by B. G. Thomas
“Christ!” Kevin shouted, and Wyatt was buried balls deep, and he knew if he moved even a fraction of an inch it would be over. Kevin was so hot, so deep, so tight, so wet! He trembled, and Kevin reached out and took Wyatt in his arms and pulled him up and on top of him, and Wyatt’s cock seemed to bury itself even deeper into Kevin.
Kevin strained his face forward and took Wyatt’s mouth with his—as surely as Wyatt was taking Kevin’s ass—and plunged his tongue inward, and Wyatt gasped and, without knowing it, started a motion as old as mankind. He fucked his lover.
To be fair, neither of them lasted very long. Wyatt tried, but it was just too much, all of it, the reality of what was happening and being in Kevin’s arms and his hot depths, and suddenly he—without warning even to himself—was cumming hard, and it almost hurt it was so powerful. He felt like he was shooting his life into Kevin. They were both sweating profusely by then, and Wyatt’s slick furry belly had been sliding against Kevin’s cock and now it was shooting, firing great white jets of semen between them that fell upon Kevin’s belly and chest and neck and once on his right cheek.
Wyatt’s legs and knees gave out, and he collapsed atop Kevin. His vision went blurry, but somehow, miraculously, he didn’t pass out. He lay gasping in Kevin’s arms, his cheek against Kevin’s drenched chest, listening to the pounding of his beautiful heart—or perhaps listening to his own in his ears.
After a long while, Kevin moved in such a way that Wyatt slid off him and to the side. Wyatt’s cock had long since grown soft and left his man.
Still they held each other and looked into each other’s eyes and kissed and kissed until they both, incredibly, began to harden again, and then Kevin had his turn.
Kevin turned Wyatt onto his belly and kissed him everywhere and then made love to his ass with his mouth and all but sobbed about the beauty of it—Wyatt’s face blazed from the compliments; he could scarcely believe them—and Kevin, like Wyatt, took a long time at what he did.
He had to prepare Wyatt for something much bigger than what Wyatt had taken Kevin with.
Wyatt was afraid and not—afraid of the size, but not of Kevin—and when Kevin was finally inside him, he had never felt so incredible in his life. So big and so warm, and it filled Wyatt, claimed him, took him, made him Kevin’s.
They lasted only slightly longer, with Kevin biting at Wyatt’s shoulder and Wyatt pushing back into every hard thrust, and then they were both cumming, Kevin inside him—he could feel it!—and Wyatt against the mattress.
And then Wyatt really knew no more as he was pulled down into the most excellent bliss of dreams and love.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
WYATT WOKE again, but this time to pain.
Gods. Pain.
Wait! What was this? What…?
His lower back…. It was…. “Gods,” he groaned. Oh! Like a knife to his lower back—left side? Right? He couldn’t tell and…. “Aaaarrgh!”
Kevin jerked.
Oh, then more! Gods, it hurt! Wyatt cried out, and his arm flailed without control.
“Wyatt?”
Kevin was lifting up on one elbow and looking at him. “God, baby, are you all right?”
And no! He wasn’t all right.
He bent one way—no, that was worse—bent another and—no! That was even worse!
“Kevin!” he cried. Oh shit…. “My back! It’s… it’s killing me!”
Kevin sat up, unlocking their legs. Sat up totally, and their eyes locked for only a second, and then the pain, it was just too much. Wyatt closed his eyes and tried shifting, tried anything…. Some new position. There had to be one to stop this!
So much pain! It was hurting. Gods, gods, gods…!
“Baby Bear, please” came Kevin’s voice from very far away. “Roll onto your stomach.”
Wyatt tried, but even that was not comfortable and—oh, oh, oh—Kevin’s big hands were massaging his back and…
“Lower,” Wyatt managed between gasps.
Those hands, flexing, fingers probing….
“Lower.” He tried to point, tried to bend his arm in a way that would let him point his outthrust thumb where the pain was coming from, and gods—it, hurt, so, much!
Kevin’s hands found the spot, and for one second there was tremendous relief, but then it was worse. “No! Stop!”
