Boys in Season (Boys In... Book 2) (10 page)

The corners of Caleb’s mouth still twitched. “I don’t know why you’re being so dogmatic. One might say it was the sign of an insecure man.” His fingers were tight on Owen’s inner arm, looking deceptively affectionate.

But Owen knew how strong Caleb’s arms were; he’d stretched under that possessive grip as many times as he could ask for. He leaned very gently in towards the shadowed hollow of Caleb’s collarbone. He knew the taste of it; he very much
liked
the taste of it. “It’s just that things should be right,” he replied. He felt far too warm and, to be honest, he didn’t know why he was being so stubborn. His palm was sticky on the counter and he lifted his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

“You mean, you should be first?”

“This is nothing to do with
first
, Caleb. With last. With top, bottom. Just… what’s right.”

Caleb raised his eyebrows again. He reached across with his free hand and lifted Owen’s glasses off his nose. He squeezed them shut and placed them down on the counter. Owen felt his heart beat speed up and he could hear his breath coming faster and shallower. He still had his leg pushed between Caleb’s thighs, but something about the tension in Caleb’s body made him doubt he was in charge. When he glanced down, he could see trails of glitter on the kitchen floor around his boots. Then Caleb relaxed his leg on one side, which had the effect of nudging his body against Owen’s groin.

Owen was damned if he’d let the gasp of need out of his traitorous mouth.

“Is that what you’re worried about, Owen? Who’s on
top
?” Caleb dipped his head and blew along the skin running from Owen’s throat to his chest. His voice vibrated against the flesh, and Owen couldn’t stop his convulsive swallow. “Top, bottom. Just words.”

Owen laughed, amazed it didn’t sound as shaky as he thought it would. “You mean like, give and take?” He shifted his leg again, nudging it against the inside of Caleb’s thigh. “Give…” He pressed his hipbone against Caleb’s, letting the pressure rub against Caleb’s groin. “And take?” The front of Caleb’s jeans felt warm and swollen: Caleb’s breath hitched very satisfactorily. Owen slid his hand around his lover’s waist and swiftly up under the loose hem of the T-shirt to touch bare, warm skin.

Caleb sucked in a breath, more like a gasp. “Now
that’s
some kind of a distraction!”

Owen found and teased a small, hard nub of nipple. His fingers felt hot; his desire was greedy. The edge of the kitchen counter ground awkwardly into his hip, and he bit back a curse as a package in one of the discarded shopping bags stabbed his ankle. He tried to nudge Caleb backwards, out of the room; they should take this to a more comfortable place. The thought of more comfortable places and the taking of Caleb suffused his mind with sudden, erotic excitement.

Then Caleb twisted in Owen’s grip and slammed Owen up against the kitchen door. His foot kicked a can of speciality soup that had rolled out on to the floor, and it rocked up against the base of the cooker. His hand came up to the dark hair at the nape of Owen’s neck and grasped itself a handful. Owen’s head was wrenched back just a little, but enough to hold it taut: trapped. Their eyes were inches away. Owen glared at Caleb.

***

Caleb felt as if he could drown in the darkness of Owen’s eyes—in the desire he saw there. He’d drown, and it would be hot and thrilling and shocking. He’d not call for help.
Definitely
not. “What about the card?  About the greeting?”

“To hell with it.” Owen muttered, and ran his fingers down Caleb’s nearest rib. The faint sheen of sweat made the progress almost slick. He grabbed Caleb’s waist again, as if to manoeuvre them both out of the kitchen and into the hall.

The muscles on Caleb’s belly clenched away from his lover’s touch as if they were unwilling or nervous. Caleb knew that would never be the case, but he liked the effect a hell of a lot. He grunted, and let himself be moved through the doorway; he felt the spring of carpet under his feet again. Leaning forward, he touched his mouth to the bottom of Owen’s jaw, tight with determination. “No longer a problem?  Where’s your staying power?”

“I’m saving it for other pursuits,” Owen whispered hoarsely against Caleb’s ear. He backed Caleb towards the lounge, and kicked the door open in front of them. The furniture seemed a long way away, and his patience seemed shorter than ever.

