Rick: (Joey - Part 2) Read online

  “You want to give Maisie a show?” Rick asks, chuckling when Joey ducks his head. “No, didn’t think so.”

  He brushes a quick kiss over Joey’s mouth as the doors slide open, letting a wave of music crash into the elevator. The smell of something rich and spicy wafts through the air; Rick drops his shopping bags in a pile behind the sofa and goes to the kitchen in search of the heady aroma.

  Maisie pops up from behind the counter, a ceramic dish in hand and flashes him a grin. Today, they're dressed in jeans and a t-shirt bearing the slogan You Can Pee Next To Me, long hair gathered in a messy bun on the top of their head. Smudged mascara and long red nails complete the look that Rick knows has been carefully planned to look anything but planned.

  “Did you leave anything on the racks for the rest of us, honey?” Maisie calls to Joey.

  Pouring himself a glass of wine, Rick leans against the counter. “I don’t know what you’re cook-”

  “Who’s that?” Joey interrupts, nodding toward the television without turning around. For the first time since entering, Rick pays attention to the screen where a tall man wearing only black pants is playing a violin. A younger man in shorts dances nearby. Joey is so entranced he’s still holding the bags of clothing and wearing his coat. Maisie begins buttering the ceramic dish.

  “That, honey, is The Shirtless Violinist and he is so good.” They waggle their eyebrows, sashaying past Rick toward the fridge. “And so hot.”

  To Rick’s surprise, Joey nods and mumbles his agreement. That’s interesting; Rick looks at the screen again. Yeah, the guy is good looking and clearly works out, but Rick wouldn’t have thought he was Joey’s type. Joey’s type is a little older and more like … well… Rick's his type. Isn’t he?

  “Let me finish what I’m doing, and I’ll show you some of his other clips.” Maisie puts what appears to be chopped apples into the ceramic dish, then rolls a layer of pastry over it. The video clip ends, and another begins. Rick scowls. Again, with the violin. Again, with the bare chest. And Joey’s gaze is locked on the damned screen. Great.

  “Is he on Spotify? Can you help me make a playlist?”

  “He’s not that good,” Rick grumbles, aware he’s both lying and behaving, yet again, like an old grump but unable to stop himself.

  Maisie giggles as they put the apple pie in the oven, then wipe their hands on a cloth, fluttering their lashes at Rick.

  “Daddy Rick, are you jealous?”

  “Don’t be stupid and you can drop the Daddy Rick shit right now, Marco.”

  “Now, now, don’t be bitchy. I’ve left you a beef and red wine casserole for tonight and you can take that pie out in about twenty minutes. Everything else is already away.” Maisie retrieves a leather jacket from the alcove by the elevator and pulls it on, watching the end of the clip over Joey's shoulder. Rick’s scowl resurfaces when they both sigh at the end, vanishing when Maisie hugs Joey and kisses his cheek. God knows Joey could do worse than someone like Maisie as his friend, brat or not. “If you search for The Shirtless Violinist, you’ll find him. He’s on Instagram too.” Maisie winks at Rick. “But I think we’ll talk about that some other time. I have to go or I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

  Hands on Maisie’s shoulders and shaking his head in exasperation, Rick pushes them toward the elevator.

  “Go home brat. Don’t make me call Ian to come and get you.” Slapping his hand over the elevator button, he kisses Maisie’s forehead. “Thank you.”

  Rick waits while the doors close, cutting Maisie’s never-ending chatter off mid-stream. When he turns back, Joey is still watching the screen, nibbling at his lower lip, eyes shining. Resisting the urge to comment, Rick finds the remote and jabs the off button.

  “Okay, I think that’s enough violin for one night. Shower or bath?”

  Joey makes a show of considering the question. “Shower. I’m hungry.”

  “Good. You go do that while I find out what the brat left us for dinner.”

  ♦♦♦

  When Joey reappears, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, Rick’s mouth drops open and the serving spoon drops from his hand to the countertop with a clatter. Inch by inch his gaze travels up from the floor, taking in the sight before him. Barefoot, Joey is wearing soft, loose gray flannel pants, the cuffs rolled at the ankles. They sit low on his hips, clinging to his thighs and hips and when he moves, Rick can see the bob of his cock; no underwear. With them he has paired one of the shirts they bought earlier; a light pink t-shirt with a white kitten on it. The one the girls had mentioned from some Disney movie; the name of which Rick has forgotten and couldn’t care less about.

