by J. C. Holly
“I was.” The man began pulling off the oddly sized clothes. “Had to grab them from a washing line,” he explained. “Do I have glass in my back?”
Mitch’s mouth gaped wide as Harlan stripped off. From head to toe, the man was covered in scratches and cuts of varying sizes. With shaking fingers Mitch began to pull pieces of safety glass from the larger slashes.
“You really need to tell me what happened,” he said, as he worked. “You can’t just swagger in and pretend like it’s nothing special.”
Harlan tensed as Mitch pulled some glass out. “Sorry. It’s not like this happens to me a lot, but it happens enough that the thrill has started to wear off.” He sighed. “Remember I told you about the guy who attacked you?”
“The one you killed, yeah.” Mitch shook his head. “Jeez, now I’m being casual about it.”
Harlan chuckled. “It’s a were thing. Wolves don’t view fighting and death the same way we do.”
Mitch pulled the last piece of glass out and flicked it to the carpet. He’d have to leave a big tip for the maids to clean the mess up. He headed into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth, then ran it under hot water.
“Go on,” he called, while he rifled through his overnight bags for the painkillers Carr had given him. “Someone who knew him took offense?”
“Yeah,” Harlan called from the other room. The bed creaked as he sat. “His pack took exception. A couple of them got lucky when tracking me and found my car.”
“Shit.” Mitch tossed the painkillers to Harlan, then began to clean the worst of the wounds. The smaller ones were already beginning to close up. “Did they know you were here with me?”
Harlan shook his head. “They just found the car, that’s all. They were waiting in the back and drove me out of town at gunpoint. I had to crash the car to get away.”
“And the shifters? Are they dead?”
“No. I knocked them out and tossed the guns. I don’t kill unless I have to.”
Mitch smiled to himself. He knew that Harlan was a good guy. He could sense it, but hearing that confirmed it. “So what now?”
“We head out to your place. If you still want me around, that is.”
Mitch snorted. “My very own action hero? How could I not want that?”
Harlan turned and kissed Mitch softly on the lips. “It could bring trouble your way.”
“Harlan, have you ever been to the house of a rockstar before?”
Harlan stood and pulled on his badly fitting shirt. “Not since Alice Cooper.”
“You met Ali—” Mitch shook his head as he noticed Harlan’s grin. “Anyway. This is how it works. We’re picked up in a limousine with blacked windows, we drive to a chartered private jet, and then fly to my gated mansion with its own security staff of very stern-looking armed men.”
Harlan laughed. “It really is another world.”
Mitch shrugged. “I don’t go in for the lifestyle most of the time, but my house is my fort away from the press, and photographers don’t like large men in sunglasses with folded arms and a pistol on their hip.”
“I can see that.” Harlan pulled the rest of his clothes on, then rolled his neck, wincing. “First lesson for ya. Shifting while injured is bad.”
“Yes, teacher. Shall I write that down?”
“I’m sure I’ll mention it once or twice on the flight,” he said with a smirk. “It’s lucky we heal so damn fast.”
The phone rang and Mitch picked it up on the first ring. It was the reception, telling him that his limo had arrived and was waiting by the kitchen’s fire escape, just like Mitch had asked. He thanked the woman, told her to add sizeable tips for herself, the concierge, and the maids, and then hung up.
“Grab your stuff.”
Harlan stepped forward and placed his hand on Mitch’s ass. “Got it.”
Mitch laughed and moved away to pack. “Your other stuff.”
“You’re looking at it,” Harlan said as he plucked his wallet and phone from the dresser. “The other stuff isn’t worth the risk returning for.”
“In that case you can help me pack.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was the one in charge?”
“Only when we’re training or fucking.” Mitch grinned and pointed to the second dresser. “Pack, bitch.”
* * * *
Harlan settled into the limo and let out a sharp breath as one of the larger holes in his back complained at the movement. He may not be willing to kill any of the members of Brubeck’s pack, but if he saw the alpha again he was going to punch the nose from his face.
