8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

MILO

I'm still buzzing with energy long after the horde of dudes clear out of Piston's backyard and the bonfire is nothing but smoldering embers. My cheeks and abs hurt from laughing so much at all the ridiculous stories they shouted over each other to tell me. Some of them were adorable, like the time he stopped traffic on the highway to rescue a cat that he then took home and still has to this day. Others were hilarious, like a biker from a different club picking a fight and trying to throw hands just to have my dad challenge him to a breakdancing competition instead, then stealing the guy's wallet and using the money inside to pay for a round of drinks for everyone at the bar that night. And all of them made me more and more glad that I took the risk to come out here to meet him.

I wasn't expecting his friends to welcome me so easily, but fuck it was nice to feel like I was just another one of the guys in this weird little family he's created for himself. Every single one of them were certified snacks with a capital S too, but I still couldn't stop myself from sneaking glances at Piston anytime I had the chance all night. And I don't think it was just because most of the other guys were already taken.

Unfortunately, as soon as we were alone, he practically sprinted for his bedroom. I'm guessing he's already regretting letting Hero rope him into housing me. I look around the small bedroom. I slept here last night too, obviously, but I didn't pay too much attention to it since I didn't expect to be here for longer than a night. It's not bad, all things considered. Definitely a huge step up from the motel. The bed is soft enough that I might just have a prayer of the knots in my back loosening after over a week sleeping on that block of cement that was passed off as a bed, there's no moldy smell lingering in the air, and I can't hear any muffled moans coming from the adjacent rooms.

Not that I would complain about hearing moans coming from Piston's bedroom. My mind immediately conjures the memory of the sounds I heard through his door this morning: squeaking bed springs and muffled, heavy breathing. I wish I'd had the guts to knock and offer him a hand.

A wicked smile tugs at my lips, and I palm myself through the jeans I borrowed from him earlier. Would he have taken me up on it in the heat of the moment? Or was my idiotic reveal of my virgin status last night enough to seal the deal on his decision to keep his hands to himself?

More importantly, would it be bad form to keep flirting with him and seeing if I can wear down his resolve now that I live here? I mean, it's not like he doesn't want me. He already admitted as much. If some misguided sense of right and wrong is all that's standing in our way, I feel like a little temptation is more than reasonable.

My stomach sinks as a completely different thought pops into my head. What if I do end up having to hear moaning coming from Piston's room, but he's not alone? Fuck my life, why didn't I think of that sooner? Flirting with him might be fair game, but repeatedly kicking any man he brings home in the shins until they flee into the night is most likely a step too far.

That's a boner killer if I've ever met one.

I huff and stop groping my now softening cock. Before I can descend into a thought spiral about Piston's theoretical sex life, I push myself out of bed. Movement always helps. Sit still too long and god knows what kinds of thoughts might catch up with you. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of things to keep me busy in here. I just moved in, so there's nothing to tidy or reorganize. I suppose I could move the bed just to expend some energy, but there's not exactly a whole lot of places to move it to considering the bedroom is probably all of sixty square feet. I can't even fold my laundry because it's…

Oh, that's it! My laundry.

I practically prance out of the bedroom, thankful to have a task to busy myself with for a few minutes. The house is quiet, but I can see a light shining from under Piston's bedroom door. Is he sitting in there bored out of his mind just so he can avoid me? I consider knocking so I can talk to him and make sure he's actually okay with me being here, but maybe it's not about me at all. Maybe he's the kind of person who likes to retreat for quiet time after a rowdy night of socializing.

I decide to leave him be for now, returning my focus to my original laundry side quest. Pro tip: calling chores side quests makes them a hell of a lot more exciting. As I head down the dark hallway towards the laundry room, I lift the collar of Piston's hoodie to my nose absently. Instead of a lungful of Piston's subtle spicy cologne or the deodorant I smelled on it earlier, I'm met with the overwhelming stench of bonfire smoke. I wrinkle my nose and tug the fabric as far away from myself as I can manage with it still wrapped around my body.

The last thing I want is to get this stink all over my nice clean clothes, so as soon as I step into the laundry room and flip on the light, I tug the hoodie over my head. I didn't bother to put anything on underneath it, so the cool air hits my bare skin, raising goose bumps and making my nipples harden. I toss the sweatshirt into the laundry hamper sitting in front of the washing machine and figure that while I'm at it, I might as well ditch the jeans too. I didn't think it was appropriate to borrow another man's underwear, no matter how much I would like to get into Piston's, so once I strip out of the jeans, I'm freeballing it. Come to think of it though, would it have been any weirder to borrow his underwear than it was to let my junk rub all up inside his jeans?

Huh, that one is a head scratcher.

The jeans join the hoodie in the hamper, and I open the dryer to retrieve my clothes. In spite of living here all alone and only having his own laundry to do, Piston sprang for the big-ass machines. I start gathering stuff into my arms and tossing it into the empty basket on top of the dryer. When I get through the bulk of it though, I have to get down on my knees to reach the smaller items that ended up at the back of the deep tumbler.

I feel like I'm filming the opening of a ‘stuck in the dryer' porn with my bare ass sticking out, the top half of my body inside the machine as I gather up the last few stray socks. The elastic-y string on one of them came loose and wrapped itself around the bolt at the back of the dryer. I wiggle my hips and stick my tongue between my teeth as I tug on it, trying to get the string to snap so I can free my sock and go back to my bedroom.

Good thing Piston already turned in for the night. This would be quite a sight to see, I'm sure. I chuckle to myself and then hoot when I finally get the string to snap.

"Got you, fucker," I mutter.

"Fuck," a much deeper voice mutters, followed by a sharp inhale, before I can extract myself from the machine.

