by Mia Watts
“Holy fucking hell,” Mason swore, suddenly realizing why Dill hadn’t followed. “He’s casing my fucking flat.” His jaw tightened in renewed anger. “Sonofabitch!”
“Dude! This is a respectable store. Take that filthy language out of here before you scare off the paying customers,” the guy behind the counter shouted.
Mason glanced around at the hot pink plastic cocks and a display of weighted nipple rings. Cock rings filled a fishbowl by his elbow, while whips and flails lined the wall behind the counter. Grabbing a cap off a display stand, Mason dug in his pocket for a ten-spot, which he tossed onto the counter.
He crammed the cap over his bald head, turning the bill around to cover most of the distinctive tattoo. “Keep the change.”
Poking his head out, he looked both ways before tucking his chin and retracing his steps back to the apartment. If they trashed his station, best guess was they’d trash his home. If they knew where he lived.
Dill was in his flat.
Mason’s steps quickened. What if they came to trash the place while Dill was still there? His car was still parked out front, empty.
“Fuck!” Running now, he made the corner, barely glanced into the shadows as he flew up the metal grate fire stairs to the top floor, four levels up. Already, he could see something was wrong, from the loosely swinging door and busted frame.
“Dill,” he called loudly, not caring if intruders heard him, not willing to think about why he didn’t mind deflecting attention off Dill and back onto himself.
Racing through the open door, he found his apartment half trashed. His couch cushions had been sliced and foam guts spilled out in frozen, yellow slabs. His plant, the only one he had, lay on its side, the dirt knocked from the roots. His kitchenette chair had been turned over and every cupboard flung open. A man in a mask darted out of his makeshift bedroom, yanking the thick curtain aside. Another man held a knife on Dill.
“Get him!” the one holding Dill barked.
“Freeze them,” Mason bellowed at Dill.
“I can’t.”
“The fuck you can’t,” Mason yelled back, crouching into a fighting stance as the second guy approached.
His attacker arched out with his arm, swinging the blade. Mason dodged then tried to knock the back of his attacker’s hand, hoping to surprise him and jar the blade from his grip. No such luck. He advanced again, brandishing the blade. Mason dove low, tackling the attacker at the knees and feeling the sharp hot-cold sensation of the blade scoring his back and ribs.
“No,” Dill yelled.
Mason jerked, bit back the pain. His limbs grew increasingly stiff until all motion stopped. His cheek smashed the attacker’s hip, arms pinned around and underneath the other man with one of Mason’s knees digging into thin, unpadded carpet and cement. The toes on his other foot bent with the frozen force of his dive, leg partially extended. The blade bit his back. The other man’s ass had been flattened to the floor, but Mason could feel his upper body hadn’t yet cracked against the ground, as he had half twisted and was held motionless against Mason’s shoulder.
He heard Dill’s feet running to his side well before they came into his line of sight. “Mason. Shit. Are you okay? Goddamn it, he sliced you.”
Oh, really? So that’s what that stinging sensation is, he thought dryly. He felt like an idiot, his ass in the air, his face distorted and plastered against some guy’s hip, while Dill squatted beside him.
“If I touch you, you’ll unfreeze, and I’ll be stuck here until it wears off. I think. If I don’t get you out of here, you’ll all wake up to keep fighting where you left off.”
Mason heard him sigh. He wanted to yell at Dill to hurry up and unfreeze him. It was like claustrophobia. Though he wasn’t in a small, confined space itching to get free, Mason was frozen within his own body, betrayed by the skin and muscles he kept in shape for protecting himself. But it didn’t help him here. Not now. Not when he was incapable of movement, and someone else held all the power to hurt him or help him, depending on whatever whim took Dill.
Trapped. Again. Dill, at his leisure, could do anything to him, and he’d have to allow it. But there was a measure of comfort that if Dill did touch him, he might switch places with Mason. He didn’t think Dill would risk that happening.
“I’ve got an idea. You stay put,” Dill said, amusement lacing his words.
You’ve made sure I will.
