Sumage Solution GL Carriger

by G. L. Carriger

  Max began writhing against the sheets, clearly getting off on the friction.

  Biff slapped his ass, not too hard, but enough to sting. “Bad boy. Wait for it. You’re coming in my mouth.”

  “I really hate you.”

  Biff started at the back of Max’s neck and began licking him all over again. A bit more teeth this time – he could hardly help it. Max loved it. The scent of his arousal was almost overwhelming, especially when mixed with Biff’s own saliva.

  Biff felt odd, floaty but tethered, anchored to Max. A shard of toffee, sharp and sweet, was being melted inside him into hot liquid caramel. The taste and smell of Max.

  Biff’s own neglected cock painted Max’s legs as he worked his way down his back. Heavy with need, leaking with want. Another smell in the mix. Biff lapped at the divot of Max’s spine, the small beads of sweat there. He ran the edge of one canine along the muscles to either side. Max twitched, then stilled at the sharpness. Biff stayed focused, until he got to the prize.

  One long swipe down the crack, just to see if Max would let him.

  Biff had watched a lot of gay porn over the years, once he figured out what turned his crank. This was the part he wanted to try most. This was always the part he rewound and watched over. And over. It was always the rim jobs that had him spurting. He’d waited a long time for this moment.

  He licked again.

  Max, without protest, opened for him.

  Biff buried his face in the other man’s ass. Lapping, drilling in and out with his tongue, inhaling his scent and his musk and his sour-sweet flavor. He lost all conscious technique. This was the essence of Max and it was glorious. It was absolutely everything he’d wished for.

  Max stopped whimpering. He lay perfectly still as if Biff’s tongue acted as a full-body circuit breaker.

  Biff would have worried Max didn’t like it, except this close, he really could smell the man’s cock dripping.

  Still, it was polite to ask. “You all right there?”

  “Fuuuccckkk,” said Max.

  “You stopped writhing.”

  “Can’t move, gonna blow. You said I couldn’t but I can’t hold it… I can’t. Please.”

  “So, you like this?” Please say yes. Please say I can do this again.

  “Bryan!” Max keened.

  Biff couldn’t help how proud he felt at that moment. There was so much need pouring out of the beautiful man beneath him. He’d done that. He made him want so badly.

  “Flip back over.”

  “Oh thank fuck.” Max flipped.

  Biff closed his mouth around that long, spectacular-tasting cock again. Max instantly came. He bowed up off the bed – Biff could feel him vibrating. Jets of cum flooded his mouth. Biff coughed a bit, surprised, but did his best to swallow it down.

  It sparkled on his tongue, with tiny bubbles of carbonation.

  “Really, Max? Fizzy jizz?”

  “I see werewolves do have a heightened sense of taste. It’s a mage thing.”

  “The champagne of cocks?”

  “See how I spoil you?”

  Biff returned to licking softly, enjoying the taste and the feel. Effervescent cum, whatcha know? Cool. Yeah, he did feel a little spoiled.

  Max’s fingers carded through his hair. Then tugged, pulling him off.

  “Your turn, Muscles.”

  * * *

  Max had never in his life had a rim job like that. Too intense. Too focused. Too much. Not enough. And exactly right all at the same time.

  Fucking werewolf.

  Bryan had clearly been thinking about it for a while and wanted every minute of it. Thank god, because getting rimmed was ass-down Max’s favorite. His hole twitched with need, empty. But not ready. That was a bit too much for a first date. Bryan was a bit too much. Max would have to stretch himself over a week to get there.

  He lay satiated, already thinking about how to get there. Do I even have a butt plug big enough? He still tingled. He couldn’t get over the jackpot he’d hit. A man who genuinely enjoyed rimming? A man who liked to take charge but didn’t mind a blindfold? A man whose heavy, eager cock was still there, swollen and angry with neglect. While the man himself waited, patient.

  Max sat up, intent on repaying the favor. Well, the blow-job favor at least.

  “Let me?”

  Bryan growled. Blessed boy still wore his blindfold. He would keep it on until he was told he was allowed to take it off. Max knew that now. Biff was trusting and trustworthy.

