Archive of Our Own

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Graeme’s feet hurt as he shuffles into their apartment building, nodding a greeting at the door guard. Their regular guy is still on paternity leave, and Graeme makes a mental note to check the meal train website to see if there’s any gaps he and Alan can fill.

He sighs as he lets himself collapse against the wall of the empty elevator. He’d started the day with a long shift at Reene’s, but then had class until 5, and traffic had been a bear, and it’s one of those Seattle winter/spring days where it feels like summer is never going to come and the world is going to stay dark and rainy forever and ever and ever.

Needless to say, he’s looking forward to getting home, stripping off his wet clothes, and cuddling with Alan.

His plans change abruptly when he opens the front door and all that’s there to greet him is Alan’s sad smile over his shoulder, and a little “Hello.”

Of course, Graeme’s immediate response is panic, and adrenaline shoots its spiky pain through his system, but after he has a second to assess, he’s able to will his heartbeat to calm. If something bad had happened or someone had gotten hurt, Alan would have called him. So, he takes off his dripping raincoat and slips out of the boots. His jeans are still wet, but they’ll have to wait.

He sits down beside Alan, and takes his hand, bringing it up for a kiss. “Hey, honey. What’s up?”

Alan leans over, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Just a long day, you know? Sorry.”

“Can I…?” Graeme gestures at Alan’s lap, and at Alan’s nod, he crawls into it, curling up in his fiance’s arms. He starts working at massaging the knots from Alan’s shoulders; they always form, because he’s hunched over a keyboard all day. “Can you tell me about it?”

Alan sighs, hugging Graeme closer. His breath ruffles through Graeme’s hair. “Annual board meeting, right? Well, the board spent most of the time pressuring me to go public, talking about how much money we could make, and all that. But it’s not like that’s even guaranteed! Look what happened to Facebook when it went public.”

“Plus then you have less control.”

Alan lets out a bitter laugh. “Nailed it in one, baby.” He dips, brushing his lips over Graeme’s. “I love you.”

Graeme scratches his fingers up Alan’s beard. “I love you, too. Tell me the rest.”

“There’s a board member who is putting a particular amount of pressure on me. And he’s the same one who was...displeased...when I started splitting my time between my company and Tommy’s Place. Felt it distracted me from the more important work of making everyone more rich.”

Graeme frowns. “Gross.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, fuck that guy. I know it’s not that simple, but he doesn’t have a say over what you do with the charity. It’s separate. It’s important to you. It helps you fuel your creativity at work.”

Alan holds up a hand defensively. “All things I know.”

“Right, sorry.” Graeme’s lips lift a little. “You should give me this guy’s name.”

“I shudder to think what would happen to him.”

“Oh, nothing. I mean, I was planning on giving him a hard pitch for Reene’s services, and then doing something to his food every day, but … nothing.” Graeme glows when that makes Alan laugh, his intention all along. He kisses Alan’s lips, letting his fingers drift through Alan’s hair. “Anything else?”

Alan heaves a sigh, resting their foreheads together. “Yeah, I- well, I wanted to remind myself why I do this, so I went by Tommy’s Place. That’s always hard. Good, but hard.”

“A nice cap on a shitty day, in other words.”

“Yeah.”

Graeme sits up straighter in Alan’s lap, resting his hands on Alan’s shoulders and looking him in the eyes. “You know what my recipe is for a shitty day?”

Alan’s smile looks genuine for the first time since Graeme got home. “Enlighten me?”

Graeme pulls off, then holds out his hands to pull Alan to his feet. “Well, it’s kind of a secret, actually, but I do have a mission for you while I get ready.”

When Alan stands, he immediately sweeps Graeme into a crushing hug that makes Graeme laugh. “Okay, I’m ready for orders.”

“You need to go put on the most comfortable pair of sweats and softest shirt you have. Got it?”

Alan nods, looking a little tired, but definitely already brighter. As soon as he starts heading back to the bedroom, Graeme swings into action, but then remembers, “Hey, can you bring out my onesie?”

After a muffled affirmative from the bedroom, Graeme whirls around the living room, piling up all of the blankets and pillows and grabbing the extras from the guest bedroom. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Alan isn’t back yet, he heads into the kitchen and opens one of the cupboards for his secret stash - he’d had to hide it again after he told Alan about it during his dental work. Honestly, he’s sure Alan wouldn’t care in the slightest about it, but… old habits die hard.

Once he has the right snack, he turns on the huge TV and cues up the correct show. By the time Alan’s padding back out, both cats hot on his tail, Graeme’s ready.

“Carmen Sandiego?” Alan asks, reading the TV screen. “This doesn’t look like Carmen Sandiego.”

“It’s

new,

old fogey. Give it a shot. I’ve heard great things. C’mon, snuggle in.” Graeme gestures Alan over to the couch, then buries him in blankets so that just his head is sticking out. Laughing, he gives Alan a peck on the forehead before stripping off his own shirt. He puts on a little show with the jeans, mostly because he has to go slowly because they’re wet from the rain and therefore clinging to his skin. When he finally has peeled everything - including underwear, to Alan’s wolf whistle - off, and pulled on his comfy fox onesie, he snuggles in beside Alan on the couch. He finds Alan’s hand under the covers, gripping it tight, as the other uses the remote to get the show started.

As the intriguing opening theme comes on, Alan relaxes into his side, sighing, and resting his head on top of Graeme’s.

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” Graeme murmurs as both cats find positions on the blankets to curl up, too. He rustles for a moment, then pulls the package of Oreos from below the covers. He grabs one, and offers it up to Alan’s lips.

After a second’s hesitation, which Alan uses to laugh, he takes the Oreo, whole, into his mouth and starts to chew.

“Best. Fiance. Ever,” Alan manages between bites.

Graeme snuggles in, enjoying how relaxed Alan feels now, reveling in his laughter at Devineaux’s antics on-screen. He gets why Alan gets off on this. His own tiredness from the day seems to melt away given the chance to help Alan out. He sighs, content with how content his man is, as the rain continues to fall outside.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“So I don’t get to know

anything?”

Graeme asks dryly, his mouth quirking up on one side. “How will I know what to pack?”

With a nervous laugh, Alan cards through Graeme’s fade. “I was, uh...hoping you’d let me take care of that, too? I’ve been doing some shopping.” He leans over to kiss Graeme, whose head is laying in his lap.

It’s been that kind of Saturday, no social obligations, no homework for Graeme, no major work for Alan. Just lazing about, reading, knitting, kissing, carding fingers through hair like they’ve no care in the world.

Happily, Graeme blushes, then smiles, just a little, like he doesn’t want to show Alan exactly how pleased he is but he can’t help it. “I’d like that, Daddy.”

They’re not going to go into a scene, but Alan recognizes it for the flirt, the tease that it’s meant to be. They’re probably never going to be full on, all the time Daddy/Baby Boy lifestyle, but it’s crept into their lives outside of the bedroom - cough, or other places, cough - enough times.

Sometimes Alan can’t help it. The qualities that make him a good Dom spill over into the rest of their relationship. He just...loves taking care of Graeme, whether Graeme’s his Baby Boy at the moment or not. Case in point, the trip he’s painstakingly planned for Spring Break this year, as a birthday celebration and as a reward for Graeme finishing his program at the community college. They’re going to stick around long enough for Graeme to walk, and for Alan’s mom to throw a fucking huge graduation party for him - she’s been texting Alan nonstop with the details - and then they’re getting on a flight for a week away from school and work and obligations and anyone, all to themselves.

And Alan’s been driving Graeme crazy by not giving him any details. His fingers hesitate in Graeme’s hair, though. “I'm not triggering your anxiety?”

“Only in what Clarissa would say is a good way. The healthy, normal type of anxiety. More like excitement, you know?” Graeme’s grin beams up at him, and he looks pleased with himself and his progress.

Only fair, considering how damn proud Alan is of him.

A melody floats through his head as he continues to stroke Graeme’s hair while Graeme goes back to reading aloud from the Percy Jackson novel they'd moved on to after Harry Potter. It takes him a few minutes of quiet humming before he finally places the song, and he can hear in his mind his dad's off-key voice singing along to Crosby, Stills, and Nash. He unknowingly hums the tune as his fingers glide through Graeme’s hair. When Graeme stops reading, looking up at him, Alan blushes.

“Sorry. One of my dad’s old favorites.”

Graeme’s smile is small, but brilliant, the one he reserves for Alan’s father, Mike. They’ve bonded over food, he and Graeme and Alan’s brother-in-law, Rick. They have a group chat, just the three of them, and Alan’s heart swells every time he thinks about it, about just how vital to his whole life Graeme has become.

Graeme pokes him in the side. “Which one?”

Clearing his throat - he’s not as tone deaf as his dad, but he’s not that strong, either - he picks out a starting note and manages the chorus:

Our house is a very, very, very, very fine house,

With two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard.

Now everything is easy ‘cause of you…

Graeme blinks, rubbing just a little wetness out of his eye. “You dork,” he mumbles, before burying his face in Alan’s sweater and giving in to the tears.

Setting the book aside, Alan lifts Graeme up into his lap, rocking him gently, continuing to hum the song.

“I love you,” Graeme whispers against his neck. “God, I fucking love you so much.”

Beaming from the inside out, Alan tilts his head up for a kiss. It’s just so easy.

Graeme can’t stop laughing. Or smiling. He can’t stop expressing the incredible lightness he feels, having officially graduated, with a job lined up working for Reene, whose business has been expanding rapidly through word of mouth.

He’s graduated, and he’s feeling pretty fucking high on life, and then he sees the beaming pride on Alan’s face, and it reminds him of his own pride in himself all over again.

He fucking did it.

And god, yeah, probably there are going to be a million more complications in life from here on out - he and Alan have a wedding to plan, at some point, after all - but he did it.

Mike gives him a huge, rib crushing hug that pulls him off his feet, and Linda kisses his cheek. István repeats the hug, swinging Graeme around in a partial dance before kissing him on the mouth just a little more thoroughly. And everything, all of it, makes Graeme laugh. Like he’s floating through the best subspace he’s ever been in. He’s grateful for Alan’s hand on the small of his back, anchoring him a bit to reality. The fact that Alan’s paying constant attention to him, making sure he stays hydrated and has food and guiding Graeme through some of the interactions when he shows signs of getting introverted-out, it makes the whole party one of the best he’s ever been to. And the fact that it’s all for him, that all of these people genuinely want to celebrate his achievement - it’s a bit heady. He’s almost disappointed when he and Alan have to start saying their goodbyes to head to the airport, Alan’s family having graciously agreed to clean the party up and take care of the cats in their absence.

Hendrick’s wife, Cecilia, joins them in the town car, sitting up front with her husband, since they’d both been at the party, and they’ll head home together afterwards. Graeme leans into Alan’s shoulder, coming down a bit from his high and just listening to Alan, Hendrick, and Ceci all interact. His fingers are wrapped in Alan’s, and he could almost let his eyes drift shut if he weren’t on pins and needles about wherever it is they’re heading. Someplace exotic? Alan hasn't taken him overseas yet, but he thought he saw Alan pack his passport.

At the curb, they pile out, calling goodbyes to Hendrick and Ceci. Graeme is eager when Alan hands him his backpack as his carry on item. Curious, he rifles through it while Alan deals with curbside check for their shared checked bag, and is pleasantly surprised to find his current knitting project, his latest Percy Jackson book, and all of his favorite snacks, along with his meds and chargers and all of the other accoutrements one needs. No clues here, though, for where they’re going.

He slings it on his back and leans in to brush a kiss over Alan’s cheek, taking his hand to walk inside. Finally, Alan hands him a boarding pass and his passport. Eager, Graeme searches the ticket for… “Redmond, Oregon?”

Instead of being offended, Alan laughs at his confused face, then pulls him in for a kiss. “Trust me.”

“You know I do, implicitly.”

Alan’s face is sincere, and this time, he just kisses Graeme’s forehead. “I know you do.”

The first thing he notices, stepping off the tiniest plane he’s ever been on and onto the tarmac - the tarmac! Not a tunnel! - in Redmond, is the smell. Despite the fact that they’re standing next to a plane that should be putting off all kinds of mechanical smells, Graeme’s nose is overwhelmed by a deep, earthy scent. He inhales again, letting out a happy sigh, and hears Alan do the same on the other side of him as they wait for their one checked bag.

“So where exactly are we?” he asks, his fingers sliding once again into Alan’s.

“Central Oregon. Portland is approximately-” Alan looks around, getting his bearings. “- that way. Beyond those mountains. A lot of hours. My family used to come here for vacation but we’d drive down from Seattle.”

Graeme follows his pointing finger, but gets stopped by the vision of the sun setting over a string of magnificent mountain peaks. It’s stunning, and Graeme is momentarily floored. He snaps out of it when Alan returns with their luggage and they start heading for the exit.

Graeme stops short, letting out a little laugh at the sight of a very smartly dressed woman holding up a sign lettered “Congratulations, Graeme!”

“That’s our ride,” Alan says with a grin.

To Graeme’s surprise, the woman is just there to hand off keys to Alan and get his signature on the paperwork as they walk towards the parking lot.

“Don’t you have- um, aren’t you going to get stuck here?” Graeme asks hesitantly, as if he’s missing something when Alan starts loading their bags.

“I’ve got a colleague picking me up. Have a great time, you two,” she says brightly with a nod at Graeme.

Graeme is also surprised at the choice of car. It’s an SUV, so opposite the Tesla that it brings Graeme up short. When he says something, Alan nods. “Yeah, the cabin is off the beaten path, so to speak, so we need something with a taller floor. And it’s a hybrid.”

“Ooo, cabin?” Graeme is silently pleased that they’re not camping. Maybe he’s gotten soft since he hooked up with Alan - Soft? Hardly, his inner 12-year-old jokes - but he likes their nice, comfy bed.

“Yeah. Ready to check it out? I’ve got the key code. We don’t even need to stop for supplies, the fridge and pantry should be stocked for us.”

Graeme pulls a serious face. “But did they buy Oreos?”

Alan laughs as he buckles himself in, then pulls Graeme’s hand over for a kiss. “I double-checked that they got Oreos.”

“Man of my dreams.” Graeme flutters his eyelashes.

Cabin turns out to be an understatement. Not that it’s a mansion, either, though. It’s just a beautifully built, modern, single-story log house down a drive a half mile long. Graeme feels a sense of isolation he’s never felt before, and only finds it mildly creepy.

He breathes in more of that wonderful scent he knows he’s going to forever associate with this trip. As they step up to the door, however, that scent recedes into the more overwhelming cedar smell of the wood frame of the cabin. “I feel like we’re on Little House on the Prairie or something,” he says, even as Alan opens the door with an extremely modern keypad.

The inside is rustic, but hardly ‘roughing it,’ in Graeme’s estimation. It has an open floor plan, the kitchen and living sharing space, a large king bed tucked behind a divider in the corner, and a small bathroom off the back. Graeme sets his bag down by the door, toeing off his flats and walking over to the fireplace - real wood. He sinks his toes - nails currently a pretty sky blue - into the plush fur rug covering the wooden planked floor, noting a little sign on the mantle assuring him the fur is vegan.

Because Oregon,

Graeme thinks.

He turns back to Alan, who’s still standing at the door, taking everything in, grinning. Graeme arches a single brow, rubbing his feet in the fur still. “You know you’re going to have to fuck me on this rug, right?”

Alan’s eyes widen for one second before he laughs, crossing the room to drop their shared suitcase by the bed. “I’ll put it on the to-do list.”

“We have a to-do list? I thought this was vacation.” Unable to resist his man, Graeme walks to Alan and wraps his arms around Alan’s waist.

Alan starts ticking off fingers. “Fuck you in the bed, fuck you in the shower, fuck you over the kitchen counter, now we’re adding the rug. Busy week, you and I.”

Graeme laughs, pulling Alan’s hand back and closing his fingers. “I hope you brought lots of dildos, then.”

Alan takes their joined hands and leads Graeme into a swaying dance to some unheard tune. “I guess that’s for Daddy to know and Baby Boy to find out, isn’t it?”

Graeme’s knees wobble and his heart thuds against his ribs. “Fuck, Alan,” he lets out with a breathy laugh, laying his head on Alan’s shoulder. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Not luck. You earned this,” Alan counters, kissing his forehead. “Congratulations, baby.”

Graeme moves his arms up, circling Alan’s neck and leaning in for a lingering kiss. Alan responds in kind, his hands smoothing over Graeme’s back before landing on his ass and pressing him more firmly against Alan’s body. It’s one of Graeme’s favorite feelings, being dwarfed by this gentle giant of a man, who looks even more like a lumberjack now in his jeans and red flannel. Graeme should have known once he saw Alan’s outfit that they were heading for the woods. Instead, he’d just ogled his fiance like normal.

One kiss bleeds into another, and then Alan’s hand is creeping below the waistband of Graeme’s low-rise jeans. His hand cups Graeme’s bare cheek, squeezing and pulling tighter before his fingers graze over Graeme’s hole.

“Too many clothes,” Graeme mutters, his voice slurred with desire, his hands clumsy as they try to work the buttons on the flannel.

Alan has a much easier time pulling off Graeme's hoodie, his chest bared for Alan even though Alan’s still got several layers to go. Frustrated, Graeme whines, tugging on the flannel. “I’m going to rip these damn buttons off like some kind of old fashioned romance novel hero,” he complains, and Alan finally takes pity on him, helping.

Graeme’s fingers play over Alan’s stomach, tickling at the hair there, before coming to rest on the fly of his jeans. “What’re we doing, here? What do you want?”

Alan captures his mouth for another kiss before rubbing his bearded cheek over Graeme’s. “Right now, I’d like to blow you, if that’s okay?”

“What level do you want back?” Graeme asks, referring to their preferred method for Alan to express exactly how ace his gray asexuality is feeling at the moment. His fingers still linger at Alan’s fly.

“PG,” Alan murmurs before taking his mouth again, meaning:

Nothing below the belt right now, thanks.

Smiling, Graeme lets Alan topple them to the bed.

“You were so good today.” Alan’s lips drift over his neck before renewing a mark on Graeme’s collar bone that he’d made a few days ago.

Graeme shivers, unable to stop feeling from welling up inside him at the thought of his Daddy’s happiness. “Daddy,” he whimpers, blushing, wanting to go under just a little, even if they’re not doing a full on scene. It would be so easy to slip under right now, like sliding into a pool.

Alan’s eyes meet his, searching. “You want to go down for me, Baby Boy?”

Graeme’s “Yeah, just a little” comes out all breathy.

“Sounds good.”

Happy that they’ve set their rules, Graeme relaxes into the bed, letting Alan’s body cover his again. “More,” he whispers.

“I’m so proud of you, walking across that stage, head held high. You looked so confident, and happy, and magnificent. I’ve been wanting to do this since then.”

Alan’s fingers work at his fly, then slip the jeans over his narrow hips. He continues working his mouth down Graeme’s body, stopping to bring both nipples to hard peaks before kissing down Graeme’s stomach.

“Daddy’s got you,” Alan says when Graeme makes a small noise of frustration at Alan’s teasing.

And just like that, he’s slipping under, letting Alan have complete control of his body, of his pleasure. His Daddy is going to take care of him, and all he needs to do is float and take it. Alan continues his words of praise, like drops of happiness adding to the great well that is Graeme’s pleasure right now.

When Alan’s mouth reaches his cock, it takes everything in him to keep his hips still, to be a good boy and let Daddy do all the work. He’s rewarded with warm praise, and even more pleasure blooms up brightly inside of him.

Slowly, Alan slides down Graeme’s cock. The movement is torturous, but Graeme’s a good boy, he is, and he’s not going to take more than Daddy wants to give at the moment.

Alan’s hands press his thighs out and down to the mattress, and when he lifts up and sinks back down rapidly, Graeme can almost imagine he’s being fucked into the mattress instead. He watches Alan’s bobbing head, the flush on his cheeks, the way he looks up every so often to check on Graeme. Graeme strokes through Alan’s hair, being careful not to pull hard. The sight of Alan going down on him, the feeling of wet suction his mouth is creating, it all makes Graeme wish he were wearing a cock ring, because he feels like he’s going to explode all too quickly.

There’s no way he can last, not when Alan adds fuel to the fire, pushing a saliva-slick finger into him and expertly finding his prostate. Groaning, clutching at the sheets instead of Alan, Graeme floods his mouth with cum.

“Daddy!” His shout echoes through the small cabin, and Graeme’s suddenly glad there’s no one around for miles. At home, they have soundproofing, but out here… They can be as loud as they fucking want, anyway.

He collapses, not even realizing how he’d arched his body under Alan’s ministrations. Alan follows his same path up, soothing now instead of teasing. When he takes Graeme’s mouth again, he can taste himself, and he sighs into the kiss, perfectly satisfied, floating back up from subspace.

“There you are,” Alan murmurs, kissing his cheek.

Graeme wraps his arms around Alan and pulls him into a big hug, and Alan melts into it. “I love you, Alan. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

Alan seems to preen, glow, just like Graeme does with his praise, and Graeme can’t help but add more love words as they stay wrapped in each other.

Eventually, Alan glances blearily at his watch, his head still resting on Graeme’s shoulder while Graeme strokes through his hair. “We should get ready for bed. We have an eight o’clock appointment tomorrow.”

“Eight?” Graeme asks, his voice creeping up an octave. “What the heck for?”

Alan grins, rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom. “That part’s a surprise.” He returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning Graeme up thoroughly before kicking his jeans off.

“There’re more surprises?”

“Oh, baby, we’ve barely started.” Alan’s smile is wicked, and Graeme’s heart leaps in anticipation.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme grumbles when Alan rolls out of bed at early o’clock the next morning. He moves into Alan’s warm spot and buries his face in the pillow, half asleep, half listening to Alan putter around in the kitchen, humming under his breath.

But when the smell of coffee and toast grows stronger, he finally manages to wake. He fumbles through the blankets, then picks up Alan's flannel from the floor and uses it as his cover up. It's long enough to hide his dignity, just. And there’s something both sexy and comforting Graeme finds in wearing Alan’s things.

“Morning,” he offers, immediately picking up one of the mugs of coffee from the counter and beginning to doctor it how he likes - light and sweet, thank you.

Alan presses into his back, arms slipping around his waist. “It should be illegal for you to look like this,” he murmurs in Graeme’s ear.

Graeme blushes, shaking his head. “Like what?”

“Like you’re all sweetly rumpled from being thoroughly fucked last night.” His low tone of voice makes Graeme shiver. “You’re giving me all kinds of ideas.”

Graeme turns in Alan’s arms, pressing a kiss to his lips. “If those ideas involve us going straight back to bed, you sexing me up, and then us falling asleep for three more hours, I’m game.”

Alan laughs, nuzzling his bearded cheek along Graeme’s stubbly one. “As much as that sounds amazing, I think you might actually like your birthday present more than morning sex.”

Graeme raises a skeptical brow. “That might be the ace talking.”

“Trust me,” Alan says with another laugh.

“Implicitly.”

Alan turns to hand him a plate of scrambled eggs and toast - simple enough Alan feels confident in making it without Graeme’s help. “Eat while I get your clothes ready.”

“Do I have enough time for a shower?”

“Just. And if I don’t join you and distract you.”

Graeme grins, sitting at the small breakfast table in the kitchen area. “Well then, I guess I’ll get going.”

A half-hour later, Graeme’s stepping out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, face cleanly shaved, and breath minty fresh.

“Okay, I’m ready for you,” Alan says, gesturing to the outfit laid out on the bed.

Graeme grows thoughtful. Normally, Alan buys him clothes that fall into two categories: sexy or cozy. He especially loves Graeme in a crop top and Graeme swears he now owns more crops than regular tees. Same with his pajama sets: Alan has always liked wrapping him up in fluffy, comforting clothes.

The outfit on the bed is neither, Graeme decides, as he slips on the boxer briefs. When he pulls on the jeans, the first thing he notices is how sturdy they are. True to Alan being Alan, they also make his ass look amazing, but they’re clearly not aiming for that as their first purpose. Next is a long-sleeved grey henley that fits him perfectly, if the look in Alan’s eye is any indication. Finally, a brand new black hoodie, a zip up, emblazoned on the back with a nicely designed logo for ‘Juniper Creek Farm.’

“Juniper Creek Farm?” Graeme asks as he shrugs into it.

Alan just smiles his secretive Dom smile. “And here.” He tosses Graeme a pair of thick wool socks and sets a brand new pair of sturdy leather boots with a Carhartt label on the bed.

“I feel so butch,” Graeme says with a laugh, sitting down to pull the socks on as Alan joins him to do the same.

“We can put you in heels later to make up for it,” Alan offers. “This is what was recommended for today, though.”

Graeme attempts a sly crooked smile like Frodo. “All right then, keep your secrets.”

He stands, zipping up the hoodie and slipping his hands in the pockets, relishing that extremely-fluffy-fuzzy new sweatshirt feeling. “How do I look?”

Standing, Alan pulls Graeme into his arms for a thorough kiss. “Perfect.”

“No hints? Not even a clue?”

