The First Time
Title: The First Time
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries
Pairing: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Rating NC-17, just to be safe.
Disclaimer:These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Summary: A chance meeting leads to the unexpected. About 2,700 words.
A/N: This is a story about book!verse Donald and Timothy. A few movie!verse details couldn't help sneaking in here, but that's because Chad and Sebastian are such good influences. Thank you so much to nyteflyer, who beta'd the story and has told me many times that less is more. She's so right. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Further notes:In "Death Trick," Donald mentions meeting Tim under a tree in Washington Park. A little further along in that book, he and Timmy make love "with a furious intensity reminiscent of the night after the night we met." This story is my attempt to describe that first meeting and that first time.
As I watched the guy I’d been tailing for two days disappear into a thick stand of trees about fifty yards ahead of me, I knew I had to give it up for a lost cause. I wasn’t a bad runner, but the guy was at least ten years younger than me and had a helluva head start.
I came to a stumbling halt and tried to catch my breath. Although it was early evening, it was still too hot to be racing around Washington Park. I staggered into the shade of the nearest tree, hoping to cool off and regroup.
A man was sitting on one of the benches beneath the tree, reading a thick paperback. He was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, but instead of looking sweaty and disheveled like me, he looked like a long, tall glass of ice water.
I leaned against the tree, hoping he wouldn’t notice me, but wishing he would. Even if the guy were gay, I wasn’t under any illusion that I had a chance to do more than engage in desultory conversation. A guy as gorgeous as this one was sure to be taken.
I didn’t get a chance to cogitate on the matter. The man placed a strip of paper in his book, closed it and slipped it into an expensive briefcase. Then he folded his hands in his lap and looked at me.
“I suppose you were chasing that man who ran by here a minute ago,” he said.
“Was being the operative word,” I said. I swiped my arm across my sweating forehead. It didn’t do any good.
“Police officer?”
“Private investigator.”
“Why are you chasing him?”
“I need to talk to him about something,” I said. I drew in a long breath and let it out. “He’s got some information I’d like to have.”
The man nodded. “Well, better luck next time.”
“I’ll need it.”
Neither one of us said anything, and I figured that was that. I was just about to say “so long” when the man patted the seat beside him.
“Take a rest before you go tearing off again,” he said. “It’s too hot to be running around like that.”
I was about to tell him thanks, but I had things to do, when he smiled at me. Not some big, shit-eating grin, but a kind, gentle smile that did beautiful things to that extraordinary patrician face.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “I could use a break.”
I sat down on the other side of him, being careful not to get too close. I wasn’t at my freshest, and this guy looked like he was sitting in a refrigerator. I swear to God I didn’t see a bead of sweat on him. Even from two feet away I could still smell his expensive cologne, a fresh, natural scent that reminded me of the woods in upstate New York.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, already opening his briefcase. He brought out a small thermos. “Iced tea?”
All of a sudden, I was dying of thirst. “That would be great,” I said. I watched him unscrew the cap with hands that looked like they’d been freshly manicured. He poured the small cup almost full and handed it to me.
Our fingers brushed together for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to make me shiver with longing. He smiled at me again, and I fell. Hard.
Thinking before I speak wasn’t one of my virtues, and I didn’t waste time thinking now.
“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” I gulped down the tea and handed him the cup, our fingers brushing together again. “There’s a nice Italian place not far from here.”
The man’s mouth twitched, whether in amusement or annoyance, I didn’t know. But his blue eyes twinkled, and I decided he was amused.
“I’d like that,” he said. “But first, we should introduce ourselves. He held out his hand. “Timothy Callahan.”
I shook his hand. It was cool and dry, and his fingers gripped mine with assurance. I could have held it forever.
“Donald Strachey.” I forced myself to let go of his hand. “Where should I pick you up?”
“My apartment,” he said. He reached inside his suit jacket and brought out a small notepad and a tiny pencil. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper, tore it out and handed it to me. “What time?”
“I’ll get a table for seven-thirty,” I said, having no idea whether I’d be able to do any such thing on short notice. “So I’ll be at your place around seven.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Timothy checked his watch. “I need to get to my bus stop, but I’ll see you tomorrow night, Donald Strachey.”
He held out his hand again, and I took it, overcome with the desire to yank him to me and kiss him without regard for who might see or how he might feel about it. He gently pulled his hand away from mine, packed up his thermos, nodded and walked away, his stride confident and purposeful.
