Guilty Rhythm

Author's Note

This story will be imperfect, and that's okay.

It is meant to be ongoing, with plots and subplots tying up and feeding into new ones, rather than a single discernible finale. Like a soap opera, but with more subtext and less scenes ending with distant, dramatic gazes or crazy cliffhangers. But who knows, maybe we'll lean into that more later. Oh, and this has way,

way

more dick.

Enjoy <3

Trigger Warnings:

This is a dark romance that leans heavily on the following themes: Power imbalance, age gap (30 years), rough sex (biting, choking, spanking, limit-pushing), control, dominance/submission, and a love interest whose morals are occasionally non-existent. Other triggers that exist outside of the main pairing are: backstories including abuse and injuries, minor character death, blackmail, coercion, potential incest. Most of these issues appear in later chapters.

Act 1: The Wedding

Chapter 1

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Avery burst through the gas station bathroom door and stumbled over the threshold into a world of gag-inspiring grime. Seedy stains blotched most conceivable surfaces, and even some inconceivable ones, and the vast array of cracked tiles looked like they once believed themselves to be white, but had lost the war against all manner of human excretions sometime around the turn of the century.

But it would have to do.

In his rush, he crashed haphazardly into the chipped porcelain of the sink--enough to hurt, but not enough to take him out--and there, in the scummy mirror, his pathetic trainwreck twink self stared back at him. And so did a big-ass stain.

And with a twisting clench of his stomach, his soul dropped right out his fucking ass. Because there, on the crisp white collar of his rented tuxedo, bled the vibrant red splatter from his damned drunken aunt's wine fumble.

"Fuck me. Fucking..." He yanked his tuxedo jacket off. No use being precious. No use worrying about how much it was going to cost him to get it cleaned or if the rental could even get returned: he had a whole wedding party waiting on his ass.

If he showed up for the photos looking like that...

God, his sister was going to kill him.

He tugged frantically at his bowtie, but somehow only tightened the damn thing. Probably his fault. It'd taken exactly three YouTube videos to figure out how to tie it and even then he was pretty sure he'd done it wrong since he had to rig up a couple of discreet safety pins to keep it from going wonky during the service.

Were weddings called services? Or was that just funerals? The petty bitch in his heart hoped it was just a funeral thing so he could keep calling it that and everyone would know how he felt about the whole thing.

When he pumped a palm full of soap from the wall dispenser, he did it with a little more aggressive slapping power than necessary.

The door swung open.

He growled. Didn't bother to look, too busy smearing soap on the stain and getting the lather all over his neck and wet blotches on his shoulder. "Occupied!" Could soap even get wine out? Would it just make it worse? What the fuck was he even doing? Maybe the gas station had like... bleach or fucking lighter fluid. Cleanse the bitch with fire.

Heavy footsteps casually approached and a dark, massive form filled the space in his peripheral.

"Occu-fucking-pado, honey. I'm sorry if you're desperate, but I am the motherfucking queen of desperados right now, so you're just going to have to wait your motherfucking--"

The familiar chiseled-by-the-gods face appeared in the mirror and every muscle in Avery's body snapped rigid. His eyes popped wide and he choked on the word.

"Oh fuck."

Amusement tugged the man's face into a curious smirk. "Hand soap will not help you."

Nevermind that he'd spent half his life avoiding the man. Hadi Nahhas was his best friend's dad, and easily the most terrifying man he'd ever met. Built like a mountain, if mountains were made of muscle and horrifically sexy. His dark eyes carried an intensity that he'd seen make the most self-assured, cut-throat assholes stumble over their words and their feet.

The man's long, curly black hair burned near-red in the sunlight streaming through the cloudy jail-cell-style window and framed his strong jaw and sculpted beard like they were works of fucking art.

He looked like he could kill a man without breaking a sweat and laugh about it. Hell, he used to be a boxer. Maybe he had.

"Mr. Nahhas, what--"

Hadi held up a hanger boasting a fresh, crisp white shirt. "Your sister chose bisque for the first course, and my son... Give him a ball and he's precise as a surgeon, but never did master the spoon. I thought it'd be a good idea to have a spare."

Avery blinked, but his brain refused to fucking reboot. "I..."

Hadi chuckled, and the deep, dry sound of it went straight to Avery's cock. Of course, the only part of him that wasn't completely stunned stupid. Hadi's smirk broadened. He hung the hanger on the hand dryer, and moved in smooth and silently to tower over Avery like the grim fucking reaper. And when Avery jerked back without thinking, only to bump awkwardly into the sink, a predatory heat glimmered in those dark eyes.

