Home and Away (21 page)

“Are you joking?” Rupert gasped as Callum’s palm passed over the head, fingers squeezing until Rupert popped free and bounced up against his belly.

He wasn’t sure if he’d
ever
been this hard, or had every muscle in his body wound so tight.

Callum pulled his cock down again, then let go, watching in fascination as it bounced against Rupert’s belly. Rupert flinched, but not in a bad way.

The next time Callum pulled his shaft down, he leaned forward, sucking the head into the hot cavern of his mouth.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Rupert moaned.

Callum snorted, laughing with his mouth full, then he met Rupert’s eyes and began to suck.

“Oh, Christ, that’s lovely,” Rupert breathed, running his fingers through Callum’s hair. “Yes, please, keep doing that,” he babbled, letting out a stream of inarticulate nonsense and pleas, petting Callum wherever he could reach.

Callum responded to every touch. Every word. Sucking harder, then moving, just a little, to slide the head of Rupert’s cock along his tongue.

Rupert groaned, and praised Callum more. He felt like Callum’s teacher, sex toy, and cheerleader all at once, but it was really working for him. And apparently for Callum. After a particularly detailed description of how fucking magical Callum’s mouth was, Callum reached down and shoved his pants back down to his thighs.

Rupert could feel the furious pace of Callum’s arm in the way he rocked against Rupert, in the brush of biceps against his thigh, in the clench of Callum’s other hand around Rupert’s cock. Rupert panted, the tension coiling in his belly and along his spine. His fingers curled into fists, grabbing great hanks of Callum’s hair, but doing no more than hanging on.

Callum spread his knees on the floor, groaning, and Rupert whimpered as the vibrations hummed up his shaft. He gasped around Rupert’s cock, his eyes sightless, his expression so, so eager. And that was enough.

More than enough.

“Callum,” Rupert gasped, trying to warn him. He shoved at Callum’s shoulder.

Callum hummed again and sucked harder. Rupert’s balls grew heavy and tight, the hand in Callum’s hair shaking as he tried to push Callum away.

“
Callum
,” Rupert cried, shoving with all his might as the tension gathering in his gut finally found its release. Callum’s lips left his cock with an audible and perfectly obscene pop a moment before Rupert’s come struck his lips, his chin, and his cheek.

Callum gasped, his eyes slamming closed, and groaned, long and low. Rhythmic shudders racked him as he came into his own fist. On the last pull of his hand, he fell forward, his face planting against Rupert’s hip, smearing Rupert’s come all over both of them.

It was utterly artless. All of it. The blow job, the mess they’d made, the way they leaned against Rupert’s
goddamn office door
, but nothing had ever felt more perfect.

Rupert’s knees finally gave out and he slid down the door until he landed on his ass, his legs spread around Callum. When he didn’t look at Rupert, Rupert tucked a finger under his chin and tilted his face up.

Callum blushed, but met his gaze. Rupert tried to smile, but it was wobbly at best.

“Now do you believe me when I say some people like giving almost as much as receiving?”

Callum nodded, wiping trembling fingers across his chin, then stared at the mess on his fingers. His smile was almost sweet.

It occurred to Rupert, several weeks and one blow job too late, that he was in big trouble.

Rupert swung around the ice, arms out, back straight, head up. He didn’t turn to check if Christian was paying attention, both because it would have thrown off his lines, and because he was certain the young man was giving him the same laser-focus he put into all their training sessions.

Christian’s coach, Mark, stood just inside the Zamboni door, calling out suggestions and observations. They were working on a new short program for Christian, in spite of the fact his father was resisting—to put it mildly—signing him up for any more competitions.

Rupert executed a complicated diagonal pass, his feet dancing as he spun across the ice, his balance and form still excellent—
thank you very much
. Footwork was an area he could help Christian with quite a lot. And the choreography. He could also offer his input on the more challenging and athletic requirements, but at this point, if Rupert attempted to do a triple-anything, he’d probably put himself in traction.

Callum had teased him about this, but his smile had been understanding. It wasn’t like Callum didn’t limp on his way to the bathroom in the morning. His knees hurt—his hips, too, sometimes.

Callum had come to several of Christian’s practices over the past couple weeks and had gotten to know Christian. It had been Callum’s idea to sneak into one of Christian’s summer-league games, where it had been immediately obvious Christian was a gifted hockey player. His skating, unsurprisingly, was phenomenal. But his stick handling and shooting were well ahead of the average twelve year old, as well.

Rupert had expected Callum to lament, at least a little, that Christian was willing to walk away from so much hockey potential. Callum hadn’t, though, instead pointing out that Murdoch was one of the best skaters in the Morrison family, and no one had ever questioned his desire to be a doctor. Fair point. And, far more irritatingly, it was another example of how Callum was somehow
still
becoming more and more likeable. There should be a limit to such things.

Rupert completed his turn around the ice and stopped next to Christian.

Christian grinned. “Pretty fancy for an old man.”

Rupert scoffed, pretending great offense and like his knee wasn’t going to hate him tonight if he sat still for longer than ten minutes. No way was he giving his impudent protégé any more material.

