The ETA From You to Me (20 page)

The hand that was holding Grant's leg up pushed harder, spread him wider so Clayton could nudge in just that bit deeper. It was like being submerged in a sea of ecstasy, Grant's head swimming and his cock so hard he could feel beads of precum smearing all over his stomach and mixing with the lube already there.

“Come on,” Grant begged breathlessly, “Come on, come on, fuck. Fuck, Clayton.”

Grant got a wet tongue sliding up his throat and lips sucking hungrily on his adam‘s apple for his efforts.

“Mmn,” Clayton grunted, fingers digging into Grant's hip for a second and then moving to grab Grant's other leg and push it to the side. It made Grant feel so exposed he thought he would break under the strain. The stretch hurt, made the joints of his thighs ache in a way he’d never experienced before, but it also made him impossibly turned on. Clayton rolled his hips, grinding inside of Grant before he returned back to the maddening thrusting. Grant had exactly three seconds to process his balls tightening and every muscle in his body going utterly weak before his orgasm slammed into him like a wrecking ball to the gut.

“OhhFFFuhh-” Grant's voice left him, a squeaking sound replacing it when everything tensed up and his cock pulsed thick, hot stripes across their chests and stomachs. Clayton snarled, hips working faster while Grant clenched down around him, body tightening with each burst of come that was practically forced out of him.

Clayton pulled out suddenly and quickly, fisting himself and his hand flying over his cock until he was crashing their lips together in a fierce kiss at the same time he came, spilling all over Grant's torso and thighs.

"Shit," Clayton gasped, stroking himself until the very last spurt left it's mark on Grant's inner thigh. He dropped forward, forehead thudding against Grant's shoulder while he panted for air. Grant's legs were flopped on either side of Clayton’s thighs like dead weights and his muscles felt pretty non-existent. It was pretty awesome.

“I feel like a limp noodle.” Grant said seriously.

Clayton mumbled incoherently and shifted so that he was pressed up against Grant's side. The movement itself was easy, because he had a decent sized puddle of jizz and half a tube of misused lubricant to help him slide into sort-of spooning Grant sideways.

“I didn’t know I could bend that way.” Grant also said, just as seriously, only not. Clayton huffed, grinning against Grant's arm and then setting his chin on Grant's shoulder, watching him. “I mean, seriously,” Grant turned his head, eyes going wide, “best orgasm ever. I expect all future ones to be of equal or greater value. Also, I’m topping next time. I feel I need to express how deeply invested I am in topping next time.”

Grunting, Clayton pulled Grant onto his side so their foreheads were pressed together. This would have been adorable but Grant pretty much felt like was covered in tentacle monster goo or something. Though right now, he had more important concerns.

“No. Seriously. I so am.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously?

Clayton’s eyes slitted open, arm draped along Grant's hip because both their hands were covered in various substances. Grant was definitely going to make Clayton carry him to the bathroom later.

“… do you not want to, now?” Oh no, Clayton totally was not pulling that reverse psychology stuff on Grant. He’d gone through that during his pre-requisites back during freshman year.

“No, dude, I totally do.” Grant assured, pressing their foreheads so tightly together that his nose squished into Clayton’s.

“Then. Okay.” Clayton repeated slowly, a grin hiding in the corners of his mouth. Grant was already getting excited about it, even if certain parts of him weren't fully recovered. He loved the idea of topping Clayton. He just wanted to push Clayton down and open him up and do dirty, dirty things to him.

“Can we do it now?” he blurted, because if he tried really,
really
hard, his dick might actually start to respond. “Now can be next time. Can you get it up yet? I think I can if I keep trying.”

“Grant.”

“I bet if I rim you that will give us some recovery time, right? I’m down for that.”

“Grant.”

“Rimming not your thing? That’s okay. I’ll change your mi--”

Clayton, at some point, had grabbed the nearest pillow he could reach, smashing it into Grant's face just to shut him up.

