“Leave him alone,” shouted Denny, plunging forward. “I’ll have you fucking arrested.”
Red in the face, Kit rammed his knee into Seb’s groin. Seb wheezed with pain and let the elf go. Fury exploding, Denny grabbed Seb’s collar and cracked his fist against his jaw. Seb stumbled back against the fence, which collapsed flat onto John’s path with Seb on top.
“I need backup. Now,” Neil barked into his comms. “Right, that’s enough. You’re in real trouble.” He swung the light on to Denny, who rubbed his sore knuckles, then turned to Seb. “And you’re an imbecile.”
Still sitting on the broken wood, Seb wiped his bleeding lip with a tissue. “What?”
“I didn’t mean check if it’s a man. Check if it’s an EB. Take down the hood and check its ears, its pulse. It’s pretty blatant, isn’t it?”
Denny pulled Kit flush against him, sealing his arm across the elf’s chest. “You touch a hair on my partner’s head, and I’ll call the police and get you both charged with homophobic assault.”
Neil pointed his beam at Seb, who stilled dabbed at his mouth. “Thanks to you, Denny, we’re the ones with evidence of assault. Now stop making things worse and hand him over.” Neil’s voice grew dull, as if he were drilling sense into an obstinate child. “It’s not worth throwing everything away for an EB. It’s just not.”
Denny drew a deep, leveling breath.
Leaving Jen. It hurt like hell. But if he had to run with Kit, he’d fight back. He’d make the world a better place for Jen, and maybe one day she’d understand. He hoped circumstances wouldn’t come to that. The prospect was agony. Yet what choice did he have?
No way could he give in to these bastards. He squeezed Kit and mustered a voice scarcely louder than a breath. “We’re going to run for it.”
“No, we’re not.” Kit broke free, shot out his arm, and offered his wrist to Neil. “Why should we? Listen, I know about EBs. Denny told me ’bout his job, but I’m not one of them.” He stretched closer. “Check.”
“What rules haven’t you broken, Denny?” Neil shook his head. Seb dragged himself up to wait at Neil’s shoulder, so Neil handed him the flashlight and pushed up Kit’s leatherette sleeve. He pressed beneath the heel of the elf’s palm. Lines seared Kit’s brow, as if he concentrated very hard.
“I can’t feel a thing,” said Neil.
“You’re not pressing the right place.” Kit caught Denny with his other hand, clutching him tightly, and Denny willed his pulse to strike through the elf’s body. A heavy beat seemed to reverberate through them both. Was that his heart or Kit’s? Seconds seemed to stretch into hours.
Then Neil dropped Kit’s wrist. “Bloody hell. It’s there, all right.” He stared to Kit and Denny’s linked hands. “Okay, he’s in latter stages of development, but he’s still an EB. I need to check without you clutching him. And take down that hood. I want to see the ears. No arguing with those.”
Denny stepped in front of Kit. “Do I have to tell you again? You lay another finger on him, I’ll have you arrested.”
“Oh dear.” Neil twisted his lips into a cynical smile. “How did you get past the government vetting system? This is what happens when you entrust queers to do a man’s job.”
Denny sighed heavily. Then he punched Neil fully in the face, sending him slamming back into Seb, and the both of them toppled into the bushes. The flashlight smashed and went out. Denny yelled in pain louder than his victim did—this was why he hated hitting people. It bloody well hurt. But the dim sight of Neil and Seb tangled in a spiky rose afforded yet another rush of adrenaline, enough to dilute his doubts. If there was going to be a fight for Kit, he’d win it.
“Well done,” murmured Kit. He touched Denny’s arm. “There’s a load of traffic coming. We’d better go.”
Denny nodded, panting, and they both hurried to the end of the drive. Several sets of headlights reared up the quiet suburban road, and the noise of engines grew louder. Expecting a cavalcade of white vans, Denny opted to lead Kit round the side of John’s house, from where they could make a break through the dark gardens. But then he recognized a black cab. It ground to a halt beside them, a door flew open, and Henry banged his stick against the pavement. Two white vans slowed to a halt behind the taxi.
