A-Muse-Ing

by Willa Okati

  “Um,” Rory said, eyes crossed. “No?”

  “Good.” Harper caught the hem of Rory’s sodden T-shirt and tugged. “Off.”

  He peeled the wet garment away and indulged himself in a long, savory lick of the rainwater off Rory’s collarbones. Catching one nipple, pebbled from the abrupt shock of cool air, he nibbled and worried until Rory gasped and scrabbled for a hold on Harper.

  Fortuitously, he found something good and long and hard to grab. Harper tore away from the kiss, gritting his teeth. “All these clothes have to go. Now.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” Rory caught Harper by the wrists before he could attack Rory’s fly. “Wait.”

  Harper groaned, but he waited. “Tell me.”

  “I never thought you wouldn’t get me back,” Rory said, dropping Harper’s wrists to wind his arms around Harper’s neck. “Not for a single damn second. That’s it. Now hop to it, writer-boy. Let’s get naked and nasty.”

  “No more delays?”

  Rory slid his hand back where it best belonged and wrapped it around the rigid length of Harper’s cock. He thumbed the head, already slippery-slick, and asked, smirking, “What do you think?”

  “I think I should never assume anything when it comes to you.”

  “Smart man. I think I want you to fuck me. But if I don’t measure up…”

  Harper bit Rory’s shoulder to keep from whimpering. His cock jerked and released a warm, wet dribble of precum. “Shut up already.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  * * * * *

  Rory lay on his back in the center of Harper’s bed, sheets rucked up in folds around the lean expanse of his nude form. He raised his arms over his head to grasp the slats of the headboard and, almost shyly, spread his legs. His cock lay full and heavy against his belly, the darkness of it almost painful looking.

  Equally naked, Harper took his time, as long as he could bear to, standing at the foot of the bed and devouring Rory with his hungry gaze. He fisted his cock loosely and dragged slowly from root to tip. “Want this?” he asked in a low rumble.

  Rory whimpered. “Yes, God yes, please.”

  Harper took pity and climbed to his knees on the bed. He crawled up Rory’s body and braced himself on his elbows. When he claimed Rory’s eager mouth, their lips moved clumsily against each other’s, too hungry for fancy tricks.

  He thrust, gliding his erection through the slickness of sweat between Rory’s groin and the wing of his hipbone.

  Rory cried out and raised his hips. He hooked one leg around Harper’s waist to bring Harper’s cock nudging at his entrance. “Don’t you make me beg for it.”

  “Would you, if I asked?” Harper mouthed his way up Rory’s throat and sucked at the soft skin beneath his ear.

  “Warning: Dangerous when inspired.” Rory gasp-laughed. “Harper, please.”

  “Shh.” Harper reached, without looking, for the lube he thought he’d left on the bedside table. He encountered the hard back of a turtle shell instead.

  Rory cracked up in sync with Harper. “Wanna try that again? It’s under the pillow. Come and get it, big boy.”

  Harper thrust again, slower, drawing out the sweet, slick friction. “Got a better idea. You finger yourself open for me.”

  Rory’s lips parted. He stared at Harper in what seemed to be mixed awe and respectful fear. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “This is the only monster I give a flying H about.” Harper rolled his hips, stroking their engorged cocks together, and though it nearly killed him, sat back on his haunches. “Stretch yourself open. For me.”

  Rory moaned and clumsily hauled himself upright, back propped against the headboard. His hands shook when he uncapped the lube. Clear dollops spilled uselessly out of the tube before he managed to fill his palm.

  “For you,” he said, gaze going dark and mouth curling seductively up. He reached between his splayed legs with lube-shiny fingers and thrust two into his hole.

  Harper’s breath shuddered from him. “Rory, you… More.”

  Rory gritted his teeth. Fat drops of perspiration ran down his cheeks and his throat. He scissored his fingers wide, hole clenching open and shut around them, and slammed a third home.

  Harper moved, needing to touch. He rested his palms on Rory’s knees and pushed them higher, farther apart. “Don’t stop.”

  Rory shook his head. Tendons strained in his neck. “Can’t hold out.” He panted. “Gotta get you in me.”

  “Shh. One more.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. One more.” Harper kissed Rory’s kneecap and drew figure eights with his tongue. “One more, and I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your name.”

  Rory cried out. He stilled, save for breathing in ragged gasps, and unfurled his pinky. At the apex of a harsh gasp, his throat curved in a tight arch and his mouth open, he managed it. Four, scissored open, two knuckles deep.

