Was he sorry he'd brought me?
Why was I even thinking that? What the fuck was wrong with me today?
"Okay." Ken held up something like a smallish guitar—no, wait, that was a banjo. When he had most people's attention, he said, "Where are we starting?"
"'Rocky Road to Dublin'!" Finn announced, disentangling himself from the girlfriend and making his way toward a guitar case. He pulled Tara away from her college boy and dragged her to the front with him.
I looked at Kellan. "You're kidding."
"Nope. And I apologize in advance for how much this will weird you out, but you might as well get the full experience."
And so I did. Several tries at "The Rocky Road to Dublin" ended in chaos and laughter, but the rest of the impromptu program worked out a little better. The kids ran around and danced and babbled; the grownups stood and sat in clusters, sucking on their beers, intermittently singing along and talking among themselves.
Kellan sang under his breath sometimes, often with the harmony. The discovery that his melting speaking voice translated into a honeyed light baritone shouldn't have been so astonishing, but it was. Like his lips on my ear, it sent pleasure bumps racing down the near side of my body to hear it, feel it on his breath.
Never heard a tone-deaf voice that evening, since I kept my own mouth shut. Too busy trying not to breathe, not wanting to miss a note.
*~*~*
Eventually the party started to break up, leaving just the musicians around the fire while others went for more food, bug spray, marshmallows, or an evening dip in the pond. Kellan pulled me inside, past Abby and Siobhan—the two little girls belonging to Ken and Finn, respectively—playing ancient video games in the living room, then up the creaking stairs and to a little room at the end of the hall. He flicked the light on, revealing twin beds and a few out-of-date video-game and comic-book posters.
"Sorry," he said. "Just need a second of quiet. I love 'em, but…"
I closed the door behind us.
He made his way across the room, looking around as if he hadn't seen it in a long time. He gestured to a nearby rack of plastic gold awards and said, "So, these are my track trophies. And there's my first Spider-Man poster. Thrilling."
I flipped the lock. He grinned.
I was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him against the wall next to his high school memorabilia, my hands in his hair and my mouth opening under his. The usual wet thrill raced down my spine, waking up the electricity in me, but it was more this time. I slipped one of my thighs between his, pressed him tight against the wall, and wanted—
Actually, I didn't know what I wanted. Maybe just to melt into him once and for all.
He pressed his hips into me, hummed happily as we closed it off, and lodged two fingers of each hand into the waist of my jeans on either side, warm against my skin. When I touched his face, it crackled.
He started. "Jesus, you're all staticky. You dragging your feet or something?"
I gritted my teeth and got myself under control. This new development where I forgot myself around him was a pain in the ass. I would've been more worried, but thank God, a little static shock was a mundane enough occurrence that it wouldn't raise eyebrows. I wrapped one arm around his neck, smoothing down a few stray hairs that were standing on end from the charge. Goddamn, that was adorkable. "Dunno. Should I make a pun about you and me and electricity, or is that too much?"
He smiled, dimple and all, and I got that feeling again, like he'd punched me in the solar plexus.
It was the music, probably. The effects of that sad, romantic song Tara had finished with. Fucking Irish and their depressing stories. But I couldn't keep my eyes off him, couldn't keep my hands off him, and maybe I never had been able to, but this was different. It was like all his pugnacious instincts and that hard outer shell and the surprising sensitivities and glaring soft spots all made sense, of a sudden, and it was even better than I'd expected, and I was amazed and stunned and madly in love with him.
Oh God.
Oh. God.
I shut my eyes tight and kissed him again, as much to keep me from speaking as because I needed the kiss. He turned his face and went with it, slipping one hand into my back pocket. When that kiss finished, he said, "You're sure this isn't too—"
"It's perfect. You're perfect." I kissed him again, hard, demanding, more than a little desperate. He put his other arm around me, holding me tight, and gave it right back. Like he understood, knew exactly what I needed. His long, hard body shifted between me and the wall, and the whole room seemed to grow hotter around us.
