Page 9 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“I did,” he agrees. “But I won’t anymore. And don’t think I didn’t catch you using it a second ago too.” He gives me another pop to the butt.

“You also promised you would warn me before spanking me. Thou shalt not lie. It’s rude, Daddy.”

His sleepy eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I thought I did warn you.” He blinks a few times, probably trying to shake the fog free in his mind. “What were we talking about?”

“T-shirts and Candace Cameron, apparently.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I’m sure there are plenty of Full House t-shirts out there. We could get you one with DJ Tanner on the front. It may still be idolatry, but I’m sure God would prefer you idolize a strong, Christian woman like Candace Cameron Bure instead of a half-dressed heathen.”

I poke him in the chest and shake my head. “Two things. One: I’m not going to stand by and let you slut shame someone because their clothing doesn’t fit your personal vision of chastity. Number two: I would rather have a shrapnel enema than wear anything with Candace’s face on it. She’s a monster who will stop at nothing to erase queer voices.”

He shrugs. “She loves the sinner and hates the sin. There’s nothing wrong with it, Dare.”

“There is, actually. There’s everything wrong with it,” I spit back. “Every word of it. It’s patronizing, it’s hateful, and she can shove her love where the sun never shines.”

Miles chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re adorable like this. All flustered and red in the face.” His voice is warm, almost teasing, as he traces the curve of my jaw. “Your cheeks are such a gorgeous shade of pink, and your eyes get all wide and sparkly. It’s like watching a shooting star coming right at me.” His genuine affection leaves me feeling breathless, and I slide even closer against him, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I cursed.”

“I’m sorry you had to bury your shirt.” The words are enough to calm my emotionally battered soul, and we rest this way for a while, my hands exploring him as he explores me. I don’t rub too far down his back, because I made a promise to him that I would never take advantage of him while he was under the influence. Was he drugged at the time? Yes. Did he forget the promise in less than four hours? Also yes. I know he wants more than I’m willing to give, and my abstinence hasn’t deterred him. His hands travel where they damn-well please, and I don’t stop him until his hand caresses my package.

“No, baby,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. “We’re not doing that tonight.”

He narrows his eyes. “The Lord came to me in a vision, Darren. He said He wants us to consummate our relationship. Who are you to question what He says?”

I tap the tip of his nose with my finger. “There’s my little narcissist.”

“I’m not narcissistic. I’m ordained by God. There’s a difference.”

“You could have your own book in the Bible, and I still wouldn’t sleep with you. Not unless you’re sober.” I pull back and stare into his eyes.

He quirks a smile. “I’ve got books. I’ve got plenty of them.”

“I know. You just read one to me. I loved every single word.”

His eyes widen, and there’s a subtle hint of pride swirling in them. Pride may be a sin, but if that’s the case, I hope Miles Brooks never stops sinning, because his books are beautiful, and he deserves to take pride in his talent. He has a rogue eyebrow hair that’s getting a little too long for my liking, so I pluck it, giggling when he hisses. “Good Lord, Dare. Warn a guy next time. You really like them, though? They’re nothing special—just silly stories I tell to pass the time.”

I press my hand over his heart. “They mean something to me, and they mean something to you. It’s okay to be proud of yourself.”

His grip tightens on my hip, and then he pulls me closer. As he holds me, his face pressed into my neck, he whispers, “They’re my way of escaping. When I’m at my computer, I can live any love story I want to live. I can fall in love with someone I actually want to fall in love with.” His grip tightens, almost crushing me in his arms. If this is the way I’m meant to die—my body pulverized and squashed into broken shards of bone in a sack of skin—I’m okay with it. “I can make myself so much more than I really am.”

“You don’t need to be any more than you already are. You’re perfect this way.”

He cups my cheek as his lips approach. I know I should push him away, but I don’t. I allow myself this moment. The connection is gentle, his teeth lightly teasing my lower lip with a nibble here and there. It isn’t long before his tongue is in my mouth, but I don’t let it stay there long. After five seconds of sheer perfection, I pull away. Although I don’t touch him, I watch as Miles pushes his underwear down. His cock is throbbing, the tip red and angry and ready to be devoured. As much as I want to devour him, I refrain. I could take my pleasure if I wanted to. We could fuck like bunnies until the bed breaks, but I would feel like a monster after. His body isn’t mine to touch.

“Let me see yours,” he says, his voice low and rough like he’s been swallowing gravel.

“Miles, I shouldn’t—”

“Let,” he says firmly, pausing for emphasis, “me see it, Darren.”

Does it make my cock jump? Absolutely. I guess showing him my body in his altered state isn’t nearly as problematic as letting him fuck me, but it still feels icky. “Miles. Baby.”

He shakes his head. “I want to see it again. I want to remember it this time. Why can’t I ever remember?” He blinks up at me, his eyes looking a little sad, and that makes me sad too. I cup his cheek. “When you come over, it takes a minute, but I can remember some stuff. Not all of it. Not even a lot of it. But I know who you are to me. I know how I feel.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Maybe I know it when I’m awake, too, but I’m just too scared to admit it. I wish I was a braver man, Darren. I wish I could just . . .”

Okay, yeah. I refuse to allow that look of disappointment settle on his face any longer than it has to. With shaking hands, I slide down my shorts and underwear. Miles’ eyes widen as he resumes stroking himself, his pre-cum serving as lubricant. There’s a sound of slick friction bouncing off the walls, making his entire bedroom sound like Sodom and Gomorrah. His hand reaches for me, fingers curling around my cock. I try to pull away, but my trigger is quicker than my self-control, and the next thing I know, I’m firing jets of cum into the air. It lands everywhere. My cheek. My chest. And then, Miles’ mouth as he opens it and places himself in the line of fire.

“Oh, God, Miles. No. Baby, you shouldn’t—” My words end in a whine as I watch my cum coat his tongue. The sound of his moans are almost too much to bear, but I bear them anyway, because they’re the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. It isn’t long before Miles rises to his knees, aims his cock at my softening penis, and roars.

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