by AM Riley
“Hey!” Scott waved a cookie. “You guys done celebrating already? Thought you'd be gone the rest of the night.”
“No cookies tonight,” said Paul. He sat on the sofa. “Come here, Brian.”
Brian went dutifully, sat next to him.
They watched the game for some time. Paul occasionally reached over and fondled Brian beneath his robe. With the dildo and the attention, Brian was becoming very hard.
When the program ended, Jim stood and stretched. Paul looked up at him. “Jim, would you like some time with Brian?”
Jim's thick eyebrows rose eloquently. He looked at Paul and then at Brian. “Always,” he said.
“Brian, go tuck Jim into bed,” said Paul. “Leave in the dildo.”
Milk spurted from Scott's nose. He choked and coughed and stared, but he didn't say anything.
“Yes, sir,” said Brian. He stood with difficulty and followed Jim into his bedroom.
“Are you okay, Brian,” Jim asked, removing his shirt.
“Yes.”
Jim turned and looked him over, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, his head tipped quizzically as he regarded Brian. He smiled. “You look happy.”
“I am,” said Brian. “I feel... quiet.”
“Ah.” Jim nodded and took off his jeans, sat on the bed. He spread his legs and looked at Brian with hot eyes. “I'd like to see you.”
Brian dropped the robe. He felt... pure almost.
Jim's eyes smoldered. He crawled back and lay on his side, patting the bed next to him. “Let's sixty-nine, hon. I want to taste that.”
Brian scrambled up on the bed. They lay head to tail, and he felt peaceful, almost, as his orgasm climbed from his balls, up his spine and spread through his body. Jim moaned around his cock and shuddered, his hands gripping Brian a little tightly at the end.
“Thanks, hon.” He smiled down at him.
Brian threaded his fingers through Jim's beard. “Can you sleep with us tonight?”
“Ask Paul,” said Jim.
So Brian led Jim to the living room to ask Paul. Scott was seated on the floor, watching the news. He didn't look up when Brian came in, but when Brian asked Paul for permission, he stood, made a disgruntled noise, and headed for his bedroom.
Jim watched him go.
“Is Scott okay?” asked Brian.
Paul gave Jim a long look, but then he turned to Brian with a reassuring smile. “Sure, honey. Scott's only tired.” He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder and kept it there. “Good to have you back, man.”
Then Brian led his men to bed.
Jim came home from the store and found Brian sitting in the midst of a sea of empty cookie packages, with an empty carton of Haagen-Dazs fudge ripple on the table in front of him, working his way through a box of Ho Hos, washing them down with chocolate milk.
“Jim! Jim Jim Jim!” Brian bounced over and gave him a snuggly hug, practically climbing the big man.
“Whoa you little tree squirrel.” Jim held him at arm's length, eyes speculative. “What's going on here?”
“Chocolate.” Brian bounced. “I had a craving.” Bounce.
Jim caressed his beard thoughtfully. “Brian, didn't Paul tell you to stay away from sweets?”
“But I was hungry.” Brian bounced in place, bounced into Jim, wiggled, bounced away.
“I have to tell him, honey,” said Jim regretfully.
Bounce. “What do you mean?” Brian followed Jim from the door to the kitchen, resembling Tigger, while Jim dialed his cell phone.
“You disobeyed him, Brian.” Jim gave him a sympathetic look.
Brian's bounce wasn't quite as enthusiastic. “Oh.”
Alerted by Jim's call, Paul left work early. By the time he got home, Brian was sitting on the couch in a miserable ball of sugar crash and headache. Jim sat next to him, helpfully holding an icepack to the back of Brian's neck. They both looked up when Paul came through the door.
He shed his office wear. He said, as he did so, “Brian, did I forbid you to eat sugar?”
Brian sulked.
Paul turned fully toward him, big arms crossed across his chest.
“Brian?”
“Yes.”
Paul's eyebrows went straight up. “Yes, what?”
Brian pouted. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking and swollen, and he felt horrible. Paul sighed. “Go to our room, Brian. I'll be in to talk to you in a bit.”
Brian gave him a look, but he stood and padded off.
