Nesting Habits Page 3

  They ate in silence and about eight inches of sub later, the young herons started up their racket again. Phil brushed his hands off on his jeans and jogged to the camera. Lee watched some of the feeding scene without magnification, and it was total bedlam up there. He could’ve sworn the parents walked right over the babies a few times.

  He kept thinking it, but once the birds quieted down again, he just had to say it. He had to say something and didn’t want to press his luck and find out how Phil would answer a direct proposition out there in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t even have a blanket.

  “Those are some strange birds.”

  Phil nodded. “They’re c-cool, though.”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  Phil had been looking directly into his face, those amazing light blue eyes meeting his own as they really hadn’t before. Lee felt it in every nerve ending. And then he let that slip out—not even trying to hide he’d meant more than just the freaky giant birds. He worried he’d gone too far, pushed a button again—didn’t some guys take deep eye contact as some kind of a challenge? Phil froze for a moment, and then turned back to his camera.

  Don’t fuck this up, doofus.

  Lee went back to the table and sat next to the cooler. When Phil picked up the tripod and left the clearing a few minutes later, he didn’t follow. The sun had come out and the light bouncing off the almost white denim of Phil’s shirt made it impossible to see what he was doing. After debating the merits of more than one course of action, Lee lay back across the table. He looked up into the trees and tried to pick out something interesting so he could call Phil over to see it. When he came up empty, he tried to see a way to get them both naked without coming on too strong.

  He must’ve dozed off because the next thing he knew, something fell on his chest. Normally he would’ve brushed it off and jumped to his feet. He made a decent living getting dirty, but he did not like creepy-crawling things. It had been a while since he lived with his little sister, and since then, he’d enjoyed the relative peace of nobody jumping on him at the crack of dawn to say good morning. The only explanation for the lack of reflexes had to be that he was out of practice.

  Besides, normal didn’t seem to apply anymore. It sure didn’t apply when he realized the something on his chest was a hand. A hand as warm as Phil’s lips had been the weekend before. Lee tried to stay calm, but his heart did a funny little giddy-up-and-race that shook him inside and out. Phil’s warm hand slowly blazed a trail across his chest above his nipples, which seemed to be reaching out to it. And to think he’d almost zipped up his jacket a little while ago.

  He figured out where Phil stood easily—the space heater on the right—and when he moved his arm in that direction, Phil’s hand stopped. He didn’t take it away, but it trembled just a bit. Lee opened his eyes, and Phil was looking right into them. It wasn’t exactly a pleading look, but the message came through loud and clear.

  Lee curled his hand around the edge of the table and held on.

  Phil took a slow deep breath, and Lee silently begged him not to stop. He didn’t much care what Phil had in mind, only that he keep going with it. A moment later, the trembling stopped and that tiny smile appeared at the left corner of Phil’s mouth.

  The sounds of Lee’s breathing filled up the clearing, loud and ragged. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Phil pulled his hand down over Lee’s nipple. Nobody had ever touched him there before, and his nipple was so hard, even that short contact through his shirt almost hurt. The heat of Phil’s hand moved up between his pecs and stopped for a moment, over his heart.

  He was so glad he worked out as Phil’s hand moved across his chest again, then down over his ribs, so slowly it was maddening. Lee sweated and popped Advil regularly, telling himself he pushed too hard so he could take off his shirt on stage—but he’d never done that. Lee watched Phil’s face until that hand made it to his obliques. Phil added his other hand and gripped him just above the waist, and Lee’s eyes fell closed as he moaned. Thoughts of bringing his incline bench out to Portland or maybe trying one of those low-fat diets skated through his mind.

  “Shhh.” Phil shushed him at the same time he moved one hand to rest against Lee’s stomach. With the other, Phil gripped his waist tighter and kneaded just a bit. When he went on, Phil’s voice was a whisper that came from between Lee’s rapidly heating thighs. “We’re not very far from the trail. Sound travels out here.”

