Red Hot Daddy: An Mpreg Romance

by Austin Bates

  "It's November," Tommy said, his eyes firmly on the ground. They were headed for the far corner, directly under the security light where it glinted off pitted chrome.

  Damien stopped dead in his tracks and stared. "That's your bike," he said quietly.

  Running a hand through his hair, Tommy nodded. "You had it towed to the station, didn't you recognize it then?"

  "I didn't have it towed," Damien said, shaking his head. "I didn't even think about how you go to Golden."

  "Somebody had it towed," Tommy said, crossing his arms. "It's not the most practical this time of year, but it's only a short trip to my house."

  "You have a house?" Damien ran a hand over the frame, his hand cataloging every pit and chip that was different than ten years ago.

  "Yes," Tommy said, shoving a helmet on his head. It barely fit. "Hold on tight. If you fall off, I'm not stopping."

  "Why are you so mean to me, Tommy? You're always so mean." He sniffed, his head swimming with the smell of Tommy's shampoo and clean sweat that filled his nose.

  Tommy didn't answer, straddling the bike and pulling Damien on behind him. Damien tucked his hands around that slender waist, his fingers pressing happily against the hard muscle hidden under Tommy's band t-shirt. The breeze raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made him shiver, and he tucked his head against Tommy's shoulders. The bike rolled smoothly forward, the sway and shift hypnotic, and Damien let his eyes slip closed.

  Chapter Seven

  The numbers on the clock switched over to read 9:00 as Tommy stared at them, his eyes dry from too little blinking. The sun was up, light pouring through the blinds even if Tommy had made sure to put his bedroom in the room facing west.

  Pressing his face against his pillow, Tommy groaned. He'd lain awake all night, his equilibrium completely destroyed by having Damien in his space. Normally, he'd sleep till noon, but today it wasn't going to happen.

  Tommy grudgingly climbed out of bed, his back cracking as he straightened. Time to see if that alpha idiot had managed to survive the night. He swung by the bathroom to grab painkillers, then the kitchen for a cup of water. His knuckles bleached white where he gripped the glass, and he forced himself to relax.

  The doorway to the living room loomed over him with each step he took closer to it. It might as well have read “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” in blood across the top with how his heart was pounding. The room itself was innocuous, the carpet and paint were builder standard. He spent more time at the shop than at home, so he hadn't bothered to personalize it.

  The couch had been chosen for comfort over looks, so it could easily have been mistaken for a pile of old pillows, squashy and shapeless. There was a coffee table in the middle of the room that had been his grandmother's. The wood had a beautiful grain pattern and was smooth as silk after generations of use.

  Avoiding looking at the man sleeping on the couch, curled up half-under the quilt that his mother had made when Tommy was eleven, he followed the familiar lines of the wood. There was the gouge where he'd busted a tooth learning to walk. There were the water spots from decades of children disdaining coasters. There was the corner that Damien had chipped when he fell on it with his football gear on.

  Tommy set the glass of water down and pressed his palms against his eyes. He'd gone ten years without remembering every way that Damien had been a part of his life, and now he couldn't seem to do anything but.

  Peeling his eyes open, he forced himself to look, to really see every difference between the Damien who had passed out drunk with his shoes still on and the Damien he had once known. He'd gotten taller and broader, obviously. Tommy wouldn't have thought it possible when they were in high school, but looking at him now, he was definitely taller. It made sense; Tommy had put on an inch or two in the years since he'd left Golden.

  He stepped closer, peering down at Damien's sleeping face. He looked older, but not as old as he did when he was awake. The lines of anger softened and left him looking peaceful and sweet. From this angle, he could see a thin scar disappearing into the hair at Damien's temple, and his stomach churned. That wasn't new, exactly. The thick stubble coming up on his cheeks wasn't either. It was thicker and more uniform than he remembered, but it was the same unusually soft scratch against his finger when he ran it down Damien's cheek.

  Damien snorted, shifting on the cushions, and Tommy jumped back. No touching. That was stupid of him. Nervous energy thrummed under his skin, and he ran his finger down the chain at his neck. That was enough of that. Working out would keep him too busy to think until Damien woke up.

