Chapter Fourteen #2
“Too much,” he said, then licked his upper lip and clenched his ass around Davy’s tentacle. The jolt of that fed back a rough grab to the balls that tipped over into that prickling zone where pleasure and pain were the same thing. “Not enough. Fuck me.”
Hill was the Invoker. Who was Davy to second-guess him?
Tentacles wrapped around Hill’s back and under his arms to hold him in place as Davy fucked him.
He shoved his hips up against his hand with each stroke, fingers rough as they squeezed around his cock in time with the tentacle that lashed around Hill’s flushed erection.
He felt each jerk in his ass, like Hill was fucking him as he fucked Hill.
He wrapped the tip of his tentacle around the smooth lump of Hill’s prostate and caressed it.
The touch dragged a raw groan from Hill, his fingers spread to clutch the air.
At the same time, Davy used the rest of the muscular length to spread Hill wide.
The muscles in Hill’s stomach and thighs twitched with each thrust.
Davy came first, come spilled warm (he’d forgotten what that felt like) and sticky over his knuckles. He twisted his fist up his cock to wring the last milky drops out of it as he slouched back against the cushions. Sweat dripped onto his lips, salty and a bit sweet where he licked it.
He watched Hill as he wrung the last drops out of him, too, tentacles squeezing cock, balls, and prostate all at once. Hill arched his back, mouth open as he choked on his own howl of pleasure, and room-temperature come splattered over Davy’s tentacles.
At the same moment, Davy saw his breath mist from his lips and felt the couch rattle under him.
He grabbed the arm, fingers dug down into the soft fabric, as glass shattered and a chair flew through the air to smash into a wall.
The quake of pleasure rippled out from Hill until the orgasm was done with him and he went limp in Davy’s tentacles, head lolled back and face slack.
“Fuck,” Davy muttered. He wiped sticky come off his hand onto his stomach as he looked around the apartment. The windows were crazed with cracks, and the wall was dented where the chair had hit it. The plaster was cracked and paint had flaked onto the carpet.
Once he’d taken it all in, he looked back at Hill, cradled naked and boneless in a hammock of thick tentacles.
His cock lay limp against his leg, and his hand dangled limply until one of Davy’s tentacles dipped under it to lift it up.
The movement made Hill stir and lift his head, squinting in dazed appreciation at Davy.
The pewtery mismatch of his eyes was gone, leaving them that bright silvery green again.
Davy was pretty sure that was something the Company didn’t know about.
Hill poked an insubstantial finger at the window. It didn’t do anything, but Hill made an aggrieved noise anyhow. The view had been better before he put his clothes back on.
“How am I going to explain this?” he asked.
Davy bent over to grab a chair and set it back on its feet again.
“You’re rich,” he said. “Why bother?”
“I’m not rich,” Hill corrected him. “Fraser’s rich.”
“Same difference.”
Hill turned around to frown at him. He apparently disagreed, but he let it go.
“Are you always in a bad mood after sex?” he asked.
“No,” Davy said. He leaned on the back of the chair as he thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “Maybe. Now I have to get back to work. Why didn’t you tell me that your dad killed himself?”
Hill started to answer and stopped. He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, picking out the tangles in his dark hair.
“He didn’t,” he said. “Fraser killed him. Even if Dad…even if he did pull the trigger, it was Fraser who made him do it. The things Fraser made him do.”
Davy shook his head. “Fraser doesn’t make people do things,” he said. “He just…finds the things they’re willing to do.”
“Does that make it any better?”
He had a point, Davy supposed. It was different, though, but not in a way that Davy wanted to explain to a dead man’s upset son.
“I hope whatever force governs the Invocation agrees with you,” he said.
Hill shrugged stiffly. “It knew what happened when it let you out of the Beyond,” he said, and then grimaced. “Or I assume it did, unless it forgot him like everyone else.”
There was a broken plant on the ground. Davy considered it briefly and then kicked the broken pottery and already dead spider plant under a chair.
