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by beetle
Rated: 18+ · Other · Romance/Love · #2025925
Jacob Warner has EVERYTHING . . . or so he thought. . . .
“You would not believe the day I’ve had, Jason. I swear, the board’s trying to give me a heart attack.” Jacob Warner pauses in the act of loosening his tie and drops his briefcase near the front door. “Or maybe a stroke.”

Jacob kicks off his shoes, also leaving them where they land, and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it at the tasteful mahogany coat rack Jason had gotten him for Christmas. Whether the jacket makes it to its destination, Jacob knows nor cares not.

Untucking his shirt, he pads tiredly down the front hall, to the living room, where he can usually count on finding Jason waiting up for him (usually in loose, cotton sleepwear that Jacob can have fun sneaking his hands into) on one sofa or another, sometimes watching soccer.

If Jason's been watching “the footie” as he calls it, he’s usually in a lively (read: horny) mood. A thought that makes Jacob smile, despite the awful day he’s had. He could totally get behind—figuratively and literally—a night spent fucking his intensely hot boyfriend on every sofa and relatively level surface in the living room. It wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly won’t be the last, if Jacob has anything to say about it.

“How’s the footie going, babe?” He enters the living room asking, sliding a hand under his shirt and scratching his chest. “Am I gonna be celebrating with you or consoling you when I wear that ass out, toni—”

And that’s where Jacob falls totally silent, gobstruck by the scene he walks in on.

His boyfriend—big, brawny, tattoo-covered, martial arts-knowing, private security firm-owning, ex-British Secret Service boyfriend—is sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the aforementioned cotton sleepwear of t-shirt and drawstring pants, leaning forward on his knees, grinning down at a squirming, mewling pile of fur.

“Jacob, love, you’re home,” he murmurs, glancing up, that grin turning into the smile he saves for Jacob, and only Jacob. “Come and see the puppies!”

“The—the what-ies?” Jacob asks, digging one finger into his ear as if to clear it of obstruction. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, it sounded like you said puppies.”

Jason laughs. “But I did say puppies. Come, see!”

Puzzled, Jacob shuffles across the room, to the sofa that faces the ginormous 3D television and Jason, who’s sitting on the patch of—ice-white—carpet in front it. And between Jason and the antique coffee table are, indeed, puppies.

“Where on Earth did those come from?” Jacob asks—sternly, he hopes, but maybe just a bit whiny, too. “And how long are they gonna be here?”

Jason looks up at him from underneath always surprisingly long lashes. “Well, they came from a friend of mine whose Mastiff had a litter. And they’re staying . . . indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely?”

Jason shrugs, licking those full, perfect lips. “How long they stay depends upon you, butch.”

Jacob blinks. Then frowns. Then takes a step back, shaking his head. “Oh, no! We’re not adopting these puppies!”

“Oh, don’t be so reactionary, dearest,” Jason dismisses, picking up one of the puppies, who lets out a high puppy-bark. “Look at these faces, and tell me you don’t want to hold them forever and ever!”

Jason practically coos at the puppy in his hands and kisses its forehead. It, in turn, licks his chin excitedly.

“There’s only one thing in this world I wanna hold forever, Jason, and it’s not a hairy drool-machine. You know, except when it’s sucking my cock. . . .”

"Ha-bloody-ha." Jason rolls his eyes and puts the puppy down. “Is sex all you think about, butch?”

“Occasionally I think about the Stock Market and basketball.”

Jason rolls his own eyes and stands up. He steps close to Jacob and slides his hands up Jacob’s chest. “Butch, please? For me? Give it some thought, eh?” He leans in and kisses Jacob’s lips tenderly.

Jacob sighs, puts his hands on Jason’s waist, and deepens the kiss. It’s not long before Jason’s arms are wrapped around Jacob’s neck, and Jacob’s hands are on Jason’s perfect ass, kneading and squeezing. . . .

Then Jason’s pulling away, laughing a little. “Butch, butch, not until the children have gone to sleep,” he says quickly, glancing behind him at the still-tussling puppies.

Jacob can only laugh. At least until he realizes Jason’s not joking at all. But he still has to make sure. “Are you serious?”

