Chapter 20
Road
Nothing’s changed. Getting dicked doesn’t make you a different person, doesn’t leave scars nor alter the chemistry in one’s body. But when I dry myself with a clean towel while Clyde does the same on the other side of the bathroom, I feel a switch has been flipped, and there will be no going back. In a good way, as if nothing was ever wrong with me to begin with.
I’m pumped out and lean against the wall, watching him squeeze water out of that long, beautiful hair.
“I’ll sleep like a baby.”
“I never sleep with anyone, so I’ll probably kick you all the time,” he says casually and with a smile. He’s always less guarded after I pump him out of cum.
It’s so different to see him here, in his house, naked, oiling his hair. Like we live here. Like it’s no longer a summer fling by the lake after which we both go back to our lives. I don’t know what that means, but I’ll just enjoy the domesticity for now.
“Kinky,” I tell him and grab his wrist to pull him closer. “Tell me more. Any secret kicking techniques I should know about?”
“I’d watch your balls if I were you.”
He slips his hand out of my grasp and rubs it over my head, forehead to nape. Only when I’m hit with the scent do I realize that he’s marked me with his oil. When I go home, and someone asks me about it, what will I say ?
Clyde walks out of the bathroom, not even bothering with a towel.
“Okay, in that case, I demand a pillow wall. Those jewels are the most precious thing my family gave me.”
I follow him down the corridor to his bedroom. I feel weird about his family members watching me from photos, so I focus on the wet strands of hair that reach the dimples in his ass.
When Clyde laughs, it always gives me an ego boost. It’s as if he’s saying, you’re so funny, Road . Or now, maybe even, you’re so funny, babe .
“Like fuck. There will be no damn pillow wall. Wanna stay here, gotta take the risk.”
I whistle and push open the door, entering the large room with three dark gray walls and one of raw brick. “Then maybe I should just stay awake and watch you sleep?”
“Now that’s just creepy.” Clyde shakes his head, turning on the bedside lamp, which illuminates the whole room with a soft glow.
I was surprised when I first sneaked in here. While I know the Butchers make a lot more cash than we do, I didn’t expect the rooms to be this clean . Especially since he lives here alone. He even made the bed before he went wherever he was today and no fewer than six black and brown pillows sit in front of the headboard as if we’re in a Hallmark movie.
There’s even a fireplace in the brick wall, which must feel amazing in the winter, and a large glass door leads to a balcony overlooking the backyard. The coffee cup and book left on the table suggest Clyde doesn’t just fuck around on his phone in the morning like me.
“Sooo… do you have a cleaner, or something?” I ask and roll onto the bedspread with a wide smile.
He looks around with a thoughtful expression. “I just like to keep things tidy. I do have someone come once a month or after a party, but I don’t really like people in my space. Most of the time,” he adds, raising his eyebrows at me, as I’m most definitely “people in his space”.
I stretch, glancing at the handlebars of some old motorcycle mounted high above the headboard. “This home… it’s fancy,” comes out of my mouth before I can restrain myself. Because what does this suggest? That mine’s a hovel? Goddamn it.
Now that I think about it, over the weeks we’ve been meeting in the shack in the woods, the floor got swept, a brand new blanket covered the crappy sofa, and a little coffee table appeared, so we didn’t have to put our cups on boxes .
Fuck. I should have brought something too, but never thought about it.
“My mom had good taste.” He shrugs, but I can see he’s proud of the space. “And dad’s position paid for it. I’d be lying if I said I don’t enjoy all the perks.” When Clyde sits in an armchair by the bed, he resembles a king. Naked, powerful, wet hair slung over his shoulders.
Does that make me his consort?
I lick my lips, glancing at all the framed photos hung on one of the walls. I’ve punched many of the faces in them, though I can’t see Roy anywhere, which is a relief. Don’t want to think about that fucker when I’m resting after good sex.
“Is this her?” I ask, pointing at the portrait of a young woman in a biker jacket. The photo looks as if it was taken in the nineties, judging by the accessories and quality of the picture itself, but her features and the shade of her long hair are familiar.
Clyde smiles and walks up to it, absentmindedly touching the tips of his hair. “Yes. She was… a force. And so kind to me and Roy. Even when we were little shits.”
Fuck Roy. He didn’t deserve to have a nice mom.
“I recognized her because of the hair.”
Clyde sits cross-legged on the bed, staring at the photo. “I’ll tell you something but you can’t laugh. Or get all mushy about it.”
I glance at the club tattoo on his bare back, and then roll forward to sit next to him. “I won’t.”
“My mom used to tell me how nice I look with long hair when I was a kid, though it was only like, shoulder-length or so. I was thirteen when she got cancer, and when she told me, I got it in my stupid little head that I’d be her hero. That I’d grow my hair long and beautiful like hers, so she could have it after her chemo. I learned about hair treatments and things like that. I think it gave me some feeling of control when there wasn’t any. Like I could do something .