  “Out,” Harper rasped, crowding into position. He grasped the base of his cock and tapped the back of Rory’s hand. “Hurry.”

  Rory’s fingers slid free on a ragged exhale, sliding over Harper’s length, slicking him with a film of lube and his own precum. He let himself be manhandled and raised, Harper holding his shoulders off the bed, as Harper set his cockhead to Rory’s stretched, gaping entrance and thrust.

  “Oh fuck ‑‑” Rory’s heels drummed the bed. The slick heat of him cinched tight, no rhythm, spasming helplessly. A flood of creamy spunk, jerked out in hard spurts, slathered their bellies. One, two, three strained thrusts and Harper followed him, flooding Rory with his cum, filling him up.

  Rory dropped back, boneless as a puppet, eyes closed and heart racing loudly enough for Harper to hear. He dropped his head to Rory’s chest and let it pound in his ear while he struggled briefly for the ability to think and decided thinking was vastly overrated sometimes.

  Sometime later ‑‑ could have been hours, could have been seconds ‑‑ Rory trailed his fingertips through Harper’s wet hair and chuckled.

  “Mmm?” Harper mumbled, too lazy to be properly curious.

  “Never figured on a happy ending like this for me, that’s all.”

  “Not an ending,” Harper slurred, catching a drop of spilled cum on the tip of his tongue. He savored the taste, swallowing that bit of Rory to keep inside him. “A beginning.”

  “Well, aren’t you a poet.”

  “And I know it too.” Harper hauled his weight up Rory’s body and nosed him into tipping his head to the side. “Rory?”

  “Mmm?”

  Harper spoke over the shell of Rory’s ear. “You have my heart. I love you more than ‑‑”

  Rory licked his throat. “Love you, too.” He perked up. “Can we do this with chocolate body paint next time?”

  “Your wish,” Harper said, “is my desire,” and kissed him lazily quiet.

  Epilogue

  QWERTYUIOP?

  Harper squinted at the computer screen. He didn’t usually see it from this angle, above his face and perpendicular to his nose.

  QWERTYUIOP? his computer repeated, impatiently adding ADFJKLDKJ;? for good measure.

  Harper lifted his head from his ergonomic, coffee-stained keyboard, staring blearily through the slim, silver-rimmed glasses perched askew on his nose at the garbled text on his monitor.

  He straightened the glasses and raised his voice. “Not funny, Rory!”

  Rory popped his head around the edge of the bedroom door, left open during their hurry to hit the computer ‑‑ after forcing themselves out of the bed ‑‑ and howled with laughter. “You should see your face right now! Priceless, Harper, absolutely priceless.”

  “I’ll show you priceless. Get over here and undo whatever it is you did.” Harper kick-rolled his chair back from the workstation, its arm companionably bumping the side of Rory’s matching chair.

  “Grouchy.” Rory dropped a wet, smacking kiss atop Harper’s head, poked his glasses to send them awry again, and tapped a few keystrokes
. The screen returned to normal, lines of dialogue and set directions scrolling over a nicely organized notecard program. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please, thank you, gimme.” Harper fumbled in Rory’s direction. “I can smell it. I know you have it on you. Don’t make me get out the paddle.”

  “Mmm, naughty.” Rory shimmied, shaking his ass. He handed Harper the full mug of rich dark roast that he carried and plunked down in his chair. “Huh.” He frowned, got up, and straddled Harper’s lap instead. “Much better.”

  Harper slugged back three hearty, tongue-searing gulps of coffee that drained the mug and thumped it to the desk. “Nngyah.” He twined his arms loosely around Rory’s waist, and not so casually tickled at the small triangular gap formed by tight jeans over trim hips in the back. “Hello to you, too, sailor. Not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with your own chair?”

  “Artemas did something unspeakable in it last night. I don’t wanna know what. Comfort is essential to the writing process,” Rory explained. He wriggled his knees farther in and clamped Harper’s hips. “Also, I just like straddling your cock. That still okay?”

  “Dunno, let me think…duh.” Harper stroked his thumbs over the smooth skin with its fine hairs and tickled the top of the cleft dividing Rory’s cheeks.

  “Just checking.” Rory kissed him, properly this time, teasing Harper’s mouth open, lazily tangling their tongues together. He tasted of strawberry jam and buttered toast. “Is it still okay for me to eat naked? Some stuff takes longer to get used to than others.”

