Textual Confusion

17. You are not masturbating to a picture of my belly button.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

YOU ARE NOT MASTURBATING TO A PICTURE OF MY BELLY BUTTON.

Asher was having a crisis.

“This is a disaster – a frickin’ catastrophe of epic proportions. What am I going to do, Danny?”

They had been shopping all morning – in and out of what had to have been at least a dozen various stores, boutiques, and even novelty shops – until Danny had insisted on taking a break to grab some grub.

Which is how Asher came to be sitting at a sticky table in the middle of Westlake Center’s food court, watching his friend scarf down a truly obscene amount of tacos while his own chicken teriyaki wrap grew cold.

After all, how could he eat when anxiety had his insides so twisted up?

“You’re catastrophizing,” Danny pointed out unhelpfully, grease sticking to the corners of his mouth. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s not fine,” Asher immediately disagreed. “It’s already mid-December. Markus is bringing me to his parents’ house next week to celebrate Christmas. I can’t show up empty-handed!”

Sure, Asher had managed to procure a gift for both the man’s parents: vouchers for a painting class/wine-tasting event for Markus’s mom, and a package of expensive coffee beans plus a pack of premium black playing cards with gold foil accents for his dad.

But he had absolutely nothing to give to Markus, which is what had triggered the panicked shopping spree he’d forced Danny to accompany him on.

“You don’t have to buy him anything. Just give him what I suggested and you’re golden. Trust me, he’ll love it.”

“I’m not giving Markus a frickin’ blowjob, Danny!” Asher hissed. He paused. Well, he probably was at some point, but he definitely wasn’t classifying it as a Christmas gift. “Besides, it has to be something I can actually wrap.”

“Why not bake him something?”

Asher shook his head. “That’s too obvious. Besides, I’m already making three kinds of Christmas cookies to bring to his parents’ house.”

Danny perked up. “Are you making those deep fried snowflake thingies? With the powdered sugar on top?”

“Rosettes? Yeah, and don’t worry, I plan on making enough for you, too.”

“Have I told you lately how much I adore you?” Danny leaned across the table, attempting to smooch Asher with grease-covered lips.

Asher just barely managed to fend him off. “Gross,” he complained, shoving him away. “And if you love me so much, you’d give me a decent idea on what to get Markus for Christmas.”

“I already gave you some ideas,” Danny pointed out. “I don’t know. Buy some fancy lingerie or something. I heard the guy’s not exactly averse to seeing you in women’s underwear.”

“Ugh!” Asher buried his flushed face in his hands, sinking into his seat. “How do you know this?”

But they both knew exactly how. Sasha.

Asher would have forced the blabbermouth to go shopping with them, too, if it wasn’t for the fact she was in the middle of a painting frenzy.

Sasha had nailed the luncheon/interview with Markus’s mom last month, and Maggie had promised her a space at The Connoisseur for an exhibit in January. Sasha had hundreds of completed pieces she could choose from for the exhibit, but she’d insisted on creating something new.

She’d been at it for days now, only taking breaks for an occasion snack or nap. Neither Asher nor Danny were stupid enough to interrupt her when she got that manic gleam in her eyes, having endured enough rants about hindering her “creative process” over the years.

Asher could vividly recall an incident during sophomore year, when he’d thoughtfully asked if she wanted to take a break from her finals project and get some coffee – well, coffee for her, a caramel latte for him – and she’d threatened to stab him with her colored pencil if he interrupted her again.

According to Danny, she’d once held him at palette knife point for suggesting she go to bed early instead of staying up all night for the third night in a row to finish a painting.

“Do you think I want to know this shit?” Danny asked, breaking Asher from his reverie. “Trust me, if I could erase that information from my brain, I would. The dude’s my boss, and you’re… well, you.”

Asher frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Danny threw his hands in the air. “You know. You’re, like, my little brother, or some shit.”

