
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4083415.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tom_Hiddleston_-_Fandom, Chris_Hemsworth_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Chris_Hemsworth/Tom_Hiddleston, Hiddlesworth_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Tom_Hiddleston, Chris_Hemsworth
  Additional Tags:
      hiddlesworth_au, prison!biker_au, biker!chris, teenager!tom, Alpha/Beta/
      Omega_Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Heat/rut, heat_-_Freeform, Rut, physical
      violence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Daddy_Kink, predatory
      stepfather, predation, intimidation_and_seeking, Age_Difference, Underage
      -_Freeform, Tattoos, Panties, lip_gloss, Nail_Polish, mascara, Fluff,
      Anal_Sex, Blow_Jobs, all_sex_between_Chris_and_Tom_is_consensual_at_all
      times, Vaginal_Sex, a/b/o_dynamics, jaw_breaking, Bone_Breaking, Smut,
      Mpreg, live_birth, intersexual!tom, genderfluid!tom, Mpreg_Kink,
      shanking, killing_to_protect, Omega_Verse, Spanking, Biting, Claiming
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-06 Chapters: 18/18 Words: 104724
****** This Glowing Ember In My Heart ******
by furiedheart
Summary
     For a school writing project sixteen-year-old Tom writes to thirty-
     year-old prison inmate Chris, scheduled to be released soon. Change
     and upheaval and awakenings happen, in all the best and worst ways.
     Remix of this original work.
Notes
     I took the text for my original biker fic and used it as a foundation
     for this new story, which features Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. You'll
     see some familiar things, but most of the story has undergone a /
     major/ facelift. There are lots of new scenes and new characters and
     new developments. It's over 100k (about 60k more than the original),
     so I thought going with chapters this time around would be best. I'll
     add them all within the next few days. I truly hope you all enjoy
     this version, too.
     I cannot thank my beta reader duskyhuedladysatan ENOUGH. You are the
     most MOST and ily. Nicki to my Bey.
     And a big thank you to Teresa for being my go-to person when I had
     questions about a/b/o dynamics. She'll say she did nothing, but she
     was a huge help to me too. Cute Little Bear ;-)
     Tom and Tom and Tom. Chris and Chris.
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
     "Your electric lips have got me speaking in the tongues
     I have prayed for a power like you
     To see deep down in my soul
     Oh, you make me bloom like a flower, a desert rose"
     ~Katy Perry, Spritual
***** Gem-Studded Dragonfly *****
Tom squirmed and told himself to sit still, even if there was nobody in the
room to see him fidget. Over the years it had been harder and harder to ignore
that certain part of himself, but the last few months had been especially
trying, with the new tingling warmth spreading just within him. Some days it
was nearly unbearable, like when he bled and had to stuff himself full of
cotton to stopper the flow. Those days he was so sensitive and achy in his
belly, squeezing his knees together and biting his lip. Only it seemed worse
lately. He didn’t remember being this tender in all the times he’d bled since
he was thirteen. Scratching at his belly, he wondered if there was a bug going
around, something he’d caught drinking from the school water fountains. Curling
a leg under his seat, he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
Bending over his keyboard, he tried again.
School had been out for a week and he still had no idea what he would do for
the summer project his English teacher, Mrs. Liz, had assigned them. He could
hear her voice as the final bell rang and kids rushed to the doors.
"Don't forget your writing project! Reach out into the community, you'll never
know what you'll discover!"
Now, clad in only briefs and a loose T-shirt, Tom searched the city's community
outreach website, browsing through social gardening volunteer hours, finger
painting art projects with the local YMCA summer camp, and Pen-Pal
opportunities.
Tom paused at that.
Clicking on the link, he read the information, voicing his disbelief. "Writing
to prisoners?"
Based on good behavior and time left on their sentences, some prisoners were
allowed to have pen-pals, people in the community who chose to write to them.
Prison officials hoped the exchange of letters would encourage the prisoners to
maintain their good behavior and avoid any complications in their release into
society. Tom had the ability to choose from a list of prisoners who had not yet
been contacted. As prisoners were chosen, their names were removed from the
list of contacts, making sure that no one got more attention than anyone else.
There were no photos posted, only name, age, the amount of time left on the
prisoner’s sentence, and a small blurb of their hobbies.
Tom, head bent over a closed fist, scrolled through the list of over a hundred
prisoners, both men and women, but Tom ignored the women's names entirely.
Jimmy, Tino, Marty, Jon, Sam, Sammy, Little Sam, Tom scrolled through them all,
more curious about age than anything else. Anyone in their twenties seemed too
young to him, and anyone over fifty too old. He continued to the next page and
read the first name.
"Chris H.," he read. "Thirty years old. Two months pending. Hobbies:
Motorcycles and cars.”
Tapping his thumb on the desk, Tom hesitated. He didn't know why he went ahead
with it. He was sure Mrs. Liz had something entirely different in mind when she
assigned the writing project, but he also liked how unique it would seem to
her. Writing to an inmate, cataloguing their letters into a neat portfolio,
presenting it to her in the fall as his summer project.
He bit his nails, flakes of his green polish chipping off. He would need to
remember to scrub the polish off before Jeff got home.
Tom shrugged. Why not.
He copied down the address where he would send his first letter, and then
closed out of the browser. At best, it would boost his grade by a few points.
At worst, he’d get some kind of stalker out of it. He really hoped for the
former.
**
Dear Chris.
Tom paused, wondering if that sounded too intimate. Hey Chris? Hello Chris? He
shrugged and continued writing.        
Dear Chris, My name is Tom. How are you enjoying prison?
He groaned and sat back, crumpling up the paper. Suddenly, this whole writing
project seemed stupid. He really wished he could see what Chris looked like.
Was he big? Or skinny? Was his face in a permanent scowl, or did he smile
sometimes? Did he have any tattoos or piercings? Any prison wound scars? Were
his hands big? Tom sighed. Maybe it would help him better figure out his
letters if he could only see a picture of the guy.
Dear Chris. My name is Tom. I thought I'd write to you and see how you are.
How do you think he is? Tom chided himself. He’s in prison. Squeezing his legs
together, he shifted and put the tip of his pen to paper again.
May 20th
Dear Chris,
My name is Tom. How are you? I'm pretty good. I've been spending my summer
vacation out by the tracks, or in my room. Or at the movies. I read a lot. I
draw sometimes, too. I could draw you something, if you'd like. What sort of
things do you like to do? What do you do to keep busy in prison? I hope this
letter finds you well.
Sincerely, Tom.
With a sigh, Tom licked a stamp to the corner edge of the rumpled envelope and
throwing on a pair of worn shorts, jumped onto his bike, pedaling to the post
office in the center of town. He didn't want his mom—or Jeff, for that matter,
the creep—to accidentally see his letter to the prison in their mailbox, so he
thrust it into the post office door slot as soon as he bumped over the front
steps of the ancient building, bike tires spinning. Taking a slower route, Tom
returned home, head bent, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his cargo shorts,
hoping the noonday sun hid the blush he felt creeping up his neck.
**
The girl’s whimpers grew louder the closer Tom came to his mother’s room. She
was probably on her second shift at the diner by now but her boyfriend, Jeff,
was home. Jeff, who liked to stay in most mornings and watch porn after his
customary cup of coffee, playing it so loudly Tom could hear it no matter where
he hid in the house. Usually it wasn’t a bother while Tom was in school, but
summer break was going to make being home unbearable. As he slid another foot
closer to his own bedroom, a loud resounding smack echoed from behind the
closed door, followed by a sharp cry and the girl’s voice again.
Oh please, yes, just like that. Punish me. I deserve it.
“She deserves it,” he heard Jeff say through the door. “Hit her harder.”
Stomach twisting, Tom tiptoed the rest of the way and was through his door when
the sound suddenly shut off and he heard Jeff’s voice, gruff, hard with demand.
“Tom?”
Keeping so very still, Tom held his breath and slowly eased the door closed,
praying it wouldn’t creak. It was only after the girl’s cries started up again
that he secured the bolt and breathed a sigh of relief.
He really wished he had his own bathroom. Waking up to piss most mornings was a
dangerous game of trying to avoid Jeff, who ever since moving in with Tom’s
mother almost a year ago seemed to be getting slightly more aggressive in his
advancements toward Tom. Most of it seemed like the usual crap men pulled when
they were trying to play stepdad: signing Tom up for baseball and flag
football, smacking him around when he failed at both. Hand/eye coordination
wasn’t exactly Tom’s specialty. Plus, he’d never truly felt comfortable in a
locker room where he couldn’t even change clothes without casting uneasy
glances over his shoulder to see who might discover that secret part of
himself. He almost always sought refuge in one of the stalls, his own attempts
to ignore that part becoming less and less successful. He couldn’t ignore it,
no matter his mother’s wishes. There was no way.
Just…just don’t mention it,Tom remembered her telling him around the time he
was five or six. Just ignore it. And don’t tell no one about it. No one can
know. Be a good boy now and go play.Ashamed and confused, Tom had nodded and
ran to the backyard, kicking stones against the wall, tears blinding his sight.
Lately, some of the other students weren’t even allowed to participate in
athletics at the high school anymore. A mix of mostly boys and a handful of
girls designated as blooming alphas, exhibited behavior that was often erratic
and borderline violent, aggressive toward other students who had come out as
omegas or betas. As per regulation, they were restricted to the upper west
corner of the school, attending their classes together away from the others.
Tom was fairly confident he would be labeled a beta. No surprise there. He’d
never amounted to anything special so far; he was sure he would slink by
unnoticed the rest of his time at school and hopefully land a good enough job
to support himself away from his indifferent mother and her predatory
boyfriend. A beta like himself would be safe, he thought, especially with his
dangerous secret. Omegas were the sought after ones, not the runts like him.
And then there were the rumors of the Duals, but no one really took those
seriously, not when no one he knew had ever seen one, or even heard of one. Tom
didn’t really like to think of the Duals too much, or else he might start to
wonder things about himself that should maybe be kept in the dark, especially
as he really had no one to confide in.
Taking a deep breath now, Tom flopped onto his bed and pulled his laptop close.
As he waited for his browser to boot up, a chat box popped up on the screen. It
was his friend, Bobby.
<Baubin7 wrote: Tom. Stop looking at porn and come over>
Admittedly, Tom watched porn only during the rare times he was home alone. And
it was very specific porn, about daddies and their boys, and all the ways they
showed their affection. Often caught rapt, biting at his thumbnail and pawing
tentatively at his crotch, Tom could watch for only a short while before his
shyness got the better of him and he slammed his computer shut, hairline red.
But now wasn’t one of those times, and he sighed as he started typing.
<Tomm6 wrote: im not watching porn. im researching our English project>
<Baubin7 wrote: sure ok. Dude, whoa. School was let out like a week ago>
Tom laughed.
<Tomm6 wrote: I know. Shut up.>
<Baubin7 wrote: hey i just got the new modern warfare. come over. please
please>
Tom was about to write that he wouldn’t be able to, but then he remembered Jeff
down the hall. He might try to come in again like that morning last week.
Sometimes he wished he could just spend a day lying half naked in his room
without worrying about intruders.
<Tomm6 wrote: ok. be there in 15>
<Baubin7 wrote: wat r u doing for the english project?
He hesitated, biting his lip. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to share his idea for
the project just yet. But it had been a week since he sent the letter to Chris
and had received no reply yet. It was probably time to start thinking of
something else.
<Tomm6 wrote: nothing yet. not sure what to do.>
<Baubin7 wrote: same. i was thinking I could write a letter to the White House
every week and see how long it takes to get a reply.>
<Tomm6 wrote: dont get accused of terrorism.>
<Baubin7 wrote: shit. didn't think of that. anyway. i'll let you know if I
think of anything>
<Tomm6 wrote: k. be there soon>
<Baubin7 wrote: see you>
Changing into some jeans and a short T-shirt, he wondered vaguely if Chris H.
had thought his letter was stupid and rejected it into the waste bin and that’s
why he hadn’t received a response. Fighting the anxiety spiking in his brain,
he sat back down at his computer and pulled up the Pen-Pal site. As he waited
for it to load, he searched in his drawer for his favorite lip gloss, applying
some lazily. Rolling his lips together, he searched along the list of inmates
but couldn't find Chris's name. Did that mean he had accepted Tom's letter? Not
wanting to get his hopes up, Tom closed his laptop and hopped out his window.
He got on his bike and pedaled out into the street, hoping Bobby had some soda
at least.
They played the video game for most of the day, snacking on chips and soda and
leftover pizza from their dinner the night before. The sky was darkening by the
time he rode his bike back home, but not before stopping by the mailbox,
stomach tumbling nervously. Neither his mom nor Jeff ever checked the mail,
always relying on Tom to bring it in and leave it on the table for them to see.
He was glad of that now, worrying over what they might have said if he’d
received a letter from the prison. He flipped through the envelopes, electric
bill, cable bill, a note from the Jehovah's Witnesses that lived down the
street—Are your souls saved? Come to our meeting and we'll pray together—until
he got to the last one, a white envelope with the prison's emblem in the top
left corner. His name and address was scrawled out in a short, choppy hand.
Squealing, he stared at the dried ink, smudged slightly on the 'n' of his last
name. Heart beating excitedly, he tucked the letter into his back pocket and
raced up the driveway, dumping his bike behind the bushes by the front door.
Ignoring his mother's call that dinner was ready, Tom bypassed the kitchen,
gripping the mail tightly. Frankly, he was surprised she was home. Probably
because Jeff was due back soon.
"Tom?"
His mother stood at the archway into the kitchen, spatula in hand. Tom skidded
to a stop and turned to her, breathless. He swallowed, and waved. She had her
straight blond hair wrapped in a messy bun, still in her greasy waitress’
uniform, and her eyes were bagged with fatigue.
"Dinner's ready. So go wash up if you wanna eat."
"Okay, be right in."
"What came for you?" she asked, skimming through the mail he handed her.
He shrugged. "A sports listing for the park summer league. I might do soccer
again." Not likely, Tom thought. Jeff had bullied him into one sport too many,
all failures and scabbed knees and blamed losses and once, surprising Tom into
complete silence, a punch to the lip. Tom’s split lip had healed but Tom,
bleeding and bruised and crying in his room, would never forgive how easily his
mother had ignored the cut, believing he'd gotten it from some scrap on the
street. That had been almost a year before and she never mentioned it again.
His mother nodded absently at his explanation, already turning away.
Tom raced back to his room and locked the door. Slicing through the top of the
envelope with the tip of a ballpoint pen, he slid the letter out, extra careful
not to tear it. He pulled it close to his face and started to read.
           
May 24th
Dear Tom,
Nice to meet you. Thanks for the letter. I don't get much mail here. Any,
actually. But I have plenty to keep me busy. I have access to the yard for two
hours in the morning. I work out there, play basketball with some of the other
men. I attend some meetings after midday meal, and can watch tv or whatever
before lights out. You said you're on summer break. How old are you? And sure,
I'd love a drawing. Are you working on anything right now?
Sincerely, Chris.
           
Tom read it over twice more, feeling a strange sense of elation settle over
him. Chris had actually replied! He had so many questions. What did Chris mean
by meetings? What kind? Did he have friends inside with him? Or did he have to
fend for himself, never sleeping in peace? He didn't know what ‘the yard’ meant
but Chris made it seem like maybe it was some kind of outdoor gym. So he works
out, Tom thought, already imagining arms and thighs bulging with muscles,
wrists thick and dusted with hair. Was he an alpha, he wondered meekly,
swallowing around a small lump in his throat. Did they keep the alphas and the
omegas separated on the inside? How did that all work? Frustrated, he read over
the letter again, biting his lip. But should he tell Chris his real age?
Sixteen (almost seventeen!) suddenly seemed too young to be corresponding with
a thirty-year-old prisoner. What if he spooked Chris away? He spread the letter
over his chest, feeling protective of it, protective of this fledgling
correspondence he had with Chris, who seemed very nice and curious about Tom.
Heart fluttering, Tom suddenly decided that Chris was his secret, one that he
wouldn’t have to share with anyone except his English teacher, and even then he
could brush it off as nothing important, just another project among many.
He blinked over Chris's questions again, giddy with the prospect of telling
more about himself to this stranger, that this stranger was interested and
would listen and would give Tom his undivided attention. His heartbeat
quickened, and he felt a throbbing pulse between his legs, but squeezing his
thighs together he forced himself to fold the letter carefully and slide it
back into its envelope.
Chris wanted a drawing. Tom sat over his desk, mulling over the idea of what he
could send him. A self-portrait? He scrunched his nose, already imagining how
stupid his hair and thin lips would look on paper. Maybe a—
"Tom! Dinner!"
His mom’s voice, tired and thin, rang loudly down the hall, making him jerk out
of his thoughts.
Stashing the letter under his pillow, Tom headed to the kitchen, wondering what
color Chris's eyes were and if maybe he would like to see a bit more of the
sky.
**
Tom hated having dinner when Jeff was home. Jeff, who always sat at the head of
the table, glowering at Tom when Tom's mother wasn't looking, or peppering Tom
with asinine questions about his schoolwork, as if he really cared. Jeff was
some kind of traveling salesman, making Tom wonder why such an occupation even
existed anymore. He didn’t sell vacuums to high-heel-wearing housewives, but he
did sell some kind of antivirus software to small businesses. Over the months,
he’d slowly rooted himself into their home, their lives. His mother worked
nights at the diner downtown, taking extra shifts whenever she could, but Jeff
was the one who brought in most of the money, which is why Tom figured she let
him stay so long, put up with his occasional drinking, his angry shouts, his
treatment of Tom.
Worn, but shiny black shoes stacked just inside their bedroom door beside her
smaller white slippers, Jeff’s suit jacket flung over the couch, his coffee mug
on the counter, cigarette butts in the ashtray by the TV remote. Signs of
Jeff’s presence were everywhere, and Tom did his best to escape to his room
immediately after arriving back from school. But Jeff sometimes caught him in
the hallway. Tom wasn’t very tall for sixteen, and so it felt like Jeff loomed
over him every time. His skin always smelled of ash and day-old aftershave,
sour and a bit bitter. Tom didn’t know how his mother got near the man. Tom,
afraid and disgusted, would lean away, but Jeff would take his elbow and
squeeze it hard.
“You do your homework?” he would always ask.
"Yes,” Tom whispered, eyes down. As slowly as he could, he would draw his free
hand behind his back, not wanting Jeff to see the glitter polish on his nails.
“And you picked up around the house before your mother gets home?”
“Yes.”
“Get to your room. You do as I say. I’m an alpha.”
Jeff would release him and stare after Tom, who would hurry to his room and
lock the door, rubbing his elbow and hoping his skin wouldn’t bruise.
Whether or not Jeff really was an alpha, Tom didn’t know. His mom, as far as he
knew, was a beta, and so if Jeff chose to be with her and not some other
omega…what was the point? Wasn’t it all about the frenzy and the passion, the
undying need to consume and be consumed? It was true that Tom had never
witnessed an alpha during a rut, or an omega during a heat, but from what he’d
heard none of that happened between Jeff and his mother. And thank goodness for
that. What a terrible thing to witness.
Their conversations always turned out the same: Jeff hovering, Tom cowering,
some part of his body sore after. He’d hit Tom only a handful of times since
that last soccer game eight months before, but Tom could see it in Jeff’s eyes,
waiting; see it in the way his hands sometimes curled into fists at the dinner
table, upset about one thing or another, Tom’s surliness or the stubborn curl
in his hair—“smooth that shit out, you look like a goddamn girl”. Tom would
always retreat, a frustrated scowl on his face. Maybe he liked looking like a
girl, being a girl. Maybe he liked staring at how Savannah in Geology put on a
fresh coat of mascara before class, batting her lashes into the heart-shaped
reflection of her compact mirror, pink lips parted. Maybe he liked the green
gem-studded dragonfly clip in her hair, patting his own curls self-consciously,
wishing he could ask her if he could try it on.
It was Tom’s main priority to stay out of Jeff’s way. As it was, his mother
seemed too tired to notice anything was amiss, and Jeff was entirely different
with her, affectionate and quiet-spoken. Nothing of the hard edges and growled
words Tom knew. The fact that she probably wouldn’t believe him even if he told
her the truth about Jeff hurt him more than the bruised lip and the slaps to
the face ever had.
Tom figured he would be rid of Jeff one day. Either Tom’s mother finally kicked
him to the curb, or Tom’s eighteenth birthday would give him the freedom to
finally leave. Still, whichever option happened first couldn’t arrive fast
enough. As a beta, he could come and go as he pleased, with very little danger
of being targeted by stronger alphas. It was the waiting that was the worst. He
went to his wall calendar and flipped the pages. Just under two years until the
right February.
***** A Line of Inmates *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
His letters with Chris continued, Tom becoming more and more ecstatic with
every mail delivery. They were exchanging up to two letters a week, hindered by
the slow pace of the daily post. As much as Tom wanted to send Chris a drawing,
he always hesitated, convincing himself that it was too ugly, too childish.
Surely, his rendition of the park at sunset wasn’t something that could in any
way compare to what Chris remembered of life outside the prison, right?
But Chris didn’t forget. In fact, he frequently asked Tom about the drawing he
was supposed to have sent, writing that he was waiting patiently for it, that
he already set aside a space on his wall. Tom couldn’t help but wonder if he
picked up on a bit of teasing in Chris’s words, a flirtatious tone that had Tom
blushing and grinning like a schoolgirl. But he shut those thoughts down,
convinced that Chris was just bored locked away in some cell, that his letters
to Tom were just blips in his day where he didn’t have to focus on the danger
of his surroundings. And Tom often wondered about that danger, what threatened
Chris on a daily basis. Did he get into fights a lot? Did he have to follow a
certain set of unspoken rules among the prisoners that existed completely
separate from the rules invoked by the prison system itself? How exhausting
that must be, Tom thought, reaching low and palming himself lazily,
absentmindedly. He had enough trouble just keeping up with high school, where
the rules were spelled out clearly. Then again, the student body was in and of
itself a type of caste system and maybe high school and prison weren’t all that
dissimilar in that regard. Still, Tom wasn’t about to mention this observation
in one of his letters to Chris, whom he figured probably wouldn’t appreciate
the comparison. Slipping his hand lower, he let his fingers glide over the lush
heat hidden just beneath his sac, his flesh trembling at the rare touch. Biting
back a moan, Tom snatched his hand back and bent over his desk, determined to
finish his letter and mail it to Chris. But before he dropped it in the mail
slot, he did a quick look about and then rubbed the sealed envelope along his
neck, liking the thought that maybe some tiny part of himself would reach Chris
with his words.
           
June 6 th  
Dear Tom. I have to admit, your letters have been a bit of a pick me up. Some
of the stupid shit that happens in here feels like I’m back in high school—Tom
squealed because he knew it—but your letters make me smile. They remind me of
what I have to look forward to on the outside. The bike crew that I ride with,
some of them come see me in here, but most of them keep away. When one of us is
locked up, it’s always best to keep your head down. Don’t want to bring any
more attention to the crew than necessary. And I understand that. Still, I get
lonely. But I haven’t felt like that since we started writing. So thank you.
P.S. I’m still waiting for my drawing. Or maybe a picture instead?
 Sincerely, Chris
           
Tom sat numb. A picture? He glanced around his room. At the neat stacks of
books against the wall, the small twin bed, the desk with his secondhand
laptop. On the dresser he kept his hair brush and body lotion. But in the
drawer by his bed, he kept his few bottles of nail polish—green, dark purple,
and hot pink—as well as a nearly empty tube of lip gloss and the yet unopened
package of mascara he’d shoplifted from the drug store at the corner of 6th and
Euclid. He remembered running straight home and breathing into a paper bag for
a full ten minutes, sweat spilling down his back, thinking the police would
break down his door any minute. But nothing happened and he hadn’t yet had the
courage to try the black mascara on his blond, blond lashes.
He’d told Chris he was twenty-one, hoping the lie was sufficient enough to keep
him writing. But Tom wasn’t sure he was ready to send a picture yet. One look
at his scrawny arms and thin torso, at his wild blond curls and pink cheeks and
Chris would know for sure he’d lied about his age. Tom thought he had a copy
somewhere of his freshman year picture, looking even more pale and pink-
cheeked, the small gap in his front teeth more pronounced than it was now. Tom
hoped it would close up entirely soon. On second thought, it was probably best
not to send that picture.
He penned another letter, explaining the books he was reading and the things
he’d found out by the train tracks, which is where he liked to go when Jeff was
home, speeding down the hill on his bike over the gutted ditches. Before he
lost the courage, he included the drawing he’d done of the park at sunset,
hoping to avoid sending a picture of himself. At least for now.
I love the drawing, Chris had written soon after. The colors look real. But I
guess no picture, huh? Are you shy? What do you look like?
Tom sat curled up in the corner of his room, blocked from the door by his bed.
He bit his lip at Chris’s words, feeling his face flame.
I look like a boy, he wanted to say. I look like a girl. I look like myself. I
think I’m really pretty, and strong when I have no one but me which is always.
I miss you already and I can’t explain why.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Tom thought about what to do. It really seemed
like this crime-hardened man in prison was waiting around for a picture of him.
He didn’t own a cell phone, so he couldn’t take a picture that way. Maybe a
disposable camera from the drug store would be best, but he was afraid to go
back there since he’d stolen the mascara. And then his eyes landed on his
laptop, and he slowly rose to his feet. It would be easy. Take a picture, send
it to himself, go down to the convenience store and print out a copy on the
machine they had in the corner. He probably had a couple of bucks in change
strewn around his room. He could afford it.
Suddenly nervous, Tom went to the mirror and tried to fix his hair, pushing it
back or flattening it down. But the curls stayed fluffed up and he sighed,
falling back on his bed. Maybe another time. For now, he’d draw Chris something
else, maybe the pier by the ocean where he had sat during that one school trip
he'd taken when he was twelve, feet sunken in the water, schools of fish
darting over his toes. Tom would never forget the feel of all that water, so
smooth and ice cold, nothing like the desert he lived in. It would only be a
year later that his first flood of blood come, a hot slick between his legs,
feeling more like home than anything.
**
Tom found he couldn’t avoid touching himself whenever he sat down to write
Chris a letter. Something solid had taken root in his mind about the man, what
he might look or feel like, what he smelled like, how he smiled. And with the
growing pulses between his legs, not to mention the steady filling of his cock,
Tom’s letter writing often went interrupted as he grew braver in how he felt
along his moist slit, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to sniff at his
scent, something warm and low uncurling in his chest. So hard to ignore now,
and so easy to explore, Tom was grateful for the lock on his doorknob, even if
it made him feel only a tiny bit safer.
 
June 10th
Dear Chris,
 
I’m sorry I haven’t been able to send a picture. I guess I am kind of shy. I
was looking at my calendar today and noticed you have less than a month!
Congratulations! Do you have any plans for when you get out? I’ll be back in
school by early September. Things here at home aren’t too great, so I plan on
leaving as soon as I can.
 
June 15th
Dear Tom,
 
It’s ok. As you can imagine, I don’t have many picture opportunities in here
either, otherwise I’d send you one. I’m not shy at all. After I get out, I plan
on having a much deserved shot of whiskey. But only one. I’m not much of a
drinker. And then I’m going to jump on my Harley and ride until the sun comes
up. I miss my bike. A buddy of mine owns a mechanic shop and he’ll hire me on.
There’s not much work for an ex-con, but we make do. What’s going on at home?
Is everything okay?
 
June 20th
Dear Chris,
 
I’m ok. My mom’s boyfriend isn’t the nicest person. She works round the clock
it seems and isn’t here most of the time. That’s why I’m out of the house as
often as I can to avoid him. Me and my friend Bobby go to the movies. Or we
play video games. I sleep over at his house sometimes. But mostly I just read.
The library is open late during the summer. I like to camp out there until
closing time, or look for trinkets out by the tracks. I’m sort of uneasy at
home, but I’ll be alright. I always am.
 
June 23rd
Dear Tom,
 
It’s visiting day here and most of the others are in holding, waiting their
turn to see who came for them. I never get visitors, so I’m in front of the TV.
I have it all to myself. I can’t tell you how much Fresh Prince I’ve seen. It
gives me a chance to laugh for once. Tom, about your mom’s boyfriend. Has he
done anything to you? Are you sure you’re ok?
 
June 26th
Dear Chris,
 
I promise I am. Things get kind of tense sometimes. But I’ve dealt with it for
a long time. He won’t hurt me again. Listen, when are visiting hours? I was
thinking maybe I can visit you? But only if you want. :)
 
June 29th
Dear Tom,
 
You would visit me? That would be great, a nice change of pace. Next visiting
day is this Saturday. I just have to add you to my visitor’s list. It’s not a
very long list. And what do you mean by he won’t hurt youagain?
 
**
Tom sat in the waiting area at the prison, surrounded by women holding wailing
babies and old grandparents with canes. His leg kept bouncing, no matter how
hard he tried to get it to stop. He picked at a nail but not too much. He’d
only just painted them that morning and didn’t want them to flake. Before Jeff
woke up, Tom had changed into clean jeans, his scuffed up black Chuck Taylors,
and a grey Rolling Stones shirt. It fit him smaller than before, and he
wondered if he’d grown since he last wore it.
Walking to the bus station had taken forty minutes, but he didn’t want to leave
his bike chained there, already imagining coming back and finding it gone. His
bike was his only means of a quick escape, and he wouldn’t risk losing it. He
hadn’t responded to Chris’s last letter. He didn’t know how to explain the
dangerous dynamic that existed between him and Jeff, and how if he told his
mother, Tom had the nagging suspicion she wouldn’t believe him. In any case,
Tom didn’t feel comfortable putting on paper what Jeff had done to him; it made
it too final, too real, when often Tom could make himself believe it had all
been a bad dream. Very soon he would be rid of Jeff and the worry that came
with him.
Chris had added him to his visitor’s list, noting that visiting hours started
at eight in the morning and ended at two in the afternoon. Arriving at seven
meant Tom got through the screening and security checks faster, but had to wait
an arduous forty minutes before he could see Chris. He crossed his arms, foot
bouncing again. After two months of writing letters he would finally see him,
finally be able to put a face to that choppy handwriting.
“Hiddleston!”
Tom startled and sat up, thinking—absurdly—that it was Jeff yelling for him.
But an officer stood at the metal doorway, clipboard in hand, looking around at
the assembled visitors. Tom jumped to his feet and headed to him. The officer
matched the name tag stuck on Tom’s shirt to the list before him.
He gave Tom a quick glance over. “You marked yourself as a beta?”
Tom nodded, adjusting his badge. “Yes.”
The officer said nothing and Tom shifted on his feet, nervous. Lamely, he said,
“I never went through the change.”
Something softened in the officer’s eyes. “You don’t have to explain, kid. You
ever been here before?”
“No.”
“Okay, look. Alphas and omegas are kept separate from each other, for obvious
reasons.” Tom nodded, listening rapt. “Betas, like you and me, we aren’t any
kind of special, so we’re mixed in. Since the inmate you’re visiting is a
registered alpha, he has to be kept isolated from the rest of the people in the
visiting room. Especially when they’re in a rut, Jesus,” the officer said
quietly, shuffling papers in front of him. “Not that he is right now, because
there’s no way we’d let him visit with anyone if he were, but when they are
it’s intense. Seems to get worse when they’re in close proximity to omegas.
Which is why alphas are bunked with alphas. Leads to plenty of fights, but at
least nothing…” He winced. “Sexual. In my opinion, they should be kept in
completely separate prisons, but whatever. Overpopulation. Any questions?”
Tom shook his head, pale.
“Don’t worry, kid. We have armed guards with tranqs posted on the inside.
Follow me.”
He was led through a stark white hallway and into a large room filled with
metal tables bolted to the floor. There were people sitting at the tables, but
no prisoners in sight. The officer ushered him to the first of a line of clear-
walled rooms. He was told to have a seat and to wait until his inmate was
brought out.
His inmate.
Tom nodded and swallowed past his sudden bout of dry mouth. Glancing around, he
saw that the room was empty save for a table big enough for two people to sit
facing each other. Through the glass wall facing the main visiting area, he
counted approximately twenty tables, all differently sized to accommodate more
than one visitor and all filling rapidly. Spread among them were more crying
toddlers, quietly whispering families and even one member of the clergy. In
every corner of the room, officers watched silently. Across the way was a wall
lined by a long pane of clear glass, into which Tom could see was another
bright hallway, empty for the moment. On the wall to the left were huge plastic
placards with rules for visitors: Touching was permitted during the start and
end of the visiting hour. Hugs, handshakes, and kisses were fine, but nothing
unsavory. Everything had to be in good taste, whatever that meant. Probably no
making out. And then there were the placards about behavior between members of
the different groups, and punishments for inappropriate conduct, and what one
should do in case of an emergency. Tom didn’t want to know what any of that
meant.
The entire place gave off a cold, calculated vibe, every action performed with
a precision that set Tom’s teeth on edge. Every move, every breath was
observed, recorded, analyzed, and he found himself sitting frozen, eyes dancing
over the general hubbub before facing the inside of his meeting room, the seat
opposite him still empty.
He fidgeted, his eyes drawn again and again to the far window into the empty
hallway, somehow knowing that was where the prisoners would be brought in. A
minute went by before his suspicions were confirmed. A line of inmates filed
in, all wearing wilted orange jumpsuits with white undershirts. Tom sat up in
his seat, craning his neck to better see the progression.
A murmuring started up in the room, family members trying to glimpse their
loved ones, waving excitedly. The officers along the wall straightened, eyes
sharp on the room at large. A loud buzz sounded and then the door to the bright
hallway opened. Out came one prisoner at a time. White, black, brown, the men
looked entirely different and completely the same, all with guarded, hunched
shoulders, cautious eyes, slightly shuffled steps. They weren’t cuffed, but all
kept their hands crossed in front of them, out of habit or regulation, Tom
didn’t know. Some of them were led to rooms like the one Tom sat in, and others
were allowed to disperse among the larger room, finding and greeting their
families. It was quickly apparent that the only prisoner left behind had to be
Chris, and the sight of him made Tom’s heart flutter. He was tall, very tall,
with blond hair falling to his wide shoulders and brows pulled low over his
eyes, eyes that finally landed on Tom. Chris hesitated, and then glanced
around, finally taking the first step and moving through the tables toward him.
An officer stood at the door and gestured for Chris to enter.
Tom’s heart rate spiked, sitting up as Chris neared him, eyes wide on his face,
so much more handsome than Tom could have ever imagined. Peeking out of the
collar of his orange jumpsuit, Tom spied two long spikes of a tattoo, curving
in from behind his neck to stop just beneath the hinges of his jaw. The rest
was hidden beneath his clothes. In fact, both of Chris’s arms were tattooed,
long sleeves that ended at his wrists, skulls and swirling smoke and the long
cold steel of blades. And then Chris was standing before him, Tom craning his
neck to see him up close, finally.
“Oh,” he managed, blinking fast.
Chris’s eyes, narrowed in a small show of confusion, were blue with thick dark
lashes framing them like the lazy span of palm leaves. His full lips were
pulled into a frown, accenting the long scar on his right brow. Tom desperately
wanted to touch it, to ask the story behind it, but they only stared at each
other for a full minute, Tom’s mouth parting slightly.
Chris finally broke eye contact, glancing at Tom’s name tag.
“You’re not twenty one,” Chris said.
“Sit down, inmate. Or be escorted back to your cell.” The officer at the door
had a hand on his baton, addressing Chris.
Jaw clenched, Chris nodded and sank into the seat opposite Tom. The lull in the
main outer room was quieted in their private cubicle of glass, and Tom felt
entirely on display.
“You’re not twenty-one,” Chris repeated, much softer.
Tom shrugged. “How do you know?” He was so beautiful. How could he be so
beautiful?
A soft chuckle “Because you’re not.”
“How old do I look?”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “Fourteen.”
Tom tried to subdue his blush, and failed. “I’m not fourteen.”
Eyebrows raised, Chris waited.
“I’m sixteen.”
Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit.”
Tom felt a twinge of panic in his gut. “But I won’t be for long. I turn
seventeen soon.”
“How soon?”
A mumble. “February.”
Chris crossed his arms. “I had a feeling you were younger. Talking about your
stepdad sniffing around you. Staying over at your friend’s house. Summer
vacation.”
“He’s not my stepdad,” Tom whispered, spreading his hand on the table, watching
the heat of his skin condense on the cold metal. Chris’s voice was so deep,
slightly raspy at the ends of his words. Was it from disuse? Chris flicked his
gaze at Tom’s green fingernails, and then back to him. Tom felt a pulse between
his legs, and he squeezed his thighs together.
Across from him, Chris’s nostrils flared.
“So,” he said, leaning forward. “Jeff. You wanna talk about it?”
Tom shrugged. “Not really. What’s your tattoo?” he said, touching his own neck.
Chris studied him, no doubt noting the quick change of topic. “It’s a design.
I’d have to take my shirt off for you to see the whole picture.” He smiled when
Tom’s cheeks burned red, his teeth white and healthy, surprisingly enough. He
glanced down at Tom’s flat chest, his lean belly, and back up at his face. “Is
that why you didn’t want to send a picture? Because you knew I’d be able to
tell right away?”
Tom wouldn’t look at him, feeling foolish all of a sudden. The man across from
him was a stranger, no matter their letters. And he realized that Chris, with
his nice face and strong limbs, wouldn’t find anything attractive about Tom.
What had he been thinking? Plus, he was an alpha, a fact Chris had neglected to
mention. Did it really matter, though, for a beta like Tom?
He shifted in his seat, leaning on his elbows, ready to bolt.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Chris said suddenly, and Tom looked up. “I’m glad that
I can picture your face now when you write. It’s…nice. To be able to picture
you.” And to Tom’s great amazement, Chris was the one to blush, laughing
quietly and looking down.
“You’re not mad at me?” Tom whispered.
Chris’s face softened, his brows smoothing out. His hand, on the tabletop,
twitched. Their fingers were only inches apart. “No, Tom. I’m not mad at you.”
Tom breathed out slowly, nerves dissipating. They smiled at each other, Tom’s
foot nudging Chris’s under the metal table.
Chris went still, eyes drifting closed at the contact. Nostrils flaring again,
his hand fisted, looking huge next to Tom’s smaller one, tanned and calloused,
with big veins snaking into the inked skin of his arm. Tom licked his lips, and
sat forward, captivated by the effort it took for Chris to control the emotion
in his face. Was this an effect of being an alpha? Or was it because of…him?
Finally, those blue eyes settled on Tom and he was taken aback by the confusion
in them.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” Chris said quietly, keeping his foot pressed to
Tom’s.
“Me either,” Tom admitted, rubbing his arms. They kept it so cold in that room.
They said nothing for a few moments, and then Chris shook his head. “What are
you doing writing to a guy like me?”
“I didn’t know you were going to be this hot.” It was an unmindful blurt, and
Tom sagged in his seat, shoulders hunched, a little embarrassed.
Chris eyed him for a long moment, and then huffed, face pink. He said nothing.
Tom shifted. “Would you prefer that I stopped?”
Something in Chris’s face hardened, a tightening around his mouth that showed
Tom just how averse he was to the idea. “No.”
Tom smiled and looked down, pressing his elbows together. “Okay, then.”
Chris pointed at Tom’s arms. “Do you do that on purpose?”
Confused, Tom looked down. “Do what?”
“Squirm around like that?”
Ignoring his burning face, Tom met his eyes. “No. I just…I don’t know. It’s not
consciously done.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?” He didn’t mean to sound so breathless, but Tom’s heart was pounding in
his throat and he was having trouble looking away from the man before him. “Do
you like it?”
Chris blinked, a blunt fingernail scratching at the surface of the table. He
cleared his throat. “A little. Yeah.” Tom was pleased to see that Chris’s own
leg began bouncing underneath the table.
Emboldened, Tom sat propped on the edge of his seat. “You know, I’ve thought
about you a lot. About what you might look like.” Chris’s eyes snapped up to
his, and he listened, sitting so still in his chair. Tom swallowed and
continued. “What you might sound like. I had no idea…I mean, when you walked in
here…”
He shut up, elbows rubbing again.
“Did you know I was an alpha?”
“No.”
“And did I disappoint you?” Voice soft, Chris continued to pick at the table,
the scratch of his nail on the metal doing nothing to distract Tom from his
closed-off face, as if braced for Tom’s rejection.
“No.”
Chris’s eyes darted up to his, and then he smiled, slow and wide, stealing
Tom’s breath. Tom let out a nervous giggle and prattled on. “I mean. I wondered
what you might think of me and I’ve enjoyed our letters so much. They’ve been
such a great distraction from things at home. And summer is so boring. I’ve
ridden around all over the city, but I have to be careful by myself. Kids like
to beat on other kids, especially if you’re alone and they want your bike.” He
smiled tightly, easing back into silence, more familiar to him than
anything. “Like I said in my letters. I read a lot, and spend loads of time at
the library. But I’m mostly on my own. It’s kind of lonely.”
Chris listened to every word. And then he took a deep breath. “Honestly, Tom. I
didn’t know what to expect. I knew you were a kid. There was something really
innocent about your letters, but I couldn’t get myself to stop writing to you.
I thought about you a lot too. And well… I’m not disappointed either.”
Tom laughed, nervous. He had a bundle of butterflies in his stomach and he
suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. He laughed again, feeling his
cheeks warm.
“But I’ll be bad for you,” Chris added seriously. The words were hollow,
regretful, and he didn’t meet Tom’s eyes.
Tom nudged his foot again. “I don’t think you will be.”
Chris shook his head. “Look at you. You’re like a kitten. You don’t think with
one touch, my grimy paws won’t dirty you up?”
Tom shrugged. “I’ve thought a lot about that too. The touching.”
Chris inhaled sharply. “I’m an alpha, Tom.”
It was different from how Jeff said it. That snarl wasn’t there, the upper-
handed demand for respect, all forced authority shoved at him. Chris was
assured. He wasn’t trying to prove anything by saying it. It was just a softly
stated fact, a truth. Tom really liked that.
“And I’m a beta. So what?”
Leaning forward, that long arm braced on the table, Chris sat stunned, face
frozen in clear disbelief. His nostrils flared again lightly, eyes dragging
down Tom’s form.
“Who told you you were a beta?
“No one did. I’m almost seventeen and haven’t gone through any change. Heats
hit at thirteen, fourteen the latest.” Right around when I got my first
period.“But I’m past all that. And there’s no way I’m an alpha.”
The muscles in Chris’s jaw jumped and he looked away, breathing in another
small inhale. “Fuck.” Looking determined, he faced Tom again. “Look kid, I’m
almost twenty years older than you—.”
“Fourteen, actually,” Tom interrupted, but ducked down at the glare Chris threw
at him.
“—and I’m about to be released. You don’t want to be getting mixed up with a
criminal like me.”
Tom wasn’t deterred. “I don’t care about the age. I actually really like that
you’re older. Chris, you had to have felt it earlier. Why can’t we explore
this?” Mind racing, Tom really had no idea what would be waiting for him at the
other end of this visiting hour, but now that he’d seen Chris, heard him,
spoken with him, it became cemented in his mind. This was something he wanted
to try. No matter his secret body part, or his monthly bleedings. He wasn’t
going to let what had confused him before stop him from trying to know Chris in
this way. “My mom works all the time, and Jeff is an alpha and summer is hard
for me to be home. I mean, our letters—.”
“Jeff is an alpha?”
Tom blinked. “Yes.”
Chris looked off to the side, deep in thought.
Tom inched forward, trying to catch his eye. “Chris—.”
“It’s not safe for you here.”
Feeling the hot creep of shame on his neck, Tom suddenly felt very small in
that big, cold room. Like Chris was this great flame and Tom only a fluttering
moth, floating around him, desperate to be near the light, no matter how
devastating it would be to be consumed. Trying not to let how upset he was
show, Tom blinked around the room. Not safe? “And so what if I look like a
kitten. You want me to change? I can start working out, bulk up so I can
protect myself? Drink protein—.”
“Don’t you dare,” Chris said softly, voice low in warning, playful almost. Tom
stared at him, waiting. “You look…fine…nice…just the way you are. Don’t change
anything.” His jaw clenched as he looked away.
Tom smiled and cast his eyes down, hearing Chris’s quiet intake of breath. Tom
filed that away as something he knew Chris liked. Feeding off of Chris’s
tension, he thought of something quick to say. “So, um. Can I ask why you’re in
here?”
The scowl returned to Chris’s face.
“I got slammed with aggravated assault and battery.”
“What’s that?”
“I beat someone up so bad they had to be hospitalized for a while.”
Tom ducked his head. “Oh.”
Chris smirked. “A guy named Tony. He was an idiot. One of our bike crew gone
rogue. Made the mistake of handling a crew job on his own. The leader of our
group, Mick, sent me after him.”
“So you just…did what this guy told you to do?”
“Yes. You make a mistake, you get what's coming to you.”
Tom shifted, not exactly seeing the sense in what Chris said.
“Besides,” Chris added. “I get the feeling you know what it is to obey.”
“Fifteen minutes!” The officer by the exit announced.
Chris glared at the man before flicking his gaze back to Tom who, having jumped
at the loud announcement, was blushing scarlet.
“Only if I really like the guy,” Tom admitted softly, drawing his eyes from the
officer back to Chris. “I don’t obey just anyone.”
Voice gruff, Chris said, “Sounds very omega of you.”
Tom frowned. What?
And in the light filtering in through the high windows, Chris soaked him in,
committing him to memory, the lightly freckled arms, the golden curls, those
big blue eyes, all the blushing. He didn’t expect the kid to be so slender, so
innocent. He eyed his long neck, knowing how easy the skin would be to bruise,
to suck on and mark. It was currently clear of any signs of claiming, and Chris
wondered if the boy really knew what he was.
Beta, my ass.
Still, there was something he couldn’t quite figure about Tom. Something about
his scent that was off from what he sniffed along the letters kept secret back
in his bunk. He smelled distinctly male, but there was an undercurrent of
something lush and – moist even, something bitterly floral, pungent and soaked,
smelling of broken petals and river smoke – that set Chris on edge. He wanted
to know what it was.
He imagined the rest of him was just as pale, just as sweet and delicate. Even
now he glimpsed a sliver of skin above Tom’s hip where his shirt had ridden up.
Chris’s hands would look so big and tan on that body, and he swallowed past the
rise of lust in his veins. He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t let
the other guys know how much this scrawny kid affected him, and having only
just met him, no less. Besides, he hadn’t had a rut since his second year in
this place, his ability to control his urges sharpening in the wake of his
incarceration. Betas and omegas were kept separate from the alphas, but this
boy here, well, he’d snuck in undetected somehow and Chris was beginning to
wonder if he could have him for himself, if any of the other alphas in the
place could smell him as Chris could.
Tom licked his lips, drawing Chris’s eyes there. He cleared his throat and
glanced around the room again.
“Are we going to keep writing?” There was a shy uncertainty in Tom's words that
made Chris soften, made him want to gather him up in his lap and stroke his
hair, block him from view of all the other grungy men in orange, men he knew
would have no problem bruising this flower in all the most terrible, wrong
ways.
He sat quietly for a moment. “Tom, your letters…There have been a few times I
could have fucked up. I could have fought someone or done something that I know
would have extended my time. But I kept thinking of your letters. Of you.” You
and your scent. “And so I chose not to fuck up. I’m out of here in a couple of
weeks. Plus I really like reading about you, and what you do during your days.
So yeah. I think we should keep writing. If you want to.”
Tom grinned. “Yes. I want to.”
“You’re really…eager, aren’t you? About a lot of things?”
Tom nodded. “I guess so.”
Chris smiled softly. “I like that.”
And when the hour was up, they rose and stood before each other, Chris’s
height, his entire bulk, alarming and exciting to Tom. He started to reach his
arms out when Chris suddenly stuck out a hand. Slightly hurt, Tom took it.
Chris’s whole hand swallowed Tom’s, their palms sliding together, fingers
gripped tightly.
“You’re not safe here,” Chris repeated, very softly. He tapped the name tag on
Tom’s shirt. “And this? This isn’t right.”
Tom blinked down at where Chris’s long finger poked at him, and then back up at
the man’s face.
“But you’ll keep me safe?” Such wide blue eyes, lashes curled like a girl’s.
Pulse quickening in the hollow of his throat, Chris squeezed his hand. “Yes.”
Tom grinned, that flush glowing on his cheeks again.
“Will I see you again?” Chris asked. Even though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.
“Yes,” Tom said.
“Next week?”
“Next week.”
As the officer began rounding up the prisoners, Chris’s hold on his hand
tightened. “Are you going to be okay with Jeff?”
Tom’s mouth opened and closed. He honestly wasn’t sure. Every day was like
walking in an unmarked mine field. One of these days he was going to step wrong
and something would blow up in his face.
“I have to be,” he said quietly, and judging by the way Chris's lips curled in
a silent grimace, Tom knew his answer wasn’t good enough. Chris, who hadn’t
existed in Tom’s world only two months before, would suddenly become his
fiercest protector. At least that’s how Tom liked to think of it. He could be
entirely wrong about everything. He usually was.
The officer approached them. “Let’s go, inmate.” He took Chris’s shoulder and
spun him, herding him toward the back hallway, his hand yanked out of Tom’s.
“Be careful,” Chris said softly, letting the officer herd him toward the door.
Tom stared after him, watching as Chris was pushed into line, blending in with
the other inmates, cries of farewell rising from the family members left
behind. Chris kept his gaze on Tom, face hardening after a minute, brows
drawing low. And then he turned away, leaving Tom in the wake of his heated
glare, features cold and closed off, ready for whatever hardships prison life
offered in the bowels of wherever that hallway led them.
Feeling bereft, Tom sank back down into the chair as the room emptied around
him, wondering however vaguely, what kind of situation he’d stumbled onto.
The bus ride home felt strange and disorienting and stale, his skin too tight,
the air pressing in on all sides. Deep in his belly, he started to feel an ache
and he hoped he wasn’t coming down with something. Feeling stickier than usual
between his legs, he took a deep breath to settle himself and tucked the hand
Chris had shaken against his chest, curling into the window, willing the week
to pass quickly.
***** Desire Shot Straight *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
“Where the hell were you?”
Walking through the front door, Tom flinched as soon as he heard that voice.
Jeff stood in the middle of the living room, a can of beer in hand. His mother
was, like always, nowhere around.
"Your mother was worried sick when she woke up and you weren't in your room.
She had to leave for work like that. Who the hell do you think you are, just
wandering off?"
Tom kept his hand on the doorknob, his mind already on his bike thrown just
outside. His mother never worried about him, never checked on him before she
went to work. It must have been Jeff who checked, Jeff who was angry that Tom
wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
“I was out with Bobby,” he mumbled, but Jeff sneered.
“Oh, really? Because Bobby came by looking for you.” Tom’s face must have shown
his surprise, because Jeff bobbed his head, happy to have caught Tom in a lie.
“Yeah. Only a few hours ago. Said to let you know he came by. Such a good
friend.” His slow steps brought him closer to Tom, who backed up against the
open door, ready to flee. He should have by now. There was no way he would make
it around Jeff and to his room. And once there, what?
Jeff stopped a few feet away. “But you’re not a good friend, are you? You don’t
let your friends know where you’ve gone. You sneak off like the little shit I
know you are. You’re a little shit…aren’t you?”
Counting his breaths, Tom held still a moment and then turned on his heel,
halfway over the threshold, his bike just out of reach. A hand grabbed him by
the back of the shirt. He was hauled backwards and thrown into the wall. Jeff
slammed the door shut, his beer can spilled on the floor.
Heart in his throat, Tom watched him, tears already gathering in his eyes. He
had to crane his head to see him, and it was nothing like when he had to look
up at Chris. He much preferred that hawk-like gaze, so warm with promise, to
this alcohol-laden scorn.
Jeff took him by the shoulders and squeezed hard. "My beer's spilled. See what
I mean about being a little shit?"
"Please," Tom murmured, angling his face away, skin crawling. "I didn’t mean
to. I'm sorry."
This wasn't the same, this was nothing like those videos he loved to watch
online, where the daddies came home and spanked their little boys, playfully,
gently, and even when they were a bit rougher, Tom could tell the difference
between a lead up to amazing sex and the pure cruelty this was. Jeff disgusted
him. His touch was hard and terrible, and Tom couldn't stand being near him. A
creeping fear lit over his skin, crawling with anxiety and disgust. Whenever he
found himself a proper daddy, he knew he would want to always please him, want
to touch and serve him. Be a good boy for him.
But not Jeff. Never Jeff.
"Sorry, my ass," Jeff growled. "You spilled my beer!" He lifted his arm and Tom
had only a second to brace himself before Jeff backhanded him, the sharp ridges
of his knuckles stinging Tom's cheek with the blow. He cried out and would have
fallen to the floor were it not for Jeff's hands clenched in his shirt, yanking
him upright and slamming him back again. And then his eyes narrowed.
"What the fuck is this?"
 His breath reeked of beer. Tom squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to
breathe.
"Is this nail polish?"
Tom's eyes sprang open. Jeff was glaring at Tom's hand, the same one Chris had
shaken not two hours before.
"So you are a little fag. I fucking knew it. Flitting around here like a
goddamn fairy. Is that where you were today? Letting some other cock sucker
fuck you in the ass? Gotten your heat yet, faggot?"
“I’m a beta!” Tom screamed, sobbing. He struggled to get out of his grip. "And
I—I was j-just out!"
"Out. Yeah, you’re out now. To me.”
Tom's eyes widened as Jeff's hand drifted to his own belt, unbuckling it,
pulling it loose.
“I'll show you fucking in the ass."
Tom started kicking, trying to wiggle out from between Jeff and the wall. "No!
Please!" He'd never threatened him with rape before. And Tom had never—he
couldn't let him do it. He would see, he would see—.
Already he felt his cheek swelling, throbbing painfully with every frantic beat
of Tom's heart. And with Jeff's anger-fueled abuse, he would no doubt leave Tom
with serious damage.
Trying to quiet him, make him docile, Jeff lifted his hand and smacked him
again, same cheek, same force. Ears ringing, spots danced before Tom's eyes and
his arms went limp. But outside, a car door slammed and they froze. Tom's
mother was finally home. Jeff released him and Tom slumped to the floor.
"Get out of my sight," Jeff whispered, already turning away. Tom crawled to his
feet, running down the hall and to his room. He locked the door and ran to the
mirror, hiccupping quietly. His cheek was bruising badly, but the swelling
could have been worse. As it was, Tom was immensely relieved that Jeff, too
blinded by Tom’s insolence and nail polish, hadn’t spotted the prison name tag
still stuck on his shirt. He peeled it off carefully, folding it into a tiny
square so that only his name could be seen above the words “Beta Visitor for
Inmate #667596 Hemsworth, C.” He would save it with all of Chris’s letters.
With his mother home, Tom knew Jeff wouldn't dare touch him again. He would
walk with her into the kitchen, ask her about her day. And after a quick
dinner, Jeff would take her into their bedroom and do all sorts of unimaginable
things to her. Was it that good? Tom wondered. Was it worth keeping him around?
How he must reek. And the kisses…Tom shuddered. How terrible.
Tom couldn’t believe Jeff had actually been about to…but would he have? Would
he really have thrown Tom down on the floor and forced himself in? What would
he have done upon seeing what really lay between his legs? Fresh tears burst
over his eyes, trying not to imagine it. He hoped he never had to find out.
Curling up gently on his bed, careful with his cheek, he reached under the
mattress for the stack of letters he kept saved there. He wiped at his tears
and then sniffed along the edges of the envelopes, imagining Chris's scent
there. But why imagine his scent when he could imagine Chris, that big warm
body, making Tom feel safe and protected. Hugging his pillow, Tom slowly calmed
down, weeping into its soft cushion, noiseless. He didn’t think Chris would
ever hurt him. He wouldn’t hit him like Jeff did. And if Tom needed a bit of
discipline, Chris would do it the right away, smacking his bottom and not his
face, or punching his stomach, or kicking his back. No. Chris wouldn’t do that.
Tom knew he wouldn’t.
“Daddy,” he mumbled into his pillow, already half asleep, cheek aching, half
remembering the way the sunlight had filtered in through the windows in the
prison visiting room, casting Chris’s hair golden, like long stalks of wheat.
**
Dear Tom,
I thought of you when I woke up this morning. The light slants in from the high
windows in my cell. The windows are tiny and horizontal, and so fucking
annoying. They aren’t big enough to see out of, but I like to imagine what
might be out there. I imagined you. Riding your bike out by the tracks, your
hair fluffing in the wind, your cheeks pink from the heat. I imagined you
smiling, because I can tell that comes easy to you. Bouncing over the tracks,
guiding your bike down into the dirt, glass and broken bits of plastic popping
under the tires. I wondered if you were okay, wherever you were. That you were
safe. That no one was trying to come onto you that you didn’t want. That you
were happy. What makes you happy, Tom? Tell me about what you do, what books
you’re reading, what music you listen to. Tell me your favorite color and why.
Tell me what you think of when you wake up and if you go to sleep scared. Tell
me everything, please. ~Chris
 
Dear Chris,
Your letter made me cry a bit. I loved it so much! Where do I begin! I’m
picturing your cell, and how small it is for one so large, so beautiful. Like
trapping the sun in a glass jar. I love going to the tracks. It’s usually
abandoned, with no one around. Sometimes I’ll hear kids coming closer and I’ll
take off. But usually it’s just me. I’m reading a few books right now.A
Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini.The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman.The
Poisonwood Bibleby Barbara Kingsolver. My room is piled with books. I’d love to
show them to you one day. Oh, Chris. A lot makes me happy. A lot makes me
scared. It’s not always that I go to bed scared. Jeff is a threat to me. I can
feel it. He doesn’t like me and seems convinced of my guilt of something every
time I see him. It doesn’t matter. Summer is the worst time of the year because
I’m not kept busy with school. It’s all library and bike time for me. My
favorite color is purple! Purple and pink. And green. I guess I can’t choose.
Green because I love the spotted green dots of the saguaros on the mountains.
Pink because most nail polish colors are some variation of pink and I love them
all. And purple because sometimes when I open my window at night for fresh air,
the sky is the color of a dark plum. And when I wake up I hope I can still see
some of the stars, but it’s never true. I can’t wait to see you again, Chris.
Will it be okay if I imagine you holding me tonight? That scares me sometimes
too. Being so alone in the dark. But if you’re with me, I won’t be that afraid.
~ Tom
 