“Later.” Clayton assured, and then pulled the pillow away, kissed Grant, and got up to head for the bathroom. Grant grinned, watching his boyfriend’s ass sway for only two seconds before realizing that sexy shower times were totally on the table. That in mind, Grant scrambled off the bed and ran after him.

Chapter 11

It was pouring down rain by the time Grant closed up the office that Sunday and ran out to his jeep. Clayton was working already, having stopped in to bring Grant something to eat before going out on a run. It just meant Grant would have time to tidy his room up in hopes that he could convince Clayton for some nice morning sex when he came by for breakfast after his shift. Grant had to take advantage of Dad’s stupid-in-the-morning shifts, after all.

He was driving through an intersection, contemplating the advantages of buying Clayton edible lube as incentive for good-morning sex, when headlights flared in the right corner of his vision. There was something sharp and fast in the back of his head screaming that a car was
heading straight for him
that made his heart race. He slammed on the gas, trying to at least get out of the way, but the wet roads made it impossible for his tires to find the right traction.

Grant had a half second to close his eyes and force his body to go limp--years of his dad stressing that a relaxed body would suffer less injuries--just as the other car slammed into his passenger side. His entire world jerked head smashing into the window before everything went black.

When Grant came to, rain was dripping in through his cracked windshield and the shattered passenger windows. He felt soaking wet and his face was covered in something warm and slick.

Confused, Grant blinked water from his eyes. He couldn’t even remember the last thing he’d done. When he tried to recall getting in his car, all he could bring to mind was a bunch of static and jumbled images.

Grant winced--his head was killing him--and tried to look around. He had no idea where he was. There was someone yelling at him outside of the car, knocking on the window like there was some sort of emergency that needed Grant's attention. Grant looked down at his lap, where blood was smeared down the driver’s window and across the door. Belatedly, he felt disappointed in the fact that he would eventually need to get the blood stains out of his jeans and jacket. His waning focus drifted to his hand, where rainwater had smeared the blood into reddish swirls that dripped off his fingers. Had he done that?

Grant brought his hand up, blearily touching where his head hurt the most and jerking with a whimper when pain flared up tenfold. Someone was pulling at his door, opening it, and Grant looked at them. Why was anyone opening his door? Did he get into an accident?

Oh shit, was he concussed? He was totally concussed. Dad was going to kill him. Clayton was going to kill him, too. They would probably team up just for the sake of making Grant suffer.

“Are you okay, kid?”

Grant peered at the person who had opened his door. It was an older man, most likely in his thirties to early forties, with dark skin and a goatee.

“Am I bleeding?”

“The ambulance is on the way, just hold tight, okay?”

Grant reached down to fumble with his seatbelt. He should call Clayton and have Clayton come get his jeep. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and his eyes kept crossing on their own. Someone reached over--the good samaritan, apparently--and plucked the phone from his hand. “Do you need me to call someone?”

“My dad. An' Clayton.” Grant said, thinking for a moment. “Adam too.”

Frowning, the guy shook his head and said slowly, “Let’s just start with one, for now.”

“John's Towing.” That sounded good. They could get one of the overnight ladies to send Clayton over to pick the jeep up.

Maybe Clayton could get there before the ambulance took Grant to the hospital, which would be better. Grant was just really tired and he wished Clayton was there, hugging him and warming him up. He must have been cold, because Grant couldn’t stop the full-body tremors that wracked his entire skeleton.

“Don’t you think you should call your family, first?”

“You already did, dad’s’a cop." agitated and having a hard enough time figuring out how to use English again, Grant reached a hand up to try and find where he was bleeding from his head. It was hard to see out of his left eye, blood dripping down from his eyebrow. His skull was now roaring in pain, which was what made Grant realize he didn’t want to feel how bad it was, because gore was totally unpleasant.

The ambulance pulled in just as Grant was contemplating the merits of moving any more than he already had. EMTs were rushing over, and things quickly became a blur of flashing lights and thousands of questions that had Grant's head spinning in a completely different way.

