Hayden, Dalton and Danny
The locker room had that quiet heat that only came at closing, when the last of the lifters had cleared out and the steam had nowhere to go. Lights buzzed low overhead, casting everything in a yellow haze. The showers hissed in the background, someone long gone forgetting to turn the water all the way off.
Hayden sat back on the bench, towel crooked around his waist, body still slick from the rinse. Built like a gymnast who got into Olympic lifting with thighs that were blocks of dense muscle, lightly dusted with hair, and when he shifted, the towel parted just enough to reveal the sharp gleam of his cage, silver and tight, snug to the base, holding him neatly.
Dalton noticed. He didn’t even try to hide it.
He was across from Hayden now, freshly showered but still radiating heat from the lift. He looked like he could bend metal. Broad shoulders, chest wide and full of hair, arms thick and veined with power. His traps were like shelves, neck tight, beard still damp. The towel around his waist was struggling, barely hanging on, bulging with the unmistakable shape of his cock pressing high and wet against the terry cloth.
“You always wear that?” Dalton asked, voice low and rough, nodding toward Hayden’s cage.
“Yeah,” Hayden said, relaxed. “Keeps me dialed in.”
Dalton grunted. Rubbed a hand down his face, then over his knee. The muscles twitched as he sat wider.
“My buddy wears one too.”
Hayden looked over. “You into it?”
Dalton hesitated then leaned back, gaze drifting. “I fuck him like crazy. Think about it all day. I walk through the door and I want to bend him over something before he even says hi.”
He stopped himself, gave a short, sheepish chuckle.
“—Sorry.”
Hayden tilted his head. “Don’t apologize. That’s hot.”
Dalton let out a breath. His cock throbbed visibly under the towel.
“I didn’t think I’d be this guy,” he said. “My dad, before he died, told me to find a good woman. Settle down. I don’t think he cared if she was a woman, really. He just didn’t want me alone.”
He looked down at the wet tent in his lap. The tip of his cock had soaked. The outline of it was obscene. A massive blunt head strained at the front, glossy and swollen, with pre-cum slicking the towel into a darker shape. His balls hung low underneath.
“I think I found a wife,” he muttered. “Just… not the kind he meant.”
Hayden didn’t blink.
“Maybe you found a boywife.”
Dalton’s cock jumped visibly.
“Boywife,” Dalton said, quietly.
Hayden smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
Dalton’s hand slid under the towel. “Boywife,” he repeated, heavier this time, like he needed to feel it. The syllables thick in his throat. He started stroking and the towel slipped off the side of his cock with the motion, exposing him.
Hayden looked. Dalton’s cock was a monster. Thick, veined, rising from a jungle of black hair. The shaft was darker than his stomach, ridged with veins that throbbed under his fist. The head, wide, blunt, glossy purple, leaked steady pre-cum down over his fingers. Below, his balls swung heavy and round as oranges, matted hair sticking to his inner thighs with sweat. The thing looked obscene in his huge hand, like it shouldn’t fit there.
Hayden stared openly, lips parted.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
Dalton didn’t stop. His voice dropped to a growl. “My fuckin’ boywife. Locked up. Waiting.”
Hayden didn’t say a word. Just watched.
“He lets me do anything,” Dalton said, stroking now, breath getting heavier. “He knows when I walk in, I need it. He just bends over the counter. Doesn’t say a word. His cage’s already dripping.”
His grip tightened.
“I think about his ass when I’m lifting,” Dalton growled. “Think about that little hole stretched open, just begging for it.”
Hayden’s voice was calm. “Boywives are like that.”
Dalton groaned. “Fuck, man…”
He stroked faster now, thighs shaking, hips tilting into it. His chest was flushed red, beard damp with sweat. His cock slapped heavy against his stomach once, head glistening.
Hayden blinked. Saw the motion. His own body responded instinctively, cage twitching slightly, pulling tight.
“Boywife,” Hayden echoed, low.
Dalton’s cock jerked in his grip. “Boywife,” he growled back. The word became a rhythm between them, both of them saying it, watching him stroke:
“Boywife.”
“Boywife.”
“Boywife.”
Dalton’s breath was ragged now, chest hair plastered to his skin, sweat dripping down into his bush. His giant cock pulsed in his hand, balls drawing up. He squeezed harder, thumb rubbing the slit until clear slick spilled over his fist.