“But I couldn’t. Not really. I was there for her, took care of her chickens when she was in the hospital, but she died before I got to complete my plan. I didn’t have the heart to cut it short after that, like it’s a piece of her I still have. And believe me, I’ve been grabbed by it enough times to know it’s inconvenient in a fight. But she liked it on me.”
My chest aches, and I place my hand on his. What is there to say in response to this kind of story? I don’t care for people that much. Well, maybe for my club brothers, but our relationship is harder, more about being there and slapping each other’s backs while drinking away our sorrows. Then there’s Luna, Brigid’s daughter, who’s like a real sister to me, even though we don’t spend that much time together. I’ve always envied people who had… functioning parents, and listening to the story of Clyde’s mom leaves me with a weird emptiness inside.
“I’m sorry.”
Clyde squeezing my hand doesn’t feel like a prelude to more fucking. We do sometimes grab each other’s hands, but it’s always about pulling the other somewhere or guiding it for pleasure. We don’t go on hand-in-hand walks around the woods while picking flowers for each other.
It doesn’t feel awkward to sit like this in silence for a while. I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but I’m struck by him revealing something like that to me. As though he doesn’t feel he needs to be Clyde Turner, the Butchers’ fearsome club prince when we’re together like this.
Eventually, he turns to me with a soft smile. “So I hope you like the hair, because it’s not going anywhere.” Clyde leans in to kiss me, but then pushes me down to the bed, so he ends up on top of me. “Do you want something to sleep in?”
“Your hair,” I answer, because that’s the only thing on my mind.
He snorts, looking pleased with himself as he pushes the damp mane to one side. “How do we do this? You wanna be my mattress?”
A grin emerges on my face as I roll us over so fast he lands under me with a shocked expression. “Maybe you should be mine, Blue Eyes?”
“You’re too hot. I’d cook under you,” he says with a groan, and scrambles from under me, so that we lay face-to-face.
Then we realize we’re on top of the bedding, so we have to get off to get under the fluffy blanket. We try to slot our arms and legs together, but nothing feels all that comfortable.
“Back to back?” he suggests with a sigh.
“I’m not your damn buddy on a drunken night.”
We try again, this time with me spooning him, which is cozy, but he’s so tense I’m starting to think I’ve offended him, or something.
“Still too hot?” I try when he claps to shut down the light. Now that I can’t see the evidence of where I am, the cool thick bedding seems even more luxurious on my skin.
He stays silent for a while. Huffs. Then puffs. I don’t know what his problem is, but there’s not many options left, and I want to touch him .
“Can we do this the other way around?”
“With our heads toward the footboard?”
“No… I…”
He twists out of my embrace and I let him roll me over like I really am his puppet. He then settles behind me, leg sliding between mine, arm wrapped around my waist, chest pressed to my back. His lips brush against my nape when he whispers.
“Like this?”
Again, I’m silent, because this position didn’t even occur to me. He’s the one who called me butch and stud. So I kind of thought… I don’t even know anymore. No one’s ever held me like this, especially not naked, and as I relax into his embrace, getting used to the warmth of his form, a sense of contentment settles over me.
“Yeah, this works,” I mumble, surprised how comfortable this is. Even the knee between my legs somehow makes my spine less strained.
I sense the tension in his body ease, and he presses a kiss to the back of my head. This whole situation is a new aspect of being with a guy that I haven’t thought about. That we don’t have any predestined roles. We have to make our own rules. And maybe even though I’m more dominant in sex, I can let him spoon me.
“I like this,” Clyde says, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice.
“You can say I look good from behind too,” I tell him and adjust the pillow under my head, still getting used to the smooth skin shielding me from behind. As if I’m… protected.
“You do. Your back is so muscular, it’s so hot. I loved watching you chop wood the other day.” Clyde sniggers, and I remember the exact moment.
I was working on the wood for our campfire while he sat there on the blanket, smoking, and watching my every move without a word. I’d felt his admiration through my skin and it was one hell of a drug. So much so, that I ended up getting a splinter in my finger because I was paying more attention to my form than the wood. He pulled it out for me.
“Maybe you should give me a nice, long massage sometime,” I mumble, so very sleepy now that all the sexual tension has been exhausted. The bed’s soft and smells of the scents that are becoming my favorites, but just as I’m on the verge of falling asleep, Clyde kisses my shoulder again.
“You could probably talk me into it. You know what else I liked? Your lips on my cock. Did you enjoy it?” He punctuates the question with another kiss .
I would have never imagined that out of all people in the world, I’d feel safe with Clyde Turner, but I do. For as long as he doesn’t know who killed his brother at least.
I lick my lips, wondering how to respond, but when I sense his breath quickening, it’s clear I can’t avoid the question. “Yeah. I liked doing that to you.”
