The Promised Moon/Fish-- The Surprise Visit, Part 3

Busy day! For starters, Geoffie got a hair cut, I got goodies in the mail, and I'm making progress on a shawl!

Also, Squish is amazing.

But other than that--it was a work day, and part of the work is wrapping up Fish in the next week. Which means wrapping up the Moon/Fish as well. Enjoy!

*  *  *

The Surprise Visit--Part 3

"Ellery!" Ellery's mother looked impeccable. Hair pulled back into a shortened bun, makeup done with razor line perfection, cool linen suit and sensible ecru pumps, Taylor Cramer never traveled with anything less than aplomb.

"Mother?"

But what in the fuck was she doing here.

"Ellery, who's at the door at fuck all'y'all in the morning?"

"Jackson, could you get my bags please?"

Ellery turned to find Jackson, mid pit-scratch, in his boxers having a panic attack.

"Oh dear God."

"Jackson, my mother's here."

"For sweet fuck's sake!"

Ellery grimaced. The weird thing was, he was almost certain Jackson liked his mother. Revered her in fact. But that didn't mean she didn't scare the crap out of him. "Jackson, maybe come get her bag like she asked."

"Hello, Lucy Satan," Jackson muttered as he came to the door. "Are you moving in?" His eyes bulged out and Ellery managed to look behind his mother.

"You brought a trunk?" he asked, his voice pitching in dismay.

"Don't get too excited, Ellery. Some of those are gifts for Jackson's family. Thank you so much, Jackson--I'll take the guest room, per usual."

Well yeah, but usually Ellery's mother had stayed with them when there was something wrong.

"Smells like dead grandma's," Jackson mumbled, wrinkling his nose.

Taylor Cramer smirked, and Ellery had to look twice to make sure it was his mother. "That's the perfume you bought me for Hanukah sweetheart. I'm so glad you like it."

"I thought it was Christmas," Jackson mumbled, still pulling the giant wheeled case behind him. "I am so confused."

Ellery took his mother's smaller case and kissed her cheek, ushering her in. "It's lovely to see you," he said diplomatically. "Is there an occasion?"

"Mm..." she said, smiling serenely, which told Ellery that yes, there was, but it wasn't like she was going to tell him. "Let's just say that I've become enchanted by your charming little valley, and I understand there are all sorts of outdoor spring activities that we should partake in. Jackson? Did you hear that?"

"I don't understand a word of it!" Jackson called back. He came plodding back into the living room as Ellery passed him on the way to the bedroom with the smaller case. "You're here so we can go outside?"

"Exactly," she said. "And I understand you have a new vehicle."

Jackson's eyes widened. "The tank?"

"The tank?" Ellery echoed, having settled as much as he could in the guest room.

"Yes. New, isn't it? Weren't your friends going to outfit it to make sure it was the last vehicle you would ever need?"

Sonny and Ace had retrofitted the SUV--an Infinity QX3--and reinforced the panels, removed padding, added bulletproof glass and added custom seatbelt webbing, not to mention several highly illegal things they'd done to the suspension and engine itself. The result was... well, a very sturdy vehicle.

"It might be," Ellery said diplomatically, "but I always thought it would be the last car you'd ever be caught dead in, much less escorted alive."

His mother patted his cheek. Patted his goddamned cheek. "Oh, Ellery. Son. Shows how much you really know about me. Now it's a lovely April day, the sun is shining. The birds are singing. Let's go get some donuts and go to the zoo, shall we?"

Jackson's eyes hadn't gotten any smaller, not since he'd opened them to see Taylor Cramer on the doorstep. "The zoo."

"Donuts?" Ellery squeaked. "You showed up on our porch to... to..."

"To go see the zoo and have donuts," she said happily. "I'll just make some coffee while you two shower and change. Hustle, boys. There's so much I want to see!"

The two of them stumbled into the bedroom, Ellery in the pajamas he'd been wearing when he'd opened the door, Jackson in his boxer shorts, both of them wearing the veil of confusion like a miasma.

"I..." Ellery struggled. Jackson's warm hand on his waist was not reassuring. "Please don't leave me because my mother has done the first spontaneous thing I've ever seen her do in thirty-one years."

Jackson half-laughed and kissed his neck. "I won't leave you. But you know, this doesn't seem spontaneous in the least. I'm pretty sure she's hiding something from us."

Ellery stared at him. "How would you even guess that?"

Jackson shrugged and gave a soft smile. "Hunch."

"But what do we do?"

"What would we do under normal circumstances?"

Ellery sighed and let his shoulders slump. "Anything my mother wanted."

Jackson nodded and kissed his neck again. "And hurry, counselor, or I'm going to do one or two things she might want me to do at all..."

Ellery hustled to the bathroom and heard his mother cooing at the cat in the sudden quiet.

His mother. There indefinitely. Oh dear lord, what had they done to deserve this?

*  *  *

Two days earlier:

Burton blew out a breath and dialed the number.

"Taylor Cramer," said Ellery's mother, her voice crisp and no-bullshit.

"Yes, ma'am. This is--"

"I remember you from the waiting room," she said, with hardly a wobble in her voice. "Is anything wrong with my son?"

God, she was quick. "No, ma'am. We just... I'm on a secure line, but I don't think you are."

"MM.  Understood. Where would you like me to call you from?"

"Sacramento," he said promptly. She would know what that meant.

"Indeed? Anywhere particular in Sacramento?"

"As many public places as possible."  He and Jason had it on good authority that this particular death squad liked to work in quiet and secret, and made things look like an accident. Well, try that if Ellery, Jackson, and Taylor were touring the outdoor delights of the city in the spring.

"For how long should I call you from there?"

Burton had no idea. "An indefinite length of time. I'll contact you when you can go back to using your home phone."

There was a silence. A long, uncomfortable silence, during which time Burton squirmed uncomfortably.

"When you contact me, you'd better have a damned good explanation for that, young man."

Burton blew out a sigh of relief. Well, yeah. She deserved no less. "You will, ma'am. I promise."

"Of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must procure some plane tickets and go shopping. I'm not arriving on that doorstep without copious amounts of random gifts, you understand?"

"Understood, ma'am. Happy travels."

"You too young man. And say hello to your young baker, while you're at it. I did enjoy meeting him as well."

Burton thought of Ernie, at home, making donuts. "I'll give him your regards, ma'am."

"Thank you."

Burton hung up and looked in agony at Jason Constance.

"So she's going to be with her son and his friend before the team gets to town."

"Confirmed," Burton told him, and then slumped forward. "Sir, are you ready for tomorrow?"

Constance frowned, obviously surprised. "Certainly, soldier. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you haven't met these people, and there is no telling what comes next."

Constance didn't seem to believe him, but Burton was actually relieved when he got home and Ernie was making apple fritters. It meant they had Ernie's witchiness on their side.

SuperBat-- Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 3

Hi all!

I'd say it was a quiet weekend, but I finished Bunny and the Money Man--book one of a Dreamspun Desire series called Search and Rescue--and I made it under deadline. I mean, yes, Squish had indoor soccer, and we went out for burgers, but most of my weekend was finishing that book!

