Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

that was how the other man looked after orgasm and fought the urge to lick his lips.
    "I'm going to lather you up now," he said, determined not to give in to the pornographic image Len's face seemed to conjure up. A moment later, he was working the badger hair brush into the cake of shaving soap and covering Len's face in a smooth, creamy lather.
    "Ready?" he asked as he set down the brush and wiped his hands dry. He opened the razor and held it up in a silent question.
    "Ready."
    Ted steadied himself by placing his left hand on Len's shoulder and, drawing the blade with the grain of the hair on Len's jaw, began to work the razor in consistent, easy strokes. Each stroke revealed the smooth skin beneath until none of the lather remained.
    Ted held up a mirror for Len to look. "Nice," Len said, his fingers touching his skin in wide-eyed appreciation. "You were right. Best shave I've ever had."
    "You'll need to do a good rinse in the bathroom. Warm water, not too hot. No soap."
    "Got it." Len stood up and looked at Ted as his cheeks warmed once more beneath the handsome actor's gaze.
    Len left without another word and Ted leaned against the table to catch his breath. He glanced over at the shaving supplies and realized that he had forgotten to give Len the after-shave balm. He grabbed the tube and walked quickly across the large room to the bathroom.
    "I forgot to give you…," Ted began to say as he opened the door to the bathroom, but his voice trailed off at the sight of Len, shirtless, his face and shoulders damp, the top button of his jeans open and his hand resting against his abdomen. He looked as though he were about to unbutton the next button. The bulge at his crotch was evident.
    This time, it was Len's turn to blush.
    "Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt," Ted spluttered. He felt as if he'd been transported back to high school. He was the awkward teenager, trying not to scare off the other guys in the communal shower at camp by staring. He was sure Len was going to yell at him, to tell him to take his queer self and jump into the La Brea Tar Pits.
    But Len did nothing of the sort. In fact, he did something entirely unexpected. He reached out and ran a single finger across Ted's lips.
    Ted was speechless.
    "I'm not wrong about you, am I?" came Len's voice, thick with lust. It wasn't really a question, Ted realized. "Because if you don't want—"
    Ted kissed Len. On the lips. Later, he would wonder who the hell had stepped into his body and taken over as his brain liquefied like it had been set upon by one of the aliens he'd created in his studio. Maybe his brain cells had all migrated southward and he was thinking with his cock. Or maybe he'd just reached his breaking point.
    The strangest thing, though, was that Len kissed him back.
    Oh fucking, fucking hell! It was the last coherent thought Ted had before Len's full lips parted to admit his insistent tongue.
    It was not a pretty thing, the kiss. Their teeth tapped with the force of their lust, but the awkwardness of the contact vanished as their tongues met in a tangle.
    Len's arms were as strong as they appeared. Ted had always preferred his lovers a bit larger than himself, but he'd never been with someone so much taller, and he'd only fantasized about a body this muscled. Without the pretense of his work, his fingers were freed to explore Len's skin, the pink tips of his nipples, and the planes of his chest and abdomen.
    Somewhere in the tangle of arms and lips Len managed to pull Ted's shirt off. He licked a line down Ted's chest until his hands came to rest on the button at the fly of Ted's black jeans. He looked briefly up at Ted, who moaned his assent. It didn't take long before Ted was completely naked and Len's lips were skating over his skin, moving downward to claim Ted's cock.
    What was left of Ted's tenuous sanity fled with the onslaught of Len's mouth, sucking him down, his large hands finding Ted's ass and kneading it. His hands cupped the back of Len's head, his fingers snaking their way through the auburn curls, his fingernails scratching at Len's scalp and eliciting a low groan from the larger man.
    Len's lips and tongue were a revelation, and Ted was thankful he was leaning against the hard porcelain of the bathroom sink—he wasn't sure he could still stand on his own. Len nipped at the edges of his tip, pressing his tongue into the slit while rolling Ted's balls in his left palm.
    "Oh… fuck… so fucking good!" Ted had never been