Why couldn’t this damn holiday be over already?

Joshua gave Max a final ruffle to his golden fur that was currently dusted in snow, then shooed the dog towards the garage where it could dry off without making a mess of the house. His father was at the mailbox down their long, flat driveway, peering into the small metal container with a contemplative look on his face. They had managed to ignore mail for the entire week of Joshua’s winter vacation, but apparently Christmas Eve had been the deciding factor for his dad to tackle the growing pile. He wanted to celebrate the holidays without having to think of any bills or thank-you notes.

Joshua’s nerves were at their breaking point. He couldn’t even blame it on the holiday. No, it had been a subdued affair this year. His dad knew college was crushing him and had insisted on just having the time for the two of them. The woman his father had been seeing for the last few months hadn’t worked out. Joshua didn’t know if he was relieved or frustrated by it all. The longer he was left alone with his dad, the more stressed he was getting.

His dad was great, just to be clear. Kyle Wright was about the most perfect man ever—hell, a superman even. Joshua’s mother had passed away over ten years ago, but his dad had never faltered once. No, he had gotten an extra job and then clawed tooth and nail to the top of the tech industry so that he could have time to spend with his son instead of leaving him at the neighbors all the time. Joshua was super proud of his dad. Which was why it sucked extra that it was awkward as fuck to be around him.

He didn’t want to ruin the holidays—not that he was enjoying things much. No, even though his goal was to not to bring it up, Joshua couldn’t make his brain stick to that rule. It kept spinning around in his mind, again and again.

He might be gay… Gay, or really confused. Gay, or at least interested in being fucked.

Probably gay. Maybe.

Tearing his mittens from his hands, Joshua pulled his keys from his pocket and made his half-frozen fingers open the front door. The heat of the house hit him square in the face, and he paused. It felt nearly suffocating when stepping in compared to the crisp winter air outside. The snow he had barely noticed began to immediately melt, creating rivulets of water that dripped down his hair and face he had to blink away from his eyes.

Joshua had caught his dad, well, jerking off that summer break. Awkward. Really fucking awkward. See, there had been this magazine. One of those magazines that existed for one reason, and it wasn’t for reading the articles. He still wasn’t sure where his dad had gotten it… He still wasn’t sure about a lot of things. Joshua had walked past the bathroom one morning only to find the door ajar and his father staring at a magazine. Staring at it while touching himself.

It had been the first dick besides his own he had seen in real life, and for some confusing reason, it had been fascinating. So large when fully erect, so thick and turgid as his father’s strong hand had moved confidently up and down the flushed length. Joshua had suspected he might like boys as well as girls before then. In that moment, he realized just how attractive a man was. A large, fully developed, muscle rippling man with a dick the length of a ruler.

He had watched, silent, saliva filling his mouth, hyper-alert to every sound his father made. The soft grunts, low, masculine sighs, and noise of his lubed cock sliding and then slapping louder in his fist when he pumped in earnest. The growl his father had released right before he came had sent such intense shivers through him that Joshua still had the bad habit of getting hard whenever he heard his father growl at something in anger.

Just thinking about it now got him so hard. Hard and panting and wishing he could stop this insanity. Not that it had been the last time he had tried to spy on his father that summer. No, his curiosity had not been sated by one very dirty peep show. And dirty it had been. His father had blown his load all over the pages, Joshua seeking out the ruined magazine in curiosity once his father had left.

He had turned to the page Kyle had been looking at, identifying it as the one coated in thick streaks of his semen. Joshua had assumed he’d find a woman that looked a bit like his late mother, or maybe even the very large breasted one on the cover coated in clear latex who had displayed every inch of herself with fingers splaying her inner lips. No, not on that page. His father’s choice had been far more revealing in ways Joshua still couldn’t get his mind around. It had been of a brunette bent forward on knees, the camera focused on a toned back where his hands were bound in rope. His legs had been spread wide to straddle the hips of an unseen man whose hands were holding his cheeks open wide for the camera.

It had started Joshua’s fascination with two subjects that had yet to bore him no matter how much he researched: bondage and anal sex. Gay anal sex.

The familiar wash of desire and shame hit him full force. He groaned softly and leaned his weight against the front door until it shut tight. He still wouldn’t call himself gay… Not really. He didn’t think of guys that way… A lot. Fuck, okay, just sometimes he really wondered what his dad thought of guys like that. It always got him so hard that he couldn’t stop thinking about it until he got off.

He could count on his left hand how many times he had actually dared to buy a dirty magazine and leave it out in the hopes of his father doing it again. He knew he was sick—he fucking knew it—and he was grateful that Kyle had never risen to the bait. Because if he had… Fuck, he never would have stopped trying to lure him. It had gotten to the point that Joshua had fantasies of coating himself in pages of filthy magazines if only to get his father to look at him the way he had been looking at that image.

There was something wrong with him. Really fucking wrong with him. In that one moment, he had stopped seeing Kyle Wright as just a father. Instead, he had seen him as a sexual being and hadn’t been able to differentiate since.

Not just any sexual being. His. Connected and existing just for him with the most beautiful blue eyes ever.

Stepping into the house, Joshua kicked his snow-coated boots off. He bent over, clunking the wet footwear together until they were free of the quickly melting slush, then placed them on the rubber mat by the wall right in front of the heater vent. His heavy winter coat ended up hanging above on the series of hooks just for that purpose. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of his father through the window in the growing dusk outside, the blond man’s rugged, handsome face fixed on the mail as he slowly drifted down the snow coated driveway.

It wasn’t hard for his dad to be a sexual figure if he were honest. Kyle wasn’t old the way a lot of his friends’ dads were old, and not just because he had only been 24 when he had started a family. He was still fit, still sharp witted and jovial. Kyle could catch him in a joke faster than anyone else, and race him for a soccer ball and still win if Joshua didn’t try his hardest. His dad worked out, ate healthy, took care of himself. He even dated, a bittersweet occurrence for Joshua. Recently, he half hoped Kyle would find someone while cheering inwardly when he didn’t. Stupid—He knew it was fucking stupid, and selfish, and damn crazy.

He would do anything to make his dad happy, even if it meant never bringing any of this stuff up. He wasn’t ever going to tell him how messed up he felt—He didn’t need to burden his father with something that weighed so heavy on his own heart. A part of him was certain the only reason he wanted to talk to Kyle about his confusions over his sexuality was because he was secretly hoping he would start looking at him as available sexually. Joshua knew he was fucked up and he couldn’t even trust his motives when it came to his dad.

It wasn’t normal; he knew that. There was nothing normal about it at all. It didn’t stop the feelings, though. No matter how much he yelled at himself in his head, nothing stopped how crazy he felt. How hot he got just being in the same room as his dad, how much he thought of the man’s body, his dick, that growl whenever he masturbated. Joshua knew it was wrong and he couldn’t stop it, and he really needed for Christmas to be over so he could get the fuck out of the house and away from his unbearably sexy dad.

Going away to college hadn’t fixed anything. Joshua had tried to hook up with a guy just to see. He had thought maybe he could get it out of his system, but all his timid experimentations with a boy his age had proven to be boring and lacking in the fire he got from his very active imagination. He had even considered hitting on his teacher who was about his dad’s age but, well, the guy was married, for starters, and it just kind of went downhill after that.

Coming home to his dad with no one there to interrupt, to distract, to be witness to the insane lust burning in him had been the worst. Knowing Kyle was sleeping just feet down the hall had made everything so difficult. Every time he touched himself while lying in bed, the level of danger had grown. It would have been nothing to let his moans ring out. So easy to gasp and cry for relief until his father heard him and came to see what was wrong. And once he was there, Joshua would beg him to stay, just to stand there and watch while he touched himself. Maybe even have him come closer, touch him, taste… cover him in his hot cum like the pages of that magazine.

No, it hadn’t gotten better at all.

Returning home with such crazed thoughts had filled him with even worse guilt. His dad had clearly missed him and was woefully oblivious to just how fucked up he was. Kyle was hanging in there, putting up a strong front, but Joshua could tell. They used to do everything together. But going off to college had grown Joshua’s lust into something damn near insatiable and bigger than him. It had made everything so awkward. Even if his dad didn’t understand why, he just couldn’t change the fact that it was never going to not be awkward. Not when he had spent half the walk that evening staring at his dad’s ass and wondering if the man had ever fucked a guy.

Had he? That magazine had been full of women and some men, but his dad had gotten off on looking at the guy. He had chosen to drizzle cum all over that picture out of all the ones available. It had to mean something.

Dripping water onto the floor, Joshua’s socked feet slipped on the tile at the base of the carpeted stairs before he peeled them free from his clammy toes. He paused once reaching the top of the steps, the Christmas tree lights casting a soft, magical glow in the otherwise dark, empty space.

They lived in what average people would call a mansion. It was too big, too empty, but his father said it was an investment in real estate more than anything else. Joshua had grown used to it, even if the place still gave him the creeps when it was dark out and he was alone. It was partly why they had gotten Max when he was a kid. He barely remembered their last house, the one his mom had died in from a carbon monoxide leak from their old, faulty heater. Kyle insisted in having a CO detector in every room of the house now, just to be safe.

The carpet was quickly growing damp beneath his feet. Joshua shucked off his jeans, his mind hot on a shower. The material was half frozen, sticking to his chilled thighs as he tugged the jeans down and off. He rolled his pants up with his socks into a ball and tucked it all under his arm. He just needed a fresh towel and he’d be able to warm the hell up and jerk. God, he needed to fucking cum so bad. Returning home had put him in a near permanent state of arousal that no amount of masturbating seemed to be able to alleviate fully.

He ran his free hand over his erection through his red briefs, his steps faltering for a moment in the hall that led to the bedrooms. His father had just done laundry… Just, the idea of going into his room while hard and thinking of him was probably crossing a line.

The garage door gave a shudder right before it opened, echoing quietly through the house. Kyle was seeing to Max. Joshua could probably get off on his father’s bed and have time to clean up the mess if he was fast enough. Just thinking about it made his balls ache. It’s not like his dad would know. It’s not like he didn’t come all over the shower walls just anticipating his father was going to be in there after…

No, there was nothing normal about it. He had some fucked up obsession that he was losing control over.

His mind was hot with inappropriate thoughts and Joshua twisted the hem of his shirt and tried to take it off one handed as he walked. His shirt obscuring his vision, he didn’t see the man standing in his father’s bedroom, the tall figure between him and the pile of clean laundry on the bed.

“Damn.”

Freezing, Joshua realized with a stutter to his heart that the voice had come from in front of him and not behind. He slowly lowered his arm, unwittingly ruffling his dirty blond hair up as he pulled his shirt free and got a good look at the stranger. There was a click, and his eyes widened to take in the gun pointed at his head.

“Damn, kid, don’t you ever go to school?”

Ethan blinked up from his phone screen as his stepfather came into the kitchen, his eyes lingering for a moment on the man’s tattooed arms. “Summer vaca,” Ethan mumbled, ducking his head back down and hiding behind his box of cereal as the man made his way to the stove top and began cooking up a late breakfast. “Don’t you have work?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. Jeff didn’t talk much. The guy had moved in six months ago after a whirlwind engagement and besides hanging out in the adjoining garage painting all day, Ethan rarely saw the man outside of the occasional times Jeff would try and catch up with him.

He was kind of glad the guy was so busy. Jeff unsettled the fuck out of him.

“I’ve actually been up since dawn. Just grabbing something to eat before I get back to the canvas. Got that gallery showing in a week and I need to get some last minute touchups done before framing.”

Ethan nodded to himself, having a bite of his now soggy cereal while sneaking a peek at the man. Jeff was still in his pajamas, wearing a pair of black flannel night pants and a black wifebeater that was flecked with spots of paint. He wasn’t wearing shoes—the man rarely did while around the house. Both of his arms were covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoo’s, his tanned skin colored in elaborate, geometric patterns in blue, gold, and black ink. It was apparently inspired by one of Jeff’s own paintings. A badass painting if he was to go by the man’s bulging biceps.

Ethan’s new stepfather was a lot of eye candy. With his piercing blue eyes and brown, shoulder-length wavy hair, the guy could have been a model. He had the body for it—tall, lean, and buff—as well as the not giving a fuck attitude. Jeff always looked like he was two days late to shave, a light fuzz prickling at his jaw and neck, and he rarely dressed up beyond jeans and a t-shirt. He was also one of those health nuts, having filled their refrigerator with tons of fresh, organic produce when he moved in, his blender heard before any of the alarm clocks went off.

