Imperfect Harmony (11 page)

John unfastened his jeans and stooped to push them down. The wet patch in his underwear stuck to his skin, so he took those off too and used the dry bit to wipe at the mess left behind.

When he looked back at the bed, Rhys was naked too, lying back with his hands behind his head as he watched John. The erection John had felt through their clothes earlier was gone. Rhys’s cock lay soft in an untrimmed nest of dark curls, stark against the white of his flat belly. A dark line of hair led up to his navel, but his chest was hairless. A flock of small bird silhouettes inked in black onto his ribs had their wings spread in flight. John’s cock tingled and began to thicken again at the sight of him.

“Come here,” Rhys said quietly. His gaze was intent as he scanned John’s body again, flitting between his face, his chest, his cock, and his stomach.

John’s body lit up in response to his inspection, like a pinball machine as the ball moves around. Every nerve ending was alight.

The bed creaked and dipped as John got back onto it. He lay beside Rhys, feeling uncertain of what to do now they’d got to this point. He took refuge in a kiss. Kissing had worked for them before, and Rhys kissed him back, rolling towards John and slotting their legs together. He put a hand on John’s chest and stroked the hair, teasing with his fingertips, finding a nipple and rubbing at it till it stiffened.

John grew hard again; his cock poked out eagerly, the head rubbing against the soft skin of Rhys’s stomach. But when John reached down to cup Rhys’s dick, he was still soft and stayed that way, despite John’s best attempts to coax him into hardness with his fingers.

Rhys drew back from the kiss with a frustrated sigh. “God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong. I guess maybe I’m nervous?”

John moved his hand to Rhys’s hip, the crest of bone pressed into his palm. “Do you want to stop?”

“No… I don’t know. I’m just so embarrassed. I wanted to come so badly earlier, and I really fancy you. But this whole situation is messing with my head…. It’s like being a virgin all over again and it feels like a
lot
. Does that make sense?”

John nodded. “It makes perfect sense.”

Then Rhys added, almost in a whisper, “And I can’t help thinking about Lyle, and then I feel bad because I’m with you. And that’s fucked up. I want to be here, with you. I want this. But it feels wrong somehow. As if….”

“As if you’re being disloyal to him?” John completed Rhys’s sentence, and Rhys nodded, relief spreading across his features.

“Yeah. That’s it, exactly. Crazy, right?”

“Given that I feel the same about David, I think it’s probably normal.”

Rhys gave him a small smile. “Yeah?”

“But I know David would want this for me. He’d be glad I’m moving on—he’d probably be pissing himself laughing at me for coming so soon, mind you.”

That coaxed a chuckle out of Rhys and seemed to make him relax again. “Lyle would be doing the same at me for not being able to get it up.”

John felt his lips twitch, and he gave in to the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s ironic, really, isn’t it? Nineteen-year age gap, and it’s the old bloke who comes in his pants, and the twenty-something with performance issues.”

They both dissolved into laughter, and the awkwardness melted away.

“So. Do you want to rain check? Or shall we carry on?” John asked.

Rhys licked his lips. “As long as you don’t mind what happens. I’m enjoying this for what it is, whether I come or not. Kissing, touching. It’s all good.”

“It’s good for me too. How about we try it like this?”

He pushed gently at Rhys’s shoulder, encouraging him to roll on to his back. Then John kneeled over him, kissing his lips, then his cheek, then his neck. Rhys smelled intoxicating, male skin and a hint of sweat. When John used his tongue, he tasted faint salt. Rhys squirmed beneath him, gripping John’s hips tightly.

“Ticklish?” John murmured against the same patch of skin he’d just licked, and Rhys gasped and jerked again.

“Yep.”

John grinned. But he didn’t want to interrupt the proceedings again, so he moved lower, instead pressing soft—but not too-soft—kisses to Rhys’s chest. Then down to brush his lips over the inked birds, before moving lower still and stopping to admire Rhys’s cock. It was stirring, as though waking from sleep. Still mostly soft, but getting thicker, it shifted, creeping up Rhys’s thigh. John grinned, flicking his gaze up to meet Rhys’s.

Rhys quirked an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t just stare at it. You might scare it away again.”