“Take a shower and prepare yourself,” called Paul as Brian walked away.
Brian whirled about. “Are you kidding? I'm sick.”
Paul stared at him in shock. “Go to your room, young man!”
Brian whirled around and stomped off, slamming the bedroom door as he went.
Paul rubbed his bald pate. “I'm all at sea here.”
“You'll do the right thing,” Jim said.
Paul looked at him.
Jim gave him an encouraging nod. “He needs you to be clear about this, Paul.”
“I wish I could be sure.”
“He ate every bit of sugar he could find. I'm surprised he didn't throw up from it. Or go into some kind of hyperglycemic coma. He's testing you, Paul.”
Paul nodded. He eyed the closed bedroom door, and with a definite air of a man girding his loins and preparing for battle, he walked toward the room.
Brian took his time cleaning himself out. He was so furious at first he could barely hold the enema hose steady. But the warm water helped, and then he bothered to do it right. He shaved himself and washed his hair, and then he stood in the shower, letting the spray beat down on the back of his neck awhile.
By the time he had the towel wrapped around his hips and padded into the bedroom, his outrage had settled into a kind of nervous anticipation.
He'd messed up. He'd been worried for weeks that he would, and now he'd done it. Paul had looked pretty angry when he'd sent him to the shower. Angry and a little betrayed, even. Like he hadn't expected this of Brian.
The harness was worn enough so it fitted over him like an old pair of jeans, comfortable and comforting. Brian focused his mind wholly on the act of buckling himself in. His hands shook, and he realized he was scared. Not of Paul, though. Brian had to stop and rest, both palms on his knees, and take deep breaths for a few minutes.
Brian was scared that this wasn't going to work, he and Paul. He looked up at the closed bedroom door, licking his lips nervously.
The cock and ball ring was something Paul would expect, but the dildo he fastened to the harness and slid inside himself would be, he hoped, a pleasant surprise.
He pulled a pillow from the bed, turned down the lights, and knelt on the pillow. Head bent and hands folded behind himself.
He was breathing a little hard, he could admit that. They'd been approaching this act by inches. They hadn't said the words, but Brian knew that this was where they were going. And he suddenly realized, kneeling there in the dark, the room so still it seemed to be holding its breath, that he, Brian, had told Paul that he wanted to go there wholly. And now...
What worried Brian the most was that Paul might not want to take him there.
He kept his head bowed, eyes on the floor, when he heard the door open.
There was a long silence. The door clicked softly shut. Paul's step on the floor, until Brian could see his feet there. Oh, God, he thought. I love his feet.
“Brian.” Paul's voice was struggling for authority over the emotion so obviously there. “Look at me.”
Brian raised his eyes. I love his ankles, his knees. Who wouldn't love those thighs. Oh, God. He looked up. “I love you,” he said.
Paul laid his fingers on Brian's head. Brian could feel his Daddy's hand shaking. “Do you know what you need, Brian?”
Brian had been ready for this question. He'd thought about it for a long time. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Looked up at Paul with clear eyes.
“No,” he said
. “But you do.”
Paul nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Stand up and kneel on the bed, Brian.”
Brian stood. His knees were a little stiff from kneeling and waiting for Paul, and his Daddy helped him to stand steadily, to walk to the bed. Helped him kneel on hands and knees on the bed. Paul ran his hands over Brian's harness, in that habitual way of his. And Brian felt the energy in the room go up about a hundred notches when Paul's fingers found the butt of the dildo.
“Good boy,” whispered Paul. Daddy stroked his crease gently and made tingles travel up and down Brian's ass, to his spine, to his balls. “Good boy. We'll leave this here, Brian.”
Brian swallowed. Nodded.
Paul crossed the room and opened his closet. There was a pause while he dug around in the back. Brian knew about the back of Paul's closet. He'd not poked around in it because he kind of knew that whatever was back there was something he wasn't ready to see until Paul showed him.
A fluttery, soft, cool sensation on his ass.
“Brian.” Paul's voice was in control now. Smooth. “This is a hand flog. It won't cut you or leave permanent marks, do you understand?”
