Chapter 13

Angelo never imagined he'd enjoy blowing up rubber balloons and decorating with streamers for two hours—not his preferred way to spend a Friday evening—but it quickly became the most non-sex fun he'd had in years. He and Bryan took turns looking like chipmunks with their cheeks full, while huffing and puffing into green, white, and black balloons. Russell was busy assembling some vaguely tree-shaped contraption out of white plastic poles, and Patrick oversaw everything with the precision of a mad drill sergeant.

Bryan was dispatched briefly to help Frog with his bath and a few chapters from whatever middle-grade book they were reading with him. Something about mice and a castle; Angelo wasn't sure. What he did know was Bryan smiled like a loon when he came back downstairs, every inch the proud uncle for helping with bedtime.

Angelo had fucked a few guncles over the years, but he'd never been so attracted to that aspect of the guy before. Not like he was with Bryan. Then again, he'd never actually seen any of those old conquests interact with their niblings. Everything this week with Bryan was something new and unique and intriguing.

Most of the balloons and about three miles of streamers were attached to the frame Russell constructed that made little sense until close to midnight, when they finally created a makeshift jungle out of rubber, plastic, crepe paper, and a lot of hot air. It filled one corner of the living room. Russell gamely rearranged some of the furniture to make more space in the center of the room for whatever gaggle of children arrived tomorrow. Later today?

Whatever. Angelo was exhausted, his side hurt, and he wanted to slide into a nice, cool bed with a scorching hot man next to him. "Okay, I say we call it a night." Angelo pretended to wave a white flag in the air. "I surrender."

"Me too." Russell punctuated his agreement with a long, loud yawn. "We got the bulk of the work done. All we gotta focus on tomorrow is the details."

"I'm picking up the cake at ten," Patrick said. "You're getting the party platters from the supermarket, right?"

"Yep, called this afternoon, said I'd be there at eleven."

"Party platters?" Angelo asked.

"Fruit and veggie trays," Russell replied, "plus a small meat and cheese tray for the grownups to snack on. The party's at two, so we don't gotta serve the kids lunch, just keep ‘em grazing and happy while they're here."

"Good thinking." Ordering the platters cost more but time was often more valuable when party planning for double-digit guests. "How many tiny humans are attending this shindig again?"

"About twenty kids and half as many parents," Patrick replied. "If this was a pool party, I'd have asked every attending kid to have a parent chaperone, but the pool's covered and we'll keep that gate locked, anyway, so the kids can still run around in the yard. It's supposed to be warm in the afternoon."

"Outside is good." Fewer chances for twenty shrieking child voices to rattle the walls and hurt Angelo's ears. Maybe he and Bryan could make their couple's appearance via their own small backyard, with the whole pool area as a barrier between them and the kids. That would be nice. Unlikely but nice, since Bryan would want to interact with his nephew.

Cleanup was mostly Bryan and Angelo depositing everyone's glasses in the kitchen sink on their way out. They walked together down the driveway to the carriage house, elbows brushing a few times, the crisp night air quiet around them. Angelo wouldn't mind fooling around when they got upstairs, but he was exhausted and achy, and by the time he'd taken his evening ibuprofen and brushed his teeth, he was wiped.

He barely registered Bryan joining him, and Angelo drifted off with his fake boyfriend beside him—and woke later to a hot, sweaty body pressed close to his. But not in the spooning-with-a-lover way that would have put dirty thoughts into his head. Bryan's back was against his and he was trembling ever so slightly. His breathing was uneven and loud.

Is he having a nightmare?

Unsure what, if anything, he should do, Angelo held perfectly still and stared at the wall. Bryan snuffled once, his back pressing even harder, his whole body tensing, before he seemed to relax all at once. His breathing evened out, quieted. Angelo waited a while longer, until he was certain whatever it was had passed, and then closed his eyes.

Sleep was a lot harder to find now, and he mostly dozed until dawn's light gave him permission to get up this early on a Saturday. He was finally able to get his stitches wet and indulged in a hot shower, allowing the pounding water to sluice the last four days of stress from his skin and relax tense muscles. Bryan was still asleep when he was out and dressed, so Angelo went downstairs to make coffee.

