Jack&Teague [& Katy] stories 1-5

by Amy Lane

I didn’t care. Given the way good ol’ dad had turned up his sneer at Teague’s cherry Mustang, I was sort of okay with the Barnes’ bad opinion, and I figured the guys might be too. So I pulled out my knitting and Bracken played with the radio, and we kept our eyes glued to the little domestic drama as it unfolded before us in the living room, in front of the clear glass window.

  “This is going to be ugly,” Bracken predicted, bumping my knee with his on purpose.

  “You didn’t see my folks when Arturo came with me to get my stuff,” I pointed out, and Bracken raised his eyebrow at me, a faint smile on his lips.

  “No, but Arturo graced us with the story for months afterwards when you weren’t there,” he told me, which was hardly surprising at all, given the hill’s propensity for gossip. “And you know what I mean.”

  I sighed, and leaned my head on his shoulder, because I did know what he meant. Jack’s parent’s house was in a ritzy section of the city—and I was suspicious of any home that looked too perfect. Besides, Green had filled me in on Jack’s sister, and it sounded like the sort of cold, unfriendly place that bred passive-aggressive assholes just like Jack.

  And just watching them through the open doorway and bay window showed that the parent/child relationship was pretty fucking glacial.

  Mostly it seemed to be a lot of sneering on the part of Jack’s parents and posturing on Jack’s part, with Teague, being sturdy and calm in the middle. But Teague’s face was taut and unhappy, and I wondered what they were saying about him, because Jack was the one who was flushed and angry. Then I saw it—Jack pushed up against Teague, a challenge, and Teague turned towards him, his chin tilted up to meet eyes, and there it was.

  “Fuck, did you see that?” Bracken asked me, but I didn’t need to answer because we were both on the way out of the car.

  We hit the doorway just in time. Jack morphed—and that’s such a smooth supernatural mind-fucking spacewarp—one minute he was a man and the next he was a two-hundred pound wolf—and he was lunging for his father with his teeth bared, his clothes tangling around his body.

  Teague was a wolf right behind him.

  Teague wasn’t going to make it—he’d grabbed a hold of Jack’s tail, but their momentum carried them so far, so fast, that the gibbering, terrified man who’d started this goatfuck could only stand and watch as his son with the new teeth hurtled for his throat. The power-shield I threw up between wolf and man was quick and dirty—the force of it knocked Mr. Barnes back and Jack yelped as he crunched into the damned thing, probably breaking his nose. He landed and before the damage could even repair itself, he was up again, but this time, Teague was way ahead of him.

  Teague’s full out wolf-shoulder-tackle sent Jack sprawling, and when he came up and snapped at his alpha, Teague snapped back. Jack whined and Teague growled again, advancing on his lover, until Jacky lay on his back, his pale fur his throat exposed, completely submissive. Teague grumbled in his throat again and jerked his head, and Jack righted himself and slunk towards the front of the house. He was a handsome wolf—dark hair, blue eyes, a white furred belly—but not even his extra height and bulk could make him dominant over the slighter, fiercer blonde wolf who ordered him around.

  Like some sort of action-delayed sound-track, Jack’s mother started screaming. Bracken looked up at her and growled, “Lady, shut the fuck up.” She noticed us then, and subsided, something about Bracken making her eyes grow big with fear. I ignored her to drop the power shield in front of her husband, and Bracken and I watched cautiously to see what Teague did.

  The first thing he did was walk over to Jack’s dad and piss on his shoes, and the man was so shocked he didn’t move—although he did make a lot of little-girl-gross sounds that would have cracked me up on any other day. Then, to complete the gesture, Teague trotted to the middle of the white-carpeted room, cocked his blonde, fringed tail and deposited a steaming pile of whatever-he’d-had-for-breakfast in the center.

  That did it—this time Bracken really did crack up and it occurred to me that we may have to do mental clean-up. Ugh—I hated using my power like this, but Brack liked it. He wasn’t great at it—tended to leave a giant whaling migraine in place of the memories he displaced---but that was part of what he liked about it. He only fucked with people’s minds when they desperately deserved it.

