Crank Calling Crow
At the door, Funk squawked at him, and he paused to look down.
“What do you want?” Huxley asked him as he opened the door.
The bird chucked at him, then hopped up onto the threshold.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re an outside birdie now.”
To which Funk replied with a loud crow-ish complaint.
“Fine. But dump it, first.” He made a hand gesture at the bird.
Funk bobbed his head, chucked again, proceeded to defecate on the walkway, then blithely followed Huxley into the trailer.
“Why does no one ever take me seriously?” he glanced down at his little shadow. “I blame you. You’re setting a bad example.”
He got another squawk and Funk flapped his wings, one alarmingly wide, the other more anemically.
His injured wing had been unwrapped long ago, and while it didn’t appear to give him any pain, he couldn’t unfurl it enough to get airborne. Consults with the vet surgeon who shared Bill’s practice, multiple rounds of ex rays and endless discussions had left them all convinced putting the bird under anaesthesia and through a surgery and more restrictions wouldn’t positively impact his ability to fly, but it would certainly and negatively impact his mental and emotional well-being.
So earth-bound he was.
Huxley worried that a bird who had once known what it was like to fly would get depressed at no longer being able to reach the sky.
Funk seemed more pragmatic than that.
His greatest joy at the moment appeared to be following Hardy around the yard gobbling up the bugs the goose disturbed while he grazed. His second favourite thing was harassing Huxley.
Today, he perched on the edge of the kitchen sink and proceeded to move coins from a tray on the windowsill to a weighted device Huxley had rigged for him that would drop out a bit of walnut in exchange for the coin.
Huxley kicked off his boots, left his phone on the coffee table, opened up a small window over the kitchen counter where Funk could get back outside if he wanted, then headed for the bathroom.
He made quick work of showering, because while Funk didn’t tend to poop all over his rugs anymore, he did need to be let outside to do his business a few times an hour, and Huxley wasn’t taking any chances the bird would take it upon himself to go outside when necessary.
He was a smart crow, but he was a crow, and Huxley could only ask so much of him.
He emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later to someone pounding on his front door.
“Hux!”
“The hell?”
In answer, Funk flapped his crooked wings and cawed, like he was laughing.
“Huxley! Are you in there?”
“Bill?” Shuffling past the crow, literally sitting on his phone on the coffee table, Huxley scrubbed at his dripping hair as he went to answer the door. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” Bill blinked at him. “You called me.” His face was pale, and he looked harried.
“I didn’t.”
“You did, then you didn’t say anything, hung up and called back. Like, three times.”
“I was in the shower…”
They both slow panned to the bird sitting on Huxley’s phone.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Huxley asked him.
Funk chuck-chucked at him, hopped off the table, and out the door without looking back.
“Did your crow just crank call me?” Bill asked.
“I—” Huxley checked his call history and sighed. “That little shit.”
“How?”
“I’m putting a lock screen on the thing,” Huxley muttered.
“I’m not even going to address the fact you don’t lock your phone. I just want to know how a bird knew which contact was me.”
“He didn’t have to know. You were the last person I texted, so you’re contact was up.”
“So he could have been crank calling anyone.”
“I suppose. Although I don’t really call anyone on this thing but the family, and you, so.” He shrugged. “Sorry?”
“I thought something was wrong.” Running his hands through his hair, Bill let out an explosive breath.
The sight of him, tight black T-shirt, dark, crisp jeans hugging his ass, and a pair of beat up suede vans on his feet, made Huxley’s mouth water. He took a small step back, just in case his lizard brain acted out to grab Bill before he could stop it.
“Fucking hell. Come here.” Bill grabbed Huxley’s wrist and yanked him close, wrapping both arms around him.
“Oh.” Huxley patted his back. “Okay.”
“Shut up. I thought you were trapped under farm equipment or something.”
“I’m not.”
“No. I can see that.”
Bill was a few inches shorter than Huxley, so when he stepped back to look at him, he had to look up. “You really shouldn’t let the crow in the house. He’s not supposed to be a pet.”
“I dare you to tell him that.”
“Mmm.”
Huxley licked his lips. A drop of water slid off the end of his hair and landed on Bill’s cheek, reminding him how close they were standing.
“I should—” move.
