42 Sternclay NSFW?
Here you go! I based this on an idea we tossed around on Discord. Content warning for firearms.
42. You’re a supervillain who’s decided to enact your evil plot on Christmas and I’m the only hero in town who’s on duty because I don’t celebrate it
When Barclay was little, his moms had a miniature Christmas scene that they’d lay out on the mantelpiece. It was the Main Street of some imagined town, snow icing the roofs and candy colored lights dotting every window and door.
From up on the mountain, Barclay could almost believe Kepopolis is sitting above a fireplace in a house he lost long ago.
He turns away from the view and secures his mask; these bulldozers for Leeshon Industries aren’t going to destroy themselves.
As rips the engine free of the first machine in the row, a businesslike voice taps his shoulder.
“Step away from the machinery, Bigfoot.”
He turns, smiling at the man in black who he knew would come. Special Agent Joseph Stern, golden boy of the Bureau of Super Oversight and Barclay’s nemesis for the last two years.
“Hey Agent. Kinda figured it would just be me and you today.”
“For all you know I have back-up just on the other side of that hill.”
“You could, but you don’t. Told me last year you’re one of the only ‘heroes’ who works Christmas.”
Joseph looks annoyed, but his face quickly regains its neutral expression, “Regardless, we both know that doing this is just going to add to the list of reasons why I have to bring you in. This ends today.”
“Chill out, it’s a future ski resort, not an orphanage. Not like Leeshon would open one of those.”
“We both know he has.”
“We both also know what that turned out to be a front for, so save it and either help me wreck these things or get off my ass.” He turns away, fully expecting the sound of feet on snow as the agent makes the first move. Sad as it is, he looks forward to their fights; it’s as close as he gets to dancing these days.
The bullet whistling past his ear is alarming enough that he shifts on instinct, fur on his Bigfoot form bristling as he whirls and snarls, “What the fuck, Stern?”
The agent reloads, points his weapon at Barclay’s chest, “I said this ends today. I meant it.”
“What the hell, you’ve never pointed a gun at me when I was doing shit way worse than this!”
“I don’t have a choice.” Stern’s face is calm, steel replacing the usual cornflower blue of his eyes. Barclay may as well be staring down a stranger.
A groaning, rumbling noise from the slopes above him, one he’s certain Joseph’s human ears can’t detect.
“If you fire again, there’s a really, really good chance it’s gonna set off a fucking avalanche. Which might kill me, but would also kill you in the process which would kinda spoil the victory.”
Joseph studies him; he’ll do this sometimes, pause a fight or an argument to see if Barclay’s bluffing, and Barclay’s always secretly admired the fact he never lets his emotions run away with him.
The agent’s finger starts to pull the trigger.
“Joseph, don’t-”
The shot bounces off his suit, but the damage is done. A roaring, whooshing wave of white descends towards them and Barclay runs, grabbing Joseph’s arm as he passes him and dragging him into a sprint at his side.
“Let go!” Joseph whacks his hand hard enough to make him obey, “we’re not on the same side!”
“Yes we are! We are on the side of not dying under a thousand fucking tons of-” He skids to a stop, pivoting right before his momentum takes them over a hundred foot drop, and runs until he finds the safer, downhill slope. Joseph stays on him the whole time.
“If it hits us, I won’t have to fucking worry about you anymore!”
The sentence, screamed over the rushing snow, is the last thing he hears as they lose their race with nature. Tumbling, blind and half-smothered in the cold, doesn’t hurt nearly as much.
When his body finally stops being tossed like a sock in the laundry, he finds himself on his back with a mercifully thin layer of snow above him. He digs out into a blanketed world, trees at odd angles and ice in his fur.
There’s no sign of Joseph.
He could leave him. No one would blame him, not after Joseph tried to kill him.
Barclay kneels in the snow, rests his ear against the ground. Tells himself this is to square them up after Catalina, where Joseph was the only reason he didn’t drown.
A faint, rasping breath, about a hundred yards to his left gives him his heading and he hurries to the spot, digging at the snow until Joseph’s pale, unconscious body is in view. There’s blood on his arm, something he hit in the descent must have ripped through all his layers.
Bureau agents have distress signals on them. It wouldn’t take Barclay long to find his and call the organization to him. But something tells him they’ve had Joseph for too long.