"Always so jumpy around me," Hadi purred. He lifted his hands to easily slip the knot out of Avery's bowtie.

"Who isn't?" Avery whispered.

Hadi's gaze lingered on Avery's wide eyes, then dropped down to focus on unbuttoning Avery's shirt. "Most people get over it once they get to know me."

"Most? Really?"

At the upward flicker of those eyes, Avery cursed himself for daring to question the man, but instead of getting mad or annoyed, Hadi just shrugged.

"Okay. Some."

Hard to believe that too, but Avery chose not to challenge it. He gulped awkwardly and shifted against the sink. "You know, I can..." but when he went for the buttons of his shirt, Hadi casually brushed his hands away.

"Your hands are wet," he explained in a teasing purr. "And soapy."

"Oh, right. I --"

The compressed wail of a saxophone sang through the air. His phone buzzed in his pocket as the tune of Careless Whisper rang out.

"Shit!" At his own curse, Avery jumped and almost covered his mouth, but remembered the soap, and jerked his hand away. "Fuck!"

The man was a boxer, he reminded himself. Not exactly a group precious about bad language, but it always felt wrong to cuss around authority figures, and who the fuck was more 'authority' than Hadi Nahhas?

"I mean. Jesus, sorry, I-- That's probably Bonny or Yasser, or fuck me, my mother. I gotta..." He blinked down at his soapy hands. What was wrong with him? He had to at least rinse that shit off first.

But when he tried to twist back for the sink, Hadi caught him by the jaw. Avery froze. Something about that massive hand gripping him like that made every frightened and depraved cell in his body short circuit. A painfully powerful twinge jolted down his spine and straight into an awkwardly wanton clench of his balls.

"Stay still," Hadi commanded.

Avery forced out a shallow breath. "Yes sir."

And at that, Hadi's lips twitched. His intense black gaze pierced straight through to Avery's soul with a mere flicker, before he finished with the last button. He peeled the shirt off Avery's shoulders, down his arms with gentle care, and murmured a torturously soft, "Arms up."

Avery obeyed. Felt all kinds of silly standing in that filthy gas station restroom while his best friend's dad undressed him. It crossed his mind that he could do it himself. He could rinse his hands and dry them and get out there just as quick, but pinned under those eyes, with the edge of the sink digging into his spine and those massive hands...

Fuck, he didn't want to.

"How are you feeling?" Hadi smoothed his hands slowly down the sides of Avery's undershirt, as if he were straightening it out.

Avery stared at him. "Wha... Right now?"

"About Yasser." Hadi's gaze lingered somewhere low on Avery's body. Silence pulsed between them like the ticking of a clock. Then he plucked the clean shirt off the hanger as he met Avery's stunned gaze. "You two were so close, and now..."

Avery swallowed. He clenched his jaw and shrugged awkwardly. "Now he's banging my sister."

Hadi tilted his head. "Now he's

'marrying'

your sister. Turn around."

Right. There was supposed to be a difference. Avery cleared his throat and turned around, but the irritation at the whole situation itched at his skin. He grabbed some brown paper towels to dry off his hands before he obediently slipped his arms into the sleeves as Hadi offered them. "I don't know. I'm happy for them, I guess."

"You guess?"

Avery glanced back, over his shoulder, into those dark, terrifying eyes. "No, I am." He turned around with a sigh and a baffled shake of his head. The threat of tears stung at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled awkwardly as he plucked his phone out of his pocket to glance at the screen.

One voice message and about a dozen texts. As he fired off a quick 'I'll be there in two minutes' text back to his sister--didn't bother sending one to Yasser--Hadi was already fastidiously buttoning him up.

"God. Fuck. I

am

happy

for them

," he repeated and abandoned his phone on the sink's edge. He sent an exhausted look back up at Hadi's damned enigmatic gaze. "But I'm a selfish bitch and I'm sad

for me

. I mean... It's not a big deal. I'll get smashed at the reception and find a caterer to ride the night away on. I'll be fine, but..."

He trailed off into a deep, full-body cringe.

Jesus, was he drunk already? TMIing all over his best friend's giant dad like he'd lost his filter and his damned mind.

"Sorry, I..." He coughed and glanced up into those fucking terrifying eyes.

