Elements of Mischief

by Tate James

  Fuck it. This was happening. Again.

  “So, sugar? What's it going to be?” He ran his thumbs along the top of my panties, just inside the waistband but not pulling them down … yet. “Are we going back to this stupid party frustrated and worked up, or are you gonna let me fuck you fast and dirty on my race car bedspread?”

  A low groan slipped from my throat as my hand, with a life of its own, found the heavy-duty pipe wrench that Shane was smuggling in his man-thong.

  A sound outside the door made me pause, and the door cracked open a smidge to reveal Reg with a small unbent paper clip in his hand.

  “I used to pick this lock all the time when we were in high school, found Shane in here jerking off …”

  “I ain't knee-high to a grasshopper anymore, shithead,” Shane told his … boyfriend? Shit, I had no idea what to call the relationship these four guys had with each other. “I can still kick your ass.”

  Reg let himself into the room and closed the door with that fine ass of his.

  “Question,” I said, trying to pretend like I wasn't all hot and bothered by having two fine men in leather standing next to me. “How does Shane have a Southern accent if he grew up here with the rest of you?”

  “Is that a diversionary tactic, sug? Because it's not gonna work.” Shane grabbed my wrist and put it right back on his wrench.

  “He lived in Texas for a few years before his family moved here and joined the storm. Guess the unfortunate country bumpkin thing just sort of stuck.”

  “I'll whoop the pretty right off your ass, Reginald,” Shane said with a sharp grin, encouraging me to, um, twist his wrench.

  “Why? Am I interrupting something? You spirited our new wife away to your old bedroom for what purpose? To show off your childhood collection of NASCAR memorabilia?”

  Reg sat on the edge of the massive California king bed and folded his arms behind his head, ever the consummate slut. The grin he flashed me was nothing short of lascivious. I should've found it annoying, but I had my hands full, so to speak.

  “I haven't seen all of the COCS Heads,” I reiterated, realizing full well how dirty that sounded. “Shouldn't we, you know, make our rounds? I thought you said they could be dangerous ...”

  “We'll get to it,” Shane said, sliding his hand down the bare skin of his belly and under the leather of his thong. “But maybe we should share an orgasm or two first?”

  “Oh, really?” I asked, but he was already freeing his shaft from the leather and giving me this sultry, Southern grin.

  “We skipped right to the final act with the marking. I thought maybe we could backtrack a bit?”

  “Right?” I said, cocking a brow and taking a small step back, folding my arms over my chest. “You want, what, to be sucked off?”

  “Not saying I'd be disappointed at that,” he purred, as my own mouth twitched up at the edges.

  “Good,” I said, nodding my chin sharply, “then Reg,” I continued, gesturing over at the water elemental, “will take care of that for you.”

  “Aw, man,” Reg groaned, sliding his hands down his face. “We just got a wife and now you want me to blow this guy? Please.”

  “Then I guess I'll just be heading back to the party …” I started, reaching for the door and pausing when Reg rose to his feet, tossing a cocky smirk my way.

  “You think I won't rise to the occasion?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.

  “Shane certainly did,” I said suggestively, leaning my back against the wall and watching the two men as they glanced at each other. Shane raised a brow and Reg just shrugged.

  “Fine. Watch a pro and see how it's done,” he said with so much asshole swagger that I almost forgot he was about to suck another dude's dick.

  Reg swept a tattooed hand through his short, blonde hair and knelt down, leaving his jacket on and turning my entire body into a vessel for hormones. I was just one walking, talking horn-ball. Fantastic. As if being unemployed, broke, and covered in magic runes wasn't enough.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I stared completely enraptured as Reg curled his inked fingers around the base of Shane's long, thick pipe. Even though I could tell he was trying to hold back a little, a small moan escaped Shane's throat as he glanced over and made eye contact with me.

  “Watch and learn, Sugar Tits,” Reg said, sliding his tongue in a circle around the head of Shane's cock, paying special attention to the underside. Not only was it hot as hell to see the two men together like that, but Shane's dick was a work of art, a swirling storm of tattoos that disappeared into Reg's smirking mouth inch by careful inch.

