Chapter Four

 

Keirnan shrugged out of his running gear and kicked it out of the stall into the bathroom proper. He made a twirling motion with his finger, telling Sam he should turn around again. He wrapped his arms around Sam, thumbing his nipples. Last night they’d both loved when he turned the flat discs into tight nubs, Sam in particular hissing his pleasure at the scratch of Keirnan’s chest hair on his smooth skin. Now Keirnan scraped that fur against Sam’s broad-shouldered back.

“I’m not really people at all. I’m a wolf,” he whispered, pressing close, nuzzling into the side of Sam’s neck, loving the deep intake of breath his actions caused.

“And about that…” Keirnan plucked a dark-yellow sea sponge from a wall ledge and lathered it up. He reached around to soap Sam’s front. “It’s not catching. There’s no such thing as a lycanthropic strain or virus.” He pressed his groin into Sam’s arse. “And that being the case, you can’t get it via a scratch or a tear in any tissue or by fluid in contact with the mucous membrane.” He dropped the sponge and nestled his head against Sam’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of the water streaming over them both.

“So, what you’re saying is, you can fuck without a condom.” Sam pressed his arse back into Keirnan.

“Jesus, Sam!” The thought of being inside Sam bare had his erection raring to go, seeking entry. “I’m ddf. Drug- and disease-free, if you don’t know the term. They gave the principal actors lots of medical tests, for insurance. But, of course, shifters don’t catch diseases.”

“And you can smell I’m clean,” Sam continued, moving his arse in small circles against Keirnan’s prick, almost making him climax where he stood. The blond Londoner robbed him of all his self-control. “No pun intended.”

Keirnan had to laugh, even through the buzz of his arousal.

“And you enjoy shower sex.”

“What makes you say that? Bar the obvious.” Keirnan rubbed his erect cock along Sam’s crack. From doggy-style to raw-dogging. And in less than one day? Had to be some sort of record.

Sam twisted and pointed at a small plastic pump-action bottle on one of the shower wall ledges. “Hybrid lube. Hmmm, hybrid—is that some sort of political statement?”

“A form of species pride, you mean?” Keirnan shook with laughter against Sam’s back.

“I’m guessing it’s just because you prefer the creamy, natural feeling of a water-based lube with the staying power of a silicone-based lube,” Sam said.

“How do you—”

“I read the bottle.” Sam’s reply was droll. “I was tempted to give it a whirl, before you came. It also says it combines the best of water and silicone-based worlds for a shower experience you and your partner won’t soon forget.”

“I’ve never used it with a partner. Always solo play,” Keirnan said, only after catching up with the confession he’d made. “But I can guarantee this will be something you won’t soon forget. Did you notice all the ledges and recesses in these walls?” He got his knee to the back of Sam’s, nudging Sam to raise his leg and place his foot inside the well about ten inches from the floor. “And see the handles?” He didn’t know what the rings of twisted rope fixed to the shower wall were really for, but they were strong enough and well-placed for what he had in mind. He nipped Sam’s earlobe to get him moving, and because he liked the surprised yelp Sam made when Keirnan did so.

“Didn’t you play a tough NYPD cop in your previous life?” Sam queried. “Because you seem to be ordering me to assume the position.” He did, his new pose stretching his crack, putting his arse on display. He gripped the handles, his delts and traps bunching, then looked over his shoulder at Keirnan. Pool-blue eyes framed by clumped spiky dark-gold lashes caught Keirnan’s green ones and held them as possibilities, suggestions and scenarios grew to fill the small space. Keirnan held Sam’s gaze, and Sam was the first to look away.

Keirnan reached for the sponge again, resoaped it, and zigzagged it down Sam’s side, for the pure pleasure of making Sam’s flesh shiver and goosebumps erupt. He trailed it to Sam’s sac, rubbing tiny circles against Sam’s balls, then moved it up to the head of Sam’s now erect cock. Sam pushed into the stimulation, but Keirnan gave him little satisfaction before easing the sponge down, over Sam’s raised hip, to his behind.

“Love your arse,” he confessed, soaping each cheek.

“I got that impression,” Sam replied, his voice a whisper. He moved his head to see what Keirnan reached for—the showerhead to rinse off the soap and watch the white frothy tracks it made down Sam’s legs. Sam had lost most of his scent now, smelling of Keirnan’s block of unscented cold-process soap. Keirnan replaced the showerhead and dragged the sponge along Sam’s crack, but only for a few seconds—he dropped the sponge to feel for himself. Sam’s pucker, last night grossly distended, had now returned to normal. Keirnan was glad Sam seemed to be feeling no ill effects from their wild overindulgence, and almost ashamed of the fierce pride he’d felt last night in leaving Sap gaping.

