by Rayne, Sara
"Let's stick to fiction," Elizabeth advised, casting a wary eye at Shep.
"I'll say it," Coyote declared. "But no judging. And I'm not explaining it."
"Deal," said Lexi.
"Destiel." He stuck his tongue out at Lexi, obviously inebriated enough to be showing off his childish side. "Forever."
"What the fuck is a desty-what-now?" Blue looked at Jagger bewildered.
"Don't ask. Don't encourage." He shook his head. "Just nod and smile. Nod and smile."
Crash snickered.
"Don't know what it is? That's why they invented google, kids. You're welcome." Coyote smirked, eyes targeting in on Crash's laughter at his expense. "My turn. But first, Crash, I want you to know that nothing—nothing—that has ever flashed across your computer screen is hidden from me. Think about the questions I could ask."
"That sounds ominous." Crash widened his eyes in mock fear.
"The song is Its Raining Men and the question is, have you ever kissed a man?" Coyote folded his arms over his chest with smug certainty.
Crash's smirk curved just slightly and Pretty Boy barely had time to register the sign of trouble before it happened. Crash grabbed Pretty Boy by the front of his cut and pressed their lips together. He smelled like whiskey and Pretty Boy could feel the barely suppressed laughter bubbling in Crash's chest. His mouth stayed firmly shut for the most part, except for a little gasp of air to try to contain his amusement.
But the best part? The absolutely best fucking part of the night so far? Was the look on Shep's face as he watched them with laser focus.
Ignore me now.
Just for the hell of it, Pretty Boy nipped at Crash's lower lip as he pushed him away. "Tease."
Shep's eyes almost came out of his head. Crash winked at Coyote as he sat back in his seat and had another drink. No shame in that one. "Definitely have now."
Voo leaned over Shep to smack Dash on the arm. "Has someone else's bromance ever made you uncomfortable?"
"All the damn time." Dash shook his head sadly.
"Hey, you didn't even name a song," Dani protested.
"I was just asking. That wasn't my turn," said Voo.
"How about something a little more romantic?" Elizabeth asked. "Shep, the song is My Heart Will Go On."
He shook off his resting bitchface and looked at her. "No fucking way."
"The question is, have you ever been in love?" She looked down quickly, almost as if she feared his reaction.
Shep swallowed. "Yes. Next question."
Pretty Boy stared at him, his mind flitting through memories of every person he'd ever seen Shep with. He knew Shep hadn’t really been in love with Amy, despite their engagement. It was one more brick of guilt the VP carried on his back. So who had he been in love with? He hated himself for the flutter in his chest, the desperate hope it was him. He almost missed Voo also carefully watching Shep and then nodding to himself.
Voo faced Pretty Boy. "So, let's get back to the real story here."
"What do you mean?" Pretty Boy's stomach dropped.
"The tatt on your wrist. What's the story?" The innocence in Voo's voice didn't match his eyes.
Pretty Boy swallowed hard, darting a glance at Shep. He knew Shep didn't want the story to get around. And as pissed as he was, could he do that to Shep? "Voo, you already know the answer to that."
"I do, yes." He nodded. "But I want to hear you tell it."
"What's the song?"
Voo grinned. "Son of a Preacher Man."
Pretty Boy cursed and turned on Crash and Dash. "This is your fault, you assholes."
They shrugged and looked around like they didn't know who he was talking about.
"What's it going to be?" Voo prodded.
"I'm singing. And these losers are backing me up." He pointed to the two jokesters. "Come on."
Dash slung an arm around his shoulder as they approached the stage. He said in his ear, "We got to make this good."
"Yeah," Crash shouted, leaning his head close to theirs. "You know that whole 'never let 'em forget' rule—why don't you show our VP what he's missing out on?"
Pretty Boy stumbled.
"Yeah, we figured out your deep, dark secret. Get over it." Dash laughed, elbowing him in the ribs as they climbed up on stage.
"And you don't … care?"
"Fuck no!" Crash looked at him like he might have hit his head. "Sorry, just never saw the gay-hating lifestyle as a choice I could make. You understand, right?"
"Fuck you." Pretty Boy laughed. So apparently, trying to pass as straight hadn’t been the brilliant plan he’d assumed it to be. "And I'm bi."
