Born to Be Wylde (4 page)

Anyway, Ken hadn’t seemed to mind, other than being startled by Wylde’s confession, and the truth was Wylde was too shy to have ever approached him. He’d only caught glimpses of him sometimes when he’d been coming back from bathing or fishing.

There were skylights in the cedar peaked roof and a squat kiln at the very back of the space. Two long wooden tables, the maple bleached in white and brown smears crouched in the center of the studio.

Wylde pushed aside the green branches of a large potted plant and stepped farther into Ken’s room, watching as the other man took a deep breath, looking around.

“ He wasn’t here. I can’t feel him.”
Wylde knew Ken meant the man who had attacked him. Ken looked over his shoulder at Wylde, his serious

almond-shaped eyes seeming more contemplative, calmer, as if being here was a good thing. He looked as he had in the cave, receptive.

Wylde pulled out a stool and sat down.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Ken noted, amusement in his tone.
“No,” Wylde said. He’d have to ask Josh what to talk about, maybe memorize some things so he could sound like a normal person.
“I like it,” Ken said, opening a plastic crate and pulling out a wrapped package of white clay. Wylde watched with interest as he cut off some part of it and then kneaded it on the white-stained wooden table. It looked like a big wedge of bread dough to Wylde’s eyes, reminding him of Alec teaching him and Josh how to make bread from scratch.
He felt an odd pang. He… missed Josh and Alec and Jade. He wanted to spend a day with them, knowing they understood him.
He wanted to ask them how to be someone’s boyfriend. They all had someone. He never had.
Meanwhile, Ken had finished working the clay. His face was still, pure, so he looked like a calm Samurai warrior from a painted scroll to Wylde, like what he might find in Seattle’s Asian neighborhood. Wylde wanted to move closer, put his hand on Ken’s skin, make him gasp….
Ken cleared his throat, giving Wylde a shy look under his eyelashes, as if he could read the sudden heat. “I occasionally take students,” he said. Then he lifted one white-stained palm. “Come here.”
Wylde hesitated. How was he supposed to act? He had figured out how to behave in school and in most places, like the grocery store, memorizing the scripts in his head, but he had no script for Ken or Ken’s studio.
Ken’s voice softened, like afternoon-sun-softened honey, “Come here, gorgeous.”
Wylde was up from his stool and next to Ken in about two seconds.
Ken laughed, reaching up to touch Wylde’s cheeks where they burned, then his lips so that Wylde parted them, closing his eyes to savor the imprint of fingertips where he was sensitive.
“God, you’re sexy.”
Wylde’s eyes flared open. “I am?” He swallowed. “Good.”
Ken lifted some of the loose hair snaking over Wylde’s bare chest, pressing it to his face and closing his eyes. “Cedar. Smells like cedar.”
“I burn it in the cave,” Wylde said, shrugging. He didn’t see why it was sexy, but it was good Ken thought so. Wylde wanted to be sexy for Ken.
“When I first woke up, I thought I was lost in one of my mother’s captive-and-captor romances. Have you ever read one of those?” Ken asked, flushing. He looked timid but also like he wanted to reach out. Wylde wanted to take his claysmeared hand and put it over his swollen cock. But it seemed Ken wanted to talk first.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t read. Only… small words.” Words he remembered his grandfather had taught him when he’d been a child. Josh had patiently tutored him so he’d caught up and been able to get his GED.
“Wylde, how is it you were camped out in a cave? You’re a mystery to me.”
Wylde’s head dropped. Ken did think he was strange, a freak. It was just like when he’d had a crush on that football player back in Sullivan, the town where his friends lived. He’d bought him wildflowers after a game one night, tonguetied, and the athlete had laughed at Wylde.
“I spent a long time….” Wylde let out a huff of breath. “A long time alone in the woods.” He felt the ache of that time in his chest, but he had no fancy words to express it.

