A disclaimer from the author: This story is a work of erotic fiction featuring men having sex with other men. It is intended for a mature audience only. It contains themes that some readers might find uncomfortable to read about, including: intergenerational sex, interracial sex, and themes involving dominance and submission. Please consider your tastes and comfort levels and show discretion before reading or commenting on this work.
I.
Roger only made it about a mile from Bennett House before the full scope of his actions begun to sink in, and with it a rising tide of panic. Gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white, Roger focused as much of his attention as he could on the road, taking deep steadying breaths that did little to calm his nerves. What in God’s name had he been thinking?
Against his better judgment, his mind floated away from the comfort of his Subaru and back to the den of sin lurking below the floorboards of Bennett House. He had thought the wayward frat house to be little more than a juvenile annoyance that would upset the delicate development of his grandson. It had never crossed his mind that he might be the one in danger of falling off the righteous path. He had been like a fly that had fluttered its way unknowingly into a spider web and Jordan had feasted upon him like the world’s most tantalizing black widow.
He replayed the scene again and again in his mind. Walking down those stairs, the sight and sounds of lesbian pornography blaring on the big screen, and worst of all, Jordan lounging on his ramshackle sleepersofa, stroking himself like he had no cares in the world. What happened next was profane by any definition of the word. He had thought himself immune to the base charms of Bennett House, yet he had allowed himself, like some lovesick virginal girl, to be pulled into the trap and had given the boy a blowjob. To completion.
Unconsciously, Roger licked his lips. He could he could still taste it in his mouth, even now, if only barely. That salty, vaguely akaline flavor. He froze, eyes widening in horror. He was driving back home, driving to meet his loving wife for dinner, and his mouth smelled and tasted like cock. Shaking now, he pulled over to the side of the road, feeling his heart beating out of control in his chest.
Fix this, Roger! He heard a voice in his head say, stern and authoritarian. It jolted him out of his panicked stupor and his mind raced through the possibilities before settling on the easiest and least problematic solution. He slowly pulled back on the road, heart still hammering, but at a steady more controlled pace. He had a plan now, he could fix this. No one had to find out.
Within a few minutes, he was pulling into a local brand gas station. He parked behind the building, finding an odd sense of protection from hiding behind the dumpster. Walking around to the entrance, he stepped inside, ignoring the cheery pop song playing over the speakers and beelined straight for the toiletries. For one stress-filled moment, he thought they didn’t carry it, but then like a saving grace, he found the mouthwash buried on a bottom shelf.
At the checkout, the lingering paranoia set back in with a vengeance. She can tell, he thought, sweat forming underneath the arms of his shirt. She can smell Jordan on my breath. But if the checkout lady noticed or not, she gave no indication, simply smiled blandly at him and mumbled a “Thank you, See you next time,” as he hastily made his exit.
He walked back to his vehicle, trying to look as casual as he possibly could as he sank into the driver’s seat. Ripping off the plastic, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, careful not to swallow. He had done enough of that already.
After swishing the fluid in his mouth for a couple minutes, he opened the door, spat onto the pavement, then repeated the task again, and once more for good measure. By the time he had emptied his mouth, his oral cavity burned from the antiseptic solution. It made his eyes water, but it also felt good. It felt cleansing.
The drive the rest of the way home was notably calmer for Roger and when he parked and entered the tidy house he called home, his nostrils filled with the scent of Mary’s meatloaf in the oven. He found her sitting on her favorite chair in the living room, absorbed in her latest romance novel. She set her glasses down.
“Well there you are,” she said. “I was wondering when you would finally drag yourself back home.” Roger rubbed the side of his head, embarrassed at his truancy, even without the added complication of Jordan to contend with.
“Sorry, hon, those boys at Bennett House are something else,” he said, feeling his cheeks rose up at the words. Mary waved away his concerns, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“By all means, spend every afternoon over there is you want to,” she said lightly, already walking toward the kitchen to check on dinner. She had made no comment on his breath, and Roger allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
Dinner was a simple, cozy affair. They exchanged pleasantries and tidbits of their day, but mostly ate in silence, comfortable with the easy presence that only long decades with an intimate partner can bring you. By the time he brought their dishes into the kitchen and scrapped them clean, Roger was beginning to almost feel like his old self. He could nearly pretend the entire sordid affair had never happened.
The problems started back up when he laid down to go to sleep, wearing a familiar pair of striped pajamas, Mary snoring gently on her side next to him. Sleep did not come easily for the older man and he stared at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the swirling patterns, but seeming to look far beyond. The streetlight poured a dim florescent light into the dark bedroom, and it was partially obscured by the Baxter’s Sycamore tree, which dipped to and fro gently in the evening wind, creating strange shadows that bobbed up and down.
The flashing, shadowy light and the continual rising and falling motion brought back memories of the Bennett House basement that Roger didn’t want to recall. He watched those shadow bounce and couldn’t help but remember his own head doing the same thing only hours earlier. He could feel his mouth begin to water and more horrifyingly, his dick begin to harden in his pajama bottoms.
Don’t think about it! He told himself, ordering his body to comply, but it was a long time before his body relaxed enough to slip into slumber. Sleep provided no respite. His dreams were an abstract nightmare of dark brown shapes covering his body, forcing it to feel and experience things a man wasn’t meant to desire.
When he woke the next morning, he felt little rested, and worse, his cock was standing tall and at attention, tenting his side of the bed like he was a teenager all over again. He got out of bed as quietly as he could so as not to wake his wife, and jumped into the shower, where after several minutes of ice cold water pummeling his body, his overheated body began to settle down.
Work was a long tedious affair, but a welcome respite from the quiet of the Baxter home. He was too busy to fill his mind with unsavory images of masculine college-aged flesh and the usual daily tasks let him feel like he was taking control of the reins once more. But, on occasion, he would stumble into a situation that would wobble the perilous pedestal he had built his heterosexual identity on. He would notice a particularly attractive black man out of the corner of his eye, a pair of frat bros dapping, the sight of sweat running down a student worker’s back as he toiled over the landscaping.
A twisted seed had been planted in that basement. This was worse than being seduced into a homosexual sex act by a 20-something year old. Jordan had awoken something deep and shameful in Roger, a part of himself that he had long thought drowned and laid to rest back at McAfferty’s Pond all those years ago. It turned out that part of him wasn’t so dead after all. It had crawled out of the muck and latched itself onto Roger, digging it’s claws into his back, sucking on his flesh, and making him feel things no man in his position should ever feel.
