The ETA From You to Me (17 page)

By the time Clayton was back out, Grant was already starting to doze off again. He vaguely registered the sound of a drawer opening and shifting clothes before the bed dipped and Clayton was pulling the comforter off of him. Grant clutched the quilt, whining his protest when he heard Clayton chuff out a laugh.

“You can’t sleep in your jeans, Grant,” Clayton mumbled.

Despite the fact that Clayton had a great point, Grant still had a second longer of reluctant clinging before he released the comforter. Clayton drew it away, gently coaxing Grant to lie on his back. He unbuttoned Grant's pants, pulling the zipper down and then tugging them over Grant's hips. The drag of denim along his hipbones was enough to wake Grant just a tiny bit more and actually glance down at where Clayton was tugging on the ankles of his jeans. This was most excellent, because Grant didn’t even have to put any effort into taking his pants off. Clayton was doing it for him.

The second Grant was divested of his jeans, Clayton grabbed his limp arms and pulled them up so he could tug Grant's shirt off with little interruption.

Soon enough, Clayton climbed into the bed and pulled the comforter over the both of them, wrapping an arm around Grant's stomach and dragging him back against his nice, sinfully firm chest. Grant's stomach did a little tumble, his heart hiccupping when Clayton’s face buried itself into the curve of his throat and shoulder. It was probably the most comfortable Grant had ever felt as the little spoon. Clayton tucked his legs up behind Grant's, heart slow and calming where Grant could feel it against his back.

Chapter 10

The alarm on Grant's phone went off promptly at 7:00 am, jerking Grant out of the warm, drifting dreamworld that he’d been happily nestled in. He was able to lift his body a half inch off the bed before realizing a dead weight was essentially crushing him into the mattress.

“Dude,” Grant said, effectively held hostage.

Clayton grunted, shoving his face between the tiny definition of pectoral muscles that Grant barely possessed and leaving a long burn of stubble across Grant's right nipple in the process. Grant hissed, groggily staring down at the top of Clayton’s head and then wheezing when the arm around his middle gave him a tight squeeze that was easily translated into: ‘my pillow is not allowed to speak.’

“Clayton.”

“Mmh.” Clayton mumbled, shifting and compressing Grant's breath out of his very lungs when he draped the entire upper half of his body over Grant's stomach and chest. Grant wheezed, because he liked being covered by Clayton, but he also liked breathing.

“Come on, dude.” Grant growled halfheartedly, reaching down to shove Clayton’s face from his chest since his stubble stubble rubbing against Grant's nipple was seriously starting to affect his partially attentive morning wood.

Clayton lifted his head, staring at Grant with sleepy eyes that only drooped more when he scowled at Grant. Months of dealing with Clayton in the morning had taught Grant that nothing would stop him from being cranky until he'd had at least an hour to fully wake up.

“You can go back to sleep, you know,” Grant pointed out, recalling that Clayton had only gotten maybe three hours of sleep. The alarm went into snooze mode and Clayton made a snuffling noise, nose smushed into Grant's chest, before he pushed himself up enough to climb up the bed and faceplant right into Grant's neck and shoulder.

“S’okay,” Clayton said throatily, voice hoarse with sleep. Grant shuddered when he felt the rush of air as Clayton drew in a long, deep breath through his nose, nosing up behind Grant's ear like the caveman he was.

Grant brought one hand up, shoving at Clayton’s shoulder. “Aggh, Clayton, dude, seriously. I need to like, I need to eat breakfast and I can’t even shower because I don’t have any extra clo—”

“You c’n wear some of mine,” Clayton rasped, tongue flitting out and licking a long, wet stripe up Grant's neck. It was wet and gross but also kind of arousing because it was
Clayton
, and that somehow made everything ten percent sexier. He rubbed Clayton's back absently, squinting at the bedside clock and sighing.

“Okay well. I still have to shower and get ready and leave in like, forty minutes. So. As much as I love you crushing me with your massive girth, I really need to get up and aaaauuuhhh—”

That was Clayton’s thigh pressing up under his dick while nibbling the shell of Grant's ear.

