There were few times Jonah willingly took the initiative to trigger them speaking as equals.
Keeping Gordon accountable to himself for his emotions—critical to him maintaining his sobriety—was one of them.
“Months,” Gordon said. “Before you came back. I mean, I see them on Facebook, and we talk on Messenger every few days. I told them we’re back together.”
“Are you inviting them over on Saturday?”
“Why?”
“Because they’re your parents. They might be fucked up, but at least they didn’t kick you or me out.”
“No, they just ran us off by being themselves. I think they liked you better than they liked me, anyway.”
Jonah laced fingers with him and gently squeezed. Gordon’s father was a functional alcoholic, mean at his most drunken times, but he’d held down a job and paid the bills, and while not the best of fathers, he’d been a better father to Jonah than his own father had been, which said a lot.
“They loved you the best they knew how.” Gordon’s mother had gotten pregnant with him when she was sixteen and his father was seventeen. Their parents had forced them to get married, and neither had been truly happy about that.
Their only child had borne the full brunt of that resentment.
Gordon’s mother could be sweet and charming and loving, but when his father started in, the two of them ran an emotional buzzsaw through anyone close by, including Gordon.
He and Gordon had spent plenty of quiet hours literally hiding out in Gordon’s room, careful not to let his parents realize they were there, so they could avoid getting caught in whatever crossfire Gord’s mom and dad dealt out that particular day.
Gordon hadn’t needed to buy alcohol, at first, because he simply stole it from his dad’s stockpile. Gordon started drinking at twelve, just before they’d met, but it didn’t become a serious problem until they reached high school. Then, there were plenty of mornings Jonah covered for a very hungover Gordon, getting him up and helping him get ready for school, even doing some of his school assignments for him the evening before after he’d passed out from drinking following an emotional scourging by one or both parents.
His parents hadn’t realized they were gay, at first. But the two-bedroom house didn’t have a guest room, and Gordon had a full-sized bed. It wasn’t until they were in high school and long after Jonah was living with them that his mom finally guessed they were an actual couple. Ironically, she’d discovered them in the bathroom, with Gordon bent over the toilet and puking in the pre-dawn hours one Saturday morning, and Jonah covering for him, telling her he didn’t feel good, either. That he thought the tuna fish sandwiches they’d had for dinner at a friend’s house had been bad or something.
A lie. Gordon had downed half a bottle of his dad’s vodka, straight, and refilled the bottle with water.
Not that his dad would even notice.
She’d stepped inside the bathroom and pulled the door closed behind her, Gordon miserable and oblivious and still very, very drunk.
Jonah would never forget looking up into her eyes, fear filling him. He’d already been living with them six months, but then he realized she was studying the way his arm was draped around Gordon’s bare shoulders.
How they were both dressed only in briefs.
And he knew. He knew she knew. They’d never told them that Gordon was gay, only that Jonah was and his parents had kicked him out. They’d had just enough parenting instincts to feel sorry for him and officially take him in and get a notarized power of attorney form from Jonah’s parents so they could take care of him in case he got sick or injured, or needed something for school.
They hadn’t even tried to get money from Jonah’s parents. They’d simply taken what they’d had and made it work for both boys.
After a long moment, she’d grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, wet it, and handed it to him to dab Gordon’s forehead.
“Please, be careful,” was all she’d said to him, nodding as she said it.
And he knew what she meant—be careful being a couple of gay teenage boys in a world that was frequently far from kind and compassionate.
But, as shitty as they were in other ways, at least they’d never hassled them about being gay. To this day, he wasn’t sure if she’d told Gordon’s father about them being a couple, but there were too many things the man overlooked or didn’t say when he obviously could have to be that clueless.
Another bit of guilt that Jonah held, that once he’d left he hadn’t at least contacted them every so often to check in with them.
They had been better parents to him than his own. He’d started calling them Mom and Dad even before he’d moved in.