Mitch jumped in and settled across from him, then told the driver to head to the airport.
“There’s a lot of traffic out,” the driver said. “Probably take us about an hour.”
Mitch told him it wasn’t a problem, then slid the privacy screens up. Harlan smirked and Mitch raised an eyebrow at the expression.
“You’re just so laid back about this stuff,” Harlan said. “Like you’re in limos all the time.”
“I am.” Mitch leant over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of water. “Here. For the painkillers you haven’t taken yet.”
Harlan shook his head. “I don’t use them.”
“Why? They mess up a shifter’s body or something?”
“Nah. We can take anything a human can. Only difference is they’re less effective due to our metabolism. I just try to avoid pills when I can.”
Mitch nodded and put the water on the seat beside him. “You feeling okay, though?”
“Sure. A little beat up, but I’ll be fine soon enough.”
In actual fact his neck was still pretty damn agonizing from his trip through the car’s windshield. The shift had only aggravated the issue, as had the run in between. Still, it could have been a lot worse. He made a mental note to check the local news when he got a chance, to see if the two shifters had been picked up by the police.
“Anything I can do to make you feel better?” Mitch asked, as he fiddled with the TV remote.
“Depends. Does that privacy shield really work?”
Mitch nodded. “You wouldn’t believe what some of the guys have gotten up to in limos.” He glanced up as Harlan’s question sunk in. “Have something in mind?”
“Well,” Harlan said, as he straightened in his seat. “I’m not up to anything fancy, but I figure seeing you with a face full of cock might perk me up.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Any cock in particular?”
Harlan unfastened his pants and pulled out his thickening shaft, stroking it slowly. “How about this one?”
“Excellent choice.”
Mitch moved across the limo, dropping to his knees in front of Harlan, then dipped and ran the tip of his tongue in a circle on Harlan’s cockhead.
“I feel better already,” he muttered as Mitch slipped the length into his mouth. “You’re a good little slut.”
Mitch moaned in agreement as he began to bob up and down, taking as much of Harlan’s thick cock as he could. Harlan put a hand on the back of the man’s head and guided him.
“I hope there are towels in here,” he said. “Because when I’m done I’m going to come in your face, and I doubt the airport staff will look favorably on you dripping semen everywhere.”
Mitch moaned again and slid his hand down to his pants. He quickly pulled them down and began to jerk his cock.
“You like the idea of that?” Harlan asked, trying to stay relaxed. “Maybe I should make you walk through the airport, covered in my cum. Let everyone see how much of a little slut you really are.”
Mitch’s hand moved faster on his cock at the words, and watching him work, along with the action of his head on his cock had Harlan panting in no time. He began to push Mitch down, forcing him to take in more of Harlan’s cock, then holding him in place for a few seconds before letting him up and repeating the action.
“That’s it,” he gasped. “Take it. Take my fucking dick.”
A muffled c
ry came from Mitch, and Harlan felt something warm hit his pant leg. He glanced down to find that Mitch had come hard, and the sight brought on Harlan’s own orgasm. He began pushing up with his hips as Mitch moved down his shaft, increasing the strokes. Then, as it became too much he pulled Mitch away and began to jerk his cock hard and fast.
Mitch rocked back onto his haunches, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he watched Harlan jack his cock. He came hard with a grunt, and pointed the tip of his cock straight at Mitch’s face. Thick ropes of semen squirted forth, splattering into Mitch’s face and neck. The man moved slightly and held out his tongue to catch the rest, then sank his mouth over Harlan’s still pulsing cock to take the rest of the load.
Mitch straightened and pulled open a compartment containing tissues. Once he was finished cleaning up, Harlan leant forward and grasped him around the neck, then pulled the startled man into a deep kiss. Mitch quickly relaxed into it, allaying Harlan’s sudden worries that the move wouldn’t be appreciated.