“What the hell’s this?” Neil clambered up, rubbing his nose.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Henry climbed out of the cab. In his other hand, he brandished a wine-red British passport as if it were a lethal weapon.
“This,” he barked, “is my great-nephew’s passport. Denny here called me to explain there was some sort of trouble with Kit’s busking license yesterday, and I had to bring his ID over as soon as I could.” He cleared his throat with a furious growl. “I only just got the message, and I think it’s obscene! Disturbing a man of my age at this time of night over a busking incident. Why couldn’t the lazy bugger have fetched it himself?”
Scowling, Neil took the passport. Three more agents from Croydon climbed out of their transport and hurried to join him.
“What’s the status?” demanded the depot boss, Nancy, a woman of around forty-five whose commanding manner defied her delicate, birdlike appearance.
“Uh…oh.” Neil grimaced at the passport and passed it to his superior.
“The status,” said Denny, “is that two of your staff are homophobes who accused my boyfriend of being the escaped EB, even though he can produce a great-uncle to vouch for him and valid ID.”
“Your boyfriend?” Nancy looked doubtfully at Kit and then down to the passport. “Hmmm. This passport is for a man.”
“Yeah, I’m male.” Kit wiped the remnants of his lipstick on the back of his hand and then pointed to his chin. “I’m getting a five-o’clock shadow, which is doing havoc with me foundation. See?”
Nancy craned forward, scrutinizing Kit’s beard. Close up, Kit’s gender seemed obvious enough, but if she pulled down his hood and spied those telltale ears, all might still be lost. Kit pouted at her. Denny wished he wouldn’t. Whatever she did, Denny couldn’t punch Nancy.
She drew a little nearer, eyes narrowing.
Henry swiped her backside lightly with his cane, and she jumped. “Look, miss, this lad’s got two living parents who reside in a large mock Tudor house in Bromley. His father’s a leading barrister, you know. He’s holidaying in Madeira right now but is likely to take this incident quite seriously on his return.”
For the second time in five minutes, Denny’s great-uncle proved a convincing liar. Although if he hadn’t been ninety-four, Denny felt sure Nancy would have rightfully complained about sexual harassment. Instead, after recovering from her initial shock, she clicked her tongue and rounded on Neil.
“You idiot. Get out there and find the escaped EB this instant.” Turning back, she handed Kit his passport. “There you go,” she muttered. “And as for you, Denny.”
Denny forced himself to look mean and moody; in truth, he reeled with relief. “Yeah?”
“Report to management first thing Monday. You’ve got some serious questions to answer.”
He nodded, slipped his arm about Kit’s shoulder, and let out a long sigh.
The danger was over.
At least for now.
Chapter Eleven
When the black cab pulled away, Kit and Denny waved from the front doorstep like a couple. Despite Denny’s offer of the spare room, Henry preferred his own bed. Once the car lights vanished, they went inside. Denny shut the door and leaned back against it. Midnight drew close again. He felt shattered.
Standing beside the pile of paint pots, Kit admired his passport, running his fingers over the gold-embossed royal coat of arms on its cover. He opened it to his photo identity page, which showed Henry had, not unwisely, taken a few years off Kit’s real age.
Christopher March, date of birth, 25 August 1980.
“At last,” said Kit. “I belong somewhere in time.”
“I’m glad.” Denny yearned to pull Kit into an embrace, yet hes
itated. Danger had pumped up his energy levels for what seemed like an age. Having Kit here in his home without jeopardy wasn’t an anticlimax, but it felt unsettling.
I still hardly know you.
And I don’t think they write relationship guides for closet cross-dressers and Ethereal Beings who’ve been about since the time of the Crusades.
Kit slammed his passport down on top of one of the pots, then peeled off his jacket, which he slipped onto one of the hooks. His hair looked as messy as his makeup and stuck out in a dozen directions. Denny chuckled nervously, but his amusement died soon enough.
Underneath, Kit wore a skinny-fit black T-shirt, which hugged firm biceps and neat pecs that his previous scruffy outfit had swamped. Denny admired Kit’s arse and athletic legs, and his worries ebbed a little.
Oh yeah. When you fancy somebody this much, it doesn’t mean a relationship will work…but it helps.
“So what do you want to do now?” asked Kit.
