Sonata Read online

  Jordan grinned impishly. "Too full. Have to wait."

  Ian laughed out loud, startling Cole. He dropped his voice quickly and grimaced a guilty look at Jordan. "Well, as interesting as the path your mind is on is, I actually had something in mind with Cole."

  "Pervert."

  Ian frowned, grabbed one of the couch pillows and smacked Jordan soundly with it. Rather than waiting for permission or trying to explain, Ian set his wine down on the coffee table and walked over to the piano. He sat on the end of the bench, slipped his knees underneath the instrument and stretched his fingers. After a couple of false starts, the familiar chords of the Romanze began to sound. He only played the first and fourth episodes, where the piano kept a dainty tempo, the notes light and romantic. Though his fingers faltered a few times, he kept at it, doing his best to remind himself as he went.

  He heard Jordan's praise, nodded in thanks, but it was the hesitant footsteps to his left that Ian sought. He felt more than heard Cole trundle up beside him, the smaller body brushing against him as though Cole was afraid of the instrument, yet too intrigued to stay away. It was a comforting thought that Cole found sanctity where he did, at Ian's back, instead of merely hiding or shrinking behind Jordan.

  Ian began to speak quietly, so that Cole would have to concentrate to hear it over the music. "Piano Concerto Number Twenty," he said, as if Cole would understand him. "In D minor. Mozart."

  They were meaningless words to an eight-year-old but it was something to say anyway. "This is the second movement of the piece, the 'Romanze'. I'm playing the piano as a solo right now, but the music was actually written to include the entire orchestra."

  To Ian's shock, Cole began to climb on the piano bench beside him. From the corner of his eye, Ian saw Jordan rise.

  "Percussion," Ian continued. "Strings, wind, the whole bit. We should go sometime. Though it can get a little loud." On that cue, Ian changed the tempo, switching back to the second round where the gentle music was coaxed into turbulence. He felt Cole shiver beside him though Cole didn't lose control. Then just as suddenly as he'd flipped the mood, Ian stopped playing. Fading chords echoed throughout the loft.

  Neither Jordan nor Ian took a breath as Cole's hands began to slink towards the keys. A single note reverberated from the piano and a huff that could have been amusement, could have been just an extended breath, puffed out from between Cole's lips.

  "Try this," Ian set his hands on the keyboard. "Doesn't matter where, just follow the pattern I'm using on the keys and keep the same distances between them. Use the same rhythm if you can, okay?"

  One note at a time, Ian began to pick out the keys of the scale.

  Within a minute Cole had mastered it. Within five he had memorized "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." From there it just got easier.

  *~*~*

  Cole fell asleep after three exhaustive hours of self-sampling on the piano. Not that it was hard to listen to, just that every few minutes, Ian would have to show Cole a new pattern to absorb until Ian had shown just about every one he'd learned; the ones he could recall anyway. Finally, he just left Cole to tap away at will.

  It was during their third glass of wine that Cole suddenly got up, shut the piano with a sharp clack, slid off the bench and came to the couch to lie on Jordan's lap. Quiet conversation served as background noise while Cole drifted off.

  "He can sleep here," Ian suggested. "I'll get a blanket."

  "And?"

  Ian grinned. "And we can sleep upstairs. If you want to." When Jordan didn't respond right away, Ian added. "I can make sure we get Cole to school on time if that's what you're worried about. I'll drive him myself if need be."

  "School?" Jordan frowned before his face fell and he replaced the expression with one of confusion. "Right, yes. School. Tomorrow is Monday." His nervous chuckle brought Ian's own frown to the surface. "Weekend flies by so fast ..."

  Ian opened his mouth to speak but was cut short. "Let's worry about it in the morning. Cole will need to change anyway, right? And if he's late, he's late. I'm not too concerned about it." Jordan smiled a consolatory smile. "Besides, he learned more tonight than any of those bastards could ever teach him."

  He began to wiggle out from under Cole's weight. "You were going to get a blanket?"

  *~*~*

  Not even a hand in his hair helped Ian to secure Jordan's mouth. Jordan had an uncanny ability to know when Ian was leaning in for a kiss. He shouldn't have let it bother him, not with Jordan stretched out beside him, naked as the day he'd been born, both bodies straining for more attention. Yet as sweet as the traces of soap on Jordan's body tasted, as savory the salt in Jordan's sweat, Ian ached to taste Jordan's mouth: lips, tongue, teeth, any of it. All of it.