Asher huffed. “Yeah, well, you’re the least helpful big brother ever. Whatever I get Markus needs to be something he can open in front of his parents . So that’s a no-go on the lingerie.”

As annoyed as he was, Asher could hardly blame Danny for his lack of helpful ideas. After all, what does one get a literal billionaire for Christmas?

“Have you asked Sasha?” Danny asked around a mouthful of taco. “You know, before she locked herself in her studio?”

Asher nodded. “She was worse than you. Basically suggested I stick a big bow on my ass and call it a day.”

“Genius.”

Asher glared.

“You know him better than I do,” Danny pointed out, unbothered. “What are his hobbies? You know, besides terrorizing people at work and boinking you?”

Ignoring that last part, Asher racked his brain, a little embarrassed when he came up blank. “He works out?”

Danny raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“Well, he doesn’t have time for a lot of hobbies outside of work and, you know… me,” Asher defended.

“Okay, well, what else do you know what him then?”

It was like a dam inside him burst at Danny’s question, and a flood of information Asher didn’t even consciously know he knew came spewing out of his mouth. “He claims his favorite color is black, but his bed sheets are maroon, and he wears more navy than anything else. He’s a terrible cook, but still tries to make me pancakes some mornings. He loves his parents, but feels a lot of pressure to make them proud – especially when it comes to Kingston Enterprises. And while it’s true he’s a bit of a dick at work, it’s only because he cares so much about the company. He works harder than anyone, and definitely spends more time there than anywhere else. Heck, his office has more personality than his penthouse, with its blank walls and impersonal décor.” A pause. “Oh! And he had a dimple in his left cheek, but it only shows itself when he smiles with all his teeth.”

For a long while, Danny just stared at him. “Anything else?” he asked sarcastically.

Asher hummed, thinking. “He likes to cuddle in his sleep,” he decided on finally. “ Like, he cuddles while he's awake, too, but when he’s asleep, he’s a frickin’ octopus. It’s practically impossible to pry his hands off me.”

Danny blinked. “Wow.”

Asher frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just totally gone on this guy, aren’t you?”

Asher winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

He huffed.

“Relax, it’s not a bad thing,” Danny assured. “The dude’s even more whipped for you than you are for him. Or do you think it’s totally normal for a man to give another man his Rolex? Take him out on fancy dates and pay for all his groceries? Put another guy into a coma for hurting him? I mean, deserved , obviously – but still.”

Asher chewed the inside of his cheek, suddenly finding the table very interesting, but Danny reached over and took him by the wrist, forcing him to make eye contact and listen. “Look, I won’t claim to know Markus all that well, but I’m pretty sure he’d hate it if he knew how much you were stressing yourself out over something as inconsequential as a Christmas present. You could give the man a pair of holey socks and the poor sod would probably cherish them forever.”

“I’m not giving Markus holey socks for Christmas,” Asher shot down. “But thanks,” he quickly tacked on at Danny’s exasperated expression. “You know, for the pep talk.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as Asher’s stomach finally settled enough for him to start picking at his food. He was about halfway done with the wrap before Danny broke the quiet. “How about something for his penthouse?” he suggested. “You said the walls were empty, and that it’s pretty bare. Maybe you can buy him some wall art or a cute knick-knack – something that’ll remind him of you every time he sees it.”

Asher thought about it. Truthfully, it wasn’t a bad idea, but…

“You don’t think that’s too… I don’t know, presumptuous?”

Danny gave him a flat look. “No.”

“Okay, but what if he doesn’t like what I pick out?”

“You could draw a stick figure, frame it, and he’d probably hang it on the wall like a proud mother.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or daddy.” Then he winced. “Please forget I said that.”

But Asher wasn’t listening to his friend anymore. A picture frame.

“What if I print a photo of us and get it framed? Do you think that’s totally cliché?”

“Absolutely.”

Asher deflated.

“But just because it’s cliché, doesn’t mean it’s not perfect!” Danny quickly backtracked.