He heard the pop and rasp of button and zipper near the top of his head. Dill was undressing the stranger? What the fuck?
Then he understood as the body gave a little under Dill’s coaxing. He’d been holding the guy too tightly for Dill to move him, but leaving the cloth and taking the man allowed for a break between the gripper and the grippee.
Dill had to fight to free the man’s legs, even with the slight advantage. Inevitably, the stranger’s feet dug into Mason’s shins, his kneecaps, cracked him in the balls, ran roughshod over his ribcage, caught under his chin. Dill tugged, finally freeing the man with great gasps of effort, dragging him away as Mason’s cheek and jaw rubbed across the dark material until his face felt numb and he tipped off balance, face-planting the floor.
Dill was going to suffer for this indignity.
Mason’s smashed nose buried into the remnants of odor belonging to former tenants—cat urine, dirt, stale cigarette smoke, age. It assaulted his senses. You never fucking knew how bad your place needed new carpeting until you were nose deep in old poly fiber pile.
“Almost done here, buddy. Gotta tie them up before they come out of it. Then I’m taking you someplace safe,” Dill murmured between exerted breaths.
Let me guess. Your place?
“I’m taking you to my family’s place,” Dill continued.
Of course you are. So you can freeze my ass in the air again. Touch me. I dare you. Payback’s a bitch, asshole. Say it louder so they know where to find me next time.
But he didn’t touch Mason. He left him with his face in his carpet, instead.
He listened, trying to pick out sounds for an idea of what Dill was doing. Some of them came from his bedroom. Some from closer by, where the first attacker had been. After several minutes, Dill came to Mason’s side.
“As soon as you unfreeze, we’ll get out of here. Are you going to come nicely, or do I have to force the issue?” Dill asked.
There are a lot of ways I want to come with you, but following you around like a puppy isn’t one of them. And yet, he doubted he looked the least bit threatening to Dill where he lay, arms holding empty pants, nose bent to the side, lips and cheek appearing as though the pressed against invisible glass, and his jean clad ass lifted for viewing, if Dill cared to check it out.
“It would be so much easier if you could hear me. Maybe you wouldn’t fight my help so much.”
He doesn’t know I can hear him? Can’t everyone hear him?
He heard Dill moving around him in a slow circle. Mason mentally cringed, wishing he could stand up and face the other man.
“Nice ass,” Dill murmured, stopping behind him. “Too bad it’s wearing clothes.”
For the view or for your rutting pleasure?
“Maybe you’ll show me that on your own, one day.”
Not likely. I might take yours, but fat chance I’ll give you mine. No one touched him. Not ever. Especially not some freak of nature whose blue eyes seemed to pierce his own defenses—when he was actually looking into his eyes and not staring down brown carpet. Could you get rug burn on your face without moving?
“I’m sorry I froze you again,” Dill said, quietly.
Fuck off.
“I’m trying to keep you safe, but I really don’t have any control over this ability.”
Yeah, you’re fucking chatty when you think I can’t hear you, huh? Captive audience to listen to your spilling soul? Then tell me why? Why are you here? Why are you following me? Who are you, and who are the two guys in here with us? And how the fuck do you explain freezing time?
<
br /> Sensation returned like a drunken man, tripping on wakefulness with dizzy head and clumsy hands. Mason’s body relaxed, dropped to the floor, the frozen grunt in his throat from his original response attack limped forth, and nothing more substantial filled his arms than empty pants. Mason wobbled to his hands and knees. Muffled cussing and shouts of alarm heralded from his bed, where he saw Dill had tied the burglars.
“You got knocked out,” Dill lied.
Mason shot him a look of disbelief. He must really think I couldn’t hear him. Lying sonofabitch.
“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.”
Dill dragged him to his unsteady feet and pulled him toward the door. Fire slashed across his back as the full onset of sensation returned to him with a burning reminder of the knife wound he’d taken.
“Burns like fire,” Mason muttered as he kept pace with Dill on the rickety metal stairs.
“We’ll treat it once you’re safe.”