  "Quit it," Jordan mumbled. "Why do you always do that?"

  "People kiss," Ian grumbled back. Jordan pulled his leg over Ian's thigh, pushing Ian back and straddling Ian's lap and Ian fought away a groan to continue speaking. "I just don't get why you won't let me kiss you. Why do you make this process so difficult?"

  Jordan ignored him completely, leaning forward to secure Ian's right nipple between his lips. For a long moment Ian tried to decide which felt better: The soothing swipe of tongue or the light nips of teeth. Jordan began to rock against him, slow, perfect slides providing friction to the one part of Ian's body that could have cared less about displays of affection and sought only penetration.

  Jordan licked a trail up Ian's chest, neck, to his ear, tracing the sensitive appendage in a way that made tiny flames of sensation race down Ian's spine and directly into his dick. "Fuck me," Jordan whispered.

  While one hand could not be stopped from finding Jordan's hip and drawing Jordan even closer, Ian was able to control the other. Up Jordan's spine in a featherlike brush and to the back of Jordan's neck, he sought Jordan's lips while he gripped without pressure. Temple, cheekbone, jaw, each was offered the same servitude–the press of lips and the tip of tongue.

  Jordan's skin was hot, and it was clean, and smooth. And no matter how often Ian told himself to stop trying, he couldn't stop his mouth from seeking yet again.

  Jordan rose just before Ian met his lips.

  Ian frowned. "Stop trying so hard not to get attached to me. Are you really that sure that kissing me is going to be so overwhelmingly heart-stealing that you have to fight me off that strongly?"

  "Shut up." Jordan increased both movement and pressure.

  Ian groaned and told his mind to ignore his cock's insistence for a moment longer. "You know it's too late, don't you? You wouldn't be here if you didn't already—"

  "Shut. Up." Jordan shifted abruptly and pressed both hands hard over Ian's mouth. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I'm here to fuck. So fuck me, for fuck's sake."

  Instead Ian grabbed both wrists and pulled Jordan's hands away. Then he began to kiss each one of them in turn: palms, fingers, knuckles, the insides of Jordan's wrists where the pulse was strong under Ian's lips. I'll believe you, Ian thought, when your eyes don't watch every move my mouth makes. When your face doesn't soften every time I kiss your skin. When you stop avoiding my eyes just so I won't see the need in yours.

  He drew his hands up Jordan's arms, stroking bare skin and tight muscles as they went, circling Jordan's shoulders. With steady pressure, he lowered Jordan back down until Jordan hovered an inch away from his mouth.

  "It's okay, you know. It doesn't make you weak to need something more than physical gratification. I'm not going to suddenly stop liking you just because you like me."

  Jordan's eyes were bright. Fear? Pain? Or just confusion?

  "You can't like me. You don't even know me."

  "That's the funny thing about people, Jordan," Ian tilted his head, brushed Jordan's chin with a light kiss. "Sometimes you just know right away. There's this … " Ian paused, searched for words, " … this connection. You don't know why, hell, you don't even care. You just know that somehow, someway, you were supposed to know this person. That they're important to yo
u. And if it doesn't happen, if something gets in the way, you'll have missed more than you'll ever know."

  "God damn it, Ian," Jordan sighed. But it wasn't a sigh of anger. It was a sound that Ian didn't know, that he couldn't understand. "Why can't you just shut the hell up? Please?"

  He pressed Jordan's hands to his chest and then found the back of Jordan's head. His fingers threaded into Jordan's hair. "You really want me to shut up?"

  The word came out strangled and forced. "Yes!"

  Ian caught Jordan's gaze and held it. "Then give me something to do with my mouth."

  He moved quickly, snagging Jordan's lower lip lightly, and paused there for a second before pressing their mouths together in a chaste kiss. He felt Jordan's body stiffen from shoulders to thighs, heard Jordan catch his breath, but watched with relief as Jordan's eyes softened from wide-eyed disapproval to concession. And once that allowance was granted, Ian indulged in it. Lips first, learning every nuance: texture, taste, how Jordan moved his mouth; then he threw caution to the wind and nudged his tongue forward. He was sure the groan he heard was his own. Mostly sure anyway.

