Handyman by Claire Thompson

trembling. It occurred to him Will might be as nervous as he was. Somehow this gave him courage. He closed his eyes and parted his lips.
    Will’s tongue gently slid over his lower lip and slipped between his teeth. Startled, Jack pulled back, his heart thudding so loud he could hear it. Will pulled back too, his green eyes blazing, the color high in his cheeks.
    Though he was scared, he couldn’t deny the desire roiling through his blood. Was he gay, was he merely curious, did it matter? He wanted to kiss Will, to taste those soft lips again. He could work through this fear—Will would keep him safe.
    He closed his eyes again and leaned forward, silently offering his mouth again. Will whispered softly, “Jack,” and again their lips met. Will touched the back of his head. His own hands were frozen at his sides.
    Will’s warm tongue again slid along his lips. Jack felt it enter his mouth. Will tasted like coffee and beer. He smelled wonderful, like shampoo and some kind of subtle citrusy cologne. Their tongues began to intertwine.
    Oh my God, I’m kissing a man. I’m kissing a man. For a moment he tried to pull away, his fears almost getting the better of him.
    Will gently but firmly pulled him closer. “It’s okay,” he whispered again. “We both want this. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s good.”
    It was good. It felt good. It felt better than any kiss he’d ever shared. He wasn’t kissing a man , he was kissing Will.
    Finally Jack’s thoughts were suspended, or at least drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears. He knew he didn’t want the kiss to stop. It felt so good, so right, even better than the stolen kiss so long ago with a different man.
    Back then he’d been way too young and unsure to know what he wanted or to have the courage to seize it. Now there was no reason to hold back. He wanted this. There was no longer any question or doubt.
    Without realizing what he was doing, he found his arms lifting and wrapping themselves around Will. He pulled him closer, kissing him back with all the pent-up passion of years of repressed longing. He could feel Will’s heart pounding against his own.
    Time seemed to suspend itself as they explored each other’s mouths. Will’s hand moved from Jack’s head to his neck, slipping beneath his shirt.
    He ran his hands over Will’s back, feeling the strong, well-defined muscles through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Finally Will moved, pulling away from Jack’s mouth, trailing his lips down his chin and throat, his tongue touching the flesh. Jack fell back against the sofa and Will flopped back beside him.
    Slowly Jack focused on the TV screen. He hadn’t heard a word of the game during their extended kiss. Even now he could barely hear the announcer over the thump of his own heart.
    “Well, would you look at that? The Mets just scored a grand slam.” Will turned toward him with a broad grin. “Maybe this will be our lucky year, Jack. What do you think?”

Chapter Seven
    “I’ll get us some more beer. These aren’t cold enough.” Will took the half-empty bottles and went to the kitchen, leaving Jack to compose himself. He dumped the tepid beer into the sink and put the bottles in the recycle bin.
    He touched his mouth with two fingers, marveling that the man in the other room had let him kiss him—had kissed him back with more than a little enthusiasm. Will’s hand dropped to his crotch, where his erection still raged. He slipped his hand into his pants and adjusted himself to be more comfortable. His hand lingered a moment, wrapping around his shaft as he closed his eyes, reliving the kiss.
    His mind flashed to Jack, naked on his bed, his ass offered for Will’s plunder. He could almost feel the tight, velvet grip of his muscles as he eased himself inside the virgin passage…
    I want him—bad.
    If Jack had been another guy, one of the men he’d brought home over the years for a little action, Will wouldn’t have hesitated in his next