“Me too.”
Something in Iggy’s chest broken open on a sob, but instead of tears, it released a roar of desperation he didn’t recognize. Desperation to feel something. He was sick of being numb, sick of being closed off to affection, exhausted of avoiding human contact. He pulled back as far as necessary, grabbed Malcolm’s cheeks in both hands, and kissed him.
Kissed him hard, hungry, overjoyed when Malcolm’s lips parted easily. Accepted what he gave. Allowed him in. The beard scruff was new and abraded his cheeks, tickled his fingers, and sparked something deep inside of Iggy. Something that hadn’t burned bright in too damned long.
Desire.
Malcolm growled softly before attacking his mouth with familiar enthusiasm that Iggy returned in kind. This was easy, practiced. Safe. Them, together, alone—never the problem. The outside world judging them was the problem.
They were perfect. Always had been.
Perfection lasted less than a minute before questing hands broke free from their grip on Iggy’s belt, and Malcolm wrestledspace between them. Iggy gasped, annoyed at the interruption when all he wanted to do was feel. Not talk, not think, just feel.
“Hold on a second,” Malcolm said.
“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve never imagined what this would be like?”
“Every day for the last seventeen years, and that’s why I wanna slow down a sec.”
“Fine.” When Iggy tried to back up, Malcolm cinched both hands around his hips and held Iggy still. Right inside his perimeter fence, tight and solid, no chance of escape. “When you slow down, you over-think things, Monte.”
“I know, but when I picked you up today, I was hoping for some conversation, not a morning quickie.”
“All I’ve got to offer right now is a quickie.” Iggy clasped the bulge in Malcolm’s jeans, glad his memory hadn’t tricked him. He was exhausted of being numb; he wanted tofeel, damn it. “Let’s let our dicks do the talking.”
He squeezed Malcolm’s thickening cock through denim and waited.
Malcolm’s heartricocheted in his chest; his cock pulsed with want and with the addictive pressure of Iggy’s hand on it. Not quite on it, because jeans, but close enough, damn it. God, kissing Iggy had been like driving a nail into a board, practiced and easy and so fucking satisfying. Everything he remembered and still brand-new in exciting ways.
But Iggy was good at using sex as a distraction, always had been. Blow jobs over talking, hand jobs over feelings, rubbing off over planning for the future. Not that Malcolm had resented all the sex they’d had as horny teenagers, but not talking had destroyed the beautiful, fragile thing they’d tried to build without having a foundation first.
Malcolm wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“As much as I’d love to know what your dick’s gotta say right now,” Malcolm teased, trying not to react to the challenge in Iggy’s eyes, “it’s not over-thinking to take a minute before anything happens. We don’t know shit about each other.”
Iggy shook out of his grip and stalked three long strides toward the kitchenette. “You always get to know your hookups before you fuck them, Monte?”
Annoyance flashed hotly through his chest. “First, you are not and never could be a hookup to me, Iggs. And second, there weren’t that many hookups, okay? It’s just…not my thing, to be honest. Casual shit with strangers.”
“Really?” He sounded less like he didn’t believe Malcolm, and more…not surprised. Confused, maybe?
“Yes, really. I might have been hot for you every second we were together, but that’s because it was you. I haven’t—” No, he was not going to be so pathetic as to admit he’d never met anyone he was as attracted to as he’d been to Iggy. That anonymous hookups turned him off, and moving too fast left him cold.
That he’d never fallen in a love a second time. “You’re a hard act to follow, you know.”
Iggy’s pink lips twitched into a casual smirk. “I know.”
Malcolm groaned. “And still full of yourself.”
“Hey, I’m just agreeing with your compliment. And now that you have successfully killed the mood, I need a shower and a power nap before going to the hospital. You are not invited for either.”
He pouted and rubbed his crotch, loving the way Iggy’s nostrils flared. He was older and wisdom lines bracketed both eyes now, but Malcolm still saw his vibrant, sassy high-school boyfriend hiding beneath the cool veneer of this mysterious adult. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”
“Stick your head under the garden hose.” Iggy sighed. “I’m sorry. I should not have kissed you like that, and I apologize. I need to focus on my uncle’s recovery.”
Monte shrugged. “Forget it.”
Iggy angled toward the front door, as if he’d heard something. “Has the saloon been open since Uncle Howie got sick?”