  I trusted (silly fucking me) that the crisis with the wolves was at least stabilized and started damage control with these nice people who had just survived a werewolf attack, whether they realized how lucky they were or not.

  “So,” I said gamely, “did Jacky leave you a forwarding address?”

  Jack’s dad, who was gingerly toeing off his shoes, nodded.

  I put some power in my voice—enough to get the truth, and asked, “Were you ever planning to use it?”

  “Christmas cards,” said his mother promptly. “And a card for his birthday.”

  I nodded. Fair enough. “Did you plan to track him down?” A little more power.

  “Absolutely,” snarled Mr. Jack Senior. “They need to pay for that… that… animal’s damage.”

  Okay. Here’s where we started doing a little harmless brain alteration. “Uhm yeah. Not going to happen. You deserved it. Whatever you said to Jacky about Teague, it must have been vile. That wolf that just crapped on your rug saved your life—buy a new carpet and get over it.” I was angry, so I put a little more power in my voice than was strictly needed.

  “I’m over it,” Mr. Jack Senior echoed tonelessly, and I nodded. Excellent. These were not the werewolves he was looking for—we were good. And then I heard it, outside the open door, loud and clear. A human growl, unmistakable and unmistakably sexual. And an answering growl, a challenge. And then a submissive yelp.

  Oh shit. When I spoke again, it was with some urgency.

  “And here’s what else is going to happen. You’re not going to track Jack down. You can send him anything you want, but if you try to find him without his permission, your brain will explode and come out your nose.” This was probably a lie, but they’d believe it and that’s what was important. There were grunts now coming from that open door way, and a human yelp, and then the clear sound of flesh slapping across flesh. Fight it or fuck it, Green had said. Well… they weren’t fighting.

  I started nodding, figuring that if Jack’s parents nodded back the whole ‘speaking with power’ thing would be working. “And under no circumstances are you two going to mention men turning into big fucking,” (ouch on the pun!) “dogs, do you both hear me?”

  They nodded dumbly, and Bracken and I met eyes and started gathering twisted glops of clothing so we could get the hell out of there. “You hit them so hard you’re lucky their brains don’t run out their noses,” Bracken whispered as we juggled shoes and neared the door.

  “Well did you hear what was going on?” I asked frantically, trying not to trip on someone’s pants-leg as we got down the landing stairs. We stopped short when we got there, looking blankly at the two naked men, bent over the hood of the Mustang, fucking like it was a video game and their dicks were killing bad guys.

  “I’m sidhe,” Bracken said numbly as we watched two incredibly private men have sex in public. “Of course I heard.” If his body was as treacherous as mine, he had a hard-on that could shatter steel.

  Teague was biting Jacky’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise if they weren’t both werewolves with supersonic healing mojo, and his hand was knotted in Jacky’s hair, arching his back, making him completely vulnerable and accepting as Teague pounded the snot out of his widely stretched backside.

  This house was in the Fabulous Forties—a block of old, grand houses in downtown Sacramento that was known for it’s expensive renovations and Christmas light displays. Most of the people who lived here were going to be home the day before Thanksgiving. With horrified fascination we looked around and saw no fewer than four housewives wearing aprons et al, holding phones to their ears as they looked outside at the hot gay werewolf sex.

/>   “We’ve got to get out of here,” Bracken and I said in tandem, and then looked at the guys who showed no signs of stopping.

  Fight it or fuck it. If we stopped option B, option A would take it’s place I was out of ideas—I’d rather have them doing what they were doing than killing people-- and then Bracken said, “Hey—can you get those guys in a shield bubble?”

  Oh yeah. I could do that.

  The shield bubble surrounded the two of them and lifted them off the ground—still in fine fucking form-- while Bracken opened the doors and pushed the seats forward (and dumped the clothes in while he was at it). I had to think squish like an under-filled balloon and the two guys were dropped with grunts into the black leather backseat.

  Where they continued to fuck like lemmings doing highballs of Viagra and Spanish Fly.

