Page 3 of Collin, Episodes 4-6 (The Residency Boys #2)

Collin fell asleep, though it couldn’t have been for long.

Mr. Reevesworth held him through it, covering him with the loose end of the comforter as the sweat cooled on their skin.

But in time, there was a need to wash. Collin obeyed the prompt to return to the bathroom and rinse off.

Mr. Reevesworth entered the shower with him.

They soaped up together, touching and sharing, then rinsing.

Collin went back for more soap to clean himself between his legs, but Mr. Reevesworth took the bottle away from him.

He turned Collin and made a motion down toward his own hip. Collin frowned. This didn’t make sense.

Mr. Reevesworth widened his stance and bent forward, wrapping one arm around the back of Collin’s waist and then standing up himself.

Collin’s arms windmilled. As Mr. Reevesworth stood, his grip pushed Collin into an angle at the waist, as if he was about to be spanked.

Eyes on the floor, head hanging down, ass upturned.

It was proprietary in the extreme. Collin spread his legs so as not to fall, but he was nearly on his tiptoes already. His arms felt weird and useless. He stifled his complaints in the back of his throat and wrapped one arm around Mr. Reevesworth’s leg.

Mr. Reevesworth said nothing and simply held him tight until Collin stopped moving. Then he spread Collin’s ass and rubbed soap and water over his hole. He was thorough. After another rinse, Mr. Reevesworth sank two fingers into him and held them there.

Collin shuddered and hung his head, eyes closed. There was no need for this. He knew it. But he let go of Mr. Reevesworth’s legs, letting his head and arms hang loose, and inched his legs apart the centimeter or somore that he could manage and waited.

Mr. Reevesworth moved his fingers back and forth, deeper and deeper. Then he pulled them out and returned, this time with three fingers, covered in slick.

Collin’s thoughts disappeared into a cloud of white static. He was nothing but the place where he was being taken and explored. Those fingers twisted and spread and kneaded against his swollen prostrate. The muscles in his thighs quivered, but he stayed quiet and waiting.

Mr. Reevesworth drew him upright and slowly slid his fingers out of Collin. But he did not wash away the slick. He left that in Collin’s channel.

Collin’s face flushed, and he dropped his eyes to the floor of the shower.

Mr. Reevesworth had just prepared him to be taken again. He was going to leave the bathroom already lubed and ready to be claimed.

Wanted. The sensation crawled through his skin and up into his face. Stripped open, raw, and available. He crept closer, pressing against Mr. Reevesworth, wordlessly seeking comfort. How could he desire something that also terrified him?

Because without Mr. Reevesworth’s protection, everything that he currently was, everything that he was submitting to, could be derided.

Mr. Reevesworth cupped Collin’s face in his hands and kissed him. “What color are you, pretty boy?”

“Green,” Collin whispered against the other man’s lips. “Green and scared. Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. You’re mine.” His lips pressed against Collin’s forehead.

He drew Collin out of the shower and dried him off, never letting Collin handle a towel. Collin leaned against the counter as Mr. Reevesworth dried himself. He took Collin by the hand and led him out into the bedroom where he put on a pair of loose linen pants and nothing else.

“Let’s go into the living room.”

Collin nodded and gave Mr. Reevesworth his hand again. They went to the kitchen first.

Collin shifted his weight from one foot to another, glancing around. “Should I get clothes, sir?”

Mr. Reevesworth shook his head. He opened the refrigerator and selected a variety of bottles, placing them on a tray. There was water, juice, and kefir, a drink that Collin was only slowly coming to appreciate.

In the living room, Mr. Reevesworth drew him toward the largest couch. He laid one of the folded blankets folded over the back of the cushions and opened one of the bottles of juice, placing it in Collin’s hands.

“Drink all of it.”

“Yes, sir.” Collin put the rim to his lips.

Mr. Reevesworth opened his own bottle. He wandered around the room and into his office for only a moment, returning with one of the books he had been reading the past week in his hands. “Is there anything you would like to have?”

Collin shook his head. Mr. Reevesworth stretched out on the couch on his back, head propped up with cushions against one of the armrests.

Collin crawled on top of him and between his legs, his stomach pressed against Mr. Reevesworth’s hips, and drank his juice, gazing at a spot of nothing out the window.

Bottle consumed, he pushed it toward the table, not quite able to reach.

Mr. Reevesworth reached down and took it from his fingers, setting it on the coffee table. He ran his hands through Collin’s hair. “How do you feel?”