If I didn't stop soon, it was going to get painful, but I couldn't. I started to tell myself maybe there was time for a little something, just to hold us over until we got home. I slipped my hand between our hips and found his semi-hard cock, rubbed it through his jeans, and hummed into his ear.
He gasped. "Holy fuck. Is there anywhere you won't do it?"
"Nope." I squeezed gently, felt up over his dickhead, then back down again. "You?"
"Apparently not." His hand slipped into the back of my pants, beneath my underwear, fingers digging hard into my ass.
I disentangled my arm from around his neck and went for his zipper. "It's okay—I locked the door. Think you can be quick?"
"I think I'm about to need new underwear. That quick enough?"
I laughed with him, into another kiss, and got his pants undone. I felt him up through his little white underwear, torturing me as much as him. But they were just so fucking sexy, I couldn't help playing with them. He alternately panted and kissed me—rather, invaded my mouth and owned it as he was tugging my pants down in the back, working his way around my busy hands to get at my button. When I felt a wet spot soaking through the cotton at his dickhead, I rubbed at it with my thumb.
He moaned into my ear, almost like a whisper, and his whole body went tense.
So did mine, goosebumps all over me, and I had to wrestle the electricity down again. Just, to know that I made him feel like that, that I made him that happy, that he wanted me that bad…
Oh my God, I fucking love you.
Footsteps pounded on the ground below the open window, followed by a chattering of little voices.
He went tense again but not in a good way. "Fuck. Maybe we should…"
There was no way anyone could interrupt, technically speaking. But frankly, the very fact of mini-people in any proximity kind of cut the moment off, if you know what I mean.
I suddenly felt a pang for Sarah and Clark. No wonder he was so damn cranky sometimes.
"Wait." He pulled his hand out of my pants. "Maybe they'll go away."
I kissed his neck. "You say that like you know they won't."
He laughed helplessly. And sure enough, within seconds the little mob began shouting, "Uncle Kelly!"
I chuckled and peeled myself off him. His head fell back against the wall. "Ah, fuck."
I laughed and kissed him again, but close-lipped. This time, his little hum was regretful.
"Uncle Kelly, you're gonna miss the fireworks!"
"I'll live with it," he mumbled.
I made sure he was safely tucked away and zipped him back up; the pain of it was somewhat alleviated by the hilarity of his expression.
He adjusted his package, but it was already going back down, at least. "Well, it's still the most action I ever got in this room."
"So far. Don't worry, baby. I'll pick up where I left off later. Promise."
He shot me a look that said I was not helping with the package situation, but before he could protest out loud, there came at least three voices in unison from outside the house: "Un-cle Kel-ly!"
"Coming! Jesus Christ, hang on a second!" he yelled toward the window. He rolled his eyes and started for the door.
"But Kellan…"
He looked back at me.
"Let's wait a few years on that daughter thing, after all."
He smirked and unlocked the door.
*~*~*
<
br /> It was pitch black outside, and the rug rats went sprinting for the fireworks setup as soon as they were sure Uncle Kelly wasn't going to miss anything. They were waved back by the marginally more mature types trying to figure it out, and Kellan and I rolled up behind Ryan, Tara, College Boy, Finn, and Designer Girlfriend.
Ryan said, "The fuck have you two been?"
Kellan replied, "Dirtying up your clean sheets."
Ryan mock-punched him in the shoulder. "Get your shit pushed in on your own bed."
Everyone laughed, even Kellan as he grabbed his little brother, leveraging his height advantage to catch him in a headlock. "What was that?"
"You heard me!" Ryan, who was built like a little linebacker but couldn't quite overcome the angle, swatted at him, laughing. "Fuck, Kelly, get off me!"
"Yeah, come up here and say that."
"If you give me a noogie, I swear to Christ—" Ryan tried twisting out of the lock, and by that time, the rest of us had backed away, pointing and mocking as suited our personalities.
I asked no one in particular, "They always like this?"