  Bracken and I looked at each other again, our discomfort reaching exquisite levels. We were both hot—we’d seen men make love before, Bracken had been on the giving and probably the receiving end in his own day—but this… this was unwilling. They were as unaware as children—it felt wrong and exploitive to be in the car with them when they were doing this. It felt even worse to be turned on.

  But there were sirens and we really had to get the hell out of there.

  The drive didn’t make it any better. Fortunately Teague had those blind things on the back window, so I don’t think many people figured out what was going on inside the car on the business roads, but the sex—it was never ending.

  We thought it ended once. As we were approaching the freeway, things got louder and more intense and there were cries and then groans and then a spattering sound on Teague’s upholstery, and as much as we were wiggling in our seats, I almost hit the horn in complete relief.

  But by the time we’d gotten on the freeway proper and were up to speed, the 8”X10” youporn.com clip in the rearview was starting up again, same positions, different dangers, as I tried to negotiate pre-Thanksgiving traffic. I just tried to ignore the frenzy of pale flesh and grunting, sweaty, mansexing bodies as I got stuck behind family minivans going twenty miles an hour.

  This time we gave a couple of truckers a show—they were alongside us and weren’t distracted by the blinds, so they got a nice long look at round two.

  And round three.

  The refractory period after round three lasted from Ophir to Auburn—Bracken actually looked at me hopefully—the first time we made eye contact since we got in the car. Maybe? Maybe the nightmare in the backseat was…

  Teague growled, and if I could have seen his eyes, they may have been wolf-blue, and Jacky gave a yelp and a whine.

  Hey, you—you the guy I’ve been riding for the last hour!

  Again?

  I’m hard, you’re wet, let’s go.

  Well, if I have to…

  Teague-the-man may have trouble reaching for happiness, but Teague-the-wolf-in-man’s-body knew what was needed from his beta and his mate: Nothing less than total and complete submission, whether it was to a barked order or… well… more physical inducements.

  They finished round four as we were pulling up the drive, and Jack gave a little whimper of completion. Teague growled then, a low sound almost like a cat purring, and I wondered if he would do that even as they slept.

  Bracken and I weren’t going to stick around long enough to find out.

  I squealed into the garage and came to a hard stop, and we threw open the doors and lunged out of the car. I forgot my purse and barely remembered my knitting, and together the two of us ran for the stairs. I didn’t take them fast enough because Bracken caught me up in his arms about halfway up and blurred me to the top, and if we hadn’t nearly knocked Green on his ass, we wouldn’t have stopped for anything.

  I had consciously avoided mental contact with Green on the trip—we could do fairly dramatic things in each other’s heads when we were aroused, and, well, I had been driving. But one look at our flushed faces and labored breathing, one scent of the arousal I knew was flooding my body and my panties (and the man-sex that was probably seeping through our clothes) and Green had a pretty good idea of what was up.

  “Things didn’t go well?” he asked, his voice as urgent as Bracken’s pee-pee-hard-on dance, and we both nodded emphatically.

  “It was a major wolf-fuck,” I confirmed. “In fact, I think it was a couple of them.”

  “Four,” Bracken muttered, “It was four.”

  Green’s eyes widened. “Any bodies?”

  “Nope, just some shit on the carpet and some partially wiped memories…the guys are still in the car…”

  “Then go!” he cut us off, making shooing motions—if anyone knew the importance of thundering to sexual lightening it was an elf who derived his power from the physical act of mating and love.

  Bracken didn’t waste any time after that, and although I might have wished to ask Green to join us in a minute (because Erik was in town so Nicky was spoken for) at the moment, privacy was all we needed.

  The door was hardly slammed behind us when my pants were yanked around my ankles and I was hefted abruptly on the bed on my hands and knees. Bracken was inside me before I could even scrabble for purchase on the smooth sheets or let go of my knitting bag, and he’s so damned big it was almost painful, but I was so damned wet that it wasn’t. And then it was, but in that glorious, torturous, arousing way that sex can be when not being fucked into the mattress would be the most painful thing of all.

  Round two began when we were still recovering from round one, but for round three, I managed to get turned around so that we were face to face. There’s something reassuring about the good ol’ missionary position when your body is spinning out of control, and the feeling of his mouth on mine was erotic and sweet, and we managed to slow the whole works down. Our hands shook when we stroked each other’s faces and shoulders, and I felt tears start at the intensity… ah, gods, I was grateful for Bracken. His great strength, the strength of his heart, his humor.

