Love for the Cold-Blooded. Or

by Alex Gabriel

  “Hell yeah,” he said, pushing up on his knees to grin down at Nick. “You better believe it, bro.”

  Nick looked like the most gorgeous and x-rated of centerfolds, all flushed, disheveled intensity. It was so much better than that, though, because he wasn’t just some insanely hot guy willing to sleep with Pat. He was Nick. Nick with a grin — or maybe even a smirk — lurking in the corners of his eyes. Nick, with his complex, intense Nickness.

  He was the most amazing thing Pat had ever seen. Pat wanted to learn him by heart; wanted to know everything about him. And yeah, he wanted to have sex with him. Kinda a lot.

  First he needed to get naked, though, which — okay, mental note: Pat really had to find a way to take off his clothes that was both fast and sexy. As it was, he ended up nearly tripping over his own jeans, and then hopping first on one foot and then the other to get his socks off. Probably not the most alluring sight, so it was a good thing Nick was an uncritical audience. Or maybe Pat was just way sexier than he’d ever dreamed… when a guy like Nick stared at you with that kind of expression on his face, that did start to seem like a valid theory.

  Nick himself was starting to look a little overdressed, what with the unbuttoned, crumpled dress shirt, and the tie dangling loose around his neck. Overdressed was an absurdly hot look on him, though. It also meant that when Pat climbed back onto the couch to straddle him, he could wrap the tie around one fist and hold Nick down for a slow, thorough kiss.

  Maybe they should move this to the bed. Pat’s bed wasn’t as huge as Nick’s, but it would definitely be more comfortable than the sofa. The only problem was, the bed was next door. He’d have to stop touching Nick again, and that simply wasn’t an option.

  He shifted to the side instead, steadying himself against the backrest as he slid a hand up Nick’s thigh and hip, trailing light, teasing fingertips along his shaft. Nick groaned, thighs falling open in invitation. An equally light touch over the slick head of his cock, and Nick twisted beneath him, the couch creaking.

  Nick huffed what sounded like a stifled curse when Pat wrapped his free hand firmly around the base of his erection, and actually growled when he rubbed over the wetness gathering at the tip, slicking it over the swollen crown. Pat tightened his grip around the base for a long, smooth stroke — two; another. It was amazing how good the heavy weight and slide of Nick felt in his hand, how much he enjoyed the feeling of velvety skin over hard heat. He loved the sighs and little cut-off grunts Nick gave, too; loved the restless way his hips shifted, pushing into Pat’s touch.

  “Patrick,” Nick said breathlessly, and then trailed off into a choked groan when Pat stroked him again. Gorgeous, he was so gorgeous like this, all rumpled, dazed and debauched, chest heaving, splayed over Pat’s sofa with his legs spread wide and his hard cock leaking in Pat’s fist. But Pat had no time to properly drink in the sight. He was too wrapped up in the heft and heat of Nick’s balls, in caressing the silken skin underneath and sliding bold fingertips further down.

  A low gasp, and Nick arched off the cushions, the muscles in his thighs and stomach hard and straining.

  It was insanely hot, and it hit Pat with the force of a two-by-four. He wanted to know all the ways he could make Nick react like this — every single one. He wanted to drive him right out of his mind with desire. And he wanted to be closer than this. Wanted, needed…

  “I have to be inside you.” It came out rough and low, almost harsh. Pat had never heard himself sound so desperate before.

  Nick’s eyes were wide and dark and entirely focused on Pat. That kind of attention was like a drug, Pat was sure of it — the addictive kind that you would never be able to do without again, could never replace with anything else. “Patrick. Pat.”

  Pat stretched up for a kiss, and found himself caught in a merciless steel grip. Nick twisted against him, hands locking tight on Pat’s hips; manhandled him into position until their cocks were sliding together, hard heat rubbing against Pat in a drawn-out tease. Bright, urgent want twisted deeper into Pat’s throat and gut. Oh yeah. Yeah, that was —

  “Pants,” Nick gasped, abruptly shoving Pat away. “Where — fuck! Where’d my pants go?”

