by V. L. Locey
“I love sugar drops. Mostly the red and purple ones…orange is okay. Not a fan of…green ones.”
“The way your mind works.” I chortled, laying my hand on his sweet, soft belly to rub his cum into his flesh. “Are you saying that was better than a sugar drop?”
“Hell yes, so much better…and less fattening.”
I flopped beside him, pushing at the knotted-up sheets with my foot. “I’ll take the compliment,” I replied, letting my head drop to the pillow. “It may be the first time that I’ve ever been told I was sweeter than candy.”
He rolled to his side, head resting on his hand, and grinned at me. God he had incredible eyes. So full of humor and affection. “What kind of sweets do you like?”
“The kind named Michael.”
He leaned down to peck my lips. “So romantic. But no, seriously, we know very little about each other. My mother would be appalled to think that her little boy went to bed with a man on the second date. Well, she was appalled to hear that her little boy wanted to go to bed with men at all, but on the second date would be even more scandalous.”
“Your family doesn’t approve of you being gay I take it?”
I reached up to trace his lower lip. It was a sensual lip, compelling and enticing, much like his eyes and his belly.
“Oh no, not at all.” His eyes lost some of their usual buoyancy. “They were sickened. Then when my sister came home pregnant and unmarried, they sort of lost control of the rudder of sanity. They threw her out and told her not to come back. A speech they’d practiced on me several years earlier.”
“I am sorry.” I ran my thumb over his chin then along his jawline, enjoying the burr of his brown whiskers coming in. “My parents were a bit shocked but quickly came around.”
“Well, they’re Swedish, right? I mean you Europeans are so much more open about sexuality and everything that goes with it.” He placed a hand to my chest, his palm hot as a red coal on my cooling flesh.
“Mm, well, my father is German, hence the last name Mettler. My mother is Swedish and Welsh. Both are open and quite lovely people, older now as they had me late in life.”
“Any siblings?”
“No, no siblings. I was that longed for child they thought would never be and then when my mother was two weeks away from turning fifty Viola! Bryn was conceived.” I had to smile at the memory of how my father always told that story.
“I’m happy that they accepted you. That’s important. Kelly and I are doing our best to make sure Liam grows up in an inclusive and loving household.”
“Your eyes just light up when you speak of Liam.”
“I love him to bits.” He trailed a finger through a tacky smear of cum by my navel. His eyes lifted from my stomach to my face. “I’m getting kind of fond of you too.”
“That’s nice to hear. I feel much the same.”
“Would you kiss me?”
“Gladly.” I rolled him to his back, smearing his seed between us, and catching his lower lip with my teeth. Michael ran his fingers up into my hair, little moans coming out of him as I nibbled his lips then his chin, keeping my tongue from his until he asked again, tacking on a breathy please. Then and only then did I take his mouth.
“God, that was sweet yet so fucking toppy,” he mewled between longer and longer kisses, his cock plumping up between us as mine swelled against his sweet ass.
“Care to have me show you just how toppy I can be?”
His emerald eyes glowed hotly. “As long as I can walk tomorrow, show away.”
I showed him again, and for much longer. We were both rather spent after round two, and his slow rise from my bed gave me a twinge of guilt that I’d perhaps showcased my toppy skills a bit too vigorously.
“Can I grab a quick shower before I go home?” His smile was quirky. “I’m a little messy.”
“Yes, of course, the towels are in the closet beside the shower.” I sat up, enjoying the sight of his naked ass. While he showered I washed up in the guest bath, dressed, and made a latte for each of us. Michael joined me in the kitchen, hair wet, slightly wrinkled clothes back on his tempting body.
“Sugar is on the counter,” I said with a jerk of my chin at the sugar bowl setting beside the latte machine.
“Is that decaf?”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ll have to pass then. I get jittery when I have coffee after dinner.” He gave me a sheepish smile as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll just grab an Uber and be out of your hair.”
Setting down my mug, I slid my hand around the back of his neck and brought him closer.
“I like having you in my hair. Please, don’t feel rushed to leave.”