Roger managed to stay away from Bennett House for a full two weeks. He wasn’t afraid to go back, he told himself repeatedly. He was just avoiding being put in an awkward situation again, one that would force a confrontation he was hesitant to address. He might have succeeded in staying away too except for one nagging issue. His grandson now resided in the building, young and impressionable. Easy pickings for the miscreants who lurked and shuffled around the corridors. He had to go back and keep an eye on things. For Danny’s sake and his alone, he told himself.
On the day he made the decision, it was early afternoon when he arrived, a time he knew Danny would be in, but he hoped no one else would be around. When he knocked on the door and Jordan Powell answered, clad only in a pair of faded sweats, his heart sank and flopped uselessly in his stomach. The two stared at each other for a moment, neither wanting to say the first word and put complex feelings and emotions into speech.
“Jordan,” Roger managed, his voice overly measured. The young man leaned his thin brown frame against the door, cool as a cucumber.
“Mr. Baxter,” he said, matching Roger’s overly professional tone. More awkward staring before Roger finally spit it out.
“I’m here to see, Danny,” Jordan nodded, as if that was the only logical thing someone in Roger’s position could say and stepped aside, striding his way toward the kitchen. As he walked away from Roger, the older man couldn’t help but sneak a curious peek at Jordan’s hairless torso as it moved with a casual grace unfitting the man it belonged to.
As he stepped into the living room, having to stare down all those hideous wall decorations, his grandson finally made an appearance, stepping out of a nearby hallway. Danny looked good, too pure to be a Bennett House boy.
“There you are,” he said to Danny, more curt than he had meant to. He frowned, not liking that he was starting to take things out on his grandson. “I just thought I’d come by and check in. See how you are getting along, son,” he added, voice gentler this time. Danny grinned at him.
“It’s been awesome, Grandad,” he exclaimed. “They’ve been showing me so much,” he added, and Roger nodded, unsure of how to take that comment when his thoughts were further interrupted by the reappearance of Jordan from the kitchen. He carried a beer can in one hand and two bottles of water in the other. Tossing one to Danny, who caught it with a grin on his face, he stepped forward into Roger’s personal space, firmly putting the spare into Roger’s hand, and whispered into his ear,
“I’ve be downstairs if you want to talk,” then turning around, no preamble at all, he waltzed out of the room as if he hadn’t just dropped a brick on poor Roger Baxter’s besotted brain. Danny, seemingly oblivious to all of this went on and on about all the cool things he and his new roommates were getting up to. Roger tried to listen, truly he did, but after Jordan’s words and the promise in them, anything Danny said just went into one ear and dripped out of the other thick and syrupy, like sap from a maple tree spigot. He was secretly grateful when his grandson made an excuse to leave, giving the grandfather his most sheepish and apologetic look.
“It’s alright, Danny,” Roger said, surprising even himself at how true the words felt. “I came by unannounced so I shouldn’t be shocked you got other things going on.” It was true, in a sense, and despite his earliest misgivings, it wasn’t his grandson he was afraid of or for. He chanced a glance over at the basement door. Closed, for now, but sitting there, tempting. He rose to his feet and Danny followed.
He pulled his grandson into his arms, liking the paternal reassurance the act gave him. “Don’t have too much fun, young man,” he said, managing a grin which Danny gratefully returned. After a few more last minute pleasantries, Danny was out the door and took the surface level Roger’s excuse for being in Bennett House with him. He smiled in a way that carried no joy or warmth. Danny was doing just fine, more than fine, just like Mary had always said he would. This was about him now, not his grandson.
He stood in front of the door, hanging on the edge of a precipice. Nothing good would happen if he went down into that basement. He began to reach for the handle, hand hovering in sudden fear, uncertain. What are you doing? Turn around and go home, Roger.
He was shaken out of his stupor by the sound of the kitchen screen door opening and then slamming closed with an ugly snapping sound. A pair of young male voices were arguing from the other room and getting louder with each step they took toward Roger. He was still standing awkwardly by the basement door when they crashed into the room like a pair of sniveling hyenas. One was Petey, dressed in his warehouse uniform, which Roger noticed was sticking to his body. He swallowed hard and turned his attention to the newcomer.
He was, in a word, huge. Pete, who was no shrimp, looked tiny compared to the hulking mass of gym-built muscle standing next to him. Everything about him was large and dense, his shoulders, his back, his...No, don’t think about that.
He was so engrossed in his staring that he almost missed the question that Peter shot in his general direction. “Hey Mr. Baxter, sort this out for us. Which is the superior team: the Packers or the Bears?” Roger blinked, his brain not initially computing the question, but he realized from the intense stares the boys were giving him that this was being treated like a matter of life and death. An answer came to him, and he smiled faintly.
“Ah, well, Petey, I’ve always been more of a soccer kind of guy myself,” his voice dripping in manufactured apology, “Have you ever seen Arsenal F.C. play before? They’re something else.”
He watched, hiding the amusement he felt inside as the two gaped at him dumbfounded for a moment and turned to look at each other, the same Can you believe this guy!? expression on their faces. They both gave him a look of utter disdain and disappointment before shouldering past him and down the hall, argument completely forgotten.
Once they were out of earshot, Roger allowed himself a brief snicker, and a metaphorical pat on the shoulder. Feeling emboldened by his minor victory over the young ones, opened the door to the basement with no problems whatsoever. He stepped onto the stairs, descending once again, one foot in front of the other. He was expecting another trap designed to throw Roger off his guard, but was pleasantly surprised to find Jordan lying on the couch, fully clothed, lights all on, and the TV off.
At the sight of Roger coming down the stairs, Jordan sat up, making room for the older man next to him. Roger joined him on the couch, putting more distance between the pair than he had the last time he was in this room.
“So…” he began, and then abruptly stopped, unsure for once on how to keep going. What did he even want to say? Jordan seemed unperturbed by Roger’s hesitancy. In fact, he was so calm, Roger couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man was getting something out of it. That thought pushed the grandfather out of his stasis and he decided to confront the elephant in the room head on.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, and then added, even though the words felt oily in his mouth, “Seduce me.” Jordan frowned, his lip curled in an expression of minor annoyance.
“I liked you and wanted to have sex with you,” he answered. It was such a simple, straightforward answer that Roger didn’t even have a comeback to it. He readjusted his strategy.
“But...I’m old,” he said, the word stinging a bit. Now Jordan’s frown deepened, clearly not liking the way the man sitting next to him was reacting.
“You’re not that old,” he said, in a tone that did little to boost Roger’s confidence. “Besides, why does that even matter?” It was Roger’s turn to frown now. How could Jordan even say something like that. Age gap relationships were inappropriate, everyone knew that, and besides...
