The Long Way

by May Archer

  “Yeah. Yeah, I will. I was thinking as I was walking over here that you’re putting yourself out there for me, for Molly, and I can’t let old fears and hurts weigh me down. Otherwise I’m letting all the shit I thought I got through just drag me back. You know?”

  Yeah. Yeah, Damon knew exactly.

  She took a deep breath, like she was shaking off the weight of their conversation and called up a genuine, warm smile, then stepped forward and clapped her hands. “Hey, Molly-mine! Guess what? The restaurant next door has chicken fingers.”

  Molly’s face lit up as she hopped off the picnic bench. “I love chicken fingers!”

  “I know you do, baby!”

  Cain turned around to watch mother and daughter hug, and his eyes snagged on Damon. He looked away.

  Damn. Damon had been an ass.

  Chelsea picked up the crayons and art supplies, but Molly took a paper on the stack and handed it to Cain instead. “I made this for you. It’s a tree.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome! But it’s pink!” Cain sounded bemused.

  “So?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Cain told Molly, backtracking quickly. “No, it’s awesome. I’ve just never seen a pink tree before.”

  “It’s a Molly-tree. Molly-trees are pink. Right, Momma?”

  “Sure, baby.” Chelsea gave Cain a wink over Molly’s head, and the little girl shrugged, more self-acceptance in that one gesture than Cain had likely ever had in his entire life.

  A lock in Damon’s chest broke open with an almost audible click.

  Yeah, Cain was gorgeous and rich, and yeah, he’d been raised in a lifestyle Damon couldn’t imagine… but none of that had any effect on who Cain was inside because he didn’t believe himself worthy of any of it.

  Cain was constantly worrying, constantly pleasing everyone else, constantly hiding himself, and never realizing just how funny and caring and good he was. The very idea that Cain didn’t know this about himself made Damon’s chest hurt, and for the moment all the other very serious problems confronting them paled in comparison to this one. He needed to make Cain see how special he was.

  He limped towards the table as Chelsea and Molly said their goodbyes, and hauled himself up onto the table top. They sat in silence for a moment, Damon enjoying the chill in the air, Cain staring at Molly’s drawing.

  “Don’t suppose you’re as excited about chicken fingers as Molly?” Damon said finally, and Cain looked up.

  “Yeah. That’s fine. Whatever you want,” he said listlessly. His shoulders slumped, his eyes dull.

  “Whatever I want.” That opened up a whole range of possibilities in Damon’s mind - possibilities he wasn’t sure he had the self-control right then to hold himself back from exploring.

  He grabbed the collar of Cain’s shirt and pulled him in towards the table, leaning over him. “Whatever I want? You sure?”

  Cain’s eyes widened and lit up instantly, like a switch had flipped. “What are you… what?”

  Damon smirked as he stood, grabbing Cain’s hand. “Let’s go check out our room."

  Chapter 8

  Cain’s mind was a total black hole of confusion - thoughts went in, but they didn’t come out. What the hell was going on with Damon? Why was Cain following him across the parking lot to their motel room, salivating like some blindly obedient puppy, after the man had not only ignored him but had actively frozen him out all afternoon? What had changed?

  “Hey, slow down,” Cain said, pulling back on Damon’s hand as they passed the Acura. “We don’t even have our bags.”

  As he’d been coloring with Molly, he’d pondered how he and Damon had gotten so off-track in the first place. Things had been going fine until that fucking conversation with his mother, where Damon had overheard every mortifying word. After that, Damon had clearly been disgusted by Cain’s spinelessness and decided Cain’s epic passivity would be a liability.

  The sad part was, as much as Cain wanted to help Damon, Chelsea, and Molly, he couldn’t say for sure that the latter half of that assessment was wrong. In the end, would he sacrifice himself, sacrifice Jesse, to help Damon? He honestly didn’t know. In this situation, the best and most helpful thing he could do for Damon would be to simply leave him alone, giving him one less complication to worry about. He’d decided, after Damon and the girls had left in the morning, he’d rent a car and drive himself back to Nashville.

  “Leave the bags,” Damon said impatiently, tugging at Cain’s wrist again. “We can come back.”

