20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

MILO

For two days Piston and I manage to play it cool at work. It helps that Jag keeps his mouth shut for a change and everyone's schedule is busy enough that we don't end up alone again after closing. Of course, that doesn't mean we're not alone at home. Except Piston is back to avoidance. Plenty of space between us on the couch, hands to himself… I fucking hate it.

One bright spot is that I've moved things around at the front counter, so I have the perfect angle to stare at Piston while he works and pretend I'm just really interested in filing all the digital consent forms. The man is stupidly gorgeous two hundred percent of the time, but there's just something about the intense look he gets on his face when he's focusing on a tattoo that manages to make him impossibly even hotter.

"Ooh what's that?" Jag's voice startles me out of my daze. I jump an inch out of my seat and clutch my chest dramatically.

"Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

He cackles and nudges me aside to get a better look at the folder I have open on the computer.

"Just saving some inspiration for my first tattoo." The folder currently contains forty-two different images downloaded from Google, ranging from cool sketches of fantasy creatures to nature scene sleeves on actual people and all the random things in between. I figured I would save a bunch of ideas and then narrow it down from there. I just haven't quite gotten around to the narrowing down part yet. It's a work in progress.

"I like this one," Jag declares, enlarging one I saved from Instagram—a pin-up style tattoo of a bawdy sailor with a tattoo of an anchor on his bare ass.

"It's in my top five." I grin at him.

"I fucking love virgins," he says, clicking through the images one by one.

My skin prickles, and I bristle before I realize he means tattoo virgins. What was the phrase Piston used? Virgin skin . My cheeks heat remembering the purr in his deep voice when he said it, and I glance in his direction again. His brow is furrowed, and he looks like he's completely focused on the tattoo he's working on, but something about the tilt of his head makes me think he's listening in on our conversation.

"Can I do it?" Jag asks, bookmarking a couple of the other images I'm assuming are his favorites. I roll my eyes when he opens Google again and searches for drawings of puppies, saving one to the folder that admittedly kind of looks like me, with floppy, dark fur and its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth in a dopey grin.

"What?"

"Your first tattoo."

I flounder, my mouth opening and closing while my brain struggles to come up with a response other than ‘no.' But what if he asks why? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Piston freeze in the middle of a needle stroke. He is listening in. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and bump Jag's hand off the mouse so I can close the folder.

"Maybe," I lie. "I haven't decided what I want yet, so once I do, I'll see whose style fits best."

"That's fair." He ruffles my already messy hair and flashes me a cheeky grin. "You never forget your first, so it's best not to rush it, Puppy."

I wheeze out a laugh, turning it into a fake cough so I have an excuse to turn away from him to hide my burning face. Jag saunters away after that and I get back to work, and by ‘work' I mean fiddling around on the computer and drooling over Piston.

"Hey, kid." Hero leans over the desk at the end of the day while everyone else is still cleaning up. "How about that drink?"

"Oh, yeah, that sounds great." I catch myself wiggling just a little with excitement and force myself to hold still. The last thing I need is to feed into the Puppy nickname Jag is so committed to.

The roads are clear and dry enough that the guys all pulled their bikes back out today, apparently not quite ready to pack them away for the winter yet. I grab my coat and the motorcycle helmet Piston ‘loaned' me—he thinks I don't know he went out and bought it, it's adorable—and follow Hero out the back door.

We head down the street to Wooley's, the same bar where I met Piston that first night. It feels like it was ages ago rather than just a few weeks. It seems like Hero knows just about everyone, waving or nodding at guys as we make our way up to snag a couple of stools at the bar.

He orders a beer, and I get a rum and Coke. It's not the first time we've spent time one-on-one, but my knee bounces while we wait for our drinks, and I subtly wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans anyway. I don't know why the fuck I'm so nervous around him still. He's been awesome, getting me this job, the car, arranging for me to stay with Piston. He could have turned me away when I showed up at Ink Slingers and dropped this bomb on him, but instead he just rolled with it.

A lump forms in my throat and I laugh to clear it. He looks over and cocks his head. I wave my hand and clear my throat, then figure, fuck it, opening up is what this is all about, right?

"I just… I really want to thank you for being so cool since I showed up. I didn't know what to expect and part of me thought it was kind of fucking insane to just drop into someone's life like this…" I clear my throat again and greedily reach for my drink as soon as the bartender, Sawyer, sets it down in front of me. I gulp down a few swallows, then wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, my knee bouncing even quicker as I try to finish my bumbling thank-you speech. "Anyway, it's just meant a lot."

I notice his leg bouncing too, his foot resting on the rung of the barstool, his fingers twitching against the sticky bar top. Seeing the little signs of his nerves make mine feel less silly, and it loosens the knot in my chest. I let out a breath and take one more big drink.

