Someone Like You

  Someone Like You

  By A. Phallus Si

  Text copyright © 2017 A. Phallus Si

  All Rights Reserved

  For my believers and friends

  Blurb:

  Life is filled with the unexpected as Bradford Michaels is about to find out.

  Work, his sister’s family, and the occasional night out are all Brad needs. Accounting might not be everyone’s idea of fun, but he likes the order and the game. His sister Cara is his best friend, and while he likes her husband Alan, marriage and his niece’s birth have pulled Cara away.

  He needs someone to fill the hole and help ends up coming from an unlikely place—Tate.

  Meet Bradford

  I’m not a particularly religious man; don’t believe in some big guy in the sky playing dolls, but everyone once in a while I’m pretty sure life’s just fucking with me. No, seriously—it’s the only explanation.

  And before you ask, I’m not paranoid, either.

  Thing is, just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, life throws a curveball. A knuckleball. A Tate ball. And one perfectly ordered world collapses.

  How does calamity happen?

  Easy. It’s just a few simple steps.

  How One Party Can Change Your Life

  Bradford Michaels tapped the doorbell one more time and then wandered around the side, surprised no one answered. The birthday party was starting in less than two hours. He latched the gate behind him rounding the garage into the backyard of his sister and brother-in-law’s house.

  Oh man. His niece’s father and uncle were guys that never seemed to have passed the sibling competition stage. Whenever he showed up, they were going at each other about something. This time, they were wrestling on the grass, and he was just in time to see Tate pin Alan, his brother-in-law.

  “Say it,” demanded Tate with Alan’s arms locked and his head in the grass. Alan turned his head and spat out some grass or dirt, but remained mute. “Say it, fucker.”

  “You better clean your mouth, if Cara hears you swear or Emily parrots something your ass will be banned from the house.”

  “Yeah, right. Like you’ve got your profanity under control.” Tate pushed his brother’s face harder into the sod.

  “Fuck.” Alan tried to toss Tate off one more time before giving up. “You win, dickhead.”

  “Say I’m the best,” quipped Tate even as he got up, watching his brother roll over before he offered a hand and pulled him up.

  “I am the best.”

  “Shut up, Tate.”

  Tate laughed loudly, and Alan threw a duffel at his brother that the mountain man caught with no problem. It clanked as the contents shifted and Brad watched the play of muscles in his arms.

  “Your task is to set up the Princess gazebo.”

  Tate snorted. “Sure thing. Where’s it going?”

  “Between the pond and the roses.” Alan pointed to the back of the garden and Tate wandered off.

  Alan looked over at him. “You, too, Brad. I need this up and ready for the party within the hour. Cara has the chairs, table, and decorations inside.”

  “Okay. Sure,” he agreed.

  The duffle was now empty, and Tate was busy moving pieces around when he walked up. “You need any help?”

  Tate paused to look up at him. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth as if he were amused. Brad knew he didn’t look like a fix-it guy, but he was pretty good with stuff. He just didn’t look like it, and he wasn’t built like Tate and Alan. They both had that Paul Bunyan brawn. Brad wasn’t tiny, but he also didn’t look like a Viking marauder. He wasn’t the go-to guy in the heavy lifting department when either of them were around. He’d sit alongside his sister Cara and watch them argue.

  “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Those were telling words that thankfully no one in the family had a clue about.

  “You sure?” Tate asked rising from the ground. He moved smoothly for such a large man, no hesitation, with grace and power.

  “Yeah. I’m good for a lot of stuff,” insisted Brad as he tried not to ogle his brother-in-law’s brother.

  “I have no doubt.” Tate smiled and directed him to grab an opposite corner and pull. It wasn’t long before the tent frame was expanded and the cover secured. “I’ll tie down the corners if you go grab the decorations.”

  Brad nodded and jogged inside. Alan was busy wrangling balloons but managed to tell him where Cara had hidden the stuff from Emily. He was climbing up the pantry shelves - who the heck made a ceiling fifteen feet high and stacked clear to the top - when the door opened hitting him in the back.

  “Ow.”

  “Oops.” Tate’s head appeared around the door. “What? What are you doing?” He seemed confused by Brad’s imitation of a spider monkey.

  He looked down from his perch on the third shelf. “Trying to get the decorations you asked me for.” Pawing at the bag with one hand trying to snag it.

  “Jeez.” He felt two large hands grab his waist. “Use both hands; I’ll hold you up.”

  Brad’s heart rate skyrocketed, and looking down at Tate his face was right in Brad’s ass. Oh shit. He scrambled to grab the bag and get down, missing a shelf, and what the heck was in this bag? He tipped backwards, but Tate kept him steady.

  “Whoa. Slow down.” Those hands dug in, pulling Brad against him, and guiding him to the floor. “You okay?”

  Was he?

  Tate felt amazing plastered against his back, one arm wrapped around him. Brad lost himself for a second, wishing this moment was something different. God, did he. Tate just grabbed him and pulled him down like it was nothing, and it had been so long since he’d been manhandled outside of the club. His brain was trying to process the situation and firing all the wrong circuits.

