Love Brewing: The Love Brothers

by Liz Crowe

  She squealed. “Again. Harder.” He pressed his cock into the cleft of her ass and gave her the spanking that always got her off.

  “Rub it.” He grabbed her hand and shoved it between her legs.

  The distinct odors of brewing and sex combined brought out something out in him he no longer recognized…or liked. His palm stung and his dick ached for a connection. Finally, she came with a sigh and a shudder. He gripped her hips and shoved into her, once, twice, three times.

  “Hey,” she whined when he extracted himself. “What’re ya stopping for?” He grunted and yanked her around so he could shove his tongue into her mouth, wanting that connection too, wanting it so badly he hurt in his chest and head. His wet dick pressed between them. She reached for it, teasing the piercing like he showed her, then spread her legs and took him inside her again, her perfect tits pointed up, their sweet nipples rock hard.

  They’d been practicing the whole tantric thing, in a hippy burst of Colorado living, so he came a little more, hating it but figuring it for the best he could hope for.

  “Goddamn, you are good at that,” she said as he nearly collapsed, weak from hangover, lack of food, and orgasm depletion. “Coming over later?” She pulled up her jeans and tugged down her bra and shirt.

  “No.” He zipped up, still a little tingly and wishing he could actually finish. But disgust kept him moving so he could get the hell away from her. “Can’t.”

  “Oh, right, the kid.” She bit his lower lip. “Well, see ya tomorrow, Dominic. Remember, it’s an early morning. Lots of orders to fill.” She flopped into her desk chair and opened her laptop as if he’d never waltzed in there and fucked her twice over her—was his—desk.

  He trudged out, cursing under his breath, but brightening when he got a whiff of the fresh outdoor air. Taking long, deep breaths of it, he was reminded of why he loved it here. It felt as if his lungs had expanded, like the very air held perfection. He laughed at his own stupid thoughts, jumped on his bike and roared the few miles in the direction of his generic apartment building.

  When he’d realized Chris, once his assistant, now his boss had a bad case of the Dominic-hots, he’d acted on that, thinking why the hell not? She’d told him in no uncertain terms that he stunk of chemicals the first time she’d sucked his dick, then had proceeded to introduce him to the joys of weed and tantric sex, encouraging him to rid his body of its dependence on pharmaceuticals. So, he’d gone off his meds once more, going with the fresh air, daily exercise, random bit of marijuana cure for the last year and half. Well, that, and regular, top-drawer kinky fucking with the somewhat-scary Chris. But his options stayed open, because he went out without her plenty, locating random pussy whenever she got too bossy.

  Kieran had come out a couple of times to the delight of Jace and little Frankie who idolized his cousin way more than Dom felt warranted. Both Aiden and Antony had schlepped their families out once and those visits had been fine, if a little too long for Dom’s taste.

  They’d asked their usual taking the meds still questions and he’d been unable to hear anything but Diana’s accusatory fury about him being coddled. He’d nodded, already recognizing his body had entered serious antidepressant/antianxiety detox. He’d not spoken to his father once since informing him that he no longer had to be responsible for Jace, that Dom would be moving and taking the kid with him so they could bond without his parents meddling.

  His mother sent him the odd email now and again. The estrangement arrangement hurt the most in December. No matter how dysfunctional, there truly was no place like home for the holidays and it hurt his soul not to share it with them. But he and Jace had come up with their own tradition, having their first snowboarding lesson on Christmas Day at one of the expensive resorts. Now the kid was a near-expert and Dom had gotten more pussy than he likely deserved from tourist ladies charmed right out of their panties by the sweet little boy and his hot Daddy.

  He’d never once looked at, nor considered a relationship with, another man however and intended to keep it that way.

  “Hey, kid.” He tossed a bag of groceries up on the cluttered counter. “Sorry about last night.” Easing out of his work boots and grabbing the milk from of the fridge, he took a long drink. They didn’t fool with BS like glassware much, drinking from the cartons, leaving the toilet seats up, dropping their underwear on the floor—dealing with the mess once a week together, for about two hours worth of scrubbing, laundry and other random cleaning.