  What…? Pat didn’t give a damn about Nick’s pants, certainly not right now, but when he tried to lean in for another kiss, Nick pulled out of reach, scrabbling along the floor in front of the sofa like a total freak. What the hell, he wasn’t leaving, was he? No way, he wouldn’t, why would he —

  Nick found his pants, but tossed them back down again almost immediately, holding out something he’d pulled from the pocket to Pat. “Now, Patrick,” Nick commanded. “No playing around.”

  Later, he would reflect on the fact that Nick had gone to the opera with a condom and lube in his pocket, and wonder whether that counted as skeevy or as laudably prepared. Now, he was too busy trying to make himself produce words.

  “Oh hey, yeah, sure.” Success! Words were coming out of his mouth, even if Pat had no real idea of what he was saying. Whatever, he was counting it a win. “Let’s do that, absolutely.”

  Hurling yourself at someone to push them down and more or less wrestle them into position was definitely not okayed by the West Sister Dating Rules. Nick’s bad manners were contagious. On the up side, it was basically a question of choosing the right partner, because Nick sure wasn’t complaining.

  “Time to create our own dating rules,” Pat babbled, fingers unsteady as he unrolled the condom. He could feel the safety coming off of his mouth; it was like a switch turning, all of the usual safeguards between his brain and his mouth going offline one by one. Seriously though, if there had ever been a good reason to babble, it was Nick, with his body and his cock and his unblinking stare. Pat wanted to get his hands and mouth on every centimeter of him, memorize him, mark him up and claim him as his own. And he would, but not right now. Now…

  Now, he shouldered between Nick’s spread thighs, sliding both hands up the length of his legs. “I will so have sex with you. Like, so much. You have no idea.”

  “You’d better.” It sounded like a threat, and even that was insanely hot. Just like the way Nick settled his shoulders deeper into the cushions, hooking one leg over the backrest and holding the other to his chest. Just like his harshly exhaled breath as Pat slicked lube-wet fingertips over his exposed hole.

  “I love that you can’t help but make all these sounds, even though you try not to.” Pat pressed a finger inside Nick’s body, where he was tight and soft and warm. When Pat pulled back to stroke around the rim, the muscle pulsed against his fingertips, and Nick glared at him. His swollen cock was drooling a string of clear liquid onto his belly; Pat lifted his balls in his free hand, and Nick jerked, gave a barely stifled moan, and kicked his heel against Pat’s shoulder.

  “Stop fooling around and get to it!”

  “Or what, you’re leaving?”

  But yeah. Pat couldn’t wait any longer, either.

  That moment of unrelenting pressure when Pat lined himself up and pushed in… the feeling of Nick opening for him. Pat sank into the tight, hot grip of Nick’s body so slowly he could hardly stand it, feeling it envelop him from crown to root until his hips hit Nick’s butt. When he shifted, pushing Nick’s leg a bit further up and to the right, he found himself dimly surprised that his hands were steady. He felt wild, unmoored; out of control.

  “So good, you are so wrong about astronauts and dinosaurs but I don’t care, you have no taste in music, you feel so good, I want to do this all the time, always, I’m gonna do you so good…” And he was, he was going to be so good for Nick. The best.

  He gathered himself into strong, even thrusts, burying himself deep with a wicked little twist of the hips that made Nick gasp and sent breathless fire racing through Pat’s veins. He was melting into pure sensation, aching pleasure washing through him with every stroke. Nick arched underneath him like a porn star, grunting harsh and low; he’d wrapped a hand around his erection and was stroking it to the rhythm of Pat�
��s hips. He was flushed and wide-eyed and the best thing ever around Pat’s cock, beneath Pat’s palms.

  Spiraling need wound Pat tighter and tighter with every stroke. Everything about this was incredible, intoxicating; unbearably good. The boring beige couch cover that slid beneath his knees, the way the couch creaked and rocked with the force of his thrusts, the golden gleam of sweat on Nick’s throat and chest. How Nick’s tie was loose around his neck and he was still kind of wearing his shirt, though it was completely crumpled and spread open. How Nick stared at him as though he wanted to devour Pat’s soul.

