And because of that generosity, Blake had almost been raped by Walsh, had almost been killed by Higgs. It was because of Joam that he was now on the run, fleeing for his life and, most likely, from the law. Joam had not forgotten the fact that Higgs was dead, that his body would be found, and that he and Blake would be the prime suspects.
They needed to ditch Higgs's Lincoln and find new transportation, but he didn't want to think about that right now. Joam ran his hands up and down Blake's back and leaned forward, kissing him between the shoulder blades.
All he really wanted to do was make love to Blake, but there, too, he held back. He knew Blake loved him. When he'd been in varnal form, he'd sensed Blake's feelings as if they were his own. And when he'd made love to Blake as a varnal, he'd unconsciously drained energy from Blake, without even meaning to. He worried about that. From what they'd just done and from their first night together, Joam knew that he couldn't drain Blake so long as he was in human form. But Joam really didn't know anything about his varnal abilities. Could he change accidentally? Was he putting Blake at risk just by being with him?
Blake turned and took the washcloth from him. “Your turn,” he said, making no effort to avoid contact as he switched positions with Joam. Now Joam stood under the warm spray. The water pressure was fantastic compared to the crappy little shower he'd used in the back of Higgs's garage. How long had it been since he'd had the luxury of hot water and lots of it?
Too long, and no point dwelling on it. Especially when Blake was rubbing the soapy washcloth over his chest, circling his nipples, and thrusting his hips forward so that their cocks touched. God! Sparks of delight ran from his nipples to his cock and back again, coalescing in the pit of his stomach.
Blake ran the sudsy cloth down Joam's chest and over his belly. He swirled it around Joam's navel and then moved down farther. The texture of the rough terrycloth and the slippery soap on the sensitive skin of Joam's cock and balls made him gasp and grow instantly erect. Blake abandoned the washcloth, running his slick, soapy fingers up and down the shaft. Water ran over Joam's face and into his mouth as he threw his head back in ecstasy. He grabbed the side of the stall for balance as Blake stroked him over and over again. And then the hand was gone, and Blake turned him so the water rinsed off the soap.
Disoriented, Joam reached for Blake, seeking more contact—a hug, a kiss, anything—but Blake was turning him again and getting to his knees. The next thing Joam knew, his cock was enveloped in the hot wetness of Blake's mouth, his lips and tongue working his cock into a frenzy.
Joam leaned back against the tile under the showerhead and watched the water stream over Blake's head and down his back. He remembered leaning against the cold metal of the little shower stall in the back of Higgs's garage, the tepid water trickling over his body as he jerked off to a fantasy in his mind. So much had changed in such a short time.
Joam reached down and ran his fingers through Blake's hair as he thrust his hips, driving forward into the heat and the suction. Blake was his fantasy boy come to life. Joam was a varnal; there was no changing that. Somehow, he'd find a way to stay with Blake and keep him safe at the same time.
Blake swallowed Joam to the root, and Joam's fingers dug into his hair as instinct took over and he fucked Blake's mouth. His whole world became heat and wet, and he was thrusting, pumping, driving toward that ultimate destination.
Blake cradled his balls with one hand and then slid one soapy finger between Joam's ass cheeks. Joam gasped and spread his legs wider. The finger slipped into his hole with no resistance. Joam loved the feel of it there. He was going to come any second now. As soon as Blake crooked his finger and hit that magic spot inside.
Blake must have known it, because he pulled off Joam's cock as he turned his finger and stroked it up the wall of Joam's channel. When he made contact with that spot, white fire raced up Joam's spine and outward. His cock, so certain of its destination a moment before, now bobbed helplessly, its oversensitized flesh throbbing with arousal.
All Joam could do was hang on and pant, trusting that Blake knew what he was doing. A second finger joined the first, turning, twisting, and scissoring, gently stretching and relaxing tight muscles, preparing him. Now Joam was glad Blake had stopped sucking him. He wanted to come with Blake inside him.