The grin that cut across Hadi's face dripped with a calm, simmering sin. Like smoke and liquor, there was something rich and suffocating about the dark thirst screaming at Avery's senses every time that man looked at him from a distance, but that close, alone in the same room? Fuck, the faint scent of his sweat and aftershave and whatever ambrosiac shit he put in his hair made the fucking world spin.

"What?" Hadi laughed as he finished buttoning Avery up, and got a fresh bowtie out of his pocket.

He draped the tie over the back of Avery's neck, and for a moment, paused with his hands on either end as if he were considering his options. Like there were options, and in that moment, Avery would give literally anything just to know what they were. And he'd give even more to experience them.

But instead, Hadi got to work on the bowtie. "Do you see me clutching my pearls? Boxers don't exactly sing hymns and discuss the weather behind the scenes."

An awkward heat burned at Avery's cheeks. He shifted against the sink and let out a breathy laugh. "Honey, with all due respect, I've been in them straight-ass locker rooms. I know damn well what you 'boxers' sing about, and it sure as fuck ain't open to my brand of... entertainment."

"Hm." Hadi nodded like he was acknowledging the point as he started with the tie's first knot. But then he kept tightening it, slowly, increasingly tighter. Alarm spiked up Avery's spine with a surge of startled, painful heat. Hadi pressed in closer and dipped his head down. His hot breath washed over Avery's ear and curled through the gelled platinum tresses of Avery's quiff as he murmured, "You have no idea what kind of locker rooms I've been in."

Chills erupted down his spine. Goosebumps rippled across his flesh and his wide eyes darted to the dark pools of sin pouring over his face.

Then, like nothing happened, Hadi let go and backed away. "I'll drive you to the park when you're ready." He glanced down between them as a smirk twitched onto his face. "Take your time." Then he strode casually out the door.

The moment the door shut, Avery let out a shuddery breath without realizing he'd been holding it. He clapped a hand over his ear, as if he could hold the feel of that hot breath onto it, but when he glanced down and saw the prominent tent in his tux pants, his stomach clenched into a knot tighter than his fucking strangle-tie.

"Oh fuck," he coughed out. He gripped his erection and shot a stunned glance at the door. "What the actual fuck?"

─── ◖ ◌ ◗ ───

The day was about as beautiful as could be: no wind; a few nice, big, fluffy clouds meandering by overhead, but not enough to block the sun; and fuck, it wasn't even too hot. Like the Gods were just raining perfection down over Yasser and Bonny's big day.

Fuck them.

"Let's see those big, beautiful smiles!" The photographer was all smiles himself. Because of course he was perfect and happy too. Why couldn't they have hired a miserable alcoholic who stank of dank weed and broken dreams instead? They couldn't give Avery that little crumb of vindictive joy?

He paused his stroll away from the group to send a sweeping glance over his shoulder at the bride and groom and their parents posing in front of a gorgeous park fountain. The big ass thing had been decked out with flowers and willow branches. Gardenias decorated the paths around them, woven into streamers and bursting from ornate stone pots. But fuck, what a waste of money.

It didn't matter how much dear Bonny drank from Daddy's pockets, all the expensive decor in the world couldn't distract from that one towering son of a bitch. Hadi Nahhas.

Even Bonny, with the sparkle of crystals embroidered into her mermaid bodice, or the ethereal, faerie-like glimmer of pearls and gold-dusted petals in her hair, that man in all his massive, intimidating glory, naturally dragged every ounce of the world's attention right out of her desperate, grabby fingers.

Or was that just Avery's? Fuck, he couldn't tell if he was just simping or if the man really was that drop-dead. Just the cut of his silhouette in that tux was nose-bleed-inducing. So simple, so unassuming, yet it popped against the gaudy, flowery backdrop, like Satan himself slaying on a heaven-themed catwalk.

The fucker belonged on that fountain, carved from fucking marble.

Avery swallowed. Definitely simping.

As if sensing his thirst from yards away, Hadi flicked his dark eyes away from the camera, in Avery's direction. And locked on him. Like he was looking at him on purpose, like he'd been fucking seeking him out for some reason. Hadi's already stunning smile twitched with a fresh, far more authentic dark approval.

A nervous terror quivered in Avery's belly with an edge of hunger. And both of them sent all the heat in his body plummeting between his legs so fast it left the rest of him chilled and confused.

Holy fuck, what even was that day?

"Christ, he's big."

At the familiar voice, Avery stumbled to a stop. He tore his eyes grudgingly away from Hadi to acknowledge the curvy bridesmaid currently hunched under the shade of an oak with a lipstick-smudged cigarette.