Hayden’s towel slipped a little with his shift, cage glinting bright now. Dalton’s eyes dropped to it, hunger flaring. The glint of metal, the smooth skin above, the cage moving as Hayden leaned forward.
Dalton groaned, hips jerking once off the bench.
Hayden shifted, stood, slowly, and took a step forward. His towel dropped to the floor. The cage gleamed in full view: snug, hard steel, pressing outward with every breath. His thighs flanked it like carved pillars. Everything about him was tight, compact, contained.
Dalton’s strokes got rougher, sloppier. The sight of the cage, right there, inches from his face, made his cock lurch violently in his grip.
His voice dropped to a rasp.
“Boypussy.”
Hayden didn’t move.
Dalton’s eyes locked on the cage. “That little locked hole. Always so wet. So ready.”
“Boypussy.”
Hayden’s chest rose and fell, steady.
“Fucking sweet, tight boypussy.”
The word tore out of him now, each one like a hit to the gut.
“Boypussy.”
“Boypussy.”
Dalton’s whole body trembled. His cock was a weapon now, his balls pulled tight beneath it, soaked with sweat and spit-slick from the motion.
Hayden didn’t say anything, just let him look. Let him keep jerking. Let him grind that word out of his chest like it was holy.
Dalton’s voice cracked:
“Gonna cum—”
Then Hayden’s voice, cool and firm:
“Stop.”
Dalton choked on it, body jerking, hand clamping around the base to hold it.
Hayden’s eyes flicked down over the mess of his cock, his belly, his fist.
“Not here,” he said. “That’s not for me.”
He let the pause linger, then added, quiet and deliberate:
“Save it for your boywife.”
Dalton let out a noise, part whimper, part groan, his body rocking forward, his hand still squeezing the base like a dam about to break.
Hayden stepped back, slow, letting the distance grow again.
“He’s a lucky boy,” he said.
Then turned, towel slipping off one hip, cage glinting as he walked toward the steam.
Dalton sat there, ruined. Hand wet. Cock raging. The word still echoing.
Boypussy.
Boywife.
He had to get home.
Now.
Dalton sat in his truck at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house he grew up in. The porch light was on, and the kitchen window glowed soft and steady, like someone was really living there. Danny.
His mother died in a car accident his sophomore year of college. His father held on for another two years, just long enough to make Dalton promise he’d find a good woman, settle down. By the time the funeral was over, the house was his.
For a while, he just let it rot.
He came and went. Brought dates home. Let buddies crash on the couch. The kitchen was sticky, the basement always smelled damp. Photos stayed on the walls, his mom in her garden, his dad at the grill, but they faded under a layer of time and grease. Dalton kept telling himself he’d fix it someday. Clean up. Grow up.
Now it didn’t look like the place where his dad died or where his mom’s ghost used to haunt every room. The clutter was gone. The walls were clean. Everything had a place. Danny had changed it without making a show of it, just quiet, steady work that made the house feel like it was his again. Like it was cared for.
His cock throbbed in his gym shorts, still swollen from the locker room, from Hayden’s cage, from the word boywife echoing in his skull. He adjusted himself with a grunt, grabbed his bag, and climbed out. Everything in him wanted to bust through the front door, rip off Danny’s little blue thong, and fuck until he saw stars. But he made himself walk slow. Breathe. Swallow the heat down. His boywife would be inside. And he was going to make it count.
The door clicked shut behind Dalton with a soft thunk.
The house was warm, quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional pop of cooling pipes. Light spilled from the kitchen, not too bright, just the little under-cabinet strips Danny liked, enough to make the granite counters glow.
Danny was at the stove barefoot, standing hip-shot with a wooden spoon in one hand. He was wearing a powder-blue thong, high-cut and snug, and a cropped white tee that clung to his chest, hem riding up above his ribs. His skin was smooth, soft, golden under the lights. His hair had been freshly buzzed, short, neat, perfect. The back of his neck looked kissable as sin.
Dalton stopped in the doorway, bag still over his shoulder. His whole body was tense, still flushed from the gym. The air back there had stuck to his skin like glue; he hadn’t cooled down the whole drive. Not really.
He tried to play it off. Dropped the bag by the door and grunted. “Hey.”
