Partners in Love Read online

  It’s comfortable and comforting being so close to Tyler. It feels more like home than anything Dylan’s felt in years.

  ****

  When Dylan wakes up next, he has a moment of fuzzy disorientation. The first thing that hits him is that he’s not where he normally wakes up. It’s nighttime still, but there’s enough light spilling in from the bedroom door that he can see that the walls are light blue here instead of the dark green and wood paneling of the room he’s claimed as his own. It takes him a second before he realizes that this is, obviously, Tyler’s bedroom.

  The second thing that hits him is that he’s not alone. There’s a hot, hard arm tossed casually across his bare stomach and the almost familiar feel of someone’s breath on his neck.

  “I can hear you thinking,” a sleep-roughened voice grumbles by his ear. “It’s too early and I’m too hungover for that shit right now.”

  Dylan automatically relaxes at Tyler’s voice, Tyler’s arm across his waist, at the broad line of his chest pressed against his back. He should probably question why he’s in Tyler’s bed instead of his own but he can’t exactly be bothered. Instead, the first thing that tumbles out of his mouth is the one question that’s burning its way through his mind, the one thing he absolutely has to know.

  “Tyler?”

  He gets a grunt in response and figures it’s better than nothing at the moment so instead of fussing, he goes ahead and spits out his question.

  “Why’s there a goddamn octopus eyeballing me from your ceiling, and how do I make it go away?”

  Tyler just tightens his arm around Dylan’s waist and pulls him closer, slinging a leg across his thigh in the process. It doesn’t bother Dylan nearly as much as it should, the fact that he’s cuddling in bed, half-naked, with his partner and best friend. He doesn’t even try to repress the shiver that works its way through him and the way his cock twitches against his thigh when Tyler lays an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin of his neck as he burrows further into Dylan’s back.

  “I’ll explain later, princess,” Tyler huffs. “Just go back to sleep. It’s too early for this shit.”

  It’s become par for the course the way that Dylan doesn’t even think about protesting, doesn’t think about much of anything really, besides the fact that he’s remarkably comfortable in Tyler’s arms, in Tyler’s bed. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind to be dealt with later and instead snuggles back further into Tyler’s hold and lets himself be carried back off to sleep.

  It may not be the way things are normally done, but they honestly passed normal months ago. Plus, Dylan’s man enough to admit to himself when he enjoys something. And, it’s Tyler he’s in bed with. Dylan’s ready and willing to admit that he’s pretty much the first person that pops into Dylan’s mind these days whenever he thinks about things like comfort and home.

  Chapter Five

  Dylan wakes up again and this time it’s morning. There’s sunlight streaming in through Tyler’s curtains and the man himself lies curled tightly around Dylan, his bare chest slotting into the dips and valleys of Dylan’s back perfectly.

  Dylan lays there for a while, basking in warmth and contentment. He’s so relaxed that he knows the moment Tyler wakes up again as well, feels the subtle way his breathing changes against his back and his neck.

  Tyler stretches, his arms tightening even further around Dylan’s waist, dragging him back into the curve of Tyler’s body until he can feel the press of the other man’s half-hard cock against his ass. It makes his own cock twitch unexpectedly and Dylan finds that he’s one hundred percent fine with that. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t be bothered by it if he tried.

  So, instead he arches his own back until his ass presses firmly against the rapidly hardening line of Tyler’s cock and the top of his head is nestled in the hollow of his throat. They hold that position for a moment before they both relax, bodies moving as one and neither of them saying anything about the amount of touching that’s going on between them.

  “Morning.” Tyler’s voice is a low, raspy purr and Dylan hums his response back as they both silently agree to simply enjoy the moment.

  They lay there for a while, until Dylan makes the mistake of turning his eyes back up towards the ceiling and realizing with a start that what he’d thought was a dream earlier is actually true. Spread across the majority of Tyler’s ceiling is a rather life-like painting of an octopus, done in vivid reds and browns. It’s beautiful, the work obviously professional and painstakingly done, but the fact that it’s there at all is what bothers Dylan the most. He’s been in Tyler’s room a million times by now and he’s never really looked up at the ceiling for one reason or another. The fact that it’s been there this entire time and he’s never noticed is one of those things that he knows he’s not going to be able to let go.