  Oh, God. I could say goodbye to these panties now; they were soaked. He's fucking deep throating?! Fucker. Now I knew Shane was going to be disappointed—that particular move was a little outside of my repertoire. Gag reflex and all that.

  “Fuck,” Shane cursed, letting his head fall back. His hands found the side of Reg's head, like he just couldn't help himself. “Sugar, take over,” he begged, but I was just fine standing there and watching.

  My hand slipped up and under my skirt, pushing my panties down my hips and letting them fall to my ankles. I kicked them aside before seeking out the warm heat between my thighs. I'd watched guy-on-guy porn before, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it in person and it was hot.

  Reg slid back, a small strand of saliva connecting the full curve of his lips to Shane's cock. He slicked his hand up and down the long length of my new … um, husband? … lubing him up and then twisting his hand in a corkscrew motion.

  Inked fingers against an inked cock …

  As soon as my fingers found my clit, I was fucking lit.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered, noticing the corner of Reg's mouth twitching into a grin. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. I teased my hardened nub in circles, using my own lube to work myself up into an aching frenzy. My skin had that hot, achy tight feeling again and my runes … they glittered like stars. Wow. This was going to be an awkward adaptation, lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree every time I saw something sexy.

  I was never going to be able to see a Ryan Reynolds movie in theaters again.

  Reg continued to turn his hand in a clockwise motion, drawing these deep, sultry sounds from Shane's throat. His head dipped low again, taking the air elemental into his mouth again—but just the tip. I'd never seen that joke look so sexy on anyone.

  Meanwhile, my fingers found the molten heat of my core and dove inside.

  I bit my lower lip to try and stifle a groan, but it came out anyway, echoing around what was actually a cavernous fucking room—especially for a kid. If Shane and the guys had really grown up in the lap of luxury like this, why were they poor as fuck now when I coulda used a sugar daddy or two or four …

  “Come here, ST,” Reg murmured, his lips against Shane's dick. Somehow though, even on his knees with his hand on another man's cock, it was clear that he was in charge. I moved forward a few steps, curious to see what he was planning … and yelped when he grabbed me by the waistband of my skirt and dragged me a few steps closer.

  Reg's hand slid up my thigh and then took over for me, sliding inside my pussy with two tattooed fingers. For a moment, we were in there together, but then I decided I needed to put my hands on Shane's shoulder to stay standing upright.

  “Arizona Smoke!”

  I heard the voice before I saw it. Gram. Standing next to Shane's bed and glaring at me through round, silver spectacles.

  “I've caught you bang to rights, my girl,” she said in that upper-crust British accent of hers, throwing a bucket of cold water right over me.

  With a scream, I stumbled back, tripped, and fell ass first into a metal basket filled with firewood. Great. I was going to get splinters right in the coochie.

  “What in the name o' Christ is going on?” Shane asked, tucking his cock back into the leather chaps. Good instincts. Wasn't really comfortable with Gram seei
ng my new husband's junk. Or me with my other husband's hand up my skirt. WHY THE FUCK AM I MENTALLY CALLING THEM MY HUSBANDS?!

  Reg, apparently, didn't do well with surprise … or maybe really well with it? … because he'd turned into his water dragon form. Just wasn't sure if it was the shock of my sudden scream or a defense mechanism.

  This time, though, he was kind of … sexy? A sleek, watery beast growling and flashing a mouthful of teeth … in the complete wrong direction of Gram’s ghost.

  “Reg,” I muttered, my eyes glued on my scowling grandmother. His scales shifted and glittered in the light, making it look like his whole form was comprised of crystal clear water. “Over there.” I nodded towards my Gram's ghost and Reg did an awkward sort of shuffling to turn around, then bared his teeth at the potted plant in the corner of the room, some three feet to the side of our unwelcome visitor.

  “Grams, what the hell are you doing, popping in here unannounced like this?” I yelled, recovering a bit from my fright and trying to pull myself out of the firewood basket. Unfortunately, my butt had landed low enough that my balance was all wrong, and I found myself kind of flailing.

