Blue Motel Room [Suncoast Society]

by Tymber Dalton

  Except…

  These weren’t other circumstances, and Ivan knew he was barely hanging on by a thread.

  “Look, we’re all in this together,” Ron said. “You can talk to me about anything. I know this is overwhelming. Fuck, I’m overwhelmed. I still haven’t processed it.”

  “What’d your sister say?”

  “I haven’t told her yet. I’m still…processing.”

  “And your parents?”

  Ron sighed. “That’s a long and ugly story I don’t want to get into tonight. I’m not close to them. They threw me out when I was a kid. It was Meri who stood up for me and helped me out. She’s my family. Her and her boyfriend, and her boyfriend’s ex-in-laws.” He snorted. “That’s another funny story, for another time.”

  At least that was something they had in common—shitty parents.

  “I want you to know,” Ron continued, “that it’s okay to be scared. I’m scared. No matter how cool Kimbra might seem, I know she’s scared. So’s Eve. Please don’t hold back or hold shit in, okay? We understand, because we feel the same way.”

  Ivan nodded.

  Ron patted him on the thigh and Ivan involuntarily hissed in pain, drew back.

  Too late to get away, though, because Ron had felt the gauze pad under his slacks. “What’s that?”

  “It-it’s nothing.” He tried to shove Ron’s hands away, but the man effortlessly captured both of Ivan’s wrists in his left hand.

  “Stop,” Ron ordered, but it wasn’t a yell. It was…it was a gently firm tone that cored through Ivan’s soul and made it impossible to disobey. “What is that?” Now Ron gently felt the outer edges of the dressing with his other hand.

  Ivan couldn’t manage volume, his voice coming out little more than a whisper. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s obviously not fine. What is it? Show me.” He stood, making Ivan stand, too, and finally releasing Ivan’s wrists. Ron stood there, hands on his hips, resolute.

  Knowing this wouldn’t go well, Ivan couldn’t meet Ron’s steely blue gaze as he unfastened his slacks and lowered them enough Ron could see.

  Ivan closed his eyes at Ron’s shocked gasp. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” He started to pull his slacks up but Ron grabbed his hands again and pulled them away.

  “Stop. Let me look.” Ivan couldn’t refuse the tone in which Ron issued the order.

  Ron knelt and gently peeled a corner of the gauze back. That gasp roared in Ivan’s ears, then Ron seemed to see the bruises on Ivan’s left thigh, since one hand gently stroked them.

  And his old scars.

  Ivan didn’t realize he was crying until Ron stood again, cupping Ivan’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the tears from Ivan’s cheeks.

  When he looked, he found Ron’s blue gaze peering deep into his soul, and Ivan gave up trying to read whatever emotions might be there. He hadn’t spotted revulsion—yet—but figured that was only a matter of time.

  It always was.

  Ron pulled him against him, tightly, holding him as Ivan fully broke down sobbing. Back onto the bed, somehow cradled in Ron’s lap now, even with Ivan’s pants still down around his knees. The man had effortlessly scooped him up in his arms and sat gently rocking him as Ivan helplessly cried.

  Shouldn’t he be cried out by now?

  Ron let him cry, didn’t speak, only nuzzled his chin and his cheek against the top of Ivan’s head.

  He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, Ivan not willing to try to get away now.

  Eventually, Ron’s sad sigh broke the stillness. “You’re moving in with me. Immediately.”

  It wasn’t a question, or a request, just that same gently firm tone that Ivan knew he could try to refuse a thousand times and still not truly rebel against. These people would always respect a safeword…and he couldn’t force himself to say one.

  The way he’d gone along when Ron decided to bring him here tonight.

  To let Ron hold his keys for him.

  To…let him.

  “What about your sister?”

  “We’ll clear out my third bedroom.”

  Ivan was shocked at the slight disappointment that crept through his soul over that.

  That he wasn’t being moved into Ron’s bed.

  Wait, what? What is wrong with me?

  Instead, he closed his eyes and relaxed against Ron’s chest, since the man didn’t appear to be in a hurry to make him move or let him go. Ron’s breath ruffled Ivan’s hair a little, down the side of his head and over his neck.

