Change Your Stars

2.

         Damon Buchanan couldn't tear his gaze from the man he held at his side, both men soaked and stumbling through the darkened streets.

What the hell was he doing? A question he had been asking himself for what seemed like the umpteenth time. 

"Mr. Buchanan?" his driver asked inquisitively, but kept up his professional air even when he spotted the water logged man he had pinned against him.

"It's fine Karl, just open the door and keep that heater on." Damon said calmly, but firmly waiting for Karl to open the door to the a black Bentley before settling the battered man inside.

        Karl quickly made his way back towards him as Damon closed the door, safely keeping the man from the elements. Karl raised an umbrella over him, the rain drops sounding like marbles bouncing off the dark plastic.

Hm.. A bit late for that aye, Karl? Damon raised a dark brow at the blonde man when the man looked like he wanted to say something.

Karl was usually a very quiet man, which is why Damon liked him, but he was also a kind man. Damon knew he was the minute he looked into the man's light brown eyes, so he shouldn't have been surprised when the younger man chose that time to ask,"Is he all right, sir? To the hospital?"

Damon was shaking his head, "Doesn't want to go, but the lad seems to be in a bit of trouble." 

"It would appear so, sir." Karl's voice was said carefully, but Damon knew what he was thinking.

"I'm not going to just dump him, not when I went through all that trouble ruining the leather in the Bentley."

Damon often made these little jokes, but none of his staff ever commented on it. 

"Of course, sir." Ah, professionalism at it's finest. Some sick part of him wanted to make a face at him just to see if there'd be a reaction.

Since he was well passed the age of twelve... He resisted that urge. Today. He'd have that battle again another day.

"My apartment, for now I would suppose." he said easily, watching the other man nod his affirmation, "Good idea, sir."

Good ol' Karl. Always looking out for people. Never discriminating. It's what Damon liked about him... Not that he's shown it. 

Emotions are weakness, Damon. Never show weakness. If you do, you may as well bend over son, because they're going to fuck you good.



       His father's harsh, drunken words floated in his head. Preston Buchanan was a shrewd man. Especially once his mother stepped out to be with another. No, his father didn't just become a bitter man, but a broken one. Buchanans put everything they had into everything they did. It just wasn't in a Buchanan to do anything half assed. 

So of course Preston had loved his mother with everything he had.

The betrayal was a big slap to the face.

Damon's father was never the same after that: he didn't laugh, his smile never went passed being 'cold', it began to look snake-like, predatory and dripping with poison. 

It was like the warmth just seeped out of him.

That's when the lessons started.

 

        Preston Buchanan had an empire, so he bred his son to take over that empire.

And take over he did when his father passed away five years ago.

Buchanan Enterprise was a name to be remembered and feared, so when news of Preston's passing and leaving the company to his only son; the sharks circled, looking for a piece of him.

Damon didn't pull any punches, his decisions were precise, his take overs clean and absolute.

Which earned him the nickname 'Demon Buchanan'.

Damon wasn't an idiot.

He knew that's what they called him before he entered the boardroom and when he left it. The name itself made him feel unsettled, but the lesson his father instilled in him pretty much told him to suck it up. 



Fear, son. Fear is absolute. Fear is respect.

Fear was fucking lonely. Sure, he made sure his dick was polished by his latest piece every spare moment he had, but there was never any real connection there. At least not on his part.



No attachments, no hang-ups. Nothing to lead you from your goal.

         Damon slid into the back seat pulling out his phone from his briefcase, a square thumb going over the screen pressing lightly on the contact he was looking for.

"Yes Mr. Buchanan?" a soft, professional voice resounded in his ear. Ah, more professionalism.

"Natalie, please go up to my apartment and have a bath drawn out. Hot one please."

Despite his father's harsh upbringing and his 'lessons' Damon was always polite to the people who worked for him.

Call it a small rebellion. 

"Anything else, Mr. Buchanan?"

"Yes, have them bring up dinner for two. I'll be having a guest." as an afterthought he added, "Nothing too heavy. Hot soup perhaps?"

He was met with silence.

"Yes sir."

Damon ended the call with a sigh, he knew it was rare for him to bring anyone home.



"Dinner?"

He followed the weak voice to the man slumped next to him, "Yeah."

The man's battered face was difficult to look at, so when he winced Damon winced with him, "Mhph," he shifted uncomfortably, "Don't think I can keep much down."

He looked ashamed. 

Damon didn't blame him. He would imagine he'd feel the same way.



It just didn't look right. The man wasn't scrawny, in fact he looked fit enough to chew nails.

When he was holding him earlier he felt the tight muscles underneath his... what were those called, overalls?

The fact still remains, he was a big man, Damon was bigger, but the man's stature gave him the impression that he could put up on helluvah fight. 

Maybe he did.

Maybe he lost?

Damon couldn't allow himself to ask the question he wanted to, instead answered quietly, "Eat as much as you can."

