Dedicated to…you know who you are. Ahem. Anyway.
Inspired by this bad boy: https://www.etsy.com/listing/259651572/to-order-12-kg-gigantic-monster-chunky
Dillon and Gage from The Real Life Build. Enjoy.
The best part about the new house (in the first six days of living there) was that it didn’t share a wall, or a floor, with anyone. No businesses, no residences, just them.
Gage liked to tease that he still couldn’t make Dillon scream as much as he’d like without disturbing the neighbors, but it was a lot better than having the Dugout downstairs.
The worst part was the broken furnace. And the fact that it took them three days to figure out it was broken. And a…small amount of domestic strife.
Dillon hated domestic strife. Still, when Gage groused about how he couldn’t be expected to know something’s broken when he was hardly ever there, Dillon couldn’t help shooting back that he had never lived in a house before, so how was he supposed to know they weren’t just always cold?
Which sounded more dumb out loud than it had in his head.
“It’s fine,” Gage had muttered. “I’ll call a fucking—plumber? Electrician? Fuck, I don’t know who you call for a furnace.”
“No, you’re busy. I’ll call someone.”
“You hate calling people.”
“My name’s on the lease, too, Gage. I can fucking call someone.”
That was the point both of them realized they were arguing and pulled back.
“Shit.” Gage ran a hand through his hair, making it look wild and Einstein-y. “Dil, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’m the one who’s going to have to let them in anyway, so it makes the most sense.”
Gage’s expression landed somewhere between but you hate the phone and I don’t need more shit to juggle.
“Seriously. I can make a phone call.” He almost asked who he was supposed to call—was it a plumber?—but no. He could do this. He could make a phone call.
They kissed and had sex, in their own house, where they were currently renting, though the owner had expressed an interest in selling. Renting, buying, owning. Those were the kinds of details Dillon filed away as Gage’s stuff, but fixing the furnace, now that was a problem he could solve on his own.
It turned out not to be a problem he could pay for, though. And he totally ignored Neil’s (but really Clem’s) advice to get three quotes, and just went with the first person Neil-slash-Clem recommended, who was an HVAC guy, not a plumber. Maybe getting three quotes would have been more responsible, or whatever, but they needed heat in the house as soon as possible, so Dillon found a guy to fix the furnace.
For twenty-five hundred dollars.
He hyperventilated and almost called Roscoe, then didn’t.
Right. He was a grown man. He could do this. He texted Gage the quote, but had already okayed the job by the time Gage texted back.
To ask how many quotes he’d gotten.
Dammit.
He ignored that one and asked the guy how soon he could do the job.
A week. Another week in mid-January without heat, in a house with single pane windows, and, Clem had assured them, “insulation that’s probably been eaten and shit out by rats”.
It was a little drafty. Dillon tugged a jacket on over his sweatshirt and signed off on the job.
* * *
Gage was pissed at him. Or no. Not exactly pissed at him. Maybe more…irritated. But when he brought it up, all Gage said was, “I should have done it. You didn’t know to call around to a couple of places.”
It might have been an out, but Dillon found himself pretty annoyed by the casual assumption that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. “Actually, Clem said to do that, but I thought getting the furnace fixed was a higher priority than saving money. I also took into account the fact that in a small town it was unlikely that the bids would vary considerably.” He had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good.
“You weren’t worried about saving money.”
“I’m more worried about how cold it is in this house.”
“You think you’re not worried about saving money because it ain’t your money, Dil?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d’ve made the same call if he was the one with a bank account in the upper reaches of six figures. Because he was freezing.
Suddenly ashamed—and he didn’t know why, since he absolutely hadn’t thought about it that way—and also pretty fucking enraged, Dillon didn’t say anything. He walked away, took a shower, and went to bed.
It was a hell of a lot colder when they were both staying on separate sides of the bed.
Gage apologized the next morning. “I know my money shit isn’t your money shit. I’m sorry.”
“If you want me to pay half, I’m happy to do that.” Lie. He didn’t have twelve hundred dollars sitting around. But he could charge it, if he needed to. If that would make things right between them.
“Shit, Dil, you know that’s not what I want.”
“Well, it’s what I want, if the alternative is you treating me like a gold digger.”
