Bending the Iron - 2. Chapter 2

There was no shortage of odd jobs. Parts of the diorama were dark and still, their trains stopped mid-track, some at stations, others on mountain passes. In these areas, Eric had stacked soft cloths and a hodgepodge of tools—hammers, screwdrivers and wire cutters. Sheets of lined notebook paper, filled with scrawls, could be seen propped up on toy-sized bridges and dams.

Portions of the model still functioned. Since most loops ran independently of each other, it was possible to keep some operational while the rest underwent maintenance.

“This is a prototypical layout,” Eric told Michael. “With quite a bit of creative license. That means it’s meant to mimic actual rail lines. For instance, this one...” He pointed to the circuit closest to them. Nestled in a lush valley of farmland, the tracks ran through three small stations, two of which were surrounded by towns. “This is supposed to be the Juniata Valley Railroad, and this—” Eric gestured at the general area in front of them, “—is supposed to be Mifflin County. The Juniata services Lewistown, Derry and Burnham, for the most part. There wasn’t much out there then. Frankly, there isn’t much out there now. I don’t think all these details are historically accurate, but they probably looked good, which is why the original modelers added them. I’d much rather stick with the facts, you know? Original, local flavor.”

Michael knew the area; Pete had grown up there. “There were a couple strip bars in Derry back in the ‘70s. One of them was full service, if you know what I mean. You could always add those.”

Unfazed, Eric grinned. “One-track mind, Michael.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“I got a million of ‘em. Come on.” Eric motioned him farther down the aisle.

The inconsistencies bothered Eric to no end. Michael deduced that by his tone, which wasn’t so much annoyed as exasperated. “And this one...don’t get me started.” He ducked free when Michael put a hand on his shoulder, moving quickly toward the end of the room.

Michael let him go. He himself wasn’t a particularly shy man. Frequenting the rougher side of Pittsburgh’s gay scene had taken care of that. Still, he couldn’t quite pin down the signals being thrown his way, and that gave him pause. Eric’s flirtation couldn’t have been more obvious. So why the nervousness? As if he was afraid Michael would bite him.

“Here.” Eric gestured him forward to one end of the diorama, the one closest to the steel mill. “I think I might have you start with the Allegheny Valley Railroad. They’re still solvent, successful even. One of the few railroads left that are in the black.” His fingers hovered over Michael’s bare arm for a moment before retreating. “How handy are you with a camera?”

“Point and click, right?” Testing, Michael did touch, and there was no accounting for how it lit him up inside; it hadn’t been that long since he’d been laid. Eric felt perfect under his fingers. And the way he lost his train of thought, stuttering whenever Michael reached for him, could be addictive. Charmed, Michael took up one of Eric’s wrists and began to trace the lines that crisscrossed his palm.

Throwing Michael a mock scowl, Eric sidestepped his roving hands. “You’re a horrible distraction.”

Chagrined, Michael shoved them into his pockets, but his smile wouldn’t be tamed. “How is it you know so much about this stuff?”

“I studied local history. My thesis touched on how the decline of the railway system changed the political landscape of the state. But I’ve been tinkering with model trains all my life. I still build modules for shows. Total geek, I know. Anyway, with all that experience, I was basically a shoo-in for the position, which is awesome. I’ll be the first to admit this is my dream job.”

That wasn’t something Michael heard every day. “So you just want me to take pictures?”

“I need a comprehensive photographic study. Start with a couple wide-angle pictures of the whole circuit, if you can fit the whole thing in the viewfinder. Then as many shots as you think you need to capture the details. Trust me, you can’t take too many. I’ll use them to put together a plan of attack for repairs and changes.”

“Close-ups?”

“Definitely. If Barbie’s blowing Ken in one of the houses in town, I want to know.”

Now who was teasing? Michael’s mouth went dry.

“I’ll go get the camera.” Holding Michael’s gaze, Eric brushed past, the touch intimate and fleeting. They were a bit crowded in the corner, but not so much that full body contact was necessary to maneuver. And it had been deliberate contact. For a moment, Eric had been close, warm, his chest pressed against Michael’s, and when he slipped away they were both breathless.

Eric only made it a few steps before stopping. He spoke without turning around. “Shit. I can’t concentrate worth a damn with you looking at me like that. This isn’t going to work.”

It could, though, if they took the edge off. Michael felt certain he could putter around the model room for hours if he could focus on anything besides getting Eric underneath him. What he needed was a way to satisfy his curiosity about how Eric tasted, and about how tightly those legs might wrap around his waist.