He nodded gently. “Nice to know but I do have to go. It’s late and tomorrow is storytime at the library. Twenty kids under four at nine a.m.”
“Bless you, my son,” I kidded, getting a playful chuckle from him.
“I’ll nap in the non-fiction section. It’ll be fine.” He glanced up from arranging his ride. “I’d really like to do this again.”
“As would I. How about dinner this weekend? I have a road trip that will take me out of town until Friday evening.” My fingers roamed over the nape of his neck. He stepped closer, lowering his phone, and slinking an arm around my back.
“Would you be willing to come to my place and meet my sister and Liam? Or is it too soon to foist?”
“It’s the perfect time to foist. Saturday? Perhaps around eight?”
“Liam is in bed at eight. How about five?”
“Ah sorry, yes, children’s bedtimes don’t occur to me. Five sounds wonderful.” I stole a kiss that could have lingered. Sadly, his ride arrived, his phone vibrating rudely. I pulled away from his mouth and gave his neck a squeeze. “Until Saturday.”
“Saturday it is.” He grabbed one final peck then awkwardly jogged off before the driver had to text him again, his bouquet in his arms. Watching him make his way to the elevator, I wasn’t sure how well he would walk tomorrow but I was certain he’d remember the man who had bedded him. God knows I’d not be forgetting this night any time soon.
Nine
Mike
Someone pounced on me. In my bed. I was not happy when someone’s bony body part connected with my left nut in a glancing shot that left me more than a little cranky. Ripping the covers off my head to give Liam a sound talking to about jumping on Uncle Mike when Uncle Mike is not expecting it (or given time to shield his boy bits) I found myself glowering at my sister, who looked more than a tad ashamed.
“Sorry. I overcompensated on the take-off.” Kelly giggled, patting my wrinkled brow then making herself comfy beside me. “I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes, so tell me everything now. You got home late, and not like you just had a drink after dinner late, late like you were doing the wicked watusi.”
“You babble just like your son,” I grumbled, threw back the covers, and rose from my bed with a diva-type stalk into the bathroom planned. “Ow, oh shit.” I ached from head to heels and a few points in-between. I could see my ass being tender because Bryn had a fat dick and knew how to use it, but my arms and legs? Why did they hurt?
“Oh yeah, you got all kinds of laid. You can barely walk. Tell me everything!” Kelly bounced on the bed, big eyes round with anticipation. She looked cute as hell sitting there, cross-legged, in her pink nurses smock.
“Get out of my room, Sally Strumpet. I shall not besmirch the good name of my paramour. Ow, Christ.” I tried to point at the door but couldn’t lift my arm high enough for a quality point. What the hell had I done with my arms to make them…oh. They’d been held over my head during the second round, for a long time, with Bryn pounding me like a railroad spike. “Where’s Liam? Ouch.” My lower back knotted up. Wonder if having my legs up by Bryn’s ears was the cause of that particular cramp?
“He’s still asleep. Come on, Mike, throw me a bone. Like Bryn did to you obviously. Oh, and you’re going to want to use some of my concealer on th
at massive hickey on your neck, and maybe on the one on your ass. Wow, did he suck on your ass? You gays are wild kinky. Please tell me something smutty. I have to live vicariously through you now since all the straight men in this town are immature spanks.”
I pulled up my saggy sleep pants, muttered something in Klingon, and shut the door on my nosy sister.
“Fine, be that way. See if I tell you the juicy stuff when I get laid the next time,” she yelled.
I opened the door. “Firstly, I don’t want to know about you getting laid. You’re my darling baby sister and heterosexual men should not be sullying your womanly gates with their fleshy appendages. Secondly, see the first reason. Now go wake up your son while I shower.”
She dashed over, giggling like a goose, kissed me on the tip of the nose, and scampered off to rouse the wild one. I remembered something I wanted to tell her as she neared the door.
“Oh, I invited Bryn over for dinner on Saturday. I hope that’s okay?”
She squealed. Literally. My sister squealed like a teenager at a K-Pop concert.