“You looking for a job?”

Ethan ducked his head back down, shaking it silently when the man glanced over at him from the stove. He tried to lose himself in his video game but couldn’t stop from being distracted by Jeff’s presence across the room. The thing was, Ethan didn’t like guys. He was pretty fucking sure. But it was really hard to look away from Jeff whenever the man was around. There was just something about the guy that drew his eye and kept him looking. Like his colorful biceps. Or the way the man’s thin pants clung to his sculpted ass.

It was unsettling. Confusing. Ethan just couldn’t stop getting hot whenever around his stepfather and it had been going on for months now.

“You need a job, kid. An internship. Something. You going to waste your life hanging around the fucking house all the time?”

Ethan looked up when his cereal box was suddenly taken away, watching as Jeff placed a plate with an omelet in front of him, the man nudging his bowl of cereal aside on the kitchen island to make room. “You also need to start eating some actual food. There is no way there are enough calories in that sugary shit to even get you out of your chair. I don’t know how the hell you get through your soccer games on this shit.”

Jeff was damn near intimidating when up close, the man’s face predatorial and eyes stunning as they met his. He was also bisexual, something Ethan’s mom had mentioned in passing and now he couldn’t stop thinking about. Ethan nearly dropped his phone, quickly grabbing the fork that was pushed his way to hide his tremor.

“Your mother ever teach you how to cook?” Jeff asked, cocking his hip and leaning against the island while he waited for Ethan to try the food. The hem of the man’s shirt was stretched over his hips in a way that revealed a flash of tanned abs and a sparse trail of hair leading beneath his pants. It was very distracting.

Ethan really wished the guy would look somewhere else so he could fucking breathe and stop feeling like an idiot already. He shook his head silently, finally giving in to his stepfather and scooping some food onto his fork. “Shit—I mean, this is really good. Uh, sir. T-Thank you.”

Jeff raised a brow at the stuttering boy, silently mouthing the word ‘sir’ to himself. His gaze slid down to where the blond had just nearly dropped his fork. “Well?”

Ethan jolted, looking up, the utensil now caught between his lips. “Um…?”

“Did Leah ever show you how to cook?” Jeff repeated, a slight smile curling the edges of his lips when Ethan began to flush.

“My mom’s not… She doesn’t cook,” Ethan mumbled, reaching for his phone with his other hand in the hopes of ending this absolutely alarming conversation where his stepfather looked at him and kept asking him about stuff.

“You wanna learn how?” Jeff prompted, watching as the blond boy tried to hide behind the small cell phone screen and eat another bite of food at the same time. “Seeing as you’re going to be around all day, and I do try to make it a point to eat.”

Ethan shrugged, grunting something noncommittal.

Jeff was not deterred, the man’s fingers curling around the boy’s wrist to guide his hand away from his face. When Ethan looked up, only blushing brighter now, he added, “And while I’m showing you how to cook, you can fill out some job applications.”

The man’s words sinking in, Ethan scowled, pulling his hand away to rest it on the table instead. His wrist felt like it was tingling where Jeff had touched it, an annoying distraction as he tried to state his case for not needing any job now that he had gotten his last year of high school out of the way.

“I don’t want a job. I’m starting college in a couple of months and I just want to chill for a bit before all that.”

“What, are you ancient? Decrepit? Eat your omelet.” Jeff turned away, going back to the stove and cracking more eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a fork. “You’re going to want money, right? You’re going to want to hang out with your friends. Gas cost money, kid. Concerts, food, the mall—Believe me, you’re going to want a job.”

“Really, I’m not,” Ethan muttered, glaring at his plate. He had only just started to feel the freedom of being out of school. All he wanted to do was hang out with his friends and maybe his house. “My mom will pay for all that shit.”

Jeff snorted, the trash bin rattling as he threw the eggshells into the wastebasket. “Like fuck, she will. Leah does enough without needing to pay for your lazy ass.”

“I’m not lazy,” Ethan said with a growl.

“Oh, did you pay for that $600 phone your face is always glued to? What about the nearly $100 a month it costs so that you can text your friends your every riveting thought as you have them? The motorcycle you’re driving or the insurance that allows you to do so?” Jeff turned, pointing the spatula at him when Ethan stood, the boy getting ready to escape. “What about rent? All that cardboard food you keep eating? Just where do you think the money for all that comes from? Not your schooling.”

Pursing his lips, Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not lazy. I’m just a kid.”

Jeff scoffed. “Not anymore, you aren’t. I don’t get why Leah didn’t have you working through summers. It’s time to grow the fuck up and start contributing. I’m not painting every day to keep your ass in designer jeans, kid.”

Glaring, a million scathing retorts swirling in his head, Ethan opened his mouth but nothing came out. Jeff’s eyes were blazing, the man unblinking and deceptively calm as he just stared him down. “No one asked you to buy me anything,” Ethan finally muttered, unable to meet the man’s glare any longer. He liked it, though. A part of him liked that Jeff cared enough to lend him money for things. His mother was never around but Jeff was, even if the guy didn’t talk to him as much as he’d like. Ethan had never had a dad before and Jeff was the closest thing to perfect in a lot of ways when it came to things like that.

“Hm.” His eyes narrowed, Jeff turned back to the stove, flipping his omelet before it started browning. “Don’t go running off until you eat. I don’t think you’ve had more than pizza and Cheetos this entire week.”

Sighing in exasperation, Ethan sat, glaring at the man’s back. Only to have his eyes inadvertently slide down, his gaze caught on Jeff’s ass when the man leaned over to grab the salt and pepper shakers. It was a decidedly interesting ass; firm, symmetrical and muscular. He hadn’t really known that he liked muscular asses but he definitely liked Jeff’s.

“You interested in anything in particular?”

Ethan jumped, his eyes snapping up. But the brunette was only looking at the pan, poking it with his spatula. “What?”

“For work. You have anything in mind you’d like to do?”

Ugh. “Play video games,” Ethan said flippantly.

“Cute. I’m sure people just hand you money for that shit.”

“Coming from the artist,” he muttered, stabbing at his omelet. That it was about the best thing he had tasted in as long as he could remember didn’t help his mood at all. “People pay you to hang out around the house painting pictures.”

“Not exactly.” Plating his food, Jeff turned the stove top off and poured himself a glass of fresh juice before sitting across from Ethan at the kitchen island.

“People buy a product from me. Now some pay for a service if they want to hire me to paint as a demonstration, or to design a mural, tattoo, whatever. But for the most part, I create something and people buy a print or the original. That’s how I can get away with hanging around the house all day; I’m selling even when I’m asleep. That doesn’t mean I don’t have to work it for clients at galleries and meetings that get my art on walls where people can see. Renting out one of my paintings to a business requires me to do more than just paint, but it’s worth the money that comes in. Half my income this month was just on rented paintings. They’re not even new pieces but they can pay the bills if you know what you’re doing.”

Ethan really didn’t want to care just how Jeff made his money. Unfortunately, he was finding it interesting and he sighed again, daring to look up at the man. Jeff’s head was ducked, a long lock of wavy hair brushing over one of his eyes, his mouth open as he took a bite of his breakfast. The man had ridiculously lush lips, full and red. Combined with his sharp features and strong jaw, he really was just the epitome of male beauty. Ethan idly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. They probably weren’t as soft as they looked. With Jeff’s bristle, it might even be prickly, a little rough.

Glancing up, Jeff caught Ethan staring at him, the boy immediately looking away. “You pick a major yet?”

Ethan shook his head weakly, hating how flustered he felt. “Mom said she was going to help.”

“Yeah, well waiting for Leah to pull herself from her work is like watching paint dry.” Jeff smiled grimly. “I can help you if you want. I’m surprisingly good at that kind of shit.”

Glancing his way a moment, Ethan shrugged. “Okay. Um, maybe tonight? Once I get back from hanging with my friends. I was thinking of something business oriented.”

He couldn’t help but wonder how quickly it had taken for Jeff to figure out just how unavailable his mother really was. It would probably still take the man a good year to realize she wasn’t going to change. And seeing as he married her, he might even stick it out longer trying to make it work. He was young still; he might think it was worth putting the effort in.

Ethan hoped he would. Not because he wanted to see Jeff break his heart but because he really liked having the man as a stepfather. Jeff was cool. Scary, but cool. Ethan had never had anyone actually care about him and even though Jeff breezed in and out most of the day between painting, the man was always saying and doing stuff that made it clear he gave a fuck. He was a calming presence. Sturdy and reliable. Ethan wasn’t used to having something like that and he’d be really pissed if his mother ruined it for him.

His mother had tried this time, he knew that much. Jeff was very different from what Leah usually dated. He was self-driven and had interests outside of just their relationship—Really important seeing as Ethan’s mother lived for her work and her last three relationships had failed because she couldn’t put enough time or energy into them. She was always at the office and when she was home, her head was at the office, planning new ideas, designing new rooms and buildings.

Leah Walde was an architect, a highly sought after one, and she had started her own firm ten years ago. Jeff had actually been commissioned to create a portrait of one of her more famous buildings and that was how they had met. That Jeff could balance his creativity with business savvy had been a good fit for Leah, even if Jeff didn’t have much interest in doing much beyond supporting himself so that he could continue his painting. It was still a step up from the last guy who had thought he was going to be some sort of jobless house husband.

“Any thoughts on what you want to learn how to cook for tonight?” Jeff asked, having a sip of his juice.

Ethan couldn’t help but stare; a droplet of moisture dripping from his stepfather’s mouth to trickle down his chin. God, what was wrong with him? He blinked, finding Jeff staring at him with a raised brow, the man waiting patiently for an answer. Ethan really didn’t have one. “Um, whatever you feel like eating, I guess.”

Grinning wickedly, Jeff put his glass down, leaning close and crooking his finger. “Careful there. I don’t think you could stomach half the things I eat, kid.”

His breath curling hot around his ear, Ethan’s breath hitched. He glanced Jeff’s way, feeling stupid as fuck when he caught the man still smiling. His eyes were sparkling at him, flashing with some hidden laughter that was making him feel hot inside. For a frozen eternity, he was certain the man was flirting with him and he had no idea how to respond.

Thankfully, Jeff seemed oblivious to his panic, the man reaching over and patting Ethan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, kid, I won’t make you eat anything too healthy and green. Seeing the diet you’re coming from, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm your system with anything of substance.”

“Oh.” Gnawing on his bottom lip, Ethan slowly sank back in his seat, hoping his cheeks would stop burning soon. He had a sip of his soda, his gaze inadvertently drawn to his stepfather again. “Um… So, like, when did you know you were bi?” Ethan asked daringly, his heart feeling trapped in his throat once he got the question out.

Moving in a way that seemed just a little too casual, Jeff placed his fork down. “Young. Younger than you are.” He met Ethan’s curious gaze, his head tilting slightly. “Why? Does my sexuality make you uncomfortable?”

“Jesus, only when you say it like that,” Ethan muttered, covering his face with his hand for a moment. He peeked out, combing his fingers through his short blond locks. “Just… Did you know at the same time? Or was it, like, you liked one and then realized you liked the other later?”

Considering the question a moment, Jeff finally answered after having another drink of his juice. “Both. I had at least half a dozen crushes back then and it was pretty easy for me to see that gender was not a barrier for my attraction.”

“So bi people, they all know, like, at the same time, then? Like, if you’re going to be bi, you’re definitely going to know when you start getting crushes. It doesn’t, like, change?” Ethan asked nervously, his fingers twisting at his placemat.

“I’m not sure that would be the way I’d word it,” Jeff said carefully, studying his stepson’s face while Ethan bit his lip and looked at the table. “I think attraction is based on more than just a body, and sometimes when all the right elements come together, you might just find yourself looking at someone you weren’t expecting to be looking at.”

His brows furrowing at the answer, Ethan forced himself to look the man in the eye. “I’m not talking about love or shit. I’m not saying people can’t, like, fall in love and overcome gender or what have you. I just want to know if, you know, you can suddenly be attracted to…” He trailed off, waving his hand nervously.

“Are you worried you’re going to wake up wanting to suck cock?” Jeff asked blandly.

“Now you’re just being an asshole.” Scowling and beyond embarrassed, Ethan stood, more than ready to get away from this man that flustered the fuck out of him on so many different levels. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with gay people. That’s not what I was—”

“Sit your ass down, brat,” Jeff ordered quietly. “Did I say there was anything actually wrong with sucking cock?”