The images felt like physical blows, knocking the air from his chest. Uncomfortably hard, he sucked in a breath, edging a few paces away. Eric looked over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Wondering at the tentative wobble in Eric’s voice, Michael scrubbed at his cheeks, then deliberately brought one hand up to cup the bulge in his jeans. The way Eric’s eyes dropped, taking in Michael’s obvious interest, aroused him even more. He didn’t dignify the question with an answer, just watched Eric’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“Oh. Hell, Michael, you’re gonna get me fired.” But even as he spoke, he was moving, drawing Michael along the wall toward the storeroom, where boxes overflowed out of the small, musty space and into the model room. He didn’t explain, say “In here,” or do anything ridiculous and unneeded. They stumbled over the cardboard obstacle course together, Michael reaching for what he’d been craving even as Eric called out, “Hey, Pete. Mikey’s going to help me sort through these tools. Be right back.”

Pete’s mumbled answer—from the other side of the room, thank God—got lost in Michael’s growl. “Call me Mikey again, and you’ll regret it.” He backed Eric into one of the walls not covered in shelving.

“God. Promise?” Eric asked on a laugh, then deftly flipped them, putting Michael’s back to the wall. “You keep a lookout. I’m going to be busy.”

Eric rested his hands on Michael’s hips, clenching the T-shirt and the denim beneath it, and Michael felt every scorching fingertip, even through two layers of fabric. He gave up trying to breathe evenly when Eric’s fingers slithered underneath the cotton and up over the waistband of his jeans to tease the bare skin.

“Damn,” Eric breathed, burying his face in Michael’s neck. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“A million reasons. None of which I want to talk about right now.” His hands danced over Michael’s hard stomach while he inhaled deeply against the soft skin of his throat.

Groaning, Michael dropped his head back against the wall and did some clumsy exploring of his own, mapping the defined muscles of Eric’s arms and upper back. Eric answered by grazing his teeth along Michael’s throat, nipping, the bites not rough, but possessive. He smiled at the full-body shudder they elicited.

“Like that?”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, separating one hand from where it clutched Eric’s shirt to cradle the back of his head, holding him close. He more than liked it, and how Eric could have known that...there was no way, but he went at Michael’s neck as though they’d been lovers for years, finding places that drove him mad. He knew every spot to kiss and just how rough to be with his teeth.

But the position wasn’t perfect, and eventually the lack of pressure against his cock became unbearable. Michael freed his other hand and hooked it around Eric’s ass, yanking him forward, almost off his feet. They crashed together, and Eric’s teeth came down hard on Michael’s throat, sending a bolt of pain-tinged lust all the way to his toes, almost buckling his knees.

“Fuck, are you okay? Sorry,” Eric muttered thickly, lapping at the red marks he’d left behind.

Beyond speech, beyond anything but writhing against the hard body pinning him to the wall, Michael thrust forward, finding and meeting Eric’s cock over and over. Eric grunted at the first impact and cried out softly at the second, babbling something indecipherable against Michael’s throat. Michael turned and swept his mouth over Eric’s hair until his lips touched the shell of his ear. “Shhh.”

A frantic shake of his head was Eric’s answer, but he took up Michael’s rhythm—took it over, in fact, slamming forward with enough enthusiasm to force the air from Michael’s lungs.

Dizzy and shaking, Michael’s half-formed plans of lazy blowjobs and wet kisses evaporated. “Yeah,” he groaned, going loose and pliant, letting Eric control their frotting. “That’s it.”

Eric’s hips stuttered, and he gasped. His fingers twitched where they rested on Michael’s nape and back. “Shit, gonna...”

“Okay,” Michael soothed, hearing the desperate warning. On impulse, he planted a kiss on Eric’s temple. “Just...just wait.”

He ignored Eric’s bark of muffled laughter and levered him away, far enough to get his shaking hands between them. He ripped his own jeans open first, their buttons and zipper a known and familiar element, leaving Eric’s clothing for last. Luckily, the clasp on the shorts gave with a simple flick and the zipper opened with a firm tug. Michael didn’t hesitate. He dove inside to grasp Eric’s cock with one hand while he worked his underwear down with the other, huffing in frustration when Eric’s uncoordinated assistance hindered rather than helped. The boxers snagged at thigh level, tangling together. Michael called it good enough—he had what he wanted, after all—and Eric must have agreed because he turned his attention to Michael’s jeans, easing them lower.