Brian had to moisten his lips and swallow before he could answer. “Yes,” he said.
“You need a safe word, Brian. You'll tell me to stop before you need me to stop, so you have to give me a word you wouldn't normally use. One you can say when you can't take anymore. Do you understand?”
Brian was breathing harder, his heart in his throat. “Yes. I-I... do. Um. Magnolia.”
“Magnolia,” said Paul, his voice cool and professional, his hand on Brian's ass cheek. “Are you ready, honey?”
“Yes,” whispered Brian.
The whip slid across Brian's ass. “Yes, what?”
“Yes. Daddy.”
And the first blow fell.
It stung. Brian jumped. And yelped.
Another blow. Harder this time. Then another.
Tears started in Brian's eyes. He gasped. Sobbed.
Another. Another, across the first hurt, and it stung worse than the others. Brian cried out again. Paul didn't hesitate now. One after the other, the hits were a rhythm and then a continuous stream of bright pain. Brian flying, his mind bright and free and his voice crying out as if it weren't even part of him.
Then he was sobbing, head on his arms, the pain stopping, Paul's hands on him, the dildo sliding from his ass. He was empty and bright, and then he was filled with Paul. Paul thick and hot inside of him, punching into him over and over. All he knew was Paul's cock fucking him, Paul's big hands holding his hips, Paul's moans. Paul throbbing inside him a hot, comforting presence.
Rolled on the bed, his ass carefully kept off the sheets, then Paul carried him like something precious into the bathroom, slid the harness from his limp body and lowered him into the cool tub. Holding him there, Brian floating with Paul's arms wrapped around him.
Paul's lips on his forehead. “How are you, Brian?”
“Free,” said Brian, clinging to Paul. “I feel free.”
“Sweetheart.” Paul's mouth on his. All that passion there. “Sleep. I'll hold you.”
“Daddy,” whispered Brian. And he did sleep.
“Jesus.” Scott stopped dropping cookie dough onto the sheet and looked sideways at Jim, his ears bright red. “Are you sure that's okay?”
Jim blithely kept beating dough. “Haven't you ever known anyone involved in a Dom/sub relationship?
“I'm a simple boy from Georgia, Jim,” said Scott, shaking his head. “Man lays a hand on another man there, and we call it something else.”
“I am absolutely positive that Brian wants what's happening in there. As a matter of fact, I believe he instigated it,” said Jim calmly.
A particularly loud wailing cry echoed through the house. Scott paled. “I don't know, Jim.”
“Listen... ” And Jim wrapped a big comforting arm around Scott. “You talk to him about it, okay? He'll tell you. Brian is running that relationship, Scott. He really is. Paul is completely under his control.”
“You sure?”
“You've been with us, Scott. You've seen how much Paul cares for him. How careful he is with him.”
Scott poked at the cookie dough with one finger. “Brian's my friend, Jim.”
“I know,” said Jim, and he kissed Scott on the top of his head. “Mine too.”
Scott turned into his arms, let himself be held. It was very quiet in the house.
“It's stopped.” Scott's voice was muffled against Jim's chest. Jim ran his hand up and down Scott's back, into his hair. He kissed him on the head again. Scott tipped his head back to look at him, and Jim kissed his nose... his mouth. Scott's mouth opened under his, like a hungry baby bird's, and Jim folded the shorter man up in his arms and bent into the kiss.
“Man.” Scott's voice was breathy when they separated. “Want you.”
“C'mon,” hummed Jim.
Scott was orally fixated. He freely admitted it. He'd quit smoking, but he still liked having things in his mouth. Especially wide, hard things that stretched his mouth so good.
“Oh, oh, ooooohhhh.”
Jim was enjoying it too. Scott would have smiled, but his mouth couldn't stretch that far. Jim had both big arms flung out on the water bed, big legs shaking too either side of Scott's head. His cock pulsed, and Scott felt the latex of the condom swell. Jim whimpered, and the condom swelled some more.
Way too full for even his eager mouth, and Scott gently let Jim's cock slip from his lips. He nuzzled those fuzzy balls, slipping the condom free and giving Jim's cock one long, longing lick.