  He couldn't resist one last look, tracing the soft curve of Damien's plush lips. Picking up the end of the quilt where it had fallen off the bed, Tommy tucked it around him and brushed the barest hint of a kiss against his temple. Tearing himself away, he felt like he'd left something important behind, but he kept walking down the hall, refusing to look back.

  His workout room was his favorite part of the house, catching the early morning light and looking out on the backyard garden in spring and summer. He had a treadmill and a weight set, but mostly he stuck to the mats that took up half the room. They were multipurpose, and he'd used them for everything from yoga to judo practice.

  Today, he needed the calm mindfulness that Tai Chi would bring him. He settled slowly into the first position, focusing on each part of his body and trying to block out Damien King asleep on his couch. Twice, he stumbled, his mind wandering. He swallowed the frustration and started over until his mind went blissfully silent.

  The positions flowed together, pose after pose like water over rocks. There was no past, no future, only the moment and the slow beating of his heart. It was refreshing, tension that he hadn't even been aware of bleeding away. He felt renewed and wrung out in the same breath.

  "Still so fucking beautiful," Damien said, and the moment shattered.

  Tommy stumbled, going to one knee on the mats. "You're awake," he said after a moment.

  Propped in the doorway, Damien looked like hell. His eyes were barely open, but even those small slits looked horribly bloodshot. He clutched the door frame as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, the quilt tucked around his shoulders like a cape.

  "Seems that way," he said. "Thanks for the aspirin."

  Nodding, Tommy got to his feet, crossing his arms and bouncing on his toes. "How do you feel?"

  "Like I got hit by something strong and ugly."

  "Judging by the smell, I'm going to guess her name was Tequila," Tommy tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it all the way to his eyes.

  "Vodka, actually," Damien said.

  Racking his brain for something else to say, Tommy jumped a little when Damien's stomach gurgled. "You must be hungry," he said, curling in on himself to squeeze past without touching any of the bare skin on display. The kitchen wasn't stocked with much, but he had enough to make pancakes. He hit the button on the coffee maker, and it hissed to life. "Coffee will be ready in a few," he called down the hall.

  Damien hadn't moved, his head propped against the door frame. He looked like he'd fallen back asleep.

  The smell of the coffee didn't take long to permeate the house, and the rustle of fabric heralded Damien's shuffle into the kitchen. Tommy set a boiling hot mug of black coffee with too much sugar on the counter and went back to his pan. He tried to ignore the way goosebumps rose on his arms just from having Damien in the kitchen.

  "Thanks," Damien said a moment later, lifting the coffee with a gargantuan effort.

  "You can sit down at the table if you want. Pancakes will only be a minute." Tommy didn't look up to watch Damien shuffle around the island to the little table tucked under the window. It didn't help. His imagination provided him with a full-color render of the muscles flexing under Damien's skin as he walked away. "Do you want strawberry or peach jam with your pancakes," he asked, trying to dislodge the image from his brain.

  "Whatever you've got, sweetheart," Damien said. They both
went still for a moment as the word hung in the air of the kitchen. Damien flinched first, settling back in his chair with a creak. "You could just offer me syrup, and I'd be happy enough."

  "You hate syrup on pancakes," Tommy said, diplomatically ignoring Damien's slip. He pulled the two jars of jam out of the fridge and set them on the table. "Take your pick."

  "Is that all that's on offer?" he asked, his eyes tracking over Tommy's paisley sleep pants and the white shirt he'd pulled on over the top. The smirk that twisted his lip fit the image, but it didn't reach his eyes.

  "Pancakes, jam, and coffee. That's it." Tommy turned away to plate up the pancakes, his hands shaking a little. This was a dangerous game, and he was going to get hurt.

  "Pity," Damien drawled. He stared into his coffee as Tommy set the pancakes in front of him. "Thank you," he added after a moment, picking up his fork.

  "You're welcome."

