Jai/George Part 7--Good Morning to You!

So a quick installment tonight before the weekend. Remember, I'm taking off Monday morning for New York, so this is going to have to tide us over!

*  *  *

Good Morning to You! 

George slept in sort of a half-aroused fever dream, engulfed in the arms of a giant who kept him warm and safe and horny.

"Mm..." George whined a little, because he scooted back and bumped something that penetrated, titillated, pulsed and throbbed. He reached behind himself, arching so he could... wait, was something in his ass?

"You are needy?" A voice purred in his ear, and George came fully awake.

Jai. He was in the tent with Jai, surrounded by the smells of canvas and the sharp high desert of the Tehachapi Mountains--and sex. And Jai. The darkness around them was complete, but there was  a sharpness in the air that indicated dawn was close.

Jai thrust up against his backside, and the plug he'd left in only a few hours before was tapped hard, and suddenly George was awake and dawn wasn't the only thing that was close.

"Oh my God!" He was loud--louder than he'd meant to be--and Jai's hand came up in front of his mouth.

"Sh," he whispered. "Should I get the gag again?"

George shuddered, all of his pleasure synapses firing at once.

"Depends," he said breathily. "Are we going to go fast or slow?"

Jai chuckled softly and nuzzled his shoulder, his ear, from behind. "Both."

George moaned--but quietly. "No gag," he begged. "Just... just now."

HIs rim must have swollen around the plug, because Jai needed to add some lube to it to pull it out, and the ache was just on the ledge of pleasure and pain. And then Jai's cock, huge and slick, was right there to take it's place, and George felt tears start at his eyes. It didn't hurt, but the fullness, the sense that he'd never come down from that first orgasm, was overwhelming.

"It's okay, little George," Jai said, his thumbs brushing at the tears even as he moved, thrusting slowly and steadily inside George's willingly given body. "I'm taking you over, but I'll be kind."

George let out a breath with no voice, and his own cock grew and throbbed. Jai kept fucking, but his hands--his hands were exploring. George's chest, his thighs, plucking his nipples, stroking his cock... George kept all his voices to himself, the hush of the dark morning helping to make this a moment in a bubble, a quiet all to themselves. "Okay," he said brokenly. "Okay."

Jai picked up speed.

George captured Jai's hand as he plucked George's nipple, needing to clutch something. His body was doing a slow roll, almost a preparation to orgasm, a leviathan sexual wakeup, and he was flying, lost in the dark, only Jai's ragged breathing and his hand keeping him tethered to their bed on the floor of the tent.

"Don't let go," Jai rumbled.

"Don't stop," George begged.

"Let me stroke you. I am close."

George wrapped his fingers around Jai's wrist as Jai closed his hand over George's cock and stroked slowly, in time to his thrusts. The contact made the stroking delirious, an extension of George's own touch, and he was just swimmy enough from waking up in a full state of arousal for the sensation to amp his need exponentially.

And up and up and up and up... George released Jai's wrist so he could bite down on his palm, because swat was breaking out over his forehead, his chest, and his orgasm rolled through him, slow and huge, and he needed to stifle his cry.

He creamed up over Jai's fist, and behind him he heard Jai's slow, tortured breath as he convulsed inside George's ass, the torrent of come scalding and real as the two of them rode the wave together.

The come down was shakier this time.

Jai held his hand, covered in spend, up to George's mouth, and George lapped dreamily, because he was in no place to say no to anything sexual right now. The act, filthy and fulfilling, almost soothed him. What they'd done had been animal and real and the bitterness proved it.

When he was done, their breathing subsided, and George realized his backside was dripping around Jai's softening cock and he had no urge to wash himself.

"Sleep?" he asked groggily.

"Yes."

"That... I'm going to need more of that. And more and more and more..." His voice wandered dreamily. "It's like heroin. A drug. I'm feeling so high..."

Jai nuzzled his neck again. "Next month, I shall bring all my pretty toys," he promised direly. "And you will forget you can have sex with other men."

"I can't." George was out of it--but he was also candid. "Whole life, boring. You, here, now, is electricity and fire. No more sex for other men. Ruined me. Wrecked my asshole. In a good way."

