The next day wasn’t any different.

There was less arguing, but the atmosphere in the house was far more tense.

The silence, in Andrew’s opinion, was worse than the screaming. All morning, it seemed Mr. Dawson kept his gaze on Andrew without so much as blinking. When Andrew went upstairs to get changed, he could have sworn he heard Mr. Dawson coming up the stairs as well, but when Andrew went down stairs, Sally’s husband was back in his usual seat, glowering.

For dinner, Andrew made another simple pasta dinner with salad and garlic bread - which Sally pointed out he burnt - and after dinner Sally and her husband went upstairs to argue, their tone of voices far meaner and angrier, but less loud.

After Andrew did the dishes, he hung around downstairs until there was the sound of one door slamming, and then another. He figured that meant they were done for the night, so he crept up the stairs and slipped into the master suite to see Sally laying at the top of the bed, waiting for him in nothing but a bright blue pair of stringy underwear.

He wrung his hands briefly and opened his mouth to start the same disagreement they had last night, but she held up a hand.

“No.” she said firmly, pointing to the bed. “Come. Now.”

Andrew hesitated but did as she said, crawling up the bed to lay on top of her, kissing her eagerly as she went to work on stripping him down before she started to strip out what little she wore.

Sally knew exactly what it took to light Andrew’s fire. She knew exactly where to touch, where to scratch, where to rub. She knew exactly how Andrew liked to be kissed, where he liked to be kissed. She never failed to get him excited and begging for it, which she always loved to hear. She liked to have him begging for at least ten minutes before she let anything progress, having told him before that she wanted him to work for it and that she wasn’t the type of woman to do the chasing. Which Andrew didn’t mind – he didn’t mind showing her how devoted he was to her, even if he would rather spend more time on bonding than chasing, but he’d do what she liked because he loved her.

But tonight...it just wasn’t happening. His mind was to preoccupied on Mr. Dawson and trying to not let the other man hear anything they were doing in here, his voice a barely audible whisper and his gaze constantly darting to the door, half terrified that Mr. Dawson would come in and grab him when he had his back turned.

When that became obvious she flopped back against the bed to give him an irritated noise. “Really?” She hissed.

“He freaks me out!” Andrew whispered back in a frantic hurry, “He was staring at me all day, and it was a – a different sort of stare. Like he was going to eat me.”

Her eyes slid to the wall. “I noticed…” She said in a vague tone. She stared at the wall separating them from Mr. Dawson before she slowly looked back to Andrew. She spread her legs then to give him access to her wet, open pussy and started to push Andrew’s head down, and he got the message.

This was good - if Sally got off, that she’d been okay with Andrew not cuming. Andrew didn’t always come when they had sex. Sometimes Andrew was exhausted from school and work, other times performance anxiety would get him, but as long as Andrew gave Sally what she wanted, she’d be pleased.

And just as how Sally knew what Andrew liked, Andrew knew what Sally liked - she had shown him exactly what to do and eight months in, he didn’t need any more instruction. He just needed her to tell him when she wanted it, and he’d give it to her.

And his Sally was usually pretty vocal...but tonight she was on a whole different level. If Andrew had anxiety before, now it was in overdrive, tears prickling behind his eyes from his raw nerves. Usually he’d drink up every noise she made, but it seemed with every moan he almost flinched, knowing that the walls were thin enough that her husband was sure to hear every little bit of it.

So he concentrated on getting her off as fast as he could, doing everything he knew drove her wild. When she came - screaming out his name - he was half hard and could almost go for a round himself, but when he crawled back up to Sally she was sighing and thanking him, telling her how he always knew how to put her to bed right. And then she kissed his forehead and slid out of bed to go wash up, which meant they were done.

Which was fine.

Andrew didn’t need to cum. He was sure he would probably lose it anyway once the nerves got to him again. But with Sally naked and lying next to him, smelling faintly of perfume, he needed to give himself a little space. He didn’t want to risk Sally getting riled up again and starting up with the screaming, so he was going to force himself to calm down.

After Sally slid back into bed, Andrew pulled on a pair of too large sweat pants and tip toed down the hall to go downstairs for a glass of cool water.

As he was drinking at the sink he turned and choked on his drink, seeing Mr. Dawson back in his seat in the living room, sitting in the darkness with a bottle of vodka. Andrew coughed violently then, hastily setting his glass down to turn a little and try to catch his breath as Mr. Dawson stood slowly and came over, his steps a little off.

“What were you and my wife doing upstairs, Andrew?” The older man slurred in his deep rumble, backing Andrew up against the counter by the sink.

Andrew coughed a little, pounding on his chest as he shook his head and tried to stop coughing, completely at a loss for what to say.

“What?” Mr. Dawson growled, leaning close enough that Andrew could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Your tongue still up in my wife’s pussy or somethin’?” He snarled.

Andrew coughed a little harder at that, gasping for air. “N-no!” He sputtered.

Mr. Dawson looked like he had something else to say, but suddenly his face screwed up and he lurched for the sink to lean over it. Andrew watched the older man gagging, coughing a little before he began retching.

Andrew stood there watching for a beat before he instinctively went over to rub at the other man’s back - he was immediately thrown off and collided with the counter before he fell to the ground, sitting on a heap on the floor. He watched the other man vomit for a minute, Mr. Dawson leaning heavily against the sink as his knees began to bend and he slowly began to lower himself toward the floor.

The older man was completely trashed. It took Andrew longer than he’d like to admit to recognize that.

Andrew stayed on the floor until the other man seemed to have completely emptied his stomach into the sink, Mr. Dawson going to kneel on the ground there to hold tightly onto the edge of the sink.

Andrew slowly got up and turned on the water to rinse the sick down the drain before he reached down to try and help Mr. Dawson up. The other man struggled, pushing Andrew off before Andrew won, pulling him back to his feet to hand him a glass of water.

“Rinse.” Andrew said softly as he got the other man to take the glass.

Mr. Dawson glared weakly at him, but did as he was told, rinsing his mouth and spitting into the sink before doing it again at Andrew’s insistence with a miserable look on his face. Andrew made him drink the third glass, telling him it would make the next morning easier.

Afterward, Andrew turned off the water and pulled one of the other man’s arms over his shoulder to help him away from the sink.

Mr. Dawson tightened the arm over Andrew’s shoulder a fraction and Andrew got a feel for the thick muscles the other man possessed, muscles that Andrew didn’t doubt the other man wanted to use on him. The older man wrapped his arm tight enough around Andrew’s neck so that he was very snuggly held in the inside of his elbow, and if he squeezed any tighter he’d be choking Andrew, which made Andrew increasingly nervous.

But Mr. Dawson didn’t tighten his arm any further, the hold seeming to help the other man as Andrew carefully brought him up the stairs, Mr. Dawson completely unable to navigate any step by himself. Once they reached the top, Andrew had to drag the other man the rest of the way.

When they got inside the guest room, Andrew pulled him over to the bed, dropping him on it before he went around the other side to pull him the rest of the way up. He huffed and puffed before he went back around to remove Mr. Dawson’s shoes and socks, setting them by the bedroom door before he came back and covered him up with a blanket.

He looked pissed even in his sleep.