Bryan's alarm went off at seven. By the time he was up and ready to leave at seven-thirty, Angelo handed him a Thermos of coffee to take with him. Bryan didn't seem to know what to do with it at first. Then he woke Angelo's mouth and dick up with a long, promising kiss before rushing out the door on a shouted, "See you at one!"

He really wanted to explore that kiss in depth later.

Angelo did some busy work on his laptop until a text from Russell drew him back to the big house for waffles and baked cinnamon apples. After the carb-heavy breakfast treat, they kept decorating the living room, foyer, and part of the staircase in the same jungle theme. Patrick produced a tree frog pi?ata that they hung in the middle of the living room. Angelo was impressed with Patrick's party decorating skills but didn't have a chance to compliment him before Patrick scuttled off to get the cake.

It wasn't until he was alone with Russell that it occurred to him—"Where's Frog?"

"His aunt picked him up first thing this morning," Russell replied.

"His what? He has an aunt? I thought Patrick just had a brother? Bryan has a sister?" Had Angelo missed an entire conversation about the Gillespie family?

"No, sorry, Laurine is Patrick's best friend from Nashville. She's been around since Frog was three, and she drove up this morning so she could be here for Frog's birthday. He wanted to show her around Reynolds, and since Patrick had plenty of party planning to finish, he gave her a big kiss, said not to spoil Frog too much, and to have him home by one-thirty."

"Oh. Wow, okay. He's never mentioned her to me before."

"He doesn't talk about her a lot with me, either, not since the first time." Russell pulled the vacuum out of the hall closet and began unwinding the cord. "Patrick compartmentalizes parts of his life, especially the Nashville parts, and he's protective of some of it. Don't take it too personally that he didn't tell you about Laurine."

"No, it's fine. He's your boyfriend, not mine. Now, if Bryan hadn't told me about a long-lost sibling, I might have been annoyed."

Russell chuckled as he plugged in the vacuum. "I'm sure Bryan knows about her, but I don't think the pair has ever met. This is Laurine's first trip to Reynolds since I met Patrick, and Bryan was in prison when Patrick met her."

"Then I suppose Bryan and I will both get to meet her this afternoon."

"Guess so."

Further conversation was lost to the thunder of the vacuum. Angelo left him to the chore and did a circuit of the downstairs, searching for random bits of streamer, plastic packaging and other detritus that liked to float under furniture or cling to fabric. He kind of wanted to take a lint roller to every upholstered surface, but that was the perfectionist house stager in him. A bunch of seven-to-nine-year-olds wouldn't care about a few fuzzies on the couch.

By the time the downstairs was cleaned to Russell's standards of semi-perfection, Patrick returned with the cake, and then it was Russell's turn to head out for a pickup. Angelo volunteered his company and scooted out the door behind him. It had nothing to do with being alone with Patrick for an hour and not wanting to get interrogated about the "fake boyfriend" plan he'd concocted. Not at all.

Nope.

It was the perfect excuse for Angelo to treat his best friend to a latte on the way home with the party trays. And he asked questions about every mind-numbing detail of the party to keep Russell's brain firmly on that and off Angelo's personal life. The distraction worked. They completed their tasks and went home for lunch. Patrick was rushing them through finishing the last of the treat bags for their pint-sized guests when Frog and Laurine walked in the front door at almost the exact same time as Bryan entered through the kitchen.

Angelo wasn't sure what he'd expected Laurine to look like or be like, given the teaspoon of information Russell had given him. Six-foot-two minimum, with shoulders as broad as Russell's but a physique almost as slender as Patrick's, she was a striking figure as she stomped into the room on thick, vinyl boots. Laurine had straight blonde hair that hung nearly to her butt; she rocked chunky, white plastic-framed glasses tinted a faint yellow that hid her eye color; and she wore demin jeans and a jacket that hadn't been popular since the late 90's.

She also stood like a woman perfectly at ease in her own skin and fuck anyone who disagreed. Angelo liked her immediately.

"You must be the super-hot BFF," Laurine said to Angelo, sticking out her hand. "Patty's description was spot-on."

"Patty?" Angelo shook, pleased by her firm grip. "I like it, just don't call me Angie." That particular nickname could go right to hell.

"How do I earn the privilege?" Laurine smiled devilishly, and he softened to her teasing.

"Stick around and you might find out."

