The ETA From You to Me

by Zimmerman, L

“Little help?” Grant asked, grinning when Clayton instantly was batting Grant's hands out of the way to do the job for him. It was always the best thing ever when Grant got Clayton riled up, because it was like all of his reservations went right out the window and he gave in to the urge to just let his passion take over. Grant didn't know he had a roughness kink until he'd gotten Clayton worked up enough one day that he'd shoved Grant up into a wall to kiss him stupid.

  Clayton wrenched Grant's jeans down his hips, the muscles in his arm flexing when he pulled them off so fast that Grant's legs flailed and the jeans went sailing somewhere over the couch and into the darkness of the apartment. Both of them could see the giant tent in Grant's boxers, the tv’s light making the outline of his erection painfully evident.

  A pained, needy sound came from somewhere deep in Clayton’s throat and Grant reached out to drag him down into another kiss. One hand slipped between their bodies, and Grant could feel the movement as Clayton trying to pull himself out of his jeans. It made Grant's entire body shake with excitement and anticipation and just pure, unblemished want.

  It was possibly the worst timing in the world when they were interrupted by Clayton’s cell phone going off. They both froze, knowing full well that Clayton was the third out on call that night, and his phone only rang if it was Grant, or if he was being sent on a run.

  “Clayton,” Grant whined, because Clayton was already starting to get up reluctantly. He reached out, palming at Clayton's shirt to try and pull him back in. “Clayton, no, let them wait--it’s probably Esurion or something. It's not even worth it.” Grant almost had his fingers into Clayton's shirt, but it was futile when Clayton was already grabbing his cell phone off of the coffee table.

  “This is Clayton," he answered hoarsely, tonguing at his bottom lip that had gotten swollen from their kissing. He clambered off of Grant, making a noise of understanding to the night dispatcher. "It's okay. Just let me get a pen and paper."

  Clayton headed over to the kitchen table, grabbing his notepad and clicking his pen. The second Clayton bent down over that paper, Grant felt all of his self-control fly out the window. He slid off of the couch, slinking over while Clayton started to write down the information that the dispatcher was citing off.

  Clayton stiffened when Grant pressed up against his back, arms reaching around his body. Grant nuzzled up against the back of Clayton's neck, taking a sinister pleasure in the way Clayton's pen jerked a line across the paper when Grant reached around to push his open fly out of the way and cup him through his boxer-briefs.

  “What kind of car is it,” Clayton choked out over the phone, half grinding back into Grant's crotch, half rocking forward into his hand. Grant mouthed at Clayton’s neck, nuzzling behind his ear before taking the lobe gently between his teeth. Clayton shuddered violently in his arms and Grant dragged his hand up and down the outline of Clayton’s cock.

  “Eastbound or westbound,” Clayton gritted out with a strangled hitch in his tone. It was kind of addictive, the feeling of power that came from slowly driving Clayton mad like this. He growled softly, more of a heavy rumble, and bit softly at the hinge of Clayton's jaw and giving a shallow thrust up against his body. Clayton jumped, hips bucking into Grant's hand and the pen falling from his fingers so that he could grip the table. Grant went to wriggle his fingers down the elastic band of Clayton’s underwear when his wrist was caught. Startled, Grant had a half second to register movement before Clayton turned and kicked his feet out from under him, knocking him to the ground.

  Jesus fuck, the guy was like Jackie Chan on steroids.

  Grant wheezed from his prone position on the living room floor, Clayton’s bare foot pressing down on his chest to keep him there while he finished writing down the information for the run. For good measure, he wrapped his hand around Clayton’s ankle, thumbing the outline of the bone and getting a toe jabbed into his sternum for his efforts. Clayton finished up the call in record time, hanging up and staring down at Grant with an almost wild-eyed expression.

  Hot.

  Clayton pulled his foot back, reaching down and grabbing Grant under the arms to haul him up. Grant bit down on the shout of surprise at the action, half tempted to go utterly limp when Clayton pushed him against the kitchen table.

