45. Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
Chuck
When Robinson peeled away Chuck’s shirt, he moaned. When he rolled onto his back and watched Robinson strip off his own shirt, his eyes caught a tiny imperfection in the ceiling. It was where Andrew had gotten drunk and started jumping on their god damn bed, and he smashed his head into the ceiling, cracked the plaster. They’d gotten it fixed, and gotten his scalp stitched back up, but Chuck was always able to see the outlines of the patch. He could under their original paint job, and he could under the new, glossier paint job that had come with the renovation.
Then thoughts of Andrew slipped away to the back of his mind, faded into fondness and happiness, and all the tension that had somehow survived being stripped and groped and manhandled melted away and he noticed just how damned comfortable this new mattress was as it enveloped him.
Then Robinson enveloped him, laying on top of him, hands wedged under Chuck’s shoulders, mouth furiously traveling across the expanse of Chuck’s lips, jaw, chest. Chuck felt the hardness of Robinson’s cock pressing into his thigh, then the rub as he ground his hips downward.
Chuck slid his hands down Robinson’s bare back, slipping them past the waistband of Robinson’s jeans, beneath his underwear, and feeling the soft, fine hair and firm muscles of his ass. He squeezed and Robinson whimpered. He ran his fingertips into the crack and Robinson thrust harder downward. He slid his tongue into Robinson’s mouth and got the same in return, hot breath and light pressure going back and forth between them as they rolled over.
Then Chuck was on top—which was certainly novel—and he grinned, looking down at Robinson’s flushed face and heaving chest and shoulders. “This good?”
“Yeah.” Robinson laughed, flopping his head back into the pillows. “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”
“I am fine .” Chuck ran his hands from Robinson’s shoulders, down his chest and belly, and began working on Robinson’s belt. “I should warn you, I don’t know when Emily and Gen are going to show up.” He got Robinson’s belt undone, then went to work on the button and zipper. “They’re incredibly punctual lesbians. Or Gen is, anyway.”
Chuck got his pants undone and, instead of sliding them down the rest of the way, he pulled down on Robinson’s underwear, exposing him. He was hard. He was wet. And when Chuck touched his exposed cockhead, Robinson’s back arched.
Only for a moment, though. Then he forced his head back up and made eye contact. “You don’t need to take care of me. This is your housewarming.”
“And I just unwrapped the present you brought me.” He slid down until his mouth hovered just over Robinson’s cock. “And for your whole Corolla and convertible metaphor to work, you have to get inside .”
Before Robinson could get any other words out, Chuck dove down. Robinson fit perfectly in Chuck’s mouth, not quite triggering his gag reflex. Not until he bucked his hips up, anyway. But Robinson didn’t do it much, or forcefully. Mostly, he laid flat out on the bed, moaning and twisting his fingers through Chuck’s hair. Every time, he twirled Chuck’s hair just tight enough for a tiny electric tingle to run across his scalp, then let it go. Over and over again, and it was like his hair was directly attached to his cock. Each pull drove him harder and milked out more precum. Going to have to change pants before our guests arrive .
As Robinson gave another, stronger tug and Chuck had to hold himself back from blowing his load…it was worth it. He would have changed clothes three times to feel that warmth and pressure in his mouth, to smell the sweat and soap from Robinson’s bush, to taste the musk and salt from Robinson’s precum as it dripped against his tongue.
“Stop, stop.” Robinson shifted from tightening Chuck’s hair to pulling, guiding his head up and away. When Chuck finally obliged, Robinson guided him around until he was on the bed, but not before pulling his pants and underwear down to his knees. No playing around the subject, no toying. It was a rough, animal maneuver.
So was the way he dove down on Chuck’s cock, taking it into his throat and taking all the strength and stability out of Chuck’s body. He’d already been close just from the hair tugging, so the pressure of Robinson’s mouth had him teetering on the edge. He counted backward from a hundred by sevens, recited the name of every musical he could think of, listed dog breeds. Anything to keep his mind off the storm crashing through his middle, fuzzing his brain, begging him to just throw himself in and let it take him.
Then Robinson slid a finger up Chuck’s ass crack, played with his hole, and no amount of boring trivia could save him. He tried to squeeze out a warning, but all he managed was a whimper as his balls jerked upward, emptying four, five, six spurts into Robinson’s mouth.
When Robinson pulled off, he smiled down at Chuck. “Still good?”
Chuck breathed a few times. His eyes caught on the little imperfection in the ceiling again, drifted once more to Andrew on the bed, in the bedroom, with him, alive.
