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"But-"
"If you're about to tell me your jeans are too tight and they're rough and hurting your poor ass, I already know. That was the point. Get moving."
"Sir.”
"Or you won't come tonight," Travis threatens.
That works. Carter is off his lap and grabbing a sweater before Travis can even blink.
Travis grins, letting himself enjoy the way Carter winces and squirms as he moves before forcing himself to get up and leave the room. He needs to get water for his boy.
Plus, he has a bag full of toys he needs to grab.
Carter is in for quite the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Even waking up in bed alone isn’t enough to curb Travis’s great mood the morning after his fabricated meet-cute with Carter, though he does hurry through his bathroom routine so he can go find his boy. At least, he means to hurry through it. He stops short when he sees a toothbrush in plastic beside Carter’s usual toothbrush, a sticky note beside it saying it’s his to keep at Carter’s place.
Turns out, it’s a little hard to brush your teeth when you can’t stop grinning like a fucking idiot.
With a minty fresh stupid smile, he heads out of the bathroom to find his boy. The thought that Carter may have run from him doesn’t even come to mind. There’s no anxiety. No second-guesses. Nothing. Because he and Carter are too fucking solid for that shit.
That’s why he’s not even relieved when he finds the boy in the kitchen. He’s just… happy. So fucking happy. And in love.
Carter seems to be wearing nothing but Travis’s collared shirt from the night before, the fabric skimming the backs of his thighs, teasing Travis with temptation. He has a pair of earbuds in, his hips swaying and his head bobbing as he uses a spatula to push around eggs in a pan. Travis leans his hip against the breakfast bar, his stupid smile still firmly in place as he enjoys the show.
This.
This right here.
This is all he’ll ever need.
When Carter’s hips pause, probably because the song is over and the new one hasn’t started yet, Travis pushes away from the bar and heads toward his boy. His hands itch to touch him. It’s a relief to know he’s allowed. Whenever the fuck he wants, he’s allowed. And Carter Beckett has consented to it.
Dipping his fingertips below the hem of the shirt, Travis cups Carter’s slim hips. The boy sucks in a breath and tries to turn to look at him. Travis tightens his grip and keeps him in place, ducking his head down to drag his lips along the curve of his pretty boy’s throat.
Moaning, Carter hurriedly removes his earbuds and leans his head back to give Travis more access. “Morning, boyfriend.”
Yeah… that’ll never get old.
“Good morning, boyfriend.” Travis kisses his neck a few more times before shifting his focus to Carter’s ear.
The boy giggles and squirms as he grazes his teeth against the shell. “You’re going to make me burn breakfast.”
“No, no. Don’t do that.” Travis lifts a hand from Carter’s hip to circle his wrist. He guides the boy’s hand over to the spatula he had put down, urging him to pick it back up. “Cook for me. Be a good boy.
“B-but-”
“Be a good boy,” he says again, putting more heat behind the words this time so it’s an order. His teeth find Carter’s throat. The spatula clatters against the side of the pan, but Carter manages to keep his hold on it.
Carter keeps it together until Travis’s hands find his sore ass cheeks and squeeze. His knees buckle, his body shuddering. He whines, “Sir.”
Travis grins. That’ll never get old either.
He reaches around with his free hand, leisurely stroking his boy’s cock. His other hand continues teasing the poor boy’s abused ass.
A phone starts ringing from the bedroom, making them groan in unison.
