Chapter 3 A Birthday

The second of January. Colby's birthday. He wiggled toes under the bedsheet.

Jason had, a moment ago, kissed him and told him not to get up, aside from general early-morning routine needs, and to get back under blankets and remain warm. Had promised breakfast in bed, and some surprises. Jason had plans, evidently.

Rain hung in the air, but not heavily: a mystical opalescent dusting of mist, a veil, a susurration. The flat wrapped festive cheer around him, woven in holiday decorations. The season hung glittery snowflakes and caught light along bronze candleholders and laced the air with pine and nutmeg and roasted chestnut scents.

Home, Colby repeated to himself silently. His home, with Jason.

He hadn't thought much about his birthday. He hadn't planned to have any sort of celebration—but of course he hadn't planned on falling in love with Jason, either. He'd been so lonely, so cold, so very tired, just a few short months ago. He'd expected to wake up and be thirty-one and alone in his bed, possibly with a phone call from Jill to check on him.

And now he had everything. A movie he loved, which he'd helped to write, which he'd starred in with the man he also loved. A flat and an apartment—here in London and in Los Angeles—that he shared with Jason and science fiction novels and a steampunk clockwork wreath on the door. A sense of self, of being himself, of being wanted.

The ability to wake up naked and purely contented in a man's arms. Warmth all the way down to his toes.

He stayed put as instructed, nestled under a large thick blanket with rainbow knit stripes. Jason's grandmother had made it for them.

Slowly, scents of pancakes and cinnamon and coffee began wafting upstairs. Jason had indeed made breakfast, then.

No one had ever made him breakfast in bed before. On occasion Tony—the boyfriend before the worst mistake of Colby's life—had offered to cook dinner, at least if he'd been in a good mood. Or if he'd wanted to play around with a bit of kink and Colby kneeling at his feet to be fed.

Colby tugged a fold of rainbows closer. Tony was more or less the reason he did know some things about kink and dominance and submission and toys; he knew Jason had opinions about dominants who'd possessed very little patience but a lot of prickly annoyance when Colby hadn't understood or hadn't liked something. That one wasn't the worst, though.

He tried not to think about his last birthday. The thoughts snuck in regardless, insidious as demons could be.

Truthfully, that one hadn't been the ugliest day. Others had been more so.

And now he was here. And Jason was here. And Colby wanted to laugh, or to cry, or to reach out and touch the rain and whisper: I'm alive, I'm happy, I like who I am.

He pulled up both knees and hugged them. He let his cheek rest on a knee, eyes shut: listening to the scattered poetry of raindrops, feeling the texture of the blanket, the firmness of their bed, the presence of his body.

Jason's footsteps came up the stairs. The door swung a bit more open, and Jason's voice, made of laid-back California sunshine, said, "Okay, first surprise—Colby? What—"

Colby was already sitting up, opening his eyes, reaching out; but Jason had come running anyway, shoving a breakfast tray onto a side table, throwing himself onto the bed. Shirtless, dressed in only dark green pajama pants, he became a tower of protective concern. "Colby—is everything okay? Did something happen—or did you not want to be alone, or—"

"No! No, I'm fine." He caught Jason's hands, soothing them. "I promise. I was only thinking. How different everything is. How different I am. Is this how being thirty-one feels? Dreadfully introspective?"

Jason let out a sound like a mountain trying hard to be reassured. "Depends. Pretty sure I don't remember anything from mine. A bunch of the stunt guys took me out for drinks and I woke up shirtless in Brick's guest room with a mystery phone number written on my hand and glitter on my face. Thank God it wasn't worse. Different in a good way, right?"

"Very. Last year…" He waved a hand, which, because he had Jason's hands in his, meant he waved them both. "It was…not this. This is already entirely my best birthday."

A frown tugged at Jason's thick eyebrows. Colby guessed what he'd be thinking, and leapt in with, "You've met my parents; do you honestly believe I ever had a normal childhood birthday party? Guests were invited based on their parents' political usefulness or literary awards, and it's not as if I was ever good at making friends even without that." He knew Jason hadn't only been thinking about his childhood.

"Your parents," Jason began, and stopped, and sighed. "Never mind. Today's not about them. Can I try to make you smile?"

"Always!"

"Okay, good, then—"

"I mean you do make me smile! Not just that you can try!"

"I love you," Jason said, grinning, swinging Colby's hands in his. "Cream puff."

"I know you do. My favorite bread loaf. And I love you. Was there something with cinnamon? And maple?"

