Page 28 of Refraction

“So… what do Mommy and Daddy think about your demons?”

“We don’t talk about them. They don’t look at my work. It pays the bills, and I’m not suited to anything else.” Tucker didn’t sound hurt or angry, more resigned, he guessed.

Okay, so that was awful. To have this huge thing that they didn’t talk about.

Calvin heard the tension in Tucker’s words, and he saw it settle into the man’s shoulders. But more than that, he knew it hurt, even if Tucker had made peace with it. He knew it deeply. Once his hormones had kicked in, the only thing Calvin and his parents had been able to talk about without arguing was the weather. The last time they’d talked had been after that hurricane six years ago. Less than a year later, all the arguing had ended too.

It was in Tucker’s words even if the emotion wasn’t.It pays the bills and I’m not suited to anything else.Those words shut down any hope Tucker had of enjoying his work. Calvin had said the same thing to himself a million times.

“Hey.” He put down his water and leaned back in the couch next to Tucker. “You don’t need to be suited to anything else. This suits you. It’s controversial, sure, but art is supposed to be. Not everyone will get it.”

“True that. It is what it is. Someday I’ll mellow into nice landscapes and still lifes.” Tucker didn’t even manage his straight face for a second, the soft laughter shaking them both.

“Mmm. And someday I’ll be celibate.” He tried the straight-man routine, but it was hopeless. He giggled right along. “I love your work. I loved listening to you talk about it.” He looked at Tucker, still grinning. “Maybe it’s the hat. You could say anything to me in that hat and I’d believe you.”

“Could be the hat.” Tucker leaned over, rubbed their noses together. “And celibacy? What a thought. You are sex made flesh.”

“It’s my superpower. Maybe I should tattoo a bigSon my chest.” He could smell Tucker’s beer faintly and a light scent of cologne.

“That might hit your pocketbook hard, honey, but I wouldn’t mind one way or the other.” Tucker took his lips, the kiss not wild but a ballpark away from lazy.

There were worse things than having sexy as a superpower, especially with this Texan around. Calvin rolled toward the kiss, inviting Tucker to have whatever he wanted.

Provided he got what he wanted too. He slid his hands down the front of Tucker’s shirt. The tiny nipples were hard as rocks, and he knew that wasn’t from cold. It was nice in here.

He liked the feeling of being wanted—not just wanted for now, but actually wanted—and the little high he got knowing he was turning Tucker on. He slid his thumbs over both of the little buds through the crisp fabric, loving how Tucker leaned into his touch, then started in on the buttons, keeping his fingers purposeful but not rushed.

Tucker’s hand was on his knee, sliding up under his kilt with a slow but oh-so-deliberate intention. He grinned against Tucker’s lips and daintily stopped his hand.

“Guess.”

“Long johns so you didn’t freeze your sweet pecker off.”

Calvin was delighted. “Got it in one!” Tucker was so wonderful. He let the cowboy’s fingers finish the slow trek up his thigh until they encountered the delicate lace.

“Oh… I want to see, honey? Please? Even though I bet it breaks me in the best way.”

Oh, perfect. God, that was so perfect. The way Tucker saidpleaseset every one of his nerves on fire. He had to make Tucker say it again. He stood up and loosened the buckles that held his kilt closed. “I hope it does,” he purred, sliding the leather over his hips.

Tucker’s moan soothed him, enflamed him. The noise was raw and honest, the sound of Tucker’s knees hitting the floor even better.

“You like?” He took a step backward, teasing, not letting Tucker touch. “Yes?”

He stepped out of the kilt, taking his time, letting Tucker get a long look at his cock, barely obscured by the flowery lace front, and the way the little shorts sat low and nestled in just below his hip bones.

“You do, I can tell. And what do you think of the back?”

He turned around to put the kilt with his jacket, giving the cowboy an even better view—his ass, covered by little more than a hint of the thin black fabric.

“Jesus, honey, I could worship at your altar for a hundred years and not be a quarter done with it.”

Wasn’t that delicious? The man on his knees, shirt half undone, blue eyes wide and shining brighter than the moon. “I don’t need a hundred years, tiger, just an hour or two. You can start by taking your shirt off.”

The white shirt went flying, crumpling to the floor like it offended, giving him that expanse of muscle, the dark curls on deeply tanned skin like a dream to feast on.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach out and touch, but he didn’t. Not yet. Tucker’s rush to obey was making him bold, making him want to savor this. He started to move, walking in a very slow circle. “You’re lovely, Tucker. Do you have any idea what you look like, kneeling there? Take off your belt and give it to me.”

“My belt, honey?” Tucker gave him a curious look, but unhooked it and handed the belt over, the heavy silver-and-turquoise buckle warmed by Tucker’s body.

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