Page 16 of Asher's Answer
Josh thinks it’s hilarious. I mean, of course he would, he’s twenty-three. He’s got the same boundless energy as my boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
The word still makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. But not as much as ‘Daddy’ does. It doesn’t get old, hearing my little lamb call me by the title. Whether it’s during sex or spoken in his higher-pitched, almost innocent Little Ash voice, it’s music to my ears.
In the three weeks we’ve been together, I’ve watched him come out of his shell. He’s no longer the anxious, confused mess he was when I first set eyes on him. He’s still got reservations about fully letting go and going deep into his little headspace, but he goes further and further every day, and with each day we learn something new about Little Ash.
Josh has been beyond helpful with that process. When Ash admitted that having playdates made it easier to let go and dip further into his little space, Josh was more than happy to join him. Most evenings, they play with blocks or color in, or -as they did a couple of nights ago- create stories together using Ash’s ever-growing pile of stuffed toys as a cast of characters in their imaginative play.
And as much as I’ve enjoyed watching Ash begin to discover his little side, it’s been a revelation watching my brother indulge his own. He might argue that he’s just a scene player, but I’m not so sure that’s the case. I have my suspicions about his actual desires, but I’m not going to push him. If he wants to talk about it, he knows where to find me.
When I walk through the front door tonight, thankfully at a reasonable hour, I’m not surprised that Ash greets me at the front door. However, I am surprised that he’s big. Our usual routine sees him indulging in little time before dinner and big time before bed. After sex, he alternates depending on his mood.
“I got a job!” he cheers, and I beam at him because I know it’s been eating away at him.
He deferred his studies, deciding that with only a semester left to go, it would be silly not to finish them one day. But he’s continued to stress about not contributing to bills, even though it’s not something I care about.
I wrap him in my arms as he throws himself at me, and I spin us around while he laughs. “Baby, that’s fantastic news,” I’m unable to stop myself from cupping his jaw and kissing those ridiculously plump lips of his. “Which job?”
He holds my hand as we head into the kitchen and pushes me down into one of the dining chairs at the table, facing it sideways away from the table itself. Straddling my lap and looping his arms behind my neck, he says, “Administrative assistant at a law firm downtown.”
“Oh,” I smirk, “fancy. Does that mean I get to see you in a suit?”
He nods, but the smile slips. “I don’t have a suit. Or any corporate clothing.”
“We can fix that,” I assure him, but I know this is going to lead to one of the only things we ever argue about.
When he’s little, Ash is oblivious to my buying him new things. But when he’s big, he’s guilt ridden and doesn’t understand how much I enjoy providing for him. Some part of me wonders whether his awful father made him feel like a burden and a leech, but it’s not a topic I’m willing to bring up. I’d much rather just spoil him and make up for any shortfalls in his life before we met.
“I-” He starts, but I press my index finger to his lips.
“No arguments. I’m buying you what you need.”
Ash pouts and then sucks my finger into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it.
Moaning in response, I lift my hips up, my hardening cock finding his. “You’re a pest,” I accuse, but it’s without heat. “I have to make dinner.”
“Or,” he drags the word out, slipping off my lap and to his knees in front of me, “I could help you with this,” he palms my obvious erection, “now.”
We’ve both been tested recently, so after a talk we decided to ditch condoms, which means blowjobs are infinitely more enjoyable for both of us. “God, baby,” I run my hand through his soft curls, musing absently that he’s probably due a haircut, “you’re going to be the death of me.”
That’s all the permission he needs. His nimble fingers undo my belt and the button above my fly, then he’s unzipping my pants and tugging my cock out of my underwear through what little space he’s created. He kisses the tip sweetly before licking the head as though it’s a lollipop. He’s teasing me and I love every second of it.
But he’s got very little patience and it’s not long before he’s taking as much of my cock into his mouth as he can, wrapping his hand around the base because my cock doesn’t quite fit without him gagging. His mouth is heaven, all warm, wet suction, and it’s not going to take him long to get me off. Especially not when I hear his zipper go down, the snick of the cap of a bottle of lube, and then the wet sound of his hand shuttling up and down his own cock.
The idea that he’s planned for this -to the point of having lube with him- is heady and arousing as fuck, and I tell him so.
Then he’s moaning around me while he sucks and bobs his head, and the vibrations inch me closer to the edge of my orgasm. “Baby,” I warn, my voice tight and gruff, “I’m close.”
He sucks harder, his hand works faster and with a shout I lift off from the chair and come hard down his throat. He sucks and licks me clean until the hypersensitivity gets too much and I gently push his head away, and I glance down just in time to watch him spurt over his hand and onto the polished timber between his spread knees.
“That’s my good boy,” I praise, and he grins up at me with the most lust drunk expression I’ve seen on his face, his eyes half-lidded and dopey.
He’s gorgeous, I think to myself.He’s gorgeous, and he’s all mine.
* * *
Two weeks later, it’s official: Asher loves his job. Suit shopping had been fun for us both, as had the intense orgasms we’d shared after we’d gotten home – both riled up from teasing each other during the shopping trip. He looks at home in business pants and a crisp dress shirt, almost as natural as he does in training pants and a onesie. The two sides of him couldn’t be more different, but the dichotomy suits me just fine.
