A Friend in the Dark - Gregory Ashe Page 0,54

it. I told you I don’t like touching, right? Well, not because it hurts. It’s—I don’t know—overwhelming. Sounds too. A lot of the time. And smells, sometimes. My brain doesn’t know how to handle all of it. But touch.” He shivered again. “Fuck. Which is why I wear my T-shirts inside out like I never finished third fucking grade. Which is why I go commando. Which is why my socks are inside out, and sometimes upside down because of the stitching over the toe. Lots of stupid, stupid, stupid shit.” Another residual shiver worked through him. “Shit, I messed everything up. I’m sorry.”

Rufus scooted until he was sitting upright. “It’s all right. Would you prefer I not kiss you? Would that help?”

“You should definitely kiss me. And, uh, keep doing that thing, um. With your leg. But—fuck, why do I feel fourteen fucking years old right now? Just, if I freak out, or seem like I’m freaking out, uh, it’s because I really like it but don’t know how to handle everything going on, ok?” Sam leveled a finger at Rufus, trying to regain some semblance of self-respect. “For the record, this is why I fuck guys and send them on their way, without all the touchy-feely stuff. Not because I’m an asshole. Well. Not exclusively because of that.”

Rufus cracked a smile. “Touchy-feely, huh?”

Grinning, Sam crooked a finger. “I’ll show you.”

Rufus shifted and knee-walked across the mattress.

Hooking an arm around Rufus, Sam tugged him closer, his fingers worming under the waistband of Rufus’s jeans, sliding under the elastic of the briefs, and then he tugged again, until Rufus was almost pressed up against him. He bent and kissed a line from Rufus’s shoulder to his neck.

“Like that,” Sam whispered, pulling back to look at Rufus, running his free hand through the red chaos of hair. “Or that.” He kissed Rufus once, and then he moved forward, his weight bearing Rufus down into the mattress again. Sam shifted until they lay side by side; he traced Rufus’s cheekbone. “Or that.”

Rufus’s smile was bright now, encompassing his entire face. He mirrored Sam’s motions—slipping fingers through Sam’s hair before rubbing stubble along his strong jawline with the pad of his thumb. Rufus leaned close and kissed Sam’s neck. Sam shuddered again, but didn’t tell Rufus to stop—so he didn’t. “I’ve always wanted a touchy-feely kind of guy,” he whispered before kissing Sam’s mouth once.

A smart response was probably expected. Rufus probably liked guys like that, guys who were clever in bed, who had their shit together. Sam, on the other hand, had his eyes half-closed, his breath a whirlwind in his chest. “Uhh.” Well, that was some kind of response, right? And, all things considered, with Sam’s brain overloaded and frying, with his dick so hard that he was afraid he was going to shoot from Rufus touching him like this, it seemed like a pretty good response.

Rufus sat up. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, encouraged him onto his back, then swung a leg over to straddle his hips. “This not too much?” he asked, leaning over to kiss and gently bite Sam’s neck some more.

Rocking up into Rufus, trying to get contact, stimulation, anything that would push him over the edge and end this, Sam just groaned again, shaking his head in an attempt to answer. His hands were trembling, and he locked on to Rufus’s thighs, running his hands up and down, the denim rasping.

“Do I have to rip these off?” he managed to say.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rufus said against his throat before sitting up. He lifted up, unbuttoned the jeans, then took a moment to wiggle out of them. “I don’t have enough clothes for you to be tearing them apart every time you want to get laid.”

“Shit clothes,” Sam said on a thin breath, because most of his attention was on Rufus in nothing but a pair of gray briefs. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic leg openings, dimpling Rufus’s pale thighs, he added, “These too.” Then he ran his hand between Rufus’s legs, felt him hard, and said, “Please.”

Rufus laughed, and it sounded wonderfully carefree. “Since you asked so nicely.” He yanked the underwear off, straddled Sam again, and firmly pressed his knees into the man’s sides. Rufus’s breath hitched a little as their naked flesh came into full contact. He rocked against Sam, held his face, peppered his mouth with hungrier, more insistent kisses.

It wasn’t so much that Sam lost track of time. It