Jai chuckled. "So, there will be a next month?" He sounded... wistful. Hopeful. Like he wanted the answer to be yes, but he wasn't sure.

"Do you have any bodies in the trunk?" he asked.

"Not this trip."

Ah, well, nobody was perfect. "As long as there's no bodies in the trunk, there's always a next month."  He felt wise as he pronounced this, but Jai's wounded sound surprised him.

"I shall be careful to never have bodies in my trunk with you," he said, and as much as it should have been a joke, it sounded like a true promise.

"Okay. I promise we'll do this again."

"Thank you." Jai rested his cheek on the top of George's head, and George had enough consciousness for one more word.

"Thank you. Was wonderful."

"You deserve no less, sweet man. Now sleep."

George closed his eyes, limp and used and happy. When he awoke in the morning, sunlight lit up the inside of the tent, although it was still chilly. The spot next to him was empty, but there was the sounds of something frying on a grill outside the tent, and the smell of bacon.

George's body was loose and a little sore and a lot glorious. Wow. They'd done that. The smell of sex and the stretching in his backside and even the feeling of come on his thighs--it all made it real. George felt delicious and debauched and cared for--and he wanted that man outside frying him bacon to know that this was all his doing, and George had developed more than an attachment or an attraction for him.

George had developed a crush.

Imagine what more could develop in the course of the day.

MoonFish--Surprise Visit! Part 7

So, yeah-- this is still going on--but we're drawing to a close and that's exciting!

Anyway-- in honor of MoonFish, and me being way behind, we're postponing Kermit Flail until May--so don't forget to send in your stuff if you have a book to pimp! (If I get a ton of stuff for April in the next week, I'll do one for next Monday, but in the meantime, Squish is having a birthday and I'm planning a party... and a class... and some events. So let's just say, you know. Busy.)
So Kermit Flail, first Monday in May, watch for it then. 

And in the meantime, enjoy the MoonFish!

PART 7

“Oh dear God,” Jason muttered, struggling to sit up in the bed of the house they’d co-opted for the operation. “What now?”

“Craft fair,” Burton told him from the computer console that tapped into all the cameras they’d placed around Ellery Cramer’s house in the past week. “Jackson texted last night after we got in.”

“He what?”

Burton grimaced. Technically he never should have contacted Rivers at all, but after things like, say, an emergency trip to the Sierras to rescue a kid out of a tree, he figured that maybe Jackson’s pithy advanced notice comments did more good than harm. 

“Wanted us to know. Craft fair during the day, King’s game at night. I already got us tickets.”

“Kings game? They’re not bad this year.” Jason blinked hard, trying to wake up and Burton let out a sigh. 

“Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“You need a break.”

And maybe because they’d been working the op together for four days and Jackson had almost given Constance a heart attack when he’d climbed that fucking tree, Jason actually said something real.

“I am having nightmares.”

Well of course. The things they’d seen, the things they’d known had happened, and, worse, the things they were anticipating that hadn’t happened yet. Burton had Ernie to go home to, but Constance, he watched over the whole lot of Psycho Unit USA (as some asshole had dubbed their detail, whom Burton would never forgive.) 

“I… Ernie helps,” Burton admitted, because hearing his CO and boss and friend admit that he wasn’t handling shit was a big admission. Nobody took advantage of the free psyche program in their detail. 

Nobody.

“Burton, can I ask you something?”

“Sir, yessir.”

Constance rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and scowled. “Very funny. How did you know? About being…gay?”

“Bi?” Burton shot back, but then took pity on his boss. “I knew. Girls were easier. And since, you know, this job, relationships not a thing, I did easy.”

“Then why Ernie?” 

Ernie hadn’t been easy at all. Ernie had been a spacy, bitter, kind mass of contradictions—who had known deep in his witchy bones that they were destined to be lovers from the moment he’d first heard Burton’s voice. 

Which was about three days before he’d seen his face.

Burton blew out a breath and smiled. “He, uh, wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Constance’s look of surprise made him laugh. “Really.”

