North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  “No, no. I’m okay. Just worried about the bakery. Was there anyone there at this time of night?”

  Cliff might still know a number of people in Sandy Bottom Bay, but Drew and Kyle interacted with them every day and probably had a number of close friends in town. Of course this would affect them. Cliff took a step toward Drew and held out a hand.

  Wan and pale, Drew gave him a tight little smile. “Be careful.” He extricated himself form Kyle’s embrace to touch Cliff’s arm.

  “I will.” Cliff took a deep breath, not sure he was completely forgiven for Brett. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  Drew nodded. “You’d better go.”

  Leaving it like this felt wrong or unfinished somehow, but Cliff didn’t have a choice. He had a job to do, and like it or not, sometimes it was going to trump his boyfriend…if he still had a chance to call Drew that. After one more lingering look, he jogged toward where he’d parked his patrol car.

  DREW HELD HIMSELF together long enough for both Cliff and Scott to depart, but as soon as Scott disappeared, the shakes started.

  “Holy shit, Drew. I can’t fucking believe it.” Kyle hugged him as he spoke.

  Kyle was warm and comforting, but there was a tiny, disloyal part of Drew that wished it were Cliff wrapped around him.

  “This can’t be coincidence, can it?” Drew hoped Kyle would say yes, but he knew damn well they’d both been half convinced after verifying Mrs. Gillespie was from Connecticut.

  “No, I don’t think so. You’re psychic.”

  “Fucking concussion.”

  Kyle pulled away, looking puzzled, before he started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Who knew? One solid knock on the head and you’re a legit psychic. It’s kinda weird.”

  Maybe it would go away. Maybe he wouldn’t see any more visions. Maybe once the headaches were gone, they’d take away his new “gift.” He could only hope, because he didn’t know how he was going to convince Cliff he wasn’t bleeding into his brain or trying to scam people.

  Shakes rattled his body, and his breathing sped up. When his vision started to gray at the edges, Kyle slapped him.

  “Slow breaths, Drew. In. Out.”

  Drew followed Kyle’s breathing, letting the panic and hyperventilation subside. “This is so fucked-up.”

  Kyle rubbed his shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and get a beer or something into you. We’ll figure this out.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this, Kyle.”

  Kyle hugged him again. “It might not always be bad news, honey. Try not to worry about it. We’ll deal with it if it happens again. First, though, text Lisa and make sure she’s all right.”

  “I’ll do it in the car. I really need to sit down for a bit.”

  He was worried about Lisa, but there wasn’t anything he could do at the moment, and if he collapsed out here in the dark, that would only make things worse.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Drew opened his eyes, amazed that he’d managed to fall asleep at all. After receiving confirmation from Lisa that no one had been in the bakery and it was only property damage, he’d been relieved, but he’d still wanted to wait up until Cliff got home. Despite the scares and adrenaline and worry, his eyelids had drooped before midnight.

  Cliff had made it home okay, though, as he was currently wrapped around Drew, warm and secure. Shifting slowly, Drew turned over so he was facing Cliff. He’d been a little thrown off by the information that Cliff and Brett had been an item at one point. How on earth could Drew possibly measure up to Brett Cavanagh? Drew wasn’t famous. Millions didn’t drool over him every week. But then again, neither would Drew cheat on Cliff. Drew might not be a relationship expert, but he hadn’t seen anything that indicated Cliff wanted Brett back. Funny thing was, he wasn’t sure Brett truly wanted Cliff back either, despite his words the previous night.

  Maybe it was stupid of him, but Drew was secure in the knowledge that Cliff wanted him and only him. Whether that would still be true if Drew tried to convince him that he was psychic…well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Because one of the last things he’d thought about before dropping off to sleep was that maybe there was no real reason he had to tell Cliff about his visions. As long as he didn’t see anything that was life-threatening or illegal, there wasn’t any point in rocking the boat.

  Cliff’s eyelids fluttered open. “Hi.” His voice was husky and sleep-filled, rubbing along Drew’s skin like a caress.

  “Hi.”

  Cliff raised a hand to brush Drew’s hair off his cheek before sliding down to the nape of his neck. With the slightest amount of pressure, Drew succumbed to both their desires and pressed his lips to Cliff’s.

