by Megan Derr
When the grisly job was done, Kirby drove off with a brief wave.
"I think we'll pick this up after we're all rested," Peter said into the silence that fell. "We could all use real sleep."
"Agreed," Brayton said. He bid them all goodnight, everyone ignoring the fact they probably should be saying good morning, and watched as they all piled into Peter's car and drove away.
Leaving him alone with Ferdy.
He smiled as he saw Ferdy was already vanishing into the house. He'd be insulted, but well, how could he? Grinning, he strolled into the house himself and made straight for the workshop in the back.
Ferdy was already there, planted on a bench at one of the work tables, elbow deep in the guts of the mechanical toy he'd been moping over before, fingers moving with a fluidity that Brayton could not tear his eyes from—except to enjoy the smile on Ferdy's face.
Still grinning himself, he snagged a stool at one of the two remaining work tables, cleared a small space for himself, and sat down. He rested his head on his arms, content to simply sit and watch his mate be happy until sleep finally snuck up and knocked him out.
He woke with a grunt, staring blearily at whoever was shaking him. Then his nose, eyes, and brain kicked in, and he yawned as he sat up and said, "Baby?"
"You should go to—I'm sorry. I didn't make certain—I got carried away—"
Brayton cut off the stream of words with a clumsy kiss, still too sleep-addled to do better. "S'fine. What times is it?"
"Uh—eight in the morning," Ferdy said, looking guilt stricken.
"Ugh. We're going to bed, Itty-bitty. Did you have fun being a gremlin again?" He smiled as he looked at the fully repaired toy carousel horse on the far table. "Looks good, baby."
Ferdy flushed. "Um. You didn't have to hang around—" Brayton kissed him again, snickering when Ferdy scowled at him. "You can't do that every time you want to shut me up."
"Yes, I can," Brayton said with another yawn. "I liked watching you work, and I know you must be beyond happy to be free of that curse. And now we go to bed."
Matching deed to word, he took Ferdy's hand and dragged him upstairs and into the bedroom. Too tired and groggy to worry about clothes, he fell into the bed and dragged Ferdy with him. He rumbled contentedly then, all but wrapping himself around Ferdy, who was small and wiry and seemed to fit perfectly.
Happy, Brayton fell back asleep.
*~*~*
Brayton woke up immediately alert and feeling more rested than he had in days.
He also realized he was alone and growled his dissatisfaction. Sitting up, he threw back the blankets he or Ferdy must have pulled up in the nigh, and climbed out of bed. It wasn't until he reached the door that he noticed his things by the closet—the duffel, toolbox, blankets, and other supplies he always kept in his trunk.
Ferdy must have hauled it all in for him. He'd slept straight through it all; he didn't relax like that except in his own house or his parents' place. Smiling, Brayton dug out fresh clothes, toothbrush, razor, then went in search of a towel.
Half an hour later, he was showered and clean, feeling fine. Pounding down the stairs, he stopped short again to see all his shit in the little dish by the door—keys, wallet, phone, even his smokes…
No, that was a brand new pack. Ferdy had gone out and bought him cigarettes. Lying on top of them was a nice lighter—far above the cheap little gas store ones he was always buying—with a wolf's head and moon etched on either side.
Grinning, Brayton stuffed everything into his pockets minus the smokes and lighter. He opened the cigarettes as he slid outside, then sat down on the front stoop and lit one with his brand new lighter—which he then proceeded to open and close, open and close, before he finally made himself put it away.
To judge by the sun and the smell, it was getting on to late afternoon. Man, when had he last spent an entire day sleeping? Longer than he could remember.
The sunshine was nice, and it took the worst of the bite out of the cool air. He could smell Ferdy not too far off, probably 'round back. Given that Brayton's car was no longer in the front, he had a pretty good idea what Ferdy was up to, silly gremlin.
Smiling, he finished his cigarette and stamped it out then tossed it in an old bucket that looked liked it had served that same purpose in the past. Standing, he walked around the house toward the garage bays in the back corner.
As expected, Ferdy was absorbed in the car. Brayton could fix a problem or twelve when his honey broke down, but he couldn’t rebuild her from the ground up. He was beyond impressed that Ferdy seemed utterly at home and didn't doubt he'd make it look easy.
"Hey, baby."
Ferdy jumped then jerked his head up. He used his arm to wipe sweat from his brow, but really only succeeded in adding grease. He smiled shyly. "Hi. Sleep well?"
"Best sleep I've had in forever. Thanks for the smokes and the lighter."
Ferdy flushed and ducked his head to hide a brighter smile. "Sure. I had it around, seemed to suit. Umm. I'm working on your car. I guess that's obvious. You can borrow one of mine 'til it's fixed. I'll do a good job; she's a beauty. Um. Hopefully I haven't screwed up your work or—"
Brayton growled into the kiss and grabbed handfuls of Ferdy's ass, pulling him close. Gremlins had always driven him crazy with their smell—oil, dirt, grease, metal, sweat, even blood. But he liked it on Ferdy, the way those scents mingled with Ferdy's scent, that elusive, not quite sweet scent he'd never get tired of smelling.
Hands slick with sweat and grease fisted in Brayton’s shirt, and he should have put off his shower a bit, but he really didn't care.
Sinking one hand into Ferdy's hair, sliding the other up to loop around Ferdy's waist, Brayton kissed him until their lips were bruised and they were both short of breath. He lapped lazily at Ferdy's lips as he drew back. "Hey, baby."
"H-hi. Again. Um."
Brayton nipped his nose. "As cute as you look when you're worrying, stop doing it. I'm one hundred percent certain you'll make my car better than she was before." He nuzzled, feeling almost drunk or something akin. It really was no mystery to him now why wolves went so crazy when they found their mates. How could they not?