“Actually…” Gage tugged him in, and he was still mad, but he was also desperate for things to be right again, so Dillon let his arms reach around Gage’s waist. “You were with me before you knew I was made of money. So I’m not too worried you have ulterior motives.”
“Maybe I psychically sensed you were going to inherit.”
“Hm. Maybe you did. In which case I’ll probably have to torture you until you tell me all about your psychic gift, since you’ve been holding out.”
Dillon sighed and leaned his head into Gage’s neck. “I’m sorry. If it was summer, I would have made all those phone calls. But right now? It’s hard to work when it’s this cold, you know? Even with gloves, my fingers still go numb.”
“I know you don’t like working at the bar every day, but maybe just until the furnace gets fixed? I’ll grill the onions for your fries, honey. You know you can’t resist me when I do that.”
Truth: Dillon couldn’t resist Gage at any time.
Additional truth: he was never as productive at the Dugout as he was at home, even when that home had been the apartment upstairs.
“Maybe I could bring a chair up and work in the apartment…”
“Good.” Gage kissed his forehead. “That would make me feel like it’s less likely that I’ll come home one day to find you frozen over your laptop, all blue and icy.”
“You’d have to devise an ingenious way to thaw me out.”
“Oh, I am so here for that.”
The kiss that followed was definitely of the…heated variety. When he was sure both of them were real damn hard, Gage left for work.
He was a bastard.
Dillon tried the Dugout after lunch. Then retired to the apartment. But the apartment had no furniture, and the chair he’d brought up from downstairs didn’t help him when he wanted to work at the kitchen counter, which was the only surface in the room.
He finally made do with a desk made of boxes, with no room for his legs, so he was hunched over for hours.
The massage Gage gave him later was a silver lining, but the unavoidable fact was that Dillon wanted to work from home. His real home. The home he shared with his boyfriend. And he was willing to be uncomfortably cold to do that.
At least for the next six days.
* * *
On day three of the new ice age (as Neil was calling it), Dillon got a text in the early afternoon.
From Gage: Check the front porch. I got you something. It’s been delivered.
He sent back: Something what?
Just go look, Dil.
It was still weird that they lived in a house, in a neighborhood. An entire house. Like, the whole thing was theirs. He’d lived at Bruce’s in Colorado during The Boyfriend Experiment, but that had been Bruce’s. This was actually his home. Even though sometimes it hit him a little weird, like when he was checking the front porch for a delivery.
Dillon glanced around guiltily as he pulled the package inside. Almost as if he were stealing it. From his own front porch. After Gage told him it was his.
“You got problems,” he mumbled to himself.
The package was opaque white plastic, filled with something soft and shifting. A blanket, maybe? They had blankets (at least half of which were piled on the couch right now where he’d been working—some in front, some behind, so he could kind of slide into the pocket they made). Maybe it was a special blanket. Or something.
He should probably just open it.
Scissors were in the kitchen, which was an entirely separate room from the living room. Dillon carefully slit the bag open and spilled its contents out on the kitchen table.
A clear bag. Full of…a blanket. Wait. A blanket with mittens? Hold on.
Dillon shook it out, still not sure exactly what he was looking at.
His phone dinged in the other room. He spread the blanket-with-mittens out across the table, still studying it as he backed out of the room.
Gage: I want you naked in that thing when I get home.
Huh.
And also: hot.
But mostly: huh.
Dillon carried it over and deposited it on the couch, then played with it until it seemed like he’d gotten it to a kind of…shape. It definitely had an opening. A weird looking opening. But he could sort of see that if he crawled into it—or wriggled into it?—he could get his arms into the arm places, and his hands into the mittens. Which would leave his neck coming out of the wriggle-in hole thing.
He glanced at the windows, which were all closed up tight, of course, to keep what little heat there was inside. Blinds and curtains pulled. Plus it was brighter outside than it was inside. Even if there was a crack in the curtains, no one could actually see in.
Not now. Later. When it was night time. If there was a crack at night, and he was naked, in this…this thing…
But no. They’d agreed not to scandalize their neighbors, no matter how tempted Gage was (or how hot Dillon secretly found it; Gage had promised to take him to a club a few towns over for some real exhibitionist fun, and Dillon had only weakly protested).
