Boys in Season (Boys In... Book 2) (9 page)

Finally they paused, panting, Jamie’s back to the fridge door. Seb pressed up against him, reluctant to lose a fraction of contact. It was beyond magnificent. Jamie’s bare chest was hot, sweat glistening in the hollow of his throat, his heartbeat hammering in between the beats of Seb’s own.
Damn
, Seb thought, light-headed with the excitement, but he needed more of this. This was a dream come true, this was—

“Do it,” Jamie gasped.

“Huh?”

Seb felt his hand grasped again and pulled down to Jamie’s groin. “Impressive,” Seb said. “A bloody good portion.”

“No.” Jamie’s voice was thick with need. “No jokes. Please… just…”

“I’m sorry,” Seb whispered. “I didn’t mean to be such a prick.”

Jamie’s eyes were dark with lust. “And I didn’t mean to be such a prig.”

Seb took a deep breath and slipped open the top button of Jamie’s jeans. Jamie let out a sigh of relief. They both laughed, Seb thought his sounded nervous. Then he slipped his hand down inside Jamie’s briefs and took hold of him.

Oh
fuck
, it was good.

Jamie wriggled impatiently, pushing down his jeans and underwear to his thighs, and his cock bobbed out in Seb’s fist. Seb was truly impressed with its size and the way it filled his hand so well. Spunk was already leaking out, slicking Seb’s palm. He listened to the soft sucking noises as he pumped it, his hand sliding up and down, his fingertips stretching underneath to caress Jamie’s balls.

“We can do this again, right?” Jamie gasped.

“We haven’t finished yet,” Seb grunted in surprise.

“I mean, in bed. I mean later. More. Everything.”

Seb’s goose bumps grew goose bumps at the thought. “Fuck, yes!”

When Jamie laughed, his breath caught and it sounded more like a hiccup. With a low, gargling sound, his body went rigid and his cock thickened in Seb’s hand. Jamie came, gripping Seb’s shoulders, his head dropping to rest on Seb’s shoulder, his come spitting out over Seb’s fisted fingers and dripping down Seb’s wrist.

For a moment they just stood there, propped against the fridge door, holding each other up, panting and gasping for breath. Then Seb reached clumsily for a cloth to wipe them both down. He still held Jamie close, and murmured into his ear, “What did your book say?”

“My book?” Jamie’s face was horribly flushed. His torso showed the impressions of Seb’s eager grip and his neck was marked with the nips of Seb’s teeth. “Ah… the book, yes. Mine said,
For Jamie, his Christmas surprise
, same as yours. But it also said,
Find the passion inside the provocation
. I didn’t know what it meant.”

“My book said,” Seb continued, determined to clear up this whole issue, despite the fact his heart was still beating so fast he could feel it filling his throat, “
For Seb, his Christmas surprise. Seek the comfort inside the conflict.
”

“Some kind of Buddhist sayings?” Jamie asked.

Seb snorted. “Santa’s homemade philosophy, more like. I didn’t know what the hell mine meant, either. But I do now.” He nipped at Jamie’s neck again, loving the way he arched up into Seb in response. “Means I’ve been chasing around when what I really wanted was much closer to home.”

Jamie lifted hooded eyes to him, lips swollen, his words shaky. “And I should have let things loose a little earlier, right?”

Seb smiled at him. So
cute
. “So maybe the Secret Santa routine wasn’t as sick a joke as I thought.”

Jamie nuzzled in against Seb’s neck, making Seb squirm. “You still think it was the others? Harry?”

“You mean, as opposed to a fat old chap with a red coat and a long beard?” Seb chuckled. “Whatever. Who cares?” He slid his hand back under Jamie’s arse and tugged on his buttocks. “I want to take this further. You want that, too, or you want to spend some more time debating urban Christmas myths?”

Jamie sighed. “Seems to me, New Year is looking better by the minute, so long as I can stand your seasonally-inspired smart mouth. What about supper?”

“Supper?” Seb was distracted again. Jamie was caressing Seb’s buttocks, sliding a mischievous thumb up and down the crease, lingering near Seb’s entrance. Seb couldn’t think straight. His cock could, but that was another matter. “We’ll call the others back down, the meal will be edible. Maybe. They’ll be pleased to hear we’ve been co-operating.”

“So that’s what you call it?” Jamie’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Wise guy.” Seb leaned forward for some more kissing, his need renewed. On the other side of the kitchen was the background hiss of a pan of chutney boiling dry, and the not-so-delicate aroma of burned non-stick surface. And just past the fridge, the spilled milk had ebbed around the leg of a stool, a small, pale puddle on the floor with peppercorns bobbing like tiny islands.

