by A. M. Riley
“No?”
“Have some water,” said Jim. “If you dehydrate, you’ll get cold.” Jim cradled Scott’s head a bit so he could lift up to drink the water. If Scott had let himself think about it, he would have pushed the image from his mind. A grown man holding and feeding a bottle to another grown man. But he didn’t think about it; he just enjoyed the feeling of being cared for and surrounded.
A soft kiss pressed against his lips. Warm brown eyes looking into his. He wrapped his fingers in Jim’s hair and drew his face down so they could smooch some more.
“It’s nice not talking,” he said when they parted. “I’m not good at it anyway.”
Jim’s eyebrows went up, and he looked down at Scott.
“Not like Brian.”
Jim let one finger play across Scott’s chin. Traced his lower lip. Scott licked that lip, feeling the nervousness trying to sneak up his spine again. Jim’s body, his presence, kept it just over there.
Truckers talked about their girlfriends to other truckers. They talked about their wives. Sometimes they just grunted and drank their beers and let the other men draw conclusions from the set of their shoulders and the squint in their eyes.
Because, you know, nothing lasts forever. And you’re always on the road, and really, what difference is it gonna make if you’re the man who comes home to her or some other? It’s the sort of thing that starts going through a man’s head somewhere up on the I-9 at three a.m. when there’s nothing but three hundred miles of black asphalt and the sound of your truck’s wheels spinning over it to keep you from going crazy.
“Bet you know lots of smart guys,” said Scott. “Me, all I know are rednecks.”
“Plenty of smart rednecks,” Jim pointed out, his voice a question mark.
“Not me,” said Scott. “I’m nothin’ special.” He sat up suddenly and began rooting around among the Tupperware strewn about them. “Is there any more fudge?”
Aha. Jim wrapped his arms around Scott, burrowed his nose behind Scott’s ear, and didn’t answer. He could feel the man starting to twitch, though.
“I told Paul I wanted to take you away for a while. Just you and me,” said Jim after a long while.
He felt Scott stiffen. “Yeah?”
“But he asked us to stay.”
Scott took this in. Turned it over in that odd little head of his. Over and over. Jim could almost see the wheels starting to turn.
“We all need each other,” said Jim. “Brian and Paul and I. We need you.”
Scott frowned and ran his fingers through Jim’s beard. There was no quick cure for this. Jim could see that. So he held Scott close, laid kisses on his head, and said, “Sleep, baby. We’ll go back at sunrise.”
Scott sighed and let Jim gather him up against him, winding his fingers and toes and even snuggling his head in so Jim couldn’t have released him if he wanted to.
The slow thud and drag of the receding tide, Jim’s humming little lullaby, and the shaking of the canvas around them was all there was, and Scott fell asleep.
* * * *
“Where is Scott going?”
Paul thought it interesting that Brian had said Scott and not Scott and Jim.
“Jim thought it would be nice for them to have some alone time.”
“But he just got home. I haven’t even gotten to talk to him.”
Paul was unpacking, and Brian sat at the desk, printing out a paper he’d written for class tomorrow. Paul paused, hand halfway to a hanger, and said, “You’ve been talking to him all afternoon, Brian. Teasing and arguing and talking.”
Brian poked at a tiny, imperceptible flaw on the wood of his desk.
Paul sighed and set his suitcase aside. Unpacking could wait. He went over to the bed and sat down, stretching out his arms. Brian stepped across the room and slid into his lap without question, wrapping his arms around Paul’s neck and laying his head on the man’s broad shoulder with an unhappy sigh.
“Scott’s got a lot on his mind,” said Paul.
“He always talks to me,” said Brian. “Sometimes you guys are…” He shrugged, expressing the eternal impenetrable denseness of tops around the world and through the centuries. “But he talks to me.”
“I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it when he’s ready,” said Paul. “Haven’t you ever found it hard to talk about things, Brian? Even to Scott?”
