Red Hot Daddy: An Mpreg Romance

by Austin Bates

  Tommy couldn't help the grin that practically split his face. Even if he couldn't do any work on it right away, he had a working bike. "You're the best, Damien," he said, blinking hard to clear away the burn of tears.

  "I know. Hey, I think I see a deer." He clapped Tommy gently on the shoulder and turned to climb up onto the platform of the tree house in two big bounds. Tommy followed more slowly. Back when they'd found it, back before they'd fixed it up, they had both barely been tall enough to use the wide board steps nailed into the side of the oak tree.

  There was some debate about what the platform was for. Damien was convinced that it was an old hunting blind, used for picking off the herds of deer that came to the creek. Tommy refused to believe it. Either way, by the time they'd found it, it had been unused for years, the boards soft and rotten in the middle. It had taken them two weeks to fix the place up, but now they got to reap the rewards.

  Settling himself on the crisp white pine, Tommy ran his finger across the pictures of deer and beavers, mountains and snowflakes that he'd drawn on the wood in permanent marker.

  "You'll have to refresh the ink again," Damien said, watching him closely. "The sun is turning these ones gray."

  Tommy smiled, ignoring the flutter in his chest as Damien traced the outline of the same picture he'd just been touching. Was the wood still warm from his fingers? Could Damien feel it? Did it make his chest tight like he could barely breathe, too?

  "I'll bring my pen next time," he said. He couldn't stand to look into those beautiful eyes one more second, so he looked across the water. "You were right." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There's a whole family of deer."

  Across the creek, just before the curve of the island, a graceful doe dipped her head to the water, her faun beside her. In the shadow of the trees, something moved, and a noble buck, his antlers spread wide, stepped out. His ears constantly moved, listening to the sounds of the forest for danger as he stood guard over his mate.

  In the distance, a car horn blared, and all three heads came up, staring downstream. Tommy held his breath, but nothing else moved, and the doe dropped her head to the water again.

  "They're so beautiful," he said, sighing.

  "Yeah," Damien said, his voice distracted.

  Glancing over, Tommy's breath froze in his chest as he met his best friend's eye. Damien was staring at him, his dark eyes swirling with feeling. "Damien?"

  "Close your eyes," Damien said, and on instinct, Tommy did.

  The brush of lips was barely there, and yet it turned his insides to fire. When Damien tried to pull back, Tommy whined in his throat, chasing after those plush lips. The second kiss was like a storm, all chaos and electricity. Damien's mouth was hot and wet and smooth, and his teeth were slick and hard where they bumped against Tommy's lips, just hard enough to bruise.

  "Holy shit," Damien said, pulling back to catch his breath.

  Tommy stared, his lips slowly stretching in a grin. "Yeah." Spreading out on the boards, he turned his head to stare across the creek, only to find all three deer staring right at him. He burst out laughing, and the deer startled, disappearing into the forest.

  Glancing between him and the woods, Damien started to chuckle, laying down next to Tommy on the platform. "That was awkward," he said. "Do you think they watched?"

  "I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did," Tommy said, rolling to look at his best friend, frowning when Damien wouldn't meet his eyes. "What was that, exactly?"

  Swallowing with a click, Damien rolled to stare up into the branches. "I just..."

  "You just?" Spinning his class ring on his finger, Tommy stared down at the climbing rose drawn in purple ink along the grain of one board. Damien never gave him any shit for drawing girlie stuff, and he never expected him to be weak or soft just because he was an omega. "You were just excited about my birthday," he said when Damien didn't continue, his heart beating painfully hard. "It was just a thing. Like when the guys smack your ass at the football games." And hadn't he been jealous as hell of those guys every time he saw it. Almost as jealous as he'd been when Damien asked Missy Fairlane to prom, even though he'd already agreed to go with Vivian Hofstadter.

  "No." Damien slammed his fist down on the board with the broken winged robin, the one Tommy had drawn when his mom was diagnosed with cancer. "No, it wasn't just a thing." He ran a hand over his short hair. "I just... I never know what to say. I've been trying to do this all year, and I never get the words out. I thought maybe if I just went for it, it would make it easier to talk about."