“Oh, Wyatt! Tell me how to help you. What’s wrong?”
The branch? Had the branch hit him there? Was this some kind of delayed…? Then waves of pain radiated out and up and drowned his ability to speak.
Tears were streaming down his face, and for one instant Howard loomed over him to call him a crybaby, but Wyatt used the pain for strength and banished that face away.
He bent again, flipped over, bent another way and—fuck!—his back hurt so much! How could anything hurt so bad?
Kevin was up and out of bed and dressing. “I’m going to get help.” Wyatt could hear the desperation in his voice, and it made him feel bad, but gods, he was hurting so very much it was drowning out everything. He could barely think.
“I’ll be right back!” Kevin assured him and then was out the door.
Gone! He’s gone?
Wyatt tried do sit up, and nausea hit him immediately.
Throw up. I’m going to throw…. He swung his face over the edge of the bed and felt it hit, but nothing—nothing came up. Dry heaves wracked him, and he broke out into a sweat. Wrong. Oh gods, there’s something wrong with me…!
The heaves hit him again, and he somehow made it to the edge of the bed and swung his feet to the floor and—Oh fuck! Oh gods!—he retched and retched again and nothing. Nothing came up. New sweat washed across his forehead, even above his lip, and he wiped both and retched again.
“Wr-wrong….” Gods! “S-some-th-thing’s wrong with….”
The door opened and in came not only Kevin, but Saffron and Gryphon as well. She, in the lead, took one look and rushed to his side.
She touched Wyatt’s forehead and her hand felt so cool, but….
“Only a slight fever,” she said. “And that’s a maybe. Wyatt? Tell me what’s going on.”
He shook his head. “I—I d-don’t kn-know.” The heaves hit once more, and he was sure he would throw up this time—fuck, right in front of everyone—and he saw the trash can and staggered to his feet, only to fall to the floor.
“Wyatt!” cried Kevin.
At least he was by the trash can, and he stuck his face over it and… no. Great heaves, but nothing.
Kevin was at his side, and he was so humiliated, acting like this in front of people!
Saffron was there as well, and she and Kevin, once she was sure he was done, helped him back to the bed. He shivered and his teeth chattered and—
“Gryf! Take the Bobcat. Didn’t you say a plow went by a little while ago?”
“Yes,” he answered swiftly. “But it threw snow at the gate and—”
“Exactly. Get the Bobcat down there fast and clear that up. Pronto!”
And Gryphon was out the door.
“Wyatt, can you tell me what you’re feeling? Kevin said something about your back?”
Her voice came from miles and miles away, and Wyatt felt high, like he’d smoked some really great pot—which he rarely did, although he usually had one of Lorax’s magic brownies ever year at Festival—and, oh no! The pain came back—WHAM!
“Aaarrghh”! He bent double, almost fell on the floor again, and tried to answer—“Oh yes it’s my back and it’s horrible, horrible!”—but nothing would come out of his mouth, not dinner and not words.
Some small part of him saw Kevin wringing his hands, his eyes—usually so beautiful, but now ghastly—open wide. “I have to do something!”
“And you’re going to,” Saffron said. “Your truck. Wyatt’s Mini Coop. They’re both still buried?”
Wyatt didn’t hear an answer, only Saffron’s next words. “You’ll take the camp truck. It’s a piece of shit in some ways, but the heat works like a m
otherfucker, and it’s good in the snow for some magically crazy reason. The keys are under the sunscreen. Get it started.”
“Want me to back it up?”
“Why? There’s just snow along the road. We’d have to wade through it. We best get Wyatt up to—”
“I cleared a path from North Five down to the road.”
“You did?” Saffron asked, the surprise clear in her voice.
“So Wyatt could go to Pax Place and work his rit—”
“In this snow? Mother!”
“That’s how he got buried in the snow and—”
“Men!” cried Saffron. “What would you…? Oh, never the hell mind. Yes! Go! Get the truck! And whatever you do, don’t drive it into the ditch along the road.”
Like Gryphon before him, Kevin all but saluted and was out the door.
