Goldilocks and His Three Bears (10 page)

Scott's eyes twinkled at him. “Missed that, sugar.”

“Mmm,” agreed Brian happily.

“Welcome home,” said Paul, coming across the room to give Scott's shoulder a squeeze, his butt a quick pat.

“Good to be back.” Scott grinned.

“Hello, Scott,” said Jim.

Scott glanced over Brian's shoulder. “Oh,” he said. “You're back.” His voice sounded funny, and then he walked right by Jim, who had risen from the couch, as if he weren't even there. “Can you help me unload the gear from my truck, Brian?” he said.

To celebrate, they spent the rest of the evening watching a movie together. Brian had kind of hoped for a man-salad on the couch, but that wasn't going to happen with Scott sitting on one side of the room and Jim on the other.

“How was your trip, Scott?” asked Jim, loading the bowl of his bong.

Scott shrugged, flipping through a magazine. “Same as usual. Paul, how much does this little baby weigh?” He held a Harley ad up for Paul to see.

“We should go down to a dealership and take a look tomorrow,” said Paul. “It's always better to try them out in person.”

Scott nodded, musing over the magazine.

“Have you ever ridden, Scott?” asked Jim, passing a lighter slowly over the bowl as he inhaled.

Scott's glance slid toward Jim and then away. “I drive a two-ton rig, Jim. I'm sure I can handle a little bike.” He stood and dropped the magazine back onto the coffee table, stretched, fuzzy belly showing at the bottom of his shirt, and grinned down at Brian.

“What do you say, sugar? Do I get a welcome-home bounce?”

Brian felt Paul's hand stroke his back in a supportive way. “Sure.”

“Let me hose off in the shower, and I'll meet you between the sheets.” Scott wriggled his eyebrows at Brian.

Paul declined the bong when Jim offered it to him. “You want to talk about it?” he said.

“Talk about what?” asked Brian.

“Brian, you could use a shower too. Why don't you help Scott?”

“Awesome idea, Daddy.” Brian headed out of the room.

“Jim?” he heard Paul say.

“I've no idea what you mean.” Jim set the bong on the table.

Paul looked up at Brian, who had paused in the doorway. “Never mind.”

It hit the fan three days later.

Scott had gone down to the Faultline and had been gone for several hours, when Brian's cell rang with a strange number on it.

“'Lo?”

“Brian"— the reception was staticky and there was a lot of noise behind him—"I'm in jail. Can somebody up there come down and... ”

“You're in jail!”

Jim snatched Brian's phone away. He barked questions into it, then slid it shut and tossed it to Brian as he snatched up his billfold and headed toward the door. “Scott was in a fight. They're down at the West Hollywood station. C'mon.”

Brian was cold and tired and really freaked out by the stream of miserable creatures and seemingly equally miserable policemen coming and going in the station. It seemed to take forever when Jim finally came around the corner followed by a sullen and pale Scott.

Then they all rode home, Brian sitting between the two men on the front seat of the van, feeling as he had when his parents had a big fight.

Jim's normally relaxed demeanor was stiff and on a low boil. Scott was miserably surly. His face was cut up, and an ugly green and blue bruise was starting up near one eye.

Nobody spoke.

When they walked into the living room, Paul was there, thank God, and Brian skittered toward him automatically, sliding up underneath that big protective embrace.

“I saw your note, Jim,” said Paul. “Thank you.”

Jim murmured in a growly way.

“Brian,” said Paul. “Remember you said you'd help me sort through my desk?”

Actually, he had. Brian had decided to major in business economics, and he thought he might try some practical application with Paul's home office. “Okay, Daddy,” he said, unsure, but following Paul anyway.

Paul closed the bedroom door behind them. “It may get a little loud,” he said to Brian.

It did.

“Sit down.” Jim indicated a kitchen chair, pulling a first-aid kit out. “You're lucky you don't need stitches.”

“It's a little bump,” said Scott. “I do not need you fussing at me.” He batted at Jim's hands as he tried to clean the wound.

Jim snatched Scott's hand. “Stop it.”

Scott glared, but he let Jim proceed. Jim leaned over the other man, dabbing carefully while Scott winced.

“Well, I hope you proved whatever you were trying to prove. Because next time, I'm going to let you spend the night in jail.”

“I didn't call you,” Scott pointed out. “Next time I won't call you either.”

