Page 59 of Mine

“I’m fine. Yes, you may.” I open my eyes and watch as Jay leans in, tongue lashing against the head of my cock, licking the piss there. He sucks the head into his mouth briefly before releasing it.

“All clean.” He beams up at me, light in his eyes that is contagious despite my dark mood. He is so proud of himself. He really does need this the way I do. What’s more beautiful than two people fulfilling parts of each other in the most honest and raw way? What’s more beautiful than trusting each other so completely, giving ourselves to each other, and making each other feel accepted and loved for parts of ourselves that others would look down on?

And as hard as it is, as much as I doubt myself now, I can’t let myself lose this, I can’t letuslose it because deep down, I know it’s beautiful. We’re beautiful.

“Thank you, sweet boy. You did such a good job holding my cock for me.”

He smiles, making my heart thump wildly against my chest. “Thank you, Sir. I have to go too.” I nod, and he stands. Once I pull my clothes up, I swat his hands away, open his jeans, and push them down beneath his ass too.

“Face the toilet.” He does, and I stand behind him, holding his cock the way he did mine. He gasps, then melts back againstme, giving me his weight. “I can do this for you too. Standing up, I’m more in control, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Sir. I like doing it from beneath you. It’s like I’m serving you. But when you do it standing behind me, it’s like I’m giving myself to your control still. Does that make sense?”

I smile, nuzzling his hair, knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, that a part of me isn’t broken at the loss, but the boy in my arms is mine, and I’m not willing to let him go. “Yes. Perfect sense.”

I hold his cock while he pisses and shake it off afterward. Once he’s dressed again and our hands are washed, Jay asks, “Can I cook dinner for you?”

It will be the first time. On the surface, it feels like such a simple question, but I can see the need in his eyes…and also the insecurity in how he wrings his hands, the expectant way he watches and waits for an answer. “I would like that,” I reply, which earns me another of his heart-stopping smiles. “How about I do some work while you cook? I can go into my office or bring my laptop into the kitchen.”

“You can go into your office, Sir. That’s fine.”

We head our separate ways. I pull up some accounts I need to work on, but all I do is stare at the computer screen, this whirlwind day wreaking havoc on my thoughts.

“You’re not abusing my son.”

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

I try to focus on work again, looking at numbers that start to blur…and it takes me a moment to realize I’m crying. When was the last time I’ve cried? I know I have at some point, but I can’t remember. I’m sure I did when my mom passed.

I swipe at the tears, but they keep falling, one after another, wetting my shirt and getting on my desk. My chest aches—it feels like something sharp was shoved into the middle of it and is being twisting around.

Memories flow like a movie in my head. Walking together at our high school graduation, playing little league together, his parents taking me to practice when Mom didn’t show. His dad teaching me to throw. Being the best man at John and Callie’s wedding. JT’s birth. Being there for John when his father passed away, John being the first person I told when I lost Mom and how he rushed to be by my side. Laughing in his room growing up, the way he squeezed me tight and told me he loved me when I admitted to him I’m bisexual. John crying to me when they decided to stop trying to have another baby. The cabin we own together in Asheville, where we go every summer to spend the weekend together just us. Trips there with Jay and Callie throughout the years.

Our weekend away is coming up. What’s going to happen then?

I love you, you’re my brotherwrestles and tangles withGet the fuck out of my houseandYou hit him, and I hit you.

I let the sobs break free, thankful I closed the door and Jay can’t hear, giving myself a moment to grieve before I wipe my face and shove all that hurt deep inside me, to those places I like to pretend aren’t there.

“I love him…”This time it’s Jay’s voice I hear, and while the pain will never go away, it helps.

I give my attention to my computer again, forcing myself to work until there’s a knock at my office door.

“Come in,” I call out, and the door slides open.

“Dinner is done. I hope you like it. If you don’t, you have no taste.”

I chuckle, something about the twinge in his voice telling me this is more important than the joke he’s trying to make of it. Jay shifts on his feet, watching. He seems nervous. Unsure. About cooking dinner, or is it something else? With the day we’ve had, it could very well be.

“I know I’ll like it.”

Jay had set the table in the dining room rather than the small one in the kitchen, where we normally eat. The long eight-person table has never and will never be filled with that many people. Two plates rest on it, one at the end and the other next to it on the side. There’s a bottle of wine and two glasses, as well as water, which he knows I like to drink.

I inhale deeply. I don’t recognize all the scents—it’s a mixture of spices that blend together. “It smells incredible.”

“It’s nothing special. I just mixed a whole bunch of stuff together, testing out some ideas. It’s chicken. I baked it in some wine, then broiled it for a few minutes at the end. I doctored up some roasted potatoes with similar seasoning, then my secret broccoli hack that I will never share with anyone.”

“Not even your Sir?” I grab him and pull him close. Being this way with him, seeing him, eases something inside me.

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