John didn’t need to be asked twice. He moved down the bed, and Rhys opened his thighs obligingly to let John lie between them. Fuck. John stared again, because Rhys was a fucking gorgeous sight from this angle. His half-hard cock lay waiting, his balls hung below in his dark nest of pubes, and the smoother skin of his taint led tantalisingly back into the shadows. John’s mouth suddenly flooded with a rush of saliva at the thought of tasting him there.

“John.” Rhys’s voice had a husky urgency to it that brought John back to the task in hand—or rather mouth, because that was clearly where this was going.

John kissed Rhys’s cock on the tip of his foreskin, and then used his hand to guide it into his mouth. He took it all in, feeling Rhys lengthen and harden against his tongue as he sucked.

“That’s good,” Rhys said. He slid his fingers into John’s hair and let his thighs fall open a little wider.

Once Rhys was fully hard, John paid some attention to Rhys’s balls instead, discovering their texture, nuzzling into the space where thigh met groin, and breathing in Rhys’s scent. Rhys brought his hand down and started stroking himself then. John paused what he was doing to watch, his own cock aching for attention again. Apparently coming twice already today wasn’t enough for him. His libido seemed to be back with a vengeance.

Rhys’s ribs lifted with each ragged breath, and his eyes were dark and dazed-looking. He made a small sound of pleasure, and that spurred John into action again. He batted Rhys’s hand away and sucked him again, using steady pulls of his mouth designed to get Rhys off. John sensed he was close. He could feel the tension in his body, and Rhys’s balls drew up under John’s stroking fingers.

“Yeah,” Rhys gasped. “I’m nearly there.”

John pulled off and took Rhys in his hand. He stroked him fast, drawing his foreskin up over the head with each movement, the same way John liked it. “Is that okay?”

Rhys answered with a wordless groan, his cock pulsing in John’s hand as he came over his stomach and into the grip of John’s fist. John released Rhys’s cock and crawled up to kiss him, heedless of his sticky hand, now planted firmly on the pillow by Rhys’s head. The tip of John’s erection dragged through the wetness on Rhys’s belly, and he hummed into Rhys’s mouth, kissing him deeper as he tried to resist the urge to rub off on him for the second time today.

Finally, John moved to lie beside Rhys, their arms and shoulders touching. Rhys took John’s hand wordlessly, and something tugged in John’s chest at the contact. Rhys tangled their fingers together and held on. They lay in silence for a long time.

John’s skin cooled, and his cock slowly softened with each thud of his heart. The realisation of what they’d done swept over him. This small act, this perfectly imperfect sex they’d shared today had changed everything. It was a full stop at the end of a stretch of grief and isolation, but John was afraid to hope what the next sentence might be. Even if this was just a one-off, John was still glad it had happened—as long as it didn’t affect their budding friendship.

He shivered, realising he was cold and it was almost dark outside. He reached down to tug the covers up over them; the cool cotton made him colder rather than warmer as it slid over his skin.

“Are you okay?” Rhys rolled onto his side. John could hardly see his face in the darkness.

“I was just cold. Hold on.” John twisted around to switch on the dim lamp by the bed, casting the room in a warm yellow glow. “That’s better.” He smiled at Rhys. “I can see you now.”

Rhys bit his lip. “I meant are you okay about what we did? No regrets?”

The uncertainty in his eyes made John rush to reassure him. “God. No. Absolutely not.” He put a hand on Rhys’s cheek and leaned up to give him a soft kiss. “It was….”

“Don’t say amazing.” Rhys grinned. “Because I think we both know we can do better than that.”

John laughed. “Well, yes. I promise I don’t usually come before I even take my clothes off.”

“Thank God.” Rhys was outright grinning now.

“Isn’t sex often awkward, though? Even with someone you know well, it’s rarely this perfect, choreographed thing.”

“It would be boring if it was.”

“Yes. So… anyway, back to your question. I have no regrets about today—as long as you don’t?”

“Nope. No regrets here, apart from my poor performance on the erection front.” Rhys paused for a moment, casting his gaze down to John’s chest before meeting his eyes again and adding, “I’m sure I could do better next time.”

A ripple of happy anticipation spread out from John’s chest, he raised his eyebrows, smiling. “There’s going to be a next time?”

“I hope so.”

“I’d like that.”

