Home and Away (27 page)

His wandering thoughts were interrupted by the press of a cold, slick finger behind his balls. He shivered all over, eagerly pushing down against that pressure.

“Is this okay?” Rupert asked in the space of a breath between torturous sucks.

“Yeah. Yes. Please, don’t stop.”

The cool finger drew downward, tracing the seam of skin there, until it pressed gently against his hole. Then it circled, not pushing, never retreating.

Callum whined deep in his throat. “
Please
.”

The tip of one finger eased into him and Callum jerked in reaction, trying to anchor himself to the bed with his feet. A cool hand on his ankle stayed his frantic thrashing, pulling until his foot was planted on one of Rupert’s widespread thighs. The other foot did the same without assistance. His knees fell open shamelessly.

A lifetime of butterfly stretches paid off tenfold.

He stopped wondering how he’d felt exposed before, and what might take it to the next level. The possibilities seemed infinite now. There was no room for modesty, or any hesitation, as it all would have been bullshit.

This was what he wanted. This was what he’d wanted for such a long time, he’d stopped letting himself think about it. He hadn’t even let himself do this alone, forcing himself to stick to a specific regimen of hand-on-dick and a mental spank bank filled with images that didn’t include dreams of being laid open, laid bare, and fucked properly.

He arched his back to shove his ass down on Rupert’s slick, narrow finger.

Rupert’s mouth left his cock with a gasp. “Callum,” he groaned.

Callum whimpered, trying to memorize the feeling of being penetrated, at last, the gentle stretch, the tug on his rim as Rupert’s knuckle passed through him. His hips kicked in a circle, the press of Rupert’s finger along his walls amazing and not enough. He slid up the sheets and grunted in frustration, throwing one hand above his head as an anchor against the headboard.

Better. He thrust himself back down, shoving Rupert’s finger deeper. “More,” he pleaded. “Please, Rupert, I need…”

“Jesus Christ,” Rupert gasped, his lips brushing against Callum’s thigh.

The lube bottle made a rude noise and then a second fingertip tested his rim, pressing here and there. It felt delicious and wild, and it was not what he wanted. He shoved at the headboard again, his other hand tight in Rupert’s hair, and pushed down, slowly, counting on Rupert to hold still as he forced himself onto two fingers.

 “Jesus Christ,” Rupert whispered again.

Callum was ruined, panting, teasing himself with the tug of Rupert’s knuckles popping in and out of his body as his hips moved in tiny circles. The tension in his belly, his balls, was crawling slowly up his spine.

“Yes, that’s…shit, that’s amazing. God,
Rupert
, please. What…how do I…oh god, I’m going to come. I
need
to come.”

“Shhh…” Rupert soothed, murmuring against his thigh, nuzzling at his balls and the base of his shaft. “I’ve got you.”

Callum tried to take a deep breath, but all he could think or feel or know was the stretch of Rupert’s fingers in his ass, the hot gusts of Rupert’s breath across his balls. Rupert’s soft hair tickled his thigh, then was gone, the protest hovering on Callum’s lips cut off when Rupert’s perfect, beautiful mouth sealed around his cock and sucked until his cheeks hollowed out.

Callum groaned, the sound torn from deep in his gut, then choked off when Rupert’s fingers thrust deep. He took up a rhythm, one Callum couldn’t hope to follow or work around or with or whatever the hell he was supposed to do. His head spun, each push of Rupert’s hand punching another sound from his chest.

Rupert’s other hand wrapped around Callum’s cock, so that Rupert’s lips met his hand on every downward suck, and preventing Callum’s thrashing hips from forcing himself too far down Rupert’s throat.

Then Rupert did something, something that even the Master Class would never have prepared Callum for. On the next thrust in, Rupert’s fingertips hit something fucking magical deep inside Callum, and his whole world fell apart.

“Rupert, oh god, oh god, fuck, fuck
fuck!”

Rupert did it again.

Callum’s orgasm tore through him. It was like his first NHL shut-out, winning an Olympic medal, and having his heart broken, all at once. Then his mind went white.

He returned to consciousness slowly, wondering how long he’d been out. When he pried his eyes open, he found Rupert propped above him on one arm, staring down at him with concern, and something Callum couldn’t place until he followed the line of Rupert’s arm down to where he had a hand clamped around his own cock, the shiny head so red it looked painful.

Callum really wanted to do something about that, but when he went to move, all he could manage was to weakly flap one hand against the bed.

“Jesus Christ, I think you broke me,” he said weakly, his voice hoarse.

