Wolf, WY Page 12

Randy grinned, still grinding against Vaughn's body. "Randy. Trust me, I'm going to respond to you saying my name way more than I am to you praying. Also, if no one has pointed this out to you yet, you seem to say no when you mean yes. A lot. I foresee the gifting of a dictionary in your future, Mr. O'Connell."

  Vaughn didn't answer. He dropped his hands to the bottom of Randy's T-shirt and dragged it over Randy's head. Then Vaughn's hands were everywhere, but this time they were on skin—dry palms, calloused fingers, the drag of tough hands over skin that barely saw sun, let alone anything as rough as Vaughn's touch—and that was a very nice thing indeed, Randy thought.

  "Okay," Vaughn said, though it was unclear whether he spoke to Randy or himself. He caught Randy's gaze and while their eyes were locked, he lowered one hand and trailed it over the loose band of Randy's pajama pants.

  "Do it," Randy told him. "Pull them down. Put your hand inside. Take it out. Whatever you want." He lifted his hips off Vaughn's lap, rested one palm on the one ghosting over his pants, found and caught Vaughn's other hand, and then pulled it there as well. He hooked Vaughn's fingers over his waistband. "Yes?" he asked.

  Vaughn still watched Randy's face, his eyes flicking from one thing to the next—mouth, right eye, left eye, and back to mouth—and finally managed to say, "Yes."

  Although Randy's erection was more than obvious underneath the cloth, Vaughn seemed awestruck by the slow reveal of Randy's cock. Randy released Vaughn's hands when Vaughn reached for him, his heart skipped in his chest. Yes... touch me.

  He wiggled and kicked his pants off, laughing when Vaughn growled at his movement. "Seriously, right?" he grinned down at Vaughn. "Two-thousand and fourteen and we still don't have magically disappearing clothing. Someone has definitely dropped the ball."

  Vaughn squinted up at him and a slow smile spread on his face. He slipped his hand between Randy's legs and cupped Randy's sack. "Not me."

  "Oh, wow," Randy said, widening his eyes with only half-feigned shock. "A joke!" He made his expression fall to serious when Vaughn chuckled. "What do you want to do?"

  Vaughn's grip tightened on Randy's balls and cock. "I don't know," Vaughn said. He shook his head. "Touch you. Smell you. Taste your mouth."

  "Fair enough," Randy replied. "But I want to touch you, too." He slid farther down Vaughn's legs, both his shins on the kitchen floor. The tile was ridiculously cold against his skin, but Randy decided it was something he could live with. He palmed the hard length that strained underneath Vaughn's jeans. "Do you think that might be okay?"

  He took the grunt Vaughn voiced as yes, and with shaking fingers he began to undo Vaughn's belt. "Button fly," he chuckled as he folded both ends of the belt out of the way. "I fucking hate button fly jeans."

  Vaughn responded instantly. With a quick grip and a tug, he yanked on his own jeans and all four buttons gave way. "Better?" Vaughn asked in a voice that was more breath than word.

  "Hell, yes." Randy's fingers dug underneath Vaughn's briefs while he held his breath. He had to force his eyes to stay open as he wrapped his hands around Vaughn's hard, heated cock and pulled it free. "Mm," he murmured. "That's fucking beautiful."

  It was, too, as long, hard, and thick as the rest of Vaughn's body. A rush of lust—nothing more, nothing less—raced through Randy's blood. He would have liked to think the groan and sudden kiss that Vaughn insisted on had been because he'd started to do something masterful to Vaughn's cock. It wasn't; he might have been in the process of thinking about what he intended to do to Vaughn, but he hadn't actually done anything but hold on. Maybe it was just anticipation, but if Randy had had to guess, he'd have sworn that Vaughn had felt the surge running through Randy's body and responded to it.

  Randy's own body flushed with the thought, and Vaughn squeezed tighter around Randy's cock. Somewhere in the back of Randy's head fireworks flared. "Hell, yes," he muttered around a grunt. "Like that is good." He tightened his thighs, lifted himself up, and was instantly pulled back down again.

  "Stay here," Vaughn slurred. "Need to—" He paused, seeming to weigh his words, "—kiss you."

