by Willa Okati
“Because I’m staring at the trees and I don’t give a damn about the forest right now.”
Rory growled, catlike. “Okay, champ. You’re way too tense. Follow me.” He seized Harper by the crook of the arm and pulled.
Harper kicked the motion centers of his brain on and followed. They got a few curious stares from grips and second-unit staffers, the only other employees around at this time of day. He ignored them. “Where are we headed?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Uh-huh. Where?”
“If I told you,” Rory said, stopping in front of a closet marked Janitor, “it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it? Luckily for you, I have the patience of a gadfly and I’m clever like a fox. Get inside.”
Harper peered at the shadow-shrouded mops, brooms and neatly arranged shelf of supplies. “And why am I doing that?”
“Because I also have the libido of a cat in heat, and like I’ve said from day one, there is absolutely nothing better for chilling you out than a good orgasm. Quick-step-march.” Rory ran his tongue over his upper lip, smug as a cat in the cream. “Don’t tell me you never wanted to have sex in public. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Then I won’t lie.” Harper’s blood warmed in anticipation of the illicit thrill. “I won’t do it if it’s just for me, though. Does this turn you on, too?”
“You know me well enough by now to know that’s a truly stupid question and that on occasion, I appreciate a truly good cliché.” Rory planted his hand at the small of Harper’s back and pushed.
Laughing, Harper staggered nearly to the back of the broom closet before he regained his balance. By then Rory had shut the door behind them, the latch catching with a quiet, firm click that left them in near-total darkness.
“At last, my pretty, I have you alone.”
“Are you twirling a mustache while I can’t see you?”
“An effective dastard never relies on such trite imagery. Haven’t you read the Evil Overlord list?”
“Often. Why aren’t you kissing me already?”
“Huh. Damn good question.”
Harper abruptly found himself with a double armful of warm, energetic muse who seemed to have more limbs than an octopus. An arm around his waist, a knee hitched to rest on Harper’s hip, a hand at the front of his khakis, palm molded and rocking his rapidly hardening cock.
“Jesus mercy, Rory.” Harper traced Rory’s face with his lips before biting the point of his chin. “Warn a guy next time.”
“Nope. This is more fun.” Rory snaked open Harper’s zipper. “Doesn’t feel like your objections are really heartfelt here, pal. Feels more like you wanna fuck me like an animal.”
“If you start singing Nine Inch Nails covers, there is no guarantee that I’ll be responsible for my actions.”
“Why sir, is that a threat?” Rory drummed a staccato rhythm up and down the length of Harper’s body, beating him like a tom-tom, which was far more of a turn-on than it sounded, each muffled clap of his hand, curved so the blows would sting rather than hurt, vibrating deep in Harper’s muscles. “Or is it a promise?”
“More like a forecast,” Harper said. He caught Rory’s head, palming both sides of his face, and held his muse still to dive in and drink the sassy comebacks and naughty quips right out of his mouth.
Rory moaned and caught Harper by the ass, kneading the globes. “Bring it, then.”
“Already brought.” Harper bit Rory’s lip and tugged. “I want to suck you.” Rory’s stifled gasp made his hard-on throb. “You like the sound of that, hmm?”
“Not fair, Harper.”
“All’s fair in love and war.” Harper lowered himself to his knees. He reached for Rory and encountered one of the many tattered holes decorating Rory’s jeans, this one provocatively close to the rigid bulge behind the zipper. Pressing his nose to Rory’s groin, he inhaled deeply of musk and man, of salty sweat and spicy cloves.
He’d say the devil made him do it, but he’d rather give credit where credit was due, and his next move was all inspired by Rory’s hitched gasp and the abortive thrust of his distorted fly, cock trapped beneath too many clothes. Harper opened his mouth and latched on through the denim, sucking and licking a wet spot while he held Rory’s hips inflexibly.
Rory whined, trying to bat Harper’s hands away. “Not… not fair. I can’t see you and… oh, God. Suck me for real.”
“All you had to do was ask,” Harper murmured. He flicked his tongue, moving upward with each taste, and swirled it around the head of Rory’s cock, protruding a quarter of an inch above the waist of his jeans. “Hung like a moose,” he said appreciatively.
