Wolf, WY

by A. F. Henley

  He could feel Vaughn's gaze on him, as hot and insistent as Vaughn's tongue over his cock, and Randy finally gave himself permission to look. There was enough fire in Vaughn's eyes to incinerate the entire house.

  "Oh, wow," Randy sighed. Too beautiful. Too thrilling. "Okay, Vaughn. I'm moving." Randy shifted on the couch. "God help me, I'm moving regardless of what you say."

  Vaughn lifted an eyebrow before he even lifted his head, and Randy waved off his impending reply before it was spoken.

  "Not my leg. I promise." Randy dragged his palm up Vaughn's arm and dug his fingers into Vaughn's shoulders. "Can you kneel?"

  The look Vaughn gave him was one-hundred percent 'What are you even talking about and why now?'

  Randy grinned, reached for one of Vaughn's belt loops and tugged at it. "Just trust me, will you? I'm not going to do a damn thing that will result in you stopping what you're doing." He snaked his fingers to the front of Vaughn's jeans and palmed Vaughn through the denim. Vaughn felt blissfully hard; how in the hell Vaughn managed to still be in his pants was almost alarming. Randy had no doubt that in a similar situation he'd at least have his cock out and in his fist by that point. "Lift up on to your knees. Please."

  Vaughn did as he was told, and his expression softened when Randy began to undo his belt. Although, when Randy had to reach to push Vaughn's pants down his hips, Vaughn stopped Randy's motion with a frown. "I'll get it." The moment they were shoved down Vaughn's thighs, Randy angled his shoulders into position and dropped his head over the edge of the couch. Then, before Vaughn could balk, reprimand, question, or query, Randy parted his lips and slipped Vaughn's cock into his mouth.

  "Oh..." Vaughn's legs stiffened and he clung to Randy's cock so hard that Randy flinched. He repeated the sound as Randy worked Vaughn deeper into his throat, elongating the vowel in time to Randy's swallow. "Oooh..."

  Upside down was a position that required what Randy always jokingly referred to as 'audience participation', for although the angle allowed for full penetration, it was hard to do much moving. He reached around Vaughn's ass with both arms, wound his fingers together, and pulled Vaughn's hips closer. Vaughn hissed his approval, Randy's cock danced in gratitude, and Randy did it twice more before he pulled off Vaughn altogether.

  "You do it," Randy rasped. His throat would suffer for his creativity later, but there were teas for sore throats; at that moment the only thing that mattered was tasting Vaughn's come.

  "Do what?" Vaughn asked. "I don't... I'm not sure?"

  Randy skimmed his palm over Vaughn's hip, Vaughn's cock, and then under and around Vaughn's balls. He mouthed the underside of Vaughn's shaft from balls to tip, tasting every inch of Vaughn before he answered. "Move into my mouth." He rested his lips against Vaughn's crown. "Fuck my throat like you'd fuck anything else."

  "Sweet fucking..." Vaughn didn't even finish the curse. He let go of Randy's cock, found the front of his shirt, and ripped it open and off in one fluid pull, as though his body had just overheated to unsustainable levels. Then he stilled. Randy couldn't have taken an oath that Vaughn stopped to stare down at him—it was impossible to see anything but Vaughn's impatient body—but he'd swear up and down that he was pretty damn sure that's what the pause was about.

  "You sure that'll be all right?" Vaughn asked finally, and the sincerity in his voice had Randy wrestling down a laugh.

  "Oh, Vaughn," Randy said, teasing. "I cannot even begin to tell you the conviction of my assurances on my sureness."

  He heard the smile on Vaughn's face when Vaughn spoke. "I'm going to assume that means yes on some parts of this planet."

  In the second that it took for Randy's laugh to fade, the world shifted from amusement to desire. Vaughn lowered his head back into Randy's lap and eased his cock between Randy's lips at the same time. Randy's mind was lost to the effort of giving and the bliss of receiving.

  Vaughn's caution lasted all of a half a dozen thrusts. When he understood that Randy could take what he was being given, Vaughn gave it with an unrelenting drive. It was a need that spawned redoubled determination on Vaughn's part, though, and he sucked and stroked Randy's cock with everything he had. He swallowed that much deeper, his hand moved that much faster, and even his spit seemed more fluid. His breath raced over Randy's groin and balls, and his dick filled Randy's mouth and throat.