Danny didn’t look up right away. “Hey yourself.”
He turned, finally, eyes flicking up and down Dalton’s body. The open jacket, the sweat-slick tee clinging to his chest, the tension in his jaw. His cock, half-hard and obvious under his sweats.
Danny smiled, lazy and sweet.
“Good lift?”
Dalton shrugged, sniffed. “Yeah.”
Danny stepped away from the stove, flicking the burner off with a little twist of his wrist. He leaned against the counter, spoon resting on his tongue for a second before he licked it clean.
He looked Dalton over again.
“Something on your mind?”
Dalton scratched his beard, jaw tight. “Nah.”
Danny tilted his head. “Mm-hmm.”
He padded over slowly, hips swaying. The thong left nothing to the imagination, cheeks soft and smooth, the outline of his cage faint where the fabric stretched up front. He stopped in front of Dalton, not quite touching.
Dalton stared.
Danny’s voice dropped to something teasing. “You’re acting like you didn’t just spend twenty minutes edging yourself in a locker room.”
Dalton bristled, embarrassed. “I didn’t—”
Danny cut him off with a soft hand on his chest. “You did.”
Dalton opened his mouth, but Danny stepped closer, pressed his palm flat to Dalton’s sternum, firm.
Dalton stopped.
Danny’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.”
Dalton swallowed. His cock throbbed in his sweats.
He tried to push back. “I need to—”
“No,” Danny said, calm.
Dalton froze again. That tone.
Danny looked up at him, not soft anymore, not teasing. Just controlled.
“Take your boots off,” he said. “Put your gym clothes in the hamper.”
Dalton didn’t move at first. His jaw twitched, breath thick in his chest. But the look in Danny’s eyes, steady, level, sure, pressed on him harder than any hand.
He toed off his boots without a word.
Danny turned and walked back to the kitchen like that settled it. Left Dalton standing there with his heart thudding in his chest and his cock rock hard in his pants.
He peeled out of his jacket and shirt. The cotton clung, damp with sweat. His skin steamed in the warm air, chest rising, scattered with thick hair that ran all the way down to the waistband of his sweats.
He could still feel Hayden’s breath in his ear. Save it for your boywife.
Dalton swallowed hard, stripped the rest off, and padded to the bathroom with his clothes in hand.
When he came back, he was completely naked. His skin was still slick with sweat, the hair on his chest and arms damp, curling slightly. His thick thighs glistened, flushed from the drive and the heat of his body. His pits were dark, soaked, and his cock… fuck. It hung heavy and swollen between his legs, flushed deep red, the head glossy with pre-cum, twitching with every step. His balls were enormous, sagging low, the hair matted with heat and salt.
Dalton stepped into the living room, calm and quiet, his cock proud and leaking, and stopped in front of the couch.
Danny stared. Chest rising. Lips parted. Cage swelling under the thin blue thong.
“Sit,” he said, breathless.
Dalton did.
He sprawled back against the cushions, legs open, cock bobbing with weight. The whole room smelled like him now, thick and humid, like a locker room left sealed too long, but cleaner somehow. Hungrier.
Danny stripped off his crop top, tossed it aside, and sank between Dalton’s thighs like he’d been pulled there by gravity. The scent only got stronger. He pressed his nose into the crease of Dalton’s thigh, just beside the base of that massive cock, and inhaled.
God. His cage strained hard behind the thong. He was dizzy. He brought both hands up to cup Dalton’s balls, hot, hairy, soaked, and kissed the head of his cock with reverence.
Dalton grunted, low and rough, as a thick bead of pre smeared against Danny’s lips. Danny kissed the tip again, reverent, plush-lipped, letting a string of spit bridge between them as he pulled back just enough to whisper:
“Welcome home, Daddy.”
Dalton froze.
The word hit him low and hot, curling through his gut. He looked down at Danny, at the curve of his shoulders, the flushed skin, the soft lips already slick with his pre-cum, and something cracked open in his chest.
“Daddy,” he echoed, rough. “Is that what I am?”
Danny didn’t speak, just looked up at him with wide, eager eyes, and nodded once.
“You want me to be your daddy?” Dalton asked, quieter now.
Another nod. Dalton’s cock twitched against his cheek, hard and wet.