  Phil didn’t move for what felt like ages. Lee nodded, his eyes still closed, and Phil trailed both palms down over his thighs. They reached his knees, squeezed gently, and then retraced their path back up to the waistband of Lee’s jeans. And then up and under his T-shirt.

  Lee grunted softly with the effort of maintaining control, when what he really wanted was to cry out and reach out. He gripped the table harder and groped for something to keep his other hand from misbehaving. He wasn’t sure what he’d grabbed onto, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Phil didn’t stop, that Phil kept touching him.

  Phil slipped one of his fingers inside Lee’s jeans and then unbuttoned his fly. He pulled his zipper down and leaned against the inside of Lee’s thigh, just for a moment, and Lee gulped for air as though his lungs had forgotten how to process the oxygen, while still working to stay quiet. That had never been a problem before—being quiet. There had always been some sort of noise to camouflage what he was doing. And with those other guys, the guys who weren’t Phil, there hadn’t been anywhere near as much to moan about.

  Phil shivered and moved away from Lee’s leg. The absence of his heat had Lee echoing the motion. Phil grabbed the waistband of Lee’s jeans with both hands and pulled. Lee had to fight to stay on the table, arms and abs all clenching in the time it would take to flick a blowtorch to life. Phil sighed.

  Lee opened his eyes as Phil slipped his hand into his pants. As soon as he’d wrapped his hot fingers around Lee’s dick, he slid his other hand over the muscles of his abs. Lee’s whole body tensed; he couldn’t just come, just like that—

  Before he could finish the thought Phil pulled him free of his underwear and wrapped his other hand around his dick too. The cool air and the heat of Phil’s hands tightened his balls and shivered his thighs. Even as he was telling himself to keep his eyes open—don’t miss this, doofus, don’t miss it—Phil’s breath puffed against the head. Then he closed his mouth over it and slid. Oh holy hell! Those scorching lips sid and slid. He was coming even before Phil’s hands slipped around his hips, grabbed his ass, and pulled him deep into that amazing throat.

  THE FIRST thing he knew was that the back of his head hurt. Next: what the hell are you thinking about that for when Phil just got you off?

  Lee tried to catch his breath, or at least pant quieter. He wanted to open his eyes, but that wouldn’t work either. Phil was still on the bench between his legs, so he could only hope his smile said enough.

  Phil caressed his deflating cock and then tucked it away, and then he pulled Lee’s T-shirt down over his stomach and lightly rubbed the top of his thighs. A gentle squeeze felt like a message, so Lee opened his eyes.

  “We need to go.”

  Lee frowned in confusion and made a token effort to look around, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off Phil.

  “That was a little loud. We need to go.” His expression was an apology, but he didn’t seem to have any regrets. He was barely even nervous. He ran a hand behind Lee’s knee as he stood up.

  Lee wiggled into his jeans and then stood up on the bench. A quick look around let him relax back into the spark of afterglow that remained, and then he jumped to the ground and helped Phil pack up.

  They’d made it to the place where the trail forked when they heard someone approaching. All the happiness drained from Phil’s face, turning it into a pale mask of fear. Lee lengthened his strides to put himself between Phil and whatever lay ahead, and then two guys, not much older than them, stepped out from the trees. They all stopped, and af
ter a tense few seconds, the redhead smiled. All four resumed walking.

  THEY PACKED up the Jeep and clicked on their seat belts. They both looked out the front windshield for a long moment, during which Lee talked himself out of leaning over and kissing Phil once, and out of taking his hand twice.

  Phil started the engine.

  “Thanks for lunch,” Lee said, and turned to look at the hot guy in the car with him. The hot guy who’d just gone down on him a few yards away from the flipping trail, for shit’s sake. The guy who’d made him crazy before he ever touched him.

  Phil smiled and turned his head, hands tight on the wheel. It was an honest-to-goodness full-blown smile, and it hit Lee like warm rays of sunshine after months of nothing but rain. “Find something good on the radio?”