“I
am
fancy,” Rupert said with as much dignity as he could muster, which obviously wasn’t much. “Now you do it.”

Christian gave him a sharp and entirely sarcastic salute. “Aye, aye, Captain!” He took off down the boards, his laughter trailing after him.

Rupert rolled his eyes. He had been delighted to learn that Christian a very cheeky young man. His wit was quick, razor sharp, and rarely contained. Rupert vowed, for the sake of all of Canada, to never, ever let him meet Reese.

But more than being smart and gifted, Christian was unfailingly upbeat during their time together. Just
happy
. In a way Rupert couldn’t remember being at that age, with the onset of puberty and the challenges of trying to do the sport he loved in spite of what everyone else thought of it.

For the most part, that didn’t seem to faze Christian. He clearly loved to skate. He loved the choreography, the music, the tricks. He tackled the sometimes excruciatingly repetitive drills with a smile, even while Rupert and Mark were trying not to let their eyes glaze over.

Rupert wished he’d had a chance to meet Christian’s mother, as she had to be the one responsible for this joyful, confident young man. Who was a stark contrast to the person he became the moment his father came around. Simply mentioning his father made Christian go quiet and lose his smile. In those moments, Rupert struggled just to get Christian to make eye contact, let alone turn his full attention to what they were working on.

So Rupert had learned not to bring up John Shaw, and made it a point to be away from the rink before he would arrive. He’d made the mistake of staying out on the ice after their first session together, working on something by himself while Christian changed into his street shoes.

John had taken one look out on the ice and spat, “What’s
he
doing here?”

“It’s public ice time, Dad. Anyone can be here,” Christian answered.

Mark, for whatever reason, hadn’t contradicted him. And Rupert had pretended he’d not heard any of it, not acknowledging John’s presence at all.

After that, it was Mark who texted Rupert about the schedule, and he always chose public-skate hours. They rarely had a lot of company on the ice, given it was almost full summer. Private ice time cost a fortune, and would be worth it if Christian’s training continued to bear fruit as quickly as the past weeks had done, but for now it was far simpler this way.

Rupert had given up his own morning training regimen in order to arrive at work earlier and be available for Christian in the afternoons. This was now
his
ice time as well as Christian’s. And god knew it was more than enough time on the ice. Rupert’s knee was sore and his arse was killing him. Another week or two of this, and he’d have to see his tailor about adjusting his trousers. As it was, he suspected the difference was beginning to show, given how frequently he caught Callum staring these days.

Rupert watched Christian make another pass through the footwork and wondered idly if he could ask Callum to rub his sore bum. Just to make it feel better, of course.

“What’s so funny?” Christian shouted from the middle of the ice.

Rupert wiped the smile off his face. “Nothing!”

Callum parked next to Rupert’s car and unbuckled Oliver from his car seat, taking his hand so Oliver could tow him through the lot and lobby and to the side of the rink. Callum nodded hello to Mark.

“Rupert!” Oliver cried, his voice ringing above the ice and the music playing. Other than a couple young girls working their way around the rink under the watchful eye of their mother, the ice belonged to Christian and Rupert.

Callum’s heart skipped a beat when Rupert turned a bright, happy smile on them and immediately skated over. He wondered if he could drag Rupert somewhere private, eying the storage closet across the hall speculatively. Because seriously, Rupert’s pants were just so
well-tailored.
It should be illegal.

Oliver tugged on Callum, and he boosted the boy up to perch on top of the boards so he could hug his brother.

Rupert pressed a kiss to the top of his head while giving him a big squeeze. Not that long ago, Callum had needed to demonstrate how to kiss the boy goodnight and instruct Rupert to tell Oliver he loved him.

Rupert had looked alarmed, Callum remembered with a smile as Rupert closed his eyes and pressed his smiling face to Oliver’s hair.

“Oliver!” Christian called, coming to join them.

“A ride?” Oliver asked Christian, then turned pleading eyes on his brother and Callum. Callum tried to scowl, as if he might say no, then pulled a helmet from the bag over his shoulder. He knew better than to set foot in this building without it.

“Yay!” Oliver cried, tipping his face up while Rupert plunked the helmet on his head and attached the chin strap. The moment it was secure, Callum let go and Oliver fell forward into Christian’s arms.

The boys took off, flying around the rink, the sound of Oliver’s laughter echoing across the ice.

Rupert turned to Mark with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. We’ll get back to training soon.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s good to see him so happy doing something that isn’t work.”

Which wasn’t something that anyone should have to say about a twelve-year-old boy, in Callum’s opinion. He knew Rupert was also increasingly concerned about Christian. The better they got to know him, the more they wanted to find a way to help. Callum liked to dream up ways to force John Shaw to see the light and support his son in his skating, while Rupert sanely pointed out which of those ways would land Callum in prison.

At least, for now, Christian was thriving under Rupert’s attention. Mark spoke constantly of how much Christian had improved. How grateful Mark was to have Rupert’s help.

“Hey,” Callum said, brushing his hand over Rupert’s hip to get his attention, and as an excuse to touch him, no matter how briefly. “Alexei and Mike called. They said we could stop by and see the apartment today.”