I watched him leave, admiring his broad shoulders and the cut of his suit, and then imagined what he looked like out of it. But something told me Timothy wasn’t the type of man who jumped into the sack on the first date. I was, but I was morally challenged. But even I could behave myself for one night. With my luck, that was all I'd get, anyway.
********
Freshly showered and shaved, I arrived at Timothy’s apartment at precisely seven o’clock, proud of myself for making it on time. I hoped punctuality might put me in my date’s good graces. Now, if the dinner went well, maybe I’d have a chance with him.
I knocked on the door, and it was opened within seconds, almost like he’d been looking out his peephole, waiting for me to show up.
“You made it,” he said, standing aside to let me in. He closed the door and led the way into his small living room. I took a good look at his ass which was, unfortunately, covered by his suit jacket.
“I said I’d be here at seven.” I looked around the tidy, tastefully decorated room and thought about how different it was from my nondescript apartment. My place looked like someone had just moved in and had no intention of staying. Timothy’s apartment had pictures on the walls, framed family photographs on the coffee table and an afghan draped over the back of the sofa. He didn’t merely inhabit the place; he lived in it.
“Not everyone does what he says he’s going to do,” Timothy said.
I stole a glance at his face. He seemed to be sizing me up. I didn’t like it.
“I mean what I say,” I told him. “My word is all I’ve got.”
He nodded and moved a step closer to me. “I agree.”
Timothy was close enough now for me to smell his cologne. It struck me just as it had the day before, that clean, fresh, earthy scent that I decided was the best thing I’d ever smelled. I couldn’t help closing my eyes and reveling in it, just in case this would be my last chance to enjoy it.
“Donald.”
I opened my eyes. He was right there in front of me now, that beautiful face only inches from mine. That gentle smile was playing around his lips, lips I was longing to kiss.
He beat me to it. He leaned forward and kissed me, his mouth lingering against mine until I opened up to him. His tongue slid past my lips, and I was his. I framed his face in my hands and heard him groan as he wrapped his arms around me. His mouth slid away from mine as he trailed kisses along my jaw to the side of my neck. My cock, which had indicated its interest the minute Timothy opened the door, was now standing at attention.
Nothing prepared for how good it felt to be held against his body. Timothy was solid and real and somehow comforting and familiar. I wanted more; I wanted everything from him, and that scared the shit out of me. I’d never wanted more than a quick fuck or a blowjob from anyone else.
Only a raveling thread of decency kept me from tearing his clothes off and pushing him down on the sofa. I was desperate to touch him, to make him scream, to make him mine. But if I did that, I’d lose whatever chance I had with Timothy. For some reason, I knew this wasn’t something he normally did. It was too hurried and too frantic. Hell, maybe he just hadn’t had any in a long time.
It was up to me to be a gentleman, at least for now.
“Timothy.” Unable to help myself, I buried my face in his neck and sighed. “We’ve got reservations.”
"I'm not hungry," he whispered. He bit my earlobe. “Are you hungry?”
All sense of decency vanished as his tongue traced my ear. “No.”
“Let’s stay here.”
I gave him one last out. “Are you sure?”
He took my left hand, the one that was straying close to his ass, and pressed it against the front of his pants. He was as hard as I was.
“Christ, Timothy.” I couldn’t help wrapping my hand around what was sure to be the most beautiful cock on the planet. “Christ Jesus.”
Timothy moaned against my neck, and when his knees buckled I knew there was no point in waiting. I unbuttoned his coat and shoved it off his shoulders, tore it from his arms and tossed it on the floor. For a second he looked affronted, but then he did the same to mine. I went straight for the tasteful silver buckle on his belt, and with the ease of long practice, unbuckled it and then unzipped his pants.
His hands weren’t as sure. His fingers trembled as he tried to unfasten my belt, and I had to bite my lip when his knuckles brushed against my erection. I gave him a hand and within seconds we had each other’s pants pushed down our hips and were falling together on the couch.
Timothy spread his knees and pulled me between them, and his cry of pleasure when my cock touched his almost undid me. He felt so damn good - hot and hard and needy as hell. His hands slid up the back of my shirt and then down to my ass, pulling me tight against his writhing, thrusting body.
“Donald. Oh, God.”