  "What is there to say?" Tommy asked, crossing his arms and staring out over the creek. On the island, a beaver waddled out of the trees and into the water, disappearing with one sweep of its wide tail.

  Damien growled under his breath. "A lot. There's a lot to say, starting with the fact that I've been in love with you since I was ten years old."

  Everything froze. It was like time itself stood still as the words echoed through the air, escaping into the world. Tommy wanted to grab them back, stuff them in Damien's mouth and hold it closed so that they couldn't get free ever again. He wanted to shout it to the whole town, to all the girls who giggled and flirted with the football players, to the woman who'd put her hand on Damien's arm and tried to give him her number. He spun his class ring around his finger, his hands shaking. "Oh."

  "Is that good or bad?" Damien's voice cracked on the last word, something that hadn't happened in almost a year. Tommy could remember the last time it had: in Mr. Martin's history class, giving his report on the omega rights riots. Martin had been a firm believer that omegas and women didn't belong in school and had treated his students accordingly. Damien had put his chin in the air like a boxer going into a match and read the brutal facts of the report in his clear ringing voice. The whole class had been in tears. Mr. Martin had tried to flunk Damien until the speech had won first place at the state competition. That had been the day Tommy hadn't been able to deny the truth any longer.

  "Good, I think," Tommy said, his voice shaking.

  "You think?"

  Tommy winced. This probably wasn't how he'd expected this to go. Damien would have every right to be angry, but he was always patient, never raised his voice to anyone.

  "I'm glad, but..." He blinked and was surprised to feel tears flow hot down his cheeks. "What about everyone else? Mr. Martin? Dr. Allen?"

  "Screw them," Damien spat, and Tommy stared at him in surprise. "My parents don't care, you know that, and as soon as you get that bike fixed up, you're out of here. You're too bright for this stupid town, Tommy." He reached up and wiped at the tears on Tommy's cheek.

  "You're the smart one," Tommy said, leaning into that warm hand.

  "Maybe," Damien said, "but you're the one with all the color. This town is all gray and brown, and you're like a streak of purple. You're too bright, too vivid for this little place to hold you."

  "Too vivid, huh?" Tommy asked, twisting his ring around his finger. "I like that. Isn't that the name of the poem you entered into the yearbook?"

  "My Vivid," Damien said, tracing one finger down Tommy's cheek.

  Tommy's heart melted, dripping down his ribs to sit warm in his belly. "Here," he blurted, pulling his class ring off his finger. "That's what boyfriends do, right? They give each other their class ring?"

  The smile that spread across Damien's cheeks was like the sun coming out after a storm. It lit up the world until Tommy had to look away. "Yeah, that's what boyfriends do," he said softly, taking the ring and sliding it onto his pinky. It didn't quite fit over the knuckle, and they stared at it.

  "Sorry," Tommy began, reaching to take it back, but Damien snatched it out of his reach.

  "That happens a lot in movies, doesn't it? When the guy gives his girl a ring, it doesn't fit her fingers. Not that you're a girl, but she always just puts it on her necklace."

  Tommy stared at his hands, slender and delicate. "You don't wear a necklace."

  "I'll start,"
Damien said firmly, and Tommy glanced up at him, startled into a smile. "And tomorrow I'll bring you my class ring."

  Glancing out across the creek, Tommy thought about having Damien's ring with him, and the flutter in his chest turned into a whole herd of butterflies. "Okay," he said quietly, flashing Damien a tiny, shy smile. "I'd like that."

  "I like you," Damien said.

  Tommy hummed softly and leaned up for a kiss.

  Chapter Five

  The beeping was slowly driving him crazy. Tommy glared at the heart monitor and picked at the tape holding down his IV line.

  The nurse had left almost twenty minutes ago to get a doctor so that he could check himself out. She hadn't been happy about it, and he wasn't expecting her to hurry. The smell of the antiseptic was burning his nose, making it run, and all he wanted was to get back on his bike and get the hell out of Golden, Colorado.