Rory laughed and wobbled, steadying himself with a hand in Harper’s hair. “If you’re just now noticing, we’ve got problems.”
“Feels different in the dark.” Harper sucked thoughtfully at the head, grinning around Rory’s cock when Rory made a noise like a startled cat and tugged his hair. The sharp prickle of the tug to his scalp went straight to Harper’s cock. He palmed himself, pressing down to enjoy the small hurt and to warn it they had a ways to go still.
He doubted somewhat his ability to hold out regardless given the small, desperate mewling noises Rory was making -- sounded like the thick darkness hit a hot button for him, too -- and after a moment’s deliberation figured c’est la vie. Neither of them was leaving this closet unsatisfied. He’d make it up to Rory by stripping off Rory’s clothes with his teeth and licking every square inch of him later. There was time. They had at least another day before they heard from Mr. Grudnik. At least one. Maybe two or more.
“I’m already feeling better,” he informed Rory, taking mercy and easing Rory’s distorted zipper down. “Far more relaxed.”
“No kidding?” Rory’s voice shook. “’Cause I feel like a keg of TNT ready to go off. Harper, would you please --”
“On it.” Harper eased Rory’s swollen cock out and weighed the girth, guided it to his mouth and slid the tight seal of his lips over the head. He sucked until a short spill of salty slipperiness cascaded over his tongue, swallowed, and after that let himself go 100 percent nuts. Saliva dribbled down his chin as he swallowed Rory’s cock.
He reached to tap Rory’s chest. Smart muse, he knew what Harper wanted and fumbled for Harper’s hand, drawing two fingers between his lips and sucking, getting them wet. Harper jerked Rory’s opened jeans off his hips before he pulled his slippery fingers loose of Rory’s mouth with an obscene slurping sound. “Okay?” he asked, breathing streams of warm air over Rory’s cock.
“Kill you if you don’t,” Rory grunted, which Harper figured for a green light. Coordination wasn’t his friend, but he managed to keep Rory in his mouth, the pressure of his sucking keeping him latched on while he held Rory’s ass cheeks open and rubbed his wet fingers over Rory’s hole.
Rory swore, the air crackling briefly blue. “More.”
Harper licked a stripe down Rory’s balls, already drawn up taut. Would to God he had a third hand to jack himself with. Might not be an issue. One more sex-kitten mewl from Rory and he’d go off like the fourth of July, still in his slacks. He moaned, arrested by the thought of his cock half-hard, sliding in his own mess, having to leave the building that way and ride home with cum drying on his thighs.
He groaned and head butted Rory’s stomach.
“The look of your aura,” Rory said, sounding awed. “You are one kinky mother -- ah!”
It was hard to mouth off when someone had slipped two fingers in your ass. Harper would have laughed if he hadn’t been far, far too otherwise occupied. Rory grumbled half a sentence and let it go. With both hands in Harper’s hair, he rocked and thrust. Harper kept up, slurping loud and in time with his fingering, going one knuckle at a time for the fun of hearing Rory beg, only taking pity and pegging Rory’s sweet spot when he could go no farther.
“Harper,” he chanted, short nails scraping furrows in Harper’s scalp. “Love you, God, I love you. Harper… Harper… Harper -
-”
Harper trailed the lightest possible edge of teeth down Rory’s cock.
“Dick.” Rory gasped, and came. Harper swallowed what he could but didn’t try to catch most of it, letting it spill over his lips and his wrists. “You son of a --”
Before it was too late, Harper released Rory’s hips and made a grab for his cock. He only managed to shove his hand down his pants before he gave up, figured fuck it, and let it happen at the first brush of flesh against flesh.
“Did you just…” Rory panted, breaking off in the middle of his delighted disbelief. “Did you just cream your jeans?”
Harper slurped dribbles of cum off Rory’s cock. “Mm-hmm.”
“On purpose?” Rory sounded awed, now. “You kinky freak.”
“Mmm.”
“Wanna feel it, huh? For hours. Until I lick you clean. Damn. Every time I think you can’t surprise me anymore, you do.” Rory sifted strands of Harper’s hair through his fingers. He shuddered with the last of the aftershocks. “I’d say you should give lessons, but to echo what you grunted before, I don’t share.” He chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, baby. Huh. Glad you don’t smoke.”