I pushed myself up on my hands, wanting to kiss him, but I froze at the look on his face. He was staring at me, breathing hard, his eyes huge in his flushed face. He looked vulnerable and almost terrified, and I swore I’d never let anyone else see him that way.
“Donald, please. I need … I need it.”
“Take it,” I whispered, needing it, needing him. “Just take it, Timmy.”
His eyes closed, his breathing hitched, and the hands on my ass squeezed so hard I knew I’d have bruises. Heat spread between us as he sobbed my name, and then I came, too, harder than I had in years.
I was still sprawled on top of him ten minutes later, my skin stuck to his in a way I’d never enjoyed - until now. This was when I usually said, thanks, buddy, I’ll see you later. Yeah, I’ll call you sometime. I never saw any of them later, and I never called.
Not this time. I’d be seeing and calling Timothy every chance I got.
Timothy had one hand under my damp shirt and the other on the back of my neck. His hands were still, but I could sense a tension in them as if he wanted to hold me closer but was afraid of what I might say. I took a chance and burrowed against him, sighing in pleasure as he began threading his fingers through my hair.
“That feels good.”
“I’m glad.” The hand on my back drifted down to my ass, patted it and slid back up under my shirt.
Contentment didn’t cover it. I was draped over a man I’d known for maybe an hour, with my pants around my knees and my ass hanging out, and I hadn’t felt this good in years. Our frantic frotting session probably took all of five minutes, including the foreplay, but it was better than any all-nighter I’d ever had.
I hadn’t expected this. Timothy looked like the button-down type, the kind of guy who needed to know a man before he got down to brass tacks. He’d surprised me and probably shocked the hell out of himself. I needed to know more about him, a hell of a lot more, because I planned to spend lot of time with Timothy Callahan.
“What’s your favorite color?”
I halted my musings and raised my head to look at him. His eyes were shut, and his face had that sated, blissed-out look. Good. That meant he had no regrets.
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Blue.” Inspiration struck. “Like your eyes.”
Timmy chuckled, making me bounce a little on his chest. “That’s an old line.”
“True.” I chuckled along with him. “What’s yours?”
“Green.” He opened his eyes and gazed into mine. “But I might change it to blue.”
I reached up and fiddled with the knot on his still perfectly knotted tie. “You’re just saying that to get me in the sack.”
He brushed his knuckles across my cheek and smiled. “I’ve already had you on the couch. I guess the sack is the next step.” He paused. “But there is one problem.”
Of course there was because karma’s a bitch. All my running around was finally coming back to bite me on the ass. Timothy Callahan was probably taken, and I was probably an aberration. For once, I was getting the bum’s rush. Well, it served me right.
“What’s the problem?” I slid my hands around his shoulders and tucked my head under his chin. If he was going to show me the door, I wanted one last chance to listen to his heart beating beneath my ear.
He kissed the top of my head and gave my ear a gentle pinch. “We don’t know each other. I know your name and that you’re a private investigator. Your favorite color is blue and you’re punctual. But that’s all I know.”
I breathed a little easier. Getting to know each other. Yeah, I could do that.
“What’s your favorite drink?” I asked him.
“Milk.”
“You’re kidding.”
He laughed. “I’m kidding. Vodka martini.”
“Mine, too.”
“Favorite vodka?”
“Popov,” I said.
He made a gagging noise. “That stuff will rot your stomach. You need to aim higher. Smirnoff, at least.”
“I could use a martini right now,” I said.
“I’ll make you one later.” He shifted under me, but I didn’t move. “Are you Albany born and bred?”
“Nope. New Jersey. You?”
“Poughkeepsie.”
“College?” I asked.
“Georgetown.”
“A hoity-toity Hoya.” He smacked my ass, and I pretended it hurt. “I went to Rutgers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Very funny, Callahan.” I smiled against his chest. “You’re a real George Carlin.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, and I thought about falling asleep just so I could wake up in Timothy’s arms, but he nudged my shoulder. “Are you awake?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
His voice was uncertain, and it was up to me to alleviate his doubts. I kissed him, letting him know with my lips and tongue that I indeed would like to sleep with him and do whatever else he had in mind. His cock twitched against my stomach, telling me I was doing everything right.
“I don’t do this with everyone,” he said when we parted for air. His face was nicely flushed again. It looked good on him.