"Yes and yes." Jason got up, collected the tray, came back. "Here."

Cinnamon and maple cream and apples tumbled over fluffy slices of French toast. A bowl of blueberries beamed up from one side, no doubt because they both remembered that first-ever encounter over morning pastries and debates over cinnamon and blueberry. Jason had poured both orange juice and coffee, and had turned the coffee into some sort of cinnamon-pecan-whipped-cream fantasia. Nothing had suffered much from being hastily set down.

Colby drank it all in, wide-eyed. "It's a very good surprise! And a lovely birthday present. And you've even done toasted pecans on—"

"Colby," Jason interrupted, with affection, "that's not everything. Not even close. Here, this's your actual first present."

"You mean breakfast isn't?"

Jason held out a neatly wrapped package, tied in gold ribbon. Colby hesitated, torn between food and a gift. He wanted both; he wanted to appreciate both.

"Food first," Jason decided, solving the dilemma for him, and set the package down. Colby eyed it but didn't argue, being good; Jason handed over a fork, and watched with some satisfaction.

After a few moments of cinnamon-related bliss Colby made himself resurface and wave the fork Jason's direction. "You should have some too!"

"Some." Jason had a bite or two, handed it back. "I did some taste-tests earlier. It's mostly for you."

"Share it with me?"

Jason appeared to be thinking, and then took back the fork, collected a bite of French toast, and held it up. For Colby.

Colby, who had marvelous memories of Jason feeding him on other occasions, leaned in and ate the bite. "Delicious. As you know."

"Think that's you." Jason resettled them: Colby tucked proprietarily into the circle of one arm, cradled by muscles and rainbow knit. "Eat a few more bites, okay?"

"No complaints about that. You're a marvelous cook. And you feel splendid." Jason did, big and firm and strong. Colby himself wasn't precisely short—movie-star height and too-long legs—but loved being held, especially with the contrast of himself naked and bare and cuddled against Jason's bulk and pajama pants.

Jason stroked a hand over his side, his hip, a thigh. "Good thing you're not ticklish. Wouldn't be able to do this and let you drink coffee at the same time."

"I do like you touching me." He heard the words as he said them, with some surprise; he drowned the surprise behind another quick sip, hunting equilibrium.

Months ago he would've not said that. He would've not wanted this: being touched so intimately by someone so large and powerful and commanding. Or he would have wanted it; that would've been the problem. Too many confusing emotions, between what he ached to have and what he feared.

He nibbled a blueberry or two mostly as a distraction, not thinking about anything much.

The line reappeared between Jason's eyebrows. "You sure you're okay? You're being quiet."

"I was thinking about how glad I am to have met you." He stretched up to press a kiss to the underside of Jason's jaw. "I don't always have to talk."

"You?"

"Fair point. Can I open this now?"

"If you're done with breakfast." Jason moved the tray and handed over the mysterious gift. Golden ribbon bounced over blue paper, curly and exuberant. "First present. There're…three. Not counting food. And also something that's sort of a question. Start here."

"You already asked me to marry you—"

"And you said yes." Jason swooped down to kiss him. "Not the question. Not a question; I want to marry you. Open this one."

Colby did, undoing Jason's tidily tied ribbon with care. "It's—a book—Jason, you found an eighteenth-century copy of John Wilkes' The Art of Making Pens Scientifically—"

"Including Genuine Receipts for Making Inks and Directions for Secret Writing," Jason finished, with a hint of smugness. "It's not that rare; they printed lots of copies for students and clerks, and it wasn't expensive at the time…"

"Yes, but most people didn't bother to save them!" Colby touched thin timeworn pages, reverent. "I knew some copies were around, but I always thought they'd be harder to find!" Centuries-old ink and paper beckoned his touch, more explorations, a dive into ink-making and secrets and stories.

"Didn't know you'd looked. I just thought you'd like it." Jason's expression lingered between a question and hope. "You do, right?"

"Jason! Of course I do! And I hadn't in fact looked. I just assumed it'd be difficult. Was it? Oh, no, wait, it's a gift, I shouldn't ask."

"Nah. Not too bad. There's a reason it's your first present."

"But I didn't get you anything!"

"Colby," Jason said, "it's your birthday."

"Oh—I mean, yes, I know that—"

"Do you?"

"I can't imagine what else you've got in mind. This is more than enough."