“Nope. C’mon.” Alan tugs him toward the door.

Graeme spends most of the drive admiring the countryside. In between farm fields, a lush green for spring, the land gives way to great fields of sage bush and juniper trees. The farms seem like an oasis among the high desert landscape. He’s surprised when Alan turns into one of those oases, an artistically rusted sign proclaiming it "Juniper Creek Farm.”

“Hey, you did give me a hint!”

Alan just laughs as they start up the drive toward an idyllic white farmhouse and a big red barn. On either side of the gravel road, a fence pens in green fields of sheep, and a couple of llamas. Or alpacas maybe. It’s the first time Graeme’s actually seeing them in real life so he’s not quite sure.

There’s a woman, dressed in work clothes similar to Graeme’s, complete with the farm logo hoodie, that greets them at the end of the drive. Her curly brown hair is pulled back in a pony tail that makes the rest halo around the back of her head, and Graeme immediately feels drawn to her warm smile. “Alan Gerry?” she asks as they emerge from the car.

Alan holds out his hand. “Theresa Billing?”

“One and the same. Welcome to the farm!” She shakes Alan’s hand briskly, then turns to Graeme to offer it up again. Graeme finds her grip warm, rough, and sturdy. “And you must be the birthday boy, and fiber artist.”

Graeme looks between them, letting out a little laugh. “I mean, I knit, but I’m not an arti-”

“Alan sent me some picture of your work to see if we’d be compatible. Don’t sell yourself short, dude.” Theresa does a circle around him, holding out his hoodie in the back to presumably admire the logo. “Looks good on you, Graeme.”

“Thanks for sending me the graphic design so I could get one printed for him," Alan says with a smile.

Back in front of them, Theresa grins widely. “No problem. And he has no idea what we’re doing here, right?”

“Totally clueless,” Graeme offers.

“Ready for some enlightenment?

I can show you the world-”

Theresa smiles, cocking an eyebrow.

She surprises Graeme into a laugh. “Yeah!” It’s hard not to feel enthusiastic in her presence.

She begins walking them toward the barn, giving them a spiel about the farm, it’s inhabitants and history. “There are some century farms in this area - hard to get a whole lot older than that here in Oregon, but we started in ‘99 with a tiny flock. I still like it small: I mostly sell to local yarn stores - Bend, Sisters, Redmond, they all have a pretty thriving tourist business and tourists love local stuff. I do private commissions for some fiber artists as well.”

She opens the barn door, letting them into the darker area. Graeme feels like he’s starting to get a clue as to what’s going on here, but the moment they step inside, he’s immediately distracted by a display of yarn, and he makes a beeline to it, fingers already outstretched to feel it. He pulls back at the last second, looking over his shoulder. “May I?”

Theresa grins widely. “Of course.”

Graeme lets his fingers slide along the skein, a natural dark brown. It’s smooth, delightfully rustic against his skin. He picks it up, rubbing it on his cheek. “This is gorgeous.”

“Thanks! That’s from Scottie. She’s a Jacob sheep, you know, one of those ones with multiple sets of horns? She’s got 4 herself.”

“Badass,” Alan says behind him.

“Pretty much. She’s great. I love this natural color so I never dye her - plus customers appear to like it that way.”

Graeme moves on, coming to what he figures is a knitting sample to show off the yarn. It’s a small shawl, fingering weight by the looks of it, dyed in an ombre from blue to purple to pink to orange, reminding him of the sunset he saw last night. “Oh my god, I want this colorway,” he breathes.

Theresa appears beside him, grinning. “Well, Graeme, that’s exactly what you’re here to do.”

Graeme turns around to face Alan, hands on his hips. “Are we doing a local yarn shopping spree?”

Alan laughs. “Not quite.”

“This way, Graeme. Come meet one of my merinos, Dalia.” Theresa opens a stall gate, beckoning Graeme inside, where a single sheep is contentedly chewing on some feed. “Come on, come feel her.”

Graeme steps inside, grateful now for his work boots. The sheep is impossibly soft looking, with big rolls of skin and fluff billowing around her neck like a triple chin. She’s not as soft as he expects, though, when he pats her curls on the side, considering the merino wool yarn he’s worked with before. He crouches down to her level, stroking down her nose, then looks up at Alan and Theresa. He knows his face must be a mask of childlike wonder, and he can’t resist asking, “So what are we doing here?”

Leaning against the wall of the stall, Theresa grins. “Over the next three days, Graeme, I’m going to show you how the wool gets from this lovely lady here,” she pats Dalia’s flank, “all the way to that over there.” She points at the sunset shawl. “This is a sheep-to-shawl workshop.”

“No shit?” Graeme asks, forgetting himself.

Alan laughs. “Yup. And uh, I’m going to learn with you? Maybe not the knitting part, though.”

Theresa elbows Alan in the side. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a loom already warped for you.”

Alan’s second, way more nervous laugh is cut off when Graeme throws his arms around him, pressing their lips together fervently. “You’re right. This is way better than staying in bed and having sex.”

He knows he didn’t speak quietly enough when Theresa laughs behind them.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Alan murmurs to cover up the awkward silence. He kisses Graeme on the forehead, then turns him around so they’re both facing Theresa and Dalia.

“Sorry,” Graeme says with a blush.

Theresa shrugs it off. “This is a farm. We know about sex. Now, more importantly, how about I show you how to shear this pretty girl?”

Eight hours later, he’s wet, he’s fairly sure he stinks of sheep poop and lanolin, and his hands are pruned from all the fiber washing they’ve done, but he’s also stuck with a permanent smile on his face as he and Alan join Theresa and her wife, Izzie, for a simple dinner. It’s not part of the money Alan’s paying - they’re just hospitable like that.

With the three of them working just Dalia’s fleece, they’d been able to get through picking out all of the other, not-wool parts like hay and poop and burrs before washing the entire lot and leaving it out to dry. Theresa had assured them it would be dry by the next day because of the dry high-desert air.

Graeme’s feels the kind of exhausted he feels at the end of a very long day at Reene’s - that is, the type of exhausted that comes from doing work he enjoys. He knows he’s mostly quiet, letting Alan and Theresa carry the conversation as he drifts in and out of it.

They drive home just as the sunset is hitting again, and Graeme sighs. Alan glances over, then reaches for his hand. “What’s up? Did you like it?”

He has to know the answer to that question, but Graeme obliges him anyway. “I loved it. It’s- it’s the perfect present, Alan, thank you.”

“Got it. Happy sigh.”

Graeme laughs, squeezing his fingers. “Happy sigh,” he confirms. “Makes me wonder how the hell we got here.”

“Fate brought you to me right when I needed you,” Alan replies softly.

“I think you have it backwards.”

Alan stops the car in front of their rental, turning to face Graeme fully. He brings Graeme’s hand up for a kiss. “I’ll accept that it’s both, maybe, but not backwards.”

He cups the back of Graeme’s neck, moving them together so he can sweep his lips over Graeme’s. Graeme sighs again, letting himself melt into the kiss.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme’s eyes slide shut again, and this time it’s a few seconds, he thinks, before he’s blinking them back awake. He groans, rubbing over his eyes, cursing the blinking cursor at the end of the last line of his writing. He’s got...yep, still just one page of a four page essay to go.

He looks over at Alan, who finished programming earlier, and is now sitting and reading - an actual paper novel, no less - while the cats cuddle with him. Graeme practically whimpers. It just looks so comfy.

Taking a last look at his paper, he pushes up from the dining table and shuffles over to the couch, pulling up Alan’s blanket and making himself comfortable on his fiance’s side.

He loves the way Alan’s fingers slide into his hair without a thought, soothing Graeme even as he lets his eyes slip closed at the warmth Alan is emanating.

“Finished?”

Graeme grunts. “No. I just need to take a short nap. Clear my mind, then I’ll get back to it. College sucks. Philosophy sucks.” Alan makes a small sound of commiseration, which bolsters Graeme to complain some more. “Chidi makes it seem so easy on The Good Place. This professor just talks me around in circles, I swear. It’s like I spent the quarter running on a hamster wheel, and that’s what this paper is shaping up to sound like. I don’t even hate writing! I liked my English classes in high school! My teacher in 11th grade was like, the only teacher who didn’t think I was worthless.”

His fingers squeeze into Alan’s sweater at the thought, and Alan responds with a soothing sound, his fingers carding through Graeme’s hair. It’s relaxing enough that Graeme can feel his eyes slipping closed again. “And this is due tonight by midnight?”

Graeme groans. “Yes,” he admits, the sound muffled in Alan’s side.

“And you’ve known about it since…?”

“Last Monday,” Graeme replies, disgruntled. Fiances are supposed to back you up, no matter what.

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Unless that brilliant mind of yours happened to invent time travel when I was writing earlier, I don’t think anything will help.” Graeme waits a beat, then pushes himself up from his comfy position. “Even a nap.” He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

Alan follows him into the sitting position, his hand sliding behind Graeme’s head to cup the back of his neck in a way that’s instantly soothing to Graeme. Pavlovian response, maybe. Hey, look, he did learn something. No, wait, that was Psych 101.

With his fingers firmly gripping the back of Graeme’s neck, Alan leans in, his lips grazing over Graeme’s ear. As he whispers, Graeme can feel his breath tickling in a way that makes him shiver. “I can help you focus. You’ve been a bad boy, yes? Procrastinating. I could spank you until your cheeks are red, and when you sit, you’ll be reminded of your punishment. Might help?”

Graeme lets a breath rush out that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’s not sure exactly how Alan was able to diagnose the guilt he’d been feeling, curled up inside him, right next to his low self-worth, but he’s hit the nail on the head for sure. “You’re not disappointed in me?” he has to ask, because yes, there’s the self-worth, whimpering like a hurt puppy inside him.

Alan’s fingers squeeze, soothing, even as his other hand comes around to cup Graeme’s jaw. He kisses him, slowly, sweetly, in answer. “I’m never disappointed in you, baby boy. Never ever. I just hate to see you be disappointed in yourself.”

The way Alan is handling him, as if he could go limp right now and Alan would care for him - it makes pleasure curl in Graeme’s gut, and makes his brain go just a little floaty. He meets Alan’s searching eyes, and nods.

“Verbal, baby,” Alan gently reminds.

Graeme pulls back, pressing up to his knees in preparation to lay himself across Alan’s lap. “I want you to punish me, Daddy. Remind me that good boys don’t procrastinate.”

Alan’s eyes are burning, but his tone is businesslike as they run through verbal and non-verbal safe signals. The talk, which his dick knows always leads to fun times, combined with that look, is making Graeme’s cock more than half-stiff in his sweatpants, a fact which is extremely obvious to everyone in the room. Alan grins, rubbing him slowly, tortuously, just once, up and down his length, before pulling Graeme’s body down across his knee.

“So, you knew about this six days ago, and you just started today. I think four for each day would be sufficient, don’t you agree, baby boy? Is Daddy being fair?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Graeme replies, unable to help arching his hips a little, raising his ass in the air.

“But first a warmup. Count for me, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he says again, breathless.

Alan’s hand is warm through the material of his sweatpants, and when it swats down, the pants cushion most of the blow, so just a small sting zings through Graeme’s system. “One.”

That blow, and the accompanying five, are enough to wipe the sleepy cobwebs from Graeme’s brain. When Alan pulls his sweatpants and boxer briefs over the swells of his ass, exposing the surely pink flesh to air, though, anticipation courses through Graeme’s system.

“Back at the beginning. Count and tell me why you’re being punished.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Alan’s murmured, “Such a good boy for Daddy,” makes Graeme shiver.

The first thwack of Alan’s hand takes Graeme by surprise, and he shudders as the pain radiates out from his ass cheek, even as Alan’s hand soothes over the spot immediately. “One. I should have started my essay earlier.” Another slap, in a different place. Graeme’s learned by now that he can never predict where Alan’s blows are going to land. It helps his brain let go of trying to predict the future, and just take the punishment - the please and pain - for what it is in the moment. “Two. I shouldn’t procrastinate.”

“Good, baby boy. Very go-” The next blow comes mid-sentence, just to change things up, and Graeme gasps.

“Three-” he says, his breath still trying to refill itself. “Three, I- I need to pass this class to graduate.”

The next seven blows amp up the pain, now that he’s warmed up. Both he and Alan are perfectly aware he’s a masochist, but the pain of the punishment seems to be outshining the pleasure for him at the moment. Tears spring into his eyes that have nothing to do with the pain.

“Eleven,” he mumbles, the tears evident in his voice. “I- I- I- um.” A thought comes into his head, unbidden, and he doesn’t want to voice it. He can’t let it be said because then it might come true.

Alan’s hand always rests on the spot he just slapped as he waits for Graeme’s reason, and that doesn’t change now, the silence stretching. Graeme’s brain tries to work past the terrible thought, but he can’t, it’s like he’s one of Alan’s programs stuck on a loop. His mind keeps looping back to it, and he can’t get past it, and-

“Breathe, baby, please, breathe for me.” Alan’s hand is rubbing over his t-shirt, soothing the tense muscles of his back. “Please, Graeme.”

Graeme lets out a whooshing breath, choking in another while trying to hold back a sob. There’s a contingency for this. He knows this. He’s just not sure he deserves to color out, is the thing. But he’s been playing with Alan for so long now, it’s ingrained in him, and he mumbles out, “Yel- yellow.”

Suddenly he’s sitting up, cradled in Alan’s arms, Alan’s calloused thumb wiping at the tears on his cheek. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Alan’s fingers thread through his hair and press his head to Alan’s chest, where Graeme can hear Alan’s heartbeat. It’s steady, though rapid, which makes sense when your partner has just used a safe word.

“Sorry,” Graeme offers, burying his face even further into Alan’s sweater.

“Please don’t be sorry, baby. I love you so much. You’re perfect to me.” The words tumble out of Alan too quickly to be anything from the truth, or at least that’s what Graeme tells himself. “Can you tell me what happened so I can fix it?”

Graeme picks at a fuzzy on Alan’s sweater, trying to steady his breath. “All I could think- all I wanted to say, all I could think of to say was how disappointing I must be to you. You support me, financially, emotionally, unconditionally, you support me, and here I am, disappointing you. It makes me want to throw up.” Unconsciously, his hand comes down to his stomach, pressing against the rolling emotions that seem to centered there.

Alan’s lips press against his hair. “Oh, baby, I’m never disappointed in you. Never ever.” He can feel Alan’s lips lift into a smile. “I cast my lot in with yours a long time ago and I’ve never once regretted it.”

“N-no?” It’s hard to keep the hiccupping gasp for air out of his voice.

“Never once,” Alan reassures, his hand soothing on Graeme’s back. “I’d be a pretty big hypocrite if I was disappointed in you for procrastinating. Did I ever tell you about the correspondence course my senior year?”

“No…”

“Yeah, I had this one one-hundred level class left that I couldn’t fit into my schedule, so I decided to do a correspondence course, and I procrastinated on it so much that I literally graduated still having to complete it. I walked in front of all of my friends and family, and then, instead of partying that night, or hell, sleeping, I completed 18 weeks of work over the course of like, 6 hours, to drop it off the next day. I haven’t told a single soul about that. My sister would kick my ass sideways, I’m sure.”

“Oh my god, Alan,” Graeme can’t help but say, a little censure in his voice.

“I will never, ever judge you for whatever you do with your schoolwork, baby. I have no leg to stand on.”

Graeme can hear the smile through his tone. He feels his own lips lift up, too, and realizes his heart has calmed, his breathing has normalized. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Alan’s neck that makes gooseflesh rise on Alan’s skin.

“Well, you’re going to be my husband, so my secrets are your secrets. And I do expect you to take that to the grave, my dear.”

Graeme laughs, leaning back to meet Alan’s eyes. He holds out his hands. “Promise.” They both smile as Alan takes it and shakes.

They breathe together for a few moments, before Alan tips his head up to meet his eyes again. “We can keep going if you want. Now that the air is cleared. Or I can let you take your nap. Whatever you need, baby boy.”

Graeme runs an assessment of his body. His ass cheeks pleasantly sting, but not enough to keep him focused on his work to finish this essay. It’s his heart, though, that makes the decision for him. It feels significantly lighter now that they’ve talked. “Green. Let’s keep going.”

Alan’s eyes sparkle with happiness, even though his face remains Dom-stern. “If you take the rest of your punishment as well as you took the first part, baby boy, and if you finish your essay, I’ll reward you.”

His voice is all dark promise, and Graeme shivers, letting himself be manipulated back over Alan’s lap.

“Just count this time, baby boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

And even though Alan starts him back over at one, the next few minutes pass by quickly in the buzz of pain and pleasure and subspace.

“I am

so

leaving a note about our discussions on the course evaluation for this. My notes make absolutely no sense,” Graeme complains as Alan tinkers in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner that Graeme had eaten while at the table, writing. And complaining. Which is perhaps why Alan just hums in agreement at this point.

“But-” Graeme finishes typing a sentence with a flourish. “That’s the whole revision, done, looked at by your mom, all suggestions taken, ready to send.” He clicks a button. “And sent.”

He knows he’s beaming when he looks up at Alan in the kitchen, because Alan is beaming back. He crosses over to the kitchen table and runs his fingers through Graeme’s hair. “I’m proud of you, Graeme. Good work.”

The praise washes over Graeme, making him shiver and lean in to press a kiss to Alan’s sweater-covered stomach. Alan’s fingers tighten in Graeme’s hair, sending frissions of pleasure through him. “And now it’s time for your reward, right, baby boy?”

“Right, Daddy.” Graeme looks up Alan’s tall body, loving the power difference the height makes.

“What do you want?”

Graeme’s fingers linger on Alan’s hip, rubbing a circle over the fabric of the yoga pants Alan’s wearing. “What am I allowed to ask for today, Daddy?”

Alan’s fingers leave his hair, sliding down his face until two fingers rest on his lips. Graeme obliges, letting his mouth fall open, and Alan’s fingers hook inside, waiting for Graeme to run his tongue across. “I’d let you blow me. Get me hard.”

“Fuck me?” Graeme asks in clarification, knowing that blow jobs and penetration are two different ball games for Alan’s asexuality.

“Mmm,” Alan says, noncommittal. “I’ll reserve that decision for later, okay?”

Graeme smiles, nodding even as he sucks on Alan’s fingers. He takes no offense. It’s not him that Alan is rejecting, should he reject penetration today, and Graeme knows that down to his very soul. He’s grateful for whatever Alan wants to do on any given day.

“Can I suck you, Daddy, please?” he says instead, with a small whine, letting his cheek brush against Alan’s yoga pants, just over his dick.

“Absolutely.”

Graeme wastes no time hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Alan’s pants and dragging everything down to expose Alan’s cock. It’s only partially hard, but Graeme knows he can coax it to full attention if Alan has given him the assent to do so. He leans in, breathing the heady scent of Alan here, pressing kisses on the skin around his cock, on his hairy thighs, before centering his attention again. Graeme starts slowly, taking just the tip into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it. He knows he’s doing well because Alan’s fingers slide into his hair again and grip it tightly.

With Alan’s hand holding the weight of his head, Graeme lets his eyes fall closed and just slides into the beginnings of subspace, his happy place, Alan’s cock growing thicker on his tongue, filling his mouth. Using him to get hard. It makes him rock in his chair, trying to get friction on his own cock. All he accomplishes is a jolting reminder that his ass still stings from the spanking earlier, but that’s enough to satisfy him too.

He’s not quite sure how long they stay at that rhythm, Alan’s hand guiding him to bob on his hardening cock, Graeme rocking against the pain in his ass again and again to feel the sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine. Alan’s praise-

just like that, yes, baby boy, you’re so good, fuck-

falls on his ears, sends him deeper. He wishes he could spend the rest of the night sucking Alan’s cock. God, he’d fucking kneel at Alan’s feet all day if he could.

His blood flashes heat, thinking of sitting, tucked beneath Alan’s desk at work while Alan clacks away at the keyboard, keeping his cock warm while he has a conversation with Mal or talks on the phone. Graeme’s hole clenches down around nothing at the thought. He groans around Alan’s cock, moving faster, going harder, giving it his everything.

He’s shocked back to consciousness a little when Alan pulls him off, a string of saliva connecting Graeme’s swollen lips to his now-hard, leaking cock. “So good for me,” Alan growls.

Graeme’s rapt on his every word, so lost in subspace that all he can do is look up at his Daddy and beg silently for more. More praise. More cock. More anything.

Alan seems to know exactly what he wants, though, pulling him up to his feet and turning him around to face the table. “Show me that ass, baby boy.”

Graeme goes down on his elbows, cheating his ass up into the air with an arch of his back so Alan can pull his pants down. The coolness of the apartment soothes some of the ache, as does Alan’s reverent hand as he caresses Graeme’s cheeks.

There’s a shuffling behind him, and then Alan’s lube-slick fingers are pressing inside him, giving him a cursory stretch - Alan fucked him with a huge dildo just last night, and he’s still a little loose, still a little sore in the best way possible. “Yes, fuck, Daddy, yes, fuck me, please, fuck me,” Graeme begs, pressing his forehead against the table.

With just that preparation, Graeme feels the head of Alan’s cock begin to press at his hole, and he relaxes, sighing, satisfied that he’s getting what he wants. Alan’s hand presses down on his back as he slides in, holding them both steady. And when Alan hits home, his balls resting against Graeme’s ass, they both sigh, relieved, living in the quiet of that particular moment.

The moment doesn’t last, of course. Graeme arches, trying to take Alan in further, and in retaliation, Alan presses Graeme down hard, sliding out, then slamming home again to show his dominance, to quiet any notion Graeme might have of controlling this fucking.

Graeme moans, relaxing into the table, happy to let his Daddy fuck him however he wants. And apparently tonight, Alan wants slow and excruciating and tortuous. He pulls Graeme up to his tip toes as he slowly drags himself out against Graeme’s prostate, then slides back in again. The speed - or lack thereof - has Graeme panting, pressing his forehead against the table to relieve something, anything. His fingers scrabble at the wood, unable to catch hold, until his fingers ache.

And then, Alan stops moving at all, just holding himself balls-deep in Graeme and moving his hips in little circles. Graeme can’t help clenching down around him, feeling the whole solid length of Alan inside him, burning hot and perfect. Behind him, Alan grunts, thrusting again, then holding, teasing, edging Graeme until he can’t see straight. He knows he’s a sweating, moaning, begging mess, and he loves every fucking second.

“God, your fucking ass,” Alan mumbles, hunching over Graeme and going harder, shaking the table with each thrust. His hands grip Graeme’s hips, enough that he’s sure he’ll have bruises that will make him hard whenever he sees them in the mirror until they fade.

“Daddy- Daddy- Daddy-”

Biting down onto his lip, euphoria starts to spread through Graeme’s body, centered around his belly, as Alan works him harder and harder. On a particularly rough thrust, Graeme’s dick slides against the bottom edge of the table, giving him enough stimulation to come, splattering against the floor. He squeezes down on Alan again and again, until Alan groans and spills inside him.

Alan collapses over him for just a moment, catching his breath and pressing kisses to his neck. Praise floats down through Graeme’s euphora, making his toes curl with pleasure at pleasing his Dom. He’s fairly sure he answers a color check with a mumbled ‘green’ before he really even floats back up from subspace, because when he really comes to, he’s already clean and in Alan’s arms in bed.

Alan’s eyes are closed, but Graeme can tell from his breathing that he’s not quite asleep yet. He turns their positions, or rather, Alan lets him, lets Graeme be the big spoon cuddling up behind his lumberjack body. Graeme’s arm comes around Alan’s waist and rests on his stomach. He presses a kiss behind Alan’s ear, liking the feeling Alan shivering against him.

“That was wonderful, Alan, thank you. For everything.”

He feels Alan’s body slip into relaxation finally, knowing that Graeme’s back from subspace and happy, and that he did well as a Dom. Graeme tells him so anyway, murmuring in his ear about how good he is for Graeme.

They drift off to sleep like that, wrapped in each other, Graeme halfway through telling Alan exactly how much he loves him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Sometimes, before a scene, Graeme likes to sit on the couch, earbuds in his ears, rain sounds on, maybe petting one of the cats, maybe knitting, just trying to give Alan a blank slate to work with.

He hadn’t had a particularly stressful day at work. Reene’s business is expanding, but they have a handle on it, for now. He’s done with school. He’s almost done with the big hat order Sam had tasked him with a few months ago, which means he’ll be able to take on a least one other paid knitting project before Christmas, and someone had come in during knitting night and the shop and asked, and he has her contact info in his phone.

So no, he’s not particularly stressed, but then again, the white noise of the rain sounds are always helpful before a scene, no matter how well his meds are working.

Because otherwise the anticipation would be killing him right now.

Alan knows how impatient Graeme can be when he’s in his Baby Boy headspace, and he’d sent Graeme out here while he gets ready, and the rain sounds are

just

doing the job of making Graeme not shake out of his skin in anticipation of the upcoming scene.

Hands smooth over his shoulders and down his front, and then Alan’s bearded cheek is nestled against his, his arms hugging Graeme from behind the couch. Graeme takes out the earbuds, his heart thudding with excitement, and turn his head to look at his Dom.

