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Alek pushed his lips into a pout. “Speaking of the Victorian, I worry our makeup sex will be interrupted by potential buyers. Are you sure there isn’t an open house scheduled for today? Maybe we should stay somewhere else...”
Ian smiled wide. “Consider the Victorian off the market.”
46
ALEK
It was almost dusk when they arrived at the Victorian. The drive took longer than it should have because Ian had abruptly stopped on three different occasions for make out pit stops. They both would have gotten off if Ian wasn’t so averse to the perils of road head and public indecency charges.
Ian flicked the blinker, the rhythmic clicking too loud in the silent truck. Alek opened his mouth to once again opine the uselessness of indicating a turn when they were the only ones on the road, but then he saw the for sale sign planted at the end of the driveway.
“Would you have really sold the Victorian?” Alek asked as the truck trundled down the gravel road.
“I would, but not until I’d exhausted all options and was sure there was no chance you’d come back.” Ian’s Adam's apple bobbed, his knuckles blanching on the steering wheel. “If you killed yourself, I wouldn’t have sold it, but only so I could spend the rest of my life single-handedly reducing this place and any memory of the happiness we had there to rubble.”
Alek flinched at the image of Ian so bereft he turned destructive. He imagined Ian, tears tracking down the dust thatcovered his face, chest heaving with a sledgehammer in his hand, surrounded by a house he’d ruined, waiting for it to collapse on him so he could forget that Alek had ever even existed.
While Alek’s motivation for suicide had been to spare he and Ian from further pain, now that he wasn’t drowning in depression, he realized how horribly misguided his intentions had been.
After Ian parked, Alek opened the door and stepped down onto the soft pine-needle laden ground. Home. He was home. There was a flash of memory from the last time he’d been there—rain lashing, thunder cracking, heart broken—but he didn’t dwell on it, instead focusing his attention on the face of the Victorian. While he was away, the wisteria had climbed another ten feet or so to the second story. It likely wouldn’t grow any taller than that until next spring; the winter frost would make it slumber.
Birds called, the truck door slammed. Ian climbed the front porch steps and opened the door with a familiar wooden scuff.
“You coming?” Ian asked.
“Yes,” Alek called, moving to follow.
When Alek had first found the Victorian, abandoned and shrouded in mystery, he thought that was the beginning of their happily ever after, but he’d been wrong. Everything leading up until now had been a long slog, a struggle to drag his baggage everywhere he went, and now he was home and he was light, his hands were empty, and he was free.
Ian held the door open and Alek passed through and the Victorian smelled like it always did, like history and lumber and lemon wood polish. Ian dropped the duffle to the ground with a thud.
Alek looked at Ian. Ian looked at him, and there was no more poignant musing over the journey they’d traveled. Alek’sneed was a rubber band pulled tight—blessed be to Dr. Dhawan and her cocktail of medications for keeping his sex drive intact.
He gripped Ian by his henley and slammed him against the wall, biting kisses from his collar bone to his neck on his way to his ear where he promised, “I’ll never leave you ever again.”
Ian responded with a broken, crumpled sound as he pulled Alek into a possessive kiss that said so much more thanmine—it was relief, and it was fear, and it was forgiveness, and above all else, it was the same promise back again.I’ll never leave. I’ll never leave. I’ll never leave. I promise.
When they parted, Alek pulled Ian’s shirt over his head and sucked bruising kisses into his skin, tracing his tongue along the muscles that had grown sharper and more defined over their separation. With a deep rumbling growl, Ian pushed back and then it was Alek up against the wall. They crossed the foyer, bumping into sharp edges of furniture, sendings things smashing and shattering when they hit the ground.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ian took off Alek’s shirt. “Sit down,” Ian commanded with a heavy hand to his shoulder.
Moving quickly to comply, Alek sat a few steps up. He expected Ian to stand over him, but instead Ian lowered to his knees and removed Alek’s pants with a maddening lack of urgency.
Punctuated with kisses along the inside of Alek’s thighs, Ian said, “I’ve spent two months regretting the last time we had sex.” He lifted his eyes. “I’m so sorry for taking my anger out on you.”
Alek scoffed. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy myself.”
Ian sat back on his heels, face turned serious. “You should be treated with love and reverence every day of your life.”
The intensity of Ian’s gaze made Alek’s skin prickle. Flustered, Alek suggested, “Revere me by letting me suck your dick first, then.”
Ian pressed his finger to Alek’s lips. “Hush. I’m still apologizing.”
Alek sucked the tip of Ian’s finger into his mouth. Ian’s mouth went slack. Alek smiled and reached to pop the top button of Ian’s pants.
“No,” Ian said.
Alek slumped back, crossing his arms with a pout.