“So what makes me special?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries
Pairing: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan
Rating NC-17, just to be safe.
Disclaimer:These characters belong to Richard Stevenson.
Summary: A chance meeting leads to the unexpected. About 2,700 words.
A/N: This is a story about book!verse Donald and Timothy. A few movie!verse details couldn't help sneaking in here, but that's because Chad and Sebastian are such good influences. Thank you so much to nyteflyer, who beta'd the story and has told me many times that less is more. She's so right. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Further notes:In "Death Trick," Donald mentions meeting Tim under a tree in Washington Park. A little further along in that book, he and Timmy make love "with a furious intensity reminiscent of the night after the night we met." This story is my attempt to describe that first meeting and that first time.
As I watched the guy I’d been tailing for two days disappear into a thick stand of trees about fifty yards ahead of me, I knew I had to give it up for a lost cause. I wasn’t a bad runner, but the guy was at least ten years younger than me and had a helluva head start.
I came to a stumbling halt and tried to catch my breath. Although it was early evening, it was still too hot to be racing around Washington Park. I staggered into the shade of the nearest tree, hoping to cool off and regroup.
A man was sitting on one of the benches beneath the tree, reading a thick paperback. He was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, but instead of looking sweaty and disheveled like me, he looked like a long, tall glass of ice water.
I leaned against the tree, hoping he wouldn’t notice me, but wishing he would. Even if the guy were gay, I wasn’t under any illusion that I had a chance to do more than engage in desultory conversation. A guy as gorgeous as this one was sure to be taken.
I didn’t get a chance to cogitate on the matter. The man placed a strip of paper in his book, closed it and slipped it into an expensive briefcase. Then he folded his hands in his lap and looked at me.
“I suppose you were chasing that man who ran by here a minute ago,” he said.
“Was being the operative word,” I said. I swiped my arm across my sweating forehead. It didn’t do any good.
“Police officer?”
“Private investigator.”
“Why are you chasing him?”
“I need to talk to him about something,” I said. I drew in a long breath and let it out. “He’s got some information I’d like to have.”
The man nodded. “Well, better luck next time.”
“I’ll need it.”
Neither one of us said anything, and I figured that was that. I was just about to say “so long” when the man patted the seat beside him.
“Take a rest before you go tearing off again,” he said. “It’s too hot to be running around like that.”
I was about to tell him thanks, but I had things to do, when he smiled at me. Not some big, shit-eating grin, but a kind, gentle smile that did beautiful things to that extraordinary patrician face.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “I could use a break.”
I sat down on the other side of him, being careful not to get too close. I wasn’t at my freshest, and this guy looked like he was sitting in a refrigerator. I swear to God I didn’t see a bead of sweat on him. Even from two feet away I could still smell his expensive cologne, a fresh, natural scent that reminded me of the woods in upstate New York.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, already opening his briefcase. He brought out a small thermos. “Iced tea?”
All of a sudden, I was dying of thirst. “That would be great,” I said. I watched him unscrew the cap with hands that looked like they’d been freshly manicured. He poured the small cup almost full and handed it to me.
Our fingers brushed together for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to make me shiver with longing. He smiled at me again, and I fell. Hard.
Thinking before I speak wasn’t one of my virtues, and I didn’t waste time thinking now.
“Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” I gulped down the tea and handed him the cup, our fingers brushing together again. “There’s a nice Italian place not far from here.”
The man’s mouth twitched, whether in amusement or annoyance, I didn’t know. But his blue eyes twinkled, and I decided he was amused.
“I’d like that,” he said. “But first, we should introduce ourselves. He held out his hand. “Timothy Callahan.”
I shook his hand. It was cool and dry, and his fingers gripped mine with assurance. I could have held it forever.
“Donald Strachey.” I forced myself to let go of his hand. “Where should I pick you up?”
“My apartment,” he said. He reached inside his suit jacket and brought out a small notepad and a tiny pencil. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper, tore it out and handed it to me. “What time?”
“I’ll get a table for seven-thirty,” I said, having no idea whether I’d be able to do any such thing on short notice. “So I’ll be at your place around seven.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Timothy checked his watch. “I need to get to my bus stop, but I’ll see you tomorrow night, Donald Strachey.”
He held out his hand again, and I took it, overcome with the desire to yank him to me and kiss him without regard for who might see or how he might feel about it. He gently pulled his hand away from mine, packed up his thermos, nodded and walked away, his stride confident and purposeful.
