Bacon and Eggs --a VERY SHORT Part 8 for Jai and Georg

This is going to be super short--like drabble short. I'm in the middle of a blog tour, and the kids have a full plate this week--but I couldn't let us forget about Jai and George! Also Parker was in dentist pain and needed some pets, and we always pet Parker because we love him, so this is for him too.


*    *   *

Jai heard him yawn and stretch, and then the rustling in the tent that indicated he was getting dressed.

"Going to the bathroom," he called softly, and Jai looked up from the eggs he was scrambling.

"Da."

George gave him a shy little smile and a wave and set up for the restroom two campgrounds away.

Jai bit his lip. He'd gotten a smile in the morning.

He hadn't been sure--not really. The night had seemed amazing to him, but he'd been dominant and a little bit kinky. Sure, rent boys were okay with that if you paid for it, but Jai didn't often find willing partners who liked to be teased until they screamed.

But George... George had taken all of it, willingly--happily. Like every suggestion Jai had made had been designed to make George catch fire.

The results had been... magic.

Jai thought magic deserved some bacon and eggs in the morning. And some coffee as well.

For a small man, George made a lot of noise tramping around in his tennis shoes. Jai wasn't surprised when he slipped his cool hands around Jai's middle, under his fleece, and nuzzled his shoulder.

"Good morning," he said, as contented as a cat.

"Good morning." Jai turned away from their food, which was nearly done and bent his head so he could take George's mouth. Ah, minty. Good. Jai had brushed his teeth too. "Sit," he said gruffly after he'd pulled away. "We can eat."

"I need to cook for you, eventually," George told him. Then he grimaced. "Or maybe I can just be the one who brings takeout on Fridays."

Jai laughed softly in deference to the early morning sun peeking through the black shadows of the the trees. "You don't cook?"

"Not well," George confessed guiltily. Jai slid his eggs onto a plate with three pieces of bacon and some toast that had been working as well, then put the whole works in front of George with ketchup and butter.  "This here is my only dish really," he confessed, taking a bite of bacon. "Mm... and you seem to do it just fine."

Jai chuckled and plated up his own food, poured them both milk, and then then sat down next to him on the picnic bench.

"What do you have planned today?" George asked him after his first bite.

Jai closed his eyes and swallowed blissfully. "Fishing--it will be boring, if you would rather--"

"I have a book in my truck," George said happily, and  some tension seemed to go out of him. "Sitting in the quiet with you sounds really nice."

"Good. I am not good at cocktail parties." Jai took a gulp of his milk--milk made him happy in the morning, and it gave his stomach a good buffer from black coffee, which he'd put on the camp stove for when they were done.

"I can fill space with my chatter," George apologized. "I mean, I'll bring the book in case you're ready to strangle me, but seriously--lots and lots of talking."

Jai chuckled. "We shall find a medium," he said. "Somewhere between the silent void of space and a monkey in a tree."

George grinned. "Wow. That's impressive. It's like I've been waiting for a guy to say they can compromise with me my entire life."

Jai gave him a self-deprecating roll of the eyes. "Too many men named Marvin and Gary," he said with a wink.

"Not enough men named Jai who can blow my mind in bed," George told him, and Jai nodded.

"Da." Then the banter faded, and he found the answer to this next question was really important. "What we did last night--it was good? Truly good? No regrets?"

George met his gaze soberly and shook his head. "None. Just, you know. Don't want to scare you away so we can do it again."

Jai's grin threatened to take over his whole face, but he fought it back. "Good," he said, keeping that eye contact. "I would like very much for us to do that again."

"And again," George added.

"I've always enjoyed camping," Jai told him with a bland smile.

"I can see why."

They buried themselves in their bacon and eggs then, before making ready to walk to the lake, camp stools over their shoulders, fishing tackle in Jai's hand, George's book in his. George actually read quietly for an hour, as the sun rose gloriously over the mountains, setting the lake on fire.

Jai couldn't ever quite remember a more brilliant morning.

MoonFish--Surprise Visit--Part 8--FINALE

*pant pant pant*


So this is it. It was supposed to be a "ficlet" but in reality, it's about 15K--so a full out novella. Now honestly, I don't think this is publishable because too much relies on things from other books, so it's still going on the back of Fish on a Bicycle.