Ethan paused and glared at the man, his brain unfortunately now stuck on the question of if his stepfather had ever sucked cock and what that might look like. A beat later and he sat back down, his leg bouncing nervously. “I just want to know if you can, well… Like a…” He couldn’t say it and was only feeling more upset by the fact because it was Jeff he was trying to explain it to.

“Can you suddenly like someone of the same gender and still like the opposite sex as well?” Jeff supplied when Ethan seemed unable to continue on.

Pursing his lips, Ethan nodded sharply. “But more, can you just, like, suddenly like someone of the same gender. When you never did before. Not ever.”

“Not ever?” Jeff repeated, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

“Not ever,” Ethan repeated sternly, daring him to call him a liar.

“Well, I’ve only ever had my own experiences to compare to, but if this has happened to someone, I’m pretty sure it’s not the end of the world.” He flashed the boy a comforting smile, placing his elbow on the table so he could lean his chin on his hand. “It’s not like this person would have to act on anything just because he felt something new. People get crushes all the time and don’t act on them.”

Ethan nodded, fairly certain Jeff had no idea just who he was crushing on by the casual air the man was giving off. “But it’s, like, normal?”

“As normal as the huge range of human sexuality can get.”

“But is it bi?” Ethan added, his expression again growing tense.

“It’s whatever that person wants it to be. A fluke. A one-time attraction… Or maybe it’s bi, and they’re just finding out.” Jeff’s smile had only grown, his eyes sparkling, and Ethan was feeling decidedly uncomfortable with just how nice the man looked with his perfectly white teeth.

“Stop smiling at me like that. I never said it was me,” he grumbled, grabbing his plate and jumping up to rinse it in the sink.

“Did I say I thought it was you?” Jeff asked, his smile now beaming. “Shit, are you going to start calling me dad now?”

“Fuck off,” Ethan snapped, grinning despite himself. “You’re lucky I call you sir.”

“Yeah, could you not do that? It’s weird—Children of the Corn weird. That would be a movie you’ve never heard of, by the way.” Jeff stood as well, stepping up behind Ethan at the sink with his empty plate in hand. “Just call me Jeff. ‘Hey you,’ if you’re feeling lazy.”

Ethan was having trouble focusing, Jeff standing far too close for him to notice anything else. God, it might be ‘normal’ but it was still really annoying to feel so fucking hot over someone. “Here, just…” He turned, taking the plate and fork from the man, nearly dropping both when their fingers brushed accidentally. Spinning back, he quickly washed them and put them in the dryer rack, his heart racing too fast in his chest. God, he hated this. Fucking hated it.

Jeff had stepped around the island and was drinking the last of his juice when Ethan finally got up the nerve to turn around. The faucet off, he crossed the kitchen to grab his phone.

“I start cooking around 6:30,” Jeff said, Ethan pausing mid-stride.

“Right. Um, I’m going to meet my friends tonight. Like, eightish.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.”

Nodding, Ethan edged to the door, slipping through with a quick backward glance. Jeff was staring back at him and for a frozen moment their eyes met, Ethan’s heart racing in response.

God, he really needed to get over this thing.

***

Son of a bitch. Bi? Was the kid bi now? Why did Ethan have to tell him he thought he might be bi? What was he trying to do to him?

Groaning inwardly, Jeff pressed both his hands on the kitchen island, leaning heavily over the countertop as he willed his erection down. One fumbling touch from the kid’s hand on his and he had gotten hard. Not good. Really not good.

Talking to Ethan had been a terrible, terrible idea. Sure, he had known he was being too antisocial and that he was worried the kid would start thinking he hated him. Leah hadn’t been around in forever, and he was pretty sure the kid had no adult supervision in his life but fuck… Fuck.

The things he would do to Ethan Walde if he hadn’t married the boy’s mother.

He was too young for him, didn’t know shit about life—And only ten minutes ago, decidedly straight. Many very good reasons Jeff had focused on whenever he found himself in the same room as the young man. But Ethan was also fucking delicious. He had soft, golden hair and wide, clear, green eyes, flawless skin and his average height was already filled out with muscle from his competitive soccer playing. That summer vacation had started and Ethan seemed content to haunt the kitchen and living room most hours of the day, half the time without a shirt on, had become a special type of hell for Jeff.

Cooking lessons? The kid needed to learn how to cook—to eat—but shit, why the fuck had he suggested cooking lessons? Knives and fire and the two of them in the somewhat cramped kitchen? Alone.

Dumb. Really fucking dumb.

He needed to get laid. That was all. He had gone into this thing with Leah with a predefined understanding that he needed sex more than she did and that she was more than happy to let him go out and get it as long as he was safe about it and he was home for the weekends to do family stuff. Of course, it had turned out that he had no problem being home on the weekends while Leah couldn’t seem to find her own house. Jeff hadn’t gotten around to checking out his options in the area. He had moved to a new town for Leah and although he was enjoying his large art studio, he hadn’t done much outside of the house besides grocery shop and jog in the morning. Something that was going to have to change if his sexy-ass stepson was hanging around all summer. And now bi.

The kid needed a job. Like yesterday.

Jeff could only hope that whatever reason Ethan had been looking at him strangely the last few weeks had to do with that conversation and would finally stop. The staring had been the icing on the shit cake of this insane situation. Ethan was probably just curious about the bi thing. More than a few guys were curious about the bi thing. It used to be the quickest way for Jeff to get a straight guy into bed—Just tell him he was bi and let him ask a million questions until he explained how much easier it was just to show than tell.

Not something he could do with Ethan. Not something he should even be fucking thinking about doing with the kid. Stepson. Young, naive, and very much off-limits for anything.

Hot, though. Really fucking hot. He had great nipples, the perfect size, pink spots just begging to be kissed, licked and then nipped sore. And his neck—he wanted to coat the boy’s long throat with his cum until it dripped down his toned torso like a pearly, dirty river. And if Ethan wanted to call him daddy while he was doing it, well, that would be more than fine with him.

“Jesus, get it the fuck together,” Jeff grunted to himself, his body lighting up with heat and his cock again hardening until it was pressed up against the side of the island.

It was time to start checking out his fucking options in the area. There was a bar within walking distance; some pool joint where he’d seen a mix of ages and sexes go in. He just needed to fuck something—preferably a hot twink that could pass for half his age so he could get this out of his system. Until then, he was going to have to settle for his hand and get the fuck back to work. He had a set of three paintings that Leah had commissioned from him for one of her older clients. It was guaranteed money and a potentially lasting connection if he got it all done in time and kissed ass well enough. That on top of his gallery opening in a week had him completely swamped. He couldn’t be wasting his time fantasizing about fucking his sexy-ass stepson.

Rob had finally had enough. His assholic older brothers had crossed him for the last fucking time. The three jerks had once again—well, Frank had and he totally fucking hated Frank—Frank had said he was a girl. Worse, a cheerleader. This time in front of the entire fucking football team. The bastard had stood in front of everyone and said the reason his little brother couldn’t try out for the team was because he was really a chick and they should have him cheer instead. And then everyone had laughed. Dan, his other asshole of a brother, had laughed the loudest and even Joey, who was usually the nice one out of the three, had joined in. Whenever he was around Frank and Dan, Joey always took their side. It wasn’t fair. Rob had three older, stronger, meaner brothers and they always picked on him.

Today, he was going to show them.

Rob stalked into their family kitchen, his parents still at work and his brothers still at practice. He placed the bag of sugar he had bought at the convenience store on the table, pulling a chair out and standing on it so he could reach the higher cabinet over the fridge. Fucking Frank was always laughing about how he needed to stand on something to reach the cabinet just like their mom. But Frank was a goddamn giant, as was Dan and Joey, and normal people needed a stool to reach that high. He wasn’t short and petite, he was just being compared to fucking giants. Everyone looked like a matchstick compared to his brothers.

Grinning viciously, Rob grabbed the container of whey protein powder out of the cabinet, gasping when he fumbled the large, plastic container and nearly dropped it. Fuck, that would have been a total mess. He cradled the container to his chest as he jumped down from the chair, then headed straight for the sink.

They thought they were so fucking great with their bulging muscles and tall, athletic forms. Just because mom had wanted a girl for the longest time and used to call Rob her baby Robyn didn’t mean he was a girl. Just because she had spent the first five years of his life dressing him in pink and calling him Robyn and telling everyone he was her honorary daughter didn’t mean he was actually a fucking girl. And what the fuck did his brothers do? Did they show sympathy? Did they try and help him bulk up like them or help him practice so he could join a sport? No. They just made fun of him too, teasing him for his slender body and cute face. They were always calling him Robyn, and cutie, and their pretty sis. God, he hated them all.

Just wait until the three of them were fat and slow, then they’d wish they were even close to as skinny as he was.

Rob poured three-fourths of the protein powder straight into the sink, turning the faucet on and running the garbage disposal so it wouldn’t clog. Taking the container with him, he hefted the five-pound bag of sugar and tore at the top of the heavy paper bag. Only to scowl, his fingers not strong enough to actually rip through the thick material. Goddamn, he hated his brothers. He could just hear Dan jeering in his ear about how weak he was. He didn’t have girl’s hands!

Grabbing the nearest knife, Rob stabbed into the bag, tearing the instrument out and pouring the sugar into the nearly empty protein powder container. He didn’t need to be strong; he was fucking smart. Once the plastic jar was filled, he replaced the wide cover and gave the powder a good shake to mix the contents. He got back on the chair, putting the container back where he had found it.

His brothers mixed the stuff into everything. Everything. It wouldn’t take long before they started getting fat, then they’d see how terrible it was to make fun of someone because of their body. Rob couldn’t help that he was short and thin. It was just the way he had been born. Just because his three older brothers had been born looking like Greek gods didn’t give them the right to treat him like shit. Fuck them.

Putting the chair back, Rob had a moment of quiet worry, his gaze sliding up to the cabinet. They always mixed the powder in stuff, usually flavorful stuff because it tasted like crap. He was pretty sure none of his brothers would be able to tell.

He snorted, grabbing the empty bag of sugar and crumpling it between his hands, then stuffing it into his backpack. He’d dump the evidence at school. He didn’t want to risk anyone seeing the bag in the house trash. No, he was fucking brilliant and didn’t have to worry about shit. His older brothers were a bunch of idiot jocks. Like they’d fucking figure it out?

***

It was after five before the once nearly empty house was full, Frank, Dan, and Joey coming home, sweat still clinging to them from their time working out. They all beelined it to the kitchen, crashing through the house like a small herd of animals. Their parents wouldn’t be home till much later seeing as it was their weekly date night, meaning the boys had to fend for themselves for dinner. Rob was nowhere to be found but the sound of the shower could be heard from the downstairs bathroom. Joey’s expression was grim as he scolded the eldest of the three tall, tanned, dark-haired brothers for his earlier comment.

“You know how sensitive Robbie gets, Frank. You really shouldn’t have said that. Not in front of the entire team.” Joey’s hair was longer than the other three, black and shoulder length with a soft curl that was currently dripping sweat while he chugged a bottle of water.

Frank, the tallest and strongest of the three, looked far from apologetic as he reached above the refrigerator and grabbed the protein powder from the cabinet. His hair was short with bangs that teased over his forehead when they weren’t spiked back. “Come on, Joey, the kid gets asthma walking to the fucking mailbox. He can’t join the team. Those guys would break Rob to pieces and you know it.”

Joey flinched, his kind, gray eyes full of worry as he imagined their petite, slim-limbed brother trying to go up against an entire football team. Rob was just too small and delicate even if he was all punk attitude.

“Besides,” Frank continued, taking the glasses Dan handed him and putting the three out on the table. “You know what Johnson would pull if Rob even stepped near a fucking tryout. No way in fuck I’m letting that happen.”

At Frank’s unhelpful lack of explanation, Joey turned with furrowed brows to Dan, the youngest of the three rolling his deep blue eyes back at him.

“Seriously, Joey? Don’t you fucking pay attention? Johnson’s been perving on Robyn for a fucking year now. You really want to let that creep near our little brother?” The glass clinked, Dan stirring milk into his protein shake. “Rob doesn’t know how to handle himself with a guy like that. Johnson would have the kid stripped and on his knees sucking cock in five minutes flat.”

His spoon held in his hand like a knife, Joey pointed it straight at Dan’s face, the brunette’s expression dark. “Could you please not put that mental image in my head, asshole? I will stab that fucker if he touches my Robbie.”