  "Mr. Laurence, I understand you're eager to leave our five-star facilities." The doctor holding an open chart looked at Tommy over the rim of his glasses, his gaze disapproving. "I know that no one is really comfortable in the hospital, but you have suffered some pretty intense smoke inhalation. I can't stress enough how important it is for you to get the proper treatment."

  "I can do that at the clinic in La Junta," Tommy said, rubbing his nose and sniffing.

  The doctor frowned, flipping pages in the folder. Tommy tried not to fidget, his skin crawling at the too familiar feeling of the hospital blankets.

  "Mr. Laurence, I'm not sure you understand how dangerous smoke inhalation can be. You may feel like you're fine, but your lungs have suffered a lot of stress. I've had patients who suffered from difficulty breathing or even suffocated with no warning after hours of normal function." He scribbled something on the chart with his pen, and Tommy squirmed.

  "I just want to get out of here," he said, going back to picking at his IV line.

  The friendly smile the doctor pasted on didn't reach his eyes, and Tommy shuddered. "Mr. Laurence..."

  "Tommy. Mr. Laurence was buried yesterday." The tape came loose, and he stared at it in surprise. "Shit, sorry." He tried to stick it back down, but it wouldn't stay anymore, the adhesive ruined by his nervous habit.

  "It's fine," the doctor said, scribbling some more in Tommy's file. "I'll have the nurse come in and reattach it. I really can't in good conscience release you until tomorrow morning, for your own good."

  Tommy sighed. "I can check myself out at any time, Doc, and you know it."

  "That's true," he said, still scribbling. "I don't recommend it."

  "Just get me whatever paperwork I need to sign."

  "He's not going anywhere." The voice was deeper than he remembered in his dreams, hoarse and tired.

  Instantly, Tommy's palms were slick with sweat, and he rubbed them on the blanket just to have something to do. He couldn't look up, didn't have it in him to meet those dark eyes. "I'm going home."

  "The hell you are, Tommy. I didn't pull you out of that building just for you to go get your stupid ass killed."

  Tommy jerked in surprise, his head coming up automatically. He had to adjust another six inches up, the dark head higher than he remembered. Damien was still wearing his uniform pants, and Tommy's mouth went dry at the raw beauty of his sweat- and soot-stained body in a thin white t-shirt. He'd forgotten how Damien's dark skin shined in the light, how his stubble made him look so dangerous. He'd forgotten the scar on his shoulder from a biking accident and the way his brows crinkled when he thought Tommy was being dumb.

  "Damien." His throat hurt with the strain of holding back all the words he wanted to say. There were other scars, old and faded now, but ones he'd never seen, tracking across Damien's arms, visible in the soft stretch of skin where his pants rode low on his hips. His breath caught, and he swallowed bile, turning away. His heart couldn't take another second of it. "I didn't realize it was you."

  "I didn’t realize it was you, either." He sounded angry, his words bitten off at the end. There was a long pause, the doctor glancing between them.

  "I'll just leave you two alone," he said, already backing out the door. Smart man.

  The silence stretched, not as uncomfortable as he would have expected. The words in his stomach churned and tried to string themselves together into something that would make it out his mouth, but he kept his teeth shut tight.

  "Hell, Tommy, when I called you vivid, I didn't expect you to take me literally." There was a strained smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes when Tommy glanced over. His eyes traced the lines of color and shadow that bled down Tommy's arms.

  Following his glance, Tommy's eyes widened. "Now you tell me," he said, his heart pounding. He didn't have a shirt on, and his back was exposed for anyone to see. He wondered if he could get one of the nurses to bring him a gown.

  Damien laughed, a hollow imitation of the sunshine that had once filled Tommy's world. He flexed his fingers, and Tommy's heart skipped a beat, the nervous habit tearing new holes in his battered emotions. "I was surprised to see you," Damien said, eyes on the broken robin etched on Tommy's bicep.

  "I came for the funeral." Tommy shifted on the bed, the sheets not so unbearable now that Damien was there. He hated that his body automatically relaxed for this alpha. It was ten years too late for that.

