by Onley James
He needed to jerk off. Get it out of his fucking system. He couldn’t afford to get sloppy. The threats against Elijah were real enough that the studio had hired round-the-clock protection for him.
He opened his laptop, Linc’s voice filtering through his brain. Full-frontal. Hot, artsy, indie sex scenes. Shep didn’t know what that meant, but he found he himself eager to learn. He pulled up his browser. Shep knew enough about normal people to know using Elijah’s sex scenes for his own personal gratification could be construed as an invasion of privacy, but that didn’t stop him. In truth, it didn’t even give him pause. Elijah wanted him to watch, had as much as told him so in the kitchen. The boy was an enigma, and it made Shep’s cock ache even though he couldn’t say why. Would he like knowing Shep could see him on the CC feed? Would he get off knowing Shep could watch him in his room any time he wanted? The thought seemed to take root in his brain.
A five-minute Google search gave him what he wanted. Elijah’s movie… on PornHub. How hot were the sex scenes if they made it onto a porn site that more than one million people had clicked on? A strange fire licked through him at the thought of all those people looking at Elijah. His Elijah. He shook the thought away as he clicked the link. It claimed to be a compilation video of every sex scene in the movie. Just staring at the picture of a darkened room marred by the white play button had his cock leaking. He slipped his hand into his pants, stroking himself a few times. He groaned. He didn’t have lube handy, but the few times he’d bothered to jerk off, it was with nothing more than spit. In the desert, everybody improvised.
He hit play. The first scene was just Elijah standing nude in front of a full-length mirror, his limp cock nestled against dark curls. Seeing Elijah standing there touching himself, examining his own body with a secret smile made Shep crazy. It was so like the dreamy expression he’d had just moments before when he danced.
Before he could commit the image to memory, it changed. Two bodies, barely more than silhouettes in the darkness. Still, he easily made out Elijah’s profile, his nose, his chin, the shape of his arms, the curve of his lithe body beneath the larger, stockier man. Elijah was on all fours, back arched as the man’s lips skimmed along his spine, trailing over his hip before moving lower still.
Shep’s nostrils flared, his fist tightening around his cock as an unfamiliar feeling spread like acid through his bloodstream, almost distracting enough to pull him from his current task. A bubble of laughter fell from his lips as he identified the sensation. Jealousy. He was jealous of a stranger pretending to pleasure a person who, for all intents and purposes, was also a stranger to Shep. It was acting. Just acting. Elijah didn’t really want that man’s hands on him, didn’t want his lips. The stranger wasn’t really spreading Elijah open and tasting the most intimate parts of him. The boy’s sounds weren’t real, that other man wasn’t bringing him pleasure. Logically, Shep understood that but watching the man touch Elijah spurred an uncharacteristic rage that itched beneath his skin.
It hit him then. He wanted to be that man, he wanted to yank those sounds from Elijah, to know what he really sounded like when it was Shep’s tongue licking over him. Watching the man touch Elijah caused Shep’s skin to itch. Elijah was his. His rabbit. His new toy and he didn’t want to share no matter how irrational it seemed.
Shep worked himself faster, his breath coming in bursts as he watched the man pretend to fuck Elijah from behind, pretend to drive into him over and over. In Shep’s mind, it was him. He was gripping Elijah’s hips, he was pushing his shoulders down so he could drive deeper into the tight heat of Elijah’s body. Jesus, the sounds the boy was making. Shep shut his eyes, focusing on Elijah’s breathy little noises, his soft cries, the sounds of their bodies slapping together.
The scenes kept shifting, changing, each one more passionate and dirty sounding than the next but Shep never opened his eyes. He didn’t want to ruin the illusion, the illusion of him and Elijah. The image of Elijah, head back, lips parted, Shep’s name falling from his lips. He wanted that, wanted to watch Elijah fall apart beneath him, wanted to know what he looked like as he found his release, wanted to make sure Elijah knew it was Shep—only Shep—giving him pleasure.