“I’m all ready, Baby Boy. Are you?”

Just the sound of Alan’s soft Dom voice murmuring in his ear makes Graeme go hard, which means this is going to be an especially excruciating night. God, he’s so fucking easy for his Daddy.

“Yes, Daddy. Green.”

Alan’s lips press against his briefly. “Great.”

He comes around, pulling Graeme up from the couch and into his arms. He reaches down, stroking over Graeme’s ass. “And just so you know. I’m NC-17 tonight.”

Graeme shivers, nodding his thanks for Alan’s heads up. NC-17 means Graeme’s totally getting fucked with his Daddy’s cock tonight. Anticipation zings adrenaline through his veins.

Alan takes his hand and leads him back to the bedroom, where their supplies for the evening are all set out. “Now, let me see my beautiful canvas,” he murmurs with a tug on the hem of Graeme’s shirt. Pliant, Graeme lets him tug it off and toss it to the hamper. His pants and boxer briefs are dispatched just as quickly, and there Graeme is, naked before his Daddy, cock straining already, when Alan’s fully clothed. It’s the sort of power dynamic that makes Graeme

high.

“Good boy. So pretty for me.” Alan continues to whisper praise at him as he runs his hands all over Graeme’s body, warming his skin up, making it feel alive. When Alan wraps his big arms around Graeme in a comforting hug, Graeme melts into it, hugging back with everything he has even as Alan’s hands work over his back. “Such a good Baby Boy.”

“Thank you Daddy,” Graeme rasps.

If he had his druthers, Graeme would sink to his knees for Daddy right now, maybe take out his cock and keep it warm for awhile, spend the rest of the evening perfectly content to be at Alan’s feet, naked and willing.

That’s not the scene they’ve planned, though, and Graeme had been so excited during the negotiation process that Alan had had to pause and stroke him off so he’d concentrate.

Alan color checks him again as he picks up the bundle of black silk rope, gets a green affirmative.

Graeme loves the process of getting tied up. Loves watching Alan concentrate, his brow furrowing when something goes wrong and then smoothing out again when he fixes the placement or the knot or whatever. It’s a nice, quiet time for Graeme’s mind, his attention solely on his Dom so that he can answer all his questions and color checks promptly.

Tonight, it’s a body harness, less elaborate than some of the ties Darwin has worked with them on. It’s meant for a very specific purpose: it’s going to give Graeme enough flexibility and movement that he’ll be able to wear it under clothing without anyone else - besides Alan - knowing the wiser.

Alan starts with the chest harness, making sure all of the rope stays well away from Graeme’s neck. As his looks back at the instructions on his phone, and then again at Graeme’s body, he murmurs distractedly, “Tell me about your day, baby. Did you have a good one?”

Keeping Graeme talking is a way of checking on him, too, Graeme knows, so he just starts going through his day from start to finish. He worries briefly that he might be babbling, but Alan looks at him with such pride and happiness as he works the ropes down Graeme’s body, diamonding over his torso, who could worry? Not even Graeme’s overactive brain.

Graeme shuffles his feet apart a little as Alan finishes up the harness with a set of ropes that come around his cock and balls, acting as a cock ring, then joining to come up his crack like a thong, knotting right over his hole, and tying off at his waist.

“How does everything feel? Test it out for me, baby.”

Alan watches as Graeme tests everything, going down into a squat, kneeling, sitting on the bed. “Anything chafing? Rubbing the wrong way? How’s the knot on your hole feel?”

“Everything’s green, Daddy. The knot feels like torture, though,” he replies with a wry twist of lips.

“Perfect.” Alan’s answering grin is delicious, and he pulls Graeme in by his chest harness to kiss him, making Graeme sigh and melt into the bondage. God, he loves being pulled around by his Daddy. “If anything feels tingly or numb or off in any way, you let me know right away, Baby Boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“The knot feels like torture, huh?”

“When I sat on the bed, yeah, Daddy,” Graeme answers with a laugh. “Can’t imagine what it’ll feel like sitting at the restaurant.”

Alan hums, looking thoughtful. “You don’t know why the knot’s there, do you, Baby Boy?”

The thing is,

Graeme

does. They’d talked over every aspect of this. But Graeme’s left

Graeme

far behind, and Baby Boy has no fucking clue. He shakes his head innocently.

Alan reaches for something on the bed behind him. A turquoise silicone plug Graeme hasn’t seen before, decently sized. “It’s to make sure this stays in, right snug over your prostate when you sit.” Alan’s dark voice makes Graeme groan. “Turn around and bend over the bed for me like a good boy. Perfect,” he says when Graeme complies.

Graeme lets his fingers sink into the bedspread, stabilizing him, giving him some solid point of reference as his Daddy’s lube-slick fingers rub at his rim and stretch him open. He feels the knot rub against his rim again as it’s moved aside, and then the thick bulb of the plug is being worked into his hole. He groans, relaxing, arching his back to take it. Alan’s hand is warm on the small of his back as he talks him through it, praising how well he takes it, then fucking him with the plug at its thickest point. Finally, he lets it sink into Graeme, lets Graeme’s hole close back around it. The knot snaps back into place, directly under the flared base of the plug where it will tease Graeme all night.

“God, I could fuck you right now.” Alan presses his clothed cock against Graeme’s ass, showing Graeme he’s already partially hard even as he rubs the knot and plug so that the plug rocks against Graeme’s prostate. “But,” and he pulls away, leaving Graeme moaning in disappointment, “what would be the fun in that? Stand up for me and turn around, Baby Boy. Time to get you dressed.”

Alan does this efficiently and all businesslike, as if Graeme weren’t all tied up, hole open and teased, before him. He has Graeme step into fresh boxer-briefs and pulls those up, checking the ropes with the tightness of the briefs over them. He helps Graeme into the dress pants, with a warning: “Now, Baby Boy, I don’t want you to ruin these. You’re going to have to control yourself.”

The rope is already acting as an effective cockring, and Graeme’s no longer hard, but he swallows nervously anyway and nods. Alan looks sternly at him. “You know the punishment for boys who come in their pants.”

Graeme shivers, involuntarily clenching his ass cheeks. “Yes, Daddy.”

Alan slips a tank top over his head so the ropes don’t show, then buttons up his dress shirt, making sure the lock of Graeme’s white gold collar is centered above his heart. The small gesture almost undoes Graeme, his love for this man swamping him all at once. Alan seems to recognize it, because he drops the valet act for a second and presses a short, sweet kiss to Graeme’s lips. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” Graeme has to whisper back. He watches as Alan buttons up the last bit of the shirt so that his collar is hidden, then pulls out a lovely turquoise blue silk tie. Graeme grins. “I’m matching. It’s perfect, Daddy.”

Alan smiles as he concentrates on tying the Windsor. He tightens it, but not too far. “How is that? Too tight?”

“It feels good.”

“You’ll still be presentable without it if at any point it feels like it’s choking you, Baby Boy.”

Yeah, Graeme’s really fucking in love with this man. “Green, Daddy. Thank you for checking.”

“Absolutely my pleasure. Now, can you be a good boy and sit on the bed while Daddy gets ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He sits, having somehow forgotten about the bondage, the knot, the plug. It hits him all at once, the way his body movement is a little restricted, the way the silk rubs over his skin, the way the plug presses into his prostate to send pleasure radiating through his belly, the way the ropes keep his dick from getting hard. “Ohhhhhh,” he sighs, grabbing the edge of the mattress and gripping it hard. Ohhhhh, tonight is going to be

good.

Alan smirks at him even as he strips himself just as efficiently as he’d stripped Graeme earlier. It’s not a hard task to watch his Daddy get undressed and then ready for a night on the town. Every bit of the ‘show’ makes Graeme

want.

He wants to sink his teeth into the skin just there at his lower torso, right where the waistband of his boxer briefs lay. He wants to run his mouth up Alan’s strong back before it gets covered by his tank. He wants to suck a mark under the collar of the button up.

He surprised when Alan sinks to his knees before him, but it’s only so he can slip on Graeme’s dress socks and shoes. He sits beside Graeme on the bed to pull on his own, and then he’s pulling Graeme up, slipping him into a suit jacket, and doing a final inspection. “You look perfect. How does everything feel?”

Graeme may look perfect, but Alan’s

mouthwatering

like this, that whole geekster-lumberjack vibe all bundled up in an extremely well-tailored gray suit. Graeme wants to submit to him all over again. Maybe roleplay late night CEO and lowly janitor or something. “Oh, Daddy,” he manages, breathless.

Alan smirks, his hand coming to rest at the small of Graeme’s back to guide them toward the door of the apartment. “I asked you a question, baby.”

“So fucking green.” Graeme’s already breathless. Walking with the plug is- no, walking with the harness is- no, walking on his Daddy’s arm is- well, he can’t really decide what the best part of this is.

They hold hands in the elevator like the major saps that they are, and Graeme can’t help but watch his Daddy’s face reverently. Love and trust and lust all bound up into one, giddy ball of emotion that seems to settle in his stomach, fluttering there like a whole room of butterflies.

The elevator stops halfway down to pick up another well-dressed couple, and Alan and Graeme give them the ‘we’re neighbors even though we don’t know each other’s names’ nod, and their presence for those precious few moments intensifies everything for Graeme. The idea that he’s- that they’re doing all this, doing a scene, that he’s got a plug up his ass

right now,

and they’re unaware, makes him want to whimper. He holds it in, barely.

Alan helps him sit carefully in the Tesla, but doesn’t start driving right away. “There’s one more thing, Baby Boy.” He taps his phone on the dash, opening up an app Graeme doesn’t see the name of.

It’s a simple layout, just a series of plus and minus buttons, and one that seems to be a timer. Graeme arches a brow at Alan in a ‘what’s up’ gesture. “Tap the plus,” Alan says, his face barely containing his grin.

Graeme taps the button, and immediately gasps, his hand flying out to grip at the car door. The plug has vibrated to life in his hole, and in his current sitting position, that means it’s vibrating right against his prostate. He gets his breathing under control even as the torture continues, though he takes a second to appreciate how quiet the plug is. He can’t hear anything, just feel the buzzing. When Alan taps the minus button, Graeme sags into the seat, huffing out a breath. It’s dark in the parking garage, but Alan’s eyes seem to be all pupil, and Graeme knows his must be the same.

“Color?”

Graeme lets out a breathy laugh. “So fucking green.”

Alan laughs, leaning over to slide their lips together. “Then let’s go to dinner. I think you’re really going to love this place, Baby Boy.”

The way Graeme’s feeling, he’s not even sure he’ll

remember

the restaurant.

Alan continues to torture him with the vibe, a block on, a block off, so Graeme

groans

when there’s a red light and he’s stuck on ‘on.’ It’s the longest car ride he thinks he’s ever endured, but he’s on an ‘off’ cycle when they pull up to the restaurant.

After Alan pulls into the parking spot, he squeezes Graeme’s hand. “Okay, so public safewords,” Alan reminds him. “What’s your word if you need a break?”

“Tacoma.”

“And if you need us to stop? I’ll take you to the bathroom right away and we will fix or adjust whatever needs fixing, and then we’ll go from there, what word for that?”

“Portland.” It’s Graeme’s own joke, that going farther south meant higher safewords.

“Perfect.” Alan cups his cheek, and kisses his forehead tenderly. “Just remember, even though I won’t call you Baby Boy in there, you’re still my Baby Boy, now and forever, and nothing will change that.”

Graeme melts, and he tips his head to brush his lips over Alan’s. “Same goes, Daddy. Best Daddy. I love you.”

With a brief final kiss, Alan’s up and out of the car, helping Graeme out his side in another moment.

Alan wraps one arm around Graeme’s waist as they walk up to the maitre d’ station, his other hand fiddling in his pants pocket. Graeme finds out what he’s fiddling with almost immediately when the plug buzzes to life just as the host greets them warmly.

“Your requested table is right this way, sirs.”

Alan keeps the fucking vibe on all the way through the restaurant until they’re seated in a back booth. Graeme can see immediately why he requested it: the booth means they can sit side-by-side, which means there’s nothing to stop Alan from torturing him the entire meal with sly touches; and the back corner means they can go about mostly undetected. They’re also very near the restrooms. Really, his Daddy thinks of everything.

Mercifully, Alan turns the vibe off as they sit, so Graeme can adjust himself without coming in his pants. The ropes tend to make that an impossibility but honestly, Graeme’s never felt more turned on before, and they’ve barely begun.

Alan sets his phone on the table, the nondescript vibe app open so Graeme can see it. He slips his arm around Graeme’s waist, molding their bodies together, and then starts perusing the menu. Water is served right away, and Graeme takes some, his hand shaking the ice in the glass. He takes a sip, shivering at Alan’s praise for staying hydrated.

Alan keeps whispering in his ear. Filthy things. How hard he’s going to fuck Graeme tonight. How hard he is, thinking about how everyone in the restaurant has no idea what a dirty, filthy,

perfect

sub Graeme is. He may not be hitting the vibe but he doesn’t let up with the dirty talk until their waiter comes to take their order. All business, Alan orders for the both of them, the power play making Graeme’s knees shake.

Alan’s fingers slide over to his phone, and Graeme’s body tenses in anticipation. He strokes over the sides of the phone, then taps his fingers on the table beside it, knowing that everything in Graeme has come to attention, building anticipation. “You know,” he murmurs casually. “This is the lowest setting.” With a flick of his fingers, finally,

finally

the vibe returns. It's not as intense as before, though it still sends pleasant shock waves through his body. “How long do you think you can keep it there? The rest of the meal?”

Graeme’s eyes bug out in his head, and he bites down on his lip, rocking the plug, trying to get it anywhere but

right on his fucking prostate.

“Sure,” he says with way more confidence than he feels.

The thing is, Alan keeps peppering him with questions about work, or asking his opinion on birthday presents for the twins, or talking about wedding plans, the eternal struggle that is wedding plans. All the same mundane, lovely stuff they talk about when they’re out on a normal date.

The fact that Graeme is riding wave after wave of pleasure from the vibrating plug makes him slide so fucking deep into subspace, he doesn’t even know how he’s responding verbally.

Too bad Alan is treating him to a freaking three course meal. The appetizer - what is essentially a fancy Caprese salad - arrives in no time, it seems like, Alan feeding him when Graeme doesn’t want to let his iron grip of the table edge go. It’s the only thing grounding him, he swears.

Casually, Alan flicks his fingers again, and the vibe gets slightly more intense.

“How many settings are there?” Graeme asks, his voice sounding breathless and broken.

“Ten.”

Graeme may let out a very inappropriate sound at that point, and Alan laughs, sweeping his fingers over Graeme’s fade and bringing him in for a chaste, very appropriate for public, kiss. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re doing such a good job. You’re going to ride level two out until we’re done with the main course, and then level three for dessert, got it?”

Graeme hums, letting his eyes close as his fingers tremble.

“Do you have a city name you want to tell me?”

“No.” Graeme shakes his head. “No. Nooooo.” It’s soft, his protest, but he can’t talk without letting out some of the pent up desire that’s built up inside him. “You’re so evil, Da- Alan.”

Alan smirks, his hand coming down, squeezing Graeme’s thigh. “And you’re magnificent. I always wonder how far I can push you, and just when I think I’ve reached your limit, you prove me wrong. Every time.” His hand brushes over Graeme’s back now, reminding Graeme of the harness holding him. “You know, I knew it, when I first took you down, I knew you’d be the sweetest little sub I ever played with. And you are. All mine, so sweet. God, I can’t wait to sink into you.”

Graeme’s breath whooshes out in a gust. “Then you should’ve taken us to McDonald's. You’d be balls deep in me already by now.”

Alan’s laugh is loud, drawing attention from a couple of other tables nearby. Alan nods at them apologetically, and they turn back to their own meals. “You’re such a

brat,”

he whispers, right in Graeme’s ear. “Just for that..”

Alan’s fingers tap, and the vibe starts pulsing at a higher setting. “Just for thirty seconds. So brats know what happens when they have a smart mouth.”

Graeme reaches down, taking Alan’s hand and squeezing. He closes his eyes, and it takes all of his power to one, not come despite the rope, and two, keep a calm expression on his face.

The vibe goes back down just as their main courses arrive. Graeme’s hands are positively shaking as he attempts to cut his steak, but it’s useless, his steak knife clattering down to his plate.

“Guess I’m going to have to feed you,” Alan says with a small tsk.

Oh god, put me out of my misery now,

Graeme thinks, looking at his Daddy, his Dom, his provider, and sinking ever lower as Alan controls even the amount of food he eats, and when.

The steak is probably really good. Graeme had peeked for prices before, and it’s one of those places that doesn’t have them on the menu. For all Graeme knows, he’s wasting Wagyu right now, though some part of him knows Alan wouldn’t do that to him. Whatever he eats, he’s sure it’s good, but he doesn’t taste a bite of it. His sole attention is on Alan’s face, the pleasure in Alan’s eyes. He looks so happy, and that’s Graeme that did that.

It’s so much, this feeling of warmth from making his Dom happy,

and

the waves of desire swamping him from his prostate out. It’s so much good all at once, Graeme’s having a hard time processing it all. It’s like- like he reaches a higher plane, a plateau where all of it, all the pleasure, all the happiness, it’s just a baseline from which he can go

flying.

Plates are cleared away, and Graeme looks at Alan, expectant. “Magnificent,” Alan says again, kissing his forehead. He turns the vibe up to level three.

Graeme moans, then changes it quickly to a cough when someone nearby looks at them. Alan brings his water glass to his lips, and he sips gratefully as Alan makes some excuse for him with their table neighbors and pats his back like he inhaled food or something.

“So close, baby. You’re almost there. Just a little bit more for me.”

Graeme nods, his hand clutched on Alan’s knee. “Talk to me,” he says, trying to keep his voice from a whine.

He doesn’t know how Alan does it. He doesn’t know how Alan’s able to keep up this inane conversation with a partner that’s basically nonverbal and never run out of topics. He doesn’t know how Alan isn’t shaking apart with desire.

It's at that exact moment that Barbie- well, Krista, probably, right now - walks up on them. "Alan, Graeme! My boys! How are you?"

Alan pops up, leaning down to greet Krista with two cheek kisses. "We're wonderful. Are you on a date?"

"Yeah," Krista says unenthusiastically, waving a dismissive hand behind her. "I don't think he's getting a second. I don't think Barbie'd like him."

Graeme tries to nod sympathetically, his cheeks burning with embarrassment even as the plug continues to vibrate away. Since public embarrassment just tends to send him deeper, he shakes, feeling like he needs to dunk his head in a bucket of ice water.

Krista's keen eyes take in all of him, though, and she arches a brow at Alan.

"You'll have to forgive Graeme. He's a little occupied at the moment." Casually, Alan bumps the vibe back to pulse, the sadist.

Graeme grips the table, shuddering, even as understanding dawns in Krista's eyes. She turns to Alan. "May I?"

This- this is a kink in the plans, as it were, though not an unpleasant one. Still, Alan looks to Graeme for confirmation. "Graeme? City?"

Graeme shakes his head, so Alan nods at Krista - well, now Barbie, he supposes, because she's got her Domme look in her eyes, all bright and hot. She slides in beside him at the booth, using a hug as an excuse to purr into his ear, "You're doing such a good job for your Daddy. Keep up the good work."

With that, she's gone, kissing Alan on the cheek once more, and Alan shows him mercy, turning the vibe off pulse. When Alan joins him again, he gives him a slightly-less appropriate for public kiss. "I love you."

Graeme nods back, nonverbal for the moment.

“The chocolate hazelnut cake, sirs.”

“Thank you so much.” Alan’s voice is polite yet commanding to the waiter, betraying

nothing.

The smoothness of the chocolate ganache, the crunch of the hazelnuts, the sweetness of the chocolate sauce all hit Graeme’s palate at once as Alan feeds him the perfect bite, and Graeme’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to think about chocolate again without getting painfully hard.

In a subspace haze, Graeme thinks they finish the dessert. He doesn’t quite remember. He just remembers Alan helping him up out of the booth, his legs wobbling, shaking. He remembers Alan slipping him back into his suit jacket. He remembers waiting while Alan’s credit card is processed. He leans against the wall, anticipation rising in his stomach.

Alan pierces him with a

look

and the butterflies return, all fluttery and wonderful in his stomach.

On the street, Graeme leans into Alan like he’s had too much to drink, even though the only thing he had all night was water. Still, it doesn’t look suspicious, and Graeme catches more than one polite, laughing smile as they walk by strangers.

“Daddy,” he whines, when they’re finally back alone in the Tesla.

“Yes Baby Boy?”

“Daddy-”

Graeme slips on his seatbelt, then grinds against the plug, trying anything to send him over the edge he’s been sitting on for what feels like decades.

“Gotta be a good boy for me, Baby Boy. Good boys get fucked. Bad boys go to bed aching.”

The thought of being sent to bed like this, filled with want and desire and with no place for it to go, has Graeme groaning, tears prickling at his eyes now that they’re not in public anymore.

“Such a good boy,” Alan murmurs, and now he sounds breathy and on edge too. Graeme wants to smirk, would smirk if it were a possibility right now. Daddy wants this just as much as he does. It’s extremely gratifying.

The ride is a blur, the stand out moments when Alan turns the pulse back on and Graeme shouts out his pleasure, the sound echoing in the car. No one on the street can hear it. Graeme wants to

commmmmmme.

In the elevator, they’re alone, and Alan crowds Graeme to the wall, kissing below his ear. He doesn’t do more - it would be inappropriate in public, and there’s a camera in the elevator - but he keeps up that filthy whispering from before.

Every step to the apartment builds the anticipation. Graeme’s practically trembling with it. He feels like the butterflies in his stomach could completely float him away. He’s not even sure how he gets from point A to point B.

He just knows that point B means fucking. Point B means release, hard fought and won.

Point B means-

Apparently Alan’s point B is the front door, because once it’s closed behind them, Graeme’s flipped around and shoved against it, his cheek resting against the cold hardwood. In a moment, Alan’s got Graeme’s pants and boxer briefs around his ankles; in the next, the rope harness tie around his waist is undone, the knot released, the plug perfunctorily shut down, slipped out, and tossed aside.

The rip of the lube packet is the only other warning Graeme gets before Alan’s surging inside of him. They both groan, Alan’s hand coming up to the door to steady himself as he sinks completely inside Graeme’s hole. Balls deep, as Graeme had said earlier.

With the waist part of the harness loosened, the ropes around his cock stop holding back his erection, and within seconds, Graeme is painfully hard, leaking, his cock popping up to slide against his button up.

Well, until Alan basically rips the button up off of him anyway, his mouth going immediately to the skin above the tank top on his neck and sucking a mark there. His lips glide over Graeme’s collar, and he thrusts hard, murmuring, “Mine.”

“Yours, Daddy, yours,” Graeme agrees, clutching at the door. Alan’s hand drops to his front, holding one of the diamond rope formations to keep him steady as he begins fucking, long and deep.

Graeme drops his forehead to the door, the silk rope pulling at his skin. Everything is sensitized, his body trembling, shivering with feeling. “Daddy, please, pleeease let me come, please.”

Alan’s lips are latched onto his neck but he breaks away, nibbling on Graeme’s ear. “Anytime you want, sweet Baby Boy. So fucking good for me, so tight. Love you so much. Come.”

With a strangled cry, Graeme breaks free of the plateau and swan dives off the cliff to his orgasm. It reverberates through him, pleasure chasing through his veins and arteries, the hairs on his arm standing on end. It’s such a sweet release of everything that’s built up, Graeme collapses against the door, quivering on Alan’s cock, utterly spent.

With a shout, Alan spills inside him, hugging Graeme tightly as he rides out his orgasm.

They’re a mess in a way Graeme doesn’t even want to catalog, so he doesn’t, he just lets his eyes slip closed as he floats. Alan’s arms around his waist means he won’t float away.

When he comes to again, he’s naked, cuddled up against Alan in bed. Alan’s slowly rubbing lotion into the light marks the rope left on him.

“Hey, sweetheart, welcome back.” Alan kisses him sweetly on the cheek before resuming his ministrations.

Graeme pauses Alan’s hand, then pulls Alan down for a long, slow, sweet kiss. “I love you. That was wonderful. I love you.”

Smiling, Alan kisses Graeme’s cheek. “I meant every bit of it, you know. You’re magnificent.”

Warm, content, Graeme smiles back. “I know. I trust you, completely, and you never break that trust, so I know.”

Alan relaxes, settling into the aftercare. Graeme knows he always worries after, and he’s happy to provide Alan that reassurance when Alan gives him so much.

When Alan’s satisfied with Graeme’s skin, Graeme coaxes him down into being little spoon. He sighs happily, curled around Alan, and with a last whispered set of “I love you”s, they both fall quickly into sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme lingers at the door, his hands tucked in fingerless gloves, a scarf wrapped firmly around his neck to fight off the unexpectedly chilly April rain. He lingers because currently, his mouth is occupied, giving Alan a long kiss before they part for the day. His boyfriend/fiance is just as occupied, running his hands over Graeme’s ass and pulling him closer.