Before long, Blake stood and turned Joam so that he faced the showerhead. “You're too tall for me standing. Here.” He reached outside the shower and grabbed some towels and laid them down on the bottom of the tub. “Kneel on your hands and knees on those.”
Joam's whole body thrummed with the need to be taken. He did as Blake said. The hot spray of the shower pelting his back was like a thousand kisses on his skin. An empty condom packet floated past him on the currents moving around the towels, and a moment later, Joam felt lube-coated fingers stroking his entrance, followed by the blunt head of Blake's cock.
This was only the second time Joam had been penetrated by a man. A little thread of fear snaked through him, but his desire was stronger. He pushed back and felt the tip of Blake's penis enter him, opening him up.
Blake rested one hand on Joam's hip; the other stroked his back. “Easy. It's okay.”
Joam nodded. “Please,” he managed to choke out past the desire filling his throat. “I want you to.”
Slowly, Blake pushed forward, sliding into Joam by increments. He was so big, he stretched Joam wide open, wider than Joam would have thought possible. The feeling was scary, exciting, painful, and unbearably erotic, and it just kept going on and on, seemingly without end.
But finally Blake's balls brushed Joam's, and he paused. Joam relished the feeling of fullness. He was stuffed to the brim with Blake's cock, filled so completely he felt like he couldn't move, like he could barely breathe. His own cock was so hard, it bumped against his belly. Already they were both panting, a sound barely audible over the spray of the shower.
“Joam,” Blake breathed, running a soothing hand up and down his back. “I want to fuck you now.”
“Yes! Do it!”
Blake grabbed Joam's hips and pulled out in one long, smooth stroke. Then he reversed direction and plunged back in, sliding right over that special spot. Joam curled his toes, opened his mouth, and let out a high-pitched, keening sound that would have humiliated him at any other time. But right now, he didn't care about anything but the hot cock marauding in his ass.
Blake pulled out again and pounded in again, faster this time, and again, harder. Joam pushed back to meet him. Their pace accelerated. Soon Blake was making noises too, a low, guttural “huh,” every time he buried himself in Joam's body.
The fear, the discomfort were things of the past for Joam. He felt like this was what he was born to do—take Blake's cock and ride it. He never wanted it to end, but at the same time, he could feel his orgasm building like a storm amassing on the horizon, and every stroke brought him closer to it. His belly quivered, and his balls drew up tight to his body. His cock throbbed, begging for attention. “Bl-blake!”
“Huh, uh, uh!” Blake himself was beyond all reason now, his thrusts frantic and uncontrolled. He lay across Joam's back, hips pistoning. “Joam!”
Just as Joam thought he couldn't hold out any longer, that he'd have to try to reach down and bring himself off and hope that the move didn't bring them both crashing down onto the floor of the tub, he felt Blake's hand close around his needy shaft and squeeze.
With a flash of ecstasy like a lightning bolt, Joam's orgasm cracked him wide open and poured out of him in a torrent of cum. He humped into Blake's hand, gasping and spurting. Meanwhile, Blake thrust deep into him and stayed there, shouting his release. “Joam!”
In the wake of the storm, they both slid to the bottom of the tub and lay there, curled around one another, the water pelting them.
When they finally got out and turned off the shower, the bathroom was dripping with steam. It fogged the mirror and the little window beside the sink and rolled in droplets down the tile. “I guess w
e forgot to turn on the fan,” said Blake.
“And we used up all the towels,” noted Joam, nodding from the sodden mass of towels in the bottom of the tub to the towel bar, bare except for a couple of washcloths and hand towels. “We'll have to use these.”
Blake opened the door to let the steam out, and they dried themselves off as best they could with the hand towels. Joam laughed. “We look pretty silly,” he said.
Blake paused, the washcloth he was using to dry his pubes already soaked through. He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
They abandoned their drying effort and dashed back into the room, diving beneath the bedcovers, shivering from the cool air on their damp bodies.
“Here,” said Joam, holding up the covers between them. “Snuggle in and get warm.”