He scoops the limp body from the snow and punches the code into his wrist guard to summon his ride home.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Gotta say, you’re a lot wilier than the other agents they’ve sent.”
“I was assigned specifically to you from here on out. I studied your combat techniques in depth.” Joseph is remarkably calm for someone currently being hoisted above the head of an eight foot tall monster.
“So you’re my special agent.” Barclay looks up at him, then snickers, “are those UFOs on your tie?”
“It’s my lucky one.”
“Not sure that’s working out so great.” Barclay’s about to throw him when a high-pitched noise makes him yelp. He drops the agent in order to cover his ears.
“I’d say it’s working well so far.” Joseph clicks a button on his watch, “I’m surprised no one hit on sonar attacks for you before.”
“Guess they weren’t as sharp as you, pretty boy.” Barclay grins right before tackling him.
Barclay bounces his legs as he sits in the chair and watches Joseph sleep in his bed. He should have seen this coming. There was a sharp decline in the agent’s interest in banter, in the times he laughed at something Barclay was certain he found funny. He stopped wearing his nerdy ties. No more aliens or bigfoot, no lake monsters or hodags (a creature Barclay found puzzling enough that he stopped the fight and made Joseph explain), just black, black, and more black.
The agent is stable and escaped the avalanche without a concussion, so Barclay leaves him to rest, crossing into the next room of his cabin and turning on his com system. There’s no response from Dani, but she’s probably out with family. Mama is off in the woods with Thacker. But he has one ally who might just be at home with nothing to do.
He hits the call button and after a moment Indrid, AKA Emperor Moth, appears on screen, red glasses reflecting a string of lights. He’s in a brown and white cable knit sweater, silver hair clearly brushed and pulled half back from his face.
Before Barclay can ask if he’s interrupting, his friend sighs, “Oh dear, so we are in this timeline.”
“I swear, if you knew I was gonna be in an avalanche and didn’t tell me-”
“Nono, that future did not emerge until the exact instant it happened. Agent Stern decided against literally all odds to fire his weapon that second time.” His friend lowers his voice, “you were right to bring him with you. Had his superiors found him there is a good chance you would never have seen him again. Demoted and reassigned to a position that is functionally cannon fodder.”
“Fuck” Barclay looks back at the bedroom, “then what am I supposed to do with him? He can’t live here!”
“Why not? There have been far stranger arrangements–oh, oh dear, you had better go check on him.”
There’s a crash from the bedroom and Barclay dashes in to find Joseph thrashing against the cuffs he used to secure him to the bed. His black hair is plastered across his forehead and he’s so busy trying to leverage his weight to snap them that he doesn’t notice Barclay until he speaks.
“Woah, woah, easy agent, if you keep doing that you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He tries to offer a comforting hand on the shoulder only for a long leg to catch him in the stomach.
“Stay. there.” Joseph growls, “where are we?”
“My cabin.”
Blue eyes lock onto him, “So you’ve finally decided to kill me.”
“What? No! No, bringing you to my house and hideout is not me saying I’m going to kill you, it’s me trying to prevent you from dying.” He hazards a step closer, “Joseph, please, even if you’re my nemesis, you know me. You have to know I don’t just see you as some, some disposable obstacle to obliterate. I can tell something is wrong so please just” he brushes the dark strands back into place, “just let me help you.”
The agent takes a deep breath and meets his eyes, “If you ever cared about me, even a little bit, you will kill me right now.”
Barclay pulls his hand back, turning away as tears well up in his eyes, “Do you really think I’m that much of a monster?”
“You’re a villain. What’s one more crime?” His voice is so flat Barclay longs for the panic and anger of a moment before.
“I’m done hurting you, Joseph. If, if that doesn’t square with whatever weird version of me you made in your head, then that’s your fucking problem to deal with.” He storms out of the room, feeling more over his head than he was when they got here.
Tea usually helps, so he heats the kettle and pours a mug for himself and for Stern. The hum of a car outside draws his attention to the door, and a glance at his security feed tells him it’s Indrid in a black car he knows doesn’t belong to him.
He opens the front door, “Okay, why the fuck are you in Ursa Majors car?”
“Because I drove.” A voice drawls.
Barclay cracks the door wider to reveal an unmasked Duck Newton dangling a key from his finger.
“We were, ah, attending the same function.” Indrid brushes snow off his sweater, “but the futures suggested I would be needed here. Where is he?”