  He was also self-aware. “No. I want to spray all over you. Jack me.”

  “With pleasure.”

  It didn’t take more than a few strokes. Clearly, Bryan had enjoyed what he was doing to Max almost as much as Max had.

  Max wished he could see the werewolf’s face as he came. All of his face.

  Bryan didn’t yell, he wasn’t loud. Max had a sinking feeling he himself might have screamed a bit. Instead, the big man moaned his release, spurting cum all over Max’s chest. Eventually collapsing on top of him. Only not fully. Bryan was well aware of his weight, how he was bigger than Max. A moment later, he rolled next to him, to his back.

  “Someday I want to be inside you,” he said.

  Max had his measure now. “So you can scent-mark me inside and out?”

  “Yep.”

  Max pulled out a tissue and wiped his werewolf’s spent cock gently. More tissues, to wipe himself.

  “You staying?” Oh please say yes, oh please.

  “Yep.”

  “I should shower.” Max could feel the stickiness of sweat, and spit, and cum – despite the tissues.

  “Nope.”

  “You kinky fucker. You want me smelling like you.”

  “I’m kinky? Who’s the one insisting on a blindfold?”

  “Oh, yeah. Hold on a sec.”

  Max left the bed to putter about. Shutting down the house, drawing the curtains. It was dark in his little space, tree-shrouded. Black as he could make it.

  Max returned with two cups of water and then dove under the covers, drawing them up to his neck.

  “Okay, you can take it off now.”

  Bryan did. It was impossible to see his expression in the dark. “You gonna explain?”

  “No.”

  Bryan huffed at the curt answer. “Now I see how annoying that is.”

  Max didn’t reply, just snuggled against him.

  With a sigh, the big man rearranged them both to his satisfaction. Eventually spooning against Max’s back, massive muscled arm about his waist.

  “Okay, Trouble, keep your secrets.” A possessive hand gently closed over Max’s spent cock.

  Max could even fantasize that he heard the word mine grumbled in his ear.

  Better enjoy it now. I won’t have any of this, come morning. He’ll run, like they all run. But what a memory I’ll have for the spank bank. And tonight, I get to sleep with a werewolf.

  “Worth the wait, Muscles?”

  “Every second.”

  “You waited long enough.”

  A growl met that and then: “I was waiting for you.”

  The space between Max’s collarbones ached with that sweetness. “Glad I could be your first. Next time, you can be in charge.”

  “Go to sleep, smartass.”

  Max let him settle, staying silent until the bigger man’s breath evened in sleep.

  “I was waiting for you too,” he whispered. Please stay. Please be the one who stays.

  He got a small neck bite and then one more soothing lick over the sting as a reward.

  * * *

  Biff awoke to little snakes of light in an unfamiliar room. Sun struggling through dense trees and drawn curtains. A strange space. Not his. Max. Trouble. Mine.

  Affection, gratitude, contentment settled over him, soporific and fine. He burrowed into the warmth of the man next to him. Wolves were tactile creatures, snugglers by nature, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. The sumage, even in his sleep, didn’t seem to mind either, gi
ving a lazy murmur of pleasure as Biff curled against him, more contact.

  Mmmmm. Skin.

  He hadn’t been permitted to look last night and it struck Biff as being a fun, cheeky thing to peek this morning, while the other man still slept.

  Cautiously, he levered himself up onto one elbow and with big hesitant fingers pulled backed the coverlet.

  He anticipated glory. He already knew this man by touch and taste, the smooth planes and hidden crevices of him, the velvet of his cock, the pebbling of his nipples.

  It wasn’t glorious.

  This man. His man. His beautiful, difficult, talkative angst-ridden man was covered in scars.

  Biff had never seen anything like it. A network of lines started just below his collarbones, extending down over his chest. His arms too, and, Biff was in no doubt at all, they covered his legs and back. There was no raised texture to them, they were more like spider veins, but they were definitely scars. Fresh pink and angry. Painful. Not the white lines of long-ago-healed trauma.

  Biff was a medic by training. He’d seen all manner of injuries as part of the Boston EMS (emergency medical shifters) team. But nothing like this.