  Even though the girls had shown them longer t-shirts, larger t-shirts, this one is at least one size too small. It clings to Joey’s chest, revealing every little twitch and flicker of muscle as he moves. With his free hand, Joey tugs at the hem but the minute he lets go it shifts back up to reveal the fine line of his treasure trail. Dinner forgotten, Rick steps forward with the intent of running his finger along the strip of dark blond hair. Or maybe his tongue. He’s not sure.

  “This one might be too small.” Joey brushes past and goes into the kitchen. Rick catches his breath, stunned, and follows him into the kitchen. The pants hang low enough to reveal the curve of Joey’s lower back, down to the top of the cleft between his cheeks.

  “No.” He watches as Joey throws the towel in the washing machine and makes a desperate attempt to find his voice. “It’s fine...perfect actually.”

  “Hmmm?” Joey looks around. Instead of trying to explain it, Rick presses him against the counter. There is none of the measured control of the elevator kiss; this one is hungry and demanding. He can feel Joey’s cock, half hard already, pressing against his groin and he makes a growling sound into Joey’s mouth before pulling away. Just far enough to be able to speak.

  “Baby, are you trying to kill me?” Mischief gleams in Joey’s eyes and Rick realizes he’s been played. “Oh, I am so not buying that sweet cutesy look.”

  Joey pouts. “I’m not cute,” he protests. With the tip of his finger, Rick tilts Joey’s chin up so he can look him in the eye.

  “Yeah, you are. And very sweet.” He slots their mouths together, his tongue hard and commanding as he claims the kiss.

  Sliding his hands down over the soft silky fabric that clings to Joey’s ass, Rick grips his thighs and lifts. Joey whimpers and winds his long, lean legs around Rick’s waist, breath coming in short, urgent gasps. Between them, Rick can feel the long, hard length of Joey’s cock pressed against his lower belly and knows with sudden certainty that whoever the bastard was who tortured Joey - he’s small. Caging Joey probably wasn't just about control, it was about not being reminded that his victim was bigger than him. Bigger everywhere.

  Growling Rick steps to the side and hefts him onto the counter. Steps back to take in the sight before him. Joey eyes are closed, his lips parted, and every exhale carries a low, light sound with it. The too small shirt has ridden higher on his body, revealing the random scars that mar otherwise perfect skin. Muscles twitch and quiver when Rick reaches beneath it and rubs his thumb over the scarred right nipple. With his other hand he tugs at the cotton pants, lifting Joey from the countertop enough to pull them down around his thighs. Joey’s cock smacks up against his belly, making him whine and twitch.

  Rick bends forward and flicks the tip of his tongue over the damp head, licking up the bead of precum from the slit. There’s a soft thud as Joey’s head hits the wall and he scrabbles his fingers in Rick’s hair.

  “Please.” The word is little more than a whispered plea as Joey bucks up into Rick’s mouth, so quiet it would be easily missed unless you know to listen for it. Rick knows.

  Hollowing his cheeks, Rick bobs his head, taking Joey as deeply as he can. Pulls off and runs his tongue across the cock head again, satisfied with the whine he hears above his head. There’s a small scar, white and twisted in the crease of Joey’s groin that Rick has decided he doe
sn’t need to know the origin of. He’s fairly sure if he hears it, he won’t be responsible for his actions when he finally finds the son of a bitch. Because he will find him. He rubs his thumb over the scar, as if trying to make it disappear and takes Joey’s length back in. At the same time, he fumbles with the zip of his own jeans; he pulls his own cock free and begins stripping it with a strangled moan. Joey’s fingers tighten in his hair at the sound.

  “Rick, I …I…”

  Then his back is arching as he comes. Rick licks and sucks at the shaft, swallowing the hot, salty fluid with a hum of approval and increasing the speed of his fist. He lets Joey slip from his mouth as the first pulses of orgasm grip him, driving his hips forward and spurts of cum hit Joey’s leg. Shuddering through the last throes, he rests his forehead on Joey’s thigh trying to catch his breath.

  “You okay?” Joey asks, thumb stroking small timid circles over Rick’s neck.