“Oooohhh my God,” Grant croaked, reaching out to grab Clayton’s shoulders and try to drag him down for a hot and heavy kiss. Clayton pecked him on the lips, pulling away with a bit of force and rolling off the bed. He left Grant draped on the mattress, half-hard and entirely confused when Clayton went over to his dresser.

Grant stayed prone on the bed as Clayton approached with a pair of jeans and a shirt, dumping them on Grant's face. “Go shower.”

He left the bedroom and Grant's dick wept.

Grabbing Clayton’s clothes, Grant headed for bathroom, leaving the door wide open as he stripped and climbed into the shower. Not wasting any time, Grant soaped up and rinsed off, taking a fleeting moment to just sniff Clayton’s shampoo bottle and enjoy the smell, and then he shut the shower off and climbed out.

Grant half hoped that the apartment would smell like freshly cooked breakfast, until he remembered that Clayton was actually really lazy and hated cooking unless properly persuaded. Instead, Clayton was sitting at his behemoth of a desktop, the thing clicking and creaking as it tried to process the browser's existence.

“Looking for some more forest critters to add to your collection?” Grant teased, coming up behind Clayton and giving in to the urge to hug him from behind, chin plopping on the top of Clayton’s head. Clayton adjusted his hold on the old mouse, chord catching on the worn and curled edge of his mouse pad—lovingly adorned with a howling coyote, because Clayton was predictable like that. Clayton grunted, turning and pressing his nose into Grant's shoulder to breathe in deeply.

“No. Paying my phone bill.”

“Online bill pay? Impressive.” Grant laughed when Clayton growled and nipped his shoulder. Heart full with an indescribable happy feeling, Grant fluffed with Clayton's hair and then headed for the kitchen to grab himself a bowl of cereal.

He sat on the couch later with his bowl of knock-off Cheerios, eating and watching Clayton wait for the page to load. It was kind of depressing that his internet was so slow it was on the brink of being dial-up.

“You want me to wash these clothes after I bring ‘em back?” Grant asked, voice garbled through a mouthful of cereal and stabbing his spoon back into the bowl to snag some more. Clayton grunted, clicking around and shrugging halfheartedly.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to,” he said quietly, reaching for his wallet on the desk to grab his worn and battered debit card—the only sign that he actually lived in the 21st century. Grant chomped happily on his knockoff O's, content with allowing the both of them to drift into silence while he finished eating. Clayton was still in his boxers, shoulders hunched over the desk while he punched in his card number with slow jabs of his finger. It was adorable, really. Grant could tap in a phone number in half the time it took Clayton to put in the first three digits of his card.

“Okay.” Grant garbled through a mouthful of food, content.

When he finished eating, he rinsed his bowl out and stuck it in the near-empty dishwasher before stumbling about Clayton’s apartment in search of all of his belongings. He still had fifteen minutes to get to work, but it was better to be early than get sidetracked and end up late.

Clayton was standing at the doorway when Grant came out of the bedroom after putting his shoes on. He looked groggy, one hand idly scratching at the patch of hair that was leading down from his navel and into the elastic of his boxer-briefs. Oh, how Grant wanted to trace that path with his tongue.

Groaning softly to himself, Grant shouldered his laptop bag from where he'd grabbed it by the couch. “I’ll try to let you sleep before I call you in,” he offered, grinning crookedly and approaching Clayton. Clayton grunted, reaching out and curling his hand into the front of Grant's shirt to drag him in for a kiss. He still looked sleep-groggy, eyes drooping even as Grant pressed their lips together.

“Don’t play favorites,” Clayton warned against his mouth, rubbing his nose over Grant's cheekbone and then mouthing the hollow of Grant's neck. Grant obediently let him, indulging Clayton until he felt a warm, wet tongue laving over his collarbone.

“Okay, okay. Stop that. That’s wet.” Grant grimaced, squirming until Clayton pulled away with a mildly put out expression.

“Don’t give me that look. I seriously should have invested in a puppy when I started dating you. At least then I’d be used to being a giant salt lick.”

"Maybe you shouldn't look so edible," Clayton muttered, lips quirked in a teasing smirk. Grant huffed, rolling his eyes and grinning.

