Chapter nine
After retrieving the stew from the passenger seat of his car, Oliver headed into the kitchen and stared at the Aga for a few minutes before looking for the microwave. He wasn’t the greatest cook at the best of times, but when confronted by something more dramatic than a hob and a grill, his confidence was sorely tested. Luckily the microwave was big enough to fit the crock pot in, so he removed the lid and set the dial for five minutes.
While the pot turned around happily in the metal box, Oliver searched the cupboards for crockery. He discovered that Deano obviously hadn’t bought plates for quite a while, because he could only find three, and they were all chipped. But then if he lived alone, why would he need plates? In fact, why would Oliver need plates? He lived alone, too. Oliver snorted inelegantly and put the two least chipped plates on the kitchen counter. He had plates because he had a mother who meddled in every aspect of his life—including his place settings.
The microwave beeped and Oliver picked up a tea towel so he could take the pot out without burning himself. He stirred the stew with a big spoon he’d found in the drawer and tasted it. It was still only lukewarm, so he bunged it back into the microwave for another five minutes and turned his attention to the table. As he set out spoons and the placemats he’d found in another drawer, Oliver gazed at the heavily scarred wood and ran his fingers along some of the grooves. He wondered how many meals had been eaten around this table, and why Deano was now running the farm alone. Oliver padded across the quarry tiles, stopped at the patio doors leading onto the big conservatory, and looked out across the fields beyond the glass. It was an incredible view to look upon every day. A damn sight better than the neighbouring block of flats he’d been staring out at for the last three years.
“Have I got time for a shower?”
Oliver jumped and turned on his heel to face a grime and muck covered Deano. He wrinkled up his nose as the scent of the man overpowered the scent of the food still turning in the microwave. “Yes, good God, yes,” he complained, waving a hand under his nose. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s called hard work, Doctor. Man’s work.” Deano rolled his eyes at the look of disgust on Oliver’s face and left the kitchen as silently as he’d entered it.
“Five minutes!” Oliver called after him.
“You said I had fifteen in the barn!”
“Now you have five!”
Oliver couldn’t make out Deano’s response to that, and decided it was probably a good thing as the microwave signalled the end of its second cycle. He removed the pot and set it on the counter before tasting it again. A low moan crept its way up his throat and he closed his eyes. The delicious meaty flavour of the gravy slid over his taste buds and he was pretty sure he was having a mouthgasm.
“Enjoying that?”
Oliver dropped the spoon and swallowed, erupting into a coughing fit as the gravy slipped down the wrong way. He wiped his hand across his mouth and rounded on Deano. “Stop creeping around!” he snapped. “You’re like fucking Kato in trainer socks!”
“Chill out, Inspector Clouseau,” Deano scoffed and sat down at the table.
“And how did you get in and out the shower so quick?”
“I was having a wash, not a wank.”
“Charming.” Oliver picked up the pot and put it on the table before sitting opposite him and removing the lid. “Help yourself.”
“Aren’t you going to be mother?”
“You do know I can get my hands on all sorts of undetectable poisons, don’t you?”
Deano leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “And I can tell Auntie Vi I was too tired to serve myself and her golden boy refused to help me…”
“Wanker.” Oliver stood up and slapped three big spoonfuls of stew onto Deano’s plate, ignoring the smug expression on the moron’s face. He sat back down and served himself then picked up his cutlery and began to eat. For a while the only sounds were slurping and chewing punctuated by moans of satisfaction as they finished off the entire pot between them. When he was finished, Oliver flopped back, patted his stomach and declared, “My God, that was good.”
Deano sighed happily and pushed back his chair. He walked over to the fridge, opened it and took out two bottles of Bud before closing it again. He put one of them down in front of Oliver then resumed his lounging position in his chair. “Mmm, Aunti Vi knows how to feed up a body that’s for sure.”
“What did she feed you?” Oliver quipped. “Baby Bio?”
Deano smiled at Oliver’s tease and answered, “Put me in one of Uncle Mal’s gro-bags every night ‘til I was fourteen.”