Tiffany had been one of his sister's best friends for so long, she practically had sister status herself, but that wasn't saying much. Bonny made friends easily and often.

He glanced out at the pretty people posing as he took up the space beside Tiffany. "Who?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Tiffany barked a laugh. "You know who."

She sucked in a big lungful of smoke and folded her arms over her low-cut, god-awful bridesmaid dress. Her discomfort with how revealing it was made the air around her feel a good ten degrees cooler, so Avery naturally moved in front of her to block as much of the park's view as he could while he took the cigarette she offered him.

Wasn't much of a smoker, but the way he was feeling, he could suck the exhaust from a jet engine.

"I guess he's kinda tall," Avery granted in a mumble. The flavour of smoke and lipstick burned across his senses as he took a long, indulgent drag. He glanced over his shoulder again at the happy couple and the towering father of the groom as the photographer struggled to politely bait the man's attention back to the camera. "And dark... and sexy... and fuck me, strong."

"Just kinda?" Tiffany teased.

"Yeah. Kinda."

She snorted softly and nodded. "Yeah. He's 'kinda' all that like I'm 'kinda' stacked."

A wry grin tugged at Avery's lips. He glanced over Tiffany's abundant curves and arched a brow at her. "You want my shirt?"

"Your shirt's not going to fit me, asshole."

"It's Yasser's. I'm fucking swimming in it--you'll be fine." Avery shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. He handed the cigarette back and made quick work of his bowtie, and thanks to Hadi's expert fingers, it came undone so easily.

"I don't know." Tiffany took another puff while she watched his progress. "Yasser's big, but he's not double-D big."

"Double D? Oh, sweetie, no." Avery clicked his tongue sympathetically. "Your poor back. What happened--the size chart didn't have you at a double."

Tiffany raised her brows at him and gaped for a split second. "You saw the size charts?"

"Yeah, of course I did. I'm the gay brother--of course she made me help with the fucking dresses."

And then those brows raised even higher. "You 'helped'. How exactly did you help her with these lime green fucking chiffon monstrosities?"

"Well." He held out his newly shed shirt, and despite her complaints, Tiffany didn't hesitate to take it and slip into it. "I was mad at her, so she made me a deal that if I stopped hating her for stealing my best friend away from me, she'd let me pick out the ugliest bridesmaid dress in the catalogue."

Tiffany's jaw dropped and her eyes grew to twice their size. She barked a loud laugh. "You bitch! This is your fault?!" She whipped her cigarette at him.

"Shit!" Avery jumped back and swatted it away. "Careful! Jesus!" He protested with a snicker. "I'm flammable."

"Avery!" Bonny's sharp, hawk-like shriek pierced the beautiful park air. He shot a look back at where she was posed between her giant new athletic husband and his giant-er athletic daddy, with the smile on her face replaced by baffled frustration. "Are you seriously stripping right now?"

Avery spread his arms in a wide shrug. "It's called being chivalrous!"

"Oh please! Any goddamn excuse to get naked, with you."

"What do you mean, naked? You can't even see my nips yet."

Bonny's glare flared. Nostrils probably did too, but they were harder to see from that distance. He kinda hoped the picture dude was still snapping away, catching all that adorable quick temper everyone loved so much in her.

"Yet?"

"Avery Eden Flint," Mom's stern voice cut in, as ice cold as always when she had to address her big disappointment. She kept her best photogenic smile plastered on her aging beauty queen face for the benefit of all the spectators, but it did nothing to dampen the venom in her voice. "I think it's time you take your childishness and go."

Sounded final. Sounded a lot like it had that first time she told him not to come back, when she was kicking him out at sixteen. And the second time, when she'd discreetly made it known just how unwelcome he was at the family reunion.

He dropped his arms to his sides. A raw, old ache in his heart bled a fresh wave of exhaustion through his limbs.

"Mom," Bonny urged under her breath with a pleading edge. She shot a look at Avery that warred between anger and pity. "You don't have to--"

"He's my fucking Groomsman, Teresa." Yasser spoke up. An almost adorable naive confidence added an edge of protective authority to his ever-booming voice.

"Yes," Mom coldly answered. "And the ceremony has finished. Your reception will not go up in flames without that around to suck up all your alcohol."

Even from across the park, the pure unadulterated hate in Yasser's eyes burned bright and clear as day. "He's staying. If you don't like it, you can fuck right off."