Different Plans

Different Plans

MARK WASN’T sure when it happened.

Maybe when Cassidy was quizzing him about his father, so obviously interested in what it was like to have a dad.

Maybe it had been when they were laughing about eating cookies, like any two kids in the world.

Maybe it had been when Cassidy had sat at his kitchen table, a sleeping LizBet in his arms, looking bemused and happy and grateful.

And maybe it had been the rapturous way the man had eaten Mark’s mother’s lasagna.

But somewhere in all the ruckus, all the Christmas that had permeated Cassidy’s lovely home—that he hadn’t freaked out about once , in spite of all the people invading him—Mark had decided he absolutely, positively, without any teeny wiggle of a doubt, needed to kiss Cassidy Hancock.

It was imperative.

It wasn’t just the wide hazel eyes or the knife-edge cheekbones or the way his mouth twisted into a smile a lot more than Mark ever would have thought—although it was partly that.

It wasn’t just the way he drank in family, turning his face toward the conversation and the rhythm of it—even the chaos of it—like a sunflower to heat and light, although that was attractive too. Brad had claimed to love family, but every time he’d been around Mark’s, he’d been more disdain than delight. It was more like he loved the idea of family, but the reality of it was messy and imperfect. Mark had heard Brad use his mother’s yarn collection and his father’s propensity to yell at furniture as punchlines at parties, and while he’d been inclined to laugh at first, because these were quirky characteristics of people he held dear, he’d come to realize that Brad had been full of contempt.

He found these imperfections the things he’d remembered most when he lived in the Bay Area, away from his family, and the things he’d been the happiest to see when he’d returned.

Cassidy seemed to embrace them as well.

Mark wanted to kiss him for that too.

But that wasn’t the whole of it. There were so many kissable things about him—his humor, which took Mark by surprise, and his devotion to Mark’s dog, which went a long way toward assuaging the bad taste left by Brad’s seeming hatred of Mark’s beloved tube-of-weird. His loneliness—and the way it hadn’t left him bitter—seemed to call Mark’s name, as did the absolute gentleness that emanated from every pore.

And the adorable little twist in his lips when he thought of something that made him happy.

Mark just really, really liked him—and while he was wondering when the other shoe would drop, he was also wondering if he could tease Cassidy into a first kiss before it did.

“Aw, man,” Brandon muttered as they walked across the lawn to Mark’s mom’s house. “I thought we had until tomorrow morning.”

“Me too,” Yvonne said unhappily, shifting LizBet in her arms. “What’s your father’s car doing here?”

Keith sat at the battered oak kitchen table, drinking bourbon from a tumbler and looking exhausted. He greeted his kids with big hugs and admonitions to go upstairs and get into their pajamas, telling them he’d be up in a minute to tuck them in.

As they ran upstairs, their mother turned to him with an arched eyebrow, requesting—not demanding—an explanation.

“I, uh….” Keith let out a breath. “Mom, she left me.”

Keith was a big man with Harv’s receding hairline and grayish eyes. When his voice cracked and his lower lip wobbled, Yvonne moved in to hug her boy, even though he was in his thirties, and comfort him as best she could.

Mark made eye contact over Keith’s back.

“Go!” she mouthed.

“He can sleep in my bed,” Mark mouthed back, since the kids were in the two spare bedrooms, which was one of the reasons he’d converted the space over the garage into his own apartment when he’d moved in.

The other one was that she’d waited until all three kids moved out to use one of their bedrooms as a craft room, and he wasn’t going to take that from her now.

She nodded and patted Keith on the back, and Mark made himself scarce, Gus-Gus at his heels. In just a few moments, he was heading back over the frosty grass, his breath smoking in the foothills chill, some of his ebullience faded.

“Hey,” he said when he let himself into Cassidy’s house with barely a knock. He and his mother had made themselves comfortable over the past week.

“What’s wrong?” Cassidy called from his bedroom.

Mark followed the sound of his voice. He’d been getting more and more mobile, although he still needed help changing and using the bathroom. For Mark and Yvonne, that was such a part of their jobs that they’d had no problem helping him, but Mark recalled that Cassidy had blushingly asked the nurse who came by in the morning to check on him to help him take a shower that day. Now he surprised Mark by not being in his wheelchair at all, but leaned back against the pillows and props in his bed, wearing a tatty sweatshirt and the sleep pants Yvonne had modified by cutting off one leg with a pair of scissors.