There are so many other thoughts crowding my head, but how can I discuss them with anyone? How could he understand what I mean if I said that I’m glad to know I’m not broken?
Another soft kiss feels like it’s touching something inside me, beneath the skin. He squeezes me tighter, and it’s as if he’s holding all the pieces of me together, so they no longer rattle around. It hits me that he’s the only person like that in my life, even if we’re technically in some weird fuckbuddy arrangement.
He knows I’m the enforcer for the Vulture Hollow MC. He knows I’m gay. He knows I enjoyed sucking dick.
And accepts it all. Maybe he’d accept one more piece of my puzzle?
“I know I took my time with it. It’s not because I think I’m too good for it, or something,” I whisper into the darkness and find his hand with mine.
Clyde entwines our fingers and his warmth is soothing to my heart. “It’s fine. We don’t both need to want the same thing. But I get what you mean. There’s so much… wrapped up in what you do with another guy. What it means about you.”
I nod, rubbing his fingers when my throat gets painfully tight, as if a morsel of food hard like a brick was stuck in there, refusing to pass. “Porn makes it look so easy. Everyone always likes it in the end, no matter how things go. But it’s not like that.”
“What do you mean?”
One more kiss from Clyde and I’m able to swallow again, as if he’s all the medicine I need.
“Like… you’re supposed to always like it, because you’re gay. Obviously you want to suck dick. I used to believe that, when I was still a kid. But then… I don’t know, it didn’t work like that for me, and I wasn’t sure if I even was gay after all.” I ramble, knowing there’s no going back. I’ve said too much already, so I might as well finish. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t. But… What are you saying? That you weren’t sure if you’re gay? I get that—”
“No. I’m saying that wasn’t the first time I gave someone head, and the other times… left me confused as fuck,” I say, trying to rein in the anger buzzing deep inside, because Cl yde has done nothing wrong, and there’s no point getting angry at people I’ll likely never meet again.
“Oh. So you had boyfriends…? Or…? Why was it not good?”
I worried he might be annoyed about me not mentioning it before when we talked about firsts, but he’s hugging me no less tightly. The warm bubble of the blanket is making me feel as though maybe it’s time I got this thing out of my system.
“Nah, nothing serious like that. Just a few dicks I sucked when I first left home. I wore torn clothes, and was still scrawny. Anyone who looked twice would know I was a runaway. And runaways need to move farther from their homes, they need to eat, and a warm place to sleep. Some people are just nice and want to help you because it makes them feel good. But for others, it’s an opportunity for an exchange of goods. You get me?”
Clyde rubs his thumb over my knuckle in soothing circles. “How old were you?”
I groan. “I left home at fourteen.” I’m surprised I don’t feel pitied. Clyde is just there, ingesting all of this so I can be rid of it.
“And what happened made you not want to do it again?”
His touch is so soothing I want to kiss every single finger. “I thought it would be this hot thing. My first cock, right? Easy money. But this guy… not my type at all, and he was fucking weird about it, talking all the freaking time to get himself worked up. It was… disappointing. I almost felt guilty when I jerked off after. So… yeah, the whole thing didn’t excite me at all. Some people might seem normal on the outside, but then you find out they’re fucked in the head.”
I shut up, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the furious pulsing in my temples before speaking again, “So I thought there was something wrong with me, because I hated it more and more. But not today. I liked giving you head.”
Clyde hugs me tighter. “I’m so sorry. You were in a fucked up situation. I only want you to do it if you like it.”
I groan and slap his forearm. “Look, maybe let’s just forget this? I don’t want you to be all sad about it.”
“I won’t forget it. Thank you for trusting me. Hope the fuckers lose their dicks in a freak accident with a restroom stall door.” He licks the back of my head, but then groans. “Fuck. I got the oil all over my tongue!”
The laugh erupting from my chest feels freeing. “Go on, you can leave it on my shoulder. I like all the things you can do with your tongue. ”
When he licks the back of my shoulder several times, I’m shaking with laughter. I can’t believe this shit.
“What?” Clyde complains. “I’m not gonna go wash my mouth out. I’m too comfortable.”
“Yeah, this is real nice,” I admit, at peace. I can’t imagine telling this story to anyone else, but Clyde gets it. Gets me .
I’m in a warm cocoon of limbs and a blanket when something makes me open my eyes. I’m groggy, and I’m not sure what it could possibly be other than the sun shining at my face, because I’ve had the best sleep in months. Clyde is still spooning me, I’m in his house, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be getting a good breakfast. And a blowjob.
What’s not to love?
The rumble of a motorcycle, that’s what.
“Fuck. Clyde!” I push him with my elbow just as the door downstairs slams against a wall and I hear Grizzly’s voice.
“Answer your damn phone, Clyde!”