by N. R. Walker
I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t stop. I slammed into him, deeper than I’d ever been, and his mouth fell open; his neck corded. He gasped and moaned. “Yes, like that.”
Leaning back on my haunches, I took his cock in my hand and pumped him while I fucked his arse. Lawson put both his hands on his head, pulled at his hair, and shook his head. Precome was leaking from his slit, and he bucked his hips. He was hard and close to coming, so close.
“You like being filled with my cock,” I grated out. “And soon it’ll just be me, nothing else. And when I come, you’ll feel it.”
Lawson’s whole body jerked, his arse tightened around me, and his cock swelled in my hand before spilling come onto his belly.
He was glorious.
When he sagged beneath me, I let go of his spent dick and leaned over him so I could kiss him. And I kept kissing him. What had started out as hard and fast fucking was now slow-and-sweet lovemaking.
Lawson fisted my hair and rolled his hips, taking every inch of me in every unhurried thrust. He broke our kiss but spoke against my lips. “I can’t wait to have your come inside me.”
And that was all it took.
My orgasm exploded at the base of my spine and bloomed through my whole body. Pleasure burned in my veins, and Lawson held onto me: he wrapped his legs and arms around me as I filled the condom inside him.
I didn’t know if I passed out, but I kind of came to with Lawson gently stroking the hair from my forehead and planting soft kisses to my nose. We were a sticky mess but neither of us seemed too keen to move. He hummed contentedly. “Hmm, how about I get a cloth to clean us up, then we go for that swim?”
I smiled at him. “How about you stay right here, and I get us the cloth, then we go for that swim.”
A slow spreading smile covered his face. “Okay.”
I kissed his lips and slid out of bed. I disposed of the condom, grabbed a washcloth, and wet it before cleaning him up. I threw his swimming trunks onto the bed and pulled on my boardies, then we headed out to the pool.
“Oh,” I said on our way out. “I forgot about the courtyard.”
“What about the courtyard?”
“Doing indoor activities outdoors, remember?”
Lawson put his hand on the pool fence gate and raised one eyebrow at me. “Pool’s empty?”
I laughed. “Maybe the pool’s a little too public. I don’t fancy having a criminal record for indecent exposure, if you know what I mean. I think the courtyard might be more private, yet still outdoors.”
He tilted his head in that adorable way he did when considering all the facts presented to him. “Good call.” He swung the gate open, threw his towel onto a pool chair, and dived cleanly into the water.
He surfaced, glistening wet and smooth, looked up at me, and grinned. “Getting in, Jack? Or do you intend to stand there and stare at me all night?”
“I dunno,” I answered, looking right at him. “The view’s pretty good from here.”
He laughed and smoothed back his dripping wet hair. “I’m sure it is. But the view, if that’s what we’re calling me, is interactive in the water.”
I threw my towel next to his and dove, not as gracefully as him I’m sure, into the water. I came up close enough to him, but as soon as I found my feet, he launched himself at me. He threw his arms around my neck and kissed me, and I slipped my hands around his back.
I had no idea that a wet-Lawson was such a hot-Lawson. He broke away with a smirk. “I’m going to do some laps. Care to join me?”
I shook my head slowly. “You go ahead. I’d much rather just enjoy the view.”
So he turned and glided through the water with strong and languid strokes, and I stayed with my back to the end of the pool, watching him.
Until I got bored with that. And when he swam up to touch the end of the pool, I pounced on him. He came up spluttering out a laugh. “What was that for?”
“I prefer the interactive view.”
He folded his legs around my hips, locking his feet behind my back, his arms wound around my neck. “Ever kissed anyone underwater?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Neither have I.”
I laughed, but apparently that was not the right response. He gave me his stern face, his no-nonsense, you-might-be-bigger-than-me-but-I’m-the-one-in-charge face. “Jack, take me to the deep end and kiss me underwater.”
Have I ever mentioned I’m a sucker for a bossy power bottom? “Your wish. My command.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lawson
Piers Bonfils was a passionate Frenchman. Handsome, late fifties, with eyes the same colour as his dark-grey hair, and a lighter grey goatee. He was tanned and fit and walked with a fluid grace that was borne of his confidence and ego.
I liked him. He spoke his mind, a trait I admired in anyone, and had the intellect to back up his arguments. But he also listened with an open mind, never afraid to learn. And that was a rarity, especially in my field.
He had met my old boss from Melbourne, Professor Asterly, a few times, and although he appreciated the man’s input to lepidoptery, he never much liked the way he played the political game to further his career.
“Asterly can deny it all he likes,” Piers said, his accent thick, “but the truth is, he disliked me because of who I choose to bed. Nothing to do with my career. I assume he’s the same with you?”
I blinked in surprise. We were having lunch in his office, not discussing our private lives in a bar or something. “I uh. Um.”
Piers smiled knowingly at me. “It’s fine with me, Lawson. I will never hide the fact I’m gay. Neither do you. I thought you would understand.”
This was not a conversation I was strictly comfortable having. “I am, gay, that is, and I do understand. Only I separate my personal life from my professional life. I would never want details of Professor Asterly’s sexual habits, and I expect the same courtesy.”
