Chapter 5
Danny
Wow.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had that final beer after all…
The world tilts sideways as I fumble with the hotel key card, the little green light mocking me by refusing to blink on. Or maybe it's red. Everything's a bit blurry right now…
“Hmmm,” I say, trying to make sense of something that should be so basic.
The hallway spins like one of those carnival rides I used to love as a kid, but this isn't fun—it's queasy.
How many beers did I have at O’Malley’s?
I lost count after the third pitcher, but the live band was killer, and the crew was on fire, laughing and toasting to the affordable housing project like we were heroes.
"Damn it," I mutter, jabbing the card at the slot again.
It slips from my fingers and clatters to the carpet. Bending down to pick it up feels like a bad idea—my stomach lurches—but I do it anyway.
"Whoa, easy there, big guy," Taylor's voice booms from behind me, his hand steadying my shoulder. "You look like you're trying to pick a fight with the door."
Mikey snickers, appearing on my other side. "Yeah, Danny-boy, that key's not gonna submit no matter how hard you stare at it. Gimme."
“Uh-huh,” I respond, happily giving up the fight.
I hand the card over gratefully, leaning against the wall as Mikey slots it in with one smooth motion.
The lock beeps, and the door swings open.
Cool air from the room rushes out, smelling faintly of hotel soap and my own cologne.
Taylor guides me inside with a firm grip on my arm, Mikey flipping on the light.
"Alright, newbie, let's get you sorted," Taylor says, his tone half-amused, half-brotherly. "Can't have our forklift king passing out in the hall. Xander would kill us."
I laugh—or try to—but it comes out as a hiccup.
"I'm fine. Totally... fine."
But my legs feel like jelly, and the room's doing that spinny thing again. We must have closed down O’Malley’s. The band's last set is still echoing in my ears, all drums and guitar riffs.
I behaved, though.
Mostly.
No trouble, just beers and pool and more beers.
Olivier's warning rings in my head—behave yourself, Danny—and I grin stupidly at the memory. That man... God, even thinking about him now makes my skin tingle.
“I’m a big boy, I can handle my beer!” I protest, unsure why I’m even saying that out loud but doing it anyway. “I can drink all the beer in the world if I want!”
Mikey shuts the door behind us. "Sure you can. C'mon, off with the jacket." He tugs at my zipper, and I let him, shrugging out of it like a kid being undressed for bed. Taylor's already pulling off my boots, his big hands efficient from years on sites where you help your crew no matter what.
"Guys, I can—" I start, but Taylor cuts me off with a chuckle.
"Nah, you'd end up sleeping in your jeans and hating life tomorrow. Trust us, we've all been there." He pulls my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the chair. My skin prickles in the cool air, but it's not uncomfortable.
These guys are Littles too, right?
No judgment from them, and certainly none from me either.
At least, that's what I tell myself as Mikey helps me out of my jeans, leaving me in just my briefs.
I sway a little, and Taylor steadies me again, guiding me toward the bed. The sheets look so inviting, crisp and white. I flop down onto the mattress with a groan, the world finally stopping its merry-go-round.
"Thanks, you two,” I say. “You're... the bestest of the bestest."
Mikey pulls the covers up over me, tucking them in like a pro. "No problem, Danny. Get some sleep. Site's calling bright and early."
But as I sink into the pillow, something's missing.
My brain's foggy, inhibitions drowned in beer, and the words tumble out before I can stop them.
"Wait... where's Lexi? I need my stuffie,” I say. “Lexi’s gotta be here somewhere."
There's a beat of silence.
I blink up at them, the room swimming.
Did I just say that out loud?
But I'm too drunk to care right now—too tired, too needy. Lexi's my purple dragon, my secret keeper, the one friend that always makes the world feel right when it's spinning out of control.
Taylor doesn't miss a beat. He scans the room, spots my perfect little dragon on the couch where I left him this morning, and picks him up gently.
"This Lexi? Cute dragon." He tucks Lexi under my arm, the soft fur brushing my skin. I hug Lexi close, burying my face in his jazzy tail.
"Yeah... thanks," I mumble, eyes already drifting shut. "Night, night. Love you guys!"
They laugh softly—warm, not mocking—and the light clicks off.
The door shuts with a quiet snick, and I'm out like a light, Lexi clutched tight, dreams swirling with stern chefs and spinning bars.
“Gaaah, what the hell?”
The alarm blares like a jackhammer in my skull, yanking me from sleep. I groan, slapping at my phone on the nightstand until it shuts up. My head throbs—hello, hangover—and my mouth tastes like old socks.
What time is it? Seven AM.
Site starts at eight, but breakfast is downstairs in the hotel lobby at seven-fifteen. Xander's big on team meals, says it builds crew spirit.
I shift under the covers, and something pokes uncomfortably. I lift the sheet and peek down—yep, just my briefs, tented with a massive morning boner.
Great. My body's wide awake even if my brain's still foggy!
And just like that, my mind flashes to Olivier. Those dark eyes pinning me at the bar, his voice low and commanding: Behave yourself, Danny.