“You’re sure you’re not coming to the thing I’m helping cater at Tommy’s Place today?”

Alan kisses the side of his mouth, then his nose. “Yeah. It’s just the monthly staff meeting. If I’m there, it looks like I don’t trust Gustavo to manage his own people. They see me there in other capacities all the time, but I need Gustavo to be the one in charge, and if I’m there, that’s not the impression people get.”

“Sensible,” Graeme complains, smiling a little when Alan laughs and leans in for another kiss. “I guess I’ll see you after class, then.” He frowns for effect, then yelps when Alan gooses his ass playfully.

“I was thinking about throwing together a salad for dinner?”

“Alan Garry, you

do

know the way to a man’s heart. What about salmon Caesar? If you could pick up…”

The rest of the conversation passes in domestic happiness, despite Alan’s fingers still firmly holding onto Graeme’s ass.

The staff meeting is a buffet affair, so after Reene and he get their orders done for the day, they head to Tommy’s Place to set up. He’s been here before, of course, but always on Alan’s arm, and therefore always a little detached, because while Alan does get down to the nitty gritty with the center, he doesn’t tend to when Graeme’s there.

Traffic made them a little late, so setting up is done in a flurry, but they manage to have everything ready to go when Gustavo comes in to set up the tech part of the meeting. He greets Reene with a kiss on the cheek, and shakes Graeme’s hand. Graeme doesn’t know Gustavo very well, but anyone who Alan and Reene approve of has to climb pretty high on his list.

“I can handle clean up, if you want to take off. I know you have afternoon class and a long bus ride.” Reene uses a towel to clean up the edge on a bowl of salad dressing - a curry vinaigrette.

“Yeah, I should get going. You’re good? Nothing you want me to pop out and get and bring back?”

Reene nudges him on the shoulder in the direction of the door. “Go. Education is important, and you’re not failing your first year just because I kept you.

Go.”

Graeme raises his hands in defense, grinning. “I’m going!”

As he walks out the door, he checks the time on his phone, trying to calculate if he has enough time to stop downtown and surprise Alan with a fast lunch, sans any funny business that would make him late. It’s probably

just

doable, he thinks, still looking down at his phone and slamming right into a large body.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t text and drive,” Graeme starts immediately, his cheeks going red at the thought that he literally

ran into

someone who’s doing such good work for his boyfriend. He finishes his apology with his head ducked, not even wanting to look the person in the face.

“It’s okay,

csillagom.”

Familiar arms wrap him up in a hug, and Graeme finally looks up to see István smiling down at him.

Graeme’s seen him in his work uniform before, but seeing him in the scrubs always makes Graeme do a double take when he’s used to István’s more flamboyant style. His hair is pulled back from his unpainted face in a simple ponytail, and there’s no glitter in sight. It’s always weird to see István in his work context even when he knows how much István loves working as a nurse. Graeme’s heartrate kicks up for either anxiety or excitement, so he figures it must be the latter.

“What’re you doing here?” Graeme manages to ask once he’s settled down a bit.

Amazingly, it’s István who blushes this time. “Remember when I told you and Alan a couple of months ago that I was working at a new clinic?” He spreads his arms out, taking in Tommy's Place. “Here’s the new clinic.”

The health clinic at Tommy's Place acts as a combination of urgent care, testing, and education for teens and families. Even if Graeme would have shied away from some of the other activities at Tommy's Place, he thinks he would have come to a health clinic that was known for being open minded about the sexuality spectrum.

Graeme feels his eyes widen. “But that’s so cool! What’re you doing? Why’d you keep it a secret?”

István’s arms come up to fold over his chest nervously. “It’s...I applied on a lark, you know. I figured they’d reject me, I’m not done with my masters, and that’s what they were asking for for the position, but... And then when I got the call for the interview, I wanted to make sure that I got the job on my own merits, you know? Not because I have a

close, personal

relationship with the head honcho and his boyfriend.”

Graeme blushes as he thinks about how close and personal that relationship is. “But you got it! That’s awesome!” He pulls István in for another hug. “Does Alan know?”

“Now he does. After they did the background check required to work with kids, and they’d given me the official offer, I told him. We had to do some, uh, HR paperwork. It was incredibly embarrassing.”

Graeme takes a moment to adjust his image of István in his mind. Truly, it’s not that far off from his conception, the idea that István’s working with at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth at Tommy's Place. It’s just...strange, seeing him in this capacity, so professional. To be honest, it makes Graeme all the more happy to submit to István’s Dom side, though he tries to shove that thought away given their current context.

Still, he pulls István into another hug. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you.”

István blushes and shrugs, while at the same time straightening his spine with pride. “The clinic is coming along. Once I’ve got my specialist degree, we’ll be able to work a lot more with the community. Right now, I’m working under an interim director CNS. She’s great, though, so it works. Still, I can’t wait to implement my own ideas. Have you seen the clinic?”

“Just once, back before it was open. Just some empty rooms.”

“Do you have time now?”

“A little, I have to get to class. Do you have to get to the staff meeting?”

“We’ve got a little time before that, too. Come on, I’d love to show you.” István holds out his arm, and Graeme loops his around.

It’s a delight, listening to István outline his plans for the clinic, talking about community health outreach. “The schools don’t teach them anything, you know. Abstinence,” István says with disgust. “Barely a mention about condoms, nothing about PrEP or PEP. Letting them know there’s a way to greatly reduce the risk of spreading HIV would be ‘encouraging them to have more sex,’ you know.” István’s eyebrows draw together, obviously thinking about some interaction he’s had with someone recently.

Graeme squeezes his arm. “Bullshit.”

“Right?” István pauses outside the clinic doors, taking a deep breath to center himself. “But we’re doing what we can with what we have right now, and that’s what we can do. And if I repeat that line from my therapist enough times, maybe it’ll stick,” he says with a private grin at Graeme, holding the door open. “I can’t take you to any patient areas during hours, for confidentiality, but we can look at the waiting room and the staff area."

He’s not expecting the trigger at all. He hasn’t been in a hospital since the car accident, so he didn’t- he didn’t know that-

The smell hits him first, that clinical sterile smell that reminds him of

pain.

He doesn’t even have time to register it before his heart rate is ramping up, the panic attack shoving its way past the barriers the meds have built in Graeme’s brain. The white walls - why do all health places, hospitals, clinics, dentist offices, why do they all have to look like this? - seem bright, overly bright, in the fluorescent lighting.

István’s concerned, “Graeme?” barely registers through the panic.

He can feel the bite of the cold, rainy night, the desperation and hopelessness he’d felt, the jarring movement as the car slams into his side. He swears his hip is

on fire,

and he clutches at it, his broken ribs making it impossible to take a deep breath-
“I need you to breathe, csillagom. Breathe for me.” István’s hands are pushing at his back to force his head between his legs, and he belatedly realizes they’re sitting on a bench somewhere that’s not - not the clinic with the smell and the lights.
His breath is whistling out of his mouth and closes his eyes, making a conscious effort to slow it even as his mind still races. But he can feel it receding now, and that’s the meds, taking the edge off the panic attacks when they happen. A year ago, he would have had to go to work feeling jittery and off and experiencing aftershock spikes of anxiety for the next couple of days. He would have been more susceptible to another attack, too. In fact, he wonders if this one is connected to seeing his mom last month. It’s been awhile, but it also took him a long time to get over that one.

Now, as his breathing calms, he’s able to clear his mind, focusing on István’s warm hand on his back and pretending that it’s Alan’s. After another few minutes, he pushes himself up to a seated position and manages, “I’m sorry.”

István strokes through his hair and places a kiss on his brow. “No need for sorry, Graeme. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

In that moment, Graeme realizes exactly how comforting his larger-than-life friend is. How perfectly István fits in a place like this, working with kids like Graeme had been. He takes István’s hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “Thanks.”

István nods, a small smile gracing his lips. “Promise me you’ll tell your therapist about that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that. I have a meeting with her later this week, anyway.” Still a little shaky, he leans into István, lets himself be comforted before he has to catch the bus for the community college.

It’s the first bad panic attack he’s had in awhile that he hadn’t called Alan for, that he isn’t planning on calling Alan for - although he’ll certainly tell him later. That fact fills Graeme with a burst of confidence. He’s proud for proof that he’s not relying on Alan like a crutch. It just makes his love for the man feel all the more genuine and stronger.

After a few more minutes of deep, careful breaths, the memory of pain all but gone, he stands, pulling István up with him. Looking into István’s eyes, he murmurs, “I can’t imagine a more perfect place for you to be than right here at this clinic. They’re lucky to have you, okay?”

István’s face flushes, but he smiles as he pulls Graeme in for another hug. “Be careful with my Graeme, all right? I probably don’t need to tell you that you’re distracted and vulnerable right now in the aftermath.”

Graeme shrugs. “I’m used to it. But-” he goes up on his toes to brush a kiss over István’s cheek, “thank you.”

István walks him to the door of the center, watches him tuck his earbuds in for rain sounds, and gives him a small nod, which Graeme returns. Graeme blows him a kiss, and starts to walk toward the bus stop.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When the doorman rings the apartment to tell Graeme his guests have arrived, Graeme feels a little frisson of excitement and relief run on top of the current low level anxiety he's experiencing. He waits by the front door until he hears the ding of the elevator, then holds back Threepio with one socked foot so he can let István, Krista, and Mal in. István immediately sweeps Threepio up for cuddles even as Krista leans up to give Graeme a kiss on the cheek and Mal shucks off their shoes.

“Y’okay, babe?” Krista asks, cupping Graeme’s cheek.

So much for not showing my anxiety,

Graeme thinks. “I just maybe bit off more than I can chew.”

István closes the front door behind him and sets Threepio down, arching a brow at Graeme. “And let me guess, G, it has to be perfect, right?”

Graeme blushes. “It's for Alan,” he says simply, because really that says it all.

“Alan, sure. But baby Mal, too.” They pat Graeme’s back, comforting. “And probably baby Krista, baby István, and baby Graeme, as well. What you’re doing for Tommy’s Place is something we probably all could’ve used way back when.”

Something inside Graeme settles, just by having his friends here. “Yeah.”

István kisses his forehead. “It’ll be okay,

csillagom

. Just tell us what you need us to do.”

Last year had been the first annual Coming Out Day Dance at Tommy’s Place, specifically for the teens who frequent the center to get together and have some fun - a sort of ‘gay prom,’ some of them had called it. Graeme hadn’t attended, of course, as he and Alan wouldn’t have wanted to cramp the teens’ style, but just the fact that the dance existed, that the day was celebrated, that kids had someplace to be

themselves

- honestly, he keeps thinking his love for Alan will hit a plateau where he can’t possibly love anymore, but he hasn’t, not yet, not ever.

This year, Alan and Gustavo have doubled down on the celebration; besides the teen dance, there’s going to be an elegant fundraising gala, complete with a catered dinner the night after. The kids’ dance is a potluck of sorts; Tommy’s Place is kicking in some funds, but the teen committee that put the dance together wanted it to be low-key. Chips, dips, good munching food.

And Graeme had agreed to donate his time putting the spread together.

He’s happy to do it, of course he is. He’d just realized, once he’d gotten the final approximate headcount from Gustavo and done his shopping, that he had way too much to do in too little time.

A lesser man would’ve just decided to go with some store-bought veggie trays and call it good, but Graeme has the same philosophy about food that he has about his hand-knit products: when it’s handmade, it’s made with love in mind, and that energy passes on to whomever receives it.

And he has a lot of good, happy vibes he wants to pass on to the queer youth at the Tommy Center.

He passes around aprons for everyone, then clasps his hands together at his front. “Okay, so- who do we think has the best knife skills?”

Krista gives him a savage grin as she raises her hand - her kink scene persona Barbie is known for dabbling in knife play.

“Okay, Krista, you’re on chopping duty. We’ve got carrots, celery, cucumbers and peppers to get through.”

“On it.” She gives him a mock salute before he passes her a cutting board.

With that, it’s easy to sort out the rest with everyone - István ends up putting together confetti cupcakes, from scratch, because he has experience with baking with his mom and grandma; Mal gets to work on the sour cream-based dips; and Graeme works on chopping ingredients for a home-made pico de gallo. It’ll have 24 hours to marinate before the dance tomorrow.

Krista puts on some music, something low and generic that lets them talk to each other as they work. Still, she has a mound of various chopped vegetables around her before she says, “My niece texted me yesterday. She’s going to come out to her friends tomorrow. It’s...so weird to me, I mean, I love that she came out to us first, that she knew her family would support her one hundred percent. I just remember it being the opposite for me. My best friend knew I liked girls, but I couldn’t fathom telling my parents.”

“I know what you mean,” István murmurs, scooping batter into rainbow-colored cupcake papers. “My mom and I never talked about it. Like, I think she knew, I’ve been like this since I was allowed to choose my own clothes for school.” He nods down at his outfit of the day of black leggings and a black and white tunic sweater ala David Rose.

“Yeah.” Graeme blows out a breath, willing his fingers not to shake as he chops tomatoes. “Bridget wasn’t exactly...understanding. I’m not sure she even understands

now

that I’m gay, she just found out I was willing to trade bjs for food and stuff and figured she needed a cut of the deal.”

At the time, he’d known the sex work was something he needed to do to survive, and survival was paramount to everything - dignity, safety, everything. Now that he’s in a secure, happy place, emotionally and physically, he has this residual shame that he’s been working on with Clarissa. Still, he looks very carefully down at the tomatoes after he says this, not wanting to see anyone’s faces.

István’s fingers wrap around his elbow gently, stilling his shaky knife. He presses a kiss to Graeme’s temple. “You’re okay, baby,” he says

sotto voce,

Mal and Krista pretending not to hear.

It’s steadying, and he gives István a nod and a hesitant smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”

“Love you,” Isti whispers, and Graeme repeats it back.

Steadier, he turns back to his cutting board and starts chopping again.

“I didn’t know in high school,” Mal says, shredding cheese to put in the ‘crack’ dip. “I didn’t know non-binary was a thing, I just knew I felt weird. Not right. Never right, not through college…” They laugh a little, shaking their head. “It was a tumblr post, actually. Seems like such a silly thing, but a non-binary person wrote this post about how they felt, and for the first time I...I just remember thinking,

‘Oh.’”

“Aww.” István smiles, giving them a nudge, too. “That’s the best.”

“Still took me a year to come out to anyone but myself, though. It just felt like...I’m 26 years old, I should have this shit figured out.”

“Well I’m 34 and I’ll tell you…” Krista trails off, frowning at her veggies. “Nevermind.” She shakes her head. “Just, you’re good. It’s okay if you don’t figure it out early.”

This time, it’s Graeme that offers Krista a comforting arm around her waist and a quiet, “You okay?” She responds with a small nod.

“You know what? We need a drink.” Mal turns, rooting in the cupboards until they come across the vodka Graeme uses for pie crusts. “Okay, now we’re talking.”

“Just a little bit for me,” Graeme calls, pulling coffee mugs down from the rack over the stove.

István raises his hand. “And I’ll take what he doesn’t want.”

Mal laughs as they pour out the shots, sliding the mugs over the island toward each of them. Graeme smiles gratefully when he sees that they only poured enough in his glass for a sip, really. Just enough to make a toast.

“To Tommy’s Place, and future generations of baby queers figuring themselves out, however long it takes.” István raises his glass.

There’s a ‘cheers’ around the kitchen, and then they all knock the shots back. Graeme sputters - he’s never done a shot of vodka, and when he’d put it on the grocery list for pie making, Alan had insisted on the good stuff, but it still

burns,

all the way down his throat and into his stomach, where it spreads that false warmth that alcohol has.

“I think I’m aromantic.” Krista’s mug clicks back down to the counter and she licks her lips. “I’ve never said that out loud before. Fuck.” She grabs the vodka, pours herself another shot. “To still figuring your shit out.”

She knocks it back, then lets Graeme sweep her into a hug. They rock, bound together like that, in the kitchen, István and Mal joining them. “I just, I just. It’s like you said, Mal, it just never feels right. Being in a relationship. I can never relax, or feel like myself. I feel like a part of me is just constantly going crazy when I’m trying to fit myself to

be

with someone else. I think I’m aromantic, and it’s never going to happen for me, and my parents will never get to see me married, and I’m just going to be Seattle Slut Barbie forever.” She laughs, wiping at her eyes, even as they all hug her. “But I

like

being Seattle Slut Barbie.”

“We like Seattle Slut Barbie, too,

csillagom.”

István’s comment makes them laugh again, even if Graeme’s feeling a little teary now, too.

Mal, who’s as vanilla as they come, nods their head. “We

adore

her, just the way she is.”

They break apart, settling on the stools around the kitchen island. “I didn’t know it was a thing, either, just like you, Mal. And then when I found out about it I just kind of felt … relieved? Like, oh, I’m actually not totally messed up when it comes to relationships. I just don’t do them, and that’s okay.”

“It

is

okay, Krista.” Graeme nudges her knee with his. “It’s okay that Alan’s asexual, isn’t it? Of course it’s okay.”

“Tell my mom that. She keeps dropping hints about marriage.”

“I’m your mom now,” István says matter-of-factly, pushing a tray of cupcake batter into the oven.

“Me too,” Graeme echoes.

Mal nods. “Me three.”

“Me four.” Alan laughs when everyone comically jumps out of their skins at his appearance. “You guys didn’t notice me coming in because of the shots, I think. But I heard what you said, Krista, so I went looking in the bedroom for this, and…” He pulls a pin out of his pocket, pushing it across the counter to her. “I picked this up at Pride this year in a pack with an ace flag one.” The pin has five stripes, from green to black. “An aro flag.”

“Dude.” Krista picks it up, examining it hesitantly. And then, something in her stance relaxes, and she pins it to her shirt. “Thanks, Alan. C’mere, bring it in again.” She beckons him over for a hug, and he obliges, swallowing up her small body in his lumberjack frame.

If Alan’s home, that means… Graeme only slightly panics, looking around the kitchen and seeing what they still need to do to get done. “Guys, we need to step this shit up. István, more cupcakes, Mal, that looks great, Alan, join Krista on chopping duty. Let’s go!”

“For the younglings!” Alan laughs at his own joke, then everyone joins in laughing at him.

“Nerd,” Graeme says with affection.

"Says the person who got the Star Wars reference. Smart ass."

With a grin, Graeme picks up his knife once more, his hand steady, his mind focused.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme lets out a happy sigh as he kicks his non-slip kitchen shoes off by the door and hangs his bag up.
“Heyyyy,” Alan murmurs in his ear, pulling him in for a hug from behind. “Welcome home.”
“Good to be home.” Graeme snuggles back into Alan’s arms as much as possible, feeling one of the cats - probably Threepio - wind between his legs in greeting.
Alan rocks him a little, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and it makes Graeme want to melt. He thinks about how damn lucky he is, but as he slides his fingers between Alan’s to link them, he changes that - they’re damn lucky, together. He turns in Alan’s arms, leaning up to wind his around Alan’s neck and pull him in for a kiss. It’s just a brief brush of lips before Graeme moves away, but it’s everything.
“I need to take a shower,” he says, reluctantly stepping out of Alan’s arms. “It was weirdly humid this afternoon, and I feel sticky everywhere.”
“I think we’re going to get a thunderstorm tonight. Go take your shower, I’ll throw the chicken on the grill for our salads, it’ll be done by the time you’re scrubbed all fresh and adorable.”
Graeme gives Alan a grin and a little swat on his fine, fine ass as he walks away. Threepio follows, not satisfied with the non-greeting he’d gotten from his human, nearly tripping Graeme at the door to the bedroom, and that might be why Graeme notices it right away.
“It” being the weird, alien-spaceship looking machine on Alan’s bedside table. It’s a ring of black plastic, sleek looking, covered in buttons and sensors, the space in the middle big enough for Graeme to stick his hand through. Which he does, because of course he does.
He jumps a little when clear liquid squirts out of the top and lands on the back of his hand. Shocked, he pulls his hand back out, catching the liquid before it can drop on the floor, and realizes quickly that it’s lube. That surprises a laugh out of him.
“Hey, Alan, honey,” he calls, still amused as he grabs one of the cloths they keep for post-sex cleanup by the bed and wiping off his hand.
“What’s up?” Alan pokes his head into the bedroom after a few moments. Graeme just nods at the machine and quirks his brow, and Alan actually blushes. “So uh. I saw it and I thought it might be cool?”
“Explain.”
Graeme realizes immediately that this was the wrong thing to say, because Alan launches into a bunch of technical jargon about warming plates and dispense settings and laser activation and automatic off switches. And while he loves watching Alan nerd out, it’s really more than he wanted to know about their new, uh, automatic lube dispenser. God, he loves this man.
“I love you.” He accidentally interrupts Alan mid-sentence with his declaration, but sometimes it bubbles up inside of him and he can’t be bothered to hold off.Besides, it’s worth it when Alan’s eyes go all soft and he leans over to kiss Graeme’s forehead. “I love you too. I might be burning the chicken right now.”
“Go, go!” Graeme says with a laugh and another swat on the ass because, come on. That ass though.

They’re able to enjoy their chicken Caesars on the balcony - both Threepio and Artoo glaring at them through the screen door - watching the storm sweep in across the Sound. By the time it actually hits the city, they’re safely inside, relaxing on the couch. The lightning starts right when they’re snuggling into bed together, Alan spooning him from behind, all the lights off, so they can watch the strikes flash and count the seconds before the thunder reaches them.
Somehow, maybe because they’re them and they always will be, the snuggling turns into foreplay. Alan’s fingers slide under the waistband of his pajama pants, teasing over his skin and raising goosebumps on his arms. He works his lips up Graeme’s neck, making him shiver. By the time they’ve reached the peak of the storm, the thunder feeling like it’s shaking the building as it cracks through the sky, Graeme is achingly hard, leaking against his pajama pants, breath coming faster as Alan teases him.
“PG?” he asks, breathless, turning to meet Alan’s eyes to make sure they’re communicating clearly.
Alan’s teasing hands pause, and he gives the question a moment of consideration before pressing his semi-hard cock against Graeme’s ass. “I could go either R or NC-17, whichever you want, baby.”
Graeme groans, loving the feeling of Alan against him. “Fuck me, Daddy. Please? Just like this.” He cants his hips back.
“Your wish…” Alan hums his approval, vibrating the hairs on Graeme’s neck. Working together quickly, their pajamas come off to make a heap at the foot of the bed.
He hears the electronic snick and hum of the automatic lube dispenser, and then one of Alan’s fingers is circling his rim, starting to stretch him open. The lube is perfectly warm against his hole.
Lightning strikes again, and Alan whispers, “Count” in his ear.
The command makes him shiver, but he starts, “one-one-thousand-two-one-thousand-three-”
As the thunder rolls through, Alan thrusts two fingers inside. Graeme cries out at the sudden delicious stretch, grabbing at the mattress to hold on tight. Alan’s whispering dirty, dirty things in his ear, and outside, the rain is striking the glass windows to make what he thinks is the most comforting sound in the world and the lightning storm almost feels like it’s filling him with electricity, especially when Alan brushes over his prostate with expert precision.
“Daddy-” he sobs, clutching at the sheet, his cock twitching against his stomach. “I’m ready, Daddy, I’m ready for you-”
Still, Alan stretches him, is careful with him, makes sure he’s ready. Daddy’s in control, and Daddy would never hurt him without negotiating it first.
He groans against the pillow when he feels Alan’s cock start to penetrate him. He loves it above all else, no matter if he can take a dick way bigger than Alan’s, he will always, always love the warmth of his Daddy filling him up.
“So good for me, baby,” Alan praises, and Graeme whimpers, rolling his hips backward to take Alan in completely.
Their movement, then, is as primal as the wild storm blowing through town outside. Graeme doesn’t even think, just falls into the rhythm of Alan’s thrusts, gasping through the blinding pleasure when Alan’s cock head nudges over his prostate. He’s at the edge embarrassingly quickly, gripping the mattress as if that could hold him back somehow.
But it’s not the time for edging, apparently, because Alan reaches around to stroke Graeme and that’s all Graeme needs. He groans Daddy’s name into the pillows, shuddering through his own orgasm even as Alan thrusts once, twice more before spilling inside him. Euphoria tingles through Graeme's limbs, and he melts into the mattress, a puddle of Graeme-shaped goo.When he feels Alan nudge his legs apart, feels the warm washcloth start to wipe him down, he bats Alan’s hand away. “Want it. Inside me,” he mumbles.
He knows he’s with exactly who he’s meant to be with when Alan correctly interprets that to mean that he wants to sleep with a plug in, stretching him open and holding Alan’s cum inside. He sighs happily as Alan slides one of their smaller plugs inside, then continues to clean him up.
When he’s surfaced a little more, when he and Alan are both back in pajamas and cuddled together and the storm is fading away as it moves toward the Cascades, that’s when Graeme jolts in sudden realization.
“You did that just so you could use your new lube dispenser, didn’t you?” He leans back to meet Alan’s eyes again, and isn’t surprised one bit to see the sheepish look on Alan’s face.
“Hey, now we know it works great, right?” Alan goes for a grin.
Laughing, Graeme rolls them so he can spoon Alan instead. “You are such a ridiculous man. Such a fucking Ace move, buddy.” He nuzzles against Alan’s neck. “I love you, god, I love you.”
Alan links their fingers and pulls Graeme’s arm more snugly around him. His whispered response floats through Graeme’s brain as he starts to drift off to the rain still drumming against the windows.