Rupert’s chuckle was pained. “Sorry?” he said without an ounce of sincerity. He was panting, his cheeks red, eyes bright as they looked down at Callum. His eyes fluttered shut when he ran his hand up his shaft.

“What do you want me to do?” Callum croaked, looking down at Rupert’s cock.

Rupert curled in on himself and gasped, his hand moving faster. “I can’t…wait. I have to…”

“Yeah, do it,” Callum groaned, finally finding enough strength to press a hand to Rupert’s side, pulling him higher. “Come on me. Ruin me properly.”

Rupert whimpered above him, trying to crawl up the bed at Callum’s urging.

Callum didn’t have nearly enough brain power left to apply a filter, and he didn’t think he needed one anyway. “I liked it when you came on my face.”

Rupert jerked, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into his fist and onto Callum’s chest and collar bones. Rupert’s hand kept going, milking himself through it brutally, until a high whine was forced up from his chest.

“Jesus, Rupert,” Callum said as Rupert collapsed down on the bed and against Callum’s side. Callum wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer, and waited while Rupert slowly came back to himself.

“For future reference,” Rupert mumbled against his chest some time later, “if you want me to come on your face, don’t tell me until I’m in range.”

Callum, still high and fucked out and utterly content, chuckled. “I’ll put that in my class notes.”

Rupert hummed, nuzzling in closer to Callum’s chest. “You do that.”

Rupert stood in his kitchen and scowled at Callum. And Jack. And Alexei and Mike and Reese. Hell, even Oliver.

They all scowled back.

“You’re not going alone,” Callum said for at least the tenth time.

Everyone except Rupert nodded in agreement.

“I must,” Rupert insisted. “I told Christian I would go with him to speak with his father. I’m sure this will not be made any easier for him, or his idiot father, if I bring a throng of protectors along with me.”

Even if it kind of made Rupert want to hug everyone present.

“Rupert,” Reese began in his most diplomatic, ergo most irritating, voice. “The man punched you in the face. You still look like shit!”

“Yes, thank you for that,” Rupert said.

“Rupert, listen to your pretend boyfriend,” Alexei cajoled, because he was a total douchebag, even if Rupert did love him a little for trying to protect him. “You’re going to see that Christian is safe. The first and best way you can do that is if you’re also safe
.
”

And top marks to Alexei for hitting on an argument Rupert couldn’t defeat.
Shit.

“I don’t know why I should listen to you,” Rupert said to Alexei, stalling. “I was having a perfectly lovely evening last night until I realized you had short-sheeted my bed.”

Alexei grinned, utterly unrepentant. Mike rolled his eyes.

Rupert sighed. “Fine. What do you propose, then? I’m not bringing you lot. Not all of you, anyway.”

“I’ll go,” Callum said firmly. Rupert knew that expression. There would be little use in arguing.

Reese nodded, but didn’t volunteer, which was a relief. He was already the one on stand-by with a battalion of lawyers, should they be needed.

“John Shaw likes hockey. Maybe Alexei and I should go. He might be willing to listen to us?” Mike suggested.

Rupert frowned. That might work, actually.

“I have a better idea,” declared Jack, who’d been dragged into this fiasco just this morning when Callum had called to tell him he wouldn’t be able to do their walk-through and why.

Jack had arrived twenty minutes later.

“I have a friend, Grady,” Jack continued. “He’s a Mountie. I’m pretty sure he has the day off. I could ask him if he’d be willing to go?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about bringing a complete stranger,” Rupert said, trying to weigh the options.

“Think about it,” Jack said. “John Shaw isn’t going to assault you, or Christian, with a member of the RCMP standing right there. And if, god forbid, he does, you can’t ask for a better witness, right? And he’s dealt with a bunch of stuff like this. He’ll know what to do. And say. And worse comes to worse, he can always arrest John on the spot.”

“Will he have any issues with the fact that I’m gay? That Christian wishes to come out to his father?”

“None,” Jack said confidently.

“How can you be sure?”

Jack hesitated, looking around as if to assess his audience. His lips quirked. “He’s friends with me, isn’t he?”

Mike sighed dramatically and pulled out his wallet to slap a fifty-dollar bill into Alexei’s hand.

“
Really
, you two?” Rupert asked.

Jack ignored them, to his credit. “So, should I call Grady?”

Rupert looked to Callum, who lifted his eyebrows, as if to say, “It’s your call.”

Which was how, two hours later, Rupert ended up in the back seat of Callum’s rental car with Christian, while Callum and Grady, whose legs were approximately two miles long, sat up front.

“Thank you again for this, Officer McDonnough,” Rupert said.

