Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty (10 page)

“Shit, watch the nails there, Sunshine. Your brother tried to get me killed this afternoon,” Bobby muttered into Ichiro’s open mouth, then dove back in, sliding his tongue past Ichi’s sharp teeth and into the velvet heat beyond. “It’s a bit tender there.”

“Can we not bring Cole into this? Couch isn’t big enough,” Ichi grumbled back, angling his mouth for another kiss. “Fuck, you taste good.”

Fisting his hands into Ichiro’s hair, he yanked the man closer, savaging Ichi’s mouth until he mewled and squirmed in Bobby’s lap. Gasping, Ichi tried to pull away, shifting his legs to get his knees out of the cracks between the couch cushions. They fought for space and air, pulling back and moving in, delving into the fire building up between them.

Bobby’s skin crackled from the friction of Ichiro’s hands roaming over him. At some point, he’d lost his T-shirt, while Ichi remained clothed. There were too many elbows and odd angles for Bobby’s satisfaction, especially when he tried to tug off Ichiro’s shirt, but the man twisted about as he tried to angle in for another kiss, yanking the fabric out of Bobby’s hands.

“Stay the fuck in one place, damn it.” He made another grab at Ichi’s shirt, snagging the hem. “You’re like a shitting eel.”

Frustrated, Bobby tugged and felt the fabric give, ripping under his pull. Ichiro’s mouth moved down, tickling at his throat, and he arched into the younger man’s body, digging his fingers harder into the shirt. The skin beneath the cotton was soft with steel underneath, and Bobby’s knuckles glided over Ichi’s light golden flesh.

Another shift, and Ichi straddled his lap, their cocks grinding together beneath layers of denim and zippers. Bobby growled low in his throat, futilely struggling to contain his want for his best friend’s brother, but his will folded, and his lust was already raking in the pot.

“Screw this.” He tossed more than caution to the wind. No, Bobby was picking up every piece of flammable scrap he had in him and throwing it into the flickering flames building up between them. Taking up another handful of fabric, Bobby tugged—hard—ripping Ichiro’s T-shirt until the shreds dangled from his shoulders.

God, the ink. The colors. The images etched into Ichi’s skin were vivid and sharp. Bobby longed to lick each line, trace every drop of ink left for him to find, but he burned too hot for Ichi’s clench around him.

Raking his hands through Ichiro’s red-streaked black hair, he pushed up and forward, toppling Ichi back into the couch seat. Their legs tangled, and Ichi kicked, refusing to submit to Bobby’s maneuvering, but Bobby lowered his mouth onto Ichiro’s and drank in the man’s weakening protests, suckling at Ichi’s skilled tongue, then toying his lower lip with small nibbles.

With Ichiro beneath him, the squirming wasn’t half bad. Bobby slung his legs on either side of Ichi’s, trapping the man’s long body. Framing Ichiro’s limbs with his own, Bobby held Ichi down, then bent down to dab his tongue at the edge of a dragon’s muzzle cresting down Ichi’s shoulder. He heard Ichi’s gasp, and then he moved, snapping at the man’s tight brown nipple.

If Ichiro’s mouth was a sip of sweet hell, then his nipple was a touch of dark chocolate hidden in the recesses of paradise. Faintly perfumed with soap and musk, the nub rolled up tight when Bobby’s lips daubed at it, pulling in on itself until it was firm and hard, easily flicked with Bobby’s tongue. He teased the other one so it wouldn’t feel neglected, rolling it between his fingers until Ichiro pressed his chest up into the heel of Bobby’s hand, aching to stop the pain-pleasure working his nipple.

His dick was as hard as Ichiro’s nipple and probably just as soaking wet as the one he’d had his mouth around. Digging his fingers past Ichi’s waistband, Bobby came up short of his goal when his hand became trapped between Ichi’s hipbone and stretched-out denim.

“Couldn’t be one of those thug wannabes and wear your damned jeans loose enough to fall down?” Bobby muttered into Ichiro’s ear. The lobe tempted him, and he suckled on it, drawing it into his mouth as he’d done Ichi’s nipple. “Would have made this a lot easier.”

“What? The guys you fuck are too stupid to work a zipper, so you only know how to get elastic down?” Ichiro lifted his hips, his fingers quickly undoing the top button of his jeans. “There, old man. Need a fucking map?”

“Want something for that mouth of yours?” Bobby snapped Ichiro’s zipper down, their hands knocking together as the man struggled to open Bobby’s fly. “Tell me you’ve got nothing on under these jeans.”

