by Aiden Bates
"I want you to."
"You going to ask me to?"
Two red spots appeared in Austin's cheeks.Just as Austin loved to be looked at, Cody loved to hear his omega ask for him."Touch me, Cody.I want you on me.”He took a step toward Cody and nibbled on Cody's earlobe."I want you in me.I just want you."
Cody picked up his omega and carried him to the bed with a muffled groan.He buried his face in the juncture between Austin's neck and shoulder and wallowed in his beautiful, perfect scent, taking everything in and letting his mate's touch urge him on to even greater heat.
Austin had to help him off with his clothes.Cody couldn't focus, not with the feast laid out before him.He had to get his mouth everywhere, before the clock struck midnight and everything disappeared from his grasp again.They got his shirt off, and his pants open and halfway down before he had to pull back.
"How do you want it?”He took a step back and asked his question from between clenched teeth.Maybe that would help him to cool down a little.
"I'm always happy with whatever you decide.”Austin smiled at him from where he lay on his back."I really just want you inside of me."
Cody grabbed the lube and opened Austin up.He liked these positions; he liked to see Austin come apart.Anything that let him see more of Austin, to be honest, was just better.He worked quickly.He didn't want to hurt Austin, he'd rather die, but his own need got more pressing by the second.He didn't want to explode, not on Christmas Day.
He finally slicked himself up and entered.No matter how many times they did this, the moment he entered Austin was always a revelation.Austin's body always seemed hotter, and tighter, than anyone had ever been.He always felt more right than anyone ever had before.He gave them both a moment to adjust.Once, that moment had just been for Austin's comfort, but by now Cody needed it too.He didn't know how else he was going to cope, emotionally, with the rightnessof that moment.
Then he moved.They never had a problem matching rhythms, not after having been mated for so long.It would be old hat if not for the way that Austin's hazel eyes lit up every time Cody hit the right spot, just as he gasped, "Yeah, right there.”Like Cody couldn't tell, couldn't see him, couldn't feel his body react.
Cody came first this time, overwhelmed by his mate and the situation.Austin followed, helped on by Cody's hand, and they lay together in stunned silence for a few minutes.Cody had to take time to recover, after sex like that.
The alert came through to their phones while he was in the bathroom, getting a cloth to clean them up with.The shrill sound echoed through the master suite and Austin jumped out of bed to silence them both.Then he glanced at his own phone and chuckled.
"What is it, honey?”Cody turned to look at him from the doorway.
"You're not going to believe this, but they've declared a snow emergency going into tomorrow.”He looked up and grinned at Cody."We're snowed in.Again.”
Cody laughed quietly."Awesome.”
<<<<>>>>
The End
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Just read below for your FREE book – The Big Miracle. This is an older work of mine. I was keeping it to give away as a free gift. However, I admit now, that I have become a better writer since I wrote this story. Thus, it is not up to par with my more recent works. However, I think you still may enjoy it (just giving you a fair warning). Read below!
THE BIG MIRACLE
Part I: It’s His Funeral
1. Jeff Arrives in Brattleboro
2. Glenn Hosts the Reception
3. Sam Decides to Stay
4. Jeff Answers the Phone
5. Kevin Discovers the Truth
6. Greg Wants a Baby
Part II: It’s Our Funeral
7. Sam Accepts the News
8. Jeff Gets a Boyfriend
9. Glenn Has a Solution
10. Greg Gets a Purpose
11. Sam Makes a Decision
12. Clarkie Joins the Group
Part III: It’s Their Funeral
13. Jeff Enjoys the Day
14. Kevin Commands the Night
15. Glenn Collects the Kids
16. Greg Finds His Family
17. Sam Loves His Boy
18. Jeff Wins the Pot
Bonus: The Sun Also Riseth
Part I: It’s His Funeral
1. Jeff Arrives in Brattleboro
Jeff’s been to New England before, but never Vermont. When he thinks of Vermont, he thinks: cabins and hot cocoa, maple syrup, maple leaves turning colors, barns and hills, and of his college friend Kevin who was from Vermont. That’s why he’s come to Vermont now, because Kevin lives here in a big ol’ house he’s worked hard, him and Glenn both, to restore and call their own. He’s coming back because they had another friend from college staying in their guest house—Alex—and Alex has killed himself.
Their old college crew is all coming into Brattleboro, for his funeral.
Before the plane even touches down, Jeff knows the place is beautiful. As a magazine reporter, he’s been sent on assignment to over half of the fifty states and abroad more than a handful of times. He keeps a couple of maps pasted into the back of his slim novel-sized planner to keep track of just what a world-traveler he is; he opens these maps up and finds Vermont on the U.S. map (he has to look it up on his phone first—he couldn’t tell Vermont from New Hampshire on a map without labels if his life depended on it), and shades the little spot in with his pen. It’s not a big mark but it’s a destination achieved all the same, even if the reason he’s here isn’t a happy one.