  How sad did it make him that it was the only truly intimate contact he could recall having as an adult? Sure, Porter had cuddled with him…but Porter had either not seen through his wall, or had been willing to allow the emotional wall to stay in place between them. Hadn’t shown any obvious interest in getting past it, not that Ivan blamed him.

  Ron had not only seen through his wall, but easily swept it away.

  And how sad does it make me that I’m willing to just go along with this and not try to stand up to him?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ron simultaneously wanted to sit there forever and hold Ivan, and also wanted to shovel Ivan into the shower so he could call Kimbra and ask her why the hell she hadn’t mentioned this little factoid to him about Ivan when they talked. She had to have seen his scars.

  Holding Ivan won out.

  Easily.

  Ivan felt perfect in Ron’s arms. In a way no one had ever felt so perfect before.

  The quiet settled around them. Ron waited until Ivan calmed down before speaking again. Trying to go for the obvious information might make the man shut down, and that was the last thing Ron wanted to do.

  Correction—letting go of him was the last thing Ron wanted to do.

  He rubbed his chin along the top of Ivan’s head. “Tell me about the pot pies, buddy. Why so many?”

  Ivan spoke so softly Ron strained to hear him. “It’s an easy meal I don’t have to think about. I can put one in the microwave and I know exactly how long. Automatic. Especially when I have a bad day. And they’re cheap. I can eat one fast and then stand in the shower for a while. It’s…my routine.”

  After seeing what Ron knew had to be self-inflicted injuries, he suspected there was more but he wouldn’t push him too hard.

  Yet.

  Not tonight, anyway. A little tonight, yes, because there were answers Ron needed. Deep explanations and explorations into what made Ivan tick could wait.

  Eventually that would happen. Ron wanted to peel back Ivan’s layers and learn his secrets, no matter how bad Ivan thought they were.

  Ron had broad shoulders and wanted the man to quickly learn he could lean on Ron, no matter how heavy the burden.

  “Tell me about a bad day.”

  A weighty sigh oozed from Ivan. “When I lose a patient. Those are the worst.”

  Of course they were. “What else is a bad day?”

  Another pause, another sigh. “When I find out an extremely drunken one-night stand while trying to cope with a bad day means I’m going to be a father.”

  Despite his pain, Ivan still had a little sense of humor. “Yeah, but it means we finally met, right?”

  Ivan laid his head against Ron’s right shoulder. He fingered the front of Ron’s shirt. “Yeah.” Ron heard him inhale, like he was sniffing Ron’s shirt. “I lost a patient yesterday. Before Kimbra showed up to talk with me.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry, buddy.” Ron gently laid his left hand over the gauze pad. Now that Ron was looking for them, he could see countless old scars crosshatching Ivan’s flesh along both thighs.

  That was except for where round, nasty-looking fresh bruises mottled his left thigh, and shadows of older ones dotted his right.

  He alternates.

  That thought nearly made him shudder, but he didn’t speak it.

  “It’s an occupational hazard I don’t think I really processed before I went through my residency.”


  “Why don’t you switch specialties?”

  “Because everyone says how good I am at it. And I save way more people than I lose. That means I’m helping. I like helping. It’s worth it to know I’m saving lives.”

  But at what cost to the gentle man’s soul?

  Ron reached over and easily removed Ivan’s sneakers one-handed. As his hand skimmed back up Ivan’s legs, over where his slacks were still bunched around his knees, Ron encountered a hard lump in the man’s left front pocket. When he started to burrow for the item, Ivan tried to reach for his wrist, but Ron was a fast learner.

  “Stop.” He didn’t even have to raise his voice.

  Ivan’s hands fell still in his lap.

  Folded, the body of the Buck pocket knife was about four inches long and had some heft to it, a thick hilt at one end with a hole in it, as if made for a lanyard to attach there. Holding it safely away from them and over the bed, Ron used his thumb to flick it open with one hand. The blade didn’t just have a wicked sharp point and edge, but also had a gut hook in the spine.

  Ron closed it as realization dawned. He held the closed knife over Ivan’s left thigh and really saw the bruises, which were all the same shape and size as the knife’s end.

