CHENCO TRIED NOT to get attached to his brother and his friends as he didn’t harbor any illusions Mitch and Sam would stay in the valley for long. Still, it was great to head over to Steve’s place for a barbecue after work several nights a week, to sit around the fire pit and listen to everyone tell stories. Mitch had a million of them, having traveled all over the country and into parts of Canada, even to Mexico on a few occasions. Chenco’s favorite tale was Mitch’s attempt at the ice roads in Canada, just like the TV show—clearly this was a sore spot between husband and husband because Sam became grim and left the room for that one.
Sam, actually, was one of Chenco’s favorite parts of gaining a brother. He was only two years older than Chenco, and in a room full of men who liked to remind Chenco of the jobs they’d held when he was in diapers, Sam was an instant ally. Mitch’s husband also turned out to be a huge pop-music nut, which made him interested in Caramela’s set list. When he found out how little Chenco used the internet, Sam immediately sat his brother-in-law down in front of a laptop and gave him an education in pop blogs and message boards. Chenco didn’t get as much out of it as Sam wanted him to, but he enjoyed hanging out with his new friend.
Sam never hesitated to enthusiastically drag Chenco into activities or conversation, but everyone else measured Chenco, welcoming but not wanting to overstep. Randy teased Chenco, but not half as badly as he did anyone else. He cooked for Chenco too, and took his dietary fussiness as a personal challenge. Every time Chenco came over, there was a new Chenco-friendly item in the fridge or pantry.
Randy told stories as well, but mostly Randy watched. Sometimes Chenco felt like a bug in a jar around the man, and he wished he knew what Randy had decided about him.
They went out together too, all five of them, to dinner, to bars, and once to Heide’s show at Lasers. It was fun, appearing at the club in a herd. Better still, Lincoln seemed to love them when they all hung out together after Heide’s show had finished, though Steve hadn’t been able to hang around, saying he had to check on something back at the house. The next day he and Chenco got together at Taco Palenque after Chenco finished work, and Lincoln didn’t hold back.
“They’re good for you. They respect you, they clearly want to support you and help you, and the big leather daddy is so hot for you he’s about to blow up.”
The comment made Chenco sit up straighter in the booth. “He is?”
Lincoln rolled his eyes and swirled his straw into his soda. “Yes. The eye fucking is intense, and if someone is ever stupid enough to hit on you while he’s in the room, they’ll be swallowing their teeth.”
Chenco chewed on this, wondering if it could be true. He’d about given up on the idea Steve would ever be interested in him. “He’s into BDSM. Like, way.”
Lincoln’s expression became guarded. “This is a problem for you?”
What did the look on Lincoln’s face mean? That BDSM was bad, or Chenco was a prude for not wanting to be involved? “I don’t know. I mean, Booker talks it up all the time, but Booker’s a crazy crackhead.”
“Have you tried BDSM?” When Chenco turned as red as the booth table, Lincoln laughed. “Okay, that’s a yes. Was it good, or you don’t know this either?”
Chenco stared at his hands. “It was only a little, but it was…good. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t think I was that person.”
“Well, if you are, make friends with him. If you have an S&M streak in you, it’ll probably go back to dormancy about as well as your queen would.”
This was, actually, exactly what Chenco was afraid of. “I have enough going on right now. I don’t need sex games too.”
“Sex games aren’t work, honey, they’re fun.” Lincoln tapped his straw up and down in his drink and stared wistfully out the window. “Damn, but it’s been a while since I indulged. There’s nobody here I want to play with, though. Maybe I should go read Mr. Benson, jack off, and call it good.”
Chenco’s jaw fell slack. “You do BDSM?”
“I have, yeah. Not much lately, but I’ve dabbled. I’m not full on in the lifestyle, but I like nosing around on occasion. For some people it’s very serious. I dated a guy who was way into it once, and he took me to meetings and the whole thing. I couldn’t go that far, and this realization bummed him out, so we broke up.”