I watched him leave, admiring his broad shoulders and the cut of his suit, and then imagined what he looked like out of it. But something told me Timothy wasn’t the type of man who jumped into the sack on the first date. I was, but I was morally challenged. But even I could behave myself for one night. With my luck, that was all I'd get, anyway.
********
Freshly showered and shaved, I arrived at Timothy’s apartment at precisely seven o’clock, proud of myself for making it on time. I hoped punctuality might put me in my date’s good graces. Now, if the dinner went well, maybe I’d have a chance with him.
I knocked on the door, and it was opened within seconds, almost like he’d been looking out his peephole, waiting for me to show up.
“You made it,” he said, standing aside to let me in. He closed the door and led the way into his small living room. I took a good look at his ass which was, unfortunately, covered by his suit jacket.
“I said I’d be here at seven.” I looked around the tidy, tastefully decorated room and thought about how different it was from my nondescript apartment. My place looked like someone had just moved in and had no intention of staying. Timothy’s apartment had pictures on the walls, framed family photographs on the coffee table and an afghan draped over the back of the sofa. He didn’t merely inhabit the place; he lived in it.
“Not everyone does what he says he’s going to do,” Timothy said.
I stole a glance at his face. He seemed to be sizing me up. I didn’t like it.
“I mean what I say,” I told him. “My word is all I’ve got.”
He nodded and moved a step closer to me. “I agree.”
Timothy was close enough now for me to smell his cologne. It struck me just as it had the day before, that clean, fresh, earthy scent that I decided was the best thing I’d ever smelled. I couldn’t help closing my eyes and reveling in it, just in case this would be my last chance to enjoy it.
“Donald.”
I opened my eyes. He was right there in front of me now, that beautiful face only inches from mine. That gentle smile was playing around his lips, lips I was longing to kiss.
He beat me to it. He leaned forward and kissed me, his mouth lingering against mine until I opened up to him. His tongue slid past my lips, and I was his. I framed his face in my hands and heard him groan as he wrapped his arms around me. His mouth slid away from mine as he trailed kisses along my jaw to the side of my neck. My cock, which had indicated its interest the minute Timothy opened the door, was now standing at attention.
Nothing prepared for how good it felt to be held against his body. Timothy was solid and real and somehow comforting and familiar. I wanted more; I wanted everything from him, and that scared the shit out of me. I’d never wanted more than a quick fuck or a blowjob from anyone else.
Only a raveling thread of decency kept me from tearing his clothes off and pushing him down on the sofa. I was desperate to touch him, to make him scream, to make him mine. But if I did that, I’d lose whatever chance I had with Timothy. For some reason, I knew this wasn’t something he normally did. It was too hurried and too frantic. Hell, maybe he just hadn’t had any in a long time.
It was up to me to be a gentleman, at least for now.
“Timothy.” Unable to help myself, I buried my face in his neck and sighed. “We’ve got reservations.”
"I'm not hungry," he whispered. He bit my earlobe. “Are you hungry?”
All sense of decency vanished as his tongue traced my ear. “No.”
“Let’s stay here.”
I gave him one last out. “Are you sure?”
He took my left hand, the one that was straying close to his ass, and pressed it against the front of his pants. He was as hard as I was.
“Christ, Timothy.” I couldn’t help wrapping my hand around what was sure to be the most beautiful cock on the planet. “Christ Jesus.”
Timothy moaned against my neck, and when his knees buckled I knew there was no point in waiting. I unbuttoned his coat and shoved it off his shoulders, tore it from his arms and tossed it on the floor. For a second he looked affronted, but then he did the same to mine. I went straight for the tasteful silver buckle on his belt, and with the ease of long practice, unbuckled it and then unzipped his pants.
His hands weren’t as sure. His fingers trembled as he tried to unfasten my belt, and I had to bite my lip when his knuckles brushed against my erection. I gave him a hand and within seconds we had each other’s pants pushed down our hips and were falling together on the couch.
Timothy spread his knees and pulled me between them, and his cry of pleasure when my cock touched his almost undid me. He felt so damn good - hot and hard and needy as hell. His hands slid up the back of my shirt and then down to my ass, pulling me tight against his writhing, thrusting body.
“Donald. Oh, God.”
