#stromarner

"Baby. Mitch," he says, voice soft and maybe a little scared, because yeah, he loves Mitch and he'll always let Mitch do what he wants, even if it's bad for him. Dylan has put as many barriers as he can between Mitch and outright self destruction. Vetting guys, and requiring condoms, and making Mitch promise he won't take pills from strangers--but there's only so much he can reasonably do for him.

"'M sorry," Mitch mumbles.

Dylan shakes his head. He goes to Mitch, crouches down, and opens his arms. Mitch stares at him for a second, and then his face crumples and he tears his hand away from his mouth and throws himself at Dylan.

Dylan catches him, because that's what Dylan does, and he lets Mitch claw at his back and cry into his shoulder. He holds Mitch tight with one arm around his waist and shifts to press him back into the wall. He pets Mitch's hair and mumbles soft reassurances into his hair. "I'm not mad at you. You're okay. You're home. I've got you, baby. Not going anywhere," he murmurs.

Mitch shakes and shakes and sobs, rubbing his face into Dylan's shoulder as he apologizes over and over. It used to make Dylan angry. Angry at Mitch's dad, and his first boyfriends, and the guys that take advantage of him now. But Mitch doesn't do well with anger, especially not Dylan's.

So, Dylan holds him. Mitch cries himself out. Dylan tells him over and over that he loves him, that he's safe, that Dylan's going to hold him as long as it takes.

Eventually, they get out of their clothes and into the shower. Dylan washes Mitch. He catalogs the bruises, the bitemarks. He cleans the lube out of Mitch, makes sure he hasn't torn. He ignores Mitch's hardening dick, keeps their kisses chaste even when Mitch threatens to cry again.

"You're too tender, Mitch," Dylan says. The warm water is running over them. His mouth is against the hollow of Mitch's cheek. "You'll thank me in the morning."

"No, I won't," Mitch says. His voice is thrashed, still vaguely crimped from crying, but he still manages a good petulant tone.

Dylan kisses his temple and helps him out of the shower. They dry off. Dylan brushes Mitch's teeth and makes him use mouthwash. He makes Mitch drink a whole bottle of water and then holds his dick while he pisses. He tucks Mitch into his own clothes and takes him to bed, gives him the good pillow that he usually steals for himself, and curls up around him once he's settled under the duvet.

They breathe in quiet concert for a while. Then, Mitch says, "Thank you."

Mitch flicks to another photo. It's a selfie of him and Matt. Mitch doesn't remember taking it, but it looks like it was in Matt's old place. Mitch is holding a beer and Matt has an arm around his neck, a broad smile pressed under Mitch's jaw. "Like what?" he hears himself asking. Matt probably fucked him that night. Mitch doesn't remember. He's sure Matt was nice about it, and a little skeevy, and Mitch is sure he was into it. Too bad he can't really remember any of the times Matt took him to bed.

"Jailbait," Dylan says. He's grinding against Mitch now, hand flat over his stomach, hard-on digging into the top of his ass.

Mitch snorts. "I was jailbait. I'm like... eighteen and change here." He flicks to another photo, half expecting it to be some hazy dirty shot of him and Matt. He knows that Matt took pictures, but Mitch doesn't have any of them. Doesn't know where they are. "Besides, you knew me when I was younger." He turns off his phone and slides it across the bed.

He rolls away from Dylan, onto his belly, and Dylan follows him. He rips the duvet out from under Mitch's hip and nudges his thighs apart. He slides his dick between Mitch's asscheeks, against his wet, open hole, and leans down over him so he can kiss at his shoulders and neck. "Yeah, but--it's different to see that you with like, a man."

Mitch smiles. He's starting to get hard. It feels good to have Dylan on top of him. He likes making Dylan hard, even with dirty shit like this. "You're gross," he says.

Dylan leans back to spit on the head of his cock, on Mitch's hole. "You like it," he says, which is definitely true. "I would've been so good to you."

"You were good to me," Mitch says. A little shiver of pleasure goes through him as Dylan rubs harder against his hole.

Dylan makes an annoyed noise. "No, like." He settles back down over Mitch, puts his mouth right up against his ear. "Like... me now and you then. I would be so good to you."

Mitch's mouth goes dry.

"I would've taken such good care of you. Would've fucked you and given you whatever you wanted. You would've lived with me and snuck into my hotel room on the road. I could've trained you up, just for my cock, and taken care of you."

Mitch closes his eyes. A sigh, a moan spills past his lips. He wants to say that Matt took care of him, that Pat did. But when it mattered, neither of them did. Not that Mitch blames them. But maybe--just maybe, it would've been different with Dylan. His throat goes hot and tight.

"Should I call you daddy, then?"

It snaps the tension in the room.