“But we’ll wait a minute before we call,” Seb murmured. He pushed off the fridge door, arms around Jamie, one hand in the fair hair at the nape of Jamie’s neck and the other tugging at Jamie’s jeans, caught awkwardly around his thighs. “A
long
minute.”

Jamie grinned, and ran his warm hands possessively down Seb’s bare back. “I’m not arguing with that,” he said.

Drew stood on the bus, his arm gripping on to the overhead strap, his body lurching from side to side with every twist and turn of the city road. The other passengers were crushed up against him, their bodies moving as one, now bearing to the left, now taking a sharp right.

Someone coughed in his ear, a hacking influenza-fuelled sound. Some shopping bags toppled over and a dozen oranges rolled all over the floor, squelching under people’s helpless feet. A baby started to wail from a seat near the back of the bus. The bus made a sudden sharp climb up towards the mall and a group of kids lost their footing again, stumbling against Drew. They had glitter in their hair and tinsel garlands around their necks: they were laughing loudly and incidentally stabbing him in the back with a school bag full of books.

“Just tell me why,” Drew muttered through gritted teeth. “Tell me why, every damned year, they cut the bus services in the week before Christmas. Don’t they know the traffic’s going to be worse than ever? Shoppers, extra staff, poor bastards like us who just want to get to and from work without losing a kidney.”

His companion was pressed up to him, almost nose to nose. Joe blew out gently, dislodging a stray hair of Drew’s that had tangled around his chin. “I think there’s been an accident at the bus garage—the bad weather caused a burst pipe or something. Several routes had to be closed down.”

Drew grunted, because Joe’s proximity made him feel even grumpier, in a deliciously disturbing kind of way. “Tell me why that catches people unawares every damned Christmas. The cold weather comes; the snow falls. It’s Christmas. Duh. But everyone’s still ‘shock!horror’, my car won’t start, my drive is blocked, my bus won’t run. I’ve just discovered my coat isn’t windproof, I must stock up my house with three hundred tins of soup in case this isn’t Christmas at all, it’s Armageddon.”

Joe smiled. They were long-time colleagues and friends, and Drew assumed Joe knew Drew’s ways well enough by now. Someone nudged past them both to get off at the next stop and pushed Drew up tight against Joe. His nose was briefly buried in Joe’s coat and he smelled a mixture of coffee and damp rainfall and the fresh citrus sharpness of Joe’s soap. He took an extra breath, savoring it.

“It’s a good thing, Drew, the change of seasons. Makes life refreshing. And you’re no better prepared for it, I reckon. I remember one year you left your boots out on your front porch and they filled up with snow overnight.”

Drew gave a grudging smile back. Joe was smart and cute and usually right, and he knew he should be damned grateful the man found any time for him at all. The bus spun around the junction just a little too fast and the passenger mass swerved with it. Drew got an umbrella in his shins this time. He peered out of the window between three other upstretched arms. Hordes of shoppers were outside the mall, passing the window like blurred, scurrying, parcel-laden ants. In the background, Christmas music was playing from a loudspeaker, badly out of tune. “Tell me why they have to leave all their shopping until the last week,” he grumbled. “The damned shops have been full of the Christmas stuff and nonsense since October. Why do the masses have to come out in full force, blocking the streets and trebling the queues at the coffee shops, all day long?”

“You mean, specifically, when you want to get home after a bad day at work.” Joe smiled. When the bus shrieked to a sudden stop because of shoppers spilling out haphazardly on to the crossing, he had to grasp Drew’s arm to steady himself. He continued to hold it when the bus started up again. “Some of these people don’t work easy shifts, don’t have the internet—they have to shop when they get a free hour. They make it a social event, you know. It’s fun to be out among the decorations and the lights and the music.”

Drew groaned and shook his head. “No way. Tell me I don’t have to listen to the carols as well, it’s bad enough trying to find my usual items in shops full of inflatable Santas and winking plastic reindeer. God, this happens every year. Enforced jollity, rampant commercialism, discomfort and bad humour all around.” Joe’s hand on his arm was warm and firm. Drew felt disturbed all over again, and he didn’t think it was due in any way to the winking plastic reindeer. “Tell me something new,” he growled.

The bus slid to a relatively sedate stop at a traffic light. Joe took a deep breath.

“I love you and I want to spend Christmas with you,” he said, clearly and steadily.

