Page 31 of Man of His Dreams

Flip kissed him back.

It was late and they were both exhausted, but they didn’t hurry as they undressed each other. Some things were too good to rush, and every new inch of skin was a revelation to be explored with fingers and mouth. Tony had doused the room lights, but illumination from the street—yellow and green and red—filtered in through the windows, giving the bedroom and the lovers a carnival glow. Although Scratch was gone, Flip imagined he heard the faintest echoes of his music, the jazz piano chords augmented by the drums of beating hearts and the saxophones of lungs.

This was a dream. A delirium. Tony’s hands on Flip’s shoulders, on his ass, Tony’s nipples taut salty treats under Flip’s soothing tongue.

Tony was full of delightful surprises. He moaned and gasped freely, every sound making Flip’s cock throb, and he didn’t hesitate to direct Flip to his favorite erogenous zones or to experimentally discover Flip’s. Although his skin was soft, his muscles were more defined than his museum-director clothing had revealed.

“You work out,” said Flip in between licks of abdominal ridges.

“I’m a nerd who exercises.”

“I don’t?—”

“You’re perfect, Flip. Exactly as you are.”

That was the end of discussion, although soft pleas continued, along with inchoate words of appreciation whispered like a poem. Naked, erect, his curls springing free, Tony could have been an ancient Greek statue come alive, and his smiles proved as wicked as any Scratch could manage, his fingers as nimble on Flip’s body as Scratch’s were on a piano.

Flip sprawled on his back over the continent-bed, Tony on top of him. Sweet sweat stuck them together. Tony wrapped his long fingers—a pianist’s fingers—around both their shafts while Flip, perhaps a vampire after all, sucked at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

And the glowing filament that bound them together wrapped around and around them, connecting but not constricting, an ethereal ribbon of warmth and comfort and power.

Flip fell apart with a howl that surprised him and probably woke up Apartment 1C. He was going to have to add some nice pastries to the peace offering. When Tony came just a few moments later, Flip laughed with pure pleasure and joy.

Nestled against each other, allowing their breathing to even and the ceiling fan to cool them, they chuckled as if sharing a wonderful joke. Nothing in the world had ever felt more right than Tony Bergeron in bed with Flip.

“Stay the night?” Flip asked.

“What’s left of it. Don’t think I can move anyway.” Despite his disclaimer, Tony squirmed around and propped himself on an elbow so he could gaze down at Flip. “You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”

“Yeah?”

“Dinner, ghosts, family reunion, history research, music, exceptional lovemaking, cuddling…. What more could anyone want?” He bent to kiss the tip of Flip’s nose before collapsing back into his arms.

Flip rolled against him, burying his just-kissed nose into Tony’s hair. What more indeed.

Chapter

Fourteen

They overslept. Tony had to call in sick to work, and then they decided that since they were still in bed, they ought to take advantage of that. Their morning sex was as good as the previous night’s. Afterward they spent a long time simply lolling in bed as if they were stranded on a desert island, touching each other and talking easily about their plans for telling Scratch’s story.

Although Flip would have been content to never return to reality, eventually their hungry stomachs won out. They took turns showering, with Tony borrowing a toothbrush and comb as well as a T-shirt and underwear. “Good thing I have enough to spare,” Flip pointed out.

They wandered through the Quarter before settling on a spot for brunch. Flip hadn’t been to this place before and liked it immediately, with its slightly wonky brick walls, its scents of cinnamon and frying eggs, and its tattooed, pierced, and dyed-hair waitstaff. Tony and Flip stole bites off each other’s plates, laughed at in-jokes, and were generally so cute and lovey-dovey that everyone else in the restaurant probably hated them.

“So,” Tony said, not as nonchalantly as he likely intended. “What are you going to do if this project takes us longer than two and a half months?”

“Oh, no way we’re going to finish in that timeframe.”

Tony speared one of Flip’s boudin balls with a fork, transferred it to his own plate, and then said “boudin balls,” and giggled like a twelve-year-old. “But you’re planning to leave the city then.”

“Was planning. But I could stick around. If you don’t mind.”

There was that sweet smile. “I don’t mind.”

In truth, Flip’s finances would be a little tricky. But maybe he could finagle an extra advance from his publisher, and if not, he could find a day job. He’d had them before. “Then I guess I’ll stay.” He scooped up and ate a spoonful of grits.

Tony spent a moment thoughtfully squinting at him before apparently reaching a decision. “This is going to sound crazy. But you’re a ghost-talking psychic, so bear with me. I know we’ve barely just met, but… move in with me. My bed’s not as epic as yours, but it’s big enough for two.”

---