"Whatever, man. Fuck." Crash shoved him front and center. "Make him sorry."
Pretty Boy bounced lightly on his fight, as if amping up for a fight. The motion was greeted with a chorus of whistles. He smirked. Yeah, he could totally do this. He walked forward, enjoying the shouts of feminine appreciation at his half-dressed state as he did a spin to show off his dirt-spattered new cut.
Forget this, Shep.
Shep watched the guys climb up on the stage they'd built in Perdition, feeling like he'd found himself on a roller coaster with no memory of how he'd gotten here. Crash coaxed the Crossroad Crows to play the song for them, and Jagger threw in a little electric guitar instead of pulling out his banjo.
Pretty Boy grabbed a chair from the back and pulled it to center stage. He flipped it around and straddled it as the band tuned up, pulling out his phone. Shep knew he was staring but he couldn't seem to help himself. The distinct I don't give a fuck right now written in Pretty Boy's movements as his fingers flew over the screen didn't bode well.
His pocket buzzed. He glanced at the text and swallowed hard.
Ever wish u were a chair?
Pretty Boy opened his mouth, the high resonance of his brilliant tenor a pleasant surprise for the eager audience, but Shep had heard him sing before. It never failed to shake him to the soul. Charisma rolled off him in waves. He had a way of hypnotizing a crowd. Didn't seem to matter if it was fighting, singing or … whatever fuckery this was. They ate it up.
His singing voice held a warm rasp, making the most innocent of lyrics sound sinful. He caressed the back of the chair with his long fingers as he moved around it. He cast soulful eyes at the crowd as he put new emphasis on repeated words. When he reached the chorus, he pivoted and walked to Dash, doing his best backup singer routine stage left. Dash flexed, turning to display his Pestilence patch and raising a fist towards Goat in the back of the bar. A loud whoop of approval followed.
Pretty Boy played to the crowd, resting his hand on Dash's arm while he leaned down and sang to the hellions till hollering at him. Then, he back stepped towards Crash. They leaned against each other, back to back as they sang. A particularly loud whistle came from a blond hellion eyeing Crash like she wanted to take him home tonight.
Shep cleared his throat, trying to pretend he didn't give a shit. He looked around, but everyone was paying attention to the show the boys were putting on, singing for all they were worth, inebriated as they were. Pretty Boy strutted back to the chair, swiveling his hips in moves that would have been pornographic if he'd been naked. Just seeing him walk could get to Shep—like seeing a bowlegged brick wall coming at you. But this?
Fuck.
And now all he could think about was Pretty Boy naked. All lean muscle, soft freckles barely visible in tan skins and white, gleaming scars. Black hair rumpled and mussed around his flushed face, eyes blown and lips parted …
Shep's cock hardened in his jeans. He bit back a curse.
How long was this song? How much longer could he watch Pretty Boy in just his boxers and his new cut, walking around like fucking sex on a stick in front of all these people? Part of him wanted to yank Pretty Boy off that stage and drag him out back. Make sure they all knew who he belonged to. He was drunk enough to admit a deep, primal urge to fuck Pretty Boy on that stage, right here, right now. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Pretty Boy's gaze connected with his like he was a goddamn mind-reader and they locked there. He continued rhythmically moving against the chair and giving him the deadliest come fuck me eyes Shep had ever witnessed.
Like he was picturing the same thing Shep had been. Moving his hips the same way he had in Shep's truck the other night. Flashing faces a man only made while fucking. Faces Shep had become all too familiar with.
"Damn son, you shoulda bought that fucking chair a drink first!" Voo shouted over another chorus of catcalls.
Shep clenched his fist, trying to maintain his composure. He had made the right decision. This right here proved it. Fantasizing about fucking the newest member of Famine? And oh yeah—he was in love with Pretty Boy, too. Hide his feelings under those kinds of ties? He couldn't do it. But he knew that he'd hurt Pretty Boy. What he hadn't expected was his reaction to seeing Voo's tattoo on Pretty Boy's body.
He didn't fucking like it.
To the point where he had almost told everybody the horseshoes tattoo was his. That Shep had marked him first.
He was just sitting here, fucking losing his sheet in a crowded bar and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He just had to grit his teeth and take it. Prayed nobody paid him any attention.
