“You are not fucking me over some abandoned rat-bag furniture even some homeless case wouldn’t want to piss on.”
“Oh, come on, baby.” He shifted his hips from side to side, letting me know exactly what was about to happen. “You just don’t appreciate the effort I make for you anymore.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Again. I hated the way he kept making me do that.
“It’s better than throwing you down on the ground in a park somewhere.” Steven kissed me again, slower this time, and deeper, and inched me back and back and back, until my back hit a wall.
“Are you sure about that?”
“At the risk of getting arrested? I’m sure you’re a fine piece of ass, Blackman, but if I’m ever cuffed, it’ll be at a time and place of my choosing, not by Her Majesty’s Constabulary.”
“Not even if they have big truncheons?”
“No-one will come.”
“Are you sure about that, too?”
“You’re getting far too cheeky for my liking, Kit.”
“Better do something about it, then.”
His hands were at my belt, more sure than mine would be if I’d tried to undo it. Maybe desperation carried him through, and it had to be desperation that made his breath hot, rapid and shallow against the side of my neck. “Turn around.”
“What—”
“I said turn around.”
“Here?”
He nodded. “Here.”
“Steven, this is…” It was an outside wall of an out-of-the-way wing of an abandoned manse I’d bypassed too many times to count. Sure, we were a ways from the street and afforded some degree of privacy, but…
“It’s about time you learned what it felt like to be fucked outside,” he growled against my neck. “Now turn. The fuck. Around.”
When he spoke to me like that, the only thing I could do was turn around. The brickwork my hands fell against was rough, age-worn and liable to leave me with a few scratches. I groped around for a ledge or something to hold onto while Steven struggled behind me. A windowsill, any kind of buttress to this outside wall, but the size of the house and distance from the streetlights and the fact Steven was seconds away from fucking me meant I couldn’t—
“Wait.” I gulped, and Steven, though one hand was still on my hip, stopped. “You didn’t… That was what you went upstairs for?”
“Told you.” He panted a couple of times, breathless with the same anticipation and excitement I felt, no doubt. “I came prepared.”
“And you can see your way around in the dark?”
“I know where my pockets are. I know what’s in ‘em.” The sharp hiss of a zip rent the air, up until now silent but for the distance hum of traffic. Leather protested as Steven reached into one of his pockets.
“You’re not seriously thinking of doing this standing up, are you?”
“Sure I am. Unless you want to kneel on the ground?”
“When I can’t see anything?” I looked over my shoulder, but this far from civilisation caught only his outline, a vague silhouette.
“Use the light on your mobile phone. Check there’s nothing there. On the grass would be easier.”
“No fucking chance.”
“Then you…” Steven’s cold hand came into contact with my skin and I barely suppressed a yelp. “Will just have to put up with not seeing a thing and feeling it instead.” A well-lubricated finger worked its tip inside me and this time I couldn’t stop myself crying out.
Screwing my eyes shut, I realised I didn’t need to see a thing. All I needed was that sharp sting when Steven forced another finger inside, up to the knuckle, through the initial tightness. He moved his fingertips apart and I winced. Only the first few times, though.
When he crooked his fingers and hit me in the right spot the gasps turned to moans. And I needed more.
“God, you are going to be so fucking tight when I get inside you,” Steven murmured, and when he spoke like that I barely gave a damn whether we were discovered or not. It wasn’t likely, but still possible. And I just didn’t care. “I can think of better places.” He slid his fingers out, leaving me empty and wanting. “But this’ll have to do for now.”
My eyes watered and this was why I hated fucking face to face. This was why I liked the dark. Being assfucked in the grounds of an abandoned manse, sleazy and furtive? Fuck, yeah—that was exactly why I loved it.
“Move your feet back a bit. Wider apart.” Steven shoved my jeans further down my hips and I’d rarely felt more used. I heard the tear of foil, the sound of rubber on skin as he rolled the condom into place. Another zip, the lube bottle again, the snap as he closed it and, God, when his cock touched me I nearly lost it myself.
Both hands against the wall, the brickwork digging into my palms and me, helpless to resist or move at all as he pushed in, grunting against the awkward angle and position. I shivered, but not because of the cold.
“Jesus. Fuck, this is…” Steven groaned as he pushed in another inch. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just…” I gulped back air, finally giving in to desperation. “Just fucking do it, would you?”
“There.” His final push was almost a shove, violent, and painful for a moment, but he stopped. “You sure you’re all right?”
Winded, I could do nothing but claw at the wall, unsteady on my feet until Steven’s hands on my hips reminded me I had to say something. “Yeah, I…” I sniffed, all the while searching for the right answer. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Definitely?”
“Yes.”
“Good. ‘Cause I’m not sure…” Moving back a little, he hissed in a long, slow breath.
“Not sure I can hold off much longer.”
“You’ve only just…” Steven’s inside me. Fucking hell, Steven’s inside me.
“I know, but…” Slower than before, he eased back in, gripping my hips to hold me at the right angle, or as close to it as we could get. “Fuck. This isn’t…”
“What? Isn’t it working?” I tried to look over my shoulder but the angle was all wrong.
