13. Ethan

CHAPTER 13

ETHAN

It was strange to go home to an empty house. Having Mickey around hadn't been a hardship. Not even close. Ethan had relished going home at the end of the day and spending time with Mickey.

But tonight was his first shift at The Anchor. Ethan was proud of him and happy for him. Of course he was. There was nothing he wanted more than for Mickey to cultivate the life he wanted. A life where he was safe and well looked after. Mickey deserved that just as much as everyone else. Maybe more after what he'd been through. But that was Ethan's bias talking.

He ate dinner alone in front of the fire as had become the custom since Mickey came to stay with him. After dinner, Ethan cleaned up the dishes then stared at the empty space around him.

"You're being stupid," he told himself. Ethan raked his hand through his hair and gave it a tug. "When he said he wanted you to stop in at his job sometimes, he probably didn't mean the first shift."

Despite Ethan's argument with himself, he was already halfway to the shower, stripping his clothes off as he went. If Ethan was going to crash Mickey's first shift, the least he could do was drag it out a little and not look so transparent rushing over to The Anchor the moment he was free.

The new game Ethan played with himself was trying not to think about Mickey. Spoiler alert—he sucked at it. Mickey was almost always on his mind. After the bombshell about the sex work he'd done with Lance, Ethan hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. It was something he wasn't proud of, and he'd never in a million years violate Mickey by watching things he wasn't fully okay with recording.

But it had put images in Ethan's mind that hadn't been there before and he couldn't get rid of them. Mickey naked in front of the fire. Ethan would be stretched out on the floor at Mickey's mercy. And wasn't that a kick in the pants? Ethan hadn't had a ton of partners, either men or women, but when he had, he'd always been the one sort of steering the ship.

When he thought of being with Mickey, however, it was always Mickey in charge. Mickey on top, calling the shots. And Ethan was always pliant and willing and so desperate beneath him that he trembled with it. Ethan knew from experience that Mickey didn't weigh much. He was still rail thin, though he'd improved a lot in the past few weeks. But in his thoughts, it didn't matter that Mickey was younger, smaller, slighter than Ethan. In his wildest dreams, he gave everything to Mickey. All the power, the choice, everything that Ethan usually held was given to Mickey.

Ethan braced himself against the wall of the shower and tried to ignore the fact that his dick was so hard it fucking hurt. All day, Ethan's cock had tried to rise to the occasion, but he'd managed not to embarrass himself at work. Now that he was alone, he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. And he didn't. Not really. Not when Ethan was on the cusp of discovering something about himself.

Was it just Mickey that appealed to him? Or did Ethan like the idea of giving up control in general? He dragged his hand down his chest, feeling shaky and breathless. Was it fear that made his pulse race… or wonder? Excitement. Ethan's hand gravitated down to his cock and he took it in hand, stroking it nice and slow. He imagined what it would be like to have Mickey there. There were so many things Ethan wanted to do with him, to him, but he didn't know how. Would Mickey show him? Would Mickey return the favor and do things to Ethan that he'd never even dreamed of?

A groan tore out of his throat as he stroked himself again, relishing in the way his wet hand felt on his skin. Water was shit for lube, but the rough drag of his hand on his cock made his knees weak. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted anyone like this. Fifty might be just over the horizon for Ethan, but he didn't feel it today. Not with how impossibly hard he was in his hand.

Ethan filled his palm with conditioner and braced his free hand on the wall. His body trembled as he pictured Mickey and that fucking fire and all the things he wanted to do with him in front of it. Maybe it was crass of him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not at this moment when all he could think about was what it would be like to have someone he could take his time with. Someone who wasn't looking for a quickie in the back room of a bar or the front seat of a car.

Ethan imagined himself pinned on the floor at Mickey's mercy. He didn't want him to be merciful, however. Ethan wanted Mickey to take what he needed and to do so without remorse. There wouldn't be need for any. Anything he could take from Ethan would be given willingly.

Ethan could almost feel the way Mickey's hands would force him to the floor. He could almost taste the mint of his mouth as he leaned in to kiss him, to take what was his. Ethan felt the heat of impending release spread through him, tightening his muscles and making his breath stutter as notes of pleasure were swallowed back.

Years of quiet shower orgasms were a hard habit to break and Ethan came with no more than a whimper, painting the wall with ropes of cum. He jerked, relishing the bite of almost-pain that came from stroking his oversensitive cock. When he couldn't take any more, he pulled his hand away and pressed his open palm against the tile, mirroring his other hand. He leaned in and rested his forehead on the wall and stayed there until he got his breathing under control.