But one of the fun things about following me on social media is you get to see it now.

Enjoy!

Surprise Visit!--Part 8

Jackson couldn’t keep his eyes off monstrosity dangling over his head.

“Really?” he asked nobody in particular.

“I was about to say the same thing,” Ellery muttered, staring in the same direction. “I mean, apart from being hideous—”

“It’s gonna fall on our heads and kill us all?”

The hideous thing in question was a large plywood rainbow arch, painted in neon colors—badly—and suspended about thirty feet off the ground using nylon cord in the branches of trees, and a cherry picker. Besides looking garish and unhealthy, it also looked… precarious. Damned precarious.

Jackson looked at Ellery, and they both looked at his mother, who was lingering over a table of admittedly lovely blown glass baubles that had caught her eye.

“We need to get her away from this thing,” Ellery said, and Jackson nodded in return, his blood running just the tiniest bit cold. This had been the longest four days of his life—but he was damned if it would end with Lucy Satan’s blood on his hands.

He gave the sign, which read, “Crafty, Free, LGBQT!” another dubious look and caught a flash of something shiny from a gap in the cherry picker.

Fucking aces.

With a shake of his head he turned towards Ellery’s mother, who was charmingly terrorizing the poor blue-haired waif behind the counter.

“So, these were blown by your wife? That’s wonderful. Is that her there?”

“Yes ma’am.” She nodded at a tanned, wiry woman waiting on another customer. “She’s been learning the craft from her uncle since she was in high school.”

“Well this must be her calling. And did you make the felted bags they go into? Because they complement the artwork so very well.”

Blue-haired waif smiled weakly and looked toward her wife, who was not in rescuing position. “Thank you,” she squeaked. “We, uh, like color.”

They did indeed. The glass globes were done in a variety of techniques, from color diffused throughout the glass, to the kind that looked like flowers in the center, to the kind with abstract shapes drawn throughout the sphere, the colors undulating and receding with the angle.

Jackson smiled and winked at the poor woman, not talking because he sort of got that wasn’t her thing. Instead he peered at the artwork, as fascinated by the colors as Ellery’s mother seemed to be.

“Which one do you like?” Lucy Satan asked, and for once he didn’t get defensive or snark at her. For one thing, the girl watching them was fragile, and she might not get that with them, being bitchy was a bit of a dance.

“Mm…” Jackson ran his finger down one that was a cluster of white and ebony flowers, with hints of green. “That one’s very Ellery, except it’s a little girly. But pretty.” He smiled at the waif again. She smiled back gratefully. “This one…” He had to reach out and touch it. The colors were rich brown and bright magenta, and they reminded him of his sister’s hair. Back before it had been a thing, Jade had found a way to put a strip of that bright puplish pink in her rich brown hair. She’d done it as tightly kinked curls, she’d done it as waves. Even when they’d been in high school and she hadn’t had the money to get her hair “done”, she’d bought a box of something totally inappropriate for her hair and combed it through her tight mahogany-bronze ringlets. The dye had lasted until her next wash, of course, and she’d needed to cut the ends off because it had fried them completely, but she’d loved that color.

His sister of the heart—he’d put her and her boyfriend through a lot this past year. And she hadn’t wavered, not once. It had been her idea to break off the on-again-off-again thing between them—which was good, because they’d both fallen in love with other people. But she was a lesson—a true good lesson—in how love, real love, wasn’t something you could just fuck away.

“This,” he said thoughtfully. “Reminds me of Jade.”

“It does indeed,” she said.

Jackson risked a look at her, and she was regarding him thoughtfully.

“Did you and Ellery decide on the office?” she asked, catching him by surprise.

“The one on F street.” He sighed. “The parking is going to suck, but you know, he really loves the inside.”

“And you’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

Jackson nodded. “Well, yeah.”


She patted his hand. “I appreciate the two of you, doing what I asked this week. Not asking questions.” She let out a little sigh, and he wondered if she was as tired as he was. “I think I was asked to come here because you and Ellery could handle this situation, and Ellery’s father…”

“Is too sweet for words.”

