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The world doesn’t want four ragtag, misfit guys with nothing except each other, a shithole house, and a big, smelly dog. But here we are. And we’re not sorry.
“Look at me, Dallas.”
“Who touched you?”
“Tell. Me. Who. Fucking. Touched. You,”
“But you had to transition, right? You’re you. You’re Dallas.”
“I just don’t understand why some people are born with the soul of one person and the body of another, and then get punished for it their whole lives.”
“Beck…” His name means so many things to me. I yelp it when I’m about to slip and fall in the woods, so he can grab my hand. I mumble it into his chest when I’ve had a terrible day and need to watch TV together in his bed. Sometimes I hum it soothingly when he’s getting too loud and frustrated, so that he’ll look in my eyes and take a deep breath. Right now, I don’t know what I’m saying.
But I do know one thing. I turn my face toward him, my cheek brushing his forehead. “You never fucking leave me again. Understand?”
“Pretty boy,”
“You ever kissed someone?”
“...
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“Good.”
Mine, Dallas. Dallas, mine.
“Hey, maybe this lady has always wanted to adopt a giant, ugly, white son.”
"This time it's yours. Show me what happens if I forget who I belong to."
"Then run."
Mine. Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. Mine.
It hurt so fucking much to cry for him. The last time I cried was when my dad pawned Mom's ring. I remembered that feeling tonight, when something I needed like oxygen got ripped out of my hands. But everything's going to be alright. Dal told me I didn't have to be good anymore. He told me I could let it out.
"Spread for me." I kick at his ankles with my sneaker, pushing them apart. "Show me my hole."
I love talking sweet to him. He deserves every good word in the world. But I can feel in his body how much he loves this, too.
He told me the pressure and being used feels good, even without a prostate, so I use him as hard as I want without touching his cock at all. He has to stuff his fist in his mouth again to shut himself up.
He’s mine, and I’m his. This man claims me just as viciously and single-mindedly and selfishly as I claim him, he just does it in a quieter, more elegant way.
My cum slips out of him right before his orgasm hits, dripping down onto the muddy bumper of the car. I use it as lube to push two fingers back inside him and stretch him out as I keep sucking.
"Did I just drip cum on someone's car?"
"Beckham Alexander. You're the only thing in my whole life that's always felt right, from the very start. You're the reason I get out of bed in the morning and go out in the world and try my best. Everything I do is so that I can come home and see your smile again. Sometimes I think love is too small of a word for us. But I don't have a bigger one, so I love you."