  Well, that wasn't a bad thing at all, Randy decided. If he had to work for hand space in order to keep their tongues wound together, he could. Except that when he lowered his mouth to secure Vaughn's, his eyes already closing at the slow slide of Vaughn's fist over his cock, Vaughn was burying himself in the crook of Randy's jaw. The deep breath that Vaughn took before latching on to Randy's skin was weird, but entirely too hot to complain about.

  Time and location seemed to fade away as Vaughn sucked and tugged at the tendons of Randy's neck, at the muscles of his shoulder, and Randy's ear. It wasn't until Vaughn started rocking his hips into Randy's grip that Randy realized he wasn't even moving his hand. "Sorry," Randy leaned into the sensation of Vaughn's teeth over his skin. "I think you're blowing my mind a bit here."

  Vaughn's answering chuckle rumbled sweetly, but it quickly dissolved into a low groan when Randy started to stroke him. With one of Vaughn's hands clutching the back of Randy's neck—apparently there was no way Randy was getting the chance to move away again—Randy opted to shift on to his knees. He was still stretched over top of Vaughn's body, he was still held to Vaughn's torso from the shoulders up, but it gave him room to do more. To play.

  He redirected his grip to the head of Vaughn's cock, twisting his palm over and around, then stroking yet again—slow, slow, slow—waiting for a signal from Vaughn's body. It came from Vaughn's tightening legs first, and then Vaughn's hips as they tried to force Randy's hand into the quicker, bolder stroke Vaughn was looking for. It wasn't until Vaughn unlatched from Randy's neck and growled in frustration that Randy gave Vaughn the friction he wanted, though.

  "Oh, fuck!" Vaughn hissed. "Don't stop. Keep doing that. Just like that." Vaughn threw his head back, jaw tight from clenched teeth, and heaved deep breaths that made his chest swell and fall like rolling waves.

  He looked too hungry not to inspire the devil from rising in Randy's head. As if reading Vaughn's demand as its exact opposite, Randy loosened his hand and reverted to the slow, easy stroke he'd been doing prior. Vaughn's eyelids flew open, his eyes fixated on Randy's face, and Randy grinned down at him. "What was that, Vaughn?"

  Randy's own cock was gripped furiously, and Randy was flipped on to his back before he could even gasp out surprise. "You like to tease?" Vaughn asked in a low, deep voice.

  The tile was cold enough to steal Randy's voice. He arched his back off the floor, and when he could find his voice Randy chuckled. "Actually, yes."

  "Not this time," Vaughn snarled.

  He said it in a tone that, had Randy been walking down a dark alley, would have lifted the hair on Randy's neck and stirred quicker footsteps. In context, though, with Vaughn's eyes full of desire and Vaughn's dick rock hard in Randy's hand, it was hotter than all hell.

  "Oh, yeah? What are you going to do about it?" Randy tried to sound tough, but the words came out breathless and rushed. The rhythm Vaughn used on his shaft was relentless and perfect. If Vaughn kept it up, within minutes he would be the one begging Vaughn not to stop.

  Vaughn studied Randy's face in what could have been either an attempt to figure out if Randy was just giving him a hard time or to make Randy aware that he was on the verge of some deep philosophical discovery that was about to change mankind forever. The intensity of his expression was enough to make Randy melt into the floor.

  A smile lit in one corner of Vaughn's lips and his entire demeanor took on a feel that Randy could only describe as animalistic. "What will I do about it?" He lowered his face so close that Randy thought they were going to kiss again. Instead, Vaughn spoke against Randy's lips. "I will flip you over and fuck you right here, right now, that's what. With nothing but spit and the will to split you in half, Shield Wolf."

  Raw need lanced through Randy's guts and drove his hips up and into Vaughn's fist. "Oh," he breathed. "That would probably not be good."

  "Probably not," Vaughn agree
d. His eyelids dropped to half-mast when Randy once again started jerking him hard and quick. "But considering your cock just dribbled half its load on to my hand, I'd almost think you liked the sound of it."

  "Stupid cock," Randy gasped.

  "F-fuck." Vaughn dropped the game and caught Randy's mouth in a deep kiss. Then there was nothing but the sweet heat of friction, the pressure of Vaughn's weight, and the coiling of their tongues. Thought, consciousness, and reality got kicked aside for reflex and drive. "Come," Vaughn told him—and though it was not a request by any means, it also wasn't quite a demand. It was just a statement... come... as though Vaughn had said 'Remember to breathe' or 'Keep your eyes on the road'. There was never any question about not doing it because a person just had to.