Jim lay there, his chest rising and falling. His hand found and petted Scott's head. “I'll roll over,” he said.
“Nah,” said Scott. “Just gimme that big hand there.” Jim cracked an eye open and looked at him sideways.
“You sure?”
Jim rolled onto his side and gathered Scott against him. He ran his hands over him slowly and finally grasped that big prick in spit-slicked fingers. Scott clung to him, legs open, mouth eager under Jim's while Jim pulled his cock with long, sure strokes, jerking him off slowly and so lovingly that Scott curled up and came on a long-drawn-out moan of happiness.
“Thanks, sugar.” He breathed against Jim's chest.
They fell asleep wrapped around each other.
Scott noted the pillow Brian sat on at the breakfast table the next morning, but he chose not to comment.
“Mornin', sugar,” he said, popping him one in the arm. “So when you movin’ in?”
Brian looked at Paul.
“Brian will need us to help him this weekend,” said Paul. “Are you free?”
“You betchya,” said Scott. “You need help packing, Brian?”
Brian shook his head, eyes on his bowl of cereal. Scott studied him. Looked up quizzically at Jim, who was busy at the counter with toast.
“What's going on?”
Jim calmly spread jelly. “Is Brian allowed to speak, Paul?”
“Not today,” said Paul.
“What?” Scott stared around the room at each man. “What the hell?”
Brian's cheeks were pink. He cast a pleading glance at Paul, who shook his head gently. “No,” he said. “Remember.”
Scott slammed to his feet, threw his napkin on the table, and stomped out of the kitchen. Brian's lips compressed, and his face went redder.
Jim sighed. “I'll take care of it,” he said. And he followed Scott into the commotion in his room.
“I don't want to hear it,” said Scott, slamming drawers, stuffing what looked like socks and underwear into a duffel.
“Scott, I understand how it looks to you but... ”
“I said"— Scott jabbed a thumb at Jim—"I don't want to hear it. How can you... just stand there while he... he infantilizes him?”
“That isn't what's happening, Scott.”
Scott zipped the duffel bag with a vicious movement, then sat down on his bed. “Fuck.”
“I'm going to talk to Paul,” said Jim. “He and Brian aren't the only ones involved in this relationship. Will you wait for me to talk to him?”
Scott ran both hands over his head. “Christ.”
Jim sat slowly down on the bed next to him. One of his hands landed on Scott's back. Warm and comforting. “I'd rather you didn't leave.”
“I don't want to leave, sweetie. I... I... ”
“Please,” said Jim, softly. Scott looked up at him, frowned. Put his own arm around Jim's back. Petted the man's chest and let his hand play at the curling beard.
“You okay?”
“Of course.” Jim's hand found Scott's and fondled his fingers, raised them to touch his lips. “I want us all to find our balance here. Can you let us do that?”
“Yes.” Scott's arms came around Jim and held on.
When Jim spoke to Paul later, he tried to explain Scott's position.
“I really hadn't thought of it like that,” said Paul. “I'm sorry, Jim.”
“I think you need to talk to Scott,” said Jim. “I lived in a traditional relationship once. I understand.”
“Did you?” Paul ran a hand over his bald head. The eyes he raised to Jim's were a tad overwhelmed.
“I know what you're going through, man. You need to talk? Ever? About anything? I'm here.”
“Thanks, Jim. I... I've never known anyone like him. I'm so afraid of messing this up.”
“Don't blame you. Brian's special,” said Jim, studying his fingernails.
“You want to tell me what happened to you?”
Jim frowned at his nails for a minute. “No,” he said with a sigh. “I can't yet. But thanks for asking.”
Paul nodded. “We're lucky to have you.”
“Mutual,” said Jim gruffly. “But for now, you have to talk to Scott. He really cares about Brian. And he's worried.”
“Okay.”
“I don't know if I can live here,” said Scott. He sat in a big chair turned so that it faced his bedroom window. His arms crossed his chest. His head turned away from Paul. “Listen to you beating the shit out of him every night... ”
“Scott, it's not like that.”
“Yeah. Sure. Of course, he isn't allowed to speak so who would know.”