Dan and Frank exchanging a silent look, Frank carefully pulled the spoon from Joey’s hand. “Yeah, well, to save you from a life sentence in prison for murder with spoon, I made sure the kid wouldn’t step near the field,” Frank said flatly, using the spoon to stir his own drink. He dumped a final scoop of powder into Joey’s glass, replacing the lid to the container. “Robyn is too sensitive for sports. Remember when he tried to play kickball, then spent an hour bawling when he stepped on that butterfly?”

“Come on, he was ten,” Joey reminded, unable to stop a small smile from gracing his lips. Robbie had always been ridiculously adorable. It was kind of hard not to pick on him. He had the cutest face and just got so worked up over everything. How could you not want to piss him off until he threw a little hissy fit? Robbie’s beautiful, violet-blue eyes would flash angrily and he’d always try to take a swing at you even though the kid had the scrawniest damn arms. Of course, it always ended in tears, the boy so emotional, he’d be hiccuping by the time the older brothers relented.

Joey admitted to a dark, secret thrill in seeing his little brother cry, especially when Robbie would cling to him for comfort after, burying his face against his chest until he finally calmed.

Joey slowly frowned, growling internally when his mind flashed for a second on Nate Johnson who had started hanging out with the three of them more, always asking to come over to the house. If that fucker so much as looked at Robbie funny, he was going to beat the guy’s face bloody. He’d beaten guys for less when it came to his little brother. All but Frank and Dan, who he shared an unspoken agreement with to back off when things got too rough when picking on their little brother.

Maybe it was time to teach Robbie how to take care of himself. If a creep like Johnson was looking at the kid…

“He asked me to show him how to get strong,” Joey said after a moment, meeting Dan and Frank’s eye as his glass was handed to him. “He wants to learn how to fight.”

“Like fuck,” Frank growled. “The kid would be fighting everyone that looked at him sideways. He’s too mouthy, too undisciplined—Way too angry all the time.”

Dan agreed with a grin, raising his glass. “Besides, if Robyn was strong, then he wouldn’t be our cute little sis anymore.” They each took a sip from their respective drinks, Joey immediately spitting his back into his cup when the overwhelming flavor of sugar hit his tongue. Frank and Dan slowly followed suit, their eyes growing dark.

“Son of a whore—Didn’t we just get this stuff?” Frank tore the lid off the protein mix, scooping the powder up and putting it in front of Joey so his brother could inspect it. It was clearly sugar, the crystals unmistakable, large and nonclumping.

“The little bitch,” Dan growled lowly.

“He must have been really pissed,” Joey muttered, going to the sink and dumping his glass down the drain. He cupped some of the running water into his hand, rinsing his mouth from the teeth-itching sweet flavor.

“Yeah, but sugar? He knows that can kill you, Joey.”

Joey shrugged but his expression was grim as he glared down while the sink drained. Robbie had never tried to get him to eat sugar before. Watching his older brother take daily injections of insulin since the age of seven had set a line none of the Conner brothers had dared to cross before. “You know how he gets when he’s angry. He forgets shit. Says and does things he doesn’t really think out.”

“I’m the one that called him a cheerleader,” Frank said with a growl, tossing the protein powder straight into the garbage bin. “He should have come at me.”

“We all use the powder. Rob knows as much,” Joey reminded reasonably. “He wasn’t just going after me.”

“Fuck, fine, what the fuck are we going to do about it?” Frank fixed his forgiving brother with a hard look. “That shit was expensive and we can’t have Robyn dosing the diabetic with a daily shot of sugar. He’s got to stop with this shit already. It’s getting old, man.”

Joey sighed, slumping against the sink. “Come on, guys, you’re just going to get the kid more upset. You can’t keep picking on him. He’s never going to grow up if you’re always on his case about shit.”

Frank and Dan exchanged another look, Dan stepping up and whispering into his taller brother’s ear. Joey watched them warily, his arms folded over his chest.

“It’s just a punishment, Joey,” Frank assured him. “So Rob won’t do it again. Think of it like training.”

“Like fuck,” Joey said with a scowl. “What are you going to do, duct tape him to the door again? Robbie was pissed for weeks and only acted out more. This prank war hasn’t helped anything.”

Snickering at the memory, Dan shook his head. The boy’s eyes were full of mischief, Joey even more anxious to see. “Nope, I think it’s time our little bro grew into a full-fledged woman.”

“Damn it. You guys know that shit pisses him off the most,” Joey growled in exasperation. “He’s tired of us calling him a girl.”

“He looks like one,” Frank said flatly. “He’s sure underhanded and bitchy like one. And if Rob keeps this shit up, we’re just going to have to treat him like the girl he is.”

Joey inhaled sharply, his stomach tightening against his will. A part of him loved the idea of Rob as a girl. It was the same part that used to love to tease the boy merciless until he’d cry and cling to him, whimpering into his shirt front. For the longest time growing up, Robyn had been their little sister and it was really hard to let go of seeing the boy silky and in pink. But Rob wasn’t a girl, he was a really angry boy who had been a total pain in the ass lately. One that he really wanted to protect from whatever revenge Frank and Dan had up their sleeve. His other brothers knew Joey could take care of himself but because of his illness, they still felt the need to overreact. Something he was pretty sure the two were going to do again as Dan suddenly bounded down the stairs and out of the front door right after flashing Frank a grin.

Fixing his remaining brother with a glare, Joey pushed himself from the sink. “What the fuck did you mean by that? What are you going to do to him?”

“You mean, what are we going to do to him.” Frank wasn’t intimidated by Joey’s scowl, returning it with a tilted chin. “You’re the one babying him, Joey. You let Rob get away with all kinds of shit.”

“I have to,” Joey said reasonably, used to this particular argument. “You guys are total asshats to him. He thinks we all hate him.”

Frank wasn’t impressed. “We just say shit, bro. Robyn’s been a total terror. He poured soda in our beds, put glue in the shampoo and I’m pretty sure he’s the one that left out Dan’s porn for mom to find. He told Jessica that we all have crabs and that—”

Joey sighed heavily, running his hand through his shoulder length hair. “Fine, I get it. He’s been a total dick lately. Just, you freaking out on him isn’t helping shit.”

Frank shrugged, opening the fridge and pouring himself a glass of orange juice instead. “You babying him hasn’t done shit either. You notice when it all started?”

Joey thought back but couldn’t really pinpoint when Rob had started being quite so angry. A few years back he had gotten really defiant about mom pretending he was a girl but it had only been recent that the kid had started pulling these stupid and sometimes dangerous pranks.

“Well, I noticed,” Frank spoke up when Joey didn’t have an answer. “It started when he was passed over for that bit in the school play.”

Blinking, Joey nodded after a moment in agreement. That could have been about the time.

Frank poured him a much smaller glass of juice, handing it over. When Joey went to take the glass, Frank didn’t let go, meeting his brother’s eyes steadily. “The play you prep’d him for like two weeks straight. Where he kept making doe eyes at you until you were wrapped around his finger.”

Huffing in annoyance, Joey rolled his eyes. “Come on, man, he’s a good kid. Annoying at times but he’s—”

“Joey, he’s in love with you,” Frank interrupted curtly. “Head over fucking heels. Absolutely, completely smitten with you.”

Nostrils flaring, Joey put more pressure into his grip until Frank relented the glass. He drank it down like a shot, trying to ignore the way the cold liquid felt like lead in his gut, heat rising over his skin in an anxious wave. “That’s crazy,” he finally said after the silence had stretched on too long, his voice gruff.

Frank was unaffected, looking completely at ease. “It’s pretty obvious. Robyn threw that hissy when you started dating that chick from the next town over. He sulked the entire time, you know, when he wasn’t spreading rumors about the three of us and hiding all our fucking shit. Dan figured it out before I did,” he added as if Dan thinking the same thing confirmed it all. “I was ready to hold the little brat out of a window by his ankles until Dan spoke up.”

“This is crazy,” Joey muttered, turning and rinsing his glass to give him something to do with his hands while his mind reeled. He glared over his shoulder, his expression full of accusation. “You’re just saying this shit to get me to agree to whatever terrible you’re about to do.”

“He loves you, Joe. He was auditioning for the role of a chick—”

“There weren’t any male roles!”

“Yet he still wanted to be in the fucking play,” Frank replied, his eyes narrowed on the way his brother’s face was flushed in anger. “Believe me, Robyn is in need of facing some facts about himself and that is not going to happen if you don’t face the fact that our little bro wants your dick. Bad.”

Glaring stonily out the small window that looked into their backyard, Joey held his tongue. There had been times, glances, sometimes hugs that had gone a little too long that had made him wonder. But that had been a while ago and he had told himself it had all been in his head.

“He doesn’t,” Joey said, sighing softly. “He really doesn’t and you’re going to freak him out if you suggest such a thing. The kid is angry enough, Frank.”

Giving his younger brother a calculating look, Frank tilted his head, indicating Joey should follow. After a moment, Joey did, dragging his feet as they walked down the hall past the bathroom, stopping in front of Rob’s room. There was a pretty pink unicorn superglued to the boy’s door covered in swipes of black sharpie. One of Dan’s jokes after Rob had deliberately erased one of his video game saves. Mom had set aside a room just for the girl she had always wanted. Instead, her Robyn had been born a Rob and the woman had still insisted her youngest get a room of his own. It used to be all pink until Rob had finally put his foot down a few years back.

Frank pushed the door open, stalking immediately to Rob’s backpack. The room was painted a mellow sage green, no remnants of the soft pink and white lace curtains their mother had inadvertently tormented her son with in view.

Maybe it had been all their faults. Just, Rob had never really seemed to mind. He used to like his pink clothes, used to like getting to wear socks with fun patterns and do twirls to show off his latest dress. It was really easy to forget that their little sister was a boy, especially when it was just so easy to make Robyn cry.

“Come on, Frank, don’t go through his stuff…” Joey trailed off, Frank pulling out the empty bag of sugar from Rob’s pack. Gnawing on his lip, Joey didn’t say anything when Frank turned the bag over, searching for whatever evidence he was determined to find. He looked around the room again, taking in the posters on the wall Rob had started putting up. Most were of girls in elaborate, funky clothes from school girl outfits combined with combat boots and crazy, sparkling pigtails to a wall dedicated to leather, gothed out vamp girls. They had a subtle sexuality to them, very subtle when compared to some of the posters Frank kept on his side of their shared room. Rob was young in a lot of ways still, Joey reminded of it at every turn.

Grunting, Frank continued his search, finding what he was looking for deep in the pages of Rob’s math book.

Joey sighed heavily when Frank held up the photo that had been carefully hidden away, his own face staring back in a quiet, easy-smiling pose. Fuck.

Justin’s getting back today and I’m a mess. My hands keep shaking and my stomach is clenched so tight that I’m afraid I’m going to be sick. To top it off, I’m so hard I can’t bear it. I don’t know what he’ll do if he rejects me. I don’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t and he…

Fuck, what was I thinking?

Hiding in the backyard by my favorite rock among the maple trees, I take a deep breath and try not to freak like a total, well, freak. I shouldn’t have emailed him. God, it was the most stupidest fucking thing I could have done. Why do I do these things to myself? He’s going to hate me. I know it.

I just don’t know what to do anymore.

My brother Justin has been gone for a month on a college trip to Europe. He’s older than me, smarter, stronger—Pretty much everything I fail at. I can play a great RPG and party every Friday night but I’m never going to be an athlete like Justin or even a scholar. But I don’t mind. I’m not competing with him—He’s never had anything bad to say about me. No, he’s the nicest fucking guy there is and I think I just ruined our entire relationship with one fucked up, drunk email.

I was really drunk last night when I sent it, but I hadn’t written the email then. No, when I first wrote those damning words I was sober, horny, and out of my fucking mind with grief. He had left. Not just the house but the entire fucking country. There was an entire continent between me and my brother and I just couldn’t fucking handle it. Still. Still, I can’t handle it. I don’t know when I got this way but it seems to be something unwilling to fade now that it’s taken me over.

I never meant to send him the email. It was one of those stupid things you write to get it out of your head and never think about it again. My fantasy. What I want him to do to me. What I’ve been dreaming about for god only knows how long because I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want him.

That I sent it to him makes me more of a monster than having lived with the feelings inside for so long. Because now I’ve tainted him with this sickness in me. If you knew Justin, you’d understand just how terrible a thing that is. He’s perfect. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and a wide smile. He wasn’t made to be tarnished but to shine.

Me, well, I might look really similar to my brother, just shorter and slim to his muscular build but I never had a problem being his shadow. There’s a darkness in me. I’m okay with that. It just wasn’t ever supposed to touch him.