She gave a throaty little laugh. “IT’s really so very much easier for us to be in danger, isn’t it? Than to let our loved ones be?”

Jackson nodded, and out of instinct, he looked up at the cherry picker.

Burton was standing up and sighting somebody in the cherry picker!

Jackson grabbed Ellery’s mother and wrapped his shoulders around her, hating that she was six inches shorter than he was, even in her pumps. With a quick look around he saw Ellery, standing under the sign, head cocked like he couldn’t’ figure out what in the hell Jackson was doing.

And beyond him, he saw a motorcycle, veering toward them, ready to go up and over the sidewalk and into the crowd like it was out of control.

From far away, he heard Burton shouting “Rivers, get down!” at the same time he said, “Ellery move!”

And then…

Burton had never almost frozen in his entire life.

He’d had them all in his sights. The happy little family, looking at doo-dads, Ellery standing a few paces off, apparently entranced by his mother and Rivers making nice. Wasn’t that fucking adorable, right?

Then Jason had spoken up in his earbud. “I got Charley One, repeat, got Charley One. Charley Two is inbound motorcycle, heading east down K street. He has no options, repeat zero options.”

Uh oh. Bad guys with zero options often got desperate. Burton disregarded invisibility and stood to spot the motorcycle when he saw two things.

One was Jackson, wrapping his body around Ellery Cramer’s mother, and the other was Cramer, standing right in the way of the motorcycle straight toward him.

And then the third thing. The big assed nylon cord, the granddaddy of sailor’s knots that held the entire hideosity of a sign up from this side.

He screamed, “Rivers, get down!” at the same time Jackson screamed, “Ellery move!” and then he prayed for timing and pulled the cord.

Ellery didn’t give a shit what everybody was yelling. Jackson was protecting his mother bodily and Ellery had to go help him. He lunged for the two of them, knocking them both to the ground just as the giant piece of plywood swung down and knocked off some poor asshole on a runaway motorcycle that was heading for the craft fair.

The cycle went sideways and slid across the concrete, coming to a stop about a foot away from Ellery’s backside as he lay on the ground, feeling foolish. The rider—wearing black leathers with a yellow helmet—got unsteadily to his feet and was reaching around behind him for something when suddenly he fell to his knees, and then on his face.

Ellery’s eyes went wide as a thin trickle of blood came out of his helmet and a gun went skittering across the sidewalk.

And out of nowhere, an ambulance pulled up.

Jackson and Ellery’s mother were still climbing creakily to their feet as the ambulance guys—no medics Jackson or Ellery had ever met, and they knew this beat pretty well—gathered the cyclist up and put him on a gurney without even taking off his helmet. Given the lack of movement as a whole, Ellery suspected the helmet was probably holding all the cyclist’s brains in, after the bullet had liberated them from the rider’s skull.

As they clambered to their feet and checked for bruises, Ellery caught Jackson looking over their heads and nodding, before going back to making sure Ellery’s mother and Ellery didn’t have any scrapes.

Jackson, of course, had bloodied his elbow going down, because Jesus Christ, that man.

As the crowd started muttering to itself and stopped looking for police—who didn’t appear to be coming—and nobody noticed that the motorcycle had just seemed to pick itself up and drive away—Ellery looked a question at Jackson.

“So….?”

Jackson shrugged and smiled wearily—and then jumped and checked his pocket. “Uh, so, Lucy? We can go the fuck home now.”

For a moment Ellery’s mother sagged, looking a little older, and a little fragile, and a little like she’d actually needed that protection after all.

Then she stood upright and gave Jackson a level look. “Of course, dear boy. But if you will excuse me, I have a purchase to make, and I’d really love to see the rest of the booths here, don’t you think?”

Jackson let out a little laugh. “Of course, Lucy Satan. Of course.”

They stood back and let Ellery’s mother make her purchases, and Ellery put his hand solidly on the small of Jackson’s back.

“So, is it over?”

Jackson pulled out his phone. One bad guy dead, one in custody. Will text you tonight with the all clear. Nice reflexes, by the way.

As Ellery watched, Jackson texted, Thanks for the apple fritters.

And that was all. “Wow,” Ellery muttered. “So, do we still have to go to the game tonight?”

