Goldilocks and His Three Bears (5 page)

They looked at each other.

A cursory search didn't take long.

“Not in here,” said Paul, from his bedroom door.

Jim came wandering back from his own room. “He's not in my bed.”

There was a thump and a sigh, and they both saw Scott's open bedroom door.

“You don't think... ”

“I have no idea.”

Jim and Paul walked into Scott's room.

And that, Brian reasoned later, is how it had happened.

“So I'm sensing that introductions aren't necessary?” Paul's voice was all steely, his eyes cool.

“Well, Goldilocks and I have met,” said Scott, eyes merry. He slid those thick thighs off the mattress and stood to put on his boxers. Three sets of eyes slid over to check out what was dangling there and then slid back.

“Goldilocks?” Jim chuckled. “That's good.”

Paul was still giving Brian a speculative look. Not angry or anything, just... deep. It made Brian suddenly feel really bad.

“I'll go home now,” he said. He felt like crying, for Christ's sake.

“Have you had dinner?” asked Jim, voice all simple and quiet.

Brian shook his sorry head.

“No man leaves my house hungry,” said his Momma Bear. “Well, roomies, let's see what Goldilocks has left us to eat.”

So that's how he found himself sitting at the kitchen table with his Daddy, his Momma Bear, and Scott, fork making patterns in the food that he couldn't bring himself to swallow.

They were all so fucking calm. It made the hair stand up at his nape. And every time he looked at Daddy, he could feel those prickly tears starting up in his eyes again, and what the hell was that about?

“I said, would you pass the bread, please, Brian?”

Brian started and saw Jim's kindly eyes looking at him. He handed the plate of bread over wordlessly.

“Thank you. Paul,” said Jim, “I think Brian feels a little uncomfortable.”

“Maybe we should talk about it,” said Paul, handing peas around the table.

Brian tried to sink lower in his chair. If he didn't actually like Paul— care about him even— he wouldn't mind much. But...

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“What are you sorry for, Brian,” asked Jim. “I really enjoyed our time together.”

Well, that had a sound of finality in it, thought Brian sadly. “I should have told you.”

“Should you have? When did you know?”

“When we came to the house.”

Jim looked at Paul. “Brian and I met in Hollywood.”

“Ah,” said Paul wisely. “The famous roving van.”

“Well, I knew when I met Scott,” said Brian.

“Well, that was sorta my doing, baby. I didn't give you much chance to say no, did I?”

“I could have.”

“Why should you?” asked Jim. “None of us have any hold on you.”

Brian sneaked a little look at Paul. “Noooo... ”

“Seems like the question now is, what do we do next?” said Scott.

Those damned tears filled Brian's eyes again. He might never be with Paul again and for some reason that really bothered him.

“Brian,” said Jim gently, “what do you want to do?”

Brian looked up into his Momma Bear's eyes and suddenly all he wanted to do was crawl into those big warm arms and hide his face against Momma's chest. He'd smell of Old Spice, Brian remembered, and a little marijuana.

He looked sideways again at Paul, whose hand lay open on the table next to his plate. Big calloused fingers, that little vine tattoo curling around his wrist, disappearing under that thick studded leather bracelet. Brian's eyes slid up Daddy's arm and made it to his face. Those blue eyes weren't showing anything. They were like closed doors.

“I don't know,” he whispered. “What do you want?”

Of course the question was directed at the whole group, but he was really asking Paul.

His big old bear read him for a minute and then looked away.

“Well, I'll tell you what I think,” growled Scott, all soft and sweet, that little twang singing in his voice. “I think Paul and Brian need to talk in private.”

Brian glanced quickly at Jim and saw nothing there but caring. He swallowed and nodded at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “D-D-Daddy?”

The chair scraped loudly as Paul stood. “Let's go to my bedroom, Brian.”

Brian followed him, head hanging, wishing it were like it had been before.

“I didn't know,” said Brian, the minute the door was closed. “Until now. And-and... Daddy, I'm sorry.”

Paul lowered that big bald head and frowned. “What didn't you know?”

“I missed you,” said Brian. “I didn't know this would... I dunno, make it wrong between us.”

Paul looked puzzled. “Has it made it wrong, Brian?”

