Chapter 9 #4
Hayes reached around to grab his cock and began jacking Beckett off, riding him hard, while the vibrating plug continued to drive him mad. Their muffled curses and moans mixed with rhythmic slaps of Hayes’ hips against Beckett’s ass echoed around the bathroom.
“Fuck—” Beckett moaned as he got closer to the edge. “Tabarnack—calice, Hayes! Jesus Christ! H. Fuck—fuck, oui! Right there. More. Oui, oui, oui—”
And then Beckett came like a geyser, painting the shower wall.
Hayes tightened his hold as he exploded, finally surrendering to the overwhelming sensations of the plug rubbing against his prostate.
They collapsed against each other, barely able to remain standing.
“Please stop it,” Hayes muttered against Beckett’s shoulder as the butt plug continued to vibrate, sending his entire nervous system into overdrive.
Beckett reached for the control he’d hidden in the shower caddy. When the buzzing in his ass stopped, Hayes breathed a sigh of relief.
“Can you walk?” Hayes asked because he honestly wasn’t sure he could.
“I—” Beckett chuckled. “Maybe?” he replied as he struggled to catch his breath.
They were both wiped out, so they relaxed against the tile and enjoyed the warm spray of water as they recovered.
Hayes was petting Beckett’s hair—or maybe it was the other way around. It was difficult to tell since they were so tangled up together.
Then Beckett began kissing the side of Hayes’ neck. And maybe Hayes imagined it, but in his post-orgasmic haze, he thought he heard Beckett whisper, “I love you. Thank you. I love you.”
And whether or not that whisper was imagined, Hayes decided he did not care. Not when Beckett was the only person to tell him as much in the past 20 years.
A few hours later, as they were relaxing on the couch, Beckett’s phone rang again.
He’d tossed it onto the floor during their counter sex, and left it there.
Both turned to look at it. With a resigned sigh, Beckett got up and retrieved it.
Checking the caller ID, his expression brightened as he pressed accept.
“Maman!” he greeted her with a pleased smile, pressing the speaker button and walking back to the couch.
He returned to his favorite spot on the couch, leaning against Hayes’ chest, with his legs extended on the other half of the couch.
He’d been reading a book, enjoying the fireplace, where a nice blaze kept the chill away.
“Salut mon Coeur,” his mother responded in French, speaking so rapidly that Hayes could barely catch what she said.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart! You doing alright? Am I catching you at work?” she asked, since Beckett had, on several occasions, answered his mother’s calls while bullets had been flying.
“Nah—I’m at home, enjoying the holidays and whatnot,” he said, quickly, shooting Hayes a furtive glance. “How’s the cruise?”
“Oh, it’s fantastic! Beats having to shovel the driveway! Hayes with you, honey?” His mother asked, as she had been the past few times she’d called since their trip to Montreal in November.
“Right here,” he acknowledged.
“Hi, Hayes, honey, Merry Christmas!” Beckett’s mother exclaimed jovially.
“Merry Christmas, boys!” Beckett’s father called out to them a few seconds later, no doubt prompted by his wife. Since they’d come out, both of Beckett’s parents had made a concerted effort to include him in their frequent calls.
Hayes wished there was a way to put into words just how much their well wishes meant to him.
“What are you boys doing for Christmas? Have any plans?” she asked.
Hayes opened his mouth to reply but ended up giving a strangled gasp instead as the plug still lodged in his ass abruptly began to vibrate.
“What?” Beck’s mother asked.
Beckett’s smile was positively evil.
“Nothing much. A quiet evening at home. We’re big into—staying in these days,” Beckett said.
The plug in Hayes’ ass suddenly increased in speed. He nearly lost his mind as tried to breathe through the surge of lust in his groin.
“Well I’m glad you’re together,” she said, reiterating her acceptance of their relationship for the umpteenth time.
Beckett snorted with amusement at his mother’s tendency to keep repeating herself, but before he got the chance to tease her about it, his phone beeped that he had another incoming call. It was Jackson, so, with a smirk, Beckett accepted the call.
“Hey, Jacks—Mom and Dad are on the call too,” he said as the Facetime call started, Jackson appearing with his daughter Allison perched on his lap.
“Heyyyy,” he greeted the group, “Merry Christmas!” he added, waving to the camera.
“Merry Christmas!” Allison said, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Do we tell them?” she lowered her voice to a loud whisper directed towards her father.
