Things that Go Bump in the Night

by BA Tortuga

  “Oh, wow. Wow.” Her eyes were huge. “What happened?”

  “Well, we had sex on my conference table.”

  He was going for gross-out, but Cassie hooted and clapped, cheering for him. “Good man! How long’s it been?”

  “Since I got laid over the conference table?”

  “Since you got fucked at all?”

  He stared at her. “Last night.”

  “Rock on! It’s good for you, taking it hard. Loosens that stick up your….”

  “Cassandra!”

  “What?” Her bright green eyes widened dramatically. “It’s true.”

  “Are you going to feed me? I’m hungry for something not coffee.” Rude girl.

  “Is it late enough in the day for Angeli?” She glanced at his watch upside down. “Come on.”

  She headed out, everyone in the entire place watching her go. Why wouldn’t they? Candy-colored hair, camo pants, a bright blue tank top—she was a walking circus performance. He adored her.

  She was the bravest person he’d ever met.

  Ever.

  He tossed a couple of bucks on the table for the tired-looking girls who cleaned up powdered sugar all day and followed his sister, his jaw cracking over a yawn. He hadn’t slept. He’d stayed until the promise of first light, then slipped out while Brock slept the sleep of recent orgasm. It had been the best night of his life. His ass was still tender. He could never do it again, but he had… closure, he supposed.

  Something.

  Cassie was heading down Decatur Street like her life depended on it, and he just ate her dust, following behind. He didn’t have any hurry left in him. He knew where the restaurant was, knew she would order him the sampler and eat the feta for him. She would get the chicken diavolo pizza and make his mouth water smelling it.

  The buskers were just starting to ramp up for the day, painted gold or dressed as Transformers or playing a mad trumpet, and the sun was bright, burning off the haze in the air.

  Maybe he should move down here….

  He’d be less weird here, right? Less of a freak, which he still was, even in full disguise. He walked into the little restaurant, the dark wood and spicy smells soothing his soul.

  He settled down next to Cassie, who almost looked embarrassed. “Sorry, bro.”

  “I can tell. Did you order?”

  “I did. Sampler, right?”

  “Yep.” He shook his head in mock sorrow. “So delicate and caring, my sister.”

  “That’s me, paragon of womanly virtue. So, you got laid. Are you hooking up with him again?”

  “No.” He traced a wet-ring stain on the table. “I can’t. Cassie.”

  “Wasn’t it fun?”

  “God, yes.” Fun didn’t begin to describe it. “He’s a chef now. He made me vegan enchiladas, even though he’s famous for butter and bacon.”

  “And he’s obviously not married or popping out kittens at an alarming rate.” Cassie winked over the table at him. “Did he jack off in like a zillion plastic cups to get out of it?”

  Clay caught himself laughing. “No. He left like a week after we did, I guess.”

  “Oh man. At least we had each other, huh? How scary.”

  Clay sat back like he’d been shot. Sure, he’d been on his own, but his folks had been there via phone when they couldn’t be there in person. Brock had left everything behind, hadn’t he? Family, pride, and his best friend had been run out of town because he was gay.

  Wow.

  Damn it, now was not the time for paradigm shifts.

  The food came, the sun-dried tomato dip making his mouth water. “I never thought of that. I mean, I didn’t know until the other day, right?”

  “Right. Guilt is stupid. I’ve been telling you that for years.” She grabbed a bite of feta. “Anyway, you’re into each other, right?”

  God, that was the understatement of the century. Brock was still a force of nature, still so strong and fucking irresistible. “You make it sound so easy. What if I let myself go and did what I wanted, Cass, and got everyone fucked-up again? I almost got us all killed.”

  “No. No, those assholes that pretended to be family, to be pride, they did that to us. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” She had all the righteousness of youth, the surety that came with being so much smaller than him when they left their hometown that she had an idealized version of what “pride” ought to be.

  “I don’t know, Cassie. What if—” He tapped his fingers on the table again. What if Brock broke his heart? He didn’t think he could bear to lose the man again.

  “What if what? If he’s mean, bite him. Hard. Four or five times.”

