33. Brooks
CHAPTER 33
brOOKS
After running a shower for Tate, I left him to compose himself and joined my friends on the porch. Boston had finished chopping vegetables in the kitchen and he was relaxing on a bed swing with his hands threaded together behind his head and his eyes closed. There were chairs farther down the length of the porch, and I found Ford, Beamer, and Dalton there, a bottle of gin and three glasses between them. Ford kicked his bare foot at one of the open chairs, and I threw myself down into it with a tired sigh.
“Did you fuck Tate into a state of unconsciousness?” Ford asked, passing me his half-full glass.
“He’s in the shower.” I took a drink, smacking my lips at the sharp taste of the gin before passing the glass back to him. “This is quite a place you’ve got here, Ford.”
He answered with a small smile and a quick glance toward Boston on the swing. “It’s a good life.”
“You won’t say that in the morning when the roosters crow you awake at sunrise,” Dalton grumbled .
“Brooks is a runner,” Beamer told his husband. “He’s up early every day anyway.”
“I’ve been slacking lately,” I admitted.
“A good man in your bed makes it hard to get out of it and start the day.” Dalton curled his hand around the back of Beamer’s neck and squeezed.
“Did Brooks tell you how he met his boyfriend?” Ford chuckled, taking a sip from our shared glass.
“No, but I’m sure there’s a good story,” Dalton said.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes and glancing sidelong down the porch at Boston, who looked like he’d fallen asleep.
“Ford was sleeping with Boston and didn’t want Kale to know, so he hired Tate on the spot to pretend they were going to fuck at the end of the night.”
Beamer barked out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Don’t act like you don’t miss the absurdity that Kale inspires,” Ford said, grinning.
“I took him off Ford’s hands, fucked him senseless, and then he ran out on me,” I explained.
So much had changed in the past few months, that first meeting felt like it was a lifetime ago, like it had been a different version of myself who met Tate that night at The Black Door.
“Did you chase?” Dalton asked, brow raised.
“He’s not the type,” Beamer said.
I shook my head in agreement. “Ran into him months later at the club again. His roommate had started bartending there.”
“ Then the rest was history?” Dalton guessed.
“Basically,” I said, stretching out my legs and turning my attention to my West Coast friend and his husband. “When did the two of you get here, and more importantly, does Kale know you’ll be here?”
“Yesterday,” Dalton answered for the both of them. My stare flickered to Beamer, who had a soft smile on his face. He was truly happy, which was more than I could have said about his short romp with Alex. Not that the two of them had been bad together, I think they’d been an important stepping stone for each other, but there was an easy sort of relaxation that wrapped around Beamer. He was beyond content to let Dalton take the lead when he wanted it, and I was beyond happy for my friend.
“I would have come up early.” I reached over and clasped Beamer’s hand in mine. “I miss having you around.”
“I miss you too,” he said. “I miss a lot of things, but I’m happy in Los Angeles.”
“I didn’t doubt it for a second,” Ford said.
The back door opened and Tate stepped onto the porch, his hair wet and shaggy around his face. He’d put on a pair of sweats, which left me feeling entirely overdressed, but he didn’t seem to mind, coming straight for me and crawling onto my lap.
“Is this okay here?” he asked, burrowing against my chest with a yawn.
“More than.”
I wrapped my arms around him and rested my chin on the top of his head.
“I’ll be better company tomorrow,” he said to my friends with another yawn. “It’s been a long few days.”
“You can go to bed, darling.” I kissed the wet mess of his hair .
Tate groaned against me, using his body to remind me of what I’d promised him before sending him off for his shower.
“I think we’re going to turn in,” Dalton said before I could. “It’s going to be exhausting tomorrow with Kale’s arrival, and I want to be fresh for it.”
Beamer chuckled and stood alongside his husband. They both told us goodnight, then slipped back into the house, leaving Tate and me on the porch with Boston and Ford.
“The walls are not soundproofed,” Ford warned, pushing to his feet. “Goodnight, boys.”
He weaved his way around the cluster of chairs toward the bed swing. Boston had not—in fact—been asleep. He took Ford’s extended hand and followed him into the house. They left the lights on in their wake, and I tightened my arms around Tate, even as I shifted him to a better position on my lap.
“The best orgasm of my life,” Tate whispered, wiggling his hips.
“Let’s see what I can deliver on,” I murmured, standing and holding him under his thighs so he didn’t fall. The shift woke him up enough to wrap his arms around my shoulders, and I carried him to the swinging bed Boston had been lying on. I set Tate down carefully, testing the tension of the supports and the sway of the bed before settling myself fully on top of Tate.
I hadn’t been to the farm before, but I’d known Ford for years, and the man was nothing if not prepared. Shoving my hand beneath the decorative pillows, I found exactly what I’d been looking for. Tate was still relaxing his way onto his back and I made quick work of cuffing his wrists to the corners of the bed. Of course Ford had cuffs on the bed, and I wagered he had lube stashed somewhere too. Tate tugged on the restraints, hips arching upward just as my fingers grazed over a tube of lube behind one of the pillows.
“Was your friend a boy scout?” Tate asked, eyes open but hooded.
“He knows how to tie knots and start a fire if that’s what you’re asking.”
I made quick work of Tate’s sweats, yanking them down to his knees, then fighting one of his legs free so I could wrap them around my waist. He understood what I wanted from him, body hot and willing as I busied myself getting my own cock out of my pants. I had no idea how I was going to make this the best orgasm of Tate’s life, considering how out of my element I was and how tired we both were, but all I could do was try.
Inside the house, some of the lights flickered off, and I slathered my cock with lube before notching the tip against Tate’s hole. He groaned and spread his legs wider, and I rocked back onto my heels, mind whirring.
“Come back,” he whimpered, fighting against the cuffs as he attempted to reach for me.