"Uncle Bryan!" Frog's happy squeal stole their collective attention to the kitchen archway where Bryan stood with his hands in his jeans pockets. Frog tugged his elbow. "Come meet Auntie Laurine. You've never met and now you can meet. On my birthday!"

"I've heard a lot about you from Robbie," Bryan said to her. "All good things, I promise."

Laurine gave Bryan a long once-over that raised Angelo's hackles. He imagined that she had a few choice words for Bryan's past behavior, and the last thing anyone needed was an adult confrontation on a day about kids. Laurine smiled, though, and said, "Robbie's a great kid. Patrick's done a fantastic job raising him."

"Yes, he has."

And that was that. Frog tugged Laurine toward the stairs, nattering on about how amazing Bruno's room was. The exchange was a bit odd to Angelo. Obviously, Patrick had done a great job as a single dad, because Frog was polite, funny, engaging, and not a complete brat like so many screen-addicted children who couldn't be parted from their device for more than sixty seconds without a meltdown.

"She seems like a force of nature," Angelo said. "Frog obviously adores her."

"Laurine was a lifesaver," Patrick replied. "She was a great mom figure for him since…" He flashed a pained look at Bryan that Angelo didn't completely understand. "Well, Frog's mom wasn't around. Never has been."

"And that's okay because Frog's got the best family around him," Russell added. He slung a meaty arm across Patrick's shoulders then kissed his temple. "Gender and blood don't matter, so long as he's loved."

"Exactly."

Angelo turned away from the lovesick looks they tossed at each other and found himself staring back at Bryan, who was gazing at him with a thoughtful expression. Something significant hovered between them, and it scared Angelo a little bit. It also made him…yearn? Fuck no, he didn't yearn, that was too gothic romance novel for him to ever yearn. But he was jealous of what Russell had. Angelo wanted it, too, more than he'd wanted anything in his life.

And maybe Bryan wasn't the guy he'd have it with, but Angelo could try. He could practice being the kind of boyfriend that the man he was fucking deserved, rather than using him for sex and no-strings fun. He could try giving a damn and meaning it—even if it only lasted for a little while.

Bryan wasn't sure how the party was going to go, and by the time they'd played the games, smashed the pi?ata, sang, portioned the amazing frog cake, and opened presents, he was ready to call it a success. The noise levels didn't get any cops called on them by annoyed neighbors, none of the kids sneaked into the forbidden pool zone, and only one little girl from Robbie's class ate too much ice cream and threw up in a bush.

The parents were pleasant to talk to, and a few of the moms seemed as taken with Bryan and Angelo as a couple as they were with Patrick and Russell. Everyone was polite, accepting, and they didn't spend the entire time talking incessantly about their kids. One of the dads, who looked even younger than Patrick, quietly asked if Bryan was the Bryan Gillespie from Lyon's Den, and he'd said yes. Then he'd signed the back of a birthday card envelope that was lying around and gave it to the guy.

Angelo was the perfect, charming, doting boyfriend, too, spending most of the time with Bryan, adding to and engaging in conversations with anyone who passed by. He never missed a chance to mention his job, but not in a pushy way, and he only handed out one business card that Bryan saw. They teased each other with bites of cake, and Angelo even smeared a bit of green frosting on Bryan's nose. If they'd been alone, Bryan might have let him lick it off. And it gave him ideas for future naked fun times.

Through it all, Bryan also watched Robbie have the time of his life celebrating his birthday in a big way. He never stopped smiling and laughing, and he showed off Bruno to everyone, making him the center of attention like it was Bruno's party, rather than Robbie's.

At four-thirty, the kids began to leave with attending parents or get collected by arriving ones, all armed with treat bags and as many balloons as their small hands could carry without strings or helium. An exhausted birthday boy went upstairs to nap before his fatigue morphed into crankiness, and the remaining quintet of adults began the cleaning process.

Laurine was staying the night and heading back to Nashville in the morning for a performance. Bryan had seen clips of her stand-up shows online and the woman was hilarious. He envied the easy way she performed and fooled around with the audience, which seemed to come from her very soul. Unlike Bryan, who'd needed plenty of chemical or alcohol assistance to be at ease on stage. He'd learned from a very early age that his father hadn't cared if Bryan was, in his heart, a shy person just like Patrick.