Chenco could see this happening with him. “I think Steve is one of those guys, the ones who take it seriously.”
Lincoln narrowed his gaze. “Okay, hold on. I’ve been thinking he looked familiar, and now I suspect I know why.” Lincoln rubbed at his jaw as he stared down into his drink. “I’m amending my earlier suggestion you explore your masochistic side. Do it, but not with this guy.”
Wait, what? “Why not? What do you know about Steve?”
“Not much, I’ll admit. Let’s just say I’ve seen him in action, and I’ve heard stories.” Lincoln shook his head with a grimace. “Be careful. When I said I was going to go read Mr. Benson—this guy as far as I can tell thinks he is Mr. Benson.”
“Who is Mr. Benson?”
Lincoln waved an impatient hand. “Mr. Benson is a novel whose title character is to the leather community what Edward Cullen is to a teenage girl or her middle-aged mother, except most leathermen would knife me for saying so. The book was big in the early ’80s. I think it’s reached cult status in part because it couldn’t be written now, not with AIDS and the whole LGBT politically correct parade. Benson is the Dom of Doms, the leather daddy everybody wants. Even now you catch men wearing shirts saying they’re ‘looking for Mr. Benson’. Which is great, but let me tell you, Benson doesn’t exist. Fantasy is fine for a novel, but when it walks and talks, something nasty is waiting underneath.”
Now Chenco’s stomach hurt. “You’re telling me Steve is nasty?”
Lincoln hesitated before speaking. “He used to show up at the local leather bar with this guy all tricked out in puppy gear. The puppy gear wasn’t the problem, mind you, and neither was their play. It was all clearly consensual. It’s just…the dynamic the two of them had. You could smell the mess.”
“Mess?” Puppy gear?
It was clear Lincoln struggled to find the right words, censoring what he truly wanted to say. “Sex games are supposed to be fun, like I said. Whatever he had going on with that guy wasn’t fun. I always thought they were playing out some weird, old drama, like every aspect of their lives together was a fucked-up scene they never resolved. I doubt they were dating, though the looks the sub gave Steve, probably they had at one point, or he wished they would.” Grimacing, Lincoln slouched in his seat. “You know what, forget it. This was years ago. Be careful is all. Don’t rush into anything with him. If he’s still into what I saw him doing to his puppy? It isn’t for you. There are a million flavors to playing, a million guys to play with. If he doesn’t feel right, pick somebody else.”
Something hollowed inside of Chenco at these words, making him feel lost and sad. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t like Steve had made so much as a move on him. “Well, no matter what you saw, he’s not interested, and we haven’t done anything.” Except he petted me once, and I think about it all the time.
Lincoln cocked his head. “You blush like you have done something, and you said you had. It wasn’t with him then?”
Flustered, Chenco felt his ears burn. “I’m done talking about this.”
Lincoln didn’t look happy. “Fine. You’re a big boy, you can play with Mr. Benson if you want to. Just don’t be shy about using your safe word.”
“Safe word?”
Lincoln threw up his hands.
THE CONVERSATION WITH Lincoln about Steve echoed in Chenco’s head for days, and quickly it felt as if his whole life were perched on a pivot. It was as if he had to move, had to decide, except he wasn’t exactly sure what his options were. On one side was darkness and uncertainty—finding a new place to live, contacting Cuevas to tell him he still didn’t have a will, wondering how many times the lawyer would tell him, “It’s all right, take your time,” and when Chenco would be told to load up the Nova and get out.
On the other side was laughter and light, the happiness filling Steve’s house and the men Chenco had hesitantly begun to think of as his family. They never brought up the trailer, and they made no move to return to their regular lives, except for Steve who often disappeared into his office to work. They invited Chenco to stop by whenever he liked, and if he went more than a day without contact, one of them would invite him over. Several times he’d stayed the night.
What caught Chenco up were Lincoln’s warnings. He’d gone to the library and looked up puppy play on the internet, which had been an eye-opener. He’d have done more recon on BDSM in general, but a young mom and her kids came to use the computer next to him then, and he’d closed the browser before she’d have to explain things she probably didn’t know the answers to herself.