Jonah was a year and a half older than Gordon, but they’d been in the same grade in school. When they graduated from high school, they’d moved out of Gordon’s parents’ place and into the shitty apartment with the balcony.
That’s where they’d finally felt free.
“Please don’t make excuses for them, Jonah.” Pain jaggedly speared his soft tone, shards slipping into Jonah’s heart on his behalf.
“I’m not.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not excusing them, or enabling them. They were far from perfect. But because of them, I had a home with you. I’m always going to be grateful to them for that, for taking care of me when they didn’t have to, and for letting us be together.”
Gordon pressed his face against Jonah’s shoulder. “Why are we talking about them right now?” he mumbled.
“How do you know they’re okay?”
“Like I said—Facebook. We can pretend to be interested in each other’s lives without actually having to have real-life contact with each other. They don’t need to feel guilty for how they treat me, and I can ignore them for days or even weeks at a time without feeling obligated to engage. Why?”
“I’d like to see them.”
Gordon rolled onto his back and let out a groan. “That is maybe the biggest boner-killer ever.” He finally looked at Jonah. “Loren, the woman who’s going to marry us? She married Doyle and Mevi. She and her husband are kinky. She’s his slave. I want us to have a kinky wedding. I want you, literally, naked and kneeling and wearing nothing but your collar and your ring when we get married. Exactly how are we going to do that with my parents there, huh?”
Jonah cupped Gordon’s face with his hand. “Then let’s take them out to dinner on Sunday and tell them we eloped. Please?”
Another groan. “Really?”
Jonah stared at him, waiting him out.
“Argh! Do you know how I spent last fucking Christmas Day?” Gordon asked.
“How?” Jonah had spent it eating Chinese food in his room and crying over pictures of the two of them.
“I had to go pick them up, for starters, because Dad’s back was messed up and Mom was working on a migraine and couldn’t drive. We drove to fucking Waffle House to eat. I quit counting at ten how many times Dad asked me when I was going to ‘quit fucking around with the music shit and get a real job,’ and also quit counting at ten when Mom asked if I’d heard from you. After I took them home, I ended my day at a meeting up in St. Pete, because I couldn’t find one around here. Let me tell you what, it was a miracle I didn’t have a fucking drink by the time I went to bed that night, because those two people are enough to drive anyone to drink.”
Jonah drew Gordon’s hand to his mouth and feathered his lips over his fingers, all while staring into Gordon’s blue eyes.
Gordon eventually threw his head back. “Fuck! I should beat your goddamned ass for this. Wait, you know what? Don’t fucking move.” He yanked his hand from Jonah’s, climbed out of bed, and stormed out of the bedroom, leaving the bedroom door standing open behind him.
A smile filled Jonah’s face, and he was already rolled onto his stomach, his ass in the air, when Gordon returned a moment later. Jonah closed his eyes, as he heard the door shut and lock, then felt Gordon climb onto the end of the bed.
“Twenty hard ones, boy. F
or killing my boner by bringing up my parents.”
“Yes, Sir.” Jonah pulled his pillow into his arms and buried his face in it, ready for it.
Gordon didn’t hold back, either. He took his time, soothing each impact with his hand, but they were hard, brutal paddle strokes that Jonah knew would leave bruises.
They were also hardening Jonah’s damn cock.
God, it’s good to be home!
There was nothing playful about any of the strokes. Each loud smack, stingy at first, almost feeling cold before flaming heat washed in as his nerve endings processed the sensation and sent jolts of need straight to his aching cock.
By the time Gordon finished delivering all twenty strokes, Jonah was practically sobbing into the pillow, but like hell did he want his Master to go easy on him.
He preferred Gordon the hard-ass, Gordon the taskmaster, Gordon the man who when he gave Jonah an order, he expected it to be carried out.
The man who, when Jonah would smart off to him and say, “Make me,” had no trouble doing just that.
“Okay, don’t move, boy. You got something else up.”