This was their home.
Their living room.
Their…uh…furry brown blanket-with-arms-and-mittens.
Right.
He hauled the blankets over to the armchair and laid out the…thing…for ease of wriggling. If he was gonna be naked, he needed this to go very fast.
He could test it out with clothes on, but that wouldn’t be nearly as fun as following Gage’s directions.
Dillon took a very deep breath and rehearsed the undressing steps in his head, leaving his T-shirt for last.
“Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, cold,” he chanted as the icy air bit into his skin. “So fucking cold, new ice age, four more days, brrrrr…”
Naked. He tugged the thing on over one leg. Then the other. And kind of…shimmied, hopping and pulling it up his body, and ohhhhh, it was so soft, wow, like, it was seriously freaking soft. It engulfed his legs, then up over his butt, then all the way up, hugging it around himself as he grappled, trying to find the arm slots again.
Arms. The hand areas had hinged mitten tops, so they could be open (and he could work), or closed over his fingers for warmth. And whoa, it was working. He was warmer. Not just not currently halfway frozen, but actually warm for the first time since he’d grudgingly gotten out of bed this morning.
God, that was good. So good. He roughly rearranged the big fluffy neckline, which was like an entire three scarves or something all sewn together, until it went over the back of his head and came up over his mouth.
Only his eyes and nose were exposed to the air now. The rest of him was so freaking cosy. Just, like…so cosy…and warm…and…
Dillon closed his eyes, basking in the sudden sensation that he could relax instead of tensing. He could just be here, on the couch, in this amazing, fantastic thing Gage had found, and just…just…yeah…
* * *
He woke up to laughter.
“Aw, man, Dil, that is—you are—” Gage giggled, actually giggled. “Hell, I had no idea that was gonna be so damn cute, c’mere. No, wait, I’ll come to you.”
And even though he was half-asleep and possibly being mocked, it was still so nice to be kissed by Gage. That brilliant combination of sweetness and possession went straight to Dillon’s sex brain every time.
“Heyyyy.”
“Hey yourself. Man.” Gage knelt beside the couch, cupping his cheek. “I came home early. Thought we’d get a pizza, have a night in like we haven’t much since we got the house.”
“Tha’s awesome. Mmm.” Yeah, okay, he was swaddled in warmth, couldn’t independently move his feet, and might be nuzzling Gage’s hand right now, but pizza and hanging out, that was genius. Even in his muddled state, he knew that.
“God, Dil, you know…” Gage toyed with the knitted neck folds of the blanket-thing. “This reminds me of something.”
“A scarf? That part sorta looks like a scarf to me.”
“Nah, that’s not what I was thinking about.”
And oh. That was the voice. The voice Gage used that made Dillon want to sink to his knees and abandon himself to whatever Gage said next.
Not much sinking to his knees to be done right now, though. He looked up, waiting.
Gage tugged on the knit a little. “Yeah, I like this. Makes me want to play with it. Stroke it. Rub it up and down. Maybe hurt it a little. Maybe tug it up and over, to keep you safe, or pull it down to expose your…head…”
“Oh jeez, Gage!”
Gage’s laughter this time was low and smoldering. “Oh yeah, honey. This here’s a foreskin blanket. No, a snuggie. A foreskin snuggie.”
And Dillon blushed, and kissed his boyfriend, and blushed a little more. “It’s not a foreskin snuggie! Oh god, imagine if you left that in a review!”
“I should! Maybe it’ll get the seller a whole new clientele. Speaking of foreskins, boy…” Gage’s hand slid over the…snuggie…down the front of Dillon’s body.
When it found what he was searching for, Dillon gasped.
“Mmm, you feel naked. Is this a naked penis, Dillon?”
“Yes—you said—so I did.”
“Good boy. Such a good boy. Let me just order a pizza, and then I’ll shower. I have a lot planned for later, baby.”
“I can order it,” Dillon said bravely. I found a guy to fix the furnace. I can order a pizza.
Gage raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Won’t take me but a minute.”
“Me either. And you want to shower.” Dillon pushed up and raised a hand—okay, mitten—to Gage’s hair. “Not that you need to. But you shower and I’ll order dinner.”