"Ah, shit, kid, just because we're drinking doesn't mean we have to get all mushy."

I laugh and nod. "Fair enough."

"I'm glad though. I don't know the first thing about being a dad, so I'm happy to hear I'm not fucking it up royally. Truth be told, it's probably a good thing you came here now as an adult. I definitely would have found a way to screw you up if I'd had you during your formative years."

I chuckle again and finish off my drink, signaling to Sawyer for a refill.

"You couldn't have done any worse than Mom." I wince as soon as I say it. "Not that she was a bad mom. She's the best."

"No, I get it. I think all of our parents fuck us up in one way or another."

I bob my head again. "I talked to her the other day. I asked why she didn't tell you about me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's not a very satisfying answer, unfortunately. She just said she was confused, and she felt like her life was a whole mess and she didn't want to drag you into it too. I guess she felt like she was protecting you."

Hero grunts, and the sound kind of reminds me of Piston. A fresh drink appears in front of me, and I try to sip this one slower.

"I don't want to say anything negative about your mom." He stares at his beer for a minute, then looks over at me. "That's kind of bullshit though. I wish I'd known."

"Really?" I chew on my thumbnail and lean one elbow on the bar. "You were only eighteen though." I try to think back to what a kid I was at eighteen. No way could I have handled someone telling me I was going to be a dad. Setting aside the fact that it would have been literally impossible, it would have been the world's biggest mindfuck.

"It would have been tough, but at least you can deal with the shit you know about. We would have figured it out, even if it was hard."

Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I realize for the first time why Piston's been feeling so guilty. Hero likes to know shit. He likes to deal with it, even when the information sucks or is uncomfortable. I should just tell him.

Fuck, is that even my place?

Sure, we share DNA, but if I fuck up their friendship I'll never get a chance to see where things might go with Piston.

He takes a small sip from his drink, and I give up trying to go slow with mine and gulp down the whole glass again. The soda in it doesn't do much to cut the burn of the alcohol when I drink it that fast, and it leaves me feeling a little lightheaded.

"Things going well over at Piston's place? He's not being too much of a nag, is he?"

Fuck, I need more alcohol. Since my glass is empty, I crunch down on an ice cube, chewing it while I buy myself a few seconds to think. Is this the opening I need to tell him the truth? Should I lie?

"He's great. It's great." I give a weak laugh and look anywhere but Hero.

"Good." He squeezes my shoulder. "And how are you liking Ink Slingers?"

I let out a breath as the conversation shifts into safer territory.

"It's awesome. It's probably not a forever job or anything, but the guys are cool and it's interesting enough to keep me from dying of boredom."

He chuckles. "Good," he says again. "What's a ‘forever job?' Have you thought about that?" He grimaces as he says it. "Fuck, that sounded so parental. That's probably a good thing, right?"

"It's fine." I give him a half-smile. "Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I keep hoping that my ‘purpose' or whatever will just fall into my lap. I'm starting to doubt it though."

"You're young, there's time."

"Yeah," I say, and we share another smile.

This is nice. I don't know if it feels ‘parental,' but it's nice all the same. It feels good to fit in here so easily, with his friends, in Fall Crosse… I didn't expect it to feel so natural, but it does. Maybe some things do fall into place when you need them to.

Sawyer slides a third drink in front of me along with a bottle of water, and Hero asks if I play pool.

"Not well."

He grins. "Perfect."

PISTON

The house felt empty all night. I've lived alone for twenty-some years and Milo has been here less than a month, but for some fucking reason I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't feel like bothering with dinner, so I just ate a handful of lunch meat while standing in the middle of the kitchen. After that, I tried to watch TV, but every show I went to start, I ended up stopping because I thought Milo would like it too. So here I am, lying in bed at nine o'clock at night, staring at the ceiling, listening for the sound of Hero's motorcycle dropping Milo off.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Nope, not going to answer that one, not even in the privacy of my own head.

I grunt and grab a pillow to put over my face. The damn pillow smells like Milo too. He's been using my soap, so how the hell can the pillow smell like him ? Fuck if I know. I fling the pillow away. My stomach flips at the sound of an engine, but it only takes half a second for me to realize it's a car and not a Harley. It slows to a stop and a car door opens and closes, the sound echoing in the quiet outside. A neighbor getting home? Probably.

But less than a minute later, the front door creaks open and then bangs closed again. I listen to the shuffling sound of Milo taking his shoes and coat off. He curses quietly and there's a thump like he bumped into something. More shuffling, the sound of the kitchen sink running… I track his progress through the house, including a few more muffled fucks and soft thuds .