Now that it's done, for the next one to two weeks, I'm going to be editing the Shitty Craft Book-- a book on writing craft that is done but needs a buttload of screen doors and some new paint. In other terms, a hefty edit with lots of research and some tweaking--because I'm online to present this in a couple of places this year, and I want it to be published and perfect before it goes out.

So, Amy, what's it like submitting classes on a book you're self-pubbing that isn't quite done?

Why, stressful as fuck, so glad that you asked!

So, in celebration of the next year of a violent bout of imposter syndrome, I say we have another round of fanfic! And please, my beloveds, don't tell me I'm not an imposter, I know people mean well but at this point it's just better to pretend everything is fine, fine, just fine than to try to overcome self-esteem that was starved of its bone structure when I was a kid.

So, in order to appease my escapist tendencies-- let's escape, shall we?

* * *

Batman's Hot Cousin, Part 3: Through the Air Like Smoke

"Clark! Get your head in the game! Barry needs help!"

Superman shook his head and blew a big blast of freezing breath at the offshoot lava gollum that was racing the Flash as a snake of boiling rock.

The whole monster shuddered and that part froze and shattered, sending people-sized rock fragments down on the heads of the frightened onlookers.

"Hal!" Superman called, and Green Lantern disappeared to keep people from getting smashed, and HawkMan and HawkWoman swooped down to save anyone who might be in the way.

Which left Clark to continue to freeze the monster's tendrils and off and try not to freak out about his lithe, catlike boyfriend sliding through the air like smoke. Smoke shaped like a brick shithouse but smoke just the same.

Watching Batman fight in this form was a major mindfuck.

The women Clark Kent had always been attracted to were strong. Diana, Lois, Lana-- strong, independent, graceful. Warrior women, who would match his wits if not his strength.

Bruce Wayne Female was everything that turned Clark Kent's key--but with a Goth, risk-taking edge that stopped his heart in battle.

Bruce Wayne Female didn't let Clark save him. Not that the others had, but they knew their physical limits and were not afraid to ask for help. Bruce Wayne Female had no awareness of the lighter bone structure and more supple muscles that gave him speed and grace and stamina, but that didn't weigh as much as his heavy tumbler's muscles. He could land a helluva punch in this form--there was no doubt--but he had not yet learned to compensate for the lack of body mass that he'd had before.

He'd spent the last month getting the shit beat out of him is what he'd done.  The backhand from the Joker that had sent him spinning into a cement truck mid-leap had been particularly humiliating.

Or it would have been if he'd remembered it. He'd been concussed for two days. When he'd woken up, he'd had to remember why he had tits all over again.

Clark would hold Bruce Wayne any time he needed it, and tears had never bothered him. But Bruce's sobs as he'd coped with a body that wasn't his were leaving big bloody tracks in Clark Kent's soul.

And watching him fight was terrifying.

"Bruce, get out of there!" Diana yelled. "Your heat armor has gaps in it and that thing's going to cook you alive!"

That was another thing. None of his armor fit this form. Fighting the lava monster was hard enough--but Batman, in his special heat-resistant armor, could open up a hole in the thing's core that Superman could freeze out.

But not if the armor had big air pockets in it that would cook Bruce alive.

"Fuck!" Bruce yelled back-- a sure sign that he was getting frustrated. "Who can get in there and open up a hole!"

"I'm on it!" Hal flew up from rescuing civilians and Bruce bailed, letting Green Lantern send a wedge of power through the thing's center so Superman could freeze it out. Oh, thank God. Thank fucking God, that thing was down, every lava branch on the skyscraper it was trying to take out had turned to stone.

Hal and Clark were on cleanup then, making sure that whatever wasn't melded with the surface of the building had been disintegrated or deposited elsewhere. Diana could have lassoed stuff, Clark supposed, and Barry's speed might have come in handy, but really, Hal and Clark were best suited for the job.

But that meant jack to the pissed off brooding Clark was getting from Bruce's silent com.

They finished cleanup, aware that the rest of the Justice League had gone up to Eye in the Skye to figure out who kept setting lava monsters on them.  When they were done, Clark called to Bruce first, to see if he would respond like a grownup.

When he didn't, he sighed.

"Diana--"

"He doesn't want to see you."

"The fuck?"

"Wow--do you realize you've started swearing a lot since you two got together?"

"Please, Diana? What in the--"

"It's not just the fight. Or the armor. Or the two to six weeks left on his sentence."

"What is it?"

She grunted, and the sound was unfamiliar.

"Diana, is there something wrong--?:

"No! There is nothing wrong with her--him! Fuck! It's something that's completely normal but he'd never dealt with it before and it's uncomfortable and painful and messy and he was off his game is all.  Give him a chance to figure it out and he'll be one-hundred percent, you understand?"

Clark was an alien--but he wasn't an idiot.

"Seriously?"

She sighed. "He didn't want you to know."

"He has a women's body. Women menstruate. It brings about physical changes. Why is he ashamed of that?"

"I don't know, Clark--because of a hundred years of, 'Oh, I wonder if she's on her period?' jokes!"

"But I never told those jokes!"

"But he doesn't want you to think he's not capable because something took him off his game. Women get a couple of years to learn how to deal. This caught him while he was in battle. It was a surprise."

Clark took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that he wasn't the one in the wrong form. Except it felt like he was, because while he loved Bruce in any shape he assumed, he was more and more starting to see the female form as an ill fitting uniform that they somehow had to unzip. It was strangling the man Clark loved.

"Of course it was," he said. "Does he think I couldn't understand that?" But then, Bruce wasn't great at asking for help before he'd had this form. "You know what? Don't answer that. I get it. But I'm not leaving him alone. Because yes, I am that asshole."

And with that he went off coms while he flew into the Batcave.

Bruce wasn't there, and he wasn't in the infirmary. Clark tried his third guess and found him, sitting with Diana in his bedroom, shotgunning Anne With an E on Netflix. He had the remains of what looked like steak on a tray next to him, and he and Diana were eating chocolate mousse.

"No mousse for me?" he asked, keeping the irritation from his voice.

Bruce eyed him sourly. "I'll ask Alfred--"

Clark kissed him on the cheek. "No, no. I'll take the trays and ask Alfred myself. Diana, when I come back I'm going to change, which means you'll see my bare ass. However you want to handle that."

Wasn't something she hadn't seen before, so when he got back-- two more helpings of chocolate mousse and another steak, just for him--on his tray, he was surprised to see she'd gone.

"She's going to change into pajamas," Bruce said, half-laughing. "She says it's the only time I'll get to do this, I should do it right, it's one of the joys of being a woman."

"Is she right?"

"The steak was great," Bruce said grimly. "The rest of it is a giant coping mechanism so women don't rise up and cut off all our penises because we haven't made fixing this system a fucking priority."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"Pajamas or you have to leave," Bruce said, wrapping his robe tighter around him. Underneath he was wearing Clark's pajama bottoms and his T-shirt, when he had plenty of his own. Clark took heart from that. It meant he was a source of comfort.

"Fine, changing. Don't eat my steak."

Bruce looked him dead in the eye. "Hurry."

He did, and when he was done, he picked up the tray and scooted into the giant king sized bed they'd shared since, well, since Bruce had almost been killed by the mad bomber and they'd decided they wanted tone together.