Once he was convinced his legs would hold him up, he pushed away from the wall. A quick rinse erased any evidence of his illicit thoughts. Ethan set about washing himself, doing his best to ignore the gaping maw of disappointment that opened in him like a chasm. Usually orgasms brought euphoria or peace, or at the very least some sort of pleasure. Ethan's had—for the moment. In the aftermath, he felt hollow. Shallow. Empty.

He didn't want meaningless shower jerk-off sessions or hurried bathroom hookups. He wanted someone to sit around the fire with. Someone to watch television with. Someone to come home to. And he wanted it to be Mickey, as insane as that was. Ethan had no business putting Mickey in those kinds of fantasies, but he couldn't stop himself. It had started out as an innocent fascination. An appreciation for someone strong enough not to let their hardships make them into something they weren't.

By the time Ethan got out of the shower, he'd changed his mind about going to The Anchor to see Mickey at least half a dozen times, but in the end his obsession won and he dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that Taylor had bought him a couple of years back because he "needed clothes that didn't have diner stains on them," as Taylor had said.

Embarrassment stopped him from spritzing himself with cologne. It wasn't like he was going on a fucking date. He was going for a beer because the idea of sitting at home alone, staring into the fire and waiting for an appropriate time to slip off to bed to stare at the ceiling sounded entirely too pathetic. But he drew the line at cologne. He wouldn't make an ass of himself. It was just a beer. Maybe a bite to eat. Nothing more.

The Anchor wasn't any busier than it usually was on a weeknight, but Ethan felt like everyone in town was watching him walk through the doors and make a beeline for an empty stool at the bar. It was where he always sat. He saved the tables for couples and he'd sit up at the bar and chat with Shane and nurse a couple of drinks. Tonight was no different. If only Ethan's self-consciousness got that memo. He wiped his hands on his thighs and hoped no one noticed that he'd done that.

Why the hell had he come out? He could have sat at home and drank a beer in front of the television like he always did.

Then Mickey stepped out of the back. Shane wasn't one for a uniform, so the only required clothing was the apron all the staff wore. A green so dark it was nearly black with a gold embroidery on the right side, spelling out the name of the establishment in some sort of nautical font.

It had always amused Ethan that this place, so far from any ocean, would be nautical-themed. Shane hadn't gone overboard with it, however. There were little touches of it here and there.

Mickey's eyes swept over the room and Ethan could tell the moment he was spotted. Mickey grinned, wide and happy. Happier than Ethan had ever seen him look and he made right for Ethan, who had found a stool at the end of the bar.

"Hey, I didn't know you were coming in tonight." Mickey's enthusiasm pleased Ethan than it should have.

"I thought I'd come in and make sure Shane wasn't being a tyrant and a bully," Ethan said, cutting his gaze over to Shane, who had appeared at Mickey's side.

"He's a teddy bear," Mickey responded.

Shane scowled. "Hey now, that's slander."

"Fine, you're a marshmallow."

"That's not better." Shane folded his arms over his chest. "Do you want the usual?"

"Yeah, and a burger."

Shane looked at Mickey. "Pour him a beer and I'll put his order in." Shane clapped Mickey on the shoulder and went to take care of that, leaving Mickey alone with Ethan.

He watched as Mickey worked. He was methodical and deeply concentrating. He apparently took his job very seriously, and when he'd poured the perfect glass of beer with just the right amount of head, he presented it to Ethan with a huge, beaming smile.

"How's your first shift?"

Mickey's eyes sparkled. "It's great. I mean, I've done almost nothing right all day long, but Shane is patient."

"That's good. I figured you'd like it here."

Mickey put his hands on the bar and leaned in. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Always," Ethan said, chasing his promise with a swig of beer.

"I'm so fucking tired." Mickey let out a little laugh. "It's not even hard work, but I'm so wrung out I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"It's hard work to learn so many new things at once. Your brain is working overtime trying to keep up with it all. And then there's the emotional ups and downs that come with a new job. It's natural to be tired."

Relief colored Mickey's expression. "Oh, thank God. I thought for some reason that it was just me being dramatic or lazy or something."

Ethan took another sip of his beer and tried not to stare at Mickey. The dark green apron looked good on him, and so did the happiness and pride that shone through him, bringing his shoulders back and his head up. Mickey looked like a brand new person compared to when he'd come shuffling into Ethan's diner not that long ago.

Ethan thought about all the things Mickey did to survive. How strong and capable he was. How level headed he still was even after the things he'd been through. Never in a million years would Ethan think that Mickey was lazy or dramatic.

"You're not either of those things," Ethan said.