Mark smiled at him, thinking he looked comfortable and sweet there, ready to watch television and relax, and Cassidy’s cheeks pinkened a little.

“Come sit,” he said. “We can watch sappy Christmas movies, if you’re still in the mood.”

“I am!” Mark was a little surprised to hear himself say it. “Here, let me change into my pajamas too and I can sit on the bed with you. I’m getting a crick in my neck from looking sideways.”

Gus-Gus hopped up on the bed next to Cassidy—the big traitor—and Mark disappeared into the guest bedroom, hoping Cassidy didn’t detect his bald-assed lie.

There was no crick in the neck from looking sideways. That was a line and a half. Mark hadn’t been that shameless since high school.

No. Mark wanted to be next to Cassidy in his pajamas so he could be next to Cassidy in his pajamas , and that was pretty much the endgame right there.

Mark emerged from the guest room and made a stop at the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

When he got back to the bed, Cassidy had picked something schlocky and schmoopy and totally predictable.

Mark hopped onto the bed, completely on board with all of that. God, predictability was really damned underrated.

“What’s wrong?” Cassidy asked again, in a sort of gentle reminder that Mark hadn’t answered the question the first time.

“My brother was home when we got there,” Mark said, unable to forget the sight of that lonely figure in his mother’s dated kitchen with the green-flowered wallpaper and chipping tile. Keith had always been so full of big-brother bluster, so absolutely sure of his path, his place in the world, the things he wanted. It had been one of the reasons Mark, Yvonne, and Dani had difficulty talking to him about Tanya. Yeah, sure, she was rude to all of them, but Keith had loved her, and that certainty that all was right with the world was one of the things that made Keith Keith .

“Is everything all right?” Cassidy asked, which was kind, because he’d never met Keith.

“No. I guess Tanya finally left him—and the kids, I would imagine, since they’re here. Anyway, Mom did her mom thing and hugged him, and I bailed. I was coming over anyway, but I was definitely not needed tonight.”

“Oh no!” Cassidy stared at him in concern. “Are you okay? Will your family be okay?”

Mark smiled at him to see if he could get that wrinkle on his forehead to relax, and it did. “I think we’ll be fine,” he said softly. “But you—you are really sweet to ask.”

Silence fell, and Mark allowed himself to fall into Cassidy’s eyes for a moment, wide and infinite, clear as water. Gus-Gus made a happy little grunt with his head on Cassidy’s lap, and Cassidy shifted his attention just long enough to break the spell.

“I just really like your family,” Cassidy mumbled. “I, uhm, don’t want… okay. I’m totally selfish and I want them to be happy so they can entertain me. Is that okay?”

He tried to put a spin on it at the end, but Mark heard the sincerity. He reached out and covered Cassidy’s hand as he patted the dog. “It’s not selfish to want people you like to be happy,” he said softly. Hoping—ah, hoping—that Cassidy would take the hint and turn his hand palm up so they could lace fingers, he rubbed the back of Cassidy’s knuckles with his thumb.

Cassidy’s hand twitched underneath his, but Cassidy scrupulously avoided his eyes.

“It’s just been such a nice fantasy,” he whispered. “To have a family like this. I… don’t want to… I don’t know. Superimpose, I guess, my fantasy on your real life. That would be wrong, and not fair to you.”

Mark blinked before taking a risk and threading his fingers between Cassidy’s and making his intent very clear. “How do you know my family wasn’t just waiting for a Cassidy Hancock to fill a void?” he asked. “I mean, I’m a pretty good ‘fun uncle,’ but it’s a lot easier as a team.”

Cassidy still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you wanted to fill a void,” he whispered. “I’m—”

“If you say handy or convenient,” Mark said sharply, feeling his exasperation rise, “I may have to make you watch detective shows instead of Christmas shows.”

Cassidy met his eyes, finally, but he had a stubborn set to his jaw. “When I was in high school,” he said, seemingly out of the blue, “after Ed died and I got moved to the halfway house, sex was easy and free and I thought it meant people loved me.”

Mark felt his mouth fall open softly in surprise—but he didn’t let go of Cassidy’s hand.

“That’s not what this is,” he said softly.