“I don't know. Hasn't it?” Brian bit his lip and asked hopefully, “Can I fix it? I mean... If... Paul, if you wanted me to wait for you, I would have. I... didn't know I... ”

But Daddy was shaking his head, his whole body moving with it. “That's not right, hon. I couldn't ask that of you.”

“But... but... you're my— ” Brian got close enough to grab that big hand and hold on so tight Paul couldn't get away. “Daddy, I love you.”

Paul looked down at him, eyes bright. “Oh.”

And he lifted Brian right up off the floor and planted big, wet, slobbery kisses all over him.

When he set him down again, Paul's face was calm and warm, those eyes intimate.

“Take a shower, Brian.”

Oh thank God
. “Yes, sir,” said Brian. And he ran off to do so, so grateful that things were going to be all right.

Brian took his time getting ready. He'd gotten a little clumsy with the buckles and he had to redo them a few times before they didn't dig into his rib cage. When he got to the cock ring, he had a real moment of panic. What would Daddy think of his still-shaved balls?

When he emerged from the bathroom, of course, Daddy noticed right away. His eyes did that lightning, intense zip up and down Brian's body.

“Come here, son.”

Brian went over, cock drooping a bit, palms sweaty. Daddy took his smooth balls in his hand and fondled them. Brian couldn't even guess what he was thinking.

“Jim?” asked Daddy.

“Yes, sir.”

Daddy's thumb rubbed at Brian's cockhead, and he shivered as the blood flooded it.

“You like it?”

“Yes, sir.” He had to be honest. Daddy was checking his harness now, making sure all the buckles and things were lying flat and smooth against his skin. Those big calloused fingers found his chin and turned it gently so that Brian was looking into those blue eyes.

“But you still feel guilty, don't you, Brian?”

He did. He didn't even know why. But he still felt unsettled in his belly. And the calm that he usually felt in this room was tilted a little off-kilter. Brian nodded.

Daddy sighed. “Hon, I don't usually do this, but I think you need it.” He patted his legs. “Lie down here, Brian. I'm giving you a spanking.”

“W-w-what?” squeaked Brian. His cock squeaked too and jumped to attention.

“It's for your own good.” Daddy drew him down into his lap, laying Brian over his legs. Brian's cock pressed into Daddy's thighs, and Brian's legs and arms and everything seemed ridiculously long hanging off the sides all over the place.

Daddy's hand rubbed firmly in big circles around Brian's ass. Brian was feeling pretty stupid when the first blow came down.

Ow
. Hey that wasn't only some kinky little love slap there. That was a real wallop.
Slap
. Another blow came down on Brian's ass, and he yelped and jumped.

Daddy's hand held him in place, and Daddy's other hand started raining down blows faster and faster. Brian's yelps turned to cries of pain and finally great racking sobs until he was clinging to Daddy's calves, tears streaming down his cheeks and Daddy rubbing his burning ass, crooning soft words.

Weird thing was Brian's cock was hard as marble there against Daddy's thigh.

“Good boy. That's a good boy. Daddy's gonna make it all better,” Daddy was saying, rubbing Brian's sore ass. And his finger, with something cool on it, rubbed his hole.

He didn't even tell Brian what was next, but instead plunged that big finger into his hole and started pressing against Brian's prostate again and again.

“Let it go, babe.”

Brian did. Still sobbing now and then, he rode Daddy's finger, humping his thigh until the orgasm pushed everything out of his body and he was lying limp across Daddy's lap.

Then he was gathered up and washed gently with a warm cloth. Kisses on his face and big gentle hands tucked him under the coverlet. The harness came off with a jingle and the slide and whisper of leather, and by then Brian was fast asleep.

“Good morning.”

Brian came round the corner into the kitchen at a trot and skidded to a stop, staring.

Momma Bear was leaning against the counter in his skivvies, drinking from a big ceramic mug.

Brian felt his entire body flush. “H-h-hi.” He couldn't move. Didn't know where to put his eyes. Jim stood there. Big and fuzzy and comfy with those gentle eyes resting on him.

It occurred to Brian only then that the entire house had probably heard what happened between him and Paul the night before. His body grew impossibly warmer. Brian figured he was probably blushing right to the ends of his hair. He couldn't think of a thing to say.

But Momma was always all about easy. “You hungry?” he said. “I made pancakes.”

