Page 10 of King's Barber
3
Barber
After we spent halfan hour conversing about my bike and what it needed for repairs, we ate a quick dinner of Chinese takeout. Quain came down to join us and then made his way upstairs again after he’d thrown all the garbage away. I went to the shower with a set of KC’s boxers and a plain T-shirt. He wasn’t impressed with me having to wear his shorts, but he didn’t say anything about it after Quain left. After a shower to wash off the grime of the day and a shave with a disposable razor, I met KC in the living room again.
He took me up the same stairs I assumed Quain had gone up, which were made from a dark wood that gleamed under the track-and-rail lighting attached to the high ceiling, then led me to what he referred to as the guest bedroom. The space was massive, with a king-sized bed in the middle of the wide room decorated in blues. Two picture windows that looked out into the side yard were joined together on the far wall. Down below was a lawn swing with a table set up not far from it, just visible under the bright moon half hidden by the disappearing storm clouds—it looked to be a sitting area, and it wasn’t anything I’d seen outside of movies. The grass and outside furniture gleamed from the wetness the rain had left behind.
“My room is downstairs, past the living room. You need to walk by the office to get to me. Pa’s closer, though. He’s just through there.” KC pointed down the short hallway, and I came to check it out. The door he pointed at was past the entrance to the stairs and down a short corridor. “He’s cranky if he doesn’t get his beauty sleep, so I wouldn’t interrupt him unless it’s an emergency. He likes to tell me I’d better be dying if I’m annoying him while he’s trying to sleep. I’m his son. I can get away with it, but I think you’d die if you interrupt him.”
I laughed at the joke, and KC raised his eyebrows. I wondered if he was serious but shook away the thoughts. Quain couldn’t hurt a fly.
“All right then, have a good night’s sleep.” KC gave me a half salute before he nearly ran down the U-shaped stairs. I watched him until he disappeared and then stepped into the guest room. It really was huge, a dream come true. My bedroom at home was at least a quarter of this size and could only fit a single bed and wardrobe. I’d been happy enough with the size, though, especially after I’d packed my bags and took off from LA; Uncle Errol’s home was ten times better than living with my father. But not even the room in LA had been anywhere near the size of this—and this one was still only for a guest.
I threw myself on the bed face-first and bounced before I rolled over. The mattress was a lot firmer than I was used to, but it felt fucking amazing. I was going to get good sleep tonight. I chuckled and stretched out my toes.Ah,just perfect.
I checked the time through the broken glass of my phone—10:04 p.m. I considered myself more of a night owl and went to sleep a lot later than this, but I didn’t mind hitting the hay, not when I had a nice place to do it. I needed to piss first, though.
Getting back to my feet, I walked out into the hallway and glanced in the direction KC had told me Quain’s bedroom was, to the other end. I supposed the bathroom wasn’t near Quain’s bedroom, so I strolled the other way. I opened one door, but it was another bedroom, and farther down was another sitting area, which had a glassed-in railing and looked over into the living room. To the right of that wasanotherbedroom. Fuck me, how many rooms did this house have?
Finally I found one by walking through the closet of a guest bedroom and took a much-needed piss. I had a feeling my room had something like this and I’d missed it. Shaking my head, I made my way back around the hallway but paused before I got to my door. The sound of murmuring came from Quain’s room and I found myself curious. I shifted closer to his door and pressed my ear to it. I heard nothing for a moment and then Quain was muttering something.
Apparently I had a death wish because I turned the doorknob, sneaking into the room. It was dark, but much to my surprise, the moonlight sparkled through three walls, which were made of glass. Fucking glass. Definitely not something I’d seen outside of a movie. Fuck me, I’d never imagined a bedroom needing glass walls, but at least it had long black curtains hanging in the corners, so if he needed privacy, all he’d have to do was drag them across.
Stepping in farther, my toes sinking into the soft carpeted floor, I frowned at the bed where Quain was currently curled up against his pillow. Maybe I’d been hearing things, at least, I thought so, until Quain said something quietly but still not audible. Was he sleep talking?
I grinned at the thought. Now this would be fun to use against him. The next time he whined about me smoking weed out back, I could bring up the time he sleep talked. Sneaking closer, I leaned my knee into the side of the bed and shifted forward.
“The ants are stealing my coffee. Arrest them, get little handcuffs for them.” It was a quiet whisper, but I’d fucking heard every single word from his mouth.
Eyes widening, I smirked.
Well, well, well.
“Where do I find the handcuffs?” I whispered, pressing my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
Everything happened so quickly I didn’t have time to react. One second I was beside Quain, trying not to chuckle, then I was grabbed by the collar of my shirt, tugged, and slammed against the bed with a comfortable—or uncomfortable, depending on how you looked at it—weight on my crotch. Something sharp pressed against my throat. I gasped, acutely aware of the enticing burn of a knife kissing my jugular.
Quain was death personified, his hair an untidy mess, eyes hooded with sleep—but also as sharp as the blade he held in his hand—and all of this under the glinting moonlight. The sight of him alone was enough to have my dick pressing against his ass in a big hello, but with the knife, too, I was ready to bust a nut right there in KC’s boxers. I didn’t think Quain’s son would appreciate that, though.
“What are you doing?” Quain snapped, his eyes widening as he stared down at me.
“Hi.” I jiggled my eyebrows at him. “That’s a pretty knife you got there.”
“I could have killed you,” he growled out, dropping the knife onto the pillow next to me. I noticed he didn’t move, however, and with no restraints other than boxers, my dick was pressed comfortably between Quain’s asscheeks, very close to his hole.
“I don’t believe that.” I laughed. “Trust me, I’ve nearly been killed before, and you don’t qualify as a killer. I might have doubts about KC, but you? Nah, you’re like a puppy. All growl and no bite.”
“Fucking hell, Luke!” he snapped and finally threw himself off me and the bed. He stood, letting out deep, irritated breaths as he placed the knife on the bedside cabinet. Spinning on me, he waved his hands. “What did you think you were doing? KC should have warned you not to come into my room. How did you think that was a good idea?”
I shoved myself to my elbows and shrugged. “You were sleep talking, and I was curious.”
Quain’s eyebrows dipped. “I don’t sleep talk.”
I snorted in amusement. “You definitely do. Something about ants stealing your coffee.”
“What?” He narrowed his eyes on me and threw his arm in the direction of the door. “Get the fuck out of my room.”
“Aw. What? No kiss good night?”