Danny moaned softly and pressed a kiss to the tip. Then another, and another, slow, deliberate, each one deeper. He opened his mouth, tongue teasing the slit, and cupped Dalton’s balls in both hands like they were something precious.
Dalton grunted, hips jerking. “Say it again,” he muttered.
“Daddy,” Danny breathed against the head of his cock. “My Daddy.”
Dalton’s cock twitched, pre-cum slicking Danny’s lips. “Fuck…” he groaned.
Danny mouthed down the shaft, licked under the ridge, breathing hot against the thick, veiny length. The scent was overwhelming now, sweat and sex and salt. He buried his nose at the base and inhaled like he needed it, lips moving in small, reverent kisses along the root.
“You love this cock, don’t you,” Dalton murmured, voice strained.
Danny hummed against it, nodded again, didn’t even need to say it. Dalton’s cock surged, and leaked. “Fuck, yeah… mine’s the only one.”
Dalton stared down at him, cage barely contained behind the thong, body trembling as he worshipped, slow and hungry. Danny licked up the length of Dalton’s cock slow, eyes never leaving his face. When he reached the tip, he pressed a kiss to it like it was something sacred.
“Still tastes like the gym,” he murmured, tongue teasing the slit. “Sweat and salt. Like you worked this cock hard all day.”
Dalton grunted, one arm slung over the back of the couch, his free hand resting on Danny’s buzzed crown. “Yeah? You like Daddy’s scent that much?”
Danny smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile too wide. “I don’t usually go for sweaty guys. But you…”, he kissed the base of Dalton’s shaft, nosed along his balls, “you make it work.”
Dalton chuckled, low and rough. “Make it work, huh?”
Danny looked up, lips glossy. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. The way you grab me when you walk through the door. The way your cock stretches your sweats on leg day.”
Dalton’s voice went darker. “Yeah? Been leaking in that little cage of yours just thinking about Daddy’s cock?”
Danny gave a soft, breathy laugh. “Yeah. All day, Daddy.”
He opened his mouth and took Dalton halfway down, warm and steady, letting his lips stretch wide, throat relaxed.
Dalton’s hand tightened in his hair. “Fuck…”
Danny pulled off with a wet pop. “You like when I do that, Daddy?”
Dalton’s whole body twitched. “Say it again.”
Danny’s eyes flashed, almost teasing. “What, Daddy?”
Dalton stared, cock jerking. “Jesus.”
Danny nuzzled the shaft, licking another fat stripe up the underside. “You gonna cum just from hearing it?”
Dalton’s jaw flexed. “Keep talking like that and I might.”
“Please don’t cum yet, Daddy,” Danny whimpered. “I want your sperm inside me.”
Dalton’s cock bounced.
“I want it in my anus, Daddy,” Danny said. “In my pussy.”
Dalton’s cock bounced hard at the sound of it, veins standing out under his flushed skin. Sweat rolled down his hairy chest and dripped onto his stomach.
He stared down at Danny, at the slick lips, the wet chin, the faint bulge of the cage behind the blue thong, and he felt himself tremble.
“You want it in your boypussy, huh,” Dalton rasped. The word was raw in his mouth, new and electric.
Danny moaned against the head, tongue flicking. “Yes, Daddy. I want it in my boypussy.”
Dalton’s voice went lower, almost a whisper. “God… you’re killing me…”
Danny opened his mouth wider and let the swollen head slide back in, sucking slow and deep, humming around it like he was tasting the word along with the cock.
Dalton groaned, fingers tightening in the buzzed hair. “Shit. You’re gonna make me—”
Danny pulled off with a wet pop, chin shiny, eyes bright. “Don’t sperm yet, Daddy. Please.”
Dalton’s chest heaved. “Fuck…”
Danny’s cage was straining now, the metal faintly visible where the thong stretched. His thighs trembled as he cupped Dalton’s heavy balls, thumb stroking slow circles against the base.
Dalton dragged a hand down his face, breath ragged. “God, look at you…” He swallowed. His voice dropped, a little rough, a little unsure. Quiet.
“…Are you my boywife?”
Danny blinked, startled just for a second. Then he smiled, lips parting in a soft breath, and nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered. “If you want me.”
Dalton’s cock jumped against his cheek, smearing more pre-cum across his skin.
“I do,” Dalton said. “Fuck, I do.”
