6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
GRIFF
My back and shoulders are aching from the eight hours I already worked today, making major headway framing the second floor of the house so hopefully the guys can move on to plumbing and electrics in a week or so. I shift the length of pipe I have balanced on my shoulder and readjust my grip on my toolbox in my other hand. I haven’t done a ton of plumbing, but this shouldn’t be anything complicated. It’s just cutting and replacing the rusted-through pipe. The rest of the repairs to the ceiling, walls, and floor are all things I could do in my sleep.
The door swings open and the enthusiasm blasting from Ledger’s smile is almost a physical force, making me stagger back a step and avert my gaze. It’s like stepping out into a sunny day after you’ve been hiding in the dark with the blinds drawn tight for years. It’s too much to take all at once, but it makes something deep inside me ache a little, desperate for more.
“Is that a pipe in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Ledger waggles his eyebrows, and I frown, craning my neck to look at the length of pipe I’m holding.
“That’s my shoulder, not my pocket,” I say dryly.
“No shit. That joke really wouldn’t work though, since no one can put their dick over their shoulder.”
I snort and shift my weight, pointedly looking past him into the house.
“Oh, yeah, come on in.” He steps aside and holds the door open wide. “Teeps, no, shoo.” He makes a shooing motion that the raccoon ignores, choosing instead to scurry over and make herself a hazard by winding around my feet.
I try to step carefully to avoid her tail and end up stumbling.
“Shit,” I mutter, whirling as I find my footing and accidentally thrusting the back end of the pipe right into the wall. “Fuck, I’ll fix that.”
“It’s fine. You should see the holes this menace has chewed into the kitchen walls. Honestly, it’s probably good that this place is a fixer-upper, because I would weep openly if I’d bought a nice house just to have her eat through the drywall.” He chuckles and cards his fingers through his hair, his other hand stuffed into his pocket.
I drag my gaze over him slowly, realizing I haven’t really looked at him until now. I’ve seen him, obviously. I’ve glanced at and taken note of his biceps and his smile, but in more of an objective, detached way. This time I let my eyes linger for a few extra seconds on the outline of his nipples through his white tank top and the soft bulge in the well-worn denim of his jeans. I notice the light-colored stubble on his jaw and the plumpness of his lips as he runs his tongue along the bottom one to get it wet. That pit of hot, achy need in my gut ignites again and I swallow hard.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he says, yanking his hand out of his pocket and jumping forward to reach for my toolbox.
On instinct, I pull it back, immediately feeling like a dick when his face falls and he shoves both his hands back into his pockets this time.
“I got it.” I try to sound reassuring, but the words come out growly all the same.
Surprisingly, I swear I see a little flare of heat in Ledger’s eyes.
“No worries. I should know better than to touch a man’s tool without consent.” He smirks and tilts his head towards the living room. “Come on, I’m sure you’re itching to get started.”
I grunt in agreement and follow him. I didn’t think it was possible, but things look even worse than I remember. The parts of the ceiling that didn’t burst open are still bubbled and soggy, the floorboards are warped, creaking under our feet, and I don’t see any walls in this room that escaped at least some water damage. I blow out a breath. This is going to be a fucking project.
My back gives another twinge of protest. I’m going to have to get really friendly with my heating pad for the next month or so while I get this done. I’m probably past the age where I can add an extra three or four hours of work to my day and make it through unscathed, but I’m committed now, so I’ll make it work.
I glance at Ledger again, taking in the view from this angle—the sturdiness of his shoulders and the delicious curve of his ass testing the limits of his jeans. At least I’ve got a damn good incentive to put myself through this.
“So, where do we start?” Ledger rubs his hands together and looks up at the ceiling.
“We?” I arch an eyebrow.
“What, you thought I was going to just stand around and enjoy the view while you get all grunty and sweaty from hard work? Actually, hold on, if that’s still an option…”
Laughter rumbles in my chest, making my throat ache a little from the years of disuse of those muscles. He’s direct and confident and honestly funny as hell. I like that about him. It’s so much simpler than the games most people want to play, being coy and expecting you to guess what the fuck they’re thinking. He looks surprised by my laughter, and then a grin stretches across his face, even brighter than the smile he had on when he answered the door.
I look away again, diverting my attention to the ceiling where there’s no risk of getting burned if I accidentally let myself look too long. I clear my throat.
