Dedication of a Lifetime Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Summary

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Other Books by Tamsen

  Thrown Off Track

  Cover

  Table of Content

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Summary

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Other Books by Tamsen

  Thrown Off Track

  School counselor Sean wants to fix the world, or at least he’s willing to bear the weight on his slim shoulders. No social justice slouch himself, Sean’s medical researcher husband Isaiah is exhausted by one assault to decency after another. Their world is crumbling, their marriage is in trouble, and Isaiah suggests they run away from it all, but Sean balks. Will they honor the vows they made to one another or will their relationship be another casualty of the world gone mad?

  For my Rogue siblings, who share my special brand of patriotism.

  “Patriotism […] is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion,

  but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime.”

  Adlai Stevenson

  Metal clinked against metal, and then made a duller sound that might be called a click when the metal hit ceramic. It shouldn’t have been noteworthy, and it shouldn’t have been what Sean was thinking about. It should’ve been a pedestrian, every day, easily tune-out-able sound. Dinner with Isaiah was supposed to be about sharing in each other’s days. The ten or so hours they were forced to be apart had been agonizing when they’d first been together. It was nice in some ways that the desperation to be near each other had faded—who could get anything done when you were constantly texting and/or pining for your lover?—but at the same time, Sean missed it. He missed a lot of things.

  Isaiah picked up his glass, and Sean watched his husband’s throat work as Isaiah swallowed the pinot noir. Sean had chosen the bottle from their wine closet—hard to have a cellar when your house was built on a slab—because not only did it pair well with the roast pork he’d made for dinner, but it reminded him of a happier time. A time he’d like to get back and didn’t quite know how, not when they couldn’t just drop everything and run away to Burgundy for a permanent vacation.

  Sean cut another bite, concentrating far too hard of the sounds of the flatware against the plates. But with no conversation, what else was he supposed to focus on? Silent dinners were becoming more and more frequent and while he didn’t like it, he couldn’t think of how to fix it.

  Objectively, the bite he placed in his mouth was delicious. He’d done a good job on the roast, and the herbs he’d crusted it with made the sweetness of the meat sing. It would’ve been something he’d hope Isaiah would remark on, but now it was another detail he found himself clinging to because there was nothing else to keep him from screaming at the dinner table.

  How had they come to this?

  A screech of knife hitting plate made him look up, and his husband murmured an apology before tucking back into the food. Sean didn’t doubt Isaiah appreciated his cooking—he still took seconds and sometimes thirds—and when he thought of it would say thank you to Sean for the meals he prepared. But it lacked the same attention, the same enthusiasm. The same intimacy. It had become rote, just like some other things.

  Another bite of wild rice, and then he pierced the quartered Brussels sprout and dragged it through the butternut puree he was trying out for the first time. It was good—he knew it was good—but he’d rather be eating a terribly greasy burger with limp and over-salted fries if it meant Isaiah would talk to him.

  Long silences had always been a part of their relationship because Isaiah lived so much of his life in his mind. Always tinkering with problems. Even when he appeared to be totally occupied doing something else, like changing he oil on one of their cars or playing a game of chess, his mind was whirring in the background.

  It wasn’t unusual for Sean to come home and find a garden bed half-weeded, a sink still partially full of dishes and water that had stood so long it was lukewarm and flat instead of hot and topped with foamy crests of bubbles. The other part of that equation was that Isaiah would be in his office, typing madly on his computer or scribbling on the whiteboards that covered the walls of the small room.

  It should have been annoying—who liked completing their spouse’s half-finished chores?—but Sean had found it endearing and knew he could look forward to Isaiah telling him about his breakthrough later. Over dinner. Like he should’ve been now.

  Sean didn’t always understand since chem had been his worst class in high school, but he could listen to Isaiah talk for hours about a new idea for a formula or a tweak to an existing drug that might someday make people’s lives better. Sometimes Isaiah would take the time to translate his brilliance into laymen’s terms, but even when he didn’t, his enthusiasm didn’t need any deciphering.

