Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson

Parker

Chilled to the bone, I stood next to Van in his giant bathroom staring at our mottled skin in the mirror. My teeth chattered, regardless of the effort I’d put forth to clench my jaw, and he laughed, his smile reflecting back at me through the glass. Rainwater dripped from my soggy shirt as I peeled it from my skin and pulled it over my head. Van’s gaze traveled down my body and lingered on my abs a beat longer than I think he’d meant to. The pale color of his cheeks colored in my favorite way when he realized I’d caught him checking me out.

“You can use my dryer,” he offered, swallowing thickly. “If you want.”

“Thanks.”

I wrung the fabric out over the sink, watching him as he pulled his shirt over his head. The lean muscles in his chest and stomach moved under the skin, guiding my stare to the dark trail of hair that disappeared below his waistline. The weight of the wet denim caused his jeans to fall low on his hips, and he was all torso and long, etched lines I wanted to trace with my fingers.

“I’ll throw these in the dryer together,” he said as I handed him my shirt. “And see if I can find you something to borrow in the meantime.” He rubbed his palm over his wet hair, looking over at the shower. “I’ll set whatever I find on my bed, feel free to use what you need.”

“Van,” I said, a flicker of uncertainty pulsed through me as he turned to leave. I didn’t want to push him. This was only our second so-called date, and I was about to get in the man’s shower. Alone. Which seemed entirely inappropriate seeing as how his daughter was down the hall. But he was right here, and I needed more. I hid my insecurity and gave him a crooked smile. “You could join me… I’m pretty sure you have grass in your hair.”

His laugh was soft as he hesitated in the doorway. “God, I shouldn’t be nervous, considering—”

“We came in our pants less than fifteen minutes ago?”

He nodded, his smile awkward.

“I want to be honest with you,” he said, lowering his eyes and staring at our balled-up shirts in his hands. “I don’t think… I’m not ready for—”

“Hey.” I walked toward him, and he looked at me. “We don’t have to do anything but shower. And if you’d rather not do that either… that’s fine too. I can rinse off really quick, put on a pair of your sweats and kiss you goodnight. I don’t expect anything from you... ever. Alright?”

“Okay.” He dropped our shirts onto the floor, the loud slap echoing through the room, and unbuttoned his jeans.

“I thought—”

Van walked past me and opened the glass door to the shower, reaching in, he turned on the faucet.

Resigned, he scrubbed a palm down his face. “Being naked with you intimidates me. It makes me want things I know I’m not ready for. I’ve only ever had sex with Lanie.”

“Sex?”

He met my gaze with a half cringe, half smile on his face. “Yeah.”

“Sex and fucking are two different things.” Christ, I didn’t think his face could get any redder. “In my opinion, we’ve already had sex.”

“Oh…”

I stepped toward him, bringing us chest to chest, and lightly grasped the back of his neck. “I’ve made you come, Van. More than once. The definition of sex doesn’t have to fit neatly inside a box.” Steam spilled through the open shower door as he breathed against my lips. “Sex can be whatever you want it to be.”

“I want it to be everything just… not yet.”

Everything.

His skin brushed against me with every deep breath he took, his lips grazing mine once before he reached between us and unclasped the button on my jeans. Our skin, no longer chilled, was damp from steam and sweat as we undressed each other. Hot water poured over us as we stepped into the shower, and Van tipped his head back under the spray. I took a second to admire him in this unguarded moment, admire his dick, heavy and hard between his legs.

“Still nervous?” I asked, resting my hands on his waist, he blinked at me through wet lashes.

“No.” Van pressed a palm flat against my sternum and dragged it down my stomach.  “Maybe.”

“All we have to do is shower. I’ll even wash your hair.”

I grinned as an easy laugh relaxed his shoulders.

“Wash my hair?”

“Turn around,” I said, and he raised his brows. “I’m serious.”

I couldn’t tell if he was curious or worried, but he did as I’d asked. The shampoo bottle sat on a small shelf behind me. I grabbed it and poured a decent amount into my hand. He groaned as I worked up a lather into his hair with my fingers and leaned into my touch.

“Jesus… you’re good at this,” he said, his muscles loose as I massaged his neck and shoulders with my soapy hands.

“You’re welcome.”

He dipped his head under the water again, washing away all the suds before he turned around. “It’s your turn.”

We switched spots, the hot water on my cool skin like needles, at first. I lowered my head once he had a handful of shampoo. His touch was cautious, but after a few seconds he found his confidence, his fingers gently scratching along my scalp and down the back of my neck. Glancing up, I smiled at his thoughtful expression.