“Not too much,” Michael warned. He snagged the material with his thumb. “That’s enough.” He might need to look presentable quickly.

“Okay,” Eric whispered, then yanked both jeans and briefs down a few inches further anyway, far enough to give him unencumbered access to Michael’s ass. “How’s that?” he asked, smile evident against Michael’s neck.

Michael surprised himself by laughing.

Tempting as it was to finish the way they’d started, Eric’s hand was working magic on Michael’s cock, the strokes long and steady and sure, and Michael was too impaired to change the course of things. The strength had left his legs, and his arms refused to cooperate. Instead, he concentrated on giving as good as he was getting, reaching for Eric and thoroughly enjoying the muffled curses and quiet, but urgent encouragement he got in response.

They were both too hot, too turned on to worry about the little details: How do you like it? Is this okay? In the end, they settled for tight and fast, Michael coming apart in Eric’s expert grip before a full minute had passed. Every muscle in his lower body clenched, the buildup to release bordering on painful. When his climax hit, it pulled a throaty moan from his lips. Hips jerking, he spilled over Eric’s hand, and in the end it didn’t matter that in his passion he lost his grip on his partner, because Eric surged forward, opening his palm and pressing his hot length against Michael’s softening cock, gliding along the wet channel of his fist a half dozen times before groaning his own release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, mouth still buried in the crook of Michael’s neck.

Michael hummed in response, firming up his hold around Eric’s waist when the other man’s knees started to shake. For many minutes, their labored breathing was the only sound in the room. Michael tried not to notice how it synchronized as their heartbeats slowed.

“Aw man,” Eric finally said, laughing softly as he lifted his head. “Totally not how I planned our first time, you know?”

“No?” Michael asked. Eric’s stance seemed steadier, so he eased away. Eric dove into his pocket, producing a white chamois polishing cloth, and wiped up the worst of the mess. Michael let him finish, then began to gently work Eric’s boxers and shorts up and over his hips. “Let me guess. You thought maybe roses and champagne?”

Strangely, he didn’t get the laugh he expected. Eric flashed him an unreadable smile as he returned the favor, straightening Michael’s clothing. “Not exactly, but a kiss would’ve been nice.”

It would have been. It would be now. Michael edged around Eric’s body to throw a glance at the door—his first in ten minutes, and Eric turned to follow his gaze. “We good?”

As far as Pete was concerned, yes. “We’re fine,” Michael purred, drawing Eric’s head back around. For once, the burning need to touch hadn’t dissipated with orgasm, and wasn’t that a new experience? “Come here.”

Not all guys were into kissing, but more were than conventional wisdom let on, or at least that was what Michael’s experience had taught him. Regardless, he wasn’t going to let Eric’s statement go without taking advantage of the suggestion. Cradling Eric’s face in his palms, he waited several seconds, making sure they were both on the same page. Eric’s answering gaze was lazy, but pointed.

“Come on,” he said, linking his arms around Michael’s waist. “What are you waiting for?”

Excellent question. Michael leaned in, and Eric met him halfway, tilting back just enough to give Michael a deep taste. Pete’s voice rang through the room. “Mikey?” That alone should have shocked Michael into releasing Eric.

It didn’t. He clung, knowing it was childish, and all the while Pete’s voice drew closer, his shuffling footsteps growing louder by the second. Let go. Grudgingly, Michael’s hands obeyed, sliding from Eric’s neck, and he stepped back just in time.

“There you are,” Pete said, filling the doorway. “Find what you need?”

Eric’s choked laugh sounded unusually loud in the small space. “We did, Pete. Thanks. Just finishing up. I don’t think it’s a good idea to unpack anything else until we have a better idea of the full picture. It’s just going to add to the confusion.”

Eric’s voice held no trace of the desperate passion it had just minutes before, and Michael frowned, relieved Eric could act normal, but also disappointed for exactly the same reason. He cast a critical eye over the other man, picking out details Pete wouldn’t see—the slight hitch in Eric’s breathing, the blush across his cheeks, and the still-damp lips. Michael registered that with a profound sense of relief. He wasn’t the only one blown apart by what had just happened.

Pete clutched a handful of papers. “I’ve made those notes you asked for, about Golden City. And...I don’t mean to be a bother—”

“Never happen, man,” Eric said with quiet sincerity. “What’s on your mind?”

