by May Archer
“And yet, I have,” Cain told him sadly.
“Reconsider,” Damon growled, pushing to his feet with one hand on the arm of the sofa. “Remember who’s the… the… Big Daddy.”
Oh, it was too perfect. “I’m not sure. I see no hat.”
“I left it in the car. A king is still a king without his crown.” Damon grabbed Cain by the belt loops and drew him closer until their chests were brushing.
“Okay,” Cain relented.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. We can use the hot tub after dinner. Because you saying the words ‘Remember who’s the Big Daddy’ just made my life, so I’m giving you a pass. Use it wisely.” He pointed a threatening finger at Damon.
Damon grinned and pulled Cain even tighter. “I think we should probably use the hot tub now. Just in case I say something else at dinner that makes you change your mind,” he said, and all Cain could do was laugh, because it was so true.
They did manage to wait until after dinner, mostly because Cain’s stomach had started to growl just then. Damon cooked rice and reheated the chicken they’d bought, while Cain ran their bags upstairs, got the hot-tub set up, and assembled a salad. They worked together in a coordinated way, shuffling around each other with a practiced ease that Cain wouldn’t have thought possible. While the chicken was in the oven, Damon hefted himself up onto the counter and occupied himself by alternately stealing cucumber slices as fast as Cain could cut them, and trying to read the script of Cain’s tattoo. Not a second went by when Damon wasn’t trying to touch him or tease him into laughter. “That cutting board too high for you, kiddo? Big Daddy’s got it.”
Maybe it was odd that the simple act of assembling a meal with someone was somehow imbued with meaning, but it seemed that way to Cain. He loved how they’d been able to have a serious discussion out on the porch, one where Damon had allowed himself to be vulnerable and validate Cain’s feelings about his father, and all that good, important stuff… and then devolve into teasing over stupid jokes.
He’d never experienced a connection like this - sure as hell not with his family, and not even with his friends. The fact that he’d found it with someone so sexy, so kind, was damn near unbelievable.
Cain was a pretty fatalistic person - he knew this about himself. Bad shit happened all the time, scales were balanced one way or another. But rather than wasting his time wondering how this thing with Damon would all come crashing to an end, he found himself wanting to just enjoy their time together. This crazy, shitty, wonderful adventure that he and Damon were on could end tomorrow… probably would end tomorrow, when they found whatever evidence they were looking for, or pretty soon after, if there were no evidence to be found. Either way there was no way Cain’s life would ever be the same, and there was no way Cain would be the same, either.
If he ended up alone a month from now, laying in the single bed in his parents’ house, thinking back on this crazy step out of time with Damon, he wanted to have plenty of good memories stored up to fight the inevitable bad.
And that was why, when the last bites of dinner had been consumed, the last of the dishes washed and put away, Cain took Damon by the hand, and led him upstairs.
Chapter 17
Damon followed Cain up the steps, their fingers threaded tightly together, his breath catching with every stride in a way that had nothing to do with the climb or the strain on his leg, and everything to do with the sexy man in front of him.
Christ. Had he ever wanted someone so badly? He couldn’t remember it, if he had. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything so fucking badly - not his hard-won education, not the job he loved, not even getting his name and his life back.
And that knowledge was terrifying as hell. How had this guy become so important to him so quickly? How had Cain managed to get under his skin and somehow, with his sweetness and his sly humor, with his strength and his submission, take the neatly-ordered list of Damon’s life-priorities and rearrange them all?
Cain paused when he reached the top of the stairs and turned to face Damon, who was one step below. “So, um, the hot tub is out there.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, where a small sitting area led to another sliding glass door and what appeared, in the dim exterior light, to be another deck just like the one downstairs. “This is the room where I usually sleep,” he said, pointing to the door opposite the stairs. “The other bedrooms and my dad’s office are down there.” He gestured down the hall.
He bit his lip when he turned back to Damon. “I’m pretty sure we have bathing suits around here somewhere, if you want?” His voice was husky, his eyes were glowing with desire, but he was strong enough to put his own needs aside and make sure Damon was totally comfortable, that he wasn’t imposing or assuming too much.