  LEE’S PHONE vibrated as Phil pulled off the highway. He resisted the urge to throw it out the window and responded to Ainsley’s text. By then they’d made it to Jerry’s. Phil parked in the driveway, right next to one of those little basement windows that flip open but are almost impossible to squeeze through once you’re older than about eight. Lee wondered if Phil slept on the other side of that window and tried not to let his heart sink all the way into his shoes because he wouldn’t be finding out. Not today, at least. He turned to face Phil.

  “I have to go. Band practice.”

  Phil nodded, and damn if it didn’t look like he was trying not to laugh. “Practice h-hard.”

  “Is there any other way?” Lee chuckled and it sounded shaky. He hoped Phil would think it was for a good reason and not that he was choked up by the thought of leaving him. “Not that it’ll do any good, but I made a commitment….”

  “Have a good time, Lee.”

  He wanted to call that bastard Ainsley and tell him to find a new bass player, or at least blow him off for the next hour or so while he made Phil’s skin tingle the way his own still did. But Phil had started to look a little tense again, so Lee opened the door and went around to the back of the Jeep.

  Phil made a surprised sound when, phone in hand, he rounded the corner and came face-to-face with him. Lee almost wished he’d been standing in a place that would’ve let Phil bump into him.

  “I’ll help you unload first.”

  Phil’s phone disappeared into his jacket pocket, and he shook his head. Lee’s phone buzzed at the same time.

  “Damn him, I said I was on my way.”

  “I-it’s okay. I g-got it.”

  Lee frowned a little and wondered if Phil had been lining something else up on the phone—with someone who could keep quiet and maybe last long enough to make it fun—and that’s why he wanted him gone so fast. He squashed the urge to grab Phil into a good-bye hug or pick him up and race inside and into his bedroom, and tore himself away. He fished his phone out of his pocket as he walked and stopped on the sidewalk when he saw the message wasn’t from Ainsley. It was one word from Phil.

  Yowza.

  Lee whirled, expecting to see Phil unloading the car, but the driveway was deserted. He waited a few minutes, but Phil didn’t come back outside.

  He drove straight to the drummer’s house and told the guys he quit, but couldn’t quite get himself to call Phil. He answered Phil’s text instead. It took him hours of entering and deleting, but he finally settled on one word. That one word said everything he wanted to say to Phil, and then some.

  Yes.

  Phil

  PHIL WAITED until Lee drove away to go back out and unload the Jeep. He didn’t want to seem too needy, like he was trying to get between Lee and his band. He unloaded because he had to, but felt twitchy and drained at the same time and wasn’t sure what to make of it. The feeling wasn’t the same as his usual fight-or-flight response to anything even mildly threatening. It almost felt good, if he came at it from the right angle.

  His heart sank a little when he realized he’d made them leave before dessert. He hadn’t known Lee would come over, but he’d hoped, and didn’t want to be caught unprepared. Lee had appreciated the goodies in the coffee shop at least as much as he had, so he’d made cookies-and-cream cupcakes. They weren’t frosted, and as he carried the cooler inside, he wondered if Lee would’ve even liked them. He probably would’ve ended up telling Lee he’d left the frosting off because he liked the way cookies-and-cream cupcakes sounded without the word frosting and that would’ve just been strange—especially with all the extra syllables sure to be sprinkled throughout. He still felt like he blew a huge opportunity by not bringing out the chocolate, but as soon as that thought crystallized in his head, he couldn’t help smiling. The smile settled there like it belonged, like he had things to smile about every day and it was as natural as breathing.

  Until he thought about what would happen the next time they spent time together, which could be as soon as the next day. If he was lucky. The thought should’ve made him happy, not moan out loud in his little bedroom, or lean his back against the wall to count the beats of inhales and exhales with his hands over his eyes.