Hitting the bottom, and freedom stretching out before him, he jerked away from Dill. “I can take care of my own shit.”
Dill nodded upward. “Clearly.”
He had to admit, Dill’s little magic trick had saved his ass. And the man had a car. Getting away seemed a logical self-preservation maneuver. He caught up to Dill, keeping stride as they crossed the street. Slipping into the seat beside his hero, Mason kept himself on guard.
“You’re bleeding in my car,” Dill said.
“Sorry.”
Dill took out his cell and started dialing. He wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, started the car and drove off.
“Sage. We’ve got a problem. Tell mom I need her up at the lake.” Dill paused, glanced at Mason. He reached for his phone, opting to drive with one hand. “Yeah, he’s hurt. I need a guard on this one.”
There was a pause. Sage must have said something Dill didn’t want to hear, because he frowned. The downward tip of his lips made the bottom one push out slightly. Mason caught himself staring, dragged his gaze away, only to let it rest on the other man’s crotch. He noticed with some interest that there was an impressive bulge pushing from inside of his jeans.
“No,” Dill answered the garbled voice.
Pause. Dill shifted in his seat, ran a red light. His frown deepened and he pinned quick looks at Mason from the corner of his eye.
“It’s the worst idea you’ve had,” Dill told Sage. “Get Willow to do it. She has a thing for bald guys.”
“Bald by choice,” Mason felt compelled to say.
Dill barely spared him a glance. “Just have her meet me at the cabin. When you come up, bring clothes.”
A dull flush colored Dill’s cheeks.
Mason watched with renewed interest as the blush grew and darkened.
“Fuck you. Bring clothes and toiletries,” Dill snapped at Sage.
He pulled the phone away from his ear. In the stillness of the car, without Dill’s ear as a sound barrier to the conversation, Mason heard the guy on the other line say, “a box of condoms, coming up.”
With a snap, Dill ended the call on whatever else Sage would have added.
Condoms.
Mason’s gaze lingered on Dill’s groin. Maybe a quick fuck would relieve some of the built up tension. Might take his mind of the stinging pain in his back. The car bounced over increasingly rough roads, causing his back to slide on the upholstery.
He’d spent worse ways passing the time. He didn’t think that having his cock swallowed by Dill would be such a bad thing. That swollen bottom lip rubbing the underside of his dick, or that curious tongue of his running between his balls sounded like a fine way to distract himself.
A dull ache started in Mason’s groin as he imagined making the verbally reserved Dill Harper beg for cock. Mason’s cock.
Chapter Four
Thank God, Dill thought, spotting the last gravel road turnoff to the lake cabin. If it had taken any longer, he’d have had to pull over and jack off. Preferably with Mason watching every frenzied stroke with that sexy half-smile he favored.
As it was, he’d still have to jack off, but at least it would be a little more private than the side of the road.
Mason had remained silent the entire one hundred and eighty three miles. At first, Dill had tried to start a conversation, only to be greeted with that knowing, black stare. The silence hadn’t been much better. Occasional glances had told him that Mason had been alternating between closed-off and amused. Since the latter seemed to coincide with each and every time Dill had felt his eyes on his crotch, he could only guess that Mason found Dill’s state of arousal humorous. Which fucked with Dill’s head a little. A lot. Shit, he was doing it again.
Gonna be a long damn time until Willow gets up here to watch him. He might even hug her if she showed up before he embarrassed himself by reaching over to slide a hand up Mason’s thigh.
Like he’d let him.
Like he wouldn’t find that pathetically amusing, too.
It had been more than three hours and the tension in the car fairly crackled. Dill couldn’t wait to get out of the car.
The cabin was dark as he drove up. Gravel made popping sounds as they pulled to a stop in front of the wide, covered front porch. It had been the place his parents had met, and his dad had bought the land to build the cabin so Dill’s mom would feel close to her home. Every year, the seven Harpers came to the lake cabin for summer vacation. As kids, they’d spent weeks up there. As adults, time and commitments ate into the freedom of staying in the cabin.