“You should do that more often.”
“Stand in a gro-bag?”
“No, moron,” Oliver drawled. “Smile.”
“Do you talk to all your patients like this?” Deano took a long drink of his beer and Oliver tried not to stare at the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“Depends on the patient.”
“Touché.”
Oliver ran a hand through his hair. They could banter back and forth all night, but the tension between them was the giant elephant reading a book in the corner of the room. It was clear to him Deano wasn’t going to mention it, so he’d have to—before it drove him completely bat shit.
“So,” he began. “Are we going to dance around it or actually talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Deano avoided Oliver’s gaze and picked at the label on his beer.
“Really?” Oliver stared at him. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“What do you want me to say?” Deano wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“Why did you kiss me?” Oliver asked.
“I was high.” Deano shrugged and took another chug of his drink.
“Nuh-uh,” Oliver replied, shaking his head. “Not good enough. Morphine may lower your inhibitions, but it doesn’t make you do stuff you don’t want to. Ergo, you wanted to kiss me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, you did.” Oliver jabbed his finger at him. “And you want to do it again.”
“Oh, I do, do I?” Deano stood up and began to clear the table. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“It’s not an opinion.” Oliver stood up and walked over to the sink where Deano was filling it with water. “It’s a fact.”
Deano grabbed the bottle of Fairy liquid, squirted it over the dishes and put the bottle back on the windowsill. “Well your facts are way off,” he snapped. “Dinner’s over.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you admit you wanted to kiss me.” Oliver stepped closer.
“I’m too old to play games, boy.”
“Then be a grown up,” Oliver jabbed a finger at Deano’s upper arm. “Admit it.”
“Stop it.”
“Just admit it.”
“I mean it.”
Oliver knew he should back away, but damn it he didn’t want to, “You wanted to kiss me!”
“What if I did?” Deano turned suddenly and Oliver stumbled as they collided. The only thing that prevented him from crashing to the floor was the grip of Deano’s soapy hands on his waist. “Why does it matter? It was just a kiss. It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Yes, it was,” Oliver said, the heat from Deano’s hands burning into his skin.
Deano stared down at him, his gaze darkening as it roamed the curves of Oliver’s face. When he spoke, the timbre of his voice sent a shiver down Oliver’s spine. “Why?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Oliver—”
“If the next thing out of your mouth is something stupid, there’s a syringe full of morphine in my pocket.” Oliver’s body hummed with want-it-right-now, his cock already half-hard.
“Don’t need it,” Deano murmured and kissed him.
Oliver melted against the onslaught of Deano’s lips. He demanded full control over the kiss and Oliver gave it to him, willingly. Right now he was more than happy to let Deano take whatever he wanted. Deano’s tongue slid sensuously against his and Oliver could taste the beer he’d been drinking, beneath that he could taste Deano.
As he lifted his arms to wrap them around Deano’s neck, he was pushed back and he had to grab onto the counter to steady himself. “Dean?” he rasped, confused. Oliver stared at Deano, whose breathing was just as erratic as his and frowned at the frustrated expression on his face.
“I can’t do this,” Deano said, scratching his fingers through his hair. “Not again.”
“What are you talking about?” Oliver closed the gap between them and put his hand on Deano’s chest.
“You don’t want someone like me.”
Deano tried to move Oliver’s hand but Oliver curled his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. He had no idea what was going on, but he sure as hell wasn’t moving until he found out. “What do you mean, someone like you?” He paused as the remnants of their morphine induced conversation bounced around his memory. “Too old, too country, too dumb?”
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you got here.”
“Wow,” Oliver said. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” Deano didn’t respond, he didn’t have to. Oliver slid his hand up Deano’s chest and palmed his cheek, a flame of hope flickering in his belly as Deano leaned into his touch. “Okay,” he said softly. “I get you’ve been burned, so have I, and if you want me to go, I will. But whatever this is between us, it’s not going to just go away. It’s real, it’s happening and ignoring it won’t make a damn bit of difference. And there’s something else you should know about me.
