Free Beneath the Stain - Part 1 by Amy Lane Page B

hotel—Dad let me book a nice one on the Embarcadero—so how about we go check in, ditch the car in paid parking, and then get something to eat. And then—”
    “Ferry ride?” Mackey asked, sitting up excitedly.
    He saw Grant slide his eyes quickly sideways, because of the unfamiliar traffic.
    “Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff with wonder. “Ferry ride.”
    The chow was decent—Mackey ate a hamburger that was grilled right, with bleu cheese and mushrooms and a sort of gravy he could have lived on. They ate in an outdoor area that gave him a view of the skyscrapers, and he held his face to the sun and the shade of the scudding clouds in the dazzling sky and tried to smell the ocean. It was just over the line of shops at his back, but he could feel it in the breeze. It wasn’t until they’d walked the half mile down to Pier 39 that Mackey got a real feel for it, the vast and the cold ocean, looking out into the San Francisco Bay.
    Grant dragged him by the hand to the touristy places first, ignoring anyone who might look, and bought him a thick fleece sweatshirt that said I left my <3 in San Francisco . Mackey protested, but Grant blew him off, saying it was his fault because he hadn’t remembered a sweatshirt like Grant told him to. Then, still hand in hand, they headed to the ferry with the blue-and-gold insignia.
    Within half an hour, they stood on the prow of a ferry, Mackey leaning against the rail and catching the spray in his face as they headed to the big golden bridge that all the songs were written about.
    Mackey was cold in spite of the sweatshirt, and Grant leaned against his back, bracing himself on the rail with a hand on either side of Mackey.
    Years later, when their lives had turned out very differently, Mackey would remember that moment, the freedom at his face and the safety at his back, and it would be the diamond in his mind, the one clear moment that taught him what love was all about. Even if the diamond was flawed, it was the first diamond he’d ever grasped so tight it left edges imprinted on his palm, and he would clutch it to his chest until his heart bled, sure nobody but Grant Adams, his brother’s best friend and the kid he’d grown up with, could give him that feeling.
    When they got back, Grant took him to a nice restaurant, one where they sat down and put napkins on their laps. Nobody looked at Mackey twice, with his tourist sweatshirt and all, and right there, while they were talking about the ferry ride and all the people who had come into the bay hoping for a new life, Grant put his hand on top of Mackey’s in public. Mackey’s whole body grew warm, tingled, caught fire like the pit in the center of the restaurant.
    The whole day—the casual touches, the subtle possession, that giddy hour with Grant leaning against his back on the ferry while the deck pitched under their feet—that caught up with him right there, and his body remembered that it was made of hormones, and his cock reminded him that it had been half-hard all day.
    Grant paid the bill and left a tip Mackey’s mother probably dreamed about, and then grabbed Mackey’s hand again, lacing their fingers together as they hustled toward the hotel.
    Mackey’s brain must have shorted out then, too glutted on the new place, on the new experience, because he came to when Grant closed the hotel room door behind them.
    Slowly, like he was dreaming, Mackey turned toward the boy who had brought him here.
    He was unprepared for Grant’s charge, and his strong arms taking him at the waist and bearing him back to the bed, mouth fused hotly to Mackey’s like he was pulling in his soul.
    Mackey devoured back, shoving at Grant’s pants clumsily, and Grant left him sprawled on the bed while he dropped his jeans and kicked off his shoes. Mackey did the same thing, unashamed and unafraid, wild in his need.
    Their bodies, naked, skin on skin, were enough to make Mackey shudder. He started to beg, mouthing Grant’s neck, his