“I… I threw myself at boy after boy,” Cassidy continued. “And I let them do whatever they wanted. And I might have gotten hurt, or sick, or… or anything at all, but a teacher pulled me aside and showed me all the scholarships I could get and told me… told me I was worth more than the boys who kept using me. And I don’t even hold it against them—”

“I do,” Mark said darkly.

Cassidy gave him the ghost of a smile. “They were young, and I was willing,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t their fault I was looking for… I don’t know. Mom, Dad, brothers, sisters, magical Christmases and birthdays, all of that in a blowjob or a quick fuck. I… just… I haven’t done that since. I got out of high school and….”

“Reinvented yourself,” Mark said. He let go of Cassidy’s hand, but only so he could turn on his side and scoot closer. Close enough to rest his head on Cassidy’s shoulder. Close enough to thread his hand under Cassidy’s arm and rest it on his soft abdomen.

“Yeah.” Cassidy blinked at him, acknowledging the move, noting their proximity. He seemed as mesmerized as Mark was to feel the heat and softness of another male body so very, very close.

“I… I could be talking out of turn here,” Mark said, voice a low purr, “but I think you missed a spot in your reinvention.”

Cassidy’s dry roll of the eyes told Mark he was aware. “No, I have no personal life,” he said with a sigh. “Derp.”

Mark let out a surprised laugh. “Why not?” he asked.

“I told you. I… need to be on time. I need to be groomed, and my house needs to be straight, and I need to be—”

“Perfect.” Mark got it now. He bent his elbow and raised their twined fingers to his mouth to kiss. “Was today perfect?”

Cassidy closed his eyes like he knew where this was going. “Yeah.”

“But nothing was perfect,” Mark murmured. “Not even the cookies. I know you know that in your head. What’s it going to take for you to know it here?” He rested their twined fingers against Cassidy’s chest.

“I have no idea.” He sounded unhappy about that, and Mark thought now might be the time.

He tilted his face up and murmured, “Cassidy?”

And that undeniable connection sizzled between them as Cassidy locked eyes with him. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me and see if it’s perfect.”

Cassidy’s lips were gentle against his at first, soft as a whisper, but firm too. Mark yielded, and when Cassidy pressed just the slightest bit, he opened and invited Cassidy in.

Cassidy’s tongue was tentative, almost anxious, but Mark was patient. A flutter here, a sweep there, and Mark’s other hand ventured under Cassidy’s T-shirt, the better to glide his hand along bare skin.

Cassidy gasped and slid down so his head was on the pillow but the rest of his body lay flat. Mark propped himself up on one elbow and gestured sternly to Gus-Gus.

“Go on,” he said.

Gus-Gus looked at him, surprised. Yes, he knew the command, but Mark hadn’t used it in a while.

“You heard what I said—do you need a sock on the door?”

With a little whine, Gus-Gus hopped down off the bed and wriggled his way underneath, and when Mark looked back to Cassidy, he could sense the bemusement.

“He’s not allowed on the bed when anyone’s naked,” Mark said, feeling his cheeks flush. “It’s, uhm, the one command I really managed to get him to follow.”

Cassidy’s slow smile was so delicious, Mark had to taste it.

Delicious—and beautiful. Mark took over the kiss, grateful that Cassidy was using his hands to slide under Mark’s T-shirt as well. He smelled like cookies—but also like man, and a little like sweat because it had been warm in the kitchen for a while.

Mark palmed his way up to a pointed nipple and then rubbed with a thumb, and Cassidy moaned and bucked, needing. Mark reluctantly pulled away from his mouth, but only so he could tongue the responsive nipple. It was adorable and pink, so he teased it first, and then plied it with his tongue and teeth until Cassidy moaned again.

“We should—oh! God! We should stop before I—oh man!”

Mark pulled off with a pop and checked Cassidy’s face for clues. “Stop?”

“I’m going to come!” he panted. “And I’m wearing the cast, and there’s not much I can do to recipro—”

Mark stuck his hand down the front of Cassidy’s pajama bottoms and stroked.

“— cate ?”

“So,” Mark muttered, scooting down to Cassidy’s midsection and wiggling his bottoms and boxers down enough to see what he was handling. Mm… nice. Proportional and hard. “Be clear. If I’m willing to suck you, are you willing to come in my mouth?” He punctuated his question with a hard stroke, and Cassidy tilted his head back and cried out.

Mark barely got his mouth to the head of his cock in time to catch it.

