Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 218: Sugar Daddy/Baby

Chapter 218: Sugar Daddy/Baby

It wasn’t hard to put everything together. Of course not.

By evening, they were packed and out of the apartment.

As much as Chris would’ve liked to drive alone with Sky—windows down, music on, something stupidly romantic like that—his parents had made sure that wasn’t happening. There was a driver. And another car behind them. Security, they’d said.

Now he sat in the backseat with Sky, both of them quiet. Not tense exactly, but not easy either.

Sky stared out the window for most of the ride, arms folded, head leaning against the glass like it owed him answers. His fingers tapped restlessly on his jeans, and he hadn’t looked at Chris once.

Chris noticed.

There was a shift in Sky. A hesitance. Not just because he knew the truth now—about who Chris really was. But because of last night.

Sky had let his guard down. Fully. He’d been soft, exposed, messy in ways he never allowed himself to be. And now... Chris could feel it.

Regret. Maybe not about the words or the kisses, but about being seen.

They’d talked that morning—about being exclusive. It had been tender, sweet even. But then they’d spent time apart, and distance had a way of making things real.

Chris had thought about him the entire time.

He remembered Sky’s patterns. The way he always pulled back after something real. Like that time Chris had cross-dressed at the pub on a dare. Sky had been weird with him afterward, tense and defensive. Well, Chris had been avoiding him after that because his mind was a mess then. But Chris hadn’t even realized Sky had been thinking something else until he finally blurted out that he thought Chris had been avoiding him because of the outfit. That he didn’t normally do things like that. That it was just a stupid dare.

The look in his eyes had stayed with Chris—like Sky was waiting to be punished.

And there was more. Sky’s discomfort around his own father. The way he fiddled with his earrings more when the man was around, like he expected them to be ripped out. He even took them out a lot. The way he always seemed to shrink when he felt "too much."

But then, he could not understand why he was not able to cut off the main problem.

Ash.

If Ash was someone he hated so much, why the hell was the son of a bitch still hovering? He should have punched him some more when he had the chance.

Chris had tried not to think about it. But now, sitting here, Sky practically pressed to the door like Chris might burn him—it was hard not to.

The driver’s voice cut in, shattering the silence.

"We’re here."

Chris blinked, startled out of the spiral.

They didn’t need to take any bags. Chris had whatever he might be needing in every home.

Chris glanced at Sky.

Sky didn’t look impressed. Or scared. Just blank. Like he was bracing himself.

The place was more like a mini-estate than a single vacation home—three houses, not too far from each other, tucked neatly behind short iron gates and rows of manicured bushes. It wasn’t gaudy or castle-like; it had that easy kind of wealth that whispered, we summer here, rather than screamed it.

Chris’s house was a two-story flat, all clean lines and soft lights, with wide glass doors at the back opening onto a glowing blue pool. Everything—the polished floors, the breezy curtains, the soft gleam of the furniture—made Sky suddenly, sharply aware of his own shoes squeaking faintly on the marble.

It was smaller than Chris’s usual family mansion, but still miles above anything Sky had ever stayed in. Somehow, though, it felt... almost cozy. Almost.

Sky was still trying to take it all in when Chris turned toward him, arms lifting slightly like he was trying to calm a spooked cat.

"Okay. Don’t panic," Chris said.

Sky raised a brow, deadpan. "Why would I panic?"

Good. Their first actual conversation in about an hour.

Chris didn’t answer. He just flashed a nervous smile and led him upstairs, down a long hall to the left. He pushed open a door—and there it was.

Shopping bags. Everywhere.

Piled on the bed, on the floor, even on a little armchair by the window. Fancy branded ones. Eco-friendly paper ones. Crinkly colorful plastic ones. It looked like Christmas had exploded in here.

Sky froze, staring. "Now... what the hell is all this?" His voice was small, almost confused.

Chris scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "So. I might have done a little online shopping. Nothing crazy. Just... comfy stuff. For us. Things that feel more like us. Less... silk-robes-and-opera-society vibes. More ’smartass university student on a scholarship’ vibes."

Sky blinked slowly, stepping toward the bags like they might explode if he moved too fast. He peeked into one and found soft hoodies, cargo pants, plain T-shirts, even socks—stupidly soft socks. All in colors he actually liked. Things he would have picked out himself.

He turned slowly to Chris. Gave him a look.

Chris braced for it—the lecture, the rejection—but before Sky could open his mouth, Chris shoved another bag into his hands.

"This one’s special," Chris said, voice light but weirdly nervous.

Sky opened it. Inside was a brand-new phone. Sleek, shiny. Expensive.

He blinked. Then he frowned. Looked at Chris. Hard.

"We talked about this—" he started.

"We did?" Chris rushed out.

"I thought I was the sugar daddy," Sky said, dead serious.

There was a beat.

Sky looked helplessly around them at the dozens of shopping bags.

"Now it feels like I’m a sugar baby. I’m not... sure how I feel about that."

And then, with horrible timing, his mother’s words flashed in his head like a cursed voicemail: "Are you... letting yourself be? Handled?"

Chris choked on air.

"You okay?" Sky asked, frowning.

"Fine. Totally fine. Just—ignore me." Chris flapped a hand as if waving away a mosquito. "Listen. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. And you don’t have to use any of it if you don’t want to."

Sky looked at the phone again, then back at him. His frown softened. Just a little.

"You didn’t have to," he said quietly.

"I wanted to," Chris said, stepping closer. His voice dropped softer, more serious. "You lost your stuff coming here. That wasn’t fair. And honestly? I just want you to be comfortable."

There was a long pause.

Sky’s hand tightened slightly on the bag handles. His shoulders dropped a fraction, like the fight was leaving him.

"I am comfortable," Sky said, voice small but sincere.

Chris shook his head. "You don’t have to lie to me." His hand moved to Sky’s, gentle. "This?" He gestured to the bags with a tilt of his head. "This is nothing. I just..."

He swallowed and stepped closer, until there was barely a breath of space between them.

"I always regretted not being open with you about who I really am," Chris said. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Because I wanted to take you to nice places. Buy you stupid nice things. Spoil you a little. Just... be with you in the flamboyant way I know how to."

Sky’s eyes widened slightly. His lips parted like he was about to say something—but Chris kept talking, voice thick with nerves he didn’t bother hiding.

"This is who I am, Sky. This is how I was born. Raised. Lived. Don’t expect me to change that." Chris squeezed his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Just... be pretty for me and let me do the spending. You can be the sugar daddy in title. I don’t... mind." His voice went lower and lower until he got to the last word and it almost seemed like his voice had disappeared.