Being a true lone, and more than content with that, he hadn't thought he'd ever find a mate. His father had, sure, but lone often meant lone. If he'd ever been told to guess what his mate might be like, he would never have picked a gremlin.
But right here, right now, he really couldn't imagine anyone more perfect than Ferdy.
"You—" Ferdy clamped his mouth shut.
"I what, baby?"
Ferdy stared at Brayton's chest. "You don't make sense. I'm always getting caught up in my work and forgetting other stuff. I was dumped only days ago, and my ex just killed himself. I'm pretty certain I'm a mess and—"
Brayton kissed him softly. "Baby, I've spent my whole life traveling from one end of the country to the other and back again. My longest relationship lasted a week. I like to smoke, and I've got a possessive streak as wide as the day is long. But I know damned sure you're my pint-sized gremlin. The rest is details, and we'll work them out and bump along so long as you want to try."
Ferdy was silent so long that Brayton quietly began to suffer a panic attack, and he was just starting to figure out how to back pedal and save himself some measure of dignity—
"Yes," Ferdy said. "I do want to try. It's just—you really didn't seem to like me when we first met."
Brayton smiled and tweaked Ferdy's nose, laughing at the way Ferdy promptly wrinkled it. "I couldn't figure out why you seemed so different, why you smelled so different, and why I couldn't keep my mind off thoughts of fucking you."
Ferdy made a strangled, half-laugh, half-moan sound, and to judge by the sudden spike of lust in the air, he probably wouldn't get much argument were he to drag Ferdy back to bed right then.
"Then I say we give us a try, baby," Brayton said, then nibbled and bit at Ferdy's jaw, throat, then back up to cheek, nose, and fina
lly to the delectable mouth he'd already claimed more times than he could count.
Growling when hands fisted in his shirt again, he brought them flush, grinding their erections together, and moved—
Nearly killing them both as he tripped over the bits and pieces of his car.
Ferdy laughed. "By the way, I do usually have a house rule about no messing around in my workshops and the bays."
"You'll get no argument from me," Brayton said and dragged him to the house.
Not willing to attempt the stairs, he settled for the couch, pushing Ferdy down into it and then setting to work on their clothes with greedy determination. Skinny he might be, but Ferdy was definitely not just skin and bones. There was muscle there, wiry and toned, and all manner of old cuts, scrapes, and burns that told dozens upon dozens of gremlin stories.
He got as far as getting their shirts off and their pants undone before he simply ran out of patience. Grabbing hold of Ferdy's cock, he began to stroke, learning the shape and feel of it, memorizing the way Ferdy writhed and twisted, gasped and moaned—
Growling, Brayton bent and took Ferdy’s mouth, swallowing every needy, gasping plea. He rumbled in deep satisfaction when Ferdy eventually came hard in his hand, shuddering and shivering against him, Brayton's name tumbling out in a choked cry.
Brayton licked Ferdy's lips, nibbled at jaw and throat—then cried out in surprise as he was suddenly shoved back, tumbling down hard on his back, head hitting the padded armrest on the opposite end. He flailed for balance, one hand landing on the back of the sofa, the other clinging wet and sticky to Ferdy's arm.
His protests died on his lips, though, as he took in the heated, determined look that had already replaced the sated expression on Ferdy's face. Before he could form a sentence, or even a word, however, Ferdy was demonstrating with enthusiasm that his mouth was just as talented as his hands.
Possibly even more so.
Brayton gave up any thought of sentences, settling simply for 'baby' and 'more' and 'goddamn' at irregular intervals, until he came hard enough his vision fritzed out.
When he could more or less function again, he drew Ferdy up to lay full on top of him and stole a sloppy kiss, rumbling at the way Ferdy tasted like them. "You're good at that, baby," he said, voice husky. "Evil good."
Ferdy flushed and settled for resting his head against Brayton's chest. Brayton chuckled and kissed the top of his head and wondered why the hell Kerry had thought he'd anything to bitch about where Ferdy was concerned. He should have been smart enough to appreciate what he had.
But he sensed that Ferdy was only one on a long list of Kerry's fuck ups.
Not that he could really hate the man. Hating the dead was a waste of energy, one, but more importantly—Kerry being a fuck up was the reason that Brayton had come here and found his mate.
Ferdy muttered something, and Brayton stirred. "What was that?"
"I said, we should probably move soon. Kirby called while you were still sleeping, saying he'd be by sometime this evening to talk more about Kerry, though he said he hadn't really learned much. He'll probably come around about six, and it's going on five now."
"Ah," Brayton said. "Then yeah, we should get cleaned up, and I'll really need to go out to buy some new clothes at some point. Which reminds me, I'll have to go fetch my things at some point. Did you want to road trip with me, see my cabin?"
"What?" Ferdy asked, looking surprised. "Umm—yes? I haven't traveled in forever. It could be fun."
"Baby, so long as it's you and me, it'll always be fun."
Ferdy laughed, and kissed him, and Brayton really could not be happier.
Hell, he'd probably still be willing to owe Karl a favor.
About the Author
Megan grew up a military brat and traveled extensively with her family. She is now firmly settled in Ohio, with two roommates and their four cats. She has always been book obsessed, and writing obsessed since she first gave it a whirl in college. Romance and fantasy are her primary obsessions, but she’s game to write just about anything and enjoys a challenge. She is a sucker for stories of enemies becoming lovers. When not writing, Megan is drinking too much coffee, reading still more books, and harassing family and friends, or otherwise doing whatever possible to avoid editing.