Minotaur Boyfriend: Mac (complete)

Since your great-grandfather’s time, your family has owned and operated a greengrocer that gets everything they have from local farmers in the area. But your small town has recently gotten one of those big super shopping centers, and people fought against it, spreading the rumor that the local government had been paid off by the hulking corporation. A couple of small family-owned businesses have already gone out of business. Once-bright windows are dark, with For Sale signs plastered behind the dark glass. The once-thriving downtown area now looks more like a street view from an old Western movie these days. 

Your family is trying to compete with the monstrous shopping center, and you’ve started letting some of the other struggling businesses join forces with you. You convert one area of the grocer into a deli to incorporate the bakery. Still, it’s hard drawing in customers.

“You would think, after all the fighting they did to make sure it didn’t come here, they wouldn’t look at it.” Mac, one of the local farmers you worked with, grouses. He came from Angled Horns Farms, also family-owned since his great-grandfather’s days. His family of minotaurs had been one of the first farms in the area, and he now owns a big chunk of land in town. In fact, the supermarket chain had come to him first because they wanted a plot of his land for the ‘scenic appeal’. Of course, Mac shooed them away.

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you total up what he brought in. “I’ve already had people coming complaining about their produce.”

Mac frowns. His usually sky-blue eyes seem dim. “I just don’t know about folks sometimes,” he scoffs. “I look around and see less of the town I love.”

You start to write him a check, but he stops you. “Hold off on that for now,” he says. His big hand hovers overs yours, stalling your pen.

“But I have to pay you!” you insist.

Max nods and releases your hand. “I know, and I have to get paid. But I want you to only give me half of what’s owed.”

You frown up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Mac smiles, his ears flicking forward. “You can run a sale. If you don’t have to pay as much, then you don’t have to mark up as much to make your funds back. If you have a good sale, then people will flock here rather than to the supermarket.”

You slowly lower your clipboard as you look up at him. “But that’s only good for us. What good does that do for you to get paid half?”

“Because your family was the first to sell my family’s produce in town. No one else would touch us because we were minotaurs. Your family paid double when no one else would even sell our stuff.” He motions back to the clipboard. “So, only half. Got it?”

You frown still, not liking the idea of not giving Mac what he’s due. His produce is always the best, and besides, you’ve harbored feelings for him ever since you were little. Mac is a bit older, but the two of you have been around each other all your lives. Both of your fathers worked closely together since they were kids, and your families have always been close.

Mac was always the popular one because he was handsome, strong, and intelligent. His crystal-blue eyes and black fur made him look like an old movie star, and he’s burly and muscular on top of that. He had always been nice to you too, even when you were your most awkward and weird. He found a way to see the bright side of your shyness.

Later that week, you run the sale like Mac suggested. While you see a bigger turnout than what’s become the new norm, it feels as if it’s still less than the earnings on your best days. That evening, after closing, you sit on the curb outside. Not yet ready to get into your car and head home, you look at your phone scrolling through Instagram posts from everywhere else in the world. You glance up, and in the distance you can see the hazy glow of the supermarket parking lot from your store. You grimace, wondering how a place can stay open until ten and be considered sane. You look back down at your phone, liking pictures from Paris and Italy.

A big truck growls and sputters into the parking lot. It stops right in front of you, and the door opens.

“Sorry. If you’re looking for produce, we’re closed,” you grumble.

“Not so much. I just saw you sitting here, is all.”

You look up to see Mac standing beside his great big green pickup. You feel like crying when you see him, but you keep that at bay. 

“How’d the sale go?” he asks hopefully.

“It went.” You grunt as you stand up and dust off your backside. “But I’m afraid we’re a long way away from the old doorbuster sales.” You shrug, feeling defeated. “How can we compete...” You motion towards the glow in the distance, and you can’t hold on any longer. You begin to weep, letting go of all the worry and doubt you’ve held onto for so long. You’ve been trying to remain upbeat for your family, and your parents were so worried even before the store opened. It’s getting hard to hold onto hope, especially after today.

Mac pulls you into his big arms, hugging you tightly as you sob. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry it didn’t go well.”