“Yeah. It is. For God’s sake, don’t move, that’s just perfect. Don’t. Oh God…” Steven’s hips worked fasted against me, his speech ever more stilted and uncontrolled. “This isn’t the way I planned.”
“You planned this?”
“Not like… God, I can’t wait.” His fingers dug even deeper into my hips and I knew I’d be bruised in the morning. Another thing I didn’t care about, though I knew I probably should. But then, all I wanted was Steven’s cock as deep inside me as he could force it this way. I had little ability to move my hips but made the best attempt I could to angle them back onto him with each sharp, shallow—or too shallow for my liking—thrust.
One last jerk forward with a strangulated gasp, and Steven managed to utter one single word.
“Fuck.” A few seconds of gasping before he lifted his hands off me and staggered, pulling himself out. “Jesus, that was…”
Though my knees shook as I fell against the wall and twisted round to face him, I still managed to pull my shorts and jeans back into place without losing my footing.
He got rid of the condom and righted his clothing with as little grace and assurance as I then had. “I hadn’t planned it to be that quick.”
“No.” I waited to catch my breath before speaking again. “Just as well you were; I didn’t think I’d be able to hold myself up much longer.”
“God.” He ran both hands over his face and through his hair. “I can’t fucking believe we’ve just done that.” He turned to look at me and laughed, but didn’t touch me. We both needed the wall to keep us standing and a moment or two to keep us apart. “I don’t…”
The brightness of his teeth, the whites of his eyes, caught a glint of light from somewhere and I imagined what his smile would look like in daylight. Artificial light.
Anywhere but here.
“You were the one who led me here, Kenton. You led me ast
ray.”
“You fucking wanted it, you slut.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“You never bottom.” I nodded. “Yeah. And I’ve got the sore arse to prove it.”
We fell silent for a few seconds, and I craned my neck, looked up. Near complete darkness now. We’d have to return to civilisation and make some attempt to look innocent.
Like we hadn’t just been fucking somewhere we could have, in theory, easily been caught.
“You know,” I began.
“What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Christ, you’re not gonna tell me I’m a crap shag, are you?”
“A bit quicker than I would have liked. A bit more vertical.”
“Fuck you, Blackman.” He punched me in the arm.
“You just did.”
“Next time I’ll take my time over it.”
I shuddered. Next time. Whatever had been unsettled in my stomach came to rest when he said that. “Listen, I need a stiff one.”
Steven snorted with laughter. “Am I not enough for you, now?”
“Think about it. You told Gary we were going down the pub, right?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“It’ll look a bit suspicious if we go back home stone cold sober, without even the smell of beer on our breath, won’t it?”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I see where you’re going with this.”
“It’s our sworn duty to”—I swiped my hands together to rid them of brick dust and grit—”make it look like you haven’t just been screwing me up against a wall, and we’ve only been working on getting pissed all evening.”
“Blackman, I have to say this.”
“Although I hope I haven’t got dust and dirt all over me now—that’ll be pretty hard to explain away, although I could just say I got so drunk I fell over.”
“Yeah, and your zip broke and my cock accidentally went up your arse.”
I tutted, shook my head, and wondered if he’d be able to make out the disapproving expression on my face, which wasn’t disapproving at all.
“Anyway, yeah, I had to say, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Two, actually.”
When he failed to enlighten me after a second, I prompted him with a simple “Oh?”
and pushed my weight off the wall, readying to leave.
“Your incredibly tight arse which I fully intend to fuck again soon, and properly this time.” He mirrored my stance and laughed, possibly at the involuntary shudder which ran up my spine.
“And?”
“And your shameless attempt to get me drunk. It’s working, by the way. First round’s on you. Come on, let’s go find a pub.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh God. I think I’m dying.” Steven cradled his head in both hands, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table.
“What the hell has Kit done to you?” Gary put his cereal bowl on the table and pulled up a seat, and Steven groaned.
“Don’t blame me. I’ve done nothing.” Gingerly I flicked on the kettle. I was just as fragile as Steven that morning, although not for the same reason. The poor, delicate flower had a hangover whereas I had a migraine blooming at the nape of my neck. Spidery fingers of pain reached up the back of my head and in an hour or two, they’d turn to iron and crush my skull in their vicelike grip. Completely unconnected to the amount of alcohol I’d drunk the previous evening, this was just sheer bad luck, fucked-up timing. I’d tried cutting out alcohol before. Dairy, caffeine, even chocolate, but nothing had worked. When a migraine shacked up inside my head, there was very little I could do with it but throw painkillers at the problem and lie down until it got bored and moved out again. Maybe, just maybe, I could literally knock it on the head with some horse tranquilisers or whatever the hell my GP had prescribed for me. Those, a mug of coffee, and a day in bed. Bill wouldn’t be pleased when I phoned in sick, but then he rarely was. He’d never give me shit, though. I was too valuable to the team. Valuable as in, I bloody carried them most of the time.
“Whenever someone else is pissed off, it’s usually your fault.” Gary shovelled cornflakes into his mouth like there was no tomorrow before jabbing at Steven with his spoon. “So what’s he done?”