“Sounds good. Hey, Dil. That thing warm enough for you?”
Just that. A momentary pause to make sure Dillon was truly all right.
“If I could kiss-maul you right now, I totally would. It’s like the warmest thing on earth, but not great for mobility.”
Gage’s grin—all teeth—expressed exactly what he thought about Dillon lacking mobility. “Poor Pickles.”
“Oh my god, don’t call me that when I’m naked!”
His laughter echoed down the hall.
Dillon fumbled an arm out of his…totally-not-foreskin-topped-snuggie. He had the pizza place they liked on speed dial, because that was the kind of thing a grown man did if he and his boyfriend liked pizza, even if he tried to make himself busy doing other things when the actual ordering part came up.
Someone would answer, he would say he wanted a pizza for delivery, he’d give the phone number tied to the account (Gage’s, of course), he’d give their order. No big deal.
Too hot. He wriggled farther out of the foreskin part of his snuggie while waiting for someone to answer.
“Gourmet Pizza.”
Right. Here goes.
“Hi, I need a pizza for delivery.”
“Sweet, dude. Phone number?”
Sweet, dude? Was that a standard way to address customers over the phone? What if he didn’t identify as a dude?
FOCUS, MINNOW.
Roscoe probably ordered pizzas all the time, and depending on the day he’d be really peeved to be addressed as “dude” by some kid answering the phone.
“Um, hello?”
Right, right. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” He gave out the phone number, a little annoyed at himself for the reflexive apology.
The kid (person?) on the other end of the line recited their address to verify the account, then asked him what kind of pizza.
Almost done now. He struggled out from the snuggie, needing to breathe. “I’d like an extra large deep dish veggie with extra cheese and and foreskin.” Wait, that didn’t—oh my god. Dillon choked. “I mean—obviously I didn’t mean—oh my god—”
The kid—definitely a kid—laughed. “Yeah, dude. We totally don’t have that on our toppings list.”
I am going to be the laughing stock of Gourmet Pizza. Well, no, Gage is. Oh my god.
“I meant ham,” Dillon said emphatically. “Deep dish veggie pizza with extra cheese and ham.”
The kid laughed again and read the order back. Then the total. Then the delivery estimate. “All cool, dude?”
“Yes. All cool. Thank you.”
Dillon hung up and tossed the phone so hard onto the table that it slid across and fell off the other side. “Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” He sank back into his…not a fucking foreskin, oh my god, why did I say that?…snuggie.
And hid there. Until Gage came back out.
“Dil? You go back to sleep?”
“Nooooo. I wish. I’m never ordering a pizza again.”
Gage’s familiar weight sank onto the couch, pushing back so Dillon was sort of curled around him. “What happened?”
“It’s so embarrassing.” Dillon curled in harder.
“Baby, come out of there. What’s embarrassing?”
“I can’t come out. Ever. I’m going to stay inside this snuggie for the rest of my life. I’m gonna need you to rig some kind of…food delivery system. A pipeline or something. Just blend all my meals up and pipe them in so I can drink them.”
“You want me to rig you up a nipple that dispenses blended burgers? That doesn’t sound all that great, Dil.”
A nipple. In my foreskin snuggie. Oh my god. We are the weirdest people on earth. No one else would even think about crazy things like this.
He sighed and allowed his head to emerge from his—snuggie. Dammit. “Everything was fine. Mostly. Except they called me ‘dude’, which I thought was potentially insensitive.”
“Yeah, they’re all like nineteen year old boys over there. The sensitivity ship has pretty much sailed.” Gage bent down for a kiss. “What happened?”
“I…accidentally ordered foreskin on our pizza.” He grimaced. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I did that.”
“You ordered foreskin pizza? Aw, shit, Dil.” Gage grinned. “I mean, I like foreskin as much as the next guy, but I don’t think I want it on my pizza.”
“I knoooooow. But it was in my head—because of you, by the way—and then I was kind of trying to get out of it—of this—of the snuggie, because I was so nervous I was sweating—and then I just—it just came out of my mouth!”
Gage’s grin widened. “Foreskin did. Foreskin just came out of your mouth. On accident.”
