Run and Hide Pt. 02

"Ahhh, fuck!" Ace spurted hot, tangy streams into Paul's mouth, and Paul drank him down.

He suckled the last drops off the tip and savored the lingering taste as Ace came down from his release.

Paul's first thought wasMore.

He shook his head to clear it. He was never going to get his fill of this man. He needed to go to Overeaters Anonymous. OverAcers Anonymous?

His second bite at the apple wasn't doing anything to satisfy his hunger. And at this moment he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside that tight ass again.

But Steven's guest bathroom was hardly the place for that, even though his erection was straining at the zipper of his jeans. Even though Ace's beautiful, sated body was slumped onto the closed toilet seat. Right in front of him. Smelling of sweat and sex.

He'd have to take care of this himself.

Paul gingerly rose from his kneeling position and, turning slightly away from Ace, opened his fly and eased some of the pressure on his throbbing cock.

Ace pulled his hands away. "Let me do that," he said huskily.

Paul looked down at him, trying to find his perfect blue eyes in the deep darkness of the small room. He wanted to try to read the emotion in them, but his brilliant plan of locking them in a dark bathroom was throwing a wrench into that.

"Be my guest," Paul said, his voice tight with arousal.

Ace went to work on Paul's cock with a hungry ferocity, sucking hard and wet and fast. No slow build-up, no teasing. He seemed determined to pull Paul's load from him in record time.

Paul wanted to make this last longer, wanted to really feel every bit of Ace's soft, full lips and hot, slick throat. But he'd been half hard almost from the moment he saw this man again, and it was long past time for him to empty his balls.

He threaded his fingers through the soft blond hair he'd been dreaming about and kept his eyes fixed on the incredible sight before him.

Which was a mistake, if he wanted to draw this out. Because even in the darkness, the image of Ace's head bobbing on his cock and Ace's hands gripping his hips was enough to push him over the edge.

"Ace, fuck, do you want-" he broke off helplessly.

"Now," Ace said and swallowed him back down.

Paul's release rushed out of him, dropping into Ace's welcoming mouth, and Paul grunted with every spurt. He wanted to collapse in wrung-out contentment.

"Wow," he said between pants. "I guess you really are a Boy Scout."

Ace chuckled, remembering their first back room conversation at Sparks. "I am never selfish when it comes to orgasms."

Something tightened in Paul's heart when he heard that. An unselfish lover, a talented decorator, a beautiful man.

Paul wanted him. Wanted all of him. And it scared him to death.

The garage door opened with a squeaky groan that echoed through the house. Both men froze with a start, the spell broken and reality rudely returning to their lives. They quickly cleaned up and darted back to the couch and their unfinished beers.

Luckily, their flushed faces could be explained away by the hard work they had been doing all morning. But Paul caught Holly looking at him oddly once or twice.

Ace didn't meet his eyes during the lunch break. It helped that Holly kept up a steady stream of conversation with her new gay best friend.That's a woman who was born to be a fag hag.

During the rest of the work day, Ace kept moving constantly, directing the placement of pillows inside and mulch outside, hanging artwork and nudging furniture around. All the while, he kept his eyes elsewhere.

Paul knew there was more work to do if he was going to get another chance to be with Ace. Still had some angry defenses to break down.

And still have to be honest about yourself.

Paul watched Ace leave in his red truck mid-afternoon and knew that another one of his rules was going to be destroyed tonight.

Chapter 7

Ace ached all over by the time he unfolded his body from his truck after the forty-five minute drive back to Lawrence.

It's the sitting that kills ya. Everyone knows this. It's not that you're getting old, Hoffman. Weak abs notwithstanding.

He knew a day filled with yard work and home staging would take a lot out of him. But he had no idea how fully drained he would be when he finally escaped.

God, what a rollercoaster that day was. By turns tense and uncomfortable, then tense and ecstatic, then tense and awkward. But mostly just tense. And his muscles sure did feel it.

He needed to recover from ... everything. First, a long soak in the tub. Second, order some chicken lo mein from Happy Garden. Third, sleep. Lots of sleep.

And fourth: Stop thinking about Paul in that damn bathroom.

Well, three out of four ain't bad.

He walked up to his front porch, where a strong mewl greeted him from the wooden swing.

"Hey, Lola," he said tiredly. "Back for more, baby?" He unlocked his front door and held it open. "Don't suppose you want to come in this time?"

