Every Boy's Fantasy - PART TWO of Guns & Roses

Head Below Water

The following hour, was torture of the highest degree.

Christian had taken some hits in his life, probably actually coming close to death a few times, but perhaps, it could be thought, that he was just not quite prepared for what was to come.

When the kitchen rang up and told them it was dinner time, Chris had been okay, and got dressed back into his clothes; Caleb had taken a shower, changed, and was looking very good in a black button-down, sleeves rolled up meticulously and left it open a few buttons until the peek of chest was torment not to stare at.

Dark blue jeans that fit that ass like a glove, and a pair of two thousand dollar slip-on of Italian dark leather shoes, and he looked like he always did; fucking amazing.

The man rarely wore jeans, but when he did, they got Chris on a whole other level. He almost always had to slide hands over his ass, those tight hips and sharp flare of hip bone, and there was not a time when he wouldn't have unzipped the man and put his mouth right on that dick.

To be fair, Chris was inclined to hit his knees any time Caleb even pointed at him, but it stood, he liked him in jeans too.

So, he was fine. Felt really fine after that roll in bed, and Caleb was being really good by just leaving the matter in between the sheets.

He was fine all the way down the stairs, chatting with Caleb about his day, their fingers loosely threaded, and was absolutely fine until they hit the dining room.

And then he wasn't very fine.

He should have known it would bite him as hard as it did because you didn't just walk in over a threshold after an hour of your life, being dirty talked to about two other men twisting you into a knot. Dirty talk that had hit in various and wild ways that had knocked Chris's socks right off his feet, especially not when that dirty-talker happened to be their older brother.

You couldn't do that and then wander in for a nice family dinner, without some serious shifting, squirming, and wild sudden recalls. At least not if your name was Christian Miller.

It started the second they went under the arch, and he saw Drew stride in from the opposing archway, and immediately, Christian tripped over nothing.

At least he was hanging onto Caleb, who caught him with a real knowing type of questioning look, and those eyes were so amused that Chris caught his arm, dug in nails, and his dark eyes were brimming with murderous threat.

Funny, Caleb thought privately, how the man could go from delicate fairy prince to looking like he would stab you to death in your sleep.

However, it was a little too good not to poke him, and Caleb called out to his brother, "Drew, we were just talking about you!" Those nails almost pierced his soul, and it was painful enough that he let go and gave them a few feet with a bright grin for his middle sibling.

Drew beamed at him, grabbed a seat, and slid in. "Yeah? Good things, I hope?"

"It was pretty good." Caleb agreed pleasantly and flopped down in his chair. Chris looked like he had swallowed something a little sour, his smile was fixed in place and he was looking anywhere else now, than directly at Andrew. "Hey, you need to make an appointment with the tailor. He said he needs two weeks for all four."

"Yeah, I was saying that earlier. You should have told me you were going." Drew sighed and reached for a bread roll already in wait on the tabletop, and picked up a butter knife, which he pointed right at those suspiciously amused eyes. "You also look too fucking happy, Caleb, and I don't like it."