Free Tree Fingers by Augusta Li Page A

edges browned and curling, spiraled down. One landed on Graham’s sun-painted cheek, and Alan rolled to his side, puckered his lips, and blew it into Graham’s light brown hair.
    “I could lie here all day,” Alan said, relaxing against Graham’s body, nestling the side of his face into the dip between the fairer man’s shoulder and chest.
    “My sweater itching your face?” Graham asked. He wished he’d removed the cable-knit wool garment; the afternoon was too balmy for it.
    “Yeah, but I can hear your heart,” Alan answered, squeezing Graham’s ribs.
    Compelled by the unexpected sweetness of the comment, Graham cupped Alan’s chin and angled Alan’s face upward so that they could kiss. The gentle meeting of their lips quickly turned to passion. Any touch they shared ignited flames of lust, and soon Alan had rolled on top of Graham. Graham could feel Alan’s skin heating with arousal as his nips and pecks grew more urgent. His tongue delved down into Graham’s mouth as his hands burrowed under the sweater and worn Oxford beneath to stroke Graham’s waist. Gooseflesh rose on Graham’s skin despite his over-dressed warmth. His fingers wove into Alan’s silky dark hair, while his other hand plunged down the back of his tight jeans to squeeze Alan’s smooth ass cheek.
    Pulling his shoulder-length tresses, Graham bent Alan’s head back and licked the length of his slender neck. Alan moaned, and his body responded, cock and nipples going hard against Graham. Nails bit the sides of Graham’s body, and he bent his pelvis to rub his growing erection against Alan. At the same time he clutched Alan’s butt, forcing their bodies even closer. Through the denim of Alan’s pants and the beige linen of Graham’s trousers, their cocks swelled and ground against each other.
    Alan’s fingers worked their way to Graham’s nipples as their mouths met again. He circled them, giving each a teasing pinch before withdrawing his hands and sitting up, straddling Graham’s lap. His hair hung in his face, a few strands stuck to his sweaty skin. Arousal darkened his lips and cheeks, making his eyes look bigger and blacker. Graham held his hips, rocking slowly beneath him, as Alan took the bottom of his black and white striped sweatshirt and prepared to peel it away from his slim body.
    A hollow thud made Alan drop the hem of his hoodie. His hand darted to the top of his head and rubbed, a grimace replacing his excited smile. Near Graham’s armpit, a particularly large walnut bounced once before rolling under the forsythia.
    “Damn tree,” Alan said, still holding his wounded scalp.
    “That hurt like hell!”
    “Hey, I love that tree,” Graham teased, poking the ticklish spot below Alan’s rib with his knuckle, making the other man twitch.
    Leaping up, Alan crossed his arms and stood facing the fence, his back to Graham. “I’m glad to know I’m second in your heart to a tree,” he said, mock-injured.
    Graham stood and encircled Alan’s waist, his chin resting on the slightly taller man’s shoulder. “Don’t be that way, love,” he said, rubbing the edge of Alan’s ear with the tip of his nose. “Let me show you something.”
    Hand in hand, they passed through the wooden gate that led to Graham’s neighbor’s yard. Graham escorted Alan to the other side of the walnut’s trunk, which was as big around as one of the abandoned children’s wading pools that dotted the neighborhood, forgotten now and filled with leaves. With his free palm, Graham touched the deeply-gouged bark. “When I first moved here with my Mum, I cried all the time.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I was homesick. I’d been forced to leave my family and all of my mates behind. The kids here talked funny and wouldn’t be my friends. But this tree reminded me of our cottage in Warwickshire and the little shaded lane we lived on.
    This lot was vacant then, before the Cooks bought it and built their house. I used to sit out here and draw. And