Chapter 17

Seventeen

I could get used to this , Pedro thought.

He and Titus had been seeing each other for two months now, but he especially cherished the nights when Tucker was with them. He missed that—being part of a group of three. Those nights when he, Titus, and Tucker were together felt like?—

Like having a family again .

He missed his mother and father. But now, sitting at the Dairy Dream on a Saturday night, watching Tucker feed French fries to Titus, restored his sense of fulfillment. He felt like he belonged, no longer a stranger in a strange land, but part of a new family, beautiful and destined.

Titus made grunting sounds, scrunching up his face like an ogre. He took an exaggerated bite from Tucker's neglected cheeseburger, and Pedro and Tucker laughed at his silliness.

Other patrons in the Dream looked over, smiling, amused by their merriment.

That's what Pedro told himself, anyway.

Relieved with his parent's blessing, and emboldened by Barb's advice to live authentic lives, they went out in public whenever they chose now. No more relegating their dates to less popular week nights. Not that Spoon resembled the Vegas strip on a weekend, but there was certainly increased activity on a much smaller level.

After dinner, they went to the Rialto for The Indian in the Cupboard . The movie was OK, but paled in comparison to the trailer they saw for Toy Story .

As they were leaving the theater, someone spoke behind them. "Titus? Pedro?"

They turned, seeing Silas Compton with his own little boy in tow.

"Hey, Silas," Titus said, surprised by the encounter but quick to respond. His mother had often used the phrase to kill them with kindness, and he defaulted to it naturally. "Is that little Jasper? They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Silas barely heard the comment. He was looking at the three of them intently, Tucker between them, each holding a hand.

"I didn't realize you two were so close," he said. "I guess when your work detail is out in the country three days a week, friendships evolve ." He emphasized the verb as if it were something lecherous.

Pedro watched Titus's face flush with color, but it wasn't shame he saw. It was pure rage.

"Yes," Pedro interjected, trying to suppress the tension. "I wanted to see this film and Mr. Shepherd said he was taking Tucker to see it tonight. They invited me to tag along."

It was a weak cover at best.

Silas looked at Tucker's hand in Pedro's. He chuckled. " The Indian in the Cupboard ? You wanted to see a kid movie."

"I'm a big fan of the book. I read Banks. Well, I used to read her… when I was young."

"So, she wrote in Mexican?"

"Spanish," Pedro corrected. "Yes. She's translated everywhere."

"We need to be leaving," Titus interrupted. "It's past Tucker's bedtime."

"Yeah," Silas said. "I wouldn't want to keep you two. You boys run along ."

Back home, behind the gate, their normal peace returned. Titus, always hungry, went into the kitchen for a snack. Pedro put Tucker to bed.

"Light on or off?"

"Off, please."

"You got it."

"Wait," Tucker said, hesitantly. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"I'll be right down the hall with your father. Not far at all."

"No. I mean, leave us ."

Pedro reached out and took Tucker's smaller hand in both of his. "No. Why do you ask this?"

"Because I don't want you to ever leave. I want you to be my daddy, too."

Pedro's heart leaped. He smiled through misty eyes. "Well, sport. As long as you two will have me, I'm not planning on going anywhere."

"I wish you lived here every night."

He raised Tucker's fingers to his lips. "Maybe soon, sweet T. Maybe soon."

Titus was already in the bedroom watching television, shirtless and in his pajama bottoms. Pedro observed him, the gentle rise of his stomach, his arms and legs spread, making even a king-sized bed look small.

He sensed Pedro standing in the doorway, patting the mattress next to him. Pedro removed his shoes and joined him, climbing onto the tall bed.

"You OK?"

Titus nodded. "Yeah, now that we're home. Guess we're going to have to start eating in and watching videos again. It's aggravating."

Pedro curled up next to him, caressing his chest.

"Are you uncomfortable with people knowing about us?"

"No. I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because you love your job. I don't want to be the reason you lose it."

"I want you , T. If I had to choose between the two, you would win."

"You shouldn't have to make that choice. You also have your mother to consider."

"All the same, I still want you more than anything else."

Titus rolled toward him. "I want you too, P. So much it hurts. When you're not here, I walk around this house so lonely. It never used to be that way. I can't stop thinking about you… wondering what you're doing, if you're OK, what you're thinking."

"You're obsessed."

"I'm in love."

"I know. You told me."

"Aren't you?"

Pedro almost looked down. The heated blush still came, but he forced himself to keep eye contact. "I am," he said.

"I'm also horny," Titus added.

"That makes two of us."

Pedro stood, removing his clothes and retrieving lubricant from the nightstand drawer. Titus slid his pajama bottoms down. He was already hard, his cock thick and curved upward like a bow.

Pedro climbed on top of Titus, straddling him.

"Higher," Titus said, scooting lower and more horizontal.

