That Damned Smile
The drive from Cranbrook, British Columbia to Edmonton, Alberta, is
much longer than it looks on a map. It's also scenic and beautiful,
but it leaves far too many empty hours to fill with nothing but
thinking. Entirely too much thinking. I nearly turned around more
times than I can remember, because for a few sporadic moments, I
acknowledged that this is probably the stupidest thing I have ever
done.
Jarome has no idea I'm coming; I never called to tell him--or anyone
else. Lisa has her suspicions, but I haven't confirmed any of them.
I'm a 38-year-old man, married to a beautiful woman, with three
perfect daughters, and yet I've spent eighteen months lusting after a
boy 12 years my junior.
It's that goddamned smile, I tell you.
It started in Salt Lake City last February, with one half-drunken
kiss that he'd probably written off as soon as it was over. Then
again, he spent that night in Curtis Joseph's bed, so I don't blame
him for forgetting. Nonetheless, that one quick, champagne flavored
kiss has haunted me for a year and a half. I wonder how he'd have
reacted if we hadn't pulled away. I wonder what would've happened if
he ended up in my bed that night. I wonder if he smiles like that
right after he comes.
I shake my head to clear the thoughts away. I'm less than ten minutes
from his house, finally, and I don't need to show up at his front
door with a far too obvious tent in my jeans. As I pull up in front
of his house, I take a few deep breaths, hoping to calm myself. It
isn't every day I drive nearly 700 miles in order to seduce someone.
I'm cursing my stupidity as I ring the doorbell, realizing he might
have company already. Friends, relatives...maybe a girlfriend. I
almost turn around and run back to my car, but then the door opens,
and Jarome's eyes light up and he smiles at me.
Damn.
"Hey, Steve," he says brightly, motioning for me to come in. "How are
you? Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, no. I'm fine. Just...in the neighborhood," I lie, and I wonder
if he picks up on the hesitation. "I thought I'd stop in and say
hello."
We sit in his living room, and I subconsciously notice the gold medal
dangling from a hook above his fireplace. It is the only award that
is displayed, and I smile to myself. He doesn't realize it, but his
choice of decor has given me an idea. I let the plot slip into the
background, prepared for the small talk that is inevitable.
"So how has your off-season been?" I ask, and he grimaces slightly.
"Far too long. I'm definitely ready to play again. What about you?"
I laugh weakly, "Same. Too long. It was tough watching the last three
rounds of the playoffs from home."
The small talk lasts for nearly a half hour, and all the while, in my
head, I'm trying to figure out a way to make an easy segue into
something that could lead to kissing, which would lead to touching,
which would eventually lead to sex. I stood after some time, and then
stopped right in front of the gold medal, tracing a finger lightly
over the metal. "That was a great day..." I muse quietly.
A smile lights his face, and I have to fight to keep composure. "It
really was. I'll never forget it."
"Do you realize its the..." I pause, calculating in my head, "17
month, five day anniversary of the win?"
One of his eyebrows arches slightly, and I realize he's seen the line
for exactly what it is. "...Then maybe we should celebrate."
"That's a fantastic idea."
And then his hands are on my chest and shoulders and back, his mouth
hot and wet on mine, his tongue snaking over my lips and teeth. I
gasp for air and kiss him back, grasping his shoulders tightly. This
isn't the tame, simple kiss from the day we won. This is much more
passionate, much less reserved. It's a kiss that leads to something
more.
Something I can't wait for.
His fingers work at the buttons of my shirt, and as he pushes it from
my shoulders, I'm tugging at the hem of his, trying to pull it up
over his head. I need to see him, to feel his skin on mine. When his
body touches mine, his nipples hard against the skin of my pecs, I
groan involuntarily, clutching my hands tighter at his waist. He
licks and nibbles his way towards my ear, his breathing labored as he
fiddles with the button and zipper of my jeans.
We don't say anything, we don't need to. We've talked too damn much
already. Soon his shorts have joined my pants on the floor, and I
collapse on top of him on the couch. When I can feel the length of
his cock pressing hard against my hip, I realize that the lube I
brought with me is in the pocket of my jeans, over in front of the
fireplace.
Then I decide that it doesn't matter, because we don't need it. I
slide down his body until I'm kneeling between his legs, and I pull
his boxers down over his hips slowly, achingly so, until he's gasping
and thrusting into the air, searching for release. I wrap a hand
around the base of his dick, stroking it once before leaning down to
take him in my mouth. I swirl my tongue over the head, lapping up a
drop of precum, before letting my lips slip lower around him. I suck
gently, holding his hips down so that he can't push himself deeper,
so that he's under my control. Eventually I give in, taking a deep
breath and opening my mouth wider so that I can take all of him.
As soon as he starts to writhe, I know he's close, but I refuse to
let him come. Not yet. In an instant my mouth is away from him, and
I've straddled his hips, sitting so that his cock is rubbing right
against the crack of my ass. His eyes plead with me, and I decide to
be merciful, lifting up and positioning himself at my entrance. He
does the rest, thrusting hard into me, making my back arch and my
toes curl. His hands grip my waist tightly, holding me still while he
fucks me.
In a few minutes, he's almost ready, and so as he thrusts in one last
time, I clench around him as tightly as I can, coaxing a breathy
expletive from him as he explodes inside me, holding my hips so hard
I can feel his nails digging into the skin. I discover that he smiles
while he comes, and that small, sated curl of his lips sends me over
the edge.
When the dark haze lifts, I'm lying on top of Jarome, my breathing
almost steadied, my heartbeat slowing to a nearly normal rate, and I
smile to myself. It had certainly been worth the wait.
Jarome laughs softly, brushing his fingers through my sweat-soaked
hair. "So that's what would've happened if I hadn't gone home with
Curtis that night..."
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