Jackson just looked at him. “After we’ve invited Jade and Mike? Do you really think your mom is going to cancel now?”

Ellery groaned.

No. No she would not. But they would get to go home and have dinner there and spend some time on the couch. And since his mother couldn’t get another flight out until the day after next, they had an actual day to sit quietly and visit, while Jackson swam laps in the pool and tried really really hard to forget the last five days had ever happened.

Good luck with that, though.

Before she left, Ellery’s mother gave them a charming hosts’ gift.

A hand blown paperweight, with the unlikely color combo of bronze and magenta mingling in the center. Jackson had smiled as he’d unwrapped, and set it down on it’s felt coaster with surprisingly respectful fingers.

Ellery had just cocked his head.

“You don’t like it?” his mother inquired.

“Mm… not my colors,” he said diplomatically.

“Well then, think of it more as Jackson’s gift.”

And Ellery did. But that was okay. He gave his mother a genteel kiss on the cheek. “Something that makes him happy is a gift for me,” he said, feeling sappy.

But his mother just smiled and patted his cheek, and it was time to take her to the airport.

They got back and collapsed on the couch in complete relief.

“Please tell me you won’t miss her,” Jackson begged.

Ellery looked at him, wearing the waterproof bandage on his elbow like a badge of honor. “Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“If I stripped naked and bent over the couch, would you to get the lube from the bedroom? I’d really like to celebrate being alone.”

Jackson’s chuckle, ripe and filthy, was enough to get him to stand up and start toeing off his shoes.

Epilogue

Jason Constance had learned to sleep on a helicopter a long time ago—but he couldn’t. Not today.

“You dropped a sign on his head,” he said in disbelief.

Burton opened one eye, because he had been sleeping. “You taught us to use the weapon at hand,” he replied, voice mild.

“I don’t even believe how that went down.”

Burton snorted. “I don’t believe you subdued your guy without killing him. It took an awful lot of fun with knives to get that guy to talk.”

Constance shrugged. Like Burton, the physical things—the running, jumping, shooting people while you did it—that part had been the easy part.

It had been holding on to the tiny fragments of his soul that was hard.

“But a sign!”

Burton blew out a breath. “If I tell you a secret, will you shut up about the fucking sign?”

“Sure.”

“Ernie texted me the day after we left. There was ‘Rivers get down’, and there was ‘Pull that thing!’. Guess how it played out.”

Constance started to giggle. “Really?”

“Really.”

The giggles died abruptly. “Let me know if he texts you anything about me, okay?”

Burton just stared at him, and Constance got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“What? What’d he say?”

“He said that in the end, when it’s all over, you’re gonna be okay.”

And for the life of him, Jason Constance, who’d had a plan all his life, couldn’t think of another thing to say.

Hiding the Moon Part 8

First of all, Bobby Green is out on February 6th, but in case you haven't read the Johnnies books, I should point out that the whole series is on sale until February 14th--yay!


Here's the link for Amazon, but they're also available at DSP and most other outlets for the same prices.

So, other than that, all work and no play makes Amy a very dull writer...

Heh heh...

Let's play...

Hiding the Moon: Part 8

Burton got back to the room in time to see Ernie pull back the covers, revealing the slightly rumpled sheets before he grabbed something from the back pocket of his jeans and laid down.

"What's that?" Burton asked, his suspicion hitting him hard. No drugs. No X. None of that crap in his bed-- "Oh."

His entire body washed hot. A condom and lubricant.

"You just kept that in your pocket?" he asked. Ernie was stretching out luxuriously on the high thread-count cotton sheets, his soft pink body almost too delicate to be real.

"Sex keeps my brain safe," Ernie said, a sad little smile on his face. "I don't often get to have it with somebody I actually like."

"You don't even know me," Burton mumbled, embarrassed. Like he was a reward or something. "And we're not having--"

"Sh." Ernie stood and placed two fingers over Burton's lips. "Don't lie," he whispered. "Not now. You promised."

Oh. It really had been a promise. Burton closed his eyes and licked Ernie's fingers. Ernie moaned and shivered, tilting his head back like Burton's mouth was a luxury, and Burton's skin cried out for more. He sucked those fingers into his mouth all the way, and Ernie sagged against him, their skin soft from the shower, bare, clean, and warm.