You blubber a bit longer before your chest starts to hurt. You pull back, wiping your face with your sleeves. “I keep hoping people will come to their senses! But their only sense of direction is pointing towards that place.”

“Yeah,” Mac sighs heavily. “I know.” He rubs the top of your head. “Come on, let me take you to the diner. I won’t let you drive home in this state.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur. 

His smile is soft and reassuring. “I want to, though.”

The seats of his truck are worn and soft. The old green truck has been around as long as Mac has, and he grew up on these seats. You sniffle, rubbing your eyes as you sink into them. The truck itself smells like years of hard work, dirt, sweat, and the new car-scented air freshener on the mirror. Mac smells clean, with a hint of lavender on his fur.

The diner is slow and lazy, eaten at the only diner that stays open all day, every day. It’s quiet, dotted with regulars. The waitress takes your drink order, then eases her way back to the counter. “Thanks,” you say to Mac. “I didn’t mean to cry on your like that.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckles. “Next time I need to cry, I’ll come to you. How is that?”

You smile shyly at him, quickly averting your eyes to the menu. You can’t look in his eyes for too long. It makes your heart race. “Perfect,” you murmur.

Mac leans back in the old booth, and the vinyl squeaks and grunts. “I like coming here. Despite everything, it’s the most homey place in town. I can remember coming here with my grandfather, and it still feels the same as it did then.” He chuckles. “I guess I’m stuck in my ways.”

“I think we’re all realizing that.” You only look at him when you’re sure his eyes are elsewhere. He’s wearing a dark red t-shirt with the Angled Horn logo on it. Every year the farm got new shirts for all their staff, changing the color each time. You have a similar one in your closet. It suits him better, tight along his chest and belly, and the sleeves are strained by his biceps. It’s a good look for him.

“Yeah,” he huffs. “I guess.”

The waitress comes back with your drinks, and she’s even topped your coffee with whipped cream. After taking your orders, she glances at you. “Are you gonna be keeping that sale up tomorrow? I couldn’t get out today, and it killed me that I couldn’t stop by.”

“Till Sunday,” you smile.

“Good!” She winks at Mac as she heads back to the counter.

You give him a look. “You and her?”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “We went to high school together, fooled around a bit then. But nothing since then.”

You feel a bit jealous, but you stomp it down. No reason for that now. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

Mac smirks. “I’m looking at you, ain’t I?”

You look up from your coffee and scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“You got a...” He draws his finger across his upper lip.

You touch, feeling the whipped cream clinging to you like a mustache. “Oh, lord.” You dab it away while Mac chuckles.

“Nah, ain’t seeing anyone,” he sighs. 

You nod. “Yeah, I ain’t exactly beating off suitors with a bat.”

“Anyone you would want to beat with a bat?”

You laugh and lift your eyes to him. Your heart suddenly starts pounding, and your face is growing warmer by the second. “Ever known me to do that?”

He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. “I guess not.” 

“I dunno if I could right now,” you huff. “I’d probably only be with someone just so I could work out my frustrations at the end of the day.” Your face gets hotter. “Never mind. Too personal.”

Your food is delivered, and you hope that ends the conversation. Outside, it has begun to rain. “Good, we needed it,” Mac remarks. He watches the rain as it cascades through the light of the street lamps. A thin fog has also begun hovering over the ground.

“I love rain,” you murmur.

Mac looks at you, his ears back and his mouth slightly parted. “Stupid question,” he starts. “Would you like to come over for drinks?”

“I do have the morning off.” Your eyes focus into the distance, still on that haze from the supermarket parking lot. “I don’t exactly feel like being alone with my anxiety tonight, either.”

“My couch pulls out if you want to stay over,” he suggests.

You’ve fallen asleep on his couch a few times. He’s always been nice and invited you over to hang out, even though you aren’t the usual crowd he enjoys hanging out with. He’s always made a point to include you.

His place is just off the farm property, and was once a staff house. It’s small and old, but inside it smells like him, his musk blasting you in the face as you walk in. He opens a cabinet filled with bottles and started listing off things you might like. You ask for a rum and coke, which he happily makes for you. You sit on his porch on the old swing, listening to and smelling the rain as it falls on the fields stretched out before you. You like it here, especially since you can’t see the awful glow from that evil place. 