Someone behind Drew gasped; the school children giggled. A chorus of ‘Winter Wonderland’ floated through the half-open bus window from a nearby shop, apparently sung by electronic chipmunks. The brakes of the bus hissed and squealed as it prepared to pull away again.

Drew stared back at Joe. Of course, they did keep meeting at the water cooler, then wandering back to their desks with still-empty cups, grinning sheepishly. Then there’d been that clumsy kiss at the office party…

Joe stared back. He gave a heavy, visible swallow. “I’ve thought it for a long time, but never told you before,” he said. “
That’s
 something new, isn’t it?”

Drew continued to stare. He knew he was blushing. He didn’t understand why everyone else on the bus wasn’t deafened by the sound of his heart beating. His free hand moved up to rest at Joe’s waist and it felt pretty comfortable there. “Smart and cute and usually right,” he muttered, like a mantra.

Joe looked puzzled by the reference, but seemed happy just to go on smiling. In fact, his smile of relief was so beaming, it’d probably last for the rest of the Holidays. “It’s my stop next. What 
are
 you doing for this season of peace and goodwill to all men, Drew? Bearing in mind the enforced jollity and the rampant commercialism—oh, and the squashed orange sticking to your boot?”

Drew’s mouth gaped like a startled goldfish’s. “I’m coming back to yours,” he said, a little weakly. “I’d rather like to spend Christmas with you, too.”

“Good. That’s settled.” Joe grinned slyly. “I’ve bought a new copy of Phil Spector’s Christmas Hits to play over supper.”

Drew rolled his eyes and opened his mouth again to protest, but Joe pressed his gloved hand over it.

“After all,” he said. “If there’s going to be any lingering discomfort or bad humour this Christmas, I know no-one else I’d rather share it with.”

And—for once—Drew was speechless.

“Hey! A late Christmas card.” Caleb dumped the shopping bags on the kitchen floor and picked up the large red envelope on the counter. He ripped it open and pulled out a brightly-coloured, sparkling card. Excess glitter relinquished its hold and fell in a light scattering at his feet. He read the greeting inside the card, allowing himself a half-smile, then stared at the front again. Two polar bear cubs with surely unnaturally large, brown eyes, nestling at the foot of a snow-laden pine tree, the rest of the forest in the background.
Cute
. Or that’s what it was obviously meant to be. He held back a snort and turned the card around slowly, wondering aimlessly what the bears would look like if they were hanging upside down from the branch of that very same pine tree.

Owen had come into the flat after him, closing the front door carefully and depositing the car keys on the allotted hook. He followed Caleb into the kitchen and his bags joined the rest of their supplies. Reaching past Caleb, he rifled through the remainder of the envelopes on the kitchen counter. He glanced at the card. “Are you opening my mail again?”

Caleb ignored the complaint, mild though it was. “It’s to us both.” Anyone would think it was Owen’s flat. Well, actually, of course, it was. Caleb just spent most of his free time here, and his guy had said “make yourself at home” enough times, hadn’t he?  He smiled to himself and watched as Owen lifted his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on, then carefully slit open an envelope of his own with the official letter opener, not a clumsy thumb like Caleb had used. When Owen’s face tightened, Caleb grimaced. Maybe his lover was wondering whether suspending his four-paged credit card bill from a similar, crisply illustrated tree would have the same effect.

Caleb could recognise the point at which Owen became aware of Caleb’s attention—and surrendered to it.

“So what was in the red envelope?”

“Christmas card from Amy.”

“Amy?”

“The little kid downstairs. Number eight. I helped her fix her bike.”

Owen frowned. “The blue one?”

Caleb laughed. “She’s blonde, same as a lot of other kids.”

“The bike, I mean. You
know
that’s what I mean.” Owen made that semi-growling sound in the back of his throat whenever Caleb irritated or frustrated him. Which happened quite often. “Christmas was weeks ago.”

“Don’t bitch. It probably took her that long to decorate it. Isn’t it a nice gesture?” Caleb waved the card in front of Owen’s face, scattering more glitter on the floor. To be honest, he didn’t like the way the bear cubs’ eyes seemed to follow him, no matter what angle he held the card. He’d never thought of himself as wishing ill to animals, but such a visual assault by huge, soulful eyes and artfully ruffled fur, combined with the loopy, immature handwriting of their new friend—well, it was enough to make anyone tense up.

“What do you mean, it’s to us both?” Owen’s eyes narrowed.

Caleb raised an eyebrow and lifted the card in a mock toast. “To us!”

“No.” Owen grimaced, and his reading glasses shifted on his nose. “Don’t be such an idiot. I meant that card. Was it really sent to both of us?”