“Come back,” I repeated, turning away from him.
It didn’t take a lot of work to find what I was looking for—two additional cuffs at the other end of the swing. I unclipped them and fastened them around Tate’s ankles, then folded him back in half and latched his ankles to his wrists. The clips and short chains clinked softly as he settled into position, then he groaned loudly.
“I’ve never seen you this open,” I whispered, sliding down between his legs and licking his balls. “This exposed.”
“Your friends could see,” he whispered .
“Do you want me to stop?”
He shook his head. It was more of a thrash from side to side, but it was the same answer either way.
I licked his balls again, sucked them, then made my way to his asshole. With his ankles above his ears, he was wide open and ready to be fucked and he acted like it. Tate whimpered and whined, trying to press against me to get more friction or penetration, but the chains held him strongly in position. Between my legs, my cock was already slick with lube and aching to get buried inside of Tate’s body.
“Be quiet, Tate,” I warned, pushing two fingers into him and bringing my body up and over his so I could see his face.
Sweat beaded on his temple and his thighs quivered.
With one hand inside of him, I brushed the hair back from his face with the other, kissing his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, his trembling mouth.
“I love you,” I whispered, smiling against his lips and sliding my tongue inside his mouth.
I replaced my slick fingers with the head of my cock, pushing into him a few minutes before he was ready for me. I expected the response, opening my mouth wider to swallow down the groan that tumbled out of his throat. With his legs over his head, he was tighter than ever, muscles gripping hard at every inch of my cock I fought to get inside of him. My tip dragged over his prostate and he shivered, a full-body tremble that rattled the bed so violently I worried it would fall out of the beams and drop us both to the floor.
“I love you,” I told him again, pulling out a couple of inches and easing back inside.
Tate swallowed, tipping his head back.
I kissed my way down his jaw to his throat, sucking at his Adam’s apple when my hips finally found a pace that felt good. It wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t fast, a long and smooth thrust that took my cock almost all the way out of his body before burying it back to the hilt. It was hard and slow, every pump of my hips sending another seizure through Tate’s compacted body.
Tate and I had fucked in a hundred different ways, and I thought the sex we’d had before leaving the city had been the best sex of my life, but there was something about this moment that topped it entirely. It could have been the humid night air that wrapped around us like a blanket, or the fluid motion of the swing, I wasn’t sure. It could have also been me, I imagined, my heart cracked open and bare for the man who was open and bare for me in return.
“I’m going to come,” Tate rasped, lips searching out mine.
I pushed his hair back again, holding his head down against the pillows while I kept the pace of my hips steady. Slapping into him with low grunts, the way he shook beneath me was the greatest aphrodisiac I’d ever tasted.
“Can I come?” he asked, eyes rolling back in his head.
“Yes.”
I bit his bottom lip, growling as his orgasm crested and took us both under. His body burned against mine, chains probably making enough noise to be heard inside the house, but if Ford didn’t want us to fuck on his outside sex bed, he should have said so. There wasn’t a single thing in the world that would have stopped me from sinking every inch of my cock into Tate’s body in that moment.
He came with a gasp, a far cry from his normal sounds. Hot streaks of his cum splashed against our stomachs, sticking as I continued to fuck him through the entirety of his orgasm. The tremor in his legs turned uncontrollable, and his fingers grasped wildly at the air, and I knew he was fucking flying.
I swallowed, dropping my forehead against his and going still. Cum pumped through my cock, spilling so much inside of him I worried about if I would have to buy Ford a new set of cushions for his swing. With some work, I hooked my arms underneath Tate’s armpits, curling my fingers around his shoulders so I could thrust deep into him once more, twice more, before my own legs gave out beneath me.
Tate sucked in gasping breath after gasping breath, then a whimper that had me turning to the side enough so that I could see his face. His eyes were screwed closed, lashes shiny and matted together. His bottom lip quivered, and I moved quickly to take it into my mouth. When I slanted over him, he let out a soft cry, and I thrust into him again.
My dick was well on the way to falling out of him, but I held my length inside of him as long as I could manage, kissing and licking every quiet cry out of his mouth. After my length slipped out, I kissed the side of his neck and raised myself away from him so I could get him unhooked.
“Move slowly,” I said, unlatching the first clasp around his ankle. I helped him straighten his leg, then I undid his other ankle, repeating the same help until his legs were stretched straight. I took the cuffs off entirely, kneading my fingers into one ankle at a time, working my way up his legs to work the tension out of every muscle.
By the time I reached his thighs, his cock was hard again, the mess from his first orgasm dry and flaking against his stomach. I picked at some of the dried cum with my fingernail, flicking it onto the porch. Tate moaned and sighed, seemingly content to let me aftercare him to my heart’s content, so after I finished on his legs, I gave the same attention to his wrists and his arms, the crook of his elbows and the ticklish dip of his armpits.
I lost track of time, finding myself in the stretch of Tate’s limbs and the soft heat of his skin beneath my fingers. I believed every time he told me he loved me, found truth in his promises, echoed through his bones when he let me tend him after we fucked. The sex we’d just had had been far from the roughest fuck, and he’d cried just the same, though I suspected it was for different reasons entirely.
“You still with me?” I asked, the question barely more than a brush of air across his parted lips.
“There’s nowhere else I ever want to be.”
His wet lashes fluttered open, and he hooked his arms around my neck, slanting our mouths together. He kissed me deeply, using his mouth, his entire body, until I felt the truth of his answer vibrate through my bones.
“I love you,” I told him for what had to be the hundredth time that night.
“I love you,” he said back, resting his cheek against my shoulder. “But I’m sorry, I don’t think my legs are going to get me to bed. You’ll have to carry me.”
I chuckled, obliging him in the same way I always knew I would.