Chapter 18Stiles
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
STILES
Rod Stewart’s voice blares from the wireless speaker on the kitchen counter, startling the shit out of me when it breaks the silence, and possibly the sound barrier. I choke on the sip of hot coffee in my mouth, burning my tongue and throat. A coughing fit ensues as I try to make out the words of the song. I needn’t bother, McCormick dances into the living room, singing the words. He’s naked, his soft, but enormous cock bouncing with every swish of his ass.
“If you want my body…” he sings, rubbing his pale pink nipples. His come-fuck-me eyes are trained on me. “…think I’m sexy…”
He shakes his head, probably forgetting that his ridiculous mullet is gone and he has no more hair to swish. McCormick turns, shaking his ass, and glancing at me over his shoulder with bedroom eyes. “…let me know.”
I can’t hold myself together as I reach for the speaker, desperately trying to shut it off and laughing. “The fuck are you doing?”
“I’m buying a house today.” He shimmies over to the counter. “With you.”
“We’re going to look at a house, not buy it.”
He rolls his bright blue eyes toward the ceiling. “We already know we’re going to love it. And we’re putting in an offer immediately.”
“Go put some fucking clothes on, you fool.”
“A fool for you.” He wets the tip of his finger with his tongue, and then circles his nipples, lips puckered in what he probably thinks is a seductive expression but just makes me want to crack up again.
“I hope you never have to find work as a dancer. You suck at it.”
Moving from behind the counter, he stands in the entryway to the kitchen. “I got something you can suck,” he says, grabbing his fat cock.
I’m dying to stuff it in my mouth, to suck on it until I draw out a taste of his seed, and he grows hard between my lips.
“Is that how you want to start your day? With me on my knees?”
His eyes flare. “Hell yeah.” I guess he thought I was playing. “But we don’t have time. We have to meet Cindy in thirty minutes.”
“Later then. When we’re celebrating our new house.”
“Shit.” He palms his rapidly thickening cock. “You’re a fucking tease.”
Me? Ha! “You’re the one that danced out here, naked, wiggling your ass, and shoving your cock in my face.”
“Well, I guess I learned my lesson.” He sounds grumpy, and he’s still stroking himself as he heads off to the shower. Most likely he’s gonna jack off.
Cindy is waiting for us out front of Pigeonhole when we pull up.
“This is it,” Mac says excitedly. “Are you ready?”
“Let’s go buy a house.” I offer my hand across the console and he squeezes it.
We follow Cindy through the front door, and the first thing that hits me is the odor. The air is stale like the house has been closed up for a while.
Cindy’s delicate nose wrinkles. “It smells like… hotdogs?”
“Hell yeah,” Mac grins. “That's a good sign.” He smacks my chest. “Smell that, Stiles? It smells like home.”
Chuckling, I follow him through the front hall to the living room. It’s not terrible, but it’s not great either. The wood floors aren’t in bad shape, but the walls are covered in brown wood paneling that needs to be painted. The ceiling fan went out of style three decades ago, and pink ruffled curtains cover the window.
“Nothing a little paint can’t fix,” McCormick observes, sounding positive. “Show us the kitchen.”
It’s not much better. The pinewood cabinets have turned an orange hue. I’ll have to sand and refinish them. Other than that, the linoleum floor is in decent shape and the light fixture is modern enough to keep.
There are three bedrooms, and the largest one, just off the living room, is painted lavender, with a floral wallpaper border running the perimeter of the room.
“Hell, no,” Mac complains, shaking his head. “This is the first room that’s getting painted.”
The bathroom has a separate tub and shower and double sinks, so I’m happy with it.
The second and third bedrooms are fine—plain white walls and wood floors—so nothing needs to be done there. The bedrooms share a bathroom in the hall that also looks to be in good condition. But the cherry on top of the sundae is the backyard.
“Stiles, do you see what I see?”
“Barbecues and sexy hot tubs?”
“Yeah, and a lot of land to impress people that don’t come over.”