To his surprise, his vagrant sort-of pet immediately leapt off the swing and sauntered inside. It usually only did that on very cold or very wet nights, and tonight was decidedly neither.

Huh.Lola must have known about the upcoming lo mein. They were both suckers for it. Surely this commitment-phobic cat wasn't adopting him for keeps?

Stranger things have happened. Like Paul shutting him in a bathroom and sucking his brains out of his dick.

Ace gave a full-body shudder at the memory. He couldn't believe that the man who first fucked him senseless then coolly acted like they had never met would ever drop to his knees and turn him to pudding with his tongue like that.

A swirl of black and white by his feet brought his mind back to the present. Lola was rubbing a flank against his jeans, marking him with feline scent.

Speaking of scent, Ace could tell he was pretty ripe from all that manual labor.

Step one: bath. Extra bubbles. And a bottle of moscato. Stat.

Ace left Lola to its own devices while he lounged in his restored claw foot tub upstairs until the lavender bubbles had disappeared and the water had gone irrevocably cold. The bottle of sweet white wine was half gone, and he could see his tension drain with the cooling bathwater.

As he dried off, he called his favorite Chinese delivery place for his usual order. He decided not to get dressed, knowing he was just going to bed not long after eating. He hoped answering the door in only a robe wouldn't seem too lascivious.

He slipped into a perfectly worn, soft, baby blue robe and plopped down on the couch. Lola immediately took up residence on his lap.

"You're affectionate tonight," Ace murmured as he stroked her back. "I suppose everybody needs a friendly touch now and then."

Or one that's something other than friendly. Like scorching. A scorching touch every now and then does the trick, too.

He thought about turning on the TV for some white noise, but the stuff they showed on Saturday night didn't even qualify as good white noise. So he contented himself with petting a purring cat, relishing Lola's rare acquiescence to such domesticity.

Sooner than he expected, the doorbell rang. He snagged his wallet from the entryway table.

"Wow, that was quick," he said as he swung the door open. The rest of his words died in his mouth, which dropped open at the sight of his visitor.

Paul. All six-foot-three of him filled his doorway. He had obviously showered and changed after his day at Steven's, too, and Ace was hit with the clean, irresistible scent of his soap and shampoo. The smell brought to mind images of Paul in the shower, bubbles and water running down his body. Ace felt his dick twitch under his loose robe.

"Hey," Paul said in that ought-to-be-illegal voice. "You left this behind." He held up Ace's clippers from the yard work.

"Oh," Ace said intelligently. He couldn't command his muscles to move. He was keenly aware of how naked he was under the robe. "Uh, thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"It's no trouble," Paul said easily. He slowly trailed his gaze up and down Ace's body, and Ace felt it like a physical caress.

"So," Paul drew out expectantly. "Can I come in?"

Ace blinked to clear his brain. "Sure. Yeah." He stepped back to let him in. Paul brushed against him on his way through the door.

He closed the door and tried to collect himself.This is fine. He's returning a garden tool. He doesn't fuck within a hundred miles of his home. Except, you know, in his brother's bathroom.

Ace didn't know whether to jump him or kick him.

"Your place is, uh, not what I expected," Paul said slowly, taking in the color explosion that was Ace's living room.

"What were you expecting then?"Something less gay?

Paul shrugged. "Something like what you did at Steven's, I guess. I figured that was your style."

"My personal style doesn't usually have much to do with the houses I stage," Ace said. "I would never recommend anyone do their home like mine if they're trying to sell it. But I'm not trying to sell this place."

"It looks like you wanted to use all the colors in the big box of crayons," Paul said.

Ace looked around at the cacophony of disparate artwork, the collection of mismatched furniture, the deep jewel toned walls.

"Well, some of those poor colors never get played with at all," he said lightly. "I was trying to be equal opportunity."

Paul turned to him and smiled, a genuine sweet smile, and Ace's breath caught. He was back on the roller coaster. Away from anyone else's eyes, Paul felt like perfect sexy boyfriend material. Around other people, though, Paul felt like -

Cameron.Fuck.

Ace would not go through that again.Can't let this one in,he decided.

No matter how damn good it felt when he was inside.

"I like it," Paul decided.

Huh.Not what Ace expected.

"This room looks really, um, comfortable," Paul said, looking at the artfully stuffed living room.

"That was the goal," Ace said, crossing to the other side of the room. "The fireplace is the best part, especially in the damn Kansas winter."

"Not used to that, huh?"

