8. Mason
Mason
“Oh, hell, he’s here!” I chuckle to myself, a big smile on my face.
I listen to the soft crunch of tires on gravel and glance at the clock above the mantel.
Right on time.
My pulse kicks up a notch as I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head for the front door. The cabin smells like slow-simmered beef bourguignon, garlic, and fresh rosemary—nothing fancy, but hearty and made with care.
I want tonight to feel like home for my boy, and getting this meal right is a big part of setting the tone.
I pull the heavy wooden door open just as Luke steps onto the porch.
Fuck. He looks absolutely edible.
A soft pale blue sweater hugs his shoulders and upper body, the neckline dipping just enough to tease the definition in his pecs.
And then the boy’s jean shorts show off those strong, toned legs I’ve been watching in the gym, and his white Converse hi-tops give the boy that perfect playful Little energy.
Luke’s hair is shiny as ever, and he’s carrying a small canvas bag with what looks like a bottle of wine peeking out.
“Hi,” he says, smiling up at me with those big eyes that always seem to see straight through my gruff exterior.
“Hey, little one.” I don’t waste a second. I cup Luke’s face with both hands and kiss him—slow, sweet, savoring the way he melts into me right there on the porch. He tastes like mint and cherry lip balm.
When I pull back, the boy’s cheeks are already flushed.
“Something smells amazing,” Luke murmurs, stepping inside as I hold the door wide.
“You or the food?” I tease, closing the door behind him and sliding the deadbolt. “Come on. the kitchen is this way.”
The vibe is easy from the start.
I’ve got Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue spinning low on the record player in the living room, the warm crackle of vinyl filling the cabin. Luke’s eyes light up the second he hears it too…
“So What,” Luke says, tilting his head as the opening track drifts in. “Classic. I love this album. My dad used to play it on Sunday mornings when I was young.”
I raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “Didn’t peg you for a jazz boy.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, mountain man,” Luke shoots back with a sassy little grin, bumping his hip against mine as we move into the kitchen.
We fall into a rhythm like we’ve been doing this for years. I stir the bourguignon while he chops parsley for garnish and steals tastes of everything.
When Luke dips two fingers into the hot sauce I’m reducing for the side dish—one time, then again and again—I finally grab the big wooden spoon from the counter.
“Third time’s the charm, huh?” I growl playfully, landing two firm swats on his jean-clad ass.
Thwack. Thwack.
Luke yelps, then giggles, spinning around with mock outrage.
“Hey! I was quality testing!” Luke protests, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Quality testing with your fingers in my sauce again and you’ll be eating standing up tonight,” I warn, but I’m grinning.
I love this side of Luke—playful, bratty, trusting me enough to push back.
We plate up generous servings, pour the wine he brought, and carry everything to the heavy oak table by the big window overlooking the lake. The sun is setting, painting the water in oranges and pinks.
Luke moans around his first bite and I feel stupidly proud.
“This is incredible,” Luke says between bites. “You cook like this on the rig?”
I chuckle. “Not even close. Out there it’s mostly reheated shit and whatever the mess hall slops together. This… this is home cooking. This is how my mother used to make it. Damn. Those were the days.”
“Family is important to both of us, I can tell,” Luke says, our bond deepening by the moment.
Conversation flows naturally. The boy asks about my work, and I lean back in my chair, beer in hand now that the wine’s mostly gone.
“It pays well,” I tell him honestly. “The danger pay, the overtime, the isolation bonus… I’ve built up a solid nest egg these last ten years.
Enough that when I finally quit, I won’t have to worry about money for a long time.
But the downside…” I meet his eyes. “Months away at a stretch. No real signal. Coming home exhausted and half-feral sometimes. It’s not a life I’d want to drag someone else into long-term. ”
I watch Luke’s face carefully.
I can see it—the flicker of worry he tries to hide.
It’s been on the boy’s mind. Of course it has.
“If there was a way I could walk away from the rig tomorrow, Luke, I would,” I say quietly. “In a heartbeat. Especially now that… you know.”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’ll think of something. We both will. You’re too good at taking care of people to be stuck out there forever.”
Luke’s words settle warm in my chest. We move on to his job. He tells me about his year in finance in the city: long hours, cutthroat colleagues, soul-crushing pressure. The way he describes it, I can see how much it broke something in him.
“You can’t stay in retail forever though, little one,” I say gently when he finishes. “You’re smart. Driven. You need something that challenges you. Something that lights you up the way training does.”