  Brad felt himself start to chub when the soft bristles of Tate’s beard brushed his ear. “You all right?”

  Another deep breath and he forced himself to pull away and turn around keeping the bag in front of him as a shield. “Yeah, thanks. I wonder how Cara even got it up there.”

  Tate laughed and pointed between the wall and the cabinet. “She probably used the step ladder.”

  Oh. That would have been easier.

  “Let me take that.” He went to grab the bag, but Brad held tight. It was the safety buffer that kept them apart.

  “I got it.”

  “Sure thing, Brad.” And Tate pulled open the pantry door and walked out. He took a few seconds remembering how to breathe and settle down.

  Tate had already dragged out the table and most of the chairs in one trip and passed him on the way back in for the rest. Brad put down the bag and was digging through it when a wad of fabric landed on his head.

  “Hey!” he complained, yanking it off.

  “Put it on the table so we can set it up,” Tate ordered while unfolding more white, wooden chairs. Organizing them as Brad shook out the pink gingham rectangle and spread it across the surface. Plastic crinkled and then Tate groaned. “No.”

  “Alan!” he yelled. It was loud enough that neighbors two streets over could hear him.

  Brad was wondering why, fiddling with the cloth as Alan came barreling out with a group of balloons.

  “What?” He strode as fast as the balloons would allow. “What’s wrong?’

  “This.” Tate thrust a cylinder filled with glitter in his brother’s face.

  “Jesus H., Tate. I thought there was a real problem.” He pushed the container back. “Just sprinkle it over the table.”

  “No.” Alan stopped tying balloons to the supports.

  “Why not?”

  Tate glared, and then started ticking off reasons. “It’s not biodegradable, it’s unnecessary and won’t be missed, and most
importantly, if this gets in my beard, I’ll be sparkling for a month.”

  “You want Emily to love her party, don’t you?”

  “Don’t use Emily against me.” Tate pointed before uncapping the tube and shaking it out.

  The kids were running around buzzed on sugar, waving plastic swords at each other. More than a few royal crowns had already tumbled to the ground forgotten. Brad was slightly terrified of the screaming and stabbing motions when Emily leapt off a deck chair waving her weapon with a blood-curdling cry. She smacked Aiden in the head, a solid and worrisome Thunk. There was a split second of pure silence before the crying began.

  Brad was frozen in horror. Tate leapt up and was pulling Emily back, checking Aiden when Alan came charging back with an ice pack and the first aid kit.

  “Nothing too bad, buddy,” Tate rubbed the kid’s back while applying the ice pack to his head. “Just a small bump. Nothing to worry about.” Aiden was already calming down, bawling reduced to sniffles.

  “Sorry, Aiden.” Emily was leaning against her dad digging her sword into the grass pulling up chunks.

  The party settled down, and the kids wandered back to the pond in search of frogs once again. Brad hoped that they weren’t really going to try to kiss one, but he smiled when he heard Emily tell Aiden that if they found one he could have it and his own princess.

  “I don’t need a frog.” One hand was absently rubbing the back of Aiden’s head. “I have you.”

  And just like that, it was all forgotten as they held hands.

  Squeals were floating down the stairs as Cara chased a naked Emily from the shower to her bedroom to put on pajamas.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” said Alan.

  Brad wouldn’t agree, it felt like a disaster. He was exhausted and didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue. Tate, on the other hand, snorted.

  “One kid in the pond, three frogs kissed, a wrestling match and frosting where it shouldn’t be.” Brad had to admit; he still couldn’t figure out how there was that much icing on the cupcakes to decorate the toadstool lawn sculptures.

  Alan ticked off his rebuttal. “No doctor, no throwing up, no fights and no animal bites including the kids.” He took a sip of beer. “Win.”

  “Glitter,” said Brad. They both looked at him. He leaned over and pulled a purple metallic star from Tate’s beard holding it up as proof.

  It’s a Trap!

  Seemed innocent enough, didn’t it? Teamed up for a niece’s birthday, family pulling together and making it happen. So, that’s how I ended up in the local caffeine pusher with Tate: one tumble in the pantry, a couple of curious looks, and battle buddies in the Glitter War. Who could say no to a guy who looked like that? Even though deep down I knew there were things that I wanted that Tate could never give me.

  What I didn’t see was the trap.

  He took another sip of the Three Cups Deep’s house roast, full-bodied, that slid across his tongue with a bite at the end. At first, he thought they’d burnt the beans, but it was just flavor profile. Tate was looking at him quizzically.

  “Why were you so hesitant to go out?”

  What? He really needed to focus. “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “You stared at me for about three minutes before you even acknowledged that I said something let alone asked you on a date.”

  “You surprised me.”

  “I get that, but why?” Tate tilted his head to the side. “Didn’t Alan and Cara mention that I was gay, too?”

  Brad sputtered his coffee. “Definitely not.” Then wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

  Good gracious, no. Work, family, and personal life were kept in three distinct spheres, and they did not overlap. Ever.

  He didn’t discuss anything overtly personal and certainly not sexual with his family. They knew he was gay after an awkward conversation about clearing out one’s browser history as a teen, but that was it. Brad was more than happy operating under the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy of the Michaels’ household. He didn’t want to know about Cara and Alan or his parents’ sex lives, either.

