Has nothing to do with the vote.
I'm writing a category romance for Dreamspinner Press-- a Dreamspun Desire. And the thing with these is it's all about the simmer, and when I get to the sex, well, it's got to be three flames at the hottest. No raw animal rutting for my sweet tamale boy and his gentleman caller, no-- it's all going to be washing languorously onto love's transcendent shore.
I really needed to write some serious fucking. Which left me with SuperBat or Cartinski. And since the last SuperBat left us in a place where I needed to actually plot in order to get to the sex, I'm going for the Cartinski. If you may recall, John had just fled Beacon Hills because it was the full moon and he didn't want to see mad raw-dogging all over the backwoods.
So he fled to Carter's house--and to a man blissfully unaware of what most shapeshifter writers have to grapple with all the time.
It's sort of a knotty problem, actually… *runs screaming from all of the spit wads flung after that horrible pun*
* * *
Carter liked the way John handled his children. He was kind to his oldest--the boy who wasn't his but whom he'd raised like a son for the last six years--and sweet and adorable with the little girls. He asked them all earnest questions, and when he got answers way above his pay grade and IQ, he didn't even raise his eyebrows.Well, Stiles had a job in Eureka-- odds were good he was used to being baffled by offspring by now.
But finally-- finally--the kids were in bed, and Carter had a chance to talk to the house.
"Sarah?" he asked cautiously, leading John into the bedroom. "Sarah--are you here?"
"Yes, Jack," Sarah said, her voice warm and seductive. John gave a little gasp of surprise. "Is there someone with you tonight? Someone not Allison?"
"You know there is." Carter kept his voice firm. "Sarah, this is John Stilinski--we're dating."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days," Sarah said primly.
"No, Sarah, the kids are calling it sex, and we'd like to have some-- but without the kids being able to hear us do it. Can you make sure that happens?"
There was a sullen silence. "But Sheriff, your relationship with Allison may not be completely severed. There is still hope. Nathan may possibly have changed after his time as nothing but anti-matter, and there is no guarantee that she'll be able to live with him--"
Carter groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sarah, what is Allison doing right now?" He knew the damned house was tracking her across town-- because she'd given him updates on the night that Allison had decided to go back to Nathan.
"Allison's respiration is accelerated by thirty percent, her endorphins are high, and she appears to have blood flowing to several erogenous zones upon simulation… oh."
"Yeah, Sarah. My ex-wife is getting lucky. Any way I can get lucky too?"
"No sound will leave the room, Sheriff, but if the children are alarmed or need you, I will allow you the option of answering."
"Thank you, Sarah. So, unless it's an emergency--"
"I shall pretend I'm not here."
"Perfect."
Carter usually stood and looked up at the ceiling when he was talking to the house, so he finished up and turned to see how John took his relationship with the sentience that watched over his family.
John was under the blankets, fully clothed, with the covers over his head.
"Uh… John? Stilinski? You okay?"
"The house will see me naked," he said, like this was something Jack hadn't thought of at least a thousand times over the last ten years.
"Yes, but she doesn't judge," he said kindly. "And I will get to see you naked too, so there's that." He liked John naked. John Stilinski took care of himself-- he was a little stocky in the chest and a little knobby in the knees, but mostly, he was serviceable muscle. Carter liked that in a male lover-- just like he enjoyed a smile and a sense of play and the ability to switch hit.
"Nobody is ever going to see me naked ever again," John said, like he'd just decided. He remembered to kick off his boots though, before hauling his knees to his chest under the comforter, so Carter took heart.
Quickly, he stripped off his clothes and kicked off his shoes. "Let me in," he demanded, pulling the edge of the blanket up. "C'mon, let me play in the blanket fort-- it's cold out here!"
"Sheriff, it's 78 degrees inside the house-- if you would like me to heat it up--"
"Not now, Sarah, you're missing the point."
"I shall refrain from speaking, sir."
"Now you understand."
"That house sees us!" John mumbled, sounding a little hysterical. "There are werewolves fucking all over Beacon Hills and a house is going to see me naked!"
"Well, she's getting a load of me naked, so could you let me in the blanket fort?" Carter begged, and he reckoned John did love him because he held the blanket open just long enough for Carter to dive in. "Thank you," he mumbled as John closed the blanket over the other side of his hips and made sure they were both tucked in like mummies.
"I need to lose ten pounds," John said seriously. "And work out more. Lots more. LIke two hours a day. "
"Hon," Carter said, stroking his cheek in the close space of the blanket fort, "you're fine."
"Carter, the house is going to see that I'm fat! Can't you hear her? She's going to say, 'But Sheriff, your current partner is far less desirable than your last one. Can you not see that he has at least ten pounds more body fat and is closer to a heart attack than Allison so you should probably not ever have sex with him again!"
Carter buried his face against John's stubbled neck and giggled. "Seriously? You're going to let a house tell you not to get laid?"
"Sheriff Carter, your current partner can't get an erection right now, perhaps you'd like me to play some mood music. Does Sheriff Stilinski enjoy smooth jazz?" John's voice cracked at the end of a rusty impression of Sarah's measured tones, and Jack pushed himself up on John's chest and started unbuttoning his official uniform shirt.
"Would smooth jazz work?" he asked sliding the shirt off John's shoulder.
John rolled under the fort and helped him out a little. "I hate smooth jazz. Who can get laid listening to the saxophone?"
"Well then, there will be no smooth jazz played here tonight," Carter soothed. He started working on John's belt, and was relieved when John grudgingly lifted his hips to let his khakis be pushed down to the bottom of the bed.
