A Warm Heart in Winter, page 8
He’d assumed it would just be him, filling the King and Tohr in on what had happened with the Qhuinn stabbing. But nope. It was standing room only, every fighter in their normal positions on and around the delicate antique French furniture, the big bodies and loud, deep voices sucking up all the air in the room. The King was likewise behind his sire’s giant desk as usual, sitting on his sire’s giant old throne, the golden retriever in his lap like a throw blanket with all that blond fur. George, Wrath’s guide dog, was looking at everyone and offering wags, even as he would never leave his master’s side. Whether he was on the lap, by the feet, or sitting pretty at the dagger hand of the King, George’s friendliness was pervasive, but his love and loyalty singular.
Z went over to the corner he usually stood in. Phury, his twin, was there, along with Xhex.
“How’s by you?” his brother asked quietly. “Do you know what this is about?”
Wrath spoke up around his dog. “Are we all here? What are we doing? I’m not getting any younger.”
The great Blind King, now democratically elected, was already frowning behind his wraparounds like he’d been waiting for twelve hours, his widow’s peak and long black hair making him look more than a little evil, especially as he clipped his words.
Then again, the male could work himself into a lather over the delay of a second and a half.
Tohr, who was at the King’s side, cleared his throat and spoke up over the din. “We’re all here.”
“Do your thing then, weatherman,” Wrath muttered as the chatter eased off its raucous boil.
Tohr nodded. “Thanks for coming, everybody. So it looks like we’ve got a serious snowstorm on the forecast tomorrow and—”
The double doors, which had been closed, were thrown open, and what was standing in between the jambs was a sight for no eyes. Like, absolutely, positively no eyes whatsoever. None.
Lassiter, the household and race’s favorite fallen angel—at least if you asked him, that was, and if you asked anybody else, you’d get the statistic that there was in fact only one known fallen angel on the planet—struck a pose, hands on hips, chest puffed out, feet planted like he was ready to get his legs judged by ANTM.
“What the fuck are you?” someone said.
“We’re still trying to figure that out,” V muttered as he lit up a hand-rolled. “I volunteer to start the list with moron.”
Lassiter sauntered in and did a little turn. “Mr. Freeze, motherfuckers. In honor of the coming blizzard.”
“Now I know why I’m a Marvel fan,” somebody blurted.
Even though Z didn’t know Marvel from Mrs. Maisel, he couldn’t agree more. The angel had somehow managed to jack himself into a pint-sized costume that was the color of blueberry Kool-Aid and had all the pipes and mechanics of an air compressor. A molded plastic weapon of some derivation or another was hanging off his right arm, and he’d completed the ensemble with a pair of bronze-colored, bug-eyed glasses that had been strapped to his pinhead.
Clearly, the getup had cost at least twenty cents to make. Maybe thirty.
Cue the peanut gallery:
“How did you get all your hair under that bathing cap?”
“Do you actually think any of that fits?”
“Can you please put your junk away—”
“Why, why does Amazon Prime offer free shipping. It should offer free burning—”
Lassiter flexed his sizable muscles, especially his glutes. At which point there was a series of tearing sounds.
Which was what happened when you put a five-pound bag over a fifty-pound asshat.
“Oh, my God, if he goes Hulk and flashes his courting tackle, I’m going to poke my own eyes out—”
“I don’t care what any of you say,” the angel cut in. “You’re going to get used to me because this nor’easter coming our way? We’re going to be snowbound inside for days. And days. And days—it’s gonna be all of us here on the mountain together, sharing and caring.”
There was a pin-drop pause of silence. And then V spoke up. “Who wants to leave right now?”
Everyone jacked their dagger hands up on a oner.
Lassiter looked around with the kind of surprise that indicated self-awareness was not in his personality inventory. Then again, the costume proved that as well.
“You guys can all bite me,” the angel muttered as he turned on his heel and headed out of the study. “For real.”
