18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

MILO

I don't even have to be fully conscious to know the vibes are totally different this morning. I'm still wrapped up in Piston's sheets with the smell of him surrounding me, but I can hear the faint sound of traffic this morning too. A loud motor is running outside, rattling the windows and taunting me with the knowledge that the world has been jump-started back to life.

I groan and bury my head under the pillow, willing the clouds to gather for another blizzard. The morning sun is streaming through the windows when I peek my head out again. I might have to write Oprah a strongly worded letter. If I can't conjure a snowstorm with my thoughts alone for the sole purpose of indulging in more naked shenanigans with my hot, tattooed roommate, then I have serious doubts that The Secret is real at all.

I sigh and fling the pillow aside, kicking off the blankets with more force than necessary. A petulant kind of irritation prickles all over my skin, making me want to stomp around a little for good measure and maybe throw in a pout or two. Seems like the perfect way to convince Piston that I'm a mature adult who can make his own decisions about his dating life, right?

As much as I want to steal Piston's clothes again, I resist. It would be hard to explain why I showed up to Ink Slingers wearing his shirt this morning. I slow my steps on my way past his dresser and a devious smirk plays over my lips. It would be hard to explain a shirt, but how would anyone know what I have on underneath?

I hook my fingers around the silver handle on the middle dresser drawer. It's creepy to take someone's underwear though, like proper weirdo behavior. I chew on my bottom lip for just a second before yanking the drawer open.

"Perv, perv, perv," I admonish myself as I grab a pair of teal boxer briefs right off the top of the pile, wadding them up in my fist while looking over my shoulder like Piston's going to materialize out of nowhere and scold me.

With my prize in one hand, I snatch my clothes up from where they've been lying on his bedroom floor for two days and dart down the hall to my own bedroom. I dump my clothes right onto the floor next to my bed and then step into the briefs. A hot thrill ripples through me as I pull them into place, comfortably cradling my junk. They're actually really nice boxer briefs, made of some kind of soft material that must be expensive. Their waistband has rainbow lettering with the name of the brand. I make a mental note of it then finish getting dressed in my own clothes. Boo.

By the time I step into the kitchen, there's a full pot of coffee waiting for me but no breakfast and no Piston. He wouldn't have left early just to avoid me, would he?

I pour myself a cup, then shuffle through the living room to peek out the front window. I breathe a sigh of relief seeing Piston outside, pushing a snowblower up and down the driveway to clear us a path out. For all the hassle of the snowstorm, it looks like it's already starting to melt. Water is pouring off the roof as the sun beats down on the glistening snow drifts filling the yard. I'm guessing it's not so different from Colorado—just because there was an early blizzard doesn't mean the weather won't turn back around for a month or two before winter comes for real.

I stand at the window sipping my coffee and watching Piston for a minute before impulse takes over. I set down my steaming coffee mug and stuff my feet into my sneakers.

"Motherfucker," I gasp when the cold air hits me.

I wrap my arms around myself and step out onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind me. The thinky parts of my brain haven't actually caught up with whatever impulsive goblin plan my subconscious has come up with yet, so I'm not sure why it's so important that I freeze my balls off instead of waiting for Piston to come back inside, but it feels vital.

I ignore the goose bumps pebbling my skin and the tremble working its way through me as the cold sinks all the way down to my bones. The sidewalk has already been cleared, so at least I don't have to wade through knee-deep snow to get to the driveway. Piston has his head down, completely focused on the task at hand, so he startles when I plant myself right in front of the snowblower. Icy bits of flung snow cling to my skin and hair, and my ears ring with the thunderous roar of the engine until he frowns at me and turns it off.

"Where the fuck is your coat?"

I sputter a laugh, and a warm feeling floods my chest, chasing away a little bit of the cold. I ignore his question though and hold my head a little higher, doing my best to look calm, collected, and mature.

"Can we talk?" I tighten my arms around myself a little more, hoping he won't notice the shiver that works its way through me.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters, reaching for the zipper of the puffy, not-at-all-badass coat he has on.

"Piston, forget the coat."

"What are you doing out here? You're going to catch pneumonia or something."

I roll my eyes. "I'm fine."

My heart beats a little faster, an urgent kind of feeling rising up inside of me. Like if we don't talk now, before we go into work and see everyone else, before Piston sees Hero again, before the real world fully creeps back in, it'll be too late.

He sighs. "Mi, there's nothing—"

The rumble of another engine cuts him off. He looks past me and winces, and I know before I even turn around what I'm going to see. I look over my shoulder anyway, because what other choice do I have? Sure enough, my dad's truck rolls to a stop at the end of the driveway, and seconds later, he hops out.