  He slid the knife into his own back pocket. When Ivan started to protest, Ron touched his index finger to Ivan’s lips and waited for the man’s green gaze to settle on his before pulling his finger away.

  “Kimbra said you told her you didn’t trust leather Tops. Why?”

  More time Ron patiently waited through until Ivan answered. “They usually want things from me I can’t give. Or want to do things—or want me to do things—that will completely negate what I need. My problem with them is about me, not them.”

  “What do you mean by negate?”

  Ivan needed a moment to formulate his response. “If I’m looking for impact play to help me cope, and they accidentally or even on purpose say stuff someone else might not care about but it triggers me, it doesn’t help. Or want more from me than I can give them in return.”

  “Ah.” He didn’t want to put Ivan on the defensive. So far, he’d been responding to Ron. “And when you can’t get what you need, you resort to what you can do yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

  Didn’t have to be. The answer was right there, carved into Ivan’s flesh.

  Literally.

  “Yeah.”

  Ron buried his face in Ivan’s hair and inhaled. He loved the way the guy felt in his arms, his scent, everything about him. He knew he couldn’t just waltz into Ivan’s life and fix everything for him, happily-ever-after time to ensue. That wasn’t healthy.

  Even if it was exactly the thing he’d done to and for Meri. That was totally different, though. She was his sister, and she’d helped him when he’d needed it.

  If there was ever to be something between him and Ivan, it had to be built on solid, healthy foundations, over time.

  Except tonight, Ron was feeling his own pain and wondered if he could at least temporarily self-medicate by helping Ivan through this and his.

  Ron wouldn’t deny it’d help distract him, too. Odin knew he damn sure needed a fucking distraction.

  An Ivan-shaped and -scented one perfectly fit the bill.

  “You don’t get the knife back,” Ron said. “Rule one, you come to me, and only me for…this. Whatever you need, I take care of that for you. This is non-negotiable. Understand?”

  Ron held his breath awaiting Ivan’s reply.

  “Yes, Sir,” he softly said.

  Relief filled him. There wouldn’t be a fight about this. Not tonight, at least.

  He cupped Ivan’s cheek. “Rule two—I’m in charge. Our jobs are outside of this, but once you leave work, you hand everything over to me, and you only focus on what I tell you to focus on, and in exchange I will take care of you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He stroked the man’s cheek with his thumb. “Rule three—no more Toucan, unless we’re going together and just for fun with each other. No other guys—or women. This is between you and me. I’m not talking about going out with friends. I mean no sex or play or dating outside this, whatever this turns out to be. I’m not asking you for sex now, either, but we both need to get our heads on straight, and we’re going to be dads soon.” So much for going slow.

  Ivan nodded. “Yes, Sir.” When the pad of Ron’s thumb settled over Ivan’s lips, the man pursed his lips and kissed it.

  A tension Ron hadn’t even realized he’d held in his chest eased. “Anything you want to add or ask for in return?”

  “No, Sir.”

  A discussion to revisit another time, then. Ron would gently pry those kinds of limits out of Ivan, but not tonight. “We’re a team. We’re going to have two beautiful babies to take care of. Even if you eventually decide you want to tell me to go to hell when it comes to anything besides being friends and helping you be a dad, okay. Fine. But we’re in this together.” He rested his forehead against Ivan’s. “Deal?”

  Ivan nodded. “Deal, Sir.”

  * * * *

  But the last thing Ivan wanted to do was tell Ron to go to hell. Part of him desperately wanted to latch on to Ron and hold on and never let go, no matter how crazy it was to think and feel like that this soon.

  Kimbra knew and trusted Ron. While Ivan didn’t know Kimbra that well—obviously—that she was an attorney and Ron’s friend gave Ivan hope he wasn’t adding another layer of fucking up to this massive fuck-up.

  Ron came already vetted by not just one but two attorneys, meaning unlike Porter, there was a pre-existing layer of safety in place.

  He shivered as Ron stroked his thumb over the bruises up and down the top of Ivan’s left thigh. They sat there for several minutes before Ron spoke again.

