Fading (Shifter Rescue) (7 page)

His boys’ eyes met, and he could feel the connection between them. It was a tangible thing and he wanted to be a part of it, to feel as in tune with them both as they obviously felt with each other.

Groaning, he rubbed his slick fingers along Cather’s crack, the heat of Cather’s skin scorching. “Have you ever been inside here, Hill?”

His boy’s head bobbed, Hill swallowing hard.

He was surprised, actually. He’d have pegged Cather as the more toppy of the two, but perhaps the kits played either end when it was just the two of them. “And have you been inside Hill?” Jag asked Cather.

“Yes. He’s tight, hot inside.”

Jag groaned, his fingers teasing at Cather’s hole now. “I love that. The heat. The tightness. The yielding to my cock.” That’s what there would be with Cather, only moments from now.

“I want it to stretch me, to ache.”

Pleasure went through Jag at Cather’s words. “It will.” He rubbed his cock along Cather’s ass. “Feel how big I am, how much I’m going to open you. I’ll make it last, too, make you feel me for days.”

He canted his hips out of the way and pushed two slick fingers into Cather’s hole. Cather’s body grabbed his fingers, jerked around him, fluttering.

“Oh yes, kit. Hot. Tight. So very good.” He wriggled his fingers and sent them deeper. “Have you ever taken Hill’s fist, Cather? Have you ever taken anyone’s?”

Cather’s slitted eyes went wide.

“That’s a no. And it’ll stay that way. You won’t take Hill’s fist. You will, however, take mine one day. One day soon.” He bit at Cather’s shoulder again as he sent his fingers deeper, pinging off of Cather’s gland.

Cather yowled for him, hips bucking, pushing into Hill’s mouth. God, Cather was sexy like this, need riding him. Jag moved his fingers around, bumping up against that sweet spot over and over. He wanted to make Cather wild before they even got to the rutting.

He wanted his kit to remember need.

He pushed a third finger in with the first two, twisting them all together and shoving them in deep before spreading them apart and thrusting with them. Out, in, out again, he forced Cather’s hole to open for him.

“Keep sucking, Hill. Increase his need.”

Master
. Hill’s honorific buzzed through him.

Yes, Hill. I am
. Now he just needed Cather to say it, to believe it. He was working on it. He jammed his fingers in hard and deep, then pulled them out altogether.

Cather gasped, then keened softly.

“That’s it, kit. And this is just the beginning.” Jag slicked up his cock and lined up with that tight little hole.

The ring of muscles kissed the tip of his cock. Damn, he was looking forward to this. Groaning, he pressed forward, slowly breaching the little hole, invading Cather’s body. The tight sheath of muscles wrapped around him, held him close, working his cock. The tight heat felt so good. It had been ages since he’d fucked anyone. And this wasn’t just anyone. This was one of his kits. It made everything feel even better. This was one of his mates.

One of his mates.

Just the thought had him pushing in hard so he banged up inside Cather, sinking all the way in. Fuck, it was perfect. Cather was perfect.
So good, Cather
.

Cather’s eyes rolled, trying desperately to focus on him. Jag kissed Cather, then bit at Cather’s neck, his hips finding a rhythm that saw his cock pushing into Cather hard and fast, and his boy took it, accepted everything Jag gave.

Reaching down blindly, he touched Hill’s cheek, then traced where Hill’s lips were stretched around Cather’s cock. His touch joined all three of them and he cried out, moving faster. He’d never felt anything like this.

Mine. Mine. My own mates
.

The roar built inside him like an inferno. He held it back, letting it get bigger. He would hold onto it until he couldn’t anymore.

Mine. My mates. My kits. Mine.

Yours. Master.
Hill’s mental voice was so strong.

Jag beamed down at Hill, stroked a soft cheek. Changing his angle, he searched for Cather’s gland. Cather’s yowl echoed all through him.

“Right there,” he muttered and began knocking into that sweet spot every time he thrust in. Cather was soon wild, rocking between Jag’s cock and Hill’s mouth, sounds desperate. That’s what he’d wanted, what they all needed.

Freedom. His boys needed to feel.

“You’re allowed to come when you need to,” he told Cather. He knew Cather’s orgasm would pull his out of him. “You too, Hill.” Would the kit come just from sharing his and Cather’s climaxes? He couldn’t wait to find out.

Yes. Yes. Yes.
Hill’s encouragement was huge, luscious.

He moaned and moved faster, pushing harder into Cather’s tight heat. Burying his nose in Cather’s neck, he breathed in, loving the strong male musk. Soon he would have to bite, have to let his teeth sink in.

He had a feeling that would bring about Cather’s orgasm, though, and he was trying to make this last, to let them come together in pleasure. Groaning, he held on as long as he could before he finally bit, not breaking the skin, but certainly leaving a mark. Cather screamed, hips snapping as he shot.

Jag put his own head back and cried out as his spunk poured out of him and into Cather’s body. The pleasure ripped through him, making him shudder and shiver. All they needed was Hill’s pleasure to join theirs. He felt Hill’s orgasm, the sweet boy rubbing off on Cather’s leg.

The scent of the three of them together would forever be branded on his brain, their come mingling to make the sweetest nectar.

Groaning, he continued to move, little motions now, his hips jerking through the last of his pleasure until he finally stilled, his head resting on Cather’s shoulder as he fought to catch his breath.

Cather’s thoughts were quiet, simple, happy and heading toward sleep. Jag pulled out gently and settled around Cather. He encouraged Hill to come up and lie against Cather so he could hold them both. Eventually he and Hill would shift and he’d bet that would be all Cather needed to join them.

My mates
. It might have been his imagination, but it felt as if their connection was deeper now.

Yes
. Hill nodded.
Cather will join us. He will.

Jag agreed. Cather would -- he had to. He could feel it happening, the connection growing with every passing second. They were not a pair -- they were a triad. That was how they would work, so there would be no leaving.

He settled, holding his new world in his arms.

Writing under S. Michael for Het Ménage and Sean for signature M/M titles, Sean Michael leads a classic double life.

Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends days surfing, smutting, organizing an immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs.

While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and perusing the Kama Sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to “Chicago.”

A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.

Barring any of that? Sean’ll stick with writing stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.

You can write to Sean at
[email protected]
, or visit his websites. For Sean Michael’s M/M works, see
www.seanmichaelwrites.com
. For Sean’s adventures into the HET world as S. Michael, see
www.seanmichaelwrites.com/smichaelbooks.html
.