Cold Rain

Jinx: I have something for you to ponder before you begin to read this story. Imagine yourself in a "perfect family" situation, that is: you're an only child with a loving mother and father, and a pretty easygoing life. And then try to answer this question: What would you do if your father came home one night late for dinner, and announced to you and your mother that he was leaving her . . . for a guy?

Chapter One: Rain

Part One: Seattle: City of Eternal Rain



The redhead's ears twitched slightly, hearing his name being called for what seemed to be the hundredth time this morning, but he tried desperately to ignore it and go back to sleep.


The boy moaned in protest, putting his head under his pillow in an attempt to muffle the yelling. But then he heard the distinct sound of his door opening, and knew it was over. He'd have to get up.

Eric chuckled as he looked down at his son, head under the pillow and butt in the air. Every morning it was the same thing: He'd yell up the stairs for Ron to get up, and the boy would do everything within his power to ignore him.

In the end, Eric always went into his son's room and practically forced the boy out of bed and into the bathroom to get a shower.

"Ron," the man said a little more quietly, hearing his son whimper and mumble something about being sick. "Oh, you are not. Get up already."

The redhead beneath the covers didn't move.

"Oh, Ron," Eric said through a sigh, "you are just too much sometimes. If it makes you feel any better, it's Friday."

The man watched as his son shuffled a little and removed his head from under the pillow. He sat up and looked at his father tiredly, a small smile on his face. Eric chuckled again, reaching his hand to ruffle the fourteen-year-old boy's dark red hair.

"Morning," the boy said through a yawn, his arms stretched in the air and his mouth open wide.

"Good morning to you too," Eric replied, smiling.


Eric sat down at the table, drinking his black coffee and waiting for his son to get his ass in gear so that he could take him to school and still make it to work on time. Ron was always running late, and his mother was never awake and refused to get up to take him to school so that Eric could get to work on time for once in his life.

Hearing the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Eric rose from his chair and watched as the little redhead ran into the kitchen, grabbed the bagel that was sitting on the table, and ran back out of the kitchen. His father followed, watching as the boy went to the door, threw his shoes on, grabbed his bag, and ran out the door.

Eric got in the car at about the same time as his son got in on the passenger side, started up the engine, and backed out of the driveway. He then drove to his son's school, dropped him off, and continued on to work, having little more than five minutes to get there. He thanked whatever god was up there that he might, for once, make it to work on time.


Eric sighed as he sat at his desk, studying a document about a business proposition for his "small" business to go international. The man frowned at it after reading it through, deciding that whomever had written it was a cynical asshole and that they were more than likely not worth a second of his time. Besides, he didn't WANT to go international.

Eric sat pondering for a long while, a good fifteen minutes possibly, until a light knock sounded on his door. The handsome gray-haired man looked up, expected whomever it was to simply walk in and state their business, as was custom. Eric was a pretty informal man when it came to working in his own building, only asking his employees to be formal outside of the office.

But no one came in.

Slightly confused, the man stared at the door for a moment longer before realizing that he should tell whomever it was to come in before they left.

"You may enter," Eric said to the door.

The man stared at the door for ten seconds longer, wondering what was wrong with the person on the other side, at which point, it opened, and in came a twenty-something year old thin male.

"Hullo," Eric said dully, staring at the boy, who brought with him many papers that he suspected needed to be filled out.

The man said nothing; he merely walked to Eric's desk, set the papers down, and turned to leave. Looking down at the papers for a brief moment, Eric realized that they did indeed need to be filled out.

"Where are you going?" the gray-haired man asked slyly, knowing full well that he could probably order the boy to do the paperwork for him, a thing that he strongly intended to do.

"Back to work. Unlike you, I have things that need to be done." The young man turned around and crossed his arms, giving his boss a smirk that was full of lust and desire. Eric took no notice.

"Get your ass over here," Eric ordered, watching as the boy walked gracefully toward him, his hips swaying slightly beneath his black punk-rock dress pants equipped with a pyramid belt.

"Why do I always get stuck doing your work?" the boy pouted, sticking his lower lip out and hoping the man would take notice of his adorable nature, and getting no response. Sighing, the boy sat down and began to fill out the paper work while Eric turned to his computer, but not before scanning the boy once more.

"What did I tell you about those shoes?" Eric asked in a tone that he used to scold his son Ron.

"C'mon, Eric! They're Chuck Taylor's!"

"They're whose?"

The boy sighed. "That's the name of the shoe, Eric."

"Right," the man replied dismissively. "And the hairdo? Does that have a name as well? Or does everyone else make their hair stick up in all different angles?"