Jeff flies into Boston and has to rent a car to get to the town he’s headed to. It’s under three hours of driving time, traffic willing, but still he wants to stop somewhere and have some lunch, collect his thoughts. The funeral isn’t until tomorrow. Jeff is flying in from London where he was on assignment with some fashion show, and rather than go straight from a long flight to a mid-morning funeral, he’s come in early, and is invited to stay with Glenn and Kevin in one of the guest rooms they’ve got, and they’ve got quite a few; with their two kids staying at some grandmother’s for this unfortunate weekend, a lot of beds are ready to be filled with their friends.
But Jeff doesn’t want to meet up with them yet. First he’ll stop into some kitschy little diner, some piece of pure roadside Americana, maybe find a way to write a story about this whole weekend—friends and love and life and death and growing older after their college heydays—and this stop will serve as the piece’s local color.
He stops in Derry, New Hampshire for no other reason than it’s about halfway on his journey, and chooses to eat at How’s Your Onion? for no other reason than it’s silly title. Jeff’s onion is intrigued.
The diner’s a repurposed single-family home, with red clay tiles and burgundy booths (two shades of red, and boy do they clash), and sits down to wait for his waiter. His waiter is well worth the wait.
“Hiya, I’m Julian, and I’ll be your server today.” Julian is a cute little red-headed guy in an apron bunched up around his waist. He’s got a little reporter’s notebook he doesn’t use to take Jeff’s order (so what is it really for—is it there by habit, for the busy hours only, or just for hangover days, perhaps it’s a borrowed apron? Jeff wants to know
), plus a couple of pens and some loose change weighing down the pockets. Jeff really wants to go digging through this kid’s apron. He didn’t pack an abundance of clean undies and condoms in his bag for nothing!
“What’s good here, what would you eat yourself?” Jeff asks. He’s just met this guy and already he wants to know all about him, make sure that journalism degree from the University of Michigan isn’t just going to his job writing puff pieces on TV stars—let’s get investigative with this guy! Let’s start probing him for details.
“I would eat the Eggs Benedict, but mostly because I swear I would drink that Hollandaise sauce if the cook wasn’t always in the kitchen.”
“Well, then that’s what I’ll have,” Jeff says. He waits for his food, making notes on the kid’s appearance and the state of the restaurant, just a list of details in case he wants to draw from them later, and because it’s an extra reason to observe Julian closely. He’s got a tight purple shirt on under that apron, sneakers are white and purple to match, two earrings on one ear with purple in them too, and all of it really standing out against his coppery hair, which is as bright as a new penny.
Jeff invites Julian to dip a few fries in the Hollandaise sauce, requests extra as the customer, so that Julian can have even more, and while they both loiter and chit-chat in this relatively empty little diner. Jeff invites Julian to take a seat with him if the guy can, and after looking at the cook (who merely rolls his eyes as a form of consent), Julian slides into the booth across from him. This is going way better than Jeff ever could have expected.
“What brings you to town?” Julian asks. His keys have a rental key chain on them, and there’s a boarding ticket sticking out of his notebook as a bookmark, so Jeff isn’t the only person who’s a bit of a sleuth around here, Julian’s got a sharp eye too. Or Julian knows his accent’s not from around here, but still, he’s on the mark.
“I’m meeting up with some old college friends in Vermont, I’m coming in through Boston.” No reason to ruin this cheery little spring day by saying one of the college friends he’s meeting up with 86’d himself. That’s an irrelevant detail for now.
“Nice,” Julian says. “What’ll you do, go hiking, antiquing?” He’s chewing on Jeff’s fries with abandon now. Jeff waves at the cook and asks for another helping please, and the cook sourly comes out to deliver it to the table.
Mostly Jeff and his friends will be mourning, and drinking, and talking about good times a decade old and gone by now, but none of that sounds fun, so Jeff continues to embellish—not lie, lying is liable to get you sued in his line of work, but he’s only interested in telling the very outer edges of the truth right now. He’s on vacation from this weekend’s true purpose right now.
“We’ll probably stay in and reminisce the whole time, cook all day, eat all night, you know.”
Julian throws up his hands to indicate the diner itself. “I know!”
Jeff is laughing now, and Julian too, and now’s the time to ask. “What are your hours here? You should let me bring you out to join us some time this weekend, the more the merrier.” His friends will actually scoff at Jeff for bringing another quickie boyfriend around, they’ll roll their eyes and say, He’s at it again, hasn’t changed at all since college, but Jeff doesn’t want to be funereal all weekend. In every death there’s a reminder that life is short and temporary, you’ve got to live it while you can. Jeff scratches a note to himself to use that line if he can. In every death a reminder—memento mori. Maybe Latin won’t do for his editor or his audience, but Jeff will try to sneak some in there anyway, just to push his luck.
“What are you, some sort of writer?”
“Exactly that,” Jeff says. “But what are you doing this weekend?”
“I work all weekend,” Julian says, his mouth twisting sadly. “This place opens at 5AM on Thursday and doesn’t close until 2PM Sunday, open all through the nights. I go home for long enough to sleep, basically, then come right back. I get the rest of the week off though.”
“That’s interesting,” Jeff says. “So how about Sunday afternoon then, Sunday night? I leave on Monday, it’s just enough time that we don’t have to stay strangers, what do you say?”
