Goldilocks: A Man, a Jersey, and a Tight End (3 page)

So, Big, Dumb, and Hairy put down his beer and pushed back that tiny little baseball cap and said, “Mebbee you could find somethin’ from this century is all I’m sayin’.”

Just like that, Scott was a ball of rock-hard angry right up in the man’s face. “Fuck you,” said Scott, grinning just big as all fuck.

And then they were a combined ball of fists and flying caps and fur.

Okay, now this was what he’d been looking for, thought Scott, just before doom fell from the sky in the form of a giant fist. And the lights went out.

* * * *

“He wanted you to find it?” Paul and Jim sat in the living area, the bondage magazine on the coffee table between them.

“Definitely. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d painted I’M CONFUSED AND FRIGHTENED ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP in block letters on the wall, Paul. I…don’t know if I handled it well. I may have scared him.”

“Sounds to me like
he
scared
you
.”

“When it comes to pushing boundaries, Brian is a creative genius,” said Jim. “I’m worn out.”

“I’ve been thinking about the situation, since our phone call.” Paul slapped his knees and stood. “I have some ideas.”

* * * *

The world was a different place when he knew Paul was home and waiting for him. After his last class, Brian ran home and came through the front door like a force of nature, feet flying, backpack and jacket flung in the general direction of where they were supposed to go. “I’m home!” The door he had flung open slammed hard into the wall.

“Brian!” said two big tops simultaneously in their Stern Voices.

And now wasn’t
that
something to take the happy out of a guy’s feet.

“Yes, Sir? Sirs?” squeaked Brian, stumbling to a halt and looking from one big, serious man to the other.

He’d only been home for two seconds. What could he have done
already?

Paul came up and gave him a hug, though.
His
Paul, the one with the inked skin and worn blue jeans and big smile. Paul hugged him hard enough to lift him off the floor for a second and then gently set Brian down. “Hang up your jacket.”

“Sure.” Brian jetted over to the flung jacket, picked it up.

“And your backpack.”

Grinning madly, Brian grabbed the backpack too.

“Good. Now take them into our room. And get ready. We need to talk.”

Brian hesitated, his engine still running but his feet suddenly stuck to the floor. “Talk?”

Paul wasn’t grinning anymore. His face was as stern as Brian had ever seen it. “Yes, Brian. Jim and I have been having a long conversation. You and I need to talk.”

* * * *

Brian had to admit there’d been a certain amount of trepidation mixed with his anticipation of Paul’s return. He’d been pushing Mama pretty hard, especially this last month. He’d been aware of it, but almost unable to stop himself, like watching himself fall off a ladder.

But he’d kind of hoped Paul would understand.

Taking the long-unused harness from the back of the closet and Paul’s explicit instruction to get ready brought things home very quickly. He hadn’t used the harness, of course, since Paul had left. The buckles and straps felt foreign in his hands. There had been a time when wearing this had made him feel safe and steady. Something reliable at the end of his day. It was like an anchor.

Now, it felt weird.

And instead of the joy he’d thought he would feel at Paul’s return, there was a sense of unreality. It was like some stranger was out there in the living room waiting for him to prepare himself. Brian set down the harness and, still clad in his towel, sat on the bed, the churning emotion in his chest and belly settling into a kind of resentment. It wasn’t fair.

There was a soft knock on the door. Brian called in a sullen voice, “Come in.”

Paul came in, treading softly for such a big man. The door clicked shut, and Brian’s heart rate about doubled.

“Brian?”

He couldn’t look at Paul. It was as if his head was frozen, his tongue stuck at the back of his throat. He felt Paul sit down on the bed next to him.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong, Brian?”

The words weren’t there. Even if he’d known what exactly he was feeling, Brian wouldn’t have been able to express it. He shook his head.

“Brian.” It was said in Paul’s stern, gentle voice. “Young man, look at me.”

It was harder than anything, but Brian raised his chin. He could feel his head shaking a little, his teeth clenched and defiant, his eyes burning. “What?” he said.

Paul’s eyes narrowed. But then, instead of whatever Brian had tremulously been expecting him to do, his daddy’s big arm circled him, pulling Brian against his chest. Brian fought it, but he was pressed against the familiar inked snakes, Paul’s lips in his hair, hand against his nape, firmly in the center of his back.