This may have struck a little close to home because Brian was silent, head lying on Paul’s shoulder. He was silent until Paul stirred, gently dragging the tie from his hair. Brian whispered against his neck. “Time for bed?”
“Mmm,” said Paul, mouth traveling to Brian’s temple, to his cheek, to his mouth.
They fell back on the bed and Brian let Paul unwrap the tie of his robe as if Brian were a gift. Laying the sides open, Paul gazed down at his body with hungry eyes. Brian felt like a box of chocolates, and he smiled, opening his arms and legs.
It was slow and easy; they rocked together, taking their time. Brian let his hands travel over Paul’s back, never tired of the feel of those muscles moving, his daddy’s tight backside tensing and quivering as his need mounted, and he hardened against Brian.
“Lie still.” It was a gentle command, but Brian did his best to not move at all. Paul kissed each collarbone, moving to the gold rings in Brian’s nipples and spending time on each, licking and giving short quick bites that made Brian gasp and struggle to remain still. Paul moved down quickly and swallowed Brian’s cock in one go, then drew off in a long, wet sucking motion, then bobbed down again.
Brian couldn’t help the restless movement of his feet against the sheets, and Paul’s hands clasped his legs, and his voice rumbled. “I said. Be. Still.”
A shiver ran up Brian’s spine, and Paul was above him again, his weight on his elbows on either side of Brian. Their cocks aligned, and Paul rocked, eyelids half-closed, bright blue watching Brian.
“Daddy…” whimpered Brian, and Paul sat back on his heels, hands traveling over Brian’s legs and buttocks, finally coating him with something cool.
Brian was unable to be still now. Twisting against the sheets, hips arching, until Paul’s blunt presence pressed against him and then in.
Full and ready to burst, his legs wrapped up around Paul’s shoulders, entire body under the control of the powerful man who now pumped rhythmically against him, Brian breathed hard, skin slick and hot, and that mouth descended on his even as he strained against Paul, groaning. Warmth flooded Brian.
Still gasping, Brian felt Paul withdraw and descend again to pull Brian into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue wrapping around him like one of Paul’s snakes until, panting and thrashing and crying out, Brian came into Paul’s mouth.
Under covers then, he was safe in Paul’s arms. Paul was almost asleep—Brian could tell from the deep rumble of his breathing—when Brian whispered, “I still want to do it.”
Paul’s lips on his head. A reassuring squeeze. “I know.”
“Love you, Daddy,” Brian whispered.
And Paul hugged him close, cheek against his head. “I know.”
Chapter Eight
“He wants to do what?”
“Brian has indicated an interest in it and…”
“Brian has. You mean Paul has said he wants to do it, and Brian is afraid to say no.” Scott stomped from one side of the room to the other, banging his feet with every step. Since he rolled when he walked and as he was wearing nothing but a white T-shirt, the image he presented was very much like a well-endowed troll with pretty eyes; Jim was having trouble being properly attentive.
Of course, Scott noticed this. “What are you looking at?”
“You.” Jim raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
“I’m not pretty,” growled Scott, though certain parts of him pinked a little as if he were pleased. His cheeks. And his belly. Jim noticed the rosy flush spreading. He was getting distracted again
.
Scott crawled up on the foot of the bed, on all fours, stalking Jim, still growling, those blond eyebrows lowered and fierce over eyes just like a tiger’s. “I’m not pretty. I’m dangerous.”
“That’s the truth,” said Jim as the golden-haired body of his boyfriend straddled him, and Scott bent his head to nuzzle and lick Jim’s cock.
Looking up at Jim through golden eyelashes, Scott stuck out his tongue and licked a long, slow slurp around and around and around.
Jim moaned.
And Scott just stopped. “We aren’t done discussing this,” he said, smile feral.
“Sure we are,” said Jim. “Whatever you said. I agree. You’re right. About everything. Please, Scott, baby…”
Scott chuckled. He bent his head again and licked around and around and around.
Jim moaned and opened his legs.
“I wanna ride the pony,” whispered Scott.