K
EN
reached up, as if seeing Wylde needed contact, reassurance. He cupped Wylde’s cheek, and Wylde closed his eyes, pushing his face into the caress and giving a soft groan.

“You’re so responsive. Primal. When I touch you, it’s like you give yourself to me completely, like you are on the edge of coming,” Ken breathed.

Wylde’s eyes opened. He couldn’t speak since his heart was pounding in his ears. Coming? If Ken kept stroking his hair, that would be all it would take. Because he was Ken.

“Why were you alone in the woods?” Ken asked in the same gentle tone, as if he knew Wylde was feeling gun-shy.

“Grandpa…. His arm hurt and he grabbed it, and then he fell down. He didn’t get back up. I waited…. When he was cold, I went into the woods.”

“Oh my God…!” Ken’s eyes widened. “Your grandfather had a heart attack?”
Wylde nodded, feeling the wrench of losing him again.
“How old were you?”
“Small.”
“And no one helped you, found you? You just… lived in the woods?”
“At first I was lost… for a long time, so I helped me,” Wylde said, not wanting Ken to feel bad. “Then I met friends and I lived with them.”
“Wylde, I’m so sorry! My family is everything to me,” Ken said. He pulled Wylde into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby.”
It was stupid, but the little boy who’d run away into the forest felt those words like a touch where he was hungry and scared and lonely. “My name is Steven,” he shared. “Steven Butler. Wylde is….” He shrugged.
“A nickname?” Ken pulled away to smile at him faintly, but his eyes were still so sad. “It suits you.”
“If I brought you wildflowers, would you like that?” Wylde swallowed thickly, remembering the laughter of the jock and his friends. Remembering how Josh had put an arm around him and explained that the guy was someone who didn’t appreciate other men. Wylde was so stupid, he hadn’t guessed.
“If you brought me wildflowers?” Ken blinked. “No one’s ever done that, Wylde.”
Wylde looked away.
But Ken went on, “But hey, I have plenty of containers for them. I just completed a big order for some ikebana vessels. That’s Japanese flower arranging. So I….” He cleared his throat. “You can bring flowers anytime to, you know, brighten up the studio….”
“Show me?” Wylde asked, playing with Ken’s fingers.
“You really want to see?” Ken gave a rueful laugh. “Lately my work is getting some attention in shows, but a lot of people find pottery boring. It’s not part of our instantgratification world. It takes time, and not every piece works out.” Ken looked around, his face contemplative as he studied the rows of pieces lining up the walls in brown and red and white clay. “But I like that every piece is different, unique. To me, that makes them beautiful.”
“Different can be beautiful?” Wylde asked.
Ken stared at him, swallowing. “Oh yes.”
“Show me everything. I want everything, Ken,” Wylde said very simply.

Chapter Five
“
O
KAY
, try to relax,” Ken whispered.

Wylde widened his eyes in disbelief at Ken. He was supposed to relax when Ken was behind him, his groin snug against Wylde’s ass, his arms around him?