Danny leaned in and kissed the tip again, tongue teasing the slit. His cage throbbed behind the blue thong, straining with every heartbeat. He looked up again, voice still soft, still close.
“Then say it.”
Dalton swallowed. His chest heaved once. His balls ached with the pressure building deep in his gut.
“My boywife,” he whispered.
Danny moaned like it lit something in him, like he could come untouched just from hearing it. He licked again, deeper this time, worshipful, open-mouthed, face flushed with heat. Dalton watched him, almost disbelieving.
“Jesus.”
Danny pulled back, “Say it again.”
Dalton reached out finally, hand in Danny’s buzzed hair, not pushing, just holding.
“My pretty boywife.”
Danny’s eyes fluttered shut. His whole body shivered. And then he went down again, slow, obedient, open, like that word had unlocked something between them that neither one could take back.
Dalton groaned deep in his chest. His legs were splayed wide, arms heavy on the couch. His hand rested in Danny’s buzzed hair, not guiding, just needing the contact.
“You keep that up,” he warned, voice thick, “and Daddy’s not gonna make it.”
Danny pulled off slowly, lips plump and shiny. He let a string of spit fall from his tongue to the tip, then smeared it with his palm, slow and teasing.
“Then fuck me,” he said.
Dalton’s eyes flared. He grabbed Danny by the hips and pulled him forward, that blue thong tight over the cage, framing the curve of his ass.
Danny turned with a wicked little smile, reached behind himself, and peeled the thong aside. There it was, his hole, already slick, already open. Dalton let out a sound that was almost a growl.
“Boypussy.”
He gripped Danny’s thighs and pulled him down into his lap, cock sliding between his cheeks, the swollen head dragging right over that slick, waiting entrance.
Danny gasped, arms going around Dalton’s neck. “Fuck—”
Dalton held steady, the tip pushing just enough to tease, to stretch.
“You ready for Daddy?”
Danny nuzzled into the curve of his jaw. “I’ve been ready since I folded your laundry this morning.”
Dalton let out a breathless laugh, then pushed.
The head popped in with resistance, and Danny moaned low, deep in his throat. His whole body trembled.
Dalton gritted his teeth as that heat closed around him. “Goddamn…”
Danny rocked slowly, breath huffing against his neck. “Yeah… yeah, Daddy. Give it to me.”
Dalton slid in deeper, inch by inch, his cock thick and veiny, slicked with spit and pre. Danny clung to him, nails digging in, every breath tight and needy, but never desperate.
“Say it,” Danny whispered, riding him shallow and slow.
Dalton grunted. “My beautiful sexy boywife.”
Danny’s cage throbbed against Dalton’s stomach, leaking.
“Again.”
“My pretty boywife with a smooth boypussy made for Daddy’s big fat hairy penissssss!”
Danny whimpered. “Yes. Yes, Daddy. Keep saying it while you fuck your boywife open.”
Dalton grabbed his hips and thrust up, hard, once, then again, pulling Danny down onto every inch of his cock.
Their bodies slapped together, sweat-slick, breath hot. The couch creaked under them.
Dalton’s voice broke apart into grunts, words mangled by heat. “My boywife… my fucking boywife—”
Danny held tight, lips brushing his ear. “Don’t stop.”
Dalton’s hips rocked slow, deep, like he was grinding the word into Danny’s bones.
“My boywife.”
Danny moaned into his neck, whole body trembling as Dalton bottomed out again. The stretch was deep, hot, perfect, and every inch of him pulsed around that massive cock like it was built to hold it.
Dalton couldn’t stop saying it.
“My boywife.”
Each thrust now was longer, more possessive, not just fucking but marking. He wrapped one thick arm around Danny’s waist, pulling him down to meet every stroke, while the other hand splayed wide over his back like he was holding something sacred.
Danny’s breath hitched. “Fuck— Daddy— that’s—”
He couldn’t finish it.
Dalton’s voice dropped to a rasp. “Say it.”
Danny’s arms clung tighter around his neck. “Your boywife— I’m your fucking boywife—”
Dalton groaned, nearly choked on it, shoved in deeper.
“Yeah, you are,” he growled. “My little homemaker. My locked-up slut. This ass—” he slammed upward, the wet slap echoing through the living room “—this boypussy is mine.”