"Now tell me why women are going to rise up against us?"

"Because this? This thing I'm doing? It's awful. It hurts. Like hurts. You know i know pain, and I'm not afraid of it, but this, constantly, as just something I'm supposed to deal with? This is wrong. And the fact that doctors don't think we should put any time into figuring out why it happens and stopping it? Is wrong. I have an entire research and development department, and you know what? The head of that department is a woman and the person under her is a woman, and you know what neither of them has even proposed to me?"

"How to soothe menstrual cramps?"

"Fucking bingo! And do you know why?"

"Because women are told they need to suck it up?"  Clark had never thought of it before. Lana, Lois, Diana--they hadn't so much as let the pain or the inconvenience touch him. The thought made his heart hurt. All the trouble he'd gone to, to get Bruce Wayne to admit something hurt, and women had been masking pain like this for eternity.

"They do." Bruce sighed and leaned against him. "I hate feeling like this."

"Cramps and swelling and--"

"And like I"m borrowing this form. It's not mine. I could make it mine, but right now, I'm some guy bitching because I get a little taste of reality. I hate that it's reality and I can't change it for all the women I know."

"You can help." Clark kissed his temple. "Maybe have a conversation with your R and D department tomorrow."

Bruce nodded, and Clark saw the classic Bruce-Wayne-swallowing-pain maneuver. "Can I hold you?"

"I wish you would," Bruce sighed. "I"m sorry I said to stay away."

"I"m sorry I'm a man."

Bruce let out a laugh and Diana chose that moment to come back in, sliding on Bruce's other side.

"This is not something we'd ever do when I'm a man," Bruce said. After a moment of acknowledging silence, he added, "That's too damned bad."

Clark kissed his temple again, noting that he'd had his hair cut short the day before, just like he did every week. Still Bruce. But Bruce with a little more understanding than he'd had before.

"That is," Clark said. He winked at Diana. "I'm sure Diana would be willing to do this once a month if we asked her nicely."

Diana stole his chocolate mousse. "Only if Alfred caters. And I get to pick the TV."

They settled in then--chips and chocolate and moody television and being warm and snuggly with friends.

Clark hoped they'd do it after Bruce changed his form. He thought that it was false to say it was a perk of being a woman. It should have been a perk of being human--even if you were an alien and a goddess, it still seemed to be a perk.

It's hard to be the bard...

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=k2WcOdz96ko&feature=share

So, I've got an embarrassment of projects right now--and I'm enjoying them all.

I'm writing the sequel to Beneath the Stain, titled Paint it Black, and it's sort of grabbed me by the throat and won't let go and I love it when that happens!

I'm also working on Jai's story on the side. For those of you who missed the third installment, it showed up on Amber Kell's blog HERE-- this chapter's from George's point of view, and that was fun too. George gets a little cheeky here--but only a little. He did, after all, have a rough weekend.

And, I'm gearing up for an edit on my craft book--which I think I'll start tomorrow. I was going to start it Sunday, but if you saw yesterday's blog, well, it caught us all by surprise, and I just wasn't present enough to commit to edits, which are painful by nature.

Writing fiction, though, that's something I do when I'm hurting, and I slid into Mackey's world like it was a tub of warm water.

This book is about Cheever and Blake, and one of the things I have to do to make it plausible is release the shorts on Instafreebie--the ones that came out when the book was in serial release, even before the full length book was out. Because as much as Blake protests about, "Nuh-nuh, no gay porn for me!" the fact is, he had feelings for Kell that weren't all platonic, and he's grown up some since Stain. 

So much to do--and gear up for ZoomBoy's birthday, including making the Infinity Mitten (heh heh heh... yeah, doesn't get old!) for him.

I'm torn about that, too-- Chicken and I came up with the idea of having a TRULY awesome gift box--Chicken wrapped it with an Avengers tablecloth and it's stuffed with tissue paper, and I can either A. Present it to him Friday night, in this box, with a sort of Arc of the Covenant vibe, or I can have it ready for him Friday morning so he can wear it to school.

Maybe it depends on how close to done I am Friday, right?

Anyway...

So lots of stuff to do that I really enjoy.

An embarrassment of riches...

Feels dumb to complain.

So I'll leave you with this--because it's hard to be the bard ;-)

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=8hnI7yhIWGY&feature=share


*  *  *

ETA--

George Gets Ideas

After literally falling at Jai’s feet as he fished and throwing up stuff he hadn’t eaten yet and wouldn’t eat for another ten years, George slept all Saturday, so grateful for Jai’s cozy tent and egg crate and the water by his elbow that he could have cried if he wasn’t so dehydrated.

Sunday morning he woke up and managed to make it to the portajohn to take a leak and brush his teeth—thanks Jai for the toothbrush, actually. When he got back he collapsed on his sleeping bag, winded and shivering, and Jai wrapped him up in the sleeping bag again.

“More sleep? I am going to have to take you home and I’m not sure what to do with your shitty vehicle.”

George groaned. As much as he loved the way Jai’s big hands felt on his body, tucking him into the warmth of the sleeping bag, he needed to get home. For one thing, Annaliese was only planning to watch his cat, Jingle, until that night. If George wasn’t home by about eight o’clock his cat would have barfed in all his shoes and he might not have a job.

“Let me nap this morning. If I can drink some more broth this afternoon, maybe I can drive home.”

“Going to meet with Harvey and Gary?” Jai asked mockingly, folding his long legs underneath him and pulling out a deck of cards.

“No.” George smirked, because the story of the threesome he wanted no part of was much funnier when Jai put it that way. “But I have a cat who will need me, and I should at least call in sick to my job tomorrow.” Every bone and joint in his body ached. Even if he got home okay, he wasn’t going to be good for work.

Jai grunted and reached into the pocket of his fleece jacket. “Here. I found it in your car and charged it while you slept. You make arrangements for tomorrow, and I can stay with you until around five in the morning. We can break camp and you might not crash your shitty truck and die on the way home.”

George looked at the phone, feeling dumb. “That’s a good idea. Do you have to be somewhere tomorrow?”

Jai grimaced. “Sadly, yes. I was supposed to be back last night, but I called my boss and said I would be late. He told me to take my time, but he and Sonny do not take enough days off as it is.”

George paused in the middle of texting Annaliese about the cat. “That’s sweet. That they’d give you time off, and you don’t want to take it. Doesn’t sound like a boss, it sounds like… you know. A friend.”

Jai shrugged. “Da. I was supposed to be on loan, you see. From my original boss. Ace was racing, and he almost died not killing my boss’s young niece. So I was Ace and Sonny’s reward—I could work on cars, I could help Sonny until Ace was back up. But…” He looked away. “Ace and Sonny were kind. My old boss was not. They couldn’t really pay me, but my old boss… he asked me if I wanted to stay and I said yes.”

“But how do you make a living?” George frowned. Jai wasn’t rich—he drove an old Toyota and his clothes looked second hand or really well worn. But he didn’t seem destitute either.

Another shrug rocked those massive shoulders. “Ace did things—racing mostly—that were not strictly legal to pay me better. He is a good man.”

Fine—I’ll watch your cat and call in sick for you. Are you going to live?

The relief at having a little more time was staggering.