“Tell me you’ve got something worth my time in yours,” Ichi shot back. His fingers found what he was looking for, closing down on Bobby’s dew-stung head. His other hand shook slightly while he placed it on Bobby’s shoulders, his knees coming up as Bobby shoved down his pants legs.

They tangled again, slowing their kisses, their tongues gliding together in a slow waltz. He found underwear beyond Ichiro’s fly, and Bobby sighed in disappointment.

“What kind of rebel wears briefs? You’re supposed to go commando, Sunshine.” Bobby snuck a peek at the underwear in question. Their color was alarming—cotton candy on faint amber skin. “They’re pink.”

“Yeah, I have red jeans, so… that happened.” Ichiro shrugged. “You going to get those down, or are we going to talk about how I can’t do laundry? Because you’ve still got too much clothes on, Dawson. Especially since I
know
you’ve got nothing past those jeans.”

Bobby sat up, straddling Ichi’s hips, and hooked his thumbs into the elastic of Ichiro’s briefs. His own jeans were open, his crotch damp and uncomfortable as his cock strained to reach the man splayed out under him. He’d thrown on the first pair of Levi’s he’d found on his bedroom floor when he heard the front door, thinking Cole had come by to check up on him. It’d taken him a moment to remember Cole had someone to come home to, and their traditional get-together to mock Cole’s clumsiness was a thing of the past.

Staring down at Ichiro’s beautiful, lean ink-covered body, Bobby’s gut clenched, and something in his chest pounded as if he’d been punched. Flush with want, the man’s cheeks were pinked and his mouth swollen from Bobby’s lips and teeth. His ribs bore welts from a nail Bobby’d torn on the cement sidewalk during the supposed riot, slender, long streaks nearly as red as the ones in his hair. Creatures crawled under his skin, writhing through clouds, rivers, and scatterings of leaves and flowers. They moved as he breathed, his shoulders shaking slightly from the depth of their foreplay, and Ichiro’s panting only deepened as Bobby’s fingers traveled over Ichi’s chest.

While not as heavily muscular as his older brother, Ichiro’s chest and limbs were hard lines and lean curves with a dusting of soft, springy black hair circling his curiously flat belly button. His stomach muscles jumped and quivered while Bobby toyed with him, sliding his fingers back and forth beneath the pulled-up waistband until the sensitive skin beneath shivered from overstimulation.

Ichi’s cock was straining its confines as well, the head sliding up from beneath its prison to tease Bobby’s fingertips. Tamping his thumb over the damp slit, Bobby brought the taste of Ichi’s spend to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked to the other man’s passion-engorged lips and dark eyes.

“God… you are so damned… beautiful,” Bobby whispered, unable to keep the words from spilling out of his soul. Ichiro’s chin came up, and his eyes hooded, his sweeping long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. “I—”

A familiar jingle—one keyed to a certain McGinnis—sang out from Bobby’s phone, and they both glanced toward the cell jittering across the table.

“Don’t—” Ichiro spat out. “Just—don’t.”

“Gotta, Sunshine. I never know when your fucking brother might need saving from himself.” Bobby reached for the phone before it toppled over the edge. “If we’re lucky, it’s Jae asking for bail money because he finally strung Cole up by the balls. Now shut up. I don’t want him to know you’re here.”

“Hey, thought it was going to go to voice mail,” Cole rasped through the phone. He sounded tired, worn down even, and Bobby frowned, torn between the brother he had on the line and the one he had beneath him. “You okay? I didn’t wake you, right?”

“No, I’m good.” Bobby shifted, trying to slide off Ichiro’s hips without hurting himself—or the man under him. “Just… shit. Hold on.” Covering the phone, he hissed, “Quit moving.”

“Fuck.” Ichiro covered his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes and cheeks. “Get off of me. I’ve got to take a piss.”

“Cole, hold on—shit.” Bobby slithered off the couch, trying to get out of Ichi’s way. The man was off the sofa before he could turn around, and Bobby had to reach out to snag Ichi’s arm before he got too far away. “Don’t go anywhere. We’re not done.”

“Not to sound like a whiny bitch or anything, but I’m pretty sure I’m done.” Ichi’s snarl held as much of a bite as his words. “Go fucking talk to my brother. I’m going to take a leak and—”

“Don’t go.” A part of him withered inside, trapped between a man he thought of as a brother and a man who’d come into Cole’s life with guns blazing, determined to break down any wall in his way. Ichiro tried to yank himself free, but Bobby held on tighter. “What do you want me to do? Beg?”

“Don’t fucking bother. That’s what I was doing before you answered the damned phone.”

“Sunshine….” Bobby swallowed, taking his pride down with the gulp. “Please?”

