Things that Go Bump in the Night

by BA Tortuga

  “Uh-huh.” Clay smiled right back, and then they both started laughing, shaking the bed.

  The movement made Brock catch his breath, made him remember what they were doing. He rolled his hips and Clay’s eyes went wide, needy, the hunger in them clear as crystal. He grunted, his hips moving again, rolling, driving deep. This time there wasn’t talking, laughing. Hell, there wasn’t even moaning, just his hips slapping Clay’s ass. He panted, his chest heaving, his hands on Clay’s hips. His balls drew up, pulled tight, and he threw his head back, trying to hold himself together.

  “Brock.” Clay clawed at his chest, the tiny sting of blunt nails enough to make him shout.

  He reached down, rolling over the tip of Clay’s prick. They needed to come together. He needed Clay with him.

  Clay’s ass clenched around his cock, squeezing, milking him.

  “Now, baby. I got to go now.” He couldn’t hold on. Brock came hard, his seed deep in Clay’s body.

  Like his pushed Clay’s out, spunk splashed on his belly between them. The scent of his lover sent another spasm through his balls, his belly tight, his back arching. Best of all were those eyes, staring at him. He could look into those eyes for the rest of his life.

  Clay reached up, cupped his cheek, fingers stroking.

  “My Clay. God, it’s good to see you. Your hair will grow out, right?”

  “You don’t like my hair?”

  “It’s… pale.” He liked the crazy gold color Clay’s hair had always been.

  “Bleached. I have to work hard to make it stay. My hairdresser is going to have an aneurysm.”

  “Hairdressers like a challenge.” Not that he knew. He had a barber.

  Clay’s stomach snarled, rumbling against him.

  Brock chuckled. “I got the steak out. It’s ready to grill.”

  “Yeah?” Clay arched up, cheek sliding against his in a purely natural motion. “I’m so hungry.”

  He stroked Clay’s chest and belly a moment. “Well, let’s eat. I live to feed folks.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s the rumor I hear.”

  “Hey, I will feed you anything but tofu.”

  “Steak. Potato. Mostly steak.”

  “Cool.” Brock slid free and slapped Clay’s ass. “You’re not fuzzy.”

  “You noticed. Maybe I can’t. It’s possible.”

  “No, it’s right there.” He would bet the steak did it.

  “Yeah?”

  “God, yes.” He stroked Clay’s cheek and his lover nuzzled right into the touch. “Sex is better as humans. Even your confused body knows that.”

  Clay chuckled, rolled up and touched him, fingers dragging on his skin. “Feed me.”

  Brock just shivered happily before heading to the kitchen. He had an apron, so who needed pants?

  He heard his lover padding behind him, quiet as a mouse. It was like being hunted. His tail would twitch if he had it, and his whiskers too. He refused to speed or look back. He was the one in control. Him.

  The big male. Dominant. Him. He grinned, feeling like a dork.

  Suddenly Clay was pressed behind him, snuggling into him with a happy sound. Oh God, yes, that felt amazing. He wanted more, wanted this every day of his life.

  “You smell like heaven.” Clay’s sigh was satisfied as fuck.

  “I thought you wanted steak.” Not that he was complaining. Nope, he was loving this.

  “Uh-huh.” Surprisingly rough hands dragged over his thighs, framed his cock.

  “Calluses.” He chuckled. “Guess you actually work with clay, huh?”

  “I do. Not for my job so much, but for fun. I spend a lot of time meditating at the wheel.”

  “I’d love to watch that.”

  “Anytime. Well, not now. Now isn’t good for me.”

  “No, now we’ll have another orgasm and a steak.”

  Clay answered him with a deep groan, teeth barely grazing his nape.

  “Are you trying to alpha me, baby?” He knew Clay was just hungry, needy, but he had to tease.

  “Oh yeah. I’m totally toppy.”

  He laughed out loud at that. They’d figured out right quick who liked to pitch and who liked to catch. Hell, they’d figured that out years ago. Some things didn’t change. Thank God.