Barclay walks them to the bedroom. Joseph’s eyes are closed and he’s mouthing words Barclay can’t understand. It’s Duck’s footfalls that cause him to look at the door and glare at Indrid.
“I see. You don’t want to kill me, so you’ve brought in someone who will.”
“There is no need for such dramatics.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Hush, Ursine one.” Indrid approaches the bed, “I am here because Barclay is my friend.”
“Here to do what?”
“That depends entirely on how you choose to comport yourself.”
Barclay offers Joseph the mug, “This’ll help warm you up after we spent all that time in the snow.”
Joseph takes it, looks down, and then Barclay is being yanked backwards by Indrid as scalding water splashes onto his shoes.
“What the fuck?” It’s Duck who exclaims this time.
“Well we can’t all fuck our villains!”
“I’m not! And that ain’t what I meant. Even if that’d worked, you still woulda been tied up with two other people in the room. It’s a sloppy play and you don’t usually make those so what gives?”
The agent takes a deep breath, lets it out over six seconds, “Either let me go, or kill me. But if you make me stay here it’ll be worse than torture. Do you understand, Barclay? I can’t live like this, I can’t, I can’t.” His chest rises in panicky breaths and he’s getting the same look he did the moment he pulled the trigger.
Wordlessly, Indrid steps to the edge of the bed and sticks a small, silvery dot onto Joseph’s neck. There’s a faint buzz and then the agent goes limp.
“He’s just unconscious, do not worry. We have two hours before he wakes up again.” He waves Barclay over to join him, tips Joseph’s head to the side, “do you see this little bump? It’s an ID chip. If I know my tech, which I do, it is also interfering with his body's natural processes. If this is sent to the Bureau, they will take it as a sign he’s dead.”
“Then I vote we get it out.” Barclay murmurs.
“There is another complication. I foresee that he also has a…a self-destruct button implanted on him. Near his heart.”
“Fuckin what?”
“The Bureau tried to lure me over with promises of wiping my record if I helped them develop such a thing. I declined, but it seems someone else did not. Odds are high they will detonate it to be safe.”
“Can you get it out?” Barclay wants to be sick. That or he wants to hold Joseph to him and keep anyone from touching him ever again.
“I remove both, yes. We will need to take him to your workshop and I will need some supplies from your med bay.” He glances at Duck, “you do not need to stay. I do not wish to keep you from the party.”
“This is more important.” Duck holds the doors as they move to the workshop. As Indrid sets about his task, Barclay retreats to the kitchen to pace.
“I didn’t realize he’d gotten so bad.” Duck leans against the doorway, “he seemed a little, uh, terser the last few times he did a spot check on us but…but I ain’t ever heard him talk like that. Bettin’ the Bureau was putting some kind of pressure on him.”
“He tried to kill me today.”
“Jesus, really?”
Barclay tells him the whole story. When he’s done, he looks balefully towards the workshop, “I hate doing this to him. It doesn’t feel right, taking the stuff out without asking but…but I also don’t want them to kill him. Or use his location to kill me.”
“Don’t think I gotta tell you that the right choice ain’t always a matter of black and white.” Duck pats his shoulder, “though that chip fuckin with his body is probably why his stomach can growl that bad and he don’t notice.”
“Okay so it WAS that loud.” He turns as Indrid pads into the room.
“It’s done. I am very glad for my powers for many reasons, but currently it is because they are the only way I got that blasted self-destruct chip out without blowing him and myself up. So” he claps his hands together, “who can help me move him to the bedroom?”
Once Joseph is safely tucked in bed, Indrid writes out instructions and sends the ID chip off in the right direction. As he opens the car door for Indrid, Duck tells Barclay to add him to the list of people to call for help with Joseph. Barclay says he will and waves as they drive off. Then he heads inside to take up his post by the bed.
—-----------------------------------------
“You did what?” Joseph’s whole body hurts and his headache is not helped by what Barclay just revealed.
“We sent your ID chip to your boss.”
“Do you realize what that means? You just tendered my fucking resignation for me! Without asking me!”
Barclay points at the bandage on his chest, “Hey, how about a thank you for also taking out the fucking thing they could use to blow you up?”
“The…” his heart goes colder than the blizzard kicking up outside, “the what?”