Dear Tom, Yes. I’m holding you. I am. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I
promise. ~Chris
**
“What happened to your face?”
Waiting at the table for Chris and the other prisoners to be escorted in, Tom
had touched around his cheek, the skin noticeably less swollen, but still
tender and tainted purple. He hadn’t been able to nab some concealer from his
mom’s room, and as soon as Chris sat before him, his wide smile faded as he’d
zeroed in on the bruise. Tom looked down, hand lifting on its own, blocking his
cheek from view.
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m okay.”
Chris leaned forward, anger narrowing his eyes. “Like hell you’re okay. Did he
do that?”
Tom kept his eyes down, and said nothing.
“Answer me.”
Tom flinched and then nodded.
“When?”
“Just after I got back from seeing you last week.”
Chris’s eyes closed. “Goddammit.” His hands curled into huge fists.
Tom sat up, reaching across the table, but he drew back at the last minute.
Chris watched this movement, eyes flicking nervously around the room. Instead,
he nudged Tom’s foot. They pressed their shoes together and Tom felt the wire
wrapped tight inside his ribs loosen a bit.
“I’m okay, Chris,” he whispered, fingers twisting together. His eyes misted,
and he blinked to clear them. “I’ve been avoiding him. And once school starts,
it’ll be better. I can stay after class. There are some programs I can attend.
Drama and arts and crafts and stuff.” He shrugged. “Sometimes he’s too drunk by
the time I get home. And I’m light on my feet. I can make it down the hall
without him knowing.”
Chris glowered. “I don’t like it. I don’t like that he has access to you.”
Something drew his eye over Tom’s shoulder, and he frowned slightly.
Scanning over his shoulder, Tom saw nothing but families talking in the outer
room. He turned back. “I don’t either.”
“Why does he do it? Is that all he does? Is hit you? Has he—.” He paused,
sitting back heavily, as if something had just dawned on him. “Has he tried
something more?”
Shifting in his seat, Tom remembered the clink of Jeff’s belt buckle as he tore
it open, holding Tom roughly to the wall. He closed his eyes, willing the image
to go away, and that was all he had to do for Chris to know the truth.
His fists, clenched and shaking, were pressed to the tabletop, and his eyes,
when Tom looked at him, were narrowed and livid. Desire shot straight down
Tom’s spine, and he squirmed in his seat, hands stuffed between his knees. In
the shaft of light from the window, Tom could see the bristles of Chris’s
stubble, gold with a few tiny spikes of grey.
“Has he bitten you?”
Numbly, Tom shook his head. Chris’s face collapsed in open relief, sighing down
into his hands.
“He’s never tried biting me,” Tom admitted quietly. “He’s just tried…I
mean—he’s never actually…you know.”
Still Chris said nothing. He glanced again behind Tom, a big hand widening on
the tabletop.
“Chris,” he whispered, and Chris blinked, focusing on him. Tom smiled, trying
to draw him out of his dark mood. “Look at me. You’re almost out of here.
Please don’t do anything to compromise your release. That was the point of our
letters, right? I mean…you’re not going to make me wait longer, are you?” He
rubbed Chris’s shoe with the toe of his Converse. “Please?”
Chris bent his head and took a deep breath, rubbing his face roughly. “Fuck,
Tom. I’m counting every goddamn minute.” He leaned his head on his hand. “No,
baby. I’m not going to make you wait any longer.”
Tom’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname, his stomach bunching up with
butterflies. A rush of emotion lit like a flame in his chest and he suddenly
didn’t know what to do with himself. He grinned, cheeks red, the bruise
appearing darker because of it, and because he couldn’t help himself, Tom
reached across the table and touched Chris’s wrist. His fingers looked so thin
and pale compared to Chris’s and he wondered, quickly, what they would look
like tangled together on a bed.
Chris eyed his hand and then, surprising Tom, shifted his big palm over it,
squeezing once. His skin was so warm Tom almost moaned, managing to swallow it
back at the last second. A burning heat crept up his neck, mouth drying after a
hard gulp, ears popping in the cold air of that room closing in around him.
A twinge settled low in Tom’s belly and he cupped a palm there, wincing. His
bellyaches had subsided over the past week, but he still felt tender under his
ribs, sweat dotting his face. It was too early for his period. What could it
be? Blinking fast, he cleared his throat, nausea subsiding. Chris’s eyes looked
entirely black when Tom looked back up, and he faltered a moment, fingers
clutching at Chris’s.
“You look pale,” Chris started, shifting an inch closer, but then his eyes
flicked behind Tom again. They widened in alarm.
“What’s—?” Tom began, turning his head. Chris suddenly launched to his feet and
yanked Tom up by his arm. He hauled him to the corner of the room and pressed
him flat to the wall, taking up a wide stance before him. All at once, there
were sharp, shouted commands, the officers’ voices hard-edged with threat,
echoing off the sterile walls. People rose up in the main room, their shocked
faces turned toward Tom and Chris’s cubicle.
Rushing toward them was a man, another inmate in orange, face contorted in a
twisted sneer. On his tiptoes, Tom peeked over Chris’s shoulder, gasping in
alarm. The man struggled past the first officer, and kept running. Arms
bracketed to hold Tom in the corner, Chris growled from deep in his chest, the
vibrations stuttering through Tom’s fingers clenched in Chris’s jump suit.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Tom braced for impact, but it never came. With a
silent snarl, Chris took a step closer to the charging man and threw a solid
punch to his jaw. The man flipped in the air and landed violently on his back.
But he rose with a hiss and threw himself at Chris.
Frozen in the corner, Tom watched with wide eyes as Chris roared and kneed the
man right in the sternum, grabbing him up by the back of his collar and tossing
him bodily across the small cubicle. The man collided with the glass, cracking
it into splinters, before crumpling in a heap on the floor, motionless.
Breathing heavy, fingers clawed, shoulders hunched, Chris backed Tom up against
the corner again, eyes narrowed on the dozen guns pointed right at him.
“Oh god,” Tom whispered, acting on instinct. He put his arms around Chris’s
waist from behind, pressing his face to a hard shoulder blade. Chris was
pulsating with rage.
“Don’t move!” an officer shouted, and Chris turned a snarled growl in his
direction. His body, in front of Tom’s, was tight as a bow, ready to spring.
“Arms up, prisoner!”
Two officers put their guns away and knelt by the downed inmate, checking his
pulse. They nodded and called for a gurney. Out in the main room, everyone
stood with their chins up, trying to see into the cubicle.
“Chris,” Tom whispered, but Chris only stepped even further back, squishing Tom
breathless.
“This is your last warning, Hemsworth. Put your hands up!”
But Chris seemed too far gone. Eyes eclipsed by wide pupils, he stood braced
before Tom, head whipping from side to side, identifying the most immediate
threat. When Chris didn’t move, the first officer fired his gun, and Tom
screamed. Instead of a bullet, a dart whizzed through the air and stuck fast in
Chris’s chest. Chris grunted and stared down at the needle. With a grimace, he
yanked it out.
“Jesus,” the officer whispered, just as another dart was loosed, catching Chris
in the neck. He jerked at the sting, but yanked it out like the first.
Tottering on his feet, he scrambled back in angry panic, blinking fast to clear
his swimming vision. They mustn’t touch the boy. No one would.
“Again!”
A third dart embedded just an inch down on his neck and this one finally
managed to work. Clinging to him, Tom felt when Chris started to tip sideways,
eyes rolling up in his head, but he held on tightly, dragged to the floor from
Chris’s heavy weight. They collapsed in a tangled mound, Tom scrambling to his
knees, cupping Chris’s face.
“Chris! Oh my god, Chris, please! Wake up!”
“Stand back!” An officer took him by the shoulder and hauled him off Chris, who
was unresponsive, eyelids quivering.
“Is he okay? What did you do to him?!”
“Stand back, kid.”
He stumbled off to the side, heart in his throat. Two lines of blood trickled
from the dart wounds on Chris’s neck, but he was surrounded by officers almost
immediately and Tom lost track of him. Another officer guided him out of the
cubicle with a strong grip on his arm as Tom twisted his neck to catch sight of
Chris. But the room was clustered with people in dark uniforms and he couldn’t
see a thing.
“Are you hurt?” someone asked him and Tom blinked. He was in a quiet office
with a woman looking at him from the next seat. She had chocolate colored eyes
and blond hair smoothed back in a tight bun. Tom immediately noticed the gun at
her waist.
“Where is he?”
“The inmate you were visiting has been subdued with a tranquilizer—.”
“Tranquilizers,” Tom stressed, palms sweating. He could still feel on him the
great heated imprint of Chris’s body.
“He’s a big man,” she conceded. “It’s not unusual to use more than one tranq
for someone with elevated strength. Plus the adrenaline burns through the
immediate reaction quickly.”
Tom stood abruptly. “I want to leave.”
“Are you his mate?”
He blanched. “What?”
“He was protecting you as one would a mate. We’ve seen it before.”
“I’m…I’m just his friend.”
She glanced down at his name tag. “Beta,” she said quietly, and Tom rolled his
eyes with a groan. Why was the beta thing being brought up again and again? It
made no sense.
“I have to go,” he said, patting his pockets as if he had something important
there to locate.
“I’ll escort you out. Do you need water or anything? We wanted to make sure you
were alright.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, pushing through the door and out into a blinding white
hallway. Somewhere in this giant facility, Chris was being carted away on a
gurney most likely, unconscious after protecting Tom from that man who had
obviously been charging toward them. Why had the man attacked? Had Chris sensed
that he would? All those glances over Tom’s shoulder. He had to have known.
The officer walked him into the parking lot.
“Need a ride anywhere?”
“No. But thanks. I’m taking the bus.”
She nodded. “Be careful out there, Tom.”
He caught the small warning in her voice, her gaze landing on his name tag
again, at what it said there.
“I will. Thanks,” he whispered, before hurrying off down the street.
***** Keep Your Door Sealed Tight *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
When Tom returned the next week, he was told by the check-in officer that Chris
was being held in quarantine.
“But why?” Tom asked, his anxiety spiking. “He’s not in any kind of trouble, is
he?”
The man shrugged. “His altercation with the prisoner last week seemed to have
put him into a premature rut.”
“Rut?”
The officer blinked up at him, distracted. He tossed a file to a passing
officer and continued on with his work. “Yeah, a rut. You know. They go into
some kind of heightened state of being.” He shrugged, like it was out of his
league. Another beta, Tom figured.
“Will this extend his sentence?” he asked meekly.
“I don’t believe so. Superintendent told us it was un-meditated. Provoked by
the other inmate. All instinctual. Stuff he can’t control. He’s just been kept
apart from the others for a while, just until he calms down.”
“Oh.” Tom picked at his nail polish. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll try next week.” He
turned to go, but the man’s voice called him back.
“Hey, kid. Just a suggestion, but maybe you shouldn’t visit again. The guy is
almost done serving his time, and it seems your presence aggravated him.”
“Aggravated him?”
“Made his instincts all haywire.”
“Can I still write to him?”
The cop nodded and tossed his form into a basket behind him. “Sure.”
Feeling even more unmoored on the bus ride home, Tom sat hunched over his
belly, trying to calm the queasiness bubbling low in his gut. He wiped at the
sweat on his forehead and wished he could have seen Chris, if only for a small
moment, to last him through this final week without him. He hoped Chris was
safe. He wanted, most of all, his touch.
**
He wrote a letter right away, riddled with questions about if Chris was
alright, if he was being treated well. About what had happened. But he received
a letter in the mail three days later, which meant Chris had written to him
first. The handwriting was choppy and stilted, the ink pressed deep. Chris
might have been trembling when he wrote it.
With tears in his eyes, Tom read.
Tom, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Were you hurt? I couldn’t fight it. I tried to
stop it taking me. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you go. Or that you
had to go through that at all. I don’t know why Williams came at you like that.
Or maybe I do know and I’m starting to see that you really have no idea.
Someone so innocent and trusting as you. A kitten. It hurts to do this, but I’m
begging you not to come see me again. It’s too dangerous. I always knew it
wasn’t safe for you here, because there’s something about you that made my
instinct to protect flare up. That same thing is what wakes in other men the
yearning to claim. And it’s this fire in us, okay? It burns and it drives us
crazy. Do you understand? But I can’t let them do that. Because I see now that
I can’t let any other man have you now that I’ve seen you, smelled you, felt
you even for a short bit. I can’t even trust myself again in your presence. I
don’t know what I’d do. Take you right there on the floor of that disgusting
visiting room. You’re so beautiful. Have I told you that? You are. I’m telling
you right now, Tom, with all these miles and all this concrete and steel and
barbed wire between us, that I fully intend on claiming you once I’m free. I’m
telling you this right now. I’ll wait for your next letter to read your answer.
If no, then TELL ME. I won’t bother you again. But if yes, then TELL ME.
Because I’ll seek you out first thing. I’m only just waking from my first rut
in five years. And let me tell you, Tom, being locked in a six by six cell with
no one but yourself and your furious emotions and desires, it’s fucking hell. I
could only think of you. I have one more week in this place. I’ll be good, Tom.
I promise. You be good, too. Don’t let that creep Jeff touch you. Stay away
from him. Once I’m out, I’ll handle his distance from you, okay? I’ll take care
of you. I’ll take care of everything. Stay as you are. Don’t change on me. And
speaking of change, have you been feeling ill, Tom? Sick in any way? Would you
be honest with me and tell me if you were? If you are, please, baby. Keep your
door sealed tight and your window closed. Plug towels in all the cracks, and
stay safe. Please. I’ll see you soon, babe. Don’t let anyone bite you. ~Chris
A hot tear slid down Tom’s cheek, and he sobbed quietly into his palm, Chris’s
words blurring before him. He was coming for him. He was okay and unhurt –
albeit a little shaken – but he was coming for him. Wiping at his face, he
sniffed a giddy laugh and hurried to his desk. Clumsily, in purple gel ink, he
wrote a quick letter.
Chris. My knight. My hero. You saved me! I’m okay I promise! Please, Chris.
I’ll wait for you here. Please come for me. I want this. I want you. Nothing
can keep me from you. As soon as you’re out, I’ll be ready. I’ll be waiting.
It’s true that I’ve been feeling a bit ill lately, but it feels like a bout
with the flu or something. A bug that will pass. I’ll be better by the time
you’re free. I’ll wait for you. I promise. No one’s bitten me. No one will.
Come soon. P.S. What is a rut, exactly? ~Tom
He sealed the envelope and rode his bike to the post office. His pulses were
stronger between his legs, his limbs feeling hotter and heavier than before. He
pressed his knees together for relief, and sighed in near defeat. Feeling moist
and deliciously, deliriously achy, he tossed the letter into the outgoing mail
and then rode his bike to the tracks, tears falling freely now, laughter
bubbling up from that well deep in his chest where he kept his most precious
secrets.
**
Baby, a rut is when an alpha goes through something like an omega’s heat. We
want to fuck and fight everything. I got all of the fighting out of my system
when I was younger. I still get the urge to pick fights but it isn’t as hard to
ignore. I do want to fuck though. And a lot. My ruts last two days. Before,
when I was younger, I wouldn’t bite while I fucked. I never mated. To do both
at the same time would be to claim an omega and the bond would be for life.
I’ve never felt that desire, until now. Until you. Do you understand what that
means? ~Chris
 