  The only sound was the scrape of silverware against their plates as they ate. When Damien finished his coffee, Tommy got up and refilled it, bringing the pot with him. He had a feeling they were both going to need a lot more caffeine to get through the day. The pancakes were good, light and fluffy just like they'd both learned when Damien had worked at McDaniel's for the summer. They sat in his stomach like a brick.

  When the pressure behind his tongue built up too much for him to bear a moment longer, he set his fork down with a clang. "Damien, please, just give me one chance to..."

  Damien stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. "Thanks for breakfast. I'm going to call a cab." He stalked out of the room, leaving the quilt in a heap on his chair.

  Tommy stared after him, his eyes burning. He refused to blink, tears trembling on the edges of his eyes, but none spilled over. He could hear Damien in the living room, his rumbling voice still so soothing despite the angry edge. He hadn't missed this, the dance of avoidance where nothing important was ever talked about. Maybe if he'd been able to scream and cry and beg, he would have stayed in Golden.

  "The cab will be here in ten minutes," Damien said, poking his head into the kitchen. He never raised his eyes past Tommy's bare feet.

  "You can wait in here if you want," he said, his voice steady and calm.

  Damien shook his head. "That's okay. I told him I'd meet him at the cross street."

  Tommy blinked, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Okay." His voice cracked, and he sucked in a breath, but Damien was already gone. The sound of the door closing quietly shot down his spine like a bullet. "Fuck."

  His hands shook as he scrubbed at his damp face, anger welling up just to be smothered by guilt. He stared blankly at the plate in front of him, a smear of blood red jam on the corner. Forcing himself to his feet, he gathered up the dishes and set them in the sink, the silverware rattling. It grated on his nerves, and he slumped, the sink cold against his elbows. Running his hands over his hair, he tried to forget the way Damien's smile had twisted his stomach into knots.

  He was supposed to be over this. He'd spent almost a third of his life getting over it. How dare Damien come back in here and tear down all his hard work? He fisted his hands in the hair at his temples and tugged, his eyes shut tight enough to send flashes of phantom light across the darkness.

  "Son of a bitch." He slammed his hand down on the counter and went to get his coat.

  Damien hadn't made it far, slumped against one of the street lights. His shoes were still untied, and he kept nudging the trailing ends of the laces with his toe.

  Tommy kept quiet until he was too close for Damien to get away. "Damien, we need to talk." The alpha sighed, his shoulders slumping, but didn't answer. "I..." He winced as Damien's shoulders tensed. "I want to say it so bad, but I know you don't want to hear it," he said, swallowing hard to make sure that the apology stayed buried in his chest.

  "I'll let it go, I swear, but you have to promise me that if you ever do... If you ever," he said, his voice starting to shake, "want to hear it, you'll tell me." A cab turned the corner, slowing as it caught sight of the two of them, and Tommy's heart pounded so hard that he was sure he was going to have a heart attack.

  They watched the cab approach, neither moving until it rolled to a stop in front of Damien. "You call for a cab?"

  Damien nudged his shoelaces with his toe again, dark eyes meeting Tommy's for a fraction of a second. "Yeah," he said, straightening up. "Sorry about last night." Hesitating for only a heartbeat, he reached out like he was going to put his hand on Tommy's shoulder. The motion turned into a reach to open the door of the cab. "It won't happen again."

  "Don't mention it," Tommy said, his jaw set as the door slammed shut. He stood on the corner until the taxi disappeared through the intersection, headed for the highway.

  ***

  "Boss, you better come see this," Anne called from the front of the shop.

  Pulling his jacket off and hanging his helmet on the hook by the back door, Tommy groaned. "If it's bad news, I'm going back to bed."

  Anne shot him an anxious look, fidgeting with her lip piercing. "Well, it's not good news," she said reluctantly.

  Trudging out of the back, it didn't take him long to see what the problem was. The bustling lights of the street were blocked by streaks of black paint. From this side, he couldn't see any rhyme or reason, and he flopped down in his desk chair, rubbing at his temples. "I did not need this today."

  "Sorry, boss." Anne picked at her nails. "Should I maybe call Carlos?"

  "He's on vacation."

  She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. "He'll come in for this."