Maybe. I’ll tell you about the stomach flu when I get home.

 “Your friend?” Jai asked, taking the phone away from him and setting it down by his pillow. “She said you don’t have to wreck your shitty truck?”

“Yeah.”  Sleep was weighing on George’s eyes and he was pissed. Talking to Jai was about the most interesting thing he’d done outside of work for years. “Apparently he’s good enough to know one when he sees one,” he mumbled.

“Know what?”  Jai sounded puzzled. George didn’t blame him.

“A good man.”

Jai’s laugh rocked the little tent.  “You are very funny. When you do not feel like death, you will see what a comedian you are.”

But I don’t feel like death. I’m just tired. Maybe when I wake up…

 And sleep.

He woke up a couple hours later feeling like he might be able to stand up, and maybe peek outside the tent. Jai was working at the small camp stove, and as George stumbled up, wearing the moccasins Jai had pulled from the George’s truck and one of the fleece blankets over his shoulders, Jai put a mug of hot chicken broth on the table in front of him without comment.

“God! Afternoon already?”

“Yes. I am sorry—this was not a great vacation for you.”

George took a sip of chicken broth and shuddered in appreciation. “Well, maybe not. But it did help me reassess my priorities,” he said with decision.

“Like making sure someone knows where you are in case you get sick again?” Jai asked, the concern on his broad, stoic face touching.

George took another sip of the broth. “Well… you know. I was thinking.” He tried to smile winningly, although he was aware his blond sandy hair was probably sticking up in sixty-eleven places and Jai was probably sorry he’d ever gone fishing so George could come throw up practically at his feet.

“I am waiting,” Jai said gravely. George looked to see what he was doing for a moment and realized he was making a grilled cheese sandwich.

“That actually looks good,” George said, thinking about it.

“Toast. I shall give you toast. You keep that down, there can be grilled cheese later.”

George smiled a little. As a nurse, that’s exactly what he would have done, but as a patient, he wanted that grilled cheese sandwich now. “You are very wise,” is what he said. “But that has nothing to do with what I was thinking.”

“Which is…”

George took another sip of broth and barreled ahead. “I, uh, I’d like to go camping with you again. Not next weekend—maybe in three weeks? I’ll give you my phone number, you can text and tell me you can make it. We can, you know, aim for this campground, or first one there tells the other one where we are—you know. Like friends.”

Jai’s eyebrows had crept up to where his hairline would be, if he didn’t shave it. “Like friends?”

George started to feel less certain about this whole idea. “Yes.”

“In the same tent.”

George’s heart sank. “Well, if we’re sharing the same campground.”

Jai scowled, and studied the grilled cheese sandwich with undue attention. “Nyet.”

Ouch. “I swear, I’ll look better next time.” George sort of begged him with his eyes to look up. And hoped he had the eyes of someone who could give a really good blowjob, if prompted.

“You look fine now.” Jai waved that concern away like a mosquito. “No, you are very pleasing to look at, and very kind. But if we were to share the same tent, I would want to sleep in the same sleeping bag. And if we shared the same sleeping bag and you did not feel like death, I would want to touch you, and I don’t think that’s what you’re asking.”

George frowned. “That’s funny. I thought that was exactly what I was asking. You bring rubbers, I bring lube—”

“I am on PReP,” Jai said bluntly. “I will bring my latest screening.”

“Me too!” Oh, that was good news. No rubbers! Who didn’t like no rubbers? “Well, I’ll still bring lube—”

“Stop talking.” Jai plopped a nicely grilled piece of toast onto a napkin in front of him, and dished up the grilled cheese for himself. After pouring water for hot chocolate into his own mug, Jai sat down and started stirring the chocolate ruminatively. “You do not have to have sex with me just to thank me,” he said after the chocolate was well and truly dead.

“I don’t want to have sex with you to thank you!” George burst out, thinking this was harder than it had to be. “I want to have sex with you because you are funny and kind and you have these ginormous hands, and I think they’d feel good on my body!”

Jai didn’t say anything but he did roll his eyes.

“And if you were a douchebag, you could have banged me while I felt like death, but you kept me warm instead, and that ticks pretty much all my boxes for ‘Better than any boyfriend I’ve had previously.’”

A tiny smile started at the corner of Jai’s lean mouth. “You have shitty taste in boyfriends. Stop looking at people named Harvey.”

George took an experimental nibble on the toast. “I could do that. Maybe if, I don’t know, I had someone to look forward to, I could leave guys named Harvey and Gary in the dust.”

Jai sighed and took a perfunctory bite of what looked to be a truly awesome grilled cheese. “I am… I am a poor substitute for a real boyfriend.”

Oh. Well, this wasn’t insurmountable. “Well, let’s… you know. Go camping in a month. And… you know. See how it goes. Maybe we can ease into the boyfriend thing. Maybe we can be… camping buddies.”  He really did try for his best smile here, and Jai met his eyes, and his lips curled up a little more so it was worth the effort.

 “Camping buddies,” Jai repeated.

“Yes. Who bring cards and fishing tackle and soup.”

“And lube.”

George bit his lip, thinking he might have won. “And lube.”

Jai rolled his eyes and then concentrated on his grilled cheese. “I will think about it,” he said softly. “But I won’t believe it until you meet me back here.”

George took another bite of toast. “Trust me with your number,” he said, his stomach settling from the nervousness of even making the proposal. “I’ll show you how reliable I can be.”

Jai didn’t answer, but he took another bite of his grilled cheese, and they ate quietly.

Jai cleaned up when they were done and kept the pan of hot water on the burner, in case. “Here,” he said. “I will go get a camp chair for you—”

“Sit next to me,” George said softly. He gestured with his chin. “Look. I’ve got an amazing view of the sunset over the lake from here.

To his great pleasure, Jai did just that, sitting a respectful distance away.

George scooted a little closer, stopping when their thighs touched.

Then he put his head on Jai’s shoulder.

When Jai didn’t do anything, he reached into the big man’s lap and took his ginormous hand into his own two hands, and held it, rubbing the back softly with his thumbs.

The sun went down over the lake in a springtime explosion of lavender and poppy, and both of them caught their breath as the whole thing faded to blue.

George shivered in the cold of the approaching night, and Jai gently disengaged their hands to drape his arm over George’s back.

Oh.

Oh my God.

George melted into his body heat, almost weeping with the joy of the warmth and the comfort and the solid male smell of this nice man who claimed to be an ex-mobster but should have been a nurse.

“This is good?” Jai asked hesitantly.

“This is perfect,” George sighed. “Please meet me again, so we can do this some more.

Jai shifted, pulling away, and for a moment George was disappointed. Then he turned George a little and George looked into his face, dark against the lingering light of the sky.

“What?” George breathed, but he knew what, and it totally made brushing his teeth that morning worth it.

“Testing,” Jai breathed back, and leaned forward, brushing his lips against George’s. George gave a happy little moan and pushed into the kiss, gently, because he was still sore, and Jai was so big.

Just a little more pressure, and George opened his lips, letting Jai in.

His tongue was nothing much—just a little exploratory, gently questing.

George rubbed it a little with his own, and Jai pulled back, ending the kiss.