“Tell us what?” Ma Thérault asked.
“I’m pregnant,” Beckett answered, because he just couldn’t resist.
“You too?” Allison gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Beckett!” Ma Thérault exclaimed sharply.
“You’re kidding, right?” John asked, sounding borderline worried. Beckett’s father had been remarkably open-minded about his youngest child suddenly switching teams, but he’d obviously made a tremendous effort to adjust to a reality that wasn’t part of his generation.
“Fuck off, Beck,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. In the background, they could hear boisterous feminine laughter.
“And you say you’re accepting,” Beckett retorted in mock offense.
“You’ll make a fabulous mother, Hayes,” Maggie called out encouragingly.
Hayes made another strangled sound, unable to come up with a suitable rejoinder.
“Be serious for a minute!” Ma Thérault barked, trying to get them back on track.
“I’m going to be a big sister!” Allison announced loudly, impatient at having been ignored.
“Is it true?” Ma Thérault asked, and though they couldn’t see her, Hayes imagined her nervously clutching her pearls.
“Yeah, Mom,” Jackson said, chuckling happily. “Katerina’s five weeks tomorrow,” Jackson said, voice becoming shaky with emotion. “We were supposed to wait ‘til she got past 12 weeks, but—we couldn’t,” he laughed shakily, sounding as if he was holding back tears.
There were screams of delight and applause. Beckett shook his head, and rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his fond smile.
Beckett might like to pretend he wasn’t invested in these things, but being an uncle was something he was incredibly proud of, and he wasn’t fooling Hayes at all with his act of nonchalant amusement.
“Congratulations!” John said, his jovial voice reminiscent of Santa Claus.
“Cheers on stealing my thunder,” Beckett said, making Jackson laugh.
“Ma?” Jackson asked hesitantly, as she’d been oddly silent since hearing the news.
“Well—” their mother said, voice quivering with suppressed emotion. “I mean—I’m not sure how to be happier! This year has been so blessed—” she said, trying to keep it together. “Raphael, Hayes, a newborn—” She sounded as if they were all equal blessings.
Hayes was so overcome with his own mix of emotions that he was insanely relieved not to appear on camera.
“Merry Christmas!” she said again, and just like before, as soon as Hayes’ opened his mouth to respond, the plug in his ass buzzed to life again. But this time, Beckett cranked it up to the highest setting. It was all Hayes could do not to jump off the fucking couch. He instinctively moaned.
“Uh, what just happened?” Jackson asked.
“Sorry! My cat tried to kill Hayes. Love you guys too, and all that shit! Merry Christmas! Hurray! Baby! Catch you later!” Beckett spoke rapidly, holding in his laughter, while Hayes dug his fingers into the couch fighting for control.
When the call ended, so did the buzzing. Hayes’ grip loosened and he took a deep, calming breath.
“You’re a sociopath!” Hayes accused with a glare.
“Yes, yes—tell me more about how you hated it,” Beckett said, one eyebrow raised daringly and smiling broadly.
Hayes ignored him pointedly.
“Guess we know now what Jackson was calling about earlier,” Hayes said as he wiggled around, desperately seeking a way to dislodge the toy that was pressing against his prostate.
“It wasn’t him,” Beckett said, shaking his head. “Franklin called, not Jackson.”
“Franklin?” Hayes was puzzled, since Franklin rarely called. Jackson regularly called to talk with his youngest brother. So did Maggie. But Franklin? To his knowledge, the last time he’d called was to remind them of the store opening many weeks ago.
Beckett shrugged and nodded.
“Did you call back?” Hayes was extremely curious about what would have motivated Franklin to call.
“Nope,” Beckett said, shaking his head. “If it’s important, he’ll call back,” he said dismissively, which was not his normal attitude. Beckett usually answered each and every call—regardless of who it was, or what time of day.
Hayes recalled that Beckett had once told him that he didn’t have enough friends to ignore any calls.
But today he’d decided to ignore two of his own brother’s calls.
It didn’t sit quite right with Hayes, but he didn’t think he should intervene.
If Beckett didn’t feel like sharing, then Hayes would respect that and not push the issue.
“Now—about that plug—” Beckett said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Hayes never gave Franklin’s call another thought. He didn’t care, not one iota, what Beckett’s least likeable sibling had to say.
He didn’t care, right up until the moment it bit him right in the ass.