  “I’m going to do this run,” Clayton began lowly, shifting his grip to Grant's hips, “and when I get back, I’m going to make you regret that.”

  Grant opened his mouth to point out that Clayton's intimidation attempt was more like a seduction attempt, but was silenced when his lips were claimed in a bruising kiss that left his head spinning.

  By the time Grant had processed the situation enough to reciprocate, Clayton was pulling away and heading down the hall to change into his uniform. Grant waited until Clayton and his perfect ass were entirely out of sight before heading for the couch to plop down. He rustled around in the satchel he'd brought along, grabbing his laptop and gearing himself up for a couple hours of self-entertainment.

  Clayton came back into the living room a few minutes later, looking far less ruffled and tense. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, it shouldn’t take long. It’s just a tow down the road to their house,” bracing his hand against the back of the couch, Clayton leaned in to press a kiss to the arch of Grant's cheekbone, adding, “I suggest you text your dad to let him know you’re staying the night. I have plans for you. Sexy plans.”

  “Okay,” Grant breathed, staring up at Clayton with a dumbstruck look. "How sexy are we talking?"

  Clayton rubbed the short fuzz of Grant's hair, smirking. "Ones that involve you, my bed, and a lot of physical activity."

  Brain flatlining, Grant struggled to come up with something to say but his mind was too busy thinking of all the dirtiest, deepest fantasies possible. He gaped for a bit longer, finally breathing out, "sounds plenty sexy to me. I'll keep my schedule open," and then yelping when Clayton tweaked his nose. He grinned nonetheless, holding his face and trying to hide a smile as Clayton went to grab his keys.

  "I didn't realize jacking off and playing video games kept your agenda full, but thank you so much for your time," he said dryly, walking backwards for the door.

  "Okay, har har. You're hilarious. Now go work," Grant waved, making a shooing motion soon after so that Clayton would stop staring and just leave already. The faster he was gone, the faster he would be back.

  Staring forlornly at the door for a moment, Grant searched for his jeans, pulling them back on but leaving the fly open, and sat down on the couch. He opened up the internet browser, loading an online game from his bookmarks. He would have opened up one of his downloaded ebooks for some reading, but that usually left Grant wanting to shut out the world while he powered through every chapter right up until the end. Clayton would be back in no time, which meant he needed to be ready at any moment. Grant couldn’t help but feel endless excitement at the prospect.

  At some point, between the fifth and sixth hour mark, Grant drifted off completely against his own free will. He didn’t know how long he slept for, only that he woke up to the sound of the front door opening and the feeling of Clayton gently lifting the laptop from where it sat on his stomach. Groggily, Grant cracked an eye open to see that Clayton looked utterly exhausted.

  “Wh’time’s’it?” Grant mumbled, letting Clayton take his hand and help him to his feet. Clayton steadied Grant when he swayed, one hand pressed between his shoulder blades to gently guide him towards the bedroom. Grant was all for sleepy sex, at least in theory, but he'd been hoping their first real time together would have involved something more intimate than borderline somnophilia.

  “Little after three,” Clayton said, giving Grant a gentle shove that had him toppling face first onto the bed like a rag doll. Grant grunted, spreading his legs to let Clayton know that he’d have to be doing all the work if he wanted to get any action. Grant was not a morning person, it usually took him an hour to actually wake up completely.

  “S’more’n an hour,” Grant pointed
out, eating the comforter unintentionally. Being in Clayton's bed was like being encased in his scent--a practical nest of quilts and pillows that rivaled the room of an affectionate four year old.

  “There was an accident on the highway. It caused three wrecks in four hours.” Clayton explained from somewhere in the room. Grant turned his head, watching as Clayton kicked his boots off and stripped down to his boxer-briefs. Grant buried his face halfway under the comforter to hide the fact that he was unabashedly watching Clayton practically shimmy out of his underwear on his way into the attached bathroom.

