babe." Babbling. That was what he was doing. Just
telling Greg all sorts of shit, with his words and his hands. All about
how he'd wanted and needed and finally gotten and now couldn't get
enough. Reaching inside Greg's sweats with his free hand, Artie touched
the long cock, fingers pressing the sensitive spots.
"Oh. Oh. Shouldn't have made you wait so long. I was scared. Scared I'd short out on you."
"I know. And I was so scared I'd hurt you. Fuck with your head."
Hot. Hot and beating with Greg's heart, that cock filled his hand and
then some. Jesus.
"Never hurt me. You don't. Artie, I feel you. Good." Greg was moaning, flushed, rocking into his touch.
Losing the ability to do anything but nod, he groaned and stroked,
watching Greg swell harder, watching that fine body writhe and buck. He
could see the orgasm pass through Greg—the long belly flushed
dark, balls drew up, cock jerked as Greg's cry just echoed and heat
sprayed, pooling on Greg's belly.
"Oh. Oh, fuck, man. I can't. Jeez." Greg hadn't even touched him,
his sweats still covered him, but Artie came anyway, like a house afire.
Greg shuddered. "Oh, shit. That's so sexy."
"Greg. Damn. We can add the kitchen table to the list." Well, the
chair. The table had possibilities. "And there's my place, too."
"Mmm. Yeah. Your tub. Your sofa. The walls..."
"Walls." His back might never be the same. Back. Lord. Hauling Greg
up, Artie kissed Greg's mouth soft and slow, stroking the strained
spine.
"Oh." Greg melted against him, breathing nice and slow. "Your hands."
"You haven't even seen yet what I can do with them." Greg made him
feel tall as a mountain and just as strong. "Want you to, though."
"Good. We have time. Time to learn." His shoulder was kissed, his collarbone.
"We do." All the time in the world. He'd see to it.
One way or the other.
Chapter Seven
Greg stared at the package.
At the wall.
At the package again.
Okay, there was no guarantee it was a package from him. Not at all.
Just because there wasn't a return address.
Or a label.
And the handwriting was the same.
And it made him sick just looking at it, and even Alice avoided
touching it, and it was book shaped and he hadn't put in any little
book orders.
What could that possibly mean?
The shop bell jingled, making him start, the low murmur of Alice's
voice like the buzzing of a bee. Indistinct. The yowling of a Siamese
cat came a lot clearer.
Artie appeared in the doorway to his little office, carrying a huge
plastic carrier with a very unhappy Duke in it. "Hey, man. Alice
called. I hope that's okay."
"Oh, Duke. You're ruffled." He nodded, looking up at Artie. "Is it that bad? That she knew to call?"
"Well, I imagine it ain't good. We were on the way back from the
vet. Duke ate some tin foil. Can I close the door here and let him out?
He'll calm right down if he can squat on you."
"Is he okay?" He nodded, reaching to open the cage, Duke yowling and spitting and pissed. "C'mere you. Poor thing."
"Well, he's just had like half a tuna can pulled out of his butt.
But yeah." Poor Artie just gave Duke that hapless pet owner look, and
Duke hopped right up on Greg's lap, telling him all about it. Loudly.
He nodded, stroking Duke's ears and listening, murmuring right back
about how awful and smelly the damned vets were and how, maybe, tin
foil was hard on the G.I. tract.
"He wanted that burrito, man. He even got the damned fridge open and
levitated to the second shelf. So where's the mystery package?" His
eyes cut right to it and Artie glanced over, lips tightening. "Same
deal, huh?"
"Uh-huh." Greg looked at it, sighed, feeling two parts sick and three parts ashamed. "It came an hour ago."
"Okay. It's okay." Duke grumbled and settled, making a that's that
sort of noise. Artie walked over to the package, pulling out a pen and
poking at the wrapper. "No blood on the outside."
