Ethan had long ago given up trying to figure out why that was. He didn’t attempt to puzzle out why seeing Randy get turned on by a brush of Sam’s hand eased him rather than upset him. All he knew was that when he came out in the morning to make the coffee and found it already brewed, Mitch drinking the first cup at his kitchen table as he perused a newspaper, it was like waking up in a warm and familiar orbit.
Mitch glanced up, and Ethan smiled a greeting at him. “Sleep well?”
Mitch nodded around a sip. “Always do.” He set the cup down and kept reading as he spoke. “Surprised you two haven’t moved somewhere fancier yet. Not the sort of place casino owners usually live in.”
Ethan shrugged as he poured himself a mug and sat across from Mitch. “It seems like a palace after my tiny condo. I still can’t get over having a backyard.” He grimaced into his mug. “I have looked into getting a different house. I thought about surprising Randy with somewhere new for Christmas. But when I tried, Crabtree found out and made fun of my choices.”
Mitch set down his newspaper. “Wish I had some advice for you about Crabtree. Damn gangster drives me crazy. Always has to make you feel like he’s one-upping you. Or four-upping you. Doesn’t matter if you’ve done anything to him or not. He’s still got to rub your face in something before he’ll leave you alone. If he’ll even do that.”
It was such a relief to have someone finally understand. “That’s been the trouble with this whole Twelve Days of Randy business. I can’t get Randy to see that dropping the events won’t change anything.”
“Yep. If it’s not this, it’ll be something else. The best thing for you to do is find a way to put him in his place with this, once and for all. Though I’ve never gotten anywhere myself. Don’t know how you live every damn day with him over your shoulder.”
“I want to win. Just once. Randy says that it doesn’t matter, that I don’t have to win.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “But I do. Randy wins by not playing the game. But…well, I guess I want to play.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Likely I don’t stand a chance.”
“We got to find something you can win with. Something public. And it has to be something with Randy, because that’s what this is about.”
“What keeps throwing me off is that Crabtree acts like I need to do this for my own good. I can’t tell if it’s a trap, or if he really does mean well.”
Mitch snorted. “Both, most likely.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the newspaper. “You know, I don’t think finding a house is a bad idea, though. You have the money. I wouldn’t buy anything without Randy’s approval, but you can scout some property. And fuck Crabtree and what he thinks of your choices.”
“He said I was playing it too safe, that I was aiming too low for a casino owner.”
Mitch scratched his cheek. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I also don’t think there’s anything wrong with making a little splash. You two deserve it. Find yourself someplace nice.”
Sam came into the room. “Find what place nice?”
They explained the potential new house hunt to Sam, who got very excited at the prospect, and the three of them spent a good hour online poking at real estate. At their encouragement, Ethan considered some more expensive properties—not as grand as Crabtree wanted, but they were fancier than he would have looked at on his own. He was hesitant until he saw some of the kitchens. They were incredible.
“Randy needs that kitchen,” he whispered as they watched a three-sixty video play of a particularly gorgeous property.
Mitch clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Sam and I will scout it out for you, as well as the other ones you starred. The ones that seem worth your time, we’ll let you know, and you can do a tour yourself, and then if they pass muster, you can bring Randy.”
The plan was a good one, and Ethan was starting to get excited. He smiled at them. “I always miss you guys when you’re gone, you know that?”
They smiled back at him. “We’ve missed you too,” Sam said.
THAT NIGHT, RANDY and Ethan officially welcomed Sam and Mitch home.
Randy started it off with dinner. He killed himself to make everyone’s favorites in his crowded kitchen, stripping down to his boxers and apron in deference to the air conditioning, which had gone spotty again. The cats hovered at his feet, getting underfoot as he grilled the tuna for fish tacos, and he ran out of counter space and table space as he chopped vegetables for salsa and toppings. Mitch came in to pinch-hit and keep his beans from scalding, though of course the bastard tried to eat half of them too.
“I’d kill to be able to eat this out on a nice patio instead of crowded around a shitty coffee table,” Randy murmured. When this made the other three give each other meaningful looks, he said, “What, what?” but they refused to tell him anything, not even when he started swatting their asses with his tea towel and told them to get the hell out of his kitchen if they were going to be secretive.