"It's really not." Jason's eyes were serious, brown as deep soulful earth, rich with emotion. The bed creaked as he shifted closer. "I'm happier than I've ever been because of you. I'm here and making movies that I'm proud of because you gave me a chance—I know you said you wanted me, back during casting, you and Jill. I get to wake up every day feeling like I have a future and a life and someone to make French toast for. So if I can make you happy…I'll keep trying to make you smile. Every day. But absolutely today."

"Because you're glad I was born?" Colby said, trying hard not to get teary-eyed over a book and a birthday morning.

"Yeah," Jason said, just that, earnest. "Because I'm glad you're here and I get to know you and I get to love you."

Colby took a shaky breath, let it out, and said, "If you're going to be all eloquent and wonderful I'm going to have to beg you to have sex with me, right now, please."

Jason started laughing. His hand stroked Colby's hair back from a cheekbone, large and considerate. "Yeah? Right now? I mean, that was kind of the plan, but I had something to ask you, about that. And then I wasn't sure. You looked kind of…like maybe it wasn't the right weather for it."

"You told me to stay naked, you made me breakfast, and you bought me a book. I'm about five seconds from climbing into your lap and begging you to have your way with me. I'm fantastic, really, I promise."

"Can I ask what you were thinking?"

Colby flinched a little; but Jason would only worry, and deserved to know. And it truly wasn't the worst story; Jason knew all those. "Last year. That birthday. I was…it definitely wasn't this. You won't like it, but it's not all that awful. I just thought about how much happier I am, and I wish…except I don't, not precisely…"

"Tell me?"

Colby looked up into Jason's eyes, found an anchor, and did.

He'd been working on his birthday in any case, the year before: the first day of rehearsals for a limited run of Hamlet, because it was more or less every young English actor's duty to play Hamlet at least once on stage. Liam had been supposedly out all day having lunch with a producer who might possibly cast him in a film, though as it'd turned out lunch was completely a euphemism for inviting the man over for sex. Colby hadn't known that then, though.

"So I came home late, a bit tired and a bit sore—fencing practice as well, that morning, and some surprisingly physical fight scenes in rehearsals—and I would've loved to stay in and have some sort of mildly indulgent food and perhaps read for a while, or, if it were an option, a nice massage, something that'd help with my shoulders…"

Jason immediately started kneading his shoulders. Colby might've never loved his future husband more.

"I came in and he got angry with me for being late, because he'd arranged a party with all his friends at the newest nightclub, and of course it was my fault for not knowing that, but I could make it up to him by getting dressed up and then paying for everything—I generally did anyway, not that I minded that, I knew he was having a harder time finding good roles and I could afford it—"

Jason made a noise. It was not a happy noise.

"Yes, I know. I mean, now I do. I did even then, I think, I only…" He'd have shrugged, but Jason's hands were caressing him. "I thought he at least wanted to be with me, at least sometimes. Even if it wasn't perfect. Even if I was rather boring company. And I wanted…I've always wanted…"

"To not feel alone." Jason wrapped large arms around him. Hugged him tightly. "You're not. I'm here. And he's a fucking—I don't even have the words. He never even bothered to fucking know who you are. What you'd want."

"No. He thought about what he wanted." Colby looped an arm around Jason's waist and held on. "And then he and his friends proceeded to get utterly inebriated—and I think there may have been drugs? I thought I saw someone pass him something when I came back from the restroom, but I wasn't sure—and he wanted me to dance with him, and then he tried to shove a very clumsy hand down my pants while telling me how lucky I was to have him, that no one else would want someone so dull and thoughtless and inconsiderate, coming home late and not appreciating the whole evening he'd planned…he told me that I should be happy he still wanted me as much as he did, he'd even fuck me right there at the club with all his friends watching, he wanted to and they wanted to and the owner wouldn't mind, so I should just say yes and we'd all have a good time, wouldn't we? At which point he lost the contents of his stomach on me and then passed out, so that was that."

"What the fuck."

"Between myself and a very helpful club employee, we got him out a back exit and into a cab and us back to my place, and then I cleaned us up and he slept it off in my bed. I bought myself a new Alex Castle novel and stayed up and made hot cocoa and read for a bit, and fell asleep on the sofa, and all in all it wasn't a terrible end to my birthday. It was the fourth book in that series, you've read them, and you know it's such a beautiful love story."

Jason leaned back a little and looked at him for a moment, silent.

"What?"

"You…" Jason shook his head. "I don't know where to start. I don't even—I love picturing you being happy, you with hot chocolate and a book, but that…"

"I'm sorry," Colby said. "I did say you wouldn't like it. But you asked. And I like telling you things, if you want to know."