Cassidy came long and hard, his hands tightening in Mark’s hair as his hips bucked, little cries issuing from his mouth as he finished off. Finally Mark swallowed—salty and bitter—and cleaned him off with his mouth, shaking with arousal as he shoved himself up so they could be face-to-face.

“Wow,” he said, feeling smug and full of himself. “You did good for a guy who hasn’t done that in a while.”

“I think I did exactly what a guy who hasn’t done that in a while would do,” Cassidy said archly. He took a few more deep breaths and turned his head, watching in fascination as Mark moved one hand to his nipples to play and the other hand down under his waistband to stroke his own aching erection.

“That’s not fair,” Cassidy said, and reached out to still the wandering hand. “Don’t I get to touch?”

Mark grinned at him, eyes half-mast. He felt sultry and a little slutty and on display. “Do you want to touch?” he baited.

“Yes,” Cassidy breathed. “Please let me touch you.”

“Okay,” Mark told him. “As long as I get to beg. Can I strip for you?”

“Yes—yes, please.”

Mark scooted out of his pajamas and left them in a pile near the top of the bed, then pulled the covers down so he was lying on the sheets. Sheets were easier to clean.

“Wow,” Cassidy said, smiling and drifting his fingers down Mark’s abdomen.

“Wow?” He wasn’t above preening.

“You’re… you’re fun to look at.”

Mark laughed throatily. “Are you going to touch? Please touch.”

“Where?”

“Nipples first.”

Cassidy did, rubbing first one, then the other with his thumb, then leaning over and taking one nipple in his mouth while he pinched the harder-to-reach one.

Mark hmm ed and splayed his knees, opening himself up to the air and enjoying the touch. Cassidy began to get into his work, bobbing his head rhythmically as he suckled. Ah! Everything tingled, and Mark wanted… everything . He usually thought of himself as a top, but as his lower body was happily exposed to the possibilities, he felt like any touch to his body would make him happy. A hand on his cock, or a mouth. A finger skating his rim—or a tongue. Cassidy was laid up now, but in another eight weeks, he’d be able to take off that cast, and oh! The things they could do!

Mark didn’t even question that they’d still want to do those things. As he made sexy-sexy nom-nom noises just from having his nipples sucked, all he could see in their future was the endless potential between the two of them. The secrets they could learn, the promises they could make.

Cassidy lifted his mouth from Mark’s nipple and turned slightly glassy eyes toward Mark’s. “Can I touch your cock?” he asked breathlessly, his hips arching with what looked like more arousal.

Mark nodded and made an abrupt move to his knees, then shuffled a little until Cassidy could reach his bobbing cock with his hand and his mouth.

“Can you suck it?” he begged. “God, please, Cassidy. I need your touch and your mouth and your—ah! Yes!”

Oh, he felt so good. It wasn’t that Cassidy knew what he was doing—although he did. It was that he wanted to do it, he was eager and warm and willing, and he seemed to be as much into touching Mark as Mark had been into touching him.

His mouth moved, and his hand, both of them in concert, and Mark shifted one hand to the back of Cassidy’s head to tangle in his hair and the other hand to his own nipple, and then he gave himself over to it, allowed it to flood him with sensation, with pleasure, and when Cassidy gave a particularly deep thrust of his mouth, allowed himself to come.

He came until he shook with it, then pulled out gingerly and slid down next to Cassidy in naked, sweaty repletion.

Cassidy was staring at him, wide-eyed. Mark took him in—swollen, glazed mouth, hair tousled from Mark’s fingers—and thought he looked beautiful and sexy and… perfect.

He lunged into the kiss with more passion than sense, but Cassidy met him, devoured his mouth greedily, gave Mark agency and want and need.

Mark took it and gave it back squared. Eventually they had to part, panting, because it was a little chilly in the room, and neither of them was quite ready to go again.

“You’ve got goose bumps,” Cassidy said kindly. “You probably need pajamas and to cuddle under the covers.”

“Can we?” Mark asked. Part of him was aware that he’d taken dreadful liberties. He’d planned for a kiss—had needed a kiss so desperately—but once he’d had a kiss, he’d had to take touches, and then tastes, and since Cassidy had wanted them too—had participated consensually and fully—he wasn’t sorry, could never be sorry, but he was more than aware he’d trespassed.

Cassidy was a beyond private person, and Mark had snuck into his bed on a tourist’s pass. If he wanted residential privileges, he was going to have to earn them.