“What’s that look?”

He laughed, smearing the shampoo down my chest. “I was concentrating.”

“Concentrating is just another word for thinking, you know.” I reached past him for the body wash.

“I was thinking about how sweet you were with Anne tonight,” he said and held out his hand like we did this every day. I filled it with soap, and he ran his palms over my chest and arms as he spoke. “You didn’t have to listen to all of her weather facts, but you did.”

“She’s a cute kid.”

“She likes you.” Van’s hand paused over my heart, and I wondered if he could feel the rapid rhythm beneath my skin.

“I wasn’t sure how tonight would go,” I admitted, and he smiled as I popped the soap bubble on his jaw. “It’s a relief knowing I didn’t fuck it up.”

“I’m glad you stayed for dinner.”

“Me too.”

He grasped the nape of my neck, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“I read what you sent me,” he said and kissed the corner of my mouth. “The stories about your dad.”

“Shit… you did?”

I dropped my forehead onto his shoulder, and he chuckled.

“Parker… your words are fucking brilliant.”

I turned my head and kissed the side of his Adam’s apple, inhaling the damp scent of his clean skin as his hands found my waist. “Thank you.”

“Would you mind if I showed them to my boss?”

“What?” I raised my head, thinking he was messing with me. “You’re for real?”

“I wouldn’t say it otherwise. The stories have potential.”

“To be published?”

“I think so,” he said. “With Anders’s guidance I think we—you could turn them into a novel. I believe in your work, Parker.” He stared at me, a few seconds passing in the silence, the water rinsing away the last traces of soap from our skin. He drew nervous circles on the edge of my hip with his finger. “Anders would look out for your best interests. Even if this doesn’t work out between us.”

“Are you going to tell him about us?” I asked, hoping for a yes.

I wanted someone to know, someone beyond this private bubble we’d created.  It made it more real, made the thought of hiding this more bearable, made the “even if this doesn’t work out” sound less daunting. I wanted to tell Marcos, tell my best friend about this amazing guy who believed in me even if we’d only just started.

“I think I might have to.”

“But you don’t want to?”

He searched my face, a deep crease forming between his brows.

“I want to.”

The weight inside my chest shifted, making it easier to breathe.

“Are you worried about what he’ll think?”

He exhaled a long sigh and nodded. “My reputation is important to his firm. But I’ve thought about it a lot, and if we’re careful and make it through the semester, it should be okay. It’s not like I’m a full-time professor. I’m hardly there. I doubt anyone would notice once you’re no longer in my class.”

“I’d like to tell Marcos. He’s my best friend, and hiding it from him is—”

“Tell him.” Van framed my face with his hands, his thumbs sweeping across my cheeks. “If you trust him, I trust you.”

“He won’t say anything,” I said. “He’s been fucking with me about having a crush on you since day one of the semester.”

Van’s smile stretched across his face as he draped his arms over my shoulders.

“You had a crush on me?”

“I was totally hot for teacher.”

He hummed, his cheeks darkening again as he brought his lips to mine. We continued to explore each other under the guise of soap and water. Fingers and nails and skin. We touched and kissed until that tender pressure, that ache, boiled over.

“I need you to …” he said, between kisses. “I need…”

“What do you need?”

“Make me come, Parker.”

Slick and hard in my hand, Van watched with hooded eyes as I stroked his cock. I touched my lips to the hollow below his ear, kissing my way down his neck and shoulder. I moved lower, grazing his nipple with my teeth, and he threaded his fingers into my hair. Van rested his back against the shower wall, his grip tightening, the pinch of pain against my scalp made my mouth water.

Leaning down, I teased the head of his dick with my lips, his breath catching in his throat, I raised my eyes. “Is this okay?”

He nodded once, his desire evident in the rigid line of his jaw. But his uncertainty was there, too, storming inside his irises.

“I need you to say it.”

“Yes,” he gasped, the word sharp and gritty as I knelt down onto my haunches in front of him. Water trickling over my skin. I rubbed my nose into his groin, the dark hair of his inner thigh rough against my cheek. Van loosened his grip in my hair, his fingers trailing down my cheek, he held my chin. “It’s more than okay.”