  Clay pushed up, cock sliding on his belly. They sank to the floor, landing there, kissing, touching. Clay was right with him, in his lap, in his arms. He held tight, taking long, drugging kisses. This was a gift, dropped in his hands, and he needed to hold on.

  “Not letting you go again, baby. Keeping you.”

  “You think?” God, he loved that, the way Clay played.

  “Mmm-hmm. Chain you to my bed and feed you.”

  “Pervert.” Clay nibbled on his lips.

  “I always have been. I have this fetish for a lover with cat eyes.” He kissed Clay’s nose, then his chin. Clay lifted, offering him a long, pale throat. So, he nibbled on that too, licking to ease the sting.

  “They’re ugly, Brock. Abnormal.”

  “Stop.” He put his hands on Clay’s cheeks. “You’re a cat-man. They’re evolution in progress. I mean, you’re stunning.” He wanted Clay to understand that, to know nothing could be as important as this. As them.

  “I’m tired of pretending to be Jean-Claude, human.”

  “Good. I want you as you’re meant to be. Promise me you’ll be you when you’re with me.” Promise me you’ll stay.

  “As long as you’ll keep me.”

  “I always meant to have you forever, Clay. I just lost you before I could make good on the promise.” It sucked, the whole thing, but it hadn’t been his fault. His or Clay’s. This made going to his mom’s even less appealing.

  “Kiss me again. We’re losing the mood.”

  “We are.” He planted one on Clay’s mouth, grabbing those too-skinny hips to rock them together. Orgasm. Food. Kitty time. Possibly a nap.

  The possibilities were endless.

  CLAY’S BELLY was snarling after their lovemaking, loud enough that his cheeks burned. “Sorry, love. That’s embarrassing.”

  “Why? You’ve been going without so long.” Brock rose after kissing him gently and went to clean up a little.

  “I wasn’t starving.”

  He got this look, pure disbelief. Brock shook his head before tying on the cutest apron ever, all wild florals. “Bullshit. We eat meat and you went vegan.”

  “Cats eat meat. I ate beans.”

  “Exactly.” Brock waggled both eyebrows. “You’re a cat.” A grill pan went on the stove.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Except he had to be, didn’t he? He couldn’t hold it in and be with Brock. And he was with Brock for sure. What if it didn’t work? What if he’d forgotten? What if?

  The steak hit the hot, hot pan with a sizzle, and Clay shuddered at the smell, his cat clawing to get out.

  “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to fight it.” Brock nodded at him over the kitchen island, a fond smile on his face.

  “No? You’re sure?” His muscles jerked and rippled under his skin.

  “I want to see you. If I wasn’t cooking so your belly doesn’t eat your backbone, I’d be grooming you.”

  He panted and slid off the barstool, uncomfortable, aching. “Hungrrrrrrrry.”

  “I’ll feed you even if you’re all kitty.”

  He wriggled, nostrils working, his heart pounding. Changing. Changing. He wanted that meat. Needed. He headed over to Brock, chuffing softly, slowly moving to the floor. His tail appeared, his whiskers twitching. He growled softly, the world tightening, sharpening. He panted, his tongue pushing out to taste the air.

  “Look at you, baby.” Brock’s voice was husky, rough. “Just look at you.”

  Brock came to him and stroked his ears. He sniffed his mate, smelling steak. His nose brushed Brock’s thigh, nudging the heavy balls.

  “Sweet boy. The steak needs five minutes to rest.”

  He stretched up, paws on Brock’s shoulders, and slid their ch
eeks together. Mate.

  Brock’s eyes widened. Yes. Mate.

  His tongue flicked out, then dragged over Brock’s skin. Oh. Oh, salty.

  “My Clay. You’re so beautiful.” Brock’s hands dragged down his back, rubbing his muscles, massaging them. He arched into the touch, his tail dragging along Brock’s arm. “Oh, look at your tail.”

  Brock sounded so very pleased.

  Steak. Steak, steak.

  “Yes, I hear you.” One of the steaks was placed on the ground, and he snarled, teeth bared, the scent of blood amazing.

  “It’s yours, baby. Have it.” Brock backed up a step.