"No. It's a book. It looks like a book." He reached out, almost touched it, then pulled back a little. "I should
telling Greg all sorts of shit, with his words and his hands. All about
how he'd wanted and needed and finally gotten and now couldn't get
enough. Reaching inside Greg's sweats with his free hand, Artie touched
the long cock, fingers pressing the sensitive spots.
"Oh. Oh. Shouldn't have made you wait so long. I was scared. Scared I'd short out on you."
"I know. And I was so scared I'd hurt you. Fuck with your head."
Hot. Hot and beating with Greg's heart, that cock filled his hand and
then some. Jesus.
"Never hurt me. You don't. Artie, I feel you. Good." Greg was moaning, flushed, rocking into his touch.
Losing the ability to do anything but nod, he groaned and stroked,
watching Greg swell harder, watching that fine body writhe and buck. He
could see the orgasm pass through Greg—the long belly flushed
dark, balls drew up, cock jerked as Greg's cry just echoed and heat
sprayed, pooling on Greg's belly.
"Oh. Oh, fuck, man. I can't. Jeez." Greg hadn't even touched him,
his sweats still covered him, but Artie came anyway, like a house afire.
Greg shuddered. "Oh, shit. That's so sexy."
"Greg. Damn. We can add the kitchen table to the list." Well, the
chair. The table had possibilities. "And there's my place, too."
"Mmm. Yeah. Your tub. Your sofa. The walls..."
"Walls." His back might never be the same. Back. Lord. Hauling Greg
up, Artie kissed Greg's mouth soft and slow, stroking the strained
spine.
"Oh." Greg melted against him, breathing nice and slow. "Your hands."
"You haven't even seen yet what I can do with them." Greg made him
feel tall as a mountain and just as strong. "Want you to, though."
"Good. We have time. Time to learn." His shoulder was kissed, his collarbone.
"We do." All the time in the world. He'd see to it.
One way or the other.
Chapter Seven
Greg stared at the package.
At the wall.
At the package again.
Okay, there was no guarantee it was a package from him. Not at all.
Just because there wasn't a return address.
Or a label.
And the handwriting was the same.
And it made him sick just looking at it, and even Alice avoided
touching it, and it was book shaped and he hadn't put in any little
book orders.
What could that possibly mean?
The shop bell jingled, making him start, the low murmur of Alice's
voice like the buzzing of a bee. Indistinct. The yowling of a Siamese
cat came a lot clearer.
Artie appeared in the doorway to his little office, carrying a huge
plastic carrier with a very unhappy Duke in it. "Hey, man. Alice
called. I hope that's okay."
"Oh, Duke. You're ruffled." He nodded, looking up at Artie. "Is it that bad? That she knew to call?"
"Well, I imagine it ain't good. We were on the way back from the
vet. Duke ate some tin foil. Can I close the door here and let him out?
He'll calm right down if he can squat on you."
"Is he okay?" He nodded, reaching to open the cage, Duke yowling and spitting and pissed. "C'mere you. Poor thing."
"Well, he's just had like half a tuna can pulled out of his butt.
But yeah." Poor Artie just gave Duke that hapless pet owner look, and
Duke hopped right up on Greg's lap, telling him all about it. Loudly.
He nodded, stroking Duke's ears and listening, murmuring right back
about how awful and smelly the damned vets were and how, maybe, tin
foil was hard on the G.I. tract.
"He wanted that burrito, man. He even got the damned fridge open and
levitated to the second shelf. So where's the mystery package?" His
eyes cut right to it and Artie glanced over, lips tightening. "Same
deal, huh?"
"Uh-huh." Greg looked at it, sighed, feeling two parts sick and three parts ashamed. "It came an hour ago."
"Okay. It's okay." Duke grumbled and settled, making a that's that
sort of noise. Artie walked over to the package, pulling out a pen and
poking at the wrapper. "No blood on the outside."
"No. It's a book. It looks like a book." He reached out, almost touched it, then pulled back a little. "I should
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