“I’m married, Jordan,” he said, the final nail in the coffin. Jordan nodded, acknowledging the truth of the statement and then shrugged.
“I think that’s between you and your wife, sir,” he said, and leaned in just a little. “You liked it, didn’t you, Roger?”
Roger didn’t say anything at first, a sudden fear threatening to grip him. Eventually, he managed a slow, small nod, the closest thing to an affirmation that Jordan was going to get. It was enough. Abandoning his attempts at modesty, Jordan slid closer to Roger, thighs and hips touching the other man’s. One hand, so slender looking yet undeniably strong, came to rest on his knee, rubbing along the spherical shape of the bone in motions that felt far too practiced for a man of Jordan’s age.
Roger’s breath was beginning to quicken. Just a little, enough to make thinking, and more importantly protesting, that extra bit harder. He didn’t try and stop Jordan though. It was like the young man, so different from him in every way, had taken control of his body and was calling the shots.
Jordan’s free hand came up to Roger’s shirt, a smart looking v-neck, and skillfully plucked at each piece of round plastic, unsnapping the garment, one button at a time. Roger made no move to stop Jordan, or to help either. He simply lay back and let it happen. When the final button was finished, both of Jordan’s hands grasped the shirt opening it wide and exposing Roger’s chest, covered in nothing but a thin undershirt, rapidly becoming sweaty in the stifling heat of the basement.
Jordan softly pushed Roger down on his back and said, “Lift your arms.” Roger followed the command, arms standing perpendicular to his sloped torso before he could even think about what he was doing. The undershirt came off next, peeling off of Roger’s back and chest like Jordan was taking off a layer of skin, the part that carried all of Roger’s pride. As his head squeezed through the neck of the shirt and then dropped with a solid thumb onto the couch cushion, Roger Baxter was more exposed to this young, brown-skinned boy that he had ever been for another man in more than 40 years.
Jordan stared down at him, face inscrutable, surveying the lay of Roger’s land. Roger Baxter was not an overly hairy man, mostly a sprinkling of graying hair here and there, but it was most prominent on his ample chest. This was also one of the areas that was most white as well, giving the scattering of chest hairs the look of powered sugar sprinkled on top of one of Mary’s famous bundt cakes. Jordan grabbed onto that chest, squeezing the thick flesh and hair in his curved hands.
“You’ve got nice tits, Mr. Baxter,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his face.
“Don’t call them...that,” Roger spat out, face sour. That didn’t stop Jordan’s smile or Jordan’s hands, which kneaded his chest more intently, drawing a low groan from the older man. Suddenly, taking Roger by surprise, Jordan’s hands moved away from his breasts and onto his shoulders as the younger man held him in place.
Roger watched, wide eyed and mute, as Jordan straddled his chest, the young man’s lanky brown legs of each side of his frame and his small, almost bony rear end planted firmly on Roger’s lower ribs. He was, for all intents and purposes, secured in place. That mystery smile, again promising something sinful and delightful, never left Jordan’s face while he fished his cock out with one hand.
As could be expected, Jordan was hard, his cock the color of dark chocolate melting on a sunny day. The tip glistened, copious precum already gathered at the head. The young man had been hard for him for a while then, and that thought alone was enough to make Roger’s cock give a sympathetic twitch.
He thought at first that Jordan was simply going to jerk himself off. What else could he have possibly done in such a position? It turned out Jordan had a far greater imagination than Roger had given him credit for as he watched the young man scoot up his chest, grab two fistfuls of breast meat and push them into two smallish, but plump mounds. He realized what was about to happen only as Jordan’s cockhead touched the valley between and began to slide inside the groove.
The glide was surprisingly smooth even with the chest hair to contend with. Jordan’s eyes were half-lidded, a sleepy looking smile on his face as he titty-fucked his roommates grandfather on his cheap sofabed. His hips found a motion easily enough, and Roger gasped as Jordan’s grip on his tits tightened, making a firmer channel for him to fuck.
It was filthy, humiliating, disgusting. He was being treated like a whore, and not even a male whore, more like a woman. So why was his cock aching so much in his pants? He could feel how much he was dripping too, almost as much as the young man fucking his chest on top of him. Jordan had built up a good amount of slick by now, a surprising amount for a man his age. He really likes my chest, Roger thought, feeling lightheaded as he did so.
Jordan’s thrusts were becoming more erratic, almost frantic. His eyes were fully closed, engrossed in the moment and the tightness of Roger’s aged flesh. He could tell the boy was going to come soon, and he stared, unblinking at that bulbous head moving in and out of the path Jordan had made for it. He would never have thought the sight of a cock peeking out between a pair of fat pecs on his chest would arouse him, yet here he was hard as a rock in his work khakis.
He knew the moment had arrived when Jordan’s grip on his breasts began to tighten enough to sting and then, in a blaze of sleazy glory, the cock exploded shooting a deluge of viscous white fluid all over his clavicles, neck, and even his chin. Roger was left shaking at the syrupy sensation and a crude comment one of his old workers had once made popped into his head.
My girl is always whining about how I never get her any jewelry, so I went and gave that bitch a pearl necklace!
Roger lay there, breath coming in heavy as Jordan’s load dripped down the sides of his neck and onto the cushions. He saw Jordan’s cockhead, a wet knob of flesh wedged between his pecs, squirt out the tiniest little dribbles of clear ejaculate. He wanted to lean forward, reach out with his tongue and lick that cock clean, a desire alien and yet completely natural at the same time.
Jordan, finally coming down from his high, released his grip on Roger’s chest and the fleshy mounds settled back down on their proper position on his frame, only a little worse for wear. He could still feeling the imprints of hands on them, a phantom sensation that did little to diminish his newfound erotic cravings.
Jordan sat back, his buttocks settling slightly above Roger’s waist, and the grandfather’s cock ached at the near tactile sensation, so close and yet so far. He began to squirm, wiggling his hips, aching for stimulation. A firm hand on his hip stilled his actions though, and he looked at Jordan’s face, confusion masking his need. Jordan, smiling in a way that felt oddly domineering, shook his head. So, he was to be denied his own release.
“I’m not done,” Jordan said, the promise of more play having the odd effect of making Roger even more amped up and also causing the worst of his cravings to subside, for the moment at least. It turned out that Jordan, at least when he was with Roger, had a remarkably short refractory period.
It wasn’t long before he was lying fully on top of Roger, his rehardened length grinding against Roger’s own desperate inches buried in his pants. Jordan’s mouth never left Roger’s body, lips and tongue finding whatever bits of Roger’s flesh they could get ahold of. Everytime that thick, wet appendage roamed over his neck, he knew that the young man had to be tasting his own semen, and the depraved grossness of it only made him harder.