One of Father's kids would make it big as a musician, come hell or high water, or multiple stints in rehab.

Not thoughts for what became a fun adult game of "rip balloons off the jungle frames and stomp them into oblivion" that lasted over half an hour, and left the five of them laughing and out of breath. Then came the tedious task of cleaning up the million bits of ragged latex confetti they'd created.

It was almost eight o'clock when Bryan and Angelo escaped to the carriage house, each with an extra slice of cake, plus an extra two-liter of soda, and a half-gallon brick of ice cream that hadn't been opened. Apparently, eight-year-olds weren't a fan of pistachio, which was Bryan's favorite flavor.

The oddest (and most perfect) thing happened once the cake and ice cream were put away, Angelo took his evening pain meds, and the downstairs lights turned off: they went upstairs together, Angelo leading the way, directly to Bryan's bedroom. A room he was starting to think of as theirs, since they'd shared it for the last three nights, and he saw no good reason for them to stop.

Last night had been particularly…comfortable. Bryan vaguely remembered a bad dream, being isolated and cold, and then he wasn't alone anymore. He was warm and protected, and he'd heard Angelo's soft snoring through the darkness.

For the first time in his life, the sound of another man snoring only a few inches away filled him with peace instead of trepidation.

Without any negotiation or direction, they ended up mirroring yesterday morning's kissing position: both naked, Bryan on his back with Angelo on top of him, slotted between his spread legs, their mouths fused while their hard cocks rubbed together. They moved slowly, no frantic need to get off, no rush to end this exploration or go too far, too fast. They just…moved. Existed.

Explored.

Bryan explored another man, really explored for the first time in his life. It wasn't a fast, dirty fuck backstage; it wasn't a threesome he barely remembered through an alcoholic haze; it wasn't getting head in a limo or a reach-around on the balcony of a crowded club. This wasn't a rock star illusion; this was real.

Angelo slid down the bed, his hot mouth dipping into the valleys and plains of Bryan's abdomen, leaving his bare skin somehow both hot and chilly. Bryan's nerves sang and danced, and he wanted it to stop almost as much as he never wanted it to end. No one had ever spent what felt like hours simply kissing around his navel and nipping along the curves of his hip bones. Taking the scenic route to his dick.

When Angelo arrived at his destination, Bryan didn't have to be quiet, didn't have to censor his reaction to a wet, hot mouth covering his cock and swallowing him down. He was free to grab Angelo's shoulders and stroke his hair, to urge him faster and slow him down, because what was the rush? Fingers rolled his balls and stroked his taint, and Bryan's entire world telescoped into what was happening to his body.

Angelo had only one goal in mind when he took Bryan to bed that night: take him apart piece by piece, one inch at a time, until every wall came down and all he could do was breathe. Exist. Enjoy things Angelo knew how to do very, very well.

One of his favorite things to do was suck off his partner. To explore his cock: the length and girth, the head and slit, any foreskin that was there to play with. To lick and suck on his balls, feeling them roll against his tongue; the crisp hairs rasping against his chin. To taste his taint and, if possible, farther back.

But he wouldn't go farther with Bryan tonight, not without a conversation about what they both wanted. Tonight, they were communicating without words, and Angelo didn't want to break the silence first. So he relied on Bryan's body language and, in this moment, Bryan's body begged for more, for this thing they were building to never end. So Angelo didn't let it end. When Bryan tried to thrust into his throat, Angelo held his hips still. If Bryan began to pull too hard, Angelo peeled his fingers out of his hair.

Nothing hurt, nothing scared him, and nothing was going to stop this short of a nuclear disaster on their doorstep, so Angelo enjoyed himself and gave Bryan the best, longest, most sensual blow job of his life. Angelo's too. Time stood still, and at some point, Bryan came on a long sound that drowned out everything except pride and pleasure. Angelo swallowed the load and licked him clean, not stopping until Bryan used his first real words in what felt like hours.

"Stop, please, fuck," Bryan panted. "Uncle."

Angelo licked his puffy lips and crawled back up the bed, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. "Fuck uncle, huh? Whose uncle?"

"Asshole. Know what I mean."

"Yeah." He tickled the damp skin on Bryan's lower belly. "Like that a little bit?"