The words are burned into my retinas; clear, concise plans to destroy everything we are as brothers. How he slips into my bed while I sleep, my body naked, my hole already stretched and oiled for him. His hands would be rough, large as they move over me, down my body while he spoons against my back. I’ll wake up but I won’t speak—No, that would be too dangerous, speaking at a time like that. But he’ll know from the way I breathe, the way I push back against him that a part of me is dying from knowing he’s so close yet not inside me.

Hell. I’m way too horny for my life to be about to end.

Biting my lip, I glance around to see just how visible I am to the neighbor’s house through the trees and their dividing fence. It’s getting late, the sun starting to set. My parents already left for the airport half an hour ago. The city is a long drive and Justin’s plane won’t get in until late… Fuck, this is ridiculous. I haven’t even seen him yet, haven’t seen him in a month, I’m worried he’s going to hate me, yet I’m so fucking hard.

Groaning, I run my palm down the front of my jeans, pressing against my erection, my hips rocking up for more. God, I should go inside. Just… Just, if I do, I’ll go looking for his picture and now is really not the time to be jerking off to my sexy-ass brother’s picture. Holding my breath, I slowly unzip and slide my hands down my navel and into my boxers, grasping my hard dick firmly.

I’ve thought of it so many times, how he’d take me. I think at this point he wouldn’t even have to—Just him behind me in the dark whispering in my ear could be enough to get me off. I don’t know if it’s because it’s supposed to be ‘wrong’ or if it’s just because it’s Justin—gorgeous, muscular and all sexy—but every time I think of him finally touching me, my body just goes crazy.

My breath coming out in loud, harsh pants, I move my hand down after a few long strokes, probing fingers into my crack. Fuck, I must be losing it, touching myself in the goddamn backyard. It doesn’t get much more degenerate than this. Well, besides trying to get my brother to join me.

“Oh, fuck.” Gasping when I find my rim, I spread my legs wider around my jeans, my knees bent up and wide, thighs tense as I wiggle my hips to get a better angle. Precum is wetting the front of my t-shirt where it’s resting against my hard flushed tip but I can’t care. Need it. God, I need it so bad. Exhaling sharply as my finger slides into my hole, I immediately add a second and start fucking myself on my digits.

Justin’s big—Big hands, big biceps, and a thick, long dick I’ve been dreaming of. There’s no way it wouldn’t break me and fuck, I want it to. I want him to fuck me so deep, so wide that I won’t ever recover. I want him to own me with his cock, take me whenever, however. Just as long as he’s doing it to me, I’d be happy.

My passage clenches, my body protesting how narrow and short my fingers are compared to what I really want. Sweat drips down my face and slicks my taut stomach, my breath nearly lost. I lean back against the tree trunk and rock my hips up, driving my fingers deeper into my hole, thrusting again and again while choking back each soft moan. I love the friction of my knuckles in my unlubed passage, love the edge of pain that makes it feel real.

I want it to be real with him. I want it to be rough and raw and so fucking real—Something more powerful than the insanity inside me. His cock, his cum. My brother’s seed filling me the way I need it.

“Yes… Fuck, yes,” I whimper, slamming down on my hand, trying to grind in deeper while digging my sneakers into the dirt for leverage. I don’t even need to touch my prostate for this, don’t need to touch my dick. Just thinking of my big brother wrapped around my back, pushing his thick cock into me in the dark is all I need. Fucking me, telling me he wants me, loves me…

Biting my lip hard, I come, muffling my cry as my cum streams jerking spurts onto the underside of my shirt and drips down my dick.

“Fuck,” I gasp loudly, my body trembling, hole still clenching in aftershock around my fingers. “Fuck.”

God, I’m so fucked up. Ruined my relationship with my bro with one fucking email and my answer is to jerk off while thinking of him. Brilliant.

My cum growing cool against my skin, I slowly extract my fingers from my hole, grunting once they’re finally free. I carefully zip up, folding my shirt to keep my jeans from getting jizz all over the material. I want to get up but I’m worried I’m just going to end up on my hands and knees, pants down my thighs and fingers in my hole again while I think about him fucking me.

I would bend over for him. Would get on my knees, spread my legs wide and let him do anything he wanted. Part of me wants him to be gentle, to be as loving as I need him to be to make this crazy finally cool. But another part, the louder part, just wants my brother to take me—Hard, relentless, with a fire that can only match what I need from him.

It doesn’t matter. It will never happen—It should never happen. I don’t know if he’s already read the email or will once the plane lands. Either way, I know he’ll never speak to me again.

Groaning, I hunch forward and wrap my arms around my knees. I try to let the fading sunshine fill my senses, night soon approaching. All I can feel is the cold coming to steal my happiness away.

It’s going to be so awful. When he yells at me—He’ll hate me. He’s going to hate me and I don’t want to face that. Maybe I can go over Andy’s tonight. Maybe I can sleep over and delay this whole fucking mess for at least one night.

God, I’m so fucking stupid. What will mom and dad say? Will Justin tell?

Anxiety is like a nauseating wave in my body, fueling me more thoroughly than my guilt. That I’m getting hard again, too—God, I’m so messed up. I want him to know. Want him to want me and know. But he doesn’t and I’m just a colossal idiot with an unbearable crush on my big brother.

Teddy awoke the next morning to Granny Emma banging pots downstairs and shouting his name. Sitting up ramrod straight as he remembered where he was and how important it was to not mess things up, he gave a weak gasp, his hole throbbing angrily. Oh, he was hard, his body aching for attention.

Gnawing on his lower lip, he forced himself to get up, looking around the cluttered room for something to put on. Granny Emma hadn’t thought to give him any pajamas and he owned no underwear so he had been forced to sleep in the dusty bed nude. It was okay, the upstairs hot, no fan or air-conditioning to cool the summer heat from him. He had managed to get one of the heavy windows open a few inches, a small breeze moving in to the otherwise stiffling room. Still, it was his room. It still needed cleaning and maybe a light that worked, but it was all his.

“I’ll be right down!” Teddy shouted, wincing from the noise of his voice echoing in the room. Hopefully the elderly woman wouldn’t think he was being rude. As he bent over and scrambled around for his shorts from yesterday, he groaned, gasping while he clutched the bed hard, his dark curls falling into his dazed blue eyes.

Oh, but he ached so much, his narrow hips rocking as he humped the side of the bed and carefully rubbed his dick against the firm surface. He had never felt like this before and he wondered blearily if going to the dentist the day before had done it to him. Maybe cleaning made you very desperate to be cleaned again. Teddy wasn’t sure but all he could think about was getting the big syringe into his tight hole, hoping to ease some of the ache burning within.

More pots and pans crashed from downstairs, Teddy jumping and quickly throwing his shirt on. It did nothing to cover his flushed, hard dick, the boy whimpering as he pulled his too tight shorts up. It wasn’t going down, his dick resolutely pointing straight ahead and oblivious to the fact he had to get to Granny Emma or risk being thrown out on the streets.

Taking tentative steps to the staircase, Teddy consoled himself to the fact that the woman had terrible eyesight. Maybe she wouldn’t notice? But he couldn’t even get the shorts to zip, his length too hard and sticking out of the gap. Oh, he was certainly going to get in trouble.

Cupping his hands over his erection, Teddy edged his way into the kitchen, frowning when he found the mess waiting for him. “Granny, let me do that,” he said quickly, grabbing the pan from her claw like hands as he looked around. Pots and pans were littered everywhere on the floor and counters, the lower cabinets all opened up as if the women had been trying to get a stray animal flushed out of the house.

“Teddy, thank goodness. I’m looking for my cake pan. One of the boys is having his birthday soon and I promised him a cake. He doesn’t have a mother to make one—Teddy.” Peering down her nose through her thick glasses, she gave the boy’s shorts a stern glare. “Teddy, that does not belong out in front of a lady. Not ever.”

Teddy quickly covered his erection, his cheeks flushing red. He had never been so embarrased, the heat of his face like a hot stove beneath his thick dark ringlets. “Sorry, Granny. I… I need some more clothes. I don’t know how to—It’s not usually like this,” he whispered, wishing his dick would go back to its normal size. Instead it gave a stuborn twitch, trying to push against his palm.

Holding her hand up, Granny Emma turned slowly away, hobbling around the pots and pans. “Teddy, I want you to get yourself cleaned up just the way Dr. Wilson showed you. The gardener is coming today and he’s going to need the help of a strong, big boy. Do you think you can do that?”

Teddy nodded quickly, grateful the old woman wasn’t yelling at him or trying to chase him with a big spoon to beat him. “Should I find the cake pan first?” He had already spotted it, the familiar shape already on the floor but undistinguishable to his Granny’s near sighted stare. He carefully fished it out and place it on the table, making sure to cover his front with his other hand the entire time.

“You can clean up the kitchen after Mr. Fowler is done with you, boy. It’s never good to keep a man waiting. Now hurry along.”

Teddy nodded quickly, his blue eyes wide as he took a step towards the hall. “Granny, I don’t mind the clothes you gave me. Just, the shorts won’t fit when I’m, well, like this.”

The old woman gave a shaky nod to her head, standing over a recipe book as she hummed. The kitchen was a mess and Teddy was seriously worried she might fall. He knew she had a bad leg, but he was now wondering if maybe Granny Emma was going to need to be watched, not just helped to make sure she didn’t fall.

“I think I have a solution for that, boy. Let me make a phone call—I won’t have my sweet grandson dressed like a pauper with just one set of clothes. Now hurry, Teddy. Mr. Fowler will be here any moment. Wash up and meet him out back in the yard.”

Jumping at the order in her stern tone, Teddy scrambled back the way he came, running up the stairs while trying to keep from gasping with each step. Clothes. He was actually going to get some clothes. And there was no one there to ruin them or hide them away like at Aunt Jenny’s place.

Pulling a cigarette free, Darien lit it up in the hall the moment he stepped outside Beau’s classroom. His teach was trying to get some food down and he just needed to get the fuck out and breathe for a second. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something, and scream, and hunt down and destroy the fucker that had hurt his Beau. Instead, he was going to smoke for a minute then go back in and pretend he wasn’t a fucking mess inside so that the blond could feel safe.

Why the fuck hadn’t Beau called him?

He looked over to where Roland was typing on his phone, the man doing his magic with the guys back at their office to find every bit of information available on Collin Hayward. Darien hadn’t bothered to tell Beau that the business he had started when he was back in high school involved the finding of sensitive information and then the blackmailing of people that gave a fuck about if that information was shared. He had started the company with a few ex-military friends, some he had gone to school with, some who he knew from other connections. Once, he had thought he’d be using them just to find out if his father was looking to fuck with his life again. Now he had a feeling he might have to see if Roland knew how to hide a body depending on how bad the night went.

“Do you want me to call in a doctor?”

Darien shook his head sharply. “Not unless he asks for one.”

“Boss, he was practically catatonic when we got here. For all we know, his brain took a bruising from that hit to his face.”

Blowing a steady stream of smoke, Darien didn’t bother to answer. His teach could take a punch. He had seen him take worse at the hands of Blake and his bitch friends and hadn’t missed a fucking beat. No, his teach had gotten down on his knees, sucked him off like a pro, and then rode his fingers until he came. Pain was not a deterrent for the blond but an aphrodisiac. If Beau wanted a doctor, he’d ask. It was one of the many rules they had set up to make sure the blond wasn’t getting himself in too deep. Except, even with everything Darien had done, Beau had still managed to get hurt the second he was out of his sight.

Beau wouldn’t let him hire a bodyguard. It had been a huge sore spot for Darien, one that he was pretty sure was about to blow up after this. He just wanted to have a familiar guy with his teach, someone he could trust to make sure nothing went down when he couldn’t be there. But Beau thought he was being silly. The man didn’t want people thinking he was someone special or some stupid shit like that. But Beau was special. His teach was his fucking life and today had been a new kind of hell for Darien when the man hadn’t shown up for dinner.

He shouldn’t have let him leave without a bodyguard. He should have locked the man up in the fucking house and made him quit his shitty job. There was just something about Beau, something in his eyes that called to certain individuals to feed his need for pain. It made them want to hurt him, use him, and when his pretty teach was in the right headspace, Beau loved ever second of it and begged for more. But that was only when he was in that headspace and with someone that actually gave a fuck enough to figure out what he liked.

Tears. Fucking tears in those beautiful blue eyes, and not in a sexy way. No, in a fucking helpless way that wrenched Darien’s heart too painful to fathom. Beau could take a fucking punch but this thing, whatever had happened, it had hurt him in a way pain didn’t. He was doing his damndest to not imagine just how exactly that could have been.

