Blood Howl

by Alex Kidwell

  Christ, he was going to die. Jed Walker was going to get fucking murdered by this amazing, sexy, lethal man. If he’d thought Redford was beautiful before, if he’d thought he was hot as hell, nothing compared to the sight of Red above him, totally swept up in ecstasy and taking Jed along with him. There was no way to resist. Hell, Jed didn’t even want to try. Body arched, fingers clenched around Redford’s hips, he came so hard he saw stars. Seriously, white bursting stars across his vision; fuck, he might have broken something.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he panted, dazed, sprawled out across the sheets, the very picture of debauchery. “Holy crap, baby. Holy crap, that was so good. You are so good.”

  “I think the good part is all you,” Redford mumbled, dazed. When he lay back down, he was careful to avoid Jed’s shoulder, attaching himself to Jed’s side. He was still shaking with the aftermath, muscles twitching, and he stretched with a quietly content noise, nuzzling his nose against Jed’s neck. “That was….”

  Apparently not finding the words to properly sum up his feelings, Redford just leaned up to kiss Jed, slow and lazy, smiling against his lips. He glanced at the bandage wrapped around Jed’s shoulder briefly, seemingly satisfied when he saw that it was in place, and settled back down, curled around Jed. “Maybe a little bit of physical exertion is okay,” he allowed.

  Smirking, Jed just stared up at the ceiling, his good arm wrapped loosely around Redford’s shoulders. “I’m saying. Nothing like a nice round of Hide the Sausage to get the blood flowing.”

  This was it. This was the moment when he bailed. He could see it so clearly—a little wiggle and his arm would be free, there was a clear shot to the bathroom, and then maybe he’d claim he needed coffee or something and out the door. Clean and simple. He had never just lain in bed with someone, after all. For all he knew, it wasn’t normal. Guys left, that was what happened. Everyone got off. There was that nice complimentary moment afterwards, and then you got the hell out of Dodge.

  Turning his head to look at Redford, he opened his mouth to make the excuse. To run. Except Red fit against his side, cheek pillowed on his shoulder. Except there was this lazy contentment, this confidence, in Redford’s eyes that Jed hadn’t seen before. He liked it. He wanted to see more of it.

  “I don’t know how to do this part,” he admitted quietly, eyes creasing at the corners in confusion. “The staying part. Just… I’ve been with a lot of guys. You know that. But there’s never been this, you know? There’s never been an after. And I don’t know if I can do that.”

  Redford just looked up at him with those dumb, guileless eyes, and spread his hand out over Jed’s chest. “It’s easy,” he said simply. “You just stay here.”

  Oh yeah. Easy. Jaw clenched, Jed gave one last look at the door, wondering how the fuck he’d gotten into this mess.

  Except… he wasn’t leaving. Even while he was half thinking about it, he’d wound his fingers with Redford’s, he’d settled into the pillow with a low snort. Shaking his head, he looked away, as if that was going to maintain some distance.

  It wasn’t easy. It was just the only choice. Jed didn’t want to leave. As scary as that was, as big and life changing and fucking terrifying, he didn’t want to go.

  So he didn’t.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Redford

  “IT’S only been four weeks, Jed. Your doctor said you shouldn’t be driving.”

  Redford was fretting. There was no other word for it. He was wringing his hands, trying to get Jed to see reason, and he was hovering. He was definitely fretting. When Jed had proudly shown him a motorcycle and said they were going to drive, well, Jed wasn’t supposed to be moving around much. His shoulder was still healing. Four weeks of Jed being a bad patient, and now they were standing outside of his apartment next to a motorcycle that looked frankly intimidating.

  “You could injure your shoulder again if you move it too much,” Redford continued. His hands had progressed into being settled on his hips, attempting to give Jed a stern look.

  There was a smirk, a quirking upward of one corner of Jed’s mouth, and he leaned in to kiss Redford softly. Then a helmet was being pressed onto Redford’s head, and Jed grinned at him, beaming. “So true, sweetheart. Which is why you’re driving.”

  “I’m not driving,” Redford replied automatically, rolling his eyes up to look at the edge of the helmet now settled over his forehead. “I can’t drive. Besides, I’ve heard that motorcycles are death traps.”