He nodded. “Never better.”
He grabbed Robinson’s wrist and pulled him down onto the bed…then the doorbell rang. “Shit.”
“Good thing we got you taken care of when we did.” Robinson patted him on the cheek. “Go greet your lesbians. I’m going to calm down the beast, then I’ll join you.”
“I…I got very wet. I kind of need to change so I don’t smell like precum.” He got up and just wasn’t sure where to go. “I’m sorry. I should have—”
“If I really need to cum, I have hands. Meanwhile, you have guests to greet.” He moved over and swatted Chuck on the ass…which threatened to make Chuck hard and ready all over again. Then Robinson pecked him on the cheek. “Go. I will be down in a minute.” He glanced toward his still-exposed cock. “Well, I’ll be downstairs. I can’t promise I’ll be all the way down .”
Chuck snorted a laugh, then pulled on his pants and walked down the hall just far enough to pound on Colby’s door. “Hey, I’ll be down in a minute. Can you get the door for Em and Gen?”
He scurried back to the bedroom to see that Robinson was naked in the shower already. Since there was no steam, Chuck had to assume it was a cold shower. Which also explained why the spray was focused on his cock. He smiled over his shoulder at Chuck, then turned away…showing off his ass, which didn’t make Chuck less interested.
I need to go play Suzy Homemaker. He did a quick change into some clean underwear, but kept the same pair of pants—they didn’t seem to have experienced any leak-through—checked himself in the mirror as Robinson turned off the shower and started toweling off, then headed downstairs. He noticed that all three of the boys’ bedroom doors were open, so he made quick work of getting down to the living room.
Not two seconds after his foot hit the floor, he was almost knocked over. It took him a little bit to recognize the short ball of energy that had tackled him. Emily was fond of changing her hair color a lot, and it was pink on one side, green on the other when he looked down at her.
He squeezed her. “Hey. Been a minute.”
“Been more than a minute, asshole.” Genevieve came up and pried her wife off. She was tall, with dark hair braided back, and a simple stud in her nose. She tossed her arms around Chuck and almost took him off his feet, she hugged him so hard. “Last time I saw these kiddos, they couldn’t, like, hold a conversation.”
Chuck finally had a moment to breathe, and he spotted his sons in the kitchen. Well, Ryan and Colby. They were spreading food out on the new counter. A few seconds later, Nick marched through the front door, carrying two paper bags on each arm.
“I think you’re exaggerating. They could certainly talk a year ago.” Chuck bustled over and took the bags from his son. “I hope they kept you entertained. I was…occupied.”
Which was of course when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Talk about fucking timing. But the cat was out of the bag as soon as Robinson walked down the stairs, withdrawn into himself.
Chuck looped an arm around his shoulders. “We met during the reno and hit it off, and we’re going to…see where things go.” He pointed to each of the women in turn. “Robinson, this is Emily, and this is her wife, Gen.”
The air was heavy for a moment. Another moment.
“He’s exactly your type.” Genevieve went over to join the boys in setting out all the food they’d brought, even as Nick, Colby, and Ryan went outside to presumably retrieve even more . Gen thankfully waited until they were out of earshot to continue. “Not surprised you were occupied .”
Robinson whipped his head around and Chuck shook his head. “I didn’t tell them anything. I was being discrete, but you came downstairs right when I said ‘occupied’ and…and I just totally could have made an excuse instead of…oh god.”
Robinson laughed and leaned into Chuck’s chest. “If they’re your friends, they were going to hear about it at some point, right?”
Chuck sighed. “Point is…I didn’t just get a house.”
“You got a houseboy.”
Emily marched over and flicked Gen in the nose. “Be nice.”
“That was nice. You don’t get an ugly houseboy. He’s cute.”
Chuck sighed and turned to Robinson, lowering his voice. “You good? I can escape hatch you out.”
“I’m good.” He brushed his fingers through Chuck’s hair. “How do you want to play this? Are they going to think you’re jumping into something too soon after Andrew?”
“I don’t care if they do.” But Robinson did, so he turned. It was amazing how easy it was to slip back into old rhythms…although he did check to make sure the boys were outside before he shouted out, “You all think I’m making a mistake and jumping into a new relationship too fast?”
“Oh, honey.” Emily reached up to pat his cheek. “You dawdled. And if I was going to trust anyone to take their time and wait until they were ready, it’s you, Chuckie.”
Chuck turned back to Robinson. “See? All clear.”