Jason winces, but nods. “Well, love, they’re only puppies, after all. And you have to admit it’d be rather odd to shag in front of them.”

“My point exactly. So let’s ix-nay on the uppies-pay.” Jacob puts his foot down firmly. Crosses his arms, looks stern, and everything.

And Jason’s response?

Is to make the wibble face.

“Ah, fuck, not the wibble-face,” Jacob groans, sitting on the sofa and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He covers his face with both his hands. "We are not, I repeat, not keeping those puppies!”

“Oh, but butch—“

No! That’s my final word on it!”

Silence.

Not so much as an in-drawn breath.

Jacob’s never told Jason flat-out no regarding anything—not even when Jason practically shanghaied him onto that world cruise six months ago. Not even when Jason wanted to be tied to the bed, spread-eagle, blindfolded, and randomly covered in hot wax.

Not even when Jason came to his office, sucked his cock for, like, half an hour—kept edging him—then made him wear that cock-ring for the rest of the afternoon.

Jacob smiles a little at that memory. At the frustration of sitting through that informal shareholder’s meeting—thankfully in his on office—unable to even think clearly for the hard-on that had absorbed ninety percent of his body’s attention.

And when he’d gotten home later that afternoon, having left the office early, for once, he’d damn near fucked the life out of Jason, who then hadn’t stopped smiling for at least a week after.

Sighing, Jacob peeks through his fingers.

He can see the top of Jason’s bowed head and slumped shoulders.

Ah, fuck, he thinks, removing his hands. Jason is, in fact, petting the puppies slowly, sadly. Each one of them tumbles and scrambles to get more of his hand than the other, their mewls and barks barely carrying to Jacob’s ears. Well, at least they’re not noisy.

“Good-bye, darlings,” Jason says softly, his voice strange and choked. “’Bye, Merry and Pippin—and you, too, Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub?” Jacob demands on the back of a brief laugh. But Jason doesn’t join him. Doesn’t even look up.

“Well, it seemed to fit her.” Jason picks up one of the puppies, and it—well, she—barks, her startling blue eyes focused on Jacob. She growls—a tiny, rather adorable puppy-growl, then wriggles when Jason pulls her to his chest for a cuddle.

And there they sit: unhappy man and angry dog. Jacob can’t see her, but he can still hear the tiny growls.

“Baby, look,” he begins, swinging his feet to the floor and leaning forward to put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason doesn’t shrug it away, would never be so childish, but neither does he lean into it, like he normally would. “We don’t need puppies to be happy. We’re just fine as is, right?”

More silence.

Worried, Jacob slides to the floor, on his knees next to Jason. “Right?”

Jason sighs and looks over at Jacob. His face is solemn and his eyes are slightly red, though he’s—thankfully—not . . . crying or anything.

“Of course we are, my love,” he says finally, smiling a little. But it’s a sad sort of smile. “We don’t need anyone or anything but us.”

“But?” Jacob asks, saying what Jason’s left unsaid. It makes Jason look away.

“But . . . sometimes it feels like there’s something missing. Maybe . . . we need someone with which to share what we have. And I know—” Jason laughs, rather humorlessly “—that you don’t want children. You’ve made that quite clear. But I thought that maybe a pet . . . or three . . . wouldn’t bother you as much. That you might even like the idea, once you got used to it.”

Jacob puts his arms around Jason’s shoulders and kisses his temple. “Well . . . maybe some tropical fish . . . or a parakeet. . . .”

“Prat. I meant a real pet.”

“Ah. A real pet that can piss and shit wherever it pleases, whenever it pleases, and bark till it wakes up the entire neighborhood?”

“Rather something that will love unconditionally, is trustworthy, loyal, and protective.” Jason looks at Jacob again, still smiling that sad smile. “But I see that’s not something you want.”

“Babe, that’s something I already have,” Jacob says softly, pulling Jason against him. He can feel the puppy squirming between them, making confused little barks. “And it’s something you have, too. For as long as you want it.”