  “Here, sug.” Shane gallantly gripped my hand in his and tugged me up and out of the damn basket.

  “Girl, don't pretend I didn't just catch you getting finger blasted by this one,” Grams waved a hand at Reg's dragon form while he still snarled at the potted plant, “while that one had his knob gobbled by another man!”

  The look on her face made me pause a second. Was she … disgusted or amused? Crazy old bitch.

  “Grams, do you mind telling me what the fuck you're doing here?” I tried again, deliberately calmer this time as my thundering heart rate slowed a fraction thanks to Shane's warm hands on my skin.

  After he had liberated my ass from the firewood, he'd placed one massive palm on my lower back and it seemed to be doing wonders for my temper—even if it did still set my runes glittering faintly.

  “Arizona, what did I tell you about using that sort of language?” my dead ancestor snapped prudishly, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Grams, I'm not going to stop saying fuck after you just saw my husband's cock halfway down my other husband's throat.” I raised my eyebrow at her in challenge and she pursed her lips in anger. The old bat might be a stubborn bitch, but it was hereditary.

  Oh, and I was saying husbands aloud now, too. Yep. That was it—I was seriously fucked.

  “Fine, then perhaps I'll just make myself comfortable, shall I? I bet you're all kinds of worked up right now, getting interrupted like that. You must just be dying for me to disappear so you can finish getting your rocks off with these two studs …” Ugh, she wasn't seriously threatening what I thought she was threatening ... was she?

  “Maybe I'll just sit right here”—she sat her ghostly butt on the end of the bed and folded her ankles like she was at tea with the queen—“and talk about the weather.”

  “Suit yourself,” I bluffed. “There are plenty of other places in this house we could fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  The mean old hag smirked at me.

  “I'm your guardian ghost, my girl. There's nowhere you can go that I can't follow.”

  Sighing, I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. Why did the talking ghost of my grandmother always seem to give me a splitting headache. Fucking shit, I was going to need that orgasm when this was over.

  “Fine, Grams,” I ground out, “I will stop swearing if you just tell me what the … penguin … you're doing here?”

  “What the penguin?” the old bat snorted, and even Shane gave me a look that said he thought I'd lost my mind. “Very well, Arizona. Seeing as you seem so desperate to finish your sordid little tryst, I'll cut to the point.”

  “Thank you,” I sighed, then realized Reg was still focused on the potted plant. His long antennae-like whiskers quivering and drool dripping off his razor-sharp fangs. His tail flicked back and forth like an angry cat's. That's kind of what he looked like, too ... a cat-lizard-dog combo. No wings, just clawed feet, a long muzzle, and a mohawk of ice down his long, curved spine.

  “Reg, hon,” Shane said, noticing where my attention was focused and calling out to his friend, “it's just Ari's grandmother. You can change back now.”

  Reg's beautiful blue head whipped back to look at us, then in a shimmering of light he was back in his human form, leather hot pants and jacket perfectly in place.

  “I knew that.” He shrugged, leaning against the dresser like he hadn't just been so shocked he'd changed forms.

  “Grams, you were saying?” I prompted, leaning a little into Shane's touch as his hand slid up to the back of my neck and rubbed little circles in my tense muscles.

  “I came to warn you that you're in grave danger,” she announced, then didn't elaborate.

  Obviously. Because, you know, why not just warn someone and then not explain a lick about why.

  “Let me guess, something is going to try and chop me up into little pieces and stuff me down a storm drain?” I was halfway joking, but the dead serious set to Gram's mouth made me double take.

  “Not something. Someone. Kuntemopharn, to be precise.” She scowled, and spat the foreign word like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “Sorry.” I squinted at her. “Did you just say … cuntmuffin?”

  “Arizona!” she barked. “Now is not the time for your foul language. I just told you your life is in danger; can you never take anything seriously?”