You sip your drink, not really here for alcohol, but for escape. “Thanks for inviting me over. I needed this.”

Mac chuckles. “We haven’t really done anything except sit here.”

You smile. “Exactly.” You gaze into the distance. “I like just sitting with you.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs softly. “I do too.” He takes his glass and downs it, clearing his throat to disperse the heat of the alcohol. “Okay, you can do this Mac,” he whispers under his breath. 

“Hmm?” You turn your head towards him.

“I like you,” he says.

“Aww.” You pat his hand. “I like you too.”

Mac grunts. “No, not like that.” He grabs your hand, holding it between both his massive mitts, squeezing gently. “I’ve always liked you, but because you were my friend I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You bite your lip and look at his hands clasping yours. 

“But it’s getting harder and harder to ignore just how deeply I feel about you, and I realize I can’t ignore it anymore,” he says softly.

You look up into his eyes, and more than ever you want to look away, but you realize you can’t. “Mac, I...”

“I love you,” he whispers.

You’re pretty sure you’ve breathed before, but it’s become apparent to you that you no longer know how. Your heart is jumping so fast it feels it may lurch from your throat at any second. You place your free hand around his, just trying to feel something solid to hold on to. You nod, unsure of what else to say or do in that moment.

Mac furrows his brow. “Yes? To what?”

“I’ve always liked you too.” Your voice comes out shaky and uncertain. “Feelings...” Your voice trails off, and you swallow. “Have them I do.” Well if that doesn’t kill the mood then maybe he really does love you.

Mac starts to laugh and he cups his hand on your cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

You press your palm against his chest, feeling his pulse racing like yours. You look into his eyes and with your next breath, he takes it. You’re kissing, soft and warm, so very comforting. Your fingers clutch his shirt while his hand moves to the small of your back. 

The rain seems to hover in the air for a moment, and when your lips part it begins to rain all over again. 

“I love you too,” you whisper. 

Mac brushes your hair aside and kisses your temple and cheek. He nuzzles you as his arms wrap warmly around you. His hugs have always been wonderful, but this one is different. You feel safe and warm, like nothing could ever hurt you.

It’s then the old porch swing decides to let go. The chain comes unscrewed from the beams, and you both hit the ground with a powerful thud. You laugh together, standing up and dusting each other off. “You hurt?” Mac asks.

Shaking your head, you try to still your laughter. “I’m fine, you?”

He leads you back inside. “No. I think I’m just embarrassed.” 

You sit down on the couch together, still chuckling. After a while you’re kissing again. Kissing turns to heavy petting, and soon you’re on your back and taking Mac’s shirt off. You admit to manhandling his chest a bit, but you’ve wanted to get at his pecs since puberty took hold of you.

“Wait, wait...” Mac pulls back. “Maybe we should slow down. I...” He hangs his head.

“You okay?” you breathe.

Mac lets you sit up and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, the two of us. But maybe we should talk before we jump.” He looks into your eyes. “I don’t want to go forward if you’re uncomfortable.” 

“I wasn’t. I’m not.” You bite your lip and look down at your hands. “I don’t mind if we continue at all.”

“Neither do I, but we should still talk.” He clears his throat. “Like, what would you want from me?”

“Um...” You’ve never really been asked this. It’s always just been ‘doing it’ and not much else. You also feel embarrassed about asking for the precise sex acts you want. “I’m not sure.”

“Anything,” he says hopefully. “Spanking, positions, hand-holding, anything.”

You giggle shyly and look up to him. “This is hard for me!”

He smiles and leans in, kissing you gently. “Do you like having your breasts touched?” he whispers.

You giggle again, pressing your forehead to his. “Do you?”

“Of course.” He kisses you softly again, cupping your face between his palms. “Do you prefer tongue or fingers?”

You catch your breath as your mind swims in a cocktail of hormones, lust, and raging blood. “For what?”

