Page 15 of The Trailer Park Twink

“You want the outline of Texas filled in with a rainbow, too?” Clint asks, placing a new needle on the end of his tattoo gun.

“You don’t have to,” I reassure him, but I don’t think he needs reassurance. He doesn’t look bothered by the prospect at all.

“I’m just as proud of my gay son as Bubba is of his queer kid. You bet your fucking ass I want that rainbow.” He cups my cheek. “Thank you, Austin.”

“For what?”

He snorts a laugh. “For what? You got me branded on your ass.” His eyes flash this ridiculous expression—swirls and slashes of mischief flickering all around—and his cocky grin widens. “I’m gonna be on your ass for the rest of your life.”

Damn right he is. On it. In it, hopefully. He can just come and go as he pleases. Make himself at home. Kick up his feet and take a load off .

“Yeah?” I breathe, taking a step forward. We’re chest to chest, our stomachs touching. Our breaths collide.

“Yeah.” Dallas hops onto the bar and lies on his stomach. He reaches below, unbuttoning his jeans and shimmying them down until his entire ass is exposed. Fuck. It’s the second time I’ve seen it in a week, and the view just keeps getting better.

“Get over there, kid,” Clint says, pulling my attention away from Dallas’ ass.

Clint is pointing at the stool beside Dallas, urging me forward.

There’s a hint of knowingness in his eyes, though, aside from Dallas, I’m pretty sure everyone here knows how I feel for my stepdad.

It’s not as if I’ve tried to dilute my emotions for them. “Go hold the boyfriend’s hand.”

My heart thumps rapidly in my chest, because Jesus Christ. He can’t just say that like it means nothing. Like that word doesn’t hold the power to rip away everything I’m hoping for, all at once.

Dallas turns his head in my direction, laughing softly as he pats the bar he’s lying on.

“You heard him. Come hold your boyfriend’s hand.

” He’s joking. I know Dallas better than I know myself.

I think the pot is getting to him, because he looks dazed and more than a little confused.

“Don’t make me wait, baby,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows.

I take a seat on the barstool.

“Is that what you are?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and silly. “Are you my new boyfriend? ”

He winks at me. “For tonight, at least. Now, be my good boy and hold my hand like he asked.”

Our hands touch, fingers weaved, our grip unbreakable. Dallas lets out a gentle sigh and rests his head on my forearm, using me as a pillow.

I keep darting my eyes back, forcing myself to stop, because I don’t feel right staring at his ass without his permission. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I—I mean, would it make you uncomfortable if . . .” I close my eyes and sigh.

“You can look,” he whispers, nudging his head, motioning for me to watch as Clint tattoos his bare ass.

His face is red and sweat is pouring down his forehead, so I grab a paper towel from the roll Clint has been using to wipe away ink, and gently dab to dry his forehead.

As I’m toweling off the last remnants of sweat, Dallas grabs my wrist. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an urgency in them I’ve never seen before.

“I want you to look.” His voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it, and judging by his bloodshot eyes, I doubt he meant to voice that want, but I plant it in my secret heart anyway, hoping it might bloom big and bright and beautiful one day.

“I need you to watch it happen, because I need you to know how much you mean to me. You’re my fuckin’ world. ”

My breaths are shallow as I lean closer, touching my forehead against his.

His tongue darts out, spanning the length of his lips.

I pucker my lips just to feel his tongue against them, and Dallas will have to forgive me for falling victim to the moment.

The second his tongue touches down, he moans louder than I’ve ever heard him.

Louder than every single moan he’s shared with my mother combined.

He’s gone fucking feral on me, and I want it.

More of this beast of a man I’ve never met.

More of his hunger and thirst. Fucking consume me.

Devour me until I’m just bits of a broken twink, scattered across this trailer home’s floor.

Last night, when he flashed his ass at me, I didn’t think anything could ever match the moment.

Now, sitting here with Daddy holding my hand, staring up at me like I’m the most precious person in the world as a man literally brands my likeness on his ass, I realize this moment tops it. This moment tops everything.

His butt is just as furry as I remember it from last night, and it pokes out at a delicious angle.

It might not be the largest ass I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely the nicest. Even better than Tatum’s and the Bens’.

I stare at his crack like I’m studying scripture, wanting to dip my finger between his crevice and touch the place I’ve only ever dreamed of touching.

Would he let me? Would Dallas let me trail my tongue across it ?