Blake scooted forward until their bodies pressed against one another. Joam wrapped his arms around Blake's shoulders. Blake snaked his arms around Joam's waist. For a while they just lay together, soaking up the warmth and the closeness. For Blake it was a real novelty, sharing intimacy with someone for a purpose other than getting him off. He gave a deep sigh and let his eyes drift closed. A few moments later, he heard Joam snore, and then there was nothing but the warmth and the dark.
Chapter Two
Joam dreamed he was running through the woods near the house he grew up in. His body was that of a large dog built to run. Long and lean, with a deeply curved chest that drew plenty of air to fuel his powerful muscles. He raced across the forest floor, leaping over dead branches and brush. He ran for the sheer joy of it.
It was night, and a full moon grinned down at him from above. Suddenly, Joam caught a scent of something indescribably alluring. The smell commanded him. He ran toward it. The little white clapboard house belonging to his mother came into view. The smell, something like a combination of vanilla, lilac, and sex, came from someone inside it. As he got closer, as the scent got stronger, thoughts of just what he wanted to do to its source flitted through his mind like jagged teeth. He was hungry, so hungry. And whoever it was smelled so good. He just wanted to devour—
He tried to turn from the house, but there was no holding back. He burst through the door. Even as his human self cried out in protest within, he leaped at the figure standing by the sink.
Just as he was about to land, the person turned. It wasn't his mother after all. That's right, his human part remembered. He hadn't killed her. Higgs had manipulated him into thinking he had, but he hadn't. No. It was Blake, looking at him in fear and horror. So much the better, thought the beast, and he sank his teeth into Blake's throat.
Blake's scream became a wail of sirens, and Joam opened his eyes to the dark motel room, illuminated by flashing red and blue lights. Someone pounded on the door. “Open up; it's the police!”
Joam struggled to get his bearings. Beside him, Blake pushed himself upright and threw off the covers. For a split second, they stared at one another, and then they both ran to the window in the bathroom. It was not the kind of window that was designed to open. Blake lifted the lid off the back of the toilet and threw it through the double-paned glass.
Joam took one of the sodden towels from the bottom of the tub and draped it over the jagged shards of glass poking up from the frame. “You first,” he said, and Blake hesitated for a second. “Come on, no time for arguments.”
Blake squeezed through the window. Despite the towel, fragments of glass scratched his hip, leaving streaks of blood on his golden skin. Joam flashed on jagged teeth and more blood, then forced himself back to the present, wriggling through the window and landing on a narrow berm of grass between the motel and a drainage ditch.
He expected Blake to already be running, but he was standing there waiting for him. The night air was cold, and a drizzle misted their naked skin. Joam grabbed his hand, and together they pelted down the slope of the ditch, leaped the thin trickle of water at the bottom, and ran up the opposite slope, where a cyclone fence separated them from the parking lot of a strip mall.
“Hurry,” whispered Joam, shoving Blake toward the fence. Blake started to climb, and Joam went up after him. Both of them topped the fence, hung from their hands, and dropped to the asphalt parking lot below. The landing stung in Joam's feet and ankles.
He heard more sirens, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw flashing lights coming down the street toward the parking lot of the shopping center. “Shift,” said Blake.
Joam realized he must still be disoriented from his dream. He shook his head to clear it and grabbed Blake's hand. “Come on.” He started for the back of the nearest shop, a Big Lots.
“Shift, Joam,” said Blake.
“What? No!”
“You'll be able get away.”
“And leave you? Fuck that. Come on.”
They ran down the alley behind the strip mall. The sirens got louder. It sounded like at least two patrol cars had turned into the parking lot of the strip mall and were heading for the alley.
As Joam fled with Blake beside him, blue and red lights reflected off the damp pavement and the cinder block walls of the buildings. No. They'd almost had everything they'd ever wanted, and it wasn't that much, just each other and the freedom to make a life together. Now, it was all going to end before it even had a chance to start.