Asher bit his lip. “Really?”

“It’s annoying adorable,” he assured.

“Well, okay.” Asher pulled out his phone. “But you have to help me pick out what picture to use.”

Ignoring the way Danny groaned in response, Asher opened his gallery and rounded the table, all but thrusting his phone under the other man’s nose.

Danny reluctantly took the device. “If there are pictures of my boss’s dick in here, I’m going to kill you.”

Asher rolled his eyes. “There’s not, I swear.”

Less than a minute later, Danny stumbled across the photo of Asher in woman’s panties.

“My eyes!” he exclaimed. “They cannot unsee what they have seen. Quick, fetch the bleach!”

“People are staring,” Asher hissed, snatching back his phone. He hastily deleted the picture. “For God’s sake, shut up.”

But he couldn’t deny that he was fighting back an amused grin.

He truly had the best friends ever.

Asher had the worst friends ever.

“I can’t believe I let her talk me into this,” he mumbled, unable to stop himself from poking at the piercing.

It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it might to get it – a quick poke and it was over. But now it ached and just felt weird, the skin a tad pink around the little metal stud.

It’d been several days since Asher had dragged Danny to the mall, and Sasha had finally finished her painting – although she refused to let anyone see it. To celebrate, she’d insisted on taking Asher out for supper. Which had somehow turned into dragging him to a piercing parlor.

Which had resulted in this .

Asher was distracted from his thoughts by the buzzing of his phone.

Markus

How was your day, sweetheart?

A giddy smile spread across Asher’s face, unbidden.

Markus was so sweet.

The man had been gone since Sunday – the day Asher had forced Danny to accompany him to the mall – on a business trip all the way across the country: a week-long convention in New York City. Markus had tried to get Asher to go with him, but Asher had to turn him down since he was officially closing on the café later in the week.

Markus had nearly refused to go when Asher wouldn’t agree to come with him, but eventually, Asher had been able to talk the man into it… as long as Asher abided by certain conditions while he was gone. Like taking the week off work.

“You had brain damage, Asher.”

“Good Lord. It was a mild concussion, Markus. And it happened a week ago.”

“Indulge me. I won’t be around to make sure you’re not overdoing it. If you’re worried about money, I’ll reimburse you for the days you’ll miss.”

Somehow, Asher had ended up agreeing to take the week off work but only if Markus didn’t deposit an obscene amount of money into his bank account to “make up for it”.

Another condition Asher had agreed to was answering his phone in a timely manner whenever Markus called or texted.

It honestly would have been a huge red flag if Asher didn’t know the demand stemmed from a place of concern, the convention in NYC taking place a mere week after Asher had been assaulted by Trent in that doomed bathroom.

It’s been… interesting.

Did you bake anything?

No. I’m not allowed to go to work, remember?

Just checking.

Wait.

Do you want me to bake something?

Was that your way of saying you actually liked the expresso brownies I snuck in your carry-on?

They were alright.

Just alright? Did you even eat any?

Of course I did.

Pic or it didn’t happen.

No wonder you thought they were just alright. You had a corner piece. You have to eat a *middle* piece to get the full experience.

Aren’t all the pieces the same?

I- I have no words. Does your ignorance truly know no bounds?

You better share the rest of that pan with someone who actually appreciates the difference between a corner piece brownie and a middle piece brownie.

Hell no. You made them for me.

They’re mine.

Asher snorted. Honestly, he should be annoyed at the man’s refusal to share – especially when he claimed he didn’t even like them all that much. But his possessiveness – even over a pan of brownies – was endearing. That didn’t mean Asher wasn’t going to tease him a little, though.

But you won’t even eat them.

Aw, pretty baby. Of course I’ll eat them.

Why bother? You don’t even like them. You don’t like anything I make for you.

Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I was just teasing.

Asher?

1 missed call

Baby, answer.

No, I can’t. I’m too busy crying into my bowl of brownie batter.