  It hadn’t taken long for them to get in the habit of sleeping together naked, and Cliff’s firm erection nudged Drew’s, the slide of skin on skin only ramping Drew up.

  “You’re so sexy,” Cliff murmured into his neck before licking the skin there. One of Cliff’s hands pinched at Drew’s nipples, and he moaned, writhing against Cliff.

  “More,” Drew whispered.

  Cliff grunted an affirmative before he nipped his way down Drew’s chest, each touch with those straight white teeth making Drew crazy. Hovering over Drew, Cliff grinned, an evil, sensual grin, before ducking down and sucking one nipple into his mouth while pinching the other rhythmically.

  Arching his back, Drew moaned, loud and long. He was going to fucking die of pleasure. Or come just from the attention to his chest.

  Mere seconds before Drew blew, Cliff lifted up, still grinning, and Drew humped air, so fucking close.

  “Dammit.” He was desperate, but he knew instinctively that just grabbing his cock and stroking to orgasm would be cheating. “You have to do something. Please.”

  “What would you like?” Cliff drew a featherlight touch along the inside of his thigh, displacing the hair and tickling him while making him want to beg for a firmer touch farther north.

  “Fuck me.” Drew stilled for a moment. They hadn’t done that yet. Hadn’t even discussed it. But he wanted it now. Wanted Cliff’s fat cock to fill him up.

  This time Cliff groaned. “Yes. Nightstand?”

  Drew nodded. Seemed a logical place to keep supplies, although it had been a damn long time since he’d needed to delve into the box of condoms.

  Mere seconds later, Cliff was suited up, a cool bottle of lube rolled against Drew’s leg, and slick fingers probed him.

  “Now, please.” Drew might not have done this often, but he’d done it often enough to know he didn’t need a lot of prep.

  Cliff stared at him. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Do it. Fuck me.”

  Cliff pushed Drew’s knees back and rubbed his cock over Drew’s hole, teasing. Shifting his hips, Drew did his best to impale himself.

  “You’re so fucking hot.” Cliff’s gaze was riveted to their groins, and Drew could easily imagine what they looked like from that perspective. Didn’t mean he wanted Cliff to stare all day.

  “Please, North, please.” Panic made Drew freeze, although it didn’t wilt his erection any. He’d called Cliff by the name North too many times in his head, gotten too comfortable with the man, and out slipped his own special shortened name.

  Cliff’s reaction was gratifying and swift. He groaned and pushed his cock inside, filling Drew up perfectly. He slid home and held still, pubes crinkling against Drew’s ass. He ducked his head against Drew’s neck, biting with the exact pressure that made Drew fucking crazy.

  Drew writhed, enjoying the stretch and burn but desperate for a hard pounding. After a few licks and nibbles, and somehow keeping his cock motionless inside Drew, Cliff lifted up and stared deep in his eyes.

  With a wicked grin, Cliff answered Drew’s prayers, pulling back and thrusting in with an ideal rhythm and force. Drew barely had time to breathe as they worked with each other, flexing and sweating, pleasure rising and magnifying.

  A m
inor shift in position, and Cliff’s cockhead hit Drew’s prostate with every thrust, wringing tortured groans from his throat that mingled with the erotic slap of flesh against flesh.

  Drew couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to come so bad it was almost painful. He grabbed his cock, slick with precum, and stroked frantically. He was so turned on and absolutely desperate to come.

  “That’s it,” Cliff gritted out. “Come for me. Come on my cock.”

  Drew had never been one to follow orders like that, but on command, his entire body stiffened, cock spurting and ass rippling around Cliff’s dick. Cliff groaned and threw his head back, jerking helplessly in the throes of his own orgasm.

  Breathing heavily, Cliff collapsed atop Drew, heedless of the jizz decorating Drew’s belly. Drew sank back into sated lethargy, letting his heart rate and breathing slow. He’d come so hard he was pretty sure his legs weren’t going to work, not for several minutes, at least.

  Cliff pulled his softening cock gently out of Drew, disposed of the condom in the wastebasket, and grabbed a cloth to clean them up. Then, to Drew’s surprise, he came back to the bed and curled around Drew, nuzzling his nose into Drew’s hair. It was comforting and sweet in a way Drew had dreamed of but never experienced with any other bed partner.