  “We can get them now,” Cain argued. “Open the car.”

  “Cain.”

  “Damon.”

  Damon dug the keys out of his pocket, his eyes glittering, and opened the locks. “Happy?” he asked, as Cain grabbed both his own bag and Damon’s from the hatchback.

  “Ecstatic, Big Daddy,” Cain said dryly, but the word ended on a little squeak as Damon slammed the lid closed and pushed Cain back against the car. Their bags hit the ground with a dull thud.

  “You’re just provoking me now, kid.” Oh, shit. The growl. Cain couldn’t help the shiver that ran up and down his spine. God, why did the man have to be so sexy?

  “I thought I’d already provoked you earlier,” Cain shot back. His voice was way breathier than he would have liked.

  In the dream he’d had this morning, he’d felt so much more confident than he did right then, and he wanted to channel that version of himself. He struggled not to give in too easily. He still wanted an acknowledgment from Damon, an apology… something.

  “Yeah, you provoke me every time I’m around you,” Damon growled. “Sometimes I can’t think because of it, can’t focus on all the shit I should be focusing on, because the only thing on my mind is you.”

  Cain only had time to suck in a shocked breath before Damon leaned forward and took his mouth. He honestly wasn’t sure which was more shocking, the warm slide of Damon’s lips against his, or the words that had come before it. It wasn’t an apology or an explanation for his hours of cold silence, but it was nevertheless something real and concrete, something Cain’s mind could grab hold of before he lost himself in Damon completely.

  Damon pushed him harder against the car, his right leg insinuating itself between Cain’s as he assaulted Cain’s mouth in a kiss that was deep and carnal and perfect. He pulled back to grab Cain’s top lip between his teeth, biting and tugging, while his hand roamed up Cain’s side, dragging up the edge of his shirt. The cold evening air hit Cain’s exposed skin and made him shudder.

  “Come with me,” Damon whispered, and at that moment, Cain would have followed him anywhere. There was something about Damon that called to him - maybe the way Damon seemed to really see him - with all of his weaknesses and temper tantrums, all his flaws and inconsistencies, and unlike every other person in his life, he still wanted him…in one way at least.

  “Yes,” Cain said, because that was all he needed to say.

  He wrapped his arm around Damon’s waist, and they stumbled towards the two-story motel. It was a strange parody of their shuffle out of the fundraiser the previous night, but this time, Cain was the one leaning against Damon, and Damon was the one urging them forward, their luggage in his hands.

  Damon unlocked the door and pushed it open so hard that it slammed back against the wall. Cain barely had time to notice the layout of the room - clean but dated, with a giant pink love seat against one wall and a double bed covered with a garish floral bedspread flanking the other - before Damon threw their bags on the floor with zero care, and pushed Cain back against the closed door.

  “What do you want?” Damon demanded, his breath washing hotly over Cain’s neck. His hands found the button of Cain’s jeans and thumbed it open, then his hands slid back around Cain’s waist until they rested against the top curve of his ass.

  Want? What did he want? It was impossible to form thoughts. All he wanted at the moment was for this to never end, to stay lost in Damon for as long as he possibly could. And he wanted this to be
something Damon couldn’t ever forget.

  “More,” he whispered, and that seemed to be enough for Damon.

  His hands coasted up Cain’s sides, dragging his t-shirt with them, pulling it up and over his head. He felt goosebumps chase across his skin in the cool air, until Damon stepped close again, blocking out the chill. In the dim light of the motel room, he saw Damon’s hand come up to trace along his collarbone, then further back, skimming over his shoulder. It was a gentle touch, so different from their heated exchange.

  “What?” Cain asked.

  Damon’s hot green eyes met his. “Freckles. I wasn’t expecting the freckles.” His finger tracked a path along the cord that ran from Cain’s shoulder to his neck. “There’s a constellation here. Like little stars.”

  Cain’s head went back against the door and he moaned. And suddenly he knew what he wanted.

  He grabbed the hem of Damon’s t-shirt and hauled it up with even less finesse than Damon had used, throwing it somewhere on the floor near the bed. Then he pushed Damon back a pace, and turned him around, pushing him back against the door instead.