  The scars crawled all over Max’s body, like a web, forming irregular misshapen patches of unblemished skin, no plan behind them, no pattern. These were not the stripes of punishment or intent.

  It was as if Max had been dropped and fractured into a million pieces and then inexpertly glued back together.

  Biff swallowed bile. Not at the sight but at the realization that last night, he had blithely run his hands all over the other man’s body in an excess of passion, he’d even used his teeth…and it must have hurt. Hurt badly.

  He had been hurting Max.

  Biff was staring at Max’s chest, horrified, so he didn’t notice when those impossible blue eyes opened. He only noticed when the covers were jerked up and a low, fierce voice said, “Get out.”

  “Do they hurt?” The words were torn out of him.

  “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  His eyes. Those eyes wrecked him, pained and blue and fathomless.

  Shocked, Biff had no idea what to do, how to repair this. His self-flagellation sang in his brain. Over and over, all Biff could hear was: I hurt him. I was so taken by my own pleasure that I hurt him. Every time I touched him. I hurt him. It was only me feeling anything. Of course he wants me out. I should get out. Now.

  He let the sumage push him away and watched in a daze as the man leaped out of bed, wrapped in a sheet.

  Yeah, both arms were scarred too, and as Max bent to gather Biff’s clothing, throwing them at him (Biff caught them reflexively), he exposed the backs of his shoulders.

  I was right, scars all over.

  Biff’s brain was caught in a loop. Max wasn’t even yelling at him, just trembling with rage.

  Of course he’s angry, I hurt him.

  “Please, Max, please just tell me if they hurt.”

  But Max was caught in a loop too. “Get out! Just go. Now.”

  Biff found himself backing away, not from the rage but from the hurt. Hurt he’d caused, one way or another. Physical, emotional, it was all one. Max burned with it and Biff was sunk in the immediate darkness of losing him.

  Soon enough, Biff found himself naked, huddled in the driveway outside Max’s apartment, clutching his clothes to himself, wrecked and alone.

  * * *

  Just his luck, Alec was awake and puttering about when Biff returned to the borrowed house.

  “Hey, big brother. Walk of shame? Nice night? Been a while since you spent a whole…” Alec looked up at him then, nose twitching.

  “What happened?”

  Then he was there, his Alpha. Strong, wiry arms were wrapped around him. Familiar smell, familiar comfort. Not that Biff deserved any comfort.

  “I…” He couldn’t form the words. He just started shaking.

  Alec pulled him through to the living room and sat him down on the couch, holding him tight, so tight. Biff felt like he was crumbling, like he’d taken all those scars from Max’s body and rebuilt them on himself. Now he was shaking apart along those fracture lines.

  “Hey, hey.” Alec’s voice was a rumble of concern under his ear. “Okay, okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Biff was blanking out, his brain seized up on those awful scars, on Max’s anger. On fiercely frightened blue eyes. On a night that had been so wonderful but could have been wonderful for only him. How could I be so one-sided? How could I not know? How could I have been so self-absorbed? I thought I was making it good for him, too. How could I not have known when I touched him, he shivered in pain, not pleasure? I’m Beta, my whole function is to care. To protect. And I hurt him.

  I hurt him.

  “I hurt him,” he wailed into his brother’s chest.

  Alec shook his head at someone. The other pack members, no doubt. Tank and Lovejoy: lumps under blankets scattered about the living room.

  “No, no, not you. Never you, Biff. Wait, him? I thought you had a date. What the hell is going on?”

  Silence met that.

  “Bro, I know you hate to talk, but you gotta give me something to work with.”

  “Scars. He’s covered in scars and I touched… I didn’t mean to… oh god, it must have hurt so badly… I can’t…” I can’t breathe. I can’t think about this. No talking!

  Another form settled next to him.

  Another set of arms slid around him. Thinner, still muscled, but fine as a dancer’s. Silken skin, soft, the faint scent of salt air and sea breezes.

  Marvin. Alpha-mate.

  Marvin felt more confident than Alec, less worried. But the merman couldn’t smell Biff’s distress and self-loathing.

  Marvin’s voice was the smooth shimmer of calming seas. “Tell us what happened, baby. You were with someone, someone you like?”

