Not soon enough, the car was packed, and Iggy had them headed back to Chance. Anticipation charged the air in the station wagon, and Malcolm could barely sit still. His jeans were uncomfortable, and even though he’d gotten off a few hours ago, he needed Iggy so badly his teeth ached. They had condoms. And lube.
And this was something they’d only shared once.
But who was doing what to who? They hadn’t talked about those particulars yet, and that had to be their first conversation when they got home. Well, maybe the second; cold groceries had to be put away before any shenanigans ensued. Which they did—cold groceries not shenanigans—right away, followed by all the other things they’d picked up. Except the cleaning supplies. Those Iggy put on the kitchen table, right next to the condoms and lube.
Malcolm stared at the puzzling sight. “So, what gives?” he asked. “Are we scrubbing the shower with our dicks?”
Iggy hooted. “No, but I do want to get at least a base clean done on things before we get too distracted. And I’d still like to squeeze in a visit to Uncle Howie sometime today, and it’s almost two.”
“Now that’s a packed afternoon. Should we wash and detail the station wagon while we’re at it?”
“Dork. We can take sex off the To Do list, if you aren’t up to it.”
“Oh, no, we’re keeping that on the list.” Malcolm darted over and pulled Iggy into his arms. Kissed him soundly, the newly-familiar shape and taste of Iggy’s mouth heating his blood. “Tell me what to scrub, boss.”
“Boss, huh? I kind of like that.” The saucy confidence in Iggy’s smile only made Malcolm harder.
He’d never housecleaned with a boner, but he was very much up to trying new things with Iggy. “Boss. Boss, boss, boss, b?—”
Iggy shut him up with a firm kiss then swatted his ass. Armed with Pledge and a microfiber cloth (and a bit of a problem boner), Malcolm got to work.
Chapter
Twelve
For all of Iggy’s brash and bluster at the store, and casually tossing the condoms and lube into their shopping cart, he was quietly a bundle of nerves during their first clean of the trailer. They’d opened every window for the fresh air—and to help dispel any dust they tossed up—before getting to work in the kitchen and living room. Malcolm was a methodical cleaner, moving items and putting them right back, tending to a small area before moving on.
Iggy imagined he handled his tools the same way, and Iggy was no different at his own job. Keeping his station clean, tossing dropped garnishes immediately, wiping up spills before they dried into a stickier mess. “Clean as you go” was a motto he’d learned early on in life, especially in certain foster homes.
Between him and Malcolm, their future home would always be spic-and-span.
I have got to stop thinking like that, this isn’t a marriage proposal, it’s sex and companionship.
Iggy was the one who’d put the brakes on intimacy, and he was also the one constantly easing his foot back off it, allowing them to rev forward. Having sex in the saloon had not been on the menu when he woke up this morning, but he didn’t regretany of it. He also didn’t want to be a hypocrite, or to give Malcolm mixed signals.
They needed to completely clear the air before they gave their bodies fully to each other. Iggy had dared himself to have this conversation by so blatantly buying the supplies today. He’d made a silent promise to Malcolm, which required fulfilling a promise he’d made to himself. Cleaning was putting it off for a few minutes more.
While Malcolm worked on dusting Uncle Howie’s room, Iggy went into his old room. Uncle Howie had given him permission yesterday to move things around and clear off the bed, so Iggy had more privacy than the sofa. Half the mess was empty boxes, and he used a kitchen knife to break them down, then slide the flattened boxes under the bed. He’d deal with recycling them another time.
He used two of the boxes to house a bunch of random bags of things that he could help Howie sort through later. It cleared off the bed, which still had the same navy blue comforter from high school. A quick sniff test suggested it could use a tumble in the dryer to freshen up, but it wasn’t musty. He’d taken everything personal when he moved out, which hadn’t been much, even after three years in a comfortable, permanent home.
His entire life had remained the size of two suitcases, and even now, if he never returned to his apartment in Providence, he wouldn’t miss anything left behind. He’d lived a nomadic life for so long, he still had a hard time imagining a permanent home like this. One full of furniture he’d selected with purpose, memories of visits by family and friends; hopes for a future in that space.
For Iggy, that imagining came with a man he loved dearly to share his life with. That hadn’t been what Uncle Howie had sought, and he sometimes wondered why. But during his uncle’srecovery wasn’t the time to dig into those things. Maybe in a few months, when Howie felt better and Iggy was…where?
An image of Malcolm, smiling at him from across the saloon bar, filled his vision. Iggy smiled back, hopeful.
Hopeful, and a little terrified. He hadn’t returned to Chance to reconcile with Malcolm and fall back in love, but he’d be damned if that wasn’t happening anyway.
Once the bedroom was organized and given a preliminary dusting, he borrowed the small, overworked Electrolux vacuum from Malcolm and ran it over the shag rug that was probably original to the trailer’s manufacture date. Same with the faux-wood wall paneling and even the small ceiling fan that wobbled dangerously at any speed over low. The vacuum had a familiar burnt-hair smell, and he really wanted to replace the thing for Howie before it burst into flames.
The smell, combined with the blue comforter, sent Iggy right back to high school, and all the time he’d spent in this room. Time spent jerking off to both magazines and thoughts of Malcolm; time spent dreaming of a future far away from this little town on the Colorado prairie; the one time he and Malcolm had made love in this room.
“Iggs?”
“Huh?” Iggy turned and nearly clipped Malcolm in the chest with the vacuum handle. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to see your room again.” Malcolm stood just inside the door, his broad frame shrinking the already limited space. He eyed the bed, lips twisted in a familiar smirk. “Lotta good memories in here.”