He managed a nice place setting despite the setup being stacked against him, and he fed his family until they were full. He made them margaritas and served them homemade sorbet, which his crap freezer had set too hard. This annoyed the shit out of him, but everyone assured him it was wonderful. They also exchanged weird looks with each other again.
If this meant Randy was getting a fridge for Christmas, he would not say no.
Mitch and Ethan did the dishes, even though Randy tried to help, but Sam wouldn’t let him, insisting he needed snuggle time instead. He led Randy to the spare bedroom and stripped him back to his boxers, skimmed to his own briefs, and climbed under the covers with him, curling against his chest.
Randy buried his face in Sam’s hair with a smile, enveloping him with his legs. “So we’re going here first thing tonight, huh?”
Sam tweaked his nose without looking up. “Dummy. Obviously we’re going here. It’s been forever. If Ethan weren’t so worked up over Crabtree, I wouldn’t even wait for them.”
Randy sighed. “I don’t know what to do with that mess, Peaches.”
“There’s nothing to do.” He trailed kisses across Randy’s chest, lingering to swirl his tongue around a nipple. “You have to let them sort it out. The more you get involved, the more you rile them both up. It isn’t about you.”
So much for waiting for the others. Randy shut his eyes as Sam’s clever mouth took him to delicious places. “It sure as hell seems like it’s about me.”
“You’re the object of the conversation, but you’re not really the subject.” Sam paused to suck on Randy again, eventually coming off his areola with an audible pop that sent gooseflesh across Randy’s arms. “They’re talking to each other about power. Best you stay out of it.”
Randy threaded his fingers into Sam’s hair, guiding him toward his sternum and then pushing him meaningfully downward. “I’m going to need something to distract me, then.”
“Mmm.” Sam smiled against Randy’s abdomen before kissing it openmouthed. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”
When Mitch and Ethan came into the room, Sam had Randy’s cock out and halfway into his mouth, his lips just brushing the tip. Randy grabbed for his hair to push him all the way on, but it was too late. Mitch reached him first.
“Oh, I see. Some people thought they could get started without us.” Mitch pulled a whimpering Sam to him, leaving Randy’s cock bobbing lonely against the air. “Ethan, what do you think we should do about that?”
Ethan remained in the doorway, coolly watching the scene, but he had a ghost of a smile on his face. He also still wore his suit, though he’d removed the jacket and now stood only in his shirt, tie, vest, and trousers. “I think, just this once, I’m willing to overlook it.” He pushed off the door and approached Sam, stroking his face with a tender gesture. “I think we’ve all been impatient for our reunion.”
Sam made a soft noise in his throat and regarded Ethan with puppy-dog eyes, but Randy wasn’t playing. “Then the two of you need to fucking get na
ked and start telling us whose cocks to suck, because I am so past ready to get laid it’s not funny.”
For once, nobody argued or teased—everyone really was that eager for it, because the next thing Randy knew, all four of them were stripped bare, he was draped in Ethan’s arms, and Sam was back to giving him a blow job while Mitch fingered him. It was a damn pretty sight, Sam with his ass in the air getting opened up while he sucked cock, and of course Sam was nothing but helpless sighs and moans until the rest of them were as under him as he was them. Randy was wired and ready to fuck right then and there, but Ethan slowed them down.
“Randy, on your back, pillow under your ass. Sam, you lie on top of him.” Ethan murmured something to Mitch they couldn’t hear, as first Randy and then Sam went into position.
Whatever he said, Mitch nodded and grunted with approval. “I like it.” He watched Randy and Sam as they twined lewdly against one another, seemed to consider something, and leaned forward to speak softly in Sam’s ear.
“You have my permission.”
Randy’s heart skipped a beat, and Sam’s pupils dilated before he turned to press a kiss on his husband’s cheek. They’d just been granted permission to kiss each other if they wanted, a rare allowance. Randy wasn’t going to let it slip by.