Fragile and strong and sweet. Maybe the better question was how he hadn’t fallen for Cain even sooner.
Damon took the final step, bringing himself flush against Cain, then kept advancing, walking Cain into the wall behind him. “Cain?”
“Y-yeah?” Cain’s deep blue gaze fluttered from Damon’s eyes to his lips and back again.
“We won’t need swimsuits.”
“Oh—” Cain began, but then Damon’s lips met his, and anything else he’d been about to say seemed irrelevant in the face of the overwhelming fire that seemed ready to burn them both up.
He was dimly aware of Cain’s fingers sifting through his hair, grabbing onto it as if Damon was the only point of stability as the world shifted around them. And maybe he was; Damon was holding onto Cain just as tightly. His tongue plundered Cain’s mouth, cataloging every note of his sweetness, every sensation of his tongue, placing them all in a treasure box in his mind where everything about Cain was stored.
Damon broke away just long enough to strip Cain’s shirt off, carefully avoiding his bandage, and throw it on the floor of the landing. He turned them so he could back Cain across the seating area to the sliding door, kissing him all the while. It was not the safest course, given the furniture directly in their path, but when the back of Cain’s leg hit a coffee table and he stumbled, Damon was there to pull him back up, laughing as he claimed Cain’s mouth once again.
Damon broke away to wrench the door open while Cain’s hands reached for the hem of Damon’s shirt, then that, too, was on the sitting room floor. Damon grabbed Cain around the waist as they tripped their way outside, the skin-on-skin heat of their embrace sending a shock through his body as surely as the cold night air.
“Jeans,” Cain whispered against his lips as his feet hit the edge of the tub. The steam from the frothing water lent the night a foggy, mysterious air. He toed his shoes off, and Damon followed suit, but when Cain would have stepped back to remove his pants, Damon pulled him closer, pulling Cain’s bottom lip between his teeth.
“Do you know how badly I want you?” he whispered, loving the blush that climbed Cain’s cheeks.
“Yeah?” Cain asked, breathless and hopeful.
Jesus, how could he doubt it? Damon was rock-hard, not a single thought in his head besides how to pull Cain so far inside himself, meld them so firmly together, that none of the bullshit in their lives would be able to tear them apart. He’d imagined it was obvious.
But apparently Cain needed convincing.
He pulled back slightly, and Cain looked confused. “Wha-?”
“So handsome.” Damon pushed both of his hands through the thick fall of Cain’s dark hair, rubbing his fingertips along Cain’s scalp as Cain arched helplessly toward him. The pink scars crisscrossing Damon’s arms were silver in the dim light, and it should have looked strange or wrong for his hands to be touching Cain’s perfection, but instead it looked incredibly right. “I love touching you. I fucking love the way you respond to me.”
He moved his hand to cup Cain’s jaw, running his thumbs along those high cheekbones, the clean lines that seemed like they’d been carved from marble, and stared into Cain’s eyes. “Those eyes. So blue, baby. And always
so open and honest.” His voice was hushed, deep and shadowy as the night around them. “I sometimes wish I could see the world the way you see it - like everything is better and more important than it is, like I am better and more important than I am.” Those blue eyes softened, wide and almost bewildered, and Damon lifted one corner of his mouth in a smile. “Wish you could see yourself the same way.”
He traced his fingertips over the perfect cupid’s-bow curve of Cain’s lips. “Remember the first time we kissed?” God, that mouth. So lush and expressive, fascinating to watch even when Cain was giving him shit. Hell, especially when he was giving Damon shit. “Even before our lips touched, it was like… an earthquake, an electric shock.” He shook his head at his own corny metaphors, but Cain didn’t laugh or roll his eyes.
“I thought you didn’t remember it,” he whispered.
“I remember every single second,” Damon promised him. “It was like this moment of clarity in the middle of the haze.” He smiled. “To be honest, every time I’m with you is like that. You take me out of myself, cut through all the other stuff and remind me what’s important. You remind me there’s a future out there for me, and you make me believe I can find it.” He could feel himself blushing. Forty years on the planet, and he’d still rather take a beating than spill his guts like this.
