Looking for Trouble(42)

He understood how Dylan felt. It hadn’t been very long ago that Clay had felt the same. He knew he should share that with Dylan, let him know he wasn’t alone, but it was damn hard. It was what he’d just told Dylan art was, and sharing this with him would be letting Dylan into a piece of his heart he reserved for himself and his memories.

“I used to feel the same way. I can’t remember if I told you, but I was in construction most of my life. I loved welding, what I could create, but I didn’t share it with anyone. I guess I was worried about what they would think too—or that I wasn’t good enough. Tattooing is different for me. That love came later in life, but it was still scary at first.”

“How did you get the courage to move past that fear?” Dylan asked, and Clay’s chest ached. His instinct was to clamp his mouth closed, back away and let the conversation go, but he couldn’t do that. Dylan deserved better.

“Gordon,” he said softly.

“I figured. He must have been a great guy.”

Yeah, yeah, he was. The best.

“One day you’ll have to tell me about him.”

“I will,” Clay promised, then looked down at Dylan’s crotch. “Did you make these?” He rubbed his hand over Dylan’s bulge.

“Yes.”

“Mmm. I can assure you, they’re very, very good.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve seen my ass in them.”

“Well, it is a great ass, but these are great too. I’d like to see more if you’d like to show them to me.”

Clay would love to sit and look through Dylan’s sketchbook with him. He was learning a new piece of Dylan he hadn’t known existed.

“No one looks at my sketchbook, Sad Eyes.”

Hmm. That wouldn’t do. They would have to find a way around that. “Okay, well, then why don’t you model some of them for me?” If he knew Dylan, that would somehow make it different. Make it about sex and being sexy, something he seemed to feel much more comfortable with.

“I’ll model these for you.” Dylan climbed to the center of the bed, his back to Clay. The white bedding was like clouds around him as he looked down and to the side, as though he was too embarrassed for Clay to see him when Clay knew he was wearing his own designs. Dylan wasn’t typically shy at all, and he sure as shit wasn’t shy about being naked or in his underwear, but then, showing Clay that piece of him he created, he was bashful, sweet, sexy as hell.

“Hey.” Clay cupped his cheek again, ran his fingers through Dylan’s short hair. “You don’t have to be shy with me. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful in them. Model them for me. You know you want to.”

Dylan closed his eyes again, sighed, then kissed the palm of Clay’s hand. “Okay, but I’m warning you, I look really fucking hot in all my designs. It might make you fall in love with me.”

It felt like things were shifting around in his chest, making room, but Clay couldn’t let himself think about that right then, so he smiled and said, “I’ll take my chances.”

Dylan climbed off the bed as Clay lay down on it, head on the pillows, hands behind his head, ready to enjoy the show.

Dylan shimmied, pulling off his T-shirt and dropping it to the floor. He tugged his underwear down, bent over, then put his hand to his mouth and said, “Oops.”

Clay’s cock filled, ached behind the fly of his jeans, but he didn’t take it out, didn’t stroke himself. He wanted this to be about Dylan, about sharing something important to him, and not about Clay getting off.

He tried on pair after pair. Some of them Clay had seen before, of course, but it was different knowing Dylan had designed them, created them himself. He had every kind of underwear imaginable, some Clay didn’t even know the name of. He was partial to the jocks because he fucking loved Dylan’s ass.

After Dylan tried on what was apparently the last pair, walking around the room, smiling and shaking his ass at Clay, he jumped onto the bed and straddled him.

“Christ, Trouble. You’re really fucking good. I can’t believe you made all of those.”

“Really?” Dylan asked, his heart in his voice.

“Yeah, really. Don’t hide that from me, okay?”

Dylan nodded.

“How about we find a place in the living room to set up your sewing machine? I can clear off a table or something, and you can have your own space. Or if you want, we can rearrange things in here and you can use this as your sewing room.”

“You don’t have to do that for me. This is your home, and…and we don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

Those words hit Clay in the chest. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want Dylan to leave, but that was a huge step, asking Dylan if he wanted to stay. Clay sure as shit didn’t know if he was ready for it. Hell, it was probably too damn early for him to even consider it.

“It’s no trouble…Trouble.” Clay winked. “I’d like you to have your own space here. I’d like you to be able to pursue your art. And, well…the more you make, the more designs I can see you in, right? As for the other stuff…there’s no rush, ya know? You should have a good nest egg saved before you move on anyway. It’s not just about the car. You have to be able to afford to travel and get a place until you find a new job.” That was the best he could do at that point, but still it felt like something. He hadn’t said how big that nest egg had to be.