Harper traced Rory’s logic back to the old cigarette ads and snorted. “We could steal a pack from Lisa if you really wanted to work the old afterglow clichés.”
“Nah.” Rory’s stroking slowly stopped. “Harper? No matter what happens, you know, after… it’s true. You’ve come so far, my friend, and I’m damn proud.”
Harper pressed his face to the slick inner crease of Rory’s thigh and kept his mouth shut.
“Yeah,” Rory said after a moment’s silence, thumb grazing Harper’s ear. “I know. Me too.”
Outside, sneakered footsteps charged past, screeched to a stop, and ran back. Their owner pounded on the closet door. “I knew I smelled sex. It’s worse than popcorn. Harper? Harper, please be in there, please --”
“That’s Lisa.” Rory let go of him. “Zip up, man, hurry. She --”
“She sounds scared.” Harper hastily tucked himself away, zipped, buttoned, and grabbed at the door handle as he stood.
He caught Lisa before she knocked him over. “HarperHarperHarper, you’ve got to come now,” she babbled, eyes wide and hair askew.
“Calm down, take it easy.” Rory tried to catch her eye. “What’s going on?”
Lisa swallowed hard, throat working. “Someone’s walked out with all the backups Janie kept locked up. Picked the lock clean as a whistle and poof-ski. Everything confidential or for-eyes-only about In Outré. Gone. And” -- she stepped away, eyeing Harper uneasily -- “security cameras caught a guy leaving the building in a hurry. I guess the security guard went on one of his walkabouts -- why won’t he stay fired, Jesus -- but yeah. He didn’t get the guy. Harper, it was --”
Harper’s spidey-senses clicked and whirred. “Not --”
“Aw, no,” Rory groaned, clutching his forehead.
Lisa’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. It was Patrick.”
* * *
“Forgive me for what I am about to do.” Harper caught Lisa by her upper arms and lifted her to set her aside, out of his path and Rory’s. Was his muse buzzing? The noise reminded Harper of angry hornets, or rattlesnakes.
Janie, on the other hand, standing in the door to her office, more correctly resembled a heat-maddened bull in a room full of waving red flags. She only lacked a set of viciously sharp horns and steam curling out of her ears.
Harper tried to think fast.
Rory acted faster. “Oh, no he doesn’t; no he fucking doesn’t!” The pointy, hard smack of his elbow in Harper’s ribs jostled Harper backward, giving him a clear look at Rory -- who was, indeed, vibrating like a high-quality sex toy -- as Rory ran forward one, two, three paces -- and went poof.
“Rory, wait!” Harper yelled after the invisible patch of silence. “Get back here!”
Lisa squeaked. Quietly. Under her breath.
Harper’s blood ran ice-cold. “Um.”
“Did he…” Lisa waved her hands. “Please tell me he didn’t just disappear. ’Cause that’d mean I’ve gone crazy, and straitjackets really aren’t a good look on me.”
If Lisa had seen, then Janie probably -- oh, yeah. Brash, ballsy Janie gaped at the spot where his rogue muse had vanished.
Harper decided not to think. Sometimes thought was overrated and no way could it replace action this time. What did the muse do? Work on instinct.
He brought his hands together in a loud clap, deliberately startling both women. “I’ll explain later. Promise. Don’t freak out.”
“Buh,” Lisa peeped, pointing at the absence of Rory.
“Lisa, I’m sorry. Later. Right now, I have to get after him. And Patrick.” He squeezed her hand in good-bye and loped for the elevator. Halfway there he diverted to the stairs.
“Hang on a damn minute,” Janie snapped behind him. “Lisa, what size sneaker do you wear?”
“Seven. Why?”
“Gimme.” Click, thunk, click, thunk. “I can’t run in high heels.”
Harper wheeled about to stare at her. “What? Janie, no, I’m the one responsible. I’m the one to go after him. Them.”
“Uh-huh. Say ‘no’ again with a smile on your face.” Janie tapped her shoeless foot. “What are you gaping at?”