By the time the cops arrived, they'd already Grant forced onto a gurney, wheeling him towards the ambulance. He recognized some of his father’s deputies, but his eyes were searching for his dad above all else.

Grant knew the first priority for a tow company was freeing up the road, but that didn't stop him from hoping Clayton would be the one to take the call, just so they could see each other. His jeep was completely blocking the intersection and most of the cops were forced to redirect traffic.

Grant realized it was probably an awful idea to have his boyfriend pick up his decimated car--especially because the police never told the truck drivers anything about the condition of the accident victims. It didn't help that there was a likelihood that they might not see each other until Grant was at the hospital. He knew for a fact that Clayton had the heart of a worrier, no matter how tough and careless he tried to act.

That’s when Grant noticed the other ambulance, and the gurney rolling a sheet-covered body away from the decimated remains of the other car. Grant didn’t feel anything. He felt kind of numb, actually, not knowing if the other driver had been drunk, or if he’d just been recklessly driving, or maybe had suffered an ill-timed car failure that had coupled badly with the rain.

Another cruiser pulled up, and Grant couldn’t help but perk up at the sight of his dad. He would have waved if his body wasn't a giant ball of pain and there wasn't a light being shined in his pupil that he was trying to follow around.

“Hey dad,” Grant called out, and then winced because of a sudden bout of nausea that made his head ache even more. Whatever Grant's dad was going to say was completely drowned out by the shrieking of truck tires when Clayton plowed onto the scene. Honestly, if Grant didn’t think Clayton had a flair for the dramatic before.

But, God, did it make Grant's heart ache to know Clayton was actually that concerned for him.

Even more aching-of-the-heart occurred when Clayton jumped out of the truck and completely bypassed Grant's jeep to jog over to the ambulance. Sure, the deputies directing traffic (and waiting for Clayton to clear the jeep out of the way) looked ready to blow a gasket, but that was okay because Clayton was kind of shouldering past the EMT and grabbing Grant's face.

Grant wasn’t even sure if Clayton was saying anything or if he was just spewing gibberish, but it didn’t matter because he was suddenly being hugged breathless from one second to the next.

“God dammit, Grant,” Clayton choked into Grant's hair, purposefully avoiding touching any of the gauze wrapped around his head. It suddenly hit Grant that Clayton was there, that Dad was there. That he could have died. Grant could have never been held by Clayton again, could have been going to the morgue tonight instead of the ER.

“I'm not dead!” Grant cried, his arms coming up and clutching at Clayton’s shirt. The shakes were back tenfold as relief crashed into him. Clayton squeezed him harder, but it wasn’t hard enough. Grant didn’t want Clayton to ever let go, and he even reached out to flail in the direction of his dad until he felt another set of arms wrapping around him.

He didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have these two in his life. The only thing that would make this better was if Adam was joining in on their group hug.

Grant would just have to demand another one later at the hospital.

It wasn’t until both the EMT and Martinez had to team up on them that Clayton and Dad finally let go. They both got dragged off to do their jobs--but not after a head rub from Dad and a quick, desperately forceful kiss from Clayton--and Grant was loaded up into the ambulance.

It turned out that hours of head scans, examinations, tests and a good dose of morphine was plenty to make Grant completely wiped out by the time he was allowed visitors. On the upside, he was only suffering from a bad concussion and no hemorrhaging. It was hard for Grant to remember if any of that mattered, because morphine was awesome. Clayton was awesome too, and Grant just wanted to reach out and touch his face, but there was a bunch of chords hooked up to him to make sure he stayed alive until discharge.

Grant wiggled his fingers and tugged on Clayton’s hand in hopes that his boyfriend would lean in closer from where he was rubbing his face against Grant's thigh. “You’re the.
THE
best. Boyfriend. Everrr,” Grant sang, because he wanted to serenade Clayton with his love. Sure, Adam’s mom was busy checking his eyes, but oohh hey. Adam’s mom hadn’t met Clayton yet. Grant needed to tell her all about Clayton. Because Clayton was awesome.