Before he could think any further on that, though, Randy felt cool fingers at his hole, and at the same moment Sam gasped and shuddered over top of him.
Mitch settled in beside them, lying on his side several feet away—Ethan and Randy had upgraded the spare bedroom to a king-size bed for just this purpose. “I do love watching you eat out my husband’s ass, Ellison. Though spank him a bit for me, please. He’ll perform a lot better if you make his skin more sensitive.”
Ethan rose, his face coming into view over the moon of Sam’s ass. He wiped his lips delicately with his long fingers. “Good idea. Sam, brace yourself on your elbows and look into Randy’s face while I swat you. Let him see how much you like me spanking you.”
Whimpering, Sam complied. Randy’s heart skipped a beat as Sam gazed at him, lost in a sensual haze, shamed and brazen.
God, but Sam was so pretty when he was spanked. Randy hadn’t ever been this close to his face, watching his expressions change. His cheeks stained with blush, his mouth fell open, his eyes became unfocused, yet they never left Randy’s, just as he’d been ordered. He gasped, he grunted, he bit his lip, but he remained in place, except for the thrusting forward of his body as Ethan’s palms slapped across his flesh.
“Tell Randy where Ethan’s spanking you, Sunshine.” Mitch’s voice was low and gruff. “On your lovely cheeks, yes, but where else?”
Sam’s cheeks went bright red with shame, but he didn’t look away from Randy. “My hole. Right on my hole.”
Randy’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced over Sam’s shoulder. Heard the force of the smacks Ethan rained down, realized where they were landing. “And you’re sticking your ass up and taking it?”
Sam nodded, his blush deepening. He quaked not with pain but with shame. “Mitch has been training me.”
Mitch leaned over and pinched Sam’s ass, making him jump. “Tell him, Sam. Tell Ethan what you want. What I want to hear you say.”
Sam looked ready to die of embarrassment, but still he didn’t shut his eyes. “Please, Ethan.” He spread his legs wider. “Spank my hole harder.”
With a hardening of his expression that made Randy shiver, Ethan did as Sam bade him to, and now Sam did squeal, no longer able to keep his eyes open, barely able to stop himself from collapsing onto Randy. Randy helped him out by holding him up, until he couldn’t stand it any longer and drew Sam’s head onto his shoulder so he could reach around and tug at his nipples.
“Fuck, you’re hot, honey. How much longer you going to have him wail on you?”
Mitch answered for his husband, still observing the show in that sexy, detached way he had. “Give him a little longer. Really push him to the edge. You want to go until he’s almost crying, then pull him open and eat him out. Randy won’t need any other Christmas present after that.”
“Please,” Sam begged, burrowing his face into Randy’s shoulder. “Oh, God.”
Mitch shook his head, looking like he really wanted a cigarette. “Nope. Not ready yet. Twist him a little there, Jansen. Let me hear some good whines.”
Sam gave them some whines, all right, and some pleas, and some incoherent babble. Then there came a moment when everything shifted, the sweet torture melting away a bit too much toward simple torture, and before Mitch could even say something, Ethan stopped, dropping to his knees. Pulling Sam’s cheeks open wide with several fingers on each side, he gave Randy a look that had him shivering. Finally, Ethan lowered his mouth.
Sam came unhinged.
He didn’t scream, but he let out a kind of guttural sound that made Randy startle and want to ask if Sam was all right. He never so much as got a word out, though, because before he got a chance, his mouth was full of Sam. Lips, teeth, tongue—Sam only stopped once to fumble for Randy’s hand, reapply it to his nipple, and coax his fingers into rough tugs and twists. All the while, down below, Sam’s cock ground against his own.
Randy gave over to all of it. To Sam’s kisses, to the pressure of his groin, to Ethan’s fingers at his own ass, urging him open. He slid under Sam, Ethan, all of them, until everything was a haze of sensation, an endless orgy of pleasure.
At some point things shifted again, and after one last kiss from Sam, it was Ethan’s mouth on his, Ethan pushing deep inside him. He was aware, dimly, of Mitch fucking Sam hard into the mattress beside him, but he let that knowledge drift away. As much as he was glad the Keller-Tedsoes had returned to his life, in this exact moment, there was only one man that existed in the universe.