Down in the clinic, Qhuinn turned his head on a pillow that was cushy as a piece of toast. Right next to him, sitting on a chair that had been pulled up tight to the bedside, Blay was looking at his phone, reading something that had just come through. The overhead light had been turned down, and in the low glow, the male’s red hair was all copper and shine.
That fresh fade V had given him was super tight on the bottom, making his jaw look extra strong, and the flop over his forehead was the kind of thing a male wanted to run his fingers through.
Then again, there wasn’t much that Qhuinn didn’t want to touch when it came to his mate.
“What is it?” he asked.
Everyone had pulled out of the OR, Layla with the kids, and Manny and Ehlena after they’d unplugged all the machines from him. The training center was likewise quiet, no more voices off in the distance, no footfalls, no muffled grunts from people working out in the weight room or the big gym. It must be getting close to Last Meal, or maybe Wrath had called a meeting.
“Tomorrow night’s schedule,” Blay said with a frown.
“Where am I going?”
Blay looked up, all serious. Which naturally was sexy as fuck. “Nowhere. You’re redshirted for injury for forty-eight hours. You know the rules.”
“I was hoping they forgot. Are you on?”
“No one’s on.” Blay turned the Samsung around. “Schedule’s empty.”
“What the hell happened?”
Blay started texting. “I’m going to find out.”
Qhuinn waited patiently, and when the tippytapping ended, he snagged the unit and put it face-down on the bedside table. “Hi.”
Blay glanced at the phone. “Hi?”
“Come here.” To give the guy some guidance, he reached out and took a hold of the front of his mate’s shirt to pull him in. “Hi.”
Their lips met briefly, and when Blay went to ease back, Qhuinn tightened his grip on that shirt.
“Mmmm,” he said as he got more of that mouth.
Things were going in absolutely the right direction as he licked his way into his male, his tongue sneaking in, taking and giving, stroking—
“Fuck,” he hissed. And not in a good way.
With a groan, he flopped onto his back again and put a hand over the gauze and packing tape that was on his belly. The weight of his palm alone was enough to further aggravate the sharp-shooter, so he let his arm slide to the side. Besides, like touching the sutures was going to help?
“Let’s hold off,” Blay said reasonably. As he rearranged himself inside his slacks.
“No.” Qhuinn tugged on that shirt again. “Gimme. You promised.”
“I did not.” Blay started to smile in a half-lidded way. “I did no such thing.”
“Fine, the promise was implied. By your erection.” Tug. Tug. Tug. “I locked the door. And no one’s down here.”
“Qhuinn, you can’t even get on your side—”
The gasp that cut off all that being-logical was so damned gratifying. And exactly what Qhuinn had been going for as he’d transferred his hand from the buttons on that fine, pressed dress shirt to a rather tented region south of the waistband of those fine, pressed slacks.
Right onto the hard length of Blay’s arousal, actually.
“I told you before,” Qhuinn murmured as he ran his pierced tongue over his upper lip. “I don’t have to move much. You can do the active part. I’ll just open my mouth.”
“Qhuinn . . .”
Okay, that was a yes. That tone, with its pleading lilt, was a total, fucking, red-hot yes.
“All you have to do is put it in. Then pull it out. After that, you push it in deeper, to the back of my throat. And out again. You do the work. I’ll just suck on you. Lick on you. Make you come in my—”
The groan that Blay let out was so long, so tortured, so hungry that it made Qhuinn’s hips jerk of their own volition.
“That’s right,” he said as he lowered his lids. “Let me see you unzip and take it out.”
Blay looked to the door. “We’re locked in?”
“Absolutely.”
Now, all things considered, Qhuinn had no problem having sex in front of an audience. Then again, when you were good at something, showing off was hardly a character flaw. His lover didn’t feel the same way, though, and Blay’s need for privacy was something that was always respected.
And hey, the truth was, Qhuinn liked the fact that his male only shared that side of himself with the one who loved him most in the world.