“Oh God yes! Oh! Oh! I can’t wait to meet him. Liam is going to be super thrilled! Oh! We should make something good and rib-sticking. Soup! I love soup! Everyone loves soup!”
She ran off, blabbering about soup and goalies and rutabagas or something. I don’t know. When she hit her stride verbally it was hard to keep up. I limped into the shower after carefully easing my legs out of my sleep pants, hissing and whining with every move. I couldn’t recall ever being this perfectly exhausted and sore after sex before. Not that I was complaining. Each twinge and cramp made me warm and hot inside. Bryn Mettler was one hell of a lover, and I wanted lots more of his strong, domineering passion. But first, he had to survive dinner with my sister the gabber and my nephew the force of nature.
“Do you think this red makes me look desperate?” Kelly asked, rushing into the kitchen in the seventh dress in less than ten minutes.
“Kelly, honey, no offense, but Bryn is dating me, so you can stop worrying about looking desperate.” I covered the rice back up after giving her a shady over-the-shoulder look.
“Right. Of course. I know that, but—” She exhaled slowly. “Right. What I look like isn’t important. Still, does the red make me look desperate?”
I turned from the casserole I was filling with a thick broccoli and cheese mixture that I’d stir the rice into as soon as it was cooked. “You look delightful. Bryn will be enchanted. You may want to change out of your slippers.”
The doorbell rang. “Shit! Get that!” Kelly ran off—or slippered off I guess would be the proper term—to find shoes. Liam, or Hurricane Liam as the National Weather Service had coined him, raced past me, hockey stick in hand, tiny goalie mask on his face, and his Bryn Mettler jersey on his back.
“Bryn is here! Bryn is here! Bryn is here!” Liam screamed and flung the front door open.
“Liam, you know you’re not allowed to open the front door unless Mom or I say it’s okay,” I chided as I wiggled around the child now frozen in place right in front of the door. I looked through the screen door and there stood Bryn, windblown and rugged, flowers in his arms. He smiled at me, white teeth flashing, and I clapped a hand to the wall to keep from swooning. “And welcome to the Kneller residence. Please check your sanity at the door.”
“Mike! I can’t find my black heels! Did you borrow them?” Kelly bellowed, thundering down the stairs with a pair of gold sandals dangling from her fingertips. She skidded to a stop at the bottom step and gaped at Bryn, who was now inside but just barely because Liam was still playing the role of a pillar of salt. Her eyes flared and pink tinted her cheeks.
“Is there something about you that I’m not aware of, Michael?” Bryn asked, the imp shining in his dark eyes.
“I meant for a blog post he was doing about shoe sizes for women and men and…hi, I’m Kelly!” She tossed the gold sandals to the sofa and extended a hand. Bryn filled her hand with a fat bouquet of a dozen pink roses. “Oh my gosh, these are beautiful! Thank you.”
“And for you.” He passed along three perfect yellow roses all tied up with a deep orange ribbon. “And for you, Liam.” He crouched down to child level, smiled at the starstruck boy, and pulled out a new stuffed Captain America doll. “I read on your uncle’s blog that you lost the last one and that your mother was having trouble finding a new one.”
Liam had a moment of indecision. Kelly and I stood by, wondering if he’d throw this one aside as he had all the others we’d brought home since that fateful day.
“Does you play hockey with Cap?” the child asked, hugging the little patriotic doll to his chest protector.
“I’ve asked but he’s always too busy fighting evil. Perhaps someday he’ll be able to skate with me, but until then, maybe you and your mother and uncle would care to join me?” Bryn stood up, his hand coming to rest on the top of Liam’s mask. “We’re going to have a community night in a week where all the boys and girls teams will be joining us on the ice. It’s a yearly thing that we do. I’d be honored to have you join me as honored guests.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Liam shouted and leaped up and down, his golem phase now over it seemed. “Yes please, yes please, yes please!”
“Oh look, someone found their manners,” I said as the child bounced around in place as if his legs were made of rubber. “I’d be happy to go. Liam, you have to accept properly.”
“Thanks, Bryn!” He held up a tiny glove for a high-five which he got from Bryn.
