by Abigail Roux
Ash grabbed him, but he pushed at him instead of pulling, slamming him against the wall at the base of the stairs to keep him from falling. Wyatt couldn’t tear his eyes from Ash’s; their dark brown depths were nearly black in the low light. He could feel Ash’s breath on his lips, the scent of beer and something more earthy, like sandalwood, assaulting him. Wyatt’s entire body tingled.
Then they began to laugh. They tried to remain quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, but it swiftly degenerated into the simultaneous snickering and snorting and hushing that always manifested when drunks tried to be quiet.
“Please tell me you can walk up the steps,” Ash said with a hushed giggle.
“How many floors?” Wyatt looked up the narrow, winding stairway.
“One little flight,” Ash whispered, his voice low and tantalizingly intimate. He slid his arm around Wyatt’s waist again and pulled him away from the wall.
Wyatt turned into him and kissed him hard. Ash stumbled, and his back hit the wall as Wyatt pressed into him, his body thrumming as Ash returned the kiss.
The bang of a closing door several floors above them forced them apart to look up. They stood frozen, panting against each other’s mouths as they waited. The door closed again and all was silent.
“Okay,” Ash whispered, nodding as if he were agreeing with something. “Okay.”
“Stairs,” Wyatt murmured against Ash’s lips. Ash nodded once more before Wyatt kissed him again.
They climbed the stairs together, staggering and gripping the railing. As they neared the top where the stairs curved around, Ash bent over and began crawling. Wyatt leaned against the wall and laughed as Ash reached the landing and sprawled on his back in front of the first door, but his laughter died away as he let his eyes drift appraisingly over Ash’s body.
“That your door?”
Ash managed to nod without lifting his head from the floor, and held up his keys as he lay on the landing, his legs still on the steps. Wyatt leaned over him, bracing his hand on the floor as he took the keys. He pressed his body down onto Ash’s and kissed him.
Ash’s arms wound around his neck and Wyatt growled low in his throat, rolling his hips against Ash’s groin. He couldn’t quite believe he was being so reckless, but the combination of the drinks and his intoxicating companion was too much for his inhibitions or common sense to combat.
With a great deal of effort, Wyatt pushed himself back up and stood, pulling Ash to his feet. Ash took the keys and hastily unlocked his door.
They said very little as they made their way across the living room. Ash shed his outer layer of clothing as he led Wyatt toward the bedroom, and Wyatt gave the condo a cursory glance as he followed. It was clean and neat, with large pieces of dark wood furniture that had the strange effect of making the small rooms look bigger.
The bed in Ash’s bedroom was large, too, and unmade—an endearing quirk amidst an otherwise tidy home. Wyatt was sure he’d appreciate it later, when he didn’t have more pressing things on his mind.
He reached for Ash’s suspenders and used them to pull the man closer. Ash grinned as Wyatt looked him up and down.
“These things come in handy,” Wyatt said as he slid his fingers up the coarse material.
“They do have their uses,” Ash purred. He slid his thumbs under the suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders, backing away from Wyatt’s grasp with a wicked twist to his lips.
Wyatt followed, entranced.
Ash flopped onto the end of the bed, pushing his trousers to the floor as he slid up into the middle of the bed and lay out on his back. Wyatt dropped his jacket and reached for his belt.
“Do you make this a habit, Dr. Wyatt?” Ash asked as he pushed his boxers down his hips.
Wyatt took a deep breath, enjoying the free show. “Not really.”
Ash smiled in the half-light that filtered through the blinds, his eyes shadowed and unreadable. “Me either.”
“Good to know.” Wyatt pushed his own pants to the ground, yanked his shirt over his head, and climbed onto the bed.
Ash reached for him. Wyatt settled between his spread legs as they kissed messily, and Ash pulled a knee up and slid his leg over Wyatt’s hip. He grinned as Wyatt gasped against the kiss. “You like the tongue stud, right?”
Wyatt nodded.
Ash kissed him again, then whispered, “Kissing’s not the only thing it makes more interesting.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Wyatt’s cock jumped against Ash’s thigh, stirring an intense desire deep in his gut.