Saffron turned to Wyatt. Leaned so she could reach behind him and started doing something to his back. God, it hurt! How could anything hurt like this?
“No bruises,” he heard her say from a million miles away. She touched his forehead. “Wyatt.” When he didn’t respond, she said it again. “Wyatt!”
He turned to her and her face was swimming in a sea of pain. He began to shiver again, and it was only then that he realized he was naked. He dropped his hands into his lap.
“Oh for the Goddess’s sake, Wyatt. I’ve seen you naked on the beach before. I’ve seen more dick than a prostitute in King’s Landing. Now look at me.”
Wyatt did as commanded, as all men around here appeared to do.
She took him by the shoulders and looked at him. It felt like into him. She closed her eyes and ran a hand down his back—slowly, slowly, slowly—and stopped right where the pain was, exactly. Spread her fingers out. Flexed them. Pressed.
“Oh gods,” Wyatt groaned.
“That’s where the pain is,” she said. It was not a question.
He tried to answer, and when words once more refused to issue forth, he nodded instead.
“Thank the Goddess this happened today instead of a few days ago. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”
“H-hospital?” he moaned.
“Yes. I think it’s your gallbladder. I’m pretty certain of it, in fact.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he whined, and she nodded and told him she knew that but he was going anyway.
“No insurance,” he said.
“Well, the local hospital is one of those that starts with ‘Saint,’ and that means it’s a charity hospital. You show them you don’t have the means and they’ll write tons off. Gryphon didn’t have to pay a penny when he had his appendectomy year before last.”
“Gryph-on had an app-app-app….” Another wave of pain—no, fuck that, agony—hit, and he couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Appendectomy. Yes.”
“D-didn’t….” That was as far as he got.
“Yeah, well, we didn’t broadcast it. Gryf’s that way. Now let’s get you dressed. I’ve seen your weenie a time or six, but you don’t need to walk into the emergency room that way.”
Wyatt’s eyes went wide, and then he started to laugh and gods! Hurt!
She got up and looked at the scattered clothes, began to pick them up. “Which of these are yours? Crap. These are all wet.”
“Th-there….” Wyatt pointed at his bag on one of the cots.
She went to it and started pulling things out willy-nilly. Settled on some sweats and a T-shirt—the one that read I Kicked Anorexia’s Butt!—and went to him. “Underwear, chief?”
“R-red-and-b-black p-p-plah-plaid.”
“Huh?” She looked around and then said, “Oh!” and fished them out from under the table.
How did they keep getting under there?
“Okay, now, let’s get these on,” she said and knelt in front of him and helped him get his feet through the leg holes.
He had time—in a strange, pain-riddled interval—to reflect that there was a woman on her knees in front of him, and that had never happened nor would likely happen ever again, and he started to laugh again and—more pain!—regretted it. She looked up and must have seen what he was thinking because she laughed too and said, “Yeah, well, to everything there is a season, yeah, yeah, yeah. Now can you stand up, Little Bear?”
Somehow he did, wishing slightly that it was Kevin doing this, but what the fuck. To everything there is a season, after all, a time to every purpose, and she pulled his underwear up and then helped him into his sweatpants. Next was his T-shirt, and that was a bitch and a half.
“This too,” she said and picked up a sweatshirt. He tried to tell her that it was Kevin’s, and she said, “Whatever. Isn’t that part of what’s so great about being a bum bandit, you can wear each other’s clothes?”
Wyatt’s mouth fell open, and then he saw she wasn’t being cruel at all, just trying to lighten the mood, and that made him laugh, but the pain made him stagger. “S-stop m-ma-king me laugh!”
She smiled her Mother-Goddess smile and then said, “Well, it’s better than crying.” Then: “Arms up!” and she dressed him like a child, and suddenly he was glad it was her and not Kevin.
Speaking of whom, he came bursting through the door right then, while Saffron was sitting him down and putting him into two mismatching socks.
“Saffron!” Wyatt moaned and pointed and worried about what the ER people would think of him with one Hanes sock and one with a black W at the top—Kevin’s?—and once again it was like she could read his mind, and she rolled her eyes and told him that she thought he was going to be all right.