When Jordan finally crashed there mouths together, in a kiss that walked the line between brutal and possessive, Roger could feel himself begin to tip over the edge. He groaned harshly into Jordan’s mouth, but the younger man either didn’t understand or didn’t care, and Roger Baxter was left with no choice but spill his seed into his own pants.
When the tremors finally subsided, Roger was shaking, weary tears of overstimulated humiliation glimmering on his eyelashes. Again, Jordan ignored Roger, leaning back, face tight and determined as he furiously stroked himself and coated the grandfather with a fresh coat of Powell paint.
Afterwards, he grinned down at Roger, a “Wasn’t that hot?” expression on his face, all the while the older man trembled. Jordan slipped out of his t-shirt and began to wipe Roger clean. His circling hand lingered on Roger’s chest, enjoying the sight of the grandfather’s nipples keeping perky even after their playtime.
Satisfied with his meager cleaning effort, he dumped the soiled shirt on the floor and lay back down with Roger, the pair staring face-to-face.
“How did you know?” Roger asked softly, and at Jordan’s confused expression he clarified. “That I would...like doing this.” Jordan pulled himself up enough to look down at the older man, something looking suspiciously like pity mixed with concern in his eyes.
“I didn’t,” he answered truthfully. He shrugged at Roger’s baffled expression. “I just knew I wanted you, so I went for it.” Roger huffed, not truly offended, but a little put out nonetheless.
“I don’t understand how you can make me want these things,” he admitted, and knew he should feel embarrassed for admitting such a weakness to Jordan, but the truth felt good being said out loud. Jordan didn’t directly respond to his statement. He simply stroked Roger’s tiring body, his limber fingers doing wonders for the grandfather’s agitated state of mind.
They stayed that way for a while, something between a cuddle and a brohug, before Jordan popped the balloon.
“You should probably get going, Mr. Baxter,” he said, unexpected kindness in his voice. “Your wife is going to wonder where you ran off to and Danny will be back soon.” Roger knew that Jordan was right, and the rational part of him told him to get up, get home, and stop this self-destructive nonsense, but then he would breathe in Jordan’s scent and it was like his limbs fell asleep and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
It was only when Jordan stood up and pulled Roger into a sitting position that the grandfather decided it was time to jump back to reality. He straightened himself up as much as he could. He was dry as could be and stain free, but in no way clean. He desperately needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he got back home.
As he moved toward the stairs, he was startled when Jordan pulled him back and gave him an open-mouthed kiss, half on his lips, half on his cheek. He could feel himself blush as the brown-skinned man pulled away and reached into Roger’s pocket snatching the older man’s phone. Roger should have protested, who just grabs another man’s personal property, but he stopped short when he saw Jordan retrieve his own device and exchange numbers between the pair.
“Call me next time,” he said, slipping Roger’s phone back into his back pocket. “I’ll give you the full treatment.” Roger nodded, mind racing at whatever that could possibly mean and then began the long trek up the stairs and back to the normality of his civilized life.
He had thought himself home free until he stumbled upon the muscular young man from earlier watching a football game on the television upstairs. He froze, feeling as if he had been found out, but the mass of muscle didn’t move from his spot or acknowledge Roger’s existence, until the grandfather’s nervous staring finally drew his attention away from the screen. He seemed as surprised by Roger as the other way around.
“Holy crap, dude!” he exclaimed. “Don’t scare me like that!” Mortified, Roger muttered an apology and made for the front door.
“Whoa man, where you going?” the seated man asked him, and Roger stopped in place, feeling like his strings had been cut. He watched the man kneel on the couch cushions, built arms resting on the head of the old fabric. “You’re Danny’s grandpa or something, aren’t you?”
Roger nodded, his eyes following the muscular arm rise not for a handshake, but a fist bump.
“Put it here, pal.” Roger was very much not into the knuckle knock as a way of meeting someone, but when in Rome…
He raised his hand, closed it into a fist and the two met, knuckle to knuckle. He felt it then too. An electric feeling in his fingers where their flesh had met, similar to Jordan’s touch, but not quite the same either.
“Yo man, guys call me Beef,” the boy said, holding his body upright. Roger actually grinned a little bit, looking over Beef’s body.
“I can see why,” he responded drolly, and Beef’s grin widened. He held his arms up and flexed, thick mounds standing out on his arms. He only grinned wider at Roger’s impressed facial expression.
“You got a decent body for an old timer,” Beef said, the insult dressed like a compliment doing funny things inside Roger’s sticky underwear.
“Um, I should get going,” Roger said, almost apologetically. He could have watched this dumb young man flex for his attention for hours, but the longer he lingered the more likely Beef would pick up on Roger’s attraction.
“Yeah man, that’s cool,” Beef replied back, chill as hell. “Come back and hang out sometime bro.” Then, conversation over, he plopped back down on the sofa and turned back to the game.
Apparently dismissed, Roger stepped out of Bennett House and into his car, feeling even more out of sorts than he was before coming over. The drive back to his own home was uneventful, other than the thoughts swimming around in his head. It had happened again and he had just laid there taking it all. No, worse than that. He had laid there and enjoyed being manhandled.
As he opened the front door to his modest house, he could hear Mary rummaging around in the kitchen, likely getting prepped for dinner.
“Is that you, Rog?” her sweet voice called out, bring a fresh stab of guilt to the older man.
“Yes, hon,” he answered, and then easy as can be added, “I’m feeling awful rank. You mind if I jump in the shower before dinner?” He heard Mary chuckle from the other room.
“Mind? Roger, you would be doing the world a favor if you cleaned yourself properly,” he said, voice jovial. “You know how much I like my men squeaky clean.” Roger breathed a sigh of relief in his head and walked up the stairs, quickly so as to be in the bathroom before Mary had a chance to greet him in person.
When he stepped into the cream colored room, he locked the door behind him, and felt a little of the tension fall from his shoulders. He was going to be able to get away with it. Free of the worst of it all, it was an easy enough task to strip down to his birthday suit. He glanced at himself in the mirror and for one startling moment he saw himself as he had been in the Bennett House basement, naked and covered in semen. He blinked and the vision passed, but the anxiety remained.
Eager to clean himself now, he stepped into the tub, turning the shower on. He hissed as the cold water drenched his unprepared body and quickly turned the nozzles to adjust the temperature, until the water rose to a warmth that was more agreeable to Roger’s sensitive skin. Soaping himself up, he ran assured hands across his torso, tracing patterns where Jordan’s body had lain on less than an hour ago.