  “Huh. You are a quiet one,” Tate murmured. “What big secret are you hiding?”

  Brad took another gulp of coffee. “Nothing. I’m actually pretty boring, so I don’t bother people with details.”

  “Somehow, I really doubt that.”

  Who’s the Boss?

  I hadn’t meant to go out again after the coffee. Really. But when Tate called asking if I wanted to see a touring band playing at Inferno, I couldn’t say no. Who would have thought that ‘I strap dead deer to my truck’ Tate would be an electro house fan?

  And let’s be honest, this is where my world started to implode. I’m not an idiot. Dancing is pretty much code for fucking standing up. Well, dancing is what I tell my family, it’s more like grinding in a writhing pool of bodies. Sweaty and hard, I stumbled, dragging along Tate to my apartment, too drunk and horny to think about what I was doing.

  And that was the problem. None of this changed reality or my sexual needs. Which, hello, I don’t talk about with anyone I ever have to see again. Yeah, but Tate’s in the Definitely Can’t Avoid in the Future category.

  I should have just said no. Might have, if my dick wasn’t in charge, making all the Tate decisions.

  When Tate tugged he followed, but when he tried to sooth him, kiss him, Brad pushed away.

  “What the hell has got you so edgy?” growled Tate. That sound further confused Brad’s poor body; he was both turned on and not responsive. “Fuck. Please tell me you are not a virgin, and this is why you never talk to your family about things.”

  Brad started laughing uncontrollably; he couldn’t help it. Tate was beginning to get annoyed.

  “What the fuck, Brad?” He pushed him down on the bed and pinned him. There was no doubting either of their interests in the matter at hand. Tate rolled his hips, pressing his hard cock against Brad’s. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  Brad groaned and opened his legs. “Not a virgin. Not even close.”

  A hand tugged through his hair, making him look up at Tate. “Then what?” he asked with another roll of his hips. “You’re giving me mixed signals.”

  Tate yanked hard when Brad’s eyes closed, demanding attention. He needed more from him, but he was afraid to have this discussion with Tate. Last thing he wanted was for Tate to call him a freak and then storm out and tell his sister. He should never have accepted that first date. He ruined everything.

  “Come on, Brad. Your dick is hard, but you’re giving me vibes like I should back off.”

  “I don’t usually have sex like this.” He briefly struggled to get out from underneath Tate, and then gave up.

  “What do you mean like this?” Tate stopped moving and sat up, pinning Brad between his thick thighs. Rock hard and sexy as hell.

  “Dating and sex.”

  “You just hook-up?” Brad nodded. “Think of this like a hook-up where the other person gives a shit about you. This doesn’t have to be some serious thing. Okay?”

  Brad nodded and then shook his head. “That’s not all.” Tate seemed patient, letting him try and find a way to say what he needed, but after a minute or two Tate started waving his hand in a circle.

  “And…?” Tate questioned. “What else? You like something; you don’t like something…what makes this work for you?”

  “The place I go… they know what I like.”

  “And they give it to you?” Tate was staring straight into his eyes.

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  “You gotta tell me, Brad. I’ll try almost anything, but unless you tell me, I don’t know what you want.” Tate leaned over, his beard whispering across his cheek and kissed him, again. “I’m versatile, and we’re both horny. Tell me what you want.”

  “It’s a club.”

  “Uh-huh…” Tate nibbled on his chin, his beard tickling in the best way possible. “What kind?”

  “A sex c
lub,” he blurted out, and Tate chuckled.

  “Dirty and sexy.” Brad groaned as Tate’s cock ground against his. “What makes you hot? Come real hard when you’re there.”

  “Rough fucking and being told what to do,” Brad whispered it, but he knew Tate heard him. The silence was thunderous and long. Oh god, here it was. The moment Tate pulled back and said no.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” What kind of answer was that?! He’d only ever tried having this discussion twice with guys he’d dated. Neither of them had been this cavalier. Brad ended up with a black eye once and humiliated both times.

  “You’re always so in control, Brad; I get it.” Tate sat back up and looked down at him. “You want someone to drive you for a while, take over, and let you just be.” Brad nodded again. “I can do that.”

  Was it really that easy? Maybe with Tate, it was.

  “In fact, I don’t think I’ll have any problems with fucking you just how you want, at all.”

  Consequences

  So, mind-blowing sex with an in-law is not the best plan. Let me clarify. Mind-blowing sex is always right; it’s the in-law part that threw a monkey wrench in my life. Of course, being fucked three ways all over my own apartment so I could relive it every evening after work was both a boon and a curse.

  Self-gratification had never been easier, but now I had to face the object of my fantasies on a regular basis. Or move. Or quit visiting my sister.

  No, scratch that—move.

  The next time he saw Tate he was dropping off an ice-cream maker for Cara to borrow. He was pushing the door shut with his elbow when heard a commotion. Emily was riding Tate’s back as he crawled around on the floor, her ruby glittered boots kicking his sides and shouting, “Attack, intruder!”