  “Ty, man, seriously,” Dylan practically whines, “I have to know what the deal is with the octopus on your ceiling. It’s going to destroy me if I don’t find out now.”

  “Kind of a stupid story,” Tyler chuckles as he nuzzles his way back down to Dylan’s throat.

  “My favorite kind,” Dylan prompts him pointedly.

  “When I was little I’d hug anybody who’d come close enough,” Tyler begins. Dylan shivers with each word, back arching just a bit, because when Tyler speaks his breath washes over the sensitive skin of his throat, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His neck’s always been one of his weak spots and the fact that it’s Tyler’s mouth makes it harder to deal with instead of easier.

  “Sounds cute,” Dylan manages to rasp out.

  “Hm,” Tyler hums in agreement, “parents started calling me their little octopus. Got a little bit older and it was my favorite animal. By the time I moved out and got this place that hadn’t changed, so I paid a friend of mine to put one on my ceiling.”

  Dylan melts a little inside thinking about a tiny Tyler running around and hugging everything, all clinging arms and flailing legs just like a little octopus. He makes a mental note to get in touch with Tyler’s mother—who happens to adore him, thank you very much—and see if she has any sort of incriminating photos or videos. His thoughts are derailed by Tyler’s next words.

  “I even got a tattoo of one when I turned eighteen.”

  Dylan’s mind goes blank for a moment at the thought. He’s seen Tyler in shorts and shirtless plenty of times and he knows for a fact that there’s not a single trace of ink over any of that beautifully toned and tanned torso or those sculpted arms and legs of his. His mouth goes dry at the thought of the only few viable places that might leave open as options.

  “I’d, ah …” He clears his throat, but his next words still come out raspy and half choked off, like they’d been torn from his chest instead of actually spoken. “I’d actually like to see that some time.”

  Tyler goes still behind him for a moment and then suddenly he’s moving, his hands clamping down firmly on Dylan’s arms as he tugs. Dylan abruptly finds himself flat on his back staring up into the flushed and surprisingly serious face of his partner.

  “Would you really?” Dylan gets the impression that Tyler’s asking him about something other than seeing his tattoo. Like this is all about something more than a cute story and a hidden bit of ink.

  When Dylan answers, he has that thought in mind the entire time.

  “Yeah, Ty, I really would.”

  Tyler rolls off of him then and Dylan automatically goes to protest. He stops though when Tyler just lies down on the mattress beside him and throws the sheet off of both of them with a flick of his wrist.

  Dylan’s left in his boxers staring down at the sight of his partner spread out across the crisp white sheets, obviously hard and clad only in tight red boxer-briefs, acres of toned, tanned flesh and rippling muscle on display.

  While Dylan watches, breathless, Tyler hooks a thumb in the waistband of his underwear and tugs it down until the hollow of his right hip is exposed. For a moment Dylan’s distracted by the picture he
makes, by the line of crisp black hair that’s been exposed and the jut of his cock against the material of his underwear.

  Then his eyes narrow in on the little blot of ink that’s nestled in the dip of his hip bone and he leans closer to get a better look.

  Sure enough, it’s a tiny octopus. It’s only about an inch tall, but it’s beautifully done, tentacles fanned out and meticulously detailed and colored. It actually looks a lot like the one that’s currently gracing Tyler’s bedroom ceiling.

  The urge to run his tongue across the ink rushes through Dylan and he barely manages to pull back before he actually does it. When his eyes flick back up, he finds Tyler watching him, green eyes heavy-lidded with something that looks remarkably like the same kind of desire currently arcing its way through Dylan’s veins.

  Tyler is completely and utterly beautiful in that moment, and Dylan’s mouth is three steps ahead of his brain, and he can’t stop himself from saying so aloud.

  “You’re beautiful, Ty.”

  “I love you.” Tyler’s voice cuts through the air between them, and Dylan sees the moment Tyler realizes exactly what he’s just said, sees the panic that cuts across the other man’s face and rushes to head it off.

  “I love you too, Ty.” It’s true. Dylan knows it is. Somewhere along the way, somewhere between, or maybe even before, marriage jokes and an octopus tattoo he’d gone and fallen in love with his best friend. His partner. Tyler.

