But he nodded and agreed with a whispered, "Yeah, we're good." He kissed my chest before lying back down on me.
I stared at the ceiling and ran my hand over the soft skin on his back. "For what it's worth, Logan," I admitted quietly, "I've never known anyone like you either."
* * * *
I did see him the next night. Only this time we
ended up naked on his bed, lying on our sides giving mutual blow jobs.
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I needed to taste him. I needed to have him in my
mouth.
Slipping the head of his cock between my lips, I
gripped his slim hips and pulled his cock down my throat. I sucked him, cupped his balls, and pumped him while his talented tongue swirled around me. We came only
moments apart, and I maneuvered us quickly so I could kiss him, our tastes mingling in our mouths.
We lay naked for a long while, talking and
laughing, and eventually got up to eat a late dinner. That was when I told him I wanted him to come to my place the next night.
"Why?"
"Because it's Friday night."
He looked confused. "So?"
I took a deep breath. "I want you to meet Tim."
Logan knew all about my housemate, but he was still surprised. "He's been hassling me for information about you," I told him honestly. "And the good thing is, because it's Friday night, he'll go out and leave us alone."
Logan blinked. "Um…"
I smiled. "So if you got to my house around six-ish, you'd meet him just as he's about to leave, and he won't be there to bother us." Then I added, "Or to embarrass me."
Logan chuckled. "He can't be
that
bad."
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I snorted incredulously. "The stories I've told you are only the ones that bear repeating and, even then, only very censored."
"Oh." Logan shook his head with a laugh.
"So will you meet him?"
"You really want me to?"
I nodded.
He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Okay then,"
he said. I could tell he was nervous, but his smile for the rest of the night was stellar.
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Given that I finished work after three, I had about two or so hours before Logan would arrive at my place.
That gave me enough time to stop at the video store, pick up some dinner, get home, and clean.
I cleaned my room, the living room, kitchen,
bathroom, and even the toilet.
Tim stared at me like I'd lost my freakin' mind.
By the time I had the place resembling something
other than a pigsty, got out of my dirty work clothes, and showered, Tim was smirking at me.
I looked at his all-knowing, shit-eating grin.
"What?"
"Nothing," he replied, still smiling. I stopped and stared at him, so he grinned. "Well, this guy must be something special. You've never cleaned up for anyone before."
"Well, I don't want him to think we live like pigs."
Tim snorted. "But we do live like pigs."
I looked at my housemate. "Well, Logan doesn't.
His place is clean and tidy and expensive and… and…"
"And
gay?
" he deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes at him. "I just want the place to
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look nice." I looked around the living room at the old mismatched furniture, and I amended it with, "Well, I want it to look clean."
Tim grinned. "You know, the guys are gonna want to meet this mystery man that's kept you busy the last two Friday nights in a row. That's a first for Brent Kelly."
The corner of my lip pulled downward. "I, um, I don't think Logan's ready for them yet." Then I shrugged.
"And I'm pretty sure Marty isn't ready to meet Logan."
Marty. Marty was a good guy, one of the guys we
had drinks with. He was bi and had made himself pretty clear—several times—he was interested in me. I'd told him I just didn't see him like that and had managed to avoid having that awkward conversation since. He'd watched me for months picking up random men. We all knew he didn't like it, but he never commented. Not to me anyway.
And right then, there was a knock at the door. I
looked at the time. Five to six. I looked at Tim and warned him, "Be nice."
I left my housemate grinning in the kitchen, and
when I opened the door, I smiled as soon as I saw him. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a light gray shirt, and his trademark black vest. A shy smile spread across his lips, and his eyes glittered behind his glasses.
"Hey," I breathed, pressing my lips to his. "Come
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in."
I shut the door behind him and kissed him again
before leading him through the living room to the kitchen, where Tim was still waiting.
I was so nervous. I wanted them to get along. I
wanted Tim to see Logan how I saw him. I made
introductions, and the two men shook hands.
Tim smiled widely. "So you're this Logan I've heard all about?"
Logan looked at me then back to Tim and smiled
nervously. "Brent talks about you as well."
His English accent was soft, and he looked so out of place. And looking at him, despite his height, he was so pale and small compared to us well-built and tanned tradesmen. He looked a little intimidated. So I stepped beside him, smiling as I took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
We made small talk for a while. Tim was well-
behaved by his standards, but he had an amused smirk the entire time. When Logan asked where the bathroom was and excused himself, Tim stared at me, wide-eyed and on the verge of laughing. Then he whispered, "Brent, my man, he's… he's um… he's nice. But he's a geek."
I blinked at his words, and I'm sure he saw the hurt on my face. I was tempted to say a lot of things—a lot of
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hurt, offended, fucking angry things—but settled for, "You have yourself a good night."
I turned to leave him, but he grabbed my arm. "Hey, that's not what I meant," he said quietly, truthfully. I knew my best friend well enough to know when he was being honest. Then he said, "I mean, sure, it was a surprise. He's not exactly the type of guy you go for. But that's not what surprised me the most." He shook his head, still wide-eyed.
"It was how you looked at him. Jesus, Brent…" Tim shook his head again and poked me in the chest with his finger.
"You've got it bad."
He smiled at me and lifted his eyebrows, but before he could say anything else, before I could think to answer, Logan walked back into the kitchen. He looked at me nervously, knowing in all likelihood we were just talking about him. I looked at Logan and explained, "Tim was just leaving."