Julian squints a bit and thinks about it, probably doing the math—meet me Sunday afternoon, the guy leaves Monday, so that’s Sunday night together, then, is that the plan? Jeff hopes so. He waits and waits and ignores the feel of the cook’s glare on the side of his face. Jeff’s pretty shameless, he hopes Julian is too.
“Oh, why not, sure. Call this place before it closes on Sunday, and I’ll let you know how tired I am, maybe yes, maybe no, just call first.”
“I will, I’ll do that,” Jeff says. He leaves How’s Your Onion? thinking he’s just made a new friend on this weekend full of old friends. Life goes on.
But not until after the funeral. Jeff arrives at Kevin and Glenn’s for a quiet night of helping them prepare the house for the reception. He hugs the two of them, but until the rest of the group arrives, there’s no need to start reminiscing, they’ll let the funeral itself break the ice on their tears, it seems. Jeff also meets Clarkie, some twenty-three-year-old kid that Alex was seeing for the past few months of his life (and what turned out to be the last few months of his life). Alex was staying in Kevin and Glenn’s guest house, renovating it so they could start using it as a rental space, and Clarkie was living with Alex, helping to keep Alex stable (they all assumed, and hoped) while he tried to get back on his feet after going bankrupt and turning to his friends for shelter. He was having a tough stretch, Alex, but no one thought he was going to end it like this. Oh well, perhaps; no use crying over spilt blood, but they will still cry all the same, and each of them knows it.
Everyone turns in early tonight. Jeff tries to stay productive, typing up his handwritten notes on his laptop, which starts to organize them into material he can use and splice together later, more deliberate work. He puts himself to bed beating off the thoughts of Julian, and instead of thinking of tomorrow—Saturday morning, a beautiful New England day to bury the dead—he projects his thoughts to Sunday afternoon and his date with Julian. That’s the incentive he has to put himself through his friend’s funeral. He wonders how Alex lost that sense of incentive, that need to keep going through the bad times, because it’s the only way you’ll ever get back to good. Jeff assumes that’s a feeling so painful, cutting three slashes into both wrists is nothing but a scratch. Alex wasn’t even drunk or high when he did it. How did he get there?
Saturday morning dawns charmingly, a little bit of spring fog, because early March in New England still has its chilly nights apparently. Jeff gets up, gets dressed, and catches a ride with the rest of the household, sitting all the while in the back seat with Clarkie and getting a good look at him. The kid’s a lithe little beanpole, with powerful, long fingers, the kind that a pianist could use. Clarkie’s no pianist though, he’s a Pilates instructor. Sometimes. Recently he’s been unemployed and just living with Alex. He’s got a perfect body and misty eyes—Jeff wonders if those are always his eyes, or if he only looks like that now that he’s seen death.
The trip to a local church is pretty short. The occupants of their car scatter as soon as they park, Jeff scouting for his other college friends, wondering when they will arrive, and how. He finds Sam first, lugging a suitcase out of a cab, and walks straight up to him to take his bag, sets it promptly on the ground, and gives Sam a big, long hug. He only stops hugging him when Sam’s mustache tickles his ear and neck so much that his reflexes flinch. It gets them smiling a bit as Jeff rubs the side of his face, and then reaches to tug at the offending mustache on Sam’s.
“How long have you had this thing? It’s so 80s.”
“I started growing it when my agent told me my upper lip was too thin,” Sam says, shrugging. He’s the distinguished older cop partner in some police procedural that Jeff often sees on TV, but rarely watches, lest the memory of his friend become less to him than the character he pl
ays. The mustache, like his hair, is a rich, thick black, the kind that will only look slicker and more impressive when he starts to go gray. Jeff’s hair is mouse brown and thin, a bit more like dandelion fluff than he would prefer, but he does his best with it.
The other person he’s looking for now is Greg, who shows up with the same wry expression Jeff remembers from school, though he’s more of a dandy than ever in the snappiest mourning suit surely anyone has ever worn, smoking a cigarette the second he gets out of his car, slinging a messenger bag kind of briefcase across his body. He spots Jeff spotting him, and raises his cigarette-free hand to beckon Jeff closer, only leaning against his car, not taking a step to come meet Jeff halfway. Suave fucker hasn’t changed a bit.
“How’s the devil’s work treating you?” Jeff asks, as Greg pulls him into a one-armed hug and kisses him right on the mouth. Greg kisses everyone he likes on the mouth unless they ask him to stop. Jeff would do that too, except that people ask him to stop before he even starts to lean in.
“It still pays well,” Greg says, letting go of the half-hug so he can show off his duds, his sleek, needlessly showy and expensive rental car. Why not just show up in a limo, except it would be too gauche to try to out-stretch a hearse?
Greg is a corporate lawyer. He once went into law to be a Clarence Darrow type, defending the rich and the poor, the guilty and the innocent alike, on principle and to the best of his ability, but at some point he burned out of that do-gooder streak and started going for money instead. He gives handsomely to charities, of course, but he’s still robbing Peter to pay Paul, and they all know it.