  In some ways Sean loved coming home to something half-finished because he knew Isaiah would be excited and engaged. It was like a scavenger hunt: an incomplete chore would lead to a kid-on-Christmas-morning husband who he’d need to look after because when Isaiah was in one of those spaces, he’d forget to eat, shower, sleep. Since big and protective Isaiah usually got to play the role of care-taker, Sean relished being able to nourish his husband and loved to see how his synapses snapped in ways Sean’s never would.

  Was he quiet because he was mulling over something from work? He could ask him. Should ask him. “How was your—”

  But at the same time as he’d finally worked up the conversational nerve, apparently so had Isaiah. They were talking over one another, and while it shouldn’t have been a big deal—these things happen all the time—it felt to Sean like one more piece of evidence that they were badly out of sync.

  Sean flushed and gestured with his empty fork. “You first.”

  “Did you see the news?”

  He had, but these days it was hard to keep track of everything that was happening. The blows came both hard and fast. Those that weren’t a slower push up against a wall that gave people enough time to get exhausted from digging their heels in, from slogging through the everyday fight of contacting their reps and donating money and shouting into the rain or the ether of social media at any rate. But one story among the clusterfuck of too many stuck out in his mind.

  “The trans ban in the military?”

  Isaiah nodded, his jaw working and his thick forearms flexing as he held his silverware just above his plate. Whatever else might be off between them, Sean still found his husband mouthwatering. He knew he shouldn’t, because they were talking about something meaningful and serious, but he let his gaze wander from Isaiah’s big hands wrapped around the knife and fork, over his forearms bared by his hastily and unevenly rolled-up sleeves, up to his broad shoulders and barrel chest to where his shirt gaped open at the collar and showed the tiny whorls of his chest hair. Up his thick neck to his shadowed square jaw, over the broad bones of his cheeks and the flare of his nose to his big wide-set dark brown eyes. Eyes that were boring into Sean now. Expecting something from him. Probably something profound and far-reaching, but Sean could only come up with one thing.

  It was another disconnect between them that Sean used to think of as complementary but now he wasn’t so sure: Isaiah had a knack for looking at systems, larger scales. If they lived a thousand years ago, Sean had no doubts he would’ve led an army of warriors.

  Sean was better with smaller scale: individuals, households, and that’s what forced its way to the fore
front of his mind and out of his mouth.

  “It’s going to kill Brady.”

  “It’s going to kill thousands of Bradys,” Isaiah shot back, turning his gaze to the pork on his plate that he attacked viciously with knife and fork, rending piece upon piece. “If it happens. It was just a fucking edict spat out on social media, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. That isn’t how this works, and it can be stopped. In the meantime, I’m going to send more money to the ACLU. You okay with that?”

  “Yeah, of course.” They had the money. Isaiah’s salary as a chemist for a drug company and his own as a school counselor meant they had plenty since they didn’t have kids. Yet. “I’ll send Brady a care package too.”

  Isaiah grunted, and went back to eating his dinner. It wasn’t anything he’d said, but Sean somehow felt as though he’d disappointed his husband. Not enough outrage? Only thinking of their friend when it was a much bigger issue? He couldn’t tell. But he’d do what he always did: the best he could.

  He couldn’t bake for Brady because brownies or cookies would never make it in one piece to Afghanistan, but he could pick up some of his other favorite things. Candy that wouldn’t melt, some books, batteries, socks, sunscreen. The guy who’d stood up as a best man at their wedding deserved more than that, but what he really deserved wasn’t within Sean’s power to give.

  Sean was already in bed, but not asleep. Isaiah could tell by the faint glow from the screen of his laptop. Probably looking at emails from school, because someone always needed Sean. Teachers, students, administrators, it was always someone. Had he been waiting up? Was that something Isaiah was allowed to wish for?