  “Dork.”

  “I am.” She raised her arms and shimmied. “It’s freeing.”

  “Oh, shut up and eat.” He reached out and snagged a bite, moaned as he chewed. Yummy.

  She blinked at him. “Clay, you just ate a bite of my chicken.”

  “I did not. I’m vegan.”

  “You did.” She pointed to the hole in her pizza toppings.

  “I…. Oh God. Cassie.”

  “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. Breathe. Have a bite of feta.”

  “No.” He scooped up a huge bite of hummus, the garlic making his eyes water.

  She snorted a bit, quiet chuckles that became full-blown laughter when he glared at her. “Oh, Clay. I told you Jean-Claude was a sucky disguise. I miss you so much, and I can actually feel you trying to bust free. Let Clay out, please?”

  “Stop it.” He took another bite, hunger flooding him.

  Cassie waved down the waitress. “Can we get another chicken pizza?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not.” She arched a brow at him. “You need food. Your soul is starving as bad as your body.” Her eyes flashed gold, and he blinked. Such a kitty. Like Brock.

  She handed him a piece of pizza, and he took it, fingers shaking, a deep sound trying to get out. When he took a bite, he closed his eyes, the bright flavor and earthy meat smell making his breath catch. So long. It had been so long.

  “That’s it. That’s it. Good.” She was making the most amazing sounds, crooning to him, and he looked down, realizing he’d eaten two-thirds of the pizza.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s healthy. What do you want next?”

  Brock.

  Brock and a steak. His mouth watered at the idea. He wanted to touch and suck and let Brock have his ass….

  “Where’s your phone?” Cassie asked him.

  “What?”

  “Where is your phone?”

  “Here.” He pulled out his phone and handed it over, and Cassie tapped and clicked, then handed it back. It was ringing, Brock’s name showing on the front.

  Oh fuck.

  “Why did you—”

  “Hello? Clay, is that you?” He could hear Brock loud and clear.

  “Brock.” He moaned. “I ate a piece of chicken with my sister.”

  “Hey, baby. You did, huh? Did you know you left before I woke up?” Brock didn’t sound mad, really, which was good, right?

  “I stayed ’til dawn. I want a steak.” What the hell was wrong with him?

  “I can do that. I can. Do I need to come get you?”

  “I drove to New Orleans. I’ll come to you. I’m… I don’t fit in my skin.”

  Cassie was staring at him, a fond look on her face. She nibbled the remains of the pizza, but there was another one coming.

  “I’ll go shopping. I want you to be careful, please.”

  “Of course.” He was the king of careful. Surely he could handle one more day of it.

  “I’m waiting.”

  The words sounded so sure. Brock had always been so certain. Hell, everyone in his life was sure of everything but him.

  “Okay. Yeah. The other pizza is coming.”

  “Save the steak for when you get home. You haven’t lived until I’ve cooked one for you. You know where I
live, baby.” The way Brock said baby went right to his dick.

  “I do.” He hung up, stared at his sister. “What did I just do?”

  “What you’re meant to do. Eat up, though, or the drive home will be tough. Tell Brock I expect an amazing meal when I come to visit.”

  “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m….”

  “Healing? It took forever.”

  No. No, it just took Brock.

  She reached across the table and took his hand. “You had everything taken away from you. Maybe you needed to get that one thing back. It’s going to be okay, bro.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Faced with her certainty and Brock’s, it was hard not to believe.

  “I love you, Cassie. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.”

  “Shut up and eat a piece of pizza.” She shoved the tray toward him, her laughter like wind chimes. He loved her so.

  “Remember, brother. Amazing meals for me when I come. All meat.”

  “Okay.” He stood before tossing some bills on the table. He took one more slice of pizza for the road. “I love you.”

  “I love you. Call me when the bites heal!”

  He waved and trotted down the street toward the riverwalk and his car. He had to get back to Brock. Now.

  All he had to do was hold it together until he got there.

  It was hard to drive with claws.

  BROCK SHOPPED. He bought meat. All sorts. The best was a filet of beef that made even his mouth water. Pork belly. Regular bacon. Alka-Seltzer, just in case.