You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?

Maybe.

You’re lucky I’m cross country or your ass would be stinging and sporting red marks in the shape of my palm prints right now.

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

You’re a little minx, you know that?

I thought I was your good boy.

You’re a handful is what you are.

Well, this handful has a little surprise for you when you get home…

If you say more brownies, I’ll have no choice but to bend you over my knee.

No, not brownies, I promise.

Sasha took me out to supper today, and afterwards we did a thing…

A thing?

Yeah.

Let me know what you think.

Asher waited anxiously for a response. When one minute passed and then another with nothing, his nerves got the better of him.

Markus?

Sorry, baby, I was busy looking up early flights home. I need that little stud in my mouth. Now.

Fuck it, I’ll just make some calls and arrange for a private jet.

Does that mean you like it?

I’m going to be late for drinks with a prospective client because my dick is in my hand right now. What do you think?

You are *not* masturbating to a picture of my belly button.

Should I send proof?

Yes!

No!

Don’t do that. I’m not back to my apartment yet. I don’t think I can handle seeing that right now without having my own… issue.

Yet you have the audacity to send me a picture of your soft little belly, a cute little stud in the center of it.

I’m sorry, Daddy. I promise to make it up to you.

Oh yeah? How are you going to do that, baby?

When you get home, you can do whatever you want to me.

Fuck, sweetheart, I thought you knew better than to give anyone blanket consent by now.

It's not just anyone, though. It's you.

You’re going to be the fucking death of me.

“Would you like me to escort you inside, Sir?”

Asher jumped, nearly dropping his phone when the car door was abruptly yanked open. Between the smooth ride and being immersed in his conversation with Markus, he hadn’t even realized they’d arrived at his apartment. “Jesus, Nigel,” he said, holding a hand to his chest. “You scared the crap out of me. And how many times have I asked you to call me Asher?”

“My apologies, S- Asher,” he quickly amended.

Asher waved away the apology. “It’s fine,” he assured, sending off a quick message to Markus to let him know he’d check in with him later before pocketing his phone and ducking out of the car. “And no worries, I can get inside on my own.”

Nigel hesitated. “If you’re sure,” he acquiesced after a moment.

“I am,” Asher assured, waving goodbye before jogging up to the front door of his apartment building and punching in the code.

Nigel.

Yet another of Markus’s conditions for allowing Asher to stay in Seattle while he was in NYC.

He’d originally tried to convince Asher to stay at his penthouse, but when Asher had nixed that idea, they had eventually compromised on Nigel serving as Asher’s chauffeur/body guard while he was away.

It was excessive, in Asher’s opinion, but he couldn’t deny it was nice not having to worry about having to catch the bus or order an Uber whenever he wanted to go anywhere. He knew a lot of people might find Markus’s rules suffocating, but Asher just felt cared for.

It made him really happy.

He was in such a good mood that he didn’t even care that the elevator was out again, merrily skipping up the stairs two at a time until he reached his floor.

At least that’s how he felt until he exited the stair well and spotted a dark, hooded figure huddled against his apartment door.

Asher froze, a jolt of fear shooting through him. Which was silly. Trent was still in the hospital, and surely his ex’s parents weren’t stupid enough to send anyone after him. Not when they knew what sort of repercussions they’d face from Markus.

(Markus had already confided in him that the Reynolds family was in the process of selling off the majority of their property in Seattle and moving to Houston since they’d essentially been blacklisted from doing business on the west coast.)

Anyway, the figure looked too small and frail to be Trent or some sort of assassin.

That didn’t stop Asher’s heart from beating double time as he hesitantly approached.

“Um, excuse me? Can I help-?”

But Asher’s words died on his tongue when the person finally looked up. A thin face surrounded by a mess of brownish gray curls. A smattering of freckles. Dark bags under bright hazel eyes. The woman was undoubtedly older and more haggard than he remembered, but-

“Mom?” Asher croaked.