Shep bit down on his lip as he came, his hips stuttering as he jerked himself through the aftershocks, waves of pleasure rolling over him. Jesus. He stared up into the darkness, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. That had never happened to him before. He’d never fantasized about another person while jerking off, he’d never thought of much of anything aside from the stimulus itself. This was something new, something different. Shep loved an anomaly. A glitch in the matrix. Elijah was his glitch and Shep couldn’t wait to explore him further. Something nagged at him. A failsafe, a question burned into his brain through years of conditioning, his family always begging him to ask himself one question: Should he?
Should he take Elijah apart? Examine him? Make him cry? Make him moan? Make him reveal all his secrets? It seemed an asinine question to ask himself when he lacked the very emotion necessary to form a competent answer. But there was one person who always seemed to know the right answer.
He snatched his phone off the bedside table and pulled up his brother’s number, firing off a text.
Shep: Look, I know you’re probably in Nepal or some shit fucking two sherpas and a yak, but I have a situation. Text me when you aren’t dangling off the side of a mountain. Sooner rather than later. Before I do something stupid.
He pulled up the security feeds, toggling to Elijah’s room. The light was still on, but he was out cold. He’d collapsed face down into the mattress, his tight leather pants still bunched around his thighs like he’d tried to remove them but had lost steam before completing the task. He wore no underwear. He looked debauched; his pants caught just beneath the globes of his perfect ass. Once more that strange sensation assaulted him. He cleaned himself up, righting his clothes before heading back downstairs. He entered Elijah's bedroom, pulling a throw from the back of a chair in the corner and draping it across the boy’s lower half.
Task completed; he should have left… but he didn’t. He knelt beside the bed, watching Elijah’s back rise and fall, close enough to feel his breath against his face and to note the way his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He looked so much younger in sleep, when he didn’t have to perform, didn’t feel he the need to change himself to please the world.
Shep wanted to crawl into bed with him, wrap his arms around him, scent him, bite him. The thought wasn’t logical. It went beyond any logic or reason. It was instinct, primal, animalistic, this sudden compulsion to show the world Elijah was his.
Except he wasn’t. Not really. Not yet. Maybe never. That thought had a low growl rumbling from his lips. Elijah sucked in a breath, his eyes blinking open. Any normal person would have bolted, mumbled out some insane reason to justify why they crouched beside a stranger’s bed. But Shep wasn’t normal. He pushed a lock of the boy’s hair behind his ear. A soft, sleepy smile crept across his face and he gave a contented sigh before his eyes slipped closed again.
They were the same, Shep realized. Kindred spirits, wearing masks to make life easier for others. He needed to get Elijah to stop hiding… but how? Maybe Shep needed to reveal himself. Maybe if Elijah could see behind Shep’s mask, Elijah would see it too, would see they were the same.
Or maybe he’d run screaming, but Shep didn’t think so.
He stood but didn’t leave. The thought of leaving Elijah was a physical pull inside him, like fishhooks in his lungs. Elijah had to be his. He had to be. There was no other explanation for this feeling. Elijah… Elijah was the one thing Shep hadn’t ever thought he’d experience firsthand.
Elijah was… temptation. He was the shiny, red apple dangling from the tree of knowledge and Shep knew it didn’t matter what his brother had to say about the situation, he’d never leave the boy alone. Because Elijah might be the apple… but Shep was the serpent and he would eat Elijah whole.
“Have you l
ost your fucking mind?”
Lucifer’s voice penetrated Elijah’s brain like an icepick, shriller than any alarm could manage. He’d stayed up far too late playing video games with Wyatt online. He squinted towards the window. What the fuck? It was still dark outside. His brain cycled through a dozen scenarios, trying to decide which one had set her off this time, but his brain was mush. “Can you just…” He struggled to find the correct word. “Just shh.”
Good enough.
He registered the sound of retreating heels and then silence. He must have dozed off because he woke to a thousand needles piercing his skin as a deluge of frigid water hit his face. He rocketed to his feet, coughing and wheezing. Lucy smirked at him, an empty bowl in her hands.
“What. The. Fuck? You’re deranged,” he shouted, shivering.
She ignored his declaration, crossing her arms over her chest, a sneer pulling at her lips. “Did you tell Mark to turn down a meeting with Leonard Medford yesterday?”