“He’s hung over, you dick,” I put in. “You can’t blame me for the jars he threw back last night.”
“Didn’t you try to stop him?”
“You think I can stop Steven Kenton doing anything when he’s determined?” I could have kicked myself, especially when Steven shot a look over his shoulder. One of those looks.
Bleary-eyed and laden with I will get you for that. I hadn’t even realised what I’d said. The double entendre wasn’t intentional and only Steven would see one in my words, but see one he would, and he’d play with me.
Or rather, he would have, had he not been so groggy.
“I’ve seen what you’re like down the local. You don’t consider it a good night out unless everyone else present is unconscious, dying, or vomiting.”
“I feel like I’m all three at once,” Steven groaned. “God, I swear, I’m in so much pain even my hair hurts.”
“Pussy,” I muttered. Taking a guy’s cock up my arse gave me the right to gloat.
Although, given the pincers gripping the back of my neck, I wouldn’t be gloating for long.
“You want to try having a migraine.”
“Sure it’s not just a hangover?” Gary asked, frowning in something approximating concern. “You would have drunk as much as Lucy Lightweight here, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Probably more,” Steven murmured. “How do you know you’re not hung over, then?”
“Migraines creep up on you. With me, they start at the back of my neck usually, and last for hours. Days, sometimes. Hangovers? I bet you woke up instantly feeling like shit.”
“True. I did.”
“And you know why you’re ill. Me? I have to put up with this crap whenever my body decides to rebel against me. This is like being hung over without the pleasure of being drunk first.”
“You were drunk, though.”
“And now I’m sober, and not hung over. Why? Because I drank plenty of water last night, and you, I reckon, are dehydrated.”
“You sound so smug.”
“Give it a few hours and you’ll be able to gloat. Once you’ve had a few gallons of caffeine, you’ll be right as rain. Me? I’ll get progressively worse. By lunchtime I’ll be ready to write my own will.”
“I’ll have a priest sent round to administer the last rites,” Gary commented, pushing his chair away from the table with a screech that grated on my nerves and made Steven wince.
“Tell him to call in to my office while you’re at it. I’m not even Catholic but if I’m gonna get through the pile of paperwork that’s due to appear on my desk, I’ll need divine intervention,” he said.
“Speaking of which, I think I’ll phone in sick while I’m still able to hold myself upright.” The part of me immediately behind my left eyeball had started to throb. Not a good sign.
“Now who’s the pussy?” Steven sniffed. “I still managed to have a shower this morning, even though it felt like fuckin’ bullets were coming out of the thing instead of water.”
“I can still work from home if needs be. Bill knows that.” I grimaced at the stabby eye-pain. Yep, definitely a migraine.
“I still don’t get why I’m hung over and you’re not. It’s not bloody fair.”
“What God gives with one hand, he takes away with the other. Besides, you mixed your drinks as I recall. Never mix grape and grain? At least I stuck to beer all night.”
“I’ll leave you two ladies to bitch at each other. Early start for me.” Gary threw back the rest of his morning coffee, thudded the mug onto the table, laughed at the pained reaction he got from both of us, and left.
Bastard slammed the door on his way out, too.
Standing and wa
iting for the kettle to boil was too much for me, so I gave myself the refuge of a seat at the kitchen table. Steven’s proximity played around with my blood pressure a little, but as I was already feeling like shit anyway, I didn’t see what harm it could do. Hell, maybe looking at him would make me feel better.
“You really phoning in sick?” Steven ventured.
I nodded, immediately wishing I hadn’t. “In all seriousness, I think I’ll have to. You must have seen the difference with your sister, right? She gets migraines, you said. They’re nothing like hangovers.”
“Yep. I guess. She said they’re sharper than other kinds of headaches? In one exact place, usually? Behind her eye or whatever.”
“I get them like that too. The pain creeps up the back of my neck and sticks behind one eye. I know what a hangover’s like—all over thudding, cured by drinking plenty and staying out of direct sunlight. And without the nausea. A migraine? Jesus, if it’s a bad one, it’s intense.”
“Maybe I should take the day off to look after you.” Steven spoke quietly, then lifted his head. Red-rimmed eyes searched my face for any reaction, and I wasn’t sure which kind to give.
“You have experience in that sort of thing?”
“Only with nursing Tiff through a bad one. She’s got her two to look after her now, though.”
“Two what? You have other brothers?”
“No.” Steven laughed, and for some reason I was glad to see him smile in the middle of the pain he must have been in. “Her two boyfriends.”
My eyebrows shot up and the sudden tug on my forehead, the widening of my eyes letting in more damn daylight, instantly made me regret the action.
“Yeah. She’s in a…how would you say it? Poly set-up with those two, Jason and Isaac.
Polyamorous, they call it.”
“Oh, yeah. You mentioned them, didn’t you?”
“Ah, so you were listening? She just doesn’t care what anyone thinks, God love her. She’s always telling people, our parents are so proud; I’m a whore and my brother’s a raging queer.”
“Not so raging, from what I can see.” Even in our mutual delicate state, I could still leer.
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