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Rex tilts his head, nose ring glinting in the low light. A strand of ashy, mocha colored brown hair falling across his light green eye, he tucks it behind a pierced ear. His neck stretches, exposing the flakey, drying skin of his newest ink. Coiling, colorful serpents in knotted rings wrap around his throat. It's an interesting placement, but considering the rest of his pale skin is already filled, all of it in color, I get why he chose to have his mark there, serpents are something we're all tattooed with, a symbol of our brotherhood. The rest of him is like a painted ceiling in a ridiculously extravagant religious building somewhere, a renaissance masterpiece or some shit. The man likes art.
I grunt in response, shoving my hands over my head, gathering my dark braids into one hand. I lift my other hand to my mouth, using my teeth to pull the thin hair elastic off of my wrist, threading it up onto my fingers to tie my hair back.
“You need to relax, King.” Rex is nonchalant about it, the words he just spoke, instead of his usual teasing tone.
“I know,” I grunt again, dropping my arms heavily to my sides. “I know,” I shake my head, expelling a breath, and it feels like it's the first time today.
My neck cracks as I flex it side to side, the intricately woven bones beneath my light brown skin pop, helping to release the tension in my shoulders. I shake my hands, flexing my fingers.
“You need to get laid,” he shrugs, like he couldn't feel any singular way about it one way or the other.
I eye him. All hulking six-foot-four of him, rocking lightly in the open doorway, his hold on the frame, his light eyes a little dazed and I roll my eyes.
“You just sat in there all day smoking, huh?” I smelled the weed as soon as I got inside the house, but that's nothing new, it's practically ingrained in the walls.
We party daily, nightly, whatever, and we have an endless supply of whatever we want, whenever we want. It's just, we've been cutting back, despite Lynx still saying he’s smoking weed, we're trying not to fuck about and tempt him into more now that he’s back. Not after what happened last year.
“Not all day.” Rex shrugs, spreading his feet wider to help keep his balance, he's two-hundred-fifty pounds of pure muscle, I don't wanna have to pick him up if he falls on his ass.
Not that I couldn't, just that, I'd rather not have to struggle alone.
A thud sounds above us from the third floor, my eyes automatically rolling up as though I can see what it was if I focus hard enough.
With his gaze trained in the same direction as mine, dragging his hand out of his sweats, Hendrix finally takes his hand off of his cock. Rubbing his knuckles over his peeling, inked throat.
“They in?” I ask lowly, still staring at the white painted plaster overhead, delicately carved coving connecting ceiling to walls.
“Not anymore,” Rex drawls.
Then he's releasing his hold on the door, dropping his hand down heavily on my shoulder, squeezing the muscle. I drop my gaze to his, a smirk pulling at my lips.
“Let's get ready to party,” Rex's own lips twitch as he says it because Lynx is coming home and that means the boys are finally back together.
Chapter 4
HENDRIX
Smoke billows out of my nostrils. Both arms hooked over the back of one of the many couches in the open plan living room, my ass resting on the very edge of the navy cushion where I lie back, legs spread wide. I let my head roll towards the front door as I see it start to open again in my peripheral.
Snow is falling heavier, thick white clumps of it are rushing from the sky and the weather guy said earlier that a snow storm is on its way. Unusual for January but not totally unheard of.
A spliff hangs on my bottom lip and I draw in another pull, it's the only thing that calms the speed of my mind some days. My ADHD has all sorts of chaos running circles inside my head, but today has been bad, even my stimming was making me want to bash my own skull in. But the weed helps, so that's what I spent the day doing.
The front door opens fully, and I can't see who's behind it from where I'm sitting. The way this couch is angled. A low coffee table before it, scattered with empty beer cans and bottles, ashtrays half filled with butts. Another couch, matching this one, sits on the other side of it, the back of that one to the door.
Raiden is in the chair to my right, between the couches, in the center of it all. Lounging back, shirtless, like me, exposing allof his black and gray ink, all of it the complete opposite to mine. Tight sweats low on his hips, a half-drunk bottle of beer in his right hand. He lazes back as everyone parties around us, like his nickname would suggest, he watches over everyone like a King.
A couple of his hockey team boys lounge on the couch opposite me. One of them, Barlowe, sandy blond hair with a cruel smirk on his face, has a girl between his legs, her mouth on his dick. I watch for a moment, head cocked, as his hand fisted in blond hair works her up and down his length. And my own twitches, but just barely, even with a girl perched on my own thigh, her hand on my crotch. She's talking to me, potent perfume killing my sense of smell. Lips brushing the shell of my ear with whatever words she's spewing, but I'm not listening, it's always the same shit.
King's eyes follow mine to the opening of the door, waiting somewhat anxiously for our brother Lynx's arrival.
And this time, three hours later than anticipated, he strolls in like he never fucking left. It almost brings a smile to my face. It does bring one to Raiden's.
Lynx slinks in, the door slamming closed at his back, his red-brown eyes immediately finding us. I sit up, shoving the bitch off my lap. I blink as she screeches, Hannah or Harriet, or-
“My name's Heidi,” she screeches again, a high pitched whine that I can't stand.
I wince at the sound, even though most of it is drowned out with the heavy bass from the speakers, the echoing noise from the hundred or so people crammed in the first floor. It still hurts my ears.