"I hope this bullshit hurries up and melts so we can get another few weeks of riding in before winter," he grumbles, tugging the collar of his leather jacket up and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

His eyes move between Piston and me, and I swear I can feel the shift in the air as Piston tenses. I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. If he's actually planning to keep this from Hero, he's going to need to work on his poker face. I'll admit, a tiny bit of guilt might seep into my gut as Hero approaches with a sunny smile and opens his arms to pull me in for a quick hug.

"You survived your first Wisconsin blizzard."

I laugh as he pats my back roughly and then lets me go.

"It wasn't so bad. I've had worse in Colorado." I wave my hand dismissively. "And when I was ten, my mom got this wild hair up her ass that led to us spending one winter in Alaska."

"In that case, maybe I should have been charging you with making sure Piston survived the storm instead of the other way around." He chuckles.

I grin. "Don't worry, I made sure he stayed nice and warm."

Piston wheezes out a sound that I think is meant to be a laugh. "With hot chocolate," he blurts. "Little mini marshmallows."

Hero tilts his head and looks at Piston like he's losing his damn mind. Seriously, so much chill is needed.

"Right." I nod. An awkward silence falls between the three of us for a few beats before I manage to rally. "Did you come to give me a ride to work?" I don't bother to bring up the fact that he got Jag to give me a car so no one else would have to drive me to work or anywhere else. I'm guessing this is just part of his own guilt he's working through about not being there for me growing up. "I'm all set, so we can go."

"Yeah, I figured we'd stop at the diner and grab some breakfast on the way, if you haven't eaten yet."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds great." I make a move towards his truck.

"Coat?" They both say simultaneously. This time I do roll my eyes. When I came looking for my dad, I don't think I was expecting quite so much… daddying . I guess I shouldn't complain though; it is kind of nice to have people worrying about me, even if it's a little bit annoying.

I dart back into the house to grab my jacket and in just a few minutes, I'm basking in the warmth of the cab of Hero's truck on our way towards Main Street. He chatters away, his voice a soothing drone as he tells me how he spent the past forty-eight hours getting hooked on some gay romance book Jag left at his house months ago.

I'm just glad he doesn't ask how Piston and I spent the weekend, because as much as I was just rolling my eyes over Piston's poker face, I've never been able to lie when asked direct questions. So I keep the focus on Hero and his apparent smut rabbit hole, and I try to ignore the disappointed pit in my stomach telling me I missed my chance with Piston. He's going to spend all day convincing himself that what we did was bad and wrong, and by the time we get home tonight it'll be too late.

PISTON

There's a hollow feeling in my chest that's been there since I climbed out of bed before dawn and left Milo drooling on my pillow. I feel like the world's biggest scumbag. As soon as Hero looked me in the eye in my driveway, I was sure he was going to see what I did written all over my face. What I still want to do.

Milo's trill of laughter catches my attention over the music. I pause mid-stroke shading the feathers on the raven I'm inking and look over my shoulder at him behind the counter at the front of the shop. He's leaning over with his elbows on the glass, chatting with a customer about something that's apparently hilarious. I narrow my eyes at the asshole with the green mohawk and gauged ears who's smiling right back at Milo.

"Hey, Piston," Jag calls over the buzzing of needles and the low hum of the nineties grunge I put on as soon as I got to the shop this morning.

I jerk my gaze away from Milo and focus back on my work, grunting to acknowledge Jag but kind of hoping he doesn't have actual plans to follow up with whatever taunt he was clearly preparing.

"You seem crabby this morning. I thought you'd be in a better mood after finally getting laid this weekend."

I take my foot off the pedal so my needle stops immediately, and I close my eyes in a silent prayer for patience. The dude in my chair, Blake, chuckles, and I hear the curtain that blocks off Brick's piercing nook rattle and slide open. Dude is like a groundhog, only bothering to pop his head out of his hidey hole when he thinks something interesting is happening.

"You got laid? Good for you, man. How long has it been?" Tex, dumbass that he is, seems completely oblivious to the fact that Jag is busting my balls. The low chuckle from Arrow's direction tells me he caught on just fine though, even if he isn't sure why Jag is busting my balls.

Beads of sweat form on the back of my neck and I resist the urge to look over my shoulder at Milo again. His laughter has died down and I swear someone must have turned down the music, because suddenly the squeak of every shoe and the rumble of every roller chair is loud as fuck.