Nothing sexual or otherwise happened between Chenco and Steve. Several times he caught Steve watching him, but this was all. Chenco felt as if someone needed to move, but he didn’t know what play to make. Occasionally he was annoyed Steve didn’t make the choice for him, but mostly Chenco hovered, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
One night in early March as he sat around the fire pit with the others, something did.
Randy had gone into the house to use the bathroom, but within a minute he had come back out, his face grave. “Monk. You’ve got trouble in River City.”
Mitch stood without a word, watching Steve. Steve’s mask of anger scared Chenco. He disappeared into his office, came out looking angrier, then nodded at Randy and Mitch, who followed him out the front door, stopping to brush a kiss across Sam’s cheek before he departed.
Sam seemed distinctly unhappy, but outside of a murmured, “Be careful,” he said nothing, only watched the three men leave.
Chenco’s hair stood up on the back of his neck when he realized Mitch and Steve had both left the house toting guns. Randy had a baseball bat. When Chenco turned to Sam in horror, ready to ask what the fuck was going on, Sam crumbled, sagging against the kitchen counter and hugging himself with a forlorn expression on his face. “I hate it when they do this. I wish they’d just call the police.”
“What’s going on? What are they doing?”
Sam’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Steve’s family had a cannery next to the orchard. It’s abandoned now, and the gangs love to torture a homeless man who lives there, an old friend of Steve’s. Steve has a video feed set up to monitor the place, and when the gang comes, he goes over and shoots at them until they leave.”
Chenco sank into a chair. “Are you serious?” He realized this man’s husband, Chenco’s brother, was out there risking his life—Randy too, and Steve.
Steve. Chenco’s gut clenched in fear.
Sam ran a weary hand through his hair. “I’ve asked Mitch not to go, but he says I don’t understand. He’s right, I don’t—this is insane, and I hate him doing it. The last time Gordy got hurt, and they asked me to stitch him up. Mitch and I got into a huge fight because I wanted to take the man to the mental hospital, but apparently that’s a touchy subject. I wish we would leave so this wasn’t an issue anymore.” He shook his head, shoulders drooping. “Sorry. I don’t really mean that.”
Oh, he did. “Are you…are you staying for me?”
He felt self-conscious, like this had been rude to ask, but Sam only smiled sadly. “Of course. Mitch wants to get to know you, wants to help you. Everyone does.”
“Help me?” Chenco repeated.
“Yes, help you. You’re about to be thrown out of your home, you seem a bit frazzled and lost—they want to help. I do too. We can’t quite figure out how to do it yet, but I think it’s because you’re not sure what you want.”
No, now Chenco felt self-conscious. “But I don’t need you to do anything for me. I haven’t asked for anything.”
“Yes, I know. I told them this, said we should let you know we wanted to help, but they said not to rush you.” Sam tipped his head to the side. “Am I rushing you?”
Chenco had no idea what to say to this. “I don’t need anyone to help me.”
Sam’s expression hinted he disagreed, but instead of contradicting Chenco, he said, “They need to help you, hon. I want to help too, but the others? Mitch and Randy and Steve? They need it, even if you don’t.”
They sat together, awkward and uncomfortable while somewhere in the distance Mitch, Randy, and Steve shot at thugs. Insane didn’t begin to describe the moment.
“I don’t know what to say,” Chenco said at last. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Sam shrugged. “I’m not listening for anything in particular. I only think they’re wrong. You need to be prompted. I think Randy feels guilty about upsetting you when he figured out how you were connected to Mitch, Steve is doing backflips to avoid his attraction to you, and Mitch is so scared of losing his last real hope at family he’s paralyzed himself.”
“You think Steve is attracted to me?”