  “This is what I want,” he said. Then he unbuttoned Damon’s jeans and dragged them down with him to the floor.

  He glanced up at Damon, at the molten green gaze that hadn’t left his face. “This is what I want,” he said again, as he reached for the band of Damon’s boxer shorts. Damon’s hand came to cover his, and his eyebrow raised in a silent question. Cain nodded, nuzzling through Damon’s boxers at the junction of his thigh, running his nose along the coarse hairs of his leg. “Please?”

  Damon moved his hands from his waistband to the back of Cain’s head, and Cain felt a burst of joy so acute it made him lightheaded. This was what he’d been craving, though he hadn’t known it - to have Damon want him, to make him as crazy and off-balance from wanting as he’d made Cain.

  He slid Damon’s boxers down slowly, like he was opening a present he wanted to savor. But when Damon’s cock sprang free, Cain’s mouth began to water and he couldn’t wait. Damon toed off his shoes and Cain pushed his jeans and boxers off completely. He hesitated when he caught sight of Damon’s injured leg. Was this going to be too much?

  He glanced up to find Damon leaning against the door, watching him. He traced his fingertips up the patchwork of scars, much the way Damon had done with his freckles, acknowledging every mark. Damon’s muscles twitched beneath his hand.

  “Do it,” he breathed a second later. “God, Cain. Now.”

  But Cain wouldn’t be rushed, not now that he finally had Damon at his mercy. This moment, in this incredibly pink hotel room, literally part way between his old life in Boston and the new life his parents had created for him in Tennessee, wasn’t bound by the rules and limitations of yesterday and tomorrow. Just for tonight, Cain was going to take what he wanted, and by God he was going to savor the fuck out of it.

  For a long time - ever since his affair with Jack - he’d denied himself this basic human connection. Hookups weren’t a possibility for the senator’s son, and he’d learned the hard way that trying to conduct anything approaching a real relationship in secrecy wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved. Now he was like a man who’d been submerged for decades and was finally breathing air - he could feel the cells of his body realigning, feel his heart beating faster, feel a weight he’d been carrying disintegrate from his shoulders like it had never existed.

  He nipped the skin at the junction of Damon’s thigh and cataloged every second of Damon’s shivering response, dipped his nose into the hair at the base of his shaft and appreciated the musky, inherently male scent, let his tongue caress Damon’s sac and savored the salty sweetness. If this was a moment out of time, the only chance he and Damon would ever have, he would fucking enjoy it.

  “Cain, what are you doing to me?” Damon moaned. His hips jutted toward Cain, as if drawn by an invisible tether.

  Cain looked up and met Damon’s hazel eyes, smoldering with golden fire. When he was certain he had one hundred percent of Damon’s attention focused on him, he licked a broad, wet stripe up the man’s cock.

  Damon’s head flew back with a groan, and Cain’s entire being hummed with consciousness of his own power. I made him do that. I can make him lose control.

  He grabbed the base of Damon’s dick in his hand and let his tongue explore the engorged head, lapping and sucking, dipping inside the slit to taste the salty fluid. Damon’s hands came down on his head, cradling his skull to hold him in place, but Cain held him back, bracing his hands on Damon’s hips to prevent his thrusts.

  “What do you want, Damon?” Cain demanded, tossing his words back at him.

  Damon growled, as though his power of language had been stolen, and he looked nearly angry.

  “Do you want to fuck my mouth?” Cain continued. “Hold my head and fuck me hard? Because I want you to. You can have anything you want, but you have to say the words if you want it to happen.” Make this real. Make this unforgettable.

  “Brat,” Damon rasped, grabbing Cain’s hair in both hands. The words and the sensation combined to make Cain’s stomach somersault, and when Damon spoke again, his words were fierce. “You can’t handle what I want to give you. Not when you’ve got me on edge already.”

  Cain’s hands moved around to cup Damon’s ass, pulling him infinitesimally closer. He loved the way his tattoos looked as his skin touched Damon’s, like he was badass and strong, someone Damon could need. “I can handle your temper,” he breathed. “I can handle whatever you give me.”