When something wet hits his face, he wakes to that in-between space where he’s still half-asleep and for a long moment he assumes the trailer roof is leaking again. He groans, rolling away, trying to scoot to a dry spot in his little cot. If he has to, he can go to the floor, he has to do that sometimes when Mom's friends are over and get too drunk to leave, but it makes his back ache and he hates it.
And then he realizes that none of that makes sense anymore, and blinks awake. “Why-”
“Threep-” Alan growls, and the cat goes streaking off over them, leaving wet paw prints across the sheets.
“What?” Graeme manages, still terribly confused.
“I forgot to turn the automatic dispenser’s automatic shutdown on,” Alan grumbles, rolling out of bed and racing after the cat.
“...What?” Finally, Graeme has the wherewithal to reach up to his face, where Threepio had so delicately left a streak of lube. “Oh god.”
Groaning, he checks the time on his phone - 2:13 - before rolling out of bed himself and stripping the sheet. A little bit of wet from their sex he could have dealt with overnight. Combine it with cat-spread lube everywhere, and he’s getting new sheets.
He wavers between amused and annoyed as he listens to Alan talking to Threepio in a comforting-yet-strict voice, washing him in the bathroom sink. The cat is yowling pitifully, but honestly, Graeme can’t quite find it in himself to sympathize. A minute later, just as he’s getting the final corner of the new sheet tucked in, a wet and extremely unhappy Threepio streaks from the bathroom and out the bedroom door, probably to clean himself and resent Alan and Graeme for the rest of the night.
Graeme looks over at Alan - whose pajamas are soaked from the emergency cat wash - and leans against the bed, laughing. After a second, Alan joins him, giggling under his breath as he strips his pajamas off and gets a new pair.
“Remind me, why is it again, that society thinks we should adopt a human child when having the cats is adventure enough?”
Smiling, Alan pulls him down to the bed and gets them all cuddled up again. “Some people will never be satisfied with ‘we don’t want kids’ as an answer.”“God, imagine a toddler with the lube machine. Imagine the twins with the lube machine.” Graeme shudders. “We’re packing that thing away with all of the other sex toys before we babysit again.”
“Agreed.” Alan turns, pecking Graeme on the cheek. “Now go to sleep.”
Snorting, Graeme hugs Alan closely to him and lets his eyes drift shut. Sleep might take a little bit, but he can feel his body relaxing toward it once again, and that’s enough for now.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Graeme, I can finish those up. Your shift ended thirty minutes ago.” Reene slides in beside him at the counter, taking the bowl of phirni and spooning it into ramekins for a party they’re catering tomorrow.

“There’s still the hummus to make, though, and-”

“And we can do it in the morning, it’s fine.” She nudges him with her shoulder and gives him one of her sly smiles. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Graeme blows out a breath on a bit of a laugh. “Got it.” He slides off his apron and moves to wash up at the sink.

“Alan’s away this week or something, right?”

“DC,” Graeme confirms, shaking water off his hands and reaching into his pocket to grab his ring. Sliding it back on his finger always gives him a little shiver of happiness, even if it’s tinged with loneliness and anxiety right now. “Government contract stuff.” He waves a hand as if dismissing his worries. “I shouldn’t even be fussing, it’s not like he hasn’t left before. And it’s not like it’s a hardship to stay home alone in that huge apartment.”

Last night, though, had been rough. He’d avoided their bed - too empty without Alan’s big body curling around him - for too long, then had nightmares anyway. Silly, how dependent he’s become on Alan’s companionship.

Reene slides a phirni-filled ramekin over to him. “Well, then, you’re welcome to stay and chat while I finish up, now that you’re off the clock.”

He takes her up on her offer, pulling up one of the kitchen stools and savoring the delicate creaminess of the rice pudding as they talk.

He’d thought about inviting friends over, but Clark and Istvan are on their own vacation, and Krista’s busy closing deals for like, all of downtown Seattle or something. And even though they’ve welcomed him with open arms, Graeme feels weird about going to visit Alan’s family, plus he’d have to get Hendrick to take him, because he’s yet to learn how to drive. Alan keeps saying he’s going to teach Graeme, and Graeme kind of...keeps weaseling out of learning. Who needs cars when you have buses or your own perfectly great two feet?

So he’s kind of out of options when he unlocks the front door and leans down to pet Threepio. “I’m an adult, Threep,” he mutters, petting over his fine fur. “I shouldn’t be anxious about staying in an apartment all by myself.

Especially

an apartment with our security. What the hell do I think is going to happen to me, anyway?”

Threepio’s little inquisitive “mrow?” is about as good an answer as he expects.

He’s in the middle of making himself a simple penne pesto when his phone starts buzzing, and his heart warms up to see Alan’s name splashed across his screen. He opens the video chat right away, propping the phone up so Alan can watch him cook. “Hi, Ally, how’s DC?”

“Very DC-like,” Alan offers, his face lighting up in a grin that’s big enough even through the small screen of Graeme’s cell phone. “How’s Seattle?”

“Lonely.” Graeme laughs a little at himself as he chops grilled chicken. “Well, specifically, our bed is lonely. I’m sure there are a ton of people out there who aren’t lonely at all.”

“Aww, babe.” Alan shifts, and Graeme can tell from the background that he’s in his Alexandria hotel room. “You look tired.”

Alan looks a bit guilty at the fact that Graeme’s not sleeping well without him, and Graeme can’t have that, so he breezes over the topic, instead distracting Alan by asking about work. By the time he’s finished, Graeme’s sitting down to his bowl of pasta.

“I miss you,” Alan murmurs, his finger coming up as if to stroke Graeme’s jaw.

“I miss you, too.” Graeme laughs again, even though he can feel the ghost of Alan’s touch. “We’re two old married saps, obviously.”

“No one I’d rather be an old married sap with.” Alan leans back in his bed, obviously getting comfortable. “You do look tired, though.”

Graeme takes a bite of pesto and sighs. He can’t hide things from Alan, and that’s mostly a good thing. A great thing. “I had a nightmare. Anxiety dream. Pretty sure it was the “I’m catering an event today and I haven’t made anything yet and also the event is across town at rush hour” one.”

“Ah yes, one of your personal favorites.”

Graeme sticks out his tongue at his phone screen, making Alan laugh. “I miss cuddling up with my teddy bear.”

Alan shows him his rumpled hotel bed. “Yeah, this thing is too huge. Can I do anything to help with the nightmares?”

Pushing pasta around his bowl, Graeme looks away for a moment. He can feel a blush rising on his cheeks. “I was thinking about...maybe...asking my Daddy if I could wear one of my play collars to bed.” His fingers come up automatically to his white gold chain; he plays a bit with his padlock, the metal warm from his skin.

Alan’s eyes darken as he perks up a little. “Your Daddy thinks that’s a great idea. Do you want to go get it now, Baby Boy?”

“Mhmm.” With a hum and a quick ‘Be right back!’ Graeme makes his way quickly to the bedroom, to the drawer in the closet that holds his gear. Well, some of his gear. He’s accumulated quite a few accessories in the years he’s known Alan.

While he’s finding the key for his play collar’s padlock, he comes across something else, hums again, and grabs it, too. Alan smiles when he sees him again, and it warms Graeme’s heart.

“Which did you pick?”

Graeme holds up his choice, a wide leather number that fits against his throat without constricting his breathing. It’s heavier than his chain, which means he won’t be able to forget it’s there. Tangible evidence of Alan’s love for him will provide him with a constant reminder and will hopefully help keep some of the anxiety at bay.

“Lovely choice, Baby Boy. Put it on for me now. Check the tightness, just how I taught you. Get it just right.”

Something settles inside Graeme as he uses the keys to take off his chain and then lifts the leather collar to his neck. Alan’s eyes are dark, unfathomable, and they make Graeme want to shiver.

“Perfect, just like that. Look so fucking good in my collar, Baby. How do you feel?”

Graeme closes his eyes for a moment so he can really feel the weight of the leather against his skin. “Good, Daddy. Really good.”

“Finish your dinner for me, Baby Boy. As much as you feel you can eat.”

It’s easy to follow the instruction, especially now that Alan’s sharp eyes have softened with fondness and pleasure. He’ll likely always take anxiety meds, and he’s grateful for his access to them, but time like this, edging on subspace, Daddy taking care of him, it’s another coping technique that Graeme never wants to give up.

When they’ve talked through the rest of Graeme’s meal, Graeme pulls the other object he’d grabbed from the closet out of his pocket and holds it up. Recognition lights up Alan’s eyes, and he leans forward again. “You want to wear your cage too, Baby Boy?”

“Yes, Daddy. Until you get back.”

Alan’s back on Friday, so it technically would be the longest he’s worn a chastity device. He feels a little of the good kind of adrenaline thinking about pushing his previous limits.

“I want to watch you put it on. Make sure you’re doing it correctly.” But Alan grins and winks, letting Graeme know the real reason he wants to watch.

As seductively as possible, Graeme stands, popping the button on his work pants and slowly sliding them and his boxer briefs down over his hips. Alan makes a noise of appreciation as his semi-hard cock is slowly revealed - because dammit, exhibitionism gets him every fucking time.

“Now, Baby Boy,” Alan says sternly, “You know you can’t be hard when you put it on.”

“I know,” Graeme whines.

“The way I see it, we have two options here.” Alan’s voice is low and seductive. “I could let you stroke yourself off; one last orgasm before you deny yourself for four days. Or...you could use the ice.” Graeme preemptively shivers, and Alan’s grin widens. “Hmmm, yes, I think we should go with the ice. Go get it, Baby.”

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and heads over to the fridge, dropping a few ice cubes in a towel and bringing it back. As Alan watches - really not helping, actually - Graeme uses the ice to soften his cock, even though his brain is relentlessly turned on.

When he slides the cock cage on, the silver ring settling around his balls, the black silicone encasing his shaft, he feels another wave of calm wash over him.

“Whose cock is that, Baby Boy?” Alan asks, almost at a growl.

“Yours,” Graeme murmurs, letting the feeling of his cock being held so snugly settle in.

“Whose?”

“Daddy’s.” Graeme shivers, reaching up his hand to absently tug at one of his nipple rings. “Wish you were here, Daddy.”

“I am, Baby. Feel me on your skin? Around your cock? Circling your ring finger? I’m there.” Alan’s voice is soft now, satisfied. “Can you take me to bed now? I’ll talk you to sleep.”

Graeme curls up in the sheets, trying to make the bed not seem so empty, as Alan does exactly that.

If he has nightmares, he doesn’t remember them, and he texts Alan as much before hopping in the shower. Still, he feels a little sad when he takes off the weightier collar and puts his day collar back on. Later that night, he puts it on immediately when he gets home again, after a little texted order from Alan.

It helps, though he’s still lonely. It at least keeps the anxiety dreams at bay for a few days, but Graeme is jonesing for some Daddy time by the time Friday rolls around and he’s with Hendrick at SeaTac picking Alan up.

He does the cliche ‘run and jump on your man’ move but he doesn’t care how it looks as he wraps his arms around Alan’s neck and holds him close. Alan drops his carry on in favor of curling his arm around Graeme’s back and dragging him even closer to crush their mouths together, drowning Graeme’s pleased squeak.

Graeme curls as much as he can into Alan on the car ride home, letting Alan carry the conversation with Hen as he basks in happiness at having his other half back. He’s completely surprised, then, when Alan’s hand slips down the back of his pants. His fingers graze over Graeme’s hole and Graeme lets out a little gasp, quickly quieting it at a shake of Alan’s head.

Alan’s so fucking amazing, is the thing. Graeme shivers as his finger presses just inside, barely doing anything really since his finger isn’t lubed, and continues his conversation with Hen as if everything is normal. Casually, Alan removes his hand and watches Hen’s eyes to make sure he’s not looking as he gets his finger wet with his tongue and goes back in.

Graeme hasn’t had anything in his ass in a week so he’s tight, and it feels fucking delicious to have his Daddy slowly opening him up here in public. He sort of wishes he could just straddle Alan right now and ride him until they’re both spent. His cock tries to twitch against the cage that confines it, but it won’t let him, and he wants to let out another whine.

He honestly doesn’t know how Alan manages, but by the time they’re home, Alan and Graeme have been completely caught up on Hen and Ceci’s lives, and Alan’s two fingers deep and pressing relentlessly against his prostate as he slowly leaks in his pants. He wants to writhe against Alan’s fingers. He wants to scream in frustration at the cock cage. He wants Alan to sink deep inside him and never leave ever again. He wants to

come.

He practically sighs with relief when they finally pull up to the apartment building.

His legs are shaky in the elevator, and he leans against the wall, lips parted, eyes only for Alan. “I don’t think long-term chastity is for me,” he manages.

Alan grins wickedly, boxing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re stronger than you think you are.” He leans in, nipping at Graeme’s ear, the farthest he’ll go in the elevator as Graeme knows from experience. “But right now, I happen to agree with you. I want to make you come so hard you scream my name. And I want you to be screaming it in pleasure, not frustration.”

“Oh thank god,” Graeme says, and Alan laughs, kissing him again.

In the apartment, Alan drops his bags in the entrance way and pushes Graeme toward the bedroom, stripping them both as he moves them along. By the time Alan pushes him down to the bed, they’re both naked but for Graeme’s day collar and his cock cage.

“Think you’ll still be able to come with all the cum I milked from you in the car?” Almost fascinated, Alan rubs his thumb over the wet head of the cock cage. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Rating?” Graeme asks.

“Oh, my Baby Boy, you are getting fucked into the mattress. NC-17.” Tenderly, Alan unlocks the cage and eases Graeme out of it. The hard strokes he gives Graeme to stiffen his cock are anything but tender, though, and the way Alan flips him over onto his stomach is deliciously rough.

Desperation is in the air; Graeme can practically taste it,

feels

it as he cants his hips up and presents his hole for his daddy. He groans when two lubed fingers slip inside him, open him roughly. Now he writhes against Alan’s fingers, pushing back to chase his pleasure.

Alan’s weight on top of him is a blessed thing, but he only has a second to savor it before Alan’s buried in him, hilt-deep and scorching inside him. Graeme moans as Alan’s hand presses against his back, pinning him to the mattress and giving Alan the leverage he needs to set a brutal pace.

Graeme can barely move, barely join the rhythm. His daddy is just taking, taking, taking. Tears spring into Graeme’s eyes at the sheer pleasure of it, at how much he missed the feeling of being used by his daddy and how glad he is to have it back. Especially since they rarely indulge in this sort of rough play.

Everything is making Graeme want to curl up in his subspace and preen with pleasure. Every thrust of Alan’s hard cock inside him, every dirty word Alan’s using, every hot breath that lands on his neck. It’s all glorious and perfect.

With a grunt, Alan stiffens above him, coming inside Graeme in long, deep jets of warmth. It makes Graeme twitch in pleasure, but his cock is trapped against the bed - once again, caged. He whines, rolling his hips against Alan’s, trying to get friction, or anything. Alan chuckles at his frustration, pulls out, and flips him over to his back. Before Graeme knows what’s happening, his legs are hooked over Daddy’s shoulders and Daddy’s tongue is deep in his hole, licking out his own cum.

Graeme shudders, his hands coming automatically to Alan’s sandy graying hair, gripping him there and keeping him against his hole. Alan’s tongue is hot, spearing inside him, but Graeme doesn’t explode until Alan brings up a hand and wraps it around Graeme’s cock.

“Daddy!” Graeme cries, true to Alan’s promise, as he comes all over his stomach. “Daddy, Daddy…” he chants as he comes down, his grip eventually loosening and his hands falling to the side.

He resurfaces when Alan’s just finished cleaning up his cum, and he makes grabby hands at Alan until Alan laughs and hauls him into his embrace. Graeme takes his time with the kiss, tasting Alan’s cum on his tongue and savoring it.

“Welcome home,” Graeme whispers, nuzzling his nose into the hair on Alan’s chest.

“Quite a welcome.” He can hear Alan’s smile, feel Alan’s fingers as they drift up to his day collar. “I love you so much.”

Sighing happily, Graeme tucks himself against Alan’s body. “I love you right back.” He laughs a little. “Old married saps.”

“This old married sap needs to take a nap.” With a final contented sigh, Alan hauls the blankets up over them. “I like this bed a lot more than the one in DC.”

“The atmosphere is superb and you really can’t beat the company. 10 out of 10, would recommend.”

Alan’s little snort is the last thing Graeme remembers before they settle into their nap.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It's a totally average day until Graeme gets home. He's looking forward to sinking into the couch, pulling out the sweater he's currently working on, and losing his brain to a few episodes of something funny with Alan tucked by his side, when he realizes that no one - not even the cats - have greeted him at the door.
"Ally? Threep? Artoo?" Frowning, Graeme pulls off his scarf and coat, then takes a second to readjust his collar and center the lock.It's a quick little check, one he's even more used to than looking down to adjust the ring on his finger.
Without a response from anyone, his frown deepens. He kicks off his shoes and pads down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Finally, the mystery is solved, at least partially. Both cats are staring intently at the closed bathroom door, and Graeme can hear Alan behind it taking to someone, maybe on the phone.
He gives a brief knock before walking in, expecting to see his husband in the bathtub talking to Sam, or something. Instead, a ball of black fuzz races towards the door and he uses all of his reflexes to close the door before it can escape.
It being a little black kitten with the biggest orange eyes Graeme has ever seen. "Oh my god-""Hey! I didn't hear you get home." Alan stands up from where he'd been perching on the side of the tub and pulls Graeme into a possessive, thorough kiss.
Graeme feels a little blurry when Alan pulls away, and he lingers, loving the feeling of Alan's beard against his cheek. He gives a happy hum. "Hi, Daddy.""Hi, Baby."
At that moment, the little ball of black fluff races around the bathroom and then climbs half up Graeme's pant leg, making him yell in surprise.
It's just as surprising to the kitten, who drops off his leg, cowering by Alan's bare foot and looking up at Graeme with unblinking, scared eyes.
"Oh gosh, I didn't mean to-""He'll be okay. He's just a little skittish right now. I found him hanging out by the dumpsters at the office building, all alone."Graeme's heart melts, and he kneels, holding his fingers out for the kitten to come sniff. After a few tense moments, he does, leaning out to nose at Graeme's finger, then give it a tentative lick with a gravelly tongue.
"I've got an appointment for him at the vet next week, and until then he should stay quarantined, so we can decide if we want to keep him."
"Want to keep him?" Graeme picks the kitten up and lets him crawl onto his shoulders. "To paraphrase, if anything happens to him, I'm kicking the ass of everyone in this room and then my own. Of course we're keeping him."Alan smiles, leaning down to brush a kiss over Graeme's lips, then boop the kitten on the nose. "What should we name him?""Isn't it obvious?" Graeme looks up at the light of his life and winks. "Beebee-ate, clearly."With a laugh, Alan pulls him in for a hug. "Guess my nerdiness is finally rubbing off on you."Graeme gives a mock gasp. "Don't talk about rubbing off in front of the children!"Alan reaches down, smacking his ass lightly, but with the obvious promise of more later. "Smartass.""Nerd.""Love you."Graeme winces a little when BeeBee's claws sink into his shoulder as he wraps his arms around Alan's neck, but it's forgotten easily when his mouth slides over Alan's, exactly where it belongs.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The thing is, Graeme has never considered himself much of a cat person. Oh, he loves Threepio and Artoo but they're still firmly Alan's cats, even after this many years. And Bridget hadn't even wanted Graeme's extra mouth to feed, let alone a cat or dog or goldfish or…So while he'd made the joke about defending the kitten, he hadn't actually really thought of it as his kitten.
That all changes two days later. He's hanging out with BeeBeeAte in the bathroom since he's still quarantined. Graeme brings in his phone and some knitting, and for the first thirty minutes or so, BeeBee is active, zooming around the bathroom, climbing up on things and falling over and playing with the little mousy toy Graeme had knitted for him. He's adorable, and it makes Graeme smile, but that's not when he falls in love.
No, that would be when BeeBee has apparently tuckered himself out, mid-crawl up Graeme’s hoodie-covered arm, keeps going, and curls himself up in the hood of Graeme's favorite black hoodie. It takes the kitten approximately three seconds to curl into a little black ball and fall asleep, nestled against Graeme's neck and purring.
Graeme will end up later admitting this only to Alan and his therapist Clarissa, but he actually breaks down a little bit, tears rolling down his cheeks silently as he contemplates the pure love that is the little ball of fluff. BeeBee doesn't care about his past or his anxiety or anything. He just loves. As soon as he gets a clean bill of health from the vet, BeeBee attempts to make friends with the other kitties under Graeme's watchful and Alan’s amused eye.
“They're just teaching him the hierarchy,” Alan murmurs, coming up behind Graeme to lean his head on Graeme's shoulder and hug him from behind. “No one’s actually getting hurt.”Still, Graeme worries his lip, watching the sniffing and hissing happening. “What if they don't accept him?” he whispers.
“They will, I promise, Baby Boy.”Graeme flushes, because his Daddy has indeed figured out exactly how much of his past he's projecting onto their precious dumpster child. “I guess it normally works out, huh?”Alan nuzzles against his neck, pressing a series of tiny kisses there. “It works out in the best way possible.”And then Alan distracts him with a makeout session while the cats figure themselves out.

