by Lisa Worrall
A few more feet and they were out of view from the farmhouse and he breathed a little easier. Another four hundred yards and Micah opened the door to the hay shed, pushing Harry quickly inside before closing it behind them, grimacing as the rusty hinges complained loudly in the still night air.
"What are we do—?"
Micah effectively silenced Harry by grabbing the lapels of his jacket and crashing their mouths together, drawing Harry's tongue into his mouth and sucking hungrily while he walked Harry backwards. If memory served, Mr Maxwell stacked the bales at the back of the barn. He resisted the urge to pat himself on the back when Harry grunted, coming to a stop against a bale. Harry got with the programme quick enough and Micah moaned into his mouth, the feel of Harry's fingers in his hair to tilt his head where he wanted it, taking equal control, sending sparks of heat straight to his cock.
Lungs burning for lack of oxygen, Micah reluctantly tore his lips from Harry's and pushed him so that Harry had no choice but to sit on the hay bale he was pressed up against. Micah dropped to his knees, quickly dealt with Harry's belt and opened his jeans. His gaze flitted up to Harry's, the bastard had gone commando. If Micah had known that, he wouldn't have been able to keep his hands to himself for as long as he had. He took the thick, hard length of Harry's shaft in his hand, locked his gaze with Harry's and stroked him from base to tip, his reward a cut-off whimper and full body shudder from Harry.
Micah kissed along the length of Harry's cock, inhaling his scent, revelling in the soft skin against his cheek. He lapped at the pre-cum leaking from the tip then slid his lips over the head and down Harry's cock, taking in as much as he could, his fingers making up the difference. As he sucked and licked and bobbed up and down on Harry's cock, Micah quickly undid his own jeans with one hand and freed his own throbbing dick, jacking himself hard and fast.
It wasn't long before his name became a litany of breathy moans in the darkness, and he increased his pace as Harry's fingers tightened in his hair and his hips thrust uncontrollably into Micah's mouth. Swallowing around the head of Harry's cock, Micah felt his lover's thighs tremble and then he stilled, a gasp tearing from his throat as he pumped the hot streams of his release onto Micah's tongue. Three more quick strokes and Micah tried to remember to continue milking every last ounce of pleasure from Harry, while his own orgasm exploded from him and onto the dirt floor.
Harry collapsed back onto the hay bale and gasped for air, and Micah laid his head on Harry's thigh to give himself something to hang onto as he came down, his muscles twitching from the intensity of his orgasm. Not a word had passed between them, but Micah wasn't sure he could have spoken if he'd wanted to. His heart pounded in his chest and his legs felt like jelly, but he could taste Harry on his tongue, smell him on his breath and if he had to spend the rest of his life kneeling on the hay-strewn floor because he couldn't walk again, he really didn't give a shit.
"That was…."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean really…."
"Uh—"
"Who's in there? Show yourself!"
"Fuck!" Micah scrabbled to his feet and shoved himself back into his jeans, grinning at Harry as he did the same. Maybe they hadn't been as quiet as he'd thought they had, because that voice was one he'd heard many a time throughout his teenage years.
"Is that Bullseye?" Harry hissed.
"No," Micah snorted out a laugh. "That's Mr Maxwell. Bullseye's his large black."
"Large black what?"
"Pig, you wally." Micah grabbed Harry's hand and squared his shoulders before he opened the door and they sidled out into the pool of light from George Maxwell's torch. "Hi, Mr Maxwell."
"Micah? Micah Lewis, is that you?"
"Sorry," Micah said on a rush, then yanked on Harry's hand, shouting 'run' in a loud stage-whisper, which was kind of ridiculous when he thought about it. He was a grown man, for God's sake. But then George Maxwell was seventy-one if he were a day and that didn't stop him yelling after them.
"I know where you live! I'll be talking to your mother!"
They didn't stop until they'd reached the village green, by which time they were both panting for air again, although not for as pleasant a reason. Micah laughed out loud as Harry fell to the grass, staring up at the star covered sky, his chest heaving, teeth white in the moonlight, his grin childlike. "That was fucking awesome," Harry chuckled, hauling himself to his feet.
