Authors: Drew Hunt
Brock felt railroaded. This was huge…too much…wrong.
Calvin started to rub Brock’s back. Continuing to speak softly to him in the near darkness, he said, “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you or Junior, don’t you?”
Brock nodded and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy.
Maintaining his soothing tone, Calvin went on, “It would be an investment. An investment in you…your skills.” Calvin found Brock’s hands under the sheets and rubbed them with his thumbs. “I know—because I’ve seen with my own eyes—what wonders these hands can do when they are put to work fixing and building things.” Bringing the knuckles to his lips, Calvin kissed them. “I believe in you, John Brockwell. I know you could make a go of such a company.”
Despite himself, Brock smiled. If there was one thing he knew he was good at, it was being a craftsman. But it was still humbling how much faith Calvin had in his abilities.
“And, too, I’m hoping you’ll make us both lots of money flipping apartment blocks or whatever you decide to do. You have the skills to make this sort of thing work, I don’t. I can’t do this without you. We need each other to make this work.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Brock put his arms around Calvin and gave him a squeeze.
Calvin resumed his steady rubbing of Brock’s back. “Just think about it. Discuss it with Junior. You don’t have to make any decisions yet.”
Brock gave his man a long, slow kiss. He hoped the gesture would say everything he couldn’t.
“I’ve only briefly discussed this with our company lawyer, because, like I said, everything depends on what you and Junior decide to do.” Calvin paused until Brock nodded for him to continue. “He says that if you wanted to set up a construction business here, you’d have to have someone else at the head.”
Brock didn’t understand. Then it hit him. As a bankrupt, he wouldn’t be allowed to own a company. He was grateful to Calvin for not spelling it out.
“I thought—and again this is all totally up to you guys—I thought we could maybe set Junior up as the managing director. That way your company,” Calvin started running his hand up and down Brock’s arm, “would remain in the Brockwell family.”
“He’d like that.” Brock smiled, unable to believe Calvin was willing to do all this for him—for him and Junior.
“Totally up to you of course,” Calvin was continuing, “but you might want to start thinking about names. ‘Brockwell & Son’ wouldn’t work, and ‘Brockwell & Father’ just sounds silly.”
Brock smiled again.
“What about Brocks ‘n’ Mortar?” Despite the gloom, Calvin’s eyes twinkled.
“Fuck off,” Brock fired back.
Calvin laughed. “Okay, maybe not. Anyway, that’s enough business talk for tonight.”
Brock couldn’t agree more. Before he could change his mind, he asked, “Fuck me?”
“You sure?” Calvin kept up the arm rubbing.
Brock nodded. He needed the physical reassurance of his man inside of him.
“Anything my cowboy wants,” Calvin kissed him, “my cowboy gets.”
Brock knew that, and it scared him more than a little.
Calvin began by kissing all over Brock’s face, neck, and torso. Before he and Calvin had become lovers, Brock had had no idea his body had so many erogenous zones. But over the weeks Calvin had sought them all out and stimulated them frequently.
“Oh, God,” Brock moaned when Calvin latched onto his right nipple. “Shit!” they were making too much noise.
Calvin broke off. “”Want me to gag you?”
Was he serious?
Calvin got out of bed and went over to his underwear drawer. Surely the man didn’t have an actual gag?
Returning, Calvin held out a large bandana. “Ball it up and put it in your mouth. But,” Calvin kissed him, “This is just for fun.” He ran his fingers down Brock’s cheeks. “If you get uncomfortable or scared or whatever, just pull it out. I’m not gonna tie it in or anything. This is all about making you feel good, okay?”
Before putting the bandana in his mouth, Brock kissed Calvin. “Love you, darlin’.”
Brock’s dick was rock hard. He was getting off at the thought of the mildly kinky lovemaking that was to come.
He lay on his side, legs bent as Calvin loosened him up. As always, Calvin took his time. Gagged, Brock couldn’t tell him to just stick it in and get on with it. Brock liked the slight pain of rough entry. But as always, Calvin was in charge. Deep down Brock was comforted by this.
“Ready to saddle up ‘n’ ride, cowboy?”
Brock groaned through the bandanna. Calvin’s phony western talk was silly, but it had become part of their sex play, and Brock wouldn’t have it any other way.
When Calvin withdrew his fingers, Brock shuffled down to the foot of the bed, rolled onto his back and raised his legs. Always when they made love Calvin wanted it face-to-face. It was a good thing Brock’s spine was so flexible.