* * * *

Jason heard the words—those words, from the love of his life—and couldn't say the first, second, or third answers that came to mind. He made his hands as unthreatening as they could be, rubbing Colby's back, an arm, the nape of his neck.

I'm sorry, Colby had said. For nothing that'd ever been his fault. Followed by a hint of doubt, as if Jason wouldn't forever want to know anything Colby wanted to say.

God. He'd thought they'd been doing better—he'd thought Colby had been—

They had been doing better. He knew they were. They were good, and Colby trusted him. He shoved down the lead weight clogging his throat. "What'd you wish for?"

"What did I…?"

"Earlier. You said you wished…something…but maybe not?"

"Oh." Colby breathed out in amusement, not a laugh but a next-door neighbor to it. "Yes. I wished I could go back and tell myself, a year ago, that I could leave. That I could be—that I would be—happy, really truly happy, without him. But if I'd left him back then, if I'd made different choices…I might not be here with you now. And I want to be here with you. So really I was only thinking about time travel and paradoxes and alternate timelines and science fiction and some sort of movie plot involving wishes and roads not taken."

"Sounds like something I'd watch." Did Colby want him to help? To try to be an answer, to offer a solution, if there even was a solution? Or to simply offer comfort, a rock, a love that would remember that Colby liked interesting pens and history and books?

Rain skittered and swirled beyond window-glass. Cinnamon and maple flavors lingered, seasonal and cozy and homemade. Their bed, which was new—they'd picked it out together—stretched sinuous abstract headboard carvings up toward the ceiling, fanciful and inviting. It was large enough for Colby's endless legs and Jason's shoulders, and possessed only good memories.

He reached over and picked up a blueberry. Held it to Colby's lips. "You said you were happy."

Colby ate the blueberry out of his fingers, and said, after swallowing, "I am."

"Want me to kiss you?"

"Oh, yes, please." Colby stretched up to initiate that, which Jason hadn't been expecting. The kiss was confident and unhesitating and secure, full of coffee-and-blueberry conviction.

He nudged his nose into Colby's, after. "Want to know a little bit about your birthday plans? Just so you know what to expect."

"Whatever you want to tell me." Colby fit two fingers under the waist of Jason's pajama pants and tugged lightly. "Do your plans involve you removing these?"

"Yeah. Right now, if you want." He loved Colby being playful, curious, eager for more. His dick pushed up, also eager. It liked Colby's touch. "After that…we have afternoon reservations at that new modern art gallery…where they're doing that exhibit of classic science fiction book covers and illustrations? I sort of, um. Arranged a private tour." He'd given them a lot of money to ensure that nobody'd be near, that there wouldn't be crowds, that Colby wouldn't be startled by any unexpected contact. "I know it's raining—"

"Only a bit!"

"—but I thought you might like to walk over there? Through the park." The walk wasn't far, maybe five minutes, and if a downpour happened during the tour, they could get a cab for the drive home.

"I do love rain." Colby's eyes sparkled. "And I love museums. Which you know. What time? And also thank you!"

"Not until one, so we've got a few hours. You can have your second present then." The present in question was a signed piece of original art from the cover artist for Colby's favorite gay steampunk romance series. Jason had gotten it framed. It'd be waiting at the museum, a surprise.

He'd said once before that he wanted to get Colby the best birthday present ever. He'd ultimately tried to pick the three best ideas from his mental list because he couldn't do just one. He wanted to give Colby everything; he wanted to watch those big blue eyes light up with giddy adoration of history and art and stories.

The third present would be later. More intimate. A little more scandalous.

He stroked Colby's hip. Colby wriggled in response, cock mostly hard and getting more and more so with the affection. Jason mused, "Before then…we have some time, and you're all nice and naked…"

"You told me to be," Colby said, innocence belied by shameless fingers finding Jason's dick beneath pajama pants.

"I like you naked." He did. "So if I had an idea…if you're feeling up to that…"

"The weather is excellent for sex, thank you."

"Good. We said once before…we kinda talked about…how would you feel about a sort of birthday spanking? Not hard." He watched Colby's expression, added, "You said we could try? You said you wanted to."

"I did!" Colby sat up more, swung a long excited leg over Jason, ended up face to face with him and sitting in his lap. Jason, laughing, held onto him. The silken cool rustle of raindrops cheered, growing louder.

