Free Wishing on a Blue Star by Kris Jacen Page B

followed him like short shadows.
    Kip froze. “You never drink beer.”
    “No. I don’t.”
    “Yet you’re having one now?”
    “Based on my perception of what is going to happen, I thought it might be wise to have relaxed muscles. Was I wrong?” Crash blinked at him.
    Kip let himself fall backwards against the refrigerator, which thunked against the wall behind him. He rolled his eyes. “Crash—”
    Crash stepped forward and pressed dry lips to Kip’s. He must have sensed there was something not quite right, because he leaned back and licked his lips while his gentle hands fluttered from Kip’s shoulders to the sides of his face. Kip felt Crash’s thumbs trace the arch of his brows, then the curve of his cheek.  The tip of Crash’s tongue touched the fullness of his mouth and he groaned.
    “ Crash .” Kip leaned in and pulled Crash close, slipping his hands into the waistband of his jeans. He felt a sweet heat building in the pit of his belly, like the warmth of hot coffee or even booze. Crash’s lips opened to his exploration and their tongues found one another in a delicious slip and slide of flesh, moist air, and noses pressed together. A bristly upper lip scratched like crisp crumbs on his skin.
    Kip felt Crash’s surrender all the way to his toes, Crash melted around him, his skin damp with passion; sweat that—for some inexplicable reason—gave off the faint perfume of sweet-butter sugar cookies. When Kip opened his eyes, he saw that Crash’s eyes were closed in what could almost be termed ecstasy. He moved then, and broke their kiss reluctantly so he could take two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. The light from inside the fridge limned Crash’s face.
    “Kip.” Crash smoothed his hand over his own forearm, looking at it as though he’d never seen it before. “My skin feels like it’s on fire.”
    “Yeah?” Kip handed him a beer. Blushing, he nudged at Crash’s neck with his nose, breathing in that sweet scent and nuzzling with his lips. “Do I make you hot?”
    “ Yes ,” Crash hissed, leaning in. “I burn for you.”
    Kip sighed. “You say some pretty outrageous things.”
    “What should I do?” Crash took the cap off the beer and smelled it. It made him wince.
    “You don’t even like beer, do you?”
    “No.”
    “Want something else? I have some Bailey’s.” Kip raised his own beer to his lips and took a healthy swig, but Crash caught his hand and lowered the bottle, tasting the beer on his lips.
    “Beer is nice, when I taste it on you. Look. I just want you, Kip. If you don’t want me then stop stalling and say so.”
    Kip stared. When had he not wanted Crash? From the second he’d realized he wanted the boys at school and not the girls, Crash had been his holy grail. He’d learned to breathe the scent of him, to suffer through the affectionate touching, to walk and talk and smile as though he was perfectly satisfied to spend the rest of his life without ever having the one man that he wanted more than any others because… well. Because Crash wasn’t gay. Was he?
    “Crash, are you even gay?”
    Crash displayed the exaggerated patience that made Kip see red. “I don’t even know what that means, gay. I am simply yours .”
    For a fraction of a second, maybe the space of a heartbeat, Kip wanted to test Crash’s complacence; it was an itch he wanted to scratch. He wanted to push Crash over the table, shove down his jeans, and put a cock up his ass— just to do it— just to see how fast Crash changed his tune. An image came to his mind, unbidden, of fucking Crash hard and angry, looking away so he didn’t have to see the pain and disappointment in his eyes.
    “Never in anger.” Crash’s hands found Kip’s face again. He felt Crash’s thumb ring bite his cheek a little to go with the admonishment. “Anything we share will be beautiful. I promise you that.”
    How did Crash always seem to…
    “Come on, lover, I’m not so untried as to believe that