He hit Gage hard, ineffectively, with one mittened fist. “Shut up. Also, the account’s in your name. So for all the kid taking our order knows, it was you ordering foreskin on your pizza.”
“I am totally okay with that, Dil. I will proclaim to all of New Halliday how much I love foreskin. And not just any foreskin, either, but especially—”
Dillon evaded his questing hand. “I don’t want my foreskin to ever be a talking point in this town, thank you very much.”
“Man, you drive a hard bargain. I was gonna take out an ad in the Gazette, but I guess if you don’t want me to—”
The doorbell. Dillon groaned.
“I’ll get that. You just stay nice and safe in your foreskin there, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“Yeah, probably not gonna happen.”
The pizza was delicious. No penis-shaped scribbles decorated the box (which Dillon had only worried about a little bit), and deep dish veggie with extra cheese was vastly improved by the addition of ham. Like so many other things in their relationship, it had taken a while to work out the ideal pizza toppings. Dillon had never tried deep dish before they met. Gage had never (ever) gone for all those veggies, and about half the time they ordered it, they got shit from someone for putting ham on a vegetarian pizza.
But it was perfect. And it was perfectly them: all complimentary contradictions (and extra cheese).
“Man, I’m full.” Gage sat back and propped his feet beside the box. “So you got a choice tonight, Dil. You want to be in the foreskin snuggie, or out?”
Since they had a bed heaped with blankets, Gage could really only be talking about one thing. “You mean…for sex?”
“Yup.”
“Um…I don’t want to spoil the snuggie. And it’s wool. If we wash it too much, it’ll felt up.”
Gage shrugged. “There anything wrong with that? Because I gotta tell you, boy, when you came out of that thing to eat, after being inside it, all hot and flushed and naked…that was sexy as hell. So. In or out, Dil?”
Already the air currents blowing across his shoulders were making him shiver. He’d tucked the snuggie under his armpits, and was just considering if he dared leave its warmth to wash his hands, or figure the hell with it and just wipe them with napkins before pulling them back inside where the warmth was.
They’d played with exposure, and they’d played with hot and cold sensation play, but being naked in the frigid air of their unheated house didn’t sound like a thing even Gage could make sexy.
Well. If anyone could, it was Gage. But Dillon shivered and shimmied himself back into his snuggie, watching Gage the whole time.
“Yeah. I was hoping you’d say that. I’m real glad you don’t have a wool allergy, or this would be almost unbearable for you.”
It was that almost, like he’d do it anyway.
“Probably not as bad as nettles, though you never know.”
Dillon shuddered and snuggled deeper. “Fuck nettles, oh my god.”
“Yeah. You know, we’re about in the season for them, Dil. You think we should go on a field trip? I’d love to tie you naked to a tree someplace and…”
He didn’t have to finish the thought. Dillon could picture it. Arms behind him, hugging the tree. Ankles tied together. Penis and balls secured so Gage would have full access.
And of course, Gage, hair wild, sun lighting him up, thick gloves on so he could handle the nettles without getting stung.
“Yeah,” Gage murmured, reaching out to slide his hands over Dillon’s chest. “We’ll do that when it gets a little warmer.”
“Or not?”
“Aw, boy, you know how much you’d love that. Wouldn’t you?”
He was braced for a hand exploring his incredibly hard to miss erection, but Gage kept up the far more soothing chest rub instead, which almost made him want to purr. “Yeah. I mean, it would scare the hell out of me. Out in the open like that. Restrained. I’d have to try really hard not to make noise, but the nettles are, um, they’d make that tough.”
“Mm. Could always gag you.”
Dillon smiled. “You hate it when I’m gagged.”
“I love the way you look with a gag in your mouth, your lips all stretched out, so fucking powerless. But yeah. I like listening to you more.” Gage swung over to the table, carefully scooting so the pizza box didn’t fall. “Legs straight out, stretched as wide as they’ll go in that thing. Hands under your ass, and I want them to stay there. And I want you to be real still for me, too.”
“Are you…really gonna make me come on merino wool? Like, I don’t know how to get jizz out of wool. How much did this even cost, Gage?”
A fiery kiss, that ended with a bite to his lower lip. “You don’t ever want to know, baby. And you can try to hold back, if you want, but I think we both know who’s gonna win.”