  Apparently Jed was ignoring him today. He’d done that occasionally recently, particularly when Redford tried to insist on things like healthy salads or no deep fried anything for breakfast. Swinging one jean-clad leg over the bike, Jed straddled the back, patting the seat in front of him expectantly. “You can’t drive now,” he corrected. “Which is why I’m teaching you. Come on, sugarlips, hop on.”

  Giving the bike a dubious look, Redford climbed on awkwardly, settling onto the seat in front of Jed. Unlike a car, this was rather snug. Jed was pressed close in against his back, and Redford wondered how he was supposed to concentrate at all. “I never even learned how to ride a pedal bike,” he pointed out, a little hysterical, as Jed’s hands came to cover his, wrapping them around the handlebars.

  Why was he doing this? It was all Jed’s fault. In trying to take care of Jed over the last four weeks—trying to make him sleep and eat properly—Redford had quickly learned that Jed was very persuasive. All he needed to do was get a bit too close to Redford and grin at him, and Redford was done for. That was why he was on this death trap of a vehicle. Because Jed had asked him to, and because Jed was dressed in incredibly tight jeans today.

  “So… what do I do?” Nervous, Redford looked over his shoulder, back at Jed. Shouldn’t Jed have a helmet too? This whole situation was worrying. But Jed was just smiling at him, that kind of soft expression he got sometimes. He rested his chin on Redford’s shoulder, nudging in a little closer. His arms were wrapped so easily around Redford, his whole body surrounding him like some big, Jed-shaped blanket.

  “First thing is to go easy on the gas. Can’t pound a bike hard. Gotta seduce it. Make it beg.”

  “Are you trying to teach me how to drive a motorcycle by making the whole thing sound like sex?” Redford snorted, but he did as Jed told him, very carefully twisting the throttle. The bike was still parked, the kick stand firmly resting against the concrete pavement, so all that happened was the engine revving a little, Redford giving a stifled startled noise at the sudden vibration of the bike. He sincerely hoped that was actually supposed to happen. “Was that right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jed drawled, and his hips pressed even tighter up against Redford’s ass. “Listen to my baby purr.” Redford assumed he meant the motorcycle.

  Experimentally, he revved the engine just a fraction harder. It made Jed press himself even more firmly against Redford’s back, and Redford took a moment to wonder why Jed was so obviously getting turned on by this. Jed was weird like that sometimes.

  “This is a death trap,” Redford repeated, glowering down at the handles. “You’re lucky I love you.”

  There was a long pause, Jed seemingly frozen behind him. Clearing his throat, Jed leaned forward to switch on the headlights, even though it was afternoon. He fiddled around a bit, obviously just needing something to do with his hands.

  Jed didn’t respond well to that word, Redford remembered now. The last time he’d said it, Jed had run for the door so fast he’d almost forgotten shoes. So maybe saying nothing was a step. An important step, one of the little tiny kinds of steps. Redford supposed anything was better than running away. He felt Jed sigh a little behind him, like all of that tension vanished.

  “Hey, Fido?” Jed ventured quietly, voice little more than an exhale against Redford’s neck. “I love you, too.”

  About the Authors

  ROBIN SAXON, born and bred in New Zealand, lives in South Bend, Indiana, with partner Alex Kidwell. When not writing or daydreaming ab
out ideas for more stories, Robin is usually found playing MMOs like World of Warcraft, reading, drawing, and fussing over their cats, Starsky and Hutch.

  In the rare times when she is not being pestered by their cats, Robin also listens to heavy metal music and enjoys everything from classics like Chaucer to urban fiction, as well as cooking vegetarian meals and inflicting them on Alex.

  Visit Robin’s blog, http://saxonkidwell.blogspot.com/, and Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002277559369, or e-mail Robin at robin_saxon@yahoo.com.

  ALEX KIDWELL, confirmed geek and bibliophile, lives in South Bend, Indiana, with partner Robin Saxon. Alex relaxes by slaying dragons in MMOs, listening to music that can be sung along with in the shower, and enjoying BBC programming.

  Other than writing, Alex enjoys knitting and is currently attempting to learn how to knit in the round. There are plans for a future of cat hats, which Alex is certain will go over well with household-running felines, Starsky and Hutch. Alex also indulges in too many cooking shows while only owning one pan.

  Visit Alex’s blog, http://saxonkidwell.blogspot.com/, and Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002270719608, or e-mail Alex at alex.kidwell@yahoo.com.

  Paranormal Romance from DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com