Sean, the construction manager - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 4

It was late afternoon when I went back to the park. The sun was already low and the park had started to thin. Gold light. Long shadows. I told myself I wouldn’t stay long. Just long enough.

I was still sore from yesterday. Open. Every step to the stall reminded me what he’d put in my ass through a hole that didn’t have a face. The text sat in my pocket like a dare.

you answer tomorrow with your body like you always do.If you’re here I might stop being polite about the door.

I locked the stall. Dressed. Kneeled on the tile. The religion of the wall one more time, even though I knew the religion was ending.

I didn’t wait long.

Boots. Heavier than usual. The door on his side slammed like a job site.

“Alright, cocksucker. Time’s up. I wanna see your face.”

My blood went cold.

The handle rattled. Locked. He shook it twice.

“Open the fucking door.”

I didn’t. Voice was the last wall I had and I wasn’t giving it to him until he took it.

Silence. Then a kick. The old wood jumped. Another. The cheap lock cracked. A third and the door blew inward and hit the tile wall hard enough that the whole bathroom rang.

Sean stepped in.

Dusty gray tank. Old jeans. Red cap backward. Arms and chest wet from a day that had included my parents’ cabinets and, apparently, this. He was already breathing like he’d decided the kick before he left the van.

His eyes found me on the floor.

Three seconds. Nothing moved.

I watched it hit him. Anger first. Then the stall. Then my face. The color went out of him like somebody had opened a valve.

“…David.”

Not little bro from high-school days. My name. The one from the kitchen. The one on the mail.

He said it like he’d been punched.

I scrambled back on the tile and tried to get up. He was already on me. One hand locked around my arm, fingers in the muscle, and he yanked me up so fast my sneakers left the grout.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” His voice was low. Dangerous. Not the cabinets voice. The one he used when a measurement was wrong and somebody was about to get fired. “You’re the one. You’re the hole. You’ve been— in my job site. In that kitchen. Eating cereal. And this is where you go.”

I couldn’t get a sentence out. My mouth opened on air.

His grip tightened until it hurt. He dragged me out of the stall, through the outer door, into the park. Late-day light. Purple at the edges. Trees throwing bars across the grass. People far off. Not far enough. He didn’t care. His other hand clamped the back of my neck like I was a sheet of plywood he didn’t want to drop.

“You little pervert,” he said in my ear, close, mean. “Client’s son. Upstairs. ‘Library.’ I told Holt you were the good one.”

He shoved me into the trunk of an oak off the path, out of the main line of sight. Bark bit my cheek. Before I could push off he yanked the shorts and the underwear to my ankles. Evening air on skin that still remembered yesterday.

He didn’t take the cap off. He spat in his palm. Two strokes. Lined up.

“No more wall. No more hiding.” Voice like venom that had been waiting since the door came off the hinges. “You’re gonna take it like this. Face I can see. You want this. Say it. I didn’t kick a door to guess.”

“Yes.” It came out wrecked. “Yes, Sean.”

“Louder.”

“I want it. Please.”

He shoved in hard.

The stretch was brutal. I was still loose from the hole and the angle against the tree made it tighter anyway. He didn’t ease. He gave me the whole ugly curve in one long punishing thrust that emptied my lungs against the bark. I made a sound. His hand covered my mouth from behind.

“Shut up. You wanted this cock bad enough to lie about class. You get every inch of it.”

He started fucking me like the tree was a deadline. Hips snapping. Full body. Every thrust drove me up the trunk. Bark scraped my chest raw. I felt every vein, the wet filthy drag, his balls slapping, sweat from the tank dripping onto my back. The park went away. There was oak and cap brim and the man who ate burritos in my kitchen using me in the open.

“This is what you are,” he snarled against the side of my head. “The guy upstairs who bends over for the guy remodeling his house. The stall slut who let me breed him through a wall and then walked past me with coffee.”

He reached around, not for kindness — one hand on my throat, the other bracing the tree, and he pounded through the shake in my knees. I was hard against the bark. I hated that he could feel it.

“You like that. You like getting used by the guy who calls you little bro in front of your parents?.” He drove in deep and held. “Answer me.”

I moaned into his palm. He laughed, dark, almost pleased.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He fucked me hard. Long strokes. Then short. Then a grind that put the head against the spot that made my vision go and kept it there while he breathed like the end of a lift. Spit and him running down my thighs. Cut grass. Sex. Sweat. A dog far off. A car door. None of it was ours.

He changed the angle like he was hanging a door that wouldn’t sit. One boot braced on a root. He pulled almost out so I felt the thick head catch on the rim and then he punched back in to the base and stayed there, grinding, making me take the curve the wall had hidden.

“Look at me.”

I couldn’t. My face was in bark.

He pulled my head to the side by the hair and made me. Green late light on his mouth. Mustache wet. The same face that had asked if I wanted cereal.