Instead of answering, Sam grabbed two glasses, a bottle of high-end mescal, a salt shaker, and a bowl of key limes. “I’m going to drink,” he announced as he sat at the kitchen island and began cutting the limes into wedges. “I’m going to get drunk, yell at my husband and Randy, and then we’re going to have wild monkey sex. You can get drunk with me, and I think it would be great if you helped me yell, but you have to find your own monkey sex. I’ll do all kinds of kinky, but I’m drawing the line at incest.”
Chenco sat across from Sam, poured a liberal amount of alcohol into his glass, and downed it.
“I have the lime and the salt,” Sam pointed out, but Chenco only flipped him off and took a second hit.
By the third shot, Chenco’s tongue came loose. “He can’t be into me.” He watched the room slosh pleasantly while Sam sucked the juice out of a key lime. “He never does anything. He doesn’t even give me heavy glances.”
“Not when you’re looking.” Sam tossed the lime into a bowl and refilled his glass. “I don’t know his whole story, but it’s twisted and weird. Steve kind of makes me tired. I mean, a big, bad top is hot sometimes, but he never fucking stands down.” He bit his lip, looking apologetic. “I mean, it’s okay if you like it, but it’s not my thing.”
“Lincoln says he’s Mr. Benson.”
Sam clapped a hand to his mouth. “Oh my God, he is. I never noticed it, but you’re totally right.”
“Who the fuck is Mr. Benson?”
Sam led Chenco down the hall. In Steve’s office, Sam went right to a bookshelf and emerged with a worn black paperback. “This is Mr. Benson. Go ahead. If Gordy has to go to the hospital, we’ll be waiting awhile.”
“You want me to read it right now?”
Sam shrugged and sank into a leather armchair. “Whatever. I’m a little drunk. I’m kind of open. And horny.” He touched his fingers absently to his lips. “Numb too.”
Chenco clutched the novel as if he had a bomb in his hands and he didn’t want to set it off. “Lincoln said I wouldn’t like this book.”
“Well, read it and find out. You’ll know pretty quickly.”
“Do you like this book?”
Sam’s look was inscrutable. “Parts of it. Sometimes. I don’t like the pain stuff at all. I don’t do piss play, and I wouldn’t lick anyone’s boots, but—”
“Lick boots?”
Sam motioned at the book, then another empty chair. “Sit. Read. I’ll go get us more to drink.”
Chenco sat. He read.
He had no idea what to think of the damn book.
About twenty pages in, he almost tossed it across the room, but he accepted a shot of mescal from Sam instead. “This is what Steve wants to do to me?”
Sam shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“But you said this guy was Steve.”
Now Sam looked annoyed. “The way he acts, not what he wants. Though he is a sadist.”
So this was Steve. Chenco read on, skimming sometimes, but mostly getting more and more upset. “If anyone was this cruel to me, this humiliating, I’d kick them in the face.”
He’d expected Sam to commiserate, but to his surprise, Sam blushed. “The humiliation part is good. Maybe not as strong as Benson dishes out, but…” He took on a sly look. “Yeah. Some of it’s okay.”
“You’d let someone use you as a toilet?”
“It’s a fucking book, Chenco. No, I don’t want it so extreme. But to be used, let go so deeply? Yeah, it’s okay.” He waved a dismissive hand. “All those novels from the seventies and early eighties are full of piss and shit and crazy nastiness. Maybe it’s all the repression and anger. Or maybe it’s a different world. I mean, none of it could pretend to happen now. AIDS is only one thing to consider. Do you know how many STDs those guys must have had, if they were doing half this crap? Everything is too far, too extreme. I mean, wait until you get to the white slavery. I love how the day is saved by a secret sensor shoved up someone’s ass.”
Chenco didn’t know how to respond, so he kept reading. He shut off his squick and tried to keep an open mind, tried to imagine Steve as this asshole and him as the idiot who let himself be used—and he couldn’t do it. Eventually he put the book down and reached for the bottle.