Wyatt loved the way Ash writhed and whimpered when he stroked his fingers down his thigh, the way he curled around Wyatt in an impressive display of flexibility. He loved the way Ash’s skin smelled of cigarette smoke, liquor, sweat, and sandalwood, a heady combination that evoked thoughts of taboos and forbidden territories. He loved the way Ash tasted like something new and unexplored, how Ash’s tongue ring made each kiss something he’d never experienced.
Ash’s hands dragged over Wyatt’s skin, tugging at him, digging in as they rutted against each other, nails leaving burning trails as Wyatt kissed him. Finally, he pushed at Wyatt to make him sit back on his knees. Ash was stunning, spread out on the bed, legs wrapped around Wyatt’s waist.
He was even more stunning when he had Wyatt’s cock in his mouth a few moments later, lips sliding against skin, tongue doing unspeakable things that made Wyatt curl over him and grab a handful of his hair in warning.
When Ash pulled back and smirked up at him, Wyatt could hardly breathe. Ash made sure to lick him up and down one last time, leading the way with that piece of metal that seemed designed just for this sort of thing, before crawling across the bed to stretch for a nearby drawer.
Ash tossed a condom and lubricant to Wyatt and turned over to his hands and knees.
Wyatt rolled the condom on, his entire body thrumming for more intoxicating exploration. Ash moaned, long and loud, when Wyatt gripped his hips from behind and worked his cock into him.
Wyatt lowered his head and groaned, his entire body swamped by lust and alcohol and an unusual feeling of being in a different atmosphere. He promised himself he would analyze that feeling later, when he didn’t have his cock buried in the most fascinating, alluring man he’d ever met.
When he began to move, he groaned again, louder this time. His thrusts were slow at first, to give Ash a chance to adjust, but Ash gasped and pushed back into him demandingly. Wyatt bit his lip and sped his movements, unable to close his eyes for the need to watch the way Ash’s lithe body moved against his, the way his cock spread Ash apart and pushed inside him.
Ash reached up and grabbed the headboard of the old wrought-iron bed, preventing it from banging against the wall as Wyatt thrust into him harder and harder. As orgasm threatened, Wyatt bit his lip and stopped moving, gasping as he fought it. He pulled out of Ash with the greatest of care and crawled backward, yanking at Ash’s hips. Ash rolled onto his side, and Wyatt slid off the bed, standing at the edge and holding Ash’s hips, forcing himself to wait, letting the pressure in his gut die down as his cock throbbed.
“Come on.”
“Wait,” Wyatt gasped.
“I don’t care, I just want you back in there,” Ash said as he arched his back and pushed up with his hips.
Wyatt slid his hand down the middle of Ash’s back and pulled on his hip, pushing into him again. The mattress recommenced its creaking as Wyatt thrust into him, but the headboard didn’t complain any longer. Wyatt grabbed Ash’s shoulder, fingers digging into the skin as he held Ash still and pounded into him. Ash gasped desperately, threw his head back and arched, pushing into Wyatt’s thrusts. Wyatt reached with his other hand and grabbed a handful of Ash’s damp hair, panting as he rode him.
Ash cried out again and Wyatt released his hair and reached around to fist his cock. Ash bucked against him, writhing wantonly, groaning as he spilled himself into Wyatt’s hand. Ash’s pleasure seen to, Wyatt pushed him all the way to the mattress, holdi
ng him down flat and fucking him without mercy until he came with a stifled shout.
He continued rocking until he was spent, his breath coming in gasps against the back of Ash’s shoulder. He made certain the condom came with him when he pulled out, and he flopped onto the sheets, rolling onto his back, gasping for breath.
Ash grunted and turned his head. He was breathing heavily, skin damp with sweat, hair mussed and eyes still lined with the heavy kohl. How it wasn’t spread all over his face by now, Wyatt would never know. He looked completely debauched with the rumpled cognac-colored sheets as his backdrop.
Wyatt stared at him for a long time, breathing hard and letting his body recover, stunned by how such a sordid night could feel so fucking beautiful.