  Heat doubled and tripled on Randy's skin until Randy was sure the woodstove must have somehow ignited the carpet and set the room ablaze. Sweat gathered on the inside of Vaughn's legs and dampened Vaughn's balls enough that they felt slippery in Randy's palm. He groaned around Vaughn's shaft. His body tensed and shook, and the need to let Vaughn know that he could hold off no longer became urgent. The struggle to draw enough breath around Vaughn's plunges was too intense, the growing strength of orgasm was too strong, and the sensation of Vaughn's cock swelling, thickening, and straining to diamond-hard rigidity was too erotic.

  "Mpf!" A sound somewhere between a garbled cry and a wail of pleasure tore from Randy's chest as he swallowed. He arched his hips up, screwed his eyelids shut and dug his fingertips into both inner thigh and ass muscle. And then he was coming, and Vaughn wasn't pulling away, and reasoning and senses were shattering into a million glittering prisms of ecstasy as he shot into Vaughn's mouth.

  Vaughn stifled a grunt against Randy's groin, still swallowing and stroking even though Randy's entire body must have been a twitching, over-sensitized mess of nerves. He dropped his free hand to Randy's head, grasped a handful of Randy's hair, and gasped. His orgasm hit Randy's throat with so much force that Randy couldn't swallow fast enough.

  He felt flushed and boneless when Vaughn finally pulled away. As Vaughn sat back on the carpet, Randy shifted his shoulders and head back on to the couch. "Holy fuck," Randy sighed.

  Both of Vaughn's hands lighted on his leg and Randy had to force his eyelids back open.

  "I still got to get this wrapped," Vaughn said. He offered Randy a small smile. "That was the point of the clothing coming off, after all."

  "Sure it was," Randy teased.

  The conversation stopped while Vaughn prodded gingerly and then while he worked the bandage over Randy's knee. "I can't tell if you cracked it or just beat the hell out of it. I don't like the sound of that grind in it, though."

  Randy laid his head back. "I don't even care. Right now I feel like a million fucking dollars." He sighed happily and wrapped both arms around his head. "I'll be fine."

  "You'll be X-rayed is what you'll be." Vaughn clipped the ends of the bandage and tapped Randy's leg. "I should go."

  "The kids," Randy said with a nod.

  Vaughn rose and tugged his pants up. "I'll come back in the morning and check the generator. Don't try to hobble out there."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Randy lifted a hand and saluted.

  "And I'll send Hannah or Isaac up with your mail when it's clear enough for the truck to run again. Don't try to get out there, either." He snapped his shirt closed as he spoke, and when he reached for his coat, he gave Randy one of those 'I'm serious' stares.

  Randy pointed into the air. "You betcha!"

  "Try not to put any weight on it until we know what's going on—"

  "Okay, Dad." Randy pulled himself up on both elbows and gave Vaughn as much of a glare as he could manage in his current state of post-orgasmic-peace. "Go take care of your real kids and don't worry about me. I'm all grown up, remember?"

  Vaughn chuckled and shrugged into his coat. "Thank God for small favors."

  "Yeah," Randy sighed another long, pleased hum and dropped back onto the couch. "In-freaking-deed."

  There was a pause in conversation while Vaughn scooped up his gloves and his hat. Then he walked to the woodstove, checked the position of the flue and added a couple of logs on top of what was there.

  "You're doing it again," Randy growled.

  "I ain't even." Vaughn swatted him with a glove as he walked past and in the direction of the door. "I'm here, right? It'll save yo
u a couple of steps later." He stopped before he made it to the front door, staring down at his hat, and twisting it as if he'd forgotten what exactly it was one did with such a thing. When he spoke, his tone was hushed and apologetic. "You should probably know that I'm starting to believe that I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about you."

  Though Vaughn's voice had been low and quiet, Randy felt the words ring through his entire body. They made him want to sing, or dance, or throw a goddamned party, fucked up knee or not. "That doesn't sound like a bad thing to me," he said, trying unsuccessfully to kill his growing smile. "I know you think it should, but it doesn't. I'm sorry."

