“All taken care of, beautiful,” Jake said, kissing Barry’s cheek before picking up the lamp and leading him through a door. “Jimmy brought up all we’d need the other day.”
So that was why his favorite lamb’s wool sweater had disappeared. Barry had searched high and low for it.
The door led to a bedroom, the space dominated by a huge four-poster.
“Is that a feather bed?” Barry asked. He’d seen them in books and on TV, but never in real life.
“Sure is,” Jake said. “I’m told my dad was conceived in this bed, as was I.”
“Maybe history will repeat itself tonight,” Jimmy snickered.
“Which reminds me,” Jake said, swiping at Jimmy’s head, Jimmy managing to duck out of the way. “There’s our birthday fuck tradition.”
“Huh?” Barry said, not thinking, or rather not daring to think what that meant.
Jimmy put his hands on Barry’s arse, pulled him closer, and ground their crotches together. “It’s your birthday, so you get to decide who you want to fuck.”