The man was nodding, but was looking at him warily, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He didn't answer... Mainly because he didn't know.

"What's your name?" He asked instead.

"'Liver... Grey."

Liver? No... Oliver?

"Why do your friends call you "Liv"?" he blurted out.

Ice blue eyes widened at the nickname, "How did you know that?"

How indeed? Damon made a noncommittal shrug, his expression aloof and almost bored. 

Something he perfected over the years. 

         Ralph's Garage was across the street from his office, and he often found himself paying close attention to that particular spot on the street when he was walking to his car. 

At first it was the laugh.

It sounded... Hearty, loud... like the man who was laughing just let loose, not caring who heard him, if he was too loud.

"God Liv, you're such a dick!" another man scoffed, tossing the laughing man a dirty rag. A rag that the man called 'Liv' caught in mid air with a large greasy hand. 

Liv? That was his name? 

He couldn't help it. Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked.

And what he found was the most gorgeous man he had ever laid eyes on. 

        Inky, jet black hair hung in gentle waves, straight teeth looking stark white against tanned skin as he watched the man throw his head back laughing some more. His coverall sleeves were rolled to the elbows, grease stains smeared all over olive skin, clothing... Hell it was probably in his fingernails.  

Damon tried to curl his lip in disgust at the thought but failed, his dark eyes drinking the man in. 

Sweat glistened his skin, the light breaking over his muscled forearms as he wiped his hands with a clean rag.

His throat tightened at the shifting of muscles underneath the cloth, wanted to lick the sweat that rolled down his neck to the hollow of his corded throat, only to disappear between the hard pectorals he knew were underneath the black tank top he wore.



That was months ago.

And everyday like clock work, he would look into the Garage until his hungry eyes spotted what he was looking for.

Liv throwing back the last of his beer.

Liv bent over the hood of a car.

Liv singing along to 80's rock music loudly and... surprisingly not badly. 

Liv smacking the ass of a girl who came to see him, but it was always a different girl every time Damon looked. 

Liv with strong legs poking out from under a car, his booted foot tapping along to the music. 

Liv shirtless as he washed a car, baking in the sun, his sooty hair tied back in a low pony tail of all things.

Liv riding off in his Harley.

Oh God, Damon almost closed his eyes at the memory of it. Liv was dressed in a dark Henley, the fabric stretching over his torso like he was born to wear it, leather, oh god the leather, pants hugging his lower body. Damon was starting to feel like a bleeding pervert, sneaking all these glances, but at the leather he couldn't not  look at it. For one, it showcased his long legs, his round, solid ass. With the biker boots and aviator shades, Liv looked like a modern day James Dean.

His Rebel Without a Cause. 

It was difficult to peel his eyes from him, his dark hair flowing in the wind as he sped down the street.

Hell on Wheels. 

 

        As his James Dean rode away, it was easier to put him out of his mind and quickly merge himself back into the icy shell he kept himself in.

"Let's go, baby." he felt her tongue drag from his nape to his ear, her French manicured hand trailing down his body to gently cup his hard cock.

They slid into the car, him opening her door before he strode to the other side to get in. 

She was already leaning over the center console and he was undoing his belt and his suit pants, dragging his dick out of it's confinement. He didn't have to tell her what he wanted.

Damon was already pushing his prick into her mouth. She groaned around him, he could feel the vibrations in his balls. 

Gathering a fist full of light blonde hair, he pushed her head down further, grinding himself on her face. He reached over with his other hand and was under her flimsy skirt in a matter of seconds.

His probing fingers slipped under her lacy thong and was met with wetness.

She moaned unabashedly around his swollen cock head as he fucked her with his hand. He let his eyes close and imagine his dick in someone else's mouth, his fingers fucking a different hole.

Damn.

He slipped his dripping fingers out of her hungry pussy and gently traced her crack before he slipped one digit inside her tight hole.

She arched her back and gasped, pushing her ass more onto his finger.

Her doe brown eyes looked up at him in question and he gripped her face before slamming his mouth on hers.

She had opened for him immediately, and he could taste himself on her mouth, he pulled back and growled, his voice deep and raspy.

"I need your ass tonight."



 

"Buchanan."

Damon stopped breathing at the sound of his name. 

"I heard your man call you that..." Liv had leaned his head back trying to relieve pressure off his ribs, "You don't happened to be the Buchanan would you?"

"Is there a problem?" Damon was already getting on the defensive.

Liv paused to think about it, "No, not really... Just wondering what you want."

He didn't want anything.

"Nothing? I find that hard to believe. Everybody wants something."

Shit, did he say that out loud? No, he didn't think so.

Damon mentally cursed himself, what could he say?

That he couldn't stand to see him lying on the ground like trash?

That he worried that he was hurt?

That he didn't like the fact he looked like a man who had lost everything?

No, of course he couldn't say that shit.

So he just told him the truth, "I.. Don't know."

TBC