"Which part?" Micah smiled and willingly allowed Harry to pull him into his arms. "The blow job or the getting caught?"
"Both." Harry kissed him and Micah immediately opened his mouth at the pressure of Harry's insistent tongue. The kiss was slow and tender, with Harry taking his time to explore every ridge and curve of Micah's mouth, his hands sliding down to cup Micah's ass and roll his already hardening shaft into Micah's. "Hmm," he murmured when he broke the kiss. "I think we'd better get back to the house before we get caught making out in front of the whole village."
Micah chuckled heartily. "We could always play Knock Down Ginger if you want some more excitement to finish off the evening. Doris is still up."
"No," Harry drew out the word, much to Micah's amusement. "The only excitement I have in mind involves your dick and my mouth, thank you very much."
Micah growled low in his throat and goosed Harry, urging him across the green. "Well, what are you waiting for? Move it!"
The two of them alternately jogged and walked back to the house, grabbing at each other and stealing kisses along the way. Micah fumbled for his keys and carried out the ritual of opening the temperamental front door, groaning low in his throat when Harry's lips pressed close to his ear and he whispered all the things he was going to have to do to him on the doorstep if he didn't get inside the house right-the-fuck-now. With one almighty kick on the bottom left-hand corner, the door flew open and Micah was only saved from falling over the threshold by Harry's strong arm around his waist. Giggling uncontrollably, they stumbled into the house and Harry kicked the door closed behind them.
***
The man behind the wheel of the C5 studied the photo he'd taken of Harry and Micah as they'd approached the house. It was a little blurry having been taken from a good two or three yards away, but it was obvious who the two men were. Hell, they'd been so oblivious to everything but each other he was certain he could have walked up to them and snapped half a dozen photos, and they still wouldn't have noticed him. But then he wasn't paid to be noticed. He quickly ran off a text and attached the picture, then pressed send, knowing his client would be impatiently awaiting its arrival. Moments later, his mobile beeped and he pressed the envelope to open the message. It was short and to the point. Starting the engine he checked his mirror and pulled out onto the empty street, glancing up at the upper window of Micah's house as he passed. He didn't know who they were, or what they'd done to piss off the sadistic bastard who'd hired him, the details hadn't been specific. Not that he cared; he'd been paid to find them, and he'd done his job. What happened next was no longer his problem, and if his gut tightened with a momentary stab of pity for the two men, he ignored it and put his foot to the floor.
Chapter 7
"Oh, my God, you got laid."
Micah looked up from the steriliser and blinked in confusion at Tom who watched him from the open doorway. "Huh?"
"Don't 'huh' me," Tom scoffed, crossing the room to lean against the counter beside Micah. "You are emitting the glow of the recently shagged."
"Fuck off."
"Who is he? Do I know him? At least tell me it's not the guy who picks up the blood samples, 'cause seriously, eww."
Micah shot Tom a withering glance and then turned his attention back to the instruments he was arranging on a tray to be sterilised. "No, you don't know him and no, it's not Neville."
"Neville? Of course he's Neville. He looks like a Neville." Tom nodded slowly, obviously mulling over the information. Although Micah had to give him that one. The guy who picked up their samples for processing definitely l
ooked like a Neville. "So who is it then?"
"None of your business."
"None of my business? I think as your friend, colleague and the last man who saw the inside of your bedroom, before this mystery shagger, of course, maybe it's just a little bit my business," Tom said, his voice on the cool side.
"Ouch," Micah slapped his hand to his heart as though mortally wounded. He noted the steely look in Tom's eyes and he sighed. Yeah, he was probably right. For a while he'd thought he and Tom had a chance, but their relationship had fizzled out when Tom had confessed he really couldn't compete with a ghost. Especially one that wasn't even dead. "Harry Boyd."
"Harry Boyd?" Tom's gaze widened. "The Harry Boyd? Harry-who-ditched-me-on-graduation-day-and-ruined-me-for-other-men-forever-Boyd?"