"Not after a few years in Atlanta," Ace said. "Last winter was a rude awakening. I camped out here with a big fire every night. Spent all my money on firewood."

Paul's eyes grew warm. "Sounds cozy."

Ace fought a flush.Why the hell am I telling him all this? It's not like he's going to cuddle with me on the sofa.

Nope. Paul was strictly a closet guy. Or a back room guy.

"So," Ace drew out. "Garden tool delivery complete. Thank you for that." He rocked on his heels, not sure what to expect or do next. "You know, you really didn't need to go out of your way for my hedge trimmers."

Paul made a scoffing sound. "We're practically neighbors."

"Oh? What part of town do you live in?"

"Camden Woods. I have a condo there."

"Really? I would have thought Park Hill for a doctor."

Paul made a face. "Too much work."

"What? Walking up the hill?"

"Taking care of one of those old houses."

"Hmm. Low maintenance really is your mission statement, isn't it?"

Paul cleared his throat and looked around the room. His eyes lit up when he found a group of old photos on the mantle.

"Is this you?" he asked, amusement thick in his voice.

This time Ace couldn't stop the blush. "Yep. Me in all my curly glory."

"You were adorable." Paul studied Ace's face and hair. "Does it still get curly like that?"

"In a heartbeat," Ace sighed. "Makes me look like an unkempt frat boy, so I keep it trimmed."

"That's too bad. I bet it would feel great through my fingers."

Gulp.

"Is this your sister in the photo with you?" Paul asked, seemingly oblivious to the rush he just sent through Ace.

"Yeah. Sonya. My big sis." He needed to call her. Hell, he needed to go visit them in Colorado and remind her sons who their favorite uncle was.

"Sonya and Acelin," Paul said. "German, I take it?"

"Quite. My mom is Ilsa, even," Ace said. "And the name Paul aside, McDonnell has gotta be Irish, yes?"As do those dark eyebrows and tragically beautiful features.

"Correct." Paul smiled at him as the conversation faded to nothing. The moment stretched out, and Ace was in danger of getting lost in the silence.

"So," he said, determined to stay true to himself, "you're here, within a hundred miles of -"

The doorbell rang, interrupting Ace's attempt at exercising his atrophied willpower.

"Shit, my dinner," he said, moving toward the entryway. "Um, just a sec-"

"You're answering the door like that?" Paul asked.

Ace self-consciously adjusted the belt of his robe. "I did when you rang. I'm sure delivery people see much worse."

"Why don't you let me get it?" Paul pulled out his wallet and headed toward the door.

"Seriously, it's okay," Ace insisted. "I'm not going to shock anybody. And you don't need to buy my dinner."

"I do if I'm going to steal some of it." Paul firmly pushed Ace back, and the touch of his hand nearly burned through the terry cloth.

Ace stopped breathing briefly and locked eyes with him. Neither of them moved for a moment until the doorbell sounded again.

"Coming," Paul called toward the door. Ace retreated into the kitchen to get some drinks, marveling at how easy it was for that man to render him non-verbal.

He stood staring into his refrigerator, no clue what to offer Paul. In the meantime, he decided to polish off what was left of the moscato. The sweet wine zipped through him and sent a burst of warmth to his blood.

"What do you have to drink?" The illegal voice snuck up on him again.

Ace turned and regarded him. "You're really staying for dinner?"

"I could take it all home with me," Paul teased.

Ace sighed. "Fine. I have Boulevard, Pepsi, Jameson, rum, vodka, some wines. Take your pick."

"Wow, you're pretty stocked."

"The Irish aren't the only famous drinkers, McDonnell," Ace said with a smile. "We Germans more than hold our own."

"I bet you do," Paul rumbled. "Boulevard for me, please." He reached past Ace to grab a beer, and Ace was suddenly disoriented by the man's proximity.

He half stumbled back toward the cabinets for plates and forks.

"Aw, aren't you gonna let me feed you with chopsticks?" Paul said.

Ace raised an eyebrow at him and firmly handed him a plate and fork.

Paul opened one of the Happy Garden cartons. "Mmm, I love lo mein."

That deep purr nearly undid Ace. No man had the right to be that sexy. And a doctor. And in his kitchen.

And in the closet.Focus.

They sat at the dining table and ate in silence. Ace didn't think it was wise to encourage him. He had already shown an appalling lack of restraint around this man in close quarters. And in his home was about as close as Paul could get.