"Oh yeah," Finn replied, to nods of agreement from Tara. "Ever have to share a bedroom growing up?"
"Nah, it was just me and my mom."
"Lucky bastard." But Finn's grin said something else entirely.
Chapter Nine
By the time we got back to his place, it was all either of us could do to shower off the bug spray and sweat and smoky smell and fall into bed. I was out before I hit the pillow, and he couldn't have been far behind. When I next opened my eyes, it was still dark, just the barest hint of misty light through the blinds indicating it was nearer to morning than evening. One of Kellan's arms was thrown over my middle, and his breath was hot on the back of my neck. A lazy morning erection made me consider rolling over and checking for signs of life, but heavy eyelids suggested I save it for an hour or two.
I stretched as subtly as possible so as not to wake him. His fingers spread against my stomach, palm flattening just above my shorts, and pulled me closer. I wriggled into the perfect position, aligning my ass with the inward curve of his hips to find his cock at full attention.
The sweet surprise of it woke me more fully. I wriggled against him deliberately that time.
A small, sleepy growl built in his throat, and he kissed the back of my neck, arm tightening around me. He readjusted so he could slip his bottom arm under my neck, threading his hand over my shoulder and down to rest against my chest. The other traveled from my belly to my side, under my shorts, and palmed the curve of my ass in drowsy appreciation.
My cock, not so lazy anymore, pushed at my shorts, pulled tight with his hand down the back of them. I rolled my hips again, and his left hand squeezed my ass. The fingers of the right traced through the hair on my chest until they found my hardening nipple, then toyed with it. For a long, quiet moment that was all there was in the world, his hands all over me and his front pressed tight against my back, making me ache and spark for him.
He snaked his hips against me, his dick pressing hot and fat through underwear, and hummed deep in his throat. "Jesus. Thought I was dreaming."
"Of me?"
"Fuck yeah." He laughed, a sweet, rough sound. It vibrated into my back. "Think about something enough, and it creeps into your dreams."
It hit me even deeper than usual, struck some string pulled tight in my chest and made it vibrate with electricity. Then it rushed through me, so every part of me he'd ever kissed or touched or used to get me off hurt for him.
I tore off my shorts, and he did the same. Then we came back together in a similar position, this time with his erection just where I liked it in the split of my ass. I closed my eyes and let him play with me some more, running his hands up and down me all over again, kissing and biting at my neck, then sucking, applying his hot tongue here and there.
I should do something interesting. Crawl on top of him or ask him to tell me what to do or say something dirty or bring in some prop or—
He edged lower, kissing at the nape of my neck, and I adjusted to match. I parted my legs and rearranged myself so his cock was between them, pressed tight against my asshole at the base, then heavy and hot against my inner thigh. I arched my back, the exact angle I'd use if I expected to get fucked.
The change in position must've made him happy; he growled into my neck again and nipped at it, pulling me into him, almost on top of him. The hand on my ass moved between my thighs, pried them apart until my left leg was halfway wrapped around him. Again he rocked his hips, his cock hitting all the sweet spots. I moved with him like he was inside me and glanced down to see his erection standing hard just beneath mine, inches from rubbing up against it. He was thicker, paler, pinker, so fucking hot; I angled downward so they touched. The sight sent another jolt through me. I gasped, unable to parse the wash of sensory information.
As if he felt it, he wrapped his strong, hot hand around me, stroked me from base to head, then back again, rolling his hips against me so his dick rubbed at my thigh again.
I shuddered. He'd only just touched it, but it was all I could do to stop myself from—
"Ah, Jamie." He sighed into my ear. "I want you so fucking bad."
The only reason I didn't blow it right there was that he let me go. I swallowed a groan, too hot to understand what his sudden readjustments could mean. He sat up and pushed me down onto my stomach, allowing me time to adjust, then nudged my legs apart until I took the initiative and spread them. I looked over my shoulder to see him lowering onto his stomach, then burying his face in the split of my ass.