“No way. You offered, so I’m putting you to work.” I set the pipe down on the floor next to the tarped couch and put my toolbox next to it. “First things first, we need to rip down the rest of the ceiling, then I’ll cut and replace that rusted pipe. That should be a good start for tonight and I’ll be able to get your water turned back on.”
Ledger rubs his hands together and nods, a look of determination coming over his face. “Right. Let’s do this.”
I pop back out to my truck to grab a ladder while Ledger runs to his garage to do the same. When we meet back inside, I give him a mask, goggles, and an extra hard hat, and then I show him how do it. The ceiling is so damaged it doesn’t take much to pull it down in large chunks. I dismantle the light fixtures and use a handsaw to cut around the joists, and he follows behind me, using his hands to tear each chunk of waterlogged plasterboard down.
“This is actually kind of fun,” he says, gleefully ripping a piece down and flinging it to the floor with a flick of his wrist like he’s throwing a frisbee.
“Are you always this easily entertained?” I ask dryly.
“No, but there’s nothing good on TV these days,” he snarks back.
I growl another laugh.
“So, tell me about yourself, Griff,” he says while we work.
I grunt. What the hell does he want me to say? He knows where I live and that I work in construction, what else is there?
“What are you passionate about?”
The question catches me so off guard that I nearly lose my footing on the ladder. I frown behind my mask and grunt again. Passion? Christ, how long has it been since I’ve felt something in the ballpark of passion? Maybe it’s better if we just don’t talk. Would it be rude of me to run over and grab my smart speaker to bring back so we can just listen to music while we work instead?
“I get it,” he says, as if I answered his question rather than grunting and grumbling like a mute asshole. “Sometimes it’s hard enough to just get through the day, let alone find things to be passionate or excited about. I think it’s important though. We’re not worker bees, it’s not enough to just be busy and productive, we need things to make us happy too.”
I hum noncommittally and cut another segment for him to work on.
“All animals enjoy leisure activities, even birds.” He chatters away, undeterred by my lack of response. Maybe it’s not so bad, as long as he doesn’t expect me to have anything to contribute. “Did you know that ducks will find spots with small rapids and ride them like a roller coaster? When they get to the drop-off, they’ll fly back to the start and ride it all over again.” There’s something kind of soothing about the way Ledger’s able to carry on a one-sided conversation. I chuckle under my breath, imagining ducks riding on rough water like they’re at an amusement park for waterfowl. “Gulls will find inedible objects that they’ll carry high into the air, then drop and swoop to catch them before they hit the ground. And a lot of different species enjoy aerial acrobatics, flying upside down or in loops to amuse themselves.”
“You think I should take up white water rafting to spice up my life?” I tease in a deadpan voice.
Ledger chuckles. “Sure. If that’s what gets your blood pumping, I say go for it.”
“Mm,” I hum again. I don’t have the first damn clue what gets my blood pumping these days, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort to find some more fun and excitement in my life. I get to the last joist and glance over my shoulder at him. The fact that I’m here with the promise of things getting physical later has to count as a positive step in that direction, doesn’t it?
LEDGER
I wore my practically see-through tank top, blatantly flirted, and hit him with tons of excellent bird facts. If Griff isn’t seduced yet then I really don’t know what else to do. Maybe a few more bird facts just to be safe?
“Did you know that even though swans are well known for life-long, monogamous pair bonds that it’s not uncommon for black swans in particular to be polyamorous, either in a long-term throuple or with two bonded males welcoming in a different female each mating season to reproduce with?” I pull down the last chunk of ceiling and toss it onto the large pile I made. I really should have thought ahead and ordered a dumpster.
“Uh, no, I didn’t know that,” Griff says, climbing down from the ladder, pulling off his hard hat, and using his forearm to wipe some of the sweat off his forehead. He ends up with plaster dust streaked across his forehead and clinging to his hair. Would it be weird to run my fingers through it just to see if he’ll purr like a cat?
He puts his hat back on and I wipe my hands on my jeans and climb down from my ladder too.
“Alright, the good news is that the rest of the pipes look like they’re in decent shape still.”
I let out a relieved breath. I didn’t realize it, but I was definitely holding on to a worry in the back of my head that he was going to tell me they were all rusted through.
“Halle-fucking-lujah.” I make a prayer gesture with my hands.