“Comfortable?” Calvin asked after putting a couple of pillows under the small of Brock’s back.
Brock nodded. That was another aspect of their lovemaking. Calvin was always concerned for Brock’s wellbeing.
With the gag being in Brock’s mouth Calvin was forced to kiss his cheek, and Brock discovered he couldn’t kiss Calvin at all.
As Calvin rolled on the condom and applied more lube, he said, “Maybe next time we could get some ropes and I could tie you down. Like that, would ya, cowboy?”
Brock moaned. His dick twitched and oozed out a pearl of pre-seminal fluid.
Slowly sinking his dick back where it belonged, Calvin whispered, “Bet you’d like to be hogtied. Ropes binding your strong arms and criss-crossing your awesome chest,” Calvin leaned forward and ran his hands up Brock’s arms, “so you couldn’t move.”
Brock whimpered. He had never played with ropes before, hadn’t thought it was his thing. Now he wanted to try it.
“You’d like being totally helpless and at my mercy, wouldn’t you?”
Brock would. Oh, God, he would.
“Maybe I could use some of your belts to tie your hands and feet together. I’d like to see that.”
Brock would, too.
Calvin set up a slow rhythm, pushing in, holding for a mere second, then pulling out again. “I’d be able to do anything I wanted to you. Pinch your nipples.” He leaned forward and squeezed Brock’s hard nubs.
Brock whimpered into his gag. He wanted Calvin to do it again, and began to squirm in frustration at not being able to communicate his needs.
“And I’d be able to whup your fine cowboy ass.” Calvin delivered a stinging blow to each of Brock’s butt cheeks.
Brock yelled into the gag. He reached for his dick and began to jerk himself off. Calvin didn’t stop him. In fact, he encouraged Brock to continue by describing a series of increasingly depraved scenes of Brock being bent to Calvin’s will.
It couldn’t last long. The lack of previous orgasms, plus Calvin’s dirty talk soon had Brock on the edge, then a single stroke later, combined with another swat to his ass had Brock firing wad after scalding wad of semen high into the air, only for it to fall on Brock’s sweaty chest and the disarranged sheets.
“Hang on, pardner, I’m a-comin’ with ya,” Calvin growled. His previously fluid strokes became jerky and soon stopped. Calvin fell atop Brock, who let go his legs, which slid along Calvin’s sides until his heels rested on the mattress.
“Oh, God, Brock, I needed that.” Calvin bit at the part of the bandana that was outside Brock’s mouth and pulled back.
“Fuck!” Brock exclaimed, once the wad of cotton was removed and he’d run his tongue around his dry mouth.
“You okay, beautiful? I wasn’t too rough, too…”
Brock silenced him with a savage kiss. “I loved it. Every second of it.”
As they lay together side-by-side, trading gentle kisses, Brock knew he could never tell Calvin that he wanted him to do for real many of the things he’d threatened to do in jest. Maybe, Brock mused—nuzzling Calvin’s neck—fantasy was better than reality.
* * * *
The next evening Brock and Calvin were snuggling on the couch. There was a baseball game on the TV, but neither man was watching it.
Calvin lay with his back against one of the arms, Brock between his legs, reclining against his chest.
For the past ten minutes or so, Calvin had been giving Brock a shoulder massage through his T-shirt. Pausing, Calvin said, “You reacted better than I thought you would to what I said last night.”
This was the first time either of them had raised the subject of forming a construction company since the previous evening.
Brock looked down at the “Someone in New York Loves Me” T-shirt Calvin had bought for him that afternoon. To Brock’s surprise—as well as Calvin’s—Brock had insisted on wearing it home. And no one had said anything or given him a second look.
“I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t come to any definite decision.”
“I know, beautiful.” Calvin kissed the top of Brock’s head. “The stylist did a great job with your hair.”
“Cost a lot though,” Brock mumbled. He could admit, however, his hair looked great.
“You’re worth it.” Calvin kissed the top of Brock’s head again, before resuming his massage. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, God,” Brock moaned, only half in jest.
“Hush.” Calvin slowed his massaging. “A few years ago Tim and I set up a scheme where we provide either partial or full-ride college scholarships to students who show an aptitude for the PR and advertising business. In exchange, the student agrees to work for us during summer breaks and for a set number of years after graduation.”
Brock thought he knew where this was going.