He kisses your neck, tugging your shirt so he can kiss your shoulder as well. “You have to tell me.”

You close your eyes and organize your thoughts. “Can I see you naked first?” You look at him shyly while his soft expression gives way to a grin. 

“Of course.” He stands up, already shirtless, and takes off his pants and underwear, tossing them aside. He stands in Grecian-statue perfection before you, only somehow even better. His strong legs and thighs are fluffy with black fur ,and his narrow tail swishes behind him. His stomach is strong, but more pronounced than muscular. 

“Oh, my,” you whisper. His cock is hard, but it’s so heavy it droops before him. The base is black, and the shaft is purple with bubblegum pink at the glans. 

“Want me to pose or anything?”

You reach out, then retract your fingers. “Is it okay to touch it?”

“If you want to, then please.” He steps a bit closer.

You place your palm around the base, rubbing it back and forth before curling your fingers. You stroke slowly, and his precome begins to drip from the tip. He moans above you while you touch, getting used to his girth, his warmth. You’re growing excited, more than you expected. You feel powerful like this, something else you didn’t predict.

Moving your eyes up, you see his gaze is lidded and glassy. He looks at you, lustful and heated. His lips part with a moan, and that’s when you feel the first rush of wetness move from inside you and into your panties. You’re making him moan like this, what an idea! You lean in more, pressing your lips to the head and lapping up the precome. He gasps and jerks, the tip pokes between your lips. “Sorry!” he gasps.

You don’t let him move. Instead you press your tongue against him, slowly suckling while your hand pumps around him. Why does this feel so good to you? You press one palm against his thigh, feeling the muscles tighten at your touch. You take him further into your mouth, moving your head and sucking. Saliva drips down your chin, but it doesn’t matter. You’re growing wetter, flooding your basement as it were.

“Oh, god,” Mac moans above you. “Oh, god...” His voice rises.

You look up at him, seeing an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. It makes you feel even more powerful. You continue to suck, squeezing his shaft until he begins to throb.  Then he pulls away, and you let go. Both of you are still and quiet, breathing deeply. He scoops you up from the sofa, carrying you to his bedroom, where he lays you on the bed. You kiss hungrily again, grabbing and groping one another. He takes off your shirt and undoes your pants. His fingers slip inside your panties, finding what has become of you.

“You’re so wet.” His tongue glides down your neck. 

“It felt so good,” you exclaim. “I got excited.”

His fingers sink into your mound, finding you wet and eager for him. He bites and kisses your neck, moaning against you as his fingers rub between your folds. You cry out, thrusting your hips for more of his touch. “Mac,” you whine. “Your fingers, please.”

He kisses you, panting as he eases a finger inside. It dips and swirls shallowly, but you know you want more than that. “Another!” The word escapes you.

Outside the rain is falling harder, and it drums against the tin roof to create music. Mac adds another finger, slowly moving them deeper before pulling them away.

“My pants, take them off!” You feel frustrated, like you can’t get things out fast enough.

Mac kisses you gently, calming the vortex in your mind. “We have all night, okay?” He kisses down your body, wiggling you free from your pants. He kisses your belly and hips while his fingers rub your vulva, teasing your clit with too-gentle touches. “You’re pretty wet. It makes it hard to get a grip. I’m gonna clean you up a bit.” He spreads your thighs and places his head between them. His tongue presses against you, and you take hold of his horns. He laps over your mound, pushing in a little further each time. His nose rubs against your clit, turning your knees to liquid. 

His moans against you travel through your body, coursing through each nerve to make your skin feel like it’s vibrating. He presses his fingers back inside you, lapping your clit while moving deeper and deeper.

You tug at his horns, throwing your head back against the pillows. His moans grow deeper, shivering through your system. You can’t contain yourself, and you throw your hands over your face, biting your fingers and writhing against the sheets. 

Mac comes up wet, his lips and nose  glossy from your excitement. “Look at me.” His hand strokes up your body and comes to rest on your cheek. “Look.”

Your vision is cloudy, but you can see those beautiful blue eyes through anything. He descends to kiss you. “How do you feel?”

“Limp. Warm.”