“No, you called Brian. Who had no idea what to do.”

“He would have figured it out.”

“He would have called Paul or me. And you knew that when you dialed his number. It was an unfair responsibility to place on him. And next time, we won't come bail you out.”

Scott gritted his teeth, flinching as Jim taped the cut under his eye. “You can't speak for Paul.”

Jim's expression was grim. “He'll listen to me.”

“Assumin’ you're even around to be saying anything to anybody.”

Jim paused in his ministrations. “What?”

“I love you barkin’ orders about, like you live here or somethin'.”

Jim took a step back. His hands, holding the tape, lowered. “Have I done something to offend you, Scott?”

Scott slammed to his feet, knocking the chair into the table. “Forget it.”

“No,” said Jim, grabbing his shoulder.

Scott shoved him. “Don't touch me.”

Jim shoved him back. “What's eating you?”

“Fuck,” Scott said, rather too loudly. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Yes!” Jim's normally soft voice was definitely shouting now.

“No!” Scott spat the word into his face.

Jim didn't back off this time. Not one inch. “You've been an asshole all week. What the fuck is— ”

“I'm an asshole? Me?” Scott would have shoved Jim again, but this time Jim grabbed his arms and kept him from doing so. Scott wrestled one hand free and somehow in the ensuing struggle clipped Jim on the chin.

A long breathless second. Jim touched his chin, eyes dark and angry. Scott glared belligerently up at him.

“Fuck you,” said Jim quietly and turned away from him. Or he would have, but Scott grabbed his shoulder and this time, quite purposely, laid a big fat-knuckle punch right on Jim's chin.

Brian jumped a foot when the crash happened, but Paul rumbled in a calm way, “Relax, they can't break anything valuable.”

Brian stood from his chair and went to where Paul sat on the bed. One of the really great things about his and Paul's relationship was that when he needed something, his Daddy Bear was always there to provide it. Brian crawled into Paul's lap and curled up against that illustrated chest.

“Jim never gets mad,” he said, painting the head of a snake with one finger.

Paul kissed the top of his head. “He's not mad,” he said. “He's frightened.”

Brian mulled this over for a while. “Were you?”

Paul's eyebrows shot up, and he looked down at the curly golden head nestled against his chest. “A little. But I trusted you.”

Brian wrapped both arms around him and rubbed his nose against those pecs happily. “We're lucky.”

Paul returned the embrace, his eyes bright. “Yes. We are.”

“Are you all right?” Scott bent over Jim where he lay on the floor, rubbing his lip with the back of his hand. Blood appeared on the skin there.

“Sure,” said Jim, pushing himself to sitting.

Scott knelt beside him, running both hands gently over Jim's head. “You sure? That was a pretty loud crack just now.”

“That was the floor, not my skull.” Jim didn't pull away from Scott's caresses or protest them. “You wouldn't have gotten the jump on me like that if I hadn't been taking it easy on you.”

“Sure,” said Scott easily. “I know that.” He frowned, fingers testing the solidity of Jim's skull under his curly hair. “I'm sorry, Jim.”

“I'm sorry too,” said Jim. “I'm sorry for leaving without telling you.”

Scott's brows lowered, and he looked away. A jerking shrug of one shoulder. “Whatever. I'm not your boss.”

Jim smiled gently and put a hand on Scott's shoulder. “Will you help me up?”

They helped each other, big arms holding carefully. The aid turned into an embrace and then a kiss. Scott pressed up against Jim, quivering, while the big man's arms kept a tight hold around him.

“You stubborn son of a bitch,” whispered Jim against his ear. “C'mon, let's finish this properly.”

Scott didn't say a word when Jim led him to his bedroom.

“Has it stopped?”

Paul smiled. “I think it's just started.”

Brian's hands wandered downward and found that his Daddy's cock was as interested in thinking about Jim and Scott as Brian's was.

Paul hummed, hands playing over Brian gently. Brian was in only boxers, his standard clothing in their bedroom, so Paul's access was immediate. That big warm hand slid under elastic and around Brian's cock that easily. Brian arched and whimpered and looked up at his Daddy with glazed eyes.

Paul chuckled. “Undress me, boy,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy.” Brian scrambled to his knees to untie Paul's shoes, peel off his socks, and unzip his jeans. Brian's lips followed his fingers as he kissed all the skin that he'd exposed.