He opened his eyes when Ernie pulled his fingers out with a pop and darted a wicked glance up from under thick black lashes.

"See?" Ernie said, voice as wicked as his eyes. "That wasn't hard. Better things to do with your mouth than lie." He punctuated this with a kiss along Burton's shoulder, the glide of his lips down Burton's collarbone, and little fingertip pucker-kisses down Burton's other side. Burton slid his arms up Ernie's biceps, feeling the hard little muscles under that soft, moon-pale skin. Ernie kept teasing him, his shoulders, his collarbones, his chest, until his lips accidentally on purpose brushed Burton's nipples.

All the air left his body, and he whimpered. Oh God, so close... his nipples were tingling, and he wanted... he wanted...

Ernie paused, breath brushing the sensitive nerve bundle, and stuck out a teasing tongue. Burton, naked and needy, blurted out his biggest fear.

"I don't know how to make love to a man."

Ernie's low breathy chuckle sent ripples of reaction across his skin. "Touch my face," he whispered, lapping his nipple once.

Burton looked down at him and moved a tentative hand from his arm to his cheek. Ernie smiled shyly and stuck his tongue out again. He licked harder and Burton slid his fingers to that glossy dark hair and tightened them.

Ernie clamped his lips over the nipple and sucked hard.

Burton let out a moan and tried to keep his knees from buckling.

"Mm..." More sucking, and then Ernie traced a line to the other nipple, his hand flattening on Burton's abdomen as he went. He suckled on the other side while the air teased the the first nipple and Burton cupped his skull through his hair.

"But you're... ah... ah God... You're... oh Jesus, Ernie... you're doing all the work!"

Ernie popped off the second nipple and grinned again. "You're letting me touch you."

He was so beautiful.

Burton cupped his cheek again as he stood up straight, then bent his head and touched Ernie's lips with his own.

Ernie's mouth fell open and he melted into Burton's arms, that sinuous, boneless kind of melt that Burton had felt girls do. The kind that said Ernie trusted Burton to take care of him, to touch him kindly, to not hurt him.

With a growl, Burton took over the kiss, ravished his mouth, backed him up to the bed where he went willingly.

He hit the mattress and scooted back, spreading his thighs wantonly, inviting Burton into the glow of him. Burton paused for a moment and took him in, and Ernie returned his stare.

"You're beautiful."

They both covered their mouths, and Burton stared at him with wide eyes. They'd both said it. Whispered holy words at the same time.

Like a prayer.

Burton had to touch him. Had to run his fingers over his neck, his ribs.

He clamped his mouth over a pink nipple and sucked, gratified when Ernie arched his back and gasped. "Good," he urged. "So good."

The other one was just as delicious.

Ernie's body underneath his responded with abandon, undulating against him. His cock wobbled, a wild thing, streaking a damp trail against Burton's hip, his stomach, his inner thigh. As Burton plied his tongue Ernie gave a little cry and ground up against Burton's groin. A hot spurt of precome spread between them.

"What do you want to do?" Ernie whispered, grinding again.

Burton collapsed against him, burying his face against Ernie's throat and tried hard to pull himself together. With a girl, this would be the part where they fucked--mother nature's lock and key--but this was a man, and the lock and key fit differently, and Burton needed the rules.

"Everything," he said, half laughing into the haven of Ernie's hair and his shoulder. "Kid, I want to eat you alive."

"Then let's start there." Ernie kissed his forehead, a benediction of desire. "Go ahead, Lee. Touch it. Taste it. Do what you want done. No teeth, that's all I ask."

He smelled so good! Burton sucked on his neck then, licked to his earlobe, sucked that into his mouth and nibbled.

"That's right," Ernie hissed. "Just, you know, lower."

Down. Every inch of skin a salty, smooth, sweet and naughty temptation. Burton paused at his happy trail, running his fingers through the surprisingly silky hair, then following it down, down, down...

"Mm..."

It was all the encouragement he needed to wrap his fingers around it, surprised at the width, the length.

"Big," he murmured, watching a shiny bit of fluid gather in the slit.

It fascinated him.

