Chapter 1: Deep Woods Discipline and The Visitor
The pine resin stuck to Mark's back through his damp t-shirt as Hugo pressed him against the rough-hewn timber. One thick forearm pinned his chest, and the wood grain bit through the cotton. Mark's hands flew up, gripping Hugo's shoulders, bracing.
"Easy," Hugo said, voice a low rumble against Mark's ear. His beard grazed the side of Mark's neck when he leaned in. "You move like you've got somewhere to be."
Mark laughed, breathless, the sound cut short when Hugo's knee shoved between his thighs. "Shit, you're strong."
"Stronger than you." Hugo's free hand slid down, palm flat over the waistband of Mark's jeans, pushing down just enough to feel the heat through the denim. "That a problem?"
"No." Mark's voice cracked. "Fuck, no. Sir."
Hugo worked the button open one-handed, thumb hooking the fly. Mark's cock jumped against his own jeans, thick and half-hard, wet spot darkening the fabric. Hugo looked down at it, then back up, pupils blown wide.
"You came all the way out here in that truck." He dragged his knuckles down Mark's stomach, over the coarse hair, catching on his belt. "Lucky I was home."
"You always home, right? I mean, you... you live here. Off the land."
"I'm home when I need to be." Hugo dropped to a squat, pulled Mark's jeans and briefs down to his knees. The cold air hit his prick and Mark hissed, hips bucking forward. Hugo caught his cock at the base, thick fingers circling, and gave one slow, deliberate stroke.
Mark's head fell back against the wall. "Oh, God."
"Shut it." Hugo leaned in, mouth close to the head, breath hot. Then he took him in, wet and deep, throat opening. Mark's whole body seized, a strangled groan tearing out of him, and Hugo worked him slow, fist at the base, tongue pressing along the underside until Mark's knees gave out.
Hugo stood, caught him under the arms, and lifted him clean off the floor. Mark wrapped his legs around Hugo's hips, hard cock dragging against Hugo's belly through his wool trousers. Hugo carried him across the room, past the cold stove, past the pile of split wood, and dropped him flat on his back on the bed.
The mattress gave under Mark, springs groaning. Hugo stood over him a moment, chest heaving, then stripped his own shirt off and threw it aside.
Mark's hands shot out, palms flat against Hugo's chest, and he shoved. Hard. The old man stumbled back a step, boots scuffing the plank floor, and that flash of surprise on his face was the only warning Mark got before he was rolling off the bed, boots hitting the floor with a thud.
"Whoa, whoa," Mark said, holding both hands up, laughing but not really laughing. "Okay. Okay, hold on."
Hugo stood there, shirtless, chest hair thick and grey across his broad pecs. He didn't move to close the gap. Just watched, head tilted, like a man reading sign in the woods.
"You good?" Hugo asked.
"Yeah, I'm good. I'm great." Mark backed toward the door, jeans still bunched around his knees, and he had to stop to yank them up. "I just. I need a second."
Hugo's mouth twitched under the beard. Almost a smile. "You got one."
Mark's fingers found his belt, worked it through the loops, buckled it with shaking hands. The door was eight feet away. His truck sat out there in the clearing, keys in the ignition where he'd left them, engine still ticking over from the drive in.
"You're not gonna stop me?" Mark said.
"Stopping you implies I want you to stay." Hugo sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, completely at ease. "You're the one who drove half a mile down a dirt road, in the rain, to find me. So I figure if you want to go, you'll go."
Mark's jaw tightened. He took a step toward the door. Hugo didn't move.
"You don't know anything about me," Mark said.
"I know you work with your hands. Plumber's calluses on your palm, right side. I know you keep your truck clean because it's your business card. I know you talk loud to cover up that you don't like being alone." Hugo shrugged. "That's about it."
Mark's hand curled around the door handle. The cool iron bit into his palm. Beyond the door, the twilight had gone deep blue, the pines black against a sky just starting to show stars. His truck sat there, engine still running, exhaust curling in the damp air.
"What's out there?" Hugo asked, voice low, almost conversational. "A cold cab. An hour of dark road. A house with the lights off. You eat a sandwich in the kitchen, watch some TV, jerk off alone in your bed."
"Fuck you," Mark said, but his hand stayed on the handle.
"Sure. Fuck me." Hugo stood, slow, unhurried. He crossed the room in three strides, stopping well short of Mark, close enough that Mark could smell the sweat and woodsmoke on him. "Or go sit in your truck and think about what just happened here. About how you ran."
"I'm not running."
"No?" Hugo gestured with his chin. "Engine's running. Road's empty. Go."
Mark stood frozen. The handle was cold in his grip, the latch half-depressed. One more inch of pressure and the door would swing open, and he could be in the cab, on the road, back to the city lights and the noise and the lonely apartment he paid too much for.
"You're going to let me walk out of here," Mark said. "Just like that."
"Yep."
"That's it? No fight?"
Hugo crossed his arms. The movement pulled the muscles in his shoulders, made the hair on his chest shift. "I don't keep men who don't want to stay. That's not what I do."
The door yielded another quarter inch under Mark's hand. A draft of cold pine air slipped through the crack, and Mark felt it on his face, sharp and clean. Hugo didn't so much as twitch.
"Why'd you even let me in?" Mark said.
Hugo tilted his head. "You knocked."
"I knocked on the door and you opened it and I was standing there in the rain and you said..." Mark stopped. His voice cracked. "You said 'you lost, boy?' Like I was a stray dog."
"You were."
"I'm not."
Hugo's eyes held him, steady and dark. "Then what are you?"
The question hung in the air between them. Mark's hand shook on the handle. The truck's engine idled outside, a low rumble he could feel through the soles of his boots. The door was open a crack now, cold air creeping in along the floor.
"I don't know," Mark said. The admission came out smaller than he meant it to.
"You know what you came here for. You wanted cock. Down your throat. Up your ass. In your hand."
"I came here 'cause I saw you at the feed store. You were loading bags and you looked at me like you knew me. Like you knew what I was thinking."
"Knew what you were thinking," Hugo repeated. "And what was that?"
Mark's throat worked. The words came out rough, scraped. "You were looking at me like I was something to eat. And I wanted you to."
Hugo took a step closer. Then another. He stopped a foot away, close enough that Mark could feel the heat rolling off his chest. Mark's grip tightened on the handle but he didn't push it open.
"That door's still there," Hugo said. "Still unlocked. You want to leave, go."
"I know."
"So what's stopping you?"
Mark looked at the open crack of dark doorway, at the cold promise of the road and the cabin behind him, at Hugo's bare chest and heavy hands. His fingers released the handle. The door swung shut with a click.
Without warning, one of Hugo's arms hooked around Mark's waist, lifted him again, clean off his feet, and carried him back across the cabin. The rough plank floor slid under Mark's boots, then the springs of the bed caught his back and the air left his lungs. Hugo came down on top of him, heavy, all weight and heat and the smell of pine and sweat.
"Then stay," Hugo said against his mouth.
Mark opened his mouth to answer, and Hugo's tongue swallowed his words.