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And I loved him. So fucking much.
More kisses. More whispers of “I love you” against our lips.
“So,” Charlie said between kisses and declarations of love, “are you a converted bottom now?”
“Honestly…? Yes? Your dick might be magic.” I smiled and kissed him again, loving how he felt still inside me. “Maybe a vers. I don’t know, weren’t we all running from labels in the first place?”
“True, true.” Charlie shifted his hips, his semi-hard cock coming out of me with a pop and leaving me with that empty feeling again.
I propped myself up on my elbow. “That’s one of the great things about being gay. Us guys can experience the magic of bottoming and topping whenever we want. Why put ourselves in boxes like that, ya know? If I want to get fucked in the ass for a few nights and then you want to get fucked, then who cares? We’ve got the front and the back, might as well enjoy all the toys God gave us.”
“Damn,” Charlie said, chuckling. “My dick might actually be magic. I think I just fucked some philosophy into you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said. “But also, I think you’re right. I do feel ready to give a TED talk.”
“Oh, that’s what you’re ready for? That it was a TED fuck.”
“All right, now you’re just too much.”
“You weren’t saying that a few minutes ago. Actually, I think you were crying out for more if my memory—”
“Your memory sucks.”
“And so do you. Really well, actually,” Charlie said with a wink.
I responded with a slap to his still-flushed chest. “Dumbass.” And I kissed him again, staying close to him this time, the two of us smiling with our noses barely touching. “I love you, Charlie. I’m not lying when I say I never stopped.”
“Neither did I. Even back then, I was deep in love with you. I just was scared to admit it. Not anymore, though. Never again.”
“Never again,” I said, kissing him again. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”
We moved over to the shower, where our kisses and toying continued. We fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, my entire body—from head to sole— felt like it had been emptied out and replaced by clouds. Nothing in the world mattered. All our problems seemed to fade away, and sleep took us over, filling my head with dreams that only carried me on the river of happy bliss that Charlie’s body had taken me on.
I woke up the next morning to the smell of frying eggs and bacon, with what I could tell was slightly overdone toast. I rolled over and stretched under the covers, wishing Charlie were lying naked next to me. Those were always the best mornings. I hoped he decided to cook breakfast naked, because I woke up with a raging case of morning wood, and the only cure would be getting him on top of me.
I climbed out of bed and had another stretch before turning off the rain sounds that played on speakers around my bed. I pulled on a pair of briefs, stuffing my still-stiff dick into the thin fabric. I decided I’d give my love a little breakfast sausage of his own. I brushed my teeth real quick and messed up my hair just right, and then I followed the scent of breakfast (and now burning toast) toward the kitchen. I wasn’t surprised the toast started to smell a little burnt. Charlie was never great in the kitchen, but it was always the thought that counted for me.
Plus, I had the ability to eat just about anything under the sun. So even if my man’s toast was a little crisp around the edges, I’d still scarf it down.
“Charlie, I think the toast is ready,” I said before I turned the corner.
No answer. He had probably run to the bathroom. Good thing I woke up when I did, or we’d be eating ashes with our butter and eggs. And although my palate wasn’t picky, it wasn’t that relaxed either.
I padded into the kitchen in my briefs, rubbing at the sleep still lingering in my eyes. Charlie and I had gone to sleep pretty late last night, and the clock on the wall said it was seven, so we weren’t running on too much beauty rest.
“Charlie?” I asked into an empty kitchen. Yes, the toast was burning, but even odder than that, the eggs and bacon were left out on the stove, the grease crackling and the bacon turning crispy. I turned off the burners and popped the toaster, the slices of bread shooting up like crisped meteors.
That’s when I really looked around.
And my blood ran cold. Frozen. Iced over.
The door to my backyard was left wide open, the glass broken. On the floor, buried under the glass, was Charlie’s phone. Blood smeared the screen, along with some of the shards of glass. Outside, a chair had been tipped over, and the grass had trailing marks across it, as if someone were dragged toward the still-open gate.
