Head-on by John Inman

Author:John Inman [Inman, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

GORDON KNEW this memory would never leave him—this memory of the two of them standing in the hallway of Gordon’s tiny apartment, each reaching out to undress the other. But what should have been a wonderful moment for Gordon was tempered by the somber expression on Squirt’s elfin face. He would not meet Gordon’s eyes, nor would he smile. He concentrated solely on unbuttoning Gordon’s shirt.

Gordon tugged at the last button on Squirt’s oversized dress shirt and sucked in a tiny breath when it fell open for the first time, giving Gordon a glimpse of what lay beneath.

Squirt was beautiful. His chest hairless and pale but more trimly muscled than Gordon had expected. Gordon rested his fingertips on Squirt’s smooth, warm stomach. He slid them upward, and as they glided over Squirt’s white-hot flesh, Gordon swept Squirt’s shirt back, opening it wide.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” Gordon muttered, but still Squirt would not meet his eyes. Gordon bent to press his lips to first one, then the other, of Squirt’s small brown nipples.

Squirt tensed at the first sensation of Gordon’s mouth on his skin, then seemed to relax into the kiss. He tipped his head back until the tendons on his neck stood out. His lips parted slightly. Then he opened his eyes and pushed Gordon’s shirt off his shoulders, watching it slip down Gordon’s back with the merest rustle of fabric and fall in a heap at Gordon’s feet. Gordon’s shoulders were strong and unblemished. A brush of dark hair lay scattered across his chest. Squirt leaned forward and breathed in the heated scent of Gordon’s skin, his eyes open wide, taking in everything.

Squirt trembled as Gordon pushed his shirt away from his pale, beautiful chest. It slid down Squirt’s back but did not hit the floor. The buttons at the cuffs held it in place. Gordon tore his eyes from the alabaster skin of Squirt’s torso and dropped to his knees to take each cuff in his hand, awkwardly undoing the button that was holding up progress. When both sleeves were unbuttoned, Squirt’s shirt slid away.

On his knees before Squirt, Gordon gazed up at Squirt’s face while Squirt looked down at him and buried his hands in Gordon’s long hair.

It was then Gordon saw the scars. On the inside of Squirt’s arms. Both arms. Countless white ripples of flesh, whiter than the flesh around them. Squirt’s forearms were scored, crosswise, from elbow to wrist, countless times. Gordon turned Squirt’s arm in his hand to get a better look. Then he did the same to the other arm. He ran his fingers gently over Squirt’s ruined flesh. The ridges of scar tissue felt bumpy beneath his fingertips.

Gordon gazed up into Squirt’s face, his eyes sad. Wounded. “Baby, what happened?”

Squirt could only shake his head, his face red. He was embarrassed, which wounded Gordon even more.

“I don’t know,” Squirt sighed. “I don’t remember. I—I don’t remember a lot of things.”

Gordon draped his arms around Squirt’s hips and pulled him close, pressing his face into the heat of Squirt’s belly.

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