“Yeah.” That normally shy, reserved smile bloomed, wreathed his cheeks, crinkled his eyes. “I… I uh, really want to cuddle,” he admitted, a little embarrassed, but not enough to hold back.

“Excellent! Gimme a second to get dressed, and then we can help you get into bed and—”

“I, uhm, may need to visit the bathroom first,” Cassidy said, suddenly humble and obviously mortified. “I still, uhm, need help.” As Mark watched, the blush intensified. “And I need to shower. I was going to tomorrow, when the nurse was here.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “And isn’t that incredibly pathetic and not romantic at all. Gah!”

Mark caught the hand he was trying to press over his eyes. “Hey,” he murmured, kissing his knuckles again. “Don’t stress needing things. I have had an awesome time on our first date—wait, is this our first date?”

Cassidy managed a shy little peep through slitted eyes. “I guess if meals count as dates, it’s, like, our fourth.”

That was his boy. Mark grinned, irrepressible. “I’ve had an awesome time on our fourth date, and our first sleepover that counts as a sleepover, because being in the guest room in case you fall out of bed doesn’t count.”

Cassidy’s eyes opened fully, and his smile showed signs of returning. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t. I… I thought this—what we’re doing. What we just did. I thought it was all a fantasy on my part. You’re, uhm, going to have to bear with me, because I’m not sure how to deal with it when it’s for real.”

Mark nodded, suddenly completely sober. “I’ll be here,” he said. “As long as you let me. You’ll let me, right? Help you deal?”

Cassidy nodded, but without much enthusiasm. “I… I wish I was… I don’t know. A normal part of your life.”

Mark frowned—and then shivered. “Look, we need pajamas and trips to the bathroom stat, and then you’re going to explain to me exactly what ‘normal part of your life’ means. But first—” He shivered again, not exaggerating by much.

“Fine,” Cassidy agreed. “You go first—I’m going to need help sitting up.”

“Excellent! It’s a deal.”

Mark squirreled into his pajamas and then hustled over to the other side of the bed to help Cassidy into the chair for the short trip to the bathroom. Next week, his bulky cast would hopefully be replaced by a sleeker, more mobile model, but the injury had been done really close to the knee—no walking cast for a good six weeks.

He paused as he bent so Cassidy could slip his arms around Mark’s neck to facilitate the lift to the wheelchair.

“What?” Cassidy whispered, and the act, which had been so very clinical for the past five days, was suddenly so very intimate.

“I….” Mark sighed and nuzzled Cassidy’s temple. “I’m just so glad to be touching you,” he said with a little gasp. This hadn’t occurred to him, this switch from caregiver to lover. He felt odd, off-kilter, as though his chest had swelled and he had trouble catching his breath.

Cassidy made a hum, but no words. With a shake of his head, Mark got down to business, hefting him into the chair and then wheeling him into the hall bathroom, which had been outfitted with rails. Cassidy had his britches down around his bottom and the side of the chair dropped before Mark could even offer to help. The next part was tricky, though—he had to heft himself out of the chair and onto the commode, and over the past few days, he’d needed Mark or Yvonne to do it.

At first he’d been mortified. He hadn’t said a word, but Mark was pretty sure he’d had digestive issues from sheer performance panic. Mark and his mom made a point of going into the kitchen and turning on music to let the poor man perform in peace.

But the more they’d done it, the more he’d been able to put his mortification aside for practical purposes, and Mark admired that about him. Mark had dealt with too many patients who’d been freaked out about cosmetic things—a scar from a bad break, for instance—and not focused on the important things, like how lucky they’d been to survive the accident that had put them in his care.

Cassidy was just as pragmatic now. When he was situated, Mark left and closed the door to give him time to finish, get back in the wheelchair, wash his hands, and brush his teeth.

When he came back, he knocked first and then opened the door, and found Cassidy squinting at himself in the mirror.

“What?” Mark asked, laughing a little. “What do you see?”

The look Cassidy gave him was troubled. “I don’t know. But I’m not sure if it’s what you see,” he said.

Mark sighed. “I see only good things. Now let me get you back to bed so I can brush my teeth and use the facilities. Then we can cuddle and talk. Trust me, I haven’t stopped wanting that. Have you?”

Cassidy gave him a wistful smile. “No.”

“Good.”