Chapter 13 #5
“Six o’clock,” Gideon said, taking Joey’s invitation to squeeze in next to him. “How long have you been sleeping?”
Joey grunted, and then shocked the hell out of Gideon by resting his head on Gideon’s shoulder. “Since around noon. I had to find someplace to house the bike—”
“Bike?”
“Motorcycle,” Joey said through a yawn, “and then go visit my own apartment so I’d show up on video.
I showered and repacked, changed my jacket and put on a different hat.
” He let out a sigh, and his hand went to the rumpled cashmere scarf at his throat.
“Couldn’t bear to part with this, though.
You may have to peel it off my neck in April. So warm.”
Gideon let out a rusty chuckle. “I’ll get you another one.” He wrapped his arm around Joey’s shoulders and held him close. “That’s some nap.”
“First sleep I got since we left town,” Joey confessed.
“I thought you found a hotel!” Gideon asked, dismayed.
“Yeah, caught a couple hours there, but….” Joey’s shoulders twitched. “Too close to Dad and not close enough to here. Can’t explain it. Had to leave.”
Gideon nodded. “I trust those instincts,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Mm….” Joey snuggled in closer, and the battered mink coat? Blanket? Fell from his shoulders as he thrust one hand under Gideon’s coat, his warm hand welcome as it spanned Gideon’s stomach. “Still flat,” he said, patting it. “Not enough red meat.”
Gideon smiled even as he shuddered at the touch. “Plenty. Trish is a good cook. I spent my Christmas eating and sleeping. Maybe next year you can come with me.”
Joey grunted and moved to pull his hand back, but Gideon trapped it there. “Nobody said to stop,” he grumbled. “And Trish wants to meet you. It’s going to be weird but pleasant, I warn you. She’ll try to mother you. I suggest you let her.”
Joey let out another little grunt, and started to feel Gideon up in earnest. “A thing we can discuss later,” he said, and Gideon wanted to protest. He’d just sat down. He felt travel-worn and a little ragged, but there was something… necessary in Joey’s touch.
He kissed Joey hard, like he meant it, tasting sleep on Joey’s breath but not much else, and bore him back against the cushions. Joey went pliant, needy, almost immediately, and his breath when Gideon pulled back shook hard.
“Please…,” he whispered, then swallowed, looking dismayed and a little wild.
“In the bed,” Gideon whispered back. “Come on, baby.”
“I prefer ‘fuck off,’” he grumbled, but he stood and followed Gideon through the doorway.
“Tomorrow,” Gideon promised. “Tonight you’ll get ‘baby’ and like it.
” God, those kisses had been so desperate.
For a moment as they moved through the dimly lit apartment, Gideon felt…
unworthy. Inadequate. Joey was a wild creature, and tonight he was nearly feral, and the things he needed from Gideon demanded passion and fire.
Until this moment, until this relationship, passion and fire had not been his forte.
Joey hesitated, though, as they entered the darkened bedroom, and Gideon, turning to see his face silhouetted against the faint glow of the living room, saw a primal need for warmth, for comfort, for possession.
Gideon turned on the lamp by the bed on instinct and turned toward his lover with intent, taking Joey’s chin between his two fingers and tilting his face up so Gideon could take his mouth, hard, no hesitation, no overthinking.
Joey sighed and shuddered, melting into Gideon’s arms. His hand shook as he cupped Gideon’s cheek, and Gideon pulled him tight, so tight, their bodies aligning perfectly.
He continued the kiss, some of his travel exhaustion falling away as desire swept him.
This. This. There he’d been, in his parents’ fortress of kindness, of warmth, and he’d been cold, alone, missing his mate.
His mate was here, and he needed, and Gideon had no choice and no desire to turn him away.
He made quick work of Joey’s clothes—Gideon’s clothes, hanging from Joey’s smaller frame.
And Gideon saw it now, the claiming, the nesting behavior, knew it for what it was.
That shirt in the bottom of his duffel was no more an accident than the one being used as a runner on the back of his stuffed chair, or the remains of the white tank currently hanging on his stove so they could dry their hands on it.
This was Joey’s home. Gideon was Joey’s home, whether there were signed papers or declarations of love or rings or never would be.