“Now remember, tell them you think it’s your gallbladder. It’ll save a shit-ton of time and tests, okay?”
He nodded.
“Kevin—”
(he all but snapped to attention)
“—you tell them, okay? Tell them you think it’s Wyatt’s gallbladder.”
“Gallbladder?” In his back? But your gallbladder is…. “It wasn’t the tree?”
“I was a medic in Desert Storm, and I saw a lot.”
Next it was shoes and coat—it was only damp—and gloves (Kevin’s) and when they saw how wet his bear hat was, Saffron pulled off her own bright orange wool cap and put it on Wyatt’s head, and Wyatt was still trying to process that Desert Storm thing. Saffron? Peace goddess who wouldn’t let people kill copperheads? Saffron was in Desert Storm?
Then they both helped Wyatt out the door and down the steps (it was a procedure) and then up the path and down to the road and into the thrice (at least) beat-up Camp pickup.
“Good luck,” she said and hugged Kevin and then leaned in the door and kissed Wyatt’s cheek. “You’re going to be fine in the end. Just remember you have people who love you to get you there, okay?”
Love me?
He nodded.
“Remember,” she said again. “You will make it. We always do. We have to. And a year from now, you’ll look back at this and remember only the good that happened here tonight.”
“The good?” he managed.
Her eyes flashed. “The love,” she said and then stood and slammed the door.
Kevin was already in the cab by then, and he drove them carefully down the road and then very, very carefully down the steep hill that went to the gate and to the main road. The Bobcat was pulled to the side, and Gryphon waved them through.
“He got it cleared!” Kevin cried, marvel in his voice, and he lifted one hand in a quick wave and then they were on the road.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
FOR KEVIN it was a nightmare. Wyatt was in pain. All he wanted to do was make the little bear happy, and tonight, on a snowy road on a cold, cold night, there was nothing he could do to help.
But get him to the hospital.
How could this be happening? They were making love a few hours ago—at last—and God, it had been exquisite! And now Kevin was afraid Wyatt was dying.
Poor Wyatt. He couldn’t find a single way to be comfortable. Kevin had insisted he
wear a seat belt, but that intensified Wyatt’s pain so much. The only way he seemed to get any relief was to push his feet down onto the floorboards and straighten himself out—and that meant no seat belt.
The GPS in Kevin’s smartphone led them to the hospital, and they got there just as the sunlight was beginning to touch the horizon. There weren’t many cars parked by the emergency room, thank God, but it wasn’t like he was worried about that. Fuck parking! He pulled up near the glass doors, got out, and ran for Wyatt’s side of the car. Pulling it open, he paled when he saw his love by the hospital lights. He looked blue. His lips looked blue!
He helped Wyatt out of the car—Wyatt crying out as Kevin did so—and they headed in, the doors sliding silently aside.
“Help!” Kevin called out, arm around Wyatt and practically carrying him. “We need help!”
A male nurse rushed out and helped them to the counter, but as soon as the lady in charge saw Wyatt’s face, she took them back into the emergency room proper. There were only a few people in the waiting room.
She immediately started asking questions, and Kevin did the best he could to answer. Wyatt was hardly saying anything.
“G-g-gall…,” Wyatt tried. “Saff… Saff… ron s-says… my-my… gallbladder….”
“Who’s Ron?” the lady asked.
“Saffron,” Kevin supplied. “She’s….” What did he say? A caretaker at a witch camp? “She was a medic in the Army.”
The woman gave him a look he couldn’t identify, nodded, and began working on Wyatt. “You’re in a lot of pain?” she asked.
Wyatt—who was lying on one of the ER beds by now—let out a long moan and a tear ran down his face, and Kevin’s heart broke. We were making love!
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Kevin said, implying (he hoped) that he knew Wyatt well. Then, very quietly, “He’s scaring the crap out of me.”
The nurse nodded and asked Wyatt more questions: Where does it hurt? How long? When did you first feel it? On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, how would you rate your pain?