The moment was ruined by the limo hitting a small pothole, which sent a sharp pain through Harlan’s neck, causing him to wince and pull back to clutch his neck. Mitch dropped onto the seat beside him and leant back to look.
“There’s no wound, or new scar,” he said.
“No. It’s a fracture.” Harlan rubbed at the sore area. “Damn safety glass. The old stuff would cut you up worse, but at least you got through it easier.”
“Now you’re sounding your age.”
“Quiet, damn young ’un.” He rolled his neck slowly to one side, then the other. “It’ll be fine, but it looks like I won’t be joining the Mile High Club today.”
Mitch squeezed his knee. “I’d rather have you in one piece than two slightly more relaxed pieces. Besides, I just blew you. You should be good till we land.”
Harlan shrugged. “I’d like to say that it’s a part of the shifter blood, but to be honest I’m just a horn dog.”
Mitch kissed him on the lips, softly. “I can put up with that.”
* * * *
After an hour waiting around in the airport’s private lounge, Harlan’s body had decided it was time to rest, and by the time he headed onto the plane his eyelids were drooping. He hadn’t realized how little sleep he’d had lately.
Thanks to his hatred of flying, though, it took a long time to drop off on the plane. In the end he’d had to close the blinds and convince himself he was on a fancy train. Still, it got him away from the city and its angry wolves quicker.
The pain in his neck had faded somewhat, leaving him with more of an annoying ache than a stabbing pain. Breaks and fractures took a while to fully heal, even for a wolf, though, so he’d have to be careful not to fly through any windshields for a few days.
As the plane came in for its landing, Harlan risked a look out of the window, squinting against the morning sun. They were much closer to the ground at that point, so it wasn’t quite so hair-raising. The airport runway was ahead, and closing fast, and he could pick out a large crowd in one area near a terminal.
“Huh. I thought you had to wait inside for planes these days,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.
Mitch leaned over and glanced out of the same window, then groaned and pulled out his cellphone. “They’re not looking for a flight.”
Harlan took another look. Closer now, he could make out a number of large television cameras hoisted onto shoulders. Most of the people were watching the plane come in to land.
“Bob,” Mitch said into his cell. “Did you tell anyone I was coming in tonight?”
“Nope. Didn’t even know,” Harlan faintly heard the man on the other end say. “Why, you got a crowd?”
“Yeah, I have. I guess someone in the airport told someone. Are you nearby?”
Harlan turned his attention back to the window and watched the ground rush up as the plane touched down on the runway. Beside him Mitch and his agent talked about ways to sneak past, but none of them really seemed viable.
He’d known that Mitch was famous—everyone and their dog knew his name—but this was crazy. There had to be two dozen photographers out there, with another thirty people behind them, probably hoping for autographs. All waiting to see Mitch stepping off a goddamn plane. It’s not like he’d just wrestled the plane to a safe landed after an engine blew, or something.
“Another world,” Harlan muttered, then braced himself to meet Mitch’s adoring public.
Chapter Eleven
Mitch felt sorry for Harlan as they stepped down the planes steps onto the runway. He hadn’t had the years of practice with press and fans that Mitch had. Bob had managed to get some more security from the terminal to reign in the shouting and screaming people, but even so it was likely a daunting sight.
Harlan followed along behind Mitch, wearing a borrowed baseball cap to cover his eyes and keeping a little distance as they’d agreed upon. The idea was to make it look like Harlan was an old buddy, come to hang around, rather than his lover. The thought gave Mitch a chill. Lover. Technically it was correct, but the word also implied love. Yeesh, I’ve only known the guy a few days. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. He pushed that thought from his mind, to be considered later, and turned his attention back to the crowd.
“Mitch! Mitch!” came the shouts of multiple people, some with cameras, some with pen and paper. Mitch gestured to Harlan to get his attention, then pointed to a door being held open by two large men in black suits.
