Whatever it is, it fills something deep inside of me that’s always felt catastrophically empty.
I continue this pattern: push in, squeeze, retreat so he can breathe. Again and again, while the tension between us builds to a fever pitch.
“Touch yourself for me,” I whisper, and Cade hurries to obey. He’s uncoordinated, swimming in endorphins, but he manages to get himself in hand and start frantically stroking.
“Oh, fuck, Cade,” I mutter, letting my forehead thunk against the door as I fuck his face. “I’m gonna come.”
Cade speeds up as he jerks himself. The door vibrates against my face, and I’m so lost in the moment, it takes me a minute to recognize that someone is knocking. Fuck. Well, we’re almost done.
It doesn’t take more than a few seconds and another look at Cade’s messy face to get my orgasm to hit, filling Cade’s mouth as I grind against him.
Cade follows not long after, making a mess but managing to catch most of it in his hand. I let him go, leaning back so he can finally breathe, and hand him some toilet paper to clean up before I situate myself and zip my pants back up.
Once we’re both semi-presentable, I pull Cade up to his feet. He sways a little, happily pressing against my chest. As soon as we’re only inches away, I have to take the opportunity to kiss his swollen lips.
He tastes like cum and beer, and I don’t care. It’s perfect.
Leaning our foreheads together, I only break away from the kiss for a second to tell him the truth.
“I love you more than anything, Cade. I’ll never stop. I don’t think I could if I tried.”
Cade’s eyes are still a wet, bloodshot mess from before, but I think for a second I might see him tearing up.
The moment is interrupted by another knock on the door—this one louder and much more insistent—which puts us both in motion. I cup Cade’s face in my hands, swiping under his eyes with my thumbs in an ineffective attempt to clean him up as we both laugh softly. Between the watery panda eyes he’s got going on and the swollen lips, plus a faint red outline of where my fingers were pressed against his throat a minute ago, it’s pretty damn obvious what we’ve been doing in here.
Which isn’t the end of the world, but it’s built into me to be as discreet as possible in all things. Go unnoticed. So, when Cade wraps one long-fingered hand around my wrist and tells me to stop fussing, it’s kind of insane that I just do it.
“Let everybody here know how crazy I get for you. Fuck ‘em,” he says, his voice a hoarse rasp that completes the just-got-facefucked aesthetic.
I can’t help but lean into his space when he says it. Since the day I met Cade, it’s felt like we were tethered together by something I couldn’t see. But in these little moments, the tether is so tight, any space between us seems to burn. My body sways in his direction, like we can push out all the oxygen in the room and fill it with our combined presence instead.
My hand turns the tiny lock and pushes down on the handle, pulling the door inward as Cade wraps one arm around my waist from behind, tied to me as well, prepared to walk of shame our way back to the booth.
I don’t know what I expected. I think I didn’t expect anything—I wasn’t thinking about anything but Cade.
But if I had, even in my right mind I wouldn’t have expected Kyle Waters to be standing there, staring at us.
It’s a toss up who here looks more shocked. Kyle freezes, raising an eyebrow as he takes in the sight before him. ‘Disheveled’ is not a strong enough word for how Cade and I look right now. And while we agreed a long time ago that we weren’t hiding our relationship from anyone anymore, I think the concept of being out to his dad and the abrupt, unintentional experience of it are two very different things
The air around me becomes tense as Cade stiffens behind me. His fingers stay on my hip, but the touch is so light I can barely feel it, and I know without looking that his spine is straightening and his shoulders are pushed back as he contorts himself into the specific version of himself he normally allows his father to see.
Kyle makes a show of looking Cade up and down, and while the silence is better than the explosive homophobia-laced rage I was halfway expecting, it’s still not great. There’s a tremor in the air, and it takes me a second to realize that it’s Cade.
“What are you doing here?” Cade snaps, breaking the silence. His voice is deep and filled with barely-contained anger.
“Drinking,” Kyle drawls, looking entirely unintimidated, his fingers loose around the longneck he’s holding. “Krystal wanted to go someplace nice, and I’ve never been here before. Although maybe I misread what kind of place this is.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, and the mechanism inside me that decodes social intent is whirring and humming, franticallytrying to decode if the tone is violent in its intent, or just giving us shit.
I’m not sure. I don’t have the danger-alarms going off that I normally get with the truly violent, but I don’t trust Kyle for a second, based on his history.
Cade is frozen behind me—still trembling, although hopefully not severely enough for Kyle to notice—and the need to diffuse the tension is overwhelming.
“We should go,” I murmur back to Cade, using the same easy, non-confrontational tone I perfected over a lifetime spent with my own explosive father.
I can practically feel Cade doing a record scratch behind me, before he swells up again.
“Fuck that,” he says. “If anyone should leave it’s him. The bar, the state, the plane of existence. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