"My mood is fine." I go with responding to Jag's jab rather than answering Tex's question, because I'm not about to open that can of worms.

"I don't hear you denying the allegation though." Hero chuckles. "Does that mean Jag is telling the truth? Did you tag along to the club and manage to pull some ass?"

Fucking fuck. I know I need to just be cool and roll with the lie Milo planted back at The Grind, but I feel like I'm going to hurl. I give Blake a tight smile and set down the needle.

"Give me just a second, man. Stretch your legs or use the bathroom if you need to, I'll be right back."

I pull off my gloves and roll my chair back a few inches, then stand up. I can feel half a dozen sets of eyes on me as I slip into the back room. The music gets louder again, and conversation picks back up, all of it a dull buzz as I push through the door into the alley, letting the frigid air shock the panic out of my system.

I let the door bang closed behind me, and I lean against the building, folding my arms to try to keep some of my body heat in. I take a few deep breaths, the inside of my nose turning to ice.

The door creaks and I glance over, not sure if I'm expecting Jag to saunter out and keep up with his bullshit or for Hero to storm out and ask why the hell I'm acting so fucking weird. My heart stutters when it's Milo who steps out instead. He drags his fingers through his messy hair and holds my jacket out to me with a smile twisting on his lips, not quite enough to make his dimple show.

"Seriously, dude, you have the worst poker face I've ever seen."

I huff a laugh and take my jacket from him, but I don't bother putting it on. He mirrors my stance, wrapping his arms around himself. The movement makes his shirt ride up half an inch and my eyes catch on the waistband of his underwear peeking out over the edge of his jeans. I recognize the rainbow logo immediately. Heat floods my veins, and I choke on a groan.

"Are you wearing my underwear?"

Milo bites his lip and shrugs.

I lean my head back against the cold brick wall and try the breathing thing again, but it does fuck all to calm my galloping pulse. What the fuck have I done? I've had plenty of practice lying or bending the truth to hide things I don't want strangers to know, but when it comes to my friends, to my fucking family ? Milo's right, I can't bluff to save my life. But what are my options? I can't just tell Hero what happened. He'll fucking kill me.

Milo stands right in front of me in silent solidarity, trying to hide his shivering. I know he's dying to grill me about what happens next, like I'm supposed to have some clue.

"Come on, you won't be able to tattoo if your fingers all freeze off." He nudges me and then reaches over to pull the door open.

I breathe out slowly, the fog hanging in the air in front of me for a minute before it dissipates. I really wish the snow would melt so I could jump on my bike and just ride until I manage to sort this mess out in my head. Since that's not an option, and since I do have a client waiting for me with his tattoo half-finished, I follow Milo back inside and hang my coat up on the hook by the door.

Everyone falls quiet, and even Jag has enough shame to shoot me a guilty half-smile as I stride back over to my chair and pull on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Sorry about that," I say again, and Blake just nods and waves me off, assuring me it's no big deal.

A deep track Pixies song plays through the overhead speakers, and I sink back into my work, refusing to let myself think about Milo in my underwear or the ass I made of myself storming out over a little light ribbing. The raven tattoo takes well into the early afternoon to finish, and by the time Blake heads up front to check out, the weird tension I caused in the shop this morning seems to be gone.

"Hey." Tex sidles up while I'm sanitizing my station so it'll be ready for any afternoon walk-ins. "Sorry for talking out of my ass this morning. Gran used to say that if brains were dynamite, I couldn't blow my nose." He lets out a self-deprecating laugh and takes off his hat to drag his fingers through his hair before replacing it.

"Don't worry about it. Jag hit the nerve, not you."

"Ah." His lips twitch with a grin. "Considering it's Jag, I'm guessing that's exactly what he was aiming for."

I just snort in agreement. Tex pats my shoulder then goes to greet his next client. If anyone else is worried about my outburst, they must decide it's better to leave well enough alone, because no one else brings it up after that. Thank fuck, because I don't know what I'd tell Hero if he asked, and I might give Jag a well-deserved punch in the nose if it came to it.

A few walk-ins manage to keep me occupied for the rest of the afternoon, and one by one, the rest of the guys wrap up their work for the day and head out.

Hero flips the Open sign to Closed and the back door slams, taking Arrow and Tex's conversation with it.

"You want a ride home?" Hero asks Milo. I hold my breath, half hoping he'll say yes just to give me a few more minutes alone to gather every ounce of resolve I have.

Hooking up during the snowstorm, that was a unique situation. It's easy enough to excuse it and pretend like it never happened. But I told myself I was drawing the line and I am. I have to.