He smiled as though I charmed him. “Ah, we are of different generations, young Lawson. You are of an age where it is accepted and no one bothers you, you know? But I had to fight for it and not hide who I was, even if it could cost me my job. Asterly always thought he was better than me for this reason. The wolves were always at my door, and he was given research grants as rewards.”
“I was unaware of this,” I said, pushing my water away. “Though I would hardly be surprised. He never warmed to me. I assumed it was because I spoke my mind and refused to pander to everything he said.”
Piers laughed. “This is why Professor Tillman sought you out!”
“Well, yes. Professor Asterly was not happy.”
He threw his hands up and said some rather choice words in French. I knew enough to piece together what he meant. But he offered me a smile. “Serves him right.”
I folded my sandwich wrapper neatly in half, then half again, pressing it down flat. Piers was watching me with a smile. “So tell me, Lawson. What is your expert opinion thus far on the Ulysses?”
“I agree with your findings. Everything you list is accurate, and there are no discrepancies in your data.”
He nodded slowly. “I should hope not.”
“It would be counterproductive of me to assume your figures and percentages are correct without checking for myself. If I took your data as gospel and there was an error, I’d never find the inconsistency.”
“True.”
“Given the data is sound, we need to determine external factors, as I’m sure you’re very aware.”
Piers smiled and scrunched up his sandwich wrapper. “Yes.”
“The fact the butterflies can breed and are willing is encouraging. Why the caterpillar survives but the butterfly dies is the concern.”
“Your first thought?”
“External factors, such as climate and diet, would be my first guess. Given the butterfly house is and has been a constant temperature and humidity for years without incident before now gives me reason to lean toward diet.”
> “Ah, but nothing has changed in their diet.”
“With all due respect, Professor Bonfils, that’s where you’re wrong. Because something has changed. Those butterflies are telling us something has changed. We just need to figure out what it is.”
* * *
I got back to the hotel room feeling disgruntled and irritated. Though Jack was there with a welcoming smile and a hug that held healing qualities. I could feel my worries dissipate in the few seconds he held me in his strong, warm arms.
“You’ve had a crap day,” he stated. He could tell. I nodded against his chest. “Tell me about it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, still with my face pressed into his shirt. “Because I feel the need to rant and I fear it will be misdirected at you.”
I could hear the quiet rumble of his laughter through his chest. “You ranting in all your passionate glory is one of my favourite things.”
I finally smiled.
“Let me guess,” Jack said. “Bonfils is an idiot.”
I sighed. “Well, not exactly. He just has idiotic views.”
Jack’s whole body vibrated when he chuckled. He tightened his arms around me. “What did he say?”
“Normally he’s very receptive and open to ideas, but he’s refusing to see reason. I understand he’s frustrated and upset with what’s happening to the Ulysses, but”—I pulled back a little so I could look up at his face—“how can someone who has dedicated his career to the betterment of lepidoptery be so ignorant to the plight of his very cause?”
“How so?”
I huffed out a sigh. “The Ulysses is in decline. The breeding program is failing, and he is unwilling to believe external environmental factors are at play. ‘Nothing has changed.’” I imitated the Professor’s accent. Then I growled out my frustration. “He’s a scientist. How can a scientist ignore facts? I told him he was wrong.”
Jack smiled. “Of course you did.”
“Something has changed. Those butterflies are telling us something has changed, but he won’t listen to them.”
“How does one listen to a butterfly?” Jack wasn’t placating me. He was serious, as though he really wanted to know the answer.
“We watch. We learn. We study their habits, movements, habitat. The butterfly house is a controlled environment, and for many years, it’s worked exceptionally well.”
“Is it the air quality?”
I smiled. “I’ve tested that. The air filtration system is well maintained and there have been no recent changes. The humidity is perfect.”
Jack frowned. “Then it has to be diet. If their habitat hasn’t changed, the air and humidity are fine, then it has to be diet.”
I clawed my face. “Oh my God, Jack, if you can see that and I can see that, why can’t he?”
“You’ve suggested this?”
“I told him it had to be the likely contributing factor.”
“And he refutes it?”
“He simply claims it can’t be because nothing has changed.”
“Well, that’s stupid.”
Despite my frustrations, I laughed. “I may have said that also.”
Jack put his hands on the tops of my arms. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I would love one.” I leaned up and kissed his lips. “Then you can tell me what you did today.”
I collapsed onto the sofa, feeling better already, and Jack walked back from the kitchenette with a glass of wine in each hand. He handed me one and sat side-on to me with one leg folded up underneath him, giving me his undivided attention. “Sure you don’t want to vent some more?”
I sipped my wine and shook my head. “No. I want to hear all about your day.”
“Well, I walked the esplanade again, though I’m not too keen on going in the ocean. There are warning signs listing all the things that bite in there, so I think I’ll stick with the pool. I did some laps, had a lunch of fresh seafood.”
“And you’re bored,” I deduced.
He gave me a smile. “A little. I’m used to being busy all the time, and yesterday it was great to be lazy, but by lunchtime I was itching to do something constructive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“It’s because of me we’re spending your holiday time up here, and I’m busy working. That’s not fair on you.”