“Lincoln is right. Steve isn’t for me, if this is who he is. This isn’t what I want. Don’t tell me this is fantasy—Steve’s hardcore. He said something once about edge play and liking needles. I can’t do that either. I can’t do any of this.”
A funny look crossed Sam’s face when Chenco said needles. “I don’t think he does much with the edge play anymore. Not after Gordy.”
Chenco couldn’t get all those nasty scenes from the novel out of his mind. Yet another goddamn place I’m not manly enough, not strong enough. “I can’t do this. I have to forget it. Steve’s not for me.” Which was an awful realization, as he hadn’t acknowledged how quiet and deep a pleasure pining for the man had been until it was taken away.
Sam picked up the book and thumbed to the back before passing it over. “Here. Read the epilogue. I think it might change your mind.”
Reluctantly, Chenco resumed reading—and then he slowed down, digesting carefully. After a few pages he glanced up at Sam, who had a knowing look on his face, slightly naughty but mostly understanding, like they were both in on the secret.
This. This he did want. The love, the attention, the way Benson could see into Jamie as no one else could. The way he understood Jamie better than he knew himself.
If this was Steve…
Without consciously meaning to, Chenco went back to the point in the book where he’d left off. Eventually Sam murmured about being tired, and when he passed out in his bed, Chenco went with him to sit beside him and keep reading.
It was as if somehow the book had changed, a layer taken away. Instead of Benson being a cruel man making fun of Jamie, using rough sex and humiliation to expose his toy, Benson became a safe space, a leader, a guide. No, Chenco would never ask to be a slave, and he would not be someone’s toilet, but…yes, a lighter version of some of this might not be so bad. He wished he could trust like that. Some of it…some of the taboo was thrilling in theory, filling him with dangerous want. But he couldn’t imagine letting anyone, not Steve, not anyone, treat him that way. Even for fun. Even to let go.
Even if he wanted to.
What do you want, Chenco? He still didn’t know. It wasn’t as if the book had made the answer to the question any easier.
At some point he drifted off, and he didn’t wake until Mitch came into the room. Though his brother tried to leave, saying he’d take another guest bed, Chenco said no, he needed to brush his teeth anyway. He didn’t go to the bathroom, though, or the room he’d stayed in so much everyone referred to it as Chenco’s. He went downstairs, trying to find Steve. It was time they talked. About what, he didn’t know. He hoped he’d figure it out when he got there.
In the doorway to Steve’s office, Chenco stopped, stunned into immobility by the sight of the man before him.
This was not Mr. Benson. The man slumped in his office chair watching a black-and-white CCTV feed—this man was dirty, slightly bloody, and haggard. He was not a man in control. The person before Chenco was beaten, weary, uneasy and alone. Every muscle in his body spoke of tension begging for release, an escape he did not expect to find.
Normally Chenco found Steve’s age an asset, a kind of vintage handsomeness, but it was as if the man had aged twenty years in the hours since they’d last seen one another, and not one of those hours had been kind. He had on glasses too, which Chenco had never seen before. The glasses weren’t a big deal, yet somehow they increased his appearance of vulnerability and helplessness. This wasn’t a big, bad top waiting for a bossy twink to offer himself properly as a bottom. This wasn’t a man who organized raids on white slavers. This man was so far from Mr. Benson they didn’t live on the same planet.
This was a man so lost, so worn down, he didn’t bother to look up.
As he watched Steve swim in his sorrow, Chenco’s heart flew out. Were he still young and foolish, he’d think himself in love, but it wasn’t. It was something far more complex and personal.
Chenco stood in that doorway and saw Steve, saw him and knew him, understood the pain and hopelessness, comprehended it as only another who felt the same emotions could feel. He yearned to go to the man, to take him in his arms and hold him, to take the heaviness away. All thoughts of pain and humiliation and piss and degradation fell away—whatever Lincoln had seen Steve do, he hadn’t seen this. Something told Chenco no one ever, ever saw this.
He’d seen it, and he wouldn’t forget.