Chris, I do understand. And I want you too. I want you, more than anything, to
do both, to me. When you’re out, I want you to claim me, because if there is
anyone I want to belong to, it’s you. Will you come for me soon? ~Tom
**
Nights were becoming difficult. Jeff and his porn watching were happening more
and more frequently, especially as his mother had taken two more shifts at the
diner. Tom kept to his room as often as he could, doing as Chris asked and
stuffing the cracks beneath the door and along the window ledge with towels. It
helped to keep the sex noises out, and whatever the matter was with him in. But
he could lay in bed, sweating and faint, staring up at the ceiling fan whirring
the hot air in lazy circles, for only so long before he grew restless and snuck
out onto his bike. Veering through the streets, shirt sweat-stained and hanging
loose on him, Tom rode until he was breathless, legs burning. He wallowed in
the hazy shade of the big oaks at the park, picking at the clusters of daisies
and twining their sticky stems into bracelets he wore home.
Chris’s last letter had come six days ago and Tom’s paranoia was starting to
win. Even though Chris had told him to have an overnight bag ready, time spent
alone away from him often meant fears took stubborn root, bubbling over him
like the wing-beats of a bird. Sunlight lacing his thin frame, he was sure that
Chris had forgotten him. He’d been released and had moved on with his life,
Tom’s suffering and waiting not meaning a thing. Wiping at his tears, Tom would
lie there on the grass for as long as he could, until the long stares of
strange men finally drove him to his bike. Their gazes followed his exit onto
the street, like pinpoints of fire on the back of his skull.
But thoughts of Chris, even the worrying, unfounded ones, helped stifle the
terror he felt living with Jeff. It seemed his rage at Tom had tripled of late.
And the only reason Tom could think of was that the nail polish had tipped him
over from general dislike to full on hatred. Tom had always been so careful
with hiding what Jeff called ‘faggoty things’. His lip gloss, his nail polish.
That sample strip of perfume he’d swiped at the mall, rubbing it on his neck at
night. He had one pair of lace panties, having paid for it in quarters at the
dollar store. He loved them so much, a tiny pale purple thing that hugged his
hips so gently and snug, but he only wore those at night, too, afraid Jeff
would take one look at him and be able to see them, and his secret part,
through his jeans. As it was, they were beginning to wear thin and he would
need to buy a new pair soon. His periods he kept marked carefully on his
calendar, secretly, with purple glitter stars. To stock up on tampons, he snuck
into the girls’ bathroom at school and broke into the rickety dispenser,
grabbing a sweaty handful before fleeing. But sometimes he needed to steal some
from his mother’s bathroom cabinet, hoping she wouldn’t notice that the box was
missing a few, praying that Jeff wouldn’t be lurking in the hallway when he
slipped out with his smuggled contraband. And if the risk was too great, he had
to go without. And those were the worst days, when the worry kept his pulse
accelerated, when he had to slink along the walls for fear of being made fun
of.
For now, Tom crept about his own house, sweating and short of breath, always
slinking around corners, peering into the ashtrays for any fresh cigarette
butts, keeping track of where Jeff was in the house in order to circle around
him. But there were a few instances when Tom had been unable to escape Jeff.
The first time had been for dinner when Tom’s mother was home, Jeff glaring at
him over her head. And the second had been after he overheard Jeff arguing
quietly about Tom with his mom, saying, "Doesn't it worry you how tightly he
wears his clothes? The nail polish? And the glitter? It isn't right, Susie. He
needs discipline." And his mother, her voice tired, moving around their
bedroom, probably taking off her shoes after a long day at the diner, had
simply replied, "Just leave it alone, Jeff. The boy is simply experimenting.
All the kids do. It's how they express themselves. He'll straighten out in
time."Her paltry excuse for why they both knew he did that stuff.
Tom thought he had managed to slip away before Jeff stormed out of the room,
but he must have caught Tom dashing out the back door because the next thing
Tom knew Jeff had a handful of his hair and was slamming him against the brick
wall outside, a hand clamped over Tom's mouth. Tom’s heart rate tripled, ears
ringing in panic.
"Sneaking around, are you?"
Tom pushed back and tried crying out, but it was something quiet and muffled,
and Jeff smiled, small and hideous. His stomach in knots, cold sweat sprouted
over Tom’s skin, that queasy feeling back.
"Quit your struggling." He pressed himself to Tom, who tried sinking away,
wishing he could disappear into the wall. "Has anyone fucked you in the ass
lately? Maybe you need a good spanking, huh? That'll teach you not to
eavesdrop. You listen to me now, and be a good boy. I’m an alpha, Tom. You
listen to me.” Jeff’s eyes fastened to Tom’s neck and he licked his lips.
Chris’s warning about bites tripped warning bells in Tom’s mind and he started
his struggle anew.
Breathing hard through his nose, bile rising, Tom widened his mouth and bit
down on the thick meat of Jeff's palm.
"Fuck!" Jeff growled and released him. Tom lifted his leg and stomped down on
Jeff's foot. Ducking under his arm, he sprinted for the low wall lining their
small property, panting weakly, body throbbing with fever.
"Come back here, you little shit!"
Heart in his throat, Tom scaled the wall and launched himself over the top,
landing hard on the other side. Feet skidding, he scraped his hands and knees
on the broken glass and rocks of the dirty alleyway behind their house. Vision
shifting, disoriented, he stumbled as he ran again, turning back to see Jeff
watching him over the top of the wall, face unnervingly calm and cold with
threatening promise. Sprinting harder, Tom rounded the corner and collapsed
gasping against the wall of their neighbor's house, dragging air in. When his
stomach clenched, he bent double and vomited, the vile taste of Jeff's hand,
like the dry scratch of dust, still lingering on his tongue. After the
alleyway, he made his way to the park bathroom, balling up a wad of wet paper
towels and sealing himself in one of the two stalls to dab at his bloody skin,
knocking loose the bits of gravel that had dug in deep. It wasn't until well
after midnight that he had the courage to return home, climbing in gingerly
through his bedroom window, palms and knees stinging.
Showering as quietly as he could, shivering under the needle-like water, Tom
slipped back into his room and locked the door, stuffing a chair under the knob
for good measure. Moving mechanically, Tom folded a couple of pairs of jeans
and some T-shirts into a backpack, adding clean underwear, socks, and his
favorite pair of Chuck Taylors. In the front pocket he put his bottle of pink
nail polish, in case he needed to touch up his toes. Under his sheets, Tom
hugged his pillow and thought of Chris, who would come for him soon, he hoped.
Chills started low along his limbs, making him shake and moan quietly into the
pillow. Heat broke open over his skin and he rolled onto his back, seeking cool
air.
Chills and heat. Chills and heat. He didn’t feel well.
“Please,” he mumbled, blinking heavily, fisting the sheets loosely, no strength
in his touch. Imagining that big hand cupping the top of his head, Tom fell
into a deep sleep, feeling safe for the first time in months. Still he
trembled, and still he sweated, unknowing.
**
And then the very next night, with Jeff and his mother watching soaps in the
living room, Tom was lying in bed again, moaning and writhing weakly. He’d been
at the park again most of the afternoon but the lingering stares of some of the
men on the football field made him roll to his stomach and push weakly to his
feet. And if a few of them went so far as to jog out onto the street after his
fleeing form, Tom didn’t know. He pedaled and gasped for air, sweat dripping
into his eyes, the sun beating down on his head.
The flu had taken a turn for the worse, no matter his efforts to avoid it. He
downed glass after glass of water, tipped back cough and flu medicine, showered
with cold water and pressed cold cloths to his neck, but nothing worked. And
now he was trapped in his room again, his body aching like an exposed nerve,
raw and sparking.
Blearily, he heard his mother outside his barred door earlier. She spoke
quietly so as not to disturb Jeff, asking if he wanted dinner, a little annoyed
that she had to come find him.
“’m fine, mom. No thanks,” he’d called out, trying for normal. “I’ll just rest
a bit. Going to Bobby’s tomorrow.”
He had absolutely no plans to visit his friend, but maybe if they thought he
was out of the house, they would leave him alone. He just wanted to sleep, and
touch himself.
Working on its own, his hand inched down his belly, jumping with stilted
breaths, panting hollowly into his stuffy room. Under the waistband of his
pajama bottoms, his fingers trembled and sought. Tugging at his cock, cupping
his balls, further low he searched until he felt that tender slit, damp and
slicked with his juices. He sank the first finger in and arched, mouth parting
in a strangled moan. He worked and pumped until he managed three fingers up his
cunt, wrist aching. He was aiming for a fourth when across the room, wood
scratching quietly, his window cracked open an inch from the outside.
He heard it from a distance, barely rousing from his heated doze.
“Please,” he mumbled, vision blurry. Between his legs he was sopping, and he
had half a mind to worry about the state of his lace undies, pushed to the side
for his seeking hand. Legs splayed wide, fingers dripping, he pressed in
deeper, choking on a moan. The window scraped up another few inches and Tom
turned his head slowly, arms twitching. A shadow rose up behind the pane of
glass, and he whimpered, a bead of sweat skidding down his nose to drip onto
the sheets. The person crawled in quietly and hurried to his bedside. Tom
yanked his fingers out and tried rolling away, succeeding in only flopping
uselessly onto his side.
“No. No, don’t touch me. Don’t bite me. Please. I’m waiting—.”
The man took his shoulder and tried rolling him back, but Tom swung his arm
wildly, his cry lost in the echo of the loud playback of the show in the living
room.
“No! Don’t touch me—.” A wide hand clamped over his mouth and the rest of his
words became muffled. He kicked and tried to scream, his mind buzzing with
fatigue and mist, eyes rolling.
“It’s me! Tom, listen. It’s okay. It’s okay, Tom. It’s me.”
Tom went immediately still, a wave of dizziness blinding him in that dark. He’d
dreamed of that voice. Tugging on the man’s wrist, mouth freed, he sucked in a
breath of air. “Daddy?”
“It’s me, Tom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I didn’t want your
mom and Jeff to hear us.” Chris shuffled closer, lifting a knee on the bed. He
sniffed. “Fucking Christ, Tom. You smell so—.” He inhaled deeply, his tall
shadow looming over Tom. “—fucking good.” There it was, that growl. Tom rolled
his hips, needing.
Leaning forward now, Tom blinked up at him. “T-thought you were one of the
other m-men.” His eyelids were so heavy, the heat so deep in his core. Get it
out. Get rid of it.
“Other men?”
Tom nodded, ready to fade away. He mumbled. “The men following me.”
“Shit.” Chris glanced about the room, as if the mysterious stalkers might be
waiting to be pummeled right there in the dark. He turned his attention back to
Tom, who sweated and writhed.
“You’re not well, babe.”
“Just—just the flu,” he stammered, eyes rolling back in the hope to sleep some
more.
“Flu, my ass,” Chris muttered.
“Daddy, please.” Arching his back, he felt the heat pooling in his groin and he
pressed his legs together, whining softly.
A hand rested warmly in his hair, rough, big and cupping his entire skull.
Smoothing his curls. “It’s me. It’s Chris.”
“Chris,” Tom breathed, circling Chris’s wrist with his sweaty, trembling,
sticky fingers. “Daddy.”
Chris paused, and Tom, in his addled brain wondered vaguely if he’d just fucked
everything up. But the tug in his groin was so strong, his body thrumming with
a need so much bigger than himself. For over a day now he’d lain in bed
shivering with it, wondering if he should tell his mother, if he needed a
hospital, if he would die of the thirst. Without reason, without a clue, he
endured it, a sinking devastation cuddling low over his frantic heart. His own
touch wasn’t enough. He needed more.
And here was Chris, finally.
Tom rolled his head on the mattress, the fever making him hurt, making him
ache. He needed. “Please, Daddy—.”
“Okay, baby,” Chris said hurriedly. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.” Strong arms
slid under both knees and shoulders, and then Tom was being lifted. He cried
out softly as the earth spun wildly, but Chris hushed him with sweet kisses on
his cheek, soft murmurs in his ear. In the living room, the static burst of
forced studio audience laughter echoed against Tom’s sealed door, and Chris
half turned with a bent brow, arms tightening on Tom. The risk of discovery was
high.
“Jesus, Tom. You would go through your change tonight, babe.”
Tom cuddled closer, voice small. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“No, baby! No.” Chris squeezed him tightly, kissing his cheek. “You’re perfect.
You hear me? You’re beautiful and perfect.”
Chris spotted a black backpack at the foot of the bed and snatched it up,
hoping it was the overnight bag he’d asked Tom to prepare. Wearing only cotton
pajama bottoms and a loose shirt, smelling of moist rains and boy sweat, Tom
was hardly dressed for any kind of escapade out his window, but that’s exactly
where Chris headed. When he attempted to set Tom on his feet, Tom whined and
clung to his neck, mumbling a faint protest.
“For just a second, baby. A quick second. I’m taking you out of here.”
Setting him on wobbly legs, Tom’s arms wrapped around him like trembling vines,
Chris climbed out first and then reached back in for Tom, who sagged willingly
into his embrace, letting Chris do the brunt work of hauling him out into the
cool night. Their escaping figures seemed cloaked in shadow, all damp cotton
and moonlighted leather.
Cradling him still, Chris hurried to the street, where a gleaming behemoth of
slick metal sat waiting. Tom blinked blearily at it, wondering what it was for.
“Come on, baby. Get on now.” He sat Tom astride the back of the motorcycle and
then climbed on in front. “Hold tight to me now, okay?”
Quick to cuddle against that broad back, Tom nuzzled his cheek to a shoulder
blade and mumbled, “Yes, Daddy.” Chris hooked the backpack over his handlebars
so that it rested safely between his legs, and then started up the engine. It
roared to life, thundering along their quiet street with enough force to rattle
the windows of the nearest house. The noise frightened Tom, who clasped Chris
closer, closing his eyes and pressing his sweaty face to the center of his long
spine.
“It’s alright now, baby. I won’t let a thing happen to you. Hold on!” Revving
the engine, Chris kicked the bike forward and then they were shooting out into
that star-dotted darkness, the houses blurring past too fast to count. Nauseous
again, Tom squealed and hid his face, fingers clawed into the front of Chris’s
shirt. Between his legs, his pussy clenched and throbbed, his cock trapped
snugly in the lace, half-hard since a day ago. Desperate and whimpering, he
rolled his hips against the harder thread of Chris’s jeans, stuttering a moan.
The night air felt good on his body, though, and he relaxed in slow increments.
He blinked up at the back of Chris’s head, thinking sluggishly that his hair
was different. Instead of hanging down to his shoulders, Chris’s hair was
buzzed short on both sides, with long strands slicked back down the middle. It
exposed more of his neck, and especially the long thick lines of the tattoo
that curved in to his jaw from behind his nape. How he wished he could see that
tattoo. He wanted to lick a path around the entire edge of it. He wanted to be
inked upon the man’s skin himself, never to fade. Twice during the ride he felt
himself slip, angling dangerously to the side. But Chris’s sudden grip on his
wrists woke him up, his shout to be careful flying harshly over the desert
wind. Tom mumbled an apology, spoken silently into that warm shirt, and Chris
gunned the engine, desperate to have Tom home already.
***** White Was the Backbone *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
He lived deep in the desert, miles from the nearest dollar store or gas
station. His house, the place he’d missed more than anything while locked up,
was adobe style. There was one room and two bathrooms, with a living room and a
kitchen and a corner cubby dining area. The porch sagged and was in need of a
paint job, with flakes of faded blue scattered in the overrun front yard, but
it was perfect, and he was grateful his buddy Jake Harper was able to watch it
for him while he was away.
Hardly giving it a glance now, especially in the pure dark that reined in these
outer lands, Chris guided his bike to the edge of the tiny garden, mostly weeds
that crawled and choked one side of the porch. Cutting off the engine left the
surrounding land in total silence, no crickets or owl calls in the wake of his
roaring motorcycle. Only silence, and Tom’s stumbled mumbling. Vowels rounded
by exhaustion, Tom sounded so much like a little boy, eyes drooping.
“P-please, Daddy. I need it. I need—please. It’s so much. So much. Daddy. I
can’t…handle it—.”
“Baby, I’m here. Come with me now. Easy, okay.”
Backpack in hand, he took Tom under his armpits. The boy practically clawed
himself into a ball at Chris’s chest, not exactly weightless but light enough
to be made of the stuff of clouds and monsoon mist, his whispering bow-mouth
panting at his neck, sticky with sweat and something else, something he’d
sniffed on him back at the prison, caught along the girlish cursive of his
handwritten letters.
Unlocking his door, he nearly tripped over his own feet when Tom’s warm tongue
licked into his ear, his sweet moan tickling the curved shell. “Daddy.”
“Fuck,” Chris whispered, hitching Tom higher in his arms and kicking the door
shut. Carrying him down the short hallway to the only bedroom, they fell onto
the bed, Chris’s bulk forcing the air from Tom’s lungs. Tom bounced right into
Chris’s embrace again, moaning in his delirium. Chris’s room was dark, the bed
sitting low to the ground. A flat screen TV hung from the wall, a small dresser
with a lamp just off to the side. A blue blanket was tacked over the window.
His room, his private and most familiar space.
Chris flicked the lamp on and golden light cast over them both.
Taking a moment to stare at him, Chris eyed Tom’s chest and torso, the flat
plane of his belly, his narrow hips and lean limbs. Tom was so beautiful,
casting glazed eyes up at him, hands reaching. He hadn’t fucked anyone since he
was locked up six years ago, and his first glimpse of this boy at the prison,
even following the initial whiff of him from their correspondence, had set
Chris’s imagination spinning with thoughts of a true mating. Tom was obviously
an omega, no matter what he thought himself, or what he had been led to
believe. He was certainly past the age when a person knew what rank they fell
into, but there was something else off about him that might figure into Tom’s
confusion about his nature. Williams’ reaction to Tom at the prison seemed like
the instinctual reaction of a young alpha sniffing a recently turned omega.
Only, Tom insisted he had never experienced a heat. Chris believed him, because
there was no way one could mistake a heat for anything else. He was surely now
witnessing Tom’s change with his very own eyes.
He’d been able to smell him from out on the street. The few bodies he’d seen
hovering under the corner streetlamp had scattered when Chris came peeling down
the road, their sense of a more powerful alpha overcoming their desire to
investigate the flowering smell of the boy inside. How much longer would Tom
have lasted lying on his bed as he writhed in his first heat? Someone would
have surely broken into his room as Chris had, taken him right there on the
bed, a hand over his pretty mouth, teeth embedded deep in his neck, claiming
him outright.
Chris growled at the thought, in disbelief at the poor – or incredibly lucky –
timing of the entire thing.
Only question was: why hadn’t Jeff been beating down Tom’s door?
Upper lip frothing with sweat, Tom cast glazed eyes up at Chris, who laid him
on the bed, taking care with his pale, thin limbs.
“Daddy—.”
“I know, baby. I know what you need. Daddy’s here.” He was tearing his clothing
off, trying to soothe Tom with soft words, but his own sight was beginning to
edge with red, his need to mate with the boy rising in a great wave of
bloodlust. Tom’s need seemed to border on insatiable, his slim hips rolling,
hard cock tenting his pajama bottoms, a giant wet stain stamped over the front.
Even though Chris had just come off a rut didn’t mean he couldn’t give Tom what
he needed. Really, the only difference was that he had more control over his
emotions and that he couldn’t impregnate outside of a rut. With Tom, that was
obviously not a concern.
Clothes scattered, body naked, Chris crawled over Tom, who immediately grabbed
on with sticky palms. Whispering to him, Chris inched Tom’s yellow shirt over
his head, bringing it to his nose for a deep whiff. Pale and thin, his chest
jumped with shallow breaths, panting Chris’s name. He had very little hair on
him, arms and legs lightly dusted, his nipples small and pink and tightened
into little nubs.
“I need you—.”
“I’m here, baby. I’ll give it to you.”
Tugging on Tom’s pajama bottoms, Chris realized for the first time that he was
barefoot, his feet long and white and delicate, toenails painted glitter pink.
Yanking off the moist material, Chris stared down at Tom’s crotch, bundled in
crooked purple lace panties.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, the acrid and floral scent of – pussy? – wet cock
flaring his nostrils. Brows high, Chris licked his lips and slipped his
calloused fingers under the lace, Tom’s creamy white skin goose-pimpling in
their wake. Tom gasped.
“Yes. Touch me—please!”
“I’m here…right…here…” Chris trailed off the further he inched those purple
panties down Tom’s trembling thighs, thighs splattered with sticky juices he
could now see the origin of.
Tucked like a shy and plump rosy bloom beneath Tom’s tight balls was a vagina.
The boy was a Dual.
Shock dropped Chris’s jaw. There had always been rumors of Duals, spoken about
in whispers, awed and a bit skeptical. People with girl and boy parts, who
could breed and be bred. Token possessions by alphas of both genders. Chris had
never met one before, had started to think they were a myth, spoken about only
to incite jealousy and superiority.
And here was this boy, this lovely boy, on full display to him, proving him
wrong.
“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, hands trembling on Tom’s knees.
He stared at the dripping pussy for a long moment before Tom’s whines brought
him back round. He could only stare as Tom lifted his legs and slid both hands
over his stomach, cupping himself with relish, tugging on his cock as he
quickly sank two fingers into his pussy.
“Shit,” Chris breathed, watching Tom finger-fuck himself, spine bent off the
bed, the wet squelching sounds echoing in the room.
No matter the suspicions and the scents and the late development of Tom’s heat,
Chris hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t suspected Tom also possessed a vagina
under his lovely cock, with its sweet aroma and pungent and copious juices. But
he suddenly realized how it all made sense. Tom was a Dual, with twin
biologies, hybrid natures. His intersexual ability could have possibly slowed
the development of his identity as an omega. But it had certainly been taking a
turn just as he and Chris met, or maybe Chris’s stronger alpha nature had
triggered the change to happen in Tom, the heat to flower, the desire to
overrule him.
Poor little pup, he thought, trailing a hand down Tom’s cheek, letting it rest
heavy and snug over his throat, Tom’s neck arched in a show of surrender and
obedience. Something shuddering with relief and joy unfurled in Chris’s chest,
possession taking root.
It was with a startled breath that he realized Tom’s dangerous worth in the
world, how very vulnerable he was. He was beyond precious, beyond beautiful,
beyond invaluable. No wonder Williams had attacked so suddenly at the prison,
and how other men had been dogging Tom’s steps on the outside. They also hadn’t
been able to tell what was so different about Tom, his scent ripe but slightly
off, confusingly enticing, mysterious. And it was this, he realized, letting
his fingers trickle a path up the soft folds of Tom’s pussy, lips snarling at
Tom’s immediate gasp, how he widened his legs for Chris. Impatient even in all
his delirious haze, Tom stuck a third finger inside himself, a broken moan
bubbling up his chest.
Still Chris hesitated. That very moment there were probably other alphas
circling Tom’s neighborhood, his fading scent drawing them close, sniffing at
the air, wondering where he’d gone. Another person would claim him if Chris
didn’t, some other person that Tom hadn’t chosen. It was a damn miracle Tom
hadn’t been taken by force by now.
And he’d chosen Chris, had made that more than obvious in his last letter. And
Chris, well, Chris knew he had to have the boy even before they’d locked eyes
that day at the prison, back when he’d sniffed along the edge of his letters
and smelled traces of this wonder. Tom’s lovely blushes and his gaspy laugh and
soft, innocent way of looking at Chris like he was the sun, submissive even in
his gazes and smiles, that endearing way he spoke, voice rounded by a depth
hinting at a gentle maturity but lilted low by a shyness so sweet, honeysuckle
and rosewater.
“More,” Tom breathed, fingers working hard. His golden curls were heavy with
sweat. “Need more.”
Tom was only sixteen. Chris knew this next step would bind them for life. He
had never taken a mate for this precise reason. The commitment was forever. It
had all been mindless fucking, never biting, knotting only betas, always.
Mostly men. But looking down at Tom now, all blushing smooth skin, red mouth,
pink and lush pussy lips, engorged cock, one trembling hand inching up Chris’s
forearm, eyes glazed with need…Chris knew with every fiber of his being that he
never wanted Tom on display like this, so defenseless and breakable, so utterly
wrecked, for anyone else ever again.
“I claim you,” he whispered, hiking Tom’s legs up, bending him in half.
Kneeling on the bed, Chris’s cock rose red and thick, a throbbing, veiny part
of him that matched beats with his heart, jumping forward, eager to be embedded
in that snug heat.
Chris’s scent on Tom, his mark and knotting of him, would work to keep other
alphas away. His possession of him would be visible for all those who had the
sight to see, the ones who neededto see. The bite and the first knotting would
seal their status as Alpha and Omega. And Tom would be his.
Chris had never been more sure of a thing in his entire life.
The fire in his blood was surging faster now, otherwise he would have taken his
time with marking Tom good and well. Inner thighs, his slim waist, each bicep
and calf, each round, plump buttock, saving his neck for last, the deepest
bite, the most noticeable.
Later, he would savor each and every scent of Tom’s body, burying his face in
that fluttering pussy, taking his cock in mouth, sucking at his sac. But in
this moment, Tom needed to be filled, and fast.
“You’re mine now,” he said, taking Tom’s wrist gently and pulling his sticky
hand away. He lined his cock to his vaginal entrance, testing the width of the
head to the swollen, slick lips, spreading them. Tom flinched and reached up
for him, body burning, eyes shining, long fingers clawing at Chris’s shoulder
to draw him lower. Tom tilted his chin up and with trembling breaths, they
kissed for the first time. Both moaned, Tom clumsy in his haste and urgency, in
his endearing need. But when Chris thrust in, he broke away with a gutted
shout, spine arched, blunt nails digging into the meat of Chris’s shoulders.
And then his eyes rolled back and he smiled.
“Yes. Yes yes. Daddy, more. More!”
Tom was sopping wet, and with each snap of Chris’s hips fluid dribbled around
his spearing cock, soaking the sheets.
“So big. You’re so big. So full.” Tom babbled, grinning up at the ceiling, that
long neck exposed, throat bobbing.
“And you’re fucking tight,” Chris grimaced, pulling back and pushing in again,
Tom’s pussy lips stretched so wide around him, his inner walls almost working
to keep him out. Tom’s cock flopped between them, leaking a steady drip, but
Tom ignored it for now. Reaching low, he cupped Chris’s ass and dug in his
nails, spurring Chris on. And Chris, growling and impatient to have him
completely, grabbed up Tom’s right arm and bit down into the smooth meat of his
bicep.
Tom screamed, two fat tears rolling down his temple. His cock erupted between
them, a heavy cream that spilled down his waist and pooled beneath him. He
shuddered and clawed at Chris, wrapped around him like the vines growing along
the side of his house.
“Good boy,” Chris murmured, nuzzling his cheek and admiring the bite mark. It
wasn’t as deep as he would like, but Tom needed to adjust to this. Hips still
pumping, Chris bit the other bicep, sinking his teeth a little further in. Next
was his inner thigh, reachable only because of Tom’s incredible flexibility,
eyeing his neck the entire time.
“More, more, need more,” Tom babbled, long arms tossed over Chris’s shoulders.
He rolled his hips even as his orgasm subsided, eager for the next wave to
crash over his heart. And it did, a second orgasm deep in his pussy, throbbing
around Chris, inner walls clenched as he wept with relief into the warm room.
By now, he might have flipped Tom onto his belly but he wanted his first
knotting and bite to be face to face. And Chris was close, only seconds from
coming. Wrapping Tom tightly against him, his slim body shrouded by Chris
entirely, Chris fucked into him hard. Cries and gasps rose to the ceiling, soft
birds that circled and flapped in the humid, hot air.
Fuck. Fuck.Eyes clenched shut, Chris’s groin tightened and his belly contracted
as he came, spewing deep into the boy’s cunt. His cock gave small little jumps
as it emptied out. Swell and ebb, swell and ebb, he groaned hard and kept
himself pressed as tightly against Tom as he could, his knot beginning to form
thickly.
Tom’s eyes flew open, mouth falling slack in a hazy gasp. “Daddy,” he breathed,
blinking up at Chris. And then his chin lifted, long throat exposed, an
instinctual offering to his alpha, and Chris lost every shred of composure he’d
managed to keep until that moment.
Dipping his head, he widened his jaw and bit Tom’s neck firmly, a rough
clamping of teeth. He was ready for when the boy arched, another gutted scream
rising, moving as Tom moved, canines breaking skin.
            Fully knotted now, he was plugged deep and would be off and on for
the next two days. He would come on average every hour or so, pumping
shallowly, limited by the width of the plug. His knot would shrink and then
reform once he grew hard again, which was always within a span of minutes,
climaxing again, again and again. Together they would lie through each of
Chris’s climaxes, which would often draw new orgasms from Tom once they grew to
know each other’s bodies best. They could switch positions to alleviate
soreness, but Chris wouldn’t be able to pull out until his knot shrank. He’d
fill Tom again and again, spilling out onto the bed, a sticky puddle to remind
them. And then they could rest, for however short a while, and do it all over
again until Tom’s heat was through.
Growling into the bite, Chris vibrated over Tom, who lay back obediently, so
still in the presence of his alpha. Tom’s fingers were pulsing at his spine, a
soothing rhythm, his legs fallen open weakly to either side of him. He was
mumbling softly, lashes fluttering, palms sweaty on Chris’s back. Chris
released his neck and looked down at the bite. It was deep and already starting
to bruise. Over the next day, his teeth marks would scab, the bite more
visible, his scent stronger on the boy.
And Tom would be safe, finally. 
“Baby,” he murmured, holding the side of Tom’s head and nuzzling his cheek. He
winced, knot pulsing. “Baby, are you okay?” Fastened to him, he felt every
stuttered breath, every heartbeat.
Tom roused slowly. Satiated for now, he would lie in a daze until the fever
brimmed over again and he would writhe with that desperate need, calling out
for Chris. Mated and bonded now, their bodies would recognize in each other
what the other needed most, responding and flowering, striving to meet their
disastrous and frantically pleasurable end.
Tom blinked, eyes flitting nervously around the room at large. His voice rose
with a small tremble. “Daddy?” He tried closing his legs, but Chris kept a hand
on the creamy inside of his knee, holding him open.
“Shh, shh,” Chris whispered, kissing Tom’s jaw and humming to him. “It’s me,
baby.”
Tom’s face broke open in relief, a tear sliding down his temple and
disappearing into his hair. “Daddy,” he whispered, turning his head with a
creaking groan and bumping their noses together. “You came for me.”
Chris grinned. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s here. Are you okay?”
“Mmm, yes.” He rolled his hips and flinched, Chris stuck tight in him. “A
little sore, Daddy. And tired.” He was lucid, for now.
“It’s not over just yet, Tom. Can you hang with me, babe?”
Blue eyes blinked open, clearing after a moment. “Yes. Yes, I can.” His brows
furrowed delicately. “It’ll get a little worse, won’t it? Before it gets
better?”
“Yeah. It will. But I’ll be here to help you. I’ll make it better.”
Tom hummed and snuggled closer, both waiting until the rolling urges crashed
over them again.
“I was so scared, Chris. Before. I’ve never felt like that – like this – ever
in my life. The way those men looked at me—.” His breath hitched, face small
and scared in the dark.
“They may still look at you like that, Tom,” Chris cut in, desperate to rid him
of the spooked look in his eyes. “But they can’t touch you. Not anymore.
Because I’ve claimed you. I still am,” he grunted, wincing as his knot pulsed
again. “Claiming you. I’ll stay knotted in you for a little while longer and
then I’ll go soft. We’ll be able to rest.”
Tom gasped and lifted his head, eyes widening at where he and Chris were
connected. He gave a small inner squeeze and Chris groaned, widening his jaw to
bite at Tom’s clavicle. Tom dropped his head back and laughed, a small bead of
blood from the original bite slipping around his neck.
Tom dragged his thumb through Chris’s stubble. “And then what?”
“And when you get another wave of your heat, I’ll harden and fuck you again,
and knot you again, and be stuck in you, holding you tightly, kissing you like
you deserve.”
Tom smiled, teeth shining. “Good, Daddy. I want that very much.”
Chris went soft within the hour, and he slipped out of Tom, who groaned at the
loss. They lay with their legs twined, palming each other’s faces, staring,
giddy that they were together finally.
Cheeks red again, Tom rolled his head, starting to fall under the pull of his
heat again. “I’m thirsty,” he whispered, and Chris snapped his head up,
glancing about the room.
“I’ll get us water—,” Chris started, making a move to stand, but Tom clutched
his arms, fingers clawed around his biceps.
“Is ok,” he slurred, eyes going distant again, another flash of heat reddening
his cheeks. “I can…I can wait. Don’t leave me. Please don’t go.”
Chris could see him slipping under the power of his heat, and he took Tom’s
face in both hands. “Baby, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry about anything.
I’ll help you finish this. Get through it. But let me grab us some water. You
need it. I’ll be thirty seconds”
Tom whined, eyes panicking at the thought of Chris being gone for even that
long. “But I need it. I need you, Daddy.”
“I know, baby. I’ll take care of you in a minute.”
With teeth gritted, he disentangled himself from Tom’s slippery grasp and
hurried into the kitchen. Tom’s cries for him down the hall spurred his blood,
making his hands shake as he grabbed four water bottles from the refrigerator.
Tom’s smile was wide, if a bit faint, when he returned, wrapping himself around
Chris, lips opening for his tongue.
“You came back,” he moaned, mouthing desperately at Chris’s throat.
“Of course, baby. I couldn’t abandon you. Ever.”
Tom hummed, and flopped back to the mattress, legs falling open with
invitation. “Kay, Daddy. I trust you.”
“Drink this, baby. Drink.” Chris held the water bottle to Tom’s mouth, and he
gulped it down greedily, drinking another right after.
Brows furrowed, he arched up with a small yelp when Chris sank in, the skin of
his chest and neck flushing with color, Chris’s bite mark blooming purple.
Chris thrust shallowly against him, stimulating them both, until Tom was coming
with a cry again and Chris was bursting once more. Legs trembling, Tom lay
weakly with a watery grin, eyes rolled up, babbling about his daddy’s huge cock
and harder and please I’ve been good and are you free, are you really free, are
you mine, Daddy? His light, airy voice echoed in Chris’s head, driving his hips
into motion, plowing as deep as he could go, his knot erupting again and again.
Wet didn’t even begin to describe Tom, who rocked beneath him with blurry
little moans. The most obscene and delicious sounds lit over the room, loud
squelches as more of their joined spend spilled free of their bodies.
Finally his knot shrank again and he softened. Tom’s pussy was pink and plumped
so prettily. He very gently slipped free of him, Tom wincing and moaning for
more.
With the gentlest seeping change, the sun began to rise beyond the blanket-
shrouded window, a lengthening creep of grey over the walls and across the
ceiling. And when Tom’s cheeks flooded with color and his cries turned fraught
with need, Chris pumped into the boy, his boy, this beautiful creature that
clung to him and held him within, teeth gritted as Tom whispered honeyed filth
into his ear, against his jaw, wherever that bow mouth could be pressed.
Legs numb, Tom squirmed and whined beneath Chris, a warm and sweaty bundle of
clinging limbs. Very carefully, Chris lifted himself off of Tom, who protested
and clutched and scratched at him to stay close. But hushing him gently, Chris
bent Tom’s leg and crossed it over his body so that Tom was slowly rotated onto
his side. He groaned loudly as blood rushed back into his legs, immediately
curling his knees up to his chest. Chris lay quickly at his back, spooning him
from behind, thrusting again.
The day passed in a haze of crashing orgasms and low murmurings between the
two, speaking softly to each other, lips catching in lazy kisses. Chris knotted
and shrank, again and again, licking frequently at Tom’s bite mark, lapping at
the reddened skin, pride surging in his chest at the depth and strength of the
claim. No other alpha would be able to get within a foot of Tom without
smelling Chris on him. To ignore such a claim from another alpha would mean
certain death.
They dozed intermittently, stirring only when Tom woke with a frenzy and Chris
grew hard at his voice, knot pulsing with quiet urgency. The heat eclipsed
Tom’s senses, blighting his reason and stealing his words. Jumbled, he pleaded
and begged, and Chris responded. Pulling Tom onto his hands and knees, he
rammed in hard, eyes fasted to the long line of Tom’s spine. He was so thin, so
vulnerable that each bony knob poked out, starting from the nape of his neck to
his narrow tailbone, dotted with two adorable dimples just above each plumb
cheek of his ass.
They didn’t eat, emptying the water bottles and thirsting still. It became
apparent that Tom was beginning to fade. He needed more water. In the middle of
a knot, and extremely concerned for Tom, Chris rotated him so that he straddled
his waist, each long pale leg flopping limply to either side. With a weary
groan, Chris wrapped one arm around the back of Tom to hold him steady against
his chest and pushed off from the bed with the other. He tottered for a second,
balance thrown from Tom’s body straddling him. Still plugged tight within Tom’s
heat, Chris let himself be kissed over every inch of his face by the sleepy boy
as he stumbled out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen, bumping into
tables and knocking a lamp into a shattered heap on the tile. They barely heard
it. Once at the refrigerator he took another water bottle from the fridge and
held it to Tom’s mouth. Sucking it down hungrily, Tom moaned with every gulp,
throat working, water spilling around the corners of his mouth and drenching
his thin chest.
“More,” he gasped as soon as he was finished, and Chris laughed, planting a
loud kiss on Tom’s swollen lips.
“My boy knows only one word when he’s needy, doesn’t he?”
“More,” Tom whined, rolling his hips and clenching down.
Chris hissed and opened the fridge again. Tom drank down another two bottles
before Chris was able to taste any of the water himself. By that time, they
held still as his knot shrank for the umpteenth time, and on shaky legs he let
them sink to the floor. Collapsed and exhausted, they lay back on the tile,
breathing harshly and staring up at the ceiling. Tom laced their fingers
together and squeezed softly, eyes fluttering shut to sleep. Another while
later, he was shaking Chris awake, two fingers sunk in already, ever impatient
to be filled. Growling, Chris climbed to his feet and yanked Tom up by his
waist, liking the flex of his muscles and he maneuvered the boy high, taking
his hard cock and finding that sweet, sticky entrance. He plunged in, Tom’s
head snapping back, his shout echoing in the kitchen. Slamming forward against
the refrigerator door, he rocked his hips and fucked into Tom, thick creamy
juices sluicing down both their legs.
He wished he could offer Tom something to eat, but he didn’t have much in his
house. He hadn’t had time to buy groceries before he was rushing to find Tom
before other alphas got any ideas. But Tom seemed entirely uninterested in
food, wrapping his arms around Chris’s neck, lips seeking yet more. Somehow,
Chris maneuvered them back into the bedroom to collapse on the damp sheets, the
bright mid-day sun streaking their bodies in flamed stripes through the
curtains.
By the time the second day drew to a close, Tom was hardly coherent. Eyes
rolled back, he trembled and moaned, voice gone, lashes wet from tears and
stifled giggles of exhaustion. Chris had lost count of the number of times they
had come. Just as he thought he would lose the last shred of sanity he had
left, swimming in the delirium of orgasm and hunger, Chris felt his knot begin
to shrink for the last time, triggered by the end of Tom’s heat. His body was
on the verge of collapse after only short small minutes of rest in between.
Belly flat to the bed, Tom’s face was buried in his arms, sweat matting his
curls down, looking sepia in the orange light of sunset.
“Baby,” Chris whispered, brushing back his hair. Tom’s brows twitched. “It’s
over now.”
Knot shrunken, Chris pulled out carefully, noting the red tint to Tom’s inner
thighs, chafed and smarting. His pussy was a glistening puddle of cream,
bubbling still with the endless fount of cum pouring from him. White streaked
his chest and the sheets, cock limp and exhausted under his slim body. And
because he couldn’t help himself, he bent and bit the firm and rounded flesh of
Tom’s ass. Tom gasped and lifted his head, mouth parted beautifully. Moving
further down, Chris bit one thigh, and then the other. He licked a stripe up
his spine and bit him on the curve of his torso, just over his ribs. Tom held
so still, breaths shallow, eyes heavy-lidded. He was so obedient, so submissive
to Chris’s desires, it sent a thrill through his blood.
Rolling him over gently, he bit a hearty mark just to the side of Tom’s groin,
right on the warm meat of his inner thigh, repeating the bite on the opposite
side. He pulled back to admire his work, Tom’s body slowly reddening with
gentle bites that would fade within the hour.
“Come with me, babe. Come on.”
He lifted Tom into his arms and carried him into the bathroom. Sitting on the
closed toilet, Tom curled sweetly in his arms, Chris opened the tap in the
bathtub, letting it fill with warm water. Even now Tom’s legs still vibrated
with fatigue, and Chris knew he wouldn’t be able to walk for a long while. Once
filled with steaming water, Chris turned the faucet off and lowered Tom slowly
into the tub. He moaned weakly and rolled his head left and right, hands rising
to clutch at Chris’s biceps.
“Easy now,” Chris soothed. Tom jostled with a panicked gasp, finally blinking
up at him and relaxing after a moment.
“What day is it?” His voice was so hoarse, completely shot.
Chris shrugged. “Monday, probably.”
Tom sighed and let his eyes fall closed.
“Will your mom panic?”
“No. But Jeff is probably wondering where I am.”
“We’re not going to worry about Jeff anymore, Tom. Wanna know why? Because
you’re mine now. And he can’t do a damn thing about it. So until your mom
starts to make a fuss about where you are and who you’re with, and from what
you’ve shared with me, she won’t any time soon, then Jeff can just go get
fucked. Okay?” Tom nodded, throat working in a loud gulp. Chris smiled. “Just
relax, baby. Rest back and let me wash you.” He lathered the bar of soap and
began sweeping it over Tom’s body, taking extra care between his legs as Tom
blushed scarlet and let his knees fall open weakly, making room for Chris’s
gentle hands.
As soon as Chris moved the sponge over his hip, Tom reached low and cupped a
hand protectively over his pussy. “I’m so sore,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Chris said, pausing. “My knots are big.”
Tom dropped his gaze to Chris’s penis, hanging heavy and flaccid, so long and
thick. His cheeks reddened and his eyes widened, seeing it properly for the
first time since emerging from his heat. “You’re big, too,” Tom whispered,
licking his lips. “And I’m not sorry. I like that I’m reminded. Because it’s
about you.”
His body was riddled with bruises and bite marks, his neck mottled purple from
the claiming. Even still, save for his pussy and the tip of his cock, Tom was
pale everywhere. Everywhere except his knees, which were scabbed and bruised.
Chris paused. Mind clouded before by the rising lust at claiming Tom, he hadn’t
noticed his injured kneecaps.
“Why are these scraped, babe?”
“Huh?” Tom cracked an eye open, still not fully present.
“Your knees. And your palms,” Chris said, lifting one of his hands to examine
it. “Why are they scraped?”
“Oh,” Tom said, gulping. “I…uh…”
A terse moment passed, and then Chris narrowed his eyes. “Tom?”
There was something stern in that voice that Tom secretly loved and dreaded.
“Jeff caught me in the backyard, a few days ago. Tried to…force himself on me.
But I got away. I jumped the back wall and landed in the alley. Cut myself. I
stayed in the park bathroom until midnight and then went home.”
The bathroom was cozy and moist, and dark, but not enough that Tom missed the
anger blooming over Chris’s face, the furrowed brow, the clenched teeth, full
lips parted, the slight tightening of his hands on Tom’s thighs.
“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” Tom said quietly, turning away.
But long fingers took his chin and brought it back, blue eyes hooded.
“Okay, baby. We won’t talk about it.” Chris braced his weight on the rim of the
tub, water rivulets veining down his arms, and bent low to kiss him. Slow and
full of tongue, lips bruising and burning, the bristles of his beard rubbing
Tom’s chin. Tom moaned and cupped Chris’s cheek, Chris adoring how Tom inhaled
sharply, perhaps not really recalling their many kisses during his heat.
Perhaps, he would remember this as his first kiss. When they broke apart,
Chris’s eyes were wide with promise.
“I’m your Daddy now. Your alpha. I’ll take care of you. Protect you. Keep you
safe. No one will touch you again.”
Tears flooded Tom’s eyes and he scrunched them tight, some escaping to drip off
his jawline. “Thank you, Daddy.” He sobbed quietly and reached up for another
embrace.
Chris finished washing him, knees creaking as he shifted to the head of the tub
and rubbed shampoo into Tom’s hair. With gentle pressure, he massaged into his
scalp, scratching lightly with his blunt nails, Tom a purring kitten in his
care. He responded well to low murmurs, tending to curl close and wrap himself
all the more tightly around Chris, to hear better, to be closer. Chris imagined
Tom was used to indifference from his mother and shouts from Jeff. Whispers and
caresses had him practically melting.
After he was clean, Chris let Tom lie in his doze for a few minutes while he
stripped the bed of the soiled sheets. He arranged regular blankets on top
because he had no clean sheets available after being gone for so long. He would
need to wash. He would need to do so many things to make his house comfortable
for Tom. But that could wait. Right now, he had a very hungry, sleepy teenager
on his hands. Returning to the bathroom, he unstoppered the drain and Tom made
to stand. But he collapsed back with a pained gasp.
“I got you,” Chris said, hurrying to grab a towel and return to Tom’s side.
“My legs—.” He grimaced.
“I know, babe. You’ll be sore for a while.”
He pulled Tom to his feet, but Tom couldn’t put any weight on them, knees
buckling almost immediately. Content to carry him again, Chris wrapped the
towel around his shivering shoulders and scooped him up, returning to the bed.
He placed Tom on the mattress.
"I'll make you anything, babe. What do you want?"
Tom perked up. "Anything?"
Chris scrunched his face in apology. "Well...actually I don't have much yet.
Wasn't able to grab groceries before going to get you. But," he said, reaching
for Tom and running both hands over his thin waist. "How about pizza?"
"Okay!"
Chris brought out his cell phone and sat at the headboard, Tom cuddling under
his arm as he ordered three large pizzas and promised the kid on the phone a
$20 tip if he delivered it so far into the desert.
"Because there's no way I'm leaving your side just now," he said softly once he
hung up. Tom tilted his face up to him, eyes scrunched in a pretty smile.
"Is it done?" he asked, hand trailing up Chris's chest. "Am I yours?"
"Yes, babe. It's all done now." Hand in Tom's curls, he caressed him, eyes
flitting over him, wondering. "Are you...okay with that? I mean," he hurried
on, swallowing past all his uncertainties. "I mean, I know it's...Tom, when I
found you, you were in the throes of it. So far in. And your letters said
that—."
"Stop," Tom said, sitting up taller, wincing at the tug of discomfort. "Daddy,
stop." His eyes widened slightly, fully coherent for the first time since using
that word. But Chris's face softened and he cupped his neck. It's ok.
Tom sighed quietly. "Daddy, I wrote what I wrote because I meant it. I can't
explain to you how relieved I was when I woke up back in my room and found you
there and not someone else, one of those strange men or—or Jeff." He ducked his
head, pink forming over his cheeks. Chris's idea of how much Tom dreaded Jeff
and his dark intentions was tragically incomplete. Tom, he realized, was
terrified of the man, and something ugly and soaked in red flared up in Chris's
chest at the thought of Tom having to return to that house where he felt so
unsafe. It wasn't right, but Chris would try to make it as easy for him as
possible. From now on things would be different for Tom.
"I'll take care of Jeff, baby." Tom's eyes flicked up to meet his, turned down
at the corners, worried. "There is going to be no doubt, to anyone, about who
you belong to, okay? You're mine?" Tom nodded eagerly, leaning closer. "And I'm
yours?" Tom grinned and fell against him with a soft giggle.
"All mine, Daddy."
Chris nuzzled his cheek, breath warm on his face, that big hand cupping the
back of his skull to hold him close. Tom’s eyes lingered on the inked skin of
Chris waist, and then he whispered, “Can I see you?”
Chris smiled. “Yeah, babe.”
Chris kissed him once, fast and hard, Tom tracing his stubble—practically a
beard—with the trembling tips of his fingers. He stood and Tom curled up more
comfortably against the headboard to watch, eyes widening at his long, muscled
legs. Their bodies were so remarkably different, Chris brimming with strength,
standing so tall and powerful. Tom was still growing, his body pale and lithe,
a wisp compared to his alpha, bound in all his muscles, covered in all his ink.
A tattoo of a feather-haloed skull flexed on his right thigh, a lit cigarette
dangling from its toothy grin. Both arms were completely covered in sleeve
tattoos that went from shoulder to wrist. There were the skulls, smoke, and
blades from when Tom had first seen the tattoos at the prison, but shirtless he
was granted the full picture. The biggest skull was drawn over Chris’s left
arm, wrapped in two thick bands of barbed wire. It wore a feathered headdress
and a garland of wilting roses beneath its jaws. His right arm was topped by
the pointed peaks of black pine trees, bleeding black into the rest of the
sleeve, which featured flying crows, a full-lipped mouth colored red, and tiny
little lines, as if the skin were cracking, ready to burst forth from the
inside.
“Turn,” Tom whispered, and Chris smiled. He held out both arms and spun slowly.
One side of his waist featured an angel with sword poised, its wings thrust
forward to slow its descent. The other side of his waist made Tom gasp. All of
the tattoos were done beautifully, but this one was so life-like that it
appeared as if Chris’s skin was torn and bleeding, ragged around the edges, and
just beneath that were the tiny letters of some ancient kind of paper. Finally,
his back was facing Tom. With a wince, he scooted over to the edge of the bed
to see it better. He touched his broad shoulders, letting his thumbs trace over
the words inked across the top of his spine.
“And Death Trembled,” he whispered, eyes falling lower, where Chris’s entire
back was inked black and down the middle, done in remarkable shading of beige
and white was the backbone, each vertebrae outlined and jutting to the sides,
throwing a macabre sort of shadow into the background.
“Daddy…”
Chris turned and Tom gazed at him, amazed with his daring art, his strong body
like a canvas on which he etched what was important to him, what he thought was
beautiful. And they were beautiful, so stunning. Chris returned to the bed and
tucked Tom under his arm, Tom marveling at the lines on his skin. He rubbed his
face over the skull on his left arm, so smooth where he might have expected
rough bone and the tease of feathers.
“You’re so beautiful, Daddy,” he said softly, kissing the marked skin. “I used
to daydream about what was under here. And it’s better than I expected.” He
reached a hand to his own throat, where Chris’s bite was scabbed and bruised,
settling in nicely. “I’m tattooed, too.”
Taking Tom’s shoulders, Chris bent and brought their lips together. Tom sagged
against him and moaned into their embrace, giggling when Chris wrapped him
closer and pinched his bottom.
There was a loud knock on the front door and Chris hurried to throw on some
jeans. Wallet in hand, he paid for the pizza and tipped the delivery boy,
bringing the boxes and some water bottles into the bedroom. He flicked on the
television and they ate lounging back on the bed, devouring slice after slice,
watching a documentary on King Henry VIII.
“What a dick,” Chris interjected, tossing his crust back into the box. But Tom
grabbed it up and finished it – “You don’t eat the crust? It’s the best part!”
Bellies full, they slept again, curled up around each other on the bed, Tom’s
moist slit pressed to the meat of Chris’s thigh. Tom woke to fingers lazing
through his hair, Chris blinking slowly down at him.
“Mark your calendar, babe,” he said softly. “You’ll start to see a pattern to
your heats. You’ll be able to figure out when you’ll get them.”
“Like my periods,” Tom said softly, and then blushed scarlet. Frozen, he waited
for Chris’s reaction. Chris blinked twice quickly before planting a firm kiss
on Tom’s forehead.
“How long have you had them?”
“Since I was thirteen.”
“When omegas usually get their first heat.”
Tom said nothing. He was more acutely aware than ever of how odd his biology
made him, how confusing its functions were, how off kilter he felt because of
it. And yet, he felt a more solid semblance of balance because of it, this
beautiful thing that had happened between them. He felt centered and seen,
Chris’s attention on him like warm sunlight. Tom had never felt anything like
it before.
“I actually think I should have gotten my period Friday,” he said. “But
instead, this happened.”
Chris stretched back, Tom rolling with him, head on his chest. “I don’t know
much about how your body works, Tom. I’ve never met someone who had…both.
There’s always been the rumors that some omegas, very rare omegas, were like
you. Coveted and fought over if the omega wasn’t claimed. But I think that you
and me will figure this out. I’ll mark my ruts, you mark your heats, and your
periods, if you still get them, okay?”
“You don’t think I will?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Tom sighed. “It’ll sure make things easier. I won’t have to steal tampons
anymore from the girls’ bathroom.”
Chris lifted his head. “Your mom doesn’t buy you those things?”
Tom shrugged. “No. She doesn’t know I get periods.”
“But she…knows about this, right?”
“Well, yes. But. She told me when I was very little not to tell anyone about
it. That I was a boy and that what was between my legs should never be talked
about.” He shrugged. “So I never told her. I just cried the first time I bled,
and every time after that I stole tampons and dealt with it. But
sometimes…sometimes I wasn’t able to find anything in time and I would just
bleed, going through my day at school, heart pounding in my throat, hoping I
wasn’t staining my jeans or that someone would see. It was humiliating, that
fear, that anxiety.”
Eyes wide, Chris stared at him for so long that Tom fidgeted and cast his eyes
down, face burning.
“Holy fucking shit,” he said after a moment. His arms tightened around Tom. “I
have a sudden strong dislike for your mom.”
Tom smiled sadly. “She’s my mom.”
“Look, babe. If you ever need anything. And I mean anything. Tampons or more
underwear or nail polish, or anything you want. You tell me. Okay? I’ll get
those things for you. You don’t need to hide or sneak around stealing shit. You
come to me from now on. Yes?”
Tears flooded Tom’s eyes. He nodded gratefully. “Yes. Thank you, Daddy.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Tom. Jesus.” He pulled him in for a tight hug.
“You’re so special. So lovely. I’ll take care of you. I will.” They were quiet
for a minute. “Babe? When your mom told you all that about being a boy…how did
you feel about that? Growing up with this secret part of yourself, having a boy
name and all that?”
Tom thought for a long while. “Most of the time I consider myself a boy. I like
my name. It’s mine. I answer to Tom, and I know I always will. I don’t want to
change that. But other times, when I’m alone and playing with myself, I feel
like a princess who lives in a castle, a little girl just waiting to be
rescued. I like pretty things. I like to paint my nails and wear cute
underwear. If I was braver, maybe I’d finally try on that mascara I stole from
the drugstore. Honestly, sometimes I feel like a boy, and sometimes I feel like
a girl. I feel bigger than myself, in my heart. Bigger than anyone else. My
chest is flat. I have a penis. I have a vagina, I get periods. But it’s what I
feel inside, and it shifts around, depending on my mood and how I feel. It
always comes down to how I feel. I guess what I’m saying is that…you can call
me your little boy or your little girl and I will love both because I feel
truly deep down, that I am both.”
Blue eyes zeroed in on him, Chris watched as Tom quieted and lowered his
lashes, no doubt wondering if he’d just shared too much of himself. But Chris
was brimming with joy. Gruffly, he said, “Okay, babe.”
Tom’s head snapped up. “Okay?”
“Yes,” Chris smiled. “Okay.”
“So…” Tom’s brow furrowed. His lashes fluttered, caught in disbelief. “So, I—I
can be both with you, Daddy?”
Chris sat up and crowded over Tom, cupping his face. “You have no idea how much
of everything you are to me. You can be anything you want. Anything. You don’t
have to hide. Not from me.”
It was a slow realization for Tom, a slow awakening in his mind of a freedom
he’d never tasted before, and his tears were all the more sudden for it. His
features collapsed and he started shaking as he wept, cupping his long hands
over his face. Chris held him and rocked him slowly, letting Tom sob into his
shoulder, hiccupping through years of fear and shame and uncertainty, threats
to his physical body keeping him tense and anxious. He was, after all, only
trying to understand the majestic place he deserved in this life. Chris had
every intention of helping him realize that worth inside him.  
***** Something Sweet Like Peaches *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
Tom spent most of the day in bed. Chris put the sheets to wash and then dressed
the mattress again, scooping Tom up and whizzing him over the bed like an
airplane, making Tom giggle and cover his face. They ate more pizza and Tom
took another bath, groaning as he climbed to his feet, waving Chris away and
taking small hesitant steps to the bathroom. In the mirror, he studied the bite
mark on his neck and wondered how he would conceal it even though he didn’t
want to. From Jeff, at least. His mother probably wouldn’t pay close enough
attention. School wouldn’t start for another month. It would be healed by then.
The ache in his leg muscles was dulling somewhat, but at least he was able to
move around, albeit with a heavy limp. Soaking in the hot water helped, his
fingers pressed gently to his pussy, smoothing over the swollen folds.
When Chris stopped in to check on him, Tom was dozing against the porcelain.
Distantly he heard the plug being pulled, the water starting its swirled
descent, gurgling through the pipes. And then arms under his knees and
shoulders lifted him, carrying him through the steam and into the warm bedroom.
Chris had laid clean towels on the fresh sheets, and he placed Tom gently atop
them. His legs fell open as Chris knelt on the floor before him, eyes trailing
from his face down to his belly, resting finally on his groin.
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, watching him. He touched the bite mark on his neck, and
his pussy throbbed.
Saying nothing, Chris licked his lips and then pressed his mouth to the inside
of Tom’s knee, kissing along his inner thigh, eyes glued to his pussy still wet
from his bath. A small noise trickled up Tom’s throat as he widened his legs,
eyes pleading.
The tip of Chris’s nose nudged his sac, breathing him in, moaning at the scent.
And then his mouth slid slowly over his cunt, wide tongue pressed down, licking
a long stripe. Tom gasped and arched his back, hands grabbing at his own chest,
squeezing his nipples. Heated now, Chris dragged Tom closer and sealed his
mouth over his sweet entrance, nose pressed into his furred sac, Tom’s cock
slowly filling. Tongue delving in, Chris latched himself to Tom and suckled at
his cunt, watching as Tom writhed and pinched his chest.
“Oh, Chris. Chris…Daddy, yes. Please.”
Eyes hazed with lust, Tom stared down the length of his own quivering belly at
where Chris feasted on him, the smallest, most tender smile tugging at his
lips. Chris returned it, eyes lighting with mischief and affection, humming and
digging a little deeper. Tom whimpered and took hold of Chris’s wrists,
clutching and tugging at him. His cock bobbed in the air, spilling a glistening
dot of precum to his belly button.
He tasted as sweet as he smelled, like rainwater and damp earth, the bitter
crush of rose petals. Chris kept his tongue soft, knowing how sore Tom was
still, but he pressed deeper into him, his path slicked by Tom’s juices and his
own saliva. Their fingers laced, and they squeezed and held each other close,
Tom beginning to vibrate.
“Daddy. I’m close. Shit,” Tom cursed, brows scrunched. “Chris, I’m—I’m—right
there. Yes, right there.”
Chris stiffened his tongue and thrust in and felt the first pulse of Tom’s
orgasm, pussy fluttering. He gave a small scream, bucking and twisting on the
bed. Chris tossed an arm over his abdomen and held him down, flicking at his
slit, ready for the next one. He slid two fingers into Tom, kneeling higher and
taking his cock into his mouth next. Tom’s spine went taut, neck veins popping
as his cock burst after two solid sucks, warm cum spilling down Chris’s throat.
Gripping his cock by the base, Chris lapped up the sticky fluid, slapping the
head against his tongue and smiling when Tom gasped, eyes rolling.
“Fuck, Daddy.” Tom swallowed thickly, lips trembling. “My heart’s racing.”
“Filthy mouth,” Chris grinned, ducking low and kissing Tom fast. “Only for me
okay? No dirty mouth for anyone else.”
“Yes, Daddy. Anything for you.”
Dazed, Tom panted, cock still jumping in the afterglow. His body convulsed and
he made a small noise, unable to control the waves of pleasure still flowing
through him.
“I’m here, baby. Daddy’s here.” Chris settled above him, widening his legs. Tom
gaped at him, seeing him through the mist in his eyes for the first time.
Standing erect, Chris’s penis was longer than Tom’s, thick and veined with a
gathering of dark blond hair at the base. Balls heavy and hanging, Chris
crowded between Tom’s legs, spreading them, pulling him closer by the hips.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, soaking in every detail of Tom’s
groin.
“Oh, Daddy…yes,” Tom pleaded, wrapping his long arms around Chris’s neck,
lifting his legs to twine around him.
Chris kissed the sharp line of his jaw, and very carefully angled himself in.
Tom dropped his head back and moaned Chris’s name, long and low.
"Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me.”
“Your little pussy is greedy for me, isn’t it? My filthy little girl.”
“Yes! Yes, call me that again. Say it again.”
Chris fell forward and caught himself on his forearms. Face an inch away from
Tom’s, he pecked his lips with a soft kiss. “My sweet…filthy…little girl,” he
growled, moving his hips and starting a steady, slow rhythm. Mouth parted,
Tom’s eyes rolled up into his head, creamy cheeks flushed. “Yes, Daddy.”
His thrusts were erratic but still gentle, shallow enough that Tom wouldn’t
feel discomfort after their marathon fuck. But he was so over sensitized,
ribbons of pleasure coiling deep inside him, inching up from the root of his
cock and into his belly, fingers clawing at Chris’s back, their mouths bumping
in hard and desperate kisses. Tom came on a downward plunge, Chris rooting
himself deep, cock sheathed in that pulsing heat.
“There you are. You’re so fucking beautiful, Tom. Let it all go. I want all of
it.”
Tom continued spilling, long ribbons spinning up between their bellies, his
cunt clenching around Chris.
“Daddy,” he panted over and over, a hand curled in Chris’s hair, feeling as if
he might fall off the edge of the earth.
Tom felt stifled by the heat of the room, sweat beading on his collarbones. He
blinked numbly. The slow whirr of the ceiling fan, Chris rocking up and down
over him, the streak of light filtering in from behind the blue blanket tacked
over the window, Tom absorbed it all, half conscious, so boneless, lying limp
on that low bed. On his skin, his cum was drying, still warm, but he was too
spent to touch it.
And then Chris was coming, too, swelling as he burst deep inside Tom, cum
shooting thickly.
Suffused with a glow, by the frothing waves in his blood, Tom was staring down
at where Chris was embedded inside him, brows high in confusion. Cupping his
cheek, Chris kissed him again. “Outside of a rut, I won’t knot every time. But
during a rut, I will, and that’s when my sperm can impregnate.” He eased them
low on the bed, going soft inside Tom. “Does that make sense, babe?”
Tom swallowed and nodded after a moment. “When you’re in a rut, I can get
pregnant.”
“Not unless you’re in your heat, too. If you’re in your heat, and I’m in my
rut, then yes, you can get pregnant.” Tom glanced down, clearly unsure. “That’s
why we need to mark our calendar, babe. Right now we’re a bit off in our
cycles. You’ll get your heat before my ruts, it seems like. The chances of us
getting a heat and rut at the same time seems unlikely. For now.”
“But will it happen?”
Chris rested his head beside Tom’s, rubbing his nose into his curls. “Maybe,
babe. Eventually.”
“I don’t know if I want to have a baby right now, Chris.”
Chris leaned up, hand on Tom’s neck. “We’ll figure something out. I don’t want
you doing something you aren’t ready for.” He sighed. “I was thinking condoms,
but I haven’t found one that does much against my ruts. I destroy them.” Chris
slipped out of him, and sat at the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “I’m so
sorry, babe. I didn’t know we’d have to worry about this. Before, when I was in
a rut, I was always prepared to have a beta with me. Alpha sperm doesn’t work
on a beta, so I can’t get them pregnant. I can knot both betas and omegas, but
only omegas can become pregnant from me. It’s confusing, I know. But this is
different. A true mating. This is better, in all the ways I never could have
imagined.”
Tom sat up quickly and folded himself over Chris from behind, hugging him hard.
“I’m not a normal boy. I’m me. I don’t even know if I can have babies. Just
because I get periods doesn’t mean anything can even grow inside me. But I
think it’s important we prepare ourselves anyway. At least until we’re ready to
have children. Me and you.”
“We’re not in any danger of that until our cycles sync up. It’ll be like a
solar eclipse. It won’t happen very often.”
“You said that you went into a premature rut the last time I visited you. That
you hadn’t had one since your second year in prison. Why did you lapse like
that?”
“Because I wasn’t mated. Now that I’m mated to you, my body will recognize
yours and I’ll start to get my ruts regularly.”
“And if we’re separated while I’m in heat or you’re in your rut?”
Chris smiled, and shook his head. “Then god help whatever person or building is
keeping me from you.”
Tom nudged his shorn hair, inhaling. “We don’t have to worry about that yet. It
won’t happen for a long while, right? As long as I know I’ll have you while I’m
in heat, and you’ll have me when you’re in your rut.”
“Always, babe.” Chris kissed his wrist.
Shifting to the side, Tom sat at Chris’s side, both legs folded. Chris felt
such elation at being able to touch Tom how he wanted now. That there weren’t
police officers with tranquilizers and batons standing by ready to separate
them. Wrapping an arm around Tom’s hips, Chris tugged him closer.
“Daddy, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“After my last visit to you, when they took you away and put you in isolation.”
Chris waited. “When you went through your rut alone, was it very painful? Was
it terrible?”
Chris sighed, thinking a moment. “Because I was never mated before, my ruts
before prison were hard, yes. But not painful. Until this last time. Before, I
would get into lots of fights, talking shit to get a rise out of someone. It
always worked. Got my blood pumping in a way I never used to feel before. It
was a ruse. And then I would go fuck someone—.”
“Girls?” Tom piped in, eyes so round in question.
“Betas only. Some girls, yeah. But I’ve had sex with men before. Only, during
my ruts, I went for girls because men took too long to prepare. Do you
understand?” He brushed a curl off Tom’s forehead and Tom nodded, blushing. “My
ruts last two days. This last time at the prison, shit. It was an eternity.
Your scent was on me. On my clothes and my skin. On my face. You touched my
face, didn’t you?”
“Yes. When you fell, I fell. I patted your cheeks and tried to get you to wake
up. But they pulled me away from you.”
Chris’s jaw clenched, imagining some other person grabbing Tom’s arm so
roughly.
“It was painful this time. I couldn’t find the relief I needed. You were all I
saw. All I smelled. You weren’t there and I went fucking crazy.”
“What did you do?” Tom asked softly.
“The room they put me in was padded. Typical isolation room for an alpha.
Someone was brought in for me—.” He hesitated. “Uh. There’s a program at the
prison, and at most hospitals, of people who volunteer to…offer their services
while a person is in a rut. It’s all consensual and they sign waivers and
really, it’s a pretty good program because the institution can monitor the
activity and people aren’t out in society fucking things up and causing all
kinds of chaos. Anyway. She was brought in for me and I couldn’t even fucking
look at her, Tom. I banged on the door and told them to get her out. I didn’t
want her. She was taken away and I was left alone again, sniffing at my clothes
and smashing against the walls, clawing at them, knowing you were out there
somewhere, away from me. I was so hard. Ready to burst. Ready to knot. But I
couldn’t. I lay on that bed and I fucked into my fist and I couldn’t knot. It
was pointless. I came again and again, but with no knot, it isn’t nearly as
satisfying.”
Tom’s brows puckered. “But doesn’t a knot seal a claim?”
“Only with a bite. If you knot, you just knot. You’re stuck together for a
while and then you move on. But a bite witha knot is when a claim is sealed.
I’ve knotted men and women before, but like I said, only betas. But biting and
knotting together…” He stroked Tom’s hair, eyes dancing over his face. “I’ve
only ever done that with you.”
“There’s so much I have to learn,” Tom whispered. “So much I have to keep
straight in my head.”
“It’s a lot. But I know what I know about myself because I’m much older. You’re
still a pup. A sweet, innocent pup. And I’ll help you. We’ll learn together.”
Tom lifted his chin and Chris pressed their lips together, slow and chaste,
both breathing in the other’s scent.
“My chest has been so full these last few days, Chris. Just here.” He pressed a
hand to his solar plexus, fingers wide. “It’s this huge emotion in me. Whenever
I see you, it throbs and feels bigger.”
Chris smiled. “What do you think that means, babe?”
Tom blushed and glanced down. “I don’t know. Something bigger than myself.”
“Now that we’re mated, your body and your heart will feel a lot of things when
it comes to me. Some of it is simple pheromones, doubled, or tripled when we’re
near each other. That can lead to some very real emotions. It’s our bond,
growing.” He tucked a finger under Tom’s chin and lifted it to meet his eyes.
His voice fell to a whisper. “Does it make you feel better knowing that I feel
the same when I look at you too?”
Tom smiled gratefully, and nodded.
“I can’t believe you’re real, Tom.”
Tom grinned. “I am.”
“My sweet boy. My sweet girl. You’re everything I wanted.”
“Chris,” Tom whispered, and cuddled him against his chest, running his fingers
over the shorn part of Chris’s hair, tracing the tattoos that curved from his
nape to the strong hinges of his jaw. Chris sniffed along Tom’s neck, breathing
in sex and something sweet like peaches.
“We’re each other’s forever now,” he whispered, kissing Chris’s forehead.
They slept again, Tom’s belly rumbling with something faint and familiar, but
he was too tired to notice. Curled into the hollow space beneath Chris, he
didn’t wake in the middle of the night, didn’t startle from sleep wondering if
he heard footsteps outside his door, if his knob was turning slowly, cowering
against his pillows until he had assured himself it was only the old house
settling. His sleep was deep and empty, like being sunk into a cool earthen
hole, the wide yawning sky above him with its twinkling stars keeping their
comforting vigil.
And some time later, when the glowing finger-curls of dawn lightened the walls
and floor of the bedroom, Chris shifted and was roused from sleep by the sharp
bite of iron in the air. Nostrils flaring, he pushed up to his elbows and
peered down at Tom, still sleeping with his arms tossed over his head, blond
brow furrowed, little bow-mouth parted.
“Babe?” His rasp disappeared into the room, too low to draw Tom from sleep.
Still he smelled it. Where was it? What was it? He glanced down at his own
chest, his own hands. Spotless. Shuffling to his knees, he tossed the blankets
off, Tom a sprawled bundle of long moist limbs on the mattress. Taking his
knee, Chris lifted Tom’s leg and parted it from its twin, eyes widening at the
sticky map of blood patches on Tom’s inner thighs. “Oh, shit.”
Tom opened his eyes with a gasp, and he sat up quickly.
Calloused fingers dragged through the smears of blood, and Chris’s eyes widened
as he lifted his hand and stared. “Tom. Baby, did I hurt you? Are you okay?
Tom, did I hurt—?”
“No,” Tom cut in quietly, taking Chris’s hand and squeezing his fingers. “No.
Daddy. You didn’t. It’s—I think it’s my period.”
They were quiet for a moment, Tom holding his legs apart so his thighs wouldn’t
touch. Chris’s eyes were drawn to his cunt, tainted red. He burst into motion.
“Daddy?” There was a note of panic in Tom’s voice, and Chris glanced at him
while he shrugged into jeans.
“I’ll go get what you need, baby. Pads or tampons, or whatever. Pills? Like
menstrual pills? Do you take those?”
Tom shook his head, sheet gathered to his chest. “Never tried them. But you’re
going now?”
“Yeah. The Walmart on Palo Verde is open twenty hour hours.”
“I was just thinking of where I could nab some from. I was too out of it before
to remember about my period.”
“No, babe. No more stealing for you. I’ll get you everything.”
Tom was nodding slowly, a realization dawning on his face. Chris shrugged into
his boots and then leaned over Tom on the bed. “I was serious. You need
something, you tell me. If your mom won’t provide those things for you, I
definitely will. You won’t ever bleed again without cotton on you or in you
somewhere okay?” He clasped the side of Tom’s head, gently. “You won’t go
through that again.”
Tom nodded quickly, blinking tears away. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, babe.” He straightened. “Good. So. Which do I get?”
“Regular. But the ones in a pink and yellow box? I stole three from this girl’s
backpack one time at school, and they felt so much more comfortable than the
ones in the girls’ bathroom dispenser.”
“Pink and yellow box. Got it. Anything else?”
“And a Snickers bar? And I think the new Dan Brown came out in paperback?” His
eyes were wide and hopeful, almost dewy. Chris’s heart flipped, realizing he
couldn’t deny Tom a thing. He pecked him on the lips, and then came back for
another, both clinging and moaning into their mouths. Panting, Tom watched him
leave and then flopped back onto the pillows, a grin splitting his still-sleepy
face. He lay on his side so that he wouldn’t risk staining Chris’s sheets, but