  Still holding Jordan's head, Ian rolled carefully, easing Jordan onto the mattress and sliding between legs that, once settled, curled around Ian's waist. Ian didn't release the kiss, not even for breath. He drew air through flared nostrils, from the sides of his mouth–it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was keeping the ground he'd battled for.

  It was a worthwhile cause. Far more responsive than anyone Ian had ever known, it was as though Ian had released a passion in Jordan that rested far too long. It may have struggled out of its cage, may have blinked a few too many times as eyes adjusted to new light, but once the beast realized it had been granted freedom, it ran.

  Light moans fed Ian's tongue, gripping fingers bruised Ian's shoulder blades, and all the while Jordan's hips never stopped seeking, driving, the skin where their bodies met growing damp with anticipatory desire. When Ian's fingers searched for and found the heated opening of Jordan's body, the groan that Jordan tumbled into Ian's mouth made every nerve in Ian's body jump to ready. His hand dove under the pillow for the circle of plastic he'd tucked there hours before, one under each, just in case, and only then did he allow the kiss to break. And that was just to ask, "Can I fuck you?"

  Ian had no idea if it was frustration or necessity that answered, but the desperation in Jordan's sound was mind-blowing. Ian sat up and back, fingers shaking as he removed packaging and tossed it aside, body aching and hard as he rolled the latex over it. He didn't look up, not at the flush on Jordan's cheeks and chest, or the prismatic eyes that watched him unroll and slicken, certainly not at the parted lips that drew and released air with enough force to feel on his own skin. He couldn't. It would be too much: too much to see, too much to feel, way too much to experience. As it was Ian was begging his own body to be forgiving, for fear that he would sink inside and it would be too much to hold back.

  He took Jordan in hand first, stroking Jordan slowly. And he kept doing it, nudging his cock in line with hole until his palming made Jordan groan. Eyelashes fluttered against cheeks, Jordan opened his mouth wider and pleased sighs and soft pants matched the sound of Ian's palm, increasing in time with one another, while Ian slowly found depth in Jordan's body.

  Ian couldn't decipher between pain and pleasure as Jordan whined, "Fuck, yes."

  His answer was nothing more than a grunt, no matter how hard he'd hoped for verbiage.

  Ian moved cautiously, but took Jordan's body completely. He paused to listen, enraptured as Jordan hissed an, "Oh, God, yes," when he was fully sheathed, before rocking his hips in a slow, deep grind.

  Everything moved: Jordan's hips rocked in time with Ian's touch, the countermovement making Jordan's balls kiss Ian's groin with every slide. Jordan's hole moved as it held Ian inside of it, flexing and gripping. His lips moved with every beautiful sound forced through them. His fingertips dug into Ian's muscles, his heels into Ian's thighs.

  "Fuck, yes. Faster," Jordan urged and whether the request was for hand or cock, Ian couldn't decipher. He opted for both.

  Ian pressed Jordan's shoulders into the mattress, the angle was pure, sweet drive and then it was Ian's name Jordan was whimpering. "Ian, yes; Ian, please; Ian, fuck." And that was too much.

  Ian choked on a dry throat, opened his mouth to tell Jordan he was coming just as Jordan's words became a strangled shout. Jordan's orgasm rocketed over fist, pubes, belly and chest and there was no need to hold his own back any longer. They were not waves that hit him. On the contrary, each pulse felt like it was tearing through him, pleasure-infused spikes mercilessly evacuating his body with more force than Ian would have thought possible.

  There were no words when Ian lowered his forehead onto Jordan's, the only sound the shuffle of Jordan's arms moving to tighten around Ian's neck. And Ian was convinced it was one of the nicest sounds he'd ever heard.

  Retrograde

  "Don't tell me you've had another busy weekend," Phil said, the smirk making it obvious that his inflection on "busy" had been intentional.

  Ian grinned and reached for one of the china mugs their office kept as a way to 'do their part' when it came to living up to the corporate environmental policy. "As a matter of fact, I did."

  "Oh, yeah? What was it this weekend?" Phil asked, his voice completely innocent, his hand gesture of pointer finger imbedding itself into his other hand's fisted palm not nearly so pure.

