Chapter 2

By the time the staff meeting breaks up a little before five, I’m anxious to see my lover again. I haven’t been attentive to him lately, and the first thing I plan to do when I get home is make up to him for my snippy attitude earlier. Anything to put off having to call Joey back so soon. If it were important, I reason, wouldn’t he have asked for my cell?

As I’m straightening my desk to leave for the day, Kevin enters my office, his tie undone and the first few buttons of his shirt open enough to show there isn’t an undershirt beneath it. I knew that already—twice he leaned against me during the day and I felt nipples like hard nuggets poking into my arm. Coming into my office now, he pushes the door almost shut and tugs at his tie a little, loosing it further. I ignore him as he crosses to my desk, but his hand brushes over mine as I stack the papers in my inbox and I sigh. “Not tonight, Kev,” I tell him, still not looking his way. “I’ve got to get home—”

“Leaving so soon?” he purrs. His hand works around my wrist, the fingers easing beneath the cuff of my blazer to tickle along hidden skin. With a slow grin, he admits, “I had hoped to entice you to stay.”

“Enticing as you can be,” I say, pulling my hand from his, “family calls. Maybe tomorrow.”

Kevin sits on the edge of my desk, that hand drifting to the front of his expensive pants and the erection I’m sure is already hidden there. I’m sporting wood myself, but not for this twink, not tonight. I have bigger men in mind for this evening’s pleasure. Gathering up a handful of papers off my desk, I shove them unceremoniously into my briefcase and then snap the case shut. Kevin watches me circle the desk—when I reach his side, I touch his shoulder and brush my lips against his cheek in a damp kiss. “Tomorrow,” I promise. “Have a good evening.”

Before he can reply, I’m through the door and heading for the elevators, my own hard dick chafing against the front of my silk boxers.

* * * *

The condo I share with Timothy is a short drive from the office. We live on the sixteenth floor of a high-rise, and the James River winds past the small balcony off our dining alcove, a different view than the one from my office building. At home, when I unlock the door and step into our foyer, I can just barely see the white foam-tipped rapids through the open blinds, and the gutted brick buildings on the other side of the James—our living room opens to the dining area, giving an illusion of space and a clear view from the door to the balcony. The smell of frying beef fills the condo, onions and meat amid a smattering of grease that I follow into the tiny kitchen. There Timothy stands over the gas stove in a worn T-shirt and an old, paper-thin set of boxer shorts, a flat pan of burgers sizzling away on one burner. He glances up and for a moment it’s Joey looking back at me, but when he speaks, it’s Tim. “Hey Brian. How was work?”

I shrug in lieu of reply and begin to loosen my tie. He turns back to the burgers—from the side, he looks nothing like my brother. The beard does it, the shaggy cut of his hair, the shape of his eyes. Brown instead of Joey’s light blue, but the same almond shape, the same heavy lids that make me think he’s trying to seduce me. If I’m not looking at him straight on, I can see the small double-chin that folds under where the beard won’t grow, and there’s more gray above his ears than Joey would have. Still it’s uncanny, the resemblance, and I tell myself I never noticed it before. Probably would never have noticed it, if Joey hadn’t decided to call.

Absently I drift into the bathroom, where I get the tie unknotted and shuck off my blazer, unbutton the cuffs of my dress shirt, open the buttons at the neck. In the mirror I stare at myself, looking for a hint of my brother in my face, but I see nothing there. We both have blue eyes, but his are lighter, prettier. We both have heads full of thick brown hair, that’s about the extent of it. My features are my dad’s—the angular jaw, the smooth skin, the boyish wave of hair across my brow that hasn’t begun to thin yet, thank the Lord. Joey looks like our mother, same round face, same laughing eyes. Plus the beard, of course, his squared shoulders, his tapered waist, lower…

I shake that thought away and stand over the toilet, unzipping my pants. As they fall to my knees in a rush of satiny material, a thick erection strains the front of my boxers. I undo the middle snap and gasp as I take my swollen shaft into my hand, damn. With one hand I stroke myself, legs splayed, the tip of my dick already weeping. Close, shit.Who would’ve thought a discreet, lazy massage in the driver’s seat on my way home would get me this hard? And when was the last time I had a taste of Timothy?

Suddenly burgers weren’t the only thing on the menu tonight. Keeping up a steady rhythm, I rummage through the medicine cabinet above the sink until I find an unused condom. I tear through the thin wrapper with my teeth, then ease the wet sheath onto my dick.