Family Secrets

Lars 1 - More Time Together

Lars

Goddess, help me, I think, watching D. Rodriguez and his beautiful tight ass walk away from me.

He still looks stiff, and I'm not just talking about what's in his pants.

I can't believe the Weildon would—in this day and age—kill somebody for being born gay. It's incomprehensible.

"Inconceivable!" I say quietly, mimicking a scene from the Princess Bride.

D. stops, turning, "What?"

"Nothing, just quoting a mov—"

"I do not think it means what you think it means," he says, deadpan.

Something blooms in my chest and belly then, something far different from the pure spike of lust from moments before. "You like the Princess Bride?"

He shrugs, turning again to lead the way, "It's a classic."

"Oh? What else does Rodriguez consider 'classic', hmm?" I hide my giggle when he trips; why me saying his name has that effect on him I do not know, but I thank the Goddess for it all the same.

"Uh, I don't know," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. Lady, those forearms though.

"Sure you do, cutie."

His feet stall even as his head whips one way and the other, looking to make sure no one heard. He takes a quick step toward me, his eyes pleading, "I'm serious, Lars. Nobody can know. You can't even joke about this stuff."

"Sorry," I say, though I'm only sorry I scared him. I'm not sorry for calling him cute. "I'll behave myself, promise."

At least for now, but he doesn't have to know that.

He nods, turning to stalk forward again. It's a brisk pace, but one I can easily keep up with, and by the time we get into a populated area, I'm grateful for it—and him. It seems my guide's large hulking form has a way of making people clear out of his path.

"That's nifty," I mutter, watching a younger kid literally dive out of his way.

"Heeey, D.," a breathless girl gasps, cheeks red, undressing him with her eyes.

I keep my promise and behave, but I can't help but roll my eyes. If I'd had any question before, it'd be answered now, because D. is completely oblivious.

It's so hard not to cry, "You're barking up the wrong tree, puppy-girl," but I do manage to hold it back; besides, it might offend D., and that's the absolute last thing I want to do.

"Uh, hey, Rachel. Bridgit," he nods then keeps moving.

Rachel and Bridgit look defeated. I can't help it. As I pass, I stick out my tongue. Of course, they don't know why, but I do. I've already laid claim. This silly himbo is mine.

"D.!"

This voice causes D. to pause. I stop by his side, watching as a basketball team worth of handsome men descend on us, two of which (those twins, mercy, I barely resist the urge to fan myself) I've already met.

"Everything good?" One of the twins demands.

"Yeah, everything's fine," D. says, glancing down as his cheeks gain color. Aww.

"Giftling giving you any trouble?" the other twin demands, turning a glare at me.

I touch my chest and affect a surprised look, "Moi?"

"N-no, he's not giving me any trouble," D. says.

The only thing I've given him is a existential crisis and an unsatisfied boner. I'm glad he doesn't consider that trouble.