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friends. Remembering how Josh had put an arm around him and explained that the guy was someone who didn’t appreciate other men. Wylde was so stupid, he hadn’t guessed.
“If you brought me wildflowers?” Ken blinked. “No one’s ever done that, Wylde.”
Wylde looked away.
But Ken went on, “But hey, I have plenty of containers for them. I just completed a big order for some ikebana vessels. That’s Japanese flower arranging. So I….” He cleared his throat. “You can bring flowers anytime to, you know, brighten up the studio….”
“Show me?” Wylde asked, playing with Ken’s fingers.
“You really want to see?” Ken gave a rueful laugh. “Lately my work is getting some attention in shows, but a lot of people find pottery boring. It’s not part of our instantgratification world. It takes time, and not every piece works out.” Ken looked around, his face contemplative as he studied the rows of pieces lining up the walls in brown and red and white clay. “But I like that every piece is different, unique. To me, that makes them beautiful.”
“Different can be beautiful?” Wylde asked.
Ken stared at him, swallowing. “Oh yes.”
“Show me everything. I want everything, Ken,” Wylde said very simply.

Chapter Five
“ O KAY , try to relax,” Ken whispered.
    Wylde widened his eyes in disbelief at Ken. He was supposed to relax when Ken was behind him, his groin snug against Wylde’s ass, his arms around him?
    His gaze fell to Ken’s mouth, and he imagined leaning closer, tasting….
“Stop that!” Ken chided. “Do you want me to be your teacher or not?”
Wylde swallowed thickly. “Teach me,” he rasped. He wasn’t thinking of pottery, though.
Ken’s hands cupped his, cool and damp from the clay. They both leaned forward, and the wheel began to turn. Wylde stared at the white lump in the center, trying to think of something other than Ken’s scent, Ken’s body.
“This could be that scene in Ghost, you know…?”
“Is that a movie?” Wylde asked, turning his face so he could stare into Ken’s eyes. His irises had amber tones, like leaves yellowing into brown. He liked how they were shaped. He wanted to open his lips and touch them against the uptilted corners.
“Yes. Guess you were too busy finding food and shelter to see many movies growing up,” Ken said. His face was flushed, perspiring, and he was hard. Wylde could feel him against his rear end. He wanted to push back, rub himself against that hardness.
“Ken?” Wylde growled.
“Okay,” Ken huffed. “One kiss. Only we just can’t keep doing this, and I wanted to get to know you a little better and hear more about your family and talk about things, share things, and… why can’t I resist you? Why can’t I sleep without you anymore? I never had any trouble sleeping alone before. I prefer it.”
Wylde didn’t bother to answer. He pressed his mouth to Ken’s. Oh, nice. Ken licked his bottom lip and then sucked it inside his mouth so that Wylde was trembling.
Panting, they separated slowly, the hump of clay going round and round while the candles Ken had lit flickered from the night breeze coming through the open studio door. Wylde could feel his heart beating in his cock. All Ken would have to do was just brush his fingers there, and Wylde would come.
“Wylde, this can’t be real,” Ken said primly, looking troubled. “My sexual interactions have always been… orderly.”
Wylde licked Ken under his ear, and Ken shuddered.
“Mine,” Wylde said.
C LAY rose easy as milk creaming under his hands.
    Wylde watched, wide-eyed, and Ken laughed from behind him, nuzzling him as his hands covered Wylde’s, guiding him as they made a pot together.
    “Lay your hand down like this,” Ken directed, his slick fingers covering Wylde’s in a closed fist. The water and motion and suction and touching made Wylde’s face flush, his chest rise and fall more rapidly. This touching… this making something together….
    Rings formed in the