“A full acre.” Plenty for us. After all, one of us has to mow it. “It's perfect.”
“We’ll take it,” McCormick says to Cindy. “We’re ready to make an offer right now.”
She smiles like she just won the lottery. “Perfect. I have the paperwork in my car. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t even see it coming. As soon as the door shuts behind Cindy, Mac spins me around, grabs my ass, and plants his lips on mine in a crushing kiss. It goes on and on as I struggle to breathe through my nose and keep up with his insistent tongue. I know how excited he is. I can feel it and see it and hear it in everything he says and does.
Hell, I’m excited too. I don’t think either of us ever thought we would get here. That we would ever see the day when we would settle down and buy a home and become family men. I mean, we don’t have kids or anything, or even a dog, but we’re family. We’re going to build a life together in this house. It’s more than we ever dreamed of.
I feel like my heart is gonna jump right out of my fucking chest. He’s grinning so wide, and all I can see is his blinding white teeth.
Laying my hand over Mac’s heart, I can feel it beating hard against my palm. There are so many things I want to say. Most of all, I love you. But for some reason, the words stick in my throat. Instead, all that comes out is, “I'm excited too. I can’t wait to show everyone our new place.” Fucking lame, Stiles.
But Mac doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already onto the next thing, dreaming big, and making plans. He points to the corner of the yard. “Back there, we can put a CHU for the lawn mower and tools. Maybe part of it can be a workshop.”
“No. Fuck no! You’ll have this place looking like a goddamn FOB in no time. We’re done with Army shit. This is our home. We’ll get a proper shed. No metal shipping containers.”
Mac looks guilty. “You’re right. Sorry, I got carried away.”
“I’ll say. Next thing you know, you’ll have a big voice loudspeaker mounted to a telephone pole out there and an ammo shed.”
His eyes light up, and I bite my tongue.
“I kind of want an ammo shed though,” Mac admits.
“Yeah, me too. West and Brandt have one. But they have the survival camp, so they have a good reason.”
“Fuck that, I have a good reason,” Mac insists. “It’s fucking cool. That’s my reason.”
I have to agree with him. “That’s a good enough reason.”
McCormick is on a roll. “And, of course, we’re putting a flag out front.”
“Of course.”
“We gonna get rocking chairs for the front porch?”
I love him. Why I can’t say it, I don’t fucking know, but I love him. “Hell yeah. Side-by-side.” I kiss him again, just a quick peck before we hear Cindy close the front door behind her and we pull apart.
“I’ve got your papers,” Cindy says happily. We follow her to the kitchen and lay the paperwork out on the counter while she runs through it, explaining the offer. “I just need you to sign here,” she says to me, “and here for you, Mr. McCormick.”
Reading over the fine print one last time, I sign with a flourish, Bertrand Stiles.
McCormick glances over my arm and squints at the paper. “Your name is Bertrand?”
“Yeah.” I fucking hate my name. Who in this century is named Bertrand? “It’s an old family name from my mother's side and she hung it on me.” My mother always called me Bert, but I’ve been Stiles for so long that the name doesn’t feel familiar to me any longer.
Then it hits me. I don’t know his first name either. He’s always just been… McCormick or Mac. That’s what happens in the Army, you become your last name because it’s printed on your uniform. I glance at his paperwork, trying to make out his shitty handwriting.
“Ernest? I didn’t know that.” I glance over his face, trying to convince myself he’s an Ernest, but he sure as hell don’t look like one. He looks like… Like Mac. Like a McCormick.
“I dare you to tell anyone.”
He won’t hear a peep out of me. Not now that he has leverage on me. Like I want everyone to know my name is Bertrand!
McCormick grins mischievously. “Can I call you Bernie?”
“No. You can call me Stiles.”
Cindy giggles, absolutely eating this shit up. “Oh my God, how cute. Bert and Ernie!”
Horror washes over my face, and I see it reflected on Mac’s.
Cindy continues to gush. “They lived together and were best friends, just like you two!”
