Textual Confusion

12. Is Big Daddys daddy as hot as he is?

CHAPTER TWELVE

IS BIG DADDY'S DADDY AS HOT AS HE IS?

Asher was nervous.

He got butterflies in his tummy sometimes when he was feeling anxious, but this felt more like dragons fiercely flapping their wings against his tender insides.

It was honestly 50/50 whether he was going to puke.

Then there was the fact that his lips were chapped from chewing on them, and he couldn’t stop bouncing his left leg.

He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like he and Markus were actually boyfriends. What did it matter if his parents didn’t like him?

(Asher really wanted them to like him.)

Apparently, Markus’s parents – Abram and Margaret Kingston – lived out on Mercer Island. It was only about an hour’s drive from Asher’s apartment, where Markus had picked him up a short while ago, but it felt like it was taking forever to get there as Asher struggled not to catastrophize.

What if Markus’s parents didn’t think he was good enough for their son?

Worse, what if they took one look at him in his off-brand clothes and worn boots and assumed he was a gold digger?

I mean, technically, you are a gold digger, a voice in his head pointed out.

…Oh God, he was gold digger.

A warm hand suddenly palmed Asher’s thigh, serving the dual purpose of forcing his leg to stay still and pulling Asher from his spiraling thoughts.

“Relax,” Markus said. “You’re making me anxious. And trust me, that’s a difficult feat to accomplish.”

“Sorry,” Asher offered. “I’m just a little nervous, I guess.” A blatant understatement.

“Would it help to talk about it?” Markus asked.

“I’m not sure,” Asher answered honestly.

“Well, is there anything in particular that you’re worried about?”

Mostly, that the man’s parents would disapprove of Markus’s relationship with Asher. (Not that the relationship was real .) It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have good reason. Sure, Asher was okay looking, but he didn’t have much else going for him. He was poor, and he worked at a café for a living.

Then there was the fact he was a man.

Asher glanced at Markus, glad he was focused on the road so he couldn’t chide him for the way he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Markus was driving for once, since he’d given Nigel the weekend off to celebrate Thanksgiving with his own family. (Asher had been surprised when he’d shown up at his apartment in a vehicle he’d never seen before, a Cadillac instead of the Rolls Royce that Nigel usually lugged them around in. Though he wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He already knew Markus owned multiple vehicles.)

But back to the matter at hand…

“Have you told your parents that I’m a man?” Asher asked hesitantly.

“I mentioned it when I called to let them know I was bringing a date.”

“And they weren’t upset?” Asher sought clarification.

Markus glanced at him, giving his leg a comforting squeeze. “They weren’t upset, or even surprised,” he assured. “They know I’ve had liaisons with men before.”

Asher wanted to point out that having “ liaisons ” with men was hardly the same thing as bringing one home for Thanksgiving, but he decided to keep that thought to himself. “What am I supposed to say if they ask how we met?” he asked instead. “I mean, we can’t exactly tell them that you sexted me, thinking I was the sugar baby you hired, and that we ended up having such good phone sex that you decided to hire me as stress relief instead-”

Another squeeze to his thigh, this one a little rougher, had Asher snapping his mouth shut mid-rant.

“Don’t refer to yourself as stress relief,” Markus ordered, voice firm. “We both know you’re much more than that. As for my parents, we’ll tell them the truth: that we met at the Halloween gala – the one your friend, Danny, brought you to. They don’t need to know any other details, so don’t stress yourself out overthinking things, okay?”

Easier said than done, but Asher nodded, attempting to swallow down his doubts. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, they arrived. And, of course, Markus’s parents’ house wasn’t a “house” at all; it was a goddamn mansion. It was huge. Asher counted three stories, and even spotted a frickin’ steeple. Somehow it was a perfect mash of classic and modern, with peach-colored siding, a mansard roof, and lots of windows.

The house was located near the water, and Asher could see what he was pretty sure was a yacht docked out back.

He didn’t know why he was so surprised.

If he had put any thought at all into where Markus’s parents lived, this made perfect sense. (That seemed to be a problem for Asher lately – not thinking.)

Still, after gaping at the waterfront property for a solid minute as Markus made his way around the circular drive to park near the garage, he turned his wide eyes onto Markus and hissed, “You failed to mention the fact that your parents live in a frickin’ castle.”

Markus only shot him an amused glance as he put his car into park. “What can I say? They always wanted a big place to fill with grandchildren.” He bent over the middle console and kissed Asher on the nose. “I hope you’re pro-adoption,” he quipped, hoisting himself out of the vehicle and leaving Asher to sputter.

He managed to mostly compose himself by the time Markus had grabbed their bags from the back and walked around the vehicle to open Asher’s door for him. “That wasn’t funny,” he muttered as he got out, holding the pecan pie he’d made for the occasion tightly to his chest.

“You just think that because you didn’t see the look on your face.”

Asher pouted. “Have you always been this mean?” he asked. “I feel like you used to be nicer to me.”

“Sweetheart, I’m nicer to you than I am to anyone else in this world.”

Asher had enough experience with the man (plus the stories he heard from Danny) to know that was probably true. As heartwarming as that thought was, however, it wasn’t enough to stop Asher’s nerves from making a reappearance as they approached the front door of the mansion house.

