Page 57 of Checking Out the Librarian

“Then it’s a good thing I made slow-cooked oatmeal and berry compote instead of chocolate chip pancakes with peanut praline topping, isn’t it?”

He knew the look on his face must be uncomprehending, the sort people gave when they wandered into a zombie flash mob, but this casual mention of pancakes and peanut praline topping being on the menu wasn’t normal, not at all.

Unless maybe he had a new normal?

Connor took Jonathan’s coffee, which wasn’t yet half-finished, the monster, and set the mug on a coaster on the bedside table. The coaster featured a close-up photo of Ribby’s tongue, nose and one eye. It was not conventionally attractive.

Peanut praline topping.

Even that wouldn’t make him surrender as easily as Connor expected. “Tell me more about breakfast.”

Connor drew invisible lines down the middle of Jonathan’s chest until he reached the gathered sheet. Spread wide across Jonathan’s stomach, his hand was large enough to pretend the stretched fingers spanned his waist. “The important thing to know is that I turned off the burners and it will keep.”

He couldn’t help looking at Connor’s shoulders and chest, because somehow he’d slipped down the pillows to a position where Connor loomed above him. He gripped the spot just above Connor’s elbows where the darkest color from his forearms shifted to a lighter golden tone, then followed those gradients to his upper arms, then to the even lighter skin at the middle of his shoulders that became deep tan again at the hollow of his neck.

Clearly Connor didn’t use enough sunscreen, because his body was an orchestra’s worth of small demarcations unified into a symphony by the flush across his chest.

At first, he resisted Jonathan’s tug on his shoulders, smiling down like this was a game. It was a game, one they would both win, but Jonathan was far more of an asshole than the man above him in the bed. He wanted complete victory.

He laid two fingers flat on his own lips and stared at Connor’s face, then very slowly drew those fingers down his chin, under his jaw, along the line of his throat and through the middle of his collarbone.

Connor watched. His lips parted. He stayed balanced above Jonathan, but he watched.

Jonathan moved his hand to his right nipple and let the tip of his middle finger, only that one, slowly circle while he held the rest of his hand tightly flexed away from his skin. Nothing should obstruct Connor’s gaze.

Connor’s elbows started to shake.

“How’s that plank position going?”

“Good.” Connor choked out an answer.

“Mmm.” He made the sound he reserved for warm salty cookies, a sound which he was certain Connor knew, and let his hand keep drifting toward the edge of the sheet. He trailed his fingertips over his own skin, but he curled his hand so that the back of his palm brushed lightly across Connor’s stomach every time his diaphragm expanded.

Maybe in the future Connor wouldn’t dismiss peanut praline topping so easily.

Above him, Connor tucked his chin so that he could stare down the still separate lengths of their bodies. He was panting. Trembling. But he held himself above Jonathan.

“Hard workout this morning?”

“Usual.”

“Then why are you shaking, Connor.” He stroked the back of his knuckles from both hands along the skin of Connor’s inner arms, from wrists almost to his arm pits. That was a sensitive place for everyone, and Connor gasped.

Fingertips. That was the next thing Jonathan used, over Connor’s entire chest, light touches and delicate featherings across the easily blushing skin, the slightest scratches of his nails across Connor’s nipples where they peeked from his chest hair. Such glorious luxury on his chest, and Jonathan couldn’t resist pulling on the golden curls a tiny bit, just sharply enough to make Connor groan and collapse his weight on Jonathan.

He scored his teeth across the thickest part of Connor’s shoulder muscle, trying to guess the pressure that Connor would want. Then he licked the faint pink tell and moved to another spot. And sucked.

Connor’s skin tasted of salt and sweat, the post-exercise tang which Jonathan already recognized and craved. He licked and sucked until there was no salt remaining, only Connor’s skin.

“Please.” Connor groaned and writhed on him. “Please.”

The weight and friction made Jonathan want more, much more, and he nipped the spot he’d just kissed.

“Yes,” Connor groaned. The synthetic shorts had an inner pouch to hold Connor’s cock in place, but neither that fabric nor the sheet stopped the bulge of his erection from pushing against Jonathan’s leg.

Jonathan was completely hard as quickly as Connor. They were rubbing their cocks together with only the flimsiest coverings between them, Connor driving down against him and both of them grinding faster than a car chase.

The sheet was nothing, thin and soft enough that he imagined he could even feel the ridge around Connor’s head thrust at his sensitive inner thigh.