“I’m so sorry, Brian.”

“You are?”
Sorry
was a word Brian usually found
himself
saying. “What are you sorry for?”

Instead of answering, Paul stood, taking Brian with him, and walked them both to the harness. “Let me help you with this.”

Brian stood in a kind of trance as Paul performed the ritual, adjusting every buckle and strap as if the thing were new, his hands caressing Brian, owning him.

“Lie down on the bed, Brian.”

Brian crawled onto the mattress and rolled over so he could watch Paul. Paul went to the closet, rummaged, and brought out a number of objects. Brian, his heart starting to hammer again, thought he might have never seen any of them before.

“W-w-what?”

But Paul didn’t answer. Paul deposited the items on the nightstand, and then he removed his jeans. His daddy’s pretty cock was half-erect, the ink on his thighs moving as he climbed up next to Brian and lay down.

“Try to relax, hon.” Brian hadn’t even realized he was tense until Paul spoke the words. Then those big hands traveled over him. Warm, gentle, but sure, knowing fingers painted sensation and care on every inch of Brian’s body. He murmured, a wordless sound, and Paul’s mouth was on his.

Gentle, lips only, and Paul’s hand still caressed him like Brian’s body was velvet. Brian shivered and looped an arm around Paul’s neck, opened his mouth, and welcomed Paul’s tongue. Deep kisses, they went on forever until Brian was moaning into Paul’s mouth, pressing his body toward that touch.

“Roll over, Brian.”

Simple. Slow. Paul’s fingers were at his opening, working in something slick and warm. When he felt the thickness of a dildo pressing there, Brian almost whimpered.

“Slow down there, sweetheart.” Paul held him still as Brian attempted to impale himself.

Forcing himself to wait, he heard his own voice now begging as the thing slowly entered him.

Brian felt Paul fasten the dildo into the harness, holding it snug against him. Then Paul lay on top of him, his weight and warmth completely covering him, and whispered against Brian’s ear. “I love you.”

“Please.” Brian heard his own voice, full of tears. “Please, Daddy, I need…”

“I know, hon. But first, I want you to know how much I love you.”

Brian heard his own voice, pleading, lips against the mattress, begging.

Paul’s hand was on his backside, the other hand checking the straps and the fittings to be sure nothing scratched or scraped Brian. Protecting him. Making him safe.

There was the sound of something on the nightstand and then the soft whisper of suede across Brian’s lower back, across his legs, finally just resting, still, across his backside.

Brian moaned.

“Ready, hon?” Paul asked, the question more a warning than an inquiry. He heard the quick swish of the flogger in the air and then felt the sharp, familiar yet not, sting.

Brian cried out.

It went quickly, Paul really applying each stroke for maximum effect, so they fell on top of each other. Brian gripped the mattress with both hands and jumped at each stroke. His toes curled, his teeth clenched, involuntary cries devolving into sobs and then weeping, gulping breaths as Paul stopped.

Paul’s hand landed on his back, stroking, and then on his head.

“Brian.” Paul’s big hands, sure and strong arms around Brian, gathered him against that warm solid chest. He clung to Paul.

* * * *

“How is he?” Jim and Paul sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Brian was rolled in a ball in the bedroom, sleeping as if drugged.

“It’s going to take time,” said Paul. “We haven’t even begun to discuss the issue.”

Jim stirred his coffee, holding back comment.

“He’s upset with me,” said Paul.

Jim nodded.

“You have a right to be upset with me too,” said Paul.

“Oh. I am,” said Jim, but when he raised his eyes, their expression was merry.

“Oh-oh, and I take it you’ve already decided on my punishment?”

“Oh. Yes, I have,” said Jim. He sipped coffee. “Have you seen the new AGA stoves?”

“I take it that’s the brand name of some top-of-the-line multiburner cookware.”

“Yes it is.” Jim nodded, just smiling away.

“That costs a small fortune?”

“A
small
one, maybe.”

Paul groaned. “Well, I’d better be there when he wakes,” he said, rising.

“I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thanks, buddy. When is Scott due back?”

“Tonight. Thank God.”

“We should plan something for Sunday, then.”

“Super Bowl Sunday,” said Jim, rolling his eyes. “It’s a high holy day, apparently.”