  Dylan smiles down at Tyler’s stunned face, watches as understanding and pure joy wash across that handsome face.

  He can only yelp out a surprised laugh when he’s suddenly tackled back onto the bed.

  Tyler kisses him then, deep and dirty. The exact opposite of what everyone always says a first kiss should be, it has none if the sweetness or hesitation, but it’s still absolutely perfect to Dylan. Tyler’s tongue pushes its way into his mouth like he’s conquering territory and Dylan is helpless to do anything but surge upwards to meet it with his own. The kiss is all wet heat and passion before they break apart, both of them breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed.

  “Dylan.” Tyler’s chanting his name, raining small searing kisses all over his face and neck between each word. “Dylan. Dylan. Dylan.”

  Dylan just arches his head back to give him better access, his hips bucking up off of the bed when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. Tyler notices of course, and immediately sets his teeth and tongue to work, worrying dark bruises into the sensitive skin and causing Dylan to writhe helplessly in need. Panting, Dylan reaches up and sinks both of his hands into the back of Tyler’s gloriously thick hair and tugs until he lifts his head away from Dylan’s throat, green eyes glinting with arousal and mouth bruised red.

  Dylan reaches up and tugs him down into another kiss, unable to do anything else. It’s as if now that they’ve finally kissed Dylan can’t think of anything else he’d rather do. The taste of Tyler is something that he can’t believe he’s spent his entire life without. God and Tyler willing, Dylan vows to himself then he’ll have it at least once a day from here on out.

  He groans, low and deep in his chest, when Tyler draws his tongue into his mouth and sucks on it, sending sparks of heat rushing through Dylan’s veins. When he finally lets him go Tyler slinks his way back down Dylan’s body and goes straight to tormenting his nipples. He nips and sucks, alternating between using his mouth and torturing the beaded nubs with his nails. Dylan yanks on the hair in his grasp, but Tyler just growls low in his throat and refuses to be moved, too intent on mapping Dylan’s body with his tongue.

  Tyler keeps going down, keeps moving further and further down Dylan’s body until his tongue is circling his navel and his chest is rubbing against the straining bulge of Dylan’s cock. So close to the prize, Tyler doesn’t linger for long. Instead his long-fingered hands make short work of Dylan’s boxers, tugging them down and off of his legs in a single almost violent move. Tyler falls on him then like a man possessed, his mouth making a straight line for Dylan’s cock and sucking it down so suddenly that Dylan can’t help the shout that rips its way out of his throat.

  Dylan untangles one of his hands from Tyler’s hair and brings it up to bite at his knuckles in an attempt to keep the sounds he’s unable to stop making from escaping. Tyler pulls off of him long enough to reach up and pulls his hand away from his mouth. He presses Dylan’s hand back against his head so that his fingers can tangle in his hair again.

  “I want to hear you, Dylan,” Tyler rasps, his voice rumbling upwards from his place below Dylan’s waist. “Want to hear you scream for me.”

  He’s back on Dylan in the next second, tongue running down the length of his shaft, tracing its way around the head of his cock, and dipping torturously into the slit that’s slowly oozing pre-cum. He works Dylan until he’s thrashing, until he’s making wordless needy sounds, unable to properly speak, to properly think. Just when Dylan is ready to swear that he can’t handle any more Tyler stops, pulls off and away, and Dylan can’t bite back the whimper of denial that rips its way out of his throat.

  Tyler chuckles at him, a rough sound that goes straight to Dylan’s cock, as he slips out of the bed, much to Dylan’s displeasure and hazy sort of confusion, and pads silently to the connecting bathroom. He comes back before Dylan can muster up the will to go after him and the bottle of lube and the foil packet in his hand answer all of Dylan’s unasked questions. Tyler tosses the items onto the sheet beside Dylan and slowly strips out of his own underwear, never breaking eye contact. Before he can crawl back onto the bed Dylan’s moving with surprising speed, grabbing him by the hips and finally setting his tongue against that tiny little octopus that’s been driving him mad since he saw it for the first time.