  This whole nightmare of voyeurism would have been beyond embarrassing if Bracken’s flat, sensual mouth hadn’t been quirked in self-mockery even as our eyes closed and he buried himself deep inside me and we groaned and shivered in each other’s arms.

  The sex-magic ripping through the hill didn’t end with us—in my life, it was never just two. About the time Bracken and I were panting and—finally!—contemplating a shower, Green tiptoed in gingerly, looking apologetic and, well, hard up.

  Green should never be hard up.

  I held out my arms, and his kiss was explosive and skin-shattering, and round four actually kicked up the power a notch, so that it slid out of my fingertips, zinged out of my pores, and when Green had roared and bit my shoulder in a completely satisfying way, his body shimmering into mine like silver music, we all sank into the bed and laughed a little.

  Damned if I hadn’t redecorated the paneling again.

  Usually after an afternoon like this one we would get to sleep until whenever, but it was the day before Thanksgiving—of course there was work to do.

  Grace woke me up about a half-an-hour after the early November dark. She was both apologetic and unhinged.

  “What in the hell did you do?” she asked, setting down a tray and some food. I squinted and swung my legs over the bed, clutching my grandmother’s quilt with me. (Of course this dragged it off a sleeping Green and Bracken, but since everybody had seen them naked pretty much anyway, I figured I needed it more.)

  The walls were a bright, acid autumn yellow and a deep passion purple with a huge swath of blushing magenta slashing through the two high contrasts. The colors of lust, sex, and embarrassment—wonderful. Thanksgiving colors, they were not—but they would have looked awesome on a pair of embarrassed socks.

  “Wasn’t my fault,” I mumbled. “Innocent victims of a sex tsunami, sweartagod.”

  “Yeah, you and the rest of the hill. I woke up and Arturo was staring at me—I swear that man was two seconds away from total necrophilia.” />
  I gasped and choked on my sandwich and then looked at her reprovingly. She grinned, her fangs extending just a little, and raised her eyebrows suggestively. Goddess, I loved Grace.

  “Anyway, he didn’t tell me what got him so het up—like the rest of us he’s got work to do! You and Bracken are due at the shop in half an hour—you know that, right? Setting up for black Friday? Remember?”

  Oh dammit. “We’re not going to make it in time,” I told her, “but let me shower and we’ll only be late.”

  Grace nodded. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

  My face heated. “Yeah, we fucked up and let the werewolves out of the house today.”

  Grace’s look of horror spoke eloquently of all the things that could have happened but didn’t. “Are there any bodies?” she asked, completely literal.

  I shook my head and spoke through another bite of sandwich. “Just their naked ones, doing the thing through two counties. I drove.”

  Grace shook her head in disbelief. “Well this is the season to be thankful—thankful you and Bracken are still alive! But…Teague—does he remember?”

  I shrugged, but I knew why she’d ask. “As far as I know, he’s still sleeping it off—probably will be until tomorrow morning. But no. I don’t know how he’ll react.”

  Oh Goddess—Teague. He was such an inexpressibly private person—all of that pain, wrapped tight and ripening around his soft, vulnerable heart. He’d been so close to reaching for happiness when he didn’t reach for anything.

  Grace and I looked at each other in total accord, our silent prayer so singular, we might as well have said it out loud. It haunted me and Green and Bracken as we ran through our shower and got dressed, and it sat unspoken on all of our shoulders through our night’s work. It kissed me goodnight as we fell into bed, gratefully tired in the wee hours of the morning.

  Please Goddess, let this latest development not shatter glass around Teague Sullivan’s reaching hand.

  Teague

  Meeting Eyes

  Teague vaguely remembered the nightmare. This night he was too tired to fight it, but also too tired to sit up in bed screaming, either. He may have twitched and whimpered before smelling Katy and feeling her warmth and convulsing her softness against his hard body. He slept with her sandwiching him against Jacky’s long, lean strength.