  “So I guess you know my full name,” Cliff whispered in his ear.

  Ears heating in embarrassment, Drew half shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Um…I kinda like it.”

  “I don’t really like it. Doesn’t suit me. Sounds like it belongs to someone pampered and entitled.”

  Drew’s lungs seized up, and his entire face flamed. The only saving grace was that he wasn’t facing Cliff, but he still stiffened, wanting to get out of bed and away from his humiliation.

  Cliff had other plans and flipped him over. Unable to meet Cliff’s gaze, Drew stared hard at a long-healed scar on Cliff’s shoulder.

  Despite Drew’s uneasiness, Cliff kissed him. “I like it when you call me North. In bed, at least.”

  The air in Drew’s chest escaped in a whoosh. He hadn’t completely fucked up. He glanced up and smiled at the tenderness in Cliff’s eyes.

  With gentle fingers, Cliff smoothed sweat-dampened red hair out of Drew’s face before smiling ruefully. “I’m sorry about Brett. He can be such an asshole. Just ignore him, please.”

  Tiny ripples of apprehension swirled in Drew’s belly. In the wake of some stellar sex, he’d forgotten Brett trying to stake a claim on the man Drew had wanted for his entire adult life.

  “Is…is that why you came back? Because of the breakup?” Drew feared the answer as strongly as he needed it.

  Cliff gave him a rueful smile and shook his head. “No. Brett and I broke up a few months ago. There were a number of reasons why I decided to return. Being a cop in LA is a hard, often thankless job. You see a lot of ugliness, and I was tense all the time because I wasn’t out at work. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but I wasn’t willing to risk it. Then, a few weeks after my breakup with Brett, my best friend died in an accident.”

  With a quiet gasp, Drew squeezed Cliff’s hand, hoping to give him some comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

  Although his eyes reddened slightly, Cliff just smiled sadly. “Thanks. He was a great guy. But without him there, I sort of lost my way. Lost any desire to remain in Los Angeles. I know I seem like a horrible son, never coming back to visit my mother, but I spoke to her on the phone regularly. I was a little worried about her, getting older and being on her own. It all contributed to me leaping on the job opening here. I guess I’m just a small-town boy at heart.”

  This time, Drew was the one to brush a kiss over Cliff’s lips. “I’m sorry you’ve had a tough time, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  This time Cliff’s smile had no sadness in it. “Me too.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Drew couldn’t believe it had only been a week—he’d never felt so connected to someone so quickly. He definitely couldn’t count the years-long crush, because he’d never spoken to North until a week ago…no, he had to remember to call him Cliff. Except in bed, since Cliff was adamant that North only be used between the two of them. Which still gave Drew a warm, fluttery feeling in his belly. Just as he’d hoped, the name was something special just for Drew, and having a little secret like this was very coupley. Made Drew smile.

  He’d spent the last few days distracting himself with Cliff’s dick and ignoring the elephant in the room, namely his so-called psychic visions. Although he’d done a few readings while recuperating, he’d never quite been able to shake the fear that he was going to see something disturbing. He’d mostly convinced himself it was some sort of weird side-effect from his concussion, and he was glad he’d never told Cliff about it.

  Haunt Fest was approaching fast, and while it made sense for Cliff to leave early to lay in enough groceries and supplies to get them through, Drew would have preferred to luxuriate in bed with him. Or have hot, sweaty sex. Or both.

  Instead he pulled on Malachi’s clothes because opening the reading room would be wise; there might be pre-Fest early birds out and about. Although he still tired easily, a little extra business couldn’t hurt.

  The cool air, which Cliff insisted remain on, made wearing his costume almost pleasant. The memory of Cliff’s first sight of him as Malachi, when Cliff’s eyes darkened and he looked positively hungry, made Drew shiver and hardened his cock. Which really wasn’t the most appropriate reaction when he was going to work. He gave his unruly dick a thump, hoping that the robes were sufficient to hide some unexpected tumescence.