I pushed myself up on my hands, wanting to kiss him, but I froze at the look on his face. He was staring at me, breathing hard, his eyes huge in his flushed face. He looked vulnerable and almost terrified, and I swore I’d never let anyone else see him that way.
“Donald, please. I need … I need it.”
“Take it,” I whispered, needing it, needing him. “Just take it, Timmy.”
His eyes closed, his breathing hitched, and the hands on my ass squeezed so hard I knew I’d have bruises. Heat spread between us as he sobbed my name, and then I came, too, harder than I had in years.
I was still sprawled on top of him ten minutes later, my skin stuck to his in a way I’d never enjoyed - until now. This was when I usually said, thanks, buddy, I’ll see you later. Yeah, I’ll call you sometime. I never saw any of them later, and I never called.
Not this time. I’d be seeing and calling Timothy every chance I got.
Timothy had one hand under my damp shirt and the other on the back of my neck. His hands were still, but I could sense a tension in them as if he wanted to hold me closer but was afraid of what I might say. I took a chance and burrowed against him, sighing in pleasure as he began threading his fingers through my hair.
“That feels good.”
“I’m glad.” The hand on my back drifted down to my ass, patted it and slid back up under my shirt.
Contentment didn’t cover it. I was draped over a man I’d known for maybe an hour, with my pants around my knees and my ass hanging out, and I hadn’t felt this good in years. Our frantic frotting session probably took all of five minutes, including the foreplay, but it was better than any all-nighter I’d ever had.
I hadn’t expected this. Timothy looked like the button-down type, the kind of guy who needed to know a man before he got down to brass tacks. He’d surprised me and probably shocked the hell out of himself. I needed to know more about him, a hell of a lot more, because I planned to spend lot of time with Timothy Callahan.
“What’s your favorite color?”
I halted my musings and raised my head to look at him. His eyes were shut, and his face had that sated, blissed-out look. Good. That meant he had no regrets.
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Blue.” Inspiration struck. “Like your eyes.”
Timmy chuckled, making me bounce a little on his chest. “That’s an old line.”
“True.” I chuckled along with him. “What’s yours?”
“Green.” He opened his eyes and gazed into mine. “But I might change it to blue.”
I reached up and fiddled with the knot on his still perfectly knotted tie. “You’re just saying that to get me in the sack.”
He brushed his knuckles across my cheek and smiled. “I’ve already had you on the couch. I guess the sack is the next step.” He paused. “But there is one problem.”
Of course there was because karma’s a bitch. All my running around was finally coming back to bite me on the ass. Timothy Callahan was probably taken, and I was probably an aberration. For once, I was getting the bum’s rush. Well, it served me right.
“What’s the problem?” I slid my hands around his shoulders and tucked my head under his chin. If he was going to show me the door, I wanted one last chance to listen to his heart beating beneath my ear.
He kissed the top of my head and gave my ear a gentle pinch. “We don’t know each other. I know your name and that you’re a private investigator. Your favorite color is blue and you’re punctual. But that’s all I know.”
I breathed a little easier. Getting to know each other. Yeah, I could do that.
“What’s your favorite drink?” I asked him.
“Milk.”
“You’re kidding.”
He laughed. “I’m kidding. Vodka martini.”
“Mine, too.”
“Favorite vodka?”
“Popov,” I said.
He made a gagging noise. “That stuff will rot your stomach. You need to aim higher. Smirnoff, at least.”
“I could use a martini right now,” I said.
“I’ll make you one later.” He shifted under me, but I didn’t move. “Are you Albany born and bred?”
“Nope. New Jersey. You?”
“Poughkeepsie.”
“College?” I asked.
“Georgetown.”
“A hoity-toity Hoya.” He smacked my ass, and I pretended it hurt. “I went to Rutgers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Very funny, Callahan.” I smiled against his chest. “You’re a real George Carlin.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, and I thought about falling asleep just so I could wake up in Timothy’s arms, but he nudged my shoulder. “Are you awake?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
His voice was uncertain, and it was up to me to alleviate his doubts. I kissed him, letting him know with my lips and tongue that I indeed would like to sleep with him and do whatever else he had in mind. His cock twitched against my stomach, telling me I was doing everything right.
“I don’t do this with everyone,” he said when we parted for air. His face was nicely flushed again. It looked good on him.
“So what makes me special?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”