Rupert spun to look at him. “Today? Now?”

“Well, once you’re done here. Unless you have to go back to the office or something?”

Callum could practically see the wheels spinning in Rupert’s head as he stared blindly over the ice. He barely acknowledged the boys returning as he reached for his phone, balanced on the boards nearby.

Callum was about to tease Rupert about checking one of his infamous lists, sure that “Check Out New Apartment” had to be on at least
one
of them, when Rupert drew his hand back.

“Fadoodle it. Let’s just go.”

Callum was pretty wildly fucking impressed. Rupert didn’t even look back at the phone, and he wasn’t scaling through the mountains of data he kept in his head—Callum knew the abstracted and, honestly, constipated expression Rupert wore when he did that.

“That’s not a real word, you know,” Christian said with a giggle.

Callum grinned. “It is now.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “You guys are such dorks.”

Callum might have taken exception to that if Christian hadn’t said it with so much affection. As it was, he reached out and ruffled Christian’s hair, hoping the kid had some idea of how much Callum and Rupert cared. This kid, more than most, needed to know there were grown-ups who genuinely liked him.

Another thing that no one should have to say about a twelve-year-old boy.

Mark cleared his throat. “I have one more thing I want to work on today, Christian, before you dad gets here in five minutes.”

Mark was subtle like a brick to the face.

Rupert plucked Oliver from Christian’s arms. “What do you say, Oliver?”

“Thank you, Christian.”

Christian held up his fist and Oliver bumped it, then they both made an explosion with their fingers. “It’s cool, little dude. We’ll do it again next time, okay? If you come earlier, we can spend more time on the ice. Maybe even find you a pair of skates to try.”

“Figure skates?” asked Oliver enthusiastically.

Callum was about to agree, but Christian shook his head. “No, I think we should start you in hockey skates. They’re much easier to learn in. I’m sure your—er, Callum, will be able to find you some that fit.”

Oliver looked up at him with big eyes. Who the hell was capable of saying no to that?

“Sure, Ollie. We’ll get you some tomorrow, okay? Right now we have to go visit Mike and Alexei.” As a consolation prize, Callum knew it would be a winner.

“Okay!” Oliver agreed, tucking his head under Rupert’s chin and smiling serenely, like everything in his world was perfect.

“Right, back to work now, Christian,” Mark said briskly. “Your father will be here any minute.”

The reminder had two immediate effects: The light and laughter drained from Christian’s eyes, and Rupert plunked down on the bench and practically tore his skates off.

Or maybe three immediate effects, because now Callum really wanted to punch something.

Callum held Oliver’s hand in his and threw Rupert’s bag over his shoulder while Rupert pulled on his shoes. In the blink of an eye, perfectly pressed Rupert was back.

“Looking good, duchess.”

“Thank you,” Rupert said dryly, leading the way out of the rink and to Callum’s car.

The trip to the address Alexei had given Callum was quick, but once they arrived, he stopped the car so all three of them could stare up at the huge ugly warehouse.

“Ummm, so, this is unexpected,” Rupert said slowly.

Callum checked his phone again. “This is the right place,” he said with a frown. He held up a garage door opener. “Alexei gave me this and said it would get us in.”

He pressed the button and the massive cargo doors parted before them.

“This is so cool!” Oliver declared.

Callum and Rupert shared a long look before they pulled inside and parked next to Alexei’s truck, its presence somehow reassuring and yet
not.

What the hell was this place?

Rupert eyed the cavernous space, keenly aware of the door trundling shut behind them, sealing out a lot of the light. There were a few dim bulbs lighting a path to what looked to be a freight elevator in one corner. The only other things in the space, which would have easily fit a dozen eighteen wheelers with their trailers attached, were Mike and Alexei’s vehicles.

“Okay, seriously, do you think Alexei is pranking us?” Callum asked.

Rupert huffed out a weak laugh and climbed from the car, feeling decidedly wrong-footed. He hated unexpected changes to his plans, and Callum turning up at the rink and bringing them here was a double whammy. Rupert took a deep breath, distracted for a moment by a growing concern that he stank to high heaven after a long training session with Christian. He took a moment to dig through his bag in the back seat and apply a copious amount of deodorant.

“What?” he groused when Callum smirked at him.

“Nothing.”

Rupert threw his deodorant back in his bag and took another deep breath to make sure he smelled better. He should have gone back to the hotel for a quick shower after leaving the rink, but that would have taken more time, and the quicker solution simply wasn’t possible.

Rupert didn’t shower at the rink. Any rink. Ever.

Shaking off those grim thoughts, Rupert looked around while Callum released Oliver from his car seat.

The floor was concrete, in good condition but covered in a film of dirt, as one would expect in a garage, even a super bizarre one like this. There were high windows, too grimy to let in much light, and more massive doors along the far wall, though if Rupert wasn’t mistaken, those would lead almost directly into the river. A single man-sized door with a light above was to the side, presumably exiting onto another street or alleyway.

“I have no idea what this place is,” Rupert admitted, “but I’m not overly excited at the prospect of living here.”