“I dunno. Maybe we ought to just sleep. God, on Monday morning…I still haven’t a clue what I’m going to do.” Should he quit, face the music, go to one of the tabloid newspapers with an exposé, or what?
“It’s Friday, for heaven’s sake,” said Kit. “We’ve got two days to think everything over.”
“We?” He was the one with responsibilities. With Jen to consider, these decisions ought to be his alone. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Kit to back off. He suppressed a wince at the cliché galloping through his mind.
A problem shared is a problem halved.
Kit shot him a questioning look and then wandered toward the kitchen. “Also, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but it’s early days. I’d like to make things work, but…well, you know, this is my shot at making something of myself. I’m feeling strong, and maybe I should look around a bit before settling down.”
“You’re saying you don’t want this? I mean…us?” Denny’s knee-jerk panic startled him. He dashed after Kit. “You don’t want us to even try?”
Kit turned on the tap to fill the kettle and then glanced over his shoulder, lifting a brow. “Shall we talk about it over a nice cup of tea?”
Denny glowered. “You’re taking the piss.”
“Yeah.” Kit slammed down the kettle without turning it on. “I want to be with you more than anything, and I’m a manipulative little bastard. What you going to do about it?”
Denny grabbed him and pulled him close. Kit looped his arms about Denny’s shoulders, taking advantage of his heels again to press his lips easily to Denny’s. Kit’s mascara had run even messier than the panda-eyed girl’s had.
“Yes, you’re a manipulative bastard, and you look a total state.” Denny growled, his erection burgeoning as they pressed hard bodies together. “Why do I fancy you so much?”
“I could ask the same question. You look like a highwayman ready for the gallows.”
“Sod it.” Tea could wait. Denny shoved his shoulder to Kit’s chest and hoisted him up onto it. He carried him from the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, slapping Kit’s arse while the elf wriggled and yelped.
When he got Kit flat on the covers, the elf took control. He wrestled Denny onto his back, claiming him with a ravenous kiss and setting him moaning beneath the onslaught. Denny ran his fingers over Kit’s tight T-shirt, desperate to touch his sculpted chest, his smooth stomach beneath.
And he was dying to be fucked and filled by the cute guy who writhed on top, with his cheap Lycra miniskirt riding up around his hips. This was a dream Denny had never realized he harbored till the opportunity presented itself. Now that it had, he could not resist.
Denny wanted to be done by Kit in drag.
When the kiss waned, he suckled Kit’s lower lip before letting him break away. Hitching his knees up either side of the elf’s slender body, he wrapped his arms about Kit’s waist, pulling him close.
“You want to top?”
Kit threw his head back and laughed; he looked like a dirty golden angel, his delight as tangible as his relief. “I thought no one would ever ask.”
Kit yanked off his tights and then grabbed the lube from the bedside cabinet, urgency building in his steely eyes that seemed to burn on the verge of pain. Denny scrambled his jeans down and shoved one of his pillows beneath his back, his knees pulled up and buttocks thrust forward, ready for Kit to touch his arsehole for the first time. The coolness of the gel made him hiss, although Kit’s ministrations proved tender, and the elf did not yet push a digit inside.
A soft, sweet humming reached his ears. Kit’s gentle massaging about his opening willed him to relax, and he shifted his hips again, urging Kit to penetrate him. Kit obeyed, slipping a fingertip in easily.
Denny found him almost too gentle; he might have never bottomed, but he was more than ready. He muttered, “I can take more.”
Kit soon worked three digits in him, bringing a twist of pleasured pain and setting his whole body screaming for closer contact. He scrunched the sheet in his hand, his vision so blurred he could barely appreciate the exquisite sight of Kit, the elf’s cock engorged and weeping. His own prick jutted out like some monumental stone column set askew.
“You want me to use a condom?” asked Kit, his voice an alluring husk. “I can if you’re happier that way.”
Denny shook his head, recalling what Kit had said about elves not requiring protection. He decided to trust Kit. Besides, he’d expire if made to wait any longer. “Just fuck me now,” he pleaded.