Logan smiled anxiously and bit his lip, so I pulled him toward the fridge. "I thought I could try and cook dinner. Is that okay?"
Tim barked out a laugh, making us turn to look at
him. He was staring at me again. "You, Brent Kelly, are going to
cook
?"
"Shut up," I told him. "I cook… sometimes."
My housemate snorted. "Oh-kay," he said slowly.
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"Sure you do." Then he looked at Logan. "Good luck with that. Use the force… or something." Then he held up his hand in the Klingon sign for hello. "Beam me up, Scotty, or whatever the sci-fi term is for good-luck-and-I-hope-you-don't-get-food-poisoning."
Logan and I both stared at him. "Oh, for God's sake," I mumbled. Then I looked at Logan and smiled apologetically. "Ignore him. He'll go away soon."
"Yep." Tim rocked back on his heels. "Well, I'll just be heading off now." He grinned at me. "I'm sure Marty will have a hundred questions."
"Tim…" I warned. "Please don't."
He chuckled, and Logan looked at me, a little
alarmed. "Who's Marty?"
Tim answered. "One of our buddies who has a crush on Brent."
I jumped in quickly. "Yeah, and Brent's not
interested in Marty." Then I looked at Logan and shook my head. "I'm not interested in Marty."
Tim laughed. "Everyone knows you're not
interested in Marty." Then he shrugged. "Well, except for Marty."
I glared at him. "Aren't you late?"
"Yeah, I'm going." He grinned. "Don't you two do anything I wouldn't do." Then he stopped and thought
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about what he'd just said. "Actually, I'm not sure that applies to two gay guys."
Ignoring him completely, I took the chicken pieces out of the fridge and showed it to Logan. "What is it?" he asked.
"Um, the lady at the shop called it chicken
something?" I said. "And apparently it needs forty-five minutes in the oven."
I heard Tim laughing as the front door closed
behind him, and I sighed loudly. "I'm really sorry about him," I said. "He's a great guy. He just
thinks
he's funny."
Logan smiled. "He was great," he told me, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I thought it went just fine."
"He was
great
?" I scoffed. "We're talking about the same guy, right?"
Logan smiled shyly and pulled his bottom lip
between his teeth. "That was the first time I've been introduced to someone as the date of another man."
"Well, that's the first time I've ever had someone over and introduced them… well, to anyone," I admitted.
He looked at me disbelievingly, so I leaned in and kissed him. "I've never really had a boyfriend before, so…"
"Oh." Logan blushed. "Boyfriend…" He turned back to the un-cooked chicken. He pushed his glasses up on
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his nose and tried not to smile. "Um, we better get this into the oven."
I acted like I wasn't embarrassed, and then I acted like I knew what I was doing when I tried to put the chicken on a tray and in the oven. I'd seen it done on TV, and the lady at the shop told me it was fail-safe. Actually, I think the word she used was "idiot-proof."
Logan smiled at me as though he found me
amusing. But after I got dinner in the oven and tidied up, I grinned at him proudly. "See? I can cook!"
He threw his head back and laughed. "Do I want to know what we're having with this chicken?"
His smile made me smile. "They have these pre-made salad packs; they're already done," I told him, though I think he might have already known this. "And some fresh-baked rolls. I mean, I know you watch your carbs, and all, and you're not a big eater, but I can't live on salad without some kind of bread—"
He kissed me to shut me up. "It's perfect."
I took his face in my hands and kissed him properly, slowly, deeply. And when I finally pulled my lips from his, I showed him what I got from the video shop.
"I've created a monster!" Logan exclaimed, shaking his head. I'd collected more
Dr. Who
DVDs and some
Torchwood
DVDs. Logan held up the last DVD and stared
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at me. "
Predator
?"
I shrugged. "Well, it is science fiction… just with blood and guts and gore. See? American science fiction…"
I nodded to the
Predator
DVD and then toward the not-so-crudely-violent
Dr. Who.
"And British science fiction."
He chuckled and pulled me onto the sofa, and in his very sexy English accent, he asked, "So, British or American?"
"British," I said, pressing my lips to his. "Definitely British."
And because I declared the actors better looking, we watched some
Torchwood
first and made out on the sofa until dinner was done. We worked together in the kitchen to get it served up, and funnily enough, it was quite good. I think Logan was pleasantly surprised. I know I certainly was.
I pulled him into my arms on the couch, his head on my chest, as we watched
Dr. Who
. About halfway through an episode, I asked, "So these Daleks conquer entire planets, right?"
"Mmm hmm." he nodded against my chest.
"But they can't even go up steps."
Logan lifted his head and looked at me. His glasses were a little crooked from lying down. He looked…
offended.
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"Oh, come on." I snorted. "So to escape from these oh-so-terrifying robot type creatures who are vying for world domination, all the good doctor had to do was install some stairs?"
Logan's mouth fell open, and he scoffed in
disbelief. Then his mouth snapped shut, and his brow furrowed. "You take that back. They do fly, you know."
I laughed, and he jumped up, straddled my hips, and pinned my hands to my sides. I could have easily
overthrown him. I was twice as strong as him, but I played along. He leaned his forehead on mine and looked down at me, trying not to grin. "No picking on the Doctor."
I laughed again, and leaning up, I kissed him. He
pulled my face up, and he smashed his mouth to mine. He wiggled his hips forward, settling himself on my groin, rubbing against me as he kissed me. He had me hard in no time, grinding upwards into him while he pressed down on me.