“So all that’s left tonight is for me to cut out that section of rusted pipe and replace it. There isn’t anything for you to help with during this part, so feel free to have a seat and enjoy watching me sweat and grunt for a few minutes.” He winks, and I swear to god my knees wobble.
My bird facts totally worked. And oh my god, why is he so cute when he flirts? Alright, Ledgie, don’t hyperventilate, he’ll think you’re a total weirdo. If he thought I was joking about enjoying the show though, he can definitely guess again. While he rummages in his toolbox, I hurry into the kitchen to grab a chair, dragging it back into the living room and placing it a safe distance away from the work zone. I take off my mask and goggles and have a seat, spreading my legs and slouching comfortably with my arms crossed over my chest.
Griff arches an eyebrow at me, and I grin, putting one hand on the soft bulge of my cock and holding his gaze.
“You said I could enjoy the show.”
It’s so damn subtle, but his chest hitches and the briefest flash of heat floods his cheeks before he makes an almost-laugh sound in his throat and shakes his head. Fuck do I want to watch him let go. I want to make him feel so damn good that he forgets to be stoic and growly for just a few minutes and is breathless and whimpering instead. My cock swells and I bite my bottom lip against the groan that threatens to escape.
I probably shouldn’t distract him while he’s slicing through my pipes. This part of the process is stunningly quick. It only takes him a few minutes to replace the rusted section, then go down and turn my water back on. Kind of a shame I won’t have the excuse to shower at his house again. Maybe I’ll just have to get a little more creative to get another invite.
He packs his tools into the box and I notice him rolling his shoulder as he straightens back up. And here I was worried that I might have to find a subtle way to transition from handiwork to handy work. God really must love me.
“You can leave your toolbox here, unless you need to take it back to work with you,” I offer.
“This is my ‘at home’ toolbox actually, so that’ll be perfect not having to lug it back and forth.” He rolls his shoulder again and stuffs his hands awkwardly into his pockets.
I stand up and finally take off the hard hat, setting it down on the chair.
“After twelve hours of manual labor, why don’t you let me give you a back massage?” I soften my voice a little, adding a coaxing purr, just like I do any time I’m talking to a potentially skittish animal.
Griff grunts and his shoulders soften. He doesn’t move, so I cross the messy room. Up close, I can see the light sheen of sweat on his face and smell sawdust and pine on his skin. I pluck his goggles off, then his hard hat, and he sags a little more. Poor baby, how long has it been since anyone has just been sweet and gentle with him? How long since anyone has taken care of him?
“Come here, my big ol’ grizzly,” I coo, setting his gear down and dragging my fingers through his hair just like I imagined doing earlier.
His eyelids droop at the simple touch, and the sound that rumbles in his throat is deep and primal, stiffening my cock instantly and injecting heat directly into my veins.
“Come on, big guy.” I give him a few more scritches like the needy bear he is, then I untangle my fingers from his hair and grab his wrist to lead him to my bedroom.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“My bedroom. I figured you wouldn’t want to strip down and lay on top of a pile of moldy drywall for your massage.”
Another laugh thunders low in his throat. The sound makes something in my gut quake in response, and my cock stiffens a little more. When we get to my bedroom, I close the door behind us so TP doesn’t get curious and come to crash the party. We both toe off our shoes and leave them next to the door. There’s something so damn satisfying about seeing his work boots next to my hiking boots.
I inch closer to Griff again and he sways into me like his body craves any contact it can get. We’re about the same height, but he’s softer than I am and a little wider, all hairy, sexy bear that I’m desperate to pet and tease and hump. His chest moves against mine with every slow, trembling inhale, and for a minute we just stare at each other. His forest-green eyes are a mixture of neediness and sadness that I’m sure he thinks I can’t see.
I nudge my nose against his and gather a fistful of his shirt, tugging it loose from his jeans and pushing it up to expose his belly.
“Mmm,” I hum, slipping my hands underneath to feel the warmth of his skin and the softness of his body hair against my palms and fingers. His stomach tightens, then relaxes into my touch, a shudder running through him. “Aw, does my big bear like belly rubs?”