Michael watched, fascinated. Rob had been spot-on—there was something about Eric that made you feel like you were the very center of his world, that you had all his attention. Even his posture radiated a subdued respect toward Pete. With his arms loose at his sides and feet planted squarely on the floor, he stayed in constant eye contact. All together it was a powerful You have something important to say, and I’m listening vibe. No wonder Pete loved the guy.

“Well, you won’t find this in any of the history books, but there are some things missing from that section that I think would add a lot. You don’t have to take my word for it, of course...”

Eric clapped Pete on the shoulder and guided him out of the storeroom. “Show me. And don’t discount the importance of oral history. Without it, we’d know a fraction of what we do about our past.”

“Ah.” Pete made a dismissive gesture. “It’ll bore you.”

To this, Eric laughed, catching Michael’s eye before he stepped out of sight. “It’s history, man. It can’t possibly bore me.” Then he was gone, still talking at high speed. Rob had been right about that part. Michael took a deep, steadying breath. This was the point in every other sexual encounter when he turned on his heel and walked away—out of the bathroom, the back room, the alley, or wherever he’d managed to find a willing body. Mission accomplished, he’d drive the ninety minutes back to Hickory and never once wonder what became of the guy he’d just fucked.

That was just impossible enough of an option here that he broke out in a nervous sweat, and he couldn’t pin down exactly why. Was he worried Eric would want more...or that he wouldn’t?

“You going to hide in there all day, Mikey?” Eric called.

Rolling his eyes, Michael picked his way back over the mess of boxes and into the model room. “Do we need to have another talk about calling me Mikey?” he grumbled, stalking toward the other two.

Eric flashed an open and unabashed grin. “Yes,” he said, and Michael nearly tripped over his feet at the bolt of lust that shot from his chest to his groin. Lust that, apparently, hadn’t been banked in the slightest. If he didn’t get a handle on this thing soon, there was going to be trouble, sure as hell.

Whatever Eric read in his face then, his own changed, becoming serious and pensive. When Pete asked him, “Well, what do you think?” he blinked, visibly pulling himself together before answering.

“I’m behind every suggestion, one hundred percent. Any chance we could arrange some sort of meeting? You know, dinner or something, with you and your friends, and talk about it? The more corroborating evidence I can find, the better. You’d be surprised how people’s memories can differ on the details.”

It was a very kind way of saying that Pete’s recollections weren’t, by themselves, enough to warrant changes, but Eric was more than willing to investigate further. Michael’s grandfather might have grown into an old man with a drinking problem, but he hadn’t started life out that way. To be honest, he was one of the shrewdest people Michael knew. He understood exactly what Eric was saying. What surprised Michael was how he appeared to respect it.

Pete nodded agreeably. “I think that could be arranged, much more easily than you might think.”

“Really?” Eric asked innocently. “You mean you know people who love to sit around and reminisce about the good old days? Say it isn’t so.”

Charming, Michael added to the list of traits he’d begun to compile for Eric. Charming, sexy, intelligent, unassuming...many more and Michael wouldn’t be risking heartbreak, he’d be feeling it. Because what on earth did he have to offer a guy like that? Nothing that Eric wanted, he’d lay odds.

Between the melancholy and the endorphin rush, his head began to pound. Discreetly, he turned away and pressed his palms against his eyes, but Eric caught him massaging his temples. “You okay?”

Michael nodded, ignoring his grandpap’s sharp look. “Fine. Just a little headache.”

“Ah, crap. I’m talking too much again. No—” Eric held up a hand at the automatic refusals, “—I know I can get carried away.”

Which, again, wasn’t what he meant at all. The wary tone and defensive body language gave off a vibe that didn’t match with the man Michael had just held in his arms.

Michael tried to catch Eric’s eye, with little luck. “You’re a pleasure to listen to,” he said, plucking the very honest statement from where it had been hovering at the forefront of his thoughts. “And I’d like to come back tomorrow and lend a hand, if you’re still recruiting.”

“Great! It’s a date.” Pete laid his clipboard down on an empty section of grassland. “But I think we’ll call it a night, if that’s okay. Mikey’s got an important meeting with his boss tonight, about a promotion, so he needs to do something about that headache.”

“Oh yeah?” Eric’s soft smile was impossible to look away from. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t enough. Such a simple parting might have been adequate for himself, but the lingering insecurity in Eric’s eyes told a different story. “Be down in a minute, Paps,” he said, squeezing Pete’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Sure, sure.” Pete retrieved his jacket from the table by the stairs. “Take your time. I’m gonna go harass Maggie for a bit before closing.”