Asher half-expected to be greeted by a maid or butler when they rang the doorbell. Instead, before they’d even finished climbing the front steps, the door flew open and a blur of pastel pink shot out and threw itself ( her self) into Markus’s arms.

“Markus, baby! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. I’m so glad you’re here!”

“We had brunch a few weeks ago, Mom,” Markus pointed out drily, returning his mother’s embrace, nonetheless.

“That’s hardly the same thing! It was at your office, and you spent half the time I was there working!” she complained, finally releasing him from her clutches. It was then that she spotted Asher, standing awkwardly off to the side.

“And you must be Asher!” she greeted. She stepped towards him, like she was about to pull him into a hug as well. But she stopped when she spotted the pie in his hands. “What’s this?” she asked before turning to glare at her son. “Markus, you better not have made this poor boy think he had to bring something to be welcome here.”

“What?” he sputtered. “Of course I didn’t-”

As amusing as it was to watch Markus defend himself against his mother, Asher quickly interjected before she could scold him further. “I wanted to, ma’am,” Asher assured. “It’s just a pie, nothing fancy.”

“Please, call me Maggie,” Markus’s mother said, taking the pie from his hands, “and this was very thoughtful of you, Asher, truly. It looks delicious.” She herded them inside. “I’ll go put this in the kitchen with the rest of the food before showing you two to your room so you can unpack.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mom. I can just-”

“You haven’t brought anyone home in ages, Markus,” she interrupted sternly, wagging a finger at him. “Let me have this.”

“I’m sorry,” Markus offered as soon as she was out of earshot. “I know she can be a little overbearing. If you’re uncomfortable, I can tell her to tone it down.”

“No,” Asher immediately denied, shaking his head. “It’s nice. She’s nice.” Asher had been scared he’d have to contend with some rich, snobby woman who looked down her nose at him all weekend. And, sure, Maggie was obviously rich, but she also seemed extremely nice, and she treated Markus (and by extension, Asher) how he imagined mothers who actually cared about their sons treated them. Shaking off that depressing thought, Asher added, “Makes me wonder how you turned out the way you did.”

Markus raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Trust me, I ask myself the same thing,” Maggie piped up, nearly causing Asher to jump out of his skin when she suddenly reappeared.

“Oh, um…” Asher choked on his words, face beet red at having been caught insulting her son. (Even if she apparently agreed with him.)

Markus merely shook his head. “I regret introducing the two of you already,” he said, wrapping a reassuring arm around Asher’s waist. “You were going to show us to our room?” he reminded his mother.

Maggie nodded, leading them on a brief tour of the ground floor (there was a drawing room and a piano room, Asher was never giving up the castle comparison) before leading them up a sprawling, double staircase.

“Your cast- I mean, your home is beautiful, Maggie,” he offered as they reached the second floor. He wasn’t even just saying that to suck up. Given its size, Asher feared it’d be museum-ish on the inside, filled with trinkets meant to be seen and not touched. But it was actually very warm and inviting. “I especially liked the paintings in the piano room.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Maggie said, taken off guard, but obviously pleased. “I wish that beau of yours had the same good manners.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “I literally grew up here, Mom.”

“Still, you didn’t even comment on the new paint color in the lounge! Anyway, here we are. The last room down the east wing.”

That’s right. Their house had wings .

Maggie opened the door and ushered them inside what was a large bedroom. A big, four poster bed pushed up against the back wall took up the majority of the space, but there was also your typical bedroom furniture – a dresser, armoire, and pair of nightstands.

“This used to be Markus’s childhood bedroom,” Maggie explained. “Creature of habit that he is, he always insists upon staying here when he visits.”

Markus glowered. “I’m standing right here, Mom.”

“Anyway, Asher,” she said, ignoring her son, “now that you’ve seen where Markus is staying, I’ll show you to your room.”

Asher froze, taken off guard. He and Markus… were going to stay in separate rooms? Were Markus’s parents super religious and the man had forgotten to tell him? Or maybe they weren’t as accepting of gay relationships as Markus had made it seem.

He glanced at Markus, a bit of panic in his eyes.

Markus, however, wasn’t looking at him. He was too busy huffing at his mother. “Mom,” he complained, “stop teasing him.”

Maggie smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she patted Asher’s head. “Sorry, darling. I couldn’t resist. Of course, I expect you and Markus to room together. A little warning, though, this room in particular tends to get drafty at night. You might need to find creative ways to… keep each other warm,” she finished, winking at him.

Asher doubted staying warm would be an issue. After all, he was pretty sure the amount of heat radiating from his face at the moment was enough to rival a furnace.

Maggie spotted his splotchy cheeks and actually cooed at him, pinching one gently between her fingers. “Oh my gosh, Markus, do you see this? What an absolute doll.”

“Mom, give him some space, would you?” Markus ordered, sounding truly annoyed for the first time as he stepped between them, forcing her to release the hold she had on Asher.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she offered in succession, the second apology directed towards Asher as she peeked around her son’s shoulder. “I’m just so pleased that my son has brought home such a sweet young man for us to meet.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to get settled. We’ll eat in an hour or so.”

It wasn’t until after she waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself, that Asher felt the tension in his shoulders sag a little. As sweet as Markus’s mom seemed, she was also a lot , and Asher didn’t know her well enough to be completely comfortable in her presence yet.