To Graeme's surprise, and delight, the kitten decides that his favorite place to sleep is by Graeme's head. Which is where he settles, every night, only a little sad when Graeme kicks him out for some Daddy-Baby Boy time.
“This isn't going to be for little kitten eyes, love,” he says, putting BeeBee out with the other two kitties and closing the bedroom door.
It becomes a part of their aftercare routine, actually. Alan will clean Graeme all up, but then for their cuddle/debrief/reassurance session afterwards, Alan will get up and open the door and BeeBee will come racing in to climb up on Graeme's pillow and purr right against his neck. Graeme takes turns stroking over Bee’s soft fur, and stroking over Daddy’s warm skin. It's perfect.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"God, you're so perfect for me. Look at you." Alan traces down Graeme's bound body, from his shoulder to his thigh, as they lay in bed.
Graeme's gorgeous like this, elbows bent and arms bound to his chest, cock gag in place, legs spread and bound with his knees bent, vibrator buzzing away inside of him.
Beside him on their bed, Alan's fully dressed in his play clothes, a comfortable soft shirt and a pair of yoga pants. He's barely hard, definitely not going to be getting off physically from this session, but it's not like he's disappointed. There's an overwhelming excitement building in his chest at the look of absolute bliss on Graeme's face.
He takes the Wartenberg wheel and runs it across Graeme's ribcage, watching him shudder and shake at the little pin pricks of feeling. His boy is so, so sensitive.
Especially when Alan brings praise into it. "So gorgeous like this. A perfect baby boy."Graeme whimpers around the gag as he looks up at Alan, unshed tears glittering in his eyes. The look of bliss and love on his husband's face is everything for Alan, and he takes a moment to lean down and kiss Graeme's cheek.
But, because he's the Dom, and just a little evil despite being soft as fuck, he twists one of Graeme's nipple rings with his fingers at the same time. The sound Graeme makes around the gag is glorious, enough that Alan has to repeat the move on the other nipple.
He keeps Graeme like that, bound and gagged and leaking on the sheets as he presses the pinwheel into sensitive skin and twists and pulls at the nipple rings. Tears and sweat stream down Graeme's face, his eyes nearly black with pupil, his heart galloping. He's glorious, and all Alan's. Sometimes - all of the time - Alan can't believe his luck.
Eventually, when he feels he's pushed Graeme exactly where he needs to go, Alan kisses over his cheek again, making his way down to Graeme's ear. "I want you to come whenever you want, baby boy."
Graeme nods, frantic, always needing to be his good boy.With a pleased sigh, Alan runs the pinwheel lightly up Graeme's cock and over the head. The sudden pricking sensation sends Graeme over the edge, his cum shooting onto his stomach in a lovely mess.
He loves the process of untying Graeme almost as much as tying him up. Loves releasing Graeme's limbs, loves how languid and relaxed Graeme's muscles are. He rubs lotion into every inch of Graeme's skin, shares a glass of water and a bit of chocolate with him, and finally brings him back to to the surface with in an easy conversation about the parts Graeme had liked.
"Love you," Graeme mumbles against his neck as they cuddle, loathe to give up physical contact right now.Alan gives a pleased little rumbling hum and holds Graeme more closely. "Love you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Long term orgasm denial isn't something Alan demands of Graeme often. Sure, it's become their habit to lock Graeme's cock up in a cage when Alan's away on business, but as Graeme has said in the past, long term doesn't suit him necessarily.
Of course Alan likes to tease the fuck out of Graeme for it. Not in a mean way, but just the case of an ace managing to hold something over the head of an allo.
Honestly, Graeme isn't quite sure how the topic comes up as they're sitting on the couch watching some old sci-fi show Alan loves, but before he knows it, the words, "Yeah, well, it's not like I need to come every day or something" leave his mouth.
Alan arches one perfect eyebrow."What, I don't!""And not that I'm complaining, baby, but I'd say we've got to be averaging at
least once a day since we met. Including the what, three weeks I knew you before we started playing?"Graeme purses his lips. It's best not to second guess Alan on a math question, this he knows. But- "That seems high."Alan grins, pulling Graeme over to straddle his lap and draw him into a warm kiss. "Well, there's all those times you get to come more than once. Wake you up with a blow job, stroke you off in the shower, second breakfast, elevensies...""I don't think he knows about second orgasm, Pippin," Graeme mock whispers, with a small grin.
"God, is it any wonder I love you." Alan pulls him in for a kiss.
"You know I don't mind, right? And you know I love watching you come." His fingers slide over the front of Graeme's pants, rubbing his cock through the cotton material.
"I know." Graeme hums, leaning into it, then stiffens and pulls back. "Yellow. Yellow-slash-red. I'm trying to have a conversation here."Dutifully Alan slides his hand back to the couch, just smiling up at Graeme as he respects Graeme's safe word use and boundaries. Graeme sighs happily, leaning forward to hug Alan. He loves this man - all the facets of him - so much.
"I don't know, it just sort of feels like something I should be able to do, hmm? Restrain myself?"Alan's arms come around to hug him. "You're plenty good at restraining yourself, but if you want Daddy to tell you you can't come every day, I can do that too, baby.""I bet I can't make it a week."Alan smiles, his lips still tipped up right before he brushes them over Graeme's. "I bet you can. I bet my good boy can keep his hands to himself for a week.""But we're doing that impact scene at the studio on Saturday."Alan gives a thoughtful hum. "Guess we'll add a cock ring to the prep."Graeme shivers, picturing it. "Evil Daddy."Alan snorts, turning the tv show back on as he settles Graeme more comfortably in his lap. Graeme pulls over his knitting, picking up back into his pattern as he listens to the actors talk about wormholes.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"I still think you should call the doctor's office and make an appointment." Graeme purses his lips as he hands Alan a fresh cool cloth for his forehead.Without looking at him and therefore exposing his eyes to even slightest bit of light invading the darkness of their bedroom, Alan gives a little grunt. He adjusts the cloth, trying to will the pounding in his head away. "It just happens every once and awhile. I'll be okay, baby."Unsure of himself, unsure of how hard - or not - to push Alan, Graeme gives a silent, unseen nod and squeezes Alan's hand. "Do you think some broth might help with the nausea? I have that chicken stock I made and froze last week that I bet would taste great. Soothing."There's some silence, and Graeme's thinking he should just leave Alan alone, go out and knit in the living room or something, but then Alan's fingers find his to tangle together. "I think that would be good. Get something in my stomach to help with the Excedrin migraine dose. Thank you, Graeme. I love you."Graeme's heart beats a little harder at the words, still so new. This feeling of helplessness is new too, and he wonders if this is anything like how Alan felt when he'd been taking care of Graeme after his accident. It's so hard to watch the person you love in pain."I'll just go take care of that." He leans over, pressing a kiss to Alan's cheek just under where the cloth is draped.In the kitchen, Graeme at least feels more in his element, defrosting and reheating the stock, adding a little bit of this and that to bring out the flavor. He's never - he's never really had to take care of anyone but himself. It's never really been an issue, honestly. Does that make him selfish? Is running on pure survival instinct inherently selfish, or had Graeme just been a more selfish person before he'd met Alan and had the luxury to give back?Something to talk about with Clarissa, probably. Graeme frowns as he ladles soup into one of their ceramic bowls. Definitely not while Alan's feeling like this.There's something about the way Alan looks up at him when he brings the meal in, though, all adoring and loving and trusting, that gets to Graeme's soul. He imagines doing this, taking care of Alan when he's sick, and remembers how well Alan took care of him, and he just keeps imagining doing it....forever.Alan gives a hum over the taste of the soup, and Graeme's not going to press for more, not when pain is making a permanent crease between Alan's eyebrows. Graeme doesn't have much trouble imagining those eyebrows going bushy and white like Mike's, or maybe gray like Linda's hair. Crow's feet - Alan's already got the start of them, but with how much he laughs and smiles, no doubt they'll get deeper and make his face even more appealing.God, he really is gone for this guy. Smiling a little, making sure he doesn't upset the bowl of soup, Graeme snuggles in next to Alan under the covers, deciding to take a lazy day. "If I'm quiet and keep my phone screen off bright, can I stay?"Alan makes an indignant little noise, and scoots closer so he can cushion his head against Graeme's. "Of course you can stay. You make this whole thing a lot less sucky."We should engrave that on the inside of our wedding rings, Graeme jokes to himself. "You make this whole thing," Graeme gestures vaguely at the world, "a whole lot less sucky for me, too."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Never have I ever..." Graeme pauses and shudders at the prolonged radiating pain coming from his pec, the clothespins gripping the skin everywhere but his nipple."Yes, Baby Boy?" István's eyebrow tips up in a grin. "You ready to give up?"Graeme glares at him. "Never.""Never what?"This time, Graeme sticks his tongue out at István. "Never have I ever...been to Europe.""Brat." István takes another clothespin and adds to a line trailing down his inner thigh."I can change that, you know, Baby Boy." Alan looks casually up from the tablet he'd been typing away on over on the couch in the cabin they'd rented for the weekend. Beside him, Clark is working on a laptop, something about spreadsheets for the restaurants he has an investment in. "We could do a Grand Tour, even.""But then how would I win at Never Have I Ever?" Graeme grins, scooting a little on the pillow he's kneeling on. He's a little chilly, or maybe it's the pain making gooseflesh rise on his arms. No matter, since he's currently winning, six clothespins clinging to his pecs to István's ten down his thigh.Is it really winning, though, considering exactly how much of a masochist he is? Graeme's hard cock leaks against his thigh. "Your turn."István hums. "How about....never have I ever...prepared a meal for the mayor." His eyes flare with delight when Graeme eagerly grabs another pin and pinches himself with it. He shivers, and István laughs, leaning over and pulling Graeme's hair to bring him forward for a kiss. "I don't think the stakes are high enough.""What do you have in mind?""You could always use your fingers. Keep stuffing him fuller and fuller, honey," Clark says nonchalantly, the casualness of it making Graeme shiver."Mmmm, good idea." István gets a little rough, pushing Graeme to all fours. "Bet he's still loose from us all fucking him last night, even."Fuck, Graeme thinks, his hands finding purchase against the smooth wooden floor. His chest aches in the best way, and his cock is leaking between his legs, and István's hand is warm on his lower back. He hears the popping cap of a lube bottle opening behind him. It's all perfect."Never have I ever...let my Daddy share my hot, tight ass with his best friends."Graeme groans as István sinks a lubed finger in his - yes, already loose - hole. He circles the rim, though, tugging on it to send licks of pleasure up Graeme's spine."Never have I ever...been the sweetest young thing in the room." István slips another finger in, scissoring his hole open and swiping over his prostate tauntingly.There's movement around the room, and then Graeme becomes aware of Clark kneeling behind István and pulling him into a kiss. "Now that's where you're just patently wrong, my sweet, young thing." Clark's voice is smoky and sounds just as delicious as István's sudden moan. István must be getting his own fingering.István grunts, never stopping the rhythm he's using to tease Graeme. The three of them stay like that for a few minutes, everyone making sounds of pleasure as the tension grows taut in the room."Never have I ever-" István pants, obviously distracted by Clark, "Never have I ever turned my nose up at ramen, there, ha-Clark!" István squeals at what Graeme can only guess is another finger."Law of marriage, love. My disdain is your disdain, and vice versa. And I happen to agree with Graeme on that packaged stuff."Graeme giggles even as three of István's fingers stutter inside him. It's fucking amazing, and to be honest, Graeme's feeling a little high. And, they're apparently having enough fun that Daddy wants to join in, because Alan comes over to him, kneeling in front of him and carding his fingers through Graeme's hair. It feels glorious."Never have I ever had Alan Gerry look at me like I hang the fucking moon," István murmurs, leaning over to kiss Graeme's shoulder. He turns around, though, to wink at Clark. "I have someone just as good, though."Four fingers is a lot, and Graeme pushes his hips back and lays down on his forearms, working through it. István feels like one of their larger dildos inside him, more stretched than he'd been last night, for sure. More like the last time István and Clark had both fucked him at once."Never have I ever been fisted.""See, now you're just blatantly lying, honey. But you're not prepped enough, and neither is Graeme, so we're stopping here. Guess you'll both just have to get off on four."Graeme makes a strangled little sound as István's fingers press continually at his prostate. He squeezes his eyes hard enough to see stars and then - and then his Daddy plays evil, and starts pulling his clothespins off one by one. The delayed pain reverberates through his system, sending him over the edge so quickly he's fairly sure his brain short circuits.
Later, when they're cuddled up together in the cabin's California King, Graeme smiles fuzzily into the darkness. "See, I told you game night would be fun," he says to no one in particular, but it doesn't really matter, not when they've all had fun tonight.He can feel István's lips curve up where they're currently pressed against his neck, and all is right with the world.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s been one of those days where riding up the elevator to their apartment is a bit like decompressing level by level for Alan. A day he’d rather have spent coding, but instead had been in meetings up to his eyeballs.

So when he opens their front door, and Graeme’s there waiting, smiling, BeeBeeAte sitting on the shoulder of his black hoodie, Threepio and Artoo running up to him for pets, he kind of wants to collapse in relief and happiness. “Hey.”

“Hey, Ally.” Graeme takes his shoulder bag and hangs it up on a hook, then lets Alan crowd in for a kiss.

His husband is sweet, both like normal and because he must have had something, apple juice maybe, he’s been on a kick lately, when he got home from work. It makes Alan want to sink in further, so he does, wrapping an arm around Graeme’s waist and pulling him closer. The move makes Graeme tip his head back and lets Alan deepen their kiss - even though it also makes BeeBeeAte abandon ship.

“Hi,” Alan murmurs when he finally pulls back and leans his forehead against Graeme’s, his voice a little rough.

“Hi. Day was that good, huh?” Graeme smirks at him.

“Smart ass.”

“Your one and only.”

“Fucking right.” With a happy sigh, Alan sinks into Graeme’s lips again, loving the feel of Graeme’s smaller body as it presses against him. “How’d you know I’d love being greeted at the door today?”

Graeme smiles, circling his arms around Alan’s waist. “I had Hen text me when you pulled up so I’d be ready, but I wasn’t anticipating the bad day. I just so happened to be tooling around Twitter at lunch today and saw that…” He trails off, blushing and looking embarrassed.

“Saw what?” Alan leans in, nuzzling against his husband’s cheek because sometimes his little sub needs coaxing. “See something fun you want to try?”

“No, I, uh. I saw that it’s International Asexuality Day, and I wanted to be here when you got home to...offer you this.”

Graeme fishes a paper out of his hoodie pocket and blushes harder. “Sorry, it got all crumpled, I- god, this is stupid-”

“I’m sure it’s not.” Alan takes the paper but doesn’t examine it yet; instead he presses a kiss to Graeme’s forehead and rubs his back soothingly. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

He unfolds the paper - and really, it’s barely crinkled - to see his love’s neat handwriting spaced over five columns, each with a heading of one of the ratings they use for how Alan’s feeling, ace-wise. In each column are words and phrases like ‘cook dinner together’ and ‘hand massage and nail painting’ and ‘shibari - your choice’ and ‘fuck me.’

“It’s a menu, um. For you. For whatever you’re feeling like today, Daddy. I just want to take care of you, and I also wanted to give you options, and- I just want you to know how much I love and appreciate you, everything about you, including your asexuality.”

“Baby.” Alan chokes a little, then pulls Graeme in for another - harder - kiss. “God, I love you so much.”

This time when Graeme looks up at him, he looks much more self-assured. Beaming, even, at how much Alan loves his ideas. He’s getting better, has been doing better over the years, but sometimes the insecurity born of his childhood gets the better of him.

“So what would you like to start with?”

Alan scans the list, smiling when he comes across exactly what he wants to do right now. “I think right now, I’m going to go with the idea that we both get in our pajamas, cuddle up on the couch, and makeout for a while.”

“Sounds perfect.” Graeme threads their fingers together, still beaming with happiness as he leads them toward the bedroom.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme:
Daddy, can we play tonight?

Alan:
Everything okay, baby boy?

Graeme
: yes! :D

Graeme:
...i may have been browsing kinktok on my break again

Graeme:
>.> <.< :D :D :D

Alan:
Hehe, I love you baby

Alan:
Now go be a good boy and finish up your day like the hard worker I know you are

Graeme:
Daddy <3 <3 <3

So maybe Alan has a skip in his step when he beats Graeme home. He’s been distracted ever since Graeme’s texts, but he can make up the time later. He’d finally called it, taken an hour of personal time to get home to his lovely husband.

His heart’s beating with excitement as he plans their evening. He may not get off physically, but Lord above, he loves every aspect of kink from start to finish. It fuels the creativity in his brain, hits all his hero complex and service buttons in a healthy way. And it makes his husband happy, too, so…

He has everything ready by the time he hears Graeme at the door, even changed into something more comfortable - yoga pants and a simple tee. He knows he made the right choice in wardrobe when Graeme’s eyes warm at the sight of his greeting, and when he pulls Graeme into a welcome home kiss, Graeme’s hands go automatically to take two big handfuls of Alan’s ass. Bless him, his boy loves his Daddy’s ass.

“Welcome home, baby.” He takes Graeme’s jacket and bag to hang up before steering Graeme toward the bedroom.

“Hi, Daddy!” Graeme’s voice is somehow both coy and bright, making Alan’s heart thump hard with love and excitement.

They cover their words and signals as they walk back, Alan’s hands on his husband’s shoulders.

“Do you want me to tell you my ideas, or keep it a surprise?”

Graeme bites into his lip as he turns to face Alan. It’s so adorable, Alan has to lean down and kiss him, abuse his baby boy’s lip with his own teeth. “Tell me, Daddy?” he asks sweetly when Alan pulls back and closes the bedroom door against the three cats out in the hallway.

Alan loves Graeme like this, all flushed pink and already heading down into subspace. The feeling of dominance, of his own headspace, curls through his stomach, warming him. “First, I’m going to undress you.”

True to his word, Alan starts talking Graeme’s clothes off, piece by piece. It’s a delight, revealing his baby boy’s smooth skin. He lifts Graeme’s work shirt up, helps him out of it and tosses it in the hamper. The white gold of Graeme’s nipple rings and day collar glint in the light of the bedroom, drawing Alan’s attention. He brushes over the rings, tugging a little to watch Graeme’s eyes dilate.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss up Graeme’s neck, feeling his boy shiver in his arms. “Such a good boy for me.”

Graeme smells like the kitchen, like garlic and onion and spices - like the curried chicken and kale salad he’d sent to Alan for lunch. Alan loves it, personally, his strong smell, but he wants his baby boy to feel comfortable, feel pampered, and Graeme often doesn’t feel that way after work until he’s showered.

And so he moves on, unbuttoning and unzipping Graeme’s pants and helping him step out of them until he’s left in just his briefs, looking perfect.

Alan slides his phone out of his pocket, snapping a quick pic before Graeme can be embarrassed by it. “Color if I send it to Clark and Isti?”

Graeme blushes, a beautiful pink rising across his chest, but he nods. “Green.”

“I’m going to take some more tonight. Can I send whichever I like, unless you say no?”

“Yeah, green. I trust you.” Alan can see the consent talk visibly relax Graeme, even though he hadn’t been abnormally tense. Just the regular stress of the day sliding off of him in a way that’s beautiful. Alan’s chest swells with pride for his sub, and he pulls Graeme up close to brush a kiss over his forehead.

“Let’s get you all scrubbed up, and then you’re going to model some new clothes for us. Do you want Isti and Clark to help pick out your Pride gear?”

Graeme grins and nods eagerly, shimmying out of his briefs and skipping to the bathroom. Alan follows closely, his phone pinging in his pocket.

Clark:
What a good boy you have there

Graeme blushes when Alan tells him what Clark had responded, and so Alan has to snap a pic of that to send, too. And some more as he sits on the side of the tub and washes Graeme’s back. By then, István’s gotten involved too, their group chat filling up with exclamations and praise for Graeme.

Graeme’s rock hard from the exhibitionism and the praise, his cock bobbing in the soapy water, neglected because Alan gets to decide when Graeme gets off.

And

god

he loves that feeling of power.

“Daddy!” Graeme gasps when Alan presses a waterproof-lube-slick finger against his rim. His baby boy clutches at the edge of the tub, and Alan grins, carefully stretching and slipping further inside.

“Up on your knees for me, Baby Boy,” Alan coaxes, repositioning Graeme in the water so that he’s gripping the tub edge, on his knees, his ass on display for Alan. Alan takes advantage of the position, sinking two fingers inside and crooking them just right.

Graeme moans, his legs shaking, fighting against giving out to the pleasure his Daddy is giving him.

That

picture manages to garner a Facetime call from Clark’s phone. When Alan swipes to answer, he can see that both Clark and István are cuddled up in the king size bed in their basement playroom. More accurately, István’s sitting in Clark’s lap facing the phone, and Alan’s fairly sure by the way István’s hips are moving that Clark’s cock is buried deep inside him, although that whole situation is covered by Isti’s skirt. He’s also gagged, his blouse open and showing nipple clamps - looks like they might’ve interrupted, or added into Clark and Isti’s own play night.

“Baby Boy, are you being good for your Daddy?” Clark’s voice is deep with desire, one arm covered in black curls wrapping around Isti’s stomach to hold him steady while Isti groans against his gag.

“Mhmm,” Graeme whimpers, doing his best to stay up.

“He’s getting all pruny though, so I think I should dry him off. I’m going to set you on the counter for a sec.” Alan places his phone so Clark and István can watch as he leads Graeme to the shower to rinse off, then smooths one of his big, soft towels over his baby’s skin. He strokes Graeme’s hard cock, then, getting all four of them to make some kind of noise - he thinks he likes the strained moan of István through his gag the best.

“Talk to Clark and Isti for me, Baby, while I get the first outfit.”

Graeme’s flushing a pretty pink as he takes the phone from Alan and heads off to the bedroom while Alan goes to their walk-in closet. He can hear Clark tease Graeme, hear Graeme’s pleased little giggle.

He doesn’t stop to think about the dynamics between the four of them very often, because it just

works.

It always has. Sure, he’s seen a dozen or more people fuck Graeme at the studio - Graeme had asked for repeats of that spanking bench scene after the first one, and even Barbie had gotten involved, pegged Graeme until he’d cried from pleasure, all while

at

the pleasure of his Dom, his Daddy, Alan. Alan loves that dynamic, a lot. Loves that no matter who or what is fucking Graeme, Graeme’s his Baby Boy, always and forever, or so the rings on their fingers signify.

But István and Clark are special. Alan knows that Graeme feels something more for the both of them just as Alan can feel it within himself, that the four of them together are a unit of some kind, some sort of polycule. And maybe it works best when Alan doesn’t analyze it, but he knows Graeme has talked about it with Clarissa. His husband is the best at over-analyzing, after all. Ultimately, Graeme has come to the conclusion that he’s comfortable with their situation, and if Graeme is comfortable, Alan is comfortable. Besides, Alan knows that if that ever changes for any of them, they’ll bring it up. He thinks that might be one of the greatest benefits of being in a BDSM-related relationship...everyone wants to talk, always, all the time, in the best way possible.

He hums as he pulls the outfits he’d bought for Pride. They vary in style, because he and Graeme will be attending a variety of events, both in public and at places like the yoga studio where they can be more private...and show more skin.

When he comes back out with the armful of clothes, Graeme is lounging on the bed, the phone in one hand, his other caught under his body - Alan figures Clark told him to put it there to keep him out of trouble touching his cock. Graeme immediately brightens upon seeing Alan, then gapes at the stack of clothes.

“Daddy! You are...ridiculous.” Graeme’s gone bright red again, the way he always does whenever Alan overwhelms him with presents.

“Whatever you don’t want, we’ll donate to the yoga studio and the Tommy Center, depending on the level of appropriateness for teens.”

Graeme giggles, then hands the phone off as he starts looking through the pile.

“Hello again, you two.” Alan grins down at the phone before flipping around so he can capture Graeme going through the clothes, too.

Their scene must have ended when Alan was in the closet, because Clark’s looking sated, and the gag and clamps are both off István, who’s lying against Clark’s shoulder. István’s nipples are red and extended, looking gorgeous, and when Alan comments on it, István winks at him with a small grin.

“Thank you, Daddio,” István teases, a ridiculous nickname for Alan he’d picked up from Graeme. “Now, are we going to get a fashion show, Baby Boy?”

Graeme gasps as he pulls a shirt out. It’s a crop top, of course, a mesh material that will show everything off underneath anyway, and dyed the bright colors of the rainbow. “Daddy, this, with my-” His eyes light up and he dashes off to the closet.

When he comes back out a few minutes later, he’s got these white cotton shorts, tight as sin even though they’re actually long enough to hit him mid-thigh, with white suspenders strapped on. Over the suspenders, he tugs on the mesh crop top, then poses for Alan, Clark, and István.

There’s a collective sigh, expressed most vocally by István, though it’s Alan who gets to reel Graeme in and kiss him. “You look perfect.”

Graeme slides down into his lap, straddling him, his hard cock pressing against Alan’s stomach. They make out like that for a little bit, Clark and Isti watching on.

“Go try another one,” Alan says when he pulls back, giving Graeme an encouraging slap on the ass that makes the sub jump and blush.

It’s so light and happy, watching Graeme go through the clothes - he especially loves the black t-shirt that says ‘Talk nerdy to me’ on it. He goes all quiet and demure as he holds it up, and whispers, “It’s like my collar, Daddy. Like an incognito way you’re saying, ‘I’m yours.’”

Isti sighs like he’s watching the last ten minutes of a romcom as Alan folds Graeme back into his lap. “You

are

mine, and I’m yours, Baby.”

“I think it might be time to get them a little privacy, sweetheart,” Clark murmurs in István’s ear. They all give quiet goodbyes, and then Alan drops the phone away to better center his attention on Graeme.

He’s got what will probably be his studio event outfit on - a white strappy number that combines a jock, harness, and knee socks, all of which wrap around him and hug the lines of his beautiful, beautiful body.

Alan tips them over, pressing Graeme down on his back to the mattress, then half-covering him with his larger body as they make out. That is, until Graeme’s stomach gurgles in hunger, and they break apart, laughing quietly.

“I don’t want to be done yet, Daddy.” Graeme’s confession is so sweet, his boy looking up at him with bright eyes and swollen lips.

“How about this, then, Baby Boy. How about I put your favorite plug in, and we keep you in this number while I make us food, and then my boy can kneel for me while I feed him, and see if he can keep from coming while the plug vibrates against his prostate, hmm? How does that sound?”

Graeme’s breath is shallow with excitement. “Green, Daddy. Really, really green.”

Alan laughs, placing a last kiss on Graeme’s lips before pulling back to grab the vibrating plug that he can control with his phone. He pauses though, when Graeme pulls him down again. “What’s up?”

“I love you.”

Alan smiles, brushing another kiss over Graeme’s forehead. “I love you, too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme leans against the bar, sipping at his water and watching Alan schmooze donors from afar. He’d taken a little break from being Alan’s arm candy, not that Alan had required his presence anyway. He mostly doesn’t mind hanging on Alan’s arm, as the company couldn’t be more delightful, but Alan understands when he needs to fuck off for a moment, too.

“The turnout is great tonight,” a deep voice says beside him, and Graeme looks away from Alan to find the director of Tommy’s Place, Gustavo Ramirez, at his side.

“Hey, Goose!” Graeme opens his arms, pulling the director into one of those back-tapping half-hugs, which reminds him of the rope harness he’s currently wearing under his suit, which in turn helps his anxiety come down a bit further. His daddy always has his back. “Yeah, it’s looking good. And your speech was great, honestly.”

Gustavo grins as he wrinkles his nose, tinking his own glass of amber liquid against Graeme’s water. “Still my least favorite part of the job.”

“Amen to that.” Graeme sips at his water, watching Alan in his element. He lets a small sigh escape. “I should get back to Ally, I guess.”

“Actually- I didn’t just come over for idle chit chat.”

“Oh?” Graeme turns, giving Goose his full attention again. “Can I help with something?” He asks it with a bit of incredulity born out of his still low self-confidence - then again, he’s in ‘arm candy’ mode so his brain isn’t expecting anyone to need anything from him, despite what he does for Tommy’s Place outside of the spotlight of being Alan’s fiance.

“The kids really loved that spread you put together for the National Coming Out Day Prom, and one in particular asked if you would be interested in showing him that kind of stuff. Like basic knife and cooking skills, that kind of thing.”