  Grant crawled his way up onto the bed, struggling to get his socks off using only his toes, and then curling up over the half that was furthest from the bathroom so the light coming from it didn’t bother his eyes. Snuffling into the pillow, Grant listened to the sound of Clayton puttering around in the shower, door left open for steam to drift into the bedroom.

  By the time Clayton was back out, Grant was already starting to doze off again. He vaguely registered the sound of a drawer opening and shifting clothes before the bed dipped and Clayton was pulling the comforter off of him. Grant clutched the quilt, whining his protest when he heard Clayton chuff out a laugh.

  “You can’t sleep in your jeans, Grant,” Clayton mumbled.

  Despite the fact that Clayton had a great point, Grant still had a second longer of reluctant clinging before he released the comforter. Clayton drew it away, gently coaxing Grant to lie on his back. He unbuttoned Grant's pants, pulling the zipper down and then tugging them over Grant's hips. The drag of denim along his hipbones was enough to wake Grant just a tiny bit more and actually glance down at where Clayton was tugging on the ankles of his jeans. This was most excellent, because Grant didn’t even have to put any effort into taking his pants off. Clayton was doing it for him.

  The second Grant was divested of his jeans, Clayton grabbed his limp arms and pulled them up so he could tug Grant's shirt off with little interruption.

  Soon enough, Clayton climbed into the bed and pulled the comforter over the both of them, wrapping an arm around Grant's stomach and dragging him back against his nice, sinfully firm chest. Grant's stomach did a little tumble, his heart hiccupping when Clayton’s face buried itself into the curve of his throat and shoulder. It was probably the most comfortable Grant had ever felt as the little spoon. Clayton tucked his legs up behind Grant's, heart slow and calming where Grant could feel it against his back.

  Chapter 10

  The alarm on Grant's phone went off promptly at 7:00 am, jerking Grant out of the warm, drifting dreamworld that he’d been happily nestled in. He was able to lift his body a half inch off the bed before realizing a dead weight was essentially crushing him into the mattress.

  “Dude,” Grant said, effectively held hostage.

  Clayton grunted, shoving his face between the tiny definition of pectoral muscles that Grant barely possessed and leaving a long burn of stubble across Grant's right nipple in the process. Grant hissed, groggily staring down at the top of Clayton’s head and then wheezing when the arm around his middle gave him a tight squeeze that was easily translated into: ‘my pillow is not allowed to speak.’

  “Clayton.”

  “Mmh.” Clayton mumbled, shifting and compressing Grant's breath out of his very lungs when he draped the entire upper half of his body over Grant's stomach and chest. Grant wheezed, because he liked being covered by Clayton, but he also liked breathing.

  “Come on, dude.” Grant growled halfheartedly, reaching down to shove Clayton’s face from his chest since his stubble stubble rubbing against Grant's nipple was seriously starting to affect his partially attentive morning wood.

  Clayton lifted his head, staring at Grant with sleepy eyes that only drooped more when he scowled at Grant. Months of dealing with Clayton in the morning had taught Grant that nothing would stop him from being cranky until he'd had at least an hour to fully wake up.

  “You can go back to sleep, you know,” Grant pointed out, recalling that Clayton had only gotten maybe three hours of sleep. The alarm went into snooze mode and Clayton made a snuffling noise, nose smushed into Grant's chest, before he pushed himself up enough to climb up the bed and faceplant right into Grant's neck and shoulder.

  “S’okay,” Clayton said throatily, voice hoarse with sleep. Grant shuddered when he felt the rush of air as Clayton drew in a long, deep breath through his nose, nosing up behind Grant's ear like the caveman he was.

  Grant brought one hand up, shoving at Clayton’s shoulder. “Aggh, Clayton, dude, seriously. I need to like, I need to eat breakfast and I can’t even shower because I don’t have any extra clo—”

  “You c’n wear some of mine,” Clayton rasped, tongue flitting out and licking a long, wet stripe up Grant's neck. It was wet and gross but also kind of arousing because it was Clayton, and that somehow made everything ten percent sexier. He rubbed Clayton's back absently, squinting at the bedside clock and sighing.