He thought of the boy and the strange pull he had over Roger. If you had asked Roger less than a month ago, he would have said vehemently that Jordan was not the type of person he would ever find himself attracted to. Somehow things had changed as Jordan turned the crank on some unknowable machinery that controlled and dictated Roger’s inner workings.
He remembered the way the young black man looked down at him, not with love or contempt, but a kind of calm dominance that should have been impossible for a man his age. Roger’s hand grazed a nipple and he couldn’t stop the tiny spark of pleasure. Jordan had really liked his chest. My tits he called them, he thought feeling a queasy mixture of anger and lust at the thought. Jordan had played with them in a way that seemed completely unbecoming for a man to submit to. He treated me like I was his woman, and the thought did little to settle his erotic nerves.
Almost before he could stop himself, his own hands began to rub over his chest, mimicking the behavior from Jordan back in that basement. He had never thought of his chest as something to be fawned over, to be sexualized, and yet Jordan had touched and tweaked and twisted the bits of meat like they were his own private toys.
Thumbs grazing over his nipples, the water, now feeling too cool for his liking, continued to cascade down his body and over down his awakened dick. Already he needed to come again. Biting his lip, he began to stroke himself while his spare hand kneaded and squeezed his pectoral muscle, imagining it was Jordan doing it.
When he spilled his seed, his mouth gaped, eyes rolling back in his head and his body shook. He placed both hands on the tiled wall to steady himself, his forehead resting against the cool porcelain. He watched with mild interest as his spilt seed and another bit of his dignity circled and poured down the drain.
---
II.
After his last encounter with Jordan, Roger began looking for excuses to go back to Bennett House. Lucky for him, Bennett House was a low-key disaster in urgent need of some TLC. One day he might fix a dripping faucet, the next put new LED light bulbs in all the lamps, and then still find a loose door knob that would need his attention. It was like the house was conspiring to find reasons to keep him around. Take care of me and I’ll take care of you, bro.
The one surefire way to get Roger over to Bennett House was that damnable lawn of theirs. Even before the sex started, Roger had already made up his mind that something needed to be done to save it, just now he had extra incentive. The first time had been a real pain with how overgrown it was, but after a couple of weeks, he had the lawn in tip-top shape. The eyesore was one step closer to becoming a beautifying member of the community.
Today, he was mowing with his push mower, his preferred tool for the job. Nothing gave the precision he expected like it, and besides, it gave him some much needed exercise. He wasn’t the only one who appreciated it either. He had noticed the last couple of times that when the young man wasn’t working Jordan liked to watch him mow. He would sit down in an old ratty-looking lawnchair dragged from the garage, situate himself on the porch overlooking the front yard, and sip on his bottle of beer while Roger Baxter sweated away taking care of his house.
When Roger would near completion of his work for the day, he would give the grandfather a meaningful glance, and then saunter inside, knowing all too well that Roger would follow him along, caught in Jordan’s spell.
They always kept their time together hidden in the basement. In Roger’s mind there were two worlds, the one upstairs where he was a respectable grandfather, and the one down here where he became a wanton creature he didn’t recognize or understand. That didn’t stop him from enjoying their games. If anything, he was beginning to crave them more and more, his mind and body rapidly acclimating to the new normal that his life had become. The tug and pull had taken on its own exciting appeal.
Getting down on his knees for Jordan was becoming a common occurrence for Roger. Down at eye level with that cock, looking up at the man who had awoken the hunger in him, was a kind of experience Roger had never dreamed of. Now, as he once again took that beautiful cock back into his mustached mouth, he couldn’t imagine going without it. Today, Jordan seemed content to lie back and let Roger suck him at his leisure, enjoying the pace the grandfather was working him at.
It wasn’t always like that though. Occasionally, and it was happening more and more, the young man would grip his hands on the back of Roger’s head, tight and possessive, the message clear as day. Sometimes he would give a verbal warning, sometimes not, but he would always begin to thrust, holding Roger’s head in place, or more likely, pushing Roger’s head deeper. He was good about it the first few times, almost nice if you could call facefucking a neighborhood father-figure “nice”. His thrusts would only ever be shallow and he would ease off after too long, giving Roger room to reacclimate himself.
Those days were becoming more rare now. More often, like today, he would thrust with abandon, content in the knowledge that Roger Baxter would take all he had to offer and still come back for more.
When Jordan came it was always with the same quiet grunt, a kind of predictability that the temperate Roger Baxter found great comfort in. What he enjoyed even more was the flood of hot semen that would gush into his mouth, coating the back of his throat and soaking his taste buds in their salty flavor. He always swallowed, sucking the extra moisture from Jordan’s head with a grateful movement of his lips. When he finally released the cock, always reluctantly, the pattern would shift.
Sometimes Jordan would nod toward the stairs, indicting their time together was done, but most times he would help Roger get off to. Never the same way though. He liked to switch it up and keep Roger on his toes. Of course, there were times he would stroke Roger’s length with his slender fingers, but more often his hands would grab onto other more humiliating areas, like the meaty mass of his chest or ass. It didn’t matter where Jordan touched him, he always ended up coming. Always. He learned the hard way to make sure his pants were off before Jordan got to lay hands on him.
Another job well done, Roger began climbing the stairs once more, catching the wink Jordan gave him as he rose out of view. Shaking his head at the action, even if his heart skipped a beat, he exited the basement full force and nearly collided with Beef outside of the landing.
“Whoa! Watch it, grandpa!” Beef said, agitation in his voice. Roger gasped, not expecting the burly young man to have been hanging right outside the door. He muttered an apology, face crimson, and started toward the front door. Beef’s hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks.
“Where ya running off to man?” he asked, his voice notably calmer now, a total reversal of his earlier annoyance. It seemed that Beef’s moods were not as sturdy and compact as his muscles.
“I-,” he started, finding his mind embarrassingly blank, before he eventually settled on a lame. “Home.” Beef’s brow furrowed.
“Ya never hang out with the rest of us,” he said, worryingly. “You’re too busy downstairs with Jordan doing...whatever it is you guys do together.” At this last bit, he grinned, just a bit, just enough to make Roger’s stomach clench in fear.
He didn’t have an answer for Beef, and he wanted to slap himself for not taking the time to come up with a believable lie. He played the hand he was dealt with.
“He runs things around here, so whenever I have a complaint, I go straight to the source.” It was almost believable, and just a few weeks ago might have even been true. Beef’s grin widened a fraction, a move that made Roger’s stomach plummet.