Barclay explains about what Indrid Cold found, and without meaning to Joseph draws his knees up to his chest.
“They never told me that. They, they started pushing for more techno-augmentations about six months ago. Saying that they’d improve our performance, help us achieve greater things. I held out for a long time. I just, I wasn’t comfortable with that kind of device in my body but…eventually they made it clear that refusing them meant I wasn’t taking my role seriously.” He shudders, “there were a few things I let them put in that they never took out. But no matter what I agreed to it was never enough. It was like I wasn’t a good enough agent without the chips, but I wasn’t much better with them.”
“Bullshit. You’re a better agent than anyone I’ve ever met. Hell, you blow doors on some honest to god superheroes.” Claws and fangs are peeking through Barclay’s human shape.
Joseph twists the blankets with his hands, which are now cuffed in front of him, “They told me that my failure to bring you in was proof I was slipping as an agent. And that if I couldn’t terminate you, they’d demote me. Which meant less protection for everyone in my life, including my family, and you’re not the only villain I’ve pissed off and some of them aren’t as…thoughtful as you.”
“And if they think you’re dead?”
“My sister gets my pension to help pay for my niece’s college. And my family remains protected. So I guess you did do me a favor there.”
Barclay nods, but his big, brown eyes are teary when he looks at Joseph and says softly, “Did you really want to kill me?”
The words stick in his throat, years of tamping down the truth making a web they can’t escape.
He shakes his head. Barclay sags with relief.
“If I take the cuffs off, will you try to hurt yourself?”
Another shake; there’d be no point.
Barclay reaches forward and gingerly removes them with a touch of his thumb. When they hit the bed, the truth collides with him; he’s not an agent anymore. Barclay isn’t his nemesis. He isn’t really even a prisoner.
He never made a plan for this. It was never supposed to end this way, with failure and disillusionment.
“Do you need anything?”
Joseph looks at his former enemy, “I’d like to be alone for a little while.”
Barclay nods, promising that he’s just in the next room if Joseph needs him.
He rolls onto his less injured side, body registering sensations that the ID chip had dulled for months. Anger rushes ahead of all of them, welling up in him as he thinks of the years and years of work he threw away just to end up not good enough as he was, to end up accepting modifications that made him a man he didn’t want to be. If he’d aimed right, if Barclay’s suit were lower quality, today he’d have become a man he didn’t recognize.
He hugs himself, clinging to the aching, exhausted, free man he nearly lost. Crying feels right, but when he lets that emotion come forward his body doesn’t respond and his eyes stay dry. He hides them in his hands and shakes all the same.
It’s well after midnight when Barclay pokes his head through the door.
“Are you hungry? I’m gonna reheat some chicken posole I made, if you want.”
“Please.” He groans as his stomach tries to eat itself. Christ, when was the last time he had a real meal.
He still doesn’t have an answer when Barclay nudges the door wider and steps in with a tray bearing two bowls.
Joseph takes a bite, spice and warmth flooding down his body, and then stares at the soup.
“Uh, does it taste okay?”
“I’m trying to work out a) how much damage it’d do to pour it all into my mouth at once and b)whether that’d be worth it.”
Barclay chuckles, smiling at him, “There you are.”
He opts to eat the soup at a normal pace, asking Barclay about the items in his room between bites (Joseph finds the framed photo of the Patterson-Gimlin footage that someone wrote “mom????” across particularly funny). When dinner is over, Barclay reassures him that he’s fine on the couch, and that if Joseph starts to feel worse he should come wake him up.
Joseph promises he will. Then he passes out and sleeps for forty-eight hours straight.
—-------------------------------------------------------
“Please let me clean your kitchen”
Barclay looks up from the cookbook he’s reading on the couch, “Is it that bad?”
“No, it’s clearly well organized and tidy, but if I don’t have something to do I’m going to start chewing on the furniture.” Joseph hopes his pleading stare is pathetic enough to sway Barclay.
“...I’ve got a steam cleaner that’s really satisfying to use on the hardwood.”
“Yes”
A deep, comforting laugh, “Lemme go get it.”
It’s been a week since the avalanche, though Joseph has only been off of bed rest for the last three days. Barclay’s library is excellent–he and Joseph have lots of series in common–but having tasks helps Joseph feel less like he’s just a lump laying in bed.