Caleb knew Owen’s impatience of old. He wondered exactly when Owen had started to imagine stripping Caleb and making out on the couch; he knew that’s where Owen’s thoughts were now, the reflection was in the darkness of Owen’s dilated pupils. Maybe it had been when they’d finished the shopping and Caleb had leaned over into the trolley to pack the bags; or when Caleb had searched deep in the arse pocket of his jeans to find the parking ticket; or when Caleb had opened the bag of doughnuts in the car and dipped a finger in to pick up the excess sugar….

Owen gave a small, tight moan. “He who fights and runs away, Caleb, lives to fight another day. I don’t care about Amy’s Christmas greetings, however they’re phrased.”

Caleb sighed exaggeratedly. Owen’s cheeks were brushed with the colour of the jam in those doughnuts Caleb had eaten. He thought it was just as delicious. “So you’re unmoved by those cute bear cubs?”

“I’m like stone.” Owen turned his head away from Caleb’s lips and bit none too gently at the other man’s ear lobe.

Caleb hissed in a breath. “And such frivolous glitter?”

“Merely irritating.” Owen nudged his knee between Caleb’s legs, and stumbled their bodies up against the arm of the couch. He ran his mouth from Caleb’s ear and down to his neck. “Drop the card, Caleb.”

Caleb threw his head back, his Adam’s apple throbbing under the barest touch of Owen’s lips. “Good strategy, Anders. You negotiate well.” He moaned as teeth nipped at his skin.   “But the early bird catches the worm, they say…”

Owen gave a strangled chuckle. His breath was very shallow. He slipped long, well-practised fingers in under the waistband of Caleb’s jeans. Caleb tightened his hand in Owen’s hair to keep him close.

They both released their grip on the Christmas card at almost the same moment. It fell to the carpet, damp with sweaty fingerprints and sadly bare of almost all its sparkle. Neither of them gave it a second glance.

Caleb smiled to himself as Owen pulled his tee shirt up and over his head, then with both hands free, pressed Caleb back down on to the cushions. Owen’s body followed, though careful not to crush him.
So strong
, thought Caleb.
Yet so mindful of me
. The smile, though private, grew deeper.

Owen’s kiss was slow but irresistible. Caleb opened his mouth to take in Owen’s tongue, his arms already wrapped around the other man’s back, lifting Owen’s polo shirt, peeling it up and off over the shoulders so bare flesh could touch other bare, heated flesh. Caleb’s nerves shivered at the contact; the desire seeped through pores and skin. The caress was both familiar and exhilarating as always.

He sighed aloud. “Just one thing?”

Owen’s reply was more of a groan than coherent words. “Huh?”

“So how should I sign our card back to her?”

***

“Huh?” Owen said again. He had a mouthful of Caleb’s nipple by now, sucking the skin, pressing his teeth lightly against the stiff, roughened tip. He couldn’t be expected to cope with all this bloody conversation at a time like this.

“Happy Christmas from
Caleb and Owen
?”

Owen flipped the button of Caleb’s jeans, nudging down the pliant zip. He dove his fingertips down inside, twisting his wrist to cup his palm against Caleb’s groin.

Caleb gasped. “Or from
Owen and Caleb
?”

Owen shook his head impatiently, his hair brushing against Caleb’s belly. He shifted on the couch so he was further down, his head now at Caleb’s waist. He growled. “Sign it from the damned bear cubs for all I care.”

Caleb started to laugh. He never had any damned sense of occasion, although Owen had experienced that heady, hysterical rush of happiness as well. He licked at Caleb’s navel, and Caleb’s pelvis arched up from the seat. Owen smirked to himself. It was like a Pavlovian response. Caleb may be the spontaneous one, but Owen knew how to play him
.

He felt the pulse of the hot, engorged flesh inside Caleb’s jeans against his palm. Caleb was wriggling the jeans down off his hips, the swelling inside his boxers begging to be freed. His cock was hard and damp, the tip of it just emerging from the waistband of his underwear, a pearl of moisture nudging at Owen’s chin. Caleb hissed through gritted teeth and, with a grunt of frustration, pushed both jeans and boxers to below his knees.