Lola hopped up on the table to demand a share of the meal. Ace smiled at the cat with affection.

"Did I forget you, sweetheart?" he cooed. "I know you're only here for the food, not really for the company." He scooped a pile of the noodles on to a plate and placed it on the floor. "We all know our place in the hierarchy of your affections."

"You have a cat?" Paul asked, rather obviously.

"Sort of. I don't think Lola would submit to being anyone's, though. It's a very persistent porch kitty."

Paul frowned. "It?"

"Not sure if Lola is a boy cat or girl cat. That's why I call it Lola. Like the song."

Paul considered it. "But in the song, Lola turns out to be a transvestite. You're saying your cat is a transvestite?"

"I'm saying my cat doesn't know what it wants to be."

Ace didn't intend that to be so pointed, but as the words came out of his mouth, he saw how they could apply to Paul.He doesn't know who he wants to be, either. Doesn't know if he really wants in or not.

Paul looked at him with furrowed eyebrows and questioning eyes.

"Or, if Lola does turn out to be a boy cat, he has very shy genitals," Ace said, putting on a cheerful voice.

Which would make Lolanothinglike Paul.

As if he had read Ace's thoughts, Paul gave him a slow, burning smile.

Ace quickly pushed a big forkful of noodles into his mouth and averted Paul's eyes.

The sooner they finished this meal, the sooner Ace would be out of danger, so he made quick work of the food on his plate.

Paul kept his eyes on Ace as they both ate, but he didn't say much throughout the rest of the meal.

Getting up to clear the table, Ace couldn't stop a small groan from escaping. He'd been sitting too long again, and his muscles protested.

"Stiff?" Paul asked.

Hewoulduse that word. "All over," Ace admitted. "I don't usually do much work on my knees like that."

He wanted to swallow his tongue. Waseveryword an innuendo?

He dared a glance at Paul's quickly darkening eyes.

Yep. Every word.

"I can fix that," Paul said, low.

"Oh, it's not so bad that I require a visit to the chiropractor," Ace said, waving him off. "Thanks, though."

Because there was no way he could survive the feeling of Paul's slick hands all over his body.

"Nothing clinical, I promise," Paul said. "Just an expert massage. You did say something at Steven's about needing one."

Yes, he did. Ace's muscles pleaded with him to say yes. His brain screamed at him to politely decline and get this man out of his house. He suddenly knew what Eve was thinking as she gazed at that forbidden fruit.

Except in this case, Paul was both the apple and the snake.

"Really, it's not necessary," Ace said with remarkable restraint. "Fifteen or sixteen hours of sleep, and I should be just fine."

"Come on, you're already dressed for it," Paul said, indicating the robe. "And I have some very relaxing massage oils in my car. You'll be good as new when I'm done with you."

"You just happened to have massage oils with you," Ace said flatly.

Paul actually twinkled at him. "You're not the only Boy Scout."

Ace could feel his last finger hold of control slipping away. It's one thing to swear him off when he can't see Paul; it's another thing altogether to breathe his air and still sensibly push him out the door.

"Well, what kinds did you bring?" Ace asked, as if the right answer would make up his mind. "I don't relish the idea of my house smelling like sandalwood."

Paul smiled. "Let me go out to my car to fetch them while you get some towels." He reached the door and turned around. "Don't disappear on me."

Now would be the time to bolt the door and shut him out of his life. Right now. Just move to the door.

Instead, Ace found himself heading upstairs to the linen closet.

He was halfway down the stairs when Paul came through the door.

"Stay there," Paul said. "Are the bedrooms upstairs?"

Ace faltered. "Uh, yeah, but I thought the sofa -"

"Since I don't have my work table, it will be a lot easier for both of us on a flat, soft surface like a bed," Paul said, climbing the stairs. "Sofas can get cramped and awkward."

Ace nodded. It made perfect sense. Of course they were going to be in bed for this.Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

This man was going to eat him alive.One can only hope.

"I have some good choices for you," Paul said, holding up a wicker basket of colorful glass bottles. "Let's get set up."

Paul spread the towels carefully on top of the bedspread in the master bedroom while Ace examined the selections. He opened the lid on almond oil and took in its sweet scent.

"That's a good choice for someone who's new to getting massages," Paul said.

Ace put it back in the basket and picked up a dusky mauve bottle.

"Agarwood, huh?" Ace said, reading the label. "Is it related to sandalwood? Part of the wood family?"