“Still think my mom is nice?” Markus teased as Asher unpacked the various clothes and toiletries he’d thrown in his overnight bag for the weekend.

“She is nice,” Asher asserted, “I’m just… you know, not used to it.”

Markus’s eyebrows shot up to nearly his hairline. “You’re not used to people being nice to you? Who exactly do I need to have a chat with here? Your friends? Co-workers? Boss?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Asher denied, shaking his head. (Although the thought of Markus and Mr. Brittle having a confrontation was entertaining.) Asher just wasn’t used to mother figures, in particular, being nice to him. Sure, Danny’s mom had always been kind to him growing up, but she’d been sick for a while now and hardly recognized Danny most days, let alone Asher. Then there was Trent’s mother, who’d always held Asher at arm’s length, never really approving of his relationship with her son and treating Asher coldly because of it.

As for his own mother, well… she knew how to be nice to Asher when she wanted something from him, but that was about it.

“What did you mean then?” Markus demanded.

“Nothing,” Asher said quickly, hating the sight of the concerned wrinkle in Markus’s brow. “Don’t worry about it.”

It didn’t matter, anyway. It didn’t seem like Asher had anything to fret about when it came to Markus’s mother. Maggie practically exuded motherly energy, and she seemed genuinely happy and accepting of Asher’s relationship with her son.

Except, of course, there was no relationship. Not one outside of the sex-in-exchange-for-money equation, anyway. And Asher was lying to her about it.

Feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, Asher rubbed his tummy with one of his hands.

Markus, somehow able to sense his dismay, took Asher’s other hand into his own. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Asher managed to croak, ripping his hand out of Markus’s grip. “Just a stomachache. Is there an ensuite bathroom?”

Despite the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, Markus gestured towards a door, and Asher hurried over to it.

Asher was used to fancy marble floors and enormous vanities with equally large mirrors from staying over at Markus’s penthouse so often, so he didn’t spare his extravagant surroundings a glance as he made his way over to the toilet. Instead, as soon as he was sitting on the lid, he pulled out his phone.

He wasn’t surprised to see a handful of missed texts from Sasha. She knew how nervous he’d been about meeting Markus’s parents and was probably checking up on him.

Sasha

So… how is meeting the parents going?

Is Big Daddy’s daddy as hot as he is?

Because I gotta admit, I see you rocking this sugar baby thing, and I’ve been considering giving it a go.

Asher snorted at his friend’s antics, appreciating the distraction from the nerves (and guilt) threatening to eat him alive.

I want to be a supportive friend and all, but there’s a teensy-weensy problem with your plan.

Ugh. Don’t tell me his dad’s got that weird hair that grows out of old people’s ears and noses. I can handle a beer belly and a butter face but not that.

I don’t know how Markus’s dad looks like! I was going to say you love Danny. That that’s the problem.

Pretty sure Danny would be okay with it for ten grand a week.

Hell, I’m pretty sure Danny would be down to fuck Big Daddy’s daddy for ten grand a week.

Well, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to give up the lurid fantasies you have of your boyfriend fucking my sugar daddy’s dad. I haven’t met him yet, but Markus’s mom is a total MILF. He’d be a fool to cheat on her.

Most men are fools. No offense. And, anyway, how would you know that she’s a MILF? You’re gay.

Just because I like dicks, doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when a woman is attractive!

Does that mean you think I’m attractive?

You’re beautiful, Sasha.

Right back at ya, babe.

Hey, you think Big Daddy’s mommy would be down to get herself a sugar baby?

I’m hanging up now.

But we’re not even actually talking!

Don’t care. The point stands.

You know I was just kidding about the sugar baby thing… right?

Mostly, anyway.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Everything okay in there?”

Asher’s eyes darted to the door.

“Be out in a second!” he called, stuffing his phone back into his pocket before flushing the toilet and washing his hands to make it seemed like he’d actually used the bathroom for its intended purpose.

He didn’t expect to be accosted by Markus the second he stepped out of the room, the man crowding him against the door and bracketing him between his arms. Asher blinked up at him in alarm. “Is everything alright?”

Markus was still frowning. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said. “You don’t seem quite like yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Asher insisted. “Just, you know, a little nervous to be meeting your parents.”

Markus tilted his head to the side. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

Asher pressed his lips together in an effort to stop himself from blabbing the truth.

That he hated they were lying to Markus’s family about being in a real relationship.

Lie all you want to the man’s parents, but don’t lie to yourself, Asher’s inner voice scolded. You’re not just upset because you’re lying to Markus’s parents about the authenticity of your relationship. You’re upset because you want to be in a real relationship with him.

Unreasonably nervous that Markus would somehow be able to read his thoughts by looking into his eyes, Asher’s gaze fell to the floor.

Markus didn’t allow that, however, a finger curling under Asher’s chin and forcing him to look back up at him. “Do you remember my number one rule?” he asked.

Asher nibbled on his bottom lip. They hadn’t really talked about their arrangement in terms of “rules” before. “That you’re in charge?” he guessed.

“No, my number one rule is honesty,” Markus corrected, plucking Asher’s lip away from his teeth with a thumb. “Lying to me, especially about something as important as your well-being, would be grounds for punishment.”

Asher swallowed. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Markus stared him down for a long minute. “Okay,” he said after a while, pressing a kiss to Asher’s mouth. “I believe you.”

