Chapter 26 #3
He stumbles, half laughing, half cursing me.
I bend him over the desk, slapping his ass for good measure.
From that angle, he can see what I’ve got on my laptop—baby gear.
It’s fun to imagine what he might be thinking, and he’s gonna have to wonder until I’m done with him.
I snap it closed and set it to the side.
Dirk sticks his ass up for me, using it to beg.
I slap it again. Kinda have a thing for making sure his ass is red before he leaves me.
He whimpers, arching his back, clawing the worn wood.
I lean over top of him, pinning him down with my chest against his back, my covered cock pressing into the thin cotton of his boxers.
“You tryna be in charge? Barging in here, stripping, being a fucking tease?” I growl.
“How was that teasing, Trav? I think I was making a pretty clear statement—” I don’t hear the rest of that sentence. His breath catches in his throat when I tug at his roots. He swallows. “I’m so not in charge, Trav. You. It’s always you.”
“That’s a good boy.”
He shudders, and I let up on him, but only so my hand can roam over his perfect torso, taking my time, knowing that if he came in here as horny as he did, he’s slowly losing his mind. Dirk moans.
“Stay.” I reach into my drawer for lube and pull down his boxers only enough to coat the crack of his ass, doing my own version of teasing with two fingers in to the first knuckle. He pounds the desk with his fist. “You need it that bad, huh?”
“Yeah … yes.”
I toy with him, dragging my fingers deeper until he’s stretching around them. I press and fuck him with them as he keens back, already panting. I can’t drag this out today. I want him just as badly. I unzip my jeans and slide right in, his body giving way for my already leaking cock.
After that, it’s not pretty. Or maybe it is if violence is your thing.
It’s definitely ours. The desk shakes, rocking underneath us.
His hands white-knuckle the edge for as long as they can, but at some point, he can’t hang on any longer.
I bite and nip his skin, sucking bruises over that perfect, perfect torso, ruining it. Fucking terrorizing it.
He begs for more, whimpering my name, his moans unravelling me. I don’t let up, pounding him, wrenching every ounce of pleasure from him, owning all of him, branding myself to his fucking insides.
“I can’t hold back anymore,” he rasps.
“Then come, baby.”
I’m not far behind him, filling him up, loving when my cum’s leaking down his thighs. I spin him around, giving him another kiss.
“Hi.” I’m still panting. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t have that smoke I was craving.
He laughs. “Hi.”
I kick my jeans the rest of the way off and tug him over to where my chair is behind the desk.
My cock’s still got a little life in it, enough to have him sit on it facing me while I memorize those pretty eyes of his for the thousandth time.
That means he’s got to lose the boxers. I happily tear them off him, sitting, pointing to my cock.
Shaking his head, he sits himself, sliding down my cock till his ass meets my thighs.
He pushes the hair off my face. “Wanna be closer to me?”
“Yep. Tell me about your day.”
“Fucking sucked. Gutters. Why do gutters get so fucking clogged?”
“He’s teaching you life skills.”
“Funny, I’ve never seen Dash clean a gutter a day in his life.” He taps his chin with his finger, pretending to think.
“I tried … once. Stacey insisted that he do it.”
“And you let that stand?”
“Wasn’t a battle worth fighting.” I shrug.
“Next question, was that baby shit I saw on your computer? Something you wanna tell me, Trav?”
How do I tell him? How do I express what came over me during that conversation?
“Stacey and Dash taunted me with grandfatherhood—I can’t stop thinking about it. It would be a great do-over.”
“Still wish you could go back in time and change things, huh?”
I rub a hand over my chest, massaging away the pain inside. Dirk’s hand joins in. “There’s still a little space here—you should get another tattoo.”
I’d been saving that spot. It’s right over my heart—something important should go there.
“You want your name there, pretty boy?”
“I want my name on your dick, Trav—I’m that level crazy. I was thinking something for Dashie here.”
I already have Dash’s birthday inked on my forearm, but I haven’t gotten anything to commemorate us being a family again. That’s a long time coming.
“I know you feel like you don’t deserve it, which is why it would be good for you and Dash.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn perceptive for your own good?”
He smirks. “And then maybe, just maybe, you’ll lay the Robin thing to rest?”
I reach out to smooth my thumb over his cheek. He’s been clear that it bothers him, but I don’t think I realized how much until just right now.