Pedro shimmied up, his soft cock stiffening as it swept Titus's smooth chest beneath him. Titus grabbed Pedro by the waist, gently lifting to where he could see his underside.

"Now sit," he said.

Pedro did, overwhelmed with instant sensation—Titus's warm mouth, lips, and tongue on him. He relished the familiar sensation of Titus's scruffy jaw prying his inner most thighs, and that velvet tongue exploring and slipping in.

Pedro reached out, clutching the headboard for support. He tried to raise a little, fearing he was too much weight on Titus. But Titus wouldn't have it, grunting, pulling him back down, and probing more forcefully.

Pedro glanced over his shoulder, seeing Titus's cock behind him pointing, outstretched and so hard, a glistening crystal drop at its tip. It looked as if it were straining, trying to elongate to reach him. Pedro reached back to touch it, perhaps stroke it, but the angle was wrong. Instead, he brushed its tip with his thumb, smearing the drop on his fingertips and grasping at the crown of Titus's cock in vain.

Titus made a muffled grunt, lifting him again, setting him back down on his chest.

"I need to be in you," he said. "Like right now."

"I can tell."

Pedro slipped back into his original position, straddling. He squeezed a small amount of lube from the tube and slicked Titus up. He loved how Titus watched him do it, almost feral, as if his every move was important and worthy of attention.

They both sighed as Titus entered him, his hands scaling Pedro's stomach, chest, arms.

"Mm," Pedro murmured. Titus's heated penetration filled him with a comfort he'd grown to crave, all while balancing on a body so large that his knees didn't even reach the mattress.

They weren't at it for long before Titus sat up on his elbows. "Let's switch," he said, unable to play the passive role anymore.

Pedro grinned. "You lasted a little longer this time."

"I'm going to let you go all the way one day. I promise. But I've got too much fire in me tonight. I need to get some of it out if that's OK with you."

Pedro leaned down, peppering Titus's face with kisses, nuzzling his jaw and neck, whispering in his ear, "I'm counting on it. Fóllame chico grande. Fóllame como quieras."

They scooted to the foot of the bed, and Titus stood, lifting the seated Pedro with him. He turned and set Pedro back down on the bed, raising his ankles to his shoulders.

The maneuver was admirable. Pedro was mindful of the strength and care Titus exhibited toward his comfort, never vacating, maintaining his warm presence within.

Titus leaned into him, pressing deeper.

"Dios mío. Your cock feels amazing. So hard, like a baseball bat."

"Yeah? Well, it loves your catcher's mitt—all soft, snug, and warm."

Titus picked up the pace, stroking in and out. Pedro let his legs slip down and encompass Titus's hips. What he could manage to, at least. He reveled in the urgency of Titus's powerful thrusts, his head jolting with the movement.

He's right , Pedro thought. There's some excess aggression in there he's tapping into .

Some men were abusive, maybe drank too much, or both. Titus had found a better way to decompress.

Lucky me .

When the slamming grew harder, he asked Pedro, breathy, "You alright? I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me. It's all good. You just let it out, baby. Let it all out."

Permission granted, Titus sped up, crashing aggressively, deeply, desperately seeking solace. Pedro held on as best he could, his thighs gripping Titus around the waist, fastening to his relentless purge.

When fatigue eventually set in, the thrusts became lengthier, more deliberate stabs. Pedro saw the intense and delirious look in Titus's eyes, knowing that climax was near.

"I'm gonna come, baby, and I'm taking you with me."

Titus's hand landed on Pedro's cock and began stroking it. Pedro had been close for a while—the visual stimulation of being brutally pounded by his bestial lover had taken him near the edge. Now, with the added sensation of Titus's thick fingers touching?—

Sayonara, baby .

Pedro came, bucking upward, his ejaculate spilling more than shooting from him, flowing over Titus's fist. He squeezed at Titus's hips with his legs, and more intimately from within.

Titus plunged a final time. He didn't flail through his climax; the large man simply let go, collapsing on top of Pedro, all spasms involuntary and mostly internal. Pedro felt newer, expanding heat within, immense and satisfying. His body shivered with an intensity he'd yet to experience, pleasure and satisfaction so sweet he never wanted it to end. At that moment, he felt as if could lie there with Titus inside him for eternity.

But the feeling dissipated, as profound and intense revelations do when the mind and body awake from passion.

The tremors subsided, and when Titus had his fill of Pedro's spill—lapping at his chest and stomach—they showered together. Pedro stood under the hot water while Titus washed him, velvety slick hands and suds all over his body. When he reached between Pedro's legs, however, scrubbing at his tender underside, Pedro winced.

"What?" Titus asked. "Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little sore."

"I am so sorry, P. Never again. I promise I will never get carried away like that again."

"Yes, you will," Pedro said, turning to face him. "I insist."