  “Mmhmm.” Rick gropes for the washing machine door and pulls out Joey’s towel. Mops up Joey’s damp skin, wipes of his hand, and dabs at the wet splotch on Joey’s leg.

  “Eww, now I have to change again.” Joey wriggles into his pants and peers at the spot, looking so offended Rick can’t help laughing.

  “That’s what you get for coming down here looking good enough to eat.” He nudges Joey toward the dining area. “Go set the table while I get the food.” When Joey hesitates, he pitches his voice a little lower. “Your pants are fine. There's no point changing them since I intend messing them up again after dinner. Now, hurry up. I’m hungry.”

  ♦♦♦

  Joey

  Stretched out on the sofa, Joey stares at his Kindle without really seeing it. He’s read the last few pages of this book a dozen times over and still has no idea what he’s read. Soft music is coming from the speakers - piano. Even though he’s sure Rick was joking, he hasn’t dared ask for more of the violin guy just in case he’s wrong. The screen over the sound system is scrolling through Rick’s collection of photographs and every now and then Joey glances up and watches for a few minutes.

  “I can hear you thinking.” Rick tightens his arm across Joey’s chest and flicks the page of his book with his thumb. “And you’ve been on that page for at least ten minutes. What’s wrong?”

  Joey frowns. What is wrong? On the surface, nothing. Dinner was nice. Pre-dinner was very nice. Being here on the sofa is nice. Everything is … nice. Something Maisie said earlier echoes in his head and Joey taps his Kindle closed before dropping it on the floor. He sits up, pulling his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them.

  “Does it bother you?” he asks, aware the question is hardly clear. Behind him, Rick says nothing but rubs his hand up and down Joey’s back as he waits. Joey takes a breath. “Does it bother you that Maisie calls you Daddy Rick or Master Rick and I don’t.” Can’t is probably more accurate but that doesn’t matter at the moment.

  “Does it bother you?” Rick’s tone is light; he continues rubbing while Joey thinks.

  “Kind of.” He rests his forehead on his knees, searching for the words to explain the struggle he has. “I have this book, My Kind of Man, and Mikey is a real little.”

  “When you say they’re real, do you mean they like binkies and toys and diapers and things?”

  Joey nods. My Kind of Man and Teddy and His Bear are his favorite books. He likes Teddy because he’s sassy and confident, something Joey wishes he was. But he understands shy, quiet Mikey better and some days wishes he was real so he could ask him questions.

  “We’ve talked about this before. That’s one kind of daddy and boy relationship but it’s not the only one.”

  “But it's the one you’re used to. One you liked.” Joey tips forward and crawls to the other end of the sofa, ignoring the displeasure that writes itself across Rick’s face. “It’s not all about me and what I want. It’s about you too.” He sighs.

  “Not all the boys I’ve known were that little and besides, just because it’s what I’m used to, that doesn’t mean it’s what I want now. With you. I like our relationship. Now, can you come back here? It’s cold without you.”

  Joey shakes his head. He doesn’t want to ruin the day they’ve had but now that he’s finally found a way to bring this subject up, he needs to see it through. Shaking his hair from his eyes, he considers Rick a moment before continuing.

  “Don’t you wish I was more like Maisie?”

  Rick’s bark of laughter takes Joey by surprise.

  “Fuck no! Why the fuck would I want that? Because they call me Daddy when they're trying to piss me off?” Rick sniggers. “No way. I love the brat to bits but Ian’s welcome to them.”

  “But he… I mean they…”

  “Okay, stop.” Leaning forward, Rick wraps his fingers around Joey’s ankle and gives a gentle tug. “Joey, come here. Now.”

  The pitch of his voice sends a shiver down Joey’s back. After a moment’s hesitation, he obeys, inching forward until he’s back to the spot he’d left. Allows himself to be turned and settles back against the warm safety of Rick’s body with a sigh. Breath ghosts over his ear as Rick speaks, arms tightening around him, pinning him in place.

  “I want you, baby boy, not Maisie. Okay?” A kiss is pressed to his ear. “Now tell me what’s brought this on. You haven’t had any nightmares lately and we had a good day today, didn’t we?”