Jim just swallowed and nodded, helping Scott get astride him and slowly lower himself onto Jim’s cock.
Oh heck, they could discuss this later.
* * * *
Paul heard Scott’s groans coming from the other end of the house and smiled. It wasn’t Paul’s thing, but Jim’s anatomical particulars usually elicited just those sorts of groans from both Scott and Brian.
Paul was about as secure as they came, but he couldn’t help but think about this and about Brian’s request and wonder…
“Ridiculous,” he said. He tapped the search keywords in and hunted carefully. Brian was at school, giving Paul the time and space to research the very subject in question. Jim had offered to advise, of course, but Paul could admit he always liked to find things out for himself.
He opened a promising-looking window and winced immediately at the images there.
And then there was how the entire question made him, Paul, feel. It was a curious and interesting sensation, thinking of doing this with Brian, to Brian. It was more stimulating than Paul would have imagined it could be.
He could admit that his attraction to the idea concerned him a little.
So he kept reading, trying to block out what was disturbing or cruel or just plain disgusting. Trying to find useful information that would protect them both. Man, he thought. A year ago, before he’d met Brian, he’d thought he definitely had it all under wraps. Himself. His life.
Amazing what one little wide-eyed brat could do to a man’s world.
The clock on the computer monitor clicked, and Paul shook his head at the time. Brian would be home soon. He methodically cleared the cache and any bookmarks and shut down the computer.
From the other end of the house, he heard another long-drawn-out groan.
* * * *
Brian pulled a folder out of his backpack, and the envelope came out with it, flipping off the zipper and plopping onto the ground at his feet.
Brian picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It wasn’t like him to procrastinate, but the envelope had been in the bottom of his backpack long enough that the edges had grown thin and grubby, and the return address sticker was half scraped off.
It contained a letter and a form and a return envelope.
Paul would do more than raise an eyebrow if he found out Brian had been sitting on this for so long.
Nevertheless, Brian stuffed the letter back into the bag, taking care that it wound up back at the bottom. As if hiding it would somehow make the contents disappear.
The whole situation was just too complicated.
“Just can’t deal with you yet,” he told the letter. Then he slung the backpack over his back, just in time to hop up and catch his bus home.
* * * *
Jim was whistling something that sounded remarkably like “Small World” when Paul sidled into the kitchen and said, “Hey.”
Jim looked up from chopping a pepper and raised an eyebrow. “Hey yourself.”
Paul perched his ass against the counter, crossing those big inked arms across his chest, chains on his leather boots clinking when he crossed his legs and kicked, meditatively, at the linoleum tile.
Jim rinsed his knife and reached for another pepper.
“How’s Scott?” said Paul.
Jim thought briefly of his lover, who currently lay spread-eagle across the waterbed, ankles and wrists restrained, a towel covering his tush and a serene smile on his sleeping face.
“Resting,” said Jim.
Paul looked around the kitchen, seemed overly interested in the dangling chain of the ceiling fan, and then said, “You talk to him?”
“A little,” said Jim. “You ready to talk to him?”
“No,” said Paul immediately.
“Hmm.” Jim scraped the chopped peppers into a bowl. “Have we reached an impasse?”
Paul tsked. “I did a little online research.”
“Oh, Christ, Paul, what did you expect to find there?”
“I don’t know.” He toed the linoleum. He sighed.
Jim wiped his hands and turned. “Okay.” He held out a fist and drew one finger at a time up, enumerating his points. “One. Take it slow. And I mean s-l-o-w. You might not even do it the first time. Two. You set the pace. I don’t care what Brian tells you; you understand? A man in that position doesn’t always know what he wants.”
“Christ,” said Paul fervently. His jaw clenched.
“Three,” Jim persisted. “Give yourself the space to deal afterwards. Brian will be…” Jim sighed. “Just fucking be there for him.”
Paul’s head was down, but he was listening. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Okay.”
Jim reached under the cupboards and brought out a soup pan.