Not to mention that weeks with his four siblings and his slightly off-center mother would drive Dill batty. All in all, it had been a great childhood though. Room to roam the woods. Encouragement to explore and talk about beings most humans didn’t know existed, like nymphs and elementals, and, well, faeries.
What was Mason’s childhood like?
“Nice place,” Mason said, walking around the front of the car to look at the cabin.
Dill didn’t remember turning off the car and getting out. He stood looking up at the wooden structure seeing his family as ghosts of memories past instead of walls, and steps, and windows.
“Yeah,” he said, not knowing how to put the thoughts into words so that Mason saw the importance of this place to his family.
He wasn’t sure he wanted Mason to know how grounding it was for all of them, because that meant letting him into a very private part of his life. The cabin represented the core of Dill’s family. It was symbolic of his mortal father joining with his magical, earthy mother—successfully.
Mason snorted. “You think you could talk a little less? You’re giving me a headache with your constant chatter.”
Dill looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. He saw the way Mason rolled his shoulders and winced as he scanned the front of the cabin. Dill swore under his breath. Mason had to be in a lot of pain and here he was, reminiscing. The guy’s life was on the line, and no one knew why.
“Let’s get inside,” Dill suggested.
He found the key he needed on his ring and took the steps to the front porch two at a time. Within seconds he’d turned on the inside lights and began looking for the first aid kit. Ironically, it wasn’t something they used often enough for it to have a special place. One of the downsides of having a healer as a mother, he supposed.
“Go into the bedroom, and take off your shirt,” Dill called. Wincing after the words were out, because he realized how bad that had to have sounded.
Mason must have thought so, too, because he came up behind him while Dill was on his knees looking through the under-sink cabinet. “I thought you said I had to buy you coffee first,” he murmured in a low, sexy rumble.
Dill’s insides took a flip. “Never mind. Have a seat.” He motioned to the toilet stool. “I want to see the cut.”
Any more looks like that and Dill was sure to shoot his wad. Nothing like being eyelevel with the very cock you wanted passing your lips and refusing to look at it. He gave himself props for w
illpower. Fortunately, Mason did as he was asked, straddling the closed stool backward, so his wound could easily be seen. Then, almost reluctantly, Mason tugged his shirt up and over his head, hissing through his teeth as the fabric brushed the sliced skin.
Dill took a couple of washcloths, a bag of cotton balls, and a container of alcohol. He wasn’t sure how well this would work, but hopefully, it would hold off infection until his mom came to knit the skin back together.
Which begged the question: how much did Mason understand? He didn’t question that Dill could freeze time. Did he know about the other Harpers? Why wasn’t he skeptical of Dill’s abilities? How would he know Dill froze time since no residual clues were left behind when time restarted? Even his family wasn’t aware when time returned unless Dill either told them, or deliberately moved things out of place between seconds.
“How did you know?” Dill asked, putting the question out there.
“To sit on the toilet backward? You said you wanted to see the cut.”
“Freezing time,” Dill clarified.
Mason seemed to think about his answer for a few minutes while Dill moistened the washcloths and began cleaning the wounds. Two long slices crossed his back in a broken diagonal from lower right hip to upper left rib. They weren’t superficial, but they weren’t dangerously deep either. Still, a mortal would require stitches.
“I just do,” Mason said finally.
“That clears it all up,” Dill noted.
He gently wiped the area around the wounds, trying not to get lost in appreciation for the well-toned musculature and wide shoulders, the artistically sculpted valley bisecting his back from top to bottom. Even if the spinal column tattoo hadn’t been there to highlight the beauty of his form, Dill still would have appreciated the uninterrupted view of flesh.
Mason’s body had been perfectly molded, his skin naturally bronzed from genetics and sun. Dill longed to toss the cloth aside and run his hands over the man seated in front of him, but dutifully, he cleaned the wounds. He traced the tattoo with his eyes, thinking about pain and time, and desire to put something so beautiful, yet so menacing on his body to permanently keep people away. Scare them away, perhaps.