Leaving the room as quietly as he’d entered, Chenco went to bed. He could hear Sam and Mitch arguing, then as promised, heard them fucking. For the first time since overhearing his brother’s sexual adventures, however, he wasn’t jealous, wasn’t frustrated Steve never came to his door or invited Chenco to his bedroom. Instead he lay there thinking about the look on Steve’s face, playing it up against the moments in the trailer when Steve’s guard had come down.
Those cracks in the facade were everything, he realized. Steve wasn’t all tough guy and leather. There was another man in there, a man who bled, who knew sorrow and fear. A man who, when he saw those emotions in someone else, stopped to try and help them, who couldn’t bear the thought of someone else hurting. A man who needed love.
A man who’d resist anyone finding out that weakness, who gave all his love away so no one would notice how empty he was himself.
A man who needed saving too.
This, Chenco decided as he drifted off to slightly drunken sleep—this was what he wanted. To be the man Steve was looking for, who could crawl under the tough exterior and make the man accept affection for himself. To not just love but be the safe space for the man at that desk.
To be his Mr. Benson.
SOMETHING HAD SHIFTED with Chenco, and Steve would be damned if he could figure out what it was.
It all stemmed from the night he, Mitch, and Randy had gone over to chase off the gang, and for a horrible second Steve worried Sam and Chenco had followed, had seen what “calming down” Gordy looked like. But no, Sam said they’d gotten drunk together and passed out in his bed.
The idea of Chenco and Sam making out, while theoretically hot, made Steve go cold with jealousy. When Sam had caught the flicker of irritation, he’d only smiled a sly little smile and said he only fucked one Tedsoe brother, thanks, and sauntered off.
Something had happened, though, because Chenco was different. Instead of hanging back and stealing moon-eyed glances, Chenco sat next to him and instigated conversation. Awkwardly more often than not, but he kept at it with a quiet determination that charmed Steve far more than it should have. He found himself opening up, easing around the young man, letting himself fantasize about relationships with Chenco he’d told himself weren’t on the table. They danced politely toward an inevitable conclusion, and though Steve knew this course of action wasn’t wise, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
One night as they sat alone on the patio, looking up at the stars, Chenco stopped being polite and went right to the point.
“So, you told me we weren’t going to be done playing after the trailer, but nothing’s ever happened.”
The comment came from so far out of nowhere Steve had to take a second to form a response. “You’ve never asked for anything else to happen.”
“Steve, I’d like something else to happen. Please.”
Steve’s head filled with crazy, carnal images of pressing Chenco down into the grass, tugging on his hair and taking his mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing gasps and groans. This wasn’t the serene, no-sex control and comfort Steve had given before.
It was, however, what Steve wanted now.
He tried to deflect. “Are you talking about the punishment over what happened with Randy?”
“Not right now, no. I would like that sometime, though, if you’re still willing. I see him wincing and touching his shoulder when he works in the kitchen, and it makes me feel bad.”
Yes, and Steve had left it way too long. Really, it was almost too late. The thought that he’d maybe missed the window to comfort Chenco made him ache with loss.
Chenco ran a hand down Steve’s arm. “I’m not talking about Randy right now. I’m talking about playing. With you.”
Mayday. “Playing how?”
Chenco’s smile sent shivers down Steve’s spine. “However you like, Papi.”
Steve sat up straighter in his chair and caught sight of Randy milling about in the kitchen. There’s your out. “Everyone’s still up. They might come outside.”
“We could go somewhere else.” When Steve kept quiet, Chenco’s cheeks stained red. “Forget it.”
Get a fucking grip, Steve. He swung his body to face Chenco. “I’m not saying no. But I need to know what you want.”
“Well, I want sex, but I assume you’ll still tell me no.”
That’s right, it’s not happening, Steve wanted to say, but once Chenco looked at him, sauce mixed with shy, fire dancing in the back of those hesitant eyes, he was undone. He didn’t speak, only stroked the side of Chenco’s face. Those brown eyes softened, guards coming down.