“You can find it,” Cain lifted his hands to Damon’s shoulders, then ran them up his neck. His gaze was calm and steady, reassuring, and Damon found himself speaking another truth.
“I think I already have.”
He held steady while Cain looped his arms around his neck, let Cain draw his head down to kiss him, hot and sweet, like he’d put his entire soul into the kiss.
And then the heat that swamped him every time he was with Cain flooded his veins again, burning up all his words and all his control.
“Cain,” he groaned, reaching for the button of Cain’s jeans and stripping them down his legs so quickly that Cain laughed helplessly. Cain’s boxers soon followed.
He pushed his own jeans and boxers down the same way, then stepped on the fabric that pooled around his ankles, gracelessly attempting to free his feet as he claimed Cain’s mouth over and over again.
Braced on his good leg, he grabbed Cain around the waist - ignoring his cry of surprise - and moved him above the tub.
“Ready?” he asked, grinning.
“Damon Fitzpatrick!” Cain said breathlessly, as Damon set him gently in the water. “You can’t just pick me up whenever you feel like it!”
“Why not?” Damon teased, stepping into the tub. The water was perfectly warm and he felt his whole body flush.
“Uh, because you’re gonna give me a heart attack?” Cain pressed Damon’s wet hand to his chest just above his heart. “Feel that? It’s still hopping like a bunny on crack.”
Damon smiled. “Let’s see what we can do to keep that going.” He dragged Cain atop him so he was straddling Damon’s lap, then leaned back to allowing Cain to take the lead.
Cain didn’t disappoint. He laced his hands behind Damon’s head pulling their lips together and bringing his cock into contact with Damon’s stomach.
“Fuck!” Cain moaned, throwing his head back and rocking himself against Damon.
Damon’s hands made tracks up and down the damp skin of Cain’s back and over his freckled shoulders. He lifted handfuls of hot, frothy water, pouring them over Cain’s chest and then following the paths of the rivulets with his fingertips.
God, those freckles. They fucking killed him. He traced them with his fingers, finding patterns in the scattered dots. He wanted in that moment - wanted unhindered access to that skin, wanted more light to see by, wanted to trace the shapes with his teeth. He vowed to himself that he would have it. This was only their beginning.
Cain’s hands slicked over his chest, past his tense abs, to find his erection, stroking him firmly, and Damon gritted his teeth. It was so fucking good. Every single time with Cain was so perfect.
Cain had a mischievous look in his eye and he bent down to lick Damon’s nipple… and then bit it gently.
“Aaaah!” Damon’s hands clenched on Cain’s ass, his fingers digging in. “Feels so fucking good, baby. I’m not gonna last.”
Cain’s face was beautiful, his desire so stark he seemed to nearly be in pain. “Damon, I want you inside me. Tonight.”
Fuck. Fuck, yes. He wanted to claim Cain, finally. To make him his in every way.
“Then get out of this tub,” Damon commanded.
Cain rocked one final time, as though he couldn’t help it, and his frustrated whimper nearly made Damon lose himself. He braced his hands on Cain’s hips and pushed him back. “In the house. Now.”
Cain pushed himself up in a rush of water and carefully stepped over the edge of the tub, his eyes burning into Damon’s. Damon levered himself up and followed directly behind as quickly as he could, taking care not to slip in the water puddled on the deck.
“Holy fuck, it’s freezing!” Cain said. His teeth were chattering before they’d made it to the door. “I can’t believe I forgot towels!” He scurried inside, water sluicing down his body and leaving soggy footprints on the carpet.
Damon followed him in, pulling the door closed behind them, and took a moment to stare. Shivering, ridiculous, and still Damon knew this man was the most beautiful thing he would ever encounter, in this world or the next.
He grabbed Cain around the waist and pulled their bodies flush, pressing their kiss-swollen mouths together. If they froze to death, they’d do it locked this way. “Bed, Cain.”
“Yeah,” Cain sighed, like it had been a suggestion. Then he cleared his head. “Right, come on.” He led Damon across the hall and into his bedroom, flipping on the light as he went.