Colby announced, "I very much want to. I trust you and you know I like interesting sensations and I like you having ideas. Is this also one of my presents? Or was it your question for me?"

"No and no." He had both hands on Colby's waist, adoring the fact that he could. Colby's skin was smooth under his touch, made of tempting lines and curves and planes of masculine swimmer's muscle. "Just thought we might both like it. Not like a punishment, not because you did anything wrong, just because we like the idea of you over my lap and my hand making your cute little ass all pink. All mine."

"Because we both enjoy that." Colby rubbed a hand over the bulge of Jason's dick, over pajama pants. "You definitely enjoy that. As do I. Over your lap, you said?"

"Yeah. Colby…" He caught Colby's hand. "Only if you're sure you're good with this."

But the traces of earlier pensiveness had melted away; Colby grinned at him. "Entirely. Spank me, Jason, please. Make me feel it. Being yours."

"My sweet boy," Jason said. "My Colby. Come here."

In their bedroom, surrounded by the dim watery light of rain and the aquatic satin of deep blue sheets, he got Colby settled across his lap, over his thighs, face down.

He still had pants on, and Colby was utterly naked; Colby's cock pushed against Jason's left thigh, stiff and hot. Colby's delectable pert backside beckoned, and the lines of his body were supple, elegant, unafraid of submission.

Jason stroked his back, along the length of his spine. Rested a hand on him. "So ready for this, aren't you? You've been thinking about it."

"I was," Colby admitted, voice slightly muffled, cheek pillowed in sheets. "I wondered whether you'd think of it. For my birthday."

"Figured you would. I know you're not innocent and bashful." He tapped his fingers over Colby's ass, not hard. "Secretly totally depraved and kinky. Just for me."

"Only for you." Colby's hips rolled against him: lifting up into Jason's hand, then rubbing his cock against Jason's leg. "And yes, all of that. I am. For you. Yours."

"Ten," Jason said. "Only ten. Just enough so you feel it. So you know who you belong to, and you know I want you, and you know I love you."

"Yes," Colby murmured, softer now, languor sliding into castle ramparts in that accent. "Like…not blueberries…like strawberries."

"Getting you all pink and red?" He'd had a fair amount of practice keeping up with Colby's blissful trains of thought.

"Mmm. And you like strawberries. And you like me."

"I do. Ready? Say stop if you need to. The second you need to. If you even think you might need to."

"Yes," Colby said peacefully. "Yes, please, Jason."

Jason lifted his hand. Swung. The impact reverberated: his hand, Colby's skin, the world.

Pinkness bloomed, a radiant smudge over the left side. He gazed at it in astonishment. He'd done that. He'd spanked Colby.

And Colby moaned, low and liquid, and shifted against him.

"Good?"

"Yes…" Colby sounded surprised, a bit tipsy, dreamy. "Do it again?"

Jason did, on the other side. A tiny bit harder, not much. Not about the hurt. About the intensity, the connection, the way his palm and fingers tingled with newfound knowledge. About the way Colby moaned again and moved atop his lap, hips rocking as if unable to help the reaction.

"Still okay?"

"Very. Your hands…I can feel this everywhere…I'm so very much yours. My toes feel all…starlit. Twinkling. Candied fruit and sugar, under moonlight…"

"The strawberries?"

"Precisely. That was two? Did you want me to count?"

"Nah. You don't have to worry about anything." He rubbed the spot he'd just spanked, knowing it'd be sensitive; Colby whimpered a little but relaxed even more, calmed by and given over to Jason's caresses. "You just have to feel it, okay? Just take it. Know that you're here, this's me spanking you, because you're mine and I want you, and that's all you need right now."

"I do," Colby whispered, heartfelt and submissive; his hips moved again, back and forth, rubbing himself against Jason's thigh. "Oh, I do…I need this, I need you…"

"So good," Jason told him, "so sweet, asking for what you need, so I'll give it to you, I'll take care of you, always, Colby, always…" and spanked him again, four in quick succession, alternating sides.

Colby cried out, soft and dazed and pleading, and trembled in Jason's lap. His fair skin took color readily, easily, prettily: the marks stood out. His cock was dripping, leaking, wet with need; Jason could feel the damp patch growing through pajama fabric.

Colby's mouth remained open, lips gently parted, one visible blue eye enraptured and unfocused, adrift in newly discovered sensations. His hands clutched at sheets, rhythmically, and stopped slowly because Jason had paused.