“I need to sign some stuff or everyone will start saying I’m a bastard.”
Harlan laughed and nodded. “See you inside, ole buddy. I’ll find me a beer.”
Mitch watched him leave for a moment, then snapped his attention back to the fans, before someone started thinking about headlines regarding Mitch Shaw staring at men’s asses. To counter it further, he moved to the most attractive female fan and leant in to kiss her on the cheek as he took her pen and paper.
“What’s your name, cutie?” he asked, pen poised.
“It’s Cara!” She was now beetroot red. “Oh my god! I’m your biggest fan ever! I’ve even got all the old stuff you did with your first band.”
Mitch nodded and smiled, and made sure to glance down her low cut top. “Here you go, sugar. Don’t go selling it on eBay.”
“Never!”
He watched her leave, the paper held close to her chest as if it was a precious gem, then turned to the next closest person. This time it was someone he half recognized. A reporter from a local news channel.
“Welcome back, Mitch,” the woman said, all white teeth and bright eyes for the camera. “What are your plans now that the tour is over?”
“Oh, I dunno.” He glanced at the fans. “Thinking about the new album.”
The roar produced by the few dozen people was startlingly loud, and not just thanks to his new sharper hearing. He realized with a smirk that that was the first mention of a new album outside of official channels. No doubt Bob would shout at him later for that.
“Glad to hear it,” the woman said. “And who’s your friend?”
“Who?” He glanced up from his third autograph. “Oh! He’s an old buddy from years back. He’s a personal trainer, and I’m way out of shape, so I thought I’d give him the tour and then see if he can find my six-pack.”
The reporter laughed and started to ask another question, but Mitch held up his hand. “Sorry, guys, gotta go.”
He handed back the autograph he’d been signing, quickly did another, then jogged toward the terminal. He found Harlan just inside the door, talking to Bob.
“Mitch!” Bob thrust out his hand and pumped Mitch’s enthusiastically. “Sorry about the unwanted attention. I’ll speak to the airport and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Mitch nodded and tried not to roll his eyes. It always happened. Especially with the advent of social media. One message on a site that someone saw someone and before long everyone knew. He glanced at Harlan. The man seemed uncomfortable, surrounded by
so much security. He kept eyeing exits, as if he was working out escape plans if one of them pulled a gun.
“You ready?” Mitch asked him.
“Sure thing, buddy. You lead, I’ll follow.”
Though the “buddy” thing had been Mitch’s idea in the first place, hearing it still bothered him. He wished he had the strength to say “screw it” and come out to the world. If he was brutally honest, his excuses about affecting sales were bullshit. He’d never cared about the money, and even the other members of the band, who would technically have lost out too, if that was the case, had told him he should out himself. He was just plain afraid.
* * * *
Harlan tried to keep his expression and body language light and relaxed, but he was tense as hell. It was one thing to fool around with a guy who he knew was famous. It was another thing entirely to see it firsthand.
While the flight over had been pretty casual, now that they had landed there seemed to be security everywhere. The airport supplied some, and Bob had brought the rest, apparently. Harlan eyed one particularly enormous man and smirked at the thought that in a week or two his employer would be able to bench press the guy.
He glanced at Mitch’s behind as they walked through the crowded airport terminal to another waiting limo. People, both fans and regular gawkers, crowded in on both sides, and the security staff had their work cut out trying to keep them away from Mitch. Ever the professional, Mitch just smiled and waved to people, pausing on occasion to hug someone for a photo, or sign a shirt. At one point he even signed some woman’s chest.
That’ll certainly help the rock image.
The walk to the limo seemed to take way longer than it should, given the short distance. By the time they finally clambered into the back of the bright white Cadillac, Harlan was half blind from camera flashes. He blinked rapidly in the low light of the cab and was about to tell Mitch about a shifter’s light sensitivity when he realized Bob also sat in the car with them.