Ash closed his eyes. “Jesus, that was fun, Wyatt.”
Wyatt kissed him, a long, languid play of lips and tongues that banked the residual heat between them.
When they finally parted, they sprawled sideways across the bed. Wyatt stared at the ceiling as uncertainty and incredulity flooded in with the cool air of the open window. What had he been thinking? He didn’t even know this man, had spent a mere five hours with him getting drunk and pretending not to be intimidated by his perfect face and his unfamiliar lifestyle, and now here he was in his bed? He never behaved this impulsively.
“I need water,” he grunted as he pushed himself off the bed.
Ash didn’t move or open his eyes.
Wyatt huffed as he padded into the tiny bathroom, his mind spinning with thoughts of his next move. He stayed in the bathroom long enough to calm his racing heart. The encounter had been incredible, but rather than tiring him, adrenaline was racing through him, burning away any remnants of the drinks that had fueled his initial bravery and foolishness.
He looked at himself in the mirror. What the hell should he do now? Was he brave enough to face someone like Ash in the morning, when all the liquor and sexual tension was gone and there was nothing left between them but an awkward morning after?
When he poked his head back into the bedroom, Ash hadn’t moved. One arm cradled his head and one knee was cocked to the side. His other foot hung over the far edge of the bed, just as Wyatt had left him when he’d come inside him. He was sound asleep.
Wyatt licked his lips and swallowed hard, letting his eyes linger. Then he began quietly gathering his clothing.
Ash cracked an eye open and managed a tortured groan as the morning light streamed through the blinds of his bedroom. He was still sprawled sideways on his bed, naked and freezing despite the blanket that covered him.
The place was silent as a grave. Not even the floor above creaked with the footsteps of his neighbors yet. He raised his head carefully and looked around, pleased when it didn’t make his head hurt or make his stomach revolt. He knew instinctively that he didn’t have to waste his breath calling out for Wyatt Case. Wyatt had covered Ash with a blanket before he’d left, but he was long gone.
Ash pushed himself up and winced at sore muscles and a crick in his neck. “At least it was a good time,” he grumbled.
Despite his attempt at a cavalier attitude, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. And pissed off. He knew better than to bring someone home from the bar. For some reason, a sweet museum curator who had spent the entire night talking to him hadn’t struck him as the type to fuck and duck.
Ash sighed and shuffled into the bathroom. He stood in front of the toilet and looked out at the street through the bathroom’s window. It was the last week of September, but the house next to his building was already flying a Halloween flag at its stoop. A ghost with goggle eyes grinned stupidly at him as orange and red leaves fluttered across the road behind it.
October at Gravedigger’s meant big business, and Ash would need to go in soon to help with prep. He had no time to mope about being left alone in bed by a virtual stranger. He huffed and looked down, muttering as he flushed the used condom left in the bowl.
“So, tell me about the hot doctor,” Delilah said as she and Ash prepared the tavern for a busy Friday.
Ash looked up from the napkin he was folding. An unpleasant mixture of embarrassment, anger, and lust settled in him. “Maybe later.”
“Oh, come on! Please? I’ll tell you all the details of my night,” she bargained, waggling her pierced eyebrows.
“If I wanted to hear about what Ryan does in bed, I’d ask him.”
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry, was that still a secret?”
“Shut up,” Delilah said, blushing. “Did you take him home?”
Ash rolled his eyes and looked up again. She was smiling, looking at him expectantly.
“Yeah, I did.”
“And? Museum curator: untapped source of impressive lovemaking, or deserving of the dusty shelves?”
Ash couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it as he looked down at the napkin again. “Definitely the former.”
“Stellar. Are you seeing him again?”
“No,” Ash answered immediately, losing the smile.
“What? Why? You two were really cute last night. I thought you liked him.”
“I did.” Ash picked up the stack of silverware he’d just prepared and met Delilah’s eyes as he rounded the bar. He was about to tell her what had happened when a loud thump from upstairs interrupted him.
Delilah jumped, and Ash almost dropped his carefully rolled bundles of silverware as he looked up.