“That’s worse,” he said. Almost a laugh. “I liked you better as wood. Now I gotta see the boy who skips class to suck my cock every day.”

He didn’t stop while he talked. Short, ugly strokes that slapped skin on skin loud enough I flinched for the path. Nobody came. A jogger went by on the far loop and Sean put his chest to my back and covered me with the tank and the work like we were just two guys standing under a tree, and he kept moving inside me the whole time, small, mean, hidden.

When the footsteps faded he went wide again.

“You don’t get to be quiet now. I kicked a door for this. I want to hear you take it.”

I gave him a broken sound. He spat on his palm and reached down and stroked me once, not to be nice — to prove he could, then let go.

“Don’t you finish before I do. That’s not the job.”

He hooked an arm under my hips and lifted me onto him so my sneakers barely owned the dirt. Deeper. The burn went white again even after yesterday. I grabbed the trunk with both hands and he used that, used the tree, used the last of the sun, and talked like a man clocking out.

“Tight. Still tight. Yesterday didn’t ruin you enough. That’s a problem I’m gonna solve.”

“Holt’s gonna lose his mind,” he muttered. “I told him I might know. I didn’t know, I was bluffing. I thought I was being smart. I was fucking the client’s son through a bathroom wall like a moron.”

He didn’t slow down when he said it. If anything he went meaner, like the embarrassment needed somewhere to go.

“I’m gonna fill this ass. I’m gonna dump it in you and you’re gonna walk to the truck with it leaking. You don’t wipe. You don’t ask to go home. You came back after I told you I might kick the door. That’s on you.”

“In me, Sean.” I got out when his hand slipped. “Please.”

“There he is. Same as the hole.”

He slammed in and came hard, forehead against the back of my neck, pulsing, a lot, grinding like he could put it past yesterday’s load. The hand on my throat stayed. It was too much. I went over against the tree, messy, hole clenching around him while he swore into my hair.

He stayed buried a long moment. Breathing. Then he pulled out slow. I felt him leave me and start running down the inside of my thighs, warm, thick, nothing the bleach in that bathroom could explain.

He turned me. First time he’d looked at my face with his dick out and the secret dead.

Flushed. Eyes dark. Disgust and heat stacked. The cap still backward. The mustache. The man from the kitchen island. The hot construction manager.

“Shorts up. We’re leaving.”

He didn’t let go of my arm to the lot. My legs were garbage. Every step pushed more of him out of me into the underwear. At the van he opened the passenger door and put me in like equipment. Climbed in. Both hands on the wheel. Dusk coming down over the loop.

He didn’t start the engine. The park emptied itself in the mirrors. Somebody locked a bike. Sean stared at the wheel like it had given him a bad measurement.

“I should take you home,” he said. Not looking at me. “I should tell Holt the stall’s burned and we don’t go back. I should finish your dad’s kitchen and never eat in that house again.”

He dragged a hand down his face. Dust. Sweat. Me.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

I waited.

“You know why you’re in this seat. You came back after I told you I might kick it. That’s not on me. That’s you putting your body on my afternoon like a work order I didn’t write.” His jaw flexed. “I still wrote it. I still came. I still put you in my van with my cum running out of you. So we’re past the part where I get to pretend I’m the professional.”

A long breath.

He nodded once. Hit the ignition. The van smelled like sawdust and sex and the air freshener that had given up in June.

“Don’t talk on the drive. I need ten minutes of not looking at you.”

I didn’t talk.

He looked anyway, once, at a light, at my mouth, and looked back at the road like the road had done it. Quiet. Then, final:

“Tonight you’re coming with me.” He said don’t talk but he stared talking.

I looked at him.

“I got crew at the warehouse after wrap. Five, six guys. They’ve been hearing about a stall that doesn’t quit. They think I’m full of shit.” He leaned in. Not a kiss. A fact. “I’m walking you in there. I’m not telling them you’re the client’s boy if I can help it. I’m telling them you’re the mouth from the park. Then they can see the face that goes with it.”

He grabbed my chin so I couldn’t look at the wrecked playground.

“Mouth. Ass. Whatever they want, as long as they want. You tap out, we leave. You don’t tap, you take it. Because you came back today. Because you said yes against a tree. Because Holt already looked at you like he was putting a sentence together and I am done being the only one who knows. They’re already there. Lights off when I text. You walk in, you can still walk out. You say stop, I put you back in this seat and I deal with six pissed-off guys by myself. You don’t say stop, I don’t save you. It’s your choice. Clear?”

“Yes…” That was the whole answer. I was hard in the seat and he knew it.

“Buckle up, David. Party’s in an hour. And if you walk funny at breakfast tomorrow, you hit your knee on a library table again. That’s the story.”

“Ok.”

He grunted. That was as close as Sean got to thank you.

The religion of the hole was over.

Whatever came next had a face—a group of construction workers. And I fucking wanted it so badly I could barely process my own luck.