  He panted and then pounced, starvation catching up to him, making him burn inside. He tore the steak up and chewed it in seconds. The second one he caught in midair, Brock tossing it.

  He ripped it up, then offered a juicy bit to his Brock.

  “I got more, baby. I’ll cook one up for me. You eat.” Brock praised him with touch, though, proud of him.

  Brock’s touch made him moan, made him rumble happily. Ears. Do my ears.

  Anything. Brock rubbed his ears good and hard, scratching deep.

  His eyes crossed and his nails dug into the floor. Oh, good.

  Brock knew where to rub, what to do for him, loving on him so good with strong hands. It was everything good and right, satisfying him bone-deep.

  When he rubbed his cheek against the apron, Brock grunted, tugging off the cloth so Brock’s cat could come out too. He licked and groomed, encouraging the shift, needing to see his lover’s true form.

  They rubbed cheeks, their whiskers rasping. Brock looked more stunning now than ever, his cat heavy, fully grown, all male. Tan and lovely, with the most amazing paws and dark-tipped tail.

  He head-butted Brock, wild needy sounds escaping him. Oh. Oh, it was him. Brock. Love. Clay had never thought to have this again. Ever. He’d missed it so, held everything tight inside for fear of losing his mind.

  Now he felt like it was joy that did it for him, like he couldn’t hold himself together. He could be him, and Brock would help him stay between the lines.

  Brock leaped at him, teeth sinking into his nape and shaking before bouncing away, panting. Play.

  Play.

  Oh, he remembered that. He did.

  They could tear around and chase and bite.

  He tensed, muscles shaking as he gathered the energy to pounce. Brock backed away, tail lashing, nose twitching. Tease. Still, he couldn’t resist. He needed to jump.

  He sailed over the top of Brock, totally missing his mate.

  Brock chuffed, so he guessed that looked pretty funny.

  He spun around, swatting Brock on the hindquarters and then taking off like a fuck-starved jackrabbit.

  Brock’s claws scrabbled on the floors, his mate chasing him like a freight train. He slid and turned in circles, yowling happily as he went. Brock slipped past him, looking comically surprised. Then his ass end slammed into Brock and they both went winding.

  Rolling, Brock tumbled him over, their bodies fetching up against the kitchen island. Then Brock landed on him with a thump, covering him.

  He mock growled, wiggling madly, but Brock lay heavily on him, grooming him. It was comforting and undeniable. Important.

  Something he thought he’d lost forever. This was his.

  His eyelids got heavy, and he blinked, so slow. Sex, food, play. Now sleep.

  Clay sighed, snuggled in, head on Brock’s paws. He could stay here, just stay here for the rest of time.

  He thought that might be okay.

  BROCK SMILED at the final product Clay presented him with, the china just like his mom’s, only new, more modern.

  “You like it, honey? It’s okay?”

  “It’s wonderful. Like the best parts of my childhood.”

  Clay looked at him, eyes warm, pleased. “Thank you. Just wait until you see the plates for your new restaurant. Those will be magical.”

  “I’m looking forward to those, baby.” He had to grin—Clay had gained twenty pounds and the thick gold hair was already to his shoulders. He’d even seen his lover in public without the contacts.

  Beautiful man.

  Clay had offered to go back to their old hometown for his mom and dad’s anniversary. Although the man had nightmares for days after.

  There was no way. No way he would ask his mate to do that, not after everything Clay had given him.

  Which meant he had to get the china ready to ship and call his mom.

  “You okay, love?” Clay came to him, rubbed against him, so feline it hurt.

  “I am. I hate disappointing people, you know, but I have to.”

  “You don’t. You could go. I wouldn’t judge.”

  “I know that.” He gave Clay a smile. “That’s why I can’t go.”

  Clay rested their cheeks together, breathing, hearts beating in sync.

  He hummed. “They would judge, baby. They already did once. And now I have you back I’m not giving them that power.”

  “I’m… I don’t know what to say. I just want to make it right.”

  “Nothing to say, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He rubbed noses with his mate. “You can hand me my phone, though.”

  Clay handed his phone over, then headed to the studio, giving him his space. There was something about watching Clay on the pottery wheel that was soothing. Brock moved so he could see, so he could center himself.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom. Got a minute?”