His gaze fell to Ken’s mouth, and he imagined leaning closer, tasting….
“Stop that!” Ken chided. “Do you want me to be your teacher or not?”
Wylde swallowed thickly. “Teach me,” he rasped. He wasn’t thinking of pottery, though.
Ken’s hands cupped his, cool and damp from the clay. They both leaned forward, and the wheel began to turn. Wylde stared at the white lump in the center, trying to think of something other than Ken’s scent, Ken’s body.
“This could be that scene in Ghost, you know…?”
“Is that a movie?” Wylde asked, turning his face so he could stare into Ken’s eyes. His irises had amber tones, like leaves yellowing into brown. He liked how they were shaped. He wanted to open his lips and touch them against the uptilted corners.
“Yes. Guess you were too busy finding food and shelter to see many movies growing up,” Ken said. His face was flushed, perspiring, and he was hard. Wylde could feel him against his rear end. He wanted to push back, rub himself against that hardness.
“Ken?” Wylde growled.
“Okay,” Ken huffed. “One kiss. Only we just can’t keep doing this, and I wanted to get to know you a little better and hear more about your family and talk about things, share things, and… why can’t I resist you? Why can’t I sleep without you anymore? I never had any trouble sleeping alone before. I prefer it.”
Wylde didn’t bother to answer. He pressed his mouth to Ken’s. Oh, nice. Ken licked his bottom lip and then sucked it inside his mouth so that Wylde was trembling.
Panting, they separated slowly, the hump of clay going round and round while the candles Ken had lit flickered from the night breeze coming through the open studio door. Wylde could feel his heart beating in his cock. All Ken would have to do was just brush his fingers there, and Wylde would come.
“Wylde, this can’t be real,” Ken said primly, looking troubled. “My sexual interactions have always been… orderly.”
Wylde licked Ken under his ear, and Ken shuddered.
“Mine,” Wylde said.

C
LAY
rose easy as milk creaming under his hands.

Wylde watched, wide-eyed, and Ken laughed from behind him, nuzzling him as his hands covered Wylde’s, guiding him as they made a pot together.

“Lay your hand down like this,” Ken directed, his slick fingers covering Wylde’s in a closed fist. The water and motion and suction and touching made Wylde’s face flush, his chest rise and fall more rapidly. This touching… this making something together….

Rings formed in the revolving creation, and he laughed too, watching as the column under their joined fingers flattened, becoming a white plate.

“Magic,” he whispered, awed.

Ken lifted their hands away from the piece, and Wylde looked at him. In candlelight the bruising was softened, and his golden skin seemed heightened, soft like peach fuzz to the touch, the wisps of a beard beginning around his lips. “I’ve never shared this with anyone. You aren’t very good, Wylde.” A grin touched Ken’s lips. “But I feel like you’re inside me, like you understand this isn’t a hobby.”

“It’s passion,” Wylde agreed. “Kiss?”

 

“If I kiss you, I don’t think I can stop. Not until we….” Ken blushed, eyes sweeping down.

Wylde wanted to heft Ken over his shoulder and drag him back to his cave. Then there would be no more talk about what they shouldn’t do. When they touched, they burned…. Ken had to touch him. Wylde only felt human, like a man and not an animal, in his arms. If Ken didn’t want him, Wylde knew he’d run away into his woods again.

“Come with me,” Ken said, getting up and grimacing a little as if his erection was as full and aching as Wylde’s.
“More talk?” Wylde asked. If he had to do it, he guessed he could. Ken was his mate, and he had to please him.
Ken shook his head. “I wish to invite you to my bedroom,” he said formally.
Wylde grabbed Ken close, and they strained together in a kiss. “Hurry, Ken. Hurry.”
“You’re hurting, baby?” Ken asked, his eyes heavylidded. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
Wylde lifted him high in his arms so his feet dangled. “Wylde!” Ken gasped, laughing.
“Your bedroom, Ken. Hurry!”

K
EN
’
S
bedroom wasn’t like any other room Wylde had been in since coming out of the forest. He knew it was different when Ken said, “Take off your shoes, please,” just outside a wood-and-paper sliding door. Ken saw his interest. “It’s a shoji screen made with cedar and mulberry. The rest of the cabin I left simple, western, but here I wanted to feel Japanese.”

Wylde slipped off his handmade moccasins, kneeling at Ken’s feet. He couldn’t resist leaning forward and kissing his thigh, a feeling inside him like a balloon so full it would explode any moment. “Ken,” he whispered. Ken’s taste. Ken’s scent. Ken’s arms coming around him, pulling him close.

He was Ken’s.

 

W
YLDE
stared at the bathtub, hot water pouring in from a freestanding wooden spigot. He cocked his head.

“It’s an ofuro, a Japanese-style soaker tub crafted of hinoki,” Ken explained. “I renovated the bathroom with my father’s help. I wanted something deep that I could really immerse myself in.”