“Here.” Sam pumped out a splodge of gel and passed it over. “I know you want to play.”

“As if you don’t want me to.” Keirnan accepted the thick, transparent offering and pressed a lubed finger to Sam’s whorl. He dripped his words into Sam’s ear like dark honey. “I wish I had some toys in here. I bet you’d love that, taking a big fat plug or a huge long dildo.” He probed a finger, in lieu, not having to push hard. There was little resistance, not after last night’s play, unlike then, when he’d had to fight his way into the tightness of Sam’s body. The remembrance still curled his toes.

“You said I’d be feeling you for a while. I could still feel you when I woke up,” Sam murmured, in an uncanny echo of Keirnan’s thoughts.

“I’m glad,” Keirnan whispered back, wanting to puff out his chest in male pride. He reached around to take Sam’s cock in his hand, and it jerked, or he jerked it, in time with his slow, two-fingered push into Sam’s tunnel. He crooked his fingers, feeling for the bump of Sam’s prostate—swollen still—and raised his knee to massage Sam’s taint, stimulating his p-spot from the outside. Keirnan loved external prostate play, and he had a feeling Sam would. It perhaps wasn’t the cleverest move, not with his knees wanting to sag at the heat and velvet toughness of Sam’s anus and the little moans Sam made.

“Last night was incredible,” Keirnan began, his voice almost lost in the plashing of the water. “Sliding into you, deep and long, stretching you and stuffing you full—I’m almost coming at the memory.”

Sam was almost climaxing, his balls drawing up, his cock stiffening to its fullest, a prisoner in Keirnan’s hand. Keirnan continued, describing how Sam had tasted, how his cock had felt in Keirnan’s mouth, all without letting up the pressure on the nerve-full spot just inside Sam’s channel

“Keir, I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Keirnan soothed. “I’m with you.” And he was unable to resist, either, his erection hard against Sam’s back, as he rutted. Again, he bit down on Sam’s shoulder as he climaxed, muffling his reaction. Sam had no such recourse, instead shouting out his fulfilment, his cum splashing down Keirnan’s hand, just as his shot up Sam’s back. An imperfect symmetry, one Keirnan held, holding Sam tightly, until he felt Sam had to move.

Sam swung around. “You didn’t…”

Keirnan understood. “No. I’ve never.” He didn’t care if Sam didn’t believe him. It was the truth. He’d never barebacked, and when he did, it would be special. It would be in a situation where he could take his time, savour it. But I will hung between them. He switched off the shower’s jets and led the way out. He passed Sam a thick towel and took one himself.

Sam dried and dressed, his movements quick and practised. Swims every day, not much time, Keirnan guessed. Sam tied his laces and straightened, jerking a thumb towards the door.

“Well. I’ll just…”

“Spend the weekend with me?” Keirnan blurted out. He couldn’t let Sam go. Not yet. Not ever, he ignored.

Sam paused, narrow-eyed. “Here?”

Kiernan shook his head. “Back home. I have to be back for a big weekend. There are certain things…they’re written into any filming or theatre and promo contracts.”

“I’m…curious.” Sam’s forehead creased, making him look adorable, especially with his waywardly spiking hair. “I know it’s not anything to do with the full moon. I’m not that uninformed. But every question I have seems crass. Sorry.”

“No, it’s… It’ll be good for a follow-up piece.” Still clad in a towel, Keirnan opened the door for Sam to precede him from the bathroom.

“I haven’t written the first yet,” Sam admitted.

Keirnan grinned. “You can ask me questions and send it in on the way.” He snagged jeans and a long-sleeved sweater from the wardrobe to put on.

Sam pointed at the garments revealed. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“We can swing by your place first.” Keirnan took a good look at Sam. “Look. If you don’t want to… And don’t want to take this any further, I mean—”

“And now you’re imagining I’m some sort of, what, fangbanger?” Sam asked. “That I’ve got mine and—”

“That’s a vamp groupie,” Keirnan pointed out, zipping up his weekend bag. “You mean lykelover. Or lykeho, to be really derogatory.” He swung the bag over his shoulder.

“Really. Well, whatever. One, yes, you were my first non-human. Two, no, not to satisfy any vulgar curiosity, and three, my place hasn’t got a flat roof, so you can’t land your helicopter there. What? You mean there isn’t one coming to whisk you away to your country place?”

Keirnan couldn’t hold in his grunt of laughter. “No, that’s only if the sequel to this first blockbuster’s an even bigger success, and I get a gig in a superhero franchise. Until then, it’s plain old driving down the motorway.”

“Where’s home?” Sam obeyed Keirnan’s gesture and made for the door, snatching up his jacket and messenger bag from the hall. “I thought I heard a slight northern accent.”