“I know.” And one of Jason’s arms slides around Jacob’s waist. They hold each other like that—Jacob wincing as, every so often, the puppy scores a scratch on him with her sharp little needle-nails—Jason breathing deeply and turning his face into Jacob’s neck.

“I love you, Jason. And if you want children, I can make that happen,” Jacob says lowly, earnestly. “Adoption, surrogate mother—whatever you want, I can make it happen. You don’t have to get puppies as a substitute.”

Jason laughs a little and sits back, wiping quickly at his eyes. The smile he’s wearing now is wry and fond. “Jacob, I don’t want children now, and certainly not if you don’t—“

“I could get used to the idea . . . I mean, having a child might not be so bad,” Jacob concedes, though he can’t imagine being a father.

He rather thinks, however, that Jason would be a pretty good one.

“We’re not ready for children yet, and I don’t know that we ever will be. But if that time comes . . . it’s nice to know that’s an option.” Jason leans in to kiss Jacob lingeringly. “And if I ever was to raise I child, I couldn’t imagine doing so with anyone else.”

Touched and flattered, Jacob smiles back. Then winces as the puppy digs her tiny teeth into one of his ribs. “Shit!” He pulls away from Jason and looks down at the scored holes in his shirt. He pulls it up to see if skin was broken, and it has, indeed, been broken. The four punctures aren’t bleeding, but they’re red, and already starting to puff up around the torn edges.

“Oh, butch, I’m so sorry! That’s a bad girl, Bubbie! Bad!” Jason holds the puppy up so they’re eye to eye. “We don’t bite!”

Beelzebub mewls again, and squirms in an attempt to lick Jason’s face.

Jacob gets to his feet, still examining the bite. “I do hope they’ve had all their shots.”

“Of course they have. I would never have brought them into our home, otherwise. Now, you just stay right here, my love, and I’ll get the antiseptic and some bandages.”

“Oh-kay,” Jacob says, but Jason’s already jogging off to the bathroom, having shoved Beelzebub at a startled Jacob.

In the ensuing silence, man looks down at puppy and puppy looks up at man. Blue eyes meet blue eyes, and they both lick their lips.

“Uh,” Jacob says, and the puppy wriggles and wiggles in his hands—even tries to bite again in an attempt to get free. “Stop doing that, or you’re going to make me drop you.”

The puppy barks and growls and struggles.

Sighing again, Jacob sits on the sofa, still holding the puppy out from his body—once bitten, twice shy—and hoping Jason comes back soon.

At his feet, the two other puppies have stopped wrestling to stare up at Jacob and their sister. They, too, have the same startling blue eyes and a wibble-face not unlike Jason's.

“Don’t even bother, because we’re not keeping you,” Jacob tells them. One of them wags his tail and the other yawns and licks his chops.

“You, especially,” Jacob tells Beelzebub, who’s still struggling to get free. Jacob debates putting her down, then decides Jason hadn’t done so for a reason. So perhaps it’s best to keep holding her till he comes back.

And where the hell is Jason? The penthouse is big, but it’s not that big.

He looks off in the direction Jason had gone.

“We are not keeping these puppies!” he calls.

No answer.

And Merry and Pippin choose that moment to cuddle up to Jacob’s feet.

He looks down at them—they are, it would seem, ready to go to sleep—and watches them shift and wiggle about till they find positions to their liking: one on his back, the other on his stomach, and both half on Jacob’s feet.

Jacob goggles disbelievingly at them for a few seconds, debating on whether to try and ease his feet out from under. In his hands, Beelzebub’s struggles are slowing, and her tiny barks and growls have turned to tired wuffs.

“Oh, no, not you, too.” Jacob is tempted to shake her awake, but doesn’t know whether that’d make her puke or piss, or—something. “C’mon, Jason, where are you?”

Beelzebub is blinking sleepily, and she opens her mouth in something Jacob will deny to his death is a yawn. This puppy is not falling asleep in his hands.

“Jason!”

“Coming, butch, I’m coming!”

In a perfect universe, yeah, you would be, Jacob thinks ruefully. A few seconds later, Jason reappears, holding the Neosporin spray and two relatively large square bandages.