“I gotta make some calls,” he finally said, crushing his cigarette beneath his heel and scraping it into the tile. “I want that fucker found, and I want him brought here tonight.”

“Here?” Roland looked up, pulling a second phone out while he continued typing one-handed on the first. “The school?”

Darien nodded, ignoring the questioning look his head of security was sending him. He needed to make sure that whatever had happened hadn’t fucked up his pretty teach forever. Beau had a special kind of wiring, one that demanded the right knowledge and a skilled touch. He knew the longer the problem stretched on and festered, the harder it would be to get Beau feeling like himself again. He wanted things taken care of asap. The fact that part of it involved beating the shit out of the deadman that had touched his Beau was just a total perk.

“We got him,” Roland called out before the boy could leave, pushing off the wall. “He just used his credit card in a restaurant less than twenty minutes away.”

“Danny?”

“Already on the way with Jordan. How do you want this guy brought in, boss?”

Darien considered, eying the picture Roland held up on the screen of his phone. “Keep him pretty. I want to fuck him up myself. Let me know when they get him here, but not in front of the teach.”

Roland nodded, texting as Darien spoke. “The guys dug up some more shit on him. Hayward was in a heavy scene about five years back. Used to frequent an underground club. Few regulations, lots of drugs. They were known for some pretty fucked up doms. A young man ended up dead and the place was shut down. Looks like Hayward’s aunt threw some money at some people and no one is saying shit.” He glanced up when Darien growled, fixing the boy with a look. “Hey, this is good news. With info like this, you have this guy by the balls.”

Darien just grunted, fighting back his anger and the pit of seething emotion beneath it. “You remember that kid I asked you to keep an eye on a few weeks back? Sutor’s brother, Rich? Did he ever get back to us on that thing we discussed?”

Roland nodded, already flipping through his other phone. “He seemed agreeable enough to it. Clean record. Able to listen.”

“I want him down here.” Hopefully, it would fix it.

In that moment, he felt like he was fighting fire with fire while holding onto the foolish hope the place wouldn’t burn down. But that was what Darien did. Every day he pushed forward, demanded the best from himself and everyone around him, and he prayed he wouldn’t trip and be stopped flat. Being with Beau had changed that. He had been allowed to take a beautiful soul and feed it, nurture it and give his teach everything the man could ever desire and he had felt at peace from it. Until someone had tried to take his teach away from him. Now Darien was back to trying to keep ahead of the consequences at breakneck speed while hoping he wouldn’t crash.

He had to suck it up. Push through and keep his eye on the prize along with every other cliche fucking saying that would help him get through this. Not for him but for Beau. His teach needed him strong. Darien didn’t feel strong; he felt absolutely out of control. The one man he gave a fuck about had been assaulted and he hadn’t been able to do a thing. He hadn’t even known until hours later. It didn’t matter what he did to this Hayward dick in retribution, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had failed Beau, that he could fail him again at any time. He could wrap the blond in fucking bubble wrap and order him to stay at his feet but Beau was going to pursue the things that brought him joy even when pain swiftly followed.

Sighing, he lit up another cigarette. He didn’t take pain as well as Beau did. He didn’t like to feel pain; he liked to push past it and let it spur him into action. Watching his pretty teach take pain was an experience unmatched by any other. The man was beautiful—strong in such a way he was never going to be, and so fucking beautiful. The man embraced the good and the bad, the pleasure and pain, and he transformed it into something beyond with his own body. Beau was fucking magic and didn’t even know it.

It didn’t matter how hard Darien pushed himself. Life wasn’t scripted and there was always something waiting in the dark to try and prey on the weak and unlucky. He could only protect his teach to the best of his ability and hope that Beau would be able to take the burden of pain when he failed. He’d be able to carry his teach through after, but he couldn’t change the fucking world that would break the man in the first place.

Eyes sliding slowly around the room, Beau tried and failed to relax in the huge bathroom of marble, stainless steel and glass he was in. It was very open, very spacious and he felt both small and exposed whenever he stepped inside the luxurious but sterile room. That was helped by the fact that all the blinds on the floor to ceiling windows had been left open, the early morning light bouncing off each shining white, silver and black surface. Outside the window, an expansive green lawn could be seen, the grounds looking more like they belonged to a golf course than surrounding a person’s home. Or should he say mansion? His student called it home but Beau was fairly certain the only way to classify the building was as a mansion.

He slowly stripped his new silky pajamas off, his eyes drawn to the mirrored wall where he could see himself reflected clearly. From the angle, it looked like he was outside standing on the lush grass instead of the cool marble tile. Slender, toned and lithe, Beau’s blue eyes couldn’t tear away from the red marks wrapping around his thighs and hips in faded slashes. He was always so surprised to see the marks on his creamy flesh in the light of dawn, how they had come to be there feeling like a foggy, heated dream of the evening before. He traced over a thin red welt that ran right across his left nipple, his body jolting as he remembered how he had earned it. Darien had said he was just too pretty, that he had been begging for it so bad the last time he had shown up to class with his pretty teach. The ruler was the only way to deal with such a bad teacher.

It had been a little over two weeks since he had moved in with his student and Beau still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or seconds away from ruining his life.

Stepping around the jacuzzi tub that took up the entire length of the windowed wall, Beau set the electronic shower. The thing could turn into a sauna with a push of a button but he wasn’t the type to indulge in such extravagances. The multiheaded jets that hit him in all the right spots was far more than he was used to. The water hot and steamy, he slipped into the spray, his golden blond hair quickly drenched as he was lost in the sounds and sensations of the shower.

It didn’t matter how much the glass steamed up, Beau still felt exposed, still felt like he was being observed through the large open windows of the bathroom. He wasn’t a vain man even if he was beautiful. He had used to hate how girly he looked, how women would refuse to date him because they thought he was prettier than them. Now he prized his beauty only as much as it gained him the attention of the one person he didn’t want to look away from him. He could be beautiful for Darien. If it kept the young man holding him tight and tying him up, Beau would be as pretty as possible.

There was a camera on the other side of the glass shower wall. He wasn’t sure exactly where, but Darien had insisted when he had first showed him the bathroom, pointing vaguely in the direction. It had been a terrible problem, one Beau had found worse in the mornings when he woke hard and Darien was still asleep. He turned his back to the windowed wall where the camera was supposed to be, one of his hands lightly bracing on the shower wall while his other moved down to his crack, his fingers probing into his hot, tight flesh still sore from the evening before. Darien wouldn’t be up yet, the boy rarely rising before ten am, but Beau had classes to teach and a job to get to. He’d have to wait until after the school day was over to feel the brunette’s claiming touch and get proper relief for the ache already building inside him. It didn’t stop him from driving his fingers deep inside his entrance, bending forward while gasping and putting himself on display for Darien just in case the boy did wake and look at the footage he kept of the bathroom.

That Darien had expressly forbidden him from coming without him present to see only made him harder.

Beau bit his lip, gasping softly under the sound of water hitting his flesh and the tile. It was only the second time he was trying this, still shy since having moved into the large mansion with his student. There weren’t a lot of places where he was alone, Darien usually right next to him. The idea of the boy watching him masturbate in the shower when he wasn’t supposed to was intense for him. He wasn’t even sure if there was really a camera. He wasn’t sure if Darien even looked at it if there was and if anything could be seen past the steam. But touching himself in such an open, spacious room felt hot like anyone could just walk by and see.

He really wanted Darien to see him. Really wanted the boy to know he was thinking of him with every plunge of his fingers into his passage.

His calves straining, he spread his legs wider on the slightly coarse stone floor that kept him from slipping. He clenched around his fingers, groaning lowly only to cover his mouth. Noises still made him feel like he was crossing a line and he could only allow himself so much before he got too shy. If Darien had been there, it would have different, but alone, Beau’s courage was very limited. Not that it was courage that had him riding his own fingers and whimpering desperately under his breath with each stroke that failed to hit his prostate. No, it was a mix of need and shame and giddy anticipation of the many things Darien had already done to him and would hopefully continue to do.

There was a noise under the sounds of the shower spray, Beau stilling his movements and pressing his face against the warming tile. His lashes dripping droplets of water, he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of his tight entrance when no new sounds were heard. He wanted to pretend he was being watched, his body flushed and tingling at the very thought. Darien had a slew of nameless servants that breezed through rooms silent as could be. On more than one occasion, he had been in the middle of a session with his student only to catch a glimpse of a person watching as they stepped by the door.

Beau groaned lowly, his muscles straining as he imagined those faceless people watching him now. He came with a cry, his passage clenched painfully tight around his fingers as he shoved them as deep as they could reach. Moaning, he ran his tongue over the immaculate tile wall, wishing he had a dildo or just his very large student to take him properly.

Hell, even alone he was getting messed up. He had to wonder if it was Darien doing it to him or just the craziness inside that had been allowed to be let lose.

The shower door clicked open, Beau gasping and staring straight ahead at the shower tile as cool air rushed into the enclosed space. For a frozen eternity, he questioned who it could be because he had yet to see Darien up this early. A servant? Maybe a relative of Darien’s that was wondering who the fucked up man was masturbating in the boy’s shower?

“Bad, teach. Very fucking bad.”

Melting at the words and the boy they belonged to, Beau raised his head, peeking over his shoulder. Darien was standing in the shower doorway, his muscular chest bare and tanned, black tattoos running over his thick biceps possessively. His hair was mussed from sleep, the boy dressed hastily in a pair of low hanging jeans, the bottoms already wet from the water spraying and bouncing off the floor.

Green eyes glared at him, Beau whimpering when he met that burning stare. He was in trouble and he couldn’t wait to find out what his punishment would be.

Teddy didn’t blame Aunt Jenny and Uncle Sal for dumping him; they already had three kids and they really didn’t have the money or the space to keep him around. Granny Emma wasn’t rich by any means but she did have a big house. Too big for the woman to take care of on her own now that she had hurt her leg and could use a consistent source of help. Teddy didn’t mind; he was happy to have a place to stay. His parents had died when he was a baby and he had been pushed through his relatives’ houses since then, no one wanting to deal with an extra mouth to feed for too long. No, he really couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting him around.

He was nervous about what sort of person Granny Emma was. Aunt Jenny had said she was nice but Teddy had already been through enough houses to know that nice usually meant he wouldn’t be hit too hard if he got out of line. Standing in front of the large doorway on the quiet street, he held onto the hope that as old as she was, Granny Emma wouldn’t have much of a hitting arm on her.

“Now remember, Teddy, you must help Granny with her walking; she can’t take stairs since her last fall. That means you’re going to have to keep the upstairs in order for her. Now she does have a boy come over to take care of the yard twice a month, and a few of the neighbors are kind enough to check up on her once in a while, but your main duties will be to take care of her. Don’t pester her for candy or things—I don’t want you being disrespectful.” Aunt Jenny gave Teddy a stern look which he responded to by nodding agreeably. If he knew anything, it was how to do as he was told.

“I’m sure you’ll be more trouble than good, but it can’t be helped. No one else has the time to take care of Granny. You’ll have to take care of her cats; I think she has four of them now. And down there…” she pointed down the street to a small rundown house once painted a pleasant yellow that was now faded pale. “Is where you’ll be going to school.”

Blinking, Teddy turned to look all the way down the street. “School?”

“Yes, well, it’s a little homeschool for the neighborhood kids until they’re old enough for college—Don’t be getting lofty ideas of that, though, boy. You haven’t had a day of learning and you’ll be the oldest one there. It’s only a handful of kids and they aren’t strict on papers. Thank goodness because I have no idea what happened to yours and I’m in no hurry to go searching for them. It’s about time you started getting some knowledge in your head. You be respectful there, too, because Granny can’t afford a real school for you and they won’t put up with mischief.”

“Yes, Aunt Jenny,” Teddy said automatically, eyes searching the little yellow house hungrily. A real school… He was going to go to a real school! He’d seen them on television before, big stone buildings filled with happy children learning about history, math, science, and all sorts of useful things, but Teddy never thought he’d ever get to go to one. He was small for his age, short and slender; the other kids wouldn’t know he was older than them. Even if Granny Emma was as bad as cousin Roland and beat him all the time, he’d still be happy as long as he got to go to a real school.

“Don’t dither, boy. Come on,” Aunt Jenny snapped, pushing the front door open and ushering the small boy in. Wide-eyed, Teddy stared in wonder at the inside of the house he would soon be living in.