Asher’s belly churned with guilt.

Great. Now, not only was he actively lying to Markus’s parents and himself, he was lying to Markus, too.

Pushing that thought away, Asher allowed Markus to lead him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He forced some pep in his step and pasted a smile on his lips, hoping to ease some of Markus’s concerns by putting on a happy face.

When they arrived at their destination, which was apparently the dining room, Asher fought to keep the shock off his face as he took in the amount and variety of food on the table. There was roasted turkey and glazed ham, as well as over half a dozen sides: mashed potatoes and gravy, cheesy hash browns, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, creamed corn, broccoli and cauliflower salad, and cranberry sauce.

Everything looked and smelled delicious.

Asher turned his wide eyes onto Markus. “How many people are coming to dinner?” he asked.

“Just us.”

“Just us?” Asher repeated incredulously.

Markus pulled Asher to his side and squeezed. “I hope you enjoy leftovers.”

“Perfect timing!” Maggie exclaimed as she bustled into the room with yet more food. She placed the basket of dinner rolls she was holding on the table with the rest of the spread. “I was just going to call you two down to eat. Why don’t you have a seat while I fetch Abram?”

Like the rest of their home, the Kingston’s dining room was opulent. Sophisticated paintings lined the walls and the ornately carved table that served as the room’s center piece looked like it could easily seat ten or more people. As such, Asher had no idea where he was expected to sit.

Which is why he was relieved when Markus pulled a chair out and gestured for Asher to sit before taking the seat directly beside him.

Of course, he was hopping right back out of his seat a moment later when Markus’s mother reentered the room with her husband – Markus’s father – in tow.

“Hello, Sir,” Asher blurted, debating whether or not he should reach out to shake the man’s hand before deciding on an awkward bow instead. “I’m Asher. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Maggie cooed at him – again. “I told you he was a sweetheart,” she stage-whispered into her husband’s ear. As for Abram, Markus’s dad, he merely raised an eyebrow before turning to face Markus, who’d also risen from his seat. “I’m disappointed, son.”

Asher felt his stomach promptly fall out of his ass.

“What horrifying stories have you been telling this young man to make him so nervous to meet me?”

Markus snorted. “Nothing but the truth, I assure you.”

“Ignore him,” his father insisted, returning his attention to Asher, who was just relieved that man didn’t seem to hate him on first sight, after all. “It’s lovely to meet you, Asher. I’m looking forward to getting to know the person who’s managed to catch my son’s attention well enough to finally pull him away from work on occasion.”

Markus’s mother snorted. “As if you weren’t just as much of a workaholic when you were running the firm,” she scolded. “You’d have overworked yourself to death a decade ago if not for me.”

“Ah, yes, but I do have you,” Abram pointed out.

“And now I have Asher,” Markus declared, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“And we are tinkled pink about it,” Maggie assured. “Now, let’s sit and eat before the food gets cold.”

“Everything looks delicious, Maggie,” Asher offered as he once again took his seat.

She beamed at him. “Thank you, darling.”

“She didn’t make any of it,” Abram promptly revealed. “We have it catered every year.”

“I buttered the bread, I’ll have you know.”

Abram leaned towards Asher, like he was letting him in on a secret. “She can’t make toast without charring it. Nearly burned the house down once trying to make cookies. They weren’t even homemade, just the prepackaged ones.”

Maggie released an exaggerated gasp, holding a hand to her heart. “Betrayed by my own husband!”

Asher blinked. “Well, at least now I know who taught Markus how to cook.”

For a moment, it was silent, and Asher thought he may have overstepped. “I- I mean-”

Then they both burst into laughter.

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Markus complained even as Maggie offered a “ touché ” and dabbed amused tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Yes, well, now that Asher knows we have Valerie’s Catering Services to thank for the lovely meal, let’s say a prayer and dig in, shall we?”

Maggie nodded, and Asher awkwardly bowed his head as Abram thanked God for the meal. When he was finished, he invited everyone to eat.

Asher looked over the spread of food as Markus’s parents began loading their plates. It seemed dumb, but he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of it. Markus must have been able to sense his anxiety because a moment later, the man picked up his plate and began filling it for him.

Asher felt the tension drain from his shoulders.

He glanced over at the man’s parents, waiting for a comment, wondering if they thought it was weird, but Maggie merely pointed at the ham and insisted Markus make sure Asher try some. “I know that turkey is traditional, but the glazed ham is to die for.”

Markus set Asher’s plate in front of him.

“Thank you,” Asher murmured quietly.

Instead of verbally responding, Markus merely placed a hand on his thigh and gave it a comforting squeeze. He didn’t move the hand afterward.

Forcing himself to concentrate on the food on his plate and not the hand on his leg, Asher began to eat. Everything he put into his mouth was delicious, and he was content to sit quietly as Markus and his parents caught up.

But, of course, it wasn’t long until the conversation turned from small talk about the company and Maggie’s newest hobby – she’d taken up knitting, apparently – to Asher.

“Unfortunately, Markus hasn’t told us much about you, Asher,” Abram said bluntly. “He only mentioned you’ve been seeing each other for a month or so when he told us he’d be bringing you around for Thanksgiving. Tell us about yourself.”