“How was it?” George asked, every pulse in his body fluttering with “Please stand by.”

“It was worth coming back for,” Jai whispered, and George went limp against him.

“Good,” he said softly. “Give me your phone. Right now. Before you change your mind.”

Jai chuckled softly but he did what George asked.

George typed in his number with growing excitement in his stomach (which was the best thing his stomach had felt in three days.)  It didn’t matter that they had to wait a month. Waiting a month for a date that George knew was going to be great was so much better than the few shitty dates he would have had in the meantime. As he input his number into Jai’s phone—and then called himself so he would have Jai’s number too—he thought wistfully of the night they’d have together now.

He’d probably sleep the whole time—he was already wiped out.

But maybe, after that kiss, he could sleep in Jai’s arms.

That alone was worth waiting for.

Hiding the Moon--Part 3

Thanks to Kim Tripp who (gently) reminded me that Burton had been in the Marines and not a SEAL Team (d'oh! Even I know the difference!) so that I could go back and fix that!

Also-- brief family story here: The kids and I watched Frequency tonight--it's an old movie, made in 1999, and a little slow in parts but they loved it. I felt like a hero. Gonna bask.

So, this may be short, because, uh, WEDNESDAY which is always busy (in this case Chicken came by and appropriately distracted me from my mission for much of the day) but hopefully we'll get to hear Ernie speak.

Looking forward to it!

*

Hiding the Moon--Part 3

By the time Burton got down the stairs, the sounds coming from the shadows were both intimate and non-consensual--and the three gorillas with guns were nowhere to be seen.

"Mm... no. No. Not you. You're not good--"

"C'mon, club boy--you put out for everybody. You're legendary--"

"Who're you? You're not good. Don't touch me. It feels like bugs when you touch me!"

The scream came from the pit of the boy's stomach, but the next sound made Burton sick to his.

A crunch, a scuffle, and a low moan of mortal pain, and Burton could not run fast enough. His heart started beating in two more breath's when Ernie's voice--a low, dreamy tenor--echoed out of the alleyway.

"Stop touching me with bugs!

Jesus, kid, what did you take?

Burton crashed into the alleyway, pistol drawn and laser sight active, while his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness.

Club kid was down in a crumpled pile in the corner of the alley. His body was twitching but Burton thought maybe that wouldn't last long. Ernie stood panting in the center of the three operatives, panting, pants sliding down his hips and his hands out in front of him in classic martial arts pose. Burton would have found it laughable, like a little kid faking karate, but two of the assailants were bleeding and one was cradling his arm.

The kid had bought himself some time with the element of surprise, but there were two laser lights dotting him, one in center mass and one on his head.

Burton took out the headshot first and the center mass guy next, through the head both of them, and had the gun aimed on the guy who couldn't draw before the bodies hit the floor.

"Corduroy Company," the man barked. "I'm doing for my ID."

"So I'm not supposed to shoot you because you're a merc?" Burton asked, undeterred. "That club bunny with the mushed brain didn't get to pull his stupidity card. What are you doing here?"

"Man, you should know! We got hired by the US Military--this here's a high priority target!"

"When'd the contract come through?" Burton asked.

"Two days ago--apparently the guy assigned to the kid didn't follow through."

"The guy assigned to the target thought the job was hinky and wasn't taking a life without asking any goddamned questions," Burton snapped, feeling grumpy. Two kills defending this kid? Three if you counted the club-bunny with his nose through his brain, but Burton had no way of knowing if that had been the Corduroy mercenaries or the kid himself. "And look what you made me do."

Mr. Corduroy company rolled his eyes. "We take orders, soldier--I don't know how you get to have a conscience."

Burton felt his brain and his chest go cold. He was going to have to kill this guy method like, without any more talk, because there was no reasoning with him.

"Wait," Ernie said, holding up his hand. He practically wafted to where the mercenary stood.

"You broke my fucking wrist," Merc snarled.

"You're a bad man," the boy told him, eyes wide. Gently, he laid his hand on the merc's wrist through his jacket, then shuddered and dropped his hand. "Bad through and through," he told Burton with a shrug. His shoulders drooped dejectedly and he moved to Burton's other side.

He was well out of the line of fire when Burton dropped the final Corduroy mercenary, his silencer loud in the late night air.

* * *

"Where are we going, Cruller?" the boy asked five minutes later.

Burton wasn't taking the easy route--he'd left his sniper rifle bolted to the top of the building, prints and all. First things first, and the first thing was to force the kid up the fire escape in front of him in a minute and a half so Burton could disassemble the rifle and they could beat a hasty retreat through the inside of the building.

"What'd you call me? And move your ass before I kick you up there myself!"

"It's five stories," the kid said mildly. "Nobody heard. That's why the dance club is out here in the warehouse district."

Burton growled and glared balefully at the kid's back, wondering if sheer irritation would make him move any faster. "So noted. Now what did you call me?"

"Cruller. It's your donut. The kind with the glaze but not the flavor," he recited dutifully.

"You didn't even see me that day," Burton muttered, breathing a sigh of relief when they finally broke through to the roof.

"Yes, but you're very definitely good. It radiates. That is a big gun. What are you going to do with that big gun? Why didn't you just pick off the bug-touching guys with that? I was scared, you know. They were going to kill me."

"They disappeared," Burton muttered, getting on his knees and using the air drill to unbolt the base of the gun. "I couldn't see them to shoot. And they were going to kill you--you're lucky to still be alive."

"Mm." The kid nodded, and then sat down bonelessly, like  cat flopping on a carpet, and closed his eyes while Burton worked.

"Did you take out Mr. Date-raping Octopus Hands?" Burton asked into the silence, because the question was making him crazy.

"No," Ernie said sadly. "He would have left after I yelled. He was bad but... there's bad that can be fixed and there's those guys you killed. He could have been fixed. Those other guys are just bugs."

Burton shuddered and clamped the case shut. "Fair enough. C'mon, Ernie, you and me need to get out of this bug-ridden town before those fuckers get you."

"Who's going to feed my cats?" Ernie asked--but he was following Burton without question, which was nice.

"How about half of Pheonix?" Burton was taking the steps two at a time and he wished fervently that Ernie could keep up with him.  "That was every stray cat in the residential district!"

Ernie let out a laugh that should have been on a playground. "But I know all their names!" he said plaintively.

"I'll make arrangements," Burton told him, mind already going to the phone calls he'd have to make to take care of the matter.

"Really? Okay, Cruller--you are a good guy!"

"Burton." Cruller could haunt a guy through four branches of the military. Burton had seen it happen.

"Cruller," the boy said, the stubbornness a surprise when the tone was so amiable.

"Get a move on," Burton snapped. "I got transport three blocks down, but we don't know how many more Corduroys we've got on our tail."

"Mm..."  Ernie seemed to shut down then, his eyes going to half-mast, his body doing what Burton asked but not at triple time. Finally they were in Burton's white Tahoe, heading west.

"Ernie!" Burton snapped, and Ernie's eyes popped open.

"Yessir."

"Keep awake!"

"I was. You said you didn't know how many Corduroys were there. Two. There were two more in one of the apartments we passed. They were getting upset." He sighed, sadly. "Do you think they'll miss their friends?"