he could feel the rumble of deeper cramps in his gut. And yet he felt his
vagina pulse and throb between his legs, squelching with yet another additional
fluid. He wondered if this was how it would be. Get his heat, and then a period
right after. Chris had warned him that Tom could only get pregnant when in
heat, and Chris could only impregnate when in a rut. Did this mean that when he
finally did become pregnant, he wouldn’t get a heat or a period for that time?
As a warning, a telltale sign of that pregnancy?
Curling himself around Chris’s pillow, Tom sighed and half-shrugged. There was
still so much to learn. But if all that about their cycles were true, then they
wouldn’t have to worry about a pregnancy for a long time. Not until they
synched up.
Chris returned within a half hour, carrying a plastic bag with what Tom needed.
After twenty thank-you’s and a wet kiss, Tom excused himself to the bathroom
and quickly gave himself a rinse in the shower before toweling off and fixing a
tampon in. The instructions on any tampon box were always shit, and he’d had to
teach himself how to maneuver the tube of cotton between the folds of his cunt
and in. Watching YouTube videos at the library with his earphones plugged in,
he memorized the information and then applied it later on when alone in the
bathroom, hoping his mother wouldn’t become curious for once and ask him if he
was alright. The instructions on the box said nothing about how he had to stoop
at the waist and spread his legs, about how he would have to shimmy the plastic
tube in small circles until it finally breached him, dry and rough on his inner
walls, a kind of chafe that lingered long after he removed his bloodied
fingers. They said nothing about how there was that tight ring of muscle a
couple of inches in, how he would flinch when bullying the tampon through it,
how it would burn a little, how he would straighten a little stiffly and feel
that foreign object sitting crooked inside him until he inevitably forgot about
it, the string dangling as a reminder. The first time it happened, Tom wished
he could have asked his mom questions about how to do it right, how long it was
going to last, that if he wasn’t careful, would the tampon slip inside him too
far and be lost forever? But he couldn’t. It was strangers on the internet whom
he learned from, watching the online videos and reading the column threads,
learning by default.
And here he was, with his Alpha, open about his body’s functions, the many
irregularities of his person. He nearly wept again from the relief.
He wondered if his mother was worried about where he was. In all probability,
as she often did, she’d fallen asleep and left for work like she did every
morning without checking whether he was even home. Jeff would wonder, though.
Jeff would look for him. Or wait for him.
Climbing in beside Chris again, they fell into each other’s arms, chest to
chest, groins and thighs pressed together. They dozed and shifted, hands on
each other, always close. When his rumbling stomach woke Tom a while later, he
lay half-awake, thinking. As Chris snored lightly, big arm thrown across Tom’s
chest, he touched the tattoos drawn on that sculpted arm, careful with worship,
loving the minute details, the colors and the great fear in them, the danger.
His touch must have tickled because Chris woke up, grumbling about the early
hour.
“Does it feel different,” Tom asked, turning in his arms and running his
fingers through Chris’s shorn hair. He liked the way it tickled his fingertips.
“Sleeping in this bed versus the one in prison?”
“Mmph,” Chris agreed, eyes closed again. “Definitely. I had back problems my
first year there. I couldn’t get used to the pile of cotton they give you for a
mattress. Now I figure I could sleep on a dirt floor and not be bothered.”
Tom watched him, loving the small ways his face moved when he talked. “How long
were you in there?”
“Six years.”
Tom gasped. “So long?”
“My original sentence was for three. But I had to get into fights at the
beginning. Keep up my rep. It’s all a man has in there.”
“My hero,” Tom whispered, already imagining the violence, the blood and
injuries. It sent a tiny thrill through his body, at imagining Chris so
unhinged, all that strength let loose, the damage he could cause. He’d already
gotten a taste of it the last time he visited him at the prison.
“Have you ever killed someone? Like broken someone’s neck or stabbed them?”
Chris chuckled. “No. I’ve never killed anyone. And breaking someone’s neck is a
hard thing to do. Takes a lot of emotion. A lot of passion to see the act
through.”
Tom nodded and cuddled closer. Chris kissed his forehead.
“And did you get any tattoos in prison?”
“Fuck no,” Chris said, making a face. “I did nothing that would risk getting
some kind of infection.”
“That’s good,” Tom agreed.
“I know you’re probably wondering about any sex diseases. Or blood diseases. I
have none, okay? I got tested about a month before being released. It’s all
part of the paperwork. And I’m clean. I would never have put you at risk.”
Tom curled deeper against him. “Thank you, Chris.”
They fell silent, the throbbing light of late morning shining in hotly from
behind the blue blanket.
“So, babe. What does Jeff do for a living?”
Tom tensed, and started to pull away. But Chris tightened his arms, trapping
him.
“Tom. You can tell me.”
Tom bit his lip. “He calls me a piece of shit,” he said quietly. “I don’t like
talking about him.”
Chris bent low and laid soft kisses on Tom’s hairline. “I know, baby. But,
please answer my question.”
Tom sighed. “He travels around the state. Selling some kind of computer
program.”
“Is he home today?”
“Maybe. Mom won’t be. But sometimes he goes to a bar on the east side.
Something called Dragon Eggs.”
“Dragon Eyes?” Chris said.
“Yes. That’s it.”
Chris pondered. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s real good.” Tom looked at him in
question. “Think you can ride today?” Tom stretched out his legs, and nodded.
“Let’s shower and I’ll take you for breakfast.”
Tom showered – again – alone in the master bath, bloodied tampon tossed in the
bin, string of viscous muck slipping down his thigh. Even that small object had
felt big inside him, his flesh very sore from the fucking and the knotting. He
cleaned gingerly between his legs, wincing at the tender skin of his pussy,
liking how the water pulsed at the top of his spine. Still, he was content to
have some alone time after Chris had wandered into the kitchen for more water.
His body was still thrumming with a tender glow, and he hoped his heart could
take so much of Chris at once.
Adjusting the showerhead, he wondered how Chris even fit in that little space,
smiling as suds dripped down his cheeks. Chris, whose soap smelled of pines,
whose large hands cradled Tom’s skull as they slept, whose voice and laugh were
like low thunder, a rumble across the kaleidoscope desert sky during monsoons.
So big and gentle, his Chris, with just enough of a spark of lightning under
his fingertips when he touched Tom, and all the threat of a storm when
protecting him. Tom sighed, his chest so full of emotion.
He was sad to see their cum wash down the drain, but it left his skin very soft
and clear. He rinsed himself once more and then shut the water off. Outside the
door, he heard Chris moving about, and then his soft knock.
“Babe?”
Tom dried himself with a towel. “Come in.”
Chris stuck his head in, strands of his blond hair falling over his forehead.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I feel less like jelly today.”
“Good. Take these.” Chris left a bottle of water and two pain reliever pills on
the counter. Tom smiled and tossed them back gratefully.
Chris took a quick shower while Tom lingered at the sink and unwrapped another
tampon. He stuck it in, wincing only slightly at the burn, both aggravated and
lessened by sex with Chris, sore and soaked still. In the foggy mirror, he
shaved his face carefully, applying some of Chris’s soothing lotion after.
After brushing his teeth with Chris's white toothbrush, he put on a change of
clothes he’d packed in his bag, feeling brazen and wholly different from who
he’d been before the motorcycle ride a few nights ago. Chris had kept his
purple panties and refused to tell Tom where he’d stashed them, promising with
a grin to buy him a replacement pair, so Tom tugged on a pair of regular
briefs. Not that he would have been able to wear them now. They were ruined.
“I wanna show you something in a minute,” Chris said, running the towel over
his hair, dripping water onto the bathmat. Tom grinned and nodded.
Taking the chance to look around Chris’s home, Tom soaked in every detail: the
limp leather couch, the battered coffee table with its motorcycle magazines and
Playboys and TV Guides, and further in at a lopsided table and small kitchen.
It was small, but so lovingly lived in, Tom smiled at the idea that he might be
able to spend more time here.
Hand in hand, he followed Chris out into the sunlight, guarding his eyes from
the bright glare. They walked slowly, trudging through the tall grass, Tom
still limping noticeably. He took the chance to glimpse at the empty land all
around them. They were so far from everything. Far to the east were the San
Jose Mountains, brown and purple jagged peaks rising from the earth, brushed
with puffy white clouds in the distance. Otherwise, there was nothing, only the
faint shimmer of white south of them, the bright metal of the city. They passed
by a scraggly, blooming garden, mostly weeds that crept wildly, crawling and
choking one side of the house, making Tom think of those little homes in fairy
tales that the heroine always stumbled across when she was lost in the woods.
He caught a whiff of the underlying scent on Chris’s skin, and he knew suddenly
that Chris spent a lot of time on his porch, just feet from where the garden’s
fragrance wafted freely, the desert brush and thickets spreading wide before
them. Saguaros and tumbleweeds and ancient cactus barrel stood like silent
sentinels on this small piece of land. Cigarette butts littered the creaking
floorboards and dusty backyard, and Tom again marveled at how nice Chris
smelled, so unlike Jeff and his odor of ash and sour breath. Chris was clean,
even if his fingers seemed perpetually stained with engine grease.
Chris led him around the side of the house and towards a building that looked
more like a workshop than a garage. Just as overgrown with weeds, Tom could
still tell it was lovingly cared for and an obvious addition to the property.
Chris dug out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the two large doors
kept sealed by a padlock and chain. He pulled them open and Tom got his first
glimpse inside. Tall and lined with sheet metal and supported by thick beams of
wood, the garage was deep but sturdy, able to hold two full sized cars. Tom,
open mouthed, took it all in. But instead of cars, the middle of the space was
taken up by a center worktable laden with tools and engine parts. Shelves lined
the walls, full of more miscellaneous mechanical stuff, too unfamiliar for Tom
to identify. State plates—Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming, Montana, Utah,
California, Colorado—were nailed in place next to posters of half-naked women
draped over the hoods of cars or motorcycle handlebars. Tom blushed and shifted
his eyes away.
There were two bikes parked in the other half of the garage. All in various
shades of black and dark red and gleaming chrome, they looked somewhat similar
to the one he vaguely remembered having ridden in on. Taking his hand again,
Chris led him inside.
“This is all yours?” Tom asked, whispering as if he was in some kind of church.
“Yeah. A friend of mine kept an eye on it while I was locked up.”
“And these are your bikes?”
Chris smiled. “The one I left out front is a Harley. 2008 Softail Custom. And
those two,” he said, pointing to the ones parked beside the workbench. “The one
on the right is also a Harley. But a 2009 Cross Bones. And the left one is a
Ducati Monster 796. The Italian.” He spoke so lovingly about them, his voice
soft with affection. “I had another, but I wrecked it just before I was taken
in.”
Tom couldn’t stop staring at him. He leaned his head on Chris’s shoulder,
pressing his nose to his shirt, his hand curving around his waist. He smelled
of clean sweat and something thicker, like motor oil. Beneath that Tom caught
that trace of floral, reminding him of the color purple.
“Where did you sneak my lace undies to now?” he said, pressing himself to
Chris’s front.
“Somewhere safe.” Chris said, mock seriously. He nodded. “Very safe. Just for
me. I’m keeping those.”
“But they were my only pair, Daddy.” He pouted and traced a finger over his
collarbone. Chris’s eyes were drawn to the bruised bite on Tom’s neck. He
touched it softly with his thumb.
“I love seeing this on you.”
“I love being seen with it.”
“Then by all means, let’s get you seen. Hungry?”
Tom nodded, eyes crinkling. “Yes.”
Chris rummaged around a cabinet and produced a scuffed and worn helmet. It was
full-sized with a jaw protector and visor that came down over the eyes, tinted
so black one couldn’t see in.
He presented it to Tom. “For you. It used to be mine. My first one, actually.
But I’ve stopped wearing them.”
Tom took it, careful with how he held it. “For me?”
“Yeah. Put it on.”
Tom did. It fit snug, but comfortably, and the visor guarded from bright sun
glare and harsh winds.
“But why don’t you wear one?”
His voice came out muffled and Chris smiled, looking ten shades darker behind
the visor.
“Because I feel it blocks my vision.”
“Why do I have to wear it?”
“Because you’re more important. Come on.” He chained up the garage again and
then led Tom back across the dusty yard to the Harley they rode in on. Chris
threw on some Aviators and climbed on the bike. He gripped Tom’s hand as Tom
slowly lifted his leg to straddle the back of the bike. He squirmed around
until he was comfortable. With the helmet, he was unable to rest his head on
Chris’s back, and he shared his disappointment.
“I’ll hold you again soon, silly boy. For now, safety.”
Tom huffed and sat straight in the seat, wrapping his arms around Chris’s
waist.
They took to the hot desert streets. The helmet offered him anonymity, as well
as protection from the deafening winds, and Tom felt more freedom in where he
could look. Chris was quite the sight on the motorcycle, Tom was pleased to
see. Most drivers stared after them as they roared past, Tom smiling wide. The
vibrations between his legs actually felt really nice. He was worried the bike
ride might prove uncomfortable, but it was a soothing rumble, making him pulse
with longing for the man seated before him.
It was all still a bit confusing. He’d survived his first heat. His first
heat.He never would have guessed that he would end up an omega. And now on top
of it all, his period had come. Figuring it all out would be tiresome. But what
Chris told him in bed made sense. Maybe something hadn’t clicked on time inside
him, something that maybe had needed an extra phase to tumble into place.
Either way, he was starting to believe his future didn’t look so bleak with
Chris beside him. Chris would help him. Tom knew he would. He wouldn’t judge
Tom for being half boy, half girl. For having periods and liking pretty things,
but still loving his masculine name and loving his cock played with. No more
sleeping with fear. No more looking over his shoulder. No more hiding what he
realized he really loved about himself.
And he wouldn’t be so alone anymore.
Bowled over by a rush of emotion, Tom squeezed Chris’s waist, heart flipping at
the firm squeeze Chris gave his wrists in turn.
The diner they pulled into was, thankfully, not the one where his mother
worked. The waitress led them to a corner booth, not once batting an eye at
Tom’s giant bite mark. Being the favored indication of possession or claim, it
wasn’t uncommon to see people walking around with bite marks on their necks,
all various shades of red and purple. Tom felt a little flip of excitement at
being included in that group.
Menu propped open in front of him, Tom skimmed the choices while Chris lit a
cigarette, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling, where a blue haze hovered.
"What can I get?" Tom asked, eyes zipping up and down the columns of food
listed.
"Anything you want, babe," Chris said. He scooted close and pointed to number
six. "I always get that. Haven't had it in years. Literally."
Tom smiled, reading aloud, "Four pancakes, three eggs, three sausages and hash
browns." His eyes widened. "That's a lot of food, Daddy."
Chris laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I'm a lot of man."
Tom blushed, nudging Chris's foot like they used to do back at the prison.
Chris leveled him with a heated gaze just as the waitress approached. In the
end, Chris ordered the number six with coffee—black, no sugar—and Tom ordered a
plate of French toast with powdered sugar, a vanilla milkshake, a bowl of
fruit, and two eggs with sausage.
"Anything else, honey?" the waitress said, gathering their menus.
"Nope," Tom said, grinning, cheeks pink with excitement. He took Chris’s hand
under the table once she’d left. "I can't remember the last time I ate out."
"You're such a sweet kitten," Chris murmured, tapping his cigarette in the
ashtray.
When their food arrived, Tom's eyes widened and he dug right in, hunkering over
his food, elbows out. He scooped forkful after forkful into his mouth, eyes
closing in bliss. Chris watched him, cutting into his own pancakes slowly.
"You know you don't have to eat in a hurry around me, right?"
Tom froze, cheeks full. "Wha?"
Chris smiled and touched his thigh. "No one's going to hurt you here mid meal.
You can take your time."
Tom swallowed, and then took a sip from his milkshake. "I didn't realize I was
doing it."
Chris wiped the milk foam from Tom’s upper lip, eyes going soft. "It's okay,
baby. I just don't want you to make yourself sick."
They finished their meal in companionable silence, Tom practically bouncing
from enjoyment of his food. Afterward, so full and sleepy, he got on the bike
behind Chris, helmet locked in, eyes dancing over the bleak desert land.
It became apparent they were heading east when Tom saw the city’s downtown
skyline start to fade behind them. The parking lot at the Dragon Eyes was half
full. Chris pulled into the back, parking the bike by the service entrance. He
lifted the visor on Tom’s helmet and stuck his thumb in to stroke the ridge of
his cheek.
“Keep it on. I’ll be right back.”
Sitting on the bike, Tom watched Chris disappear in through the employee
entrance. A hot wind howled around him, burning his retinas. Patting his
stomach as another growling cramp hit, he closed the visor and felt submerged
in a strange kind of silence, like he was in outer space wearing an anti-
gravity suit. From this vantage point, there wasn’t a soul in sight, only more
desert stretching out behind the bar. He spotted a runty coyote stalking along
the fence, eyes sharp on the dumpsters.
After a minute, Chris came back out and lit up a smoke. He leaned casually
against the wall, just to the side of the door, holding up a hand to let Tom
know to stay put.
Tom gulped, starting to get an uneasy feeling in his gut. He shifted on the
leather seat, pussy still aching despite the pills. He was so wet again, just
the sight of Chris enough to drench his underwear.
When the door opened, it hid Chris from view. He quietly set his lit cigarette
on the top of the flat rail leading up to the door and straightened. Out of the
open door came Jeff, shading his eyes and talking with someone. Catching sight
of Tom on the lone bike, he stalled.
He knows it’s me, Tom thought. But there was no way he could. His helmet
concealed his face.
“Hey, who did you say—,” Jeff started, turning back to the man who had led him
outside. But the man avoided all eye contact and simply closed the door,
locking him out. Before Jeff could see Chris, Chris stepped up behind him and
grabbed a fistful of his hair, slamming him face first into the brick wall.
Jeff screamed, a loud bloody gurgle, and crumpled at Chris’s feet. He grabbed
his face with both hands, thick blood pouring from in between. Tom gasped, not
quite believing what he’d just seen. Jumping up, he leaned forward on the bike,
hands coming up to wrap around the handles.
In the shadow of the dirty bar, Chris walked a slow circle around Jeff, who was
sobbing and crying out brokenly. And then he squatted beside him, boots
crunching loudly, wrapping a big hand around the back of the struggling man’s
neck.
He laughed low and deep, a wicked sort of chuckle that had another sluice of
wetness dripping from Tom.
“You fucking liar,” Chris growled, squeezing Jeff’s slippery neck.
Jeff grimaced, eyes wide with fear. “What?” he gritted out. “Who are you!”
“You’re no fucking alpha,” Chris whispered, and Tom inhaled where he sat,
frozen. “I’m an alpha. And the thing about alphas, Jeff, is that we can smell
each other, and our omegas. It’s all in the scent. Smell an alpha, take
caution. Smell an alpha’s omega, and you fucking beat it. What is it with you,
huh?” He yanked Jeff closer, Jeff’s knees dragging on the asphalt. “You like
scaring little boys? Like pretending you’re a big bad something, when really
you’re a sad little nothing? Huh? Answer me!”
Jeff flinched and sobbed around his broken nose, wheezing wetly.
“Hey,” Chris said. “Listen. Take a look at that kid over there,” he said,
pointing at Tom. He winked at him, and Tom felt his heart skip a beat. In his
jeans, his cock tightened. “Take it off, baby. Just for a minute.”
With shaking hands, Tom lifted off the helmet, the hot desert sun blinding him.
The scabs at his neck stretched and pulled, and Tom touched them briefly. When
Jeff’s panicked eyes settled on him, they narrowed in anger. He started to
rise, but Chris yanked him back down, hand tightening on his neck.
“Hey, I didn’t say you could fucking move. Now, listen to me,” Chris said,
shifting to squat down in front of him, blocking Tom from his view. Jeff sobbed
wetly, even in all his rage, nose broken horribly. “You know Tom. He lives with
you. But Tom is mine. And it’s come to my attention that you’ve been touching
what is mine. And not even just a friendly pat on the back or a nice hug. Those
things I understand. But you’ve been beating on my boy here, trying to force
that crooked dick of yours into him, and that’s just not acceptable. At all.”
Jeff started struggling again, legs kicking, but one hard press into his
jugular and he fell limp, breathing heavy through his mouth. Blood poured
sluggishly from both nostrils.
“See that bite mark? Means he’s mine. I’ve claimed him. Other alphas will know.
But you? You lying sack of shit. You aren’t an alpha, as much as you wish you
could be. So I’ve come to warn you with simple words. Don’t touch him. He’s not
yours to touch. Lay one finger on him, and I’ll know because he’ll only be
covered in my scent. If I smell you on him, if I find out that you’ve tried to
harm him in any way, I’ll be visiting you again.”
Tom stared, amazed at the crackling energy rolling off Chris despite all his
dead calm. All low brows and flared nose, Chris glared coldly down at Jeff,
holding him still with one hand. With his other hand, he reached for Jeff’s
left arm.
“What are you doing?” Jeff wheezed, eyes darting frantically from Chris and to
his arm and back again. “I—I won’t touch the kid again, alright! Just—just
leave me alone!”
“See,” Chris said, tilting his head to the side. “That’s just not gonna cut it
for me. Lower life forms like you need to be shown to learn a thing. Because
you’re the absolute worst kind of filth in my eyes and I just don’t trust the
words of a piece of shit like you.”
Jeff’s eyes widened and they cut to Tom, who stood straddling the bike, chest
rising with quick breaths, helmet clutched in trembling hands.
Very slowly, Chris began angling Jeff’s arm behind his back, the position
awkward and unnatural. The more Jeff struggled, the harder Chris squeezed his
neck, until his eyes were bulging and he was flopping helplessly on the glass-
strewn concrete, like some gutted and desperate fish. Arm positioned, he
pressed Jeff flat on his back with a boot on his twisted shoulder.
Tom strained to hear Chris’s whispers.
“You’re not going to touch him again.” He began pressing his boot down. “You’re
not going to speak to him again unless it’s nicely.” Jeff heaved under the
boot, face twisting in pain. “And you will definitely no longer call him any
names, like faggot or fairy or piece…” Jeff’s shoulder shook violently, pushed
to the point of natural resistance, his other bloodied hand scrabbling
desperately at Chris’s jeans. “…of…” Chris smiled, leg bending at the knee as
he leaned all of his weight forward. “…shit…” There was that point where Jeff’s
eyes landed on Tom just behind Chris, so swollen with fear and pain, Tom
doubted Jeff was able to see anything at all.
“No! No, no, no, please—.”
 And then Chris lifted his boot and slammed it down hard.
The bone broke loudly, making Tom jump from his perch on the motorcycle. In the
dry air of that hot July afternoon, Jeff screamed, voice gurgling with blood
from his shattered nose. Arm bent behind him, he kicked and rolled, gutted
cries screamed into the cracked pavement. Chris walked around the flailing man.
He picked up his cigarette and took a long drag. Across the way, his and Tom’s
eyes met and Tom felt his erection press painfully against the tight weave of
his jeans, his pussy throbbing and slicked.
“Daddy,” he whispered, in complete awe, and Chris smiled, smoke curling out
between his teeth.
He walked back to Jeff and nudged his jaw with the toe of his boot, arm still
trapped beneath him. Just that small movement had Jeff howling again, but
weakly, strength sapped.
“Next time, it’s going to be your leg. Or your pelvis. Or your jaw. Something
important like that. I’m sure you have enough sense not to tell the cops.” He
clapped a wide palm to Jeff’s neck, as if they were old buddies, and then felt
around in his back pockets. Pulling out a faded leather wallet, Chris smiled
his thanks and stood.
Sticking the cigarette between his lips, he returned to Tom’s side and blew out
the smoke. Bending, he caught Tom’s mouth in a hard kiss. When they parted, Tom
was breathless and so painfully hard, he couldn’t move his legs. Chris took him
by the waist and lifted him to his seat, sliding in front of him. He started
the bike, the rumble loud and starting to feel like the most familiar thing in
the world to Tom. Putting his helmet back on, he snuggled against Chris’s back
and they drove out into the street, bypassing the side of the bar, where a man
lay broken and bleeding, crying softly into the burning wind, never to hurt Tom
again.
Before heading into the house, Chris hunched over a small fire behind his
garage and piece-by-piece burned the wallet and all that came with it,
including the money and receipts and coupons and driver’s license.
“It’ll be reported as a mugging at the hospital,” Chris murmured to Tom, who
stood just behind him, eyes squinting in the acrid smoke. Afterward, he tamped
down on the flames with his boot, the remnants of Jeff’s wallet disintegrated
to ash.
Inside the house, he washed his hands and eyed Tom, who trailed him from room
to room. He finally crowded him against the kitchen wall, smothering him with
kisses, hands roaming over his body, murmuring if he was okay.
Tom nodded and returned his kisses, hips rolling forward.
Chris him pressed to the wall, his mouth on him again, and Tom moaned because
he’d missed it already. Big hands swiped under his shirt, feeling callous on
his sensitive skin. That hot tongue pushed between his lips and nudged Tom’s
own, licking at it.
Tom had only ever kissed one person before Chris, his cousin Anna, when they
were eleven. It was wet and slimy and very uncomfortable, even when they’d done
it again the day after. Still, it had given him a feel for kissing and what to
expect, but nothing could have prepared him for the great muscle that was
Chris’s tongue, probing into his mouth, vibrating with their groans. Hands felt
over his ass and then he was being lifted, hefted up against the wall. He
squealed, legs wrapping around Chris’s waist, grabbing his shoulders for
balance.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall,” Chris promised, burying his face in Tom’s
neck. He sucked at the tender point at the base of his throat, nipping with his
teeth, letting his tongue glide over his bite mark, wetting it and making it
glisten. Tom cupped Chris’s head and held him to his throat, undulating his
hips, where his cock pressed against Chris’s abdomen, trapped by jeans and
cotton briefs.
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, and hissed when Chris groaned, thunder vibrating through
his blood.
“Tom,” Chris rasped suddenly, pulling back. Full lips swollen, Tom could only
imagine what his own looked like. There was a high blush on Chris’s cheeks,
eyes wide with what Tom could only liken to love.
“No one’s gonna hurt you again,” Chris groaned, mouthing at Tom’s neck.
“They’ll feel worse pain. I promise you.”
***** Fresh Pup *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
As much as he didn’t want to, Tom knew it was best if he went home, if only not
to alarm anybody by his extended absence. He knew Jeff wouldn’t be a problem
anymore, but his mother might actually realize he was gone and think he was
kidnapped or something. Now that his heat had passed, he was much calmer, if
not still crampy. But his thoughts weren’t jumbled and he wasn’t tormented by
the bellyaches and the twinges in his bones that had somehow been even worse
than what he felt now with his period. Chris had rescued him from Jeff and any
other alpha that had been sniffing out his budding scent, and the thought made
him feel much safer about being on his own. Once home, he would mark on his
calendar the dates of his first heat, taking care to catalog his heats and
Chris’s ruts, estimating when they would next occur, and if they would ever
coincide.
Trying not to be sad about leaving, he packed his bag slowly and methodically,
eyes straying to the bed with its rumpled sheets still smelling of them both.
He would miss sleeping here with Chris. He would miss that solid warmth, those
arms holding him tightly, never waking once because he was afraid Jeff had
finally broken into his room. Here, in the embrace of his ex-con, there was no
fear.
Before taking him home, Chris pulled into a phone store and parked the bike in
the shade of the building.
“What are we doing here?” Tom asked, tugging off his helmet. He left it on the
seat of the bike and followed Chris inside.
But Tom didn’t need an answer, because after only twenty minutes they were back
outside, fiddling with the new phone Chris had just bought for him.
“Chris, this is…too much! I couldn’t—.”
“You can,” Chris said, leaning against his bike, shades reflecting Tom’s
shocked face. “I want you to have one. I want to be able to get ahold of you.
And you to have a way to get ahold of me. When you need me.”
Tom wiped at the screen with his thumb, mouth hanging open. The screen was
smooth as silk, with a starry background and apps that danced when he shifted
them around. He’d never had a cell phone before. Everyone at school had one,
fingers dancing quickly over the bright screens, earphones plugged in, yapping
into the tiny receivers. He’d barely managed to convince his mother to get him
a computer, and it was a cheap secondhand laptop that heated up too fast, the
battery draining in under an hour. This felt like Chris was giving him a star
from the night sky.
Tom swallowed and cradled the phone carefully in his hands.
“Thank you, Chris,” he said softly. “This is amazing.”
Chris smiled, rolling a toothpick between his teeth.
“Hey,” he said gently, and hugged Tom to his side. “You ever need anything, you
tell me. Okay? Anything.”
Tom nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl.”
They exchanged numbers, Tom still in awe about all the apps already installed
and those he could download later, all the games and access to the Internet. He
gripped it tightly, giddy with the knowledge of the sudden freedom he could
find in this one small device, the secure and safe line he had to Chris, no
matter the time of day.
They hopped on the bike again and Chris turned it south. Phone tucked safely
into his jacket, Tom sighed in the quiet bubble of his helmet, the hot desert
air stinging him everywhere but his face. Still, tears pricked his vision the
closer they got to his house, and he clung to Chris all the harder. Once parked
at his curb, Tom kept his eyes shut tight, not wanting to admit that their time
together was over for now.
“I’ll come back for you,” Chris said quietly, feeling the trembling in Tom’s
arms. His hands were curled into his shirt, and he touched them gently.
“I don’t want to,” Tom sniffed, clutching at Chris like a baby monkey.
“He knows better than to try again.”
Gathering himself, Tom nodded and let Chris go, unfolding his legs and setting
them on firm ground. He removed his helmet and wiped his eyes. Chris took the
helmet and handed Tom the bag with the phone manual and charger.
“Where’s your school?” he asked.
“I go to Saguaro Heights. Over on Glenn.”
Chris laughed. “Really? I went there.”
“You did?” Tom grinned.
“Yeah. For a time. Like fifteen years ago,” Chris said, talking around his
cigarette. Tom took it from between his lips and brought it to his own, taking
a long drag. The pungent smoke filled his lungs and he let it out as smoothly
as he could, unable to stop his eyes from watering. He coughed slightly,
handing the cigarette back to him.
Chris watched, mouth parted, and closed his eyes when Tom leaned in, kissing
him fast.
“Thank you, Daddy,” he whispered, tilting his neck up to display his stark bite
mark, and walking backwards up the drive to let himself in through the front
door. Chris stayed out on the street for a minute, looking down at the helmet
in his lap. He finally took one last inhale from the cigarette and crushed it
under his boot, pulling the helmet on and revving the engine.
Tom’s groin tightened, watching him through the peep hole at the door. Finally
resigning himself to the fact that he was gone, Tom sighed and headed to his
room, the house feeling too eerie and quiet without Jeff lurking about.
**
Jeff eventually did return to the house later that night. Earlier in the day,
Tom’s mother had breezed in and saw Tom in the kitchen eating a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich. She’d tossed him a distracted, quick greeting – as if Tom
hadn’t been gone for days,as if he wasn’t sporting the biggest bite mark on his
neck – before slapping her purse on the counter and disappearing down the hall.
When Jeff failed to show at his prescribed hour, she’d been beside herself with
worry. Tom sat in his room sulking, realizing she’d never panic like that if
Tom were gone for hours at a time. But maybe it was a blessing in disguise, as
it afforded him more freedom to sneak away and be with Chris. Still, he could
hear her exclaiming loudly from the front door when Jeff arrived in a taxi,
face and arm bandaged.
Curled up in the corner behind his bed, Tom sat playing with his phone plugged
in the outlet to charge before sleep, trying to ignore their voices from down
the hall.
“What in the world happened, darlin’?”
“I’m alright, Susie. Don’t make a fuss.” His voice was nasally and muffled, and
Tom grinned.
“Gone for hours and you don’t want me to make a fuss?”
“I ran into a bit of trouble is all.”
Tom froze, the game on his phone firing fruit cannons all by itself.
“Trouble? What happened?”
Jeff said nothing for a minute and Tom imagined they’d sat at one of the sofas.
“I was mugged.”
“Where?”
“At the Dragon Eyes.”
“Oh, Jeff, what were you doing at the Dragon Eyes?”
“Having a goddamn drink, Susie, what do you think?”
Their voices quieted down after that, and Tom gave up trying to eavesdrop. He
went back to his game, the screen lighting up his face in the dark room. And
then the game paused automatically as a text notification popped up.
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, smiling. He opened the text.
<are you okay?>
He replied quickly.
<yes daddy. Im charging my phone and going to bed>
<you like your phone?>
<I love it! There are so many free games I can get>
<good baby. My sheets still smell of you>
<I miss you already>
<I miss you too.>
<I want to sleep with you every night>
<you will baby. I promise.>
Tom fell asleep with the phone curled up under his chin, ready to feel the tiny
vibrations of any new messages.
**
The rest of the week passed painstakingly slowly for Tom. His period went away
after the second day, and he stored the rest of the unused tampons under his
bed for the next month. Chris began work with his friend who owned a mechanic
shop, repairing vehicles and motorcycles, changing engine oil and replacing
worn brake pads. They texted all day. Chris would message Tom with questions
about his day, what he was wearing, if he’d played with himself the night
before. All blushes, Tom would hide himself away in in his room, or in the
library bathroom, responding with barely stifled giggles.
It wasn’t hard for him to keep quiet about Chris. Even though he was bursting
with excitement at having a boyfriend—because that’s what Chris was to him—he
also wanted to keep him his own secret for as long as he could. Not that he was
ashamed of him. Tom could walk around town kissing Chris all day long if he
thought he’d get away with it. But it seemed that everywhere he looked around
town, especially once he returned to school in the fall, there was some kind of
juvenile drama taking place, and here he was, shy and quiet Tom, often bullied
and targeted for pranks, getting fucked and bred by a thirty-year-old ex-con.
He felt set apart from the rest of his classmates, privileged and special in a
way he’d never felt before. He didn’t need any kind of validation from them,
these high-schoolers with their Prom and their yearbooks and their college
applications. He had Chris’s approval and that’s all that mattered to him.
Jeff was apparently excused from work while he recuperated from his ‘mugging’
because he was home every single day, prowling from room to room with his
broken arm and nose and shattered ego. Tom could feel him staring after him
whenever Tom went for water or food in the kitchen, or when he showered before
bed. Unlike his mother, Jeff’s eyes lingered on the dark bite mark on Tom’s
neck, wordless in his wrath, seething at his inability to approach Tom as he
once could before Chris entered their lives. Tom liked to imagine Jeff
picturing Chris giving Tom that bite, arms wrapped around each other, Tom
clinging to Chris as those bright, shining white teeth pierced his skin. He
liked to imagine how furious he would be at the passionately struggling image
of Tom and Chris in his mind, the gentle licks to the mark afterward, the soft
murmurings, the tender and willing way Tom gave himself over to Chris, his
alpha. It made Tom glow with satisfaction and pride, that Jeff was so lowered
in all his hate. It was still alarming to Tom – and incredibly humiliating –
that Jeff had fooled him into believing he was a real alpha. How could he have
possibly fallen for such a brazen lie? But Tom couldn’t have known, not when he
had been exposed to the epitome of an alpha only after a solid year of abuse
and manipulation from Jeff. Tom promised himself he would try to be more
vigilant of a person’s true character, and not fall for such falsehoods again.
Despite Jeff’s insufferable presence, Tom walked taller all the same, the bite
mark and the scent enough to shroud him in the feeling of safety provided by
Chris’s claim, confident in the gift of Chris’s strength to protect him. He
gave Jeff no satisfaction and paid him no mind, ignoring him for the most part
and giddy for the next time he and Chris could see each other again.
Chris would pick Tom up Friday after he got out of work. Tom told his mother he
was spending the weekend with Bobby, and he’d told Bobby he was spending the
weekend with another cousin, so hopefully both stories played out with little
incident. Jeff had been extremely quiet all week, stonily eating dinner with
them, refusing to look at Tom, disappearing into his room immediately after.
This was just fine with Tom. The less he saw of him, the less chance Jeff would
remember how much he hated Tom and try to hit him again, if he even had the
guts to try such a thing anymore.
Tom was lacing up his sneakers when he heard the roar of a motorcycle from down
the street. He jumped up and grabbed his overnight bag, filled with two pairs
of jeans, a couple of shirts, underwear and socks, as well as his laptop, phone
charger, and the paperback he was reading. In the small front pocket, he’d put
his nail polishes, mascara and lip gloss, figuring it was safer to keep them at
Chris’s house than in his own room. Having all his favorite things close by
gave him comfort, feeling that wherever he was with his bag of special
belongings, then he could feel at home.
After checking around his room for anything he missed, Tom climbed out the
window and jogged to the street. Chris took off his helmet and passed it to
Tom, who put it on and jumped behind him. God, he’d missed that big warm body.
His pillows just didn’t compare to the solid mass that was Chris pressed up
against him in bed.
Speeding down the dusty streets, heading further and further into the harsh
desert, Tom let his head hang back and gazed at the sky through the darkened
visor of his helmet. Here was the happiness he had so often wondered about
staring after couples that stood locked together in the hallways at school,
with their determined mouths and straying hands. He would have that now, he
thought, squeezing Chris’s waist.
Chris turned onto the long stretch of barren road that led to his house and
pulled into his driveway. He parked the bike in the garage, chaining up the
doors again after.
“You came prepared,” he chuckled, wrapping Tom under his arm. Tom hitched his
backpack higher on his shoulders.
“I did! I brought clothes and some other things.”
“Did you bring underwear?”
They were passing the garden and Tom smiled up at him, confused. “Yes…Why?”
Chris shrugged, fishing out his keys. “Hm. No reason. Tampons, too?”
“No. I finished a few days ago. They’re hidden in my room.”
“Good. Either way, I bought some more yesterday and put them under my bathroom
sink. Just in case, okay?”
Tom blushed and side-hugged him, walking clumsily along. “Thanks, Chris.”
Tom had barely dumped his bag on the couch when Chris was spinning him and
kissing him hard, tongue shoving in. They fell onto the sofa, scrabbling for
purchase.
His hands worked on Tom’s jeans, yanking them down.
“I slept—fuck, baby, lift your hips—with your panties under my pillow,” he
whispered, voice rough.
Tom whined as Chris’s lips latched onto his collarbone. He sucked and bit at
the bone, and Tom writhed, held still by big hands. Jeans and briefs stuffed
down to his knees, Chris flipped him so he was facedown over the arm of the
couch, his ass exposed. Thick fingers slid over his pussy and Tom whined,
rocking back.
“Hold still, baby.”
“Daddy, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. I saved up all my cum for you. Did you touch yourself while
you were away?”
Tom shook his head, hands bunched up against his chest. “No, Daddy. It’s not
the same as you.”
“Good, baby. That’s what I like to hear.”
With a hand splayed wide on Tom’s lower back, Chris guided himself to Tom’s
soaked cunt and pushed in. Tom groaned, jolting forward on the thrust, his
flesh bouncing, his small cry filling the warm room.
“Fuck,” Chris groaned, holding Tom’s hips. “It’s like you got tighter.”
It was a fast and rough fuck. Chris wrapped one arm around Tom’s neck and the
other over his chest, arching his back and holding him steady for his cock. His
inked skin looked especially wicked on Tom’s pale, unblemished flesh, his thin
body nearly eclipsed by Chris behind him.
“Knot me, knot me. Please. Daddy. I want it. So big.”
“I will, baby, I will.”
Mouth at Tom’s ear, Chris breathed heavy, whispering sweet filth. Taking Tom’s
jaw, he pulled his head to the side and stared down at the original bite mark.
“The bond is made, but this will fade soon.”
“No, Daddy,” Tom moaned, curls bobbing over his forehead. “I don’t want it to.”
“You want another, baby?”
Golden curls bounced as Tom nodded eagerly. He rocked back against Chris, their
hips slapping together.
“Yeah. Just like that,” Chris murmured, staring down at where he disappeared
into Tom. “Fuck yourself on me.” Tom continued eagerly, his small moans and
their smacking flesh the only noise in the room.
His grip tightened on Tom’s jaw, his other hand straying low on his back, the
tip of his finger glancing over Tom’s other hole, yet untouched. The skin was
pink and furled tightly, a smooth glide under Chris’s drifting finger.
“Daddy?” Tom’s breath hitched, his hips slowing to a stop.
Chris swallowed, heart beating fast. “I’m just wondering if my little boy would
ever like his Daddy to fuck him here.” He added the smallest pressure to Tom’s
back entrance, curious.
Tom gasped and held still. Licking his lips, lashes trembling, he said so
softly, “I think your little boy wants that very much, Daddy. B-but I’m
nervous.”
“I know,” Chris said, falling forward and draping himself over Tom’s back.
Their lips met in a hurried kiss, sweet little sounds bubbling up Tom’s throat.
“We won’t now. Maybe soon. When you’re ready for sure.”
“Kay, Daddy.”
Chris resumed his quick pace, mouth on the old bite, pressing down with just
enough pressure to redden the mark anew. Tom writhed and groaned his pleasure,
begging his Daddy to make him come. Chris reached around Tom and took hold of
his cock, tugging on it with firm strokes. Tom came with a scream, pussy
clenching and cock bursting, his thin body wracked with spasms so violent Chris
had to wrap him close. Eyes rolled up, Tom whimpered and went limp in Chris’s
arms, chest flushed with pink as Chris neared his own release.
And when he came, he filled him to the brim, balls pulsing with every spurt,
lasting so long Chris felt faint from the feel of Tom’s tight little cunt
soaking it up. The base of his cock started to swell and Chris gently pressed
Tom face forward on the armrest, shuddering through the knotting.
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, lashes trembling. “Yes, yes, yes. There it is. Make it
big. I want it big.” His cheeks were red and he looked barely present, his own
spent cock trapped between the armrest and his belly. His cheek was flushed
sweetly on the sofa.
“Fuck,” Chris exhaled as another pulse of pleasure throbbed through him, his
knot finally formed. They would be stuck together for at least an hour, so he
very carefully gathered Tom in his arms and sat back on his heels, letting
gravity take his weight until he was lying on his back, Tom spread over the top
of him. He tucked his face into Chris’s neck and sighed. He looked feverish,
but sated, cheeks pink and dotted with sweat. “There you are, my lovely boy,”
Chris murmured, eyes sharp on Tom’s face; the parted lips, the high blush, the
scrunched brow and trembling lashes. Half-awake and listening to his Daddy.
“You’re beautiful, Tom.”
Slumped against him, Tom kissed his neck tenderly.
“Was my pussy good for you, Daddy?”
Chris groaned and pawed at his curls. “The best, babe. Just what I needed after
my long week away from you. My angel.”
Tom smiled sweetly, glowing under Chris’s praise. He squeezed his inner muscles
and licked his lips with a wicked grin when Chris groaned and tossed his head
back.
“You’ll kill me, princess. But what a way to die. Embedded in my little girl’s
cunt.”
Tom laughed from deep in his chest, pink tongue poking out between his teeth.
“I love when you say that!”
“My beautiful princess. Mine.”
Dripping onto Chris, Tom slept while they waited, Chris humming a song in his
hair. Once his knot started to shrink, Chris woke him up with kisses on the
cheek. Tom lifted his hips and Chris slipped out, a flood of cum following
after. On wobbly legs, Tom held Chris’s hand and trailed after him into the
bedroom, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist.
They showered together in the tiny tub, slathering soapsuds over their bodies
and globs of shampoo into their hair. They fell into bed after, naked.
“I have something for you,” Chris said after a while, stroking Tom’s hip.
Tom’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”
“Close your eyes.”
Tom did, sitting up patiently, grinning. Something was placed before him and
then Chris’s voice telling him he could look.
There was a pink and purple bag on the mattress, as well as a large white box.
“Daddy!” He sat up on his knees, his nakedness drawing Chris’s eyes. “Which do
I open first?”
Chris sat on the edge of the bed. “You pick.”
With a flirty head tilt, Tom reached for the white box and flipped open the
lid.
Inside were two pairs of shoes—black and grey high top sneakers and a pair of
black boots that laced up to mid-shin.
He gaped at them, picking up one pair, and then the other.
Chris nodded. “I checked the size of your sneakers when you were showering last
weekend. And, I think both of these will look fucking hot on you with those
tight jeans you always wear.”
Tom licked his lips. “For me to ride with, Daddy?”
“Yeah. You can use both on the bike with me. You’ll need to break them in,
though.”
He cradled the shoes to his chest and then placed them back in their box,
carefully arranging the tissue paper over them again. He jumped forward and
hugged Chris around the neck, immensely pleased when he drew back to see
Chris’s red cheeks.
“Go on and open the bag,” he said gruffly.
Removing pink tissue paper, Tom brought out five pairs of lace panties. Some
had satin designs on them, but all were so beautiful and delicate and just for
him.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, fingering each pair.
“Do you like them?”
In answer, Tom bounded off the bed and pulled on the white lace, feeling it hug
his cock snugly, riding up on his bottom, letting his cheeks poke out.
“Jesus,” Chris murmured, reaching to touch Tom’s thigh. “You were made to wear
those.”
Tom beamed and fell back on the bed, rooting around inside the bag. He
discovered a roller-ball perfume that he sniffed and immediately rubbed over
his neck, followed lastly by a shirt. On the front was a black and white
American flag facing down from collar to hem. The collar was a low-cut V
design, so it would hang to the middle of Tom’s chest, which he felt secretly
thrilled about. The back was all black lace. It was a shirt designed for women,
obviously, but Tom became possessive of it immediately. He slipped into it and
stood for Chris.
It was only slightly loose, hugging his straight waist and flat belly. With the
panties and the shirt, he blushed as he spun for Chris, feeling enormously
attractive and actually seen.
“Thank you so much, Chris. No one’s ever bought me anything like this…I love
everything.” He carefully removed both the panties and the shirt, folding them
gently and putting everything in the corner with his backpack.
“Good. I’m happy you do. When I saw them at the store, I couldn’t get the image
of you wearing them out of my mind.”
Tom plopped down beside Chris and hooked an arm around his neck, lips at his
brow. “Was my Daddy thinking naughty thoughts?”
A hand glided up his back, tickling his bare skin. “Such bad, bad thoughts. I
imagined my princess doing all sorts of things for me.”With a wicked squint, he
lunged forward and tackled Tom to the bed, growling playfully at his neck and
nipping with his teeth.
Tom laughed, deep-throated, pulling Chris up to the pillows. He squirmed and
clutched at him, both breathless once their tickle fight was over. “Let’s
sleep, Daddy,” Tom panted, carding his fingers through Chris’s buzzed hair,
scratching lightly. Chris shivered and pressed himself closer. “And then you
can tell me all about these naughty things.”
Head tucked into Tom’s neck, Chris was happy to oblige. Eventually, they both
dozed, the late afternoon light filtering in around the blanketed window, dust
motes swirling. After some time, Tom blinked awake and yawned. Chris had
shifted during their nap and was lying over him, heavy and asleep.
Tom tried taking a deep breath, but his chest felt too constricted with the
weight.
“Daddy,” he wheezed, pushing halfheartedly at Chris’s chest. Chris groaned.
A deep rumbling came from the street outside and Tom froze, head cocked to
listen. When the noise became louder, Chris jerked awake.
“I think someone’s here, Daddy,” Tom whispered.
Chris peered down at him and then glanced around the room with one eye open.
“Fuck, it’s the guys.”
Tom frowned. “Guys?”
Chris climbed off of him and shrugged into his jeans. Tom wrapped the sheet
around himself.
“From the group I ride with.” He slipped on a shirt. “They’ll only be here a
little while, babe. You can sleep some more if you want to.”
Tom nodded and leaned up as Chris bent to kiss him. He closed the door quietly
behind himself and went to greet his friends. Tom fell back against the pillows
and curled onto his side, his pussy delightfully sore. He must have slept
because when he woke to the feel of a finger trailing over his arm, the light
was different in the room—early evening, maybe—and there was someone standing
over him.
“Mm, Daddy,” he mumbled, not fully conscious.
“Sure, if you’d like,” said the voice, higher than Chris’s, and much older.
Tom’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, scrambling up and crowding against the
headboard, sheet clutched tight over his chest.
A man stood beside the bed, tall and old enough to be Tom’s father. Skin like
worn leather and sporting a grey goatee, the man held unnervingly still, hands
open at his sides, blue eyes like crystal as they stared at Tom.
“Who are you?” Tom asked, finally finding his voice.
“Your…daddy?” the man answered, and then bent double, cackling loudly. “Boy,
you look like a tiny little lamb, all frightened of the slaughter. Christ,” he
said, sniffing at the air. “You smell real good.” Those eyes flicked down Tom’s
form, and Tom inched back, terrified.
Pulse quickening at his throat, Tom gulped, eyes darting over the room. Chris.
Where was Chris?
“I’m Mick,” the man said. “And you are?”
Tom kept quiet, the name clicking in his memory. This was the man whose orders
Chris had obeyed, the orders that got him thrown in jail for six years. This
was the leader of their motorcycle crew. Mick took a step closer and Tom
shuffled back a foot, sheet clutched in trembling hands. He was naked and there
was nowhere to go.
Mick threw his hands up, no threat intended. “You don’t have to be scared.
You’re a fresh pup, I can tell.”
“I belong to Chris,” Tom whispered, dropping his eyes immediately. This man was
an alpha. He knew it instantly. His every instinct to obey was going haywire,
intimidation working to make him cower against the headboard.
Mick laughed. “Oh, yes. I can tell you’re Chris’s. He’s knotted and bitten you.
That’s plain for all to see. But listen—.” Another step, and Tom whimpered,
retreating another foot. He would run out of bed any moment. Mick put a knee on
the mattress and Tom sat straight up. “Don’t be afraid. Just—wait a minute,
boy. What are you—now hang on.” Mick reached forward just as Tom tried to jump
to the side. He caught a wrist and hauled him close, spinning Tom so that he
was face down on the pillow. Tom screamed, feeling the sheet slip low on his
back. He snapped his legs closed, afraid Mick would see his vagina.
“Chris!” But his cry was swallowed by the pillow. Frantic, he waved his arms,
trying to dislodge Mick from above him. He yelped in shock when he felt teeth
at the back of his neck. “Stop!” he shrieked. “Get off me! You’re hurting me!”
Mick clamped down and Tom felt a flame of anger snap up his spine. Bunching his
arm close to his chest, he snapped it back, his elbow cracking Mick on the
forehead. The older man grunted and tottered to the side, and Tom took the
chance to scramble out from under him. The sheet was tangled around his waist
and he snatched it up, tripping over himself and falling to the floor. Crawling
backwards, he collided with the wall and curled himself there, breathing hard.
“You got some fight in you, boy,” Mick laughed, rubbing his forehead.
Heart in his throat, it galloped a wild beat, but he sat frozen watching Mick,
thinking of where to escape.
But then footsteps pounded in the hallway and the door burst open.
Chris stood there with one hand on the doorknob, eyes wide on Tom huddled on
the floor before flicking over to Mick standing by the rumpled bed.
Mick’s laughter faded into an amused chuckle. “Now, don’t get your shorts in a
twist. Just wait a minute, Christopher. I was only trying to gentle him.”
Chris was staring at Mick like he might at any second snap his spine in two.
Nostrils flared, hands fisted, Tom could see that Chris was angry, and he more
than knew what Chris was capable of.
Chris’s voice was low with warning. “You did what?”
“Chris,” Tom whispered, and Chris snapped his gaze over to where Tom sat on the
floor. He softened immediately and turned on his heel toward him. Tom reached
his arms up as Chris dropped to his knees. He wrapped Tom against his chest,
pulling the sheet further up his shoulders. His eyes were back on Mick,
narrowed with anger.
Mick looked unconcerned. He gestured to Tom, eyebrows raised, and said, “He was
panicked.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Tom whipped his head around. “I was only panicked because you were leaning over
me when I woke up. Touching my arm.” He hiccupped and hid his face in Chris’s
neck again, hugging him tight around the waist. Chris’s hand on his head was
soothing, helping to calm his nerves.
“Look, I was only in here because I needed to piss. One in the hall is stuffed
with something.” Mick shrugged and headed to the master bathroom. “The boy was
upset, so I tried gentling.”
“Gentling only works when it’s the omega’s alpha.” Chris looked up at Mick,
brows low. “I’m his alpha, Mick.”
“I know. I could tell. Your bite is impressive.” He smiled. “Little pups in
distress melt my heart, alright? I just wanted him to be okay.”
Tom sniffed and pressed his cheek to Chris’s face. “Daddy,” he whispered.
“It’s alright, baby,” Chris whispered back, holding the sheet closed over Tom’s
body.
“Don’t worry. He clocked me right in the face. Now let me piss already.
Christ.” Mick disappeared into the bathroom and Chris turned to Tom.
“Daddy, he scared me. I thought he was you. I tried to yell, to fight him off.
He’s strong, Daddy.”
“Shh, there now. You’re okay? You’re unhurt?” He felt along the back of Tom’s
neck, where Mick had bitten him, four tooth lines over his pale skin, red and
jagged where Tom had shaken him off. He shook his head and cursed.
Heart pounding, Tom nodded. “I’m okay. But he bit me!”
“Shh. Don’t cry, princess. I’m here now.” He rocked Tom against him, eyes on
the bathroom door. “He knew it wouldn’t work. I don’t know why he tried it. Or
maybe,” he said, meeting Tom’s eyes. “I know exactly why he did.”
Tom said nothing, hands in Chris’s hair. They spoke so quietly, there in the
corner, their whispers like feathers on their faces.
“I heard him pull up. But when he didn’t show out back, I came to see if
everything was alright.”
More tears welled in Tom’s eyes. “Thank goodness you did, Daddy.” He jumped
forward and hugged Chris’s neck tightly.
The toilet flushed and then Mick was opening the door. “Sorry about all the
trouble. Certainly wasn’t expecting someone to be here. Quite the looker, ain’t
he?”
Chris’s jaw clenched, holding Tom tighter to him, refusing to answer.
Mick crossed the room and lingered at the door. “Bring the boy to the bonfire
next week, Christopher. He’ll enjoy it.” He smiled, nodding at Tom, and then
walked out of the room, his whistling fading down the hall.
Chris and Tom looked at each other.
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.
***** Little Bird *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
Tom stayed in Chris’s room for a while longer after Chris went out back again.
In the backyard, he could hear men laughing and talking loudly but couldn’t
make anything out. He took a slow shower, wanting to be rid of every trace of
his encounter with Mick. Afterward, he rubbed lotion over his limbs and then
rolled a bit of the perfume Chris had given him to his collarbones and behind
his ears. Feeling much better, he sat curled up in bed watching a documentary
about the ant kingdom. His hand kept straying to the back of his neck, fighting
off the chills of remembering Mick’s teeth there.
“What’s gentling?” he’d asked Chris before he went outside to join his friends.
“It’s when an alpha bites the back of his omega’s neck. It calms the omega, who
is usually in distress or panicked in some way. It releases all kinds of shit
into the bloodstream. Dopamine and serotonin or something, that relaxes the
omega and eases him into a state of mind that is better and less harmful to
him. It’s all scientific shit that I never understood.”
“But it only works if you do it to me?”
“Yeah, baby. Have you ever seen lions carry their cubs by the nape of their
neck? It’s kind of the same thing. It calms them.”
Tom sniffed and rested his head on Chris’s broad shoulder. “I would like it if
you did that to me. But not him. He really scared me.”
Chris rubbed his back, pressing his cheek where Mick had bitten him, already
working to rid him of the other man’s scent. “I’m sorry he did, Tom. I never
expected him to come into the house. He usually doesn’t. I think he might have
smelled you from outside. It’s the only reason I can think of that he wouldn’t
piss out in the garden.”
His scowl drew his thick brows low, and Tom traced a finger down his nose,
letting his thumb trace over his lips. This was troubling him more than Tom
originally thought.
“But I’m yours, Daddy. He can’t touch me, right?”
“There are unspoken rules among Alphas, Tom. Claims are sacred. Claims are
immediately recognizable, just like hair color or what clothes you’re wearing.
There’s no way to really hide them. Mick knew that you were mine. But he still
tried something like gentling you, which is one of the most intimate things
that occur between alphas and omegas. It’s a part of our bond. It’s something
biological that only happens between people who are mated. You will respond
only to my gentling because you’re mine and I’m yours. He knows this.” He shook
his head. “I’m fucking furious that he tried it.”
“Please don’t be mad, Daddy. I don’t want you upset.”
“I won’t show it. Not to them. Not to the crew. But I won’t forget this. I’m
already on edge about the attention you draw from other men. Even right after
we met, I worried about you. You don’t realize it, but people stare after you,
Tom. And another alpha would recognize you were different. Just like I did.”
Tom shifted, uneasy with this knowledge about himself. He had never seen
himself as a sexually attractive person. He was gangly and still growing, with
pointy elbows and knobby knees, with long exposed collarbones and a sprinkling
of freckles on his shoulders. The gap in his teeth was slowly closing, but
still visible; his curls were unruly; his chest was thin, his laugh was wheezy,
he mumbled in his sleep, he—.
“You’re so beautiful, Tom,” Chris said quietly, looking down at their joined
hands. “I saw you that day at the prison and I couldn’t move for a moment. You
were sitting there, body twisted in the chair to look at me, and the sun was
shining through the window and your hair was all lit up, and your eyes were so
round, expectant, mouth open into this tiny ‘o’. I felt on fire, standing
there, with you waiting for me.”
Tears shimmered in Tom’s vision, and he blinked fast. “That was one of the best
days of my life, Daddy. Meeting you. All of my hopes confirmed. I couldn’t stop
thinking about you.”
They reached for each other at the same time, hugging hard, Tom whispering his
affection.
“Can you imagine,” Tom said quietly. “If I’d been on my period. He said I
smelled good. He would have known.”
Breathing out a sigh through his nose, Chris hooked an arm around Tom’s neck
and dragged him into a hard hug. “People will find out eventually. When I get
you big with my baby.” Tom smiled and hid his face in Chris’s armpit. “Other
male omegas have existed that are like you, with girl parts. It’s a rare thing,
but they’re highly coveted. Treasured. They’re known as Duals.”
Tom gave a small little gasp, burrowing further into Chris’s armpit.
“You’ve heard of them?”
Silent, Tom nodded.
Chris chuckled. “Uncommon, princess. Like a siren. Or wood nymph.”
Tom peeked up at him, eyes flashing with mirth. “A sprite. Or a fairy.”
Kissing his crown of curls, Chris rocked him in place. “My fairy. My nymph. So
beautiful. I don’t deserve you.”
“I get to say who does or doesn’t deserve me, Daddy.” Tom stood on his tiptoes
and wrapped both arms around that wide, strong neck, and smiled. “And I say you
do. More than anyone.”
Sliding his lips over Chris’s stubbly cheek, he found the matching pair and
kissed him. Chris grabbed him up tight, Tom’s toes skimming the floor.
“Will you be okay, babe? While I go back outside?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’ll wait in here for you.”
Chris glanced at the door. “The damn knob doesn’t have a lock. I never needed
one. But I’ll install one tomorrow, so that you feel safer.”
And after his shower, dressed in an old shirt of Chris’s that he pulled from a
hanger in the closet, Tom did feel safer. He cuddled around a pillow and
flipped through the channels, finally settling on a cooking show about fancy
cupcakes.
A thunder of roaring engines sounded suddenly from outside and he jumped up,
tiptoeing down the hall to the front window in the living room.
Chris was standing at the start of his dirt road as about twenty motorcycles
charged past him and into the shimmering desert. The sun was bright and dusty,
the winds swirling around Chris as he started back up toward the house, taking
a long drag from his cigarette. He saw Tom at the window and paused, blowing
the white smoke out through the side of his mouth. He smiled, and Tom
remembered how Chris had looked just after beating Jeff, not a speck of blood
on him, the man lying wrecked at his feet and the crunch of bone still a sharp
echo on wind.
Tom put his hand against the windowpane, and smiled back.
**
After the guys left, they jumped on his bike and rode over to the restaurant by
the mechanic shop where Chris was working. The evening was cool, darker clouds
kicking in from the east, a breeze ruffling Tom’s curls as they walked through
the front entrance. Mexican music flowed out of the speakers anchored to the
ceiling corners as the cooks and servers shouted out to each other in Spanish.
Hand in hand, they ordered their meal at the counter of steak burritos and
chips, and then sat in a corner booth. Sodas uncapped and fizzing, Tom turned
in the seat with a knee bent up, listening as Chris told him a story from when
he was in high school – “I flew around the corner, right, and it wasn’t my
fault the girls’ locker room wasn’t locked!” Tom laughed sweetly as the soda
bubbled up his nose, trying to breathe through the burn and the hiccups.
Sitting beside him, Chris watched as Tom’s eyes scrunched up, his cheeks red,
giggling as he cupped a hand before his mouth to catch the dripping liquid. He
couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was radiant in his happiness, something he
felt Tom had been hesitant to show before in his life, as if someone would see
it and march up to snatch it away, demanding to know where he got off thinking
he deserved such a thing.
But he does deserve it, Chris thought, wiping a stray drop with his thumb. He
deserves everything good in this world.
Tom, rosy cheeked, lashes cast low, smiled and held his wrist while they waited
for their food. The man who brought out their dinner shook Chris’s hand and
asked them how they were doing. Tom nodded shyly and returned his smile, liking
the kind spark in the man’s brown eyes. Once he left, Chris explained that he
knew the guys who ran the place, brothers by the name of Román and Adán. They
had all gone to high school together, and were good men Chris had known for
years. They were vocal about support for alpha and omega relationships, which
some people were adamantly, fiercely, opposed to. Not that Chris cared. When
faced with him in person, very few people had very much to say.
“I don’t blame them,” Tom said, pecking at Chris’s plate. “My Daddy is a big
man.” He scrunched his nose in an affectionate air kiss and took a big bite of
his own burrito.
Glancing around, Chris saw there was a lull in foot traffic.
“I gotta take a piss, babe. You okay for a minute?”
“Mmhmm,” Tom breathed, sipping his soda. Chris gave his thigh a squeeze and
then slid from the booth. A minute later, he washed his hands and stepped out
into the hall, where he bumped into Román. They gave each other a fond hug.
“Chris, it’s great to see you, bro.”
“Thanks, Rome. It’s good to be out.”
“Six years, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. No way, man. Not for me. When my primo Antonio got locked up, my moms
told me and Adán that we would never end up in a place like that. She kept us
in line.”
Chris laughed. “Wish she could have adopted me.”
“Shit, man. Gringo like you would have attracted plenty of attention in my
neighborhood.” He clapped Chris on the shoulder with a laugh. “Hey, word on the
street is you’re bonded.”
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
“A little bird,” Román smiled. “That him out there? Your little bird?”
Chris glanced out into the dining room where Tom was playing a game on his
phone, tongue poking out as he concentrated.
Chris smiled, crossing his arms. “Yeah, that’s him. My little bird.”
“Damn! How old is he?”
Chris knocked him on the shoulder. “Old enough,” he lied.
“Nah, you know me and Adán ain’t ratting on nobody. You and him are good, I’m
good, too.”
“Thanks, man,” Chris said, shaking his hand. “But he looks younger than he
actually is.”
Román winked at him. “He’s a looker, man. Think you can handle him?”
Chris chuckled. “Been doing alright so far.”
“Bet he draws lots of attention.” Román’s eyes flicked over to the entrance,
where two men entered. Both immediately turned to the corner where Tom sat.
“Check it, check it.” He gestured with his chin. Chris turned to see both
alphas ignore the front counter and make a beeline for Tom. He sat unaware,
cheeks hollowed out around his straw, eyes glued to the screen of his phone.
Chris was already moving forward, but Román grabbed his arm.
“Let’s see what happens, Chris.” Angry, Chris snapped his gaze back to him, and
Román hurried to explain. “Look, you’re bonded. Should be nothing. They won’t
get near him. I bet you.”
Not until the men were within five feet of him did Tom finally take notice of
them. He sat up hurriedly, straw slipping free of his lips, phone gripped
tightly in both hands. Eyes wide, he stared at the men, who came to a slow stop
before him. The taller man took a sniff at the air, eyes landing on the still
visible bite mark on Tom’s neck. And very slowly, both men turned to look at
where Chris stood in the short hallway to the bathrooms, Román standing with
his arms crossed just behind him, his back up. There was a tense moment when no
one moved, and then the first man gave a short nod and turned away from Tom,
followed by his friend. They left the restaurant and disappeared into the dark
outside.
“Great. Lost two customers because of your boyfriend.” Román patted his
shoulder good-naturedly, and Chris finally took a deep, steadying breath. He’d
been about to charge across the restaurant to make sure those men didn’t touch
Tom. Their run-in with Mick in his bedroom had set him out of sorts, doubting
things that should always make complete sense, like bonds between alphas and
omegas and the respect and observance other alphas had toward such mated
couples.
“I better go to him,” he whispered, and excused himself from Román.
“Hey, tell your boy that whenever he needs a bite or a cold soda, to come on in
and it’s on the house.”
Chris shook his hand again. “That’s decent of you, Rome. Thank you.”
Tom had that nervous flit about him when Chris returned to the booth. He
immediately squeezed in under his arm.
“They knew, didn’t they, Daddy? They knew I was yours?”
“Yes, babe. That’s exactly how bonds work,” Chris said, tossing an arm over
Tom’s shoulders. His eyes narrowed on the dark windows, seeing nothing. “How
they should always work, when you know what matters to a man the most.”
**
Back on the bike, Chris turned west on the interstate. The night air was cool
on the highway, and Tom bundled himself against his back, keeping his head up
so his helmet wouldn’t bump Chris’s shoulder. But once they exited, the winds
calmed down and the temperature became comfortable again. He felt Tom bounce in
excitement when he saw where they were headed. The Desert Sun Swap Meet was
open late on weekends, and it was only now starting to get a little more
exciting than during their day hours. In one corner stood a tall carousel with
its flaking prancing unicorns and goats and dragons, shining eye balls rolling
with every revolution. There was a petting zoo and a small arena where timid
ponies carrying squirming toddlers walked in lazy circles. A tangled section in
the center was the food area, smelling of burnt sugar and sizzling grease. And
all throughout were aisles upon aisles of stalls where people sold all manner
of stuff: old mechanical gear, fashionable clothing and shoes, electronics and
protection gadgets, makeup and perfumes and blankets and children’s toys and
candy and native artwork and sunglasses and baseball caps and workout gear and
outdoorsy stuff.
Chris parked at the edge of a cluster of other motorcycles, Tom climbing off
and placing his helmet on the seat. His eyes were wide on the swap meet
entrance.
“Never been?” Chris took his hand, starting a slow walk, Tom following.
“Only during the day once, with my friend Bobby. We came because his phone
charger had busted on the bus ride home.” They crossed in and he looked around
in awe. “It looked nothing like this.”
Chris pulled him into the passing crowd, spreading an arm over his shoulders
and tucking him against his side. “I liked to come here before I was locked up.
But, I’m an old man. These things entertain me.”
Tom grinned up at him. “You’re my old man.” He stood on his tiptoes and
whispered in Chris’s ear. “I love you, old man.”
Chris paused in his walk, tugging Tom under a green awning. “You love me?”
Flushed, Tom blinked up at him, and nodded. “I can feel it. Just in here.” He
touched his chest. “Can’t you?”
Chris swallowed past the lump in his throat, arm hooked around Tom’s pale neck,
Tom’s hands curled in his shirt. “Yeah, babe,” he said, a bit roughly. “Yeah, I
feel it.” I’ve felt it since that first day at the prison.
Smiling wide, Tom crushed him in a tight hug and then pulled Chris toward the
carousel. They had a spin on it, Tom astride the dragon, rising and falling,
rising and falling, Chris keeping a nervous hand on the small of his back, eyes
squinting up at the gold spray-painted pole that pistoned in and out of the
creaking ceiling. And after, they fell in line at one of the food trucks, Chris
buying Tom a bag of kettle corn and a sugar-frosted funnel cake, topped with a
wallop of strawberries. He got a small bag of sunflower seeds for himself. They
sat at one of the tables, the umbrella rocking gently as the wind picked up.
Tom ate his treats and then wiped a napkin over his face, but Chris reached
over and rubbed a bit of white powder from his cheekbone.
“Mm! Daddy, can we go there right now?”
He pointed at a stall lit with fluorescent light and spewing some kind of poppy
song. Chris could see a layout of makeup and perfumes in the front, the
interior walls lined with what looked like stickers and phone cases.
“Yeah, babe. Let’s go.” Tom went ahead, Chris walking up a little slower, the
bag of seeds in his hand. He spit out the husks, glancing over the items up
front.
“Wanna see anything?” the girl behind the table said.
“I’m with him,” Chris said, pointing to Tom, who was inside the tent, looking
at the wall of stickers. “I’ll see what he sees.” She grunted and returned to
her phone. Tom was talking to a man who seemed to be helping him.
“Can I see that one, please?”
The man reached a metal claw to the highest row of stickers and brought down
the one Tom had indicated. It was a pink bow, glittered and slightly bigger
than Chris’s hand.
“What did you find?”
Tom held the sticker in both hands, smoothing his fingers over the knot of it.
“It’s so pretty.”
“I’ll get it for you.” Tom gasped up at him. Chris nodded. “Anything you want,
babe.”
They left the stall with the pink sticker, two lip glosses, a pair of red and
pink heart-shaped sunglasses, and a purple phone case. Tom clutched the bag of
gifts in his arms, hips bumping as he walked under Chris’s arm.
“Thank you, Daddy. I’m so excited!”
“What’s the sticker for?”
“I was thinking for my helmet?”
“We’ll put it on back home.”
Tom hummed and leaned against him lazily, whispering, “Home,” with a small
smile.
They made a giant circle around the bulk of the stalls, stopping to see the
ponies, checking an array of power tools, walking through the low-hanging
display of metal sunflower garden decorations. They were passing a brightly lit
corner booth when Tom gasped and slowed to a stop, Chris busy watching a
demonstration of a car engine disassembly.
Blinking up at the tent, Tom soaked in every detail of the lingerie on display.
He remembered their names from that Victoria’s Secret catalog he’d swiped from
his neighbor’s mailbox, bras and panties of every color, pink and purple and
yellow and blue bustiers and corsets, lace and silk teddies, babydolls and
slips, garters and belts and sheer gowns and bikinis and thongs.
He swallowed past a bout of dry mouth. There was one in particular that caught
his attention, a garter belt bra and thong package, all lace and black straps.
He suddenly envisioned himself in it, Chris watching him wear it. He would need
to find some stockings, but maybe if—
“You ready to go, babe?”
Tom snapped to attention, whirling around and taking Chris’s elbow. “Yes, I’m
ready.”
The night air was crisp on the drive home, cicadas buzzing in the black-washed
landscape of the surrounding desert. In his garage, Chris wiped down the helmet
and then very carefully peeled off the decal sticker from its protective back.
Tom hovered at his shoulder, pointing to where he wanted it. Once stuck on,
Chris wiped a moist cloth over the pink bow, smoothing out the bubbles so that
it lay flawlessly on the surface. He handed it to Tom, who shoved it down on
his head, turning to the side so that the bow was presented brightly.
“Looks good,” Chris smiled, lifting the visor to see Tom’s eyes. They were
crinkled with happiness.
“Thank you, Chris,” he said, voice muffled.
“You’re welcome, babe.”
They left the bike and the helmet in the garage, and Chris chained up the
doors. After showering and brushing their teeth, Tom fell asleep nestled warmly
against him, the TV’s blue ghost light flickering over them. But Chris stayed
awake, running small circles on Tom’s shoulder with his thumb, the other hand
cupped protectively over the back of his neck, willing the red scratch marks