  Tyler moans, low and harsh, and cups the back of Dylan’s head in one large hand, nudging him closer in encouragement. Dylan pays homage to that little inky figure, running his tongue across it lovingly and nipping at it with sharp teeth. He pulls the flesh into his mouth and suckles, wants to leave a bruise on the entrancing cut of Tyler’s hip like the ones Tyler has left dotted across his neck. He doesn’t get long to play before Tyler’s pulling him off and ushering him back up on the mattress, crawling over him as soon as Dylan’s flat on his back again.

  They kiss again, this time surprisingly soft and sweet, and Tyler looks him in the eyes, his own gaze warm and loving.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Tyler asks him with an almost hushed sort of reverence and just enough insecurity that Dylan can’t help but smile up at him and pull him down into another kiss.

  This one is deep and hot and it, along with the hand Dylan slides down Tyler’s side and wraps around his cock, is the only answer that Tyler actually needs. He bucks up helplessly into the feel of Dylan’s hand on his cock before he tugs him away with a groan that makes Dylan just the tiniest bit smug.

  Tyler pulls back further then and reaches for the lube. Dylan can only watch in a breathless and hot sort of anticipation as he slicks up his fingers and reaches for him again. Dylan lets his legs fall wide open, pointedly ignoring the slightest flash of insecurity and embarrassment that tries to flutter to life inside of his chest.

  Instead he focuses on the way Tyler looks, on the intense gleam in his eyes and the bitten red plushness of his mouth. Concentrates on the fact that he loves him, truly, sweetly, deeply. Yet still, he tenses automatically when that first questing finger finds his rim. He’s not used to being touched there by anyone else, but the gentle and understanding look Tyler shoots him helps the tension drain from his frame.

  Then Tyler’s inside of him, first one finger flexing and stretching him open and then two, the thick digits scissoring inside of him to prepare him for what’s about to come. Tyler crooks his fingers inside of Dylan a second later and Dylan sees stars when they brush against his prostate. He bucks his hips up hungrily, but Tyler just smiles and gives him another finger. They stay that way for a bit, Tyler teasing him from the inside, pausing now and again to a
dd more lube, and driving Dylan slowly insane in the meanwhile.

  When Tyler finally pulls out, wiping his messy hand against the already mussed sheet as he reaches for the condom, Dylan’s barely able to see straight, he’s so desperate. He hears the foil rip, hears the way Tyler hisses a breath out between his teeth at the feel of his own hands on his neglected cock, and he knows that it’s finally time.

  Tyler leans down to kiss him again, soft and surprisingly sweet, before he hooks one of Dylan’s legs over his arm and lines himself up. Dylan sucks in a breath and forces himself not to tense up when Tyler’s cock nudges against his hole for the first time. It feels so much bigger than his fingers did, harder and hotter even through the thin barrier of the condom.

  “Relax, Dylan. I’ve got you. Wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” Tyler’s softly spoken reassurance wash over him and he breathes out slowly, willing himself to relax and open to him, his brief flash of insecurity washing away once again.

  There’s pressure against his rim, a small spike of discomfort, but no real pain as his body stretches to accommodate Tyler. It feels odd for a long breathless moment but then suddenly Tyler’s inside of him, a throbbing heat that sears him to the very core. Tyler groans, a punched out burst of sound, and tosses his head back and grits his teeth, seemingly in a desperate bid for control.

  Dylan shifts his hips slightly, adjusting to the feel of having someone else inside of him. It takes a moment, but even that strange stretch fades until there’s no discomfort at all, only the thick slide of Tyler’s cock inside of him. Dylan breathes out a wordless sigh and rolls his hips, body thrusting down hard even as he bites back an impatient huff. He abruptly wants, needs, to feel Tyler move and he’s already frustrated that the other man isn’t complying.

  “Tyler,” he pants. “Move, please.”

  Tyler growls, snaps his hips forward sharply, and the heat that spirals up Dylan’s spine is enough to make him keen in want. He thrusts back against Tyler again, trying to match his rhythm only to have the choice taken out of his hands as Tyler takes complete control. Dylan finds himself unable to do much more than hold on as Tyler sets a steady pace. His strokes are deep and hard, the tip of his cock brushing against Dylan’s prostate with every other thrust and making stars burst into existence behind his tightly clenched eyes.