The way he promised a lunch box if I was good—sandwiches, cookies, juice. Like a reward for a Little. Heat pools in my gut, my cock throbbing at the memory.
Damn, he was so intense, so Daddy.
Smaller than me, but he ruled that space like a lion.
Olivier owned me with just a look.
I reach down, palming myself through the fabric. It's been forever since I hooked up with anyone, and last night's tension has me wound tight.
Just a quick one, to take the edge off...
I imagine Olivier's hands instead of mine—firm, callused from kitchen work—stroking slow, teasing. "Good boy," he'd murmur, and I'd melt. My breath hitches as I slide my hand under the waistband, gripping hot skin. Yeah, this'll be quick—
A sharp knock at the door jolts me upright. I yank my hand out, heart pounding.
"Who is it?"
"It’s Xander. Rise and shine, Danny. Breakfast in ten. You need to move your butt if you're gonna make it." His voice is cheerful, but boss-like too.
"No problem!" I call back, voice cracking a little. "Be right down!"
I flop back against the pillow as his footsteps fade.
Shit.
Close call. I mean the last thing anyone wants is for their boss catching them masturbating. I can only hope that my voice wasn’t a dead giveaway.
But as the adrenaline fades, last night crashes back in fragments: the bars, the beers, Taylor and Mikey helping me... and oh God. Lexi.
I asked for my stuffie.
Out loud.
To them.
My face burns, hangover forgotten in the wave of cringe. They'll know for sure now. The whole crew probably does—the rumors about Construction Boys being Littles were true, but I wanted to ease into it. Share on my terms, when I was ready. Not drunkenly blurt it out like some oversharing idiot.
What if they think I'm too needy? Too soft for the site?
I'm the new guy, I can't afford to look weak…
I hug Lexi tighter, his sweet eyes staring up at me. "
“What a mess, huh?" I whisper. Lexi doesn't judge, just cuddles back. But the crew... Mikey and Taylor were cool about it last night, but in the sober light of day?
Breakfast will be awkward stares, teasing, questions.
No thank you.
Decision made. I skip breakfast. I’ll head straight to the site, make an early start. Show them I'm serious about the work—that I'm not just some hungover Little who needs babysitting.
Yeah. That’s the play.
I’ll prove my worth with actions, not words.
I swing my legs out of bed, ignoring the throb in my head and the one in my briefs too.
Shower first—cold, to kill the boner and wake me up.
Then coffee from the lobby machine, and out the door.
The site's a short walk; I can be there early, forklift ready, beams moving before anyone else arrives.
As I strip off my briefs and step under the spray, Olivier pops into my head again. That lunch box promise. Was he serious? Or just flirting? My cock stirs despite the cold water, and I groan.
“Focus, Danny,” I grumble. “Work first. Prove yourself. Then... maybe see if that reward's waiting.”
I dry off, pull on fresh work clothes—thermals, sweater, high-vis jacket—and grab my keycard. Lexi's back on the couch, safe and sound.
"Wish me luck," I tell him.
Lexi winks with those jazzy eyes. Or maybe that's the hangover talking LOL!
Down in the lobby, the crew's voices drift from the breakfast room—laughter, clinking plates. I duck my head, snag a to-go coffee, and slip out the front door.
The cold air hits like a slap, clearing my head a fraction.
The site's quiet when I arrive, just the wind whipping through the skeletal frames and piles of materials. I fire up the forklift, the familiar rumble grounding me. Bags of sand first, then those steel beams Xander mentioned.
My muscles ache a bit from yesterday, but the work feels good—purposeful.
By the time the first trucks pull in, I've got a good chunk shifted, organized, ready.
Mikey's the first to spot me, hopping out of his ride with a grin. "Danny! Early bird, huh? Skipping breakfast to show us up?"
I force a laugh, hopping down from the forklift. "Nah, just couldn't sleep. Figured I'd get a head start."
Taylor pulls up next, clapping me on the back. "Good man. How's the head?"
"Throbbing," I admit, waiting for the stuffie mention. But he just nods, grabbing his gear.
Xander arrives last, eyeing the progress with approval. "Danny, we missed you at breakfast. But, hey, I’m not complaining. You're killing it already. Keep this up, and you'll be running the site in no time."
Relief floods me.
No awkward questions.
No teasing.
Maybe they get it—maybe being Littles themselves means they know when to let it slide. Or maybe they're waiting. Either way, I'm grateful.
As the day kicks into gear, banter flying, tools humming, I lose myself in the rhythm.
But noon ticks closer, and Olivier's face keeps flashing in my mind.
That stern smile. That promise.
Because damn, I want to be a good boy for him.
The morning drags and flies all at once. By eleven, my hangover's dulled to a low hum, thanks to water and work. Xander calls a quick break, and I check my phone—no messages, but why would there be? Olivier doesn't have my number. Still, my stomach flips at the thought of seeing him.
What if he was just messing with me?
What if the lunch box is code for something else?
"Yo, Danny!" Taylor shouts, tossing me a bottle of water. "You spacing out? We need you on those beams."
"On it," I yell back.
And with that, all I can think about is the Construction Boys and the job at hand.
The only problem is that a man like Olivier doesn’t like to be forgotten…