from Mick’s teeth to go away. Even now a bubble of flame threatened to bloom
over his vision.
Fucking Mick.
He, of all people, should know better. Their leader. Unbelievable.
Chris wasn’t about to fall for his half-assed line about needing to piss, or
being all choked up over a distressed pup like Tom. The whole situation had him
on edge. As one alpha to another, Mick knew just how to placate Chris, using
nonchalance to avoid him exploding. And Chris had been on the verge, the sight
of Tom on the floor with that thin sheet the only thing protecting his modesty,
Mick’s scent strong on him. Chris almost jumped him that moment.
But then Tom’s small voice, whispering for him, and the only steps Chris could
take were toward him, kneeling down, holding him tightly. He’d been shaking,
panicked heart fluttering at his throat. He never wanted Tom so afraid, and so
angry. He’d been startled to find Mick above him, and once safe in Chris’s arms
a dignified fury swam in the undercurrent of his words.
Chris was proud of him. For defending himself. For speaking out against Mick.
Mick should learn early enough that Tom would try his damnedest to fight off an
unwanted touch.
Tom shifted against him, his soft mouth pursing as he mumbled something in his
sleep.
“I’m here, baby,” Chris whispered. He flicked off the TV and settled down on
the pillows more comfortably. Tom half-woke, sitting up and blinking around
owlishly. But Chris just chuckled and dragged him back down again.
Sunday was a lazy day of sex and sleeping in. Worn out, blissfully bleary, Tom
lounged back on the bed flipping through the channels and laughing when Chris
tossed him gently on his back, spreading his legs and dipping low between them.
Tom would arch and moan, pinching his nipples and grabbing Chris’s hair,
grinding against his face and coming with a shout. And then Chris would bury
himself deep, hips snapping hard, Tom’s inner walls giving smoothly around his
thickness.
“What does princess want?”
“You, Daddy,” Tom breathed, legs collapsed to the sides, elbows tucked under
him on the bed. The smooth creases of his groin were gouged deep from the angle
Chris held his legs, but he looked up at Chris, eyes heavy with want, delicate
neck bobbing with every thrust. “Your cum. Your kisses. All of you.”
Coming inside him was the simplest, loveliest delight of his life, the head
swelling and bursting, his seed spitting thickly, bubbling out. And Tom, the
naughty, filthy kitten he was, would reach between them and dip his fingers
into the spilling cream, sucking them in his mouth, moaning as he blinked up at
Chris. Because Tom, in his short sixteen years, had never experienced something
as painfully erotic as touch, as the hurricane gush of bodily fluids, or a kiss
as a ribbon snaps deep inside you and you begin your ascent.
There was always some part of him touching some part of Chris, testing the
texture, the give and bend of a limb, the scent in the crook of nimble and
secret places. Knotting was his favorite. He loved being stuck to Chris, lying
face to face, whispering and sharing things about themselves. It was only them
and their flesh and their words, breaths on a face, fingers in hair, lips
pressed hurriedly in between.
“My rut will come soon.”
“When, Daddy?”
“Soon. I don’t know. I’m starting to feel something. Maybe a couple of weeks.”
“After the bonfire.”
“Yes. I think so.”
Tom was quiet, and then, “You’ll need me?”
“Every day, Tom. Every minute. I won’t be able to be without you.”
Tom half-turned onto his side, wincing when Chris’s knot pulled tight. He took
his head in both hands. “I’ll be here for you. Always.”
“It might be sudden, babe. You might be in the kitchen getting some water and
I’ll storm in and bend you over.”
“You say that like I don’t want that either.” Tom rolled his eyes, squeezing
Chris’s earlobe.
“I just don’t want you to be scared. Of me. When it happens.” He blinked and
looked down, not wanting to catch any looks on Tom’s face that he would wish to
forget. “I might be aggressive. I might not respond if you speak to me. I might
just take you for myself.”
Tom took his chin and forced Chris to meet his eyes.
“I think it’s important to understand, Daddy, that I feel this enormous emotion
right here for you. It started right after we met. It became cemented in me
right after we mated. I feel…whole when I’m with you, and I ache when I’m not.
I’m not sure if it’s the same with you—.”
“It is,” Chris cut in roughly, ice blue eyes on the pink bow of Tom’s mouth.
Tom smiled. “I want you to be okay. I want you to be healthy and safe and
unhurt. I don’t want you to thirst or be hungry. In any capacity of those
words. And when you’re in your ruts, my place is beside you. Because I will
want to be there. Helping you. Feeling all the pleasure you can give me.
Feeling all the pleasure I give you. You wanting me has allowed me to be the
freest, like I could fly.”
“I do more than just want you, Tom.” Chris shifted closer, his knot throbbing.
They both squeezed their eyes closed, panting a beat, opening them again and
smiling. “I love you, too. You told me last night and I was frozen in all my
happiness, in all my disbelief. That this flower, you, could love someone like
me.”
“But you’re all I ever wanted,” Tom said softly. His brows puckered. “You
protect me and keep me safe, you keep me happy and healthy. I know it’s only
been a short time, but I trust you. I trust you with my life, for the rest of
my life. Okay?”
Chris exhaled, relief thrumming through him. “Okay, babe.”
With throated giggles and murmurs, they finished for the third time, wilting to
the bed in a tumble of sweat and sighs, wrapping limbs like a pretzel to rest.
***** Nicotine and Salt *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
A week later and they were back in Chris’s house. Tom was freshly bruised with
a bite mark on his inner thigh, the one on his neck regretfully faded and
almost gone.
“Are you sure about this babe?”
“Yes. In fact,” he said, scooping his new shirt and a pair of panties from his
backpack. “I think I’ll wear these to the bonfire.”
Chris looked down and took a deep breath. “Babe, you don’t have to go if you
don’t want to. Mick thinks he can dictate things in our personal life and
honestly, if it’s not crew business, then I don’t fucking care.”
Tom sat down beside him. “Will you be with me?”
“Every minute.”
He shrugged. “Then I don’t care, either. I’ll go. I mean, he did frighten me
last week, and bit me. But I felt so much better as soon as you were in the
room. I knew he couldn’t hurt me, then. And he looked like he wanted to. Hurt
me. Besides the biting. He looked at me the way Jeff sometimes does. But I’m
still mad about it. Because I’m yours. And maybe he should be reminded of
that.” He crossed his arms and stared determinedly across at Chris, who
chuckled and kissed his cheek.
“You’re absolutely right. I won’t leave your side,” he said, wrapping him under
his arm. “And I think you’ll have fun. The fire gets so big. And there’s music
and drinking.”
“When does it start?”
“Late tonight. So maybe we should nap before, yeah? Don’t want my kitten
getting sleepy before midnight.”
Tom poked his belly. “More like don’t want my old man getting sleepy before
midnight.”
Chris grabbed him and tickled his ribs. “Old man, huh? I’m your old man?”
Tom burst out in giggles and bucked, squirming to get away. “Yes! You’re myold
man!”
Chris pushed him back on the bed and pulled his panties to the side, devouring
him with kisses and filthy whispers and a good amount of love bites, sighs and
breaths like flowers on their skin.
They did nap, Tom waking up later in the day to Chris already inside him. He
fucked him face down on the bed, hand curling into his hair, tugging with every
thrust. Tom gushed with a delighted little laugh, his pussy pulsing around
Chris, who bent low to lick at the back of Tom’s neck.
He still wasn’t satisfied that Mick’s scent was off Tom, and he wanted to make
sure everyone at the bonfire knew to whom Tom belonged.
After limping into the shower, Tom took his time washing himself, scrubbing at
his scalp and under his arms, between his legs and down to his lower back and
plump cheeks. He shaved again and smacked his jaw with soothing lotion, passing
the bathroom to Chris, who sniffed at him on the way in, grunting his approval.
And while Chris showered, Tom fiddled some more with his phone. He clicked on
the camera app, his screen zooming into focus on the front wall. Looking at the
closed bathroom door, a smile tugged on his face as he thought of something.
When he slipped into the bathroom a minute later, steam rose high on the
ceiling, the mirror fogged and sweating with it. He could hear Chris moving
around behind the shower curtain and he approached it quietly, phone in one
hand. Slowly, he pulled the curtain to the side and there was Chris, soaping
his face, big bubbly suds streaming down his chest and belly, gathering around
the root of his cock and spilling further along his legs.
Tom’s mouth fell open, still amazed at his big body, the muscles and the
tattoos, made more menacing somehow with the soap thinly obscuring most of
them. Chris wiped his face and peered at Tom in surprise. Tom aimed the camera
and took a picture, capturing Chris from the neck down.
“I’m keeping that forever,” he grinned, saving it into an album.
Chris smiled crookedly at him, rinsing off the rest of the soap. “You can take
more if you like.”
“Actually,” Tom said, putting his phone down on the sink counter. He eyed
Chris’s cock, filling slowly with interest. Thick veins stood out clearly, and
Tom suddenly wanted to feel the rise and bump of them on his tongue. “I want to
suck you.” He said it breathlessly, fingers curling into loose fists. Taking a
step forward, he started tugging off the only thing he wore, a pair of loose
boxers.
“Suck me?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, stepping into the stall and dropping to his knees on the wet
tiles. Chris blocked most of the shower spray from hitting him directly, but a
light mist still landed on his face, clinging to his lashes as he looked up at
Chris. Images of some of the things he’d seen guys do to other guys online
flooded Tom’s head, but face to face with Chris’s cock had his mouth watering
and he knew abruptly, somewhat on instinct, what to do.
Leaning forward, he nosed along his sac, hanging heavy and covered in a fuzz of
blond hairs. And then he licked a stripe down the curve, letting the tip of his
tongue curl under his balls and sucked one into his mouth. Above him, Chris
groaned, a hand splayed on the wall for balance. Water dripped off his nose and
jawline, a swimming outline for his handsome face, hair hanging in sharp
shreds.
Tom blinked up at him, face beading with the tiniest droplets of water, and he
moaned, rolling the sac around before letting it fall free with a pop.
“Fuck,” Chris whispered, a shudder ripping through him.
Tom smiled and moved to the other side, sucking and rolling, careful with the
spongy feel of his balls. When he took his cock in hand, he pumped it a few
times, the tip gleaming.
He kissed the tip, red and extended past the foreskin, and closed his lips over
it. Chris gasped, fingers streaking loudly on the tiled wall as he fought for a
grip. It was bitter and salty, reminding Tom of the almonds his mother used to
pack for him when he was in elementary school, back when she used to still do
that sort of thing. Tongue flicking over the slit, like boys did online, he
lapped at the head, slipping down only an inch, letting his mouth get used to
the flavor and feel of it. But Chris was shaking and looking down at him with
something dark in his eyes, and Tom felt a spark zip down his spine. He crawled
closer, sitting back on his heels and holding Chris by the hips. Widening his
mouth he went as far down as he could before Chris was nudging his throat.
Gagging, Tom yanked his head away and coughed, wiping his mouth.
A big hand cupped his head. “Are you okay?” Chris asked, voice rough.
Tom nodded and hurried back, taking him in his mouth and sucking hard, tongue
curling. He wanted all of him, he wanted his throat bruised and sore, the warm
spill of his cum the only thing able to soothe it.
Bobbing his head, he alternated between sucking him and lapping at the
underside, fascinated with the thick vein. It wasn't like studying his own
cock, because the cock of another was suddenly like an entirely new animal, and
Tom wanted to do it right, wanted Chris to remember this first time forever.
“Relax your jaw, baby,” Chris rasped. “You’re doing good. Can you go deeper?”
Tom, desperately wanting to, nodded and opened wide, swallowing Chris down
again. But when he nudged his throat, Tom breathed in deep through his nose and
relaxed his jaw, looking up at Chris.
“Good boy,” Chris praised. “Hold still.” He cupped a hand on Tom’s head and
wrapped the other around his neck, holding him steady. And then he started
pumping his hips, slow and gentle. Mouth stretched, Tom knelt obediently, hands
around Chris’s thighs, staring up at him with near worship.
“Close your lips, that’s it, good.”
Tom moaned and Chris’s hips stuttered.
“Such a good little slut, aren’t you?”
Tom blushed, and blinked once, lashes heavy with shower water, dotted like
diamonds, like a spider web in morning dew. He tried not to gag, but Chris was
pushing in deeper than before and his eyes watered painfully. Breaking off
fast, he coughed wetly, his hacks vibrating in the small bathroom.
“Tom—,” Chris started, but Tom took a deep breath and wrapped his mouth around
his cock again, moaning at the hard feel of it, the heat and scent, muted
somewhat by the water. Sneaking a hand between Chris’s legs, he trailed his
fingers along his perineum, cupping his sac gently. He sucked hard, eagerly,
saliva spilling down his chin, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Look at you,” Chris breathed. “My cum slut. You gonna take my cum, baby?
Swallow it down?”
Tom pulled off, voice wrecked, “Yes, Daddy.” And then he continued, bobbing and
sucking. Chris’s fingers curled in his hair, hips moving faster, erratic and
rough. Blinded by tears, Tom put his hands on Chris’s hips, pushing back a
little, but Chris was too far gone, gripping his hair with both hands, shoving
into his mouth. The force of Chris’s thrusts and the tingling in Tom’s legs had
him shuffling back, and Chris followed him. Pressed to the wall, jaw sore, Tom
let Chris move his head, breaths short, feeling faint. He keened, legs bent,
the water pooling under his ass.
“Take it,” Chris growled, hips snapping forward. “Take what Daddy gives you.”
And then he cried out, shuddering violently. His cock pulsed in Tom’s mouth and
a warm gush of cum spilled down his throat, fluttering to swallow it down.
Tom grunted and hollowed his cheeks, sucking on the head like he would a
lollipop, small streams of cum coating his tongue, making him dizzy with want.
His pussy pulsed, and he was hard, his erection hanging heavy between his legs,
but he didn’t touch it, all his focus on Chris.
Chris sighed, weary, as he leaned up against the wall, his cock falling free
from Tom’s lips.
Wiping his mouth, Tom grinned. “Did I do good, Daddy?”
Chris touched his cheek, eyes soft. “What did I do to deserve you?” he
murmured.
Tom, heart flipping, leaned into his hand and nuzzled his palm. Chris squatted
and reached between Tom’s legs, the water spraying on them full force now. He
gasped, angling his head away just as Chris took his cock, fisting the tip,
sinking two long fingers into his cunt. Pumping with his hand, his blue eyes
were sharp on Tom’s face, absorbing every flinch, every lip bite. Stroke and
pump, again and again, Tom squirming against the tile, he came fast, Chris
aiming his cock up, ribbons landing on his cheeks and brow.
Tom giggled when Chris peppered his face with tiny kisses, lapping up the warm
cum. He drew back, face oddly still pink, as if overwhelmed with something he
couldn't quite name.
Tom stayed quiet, wondering what Chris was thinking.
"I really do love you," Chris said at last, quietly, eyes on the wet floor.
Tom ran the blunt edge of his nails through Chris’s shorn hair. “I really do
love you, too.”
They smiled, staring.
And then Chris pulled Tom to his feet and gave him a long kiss before toweling
off and leaving the room. Tom rinsed his body once more, legs still feeling
shaky and a little weak. He found his phone on the bed when he stepped out to
change, and he took a moment to open up his pictures and pull up the one of
Chris, gazing at it for a long minute before closing out of it.
"I'll be right back. Going to the garage," Chris called from the living room.
"Okay!" Tom called back, starting to rifle through his pile of belongings.
After applying lotion on himself and rolling on the perfume Chris gave
him—leaving wet streaks over his neck, behind his ear, and in the crooks of his
elbows—Tom slipped into the bright pink panties and his favorite black jeans.
Sitting low on his hips, they were tight and slim along his legs, making the
curve of his ass look great. He pulled the black and white shirt on over his
head and then sat at the edge of the bed to tie his new lace-up boots.
Jeans tucked into the top of the boots, Tom walked in circles around the room,
liking the snug feel of them with every turn. They were a little tight, but he
knew they would soften once he broke them in. Skimming some gloss over his
lips, he finished with a generous coating of mascara, his lashes black-tinted,
curling upward in long spikes. Tom gazed at himself in the mirror, adjusting
his crotch slightly. His nails were still in good condition, dark glitter
green, so he left them as they were.
After tucking his phone in his back pocket, he left the room to find Chris.
The evening was bleeding into night, the far horizon a light orange, reminding
him of peaches and creamsicles and a lip balm he’d snagged from his mother’s
handbag when he was fourteen. The air was still warm, but the desert always
grew cool at night and he hoped the bonfire would keep him warm. That, or Chris
would.
His boots crunched on the pebbled ground as he approached the garage, light
spilling from between the cracks of the doors. Chris was moving something
heavy, a loud dragging noise cutting into the quiet night.
“Hey,” Tom said, stepping onto the dusty concrete floor.
In the middle of pulling a large box into the far corner, Chris glanced at him
and then did a double take.
“Tom,” he said, eyes widening, lips parting in a surprised smile. “Baby—wow,
you look gorgeous.”
Tom stuck his hands into his back pockets, ducking his head with a blush.
“Thanks. I think it looks pretty nice.” He turned on his heel and let Chris
look at his back, where the lace tickled softly on his skin, his bottom pert
and high in his jeans.
Chris abandoned the box and stepped toward him. “More than nice. Shit, you’re
going to be the prettiest person there.” He pulled him close, gasping when he
saw Tom’s eyes. “Your eyelashes!”
Tom laughed. “You like them?”
“I love everything about you,” Chris whispered, taking Tom’s hips and pushing
him against the worktable. He cupped Tom’s ass. “Are you wearing them?”
Nodding, Tom grinned.
“Which color?”
“Pink.”
Chris groaned and bent to kiss him. He pulled back, licking his own lips in
surprise. “Strawberry.”
Tom giggled, and pulled on his hand, leading him to the door. “Let’s go, Daddy,
before you smear my mascara.”
“Yes, babe,” Chris laughed.
He chained the garage and locked the door to his house. Jumping on the Cross
Bones, Tom put on his helmet, sporting the new pink bow sticker, and hugged
Chris tight.
“Will you fuck me tonight, Daddy? When we get back?” He trailed a finger behind
Chris’s ear. “I want to drown in your cum.”
Chris revved the engine. “Keep talking like that and we won’t be going
anywhere.”
Tom smiled and pursed his lips, lowering his visor and hanging on tight.
**
The place they went to was even further in the desert, Tom was amazed to
discover. He didn't think anyone lived out here, believing it was all state-
owned land and rotting animal carcasses. Passing by the black silhouettes of
towering saguaros and squat cactus barrels and jumping cholla and thin-limbed
Palo Verde trees, the only illumination came from the quarter moon and Chris's
headlight. But up ahead, Tom spied a bright orange glow, spreading further into
the sky the closer they got to it. A rickety two story house loomed into view,
all peeling shingles and termite-bitten wood. Dozens of motorcycles were parked
along the dark drive, the house's two main windows reflecting the giant bonfire
so that they appeared like great blinking eyes. Chris maneuvered through the
bikes to park just within the shadows of the house.
Tom ruffled his curls as soon as his helmet was off. Chris took his hand and
they walked toward the inferno, bracketed by a low stone wall blackened by
previous fires. Around the fire, a good distance away, was a continuous
circular stone bench, where a crowd of people was already sitting. There were
more people present than had gone to see Chris the weekend before. Dressed in
lots of leather and black denim, the throng was on the older side, quite a few
of them with lined faces or gray hair, the oldest being Mick, whom Tom
immediately picked out. Mick was seated in the middle of the wall, beer bottle
in hand, red and white bandana tied loosely around his neck. He smiled at Tom,
inclining his beer toward him in greeting.
Tom squeezed Chris's hand and stepped closer to him.
A cheer arose in the crowd when people saw Chris approaching. Many were
drinking, many had tattoos and rough ear piercings, skin leathered by the sun,
all smiling genuinely as each swooped Chris into a hug. Tom hung back, smiling
as Chris returned each greeting with just as much affection.
"Quite the welcome, ain't it?"
Tom jumped and turned. Mick was standing just next to him, eyes narrowed on
Chris.
Tom crossed his arms. "Why wouldn't it be?" Tom said, a bit more sharply than
he intended. "Being gone for so long." Because of your orders, he wanted to
add.
Mick's head snapped in his direction. He smiled. "Oh, and here I thought you
were a timid one."
Tom shrugged, not wanting to give Mick the satisfaction of looking at him. "For
those who deserve it, yes."
Mick tossed his head back and laughed, a great booming cackle from deep in his
lungs. "How in the world did he ever find you, so delicate a beauty?" he asked,
eyes twinkling with mirth.
Tom smirked, eyes on Chris, who had just turned to look for him, eyes scanning
the crowd. "We found each other," he replied. Chris walked over as soon as he
saw him, and nodding once at Mick, took Tom's outstretched hand and pulled him
into the crowd.
Tom gave Mick one last look, blank and slightly disapproving before turning his
back on him and following Chris to the other side of the ring. Chris took him
through the small groups of people, rattling off names that Tom immediately
forgot. But Chris introduced him to everyone as his boyfriend, setting Tom's
stomach aflutter.
“Well, hot damn!” Tom heard someone cry. “Has Mick gotten a look at this one?”
Someone yanked the person away before Tom could pinpoint who it was, but he
noticed Chris’s brows draw low, the hard clench in his jaw. He gripped Tom
closer and moved on.
Apart from that one comment, no one batted an eye at Chris’s introductions, and
Tom was grateful for that. There were a few alphas in the crowd, apart from
Chris and Mick. Tom turned every which way, trying to keep the ranks in order,
but it was too much too soon. The crowd was a mixture of alpha and omega, with
a handful betas included.
A few people hung back, Tom noticed, all men and younger than most. Maybe these
were new additions to the gang. Six years was a long time and change happened
no matter the circumstances. Still, they all looked at Chris with something
like reluctant awe, a bit of jealousy in their stares, sipping their beers,
jaws gritted with every swallow. Tom could imagine what it might be like for
them, watching Chris welcomed back like some kind of long lost son, falling
right back into his spot in the crew while they might have labored and fought
to prove their worth to the other members.
Tom did his best to ignore them.
Chris headed to a spot where ten burgeoning ice chests sat on the ground.
"What did he say to you?" Chris asked as soon as they were out of anyone's
earshot.
Tom explained, keeping his voice down.
Chris shook his head, stopping and rooting around for a drink. "I don't get
what's with him. He's been strange ever since I got out. It’s unnerving."
"I don't care about him," Tom said, sidling up next to Chris. "Your friends
look so nice."
Chris straightened, a beer in one hand. "I've missed them. Since I've been
back, I've only been able to see a few here and there. But everyone's here
tonight and they're all very interested in you."
He uncapped the beer and handed it to Tom, who frowned. "Me?"
"Pretty boy like you, they all want the details," Chris laughed, lighting a
cigarette. But there was a hard edge to his chuckle and Tom wondered if it had
to do with general nosiness or that remark about Mick.
A twinge of nervousness lit in Tom's gut. "I didn't even think about that,
Chris. Would they judge me? Or you?" He hated how small his voice sounded.
Chris blew out smoke and tossed an arm around his shoulders. "No. No way. These
are my friends. We go back years. Some of them are mated. Some aren’t. Everyone
knows what’s up. And I'm a grown ass man. I can do what I want. Plus," he said,
murmuring around his cigarette. "I've never brought anyone around before,
so..."
He left it at that and Tom stared at him, a shot of adrenaline lighting in his
blood. But then he remembered that Mick had ordered Chris to bring Tom today.
If he hadn't done that, would Chris have brought him? And yet, they were so
recently mated, their new bond still vibrating around the edges. He couldn’t
imagine being apart from Chris, or vice verse, other than when it was
absolutely necessary, like when he had to go home during the week or when Chris
had to work. Tom knew he would have come to this bonfire regardless of
anything.
He took a swig of beer and grimaced as he swallowed it down, his first taste of
the stuff. It was wheaty and sharp and left a thick aftertaste in his mouth.
"You're not drinking?" he asked Chris.
"No," Chris said, eyes on the other side of the fire, where Mick and a few of
the older men sat laughing at something Mick had just said. "Absolutely not."
There it was again, the sense that Chris was uneasy about something, and Tom
picked up on it like a glare of light in a dark room. It seemed centered on
Mick, and Tom wondered if he still smelled of the old man because Chris didn’t
miss an opportunity to rub his cheek to the back of Tom’s neck, licking at the
spot where ragged red lines had since faded. He took Chris’s hand and squeezed
it.
A man and a woman approached from beyond the fire, and Chris blew out smoke in
a hurry to make introductions.
“These are our hosts. Jake Harper. An old, old buddy of mine,” Chris said,
laughing. “And this lovely woman is Isabel Ortiz. Is it wife now? It’s been so
long, I have no idea!”
Jake laughed and shook his head, and the woman tossed her head back, her long
black hair in flowing curls over her shoulder.
“Ha! He wishes,” she said, her voice thickened slightly by nicotine and salt.
She was covered in tattoos, but it was too dark to make any of them out. “My,
you’re a pretty one.” She extended her hand to Tom, who shook it with a smile.
She wore gold hoop earrings and had burgundy lipstick on her full mouth. Tom
suddenly knew that if he asked to try it on, she would let him.
“Your name’s so pretty,” he said. “Like you.”
She batted her lashes and tossed a surprise glance at Jake. “Look at that.
Pretty and genuinely kind. Keep him close, Christopher.”
“I will,” Chris said, slinking an arm around Tom’s waist.
“You’re an omega,” Jake said, eyes drifting to Tom’s neck. The bite mark was
faded, only the thinnest scar visible in certain light. But Tom knew that Jake
could tell. It was the scent, Chris had said.
“Mating young is the best, let me tell you,” Isabel said, hooking her arm
through Jake’s. “My first alpha died when we were in the bond only a few years.
Car accident.
Tom squeezed himself against Chris. Voice soft, he asked, “What happens when
your alpha dies?”
“You’re released from the bond. You become available for claim again.”
“Oh,” Tom said, rubbing his head on Chris’s shoulder. Isabel smiled.
“You’re fresh out the box, little darling. You have any more questions, you let
me know, cupcake. We’ll make it a girls’ night, yeah?”
Tom grinned. “Okay.”
The night passed in the same fashion. Chris kept Tom close to him, sitting them
down in the middle of a group riders that seemed the most affectionate with
Chris, telling stories of his time in prison, catching up with what had
happened since he’d seen them last. Tom counted more than one set of eyes flick
his way when they thought he wasn’t looking, and he started to realize that he
didn't care. He felt gorgeous that night. His boots were gorgeous. His mascara
and lip gloss were gorgeous. His shirt was gorgeous and his Daddy was gorgeous,
sitting beside him, their thighs touching, Chris’s arm thrown behind Tom’s
shoulders the whole time.
The more Tom drank, the braver he felt with looking around outside their small
group. He realized there were some other young people, not as young as him, but
girls in their twenties shadowing some of the men, whom Tom assumed were their
mates. He wasn't about to go and make friends with them, at least not now, not
so soon, but it helped him feel better about his age among these more weathered
individuals. He smiled when he saw Jake and Isabel by the low wall, Isabel
sitting on Jake’s lap and laughing as she gripped a beer bottle in hand. Tom
really liked her.
Sitting back comfortably in his chair, he stretched his legs out in front of
him, admiring his boots, his thin legs, the black and white stripes of his
shirt. Another swig of beer and he leaned his head back, fascinated by the
great bowl that was the sky, the stars flashing past.
He could hear the soothing and deep cadence of Chris's voice, gesticulating
with only one hand, the other thrown casually across Tom’s lap as he talked. He
and his friends laughed and shouted over each other, making up for lost time.
Tom leaned his head on Chris's shoulder, eyes wide on the group of girls that
had brought out an old boom box from the side shed and fiddled with the tuner,
settling on a poppy kind of station, of all things. They all cheered when a
dance number came on, and even though the older folks grumbled half-heartedly
about the choice of music, they all looked content to see their girls dancing
about, like those ancient mystic women darting around the bonfire, bangles at
their wrists, long hair bouncing, painted lips spread wide in dazzling smiles.
Tom sang along under his breath, foot tapping. He wanted to dance with those
girls, he wanted to hop around on both feet, beer bottle in hand, dust rising
to coat his skin. But he didn't know them and it seemed terribly uncouth to
just invite himself into their tiny dancing circle.
"And what about you, Tom. You go to the university or something?"
It took a moment for Tom to realize he was being spoken to. He blinked and tore
his eyes away from the girls. "I'm sorry?"
The guy repeated his question and Tom froze, suddenly aware of Chris’s hand in
his hair, ruffling the curls gently. Where the lie came from, he had no idea,
but next thing he knew, he'd spun a story about how he'd just finished up his
first year at the university. That he was turning twenty-one in February and
that Chris had fixed his ten speed for him, cracking a joke about how it didn't
exactly have the same kind of power as the bikes he was used to working with.
"I hear you on that," said the guy who had addressed him first. "Man, Chris, it
still hurts me about that bike you totaled just before getting tossed in the
big house," and just as quick, the focus was off Tom and back on Chris, who
relaxed beside him and continued the conversation.
Tom drank some more beer, relieved, feeling as if he'd passed some sort of
test. Still, he kept catching one of the guy’s skeptical looks, averting his
eyes when the other didn’t look away. Working extra hard not to fidget, he
couldn’t help curling his hand around Chris’s elbow, taking another long drink.
At the first lull in conversation, the guy leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I’m
sorry but, how old did you say you were again?”
“I’m sorry, but who did you say you were again?” Chris cut in, striking a match
and lighting a new cigarette. The flame, Tom couldn’t help but notice, lit his
face in an orange glow, the cold stare he gave the guy hard and gleaming.
The group around them burst out laughing, and the man, one of the new members
it seemed, looked away, taking an angry swig of his beer.
“Don’t fucking mess with Chris, Johnny!”
“He’ll fuck you up,” another man cried, and there was more laughter.
The man muttered and sat back in his seat, effectively abandoning the
conversation.
Tom wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, or how much time had passed, but
there was suddenly lots of good natured shouting and then a rickety folding
table was set before them and Chris was rolling up the sleeve of his flannel
shirt. He was going to arm wrestle, Tom realized in his slightly drunken
stupor, and his opponent was the man who had questioned Tom’s age.
Tom stared with wide eyes, accepting the cigarette Chris passed to him, taking
a small drag.
The guy tried valiantly, but there was no question Chris would win in the end.
He slammed the guy’s arm down and sat back, smiling smugly as the other stood
up, pointing a thick finger at Chris, yelling all sorts of shit about how he
cheated and it was all rigged.
The crowd booed and patted his back, telling him not to be a sore loser but he
broke away. He charged at Chris, who stood in a flash and landed one solid
punch to his jaw. There was a sickening crack and the guy hit the ground,
moaning and dazed.
Tom gasped, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Everyone seemed entirely
unconcerned, hooting and dragging the guy to his feet, dusting him off and
handing him another beer.
Chris threw an arm around Tom’s shoulders and walked them back to their seats,
snagging the cigarette and inhaling deep. Tom stood on his tiptoes and kissed
his neck, Chris muttering on about ‘that fucking dumbass’.
The later it got, the cooler it became and soon Tom was snug under Chris's arm,
shivering slightly. The girls were lying along the low wall, dozing under
blankets and sweaters, while the older people continued talking softly in their
leather jackets, fresh beer bottles in hand. How any of these people planned on
riding out of there after the amount of alcohol they'd consumed, Tom had no
idea, but then again, they seemed like the sort of people who didn't much abide
by rules.
He shifted in his seat and Chris hugged him tight, peering down at him.
"You okay, baby?"
Tom squirmed. "I have to piss."
Chris nodded. “Okay.”
As soon as they stood, Tom felt dizzy. Chris snatched him around the waist and
guided him away from the others and the warmth of the fire. Chills burst over
his skin, and he realized suddenly that the ride home was going to be very
cold.
Chris led him to the dark side of the house, where ancient looking vehicles had
rusted into the ground, bracketed by tall weeds and brambles. Chris kept a hand
on the back of his neck as Tom urinated into the weeds, moaning as his bladder
released. He zipped himself up and swayed on his feet, Chris tugging him closer
until Tom collapsed against his chest with a tired huff. Lips slid along Tom's
neck, big arms bracketing his slim belly, and he breathed out a soft laugh,
blinking slow and sleepily.
Head tossed back on Chris’s shoulders, Tom smiled up at the stars. They rocked
in place together, Chris mouthing at his jaw.
"You feel so warm," he murmured, hands trailing down over his hips.
Tom laughed. "That's rich, considering the fact that I'm freezing."
"You're tipsy," Chris whispered.
"I am not!" Tom cried, giggling again. He stumbled back a few steps and Chris
tightened his hold on him. His head spun and he clutched at Chris. “Daddy, my
throat hurts.”
“That’s from blowing me, babe.”
Tom hummed. “I want to taste you again.” He spun unevenly and tugged on the
button of Chris’s jeans. “Please, Daddy. I’ll be super quiet.”
Chris gripped his head hard, and then turned to look at the side of the house,
around which they could still hear the shouts and chatter of the rest of the
crew, the roaring blaze glowing against the black sky.
“Daddy,” Tom murmured, hiccupping once. He giggled and hiccupped again. “Daddy,
fuck me.”
Chris rubbed their noses together, their breaths puffing out in white clouds.
Tom was shivering despite holding him tightly.
“Not here, baby.”
Tom pouted, foot stomping down softly. “But I’ve been so good, Daddy.”
“I know, baby, but anyone could just—.”
Tom cupped the front of his jeans and let out an excited little squeal when he
felt Chris half hard. He dropped to his knees and unbuckled him fast. Chris
cursed quietly, but cupped Tom’s head anyway, endeared by his youthful
eagerness. He cast one more glance to the corner of the house, but they
remained in the darkened quiet, unnoticed for now behind the rusted old car
with its busted windows and mouse nests.
Tom’s mouth on his cock was searing and he hissed, hips jutting forward
slightly. Tom moaned and blinked those long lashes at him, the blue of his eyes
looking eerie in the light from the distant fire. All tongue and tight lips,
Tom moaned around him and Chris stroked his hair, feeling his chest tighten at
the soft look of adoration Tom gave him, the cling of his blue tinged hands,
the slight sway of his inebriated body. Chris kept him steady, moving his hips.
Tom relaxed his neck and let Chris fuck his mouth, tears and throat burning,
gagging only a little bit, his blood pumping faster and faster. And when Chris
came, half stifled grunt of cold-laced breath, Tom swallowed and cleaned him
good, smiling wide and lapping at the sticky drippings.
Chris hauled him up and tucked himself in. Long arms wrapped around his neck
and then Tom’s mouth was on his and they both groaned, falling back against the
car, grabbing at each other roughly.
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, his panted giggles teasing.
“I think it’s time to go,” Chris said, fighting to control his lust. He’d just
come in Tom’s mouth and his cock was already starting to stir with more
interest.
Tom nodded eagerly, eyes glazed and half-lidded. His cheeks were flush and his
arms were pebbled with chills. Chris bundled him close, wanting him wrapped up
safe and warm in bed. He pulled them back to the others, many of whom were also
leaving. It was just after two in the morning and the fire was dying down.
Everyone said their goodbyes, including Mick, who shook Chris’s hand and winked
at Tom.
Tom shifted and hid his face in Chris’s neck, murmuring quietly.
“Lightweight, is he?” Mick said good-naturedly, but Chris couldn’t help
noticing Mick’s eyes drift down Tom’s body, lingering on his dust-coated knees.
And the sudden rage he felt at knowing Mick was imagining Tom doing something
as intimate as blowing him edged Chris’s vision in red.
He nodded once tersely before pulling Tom away, tottering and stumbling beside
him.
Most of the bikes were gone, so Chris would be able maneuver onto the road
without a problem. What worried him were Tom’s chattering teeth. Before
climbing on the Cross Bones, Chris unbuttoned his flannel shirt, leaving only
the white muscle shirt he wore underneath.
“Here, baby,” he said softly, draping it over Tom’s back, buttoning it up to
his neck. He swam in it, but it would do. Practically asleep on his feet, Tom
leaned heavily against him.
“Will you stay awake for me, baby?” Chris asked, fighting back the sickening
image of Tom slipping off the back of his bike.
Tom hummed half-heartedly, but nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Are you sure? I need you to be absolutely sure. Otherwise, we can hole up
somewhere together in Jake’s house if you can’t make the trip.”
“No,” Tom said faintly. “I want your bed.”
Chris hopped on the bike and patted the seat behind him.
“Climb on, baby. It’s okay.”
Tom eyed the seat blankly, drunk enough to not realize how dangerous riding
intoxicated was. But there was literally no traffic on these back roads and
Chris’s house wasn’t far.
With some frustrated whining and shifting about, Tom finally managed to sit on
the bike, arms wrapped around his waist, already dozing against his back. His
cheeks were freezing, and Chris ran a hand roughly over Tom’s arms hoping the
friction would help warm him a little before they headed home. Afraid the
helmet would be too heavy for Tom to hold up, Chris put it on himself for lack
of a better place to keep it.
When Chris started the bike, Tom startled and cried out softly in fear, but
Chris soothed his hands, kicking at the ground to guide the bike on the road.
“Shh, it’s alright. Daddy’s here. I won’t let you fall, baby. I promise you.”
Tom quieted down, and Chris accelerated on the pavement, the cold winds cutting
around them. But Chris hardly felt it. He was a free man under the night sky,
his bike purring strong and Tom snuggling closer. There was nothing wrong with
the world.
Except there was.
The way Mick had stared at Tom like a wolf circling a lamb set Chris’s teeth on
edge. And what the fuck had Stevie meant when, with a knowing smile and
appeasing look, he’d asked if Mick had taken a look at ‘this one’, and jerked
his thumb in Tom’s direction? Had Chris missed so much in prison? Or was
something coming to light only now that Tom was in his life? His mate and
omega? Mick couldn’t – he wouldn’t dare to mess with another alpha’s omega.
He shook his head, not liking when he wasn’t in control. He knew he would need
to watch him carefully from that point on. Tom certainly wasn’t helpless, but
he was still young, still a little green around the edges and so, so beautiful.
He really had been the prettiest one there that night, even up against girls in
their prime. There was something so innocent and fragile about Tom, a soft
quality that made the roughest men want to touch and mark and claim.
Only, Chris had already done that and there wasn’t a chance in hell he was
about to let another man try the same. Nor should they try. All alphas knew
better.
That round pixy face with lips pursed around Chris’s cigarette, the trembly way
he would call him ‘daddy’, the way when in the dead of night he would find
Chris and nestle close, soft sighs in Chris’s ear. Tom was his and no one was
taking him away. There was so much about an alpha/omega relationship that Tom
still hadn’t been exposed to. Maybe speaking with Isabel would be a good idea.
She and Tom seemed to get on so well. Tom really seemed to like her.
Just as he was turning into his yard, Tom shifted against him, hands spreading
over Chris’s abdomen. Chris tightened his hold and Tom sagged on him again,
warm and moist.
Rather than take the bike inside the garage, Chris parked it as close to the
back wall of his house as possible, just outside his bedroom window. He stood
and kept a steadying hand on Tom’s shoulder, stooping to pick him up in his
arms.
Chris caught a scent of his perfume and dusty sweat, sweet like a child’s, and
he nosed along Tom’s temple trying to chase it. Cradling him gently, amazed at
how light Tom was, he maneuvered a heavy tarp over the stationary bike. Keys in
hand, Tom whispering softly, Chris walked into his house, down the hall and
into his room. He lay Tom down on the bed.
Gently, he removed his boots, his jeans, his shirt, and lastly, his lovely pink
panties. Those he stuffed under his pillow. Completely unconscious, Tom lay
perfectly still, brows slightly furrowed, hands looking bigger than usual next
to his naked hips. Stripping quickly, Chris arranged Tom higher on the bed and
then crawled under the covers next to him.
“Daddy?” Tom mumbled, lashes fluttering.
“Sleep now, baby. We’re home.”
Tom sighed. And with the lights off, Tom radiating heat, burrowing against him,
Chris kissed the crown of his head and closed his eyes.
***** Silky Stockings Rustling *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
Tom woke with the worst headache of his life. He whimpered and kept his eyes
closed, pulling the blanket over his face.
Someone chuckled.
“You need to drink water, babe.”
“No,” Tom whispered, fussing.
“Take these pills at least. They’ll help with the pain.”
Blindly, Tom let Chris feed him the pills and water, and collapsed again,
groaning.
“What happened last night?” he grumbled. His teeth felt lined with grit, tongue
huge and dry.
The bed dipped and a big hand cupped his head. “Well, you met everyone. Had a
few drinks, and I found out that you turn into a little sleepy kitten when
you’re drunk.”
Tom huffed. “Did I embarrass you?” he asked quietly.
“Not at all. You were with me all night and it was great. You were great.”
Tom blinked up at him. “What time is it, Daddy?”
“Just after one.”
Tom rolled and pressed his face to Chris’s thigh. “Wanna sleep s’more.”
“How about we go eat and then bring a movie home and then I’ll fuck you nice
and slow.”
Tom considered this. “Can we do all those things but in reverse order?”
Chris tossed his head back and laughed, Tom’s stomach flipping happily at the
sound. “Is my princess feeling neglected?”
Tom pouted. “Daddy promised to fuck me when we got back and he didn’t.”
“Yes, but princess was asleep.”
“I’m awake now.”
Chris smiled and stroked Tom’s cheek. “Okay. I’ll fuck you now.”
Tom bounced up and ran to the bathroom, his headache already starting to fade
with the pain pills. “Let me brush my teeth!”
Chris laughed again and waited patiently.
Because Tom was such a great big bundle of excitement, Chris lay back and let
Tom bounce away on his cock, already sopping, so tight, that heat so snug
around him. Those slim thighs worked a fast pace, hands splayed on his chest,
head of golden curls thrown back. He swiveled and he moaned. Chris memorized
every detail, the hot flush of pink on his long throat, the small cries, the
hot and wet heat of his cunt swallowing Chris’s cock down to the root.
“Daddy,” he moaned, his round ass pressing down hard.
“Ride me, baby,” Chris whispered, hands on his hips, helping him rotate. His
cock left wet streaks on his belly, red and swollen. Tom loved it, and Chris
loved watching him fall apart.
“Yes, yes, right there, Daddy…almost—,” Tom whined, mouth falling open as he
clenched on a hard thrust and screamed, his release thrumming through his
limbs, making him tremble and collapse forward. Chris caught him, his cum
sticky on their chests. He took a handful of Tom’s hair, gripping it.
“Gonna fuck your pussy hard. Are you mine? My princess?”
Half-dazed, Tom nodded against his neck, whispers loud and hot. “Yes, Daddy.
Your sweet princess. Your little boy.”
Planting his feet, Chris fucked up into him, skin slapping loudly until he came
too, powerful hips lifting Tom from the bed. He grunted and thrust again and
again, Tom whimpering and driving him mad with need.
They crumpled, breathing hard and kissing lazily, hands roaming in each other’s
sweaty hair.
“I’m starving,” Tom complained and they grinned.
“Come on then,” Chris said, smacking Tom’s ass. Tom yelped and hopped up,
pulling Chris into the bathroom with him.
**
The ride to Tom’s house was as quiet and somber as the last time. Tom sighed
into the muffled space of his helmet, his fingers spread over Chris's abdomen.
Strapped to his back was his bag, filled with clothes to be washed, gifts to
hide. He was already planning a trip back to Chris's sometime this week, after
Chris was done with work. The week was simply too long without seeing him at
least once. But he hoped to make it a surprise for Chris.
After a quick peck on the lips on the curb before his house, Tom laughed when
Chris donned the helmet, the pink bow bright in the sunlight.
"Quiet now, mouse," Chris muttered, but his eyes in the crook of the visor were
crinkled.
"Love you, Daddy," Tom whispered, embracing him once more before walking
backwards up the drive.
"Love you too, babe. I'll see you next weekend."
Tom watched him drive away, waving as Chris turned the corner. Heading up the
drive, he caught movement at the front window, but saw no one when he narrowed
his eyes at the house. Since his mother's car was missing, it had to be Jeff
spying on him. Feeling braver than he'd felt in months, Tom headed straight for
the front door instead of slipping in through his bedroom window. Any sign of
Jeff was gone, the living room and kitchen empty. In his room, Tom locked the
door and upended his bag on the bed. Out toppled his dirty clothes and tubes of
lip gloss. His heart-shaped sunglasses and new phone case. A small paper-
clipped bundle of money.
Tom frowned. Unclipping the bills, he counted a hundred dollars. The note said,
"For whatever you need while you're not with me. Román said you're welcome to
eat at his restaurant, no charge. Stay safe, babe. Love you." Smiling, heart
flipping in his chest, Tom hurriedly stuffed the money under his mattress. He
knew exactly what to use some of it for.
It wasn’t until later in the week that he was able to make the trip. The swap
meet wasn’t nearly as exciting as when he and Chris had visited at night. Dust
gusted through the stalls, most empty during the day. But he hoped that the one
he was looking for wasn’t. He was winded and sweaty after his bike ride, nose
scrunched against the glare of the bright golden dirt. Walking his bike through
the aisles, Tom peered through the flapping tent entrances, recognizing an
item, a face. He was close. Excited now, he turned a corner and saw it.
Bone-colored mannequins perched haughtily on the front counter, lingerie on
display, bright petals over the blue canvas of sky. An Asian woman stood
leaning on a metal pole, eyes narrowed on him. Behind her, the stall yawned
dark and cool, a deep tent with walls on both sides. He could see more nearly
nude dolls inside. Smiling, Tom approached.
“You’re open,” he said, happily. “I was so worried you wouldn’t be here during
the day.” He parked his bike by the counter.
“You here other night,” she said. “With boyfriend.”
“Yes,” Tom said brightly. “I was hoping I could buy something from you.”
She flicked the cigarette away. Mouth pursed with bright red lipstick, she
stared without blinking. Gulping, Tom waited.
“You boy or girl?”
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Toms shrugged and half-giggled. “Does it
matter?”
She returned his shrug. “To me no. I sorry if too big question.”
“It’s alright. I think I look like both?”
Humming, she nodded, and then smiled. Gesturing for him to follow her, she
turned toward her stall. “Come. Come. I show you pretty things.”
And indeed she did, leading Tom through the inside of her tent. She measured
his waist and chest and hips, humming and digging through racks of lace and
satin.
“What’s your name?” he asked, tugging the hem of his shirt down.
“Lifen.”
“Lifen,” he whispered, liking the sound. “Does that mean something?”
She grinned and straightened, her purple shawl trailing the floor. With a
sharp, green-painted nail, she tapped on her temple. “Mean clever.”
Lifen laughed, a high trickle burst that had Tom grinning too. They went
through the tent gathering items, Tom holding a bundle of lingerie in his size.
“Buy two, get one free,” she said, and patted his arm. She drifted away and,
eyes wide, Tom started rifling through them, wanting them all. They were
relatively cheaply priced, considering how nice they felt under his wandering
fingers. If he’d gone to a boutique at the mall, similar items would be
quadruple the price. With the money Chris gave him, he’d be able to afford the
two needed to get the third free, and still have plenty of money left over for
anything else he might need in the meantime.
He finally chose a sheer light blue teddy with a matching thong, a dark purple
babydoll that glittered as he held it up, and the original piece that had
caught his eye to begin with. It was a black lace garter belt with straps. It
came with a black bra and thong, and mesh stockings.
“These,” he said, smiling giddily as he passed her the lingerie.
She nodded seriously and started ringing him up. “Very good. Your boyfriend
like.”
“Oh, I certainly hope so.”
Lifen patted his hand. “He like. Yes. He like.”
Bagging his stuff, she passed him a receipt and his change. “Your name?”
“It’s Tom.”
“You come back and see me again, Tom. More pretty things for you.”
“I will. Thank you!”
He waved goodbye to her from his bike, pushing off with one foot and balancing
his bag on the handlebars. The light fizzing in his lungs became sweetly
unbearable and he found himself laughing out loud as he pedaled down the
streets of the city, bag of lingerie swinging by his knees. He wiped the tears
from his eyes as he zoomed up his driveway, and hurried through his bedroom
window. He would cut off the tags from his purchases and try them on. And then
he would send his Daddy a surprise.
**
The mechanic shop closed early Thursday nights in the summer because the owner,
a guy named Jessie, liked to go to his mother’s house to watch baseball with
her. He was flat out unapologetic about his attachment to his ailing mother,
and his workers knew better than to rib him about it. Chris was grateful for it
today. He’d been feeling off center, his muscles a tad tender, a soft
undercurrent of fever making sweat sprout on his face. He just wasn’t used to
working full days since getting released. In prison, his day was broken up into
a strict schedule that was vastly different from the physical demands of car
maintenance. He lifted and rotated the towers of tires, rolled under propped up
cars and trucks, squinting into the greasy belly of their engines, or bent
under hoods with wrenches and liquid measurers. A tad more fatigued than he was
accustomed to, Chris locked his tools in the cabinet against the back wall and
walked through the garage into the shop.
He was scrubbing his hands with soap in the small bathroom out back, walls
dotted with moisture and peeling paint, when he felt his phone vibrate in his
pocket. He dried his hands on his jeans, still dirty but better than the crusty
towel left bunched on the toilet lid. Fishing his phone out, he unlocked the
screen and saw it was a text message from Tom, with an attachment.
I miss you Daddy.
The picture nearly made him drop his phone. Eyes bulging, Chris stared down at
his screen, at the image of Tom. Shot from chest to mid-thigh, lying on his bed
it seemed, Tom was wearing a black bra, his hand with those sweetly long
fingers aiming low past the dip of his belly button to one of those most
delicious sights Chris had ever seen. Hard cock jutting forward, full and hard,
his balls – shaved and smooth – were cupped gently in a tiny thong. His hips
were sheathed in a thin lace garter belt with straps that clipped onto some
kind of stockings, the top of which Chris could barely just see.
“Fuck,” he breathed, wondering where Tom had gotten such a piece of lingerie.
But it was him alright. There was no mistaking those hands, or those thin
thighs, or his smooth belly and cut waist.
Something thrummed deep in his chest, and Chris staggered back against the
wall, breathing ragged. It wasn’t happening just yet, but it would soon. With a
small panicked sound, Chris yanked the bathroom door open and barreled down the
hall to his boss’s office.
“Jessie, I might not be in tomorrow.”
Jessie put down his pen. “What’s wrong? You look like shit.”
“I think I’m going to rut soon.”
Jessie shrugged and glanced back down at his paperwork. “Think you’ll be in
Monday?”
“Maybe.”
“Alright. Fine by me. I’ll have Carlos clear your schedule tomorrow and Monday.
I’ll pay you half of what I usually do.”
Chris was nodding, already turning around. “Fine. Totally fine. I appreciate
it. Thank you.”
Jessie voice called him back. “You got a mate?”
Chris turned, voice cracking. “Yeah.”
“Godspeed to her, then.”
Chris turned away without a word, not bothering to correct him when he knew Tom
himself wouldn’t have minded – would have even delighted in the fact – that
Jessie had called him a ‘her’. Wiping his brow on the sleeve of his shirt,
Chris pushed out into the early afternoon sunlight and lit a quick cigarette.
He took a nervous, shaky drag, breath stuttering. Taking his phone, he typed
out a quick message.
Crushing the half-smoked butt under his boot, Chris finally climbed onto his
Harley and turned the engine, feeling the roar and vibration of its metal
throat thrust through him.
It wouldn’t happen yet. But it would soon.
**
Tom had been lying in bed with a small smile on his face, running a hand up and
down his belly, flesh tickled by his own touch, when his phone buzzed with a
new message.
Wear that under whatever you want. It’s going to happen soon. Pack for at least
four days. I’m on my way.
Squeaking, Tom scrambled up and threw on the first shirt and pair of jeans he
found. Throwing clothes into his duffel bag, he took his new lingerie items and
phone charger, as well as his heart sunglasses and new lip glosses. He hadn’t
had time to fix any jagged corners of his nail polish, but he tossed the
bottles in anyway even though he knew he probably would be too busy stuck to
Chris to redo them.
Finally. Chris’s first rut with him.
Burning red, Tom swallowed around the lump of excitement and nervousness that
had lit in his stomach. Would Chris be too rough? Violent? Tom liked the hair
pulling and all the biting, being held down and bruised from lips and fingers,
but how exactly would Chris be different in a rut? Would it be all blind lust
and desire? Tom remembered how helpless he’d felt during his heat. The urgency
and the need. He couldn’t get enough of Chris, couldn’t stand to be apart from
him. He could only imagine it would be somewhat the same for Chris.
Perfume. Boots. All his new panties and lovely lace shirt. He packed
everything. And then he texted his mother, who was still at the diner working.
Mom! Guess what! Steph from my history class asked if I wanted to go with him
and his family to a camping trip on the northern trail. We’ll probably be back
Monday or Tuesday. Can I go? Please please?
He sat at the edge of his bed, gnawing at the corner of his phone case, anxiety
spiking through him. It was a gamble asking her permission. Maybe she might not
have noticed he was gone for four days, but if she had? He couldn’t begin to
guess how she would react. Calling the police or investigating on her own. He
highly doubted it, but he could never be sure what Jeff would convince her to
do. At least this way, she knew for sure he would be gone for a valid reason,
and using a made up name like ‘Steph’ meant she had no one to go to in case she
had questions.
His phone vibrated and he jumped up with a little cry. Her response was not
what he expected.
Tom? You have a phone?
Shit. He scrambled to think of something. No. It’s my friend’s. I’m borrowing
it. So can I go?
Her reply took a minute. Sure. Have fun. Be careful and remember…be polite…with
everything.
Or in other words, don’t let anyone see your vagina. Biting back the wave of
anger cresting up his throat, Tom took a deep breath and replied: I won’t don’t
worry! Thanks! Bye!
Bouncing on his desk chair for a full minute, Tom finally heard the roar of a
motorcycle and jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and grunting as he lifted
the window. Slamming it back down once outside, he ran out to the curb and
immediately noticed the sweaty pallor of Chris’s face, the hint of desperation
edging into his eyes, how they were beginning to bruise.
“Daddy,” he whispered, reaching out a hand and cupping his stubbled jaw. Chris
turned into the touching, sniffing at Tom’s wrist, lashes curled as he gazed up
at him.
“Babe,” he rasped, and Tom’s heart flipped. “You’re wearing it?”
Tom nodded, grinning. He was still semi-hard, the thong barely holding him in.
His shirt was loose enough that the outline of the bra was lost, but he felt
the snug pull of the lace, and loved it.
He climbed on behind Chris, sans helmet, and cuddled up against his back,
kissing the firm space between those wide shoulder blades.
“Tom?” Chris said again, voice rough. Tom squeezed his waist, tapered low to
his powerful hips.
“I’m here, Daddy,” he said, dragging his palm up to the dipped hollow of
Chris’s chest. “I’ve always been just here.”
Chris stared straight forward and gunned the engine, pushing off from the
ground, one big hand curling, heavy and warm and for just a moment, over Tom’s.
**
Chris’s house rustled with that silence that permeates a place that’s been
empty for many hours. As soon as they barreled through the door, Chris led him
to the bedroom, the scent of motor oil and sweat rising from him.
“Daddy, do you want a bath first?”
Chris growled low in his throat and mouthed at Tom’s neck. Tom shivered and
stood high on his tiptoes, hands clawed on those big biceps.
“Although,” he breathed, trailing his mouth over Chris’s shoulder. “I love how
sticky you are. How dirty. Oh, Daddy, touch me with these hands.” His cock gave
a strong pulse and his hips jabbed forward.
“Let me see this thing you have on for me,” Chris whispered, taking a handful
of Tom’s ass and squeezing. “My little teasing princess, sending your Daddy a
picture of you in it. I almost fucking passed out.”
Tom giggled and spun out of Chris’s grasp, swaying his hips as he walked.
Peeking over his shoulder he smiled slow and small, basking in the heavy gaze
Chris held on him, the thud of his boots trailing his quieter Converse. He
dropped his lashes, a blush spreading over his cheeks, and toed off his shoes
and pulled up his shirt. Chris gasped at the first sight of the lace bra Tom
wore. Jeans slung low on his hips, Tom turned and let Chris drink in the sight
of him, flat belly, long clavicles, thin arms reaching to his fly and dragging
it down.
Hands clenching, Chris licked his lips and leaned his weight from foot to foot,
eyes sharp on Tom as he undressed. Thumbs hitched at his waist, Tom turned away
again, shy and ecstatic, and started bending low as he pushed his jeans down
his legs inch by slow inch.
And then Chris’s hand was on his hip, oil-stained fingers trembling a path down
the smooth and plump curve of his buttock. Tom blinked up at him, holding
still, flesh goose-pimpling.
“My precious girl,” Chris said softly, thumb dragging down between Tom’s
cheeks, the thong strap hot as Tom panted down at the floor. Pressing lower
still, Chris drew his thumbnail over the moist cloth-covered slit of his pussy,
down more to cup his cock, barely sheathed by the thong. “Precious boy. My boy.
I love that I’m mated to you. That I am bonded to you. I think of you all day,
Tom. That you’re mine. I catch your scent on me sometimes, leaning under a
hood, sliding under a car, it rises up to my face and I breathe you in and I
wonder if you’re okay.”
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, spreading his legs just a small bit, the silky stockings
rustling over his skin. Chris wrapped an arm around his belly and hauled Tom up
and over to the bed. Tom squealed and laughed as he landed on the bed with a
bounce.
“Open your legs,” Chris said, working to unbuckle his belt. Tom’s legs fell
open like pale butterfly wings, the sheer mesh of the stockings rippling over
his slender muscles, the black thong straining to hold him. Chris shoved his
jeans down and tossed his boots away. His stained shirt was next and then he
was lying over Tom, naked and sticky with sweat. Tom wrapped him close and
kissed his waiting mouth, lips bumping and tongues gliding. Yanking at the
garter belt, Chris struggled to bare Tom’s core.
“Don’t tear it, Daddy,” Tom cried, lifting his head and stilling Chris’s hand.
“Just the thong. Here.”
But Chris was already bunching the material in both fists, veins in his arms
jumping as he grunted and tore the material in two, the ripping sound loud
between them. “I’ll buy you more, baby,” he said, catching Tom’s small look of
dismay. “In every color. In every style. Yours.” He let the torn material hang
limply off Tom’s waist, and shaking as if he were a teenager himself, Chris
stared down at his boy clad in only bra and stockings and garter belt. He was
already so wet, pussy glistening, cock hard and leaking, nipples tight little
peaks under the lace of his bra, chest flat and jumping with stilted, lovely
breaths.
“I’m keeping what’s left,” he rasped, flicking the hanging black shreds of the
thong.
Tom giggled. “You keep them all! I’ll have nothing to wear soon enough.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Wicked Daddy,” Tom murmured, cupping Chris’s head and running his fingers
through his shorn hair to the back of his neck, pulling him closer for kisses.
Hooking his arms under Tom’s knees, Chris wrenched his legs up, bending him in
half. Air rushed out of Tom’s lungs in a quick exhale, but he grinned though
breathless, accepting Chris’s weight.
Driven by instinct and bone-deep familiarity with Tom’s body, Chris aligned
himself and pushed in, one solid thrust. Mouth parted, Tom’s teeth glinted as
he smiled and grabbed hold of Chris’s buttocks.
“Do you remember, hng,” he groaned, lifting his head as Chris slammed in again.
Hooking his fingers over the middle stitching of the flimsy bra Tom wore, Chris
took hold and tugged, hauling Tom toward him as he thrust forward. “Yes, Daddy!
Yes. R-remember the prison? That first day?”
“Best day of my life,” Chris groaned, snapping his hips. Heat so wet and snug,
Tom’s inner muscles tightened and gave tiny spasms as they groaned and wrapped
their arms around each other, lips brushing.
“I remember the sun in your—.” Tom gasped, eyes rolling back. “Your hair,
Daddy. So pretty. I think I loved you even then.”
“My sweet boy,” Chris whispered. “I wanted you then, too. I couldn’t stop
thinking about you. Your scent whenever I walked out into the main room…it was
all I could smell. This,” he said, stabbing in again. “This sweet cunt. Hiding
it from me.”
“My mom told me never to tell—.”
“You’re not hers anymore,” Chris interrupted, hands bracketing Tom’s face.
“You’re not hers. You never were, in a way. Not when she gave you up because of
her bullshit fear of what other people would say or think of her. You’re mine
now. My boy. My sweet, gentle girl. And I’ll protect you.”
“Daddy,” Tom wept, pressing their lips together in a hard, hot kiss, sucking
tongues and bumping teeth, all sweet devotion.
As Chris neared his orgasm, Tom could see the wet haze of fever in his eyes,
cheeks flushed. Close to climax and close to rut, Chris’s thrusts were frantic
and rough, a spiral digging low in Tom’s belly. The silk stockings on his legs
made keeping them wrapped around Chris's waist difficult, and he ended up
locking his ankles behind his buttocks, pulling at him with both heels. Skin
warm and slicked with clean sweat, Chris lapped with a determined tongue at
each of Tom's nipples, tugging the tiny nubs between both lips, getting them
red and peaked. Head tossed back, Tom moaned and exposed his neck, the long
pale length of it like a siren to Chris, calling him to shore, the bigger waves
beckoning and only moments away.
"Bite me," Tom breathed, lashes dancing. "Please bite me."
With a low snarl, Chris took Tom's jaw in one hand and held his head to the
side, widening his jaw over the beating artery. He bit down and felt Tom's
pulse spike at the touch. He flattened his tongue on the fevered skin, moaning
to soothe, to calm his mate, hips pulsing hard. Salt bloomed in his mouth.
With a sharp intake of breath and the nip of teeth at his neck as trigger,
Tom's orgasm collided over his mind and heart, arching his backbone, digging
his nails into Chris's back, eyes scrunched at the wide blue arc of starry sky
lit brightly in his head. He cried out into the warm bedroom, Chris ejaculating
into him just after.
They lay breathing hard, Chris mussing his cheek into the bite mark, scenting
him. Shaking and limp, Tom's legs fell to the bed.
“No knot, Daddy?” His lips quivered, blinking up at him, Chris’s back an inked
canvas of his blunt scratch marks.
“Don’t…always knot,” Chris gasped, out of breath. “Especially since…I’ll be
getting my rut any day. I’ll knot you then. Trust me.”
Tom giggled and rolled his hips, Chris’s sticky skin staining him with lines of
grease and sweat.
“Do you like it?” Tom asked, smoothing a hand down his legs.
"I wasn't lying," Chris laughed. "I was washing my hands when I got your text.
My vision went all fucked. Staggered back against the wall. I couldn’t believe
it. And you shaved."
Tom laughed up at the ceiling, throat bobbing, white teeth flashing. Utterly
delighted. Chris had never been so aware of the beat of his own heart, how it
swelled, how it burst and staggered like the first steps of a newborn fawn.
“I did. In the shower. Very carefully.”
Chris hummed, the bruises under his eyes bleeding a faint lilac into his
cheeks. He cupped Tom’s sac. “Feels nice. With or without it. So soft.”
Tom frowned, smoothing a finger over the thick arch of Chris’s brow. “Daddy.
You don’t look well.”
Chris squeezed his eyes shut, sweat spotting his nose. He pulled out of Tom,
very gently, and flopped onto his back. He kept a firm hand on his wrist.
“I’m gonna get it. Soon.”
Tom sat up, a bra strap falling off his shoulder. “Then we need to prepare,
Daddy. We need food and water. What if we order pizza like last time? The food
can come to us!”
“I don’t know about that, babe. If someone came to the door while I’m in rut,
and they look at you and talk to you, I might go ballistic.”
“You’re very jealous in rut?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been mated. But I remember the spark of possession
that would hit me when I rutted with girls years ago. And they weren’t mates.
With you?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. And what if I refuse to leave your
side? What if you answer the door and I’m with you and the situation is so
plainly obvious, what if the person reports us? Alpha in rut with a minor?”
Tom blinked. Chris was right. “Cooking it is. You can tail me all you want in
the house, Daddy. And I’ll make all the food. You said two days?”
Chris nodded.
“Then let’s go for groceries, and then home to get you showered and in bed, my
old man.”
They stood from the bed with a groan, finding their clothes on the floor.
Chris’s seed was sticky on Tom’s inner thighs, but he didn’t mind. He liked
feeling it there. Very carefully, he unclipped the garter belt from the
stockings, and then rolled them down to fold on the bed.
“Keep the bra on?” Chris said, shrugging into his own shirt. Tom grinned and
nodded.
Out back, Chris uncovered an older Camaro, black with cream interior. His hand
trailed the hood. “Haven’t driven her in six years. Checked her out just the
other day. She sounds good.” They climbed in and Chris turned the engine, the
loud purr of the car vibrating under the seats. For a Thursday night, the
Walmart was full of people. Tom took a creaking cart and maneuvered through the
aisles. Chris whispered to him that he could get whatever he thought they might
need, so he bagged fruits and vegetables and uncooked chicken and steak. He got
milk and orange juice and eggs and bread. Some pasta and sauce. Two boxes of
cereal. Peanut butter and jelly. A tub of chocolate chip ice cream. Cheese and
ham. He also got some cleaning supplies and a pair of yellow gloves, to give
Chris’s house a thorough once-over.
There was something so blatantly domestic about walking up aisle after aisle
with Chris trailing him, collecting food for them to make and eat together as a
couple under one roof, that made Tom grin with relief and happiness. Here he
was useful. Here with his Alpha, he was wanted and cherished, never shut down
and never ignored. It was unlike anything Tom had ever felt before, and he
wanted to hold onto that moment in the baking aisle for as long as he lived.
He scanned the rows of boxes. Brownies. Cupcakes. Sugar cookies. He wanted to
try baking something, but he couldn’t make up his mind.
Chris hovered next to him, eyes darting at every person who drew too close. His
hand was locked around Tom’s elbow, sweat dotting his brow whenever people –
particularly men – excused themselves around them.
“Almost done, Daddy,” Tom murmured, peering at the instructions on one of the
boxes.
Chris shuffled closer and dropped a kiss to Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly,
shortly, at the scent of him. Tom finally chose a cake mix and a cookie mix,
thinking to try his hand at both, and then wheeled their cart to the front
registers. Chris helped him load the conveyer belt with their groceries,
keeping a narrowed eye on the cashier, a man of maybe twenty-five who smiled at
Tom as he rang up their items. When he gave them their total, Chris pulled out
a clip of cash from his wallet and handed the man a few bills.
Tom rubbed the small of his back, trying to draw his angry gaze away from the
innocent cashier. Chris looked down at him and smiled, eyes softening.
“Have a great night,” the man said, smiling again at Tom. Chris leveled him
with a frigid glare, but Tom was quick to grab the change and steer Chris
toward the loaded cart.
“Thanks! You too.” He took Chris’s elbow. “Push, Daddy.”
Brow low, Chris took the cart and they wheeled out of the store. The parking
lot was dotted with orbs of light from the lampposts scattered throughout, but
the Camaro was half-obscured by a gnarled bush blanketed with white flowers. As
soon as they were safe in the relative cover of darkness, Chris had Tom pushed
up against the car, lips hard on each other. Big, warm hands slid under Tom’s
shirt and along his narrow back, fingers curling over the lace band of his bra,
right over where it hooked together.
“Daddy is jealous,” he breathed, holding his jaw up as Chris mouthed at his
neck.
“That kid was making eyes at you.”
Tom laughed quietly, hands on Chris’s shoulders, sliding up the nape of his
neck to grip at his long hair. “He was just friendly. Now help me get these
groceries home so I can take care of you.”
Chris pulled back and kissed the tip of his nose. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Chris,” Tom whispered, standing on his tiptoes and brushing
their lips together. Chris’s tattoos looked even more menacing in the half-
dark, etched from both wrists and disappearing under his shirt sleeves. Tom
rubbed his forearms with both hands, eyes following the other tattoo that
curved in black arcs from behind his neck and ended in sharp points just under
his jawline. They were visceral and dangerous, these markings of his criminal,
his hero. And Tom was on his way to memorizing each and every one.
They loaded the car with the groceries and then Chris drove them back home,
taking to the streets carefully, hand across the seat holding Tom’s wrist. They
took turns walking to and from the car, carrying the bags inside. While Chris
parked the Camaro out back, Tom stocked the fridge and pantry, humming as he
bunched up the remaining bags to recycle later. Chris looked in bad shape when
he came back in from outside, sweating into his shirt, the bruises under his
eyes looking a bit darker. Tom thought it might be best to wait to clean until
Chris was finished with his rut. Crowding him up against the counter now, Chris
sniffed at Tom’s neck, rubbing his cheek over his throat and jaw, long fingers
clenching slowly in his curls. His Daddy needed him now.
“It won’t be tonight,” Chris said roughly. “It always hits in the mornings.
Tomorrow I think. Are you okay?”
Tom nodded fast. “Go ahead and shower, Daddy. I’ll fix us some sandwiches for
tonight. And then I’ll shower before bed. Okay?”
“’Kay, baby,” Chris murmured, shuffling out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Tom hurried with the food, throwing four pieces of bacon onto a pan. While they
sizzled, he sliced tomatoes and cut into the brand new head of lettuce, washing
everything first in the sink. He toasted bread last and slathered some
mayonnaise on each slice. With the ham, cheese, and bacon, Tom topped each
sandwich off with lettuce and tomatoes.
The water on the other side of the wall shut off.
“Babe?” Chris called from the bedroom.
“Here!” Tom shouted back, poking his tongue out as he balanced the two plates
on one forearm and holding one water in his hand, the other against his belly.
Walking slowly down the hall, he got about halfway before Chris came out of the
room, hair dripping.
“Oh, babe. Here.” He took a plate and a glass and together they sat on the bed
and leaned back against the headboard.
Chris bit into his sandwich with a groan, jaw muscles clenching as he chewed
enthusiastically. Tom smiled as he watched him, feeling a burst of pleasure in
his chest as Chris ate.
“Thssogood,” Chris mumbled, leaning over and pecking Tom on the cheek. He
swallowed down another bite. “So good. Thank you.” He gulped down the water,
chest heaving when he was done. Tom handed him his own glass.
“Drink more, Daddy.”
Chris did, thanking him again. He collected the plates and disappeared into the
kitchen while Tom showered. He was toweling his hair dry when he stepped back
into the bedroom and saw Chris lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Hanging the towel on the doorknob, Tom padded over to him. He sat at Chris’s
side with a leg folder under him. Touching his brow, Tom whispered, “Are you
okay?”
Chris blinked, and took a breath. “It’s my first rut with a mate. With a bond.
I don’t know why, but I’m nervous.” Sharp blue eyes flicked over to him. “Are
you nervous?”
“A little. Yeah. But excited more than anything. Because I’ve always thought of
being there for your rut since your letter about it at the prison.” He folded
himself closer, and palmed Chris’s cheek. Chris’s hand landed warmly on his
flank, staying put. “You won’t go through that alone again. I’m going to be
with you this time. You won’t need anything, Daddy.”
Chris’s eyes had slowly closed, a shadow of pain flitting over his features.
His rut in jail had truly been a terrible thing, Tom thought, whispering to him
softly, petting his hair. All alone and without relief, heart pounding, the
walls closing in on him as his yearns and cries went unanswered.
“Sleep now, Daddy,” Tom said, turning the lamp off and casting the room in
darkness. He crawled over Chris and flopped onto the bed beside him. Chris
immediately rolled and grabbed Tom up in a hug, burying his face in Tom’s neck,
gusting out a warm, exhausted breath. He was asleep within moments, body
relaxing heavily against Tom. They shared their weight equally, comfortably,
and Tom eased into the pillow, smoothing a hand down the bare skin of Chris’s
back.
Humming a soft tune, Tom nuzzled Chris’s hairline, the longer strands of blond
tickling his lips. With his knee, he shimmied his leg between Chris’s thighs,
pressing closer and twining them like a pretzel. Chris groaned and slid his leg
higher on Tom’s thigh, anchoring his foot behind his kneecaps. Tom smiled into
his hair, happiest when they were tangled together.
He slept eventually, sagging into the swallow of deep night, a pair of cooing
turtledoves rustling beyond the window.
And throughout the growing dark, amid the beat of moonlight, Chris groaned
softly, limb and muscle growing slowly hotter with every passing hour. He was
burning, with flame and sun, molten in his core, burrowing for the only warmth
that could match him.
Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom.
  Mate.
 