  “I am taking this seriously!” I yelled back. “But you just told me off for swearing then you said a cuntmuffin is coming to murder me and I don't really know what to do with that information!” I was getting a bit hysterical maybe, but I blamed it on the blue ovaries (that's the lady version of blue balls in case you were curious).

  “Arizona …” Shane started and I shushed him. I know it probably sounded all a bit odd to them, but I couldn't be assed relaying everything Grams was rambling.

  “I did not say a cuntmuffin was coming for you.” Gram rolled her eyes. Guess that's where I learned it from. “I said, Kuntemopharn is coming for you. I would spell it but frankly, my dear, I don't have the time. And neither do you. He's already caught your scent and is on the hunt. You need to kill him before he kills you, or the fate of the elemental race is doomed.”

  There was a long pause, in which I just squinted at the ghost sitting on Shane’s NASCAR bedspread in her twinset and pearls.

  Uh-huh.

  Mm-kay. So … this really was an acid trip then? Because the things people were starting to tell me bordered on lunacy. Either they were all crazy or I was. And frankly, I was betting on the latter.

  “Sugar Tits …” Reg started and I shushed him as well with a flap of my hand.

  “Right. And … do you have anything more to tell me?” I asked the old bat. Of course she did—she just loved dragging it out for dramatic effect.

  “Yes. You're the last living pure-blood elemental female, and if Kuntemopharn consumes your magic he'll gain your sext's magic—all of it. You'll be little more than pawns in the scope of the game he's playing, and I can assure you, no one wants that.” Her wrinkled lips pursed together in what looked eerily like a cat's bum, while she scowled at me from behind her spectacles.

  Wait ... did she say pure-blood?

  Now I was really confused.

  “Your little ceremony last night gave the last spark needed to awaken him; he's been sleeping for centuries.” Gram sighed and looked at me like this was entirely my fault. But if you made the assumption that if she'd told me a lick about any of this before she died that the whole of the situation might've been avoided. Nope. I was so not taking the blame for this one. “You'll want to find him while he's still weak, or you won't stand a chance.”

  “So, basically a Dungeon & Dragons campaign then?” I asked, but either Gram didn't find me funny or she didn't get the joke. “Ooookay, fine. Be that way. And um, how exactly is he building his strength?”

  “He's slaugh
tering weaker supernaturals, draining them of their power then tearing their corpses to pieces and shoving them into storm drains,” she told me, looking a little green around the gills. “Just, stop him, Arizona. You're the last bloody hope for this world.” Gram stared at me for a long moment and then muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “God help us all.”

  “No pressure though, right?“ I joked, and she frowned.

  “All of the pressure, my girl. If you fail … well. Let's not let it get to that, hmm, Duckie?” She patted at her perfectly curled hair nervously. “Oh and you've probably guessed by now that you're adopted, so your mother doesn't know anything about this world. Let's keep it that way, shall we?”

  And with that little grenade, she was gone again.

  I stood there a moment after she poofed out, waiting to see if she was just messing with me and about to rematerialize and give me a bit more information, but she didn't. Bitch.

  Adopted. Adopted? Adopted?! The thought didn't bother me so much in that I was opposed to the idea just ... pure-blood elemental? I was a pure-blood elemental? Then who the penguin were my bio parents?!

  I had a serious headache on the way—like FedEx overnight delivery fast.

  Groaning, I rubbed at my face to try and ease the hectic migraine that had been building ever since the old prude had startled Reg's tattooed fingers right out of me.

  “Ari, can you tell us what's going on now?” Shane prompted, clearly frustrated at only hearing half the conversation. I didn't even know where the fuck to begin.

  “Uh, have you guys ever heard of Kuntemopharn?” I asked, sounding out the word the way I had heard my Grams say it.

  “Cuntm—” Reg started and Shane glared at him to shut up.

  “Kuntemopharn?” he repeated, and I nodded. “No, never. But Charlie has all of the storm's historical tomes in his library here. Surely if the COCS Head hasn't heard of it, then there'll be information in there?”

  It was actually a good suggestion. Of course an entire species that I never knew existed would have archives. But hey, what could I say, I was a barista, not a historian!