“Does Marcellus Wallace look like a bitch?” Lisa murmured. “Say ‘what’ again. Say what!” She covered her mouth with her hand when Janie shot her a death glare.
Janie jammed her silk-stocking-encased feet into Lisa’s grubby sneakers. “I don’t know what this is all about, and right now I don’t want to. All I care about is a) my future just walked out of here in Patrick’s pocket, and b) I’ll be damned if I’m letting one-half of this writing team disappear on my watch. What are you waiting for? Move! I’ll catch up.”
Harper moved. At speed. Seven stories down went quickly enough when a guy didn’t mind risking his neck, taking three steps at a time and jumping to the landings two-thirds of the way down each flight. At the bottom, he gave into the urge and slid down the narrow metal banister.
His balls would never forgive him for that, but he’d add it to the list of things to worry about later. He was walking a little funny when he hip-slammed the crash bar, but it didn’t stop him from running-slash-staggering into the blindingly bright light of the downtown New York afternoon.
Running through the afternoon crowds in Manhattan was not unlike trying to dig a hole to China with a teaspoon. Maybe more like trying to bore a hole through a wall with a toothpick.
Wow, did his metaphors stink without his muse.
“Never give up,” he muttered. “Never say die.” A small silver lining: No one would look at him twice for raising his voice. “Rory!”
He stretched up on his toes, scanning the jammed sidewalks. If Patrick hadn’t caught a taxi -- at the time of day, it might have taken longer than he’d had -- if Rory was chasing him on foot --
Hot damn! No one who wasn’t looking for it would have noticed a thing, but Harper caught a split-second glance of an empty space parting the sea of pedestrians, zipping forward like a deranged curl of wind.
And up ahead of that, not far and with the distance lessening by the second, a familiar snappy fedora, the white band on the black felt gleaming bright.
“Gotcha, you son of a bitch.” Harper put his shoulder into it and charged the throng of people. “Move it, move it, coming through!”
Ah, New York. No other city on Earth had a more colorful vocabulary. If he hadn’t been spending so much time with Rory, Harper would have been impressed. As it was, he kicked up his speed and kept an eye on the flash of nothingness that chased Patrick. Closer… closer… closer --
Patrick squawked, sounding like a chicken that’d just caught sight of a chopping block, and went down. Buster Keaton would have cried in his beer over a pratfall like Patrick’s. Jeers and raucous laughter made sure Harper didn’t lose track of where Patrick had fallen.
H
e skidded to a stop at Patrick’s side and dropped to his knees.
“Get him off me,” Patrick begged hoarsely. He didn’t blink, staring in horror at the invisible weight pinning his chest.
“Get who off of you, Patrick?” Harper plunged his hand into Patrick’s pockets, one after the other. “Aww. Izza baby hallucinating too now?”
“That’s evil,” Rory whispered, sight unseen, in Harper’s ear. “I approve.”
“Don’t let him get away,” Harper replied, rummaging through pockets. “I think… oh, there you are, yes. Come to Daddy.” Patrick’s inner breast pocket was more spacious than it appeared, running deep and wide through the lining of his jacket. “Nice hideaway,” he said as he counted the data sticks and patted him down -- firmly -- to make sure he hadn’t missed any. “Let me guess. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to play cat thief.”
Patrick hissed at him. “There’s something on me. Harper, help!”
“Not on your life.”
“That’s my boy,” Rory murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, Harper caught a mostly transparent glimpse of his muse, straddling Patrick. His clothes flickered in and out of assumed existence on his lean body, and his face grew sharper and fiercer. Almost frightening. Was this what Rory really looked like, or who he’d been once upon a time?
Harper shivered and decided not to think about that one. What mattered was who Rory was now.
“Stand aside!” Janie bellowed. Loud complaints, not as voluble as her stentorian shouts, followed in her wake. “He’s off his meds. We got it covered, folks. Nothing to see here.”
“The big lie,” Rory said with a chuckle. “A few seeds of truth makes it all go down so much sweeter, and they’ll swallow it whole. You wait. By this time tomorrow, his name’s gonna be mud and any stunts he tries to pull are gonna be a laughingstock.”
Harper reached for where he last remembered Rory’s hand was and squeezed it. “In case you don’t already know, you’re fantastic.”