  Biff nodded.

  “Someone you like a lot?”

  Another nod. This was easier. No talking, just the darkness of his eyes tightly closed and face nuzzled in against his brother’s chest. Although I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve the comfort. But Alec was strong, too strong, and wasn’t willing to let him go. His brother held him, tight as he could, and rocked him gently.

  “A lady friend?” Marvin’s sure sweet voice.

  Biff shook his head.

  “Okay. A gentlemen friend?”

  Biff nodded. Who cared if they knew now? Who cared if anyone knew? It’s not like it would ever happen again. I can’t be with Max – he’d never let me. I hurt him. And I don’t want anyone else. Who cares what my sexual orientation is? There’ll never be another. God, when did I become such a drama queen?

  Marvin had asked another question, and now he was repeating it. “You were intimate and you think you injured him in some way?”

  Another nod.

  “Well, hon, it is possible if there’s not enough lube and you don’t go very slowly, but…”

  Biff was shaking his head violently at that.

  “Okay.” Marvin sounded thoughtful. “You didn’t get that far?”

  Another nod.

  Alec’s voice rumbled beneath Biff’s cheek. “He said something about scars. I believe his…” A pause while Alec wrapped his brain around the concept. “…lover had scars. Biff touched them and thinks it hurt him. Something like that.”

  Marvin’s hand, rubbing circles on Biff’s back, stopped a moment, and then started up again.

  “Babe,” he said to Alec, “does our boy here smell like coolant?”

  “Biff, do you mind?”

  Biff shook his head. Who cared if his brother learned everything? It’s not like Biff couldn’t smell what Alec and his mate did on a regular basis. There were no secrets from werewolf noses.

  Alec sniffed cautiously. He hadn’t been breathing deeply before, out of respect for Biff’s privacy.

  “Well, mostly he smells like sex. Man, that’s weird, smelling some other guy’s jizz on my brother.”

/>   Biff twitched.

  “No, I’m not upset, bro, just shocked.” Alec’s voice was calm and soothing. His Alpha’s scent didn’t alter. He really wasn’t upset. “A little sad you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner. But you never tell anyone anything, so I’m not surprised there, either.” Alec spoke to his mate. “Yeah, coolant. Mage, you think?”

  Marvin’s hands circled Biff’s back, coming in for another two-part hug.

  I don’t deserve it. Biff’s brain sang again. I hurt him. A litany that might never stop.

  “Sumage,” Marvin replied. “Biff, honey, listen to me. They all have that. Those networked scars. I don’t think they hurt. I don’t know, I’ve never asked. But I don’t think they do.”

  Alec’s rumble. “How do you know anything about sumages?”

  “Dated a Pincher once. Don’t get all possessive and growly, babe – you know I had a life before you. Sweet guy, actually. Remember, I don’t have your sense of smell. That part doesn’t bother me. He had these scars all over his arms. Not his hands or face or anything, just his arms. Always wore long sleeves. Sumages go around pretty covered up, no matter what the weather. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Alec’s voice was only a little dismissive. “Haven’t spent a lot of time around sumages. Or civic mages, or mages in general, for that matter. They…” Under Biff’s cheek his brother shrugged. “Well, frankly, they stink. Sorry, Biff, no offense to your man.”

  Not Max, thought Biff, his traitorous mind taking him back to the night before. Max was salted-caramel rum with brown-butter undertones and male musk. Biff wanted to bathe in that smell.

  Marvin said, to both werewolves, “It happens when you can’t control quintessence, but you should be able to. It’s not your fault, Biff, sweetie. And it’s only his arms – you can avoid that.”

  Biff finally looked up. He knew his eyes must be red-rimmed. “All over his whole body.”

  “What?” Marvin’s beautiful face was a study in horror. “That’s not possible. I mean, Pinchers have scars on their arms and Plugs have them on their legs.”

  Biff hid himself away again. “Placer,” he mumbled against his Alpha’s neck.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Alec’s voice was soothing and a little broken. “We’ll fix this. I promise. You should SLEEP NOW.” VOICE was there, deepening his brother’s words. An Alpha’s order backed by power.