  "A live orchestra, if you must know," Ian said, filling the cup with the sludge offered as liquid caffeine. "Pig."

  Phil chuckled. "Well, as much as I'd love to say that I'm living vicariously through your experiences, unfortunately yours are a little wrong-gendered for my likings. But!" Phil lifted one finger with a lecherous grin. "If your little beau was a pretty little twenty-two year old girly-girl I'd have to say I might be so inclined."

  Ian rolled his eyes. "You're married. With a daughter. Who, may I point out, will one day be twenty-two herself?"

  "And she will rue the day she decides to bring a dog like you around," Phil laughed, shoulder-checking Ian lightly as he walked past.

  Ian hissed as hot coffee splashed his knuckles, gritted his teeth and shook his head. The mocking was light-hearted and he didn't take it personally. Mostly. Besides, he was getting used to it. Three weeks they'd been seeing each other—four if one threw in the first week of moping and hoping—and Jordan's age seemed to be the official joke of most of his friends, family and co-workers.

  "Would you mind letting your father know that we don't have any of the size tens in stock?" had been the phrase that sent Jordan into a fit of laughter at the shoe store. Ian had been fitting a surprisingly well-behaved Cole with a pair of runners when Jordan had spotted a pair that he'd liked as well. Disappointed when they couldn't find Jordan's size, the clerk had gleefully offered to pop back in the storeroom to see if she could find a set back there–obviously a commissioned salesperson not willing to let a hundred and ninety dollar sale walk away without at least trying. When she'd come out all puppy-dog-eyed with four other suggestions in hand and spoke the words, Jordan had simply dropped to the chair and guffawed to the point that Ian had to tell him to shut up because Cole was getting nervous.

  Even then, wiping eyes and looking at the other shoes, Jordan hadn't been able to keep back the chuckles that had continued to bubble out. Finally, with another pair in his hands, Jordan had walked over to where Ian was kneeling, bent down beside him and said, loud enough for the entire store to hear, "Oh, daddy? What do you think about these ones?" Then he'd batted his eyes, wrapped his arms around Ian's neck and purred, "I'll be a very, very good boy."

  It had been a ruse too cute to pass up. Ian had stood, with Jordan still draping over him, and clutched Jordan's ass, pulling Jordan tight against his hip. "Do be a dear and wrap these up for us will you?" Ian had said, handing the box of shoes over to the stunned salesgirl. Ian had followed with a wink, "Gotta keep my boy happy."


  Of course, when her gaze had shifted to Cole, the game was over. "He's not my son," Ian had growled.

  It was hard to keep up the wounded front however when Jordan leaned back in a regal drama-queen pose and sniffed dramatically, "But he is most definitely my daddy." It didn't help that Jordan finished off the sentence with a sound that bordered somewhere between cougar roar and kitten mewl.

  "Sick," Ian had mumbled as they left the store.

  Jordan had merely laughed him off. "You love it."

  Ian grinned at the memory as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack in his office. The past weeks had been good, damn good. Jordan infused him with energy and vitality. And Cole brought him a bizarre sense of peace that Ian would never have imagined might be obtained from someone that spent life hovering over the fine line between complete disinterest and nuclear-bomb mode. Yet Cole responded well to routine and careful explanation, calm and security, and Ian found that the more he tried to maintain that for Cole, the more that sense of manageability began to influence the rest of his own life. Clients, superiors, even irate strangers—everyone seemed to deal with whatever situation they were faced with when they had a person beside them trying to keep the peace, explaining before doing, and doing his best at making them feel comfortable.

  Ian was yanked out of his reverie when one of the CEO's, Vanessa, shoved through his door. "I'm so sorry, Ian. I don't mean to jump on you right off the bat, but our conference call on the Neoma Development has been moved up to this morning at ten. I need those reports you were working on."

  "Which I would give you," Ian said. "If they were done."

  "But I gave them to you on Friday—"

  "And assumed I'd work on them all weekend?" He leveled his frown on hers. "Because apparently, while everyone else is allowed to have a life, I should do nothing but pour over this company's potential acquisitions on my off hours just in case there's the slightest possibility you might suddenly need them right now, without any notice?"