Chapter 134 Happy birthday Cooper

Chapter 134 Happy birthday Cooper
Tyler's pov.
As if he read my thoughts, Quin suddenly increased his pace, thrusting into me harder and faster.
"Oh god. Yess..."
"If you wanted rough," Quin breathed " you could have said so"
His thrust quickened, making me swallow whatever I was about to say.
" Ahhh..."
After a few more thrust he pulled out and turned me over, with my back arched and ass in the air.
"Ohh!"I gasped when I felt his palm connect my ass, making me spill more precum. He pushed in and this time he went all out. Smacking and thrusting hard, making me blabber things I have no reason for saying.
Fu...CK! Ahhh"
I grabbed the sheet tighter, burying my face in the pillow and biting down into it for my sanity. My poor dick was seeking friction but all it could get was a light brush against the sheets.
"Cum for me baby."
And like always his wish is my command. His hand moved under me and began to stroke my dick in time with his thrust and under a few seconds I was a writhing mess.
"AHH..."
Speaks of electricity rushed through me as I came hard screaming into the pillow. Quin's hand left my now sensitive dick as he continued to pound into me chasing his own release. After a few more thrust he came, jerking and spilling his seed deep inside me.
When he was done he collapsed on top of me, breathing hard but still peppering kisses on my back.
We stayed like that for a few seconds catching our breath. His weight felt perfect on top of me.
One week later Quin and I woke up and decided we'd ruin our kitchen in an attempt to make a cake for Cooper's birthday day. It started off well the first seven minutes of the baking attempt. It was only after Quin decided the hand mixer needed to be on a higher setting and I failed to warn him that the bowl wasn't deep enough.
We stood in the kitchen looking everywhere including the ceiling. Cooper was obviously amazed at the disaster his dad and incurred, he looked at the mixer still running in Quin's hand. His tail began to wag.
"Happy birthday," I told him.
He wagged harder, spinning around once.
Quin looked at the mixer then up at me. A man who ran a billion dollar company had just been defeated by batter.
"Lower setting," I said.
"I can see that now," he said.
I took the mixer from him and turned it down and went back to the bowl. Cooper immediately pressed himself against my legs which at his current size meant I had to widen my stance to stay upright. He was watching the bowl with focused attention.
"It's not for you," I told him.
He looked up at me.
"The big cake isn't for you. You're getting the small one."
"He doesn't believe you," Quin said from behind me where he was attempting to wipe flour off the counter.
"He understands more than he lets on."
"He lets on quite a lot."
Cooper chose this moment to put his front paws on the counter.
"No," I said.
He put them down, looked at the bowl from floor level and then decided the angle was insufficient and put them back up.
"Cooper."
Down again. He walked away with great dignity and sat beside Quin instead. Quin looked at him. Cooper looked at the counter area near Quin with renewed interest.
"Don't even think about it." Quin told him.
Cooper sat.
"Good boy," Quin said.
Cooper wagged.
I got the batter to something that resembled the right consistency and poured it into the two tins. One large. One small. The large one was for us and theoretically for the humans attending this birthday. The small one was a dog-safe version I had found a recipe for online at eleven the previous night while Quin was already asleep and I had fallen into a research spiral about what golden retrievers could and couldn't eat.
Quin had woken up, looked at my phone screen, looked at me, and said nothing. He understood me well. Cooper was our son, what will it profit me if I don't go all out for him.
I slid both tins into the oven and set the timer and turned around. Cooper was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor wearing flour.
Not from the incident caused by Quin, but. From a separate flour incident that had apparently occurred while I was focused on the oven. There was a distinct paw print trail from the counter area where the flour bag had been sitting to his current position.
I looked at Quin.
"He was very fast," Quin said.
"You were supposed to be watching him."
"I was watching the counter. Besides, He moves deceptively quickly for his size."
Cooper sneezed. Flour went everywhere. I sat down on the kitchen floor and Quin sat down beside me.
We looked at our flour-covered dog sitting in the middle of our flour-covered kitchen on the morning of his first birthday. He looked back at us with the expression of someone who had contributed meaningfully to the day's events and was satisfied with his work.
"We're cleaning all of this before the cake comes out," I said.
"Obviously," Quin said.
"And him."
"He's going to need a bath."
Cooper's ears went back at the word bath. He knew that word. He had opinions about it.
"After the cake," I said.
His ears came forward again. He hates the whole bathing experience.
The cake came out right.
Both of them. The large one rose evenly and smelled like vanilla and brown sugar and the small one came out slightly lopsided on one side but structurally sound. I frosted the large one while Quin read the icing instructions for the small one like he was reviewing a contract, going through each step with seriousness.
He iced the small cake with more care than I had applied to most things in my life.
It was a little lopsided. The icing wasn't perfectly smooth. He had attempted to write Cooper's name on it and run out of space after Coo which meant the cake said Coo in slightly uneven letters.
"It's good," I said. He looked at it critically." But the name doesn't fit."