Two more squad cars screeched to a halt at the end of the alley ahead of them, blocking that exit. They were midway down the alley and just coming to a break in the buildings, where a drive led to the back from the parking lot in front. On their left, the brick wall was punctuated by a wire mesh gate—chained and locked, of course.
Running into the parking lot would only prolong the chase. There were bound to be more squad cars blocking that exit by now. Blake tried a door to one of the businesses, but it was locked. Over the gate was their only option, but it was too tall. By the time they got to the top, the cops would be out of the cars, shooting at them. They were trapped.
“Freeze, or we'll shoot!” came a voice over a megaphone behind them.
A Jeep barreled through the gap between the buildings and skidded to a halt in front of them. The door flew open. “Hurry up. Get in!” someone shouted. There was no time to think. They piled into the Jeep and slammed the door shut. Shots rang out as the Jeep's tires spun for a moment on the damp pavement and then gripped, propelling them straight through the chain-link aluminum gate.
The gate gave with a snap and a crunch. For a moment it clung to the hood of the Jeep, and Blake thought it was going to crash through the windshield, but then it slid to the side, and he felt the rear tires roll over it.
Now they were on the streets of a residential area. The Jeep sped past houses and parked cars to the next major street and straight through the intersection. It was a miracle they didn't hit anyone.
The driver had long hair, but in the dim light, Blake couldn't make out much more—not the hair color, not the person's gender. Nothing was said as they plummeted down another side street, taking turns at a tire-squealing pace. Less than five minutes later, they were skidding to a halt in a driveway.
“Come on. Let's go.” The driver's contralto offered no clues in the gender department, but once out of the car, Blake saw that he was a tall, slender man with blond hair.
He hustled them out of the Jeep and into the backseat of a Honda Accord parked on the street. Blake glanced around at the houses. The windows were dark, their inhabitants asleep. No one would witness this bizarre scene of two naked men scrambling from one car to another.
“There's clothes for you in that bag on the floor,” said their rescuer. Joam and Blake explored the contents of a brown paper shopping bag and pulled on sweatpants, sweaters, socks, and dollar-store tennis shoes as the man drove at a brisk but lawful pace down the street, around several turns, and out onto another major road, where they joined the flow of traffic.
Squad cars with flashing lights sped toward them in the oncoming lane, and Blake tensed, but the police rushed right past them, taking no notice of the Ho
nda in the stream of other cars.
Blake glanced at Joam, who sat stiff in the seat beside him, his skin pale in contrast to the navy blue nubby sweater he now wore. Blake took his hand, and Joam gripped it bruisingly hard. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, silver in the intermittent light of the streetlights.
“That was really stupid,” said the driver. “You should have ditched the Lincoln as soon as possible. They'll always find a car.”
“Who are you?” asked Blake.
They came to a stoplight, and the driver turned around. “I'm Vic, and I'm a member of an outreach group helping varnals and humans understand one another. Needless to say, we're friends of the enemies of Gregor Walsh.”
“We're not Walsh's enemies,” said Blake.
Vic laughed. “You are now.”
“How do you even know about us?”
“We've been tracking Gregor Walsh's activities for some time. We're sorry we were unable to intervene back in Beulah, but the time wasn't right.”
“Are you a cop?” asked Joam.
Vic smiled. “No. We operate in what you could call an unofficial capacity.” There was a pause. “We're varnals.”
“Varnals,” said Joam. “But you're against Walsh.”
“Walsh is the kind of varnal that makes assimilating into human society next to impossible for the rest of us. We want him brought to justice, but it's not easy. He has contacts everywhere. That's another reason we couldn't help you sooner than we did. We needed to know for sure that you weren't on his side.”
“After he nearly did us in?”
“Before. He's been known to turn on close associates in the past. But people still get involved with him because he's so powerful. Then they're afraid to leave. We had to be certain that wasn't the case with either of you.”
“And what convinced you?” demanded Blake.
“Walsh was the one who called in the report on you.”
Awakenings 2: Instinct Page 2