  The only noise came from the never-off television. Dom wandered into the living space, noting that the mutt he’d gotten to placate the kid the last time he’d had an inadvertent sleepover and left him with a sitter had ripped another hole in the sofa cushion. Skywalker, as he’d been dubbed at the kennel, was some butt-ugly blend of bulldog and collie, or maybe shepherd. He stank to high heaven, slobbered constantly, but he’d been housebroken and wouldn’t let Jace out of his sight. Which went a long way toward redeeming him, most days.

  “Jace,” he called out, when it became clear the room was empty. He took a deep breath, taking in odors of old booze, sticky malt, BO, and pussy—it did not make for a pleasant combo. He pulled his shirt off and dropped his jeans onto the floor on the way down the small hallway separating their rooms.

  Jace’s bedroom door was closed, but Dom heard the dog whining on the other side. He opened it, blinking in the darkness and experienced a moment of panic. The kid had taken off once before, getting about six blocks away before he’d lost control of the dog who’d bounded joyfully back to the apartment and guided a terrified Dominic to where Jace sat in a diner, teary-eyed and clutching a glass of milk. It had scared the kid, thankfully, so he’d not tried it again.

  “You stink,” a small voice called out from the general direction of the bed. A flashlight beam blinded him, making him curse and stumble around, impaling one foot on a Lego and stubbing his toe on Jace’s snowboard. “I don’t like that babysitter. She makes me read books.”

  Dom dropped onto Jace’s messy bed. He’d been bound and determined to be the sort of father he’d wanted—relaxed, lenient about things that didn’t matter, strict about others. A buddy, a friend more than a tyrannical, switch-wielding, mostly absent jerk. Dom tried to never leave Jace alone much, but he had a long list of sitters willing to accept his overpayment in exchange for some hours with the slightly spoiled, yet endearing little Dominic.

  Dom dropped onto the huge pile of pillows. “Douse the damned light,” he muttered. Jace obliged and snuggled into his side, something that had been a long time coming, but after the first runaway adventure had become more regular. He put his arm around the boy and drifted to the distant sound of the TV and the dog’s snoring.

  He woke from a dream about mermaids licking his dick to find the ugly dog sniffing down there, intrigued, it seemed by various odors around his master’s junk.

  “Get off me, you perv.” He sat up and spotted Jace sprawled on his pillow, his blanket tangled up in his legs. Dom looked at him, marveling at how far they’d come, and already anticipating the looming holiday season, sans parents, brothers, or cousins.

  He’d eschewed the concept of regular bedtimes during the summer, as it had always been a youthful dream of his. The kid would have grown-up like responsibilities soon enough, he reasoned. Let him be a rock-climbing, basketball-loving, ice-cream-for-breakfast-eating, snowboard bum for a while.

  He tugged the blanket over Jace’s legs and headed for the shower, snagging his phone out of the jeans he’d dropped on the floor. Noting three texts from whatever girl he’d boned the night before—using his vast powers of deduction after the third text declared, do you even remember me, you shithead?—he ducked under the scalding hot water and stayed there a solid thirty minutes.

  When he emerged, scrubbed clean and less fuzzy-headed, he grabbed some shorts and headed to the kitchen to conjure a decent Friday evening meal. Jace wandered in with his faithful companion stuck to his side and sat, messing with a game on his pho
ne. Dom finished making spaghetti, set it on the table and they ate, both fiddling with phones, while the dog panted, waiting for a meatball to drop on his head. At one point, Dom glanced at his son, intent on his latest gaming obsession, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his lips.

  “Hey, earth to Jace.” He threw a balled-up napkin at the boy’s face.

  The boy ignored him so studiously Dom had to give the kid props for it.

  “Let’s go to the gym tonight. You should practice your hook shot.”

  Jace put the phone down on the table with a sigh worthy of a teenager, giving Dom a flash of more fun to come. “Whatever. We’re still going to the mountain tomorrow, right?”

  Dom nodded, standing up as he finished his glass of water. “We’ll do these later, after the Skywalker pre-wash.” They put their dishes on the floor so the dog could lick them as if his life depended on their cleanliness. “Grab your ball, kid. Let’s go.”