He played at first, tracing up and down with his tongue, but not as long as usual. He began circling my hole within seconds, and the warm, wet sensation traveled from the base of my spine into my cock, causing it to leak between my belly and the sheets, up and up until it felt like there was nothing but light in my brain. I edged my legs farther apart, naturally lifting the angle of my backside for him. He ran one hand up the back of my thigh, that static-electric gentle touch of his pausing just at the top, then continuing upward, admiring.
I was so goddamn hot, I couldn't stop it. I rolled with the waves of feeling his tongue set off in the deepest parts of me. My dick thrilled, pressed into the bed, and then I rocked back against his tongue. He pushed it into me, barely—just fucking barely stretching me, setting off yet another chain reaction that ended with me fucking the bed again.
"More?" he asked.
And I said, "Mmm."
His tongue slipped downward, leaving me dripping, and his fingers replaced it. He licked at my taint, pushing up and in hard with his tongue, and pressed two fingers into my hole to open it. I angled upward, rubbed my dick off, moaned. He worked his slick fingers into me carefully, and I relaxed into the pull of it, the sweet sensation of being slowly filled. Then he crooked them just right, setting off a sudden electrical chain reaction deep down inside me that ended in my fingers, toes, cock, head.
I grabbed at the sheets and moaned even more loudly, thanking God there were no lights on for me to fuck up, because I had zero control. He found the rhythm he'd had before, this time rubbing me into a frenzy from deep inside as his hand moved faster, more surely. He hit the spot a little harder each time as I angled up sharp to beg for it, fucking the bed on my way back down. His tongue never stopped, rewetting, teasing, amping it up from the outside, a vicious circle of pleasure, until I wasn't sure what he was doing anymore, only that he was stretching and owning and lighting me the fuck up, and it was so wet between my legs, and he was licking me, feeling me, taking me, and I wanted him, wanted it, wanted him to love me—"Mmm, fuck."
It washed over me hard and fast. I came, blind and gasping into the sheets, wet and sticky against my stomach, between my legs, everywhere I wanted it. He slowed, rocked his fingers a little bit inside me and made me shudder again, then waited for me to relax. He crawled to his knees, his free hand feeling me up.
I turned my head sideways to gulp air
once I could breathe again. He was just staring at his hand on my ass cheek, squeezing now and then, his mouth open and breathing hard. When I sighed, he slipped his fingers out of me and grabbed the other cheek too.
The whole athletic little bubble-butt thing has served me well, but I've never been quite so goddamn proud of it as that appreciative look of Kellan's could make me. I rocked again, inviting. Another aftershock took me, and I shivered under his hands. He slid them up my back, moving forward on his knees until they were pressed tight to my parted thighs.
I arched my back hard.
That time, he lowered himself, fitted his front into my back—the tops of his thighs against the insides of mine; his cock, heavy with his pulse, into my slippery-wet ass crack; his belly to my back; his lips to my neck. He held himself up with an arm on either side. They shook, but I knew it wasn't because it was a difficult position.
Again I rolled my hips, deliberately using his own spit and gratifying fascination with my backside to get him off.
"Ah, Christ—" The rest of what he said was lost to another growl—not so much sleepy now as just plain hot.
I kept moving, at first slow and careful, until he matched me, nipping at my neck and shoulders and driving me into the mattress. My spent cock stirred beneath me. The spit between us grew sticky as it dried, so the thrill of him rubbing up on me became rough, tinted with the barest hint of the pain I wanted so bad I could taste it. Satisfied, but with that sensation of emptiness from having him in me, from wanting more, that was so goddamn hot.
He shifted his weight to one hand and used the other to turn my face to the side. He curled downward, and I angled up for a rough, open-mouthed kiss. When he broke it off, I bucked back into him hard.
He gasped and grabbed his cock between us with his free hand. Still pressed into my ass, he jerked it a few times, then came in a rush that must've lasted goddamn near ten seconds and left me a hot mess.
Nobody's Hero Page 13
