Page 14 of Embers Glow After the Fire

The game of pool between the smoldering pair continues as their playmates drift off to their rooms, following their lovers to bed. Perry had disappeared hours ago. Jamie and Nathan excused themselves to go settle Rosy away in the motorhome, but never made it back.

Brendon takes his turn. One ball left in the game. He lays over the table. Matthew is behind him, so he holds the pose, showing off his goods. He fucks his finger with the pool stick and closes one eye to aim.

“You've got this.” Matthew encourages.

“I don’t think you're supposed to root for your opponent?” Brendon peers over his shoulder. His spine caves deeper and he pops a leg stiff as he drives the stick forward. The cue sinks its final target but follows behind, into the pocket. “Shit!” He winces.

“Eh. You still win.” Matthew surrenders. “It's time for bed.” His drowsy slur is adorable.

Brendon scans the room for a clock. The back of the gourmet oven glows 2:46 am. “Yeah. It's late.” Your bed or mine? He licks parched lips and swigs the last of his cider.

Matthew halts words at the tip of his tongue, packing them away as he slots his pool stick into the wall mount.

Brendon squeezes by, brushing against Matthew’s shoulder. The hunk’s static heat transfers into his chest and bubbles up to his throat.

Matthew steps onto the stairs and trudges a bit slower with each rise. Prolonging their ascent.

Brendon follows patiently.

When they reach the mezzanine, Matthew pauses, facing down the hall separating their rooms.

“You okay?” Brendon slides a hand up the center of his rugged back and squeezes a hulking shoulder. It tightens under his palm. He’s hoping for an invitation.

“Yeah.” Matthew’s cheeks pinch as he stares forward. “Goodnight.” He steps into his room and closes the door.

Brendon veers into his quarters and props against the wall. He lays his face on the cedar paneling staring at Matthew’s door and contemplating his lonely bed. He slithers out of his shorts and kicks them into the corner, peeling his t-shirt overhead and dropping it at his feet.

His eyes fix on the wooden barrier guarding those thick freckled arms, he’d like to be wrapped up in. Apricot waves, he wants to run his fingers through, and the cayenne-peppered chest he wants to lay against.

After some time, the haze of five cosmos and too many hard ciders carry him across the hall. He creeps the door open and steps into the dimly moonlit room. His bare toes find the shag area rug and his knees butt against the hard frame of the bed. He gently lifts the covers and slips in. The comforter is more plush than the one in his room. The sheets feel cool on his sun-roasted skin. He sneaks into the center of the mattress until he’s pressed against Matthew’s broad back, gently rising and falling against him.

Brendon wraps around the warm bear and drifts off.

Chapter 6

Squatter

The break of dawn is right on schedule but it's far too soon to rise with such a thunderous hangover. Matthew feels the weight of a body against his back and the rhythmic whoosh of breath stirring the nape of his neck. A strange arm wraps under his own. Curling around his chest and tucking under his chin. His mind races to recollect last night’s affairs.

A soft mumble perks his ear. It’s Brendon—

Shit. He’s paralyzed, hoping not to disturb the bedmate. He’s sure he was alone when the booze knocked him out. Wasn’t he?

Brendon rolls away with impeccable timing, giving Matthew the chance to slip out from under the covers. He clutches a pile of clothes to cover his morning wood and scurries out of the guestroom.

The throb in his temples matches the beat of blood pumping his engorged dick. He twists the shower spigot and stares into the mirror until the water warms. He can't remember his bed being invaded but isn’t bothered by it.

The baked impression of Brendon lingers down his backside. Goosebumps flush his skin. He steps into the steamy spray, closing his eyes and pressing his face under the prickling rush.

Trails of water trace the soft curves of his body and pool at his toes. He twists his back to the spray. Squeezing a mound of floral musk soap onto his palm, he swipes it across his chest, and down his arm, repeating the process on his other side. The silken suds coat both of his hands as they find his eager dick, refusing to relax until he satisfies its need.

His strokes start slow as he savors the thrilling sensation tickling his loins and burning into his belly. The slick glide of soapy flesh against flesh sends waves of pleasure through his entire body. He braces himself with the curtain rail overhead as his grip tightens around his dick and his hand picks up pace.

His fingers explore the familiarity of his rigid dick while his mind recalls snapshots of the tall dark squatter in his bed. The soft fuzz of his freshly buzzed head, long neck, and broad shoulders. His narrow waist and perked ass cheeks on display, as he bent over the pool table. Bouncing when he cocked his long leg to jab the cue ball. The proud grin lifting his flush cheeks when he spun back and the hungry gaze in his eyes as they met Matthew’s.

His body tenses and the bubbling surge spills over. His head falls back into the spray washing over his face, filling his gaped mouth and drowning the moans rising from his throat.

His chest heaves as his lungs find air again.

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