Page 75 of Antidote

The tiles dig into my knees, but I ignore the pain. Instead, I peer up at Ollie, who is lowering his jeans to his knees and fisting his cock. The piercing on his tip glistens with his pre-cum, and my mouth waters. His eyes trail the movement and a smirk takes over his features. Then when he taps his cock against my chin, I shiver.

“Open,” he says softly, and I do, sticking my tongue out. He rubs his dick over my tongue, his hips rocking until he hits the back of my throat, and I gag. “So pretty, Hunt.”

I wrap my lips around his length and suck hard, hollowing my cheeks. I’m not exactly an expert at this, but I’ve paid close attention to the sounds he makes when he likes something, and I guess you could say I’m a quick learner.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out a packet of lube and open it, letting him go with an audible pop. Ollie’s eyes widen, and I shove his jeans down to his ankles. He immediately spreads his legs for me, and I grin. He’s so fucking eager for me it makes my dick twitch in my jeans.

Slathering lube onto my fingers, I reach between his cheeks and circle his rim with my fingertip, then take him into my mouth once more. His whimper sends a shiver down my spine—every sound he makes does. The way his fingers tangle and get lost in my hair has my eyes rolling to the back of my head, and I nudge his hole with one finger. He relaxes and lets me in, then I add a second one quickly after.

“Oh, shit,” Ollie mumbles as I push my fingers deeper into his ass. “Fuck.”

“Mmmm.” I moan on his dick, taking him to the back of my throat. He grabs my head with both hands and pushes himself further in, making me gag and then pulling back again. He does it over and over until tears spring to my eyes.

“Right there.” He moans when I graze his prostate with my fingers. “Oh, baby, please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

My fingers speed up in his ass, swiping over his prostate with every pass, and he mumbles incoherently. His groans are music to my ears, and suddenly his hand tightens in my hair and I feel his cock twitch in my mouth. I can tell he’s close, and when he moans long and loud, I get ready for his load down my throat.

“I’m coming.” He moans, panting. We make eye contact, and he bites his bottom lip. “Lick me clean, baby.”

Oh, fuck.

If I hadn’t come just a few minutes ago, I’d sure be coming in my pants right fucking now.

His hot load spills down my throat, and I swallow it down greedily, my throat contracting until I can feel his piercing scrape it. I can’t get enough of it, enough of him. Once he’s done, I pull away, letting go of his half-hard cock. I lick it clean just as he said, getting every single inch of him, then kiss his tip.

“That was…” Ollie breathes. “I don’t even have words.”

I get up from the floor as he tucks himself back in, then cage him against the wall, taking his lips with mine. We taste like each other, and it brings my cock back to life. I can’t seem to get enough of him.

“Let’s go home, Ollie,” I murmur. “I want to fuck you properly.”

Ollie rolls his eyes but grins, nodding, and I can’t help feeling like the luckiest man alive.

And I know I am.

I really do know.

So why does it feel like it’s going to be snatched away?

So, last night happened, and it felt like a fever dream. We got home and fucked for so long, my ass is still sore. It felt incredible to be back in his arms, to finally be the way we were years ago. Back to Hunt and Ollie. Back to being each other’s everything. I can feel the love Hunter feels for me. It’s a palpable, living, breathing thing. It’s an entity of its own. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me; it’s overflowing, as if he can’t keep a lid on it. And now, as we sit at the dinner table with my dad, I don’t know if I should be scared or hopeful. Because, this is it. We’re telling him.

Finally.

We’re acting more civilized than we have since our mom died, and I’m pretty sure Dad finds it suspicious as fuck. Which I can’t even blame him for. We’ve been fighting like cats and dogs for months. Instead, we’re now sitting next to each other, our chairs scooted close together and our thighs touching. His forearms are at the edge of the table, and my hands are between my legs to keep myself from touching him. While he hasn’t attempted to touch me, he keeps stealing glances at me that make me all warm and fuzzy, and I hate the hope that courses through me with just a simple look.

“It’s nice to finally see you both getting along,” Dad says as he brings a bite of chicken up to his mouth.

It’s weird, looking at him and seeing myself. I’d say I’m his spitting image—with icy blue eyes and dark hair. Except he buzzes his, which is entirely weird, in my opinion, since he still has perfect hair. I like mine longer on top and faded on the sides, and Hunter also seems to love it. I love him pulling on it, and if last night was any indication of the way he gripped my hair as he came in my mouth, I think it’s safe to say he missed doing it.

I clear my throat and gaze directly into my dad’s eyes. “We’ve been working on it.”

My relationship with my dad has been even more strained since Lucy died. He hasn’t outright told me he blames me, but I know he does blame me for her death. He no longer calls me every day or tries to see how I’m doing. No, he assigned Hunter to babysitting duty instead. Just so he wouldn’t have to interact with me.

“Good.” He replies, looking between us with a straight face. He’s not expressing any emotions, and I squirm in my seat. Hunter relaxes back in his seat and suddenly grips my thigh, making me jump. He squeezes, trying to tell me without words to not make it obvious. “We need more family dinners.”

I rear back, and it feels like he has slapped me. Why does he want more family dinners now? He hasn’t talked to me since May. Not really. Not a conversation that’s longer than one minute. It’s usually ‘hey, are you doing good in school? Have you been staying clean?’ Even when I was in rehab for months, he didn’t bother with me. And I get it, he was grieving, but I’m his fucking son. No matter what happened, that should count for something.

“Yeah, we do,” Hunter says softly. “I’ve just been so busy with hockey and school. Sorry I’ve been MIA.”

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