Well, Burton cultivated his silence, his body, his entire demeanor, to be the guy people didn’t mess with. But then, Ernie cultivated his spaciness, his flexibility, his quiet yielding to the brutal winds of the world to be the guy people didn’t notice. 

And yet Ernie had kept bending Burton to his will. Burton had just looked at him and melted. And every time he tried to put up a barrier or put the brakes on, he’d thought about living without Ernie and…

Couldn’t.

“I can’t explain it,” he said humbly. 

Constance let out a bark of laughter. “And I came to you for advice?”

Burton rolled his eyes. “About what?”

Constance shook his head. “Nothing—it’s unimportant.”

Burton let out a sigh. “Jason, do you see those screens?”

“Yeah?”

“To the left of screen four, we’ve got a bad guy in waiting in a follow car. At nine o’clock, our three targets are going to leave the house in that ridiculous SUV of theirs and drive through this weird-ass city to go to a craft fair in the Rainbow District. Which means that in forty-five minutes one of us is going to go first and set up, and the other one is going to follow, and we’re going to be kind of busy for the next couple of hours. But until then, you and me got nothing but time. Now what? We’ve worked together for five years and you are the one person—including my parents—who knows about me and Ernie. So what is it you can’t tell me?”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “One person?”

Burton tilted his chin just enough. He didn’t talk about Ace and Sonny, and their little garage that managed to sustain itself on word of mouth alone. Jason knew, but Burton didn’t talk about them.

“Fine.” Jason blew out a breath. “Not bi, Lee. Gay. Me. Gay. And I haven’t hooked up since I became your CO. Because I’m ten years older than you, and ten years ago that sort of thing could have gotten me fucking killed.”

Burton was conscious that he had to close his mouth. He did that and swallowed to get rid of the dryness. “Really?”

“Would I fucking lie—”

“No. Not about this.” Burton held his hands. “But you heard me calling out for Ernie…” Neither of them liked to talk about the early days in Psycho Unit USA. Knowing who was out there, knowing what they’d been trained to do, knowing that someone from their military had basically set monsters loose on the world—nobody in their unit was okay.

“I guessed. I was right. And so I can talk to you.”

Burton grimaced. “Look. You know that place I don’t talk about?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s home. I… I made myself a home, even before I had myself an Ernie. Do you still live at the base?”

Constance scrubbed his face. “Yeah. God yeah.”

“Make yourself a home. Take your own advice. Get the fuck off the base and find a thing that’s human and real. You don’t need to hookup—you need to connect. And that’s a whole different thing.”

Constance gave half a laugh and nodded. “That’s… that’s some wise words,” he said softly. “I’ll remember that.”

“My pleasure, sir,” Burton said dryly. “You want to shower before we have to get to it? These people have a shower with a steam setting—I feel like all my dangly parts are clean, you know?”

Constance laughed outright then. “I’ll try to make it quick.”

“You completely missed the point. Now go!”

Burton watched his CO disappear into the bathroom and looked back at his screens. Nope, nothing yet. He knew they were out there—he’d seen flashes of one guy, shadows really. They needed them both. Getting one wouldn’t do it—both would help them put pressure on the people who issued the contract.

He was ready for this detail to end already. 

Usually when he was sent to guard a target, there was a hint of wrong doing—some sense that this person had agreed to live dangerously. Ellery Cramer’s mother had done nothing more than issue a few delicate inquiries as to where Karl Lacey had gotten his money. Yes, it was officially poking her nose where it didn’t belong—but issuing a hit wasn’t usually the first protocol for that kind of thing. A runaround would have done just fine.

He thought about the way the woman had ruthlessly dragged her son and his boyfriend through pretty much every public experience known to man. 

Well, maybe not the runaround—but at least try a sternly worded letter of discouragement before death, right?

At his belt his pocket buzzed, three short bursts, like he’d programmed his phone to do with Ernie and Ernie alone.

See you tomorrow, Cruller. Can’t wait!

Burton blinked, and a buzz of excitement hit his stomach, like it had when he’d been deployed and action had been in the air. He didn’t ask if Ernie knew that for certain, and didn’t ask how he knew. 