“Sleepy, sir. But I don’t know if I should rest.”

“Close your eyes. émeric will be back with dinner in a few hours. You can rest now and still sleep again tonight. You’ve been through a lot.”

“You won’t leave?”

“No. If I move, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

Collin closed his eyes and dropped his head to Mr. Reevesworth’s belly. His breathing evened out almost at once.

His full bladder and soft voices drew Collin up from the oblivion of dreams.

“You’re falling hard, Richard.”

“I know. I’m so much older than him, émeric.”

“Age matters but only if you hold him back from the experiences he needs. Remember that. You will hold him back no more than Franklin held us back.”

“If he stays, someday he will bury me, bury us, like we buried Franklin.”

“We’re all mortal, Richard. Lovers bury each other all the time. Enzo was younger than both of us.”

Mr. Reevesworth’s body tightened, gripping Collin tighter.

“Mortality makes us love even more fiercely,” Mr. Moreau went on. “Let him be mortal. Let yourself be mortal.”

“This one can hurt me.”

“Then this one matters.”

“What if he’s not willing to lose me? Am I not selfish, knowing that years will take me before they take him?”

“Do you think Franklin was selfish loving you?”

“No. He gave us so much. He was a gift our peers could not have given us.”

“Then let Collin make the choice himself.”

Collin lifted his head, his hand gripping the flesh of Mr. Reevesworth’s chest. Mr. Reevesworth’s surprised eyes met his.

“I might be young, sir. But I’d rather be here, for however long we both have, than to walk away to avoid parting in the future.”

“You can’t know the future.”

Collin pushed himself up on his elbow, eyes fixed on Mr. Reevesworth’s face.

“Twelve years, sir. That’s all the time I had with my father.

Fourteen years—that’s nearly all I had with my mother.

Seven years is all I had with my grandfather.

And for all that it haunts me, the memory of my father walking away on the final day, I’m grateful for the fact that I had a father worth grieving.

I’m grateful that I’ve never questioned whether or not he loved me.

I’m grateful that, even though he knew from the day that I was born he might be taken from me, he gave me days that would leave behind pain because the love was so strong that it would be missed. ”

Tears trailed down Collin’s face. Even as he spoke, he could see his father’s back, the way the fabric of the man’s light jacket stretched and shifted over his shoulders as he walked away, he could smell the rain of that day, and he could hear the sounds of the traffic just out of sight.

He hadn’t known it would be his last memory.

But it had crystalized with time, with shock, and with slow acceptance of a loss that would never stop throbbing in his soul.

Mr. Reevesworth’s hand came down and covered Collin’s, pressing Collin’s palm even tighter into his chest.

Collin held his gaze for a long moment. Mr. Reevesworth gave a sharp, determined nod.

Collin laid his head back down again, facing into the room where he could see Mr. Moreau. The other man was sitting right beside them, utilizing the coffee table like a bench.

“You should drink more.” The Frenchman opened one of the bottles of water. Condensation stood out on its surface. He wiped it with a cloth napkin before handing it over.

Questions floated through Collin’s mind as he drank. Where was Damian? What time was it? Why was he still naked?

But he didn’t ask. He drank until his stomach said enough; he put the bottle back on the coffee table. Then he laid his head down again. Mr. Reevesworth placed his hand on his head.

Collin’s bladder really wanted to be emptied, but this moment was important. It could wait just for a little while.

Mr. Reevesworth’s phone buzzed. Mr. Moreau picked it up off the table and read the caller ID. He pressed the call button and passed it to his husband.

“Damian.”

With one ear pressed against Mr. Reevesworth’s stomach, Collin couldn’t hear the other end of the phone call.

“Don’t feel the need to stay if you feel you’ve done what you can.”

There were more sounds but still no clear words from the other end.

Mr. Reevesworth sighed. “No, I understand. Just come home.”

More waiting for someone else to talk.

Mr. Reevesworth huffed, but it sounded like a pleased huff. “Of course. Take your time.”

He hung up and handed the phone back to his husband. “Damian says that Ascott was a no-show at the gala.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Mr. Moreau’s mouth pressed into a line. “There are others.”

“I think someone else got to his group first.”

“Then we’ll deal.” Mr. Moreau stood up. “How long till Damian is home?”

“He met friends. They’re going out for drinks.”

Mr. Moreau lifted his chin, thinking. “He’s doing that more often lately.”

“I think his roster of contacts is as long as ours.” Mr. Reevesworth shook his head, then smiled. “He’s well established now. I’m proud of him.”