"Small mercies," John grumbled. Carter slithered back up under the blanket fort and then rolled right on top of John, knowing that John Stilinski could take his weight--and anything else dished out to him.
"John Stilinski?" Carter said, undulating his hips so their bodies could get familiar and hard.
"What, Jack Carter?"
"I'm glad you're here tonight."
"I wish we were in Beacon Hills," John said honestly. "But we wouldn't be having sex there either. There is literally a wolf howling and fucking on every street corner."
Carter laughed--not because he didn't believe him, but because it was a funny thing to be afraid of. "Well then-- who says we're not having sex here?" he asked.
John glared at him--but he also brought his hands to Jack's hips and held him tight so they could buck up against each other. "I think we have to be nak--"
Ah, Carter had been dying to kiss him again, since that first one outside in the car. John opened for him, warm and male and a little bitter--the pizza had been burnt. Carter plundered anyway, and lost himself in the hardness of John's hands against his ass, the strength of John's chest, and the no-bullshit way he accepted the reality of two male bodies mashed together.
Carter was getting hard--but so was John--and Carter rolled off of him in order to scoot down and shuck his boxers down past his knees.
"Guess what?" he asked playfully, peering at John under the blanket.
"I'm hard," John muttered, knotting his fingers in Jack's hair.
"And naked," Jack said, lowering his head and slurping, hard, and the pre-cum leaking from John's cock.
John bucked, sensitive, probably, surprised into sudden arousal and easily ramped higher. Or maybe--the little slut-- Jack's big male lover sort of secretly got off on knowing they were being watched, and was just afraid of knowing that about himself.
Which made him even more dear.
Carter lowered his head and raised it, sucking hard and squeezing at the base and teasing the slit with his tongue, gratified when John groaned. Oh yeah-- one of the best things about John--when he was ramped, he was greedy and unashamed about it. When John bent his knees and spread his thighs, begging to have all his parts played with, Carter took that for what it was. He dribbled spit on the two fingers wrapped around John's cock and then shoved them none-to-subtly where the sun doesn't shine, and was thrilled when John came.
Judging from John's shocked cry, he was thrilled too--and maybe over his knowledge that the house could hear them too.
Carter swallowed, slimy and sweet, and continued to suck, until John was hard again, but oversensitive.
"John?" he said clearly, still stroking John off.
"Yeah?" Oh good-- he sounded loopy and relaxed and still aroused. Perfect.
"I'm going to throw the covers back and grab the lube from the drawer, okay?"
"Lube?" he asked, still sounding a little out of it.
"Yeah," Carter said, practically purring. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight, okay?"
"The house…" John muttered, but Carter thrust his fingers into John's orifice again, and he forgot what he was going to say as he arched his hips off the bed and beat feebly at the mattress.
Carter was already in the open air and reaching for the lube. "The house can't have you," he said, meaning it. Just a little bit of lube, there we go, right along Carter's shaft.
He shifted on the bed, kneeling between John's knees, and thrust in. John threw his head back about the pillows and screamed-- loudly--in pleasure, and Carter didn't monitor his own voice as he thrust forward and grunted from his gut.
Ah, Gods, yes. Loud sex--it was almost more of a turn on than sex with the lights on, because he and John spent so much time trying not to disturb the werewolf with hyper hearing who often was having sex in the same house.
Carter took a lot of joy in pounding into John Stilinski's ass, throwing his hips forward, letting his orgasm build at the base of his spine. When John finally gave another whimper and scratched at Carter's shoulders, Carter's climax hit him like a storm.
His cry of pleasure cracked through the room like thunder.
The comedown was awesome too, and Carter pulled the blanket up over both of them in deference to John's returning sensibility that the house was watching.
"Hey," Carter said, sliding until they were chest to chest, the blanket pulled over their shoulders. "What's knotting?"
John actually stopped looking wildly around the dimly lit room. "Knotting?"
"Yeah-- you said the werewolves were knotting when you drove up. What does that mean?"
John dug deeper into the bed and stopped looking around the room completely. "Nothing," he muttered. "Not a damn thing. Are you ready to go yet? I'm ready to go again. Who's gonna top? I say you. You're good at topping--"
Carter stopped him with a kiss, one that was designed to rev them just a little bit more. "Okay," he mumbled. "I got it. You'll tell me some other time."
John hummed and kissed him harder. "Yeah, fine," he said. "Maybe I'll top this time."
* * *
"Ouch," Stiles said.
"I'm sorry," Derek muttered, burying a mortified face into the back of Stiles's neck.
"Ouch."
"I don't know what to say-- it'll take twenty minutes to go down."
"Ouch."
"Stiles, I wanted you to top--"
"I was wrong. Jesus, Derek, can't you think of anything that will make it go down quicker?"
"No-- I've tried everything. Sports scores, saggy butts, kittens--"
"Well look at it!" Stiles begged. "Isn't it going down a little."
Derek didn't even try to look at it. He just groaned into Stiles's back some more. "Baby, looking at it gets me hot again!"
"Oh God. Derek, what's going to happen if my dad gets home and we're still stuck here?"
Oh… oh God. Derek's sweaty embarrassment turned to sweaty panic just that fast.
"Oh no," he whispered.
"Oh yes!" Stiles crowed, slithering out form under Derek as quickly as he could now that the swelling at the base of Derek's cock had gone down.
"Oh thank God," Derek murmured, rolling to his side. He glared at Stiles. "Next time," he threatened.
"Yeah," Stiles said, nodding fervently. "I hear you. Next full moon, I top!"
Hehehehe! Loved this. But oooooo that pun, though.
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