He watched Pretty Boy, helplessly turned on as longing swept through him. He pictured the look on Pretty Boy's face when he claimed to be a top. The way he'd looked at Shep, knowing exactly what he was picturing at that moment. How he'd confessed to being a bottom, voice all soft and promising, want and submission. Shep had felt it all the way to his marrow. He was so hard, he'd pop if he so much as adjusted himself. He throbbed and ached, his throat dry and his eyes fastened to the man on stage. He chewed his lower lip. How could he possibly want something this badly that he knew he'd never get to keep?
Pretty Boy was fucking gyrating on top of that chair, crooning out the words in that beautiful honeyed rasp. He stared at Shep blatantly, insolence in the curve of his mouth, come get it in his eyes. Damn right Shep wished he was that chair.
The song finished. The guys hung their arms over each other's shoulders and took a drunken bow.
Pretty Boy shot him a look over his shoulder as he jumped off the stage and headed through the employee door. Shep's phone buzzed again.
Out back. Now.
He was out the door before it occurred to him he hadn't given anyone a reason for his sudden departure. He wondered if they'd been looking at him. If they could tell what his problem was.
He rounded the corner of the building, following the scent of tobacco. Pretty Boy leaned on the wall they'd kissed against. He didn't say anything, just watched him with those gleaming green eyes as the distance between them closed.
Shep tried to remind himself about personal space, but knew he was still standing too close. He breathed in his scent as Pretty Boy checked him out, gaze raking down his body and settling on his obvious arousal.
Pretty Boy smirked. "I locked the back door on the way out. If someone wants to interrupt, they’re going to have to come out the front and around the way you did."
His body fucking pulsed. He grasped for words. "What did you think you… were you doing up there?"
"Are you angry?" Pretty Boy's eyes flashed. "You've been in a foul mood all night—on patch night."
Shep gritted his teeth, wishing his hard-on would go away. He couldn't shake the images of Pretty Boy on that stage out of his head. He stepped closer before he could help himself.
Pretty Boy wrapped a hand around the back of Shep's neck, resting his tattooed wrist against his shoulder. He whispered, "I think you're salty because of my new tattoo. I think you're fighting the urge to prove to everyone I still belong to you. And you don't want to think about what that means."
"What do you think it means?" Shep asked, voice rough. He rolled his hips, trying to ease some tension, but found himself brushing against Pretty Boy. Once he did, he couldn't pull back. He just couldn't physically force himself to move away.
Pretty Boy hooked Shep's belt-loops with his thumbs. He tugged Shep's hips flush against his. His lips touched Shep's ear. "You wanted to fuck me on that stage."
Shep nodded, eyes squeezed shut as he leaned against Pretty Boy.
"Wanted to strip me down, push inside me?" Pretty Boy mouthed his way down Shep's neck. "Wanted to see how much I like being bottom for you? Feel how much you can make me shake? Wanted everyone else to see it?"
Shep let out a choked moan and pushed his hips sharply forward, grinding Pretty Boy against the wall. He covered Pretty Boy's mouth with his own if only to get a few seconds respite from the trash coming out of it, pushing him too close to the edge.
Pretty Boy thrust his tongue in Shep's mouth, rough and desperate. As he took the kiss over, Shep couldn't choke off the hungry sounds coming out of his mouth. His head buzzed, the world twirling around him and he pushed Pretty Boy back just to get some air, panting and gasping obscenely into the night.
He could hear the muted sounds of the bar behind them, but the door was locked. They'd hear anyone coming around the alley. They were basically alone here.
The thought did nothing to cool his desire.
"Just so you know, that's what I was picturing," Pretty Boy rasped in his ear. "And I loved every second."
"Thought you were pissed at me." Shep desperately tried to think of a way to justify what was going on, but he just couldn't make himself stop.
"Doesn't change you and me," Pretty Boy hissed fiercely. He swallowed hard. "Doesn't mean I'm not yours."
Shep didn't like the darkness in Pretty Boy's tone, but then he dropped to his knees in front of him and Shep's brain just shut off. He wet his lips. "W-what are you doing?"
Pretty Boy's lips curved mischievously as his fingers tangled with Shep's belt buckle, nimbly undoing the fastenings. "I'll give you three guesses."
