Touching Evil (8 page)

"Gonna come up here and kiss me?" Artie liked it, too. Maybe too
much. That morning wood might pop, was what Artie was afraid of. It was
cute as hell.

"Yes." He traveled back up, hands taking a slower, more convoluted trail. "Morning, Artie. You look good in my bed."

"Feels good here, man. Real good." Fingers sliding in his hair,
Artie pulled him down and gave him a kiss, lips rubbing over his
slowly, easily, before pushing in.

Oh. Oh, he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten how good it was. Greg settled
against Artie, the shock of all their skin meeting together enough to
make him shudder.

"Shhh. S'okay." So careful, so sweet. Artie could just go into
protector mode so damned fast, fingers moving rhythmically on his back.

"It's so big. I just, I'd forgotten how to touch someone and it's you." He was babbling a little, but it was okay, it was Artie.

"Yeah. I kinda have, too, man. I just don't have your deal, you
know? But it's been a long time and you. Well, you're it." Artie just
looked him right in the eye.

"Yes." He just nodded; what else was there to say? This was Artie. "Yes."

He got a groan and another kiss, this one not careful at all. This
one was hard and deep and so needy it ached. Their bodies slammed
together, and Greg wasn't sure who was feeling what, who was moaning
what words, and it didn't matter, not even a little bit. All that
mattered was that they were touching and not waiting anymore. They
toppled, Artie twisting so he was on the bottom, that heavy torso
pressed against him. Artie kissed like he did everything, with a dogged
determination that just never gave up. He wrapped one leg around
Artie's hip, pushing up harder, demanding more. He got more; more
kisses, more rubbing, Artie's cock against his hard and damp. That
mouth. God. Artie had some serious talent.

"How ... how come I didn't know you kissed like this?" He slid his
hand down, thumb teasing a nipple briefly before continuing down.

"Because I don't know how I kiss?" Because most guys Artie had been
with didn't like to kiss, thought it was girly and stupid. Artie liked
it. A lot.

"Kissing is amazing.
Your
kisses are. Don't stop." He was a fan.

His fingers found that heavy cock and he groaned. Oh, he was a fan of that, too.

"Mmmhmm." Artie gave him everything. Lips swollen against his, Artie
fucked his mouth and his hand, tongue pushing in as that cock rubbed
and rubbed. And he got his quota of touching, too, every bump of his
spine counted, the small of his back worshipped.

His toes curled. Fuck, he was aching, and he had to move, had to rub
against that body and touch, and if he sort of shorted out, Artie'd
have to forgive him.

"Greg." The rough way Artie said it told him loads about how far
gone Artie was, too. So did the tension in Artie's body. Neither one of
them was gonna last long.

"Yes. Yes. Please, Artie." He tugged a little harder, his own cock catching between them just right.

"Oh. Oh, fuck. God." That was it. Just like last night, Artie let
loose, coming like a ton of bricks. It was a raw, pure feeling, just
hot and wet and full of Artie's white noise as he shorted out.

He might have come, he might not—he got caught in Artie's orgasm, entire body shaking with it and nothing else mattered.

They came down slowly, both panting and kind of shaking. Artie's
eyes were almost black, the pupils still dilated, when they met his.
"You're gonna ruin me, man."

"It's big. The ... us." He rested his head on Artie's shoulder.

"It is. I knew it would be. Hey, we got leftover pie."

"Mmmhmm. Coffee, too."

There they went again. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to take this slow, talk about it in stages. Have pie.

They'd been waiting for years. A nice cup of coffee wouldn't hurt a thing.

Maybe they could go feed Duke.

Interesting.

He has always known Pearsall was a slut. The man had been before,
flaunting himself with the little red-head artist, meeting in bars,
dancing. Laughing like there was a joke no one else knew.

He watches the video flicker as another tape ends and he hits rewind.

Slut.

He takes his knife, wipes the blade clean. "Do you see? Do you see
what happens when you sink into the filth? Do you see? He has been
clean for so long and all it took was one touch."

The whimpers are softer now than they had been earlier this week,
even an hour ago. So lovely. Just the barest repairs necessary. He
drags the knife along his palm, the infected skin breaking open, pus
pouring out. "You did. You little bitch. You bit me and you were dirty.
Dirty just like all of them. Not worth collecting."

Not worth keeping.

Chapter Five

Duke was Not Pleased.