* * * *

Brian dreamed of pirates. He always had, since he was a boy. Though the dream had evolved and his reactions to it had changed as he’d grown older. In the beginning, the dreams had been frightening, perhaps from having spent too many evenings watching old movies with gap-toothed buccaneers blowing holes in the sides of ships. Or maybe from the
Treasure Island
that his father loved and read over and over to him until Brian had reached that age when his father had stopped reading to him, had stopped even coming in to say good night.

Those pirates had been predators. Looming, foul, and frightening, and Brian had woken screaming from the nightmares, running to find sanctuary in his parents’ bed until his father had started sending him back to his own room.

“Too old for this nonsense. Go back to sleep.”

Then, the pirates had evolved. They became dark-haired, mysterious men, leaping onto railings with swords that wove through the air. Or eager men with bright laughing eyes, who climbed, always out of reach, above Brian into the sails and rigging as the ships leaned and swayed and the ocean licked at his ankles.

He’d wake wet and hot and confused and filled with an indescribable longing.

For a long time, Brian hadn’t dreamed of any pirates whatsoever. But tonight he dreamed, and the dream was a combination of the nightmares of his childhood and the wet dreams of his adolescence.

He was in the hold of a ship. He knew that from the sound: that unmistakable creaking of long beams tasked to their utmost as they strained against the combined forces of wind and water. And the rocking and lift and drop of the floor and walls around him was familiar, and yet not.

Brian had never been to sea, but he knew he was a prisoner on a ship, a ship sailing into rough seas and bound for he knew not where. The heavy hemp ropes tied his arms and legs securely. His hands were held up to bracelets of steel fastened securely to the planks. Chinks of light came through the walls of his room, and he could see men moving about out there. Their legs flashed as they ran before the blue sky and scudding clouds. The occasional shout and whistle sounded.

He heard thudding feet on the floor, and the door opened.

The man who came in was a giant. His hair fell to his waist, and his eyes flashed dangerously at Brian. He wore a billowing white shirt that opened to the waist, revealing skull-and-crossbones tattoos. His hips were narrow, clad in black with a long sword buckled low across his pelvis. In his one hand he held a long black whip. Brian moaned and fought his ropes as the giant raised his whip arm, but instead of the horrible lash, Brian felt the man’s embrace around his body, his mouth at Brian’s ears. “Don’t worry. I have you…”

Still Brian fought his bindings, now aware that he was naked and too vulnerable. Too exposed.

“I have you…”

“No,” said Brian. “Let me go.” And he struggled. Those arms only held him tighter. Tighter than the ropes even.

“I have you, Brian. I won’t let you go.” Paul’s kiss in his hair. Arms around him.

Brian gasped like a man coming up from under water and struggled mindlessly to free himself.

“I can’t move,” he said. “I can’t move.”

“Yes, you can,” said Paul. “See. You can move anytime you need to.”

Panting and gradually coming to his senses, Brian realized that his arms weren’t pinned to his side as he had imagined. Actually, he was holding on to Paul. He breathed hard, trying to calm the beating of his heart, and stared into Paul’s concerned face. “I had a nightmare.”

“I know you did, honey. You were screaming.”

“I was? I’m sorry.” Still panting, Brian looked around the room in concern. Nothing looked different, yet nothing looked quite right either.

Paul stroked his hair, his face, the look of concern unabated. “What did you dream?”

“I was a prisoner,” said Brian.

Paul’s brow wrinkled. “How did that feel?”

“I felt trapped.” He had to get loose for some reason, and he extracted himself from Paul’s arms. He sat up. “Trapped and not.”

Paul just lay there waiting.

Brian looked down at him. “I was a prisoner in a pirate’s ship. I didn’t know where I was or where we were going. The pirate said he wouldn’t hurt me, but how could I be sure of that?”

“I see,” said Paul. He sat up and then rolled up and out of bed. “Stay there,” he said. He left, and Brian heard him in the bathroom, then padding around to the side of the bed, and turning on a light there before coming back to sit next to Brian.

“Are you comfortable, honey?”

Brian worked his arms and legs a little. The dildo was still inside him, held snug by the harness, but it wasn’t uncomfortable yet. Just very there. “Yes.”