“Stop tensing up!” Calvin lightly slapped Brock’s right shoulder.
Brock grunted and tried to relax.
“I know Junior hasn’t even started high school yet, but had you given any thought to him going to college after graduation?”
Brock’s daddy hadn’t had the money for higher education—nor did he believe in it—but fortunately Brock had gotten into the minor leagues, so at the time it hadn’t mattered. But Junior would never be good enough to play sports professionally, and Brock knew well enough to get ahead you needed a college degree.
“I know,” Calvin continued when Brock didn’t answer, “Junior is your responsibility. But do you want him to go to college?”
“Of course, but I’ll never be able to afford it.”
“It’s possible Junior could get an academic scholarship, he’s certainly bright enough.”
Brock appreciated how Calvin recognized Junior’s intelligence. Somehow it meant more coming from a guy who was both intelligent and successful himself.
“Being sponsored by us just gives him another option.” Calvin smoothed his palms down Brock’s upper arms. “That’s all I’m trying to do here, give you options.”
Brock lifted himself from Calvin’s chest, turned around, and kissed him. “I know, darlin’.”
“And like I said, it’ll be years before you and Junior have to think about college. I just mentioned it now because,” Calvin shrugged, “because you’ll have time to think about it.”
“Thanks.” Amazingly, Brock didn’t feel overly pressured or railroaded by Calvin’s words. Was he getting used to the man’s not so subtle attempts to persuade them to move to New York?
Wow,
Brock thought, when Calvin resumed his massage,
my son, the college man.
He’d be the first Brockwell in the family who had a degree. He’d have to discuss it with Junior of course, but…
Calvin found a sore spot and, “Oh, yeah, you got it, darlin.”
* * * *
A few mornings later—Calvin’s ideas about opening a construction business in the Big Apple still fresh in his mind—Brock decided to check out a hardware-junk store he’d seen on one of the many tourist treks he, Junior and Calvin had gone on.
“Why’re we going in here?” Junior asked.
“Thought it might be interesting.”
Junior gave him a
you’re crazy
look, but followed anyway.
Inside, Brock soon got lost in the old-fashioned fixtures, fittings, doorbells, doorknobs and claw-foot tubs. The place had everything.
The manager approached. “Can I help you two gentlemen?”
“Just looking,” Brock said, stroking a brass doorknob. “You’ve got some real interesting things in here.”
The man—mid-fifties, rotund and graying beard—smiled. “”Most of this is from old buildings that are being modernized.”
Brock shook his head. “They don’t make stuff like this any more.”
“Nope,” the man agreed. “Everything is plastic or cheaply mass manufactured these days.” The man picked up a matching fingerplate and door handle in ivory and brass. “Things like these were built to last.”
Brock nodded, accepting the items the man held. They had weight and solidity to them.
“Not seen you before. Are you new in town?”
“Yes, sir. Daddy and his partner are going to open a new construction business flipping apartment blocks,” Junior, who had been quiet up to this point, put in.
Brock shot his son a look. No such decisions had been made.
“That’s great. There’s so much potential for people like you here. So many buildings are left empty, crying out for someone to bring them back to their former glory.” The man sighed. “Maybe we can be of assistance when you start up. You seem like the kind of man who appreciates quality.” The man reached into a pocket of his shop coat and pulled out a business card. Brock took it.
Was the contact held a second too long? Was the guy coming onto him? Brock was so unused to such things.
“Thank you. I’ll mention it to Calvin, I’m sure he’ll be happy to discuss it with you.” Why did Brock confirm that he was indeed opening a business?
The man nodded. “Maybe you and Calvin would like to have dinner with my husband Bob and me sometime.”
Brock relaxed. The man hadn’t been coming onto him. Unless he was into group sex or something. Brock winced at his inappropriate thoughts. He needed laying. With Junior under the same roof, Brock had been uneasy about making love with Calvin. But if they were to all live together—a scenario Brock was becoming more and more comfortable with—he realized he’d have to alter his stance, or become a monk.
* * * *
Brock wondered why Calvin had asked Tim and Felicity to mind Junior. All Calvin had said was he and Brock deserved an evening alone. Junior certainly hadn’t minded, he and Maggie got on like a house on fire. Maggie had gushed all over Junior when she’d seen him in his new Stetson. Was Maggie another Calvin? No, looking over at his man as they entered a comedy club, there was only one Calvin.