"Taking care of you," Jason told him. "You should see the way you look, so red, all nice and warmed up…wish you could see it, the way I can see it, the way you can feel it. All mine. The way you want to be, naked and getting spanked over my lap. So sweet and so easy for me, needing this, needing me, because you know I'll give you everything, baby…"

Two more. Up to eight, now. Colby was panting and quivering and squirming, coming apart, almost incoherent. His lips moved; Jason bent to listen, and heard Colby murmuring words, strings of yes and please and yours and Jason's name and vague drowsy babbling about light and prisms and sugar crystals and strawberry wine.

Jason petted his ass, which glowed hot and tender. "I'll buy you strawberries while we're out, later. And some wine. God, I fucking love you."

Colby let out a small happy noise. His hips jerked against Jason's thigh.

Jason petted his hip some more. Slid a finger along the crease of Colby's ass, teasing, testing. Colby sighed quietly and tried to spread his thighs, legs parting.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jason said, heart trying to fly, to soar; and rubbed weightlessly at his hole, at the pink furl of muscle, no pressure or penetration. "We're not gonna hurt you, okay? You said you don't like it to hurt much, and I'm listening, I get it, I've got you, I love you. Two more, all right?"

Colby nodded against the sheets, and whispered, "Jason?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"May I come with you inside me? Please. I want you and I want to feel so full with you in me and I want to be all yours and all pink and bright and shining and I love this and I love you. I love you feeding me berries. I love how everything feels right now, all of me so full of rainbows, and especially right here…" Colby squirmed against him some more, clearly enjoying the feeling of his cock pressed against Jason's leg, uninhibited and lost in euphoria. His mouth stayed open for a second, words trailing off as he rocked himself in place.

"You like that, don't you?" Jason scratched fingernails lightly—so very lightly—over sizzling red handprints. "You like the way it feels, getting off on my leg, making that pretty cock feel so nice, and you just can't help yourself, can you? You just feel too good, when I'm spanking you, don't you, baby?"

"Jason," Colby wailed, shuddering against him. Jason brought a hand down across his backside, centered and hard, and Colby shrieked in sudden pleasure.

"Mine," Jason said. "You know it. I love you, Colby, and I love living with you, and being yours, too."

One more, not as hard as the last one because Colby was trembling and mumbling broken little sounds, not exactly sobbing, body languid and lax with complete joyous capitulation except for the rigid dripping line of his cock. He let out that same small happy sound again as Jason rubbed his ass, kneading the burn of it in more deeply.

"So good," Jason told him, "so good, you're done, we're done, you took that so well, everything I want to do with you, everything you want—you want me to fuck you, you said—"

"Yes," Colby begged. "Yes, please, sir, Jason…"

Jason guided him down into the bed, rolling him over, onto his back. Colby whimpered as his freshly spanked ass hit the sheets, and tried to reach up for Jason, clumsy with subspace and desire. Jason knew he didn't always want certain positions, knew being taken from behind or taken too roughly could poke at old scars—not every time, but sometimes—and so just bent over him and kissed him for a moment, not pushing too fast.

The man he loved, in their bed. Willingly his. For the rest of their lives.

Strawberry-candy joy raced along his spine. Through his veins.

He shoved down his pajama pants, not caring where they landed.

He coaxed Colby's body open deliberately, with love and a lot of lube. His fingers stroked and caressed and stretched that lovely pink muscle—surrounded by more pinkness, because Jason had done that, had spanked Colby and made Colby cry out his name and brought Colby to iridescent submissive heights—and moved inside Colby, slick as water on glass.

He pushed two fingers inside, and out, and in again: pumping, thrusting, feeling the clutch of Colby's body around him, liquid and slippery now. He found the spot that made Colby's back arch, words dying away; he added a third finger, and a fourth, not because Colby wasn't loose enough for him but because he knew Colby loved feeling full and stuffed and claimed.

Colby mumbled Jason's name, head rolling across the mattress. His hair made a drunken halo, flung out and dark and beautiful.

Jason kissed him again, slipped the hand out, and moved atop him, and into him.

He knew his cock was large, both long and thick, but Colby could take him. He lifted Colby's legs, pushed them back, watched himself press inside. The head, the shaft: big and flushed and veined, disappearing into Colby's stretched slick hole. The sight and the sensation shot lightning through him; he groaned, thrust, nearly came on the spot.