He felt Gordon climb out of bed and return moments later. Followed by the feel of Gordon’s fingers coated with cool lube and working them into Jonah’s ass.
He moaned into the pillow, unable to help grinding his cock against the bed.
Gordon delivered a stinging slap with his hand. “Ass in the air, boy.”
Jonah grumbled but complied, not-so-secretly pleased at his Master.
Gordon worked three fingers into him, then withdrew them, replacing them with his cock a moment later. “Don’t you fucking come, boy.” That was all the warning he got before Gordon sank his bare cock balls-deep into Jonah’s ass, both of them moaning with pleasure.
Gordon reached down and hooked his forearm around Jonah’s neck, forcing his head up and back. Not quite choking off his air, but the threat of it adding an extra-delicious bite to their sex.
Gordon’s voice rumbled in Jonah’s left ear. “Need to take my boy in hand, don’t I?”
“Yes, Master!” he gasped.
“You can call them later today,” Gordon said, “and see if they’re available Sunday evening. I’m not ready to go visit them yet, though. Not at their home.” Jonah let out a gasp as Gordon thrust again, his balls slapping against Jonah’s red and painful ass cheeks. “Do not tell them we’re getting married Saturday.” He punctuated his words with thrusts. “And tell them nothing other than you returned and we’re back together. They still don’t know about our kinky sides. Understand?”
“Yes, Master!”
“Good boy.” He bit down, hard, on the top of Jonah’s ear as he started grinding his nut out in Jonah’s ass. Every stroke he took pressed against Jonah’s sweet spot and threatened to make him come. He knew there was a growing puddle of pre-cum under him, and he made a mental note to himself to wash their sheets.
Gordon forced Jonah’s head back, holding him like that as he fucked him, building his release until he exploded and fell still with his cock buried deep inside Jonah’s ass.
Finally, Gordon eased his grip around Jonah’s neck and started sucking on his ear, soothing the sting of his bite. “Fair enough?”
Jonah smiled despite his throbbing, unsatisfied cock. “Fair enough, Master.”
Gordon rolled onto his side, taking Jonah with him. “We need to go clean up,” Gord mumbled, already sounding like he was close to falling asleep again.
“Yes, Master.” He wiggled his ass against Gordon, the stinging pain from the paddling making his own neglected cock even harder.
Gordon sighed. “You’re a brat, you know that?”
Jonah found and squeezed one of Gordon’s hands. “But I’m your brat, Master.”
“That you are.”
Chapter Three
After they cleaned up and Gordon helped Jonah change the sheets, he sent him out to put the dirty set in the washer and bring him back some coffee.
Wearing only his collar and wedding ring, Jonah didn’t hesitate to go do just that. Hell, Mal was usually running around dressed in a similar manner. Doyle rarely allowed Mal clothes when it was just the four of them.
Jonah was surprised to realize it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet. No wonder no one else is up. He started the laundry first before making the coffee, standing there and waiting for it to brew. They likely wouldn’t see much of Mal and Doyle before ten or eleven. Even though Doyle had been with them for most of the tour, Doyle was still working part-time as a counselor, having phone sessions with his clients. So his spare time was spent doing that.
Or doing Mal.
Jonah silently snickered at that thought.
He’d silently envied Mal during their eight-week tour, the pre-concert embrace Doyle would give him, the quiet, private words Doyle would speak to him, the way Doyle would always cup the back of Mal’s head and press a tender kiss to his forehead before sending him out to play.
Mal’s safety net and strength. Both men were recovering alcoholics, Doyle longer than Mal. Doyle had started out as Mal’s hired sober companion before love struck them both. It seemed both men were in solid, steady footing in terms of their recovery.
Jonah hadn’t needed to stay sober, because he’d never been an alcoholic, but he’d followed the plan more for Gordon’s sake, at the time. To know what Gordon needed, and to help him through it. To be his meeting when there wasn’t one to be had and Gordon needed it.
To help remind Gordon he was strong enough to stay sober.