  “You’ve cut on both thighs.” The pad of his thumb paused over an old scar. “Why the bruises?”

  He’d never had to talk about this to anyone before. “I can…mitigate for a while. A few hours. It…helps. I only cut at home. Sometimes I can get by without cutting if I do that.”

  Ron made a loose fist, as if he was holding the knife, and gently brought it down on a couple of the bruises. Like he was showing himself what Ivan did, working it out in his head.

  Ivan felt heat fill his face. No one knew this about him.

  No one had ever asked or seemed to even notice any of it besides Kimbra.

  He’d never been close enough to anyone long enough for them to notice and ask.

  If Porter had truly noticed, he had chosen to not ask or say anything about it.

  Ron’s hand opened and came to rest on top of Ivan’s left thigh. “Except on the bad days.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What can I do for you tonight?”

  “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

  “What was my question?” But the firmly kind tone Ron used to ask it meant he wasn’t asking, more he was telling Ivan to give him feedback.

  Why lie? “A really hard spanking. I don’t even expect an orgasm tonight.”

  “What if I want to give you an orgasm tonight?” His gorgeous blue gaze never wavered from Ivan’s. “Would you be okay with that?”

  Another shiver rippled through Ivan. “I wouldn’t say no, Sir,” he whispered, barely able to speak.

  “But would you be okay with it? You can tell me no when I give you a choice like this.”

  Ivan nodded. “Yes, Sir. I would like that.”

  Without displacing Ivan from his lap, Ron removed Ivan’s slacks and shirt, socks, leaving him sitting there in his briefs. All this he did while staring Ivan in the eyes, watching him, silently studying him. Any time Ivan tried to help Ron undress him, Ron gently caught his wrist and moved his hand away.

  Ivan gave up trying to help, relishing this incredibly rare moment.

  Someone taking care of him.

  Completely focused on him.

  Finally, Ron spread his thighs and shifted Ivan so he could stand
. “Facedown. Head to my left,” Ron said. “Briefs on or off, your choice.”

  Ivan’s legs felt weak, shaky, but he shoved his briefs down and off and stretched out over Ron’s lap.

  He closed his eyes as Ron’s firm, warm hands stroked his back, his ass, his thighs. “How long and hard do you want it?”

  “Please don’t hold back,” he said. “And for as long as you want. If it gets to be too much, I’ll safeword.”

  Ron’s hands still stroked him. “What kind of stuff triggers you?”

  Ivan didn’t want to talk—he wanted the pain. “We don’t have all night.”

  “Let me rephrase that. What won’t trigger you? If I call you my good boy, is that okay?”

  Ivan felt his cock trying to harden. “That’s okay, Sir. I would like that. I can’t do…humiliation. Even playfully.”

  “Duly noted.” Ron’s hands squeezed Ivan’s ass, and Ivan fisted the covers and tried to slow his breathing. “Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He wondered if Ron would hold back, but the first impact landed hard and stinging and was quickly followed by the next.

  Ivan bit back a needy moan and decided to quit overthinking this, to let go and give in.

  Totally give over and let Ron drive away the mental static loudly jangling in Ivan’s brain.

  Ron’s left hand settled between Ivan’s shoulders while he spanked him. Every impact sank Ivan deeper into that dark, soft headspace where all he had to do was feel, not think. Where thoughts dissolved, replaced by pain, by his pulse, by his body taking over and shutting down his mind for a while.

  Where he could cry and finally let go. Cry in the cathartic way that allowed him to rest.

  He didn’t know how long the spanking lasted, only that at some point Ron eventually stood him up just long enough for Ron to stand and scoop him into his arms again. Ron carried him into the master bathroom, where he set Ivan down next to the shower.

  Ivan didn’t want to think. All he wanted to do was stay in Ron’s care. His ass felt hot, deliciously sore, and that translated into sweet, fleeting perfection.

  Ron reached in and started the shower, adjusting the temperature before turning to face Ivan. When Ron stripped, Ivan wanted to drop to his knees and start worshipping the man’s cock right there, but Ron had a different idea. He stepped into the shower, holding his hand out to Ivan to join him.