I love you, he tried to say, but he was so fucked out he could only gaze up at Ethan from pink mist as his husband pounded him.
Except Ethan must have heard him somehow, because he paused, stroked his face, and smiled at him before going back to blowing his brains out via his dick.
ETHAN AND MITCH sat up at the kitchen table, enjoying postcoital beers as their husbands slept the fucked-out sleep of the just. Mitch gave Ethan the report he’d been waiting all day for, which was that he and Sam had found three promising properties for him, and Ethan made room in his schedule the next day to view two of them himself.
At one in the morning, Ethan roused Randy and lured him back to their bed. Ethan had intended to sleep, he truly had, but he couldn’t help lying awake, thinking about his next day’s plans.
He was also, despite his best efforts, thinking too much about besting Crabtree.
To truly win, he needed something more definitive. Something public. Ethan could see the shape of it in his head, of what it would have to be like. But he couldn’t translate it into anything else.
“Quit worrying about it.”
Ethan turned in bed and gazed at his husband in the darkness. “I didn’t think you were awake.”
“I wasn’t, but then I tried to snuggle up to you and found you were sitting up, and I knew you were worrying about Crabtree.” Randy sat up too, leaning on Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan kissed him gently on the lips, brushing against him a second time when the contact made Randy go soft. “Sorry, Ace.”
“Crabtree has seen the way I melt for you,” Randy whispered. “Everybody has. The only reason he gets to you is you’re the only one who doesn’t know you’ve already won.”
Ethan licked the bottom of Randy’s chin, sucked on the line of his jaw, pausing when Randy cried out.
Randy stroked his neck, nuzzled his chin. “Please don’t stop.”
Though Ethan was surprised, the emotion faded quickly under desire as he resumed trailing kisses toward his husband’s ear. “I thought you might be too worn out.”
“I am, a little…but those guys got me too hot and bothered.” He palmed Ethan’s growing erection. “Plus I know you have more for me, baby. And I’m a greedy fu
cker. I want it all for myself.”
Heat and a sense of power built inside him, and he pushed Randy down onto the bed. All he knew was the sounds Randy made when he kissed his stomach, the tension in his arched back as Ethan licked his way up Randy’s sternum. This. This was what he needed. He opened his mouth, shifted to the left, and came down over Randy’s nipple.
Randy fisted his hands into Ethan’s hair and cried out. Randy surrendered to more than just pleasure: he surrendered to safety, to Ethan. Ethan realized this was his edge over Crabtree, this aspect of Randy was his and his alone. This Randy had nothing to do with stunts or leers. He was gentle and vulnerable, the core self of Randy all those stunts and leers sheltered.
It wasn’t who controlled Randy. It was who Randy surrendered to. Not sexually. Not socially. This. Sweet, soft Randy who didn’t want a raunchy elf costume or a hot foursome. He wanted family. He wanted a safe place to bake cookies and someone to look at the lights with him.
Like a bud blossoming in the darkness, Ethan knew how to best Crabtree.
The thought never left him, not while he made love to Randy, not as he brought the others in and made a sex-sated nest in their bed. In the days that followed, as Randy finished the last of his stunts leading up to the party, Ethan kept imagining his moment coming at last, and he couldn’t wait for it to happen. When they were all sitting at the bar and Crabtree came up looking smug and satisfied, Ethan was ready.
“What will you be doing for the party, Randy?” Crabtree asked. His hand slid down Randy’s back, a subtle but meaningful caress.
Ethan said nothing, only watched Randy war between liking the touch and moving away from it. For the first time since he’d taken ownership of the casino, however, the gangster’s needling didn’t get to him in the slightest.
Mitch ignored Crabtree, reaching for a cigarette. Randy remained stony-faced.
“You can’t back out of it,” Crabtree warned. “Everyone’s eager for the twelfth day. Will you follow through?”
“I’ll do it,” Randy snapped, and this time he did pull away.
The Twelve Days of Randy Page 8