Took Ernie on faith, which was the only way to take his flaky, witchy, sexy as hell boyfriend. 

Me neither. Love you.

Love you back.

Burton smiled softly at the phone, not feeling dumb in the least. One way or another, he would see Ernie tomorrow—and he was damned if he’d let grieving over friends ruin his homecoming.

He was going to get these guys and he was going to leave Rivers, Cramer, and the woman he was starting to think of as Lucy Satan in his rearview, safe as bunnies on his watch. 

Hiding the Moon--Part 7

So, not much doin' today--my friend Berry Jello is still sick, and I visited her. I want her to feel better--she's usually got so much life! And then Chicken visited us and we watched X-Files when her father got home. We were dying by the end--God, the reboot is wonderful.

And mostly we just caught up on TV. Mate and I are the biggest emotional babies though-- we were watching 9-1-1, and it's such a good show. But the part came when the fire chief (Charlie?) had his coworkers on either side of him, and they said, "Okay. Don't be afraid to ask for help."

There was silence. Then he said, "I won't." Beat. Then, "Help me?" And he burst into tears.

And Mate and I were toast--we sobbed in stereo. Ah, a little harmless entertainment.

Good times.

So, that being the state of things--how about some Hiding the Moon. *Note-- for those new, Hiding the Moon is a crossover story between Racing for the Sun and the Fish Out of Water series. 

Hiding the Moon--Part 7

Burton woke up on a sudden inhale, panic flooding his body.

The boy in his arms (there was a boy in his arms?) mumbled, "Go back to sleep. An SUV passed by. Bad guys, but not your bad guys. Sleep some more."

Burton thought, It is time to wake up, and then his eyes closed and he slept for another two hours.

This time when he woke up, Ernie had rolled away and was facing him. His skin was pale--almost pasty, given the kid's hours--but his eyes, luminous, brown under the fall of hair held an appeal Burton couldn't explain.

"What?" Burton asked grumpily. He could feel the lateness of the afternoon in his bones, and he was still sluggish with sleep. A part of him knew he could leap up and commence giving orders at any time but...

But the kid was just looking at him, almost in wonder.

"What?" Burton demanded again. "Was I snoring?"

"Yes, but who cares." Slowly, the boy reached out to brush Burton's lips with his fingertips. "They're like cut from stone. You must press them together a lot."

Burton blinked and tried to remember if he did that a lot. "My job is sort of tense," he said, feeling silly.

"You think?" Ernie rolled his eyes, and then pressed his hand to the side of Burton's neck. Burton didn't flinch from a man touching him--it was something he'd dreamed about enough that it felt... natural. "Warm. Just... body heat. Lots of it. You must be very fit." Ernie's mouth twisted wickedly and he squeezed Burton's hard bicep with impish delight. "Very fit."

Burton licked his lips and hated himself a little for it. "I work out," he said with dignity.

Ernie nodded, a slight smile pulling at his full mouth. "You do. And nobody ever gets to appreciate it. I mean, there's girls sometimes. One nights, because you gotta keep moving, but..."  Ernie ran his hand appreciatively over the contours of Burton's arm--bicep, tricep, shoulder--coming to a stop with his hand splayed over Burton's collarbone, close to his neck. "No chance for someone to feel every hard inch."

Burton almost told the lie then-- it was on his lips. Son, you're barking up the wrong tree. Sorry, Ernie, but I'm not bi. Please stop touching me, it feels invasive.

But Ernie arched a sardonic eyebrow, and Burton's heart rate sped up, all his blood rushing to the surface of his skin.

Ernie's touch didn't feel invasive at all. It felt amazing.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Burton managed, and Ernie scooted a little closer.

"I need a shower," he whispered, and Burton could feel his breath dusting along Burton's throat. "And I need to brush my teeth."

Burton swallowed and nodded. "Me too."

"You go first," Ernie told him gravely. "Brush your teeth before you get in the shower."