Chenco nuzzled tentatively into Steve’s hand. “Do you want to have sex with me?”
Yes, Steve did. He ached for it like nothing he’d ever yearned for, a want that terrified him. “I’m too old for you.”
Steve almost laughed at the angry look Chenco gave him. God, to be twenty-four again. Thinking this, though, only made Steve remember how lost and helpless he had felt at that age.
“I do want you.” Steve gentled his voice. “I just don’t know if it’s a great idea.”
“What, do you think I’m going to be some kind of moony stalker? If we have sex, I’ll assume I’m moving in? Why can’t it be about having a good time?”
Because I’m an old, tired man who forgot how to be carefree a long time ago. Because I’d love you to move in, even if I never so much as touch you, and that’s really fucking crazy. “I don’t think you’re a moony stalker.”
“Okay.” Chenco relaxed a little. “I meant what I said. I don’t sleep around.”
Steve couldn’t hold back a smile. “I know. You’re choosy. I like it.”
“Booker says I’m a frigid prude.” Chenco’s face clouded. “Do you know, he hasn’t called me since that night? We’re due for another show soon, but we haven’t rehearsed. He doesn’t know about the trailer—hasn’t asked.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “I think I’m going to have to move in with Lincoln. I don’t want to, but I don’t have any choice.”
Yes you do. Come stay with me. Play or don’t play, but stay. Let me make everything okay. Steve bit the entreaty back. “You always have choices.”
“I had one choice—to let my mother turn me into someone I wasn’t, or to go off on my own. I chose my pride, and this is what it bought me. I live the real-life version of those romantic stories where the duke’s daughter runs off with the stable hand. They don’t live happily ever after. They live in abject poverty, miserable, cold, hungry. They have each other and nothing more, and pretty damn quickly it isn’t enough.”
“Do you wish you would have gone the other way?”
Chenco shook his head. “I don’t. But…I wish the fairy tale were real.”
Steve couldn’t bite his tongue anymore, not without taking it clean off. He couldn’t stop this train, but if he schooled himself, if he did his job, he could keep it under control. Straightening in the chair, putting his hands on his knees, he looked Chenco dead in the eye.
“Kneel.”
Pleasure curled in Steve’s belly at how gracefully Chenco complied with the command. The boy was nervous, yes, self-conscious, afraid of rejection, afraid of being mocked—but he was determined too, and he was here, obeying. Playing. Brave, beautiful, proud Chenco, kneeling before a man.
When Steve’s hand slid into that dark, curling hair, Chenco shuddered, and the reverberation rang all the way into Steve’s soul. So much want. So much yearning, so much need, but so much strength.
This confident man wasn’t Gordy. How had he ever seen the two of them as the same?
You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve someone like this.
Jesus, nothing was ever more true, but when Steve started to draw back, Chenco looked up at him, wounded, confused, and it was over.
With a sharp pull, Steve drew Chenco’s face right into his crotch.
The sharp, hot breath of surprise against his fly was better than any caress. Steve watched, want and pure, red lust burning as Chenco’s lips parted, as he stared at the bulge in front of him. The saucy bottoms Steve had tricked with in his youth would have leered up at him and reached for his fly. Gordy would have nuzzled in like a grateful bear cub, sucking up musk.
Not Chenco. He hesitated, yearning but holding back, wanting but not daring to take. There was fear there, but it wasn’t of Steve. It wasn’t even trepidation over kneeling, no hesitation of being caught giving a blowjob beneath the stars. Chenco feared being seen, period. Of being tough without his drag. Exposing his vulnerability to anyone, no matter how safe they were. Letting Steve take his control away, being the one who played that game.
He feared it, but he faced it. Oh, baby.