  "Me too." Vaughn looked up and caught his gaze. "So maybe I'll just say that I'm going to call you. Instead of throwing a fit about how we can't do this. What do you think about that?"

  Randy lost his battle over expression control. There was no question in his mind that the grin on his face was so wide and goofy that it looked ridiculous. "I like it quite fine."

  Vaughn nodded and turned away. "Stay safe. Call me if you have any trouble. I'll take you in for X-rays when the roads clear."

  The door closed, the catch clicked into place, footsteps trundled across the porch, and Randy was even able to wait for a count of three following the last sound before he lifted both fists in the air and hollered. "Fuck, yes!"

  *~*~*

  By noon the following day, the heavy snowfall had been replaced by bitterly cold sweeps of fine, sparkly snow that had the density of powdered sugar. By evening that too had stopped, although to Randy it seemed like no person and no thing were quite ready to believe the storm had passed. The world rested in complete silence; even the birds remained hidden. As the power had been restored with the daylight, there'd been no visit from Vaughn for the promised check of fuel levels, and that had been more disappointing than the idea of living a few more hours without coffee or television. None of the three younger O'Connells had ventured out to clear away snow or walk across the street to fetch Randy's mail. That probably had more to do with the fact that the mail truck hadn't made its way up their street, though. The little red flag of the box remained down, wearing a pointed hat of gathered snow and staring with regret at the deep white blanket beneath it.

  The raven on the novel he'd been reading no longer glared up at him, as it had since been replaced with the second book in the series, and his grocery list rested a hundred pages or so from the point of its completion. His eyes were tired, and his neck ached from propping it up to read while he did his best to stay stationary. He set the book aside when twilight started to creep in, for no other reason than it was easier to reach for the remote control of the TV than it was to switch on enough lighting to continue reading.

  At nine o'clock, Randy washed down two painkillers with a shot of brandy, and fell asleep where he lay.

  *~*~*

  Although the sunlight streaming through his front window did its very best to get Randy's attention, it was his bladder that convinced him to wake up. The hobble down the hallway to the bathroom not only ensured his wakefulness, it had Randy wondering whether he should call Vaughn and check to see if Vaughn had been serious about the offer to drive him in for X-rays. He heard the plows go by while he was in the kitchen brewing coffee and making toast. An hour later, as he dressed, the pained rumble and grumble-squeak stop of the school bus picking up the O'Connell babies also made itself known. Wolf was shaking off the snow and pulling itself back into business.

  By nine-thirty, with his gait worsening, and the thrum of pain in his knee growing into a dull roar, Randy forced his feet into his boots and his arms into his coat. The snow wasn't going to clear itself and as unfortunate as the thought was, at some point he going to have to either trudge through his yard to get in Vaughn's truck, or find a way to drive his own. It wouldn't be the first time that the dawn of a new day had encouraged Vaughn to change his mind, after all.

  Randy hitched through the carport, still relatively clear between the house and the garage, and got the shovel out. He started with the drift in front of the garage door and by the time he'd moved to the one in front of the carport, his chest and back were slick with sweat. A mantra was running through his head: One bite at a time... scoop, lift, throw. One bite at a time... scoop, lift, throw. Concentrating on the repetition kept his mind off the pain. It also helped him focus when the ground below him started to get a little bit spongy and the world around him turned into wiggly, watercolor lines that weren't quite definable.

  When someone touched him, mid-back, Randy was so lost in the improvised meditation that he shrieked. He spun around, hissed as the movement did all kinds of nasty things to pain receptors, and clutched blindly when two hands reached out to steady him.

  "You're hurt."

  It took several seconds to bring Lyle's face into focus, but when Randy was able to manage it, he couldn't stop himself from chuckling at Lyle's expression. Worry creased Lyle's brow and thinned Lyle's lips—he looked concerned to the point of agitation.

  "What happened?" Lyle tugged Randy's arm closer, and wound it around his shoulders. He pulled the shovel out of Randy's hand and tossed it. "Did my father do this?" His voice was cold, his words bitter with acidic reproach.

  "God, no," Randy said. As much as he hated to admit it, leaning against Lyle's body made his knee feel a hundred times better than it had while carrying his weight. "I did this all to myself, dork that I am."

  "Now? How?" Lyle didn't wait for an answer. He began to walk Randy toward the entrance of the house.