Joey scrambled under the covers, naked, while Gideon toed off his shoes and shucked his overcoat, pulling his sweater and henley over his head in one motion before letting them all fall where they landed.
Joey made a forlorn sound, huddling under the comforter, and Gideon finished undressing and crawled in, surrounding Joey with his heat, his bare skin, his animal presence, a thing Joey seemed to crave as much as Gideon needed to give.
“Shh…,” Gideon murmured, taking his mouth again, running his hands along Joey’s shoulders, his biceps, down to the ends of his fingers. Joey grabbed one hand and clasped it, a shudder racking his body, and Gideon soothed him again.
“Please…,” Joey whispered, and Gideon went to work, lowering his head to Joey’s nipple to pull.
“Harder!” he cried, but Gideon released him and kissed down to his naked groin.
“I will not hurt you,” he said with certainty, knowing that, of all things, that needed to be the lesson here.
“Gid!” he pleaded, but Gideon had reached his cock, and he swallowed it down with one motion. “Gideon!” he gasped, and that was better, but not enough.
Gideon kept his hand stroking and repositioned himself between Joey’s thighs, knowing he felt vulnerable but unable to do this any other way.
He shoved Joey’s legs up, spreading them, and spat on his hole.
Crude, yes, but Joey’s harsh breath told Gideon he’d needed that, the animal, the visceral.
As he rose up and swallowed Joey’s cock down, he thrust a spit-slick finger up Joey’s tunnel, and Joey’s next cry was shattered, close to climax, every barrier between need and oblivion blown apart by Gideon’s aggressiveness.
“More…,” he moaned.
Gideon fumbled for the lube they kept under the pillow now, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it. He clicked it open and dumped slick on his fingers, his stomach shuddering at Joey’s breathless prayer of protest.
“No… no, don’t… don’t stop…. Gid… I need—ah!”
Covered in slick, this time Gideon thrust three fingers in, and Joey cried out again, holding his thighs out, spreading himself for Gideon’s invasion while Gideon bottomed Joey’s cock out in his throat.
“Yes, please!” Joey cried, and Gideon added more lube and one more finger, curling the front two up, finding the sweet spot while Joey clutched at his hair and screamed.
And came, and came and came and came.
And when his balls were dry, he still shuddered, clenching around Gideon’s fingers. He cried out when Gideon withdrew them, and Gideon whispered, “Coming, baby. I’m coming,” as he repositioned himself, thrusting up and inside Joey’s still tremoring body.
The little mewl that issued from his lips destroyed Gideon’s heart as it drove his body on.
Joey wrapped his legs around Gideon’s hips, and Gideon thrust again and again and again, wiping his fingers off on the sheets so he could pin Joey’s shoulders against the bed and plunder his mouth while he plundered his body.
Joey’s movements, his noises, were no longer pleading, no longer desperate—they were fierce. He thrust his hips up to meet Gideon’s and battled for supremacy in the cage of their kiss.
Gideon welcomed it, loved Joey Carlyle’s fierceness, loved his fight, wanted his lover whole and powerful as they took each other, met equally on the battlefield of passion.
His own climax threatened, and he growled, trying to drive it back, knowing Joey needed him there, thrusting, fucking, for as long as possible, but Joey raked his nails across Gideon’s lower back.
“Don’t you dare,” he commanded, the first sane thing he’d said since they’d gotten to the bedroom. “Come on, dammit, come in me—come inside me!”
And just knowing his will had returned was enough.
He threw his head back, exposing his throat, driving so deeply into Joey Carlyle’s body he thought his soul was thrusting inside.
Joey moaned from a deep place in his gut, a place Gideon could feel down in his cock, and a last bit of come spattered from Joey’s cock across Gideon’s abs.
And Gideon lost all cohesion, his orgasm destroying him, disintegrating his identity, his boundaries, his inhibitions, and he howled, a guttural, visceral sound he didn’t recognize as his own as he pulsed come into the haven of Joey Carlyle’s ass.
He came to himself still lodged inside Joey, face buried in the hollow of Joey’s neck and shoulders, his own body still twitching.
There was an angry pounding coming from the room next door, and Gideon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to place it.
“What the…,” he mumbled.