Caleb paused for a moment, admiring the shallow frown across the bridge of Owen’s nose. Now
that
was cute. He could imagine picking the glasses gently off Owen’s face, snapping them shut and running his fingertips along the slight indentations left on the other man’s nose. Actually, the glasses made Owen look
more
than cute. Caleb didn’t say that aloud, though he wasn’t usually one to fear retribution. The tension drifting from Owen was intriguing, though. It also sent a rather promising shiver down Caleb’s spine, tightening his groin.

He looked inside the card again, feigning concentration. “
To my friends at Christmas,
it says. Friends. Plural.” He saw Owen’s mouth open again and forestalled the response. “No, it doesn’t say
To Caleb and Owen at Christmas,
but that’s because there’s not enough room inside the border. She’s crammed in all these sketches of hearts and Christmas baubles and Santa hats, too. I think that blob at the bottom may be a reindeer but I wouldn’t put good money on it. And of course, her writing’s not the neatest at the best of times.”

“Where have you seen her writing?”

Caleb smiled. “She sent that lovely thank you note, remember? When I got the bike working again. The
blue
one.” He ignored Owen’s tutting noise. “Even though her Mum made her write it, it was a sweet thought. And she said she was
really
sorry about you falling over the broken spoke, she won’t need to keep the bike in the hallway any more, though you should take more care to look where you’re going, and her Mum told her those words you used weren’t really suitable for anyone under eighteen.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Anyway, I never really liked those grey trousers you ruined, made you look like you work in some dead-arse office job with wall planners and critical path analysis charts...”

Owen held up a hand to halt Caleb’s teasing, with an expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “Which you know damned well I do. I can’t help that.” He sighed and pursed his lips as if he were annoyed, but his gaze was focused on Caleb’s mouth and his eyes gleamed with something sly. “Anyway, that’s not what it’d say.”

“Huh?”

“Amy’s card. It would say
To Owen and Caleb
.”

Caleb gazed back at his lover. He saw Owen’s gentle glare; he could hear the tone he knew signalled Owen’s hackles rising. Mentally, he rubbed his hands together with glee. If he’d known where
his
hackles were meant to be, they’d have grown goose bumps with the delicious anticipation of a new skirmish. Provocation was the bread and butter of their sexy relationship, as far as Caleb was concerned.

“No way. You’re wrong,” he said, breezily. “It’d definitely say
To Caleb and Owen
. Put the coffee machine on, will you? Then I’ll unpack the food.”

Owen didn’t move from his position beside Caleb. He placed a hand rather too carefully on the counter, fingers splayed, pressing it to the cool surface. As if he were trying not to clench it into a fist. “
To Owen and Caleb.
”

“Uh-huh.” Caleb shook his head, emphatically. He traced a couple of letters on the faux marble counter with his finger and he could see Owen’s eyes following the movement. “Caleb first. Alphabetic, you see?”

Owen growled again, that throaty sound. It ran quickly through Caleb’s nerves and caused a throb between his legs that had damn all to do with too-tight briefs. Yeah, he often heard it when Owen was pissed off at him—and it was great sport to provoke Owen deliberately. But he also heard it in the dead of night when they were in bed together and the lights were off and the sheets were warm with their sweat. When he, Caleb, was a little too enthusiastic with his second finger. Just before Owen would cry out and arch his back, just before he’d reach for Caleb with a plea dangerously close to a demand, and a grip that could raise bruises.

Caleb tightened his hold on the card. At almost the same time, Owen reached out and grasped the edge of it. They stared at each other, eyes on a level. Neither of them let go. Neither of them seemed to have sole possession.

Stalemate
.

***

“Alphabetic?” Owen glared at Caleb. Damn the man! They couldn’t even do the week’s shopping without some kind of pointless argument. “Not if you use surnames. I’m Anders, you’re Matheson.”

Caleb tutted back at him. “I think
not
. I’m Caleb—that’s how everyone knows me. Two easy syllables.”

“Like Owen.”

They’d leaned towards each other, maybe without realising. Owen brushed against one of the shopping bags on the floor, and a jar of instant mocha coffee dropped out onto his foot. It took considerable strength of will not to yelp. He tugged at the card again, and more glitter drifted down around the opened bag. He didn’t move his gaze from Caleb’s face. There was a glint in Caleb’s eyes he knew well; it meant the man was at his most intransigent; at his most
mischievous.