Colby lay gazing up at him, eyes huge and blue and worshipful; his lips shaped Jason's name. The length of his cock lay sticky and upright against his stomach, shiny with eagerness, because Colby always leaked and dripped and spilled so much, all over himself, when being well fucked and well loved.

Jason pushed all the way into him, buried to the hilt, and surged forward to kiss him, tasting him, feeling their bodies moving together.

Colby opened his mouth for Jason's kiss, Jason's tongue plundering him, Jason's morning stubble scraping his face; Jason groaned into the kiss, hips accidentally speeding up. His Colby, his sweet Colby, all his, and so wonderfully eagerly so—Colby giving him this, wanting him, trusting him—

He was going to come. He had to. He was fucking Colby harder now, hips slamming together. He felt the heat of his own handprints, the marks on Colby's ass; he knew Colby must be feeling it too, feeling so much. Colby just moaned and clung to him, hands on Jason's biceps, body rocking helplessly as Jason took him.

Jason gazed at him, and the white-hot thunderclap built and gathered; he gasped, "Colby—come for me, come like this, you can, come for me, baby, with me inside you, filling you up—I love you—"

Colby's mouth fell more open, and his body tensed, and he kept looking up at Jason even as his eyes grew faraway and clouded with rapture, as his cock pulsed and began to spurt, as white splashes streaked his stomach and chest and all the way up to his throat. He came and came, a prolonged shuddering peak, or a wave of peaks, on and on.

Jason, wordless and lost in the clenching of Colby's hole around him, plunged over the edge and into Colby one last time, as the wild billow of release burst through him. He felt himself coming inside Colby, felt himself emptying every drop of desire, pouring it all out into Colby's body.

He sagged forward over Colby, in the wake of it. Panting, breathless, exhilarated as if he'd just done a stunt leap off a building, he managed, "I love you…"

Colby flung both arms around him. Pulled him down and close, heedless of weight or stickiness.

Jason held him for an endless while, as their heartbeats slowed and met and matched. Colby's hair smelled like tropical fruits, like his shampoo, and now a little like sweat and sex and heat; Jason stuck his nose into dark waves, breathed him in, and thought about strawberries, amused and adoring.

Colby trailed fingertips along his back. "Jason."

"Yeah?"

"My Jason."

"Definitely yeah."

"I love feeling you. And berries. I don't mean I love feeling berries. I mean I like eating them. And feeling like them. Sweet. Like you. And breakfast. I love you making us breakfast. I might be hungrier now. Or happy. Or both. Can you stay right here and feed me blueberries?"

"You're so fucking perfect," Jason said, wholeheartedly.

Colby wrapped a leg around his waist. "I'm not, but I'll allow it. This time. Because I feel perfect. I'm very lucky you somehow like that I talk too much after sex. I'm very lucky because I've got you. Oh, goodness, this feels like…more than usual. My head's all…floaty. But in a lovely way, you know."

"I know." He ran a hand over Colby's hair, over the head in question. "Kinda think I'm the lucky one, here. Um, babe…might have to move, in a sec…"

"Oh. Yes. Come back and hold me after?"

"Always." Jason withdrew as cautiously as he could; he'd been rougher than he'd meant to, at the end. Colby didn't seem bothered, baby-cheetah legs contentedly limply sprawled across the bed; but his backside was still vividly pink, and so was his hole, so well-used and stretched and now dripping with Jason's climax.

Jason swallowed, and took care of clean-up, with care. His big hands against Colby's sensitive skin. His heart held out in a cloth and water and a caress of his family's stuntperson secret salve over soreness. Colby lay there smiling at him, bathed in silvery rainy light.

Jason put arms around him, both of them naked and comfortable. He fed Colby another blueberry or two, and some sips of now-cool coffee, and some water.

Colby curled up against him, settling in. "Was that also splendid for you? Spanking me, I mean, not feeding me. Though that's splendid as well."

"Yes to both. I like both." One more blueberry. "I like seeing you like that. Feeling so good. You were, right?"

"Oh yes. So much." Colby radiated satisfaction at him. Weary effervescence shone in blue seas. "We could do that again. Not much harder than that, I think—this was good, but too much more might've started to get less so? Perhaps? We can experiment. I loved you talking to me. Telling me I was yours, telling me how good I was, taking this for you…telling me to feel what you're doing to me, to know I belonged right there and you wanted me…that was brilliant. My thoughts just went all…"

"Strawberries," Jason filled in. "Candied fruit, you said. Sweetness."