Why it was that the damned cat spoke in capital letters when he was
pissed, Artie had no idea. But he did. The chicken thigh went a ways
toward pacifying him. The Krispy Kreme cookies and cream doughnut
helped. But it wasn't until Duke was firmly ensconced on Greg's lap,
growling and hissing every time Artie came near, that the damned fiend
seemed happy.

"Asshole cat."

"He's beautiful." Greg was crosslegged in the middle of Artie's bed,
cradling and stroking Duke, long fingers smoothing the ruffled fur. "He
missed you."

"Bullshit." Artie stretched, pulled his T-shirt off over his head,
and tossed his pancake holster on the table. "Whassa matter, Duke? I
didn't leave you enough credit on pay-per-view?"

Duke ruffled and hissed, Greg hushing him and stroking Duke's ears.
Man, that move would get him torn to ribbons. "What kind of movies does
Duke order? Porn?"

"He likes swashbucklers. The ones with the pretty boys. And girls." Artie tilted his head. "I think he's bi."

Greg laughed, "Sweet baby. He abuses you, doesn't he? No cream and tuna and long bouts of brushing?"

"The last time I tried to brush him for any longer than it took to
get him smooth? He tried to eat my left nut. Don't let him fool you.
You want more coffee?" Greg had made the coffee, because Lord knew he
couldn't.

"Oh, no eating those, now, sweet boy. Those are too pretty to ruin." Greg nodded, held out the coffee cup with a smile.

He got it happily, knowing that the squalor would get to Greg
eventually, but happy as hell that he looked so comfy right now. Just a
different place could make some of the tension go away, sometimes.

Greg pulled some of his books down from the headboard and began
organizing them, sorting them, eyes widening every so often, something
slipping through those long fingers. "Oh, you liked the one about the
Civil War."

"Yeah. It was full of neat stuff." Like how surgery was done on the
battlefield, but no way was he gonna say that, what with the surgery
book.

Greg nodded, put the books in order, settled in the middle of all the sheets looking just fine, just relaxed.

It made him smile. Made him brave Duke, bringing his own coffee
over, and the extra doughnuts, and sit next to Greg on the bed. "Hey."

"Hey." Greg looked over, hand reaching out then brushing something
off his bottom lip. "It's like the calm before the storm, isn't it?"

"It is, yeah." Greg tasted like latte and glaze and, well, Duke
hair. Artie grinned. "But I've always been one to take the good where
it comes."

"Yeah. The alternative sucks." Greg leaned in, licked the corner of his mouth. "You taste so good."

"Like sugar, huh?" His tongue pushed out, licking Greg's lips in return. "And you taste like coffee."

"Sugar goes in coffee just fine." Greg stopped, grinned at him.
"Okay, that? Was lame. Funny and true, but lame. Remember I was a
professor, not a lothario."

"Oh, I liked it, man." Not that he was picky. His idea of a pick-up line had always been, "You wanna?"

"I wanna." Duke hissed and jumped off Greg's lap as Greg pressed closer. "I mean, I'm glad you liked it."

"Wait." Archie got up and closed the bedroom door after Duke, the
lock clicking into place. Then Artie did a cannonball, bouncing on the
bed, rolling the mattress crazily.

Greg rolled into him, laughing hard, gasping when they came together.

"Mmm." That laugh made him happy deep in his belly. He'd bet Greg
knew it, too, balls to bones. Oh. Balls. Artie thought maybe it was his
turn to smell and taste and feel.

His neck got attacked, teeth and tongue making him shiver, but
distracting Greg enough to get rid of the shirt, expose that whole long
line of pale skin. Yeah. Oh, man. He scraped Greg's skin with his short
nails, watching goose bumps rise. Then he pushed Greg on his back,
nuzzling just under the right ear.

Greg moaned low, arching up under him. "Fuck, I feel you."

"You should. Want to taste you. Touch every bit." He'd waited too
long. And as good as Greg had felt last night? Well, now they were in
his bed.

Greg's hands splayed across his back, a deep sound pushing out of
the long throat as Greg nodded. "Yes. Less clothes. More skin."

"Uh-huh." Pants. Shirt. Socks, because not sexy. They were naked in
no time, and Artie celebrated it by sucking Greg's nipples, really
giving them a go. "Taste so good."