Burton's brows snapped together and he scowled. "Who does that? People brush their teeth while their nuts are drying--everybody knows that! Why are you giving me--"

Ernie brushed those lush, playboy lips against his, and Burton opened his mouth on a gasp. Ernie sucked his lower lip into his mouth and nibbled before letting it go.

"Yes, Lee Xavier Burton, I'm giving you orders. You can blow me off if you want, but you'll regret worrying about bad breath for the next few hours, so maybe just don't fight me here."

Oh Lord, Burton's blood was pounding in his ears. A kiss. A man's kiss. It trembled along the edge of his skin and Burton could suddenly taste the acidic paste of morning breath.

"How'd you know my--"

Ernie's grin was a force to be reckoned with. "I can't always tell if the bad guys are after me," he said honestly. "If I'm stoned I can't always read the scumbag who wants to feel me up. But I'm cold sober right now, and I know who's in my bed." His voice was low and mesmerizing and Burton couldn't look away from his wide brown eyes.

"Who do you think I am?" he asked, curious. For all Ernie's dreamy oddness, Burton couldn't fault his accuracy.

"You kill the bugs," Ernie said, cupping his neck again. "You're good. Dangerous, but good. And you... you look at me like I'm nectar. I've never been nectar before. I really want you to drink me."

Burton shuddered, thinking about "drinking" him, and rolled out of bed jerkily, shocked and aroused by the mental picture. "You're right," he said, pretending that terrible suspended moment of intimacy had never happened. "I should shower first."

Ernie chuckled and propped his head up on his hand. "Sure."  But he didn't sound put out, and he sounded like he knew something Burton didn't, which made Burton just a little bit nuts. He stomped to his duffel bag, pulled out his shaving kid and a fresh pair of boxers and a Tee, then stomped to the bathroom.

He was in the shower, letting the water pound his neck and chest before felt the cool of mint at the inhale and realized he'd done exactly what the kid had asked and brushed his teeth first.  He groaned softly to himself and rested his head against the wall while the water pounded his back. The hotel wasn't bad--and the shower was amazing. A big space with enough water pressure to power hose all his crevices. He was still there, leaning his head, when Ernie came into the bathroom and started going through his shaving kit.

"What're you doing?" Burton asked, staring through the clear glass of the cubicle.

"You got an extra brush," Ernie said happily, pulling it out and using the toothpaste. "That's nice."  He started brushing his teeth and Burton felt embarrassment crawl up his spine.

"The, uh, glass is clear," he muttered. He'd been in the military. He'd showered in the barracks with his entire unit. You didn't worry about some other guy seeing your pits and he didn't worry about you scoping him out. That was the rule.

"I don't mind," Ernie said guilelessly, looking at him through the glass.

"I'm sure you don't," Burton muttered, grabbing the washcloth and squirting some soap on it. He'd managed his face, neck, and chest before Ernie spit and started to strip down. "Hey, what're you--"

The door slid open and Ernie stepped in, naked, pale body glowing like the moon.

Burton swallowed hard. He was lean--almost skinny--but his chest and arms had some definition, probably from working at the bakery. His thighs and calves were wiry--he walked lots and danced all night, so of course they were--and his stomach was flat, almost concave.

His little pink nipples were fascinating, and for a moment, Burton stared at them, the only bit of color in that lean body besides that thatch of dark pubic hair at the end of the happy trail below.

Ernie held out is hand for the washrag, and Burton passed it to him in a daze. Ernie took a step forward, then another one, close enough to catch the shower spray, close enough for their bodies to touch if either one of them took so much as a deep breath.

"Did you finish?" Ernie asked, the water spiking his dark lashes around his eyes like points in a star.

"No," Burton said, voice dry. "Uh... pits, crevices--"

"Mm... lift your arms."

Burton did. The washrag was wielded firmly--it didn't tickle under each arm, but it did scrub, and Ernie turned him, so his back was to Ernie's front.

"I'm going to get real personal," Ernie said softly in his ear. He was taller than he seemed, only an inch or two shorter than Burton himself, who was over six feet. "You are built like a tank, but all you gotta do to stop me is tell me no."