I startle, banging my head on the rim of the opening as I try to pull myself out of the dryer faster.

"Shit," I laugh, rubbing the back of my head as I scramble to my feet. The socks and underwear I went fishing for don't want to cooperate either, practically leaping out of my hands to fall all around my feet.

"Why are you naked?" Piston's eyes are wide, darting over me before he tilts his head back and fixes his gaze on the ceiling.

"I didn't want my clean clothes to end up smelling like the bonfire." I bend down again to pick up everything I just dropped, my soft dick flopping between my thighs while my gut heats and flips, unable to decide whether this is incredibly hot or so embarrassing I should change my name and move out of the country. Maybe a little bit of both? Shit, do I have a humiliation kink?

I bite my lip and risk a glance at Piston, his chest rising and falling with fast breaths, a visible bulge in his sleep pants. Fuck, those things just aren't fair. The thin fabric is light gray, and with the way his cock is pressed up against them, it's obvious he doesn't have anything on underneath. I can see every ridge and wrinkle of his swelling erection. My cock starts to tingle and plump in response, so maybe it's just a Piston kink I'm developing.

I scramble back to my feet, tossing everything into the laundry basket before pulling out a pair of shorts. I step into them, losing my balance in my haste and stumbling right into Piston.

He curses again and catches me. His hands are warm against my already overheated skin. At least the goose bumps are gone. Of course, my nipples are still hard enough to cut glass, but for a whole different reason now. Laughter bubbles up in my throat as I finally manage to get my hands to stop shaking long enough to get my shorts on.

"You can look now."

Piston cautiously lowers his gaze. His eyes linger on my bare chest and his throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

"Are you trying to kill me, Puppy?"

I groan. "Oh good, I'm so glad that nickname is going to stick."

He chuckles and shrugs one shoulder. "You do kind of have puppy energy." Piston tousles my shaggy hair and I playfully bat his hand away.

PISTON

The image of Milo's cute, perky, bare ass wiggling back and forth while he was waist deep in the dryer is going to live rent free in my head for the rest of my life. Would it be rude of me to ask him to put a damn shirt on before I give in to the urge to take one of his dusky pink nipples between my teeth just to hear him hiss and moan?

He shifts on his feet, and I try so damn hard not to notice the way his cock sways behind the thin fabric of his shorts, but it's a losing battle. Is it too late to tell him that living under the same roof isn't going to work out?

What would I tell Hero though?

Sorry, Milo can't stay in my guest room because I desperately want to cover his virgin skin in my ink and cum, not necessarily in that order, and obviously not without proper sanitary precautions in between.

Actually, that's not bad. At least it shows my concern for his health and safety.

Except, if I put him out, he's back to the motel. The place isn't as bad as Hero is acting like it is, but I still agree it's not ideal.

I'm going to have to suck it up. My traitorous mind provides me with some lovely visuals of ways I would much rather ‘suck it up' than this. I rub my eyes and force myself to shake the fantasies.

When I look again, Milo has a shy smile on his face, his bottom lip between his teeth and a strand of his hair flopped over his forehead.

"By the way, thanks again for agreeing to let me stay here. I know Hero put you on the spot and everything, and really the motel wasn't that bad, but it's nice to have somewhere I can do my laundry and not worry about accidentally getting locked out overnight." He laughs and drags his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, don't mention it." I shove my hands into my pockets, unintentionally making my pants sag.

Milo's attention flickers to the freshly exposed thatch of dark hair and tattooed skin that spans my lower belly and hips. I pull my hands back out and clear my throat.

"Anyway, I just got up to get some water, then I saw the light on in here and came to make sure I didn't leave it on by accident." I inch backward into the hallway and Milo turns away to grab his laundry basket off the top of the dryer.

"Are you—" He cuts himself off, biting down on his lip again. "Never mind."

"What?"

"It's nothing, I was just going to ask if you're actually tired or if you're avoiding me." He gives me a half-smile, the dimple on his cheek making an appearance. "Because if it's the second one, I just… I don't want you to feel like you have to hide out in your own house. I promise, I can be good."

The way his voice dips on the word ‘good' doesn't instill a lot of confidence, but he's right. I can't spend the next month or so holed up in my room, hoping the door between us is enough to keep me from wrecking a decades-long friendship.

"You're right. If you're staying up for a while, do you want to watch a movie or anything?"

"You're going to think I'm weird, but I can't do movies. They either put me to sleep or make me super fidgety and obnoxious. I know they're usually only two hours, but it feels like an eternity. The right TV show I can binge for eight hours straight no problem, but something about movies just doesn't jive with my weird-ass brain."

I chuckle. "A TV show works."

His face lights up. "Cool. I've been meaning to watch the last season of Cobra Kai and just haven't gotten around to it yet. Are you up for it?" I open my mouth to answer but he cuts me off. "But I should warn you, I might get so hyped watching Cobra Kai that I karate chop the coffee table right in half."

I bark out a laugh. "I think I can handle the risk. I'll cue it up while you put your laundry in your bedroom."

"And start a pot of coffee?" Milo bats his eyelashes, and I laugh again.

Fuck, that's dangerous. He's dangerous, and I wish that made me want to stay away rather than making me desperate to get even closer.

"Sure, I'll put on a pot of coffee."

"Thanks." He shifts on his feet again, balancing the laundry basket against his hip with one arm. He hesitates for just a second, then leans in lightning quick and brushes a kiss to my cheek.

The touch is so brief I could almost convince myself I imagined it if it weren't for the way my skin stays hot right where his lips touched long after he pulls away and struts down the hallway.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is going to be so much harder than I was hoping.