It wasn’t until he and Malcom were back inside the trailer, kissing in the unmade sofa bed, that Iggy remembered the token he’d never used. Didn’t matter, he’d get it back into the register or the bull somehow. Later.
“Time is it?” Iggy tried asking between kisses. “Brunch?”
“Never mind, gotta suck you first.”
Oh, hell yes.
Nothing mattered more than getting Iggy’s jeans and boxer-briefs off, and Malcolm’s mouth around his cock. It was everything he remembered and better, because of time and experience and longing. Malcolm took his time, as if determined to reacquaint himself with every inch of Iggy’s crotch. Nosing at his pubes, nibbling around the root, rubbing his taint, with alternating licks up and down the shaft.
Iggy lost himself in the steady ocean of pleasure, his only anchor to reality the eager, joyful groans and gasps from Malcolm as he feasted on Iggy’s cock and balls. Heat and wet and pressure like nothing he’d ever experienced, and it was all because of Malcolm. Malcolm and time and maturity, and of all the things still left unsaid between them. Love rose on the tide of hope; hope that no matter what else they had left to say to each other, the love would remain.
The love would prevail.
He crashed to shore with no warning, and Malcolm choked once, then did his best to swallow the rest. The constant stimulation of his dick fuzzed out his brain a little bit, and Iggy pushed him away. Too much and exactly right. Malcolm scooted up, and Iggy dragged him down, desperate to taste himself in Malcolm’s mouth. To share that bitter flavor with him, mixed with Malcolm’s own essence.
Perfection.
As they kissed, Malcolm rested a hand on Iggy’s bare hip, the thumb rubbing hard against his lower belly in a possessive way he adored. They kissed until Iggy was breathless and spent, and he collapsed in Malcolm’s strong, possessive arms.
“Fuck, love the sounds you make,” Malcolm said. “Not quite as buttoned-up as you used to be.”
Iggy nuzzled the side of Malcolm’s neck. “That’s because I don’t give a shit anymore who might overhear me enjoying myself. I mean, the saloon was a little public and it echoed way too much, but in the privacy of my own home?” He released an exaggerated moan of contentment. “Don’t care.”
“Good. Fuck, I never wanna get up. Let’s just stay here.”
“I wish we could, but didn’t we promise to go to brunch? What time is it?” He didn’t feel like searching for his phone, so he raised his head enough to see the stove across the room.“Ugh, quarter to ten. We really should shower. I don’t want to eat with your nieces and nephews smelling like sex.”
Malcolm still grumped about getting up, but he brightened immediately when Iggy pulled him into the small tub to shower together. They knocked elbows and bumped butts a lot, but it was fun and easy. The white line across Malcolm’s side where he’d had his appendix removed reminded him of that first “Two Truths and a Lie” conversation. Getting to know each other again with riddles.
It also reminded him of Malcolm’s cancer scare, and how precious life truly was. That Malcolm could have not listened to his roommate, gotten so much worse, and possibly died before they ever got their second chance. They hadn’t made any declarations, hadn’t made any promises, but Iggy couldn’t help feeling as if an invisible wall had been shattered and partly knocked to the ground, leaving them each bare to the other.
Emotionally bare, since they were both getting dressed again. Combing their damp hair and making themselves presentable for Malcolm’s family.
Iggy briefly returned to the saloon to turn off the forgotten coffee machine and clean the pot before the day crew arrived. At ten-fifteen, they piled into the station wagon, giving Malcolm a few extra minutes to duck into his camper and change shirts. Iggy waited for him by the camper door so they could go inside the house together. He wasn’t nervous.
He was…surprised he wasn’t nervous. This was a big deal, and yet right now? It also felt inevitable. Like ever since Iggy flew into the airport at Fort Collins, he was waiting on brunch with Melissa and the kids. Waiting to be made part of the Montgomery/Ricardo family.
Uncle Howie was going to be surprised as hell when Iggy saw him next.
Malcolm joined him outside the camper. Iggy was kind of curious to see the inside but now wasn’t the time, not when he hadn’t eaten in ages, and he’d been promised some sort of tater tot casserole. Plus, farm fresh eggs. Iggy had eaten at more organic, farm-to-table restaurants than he could count, but these eggs were apparently two days free of the chicken’s butt.
That was fresh.
The back door of the house, which was maybe thirty feet across the backyard from the camper, burst open and three kids came out in a small cluster of moving bodies. Sofia, Tommy and Nelo surrounded their Uncle Malcolm like they hadn’t seen him months. Nelo kept his distance from Iggy, but he was the youngest, and seemed warier of strangers than his siblings. Suspicion was a good trait in little kids.
In his experience.
“You’re the bar-meek, right?” Tommy asked. “You came to my game?”
Iggy smiled. “The barkeep, and yes, Malcolm was kind enough to invite me to see you play yesterday. Your team did a great job.”
“We didn’t win.”
“No, but you played with great sportsmanship.”
Tommy looked quizzically at Malcolm. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes, it is,” Malcolm replied. He ruffled his nephew’s curly hair, and Tommy ducked away with a scowl.