Joey let out a broken little laugh. “You were loud,” he said.
“I was loud?” Although yes—that final cry, that had been… well, a lot.
“We were loud,” Joey sighed, his body so limp and pliant Gideon wondered if they’d fall into each other, become one flesh forever.
“Mm.” Before Gideon could draw in enough breath to shout a weak “Sorry,” the pounding faded, and he let out a low grunt and slid to the side. His cock slid out of Joey’s body, and the gush that followed was enough to make him sigh.
“I’ll change the sheets,” Joey murmured. “You get something to eat.”
“Sure,” he said, pleased that Joey was sounding more… more Carlyle like, but still not quite of this earth yet.
“Never mind,” Joey said, laughing a little.
He slithered out from Gideon’s arm and bent to kiss his cheek, lingering, rubbing his lips along Gideon’s cheekbone and nuzzling his ear.
“You stay there,” he said. “I’ll start dinner and come in with the sheets.
I… I really want to eat dinner with you after this.
I want to come back to our clean den and sleep. ”
Gideon nodded, wishing he had words yet, but he was already half asleep.
Then Joey’s smell, his heat, slid away, and he was all asleep, and that was fun too.
HE AWOKE half an hour later to the smell of breaded chicken cutlets frying and Joey’s gentle shaking. “Get dressed, clean up, and go finish dinner while I do this.” The hand not squeezing his arm waved clean linens around.
He was still out of it enough to realize he hadn’t said anything even as he got up to follow orders.
He was a little more awake when Joey came back out of the bedroom, and together they plated up the chicken, the microwaved potatoes, and the salad Gideon had whipped up, and brought their plates and a glass of wine to the coffee table, where they both sat on the floor and ate, their conversation minimal.
Finally they pushed their plates away and moved up to sit on the couch, Gideon leaning back so Joey could rest his head on Gideon’s chest.
“Do we have to talk about it?” Joey asked reluctantly.
Gideon sighed. “Only a little,” he said.
“What’s a little?”
“Joey?”
“Yeah?”
“You are mine. And I am yours. However you want to define it. You belong here, in my home. I know you can’t move back in now, but there will be a time when you have to let go of your apartment so we can be here together.”
“We can’t come out to the squad,” Joey said, and for a moment Gideon felt a shaft of pain that took his breath away.
Then Joey added, “Not because I’m afraid for me—or even us—but for them.
What they don’t know, they can’t tell my father.
If my father finds out about us, I’ll be worried for you, but if it’s the whole squad, we are all in danger. You understand?”
“They’d stand up for us,” Gideon said without a doubt.
“I know,” Joey said gravely. “I’ve learned that much. And we’ll stand for them too. Even Manny, who’s new—I like him.”
“Same,” Gideon said, acknowledging the new hire Crosby—who else—had discovered during the op that got him shot.
Manny was partnered with Gail now that everybody was healthy, and Gideon liked the pairing.
Manny Swan was easygoing, smart, measured, and thought on his feet.
Gail was quick and fierce and sometimes was quicker on her feet than on her thoughts. They made a good team.
“But right now, I trust you to stay alive. Until we have a reason—or a way—to take my father down, let’s not give him a bigger target, okay?”
And Gideon understood. It wasn’t a picket fence, but it was enough. It was faith that someday, they’d be them in front of the family they had that mattered.
“As long as you know,” Gideon murmured into his hair. “Unless you say anything—and I mean real words, Joey—you are my person. You said once you thought I was the deer. We’re both wolves. You’re my wolf. Do you understand?”
Joey shuddered against him, but it wasn’t desperate or pleading. It was the shudder a body makes when it’s been cold too long and suddenly it begins to warm.
“You’re my wolf,” he whispered. “Is there a word for that?”
“Yeah. I won’t make you say it.”
“Someday,” Joey promised, but the wine and the food—and the aftermath—were settling into his bones much like they were into Gideon’s.
Still, when Joey’s breathing had evened out against his chest, when his eyes had closed, leaving absurdly long lashes the only testament to the boy Joey Carlyle must have been at one time, Gideon was awake enough to say the word against his crown.
“I love you, Joey Carlyle. Love is the word. It’s the only word that matters.”
He dropped off to sleep to dream of hearing the words back.