No. I don't do this. I don't do this with strangers. I've never done this with a man before. You and me need to talk--

"I'll tell you everything when we're done," Ernie murmured, lips skimming Burton's shoulders. "But Lee, I think you need this now. I mean, it's practically the only skill I have."

The washrag moved low over Burton's stomach, and Burton took a breath to tell him that wasn't true.

Then it drifted to his cock, and Burton lost the wind to tell him anything at all.

"Spread your legs a little," Ernie whispered. "I'm going to get your... ah, yeah."

Personal wasn't even the word for it. The washrag moved between his legs, spending a lavish, soapy moment on each ball, and then... oh Lord, the crease of Burton's ass. Burton made a whimpering sound.

"You want me to stop?"

Yes because I like this and I shouldn't and--

Burton put his hands flat against the wall and leaned forward, spreading his legs. It was like his brain  was saying all the things it should be but his body was on a whole other mission.

Ernie reached over him and grabbed the shower head then hosed off all of Burton's vulnerable bits. For a moment, Burton watched as the soap went down the drain and wondered if his inhibitions went with it.

"Your turn," Ernie said, sounding happy. Well of course. Ernie was just fine with sex, just fine with being gay. Ernie went to clubs and trusted that only the nice people would feel him up, put their hands on him, take him home to those tangles of bodies where the sex protected his fragile mind.

Burton felt a moment of hostility as he took the washrag, thinking it wasn't fair that Ernie should know all these things about showers and bodies and how what they  were doing was going to end. But when he turned around, Ernie had assumed the same position Burton had, and his bitterness washed away too.

He was totally and completely vulnerable.

And Burton had just made himself that way for Ernie, and Ernie had done nothing but washed him, gently and firmly.

Burton took a deep breath and began to soap his back. Ernie let out a happy sigh and wiggled his shoulders, helping Burton out as it were. Then Burton worked his way to Ernie's pits, and took his cues from Ernie's own ministration, being firm so he didn't tickle. Flanks, hips, backside--but not too personal--and the back of the thighs followed, and then he paused.

"Chickening out?" Ernie taunted softly.

Burton moved closer so he could wrap his arms around the boy's (man's!) chest and soap that. His front to Ernie's back, his groin pressed against Ernie's bottom.

His cock swelled and he pretended it wasn't happening.

Instead kept his movements to the washrag, but he could tell by the way Ernie shivered that he liked the roughness over his nipples.

Just keep going... and then what? You're going to wash each other and this is going to end?

His hand stalled out below Ernie's navel, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Then Ernie grabbed his wrist and guided him, slowly, over his groin, between his thighs. He let go of Burton's hand for a moment and propped his foot on the side of shower, and spoke into the sudden silence.

"Everything, Lee. You can do it."

Burton closed his eyes against the wave of arousal that swept him, and his cock--already thick and hard, grew to the point of aching. More than anything he wanted to wash this guy's crease, his asshole, the taint below his balls.

His hands shook and he tried not to be rough, but Ernie grunted, not sounding put off at all.

"My God you want me," he moaned breathily. "Now rinse."

Burton didn't even ask why. Ernie leaned forward, legs spread, and Burton could see his hole, clean and pink, and fought the urge to lick absolutely everything he'd just dragged the washrag over.

Everything.

He used the shower head to rinse away the sides and thought longingly of clean skin and not too much soap.

He turned around and shut off the shower, almost disappointed when he realized Ernie had reached outside for a towel for each of them. Burton took the towel and wiped his face first, then started drying everything off, when Ernie stopped him.

"What?" Burton whispered, cock aching, body confused and aroused, heart crying out for a thing it had never defined.

"Now's when you're glad you brushed your teeth," Ernie whispered back, and after touching each other privately, intimately, his mouth on Burton's felt overdue, like they should have kissed the moment they met.

Burton groaned, pushed harder, devouring him...

Drinking him in like nectar.

Ernie pulled his hips forward, until their bodies were grinding together, only the towels between them. Burton dropped his towel and cupped Ernie's lean behind, kneading and pulling, until Ernie broke away and moaned.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"For what?" Obvious question. Obvious answer. But Burton had never felt less like the obvious was true.

