Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

the bed. He landed with an oof on top of Devon.
    "Good morning," Devon purred. Oh fuck yeah, Scott was sure he actually purred. "Happy Sunday."
    Before he could answer, Scott's lips were taken in a sweet kiss, Devon's hand sliding into his hair and holding him close. He pulled away with a groan.
    "Ugh, morning breath, sorry."
    Devon didn't release his hold. "Don't you know if we both have it, it cancels out? Besides, you taste damn good to me."
    Ah, Devon was relentless in his charm and a weak-kneed Scott fell back into bed with his Adonis without a single question in his over-thinking mind.
    ****
    After being coerced back into bed with Devon—though it hadn't taken much coercion—Scott took a quick shower then shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee and put water on for Devon's herbal tea. It had surprised him at first, the big calloused hands wrapped around a cup of green or oolong tea, but now it was just another element of Devon Ducaine. He was a lesson in contradictions on so many levels, from the tea he drank to the way he liked to be dominated in bed. He was still all Alpha male, but he liked to bottom as much as top and that had been both a surprising and welcome discovery.
    Once he'd filled the kettle and set the coffee to brewing, Scott headed into the living room. Sunday mornings were always the best when Devon stayed over Saturday night. It was the one day of the week Scott let himself off the hook from all the boring chores he obsessively scheduled. Five pairs of underwear, five pairs of socks, a pair of jeans and three t-shirts not getting washed on their predestined Sunday would not mean the end of the world. At least that's what Scott told himself when he crossed the task off his weekly list. He'd just throw caution to the wind and wash them on Monday night. It wasn't like he didn't have extra anyhow, plus his dress shirts and suits had already been collected from the dry cleaners. He had two sets of those, so one set could be at the cleaners while the others were in use. It was the epitome of anal, but he'd been doing it that way for so long, it wasn't something he'd grow out of.
    Scott had long given up trying to change the bits of OCD that had wiggled their way into his life since he was a child. He'd fought and tamed the urges and compulsions on a few separate occasions, but in the end he always lost the battle. He didn't have to turn lights off and on five times in a row or make sure he'd locked the door four times when he left the house, and he'd met people whose battle with obsessive compulsive disorder kept them from even leaving the house. So having to arrange certain things a certain way and making lists for absolutely everything wasn't so bad.
    There were two other Sunday chores that always got left by the wayside when Devon stayed over: vacuuming and calling his parents. Most people might not consider a phone call to their relatives a chore, but they didn't know Scott's parents. He'd come out to them almost eight years before at the ripe old age of twenty-four, a late bloomer tired of the constant nattering and nagging about girlfriends and wives and grandchildren. But telling them outright that he preferred men to women and that they would never get the beloved daughter or grandkids they harped about hadn't helped; they still continued to ask him the same damn questions.
    He had considered bringing a man to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, and had even been with one or two who would have fit the bill perfectly, but it was more hassle than he'd been willing to endure. He'd always figured picking a man totally opposite the type he usually dated would be the ultimate fuck you. Something to feed his hopes they would finally accept the whole situation and move on—someone like Devon perhaps.
    The full-on press of Devon's torso to Scott's back snapped the lid on the musings circling his brain. He quickly shoved the partially crossed-off list under the closest newspaper on the desk, giving himself permission to just enjoy Devon. He smelled like the outdoors, motor oil, and fresh cut grass—manly smells. Scott reminded himself to hide the cucumber melon body wash he loved and pick up some Old Spice soap for the next time Devon was over.
    "Why do you always cross those off?" Devon fished the list out from beneath the pile, lips pressing against Scott's neck as he spoke. "I don't mind helping. I have talents outside the bedroom too."
    Scott snorted in amusement. "Now wouldn't that just be the