"It's called spiking your hair, and it looks cool." The boy thought a moment before adding. "I think it's cute, don't you?"

Eric stopped what he was doing and looked over at the boy with an eyebrow raised, receiving a wide grin in response. He watched as the boy gave him an adorable pouting look before going back to his paperwork.

The older male was called on business, and left the younger to finish his paperwork for the rest of the day, coming back at five to find that the boy was STILL at work.

"What did you do while I was gone? Look up porn sites on the computer?" Eric asked in disbelief, staring that the younger male as he continued to fill out the papers, not even bothering to look up.

"I'ma fall asleep," the boy complained, looking up at his boss with a grin. He winked playfully, watching as Eric simply rolled his eyes before grabbing his coat and putting it on.

He looked over to see that the boy wasn't moving.

"Working hours are over, Dylan. Get your ass home."

"Can't. Not done."

"Pity. I'm not paying you overtime, either, so get out."

"You could always pay me another way . . ." Dylan said seductively, his lusty eyes locking on Eric's. The boy was half expecting to be fired on the spot, not that he cared. But when he realized that Eric had made no move either for or against his proclamation, he decided to see how far he could take it. Besides, it wasn't as if he couldn't find another job, right?

Standing up, Dylan walked over to where Eric stood, stopping in front of the man only when their bodies were touching in more places than Dylan had ever dared to fantasize about. The younger male licked his lips, half in lust, and half in nervousness. Eric still had made no response to his advancements.

"Eric," Dylan whispered huskily, though not on purpose. He heard the man's sharp intake of breath and looked up to see that the man's eyes were locked on him, as if trying to take in every inch of him, and not in that condescending way he usually did when they were in the office together.

"I want you," Dylan said somewhat pathetically, his tiny, sculpted body trying to press against Eric's even harder, searching, begging, for contact that it so desperately sought to receive.

The boy jumped in shock when he felt the older male's hands on his hips; felt the way the tips of his fingers pressed into his silk shirt, making it seem as though what he really desired was contact with the boy's skin.

Dylan let his hands wander up over Eric's suit-clad chest, his eyes locking on the man' s in a plea for more. "Eric," he repeated, trying to incite some type of a response from the man. "Fuck me."


The older male seemed to snap back to reality, his body jolting violently as he all but jumped back and ran from his assistant's embrace. "I-I have to go pick Ron up from play practice," he said shakily, turning around with a dazed, confused expression on his face as he left the office and went to pick up his son.

Dylan watched as the man left, tears welling up in his eyes. Why'd he have to say it like THAT? Couldn't he at least be a little more graceful with the way he worded things? And to think, for one second, he believed that Eric just might be the first male to actually return feelings for him. Hell, now he was just gonna be another male to fire him.

Eric calmed down slightly when he saw his son on stage, smiling as he playfully spunin a circle like a ballerina as other kids laughed and joined in the fun. Ron was just one of those kids that everyone took to, and that no one had a problem with; and Eric was grateful for that. He didn't know what he'd do if Ron wasn't as happy and bouncy as he was.

Seeing his father, Ron jumped off the stage and ran up the isle way, hearing people laugh at him and make fun of him a little as he ran toward the man. "So how was work?" the boy asked breathlessly.

Eric made a face before he could stop himself.

Ron just chuckled. "Well, I spilled paint all over this really dorky girl with like huge glasses, and they fell off and OH MAN, I thought she was gonna KILL me!" Ron took a deep breath. "But thankfully, she just laughed and tackled me, and I got covered in yellow paint, and now I'm wearing my gym clothes."

Eric just smiled and put his arm around the boy. "So what play are you doing?"

"Oh, I don't know. Fiddler on The Roof?"

"What part did you get?"

"Huh? I didn't try out. My art teacher asked for volunteers to help with the backdrop and the lights and stuff. And I wanted to see what it was like, so I signed up. And I've made lots of friends. Who knew drama geeks could be so cool?"

"Oh, WE'RE the geeks?" a girl nearby said. From what Eric could tell, she was the girl that his son had dumped paint on, judging by the specks of it that remained on her glass frames. "We aren't the ones who run around doing ballet with paint cans on our heads, as I recall."

Ron just grinned. "Yeah, well, it happens."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Come on, kiddo. We'd better get home before your mother freaks on us both for not helping her around the house again."

Ron's grin grew wider and Eric felt his heart skip a beat. Whenever Ron smiled like that, there was always trouble afoot. "Alright, brat, what did you do THIS time?"

"Oh nothing," was the boy's reply as he skipped out of the auditorium and into the afternoon sunshine.

Eric turned around and followed.