“Oh, I see. You like hanging with the Bossman,” he said, mockingly. “You like hanging out with him so much you don’t even say hi to your own grandson sometimes. Those must be some real interesting conversations you guys have down there.” For a bonafide meathead, Beef was being annoyingly astute. Beef leaned in closer, his voice dropping.
“I’ve asked Jordan about these private get togethers you guys have been having and he’s been real tightlipped about the whole thing,” he said, the barest hint of menace in his voice. His eyes stared intently at Roger. “Whatever you two get up to...it must be pretty damn interesting.”
Roger swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling bone dry. Beef wasn’t coming out and saying it, but he knew. Maybe not the actual details, but he knew something was up, something nasty too.
“You know, grandpa,” Beef said, the last word feeling like a jab. “You and I are going to have to find some time together, just the two of us.” He openly adjusted his cock in his shorts. “I can be just as interesting to be around as Jordan when you get me in the mood…” Then, leaving Roger gaping at his audacity, he walked out of the room and down the hallway, closing the door behind him as he stepped into his bedroom.
The evening bore Roger Baxter no gifts other than another sleepless night. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes gazing at nothing in particular, as his wife slept next to him blissfully unaware of the adulterer her husband had become. He had just gotten used to the idea of being with Jordan. No, he thought with a bitterness in his mind. Not being with him. Pleasing him sexually. Like a mistress. There was shame in that thought, but not as much as there should have been. Not enough to make him stop.
Now things were getting complicated. More complicated than before, because at least one other member of the Bennett Household was starting to catch the scent, and by the looks Beef had been giving him, he found the smell awfully pleasing. That did something to Roger too. He felt a strange uneasiness in his stomach and loins that he couldn’t explain. He didn’t analyze it too closely. He could already tell he wouldn’t like the results.
His concerns rose exponentially when two days later he received a terse message from Jordan.
Come over. We need to talk.
Roger felt his blood quicken. There was no explanation, only an order. Like the fool he had become, Roger responded back with an affirmative.
---
III.
After work he drove to Bennett House, dreading what was waiting to greet him. He let himself in through the front door. He had his own key now and took the invitation for what it was. As far as he could tell the house was empty. Small favor that. He knew Jordan was around somewhere. Downstairs.
Taking a deep breath, he braced himself for whatever confrontation with Jordan awaited him and made his way down into the basement. As he caught site of the room as he neared the bottom, he almost stumbled and fell down the last few steps.
As expected, Jordan was there leaning against a wall, hands in his cargo shorts, sleeveless shirt hanging lose on his flesh the way he liked it. It was a tame presentation, but that wasn’t what had caught Roger off guard. It was the bed…
Jordan and Roger had never actually used the bed function of the couch. It had seemed unnecessary for the nature of their sexual connection, so seeing the bed laid out like an invitation was slightly disconcerting. The real problem was the man lying on the bed, naked and stroking his erection.
“Hey, gramps! About time you showed up!” Beef exclaimed, and Roger stared horrified and transfixed in equal measure. He looked at Beef, then at Jordan, then back to Beef.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, his voice sounding far weaker than he felt comfortable with. Jordan said nothing and Beef responded in the way that he enjoyed best, giving his prong an extra long stroke.
Roger turned to leave, one foot on the first step, when he halted in his tracks at a single word.
“Stay.”
He turned his head, keeping his eyesight off of Beef and on the man who had created this entire disaster for his life. Jordan was the same way he always was. Nonplussed. It made Roger’s blood boil, enough to make him turn his head away from the young man and direct the anger toward the newest cause for concern.
“Put that away,” he ordered, finally finding his voice. “This isn’t happening.”
Beef’s stroking stopped, and for a second the grin on his face faltered, but with the arrogance reserved only for the jockish youth, it roared back in place.
“Now, now, grandpa. That’s no way to treat your bro,” he said, in an annoying, almost singsong voice that made Roger want to grit his teeth.
“Young man, I’m not your bro,” he said, hissing at the last word.
“I know, grandpa. That’s the problem,” Beef said, his face giving Roger a fake offended expression. “You’ve been down here broing out with Jordan for weeks and left the rest of us hanging.” His stroking resumed, faster now. “I want in on the action.” Roger shook his head, but his eyes followed that hand. Up. Down. Up. Down.
With some effort, he pulled his attention back to Jordan. He gave the man his sternest expression. Why are you putting up with this!? Jordan caught the message, loud and clear.
“Beef said he wanted in on it, Mr. Baxter,” as if their sex was a game of cards and you could just deal a new friend in. “He was very insistent.” Roger sneered at Jordan, loosing a smidge of respect for the youth, and felt something almost like a wound when Jordan took his insult to the chest and merely shrugged his shoulders. Beef was beginning to lose his patience.
“I don’t know what kind of lovey-dovey, gay shit you two got going on, but I’m a busy man, so we need to get down to business, grandpa.” he barked at Roger.
Having drawn his attention away from the disappointment and feeling of betrayal with Jordan, and having no reason to hide his interests any longer, Roger allowed himself the small consolation of looking fully at Beef’s body, uncovered and uncut.
Ken (he still didn’t know Beef’s last name), truly lived up to his moniker. There was something of the brute in Beef’s character that he carried in his physical form. He wasn’t handsome, not in the traditional sense, but he was developed in a way that was pleasing to the eye. It was as if God himself had set out to build an Adonis, ran into some snags along the way and simply threw his hands in the air with a frustrated “Good enough.”
What Ken might have lacked in movie star looks, he more than made up with dense muscles. Roger swallowed, finding himself intimidated when so nakedly confronted with the physical prowess of Beef’s body. But that wasn’t the only part that caught his eye. Beef’s dick was uncut, gloriously so, and even with his prick fully erect, he had enough skin to wrap around his head like a winter coat. He imagined what the dickhead must look like under Beef’s foreskin, and suddenly his mouth wasn’t so dry after all.
“Hey, Grandpa! Snap out of it!” Roger jolted out of the trance he had fallen into. “If you want to stare at me so bad, we can take a pic for you later, but right now I need some head man!” He whined, his voice edging toward neediness.
Roger closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and committed himself to the inevitable. As he began to unbutton his shirt, Beef scowled at him.
“What the hell are you doing!? You don’t need to be naked to give me a blowjob!” Roger shook his head, and opened his mouth to explain, but Jordan beat him to the punch.
“He’s doing it because of me.” He said, not apologizing, then smiled at Roger, as if sharing a private joke. “Sometimes I make a mess.” Roger scuffed. That was the understatement of the century. The young man had soiled innumerable shirts and pants with his wild west cum shooting ways, almost ruining his favorite loafers at one point too. He wasn’t going to engage without taking some precautions. He might not have much respect left for himself, but that loss didn’t extend to his clothes.