“Can’t be Grampa Nolan in jail,” I say instead of naming all the things in his eyes, breaking my heart.
Those words mend everything, because he knows what they mean. “Good. Can I help you pick out onesies, Grampa Nolan?” he teases.
“You’d have to get off my cock first.”
He sighs, resting his head on the crook of my shoulder. “Later then. I’m staying right here.”
Alittle over a week passes, and the summer that was the equivalent of a chokehold settles into something manageable.
There are family barbeques, Meyer family street hockey games, and nights where they go out, but meet back at The Wicklow to end the night.
They’ve always done that, like it’s some sort of home base.
This place has seen it all. The night Jack and Casey climbed on the bar and belted Bohemian Rhapsody until Mercy shut the power off.
Dash falling asleep against Stacey, Dirk watching me from the bar, pretending that he’s not watching me.
Dash stumbling over the threshold behind Dirk and Hunter, the night he found his way back from Robin’s basement, his hand covered in his own blood.
This place knows all our secrets.
Someday, the walls will echo with their ghosts, and yeah, that’s morbid, but I like that thought. As if we’ve all imprinted here.
I took action on the tattoo, but it needs a couple of appointments. Gonna have to keep it from Dash until it’s done, or forever. Not that Dirk would let me get away with that. Fuck. Why did I do this? Dash will hate it. He’ll be embarrassed every time he looks at it.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I head out to the restaurant to see if anyone needs my help during the rush.
I’m not surprised to see that Stacey’s up from his spot at the bar—where he’s been a barnacle during Dash’s shifts—and is helping servers like the pro he is.
Guess I’m not really needed, but I hang back, near the bar, in case they need me to jump back there. Dash is on the floor today.
Man, isn’t he hot in all that flannel? At least roll up your sleeves, kid.
Stacey and I are dressed similarly, in our own black and red checkered shirts, but we’ve got the sleeves rolled up, and they’re open to the thin tanks we’ve got on underneath.
That way, we air out some. Is he cold? Sure, it’s raining today, but it’s been warm.
The air conditioning’s cranked up … but he’s been running around. Is he coming down with something?
Get a grip, Nolan.
I’m being a worrywart dad, aren’t I? But something about the picture of him’s off. Makes me wanna scoop him up and drag him up to the apartment where I know I can keep him safe—just like in the beginning.
I huff out an exhale, pulling out my phone to check my last message from Maxwell, so that I can remind myself not to be controlling the way he is.
He hasn’t been in, and his texts have finally slowed to the occasional meme.
The last one is of two faux skeleton Halloween decorations with the caption, “when you find someone who is just as dead inside as you are”.
When I got it, I … chuckled. Yeah. Didn’t like that. I don’t want to find the shit he sends me funny. It implies we have the same sense of humor.
Still, Maxwell Elkington sending memes. So normal. Normal seeming. Maxwell is far from normal.
But I’ll admit I got curious as to whether things worked out with him and Eddie—not curious enough to text him. If I do that, it’ll encourage the idea that we’re besties. Instead of replying, I open the chat between Dirk and me.
Dirk
Good news! Hunter said UBC was okay. Means I don’t have to move somewhere.
Is that good news? I don’t wanna see him giving up hockey to make his brother happy, but he’s an adult and my partner. I’m not gonna force him into doing what I think is best for him.
Even if what I think is best is clearly the right fucking answer.
Okay, so the darker part of me wishes I could make him, but I’m not sure I can watch him give up hockey when I know he doesn’t want to.
Me
If you wanted to go to school out east, I’d move with you, baby. Just putting that out there.
The restaurant can run itself now. I’d have to return to check on things, but not so often that it would take me away from him more than necessary.
I look up from my phone just in time to see Bryce collide with Dash, and a whole tray of wine takes flight.
It’s not even an exciting tumble of glasses; they tip over like bowling pins, drenching the pair of them just before the ear-splitting crash.
Shards skitter across the wooden floors, and Wicklow guests snap their heads in the direction of the calamity.
It’s quiet for exactly three seconds, all I can hear is the drag of air in and out of my lungs, then the bussers descend with brooms, a mop, and a “wet floor” sign.
The restaurant moves on as the staff power cleans.
Maverick, the guy hanging around here like a bad smell, appears out of nowhere, his shirt already coming off.
“If I find out that was because your floors were slippery, Nolan,” he threatens on the way by.
It’s a restaurant, the floors are always slippery.