Let Me Be Yours by David Horne

Author:David Horne
Language: fra
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

I met Ryan’s mother late in the evening, when we were sitting in the living room, cutting the silence with a marathon of reruns. Ryan’s legs were hanging over the armrest, his head just barely grazing my shoulder. We had, in the span of one day, developed a sort of system where we could maintain just enough intimacy to satisfy the aching in our throats. But not too much, so that we could get away with it, and appear as so many people love to assume two men: just exceptionally good friends. It was agonizing to try and dull the tenderness in my eyes. I only hoped that Mrs. Meade had no sixth sense for love.

She seemed reticent about all things, her eyes traveling just briefly to her husband before each time she spoke. Eventually, she warmed up enough, and felt safe to ask me questions, the same ones Ryan had asked me months ago. What’s your major, where are you from… And like Ryan, I could tell she was listening. Her eyes glazed over some when I told her I was studying to be a journalist, like she was afraid in the back of my head I was planning some exposé on agricultural superpowers. But she was polite and held her teacup on her lap with the same sturdiness the entire family seemed to share.

We made it a few nights without breaking the rules. But one warm evening, when we were sure Mr. and Mrs. Meade were deep in a whiskey-induced sleep, Ryan tip-toed into the guest room, wearing his pajamas. I recognized the shirt as my own, and I could tell by his face that he felt a bit sheepish about wearing it. But I welcomed him into my arms, thrilled to tuck my nose into his shoulder and smell myself on his skin.

It was a slow sort of love, that night, to keep quiet. I sucked him off with care, and I relished in having no other choice but to taste every glorious inch of him so thoroughly. And his struggle to keep quiet made me ravenous. I wanted to beg him to fuck me. I’d had that inspiration so many times before but had always managed to silence myself in the best way I knew how. When I had him throat-deep, my lips sweetly surrounding him as he throbbed, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching beneath the waistband of my sweat shorts and touching myself in the same careful manner. I looked up to see him grin. Together we melted, and when he came, the fullness of it brought me there as well.

I felt the badness of it, the secrecy and stupidity of dirtying one’s clothes from even the simplest of acts. It made me grin, and as I slipped them off and tossed them into the corner I’d designated as the laundry bin, I felt his eyes on me, admiring me in the dark light of the guest room. The moon shone through the blinds

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