With his shirt, pants, and unmentionables neatly folded and placed on a mostly unused chair, he tucked his suede loafers underneath, and nodded to himself. He turned back to the pair of boys who were rapidly unraveling his life. He stood tall, almost proud, and painfully erect. Beef leered.
“You all done now, Gramps? This cock isn’t going to suck itself,” he said, slapping it across his belly. Roger didn’t respond, not with words. He walked across the room, and carefully climbed onto the bed, gingerly pushing his mass onto the sagging mattress, not trusting the cheap thing to support their weight. With a minimal amount of finagling he found himself at eyelength with Beef’s impressive cock.
The sight of it was impressive, but the smell was intense. Beef smelled like a locker room, all sweaty gym bro. He must not have bothered to shower after his workout. Roger frowned, his natural disposition rankling at the hygienic disrespect of it all, but his mouth never stopped watering. He leaned forward, inhaling the scent, and as if breathing in a drug, he felt his mind start to grow fuzzy and lightheaded.
When Beef gripped Roger’s hair and pulled him down, he didn’t protest in any way, shape or form. His mouth opened, as if on autopilot, and he got his first taste of Beef’s uncut glory. The taste wasn’t all that different from Jordan’s. It had the same salty flavor, but muskier, and it made Roger’s head swim. What was proving a challenge was the extra skin. Roger, with his limited oral experience, had never encountered an uncut cock in the wild and found the flappy flesh equal parts arousing and confusing. As if reading his mind, Beef chimed in,
“Get under the skin, grandpa. That’s where the real good juice is,” he said, voice all haughty now. Roger gave him a look, but obeyed anyways. With his fingers, he loosened the foreskin enough to dip the tip of his tongue inside and was rewarded with a potent explosion of musky, alkaline salt in his mouth. The flavor was intense, enough to make his eyes water, but his cock twitched all the same. He rolled the foreskin down, eager now to suckle on Beef’s cockhead. As the pink crown came out of its wrapping, Roger actually moaned when he saw it. It was big, dark pink, almost purple, and glistened with precum and god only knew what else.
Roger dipped his head back down, taking that funky prick into his mouth, eyes watering at the intense flavor that swarmed his mouth. The urge to stroke himself while he sucked was powerful, but he resisted for now. He was in service mode. After a few moments of sucking, he settled into a comfortable rhythm, head bobbing up and down, tongue slithering under the foreskin, wanting to sample every inch of this asshole’s cock. So engrossed in his activities, he failed to notice the dip in the bed behind him as another body joined the pair on the mattress.
When Jordan’s hands grasped his buttocks, Roger was so startled that he accidentally scrapped his teeth along the prominent glans of Beef’s length, drawing an angry hiss from the jock. Roger let the dick fall free, his mouth already open wide in protest at Jordan’s posterior intentions, but when he cranked his head over his shoulder, he paused.
At some point while he was busy feeding on Beef’s, well, beef, Jordan had disrobed. He was perched behind Roger’s none too shabby buttocks, dark fingers grabbing the meat of the white man possessively. At Roger’s dramatic reaction, he squeezed harder, asserting control and with his eyes he sent a silent message to the grandfather who was marching down the road to greater depravity. Calm down.
Against all odds, Roger did just that. Jordan’s hands, which had seemed so threatening mere seconds ago, now felt strangely inviting. They kneaded the dough of his cheeks, thick pale bundles of flesh more than a handful. The thought should have been revolting, but instead it made Roger’s heart peak, wondering where Jordan would take things next.
He was shaken back to reality by the harsh slap of a wet cock on the cheek on his face. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Beef, who was staring down at him with an expression of utmost irritation. Beef squeezed his cock, rubbing the foreskin up and down his glans, drawing more drops of pre onto his bulbous head. For once, he didn’t say anything. He was well aware that Roger knew what he wanted.
Jumping back into his work, Roger picked up the rhythm again easy enough. He whimpered when he felt Jordan pry apart his buttcheeks, exposing his anus to the dank basement air and the lustful gaze of the boy who had conquered him. In front of him, looming like a pillar, Beef found his voice.
“Fuck, bro. Are you going to tap Grandpa’s ass?” he asked, cock twitching in Roger’s mouth, clearly excited by the idea. For one moment of fearful anticipation, Roger thought Jordan was going to say yes, but he relaxed again when instead Jordan responded,
“Not today,” and then, perversely, “But soon.” The promise in the words made Roger’s head spin.
When Jordan’s tongue connected with his virgin hole, Roger thought his brain was going to short circuit. He temporarily halted his sucking, his mind and body trying to process the new sensations coming from his ass, but Beef was ready this time and began to lazily thrust into his shocked gaping mouth.
So, at 61 years of age, Roger Baxter, father and grandfather, found himself being manhandled from both ends by a pair of boys barely old enough to legally buy a beer. As Jordan’s tongue dug deeper, Roger’s own wet appendage moved in sympathy, swirling lazily around any bits of cock flesh that happened to be inside his mouth at that particular moment. This was nasty, the kind of thing a whore would do in one of Jordan’s videos, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from playing the role.
Almost against his will, Roger’s hips began to minutely thrust onto the stiff mattress. His cock, which had been hard and dripping since this sinful encounter had begun, sung its praises, saucing up the stained sheets on Jordan’s bed. The two boys made no move to stop Roger, both engrossed in their individual pleasures, or simply uncaring about Roger’s pleasure to begin with. Jordan’s addition to the sex seemed to have brought something out of Beef, and he began to thrust more wildly now, abandoning all pretense at leisure. Roger could do little but hold on, his eyes watering at the oral abuse, he opened his mouth as wide as he could, tongue lashing madly.
When Jordan’s tongue penetrated his hole, Roger’s whimpers escalated into outright moans, which vibrated onto Beef’s dick. The athlete’s hands on his head tightened, the grip bordering on painful now. Roger blinked away the tears in his eyes, his focus coming back. It would be soon now.
When Beef came, he orgasmed just like the animal Roger thought he was inside his head. The thick pillar of flesh crammed its way into the back of Roger’s throat, destroying any pretense of care or oxygen. Roger could feel the cock throb and twitch in his throat, and he knew that the wrestler was spilling his seed deep into the grandfather’s stomach.
Behind him, Jordan continued to eat, unconcerned with anything but the rump he was feasting on. The duel sensations were almost overwhelming for Roger. He felt his eyes mist over, his vision blurred, and black spots danced along the corners of his sight. When Beef yanked his cock out of Roger’s mouth, the rush of oxygen hit the older man’s head like a punch to the head. He coughed madly, the physical limitations slamming into him in a way that his shutdown brain had refused to acknowledge until this moment.