  “You think so, kid? Yeah, I wanna fuck your mouth. I want to push so deep down your throat you can’t breathe anything but me, I want to hold you and choke you, make you take exactly what I want to give you. I want to ruin you for every other blowjob you ever give or receive.” He pulled Cain’s hair again, making his scalp ache from the sting. “You think you can handle that?”

  Gorgeous and defiant, Damon stared down at him, like he expected Cain to renege on his offer, or he imagined Cain would tremble in fear.

  He had no clue how much yearning had been built up in Cain, or how much he needed exactly what Damon was offering.

  “Try me,” he whispered. Then without taking his eyes off Damon’s, he swallowed his cock to the root.

  “Fuck. Fuck, Cain,” Damon said. Cain’s tongue swirled around the head as he popped off, then he lifted a hand to play with Damon’s balls, pulling and tugging, feeling their solid weight, while the other hand kneaded Damon’s ass.

  “Is there a problem?” Cain asked innocently.

  Damon clearly wasn’t in the mood for teasing. “Suck me, Cain!” he growled.

  But Cain shook his head. “Make me,” he said simply.

  He shifted up on his knees, wide eyes level with Damon’s bobbing cock, and clutched his hands together behind his back. His own dick was rock-hard, but he was too focused on Damon to care right now. This moment right here - this epic, powerful moment - made up for every time he’d had to walk away from a relationship, every time he’d had to hide or pretend not to want what he wanted. This moment would provide the inspiration he’d need for the thousand lonely nights to come. He’d be damned if he’d yield right now.

  Damon’s hands tightened in his hair and he tugged again, as though he couldn’t help himself. Cain could see his hesitation in the considering frown on his face - did Cain really want this? What were the implications? The man’s innate need to protect was totally messing up Cain’s plan, even as it made Cain’s heart squeeze.

  Still, their gazes held, and Cain tried to convey his want, his need. Apparently Damon got the message, because he sucked in a deep breath, exhaled the last of his resistance, and then groaned, “Open for me.”

  When Cain didn’t comply as quickly as he wanted, Damon tugged his hair again, pulling Cain close enough to rub the head of his cock against Cain’s wet lips. “Open, Cain,” he demanded.

  The second Cain’s lips parted, Damon surged inside, taking control, using Cain, ma
king Cain the instrument of his pleasure, exactly the way Cain wanted.

  He gasped as Damon got rougher, gripping the back of Cain’s head, yanking him forward until Damon’s pubic hair tickled his nose, then forcing him roughly back. Cain kept sucking and swirling, groaning around Damon’s cock as the man’s body shuddered before him.

  “Cain, Cain, Cain,” Damon chanted, and it might have been the world’s sappiest love poem for the effect it had on Cain. He swirled his tongue harder, forced his jaw to open wider, willed his throat to accept Damon’s cock. His eyes watered as Damon’s flavor exploded on his tongue, and Damon threw back his head and cried out as Cain swallowed every last drop.

  Cain pulled off, panting, and rested his head against Damon’s stomach. Damon slumped against the door and tried to bring his own breathing back under control, inhaling in short, shuddering gasps.

  Fuck. That had been the single best sexual encounter of his entire life, and he hadn’t touched himself at all.

  Then Damon wrapped his hands around the back of Cain’s neck, more tenderly this time, and snarled, “Get on the bed.”

  Cain stood on shaky legs - and Damon steadied him for half a second, before forcing him backward five paces to collapse onto the floral monstrosity. Eyes blazing, Damon reached for Cain’s jeans and dragged them down, throwing them on the floor along with Cain’s shoes, socks, and underwear. Without a word, Damon leaned down and caught Cain’s nipple between his teeth, his silver hair falling around his jaw like a curtain.

  “You are just full of surprises, baby,” he said, while his hand brushed down the length of Cain’s body.

  His mouth trailed wet kisses down Cain’s stomach, and then finally reached Cain’s cock. Unlike Cain, Damon didn’t need to play games in order to make Cain lose his mind. Just the sight of his dick disappearing between those lips, the feel of Damon’s scruffy beard against his thigh, had him panting and ready. Damon’s hands held Cain’s hips in place as he writhed beneath Damon’s mouth, and Cain threw his own hands wide, catching the scratchy bedspread in his hands to hold himself in place.