Six days ago, there was a smaller, mini avalanche from the location where Barclay buried the self-destruct chip, continuing the fiction from Indrid’s message that Joseph had been killed in the avalanche. At a guess, it’s so that no one else could scavenge the tech from his corpse.
He’d felt like shit after learning all this, but it turns out that napping on top of Bigfoot is a fantastic remedy for learning just how expendable you are.
After his adventure with the steam cleaner, their days take on a pattern: Barclay will wake up and make breakfast, and Joseph will do his best to roll his still-tired join him before Barclay has to leave for his day job as a cook. Joseph then cleans the house, reads, and generally does all the things he stopped having time for the longer he was an agent (they’ve settled on not discussing heroism or villainy for the time being, which suits him fine). Then he’ll make dinner so that Barclay has a break from cooking, and they’ll eat and watch T.V on the couch or read by the impressively efficient fireplace in the main cabin.
It’s not always easy; the loss of his job, of everything he sacrificed for, sometimes weighs so heavily on him that he sits down and doesn’t get up for hours. If he were living alone, he’s not sure he could manage it. But being with Barclay means he’s seldom without a tall, handsome, comforting presence to tell him how great he is.
Two weeks in, his body is mostly back to normal. With one, glaring exception.
“You can’t cry?” Barclay pours coffee from the french press into Joseph’s cup and then his own. It’s Sunday, Barclay’s day off, and instead of going out and being a super villain he’s been electing to spend them having leisurely breakfasts with Joseph.
“No. It’s like the physiological response isn’t working. Maybe it’s silly to be so bothered by it but it just makes me feel…broken. Like they were stealing my emotions from me and I might never get them all back.”
Barclay tips just the right amount of cream into Joseph’s coffee, “Do you think you could, like, trick it into happening? By exposing yourself to something that you know for sure will make you cry?”
“I thought about it. The problem is, even before all the modifications, I had a lot of training in not showing emotion or cracking under stress, so it’s been a long time since I really cried. Except…well, except for an instance of happy tears.”
“We could try that. What made them happen?” Barclay is so earnestly trying to help that Joseph wants to kiss him. Sweet guy, he’s probably assuming something like being climbed on by a puppy or viewing the Grand Canyon will be the answer.
“It was, um, it was during masturbation. Not to be graphic, but I overstimulated myself to the point of tears.” He smiles at the memory, “I slept like the dead, it was amazing.”
Barclay fiddles with a woven bracelet on his wrist, “We could do that. If you want.”
Joseph turns, cupping Barclay’s face and running his thumbs along his beard, “You’ve done more than enough to help me, big guy. You don’t need to do that, too.”
“Not even if I want to?”
“Really?”
Barclay turns his face to kiss Josephs’ palm, “Yeah. Really.”
Joseph leans in, bringing their lips together. The kiss has been a long time coming, he knows that now, knows that every time he went home after a mission and dreamed about Barclay breaking in and holding him down he was really craving this, these heated, hungry touches and tender kisses that remind him he’s more than his triumphs and failures.
Barclay nips his lower lip, “C’mon pretty boy, I’ve got an idea.”
He follows the cook into the bedroom, shedding his sweater and sweatpants as snow clumps against the windows.
“Leave the underwear on, undershirt too.” Barclay rifles through a box by the bed as Joseph lays down and stretches with a sigh. Strong hands roll him onto his stomach and he laughs as Barclay bounces onto the bed.
“I’m gonna stay human this time, okay? You’re not all the way recovered and I don’t want to accidentally, like, wrench your leg or your back or something.”
“You’re very thoughtful, big guyOH, oh” he laughs into the pillow as a beard tickles his lower back, Barclay pulling his boxer briefs down and kissing each new, exposed inch of skin. There’s a love bite to each side of his ass and then the pop of a bottle of lube.
Barclay works a finger in carefully, keeping his weight on the bed rather than on Joseph, which he appreciates. His fingers are so thick that by the time he’s worked in a second one Joseph is grinding on the bed, savoring how full he already feels.
“That’s it babe, get into it. All you gotta worry about today is feeling good.” Barclay kisses the scar on the back of his neck, “gonna take such good care of you, even if you’re a fucking crying mess by the time I’m done.”
“Fuck”
“Oh you like that?” Barclay chuckles, fingerfucking him harder as he rubs off on the bed, “my special agent wants to be at the mercy of his villain, is that it?”
