I gasp, like earlier shocked at the amount of it, at the sudden burst of all that cum, and the tension in his body as he shoots streak after streak.
He’s finally done and stays bowed over, breathing hard. I lift my other hand to his face, stroke his jaw. There’s a whisper of scruff, and above it, his cheek is smooth and warm.
I like this feeling of giving them what they need, pleasure, a respite from whatever stresses them. Of taking care of them, of these two boys.
Yeah, I like that. Way too much. I like them way too much.
Crap… I can’t even hide it from myself anymore.
***
“You sure you don’t want me to cook for you?” I ask for the tenth time as Ryan competently flips over chicken breasts on the shiny stainless steel kitchen grill and brushes marinade over them.
Very competently.
He’s already chopped salad and has potatoes baking in the oven. I sure didn’t expect that from a guy who clearly has money. A guy who always acted so aloof and probably has his shirts ironed and his apartment cleaned by a service.
And the food is good. Delicious. We sit in the cozy, rustic dining alcove with French windows overlooking the lake, mostly dressed once more, the fire roaring in the fireplace below, and dig into the chicken that’s juicy, the soft potatoes and crispy salad.
God, so not fair. How am I to win a man over through the stomach when he can cook better than I can?
He says he likes fishing and sailing on the lake. He likes rowing. He also apparently likes talking and prodding people into answering his questions, because he gets an otherwise mostly silent Riddick to admit he’s into jogging and a form of martial art I never heard of, and that he likes astronomy. He talks animatedly about a documentary he saw once as a kid about the galaxy and the idea of other worlds and distant planets, how his brother always teased him about it, although he got interested, too, and they’d covered the walls of their bedroom with glow-in-the-dark planets and maps of the universe.
“Is that what your tattoo is about?” I ask. “That constellation. What does it mean?”
“It’s an imaginary solar system,” he says, his eyes bright, “with a sun and a planet like ours, where everything would be… would be good.” He rubs at his face, then lets his hand drop on the table. “Fuck, why am I telling you all this?”
He falls silent again, and I reach for his hand. I tangle our fingers together, and he looks up at me, his gaze distant.
“Maybe I just wanted to escape,” he whispers. “I wanted that so much. And Xavier…that’s what he did. He escaped.”
A chair scrapes against the floor. Ryan walks around the table, dragging his chair along, and plants it next to Riddick.
Then he does the sweetest thing. He slips his arms around Riddick and draws him into a sideways hug. “Your brother will be fine,” he murmurs, and crap, my eyes fill with tears.
“God, you guys…” I hug Riddick, awkwardly, wanting to comfort him so badly.
He draws an uneven breath, pulling me against him, one arm around each of us. He’s pressed between us, and under my arm his chest is heaving like he has trouble breathing.
He’s trying not to cry, I realize, and it makes my eyes burn worse.
I don’t want my boys to be in pain. I wish I could take it away.
And if that’s wrong, I don’t care. Nobody should have to suffer, nobody should be in pain, least of all the two guys worming their way into my heart.
***
We doze on the long sofas of the living room, digesting all that food, and then, as the darkness starts to fall, Ryan decides it’s time to fill up the hot tub.
He goes off to do that, and I stay with Riddick, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades and staring outside the glass doors, at the silver expanse of the lake.
“Have you ever been in a hot tub?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Me neither. This is a cool place.”
He glances up. “Wasn’t there a storm coming?” he whispers.