by A. F. Henley
Vaughn's laugh cut off the rest of Randy's scold. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around Randy's waist and pulled their bodies together, but when he tried for a kiss, Randy grimaced.
"Did you brush all of the bunny out of your teeth?"
"Mm-hmm." Vaughn nodded. "I even showered."
"Well then," Randy eyed him, assessed the truth of the statement, and as Vaughn really did smell more like soap and mint than sweat and fur, he decided to give Vaughn the benefit of the doubt. He dropped back on the bed and nudged his ass into place against Vaughn's groin. "I'd hate to see a clean body go to waste."
He reached behind, grabbed Vaughn's wrist and put Vaughn's hand over his not-quite-as-hard dick. "I think you'll have to start over, though. Maybe go back to the massaging while kissing my neck part."
Vaughn's chest shook with unvoiced laughter. "Greedy."
Randy eyed Vaughn over his shoulder. "For your mouth?" he asked coyly. "Always."
From that point forward, conversation became pointless, if not impossible. For though Randy was granted the requested kisses and oral exploration of neck and spine, Vaughn skipped the backrub and kept his hand right where it was—on Randy's cock. And God, but his grip was still so damn perfect, his timing spot on. The movement of his hips, in time with his strokes, was so exact that Randy could almost believe that Vaughn's fist was pumping both of them, as if they were connected by some imagined thread. While Randy got harder, needier, and slicker in Vaughn's grip, Vaughn got harder against the cheeks of his ass. When Vaughn finally rested his lips against Randy's ear and whispered a breathy, growled, "I want to fuck you," Randy didn't even hesitate. He lifted his leg into a V, planted his heel in the mattress, and garbled a reply that they both took as consent.
The second that Vaughn released Randy's cock to reach for the nightstand, Randy took over the stroking. He heard the click of a lid and had to peer back to watch the process that would come next. Every time... he had to watch that every time: Vaughn's hand, wet with lube and reaching for his own cock; Vaughn's thick cock being slicked down with glistening fluid; Vaughn's thighs tightening as though his body fucking loved the sensation.
Randy's gaze flew up, he craned his neck to see Vaughn's face, and when they found each other's eyes, he managed one word: "Beautiful."
Vaughn didn't reply, but he did smile. Randy felt Vaughn's hand on his ass, felt the pull of his flesh and muscle in order to expose his hole, and he dropped his head back to the pillow, closed his eyes and waited for the rest—the impatient nudge of head to opening, the breath-stealing moment of penetration, and the way that Vaughn never could quite hold back once he slid inside. Randy gripped the pillow, opened his mouth and willed his body to do the same.
"Oh, fuck." The words came out of Randy as gasps. He squeezed his eyes tighter, swallowed the sounds that threatened to get too loud, and spoke into the pillow. "God damn it, yes." Fucking crazy, he told himself. It was so fucking crazy how big Vaughn could feel, and how hard Vaughn could feel, and how damn good Vaughn could feel all at the same time.
Vaughn pulled away, Randy's ass relaxed in favor of the movement, and then Vaughn was pushing back inside him and that mind-blowing sensation of too much but not enough was washing through Randy all over again. Every push went deeper, and every thrust came harder, until they were both struggling to keep control over their voices and their breath. Randy stroked himself furiously, doing his best to time his movements with Vaughn, and failing from simple lack of ability to think clearly. He barely noticed that the, "Harder, harder," he heard whispered in the background was coming from his own mouth.
Either because he was taking precautions against Randy's voice growing too loud, or because he was indulging Randy's request, Vaughn grabbed Randy's knee, shoved Randy's leg to push Randy face-first into the mattress, and then lifted and straddled Randy's ass. With his own knees planted on either side of Randy's hips, he gave Randy every inch, with every ounce of strength that he could manage.