“Does it look good?” he asks, sounding a little shyer than usual.

“It’s perfect,” I answer, unsure if he’s talking about the tattoo or his ass in general. Oh, well. Two things can be true.

He squeezes my hand, and when I look down at him, he looks deliriously drunk and super fucking hot. “Aussie?”

“Yeah, Daddy?”

He swallows. “I wasn’t talkin’ about the tattoo.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, because I know whatever I say next has the power to ruin whatever this thing between us is.

“Neither was I.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His smile widens, his big, bloodshot eyes burning holes in me. “Good boy.”

Holy fucking shit. I know I’m not drunk enough to be misreading the moment this much, but we did share a little pot earlier.

Either way, stoned or not, this feels like the start of something more.

Just the smallest hint of inevitability.

An inkling of something that feels a lot like hope.

I’m staring openly at his ass now, not even bothering to hide my roaming gaze .

I overhear Bubba and Johnny asking Dallas about his “party trick,” but I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

“Party trick?” I ask Dallas, and even though he’s drunk off his ass, the words register, and his cheeks darken.

Looking over his shoulder at Bubba, he growls, then slurs out, “I told you that in confidence.”

Bubba nods. “And before you whipped it out and proved it, I was confident you were lying. Now I’m just real goddamn proud to have such a talented friend.”

“I’m sorry,” the quiet one finally speaks up. “Party trick?”

“Yeah,” Bubba says, looking down at Dallas with pride in his eyes. “D-Bag can suck himself off.”

My jaw hits the floor, and Dallas jerks his head up. At first, I figure he’ll whirl it around to give Bubba a death-glare, but he doesn’t. His eyes find mine, his cheeks burning bright red.

Holy shit. Is that true? Dallas has sucked his own cock before? There’s been a cock in Dallas’ mouth at some point or another, and even if it was his own, it makes my dick swell in my skinny jeans.

“Can you?” I whisper, leaning closer.

Dallas bites his lip, looking nervous as he nods. “I know it’s probably gross—”

I place my hand over his mouth and quickly jerk my head back and forth, insistent. “It’s not. That’s not gross at all.” It’s fucking hot, I think, but I can’t really say that out loud .

“The way he can work the head with the tip of his tongue . . .” Bubba adds, staring dreamily into the distance. “Fuck. I came on the spot, my prick untouched, the first time I saw it.”

My eyes bulge. “You watched?” I ask, my heart racing.

When Bubba doesn’t answer, Clint nods. “Like we said, it’s his party trick. Pretty good trick too. I tried it once, but I almost broke my damn back.”

“Wait . . .” I say, dramatically holding my hands in front of my chest like I’m about to barter for something. “The first time you saw it?’ Does that mean you’ve seen it more than once?”

Clint clicks off the tattoo gun and stares up at me, blinking slowly. “Why do you keep repeating everything we say, but make it sound like a question? Are you fuckin’ with us?”

I shake my head rapidly, and it feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. They got to watch Dallas. They got to see him in a way I never have, and it makes my blood boil. I lean closer to Dallas and thump his forehead as hard as I can.

“Motherfuck! What the hell was that for?” he drunkenly groans.

“I want to go home,” I say, folding my arms in front of my chest. “Wanna go home because I’m fucking furious with you, Dallas.”

Panic spreads across his face, and his hand touches my cheek, his grip firm, but not uncomfortable. “What’s wrong? You were happy a minute ago. ”

I bite my cheek hard, needing an outlet for all my jealousy. As I do, every eye is on me, and I watch, one by one, as realization settles.

Clint’s lip quirks in the corner.

Johnny drunkenly gives me a nod.

Bubba, however, is the only one who takes action. He puts a hand on Dallas’ back, pulling his attention away from me. “I think little bro is just curious about how that works, D-Bag. It ain’t every day you meet someone who can suck their own schlong.”

Schlong? Ugh. Kill me.

Dallas’ eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them I can’t quite read.

He’s drunk as fuck, so the look could mean anything, but it has that same fatherly care to it I’m so used to seeing from him.

“I . . .” He takes a deep breath, and he inches up the table, just a little bit closer.

“I can show you sometime. I don’t mind.”

My heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

Bubba claps his hand against my shoulder, startling me. “Hell yeah, he will. He’ll show it to anyone who asks. Ain’t that right, bud?”

Dallas shrugs noncommittally to the question. I don’t even know if he understood the words, because he isn’t looking away from me. “Especially you. ”