Jordan pulled his face off of Roger’s ass, and shamefully he moaned at the loss of wet contact. He couldn’t form words though, not to complain, not to ask for more. He was too wiped to do much but lay there and wait for whatever came next. When Roger felt a familiar cock touch his hole, he began to shake. He said he wouldn’t! Roger’s mind shouted in betrayal, fearing the obvious. Jordan’s began to rub himself on the length of Roger’s spread ass, in an up and down pattern, and as the thrusts failed to breach his hole, Roger began to relax back into the mattress, the tension seeping out of him like a leaky faucet.
He knew what was coming when Jordan grabbed his asscheeks, and pushed them back together to smother his cock. On instinct, he lifted his hips just a fraction, an unconscious approval of what Jordan craved.
Roger, face buried in the cheap mattress, lay there prostrate as Jordan thrust between the heavy meat of his rearend. This was another surprise, another game of Jordan’s that was doing funny things to Roger’s mind and body. Every now and then Jordan’s angle would hitch and the head of his cock would prod at the grandfather’s virgin hole, wedging itself in the enclosed space. Jordan would always correct himself, moving off Roger’s sacred spot, and leaving the older man’s hole twitching afterward, wet with pre, anticipating the next time that cock would kiss his entrance. He couldn’t tell if his shivers came from want or fear. He couldn’t make sense of much anymore.
Roger was glad to have his face buried in the thin layer of plush that made up the sodabed’s mattress. With his face down and his mouth full of quilted ticking, the boys couldn’t see how beat red he was becoming. It also helped to muffle the worst of his whimpers and groans, burying them until they were nearly imperceptible to the human ear.
But even that wasn’t enough to hold in the groan that spilled out of his mouth when Jordan grasped his butt in a ferocious grip, smashing the cheeks together as he thrust between them. He couldn’t see what was happening, but his imagination was strong and in his mind’s eye that thick tool of his was like an oversized hotdog sliding in and out of his underbaked buns.
Roger knew Jordan was going to orgasm the moment before it happened. Those hands on his hips gripped him even tighter, hard enough to sting, he felt the glans of Jordan’s cock twitch against his wet hole, and then the feeling of come splurting onto his back, a wicked rainshower that did nothing to wash away the sin of Roger’s actions. Roger didn’t bother holding in his groan as the deluge continued to topple down onto his oblique muscles. As the final droplets splattered the expanse of his back, he spilled his own seed into the mattress, soaking the abused sheet with his shame.
Panting from exhaustion, Roger could only lie there, face planted into the wet mattress, his head crushed between two sweaty thighs, pinning him in place. When Jordan dismounted off his backside, the urge to raise his hips was intense, but he was honestly too tired to even muster that. Above him, Beef, who had been uncharacteristically quiet after his own orgasm, raised his obnoxious voice.
“Damn, bro,” he said, whistling under his breath. “You really frosted, gramps.” He guffawed, thigh meat rubbing against Roger’s burning cheeks. He raised his leg then, giving Roger a brief whiff of wrestler taint and ass, before dismounting the bed. Roger heard a sniff.
“Whoa, I fucking stink now,” he laughed. There were a few steps and then Roger felt a hand come down on his exposed ass, making a loud slapping noise. “Guess we marked our property good, huh?” he said, voice jolly and relaxed in his post-nut bliss. Roger said nothing, keeping his face covered. He wouldn’t give the jerk the privilege of seeing Roger’s face burning.
Beef left the pair, not even bothering to get dressed as he ascended the stairs to hopefully squeeze a shower in. That left just Roger and the maker of his personal misery. Jordan was his typical quiet self, content to lay next to Roger on the lumpy mattress. He was always comfortable with his own thoughts, so Roger ended up being the one to bring it up.
“How could you tell him?” he asked, surprising himself at how hurt he sounded. Jordan didn’t say anything at first, instead bringing his hand to the back of Roger’s neck, rubbing the tight muscles reassuringly.
“He already knew,” Jordan stated the fact. “Didn’t seem like there was much point in trying to lie about it.” Roger hated the wisdom in the younger man’s words. He could have lied. Could have kept Roger and his secret desires hidden away from the rest of the world. Now another person knew just what Roger Baxter was capable of, and he knew Ken wouldn’t be satisfied with a one-and-done BJ either. He sighed, the feeling of defeat washing over him.
“Why did you let him do it?” he asked, his eyes closed, remembering the pair together in his imagination. “Why didn’t you just…” the words died out, some vulnerable insinuation too fragile to birth into the world. Jordan seemed befuddled by Roger’s words.
“I don’t own you, Mr. Baxter,” he said, as if the thought was completely obvious. “I just...enjoy you.” Roger looked at Jordan, seeing no hints of deception in his words. It really was that simple for him. No thoughts or concerns beyond his enjoyment. How lucky for him.
Roger rose to his feet, feeling shaky, almost lightheaded. His head ached and he needed water. Even more so he needed to be out of Bennett House. He moved to grab his clothes when Jordan stopped him.
“You’re still dirty, Mr. Baxter,” and Roger wanted to slap himself. How could he have been so stupid that he forgot he was covered in come. He really was losing it. Jordan gently seated him down onto the mattress and walked up the stairs. Roger seemed not to notice, staring at a crack in the wall in front of him. He distantly heard the sound of Jordan’s footsteps back on the stairs, but made no move to address the young man. It was only when he felt a wet washcloth on his back, gently washing away the signs of his usage that he felt his eyes begin to water.
“Damn it,” he whispered, closing his eyelids tight, not wanting a single drop to escape. This was an entire new humiliation to deal with. Jordan didn’t comment at first, simply scrubbing away the grime on the older man’s back until it glowed a pale pink under the basement lighting. When Jordan rested his head on Roger’s shoulder, the first tear threatened to spill, and Jordan gently shushed him.
“He’s going to want it from me all the time, isn’t he?” Roger said, less a question and more a statement of fact. Jordan’s head didn’t move when he responded quietly into Roger’s ear.
“Probably.” There was a pause then, as if he was trying to decide what or how to say the next words. “Are you going to do it?” There was no judgment in his words, but something stronger than curiosity. The question carried a certain kind of unspoken expectation in it.
“...probably,” Roger replied, and now the tear rolled down his cheek. He felt it connect with Jordan’s upper lip, the drop of fluid absorbed by the thin layer of stubble on the young man’s face, before Jordan brought their lips together and then Roger stopped thinking completely.
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