  Jace found his custom-fit helmet and clamored on to ride pillion. They pulled up to the downtown YMCA and headed to the top-floor basketball courts. After a solid hour of screwing around and a bit of actual shooting, they sat on the floor sipping water and watching a game that had started on the main court. At one point, Jace climbed over into Dom’s lap and sat in the middle of his crossed legs, mesmerized by the grown men and their somewhat sloppy game. Dom kissed his son’s head repeatedly, marveling at how he’d managed something positive in spite of the massive pile of crap he’d left behind in Kentucky.

  This had been the best possible thing for him, he reasoned. But imaginary visions of his brothers, his parents, all the cousins gathering at the Love family Christmas tree, and then later for dinner nearly did him in. He held little boy’s warm torso close and shut his eyes, but that brought visions of Diana so clearly he sucked in a breath. He could see her mouth moving as if she were speaking to him. He shivered.

  “Let’s go home. I’m beat.” He stood and hauled the boy up and over his shoulder, relishing the sweet sound of his giggles.

  “Daddy, I want ice cream,” Jace demanded as he fastened his helmet under his chin.

  “Not now, Jace. I’m tired.”

  The boy’s lower lip stuck out, clear precursor to a tantrum. Dom flicked it, making him squeal and grin even as he crossed his arms over his chest. But he loved it when his son called him that—Daddy. He didn’t do it much and had probably figured out that Dom was way more inclined to do whatever he wanted when he used it.

  But exhaustion bowled him over like a tidal wave. It happened that way when he went this long not medicated. The highs were Everest-level. But when the lows threatened, they were prefaced by the sort of bone-deep tiredness that hovered right now. He had to get home, drink half a bottle of bourbon, take some pain killers and pass out before it got worse.

  They roared up to the building and dismounted. A female figure lurked near his door leaning against her car, unclear at first in the gloom.

  “Oh, uh, hey Chris.” He glanced down to gauge Jace’s reaction to the unexpected company.

  Jace peered at the woman, then up at Dom. “Is this the skanky bitch who got your job, Daddy?” He fluttered his long, dark eyelashes at the woman. Dom gave the kid a mental high-five.

  The woman frowned, then held out a carton of some kind of frozen treat. Jace brightened and snatched it from her. “Hi there, Jace. I’m Chris. I’m your daddy’s boss and I’m here to have a meeting with him.”

  “Oh, okay.” Jace ran to the apartment door, the dessert clutched to his chest. Chris smiled and followed him, her hips swaying in a way that forced thoughts of whiskey and aspirin right out of Dom’s lizard brain.

  He unlocked the door. Jace snagged a spoon and jumped onto the couch gaze already fixed on the TV, joined by his mutt, who kept his gaze on the ice cream carton.

  “Meeting time, brew boy,” Chris muttered, tugging him close and covering his lips with hers. He slid his fingers into her hair, tasting every corner of her mouth, his body hardening immediately. Another bonus being chemical-free, he mused, as she pressed him against the wall and palmed his erection under his shorts. “I see you’re prepared.”

  “Got that right,” he growled, picking her up and carrying her past the oblivious boy and throwing her onto his messy bed. “Better take some notes, boss.” He slammed the door and ripped at her clothes before dropping down between her legs. He woke with her pressed against him, the dog licking his nose and Jace poking his arm with the spoon.

  “I’m scared,” the boy’s voice verged on the edge of a panic attack.

  “Yo, Chris, time to head out.” He shoved the woman off him. “Unless you want to cuddle my kid.”

  She yawned and stretched, pissing him off with her lack of modesty in front of the impressionable boy. “All right. I think we covered all the agenda items.” She gripped his dick under the covers. He winced. “Until next time,” she said, getting up and heading naked into his bathroom.

  Dom rubbed his face and wondered if he could head off Jace’s impending night terrors and still be able to get to sleep. At this rate, the way his head raced from one thought to another, he’d never rest.

  But by the time he’d dragged Jace high up in the mountains to locate a little powder and taken several slopes with the boy the next day—plus flirted his ever-loving ass off with some tourist chick from L.A—he felt revived and ready to manage his life again. The quick and dirty fuck he’d gifted himself with the accommodating girl while Jace did his final run alone helped set him on an even keel.