  “Okay well. I still have to shower and get ready and leave in like, forty minutes. So. As much as I love you crushing me with your massive girth, I really need to get up and aaaauuuhhh—”

  That was Clayton’s thigh pressing up under his dick while nibbling the shell of Grant's ear.

  “Oooohhh my God,” Grant croaked, reaching out to grab Clayton’s shoulders and try to drag him down for a hot and heavy kiss. Clayton pecked him on the lips, pulling away with a bit of force and rolling off the bed. He left Grant draped on the mattress, half-hard and entirely confused when Clayton went over to his dresser.

  Grant stayed prone on the bed as Clayton approached with a pair of jeans and a shirt, dumping them on Grant's face. “Go shower.”

  He left the bedroom and Grant's dick wept.

  Grabbing Clayton’s clothes, Grant headed for bathroom, leaving the door wide open as he stripped and climbed into the shower. Not wasting any time, Grant soaped up and rinsed off, taking a fleeting moment to just sniff Clayton’s shampoo bottle and enjoy the smell, and then he shut the shower off and climbed out.

  Grant half hoped that the apartment would smell like freshly cooked breakfast, until he remembered that Clayton was actually really lazy and hated cooking unless properly persuaded. Instead, Clayton was sitting at his behemoth of a desktop, the thing clicking and creaking as it tried to process the browser's existence.

  “Looking for some more forest critters to add to your collection?” Grant teased, coming up behind Clayton and giving in to the urge to hug him from behind, chin plopping on the top of Clayton’s head. Clayton adjusted his hold on the old mouse, chord catching on the worn and curled edge of his mouse pad—lovingly adorned with a howling coyote, because Clayton was predictable like that. Clayton grunted, turning and pressing his nose into Grant's shoulder to breathe in deeply.

  “No. Paying my phone bill.”

  “Online bill pay? Impressive.” Grant laughed when Clayton growled and nipped his shoulder. Heart full with an indescribable happy feeling, Grant fluffed with Clayton's hair and then headed for the kitchen to grab himself a bowl of cereal.

  He sat on the couch later with his bowl of knock-off Cheerios, eating and watching Clayton wait for the page to load. It was kind of depressing that his internet was so slow it was on the brink of being dial-up.

  “You want me to wash these clothes after I bring ‘em back?” Grant asked, voice garbled through a mouthful of cereal and stabbing his spoon back into the bowl to snag some more. Clayton grunted, clicking around and shrugging halfheartedly.

  “It’s fine, you don’t have to,” he said quietly, reaching for his wallet on the desk to grab his worn and battered debit card—the only sign that he actually lived in the 21st century. Grant chomped happily on his knockoff O's, content with allowing the both of them to drift into silence while he finished eating. Clayton was still in his boxers, shoulders hunched over the desk while he punched in his card number with slow jabs of his finger. It was adorable, really. Grant could tap in a phone number in half the
time it took Clayton to put in the first three digits of his card.

  “Okay.” Grant garbled through a mouthful of food, content.

  When he finished eating, he rinsed his bowl out and stuck it in the near-empty dishwasher before stumbling about Clayton’s apartment in search of all of his belongings. He still had fifteen minutes to get to work, but it was better to be early than get sidetracked and end up late.

  Clayton was standing at the doorway when Grant came out of the bedroom after putting his shoes on. He looked groggy, one hand idly scratching at the patch of hair that was leading down from his navel and into the elastic of his boxer-briefs. Oh, how Grant wanted to trace that path with his tongue.

  Groaning softly to himself, Grant shouldered his laptop bag from where he'd grabbed it by the couch. “I’ll try to let you sleep before I call you in,” he offered, grinning crookedly and approaching Clayton. Clayton grunted, reaching out and curling his hand into the front of Grant's shirt to drag him in for a kiss. He still looked sleep-groggy, eyes drooping even as Grant pressed their lips together.