He bristles for a second, fork pausing mid-air. “I’m happy where I am. The jobs are easy. The people are nice. No stress.”
I give Luke a steady look. “You’re settling. And you know it.”
Luke huffs, but after a moment his shoulders drop.
“You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just…
after that finance year, I swore I’d never put myself through that kind of pressure again.
And then there was Patrick…” he trails off, poking at his food.
“He was part of that world. And he made everything worse.”
The name Patrick hits me like a gut punch.
Jealousy flares hot and ugly in my chest—some city asshole who had Luke, hurt him, made the boy doubt himself. I want to hunt this piece of crap down and make sure he never comes near Luke again. But I push it down, keep my voice calm.
“He’s not here anymore,” I say, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “And you’re stronger than whatever he tried to break.”
Luke gives me a grateful little smile, and the conversation softens again.
We finish dinner, clear the plates together, and settle on the big leather couch in front of the stone fireplace. I light a fresh fire while he picks Last Action Hero from my DVD collection, giggling at my collection of 90s action flicks.
We don’t make it far into the movie.
Halfway through, he’s curled against my chest, and the chemistry that’s been simmering all night finally boils over. One kiss turns into another, deeper, hungrier. His hands slide under my shirt, tracing my abs. I pull him into my lap, gripping his ass as he grinds against me.
“Mason…” Luke breathes.
I stand, lifting Luke easily, and carry him down onto the thick rug in front of the roaring fire. Clothes come off in a rush… his sweater, my flannel, his shorts, my jeans.
I stretch out on my back and pull him over me, reversing him so his cock and balls hover above my face.
“Sit,” I command.
He lowers himself with a whimper as I bury my tongue inside the boy’s tight, salty ass hole. At the same time he takes my cock into his mouth, hot and eager, sucking me deep while I devour him. We fall into a perfect, filthy rhythm… 69 on the rug, firelight dancing over our skin.
I grip his hips, licking and sucking his ass and cock in turn while he bobs his mouth on my cock, moaning around me. The vibrations drive me crazy as he works his mouth and tongue to perfection.
Luke cums first, thighs shaking around my head, flooding my tongue with his seed. I follow right after, growling against his ass as I spill down his throat. Luke of course swallows every drop like the good boy he is.
We collapse, panting, sweaty, and laughing softly.
I pull him up into my arms, kissing him deeply, tasting both of us on his tongue.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur.
“Naaaw, you are,” Luke replies, smiling like the cat who got the cream.
I carry Luke upstairs to my big king bed, tucking him under the covers before sliding in beside him. Luke curls into my chest immediately, one leg thrown over mine, his head tucked under my chin. I stroke his hair, listening to the fire crackling downstairs and his breathing slow into sleep.
This feels right. Scarily right in fact.
Four weeks suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.
But for tonight, he’s here. In my bed. In my arms.
And I’m already thinking about what it would take to make this permanent.
* * *
Morning light filters through the big bedroom window, soft and golden, painting Luke’s bare shoulder in warm tones. He’s still curled against me, one leg thrown over mine, his breathing slow and even.
I lie there for a long minute just watching the boy sleep—dark lashes against his cheeks, lips slightly parted, that peaceful Little expression that makes something fierce and protective tighten in my chest. My cock is already half-hard from the feel of his soft body pressed to mine, but I don’t move. Not yet…
I want to memorize this moment.
Eventually Luke’s eyes flutter open. He blinks up at me, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. “Morning, Daddy.”
Fuck.
That word in his husky morning voice goes straight to my dick.
“Morning, little one.” I lean down and kiss him slow and deep, tasting sleep and last night’s memories. When we finally break apart, he stretches like a cat, pressing his back against my chest and wiggling his ass against my thigh.
“We should probably get up,” the boy murmurs, even as his hand slides down my stomach.
“Or we could stay right here,” I counter, rolling him under me.
He laughs, bright and playful, and squirms free. “As tempting as that is, I smell coffee. And I want to see this famous cabin of yours in daylight.”
I groan but let him drag me out of bed. We both pull on pajamas—me in grey flannel shorts and a faded black t-shirt, him in one of my old flannel shirts that swamps his frame and hits mid-thigh in a way that just does it for me.
Barefoot, hair messy, we head downstairs.
The morning is too perfect to waste inside. After quick coffees, I nod toward the back door. “Come on. I’ve got some gear out back. Impromptu workout.”
