Page 33 of Housesitter

So he slid his hand over Shepherd’s hip and under the sagged waistband of his shorts.

Shepherd made a strangled sound in his throat as Kel cupped his balls. He arched his hips forward into his caress, muscles tensing around his back and down his arms.

It was the first time that Kel had tried to get the smoke to play along. The first time he’d admitted it was…maybe…more than a lingering dose of weed-inspired paranoia. He wasn’t sure how to get it to play along.

“So,” he drawled, drawing out the syllables to buy time, as he tried to spool the hot spice of it back up his throat. For a second nothing happened, and then the dull ember of hunger in the back of his ribs flared to life. The smoke scorched up the back of his throat, making his eyes burn and the inside of his nose itch. He ignored it as he kissed the back of Shepherd’s neck again, smoke wisping up through blond, sweat-damp curls and slipping into the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you tell me about your ex? And how much hotter I am?”

Shepherd reached back and twisted his fingers into Kel’s hair.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

“What?” Kel coaxed. He didn’t know if it helped the smoke along, but he squeezed Shepherd’s balls anyhow. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but the way Shepherd’s body hitched in reaction was satisfying. “You’re saying I’m not.”

“I’m saying…”

Fucking quit that.

The smoke spat the words back into Kel’s throat. He felt the heat of it against his teeth, a dull, dry ache down to the roots, and tasted smoke and burned flesh on the back of his tongue. He choked on it and staggered back a step, one hand to his throat, as he struggled for air.

His chest felt raw, the inside of his lungs parched with the same dry, parched taste that came from a hot engine.

“What the fuck—” he rasped out.

Shepherd turned to look at him, shoulders against the graffiti-scrawled brick. His shorts hung low, fly undone, on his hips. The worn canvas outlined the thick ridge of his erection.

“If you want to fuck, that’s fine,” Shepherd said. “But I don’t really do commitment, and definitely not on the second date.”

Kel coughed.

His mouth tasted like an abattoir, grease and smoke and char. He spat and wiped his tongue on the back of his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Shepherd rolled his eyes and started to reach for the waistband of his shorts. He got them pulled up over his waistband before he stopped mid-button and cocked his head to the side.

“Oh, hell,” he said as he narrowed his eyes. “That was the truth.”

“Oh yeah, what gave it away?” Kel asked sourly. “Didn’t turn you on?”

Shepherd wrinkled his nose. “No, weirdly enough, it did,” he said. “But still…”

Chapter Nine

Hell House Client Brief: Emergency number...yeah, no, you're on your own.

In the perfect world, Shepherd really should have taken sex off the table.

But his best intentions had only gotten them as far as the kitchen, and despite whatever was going on with Kel…his knees were still bad. Accommodations needed to be made.

Which is why Kel was sprawled back on the kitchen table, with his ridiculously long legs slung over Shepherd’s shoulders. His thighs, all freckles and heavy muscle, were slick with spit as Shepherd tongued his asshole. The taste of him, the musk of a day’s sweat, soap, and fresh-burnt soul, filled Shepherd’s senses as he flicked his tongue over the taut, twitching pucker.

“Fuck,” Kel groaned. The heel of his foot dug into Shepherd’s back, muscles clenched all the way up to his ass, as he gripped the sides of the table. His cock, skin pulled taut over the thickness of the engorged shaft, smeared pre-come over his stomach as it bounced in time to his pulse.

Sweat dripped down Kel’s taint and ran over Shepherd’s face, the taste of it sharp and salty as it slid into the corner of his mouth.

Shepherd had already come. His cock was glued to his thigh, slick with spunk and spit. That meant he could take his time without feeling that he was leaning into old, bad habits.

…thought you were too good to serve our Lady, the bitter, bitchy voice of his father/cult leader/wanna-be murderer grouched in the back of Shepherd’s mind, but look at you now. What’s the difference?