  “Not that I want you to devour my soul,” Pat’s voice echoed in his ears. “Not that you even could or anything, just, it’s hot that you look at me like, like you want to, like, oh, oh gods —”

  He needed to feel Nick, so he wrapped a hand around his where he was stripping his cock, greedy for the feel of the motion, the heavy weight and hot slick slide of him. He tried to lean in for a kiss but the angle was off, and he couldn’t think how to correct it, couldn’t stop driving himself into Nick as hard and fast as his hips would move.

  Close, he was getting close, molten lust and roaring pleasure and dizzying need building. Nick bucked up with an honest-to-gods growl —

  Something snapped with a dry crack. Pat’s mind was too lust-addled to convey a coherent sequence of events, instead presenting him with a confusing series of snapshots. Nick’s body shifting forward beneath Pat’s hands even as Pat himself lost his balance. The sofa’s backrest sinking away, spilling Nick’s leg. Nick’s eyes widening as he pushed up to his elbows. Everything tilting crazily, the sharp bite of sawdust in his nose, and Pat being torn from Nick’s body with a wrenching twist that skewered him with pleasure and forced a broken cry from him.

  Pat landed on top of Nick, teeth clacking together as his chin met Nick’s shoulder. A jarring crash echoed in his ears. For a moment, the detached armrest teetering on the floor behind Nick’s head failed to register, and he couldn’t make sense of the fact that they were now considerably lower to the ground. Then…

  “We destroyed the couch,” Pat heard himself say. He sounded blank.

  Nick laughed, low and breathless. Pat sneezed at the rising scent of wood and dust, struggling up to his hands and knees among a mess of couch cover, cushions and broken frame. He was dizzy, couldn’t really focus. But his hands were still on smooth warm skin; Pat was still drowning in need, and Nick was right there, staring at Pat all covetous and lustful —

  They moved in the same instant, grabbing at each other. Pat caught Nick’s leg by the knee and bent it up and back. Nick’s grip was like a vice on his hips; Pat could barely get a hand between their bodies in time to guide himself in. Relief and urgency and lust rushed him as he pushed back into the tight heat of Nick’s body, the world narrowing, every sense filling with Nick.

  He fucked Nick hard and deep in the midst of the debris of the couch, and came laughing breathlessly into his mouth, Nick’s hands clenched on his hips with bruising force. Nick followed him over as soon as Pat gathered himself enough to wrap a hand around his cock, arching up off the ground in a way Pat would have paid good money to see, if he hadn’t been getting the view free of charge.

  Free of charge unless you counted the couch. But considering Pat had picked this couch up at the side of the road on bulk garbage collection day, it was a pretty wicked bargain.

  They made it into the bedroom eventually, leaving their clothes strewn among the wreckage. “Stay for breakfast,” Pat mumbled into Nick’s shoulder, too tired to keep his eyes open. “I’ll make eggs like you’ve never had before, rich boy.”

  Nick stayed, and in the morning, Pat made scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes and rosemary. It was the fanciest dish he could do, and Nick gave him top marks for it before kissing him up against the kitchenette cupboard.

  All in the wrist, baby.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Home is where the serpents are.

  The front door was not locked, the entire house airy and light, curtains thrown open to let in the bright winter sun. It was still a bit dusty, with most of Pat’s steps scaring up fluffy little balls of dust, but then Dad had only just arrived back home, and had a lot to do.

  The enticing scent of charcoal and grilling food lured Pat to the living room, where Zen and Cea were lounging with beers in hand, watching Dad and Hell wrestle with the ancient, rusty grill out on the patio.

  “Sucks being the oldest, huh,” Pat commented. A moment later, Dad had looked up and spotted him, and then he barreled inside to sweep Pat up in a bear hug that made him laugh, even as it squeezed all the air out of his lungs.

  “Patpat!” Dad tried to pick him up and whirl him around as though he were still a little boy, but gave up with a pained-sounding ooff before ever getting Pat off the ground. “Kiddo, you’re really heavy these days. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “You too, Dad. It’s been ages.”

  Dad was tanned an even, deep brown that looked odd and unfamiliar on him, although it wasn’t a bad look. It did go well with his pale eyes, and even brought out the gray at his temples. When he grinned, his teeth flashed more, too. “Now that you’re all here, I might as well come out with my big announcement. It’s not like you haven’t been waiting for this for long enough.”