  Then he went home and made bread. Cleaned the kitchen. Made sure he had a ton of lube.

  Called in to the restaurant and told them he wouldn’t be in, possibly for a few days.

  Then he waited for the doorbell to ring. He wanted Clay with him. He knew when he woke alone that Clay had freaked out and run. Thank God he’d gone to Cassie, who must be a kickass chick by now.

  He’d almost fucking died when Clay had called him. Called him and asked for a steak. He’d had to pretend to be calm, pretend not to be over the fucking moon. He didn’t want Clay to go kitty on him before he got home.

  The knock on the door was soft, but sure. Fuck, yes. His lover.

  Brock bounded to the door and flung it open, the calm absolutely gone. He needed to touch.

  Clay stood there, staring at him with those fucking fake eyes. “Brock.”

  “So, chicken pizza, huh?” He took Clay’s arm and pulled him inside.

  “Uh-huh.”

  The door was closed, locked behind him. He wasn’t letting Clay out now. Not ever, maybe.

  Or maybe it was the other way around.

  Maybe it was finally time for Clay to be out. Out of his self-imposed cage.

  “I thought it would be me, not the chicken pizza,” Brock teased.

  “It’s your fault. I had control.” Clay smelled so good, like spice and sex, still.

  Brock reached out and touched Clay’s cheek. “I’m not sorry. I need to see your eyes.”

  “I have some saline in my backpack. I haven’t let anyone see in fifteen years.”

  “Please, baby.” He wanted to see those bright green-and-gold eyes staring at him.

  Clay sat down, pulled a case from his backpack, and popped them out, eyes trained on the floor.

  “Now, look at me.” Brock squatted in front of Clay, fingers under that sharp chin.

  Oh fuck. Fuck. He groaned, his cock achingly, brutally hard at the sight of his eyes. The pupils were slit, completely feline, utterly perfect.

  “Hello. I missed you so much.” He leaned in to kiss Clay’s lips, so damned happy he could bust.

  The flavor of his lover was stronger now, more present, the taste rich and meaty. Heady. He pushed his tongue into Clay’s mouth, moaning, his balls already pulling. He crawled over Clay, shoving him back into the cushions, fingers moving to tear at clothes. Brock needed skin and heat and touch and taste. He needed his lover. A wild sound came out of him—part pain from having waited so long, but mostly hunger.

  He humped, heedless of his own clothes, the thin sweats he wore no real barrier.

  “You too. Us. Together.” Oh, listen to that growl.

  Brock struggled out of his pants so they were both bare, both rubbing like mad. The odd passivity had been replaced with sharp nips, Clay’s fingers digging into his ass and tugging them together.

  Their cocks pressed close, the tip of his catching just under the head of Clay’s. God, that was good, making him shudder.

  “Want. Want more.” Clay bit his shoulder, his earlobe.

  “Anything. Want you so bad.” The lube was in the bedroom.

  “Please. Please, I’m so….” Those eyes met his, pure Clay. “Caught.”

  “Good.” He pulled off, lifting Clay with him. “Bedroom. I want to play, baby. Like I mean it.”

  “Uh-huh. I might change, after. I don’t know.”

  “I won’t mind that a bit, and you know it.” He’d always been the one to encourage Clay to be a kitty.

  “I do. I know. Hurry.”

  “Lube. Where the hell did I put the lube?” He was so fucking hard he hurt, and holding Clay wasn’t helping one bit. That lean, wriggling body was making him pant, making him crazy.

  He dropped Clay onto the bed, and watching all the things bounce made his mouth dry. Then he tore his eyes from the beautiful sight and grabbed the lube he’d been hunting.

  Oh.

  There.

  Lube. Cock. Ass. Orgasms.

  He grinned, feeling feral, as if his cat waited to pounce.

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

  “Ha-ha.” Brock leaned down and bit Clay’s nipple. “Much tastier than canary.”

  Clay’s body stiffened like Brock had hit him with electricity, a happy yowl on the air. “Tweet tweet?”

  “Uh-huh.” He chuckled, the sound buzzing against skin.

