Chapter 61
“God, you’re gorgeous,” Scooter said, feathering kisses along Andy’s jaw and neck, pulling the collar of Andy’s shirt aside to mouth at his shoulder. “If it wasn’t the middle of the goddamn day, I’d be beggin’ you to let me…I want to taste you, want…want to touch every inch of you. I…I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m a beast, I want too much. But, God, damn, look at you.”
Andy laughed, ragged, halfway to a sob. “You think I don’t want?” he demanded. “Jesus, have you even seenyourself?” He dragged in a handful of harsh breaths. “Fuck. I’m gonna be hard all the way through dinner, and I don’t even care.”
“How are you even real?” Scooter whined, not able to resist the delicious friction, rutting against Andy’s thigh, desperate to relieve the pressure, even though he was only making it worse. He couldn’t believe the things Andy let him do, right out in daylight where anyone could walk by and see them, that Andy kept letting him touch and tease and not actually give either of them relief. God, Scooter was being a fucking cocktease and it wasn’t fair to Andy. He needed to keep his goddamn hands to himself, but Andy was…God, Andy was so sweet, and…he stole another kiss, flicking his tongue over the top of Andy’s mouth, along Andy’s upper lip. He was gonna cream his jeans like a teenager if he kept doing this.
But it was so fucking addictive. Andy groaned and rocked up against Scooter’s body, sucked Scooter’s tongue into his mouth, clenched his hands restlessly in Scooter’s shirt. He whined, and then he hissed. “Oh shit, stop—stop stop stop—”
Jesus. Jesus Christon a fucking cracker. Scooter pulled back, quick as he could, trying not to rub against Andy any more than he had to. “God, I’m sorry, sorry,” Scooter said, gasping for air.
Andy grabbed at the shoulder of Scooter’s shirt before he could get too far. “No, it’s, you’re fine, you’re amazing, I’m just—”
“Gonna jizz in my pants,” Scooter said, pressing his hand to his chest, his heart racing in his throat, in his wrists, vision spotting and swimming.
“Yeah, shit, sorry—” Andy ground his fist into his groin, hard, hard enough to be painful, trying to bring himself down. “Shitfuck. Sorry,” he panted. “I just. I only have the two pairs of jeans, and I just threw the others in the damn washer before lunch.”
It wasn’t funny, God, it wasn’t funny, but if he didn’t laugh, he was gonna cry. Or he was gonna pounce on Andy again, jeans be damned. Which wasn’t fair to Andy, not even a little bit. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Scooter said again as the giggles bubbled out of his throat. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not, I swear on my ma’s grave, but…damn, we are a tragedy.”
Andy was giggling now, too, hand over his face like he didn’t quite dare look at Scooter. “Quite the pair we are,” he agreed.
“Oh, Jesus,” Scooter said, pushing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m gonna have to drive like this. A stick shift. Holy Christ.”
“I’ll shift yourstick,” Andy said, barely intelligible as he burst into a fresh spate of slightly hysterical giggles.
God, I love you. Scooter bit down so hard before he said it that he nearly took the tip of his tongue off. What the fuck?He forced himself to breathe. “Drive. I need to drive.” Two breaths, three. “God. Get the dog in the truck, babe, will you? Jesus. Holy shit, I am gonna last all of twenty seconds when I actually get your pants off.” 24
As much of a hassle as it was to never be able to sleep in, Andy actually appreciated having to get up and walk the dog every morning. He could just open the door and let Trick out—that early, there weren’t many tourists around, and the locals all knew Trick. But the walks warmed and stretched muscles that were sore from the previous night’s work, and more importantly, they got him out of the claustrophobic apartment.
There were plenty of smaller places in Manhattan—there were people who rented out literal closets for twelve hundred a month. Hell, his apartment with Nick hadn’t been a lotbigger, but it had been a nice place. They’d worked hard to spruce it up, and taken advantage of the shape of the space to make it seem bigger than it was. Andy had even hand-built some of the cabinets and shelving. He couldn’t afford to do that here, though, and even if it was finally free of Jeff’s clutter, it was really just…not up to par. He hated to be ungrateful—it made him feel guilty and small and ashamed—so he never said anything about it. But at the same time, any excuse to get out was a good excuse.