"Clearly I had fruit on my mind." Colby ate another berry when Jason fed it to him. "And I'm going to feel it, I suspect, walking round a museum later. Did you plan that? Me noticing it with every step, thinking about you and your hands?"

Jason had to laugh. "I'd say yeah, I planned it, but I really didn't. I wasn't sure you'd be up for this. But I like thinking about you thinking about that. Oh, hey."

"Hmm?"

"Happy birthday?"

"Yes!" Colby pounced on him. Kissed him, fiercely and with delight. "Perfectly happy!"

"If you want a hint about your third present…it has to do with, um, this. Sort of. Well, it does."

"I'm intrigued, and confused?"

"There're two parts to it. An illustration…a couple centuries old, let's say…and then maybe something we can try out. You know how much you like being tied up, as long as you can get out…and I thought you might like something besides your scarves, for that…"

Colby's eyes went even wider. "Yes please."

Jason did not glance at the box in his dresser drawer, but he knew it was grinning, because he was. The antique erotic ink drawing and the heavy blue woven rope waited, giddy and patient. "That's your hint, then."

"I shall look forward to it." Colby smiled at him, and Jason's heart did the same skipping leaping acrobatics routine it did every time Colby looked at him that way.

He said, because he had to, because he couldn't wait, "I was going to ask you this later…but maybe you want to know? The question part. I said I also had a question. For you."

"Yes?"

"I just, um. I want to—don't think you have to say yes, don't think it's—I just thought maybe—"

"Jason," Colby said, and flattened a hand over his chest: over Jason's heart, an anchor for the ridiculous overflowing wonder of love.

"I love you," Jason told him. Out loud. Audible. For the world to hear, for the rain to share.

"I love you. Ask me your question? I do want to know."

"Okay. Um, I was going to show you this on your laptop or something, but…" He stretched out an arm, grabbed his phone from the bedside table. Fortunately he'd sent links to himself.

He opened the first one. The house beamed at him from the real estate website: for sale, bathed in California sun, with room for books and a chef's kitchen and a backyard pool.

He held it out so Colby could see. "What do you think? I mean, obviously we should look at places in person."

Colby looked at the screen. Then up at Jason's face. Then visibly made the connection: eyes enormous, lips parted over an astonished catch of inhale. "You…you're thinking of…buying a house…"

"Kinda thought maybe we could buy a house?" He took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to give up this place—I know you love it—and I like London too. So we'll keep yours. But if you wanted, um, my place in LA is pretty small, too small, and I was thinking about someplace new anyway, and if we're getting married…and if we wanted something we picked out and bought together…and I'm not saying you have to like any of these, these're just the ones I have saved to look at, they've all got pools so you can go swimming, and they're all not too far from my family, and this one's got a newly renovated kitchen and—"

"Us," Colby said. "You and me. A home." He touched Jason's phone, swiped to the next picture: a large open great room, a giant stone fireplace, empty space filled up with light and hope.

"If you maybe wanted," Jason said, and stopped. "You can say no."

"You want me," Colby said. "You want…something permanent. Something we buy, and live in, and…and it's ours and we're close to your parents and you've even thought about me and swimming…"

"Yeah. I thought—of course you don't have to like any of these three, I just found them—we could look at more. Or whatever you want." He hoped Colby heard everything he didn't know how to say. A home. Theirs. A future. An anchor, maybe: someplace that they chose together, all new memories, a place where Colby could feel safe and cherished and adored and loved. Where Jason's heart would love giving him all of that, every day. With books and cinnamon French toast and strawberry wine.

He'd been planning to bake a birthday cake later, after the museum, maybe while Colby was reading the book about eighteenth-century pens and ink. He could put a strawberry layer in the cake, he decided.

"I love this kitchen." Colby looked up from photos. "And there's so much space for bookshelves. Can we go and see it, when we're visiting your family?"

"You like that one?"

"I do." Colby looked at the current photo again, at multiple ovens and a shiny set of burners and space to hang pots and pans, then back at Jason. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Colby put both arms around Jason's neck. His eyes were blue as horizons, and bright with conviction. "Yes to your question. To everything. I want this, I want all of this, I want to go and explore houses and kitchens and bedrooms with you. Yes."

"So," Jason said, lightheaded with relief and exaltation and love, "extra happy birthday, let's buy a house?" and Colby started laughing, naked and thrilled in his arms in their bed, here in what'd be their other home, because they'd have two, they'd have both, together.

Outside, along the way to a museum and a date and a fantastic future, the rain leapt and bounced, laughing along.

THE END