His footsteps stop outside of my bedroom, and I hold my breath, hoping he'll just keep going into his own room where he belongs… Hoping he'll open the door and climb into bed with me. My heart thunders, and then there's a quiet tap, tap, tap at my door.

I should pretend to be asleep.

If I don't say anything, he'll go to his own bed and sleep it off.

"Yeah?" I call quietly.

The door opens slowly. I brace for light to flood into my dark room from the hallway, but it doesn't come. No wonder he was running into every wall on his way through the house, the drunk idiot didn't bother to turn on any lights. I smile at how weirdly endearing that is and wait for him to say something.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey."

I clutch my sheets, holding myself as still as possible.

"If I ask to sleep in your bed, will it freak you out?" He shuffles his feet against the wood floor and nervously rattles the doorknob as he leans against the frame.

My fingers twitch around the fistful blankets.

"Mi, if you get into this bed with me, there's no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands off of you," I say hoarsely. My cock swells, fully in favor of that plan.

"Okay." He takes one small step inside.

I let out a groan. "You're drunk."

Milo scoffs, and even though I can't see his face in the dark, I know he's rolling his eyes at me.

"I'll tell you a little secret, Captain Consent."

"Captain Consent?" I repeat dryly, and he giggles as he crosses the room and leans over the bed.

I can see him better now that he's closer, his features lit up by the moonlight outside reflecting off of the snow and coming through my windows. He's smiling, his dimple on full display, his eyes dancing with mischief and drunkenness.

"I would have said yes four drinks ago too. You're not taking advantage of me."

It should be a harder decision. I'm digging myself deeper every time I give in and drag him into my bed. Except I'm not dragging him, he's the one already undressing before I've even said yes. He's the one pawing at my comforter and sticking out his lip in an exaggerated pout.

He wants this.

I want this.

We can sort the rest out tomorrow, can't we? The next day at the very latest.

With a huff, I fling the blankets back and wrap my arms around his slender body to pull him in. He laughs and scrambles in eagerly, pressing himself up against me. His skin is chilled from being outside and he burrows in close, dragging his nose along the stubbled edge of my jaw and teasing his fingertips over my bare belly.

He left his underwear on. My underwear. Again. I should be annoyed that he keeps stealing them, shouldn't I? It shouldn't be making my dick swell and ache to know that he must have snuck in here again this morning while I took a shower, rifled through my drawers, and helped himself to another pair of my boxer briefs like they belong to him.

I twist a handful of the fabric in my fist and pull him flush against me, bare chest to bare chest, his thigh wedged between mine, our noses bumping, our mouths barely an inch apart.

"The house was quiet without you tonight."

A sweet smile stretches over his lips and his dimple deepens on his cheek. I'm not sure how I've been able to resist doing it for so long, but this close it's impossible. I flick the tip of my tongue into the little divot and Milo's body vibrates with laughter. He squirms and I can feel his cock stiffening between us, his skin warming up now that we're wrapped around each other under the blankets.

He wiggles his hips, and the underwear slip a few inches.

"Hey, Piston?" he whispers, like someone is going to hear us if we're too loud.

"Yeah, Mi?" I drag my lips against his, not quite kissing but tasting his breath on my tongue all the same.

"Will you…" He draws circles around my belly button with his index finger, and my cock throbs for him to move his hand just a few inches lower. "Will you finger me again?"

A groan slips past my lips and my cock spasms in eager agreement with his plan.

"You want to see if you can take two this time?"

He nods, our noses bumping against each other.

"Please?" He begs so pretty, as if I could deny him anything. I'm trying, fuck knows I am, but maybe not hard enough. Maybe I don't want to resist him, even if I should.

I move away from him just long enough to grab the lube out of my nightstand and slick two fingers, then I drag him close again. Our mouths find each other and this time our kisses are slow and drugging, our tongues stroking in languid, syrupy laps, our lips falling into a hypnotic rhythm.

Milo wiggles his underwear down around his thighs, his cock springing free to nudge against my thigh, my belly, bumping into the swell of my erection with every little thrust he makes as he feeds me soft, muffled moans.

"Yours too," he murmurs, fumbling to pull mine down.

We both groan into the kiss when the hot, silky bare skin of our cocks collides. I slide my slicked fingers into the crease between his ass cheeks and take my time petting his hole while we sink deeper into the dizzying kiss.

When I feel his rim start to relax and soften, I ease the tip of my index finger inside. He gasps around my tongue and his cock jerks, spilling precum down my shaft. He's just as tight as he was the first time, but I don't have any reason to rush.

I stroke my free hand along his smooth, unblemished skin, teasing his taut nipples and memorizing the dips and planes of his body. His chest hitches and he makes throaty sounds at every careful thrust of my finger.