I smirk, using one thumb to circle his belly button in a slow, teasing touch while I drag the other hand up and down, petting him just like I wanted to. Griff’s breath hitches and, to my surprise, he nods. His belly quakes under my hands again and he thrusts his hips, pressing the hard length of his cock against mine through our jeans. His eyelids droop again and he makes a strangled sound in his throat, practically lunging at me to close the nonexistent space between us. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, and I keep stroking his belly soothingly. I wanted to strip away his stoic outer layer, but I didn’t expect a five-second belly rub to be all it would take. My poor bear needs me even more than I realized.
It’s okay, Big Bear, Ledgie will make it all better.
I kiss his cheek and give him a little nudge. He stiffens and pulls back.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Don’t you dare apologize.” I hold his gaze for a second so he knows I mean it. “I just wanted to get these clothes off of you so I can give you that massage I promised. I think you’ve earned a nice, leisurely rub down. Don’t you?” I stroke my fingers through his soft beard, and he lets out another slow, shuddering breath.
I tug his shirt up again, this time not stopping until he has to raise his arms so I can pull it over his head. I drop it on the floor and devour his hairy chest with my greedy eyes before going for his belt. Not to brag or anything, but I’m pretty efficient at getting a gorgeous man naked.
“Okay if I take these off too?” I ask, running my index finger along his skin just above the waistband of his boxer briefs. They’re plain white, the kind that come in a six pack at any big box store. Is this what you like, Griff, or are you waiting for someone else to help you inject a little color into your life?
He grunts and nods, helping me by hooking his fingers into the waistband and shoving them down. And, lord help me, this man’s cock is everything I was hoping for and more. I might need several moments of silence to fully appreciate the perfect proportions of his thickness and length. It’s the very definition of a boyfriend dick, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. It’s the kind of cock I could happily ride every day. His balls are big and full, hanging heavily between his thighs, swaying as he shifts his weight, and I realize I’ve been staring at his junk for maybe a little too long.
“Lay down.” I smile and nod towards my bed behind him.
I don’t bother to suppress my satisfied sigh as I watch him crawl onto my bed and make himself comfortable with his face in my pillow and his glorious, round ass on display. I strip out of my own shirt and jeans, tossing them into my hamper, then grab the lube I stole from him off of the top of my dresser and a bottle of lotion for his massage.
The bed dips and creaks under my weight as I climb on and crawl up to straddle his ass. We both groan as I settle on top of him, my hard cock straining the soft fabric of my colorful briefs—these ones featuring an array of cute cartoon parakeets—and nudging between his warm ass cheeks.
“Nothing to worry about. This is how all the most professional massages are done,” I say in a serious voice, grinding into the crease between his cheeks.
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan and thrusts his hips back to meet me. My cock throbs, but I ignore it for now. I promised him a massage and I never break a promise. I drop the lube on the bed and fill my palm with lotion, rubbing my hands together to warm it up a little before I place them on his back.
He groans again and arches up into my touch instantly. I press into him, finding the knots deep in his muscles easily and focusing on them. He relaxes under me, melting into the bed with muffled grunts and groans as I work each knot one by one.
“Can I tell you a secret, Griff?” I ask as I lean into a particularly stubborn knot and use both thumbs to loosen it.
He grunts in a way I’m starting to learn means ‘sure.’ I’ll be fluent in Griff Bear in no time.
“I jerked off in your shower this morning using your lube.”
He makes a horny sound and thrusts his ass against my aching cock again.
“I’m glad you’re not mad. I was worried it might have been an impolite thing to do, but I just got so horny thinking about getting my hands on you tonight that I couldn’t help myself.”
Griff groans again and I work my way a little lower, focusing on the tension in his lower back. For a minute or two the only sounds he makes are reactions to the massage, but then he whispers one quiet word I almost don’t hear.
“Why?”
“Why what, big bear?” I grind my palms in a little deeper to drag a few more happy rumbles from him.
“Never mind,” he mumbles.
“Why did thinking about having you naked in my bed make my dick hard?” I tease, climbing off him once I’m satisfied that he’s nice and relaxed, then nudging him to roll over onto his back. “Hmm, mystery of the ages, I guess.”
He groans a laugh as he rolls over, his hard cock slapping against his belly with a glistening strand of precum clinging to his cockhead. I reach for the lube and climb on top of him again. This time my still-clothed cock nudges against his.
Griff hooks his fingers into the elastic band of my briefs and tugs on them with a wordless demand and another grunt. His eyes are trained on mine, full of heat and intensity. Why is he so fucking sexy? This man could do nothing but growl and grunt and I swear I would hand him the deed to this shitty house and anything else he wants.