"S ... s ... so good. Artie. Your mouth." He thought there ought to be a prize for getting a professor to babble.

"Greg." Artie just rubbed, rocked, nibbling, then biting. The little
sounds got louder, deeper, each one asking him for more. Christ, how
long had it been since anyone touched Greg, since Greg got to touch
back? Too long, but he just couldn't complain. If he had to share Greg
with Duke, so be it. But no one else. He slid down that flat, flat
belly, following the trail to glory, just like that.

"Not letting that cat anywhere near my naked cock, Artie. Not a chance."

"He can sit on your lap. But that's it, man." There. The prize of
prizes waited for him, and Artie licked at the head of Greg's cock,
tasting the bitter salt and musk flavor. The sheets creaked, twisted in
Greg's fingers, and God knew what Greg saw there, because that long
cock throbbed and the clear drops started flowing faster, rising to
meet his tongue. Sweet. Every one fell right on his tongue as Artie
opened up and pushed down, taking Greg's cock down his throat as far as
he could.

His name rang out, Greg's voice shocked, stunned, and surprisingly
hot, all rough and raw like that. Those hips were pointed as a skinny
nag's, the bones sharp as they moved under his hands.

So different from his own body. His own hips were just barely cut,
his muscles standing out. He knew it from lying in this very bed and
touching himself and wondering what Greg felt like. Now he knew, and it
blew him away. Closing his lips hard around Greg, he pulled back, then
slid down again.

"Thought about you. Dreamed. All around me, Artie. Sweet lord. All
around me." Greg started moving in time with his lips, hips driving the
rhythm a little faster, a little harder.

Artie just lost himself in it. What a fucking rush, having Greg in
his mouth, calling his name, that hot skin all his to explore. Made him
hard as a fucking diamond, made him want to just keep on forever.

"Forever. Your
mouth
, Art." Greg shifted, pushing against his hands, cock throbbing in his lips.

"Mmmhmm." He woulda grinned if he could have. Instead he cupped
Greg's balls, just rolling them lightly, feeling the difference between
that skin and the smooth, hot cock.

Oh, now. That got him a whimper, a desperate little shudder. Artie
went down, opening his throat, and swallowed, silently begging Greg to
come, to let him feel it. Taste it. Greg's cock jerked, bumping the
back of his throat as heat sprayed, filling his mouth.

He moaned, working his tongue to help get it all, swallowing hard.
Then he pulled back to kiss the head of Greg's prick. "God, that's
good."

Greg nodded, blinking down at him, looking just stunned.

"You okay?" He was starting to worry a little the way Greg just lay there. Like maybe Artie had broken something.

"Yeah." Greg reached out, drew him up into a kiss, tongue pressing
into his lips, tasting him. Oh, hell, yes. Artie just ate that kiss up
like he would squash casserole at a church social. Damn.

Greg came alive underneath him, responding and repeating the
touches, the motions that made him ache. His cock ached, and Artie just
arched into the touch, body moving restlessly. He wanted ... well. He
wanted everything, didn't he?

"What do you want?" Those dark eyes held his, watched him, wanted him. "What do you need?"

"I need. I—Touch me." His whole body shook, his cheeks so hot. God. Yeah.

Greg pushed at him, rolled him over, and straddled his hips, hands
flat on his chest, fingers moving. "You're like a wet dream. My wet
dream."

"Yeah?" That was just ... Man. That was sexy as hell. He stared up
at Greg, touching all over. The chest, the bony elbows, the belly. It
was a feast.

"Yeah. I wondered, now I know." Every inch of him was explored,
stroked. Greg whispered the name of each muscle as those long fingers
touched it, the act so
Greg
that it made him smile. He was
still smiling when Greg touched his cock. Then he started gasping,
pushing, a lot closer to the edge than he thought.

"You're thick. You'll stretch me." Those fingers slid down his
shaft, just barely brushing. "You are going to fuck me, aren't you? Let
me feel you?"

"Now?" His voice squeaked. "I don't think I'll last, man. But soon? Yeah. Hoo yeah. So gonna."

"Not now." Greg chuckled, both hands wrapping around his cock and pumping. "Now I just want to watch you come, detective."

"Okay." Like Greg's voice was a trigger, Artie shot, just like that,
hot and wet over Greg's hand. He flopped back on the bed and cracked
the hell up when Duke's yowl outside the door echoed his own harsh cry.