"So, you didn't have any trouble finding it." Aaron opened the front door to his house, figuring it was Chuck who was there. There was a porch light, but he didn't turn it on even though darkness had fallen. He did, though, poke his head out of the door to look up and down the street before standing aside and letting Chuck walk in past him. As he turned and watched, Chuck walked all the way back to the kitchen and then back, pausing at where stairs went up and down in the split-level house. Seeing that the other two levels were dark, he walked back to the foyer and stood at the door into the dimly lit living room. He gave Aaron an expectant look.
Chuck was in gym shorts, a muscle T, and gym shoes, without socks. He cut an imposing, not-to-be-ignored figure despite pushing forty—blond, built to body-builder specifications, tall, and walking cocky. His hair was in a Marine buzz cut either because there was a receding bald spot on top he didn't want to draw attention to or because he'd been a Marine, which was entirely possible, given his physique and the confident way he carried himself. That hair otherwise wasn't his problem, though, as was shown by the perpetual five-o'clock shadow he sported on his face and the curly blond hair that peeked up from the neckline V of the T-shirt and covered his forearms and calves. He had a barbed-wire crown tattoo around his left, bulging bicep, and there was evidence of a more colorful tattoo coming up from his right pectoral muscle and pulling over his right shoulder and down his right arm to his wrist.
In contrast to the square-jawed muscleman appearance of Chuck, Aaron, dark, trim, a good six inches shorter, fifteen years younger, and office professional looking and with more refined, delicate features than Chuck, looked like he was from another world altogether.
"So, where's this ship carving collection you say you have?"
"Downstairs. You want a beer, though, before we go down?" Aaron shut the front door but remained there, leaning back into as if he was reconsidering having let Chuck in.
Chuck smiled a little smile at the reference to go down, but he answered, "Sure, why not?" He took a good look at Aaron's tight little buns as he walked past him and to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Aaron returned with the beers. He did a little double-take as Chuck had slipped his athletic T off and dropped it on a chair in the foyer next to the front door. His torso was, of course, magnificent. With a shaky hand, Aaron handed one of the beers Chuck and said, "Let's sit in the living room." He gestured to a sofa and, after Chuck sat at one end, Aaron sat down at the other.
The two had just come from an after-work workout at the gym they both went to. At least it was after Aaron's office-job work. He'd never asked if or where Chuck worked. Chuck always seemed to be at Phil's Gym, and his body looked like he spent all of his time there. The last couple of weeks Chuck had been helping Aaron with his workouts and had been his spotter on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Chuck had remarked that Aaron was bulking up well with his help, and Aaron could feel the improvement himself, although he didn't seek to be muscle bound and probably never would be. Still, Aaron liked what he saw in the mirror of himself and so, he thought, with good reason, did Chuck.
"So, you said you were married," Chuck said after he'd taken a swig of his beer.
"Yes. My wife, Rachel. And we have two kids."
"Where are they?"
"My wife and kids?"
"Yeah, your wife and kids. We seem to be alone. Where are you wife and kids? Not hiding in the dark upstairs, I hope."
"They're in New York. The Bronx. Visiting her parents."
"Ah."
"Whenever the kids are out of school for an extended time, Rachel takes them up there. Her parents run a jewelry store, but they dote on the kids. They rarely are able to get away to come down here to visit us."
"Ah, I see."
"You see what?" Aaron didn't mean it to sound defensive, but when he looked up and into Chuck's face, the smirk he saw made him feel defensive. Chuck no longer was at the other end of the sofa. He'd narrowed the distance between them. His right arm was resting on the top of the sofa and, for the first time, Aaron realized that Chuck was touching his shoulder with the fingers of his hand and rubbing little circles on top of Aaron's thin T-shirt material there. Aaron was aroused by the riot of colors in the tattoo covering Chuck's right chest and arm.
"How long has your wife not been enough for you, Aaron?" The voice was low, calm. Chuck's eyes were boring into Aaron's face. Aaron blushed.
"I . . . I don't know what you mean," Aaron said, his voice sounding mousey even to himself.
"I think you do, Aaron. Phil told me you had asked about me. You didn't really think he wouldn't tell me you had, did you? Phil's my partner at the gym. He tells me everything."
Ah, so that's what he does and why he's at the gym all the time, Aaron thought. He's one of the owners. But then he realized he was avoiding the issue. Why the fuck
did
it matter where Chuck worked? That's not what he was baldly suggesting here. "I don't really see where my marriage—"
"Give it up, Aaron. Why the fuck did you ask me here? Why are we alone here? I know. I've known for a few weeks. You've let me touch you—Intimately—when we work out. And you go hard when I do. Are you living in some sort of fantasy world of convenient denial? You haven't said anything. But that speaks for itself right there. I'm here, in your house, while your family is away. You asked me to come here on some flimsy excuse. Don't tell me you don't know what I mean or that you don't know why you asked me to come here."
The hand that had been at Aaron's shoulder suddenly was under Aaron's right thigh, twisting Aaron's body around to where his back was against the arm of the shoulder and, now, his right leg was raised and bent, and trapped against the back cushion of the sofa by Chuck's left torso. Aaron's left leg was dangling off the sofa, his foot on the floor in front of the sofa. His legs were spread. His crotch was exposed, vulnerable. Chuck's right hand then went to the back of Aaron's neck, pulling the younger man's head forward. Chuck cupped Aaron's chin in his left hand. His face dipped down to Aaron's and he took Aaron's mouth into a possessive kiss.
Aaron struggled against the kiss—at first—using his left arm to try to push Chuck's chest away. His right arm was trapped between his body and the back cushion of the sofa. Chuck was too strong for him and held the kiss, becoming more brutal with it, getting his tongue in Aaron's mouth and swabbing Aaron's inner cheeks until he felt Aaron's body go limp and Aaron's left hand stop trying to push him away. His fingers had pushed into the matting of curly blond hair on Chuck's exposed chest, and he was tugging on the hair. As he surrendered more in the kiss, his hand grabbed Chuck's right bicep and pulled Chuck into him rather than trying to push him away. His mouth relaxed, went soft, returned Chuck's kiss with passion.
When he felt he'd established some control, Chuck pulled out of the kiss, but he continued to dominate Aaron's body. Still gripping the hair at the back of Aaron's head, he held their faces close. Aaron tried to look away, but Chuck cruelly jerked his head back, staring him down, until Aaron's eyes couldn't hold contact anymore and, with a sigh, he dipped them in surrender.
"I didn't mean for this . . ." Aaron whimper. "I think you need to leave."