"Not as big as yours," Ernie told him breathlessly, and Burton bucked against the bed, reminded that he needed release too.

"But I'm a bulkier guy." It was almost purple now, as Burton stroked, and dripping, hot and... he stuck his tongue out and tasted.

Good. So good.

He shuddered and licked it some more.

"Nungh..."

In the back of his mind, Burton thought about teasing him, playing with his harp string, flirting his tongue along the edge of the bell. But not now. Not with Ernie bucking against his hand, and his precome filling his senses with the bitter salt of desire.

Not when he wanted so bad to feel it in the back of his throat.

"Go ahead," Ernie begged. "God, Lee, please, I'm dying--ahhhhhh!"

It felt huge, filling his mouth, and he kept his lips over his teeth and let his mouth fill with spit, making himself a hot wet cave for Ernie to thrust in.

Ernie bucked, crying out, and Burton kept sucking, squeezing his base with every stroke.

"My balls," Ernie begged. "Just... tug... a little harder... God yes! I'm coming--God, you need to--"

Taste. Burton needed to taste him.

He sucked harder, tugged harder, flirted his tongue when he pulled back, and Ernie kicked his feet into the mattress and came.

Wet and thick, it filled his throat and he swallowed.

It wasn't oysters like the porn said, but it wasn't bitter and he didn't gag.

He swallowed again, cock aching, as Ernie continued to spasm at the ministrations of his hand and his mouth.

Finally Ernie went limp, his hands searching for purchase in the tiny shaved curls of Burton's head. Burton let himself be urged up to Ernie's shoulder, where he rested his cheek for a moment and arched his own hips, desperate fore release.

"You shouldn't swallow unless you know my history," Ernie said weakly, sounding guilty.

"We take PREP," Burton said without self-consciousness. "It's part of our hygiene protocol." He didn't add because there was often blood loss on both sides, but Ernie's little chuff of air told him he got it. "What is your history?" He propped himself up on his elbow and looked soberly at Ernie.

"My history," Ernie told him softly, skating his thumb over Burton's cheekbone, "is that I've sucked a lot of dicks, and bent over for a lot of guys, but I've never looked into eyes like yours and thought I've wanted more."

Burton closed his eyes and Ernie invaded his mouth with his thumb. A brief suck, a pop, and Ernie rubbed his lower lip.

"You still hard?" Ernie asked.

"God yes."

"Good. Because I...I would really like you to fuck me. Not fair, I know. You just spent all that time making me come and I just want more."

Burton smiled, eyes still closed. "I want all of you."

"Good."

Something about Ernie's voice, a break, a catch, something, made Burton open his eyes again. Ernie's eyes were red-rimmed, like he was close to tears.

"What?"

"I won't be able to go back to strangers," Ernie said, sounding helpless. "Not after this."

A surge of possessiveness shook Burton to his toes. He pushed himself up and took Ernie's mouth, hard, angry, needy. He pulled back and pinned Ernie with a glare.

"Good," he said, voice hoarse. It wasn't fair of him--he knew that. He had to leave this boy and go back into the surf of undercover, and claiming him wasn't kind.  But Burton had held Ernie's cock in his mouth, had tasted his spend, and was going to bury himself in the heaven of his body, and Burton didn't want him to belong to strangers.

Burton wanted Ernie to belong to him.

"You're going," Ernie murmured.

"But not yet."

Burton kissed down his chin, down his neck, knowing where he was going this time.

Here, in this bed, their bodies bare and speaking the same language, he knew exactly what to do.

(I know, I know, it's unfair to leave it here, but at least you know what the next part's going to be, right?)

Scorched Haven: Part 8--Respite

So, today was completely boring until Steve brought in a dead bird about twenty minutes ago. I shooed her out, and then Geoffie followed her, bringing the bird back.

I took the bird away and IT WASN'T REALLY DEAD.

But it WAS really mangled, and... so sad. Scared and freaked out and, you know, dying.

I put it back outside, up away from where the cat could get it, but somewhere peaceful where it could die surrounded by summer smells and dark.

Damn. Dead thing was icky-- but LIVE thing was tragic. I was NOT expecting that.

So, to move our minds from that, we've got Zeb and Colton, and what happens at night.