I shake my head vigorously, and Mac’s eyes grow wide like saucers. I don’t want to be Bert and Ernie. I will cut any Bitch that calls us Bert and Ernie.
Cindy, God bless her, doesn’t know when to quit. “Are you two also secretly gay like they’re rumored to be?”
“No,” we both say in unison. Even though we kinda are.
“Well, it’s still cute. You should set up matching recliners in the living room like Bert and Ernie had in theirs.”
She gathers our paperwork and stuffs it into a file, tucking it under her arm as she heads to the front door.
Mac whispers to me, “I want matching recliners in front of the TV. But not because I want to be Bert and Ernie.”
He does not want matching recliners. His favorite thing is to lay curled up in my lap with his stupid blanket while I rub his head. And when he remembers that, he’ll nix the matching recliners idea.
Cindy pulls out of the driveway, promising to call us as soon as she hears back from the buyer's agent. We sit for a minute in the truck, staring at the front of our house. The Pigeonhole. I start cracking up because didn’t Bert love pigeons? I think he was obsessed with feeding them.
“It’s not funny,” Mac snaps with narrowed eyes.
“It’s a little bit funny.”
“Not even a little bit. And if you tell the Bitches, I’ll kill you. They laugh at us enough as it is.” He’s so grumpy it’s hilarious, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. Grumpy Mac is adorable. “I don’t care what you say,” he complains, “I'm calling you Bernie.”
McCormick opens the bathroom door and a cloud of steam billows out around him. He looks like the lead singer of an eighties rock band taking the stage surrounded by smoke machines and backlighting. I kind of miss his red hair. The way it would darken when it was wet, looking burgundy almost. I can’t wait for it to grow back, but if he tries to cut it into a mullet again, I’ll shave that shit in a hot second.
He doesn’t even bother with pants or underwear, just sets his crutches aside and crawls under the covers with me. Scooting as close as he can to my body, Mac gets all handsy with me, grabbing my ass, sliding his hand in my underwear, his lips seeking out my neck, my ear, and whatever else he can get his mouth on.
“What’s gotten into you?” His lips suck the spot behind my ear, making me shiver, and I almost giggle.
“I’ve been doing research and I got some new things for us to try.”
“Research? You mean porn.”
Mac doesn’t even try to hide it. “The video was fucking hot. Are you game?”
“No, just scared. The guy who gets off to videos of women knitting watched a movie that made him hot. I can’t imagine what you saw. Was Betty Beasley doing cable knit stitches? Sanding and oiling her bamboo needles?”
“No,” he laughs. “Two guys were hot dogging while facing each other.”
“How is that possible since it involves sliding your meat between someone else’s buns?”
“No buns, just meat. Like this.” He crawls on top of me and straddles my thighs. When he reaches for my underwear, I glance down and notice the tip of his thigh. The skin looks red and dry.
“Mac, your leg is irritated and you haven’t done any skin care.”
“I will,” he dismisses me, “after I show you what I saw.”
“No. Now.” I scoot up the headboard and reach across the bed into his nightstand drawer for the lotion he uses. “What's this?”
I pull the long red silicone object from the drawer to inspect it.
He looks horrified. “Fuck. I forgot about it. You weren’t supposed to see that. Ever.”
“I bet not.” I’m laughing so hard I can’t even get a good look at the damn thing. But I think it’s a hot dog. A silicone hot dog.
A dildo dog or dildog.
“What do you do with this thing?”
“The fuck you think I do with it?” He snatches it from my hand, tossing it back into the drawer.
But I reach forward again. “You slide this up your ass? Between your buns?” My cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.
“Go ahead.” He rolls his eyes. “Get all the hot dog jokes out now.”
“We could be here all night.”
“You’re fucking hilarious.” He grabs it from me again, tosses it in the drawer, and slams it shut.
“How long have you been using that? Is it new?”
“No.” His pale skin flushes red. “I've had it for about a year. I was curious.”
It’s a revelation. I had no idea he was curious before our kiss. “How long have you been thinking about my meat?”