They sealed the agreement with more kissing.

CHAPTER TEN

Rhys was warm and comfortable, relishing the scratch of John’s beard and the solid strength of his arms, and he didn’t want to leave. But his mum was expecting him for dinner tonight, and it was getting late. Reluctantly, after a particularly slow and decadent kiss, he pulled away—John was an amazing kisser.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go home.”

John didn’t protest. But he also didn’t hide the flash of disappointment that crossed his features. “Okay,” he said simply.

Rhys pressed a last kiss to John’s lips and then to his cheek. “Sorry to run out on you, but my mum’s cooking for me tonight. She always does roast on a Sunday.”

In the silence after Rhys spoke, John’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“Sorry.” John patted his belly and it made a hollow sound. “You’re giving me ideas.”

Rhys grinned. “I would invite you… she usually cooks far too much of everything. But I’m not sure—”

“No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Rhys got up and picked his clothes up from where he’d dropped them earlier. He pulled on his underwear and jeans, brushing dried come off his stomach before doing up the fly. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. The bed creaked and shifted as John moved closer, and Rhys felt warm fingers tracing the outline of the ink on his back.

“Wow, that’s quite a tattoo.” John’s fingers ran along the upper curve of the wings from spine to shoulder, first one side, and then the other.

Rhys shivered at his touch. “I had them done for Lyle.” He looked over his shoulder and saw John’s face soften in understanding. Rhys swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, the usual guilt threatening to consume him. The tattoos had been a mingled act of love and punishment, although the pain of the needles didn’t come close to matching the pain in his heart. He’d suffered for Lyle, bled for him in the only way he could without hurting his family.

“They’re beautiful,” John said softly.

Rhys gave him a watery smile, then stood up and pulled on his T-shirt.

John got up and put on a pair of pyjama bottoms. “I’ll see you out,” he said, putting on a T-shirt too.

Downstairs, Rhys packed up his guitar and music. “Are you up for coming to Beech House again next weekend?”

“Of course. I’ll practise ‘You Make Me Feel so Young’ so we can do that one for Mrs Pickering.”

“That would be great.”

When Rhys was ready to leave, they paused awkwardly by the front door. Rhys didn’t want to leave it till choir on Wednesday to see John again, but he didn’t want to be too pushy. Although John had said he wanted there to be a next time, they hadn’t made any arrangements.

“So….” Rhys left the word hanging, but he met John’s gaze and gave him a hopeful smile.

John bit his lip; the soft pink looked delectable next to the pepper-and-salt fuzz of his beard. “Um… maybe we could get together and practise again Tuesday evening? Or Thursday?”

“Tuesday works for me. Are we talking music, or is there something else you wanted to work on?” Rhys smirked.

John laughed—a surprised and happy sound from deep in his chest. Rhys loved it. This John was so different from the shy, sad man who’d come along to the first choir practice of the year.

John’s laughter added warmth to his tone. “I can think of other skills we could brush up.”

“Okay. Tuesday, then. It’s a date.”

John put his hands on Rhys’s shoulders and moved in close. “Is it?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.” John kissed Rhys, leaving him breathless and exhilarated but disappointed that his hands were full. He couldn’t get them in John’s hair and stop him pulling away when the kiss ended. “I’ll see you Tuesday, then.” He opened the door for Rhys.

Rhys paused on the doorstep. “What time shall I come over?”

“Eight?”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, then.”

John was leaning against the doorframe. His hair was rumpled from their earlier activities, and where his old T-shirt dipped at the front, it showed his chest hair. He looked sexy and dishevelled and exactly as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

Rhys seriously regretted making that dinner arrangement with his mum. He sighed reluctantly. “Bye. See you Tuesday.” He slung his guitar onto his back, put his cycle helmet on, then turned and made himself walk away.

Rhys was already late when he got home, but he popped into his flat first, so he could at least wash his hands and get the rest of his jizz off his stomach with a wet flannel. He had standards—admittedly not very high ones.

“Hi, Mum, sorry I’m late,” he said as he let himself in next door. His mum was in the kitchen, stirring gravy with one hand and holding a glass of red wine in the other. “Oh wow, it smells good in here.” Rhys suddenly realised how hungry he was. He’d obviously worked up an appetite with John earlier.