* * *

Zeb pulled up to the gas station warily, and looked down at his clothes in despair.

His borrowed sweats were caked in blood, not that they'd been too clean in the first place. Colton's clothes were way worse, but with a bullet hole in the front and back that couldn't be explained away. He sat there, car at the pump, thinking about turning into a wolf and shoplifting clothes, when a tiny man, maybe 4-feet tall with thin, delicate features and limbs, came trotting out.

"Go inside!" he called. "Get clothes. Get food. Wash up!" He held out his wrist, and it was covered with a tattoo--limes resting in the heart of a blooming rose.

Zeb was so grateful he almost cried.

"We're Green's," he said--unnecessarily, because it seemed this man already knew. He pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt where a giant thorn-less rose rested, it's stem sprouting oak leaves, a lime hanging from each leaf where an acorn might ordinarily go.

"I know," the little man said, flashing a grin replete with spiny teeth. "Nibbles. I'm Nibbles. Let me doctor your car. Go doctor selves."  He turned his smile to Colton in the passenger's seat, who, to his credit, got a little wide-eyed but didn't say a thing.

"That's a deal," Zeb said, getting out of the car.

"Roll up windows!" Nibble said. "Blessed wash, first. Goddess's children, you know."

"Oh!" Zeb felt stupid, and he turned the key enough to roll the windows up before turning it off and getting out. Colton got out on his side, and they headed for the gas station. "Thank you, Master Nibbles," Zeb said respectfully. Adrian had drilled that into all of his converts--you respect the elves, because they protected the vampires and the were-creatures. And the vampires and were creatures navigated the human world for the fey.

"You're Green's. Green's good. We're Green's. Oh! Hot metal!" As Zeb approached the door he looked back and saw Nibbles's limbs splitting, dividing into many, like tree-root hairs. One of his sturdier limbs reached for a hose near the bottom of the pump, and Nibbles started spraying the car down.

"What's he doing?" Colton asked, "I mean, who is he, and what is he doing?"

"Well, he's one of the lower fey," Zeb said, remembering his hierarchy lessons upon coming to the hill. "Fey don't usually touch cars. It's one of the things we can do but they can't. Some of them though--the metal workers--they're good at it. But they need to bless the car first--salt water and herbs, to remove the taint of man. Anyway, Nibbles is making the car safe so he can work on it while we shop."

"We're going to shop Chevron?" Colton asked, and then the second door swung open and he let out an appreciative whistle.

Clothes--about three racks, every size from child's size to men's 4X sweats and T-shirts. Two pairs of men's Large cargo shorts and a couple of T-shirts weren't that hard to find. The T-shirts were plain colors--Colton grabbed rust and then handed Zeb a green one.

"Uh, thank you?"

Colton just looked at him evenly, a slight smile on his face. "You have nice eyes," he observed mildly.

Zeb couldn't fight the flush that tried to crawl past his neck.  "Thanks," he said, looking anywhere but into Colton's eyes. "You do too."

"So, men's room?"

There was a small shower in the men's room--in the back corner, with a drain and a boundary, so the water didn't flood the floor. Zeb made Colton go first, while he ran into the gas station and found some shampoo and soap, and, of course, a gaudily colored beach towel from the racks of clothes. When he got back, he threw the towel at Colton and started to strip himself.

Colton stopped him. "You're not even going to look?" he asked, and Zeb met his eyes grimly and then looked his fill.

His original impression remained. Not tall--but broad in the shoulders, even at nineteen or twenty. Slim-hipped, with a square jaw and thick, shiny hair down to his shoulders. And warm golden eyes.

"You're a good looking kid," Zeb said gruffly. "I thought that when I first saw you. What we did--that wasn't a hardship for me."

Colton nodded, looking unhappy. "I needed it."  He closed his eyes. "I need it... like fire in my heart and my thighs and my... my cock."

Zeb stripped quickly, while Colton watched, and then throwing his clothes in the trash. He walked into  Colton's space and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Colton's temple. "It's like that," he said quietly. "The first week or so. It takes you and you could fuck a tree if one was willing. Don't worry. I'll be your tree. When you're ready to leave me behind, you'll know the blood fever is all gone."