“Longer than I’m gonna admit.”
“Seriously? Why haven’t you said anything, like… ever?”
“Oh yeah, how was that supposed to go, Bernie? Hey, while you’re rubbing my hair, could you slide your hand a little lower and maybe rub my cock? I like sitting next to you on the couch, but I might like sitting on your dick even better. Mind if I try?”
My chest rumbles with silent laughter. “That sounds a lot more interesting than watching reruns of Pimp My Bike.”
“Sure. Whatever. I knew you weren’t ready to hear that shit.”
“You ever try that with anyone else?” My voice dips low, and I think he can hear how much I don’t like that idea.
“No! Never crossed my mind until you.”
“So you want to sit on my dick?” I grin, enjoying the tease.
“Yeah. Though, I’m not sure we’re ready for that just yet. Let me show you what I had in mind.”
I drop my grin, getting serious. “Right after you let me take care of your leg.”
I reach for the lotion I was supposed to grab the first time and squirt some into my palm, warming it up before I touch him. Working the lotion into his irritated skin, I rub soothing circles around the tip of his stump until the skin begins to soften.
“You pushed too hard at the gym, sweating into your sleeve, and probably didn’t change it out in the locker room.” I know him better than he thinks he knows himself. He was probably in a rush to get to the tavern and didn’t take the time to change out his sleeve for a dry one.
“I’ll do better, I promise.”
“Damn right you will. I don’t need this turning into an open sore and getting infected.” Wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Touching him like this, while he sits across my lap, massaging him softly, is making my dick hard. It’s not the first time I’ve done this for him, but it’s the first time I’ve let my mind wander, and it’s the first time doing it after discovering he shoves a hot dog up his ass. I can’t stop picturing it. Can’t stop thinking about what he wants to show me next.
The head of my swollen cock peeks out from the band of my underwear, begging for breathing room. Mac reaches for it, tugging my pants down. “Enough with my leg. Take these off.”
He raises up on his good knee so I can slide my pants down my legs. Mac scoots higher up my lap, aligning both of our hard cocks in his hands.
“Just like two hotdogs in one bun.” He closes his fists around our shafts and uses more lotion to smooth his glide.
His grip feels incredible. Warm and tight. Watching our heads poke through the top of his fist is turning me the fuck on. So is the look on Mac’s face. Like he’s concentrating real hard, but I can see the heat burning in his eyes, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth.
Adding my already slick hands to his, I guide him down our shafts, squeezing to make his grip tighter.
“Fuck,” he breathes, “just like that. Massage it like you did my leg.”
Why that turns me on even more, I don’t know. But it does. I buck my hips, trying to thrust harder, faster, but the trick is in increasing the rhythm of our hands. We’re perfectly in sync, chasing the same pleasure, while enjoying the ride together.
“Why did I never know about this? This is insane.”
“Isn’t it?” Mac hisses, his eyes rolling back in his head. “I love being gay with you.”
I try not to laugh because it sounds ridiculous. We’re not gay. More likely bisexual or even pansexual. I don’t know and I don’t really care. It doesn’t matter because the most important thing about finding a label that fits you is so that you can figure out what you’re attracted to, but I don’t have any need for that. I never want anybody besides Mac ever again.
“Should I go faster?”
“Yeah.” He licks his bottom lip and I’m dying to take it and his tongue into my mouth. Fuck it. I lean forward and suck them between my lips. The kiss steals my focus, and I almost forget I’m supposed to speed up my hand.
The heat, the slick glide, and slightly sticky friction work together to bring me to the edge. “Are you there?”
“Yeah,” he practically growls against my lips. “Gonna come.”
I swallow his ragged breaths and groan as the muscles in my stomach contract. My load mixes with his, coating our knuckles. “Mac,” I pant, sealing our mouths together. it takes a moment to catch my breath, while my heart stops racing, and I gaze into his eyes. “I—” swallowing hard, I continue nervously, “I love you, Mac.”
He rests his forehead against mine and grins. “I love you, too, Bernie.”