  Then Vaughn was devouring his mouth again, and the only sound Randy could make was a low murmur.

  Vaughn tore the kiss away from Randy's lips and continued it in light, wet lines along Randy's jaw and neck. "Come on, Randy—"

  His name on Vaughn's lips made Randy's body tremble.

  "Come for me. Come for me so I can fucking come, too."

  "Ah!" Randy sucked in a deep breath. Everything from belly to sack gathered into a ball of bliss, and then it all let go. Blast after blast of carnal pleasure culminated in his groin, rushed through him, and exploded out of his cock. He felt the splashes of fluid fall, but cognizance was too lost in sensation to care where they landed.

  Randy didn't open his eyes until Vaughn coughed a string of curses, shuffled to rise to his knees, and added to the mess on Randy's belly with his own long, thick spurts.

  For several seconds the kitchen seemed soundless. Vaughn's body swayed over top of Randy's while Randy lay splayed on the floor, drawing breath that seemed impossible to catch up on. With every inhale, another drop or two of come slipped from where it had pooled and ran down Randy's sides. He couldn't care less. He'd happily close his eyes and sleep right where he was resting, even if it meant having to chisel himself off the tile in the morning.

  He was staring at Vaughn's face when Vaughn finally opened his eyes, and couldn't have stopped the smile from creeping onto his face if he'd tried. He didn't. "Wow. I have no idea what got into you, but I like it."

  Vaughn's gaze fell to Randy's torso, up to Randy's neck, and he turned away with a wince and a frown. "No, you really don't."

  Although Randy's first impulse was to argue, he managed to hold it back. He reached into Vaughn's open shirt and ran a palm down Vaughn's chest. "You can stay if you want."

  "I can't." Vaughn shook his head for emphasis. He rose and tucked his softening cock into his pants. "The kids."

  Randy pulled himself up on to one elbow. "Lyle can—"

  "No, he can't," Vaughn said firmly. He flicked a quick glance at Randy and started to do up his shirt. "I'm sorry. He just can't. Not right now."

  Randy sat up as Vaughn zipped his jacket. "How about that drink, then?"

  "Some other time."

  At least there was regret in Vaughn's voice. Randy was almost sure of it. "Ah. Okay."

  Vaughn turned away and huffed a long breath. "I promise. Some other time."

  "Yeah, no problem." Randy laughed a short, hollow laugh. "I'll be here."

  Vaughn shoved his hand through his hair and turned back to face Randy. "About Lyle—"

  Randy nodded. "I heard you. I'll keep my distance."

  "Thank you."

  He didn't bother to walk Vaughn out, not that Vaughn really gave him the chance. As the front door clicked shut, Randy reached for his shirt and wiped the come off his chest and stomach. He didn't bother to dress. It could wait. For the time being, at least. Instead, he stretched up until he could snatch the glass of wine off the table, scooted over to the island, and rested his back against it. The kitchen was getting cold now that the great furnace of Vaughn had abandoned the area, and the patio door shuddered and shook as the wind roared through the backyard. A determined snowdrift was already gathering against the glass, but if Randy was hearing the sharp tink-tink-tinks that bounced off the surface correctly, ice pellets were getting the upper hand in this round of Wintermania.

  Tomorrow's roads would be treacherous, if they weren't already. School would be called off; at least it would if the weather was doing something that godawful back in good old D.C. For all Randy knew, maybe things were different in Wolf with respect to that as well. He wouldn't put it past the residents to have bus drivers that just switched over to snowmobiles and picked up their kiddies one by one. Maybe they were expected to ski, or strap on snowshoes, or ride their pet elk in. He imagined fathers standing in billowing doorways, pointing and shouting, "Back in my day, we didn't even call this wind!" For that matter, the kids were probably so freaking tough that they'd agree. Who the hell really knew what went on in these people's heads?

  Randy took a sip of the wine and drew his knees up to his chest. He sure as hell couldn't figure it out. That was for damn sure.

  *~*~*

  A bitter blast of wind raced through the yard and tore the corner of the tarp that Randy had just finished wrestling with right out of his gloved hand. His breath went with it, so instead of shouting his curse, Randy thought it. The previous night's dip in temperature had turned even the most flexible of products into immoveable rock. The plastic tarp was now as solid as sheet metal, the tiniest twig had become the most punishing crop, and though he'd only been in the yard for a few minutes, the joints of his fingers were frozen stiff. He lifted his hands to his mouth and blew breath through his cotton work gloves, first one palm, then the next, before giving his hands a shake and snagging the tarp again.