“I’m seriously buying you some suckers when I get off work so you don’t go through tonguing withdrawals when I’m not with you.” Grant teased. An idea struck him and he leaned in, bowing his head to kiss Clayton’s throat. Clayton stiffened, and Grant heard a sharp intake of breath.

He curled his lips over Clayton’s pulse point, dropped his satchel, grabbed Clayton’s biceps, and crowded him up against the wall. Clayton’s pulse jumped against his mouth, and Grant sucked, tongue darting out to taste the salt of Clayton’s skin. It was empowering, to know Clayton—who had a good twenty pounds of sheer muscle on Grant—could so easily let Grant take control. Grant knew it was because, in some way, Clayton trusted him not to take it too far, and that really just made Grant want to go nuts on the guy.

Clayton’s pulse roared, which only gave Grant incentive to pin his boyfriend further into the wall, pressing their bodies together and then dragging his tongue up Clayton’s throat before biting a wet kiss into his jaw.

“Fuck,” Clayton said intelligently, muscles trembling just the tiniest bit.

“I can totally see why you like licking me,” Grant chuckled, "if my reaction is anything like yours."

Clayton’s hands grabbed to Grant's waist, flipping them around so that Grant was the one pressed back into the wall. Grant's dick twitched and Clayton’s lips crashed against his in a short, but frantic kiss.

Standing back, Clayton gave Grant a chance to process what had happened, smiling so wide Grant could see all of his teeth.

“I’m going to work now,” Grant said blankly, hips hot from the friction of Clayton’s palms practically rubbing their existence into his skin.

“Bye.” Clayton smirked, turning to head back towards the bedroom. Oh no, a smirk like that was entirely unacceptable, because it meant that Clayton had won their unofficial game of leaving the other stunned and horny. Grant was too competitive to just let Clayton walk away with his cocky ass swaying in that tight underwear like he owned the place.

Grant scrambled forward, rearing his hand back and slapping Clayton right on his asscheek. Clayton wasn’t even entirely done whirling around before Grant had bolted out the door, cackling loudly at the sound of Clayton’s startled and angrily aroused, “Grant!” that followed him.

Despite their short but enjoyable morning together, Clayton ended up not being called in until nearly noontime, the morning slow and filled mostly with jumpstarts and unlocks that kept Elliot running all over town and Grant running all over the office. When Clayton finally did swing by, it was right in the middle of the afternoon, and with an armful of fast food.

Grant happily gorged himself, halfway through his burger when a thought struck him. “I never really was around animals very much.”

Clayton lifted his head, lips curled around the straw of his soda like it was their job.

“I had a dog, but after mom died… my dad was working so much, and I was in school, so we ended up giving it away.” Grant wasn’t really sure if it was something necessary to share, but at the same time he felt compelled to open up a little.

Nodding, Clayton finished up his own burger and started to fold up the trash. “I always used to have animals around. I like… the stuff I buy… because it reminds me of my family…of the reservation.”

“You guys were way into that nature stuff, weren’t you?”

Clayton shrugged, trash crinkling in his hand, and then shrugged. “After Parker, I never got another pet. I didn't want to at first, but now there's other reasons I can't. I’d have a dog if my apartment didn’t charge me a hundred and sixty bucks a month extra,” he replied grumpily, standing up and grabbing Grant's trash to toss both in the can. The way he spoke, stiff and uneasy, was enough for Grant to know that Clayton wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk about his family or their habits.

“I know how it feels, dude. My mom died when I was 13.”

Clayton’s head snapped up, cigarette pack crinkling just the tiniest bit in his hands. Grant shrugged absently, fiddling with his pen. "But… it’s okay. I’m fine now, anyway. It was ten years ago, right?” Grant didn’t bother looking up, just because eye contact was painful to maintain when talking about anything relating to his mother or his personal issues. “I used to have to take medication in high school, not the Adderall—well, I took that, too, but I also had to take stuff for anxiety. She died right before I started high school… I used to have these crazy panic attacks for no reason, and let me tell you, buddy, they suck big time.”