As the heady aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, Jonah closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his mind calm and settle and empty for a moment.
He was home.
Well, technically he was home, because it was his temporary permanent address. When Mal hired him for the band, Jonah had been living in a shitty one-room apartment with an air mattress as his only furniture.
He’d literally packed up everything he owned and brought it with him when they came to Florida before the tour.
And that’s when he was coincidentally reunited with Gord.
Fortuitously.
Once there was enough coffee for both of them, he prepared their mugs and headed back to their room, gently nudging the bedroom door shut behind him with his foot. He found Gordon sitting up in bed and watching TV.
“Coffee, Master.” He walked around the far side of the bed, where Gordon was, and handed his mug to him.
“Good boy.” He took a sip, sighing with contentment. “I missed this, baby.”
“Me, too, Sir.” He rounded the bed and climbed back in to snuggle with Gordon. Jonah had bought a single-serve coffeemaker and took it with him on the road, because it was easier to deal with than the shitty little one-cup coffeemakers the hotels usually had. That way, he could have his favorite brew whenever he wanted, as well as share it with others in the band. He and Bonnie, especially, usually needed coffee, as did Mal.
It was a small luxury that would have been unthinkable to him just a few months ago. Then, he would have settled for a cheap cup of coffee from a fast-food restaurant. If he’d had the money to buy a coffeemaker, that money would have gone to paying his cell bill, or rent, or food.
I need to get a new car.
When he caught himself thinking about what kind of used car he’d buy, he stopped himself.
“What’s so funny, baby?” Gord asked.
He looked up at him. “I just realized I’m thinking about money differently now.”
“How so?”
“If you’d told me months ago I’d be stacking paper the way I am right now, I would’ve said hell, yeah, and bought myself a brand new car.”
“Now?”
Jonah tipped his head over onto Gordon’s shoulder. “I’m thinking about buying our house, and getting a good used car that will cost a fraction of a new one. About savings. About our future.”
Gordon set his mug aside, took Jonah’s from him and set it next to his own, t
hen leaned in and kissed him. “I meant it—trial basis. As long as it keeps going well, I won’t make you quit the band. I don’t want to make you quit. I know how much this means to you. I want to make this work, as long as we are still working, too.”
* * * *
The prickle of tears in his eyes caught Gordon off-guard. He’d thought that he’d finally hit an emotionally level place, especially after getting to vent some sadistic energy on Jonah that morning.
Nope.
His boy never ceased to amaze him despite all the years between them.
Maybe the three years they spent apart were what would make sure they made it forever together.
Gordon shoved the covers off and patted his thigh. “Come here, baby.”
Jonah knew what he meant. He sat up and turned, swinging a leg over Gordon to straddle him, facing him, his hands resting on Gordon’s shoulders.
Face-to-face like this, they’d had pretty intense conversations and even more intense sex. “Come with me to work tomorrow,” Gordon said. “Please?”
“Are you asking me or telling me, Sir?”
“Asking.” Gordon stroked Jonah’s thighs, gently raking his nails up and down his boy’s flesh in that way he knew he loved. And Jonah’s cock, which had wilted a little during his venture out to do laundry and fetch their coffee, perked right back up again.
There was the adorable head-tilt Jonah had. “Why?”
“I’d like you to see what I do for a living, and I’d love to put on a demo for the kids. This is what I teach—what you and I do. I mean, I teach some basic guitar, but mostly it’s intermediate and advanced classes I teach, fingerstyle and classical/Spanish. I’d love them to see us together, how we play.”
“You want me to play for your students?”
Gordon studied his boy’s eyes, the clouds filling that sweet green gaze of his. His ginger-haired boy, his scruffy beard and mustache—his handsome boy, his heart, his soul.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Gordon asked.
“I mean…I’m not famous.”
“They’ve seen the video. I didn’t even have to tell them about it. They came in the next day after it dropped, some of them even asking me for my autograph. They know who you are.”
My Old Man Page 2