The belt gave way and Pretty Boy flicked open the button on Shep's fly, rubbing his hand firmly down the ridge of Shep's erection. Shep couldn't stop his soft groan.
"Look at me," Pretty Boy demanded.
Shep looked down. Pretty Boy knelt in the cracked concrete of the alley, in just his boxer briefs and his leather cut. His hair was damp and tousled about his face. He wore smudges of dirt and scratches everywhere from the burial.
"I want to do this right now. And all you have to do is lean forward and let me." Pretty Boy slid his hand up Shep's torso, underneath his shirt, fingertips skimming his abs. He purposely positioned his Death tattoo in Shep's view. "Say yes."
Shep tried to say no, to force the words out. But he just couldn't. Every part of him ached and all he wanted was to touch Pretty Boy. "Yes."
"What was that? I don't think I heard you." Pretty Boy grinned, eyes flashing. He caught Shep's zipper in the corner of his teeth and tugged it down slowly.
Shep shoved his fists against the wall, the muscles in his arm shaking. He pressed his forehead to the cement and gritted out, louder, "Yes."
Pretty Boy hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of Shep's boxer briefs and tugged them and his jeans down to the top of his thighs. Shep gasped. Pretty Boy wrapped a hand around his erection and stroked firmly.
"What's the matter, Shep? Didn't want to be bare-assed in an alley?" Pretty Boy smirked. He leaned forward and swirled his tongue over the head of Shep's cock. Shep could feel Pretty Boy's smile as he tried to hold himself up. "But worth it, if I'm the one sucking you off?"
"Shut up," Shep growled. The muscles in his neck bunched as he tried to show anything close to resembling restraint. And fucking failed, epically.
Pretty Boy braced a hand on Shep's hip and began working him over, slow and rhythmically. The sounds Shep was making into the wall of Perdition were fucking filthy and echoing down the alley. When his cock bumped against the back of Pretty Boy's throat, he whimpered.
Shep couldn't believe the heat rolling through him. When he looked down and watched his hard dick sliding in and out of Pretty Boy's mou
th, his balls tightened and he thought he was done. Pretty Boy's eyes opened, held his gaze for a moment, then slid back shut as he let out a hedonistic moan that vibrated up and down Shep's length.
He cupped Shep's balls in his hands, gently squeezing. Then he slid a finger behind them, stroking the skin in a line to Shep's entrance. Pretty Boy sucked Shep all the way down his throat and pressed his finger firmly against the tight circle of muscle.
"Holy fuck," Shep hissed, his muscles seizing. His hands dropped to Pretty Boy's head, fingers tangling reverently in his hair as he ground himself into Pretty Boy's mouth, uncontrollable groans rolling through his throat.
Pretty Boy milked him, hands and lips riding him through the orgasm as his throat swallowed around him. Shep shook, leaning against the wall as Pretty Boy's head rested against his hip. He stared until those deep green eyes looked up at him. "You destroy me."
Pretty Boy gave a soft, dry laugh. "You built me."
Shep reached down, grabbing Pretty Boy's shoulder and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him against the wall, pressing their bodies together. His breathing was ragged. "What the fuck just happened?"
"I know you haven't wanted to put words to this thing between us, but let's call a spade, a spade." Pretty Boy's lips brushed Shep's ear. "I just blew you with your pants around your knees behind Ryker's bar. And you loved every second of it."
Shep shuddered as he buttoned up his pants. He leaned his forehead against Pretty Boy’s and wet his lips. "I don't know if this means anything to you, but I’m sorry you couldn't be in Famine."
Pretty Boy snorted, leaning back. "Doesn't change your mind though."
"No."
"Shep," Pretty Boy whispered. "I know I got a dog in this fight, and maybe my advice doesn't mean much to you. God knows I've fucked up things often enough. But, as a friend, I gotta tell you—you need to start figuring out what you want. And just take it, man. Whatever it ends up being, just fucking do it. No apologies. No guilt."
Shep swallowed and stepped back. "What makes you think I don't know what I want?"
"Because if you knew, you'd just get it done. You wouldn't drink yourself to death trying to figure out which way to go." Pretty Boy crossed his arms, shivering a little.