It wasn’t rich or fancy and certainly not modern by any sense, but Teddy loved it instantly. For one, the house was big. Not too big where you felt like you could get lost, but big enough to run around in and maybe chase a dog if Granny allowed one. The soft green wallpaper was faded, a pretty design of flowers and abstract motifs still glittering on the walls in places where the sun didn’t reach or one of the many colorful paintings covered. The floors were hardwood and scuffed, large carpets spotting the ground with frayed images.

Teddy already knew his favorite rug, for right when stepping in the door a tiger was looking up at him nobly, small patches of where the fabric had pulled from the glue leaving it looking fluffy and worn. The warm golden gaze was welcoming and strong and it gave him a sense of strength.

“She’s likely in the kitchen.” Aunt Jenny stepped in, wiping her flats carelessly on the edge of the rug. Teddy had the impression she hadn’t even seen the picture on it. He followed quietly, looking around the passing rooms. The main staple seemed to be piles; piles of books, piles of newspaper, piles of dirty dishes. His fingers itched just looking at them all. The place was at least three stories tall—he imagined that Granny’s basement and attic were just filled with piles of things that need to be arranged, organized, and found a place for.

He paused at a desk where old photographs rested, some framed, newer Polaroid’s scattered on any free space. Green eyes jumped out at him, hidden behind the messy blond hair of a pouting boy that looked close to his own age. He was slender but taller than Teddy, limbs toned and tanned golden skin revealed beneath shorts and a t-shirt to combat the yearly summer weather common in the South. What made it interesting was the fact that the picture had been taken in the living room he had just passed and somewhat recently because the plants in the background were about the same height. Maybe he’d have a friend here. A very handsome one…

“Teddy!” Aunt Jenny called from down the hall. Jumping, he ran after, stuffing the photo into the back pocket of his jean cutoff shorts.

Aunt Jenny gave him a piercing look when he made it around the corner but didn’t say anything. He imagined she wasn’t in a hurry to blow her chance of dumping him off on someone else for a while. “Say hello to Granny Emma.” She stepped aside so he could see into the kitchen.

Granny Emma was not young at all. Wrinkles lined her face as well as every inch of skin visible beneath her plain, puritan style dress. Stern and thin, she stooped over like a stick had grown in a curve that had no chance of ever straightening out. One of her long spindly legs was wrapped in a cast, the type to support when walking that could be removed during the night to prevent sores. She watched unfocused through thick, oversized glasses, and as Teddy approached he could smell the sweet scent of brandy saturating her.

“Hello, Granny,” Teddy said quietly. He held his hand out to her cautiously, unsure what to make of the woman. He was five feet tall and done growing, yet she managed to be shorter than him. He wasn’t used to an adult he had to look down at.

“Look at those curls! In my day a girl would have sold her right arm for hair like yours,” Granny Emma exclaimed, dismissing Teddy’s hand to wrap frail, dry hands into his dark locks. The smell of age was new to Teddy too, and he scrunched his nose while he stood still to allow the woman to get a good look at him.

“Wasted on him, if you ask me,” Aunt Jenny sniffed, eying Teddy’s hair with resentment as her own mouse brown locks failed to hold a curl no matter how long she ironed it. She hated Teddy’s eyelashes too, so dark and thick, making the boy’s blue eyes shine.

“You’re a waif, though. Can you lift things, boy? I always need a good set of shoulders to get my water in.”

Teddy nodded resolutely. “I can lift ‘em.” He might be small but he was strong in a scrappy way, his slender arms used to manual labor.

Granny Emma gave him a measuring look that momentarily broke through what Teddy was to find was her normal myopic stare. “Alright, then. You seem respectful enough. Certainly hungry enough to get you listening to your elders,” she added with a glance at his long pale arms and matching frame hidden beneath ill-fitting clothes. “You know how to listen to your elders, right, boy? I don’t want to hear about any trouble from you in the neighborhood. You do as your told, and that’s that.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“I’ll have no problem sending you off to another relative, you know. Be respectful and do as you’re told no matter what.”

Teddy nodded his head a couple of times to emphasize that he had gotten the point. He would do as his elders told him. He had no intention of blowing his chance of living in the warm, eccentric house with the schoolhouse just down the street.

Mitch is a total pervert. Hardcore. Seriously, it’s the second time he’s dared someone to suck his fingers, and if the first time watching Jenna do it wasn’t awkward enough, now he’s looking at my lips while smirking like a total jackass. I know I have a pretty face, but fuck, I’m sick and tired of guys treating me like some fucking girl.

“You can always pick truth,” Jenna offers, looking at me sympathetically.

I can’t. There’s no way I can pick truth. Every time Mitch has gotten a truth he’s asked if the person was a virgin, and there’s no way in hell I’m admitting to that. At least Jake and Dave stepped out to get some soda. The last thing I need is my best friend seeing me sucking Mitch’s fingers like I’m some sort of slut. Bad enough Jenna and Chris are here.

“You chicken, Sullivan?” Mitch asks, his grin only growing as I glare at him. What an asshole.

“You just better have washed your hands,” I mutter, glaring at the offending digits. They look clean enough, nails short with no dirt underneath. Might have some potato chips on them, but that won’t be the end of the world. I just really wish he’d stop looking at me like I’m about to suck his dick.

“Ask Jenna; my fingers are nice and clean.”

I glance over to Jenna, who just shrugs at me. Considering how she’d been grinning the entire time she was sucking on his fingers, I have a feeling she’s too slutty to actually care. This is what I get for hanging with the college kids. They’re Dave’s friends, and Dave is Jake’s brother, so I really can’t make an ass of myself chickening out.

“And hey, if my fingers are dirty, I’m sure you can clean them off real nice,” Mitch adds casually, his brown eyes glinting wickedly from beneath his shaggy blond hair.

I’ve only just met Mitch tonight and I’m pretty sure I hate him.

I’m running out of time. Jake’s going to be back, and I really don’t want him to see this. I hold my hand out, expecting Mitch to give me his fingers so I can lick the stupid things. But the asshole just shakes his head, raising two up in front of my face.

“Open.”

I glare him down, then look over to Chris who has the stopwatch. “Not a second over three minutes. I’m not falling for that again.”

Chris just holds his hands up with an apologetic grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Yeah, he’s an ass too.

“I think you’re stalling,” Mitch whispers, ducking his head closer to mine until he’s in my ear. “It’s just fingers, Sullivan. Not like I’m asking you to suck my cock.”

Fire rushing to my face, I grit my teeth. I totally hate him. He’s just saying that because he wants me to think about his dick while I’m doing this. The kid fucks anything on legs, guys and girls, and he’s just trying to freak me out because he knows I’m a virgin. Fuck him.

Letting out a soft breath, I reach forward, opening my mouth to quickly wrap around his stupid fingers so I can get this done already. He stops me with two words.

“Go slow.”

Glaring at his hand, I part my lips, slowly leaning the last inch forward and praying I manage to give him the plague in some magical fluke of cosmic retribution.

My mouth is really wet by the time I actually feel the two fingers. He’s halfway in my mouth when he touches my tongue. I can’t help but gasp from the feel of the firm pads of his fingertips, my tongue hollowing as I flinch away. Staring down resolutely at the holes in his jeans, I try not to make a noise as he rubs down the rough texture of my flesh, pushing into my building saliva and drawing forward to my wavering tip.

“Suck,” he orders lowly in my ear, his breath burning hot on my cheek.

I want to punch him. He’s trying to make me think about dick, I can tell just by the way he said it. Glaring straight ahead, I tighten my lips reluctantly, doing my best not to feel just how hot and damp his fingers are getting while in my mouth. Tentatively I try to suck around his fingers, my tongue hollowing again and inadvertently caressing against the digits. God, I hate him.

“Harder than that… Good. You’re not bad, Sullivan.” Smirking against my ear, he adds mockingly. “You do this a lot?”

He’s an absolute asshole. Like I go around sucking fingers, or dick—Cus he’s totally really saying that. What a total sick perv, and I can’t even tell him off because he has his fingers in my mouth.

My saliva is building too much, flooding the back of my throat, and I have to swallow or something even more embarrassing will happen. I try to do it in a way he won’t notice, moving my mouth as little as possible. But he still grunts, still pushes his fingers deeper when my throat and tongue convulse. I refuse to meet his eyes. I’m not Jenna. I’m not some slutty chick that just smiles and sucks fingers like I really want it to be dick. I’m a guy, and I just have to wait this fucking dare out.

Mitch isn’t content to let me just sit with his fingers in my mouth. He starts moving, sliding them in and out between my clinging lips, his knuckles rough and tugging at my flesh. Brows furrowed, I breathe heavier out my nose, refusing to acknowledge what he’s doing. It’s not the same. They’re just fingers. I have no plans on sucking a dick anytime in the future, and this is not like sucking dick, no matter how much he’s panting in my ear like a dog right now.

“Fuck, you’re really tight.” His other hand suddenly tangles in my shoulder length blond hair, pushing my head back roughly. I almost open my mouth to complain, but just manage to stop myself. There can’t be more than a minute left, right? Two, tops. Just got to endure the salty taste of his fingers, the firm, rough feel of his flesh a little longer, and it’ll be done.

He pulls my hair harder, and I can’t help it, I whimper. He sighs in my ear like I’m doing it for him, the creep, and pushes his fingers even deeper, moving down my tongue and reaching into my throat.

“That’s it… Fuck, you’re not even gagging. I think you’re a natural.”

Fucking pervert. It’s uncomfortable, my lips stretching wide over his knuckles, my throat convulsing as I fight not to cough. I struggle harder to pull air in, hating how hot his breath is as he suffocates me inside and out.

“Can you take it deeper?” Fuck, I should bite him. “Open your mouth nice and wide, and take me deeper, cutie.”

His fingers scrape the back of my throat and my mouth opens wide as I gasp and choke, spilling hot fluid down my lips and chin. He grabs the nape of my neck, groaning in my ear. When I’m done coughing, his fingers are going deeper before I can protest, his hand keeping me from moving away.

“Fuck, you can really take it deep. We should talk, Sullivan. For real. I think we could be good fucking friends.”

I’d give anything to be able to tell him to fuck off right now. But he’s rubbing my tongue again, trying to make me choke. Saliva is running down my chin, tickling cold on my throat, and I can’t even wipe it away as he thrusts his fingers, making sure to push into my bottom lip each time.

It’s suffocating, and hot, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what it actually feels like to have a dick in your mouth. But a dick is totally bigger, with that slick, swollen head. It would probably fill my entire mouth, probably wouldn’t get so deep. No, this is nothing like that, and he needs to stop grunting in my fucking ear.

“Thirty seconds. Better make them count,” Chris says cheerfully.

I fucking hate Chris; all of Dave’s friends suck. I wish Jake didn’t hang out with his older brother so much. Dave’s a jerk most of the time to me, and apparently his friends are too.

“You’re doing real good. Damn, you’ve got some really red lips, Sullivan. I think I know what my next dare is going to be.” His hand clutching the base of my skull, I can only groan in protest when Mitch’s tongue suddenly licks over my lips. Sick fucking perv.

God, it’s almost over. I know I’m gasping to breathe and everyone can see how red my face is. I close my eyes, hoping to block out Mitch’s cruel grin, trying to ignore his tongue following his fingers as he pushes into my mouth. I can’t help it. I groan again, louder, trying to turn away.

“Mitch, leave the kid alone,” Jenna snaps.

“Make me.” Humming, his tongue moves up the side of my face as he pushes his fingers deep into my throat again. I’m a mess, mortified and can’t breathe around his fingers like I could earlier. He likes it, grunting as he pushed deep in small thrusts. I choke around him, hot tears slipping from beneath my lashes.

“Yeah, we should have some fun, Sullivan,” he rasps into my ear. “I think you’ll like it. I can show you how to swallow something down much thicker than just fingers.”

My groan sounds like a gurgle as he pulls me close and takes my slick bottom lip and holds it tight between his teeth. He bites down, hard, and I gasp, coughing the same moment Chris calls the time and Mitch pulls his fingers from my mouth. I immediately shove him away, hunching forward when I can’t stop hacking.

Asshole. He’s an absolute asshole and I totally hate him.

“What do you say, Sullivan? Wanna meet me in the backyard for a few minutes?” He asks with a shit-eating grin.

Wiping my chin dry with my wrist, I stumble to my feet. “Go fuck yourself.”