"Yep, that's the one."
"Wow."
"Pretty much." Micah shrugged. "Look, there were reasons back then, good reasons, and that's all you need to know."
"Seriously?" Tom huffed in frustration. "That's all you're gonna give me?"
"Yes."
"At least let me meet him," Tom pleaded. "You owe me that."
"Owe you? How do I owe you?" Micah spluttered incredulously.
"You owe me the chance to meet the other guy I was sharing a bed with for a year," Tom drawled. "Because he was right there between us, every single time."
Micah was speechless. Is that really how it was? Is that how he'd made Tom feel when they were together? What could he possibly say to make that all right? "Tom," he began, needing to say something. "I don't—"
"Hey," Tom leaned in and pressed a kiss to Micah's forehead. "I knew what I was getting into, and friends is good," he said, his smile a little sad. "Friends is good enough."
"If it makes any difference, I never intended to hurt you," Micah cupped Tom's cheek and thumbed across the jut of his cheekbone. "I tried… I really did."
"I know you did," Tom replied, hugging Micah briefly, then gave him a good-natured nudge. "That's why we're still friends. And if you say there were good reasons and you're happy, then that's good enough for me."
"I am," Micah said, nodding firmly. "I really am. And you will get to meet him. Today, in fact. I'm booking his mum into the clinic."
"She's pregnant?"
"No," Micah deadpanned. "She's having her nails done."
"How old is she for God's sake?" Tom asked.
"Forty-four, you moron," Micah chuckled. "She had Harry when she was eighteen." He opened the steriliser and put the tray in, setting it on a fresh cycle. "I'm a bit worried actually. She looked a bit puffy yesterday and has been complaining of headaches. I'll feel a lot better when I can get a set of obs and a sample."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Tom tried to be reassuring, but Micah had seen enough pre-eclampsia to know he had a right to be worried.
"I hope you're right." Micah ran his hands through his hair and stifled a yawn. He'd finally fallen asleep about three, boneless and sated, wrapped in Harry's arms. "Right, clinic starts in five. What's going on with you?"
"Melissa Webster came in two hours ago. Third baby, dilating nicely, shouldn't be too long now, she can do it in her sleep," Tom replied matter of fact. "What time is Harry and his mum coming in?"
"After clinic, about four," Micah said, heading to the door.
"Well, I'd better see if I can get baby Webster out touts suite," Tom grinned as he picked up a freshly sterilised and covered tray of instruments. "I want to get a look at the infamous Harry Boyd."
Micah shook his head and left the room, strolling down the hall to the waiting room where his clinic appointments were already starting to assemble. He grinned widely and rubbed his hands together. "Right, ladies. Which one of you wants to be my first vict—patient?"
Hannah Morris hauled herself to her feet and shook her head slowly, not even attempting to keep the sarcasm at bay. "You know, Micah, that joke would be boring if you used it every time you opened clinic. Oh wait—you do."
"Hannah, my lovely," Micah replied with a smile, taking the file held out to him. "You know you'd be devastated if I didn't. I can tell by your face just how much you love it."
"Don't make me punch you."
Micah chuckled as he followed Hannah to the examination room. Baby number six and, although she was a fantastic mother who lavished love and adoration on each one of her children with equal measure, loathed being "inhabited by a blood-sucking parasite" that looked like it was going to burst forth at any moment a la John Hurt. No, you definitely couldn't say pregnancy suited Hannah Morris, not unless you wanted to eat your dinner through a straw.
After closing the door behind them, Micah helped Hannah onto the bed and settled her comfortably before beginning her obs. "Have you been putting your feet up like I told you?" he questioned as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her upper arm and secured the Velcro. He gently palpated the skin around her ankles and she huffed impatiently.
"Get off," Hannah complained. "How many times do I have to tell you, they're not swollen, they're fat. I've had five kids for God's sake and after number four any ankles you had move out and the cankles move in."
Micah bit the inside of his lip, knowing that laughing at this point would not be the best idea he'd ever had. "Even so," he said firmly. "Get them up for at least thirty minutes a day. Don't make me call your mother."