***** Star-Crown *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
Chris jerked and landed on his back, drawing Tom over his chest. Both still
sleeping, they murmured and settled again, sweat glistening on the long line of
a spine, on the jutted point of a hipbone, behind the tender bend of knees and
the soft skin of upper lips. Velvet felt of bare cheek, inked canvas bone and
wheat stocks, breathing, breathing, breathing.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
Later on, Tom woke with a tiny moan, spilling sunlight crushing his vision.
Lifting his head, he saw the spot of sweat beads left on Chris’s sternum from
where Tom had rested his head. Chris slept still, lashes fluttering, chest
jumping with fast breaths. Hands clenched in the sheets and sporting a massive
erection, Chris was on the verge of consciousness, moaning small and quiet.
His erection jumped, seeking.
A zip of delighted alarm sped through Tom. It was like watching a tiger sleep.
Any moment Chris could spring up and grab him, and it made Tom buzz with
anticipation. Still drowsy, he slowly crept out of bed and stumbled to the
bathroom to relieve his bladder, brushing his teeth after with slow, even
strokes before returning to bed. He curled up on his side away from Chris,
seeking a cool spot on the sheets, and was asleep again within a minute. It was
only a short while later that he felt a warm, trembling hand curve over his
hip, a dip in the bed, a hot mouth on his shoulder.
“Daddy,” he mumbled, and Chris groaned loudly, lips and teeth dragging down the
slanted curve of neck to bite him there. Chills erupted on Tom’s skin, making
him blink, making him whisper. With a broad, rough swipe, he was flipped onto
his back, a wide hand planted on his chest. Tom gasped and opened his legs on
instinct, Chris settling between, heavy and immediate. A hard thrust down
dragged their cocks together like bright sparks. Sudden consciousness made his
vision swim, eyes widening on the ceiling, where the fan spun about in fast
revolutions, whirring, whirring. A head of blond bobbed before him, eyes bright
with fever, dark brows narrowed with desire, with pinpointed focus.
“Tom,” Chris rasped, top lip lifting in a snarl, the sharp canine exposed.
There was a distance in his eyes, a heady glaze that told Tom it had begun.
Chris would be dragged down into it now, his body acting on pure instinct. To
find Tom and mate.
And he’s found me, Tom marveled, lashes quivering.
With a low growl, Chris reached low and took himself in hand, erection long and
wide, thick at the base, head red and swollen.
“Tom,” he whispered again and then thrust in hard, and deep. Mouth falling open
in a shaky cry, Tom arched as they grappled for a moment, arms tightening,
Chris devouring Tom with sight and tongue.
But then Chris’s body jolted to a stop, every muscle straining. He blinked and
shook his head, teeth clenched. “Tom. Shit.”
“D-Daddy,” Tom stammered, smoothing away the sweat on Chris’s face. “What is
it?”
Shaking, Chris whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Chris, just let go. It’s okay, Daddy. You can let go.”
Chris’s hips gave a stuttering jump, and they both moaned. He wasn’t as deep as
Tom could take him. He had a couple of inches left.
“I’ll…I’ll fuck you…hard, Tom. Very hard.”
“I know, Chris. We talked about this. Remember?”
Chris whined low, pupils threatening to consume his entire irises.
Tom nodded. He cradled his face. “You can let go. I want you to.”
With the last shred of his control holding himself back, Chris’s shuddering
limbs finally loosened with a sigh and then hardened immediately after. He
drove his hips forward in one sudden lunge and Tom cried out. His entire length
slid into Tom’s core, a pulsing spike that spread Tom wide.
Chris hit home with a sharp stab, and he growled out a rugged curse, eyes gone
dark.
Tom dug his blunt nails into Chris’s back, feeling his inner walls begin to
slicken as Chris started moving with more fervor. He rocked above him, teeth
gritted, hair falling in long strands over the shorn part of his scalp. The
pointed tattoos beneath his jaw expanded with every heaving breath, glazed eyes
on Tom, who hugged his neck to keep him not an inch away.
Locking his ankles, Tom pulled Chris in for kisses, Chris snapping his hips,
buttocks flexing. And they moved together, mouths bumping, sliding and wet,
tongues darting out to flex and twine, a gentle suck to squeeze out yet another
gasp, another cry from Tom. With one long arm wrapped under Tom’s back, and his
other hand pressed flat to his chest, Chris dominated and held him, breaths
shared, bodies colliding in near violence.
Tom’s cock flopped up and down, smacking between their bellies, his cunt angled
up to receive Chris’s thrusts. Tucked inside, the drag and pull of his cock
made Tom pant, made his pelvis begin to tingle, and Tom was propelled to orgasm
faster than ever before. Two thrusts later and he came, pussy contracting
around Chris, lip curled again, sweat beading off his nose. Rising up on his
knees, he rammed in as Tom spun apart and then pulled out fast, spreading Tom’s
legs.
His cock, standing proud and wet, finally gave two desperate jumps before it
erupted with a jet of white. Dazed, Tom flinched as Chris’s cum landed in thick
ribbons on his face and neck, on his chest and belly, strings of the heavy
cream pooling on his trembling chest. Chris collapsed forward on one hand,
using the other to continue stroking his cock, even more cum pouring out. Tom
was drenched with it, his own blood rising to the surface of his skin, making
him buzz and tremble with adrenaline, with ecstasy. So sensitive, he felt of
mist and cloud, of the tickle of butterfly wings, of sparrows’ nests and
crawling lady bugs. He felt of summer lightning and August rains, of the bite
of static in the air, of the roiling clouds of every horizon of every storm.
“Fuck,” he wheezed, managing air in his lungs. A drop of cum slipped between
his lips, the lashes of his right eye caked with it. Tongue darting out, he
tasted it and had but a short moment to moan before Chris was stuffing himself
back inside and thrusting again. With pleasure still ripping through him, Tom
lay flat on his back, arms tossed above him, smiling up at Chris as he worked
himself to yet another orgasm.
“Come, Daddy. Again. And again, please. Cover me with it. Fill me with it.”
Grunting, long fingers digging to bruise in the meat of his thighs, Chris
plunged in, his sac slapping the tender cleft of his ass. The light shifted in
the room as he worked him late into the morning, finally coming again with a
knot and a gasp. He stoppered himself deep and groaned at the copious spill,
eyes rolling back into his head.
Lying spent and thirsty, his own juices bubbling out, Tom panted and licked at
his bottom lip, tongue dry in his mouth. He felt Chris shudder above him, felt
it down into his core, through his own straining legs and up into his heart.
Trailing his fingers up Chris’s chest, he curved them over his shoulders and
tugged him low. Chris let himself fall forward, cradled to Tom’s chest as his
knot swelled and fastened them together. Tom winced and shifted, carding his
fingers into the buzzed hair, trailing the pad of his thumb along the curved
tattoo, kissing Chris’s fevered brow.
Still Chris pulsed, sluggish and slowing, still he spilled, the prolonged
orgasm wracking him with tremors. He whimpered and hid his face in Tom’s neck.
“It’s alright, Daddy. Rest now. ”
“Baby,” Chris whispered. He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the room. He
nosed harder against Tom’s throat. “Tom.”
“I’m here, Chris. It’s me. We’re knotted now. We’ll rest and then I’ll get us
some water.”
The knot wouldn’t loosen for another hour, at least. For now, he would hold
Chris to him, smooth his sweating forehead, whisper to him his love. The bond
felt deeper now. It felt stronger. It felt as a pulsing star in his ribcage
would feel, warm and heavy and radiant.
Emotion crested and glowed in him. Of great claim. Of great possession and
weighted truth. Of great love and trust, and a risen midday sun.
The first knot out of the way, Chris’s desperation waned as he dozed against
Tom. It throbbed, like a slow heartbeat, sending small waves of pleasure
through Tom as he felt cum trickle out of him. From what he could tell, Chris
was only barely coherent during his ruts, as Tom had hardly been during his
heats. He could speak his name and burn him with kisses, but his hips moved on
primal instinct, finding Tom’s cunt and burying himself deep. He hadn’t been
violent – rougher, yes – but not violent, not painful. Tom was positive the
ruthless reputation alphas had acquired stemmed from their willingness to do
almost anything to protect their omegas and mates. That included beatings –
Jeff’s bloodied face flashed in Tom’s mind – and threats, even murder, from
what Tom recalled from whispers he’d heard from classmates and adults he’d
overhead in the next aisle over at the drug store. And he had started to
understand why. The bond between an alpha and an omega was beyond dispute; it
was a seed that took root in the very foundation of one’s DNA. A recognition
based simply upon sight and scent, upon instinct. Tom was sure that if he
concentrated hard enough, he would be able to tell if Chris had been hurt or
was upset, or if he was happy beyond measure, even if they weren’t near each
other.
It was an ink stain of a hundred thousand-year-old memory, etched and seeped
into his heart, into his veins and brain synapses. He was Chris’s, and Chris
was his. And no one would be able to state differently. It was unnatural, an
offense to his being, to his very life.
Running a hand down Chris’s inked backbone, Tom reminded himself to make an
appointment with the school nurse once classes started again in September. He
would need to register as an omega, but he planned on lying about being mated.
If he was officially mated, they would want the information of his mate and
that wouldn’t be the best situation for him and Chris, who was twice his age
and an ex-con.
No.
If he wasn’t mated, then he would just be excused from school for the days he
was in heat and then allowed to return when it passed. No harm done. By law
there were no alphas on staff at the school. The threat they could present to
students who were budding omegas was too dangerous. Tom would be able to
register as an omega, but lie about being mated since there would be no alphas
around to sniff his bond to Chris. It should work. At least until he turned
eighteen. Or graduated.
“Tom?”
The rasp startled Tom and he jumped. He lifted his head.
“Chris?”
Shifting carefully, Chris cursed and braced up on his elbows. Tom was surprised
to see his lower lip pinched red.
“Did I bite you?”
Tongue flicking out, Chris tasted the cut. “Must have. I like it.”
“How are you feeling, Daddy?”
Wincing, Chris glanced down between their bodies. “Like I’m stuck to you with a
star crown around my dick.”
Tom laughed, tossing his head back. And then they both groaned when the knot
pulsed in warning.
“Shh, stay still,” Chris chuckled, cupping Tom’s skull and petting his hair.
“But I’m serious. It feels amazing. Better than I imagined. I’m still not
really here. I’m up there somewhere,” he said, gesturing to the ceiling. “Like
there’s stars on us. Like we’re wrapped in stars.”
“God, I love you,” Tom breathed, lifting his chin and catching Chris’s lips.
Tongues parched and noses bumped, they smiled and laughed and rubbed their
cheeks together, Chris’s stubble making him squeal.
When his knot began to shrink, Chris held Tom’s hips and slowly slipped out.
Tom sensed his opening narrow in the absence of Chris’s cock, but he still felt
like he was gaping, a fluttering mouth empty of its prize. He closed his legs
and moaned at the protesting muscles.
Chris was coherent for only the time being, rubbing his forehead, eyes still
not quite focused.
Tom told him to stay put, that he would grab them water bottles and some fruit.
But when Tom leaned back out from inside the fridge a minute later, Chris was
suddenly there, all nearly six and a half feet of him.
He squeaked and fumbled the water bottles. Chris snatched his wrists.
“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes flicking over Tom’s face. He looked slightly
panicked.
“Yes, Daddy. I’m fine.”
“I didn’t want to leave you alone. As soon as you left I got nervous.”
Tom softened. It was his rut, that possessive, protective, and jealous flare
amplified. He took Chris’s elbow and walked him to the kitchen table. “I’m
perfectly fine. Nothing can hurt me here. I’m with you.”
Chris’s arm inched around Tom’s waist. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”
“I won’t be. I promise.”
“You promise, babe?”
“I promise, Daddy.” Tom sat him in one of the chairs and slowly unwrapped
himself from Chris’s arms. He hurried back to the fridge and took out some
fruit. It was a strange and extremely erotic thing to see Chris naked at the
table, brow bunched over eyes trained on him across the room. He watched Tom’s
every move, long fingers tapping an uneasy beat on the scarred wood. And as Tom
lined up a banana and some strawberries to slice, he smiled at Chris from the
counter, cheeks rosy, lips tender and neck bruised. Even now his seed slicked
thick down his inner thighs, his hipbones tender with yet unseen bruises.
“Here now,” he said, putting the fruit in a bowl and taking it to Chris with
two water bottles. Snagging a piece of banana, Tom plopped himself down on
Chris’s lap and threw an arm around his shoulders, nuzzling that rugged cheek.
Chris ignored the fruit, dragging a hand over Tom’s bare thigh.
“Eat something, Daddy,” Tom said. He uncapped the water bottle. “Or drink.
Please?”
But Chris’s eyes had gone dark, fingers tightening on Tom’s waist.
Tom gulped, a heightened instinct of submission flooding his mind. “Chris?”
Chris didn’t answer.
Pupils wide, Chris lurched out of his chair and spun Tom around, pressing him
face down on the table. The open water bottle tottered on its base and finally
capsized, the liquid spilling under his cheek and over the edge of the table.
“Daddy,” Tom gasped, a fine mist spraying from his mouth. “Yes, yes, yes.” He
widened his legs as Chris lined himself up, and keened as he pushed in, eyes
squeezed shut, teeth gritted.
The stretch was exquisite, his fluttering cunt lips stretched wide and filled
again with what he craved most. An immediate, heavy thrum started up inside his
chest, a spike of arousal twisting behind his belly button. His cunt and cock
felt so heavy, so filled with need, swelling, needing, beginning to drip.
“Daddy, yes,” he sobbed, one set of lashes soaked from the water, spittle
flying between his lips. Chris planted a wide hand over the middle of his spine
and started a hard rhythm, the wooden table creaking and sliding. Tom’s toes
barely skimmed the floor, legs jerking as Chris pounded in.
Even though Tom’s body throbbed, his arousal a tight, hot wire in his gut, this
was purely for Chris’s benefit, a thought that had his blood singing with
pleasure and purpose. He smiled into the scarred wood of the tabletop, slowly
reaching his arms down and back. And just as he hoped, Chris snatched both his
wrists in hand and held Tom immobile, fucking into him at a deeper angle than
before.
Tom grunted as his spine went rigid, head lifting to face the wall. Water
dripped down his jaw and sluiced in thick veins along his neck, pooling by his
belly. He rocked hard, hipbones smarting, his cries soft and shallow, little
sounds that seemed to goad Chris on, ramming in harder, fisting Tom’s hair,
gnawing at his neck. He bit down and moaned, hips stilling as he came once
more.
And he knotted. Thickly.
Legs shaking, Tom lay quietly on the table, Chris’s heavy weight draped over
his back. Teeth digging just a tiny bit deeper, Chris finally pulled back and
started lapping at the bite, kissing it softly.
“Tom?”
Tom blinked slowly. He was shaking, he was so hard. “Yes, Daddy?”
Staying quiet, Chris straightened from his hunch and pulled Tom up with him.
Limp-limbed, Tom went without a fuss, head lolling on Chris’s shoulder as the
knot stayed snug inside him. Warm lips bunched at his ear, taking his earlobe
and nibbling. Tom whimpered and jerked, but Chris’s arm over his chest held him
still. And then he was wrapping one calloused hand around Tom’s cock and
tugging.
Tom cried out, broken and raw, fingers clawed in the air.
“Come for me,” Chris growled in his ear. “Come for me, Tom. Be a good girl and
come.”
“Fuck,” Tom choked. “Daddy—.”
The knot started to pulse, swelling and waning in short bursts. Chris’s hand
worked tight circle pumps on his cock, and Tom’s orgasm avalanched his senses
in one quick rumble.
His hearing snuffed out like a rain-spattered wick, a tiny ringing echoing from
somewhere. The tips of his fingers buzzed, spread wide in the air. His eyesight
fogged and he caught only glimpses of the ceiling, straight strands of blond
hair bobbing in his periphery.
He mumbled something about lightning and sparks on his skin, and then felt the
world tilt on its axis. Cradling him against his chest, Chris slowly sank to
his knees, collapsing back against the wall by the counter, both breathing
hard. Stuck together, their legs splayed out on the scuffed tile, they panted
and blinked drowsily at the ceiling, little smiles growing on their faces.
“What is,” Tom said quietly, drawing a deep breath, “what is your happiest
memory?”
Cupping Tom’s neck, Chris kissed along the other side, believing at one time
that he would never know such happiness as he did that very instant. He swam in
it, the clear waters that were Tom’s eyes, his mate.
“Your letter to me at the prison,” he said finally. “Just after my rut, when
you told me you wanted me to claim you.” He chuckled softly. “I almost clawed
through the twenty feet of cement blocks and steel and barbed wire that fucking
second.”        
Tom hummed a short laugh. Heads up at the ceiling, their cheeks pressed
together, Tom was convinced he was living his happiest moment just then.
“What is your biggest fear?” Chris said softly, turning his head so that his
lips brushed the soft shell of Tom’s ear.
“Losing you,” Tom said quickly, honestly. “I’ve thought about it ever since
Isabel mentioned losing her alpha to a car accident.”
“Babe.” The silence stretched a beat and when Tom refused to meet his eyes,
Chris took his chin and brought it low. Tom’s eyes were wet. “Babe. I’ll be
damned before someone takes me from you. I’m not going easy.”
“It’s just so sad,” Tom said, tears pricking his eyes. “That our bond would be
broken so easily. This warmth I feel in my chest where you now belong. I can’t
imagine it will ever go away. And I don’t want it to!”
“It won’t be easy, Tom,” Chris whispered. “It would be death.”
“No, Daddy.” He breathed out, so afraid. “Don’t, please.”
Chris cuddled him close, careful with the knot between them. “Baby, no. Don’t
cry. I won’t let anything happen. That won’t happen to us, Tom. It won’t. There
are so many alphas and omegas that live long happy lives together. We are each
other’s first bonded mates. It will stay that way.”
“Yes, Daddy. I want that.”
They kissed hurriedly, moaning into each other’s mouths, necks arching to reach
at that angle.
Arms straining, Tom dragged the bowl of fruit and the one remaining water
bottle toward them from the tabletop. They drank it down and fed each other
fruit, Tom giggling when Chris blew a sticky raspberry on his neck. The knot
eventually shrank and Chris helped Tom rise on legs shaky as a colt’s. A flood
of cum spilled between Tom’s thighs – a sticky surge of white – and he giggled
down at himself, elated. Groaning at their soreness, they found more water
bottles in the fridge and drank greedily again before retreating to the bedroom
before the next wave overtook them.
And it did, aggressively.
In total, there were nineteen more knots before the end of the second day.
Throughout, they dozed and spoke quietly, interrupted only when something
shuttered closed behind Chris’s eyes and he would rise up above Tom to thrust
his cock deep. And how they fucked, Tom was amazed and electrified to
experience. Every single moment with Chris was one of safety and acceptance,
but Tom found he really enjoyed the sense of vulnerability some of the
positions gave him. When Chris fucked him like a dog and his neck bounced and
his vision stilted and he could barely graze the bedsheets from the grip Chris
had in his hair. Or when Chris would fold him clean in half, the tops of his
thighs pressed to his chest jumping with the tiniest gasps, when Chris’s weight
made him breathless and dizzy, when Tom was squeezed hard into the blankets
with Chris curved around the whole of him, the violent slap of their flesh like
a song for his whines and Chris’s grunts. With every knot Chris faded a little
more, mumbling over Tom’s neck, biting with no strength, moaning his name as he
flexed his hips weakly.
Overheated and trembling, Tom could only lay wheezing once it was over, sight
blurry on the blue-blanketed window. Inner thighs chafed, every muscle tender
and aching, exhaustion clouded his mind. Chris was in worse shape. He was
visibly defeated, as if nearly two dozen orgasms in two days was the worst a
man could experience. But it was taxing, nevertheless. Every time his body
knotted Tom, he lost precious fluids, and the times they drank what little
water they could were never enough. They hardly ate, chewing only on more
fruit, stumbling down the hall only to fuck on the counter, again on the table,
the sofa and living room floor. Twice in the hallway. Once in the bathroom,
Chris refusing to leave Tom’s side for even a second. And from Tom’s core
gushed a never ending stream of cum, like rivulets of milk on his skin, beading
on the hairs of his legs. Part of Chris’s goal - however instinctually managed
– was to cover Tom in his scent. With cum and saliva, with teeth marks and skin
rasps, with kisses and bone-crunching embraces, nuzzling his hair and rubbing
his cheek on every inch of him, Chris was determined to suffuse Tom with
himself. And based on the pleased hum he gave as he sniffed at Tom’s armpit,
just before collapsing back on the bed for the final time, it had worked.
Legs useless to him, Tom lay there with his shattered sleep pattern and his
many bruises, grinning at the window. With a wince, he turned to face Chris.
Head tucked under his arm, one hand wrapped around Tom’s wrist, Chris was
snoring quietly, his own pelvis and belly cum-splattered and beginning to
bruise.
“Daddy,” he whispered. His skin pulled tight. Chris had more than once come on
his face and chest, white flakes drifting to the bed. He probably looked matted
and thoroughly fucked. It was a good thing, he mused, that he could only become
pregnant during his heats, because with how Chris ejaculated it was more than
likely he would be pregnant year-round.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Daddy.”
Chris moaned, but didn’t lift his head.
“Daddy, we need water. And I can’t walk.” The water bottles they’d brought to
the room were littered about, woefully empty. He squirmed a bit. “And I have to
piss.”
“You can just go here, babe. The sheets and everything are ruined anyway.”
“Daddy, no!” Tom cried, horrified. “Daddy. Please. I have to pee. Carry me
there?” He cupped Chris’s head and smoothed his hair, whining low. Chris
finally roused and pushed up with a heave, eyes bloodshot, the skin just
beneath still bruised.
“Alright, alright. My princess needs to go.” He sniffed at Tom’s hairline and
chuckled, muttering something about being ‘covered with it’.
Tom grinned and held his arms up as Chris scooped him into the air. He groaned
and tottered for a moment, both immeasurably exhausted. Tom blinked around the
bleary room as Chris regained his balance – things were, indeed, destroyed. The
mattress was angled half off the bed frame, the lamp had somehow been knocked
over and was lying on its side. Blankets and sheets were balled up on the
floor, and a pair of Tom’s panties peeked out from under the closet door,
absurdly. Chris stood still as they took in the damage, half wondering what the
rest of the house looked like. But Tom was soon set before the toilet and then
moaning in pleasurable relief as he emptied his bladder with a sway. Chris kept
an arm around him for balance, kissing his shoulder sweetly. Tom hummed.
Shoulder kisses were one of his favorite.
“Thank you, Daddy,” he whispered, lifting his chin for another kiss, the most
natural act in the world now. Legs like jelly, he leaned into Chris, tucking
his head into the crook of his neck until he was finished.
“How about I put you in the bath and I clean up a bit?” Tom nodded sleepily. He
leaned gingerly against the bathroom wall while Chris filled the tub.
Water gushed from the faucet and he watched Chris watching him, all long torso
and swell of muscles, the ink of his skin like thunder clouds on a pale dawn
sky. First, the tips of his fingers danced over Tom’s chin, trailing low to the
soft but firm underside of his jaw. Tom’s breath caught, flicking his eyes up
at Chris, who was riveted by the bruised pink of his lips, all the beard burn
on cheeks and chest. Widening his hand, he spread it over the front of Tom’s
throat and squeezed lightly as he bent and pressed their mouths together in a
soft kiss.
Tom moaned, trembling like a leaf, his knees about to give out.
“I love you,” Chris whispered, and Tom’s legs buckled. But Chris caught him up
fast, laughing gently at how his boy blushed and sputtered.
“Water? Food? Anything else, babe?” Chris asked after lowering him into the
tub.
“And you. Please come back.”
“I will. Just rest for now. I’ll help you out in a bit.”
Lazing back along the porcelain, Tom hummed as he washed himself. He scrubbed
at his elbows and knees, passing a cautious hand between his legs and wincing
at the aching sting. His neck was next, smoothing bubbly suds over the new
bites and bruises Chris had left. Tom would need to be careful with hiding them
from his mother. Finally, he finished with his hair, lathering it with shampoo
and then dunking down under the surface to rinse it. Through the wall, he could
hear Chris bumping around in the bedroom and further in the house by the
kitchen and living room. When he came back in for Tom, he helped him dry off
and then walked him to the bed, now back against the wall with fresh sheets.
Tom curled up against the pillows and heard Chris start up the shower.
He fell into sleep easily, content in the fact that it was Sunday and he could
technically return home in a day or two. Vaguely, he felt soft kisses behind
his ear, a hand slide down his naked thigh, though he couldn’t wake, only
moaning quietly and digging deeper into the pillow. Hours may have passed, but
the house was unnervingly quiet when he blinked his eyes open, glued shut with
the residue of sleep. Rubbing them blindly, he looked around the room, finding
it empty. Cocking his head, he heard nothing of Chris’s presence.
“Daddy?” No answer. Tom’s heart started beating fast. “Chris?”
Maybe he was outside in the garage. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he tried
standing but collapsed back, his legs completely boneless and still trembling
with fatigue. Something crumpled under his hand just as he was about to panic,
and he glanced down. It was a note.
“Went to the store for something. Be back soon. I love that you smell like me.”
Laughing, Tom folded the note in half and put it on the bedside table. So his
rut was truly ended. Chris would never have left the house without him, would
have even insisted they never leave. When Chris finally did return, Tom was
wrapped up in the new sheets watching a show on Mexican cooking.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
“I brought pizza from Grimaldi’s.”
“Yay! Thank you. Because I don’t think I can cook anything today.”
Chris ruffled his hair. “That’s why I brought it. My kitten is wiped out.”
“What’d you leave for?”
“I went to get us something.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose. “A gift?”
“I think so. I think you’ll like it.”
“Can I see, Daddy?”
“First we eat. Wanna stay in here?”
Tom nodded, and Chris went to get the pizza and some more water.
The pizza was still warm, ricotta cheese dripping off the edges, pockmarked
with Italian sausage and green peppers. With kisses in between bites, they both
ended up greasy-faced and grinning. They washed their faces in the bathroom and
then Chris laid out two towels on the bed. He guided Tom to the middle of it,
and Tom sat straight, waiting.
“Close your eyes,” Chris said, turning the TV off. Tom obeyed. In his ear he
heard very softly, “Now lie back.” A hand pressed evenly at his chest and Tom
let himself sink against the pillows. It still amazed him that before Chris, no
one had ever seen him naked. Now, it was rare to be clothed around his alpha,
spending most of their time in private so at ease with each other that clothes
were often optional.
Despite his ease and comfort in Chris’s presence, this new game had his stomach
nervously aflutter, biting his lower lip as Chris’s hand drifted down his chest
and palmed his belly, staying put.
“Easy now,” Chris whispered, sniffing along his temple and patting his ribs.
Tickled, Tom giggled and then fell silent. He heard Chris uncap something, the
sound popping like plastic, and then an audible squirt.
Tom’s fingers curled in the scratchy towel. “What is it, Daddy?”
“Don’t open your eyes,” Chris said, a smile in his voice. He rubbed his hands
together, the sound like wet sandpaper in Tom’s ears. He jolted when Chris
pressed both palms to his chest, significantly warmer and slicked with
something.
“Daddy, what is it?”
“It’s lube, babe. It’ll help you relax.”
Keeping his eyes closed, Tom arched his spine as Chris dragged his hands low to
his belly, staining his skin with the slippery lubrication.
“Strawberries. And so warm,” Tom murmured, already feeling his head begin to
swim. His skin started humming. “Oh! And it tingles.”
Chris chuckled and pulled his hands away for a moment. Drizzling more on Tom’s
belly, he dipped his fingers in and rubbed his palms together again. Over both
shoulders and down over his thin biceps, he massaged and kneaded, eyes intent
on Tom’s face, the furrowed brows, the bitten lip, the tiny moans bubbling from
his throat. Each wrist, each finger, he massaged every joint, every dip of bone
and sinew, running his hands back up to Tom’s neck and circling it gently. How
trusting Tom was, how loving. He bent his head back and let Chris run both long
thumbs over the bump of his Adam’s apple, his long fingers wrapping around the
back and bumping along the top of his spine. His skin was dark with bruises
from Chris’s rut, but pressure on them only seemed to please Tom, whose small
fists tightened on the towel, hips lifting from the bed. He was visibly hard,
his cock a stripe of red over his pelvis.
“Harder,” he breathed when Chris swept down to his thighs. Digging into the
muscles, Chris felt a sweat break out at hearing Tom moan, the room a little
warmer because of the sunlight filtering in through the blanket-shrouded
window. He concentrated on each leg, his fingers stroking down the outer thigh
and then sweeping back in and up the inner thigh. Tom’s chest was jumping with
tiny gasps, clearly wanting Chris to touch his cock, but he ignored it for now.
In a quick swoop he dragged his fingers up to the hipbones and down his flat
belly, avoiding his cock and creased balls. His pussy, however, he did focus
on.
Smooth with pink, plump lips, Tom’s cunt was hairless and folded in tightly.
Fingers slicked with lube, Chris separated Tom’s legs and then knelt between
them. He bracketed both hands on the crook of each leg and used his thumbs to
glide up along the outer lips. His slit was moist already, parting stickily for
a peek of pink clit.
Chris couldn’t help the small groan he gave as Tom’s cunt slid closed again,
sealing the sensitive nub and darker opening just within. When he glanced up at
Tom, he saw that Tom’s eyes were open but lidded heavily, lashes low on his
cheeks. They held eye contact as Chris swept his fingers down again, massaging
into the crook of each leg and back up, giving the soft skin of his perineum a
rub so gentle it had Tom’s eyes closing again.
Each knee and tender calf, each ankle and foot, all ten of his soft toes, Chris
paid worship, leaving him oiled and tingling and whimpering.
“Turn over,” he whispered, his own rough rasp surprising him. In stilted shifts
Tom turned over, leaving his cock pressed flat beneath his belly. But Chris
lifted his hips and tugged his cock so that it lay pointing straight down to
his feet. Tom huffed and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Starting at
his shoulders and the nape of his neck, Chris pressed and rubbed, Tom’s muscles
slowly relaxing until he lay limply and half-asleep, his erection a straining,
leaking, pulsing thing that drew Chris’s eyes every few seconds.
Kneeling on one side of Tom’s body, right at hip level, Chris turned toward the
foot of the bed and leaned low over Tom’s buttocks. More oil, more shine on
that plump flesh, he greatly enjoyed the bounce and pull of each pale globe.
Sinking further between Tom’s legs, he dipped his fingers along his pussy lips
and then dragged them back up, Tom lifting his hips with a moan, following the
tug of Chris’s hands. He dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled, Tom’s pussy so
wet now with lube and his own personal juices, bubbling from him with every
pass of Chris’s hands. His pale thighs trembled, hips rocking as he sought
Chris’s touch.
“Daddy,” he moaned, small voice hidden under his arms.
Mouth dry, Chris hoisted Tom’s hips up so that he rested on both knees. Tom
tossed a nervous glance over his shoulders at him, and Chris winked, running a
soothing had over the small of his back. Taking his own cock in hand, he ran
the tip over the slicked folds of Tom’s cunt and up over his other hole,
letting it press snugly before drifting further up. He took Tom’s hips and slid
his cock between his firm buttocks, the valley between them so slick and warm.
Pumping his hips, he let their skin slap together, faking a good hard fuck,
yanking Tom back as he pushed forward. To make the space tighter, he held his
thumb over the shaft, keeping up his pace. It was almost real, and it was
perfect.
“Daddy…please.” Tom’s eyes, when he looked back at him, were glazed with need.
“Chris—please.”
Unable to resist any longer, Chris quickly flipped Tom to his back again and
then scooted between his legs, Tom’s cock once again lying in a red, shiny
curve on his belly. Squirting a generous amount of lube in one palm, he angled
Tom’s legs up over his chest so that he lay bent in half, keeping them in place
with one long arm. Under his balls Tom’s pussy gleamed, swollen and pink with
need. Giving in to his urge now, Chris bent low and sealed his mouth over where
he knew Tom’s clit lay hidden, his tongue delving between the spreading lips
and into his heat. With his other hand, he brushed his thumb over Tom’s furled
hole, so smooth and tiny. How would he ever fit?
“Oh, yeah. Chris, yes. I’ve wanted you to.”
Chris blinked up at him, sharpening his gaze. Between the narrow space of his
bent legs, Tom reddened and arched his spine, squeezing his own nipples.
Sucking at his clit, Chris moaned and worked his tongue deeper, tasting Tom’s
juices and the strawberry flavor of the lube. He tried a gentle pressure on
Tom’s other hole, feeling the skin give only slightly. Determined, Chris
massaged it lightly, letting the smooth pad of his thumb and the lube work
together to soften the muscle and allow a breach of finger.
Writhing, legs trembling, Tom cursed softly, so sweetly, as Chris dug in deeper
with his tongue, stroking up his slit and down, turning his head to suck gently
at the lips, pulling them into his mouth and using his teeth to pinch lightly.
Tom gasped and tilted his hips, grinding his pussy harder on Chris’s face.
“Will you hold your legs back, babe?”
Tom nodded crossed his arms under his thighs, squeezing his legs to his chest.
Holding his thumb to Tom’s hole, Chris flicked his tongue over Tom’s pulsing
nub and slowly sank two fingers into his cunt. Tom tightened immediately, mouth
parting with a mewl. Pumping his fingers, Chris angled his wrist and Tom
gasped, his entire body loosening with a sigh.
Chris switched from thumb to forefinger and shoved past the furled muscle of
his hole, the heat there just as sudden, just as wonderful. Tom’s eyes flew
open and he keened, spine lifting from the bed with a cry. Chris felt his cunt
contract, the pulses starting deep within, squeezing his fingers in both holes
as he shuddered through his orgasm. He moaned Chris’s name, legs falling to the
side, unable to hold them any longer, a slip of a tear glistening down his
temple.
Slipping his finger out, Chris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and
crawled back up to straddle Tom’s hips. He sat there, heavily, as he worked
himself to a weak, tingling orgasm. Only able to spill but a trickle on Tom’s
belly, it nevertheless numbed his brain with a static fuzz, spine shuddering
with a sob. He smeared what he could, collapsing over Tom to lie flat on him.
“You will smell like me always, if it’s the last thing I do,” he whispered, and
Tom giggled sleepily, his pale feet flipping happily under the sheets.
***** The Gentling *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
With various aches and bone-numbing exhaustion, they spent the rest of the two
days mostly in bed. Chris did order pizza and brought it to the bedroom, where
they lounged and fed off each other’s slices. They slept in a loose twist, and
lay awake in more or less the same state, the TV background noise as they felt
each other’s bodies with no sexual intent. All exploration and fascination and
worship, studying crooks and curves and counting freckles and grazing stubble
and teasing squeezes. And kissing, above all. Tom knew that they probably
wouldn’t be able to see each other again until the following weekend so he woke
up Tuesday morning with the intention of cleaning. Chris hadn’t done much with
his house since getting released, and it was filthy in ways that made Tom’s
skin crawl if he looked too closely. With the supplies Chris had bought during
their grocery run, he left Chris in bed and set about cleaning out the
cupboards, washing all of Chris’s dusty pots and pans and various plates and
mismatched glasses. He scrubbed every inch of the guest and master bathrooms,
and emptied out the ashtrays and swept out the porch of dead leaves and stray
cigarette butts. Piling up the Playboys and the TV Guides under the lamp table
in the corner, he took the opportunity to glance inside the glossy pages of the
latter, face reddening at the sight of all the pussies shaved clean, the women
staring at the camera, legs splayed wide and inviting. His pussy had always
been hairless, but now Tom wondered if he should shave his balls more
frequently, too. Yet, he felt lazy about all the trouble. He did it for the
picture he sent him a while back, but if Chris wanted him to, he would.
Lastly, he lit a candle by the kitchen window before starting on an early
lunch. He’d always loved spaghetti, and wanted to make that with a salad and
some buttered toast. Chris lumbered in after a while, eyes swollen and rubbing
the back of his head, a sleepy gesture Tom loved instantly.
He came over and leaned over the back of Tom with a huff. “You weren’t there
and I thought I’d dreamt you. That you were home and I needed to go to work.
Oh, shit. I should call my boss.” Tom laughed as Chris went to go find his
phone. They ate on the kitchen table, Tom wearing only a pair of Chris’s boxer
shorts, falling loose around his hips. Afterward, they showered, shuffling
around each other for soap and shampoo, applying one for the other, their
kisses sweet and soft in between.
“I don’t want to go,” Tom said as he packed his bag.
“Someday, you’ll live here and no one can tell you otherwise.”
Tom grinned. “Not even you?”
“Fuck no. I’ll put the deed in your name.”
“Sweet Daddy,” Tom whispered, reaching over his bags to kiss Chris’s lips.
After Chris dropped him off back at his house, Tom left a note for his mom in
the kitchen that he was home from his ‘trip’. Jeff was gone for the moment, so
Tom took his time walking around, soaking in what no longer felt like his own
anymore. Everything, from the walls to the sofas to the carpet, had become
infused with Jeff’s nicotine stain. Not to mention the evidence of his
existence around every corner: the blackened rims of the full ashtrays, the
pile of dirty laundry on the washing machine, a purple satin tie draped over
the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Tom found the rag so revoltingly
intimate that his stomach turned and he fled to his room. Jeff disgusted him,
there was no way around it.
According to his calendar, he would probably have one more heat before school
started in September, and Chris would have his next rut several weeks after
that. They still weren’t set in their schedules, their cycles only just
beginning to form around the recognition of the other. If they continued on
this path, with the many weeks between their heats and ruts, eventually they
would collide in a synchronized phase. Like two revolving stars attracted to a
magnetized center, their revolutions becoming tighter and tighter until they
finally burst in one giant explosion.
Such would be their joined heat/rut, metaphorically and hopefully physically.
Although, Tom was rather worried about the state of their mental and bodily
health if they would both be so entrenched in their needs.
He wouldn’t worry about that now. There was still some time before school, and
before that meeting he had to set up with the school nurse. It made him
nervous, thinking about that talk. Even if there were no alphas around to smell
his dishonesty, lying had never come easily to him and he would need to think
about what he would say to her and hope his face didn’t betray him. For now, he
would enjoy the time he spent with Chris, running away together for their small
hours of privacy on the weekends or sometimes even after Chris got out of work.
But they texted the most when they were apart, and Tom was in a way reminded of
the letters they exchanged when Chris was in prison. It was fun trying to
discern the small little nuances in Chris’s texts, the flirtations and the
sexual aggression, the sweet coddling and the gentle concern and interest Chris
showed for Tom’s life. It was obvious to Tom that Chris wanted him permanently
under his roof, and the thought drove him mad with exhilaration. It was such a
lovely feeling being wanted. He was starting to feel distinctly unwanted in his
mother’s own house.
She’d vaguely asked him about his trip, fingering through the mail, her hair in
a knotted mess on her head. And as he started telling her about it – fully
prepared with made-up details about what he and his friend had done – Jeff had
walked in and Tom excused himself. He doubted she had even heard half of what
he’d said, turning to Jeff fast and hugging him tightly.
For a long time Tom had wondered if his mother’s reserve with him had to do
with his possession of both a penis and a vagina. It made her uncomfortable, he
knew this. But it wasn’t her concern anymore. Tom’s body was his own, and upon
his acquaintance with Chris he’d started to become more familiar with the body
part he had been told all his life to keep a shameful secret. He realized, with
vivid clarity and quiet pride, that he really liked his cunt and cock, and that
his mother’s approval was starting not to matter anymore, even if her lack of
affection or awareness of him still stung.
No, Tom was beginning to wonder if it might be about his father. According to
his mom, his father had left before he found out she was pregnant with Tom.
“No good, son-of-a-bitch,” he’d often heard her mutter when she rifled through
accumulated bills before the Era of Jeff.
Tom wondered if he looked like his father. He liked to tell himself, late at
night when he felt loneliest, that if his father had known about him he would
have stayed, and he would have loved Tom the most.
Whenever Tom managed to extricate himself to Chris’s house, they spent most of
their days in bed, Chris a groaning lump of laughing fatigue and Tom a giggling
pouncing cat. Eating, watching movies, sleeping, they were never more than a
foot away from each other, pressed especially tight at night and on Chris’s
bikes, riding around the steadily cooling streets of their desert city, Chris
often parking in some isolated clump of arid land and fucking Tom over the
leather seat of his Harley. The monsoons started early August, and they often
sat by the front window as the sky opened up with torrents of rain, roiling
with massive dark clouds, the desert air cleansed, cactus spines the color of
bones dripping eternally. The lightning and thunder were always loudest in the
early evenings. With every strike and blow and deluge, Tom would jump and hide
under Chris’s armpit, laughing as the scent of creosote bush wafted in from the
cracked window.
There were a couple more parties with the bike crew and even a few sleep-overs
at Jake Harper’s, the guy who hosted the bonfires. Strapping a single sleeping
bag and blankets and a pillow to the back of the bike, they would join the
others around the simmering smaller flames and camp out under the stars. The
nights were colder that late in the summer and lying rolled together in the bag
created their small bubble of warmth, Tom snuggled into Chris’s side.
The only bad part of these sleep-overs was that Mick hovered and watched, often
masking his interest with jokes and good-natured shoulder pats. But Tom learned
not to stand too close to him, often keeping just a step behind Chris, or else
under his arm, the only safe distance that kept Mick at bay.
But it wouldn’t stop Tom from his cuddles and his whispers to Chris under the
stars, the others scattered and murmuring amongst themselves, too. He loved the
camp outs, the wood smoke and the camaraderie, more of Chris’s friends
approaching Tom, even the girls inviting him to dance and talking to him about
‘girl stuff’. And he loved the way Chris would look at him, the soft stares
across the firelight, lit cigarette in his mouth.
Isabel was fast becoming someone Tom loved dearly. She was like a strike of
match flame in the dark. A spark of light. A burning, a warmth. She had the
loveliest brown eyes and her lips were always stained deep red. When Tom
finally gathered the courage to ask her what color it was, she took his wrist
and pulled him into the house and they stood before the bathroom mirror trying
it on. With soft whispers and a helpful touch, she showed him how to hold the
lipstick and the best way to purse his lips. When Chris came looking for him,
Tom pulled open the bathroom door and planted a giant smooch on his cheek,
leaving a mark in the shape of a red bow-heart. Chris had quietly excused
themselves from Isabel and dragged Tom into a side room, where Tom planted kiss
after kiss all over Chris’s face, decorating him like a polka-dotted scarf.
Even though they washed off the marks – after a photo on Tom’s phone – Tom
still spied one behind Chris’s ear that he managed to smooth away with the pad
of his thumb, winking at Chris with a blush.
Tom loved it best when he would wake in the mornings to find Chris hard but
still asleep. Nosing around the root of Chris’s cock, Tom would inhale him deep
before straddling his waist and sliding down onto his cock with a gasp. He
would already be moving by the time Chris woke up, skin slapping loudly, hands
braced on his chest as he laughed and booped Chris’s nose. Other times, Tom
would take him in his mouth, moaning around the hard length, eyes on Chris, who
would stir and startle awake, Tom’s name on his lips. It was a delight, this
magnificent power he was discovering in himself. Having lain dormant for years,
his unabashed curiosity about Chris’s body and all that they could make each
other feel through touch and emotion was suddenly an intoxicating thing that he
could never get enough of.
His mother’s house was starting to feel like a tomb, only a temporary stop
between his return to Chris’s small adobe home. She was working more shifts,
hardly ever there, and Jeff was a fizzing ball of hate, watching him from
around corners, from behind the living room curtains as Tom hopped off Chris’s
bike most nights. His nose had healed, albeit somewhat crookedly, but his arm
was kept in a tight wrap against his side, the break having been a bad one. He
still drank heavily and Tom still felt afraid of him, despite having so far
obeyed Chris’s threat to leave Tom alone.
Chris was leaving more bruises on his body, his hips and inner thighs and neck
darkened with finger marks and hickeys and bites. A particularly mottled bruise
was forming purple on his collarbone and Tom did his best to hide it, easy
enough under his sweaters and jackets he donned for the wet weather and cool
nights. But the inside of his mother’s house was warm, and so one evening he
walked out of his room for water wearing only basketball shorts and a loose T-
shirt. He was just about to close the door to his room again when the hairs on
the back of his neck stood on end, and he froze.
“You’re a whore,” he heard behind him, and he turned, glass clutched tightly in
his fingers.
Jeff stood at the start of the hall, a glass of something dark and amber in his
hand. His eyes were shot, red-rimmed and glassy and he swayed slightly. Even
from that short distance, Tom could smell the booze on him.
“What?” Tom gasped, voice a whisper.
“You heard me, whore. Think I don’t see the evidence of your heinous sin? That
mark of his blooming on your neck. Little slut, ass up in the air for him. You
let him fuck you and buy you things. That makes you a whore.” He took a long
swallow of the dark liquid and then his face went slack, as if struck with a
sudden thought. Suddenly, it screwed up in rage and he angled his arm back.
Tom had just enough time to spin and sprint into his room before something
burst on the wall behind him, a constellation of broken glass and brown liquor.
His own glass of water was rolling on the floor, spilled.
He slammed his door shut and locked it, and was trying to stuff his feet into a
pair of old sneakers when Jeff started banging on the weak wood.
“Open the fucking door, Tom. You let that thug fuck you and don’t want me to
even look at you? You’re a fucking bitch! A cold-hearted little shit! Open the
door!”
Tom stumbled in his haste, heart racing in fright, and was barely inching his
window up when his bedroom door crashed open. Splinters of wood flew everywhere
and he cried out, ducking and looking back. The hate distorting Jeff’s face
seemed unreal, a visceral dramatization of a human emotion, but there was
nothing fake about it and that’s what scared Tom the most. Jeff would murder
him and rape his dead body if he couldn’t force himself on Tom before he killed
him.
Jeff crossed the room and Tom hurried to scramble over the window ledge, but a
hand grabbed his calf and hauled him halfway back in. He yelled, but Jeff
released his leg and clamped a hand over his mouth, dragging Tom’s body against
his and further away from his only exit.
“Shut your whore mouth. Get back in here and take my dick, you filthy cunt.”
No! Tom struggled, Jeff’s hand on his face like a vise. Mind frantic, he was
able to lift his leg and knee Jeff in the groin, putting all of his weight into
bending Jeff’s injured arm back. Jeff roared in pain and it was enough for Tom
to slip loose, crawling through the window.
Just when he thought he was free, a burning pain lanced up his leg, a jagged
spike of fire. He screamed.
Jeff had slammed the window down on Tom’s ankle, blood gushing from a big cut
right over his bone. He fell out and landed on his side in the graveled dirt,
the air and ground a cold shock to his body. But he didn’t hesitate. Sobbing,
he got to his feet and limped to his bike, which he kept leaning against the
wall just outside his bedroom window.
He jumped on and started pedaling, pain shooting to his knee with every push.
“Wait!” he heard, and glanced back. Jeff was leaning out his window, eyes wide
with panic. “Tom! Where are you going? Wait, please. I’m sorry!”
But Tom kept pedaling, zooming down the street. He’d been unable to grab his
phone before running away, but at least it was safe under his mattress, on
silent. Unless Jeff trashed his room, Tom would be able to recover it the next
day. And he doubted Jeff would do anything to his stuff. The fear in his voice
meant he knew exactly where Tom was headed, and to whom.
It was slow going, maneuvering through the streets and toward the outskirts of
town. Blood trailed behind him and made his shoe squish wetly every time he
pressed down on the pedal. He tried to keep his bike steady, tears blurring his
vision. There were no street lights this far away from his house, and the night
started to creep in on him with no light source. The moon was a sliver and the
stars could only do so much. The dark and the yawning sky set his teeth to
chattering. His limbs became stiff with shock, sobs tearing from his throat. He
could feel it, his heart. It was a war drum in his chest, fast and faster,
blood pumping through him at an alarming rate, a tint of grey beginning to
creep into the corners of his vision. He wouldn’t make it. He was going to
throw up.
But he eventually turned onto Chris’s road, wheezing, imagining great slinking
things chasing him, moving low to the ground ready to snatch him into the
brush. He collapsed next to the garden, only half aware of the handful of
motorcycles parked in the drive. His ankle was swelling and his lungs felt
tight with fatigue and panic. Tripping onto the porch, he pushed through the
living room door and was met with what felt like hundreds of eyes, none of them
belonging to Chris. There was cigarette smoke and music from a small stereo in
the corner, and beer. Lots of beer. But no Chris.
Trembling violently, he murmured, “Daddy.”
He was weak and dizzy, and he wanted Chris.
“Hey kid, you okay?” One of the men stood and took a step toward him. Tom
lurched back, catching himself on the doorjamb.
“Don’t touch me,” he gasped.
“Whoa, easy. Who are you looking for?”
“That’s Chris’s kid,” someone said from the sofa, and Tom saw that it was that
guy who questioned Tom’s age all those weeks ago at the first bonfire. Tom
never bothered to learn his name. Was it Johnny?
Swallowing past rising bile, he blinked and the faces shifted about, confusing
him.
Maybe Chris was in the bedroom, he thought, already hobbling through the smoke
and denim-clad legs.
“Go on, little faggot,” Johnny said, and slapped Tom’s ass.
Tom squeaked and jumped away, losing his balance and hitting the floor. His
ankle on fire, Tom clutched at it, sobbing softly. He couldn’t breathe. His
chest was so tight. Jeff was coming. Where was Chris?
But before anyone could laugh, the room went deathly silent, the only sound the
woeful croons of some country singer on the radio and Tom’s broken sobs.
Vaguely, he made out the figure of Chris standing at the front door, his eyes
on Tom. Very slowly, they slid over to Johnny.
“That was a nasty thing to do, Johnny,” one of the other guys said. “You saw
the kid’s upset about something.”
Johnny held up his hands, addressing Chris, who was taking even steps into the
room. “Look, man. It was only a joke. I didn’t mean for the kid to fall—.”
Chris jumped forward and grabbed Johnny by the front of his jacket. He brought
his leg up and kneed him in the stomach with a sickening thud. He landed two
solid blows to his face, a quick fist and elbow combination, and Johnny went
limp. Dragging him to the door, Chris tossed him outside, where he landed on
the hard ground with a grunt. He turned and had only to stare into some middle
distance before all the others were shooting to their feet and leaving in a
hurry. Chris bolted the door and then rushed to where Tom lay shaking on the
floor.
“Daddy?” he breathed, blinking to make sure.
“Baby,” whispered, cradling Tom’s face. His own was pinched with worry and
anger. “What happened? Who did this? Jesus Christ, you’re freezing.” He froze
suddenly and then bent down to inhale at Tom’s chest, bunching up the fabric of
his T-shirt in one big fist. His eyes, when he lifted his head, flashed with
fury. “Jeff.”
“He—he t-tried…” Tom inhaled raggedly, stumbling, trying again. “Daddy, he—he
almost—.”
But his teeth were chattering too badly, and his vision was clouded with tears.
“Shh. Baby. Okay. Okay, now. I’m here.”
With a determined brow, Chris sat on the floor and hauled Tom up on his lap,
back against his chest.
“Chris,” Tom whispered, throat working. “He—he—he touched me.”
Whining, his hands scrambled to grab hold of Chris when he felt the sharp bite
of teeth on the back of his neck. He winced with a groan, spine going rigid
with surprise.
But then something swept through his blood stream and surged into every synapse
of his brain. Lashes fluttering, Tom felt every ounce of tension dissipate from
his body as he went limp in Chris’s arms. Jaw clamped to his nape, Chris moaned
and held his teeth there, arms wrapped around Tom, curving his big hands over
his shoulders, soothing him. It was a warmth in his blood, different from what
he felt every single second of his life. This warmth had a starry tingle to it,
a blanketing of constellations over the crown of his head. It started at the
top of his spine and spread up into his head, enveloping his brain, relaxing
every hair follicle. It swept down the bridge of his nose and to his lips,
speckles of dusty light taking residence there. Further down his neck and
chest, curling deep in his belly and spiraling low to his hips and kneecaps,
the tender curve of calf muscles. Finally it wrapped around the knob of each
ankle and settled like glitter in every single toe.
Tom moaned weakly, wilted against Chris, limbs sagging heavily. This was the
warmest sun. The softest breeze. This was a galaxy of contentment, spinning him
round and round, stardust coating him like grains of sand.
His eyelids were so heavy. He couldn’t lift them to see. But he didn’t have to.
He had only to feel his alpha, cradling him on the floor, the wet circle of his
bite mark cooling immediately after Chris withdrew his teeth and cupped a hand
protectively over the back of his neck.
“Easy now, babe. Easy. I’ve got you. Daddy’s here.”
Tom moaned again, face tucked against Chris’s bicep.
Maneuvering carefully, Chris held Tom to his chest as he gathered his legs
under him and stood up with a groan, their combined weight making Chris sway a
little as he rose. He carried Tom to the bedroom and laid him on the bed,
disappearing for a minute. Head lolling, Tom stared hazily at the ceiling,
blinking slowly when he caught sight of Chris working above him to strip them
of their clothes. Tom no longer shivered, the dopamine in his blood slowing his
heart rate and stabilizing his severe shock. He felt so heavy, his legs and
arms made of lead, the throb of his ankle injury dulled to a weak buzz. He
could but lie there and blink, and even that felt like too much trouble.
There was a goodness seeping into the meat of his flesh, supplanting all
previous anxiety and panic and taking root with a devastatingly wonderful ease
and belief that he was going to be just fine. Here in the care of his alpha,
Tom would be just fine. His small moans barely registered in his own ears as
Chris yanked his shorts off, kneeling on the floor and studying his ankle. He
muttered something filthily violent and then gathered Tom in his arms, heading
for the bathroom.
Chris adjusted the shower head so that it sprayed along the wall, and then he
sank down to the bottom of the tub, the porcelain rubbing loudly on their skin.
But he ignored it and cuddled Tom against him. Tom’s legs were angled out of
the tub, but when his foot slipped in and ducked under the spray of water, he
hissed at the sudden sting.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Chris said quickly, rocking Tom with a firm hug. “Let the
blood wash away.”
The sudden tension melted off Tom and he lay whimpering, his mouth pressed to
the artery in Chris’s neck, the steady pulse of it lulling him.
“Tell me what happened,” Chris said. And in soft, stilted murmurs Tom explained
everything. What Jeff had called him, the flying glass of liquor, breaking down
his door, escaping through the window, the injury to his ankle, what he feared
Jeff might have done to him had he caught Tom this second time.
Warm water misted over them and Tom nestled closer, lips at Chris’s shorn hair,
the longer middle strands tangled in his fingers. Chris’s features had hardened
and he hugged Tom tighter, smoothing a hand over his naked thigh, the red tint
of blood swirling down the drain slowly turning pink and then disappearing
altogether.
“I swear I smelled you when you got here,” Chris said softly. “Out back in the
garage. Heard your fear, like a drum in my ears. I dropped everything and ran
over. And then I smelled the blood. I think my heart stopped.”
“No,” Tom moaned, tightening his arms around him. Fresh tears soaked his
lashes.
“Your distress was like an alarm in my head, stings along my spine. I needed to
find you.”
“I had to get to you,” Tom whispered. “Going anywhere else didn’t even cross my
mind. The hospital. Or the police. It was just you, Daddy.”
“Shh, baby. It’s perfectly okay. I want you to come to me when you need help.
I’m happy you did. Because I’m going to take care of this, okay? You’re safe
now. You did right by coming to me. You did right.”
They stayed in the tub for more than an hour. Chris washed Tom as best he could
with the bar of soap, touching tenderly around the cut on his ankle. He spoke
no more words of Jeff, only murmured gently to Tom that he was safe now,
wrapping him in a warm towel, drying his hair and kissing his tear-stained
face. He bandaged the cut and brought in a small space heater. Tucking Tom
under the blankets, Chris stood over him, a blank look on his face.
“Your phone?”
“I had t-to leave it, Daddy.” The effects of Chris’s gentling were wearing off,
and his tremors were returning.
“How did you get here?”
“My b-bike.”
Chris’s jaw clenched. “Is he still home?”
Tom tried to control his chattering teeth. “Don’t t-think so. He was drinking,
but c-called me back as I rode away. Sc-screamed that he was sorry. I doubt
he—he would have stayed.”
Chris said nothing, just bent down and kissed Tom’s forehead.
“I’m going to get your phone back. Okay? Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Daddy, no!” Tom cried, sitting up. He snatched Chris’s wrist. “Stay with me.
Please don’t go.”
Chris hesitated, as if his mind was already set on finding Jeff and kicking his
ass. But he nodded after a moment and lay down beside Tom over the blanket. Tom
pulled him close, arms wrapped around his back. Chris sniffed along his
hairline and started rubbing his cheek over every inch of Tom he could reach.
When his mouth slid around the pale column of his neck, he paused at the nape
and exhaled against Tom’s skin there. When he bit down he squeezed Tom’s thin
shoulders, absorbing his surprised gasp. The gentling worked as fast as the
first time, Tom’s body falling limp once more. His breathing deepened and
evened out, and his eyes were heavy-lidded when Chris rolled him onto his back.
Still, he clung weakly to Chris’s forearms, his fingers circling the thick
wrist bones.
“Daddy.”
“Sleep now, baby,” Chris said, palming the crown of his head. Tom’s curls
sprung like gold through his fingers. Tom gave in to the drug flooding his
system and eventually his shivering died down. He quieted as he fell asleep,
but still Chris held him, stroking his hair, hugging his slack body, so thin
and delicate, so trusting and lovely. Why he’d chosen a criminal to love and
deliver himself to, Chris didn’t know, but he wouldn’t break that trust, he
would keep Tom safe above anything else.
Eyes hard on the far wall, images of all the ways he would make Jeff pay
flashed in his mind—jaw cracked and hanging crookedly unhinged on his face,
kneecaps busted, bone shards pushing through his skin. Chris didn’t like guns,
thought they were a coward’s weapon, but he used the occasional knife when
necessary. Prison had shown him a thing or two about shanks. Jeff, though,
seemed beneath even that.
Tom whimpered and clutched at Chris, brows drawn low in his sleep.
“Shh, baby,” Chris said softly. “You’re safe here.”
When it was obvious Tom wouldn’t wake, Chris disentangled himself, hesitating
when Tom’s hands tightened in his shirt, reflexive and completely unconscious.
Setting the blankets up to his chin, Chris closed the bedroom door with a quiet
click and went into the living room.
It was a Thursday night and he hadn’t been expecting Tom. The guys usually came
over during the week to update him on the situation with the liquor stores,
with whom the motorcycle club had an agreement. In exchange for protection, the
liquor store owners would provide free booze and a monthly fee to dispatched
riders, who would collect the goods and bring them back to Mick, who in turn
distributed it among the crew. Despite his age, Chris was unofficially Mick’s
second in command, a position that usually went to an older member. His stint
in prison, however, had left Chris somewhat out of the loop, so some of the
guys had been coming over to fill him in on how business had gone while he was
on the inside. That added with Chris’s newfound sense of unease regarding his
old bike boss, had him questioning a few things.
But the business was doing well. Two stores were crossed off the list for non-
payment, and a few more added in their place. Old-timer Jim Harveux had been
acting as second-in-command while Chris was gone, and he gladly relinquished
the title to Chris. Jim was a good guy, and the only thing he really cared
about was the meaning of the ride, not the power behind it. Chris’s return to
command had seemed to irk some of the newer guys, like Johnny, but Chris
couldn’t really give a shit. He had the support of the majority of the crew,
including all of the older members, and that’s all that mattered to him.
That week, all nine liquor stores would have a biker posted close by, in case
of a break in or attempted robbery. Intervening before the police often led to
a faster course of action, either capturing the thief or stopping the burglary
from even taking place. For insurance reasons, the store owners often didn’t
even call the authorities, keeping everything under the counter. Sometimes,
just the presence of the bikers was enough to keep any crimes from taking
place.
Since being released, Mick had given Chris only the bare minimum of jobs,
letting him acclimate to being on the outside again. His job at the mechanic
shop helped, getting his hands dirty with engine grease, fixing cars and bikes
helping to level his head. Besides, he had to keep up a show for his probation
officer, that he was keeping a low profile, doing what needed to be done to be
a good citizen. He passed all his urine tests and didn’t make a fuss during
visitations. It had worked out alright.
He’d mentioned nothing of his side jobs to Tom, at least not yet, but it was
how he made most of his money. Lots of it. His little place was paid off, as
were his bikes. His monthly outlay was pretty small, things like electricity
and water and the small taxes for his land. The rest of his funds he had hidden
away, keeping an average amount in a bank account that he accessed by debit
card only.
The night Chris was arrested, he’d been after Tony, whom Mick had dispatched to
handle the late-paying owner of a liquor store downtown. When Chris got wind of
it, he’d checked the books and saw that he had the owner as actually current
with his payments and booze delivery. He’d called Mick and explained what he
knew. Mick seemed quiet about it, eventually admitting that Tony had been
handling the books that day and saw the store owner’s supposed lapse in
payment.
“Go on after him,” Mick had told Chris. “Stop him. Bring him in. We don’t want
Tony breaking the guy’s face for nothing.”
Not about to let good business go sour because of a miscalculation on Mick’s
part, Chris had jumped on his bike and accosted Tony just a street away from
the store. They’d broken out in a fight, both attempting to carry out his
boss’s orders. Chris had won. Tony was sent to the emergency room and Chris to
jail. The only good Tony managed to do was stay alive, or else time would have
been added to Chris’s sentence for manslaughter.
He’d thought of that exchange for years locked in his cell, and now he wondered
if there was something more behind the whole reason why Mick had sent both Tony
and Chris to the same liquor store, each with entirely different commands. Such
doubts had been on his mind tonight, just before Tom arrived bleeding and
frozen stiff with pain and shock. Jim had pulled Chris aside in his garage and
confided in him that he’d heard whispers of Mick and what he’d done to the
store owner’s kid.
“Young boy. Maybe fourteen, fifteen. I just think you should know. It was
something dark what he did to that boy. Something…sexual. I like you Chris. And
so do a lot of the other guys. You’re good to us. And younger. If you ask me, I
think Mick was covering his tracks. Tony goes after the liquor store owner, you
go after Tony. All the loose threads snipped tightly. You get locked up, get
out of Mick’s hair, and he’s done with it.”
“What happened to the liquor store owner?” Chris had asked.
Jim shrugged, zipping up his leather jacket. “Killed in a drive by a week
later.”
“And the kid?”
Jim shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Chris’s stomach fell and it must have shown on his face. Jim took his shoulder.
“I just wanted to warn you. What you hear didn’t come from me. But with that
boy of yours? You should be careful. I know what you two have is
consensual—it’s more than obvious with how he is with you, especially with your
mated bond—but what Mick did to that store owner’s son was not. Only some of
the crew know about it, and it’s only whispers at that. Keep that kid close.”
Jim had left and Chris remained in the garage thinking over what he’d said when
he’d caught a whiff of Tom’s scent on the breeze, laden with the bitter tang of
blood and fear. Running into his house a minute later he caught the tail end of
Johnny’s slap to Tom’s ass, his fall to the floor and Johnny grinning like a
damn fool.
And now Jeff.
This sweet innocent pup had no idea the amount of trouble that sniffed at his
heels if he wasn’t careful. And Tom had been careful, as much as he had known
how, but it was Chris’s job to keep him safe and whole from now on.
Grabbing his keys, Chris shrugged into his leather jacket and wrapped a black
bandana with a skull jaw print around the lower part of his face. Glancing
around his living room and kitchen, Chris took in Tom’s touch. His house was
clean for the first time in years, his mate’s presence lightening the
atmosphere into something even more pleasant than how he’d known his home
previously. It was one of the sweetest feelings he’d ever known.
He walked his bike to the start of his dirt road, not wanting to wake Tom with
its roar.
He would check the house first. After that, there were only so many bars the
piece of shit could hide in. And he knew he would. A man like that, dependent
on booze to get through even a normal day, couldn’t stay away from a drink when
under pressure.
Tom’s house was dark. Chris investigated outside his window, saw the splatter
of blood along the metal railing. He slid the pane up, a slow screech sounding
in the night. Somewhere down the street, a dog started barking. In the room, he
took a look around at the place Tom slept when he was away from him. Everything
looked normal. Unmade bed, textbooks stacked on the nightstand. A rickety desk
with chewed pencils stubs and school supplies—a ruler, a calculator, scrawled
on index cards, a paperback with a broken spine. He had a small dresser,
drawers half empty, with a busted watch and some loose change strewn over the
scarred surface. Shoes and socks lying about, Chris picked his way through the
room, squinting in the low light. He bent by the bed and pressed his face to
Tom’s pillow, inhaling that soft scent, his shampoo and sweat, that young boy
smell. Feeling under the mattress, where Tom had told him ages ago he liked to
hide his phone, Chris pulled out the device. He pressed the home button and the
screen glowed brightly, a picture of the two of them, Tom smiling shyly at the
camera, cheek pressed to Chris’s. There were some game notifications and a
calendar reminder for the start of school in a week. He shone the phone light
over the rest of the room, but saw nothing else he thought Tom would need. He
had plenty of clothes and jackets at Chris’s house to dress warmly there. He
grabbed the phone charger plugged into the wall and stuffed it with the phone
into his pocket and moved on.
The door to the room stood open, the jamb shattered. It looked like Jeff might
have cleaned up the evidence a bit, not a shard of wood in sight. Further down
the hall, Chris found the main bedroom, but it was empty, as was the living
room and kitchen. Doubling back to the master bathroom, Chris lifted the toilet
seat and used the tip of his knife to scratch three words into the cheap
plastic.
Coming for you.
Unless Tom’s mother cleaned the toilet bowl thoroughly—and judging by the state
of their bathroom, she probably wouldn’t—then Jeff would be the only one who
saw the message.
Back in Tom’s room, he left the house the way he came in, through Tom’s window,
closing it behind him. It was late, half past ten, and the bars would be mostly
full for a Thursday night. He headed home again, Tom’s phone safe in his jacket
pocket. Jeff would get the message and then Chris could take his time with
punishing him. Making Jeff wait would be half the pleasure.
**
Tom was still asleep when Chris got back.
Curled up on his side, he slept deeply and quietly, face slack and peaceful.
Leaving the door ajar, Chris went into the kitchen to cook him some food. He
woke him later with butterfly kisses on his temples, whispering for him to come
eat. And just because he liked carrying him around like a princess, he hitched
Tom up in his arms and placed him at the kitchen table. His ankle was bruised
purple, swelling around the cut over the bone. While Tom sipped at his soup,
Chris knelt on the floor and propped Tom’s leg on his lap, smearing antibiotic
ointment on the wound and then wrapping it in fresh gauze.
“When does school start, babe?”
“This Monday.”
“You have everything you need?”
Tom shrugged, clinking his spoon around the empty bowl.
“Babe.”
Sighing, Tom’s eyes fell on his cut ankle. “I was going to ask my mom for some
money to get binders and paper and stuff. Pens and pencils.”
“I’ll take you for that. Don’t ask her. I’ll buy it for you.”
Tom’s eyes flashed up to his, and there was something tight around their
corners that gave Chris pause. “I wish I could go to her for that stuff. I
wish…” He broke off and glanced away, picking at a whirled groove in the
tabletop.
“You wish that she cared,” Chris said softly, and Tom nodded. His eyes flooded
with tears.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Chris gathered Tom in his arms, his smaller frame
swallowed up against the bigger bulk of his body, so slender, so slight. The
loveliest. The most hurt. Even if Tom now had his alpha and mate as a constant
source of stability and physical and emotional affection, there was nothing
like realizing one’s mother was indifferent toward her only son.
“I love you,” he said softly. “Can you feel that? How much I love you?”
Tom nodded his head slowly, face pressed moistly into his neck.
“Good. Now, how do you get home from school every day?”
Tom pulled back and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “I take the
bus.”
“School bus?”
“The city bus.”
“And Bobby rides with you?”
“Yes.”
Chris didn’t like that Tom took public transportation. It left him vulnerable
to open advances from other alphas. Chris’s scent on him was perpetual and
strong, but considering how those two men had approached Tom back at Román’s
restaurant, Chris was positive he would be approached again. But the scent and
claiming should keep them from doing anything stupid. It should. Yet, what
happened with Mick made Chris nervous about leaving Tom alone.
Tom traced a finger around the shell of Chris’s ear. “I’ll be okay, Daddy. I’ve
been taking the bus for years. Some days I ride my bike. And I won’t be alone.”
Because Chris’s house was so far into the desert for any bus route stops, it
was settled that they would continue their weekend-only visits. Unless another
incident with Jeff happened again.
Over the rest of the weekend, Tom continued with his silence, sleeping late,
venturing no further than the garden. Chris hovered, bringing him pastry cakes
from the Mexican bakery or peach juice from the fund raiser hosted by the nine-
year old girls’ softball league. Tom would accept everything, smiling at Chris,
kissing his lips, but he wasn’t ready to talk yet, and Chris didn’t pressure
him. Tom got in the habit of walking around the house in Chris’s long shirts,
which fell to mid-thigh, the color of his panties peeking through the material.
Chris would corner him, their make-out sessions urgent and rough, punctuated
with moans and lip smacks. Tom, freshly bruised and flushed post-coitus, would
lie back on the couch smiling lazily, the late shafts of sunset warming his
cheek, a hummingbird flitting at the window.
Here he was loved. And it was helping his heart heal.
“But he won’t try anything, babe,” Chris whispered as he drove Tom home Sunday
night. “It’ll be made clearer to him.”
Tom sighed into his helmet and then squeezed Chris tight before climbing off
the bike.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Tom said, and smiled. There was just one simple kiss, having
done plenty of that just after waking up when Chris mounted and hammered him
hard into the mattress, lying so still afterward, the cool breezes of dawn
whistling against the window. Their kisses then were slow and soft, and deep.
The cut on his ankle was still tender and bruised black, but a small bandage
was all he needed. He tried not to limp as Chris pulled away and disappeared
around the corner. Tom stared after him, an ache starting up behind his ribs.
***** Sore *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
The next Monday morning, parked in a side alley, Chris watched Tom’s house. The
black skull bandana was back over his face, squinted eyes flitting over the
area. It was an older neighborhood, a bit on the rough side, lawns just at the
rusted turn of negligence and laziness, unmown and unkempt. Cars decade’s old,
oil stains on driveways, years of junk gathered in barely concealed heaps in
the overgrown backyards. Shingles beginning to sway, paint along the edge of
everything beginning to peel.
That his pup had managed to stay so innocent, so kind-hearted and trustworthy,
amazed Chris and made him flare with pride. He imagined all the trouble Tom
would have had to avoid to stay so sweet.
Tom's mother had left ten minutes ago, her sad little car puttering down the
street. The other car, Jeff's, was a slightly newer model and still parked in
the drive. Tom had left shortly before his mother, ear buds in place, hitching
his backpack up his shoulder and walking down the street. He didn’t see Chris,
keeping his head down, hands stuffed in both pockets. The closest bus stop was
a five minute walk away, but even so Chris had to fight every instinct to keep
Tom in his sights. If Jeff had left already, it would have been an easy choice
to follow Tom. But the rat was somewhere in the house still, so Chris would
wait.
Sitting back on the bike, he crossed his arms. He propped one foot on the
frame, eyes sharp on his surroundings. His shades darkened the bright morning
light. Early September displayed days that still scorched with the lingering
heat of summer, but the nights turned cool and brisk. His mission wasn’t
stealth, however, so he didn’t mind daylight revealing his whereabouts. He
wasn’t expected at work until ten that morning, so he had a few hours to kill
getting Jeff in the right frame of mind.
At the house across the way, a man and a woman barreled out of their front
door. The woman was yelling about baby formula, the man knotting up his tie in
rough haste. He got into his car and drove away, the woman muttering and
stalking back into the house. Ignoring them, Chris turned away. And then
movement to his left caught his attention and he flicked his eyes to Tom's
house, where Jeff was coming down the front walk, toilet seat in hand.
Chris smirked and stared him down, counting the seconds for the man to look up.
When he finally did, Chris kept still, the bottom flap of his bandana moving in
the dry wind. Even at a distance, he saw Jeff’s face pale, stuttering to a
halt, toilet seat clutched under his good arm like a stupid prop in a comedy
movie. Bug-eyed, his mouth opened and closed helplessly, until after a long
minute he turned and practically tripped in his haste to get back up the drive.
Starting up his engine with a loud roar, Chris guided the bike out to the front
of the lawn, smiling at the flicker of movement from one of the curtains. He
stared for a long moment and then kicked the bike in gear, roaring around the
corner and out of sight.
The next time he saw him, Jeff was at the hardware store, the outline of a new
toilet seat visible in a plastic bag. Chris was parked under a bare-limbed Palo
Verde, no bandana this time, toothpick rolling between his lips. Jeff spotted
him and retreated into the store again, nervous glances thrown over his
shoulder.
Chris let him be after that, knowing Jeff would be a nervous little rat for a
few days. Let him struggle with his guilt and his fear and that toilet seat
one-armed. He would be forced to face Chris soon.
Pulling out his phone, he tapped out a text to Tom.
Meet me down the street from school. At the gas station.
When classes let out, he was parked adjacent to the pumps as Tom rounded the
corner. He grinned at Chris and ran straight to him, limping visibly. He threw
his arms around Chris’s neck in a hard hug.
“I thought we were going to wait until weekends, Daddy,” Tom whispered in his
ear. He pulled on his helmet.
“I couldn’t wait another minute before seeing you. And I thought I’d spare you
the walk to the bus stop in this sun.”
Tom laughed sweetly and jumped on behind him, hugging him around the waist.
“Very true. All this UV light, what’s a girl with porcelain skin to do?”
Chris gunned the engine and flashed a wide smile at him. Hanging on tight,
Tom’s long fingers curled in his shirt the entire ride home, his thin legs
squeezing Chris’s hips.
"How was your day?" he asked happily once they were inside his house. Chris
marveled at how joyful he was even after the events of the week before. He toed
off the grey and black sneakers Chris had bought for him and sprawled on the
sofa. Chris sank down beside him.
"Before work, I followed Jeff around a bit."
Tom sat up. "You did?"
"Yeah. Got him good and scared."
Tom crowded closer, scratching lightly at Chris's buzzed hair. "What did you
do?"
Chris closed his eyes and sighed, missing him so much. "Nothing. I just let him
see me a couple of times."
Tom's eyes fluttered low and he moaned. "You didn't even have to touch him, did
you, Daddy? To get him good and scared?"
His voice had lowered, lashes fanning over his cheeks still round with the
touch of youth. Chris stared, mesmerized, as Tom's skin flushed, breaths
jumping. 
"Tom," he groaned, hands circling his small waist, hauling him onto his lap.
Tom crashed their lips together, sleek little tongue nudging his own, skimming
over Chris's teeth. They grabbed at each other, Chris sliding his hands up
Tom's shirt, back so lean and narrow, soft and smooth.
He got to his feet and carried Tom into the bedroom. After kissing the hollow
of his chest and tugging the pink panties down, he buried his face between his
legs and feasted on his pussy with long, deep licks. Here was that ripe fruit,
peach and juniper berries and something thicker, like swaying wheat in
sunlight. Chris moaned and looked up at Tom, who pinched his nipples through
his shirt and rolled his hips, those big blue eyes cast down at him, hazy with
need. He pulled on his cock and slid a shaky hand down his belly to curl in
Chris’s hair, urging him closer. Chris obeyed and mouthed harder at his core,
flicking his tongue and stabbing in before rolling the plump lips between his
own, making them glisten, a deep red.
“How’s my girl?” he asked hoarsely, and Tom arched.
“Sore, Daddy.”
Chris softened his jaw and lapped at him slowly.
Tom whined and tugged on Chris’s hair. “But it feels so good, Daddy. It does.”
“What about this?” Chris held up his pointer finger, and once Tom saw it,
brought it low to his vaginal entrance, tracing small circles on his wet flesh.
Tom immediately perked up with interest, licking his lip with a flash of pink
tongue. “Can you take this, baby?”
“Yeah.” Tom swallowed, hands in the sheets. “Yeah, Daddy. I think I can.”
“Good boy,” Chris whispered, letting the tip of his finger dip into Tom’s heat.
He felt Tom’s inner walls give around the intrusion, slick with the juices that
Chris could smell on his own face, juniper and peach and dark grains. It was
only two minutes later that Tom asked for another and Chris slotted in his
longest finger, the middle one, alongside the first.
“Yes, Daddy,” Tom grunted, knuckles white in the sheets, his pale chest jumping
with small breaths. “I can take you. I can. Gimme your cock. Please. Go slow.
But I can take you.”
Chris didn’t have to be told twice. He was unbuckling his belt before Tom’s
small voice faded into a breathy sigh, dropping his hips low to guide the head
to Tom’s cunt. Tom whined for him to hurry, but go slow. Hurry, but slow.
Daddy. Please.
Already his cock was engorged, bobbing between them as Chris finally pushed in.
They groaned and grabbed each other close, breaths gusting over each other’s
faces. He wrapped a hand around Tom’s cock and fisted it slowly, loosely. That
cock that flopped around when he rode Chris, bouncing almost lewdly between his
legs when Chris fucked him from behind. That delicious cock, all his.
Slipping inside, Chris stared down at Tom’s narrower frame, still wearing only
his shirt. The half-nudity made his blood race faster, his senses heightened to
every twitch and sound Tom made. Taking hold of the front of Tom’s throat, he