Dillon gave in, wondering how much you don’t want to know was. He stretched out his legs and shifted around until he had the maximum amount of snuggie pulled taut over his somewhat insistent hard-on. Then he maneuvered his mittened and snuggied arms under his body, pushing up his chest, and definitely emphasizing other things.
“Aw, look at that. How’s this feel on your penis? Nice and soft?”
“Yes.” His voice was lower now as he slipped into the mental space where he could accept everything that was coming, even when he wanted to fight it. Or he could fight it in a way that Gage would know was still acceptance. Or something.
“That’s right. I bought my boy a nice foreskin snuggie.” Gage adjusted the, uh, foreskin part around Dillon’s neck. “Ha. It’s a turtleneck, Dil. A foreskin turtleneck, which feels redundant, doesn’t it? Nice turtleneck for my boy, here.”
The waiting was impossible. Gage’s ridiculous attention to the neck of the snuggie was torment, because dammit, now they were doing this, Dillon wanted to just do it.
“Mm hmm. I’d like to have people over some night when you’re in this thing. I’d get you all prepped and ready. Shave your junk. Fill that hole of yours with a nice fat plug. Maybe clamp your nips. Then get you snug inside there, all skin, and invite some folks over for movie night. What do you think about that, Dil?”
“No.”
Gage laughed. “Aw, it’d be fun if it was the right people. You know, Brent’s a colossal douche, but I bet he’d take a piece of you in this thing. With his husband watching every second.”
Dammit. Do not fidget. Do not fidget. If you fidget, he wins. DO NOT FIDGET.
He wiggled. He couldn’t help it.
Gage clamped down on his penis and squeezed.
Dillon yelped and bit down on his tongue.
“Tell me how much you’d like that, boy. You’d love for me to show you off a little bit. Even if I didn’t let anyone touch, it’d be hot if they knew I had you ready for me whenever I wanted you.”
Slow, deep breaths. “Pretty sure…everyone already…knows that…”
“Yeah.” The hand began to move. “Yeah, you’re damn right they do. All mine. I shoulda had you put a plug in that ass. I’m gonna need to modify this thing so I can reach inside at a few key locations.”
“You can’t! It’s a knit! If you cut it, it’ll just unravel.”
“Uh huh.”
And oh, oh, that was his balls, that was Gage rubbing his balls, that was Gage squeezing—
Dillon gasped.
Gage released. “Those legs need a little help staying open for me?”
Shit. “No…”
“Open, Dil.”
He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s my boy.” One of Gage’s hands went to his penis, pinning it to his stomach. The other smacked his balls inside the snuggie and Dillon’s fingers curled until they were biting into his palms.
It wasn’t really about pain, not this time, with the wool keeping him from being able to really dig into the impact. It was more about the wrongness, the way his brain was desperately trying to send messages to his legs to fold in, protect what needed protecting. Messages Dillon ignored because Gage told him to.
“Good boy.” Sweet, smooth pulls on his actual foreskin, which Gage manipulated as if he could see it, as if he didn’t have a layer of wool between himself and Dillon’s penis. “So good. I do want you to come, baby. I’m looking forward to making you come on this expensive snuggie. Every time someone asks about it, I want you to tell them I got it for you.”
“Mm hm.” Yes, yes, yes, more. Dillon clenched his ass and tried to thrust up into Gage’s hand.
“Yup, you’ll say, ‘Oh, Gage got me that because I was so cold.’ And you’ll think of how it felt on your naked skin, and how you spread your legs when I told you to, and how damn out of control you were when I held you down.” Gage’s arm came down over his chest, the other hand still jacking him, faster, fast enough to make him shake. “That’s right, boy. We’ll keep it right here on the couch, won’t we? Out in the open, like a sex toy other people can see and touch and talk about.”
“Uhhhh…please…Gage, please…”
“Please what, honey?”
“Please let me come, please get me off, please…”
“Sure you can come, boy.”
Yes, yes, yes, yes yes yes yes-yes-yes-yes— “Coming—oh god—coming—”
“Yeah, that’s good, that’s real good, now you keep your arms right where they are, there, boy.”