They all sat at the table together, eating breakfast. Brian sat on a pillow that Momma had placed on the chair without comment. Scott came rolling in clad only in a towel, every golden hair on his body damp. He pulled up a chair and set into a stack of pancakes without giving Brian more than a friendly good morning grunt.

It was all kind of normal.

“How was your trip, Paul,” asked Momma, passing the syrup.

“Good. Those new Sportsters are really moving.” Paul stirred his coffee. “Eat your eggs, Brian. You can't load up on sugar.”

Not a man at the table blinked.

“You know I was thinkin’ of getting a little street model to take with me,” said Scott. “The northern route is real pretty in the fall. I wouldn't mind taking a side trip or two if I had wheels.”

“I'll get you a great discount,” said Paul.

“I'd appreciate it, buddy.”

“So,” Paul said, “Jim, where'd you end up this time?” He picked up the last piece of bacon and stuck it onto Brian's plate.

“Brian, would you pass that pitcher of OJ over here?” said Jim. “Well, I think I was in Canada.”

Brian ate his breakfast and took his dishes to the sink, where Jim took them out of his hands and plunged them into the soapy water. Jim said a soft “Thank you” and not much else.

Brian padded back into the bedroom. Showered. Dressed. Paul came in and nodded at him.

“You working today?”

“Yeah. I have to go.” Brian moved from foot to foot. “So... ” He had a fluttering in his belly. Paul was across the room in a heartbeat, holding all of Brian against that big chest and sticking his big maple-syrup-tasting tongue down Brian's throat.

“See you tonight,” he declared. And there was no question in those steady eyes.

“Yeah.” That fluttering, scared feeling evaporated. Brian grinned. “I'll see you tonight.”

Brian walked straight up to the bungalow after his shift was over and stood at the door, looking at the little key Jim had given him. He thought he should give it back. And then he thought maybe he should keep it.

Crap.

He started to unlock the door, but it was already open, so he stepped inside. “Hello?”

Someone had cleaned the living room. The wood floors glowed.

“In here!” came Jim's voice.

Jim stood in the middle of a sparkling kitchen, wiping his hands on a big towel with the satisfaction of someone whose house was in order.

“Hi there, Brian,” said Jim, his smile all happy, his eyes lighting up.

“Hi.” Brian leaned against the doorjamb and wrapped his arms around himself. What he really wanted was to walk across those few feet and put himself inside a big Momma Bear hug. But that was off-limits now, wasn't it? He'd almost lost what he had, and he wasn't gonna fuck up again.

“Hey, I didn't thank you for taking care of my plants,” said Jim, folding the towel and setting it on the counter.

“No problem, man.”

“You've earned a few buds. C'mon. Lemme get you something.” And Jim waved Brian to follow him, padding off toward his bedroom.

It made Brian feel weirder than hell, standing there in that dark little room, with the fiber-optic glow lamps in the corners and that big brown velvet-covered water bed just there. Jim fussed away at a desk and came back with a thick baggie full of weed. He placed it in Brian's hands, and when Brian looked up at him, there was nothing but warmth and affection in those dark brown eyes.

“Enjoy,” said Jim. They stood there looking at each other.

“I'm... I'm waiting for Paul,” Brian blurted.

Jim nodded. “Okay.”

“I'm sorry, Momma, really I am... ”

“Don't be.” And Jim's hand was soft on Brian's face, sort of drawing a line down his jaw with one gentle finger. His eyes glowed. “I want to see you happy, baby. Don't be sorry.”

“Momma... ” And Brian was in Jim's arms, head pressed to his throat.

Jim rocked him for a minute, and Brian could feel that his Momma Bear was hard for him. But then Jim put him gently back, big hands giving Brian's shoulders a quick squeeze.

“I was going to watch the
Magic Chef
,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”

As a matter of fact, Brian liked that idea very much. So they were sitting on the big leather sofa together, a decent couple of feet between them, feet up, bag of buttered popcorn spilling onto the coffee table, when Paul returned.

He had on his suit jacket and a crisp white work shirt. His shoulders filled every inch of the starched cotton. He began peeling it all away as he came through the door, turning before Brian's eyes into his Daddy. Those tats emerged from beneath the white like visions.

Paul turned to hang up his jacket, and the anaconda that encircled his waist and crawled up his spine turned with him.