Randy growled his praise into the mattress, the words lost but the intent obvious, and didn't turn his face to the side until Vaughn reached around him and began to jerk him off. Then Randy's, "You'll make me come," had to be voiced, because there was no way in hell that Randy could hold off with Vaughn pounding him and touching him at the same time. It was the perfect blend of a thrust so damn hard and deep that it was almost painful—might have been, in fact, if Randy's body wasn't so greedy for it—and a touch so precise, yet so teasingly gentle and careful, that it drove Randy crazy. He lifted himself to all fours and began to rock against Vaughn's rhythm, urging Vaughn to increase the pace.
Vaughn groaned a low sigh, pulled his fist down Randy's cock from bush to tip in an even slower, tighter grip, before changing the strokes entirely into feather-light, furiously-quick ones. "Do it," Vaughn gasped. "Let me feel it."
It took everything Randy had not to shout when orgasm took over. And in almost perfect synchronicity, he felt Vaughn's cock swell inside him, felt Vaughn tense and still, and then felt the heat and pressure of Vaughn's come being pumped into the depths of his body. They both rode the rise and fall of each wave—Vaughn's hand squeezing, releasing, squeezing; Vaughn's cock pushing, shooting, drawing back and pushing again—until the mattress underneath Randy was soaked and his legs shook. Even then, Randy only moved to lower his face and chest back on to the bed, and Vaughn curled over Randy's back.
It was impossible for Randy to guess at how long they stayed that way. He only knew that he had been drifting when he startled himself back to alertness. "What time is it?"
It took several seconds for Vaughn to respond, and he did so only after he had taken a deep breath and dragged himself upright. When Vaughn pulled out, he was soft. A run of still warm fluid tracked down Randy's balls, and Randy was more than sure that had it been any other day, he would have decided that the sheets were already screwed, he was already in dire need of a shower, so fuck everything, he'd pull Vaughn back down to the mattress and spend the next couple of hours in Vaughn's arms.
"Almost seven-thirty."
Randy rolled onto his side and watched Vaughn stand. "Did they say what time they'd be here?"
Vaughn nodded. "Around nine. This was his last monitored change. I guess they'll give him some time to clean up, maybe chat about things, I don't know." He stooped beside the bed and began to disentangle the pile of clothes on the floor. When he had separated the one pile in two smaller ones, he picked up Randy's and dropped it into Randy's lap. "Not that I'm telling you what to do, but you might want to shower."
"Oh?" Randy swung his legs over the side of the bed and smiled sweetly. "You don't want him to tell me that he can smell you on me again?"
Vaughn frowned. "Say what?"
"Nothing." Randy shook his head. Vaughn didn't need that at that moment; he was already nervous. For that matter, Randy himself was nervous. No doubt Hannah, Isaac, and most of the rodents, birds, insects, and mammals within emotional-radar distance were nervous as well.
Vaughn moved in the direction of the hallway, but he paused before he opened the door. "Look, you aren't obligated to stay. You know that, right? I mean, I'm not trying to get rid of you. I'm really not. I actually want you here." He chuckled at the door handle, but it was a dry, forced sound. "Damn it, Shield Wolf, I always want you here. I'd be happier if you never left. At the same time, I don't want to make you feel like I'm forcing you to deal with this shit. If you're uncomfortable at all..."
Randy smiled and stood. "I'm staying."
"All right," Vaughn said. His voice was unaffected but his shoulders were tense. "Get in the shower then, tough guy. I'll wash up in the sink."
*~*~*
"Please tell me you made coffee," Randy said around a yawn as he stepped into the kitchen. "You already know I love you, but trust me, if you've made coffee I will love you even more. Like..." He held open both arms as wide as they could go. "At least this much more."
He got a smile for his efforts, but he di
dn't get half a mug poured before a very small but boisterous riot broke out in the living room.
Vaughn looked across the kitchen and for a second they did nothing but stare at each other. Then, with a slow drawl and a nod, Vaughn said, "I guess he's here."
"It's going to be okay," Randy told him.
"Yep." Vaughn blew a breath and nodded. "It's gonna be okay."
Randy stepped across the room, and rested his hand on Vaughn's forearm. "He's your son. And he's smart, and funny, and even if he is pissed at me, which I hope he's not, but regardless, he still loves the rest of you like nobody's business. Besides," he squeezed until Vaughn looked up, "I love your kids. I always have. And Lyle is one of them. It really is going to be all right."