  “Sure, son. How are you doing?” Oh, it was harder when she was nice.

  “I just wanted you to know I’ll be sending your anniversary gift early. So you have it for the party.”

  “So I have it? You’re not coming? Again?” He could hear her lips getting tight, pursing.

  “No, ma’am. I know I said I would, but things are different now.”

  “Different? Something’s always different with you. Is it work? Are you that busy?”

  “No.” He didn’t need to mince words. “I know what you did back when we were kids. To Clay’s family. I knew it when I left, but I know now how my life could have been.”

  She was silent a second, and then she started in. “Son, we were trying to do what’s best for you.”

  “You were doing what you thought was best for the pride.” He actually got it. That didn’t mean he would subject himself or Clay to that torture ever again. “I won’t ask him to come back there with me, and I won’t come without him.”

  “You’re…. You found him? Again?”

  “We’re mates, Mom. It was inevitable.” He believed that.

  “Well, I… I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Tell me you’re sorry about what you’ve done. Tell me it was a mistake.” Lie to me.

  “I don’t think it was a mistake. They’re defective. We serve the pride.”

  “I know.” And that was that. He shrugged, knowing she would scold him for it if she could see. “I hope you like your gift. Tell Dad happy anniversary for me.”

  “I will. I love you, son.”

  “I love you too.” He wanted to say how sorry he was they’d felt the need to fuck with his life, but what good would it do? They were who they were.

  So was he.

  He didn’t think he could ever go back there again, though, knowing what he knew. Knowing that they would threaten an entire family, leave them homeless, broken, in the hope that he’d make kittens.

  Brock hung up before he said anything else, and went to lean in the doorway of the studio room. Clay had rented out his high-rise, and Brock had made his man-cave into an art room for his mate. The rhythmic whir of the pottery wheel had him smiling in no time.

  “You’ll have to tell me how to pack the china for shipping.”

  “I’ll have the factory do it. No worries.” Clay offered him a tentative grin. “Want to come practice?”

  Practice was Clay’s version of “fuck up my pottery and get slick an
d muddy with me,” but it was still fun to play.

  “I do.” He went to sit behind Clay, half expecting “Unchained Melody” to start playing. Clay hit him with an elbow if he mentioned it, though.

  “Okay. Not so hard this time.”

  He snorted. He didn’t hear that very often. Usually Clay begged him to go harder, deeper, faster. His body tightened, and he forced himself to relax. “Slow and easy. Got it.”

  “It’s all in the wrist, you know.”

  “Is it?” Brock bit the back of Clay’s neck.

  The wild yowl that sounded was perfect, and he knew Clay’s eyes were glowing, the cat ready to spring free of the human body.

  “Pot, baby.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to say kettle?”

  He chuckled. “No. This is where you tell me how to shape the rim.”

  “Then no biting. You know how I get.”

  “Mmm. I do.” He pressed his hard cock against Clay’s lower back, just feeling good.

  “No regrets, love?”

  “Not a single one.” Brock wasn’t looking back anymore. He had Clay in his life, hell, in his home and his bed. Everything was fucking perfect. Except for Clay’s rumbling belly.

  “So, are you hungry? Let me make you a steak.”

  If he was lucky, they’d even eat them off plates.

  More from BA Tortuga

  A Turquoise, New Mexico Story

  Once upon a time, a prince lived in a magical kingdom called Turquoise, New Mexico.

  Well, really, TJ is a small-town police chief. Every Friday he holds court in the diner with the local holy roller, the art colonists, and the horsey people. But the Benes, who own the rodeo company, keep to themselves. TJ knows, because he was once hot and heavy with the oldest Bene son.

  When Wacey Bene gets trampled by a remuda and comes home to heal, he’s none too happy to run into TJ, or his two little boys and their momma. The story might end there—if it wasn’t for some pesky bastard trying to kill Wacey.

  The law steps in, and the townsfolk are cross about somebody messing with one of their own.

  But once the bad guy is put away, can TJ and Wacey make their place in this wild and eccentric town a permanent one?