It's easy to lose track of time with his thighs quaking against mine, the heads of our cocks kissing, bumping. He drools hot, slick pools of precum between us, puffing trembling breaths against my lips and whining softly any time I hold still inside of him for too long. His rim clenches and flutters around my finger, catching on my knuckle with every thrust.

"So fucking hot and tight," I praise him in a low rumble, nibbling my way across his jaw. "You want to be able to take my cock in this tight hole one day, don't you?"

Fuck, I want that too. I want to finger him slowly, opening him up with one at a time until he's sweaty and horny, begging for my cock inside of him. I want him to climb onto my dick while I spread out and get comfortable underneath him, easing his way down onto it, then throwing his head back and moaning with abandon when I bottom out inside him. I want to see the shock and wonder on his face from feeling so damn full. I want to watch his eyes roll back when he feels my cock press against his prostate for the first time.

My balls squeeze tighter and precum dribbles from my slit to splash onto the head of his cock, mixing with his. Milo whimpers again, nodding frantically in answer to my dirty question and snapping his hips faster. Every time my piercing catches on his cockhead, he lets out a little gasp and his hole clenches again.

"Then take a deep breath and try to relax for me. Let's see if you can take just one more finger tonight, hm?" I lick along the seam of his lips, and he parts them for me, eager for my kiss, desperate for anything I'll give him.

Fuck, he's so perfect.

No one else deserves him. I don't fucking deserve him either, but I'll try. I swear, I'll try.

He drags in a deep breath and tries to hold himself still. As I stroke my finger in deeper again and again, he lets out a sweet little sound and clamps down tight.

"Shh," I murmur, brushing my lips against his. "Breathe."

He trembles in my arms, his eyes boring into mine in the darkness, full of hazy lust and a deeper, more vulnerable need that makes me want to growl like a junkyard dog at anyone else who ever dares to look at him again.

"Deep breath," I say, and this time he does it, sucking in a slow, steady inhale. I can feel him relaxing around me, opening up, softening to let me stroke him deeper. "There it is," I purr, easing my finger out until only the tip is teasing his rim, then lining up the second one, already dripping with lube. "Ready? Breathe."

He does it again, slow, steady, relaxed. I carefully slide back in with two this time. His tight hole resists, but only a little, stretching to accept the intrusion as a gut-deep moan falls from his lips. The sound makes my balls tighten and my cock twitch against his.

"Feels good to be full, doesn't it, baby?"

I work my fingers in and out slowly, using my other hand on his ass to encourage him to thrust again, to grind against me and make himself feel good.

"Yeah," he gasps. "Fuck, Piston, it's so…" He whines, burying his face in the crook of my neck and shuddering as he gives in to his body's needs again. "Oh my god. Piston. Piston. Ungh."

Milo digs his fingers into my shoulders and rolls his hips, dragging the hot, silky length of his cock against mine, his hole squeezing around my fingers with every thrust, relaxing to let me fill him, then doing it all over again. The wet squelch of my lubed fingers fucking his hole is almost as obscene as the moans he's doing his best to muffle against my throat, sucking and biting my skin as he becomes more and more desperate.

I crook my fingers, brushing against his prostate for the first time. His eyes fly open, and he lets out a guttural cry. His cock jerks against mine and his hole clenches around my fingers again. The first hot splash of his cum against my cock is all it takes to shatter my own control. My balls pull up tight and I slam my mouth back into his, working my fingers in and out of his hole to the rhythm of his pulsing waves of pleasure.

Every clench of his rim around my fingers tugs another rope of cum from my own cock to join the mess between us. We grunt and gasp our way through endless shockwaves, humping, thrusting, grinding, doing everything we can to devour each other because nothing seems to be enough.

I shudder into the last aftershocks of my orgasm, our kisses slowing, my fingers stilling in his finally relaxed, lube-drenched hole. He slumps against me, and I bury my nose in his messy hair, breathing him in, letting his scent surround me and calm my racing heart.

I don't think I'm going to be able to stop.

How can I when everything about Milo feels so damn right?

"Hey, Piston?" he slurs, sounding even more drunk now than earlier, although I think it has more to do with his orgasm now than alcohol.

"Yeah?"

"I liked you calling me ‘baby.'" He says it so quietly, like he's not sure he even wants me to hear it.

I finally slip my fingers out of him, and he winces at the sudden loss. Tightening my arms around him, I pull him closer, tangling our legs, crushing him to me until I'm sure I'm going to hurt him. But he doesn't complain. He sighs happily and kisses my collarbone.

"Sleep, baby," I murmur.

And he does.