Vaughn snorted. "Don't love him too much."
Randy rolled his eyes and shoved Vaughn toward the kitchen door. "Get out there!"
Isaac and Hannah made it to the door first and when they yanked it open, Randy's eyes widened in surprise. Breezes caught and flicked Lyle's hair, his complexion looked healthier—radiant, even—and Randy could have sworn that in the two months since he'd been gone, Lyle had grown four inches. If he wasn't as tall as his father, he was at least close enough to stare Vaughn dead in the eyes. Even his shoulders were wider.
Though tension had found claw-holds in Randy's muscles, he forced himself to walk forward and extend his hand. He even managed a smile. "Hey, Lyle. Welcome home."
Lyle's gaze seemed stuck to the floor of the porch. "Thank you."
Randy lowered his head and bent at the knee as if trying to get under Lyle's line of sight. "Was the drive okay? Everything copacetic?"
Vaughn's arm was wrapped around Randy's shoulders, but even though Lyle had to have known Vaughn was there, he still didn't look up. Instead, he spoke to the ground. "Drive was good. Everything's good." He stuttered a start to a sentence, had to catch himself and start again, and it was only then that Randy realized Lyle was trembling. "But I sure did miss you guys."
Just like that, Vaughn was gone and he had both arms wrapped around Lyle's frame as though Lyle was eight years old and weeping over a split elbow. Randy turned back to the house, put out his hands to Hannah and Isaac, and smiled. "Let's go watch TV or something, hmm? Give these two some privacy—"
"No."
Vaughn's voice stopped him, and all three of them turned their eyes toward Vaughn and Lyle. Vaughn stretched out one arm, the other holding Lyle tight against his shoulder, and he tweaked his fingers. "There's room here for everybody."
Randy moved the kids forward first, and when they had their arms wrapped around Vaughn's and Lyle's waist, he stepped into the hug behind them. Surprisingly enough, it was Lyle that closed the hug from his side of the assembly. Tears sprung into Randy's eyes, though if he had to voice a reason, he wasn't sure that he could. He just knew that they felt like they were probably good ones as opposed to anything else. Maybe even happy ones.
Lyle lifted his head off his father's shoulder, turned to Randy, and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Almost instinctively Randy dug a hand into Lyle's hair and clutched Lyle to him as though Lyle was about to blow away. "I know."
"Never again." Lyle's voice caught, he swallowed hard, and before he started again, Randy felt a tear spill from Lyle's eye and track down both their cheeks. "I promise."
A lump lodged in Randy's throat. "I know." Randy didn't really know. There was no way for him to know. But one thing Randy was sure of was that the O'Connell family felt like home, and that every step along the way, even the ones that had caused stumbles and fumbles, had still felt right.
He looked across at Vaughn and saw Vaughn already watching him with what Randy could only hope was the same expression that sat on his own face.
I love you.
There was no sound to Vaughn's words, he only mouthed them, but Randy felt them so strongly that he didn't have to hear them.
They'd make it work. They had to. Some things, even the weird and fucked up things, were meant to be.
Randy smiled, he nodded, and he mimed his confirmation right back. I love you, too.
FIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Henley was born with a full-blown passion for run-on sentences, a zealous indulgence in all words descriptive, and the endearing tendency to overuse punctuation. Since the early years Henley has been an enthusiastic writer, from the first few I-love-my-dog stories to the current leap into erotica.
A self-professed Google genius, Henley lives for the hours spent digging through the Internet for ‘research purposes’ which, more often than not, lead seven thousand miles away from first intentions but bring Henley to new discoveries and ideas that, once seeded, tend to flourish.
Henley has been proudly working with LT3 since 2012, and has been writing like mad ever since—an indentured servant to the belief that romance and true love can mend the most broken soul. Even when presented in prose.
Comments, kudos and signature card requests are happily received at afhenley.com.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Wolf, WY
Book Details
Dedication
Prologue
October
November
December
January
February
March
May
About the Author