Adrenaline spiked through him as jarring and painful as the ice water moments before. Was she kidding? That was what she was mad about? Of all the things that could have pissed her off, it never even occurred to him it would be that. “You’re joking,” he managed, even though he could find zero humor in the situation.
“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever known.”
It was too fucking early for this shit. “I need you to just… like, calm down,” he said, aware that he was the one shrieking.
“Calm down? You turn down a meeting with the biggest director in Hollywood, and I need to calm down? I swear, Elijah, it’s like you want to sabotage your career just to spite me. I’m telling Mark to call his office back and tell them you’ve reconsidered.”
His pulse spiked, a metallic taste flooding his mouth. “And I’ll call him back and tell him I didn’t, and if he doesn’t listen, I’ll fire him. You know why I turned down that meeting. Why would you think for a second I’d take it after…”?
She cut him off, her head jerking towards his open bedroom door. “Let it go, Eli. Do you think you’re special? This is just how things work here. You won’t get infinite opportunities handed to you. Don’t let one small piece of your past ruin your life.”
Elijah stared at the woman, slack-jawed, wondering if the agonizing throbbing in his head was an artery about to rupture. Was it possible to die from exasperation? “My life? We both know you don’t give a fuck about my life. If you did, you wouldn’t have dragged me back here. This is about you and your career. Let’s not forget why we’re both here. I’m willing to swallow a lot… but not that. Never that.”
Her whole demeanor changed, her expression softening, her voice saccharine sweet. “Eli— ”
He held up a hand. “No. I’m going to take a shower. Don’t be here when I get out. I mean it.”
He made his way into the bathroom, not bothering to see if she listened or not. He stripped quickly and washed beneath scalding water, fighting off bouts of nausea as memories beat against the wall he’d painstakingly erected around them. Leonard fucking Medford. Just the name made him want to puke. He belted out a song, loudly and off-key, hoping the words would chase the name from his head. Thinking about Leonard only led to thinking about him and Elijah couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. That name was a sledgehammer and it would destroy his defenses, it would destroy him. He slammed his fist into the tile before laying his head against cool porcelain, wanting to scream and cry and vomit and sleep but knowing he could do none of that.
By the time he shoved his legs into black boxer briefs and a pair of black joggers, he was no longer shaking, but still nauseated. He pulled a pale blue hooded sweatshirt over his head and pushed his feet into black Adidas sandals, determined to pretend the morning had never happened.
He shuffled his way into the kitchen to find Shepherd leaning against the counter. His heart did a little flip. Had he heard them fighting? Had he heard him singing? Did Elijah even care? Shepherd examined him with a blank expression that made Elijah feel uncertain. He’d been sharing space with Shepherd for almost two weeks now, but it felt more like two months. He just wasn’t sure how to behave around the older man. He was good at reading people, figuring out what they wanted so he could give it to them, make them like him. But Shepherd gave him nothing.
Still, he was nice to look at, Elijah supposed. The best kind of distraction after a super shitty morning. With his auburn hair pulled back off his face, his red beard and those golden eyes framed by long black lashes, it was like some Norse god had stumbled into Elijah’s kitchen. How did anybody look that good before dawn?
Elijah took in Shepherd’s vintage hobo look, which the man somehow made look cool. It made sense, Elijah supposed. Shepherd was vintage too—probably twice Elijah’s age—but he exuded a strange warmth that Elijah just wanted to bathe in. Not that he’d ever tell Shepherd that. “What is this look you’re going for? Are you in a garage band?” he asked, tone full of mock innocence, hoping Shepherd wouldn’t ask about the fight with Lucifer.
The corner of Shepherd’s mouth hitched up as he glanced down at his jeans and white Nirvana t-shirt like he’d never seen them before. He’d also tied a red and black checkered flannel shirt around his waist, which only seemed to emphasize his broad shoulders and tapered torso.
Elijah floated closer, telling himself it was only because Shepherd stood in front of the coffee. Elijah hoped he’d step aside when he approached, but Shepherd never budged, leaving Elijah standing too close, having to tilt his head back to make eye contact.