The pad of his thumb caressed my bottom lip, following a straight line down my jaw to my shoulder. I licked the underside of his cock from the base to the tip, dipping my tongue into his slit, immersing myself in his salty taste. Van hissed, his fingers digging into my skin, while his other hand moved softly through my hair. The two contradicting sensations prickled at my flesh, sending a flood of goosebumps down my arms as he pushed into my mouth. My lips stretched around the heavy head, and I wanted nothing more than to swallow him whole, show him how good this could feel. How good I could make him feel. He swore as I worked him deeper into my mouth, making it only halfway, my lips meeting my hand as I stroked him. Inch by inch he took my mouth, fucking into my throat until my nose dusted the dark patch of hair covering his pubic bone.

Van groaned, bucking his hips as I gagged, his fingers curling sharply into my skin, and without warning, his release exploded down my throat. “Oh fuck,” he panted as I struggled to swallow all of his load. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t be.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stood to my full height, smiling at the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Look at me.” He was breathless, his pupils dilated, his face splotched with red. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he laughed. “God, that was—”

“The best head you’ve ever had.” I grabbed the firm muscles of his ass, pulling him closer, shuddering as my dick rubbed against him. “I know I’m—”

Van crashed his lips into mine, his hand on the side of my face, and I stumbled back, dizzy with the taste of him still on my tongue, the pressure of his lips, and the urgent way he consumed me. Dropping his hand, he wrapped it around my shaft, jacking me slow—slow—so fucking slow.

“Van,” I whispered, covering his hand with mine and grunted as he squeezed me tighter. “Fuck… that’s good. Like that.”

He was rough, every stroke hard and relentless, until he found his rhythm. His teeth on my neck, my chin, my lips, the breathless sound of my voice as I said his name, my low, quiet groans seemed louder as I chased my climax. Pushing my back into the wall, he covered my mouth with his, stealing my breath and muting the sounds I couldn’t seem to control. My head tilted back, breaking away from his kiss as the familiar desperate burn spread from the bottom of my spine and my balls tightened. Van left a path of open-mouthed kisses on my overheated skin, from my neck to my navel, looking up at me with hesitation in his eyes. But before I had the chance to tell him I didn’t expect him to blow me, that he didn’t have to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, he leaned down and took the head of my dick into his mouth.

“Jesus Christ.” The surprising wet heat of his tongue almost pushed me over the finish line as he bobbed his head again and again and again.

Sloppy and uncoordinated, it didn’t fucking matter, I’d already been teetering on the edge, and I came with a string of expletives, my fingers buried in his hair. My body sagged against the tile as he stood, licking his lips. Neither of us said anything for what felt like minutes when, in reality, it was probably only a few seconds. I worried we’d gone too far, worried he’d felt forced to return the favor. The short high I’d been riding plummeted.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, raising his fingers to his mouth.

“If this is too much—if it’s too fast… I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t say no.”

“I didn’t want to say no,” he said, a deep flush cascading down his neck. “I wanted to know what you tasted like too. What it would feel like?”

I reached for his hand, turning it palm up, and rubbed the waterlogged, pruned tips of his fingers with my own. Feeling vulnerable, I might’ve needed a reason to hide my eyes, or an excuse to touch him. “What did you think? Terrible? Strictly chicks from now on?”

I tried to joke, but he didn’t laugh. “It was different… in a good way. I like the way you taste, Parker.” When I lifted my eyes, he was smiling. “I thought I was the only one who blushed.”

I exhaled a laugh and bit the corner of my lip as I palmed the juncture below my neck. “Only for you, professor.”

It was well past eleven by the time I’d gotten home from Van’s. The apartment was dark except for the grainy gray light flickering from the television. Marcos was sleeping on the couch, his mouth open, snoring like a goddamn bear. I debated on leaving him there, knowing in the morning I’d have to listen to him bitch about the crick in his neck. I nudged his knee and he grumbled something completely incoherent. Sighing, I picked up the half-eaten bowls of soup and brought them to the sink. I ran the water, rinsing them out, my mind somewhere else. With Van. Waffles and rain and books and blushes. Dirt and grass. Late-night showers and more firsts. I was still back at his house, the smell of his soap covering me. I lifted the collar of the t-shirt he’d let me borrow to my nose and inhaled the scent of his detergent.

“Are you sniffing yourself?” Marcos asked as he trudged into the kitchen with his coffee mug. He set it into the sink, his hair sticking up in every direction. “That’s fucking weird, mijo.”

“Glad to see you’ve risen from the dead,” I said and leaned against the counter as he grabbed another mug from the cabinet. “How are you feeling?”

Filling the cup with water, he shrugged. “Better, I think. I can actually taste the funk of my own mouth… that’s a good sign.”