Abram had been nothing but kind to Asher so far, and his tone was perfectly polite, but it was an order, and could be mistaken for nothing else. It was obvious that Markus’s father was a man who was used to being in charge, and if he was anything like his son, he tolerated nothing but respect and obedience from those around him.

“What would you like to know?” Asher asked, putting down his silverware to give the man his full attention.

“For starters, why don’t you tell us what do you do for a living?”

Asher stiffened. Now this was more like what he’d pictured when Markus had asked him to meet his parents. An interrogation.

“I’m a baker,” Asher said, keeping his face expressionless as he waited for Abram and Maggie’s reaction to the news. Asher wasn’t ashamed of his job. On the contrary, he loved baking and was proud of his ability to put a smile on someone’s face via sweet confections and desserts.

He just wasn’t sure a billionaire businessman would share the same sentiments.

“I work at a coffeeshop in downtown Seattle called Honeycomb Café. Plus, I cater on the side.” Asher added before pausing, unsure if he should include the next part considering he hadn’t even told Markus. “I hope to own my own storefront someday.”

“That’s very ambitious of you,” Abram commented.

To Asher’s relief, he didn’t ask how he planned on financing such a project. Mostly because the answer was having sex with his son for as long as Markus would have him.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“I think that’s lovely, dear,” Maggie added. “Baking is an art form if you ask me. And I would know, considering I’m a bit of an artist myself.”

“Really?” Asher asked, interest piqued. “What kind of art do you do?”

“She’s more of an art aficionado than an actual artist,” Abram cut in, waving a hand.

“Excuse me, but those ceramic vases I made during that pottery class last spring would beg to differ.”

Markus snorted. “Calling any of those aberrations a vase is a stretch,” he muttered.

Maggie glared at her son and husband alike before focusing her attention on Asher. “See what I have to put up with?” She shook her head. “Anyway, whether I’m good at it or not, I’ve always loved art. I’m actually part owner of The Connoisseur,” she added, gesturing at one of the paintings on the wall. “It’s where I commissioned this piece, and the ones in the piano room that you liked.”

Asher’s eyes widened. “You own The Connoisseur?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Maggie asked, seemingly tickled that Asher knew of the place.

“Of course! It’s only the most famous art gallery on the west coast. My best friend is an artist, and she loves the place.”

“An artist, huh? Well, I’m always on the lookout for new talent. What medium does she work with?”

“Sasha’s good at a lot of things,” Asher insisted, always willing to gush over his friend's talent. “She dabbles in drawing and photography, but painting is her specialty. Realism, mostly, but she does some abstract work, too.”

“You’ll have to introduce us. If she’s as good as you say, I’m sure I can find some space for her work at The Connoisseur.”

Asher blinked. “I - really?” he asked, a thrill of secondhand excitement shooting down his spine. Sasha would flip when he told her.

“Of course. We’ll plan a day for all three of us to meet for lunch – or supper, if that works better – before you leave tomorrow.”

Asher turned to Markus, who’d been suspiciously quiet throughout their conversation. “Is that okay?”

As excited as he was for this opportunity for Sasha, the last thing he wanted was Markus to think he was using him for his family’s connections. ( As opposed to using him for his money? Asher’s inner voice chimed in nastily, but he swatted it away.)

The hand on Asher’s leg gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Of course. Mother loves discovering new talent, and you’re always going on about how brilliant Sasha is.”

Relieved, Asher turned back to Maggie, who was waiting patiently for an answer. “Sasha and I would love to meet you for lunch sometime. Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing, darling,” Maggie assured. Her eyes lit up. “Perhaps you could invite your mother along as well. I’d love to meet the woman responsible for raising such a lovely young man.”

Asher felt his entire body, including his smile, suddenly turn to stone. He blinked, then licked his lips, forcing himself to speak. “Oh. That- that’s really nice of you, but my mother… she-” he struggled to explain.

Maggie released a horrified, little gasp, and Asher watched as understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Asher. It was terribly insensitive of me to assume that she was still with us.”

Except, like most people, she’d come to the wrong conclusion.

“She’s not dead,” Asher blurted.

Maggie frowned. “Oh. Does she live far away then?”

“I- yes,” Asher replied, feeling tongue-tied. “I mean, no, I think she still lives in the city. The last time I heard from her, she did, anyway. It’s just Lorraine and I – that’s my mom’s name – we aren’t exactly close.”

It must have been obvious how uncomfortable he was discussing the topic because Maggie hurriedly assured, “You don’t owe us an explanation, sweetie.”

She was right.

Asher didn’t owe them or anyone else an explanation over why he’d gone no contact with his mother. But he could feel Markus’s gaze burning a hole in the side of his head with the concern he was radiating, and the grounding grip the man had on his leg gave him the wherewithal to continue.

“It’s okay. It’s just – my father left when I was young. I mean really young. I have two, maybe three memories of him. And my mother… she didn’t take it well, to say the least. She used drugs and alcohol to cope with his absence. Unfortunately, once she went down that road, she was never really able to find her way back, so…”

Maggie reached across the table and gripped one of his hands. “I’m so sorry, darling. Thank you for sharing that with us, and let me just say, I’m so glad you made it out of that situation and are here with us today.”

Asher cleared his throat, suddenly thick with tears. “Thank you.”