"That's okay. I have to finish scanning these consent forms into the computer still," Milo says.

"Alright," Hero says. "I was thinking we could go out for a drink after work later this week. How does that sound?"

My chest squeezes and I try to make myself busy tidying up the last of my stuff. He wants to bond with his son, of course he does. Why does that make me feel so fucking guilty?

"That sounds great."

"Cool," Hero says, and I can hear a little bit of tightness in his voice. He's still trying to figure out how to interact with Milo, still feeling out their relationship little by little. Fuck, their whole thing is enough of an emotional clusterfuck without adding in my crush or whatever this is. This is a reminder for me to stay out of it, to let Milo focus on the reason he came here, and to just figure out how to be his friend and roommate.

"I'm out," Hero declares, his boots clicking against the tile as he heads for the door. "Have a good night."

"Night," I call weakly, giving a quick wave over my shoulder before he disappears.

I let out a breath once we're alone, but as soon as my gaze lands on Milo across the shop, my lungs seize again. It's just us. The glow of the computer screen shines on his face now that the overhead fluorescent lights have been turned off. His hair looks even messier than it did earlier, and I feel like I should find that less charming than I do. How does a grown man manage to always look like he just rolled out of bed?

He chews on his thumbnail, clicking away with the mouse as he digitally files the forms. I drag my eyes over him, remembering again that he's wearing my underwear. Who does that? I try to imagine him stumbling out of my bed this morning, naked, gleefully pawing through my underwear drawer without an ounce of shame.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat and my cock swells. The sound draws his attention away from the computer. He stops clicking and looks over at me.

"I'm just about finished up," he says.

I nod. "Cool. I'm just going to take out the trash and then I'll be all set."

I gather up all of the bags piled near the back door and haul them outside. When I step back in, I run right into Milo.

" Oomph ," he grunts.

"Sorry." My hands somehow end up wrapped around his biceps, and we're chest to chest, not an inch of space between us.

He gives a breathless chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest, his warm breath puffing against my face.

I need to let go of him.

I need to put some space between us.

The shadows make his eyelashes look longer and the slight stubble on his cheeks thicker than it actually is. His dimple makes an appearance, and for a minute we just stare at each other.

Is he waiting for me to say something?

Am I?

All I can hear is the thundering of my pulse in my ears. And I really do need to let him go. My fingers twitch against his skin, but I don't actually manage to take my hands off of him.

"Piston."

I can't read the inflection in the way he says my name. I'm not sure if he's teasing or flirting or just trying to point out that I'm still just standing here, gripping him like my life depends on it, staring at him.

His gaze flickers down to my lips and it's like flipping a switch. I don't know if I move first or he does, but either way we end up with our tongues tangled, swallowing each other's muffled grunts. I thread my fingers through his messy hair, and we stumble through the back room blindly, back into the shop.

My pulse races and somewhere in the back of my mind I know this is fucking insane. Hero could come back. Any of the guys could walk right in. Hell, someone could just walk past the window and get curious enough to press their nose up against it. I can't find it in me to give a fuck though.

Milo sighs and groans against my lips, hooking his fingers in my belt loops to drag me along. Our shoes squeak against the floor and our breathing sounds harsh in the silence of the shop. His tongue strokes over mine and, fuck, I can't get enough of the taste of him. Is it possible to get addicted to a person?

I've spent my whole damn life paranoid that one drink too many and I could end up like my mom. Maybe I was worrying about the wrong drug all along.

Milo backs up into my tattoo chair and laughs against my lips. I swallow the sound greedily, licking deeper into his mouth. My cock throbs, dragging against his through the layers of our clothes. Knowing he's throbbing inside my underwear has a primal kind of satisfaction filling my chest. I growl low in my throat and break away from his lips to nip gently at the edge of his jaw.

"What were you planning to do if I didn't notice you were wearing these?" I tease my fingers along the waistband of the briefs, canting my hips to grind our erections together again. "Were you just going to put them back in my drawer and leave them there for me? Did you want me to wear the same underwear your cock had rubbed inside all day?"

He digs his fingers roughly into my back, tilting his head to the side and panting as he thrusts against me a little faster.

"Fuck, that's so nasty," he gasps, drawing in a sharp breath when I suck on the soft hollow of his throat.

"It's fucking filthy," I agree gruffly, tugging the button on his jeans open and lowering myself to my knees.

Milo leans back against my chair to take the weight off his trembling legs. His eyes are on me, shining with lust as I lower his zipper and nuzzle my face against the hot, pulsing bulge straining the soft fabric of my expensive bamboo boxer briefs. A dark spot blooms right over the head of his cock where his precum is soaking through.