  “As long as you don’t come to bed with crumbs in exotic locations.”

  “If I do, then you can li ‑‑”

  Harper covered Rory’s mouth with his. “Finish that sentence, and you’re not getting laid for a week.”

  “You like licking my ‑‑”

  “Not before breakfast. And a toothbrush. Do you really want to push me on this?”

  “Nothing I love better than tapping those buttons,” Rory conceded. “Except for tapping your ass. Withhold sex? Pfft. Please. You wouldn’t last a night.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Good God, no.” Rory rushed Harper with another kiss, undulating on his lap.

  Harper groaned when he had to push Rory back. “I want to,” he protested when Rory pouted at him. No grown man should have the right to make sulking look good.

  “Yeah, you do.” Rory tickled him. “The evidence is pointing at me.”

  “Do you want Janie and Lisa and Mr. Grudnik to tear into us if we’re late for the wrap party?”

  “Let me think about that. No. I like my balls where they are.” Rory sat back on Harper’s knees. “One season of In Outré down, green-lit for a second, and a buzz like honeybees in heat. Knew you could do it.” He rolled his eyes. “Save your breath, Dr. Phil. I know what you’re about to say. I knew we could do it, and damned if we didn’t.”

  “Don’t ever, ever mention Dr. Phil again when you’re frotting with me,” Harper begged earnestly. “My libido might never recover.”

  “You’d rather I referenced Oprah instead?” Rory cackled evilly. “Don’t worry. I got you, babe.” He palmed Harper’s stubborn erection and rubbed. “Promises to keep,” he said, licking the tip of Harper’s nose. “So, uh… I noticed this envelope in the mail yesterday…”

  Aha, now the shoe was on the other foot, wasn’t it? “We get a lot of envelopes.”

  Rory pulled a sour face at him. “Don’t make me tell on you. I know the letterhead of the Emmy award committee when I see it. I gave you one night ‑‑”

  “Mostly because you came up with that idea involving crushed raspberries, and then because that vibrating cock ring came in the same batch of mail ‑‑”

  “Nevertheless.” Rory poked Harper in the ribs. He steadied himself with a visible effort. “Good news? Bad news? Give it to me straight.”

  “Mmm. I can do you one better.” Harper nuzzled Rory’s jaw and asked, “Want to be my date for the Emmy awards? We were nominated for the short list, so I figure whether or not we make it to the final group of contenders we should still be there.”

  Rory still knew some Etruscan, it seemed, or as best as Harper could tell around the happy-puppy flurry of kisses, it sounded like Etruscan. “Cut the Roryskrit,” he faux-complained before letting Rory work a hand down his shorts. “If you want to make it to the wrap party on time…”

  “Yeah?” Rory breathed, stroking slowly. “If I want to…?”

  “Then I dare you to see how fast you can make me come.” Harper kicked back in the chair and laid himself open for Rory. “And if you beat your record, then I’ll beat mine for stringing you out on the edge when we get home tonight.”

  Rory’s pupils dilated. “Going for six hours and sixteen minutes this time?”

  “Not ambitious enough. Seven hours, or I’ll take turtle duty and make you cherries jubilee.”

  “On fire, even?”

  “Flaming.” Harper reclined. “Do we have a deal?”

  “You’re so on.” Rory made a dive for Harper and got busy, knocking a cup of pencils over in his enthusiasm. A meaty crunch and a dragging sound told Harper that Artemas, who’d handled the transplant from New York to LA with nary a hitch, had claimed a No. 2 Eberhardt for his own nefarious purposes.

  Crazy turtle, career of his dreams, crazy ex-muse-slash-libido-on-legs, and the love of his life.

  I thought I was nuts when he showed up, Harper remembered as he moaned at the first touch of Rory’s tongue on his cock. “Insanity’s much more fun than I’d have thought,” he muttered out loud. “Rory!”

  Rory slapped his thigh cheerfully, not needing to ask and able to tell even if he could no longer read Harper’s mind. “Damn right. Lunatics are more fun.”

  “Viva ooh-la-la,” Harper said, and let Rory do what he did best.

  THE END

  Willa Okati

  I can most often be found muttering to myself over a keyboard, plugged into my iPod, and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. I’m teaching myself to play the pennywhistle and mixing up the summer’s batches of henna. I have forty-plus separate tattoos and yearn for a full body suit of ink. I tend to walk around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told, and I drink an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.