"Fucking loved that a lot." He snaked his hand back into Angelo's messy hair and pulled him in for a kiss. Sucked on his tongue and tortured his bruised lips in the very best way, and then blinked heavy eyelids at him. "Want me to? For you?"

Any other time, Angelo would have rolled onto his back and presented his erection for reciprocation and not given it a second thought. But not tonight. Not with Bryan so perfectly blissed out and dancing on the razor's edge of sleep. "Maybe we should wait until morning." He stroked his knuckles across Bryan's cheek, loving the way Bryan leaned into the caress. "You look like you're going to pass out on me."

"It's your fault. I think you sucked my muscle coordination out through my dick."

"Then I did it right. And we get to sleep in tomorrow. Right?"

"Yeah, I don't work. We can make it a lazy Sunday. At least until French toast time."

Angelo chuckled. "Yeah, I've been invited to French toast Sunday a few times, but I'm usually too lazy to bother getting up and over here on schedule."

"Now that it takes you forty seconds to walk over, you don't have an excuse. Although, after tonight's party, I fully expect Patrick to text in the morning that breakfast is cancelled."

"Leftover birthday cake is a perfectly acceptable substitution, right?"

"Definitely." Bryan kissed him again, lazily this time, then nipped his chin. "Thanks for helping make Robbie's birthday special."

"You're welcome." He couldn't figure out a way to thank Bryan for helping him make his first public appearance as someone's committed boyfriend not sound weird, so he didn't. Hopefully, his thanks was both implied and obvious from what they'd just shared. "Night, Gillespie."

"G'night, Voltini."

Angelo couldn't remember the last time he fell asleep grinning like a fool, and he woke in sunlight, with a hot body pressed up close to his back again. Instead of butt to butt, though, this morning Bryan's chest was plastered to him, one hand draped possessively over Angelo's hip. Bryan puffed warm air against his neck as he breathed, still steady and deep with sleep. He wanted to roll around so he could hold Bryan properly but worried about his damned stitches putting a painful hitch in the maneuver. So he wiggled backward as much as he could, getting more skin contact, and was rewarded with a gentle hip-thrust from Bryan that lodged his dick against Angelo's ass.

Not hard but that was okay. The position was enough to make Angelo's heart flutter in a funny way it only did with Bryan. The Bryan butterfly flutter. Not that he imagined Bryan would appreciate being compared to a butterfly, but Bryan did remind him of one. Beautiful but fragile, and skittish around most other creatures, always aware of danger. Existing because of full-body, internal and external transformations.

Good God, when did I start waxing poetic about the guy I'm sleeping with?

When he finally chose a mature man in his own age group he could see a serious future with, rather than a barfly or gym bunny who couldn't think further than their next protein shake. When Angelo himself finally grew the fuck up.

Better late than never.

Bryan's breathing stuttered, and Angelo knew he was fully awake when Bryan began dropping light kisses across the back of his neck. The hand on his hip squeezed and kneaded bare skin, fingers splaying close to Angelo's groin without quite touching. He wanted touching, so he clasped Bryan's wrist and urged him forward. Bryan wrapped his fingers around the base of Angelo's cock and stroked him gently, a whisper of pressure that would probably take three hours to get him off. He loved the tease. He fucking craved it from this man.

"Seem to remember a promise," Angelo whispered. "About waiting until morning."

"I don't remember promising anything." Bryan nipped his shoulder. "Which means I get to do whatever I want."

"As long as I get off before noon and we don't rip my stitches, do anything."

"Hmm." His hardening cock thrust against Angelo's ass, sliding down his crease. "You sure you want to write a blank check? We never talked about preferences, and I don't wanna order something not on the menu."

"You asking to fuck me?"

"Already fucked you over the handrail the other night. But you seem pretty toppy, so I don't wanna stick something in a place you'll regret later, whether it's my finger, tongue or dick."

Angelo shivered at the idea of Bryan rimming him. "I like being in control in the bedroom but that doesn't always mean topping." He twisted his neck so he could get a partial view of Bryan's face. Bryan's familiar, open expression, taking things in without judgment. "I'd let you inside me with any of those three things. I trust you, and there are condoms in my suitcase. I just really want to get off with you again and I don't care how."