But he didn’t. He didn’t even say it out loud. Instead, he ran a hand up Huxley’s well-muscled back, skimming over the faint bumpy scars of old road rash, then back down until his fingers dipped under the waistband of the loose, soft-as-butter jeans he had on.
Huxley bent his head and covered Bill’s mouth.
Okay. He could go with that. His plan had always been to let Huxley decide when he was ready. Well. After the lobby kiss, that had been his plan, anyway.
Because when Huxley had told him he’d call, Bill had taken him at his word, and stayed away.
“Stop it,” Huxley muttered against his lips.
“Stop what? You kissed me.”
“Stop thinking so loud and kiss me back.”
“You sure? Because once we go down this road mmmfyp.”
Apparently, Huxley was done talking about it.
He was happy to kiss back. Happy to keep running his hands up and down Huxley’s bare back. Happy to feel the strength of Huxley’s grip at the back of his head.
More than happy to be backed against the door when Huxley moved and feel Huxley’s interest pressing against his groin in answer to his own hardening dick.
Huxley’s phone buzzing from his pocket when Bill cupped his ass was less welcome, but he wasn’t going to mention it, if Huxley didn’t.
It stopped after the fifth ring, about the time Bill had started rocking his hips into Huxley but started up again almost instantly.
Huxley groaned. “For fuck sakes”
“Someone wants you pretty urgently.”
Huxley reached between them and squeezed Bill’s now rock-solid cock. “I know,” he growled, that irresistible half-grin on his face. But he also pulled out his phone to look at the screen.
“Who is it?” Bill husked.
“Jan.” He hit accept and put the device to his ear. “This had better be good.”
“They’re early.”
Huxley was still leaning on Bill, his weight holding Bill trapped against the door, so her voice came through clear enough, a panicked whisper. Coming from Janet, historically the least flappable of the Jackson family, Bill frowned and mouthed ‘who’.
“Take a breath,” Huxley rumbled, and Bill felt that deep in his chest where they were still plastered together. Even though it wasn’t directed at him, Bill found it soothing anyway. Or maybe that was because Huxley had a hand on his shoulder and was kneading rhythmically at the perpetually tense muscle where his shoulder and neck met.
Either way…
Bill let his head thump back against the door and closed his eyes.
“Bill’s already here,” Huxley said, and moved his hand so his palm, warm and slightly calloused, cupped the side of his neck and face. “I just got out of the shower. Let me find a decent shirt, and we’ll be right up.”
“Thank you, Hux.”
“Hey.” Huxley finally moved away.
Bill tried not to regret that, but he recognized that there was something else gonig on, and he could wait. He adjusted the too-tight crotch of his jeans. He’d thought the semi-tight, dressy denim would be the right choice for a dinner invitation. He hadn’t counted on that kiss, or Jan’s cock-blocking phone call.
“You got this, Jan,” Huxley said as he smiled crookedly at Bill.
The expression did nothing to deflate Bill’s hard-on.
“Take a breath,” he said to Jan while winking at Bill, “stop hiding in your pantry, and go greet your guests.”
Bill grinned, remembering how any one of the Jackson siblings might have been found tucked into the small, packed but orderly closet off the kitchen. He suspected Janet was probably the only one who still fit in there.
Huxley hung up the phone and turned to him. “She is losing her mind over these guys.”
“Who are they?”
“A couple of B and B owners from down south. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice, but they are those kind of people who everything they touch turns to gold and glitter, you know?”
“Do I?”
“I don’t know, Mr. I Run Not One, But Soon Two Actual Animal Refuge Sites. In a world where the MNR is trying their hardest to shut them all down.”
“I was hoping you’d get your licence before I had to explain about that.”
“I do know about the internet, you know. Just because I don’t love computers doesn’t make me an actual Luddite.”
Bill sighed “We aren’t kissing any more, are we?”
“Sadly, not right now.” Huxley cupped his face again, eyes narrowing as he studied Bill. “Are we talking about that?”
“Do we have to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me either.”
“Our communication track record?—”
“Sort of shit. Yeah.”
“So…no packing your bags and leaving town.”
“As long as you don’t make any assumptions without talking to me.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
They sealed it with a hard, if too-short kiss, and Huxley whirled off to find a shirt.
Bill stepped out onto the front porch to wait and watch Huxley’s weird little bird family waddle around his yard grazing as if they were ignoring each other.