  Dad slung an arm around Pat’s shoulder and reeled in Hell (who’d followed Dad inside at a more dignified pace) with his free arm, squeezing her close in a hearty way that she would never have tolerated from anyone else. Except maybe Pat… and Cea and Zen, of course.

  Cea and Zen sat up straight on the couch as Dad beamed at all of them in turn. “Your mother has assumed her new skin and woken from her slumber renewed and glorious. Her powers have redoubled, as have her majesty and cunning. My children, Serpentissima rises in terrible strength and glory! Soon, she will assume her rightful place, and the world will tremble before her in awe and terror.”

  The grill hissed and popped into the breathless dramatic pause after this announcement. Dad cut the portentous silence short in favor of making sure the tofu burgers didn’t burn.

  Yeah… pretty much exactly what Pat had expected. His sisters were equally unsurprised, but considerably more enthusiastic, and Pat soon wandered away from their discussion and over to the serpent statue in the middle of the living room. He’d thought he’d glimpsed a living snake curled up on the pedestal earlier, and he’d been right — there it was, slender body gleaming like emeralds and gold.

  When Pat bent down and held out a hand, the snake lifted its head lazily and slid closer, flickering its tongue against his fingertips affectionately. The touch was too light and quick to be felt as even the tiniest of tickles.

  By the time they sat down to dinner, Pat had succeeded in coaxing the snake to curl around his neck, head and tail tucked cozily into his shirt. He petted it absently with one hand as he spooned some of Hell’s famous pasta salad on his plate, feeling honored at its trust. He’d always liked snakes, obviously, and they’d always liked him. He’d never been allowed to play with them before, though. He’d been too young, and his mother had worried that he’d be careless and hurt them unintentionally.

  When he looked up from gently stroking the snake’s back, Cea was smiling at him. He wasn’t sure what that was about but smiled back on general principles, and took a piece of bread before passing on the basket.

  “When will Mom’s ship arrive?” Hell sounded a little worried. “You know that Sir Toby is still in the middle of his bid for dominion over the city, right, Dad? We were delayed by uncontrollable circumstances, but while we have fallen behind schedule, we remain unbowed and undefeated. As Sir Toby’s right hand, I cannot in good conscience take part in Mom’s campaign in any capacity.”

  “Don’t worry, my Hellion, your mom isn’t going to start while Sir Toby’s still active. We’re going to stagger our efforts for maximum effect. It wouldn’t do to split media or public attention — or the superhero response, for that matter.”
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br />   “Striking while the heroes are distracted because of someone else’s bid for dominion would be neither fair nor fun,” Pat’s mother had always said, sharp fangs glinting poisonously in the dark edges of her grin. “We want them all to be there so we can defeat them with no question of who is truly superior, don’t we.”

  As he spread garlic butter on his slice of baguette, Pat reflected that this thing he had with Nick now would probably end up being super awkward, what with his mom making her big comeback and all. Not that this changed Pat’s mind about pursuing it (and Nick) just as hard as he could, for as long as Nick would let him.

  Well, no sense in counting your chicks before they’re devoured. Okay, that didn’t really fit, but whatever. Pat would have to wait and see, was the point. Not much he could do at this stage.

  “Of course, all of you will now be part of Serpentissima’s campaign. Last time she ascended, you were still too young, but things are entirely different now.” Dad didn’t have fangs like Mom, but he gave the snake grin a good shot, anyway. “Helena, Boadicea and Zenobia — you will be Serpentissima’s trusted lieutenants. We think a trio of right hands, so to speak, will be an invaluable asset. You’ve all more than shown your mettle these recent years, and there is no doubt whatsoever in our minds that you will master whatever challenge is thrown your way and strike terror into the hearts of our enemies.”

  Pat’s sisters beamed, lit up with happiness and pride. Pat had to suppress the urge to applaud. Then he stopped doing that and did applaud, even throwing in a little whoop and fist pump combo.

  Dad looked a little worried when he turned to Pat, catching Pat’s gaze earnestly the way he did when he wanted you to know he was completely sincere. “Patrick, you and I will provide the vital aesthetic that Serpentissima’s campaign requires. I cannot stress enough how important this role is. We can both be proud to fill it. It’s a basic and integral — nay, essential — element of Serpentissima’s branding, and has been from the beginning.”