  Okay, so he had a little problem: Lee would expect more than someone who didn’t want to be touched or seen when he wasn’t fully clothed. He wanted to touch Lee—he wanted to be touched by him. But he couldn’t bring himself to think about letting it happen. He was building up to the same old internal war where half of him wanted to be with people and the other half wanted to retreat. But it didn’t happen that way.

  Phil unbuttoned his long-sleeved denim shirt and then took off his shoes and socks. He went into the bathroom for his robe and left his shirts, jeans, and underwear in a pile on the floor. The only full-length mirror was in Jerry’s bedroom, so that’s where he went. His heartbeat shook his whole body as he stood in front of the oval freestanding mirror that had belonged to Jerry’s mother. It had been a long time since he’d done more than take care not to cut his own throat while shaving. His own face looked different to him, older maybe, but still basically nondescript—a regular guy with eyes much too large and round and who was in need of a haircut.

  He didn’t have forever to waffle around gazing at his own reflection. Jerry would probably be home in the next hour or two, so it was time to stop avoiding what he’d gone up there to do. His hands shook when he untied the belt, but not as much as he thought they would. To keep from chickening out, as soon as the belt was untied, he pushed the robe off his shoulders and onto the floor. He took a slow deep breath and then looked away from his face, trying to see his body the way Lee would.

  The scars on his head were all hidden by hair, so maybe that haircut could wait. If it was much shorter, the one at his right temple might show. Which was actually the least of his worries, but you have to start somewhere, right?

  His right arm was too hard to look at, so he glided past it. The dark hair covering the pale skin of his chest and stomach wasn’t thick enough to work as camouflage, but if the Internet was to be believed, it was a lot for a guy in his early twenties. His was nothing at all like Lee’s sleek body. The shadow of last summer’s tan was still visible in the contrast between his stomach and….

  Phil didn’t feel any better when he got down to his own stomach and thighs. Those memories hurt less than the rest of his scars, but nothing else looks like a cigarette burn. If Lee could take all the hair, once his pants came off, that would probably be it anyway.

  His stomach clenched painfully and he scrambled for his robe. He pulled the belt tight around his waist and sat on the end of Jerry’s bed. He was still sitting there, staring into space, when Jerry got home and called out to him.

  Jerry stopped in the doorway to his bedroom and waited for Phil to speak. Phil felt a little guilty for keeping him waiting but took a moment to try and see Jerry the way Lee would. Once he thought about it, he could see why Lee thought they were related. Jerry said he was six feet tall, but that was a legal fiction to the tune of about three inches, and their similar haircuts didn’t break the illusion. But Jerry was absurdly handsome. For a sixty-four-year-old, he was dazzling, but nobody eve
r thought he was that old, even with his snow-white hair.

  “C-can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” Jerry sat on the little bench right inside his bedroom door.

  “A-after you had your b-bypass, was it hard to… you know… b-be with someone?” Phil concentrated on his hands, clenched in his lap.

  “You mean because of the scar?”

  Phil nodded.

  “Sort of.” Jerry took a moment to consider the rest of his answer, and Phil thought he caught him glancing at the mirror. “It was hard the first time. But it got easier.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Phil thought Jerry was waiting for him to ask another question. He had one but wasn’t sure how to ask it.

  “Your scars aren’t you, Phil. It’s possible they won’t make any difference to Lee at all.”

  Phil shook his head, scooted back on the bed, and pulled his legs up under the folds of his robe.

  “You don’t have to tell him, or anyone, about them unless you want to.”

  “But that means….”

  Jerry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “No, it doesn’t mean you can’t be intimate. It means you choose what to tell and when. You can tell it all, or you can just say they’re old scars, you’re fine now, and you don’t want to talk about it.”

  Phil thought about it longer than Jerry could stay in that position. Jerry stood and stretched his back, hung his sport jacket in the closet, and sat in an old wing chair on the other side of the room.

  “I-isn’t that l-l… dishonest?”

  “No.”

  Jerry’s tone suggested he wanted Phil to turn around, so he did, and then scooted near to where he sat.