“What the hell was that?” Delilah asked.
Ash shook his head, and there came another thump from above, followed by a rattling and skittering that sounded like something scurrying across the floor.
“If we have mice up there, Caleb is going to hit critical mass,” Delilah said.
“That’s a really big-ass mouse.”
Delilah propped her broom against the nearest table and headed for the door to the upstairs. “I’m going to go check it out.”
“Hold on! What are you doing?” Ash hurried to unload the silverware and follow. “You don’t know what’s up there, it might be dangerous. Hold on.”
“Ash, I don’t need a big bad man to protect me, okay?”
“Do I look like a big bad anything?” Ash asked, laughing as he put a hand on his chest. “Seriously, though, hold on.” He went behind the bar and knelt to pull out the locked box that Caleb kept under there. It held an old .22 Colt revolver. Ash took it out and checked to see that it was loaded, then stood again.
“Maybe it’s a ghost,” Delilah said with relish.
“Yeah, that’s the most logical explanation,” Ash muttered as he walked back over to her.
“You know we’ve been getting tons of people saying they saw a face in the mirror in the bathroom? Creepy stuff.”
“I refuse to acknowledge what you just said. There’s been some weird break-ins around the neighborhood lately, Caleb was telling us about them the other night.”
Delilah frowned. “Oh.”
“You can’t just go heedlessly charging into danger, you need to know these things,” Ash admonished, smirking as he handed her the gun. “Take this when you go.”
“What?” She laughed and smacked his chest, ignoring the weapon. “No, now you have to go with me.”
They both jumped as something slammed against the locked door right beside them. Delilah put Ash between her and the door, her hands on his arms as she peered around him.
“Who’s there?” Ash called out, the gun hanging uselessly in his hand.
The only answer was a chilling scratching sound on the door, like stiff fingers trying to find purchase on the smooth wood.
“I’m so out of here,” Delilah whispered, and Ash felt her step away.
He shook his head and stepped forward to reach for the doorknob, clutching the .22 like the small caliber might do more than just piss off whatever he shot with it.
“No, no,” Delilah hissed, clutching at Ash’s suspenders as he gripped the glass doorknob and turned it.
There was a fl
urry of movement from the other side of the door, brushing and thumping and scratching, and when Ash pulled the door open and pointed the gun into the darkness, a bird shot out of the stairwell into his face.
Ash screamed. Delilah screamed. The bird screamed.
Ash’s world became a confusion of feathers in his face, shouting in his ear, being hit by a broom whenever Delilah missed the bird, and the overwhelming urge to duck under a table. When the dust and feathers cleared, the bird was perched on the decorative molding on top of the front window, and Delilah was laughing hysterically as Ash pulled pieces of straw from the broom off his clothing and out of his hair.
He grumbled as he looked up at the bird. It was large and black, its feathers an almost iridescent indigo. It had a black bill and yellow eyes that blinked rapidly at them as its chest heaved.
“Poor thing.” Ash moved slowly as he went to the front door and propped it open, looking up at the bird as he did so.
“He’s a grackle,” Delilah said as she helped him open windows.
“Huh?”
“My dad was a bird enthusiast,” she said with a shrug. “That’s a grackle.”
“What do I care?”
“I love the way that word sounds. Grackle.”
Ash laughed. “Are you high already?”
Delilah grinned and gave him a wink. “At least it wasn’t a ghost.”
It was only Monday morning, but Wyatt Case was sitting and staring at the vintage Thurston poster on the far side of his office, unable to concentrate.
He had never had a one night stand before. Never. He had never dealt with the aftermath, such as it was. He had never left a person he’d just had sex with, drunk, in bed without even a word of good-bye. Hell, he hadn’t even said thank you. Were you supposed to say thank you? Would that be insulting? Wyatt didn’t know. He knew you weren’t supposed to leave without telling the person you’d just screwed that you were going, though.
The knock at his door didn’t even register. It wasn’t until Noah stuck his head into the office and said his name that Wyatt tore his attention away from the poster and blinked at him, trying to get his eyes to focus.