  "I heard about that." Damien looked away, glancing over his shoulder at the bustling nurse's station. At least two of the women were of the age to have gone to school with them, and they were all watching avidly. "Sorry I missed it."

  "It's okay. It was short." Tommy's back itched, and he shifted, trying to rub it against the pillows. There was no way he was going to lift it even a half inch off the cotton. Damien had the most uncanny ability to be right where Tommy didn't want him to be.

  Damien nodded, his eyes roaming the room. "Maria was there."

  "I saw her."

  "I'm sure she was glad to see you."

  Tommy picked at his IV tape again, watching the clock tick off the seconds of silence. "Mrs. Stockman came in all the way from California," he blurted after the sixty-third tick-tock echoed in the room.

  "Is that why she's here." Damien rubbed his hands on his pants, the material sounding harsh and scratchy. Worse even than the hospital blanket.

  "Yeah."

  Humming thoughtfully, Damien shifted from foot to foot. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

  "I am. Doing okay."

  "You look like it."

  "You look good," Tommy said, and immediately wanted to snatch the words back. He kept his eyes on his hands.

  "You look different."

  Risking a glance, Tommy almost flinched as he met Damien's dark eyes for a fraction of a second. They both looked away. "I guess so, yeah." He swallowed hard. "Damien..." He looked up, his hands clasped before him. "I just wanted to tell you--"

  "I should go. Don't do anything stupid, and listen to the doctors."

  "Damien," Tommy scrambled to get out of bed, his IV snagging him back with a painful yank on the skin of his wrist. "Shit." He jerked it out and stumbled to the door, but Damien was long gone, the stairwell door swinging shut with a bang.

  The nurses across the hall were staring from him to the door with wide eyes, and Tommy groaned, pressing his head against the door frame. "I'm sorry," he whispered against the cold metal.

  One of the nurses, old enough to be his grandmother, roused herself to fuss him all the way back to bed. She grumped and grumbled over his bloody arm, putting his IV back in and taping it down with two extra pieces of tape. He let her do it, too exhausted to do more than go where she told him to.

  The hands on the clock marched around in hypnotic rhythm, and he was brainstorming ideas for a clock piece to fill the blank space on his left hip when there was a gentle knock on the door. There were only so many more shocks that he could take in a 24 hour period, and the world seemed determined to give him all of them.

  "Maria," he said, too drained to lift his head.


  "May I come in?"

  For half a second, he was tempted to say no, wondering what she'd do then. Maria had always been more polite than Damien.

  "I brought you some clothes," she said, hefting a paper bag.

  He stared at her for a moment, weighing the desire for a shirt against the inevitable conversation that he didn't want to have. "I suppose," he said finally.

  "Thank you," she said, settling herself on the guest chair. "Missy told me about the fire. She was worried about you. She'll probably sneak you pancakes when she comes to visit."

  "I would kill for some pancakes right now," he said, his mouth moving without his brain's approval.

  She smiled. "I can imagine. The food here has never been very good." She kept glancing down the hall, her eyes solemn.

  "He was already here," Tommy said, rolling his head to stare out the window into the busy hallway. The nurses huddled together again, and they met his eye boldly.

  Maria sighed. "How did it go?"

  It was too much effort to turn his head and glare at her. "How do you think?"

  Fabric rustled, and warm, soft hands took his in their grip. She smelled like the same expensive perfume that her mother wore. Damien had smelled of smoke, strong enough to drown out the antiseptic.

  "He never has forgiven you," she said, her voice sad.

  "He shouldn't."

  She squeezed his hand. "You were just a kid."

  Tommy pulled out of her grip, the soft touch burning like acid as much as her words. "Old enough to know better."

  She sighed again, leaning back, and he turned to look at her, sinking into the lumpy hospital mattress. There were lines around her eyes that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her. Not at the funeral, but as a freshman, her face swollen with tears.

  "We got old," he found himself saying. "When did that happen?"

  "Speak for yourself, old man. I'm young at heart," she said, swatting him with her perfectly manicured hand.

  "How long was it?" he said quietly, and she looked away, the faint smile melting off her face.