Nesting Habits

by Charley Descoteaux

  Becca laughed. “Phil, you’re a hoot. I love you, you know.”

  Phil rested his arm across Becca’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I love you too.”

  Phil

  THE DAY felt like a resounding win, even though he had to settle for a rain check on the sing-along. They stood at the top of the driveway in a pose that was quickly becoming familiar—Lee’s arm resting across his shoulders, his own around Lee’s waist. They waved as Kim and Kenny and Amber pulled out. They were the last to leave, and by then Phil almost didn’t want them to go. Almost. Their car hadn’t even reached the cross street and Phil started moving Lee toward the back door.

  “Hey, take it easy. I’m coming.”

  “Not yet, you aren’t,” Phil mumbled.

  Lee made a soft questioning sound—maybe he’d caught that, and maybe he hadn’t.

  Determination surged through Phil’s body, propelling them both up the steps and into the kitchen. His heart pounded in his chest, but it didn’t worry him, even a tiny little bit. Instinct drove him, instinct and hunger and the voice in his head that growled mine, over and over.

  Instead of continuing on through the kitchen, he maneuvered Lee into the laundry room. Lee chuckled and said something about being dirty, but Phil silenced him with a kiss. Phil walked Lee backward until he was up against the washing machine, and still he pressed forward—his tongue pushing into Lee’s mouth, their bodies so tight Phil felt Lee’s response pressing against his stomach even before Lee moaned.

  Phil moved away just enough to unfasten Lee’s pants. He circled Lee’s tongue with his own, dragging a long low moan from Lee’s throat that pulled Phil’s balls tight against his body. He shivered as he pushed at Lee’s pants, and again, when Lee moved in just the right way to let them drop to the floor around his ankles.

  Loose jeans never looked hotter than they did on Lee. It probably wasn’t true, but Phil told himself he was the only one who knew a round and perfect ass hid inside those worn jeans.

  Lee leaned that biteable ass back against the washing machine. Phil spun him around and pushed him against the machine—not quite gently.

  And Lee let himself be moved. It was such a rush, Phil couldn’t breathe for a few wing beats. He tightened his grip on Lee’s waist, just feeling him, the warmth of his body, the strength humming through him, as Lee waited for what Phil would do next. Hunger took over again, and he ground against Lee’s ass while he dug in his pockets for the little foil pack and the one shot of lube. The speed with which he freed his cock, dragged on the condom and lubed up was that of a man with much more experience doing those things, but he wasn’t concerned with style or grace. Lee slumped against the washing machine when Phil massaged slick fingers across his opening. Phil dipped inside for a few short seconds but couldn’t take it any longer. He grabbed Lee’s hip and guided his aching dick toward the target. Lee lifted his hips and his head clanked down against the top of the old washer. Lee murmured something Phil thought was yes-yes-yes. He pushed inside and Lee cried out, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the machine.

  Phil froze when Lee cried out. He didn’t want to hurt him, but it was all he could do not to plunge in balls deep when he heard that. Seconds later, Lee started to whimper, his hips rocking toward Phil. He couldn’t help himself, Phil thrust into that amazing hole, not all the way—he wasn’t an animal—but oh shit, did it feel good.

  Barely a handful of seconds later, Lee’s sounds took on a pleading quality. Phil took the best grip he could on Lee’s trim hips and fucked him. Phil sped to a rhythm that almost matched the double bass drum in a metal song—or maybe that was his heart beating that fast. He sank deeper every time until their balls slapped together. The washing machine accompanied their chorus of moans with its squeaky dance toward the wall.

  Phil’s mind emptied the first time he fully realized what he was doing. He froze, heart racing, every nerve in his body felt like it was made up of shooting stars. A few seconds later his mind filled back up with fuck yeah—buried to the hilt inside the only guy in the world was what it was all about, after all. In that moment, it just fucking was.

  “You feel so fucking good.” Phil grunted with each thrust, hard and fast, reveling in the feel of Lee’s body squeezing his dick. “Shit, so fucking good.”

  “Oh fuck yeah, fuck… fuck….” Lee’s voice trailed away and then rose in a wail as his body shuddered.

  Lee made the most delicious sounds, and every move of every muscle brought a new burst of sensation. Lee had just started to relax when he said, “Oh yeah, Phil. That’s it, that’s it.”