A blush immediately rises on Graeme’s cheeks, something akin to both excitement and anxiety bubbling in his chest. “Really?”

Goose laughs a little as he takes another sip of his drink. “Yeah, man. I think you’re seen as a little less ‘untouchable’ than Alan is. Well, and this kid, Josue, he’s got confidence for days, so I told him I’d pass along the request.”

“I-” Graeme blinks, that bubbling sensation turning into more of a flutter that calms when he remembers Reene’s directive to pay her mentorship forward in the future at some point. Apparently the future is now. “Yes, I could do that. I’d- I’d love to do that, actually.”

“Great! We have a couple of afternoons free in our programming right now, so why don’t we go talk with Tiff and see what scheduling works best for everyone.” Gustavo nods toward the youth programs director across the ballroom.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Determined, Graeme follows Goose through the crowd, catching Alan’s curious eye and giving a small nod of reassurance.

“I think you’re going to beat me home tonight, so could you get the stir fry veggies going?” Graeme weaves around Alan in their walk-in closet, pulling various pieces of clothing for work that day.

He smiles when Alan’s arm loops around his waist, and his fiance gives him a big bear hug from behind that ends with a light kiss under his ear. It makes Graeme shiver in the sweetest way. “I’ll get right on it, I promise. And you, you’re going to be great. Tiff said that five kids have signed up.”

“Yeah - honestly I’m not sure if that tiny kitchen in the teen area could hold many more. And if I fuck up, well, it’s not like Tommy’s Place is the culmination of all your hopes and dreams or anything.”

Alan takes the chance to blow a raspberry on his skin where he’d kissed before. “None of that. Nothing you do today will break anything or anyone irreparably. At the very worst, no one wants another lesson and you get your Tuesday afternoons back. At the best, you’re helping kids who have zero support gain an important set of skills - the same ones you’ve been teaching me the last few years, I might add, and I’ve yet to chop a finger off despite how distracting you are in the kitchen sometimes. Scratch that, at all times.” He reaches down, goosing Graeme’s ass, then releases him to let him get dressed.

Graeme smiles, a little wobbly, then pulls Alan back into his arms. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” Alan brushes a kiss over Graeme’s lips. “Like I said, you’re going to be amazing.”

“Okay, Rochelle, that looks really, really good! Josue, watch your thumb, try holding the knife like this instead-” Graeme demonstrates using his own knife, then watches carefully as the teen repositions his hands to be more safe. “Very nice. Okay, so, what’s a bunch of chopped veggies without something to dip them in? If you can hit a good sale, a little tub of yogurt - even better if it’s Greek - spiced up with some dill, some garlic powder, some salt and pepper - it’s better for you than those little cans of ranch dip you find in the chips aisle.”

Josue looks up from his knife cuts practice and arches an eyebrow. “Why would you be worried about a sale?”

It’s a straightforward question, but Josue doesn’t ask it rudely. Graeme’s gotten to know the teen a little now, and he has a certain direct approach to asking questions. “I wasn’t always engaged to Al- Mr. Garry. Before I was, I pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck, working really hard to make sure I could get some nutrients mixed in with all the ramen and tuna and cereal. That’s how I paid part of my rent, actually, cooking for my roommates and trying to make the shitty- I mean crappy- food from the bargain store taste better.”

Graeme looks up from where he’s been chopping his own bell peppers to see all the teens staring at him like he’s grown another head. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you teach us that, too?” It’s the first time Margie, the youngest kid in the class, has actually spoken directly to him instead of her older sister, Rochelle.

“What’s that, hun?”

“The ‘making ramen taste better’ thing. Can you teach us that?” This time it’s Rochelle that pipes up, taking up her sister’s lead.

“I- yeah, I suppose I could.”

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” István slips his hand into Graeme’s and squeezes his fingers as they stand outside the center’s clinic, the one that István manages now.

“Clarissa thinks it’s safe to try again. I promise if I feel off I’ll let you know. I can’t just avoid the clinic for the rest of my life.” Still, he holds onto István’s hand and can’t quite make himself open the door.

“Graeme! Graeme!” comes a wild, youthful shout from across the black top.

“It’s

Mr. Webster,”

Rochelle mutters to her sister as they both walk up to the men, Margie hardly able to contain her excitement.

“He said we can call him Graeme though.” Margie glares at her sister, annoyed and probably embarrassed, knowing teens, by her older sister.

“Either is fine, really. Hi! How are you guys?”

“Okay, so the dollar store has these cans of black beans for a really good deal but also I’m really tired of black beans and I was wondering if you had any ideas?” Margie asks.

Graeme’s no longer surprised by her outbursts now that he knows her better, and it’s a good sign that she’s talking more now, anyway. “I bet I can come up with a few things. Did you put it on the list, yet?”

“The list?” István asks, his smile broad.

“It’s the ‘Mr. Webster’s Challenge’ list - basically the kiddos can put whatever they want on there and I have to figure out a way to make it taste good, and make it cheap.”

“And have we considered getting you your own Food Network show yet?”

“That’s what

I

keep saying,” Rochelle adds with a friendly smirk.

“I’ll leave that to Margie, here.”

“Omigoshno,” Margie protests, turning beet red. Obviously seeking to divert attention away from herself, she looks up at István. “Are you seeing Nurse Isti, Graeme?”

“Yeah, no, I just-” Graeme looks at the closed door of the clinic. “Yes, I was just going in.”

“Me, too. I need some, uh,

monthly supplies,

” Rochelle says, her eyebrows raising significantly as she looks at István.

“That’s my purview,” István affirms, pulling the door open. “After you folks.”

And then Graeme’s following Margie and Rochelle, and he can barely register that he’s in the clinic while he and Margie discuss black beans so that Rochelle can get supplies from István.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The great thing about being allo, Graeme supposes, is that when his gray-ace husband is feeling especially handsy, he can pretty easily go along for the ride. It’s one of Graeme’s favorite types of summer days, just knitting on the couch, youtube playing in the background, Alan clacking away on his laptop as he walks on the treadmill. The sounds of comfort, of home, of love and relaxation.

So when Alan comes to sit by him, right up against him in the cool of the a/c, and slides his hand over Graeme’s bare knee and up the inside of his thigh, Graeme shivers and goes half-hard. He looks up from his knitting to answer the question on Alan’s face. “Let me just finish this row, okay?”

Alan obliges, taking his hand away from the sensitive skin and throwing his arm over Graeme’s shoulders. One thing about being in a kinky relationship, too, is how open, obvious, and important consent is. Honestly, the amount of media out there that doesn’t stress consent makes Graeme want to side-eye all vanilla relationships.

He finishes up the row and tucks the project away in its bag - BeeBee especially likes to get at Graeme’s yarn - before turning his full attention to his husband, reaching up to caress one beard-covered cheek. “Hi,” he says with a smile.

“Hey, baby.” Alan leans in, his other hand sweeping across Graeme’s chest as he brushes his lips over Graeme’s.

It’s so sweet and soft, the kiss, all feather light and perfect. Graeme sighs, letting Alan deepen the kiss for a few moments before breaking away. “Rating?”

Alan takes a moment, their lips almost still touching, and whispers, “PG-13 for now. Maybe more later.”

“You got it, Daddy.” With that clarified, Graeme lets Alan manipulate him until they’re both lying down on the couch, pressed against each other, Alan’s back to the cushions. Graeme groans softly against Alan’s lips when his husband sweeps his hand down Graeme’s side then pulls Graeme’s knee up over his thigh. Their cocks grind together with the movement, and Graeme melts into the embrace, especially when Alan’s fingers start to tease under the loose hem of Graeme’s tiny athletic shorts.

And then his phone buzzes on the glass coffee table, a jarring sound that makes Graeme pull back for a second. When it doesn’t continue, though, he buries his fingers in Alan’s hair and pulls him back in for a deeper kiss.

And then his phone buzzes again.

“Should you get that?” Alan asks against his lips, smiling a little in that way that goes directly to his eyes, all bright and light and wonderful and oh, oh god, Graeme is so fucking in love with his husband. He quickly shakes his head and pouts his lips out, willing Alan to take the signal.

He does, sucking and nibbling at Graeme’s lips in between kisses, those questing fingers seeking their way under Graeme’s shorts to find that - surprise - he’s forgone underwear today. Alan groans, petting over Graeme’s hole, teasing as they continue to make out.

It’s the third time, though, that there are a flurry of notifications on his phone, that Graeme grunts and pulls away with an exasperated sigh. “Someone better be on fire or something-” he mutters, grabbing his phone and scrolling through the notifications. Despite his annoyance, he snorts.

“What is it?” Alan’s eyes are still light with mirth, and Graeme is happy to snuggle into his arms again, pointing the phone his way.

“Tom Daley’s being adorable with knitting again. Your mom and dad, Sam, and Krista all sent it to me or tagged me, and half the knitting club wants to talk about it.”

Graeme hasn’t been able to help feeling an affinity for the British diver, with his knitting, humor, and own age-gap marriage.

“Oo, what’s he done now?” Alan peeks over Graeme’s shoulder at the cardigan Tom has knitted in his time at the Olympics. “Wow, nice.”

Graeme looks at his husband for a second, bemused by Alan’s easy enthusiasm for the things he himself loves, despite not really giving a shit about knitting personally. “I love you. A lot a lot.”

Alan’s whole face goes happy and bright, even if he looks a little confused about the sudden declaration. “I love you, too. A lot a lot.” He squeezes Graeme into a bear hug and nuzzles his nose against Graeme’s neck.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s not abnormal, when Graeme is picking up the mail from the mail room downstairs, for there to be a package slip that he has to go see the front desk about. He has a gift-loving daddy with sticky internet-ordering fingers, after all. Now that he’s earning a steady income with Reene, he does a bit of ordering himself from time to time, though Alan provides more than he needs and he still is gun shy about spending money frivolously. What if…? What if.

This particular package is addressed to Alan, so he dutifully carries it upstairs after work and sets it with the rest of the mail on their side table when he walks in the door. He does the important work of greeting all three of the cats before scooping Beebee into his arms and letting the kitten curl up in his hoodie pocket. The little weirdo just loves being carted around in there, and Graeme lives in fake-fear of when he’ll outgrow it. Maybe he could buy Beebee a baby sling or something…

Yeah, he’s going to be

that

cat owner.

Oo, or he could get Beebee one of those kitty backpacks that looks like a space suit and take him on walks with Alan. That would be awesome.

With Beebee purring loudly in his hoodie pocket, he sets about making a simple dinner for them. Alan’ll be home anytime and can pitch in, but it’s just salmon fillets and some roasted veggies, easy enough. He puts on a podcast to keep himself company and lets Alan come to him when he hears the front door open.

Sure enough, within a minute, warm arms are wrapping around his waist, Alan slotting himself behind Graeme perfectly and placing a kiss on top of his head. Graeme hums, tipping his head up to briefly capture Alan’s lips before making sure the fillets aren’t burning in the pan.

“Smells amazing as always,” Alan murmurs in his ear while he reaches down to pet Beebee inside Graeme’s hoodie.

“Me or the food?” Graeme teases, knowing he smells like Indian food and kitchen prep after a long day, but also knowing Alan loves it.

“Little bit of both, to be honest.” Alan leans down and nips teasingly below his ear, making Graeme shiver. “All right if I go change, or do you need help?”

“Go get comfortable, this will be done soon. Oh, a package came for you.”

There’s a pause as Alan looks over to the entrance way. “Excellent. I’ll be right back.”

He’s plating the fillets and the veggies when Beebee decides he’s had enough movement for the moment and hops out, stretching his tiny limbs, his kitten claws light against his black fur. He immediately ambles over to the dry food and starts chomping down, making Graeme smile.

“I think we’re going to have to get one of those auto-feeders for the kitties. I’m worried about Beebee getting to be as round as his namesake,” Graeme calls when he hears footsteps heading back toward the front of the apartment.

“Graeme,” Alan says, his voice tight with something - nerves?

It makes Graeme look up immediately, then drop his jaw in shock.

“Daddy.”

Nerves - yes, definitely it was nerves - run across Alan’s face. “Does it- do I look okay?”

“Let me pick my jaw up off the floor first and tell you.”

Alan’s large body is framed by a beautiful lace lingerie set. Yoga makes his muscles lean, his core strength amazing even though he has the big body of a typical bear. Pink lace boxer briefs stretch over his delicious thighs and hug his balls and dick nicely, and a pink lace tank stretches over his chest and down over the bulge of his belly. He crosses his arms over his chest, as if he’s trying to hide himself, though, and that simply won’t do.

“You look

gorgeous,

daddy.” Graeme walks over to him, pausing before running his hands over Alan’s arms. “Rating?”

“PG-13 for now. You can touch me if you want.”

“Oh, I

want.”

Graeme lets himself explore the textures of Alan’s skin, his hairy arms and legs, and the soft lace against that. It’s so fun, the role reversal, seeing Alan less dressed than he is.

Still, he knows Alan has walked a long road of body acceptance, so he knows he can’t take this for granted. Knows he’s going to have to compliment the shit out of Alan until Alan really believes him.

“What does daddy want me to do for him?” Graeme asks as he nuzzles against Alan’s chest. He wraps his hands around Alan and squeezes his ass, sliding the lace over Alan’s skin.

Alan groans, capturing Graeme’s mouth, his cock growing slightly and pressing against the lace below. It’s kind of surprising how little it takes for daddy’s cock to be interested, to be honest, and Graeme smiles.

He sinks to his knees, his hands on his own thighs, head down, perfect supplication pose. He’ll always want to submit to Alan, no matter what Alan puts on, but this…this wrapping is getting to Graeme’s head.

Alan’s fingers slip through his curls, finding purchase there and gently easing his head back. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy you tonight, baby boy.”

He looks up, then laughs at something he sees. “Beebee, off the table!”

With a screech, Graeme pops up and shoos Beebee away before he can do much damage to the salmon. Inspecting it, Graeme breathes a sigh of relief. “I think it’s okay.”

Alan comes up, sliding an arm around his waist. “Well, let’s eat, and then I’ll figure out exactly how I want you to be a good boy tonight, hmm?”

“Can I sit on your lap?”

“Of course,” Alan murmurs, sliding into one of the dining chairs and pulling Graeme down.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme blows out a breath as he escapes the tension of the kitchen. Reene’s business has been exploding lately, enough that she’s hired on another worker, appointing Graeme in charge of his training. Graeme is humbled beyond measure that she thinks him so capable, but he and Aaron haven’t exactly hit it off. There’s no denying that Aaron is a driven young man, ambitious and a hard worker - there’s just something about him, though, that makes Graeme feel like he’s trying to edge Graeme out of Reene’s favor.

Honestly it kind of reminds him of Dan, that asshole sous chef from when he interned for Clark, and the thought makes him snort. Dan had been right in the end, Graeme supposes, because he certainly has ended up fucking Clark plenty of times. There’s a sort of poetic justice, he thinks, that within their foursome, he considers Clark more his lover’s husband than anything more concrete beyond his third dom. The power dynamics between the four of them might be confusing to outsiders, but everything seems perfectly right whenever Graeme thinks about it.

Still, thinking back to Dan and how Graeme overcame that bullying, he blows out another breath and girds himself for more dealing with Aaron. He’s worked with annoying teenagers and over-the-top managers and just about every shitty situation this stupid capitalist society forces him into, and he’s not going to let one ambitious up-and-comer make him unhappy.

Smiling a little to himself, proud that his break has allowed him to talk himself out of his spiral, he pulls out his phone and hits Alan’s name

He’s half-expecting to be sent straight through to voicemail - he can’t quite remember what Alan said he had planned for the day - so his heart jumps with happiness when Alan’s rich voice answers. “Baby?”

“Hey, Daddy,” Graeme says quietly, making sure no one walking along the street is paying attention to him. “Everything’s fine,” he reassures, because his daddy can be a worrier, just like him. “I’m just on my break and…missed you.”

Alan’s small huff of delighted amusement makes Graeme’s heart sing. He loves that Alan still loves him this much. With a smile, he reaches up to play with the small white gold padlock on his collar; his ring is in his work locker; he’s always terrified he’ll lose it down the drain washing dishes or something similar.

“I love you too, baby boy.” Graeme can hear beeps on Alan’s end, maybe Alan stopping his work treadmill.

“I was thinking about going down to the waterfront after work, watching the water a bit.”

“Everything okay?” It’s not an out-of-left-field question, considering Graeme normally goes to the water to decompress after a bad day.

“Oh, you know, just A-A-ron issues.” Graeme laughs a little at the stupid joke, rolling his eyes at himself. “But I think I’m going to be okay, so, you know, I deserve a reward.”

This time Alan laughs outright, a full-throated sound that warms Graeme up from the inside. “Could it be, after years and years together, I’ve finally managed to make my baby boy spoiled?”

Graeme feels his cheeks go pink, and he laughs too. “I don’t think so. Isti is way better at pulling off ‘brat’ than me. I’ll stick to being grateful, I think.”

Alan’s little purr settles over Graeme’s soul just as if his husband were here to brush through his hair and place a kiss on his forehead. “Good boy. Why don’t Hen and I pick you up? I can play hooky this afternoon, especially if I get back to work now.”

“You’re sure?” Everything in Graeme’s body feels lighter, just at the thought of time with his Daddy along the waterfront.

“I can make it work. Text me when you’re winding down and we’ll be right there. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Alan.”

“Hey, marshmallow,” Hendrick greets Graeme with a tip of his baseball cap. The Mariners are on a winning streak for once and the whole city’s pulling behind them, enough that Hen’s foregone his more formal attire for the cap - not that Alan cares what he wears ever, but Hen insists drivers have an image to maintain among each other.

“Hey, Hen!” Graeme manages before he’s being pulled up against Alan’s side and in for a rough kiss. He lets out a surprised little sound that Alan swallows, humming against his lips before breaking it off and pressing kisses across his cheek and down his neck. “Alan!”

Alan presses a final kiss on his throat, then maneuvers him around to get him buckled in. “To the waterfront, Hen. We’ve got water to watch and seagulls to fend off.”

Graeme laughs, threading his fingers through Alan’s and bringing his daddy’s hand up for a kiss. He loves when Alan gets all silly like this, like a school kid let out early for no reason and not like one of the richest guys in Seattle who can set his own schedule however he wants.

He loves that

he

brings this out in Alan, that it’s a small service he can provide for his husband.

“We haven’t been to the aquarium in a minute, why don’t you drop us there, Hen?”

Graeme perks up. “Otters? Otters!”

With a laugh, Alan leans in to make out with him some more.

Alan buys them a raspberry milkshake to share, and they find a bench overlooking the sound where Graeme can dissociate for a bit, watching the waves crest and the ferries continuously moving in and out. He’s half in Alan’s lap, their legs tangled together, Alan’s fingers sliding through his hair, his head on Alan’s shoulder.

“I think this is my happy place,” Alan rumbles, for Graeme’s ears only.

Graeme smiles, turning his head slightly to press a kiss where Alan’s beard stops on his neck. “I

know

it is. I love you so much.”

Alan hums, moving Graeme’s curly bangs to place a kiss there on his forehead.

“You make life so easy for me, Alan. I know I could do it, I know I would have survived, but… you just make it so easy to deal with the shit of everyday life.”

Alan gives him a squeeze as he passes on the milkshake for Graeme to take a sip. “I’m doing everything I can to pass on the privileges I was born with and the ones I’ve stumbled into. I didn’t do this alone, and you shouldn’t have to, either. And neither should anyone else.” His lips settle on Graeme’s forehead again, cold from the milkshake. “But baby, remember always, that every day you survive is a victory made by you.

You

did it, and without you, I couldn’t help.”

Graeme leans back, setting the milkshake on the bench beside them and pulling at Alan’s shirt to bring him in for a long kiss. “I think I need you to take me home and fuck my brains out, daddy, right now. If you’re feeling it.”

Alan’s eyes light up with amusement, and he reaches down to goose Graeme’s ass. “You know, we haven’t tried that new Bad Dragon toy yet.”

“Daddy-”

Graeme gasps against the gag, the knobs of their new dildo popping in and out of his rim and leaving him breathless.

They’re stretched out on the bed, Graeme naked but for the pretty chains Daddy laced him up in that connect to his nipple rings and then down to a chain around the waist. Whenever Daddy wants to be deliciously evil, he tugs the chain, pulling both nipple rings at once and making Graeme shudder and shout. Alan shed his shirt when they got home and slipped into a pair of lounge pants, his dick remaining out of play for this session.

He doesn’t need to use his own dick to fuck Graeme senseless, though.

Graeme hiccups in another breath as Alan pushes the huge dildo into the hilt, Graeme stretched obscenely wide around the knobs and bulges at the end. His own cock is rock hard and flushed red, leaking against his stomach. Alan’s decided the name of the game tonight is slowness, deliberately taking his time fucking the dildo in and out. It takes a minute, maybe more, for Alan to slide the dildo - blue silicone with a variety of knobs and ridges and thoroughly delicious and alien features - completely out of Graeme’s slick hole. Every time his rim catches, Graeme’s breath hitches, and he grabs the towels beneath them and cries out against the cock gag in his mouth.

“You have no idea how good this thing looks fucking you, baby boy. Maybe I’ll take a video to share with Clark and Isti, this was their present after all.”

Graeme squeals against the gag as Alan begins pressing it in again, the tapered tip sliding over his prostate. With a cry, before he can stop himself, he comes messily all over his stomach.

Alan just grins, reaching up to undo the gag and kiss Graeme fully on the mouth. “Maybe next time, then. Or we can have Isti fuck you with it instead.”

“Mhmm, whatever, Daddy,” Graeme whispers, hoarse, as he lets Alan fully take care of the clean up. His brain is still floating in orgasm-subspace happiness and he really can’t bring himself to care about cum and lube and letting cats in, though he’s happy to feel BeeBee curl up against his neck. He’s even happier when Alan wraps his arms around him, his head laying on Graeme’s shoulder.