Luke’s eyes light up. “Outside? In our pajamas?”
“Best way to do it,” I chuckle.
I lead Luke out onto the grassy clearing behind the cabin that slopes gently down toward the lake.
The air is crisp, birds singing, sunlight dappling through the pines.
My homemade outdoor gym setup is simple but solid: a heavy-duty bench press I welded myself, a rack of dumbbells, resistance bands hanging from a sturdy tree branch, and a pull-up bar between two thick posts.
“This is awesome,” Luke says, running his fingers over the bench. “You really built all this?”
“Most of it.” I pat the bench. “We’re checking for imbalances today. Sometimes people favor one side without realizing. Bench press, then some single-arm dumbbell work. Hop on.”
Luke lies back on the bench in my flannel shirt, the hem riding up his thighs. I load the bar light to start and spot him. He presses smoothly, both sides even and strong. We go up in weight. Still perfect symmetry.
“Damn, little one,” I grunt, impressed. “You really do have two strong sides.”
Luke finishes his set with a proud little grin, sitting up flushed and glowing. “Told you I’m serious about training.”
I chuckle and move us over to the dumbbells for single-arm presses.
Again, flawless balance.
Watching Luke work… muscles flexing, my shirt slipping off one shoulder, that competitive sparkle in his eyes… it has me rock hard in my pajama shorts.
After his last rep Luke sets the dumbbells down and turns to me with a mischievous glint. Before I can say anything he drops to his knees right there on the soft grass, hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts, and tugs them down.
My cock springs free, thick and aching.
“Luke—” I start, my voice rough in that way it is in the mornings.
“Shh. You helped me train. Now I’m helping you.” He wraps both hands around my shaft and strokes firmly from base to tip, twisting lightly at the head just the way I like. Luke’s eyes stay locked on mine, full of heat and playfulness. “Two strong sides, remember?”
I groan, threading my fingers through his messy hair as he works me with perfect pressure: long, steady strokes, thumb swirling over the sensitive underside.
The morning sun warms my bare ass, the lake laps gently in the distance, and this beautiful, filthy boy is jerking me off on my own lawn like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Fuck, boy… just like that,” I say, my heart thumping in my chest.
Luke speeds up, one hand dropping to cup and massage my balls while the other pumps my cock faster. His tongue darts out to lick the precum beading at the tip and I curse, hips jerking.
“Cum for me, Daddy,” he whispers, squeezing just right. “I want to see it.”
The words, the boy’s hands, the wicked little smile—he pushes me over the edge hard. I growl his name as thick ropes of cum spill over his fingers and onto the grass. Luke keeps stroking me through it, milking every last drop until my legs feel shaky.
When I finally catch my breath I pull him up and kiss him filthy and deep, tasting myself on his tongue.
“You’re trouble,” I mutter against his lips. “I’ll pay you back later. With interest.”
He giggles, cheeks pink. “Promise?”
“You can count on it,” I laugh.
We head back inside, clean up quickly, and get ready for the day. Luke borrows my shower while I make breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast with that good local jam. He emerges looking fresh and adorable in his clothes from last night, hair damp.
“I’ve got the afternoon off,” he tells me over breakfast, stealing a piece of bacon from my plate. “Playdate with Taron and Milo at Milo’s place. Stuffies, coloring, probably way too much sugar.”
I chuckle, reaching over to wipe a crumb from Luke’s lip with my thumb. “Behave yourself, little one. I’ve heard all about how you three get when you’re together.”
He bats his lashes innocently. “We’re always angels.”
“Sure you are.” I pull him onto my lap for one more kiss before he has to leave. “Text me when you’re done. Maybe I’ll come pick you up.”
He nods, then hesitates, searching my face. “I had a really good time last night. And this morning.”
“Me too,” I say, voice low. “Best I’ve had in years.”
As Luke drives off a little while later, waving from his car, that familiar pang hits me square in the chest.
The clock is ticking.
Three and a half weeks until I’m back on that goddamn helicopter heading out to the rig for another four months. The thought of leaving Luke—of not waking up next to him, not spotting him on the bench, not hearing him call me Daddy—sits like lead in my gut.
I want this life.
I want Luke in my cabin.
I need mornings like this every day. Not stolen weeks between brutal rotations.
I head back inside, clean up the kitchen, and stare out the window at the lake. I’ve got to figure something out.
For Luke.
For me.
And for us.