  Phil pounded harder as his own orgasm cut through him like a thunderclap. He howled like he never had in his life. It felt like it lasted a year….

  His hips slowed, little by little, until he finally came to rest against Lee’s back. His hands still gripped Lee’s hips, his twitching cock buried deep inside the man he loved. After only a moment, Phil lifted himself and drew both hands up Lee’s back, pushing his shirt out of the way. He left a line of soft kisses on the plane of muscle alongside his spine until he was stretched out over Lee’s back. He rested his cheek where his lips had just been and methodically caressed every inch of soft damp skin he could reach.

  “You’re so beautiful, Lee.”

  Lee sighed softly in reply.

  It seemed to take a long time, but eventually Phil softened and had to deal with the condom. He expected Lee to follow, but when Phil got impatient and went looking for him, he hadn’t moved. Lee’s hair hid a lot of his face so Phil brushed it away, and then Lee lit up the world.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m much better than that.” Lee opened his eyes.

  “I hope I didn’t—”

  “You were awesome.” Lee shook his head. “Plain fucking awesome.”

  Phil had to admit he felt pretty proud of himself. “Planning on sleeping here tonight?”

  Lee chuckled. “What if I am?”

  “I’ll be right back with a couple pillows.” Phil grinned.

  Lee peeled himself off the washing machine and stretched his arms over his head, yawning with a growl. When he opened his eyes, his body jerked. “Are you okay?”

  Phil tried to frown in confusion but in his current state of nirvana, it just wasn’t possible.

  Lee reached out and caught a tear on the back of his finger. He smiled. “Joy?”

  Phil nodded and took Lee’s hand to lead him to bed.

  “Just checking.”

  PHIL STOOD at the stove, the griddle in front of him full of little round pancakes. Lee shuffled into the kitchen rubbing sleep from his eyes, adorable in boxers and a T-shirt. Phil took a short moment to appreciate the view, and then he gathered the golden-brown circles into a stack, tucked them into the warm oven, and turned off the stove.

  “Come here a minute?”

  “What’re you doing making breakfast in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s morning. Technically. Come here.”

  Phil grabbed his camera from the counter and walked backward toward the laundry room, his hand out, palm up, beckoning. Lee’s eyes were barely open, but Phil felt positively bouncy awake. And hungry. Pancakes seemed like a good start at the time.

  “Don’t I even get a kiss first?”

  “Come here and get your kiss.” Phil’s ass bumped against the washing machine and turned his grin a little wicked.

  Lee got within reach and Phil pulled him close by the hem of his T-shirt. After a quick kiss, he turned Lee so they stood side by side, facing their reflection in the crazy mirrored tiles covering the wall. Phil held his camera below and between their faces, and pointed it toward the mirror. Lee had almost woken up by then and wrapped his arm around Phil’s shoulders. Lee leaned against him, molding their bodies together and easing Phil’s forehead against his cheek.

  Phil snapped a quick series of photos in which Lee kissed his forehead and then continued on to his lips. The last few shots inspired them to add “
paint the laundry room ceiling” to their ever-growing list of home improvements.

  THE EDGES of the pancakes were a little crunchy by the time they broke out the syrup, but neither cared.

  Note from Charley Descoteaux

  Thank you for your support! If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review on the site where you purchased it, or on Goodreads.

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  Read on for Chapter One of the USA Today Must-read Romance, Buchanan House!

  Eric Allen and his bestie buy a neglected hotel on the scenic Oregon coast to fulfill their middle-school dreams of co-owning a B&B. The building is in decent shape but in order to turn Buchanan House into the gay resort of their dreams, it's going to need work.

  Tim Tate is a skilled carpenter with many hidden talents, and a body that could grace the pages of a fitness magazine. When he and Eric meet, it's mutual lust at first sight. Despite the intense attraction, both men are hesitant to fully out themselves by acting on it. But when they give in, it’s obvious that they’ve found something special—and not only in bed.

  Before Eric can be free to love the gorgeous handyman they have to make it through the July 4th grand opening. With rain that won't stop and a meddling brother intent on wreaking havoc, can the holiday still go off with a bang?

  Now available at Amazon and KU!