"He can't read."
Quin looked at me. "That's not the point."
"What's the point?"
"The point is that it should be right."
I looked at the cake.
"It's perfect," I said. "It looks like something made with love rather than something made by a professional and Cooper is going to destroy it in under four seconds regardless of what it looks like."
Quin was quiet for a moment.
"Four seconds is generous," he said finally.
"Three then."
He picked up the small cake carefully and set it on the low plate we had put on the floor. Cooper had been sitting approximately one foot away from the oven for the past twenty minutes. The moment the plate touched the floor he was on his feet.
I looked at my phone.
"Go," I said.
Cooper did not need to be told.
Two and a half seconds.
The cake was gone in two and a half seconds. Cooper lifted his head from the plate, licked his nose, looked at the empty plate, looked at us, and wagged.
Quin looked at me.
"Two and a half," I said.
"I said three was generous," he replied.
Cooper licked the plate again in case he had missed anything. He hadn't. He was thorough.
The bath took longer than the cake.
Cooper had developed a complex relationship with baths over his first year. He understood that they were inevitable. He did not accept them as reasonable. He had never once walked into the bathroom voluntarily when a bath was the destination and he had never once failed to make his feelings known throughout the process.
He expressed these feelings primarily through volume. He believed someone somewhere might intervene if they knew the full picture.
I washed flour out of his fur while he looked at the bathroom door and continued his commentary.
Quin sat on the edge of the tub and handed me things when I needed them. Shampoo. The cup for rinsing. The towel that Cooper would immediately attempt to eat.
"You're almost done," I told Cooper.
He looked at the door.
"He does this every time. And every time he believes it might work this time."
I rinsed the last of the shampoo out and pulled the drain. Cooper immediately stood up, shook himself with full force sending water across both of us and every surface within range, and then attempted to step out of the tub before I had the towel ready.
"Wait—"
He did not wait.
Wet golden retriever. Bathroom floor. Full speed.
By the time we had dried him, dried ourselves, and addressed the bathroom situation, we were both in need of a second shower. Cooper was fluffy and clean and entirely pleased with himself, sitting in the hallway looking like something from an advertisement.
"He looks better than us," I said.
"Yeah," Quin agreed.
Dylan had texted later that morning..
~Atlas is ready. We're meeting at the park at two.
Followed by a photo of Atlas sitting by the front door looking ready like Dylan said
I showed it to Quin, who showed it to Cooper.
Cooper looked at Atlas's photo and made a sound.
"He recognizes him," I said.
"Don't give him too much credit, he's not that good."
We got to the park at five past two.
Dylan was already there with Atlas on a long lead. Atlas was the same size as Cooper, same colouring, same energy level, which meant that the moment they were within sight of each other the entire situation escalated immediately.
Cooper pulled toward Atlas with the full force of his body weight.
I held the lead with both hands.
"Every time," I said.
"Every time," Dylan agreed from across the grass, being pulled in our direction by Atlas with equal force."they miss eachother."
Jake was standing slightly to the side with his hands in his pockets watching this.
We unclipped both leads at the same time.
What followed was several minutes of two large golden retrievers running at maximum speed in figures of eight around the four of us, occasionally stopping to collide with someone's legs, occasionally stopping to check in with their respective humans before running again.
Quin got knocked sideways on the second pass. He caught himself, "He did that on purpose," he said.
"He didn't do it on purpose. He's a good kid."
"He looked at me first. He can't let me be with you in peace."
Jake appeared beside us. "Atlas does the same thing. Dylan thinks it's affectionate."
"Is it?" Quin asked.
"I've stopped asking," Jake said.
"You're both just jealous of the dogs."
Dylan was currently being circled by both dogs at high speed and laughing about it with his whole face.
I watched Jake watch Dylan. The expression on Jake's face was the same one I had seen developing over the past several months. The specific look of someone who had found something they hadn't known they were missing and was still occasionally surprised by the fact of it. I could totally relate to that.
I nudged him.
He looked at me. "What?"
"Nothing," I said.
He looked back at Dylan. "Stop."
"I didn't say anything."
Jake gave me the look that meant he knew exactly what I was doing and had chosen not to engage with it. Which was fine. The expression on his face said everything I would have said anyway.
Cooper came back to me at full speed and stopped an inch from my legs, sitting immediately with his tongue out, chest heaving and his eyes bright.
"Good run?" I asked. He seemed happy.
I crouched down and held his face in both hands for a moment. His fur was warm from the sun. He was enormous and ridiculous and entirely perfect.
"Happy birthday," I said quietly.
He licked my nose.
Quin crouched beside me. Cooper immediately transferred half his attention to him. Quin scratched behind his ears.
I looked at Quin over Cooper's head. The park around us, Jake and Dylan and both dogs. The afternoon really was going well.
I looked at the ring on my finger, then at the matching one on Quin's. One week left to become Mr Mckenzie.
Fuck!
Whenever the thought crosses my mind, I honestly get nervous.