"Yes," Burton said, thinking about the four bodies on the alleyway. "I think all of them are going to be missed, which is why we need to be in California in less than six hours."

"What's in California?" Ernie asked.

"Haven, I hope."

"Mm.. that's nice. We need to stay in a hotel first though."

Burton did a double take before gluing his eyes back on the road.

"I'm sorry?"

"You need to call your boss, and then you need to call your friends, and you need to get to know me."

"Why in the world would I want to do that?" Burton snarled.

"I don't know--you're the one who's screaming with need."

"I"m screaming with frustration is what I'm doing--"

"Well, that too. It's okay, Cruller. A crappy hotel will be fine. But at ten o'clock I need to sleep, so maybe find something soon."

Burton could see the sun flirting with the horizon in his rearview mirror. "Damn-- where did that time go? It's almost six in the morning!"

"It was five when the killing started," Ernie said sadly. "I don't want to think about it. Tell me when you find the hotel."

And then he closed his eyes and checked out. Just... checked out. No amount of calling his name mad him open his eyes and no attempts at conversation stirred him.

Burton screamed, long and satisfyingly after five minutes of trying to get his attention, and still the kid didn't even interrupt his breathing.

"God," Burton muttered to himself. "My God. What am I going to tell my boss?"

And that got the kid's attention. "You're going to tell him you walked away, Cruller. Because if you didn't, the Corduroy people will be after you too."

Burton blinked and checked on him again.

He hadn't even opened his eyes.

Jesus.

Fucking Jesus.

Who was this kid?

Scorched Haven: Part 3 --The Road Trip Begins

Okay, folks. Backlist Ba-Dump-Bump tomorrow, and in the meantime, I've got some Little Goddess for you.  (I work as Art Docent tomorrow-- we're doing trains! Yay!) I spent the evening finishing my Christmas story, so this is a little short--but it's celebratory. I love it when I get a break from my queue!

*  *  *

As soon as they hit the Grapevine, Zeb turned around and started going through the stuff in the back of the car.

"What the--"

"Oh, thank God, clothes."  He came back with sweats--not fresh out of the dryer, but not ripe either--and a T-shirt that wasn't crusted with blood and called that a win.

"You're welcome for my stuff," Colton said dryly, and Zeb realized he felt no shame or embarrassment for completely seizing anything he needed.

"That's awesome, do you have a phone charger?"

"iPhone?"

"Yup."

"Sure."

Oh my God.  "Seriously?"  And sure enough, there it was, plugged into the portal by the unused ashtray.  Zeb pulled his phone from around his neck and plugged it into the charger, and then declined to look.

"Is it working?"  Colton gave it a sort of side-peek and Zeb shook his head.

"We can only hope. I went swimming with that thing twice. It would be great if it did though. My boss could have people waiting for us in Bakersfield, and it is scary out there alone."

"But..."  The kid's eyes slid over Zeb like he was unsure this was okay to say. "Uh, aren't you a werewolf?"

"Yeah, and so's your friend," Zeb sighed.  He looked out of the window in time to see the sun scorched lunar landscape of I-5 pass him by.  "Apparently all the werewolves south of Bakersfield are nucking futz."

"There are werewolves north of Bakersfield?"  The kid sounded anxious and frightened, and Zeb couldn't really blame him.

"Look, kid--"

"Colton."

"I knew that. Anyway, Colton-- you gotta understand. From my part of the country, being a werewolf is all happy fine."

"You mean everybody knows?"  He was so startled the car actually swerved, and Zeb settled the wheel before they both became road hamburger.

Zeb sort of leaned then, in the front of the car, so Colton would feel his animal warmth and be comforted--it was a very wolf thing to do, a very Green's Hill thing to do, and it seemed to work. A pretty kid--darkly tanned skin, dark eyes, hair that hung down past his collar.

"Calm down," Zeb said-- probably unnecessarily. "The whole world is the same place. But underneath the stuff you know--in the places you can't see--there are people you never knew about, okay? Werewolves, elves, vampires--"

"Seriously? Are they sparkly?"

Ugh. "They're the scariest warriors I've ever seen and most of them are sarcastic fuckers to boot. God, we need to make another vampire movie, I'm telling you."

Colton's smile showed even white teeth.  "So noted," he said dryly. "So... there are things."

"Yes there are. And in my neck of the woods, they co-exist. Like... seriously. The vampires feed from the were creatures and the were creatures act as the hired muscle and the elves oversee everyone and own the businesses and we all keep each other safe."

"Do you see Kumbaya at breakfast and dinner?"

"God, you should have been a vampire. No. But we watch each other's backs."  Zeb felt the loss of the guy who'd gotten dismembered in the bathroom keenly. "I was sent down with a perfectly nice were-wolf, and he's dog food. My people are going to be pissed, and I'm quite frankly scared. We're not easy to kill and every wolf  I've run into down here has smelled like a vomit barbecue"

"Thanks a lot," Colton sniffed, and Zeb rolled his eyes.

"You know, we have a recruitment program. They'd love to convert you, you'd fit right in."

"Yeah?" Colton glanced at him to see if he was kidding or not. "What're the recruitment requirements?"

Zeb grunted and stared out the window again. "Mostly, you have to have fucked up your life so completely that dropping off the map and starting over again as a werewolf or a vampire is no  big deal."

The sound Colton let out was plaintive, and Zeb glanced at him in time to see a bleak, lost expression cross his expressive face. "I just left the only place I've ever lived," h e said, voice raspy. "The guy I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with turned into a werewolf and tried to eat me, and I'm in the only decent possession my family has, speeding towards Bakersfield with a guy who was wearing blood and fur about half an h our ago.  That doesn't qualify?"

Shit. "Are you so addicted to heroin you stole someone else's shoes to buy your last fix?"

Colton let out a short bark of a laugh. "Uhm, no."

"Then you're doing better than I was."  Zeb's sigh shook his toes. "God, all I wanted was to do a favor for my leaders, you know? Three years of laying low, not being a leader, just keeping my head down and hoping they let me stay, and just once I wanted to earn my place at the table, right?"

"Can I ask what happened?" Colton's voice shook, and maybe it was a scary question when the answer was coming from a guy who had been mostly wolf all day.

"We knew something shitty was going on down here," Zeb muttered. "We knew it. And our people got attacked in Monterey, so I asked Teague-- the head of the werewolves where we're at--if I could take a look. And hey, he just fell from like a ten-story drop and is still recovering, and he said, "Yeah, sure,' so I snagged another shapeshifter, and hey. Trip to Disneyland, right?"

"Right," Colton sounded a bit dazed.

"Except we stopped for gas over the Grapevine and some guy carves my friend up like sushi and tries to blow me away. And all I want right now--all I seriously want--is to be back on my hill, hiding under my bed, after I scream 'Abort abort abort! Natives AREN'T friendly!' so I can say I did my job."

Colton was laughing, snickering softly, and Zeb felt like a complete asshole.

"What?" he muttered.

"Not really a warrior werewolf, are you?"

"Nope," Zeb said sourly. "They save that job for the vampires. You know what job I do best for them?"

"I got no idea," Colton said, still smiling.

"Lunch."