  He hadn’t been taking care of Sean like he should. His husband was a strong man—having to deal with some of the shit that passed through his office without losing his mind was impressive—but he was also sensitive. Like an emotional amphibian, he picked up the feelings of everyone around him and let it seep into his skin. It was part of what made him a good counselor even though he’d been hired as a history teacher, and it was one of the things Isaiah loved most about him. But it was hard on Sean too. Isaiah knew better than to exhort him to grow a thicker skin because not only could Sean not, but it would make him feel bad because he’d feel as though he were disappointing Isaiah.

  Even though Sean wasn’t asleep, he was deep into quiet time and Isaiah would respect that. Wouldn’t insert himself into Sean’s bubble if he could help it. He could at least give him some peace.

  So Isaiah went into the walk-in closet that led into their bathroom and shut the door before he turned on the light, stripped down to his shorts and brushed his teeth. Turned it off again before he went out and sunk into his side of the bed. They’d both been thrilled when they’d moved out of their old apartment and into a house with a master bedroom that could actually fit a king-sized bed. He wasn’t a small man, and he could be an unpleasantly restless sleeper so it was better for both of them to have more space. But it had also meant that as opposed to the enforced intimacy of the smaller queen, one of them had to make an effort to touch the other now.

  Should he reach for Sean? He wanted to. Wanted to surround the smaller man with his own bulk and make him feel safe. Although thinking of Sean’s wiry body against his own—the sinewy muscles and smooth freckled skin he’d always loved—brought less magnanimous impulses too. His cock started to fill at the idea of what he might do after he’d snugged up behind Sean. Pull him in with a big hand across his husband’s comparatively narrow chest? Nudge his hardening erection into the sweet cleft of Sean’s ass? Reach around the slight rise of Sean’s hip to take his cock in hand and torment him with slow, dragging strokes and swipes of his thumb over the head?

  Isaiah knew he could be distant sometimes, get lost in the machinations of his brain, and for the most part he didn’t think Sean minded. Even seemed to adore, threading his thin arms around Isaiah’s shoulders and placing a sweet kiss at his temple while dropping a plate with a sandwich and apple slices on Isaiah’s cluttered desk, murmuring “eat,” in Isaiah’s ear before sneaking out and shutting the office door with a soft click.

  But sometimes… He should be better. He hadn’t even said anything nice about dinner because he’d been so occupied fuming over the latest disgrace perpetrated by the administration. The food—even though it had probably been amazing because Sean was a genius in the kitchen—had just been fuel for his outrage. And he hadn’t told Sean it was a nice thought to send Brady a care package even though it was the kind of thoughtful thing he loved about Sean. He really ought to be less of a dick.

  So he scooted over the stretch of cool sheets between them until he was close enough to touch Sean. Sean who always lay on his same side, always had the same cock to his head as he scanned the screen of his computer, taking in the latest demands of everyone at school.

  At least he wasn’t pacing in their closet or downstairs, on the phone with some distraught student or other who he’d given his cell number to. Isaiah hated that Sean did that—gave away the few hours Sean had to himself. Partly it was selfish—he didn’t like his hours with Sean disrupted either—but more so it was that Sean needed space to breathe, to process, and if he was always tending to students, he wouldn’t have time to reset. It would be exhausting for anyone to be on all the time, but especially so for Sean who felt the weight of his responsibilities so heavily.

  He laid a hand on Sean’s hip, angled his head to kiss the column of Sean’s neck which looked particularly pale in the darkness, almost like a slice of moon.

  “Sean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for dinner, it was really good. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier. And it’s a nice idea to send Brady a package, I’m sure he’s feeling pretty low right now and he’d like to hear from us. I’ll email him tomorrow too. Let me know if you want me to pick anything up on my way home for the box, okay?”

  “Okay.” Sean’s quiet answer sounded unsure.