“And it’s disgusting.”

“Fuck off.” He plopped two tea bags into the mug and put it into the microwave. “Nice shirt, by the way.” He looked over his shoulder, grinning like he had me all figured out. “Emory?”

I stared down at the University’s emblem stretching across my chest.

“It’s not mine.”

He raised his brows and pursed his lips. “You don’t say… Those aren’t your pants either, lover boy… last time I checked, you couldn’t afford designer clothes.”

“They’re just sweats.”

He leaned over and snapped the waistband. “Those are not just sweats. They’re Thom Browne, and I’m guessing your mystery man, aka sugar daddy, has money because those pants cost at least four-hundred dollars.”

“What? That’s insane.”

“Quality, carnal… it’ll cost you.”

“They don’t fit or feel any different than the cheap-ass sweats I wear to the gym.” Four-hundred dollars. Fuck, now I was worried I’d ruin them. “I’ll be right back.”

I heard Marcos laugh as I shut my bedroom door. I immediately stripped out of the pants that could have funded a month’s worth of groceries at Pride House and folded them before I sent Van a text.

Me: You’re probably sleeping. But why in the hell would you lend me $400 pants?

Marcos pushed my bedroom door open and squealed. “Dios mio, why is your dick hanging out?”

“Fuck, can’t you knock?”

“I mean… it’s not like I haven’t—”

“Out.”

Of course, he didn’t leave, leaning in the doorway, he didn’t even have the decency to avert his eyes. I tossed my phone onto my bed and grabbed a pair of briefs and gym shorts from my dresser.

“What do you want?” I asked as I got dressed.

“You come home wearing designer pants, smelling your shirt, also not yours, all smitten and shit, and expect me not to ask questions?” He cocked his hip. “You know me better than that.”

“Sit down,” I said, and he balked at my stern tone. “Will you sit your ass on the bed so I can do this? Please.”

“Since you said please…”

Marcos sat on the edge of my bed and my stomach knotted. I trusted him not to say anything. And even though he’d teased me about my crush, the truth was a boulder in my throat. The pull I felt for Van, how I couldn’t stop thinking about him, how big all of this was already, how did I explain this to my best friend who literally took nothing seriously.

“You can’t say a word, Marcos.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m not fucking around, not a word, alright?” I ran my hands over my hair and exhaled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“I’ll forgive you if you kill the suspense and just spit it out already.”

“I’m dating Donovan.”

“Wait… Donovan, as in…” His eyes widened and he bounced on the bed. “No way, you’re banging the teacher?”

“We are not banging.” I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t make me regret telling you.”

“Does he know that I know?”

“Yes, I asked him if it was okay to talk to you about it.”

He squealed again and started coughing. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“You can’t tell anyone. Not Tam. Not a soul. He could lose his job. He has a daughter… shit, please… you can’t—”

“Don’t offend me, Park. You’re my family, I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”

“You’re a gossip.”

“True… but I love you, hermano. Your secret is safe with me.” His smile was more vibrant than I’d seen it in days. “Oh my God, was he the app guy?”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t know?”

“How could we?”

“This is like some soulmate shit. I’ll have to do your cards before you leave for work in the morning.”

“My cards?”

“Tam taught me tarot.”

“I’m good, but thanks.” I laughed and shoved him in the chest. “Cards? Come on, Marcos.”

“They’re scary accurate. You’ll see.”

I wouldn’t but I didn’t feel like arguing.

Exhausted, I dropped down onto my bed. “We’ve only been on two dates, but like I said on Friday, I really like him.”

“It’s more than two dates. The app. Class.”

“You know what I mean. It’s new and terrifying.” I fidgeted with the hem of my pillowcase. “I met his daughter tonight. Her name’s Anne.”

“Meeting the kid… That’s fast.”

“It’s fast, but it wasn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be. Anne’s cute as hell… smart. And besides, he hadn’t planned for her to be there. His ex-wife dropped her off unexpectedly.”

“Whoa. You met the ex too?”

“Briefly.” I leaned into my pillows and covered my eyes with my arm. “She’s beautiful.”

“Well, she’s an ex for a reason.”

“They were high school sweethearts. He’s never been with a guy before me.”

“Stop it... you get to deflower Mr. Brody.”

“Oh my God!” I kicked him with my foot. “Get out. I need to sleep, I have work tomorrow.”

He stood up and the mattress shifted. “I want every detail tomorrow, mijo. Every. Single. One.”

I didn’t answer him, smiling when my door shut a little harder than necessary.