Colton closed his eyes with Zeb's caress, and leaned into him. "What makes you think it will go away?"

Zeb took the next few steps into the shower and turned it on, grabbing the bottle and using the soap liberally, glad the soap and the spray gave him an excuse to avoid the boy's eyes. "Werewolves mate for life," he said, eyes closed. "I'm nobody important, Colton. You'll have... like a banquet at Green's. Better meals than me."

He rinsed his hair then, scraping the water back from his eyes before he turned off the spray.  When he could see again, Colton was no closer to being dressed. He was staring at Zeb's body, long and lean with a bare patch of hair between his pecs. Zeb had blue eyes but he was one of those guys who sported a beard after two days, and it was already growing in.

"Uh..." Zeb reached his hand out for the towel, and Colton unwrapped it from his waist, crossing his arms unrepentantly. Zeb dried his hair first, and then his body, and then, uncertain, he used the towel on the floor while he grabbed his clothes off the counter. "What are you looking at?"

"You," Colton said quietly. He stepped in behind Zeb and took the underwear out of his hands, pressing his slightly damp body up along the back of Zeb's. Zeb closed his eyes, aware of how long it had been since he'd had a long, sweaty, heart-pounding bout of sex.

"I'm... I mean, we don't want to do this here. I saw some camping gear in the station--we can--nungh..."

Colton was kissing the back of his neck, the line of his shoulder, back up to his ear.

"Colton?" Zeb whimpered, his cock full and aching, with just the press of bodies, a simple caress.

"You don't look like a tree," Colton whispered, thrusting up against Zeb's backside. Zeb moaned, holding on hard to the counter.

"That's not what I meant," he muttered, although he could have made a case for sporting wood.

"You meant I should use you." Colton leaned forward and pulled gently on Zeb's chin, until Zeb met his mouth in one of those awkward, over-the-shoulder kisses that made him want so much more.

Colton pulled away and Zeb nodded, feeling both pain and pride. "It would be my privilege to be so used," he said formally.

Colton shook his head then, and backed away. Zeb slouched for a moment against the counter, and then grabbed his clothes one more time, handing Colton his.

"YOu'll need it," Zeb said, trying to make it clear that there was no judgment here. "Colton, it's real noble to say you're not going to take me--use me. But you'll need it." Quickly he slid into his boxers,  adjusting himself against arousal, and then climbed into his cargo shorts and T-shirt, grateful when Colton did the same.

He bent and picked up the sodden towel then, wringing it out and folding it neatly. He knew all the stuff in the station was there's to use--Green didn't operate on a cash exchange, but rather one of fealty and service--but the towel would be useful, and he made a mental note to grab a dry one while they were "shopping" the store.

He drew near to the door, waiting expectantly for Colton to open it so they could leave, but he didn't. Instead, he reached out and clasped Zeb's hand, bringing to carefully to his lips.

"I didn't say I wouldn't need the sex," Colton said quietly. "I just said I'm not going to use you and lose you."

Zeb thought he was above being touched--but he wasn't. He fought a burning behind his eyes. "You're a great kid," he said, voice thick. "But we mate for life. You keep hanging out with me after your new werewolf thing wears off, and you're going to be stuck with me. And kid, I wanted better things for you than that. I sat under that porch and listened to you trying to figure out your life, and I wanted better things for you than what you had planned. That hasn't changed. Better things. Better than me. I'll be your tree--that'll be good."  He closed his eyes. "That'll be real good."

Colton brushed his lips gently against Zeb's. When he pulled back, he brushed a kiss on each of Zeb's eyelids, and along his temple. "I want you so bad," he whispered in the hollow of Zeb's ear. "But I wanted you when you sat next to me in the car and tried to make me laugh. Trust me, Zeb. This isn't going away."

"Sure," Zeb said, his knees weak--but not his resolve. "C'mon. Let's go get some gear."

Colton snaked a hand around Zeb's waist and hauled him in for a brutal, frustrated kiss. Zeb melted against him, out of starch to fight.  Colton had to be the one who ended it, jerking his hips back and feathering his knuckles along Zeb's cheekbone.

"You're important to me," he whispered.

Then he opened the door.