Damon had the vague impression of dark oak furniture, a blue plaid bedspread - all the mountain-cabin warmth that was conspicuously absent in the rest of the jaw-droppingly modern house. It didn’t surprise him that this was the place Cain had claimed.
Then Cain flopped himself down in the center of the bed, sprawled on his back, and Damon couldn’t see anything but him.
“You’re soaking wet,” Damon reminded him as he stalked closer, stopping to grab his duffel bag and throw it on the end of the bed by Cain’s foot. He wrenched the zipper open and searched for the condoms and lube.
Cain grinned, splaying his arms up and down like he was making a snow angel, naked except for one extremely damp bandage on his arm. “I feel like the bed is only going to get wetter,” he teased, his hot eyes raking up and down Damon’s chest. “Anytime you’re ready, Big Daddy.”
“No.” He paused in his search and pointed one stern finger at Cain. “No. That’s just… no. It’s not funny. Not in bed.” He found the opened box of condoms and threw them on the mattress, then dug his hand in again. Jesus, he’d swear he’d put the lube at the top of the case. Where the hell was it?
Cain pushed himself to his knees and walked his way over to Damon. “You sure?” he asked, his voice husky. “Because I think it could be pretty fucking hot, Daddy.”
Damon paused again to glare at Cain, but when their eyes met, he forgot what he was going to say. Christ.
“FYI, I’m about ten seconds from taking you without lube or prep, kid, so don’t test me,” he warned, but Cain only laughed at the empty threat. He reached his hand into the case and managed to extract the small blue tube of lubricant in two seconds flat.
“This what you’re looking for…” He added in a whisper. “Big Daddy?”
Saucy brat. Damon was caught between laughter and lust - had he ever laughed this much while he was in bed? He hadn’t known what he was missing. And it seemed like a tragedy that he could have gone his whole life without knowing how good it could be.
Damon grabbed the lube and pushed Cain back with one firm hand on his chest. He fell back against the bed laughing, and Damon climbed on top of him.
“I don’t think you’ll be laughing for long, brat.”
> “Wow. Brat. Kid. You’re sure about the daddy thing? Because it sounds like…”
“It sounds like you want your ass spanked.” Damon straddled Cain’s waist and grabbed his hands, pinning him against the mattress.
Cain blinked - actually fucking blinked, like he was considering it. He caught his lip between his teeth and his eyes burned up at Damon. “Maybe I do,” he said slowly, and Damon had to take a deep breath.
His erection, which had subsided slightly thanks to the cold, roared back to life as he envisioned Cain’s ass spread in front of him, rosy-pink from his palm, and…
Fuck. “You’re determined to make me come before I get inside you,” he growled. Cain glanced down at Damon’s cock, and all traces of mischief fled from his face. He swallowed hard as his eyes met Damon’s again.
“No, I’m not. Hurry,” he whispered.
But Damon was realizing that he had his man right where he wanted him. He gave Cain a wolfish grin and sat back just far enough to take Cain firmly in hand. “You know, I’m actually thinking I should take my time.”
He stroked Cain gently, too gently, in a way he knew would drive him crazy, gliding his thumb over the damp head of Cain’s erection.
“Don’t tease,” Cain whispered urgently. “Please, Damon. Not now.”
Damon leaned forward, bracing one hand on the bed as he bent his head down. “Let me do this,” he whispered against Cain’s lips, stroking him again, and Cain whimpered, but didn’t argue.
Damon sat back and uncapped the lube, pouring some out onto his fingers. He stroked a single slick finger over Cain’s hole, and Cain’s back bowed off the bed. God. Damon wasn’t sure which of them he was torturing. But he wanted to make it good for Cain. No, not good… perfect.
He continued his relentless stroking as he prepped Cain to take him, giving him one finger, then two, then three. Cain was hipping up into his hand, his whimpers coming faster and faster until they morphed into one long keening wail. “Damon, I’m going to…”
He grabbed the base of Cain’s cock. “Not yet,” he breathed. “Together.”