  Who needed medication when there was plenty of pussy around, eager to take off his edge?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  One Year Later

  “Daddy,” the voice called from so far away Dom heard it in his dream. He rolled, groaning when a shaft of sunlight blinded him. Dragging the blanket up over his naked flesh proved too strenuous so he draped over the warm body to his left. It shifted and his palm landed on a boob. The woman attached to it grabbed his dick. He sucked in a breath of stale, pot-smoked tinged air.

  “Daddy!”

  He shoved Chris off him and dropped his feet to the floor. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Oh, don’t be a whiner. You weren’t complaining last night when I let you ass-fuck me, you nasty boy.” She flicked the rings in his nipples. “C’mon, baby. Bring it over here for me again.”

  “Get off,” he roared, shoving her harder than he meant to. His vision had gotten so sharp he could discern the texture of paint on the opposite wall, and he honestly believed he could hear the ubiquitous cockroaches marching between the walls. “Goddamn, my head hurts. What was in that stuff?” He gagged at the smell of the ashtray stuffed with roaches mixed with the bourbon he must have spilled from the bottle lying on the floor.

  “Daddy, we’re gonna be late!” Jace shoved the door open, clutching his basketball. Chris pulled the blanket over her head with a loud curse. Jace frowned at him, his lower lip stuck out.

  “Sorry, dude, sorry.” Dom stumbled into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. “Go home, Chris. I mean it.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him through the glass, and wandered back into the bedroom. By the time he dried off and found clean shorts, he smelled bacon cooking. Mumbling under his breath while trying to get the ringing in his ears to leave him in peace, he poured a cup of coffee and flopped into a kitchen chair. The fact of her in his kitchen, acting like some kind of Suzie-fucking-Homemaker infuriated him. She’d gotten way too clingy in ways he couldn’t really manage, considering for all intents and purposes the bitch was his boss. The last year had been an utter blur since Chris’ promotion and he’d been swept along in the tidal wave of it, letting it carry him and Jace along in its scary, yet seemingly uncontrollable wake.

  “You know, you can cut out the mothering act, Chris. You’re not fooling anybody.”

  “Your phone is blowing up, dear.” She dropped it into his lap with an air kiss.

  He winced. “What the
hell did you do to me last night anyway?”

  She licked her finger and stuck it in his ear, making Jace giggle. “Your daddy is not a morning person, is he, champ?” She plunked a plate of bacon in the middle of the table and brandished the spatula. “Scrambled eggs? Fried?”

  Dom glared at her.

  “Don’t like eggs,” Jace declare around a mouthful of bacon. “Like pancakes.”

  “You asked him.” Dom frowned down at all the missed calls from a familiar number.

  “Daddy, we are s’posed to play basketball. I gotta work on my hook shot some more ’member?”

  “Hang on, hang on.” He put the phone to his ear, panic fluttering through his chest. “Hey,” he said when Kieran answered. “What’s up, Francis?”

  “Your namesake has made his grand appearance.”

  Dom smiled and shoved the dog off the couch so he could sit. “Cool. Send me a picture? How’s the baby-mama? Make her legal yet?”

  “About to. I wish you were here for it.”

  “Yeah.” He swiped at his lips, still tasting pot and booze. “I’ll make it home eventually. Maybe.” He looked up at the ceiling, taking in the minute cracks and fissures in the cheap drywall.

  “Taking your meds still, right?”

  “Leave me alone.” He rose, unable to sit another minute. The ants-under-the-skin feeling was back in force, reminding him he’d likely be facing a hard crash in the next twenty-four hours. Managing his way down lows with booze and pot had become a habit he didn’t like, mainly because he lost track of time. He usually managed to have Jace set up for a babysitter when he could anticipate it.

  “Congrats, dude. Seriously. Give the kid a kiss for me, lucky bastard, sharing my name and all. Gotta go.” He hung up and tossed the phone onto Jace’s bean bag video game-playing chair, dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups, then fifty sit-ups, and then repeated the process twice more.

  Sweaty and winded, he sat, arms on his knees, pondering all the places he hurt at that moment, and deciding the pain in his chest after hearing Kieran’s voice was definitely the worst. A flying, Jace-shaped missile attacked him from behind, making him grunt, then romp around the living room, wearing the kid as a cape until the dog got so excited it pissed on the carpet.