Dillon shuddered, shook, shattered, Gage dragging the orgasm out of him until he was wrung completely dry, until he couldn’t breathe, until—
“Stop—stop—Gage—”
“Be still.”
“But—”
Gage’s hand was relentless, taking what had been the height of pleasure and turning it into red alert overstimulation, and Dillon twisted, couldn’t help twisting, trying to get away.
“What did I tell you? Be still.” Gage slammed his legs down over Dillon’s and pressed harder on his upper body. “Are you mine, Dillon?”
“I—ow—stop—I—”
Gage squeezed the top of his penis until he had to close his eyes. “I said, are you mine?”
“Yes! But—”
The hand started up again and oh god, oh fuck, it was unreal, this feeling of overwhelm, this inescapable, horrible, impossible feeling of arousal and pain and wanting, needing, to get away, to make it stop, anything to make it stop—
“God, you’re so fucking sexy when you let me take you apart like this, Dil.”
“Arghhhhhhh, stop, please—”
The hand disappeared.
“Ohhhhhhh fuck…” Relief was instantaneous. He wanted to curl into a ball, but he knew Gage wanted him to stay open.
“Yeah, that’s right, that’s so good, isn’t it, Dil? Isn’t it good when I hurt you and make you want more?” Gage’s hand hovered and Dillon bit his lips to keep from begging Gage to leave him alone.
After another moment, Gage patted his belly, and even just the pull of the knit still made him jump.
“Was it good?” Gage asked, voice lower now.
“You know it was.”
“Yeah. But I like to hear you say it.”
The end of a scene. Gage never needed encouragement. Didn’t really need confirmation. But this was the way they went back to a more balanced space, and Dillon took the opportunity to shift a little. He couldn’t quite get comfortable until he shed the snuggie down to his waist and pulled Gage into his arms. “God, it was so good. I love it and hate when you do that to me. I love giving you all that power, but god, you’re so fucking remorseless with it.”
“I definitely don’t feel remorse right now.” Gage groaned as he stretched out on top. “I’m too old for lying like this. Plus the foreskin part of this thing is lumpy.” He jerked his body a little, trying to get more comfortable.
“Are you…humping the foreskin snuggie into submission right now? Because that works on me, but I think wool knits might be immune to your—”
“Keep talking,” Gage growled, and attempted to roll him.
Fifteen seconds later both of them were on the floor. Only Dillon was laughing as he scrambled up, free from the snuggie.
“Okay, old man. I think it’s about time for your sponge bath.” He reached down with both hands.
Gage took them. “You gonna be my nurse?”
“Hell yes. I’ll play sexy nurse with you any day. Come on.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Dil?”
Dillon turned back, and caught his breath at the expression on Gage’s face. Sweetness and need and love, coded in all his smile lines, in the rough edge of his jaw, in the curve of his lips.
“You changed my life the day you walked into my bar, you know.”
Mine, too. I had no idea how much. “It was a close thing. I almost went into the coffee shop instead.”
“Nah. No contest. You were mine the second I grilled onions for your fries.”
Dillon stepped in, laid his fingertips along the stubble of Gage’s chin. “I never had a chance. I love you, you know.”
“Yeah. Sure is nice to hear the words.” Gage kissed him, eyelashes fluttering. “I love you more than I knew I could love. Thought other people had some trick I never learned.”
“I’m pretty sure my penis unlocked that particular achievement.”
Gage laughed. “We always joke, but you know how serious I am about you, right?”
“I know.”
“Good.”
They kissed again, and Gage pressed in against Dillon’s naked, increasingly cold skin.
“Seems like my patient needs some assistance.”
“Damn right. I’m not the only one who could use a shower, either.”
Despite the fact that Gage was the one who’d made him shoot on himself (and the snuggie), Dillon still blushed. “I should probably set that to soak—”
“Tomorrow, Dil.”
“I’ll actually need it for warmth tomorrow.”
“So have it soak later. I need you right now.”
And it was partly the game. But it was a hundred percent true, game or not. “Yeah, okay.” Dillon started to lead them down the hall. “Seriously, though, how much did it cost?”
“I’m never, ever telling you. We can afford it. Trust me.”
It was deeply satisfying in some part of Dillon’s brain that had always craved stability and companionship to say, without qualification: “I do.”
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