"God, you're such telltale tit," Hannah wiggled on the bed. "Always were."
"Hey, I resent that! Being a telltale and being Jenny Lewis' son are two very different things," Micah pressed the button on the blood pressure machine and the cuff began to inflate. "I never had to tell tales, she just knew."
"Your mother has many talents," Hannah agreed, grimacing as the cuff grew tighter.
"Nearly done, it's starting to go down now," Micah soothed, waiting for the beep and then writing down the result in Hannah's file.
"That thing should be classed as a form of torture. Along with the speculum."
"I agree about the blood pressure machine, but I have no experience of the speculum, apart from using it," Micah chuckled, taking his tape measure out of his pocket and swiftly measuring Hannah's bump. "And no," he added at the smirk on her face. "I've not tried it in the bedroom."
"I never said a word. Although, since you brought it up. What's this I hear about you and the gorgeous new tenant of Lilac Cottage?" Hannah grinned widely. "I saw him in the post office last week. Doris practically dribbled all over him. You should have seen her, she was all coy and girly. I swear she actually blushed."
"Harry does tend to have that effect."
"Harry?" Hannah lifted her head off the bed. "Harry Boyd?"
"For God's sake, not you as well," Micah grumbled. "Oh, the joys of living in the arse-end of nowhere, where everyone knows your bloody business. Do you know what I had for breakfast this morning, too?"
"I'd take a guess at Harry Boyd," Hannah replied, her grin wide and teasing.
Micah laughed as he crossed the room to test the sample Hannah had brought with her. He dipped the strip and waited for it to change colour to signify the presence of any protein, a sign of pre-eclampsia. Satisfied it was clear, he dropped the strip into the clinical waste bin and washed his hands. After noting the results, he walked back to the bed to palpate Hannah's stomach to ascertain the baby's position. Pressing down on her pubic bone he smiled encouragingly. "Head's nice and low, exactly what we want. But then I have no doubt this one will slip out like the last three, so make sure you don't cough too hard over the next couple of weeks or junior might make an early appearance."
"I'd laugh if that wasn't so close to the truth," Hannah deadpanned and gasped as he squeezed gel onto her stomach. "They can put a man on the moon, but they can't make that bloody stuff warm."
Micah chuckled softly and picked up the foetal doppler. He rubbed the scanner through the gel and almost immediately the sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the room. "A hundred and fifty bpm," Micah said with a satisfied nod. "Perfect. Have you thought a
ny more about a birth plan?"
"Not really," Hannah replied, wiping at the gel on her stomach with the tissues Micah had handed to her. "Like you said, it's probably going to be all over in twenty minutes like the last three, so there's not much point in making a plan. I'll only have to tear the bloody thing up."
"You never know. If you stay away from the curry this time, you may last a whole half hour." Micah ignored her less-than-elegant expletive and slipped his arm through hers, assisting her up. "I could of course tell you how every other woman in the waiting room wished they could have twenty minute labours, but I'm guessing that would earn me a right hook, so I'm not going to say a word."
Hannah wiggled until she was on the edge of the table and stepped off, rearranging her top and leggings over her bump. "Good idea," she warned, picking up her handbag from the chair then slipping it onto her shoulder. "Because, Micah, my love, no matter how good you are at your job, it's all theory for you. You are indeed a man of many talents, some of which I do not want to know about, but unless the human anatomy has changed since I was at school, you ain't ever gonna be on that bed with your feet in stirrups." She winked lasciviously, "Unless you're into some really kinky shit, of course."
"Again… I'm not saying a word."
Micah laughed loudly as she put her fingers in her ears and began to sing la-la over and over on her way out of the room. "Tell Myrna same time next week!" He quickly screwed the paper lining the bed into a ball and replaced it from the roll hanging off the back of the bed, then pressed the plunger on the alcohol hand gel beside the door. Rubbing his hands together, Micah poked his head around the door and called his next patient. He bit back a groan as he settled Angie Fitzgerald on the bed, who smiled up at him, her expression the picture of innocence, and said.