Owen shifted again on the couch, trailing his tongue down over the tight belly, licking at the line of soft hairs running down to Caleb’s groin. He was pursuing the aforementioned swelling with enthusiasm. He knew the taste of it, intimately; it was better than instant mocha coffee; better than speciality soup; better than
Christmas.
As his mouth reached the wrinkling balls, Caleb groaned. Owen slid his tongue under one of them, and Caleb’s cock bobbed reflexively against his nose. Caleb’s arousal was always gratifyingly enthusiastic.

Owen could hear the hammering of Caleb’s heartbeat in every single vein.

“It’s not for you to tell me what to do. To say how we both should be.” Caleb’s voice was soft and still mischievous. His hand rested briefly on the top of Owen’s head, as if to guide. Not to control. Not really.

Owen laughed aloud. “But I agree! We’re not like that. We don’t have that kind of relationship. We don’t have one who is dominant—”

Caleb’s fingers suddenly gripped more tightly as Owen’s tongue began to lick in slow, deep strokes up and down his cock. “Or one who is submissive.”

“There’s no one master,” Owen whispered. He lifted his head and slipped his mouth down over the tip of Caleb’s dick.

Caleb moaned. “Or
servant.
”

To anyone listening, it would have sounded as if they’d had this debate many times before. And enjoyed it, too. It could be assumed this was all part of their foreplay; all part of the frisson; the passion. If the two men had been asked outright, they’d have confirmed that was definitely, and deliciously, the case.

“Just us. Caleb and Owen.” Caleb gasped. He was moving almost instinctively, thrusting up into Owen’s mouth, seeking the touch, seeking the satisfaction. His climax would be fast and full, as it often was first time around. But Owen knew Caleb had magic recovery skills. He would rest momentarily, then impatiently kick all his clothes off, and roll Owen on to his back in return. He’d spend some fruitful time on
Owen’s
aching, over-sensitive body, and be ready all too soon for further joy…

Caleb’s cry was loud when he came, and his body shuddered against the sagging cushions. Owen gripped his thighs, savouring the feel of Caleb’s flesh, trapped and throbbing inside his mouth. The seed on his tongue was hot and tasty. Caleb was still moaning; he always sounded delighted—almost surprised, as if he’d had no idea such play would lead to
this
!

Owen found it the most incredibly erotic thing he could imagine.

His jaw ached a little, and his own cock was straining inside his jeans. He thought he could see some stray glitter sparkling on Caleb’s bared torso. His ears rang with the groans from both of them.

Just us … Caleb and Owen.

“Or Owen and Caleb,” he mumbled.

Caleb lay back, exhausted, collapsed, as if
consumed.
But he still laughed, making his body shake and his softening cock slip slyly out from between Owen’s lips. “
You’re
the provocative one, Anders. Why the hell do they always say it’s me?”

Owen shrugged carelessly. There was a stray, sticky drop on his lips; he licked it into his mouth, relishing the aftertaste. He slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor, moving forwards so he could look at Caleb’s flushed face. He was just as happy to be quiet, than to gasp and moan and softly cry out, when Caleb returned the favour. But Caleb could talk all the time for all he cared; as, in fact, he usually
did.
After all, Owen reasoned, if Caleb was talking, he was there—and Owen wanted nothing else. “
Who
says you’re the provocative one?”

Caleb reached a hand across, slipping it round Owen’s neck and scratching gently at the sensitive flesh there. “The mysterious
they
, I guess.”

Owen’s voice felt tight in his throat, amusement warring with feral need. “We’ll send
them
the Christmas card, shall we?”

Caleb grinned and tugged him down against his exposed body, mouth offered up for more kissing, fingers reaching for buttons and zips and the search for nakedness and fun. “Sure. From us both. Whatever way it’s written.”

Owen let himself be rolled around on the couch again and laid on his back, his jeans pulled down, his body unwrapped with rich indulgence. Caleb parted his legs and began the tortuously slow process of licking down his inner thighs. Every new touch made him shiver; every finger’s pressure on his hips made his cock leap and beg.