He entered the stairwell, whistling, and Eric blinked at his retreating back. “Is he serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Michael said “They have a very complex love/hate relationship. Don’t try to understand it.”

Pete’s footsteps faded; they were now quite obviously alone. Eric’s eyes flicked to the door, then back to Michael, but he didn’t move.

Totally spooked. And Michael had no idea why.

“You okay?” He drew Eric forward by the arm, frowning at the quick flinch he saw when he reached out. His hands found their way back to their last known position, palms cupping Eric’s neck and face. “You look kind of...”

“Freaked out?” Eric offered, wry smile touching his lips. “Sorry. It’s not you. Promise.”

“No?” He held Eric’s face in place when he tried to look away. A sickening suspicion took hold, churning the bit of beer in his stomach. “Is there someone else?”

“What? No. Not anymore.” Eric tilted his chin up. “There was, but that ended several months ago.”

Good news in more ways than one. Michael brushed off the urge to ask what had happened. It was none of his business, but Eric’s bouts of jumpiness implied something unsavory. A fierce protectiveness heated his blood.

Eric forced a smile, shifting in his arms. “The truth is, I don’t usually do casual hookups.”

It was so foreign a concept that Michael had trouble forming a reply. “Really?”

“Really. I’m an old-fashioned guy, I guess.” Even so, his arms slipped around Michael’s back, holding tentatively. “I’m a little out of my element here, and I’m guessing—” He stopped and swallowed. “I’m guessing you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Michael confirmed, embarrassed. “The sum total of my experience has been about seven years of one-night excursions into Pittsburgh.” Said so plainly, it sickened even him. “Pathetic, I know.”

“No, man. It’s okay.” Eric’s gaze had lost some of its apprehension. Bold fingers scratched across Michael’s spine. “I guess I was just wondering if this was a one-off for you.”

He’d rather die. “That’s up to you, I guess,” Michael said, throat tight with emotions he didn’t recognize at all.

“Oh.” Eric’s countenance brightened considerably. “Well, okay then. If the ball’s in my court, then let’s call it one hell of a beginning and take it from there. Work for you?”

If he didn’t consider any outside influences, it sounded like heaven.

Eric raised an eyebrow at his hesitation. “You’re not out. I kind of figured that. I mean, I’ve done the three-cent tour of Hickory. It’s...small.”

Small-minded, he might as well have said. Still, Michael appreciated the euphemism. “My grandpap knows,” he said, sighing.

“No shit?”

“Yep. About ten years ago, he walked in on me messing around with another guy from the football team.”

“Ouch.” Eric winced. “How’d that go? Or...if you’d rather not talk about it, I’d totally understand.”

Michael swallowed a decade’s worth of bitterness. “Maybe some other time.”

“That’s cool.” Eric closed the distance to graze Michael’s lips with a brief kiss. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

Michael pulled in to the Hickory Glass parking lot at seven, four hours before his shift. It would make for a long night, and possibly a dangerous drive home in the morning, but when the boss gave an order, he expected it to be followed.

He punched the clock—union requirement—cringing as he re-shelved his card. He’d likely not start work for a couple of hours, but if he was on the premises, he was on the clock. End of story. It chafed his work ethic considerably less now than it used to. Given enough time, habit always defeated honor.

Delaney met him in the break room, and Michael glanced at his watch. “Coffee break?”

“Nope.” Delaney bit into a donut. “Just finished a meeting with the boss.”

Managing a mildly interested grunt, Michael strode to the stained linoleum coffee station and poured himself a steaming cup. Bitter and scalding, but that seemed fitting. “Good for you.”

“It was, yeah.” Delaney shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth and pushed through the swinging door. “Have a good one, Mike. I ran the audits earlier, so that should make things a bit calmer for you tonight.”

That cut deep. Mostly because Michael wanted to dislike Delaney, but the kid made it difficult. Delaney wasn’t a bad guy. He was young and a bit angry—you couldn’t work in a place like Hickory Glass and not be—but he tried to be a team player, even when he made no bones about looking out for number one. On the other hand, Michael had left angry behind a few years ago. Now he just fought hopelessness and tried not to let it make him a bitter person. Not exactly the recipe for an effective foreman.

He swigged the last of his coffee, rinsed his mug out, then pushed through the same doors Delaney had left by and into the hallway that serviced the batch house, barely registering the familiar noises and smells. The hall led straight for a couple hundred yards before veering sharply right and into the adjoining building, where cold-end operations were handled, mainly product inspection and labeling. The administration offices shared this space, taking up the second level, which Michael found ironically appropriate.