Colton's snickers rattled through the car and the alien landscape of Central California stretched before them, if only their gas would hold.

We Shall Never Speak of This Again

Wherever Sheriff Stilinski went with his new "friend", he didn't get back until the shadows were dripping golden through Stiles's bedroom window.

Stiles and Derek were just getting out of the shower when they heard him come through the door, calling, "Guys! Guys! I've got some pizza here!"

Derek half-laughed in the middle of pulling his freshly laundered shirt over his head. "You know, your dad is pretty awesome."

Stiles nodded and pulled his boxers on. "You've got clothes for tomorrow?" he asked. "I mean, now that I did laundry?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, but--"

"Then stay. Again. For dinner."

"Stiles--"

"Your place sucks. It's big and broody and lonely. Lots of women slept there who either tried to kill you or died. Stay here."

Oh Lord. So easy. Would be so easy just to stay here and pretend they were one happy family.

When John Stilinski called out again it was from the foot of the stairs. "Are you telling me neither of you have an appetite?"

"Be right there, Dad!" Stiles called from his door. "What kind of pizza?"

"I brought three--combination, with anchovies, and pepperoni. Derek can eat them all if he feels like it, because I had a big salad with chicken for lunch."

Stiles's grunt did not sound like he was buying it. "Why would you do that without me nagging?"

"I had lunch with another middle aged man, Stiles. Do you think we both don't check cholesterol?"

"Huh. Yeah, give us a minute."

Stiles closed his door and checked over his shoulder to see if Derek was clothed.

And Derek smacked him in the face with a T-shirt and sweats. "Stop tormenting him," he said. "And yes, I'll stay until tomorrow."

Stiles's grin was so happy/evil, Derek tried really hard to pretend he didn't know what he'd just signed on for. Stiles was going to make him ask "the question".

*  *  *

John Stilinski was still befuddled over the events of the night before.

Well, not really befuddled. Bemused. 

Well, not really bemused.  AROUSED. 

Yes, he probably should have been entering the viagra years, but every time he'd thought about what he and Jack had done in the muted quite of his bedroom the night before, his erection grew both uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Which explained how a trip to Eureka to take Jack out to lunch had gone on a lot longer than either one of them had planned.

Because last night…

They'd both taken off their shoes before they entered the kitchen, and John had listened carefully before they padded up the stairs.

Oh, thank God. Not a sound--just the unmistakeable smell that was probably werewolf sex, because Stiles had been pretty active with boys and girls before Derek, and John had never been quite that… overwhelmed with pungency until Derek.

"Oh my God…" Jack whispered behind him. "It smells like… like sweat sox and elephant semen."

John chuckled as they passed Stiles's room and dragged Jack unselfconsciously down the hall.

"The sweat sox were my son's," he admitted. "The other thing--"

"Werewolf sex?"

"Saying."

John stopped in his doorway and frowned. "Wait a minute-- how do you know what elephant semen smell--"

Jack kissed him again, that same assertive sweetness that he'd given in the car, and John melted against the doorframe.  Fumbling, he reached behind him and opened the door, backing up so Jack could come in and shut the door behind him. He pulled back long enough to turn on the lamp near his bed, hearing the snick of the lock just as he looked up.

Jack was walking toward him with definite intent, unbuttoning the cuffs of his blue dress shirt as he walked.

John was suddenly, acutely aware that he was forty-seven years old. Yeah, sure, he went running more mornings than he didn't, and he worked out his upper body when he could--but still. Time didn't tell kind lies. He knew his chest hair was a little gray and his ass wasn't as tight as it had been and--

Carter finished unbuttoning his shirt and drew near, close enough for John to feel his heat. His rough hands cupped John's cheeks and he made John look at him.

John was really starting to like those crinkles in the corners of his eyes.  "What?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

"You tell me."

John looked down to the neck of Carter's tank. His chest was muscular and broad, and he only had a few blonde hairs in the center.

"You've got a really nice chest," he said, feeling pathetic.

Carter laughed softly and lowered his head, kissing him behind the jaw. "You've got really nice eyes," he said, brushing John's ear with his lips.

"Backatcha… oh…"

"And I like your laugh," Carter continued, nibbling down the side of his neck.  "And your kindness…"

"Mmm…"

Carter was unbuttoning the front of John's shirt, and John had lost track of why they were telling each other stupidly nice things--but that didn't mean he was going to drop the ball.

"You've got a really nice smile," John mumbled, as Carter kissed down his chest. They were both wearing tanks under their blue dress shirts, which was sort of funny, really, but John didn't feel like laughing.

Particularly when Carter shoved the dress shirt off his shoulders and then lifted his tank up by the hem and pulled it over his head.

"You like my smile?" Carter asked, his eyes glinting wickedly in the lamp light.

"Yeah," John said, comfortable again in his own skin. He raised a hand and rubbed Carter's abdomen under his tank. "I really like your smile."

"Do you like my teeth?" Carter teased, and John frowned.

"Sure-- they're part of a smile right--ooooh…"

Carter lowered his head to John's chest and nibbled gently on his nipple.  John's hand flailed for Carter's shoulder, and Carter licked the the nipple, and then nibbled again, and then nipped.

"Ahh…"  John's hands flailed, finally finding purchase on Carter's hard biceps. He squeezed hard, knowing he couldn't hurt, couldn't bruise, and he realized there were unexpected good things about being with a man.

Carter chuckled and licked over to his other nipple and John groaned and sat down hard on the bed.

"Lay back," Carter ordered.

So easy. Just do what this kind, funny man asked him to and touch back. Run his hands down the smooth skin of Carter's back, knead his chest, enjoy the little catches of breath he made when John hit something particularly sensitive.

And keen as Carter paid copious amounts of attention to a part of John's body he'd thought had fallen off years ago.

John's hips were arching off the bed, and Carter's hand at his groin made him ache. "Oh God!" he breathed. He reached awkwardly down between them, trying to reach Carter's groin to see if he had an erection that could pound nails.

Carter pulled back and laughed.  "YOu want to do this like gentlemen? I'll show you mine and you show me yours?"

John had never felt like a nervous virgin before--like Stiles, he'd pretty much thrown himself into sex with a sort of practical joy. You had to have it, right, or your dick would fall off? (He'd actually heard Stiles say that to his first girlfriend-- if he hadn't used that line on Stiles's mother, he would have smacked the kid in the back of the head.)  But he felt like a nervous virgin now.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to hide. "But, uhm, can we do it under the covers."

Jack's laugh and smile were enough to make John's stomach flip.  "Yeah, sure."

"God--your dimples--fucking lethal."

Carter chuckled some more as he stood and gave John a hand up. John had to turn his back to strip, he was so embarrassed. By the time he'd gotten naked and scrambled under the covers, Jack was naked too. He stood next to the bed and held his hands out before doing a little turn and presenting himself again.

His stomach was the washboard stomach John had once possessed in his youth, and his chest was just as wide and wonderful as it had felt under John's hands.  His skin was a sort of natural gold, even the pale part of his hips and thighs.  And now that John had taken that inventory, he could move down to the thing that scared him the most.

"Oh."

Yeah. It was big. John couldn't seem to come up with a comparison-- was it bigger than his? Longer? Wider? Or did all the bigness come because it was probably going to end up inside John's-- uh, either way, it was wide and thick and long and erect. 