rode Tom hard, mindful of Tom’s injured foot to avoid hurting it.
"Daddy," Tom gasped, stuttering under thrusts. "I love you, Daddy. I love you."
"I love you, too, baby," Chris groaned, steady at that pace, not wanting Tom to
come too soon. He was always so ready to burst, any brush of his cock making
him keen and writhe, all the simultaneous stimulation too much all at once.
Making him take just the full stretch of his cock, Chris avoided squeezing
Tom’s cockhead, letting his balls slap loudly against the cleft of Tom’s ass.
Tom always got so pliant and bendy during sex, clinging to Chris with full
abandon, his legs bent up to his chest, feet bouncing like pale strips in
midair. His toes, Chris noticed, were painted scarlet.
Tom palmed at his face, so in love with smoothing Chris’s hair back, loving the
different texture of their skins, the rougher and the softer, the tanned and
the pale, strong and delicate. Tom absorbed everything about it, and it made
Chris glow with sudden humility that so lovely a creature would find him
interesting in the least. He was nothing compared to this desert snowflake.
“Chris,” Tom breathed, long and low, before his eyes were rolling up and his
pussy clenched like a vise around Chris’s cock.
“Fuck,” Chris gritted, his jaw clamped as he stuttered to a stop to let Tom
suffer so beautifully in his orgasm. Chest flushed with color, neck veins
straining, bow mouth parted, lashes fluttering, his hands gripping Chris’s
biceps as if he might fly away if he let go. Between them, Tom’s cock remained
hard, leaking pre-come. His climax was purely vaginal, and more intense and
long-lasting because of it. A tear slipped from Tom’s eye as he cried out
softly for the next wave, rocking against Chris, fucking himself on his cock.
Shaking and desperate, Chris pulled out and flipped Tom on his belly, eyes
glazed with one flushed cheek pressed to the sheets. Pushing back in, Chris
slid his hands under Tom’s shirt and pulled at his waist to prop Tom on both
knees, pert bottom poking up in the air. Using both thumbs and index fingers to
pinch at his nipples, Chris grinned as he rolled them into tight little nubs.
Tom gasped and arched his back.
“Daddy,” he sobbed, letting fat tears roll down the bridge of his nose. How
Chris loved those tears, so desperate and brimming with the urgency he felt for
Chris, for what only Chris could give him. It made Chris feel invincible, and
worth something.
“What do you want, baby?”
“Your cum, Daddy!”
“And what else?”
Tom ducked his head, lashes down coyly. “To please come again, Daddy.”
Chris grinned and lowered his hips, already knowing which spot to hit. He
thrust over and over, hard and measured, his big hands ringed around the small
of Tom’s back, forcing the arch, hitting him deep. A dozen more times and then
Tom was screaming, legs trembling behind them as he pulsed a thick cream. It
was only then that Chris let himself go, rooting himself deep and cupping his
sac, feeling it draw up as he released inside Tom. There was no knot, Chris’s
body still recovering from his first rut since being out of prison. Clinging to
the sheets, Tom breathed raggedly, their bodies hot and slick with sweat. His
shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably, and he tugged at it, wanting it off.
“Alright, impatient little boy,” Chris laughed, pulling out and helping pull
the garment off.
Once naked, they rolled over on the bed, legs twined, playing with each other’s
hair.
“I want a shower and then food,” Tom demanded and kissed Chris’s nose. He
hurried to his feet just as Chris was nodding off, yanking at his arm. Chris
groaned, but let himself be pulled to the bathroom, where they squeezed into
the stall despite having no room to maneuver, preferring to be plastered
together anyway.
“Your friend didn’t ask where you were going today?”
Tom frowned, hands stilling on Chris’s shoulders, bubbling with soapsuds. Chris
ducked his head, meeting his eyes. “Your friend Bobby?”
“Oh,” Tom said, cheeks turning pink. “Well. Daddy. Bobby wasn’t in school
today.”
It was Chris’s turn to still. “You were going to go home alone?”
Fidgeting from foot to foot, Tom turned into the spray of water, rubbing his
face. Chris took his shoulder and turned him back around. “You weren’t going to
tell me. Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry. He told me he wasn’t back from his family
vacation yet. They went up north, where it’s cooler already than here in the
valley. He’ll be back tomorrow. He’ll come with me then.” His eyes were
downcast, slim fingers circling Chris’s biceps, nervous.
“I don’t like that, babe.”
Tom cast wide eyes up at him, panicked. “Daddy, I didn’t want you to—.”
But Chris stepped closer, crowding Tom against the shower wall. “I think my boy
needs to be punished.” He bent and let his full lips nuzzle at Tom’s temple,
and Tom let out a shaky breath.
“Y-you’re not mad at me, Daddy? Disappointed?”
Chris looked at him, eyes crinkling with affection. “No, baby. I’m not mad at
you.” He took Tom’s face in both hands. “I remember when you asked me that
before. Back at the prison. You worry about making me angry?"
Tom shrugged, looking down. "I feel like I disappoint a lot of people. And I
don't want to disappoint you."
"Baby," Chris sighed, bending low and hauling Tom closer. Tom held tight to his
neck, kissing Chris's jaw, his ear, his temple. Chris loved that his toes
barely skimmed the floor when he grabbed him up like this.
Reaching down, he shut off the water and stepped out to grab a towel. He took
Tom’s hands and helped him out, drying them quickly. But even so their bodies
were still misted and beaded with leftover water, skin slippery and soft.
Sitting carefully at the edge of the bed, Chris cuddled Tom close in his lap,
their kisses turning urgent. Tom's mouth slid from his ear down to the stubbled
edge of his jaw and Chris moaned, hand cupping his ass, squeezing. Long hands
curved around his neck and scratched into his nape, making chills break out
along Chris’s spine. Crashing their mouths together, Chris dug his fingers into
the thin meat of Tom’s waist and pressed their chests together, the great heat
of their skin cooled by the fresh shower.
When he broke away, Tom lay curled heavily against him, eyes glazed.
"Why did you lie to Daddy?" Chris asked, rubbing a circle over Tom's ass.
Confused for a moment, Tom blinked. Tears rising, he hiccupped, cuddling
closer. “I—I didn’t lie. I only kept Bobby’s absence a secret because I didn’t
want you to worry about me getting home on my own. I just want to be a good boy
to you, Daddy.”
“I know, baby. And you are the best little boy. I can’t fucking get enough of
you,” Chris whispered, pulling Tom closer. “But I think I need to give you a
spanking. To teach you a lesson.”
Tom froze, recalling Jeff threatening him with the same thing so long ago. But
unlike that time, when his heart had been spiked with fear, his pulse jumped
now at finally being able to feel what those guys in his online videos felt,
and at Chris's hands, it would be just as he imagined it.
"Okay, Daddy," he whispered, cupping Chris's cheek, thumb rasping over his
stubble. "I'm sorry."
"Shh," Chris soothed, guiding Tom to stand. Resisting the urge to fidget under
Chris’s appraising stare, Tom bit his lip and waited.
“Come here,” Chris asked gently, patting his lap. Trembling, Tom draped himself
back over Chris’s knees, his belly and chest supported by the wide breadth of
his muscled legs. A warm hand ran over his ass, which jutted up invitingly. Tom
grasped Chris’s leg, whimpering into the mattress. “It’s alright. Just a few.
You can take a few for Daddy, right?”
“Yes, I’m a good boy.”
“You are a good boy. You’re my little boy.”
And then he brought his hand down, the smack loud and jarring. Tom gasped,
bucking. 
“Easy,” Chris murmured. Another smack, this time on the other cheek. Tom jumped
and clung to Chris, breathing fast.
With one hand holding him by the neck, the other landed on his sore bottom
again and again. Legs splayed out, Tom felt on fire, his skin beginning to
burn, to buzz. His soft cries turned into a desperate weeping, the slaps to his
skin vibrating with pain, but his cock was a swollen rod against Chris’s thigh
and he writhed to ease some of his need.
Another smack. And another. His skin stinging, burning, Chris’s hand soothing
it just after, but it wasn’t enough.  
“Daddy, please!” Tom cried out brokenly, having lost count of the number of
spanks, but he trembled with fatigue, tears pouring down his face. His cock
throbbed mercilessly, and he didn’t know if he loved the pain or hated it.
Chris groaned and rubbed his red skin, Tom wincing from the sensitivity. But
against Tom’s belly, he felt the hard ridge of Chris’s erection and smiled,
overjoyed and relieved that Chris was pleased with him. Very suddenly, Chris
stood and Tom ended up on his back, lying flat on the bed, Chris covering him
completely.
“Thank you, baby. Thank you. You were wonderful. Such an obedient little boy.”
Tom sobbed, his tears kissed away by Chris, who cradled his face with soft
nuzzles.
When Chris lifted away, Tom stayed put, wiping at his tears, legs clamped shut.
But then Chris dipped two fingers into him and swallowed the head of his cock
in one motion. Mouth hot, tongue slicking down the shaft, fingers curling to
the last knuckle. Tom arched and screamed his name. His hips lifted, seeking
more of Chris’s mouth, full lips sealed around the width of him. His bottom
still stung, but it was a hollow ache, present but not painful.
“Daddy, I’m—.”
It was so fast. It was happening too fast. Chris bunched his fingers in and
hollowed out his cheeks and Tom’s balls drew up as he came, shouting, hoarse
and trembling. Chris sucked at the head, tongue flicking at the slit, catching
the last spurting drops. Breathing ragged, Tom collapsed back on the bed, head
swimming, hands shaking.
Vaguely, he felt a finger inch out of him and begin a sticky trail down to his
other hole. He stiffened with surprise. A muted crack of plastic and then a
warm river of lube between his legs. Tom sighed, smiling.
“Tom. Hold still, baby.” A fingertip rimmed his hole, testing the resistance.
“Nice and slow, princess. I’m going to go a little deeper.” But Tom was
boneless on the bed, breaths harsh, pliant and nodding his head. With one warm
hand cupped over his pussy, Chris poured more lube and pressed his finger in,
Tom’s hole giving way.
“Chris.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t stop.” He lifted his head, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t
stop. I want you everywhere.”
“Okay,” Chris whispered, nodding. “Okay, Tom.” He began a quick pump into Tom’s
ass, his finger sinking in to the last knuckle. He twisted and ran it in small
circles, starting the stretch, eyes on him, on his breathing, on the way his
delicate hands gripped the sheets, thin wrists flexing.
“You okay?” he whispered, and Tom nodded, licking his lips. “My little boy
wants me to fuck him here?”
Tom rose up to his elbows, curls moist with sweat. Legs hanging open like
wings, he blinked down at where Chris slid his finger in and out, and then
flicked his eyes up at him, something heady and sweetly wicked in them.
“Yes, Daddy. I want you to fuck me there. Will you? Please? As part of…my
punishment?”
“Goddamn it,” Chris cursed quietly, bending back over him and trying for a
second finger. It was harder to shimmy in, but it finally slipped in next to
the first, the muscle giving after a moment. Tom winced but nodded, easing down
to his back and watching Chris through his lashes. His cunt was dripping, an
impressive river of his own climax. Chris busied his other hand with smoothing
the cream over his flushed pussy, smearing it messily.
Wracked with tremors, Tom smiled and undulated his hips. “Tickles.”
But then a third finger pressed over his hole and he gasped.
Chris palmed his belly. “Shh, baby, it’s alright. Hold still for me.” Dropping
onto his side, he wrapped Tom close to him with one arm, the other stretched
down between his legs still.
“Gonna open up this pretty little hole of yours. So pink and tiny.”
Dizzy, Tom clutched at Chris, one arm on his back, spread over that amazing
tattoo, the spinal cord lit from the side as if by candlelight.
Three fingers deep, and Chris could swear he felt every particle of sunlight on
his skin, could see every mote of dust floating in the remaining air of that
day. Tom trembled through the stretching, Chris kissing his temples, his wet
lashes, his lips, shushing him gently, telling him not to cry, that he would
take care of him.
And when Chris crawled on top, Tom’s legs fell open even wider, skimming both
hands over his waist, the dark tattoos swirling in the stilted light. Lubing
his cock well, Chris kept his gaze low as he guided himself in, to where the
blunt and wide head of his cock started to breach Tom.
Tom winced, tensing up.
Chris froze. “Relax, baby. Breathe for me.” Long strands of hair blocked
Chris’s face from him and Tom hurried to smooth them back, needing to see his
eyes.
“Daddy,” he sobbed, crying out again when Chris tried for another inch. “So
big. It hurts, Daddy. You’re too big.”
“You want me to stop?” Voice gruff, Chris held still, body poised above,
trembling with tension. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”
“No! Please, Daddy. Don’t stop. It’s just…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “It’s
just—you’re so big.”
“Give it a minute, baby. You’ll adjust to me. You can take it. I know you can.”
Another push and Tom grunted, motionless, teeth clenched.
Chris took his face in both hands. “Breathe.”
Tom shook his head. Not breathing felt better.
“Tom. I told you to breathe.”
Tom exhaled, sobbing out his pain.
“Will you fit? Chris, you won’t fit,” he whispered, feeling like a metal rod
was pushing into him.
“I will. Take it. Take what I give you.”
And by patient prodding, Chris finally rooted himself, their pelvises touching,
feeling heavy inside him. Tom shook, sniffling quietly, nails dug so deep into
Chris’s back. Chris waited, breathing harshly, supporting himself on arms hard
with strain.
“Don’t cry, baby,” he whispered. “It’ll stop hurting soon. I promise. Let
yourself adjust to me.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Tom breathed in and stuttered his breaths out. But Chris was
right. After a few long moments, while Chris looked on with gritted teeth,
sweat dripping onto Tom’s chest, Tom felt the muscle around his hole give and
soften around Chris, still wrapped tight, but less painful.
“I’m gonna move,” Chris warned, and Tom nodded. Planting a wide palm on the
back of Tom’s thighs, Chris bent him double. “I still can’t believe how fucking
flexible you are. Shit.”
Tom blushed and smiled shakily, vision still blurry with tears.
Chris pulled out halfway and pushed in, repeating it again and again. Before
Tom knew it, he was drawing back to the tip of his cock and slamming in, body
rocking violently beneath him.
“Yes, baby. Such a sweet little ass. Take my cock. It’s yours.”
Tom reached up with his arms and Chris fell forward, locking their lips,
swallowing his tiny yelps. With every thrust, Tom cried out. The pain was still
present, but greatly lessened. Instead, there was a jab of pleasure with every
thrust, like a spark deep within him and he wiggled his hips, trying to snatch
it and keep it going.
Chris grinned, laughing low. “Eager little boy, are you?”
“Uh-huh,” Tom moaned. Lashes soaked, they felt cool on his pink cheeks.
“My little boy. You’re mine.”
“Yours, Daddy,” Tom whispered, nodding. He took Chris’s cheeks and pulled him
in for more kisses, their lips smacking loudly.
“Such good boy pussy,” Chris groaned, leaning up a bit and watching where he
disappeared into Tom. “So good and tight. So fucking tight. I used to imagine
this after we met. How tight you would be. I wasn’t wrong. Fuck.” He grimaced,
hips moving faster. “But this was before I knew about…this little bit of you.”
He patted Tom’s pussy and Tom giggled, cupping Chris’s buttocks.
Heavy against his belly, Tom’s cock stirred again, his desire no longer
dampened by pain and discomfort. His pussy, empty and still swollen, throbbed
as Chris fucked him good and hard, stuffed with thick cock, every vein and that
bulbous head dragging over his inner walls, sparking that spark again, blinding
Tom with need.
“Daddy, th-that…what is that?”
“What’s what, baby?”
“I can feel it. Inside.” He winced, back arching. “There! Fuck, Daddy.”
“I love when your little mouth gets filthy with words like that. Say it again.”
Tom nodded, curls drenched with sweat. “Fuck, Daddy.”
Chris groaned and kept moving, sitting up on his knees, taking Tom’s hips and
gripping them hard to bruise. Sprawled out before him, Tom felt weightless as
Chris rolled his hips as easily as a doll’s, sinking into him again and again.
Grunting, sweat poured from Chris’s face, shining on his body. Tom trailed his
hand down his chest, slick and moist. And then the sparks again and Tom
shrieked, head thrown back.
“Found it,” Chris grinned. “That’s your prostate, baby. Hold on.”
Angling himself right, Chris fucked into him, their hips slapping together. Tom
rocked, blinded by white dots, spine bowed over the mattress.
“Daddy…can I…?” he mumbled, hand starting to reach for his cock.
“No,” Chris said, and Tom’s hand shot back to the mattress. “You’ll come from
this.”
Just a handful of thrusts later and Tom did come, screaming into the small
room, hot air swirled only by the lazy ceiling fan above them. A stream of cum
poured from his pulsing cock, landing on his own chest and neck. 
“Fuck yes,” Chris groaned, watching him fall into the dizzying pool of orgasm.
Frantic now, Chris gripped his hips and pounded in hard, Tom’s tears blurring
his sight again. Over-sensitized, Chris’s onslaught was bordering on painful,
but he didn’t have to wait long.
Chris pulled out in a hurry and stroked himself twice before erupting over
Tom’s stomach with a loud groan. Creamy cum gushed out, mixing with Tom’s own
seed.
“Mine,” Chris gasped, rubbing his climax out.
Tom, arms flopped to the sides, arched his back, better presenting himself to
Chris. And then he lifted his hands and touched the hot strings of cum on his
body, pooling together in the concaves of his chest and belly. Fingertips to
the sticky mess, he felt well and truly claimed once more. It never ceased to
surprise him, how lovely the feeling was to be claimed.
He cast wide eyes at Chris, who sat heaving, hovering over him.
“More,” he said, smiling wide. “Daddy, I want more.”
Blowing a strand of hair out of his face, Chris grinned, exhausted. “You’ll get
more, baby. But Daddy needs to rest for a bit. I’m surprised I have any left in
me.”
He flopped down beside Tom, who lay on his back still, happily smearing their
joined spend over his torso.
“It looks good on you,” Chris murmured, watching him through half-closed eyes.
“I love that it’s of us both,” Tom whispered. “Because I’m yours.”
 “All mine,” Chris agreed, pulling Tom close with an arm around his waist.
Tom traced Chris’s lips, blue eyes so beautifully big. “Do you like the way I
smell, Daddy? Do I taste good?”
“Yes, you fucking do. Alphas have a stronger sense of smell. And you, well,
it’s like rich, moist earth. Turned heavy with rains. Bits of flowers caught in
between. It’s amazing.”
Tom hummed and closed his eyes, pleased.
 “How are you feeling? Okay?
“More than that,” Tom sighed, curling up into his side. “I never imagined how
amazing it would be. That the orgasm I get from that is as different as the one
I feel in my pussy, or from my cock.”
“I’m pretty jealous,” Chris said.
Tom quieted. “You wouldn’t be, waking up all my life remembering what I have
between my legs when during the night I might have forgotten. Remembering that
I had to keep it secret.”
Chris’s brow drew low. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“I’m not sorry. She was wrong. I know that now.”
Tucking him under his arm, Chris rocked him slowly, kissing his curls and
palming the small of his spine. “Sweet princess. I love you.”
Tom lifted his chin, smiling into their quick kisses. “I love you. I don’t want
to go back. I have to and I don’t want to.”
“You’ll be mine permanently, soon.”
Tears clouded Tom’s vision. “Not for another two years, Daddy.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Okay? We’ll be fine, me and you.”
Tom fell asleep snug and moist against him. Until about an hour later when he
woke rock hard, shifting impatiently next to Chris.
“Daddy,” he whined, arms tight around him.
Chris’s heart flipped, that familiar flame of arousal lighting in his gut.
“What, baby? What is it?”
“I need to come again, Daddy. I’m so hard.” Tom rutted against his leg, right
against the skull tattoo with the lit cigarette.
Silently, Tom turned away from Chris and lay face down on the bed, peeking at
him from over the edge of his arm, a flirty, naughty look from one who was
starting to become extremely spoiled. Delighted, giving a short staccato laugh,
Chris jumped up and straddled Tom’s thighs, finding his hole still loose enough
to take more cock.
He pushed two fingers slicked with lube into him. Tom grunted softly.
“Better, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
This time, when Chris pushed in, Tom moaned into the sheets, toes wiggling.
There was only the hot slippery press of Chris’s naked cock, silky smooth and
thicker than ever, a different stretch from the one he felt in his pussy.
“You have the prettiest little ass. It bounces so nicely.”
Tom ducked his head, feeling the blush creep up his neck. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Chris gathered him up on all fours and pounded in, wrapping both arms around
Tom’s thin torso and delving his tongue into his waiting mouth, slow and easy.
Tom’s bottom burned from the spanking, but he moaned at the stretch, the
pleasure and the pain mixing so deliciously in his blood.
He arched and Chris held him tighter, widening one hand on Tom’s flat belly to
ram in deeper.
"Yes, Daddy," Tom moaned, gripping Chris by the ass. "Fuck me. It's yours,
Daddy. All yours."
Chris growled and pushed Tom back on his belly, planting a wide hand on his
spine, claiming Tom’s hole with rough thrusts, hips snapping fast. It was a
harder and quicker fuck than before, rocking into Tom with loud groans. His
slim legs pressed together, Tom’s bottom poked high and gorgeously round for
Chris to take. They rocked together, the mattress creaking with their motion.
Tom, adrift in the great power that was Chris above him, lost track of how long
they lay there, rutting and gasping. But his skin was buzzing and he whined and
clawed at the sheets, ready to burst.
“You don’t disappoint me, Tom,” Chris said softly, hips snapping hard. “Okay?
You don’t disappoint me and you’re the sweetest part of me. The only sweet part
I have. Don’t be afraid of me.”
He pulled out and flipped Tom onto his back, his skinny arms already lifting to
hug Chris to him. Such heavy, delicious weight, hot and hard. He wanted to die
under this weight. Tears blurring his eyes, he sobbed quietly, hands hooked
under Chris’s shoulders.
He shook his head. “I’m not afraid of you, Daddy. I’m not. I love you.”
Chris kissed the tears, smiling. “My baby. I love you, too. Come, Tom. Come
now.”
Tom fisted his cock, sliding his fingers down over his cunt and back up again
to swirl up and down his erection, and back again. He was so close, pitching
his hips forward and back until he too climaxed with a strangled scream, breath
tight in his chest, eyes rolling up, a hand clawed in the pillows. He spilled
on himself, a long stream landing across his mouth, and Chris bent to kiss him,
lapping up the cum from Tom’s lips, the taste bitter and salty.
Tom was so in love.
“I’m coming, baby. Gonna fill you up.”
Tom nodded fast and tilted his hips. Chris groaned his release, thrusting a
little deeper, spilling thick spurts of his seed into his mate. Tom felt the
hot gush of his cum, swearing he could feel his very cock swell with each pulse
inside. His heart raced, Chris gripping his hips and slamming in again with a
groan. He clenched his hands over the back of Chris’s thighs, lifting his head.
“Not yet, Daddy,” he pleaded. “Don’t pull out. Stay inside me. Just a while
longer.”
Chris trembled above him, panting, long strands of hair falling free.
“Okay,” he rasped, grimacing as he relaxed his weight on Tom’s body, so slender
and lovely beneath his.
He went soft, but their hips were flush, so he stayed snug inside. Happy there
was no more left to spill, they dozed for a short while until Chris slipped out
when they shifted on the bed.
“I’m seeing the nurse tomorrow,” Tom whispered.
“What will you say?”
“That I’ve had my first heat and that I spent it in my room.”
“And if they ask about a mate?”
“I have none.”
“Will you text me when you’re done with your appointment?”
Tom smiled and nuzzled his cheek. “Of course, my Chris.”
***** Blood to the Surface *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
“Tom? You have a slip for the nurse’s office.”
Mrs. Liz held out a slip of paper for him, and Tom stood from his desk. Zipping
his backpack closed, he walked up the aisle between the desks. There were
snickers from his classmates, the usual banter at someone called out of class,
but he ignored them, returning Mrs. Liz’s smile. He took the note and headed to
the door.
As promised, Tom had compiled all of his letters with Chris—except for those
that became noticeably more personal and flirtatious toward the end of summer,
those he saved for himself—into a nice portfolio, including a short paper he’d
written with mostly bullshit observations about the prison system, juxtaposing
freedom and incarceration, blah blah. Mrs. Liz’s eyes lit up when he presented
the binder to her, calling his project creative and insightful. He’d smiled and
thanked her, but kept his true excitement quiet. Neither she nor anybody knew
of the flutter of emotions that had taken residence in his chest, like tiny
tickling wings, since sending that first letter three months before. Not even
his friend Bobby had any idea how Tom spent all his spare time, but they’d
exchanged numbers and kept in contact that way. Tom could only hope that his
excuses about spending more time with his cousins kept up his hidden life with
Chris.
The hallways always loomed creepily between classes, emptied of students and
resounding with echoes of even the smallest noises, footsteps and car horns and
textbooks settling inside scuffed lockers. Ms. Emherst’s office was in the same
area as the principal’s office. Tom kept his head down as he passed through the
administrative area. Even though there was no one around to sniff out Chris’s
claim of him, it still made Tom nervous knowing he held so dangerous a secret.
He knocked and was beckoned in by a soft voice.
“Ms. Emherst?”
“Tom, come in!”
Ms. Emherst was a tall woman with red hair she liked to keep plaited down her
back. She wore jeans and a green sweater, with pearl stud earrings that
complimented her dimples nicely.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“Thank you for setting an appointment. That almost never happens.” She laughed
and sat on her rolling chair, patting the low bed that looked more like a cot
than anything. Tom set his backpack down and took a seat at the edge, running
his palms nervously over his knees.
“So. How can I help you today?”
“I wanted to register as an omega.” The words were warm feathers on his tongue
that flowed out into the air and lay hovering between them. Tom would have
preferred keeping his identity as an omega to himself, but it was the only way
he would be excused from school when his heats struck. If he were absent so
many days out of the year without reason, his teachers would become suspicious
or think him undedicated. Chris already had an understanding with his boss; he
would be allowed time off for his own ruts and his mate’s heats, as long as
Chris provided him a few cases of beer every month.
Ms. Emherst looked startled for a moment.
“Tom, you’re almost seventeen.”
In the way of his generation, Tom simply shrugged. I don’t know.
She pulled out a folder from a drawer in her desk. “When did you have your
first heat?”
“Mid-July. I think.” He feigned confusion, knowing very well the exact date.
“It was all a…gross blur.” He shrugged again.
She nodded in understanding. “Heats and ruts, especially the first few, can be
upsetting. You don’t know what’s going on. Your body’s doing all these things.”
Don’t say ‘urge’, Tom prayed, already distinctly uncomfortable. But it seemed
she’d navigated these choppy waters before.
“But you get better at them. You get better at identifying when you’ll get your
heat, and what you’ll need to get through it alone. Which brings me to my next
question: you weren’t mated during this first heat?”
Tom blushed and did his best to avoid ducking his head. He shook it, eyes wide.
“No way.”
“That could complicate things, as you’re underage. Which is why I’m happy you
told me about your new development. We can send you home on the days you get
your heat and then you come right back to school when you’re done. If you’d
gone into heat here on campus, the alphas in the upper west floor of the school
would have been able to tell.”
Tom gulped. He’d forgotten about those alphas, the borderline violent, often
uncontrollable bucks who were just blooming into their natures. But they would
never be able to distinguish Tom from the rest of the omegas at school. He
never crossed paths with them, and there would never be any reason for him to
speak to one. They were taught separately for a reason.
“Is that it, then?” he asked, hoping to leave now.
“First heat was mid-July,” she said to herself, writing notes into his file.
“And you didn’t get another in August before school?”
“No.”
“That’s okay. Your body is learning to synchronize itself. Often cycles are
meant to join a mate’s, but since you have none, your cycles might be erratic
at first.” She skimmed his paperwork. Tom’s chest started aching in that
familiar way, missing Chris, hating the time apart from him. “When was your
last doctor’s visit?”
Tom wondered that too. His mother wasn’t exactly on top of things like that.
“Like last year sometime.”
“You’re up for another annual exam.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’m assuming your next heat should be soon. As soon as you start to feel
any of the signs that you’ll get it, disorientation, flushed skin, bellyaches,
come see me and I’ll provide you a pass to stay home. Your teachers will be
informed so that they can prepare makeup work for you and class notes from the
days you missed. Any questions?”
“You’ll keep track of my heats, too?”
“I will.”
“Does my mom have to know?”
“You’re under eighteen. She has the right to know your medical status. But,”
she said, rolling closer and tucking his file against her stomach. “I won’t
disclose anything to her if you don’t want me to. Not unless it is a major
emergency and we have no choice.”
Tom nodded, relieved. “Yes. I prefer that, please. I’m sort of…embarrassed by
all this.”
“There’s no need to be. Every type, whether it be alpha, omega, or betas, have
advantages and disadvantages over each other. But you need to remember that
it’s all natural. We all go through something. Even betas go through puberty
and that’s just as awful.”
She grinned, and Tom returned it. He left her office feeling better about her
knowing, and confident about missing school when he got his next heat.
Which would be soon. He could already feel it.
**
“Can you feel it?” Chris asked that weekend. It was a Saturday afternoon and
Tom was lying out on a lawn chair he’d found stacked in the corner of Chris’s
garage. Wearing jeans and a black bra, Tom lay back against the slanted plastic
strips, pink heart-shaped glasses perched high on his elegant nose. He smiled
up at Chris, who cast him in shadow, the aging sun outlining him in fire.
He traced a hand down Chris’s thigh. “Feel what, Daddy?”
“Your heat. It’s coming, right?
“Yes. I can feel it.”
Chris palmed Tom’s belly, dragging his lips down to his flat abdomen.
“I can feel it too. A tightening in my gut. All I can think is, my mate, my
mate, my mate.”
“I won’t be as frightened this time. I’ll know what to expect.” He brushed
Chris’s hair back. “What are we doing tonight? Dinner? Movie? Sex?” He giggled
and let Chris crawl next to him on the chair, rubbing their noses together.
“I think tonight’s the night.”
Tom grew serious, his blond brow bunching.
“Do you want to be there?” Chris said.
Silence. Long fingers in his hair, a puff of sweet breath on his face. And
then, “Yes, Daddy.”
“I’m gonna hurt him bad, baby.”
“I know, Daddy.”
He kissed his nose. “Go get ready.”
**
It was late and there was a house party down the street in Tom’s neighborhood,
thick bass beats pulsing low on the ground. While Chris took a look around the
rest of the interior, Tom headed to his own bedroom, feeling a stranger in it.
Practically living with Chris, Tom kept most of his clothes and things at his
house, having sorted them in time beside Chris’s clothes in his closet, their
toiletries lined together on the bathroom sink. Slowly, his books and music and
binders and gadgets made their home in Chris’s bedroom, and neither of them
made mention of it, both happy for the change, continuing to fuck and eat and
sleep together, laughing and petting each other, Tom never having felt more
loved in his life.
It was only for appearances’ sake that Tom stayed at his mom’s house most
nights, his age restricting him to remain under her care. But ‘care’ was a
loose term when it came to his mother. It had become increasingly apparent to
Tom that he had existed up until this point alone. That she, after a certain
age, gave up on him. And it made him equally despaired, and furious.
Quietly, he took a spare bag from his closet and started filling it with some
of the last few things he wanted to take with him to Chris’s house. Glancing
around, his room looked bare and void of a personal touch. Bed made, desk clear
of clutter, closet nearly empty.
This wasn’t his home anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.
He bumped into Chris in the hallway, staring at the dent in the wall made by
Jeff’s flying glass of scotch. Tom took his hand and they went into the master
bedroom.
Chris sat Tom down on the floor of his mom’s room, far enough from the door to
be safe and out of the way. They kept the lights off. Chris took a wide stance
a foot from the door and crossed his arms. For over an hour they waited, the
music from the house party the only sound. Tom knew better than to say
anything. Chris was crackling with pent up tension, jaw tight, standing as
still as a statue. He went through his things quietly, organizing them in his
bag, darting his eyes up at his mate every few moments, reading the line of his
shoulders, the ripple of muscle as he breathed.
They’d left Chris’s bike in the alley behind his house. His mother wouldn’t be
home until after two in the morning, so Chris would be uninterrupted in what he
planned to do.
With music echoing faintly, they heard the front door open down the hall. Tom
sat up. Chris didn’t move an inch.
Trudging footsteps in the hall and then the bedroom door pushed open. Jeff
flicked on the lights, a swell of brightness that illuminated his shocked face.
Chris smirked. “Hi.”
Jeff swallowed loudly, foot sliding back. “Look—.”
“Don’t move,” Chris said. “And don’t run. I’ve got a couple of buddies out on
the curb. You won’t get far.”
Tom glanced at him. This was news, unless Chris was bluffing. Tom assumed he
was.
Sweat shone on Jeff’s face and he blinked rapidly, as if that might make Chris
disappear. As far as Tom could tell, he wasn’t drunk, only clutched his
briefcase in one hand, his other slipping into his jacket pocket.
“Why don’t you just go,” he said quietly. “He’s never here anyway. Take him and
get out!”
“I told you what I’d do if you touched him again,” Chris said, eyes drifting
down to where Jeff’s hand was hidden in his pocket.
“I was drunk, alright! You’ll blame a man for having a drink?”
“Not at all. I need one myself every now and then. Especially after Tom’s
fucked himself on my cock for the better part of the morning.” He smiled when
Jeff flushed red, angry eyes flitting to Tom, who sat quietly by the window.
“But I will blame a man when he beats and tries to force himself on an innocent
kid. Especially when I’ve made it clear that the kid is mine.” Chris narrowed
his eyes and took a small step forward. “Imagine my surprise when Tom arrived
at my house, limping and bleeding, his ankle sliced. And your scent all over
him.”
Jeff’s face turned an ugly mottled red and he yanked his hand out of his
pocket. The gun was small, but had a shiny glint to it, and it made Tom’s heart
stop in his chest. Pointing it straight at Chris, Jeff’s arm shook slightly,
but he sneered in all his assumed triumph.
Chris’s face remained cold, blinking low at the gun, and then back at Jeff.
“You dumb fuck,” he muttered, and then crossed the space in two large steps.
Panicked, Jeff pulled the trigger and Tom flinched, covering his face. But he
only heard the empty click of a stoppered bullet and he peeked through his
fingers. Chris barreled into the man, crushing him against the wall. He knocked
the gun loose and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.
“You would pull a gun on me, you fucking coward,” Chris growled, towering over
Jeff. “The thing with men like you is that you think holding a weapon means you
know how to use it. A safety is useful for proving what idiots you all are.”
He slammed him back against the wall, Jeff’s head thudding hard.
“What did I say I would do to you?” Chris hissed. “If you touched him again?
What did I say?”
Pulling at his wrists, toes skimming the carpet, Jeff struggled.
“Answer me!”
“You would break more shit,” Jeff sneered, saliva misting between his teeth.
Tom’s stomach turned. “But I don’t know why you bother with him anyway. He’s
not important. His mother doesn’t even ask for him. Why do you think that is,
huh? Who wants some fucking fairy for a son?” He started laughing low in his
chest, a dark and unkind chuckle that screwed itself deep into Tom’s brain,
into his cruelest thoughts, the ones of his mother and her opinion of him.
Tom, hugging his legs to his chest, felt something crack behind his ribcage and
tears sprung to his eyes. The hurt was worse than he thought it would be.
“Gone all the time," Jeff continued, leering at him over Chris's shoulder. "He
isn’t even missed. No one wants you. Not even your own mother.”
Chris flicked his eyes between Jeff’s grey ones, watery and red with pressure-
burst blood vessels.
Behind him he could hear Tom crying softly.
“Go outside, baby,” he said abruptly.
“But, Daddy—.” Tear-filled and saddened. It cut right through Chris’s heart. He
gritted his teeth.
“Wait by the bike, Tom.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so sharp, but he
didn’t want Tom to hear any more of the filth Jeff was spewing.
There was rustling and then Tom appeared at his side, bag strapped over his
shoulder. Chris chanced him a look. Eyes brimming, nose and cheeks red from
crying, Tom stared at Jeff, face slack in his revulsion. And then he slid his
gaze to Chris. He leaned his forehead on Chris’s shoulder, nudging it with
affection, before walking around him and out the door. Chris heard him leave
through his window.
“Daddy,” Jeff scoffed, brows bent angrily. “Unbelie—.”
Chris cracked his elbow hard against one temple. Jeff cried out and slumped.
Pulling him upright, Chris looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t deserve that
kid. You or his mother.”
“I wasn’t lying about that. She doesn’t ask for him. Hardly raises an eyebrow
at how often he’s gone from the house. The kid could be lying dead in the
gutter and she wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t think to ask until it was too late and
he was rotting into the ground.”
Chris growled and brought his knee up, landing a blow right in his sternum.
Jeff grunted and bent double, wheezing as he pitched forward when Chris flung
him to the floor, collapsing onto his stomach. Before he could roll over, Chris
angled his foot and brought down the heel of his boot directly on the hard bone
of Jeff’s right ankle. He felt it fracture under his heel, crunching obscenely,
and Jeff screamed in agony.
Down the street, the house party was in full swing. One lone scream lost among
many would be heard by no one.
Sobbing brokenly, Jeff sagged on the floor, legs splayed wide. Any other time,
Chris would have done more, hit him harder, made him really feel it, but he
didn't want to have touch the piece of shit longer than necessary, and he
needed to make sure Tom was okay.
These cookie cutter houses, now on the tail end of decline, all had imitation
porcelain bathtubs, enamel layered over cold cast iron. Chris grabbed Jeff by
the back of his shirt and dragged him to the small bathroom in the corner.
"Open your mouth," he growled, using a handful of Jeff’s hair to prop his chin
against the rim of the tub. Jeff shook his head, mumbling and trying to crawl
away. "Open it!"
"No, please. I'll leave him alone. I will!"
"That's what you said before. Only now, I'll make sure you won't be able to say
anything for a really long time. I hope you have a great time eating your food
through a straw."
They struggled, Jeff attempting to push Chris off, Chris finally twisting both
arms behind his back, mouth pressed to the tub.
"Open, or I'll break your teeth, too."
Tears pouring from his eyes, snot running from his nose, Jeff pleaded. But
Chris shook him again roughly and his lips slowly parted, mouth opening to bite
at the rim of the tub.
Chris lifted his elbow and, aiming for the back of Jeff’s head, brought it down
hard.
**
He found Tom on the ground by his bike, hugging his knees and crying into his
folded arms.
“Baby,” he whispered and scooped him up. Setting him on his feet, he hugged Tom
tightly, soothing his rounded shoulders jumping with his tears.
He kissed his forehead. “Baby, we have to go. Come on.”
He got on the bike and Tom followed, his bag strapped to his back. He refused
the proffered helmet and buried his head against Chris’s shoulder blades.
Putting it on himself, Chris started the bike and peeled out of the alleyway,
heading toward the edge of town. Against his back, he felt the moist spread of
Tom’s tears on his flannel shirt, and he gunned the bike, maneuvering around
the handful of cars sharing the road.
He finally braked and slowed around the bend into his property, parking the
bike in the garage. They dismounted and Tom tailed him as he closed the big
doors and chained them tight. Into the house they went, hands linked. Tom
retreated into the bathroom and was in there by himself for a few minutes
before he emerged, tears wetting his cheeks. He took Chris’s hand and went back
in.
They showered slowly, Tom continuing to cry against his chest. Chris lathered
him with soap, rinsing his hair gently, and finally toweling him dry. He was
still weeping quietly as they lay in bed after, his eyes swelling, skin burning
with the rush of blood to the surface.
Chris held him, stroking his curls, lips at his fevered brow.
“Please don’t cry, baby,” he murmured, feeling helpless. “It’s not worth it.”
Tom hiccupped, trembling against him. “Why—why doesn’t she want me?” he wept,
great wracking sobs that shook his thin frame. “What did I ever do to her?
Besides being born with a penis. And a vagina? How is that my fault, Chris?
How? I’ve been good. I’m a good son. I’m no trouble to her. I’m good!”
Chris drew back and looked him in the eye. “Listen to me, Tom. You can’t listen
to a word that man says. He’ll gut you where he knows it hurts the most. And
your mom doesn’t know what she’s giving up in you. You’re the sweetest boy I’ve
ever met. The sweetest boy. From what you’ve told me, she’s a tired bigoted
woman who works a lot. Comes home, sleeps, goes back to work. She doesn’t worry
about you because you’re smart. You look after yourself. And she doesn’t know
Jeff like we do. But that’s not our problem. She’ll wise up soon enough. You
have to let her make that decision. And you’re not hers anymore. Your Duality
makes you the rarest person, stunning in my eyes. You’re so beautiful, holding
inside you everything that makes a boy and a girl the loveliest. My flower. My
angel. Haven’t I told you of my heart? And what if feels for you? You fill it
to the brim, sweet princess.
“And, Tom, I know you know this. But I want to say it again. I’ll take care of
you. I love you. And I’m grateful every day that you chose to write to me and
not some other fucktard at the prison.” He brushed a tear away with his thumb,
big and fat and gleaming in the low lamp light. “Please don’t cry. You deserve
more than this. You deserve love and happiness. Let me give that to you. I’m
your mate. Your protector. I’ll be the one from now on who will make sure
you’re safe and healthy and fed. Because you’re my mate. And that’s a bond
deeper than that between parents and their kids. Especially a mother who
doesn’t deserve her son.”
Tom clutched at him and wept, his body warm from the exertion of fighting the
demons that plagued him. Eventually, he fell into a fitful doze, mumbling
incoherently, eyes rolling beneath their lids. The emotions of the night had
exhausted him, and he clutched at Chris weakly, startling awake if Chris so
much as shifted an inch, eyes wide on the room around them, as if his dreams
were truly terrible things. Chris hushed him gently each time, tucking him
under his arm again until Tom slumped against him, asleep. His sweet little
mouth pressed against his skull tattoo, Chris watched him, wondering where Tom
would be now if they had never met, what might he have had to endure if Jeff
was still after him.
He gritted his teeth at the thought, tightening his hold on Tom, who squirmed
slightly, moist warm skin sticking pleasantly to his. Trying to stave off
images of Tom bloodied and unconscious, silenced and violated, Chris thought
instead of the solace they’d found in each other. No doubt Chris would have
eagerly fought yet another person in prison, consequently extending his time;
or even jumped right back into the dirty part of the business with the crew
before he was ready, broken probation, quit his job. Mated with the wrong
person. It was endless all the ways he could have gone horribly astray. Having
found a new focus in Tom, Chris could easily see the coming years, when before
they might have been blurred by the possibility of death or further
imprisonment.
He rubbed his eyes and reached behind him to turn off the light. Nose in his
curls, he relaxed against Tom and slept.
The next morning was Sunday. He felt Tom rise just after dawn and slip into the
bathroom. The tap opened and closed, the bundled little noises one makes when
brushing their teeth and washing their face. When he finally emerged, his face
was dry and his curls were wet, bouncy still, but refreshed for the day. He sat
at the foot of the bed and busied himself soaking a cotton ball with acetone
and removing his nail polish. Chris watched this all in silence, not wanting to
interrupt Tom in what seemed a very personal mission. Once his fingernails and
toes were all clear, he reached into his backpack and chose another bottle,
this one containing bright pink lacquer. He started with his toes, bending one
leg and propping his foot at the edge of the bed, tongue poking out as he
painted all ten. Chris shifted onto his side and Tom whispered, rather
seriously, “Don’t move, Daddy.”
His hands were next, swiping the soaked brush over each nail until they were
all evenly bright. He lay back down next to Chris, blowing on them softly, his
feet flexing front and back.
“I want to go to the movies today, Daddy. I want to see something with
explosions. And guns. I want something violent. With fire, too. Is there
anything like that?”
“I’m sure there is, babe. I’ll take you to whatever you want to go see.”
“Mm. Good. Thank you.” His face was stoically calm, a quiet reserve about him
that made Chris sad to see. He was being brave now, while the sun gave him
courage. They had an early breakfast and then Tom trailed after Chris into the
backyard, flopping down onto the lawn chair with his heart-shaped sunglasses
and a magazine. Chris kept an eye on him as he got to work in his garage. He
kept all of the important crew business paperwork in a vault behind a set of
tires in the back corner. Jake Harper had sent him an accounting of that week’s
alcohol transactions, and any run-ins with thieves where their bikers were
directly involved. So far it had been a good couple of months since Chris had
been out of prison. He hoped to continue this good streak.
The sun was starting to shine brighter in the sky, and he glanced over at Tom,
at all that bare skin.
“You’ll burn out here, princess.”
“Are you done out here, Daddy?”
“Yes. How’s your tummy?”
Tom rubbed his stomach, eyes obscured behind two pink hearts. “Any day now.”
“Do you have the number for the nurse at school?”
“Yes. In my phone.”
“Good. If it hits tomorrow morning, you’re staying with me.”
Tom smiled. “As if I could manage any other way.”
Inside, Tom changed into some tight jeans and his grey boots, throwing on a
soft purple T-shirt with a single sunflower stamped to the front. He fanned his
eyelashes with a fresh coat of mascara and rolled on some perfume behind both
ears and in the hollow of his throat. Admiring his nails by the front door, he
looked lovely and bright, his eyes only slightly swollen from crying the night
before. Chris kissed his cheek, lips plump with gloss.
They went in the Camaro, thinking to stop for groceries on the way home. But
first they stopped by an ice cream parlor downtown.
Tom knew he was worried about him. Those squinted eyes focused on him as they
shared a sundae, at Tom’s wordlessness. Chris didn’t push him. He simply took
his hand under the table and shared in his silence. Tom did his best not to
think about what Jeff had said, knowing that Chris was right. He couldn’t hurt
Tom physically anymore, so he would hurt him emotionally, attacking the only
part of him that Tom felt should have been his by right, his own mother. But
Tom had the glaring suspicion that she wasn’t really entirely his anymore, and
hadn’t been for a long time. Growing up without his biological father had meant
he got to keep his mother to himself. She never really dated, not after having
Tom and finding out his half-natures. Jeff was the first one she allowed to woo
her, buy her things, help her around the house. When he moved in, it was just
as surprising to Tom as it seemed to be for her, who shrugged and went about
her business, only now with a set of helping hands. It wasn’t that Tom didn’t
help. He did. He washed dishes and he swept and he dusted and he tried to cook,
but wasn’t very good at it. But he also had school and that took up so much of
his time. Jeff seemed able to help with so much more, handy with stuff around
the house, handy with money for the bills. Tom felt more and more brushed aside
until he stopped contributing altogether, seeking constant sanctuary in his
room, in his books and his bike, which would take him wherever he needed to go.
His bike was now a permanent sight on Chris’s porch, as were all his clothes
and belongings in the rest of the small adobe house. Tom had even stored the
original letters he and Chris had exchanged when he was still in prison in the
purple bag his panties had come in, putting them away at the top of Chris’s
closet. Was it worth brooding over? Maybe not. But it still hurt.
At the cinema, Tom left his shades on as Chris bought the tickets, sucking on a
Blow Pop he’d pulled from out of nowhere. He took Chris’s hand and led him
inside, quietly asking for a chocolate bar and a large soda. They chose seats
at the very top, Tom curling around Chris’s arm and sucking at the chocolate.
Sunglasses pushed up into his curls, he watched the movie with rapt attention,
eyes wide on the screen. His fingers slipped into Chris’s palm, squeezing when
he jumped at a loud explosion or giggled at a joke.
Chris hardly watched, absorbing every twitch and vibrating giggle Tom gave. Tom
was adamantly refusing to talk about what Jeff had said the night before, and
even though Chris knew that pushing dark things like that deep down into
oneself wasn’t healthy, he also knew Tom would open up about it when he was
ready. Plus, he would get his heat any day now, possibly tomorrow. Even now, he
radiated warmth, his smooth brow dotted beginning to dot with fresh sweat.
When the movie ended, they stayed in their seats while the theatre emptied out.
Tom rested back with his eyes on the ceiling, swallowing thickly. His neck
shone in the auditorium lights. Chris glanced around but saw they were alone,
aware of the pheromones Tom must be emitting.
“Baby. You’re not feeling well. Is it your heat?” He cupped his cheek and Tom
flicked his eyes over to him, beginning to glaze over. Cheeks flushed, curls
dampening, Tom looked about ready to slip away from him. His voice was deep,
hoarse with a rush of hormones.
“Chris.”
Chris stood fast. “Let’s go.”
He pulled Tom through the crowds out in the lobby, noticing the long looks some
men gave Tom. Chris felt his hackles rising, throwing an arm around Tom’s
shoulders and pulling down his pink sunglasses to cover his eyes.
“It’s…happening so…fast,” Tom mumbled, dragged along beside Chris.
“It won’t hit ‘til the morning,” Chris said, unlocking the passenger door and
helping Tom inside. He ran around and climbed in. The engine roared to life.
“But you’ll start to feel the ache now. The fever. And people will smell it.”
Tom moaned and curled around his stomach. Chris’s nostrils flared, sensing him
already. He whipped his head around before backing out with a loud peel of
tires, more than one man starting to walk in their direction, noses in the air,
sniffing.
“Not a fucking chance,” Chris muttered, throwing the car in gear and racing out
of the lot. The groceries would have to wait. He needed to get Tom home and
iced down, knowing the heat building up inside could be eased in some ways
besides penetration.
Mouth grimaced, Tom fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing
with a shaky thumb, his other hand clawed around Chris’s bicep.
“Ms. Emherst,” Tom gasped into the receiver. “It’s Tom. Hiddleston. I know it’s
Sunday but I’m calling because I feel my heat coming on. It’s just started, I
think. I won’t be in tomorrow or Tuesday, probably. I’ll call again once it’s
passed. Thank you.”
His phone slipped from his hand and landed on his lap, head lolling on the
seat.
“We’re almost there, Tom. Hang on a bit.”
He turned into his drive, dirt spitting out behind his back wheels, a plume of
dust billowing like a skirt over the house. Tom climbed out and made his way
slowly to the house, feet dragging until Chris caught up and scooped him up
into his arms.
“Cold shower. Please.”
“Anything, Tom.”
Chris stripped him of his clothes, laying his boots and pink sunglasses on the
floor. The water was icy cold and Tom moaned in relief, dipping his face in and
leaning back to let the spray land solidly on his stomach. After, Chris laid
him in bed and went to get a bowl of ice, giving one to Tom to chew on and
running the other cubes over his neck and chest, down to his pelvis and between
his legs. The cubes melted like butter on a skillet.
Tom’s cunt was already beginning to drip, his body to ease into what it needed
most. But for now, he needed to sleep. The fatigue and the borderline pain
would carry him into the first throes of his heat, in the morning.
“I’m here, babe,” Chris whispered, brushing Tom’s hair back from his feverish
forehead. “Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
While Tom slept, mumbling quietly, Chris texted his boss about missing work. He
studied Tom’s prone form on the bed, wondering about their cycles. After his
heat, Tom would get his period. And then in a few more weeks, Chris would get
his rut. They were greatly off kilter for now, but Chris was already beginning
to wonder what they would do when their calendar markings showed their cycles
getting closer and closer. Crossing his arms, he stared down at the floor, an
idea in mind.
A painful one.
But he would need help. And he would need Tom to agree.
**
Tom woke him the next day with his urgent, sweet moans, moist hands fumbling
over Chris’s back, clawing a red map to follow him home by. Chris had
everything ready this time. He’d carried the mini fridge he had in the garage
and plugged it in his bedroom. Stocking it with water bottles and sliced fruit,
Tom’s favorite thing to eat when they fucked. Chris also had on hand towels and
ice packs. The first day passed quickly, Tom’s tight little pussy loosening
with every knot. They were drenched in fluids by the second day, thighs flaked
with cum, bruises darkening, lips swelling, their whispers like flowers on
their skin. They drank water and giggled and fed each other cantaloupe and
grapes, watermelon and pineapple, mouths sticky with sugar and seed.
Tom’s wanton words drove Chris to insanity, whispering hotly for Chris to fuck
him deep, to make him pregnant. It was the heat, Chris knew, that inherent
biological trigger inside of Tom that made him say such things. But it still
made Chris harder than ever, ramming into him, Tom’s small cries and the wide
way he split his pussy open making him come again and again, following Tom down
into the spiral of orgasm.
Wednesday dawned over their sticky and sore limbs. Tom was once more of normal
temperature, breaths calm and relaxed in sleep. Chris pulled himself out from
under him, and stumbled into the bathroom to piss. Tom’s phone was beeping with
a new voicemail.
“Babe,” he said, back in the room. It was littered with empty water bottles and
fruit husks. “You have a message.”
“Speakerphone,” Tom moaned from under the pillow.
Chris laughed and played the message. It was from the school nurse.
“Tom, hi. It’s Ms. Emherst. Thank you for your message. I hope you’re doing
alright. You’ve been excused from school through Wednesday. Your teachers will
have makeup work ready for you. Any problems with unwanted attention? Often
these kinds of situations where an unbonded slash unmated omega is going
through their first heats, nearby alphas will try to mate with them. If
anything like this happens, you can report it to me and I will take action by
filing a complaint against molestation or sexual advances. We’re here to help
you, Tom. Whatever you need. Give me an update and we’ll get you back situated
at school. Take care.”
Chris shut the phone off and placed it on the bedside drawer.
“Do you trust her?”
Tom sighed and poked his face out from under the pillow. He had a bruise on his
jaw from where Chris had sucked at him.
“I don’t know,” he rasped. “She seems nice. Like she understands. But our age
difference and your criminal history…she might look down upon that.”
Chris nodded.
“The thing is,” Tom continued. “I’m good to go when I have my heats. The school
will let me stay home. But when you have your ruts, Chris?”
“I know. I’ll just need to concentrate hard enough to make sure I get them on
Fridays every time.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Tom’s tired face split into a lovely smile.
“Shower. And food,” he demanded, and Chris picked him up to fulfill his every
wish.
**
The next day Tom got his period. But rather than worry about it like he had
before, he simply plucked a few tampons from the box under the sink in Chris’s
bathroom and slipped one in. In the mirror, he studied his flat stomach,
rubbing his navel and imagining himself big with Chris’s child. His heart race
with happiness at the possibility.
Not quite yet. But eventually, yes. He wanted kids with his mate.
But how would they avoid a pregnancy until he was ready?
**
Chris’s rut hit on a Thursday.
Feeling it like a jolt in his stomach, Tom exited the bus at the stop nearest
Chris’s house and sprinted the rest of the way, his backpack jostling with
every step. All thoughts of school fled his mind as he ran up the porch steps,
gasping for air. He fished out his key from the ring connected to his bag and
unlocked the door. Chris was stumbling into the living room, naked and sporting
an erection, eyes bruised and glazed.
“Daddy,” Tom whispered. He barely had time to drop his bag and lock the door
when Chris grabbed him and flipped him over the arm of the sofa. Two days.
Dozens of knots, Tom’s body as exhausted and depleted of fluids as Chris’s was
by the end of the cycle. With cum leaking out of him, veins of it streaming
down his thighs, Tom pulled out his planner and marked the days, looking at the
months ahead, hoping to figure out when they would sync.
He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hide his mated status. He was
friendly with all his teachers and was always doing extra credit work, so his
classes weren’t suffering for it. But would anyone begin to get suspicious?
Helping Chris into the shower later in the day, he sincerely hoped no one did.
How could any of them understand their bond? How could any of them know what he
felt for this man? Deep in his chest?
They couldn’t, he decided, lathering Chris’s hair and kissing his collarbones.
Not unless they experienced it themselves.
**
When Tom wasn’t at school, he was with Chris and the bike crew. The bonfires
continued into the fall, Tom more comfortable with hanging out with the other
girls when not with Chris. He was starting to spend more time with Isabel, who
came over sometimes on the weekends. She and Tom would bake in the kitchen
while Chris and Jake talked business out in the garage. She showed him some
recipes for lemon cake and strawberry creams, cinnamon bread and apple tarts.
Tom memorized them all, laughing with her when something came out of the oven
just right, both sharing a piece and then taking some out to the boys.
On the way, Tom had unconsciously run his hand down her forearm that morning,
fascinated by the swirls and the colors. But he’d snatched his hand back,
embarrassed at his lack of manners.
“It’s alright,” she’d said, extending her elbow. “You can touch.”
Shyly, Tom dragged his fingers down her skin.
“They’re so different from Daddy’s,” he said softly. “I love all the flowers.
And the tears.”
“Women are connected to both, I think,” she said. “Tears feed flowers, flowers
are born of us. They bloom in our blood. They sprout in our lungs. You ever
feel that way?”
Tom had smiled, lashes fluttering as he fought back his tears. “Yes,” he said.
“I have felt that way.”
Back inside, Tom quietly mustered up the courage to ask her about her first
mate.
“He was lovely,” she said, smiling, legs curled under her at the kitchen table.
Her long brown hair was plaited over a shoulder, her tattooed arms and chest
exposed in her white tank top. “Matthew. He looked a lot like your Daddy,
actually. Tall and big. But he had brown hair. We mated when I was seventeen
and he was twenty-one. Such wonderful possession.” She winked at Tom. “You know
the way.”
Tom giggled and nodded. He broke an apple tart in half and handed her a piece.
“But how did you get over the separation from him? That pain? Sometimes Chris
leaves the room and I have to stop myself from following him out. Because I
ache when we’re apart. My chest hurts.” He frowned, hoping he didn’t sound
stupid.
“Mm. If your bond is this strong now, it will only get stronger. Like psychic
ability strong.” She chuckled and bit into the tart.
“Well, lately, I’ve been able to tell when he gets his ruts. I can feel it,
even from home.”
Her brown eyes flashed to his, brow puckered in curiosity.
“You know, it’s said that only mated pairs where one of the individuals is a
Dual can feel when their partner is about to go into heat or rut.”
Tom swallowed around the clump of tart in his throat, cheeks flaming red. She
touched his wrist gently.
“Are you a Dual, Tom?”
“Um. W-well. It’s…it’s not so—.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, Tom. Jesus Christ.” She rose from her chair and reached
for him. He jumped up into her embrace, falling against her with a small sob.
She stroked his hair.
“You can’t tell anyone, Isabel. You can’t.”
“Shh. It’s okay. I won’t say a thing. Did Chris know at first?”
Tom pulled back and she cupped his face. He shook his head.
“No. The way we met…there wasn’t really a way for me to tell him. And I didn’t
know I was an omega until he smelled me. And when I got my first heat, he came
to me like he promised. I had told him I wanted him as my alpha. It was all
prearranged. But well, he was surprised.”
She smiled, nodding. “He liked it? He kept your secret?”
“He loves it,” Tom said, laughing as he wiped at his tears.
“That man,” she said, sighing. They sat down again. “I always knew he was a
softie. But Tom, why were you keeping it secret?”
In soft tones, he told her about his mom and what she’d made him promise when
he was a little boy. Isabel’s face hardened in much the same way Chris’s had,
her fury softened only by the delicate lines of her face. No gruff beard or
furry brows to match it entirely.
“You mustn’t hide it.”
“But I have no choice. At least not until I’m a bit older. Until we’re ready
for babies.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. “There’s plenty of time for that. So tell me.
How do you like to be referred as? A boy? A girl? Do you have a different
name?”
“No. My name is Tom. And I most of the time identify as male. But I do feel
that in a quieter, more gentle part of my heart, I’m a girl. Chris asked the
same thing. And I explained it to him. He talks to me in male and female
pronouns. Calls me his boy, or his princess.” He blushed and ducked his head,
but she was smiling at him so sweetly, he knew it was okay to keep going. “I’m
so safe with him. The safest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. He protects me
and loves me. I was lucky to have met him, to have known him. To have him as my
mate.”
“I’m so happy you know this affection, this love. To have so cold a mother…”
She shook her head. She was disappointed and angry, and that was without any
mention of what Jeff had done to him. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him
and poked his arm. “I always knew you weren’t twenty-one.”
Tom tossed his head back. “Guilty.
“So how old are you?”
He shied away. “I’d rather not say.”
“So, veryyoung. Close to eighteen?”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“You’re both little sneaks.” But she winked and held a hand to her lips. Their
secret. “I have so many questions!” she laughed.
“You can ask!” Tom grinned, his heart so light at finally being able to share
his other self with another woman.
“Do you have periods?”
“Yes. I got my first period at thirteen. I learned on YouTube how to put in a
tampon.”
Her face fell. “No.”
He shrugged. “YouTube is very helpful. I was very regular before my heats. Now,
I get a period after my heats hit.”
“So that’ll be how you know if you’re pregnant.”
Tom nodded.
“Tom, thank you for telling me. For opening up to me. I know that Chris knew,
and your mom, by default. But I hope you know you can come to me if you need
anything, or have any questions.”
“Thank you, Isabel.”
She squeezed his hand. And then her eyes widened. “The cookies!”
Tom laughed as he followed her into the kitchen.
***** Loosed Arrows, Feathers Flying *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
The season slowly turned cold. Tom was nearly done with his semester, having
done extremely well considering his multiple absences. He and Chris continued
their clandestine mating, their bond strengthening and growing. Tom liked to
think of it as a garden, bursting between them with suckle flowers and green
vines, winding them together so that their fates would never part. To Tom, it
was like he carried a piece of Chris with him everywhere.
The holidays came. Tom spent the bare minimum time at his own house, where a
gaunt-looking Jeff would sit stiffly in the living room, nursing both fractured
ankle and broken jaw. His tepid silence meant Tom was able to sneak in and out
of the kitchen more often, often catching sight of his mother. She’d smile at
him, distractedly, before turning her attention back to Jeff, preparing him
shakes and spooning him gooey food that seeped through the wires in his mouth.
“Hey, mom. I’m going to spend Thanksgiving with a friend this year, okay?”
“Sure, fine.” She didn’t even turn to look at him.
Pleased and beyond caring, Tom started planning his meal with Chris at home,
texting Isabel and inviting her and Jake over. He was skimming webpages one day
for recipes at the kitchen table, legs curled under him so that a peek of pink
panties showed at his hip, when his laptop died abruptly. He whined quietly,
frustrated with the machine, tapping on the unresponsive power button. Chris
stood from the couch and kissed him on the mouth.
“Do you want to come with me or do you want to be surprised?”
Tom frowned. “What do you mean?”
Chris smiled. “You can pick or I will.”
Still confused, Tom shrugged his shoulders delicately. “I guess I’ll pick?”
“Go change, kitten.” Chris smacked his ass lightly as Tom darted away.
Ten minutes later, they were on the road. Chris pulled into the parking lot of
the biggest electronics store and they were shown by an employee to the
computer section. Tom’s eyes widened at all the models, trailing his fingers
over the gleaming covers, the machines available in an array of various sizes
and colors. When the associate stepped away for a moment, Tom leaned in and
whispered discreetly, “These are too much, Daddy.”
“No, baby, they’re not. First of all, I could buy like four of these at once if
I wanted. But I’m not. I’m buying one. And it’s for you. You’ve been struggling
with that piece of crap computer for months now. I can get you a better one.”
The associate returned and they fell silent. In the end, Tom chose a silver
laptop that the employee assured him would sync perfectly with his phone, that
the two devices were made by the same company that developed their technology
to stream and function seamlessly with each other. Adding a protective hard
shell case and a pair of soundproof earphones, Tom watched with wide eyes as
Chris paid for the items and warranty plan with cash. Mouth slightly agape, the
bright blue bag clutched to his chest as they walked back to the parked bike,
Tom seemed in shock.
Chris laughed, hugging him around the shoulders. “Babe, are you okay?”
Tom nodded numbly, the feeble winter sun crowning his curls in gold. His
breaths puffed out in front of him. “Yes, Daddy. I think I’m okay.” He looked
down, his long fingered hands spread wide on the computer box, protective of it
already.
Chris frowned. “What is it?”
Tom shuffled his feet, shrugging. “I guess…I guess I can’t help but remember
what…he said about you buying me things. That—that it made me a—.”
“Don’t say it,” Chris warned.
“—whore.”
Chris sighed and took the bag out of Tom’s arms, prying his fingers loose from
around the edges. He took his hands and sat him on the seat of the bike.
“Baby—.”
“Yes, Daddy?” Tom looked up at him, hair fluffed gently by the breeze.
“Baby, is Jeff someone that matters to you?”
Tom’s face collapsed in disgust. “No, Daddy!”
“Is he someone whose opinion you take seriously?”
“No.”
“Is he someone that you know is mentally manipulative? Hurting you in the only
ways he knows he can?”
Tom’s brows drew down, his lovely face saddened. “Yes, Daddy. He is.”
Chris squatted in front of him, holding both wrists. “And have I ever called
you a whore?”
The softest whisper, downturned lashes. “No, Daddy.”
“I’ve called you my little slut, right? But that’s because I love when you’re
slutty for only me. It’s a part of our intimacy, being open with each other
physically. Not being afraid to show that emotion. But you’re not a whore, Tom.
I buy you things because I love you. And because I want you to have the best.
What makes how I buy you things different from other couples? Are they whores
too?”
“No.”
“So, this computer, and all the other things I have and will ever buy you are
because you deserve them and because you mean everything to me. Not because you
perform sexual acts. That’s vulgar and I don’t like it.”
He winked and Tom gave a small smile.
“Okay, Tom?”
“Okay, Chris.” He bit his lip and took a deep breath. “Thank you for being so
patient with me. What he said about my mom really hurt, but I’ve been trying to
get over it. I think I know how she feels for me without him helping me decide
that. Sometimes it’s hard to tell yourself the truth, I guess.”
Chris shook his head. “We don’t get to choose who our families are. Blood is
nothing, or it’s everything, with the right person.”
Tom leaned down and nuzzled his cheek, the bristles of Chris’s stubble tickling
him. “You’re my family, Chris. I’ve never doubted it.”
He pulled back and they stared at each other, the sun filtering through Tom’s
irises in a way that made Chris’s heart skip. And even though it was broad
daylight and they were in the middle of a crowded parking lot, Chris sat up and
kissed him softly. Tom leaned into it, his thin little bow-mouth pursing
sweetly.
“Now let’s get home and you can show this old man how to use this thing, huh?”
He patted the bag on the ground and Tom grinned.
**
Thanksgiving break was a welcome respite from Tom’s end of semester studies.
Most evenings he liked to spend time in the kitchen while Chris worked on his
bikes out in the garage. And after Chris shuffled in and washed his hands, Tom
felt a surge of pride swell in his chest when he presented him with dinner.
Chris would moan with pleasure at every first bite and Tom giggled, standing to
serve him more when he finished. It was different from when he tried to cook at
his mother’s house. He always felt so inadequate and ill-prepared there. What
he made usually ended up sitting in plastic containers in the refrigerator, his
mother too tired to heat it up, Jeff too scornful. But at Chris’s house, the
kitchen felt entirely his, where he experimented with different plates, Chris
devouring everything.
“You’re going to get me fat,” Chris accused sleepily one night after another
good meal.
Tom, bouncing on his lap, cried out softly and clenched with a violent shudder,
spurting a hot gush of cum on Chris’s chest.
“Mm,” he breathed, sweaty and content. “And I’m just getting started on my
baking skills, Daddy.”
“Goddamn,” Chris groaned and flipped them fast, pumping hard into him to finish
with a grunt and plenty of cozy kisses.
Isabel and Jake came over early Thursday afternoon, and she and Tom got to work
on the food for the big meal. Tom’s first attempt to cook a turkey was
surprisingly successful. Juices sloshing and golden-brown, he and Isabel wore
mismatched mitts as they carried the heavy pan to the top of the oven.
“Watch your fingers, honey,” she said, arms straining.
“I will, mom,” Tom gasped, letting the pan clatter softly to the surface of the
stove.
He froze and turned wide eyes on her, cheeks reddening.
“I’m sorry,” he said, slapping a hand over his mouth.
She blinked her eyes, caught a little off guard, but then her face softened and
she reached for him. She hugged him to her chest, and Tom soaked in the feel of
her soft bosom, so gentle and feminine. He realized he couldn’t remember the
last woman he’d hugged apart from her.
“Don’t go apologizing. It’s more than alright. I don’t mind it. You call me
that all you want. I would be honored.”
Tom squeezed her waist, eyes falling shut as he sighed it once more. “Mom.”
When Chris and Jake came inside, they noticed their wet eyes and silly grins,
but said nothing apart from asking if they were okay. Isabel hugged Tom round
his shoulders and nodded yes, they were just fine.
Chris and Jake helped with chopping things here and there, eating most of
everything and generally getting in Tom and Isabel’s way. But the potatoes were
mashed and the turkey stuffed and the rolls buttered and Tom finally collapsed
in a chair and promptly fell asleep for an hour, flakes of something green
stuck to his cheek. He roused again once everything was ready to be served.
Everyone held hands around the table and Chris said grace, peeking up at Tom at
the end. Tom’s heart swelled at the sight of them, his mate, Isabel and Jake,
these people who a year ago he had never met and now felt like his closest
family. After their meal and a slice of pumpkin pie—store bought—Jake and
Isabel shooed them into the living room and promised to clean up. With water
running and dishes clanking in the sink, Tom cuddled on the sofa with Chris,
both too full to even move.
“Mick wants me to do a job for him next week,” Chris said, voice deep with
fatigue.
“What kind of job?”
Chris briefly explained the arrangement with the liquor stores and the fees the
owners provided to the crew for protection.
“So you have to go collect a fee?”
“Yeah. But the books I have aren’t current with his latest updates. I have to
take his word for it.”
Tom remained quiet, thumb drawing a half circle over Chris’s shoulder.
“Do you trust him, Daddy?”
Chris sighed and rested his head back. His pause made Tom think that maybe he
didn’t.
“Yeah. I mean, sure I do. He’s our boss. He always looks after the crew.”
Tom lifted his head. “But, Daddy. Even you said that he’s been weird since you
got out. And then there’s what happened between me and him.” He made a face and
squeezed closer.
Chris cupped Tom’s head. “I know, baby. And that’s why there’s no way in hell
I’m letting him near you.”
“But you’ll still do the job?”
“Yeah,” Chris said, a bit resignedly. “I’ll still do it. I kinda have to.”
“But aren’t you his second? Can’t someone else do it instead?”
Chris closed his eyes and appeared to have fallen into a doze when he said, “I
have to do it. So I will.”
They left it at that, a soft rain falling outside. On the kitchen table, a
candle’s burning wick fluttered from the wind whistling in through the cracked
window, throwing long shadows over their sleeping forms, Isabel’s soft laughter
flowing in from the kitchen.
**
“You going over to see Mitchell this afternoon?”
Mick moved from one side of the garage to the other, boots sliding on the sandy
concrete, one long-fingered tanned hand touching the gutted bike engine on the
worktable.
Chris wiped his hands on a rag, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah. Going down there early, before the bonfire tonight.”
Mick crossed his arms and leaned against one of the bikes parked in the corner.
“Yeah. Yeah, your boy loves those, doesn’t he?”
And as if bidden by the mere mention of him, Tom came bounding into the garage,
bypassing Mick without seeing him.
He was wearing one of Chris’s long-sleeved flannel shirts, the red and blue
one, bare-legged, boots laced to mid-shin. It was cold outside, but the kitchen
was probably warm, and Tom looked so beautiful with his blushing cheeks. His
pink heart-shaped sunglasses were tangled in his curls. He had just come off a
heat and Chris knew he was on his period. He flicked a glance at Mick, see if
he could smell the blood on him. But Mick was smiling and staring at the floor,
as unreadable as always.
Bouncing on his toes, Tom presented him with a napkin wrapped bundle in both
hands.
“Daddy! You haveto try one of these. They’re so good!”
He skidded to a stop before Chris, unfolding the napkin. A handful of maple-
brown cookies sat bundled within, and Chris took one. They were gooey and sweet
and still warm.
“What are these?” he asked, mouth full.
Tom grinned. “Ginger molasses cookies. I sprinkled some sugar powder over the
top of them. Do you like them, Daddy?” His face was wide and expectant, brows
drawn up adorably.
“You got any of that for me?”
Mick’s voice curled over to them from the corner, and Tom spun with a gasp.
When he saw who it was he jumped behind Chris, face burning.
“You ain’t gotta hide from me. Come on out from behind there, it’s alright!”
Mick said, waving his arm forward, laughing to himself.
But Tom stayed put, peeking at him over Chris’s shoulder, a hand curling in the
back of his shirt. Chris turned to him, blocking him from Mick’s sight. He
threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer.
“These are great, babe,” he said quietly, so that only Tom could hear him. “Did
you make more?”
Eyes down, Tom nodded. “Two more dozen.”
“Keep them warm for me. I’ll be right in.” He kissed his forehead. Tom glanced
at Mick before darting away and into the sunlight. At the door, he turned
around and mouthed ‘sorry’ to Chris, who winked at him. He watched Tom go,
finishing the rest of his cookie in silence.
Mick shook his head. “What in the world did you have to do to get that boy to
call you daddy?”
Chris wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and spared Mick the briefest of
glances. Already Tom’s perfume was fading in the air inside the garage, heavy
with gasoline and engine fluid. He returned his attention to his project. “I
didn’t do a damn thing. He likes to call me that.”
Mick tilted his head knowingly. “And you like to hear it.”
Chris said nothing. Internally, he wished Mick would get out of his sight.
“Listen, uh. Why don’t I take Tom to the bonfire?”
Chris put his tool down and cut his stare over to Mick. Everything Jim had told
him about Mick and the liquor store owner’s son flooded Chris’s mind, and he
had to control his urge to jump across the table and throttle Mick if he so
much as looked Tom’s way again.
“You might get tied up at the job. Sometimes these things take longer than you
expect.” Mick stood and walked over to the table. “I can take him over when I
go. He likes hanging with the girls. He’ll be fine. We’ll all wait for you.
Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. Tell the kid I can pick him up later.”
He patted the table in a quick motion, cutting the conversation short. Striding
out, he climbed on his bike and it roared to life. Chris paused at the double
doors and squinted into the late morning light. As soon as Mick was gone, he
walked quickly up the path to the house and around the garden.
Tom was in the kitchen, squinting at his computer propped open on the counter,
a cooking video demonstration playing on the screen. Hands swallowed by a clump
of sticky dough, he looked up when Chris entered.
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't know he was here."
Chris hugged him from behind. "It's okay, baby. But listen, go get dressed.
We're leaving in a bit."
Tom craned his neck to look at him. "But I thought you had your job to do."
"I do. But you're coming with me."
Tom frowned, and then glanced around the kitchen, where he had something of a
baking factory going. "I just put a batch in, Daddy."
"Go on and get dressed. They'll be done by the time we're ready to leave."
Tom quickly washed his hands and lay a moist towel over the bowl with dough.
After he was dressed, he took out the finished cookies and lay them on the
counter to cool.
Riding into town, Chris realized they were early for his appointment with the
store owner, but something about the entire exchange with Mick had left him on
edge. He couldn't pinpoint what it had been about their conversation that
spooked him, but the possibility of Mick arriving unexpectedly at his house
while Tom was alone had Chris bursting into action.
Behind him Tom squealed happily and tightened his hold around Chris's waist.
Chris turned and saw Tom’s finger pointing out of the corner of his eye to a
small corner bookstore in the plaza across the street from the liquor store.
He was early. The owner wasn’t expecting him for a while. And the parking lot
at Mitchell's was full, people probably stocking up on liquor for that night's
parties and the weekend ahead. He would wait for a lull in foot traffic. He
guided the bike to the left and parked outside of the bookstore. Tom jumped off
and left the helmet on the seat. Chris followed him in.
“Hey there,” said the woman behind the counter. Tom shot past her with a quick
hello, disappearing behind the towering bookshelves. “Little brother?” she
asked, smiling at Chris.
He nodded easily. “Yeah. He’s visiting from out of town. Loves to read.”
She reached under the counter and brought out a slip of paper. “Here’s a coupon
for buy two get one free. He’d probably like that.”
Chris thanked her and went to find Tom.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, running a long finger over the spines
of the books on the bottom shelf. Chris squatted next to him.
“Babe, you can’t call me Daddy in here, okay?” he whispered.
Tom’s head snapped up. “Why not?”
“Because that lady thinks you’re my little brother. Go with it.”
Tom shrugged. “Okay.”
Chris meant to only drop Tom off and let him meander in the bookstore while he
collected the fee from the liquor store, but he couldn’t bring himself to head
outside to his bike. Something in his gut told him to stay put. He kept walking
among the bookcases closest to the door, peeking between the shelves at the
liquor store across the street. Customers came and went, weighed down with
cases of beer and bottles of wine. He could barely make out the figure of
Mitchell behind the glass-encased counter. Chris didn’t like how he kept
glancing into the street, head turning left and right. What was he looking for?
Had someone tipped him off that Chris was coming? The crew liked to keep the
dates and times of their collection visits a secret, otherwise the owners might
begin to make themselves scarce when their payment was due.
He hesitated, pretending to read the titles, picking a book up at random and
absently turning it over in his hand as he watched the store from under his
brow. There didn’t appear to be any sign of any police activity, no cruisers
patrolling. But unmarked cars could be anywhere and the cops were getting
smarter with how they concealed even those. There was no one standing idly on
the sidewalk or talking into a phone down the block. But undercover cops were
good at hiding in plain sight. One might even be inside the store, waiting.
The dash across the street on his bike seemed suddenly foolhardy, rash and
risky. Especially with Tom depending on him to come back. If the parole board
even suspected that he was up to no good, Tom would be waiting for a long time.
Chris stood with his arms crossed, the bookstore cashier talking with another
customer, their voices happy and light and full of information about this or
that new release.
Something was off. This wasn’t like the handful of jobs he’d done since getting
released from prison. He handled those well, never needing to use brute force
with the store owners, who all respected him, and appreciated when Chris showed
up rather than someone like Johnny.
“Chris,” Tom called and Chris followed his voice to the back of the store. Tom
was standing on his tiptoes, hand straining to the highest row of books. Chris