“I never had a good memory for faces,” he said. It was a lie, but the gap in his memory bothered him like a missing tooth. He didn’t want to think about it.
“Hen didn’t either,” Hill said.
Davy looked at him, one eyebrow cocked, and waited for context. He didn’t get it as Hill just frowned and fiddled with something in his pocket. The one-sided stand-off lasted a few seconds till Davy gave in and asked.
“Who?”
Hill blinked at him. “Hen. Henrietta Bennett. She was my mom’s best friend, until she died. It was after you, but before Dad. She found me.”
“That’s…coincidental.”
“Not so much,” Hill said. “She worked for the Company. They sent her to try and convince me to take their offer.”
Davy sighed. It wasn’t his business, but…
“You didn’t agree to anything, did—”
“No,” Hill said. “But that’s not… That’s not the point. She knew Dad. They worked together. They had dinner parties. She didn’t remember him. Mom. Me. Fraser…”
Hill paused to make a face—not the usual frustrated one either—as he mentioned Fraser. Before Davy could ask, Hill pushed on with what he was saying.
“Not Dad,” he said. “Not even a little. It was like she just papered over the gap where he’d been.”
That was…
Davy rubbed the back of his neck and poked dubiously at the Albie-Rosen-shaped hole in his memory. It was stupid. So he didn’t remember one of Fraser’s little lapdogs, who the fuck cared?
And why did it make Davy so mad?
He didn’t know.
“The dead are only what we remember,” he said and absently reached down to rub his fingertips over the wound that carved through his tentacle.
“Cut a bit off and whatever memory was there is gone, but even the Company doesn’t know how to carve out one particular memory.
Even if they did…why? What was so special about Albie Rosen? ”
It was, Davy registered a moment too late, a cruel question to ask a man’s son.
“Nothing,” Hill said bitterly. “Nothing at all. Ask anyone. Even me.”
They stared at each other awkwardly, and then Davy reached out and patted Hill’s shoulder with a tentacle. Hill reached up to cover it with his hand, the brief, grateful squeeze making Davy bite the inside of his lip.
The tentacle-to-cock transfer was still in play.
He cleared his throat, retrieved his tentacle, and tried to redirect the conversation to something he could do something about.
“You said she remembered Fraser?”
Hill shuddered. “In disturbing detail,” he said. “Apparently they…you know…before my dad died.”
OK, Davy did know. He wasn’t going to ask any questions. It was probably less disturbing to think about your little brother fucking than your stepdad doing it. It still wasn’t something Davy wanted to dwell on.
“So the slip from memory has nothing to do with the Invocation,” he said. “Maybe—”
Hill missed that. He snapped his fingers and then slapped his palm against his forehead.
“She gave me a name.”
“What?”
Hill flapped his hand in the air as he looked around. His gaze skimmed over where his computer had been, and then he patted down his pockets.
“I need a phone,” he said. The words tripped over themselves as his voice sped up with excitement. “Or a laptop. Something—”
“Who are you going to call?” Davy asked. “Death? The Hounds?”
Hill took that in and gave him an exasperated look. “Fine. You need a phone. Do you still have the burner?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Davy said as he headed into the kitchen. The last place he’d thrown the burner had been into the cutlery drawer. “But polters and tech tend to—”
He fished the lime-green Samsung out and held it up. Or rather what had been a lime-green Samsung; the case was blackened and partially melted, the screen cracked and smoke-glazed.
“Urgh,” Hill said in frustration. “If I’d remembered earlier, but she told me just before the Hounds and I forgot. Fuck.”
Davy dropped the phone back into the drawer, bumped it shut with his hip, and headed over to the couch. He leaned on it, the cushion still sweaty and warm from his ass, and dragged Fraser’s duffel out.
“It’s Christmas,” he said as he pulled the bundle of cash out and flashed it at Hill. “I assume everywhere still stays open late. We can buy a new one. I need to get a costume for tomorrow’s party anyhow.”