The tall, lanky man—he rather reminded Rupert of a cowboy—looked over his shoulder and smiled. “It’s Grady, and I’m happy to help.”

Indeed, he’d agreed immediately when Jack had asked. And based on the smile he’d bestowed on Jack, and the way his eyes had tracked Jack around Rupert’s apartment, it wasn’t that hard to work out why he was so willing.

“That’s my house,” Christian said quietly. “The yellow one on the left.”

Callum pulled up in front of a modest two-story on a quiet street in a development of similar homes, though in this case, the faded paint and unruly lawn made the Shaw house stand out amongst its neighbors. Rupert wasn’t surprised, so much as sad. He and Callum had spoken to Christian last night, and again this morning, about his home. His father. Christian had nothing but happy memories of the time his mother was still alive, even though she had been battling cancer for as long as he could remember. Ultimately she had managed ten years with her son. After that, though, nothing had been quite right in Christian’s world, and it had only gotten worse over time.

Rupert turned to Christian. “Are you still okay with this?”

“Yeah,” Christian said. Rupert wished Christian sounded more confident, looked less frightened and pale. But then again, he was only twelve.

God’s truth, Rupert was terrified, and he had a few more years than that under his belt.

“You’re to stay in the car, right?” Rupert reminded Christian and Callum.

They both nodded, Callum more reluctantly, while Rupert and Grady climbed from the car.

Gabriel had spoken to Christian’s father just this morning, confirming Rupert and Christian would be here at this hour.

Rupert knocked. For a long time, nothing happened. A good two minutes later the door shook violently, then swung open to reveal John.

“
You did this!”
he growled, reaching for Rupert.

Rupert stumbled back, almost tumbling down the stairs. Every instinct he had screamed at him to run away, to go back the safety of the car and Callum.

Grady stopped John cold, a long hand clamped around his arm, holding him still. The easy-going cowboy was gone, replaced by a fiercely intimidating cop.

“Sir, I’m officer Grady McDonnough of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. If you assault this man, I will have you arrested and charged, do you understand?”

John appeared to consider his options. The sound of a car door opening reached Rupert, but he didn’t move, his eyes locked on John. Grady, however, looked over his shoulder and shook his head once. The car door closed again.

John yanked his arm from Grady’s grasp and Rupert twitched, almost giving in and making a break for it.

“Come in, then,” John muttered, stomping back into his house and leaving the door wide open for them to follow. Rupert’s heart was pounding so hard, he thought Grady might be able to hear it, but he walked calmly into the house.

“Where’s my son?” John demanded as soon as they entered the living room, his face red, eyes bright. Rupert couldn’t tell if he was inebriated, or so hung over from the night before that the smell had lingered.

“He’s in the car, sir,” Grady said.

“I want to see him.”

“Not until I know it will be safe,” Grady returned.

John threw up his hands and hurled himself into his recliner. “What the hell do you want me to say? I’ve never laid a hand on the boy.”

And that, thank god, was mostly true. Christian had said the same, but that didn’t actually make it safe. “I’d like to talk to you about Christian,” Rupert said, going for professional and collected even though inside he was a slowly devolving mess. He sat gingerly on the couch.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Yes, well, Christian asked me to speak with you. On his behalf,” Rupert explained.

“I don’t know why he can’t just tell me whatever he needs to himself. I didn’t raise him to be a coward.”

Rupert had to work his jaw a few times before he could speak. Rupert’s job, his primary goal, was to try to reconcile the Shaw men, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and no matter how unlikely it seemed.

“He’d like to come home,” Rupert said, though that wasn’t entirely true. Not as home stood now. “He is worried, though, that you will force him to remain in his room for days, again. And that you might become violent.”

Rupert had hoped this would be the point John would gasp with horror and express his extreme disgust at the very notion.

No such luck.

“And why does he think that?” John asked instead, his mouth settling into a cruel twist.

“Because he believes he might be gay,” Rupert said evenly, his stomach churning. Christian had asked him to be the one to tell his father. Had specifically requested Rupert, above Gabriel, or Callum, or even the far-more-intimidating Grady.

John stood slowly. “Is that so?”

Rupert rose as well. Grady remained leaning against the doorframe, for all the world appearing unconcerned, except that he’d gone unnaturally still.

“Yes, that is so,” Rupert replied. “He’d like to know that’s something you can accept. That he won’t be punished for it, should it prove to be true.”

“You did this. You did this to him. Made him think there‘s something wrong with him.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I think you know that very little has actually changed about your son in the few weeks since we met. And he does not believe there is anything
wrong
with him. He thinks he may be gay.”