That night, Eric couldn't seem to get Dylan out of his mind. No matter how much he tossed and turned the image just wouldn't fade. Letting out a grunt, he covered his head with the pillow and let out a sigh.

But still the image didn't fade.

A moment went by and Eric heard the light click on. He must've woken his wife up. Big mistake.

Slowly, he removed the pillow from his head and peeked over it at his wife, who was sitting up in bed with her arms folded across her chest as if she were going to scold Ron for skipping school again. Eric just wished that he could replicate that same look his son gave Saundra when he got into trouble. Saundra couldn't resist.

"Eric, what's the matter with you?" his wife asked, peering over at him in slight distaste. "It's three o'clock in the morning. If you wanted to have sex, you should have said something earlier. I'm not in the mood."

The man had to try to hide his shock at Saundra's proclamation; he hadn't even considered the idea that his wife would come up with such a thing. But at least that saved him the trouble of having to explain exactly what was going through his head at the moment. Something along the lines of: Yeah, sweetie, I was just thinking about my assistant . . . You remember Dylan, don't you? The one that got Ron into punk-rock and started him on skipping school? Well, he asked me to fuck him today. And if I hadn't had to pick up Ron, I would have said yes.

Eric sighed and rolled over, staring at the carpet as if it could give him the answer. Everything within him was calling for him to satisfy his need; his desire. Saundra couldn't do it anymore, and Dylan, hell . . . When had he ever thought of Dylan like that?

Dylan had always just been one of Ron's older friends, as well as his band mate . . . Well, that was before Ron had come up to him saying that Dylan needed a job and would do anything for him, just so long as he got the job. Eric couldn't say no to Ron, and now look where that went.


Eric had gotten virtually no sleep, and was just overall very glad that his son hadn't had school today, because he probably would have snapped at him if he had had to wake him.

Walking into his office, Eric let his briefcase droop at his side, a slight yawn escaping his mouth as he looked at all of the eager, morning faces telling him hello. He tried to be as attentive as possible, but found he just couldn't keep up. Now he knew how Ron felt in the morning . . .

"Where's Dylan?" Eric asked, stepping into his office.

"He quit, just this morning," the woman replied. "Are you alright, Mr. Timmons?"

"Fine. When did he leave?"

"Just a minute ago," the woman said. "I tried to tell him that he had to give a two weeks' notice before he quit, but he just turned around and walked out on me."

"Right." Eric turned and walked back out of his office, down the elevator, and found himself just in time to catch Dylan by the shoulder before he left the building. "Come with me," he said lowly, dangerously.

Dylan just nodded feebly, walking alongside Eric as the man led him back up to his 25th floor office, locking the door behind him. "Mind explaining, Dylan?"

Instantly, the petite dyed-black-haired youth turned red and tears filled his eyes.

"Disheveled much?" Eric asked, eyes going over the boy, a small smirk finding his face. "You're wearing the same clothes that you wore yesterday. And you smell like sex."

The older male approached the boy, taking in his cologne tinged with sweat of not only himself, but another as well. Eric smiled a little. "So you just needed someone to screw you, is that it?"

Shockingly, the boy shook his head no. "I didn't need anything, Eric. I just wanted it. I wanted you to do it."

Eric's eyebrows raised somewhat and he stared at the boy in a mixture of concern and wonder. "I want to fuck a lot too, but unlike you, I can't. My wife seems to think sex is unholy, and that once you make kids, it's over from there."

Dylan smiled weakly, approaching Eric with diminishing confidence. It was so strange how the night before he had been so brave, yet this morning, he was trembling at the hands of the man he had always wanted. But he liked it this way. It made him hot.

The boy gasped and let out a small moan as he felt Eric's mouth on his neck. He wrapped his arms around the older male's neck, his mind in a daze. There was no way this was happening, not so fast, and not like this.

Eric's mouth worked slowly from his neck up to his jaw, pausing occasionally to lick or bite or suck on the flesh until he got to the boy's mouth, at which point he grabbed the boy's upper lip and pulled on it, receiving a moan of longing and desire in return.

But just as it was about to get good, there came this annoying ringing sound from outside of the door, and Dylan couldn't quite tell if it was a fire alarm or what.


Blue eyes peered out from under cheaply made covers, automatically looking over at the clock to take in the time. 2:45pm. Hmm. Wasn't he supposed to go to work today? At like 6:00am?

Dylan looked over to see the answering machine light on his telephone beeping red, so he pressed the button and listened to the message.

"DYLAN! It's two o'clock, where the hell are you? You have a lot of paperwork to do from Friday, you brat. And not to mention a lot of explaining to do!"

It was Eric. Dylan laughed. His fantasy, had, yet again, been merely a dream.