Asher was afraid that the gloomy confession about his lack of relationship with his addict mother would put a permanent damper on the rest of the evening, but Maggie expertly turned the conversation onto safer topics, and it wasn’t long until Asher was stifling his giggles as she told him embarrassing stories from Markus’s childhood. (Apparently, he had an older cousin who enjoyed dressing him up in tutus and fairy wings.)

Asher was feeling sated and comfortable by the time everyone was finished with their meal and they moved into the drawing room to play cards. Markus’s father was appalled that Asher didn’t know how to play poker, and he insisted Asher sit with him as he taught him how to play.

The rules of the game seemed complicated, but eventually Asher caught on and Abram allowed him to play a few of his hands. The game itself was fun, but Asher’s favorite part was witnessing literal billionaires accuse each other of cheating as they squabbled over pocket change.

At some point, Maggie brought an old photo album out and showed Asher some pictures that left him in stitches. One of Markus in the fabled tutu and fairy wings combo, and one of him screaming in Santa’s lap at Christmastime. (Apparently, he’d had a Santa phobia as a kid.)

After a while, Maggie also brought out the pecan pie Asher had made along with some ice cream. Both Markus’s parents showered him with compliments, gushing about the sweet, yet nutty flavor of the pie.

“It’s alright, I supposed,” Markus said, earning him a slap on the knee from his mother and a disapproving frown from his father. Asher just sighed. Looks like he’d have to keep trying to find something the man liked.

The sky was dark, and Asher’s stomach and heart both felt full when he and Markus finally retired to their bedroom.

Asher was too tired to shower, so he just washed his face and brushed his teeth before crawling into bed. Markus joined him moments later, curling around him in the usual manner, hooking his chin over the top of Asher’s head and wrapping an arm around his middle.

“Your parents are nice,” Asher said, snuggling into his pillow. “I really like them.”

Markus snorted. “I think it’s safe to say that the feeling is mutual. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were downstairs right now trying to figure out if it’s legal to adopt a twenty-three-year-old.”

Asher wrinkled his nose. “But that would make us brothers, which… ew.”

Markus nuzzled his nose into Asher’s hair. “Eh. I’d still fuck you.”

“Markus!”

“What? It’s the truth! Even if my parents did find some way to adopt you, it’s not like we came from the same womb. Hell, we didn’t even grow up together. In this particular case, I think it’d be morally acceptable for me to fuck my own brother."

Asher cringed. “Ugh. Can we stop talking about metaphorical incest now? Please? Let’s just be glad we aren’t brothers and leave it at that.”

“Fine.”

A pause. So long that Asher began to grow drowsy under the warmth of the comforter, Markus’s protective arm a heavy weight across his belly. Then…

“You never told me about your mom.”

Asher felt himself stiffen, the relaxed atmosphere that had him on the verge of sleep gone just like that. Markus’s words weren’t accusatory, but they had Asher’s defenses rising, anyway – his typical response when the subject of his mother came up. “What? The fact that I have a druggie mom didn’t show up on my background check?”

It was Markus’s turn to freeze, the arm curled around his stomach stiffening before squeezing him tight. “Excuse me?”

“Just because we’re having sex and pretending to be in a relationship doesn’t mean you get to know everything about me.”

Asher didn’t know why he was so suddenly angry at Markus. He’d made a choice to open up about his miserable childhood and his mother’s addiction to drugs at supper, after all. (Although he kept the details sparse enough.) It was only natural for the man to be curious.

In hindsight, Asher really should have seen Markus’s reaction to his sass coming.

In the blink of an eye, the man had him pinned to the bed, wrists pressed into the soft mattress on either side of his head as Markus hovered over him. “What’s this about?” he demanded. “Why are you copping an attitude with me?”

He seemed more confused than angry, which just riled Asher more. He didn’t want to be the only one upset, the only one allowing himself to be ruled by his emotions – as irrational and out-of-the blue as they were. “Quit talking to me like I’m a little kid.”

“Then quit acting like one.”

Asher rolled his eyes.

Which was a mistake, apparently. Markus released one of his wrists to take him by the chin. “ Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Then again, maybe it wasn’t a mistake, if it finally got a reaction out of the man. “Or what?” Asher asked. “What are you going to do about it?”

He rolled his eyes again for good measure, and the pressure around his jaw tightened. “Your eyes will be rolling into the back of your head for a completely different reason soon if you don’t quit.”

Good, Asher thought . Fuck me until I don’t have to think about anything anymore except how well your huge cock fills me up.

Instead of answering verbally, however, Asher arched his back so he could rub his half-hard dick against the man looming over him.

A muscle in Markus’s jaw ticked at the action. “Are you trying to provoke me right now?”

Asher honestly didn’t know what he was doing. He had been perfectly content a few minutes ago, but for some reason, the mention of his mother brought back every negative emotion he’d experienced throughout the day. The anxiety. The guilt. The heartache.

Asher wanted it all to just go away . He wanted to stop having to think about it all. Feel it all.

He wanted Markus to fuck him until his head – and his heart – were empty.

So he licked his lips, satisfied when Markus stared after his tongue, and replied, “So what if I am?”

Markus’s already dark eyes were nearly black as he pressed down on Asher, until their chests were touching and Markus’s knee was a solid pressure against his fast-forming erection. “You want me to fuck you that badly?” he taunted, voice low. “Are you really that desperate for my cock, that you’ll beg for it, even with my parents sleeping down the hall?”