“Yes, fuckyes.” He gasps, startled at the orgasm already circling his belly. He spreads his legs wider, hoping Barclay will get the hint, but the cook just laughs.
“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of that soon. But you’re gonna cum for me like this first.”
Joseph moans, bucking his hips as his boxers add just the right amount of friction to his dick, and cums with prolonged moan.
“Christ, I needed that.”
“I can tell.” Barclay kisses his shoulder, “but you’re not done. Let’s just keep you nice and loose” he slides cool silicone into Joseph’s ass, then does the same to his hole a moment later, “you ever used one of these babe? They vibrate and thrust all on their own”
“Ohfuck” Joseph’s whole body tenses as Barclay turns the toys on and pulls his underwear back up to keep them in place. That second step is how he learns the one at the front is a rabbit vibrator, it’s shorter arm pressed against his already sensitive dick.
“I’m gonna go do the dishes. You wanna pick out a show to watch?”
“S-sure.”
Barclay helps him up, clearly pleased with himself as he guides him back out to the living room. Joseph tries several positions before laying on his side in hopes of keeping the stimulation from getting too intense. He settles on a holiday baking show and is creeping towards his second orgasm as Barclay nestles onto the couch behind him, propping a pillow under their heads as he spoons him.
“Comfy?”
“Given the circumstances, yes.”
“You need me to stop the whole thing?” Barclay gently strokes his hair.
“N-no. I’ll, I’ll say red if I need to stop.” He blushes, “it’s nice to be able to complain sometimes.”
“I hear you.” Barclay cuddles up as Joseph cums with a whimper, kissing his ear before turning up the T.V.
Joseph squirms, trying to shift the vibrations off his dick, only for a big hand to cup the toy and start actively grinding it against him.
“Doesn’t stop until you cry.” Barclay rumbles in his ear.
“Shit, shit” Joseph’s legs kick as the aftershocks of his second orgasm morph into the buildup for a third, “Barclay, yes, please”
“Don’t worry pretty boy, I treat my prisoners well.”
“Fuck!” Joseph gasps, cumming as Barclay bites his ear.
“God I love seeing you like this. Love seeing my perfect, put together agent come apart.”
He whimpers, rolling onto his other side to hide his face in Barclay’s chest. It feels right, like Barclay is becoming his whole world as his mind zeros in on the singular goal of be good for him.
By the time orgasm number four is wrung out of him, he’s clinging to the front of Barclay’s shirt and his dirty talk is getting very repetitive. Barclay doesn’t mind a bit, kissing him sweetly before rolling him back over to rub his sweatpants covered cock against his ass.
“Fuck, this is fun. It’s like you’re two sex toys in one.”
“Ohgod.” His voice catches in his throat.
“That’s what you are now, pretty boy.”
“Yes, yesyesplease.”
“Fuck it.” Barclay flips him onto his back and rips off his underwear. The front vibrator is tossed to the floor, though the one in his ass remains tormenting him as Barclay shoves his pants down and tucks his waistband under his balls. Then he’s on him, as deep in as he can go and Joseph sobs, relief and joy and anger bubbling up and spilling down his cheeks.
“Yeah, that’s it babe, take it, fucking take it, fuck, every time you fucked up one of my plans I wanted to do this, shove you on my cock until learned where you fucking belonged.”
He clings to him, hooking his ankles around his legs. He might be begging between his tears, he can’t really tell and he doesn’t really clear, all he wants is Barclay, to be good for Barclay, to wanted by him this intensely for the rest of his life.
When he cums this time it actually drips down Barclay’s cock.
“Fuck that’s gratifying.” Barclay’s dick thuds into him twice more and then the cook pulls out, stroking himself three times before cumming across Joseph’s face and shirt. He smears his fingers through the drops on his cheeks, pushing them between Joseph’s lips, “there we go, that’s how a special agent behaves. Cleaning up a villains’ cum like the needy, pretty boy he is.”
Joseph moans, manages a weak kiss to Barclay’s hand as it pulls away. The cook looks around, looking a little chagrined as he wipes his hands on a ripped piece of Joseph’s underwear. Then he’s straddling Joseph carefully, bending down to kiss the remaining tears from his cheeks.
“Did that help?”
Joseph caresses the face of his lover, his partner, his hero.
“Absolutely.”