"As fun as that sounds, I don't think me fucking your ass is a good idea right now." He rubbed Angelo's balls with his pinky finger. "I can't fuck you how I want while I'm worried I'll hurt you. If we're still doing this when your doctor clears you for regular activities, we'll revisit fucking."

Angelo grumped. "Fine, then you'd better get your mouth on my dick in the next thirty seconds, or my ass is off-limits for fucking until Christmas."

"You're impatient first thing in the morning."

"I am when I'm horny as hell and there's a hot, naked guy feeling me up. Suck me."

Bryan surprised him by silently sitting up and rolling Angelo onto his back. The sudden jolt made his sore muscles groan, and cool air tickled his skin when Bryan flung the blanket off. Then nothing mattered more than Bryan kneeling between his legs. Bryan bending over, one hand still wrapped around the base of his cock, and then licking his length from root to tip. As much as Angelo wanted to watch, he wanted to feel it even more.

Angelo closed his eyes, dropped his head onto the pillow, and let go.

Given a choice between sucking a dick and fucking a hot ass, Bryan preferred option number two—because until now, all the men he'd been with had been a means to an end. It had been about getting off, period, in the most efficient way possible for them both. And while Bryan still enjoyed an efficient orgasm, that wasn't the point anymore. Not with Angelo.

He wanted to give Angelo pleasure, to see him get off like he had the first night when Bryan told him how and watched. Like he had when Bryan faux-fucked him over the railing while they fantasized about being watched. Bryan liked to watch, oh yes, he did. But Angelo?

Bryan pulled off and gazed up the length of Angelo's body. Angelo liked to be seen. And Bryan hoped he saw Angelo well enough to give him what he needed. He slid his palm up and down Angelo's shaft, rubbing his thumb across the slit in a way that always made Bryan's gut burn. Angelo's hips jerked and his thighs twitched, and yeah, he liked that, too, so Bryan did it again. Used his thumbnail and applied pressure a degree at a time, watching the way the head got redder, the skin somehow tauter.

"Fuck!" Angelo clutched at the sheet beneath him, sweat glistening across his torso and chest.

Curious, Bryan slid onto his own belly, trapping his dick against the mattress without letting go of Angelo. He held Angelo's cock out of the way and pressed his nose into the space just above his balls. Angelo moaned. Bryan inhaled deeply, then exhaled on a long breath that was almost a pant, he was so turned on. God, it would be so easy to shove Angelo's legs up and apart and to push home. To bend him in half and fuck him blind and come inside him.

No, not this way. Not with Angelo.

He nibbled and licked around the root of Angelo's cock, teasing the crisp hairs and velvety skin, savoring the taste, unlike anything he'd sampled before. More addictive than the most expensive wine or cheapest whiskey. He took his time on Angelo's nuts, sucking each one like he could get the come out through his skin. Bryan soared on pleasure so intense he didn't think he'd ever come down, ever want to stop making love to this man who was giving him everything without struggle or complaint.

His cock was painfully hard, each slight rub against his belly or the sheet a sharp, dizzying blast of sensation up his spine. He was alive from his scalp to his toes, fueled by the taste and touch of the man in his mouth, and the noises Angelo had stopped censoring. The pants and moans and incomprehensible begging for everything and nothing.

Angelo shouted something moments before the first hot bursts hit the back of Bryan's throat, and he worked to swallow without embarrassing himself by choking. Most of Angelo's semen dribbled down his shaft and coated Bryan's fingers, and Bryan kept stroking, milking every last drop, every last shudder and moan out of Angelo. And like Bryan had last night, Angelo needed to push him off for a respite from the overwhelming sensations.

Bryan rolled onto his right hip, clasped his cock in his left hand, and jerked himself off to the sexy-as-fuck image of Angelo flat on his back, limbs askew, body flushed, panting for air like he'd run a marathon. Bryan had given him that. Pride pushed him over the edge, and he shot across Angelo's crotch and stomach, enjoying the pretty sight of their come mingling on Angelo's smooth, tan skin.

Neither spoke for a long time, and just when Bryan's shoulder began to ache from his position, Angelo waved a limp hand at him. "Get up here."

Bryan complied, crawling up the bed and sprawling half on top of Angelo. Angelo kissed his cheek, then his mouth, and pressed his head into Bryan's shoulder. They rested a while in blissful silence, because nothing more needed to be said. Their bodies had said it all without words.