“I might not have as many miles on the clock as you, but I’ve seen and experienced a lot more than most guys twice my age, and I’m certain of one thing. I decide what I want, no one else. And what I want right now; is most definitely you.” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “The question is. What do you want?”
Oliver got a definite sense of déjà-vu when, as before, he almost reached the front door before Deano grabbed him and spun him around. He was pinned against the wall by the weight of Deano’s body and the heat in his hooded gaze. His mouth dried quicker than the desert in a sandstorm, and the keys he’d pulled out of his pocket on the way down the hall clattered to the floor as they fell from his tingling fingers.
“What do I want?” Deano ground out, sliding his hands up Oliver’s thighs and around to cup his arse. “I want you, underneath me, naked and screaming my name. That’s what I want.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Oliver’s ear, sending shards of desire through him. “I want to feel the heft of you in my mouth, taste you on my tongue and make you come so hard you forget everything and everyone but me. That’s what I want.”
“Fuck,” Oliver whined.
“Yeah.” Deano slid his lips along Oliver’s jaw, edging closer and closer to where Oliver desperately needed them. “That too.”
Oliver turned his head and captured Deano’s lips in a searing kiss. Deano wasn’t the only one who liked to be in control. Oliver whimpered into his mouth as Deano lifted him off the floor. He wrapped his legs around Deano’s waist and crossed his ankles, threading his fingers into Deano’s hair as their lips parted and came back together over and over again. Eventually oxygen became an issue and Oliver was so hard he was convinced his cock was going to break out of his boxers. Deano buried his face in the hollow of Oliver’s throat and lapped at his skin, pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard on his flesh.
“Jesus!” Oliver couldn’t have stopped the cry if he’d wanted to. He linked his hands around the back of Deano’s neck as he began to walk down the hall, Oliver still in his arms. For a moment he thought they were headed back into the kitchen and almost came in his trousers at the thought of Deano spread out on the table, naked. But Deano suddenly veered to the left and kicked at a door to the left of the hall just before the kitchen, which opened outwards. Oliver glanced over his shoulder at the small staircase hidden by what he’d thought had been a store cupboard. He snorted as Deano wobbled slightly as he climbed the wooden stairs, bumping against the walls as he tried not to drop him. “It’s like Goldilocks house,” Oliver murmured, kissing along Deano’s jaw, the scrape of his stubble on his mouth sending shockwaves straight to his needy cock. “Which bear are you?”
“The horny one.”
“The horny one?” Oliver giggled. “I like the sound—ow!” He clasped a hand to the back of his head where he’d hit the ceiling when Deano traversed the last step up onto the landing.
“Shit! Fuck! Sorry!”
“More like the clumsy one.” Oliver teased as he rubbed his head.
“Clumsy?” Deano walked down the landing and kicked open another door. “I’ll show you clumsy.” He sucked Oliver’s earlobe into his mouth and propelled them both down onto the bed in a tangled heap.
Oliver wasn’t sure how it happened because he didn’t remember anything but the delicious slip-slide of Deano’s mouth against his, but they were both suddenly naked. Fingertips slid over soft, warm skin. Breathy sighs and desperate moans echoed around the room as they explored every inch of each other.
When Deano took him into his mouth, Oliver arched off the mattress in ecstasy. He’d had hot sex before, but not like this. Not this heady combination of desire and tenderness. Everything about this man was a revelation. Oliver’s world was spinning out of control but he didn’t want it to stop. Deano set up a merciless rhythm on his cock, sucking the head while his hand worked Oliver’s shaft. “Don’t stop, Deano. Feels so good.” He lifted his head and looked down his body when Deano removed his mouth from his cock and stared up at him. “What?”
“Dean,” he growled. “Not Deano.”
Oliver moistened his lips and deliberately lowered his voice before he replied. “Don’t stop… Dean.”
“Hot, so fuckin’ hot,” Deano replied and sank back onto Oliver’s cock.
