always been predictable, but he couldn’t have possibly dreamt of this moment being real. Even at the wedding—when hints of something more tugged at him—he never allowed himself to acknowledge anything more than a single, lingering spark.
This was Ilan. This was someone who had been in his life—and more often than not in his periphery—for decades.
And now he was here, behind his bedroom door, waiting.
Stepping in, Fredric closed the door behind him and cocked his head to the side, listening. Ilan was always quiet, but he had been the sort of person to always make noise on purpose. Tonight, there was just stillness.
“I’m over here,” Ilan said after a beat. “I’m on the bed.”
His fingers went for his buttons, and he began to undo them slowly, stopping when he realized he didn’t know if Ilan could see him. “Are the lights on?”
“The bathroom one is,” Ilan said.
“Do you want…”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, this is enough.”
Fredric nodded, then let out a short breath. “Are you dressed?”
He heard Ilan stand, heard his socked feet move across the floor, closing the distance between them. He stopped when the back of Fredric’s hand brushed against Ilan’s side. “See for yourself.”
And he did. His hands found mostly bare skin, a thin t-shirt, boxers. They brushed down over the tops of hairy thighs, toward knobby knees before he had to stop. “You’re beautiful. But you probably hear that a lot.”
“Yes,” Ilan admitted, and Fredric grinned at his honesty. “I also never gave a shit before now.”
His heart thundered, his mouth went dry, and his hands pushed Ilan’s shirt up over his chest, then his shoulders, and eventually, he heard it hit the ground a few inches away. His body was solid. Sculpted with deliberate care. His pecs were round, his nipples small, hard, and pebbled as he rubbed them in circles with the pads of his thumbs. He was so hard he was aching, and he felt the inside of his briefs get wet with how badly he was starting to want.
He wasn’t going to last. His libido felt years younger than he was, and he was trembling with desperation to get on with it. He wanted to be touched. It had been so damned long. “I need…” he started, but his voice broke, and Ilan cupped a hand against the side of his neck.
“Will you let me do this?” Ilan asked, and Fredric knew what he was saying. Ilan wanted to take the lead, to take charge. To shoulder this burden of nerves and fear regardless of how much of his own he was keeping close to his chest.
“Yes,” he managed. He let his arms go limp, tried not to groan too loudly when Ilan’s clever fingers popped each button, one by one. The feeling of all the fabric peeling away was almost too much. He was more exposed than he’d been in so long. The air in the room was cool against his heated skin, and when Ilan’s fingers tilted his head to the side, all the breath rushed out of his lungs.
Warm lips kissed him on his neck, closed at first, then opening up little by little until Ilan was sucking at the skin just under his ear. It sent sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine—the pain of it, the ecstasy. He pushed into the touch, let himself go pliant under those strong hands as they worked the button on his trousers and they pooled at his feet.
He lifted one foot, then the other, and he was free. Ilan walked him backward with deliberate steps and stopped him with a hand at the small of his back just seconds before his backside met the bed. With deliberate care, Ilan lowered him. The bed was his, but it felt foreign—and entirely perfect. He sank into the covers, and then he arched up when a rough hand dragged down the center of his chest and stopped right at the waistband of his briefs.