Mac chuckles, laying himself down beside you and bringing your back to his chest. He kisses your shoulder and arm, his voice is directly in your ear. “I’m glad. I want you to feel good.”

You reach back, placing your palm on his hip. “What about you?”

“I’ll let you cool down a bit.” He gently bites the tip of your ear. “I don’t mind if you feel like ending it here.”

You shake your head. “No. Please. Don’t stop.” You hate that you’re whining.

He moans against your neck and his arm tightens around you. His hand engulfs your breast, squeezing it while his other hand sinks back down. Your clit feels like a live wire. His warm, strong fingers gently rub above it, while his cock slips between your thighs. He rubs himself there, stroking against your sensitive mound. He gets closer and closer until the tip prods against it before he slips through. 

“Please,” he whispers into your ear. 

You reach down, touching his shaft and easing it into place. He glides inside, stretching you while going deep, and moans in your ear as he thrusts himself into place. He fits snugly, and you squeeze around him, feeling his heat and hardness within you. This is it, it’s finally happened. You’ve loved Mac for so long it feels almost like a dream now.

“I love you,” he moans again. 

You turn your head to meet his kiss. His thrusts are slow and shallow at first, and he churns you up before he starts to move harder. One hand rests over your belly, the other on your hip. He lays you on your back, lifting your hips as he enters you again. Looking up at him, you begin to cry. He’s so beautiful, so sweet, and you love him so much.

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. 

“They’re not bad tears,” you sniffle. “I’m just happy.” You place your palms on his chest. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Mac moves harder, making the bed strike the wall. “So have I.”

You grip his arms, heaving as his thrusts become more precise. “Mac!” you cry out. “Oh god, Mac!”

“You’re so beautiful right now!” He pants with exertion. “So soft, so warm.” His hips begin to tremble. “You’re perfect.”

Your back arches. “Don’t stop! Faster, Mac. Oh god!”

He grabs hold of the headrest with one hand, and the other holds your lower back. He pants hoarsely with his rhythm, grunting with each strike of his hips against your thighs. He yells and throws his head back, almost roaring. Thunder booms outside, drowning out your voices and the crack of the headrest against the wall. You feel struck by lightning, every nerve alive, every vein pounding, toes curled. Even your scalps tingles. 

Mac’s movements slow, and he eases in and out, finally moving all the way out of you. He lowers himself down, both of you sweaty and hot. You gasp for breath, feeling your skin prickle with heat. Mac opens the window, and the cold breeze is welcome.

“Holy shit,” you giggle shyly. “Oh wow!”

Mac laughs with you, kissing you lazily as he sinks back bonelessly. “I could gobble you up right now,” he moans.

“It’s never been like that,” you whisper, afraid that if anyone else hears it won’t be true. “I’ve never felt such a need for someone.”

Mac’s kisses trail from your lips to your cheek. “I know what you mean.”

“Oh, wow.” You close your eyes and breathe.

“Give me an hour and I can do it again,” Mac teases.

You open your eyes again and chuckle. “I might die if I come like that again.” Thunder rumbles outside. “How long have we known each other?”

“All our lives, I suppose,” he murmurs. 

“When did you know you liked me?”

He thinks for a moment as his body rests. “It was summer, and you were helping your little sister set up her lemonade stand. I was driving by, and when you smiled I thought how nice it would be to see that smile every day.” He rubs his fingers against your lips. “To be the cause of that smile.”

You kiss his fingertip. “I always looked up to you. But during high school, I would look at you and feel like the world shifted, like I was seeing something that no one else could.” 

Mac kisses you, pulling you tight into his arms. “I wish I had known that then,” he whispers. “I waited so long. I feel like a fool.”

“Now was perfect. I don’t think I could have handled it back then.” You press your forehead to his and smile. “Now is just right. Time doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“Right,” he breathes. He kisses you and nuzzles your hair. “But I can still make up for lost time, right?”

You smile, giggling as his fingers dig into your side. “You don’t want to break two sets of furniture tonight, do you?”

“Oh right, the swing,” he chuckles. “This bed will be fine. I think it will survive us.” He kisses you again. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”