reached for him and brought the book down, seeing that he already had half a
dozen stacked on the floor by his feet.
“I thought you were coming back for me,” Tom said, stooping to pick up his
books.
“I don’t know,” Chris murmured, helping him with the books. “There’s something
about this I don’t like.”
They approached the counter and the woman started scanning the books.
“Oh, this is a good one! Hey, you like cooking? Me too! I couldn’t believe what
happens at the end of this one. And he won’t release the new book until March.”
She made a face and Tom giggled. She scanned their coupon and Chris pulled out
his wallet.
“I sure wish they’d move from in front of my sign,” she murmured, squinting out
the big glass storefront window.
“Who?” Tom said, taking his bag of books.
“That darn officer. He’s parked right in front of my sign about the buy two get
one free sale. Been there most of the morning.” She sighed and accepted Chris’s
money, opening the register for his change. But Chris was hardly aware of her
anymore. His blood ran cold and he turned to look for the car, spotting it by
the long row of hedges lining the plaza, just in front of the bookstore sign. A
midsize vehicle with bald black rims and three low antennae above the back
window.
He cursed.
It wasn’t the standard Crown Victoria that most undercover cops used. Wasn’t
even a Ford. But the antennae and tinted windows confirmed it.
Chris put on his most disinterested face and smiled politely at the woman as
she handed him his change.
“Thanks!” Tom said to her, casting Chris a side look. He picked up so easily on
Chris’s moods, it scared Chris sometimes.
Once outside, Chris guided Tom to his bike, whispering for him to stay quiet.
He didn’t know exactly what the cops were looking for. If they expected to
arrest Chris just because he walked into a liquor store, they had something
else coming. But he had absolutely no intention of doing that now. As far as
they could see he was just buying some books. They might not even pay him any
attention with Tom by his side. If they were looking for anything it would be
for a single man on a motorcycle. Not a man with a teenaged boy.
“Daddy—.”
“Quiet now, baby.”
Tom obediently closed his mouth.
On the bike, Chris started the ignition and watched in his side mirror for any
movement from the cop car. Tom shifted behind him, bunching the bag of books
between his legs. He cuddled against Chris and waited. Seeing nothing, Chris
put the bike in gear and drove out of the plaza as calmly as he could, eyes
glued to the mirror. There was no tail, and he breathed a little easier after
crossing four intersections without incident. He made it back home in record
time, securing the bike in the garage and hurrying Tom into the house.
Tom went to the couch and took out his books, lining them in a row on the
coffee table, eyes darting to Chris every few seconds where he stood staring
out the living room window. Chris knew he was probably making him nervous, but
he was angrier and more afraid than he’d been since before prison; prison,
where he was caged into a space no bigger than a box, windows so high up he
couldn’t see the sky every day; prison, where there were so many rules among
the inmates that one wrong step and you might get stabbed in the showers.
There was no way in hell he was going back there.
Mick had to have set him up. All that talk about how Chris would probably get
‘tied up’ at the liquor store, how it would probably take longer than he
expected, Chris realized it was more literal than he originally thought.
Mick would have made the call to the police anonymously. There was a strict
rule that the crew didn’t work with cops under any circumstances, and even Mick
wouldn’t break that guideline. Even if he described Chris, Chris could always
insist he was only there to buy Tom books. He wasn’t even near the liquor
store, didn’t even make any kind of attempt to approach it.
The fact of the matter was that he had almost been caught. Prison had almost
become his home again, rather than this little house with its sudden
transformation of food smells and cleanliness and Tom who was staring at him
now with guarded blue eyes.
Chris dropped down beside him.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, pulling him into a hug. Tom went willingly,
clutching at him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” Tom said, voice muffled in his shirt. “I know you’re
worried and it makes me worried.”
Chris pulled away and cupped Tom’s face. “No, baby. I’m not worried anymore. We
did nothing wrong. They can’t prove I was there to collect a fee. I took you to
the bookstore and we came home. End of story.”
“And the book lady will back us up,” Tom added quickly.
Chris’s heart swelled at the hopefulness in his voice. He nodded. “Yes, baby.
She will.”
“So what do we do now?”
Chris stood, fury settling over his heart. “Nothing. We go to the bonfire. Can
your baking wait a little longer?”
“Of course. The dough will be fine.”
“Good. We’ll leave in an hour.”
Only, the hour quickly turned into two when Chris was unable to keep from
crowding Tom over the edge of the bed, grabbing him before he changed clothes.
“Daddy,” Tom murmured, clinging to Chris, his small frame bouncing under
Chris’s heavy bulk. His feet, toes wiggling inside black socks, crossed behind
Chris’s back, lifting his hips to meet his thrusts. Chris kissed him hard,
clamping lightly on his bottom lip, Tom groaning at the bite. Over his thin
waist and inner thighs, he bore the evidence of Chris’s other bites,
differently shaded bruises depending on how old they were.
“Make me cum, Daddy,” Tom breathed, cheeks red. “I want your cum inside me.
Bursting with it. Make me big with your babies.”
“Fuck,” Chris moaned, hips moving faster. Tom cried out, head thrown back, and
Chris latched onto his neck. He sucked hard, using both teeth and tongue to
mark him good.
“Fuck, Daddy…yes!”
Chris felt the sluggish pulse of Tom’s climax between their bellies, his cum
always spilling thickly, always so much of it. The air permeated with the scent
of his pussy and his period blood, and Chris took a deep inhale, feeling his
mind begin to spin with want.
Tom’s slicked inner walls hugged him tight, milking his cock and bringing him
closer to the edge. He trembled, eyes rolling back, and Chris hugged him
harder, sucking at his neck.
He rammed in two more times and then groaned, his cock swelling inside Tom as
he released.
“More,” Tom murmured, dazed. His hips wiggled lazily, trying to get Chris to go
deeper.
“Take it, baby,” Chris said, easing up on his hands, loving how wrecked Tom
looked.
His hands drifted to Chris’s ass, cupping him. “More, Daddy.”
Chris shuddered, skin feeling tight, another wave of pleasure rolling through
him. “I’m still going, baby.” And he was, the long streams of cum drizzling off
to tiny spurts, filling Tom, who mewled and demanded kisses.
They showered quickly, Chris’s tense mood returning despite Tom’s gentle hands
on his body.
Tom dressed in his favorite black pair of jeans and his black biker boots. He
tossed on a white shirt under one of Chris’s smallest plaid button downs. Chris
dressed warmly in jeans and a white shirt, a dark brown leather jacket on last.
In the inside pocket, he stashed a blade.
The skies darkened so early in the winter. Gone were the monsoon rains that
rolled in every evening in July and August, a great shuddering frenzy that left
the earth gutted and the air purified.
Only Jake Harper and Jim and Mick were at the bonfire. Isabel was probably
inside. None of the young guys and their girlfriends were there yet. They
usually didn’t arrive until much later.
Tom’s black boots and tight jeans and mascara had distracted Chris long enough
from his anger to push Tom against the wall and suck at the same bruise on his
neck. It was turning into a big one, just to the side of his throat, dark
already, showing clearly to whom he belonged. Tom was more than happy to sport
it, touching it every few minutes, eyes drifting to Chris.
But Chris’s blood was pumping with more than just lust for Tom, who with one
look could alleviate the delicate control he had over his anger. Tom knew Chris
would never hurt him, so there was no fear in his eyes as he sidled up to Chris
and embraced him, pinching his cheeks and smoothing over his stormy brow. But
once Chris turned away from that innocent face, his wrath returned, dimming the
edges of his vision in red, teeth gritted against the thought that that fucking
son of a bitch actually tried to get him arrested again. And for what? Because
Chris was well-liked among the crew? Because he had figured out that Mick had
set him up the first time and sent him off to prison? Or was it because—.
Chris stopped in his tracks, Tom running into him from behind.
“Daddy?” he asked, squeezing his hand. His pink fingernails stood out sharply
against Chris’s leather jacket.
Mick wanted Tom. Just like he wanted that store owner’s son. And he got rid of
the father one way or another, the fate of the boy unknown. Only now he was
trying to get rid of Chris.
Why not fucking kill me? he thought. Why send me to prison, where I could stew
and seethe and eventually get out and come after him?
Because he knows how much you hated prison, and because by then he would have
gotten what he wanted.
“Fuck.” He continued forward, Tom running to keep up with him.
“Daddy—.”
“I think we should go back,” Chris said suddenly.
Tom’s brows puckered, but then a booming voice sounded behind them.
“You’re here!”
Mick stood there with Jim and Jake, each with a beer in hand. The bonfire was
only just a crackling pile of snapping wood in the background. And if Chris
wasn’t mistaken, there was a look of quickly masked disbelief in Mick’s eyes,
staring at Chris when he probably imagined he would be in a holding cell by
now.
“Yeah,” Chris said, tugging Tom forward. “We made it.”
Jim frowned. “Hey, are you okay? You look a little—.”
“You set me up,” Chris whispered, eyes hard on Mick. “You think I wouldn’t
notice? The damn cop sitting across the street!”
Tom flinched, Chris’s raised voice reverberating loudly over the yard.
“Now, wait a minute. Why don’t we go talk in private—,” Mick started.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Chris said, voice low again. His face was red with
anger, and he dropped Tom’s hand. “They can hear everything.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Jake cut in. “Mick set you up? When?”
“Six years ago and again today. Only this time I was smart enough to catch the
signs.”
Jim and Jake glanced at each other, and then at Mick, whose face had gone cold,
bent brow glaring at Chris.
“You’re just being paranoid. You have no proof,” he spit out, fingers gripping
his beer bottle.
“Yeah, only my gut instinct. And it’s been telling me that you’re a goddamn
snake.”
Jim was looking at Mick like he’d just killed a puppy in front of them. “What
did you do?”
Mick turned on him. “Nothing! Chris has just been out of the game for a while.
He’s gone soft. Especially with his new play thing,” he said, pointing his chin
at Tom.
Chris stepped in front of him. “Don’t you fucking talk about him. And don’t
change the subject.”
“Wait,” Jake interrupted. “I’m still confused. How did he set you up?”
“Jim, you’ve been second in my stead while I was locked up. Has Mitchell O’Hare
ever been late with a payment?”
Jim shrugged. “Not that I recall. I don’t have the books in front me, but I
know we’ve never sent anyone to collect from him. He’s always on time.”
“Exactly. Only Mick sent me to collect from him today. And Mitchell looked
nervous as hell. Maybe it was that cop car sitting across the street, scoping
the place.”
“I checked the books just this morning,” Jake said. “Mitch is current.”
They all turned to Mick, who was glowering at Chris, jaw set tightly.
“You little bitch,” he whispered, and then sprang on Chris, bringing his beer
bottle down on his head. The others jumped back, even Tom, who was stunned to
find himself splattered with beer, pieces of dark brown glass falling over his
chest.
Chris grunted, but recovered quickly, dropping low and tackling Mick around the
middle. They fell to the ground in a dusty heap, scrabbling like animals. It
reminded Tom of a scene from a movie he watched at a friend’s house, an illegal
betting ring where rabid dogs snarled and bit at each other in clouds of dust.
But then his shock subsided and he jumped forward. “Chris!”
Jim grabbed his arm.
“You don’t want to get in their way, kid. Stand back. Let Chris handle this
without worrying about you.”
Fear clutching his chest, Tom watched as Chris landed blow after blow on Mick’s
face, the older man taking the hits better than Tom would have hoped.
Mick kicked at Chris and they rolled.
“What the fuck did I ever to do you?” Tom heard Chris yell between grunts. Mick
threw his elbow across Chris’s face and he collapsed to the side. Mick jumped
to his feet.
“You’ve done nothing, you little shit. You’re just in my way.”
Chris struggled to his feet, touching his brow to find his fingers bloodied.
They ran at each other again, and Jim, Tom, and Jake shuffled back a few steps.
“Daddy,” Tom gasped, tracking every blow between them. Chris was bleeding from
his right eyebrow, sweat spilling down his face despite the cold air. Mick tore
at his hair and Chris screamed, punching Mick’s ribs until he let go.
Staggering apart, they stood a few feet away from each other, stances wired
with rage. Mick pointed a dusty finger at Tom. “That boy is different.” Tom
felt his spine tighten with chills. “He smells different. Moves different. What
is it, boy? Hm? You can tell me. Go on.” Tom shook his head, speechless. Jim
and Jake kept ahold of each arm, but it was obvious that Mick saw no one but
him. He smiled bloody and took a crooked step in his direction. Chris growled.
“Yeah, you’re different. Couldn’t put my finger on it. And then you ran into
the garage today and I finally knew. I smelled it. You were bleeding.”
Tom gasped. “No.”
“You still are, aren’t you? Because you’re a Dual. And you have a cunt that
bleeds. And by God, I wanna lick it.”
He lunged toward Tom with a snarl but Chris jumped in between, hand stuffed in
the inside of his jacket, emerging with a sharp blade in his fist. He spun Mick
and held him with one arm by the neck, screaming brokenly as he stuck the knife
in Mick’s chest, quick, hard, deep violent thrusts, the sound like loosed
arrows, feathers flying.
Mick grunted with every stab, a half dozen shanks, prison-learned and adopted.
Blood bubbled from Mick’s mouth and his knees buckled. Chris let him fall,
gasping ragged in the cold air. Plumes of his breath spread out before him,
revealing in slow bursts the shocked faces of Tom and Jim and Jake. All stood
to the side, all with eyes wide on the scene before them.
But on the ground, Mick started laughing, slow and cruel.
Moving fast, Chris straddled Mick’s waist and grabbed him by the collar of his
shirt, both spitting in all their anger.
“What happened to the kid?” Chris rasped. He shook him, and more bloody spittle
erupted from Mick’s mouth. “The owner’s son? What happened to him?”
Mick grinned. “You know about that, huh? I was hoping you didn’t. It would put
you off my scent with what I planned to do to your boy.”
Chris back handed him. “What happened to him!”
“I fucked him hard. Tore him open. Oh god, he was tight. So sweet and tight.
But now he’s buried twenty miles east of here. Tribal land. Protected by the
government and restricted by the Indians.” He laughed low, blood oozing from
between his teeth. “Family thinks he ran away after his dad was killed. They’ll
never find him. No one goes up there.”
Jim and Jake looked at each other, mouths open in astonishment.
“You son of a bitch,” Chris growled, face inches from Mick’s. “You’re never
going to lay your hands on my boy.”
He lifted his arm, hand curling into a fist, just as Mick, lightning fast,
scrambled a hand into his leather jacket and pulled out a gun. Chris landed his
blow just as the gun went off and Tom screamed, struggling with Jim but the man
wouldn’t let him go.
The blast ricocheted loudly, startling a flock of birds from their nests in the
big tree at the edge of the yard. The fire crackled, and everyone was silent,
eyes glued on the two men on the ground.
A door clapped open back at the house and Isabel’s cry of alarm echoed over
them.
Chris blinked and looked down. The side of his shirt was blown through, a bloom
of red soaking into the white thread.
Even Mick’s eyes were wide, looking down at where he’d shot Chris.
“I—I…I,” he stuttered, mouth opening and closing stupidly. “I just wanted to
fuck him, is all. I won’t kill him.”
With a low growl, Chris grabbed the sides of Mick’s head and gave his neck a
quick twist, snapped the bone, the sick cracking sound almost louder than the
gunshot.
Heaving, Chris let Mick’s head fall back, thudding hollowly on the dirt. He
clutched his side and collapsed, legs sprawled out over Mick’s.
“No!” Tom yelled, finally disentangling himself from Jim’s hold. He rushed to
Chris, dropping to his knees beside him. Jake, Jim, and Isabel followed close
behind. “Daddy, no. No, please. Chris!”
Chris blinked up at the sky, evening out from autumn orange into a deeper
purple, the firelight casting shadows over his face. He grimaced when Tom
pulled up his shirt, but lifted his head to look.
The bullet seemed to have only grazed him, slicing into the meat of his waist,
blood spilling from the torn skin.
“Just a flesh wound,” Jim said, sticking a bandana over it. Chris stifled a
grunt.
“Hurts like a bitch,” he gasped.
Tom was cupping his face, eyes brimming with tears. He brushed back Chris’s
hair, flicking his gaze over every part of his face, fingers getting bloodied
by the cut on his brow. Isabel dropped down beside him, her flowing skirts and
curly hair whipping in the sharp breeze.
“Daddy,” he whispered, a tear falling into the parched earth. “Daddy, you
can’t! Oh god—.”
“He’ll be alright, kid,” Jim said, pressing down on the wound. “He won’t need a
hospital. Jake’s got a first aid kit inside. We’ll patch him up in a minute.
Stay down, Chris.” He kept a hand on Chris’s shoulder.
Chris lifted his arm to Tom’s waist, the contact comforting him.
“He’s dead,” Jake said. He squatted by Mick’s body, two fingers on his neck.
“Of course he’s dead,” Jim said bluntly. “We all heard the spine snap. Not to
mention he had about a minute left from the shanking.”
Tom sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, unknowingly smearing a
stripe of Chris’s own blood across his cheek.
“I’m okay, baby. Don’t cry.”
Tom let out another sob, shaking his head. Isabel wrapped him close, shushing
him gently. She petted his hair as he cried.
“He can’t die, mom. He can’t.”
“He won’t, my darling. The boys will fix him up like new.”
Jake returned a minute later with the first aid kit. Both men knelt over Chris,
Tom shuffling over to palm his head. They cleaned the wound and bandaged it
tight, Chris’s breath hissing through his teeth with every each touch. And then
they cleaned and put a butterfly bandage on his cut eyebrow.
They hauled him to his feet, Tom jumping out of the way, trailing after them
with his arms around Isabel. One on each side, they walked Chris into Jake’s
house. The inner paneling was dark, with long shadows in the corners and across
the cluttered walls. Tom rubbed his arms, the air somehow colder inside than
out. They took Chris to a back bedroom, laying him down on the creaky bed. He
was half-conscious, the loss of blood making him pale and weak, his teeth
gritted against the pain from the fight and the gun shot. Hands bloodied, Tom
realized the knife was probably still out in the dirt sticky and blackened.
Isabel hurried about with clean pillows and more towels to dab at the remaining
blood.
“Here,” Jake said, searching in his jacket pocket. “Grabbed some Vicodin from
my stash. Take one.”
“No,” Chris gritted, eyes on Tom, who stood at the foot of the bed, looking
like a lost little ghost, a stripe of blood on his cheek.
Isabel bent close. “No one’s gonna hurt him, Chris. The only one who would is
lying outside. He’ll stay here with you. Jake and Jim will take care of the
body, let the crew know what happened. It was self-defense. You did nothing
wrong.”
Breathing hard through his nose, Chris took a moment, and then nodded tersely.
Jake gave him the pill and a chug of his beer. Wincing, Chris fell back on the
bed.
Turning to Tom, Jake said, “You can lock the door from the inside, if that
makes you feel better. But Isa will be here if you need anything. Me and Jim’ll
be outside. I’m sorry,” he finished, glancing once more at Chris. Both men
left, Isabel hugging him one last time before following them out. Tom sprang
into motion. He removed Chris’s boots, setting them in the corner, and then
shrugged out of his own, crawling in beside Chris.
Chris’s eyes were half-lidded, already going distant from the pain medication.
But he blinked and focused on Tom, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
Tears sprang to Tom’s eyes again and he smiled, brushing Chris’s hair back,
cradling his face.
“Yes, Daddy. But I was so scared. I thought he killed you.”
“Fuck if that man was going to take my life. And with a gun no less. Coward,”
he said softly, closing his eyes. His chest rose and fell, breaths ragged. “Is
it bad? It still hurts like a son of a bitch.”
Tom looked down at the bandage. “Of course it does. But the guys don’t seem
super worried.”
“Probably fucked up my tattoo,” Chris murmured, voice fading fast. The pill was
working on his system, his eyes closing against his will. “Sleep with me. Baby.
Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, Daddy. I’m staying right here with you.”
When Chris drifted off, Tom lay shivering against Chris’s body heat. When he
couldn’t stand it anymore, he pulled over their bodies the soft Mexican blanket
Isabel had left for them. It didn’t cover Chris as much, but Tom was freezing.
He wrapped it around himself and watched Chris breathe, a hand splayed over his
chest to feel the hard beat of his heart thumping against his palm.
He couldn’t sleep. Especially after hearing the roar of more bikers arriving,
voices outside the window, some shouting, some murmuring. What Jim and Jake
told the others, Tom didn’t know. And he didn’t care. Chris was alive and Mick
wasn’t. Anything else, Tom wasn’t concerned with.
Later, there was a knock at the door and Tom lifted his head.
It was Jim. “How is he?”
Tom let him in and Jim examined Chris, who was fast asleep.
“He’ll need to rest for a few more days. But he should be able to return to
normal things in a week. Believe me,” he said, patting his own stomach. “I’ve
had a slug or two in my own day.”
Tom smiled, grateful for the ease he put Tom into after so shocking an event.
“We think he should stay here tonight. Maybe even tomorrow. He can’t ride like
this. I mean, he can, but it’s gonna hurt like hell.”
Tom nodded and thanked him.
“Oh, and when he wakes up,” Jim said, almost out the door. “Tell him he’s the
boss now. Unanimous vote. Everyone’s on board. And the few who weren’t quit the
crew.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t much of a loss.”
Tom shut the door and sat by Chris. He took his hand and traced his fingers
over the rough skin, the callouses and veins, the scars. He loved his hands,
how big they were, how gentle they could be. His arms, with their great round
muscles, the dark outline of his tattoos, skull sockets staring blindly at him
in the gloom.
Isabel came in late that night and gave Tom some soup and a sandwich. She sat
with him beside Chris, both touching his arm, whispering that he would be just
fine.
“He did it for me. Mick was coming at me. Said he smelled my…” He swallowed and
looked down. “My period blood. Chris went crazy. Shanked him like they learn in
prison.” Holding Chris’s hand, he stared down at him. “He almost died.”
She caressed Tom’s cheek.
“You’re brave and full of heart, love. You’re worth fighting for, and
protecting,” she said fiercely. “He did it because you’re his everything. And
you mean the world to us.”
“Mom,” Tom breathed, and leaned into her embrace.
Chris woke around dawn, a groan of pain bubbling up from his chest. Tom was
there to hold him, patting down the sweat on his face, murmuring to him
sweetly. Jake came in to change his bandage, but Chris refused another pain
pill.
The next day, he was able to mount his bike and with hard, careful hugs and
firm handshakes, he thanked Jake for letting him stay and rest, and for backing
him up.
“We all heard what he said about the boy, Chris,” Jake said. “We all heard what
he did. He was playing the crew wrong, and that’s the worst a boss could do.”
Back at their house, Chris left the bike exposed in the back, bending double to
lift his leg over the seat. Tom helped him, sensing that Chris’s body wasn’t
only in pain from the gun shot, but from the fight itself. His cheek was
purpling, and dark bruises were forming on his chest and stomach. There was
even one long bruise over his shoulder, and Tom had no idea what had caused it.
They limped down the hall and to the bedroom. Chris fell against the pillows
with a sigh, eyes closing immediately. Tom undressed him as best he could,
pulling off his boots and jeans, and pulling the blankets up to his chin.
Tom cleaned up the kitchen, finishing the cookies from the day before. The ones
he’d left on the counter were hard as rocks, so he broke them into crumbs and
left some on the window ledge for the birds to eat. The rest he tossed in the
garbage. The new cookies he placed in an air-tight container so they would stay
soft for when Chris woke up.
Chris slept all day. Tom brought his laptop and books into the room with him,
closing the door and turning on the heater. He watched more videos online,
wrote comments on what did and didn’t work for him on a community-based cooking
site. He read for a bit, reclining against Chris’s back, eventually dozing off,
book open on his face.
Monday morning, he dressed for school and kissed Chris awake.
Chris stirred and rubbed his eyes, and then flinched when his brow smarted.
“I’m going to school, Daddy,” Tom whispered, pecking at his nose.
Chris started to rise. “I’ll take you.”
“No,” Tom said firmly, and Chris froze. “Daddy, you need to rest. I can take my
bike. I’ll come straight here after school.”
“Are you sure?”
Tom smiled. “Positive. I need you better. Please get better?”
“Yes, baby. I will.”
Over the next two weeks, Chris rested, staying in bed or limping out to the
living room to lie on the sofa. Tom cooked his meals and made him warm treats.
At night, they slept spooned together, Chris often waking to Tom sucking on his
cock, grinning wide at him as he licked at the head with his strawberry tongue.
Or like he loved to do, Tom would already be riding him when Chris woke on the
verge of orgasm, spilling into him with a choked and drowsy groan, Tom’s
giggles following him into sleep again. His rut hit during Tom’s winter break.
Still sore and in pain, Chris’s usual vigor was dampened. Tom took the lead and
rode him until they both collapsed with exhaustion, Chris knotted hard and
pulsed inside him; or he would sink into Tom lying on their sides, his long
pale leg hooked up over his elbow. The bullet wound stung, but he bit through
it, growling into Tom’s neck, marking him up good.
And still they marked their calendars, still they counted the days, still they
looked ahead for when they would cycle together, and wonder how they would
manage.
Most of December and January was spent in a subdued kind of quiet. Chris
returned to work, both as mechanic and as boss of his crew. His wound healed
cleanly, but closed raggedly, cutting deep into his tattoo. Tom touched it
every night, realizing how close he’d been to losing him, thinking of the awful
heartbreak Isabel had to have endured at the death of her mate, and loved her
all the more for her strength.
He spent Christmas partially at his mother’s house, making a quick appearance
for appearance’s sake. She seemed to understand, without any formal
explanation, that he was living somewhere else now, his room an empty relic of
his long ago presence there. It was a simple and unmentioned fact between them
that they didn’t bring up.
Jeff ignored him. His jaw and arm had healed and he was traveling the state
again, but when Tom was over he left the room. But Tom didn’t visit often, so
it wasn’t an issue.
The morning of his seventeenth birthday in February, all freezing winds and
bitter rains, Chris rolled over in bed and palmed Tom’s neck.
“Move in with me,” he said quietly.
Tom giggled. “I already have.”
“Officially.”
Tom stared at him and kissed his wrist. “Okay, Daddy.”
“You’ll be mine.”
“Like your wife?” Tom said, smiling wide. He scooted closer, his leg squeezing
between Chris’s thighs, brushing his cock.
“Mmm,” Chris breathed, wrapping his arms around Tom’s back. “I like the sound
of that. My little boy wife.”
“All in one,” he said softly, eyes rolling back as Chris licked behind his ear.
“I love you,” Chris whispered.
“I love you, too, Daddy.” They squeezed each other tightly, their centers
aligning, second nature.
There would be a bonfire at Jake’s for Tom’s birthday, with a cookout and a big
cake and plenty of beer.
“You’re having a drink tonight. Or two or three,” Chris said into Tom’s ear.
“You get extra bendy when you’re tipsy.”
Tom laughed and vowed he would, as long as Chris kissed him at midnight.
“I’m going to kiss you every hour,” he promised.
The crew met up at Chris’s house just before sundown, and when it was time to
go Tom climbed on behind Chris. He took a drag from Chris’s cigarette, and then
crushed it under his boot. Putting his helmet on, he hugged Chris from behind.
“Ready, baby?”
“Yes!” he said, laughing.
Chris waved a hand in the air and revved his engine. Forty bikes revved theirs
in answer. Tom squeezed Chris tightly as they pulled out onto the road and
headed deep into the desert, where later that night a raging fire and birthday
kisses would welcome him into a new year.
***** To Suddenly Be Without *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
It was June again and the desert was a scorched wasteland of spindly cacti and
cragged-limbed half-trees. The moon was full, a bright circle of white in the
sky, and Tom stared up at it with worry in his gut. Somewhere in the brush a
coyote howled and another responded farther in the distance. He and Chris were
lying out on the hood of Chris’s Camaro looking for falling stars, the desert’s
cool night winds brushing over them.
“Are you sure?”
"Yes. I’ve double checked everything. The days are synced next week.”
Chris tightened his hold on Tom. “I’d go crazy with happiness seeing you big
with my baby, but not yet, Tom. You’re not even eighteen.”
“I want babies with you, too, Chris. But what can we do?”
Chris took a drag of his cigarette, the end fluttering red in the dark.
“I have an idea.” He blew the smoke to the side and looked down at Tom. “But
it’s going to be fucking awful.”
Tom leaned up on his elbow and took the cigarette from Chris. He sucked a quick
drag and let the smoke funnel out through his nose. He kissed Chris’s cheek.
“What is it?”
**
Later that night, sitting against the headboard, Tom still had that flat,
stunned look that had seeped into his features since Chris had told him of his
plan.
“I’ll talk to Román about this. And Jake. See if they’ll help me,” Chris said,
brushing his teeth and coming to bed beside him. He took Tom’s hand. “I know
they will.”
"But Daddy. How will we…survive it? I can’t even imagine it.” His eyes fell
shut.
Chris smiled sadly. “It’ll feel like dying. Definitely. But we won’t. And we’ll
be okay at the end of it. I promise.”
Tom stared at him a moment longer and then curled into his arms, pushing his
face into Chris’s armpit, his comfort zone. 
“Should I call them up? Ask for their help?”
Tom sighed and trailed his nose along coarse blond hairs. “Yes, Daddy. You
should.”
Chris called up Román and Jake the next morning, asked them over for a cookout.
Isabel prepared the meat, seasoning it and cutting off the bits of fat, while
Tom buttered the onions, wrapping them in foil and carrying them out for Chris
to grill. He shared a beer with him as Chris flipped the steaks and chatted
with Jake and Román, who’d brought along his twin brother, Adán. Tortillas
warmed, meat diced, salsa drizzled and beer bottles clinked, they ate in a
circle of lawn chairs out in the shade by the garage.
“So what’s going on, Hems?” Román asked. He clasped an iced beer bottle between
his hands.
“Can’t we just get together for some drinks and great food?” Isabel winked at
Tom and took a drink of her beer.
“Of course we can,” Chris said, laughing. But he sobered and took Tom’s hand.
“What? You’re getting married!”
Tom kicked Jake’s shin lightly, and the others erupted in laughter.
“If I could I would,” Chris said quietly, wrapping Tom under his arm. “But we
actually wanted to ask you all a serious question. You’re the ones we trust the
most. The ones we would like to trust with a secret we’ve been keeping.”
Isabel’s eyes darted to Tom, a question curving her brow. Tom smiled and
nodded.
“I get my rut next week, and Tom gets his heat. Same day. We wanted to ask if
you would help keep us separated during the two days we’d be under.”
Román shrugged his shoulders. “For what, though?”
“I’m a Dual,” Tom said, and felt four sets of eyes flick his way. Isabel
smiled.
“A Dual?” Jake said.
“Like…a Dual Dual?”
“Yes. And that’s why I need to be separated from Chris.”
“You don’t want to be pregnant,” Isabel whispered. “Just yet.”
“Just yet,” Tom echoed, reaching for her hand.
“I remember what Mick had said. Back at the bonfire,” Jake said slowly. And
then his eyes widened and he glanced up at Tom, silenced by his sudden
realization.
Tom blushed and tipped his beer bottle toward him.
“Thing is, I would need to be restrained,” Chris said. “Chained would be best.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Román cut in. He lifted his arms, face open with
surprise. “You want us to keep your boy—.” He paused, and bent his head at Tom.
“Boy?”
Tom laughed quietly. “I answer to male pronouns. Yes.”
“Cool,” Román said. “So you want us to keep your boy away from you. And who
does that while we’re watching you?”
“I will,” Isabel cut in. “Me and a couple of the girls. Ana Maria and Gisele, I
think. They are closest with you, no?”
Tom nodded.
“You keep Chris occupied and I’ll keep Tom safe.” Isabel shrugged, no big deal.
“Two days,” Chris said. “I don’t expect you to watch me for forty-eight hours
straight. Maybe cover it in shifts. But once I’m tied down good enough, I won’t
be going anywhere. No matter what I threaten, no matter what I try to do to get
out.” He looked them all in turn. “And I will threaten. I’ll say some nasty
stuff probably. Because I’ll have only one thing on my mind, and you would all
be in my way.”
They laughed quietly, a little unnerved, but relieved.
“So will you help us?”
Adán was the quiet brother, hardly ever spoke a word, but he looked up at them
now and said, “Yes.” Román nodded, agreeing. “But do you know how often you’ll
need us to do this? How often do your cycles link up?”
Tom leaned forward. “I’ve been keeping schedule of when we get our heats and
ruts. It doesn’t happen very often. I’m guessing, from what I’ve recorded so
far, every year and a half, maybe two years.”
“And you want to continue this until you’re ready for a family?”
“Until Tom’s older, yeah.” Chris lifted his brows. “So?”
The others looked around at each other, and then over at them.
“Absolutely.”
“Of course.”
“Yes.”
Chris squeezed Tom close, grinning down at him. “Then, we should prepare.”
**
It began with making a visit to the hardware store. Chris bought heavy duty
chains and zip ties. And a strawberry lollipop for Tom. Jake began cleaning out
his basement, deciding it was the best place to keep Chris during his rut.
Isabel would take Tom to her house on the other side of town. It was near the
edge of the industrial part of the city, littered with factories and unused
railroad tracks, mainly why she liked spending so much time with Jake in the
deep desert. But her house was one of the few remaining from the 1930’s, an old
place with strong foundations and a cool interior. It was two storeys and
surrounded by a tall green trees and a black wrought iron fence. It had high
windows, a pointed roof and a front balcony.
No one was coming close without her knowing about it.
Román would stay with Jake and Chris in the basement, figuring two men guarding
Chris was better than one. Adán would supply water and food from their
restaurant, moving between the two locations to make sure everyone was fed and
hydrated.
Tom couldn’t believe how fast the plan had come together, how willing their
friends were to help them. It warmed his heart to feel such a rush of affection
for them, and from them. They cared about his and Chris’s wellbeing, wanted
them to remain safe and healthy and happy. It was more than he would ever have
expected from a person back when he was still alone in the world.
The day before their cycles started, Tom baked batch after batch of cookies.
Chocolate chip, strawberry cheesecake, ginger molasses. Sealing them into
plastic containers, he stacked them on the table.
“For our friends,” he whispered, holding a hand to his navel, beginning to pale
around his ears. Chris, who had been hovering over him all day, took a deep
inhale before cursing and leaving the room, feeling as if he were leaving
behind what gave him his very life.
Tom blinked dazedly as Chris stormed out. He hadn’t been feeling well most of
the morning, his stomach cramping, his skin flushing with heat. Chris wasn’t
any better, pacing the living room, his eyes beginning to bruise, flexing his
hands and rushing into the kitchen every few minutes to make sure Tom was still
there, still safe and his.
Day turned to night, and they could only stare at each other across the counter
space, both feeling with innate sharpness every twinge that happened in the
other. It gutted them all the more, made their hearts seize, these joined and
duplicated experiences, their own and their mate’s.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Tom stumbled forward with a muted mumble
and collapsed against Chris, kissing his neck with sweet, small noises, his
hand curling in his hair.
“Babe,” Chris breathed, face pained, falling back against the wall as Tom
scurried closer. He fished out his cell phone, dialing a number.
“Daddy,” Tom whispered, trying to climb off the floor and into his arms. “Oh,
Daddy, please.”
Jake answered.
“It’s time. Bring Isabel. She needs to take Tom.”
“No,” Tom moaned, scrambling to get closer.
Chris hung up. “We have to, Tom. We have to.” But he wrapped him in his arms
all the same, collapsing him against the counter and mouthing at his neck.
That’s where Jake, Román, and Isabel found them, making out against the pantry
wall, Tom’s lips already swollen, his eyes already hazy. Chris cut a sharp,
distressed look at them over his shoulder and Isabel jumped forward.
“Alright, my darling. You’re coming with me tonight. The girls are all ready
for us back at the house. Movies and champagne and candy—.”
“Daddy,” Tom moaned, refusing to budge from Chris. His arms were snaked around
his neck, chin jutted upward for more kisses. “Chris…please.”
“Fuck,” Chris groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Jake started forward to help
but Chris snatched Tom against him and guarded him from view, lip curling up in
a snarl. A warning.
“Enough of that, Chris,” Isabel cut in, waving Jake back cautiously. “Now you
hand that boy over and this will all be over soon.”
With Tom mewling and tangled around him, Chris nodded. Defeated and trembling,
he staggered back and tried peeling Tom off himself, but it was like he hadn’t
the strength to deny his boy, who was insistent on more kisses and getting rid
of Chris’s shirt.
“Go…with Isabel, Tom. You have to go with her.”
“I don’t want mom. I want you.”
Isabel laughed and circled her arms around his thin waist.
“Sweet angel, come with me. It’s alright.”
But it was no use. Tom was a determined pup clinging to his alpha. Chris had to
resort to a desperate measure. Grabbing Tom up against him, he spun him quickly
and bent low over his neck, biting down. Tom went limp in his arms, a strangled
moan caught in his chest. Keeping his teeth locked for several moments longer,
to make the gentling a strong one, Chris finally pulled back and hitched Tom up
in his arms. Tom’s eyes were glazed, his lips parted in astonished ecstasy.
Against Chris’s chest, his pale hands fluttered.
“Truck’s just outside,” Isabel said, tugging on his elbow. Eyes glued on Tom,
Chris followed her out, Jake and Román keeping a safe distance. Tom’s long
limbs flopped as he hurried to the truck, laying him on the front seat,
securing his safety belt.
“Chris,” Tom whispered, over and over, so sweetly tempting that Chris nearly
lost his composure. Leaning in through the doorway, he took Tom’s head in both
hands and kissed him hard, a gutted sob lodged in his throat. Tom was so warm,
so smooth, and he smelled like a blooming flower.
“Okay, Chris,” Isabel said gently. She pulled him back by the tail of his
shirt. “I’ll bring him back. I promise.”
Eyes on his mate, Chris hobbled backward, feet unsteady in the dirt. Isabel
moved fast, shutting the door and running around to the driver’s side. She
turned the engine, a sturdy roar in the night. Tom’s face was a small, perfect
moon in the window, his long fingers climbing up the glass, palm spread wide in
pleading.
“Tom,” Chris gasped, starting forward, but Jake and Román grabbed hold of each
arm, and this time Chris let them. He knew, in the small bit of reason he had
left, that Tom needed to go. If only for a little while. Isabel drove down the
dirt drive and pulled out onto the paved road, her taillights disappearing in
the dark.
Something in Chris snapped, a frayed thread torn in two. He shoved the other
two away and spun fast, fisting his hand and punching the closest thing to him:
the chained doors of his garage.
“Fuck!”
They rattled under the blow, the wood creaking, the chains clanking loudly. And
he paced, knuckles split, blood dripping down his fingers.
“Come with us, Chris. We’ll get you right.” His friends gestured with their
hands and he found himself letting them lead him. They secured the house and
then piled him into Román’s car, heading east toward Jake’s house. Chris
hesitated before walking in, looking up at the moon already beginning to wane
from its former fullness. He remembered when he and Tom had laid out on the
hood of his Camaro only last week, watching for falling stars.
Glancing out over the desert where he knew the city lay far from his sight, he
whispered Tom’s name and hoped that he heard him, felt him, wherever he was.
Román finally took his elbow and guided him inside, down the hall and to the
door that led down to the basement, which was wide and had a low ceiling. His
head barely grazed the wooden planks above him. With the fight seeped out of
him for the moment, despairing at his separation from Tom, Chris was docile as
his friends chained him to the floor. Two metal loops had been drilled into the
wall behind him, two more into the floor. The chains would circle from one pair
and through the other, Chris’s wrists and ankles wrapped in the metal between
them. If he tugged with his arms, the chain would pull around his ankles. It
would keep him trapped in a small area of the basement, of no harm to anyone or
himself.
He could stand, kneel, and even lie down, but his strength failed him that
moment. Kneeling, he stared down at the dusty cement floor, a gnawing red worm
starting to squirm in his gut. He needed his mate. His mate needed him. But
they were doing the right thing. He knew they were.
Blinking, he took in his jeans and plain T-shirt. What had Tom been wearing?
Would he be cold?
He shook his head to clear it, his mind was already beginning to edge with
gray.
“We’ll give you water and food, Chris. But we won’t let you out of your chains.
Not for two days. Isa and I will be keeping in contact, so we’ll all know the
statuses of the others. We’re here to help.”
Chris nodded, head hanging. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Román chuckled.
“I figure that’s the last nice thing we’ll hear him say for a while.”
**
Tom felt a pang of pain in his chest and he turned toward the east, misty eyes
flicking left and right. His heart started a panicked beat.
“Daddy.”
Keeping her long wiry arms around him, Isabel whispered for him to keep moving.
They staggered up the front steps, Tom’s legs feeling leaden. Gisele and Ana
Maria were already inside. They’d lit candles and tacked flower petal sheets to
the windows. They were at his side instantly, taking his hands and petting his
hair. He was led into a room on the second floor and shown to the bed. It was
piled with clean sheets, soft and smelling of fresh laundry detergent. He
toppled onto the mattress, half-conscious as the girls removed his boots and
jeans. He’d worn boxer briefs and a simple undershirt, already so stifled from
the lingering heat of the day and the fire building in his stomach.
He needed to be filled. He needed seed.
“Chris,” he moaned, hands curling in the sheets, head twisting on the pillow.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Isabel whispered, sitting beside him and cupping his
cheek. “Your Daddy is fine. He’s being taken care of.”
“He’s not. I can feel it. He needs me. I feel his heart in my stomach. It’s
pulsing.”
“Grab the ice packs,” she said over her shoulder and one of the girls hurried
away. When she returned, they all climbed into the bed with him, running ice
cubes over his limbs and neck, around the bow of his lips. Ice packs were
pressed to his neck, champagne dripped into his mouth, long fingered hands
slipped into his own. They murmured to him, quiet whispers that sent his head
spinning, pleading for Chris, spine arching.
“Sleep now, Tom,” Ana Maria said. “It’ll all be like a dream. A blur.”
He shook his head, mouth dry again, lips swollen.
“We won’t let anything happen to you. Sleep now.”
“Sleep.”
“Shh. It’s alright.”
Tom moaned faintly, his eyes beginning to drift closed. Sleep would take him
that night, but the morning would be different. He felt it like a claw of pain
in his belly, a cramping that had him curling into himself, weeping quietly.
Their bond was a demanding, spoiled thing, inflating with fury in his blood. It
called for Chris, incessant and imperious, necessitating as only something
royal and holy ever could. It would only cease paining him until what it
demanded was at his side once more.
And he was, sadly, without his alpha mate.
**
After a year of mating with Tom during each of their cycles, of having complete
access to him when they needed each other most and then to suddenly be without,
was like an ice pick grinding into his gut.
Chris paced on the concrete, the chains confining him to a space no bigger than
a few feet round. Jake sat at the base of the stairs, watching him.
“Just take it easy, Chris.”
“I can feel him. He’s in pain.”
“And so are you.”
Chris shook his head, jaw gritted. Didn’t matter.
“Drink some water.” A bottle was rolled his way and Chris snatched it up. He
guzzled the cold liquid down and then crushed the plastic in his hands,
violence beginning to manifest itself through his need to mate.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” He stopped, snapping his head around. “But Tom likes fruit. He likes
fruit when he’s like this. Tell Isabel. Tell her.”
“I have, Chris. We have everything set to go. You don’t have to worry.”
Jake studied his friend. His hands clenching and unclenching, the deep bruises
under his eyes, the slightly bowed curve of his spine, like an animal in a
cage. His boots rasped in the sand littered over the concrete, no doubt ready
to pace a hole straight through to the ground beneath the house.
“You should sleep, Chris.”
“No,” Chris grunted, facing the west wall of the basement. He stayed like that
for a long time, shoulders held tense, immovable.
“How’s he doing?” Román asked when Jake stepped back into the upper floor
landing.
Jake closed the door to the basement and shrugged. “He’s getting antsy. And he
might start to get physical.”
“Like…you know?”
Jake laughed. “Probably that too. But I meant violent. If he doesn’t get what
he wants.”
Román shook his head. “Shit. I wonder how Tom’s doing.”
“Don’t know. Chris said he was in pain. That he could feel it.”
**
Dawn brought with it broken moans and slick sweat. Tom tossed and turned, the
sheets damp beneath him. Ana Maria and Gisele stood by the bed, fanning him
with magazines, ice packs tucked against his slim body. Isabel cut fruit and
took it upstairs in a bowl, persuading Tom into eating one small piece at a
time, assuring him in gentle words that Chris was alright, that they would be
together soon.
“But I need him,” he breathed, hips rolling. “I need him, please. The fire. The
fire hurts.”
“I wish there was something we could do,” Gisele whispered, dabbing at Tom’s
forehead with a cool cloth.
“Short of buckling on a strap-on, there’s not much we can do.”
Gisele shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never said no to new things.”
Isabel tossed her a grape, laughing. “No. He’ll know it’s not Chris. He’ll have
to ride this out on his own. We’re here to help him, make sure he doesn’t hurt
himself, and that he’s safe.”
She glanced toward the balcony, shuttered tight against the midday sun. Tom had
eaten only half the fruit, but he would need to stay hydrated.
“Give him water. And keep him cool with ice. I’ll go switch out the packs in
the freezer.” She walked slowly toward the balcony doors, ear cocked.
“What is it?”
Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “Bring me the guns.”
**
There was shifting in the basement, and pained growls. Román descended slowly,
a little more of Chris coming into view through the slanted bars of the
staircase.
He was kneeling on the floor, wrists hanging limp up by his head. But every
muscle was held taut with anger, teeth exposed in a snarl. He was yanking at
his chains, clawing the air, knees sliding on the concrete as he struggled to
rise and escape.
Electric blue eyes snapped up at Román, and his growl deepened.
“Get these off me.” Voice low, brows bent, he looked every bit like a wild
panther, and Román’s instinct to run crept over his mind.
“Can’t do that, Hems,” he said easily, taking a seat on the last step.
Chris’s eyes fluttered closed, and he twisted his neck to sniff at his own
shoulder. “Oh, I can smell him. He was here. On me. He was on me. Bring him to
me. Get these fucking chains off and I’ll find him myself!”
“No.”
“Goddamn you, Rome!” He lunged forward but was hauled back by the chains,
sliding in the sand, knees torn. He hung his head. “Fuck you.”
“Eat something. Here.”
He slung a plate of meat across the floor, hating how degrading it felt for
Chris. To be fed like a chained dog. Chris turned from the food, hands shaking.
“I want Tom.”
“And you’ll have him day after tomorrow.”
“No,” he moaned, boots sliding as he tried to gain his footing. Streaks of
blood lined the floor. “Bring him to me now or I swear to God I’ll strap you to
one of my bikes and set it on fire.”
Román chuckled. “Why you gotta burn me, though? Why can’t you run me over? Make
it quick?”
Chris let out a pain groan, chains clinking as he shifted. “You piece of shit.”
“I love you, too, Hems. We’ll be down to check on you in a bit.”
He left Chris in the dim dark. Flexing his wrists, Chris threw his weight
against the chains, neck straining as he tried to snap the steel. But it was no
use and he collapsed back against the floor, breathing ragged. His erection was
a painful rod in his jeans, hips jutting toward the west wall.
“Babe.”
“Tom, please.”
“Please…fuck.”
He sagged against his restraints, tears burning down his cheeks, dripping to
the floor.
A flash of Tom’s face smiling up at him from their bed back home, and Chris
came hard.
He screamed into the room, shuddering through the half pain, half pleasure,
unable to knot. He needed Tom’s warm cunt, couldn’t find it. Landing on his
face, Chris lay against the concrete, breaths gusting sand into the air. His
hips moved on their own, humping, seeking. Fingers clawed, wrists bruised, he
wept brokenly, cock hard again and surging for the right heat.
And as orgasm after orgasm battered his will with no relief and no knotting,
Chris cried out for his mate, his screams gutted, sand cutting into his face.
He tugged and crawled to the west, dragged back to his prison corner by chains
that snapped and cut into him, calling for him. Again and again.
**
Tom gasped, eyes flying open.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, now,” someone said gently, a girl’s voice. “It’s okay.”
There were hands on his face. Too small, too soft. There was no engine grease,
no smell of motor fuel and garden flowers. Grimacing, he tore his face away,
crying for Chris again.
Isabel was at the balcony door, peering between the wooden slants. In her hand
she held a shotgun. She frowned at something outside.
“He needs me. Oh, God. It hurts. He needs me.”
There was a clanging from outside and all three women whipped their heads
toward the balcony. Tom, writhing on the bed, stuck a hand into his briefs and
started fingering himself. He moaned at the fullness, not even close enough.
“Go on, sweetheart,” Isabel whispered, parting the blinds carefully. “Make
yourself feel better.”
Ana Maria and Gisele joined her at the window, picking up shotguns of their
own. They checked the barrels and nodded to each other. Making sure Tom was
occupied on the bed, Isabel threw open the balcony doors and stepped outside,
shotgun raised. Ana Maria and Gisele flanked her.
“Stop right there!” she called down to the three men hovering outside the
wrought iron fence. One had a foot on the ledge, ready to start the climb over.
“Smelled him from the road,” one said gruffly. He shook the gates. “Let us up.”
Isabel cocked her weapon. “This omega is claimed. Get lost. I’ll shoot you, no
problem.”
Tom moaned from in the room, his hand working hard between his legs, and the
men snapped their heads up, growling at the women.
One started to hoist himself onto the iron bars, his long arms reaching the top
edge when Isabel fired. The shot exploded over their heads and the men
scattered back a few steps, eyes wide. The empty casing spiraled over the edge
of the balcony and landed on the broken slabs of tile below.
“That was a warning. You cross onto my property, I’ll shoot a kneecap each.
Which parts do you want, girls?”
“Heart,” said Gisele.
“Dicks!” yelled Ana Maria. They cocked their weapons and the men finally
hurried off.
“One of you stay out here. There’ll be more.” Gisele took the first post.
Isabel and Ana Maria hurried inside. They replaced the lukewarm compresses on
Tom’s body with ice cold ones, but even so his body radiated heat, skin flushed
pink.
“He’s very beautiful,” Ana said, petting his damp curls.
“That he is. A Dual. I couldn’t believe it when he told me.”
“It’s no wonder that Chris adores him. He’s like a fairy.”
Tom turned into her touch, lips parting, seeking. She sat with him and fanned
his face while Isabel raced downstairs for more ice. She needed to update Jake
about the men outside, wondering how the boys were faring with Chris.
**
“Let me out!”
"Take these fucking chains off!”
“I will kill you both. Tear through these walls. Find him. I will find him. You
sons of bitches. Hiding him from me.”
“Where’s my boy? I need princess. Please. Bring her to me. Give her a lollipop.
He loves those.”
“Please. I’m begging you.”
“Please.”
“Tom.”
Hanging limp in his twisted nest of chains, cock erupting again and again in
his jeans, Chris gasped shallowly down at the floor. Hair frayed and matted
with sweat, wrists bruised, knees bleeding, ankles tied with zip wire, Chris
slowly spent every ounce of his strength to the force of his desire: to fuck
Tom, to escape his restraints, to satisfy his thirst and hunger. Now that he
was weakened, Jake approached with water, soaking the back of Chris’s neck and
rubbing his scalp with a friendly hand.
Shivering, he butted his head into Jake’s palm, any form of touch driving him
to tears.
“It’s almost over now, Chris. Just tonight. And then you’ll be with Tom again.”
“Tom,” he murmured, his addled brain picking up on only the one word.
“Have some water.” Jake tilted Chris’s chin up and angled the water bottle to
the corner of his mouth. Chris drank sluggishly, deeply enough to prove his
great thirst.
He called Isabel as soon as he was upstairs again, and she told him about the
men prowling outside.
“Half a dozen so far. We’re keeping an eye on them. One of the girls, or
myself, is always standing guard.”
“Good. Be careful.”
“How’s Chris?”
“Losing the fight.”      
“Tom’s in the same boat. He’s eaten only a handful of fruit. And we give him as
much water as he’ll let us. But he’s lying on that bed like his life has
drained out of him. Only whispers for Chris.”
“It’ll be over for them soon.”
On the third day, the girls prepared a bath for Tom and stripped him of his
soiled underclothes. They rinsed his hair and soaped up his shoulders and neck,
letting the water wash from his limbs the sticky residue of his frustrated
arousal. In and out of consciousness, Tom murmured for Chris, and then finally
for food, which made Isabel sigh in relief. Surely, the worst was over. Gisele
made some soup and spooned it into Tom’s mouth, telling him a story about the
trouble her pet monkey, Oyster, was probably getting into all alone at home.
Tom giggled quietly, accepting each spoonful, his temperature slowly returning
to normal. Isabel lent him a pale blue summer dress dotted with red roses, and
he slipped into it, grateful for the airy material. His skin was so sensitive.
Across the city, Jake and Román unlocked the chains from Chris’s wrists and cut
the zip ties around his ankles. Unwinding the chains link by link, he was left
shaking with fatigue and hunger on the floor of the basement, whispering
nonsense about car hoods and pink heart shades and wanting star-crowns. They
hosed him down in the shower, tossing his clothes in the wash and lending him a
pair of Jake’s shorts. Adán had made trips between the two houses, feeding
everyone with food from the restaurant. His brother prepared Chris two steak
burritos and gave him a beer. Chris devoured everything before finally lying
back on the bed in the spare room.
"Is he okay?” he asked, eyes distant on the wall.
“He’s okay. The girls are bringing him back now. He’ll be here any minute.”
Chris let his eyes drift closed, a tear spilling thickly and disappearing into
his shorn hair.
When Tom arrived, Chris was asleep. Drowsy and not fully present, Tom was
helped into the house by the girls, who walked him down the hallway to the room
where Chris was dozing. The others hung back as Tom staggered in on his own,
gravitating toward the bed with lashes half lowered. Lifting a knee, he climbed
in beside Chris, curling into his side, nosing his way into Chris’s armpit.
Their friends watched them sleep for a while, all smiling in a small sort of
way, happy that they were reunited again. The ordeal had been difficult for
everyone around, but it had been borderline traumatic for Chris and Tom.
Stunned into mute silence, they’d barely managed to function on their own in
the hours after waking from their horrifying cycles, needing help with bathing
and eating. And now they slept, bone-weary, next to the very person they’d been
calling for for two days.
“Now I need some chow,” Román said, pulling the others back and closing the
door with a quiet click. Their voices receded into the kitchen, where they
cracked open ice cold beers and started on some steak tacos Adán had brought
by. They gave the boys the privacy they’d need upon waking, which they did a
couple of hours later. In their sleep they had tangled themselves together,
finding each other in the half-light.
Jake’s house was quiet, but they heard music from outside, soft chatter and the
sound of a crackling fire. Chris was the first to stir, tightening his arms
around Tom and sniffing at his hair.
Tom groaned faintly, squirming.
“No,” Chris whispered. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Gasping, Tom’s eyes fluttered open. “Daddy?” His eyes welled with tears.
“You smell of women,” Chris said roughly. “Which is fine. Women are okay. But
no men. Ever.”
The tears spilled and Tom fell forward, sobbing into Chris’s neck. Chris held
him hard against his chest, and even though the ache in his gut from their
forced separation had begun to wane, he had no intention of letting Tom out of
his sight for the next ten years. He licked a path to Tom’s throat and sucked
at the skin there, desperate to have his scent strong on his mate again.
Still weak, still disoriented a bit, they clung to each other, fast kisses
sounding in the room. Hands strayed down Chris’s back, soft breaths at his ear.
Tom’s legs spread and Chris rolled himself between, falling heavy on him,
mouths sealed together. They wept, tears dripping off lashes and onto each
other’s cheeks, spilling between their lips as they dared to breathe and kiss
again, and then more. Tom yanked Chris’s shorts low and Chris shoved Tom’s
dress up, bunching the material around his waist. Cock like a hard pipe, Chris
dug his fingers into Tom’s thighs, the swollen tip dipping into Tom’s lush
entrance. And when he pushed in Tom broke from their kiss with a small cry, his
nails dragging into the meat of his back.
"I love you," he breathed, opening his eyes to the tears shining there, curled
lashes soaked.
"I love you the most." He slammed in and grunted as Tom's tight little cunt
swallowed him whole, the blue strap of his dress falling off a thin shoulder
and revealing a peek of pink nipple.
This was home, this was firelight and the gaze of stars. This was hot wind on
his face and the roar of a motorcycle. A boy giggling in his arms as they
tussled on the bed, a long hug in the middle of the night, when they'd found
each other in the dark, sinking against a chest they knew whose heart belonged
only to them. Their separation had been painful, their bond neglected and
furious, but this reunion was as a pulsing ember in the chamber of their
hearts.
There was music in the background, and someone singing drunkenly in Spanish,
but they smiled and moaned into their kisses.
"I felt my death," Tom said, scratching at Chris's scalp, hooking his legs
around his buttocks to make him go harder. Chris complied, their flesh smacking
loudly in the room.
"And I did die," Chris said between kisses. "I'm not alive. This isn't real."
"It is. And I am. And you are. Now come in me and fill me with what I needed
most without you."
Despite experiencing more than a dozen orgasms in two days, Chris fucked into
Tom and came deep inside, biting Tom's neck with a savage groan. Eyes rolling
up, Tom's orgasm was a soft drumming of butterfly wings in his blood, growing
to a steady pulse, and finally crashing over his senses with a roar. His
hearing snuffed out, his sight grew blurry, and all he felt were the flutters
of his cunt around Chris's cock.
Chris knotted him hard, swelling at the base and locking him in. But they
wouldn't have gone anywhere even if they'd been able. Collapsing onto the
pillows, falling into sleep again, they silently vowed never to endure such a
torture again.
But in the end, they would have to.
Because while the next year and a half passed without incident, celebrating
Tom's eighteenth birthday and his graduation from high school, he was still too
young for children. And so they enlisted the help of their friends once again,
driving Tom away during a bleakly cold December morning, and chaining Chris to
the freezing cement floor of Jake's basement. Another two days of bond-defying
separation, sapping their spirits, draining their strength, rolling together in
bed finally at the end of it all. Disbelief etched on their saddened faces.
On the porch one evening, Tom stared down at his belly, empty yet. "Will we
have to do this every time we don't want to have kids, mom?" he asked, and
Isabel wrapped her arm around his shoulder, both staring out at the desert
brimming with shade and sunlight.
"As a Dual, your double nature presents complications for deciding on how to
plan for a family. But you and Chris have never been like any others. You've
always been above the expectations of what our society says is okay for
couples. And it makes you all the more special. I think that yes, you'll have
to endure the separation. Otherwise you'll be having a baby every two years."
Tom laughed, both frightened at the idea, and incredibly excited to get
started.
"I think you should enjoy your mate now that you have him to yourself. Soak him
in. Learn everything you can about him. Kids will only amplify a lifetime of
happiness I know you two will share."
And so the years passed, and they grew in love and heart and home. It wasn't
until Tom was twenty-four and fresh from culinary school that he and Chris
decided they should try for a baby. Tom was longer of limb and deeper of laugh,
having grown two inches and standing nearly at eye level with Chris. He still
painted his toes and wore perfume, saving lollipops in a drawer by their bed.
He apprenticed at a bakery owned by a man named Paul Sanchez, who specialized
in traditional American and Mexican pastries. Feeling the most secure and
capable in their life together, they counted the days and thanked their friends
for their help these many years, telling them they could take a break this time
round.
Chris sliced some fruit and stocked the fridge in the bedroom with water. He
secured all the bolts in the house and let Isabel and Jake know that if they
didn't get a call in two days from himself or Tom that they should come looking
for them.
It was a blissful, fluid-soaked blur, their first joined cycle together. Tom
vaguely recalled feeding each other fruit from plastic containers, Chris
trickling water into his mouth and then taking some for himself. Sore and
bruised and depleted, they woke days later with headaches and soft skin and
sunlight patches over their groins.
Tom's period did not come the next day and Chris quickly jumped on his bike to
visit the drugstore. Back in the bathroom, they waited with bated breath for
the requisite five minutes to pass. When the pink plus sign appeared Chris
grabbed Tom up, both whooping and waving the stick in the air.
“But of course I’m pregnant!” Tom laughed, kissing his mate. “Your seed will
take root in me again and again, my knight.”
Chris grinned and squeezed Tom’s bum, guiding him toward the rumpled bed.
Isabel came over with cake and balloons, already crying as she pushed in
through the front door.
“My son is going to be a mother!” she screamed towards the desert before
slamming the door and kissing Tom on the forehead.
Elated about meeting her first grandchild, Isabel took charge of everything.
She started arranging a baby shower for two months before Tom was due to give
birth. She found a midwife who had delivered to Duals before, and she took
charge of Tom’s diet and Chris’s immediate abstinence from smoking. In the
months that followed, Tom started rounding out, his flat belly swelling to a
gentle curve. It was still unnoticeable to the passing eye, but Chris often lay
in bed with him, a hand on his stomach, his lips just above his navel,
whispering to their baby to come home to them safe and sound.
It was nice not having heats or Chris not having his ruts for the duration of
his pregnancy. He had an entire nine months to spend at his mate’s side and not
lose entire days to the fogged memories of their cycles. It was true that their
bond was strengthened with every cycle they went through, but it was also nice
not to have to worry where they might be or who they might be with, or if they
would need to prepare for one of the Awful Cycles spent apart to avoid
pregnancy to begin with.
Tom met with the midwife who would be attending to him during the birth. Her
name was Samantha and she was a woman in her forties with straight black hair
she kept wrapped around her head. She offered them the opportunity to learn the
gender of the baby, but they both decided against it.
“When they are ready, they’ll tell us what they are,” Tom said, rubbing his
belly.
Off his shift at the bakery one afternoon, Tom met with Isabel to help him
decide on a cake for the shower. Paul, his boss, adamantly refused to let Tom
make it himself, saying that he wanted to gift it to Tom and his alpha for
their recent happy news. Tom stuttered his thanks, still not fully expectant of
kindness from others, and always grateful when bestowed with it.
They had a handful of cake designs set out when the bell above the door rang.
Tom lifted a hand. “Just a minute.”
There was a stretch of silence, and then, “Tom?”
He and Isabel looked up at the woman standing just inside the door.
It was his mother. His biological mother.
Tom paled and slowly stood from the table where he and Isabel had cake books
open. He was almost five months along now, and his belly bump wasn’t very
pronounced, but his mother’s eyes darted down almost immediately, widening at
his extended stomach. Barely concealed surprise – and slight disgust – showed
on her face. She looked tired, and much older, worn thin, worn down. But she
had a shiny new diamond ring on her left hand, and just over her shoulder he
spotted Jeff in the parking lot talking into a cell phone.
His heart rate tripled in panic and he took a small step back.
“What are you doing here?” his mother finally asked, blinking around the shop
as if finding it foreign.
Tom swallowed around his sudden alarm. Very quietly, he said, “I work here.”
“Work here? Since when?”
Tom narrowed his eyes slightly. What business was it of hers to ask anything of
him? It had been eight years since he’d seen her last. Since he realized she
really didn’t care for him or his wellbeing.
He owed her nothing.
Sitting beside him, Isabel glanced between him and his mother.
“Paul will be by in a moment,” Tom said, leaning over the table to collect the
cake books. Isabel hurried to help. “He’ll be able to help you with—.”
“Tom, are you pregnant?”
She clutched her purse close to her side, as if his fertile womb offended even
her suspicions about being robbed in broad daylight.
“Hi,” Isabel said, standing up and holding her hand out. “I’m Isabel. Tom’s
mom. Who are you?”
His mother snapped her gaze over to Isabel, incredulous. She took in her
tattoos and red lipstick, her long black hair and silver hoop earrings, and
scoffed. “Excuse me?”
Isabel’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“That can’t be. Because I’mhis mother.”
“No,” Tom said, a protective flare rising up for Isabel. He met his mother’s
eyes. “You’re not my mother. Isabel is. She has been for almost ten years now.”
Isabel blinked fast at the woman, letting her gaze drift down to her toes and
back up again. “So. You’re the sack of shit that tried to force Tom to be less
than what he was.”
His mother gasped, indignantly affronted.
Tom took Isabel’s hand. “Mom. It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
There was a long moment where they stared at each other and Tom almost felt his
resolve begin to break, his old instinct to apologize welling up on his tongue.
But then he noticed Jeff outside the window hang up his phone call and start
toward the entrance of the bakery. Tom tightened his hand on Isabel’s elbow,
his other rising to cover his stomach.
But then he heard the roar of a motorcycle, the windows rattling as it came to
park just outside the building. Jeff glanced at it briefly, but then did a
double take, his own face paling as he recognized the rider.
Chris hurried off the bike and pushed into the bakery, ignoring Jeff entirely.
“Baby,” he said, closing the distance between them in three long strides. He
took his head in both hands. “Are you okay? I felt you panic. What’s wrong?”
Hand over Tom’s stomach, he wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him
close.
But Tom’s eyes were locked on his mother, who stood gaping at Chris. At thirty-
eight, Chris still looked half a decade younger, his muscles hard and healthy,
his skin roughened slightly by the sun, his hair thick and still shorn on the
sides. At nearly six and a half feet he towered over everyone, but Tom had
never felt more proud of Chris’s domineering presence than at that moment,
watching his mother gawk up at the man who had accepted her son for who he was
and not what she had tried to force him to be. The man who had so clearly
impregnated him, of all things.
“We were just leaving,” Tom said evenly, taking Chris’s hand and Isabel’s
elbow. “Like I said, ma’am, Paul will be out shortly to help you with your
order. My mom and my husband and I need to be on our way.”
He led them through the shop and out the door, cutting a glare at Jeff as they
walked toward Isabel’s car.
“Easy now,” Chris murmured, opening the door for him, feeling the well of
emotion that assaulted Tom’s heart that moment. Fighting back tears, Tom nodded
and slipped into the passenger seat, putting on his seat belt beside Isabel,
who turned the engine. Chris bent in through the open doorway and kissed him
softly, his big hand covering the swollen curve of his stomach. “You’re okay,
my brave boy. I love you. And I’ll see you at home, princess.”
Tom nodded and swallowed back his gasps. Through the windshield, he saw the
woman that used to be his mother come rushing out the bakery door, mouth fallen
open in disbelief. Chris closed the door and patted the roof. Isabel backed out
carefully and then they were gone.
Squinting into the street, he watched them drive away, sticking a toothpick
into his mouth. When he turned back to Jeff and Tom’s mother, he saw them take
a tentative step back.
Good, he thought. Be afraid of me. 
Approaching his bike, he pointed at Jeff’s jaw. “Has it started clicking yet?”
Jeff’s hand rose to his face subconsciously, to his old jaw break. Chris
grinned.
“That’ll get worse,” he said, a quiet promise in his voice. He climbed onto his
bike and turned the ignition, letting the engine throb through the pavement so
they felt the vibrations between their toes.
“You’re both fuckwits,” he said, spitting out his toothpick. “But just so you
know, he doesn’t think of you. He doesn’t miss you. And he certainly doesn’t
need you. He has his new family now. And we take care of our own.”
He kicked the bike into gear and tore out of the parking lot, following
Isabel’s car through the streets and toward home.
***** Scent of Diamonds *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
Tom’s contractions started one September morning when he was out in the garden
watering the flowers. Belly ballooned out before him, he often had trouble
keeping his balance, beginning to suffer backaches from the added weight. Chris
rubbed his feet every night and spread oil on his belly and spine to ease the
terrible throbbing. And when they fucked, it was slow and gentle, Tom’s entire
body feeling disjointed and not his own anymore, even if the planes of pleasure
that settled like clouds over him were the most familiar things in the world,
at his mate’s hands.
Chris was in the garage when Tom felt the first pang. He set the watering can
down on the porch and then bent double with a grimace, fire racing around his
ribs and down into his pelvis.
Distantly, he heard Chris shout his name from the backyard, no doubt having
felt the bubble of pain in Tom’s body. He came pounding around the corner, eyes
wide as Tom gripped the wooden rail and bit back a scream. Moving fast, he
helped Tom inside the house and into the living room, where they’d had the
birthing area set up for a couple of weeks now. An inflatable mattress covered
in clean sheets and soft pillows lay in the center of the room, and he guided
Tom onto the plush surface. Clutching his stomach, Tom shrieked as another
contraction gnawed around his belly and settled into the bones of his spine.
Chris waited through it, reminding him to breathe, to count the beats of his
heart. Once calm again, Tom laid back and started soft circles over his belly,
murmuring to the baby, hoping to ease the passage into the world.
Chris rushed for clean water and towels. He dialed Samantha and she promised to
be on her way, supplying new scissors, cotton cloths, ointments, and baby
blankets. Then he called Isabel and Jake. Tom was able to hear her screams
through the phone all the way in the living room, and it made him smile up at
the ceiling, somewhat breathlessly. They arrived before Samantha did, but they
were only ten minutes down the road. When the midwife arrived, she got everyone
situated with a task.
“Isabel, as the mother you will help me with getting the babe into position and
coaxing it out. Chris, you are to hold Tom’s hand and keep him calm. Jake, you
hand me anything I ask and be ready with towels and scissors.”
With everyone scrambling into position, Samantha started her work. She rubbed
warm oils on Tom’s stomach, pushing down on it gently to encourage the baby to
move. Chris dabbed at Tom’s forehead and fed him ice to chew on, holding his
hand and whispering his love. Jake hovered from one side to the other, holding
the scissors and towels, completely at a loss but ready to help at a moment’s
notice. Isabel ducked down between Tom’s legs and started massaging his vaginal
lips.
“Good, Isabel. That’s great.” Samantha rotated her hands on his stomach,
focusing on his waist when another contraction hit. “Vaginal massage helps with
the stretch so that you’re less likely to tear.”
Tom almost fainted at the mention of tearing, turning his head into Chris’s
neck.
“But don’t you worry,” Samantha said, winking. “I’ve delivered over a hundred
babies and no one’s torn on me yet. You’re not going to be the first.”
Morning turned into afternoon, the light slanting on the walls. Tom moaned and
held his stomach, wincing as his insides turned to lava.
“You’re almost ready,” Samantha murmured, measuring his entrance. “I think we
can start pushing now. Everyone ready?”
They all whispered yes and leaned in close. Rising up onto his elbows, Tom
gripped Chris and Isabel’s hands and gave his first push. A terrible trembling
started low in his legs, shuddering up his thighs and stopping his breath. He
whimpered and fell back.
“Take a breath, Tom,” Samantha ordered. He dragged in an inhale, tears blurring
his sight. “Good. Now push again.”
And he did, over and over, his screams echoing out into the road, deserted,
surrounded by brush and fading cactus blooms.
“You’re doing wonderful,” Chris breathed, eyes sharp between Tom’s legs, where
Samantha felt around inside him and rubbed his belly. “Give us another. My
brave boy.”
Tom sobbed, face flushed with heat, sweat dripping off his chin.
“There now, sweetheart,” Isabel soothed, dabbing his forehead with a cloth.
“You want to meet this baby, don’t you? This darling little child you’ve
carried with you all this time?”
Eyes red with fatigue rolled to meet hers, and Tom nodded. “Yes, mom. I want to
meet my baby.”
“Again,” Samantha said, bent between his thighs. “The head.”
Mustering up his strength, Tom bore down and grunted through another handful of
pushes, until he felt the cruel pressure crushing his pelvis bones suddenly
ease and he heard his baby’s first wails. They were loud and urgent, angry
little cries that had him collapsing back with a broken sob. Samantha examined
the baby and looked up with a smile.
“A girl. No Dual parts. Entirely female. That is, until and unless she tells us
differently.” She winked at him.
Holding Tom, Chris could only stare at their daughter, jaw dropped open in
relief and astonishment. Samantha cleared the gunk out of the little mouth and
let the babe cry for a moment longer, everyone’s expressions rapt with wonder
at this tiny life. Jake passed Chris the scissors and, rendered mute, Chris cut
the umbilical cord with tears shedding into his short beard. After wiping the
baby down, Samantha passed Tom his daughter, her slippery little arms and legs
curling into a fetal position on his chest. She mewled and shivered, her small
eyes still closed, her little face scrunched up against all the bright lights
and raucous noise.
“Chris,” Tom breathed and looked up to see Chris sobbing into his hands. “Oh,
my darling. It’s alright. You’ll make me cry!” But he already was, his tears
flowing freely. Chris wrapped his arms around them both and kissed Tom’s cheek
over and over.
“Thank you. Thank you, Tom. You’re a goddess. You’ve brought this baby to us.
You’re a goddess.”
Blushing red, Tom rocked their baby and kissed his mate gently. Everyone was in
tears, crowding down over them while Samantha cleaned up between his legs. He
was battered. He was beat. But he was bursting with happiness over his little
girl, who’d stuck a thumb between her lips and fallen asleep against his neck.
“Her name, Tom,” Isabel whispered, wiping her eyes and cupping the baby’s head.
“I was thinking Marit,” he said quietly, and she smiled.
“Muh-reet. Oh, that’s lovely. Like a scent of diamonds on my tongue.”
“What do you think, Daddy?” he asked Chris, who was staring at him like Tom was
a descendant of stars.
“I think you’re a goddess,” he whispering sniffing at his hair and kissing his
lashes.
Tom giggled. “I read it in a book. And thought it a name for a queen.”
“You’re a queen,” Chris whispered and Isabel laughed quietly.
“He’s transcended,” she said quietly to Tom, who laughed again.
He kissed Chris’s hand. “My love.”
Isabel helped Samantha bathe Marit, while Chris lifted Tom and carried him to
their room. Tom had no breasts to produce milk, so they made sure to have a
large supply of baby formula. Most of what they needed had been generously
provided by their friends at the baby shower, Tom delighting in the amount of
tiny leather jackets with fiery skulls sewn in, and the pink and orange frilly
lace tutu’s he could pair them with. His baby girl would be the bikers’ most
cherished and spoiled princess.
Samantha prepared a bottle and heated it on the stove. Isabel smoothed down
Marit’s blond hair, just beginning to curl at her temples. She wasn’t able to
tell if she would have Tom’s curly hair or Chris’s straight hair, but guessing
was half the fun.     
On the verge of passing out, Tom waited for Marit to be returned to him, his
sweet angel. She was a perfect, beautiful creation. Chris was at his side,
stroking his hair, awestruck of him. It made Tom feel both greatly humbled and
quietly fantastic. When Isabel came into the room, Marit was still a naked
bundle in her arms.
“Oh, won’t she be cold?” Tom asked, holding his arms out.
Samantha walked in with the bottle. “We’ll cover you in blankets with her. But
skin-to-skin contact is extremely important just after birth. She needs to feel
her mama, whom she’ll know by scent and texture of skin.”
Tom held his baby to his chest, cradling her gently because surely her bones
were made of glass and he would break her if he wasn’t careful? She suckled at
the bottle when he angled it into her mouth, plump lips working fast to gobble
up the milk. He and Chris turned to each other and laughed giddily, entranced
by her every little sound, the way her tiny hand curled around Tom’s finger.
Samantha left after a while, collecting her things and promising to visit him
in a few days to check how he was healing. She would report the birth and bring
him an original certificate of proof. Tom and Chris thanked her with their
hearts in their hands, unable to express their profound gratitude to her.
“I promised you I would deliver her safely, and without tearing,” she said,
holding her finger up with a wink. “Congratulations to you both.”
Isabel and Jake cleaned up in the living room and started on a small dinner for
everyone. But Tom finally gave in to his fatigue and slept against Chris’s
chest, Marit tucked between them. Their years of two had become a tender life
of three. This tiny nugget he’d made inside himself, their daughter and their
life, would grow and become the best of themselves.
“You’ve slain me, Tom,” Chris whispered, holding his enormous hand a centimeter
off his daughter’s fuzzy warm head. “You’ve formed this creature, with the love
and magic of your body, and I’m slain. Locked to you both for all time, I
couldn’t beg for a better fate.”
“Daddy,” Tom breathed, his sob rising up. “You’re the sun to us both. The iron
in our blood. Our hero.”
They rested their foreheads together, noses bumping, lips meeting in that age-
old way of lovers. And Marit, nestled between their breasts, blinked her eyes
open and hummed as honey-sweet milk poured between her lips, her eyes electric
blue.
***** Epilogue: Little Marit *****
Chapter Notes
     Warnings are in the tags. Please heed them.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Frilly lace and gemstone tiaras, buckle shoes the color of canaries, tiny black
leather jackets and rainbow hair ties, tiny mod boots and skull scarves for the
wind, Little Marit, as everyone has begun to call her, is the spitting image of
her Papa. With hair the color of suns and wheat stocks, and eyes of the
sharpest blue ocean, Little Marit is a darling princess of leather and diamond
studs. At five years old, she has her mama’s quiet bearing, silently
scrutinizing everyone she meets before deciding whether she likes them or not.
But once she does, she is a giggly bundle who races your way and jumps into
your arms, murmuring sweetly into your hair as she pats your cheeks with
affection.
She squeals during motorcycle rides and sings softly in the bath, her long wavy
hair a curtain of gold floating in the water. Her helmet is a tiny pink orb
against the burnished brown of the surrounding desert; her little stockinged
feet two pale petals sprinting in the sand toward her papa in his garage,
screeching happily at his booming laughter, legs wiggling in the air as he
spins her round and round.
Mama catches up only a minute later, carrying fresh cookies and a pinch for
Papa’s bum. Little Marit never questions when Nana comes to collect her for
their favorite glitter party sleepovers at her house across the city. Or why
Mama and Papa look so tired when she’s brought back to them two days later. But
they are happy and smiling and ready with pancakes and runny eggs. Her
favorite.
Papa the Panther and Mama the Gentle.
Her loves and her skies, with thunder roars of motor fumes and desert cactus
blossoms, and the distant howling Arizona moon.
 
End.
Chapter End Notes
     This is how I saw Little Marit as a five-year-old. And this and this
     is how I see her falling into a fashion sense when she's older.
     Well, that's it! Thank you for reading!
     xoxo
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