Letting out a lovely sigh, he brings his fingers up to Alan’s hair and strokes through the locks as they drift off to sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There’s no particular reason Alan has felt handsy all day. Maybe it’s because he’d woken up before Graeme so he could catch the early morning gold of the sun sliding through their large bedroom windows on his husband’s skin, lighting up his gorgeous eyelashes. Maybe it’s because Graeme had caught him watching as he’d woken up, and a grin had lifted his lips, and he’d pulled Alan in for a hug before they’d even had a chance to say ‘Good morning!’ Maybe it’s because the cats had crowded all in, then, and taken Graeme’s attention, leaving Alan to watch with his heart in his throat at the full amount of love he’d felt.
Whatever it is, Alan can’t keep his hands from Graeme’s body, and Graeme - as ever - indulges him, lets Alan choose his clothing and dress him gently in their walk-in closet. Lets Alan hold his hand all the way down the elevator and on the walk to their neighborhood farmer’s market. Lets Alan hover with their canvas bags, ready at every moment to provide cash for fresh fruit, veggies, and cheese, and strong arms to carry it all. Alan loves watching Graeme in his element like this, his little omnivert who can be so shy and yet once he’s comfortable with his own expertise, confident and strong-willed. Watching Graeme strike deals and be honored by the vendors with “the box I kept in the back, especially for you, Graeme” is a thrill like no other.
To put it simply: Alan loves his husband, loves every single fiber of his being, and the handsiness, it’s just an expression of that love.
When they’re back in the apartment, and after they’ve gone through the routine of cleaning and prepping the food they’d gotten so it’s ready to go later in the week when they’re busier, Graeme leans back against the kitchen counter and grins at him, all ‘come hither.’
And Alan absolutely does not mind coming hither at all. He crowds Graeme up against the counter, his hands settling on Graeme’s hips and his lips finding his baby’s throat, playing over the white gold chain of his collar. Graeme hums, the sound vibrating through the warm, summer-tan skin to reach Alan’s lips. He smells of sweat and sunscreen and and summer and Graeme, and Alan sighs, peppering kisses.
“Daddy…” he whispers, sounding breathless already, one of his legs hitching up over Alan’s, his foot gliding up and down through the hair on Alan’s calf. As Alan always expects from his baby boy, his cock is already hard, evident through their shorts, pressing against Alan.
He gets envious, sometimes, at Graeme’s seemingly easy path to being turned on. But only sometimes, because he loves his horny boy so much and Graeme lets him indulge in whatever he does - or doesn’t - need. Graeme lets him be.
“Rating?” Graeme asks, voice soft, though hitching at the end as Alan nibbles on his pulse point.“Not quite sure yet,” Alan can answer honestly, because Graeme will always be okay with that. “I’m thinking R or NC-17 though. Maybe. Subject to change, terms and conditions may apply.”
Graeme snorts, a happy, sarcastic sound that makes Alan’s heart leap. “Take whatever you want from me, Daddy.”
“And if I want to give, instead?” Alan pulls back, meeting Graeme’s eyes, and Graeme looks up at him through his eyelashes, all coquettish.
“Guess I’ll just have to take it. I know my safe words after all.” Graeme’s eyes twinkle.
“Guess you will.” With a quick move, he has Graeme up in his arms and walks down the hallway in a bridal carry, making sure the bedroom is clear of cats before kicking the door shut. He keeps going, then sets Graeme down on the bathroom counter, his shorts riding up and showing more inches of creamy thigh, his face flushed, the skin of his neck showing beard burn from the kitchen.
He looks delightful - and though Alan shares Graeme on a regular basis, and gladly does so - in this moment, he’s all Alan’s, and Alan can barely believe it. Years later, and he can barely believe it.
“Wait right there, baby boy, and no touching yourself.”
“Yessir,” Graeme replies with a mock salute, giggling when Alan sticks his tongue out at him.
Alan makes quick work of turning on the taps and finding the right temperature for their bath, selecting a bright peppermint scented bath salt for them before turning back to Graeme. “Arms up.”
With a smile, Graeme raises his arms up and closes his eyes to let Alan strip the soft Tommy’s Place t-shirt from him. It’s one they’d had specially made just for Graeme’s cooking students, a drawing Veronica had done of a cartoon Graeme in the kitchen with the words “Chopped with Graeme” in bubble letters across the top, actually, and they’d done a small order. It’s one of Graeme’s favorite pieces of clothing, one of the reasons Alan had picked it this morning.
Now, Alan peels it off with care, folding it and setting it aside on the counter to rehang later. The way Graeme looks at him like he hung the moon, just because he makes sure to take care of Graeme’s clothes so Graeme won’t spiral about them - it makes love balloon in Alan’s chest.
Beneath the shirt, Graeme’s still got a bit of a farmer tan going on, courtesy of walking to work this summer in the sun, though it’s a little more even from their trip with Clark and Isti to Mexico to meet some of Clark’s extended family before fucking off - and fucking - at a beach mansion for a week. Graeme had had no shortage of eager hands to spread sunscreen, but he and Isti had decided to try and set the record with each other for most time spent naked. It certainly hadn’t been a hardship for anyone in their foursome - though had led to some other hard things.
Graeme’s nipple piercings glint in the light of the bathroom, two simple white-gold barbells Alan had helped him change into last week. With a happy sigh, Alan settles his hands on Graeme’s shoulders, sweeping over Graeme’s smooth, warm skin as he makes his way down Graeme’s chest, and cups his ribcage. The move leaves his thumbs free to tease Graeme’s nipples, flicking at the barbells to watch Graeme jump, his nipples pebbling instantly at the intention, hard, surely aching nubs. He can’t take the time to play with them more, now, because of the rapidly filling bathtub, but he’ll get back to them later.
He sweeps his hands down to Graeme’s stomach, slipping his thumbs under the elastic band of the shorts and briefs Graeme’s wearing and pulling them down and off his legs. Graeme’s hard cock slaps against his stomach with the motion, precum making the tip glisten and smearing against his skin.
A million years ago, Graeme stood in this bathroom, tired from the hospital, the bruise over his hip blooming horribly, the pain of his broken ribs etched on his face, and Alan had run a bath for him then, already worried about this young man that he’d stumbled upon.
Already half in love, probably.
Alan reaches to stop the taps, then turns back to carry Graeme to the water, setting him gently in the tub and watching the look of bliss settle over Graeme’s features. Happiness at getting something so right for his lover, his husband, his sub, his precious baby boy - it fills Alan more completely than an orgasm ever could.
He makes quick work of his own clothes, though he takes the time to care for them, too. When he turns back, he sees Graeme’s pleasure-dark eyes drifting over his body, feeling like a caress on his skin wherever they fall. He loves how much Graeme appreciates his body for exactly what it is: big, strong, and fuzzy.
He settles in behind Graeme, shivering when his back makes contact with the colder porcelain behind him, but happy to fold Graeme into his arms and feel him all along his front. He angles his head, pressing lingering kisses under Graeme’s ear and down, across his hairline and the bump of his spine.
“Daddy,” Graeme sighs again, settling against him, his ass the perfect warm place to nestle Alan’s semi-hard cock into.
“I love you, Baby Boy,” Alan murmurs, his hands smoothing over Graeme’s stomach under the water.
They sit like that for a moment or two, drifting in the warmth, before Alan starts moving Graeme around and grabbing a washcloth and the body wash.
He lets Graeme settle back, then takes Graeme’s left foot and begins washing. The hot water makes Graeme’s skin flush, yes, but so does this intimacy, this act of service from his dom, Alan knows. He takes time with each knobbly but adorable toe, and between before sweeping up Graeme’s calf with the soapy washcloth. Graeme’s still rock hard, his eyes droopy with pleasure and maybe a little with subspace. The moan he makes when Alan finds a knot in his calf muscle and rubs it out makes Alan’s cock harden further.
When he resoaps his washcloth and starts again on Graeme’s right side, Graeme’s head falls back against the tub and his hand grips the edge, his eyes closing with pleasure.
If Alan loves being handsy, it’s a good thing Graeme loves being touched, Alan thinks, working his hands up the calf of his poor, touch-starved baby boy. Alan will happily spend the rest of his life making sure Graeme has all the cuddles his body and mind can handle.
They shift again, and Alan works the washcloth over Graeme’s back, his stomach, his hard cock and drawn up balls, between his cheeks. By the time he’s done, Graeme is shuddering against him, his hands clenching down on Alan’s thick thighs now, his head thrown back on Alan’s shoulder. Alan gives himself a few cursory swipes with the soap as Graeme drifts.
Alan’s fingers are pruny, and the water is getting cooler than he likes, so he finds the stopper with his toe and pulls up. At the sound of the water draining, Graeme’s eyes drift open, incredibly hazy, and he rolls over in Alan’s arms to kneel between Alan’s legs and pull him in for a kiss. Their hard cocks brush each other through the receding water, and Alan groans into the kiss, pulling his baby boy into his lap again.
“Let’s rinse off,” he says a minute later when the water is just brushing the bottom of the tub.Graeme just hums, having gone non-verbal at some point, looking hazy and happy and like he needs to be fucked.
At the swoop in Alan’s stomach, he realizes he’s happy to oblige.
He maneuvers them to the shower, rinsing residual soap and bathwater from their skin, then lovingly cowashing Graeme’s curls and fade and letting Graeme return the favor for his own short locks. Once they’re done, he turns Graeme to the tiles, pushing him against the coolness there and using his feet to spread Graeme’s legs. Graeme groans, dropping his head to the tiles and thrusting his hips back, arching his ass perfectly to be taken.
Alan grabs a pump of their shower lube - really, he should invest in a lube company at this point - and pushes two slippery fingers against Graeme’s rim. Graeme groans, clutching at the tiles and relaxing, letting Alan inside. Alan makes the prep quick but thorough, and soon enough he’s lubing up his cock and slipping inside Graeme’s tight heat.
“Fuck, Baby Boy,” he groans, rolling his hips and fucking Graeme up onto his tiptoes. His back looks perfect, arched and ready for Alan to fuck hard, water running down it in clear streams, his breath puffing against the tiles.
“Daddyyyyyy,” Graeme whines, his voice on the edge of begging.
Bracing one hand on Graeme’s hip and another on the tile, Alan begins to give into the primal rhythm, thrusting over Graeme’s prostate, feeling his lover’s muscles quiver around him.
Graeme sobs, clutching at the tiles, then reaching back with one hand to Alan’s hip like he can get Alan faster and deeper that way. Alan obliges, fucking hard enough that Graeme shouts his pleasure, the sound echoing off the tiles but getting muffled in the water.
With a grunt, Alan reaches up, tweaking one of Graeme’s nipples, twisting at the barbell. Graeme cries out, clenching down around Alan’s cock as his own spurts against the shower wall. His orgasm quakes through him, and it’s that clenching and those vibrations that set Alan off. He pulses deep inside Graeme, shuddering through the pleasure that washes over him.
When he’s recovered, he pulls off, kneeling down to watch his cum drip from Graeme’s hole, then licking it off Graeme’s balls. He pushes Graeme around and cleans his cock, too, the taste of them together combining on his tongue as Graeme shivers through the aftershocks of a good orgasm up above.
Gently, he uses the shower head to clean them up, then pulls Graeme out and wraps him in a big, fluffy towel. He’s tender with Graeme’s sensitive skin, and careful because Graeme is so cum-drunk that if he leaves him on his own, he might fall over. The pleasure Alan feels from his husband, his baby boy being so happy rivals what he’d felt when he came.
“Nap time, I think, on this lazy Saturday,” Alan murmurs, lifting Graeme easily again and taking them to the bedroom. He leaves Graeme long enough to let the cats in, then pulls Graeme against him and covers them with the light sheet they use in the summer time to make sure the monsters under the bed don’t attack.
Within seconds, Graeme’s asleep against his chest, and Alan takes the buzzing feeling of both domspace and orgasm with him into his own nap because Graeme fell into slumber with a smile on his face.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Graeme:
Are you home?

Graeme writes out and then deletes the text message to Alan about five times on his way from work to the bus stop. Hen’s driving Alan, who’s down in Olympia for the day talking with lawmakers about funding for social programs in Seattle, including Tommy’s Place. It’s raining, and Graeme’s shoe has a leak. His own fault, probably - he knows Daddy would supply a million pairs of shoes if he needs them but Graeme likes this particular pair of chucks.

Except not when they’re giving him wet socks.

The rain just feeds into Graeme’s dark mood, along with knowing that he won’t find Daddy at home. He reaches up to play with his day collar and sighs, his feet tired as he waits for the bus.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out quickly, hoping it’s a message from Daddy that he’s actually going to be home early.

Clark:
Hey, are you home?

Graeme smiles at the text, the replication of his unsent words.

Graeme:
Not yet. Waiting downtown.

Clark:
I’m at the restaurant. Which stop are you at? I’ll drive you home.

The warmth that fills Graeme’s chest works to fight off the chill of the rain as he sends a location pin. Five minutes later, Clark’s discreet black sedan pulls up to the curb and Graeme slides in.

“Did my Daddy text you to check up on me?” he asks by way of greeting, accepting a brief kiss on his cheek and squeezing Clark’s thigh affectionately.

Clark, surprisingly, blushes. “Isti, actually. He knows Alan is out of town and he’s working the night shift at the clinic’s emergency line, so he suggested I should pick you up and we could spend the evening together.”

Graeme smiles, thinking about their partners and the need they have to take care.

“So how was your day?” Clark asks, his hands completely gripping the steering wheel as he navigates downtown Seattle traffic to get back to Alan and Graeme’s apartment. “And why is this so awkward?”

Laughing, Graeme pushes his wet bangs out of his eyes. “It does feel awkward, doesn’t it? My day was okay. I’ve got a hole in my shoes though and my toes are like, freezing off.”

“We can’t have you getting frostbite on my watch, or Alan and Isti will both kill me.”

They make idle chit chat the whole way back, and up the elevator, but the awkwardness of the first part of the conversation comes back to Graeme when he goes to the bedroom to change out of his wet clothes.

By the time he’s done, Clark is making himself home in the kitchen, warming up some frozen soup and pressing a hot tea into Graeme’s hands.

“I think I know why it’s awkward, sir,” Graeme murmurs over the lip of his mug.

“Oh?” Clark avoids his eyes for a moment, then looks over.

“We need to define the relationship. Alan is my daddy, and Isti is my best friend, but you and I, we started off weird, me as your intern, and I think that awkwardness is lingering.”

Clark’s cheeks darken again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do.” Graeme takes the spoon from Clark and moves to the stove to continue stirring the soup. “But you’re madly in love with István.”

“Right.” Clark looks grateful that Graeme understands.

“You’re…is this weird? You’re kind of like…my older brother.”

“Is it weird that that makes sense to me?”

“And sometimes we have sex.”

Clark laughs. “Yes. But not when we’re alone. Because I’d rather just hang out with you.”

“Exactly.” Graeme hip bumps Clark, the rightness of the relationship definition settling into his chest. “So, my dude, shall we cuddle up on the couch with this soup and watch something with lots of explosions?”

“You’re speaking my language.” But before Graeme can take the soup off the stove, Clark pulls him into a big hug. He’s actually a little taller than Clark, but their heads bend together in an embrace that is warm and loving. Graeme brushes a kiss over Clark’s cheek as they break apart.

And as they settle into the couch under a blanket, bowls of soup carefully balanced in their laps, Graeme feels more warm than he has all day.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Snap once if something feels off, baby,” Alan murmurs as he secures the silk tie around Graeme’s wrist before attaching it to one of the sturdy rings on their bedposts. He looks back at Graeme’s face, his mouth stretched wide around the ball gag, drool already running down his chin, his eyes bright and hazy at the same time.

He is, without a doubt, the most gorgeous being Alan has ever seen.

Graeme’s hands stay flat and still, and he winks one of those beautiful eyes up at Alan, sucking harder on the rubber.

Hot, desperate desire fills Alan’s chest, and after this many years, it’s easy to identify. “God, Baby Boy, I love you.” He straddles Graeme’s body, leaning over to brush a sweet kiss on his boy’s forehead.

He’s soft, still, tucked away behind boxer briefs and his favorite whisper-soft lounge pants, but he can feel Graeme’s cock against his, hard and leaking and pressed against the lace panties he’d dressed his boy up in earlier. He grinds down, giving Graeme a little more of his weight, just to watch Graeme’s eyes roll into the back of his head in pleasure, and feels a twitch in his cock himself.

Hmm, maybe I’ll be getting off tonight, too…

“Stay with me, baby. Right here with me.” Alan brushes through Graeme’s sweaty bangs and tangles his fingers in, pulling lightly until Graeme’s eyes refocus on him. “There’s my beautiful boy.”

Graeme’s eyes plead with him, but it’s much too early yet to give in to the begging. He’d promised his boy torture after all. Promised a session to get him completely out of his mind, and oh, how Alan means to oblige.

He grinds again against Graeme’s cock, just because he can, just to feel Graeme’s cock twitch and leak against its lacy entrapment. Groaning because Graeme can’t around his gag, Alan runs his hands up Graeme’s bare stomach, his soft belly. Oh, how he loves moving his fingers over that soft skin, that evidence that Graeme’s no longer surviving, but thriving. No longer too skinny for his own good.

He plays with the curls of Graeme’s happy trail before leading his fingers, up, up to tug on the bars that are currently gracing Graeme’s nipples. The whimper Graeme lets out around his ball gag is glorious. Rock hard, his nipples strain against the air, pebbling under Alan’s expert ministrations.

Desire pools in Alan’s belly with each sound, each squirm his boy makes beneath him. He leans over again, kissing up the side of Graeme’s neck and using the distraction to grab the clamps that are lying beside them on the bed.

Slipping the clamps over Graeme’s already distressed nipples is easy enough, and the way Graeme gasps against his gag is enough to have Alan hardening completely.

Alan’s fingers are meticulous as they work over Graeme’s skin, across his chest, over the clamps, up each spread arm, so gently while the clamps do their work to send Graeme beyond his breaking point.

The feeling of grinding their cocks together as Graeme whimpers against his gag is sending Alan up and over too, but he wants more before he goes. Reaching up, he undoes the ball gag and gently eases it out of Graeme’s mouth and tosses it away. Carefully, he massages Graeme’s tired jaw muscles and kisses his boy sweetly on the lips.

“Daddy,” Graeme mumbles, tears evident in his voice. “Daddy, come on me, Daddy, use me, please, use me-”

Alan takes his mouth again, more roughly this time as he reaches down to release Graeme’s cock, then his own. His hand wraps around the both of them, jacking them as he continues to attack Graeme’s mouth.

Feeling Graeme fly to the edge, he pulls back and carefully undoes the clamps, watching Graeme’s face as excruciating feeling returns to his nipples. Graeme’s cock explodes over their skin and his boy gasps, then moans while he floats.

Groaning, Alan repositions himself and ruts into the slick cum between Graeme’s legs. His orgasm is just within reach, his balls drawing up and his stomach swooping, when Graeme nuzzles against his cheek.

“That’s it, Daddy, come all over me. Come all over your baby boy.”

With a shout he muffles against Graeme’s neck, Alan comes, euphoria pulsing through his limbs for a few moments before he starts to come back down.

More gratification comes from the process of untying Graeme and massaging his arms, then cleaning up both of them. When he has a lightly snoozing Graeme cuddled against his chest, Alan allows himself to relax finally into the true happiness of being Graeme’s daddy.

“I love you, Graeme,” he murmurs, rustling the hair on Graeme’s forehead, and Graeme’s lips lift in his sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Alan doesn’t often spend his money on something utterly ridiculous, at least in Graeme’s opinion. There are certain expensive things he has to get, like suits and the latest in tech for his employees and himself, and he has to travel to certain places, and the like. And there’s the money he spends, rightfully, on Tommy’s Place, the money he puts away each month for the twins’ college funds, the money he saves for Graeme’s trust, in case he dies and Graeme needs some time to get himself on his feet - not that Graeme likes to think about that possibility at all. He’d rather be back in his old apartment, in his old job at the Burger Joint, and still married to a lovely, very alive Alan than have the best amenities and no Alan. Banish the thought.

Alan buys himself his little nerdy tchotchkes for his offices, and of course he buys Graeme way too much yarn, needles, and all the other stuff needed for knitting.

But the one thing that Graeme considers pure indulgence, pure ridiculousness, is the station set up in what used to be the guest bedroom, used to be Graeme’s room, and now is their playroom.

It’s not as extensive as the basement at Clark and István’s, of course, and Alan has contributed to that room too, since he and Graeme use it often enough. But it has a cross, because Graeme enjoys that position so much, and a bench, and an array of toys. But one corner, any kinkster might not recognize as anything but an aftercare corner. There’s a plush chair there, the kind with built-in massage controls and heating, along with several drawers of supplies.

Just not the type of supplies one might expect in a playroom.

“Are you ready?” Alan asks, leaning over the couch where Graeme is happily knitting and brushing his lips over Graeme’s cheek.

In Graeme’s estimation, it’s a silly question. Is he ready to be utterly relaxed, given everything he could ever want? Obviously yes. But it’s play for Alan, a type of body worship that sends him deep into his happy Dom space, and Graeme is only too happy to let him.

“Let me just-”

“-finish this row,” Alan and Graeme finish together, grinning at each other like loons.

The row is finished easily enough, and Graeme carefully scoots off the couch without disturbing Beebee. He pads in bare feet over to the playroom, watching from the door as Alan gets everything ready. It’s a joy to watch Alan work so intently, especially when Graeme knows that it’s all for his own benefit.

“Get comfortable for me, Baby Boy.”

“Happily.” Smiling, Graeme settles in the indulgent massage chair, the warmers already working to make the soft fabric perfectly toasty.

“I thought lemon and jasmine would be nice, for energy and relaxation.” Alan nods at the diffuser, letting out steam and scent by Graeme’s chair.

“It smells good, Daddy.”

“Enjoy that while I get the water.”

Alan hurries out the door with a large aluminum bowl, and Graeme snuggles more comfortably into the chair, letting his eyes drift closed. He opens them again when he hears the metallic ring of marbles and water in the bowl.

“How’s that temperature, baby?”

Graeme dips his toe in the water, and nods. “Feels perfect.”

He swears, the look of satisfaction on Alan’s face is enough to send him over. The light touches over his skin as Alan rolls up his pajama pants so they won’t get wet make Graeme shiver. Alan places Graeme’s feet in the bowl, letting Graeme move his feet against the marble to get that pleasant sensation.

They work their way through the pedicure like that, Alan using a sugar scrub until Graeme is soft and silky smooth, then massaging in lotion. The massage works out any possible knot Graeme could have had from spending his week on his feet in the kitchen, and watching Alan’s intent look as he works on Graeme’s feet makes Graeme’s stomach go all soft with love.

Some of it, Alan learned via Youtube, other parts picked up while observing pedicures on himself and Graeme during vacations. When he’d decided he wanted to have a full pedicure set up at home, Graeme had simply let it happen.

After all, it’s not like he can complain. Pedicure sessions with Daddy always leave him tingly and breathless and hovering in subspace, and meanwhile Alan gets immense satisfaction out of taking care of his boy.

And Graeme loves it all, the whole process, but he thinks he loves the most when Alan winds paper towels between his toes and carefully paints out the clear base, two coats of color, and a top coat. Sometimes, Graeme will catch Alan sticking his tongue out in concentration, and it’s the most adorable thing.

The way Alan blows on his toes to dry them never fails to make Graeme go from half-hard to full hard-on, and often Alan will take care of that for him too while they wait for the nail polish to dry. A little happy ending, a pedicure from his beloved husband, and Graeme’s set up for a whole month of stress, ready to take on the world.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A few months ago:
“Happy birthday to youuuuu,” the crowd around Graeme finishes off, Isti and Krista harmonizing with each other but Alan and his dad Mike adorably off-tune, and the twins screaming it, then demanding right away that Graeme blow out his candles.
Six years ago was the first time he’d celebrated his birthday with Alan, and his family has only grown since then, and for a moment, feeling wants to engulf Graeme and maybe take him down. Then he looks at the twins’ expectant faces and he can’t disappoint them by being all sentimental, so he blows out the big “27” candles on his cupcake to the cheers of everyone in the room.
Later, after everyone is in a sugar coma, Alan leads him to the sofa so he can open his gifts, and he has a hard time holding back that overwhelmed feeling, despite having years of experience with it now. And there’s still quite a pile even though Alan, Clark and István had given him all of his adult gifts a few nights ago when they’d gotten together to play. Graeme may be wearing the new plug István and Clark had given him right now, even.
A gift certificate to the yarn shop is a popular gift, and Maddie and Eddie both drew him lovely pictures, but it’s when he comes across another Alan gift that he eyes his Daddy suspiciously. Alan’s eyes just twinkle with delight.
It’s an envelope, and Graeme carefully opens it, shaking his head at his husband’s need to go overboard on his birthday, like he’s trying to make up for every single birthday Graeme never celebrated. Maybe he is, the softie.
It’s a small pile of folded papers instead of a card, and Graeme starts mumble-reading as he shuffles through them. “Alan and Graeme Garry, congratulations on your purchase of-” He cuts off, looking up at Alan’s excited eyes and then shuffling through the papers some more. “Alan, did you get us tickets to the Olympics?”
The anticipatory silence in the room erupts into noise, Sam looking over Graeme’s shoulder at the papers and István playfully attempting to take them to read them themself.
“Check the events,” Alan says with a wink, and Graeme starts racing through the pile.
“Where do I - Where- Oh my god, Alan?!”
He tosses the papers away and launches himself at his husband, throwing his arms around Alan’s neck and squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you-”
“What, what are they going to?” Sam and István both lunge for the discarded papers, before Clark clears his throat.
“I mean, there’s only one correct answer and we all know it, right Graeme?”
He’s only slightly embarrassed that tears are pouring down his face as he turns and nods to the room. “I get to see synchronized diving…I get to see Tom Daley!”

They make a month out of it, because Alan is Extra™ and also because they’re combining it with their wedding anniversary - four years, which just seems unfathomably long to Graeme and also like no time has passed at all since he met his Daddy. They fly to Italy, spending a day exploring the ruins of Pompeii and climbing to the top of Mt. Vesuvius - surprisingly, a similar schlep to climbing the hills of Seattle, honestly - before taking the train to Rome. They spend most of their time in the Eternal City eating and wandering around the cobblestone streets. They continue on, using the train to ride up the coast of Italy - stopping in Cinqueterre and hiking between the cities which is, surprisingly, much harder than the Mt. Vesuvius hike - before hitting Monaco, Nice, Marseilles, and then cutting up to catch the opening ceremony.
They have a vantage point along the Seine near the Eiffel Tower, and Graeme screams louder than he ever has before, he thinks, when he gets to watch Tom Daley float by bearing the Union Jack. Even in the pouring rain, he feels…effervescent.
The feeling stays with him to the hotel, where Alan takes him apart, piece by piece, in their huge bed, in sheets that feel like clouds, with just his fingers and his mouth.
Synchronized diving gets started right away, and Alan only makes fun of Graeme for a few hours at the fact that Graeme gets stunned into silence upon realizing their tickets for the women’s competition puts them within view of the gay, knitting, age-gap married, father and Olympian himself. Graeme finds himself petrified, as if Daley would know who he is from Adam, or as if he could perceive Graeme’s fanboyishness from there, and he doesn’t even work on his own knitting while Daley knits an entire sweater. Graeme sits ramrod straight for hours, then screams his head off the next day for Daley’s silver win.
The next day, Alan dresses him up in his Tom Daley crop top - it says “I <3 Men” - and they walk together through the Village, through Paris, Alan’s hand in his back pocket while he chatters animatedly about what they’ve seen so far. And, serendipitously, they come across Daley and his family in line at a small ice cream shop bustling with business in the heat.
The picture that they take - that Alan has to ask for because Graeme is too shy - shows Graeme’s cheeks bright pink, and later Graeme will play it off as the heat and not from being in the company of his current hero. Daley looks delighted to see his merch in the wild, though, and the pic replaces their wedding photo as Graeme’s phone background - only for a month, though, before he relents and puts Daddy back on there.