"To taste all the parts of me," Ernie asked. "To know my body inside."

Weak. Burton's knees went weak, as he imagined thrusting inside Ernie's pink and winking hole.

"All of it," he begged, no longer surprised when his mouth or his hands or his cock took over and ran the operation. "I want to know all of you."

Ernie bit his lip again, sucking it into his mouth.

 "I've been waiting my whole life for you to ask."

Ficlet Weekend: Scorched Haven, Part 7

*yawn*

Saw Angry Birds today, and then came home and slept. I don't know why I was so tired--but wow. Just, you know, wow.

Anyway, the movie was amusing--I enjoyed it, possibly because I enjoy writing grumpy fuckers like Bracken and Rance and Sonny, and I like the level of sincerity a character like that can show us.

So, that's not really a segue, but it does get us to Zeb, who isn't so much grumpy as "trying to be detached and failing".  And to Colton, who's name I liked so much I named my fictional small town after him, in the book I'm working on now, Geezers in Love. 

I may have to rethink that name... hmmm... but in the meantime, enjoy!

*  *  *  *

Zeb never forgot what a gift his wolf form was.

He loved smelling his world like a wolf, because even if the smells were bad, they were three dimensional, and his brain did whole other things with smells as a wolf than they did as a human. He loved seeing the world in terms of blue sky and prey.

He loved hunting.

Confidently he led Colton the wolf down a small animal track, nostrils flared, in search of game. Oh yes--there we go. A jackrabbit!

Behind him, Colton whined, probably with hunger, but Zeb growled, keeping him on the leash. Don't spook dinner, dammit!  He threw a glare behind him and gestured with his muzzle to a large patch of rushes at the bole of giant tree. They were running through orchard land, and this tree didn't fit in with the others. It wasn't fruit bearing for one, and it was old--a willow perhaps? Birch? Zeb didn't know dick about trees, but this one was meant for shade over a swimming hole.  There were probably rabbits in there.

Sure enough, while Zeb watched, Colton blundered through the brushes, clumsy as a human, and three jackrabbits popped out, running toward Zeb at full speed.

Snap! Snap! Swipe!

Zeb moved with the Goddess's speed (he'd heard Cory call it hyper speed) and took down all three bunnies, then yipped shortly to Colton.

Who was there in a heartbeat, devouring them, bones, skin, and all.

Zeb waited patiently, nursing his own hunger. He was the grownup here--he'd had his own first transition three years earlier, in controlled circumstances, about three weeks after he'd been bitten and cleansed of his addictions.  There had been a ceremony, and a chance to run with all of the other were creatures under the full moon. Afterwards he'd ended up back in his room at Green's hill, a random pixy boy in his bed.

The run had been glorious and the sex had been sweet--if not repeatable. Unless they had a bonded marriage (a thing so rare Zeb knew of only a few couples who had done it) the fey tended to be promiscuous as a rule.

But, as he'd learned in the following three years, sometimes the moment was as important as the future after it, and that moment had made him happy.

Zeb didn't have a full moon feast to give Colton, or a sweet little pixy boy to teach him about happy sex, or an Adrian to tell him that his fuckups didn't matter, he still had so much to offer.

All he had was three rabbits, and the wherewithal to wait for a frozen burrito at the gas station before they were forced to flee again.

Colton finished the final jackrabbit, grunting a bit in what was still hunger, but obviously sated enough to think.  Zeb jerked his nose toward the car, and Colton gave a downcast look.

Yeah, it was cool being a werwolf-- he probably wanted more time.

Zeb licked his ear gently, understanding, and then gave it a little tug.  Colton nodded, and together they trotted back to the car.

For a moment as they drew near, Zeb panicked. He couldn't remember how he'd figured out how to turn back--one minute, he'd been an animal with his pack, and the next he'd been...oh no. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no--

He was in the middle of a full-blown panic when Green sounded faintly in his head. Fight it or fuck it, Mate--pick your comedown. 

Zeb remembered now. He'd become human because there'd been a cute pixy boy, naked and grinning, stroking his pink and blue cock in the middle of the Goddess Grove. Suddenly Zeb had been naked too, and stroking it for him.