  Sniffling, Joey nods. Yeah, it’s a been a great day. He has new clothes. Ones he likes, ones he feels good in. There was a blow job in the kitchen. He doesn’t know why he can’t just relax and accept it, but he can’t. He’s braced, ready and waiting, not for a blow or humiliating words but for Rick to decide he wants something easier. Something better. Emotion clogs his nose and the room swims as his eyes fill with tears.

  “You deserve better. I’m damaged.”

  He doesn’t need to hear Rick’s sigh; he feels it. Joey lets his head drop back against Rick’s shoulder, eyes shut, chest hitching as he fights to calm down. Rick shifts and stretches, pulling one arm away and, convinced that this is the moment he’ll be abandoned, Joey can’t stop the sob escaping. Rick is going to stand up in exasperation and declare it all too... his small brown teddy bear drops on his lap.

  “I love you as you are, Joey.” Rick hugs him. Joey picks the toy up and breathes in the reassuring familiar smell of its fur. At night, the bear goes upstairs with them in case Joey has a nightmare and needs it, but each morning Rick brings it downstairs and places it on the small table at the end of the sofa. To start with, Joey had been puzzled, thinking Rick was uncomfortable or ashamed of the toy. Then, he realized Rick did it to reassure him that he’s neither of those things. That Joey doesn’t need to be either and that any time Joey needs the toy, like right now, it’s only an arm’s length away.

  “Thank you,” he mumbles against the bear’s head, hugging it to his chest. Rick’s hold tightens and some of the tension slips from Joey’s shoulders. Unbidden, a thought crosses his mind and he twists to face Rick, swiping his arm across his wet cheek. “Wait. Did you say Ian is welcome to Maisie? You don’t mean Ian from work, do you?”

  Shoulders shaking with laughter, Rick kisses the tip of his nose and waggles his eyebrows. Ian - head of digital marketing - is Maisie’s… Maisie’s…

  “Nifty subject change.” Rick’s laughter calms to a grin. “Stop looking so shocked.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just … I’m just… Ian? And Maisie? Really?”

  Only half listening to Rick suggest they invite Maisie and Ian over one night, Joey strokes the soft fur of the teddy bear in his hands and wills himself to relax. Wonders idly when they started referring to Maisie as they instead of he; he doesn’t remember making a conscious decision to do so. Sniffles and hiccups. Reminds himself that Rick isn’t Blake. That he can trust him.

  He can love him.

  ♦♦♦

  Rick

  Rick closes his laptop and sits back in his chair. Sighs as he scratches at his beard.
It’s been a long day. The I.T. Department wants to update the website and with it, the staff bios. In and of itself, this isn’t really a problem. Most of the actual bios are up to date and the photographs can be done inhouse with very little disruption. Except, as Carol in H.R. pointed out, Coulter’s bio needs to be replaced with Joey Harkin’s. That is definitely going to be a problem. Given how terrified he is of being found by his ex, Rick doesn’t even need to ask Joey to know he’ll say no. He sighs again. Thoughts flying, he swivels his chair around and picks up the bottle of bourbon from the shelf behind him. Pours a shot, considers it, adds a bit more before capping the bottle and picking up the glass. Moves to stand at the window. Forehead pressed to the window, he watches the crowd below on the street.

  It’s been a long time since he was in a real relationship instead of a casual hook up with one of the regulars at the club or out on the town for the evening. The last one had been that little prick Harrison. For a brief moment Rick had thought they might have something serious. Harrison it turned out just wanted a sugar daddy who paid his bills, bailed him out of the drunk tank, and who showed him off at the best clubs. He also wanted someone who would indulge his fascination with ABDL and watersports without telling anyone else about it. Who would sit quietly while he, Harrison, sneered at the idea of either when they were in public while demanding it in private. Rick was all for discretion - dishonesty and disrespect were a different story. The relationship hadn’t ended well. Instead of giving him the elevator key he knew Harrison was hoping for, Rick had broken things off. When Harrison thought he could try to threaten him with making his lifestyle public knowledge, Rick pointed out that Harrison’s own private life would be open to scrutiny. And that Rick would not be the one to come out looking bad.

  “Go find yourself a regular Dom who can make you happy.”

  Harrison invited him to go fuck himself - but had slunk away eventually and to Rick’s relief has not been seen since.