“Your gorgeous nursemaid has arrived,” Jason says, kneeling carefully between Jacob’s legs and placing the spray and bandages next to Jacob’s right thigh. Then he takes Beelzebub, who yawns again. “Poor little dove, she’s so tired . . . yes, she is.”

Jacob rolls his eyes as he relinquishes the puppy. “She should be, what with all the fighting and biting.”

“Don’t be cross with her, butch. She’s just a puppy,” Jason tuts, placing Beelzebub on the floor next to Jacob’s right foot. She hesitantly sniffs Jacob’s foot, then her sleeping brother, before curling up next to him with another wuff and seeming to drop immediately into sleep herself.

Jacob glances at Jason, and catches the most wistful, yearning look on his lover's handsome face.

It literally takes his breath away.

But then Jason’s unbuttoning Jacob’s shirt with business-like efficiency. At the sight of the small bite, Jason’s full mouth makes a moue even as he’s applying the spray—which stings a bit—and the bandage.

Through it all, Jacob finds himself searching Jason’s face for any signs of that wistful look. He’s so eager to see it again that he’s reaching out to cup Jason’s face in his hand before he consciously thinks about it.

Those grey-green eyes meet his own, questioning and serious.

“What is it, butch?”

Jacob smiles a little. “I love you, Jason Dalglish.”

“And I never get tired of hearing that you love me,” Jason quips, winking. Then he grins. “And I adore you, Jacob Warner. I love you more than words will ever adequately express.”

Brushing his thumb across Jason’s lips, Jacob sits forward a bit. “First thing in the morning, we’re finding them an obedience school. A top-notch one.”

Jason frowns. “What?”

“And they’re not allowed in the bedroom or my office, or any place we happen to be fucking at that moment.” Jacob makes a face. “Especially Beelzebub. She’d probably try to bite my dick off the moment it got near you. She’s really over-protect—mmph!“

“You, my love, won’t be sorry,” Jason breathes when their kiss ends for lack of oxygen. His eyes are sparkling and bright, and he’s looking at Jacob like he hung the moon. “I’ll clean up after them and take care of all their grooming and jabs. Oh, butch!” Jason kisses him again, quick and teasing. “You’ll see, this’ll be brilliant!”

“Meh. It'd better be. I'm going against my better judgment, here,” Jacob says, staring grumpily off into the distance over Jason’s shoulder. And so he misses the sly look that crosses the features he so loves.

“Jacob?”

“Yeah?” Jacob grunts.

“Don’t look now, but . . . the children are asleep.”

Jacob blinks. Then he grins, meeting Jason’s shining, crafty eyes. “Why, I do believe you’re correct, Mr. Dalglish.” He lets his legs fall open wider.

“Mm.” Jason’s deft fingers are already undoing Jacob’s belt. Jacob swallows, and helpfully lifts his pelvis off the sofa when Jason’s got his fly undone and is attempting to pulls his slacks and underwear down.

“Yes, please,” Jacob breathes when large, capable hands settle on his bare thighs, and he leans back into the sofa, arms spread out on the back.

His head falls back as well, as Jason gets going in earnest, alternately humming and swallowing around Jacob expertly.

It’s not meant to be a marathon session, and it isn’t. Jacob’s done within minutes, biting his lip so as not to shout and wake the puppies currently snoring on his feet.

But Jason makes such wanton sounds of satiation, it's a real struggle not to do more than groan and hiss and whisper swears.

When Jacob comes back to himself, still panting and very obviously aroused, it’s to see Jason slithering up into his lap, smirking contentedly. Chuckling, Jason leans close for a kiss that Jacob moans into helplessly, still caught in the grip of his passion.

Finally, breathing becomes a priority once more, and the kiss reluctantly ends. Jacob wraps his arms around Jason and holds him tight, relishing the solid weight pinning him to the sofa. Jason lays his head on Jacob's shoulder and turns his face to Jacob's throat once more with a contented little sigh. And that sigh . . . it makes Jacob's heart feel over-full, as it has been for the past eight months.

“Love you, babe. . . .”

“Mm, I love you, too, butch . . . now, about that parakeet you mentioned. . . .”

END
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