“Same thing,” John snapped.

“It is not the same thing,” Rupert said as calmly as he could manage, but the frustration, his growing ire, was translated in the shake of his voice and his hands. “There is nothing wrong with being gay, John.”

“You would say that, the way you prance around, surrounding yourself with perfectly respectable hockey players for your own entertainment and filthy imagination.”

Rupert laughed, shocked by the sound. “Is that what you think? How bizarre.”

John’s face darkened. “I want to see my son. I want to hear him tell me himself that he thinks…that he would dare…”

“Be gay?” Rupert asked.

“Yes!”

Rupert looked at Grady, not sure of the right thing to do. He didn’t want Christian exposed to his own father’s bigotry, but it was unavoidable. If they couldn’t find a way to make this house safe for him, then they’d need as much proof as possible that it wasn’t.

Grady frowned, but nodded once. Rupert pulled out his phone.

Callum answered immediately. “You okay?”

Since no honest answer to that question was likely to help, Rupert stuck to the script. If John had proven open to hearing Christian out, to supporting him, Rupert was to have said, “Christian’s father wants to see him.” Instead, he said, “Please bring Christian inside.”

“Oh no,” Callum sighed.

Rupert ached at the disbelief in Callum’s voice. Even after all they’d heard and seen, Callum couldn’t fathom a world where a parent wouldn’t love their child unconditionally. How odd that Callum had never believed a friend or team mate might offer the same support if he told them the truth about his sexuality. How could a man be so sure of his family’s love, and so completely distrusting of anyone else’s?

The front door opened, and Christian, followed by Callum, entered the room. Callum’s eyes immediately went to Rupert, searching him from head to foot as if looking for damage.

“
You?
” John said incredulously.

Rupert turned, prepared to defend himself again. His heart sank when he realized John was focused entirely on Callum.

“Mr. Shaw,” Callum said, his voice clipped, his game face on. He stood at Christian’s back, a hand on his shoulder, his support unwavering.

“Are you a faggot, too, then?” John asked.

Callum flinched, his hand clenching briefly on Christian’s shoulder, and Rupert realized too late that he’d put Callum in a terrible position. He opened his mouth to issue the denial, to take one lie off Callum’s already bent shoulders, but it was too late.

“I am not,” Callum said woodenly.

“This is hardly the point of this meeting. Nor relevant,” Rupert said severely. “We’re here to make sure you won’t hurt your son.”

John’s focus swung back to Rupert. “How dare you!”

“I dare because I care about your son. I need to know he’ll be safe and properly cared for. That is why we are all here.”

John pinned poor Christian with a glare. “Is it true? Did you tell these people some bullshit about you being one of
them
?”

Christian stared, eyes wide and unblinking, at his father. “It’s not bullshit, Dad. I think…”

He swallowed hard, and Rupert’s chest tightened to the point he could hardly breathe. Callum looked sick, his complexion waxy. Coming out could be hard, even to people you trusted. Even when you were an adult. This—this wasn’t something anyone should have to endure. Rupert would do anything to spare Christian from this moment if he could.

“You think? You think what?” John demanded. “Can’t lie to my face, is that it?”

Christian swallowed again, but his chin came up. “I think I might be gay.”

“You
think?
You
might?
” John echoed in disbelief.

Christian edged back, until his shoulders touched Callum’s chest. “I’m twelve,” he said in a small voice.

They’d talked about this, about how Christian was young and didn’t have to decide anything right now. Or ever, for that matter. It was enough that he was asking the question. That he thought he knew the answer.

It was patently obvious that wasn’t enough for John. “I want you out of my house. All of you!”

Rupert edged toward the door, toward Callum and Christian, eager to comply.

John lunged for Christian, clutching his arm until the skin went white beneath his fingers. “Not you. You can go to your room,” he hissed furiously, dragging the boy from Callum’s grasp.

“Dad, no!” Christian shouted, trying to free himself. Grady rushed forward but John jerked to the side, forcing Christian to stumble with him. The panic on Christian face, his frightened cry, broke something in Rupert. He flung between Christian and his father, uncaring if John hurt him. He hardly felt the blows to his shoulder and ribs as he fought John’s grip on Christian. Finally, Rupert pried John’s little finger loose and bent it back viciously.

John yowled with pain and let go. Rupert shoved Christian behind him and walked backwards until Christian was safely pressed between Rupert’s back and Callum’s chest.

Grady wrenched John’s arm behind his back. John fought to come at them anyway, but Grady held firm.