The way Shepherd looked at him now wasn’t cryptic, it punched the breath from his lungs, like every atom in Elijah’s body acknowledged his presence. They weren’t touching, but Elijah could feel the heat of him, could smell coffee and soap, and he wanted to move closer, to bury his face in Shepherd’s scent until he felt better. Elijah held his gaze, certain Shepherd would be the one to crack in this early morning game of chicken.
“Did you want something, rabbit?” he asked, clearly amused.
Everything. The thought came from nowhere, leaving Elijah feeling off-balance. He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “Coffee, obviously.”
“Oh, this coffee?” Shepherd lifted his mug from the counter, taking a big sip. “This is all mine. It’s delicious though.”
Elijah lived for head games, reveled in them, but he was sick and cranky and wildly out of his element, which never happened, especially on his own turf. “I don’t have time for games today, Shepherd,” Elijah muttered.
“Shep. Call me Shep. And you seemed to have plenty of time for games last night. You should make better use of your off time, rabbit. You need your sleep.”
Elijah blinked at Shep. It was the most he’d said to him in at least a week. “Shep’s a stupid name,” he grumbled, his brain failing him once again.
Shep laughed, his golden eyes lighting up in a way that Elijah could only describe as… dazzling. “Oh, somebody’s cranky. No more late nights unless it’s necessary. That’s non-negotiable.”
Elijah’s cock twitched at Shep’s stern warning. “Who decides what’s necessary?” Elijah asked, just to keep the conversation going.
“I do. You are far too eager to please. It’s not healthy.”
Elijah flushed, ears burning at Shep’s assessment. He wasn’t wrong, but it irritated him just the same. How dare Shep read him so easily while giving Elijah nothing in return? He hated this feeling like he couldn’t find his balance, like he was missing something. He tried to regain the upper hand. “What happens if I break the rules?” He asked, his voice breathy, needing to rattle Shep as much as Shep rattled him.
The older man leaned down close enough for Elijah to feel his beard scrape his bare cheek. He wanted to lean into it, feel the scratch and burn against his skin. “Then you can’t have any of my coffee.”
The amusement in his voice might as well have been another glass of ice water. Disappointment and humiliation just added to the other emotions
swirling around him. He was a wreck. It had to be Lucifer’s fault, bringing up the past after she forced him to bury it all those years ago.
He turned to leave but Shep caught his upper arm, gently turning him around, all traces of amusement gone. “Hey, I was just teasing. Here.” Elijah stared at Shep’s mug. “Go on. I don’t have cooties.”
Elijah didn’t even want the coffee, but he took what Shep offered, tilting it to his lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
The bitter liquid burned its way down. Shep watched him drink with an odd expression that Elijah could only describe as... primal. A satisfied almost possessive look as if he’d provided Elijah with sustenance and was getting off on watching him enjoy it. Warmth spread through Elijah’s chest and it wasn’t just the coffee. He tried not to imagine all the other things Shep might like watching him do.
Shep took back the mug and Elijah stared, fascinated as he turned it, deliberately pressing his lips to where Elijah’s were just moments before. His cock throbbed, and he was grateful for the baggy hoodie. What was wrong with him? Shep was straight, Shep was cryptic and complicated. But so beautiful and… fascinating. Fucking fuck.
Elijah jumped as the doorbell rang, the sound of chimes echoing through the house. Shep frowned, opening his laptop on the island and clicking a button. Tiny boxes filled the screen, each revealing a different area of the main living space. Shep clicked a box, and a camera showed Robby standing on the porch holding a huge vase filled with flowers.
Shep cut his eyes to Elijah. “You know him?”
Elijah rolled his eyes. “You could say that. It’s Robby.”
“Does he often show up at dawn to bring you flowers?”
“No. Definitely not,” Elijah said, already walking to the door.
He unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
Robby frowned. “Lucifer told me to get over here and to look like I’d just rolled out of bed. She said they tipped off TMZ that we would be having breakfast at Cavatina around eight. I think she wants it to look like we spent the night there together. She said to use the service entrance at the back.”