  The nylon cord that had kept the tarp in place still rested in the same spot, but it was now welded to the bin with a layer of ice that had far more of a hold than Randy could manage to dislodge. All Randy had succeeded in doing was tearing the plastic when he'd tried to work the rope off. So instead of worrying about it any longer than he had to, Randy dug through the tear and yanked the lengths of wood out one log at a time. His back was sore, with dark purple bruises on both shoulder blades and Randy didn't have to think too long to figure out where they'd come from—being tossed on to one's back on a hard tile floor always seemed so much sexier at the moment than it did in retrospect. At least the bruises matched the hickeys on his neck and collarbone. One had to count one's blessings where one found them.

  It didn't help matters in the least that he was cranky as all fuck. Sleep had come slowly after Vaughn had left, and the wine had kept promising to keep thought at bay. Though the wine didn't live up to its vow, it had been so kind as to leave him with one of those headaches that only seemed to get worse instead of better, and the three Ibuprofen he'd washed down with coffee still gurgled unpleasantly in his guts. It would get better, though, once he got the wood and could start a fire. Then he'd grab a blanket, curl up on the couch in front of it, and forget about the world for a few more hours. Now that he was sober, maybe his dreams wouldn't be haunted by kisses that had the ability to fuck his soul through his mouth, or by the cock that had a way of making pleasure dependent on synergy.

  He looked up at the sky, shielded his eyes for the sake of his headache, and surveyed the yard. Branches of all sizes littered the ground; one even hung from his garden shed roof like a disembodied arm trying to claw its way back to safety. The wind had done its damnedest to prune away that which needed to go. It was a damn good thing that—

  "Good thing we got those trees cleared."

  Randy jumped and spun around, holding a log in his hands like an oddly-shaped bat. He'd known the voice; his head had told him he did, anyway. There was a deep, rich, seductive quality to it that made it sound unbelievably out of place coming from a young man's mouth, though. "Lyle."

  "Morning." Lyle smiled and stepped forward. "Can I help you with that?"

  Randy's gaze jumped over Lyle's shoulder and focused in the direction of the O'Connell residence. "Nah, thanks. I got it." He gave Lyle a quick grin, tossed the log in
to the wheelbarrow and then turned back to the woodbin. "I just look like I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

  "I think you're looking quite fine, Randy." Lyle paused as if assessing, and Randy peered over his shoulder with a lifted eyebrow. His expression only widened Lyle's smile. "Quite fine, indeed. Right down to your fuzzy wolf slippers."

  Randy dropped two more logs and looked down at his slippers. He lifted one, shook it, and chuckled. "I think they're supposed to be bear paws, actually. But thank you." He leaned against the bin and crossed his arms over his chest. "You doing okay?"

  Lyle lifted both arms in a shrug. He looked overtly pleasant and calm. "Better now that I'm back here?" It was more of a question that a statement, as if he was asking Randy's permission to state it. Before Randy had a chance to say anything, however, Lyle's face fell into a frown and he stepped forward. "You look like you're freezing to death."

  And wow... For a second Randy was dumbstruck. Damn, but that boy could look like his father in the proper lighting. Especially with the right mood on his face. Images began to flip through Randy's mind—the scowl of concentration on Vaughn's face when he was focusing on pleasure, the way an angry expression softened into a sweeter one, the way the space between Vaughn's eyes furrowed when he growled in frustration.

  Butterflies lifted in Randy's stomach and he had to force his head back into current time. He lowered his eyes and choked a laugh. "Yeah, well, it's winter. Winter sucks."

  Again Lyle took another step, this time unwinding a scarf from around his neck. "No way, Randy. Winter is amazing." With his scarf in one hand, Lyle lifted his chin, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "I mean, just smell how fresh and clean it is."

  "Let me guess," Randy drawled. "You love the smell of doldrums in the morning?"

  Lyle opened his eyes and frowned. "Say what?"

  Randy waved his hand. "Never mind. Just me trying to be clever." Once again his line of sight skipped past Lyle and in the direction of his front yard. "Listen, Lyle, shouldn't you be—"

  "The mountains are the best part," Lyle said quickly. "Have you been?"