  Isaiah regretted having made him feel bad enough that an apology wasn’t good enough to draw him out. He wasn’t sure what else to say, though, so he didn’t say anything. Kissed Sean’s neck from the crest of his shoulder up to his ear, and sucked lightly at the lobe. He loved the taste of Sean’s skin. Loved how Sean’s flesh felt dragging over his tongue and in between his teeth. So he bit, anticipating the ragged gasp the sharp sting would drag out of Sean. He wasn’t disappointed. By that, or by the way Sean pressed his hips back against Isaiah’s now throbbing cock. Or how he closed his laptop, plunging them into darkness, and angled his neck so Isaiah could kiss him more.

  He accepted the invitation with gusto, hauling Sean hard against him and wrapping an arm around his husband’s throat—not to cut off air, but to keep Sean’s head at the angle that seemed to make him melt, make him pliable. Wrapped a leg around Sean’s upper thighs too to hold him still and enjoyed the plaintive whimper that resulted. And while Isaiah kissed and bit and nibbled at Sean’s neck, the sensitive skin behind his ear, he used his free hand to drag his blunt thumbnail over Sean’s flat nipples.

  When Sean squirmed and mewled, Isiah tightened his grip at his throat and plucked and pinched at Sean’s now raised nipples, which only served to make Sean more restless and noisy. That only made Isaiah’s dick throb all the harder. Grinding his cock into Sean’s ass, he teased his lover’s slim abdomen, circling the navel with a lazy finger before torturing the small nipples again.

  As much as Sean might protest—and he was with wordless moans and squeals and writhing—he didn’t say the word that would stop it all, so Isaiah kept on until he decided to give Sean a measure of relief. He shoved the front of Sean’s shorts down and grabbed his dick, pumped hard a few times in a way that made Sean cry out in harsh, clipped syllables. Running his thumb over the head of Sean’s cock, he was especially gratified by the slick drops that had leaked out and made it easier to tease his lover. Which he did. Used the drops of
pre-come to massage the sensitive underside, and then ease a few more hard pumps of the shaft, making more choked off sounds spill from Sean’s throat.

  “What are you thinking about, Sean?”

  The words made it out of his mouth between bites and licks and kisses, open-mouthed hard sucks at a place on Sean’s shoulder that would be covered by a shirt at work tomorrow. Couldn’t have the kiddies seeing the hickeys he liked to leave on Sean’s skin.

  “Your cock.”

  Good answer. Isaiah pressed his hips to wedge said cock deeper between Sean’s cheeks. “What about it?”

  “Where I’d like it.”

  “And where’s that?”

  He could feel the shiver that ran through his trapped and tormented lover as the back of Sean’s ribcage expanded and contracted against Isaiah’s chest.

  “In my mouth.” Sean’s words were breathy and unsteady, followed by a hiccupping swallow. “And then in my ass.”

  Yes. That sounded like an excellent plan.

  He released Sean with a last tweak to a nipple and rolled him to his back before dragging the pillow under his head toward his shoulders so his head dropped back a bit. And then Isaiah was straddling Sean’s shoulders, his thick and heavy thighs dwarfing the man underneath him. Sean was glassy-eyed and open-mouthed, flush-cheeked and breathing hard. He was a pretty man, Isaiah’s husband. Delicate and masculine and god, his mouth was just…

  Isaiah gripped Sean’s jaw and forced his lips to part further—forced was a strong word for it, but they both liked to play this way. And then he leaned forward, bracing a hand against their headboard and angling his cock into Sean’s waiting mouth. The position was awkward and put strain on his knees, hips and back, but when his dick slid into Sean’s wet, hot, and eager mouth, it made the discomfort well worth it.

  At the eager noise Sean made while he swallowed Isaiah down, a gruff sound of satisfaction welled in Isaiah all the way up from his gut. God, yes, was Sean really goddamn good at giving head. The man might look like an over-sized choir boy, but deep down he was filthy as hell and had a sinfully talented mouth to prove it. Fuck.