  "You'll make sure of it, right?" Tommy raised an eyebrow at her, but she just grinned.

  "Isn't that what big brothers are for? To handle assholes who harass me?" She kicked her feet, sending her chair spinning slowly in a circle.

  Tommy allowed himself a moment to dream about someone else coming and cleaning up the mess for him. "No," he said with a sigh. "I'll get to it later. It's obviously dry, so there's no rush." He picked at the dry skin on one thumb. "You can do me another favor, though."

  "Do I have to?"

  "She's the best, Anne," he said, slanting her a rueful look. He could completely understand not wanting to deal with your past. He'd practically written the book. But... "This is just getting worse. We need a professional."

  She groaned, staring at him upside down as her chair continued its slow rotation. "Fine. I'll call Emily." She pointed a finger at him, the six rings on her right hand glinting in the light. "But you owe me."

  "See if she can put a camera on the front window, and another on the back parking lot. I don't want anyone to have to worry about their cars being vandalized." Tommy let his chair spin freely, running his eyes over the shop. He'd never had a break-in before thanks to Anne's security expert ex-girlfriend, but it couldn't hurt to upgrade their equipment a little.

  "Got it, boss." Anne tapped lazily at the shop computer, yawning. "I will be so glad when the holidays get here. My professors are insane." She took a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. "And they hate me," she added.

  "I'm sorry, who was it that decided to go back for her Fine Arts degree? You know how the purists look down on tattooing."

  "Says Mr. 'Night-Classes-and-Running-a-New-Business' over there," she muttered, clicking through the daily reminders. "You have two consults scheduled and two answering machine messages. Any bets on what those are going to be?"

  Tommy rolled his eyes. "No. It's close to the holidays, like you said. People aren't going to get a new tattoo with Grandma digging through their dirty laundry and criticizing their turkey gravy."

  "Well, barring any walk-ins," she said, grinning a little. "We have the day to ourselves." She slanted a glance at him, her colored contacts a violent green today that made her look supernatural. "Or do we? I seem to recall the hottie from last night saying he wanted a TJL original. Have I ever asked you why you don't go by TJ, by the way? I've never met anyone else over the age of ten that went by Tommy."


  "He's not coming in for a tattoo," he said.

  She gaped at him, her hand over her heart. "That's so sad," she said, wiping at an imaginary tear. "Think of all that prime real estate that you could have put your mark on. Unmarked epidermis." Shaking her head, she sighed dreamily. "Virgin skin."

  Choking on his coffee, Tommy glared at her. "I'm not sure whether to be offended or creeped out," he said after a moment.

  "I'm not creepy. I'm cute."

  "It's the contacts."

  She frowned. "Which ones am I wearing today? Oh, venom green. Yeah, they're intense." She turned back to the computer, and Tommy stifled a sigh of relief. "Wait!" Anne spun back around and pointed at him. "You're distracting me. That was well done, boss. I didn't think you had it in you."

  "Not well enough, obviously," he muttered, draining his coffee.

  "What can I say? I'm the best. So tell me about this guy." She propped her feet up on the display case and settled in.

  "There's nothing to tell." He got up to fill his cup, keeping his back to her.

  She scoffed. "I don't buy that for a second. You had some serious chemistry going on last night. If that's what you call nothing, then I want popcorn and a cigarette before you tell me the story of your 'something.' "

  "I don't have a something."

  Anne was watching him when he turned back around, her disconcerting eyes soft. "We all have a something, boss, only most people's somethings are boring to anyone but them." She crossed her arms behind her head. "A guy like that, there's no way he was nothing."

  The steam from his coffee tickled his nose as it curled through the air, and he watched it dissipate into thin air, just like his friendship with Damien. "Sometimes somethings turn out to be nothing after all," he said.

  No one spoke for a long time, the squeak of chair leather as Anne sat up straighter the only sound. Tommy tried to summon the energy to go out and scrub the window clean. He tried to think about how much money he could put toward the new security system. He calculated how much he'd have to raise the insurance to cover the improvements. He didn't think about Damien and the sound of a door slamming as he drove out of Tommy's life again.