“Of course, you did.” Keirnan gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re a Londoner, which makes you a southern snob—everything outside the capital is north to you.”

Out in the street, Keirnan halted by his Land Rover. “You must know London better. Would it be quicker if you drove us to your place?”

“Not really. It’d probably take at least seven months.” He smirked at Keirnan’s puzzlement. “I don’t have a licence. They say you need one lesson for every year of your life to pass, don’t they?” He laughed. “I can see you doing mental arithmetic. I’m twenty-six. Actually, how old—”

“Older.” He made his raised eyebrow say leave it.

Keirnan got his own back by sniggering as they drove. “Don’t drive. What a city kid. London born and bred, yeah?” He guffawed when Sam directed him to Hoxton in the east of London, right to the square at its achingly trendy heart. He eyed the massive, box-like former industrial warehouses and workshops. “Should have guessed. Do you live in a converted loft?” he called after the vanishing Sam.

“Yeah, yeah. I know all the jokes about living here,” Sam called back

“What, like, was Shoreditch full?”

Sam raised a middle finger over his shoulder in answer to the jibe about Hoxton’s neighbouring, cutting-edge district. Keirnan was curious but had to stay with the vehicle as there was no parking…and because Sam hadn’t invited him up. Sam reappeared a minute later still just carrying his messenger bag, only more bulging now, and pushing a bike. Keirnan helped him clip it to the back, alongside his.

“Yes, actually.” Sam did his seat belt up. “To answer your question. Loft with terrace garden. Converted Victorian factory.”

“You didn’t grow up here,” Keirnan stated.

“No. Hampstead.”

“Ah, the home of the wealthy left-wing intelligentsia. Makes sense. And I bet your father is a…teacher?”

“Hardly. University professor, thank you very much.”

Keirnan started laughing again, more so when Sam added, “My mother’s a teacher.”

“You’ll meet my father, later,” Keirnan said.

“Oh? So soon?” Sam held a hand over his heart, his eyes theatrically wide.

Keirnan couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed so much, so spontaneously. When was the last time he’d been around someone like Sam? Again he squashed down that inconvenient little voice, this time telling him, there’s no one like Sam. “Write your piece, kid,” he suggested, heading for the motorway.

He suggested a few comments to Sam, who was soon typing away on his laptop.

‘“Keirnan would like to see more opportunities for shifters, in front of and behind the camera. He’s working with a friend who’s starting a shifter production company, involving writers and producers,”’ Sam read back to him.

“We’re developing a TV series for the Magna Network. You can add that.” Keirnan wanted Sam’s interview to stand out.

“And, yes, he’s into body-building, but —”

“It’s just called working out, these days.”

“Yes, he works out, to great effect…” Sam corrected.

“Thank you.” Keirnan flexed his biceps.

“And he’s also interested in breathing meditation. No; mindful breathing.” Sam nodded and pressed Save. “That should go well with the pic of you on the floor.” He read it over again and clicked Send.

“If you want…” Keirnan looked at Sam in the driving mirror. “You could pitch a lifestyle piece or profile feature article, or whatever it’s called. If you wanted.” Why? he screamed internally. Again, that tiny voice piped up—anything to keep Sam around.

Sam shot him a cool look. “Wouldn’t you have to clear that, with your agent or PR person?”

Keirnan shrugged. “She’s been nagging me to sit down for a feature story. I’ve always been reluctant. I wanted my work to speak for itself, not submit to all the ‘how do shifters manage’ questions. We manage as we’ve always done, like everyone else does, only now people know we exist.”

‘“We are only what we always were, but naked now,”’ Sam quoted from The Crucible.

“It’s all about the nakedness, with you,” Keirnan commented. “Not that I have any objection. What…the hell are you eating?”

“Red vines.” Sam spoke thickly through his mouthful and held out the packet. “Want some? It’s breakfast.”

“No, it’s not. Jesus! And I bet you eat those all day as snacks.” Sam said nothing. “We’ll be stopping for brunch, as soon as we’re in Norford.”

“Oh, wherein is found Market Norford, Norford’s county town,” Sam commented a little later after they’d turned off the motorway.

“You just read that road sign, didn’t you?” Keirnan was getting used to Sam. “Yeah, I’m from Norford. Not this sprawling, huge metropolis bit, though.”

It was Sam’s turn to snigger: he town housed about ten thousand.

“Save your chuckles for Loopwood. Although it’s considered quite a large village, as villages go.”

“Are we in a forest?” Sam glanced over at the trees lining both sides of the meandering road they were on. “Oh, Channon Forest, right? And all the houses are made of stone quarried from there? I learned about it in geography.” He nodded, looking all around as Keirnan pulled up into the carpark of the village’s one inn.