“Dawson—”

“Please.”

Ichiro stood silent and still for a long moment, long enough for Bobby to question if he was doing the right thing—begging. A half-held-in breath stretched out his lungs until they were about to burst when Ichi gave him a curt nod. Letting his lungs suck in another gasp, Bobby turned back to Cole as his friend’s brother stalked off to the bathroom.

“Fuck.” He pulled the phone away from his chest. “Hey, what’s up? You okay?”

“Are
you
okay? Sounds like you’ve got company. I can call tomorrow.”

The fatigue in Cole’s voice was troublesome, so Bobby pressed on.

“Dude, you called tonight. Obviously it’s important.”

“They found Sheila—well, a uni in Santa Monica did.”

“But?”

“The fucker let her walk. Dex called me. Said they’re sorry—won’t happen again. That kind of shit. Kid who did it was a newbie. Barely old enough to wear a shield or something—I don’t know.”

His stomach sank down to the parking and maybe beyond. The woman who shot Jae netted and released like some damned trout on a fishing trip, and deep down in his bones, Bobby knew Cole wasn’t just going to let it go. Clearing his throat, he trod carefully. “And what are they going to do about it?”

“What can they do? Fuckers had their chance for the past six months, and she’s still out there with a gun and probably bullets with his name on it. I can’t have that, dude. Not Jae. Not—just not—”

“Not again,” Bobby finished.

Ichiro stalked out of the bathroom, and Bobby held his hand up, pleading with him to stay. The pissed-off artist pointed angrily to the kitchen and pantomimed flipping something with a spatula. Not waiting to see Bobby’s response, Ichi removed the meat he’d put in the fridge and began to rattle at the grill on the stove.

“Okay, I know that sound,” Cole teased. “You should have let the phone go to voice mail. Go on, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. From what I hear, you’ve got to go eat crow.”

“Or something,” Bobby muttered under his breath. “I’ll call you in the morning. We can go for a run or something. Unless you’re too injured to move your legs up and down. I saw that old woman take you out.”

“Wasn’t her. It was her fucking dog.” His laughter lightened his words, and Bobby smiled, despite the trepidation he had about leaving Ichi alone in the kitchen with his recently sharpened knives. “And let’s skip the run. Seriously, we can go grab a coffee and do manly talking or something.”

“Fine. Since you’re going soft and all.” Bobby’s bark didn’t have any heat in it, and Cole snorted loudly.

“Coffee. At the Hairy Hippie. How about eight? We’ll even bring Jae back some cake or something.”

“Yeah, tomorrow’s good. Later.” He hung up and turned the volume down on his ringer. Bobby slid the phone across the table as he got up to go face the music. A few steps toward the open kitchen area, Ichiro shook his head at him and muttered something in Japanese. Pursing his lips, he complained softly, “I don’t understand you. If we’re going to fight, at least give me a chance to know what you’re calling me. I know you’re pissed off—”

“Fucking Cole,” Ichiro spat, hot bullets of sound meant to wound but not kill. “Jae called me while I was in the bathroom—”

“You talk to people while you’re in the bathroom?” Bobby made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

“Jesus, my brother and you deserve each other.”

“Hey, Cole’s not that bad—”

“I was talking about Mike. He never shuts up and lets me finish either.” Ichi turned the stove off. “Fuck it, we can order pizza. If I cook this, it’ll end up burned. So, you going to let me talk?”

“Talk away,” Bobby groused, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. “What were you and Jae talking about while you were holding your dick and pissing? Then can we talk about you being pissed at me?”

Ichiro rolled his eyes. Then his expression softened slightly until it resembled something Bobby would have called mulish. “Jae told me about Sheila. So yeah, fuck—you had to answer that.”

“And you’re still pissed off?”

“More at myself. Because, fuck, Cole needs you. He’s your friend, and I—hell, yeah, while I’m his brother, I’m not—you.” Ichi sighed. “So, shit, I’m pissed off because I got angry for doing what I’d want you to do. I was thinking with my dick—”

“Well, your dick would have seen some action, but it was your ass I was going to be aiming at.” Trying for levity, Bobby sidestepped the swirling emotions coming up from his belly. Things had gone to hell in a handbasket before he’d blinked, and now he was facing the truth of what he’d almost done—fucking Cole’s brother after his friend specifically warned him off. “Look, if you want to bail—”

“No, I’m going to make sure you’ve got some dinner or something in you and maybe tell you to take another shower. You’ve still got some sidewalk grit in your hair.” Ichi held his hand up and made a show of dusting off his palm. “Either that or you’ve got the ballsiest dandruff.”