Asher felt his face heat despite himself. “They won’t hear us. Their bedroom’s not even in the same wing.” (Not something Asher ever thought he would say aloud.)

“Oh, so you’ve thought this through, hm?”

Asher had just about enough of the man’s teasing. “Fine,” he spat, knowing full well what he was about to say was probably a mistake, but unable to stop himself. “If you don’t want to fuck me, just say so. Let me go, so I can find someone else to do the job-”

Asher didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before Markus was legitimately snarling in his face. “No one touches you but me.”

Asher wasn’t deterred. “Then I guess I’ll just have to find a toy to fuck myself on-”

“You think a piece of silicone can satisfy that needy hole of yours?” Markus spat. “Nothing and no one can fill you up like I can. Not even you.”

“Then fucking prove it,” Asher demanded. His cock was almost unbearably hard at this point, and he couldn’t resist the urge to shamelessly grind his erection against Markus’s knee.

“You think you deserve to have my cock in you after acting like such a brat? Sassing me, and talking about letting some other piece of shit asshole touch you?”

Asher whimpered when Markus gripped his waist, stopping him from rutting against his leg and creating any more of that delicious friction. “I’m sorry, okay? Just-”

“Just what?” Markus snapped. “Reward your bratty behavior, and give you exactly what you want by fucking you stupid? I don’t think so.”

Asher whined in distress. He could feel Markus’s stiff cock pressed against his belly. It felt as achingly hard as his own; Asher could practically feel it pulsating through the man’s boxers. So close to where he wanted it. “But you want it, too,” he pointed out.

“What I want is a good boy who treats his Daddy with respect. One who uses his words and asks nicely when he needs to be fucked stupid instead of acting like a brat and trying to manipulate me.”

Part of Asher wanted to pout, but all of him he wanted exactly what Markus was accusing him of: to be fucked dumb. So he did precisely as the man asked and begged. “Please, pretty please, will you fuck me?”

Markus’s jaw clenched, and Asher thought for sure he had him when-

“No. I don’t think you’re sorry enough yet.”

Asher was literally on the verge of crying in frustration when an idea popped into his head. “Then let me prove how sorry I am.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Let me up,” Asher said. “Please,” he hastily added at Markus’s unimpressed glower. “I want to show you.”

Markus seemed skeptical, but after a moment, he released Asher and sat up on the bed. Asher immediately sprang up, scurrying to the floor, where he promptly dropped to his knees. He looked up at Markus expectantly under his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?” the man asked, but the intense look in his eyes and gravel in his voice told Asher he already knew the answer.

“I’m sorry for acting like such a brat, Daddy. Can I pretty please made it up to you by sucking your cock?”

The gruff “ fuck ” that escaped Markus’s mouth sent a shiver shooting down Asher spine. “You want to show Daddy how good you can be?”

Ashe nodded eagerly.

“Then open your mouth.”

Asher didn’t need to be told twice. He readily parted his lips, waiting impatiently for Markus to pull down his boxers and feed him his cock.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Markus bent down, grasped Asher by the back of his neck, and spat into his mouth.

Asher stiffened, a little shocked. Sure, Markus had spit into his mouth before, but only while kissing, and only after asking first. This was different. It was an act of pure dominance, of the man lording his authority over Asher.

It should have been humiliating, but Asher’s cock ached where it strained against his underwear. “Swallow,” Markus demanded hoarsely, and Asher did. Markus watched his Adam’s apple bob with dark satisfaction.

“Good boy.”

Asher was rewarded for his obedience with more than just praise. Markus finally reached down to free his erection from his boxers. His cock was nearly purple, the veins protruding from the thick shaft in a way that made Asher want to trace them with his tongue. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought.

With one hand still cradling the back of Asher’s head, Markus used the other to grab himself by the root of his cock and bring it closer to Asher’s eager mouth.

Asher parted his lips in anticipation.

“If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh,” Markus ordered sternly.

Asher nodded his agreement, although he couldn’t foresee a scenario where he’d do such a thing. He’d gladly asphyxiate on the massive cock before him. But if Asher was expecting Markus to immediately thrust into his mouth, he was sorely mistaken. The man seemed to take great pleasure in gently slapping the head of his cock against Asher’s cheeks, his chin, his tongue – which had eagerly lolled out of his mouth in anticipation.

Markus was taunting him.

Asher whined, the pathetic noise coming from deep in the back of his throat. “Don’t tease me,” he complained.

“Beg me for it. Beg me to feed you my fat cock.”

Asher was well past the point of feeling any shame and immediately complied. “Please, please feed me it.”

“Tell me how much you need it.”

“I need it so bad. I’ll die without it. I’m sorry for what I said before. No one could ever fill me up as well as you do. Please, Daddy-”

Asher gagged when Markus suddenly rutted into his mouth, the man’s cockhead striking the back of his throat. Markus immediately pulled out. “Sorry, baby,” he apologized, shushing Asher as he coughed. “Daddy got a little carried away.”

Asher shook his head. “I want it,” he croaked once his gag reflex was back under control.

But Markus was exceedingly careful after that, keeping a close eye on Asher’s reactions as he began to thrust shallowly into his mouth, slowly slipping in more and more of his cock until Asher could comfortably take over half the length.