At his boss’s office, he knocked, and the door swung open under his knuckles. “Come on in, Mike,” Ed called. “You’re early. I like the initiative.”

Like hell. He liked it because this joke of an interview would be over even sooner, and he could get home to the next episode of whatever mindless TV show he was streaming. “No problem.” Michael pasted a smile on his face. “I appreciate you staying late.”

“Hey.” Ed spread his beefy hands, then leaned back in his chair and laced them over his stomach. “Glass is my life.”

It was everyone’s life, at least in Hickory. Glass was the new steel. A fancy way of saying that eventually the plant would fold under the same economic pressures that Academy Steel had. In the meantime, for a measly forty years of your life, you could retire at the top of the union pecking order, making more money than was strictly acceptable, considering how little those with seniority actually worked on a day-to-day basis.

But at Michael’s age—a young, far-from-naïve twenty-six—eight years in meant that he still perched on the bottom rung. Advancement at Hickory Glass was based on seniority, and the only way to win was to invest a lifetime. So up until a few days ago, he hadn’t worried too much about Delaney scoring the foreman position. Michael had six years on the punk.

He’d already earned a shift exemption, meaning he was allowed to opt permanently out of the three-to—eleven slot. He’d celebrated that victory, if only because he could keep a closer eye on Pete in the afternoon and evenings, when the drinking was at its worst.

“Let’s get down to it, Mike,” Ed said, leaning forward.

Fine with him. The sooner this dog-and-pony show was over, the better.

“I’m not going to mince words. I’m giving the foreman job to Delaney. Now before you speak, hear me out.”

Again, fine. Michael found he couldn’t have uttered a word even if he’d wanted to.

“As you’re well aware, you have every right to appeal to your union rep. You’ve got more time in and more experience on the floor. What I’m asking is if you’ll consider abiding by my decision. I have my reasons.”

Michael gave a slow nod, and Ed took that as permission to continue.

“I’ve got my eye on something for you, Mike, and I think it’ll be a better fit for your skill set. In the meantime, Delaney’s got the education behind him that will help sort out the people problems that come with being a foreman. You catching my drift?”

“Yeah,” Michael said.

Ed opened his mouth, probably to spout more bullshit, but stopped, staring at Michael with narrowed eyes. Whatever he saw, it made him drop the act. “What do you say, Mike? Can you live with this? Like I said, I’m looking out for you long-term.”

Because it was all about the long-term when you were a union man. Michael couldn’t fault the guy, no more than he could fault Delaney, because Ed was telling the truth. It just wasn’t a truth that Michael wanted to make a permanent part of his life.

“I’m good,” he said, lips strangely numb. “Whatever you think is best.”

Ed lit up like a Christmas tree. “Thanks, Mike. Thank you.”

The sincerity moved him. This decision was no picnic from Ed’s side of the tracks either. Michael knew that, and he made sure his return handshake was firm. “You’re welcome.”

His shift flew by in a haze of heat, conveyer belts and memories—Eric’s hands on his body, voice in his ear, and taste on his lips.

* * *

He’d worked himself into a state by the time he crawled into his truck for the drive home. The flush had been easy to hide. Hot-end operations, where Michael worked, and where molten glass bubbled lazily in giant furnaces, would account for that. The loose jumpsuit had done its part to disguise his unflagging erection.

But even the sting of cold dawn air didn’t help, and he drove home with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his cock, massaging gently, never giving in to more than that.

Pete was still in bed when he snuck in the front door, and Michael sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he wouldn’t have to make small talk in his current state. The farmhouse was just shy of two hundred years old, but Michael had lived there full-time for a decade. Avoiding squeaky floorboards was child’s play. He showered quickly, rinsing the sweat and stench from his skin, and fell into bed, hair dripping, unable to wait any longer.

Turning onto his stomach, he buried his face in his pillow and called up the most visceral memories. Eric driving him into the wall. How he’d nearly lost it at Michael’s words. How he’d exploded all over the both of them, and how he’d trembled afterward, relying on Michael’s strength to keep him on his feet.

He came hard, and too soon, thrusting into the mattress and shouting Eric’s name into his pillow...the same pillow he crushed to his chest afterward, then pushed away for being too soft and supple. Sated, at least for the moment, he drifted.

Sleep came slowly.