I drag my lips over the stain, holding his gaze.

"Fuck," he murmurs.

"Are you sorry for being so dirty?" I purr, flicking the tip of my tongue over the same spot. It mostly just tastes like fabric and laundry detergent, but there's just enough of a salty-sweet hint of his precum seeping through to make my cock twitch and my mouth water.

Milo shakes his head.

"I didn't think so." I chuckle, hooking my fingers in the waistband and yanking it down.

His cock springs free and I don't waste a second, wrapping my lips around his crown and sucking him down in a greedy slurp. He digs his fingers into the edge of the chair, moaning loudly as his cock fills my throat.

"Wait," he gasps.

I freeze with my lips wrapped around his base.

"Come here." He pulls one hand off the chair and uses it to tug on my shirt.

His cock throbs and twitches on my tongue, spilling more sticky precum for me to lap up. I drag my lips off him slowly and clamber to my feet like he asked. His hands quake as he fumbles with the buttons on my jeans. Our mouths find each other again, our lips falling into a hungry rhythm. He strokes his tongue over mine, groaning. As soon as he gets my jeans open, he tugs my underwear down enough to free my cock too. It sways heavily between us, thick and hard and desperate to get closer to him.

"I don't know why, but I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs against my mouth, sinking his fingers into my ass cheeks and yanking me against him.

I moan around his tongue as our cocks collide, slick from my spit. My piercing catches against his cockhead, sending ripples of pleasure down my shaft to settle in my balls. Milo snaps his hips, finding a frantic rhythm that matches the desperation in our kiss. Our hands grope greedily and our tongues tangle and slide against each other.

"This is what you've been thinking about all day?" I ask gruffly in between hard, biting kisses. "Your cock against mine, your precum leaking all over me, your taste on both our tongues?"

He whimpers and nods. "Yes," he gasps.

The sound of his laughter earlier, the way that asshole looked at him like he might have a chance, linger in the front of my mind, making every touch a little rougher. I suck his bottom lip between my teeth and lap up every muffled, horny sound he feeds me, because I fucking earned them. They're mine and no one else can have them. He's mine.

Milo leans into my chair, wrapping his legs around my waist for better leverage. The pressure of his hard cock against mine is so fucking perfect I can hardly breathe. Our balls sway and collide with every thrust.

When the saliva on his cock dries up, I break the kiss and spit into my hand, reaching between us to wrap my fingers around our shafts. Milo grunts and groans, breathing harder with every stroke, his legs trembling around me, his eyes going glassy and unfocused.

"Fuck, Piston," he pants.

The pleasure in his glazed expression settles into that primal spot in my chest, twisting the heat in my gut tighter and tighter.

"Give it to me, Mi. Your orgasm is mine and I fucking want it." I flick my thumb against the head of his cock and bite down on his bottom lip and he convulses in my arms.

His skin flushes and his face twists. I can feel the way his balls draw up tight against mine and his cock stiffens, the veins in his shaft swelling and throbbing. I fuck faster into my hand, dragging my cock against his with every thrust. Milo lets out a strangled cry and unleashes a flood of hot, sticky cum, coating my fingers and running down my cock.

I roar and slam my mouth back into his, grinding against him as my orgasm washes over me, dragging me right over the edge with him. My cum joins his in making a mess out of both of us, covering our cocks and soaking my fingers.

I pant into his mouth, the movements of our tongues slowing as the pulses of pleasure ebb and finally fade.

I sag against Milo, our lips still bumping in a not-quite-kiss. The shape of his sated smile makes my heart stutter and is almost enough to outshine the fresh wave of guilt that churns inside of me. My ears are ringing in the sudden silence, which Milo breaks with a breathless chuckle.

I brace myself for his inevitable questions.

What does this mean?

Are we going to keep doing this?

Can I sleep in your bed again?

"Hey, Piston?" he says softly.

I grunt, reaching over to grab the roll of paper towel off of my cart to clean us up.

"Do you want to order pizza for dinner when we get home?"

My brain screeches to a halt and I turn the question over in my head a few times, looking for a hidden meaning and not finding any. Is he going to just let this be? Without any questions? Without asking me to justify breaking my own rule to confine whatever this is to our time snowed in?

Fuck. I need that. I need to just not talk about this, to not think about what I'm doing, because if I think about it, I'll have to deal with it, to confess or end things. And I just… can't. I can't deal with any of it.

"Pizza sounds good."