Oh.

Zeb picked up speed, hoping to get to the car in time to change, hoping he could give Colton some of what he'd need before the boy got rough. Zeb could take it--like Colton, he healed bullet wounds within minutes. But there was a lingering guilt when you hurt someone during intimacy, even if the Goddess had a hold of you and you were trying to fight it.

He arrived at the car about two hundred yards ahead of Colton and, looking quickly to make sure they were still unmolested on this empty stretch of road, he changed.  And closed his eyes and thought of Colton, naked, wanting, his skin aching with need.

It didn't take him long to get hard--a few moaning strokes of his cock.  He heard a rustle from the weeds by the car, and when he opened his eyes, Colton was there, in wolf form, gazing at him masturbating with hunger in his golden wolf's eyes.  Zeb met those eyes and sucked his thumb into his mouth, and then, very deliberately, skated his thumb across the dripping bell of his cock.

That quickly, Colton was a man, naked, crouching before Zeb, and he pulled Zeb's cock into his mouth like it was the thing that would save his life.

Zeb groaned, sagging back against the car, and let him. Suck, suck, suck, suck... oh, that's a boy-- you know what you need. You need it filling you, your mouth, your throat. You need me, servicing you, slipping my finger behind you, making you scream--

"Aaah!" Zeb screamed, arching and spilling down Colton's throat. God, that had been quick--and he needed to be just as quick on the return. Colton wouldn't be able to think--wouldn't be able to run--unless he got this need met. Damn changeling werewolf biology-- it certainly didn't help two guys on the run.

Colton was still suckling--and Zeb was getting hard again--but that couldn't happen. Not now. Zeb reached down and grabbed Colton by the hair, pulling him up as he whimpered reluctantly.

"My turn," Zeb grated, whirling Colton around so he could lean against the car.  But first... oh Goddess. This poor kid--forced to change on the run. Forced by drives he barely understood to do this thing, this private thing, with a guy he hardly knew. Zeb pressed their mouths together, urgently, taking him in a carnal kiss of apology, apology for getting him shot, for making him change, for dirty sex on the side of the road. He tasted rabbit blood, salt, even tears, and it didn't repel him, because they'd been wolves together, and this thing they were doing, even as humans, it was still mostly wolf.

Colton let out a sigh and then a whine, his hard, muscular body thrusting up against Zeb's without thought. He needed--so bad it probably hurt--and Zeb dropped to his haunches and took what was truly a magnificent cock into his mouth. Thick and uncut, Zeb pulled the foreskin back and played gently with the bell against his palate and tongue. He was rewarded with Colton's whine and rough fingers in his hair.

"Zeb, it hurts... my skin's gonna explode!" he moaned.  Zeb rewarded his honesty with a strong fisted stroke, and a firmer pressure on the cockhead. "Yesssss..."

And again, and again, and faster and harder, until Colton was holding his head and thrusting his hips, shoving that thing down Zeb's throat while Zeb gave thanks he didn't gag. Oh Lord, this kid felt so good in his mouth--his smell and his taste were intoxicating, his thickness filling and good. He shoved his head forward, taking Colton to the back of his throat and it was Colton's turn to whine, Colton's turn to scream, while Zeb swallowed hard, swallowed it all, gave thanks for more, and took all that kid had to give.

At last, he was done, and Zeb leaned his head against Colton's thigh for a minute's respite.

"Zeb?" Colton asked uncertainly.

Zeb looked up and smiled, taking the kid's offered hand and standing, then pulling him into a tight, comforting embrace. "Good kid," he whispered. "Good kid--you did fine. It's okay. Don't worry about the sex--it wasn't wrong. Not your fault. You did good."

Colton relaxed into him, pliant and needy for a moment as Zeb didn't think he was that often. "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you. Thank you."

"You did good."

"Thank you."

One more moment, holding him. One more moment consoling him for all the things he'd lost and all the frighting things he'd gained. One more moment, their bare skin pressed together in the dusty sun.

And then they had to change and run, because one moment was all they could afford.