By the time he was finished, his Daddy's eyes were hot, skin warm, legs spread, and pretty cock waiting there.

“Ride me,” said Paul. His voice had the note of command in it, but his eyes were pleading.

So Brian did. Legs gripping either side, he lubed himself thoroughly. Pushing his fingers in deep and arching as he did so. Watching Paul watch him, his Daddy's eyes steaming. Then lowering himself slowly onto Paul's cock.

Both men made little gasping noises as Brian fully seated himself, and then, with Paul's hands helpfully holding his hips, Brian began to ride.

He couldn't say when he began to stroke his own cock, long desperate swipes, his voice a wail, but when Paul reached up and twisted his nipples— hard— Brian came in a long shuddering bolt of come across Paul's chest.

He was still reeling with it when his Daddy flipped him onto his back, Brian's legs flung over his shoulders. Paul put his head down and worked it, fucking Brian so good and hard that the futon squeaked on the floorboards. Brian threw his head back and went into free fall until Paul cried out like he was being stabbed and he came.

They kissed for a while, Paul still buried inside him. Brian stroked his sides, feeling Paul's heartbeat slowing, feeling the shivers all over his body that Paul always had after climax.

“Hey,” said Brian after a while, stroking that space behind Paul's ear. “You okay?”

Paul raised his head and looked at him. Oh, and didn't that cocky self-satisfied expression suit his Daddy perfectly?

“You hungry?” asked Paul.

Brian grinned. “You cooking?”

In the kitchen, they found Jim alone making eggs.

He was clothed only in boxers and there were scratches all over his back. His beard and hair were wild. He looked like he'd crawled out of his cave, thought Brian, sidling up to him. He buried his nose in his Momma Bear's arm and inhaled. Jim smelled like Scott.

“Hi, Brian.” Jim's eyes were as soft as warm maple syrup, his voice a happy rumble.

There was a thump from his bedroom. “What the hell is taking so long?” Scott's voice called out.

“Be quiet,” Jim called back happily. He relinquished Brian, picked up two plates, and headed back toward his bedroom. “Or I'll put the gag back on.”

As Jim disappeared through the bedroom door, Brian turned wide eyes on Paul. “Gag?” he squeaked.

Paul laughed. “I have fresh salmon here,” he said, bringing a package out from the refrigerator. “And asparagus.” At the expression on Brian's face, he continued, “Green doesn't automatically mean poison, honey. You'll like it.”

“Okay,” said Brian, distracted and blinking at the door through which Jim had exited.

As Paul cooked, Brian hovered about until finally Paul frowned at him. “Sit down, Brian. What's wrong with you?”

“You aren't going to want to... gag me, are you?” asked Brian worriedly.

Paul stared. He put down what he was holding and came to Brian, held him, kissed him, pushed his hair back from his face. “Brian, have we ever done anything you didn't want to do?”

Brian studied him, brows serious. “No... ”

“And we never will. You promised me you'd tell me if something bothered you, Brian. I am counting on you to do that. Do you understand?”

Brian nodded, eyes wide and solemn as a choirboy's. “Yes, sir.” A flick of his lashes, and the innocence turned a little saucy.

Paul gripped him tighter and rumbled a little in his chest. “You keep looking at me like that, we aren't ever going to eat.”

Brian made his lips tip up in a tiny provocative smile. “Yes, sir. I'm... sorry... Daddy.” The last whispered.

Paul growled and dived down to devour his mouth. When they broke away, Brian felt ravaged and flushed and very satisfied with himself.

“Brat,” said Paul, giving his bottom a little slap. “Eat your dinner.”

“That's good.” Scott watched Jim scoop another bit of egg up from the plate and eat it. “What'd you put in it?”

“Peppers.” Jim offered another bite to Scott, who opened his mouth dutifully and lapped it up. Scott was propped comfortably on two pillows, his wrists securely tied to the headboard, a napkin arranged across his naked lap. He chewed at the eggs contentedly, swallowed.

“Can I have some more of that tomato juice?”

Jim stirred the juice with the celery and held the straw so Scott could catch it between his lips. “How's your eye?”

“Still stings a little, but not bad.”

“We'll have fish tomorrow. The oils and A will help you heal.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm going to untie you so you can sleep now. But I'd like you to stay here with me tonight.”

Scott nodded, eyes wide. Jim captured Scott's head with one big hand and gently brushed the fuzz of short hairs at the nape.