Danny shuddered like the words alone fucked him deeper.
“Cleanin’ my house, wearin’ your little thongs, and keepin’ this hole wet for me—”
Danny gasped, cage twitching behind the stretched thong.
Dalton grabbed the back of his head, rough but cradling. Pressed their foreheads together.
“God, look at you,” he muttered. “So fucking good for me. So perfect.”
Danny whimpered, hips rocking back on instinct.
Dalton held him there, buried deep. Let the rhythm go soft for a moment. Just held him, both of them slick and trembling, hearts slamming against each other.
“Don’t wanna lose this,” Dalton whispered. “Don’t wanna lose you.”
Danny’s hands cupped his face, trembling. “You won’t.”
Their noses brushed. Their breath mingled. The room was warm and heavy, thick with sweat and the scent of home. Dalton kissed him then, not rough, not claiming, just real. Open-mouthed and slow, lips sliding over lips like he needed to know every shape Danny made. Danny melted into it.
When they broke apart, their bodies still locked together, Danny whispered:
“Breed me, Daddy.”
Dalton’s whole body tensed. Danny kissed his jaw, breathless.
“I want my Daddy’s sperm in me. Want to feel it leaking out when I do the dishes. Want to know I belong to you.”
Dalton’s voice broke. “You do.”
Then he was moving again, slower now, but deeper. Each thrust carved from want, from hunger, from something too big for language.
Danny moaned, arms locking around his neck. “Yes— God— yes—”
The couch rocked with them. Their bodies slapped together, sweat-slick and heavy. Dalton reached between them, fingers grazing the cage through the thong.
“You’re leaking,” he said.
Danny nodded, panting. “Can’t stop.”
Dalton grunted. “You better not.”
Then he kissed him again, this time biting his lip, growling into his mouth as his cock throbbed inside that soaked, perfect heat.
“I love your pretty little cage, Danny.”
“Yeah, Daddy? You like breeding me in my cage?”
“Fuck yes, I do. I love that you caged yourself because you knew.”
Danny moaned and clenched hard around him, arms locked behind Dalton’s neck. “Yes, Daddy… I knew. I’ve always needed your big fucking penis stretching me open and pumping me full.”
Dalton thrust harder, wet slaps filling the room as his heavy balls smacked against the cage. “You kept this hole soft and ready for me. Locked your cock away so the only one that matters is mine. That’s why I love you. You knew exactly what you were.”
“I’m your locked boywife,” Danny panted, rocking up to take him deeper. “I stay caged because I need Daddy’s thick cock owning my pussy. I need your sperm flooding me. Only yours.”
Dalton’s hand squeezed the wet steel gently while he fucked him deeper, voice turning into a rough, worshipful growl. “Look at you leaking all over my hand while I rearrange your guts. This perfect cage… this greedy boypussy sucking me in. You brought the Daddy out of me. Made me need to breed you every fucking night.”
Danny’s head fell back, mouth open, taking every hard thrust. “Breed me, Daddy—please. Use your locked boy. Fill my pussy with all that thick cum. I need it. I’ve always needed it.”
“Take it then,” Dalton snarled, slamming in to the hilt. “Take Daddy’s big cock. Take every drop cuz you belong on this dick.”
He came hard, cock swelling and pulsing, flooding Danny’s boypussy with heavy, hot ropes of cum while he kept grinding deep, hand still wrapped around the dripping cage.
Danny moaned through it, clenching and milking him. “Yes—give it to me—breed your locked boywife—I love your cock, Daddy—I love being full of you—”
Dalton kept thrusting through the aftershocks, smearing cum deeper, forehead pressed to Danny’s, both of them panting.
Danny gasped at the flood. He could feel it, hot and thick, flooding his guts, seeping around the edges of that perfect stretch.
Dalton kept thrusting in little jerks, like he couldn’t stop.
“Fuck… fuck… I’m still—”
Danny moaned. “Give it all to me, Daddy. Don’t hold back.”
Dalton collapsed back against the couch, still buried inside, arms locked around Danny like a lifeline.
They stayed like that for a long time. No words. Just heat. Breathing. The quiet pop of the pipes in the kitchen.
Eventually, Danny stirred.
He pressed a kiss to Dalton’s beard. “You’re home now.”
Dalton’s arms tightened.
“I am,” he said.
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