  “Damned carnivore.”

  “I know. I like meat.” He let his hand speak for what he wanted right now, sliding down to close over Clay’s cock. Clay spread like soft butter with a hot knife, body offered up on a silver platter.

  Fuck, that lean body had the kind of beauty that made a man want to explore. He licked his way down Clay’s flat belly, making a mental note to get some meat on those bones.

  He nudged Clay’s needy, wet-tipped cock with his chin, bumping it. He fucking loved the way his stubble made Clay growl, so he did it again and again. He licked the single drop of precome up, then sucked the head into his mouth. Clay’s flavor made his eyes cross and he gave in to the need to pull, make his lover twist. Hot, salty, a little spicy, Clay was everything he ever wanted and had never hoped to have again.

  One hand was in his hair, holding on like Clay’s life depended on it.

  Hell, maybe it did. His poor love had to be a little scared still, a little freaked about letting loose.

  Good thing he was there to turn the man inside out.

  He sucked, lips sealed tight to Clay’s skin.

  “Brock. Brock.” His name punctuated every roll of Clay’s hips.

  “Mmm.” He moaned, his fingers tapping behind Clay’s balls hard enough Clay curled up, shoulders leaving the mattress, belly rubbing his head. Sweet love, so responsive. So his.

  Clay growled low, climbed over him and crawled down, mouth surrounding his cock as he tugged the lean hips around to suck Clay’s prick back in. He’d always wanted to try this but had never wanted to do it with anyone but Clay. They rocked, sucking and moaning, licking and growling happily.

  When he touched Clay’s tight little hole, he could feel that fat cock jump in his mouth.

  He was going to bury himself in there, watch Clay’s eyes as he filled that sweet ass up. He pushed one finger inside, testing the stretch.

  Still hot and barely swollen from yesterday. Clay bore down, riding his touch. He had to let go for a moment to get the lube open, but then he was
back to sucking and fucking Clay’s ass with his wet fingers. Clay’s mouth was fiery around him, the suction steady and fierce, demanding more of him, now.

  Brock popped his mouth free. “Don’t want to come in your mouth, baby.”

  “Hmmm?” At least Clay had heard him.

  “I want your ass, baby.”

  The moan he got almost sent him right over the edge, long and heartfelt and so good around his cock.

  He pulled away, moved between Clay’s legs. He wanted to dive in immediately, but he waited, stretching Clay so much more.

  Clay’s eyes were closed, lips open and panting.

  “Let me see your eyes, baby. I want to see them when I fuck you.”

  “You’re obsessed.” They opened, though, didn’t they? Bright and wild and wonderful.

  “I am. They’re what I dream about when I dream of you.”

  The blush clawed its way up Clay’s chest, ending in his cheeks. The tiny frown of confused pleasure made Brock growl, made him push forward with his hips so he could slide into Clay’s body.

  They moaned together, both making the same sound of pure need. He pressed in until his hips met Clay’s ass, his balls nudging against Clay’s skin.

  All the while, Clay stared at him. Watched him, those eyes taking in every detail of him. Another sort of caress, and Brock soaked it in like a cat basking in the glow of the sun.

  “Perfect.” He muttered the word, hips drawing back, pulling him out and then slamming back in.

  Clay hummed, heels digging into Brock’s ass, and they began to move, too fast and not enough. The rhythm was rough and raw, and they were both going to be sore in the morning. Brock couldn’t stop, couldn’t even slow down. Clay was with him, calling out, crying out to him, the sounds growls at the edges.

  He leaned down to bite Clay’s skin, right there on one shoulder, and Clay stiffened, hands curling into claws. “Please. Brock, please.”

  “Love you so, baby.” He could say it now that Clay wasn’t hiding. “Always have.”

  “I left so they wouldn’t hurt you, so they wouldn’t hurt the people I love.”

  “Shh.” He knew that. Brock had always known it, but Clay couldn’t bury who he was forever.

  “No. No, I don’t want to hush. I missed you.”

  “Good.” He grinned, feeling bizarre having a hard-core talk while they were fucking.