“Oh,” I say slowly. “And maybe that hit a little too close to the truth?”
“At twelve, I really didn’t know…” He shakes his head instead of finishing that sentence. “I stopped drawing immediately. For, like, ten years.”
My jaw hangs open. “Don’t you draw at work, though?”
“I do now. A couple of years ago I said fuck it and picked up a set of colored pencils. It took me a long time to stop hearing his voice in my head.” His eyes are deep pools of pain right now, and I just want to give him a hug.
“Shit. Don’t I know it,” I agree. “I still hear their voices in my head. It’s fucking sad that you didn’t draw anything for ten years. But maybe you’re smarter than me. I took the opposite route, rubbing it in my parents’ faces every chance I got. That’s how I found myself living under a bridge when I was eighteen.”
His eyes widen. “You did? For how long?”
“A few months. Then I found a program that helps homeless LGBT kids even after they’re eighteen, and I went to cooking school on grant money. People tell you to be yourself. But not everybody can afford that luxury.” I pluck his wine glass off the counter and hand it to him. “Drink some of this and paint some more. I won’t tell anyone that you have a tractor kink.”
His eyes crinkle in the corners. “I don’t, really. But that’s what I drew to piss off Dad. Seemed like a good place to start again.”
“I would have painted him a purple rainbow tractor with unicorns in the meadow, because I never did know when to shut up.” Like now. I don’t ever want this conversation to end, because Kieran is finally confiding in me. He’s so buttoned up with everyone that I feel like I won the fucking lottery.
“How did you, uh, know.” He clears his throat, and his eyes are tentative.
“Know?” I feel so swimmy and bright that it takes a moment to understand what he’s asking. “Oh, that I’m queer as fuck? I always knew. Sorry.” I can hear myself babbling. “But everybody’s different. I know some dudes who were thirty-five and married before they figured out how much they like cock.”
I wait for it and—there it is! The telltale blush on his cheekbones. It happens whenever I mention sex. If I ever get this man into bed, I’m going to make him blush everywhere.
“You should experiment,” the wine in my bloodstream says. “I’ll help you make a Grindr profile. Curious lumberjack with muscles seeks someone to sixty-nine. They’ll be like flies on honey.”
Kieran looks horrified. He sets down his glass with a thunk. “No fucking way. I can’t use an app. Shit. I can’t even make barista conversation with strangers. People chat on that app, right? And if I actually saw someone interesting on there, they’d want to talk.” He shudders.
I burst out laughing. “Oh the horrors! So you aren’t afraid to suck a dick, but the small talk might kill you?”
“Maybe,” he grumbles.
Giddy laughter bounces through my chest, and I feel drunk with unnamed possibilities.
Kieran braces a hand against the counter, studying his wine glass like the secret to the universe might be written there. The man is seriously hard to read.
“Hey.” A rush of affection makes me reach up to cup his face in my hand, so I can see his eyes. “If you ever decide to experiment with some lucky guy, just know that he’s going to feel like he’s winning at life.”
Kieran goes absolutely still under my hand. And for a moment I think my compliment didn’t land the right way. Maybe I’ve fucked everything up by touching him.
But then we lock eyes, and for the first time I realize that when Kieran gets quiet, it’s not because he wants to chuck me across the room. He gets quiet when he’s thinking. And right now he’s thinking that we are standing very close together.
He does not move away.
And neither do I. Never one to back down, I stroke my thumb against his handsome, stubbled face. I’m rewarded by a sound of pleasure so low that it’s almost inaudible.
His breath hitches as I move even closer. And then I bring us cheek to cheek, where I rub against him—stubble to stubble—like an affectionate cat. He smells like woodsmoke and outdoors.
Kieran makes a shocked little sound—half inhalation, half groan. But he doesn’t pull away.
I take that as a green light. I turn my head and kiss his neck very slowly right under the jaw. One kiss becomes two. Three. I’m dropping shameless, open-mouthed kisses everywhere I can reach. And that’s a lot of places, because Kieran lifts his chin to give me access.
Two hands sized for farm work close around my back with a clumsy slowness. His chest bumps mine as it rises with a gasping breath.
Standing on tiptoe so I can reach his ear, I whisper. “Kiss me. Do it.” Because I’ve taken enough liberties with this gentle creature.
He makes another desperate noise and then turns his head, finding my neck with his eager mouth. My body flashes with goosebumps as he mimics me, measuring my neck with his lips, tracing an erotic path up to my jaw. He rubs my back slowly, as if in wonder.
And I can’t wait any longer. I turn and catch his generous lips with mine. The first kiss tastes like red wine and the second one tastes like heat. He opens for me like he’s starving. I slip my tongue inside his mouth and sigh into the kiss. I’ve wanted him for so long. And the vise-like grip he has on my back suggests he’s been thinking about this, too.
I lose myself in his kisses. Each one is a little feistier than the next. Kieran is like a ball rolling downhill, picking up speed as we go. I push back on him until his ass hits the counter. And then I step between his legs and push my hips against his.
Yessss. My eager dick brushes his. Even through several layers of fabric I can feel him harden for me. My hand slips down, impulsively palming his ass through his jeans.
Kieran groans into my mouth. And the noise seems to wake him from this fever dream we’re sharing. He jerks his head back suddenly, as if I’ve burned him. “Fuck,” he curses.
I’m pretty sure it’s not a request. In fact, his voice is charged with alarm. Somehow that pricks through the lust fog I’m in, and I take a step backward.
He buries his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he says again. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I gasp.
“I don’t even know.” He groans, and not in a fun way.
“Hey,” I whisper. I plant a hand in the center of his chest. “Dude, it’s me who’s sorry. I took advantage.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking about that a long time.”
I light up inside. “Yeah, I have too. But it’s still not cool to jump your roommate. Not without discussing it first, anyway,” I add, because hope springs eternal.
He lifts his face from his hands. “And I hate talkin’. So we’re totally screwed.”
I take a deep breath, because my brain cells need oxygen, and I’m so turned on we could power next month’s electric bill with a single electrode to my aching nuts. “Look. Let’s eat pulled pork. I’m drunk, and if we stand here any longer I’m just going to stare at you while I picture you naked.”