Basic sex mechanics seeped into John's brain. "Uh, that's for me?" he asked, confused.

"Yeah, John. I, uh, don't normally spring one of these for someone I'm not excited to see."

John bit his lip again and whooshed the covers down, exposing his pale, middle aged glory for Carter to inspect.

Carter didn't. He slid into bed next him, and caught his mouth in another knee-melter of a kiss. John was glad he was lying down, seriously. And then Jack threw his leg over John's hips, and blew his mind.

OH God, two male naked bodies, sliding together, their chests touching, their groins… oh God. Carter's cock was touching his. It was the most amazing, wistful sort of foreplay.

John wanted to touch it!  He reached down between them, not so awkwardly this time, and grabbed him, appreciating the size and texture of him in his palm. He closed his fingers and squeezed, stroking up toward the head, and then he rubbed his thumb.

"Oooh…" he breathed. "Skin's so soft…"

Carter's pained chuckle made him flush, and then Carter's hand on John's erection, doing exactly what John was doing to Carter, made him groan.

STroke… stroke… stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke… oh God! A man's hands were on him, a man was touching him, kissing him, and his body was vibrating, swelling, aching, and climax was rolling in his thighs and his stomach--

"I'm gonna come!" he gasped.

"Come…" Jack whispered. "We've got the whole night…"

"Ahhh…"  Oh, it had been so long. His testicles tightened up between his thighs, and the edge of Jack's thumb caught on his slit, just as his fingers tightened around John's crown and…

"Ohhh…" He whimpered into Jack's mouth and Jack captured the sound.  Oh… oh God… Ohhhh…. Oh, he'd forgotten what climax at someone else's hands felt like. A hand job, naked bodies, a passionate kiss--apparently these things were the same no matter who was giving them.

Or maybe because the person giving them was giving them right.

John melted into the mattress, aware that Jack had continued stroking him through the slickness of come.  After a moment, when his dick had swelled again, and he was hard and tight and a little tender, he grunted and pulled his hips back.

"That was amazing," he breathed, smiling at Carter with a sort of innocent gratitude. "What can I do to… you know…"

"YOu ever given a blow job?" Carter asked, his hips twitching with a little bit of urgency.

"Nope."  John grinned. "But I'll try anything once." He rolled his hips and moved his body until he was eye level with Jack's chest. "But first, I'd like to try these…"

Male nipples were tiny and hard, and he liked them very much. He especially liked the throaty sounds Jack made when he nibbled on them, and he understood why the other man had spent so much time there. But John had a goal now, and he kissed his way from nipple to nipple, staying just long enough to make Carter grab his shoulders and keen with frustration.

"You know what you are," Carter mumbled and John kissed his way down a mildly furry abdomen to a perfectly shaped, bald cockhead.

"A middle aged man learning how to give head?"

"A prick tease," Carter said, then he leaned his head back and gave that appealing, throaty laugh just as John licked his crown.

The laugh turned into an "ooooh…" and John realized he was enjoying the hell out of this. His own cock still tingled, and it was already aching. And the taste of the pre dripping from Carter's cock had really flipped his switch.

He didn't even have to think, didn't have to feel, didn't have to have the big epiphany about, "Oh my God, I'm touching a guy's dick with my mouth!" because he wanted to taste that again. 

He carefully positioned his teeth and lips and tongue and sucked Carter in like he was pulling on an extra thick popsicle.

Jack's hushed grunt and his fingers scrabbling in John's hair were enough to keep John hard for hours. Oh, man, this was power. It had been power with a woman and it was just as powerful with another man. He was doing something for Carter, something important, something huge. 

He pulled up his fist and started stroking, using his lips and tongue together. He wasn't a pro or smooth or sophisticated--he was what he always had been: serviceable and competent.

He could tell by Carter's increasingly frantic tugging on his head that he was about to cum, and suddenly, he didn't want to pull away. He was lost in it, in giving someone pleasure, in doing something, something of importance, even if it was making this charming, kind man climax.

"John… coming…"

John's response was to move his hand and lower his head and bottom out as best he could.

Jack bit his own shoulder and grunted, and poured into John's mouth, the saltiness and bitterness enough to make John gag a little, and spill some out of his mouth. It puddled in a mess over Jack's balls, but John didn't have time to be embarrassed, because Jack  pulled him up by the shoulder.

"C'mere," he muttered thickly. "Here…"

John went, proud and aroused and thrilled, because… oh yes! There was Carter's mouth, and his tongue exploring, tasting again, and John answered, the shyness and hesitation gone. He'd do anything-- everything-- because doing it with this man felt so right.

The kiss went on, and on, and on, until they were both thrusting against each other's groins some more, and Jack pulled back with a gasp.

"So," he panted, a sleepy, sated, aroused smile on his face. "Round two?"

"God, yeah," John answered. "Who does what?"

Jack's smile was sin itself, and his voice made John's cock even harder…

* * *

Derek went down the stairs first, knowing Stiles would wait a scant five minutes before crashing the supposed ten minutes of talk time he'd given for Derek to answer the all important question.

God, he didn't want to do this.

"Derek!" Sheriff Stilinski said, sounding genuinely happy to see him. "Come get the pizza before it becomes, you know, tepid."

Derek smiled a little, recognizing Stiles's sense of humor and dorkiness wrapped up in the stolid, no-bullshit man he'd once been so contemptuous of.

"Tepid pizza is better, sir," he said gravely, and was rewarded by John Stilinski's quick grin.

"That should be on a T-shirt," he answered, just as gravely. "Where's Stiles?"

Derek sighed. He couldn't go through with this. "Waiting for me to ask you the most embarrassing question of all times, sir."

Sheriff Stilinski paused in the act of getting plates out from the cupboard. "Oh hell. Could we not?"

"He's relentless. You know he's relentless."

"Even if I give the answer, you know what's going to happen--"

"Squeamishness? Weirdness? Having your name dragged into my sex life for at least another month? Yes sir, I know."

"Oh God."  John shook his head and set the plates on the table, very carefully not looking at Derek. "So why are you--"

"Because if we get it out of the way now, I'll get my boyfriend back sooner. So, uhm, do you mind?"

"Jesus. I swear-- if I wasn't going to see the guy for as long as humanly possible, I'd say it wasn't worth it--"

Derek rubbed the back of his neck. "You know he'll be awful, right? He'll be asking that nice Sheriff Carter until the poor guy runs screaming from the house--"

"Yes. Yes I know."  John grabbed napkins and a glass bowl and put them both on the table, and then took the salad out of the plastic thing and put it in the glass bowl.  "Dammit. Fine."  He turned and balled the salad bag up and pitched it into the trash can by the sink. "Both of us. Happy?"

Derek thought about it.  Both. For some reason that canceled shit out. "Best answer we could hope for-- thank you sir."  Then he turned his head and shouted over the stairs. "Stiles, they both topped! Now stop being a child and get down here and eat!"

"OH my God! You told him I told you to ask!"

Derek met John's eyes and for a moment they were both in complete agreement.

"We shall never speak of this again," Jon said gravely.

Derek nodded his head. "A-fucking-men."