I turn, determined to go home and never visit Jake’s again when his brother has friends over, only to stop short. Jake and Dave are standing in the doorway, both of them staring at me with stunned expressions.

How long have they been there? I hadn’t heard anything, but once Mitch had his fingers down my throat I really couldn’t notice much of anything else. I duck my head, hating how flushed I feel with Jake staring at me like that.

“Get out of the way,” I mutter, wincing from how hoarse my voice sounds.

Jake quickly steps back like he’s terrified I’m going to hit him. Good. He should be. I hate Mitch and I hate Jake for inviting me over here. I push past Dave, who’s still staring at me slack-jawed as his eyes move down my body. Fuck him.

“Wait—He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Jake follows after me. “I’ll have Dave beat the crap out of him, swear. Shit, just wait.”

Stopping short at the outer door, I turn, glaring at him in exasperation. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

“Oh… Well, let me walk you, at least,” Jake offers hesitantly.

He’s staring at my mouth. My best friend of eight years is just standing there, staring at my mouth, and I know he’s thinking of what it would look like if his dick was in it. I fucking hate Mitch.

“I don’t suck dick.”

Blinking, red rushes to his cheeks. “I-I never said…”

“You’re staring at my mouth the same way that asshole was,” I snap, flinching as my voice cracks. Fuck. Turning, I push outside into the night air. Jake eventually follows, catching up to my fast pace to walk beside me.

“I’m sorry. I just—Shit, you didn’t see what you looked like.” I glare at him from the corner of my eye. He’s so not fucking helping himself here.

“I don’t suck dick.”

He grabs my arm, holding it tight until I stop walking and glare at him properly. “Yeah, but maybe you really should.”

My hands tighten into fists. I’m two seconds from slugging him. “I will fucking kill you if you ever say something like that to me again.”

“You looked hot. Really fucking hot.” The fucker didn’t even have the decency to blush.

“Fuck you.” I go to leave, but he holds onto my arm. He’s taller than me, stronger, and when I try to wrench free, Jake pulls me back hard enough that I stumble and crash against his chest.

“Come on, B. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He’s got to be out of his fucking mind. I’m so stunned, I stop trying to elbow him. “What, are you telling me you’ve… you’ve sucked dick?”

Blushing, he looks away. “Not exactly.”

“Because if you’re talking about Mitch’s fingers, it’s not the same fucking thing, you asshole. I don’t do that—And don’t you dare fucking say I should,” I add warningly.

He’s quiet for a long moment, but he won’t let go of my arm. I never really noticed just how blue his eyes are. Even in the dark, they damn near glow.

“Just try it, B. Just once… Just me.” Staring me right in the eye, he grabs me by the chin, his thumb moving over my bruised bottom lip. “You looked really good.”

“Don’t,” I whisper weakly, trying to step back and get away from the crazy heat that seems to be coming from every spot he’s touching me. “I don’t…” He has my chin caught and I have this heart pounding, almost certain feeling he’s going to kiss me.

His other hand moves to my wrist, pulling my arm down until it’s trapped hot between our bodies. “Just a little. Just to see if you like it.”

He’s been hanging out with his asshole brother too much. “There is no way in fuck—Oh.”

He’s hard. His hips move again, his hand holding my palm steady so he can rub his erection into it. Holy fuck.

“You might like it,” he murmurs, pulling me closer, his lips brushing my mouth ever so lightly. “I’ll be nice about it… Let you go at your own pace. I would never hurt you, B.”

I exhale unsteadily, my mouth feeling really wet again, like right before Mitch’s fingers touched my tongue. “Jake… This is fucking weird.”

I should tell him to fuck off. I should hit him, and tell him to fuck off, and never, ever, ever talk to him again. But I can’t stop looking at the way his jeans are tented. And when he lets my palm go so he can pull his zipper down, I don’t step away.

“Get on your knees, B.”

I swallow hard, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “Why?” I manage to croak out.

“You know why.” His hand moves from my chin to the side of my face, raking through my long hair. “Seeing you like that got me so hot. It won’t take long. You don’t even have to swallow if you don’t want.”

He’s crazy. Absolutely crazy. But my feet just won’t fucking move. I hear a rustle of fabric and my gaze falls again. Yeah, so that’s what he looks like hard. Bigger than I thought. Really nothing at all like fingers.

“Get on your knees.”

It’ll be fast, right? I mean, he’s really hard, and… And fuck, it might not be that bad. It’s Jake, and he’s hard over me… And he’s big. Probably wouldn’t get as deep as Mitch’s nasty fingers.

Eyes caught on the way his hand is moving over the underside of his shaft, I don’t notice right away when he pushes down my shoulder. It’s not until he puts more pressure on me, my knees swaying, that I realize what I’m doing. My breath stuck somewhere in my throat, I slowly sink to the ground.

Face pressed up tight to the dingy bathroom mirror of his small apartment, eyes slit open so he could just make out his own dazed blue orbs, Beau forced another soap lubed finger into his aching hole. Gasping loudly, he pushed it as deep as he could get, not caring that it stung, that his flesh felt so raw and sore already. He couldn’t stop. It was Friday, he had woken up after dreaming of everything Darien had done to him last Tuesday, and his entire body was crying for more.

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, driving his two fingers in deep, gaping when his hole was stretched wider as he spread them. “Fuck, please… Please…”

He was losing his mind.

Whimpering lowly, he began thrusting in and out of his clenching passage, hissing from the feel of his fingers scraping his burning hot flesh. He couldn’t stop. Had been wanting it so bad. Needing it so much. He had tried to hold back, had tried to not be this way, but every time he was alone too long, Beau remembered. And when he remembered, he needed to feel it again. Needed to be taken. Owned. Exposed and humiliated. It was wrong, and so fucked up, and it was making him so unbearably hard.

Pulling his head off the mirror, he panted loudly, his breath bouncing back hot on his face as he took in his creamy skin flushed red, brilliant blue eyes and golden shoulder length hair. His brows were furrowed, mouth open wide, tongue tip brushing his bottom lip as he groaned. He looked like a slut. Like some sort of man whore just begging to be fucked. And he was. He was secretly begging for his muscular, young student to walk into his bathroom and replace his fingers with his own thick ones. Maybe even that big dick of his.

Slamming his fingers deeper into his hole, Beau jerked his hips against the wall, rubbing his aching dick against the cool surface. He released a weak cry, then another as his body clamped down so tight on his digits. Close. God, he was so close. Just thinking about Darien got him so hard, so ready. How the tall boy had pushed him down over his desk, fingered him in front of his students. Humiliated him. Degraded him. Got him off so fucking good.

Beau came with a cry, his cum streaking the wall in long streams as he bucked on his fingers buried deep inside him. Fuck. Fuck, he was losing it.

Panting heavily, he ran his tongue out, licking up the mirror, moaning from the smooth feel of cool glass on his hot flesh. Before he knew it he was sliding down the wall, seeking out his dripping cum, licking it off the surface while remembering how Darien had held him by his hair and forced him to lick his desk clean. Beau didn’t stop until he got every drop of his seed, and even then he couldn’t seem to pull away, lapping slow touches until his tongue was sore and his breathing had finally calmed.

***

It was Friday.

Beau had told himself to call out. He had stood in front of his bathroom mirror and told himself out loud that he was going to call out of work that day. Then he had gotten so hard he had stripped his pants off and fucked himself on his fingers. He had already come once that morning when he first woke, his dick so hard from dreams of his student that he barely touched it before he’d orgasmed.

It was crazy just how much he needed sex lately, how hot he got just thinking about Darien. It was wrong, he knew it because he wasn’t thinking about things like how nice the boy was, or how sweet he treated him. No, Beau was getting off on how possessive, rough, and brutal his controlling student was. How Darien had been able to push him up against a wall and grope him so thoroughly that he couldn’t escape, had not wanted to by the time the boy had his hands down his pants. And when he had fingered him, forcing him to bend over in front of his other students and the open classroom door, Beau had gotten so hot, so crazy he hadn’t been able to do anything but let the boy take whatever he wanted from his body.

He was in trouble. He couldn’t keep a straight head, couldn’t seem to find the moral ground that had been so solid before. To the best of his knowledge, he didn’t even like men. But he got hard for Darien. Every time the student looked at him—God, touched him. Beau wanted him to touch him. Needed him to make him feel that way again.

What he really needed was to not go to school that day. It was a prestigious college, he was the newest, youngest teacher there, and if he went into work he knew he was going to do something completely inappropriate with a young man that could have him fired in an instant. He should have been fired. After what had happened, he should have been escorted off the grounds and possibly straight into a police cruiser.

But no one had said anything. Beau hadn’t reported the three hooligans that had destroyed his classroom, and the three punks hadn’t said a word to the Dean or authorities about how he’d then gotten on his knees and sucked the dick of the student that had stopped them. He had a strong suspicion Darien Castello was to blame for that as well. Not only was the boy as aggressive as they came, but he also had a senator for a father. Whatever Darien had said to his classmates after the incident had apparently been followed.

Or so, Beau hoped. He was still waiting for the axe to drop. Three days later, he was still unsure just what the hell had happened and if he was going to be able to handle what was coming next.

He still had the bruises on his hips where Darien’s fingers had dug in, the muscular twenty-two-year-old having ground him so tight against his desk it had left marks. He still had the cuts and slashes from the angry boys that had tried to beat him into giving them a passing grade. His hole still ached, still throbbed every time he thought of how Darien had pushed him over his desk and fingered him roughly until he came. All while claiming his teacher belonged to him.

“Fuck,” Beau groaned, hitting the brakes abruptly as the car in front of him stopped. He was hard again. He kept getting hard every time he thought about what had happened. Especially when he heard Darien still in his ear, whispering that he was a nasty, bad slut—his bad teacher, and he needed to be treated like it.

Beau didn’t think he was a bad teacher, not the way Darien had said it. Not really. In his early thirties, he’d only had a short string of respectable, if not extremely tepid relationships, all of them with women willing to overlook his feminine good looks with his silky blond hair, bright blue eyes, and slender form. He had never thought of himself as gay. He had certainly never thought to look at a student in any way that was inappropriate, male or female. But then, he had never met a young man like Darien Castello before.

Tall, black hair streaked with red, green eyes and pure muscular confidence, Darien was everything Beau had hated when he was in college. Mostly because Darien was the type of boy that liked to bully him. Now an established teacher, that had not changed. Even though Darien had been very interested in getting Beau off, he had also done it while extorting his teacher for money with the promise he’d hurt him if he didn’t pay up. And if money wasn’t available, Darien would be more than happy to take it out of his flesh with a good fucking.

His breath speeding up, Beau licked his lips, trying to will his erection away. He could still call out. He could turn the car around, call from his cellphone and pretend to be sick. Sure it was hardly a month into the term but it was just one day. One day to keep from doing something extremely stupid.

What that stupid thing was, he wasn’t a hundred percent certain. He had the money. Darien had said he’d accept $50 a week to protect him from the sort of punks that would destroy his classroom and beat him bloody… But only if Beau offered something else in trade. Something sexual. $450 worth of sexual.

Beau had never thought to hire a prostitute, the idea too off-putting and crass. Now he wished he knew someone who had, only so he could get an idea of just what $450 would get with a person like that. Because when Darien’s eyes burned over him, he was pretty sure the young man saw him the same way most men looked at a hooker. Someone with a price that once reached would give them anything and everything.

Except Beau was the one paying Darien. To protect him. Maybe… maybe to look at him the way the boy kept doing. Maybe even to touch him, if he could face that thought as well. Maybe to make him do the many dirty, messed up things Darien wanted to do to him and a secret, naughty part of Beau desired to do. Like suck the boy’s thick cock as thanks for beating up his attackers.

“Go home,” Beau whispered, biting his lip and staring down the street where he could just make out the clock tower of the college administrative building. “Call out sick, and go home.” He ran his hand down the front of his pants, hissing softly as he pressed against his hard erection.

He had managed to not be fired for the incident. He had managed to not have his name dragged through the papers in some huge scandal over his cocky, handsome extortionist of a student. He wouldn’t be so lucky this time. It was tempting fate. Tempting the little good left in him.

Would you like that, Mr. Ashford? Do you want everyone to know you belong to me? Do you want to belong to me?

Darien’s voice again taunting in his ear, Beau took the turn into the college gates, driving to the faculty parking lot. He kept his mind blank, kept his expression flat, his mouth grim. It was just a day like any other day. Just a Friday. Just the day he decided if he was going to let Darien Castello bully him back onto his knees, maybe over his desk again, and give the boy everything he wanted.