Later, after they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, exhausted and spent, Pedro awoke to find Titus gone. He climbed out of bed and went to the window. Across the yard, he saw Titus's silhouette sitting at the table by the pool.

Outside, the warm, humid air was refreshing on Pedro's skin, chilled from hours in the air conditioning. As he approached the pool, he announced, "I'm behind you. Don't let me scare you."

"You don't scare me," Titus answered. "I scare me."

"I'm fine, T. Relax." Pedro placed his calloused hands on Titus's bare shoulders and began kneading them.

"Oh, man. You can do that forever, please."

Pedro continued with the massage for a moment, pinpointing scant traces of tension remaining in Titus's neck and shoulders. When he stopped, he mussed Titus's hair before sitting down beside him. "Why are you out here?"

"Just thinking. I do my best thinking at night, by the pool."

"What about the wintertime? Do you only think well in the summer?"

"Fireplace. I need something soothing to look at. It helps me focus."

"What's on your mind?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

Pedro shook his head. "No."

Titus looked at him for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, Pedro grew self-conscious. "What?" he asked.

"I don't know where to start."

"How about once upon a time?"

Titus smiled. "OK. Once upon a time, there was a man who became a hermit because his wife died. The man had a secret he held close. He thought to himself, I have a son. That's all he needed. He would raise that son well and dedicate his life to the task. His secret would go to the grave with him, he thought. No one ever needed to know. But?—"

"But," Pedro said. "The man's wife knew his secret. And before she died, she planted a seed… and the seed grew, as wildflowers do."

Titus patted his lap and Pedro exchanged his chair for it, welcoming the comfort of a firm embrace.

"And then," Titus continued, "the hermit who thought he could love only his son met someone new. And he fell head over heels for him. Suddenly, he didn't feel like being a hermit anymore. He wanted to share this new love with the world, this beautiful man… partner… parent."

"But the town had expectations."

"Yes. The town remembered this man as a champion, a hero."

"Are you afraid people will change their minds about you because of me?"

"I don't care anymore if they do."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't want them to think I'm ashamed. I'm nuts about you, P, and I want to flaunt it like Rhett Butler with Bonnie Blue. I just want to stroll about town with you on my arm saying, see this? See this, world? This is my man. He makes me happy again. And, yes, he is holding my son's hand because my son loves him, too. We're a family and if you don't like it, I may have to crush you."

Pedro laid his head on Titus's shoulder. He didn't need to look for the tears of anger in Titus's eyes. He could hear them in his voice. Titus was a gentle giant. In the short time they had been together, Pedro had learned this. And, though he had pleasured from the spectacular side effects of Titus's embedded fury earlier, this juxtaposition in mood was a tad disconcerting. Especially when considering his size. He could crush someone easily.

"No one's ever wanted to show me off before."

"You're everything I ever dreamed of, and I want everyone to know that you're mine. Is that selfish?"

"A little. But I'm OK with it, my big, handsome brute."

They were quiet for a while. Nothing but the sound of crickets.

When Titus spoke again, it was abrupt. "I don't want you working for Silas anymore. I have money. You don't have to work."

Pedro sighed deeply. "I do, remember? I can't stay in the country if I don't. And it's not like I can marry you."

"Would you do that, if you could?"

Pedro gave him some quick side-eye, then a lengthy glance skyward, as if he needed more time to think.

Titus squeezed him. "It's not that hard, is it?"

"No." Pedro's gaze returned, angelic. "It's not hard at all. Of course, I would marry you, T."

"OK, that settles it. You're moving in."

"What about appearances?"

"People already suspect. Your moving in will confirm things. If Silas is smart— which he is not —he'll keep you on. You love what you do, you're great at it, and loyal employees are hard to come by. But I'm calling him Monday and telling him everything. If he has a problem with it, and lets you go, so be it. We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Pedro nodded, comforted a little by their having a plan. "If he lets me go, it's not like I would get deported immediately. I'll just have to find work elsewhere—a sponsor. As long as I live and work here for five years, I can still apply for citizenship. Do you know?—"

"Elijah Fowler?"

"Wow. How do you do that?"

"I told you I think better out here by the water. No. I don't know him. Name only. He graduated a good decade ahead of me. But he played football at HOCO, too. So, he probably knows who I am. Maybe he's not a homophobe."

"Or a bigot."

Titus looked at Pedro, surprised.

"Black people can hate Mexicans too, T. Prejudice comes in many shades and colors."

"Why can't people see beyond that? I don't get it."

"Ignorance, envy, fear… shall I keep going?"

"No," Titus said. "It makes my head hurt."

"I may have a remedy for that."

"I'm sure you do."

"What's that I feel stirring down there beneath me?"

Titus grinned. "You wanna go swimming?"

Pedro rolled his eyes demurely. "But I don't have a swimsuit."