But Asher could tell Markus was holding back. He was being almost too gentle, clearly afraid of hurting him. Apparently, he didn’t think Asher could handle the entirety of his dick.

Asher wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong, to make him lose grip of the careful control he always had over himself. So the next time Markus tried to pull out, Asher grabbed him by the buttocks, dove forward, and swallowed him whole.

Markus stiffened, a string of cuss words catapulting from his mouth, but Asher didn’t catch them. He was too focused on how the man’s cock felt buried all the way down this throat. The way his pubic hair scratched against his cheeks. The spicy scent of the man in his nose. The salty taste of him on his tongue.

He hummed around the man’s cock, the vibrations causing more cursing before, suddenly, the hand carefully cradling the back of his neck was buried in his hair, fingers pulling until his scalp burned. Markus used the grip he had on Asher’s hair to move him up and down his dick.

“Fuck, look at you. So desperate for Daddy’s cock. Such a needy baby. You’re literally drooling for it.”

It wasn’t even a lie. Asher could feel saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth as Markus used his throat as a cock sleeve, thrusting in and out as Asher gurgled around his thick length, tears leaking from his eyes as he struggled to breathe through his nose.

All the while, he stared up at Markus with adoration.

“You’re so fucking pretty. I could look at you forever.”

The praise made Asher’s lashes flutter, the warm feeling in his belly spreading lower, where his own cock continued to strain desperately against his underwear, a thick glop of precum staining the front.

Asher worked his throat, purposefully swallowing around Markus’s massive length, still buried deep in his esophagus, and Markus’s hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, you’re going to make me blow my load. You want Daddy’s cum that badly, huh?”

Asher moaned, his tummy clenching and thighs tensing at the thought of Markus’s hot spunk shooting down his throat.

“Take it then if you’re so desperate for it,” Markus said, once again beginning to rut roughly into Asher’s mouth, fucking his face. He was breathing heavy, his movements growing jerky until suddenly he was holding Asher down on his cock. “And don’t you dare waste a single drop,” he ordered, voice deep and rough, “or you’ll be licking it up from the floor.”

The visual of it – cleaning Markus's spunk from the floor with his tongue – was enough to send a shockwave of pleasure shooting through Asher, and he was orgasming before he knew it, the suddenness and intensity of it taking him by surprise. His throat locked down around Markus’ cock as the man also came, shooting hot jets of cum directly down Asher’s throat, giving him no other choice but to swallow it.

Even after the man pulled out, Asher could taste the bitter tang of cum on his tongue. Dazed, he looked up at Markus for direction.

As unusual, the man didn’t disappoint.

“Did you swallow it all?” he asked hoarsely, carefully tucking his spent cock back into his boxers.

Asher nodded dumbly.

“Open your mouth. Let Daddy check.”

Asher numbly did as he was told.

“Such a good boy,” Markus lauded, pulling Asher into his lap. “Taking everything Daddy gives you. You looked so beautiful with those fat lips of yours wrapped around my cock.” The praise brought Asher to an even higher high, and he practically melted into Markus’s lap as the man pulled him into a sloppy kiss.

He vaguely wondered if the man could taste his own cum on his tongue.

When he was finished plundering his mouth, Markus dragged his lips down Asher’s jaw, sucking on the skin there. “I think you deserve to be rewarded,” the man whispered into his ear.

Asher wasn’t sure what the man meant by that until hands were suddenly reaching for the waistband of his underwear. The realization was akin to someone dumping cold water over his head, killing Asher’s post-orgasm buzz.

“Wait!” he protested, wrapping his fingers around Markus’s wrists.

Markus frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing! It’s just… you- you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Markus assured.

“You can’t.” Embarrassment flooded Asher as he shamefully admitted, “I- I already came. ‘M sorry.”

He was afraid Markus might be disappointed, or even upset with him, but it was naked surprise that flashed in the man’s eyes. “You came?” he repeated, seeking clarification. “Just from sucking me off?”

Face red, Asher nodded, but Markus clearly didn’t believe him because moments later, he was adjusting Asher in his lap, holding him at arm’s length so he could look down and inspect him.

Asher squeaked in protest, his entire body hot with humiliation, but Markus ignored him, staring at his soaked underwear.

When Markus finally looked back up, he had to force Asher to meet his gaze. He was surprised to see that instead of looking upset or mocking, Markus looked endlessly endeared instead. Almost awed, even. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re an utter sweetheart, coming untouched with my cock in your mouth, my cum shooting down your throat. But I don’t want you getting sick, sitting in wet underwear. Let Daddy clean you up, hm?

Asher shyly agree.

Markus spent the next half hour giving Asher a warm bath. He took his time caring for him, rubbing expensive shampoo into his hair and massaging his shoulders. When he was clean, Markus carefully dried him with a fluffy towel before offering him a clean shirt and carrying him to bed.

Asher welcomed the arms that curled around him like a possessive octopus and the heat that radiated against his back. He felt the faintest hint of a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. “Good night, lovely.”

“G’night,” Asher mumbled, allowing sleep to take him as he lay warm and content in Markus’s arms, any misgivings he may have had while snuggled in the same man’s embrace an hour earlier firmly buried in the back of his mind.

At least, for now.