“Let me see it,” Qhuinn prompted as Blay stood up from the chair. “I want to see it . . .”
Blay’s hands trembled as they went to the belt, to the button, to the zipper at the front of those slacks. Fumble, fumble . . . then the two halves were yanked wide.
The enormous erection that burst out was exactly what Qhuinn was looking for.
“Commando,” he moaned with approval. “It’s meant to be.”
As his mate’s dagger hand encircled the thick shaft, Qhuinn did some groaning of his own. Except then Blay took a sharp step back.
Cue the sound of a needle scratching over an LP.
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Blay asked. “I mean, what if something bursts open and—”
“The only thing bursting is going to be you, lover mine—”
“Qhuinn. I’m serious.”
“So am I.” When Blay stayed where he was—way out of hands-on range, much less tongue-piercing reach—Qhuinn tried to level his stare and pretend he wouldn’t say absolutely anything to get what he wanted. “They weren’t even going to make me take a wheelchair back. I’m allowed to walk on my own. And I already feel soooo much better.”
“You can’t roll onto your side.”
“That’s my hips, not my head. And besides, your pelvis is going to do the work, not mine.”
It was probably unfair to flick his piercing around, but what was that saying? All’s fair in love and blow jobs?
Okay, fine. That wasn’t the saying.
“Please,” he said. “And I promise I’ll tell you if anything hurts.”
There was a pause. And then Blay stroked his cock.
“Good,” Qhuinn said with a smile.
“I haven’t said yes.”
“Yeah, you have. You’re pumping yourself off.”
Blay looked down as if he’d had no clue what his palm was doing. “Traitor,” he muttered.
“Are you talking to your hand right now?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Just give me my medicine, Blay. You’re not going to hurt me.”
Worried blue eyes stared over. “I couldn’t bear that.”
“I know. It’s one of the many reasons I trust you.”
With the decision finally made, there wasn’t any more talking, the blunt head of that arousal coming at Qhuinn’s mouth, just as he’d begged for. And yes, he opened wide and took it all, sucking the length in, savoring the heat, the taste, the guttural sound that his mate made. Lifting his eyes, he had the pleasure of watching Blay’s head fall back and his arm shoot out to steady a rocky balance on the solid wall behind him.
A smacking noise rose up between his face and Blay’s hips, quiet, repetitive, achingly erotic. The rhythm was slow, Blay deliberately taking his time. Which was fine—until it became frustrating, at which point it was even better. Snaking a hand out, Qhuinn grabbed onto the back of his lover’s thigh and opened his throat, taking the full tip to base, everything stretching, his head moving back on the pillow.
Blay gasped and started to pump properly, noises rumbling in his chest, his breath starting to come fast and hard. And yet he was holding back.
Qhuinn pulled himself free of his prize, his lips releasing the head with a pop. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Give me everything.”
Those blue eyes flared. But then went to Qhuinn’s abs. “It feels so good, but—”
“It could be better.” Qhuinn put Blay’s hand on the back of his own skull. “Fuck me proper. You know you want to.”
“You’re just out of—”
To cut the conversation, Qhuinn extended his tongue and deliberately tickled the tip of Blay’s arousal with his piercing, the silver ball teasing, tasting . . . tempting, assuming he was doing it right.
“Oh, Qhuinn, God . . .”
Yup, he was doing it right. And what do you know, in return, Qhuinn got exactly what he wanted: Slowly at first, and then with increasing urgency, Blay drove his cock in and out of the mouth that was so greedy for him. In and out. In and out. Harder now. Faster now. And the broad palm on the back of Qhuinn’s head was the guide that made it all possible.
Well, that and those hips, those lean hips with the wings of muscle on both sides.
Blay’s body had been sculpted by a master, every part of it. Especially the part that was fucking Qhuinn’s mouth.
Ah, yes. This is exactly the kind of medicine he needed.