“I like being here with you. And anyway, I was thinking of heading up to the national parks office tomorrow and introducing myself. You know, one park ranger to another.”
“Is there some kind of code you guys go by?”
He laughed and sipped his wine. “Only that we’re smarter than the av-er-age bear.” His impersonation of Yogi Bear was disturbingly good.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do all park rangers make Yogi Bear jokes?”
He grinned and put on his Yogi voice again. “Ah, that’s Mr Ranger, sir, to you, Boo-Boo.”
It really wasn’t that funny, but all I could do was laugh. If that was his intent―to make me happy after my frustrating day―it sure worked.
“What did you feel like for dinner?” he asked eventually.
“What? No pic-a-nic baskets?”
He chuckled warmly. “A picnic on the beach is a great idea.”
So, half an hour later, I was changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and Jack was carrying a bag from the supermarket. Tonight we feasted on roast chicken, fresh baked bread, marinated artichokes, and olives. And wine, of course. We found a quiet place on the sand and sat down, facing the beautiful Pacific Ocean just as the sun had almost disappeared behind us. “We should have brought a blanket,” Jack mused.
“No. This is perfect.”
He held out a plastic cup we’d bought from the supermarket and grinned. “Not exactly high class.”
I chuckled. “This is better than high class. This is us.”
He opened the wine and poured some into my cup, then into his own. He held his plastic cup up to mine and repeated my words back to me. “This is us.”
The night was dark, but the esplanade was lit well enough that we were hidden by night from most of the passers-by. We ate some dinner, using our fingers, feeding each other, and laughing at the mess we’d made of ourselves. He was so much fun, and I hated the idea of him being bored on his own during the day.
“Come with me tomorrow,” I said, “to the butterfly conservatory. I have one or two things that need attending in the morning then in the afternoon we can go up to the park. How does that sound?”
Jack grinned in the faint light of the esplanade. “Sounds perfect.”
* * *
The look on Jack’s face as he walked into the butterfly conservatory was one I’d never forget. His eyes were wide with wonder, identical to his smile. “Oh my God, Lawson. This is incredible.”
And it was. I agreed.
The butterfly conservatory wasn’t just a lab or a butterfly house where we kept pupas and chrysalises. There was a huge atrium with a climate-controlled rainforest where butterflies were free to flutter and roam as they would in the wild. It truly was an amazing setup and one I could only hope to achieve back in Tasmania.
I’d explained procedure and what not to do, and Jack’s excitement was adorable and contagious. “And we can go inside it?” Jack asked.
I chuckled and opened the door. “Yes, of course.”
Once inside, we walked over the wooden bridge and moved to the centre near the water feature. “Okay, just lift your arms out and stand still,” I urged him. I took a half-cut orange from a feeder and put it in the palm of his hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
He did as I instructed. “Oh my God,” Jack squeaked as a Ulysses butterfly flittered over to him, landing on his chest, then another on his shoulder. “What are they doing?”
“Be careful. They’re the last two breeding pair left here.”
He remained stock still, but his gaze shot to mine. “Last?”
I nodd
ed slowly. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“I didn’t realise it was so dire. When you said there was a breeding problem…”
“It’s more of a longevity issue. They breed just fine. But they’re dying soon after imago.”
Jack frowned and watched the butterfly for a quiet moment. “My God, it’s beautiful.” He looked at the butterfly now on the orange in his hand. “It’s huge. I wasn’t expecting it to be so big!”
“They like you,” I said with a laugh. “Well, they like your shirt.”
He shot me a look. “You told me to wear this one today.”
“Because it’s blue. They’re attracted to the colour blue.”
A green birdwing butterfly landed on his forearm. He made a funny face that was part comical, part awe. “Holy shit, it’s big. I can feel its feet, and it tickles.”
“He’s tasting you,” I explained. Then I hummed. “I have to say. I’ve never been jealous of a butterfly before.”
Jack laughed, and I put my hand up to his outstretched arm, trying to tempt the butterfly onto my fingers. We both stood breathless, watching as the butterfly flittered from him to me and back to him. When our gazes locked again, we both smiled at what had just passed between us. It was a strangely private moment. Quiet and reverent. Personal.
Then Jack looked over my shoulder to something behind me. “There’s a man watching us.”
“Oh?” My first thought was that someone might not appreciate two men being caught in a questionable moment. “Is he angry?”
Jack frowned. “No. Sad.”
I turned around then to find Professor Bonfils. “Oh, good morning, Professor,” I said, relief washing through me. “I hope you don’t mind I brought Jack in this morning. I wanted to show him the reason we’re in North Queensland and why he’s not skiing in New Zealand.”
It took a moment for him to smile, which was an odd reaction.
So I quickly added, “I can assure you I’ve taken every precaution with quarantine.”
Piers held his hand up as a peace offering. “It’s fine, Lawson.” Then he nodded to Jack. “Professor Piers Bonfils. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is it Jack? I’d like to say I’ve heard all about you, but I haven’t. Lawson didn’t mention he had a travel companion.”