Oliver repeated his name over and over as Deano took him to the edge and back again so many times he lost count. “Dean, please, gotta come,” he begged. Deano released his cock and Oliver almost burst into tears of frustration, until Deano crawled up his body and stared down at him.
“You’re not coming until you’re inside me.”
Oliver wouldn’t have thought he could get any harder, but he did as Deano’s deep, honey and whisky voice slid over him like a caress. He watched, breathing deeply, while Deano reached across to the bedside table to take lube and condoms out of the drawer. Not that he had any objections, but his big man was a bottom? His man. The thought sent a thrill through Oliver. If he was honest, he’d been thinking of Deano as his from that first morphine driven kiss in the darkened hallway.
Deano handed Oliver the lube and condoms then laid down beside him, his thick cock weeping freely onto his stomach. “Go slow, okay? It’s been a while.”
“Just relax. I’ve got you.” Oliver got to his knees and flipped the top on the lube. He looked at the vision before him and shook his head slowly, squeezing a generous dollop of lube onto his fingers.
“What?” Deano asked, frowning up at him, his cheeks flushed.
“You are so fuckin’ beautiful,” Oliver replied as he nudged his way between Deano’s heavily muscled thighs. The flush on Deano’s cheeks deepened. Oliver watched, mesmerised, at the way the tendons in Deano’s neck stood out against his skin when he circled his hole. The way his throat fluttered and the muscles in his stomach rippled when Oliver slid first one, then the other deep inside him. Felt a surge of power at the jolt of Deano’s hips and the guttural cry from his lips when he sought out and found that sweet spot. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Dean,” he murmured, pumping his fingers into Deano’s ass. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.” Oliver removed his fingers and grabbed a condom, ripping open the packet with his teeth. “I want you, Doc, please.”
Oliver rolled the condom down his shaft and liberally coated his cock with lube. He settled into position and curled his fingers around Deano’s cock, wanking him firmly as he slid into him. He let go of Deano’s cock and braced himself on his hands, filling his lungs with air, fighting the need to move. “Oh my God, Dean,” he ground out. “Oh my God.”
“Do it,” Deano said, pupils blown wide as he stared up at him. “Fuck me, Ollie. Fuck me.”
Oliver didn’t need asking twice. He varied his thrust from slow and gentle to hard and frenzied to the accompaniment of their mingled cries of pleasure. He repaid the favour and left Deano teetering on the edge of ecstasy until he was ready to let him have his release. The release they both craved. Finally, he couldn’t hold on any longer and he pushed Deano’s knees up to his broad chest and pounded into him.
“No!” he shouted when Deano reached down for his own cock. “On my dick, baby. Come on my dick.”
Deano reached up and gripped the headboard, meeting Oliver thrust for thrust. “Harder!” he moaned. “I’m coming. Oh shit, Doc, I’m coming!”
Two more thrusts and Deano came between them, steady ropes of white splattering his chest. Oliver followed him a thrust later, stilling inside him as he filled the condom, the feel of his own hot seed on his sensitive skin heightening every last sensation. As the last of his orgasm from him, Oliver eased out of Deano and collapsed on top of him, uncaring of the sticky mess. He buried his face in the hollow of Deano’s throat and inhaled the musky scent of the sweat that had pooled there. Deano wrapped his arms around him and Oliver lay there, utterly sated, until their breathing had returned to something resembling normal.
“That… was…” Oliver looked up at Deano and smiled.
“It was… definitely…” Deano agreed and gazed down at him with a big shit-eating grin on his face. He kissed Oliver, soft and slow as his fingers traced the length of his spine, making Oliver squirm.
“Ugh.” Oliver wrinkled up his nose when Deano let him up for air. “I think we need to clean up.” He gasped as Deano rolled him onto his back and stared down at him, his cock hardening against Oliver’s thigh and wicked intent in his eyes. Heat unfurled in Oliver’s belly, which quickly turned into a brush fire when Deano leaned in and whispered in his ear.
“Whatever you say, Doc. But when you’re done, it’s my turn to get you dirty.”