  THE FIRST raindrops fell as Eric tossed a handful of dark, rich earth into the grave. He watched it fall, along with the smattering of rain, and darken the plain wooden coffin. Some of Grammy Jewell’s friends had dropped flowers. Eric hadn’t planned to drop anything at all. He felt that would be tantamount to throwing something at her, but tradition won out in the end. He’d relied on Nathan to help him stand and navigate the three steps from the folding chair to the edge of the hole—the final resting place of his favorite person in the whole world, the one he could always count on for unconditional love.

  Nathan’s arm circled Eric’s waist, gently urging him away from the gaping hole. “Come on and sit back down.” Nathan’s implied “before you fall in” came through loud and clear.

  “No. It’s over. Let’s go?” He leaned against Nathan and slipped an arm around him. Eric wished the funeral had literally come to a close, and he and Nathan were the only living souls in sight. He didn’t want to cry in front of everyone—again—but he felt the walls breaking down regardless of how he worked to shore them up. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when more tears would fall.

  “You got it.” Nathan kissed the top of Eric’s head, tightening his grip on Eric’s waist as he started them walking. “Where are we going?”

  Before Eric could answer, a familiar, and unwelcome, face appeared in front of them. “We need to discuss Jewell’s estate.”

  “Mrs. Allen.” Nathan’s contempt for Eric’s mom—for his whole family, at least those among the living—was evident in his tone. “Tex will be handling—”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. Eric, come with me.”

  She reached out and Eric backed away. The rain had increased, but he knew it wouldn’t hide anything. Eric wished he had worn his glasses instead of contacts. At least then his view would be obscured by water clinging to the lenses. He could only hope the rain would drive the rest of his so-called family away so he wouldn’t have to deal with them all, one by one. To be subjected, three times, to the belief that the estate should be divided four ways instead of one.

  “You’re a thirty-year-old man. Can’t you keep from crying for five minutes?”

  Nathan pulled Eric against his chest and embraced him, and spoke to Mrs. Allen over Eric’s head. “If you have any questions about the estate, contact Ms. Worth. She’s handling everything. If you want to talk to Eric, you’ll have to be nice. Since that’s obviously not possible, you’ll have to leave him alone.”

  Eric allowed himself to be steered through the orderly cemetery, past the tasteful plaques fading demurely into the manicured lawn, and on to the parking lot.

  Grammy would hate the neat symmetry here.

  He wished he could have turned off his thoughts, or at least his hearing, so he wouldn’t have had to listen to everything all over again. His mother loved to opine that a real man wouldn’t be seen crying or hanging all over another man…

  He might if the man was tall, blond, and handsome, like Nathan.

  …and that Jewell’s indulgence didn’t mean his perverse lifestyle was right.

  True perversity is to be unkind to one’s own child.

  That Eric should be more like his brother.

  A bully and philanderer.

  He’d heard it all before, but it felt worse without Grammy Jewell’s loving, rational responses to balance it out. His own feeble attempts barely made a dent.

  It was bad enough his own mother couldn’t remember his age. Since she’d undershot it by three years, Eric had no intention of correcting her and was glad Nathan didn’t either.

  More by Charley Descoteaux

  Always Forward! Never Straight

  BUCHANAN HOUSE LOVE STORIES

  Buchanan House & Pride Weekend

  Tiny House

  Safe House

  Holiday Weekend

  Art House

  Writing as Charli Coty

  Be My Love: Two Mature Heroes Tales

  Speedbump

  Torque

  Toy Run

  The Visionary

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHARLEY DESCOTEAUX is the author of the Buchanan House Love Stories. Book One was a USA Today Must-Read Romance.

  Charley has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they’ve agreed to let her sleep once in a while. Charley grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area during a drought, and found her true home in the soggy Pacific Northwest. She has survived earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, but couldn’t make it through a single day without stories.

  Blog: cdescoteauxwrites.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/charley.descoteaux.3

  Twitter: @CharleyDescote

  Goodreads: tinyurl.com/aqe7g7r

  Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/charleydescote

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Nesting Habits of Strange Birds

  © 2014 Charley Descoteaux.

  Second Edition, 2019

  Cover Art, PinkInk Designs

  © 2018

  https://www.pinkinkdesigns.com/

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact CeeTwo Publishing, 14997 SE Grant Ct., Portland, OR 97233 or https://cdescoteauxwrites.com/

  Printed in the United States of America

 

 

 
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