  As he passed through the reading room, he rocked to a stop and stared at the black-velvet-covered table, deck of tarot cards sitting there in readiness. He didn’t want to believe he was psychic, but something weird had definitely happened, no matter how much he’d tried to pretend otherwise, and he wasn’t keen for a repeat. The stomach-churning trepidation he experienced during each reading since wasn’t a joy either.

  Screw it. He strode over to the table, sat down, and picked up the deck. Nothing changed. No visions appeared. Any heralds of supernatural phenomena that he’d ever heard about were completely and utterly absent. But he didn’t want to take any chances.

  He flipped over the deck, quickly sorted through the cards to find the death card, and pulled it from the deck. He’d thought about this more than once, no matter how much it was…stacking the deck in his favor. He was a tarot reader, for fuck’s sake. This he could cheat on, a little, if it eased both his mind and those of his clients. As an afterthought, he also pulled the ten of pentacles that had presaged the bakery fire. If he was going to start believing in the unbelievable, he’d rather assume those cards were cursed than that he’d somehow managed to unlock his third eye or whatever by getting knocked out in a barroom brawl. Drew slipped the two offending cards under a heavy, ornate box that held a variety of incense sticks and returned the deck to its original position on the table.

  With a nod, he continued on into the front room. The first thing that caught his eye as he unlocked the door was a piece of colored paper tacked on the outside screen. He yanked open the door to find yet another sign that claimed he wasn’t available for consultations, and interested clients might consider the services of Eddie Price, medium.

  Fucker. Did Eddie think his brains were completely addled by the concussion and he somehow wouldn’t notice the sign? Maybe he’d have to ask Cliff about getting a restraining order, because this was starting to resemble harassment. He couldn’t do anything that would garner bad publicity this close to the Haunt Fest, or the mayor would string him up by his balls. Afterward, though, Eddie would find out that messing with a Drummond wasn’t wise.

  He crumpled the sign in his fist and threw it away, vowing not to let it ruin his day.

  Between his slight alteration of the deck, the presence of Cliff in his life, and the fact that the worst of his pain had receded, Drew was happier than he could remember being in a long time. They both agreed that a
lthough their relationship was new and had had a weird start, living together had been like compressing their relationship to a much more serious place much faster than normal. They spent the mornings and early afternoons before Cliff’s shifts getting to know each other, in between heating the sheets.

  Humming, Drew rearranged a few of the displays, removing the coating of dust that built up so fucking fast. Never made sense to him. Florida was so humid that the dust should have been tamped down by the water-logged atmosphere, and yet he had to dust every couple of days if he didn’t want his wares to look like they’d been hanging around since his grandma had been a teenager.

  If the online sales got going, he’d find a way to pay someone to come in and do the cleaning and rearranging, maybe more. Maybe even man the desk during Haunt Fest, because he was pretty sure him in his costume doing all the grunt work only showed how close he was to being a complete fiscal failure. At the moment, he didn’t have any other choice.

  The bell over his door tinkled, and Drew quickly tucked away his duster before whirling to greet his client. It took a moment to reconcile that the man in the baseball cap wasn’t a typical client but none other than Brett Cavanagh, rendering Drew speechless. Normally he’d ask a newcomer if they wanted a reading or if they just wanted to look around. Brett’s money would spend just as well as anyone else’s, but after everything he’d seen of Brett, Drew was incredibly reluctant to offer him a reading. What if he said yes? Considering his entitled attitude, he’d probably expect a freebie too.

  “Well, well. You’ve got a deft hand with the makeup, don’t you?”

  Was Brett capable of sounding anything other than smarmy? Drew didn’t bother answering. He just waited for Brett to get to the point.

  “I think we might be able to use you in the interview portion of the show. You’d be famous, and you clean up really well.” Brett took a couple of steps forward, and Drew had to steel himself to stand his ground.

  Not wanting to stand too close to Brett didn’t mean he was afraid of the man, but Drew was certain Brett would consider him duly intimidated if he retreated. If his brothers had taught him nothing else, they’d shown him how to be bullheaded, even when it wasn’t in his best interest. And really, Brett might be a viper with a lecherous tongue, but he hadn’t been directly responsible for Drew’s injuries. Drew could take care of himself, even with a guy who was much bigger than he was—yet another valuable lesson he’d learned from Rob and Wyatt.