  "Last night. No..." Randy shook his head. "The night before. In the storm. Missed a step." Or six, he added silently.

  Lyle stopped walking. He turned to face Randy dead-on, his distress darkening into anger. "And you're out here? Shoveling snow?"

  Randy bit back the 'like father, like son' that came to mind. "I can take care of myself."

  A smile softened Lyle's face. He lifted a bare hand and touched Randy's cheek with the back of his knuckles. "No, you can't."

  It was Lyle's eyes more so than the touch that set the warning bells pealing in Randy's head. He caught Lyle's hand and drew it away. "Doesn't matter. I've done enough for today. It's naptime for me." He offered Lyle a smile that was intended to be firmer than Randy thought it turned out to be. "You should go home."

  Something dark kindled in Lyle's eyes. "I'll come in with you," he said. "Help you get settled."

  Randy squeezed Lyle's hand and then dropped it. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "And I don't think you being alone is a good idea," Lyle countered. He reached for Randy's wrist, and Randy stepped back, head shaking.

  "Go home, Lyle. Before someone comes looking for you."

  Lyle stepped closer. Randy flicked a glance at the door to his left and, as if reading his mind, Lyle reached over Randy's shoulder and set one palm against it. "I'm not afraid of him. You don't have to be, either."

  Randy's eyebrows rose. "If my assumption is correct, and I'm more than sure it is, then you're referring to your father." He paused, but not for Lyle's confirmation. He paused because the shudder that went through Lyle's body was strangely terrifying. Randy set his jaw and stared hard. "Understand something, and understand it very clearly—I am not afraid of your father. There are a lot of emotions that Vaughn inspires in my guts, Lyle, but not one of them even comes close to fear. And you playing with me as if I'm some kind of move in a fucked-up game of chess is just going to piss me off."

  "You don't know what you're talk—"

  "Be quiet," Randy said. He didn't change his tone, he didn't change his stance, but he kept eye contact with tractor beam intensity. "One thing you probably haven't quite caught on to with respect to me is that playing the part of top dog doesn't do a damn thing to turn me on. If you're looking for somebody to swoon over how easily you can manipulate situations, or someone that's going to get doe-eyed over the fact that you think you're tougher and more conniving than dear old Dad, you're in the wrong yard."
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  Confusion began to edge its way into Lyle's expression. "But you like me..."

  "You're eighteen," Randy said blankly. "You look fucking amazing with your shirt off, and you have a killer smile. But you're eighteen. End of sentence."

  "I'm no younger to you than you are to my father—"

  "But I like your father." Randy lowered his eyes and found the knob of the door. He yanked on it, ignoring the fact that Lyle was still leaning on the frame. "And even if the fact that you're a teenager didn't freak me out, which it does, the fact remains that you are his son. So that's where any bit of physical attraction between you and me ends."

  Lyle released the door, but Randy could feel the weight of Lyle's eyes on him as Randy pulled it open. "Go home, buddy. Call a therapist. Figure out why in the hell you feel like you need to dominate your father, and get some perspective on what he's done for you and your family. This isn't healthy. You need help."

  "Because it's just so hard to believe that I might actually want you for no other reason besides the fact that I do?"

  Randy stepped through the doorway, and then turned and nodded. "If you had used any other word but 'want', this would probably be a very different conversation." He smiled at Lyle's bewilderment. "Your father doesn't want me. He likes me."

  As Randy closed the door, Lyle put out his hand and stopped it from shutting. "Two things." He forced a smile, reached into his pocket, and handed Randy a small bundle. "Your mail. The kids were supposed to get it, but I told them not to bother."

  He waited for Randy to reach for it, but didn't let go when Randy tried to pull it from his hands. "And the second thing?" Lyle said, his smile finally reaching his eyes. "You're kidding yourself about where my father's head is at right now and you know it. The only thing my dad cares about is maintaining his shaky grip on something he's too old to have a right to hold onto."

  Lyle released the mail so suddenly that Randy stumbled. "You could have made this easy on him," Lyle said, backing away. "One simple step down the ladder instead of a full-out tumble. But I can't tell you how to live your life, can I?" Lyle shrugged and turned away, speaking over his shoulder. "It's a shame, really. Heck of a way to show someone you like them."