Kit slipped out and lowered himself on his hands and knees, until the fabric covering his chest touched Denny’s thighs and his cock brushed between Denny’s buttocks. Kit rubbed his cockhead against Denny’s anus, probing gently, then harder, until Denny’s body gave easily, and the elf entered him with a swift shove. Kit parted his lips in a gasp of silent ecstasy, and Denny’s needful moan rumbled from his depths. Reaching up, he smoothed the line of Kit’s cheekbone, smudging his makeup further.
“You’re a kinky sod,” growled Denny. “I’m going to enjoy watching you come inside me.”
Kit flexed his arms, shifting his body slowly at first and all the while fixating on Denny’s eyes; he’d read only enjoyment there. Denny basked in the burgeoning comprehension that glimmered on Kit’s countenance.
We’ve both wanted this forever.
The elf started to fuck more forcefully, gathering speed and striking against Denny’s prostate. The mattress creaked. Denny murmured with bliss. “Damn…yes…damn good.”
He squeezed about Kit, losing control of his contracting muscles as his pleasure multiplied and he surfed the flow of sensation. Kit glided in and out of him, his cock fitting like he’d been born—or materialized—to sheathe it there.
I wonder what that was like—emerging randomly in the time of the Crusades? I’ll have to ask about it one day.
The thought brought no pang of regret or reservation. He didn’t care if Kit turned out to be a Martian. Without doubt the best sexual partner he’d ever had, Kit was kind and funny, he “got” him, he liked cleaning, he looked good in his home…and damn it, back to point one. He was great in bed.
If anything mattered beyond this final fact, Denny ceased to care. Kit’s stimulation of his prostate fractured his mind, his awareness reduced to the feel of the man inside him. When he opened his eyes, Kit’s face filled his vision, perspiration pouring from pale skin, mascara streaking his cheeks, and sublime concentration etched on his brow.
Their gazes met once more. Tears of pleasure could not dilute the fusion of their souls. Kit half laughed, half groaned, the abandoned cry of a guy who’d no need to recall his bad times, his ancient history. Like their bodies, their needs were in perfect harmony—to be here, making love just like this, and with nobody else.
Kit cried out again, burying himself till he smacked his balls against Denny’s upturned arse. The last of Denny’s faculties splintered, and he milked Kit’s cock, body and soul governed by the power of their union. Kit
grasped Denny’s prick, gently pumping. Denny’s every fiber tautened, his orgasm gathering in the base of his shaft. Pushing himself on one trembling arm, Kit teetered on the brink too; Denny read it in his clenching teeth and from the quick, desperate movements up his arse. He braced Kit’s chest, supporting him, giving him the leverage to make one last plunge.
“Agh!” Kit screamed.
Denny stared to the ceiling as the elf rammed into him, pummeling his sweet spot; the bedstead clattered against the wall, and the lamp shade shook. Kit climaxed inside him with several hot judders, simultaneously brushing his thumb over Denny’s glans and bringing forth an explosion of white liquid and bliss.
Kit collapsed on top of him, a tangle of damp hair and Lycra and sinewy limbs. Denny grunted, and then he grinned lazily. Damn, this felt good. He wanted to lie with Kit between his legs, softening inside him forever. But after a few moments, Kit extracted himself, and they settled more comfily.
Just before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to Denny he’d not kept his promise to John about keeping quiet. He experienced a vague stab of guilt, but it was hard to care.
He’d worry about that in the morning.
* * * * *
When he awoke, dull gray light filtered through the curtains.
Saturday at last.
And the second day in a row he hadn’t woken up alone.
Kit had rolled away in the night, but their legs remained entwined. As memories of the previous day’s events filtered back, Denny felt no tightness in his belly, no surge of worry. He brushed a strand of hair from Kit’s brow, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. The elf fluttered his clotted black lashes and opened his eyes, stretching an arm above his head.
“Hello,” said Denny.
Kit yawned. “Morning, gorgeous.”
They lay there tangled together. Denny wondered if either of them was going to do anything about their mutual morning hard-ons, but still felt too sleepy to initiate. His arse faintly sore from Kit’s fucking, he decided he might be in the mood to get his own back today. Maybe later. Right now, holding each other and breathing as one felt just too pleasant.
Catching Kit Page 11