“Tight fit,” Wylde commented. There was one bench, which ran along the elliptical side. The tub was surrounded by large round stones, which felt warm to the feet. One piece of driftwood arched between the bath and the window looking out at some tall lacy ferns.

“I’ve never shared it with anyone, so I wouldn’t know.” Again the hint of color in Ken’s cheeks. He reached for a blue container and struggled to open it.

Wylde took it and put some muscle into it. He returned it with a cocked brow.
“I swear it was childproof or something!” Ken growled. “I’m a very capable deputy, you know.” Using a seashell, he cast some salts in the tub, and they sizzled, sending out an ocean-and-flower scent. Seeing Wylde’s quizzical look, he added, “It’s Kama Sutra bath salts. I have, um, a whole kit given to me at Christmas by my papa a couple of years ago. He was hoping I’d meet a nice boy, settle down.”
Wylde noticed the jar was full, so it didn’t look like Ken had opened it before. Ken went to him, his hands and Wylde’s hands colliding on Wylde’s leggings as they pulled them open. His penis fell out, unsubtle, hard and thrusting to the side.
Ken welcomed it into his palms, stroking gently.
“Ken!” It hurt now. He needed….
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Ken whispered. “I’ll take care of you. You’re so innocent, so beautiful.”
Panting, breaking out in a sweat on his forehead and his upper lip, Wylde nodded. He trusted Ken. He’d given himself to Ken.
He watched as Ken pulled off his T-shirt and let his jeans drop. He was wearing boxers with orchids on them, and then he wasn’t. Then he was golden skin, lightly muscled, flexible….
Ken’s penis was longer than Wylde’s and looked more elegantly formed to him, like a beautiful mushroom he might find in the woods. He couldn’t resist reaching out to touch, threading his finger gently through the oval of pubic hair.
Ken gasped, and Wylde lifted him again in his arms so that Ken’s legs and arms were around him.
“Now you’re like a seme,” Ken whispered. “Taking me.”
Wylde stepped into the tub, settling onto the wooden bench with Ken sitting on him. Their cocks were lined up so the movement of the running water made them rub together as naturally as seaweed in the tide.
“Wait!” Ken rasped, groping on the low counter beside the tub. He pulled out another jar of something and then lifted himself higher, on his knees. Wylde watched him, riveted. “It’s waterproof lubricant.”
The brush of his body against Wylde’s made him groan, teasing him. He was going to come!
Ken took a big scoop of the emollient, and his hand disappeared behind him. His expression tightened. He chewed his pink bottom lip. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I know you’re hurting.”
Next, Ken rolled a condom onto Wylde’s cock. He stroked Wylde once he was encased, up and down his shaft until Wylde’s hands gripped Ken’s narrow hips, and he looked up into heavy almond-shaped eyes, and then Ken shifted down, and he held Wylde’s penis tall and—
Ken’s head fell back. He gasped.
Wylde’s hands dug into his ass. His prick was being squeezed by something hotter than the water and slick, welcoming him as he lodged home without hesitation….
He stood up in the tub, and Ken fell over so he was half in and half out, water sloshing, his legs spread wide. Wylde hammered between them, eyes going blind, his balls, his nipples, his body seeming to roar like a black bear in the woods, ascendant.
One hand went around Ken’s neck like a collar. His moment hit him, and he needed Ken open for him, needed Ken like this forever, needed him to spread his legs and let Wylde inside his wonderful body—
“Uhhhhhh!” He trembled and hit the rim of the tub like a felled Douglas fir, half in, half out of Ken, who winced.
Wylde sat down on the tub shelf again with a thud, pulling Ken over his lap. Ken winced again, but his arms curved around Wylde’s neck. “Did you like that?” he asked very softly.
Wylde had no words…. He put his face against Ken’s neck and growled.