“You’ve done this before, though,” said Paul.
“Not with someone I cared about.” There was something about the way he said it, something damning. Paul’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jim.
“Thanks,” he said. And strode out of the kitchen, the chains on his boots ringing out with each step.
“Don’t mention it,” said Jim, shaking his head and pouring tomato sauce into the pan.
* * * *
“I’m home!” called Brian brightly. He hung up his jacket and carried his backpack into his room to put it where it belonged under his desk.
There was a pink rose on the desk. Puzzled, he picked it up and found the note under it.
He read the note, and a crimson flush rose up his neck and into his cheeks. Carefully, he folded the note. Put it in his pocket. Then he went off to shower and get ready for dinner.
* * * *
Paul came in from the garage, where he’d been tinkering with his bike, wiping the last of the grease from his hands.
He stopped and looked at the set dinner table. There was a vase with a single pink rose sticking out of it. “Who put that there?”
“Brian,” said Jim. He opened the refrigerator. “We’re eating in ten.”
“Okay.” With one last look at the rose, Paul turned to the sink and began washing his hands.
* * * *
What the hell was wrong with Scott?
“Ask, don’t reach,” snapped Jim for about the tenth time.
Scott rolled his eyes. “Pass the butter, Bri?”
When Jim had woken him, Scott had been a sleepy, happy, golden bundle of satisfied man. That had lasted until he’d sat down at the table with Brian.
Now he jittered in place. “Accidentally” kicking people under the table, “accidentally” flipping bits of pepper off his plate, “forgetting” his manners, and looking more and more pleased with himself as he did so.
Brian’s cheeks were pink, and he seemed distracted, eating quietly and only lifting his eyes now and then to smile shyly at Paul, who seemed equally struck dumb.
What the hell was happening in his house? thought Jim.
“Wanna kick a ball around after dinner?” said Scott to Brian now. Well, thought Jim, at least he’d burn off some of that nervous energy.
“No thanks,” said Brian
, with that enigmatic, shy smile again. “I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”
“You have class tomorrow morning?” asked Scott.
“No. No class.”
Scott’s leg, swinging back and forth, connected with Jim’s shin rather hard. “Oops, sorry,” said Scott.
“Scott, just set your feet down on the floor.”
Now the bright, nervous energy seemed to implode, and Scott scowled. Jim sighed. “You’ve finished anyway. Why don’t you excuse yourself?”
Scott jumped up from the table, almost tipping his chair over, and thwacked Brian in a lighthearted way on the shoulder. “Lazy.”
The thwack was, in Jim’s opinion, a little harder than it should have been.
And Brian seemed almost feverish, with that high color in his cheeks, his quiet.
“Maybe it’s a good idea that you go to bed early,” said Jim.
“Yes,” said Paul. “Yes, Brian. Let’s call it an early night.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. Oh-ho. He rose from the table with a sigh. “Well, go on then. I’ll get Scott to help me clean up.”
* * * *
Paul locked the bedroom door as he entered. Brian was still in the shower; he could hear the water dripping and other telltale sounds. When Brian came out, his hair was wet and lay over his shoulders, the curls twisting at the ends. He had a towel knotted at one hip, and the rings in his nipples glowed.
“Did you mean it?” he asked, breathless.
Oh God, did he mean it? Paul realized he had this one last chance to back out, but just as that thought occurred to him, he looked at Brian standing there and realized that he, Paul, wanted this too. Perhaps more than Brian and for reasons he understood even less well.
“Anything you need, hon,” he said. “You know that.”
Brian nodded eagerly.
“But we do this my way,” said Paul. “Slowly and carefully, you understand?”
“Yes,” said Brian.
“Yes, what?” Paul made his voice cool and authoritarian.
It was exactly the right tone. Brian’s skin went bright pink. “Yes, Sir.”
Brian dropped his towel. He was already partially erect and waxed, and Paul knew he had cleaned himself. He crawled up on the bed, but Paul said, “Wait. We need to use some other sheets.”