For the first time in fifteen years, it was Steve who choked. It was Steve who didn’t have the guts to reach for his fly, who couldn’t bring himself to force Chenco’s face into his groin, though it was what they both wanted. Fucking hell, he wanted Chenco stripped down while he knelt, wanted to fuck his face so hard everyone came out to see what the ruckus was about. He wanted them all to see, wanted them to know this boy was his. He wanted—He wanted—
Steve gripped Chenco’s hair, yanked it until his boy’s hot breath burned against his leg, half of Chenco’s face pressed into Steve’s thigh. He kept him pinned there by his hair, clamoring for control.
He couldn’t do this.
Chenco turned his face into Steve’s leg and bit him lightly through his jeans.
Steve’s hand tightened on the curly dark hair, and he felt Chenco’s scalp fighting the pressure. This wasn’t playing, this wasn’t a scene—and if it was, Steve wasn’t the fucking Dom. Was Chenco, though, or were they flying blind together?
With a whimper, Chenco bit harder. The more Steve tugged, the more Chenco cried out and the deeper his teeth went, until Steve could feel the burn of Chenco’s jaw pressing through the denim into his thigh. God, but it was glorious.
With a choked roar, Steve crammed that wicked mouth to the hot length of his cock. What he should and shouldn’t do was forgotten as he ground Chenco’s face into his rod, fingers digging in as Chenco bit here too. Jesus fuck, but he wanted to pound into that mouth. He wanted to back Chenco against a wall and slam into his sweet face until Chenco came undone around him.
He could do it. He could take him right now. Right here. He’d asked for it, begged for it. Fuck, it’d be so good, so sweet, and Steve could show him, really show him—
“No.”
Steve wasn’t aware he’d pushed Chenco away, not until he was standing over him, looking down at a red-faced, confused boy.
“Did…did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Steve fought for breath, for control. Give him an answer. Not the truth of why you stopped, but give him something. Anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I’m not going to face-fuck you on the patio.”
Chenco sat back on his heels, placing his hands delicately on his thighs. “Because I’m too young?”
“Because I said we’re not. You want to play, you play by my rules, and I said we’re done.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I told you I play with pain. I don’t know if I can ease you in.”
“You mean you think you’ll hurt me not in a good way?”
Steve ran a hand over his smooth scalp. “I mean I can’t make it nice. You rile me up like nobody has in a long time, and I don’t know that you’re ready for zero to sixty. Don’t tell me you are. You don’t know what it is yet I’m talking about doing with you.”
“I would if you told me. I could show you how much I’ll surprise you.”
Steve could not, could not answer, so he clammed up.
Chenco eased a little, reluctant but accepting. “Are we done, sir?”
God yes, get me out of here. “Yes. Get up and go inside.”
It had been the worst scene ever, Steve thought as Chenco rose. He had to give him another round, soon, if only to clear up this mess, but nothing more. Chenco was not Gordy. Chenco was fire and danger, and he deserved so much better. This was a bad idea, and Steve had to stop.
Chenco brushed Steve’s shoulder with his hand as he passed by. “I would have, you know. I would have let you face-fuck me on the patio.”
A howl of pure need clawed Steve’s gut, driving an urge to pull Chenco back. Steve marshaled himself, but only just, and as he heard Chenco slide open the glass door to the dining room, he gave in.
“You can stay.”
Chenco paused with the door half-open.
“You can stay.” This time Steve was able to make his voice a little less rough. “In my house. However long you want. However long you need to, you can stay with me. Your brother is looking for trucking jobs, so he’ll be around for a while yet. You should be here too. I have the room. I enjoy your company. Stay at my house, save your money, figure out what you want, what you need. Even if Mitch leaves.”
For a long time Chenco didn’t say anything. Steve waited for Chenco to ask if they’d have sex if he stayed, and honest to God, Steve wasn’t sure what he’d say. Probably yes, probably he’d sell off any part of his soul if only Chenco would tell him he wasn’t leaving. If they could have more nights together on the patio in the quiet, so he’d see that bright smile and those beautiful eyes every time he sat down to dinner. He’d give anything right then to make him stay, and he was terrified he had no mask and this naked need was written all over his face.
Chenco kept his expression carefully schooled. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and disappeared into the house.