Blay had been feeling so guilty about the whole thing. For godsakes, his male was lying in a hospital bed, just unhooked from monitoring machines maybe twenty minutes ago, the stitches still fresh from closing a damn stab wound . . .
And here he was, face-fucking the guy—
Qhuinn looked up, his blue and green eyes glowing, his mouth stretched wide, his cheeks flushed from arousal. Then he purred.
Well. Okay, so fine, his mate did seem to be enjoying this. Even though Blay was drilling into Qhuinn’s mouth, the male was taking it all—and loving it. If the noises of approval weren’t a tip-off for how good it was for him, then the erection that had thickened up under that hospital sheet was another clear sign—
The growling sound in the back of Blay’s throat was a drumroll to his culmination, growing in urgency and volume—and fuck, he was drilling Qhuinn’s mouth now, the thrusting going wilder as he visually focused on what was happening.
The sight of those lips stretched so wide, and his shaft going in and out, and the gloss on his arousal was too much.
Blay pitched off the cliff, a tremendous orgasm ripping out of him.
Thankfully, Qhuinn took things from there. As Blay grunted and his pelvis locked into his lover’s face, his whole body went rigid, all of his muscles from his feet to his shoulders going rock hard. And so Qhuinn was the one who moved now, nursing at the head of the erection he’d treated so beautifully, pulling more and more out of the release, milking it to continue.
The legs that kept Blay upright turned into wire, and he listed back so that he had to brace himself against the wall. The angle was bad, twisting his spine, making his ass strain, but like he cared?
He was just watching what was happening as Qhuinn’s blue and green eyes looked up at him—
That tongue, that talented, pierced tongue, lapped around the head of Blay’s arousal again, then tickled the tip with the metal.
Blay’s eyes squeezed shut again. “You’re going to make me—”
Come again. Yup. Here it was, the pleasure peaking for a second time, jets shooting out of him and going right into Qhuinn’s mouth. More sucking now. Lots more sucking.
Blay squeezed his eyes shut and fell forward, collapsing across Qhuinn’s upper body—and still his male kept going.
And it kept going. For so long. Until Blay completely fell apart and had to stretch out on the hospital bed next to his lover or crush Qhuinn. As he settled in, his mate pulled him close, making sure his head was tucked against the big chest that was marked with the sacred scar of the Black Dagger Brotherhood.
“I should be cradling you,” Blay mumbled. “I need to take care of you—”
“Shh.” That big hand made slow circles on Blay’s shoulder, going up and around. “You did take care of me.”
Blay lifted his head. “I can assure you, it was the other way around.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“I owe you one. Or four, I think it was.”
“Five, but who was counting? And I look forward to collecting on that debt.” Qhuinn’s smile was so honest, so open. “Anytime.”
“Just maybe when you’re, like, not right out of an operation.”
“Nah. Any. Time. Like how ’bout now?”
Blay blinked. “We’ve already covered this. You can’t move.”
“All fours is probably out of the question, but I can roll over.”
“No, you can’t.” Blay shifted his head because he knew eye contact was necessary to get the point across. “And I am not doing that to you right now.”
“Buzzkill.”
As they started at each other, they both laughed. And then Blay got serious as he admired his mate’s hard face, and that strong chest, and that constant wellspring of sexual desire that was ever present, ever ready. Instantly, nothing else mattered or even registered, and it was funny—you’d think after all this time, things would stop receding. But it happened again: The hospital bed disappeared. The room disappeared. The clinic, the training center, the mountain, the world. Everything was gone but the male who was looking back at him.
“Your face is a view I never tire of,” Blay whispered as he stroked the black-and-purple hair that had been mussed in the process of . . . well, the blow job of his life.
Qhuinn nodded. “And yours is my true north. So there.”
With a smile, Blay meant to keep the compliments going. But then it dawned on him—
“Oh, crap, my pants are around my ankles.”
“I can think of no better place for them to be.”
“Good thing that door is locked—” As Qhuinn went to move, Blay put his hand on the male’s shoulder. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