I shove my briefs down and my cock springs free. It’s just a little shorter than his, a little thicker, with a slight upward curve to the head. He reaches for it, and I playfully slap his hand away.
“I’m not finished with your massage, sir,” I huff, grabbing the lotion again and filling my palm a second time. I lean forward, and the angle has our cocks nudging against each other. I dig my fingers into the still-tight muscles of his neck and shoulders from this new position, rocking my hips slowly.
Griff’s eyes drift closed and his mouth goes slack, a happy rumbly sound falling from his lips as I rub him and touch him, the heads of our cocks bumping with every forward thrust, our shafts dragging against each other. It’s just a tease really, nowhere near enough friction to get either of us off. That doesn’t stop him from trembling underneath me though, precum drooling from his cock to pool on his belly with every roll of my hips.
“This is what you need, isn’t it?” I purr. “You just need to be touched and rubbed and taken care of.”
Griff whimpers, and holy mother of dragons, it’s even better than I imagined. My cock jerks with an aching throb, spilling precum onto his shaft. I rock against him again, our balls bouncing together. My lotion-slicked hands glide easily over his chest and shoulders, our mouths hovering close to each other.
I move my hands lower, over his chest and down to his belly again. I’m not even really massaging him anymore, just petting him, mesmerized by the way his whole body twitches and arches into every little touch, his hands fisting the sheets like he’s not sure whether he should touch me back or not. I thrust faster, watching the hitch of his chest and the rosy color rising in his cheeks, enjoying the flutter of his eyelids and the slackness of his mouth hanging open to let out quiet grunts and groans.
“Ledge,” he gasps, finally letting go of the sheets and digging his fingers into my thighs.
I reach for his cock, and as soon as I wrap my lotion-slicked fingers around his shaft, he jackknifes off the bed with a roar, thick spurts of cum erupting from him, oozing over my knuckles. My cock pulses sympathetically and I tighten my grip, cooing and praising him, still petting his belly with my other hand as I stroke him through his orgasm. The throb of his pleasure reverberating through my hand makes my balls tighten and my skin burn. My hips snap involuntarily, the head of my cock still bumping against his, catching the hot, thick spurts of cum that flood out of his cock like he hasn’t come in ages.
“Fuck,” he pants, sagging into the bed once his cock stops twitching. “Sorry.”
“You have to stop apologizing, big bear.” I smile, wrapping my cum-drenched hand around my own cock.
He grunts, his eyes focusing on my hand on my cock, and he reaches for me, wrapping his hand around mine. Holy hell, why is that hotter than him just jerking me off himself? His big, warm hand covers mine and he holds my gaze as we move together, my breath speeding up and my balls tightening as I stroke myself in earnest, fast and desperate.
Without warning, Griff pushes up onto his elbow and his mouth collides with mine in a hot, wet, tongueless kiss. I whimper into the cavern of his mouth as our lips move together, my hips snapping wildly and my thighs quaking. He growls and bites down on my bottom lip and I’m done for. Heat explodes through me. My toes curl and my cock stiffens even more before it starts to pulse in long, slow, heady throbs that make me moan against his lips and hump into our combined grip as I unload rope after rope of cum onto his belly.
Griff kisses me and kisses me, making sweet little grunting noises until my balls are drained and I can’t hold myself up a second longer. I collapse next to him with a sated smile.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” I ask, still breathless.
He grunts and arches an eyebrow at me, and I chuckle.
“I figured I’d order something. You can stay and we can hang out.” I shrug, trying to sound casual.
He makes another noise in his throat, staring into the middle distance for an insanely long second before shaking his head.
“Thanks, but I should… get home.”
“Oh.” Don’t pout. Don’t pout. Don’t pout. “Of course. But you’ll be back tomorrow?” That doesn’t sound desperate, does it?
“Yeah.” He sits up and I force myself not to move, not to throw myself at him and offer him another long massage. I watch as he grabs a shirt out of my hamper to wipe my cum off his belly then gets dressed in silence.
He slips on his boots then lingers by my bedroom door, like maybe part of him doesn’t want to rush right out either? It’s okay, big bear, I can play the long game. I have a surprising amount of patience.
“Okay. Well, thanks again and good night.” I smile so he knows there’s no hard feelings, and he nods.
“Night.”