Owen knew that mischievous look meant trouble. He’d seen it, glinting in darkness, like that of a prowling wild animal. He’d seen it, full of naked hunger, making him feel like an early supper. He’d seen it just before he was tempted into uncontrollable laughter; he’d seen it promise—and deliver—hours of unimaginable and immeasurable pleasure. His body shuddered involuntarily. A hell of a lot of his actions were involuntary, nowadays. Ever since Caleb all but moved in with him.

Caleb was frowning now. “You know,
Owen
sounds like a name for one of those bear cubs.”

Owen snapped back. “Better than
Caleb
. That sounds like one of Santa’s elves.”

“If you believed in Santa.”

“Which I don’t, of course. It’s a fable, a pagan myth, and I’m too old and wise for such crap.”

Caleb tilted his head thoughtfully, and gazed up as if he sought an answer to life itself from the kitchen ceiling. His throat stretched, the tendons strong in his long neck. “Caleb and Owen,” he said, musingly. “Or Owen and Caleb. Hmmm. Of course, they do say, ‘age before beauty’.”

Provocative bastard
. Owen was only two years older than Caleb. He tore his gaze away from Caleb’s throat and let out a snarl. There was no other word for the guttural sound that emerged. “Actually, I believe they say ‘cast pearls before swine’.”

Caleb’s mouth twitched. He obviously didn’t think Owen would notice the way he’d snuck an additional finger on to the spine of the card, trying for extra purchase. “Then
they
are sadly deluded. The phrase is ‘dust before the broom’, surely.” He tugged.

Owen was ready for him. He’d placed his foot nearer to Caleb’s, surreptitiously balancing himself for any further attack. He tightened his grip and tugged back in his direction. Caleb’s body jerked and the card creased in protest along one corner. Owen used Caleb’s momentary surprise to push his knee between his lover’s thighs, anchoring him against the counter.

“You’re perverting this, Caleb. This… discussion.”

Owen immediately realised he should never have used the “p” word. Caleb raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. It was his favourite “pervert” look, and Owen felt the muscles in his buttocks clench as if he were preparing for flight or flight. He wanted to move his feet, but not to help him fight for a bloody Christmas card. He found he wanted to move them much nearer his companion. Actually, they wanted to be bare, and tucked possessively around Caleb’s ankles, supporting his own body as he crouched above Caleb, who would be lying beneath him, arching up and moaning…

“
Discussion
, you say?” Caleb hissed into Owen’s ear.

Owen jerked back, startled. Bloody hell, they were now inches from each other, clutching at nothing more than a rectangular piece of card. Glitter sparkled on his palms and he could see more of it stuck to Caleb’s forearm. How ludicrous must they look? He stared into the other man’s black pupils, felt his breath catch. A strand of Caleb’s hair had fallen forward over his ear and teased against his cheek. Owen glanced at the curl, knowing how soft it’d feel. He imagined it brushing across his belly, trailing slowly and smoothly across his nude, hot skin, down towards his spread thighs. His flesh felt uncomfortable in his clothing, despite his casual jeans and loose shirt. When he looked up from the errant lock of hair, he saw Caleb’s cheeks were flushed. There was the flicker of strong emotion in his eyes—a slim tongue of flame in his irises.

“Discussion. Yes, Matheson.” Owen cleared his rather painfully tight throat. “You’re losing the point, so you use distraction. I am not so—”

“—easily distracted?” Caleb moved his free hand on the counter top and his thumb brushed at the hairs on the back of Owen’s hand. They sprang up at his touch like reeds under a sudden breeze.

Owen cursed the fact he couldn’t control his smallest reactions. “No. I’m not. You should learn to choose your battles.”

“They also say possession is nine tenths of the law.” Caleb sighed as if resigned, his eyes following the path of his thumb, watching it stroke along the pale-blue veins under Owen’s skin. He ran it apparently aimlessly along the dark-skinned forearm, up towards the elbow. Owen’s shirt was short sleeved, and his bare skin goose bumped underneath the caress. Caleb licked his lips again, as if he wanted to lick gently at the million little bumps.
All
of them.

But he didn’t relax the grip of his other hand, clamped to the Christmas card.

Owen kept his feet firmly planted, twisting his torso further toward Caleb. He felt Caleb’s thumb brush smoothly into the crevice of Owen’s elbow and from there up towards his shoulder. It slipped casually under the hem of the shirt sleeve, nudging at the protected skin there, at the threads of hair in Owen’s armpit. Owen felt Caleb tug quickly, impatiently at the card again.

But Owen’s own grip remained secure. A hiss of satisfaction escaped his moistened lips. “He who hurries, cannot walk with dignity,” he said. His fiercest gaze was meant to challenge Caleb, though he was never entirely sure if it did.