“What else?” Kelly prodded.
“Ravens rule! Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Off the child went, new Cap in his hand, stick in the other.
“Translated that means “Thank you, Mr. Mettler.” I sighed. Bryn waved it off, snuck in a kiss at the door, and then followed me into the kitchen. The flowers were put into vases, and I finished up the casserole. “Liam picked this. It’s his favorite. Rice, cheese, and broccoli.”
“Sounds wonderful.” He grabbed another kiss, this one a little longer and with more fire. Then we retired to the living room, glasses of a light blackberry wine for himself, me, and Kelly, and a juice box for Liam. The kid was lost in an Avengers cartoon, so we sat and chatted about tiddly stuff. When the timer on the stove went off we peeled Liam out of his hockey gear and all sat down at our table. It seemed surreal to look up and see Bryn sitting there. Nice, but hard to grasp. He fit right in though, for the most part. You could tell he’d not spent a great amount of time around kids, although it was obvious he enjoyed them. Liam’s mouth ran non-stop and Bryn, toward the end of the meal, simply started nodding and grunting as the boy ran off at the lip.
“Hope you like pudding.” I smiled when dessert was mentioned by the gabby lad.
“Bryn, one time…one time, one time we rode up to a farm and seen a cow getted milked,” Liam gushed. “Uncle Mike milked her and got milk squirted in his eyes!”
Oh, how the child laughed. As did the dinner guest. “She had a cockeyed udder,” I mumbled as I placed a monkey dish of chocolate pudding in front of Kelly.
“Then there was ducks and they pooped all over the place and Uncle Mike stepped in it. I did too. I had poop on my toes and—”
“Liam, Mr. Mettler doesn’t want to talk about duck poop while we’re eating pudding,” Kelly whispered to her son.
Liam’s big green eyes settled on Bryn. “When is a good time to talk about duck poop?” the lad huffed theatrically. “I can only hold in the poop talk for so long!”
Bryn nearly choked on his pudding he started laughing so hard.
“The blog posts just write themselves.” I sighed with a smile.
Ten
Bryn
My life had never been more complete, and I knew, deep in my heart of hearts, that was because of Michael, Kelly, and Liam. My family was far from Pittsburgh, half a world away, and while I’d thought that my nights not on the ice had been fulfilling, I had come to the realization that they’d been rather superficial, aside
from the meals with my friends and my charity events, of course. Eating out in the finest restaurants in town, attending club openings, frittering my time away with season ticket holders and other top-notch athletes, glittery and glitzy they may be, paled with each week that passed. A month after that first dinner with Michael and his family, I was convinced that I was eager for a more domestic life. And oh, how that discovery shocked me!
While I had always wanted children at some point in my life, I’d not really made any moves to bring myself into contact with them, aside from donating my time and money when I could. Spending an hour with a group of children and posing with pictures is a far-cry from spending all day with a four-year-old who had endless energy and imagination. Michael and I had taken Liam Christmas shopping in town today. It had been the longest I’d been with the boy, and it had taught me that I had much to learn if I ever wished to be a father.
“More wine?” Michael asked, waving the bottle around in the air, too tired to lift anything save his arm.
“Yes please.” I held out my glass. He groaned while inching across my couch. When he was close enough he filled the goblet and then topped off his. I snickered at the small show he put on trying to reach the coffee table. “Just set it on the floor.”
“It’s not empty.”
“Then empty it.”
He chugged the remaining wine down, burped discreetly behind his hand, and let the bottle rest on the carpet. Then he snuggled into my side. I draped an arm over his shoulder, exhausted beyond belief but contented. We sat there, staring at the small fire in the fireplace, Lykke Li filling the room with beautiful music, Liam back home with Kelly.
“Liam is a joy,” I said, slipping into the easy silence.
“Yes, he is.”
“I never knew joy was so damn tiring.”
Michael snorted softly. “It can be.”
Another few moments ticked by. I took a sip of my wine. Michael toyed with the hem of my Welsh sweater then fought off a yawn. I hated to disrupt the beautiful peace we were enjoying, but the time to ask had come.
