Page 65 of The Leaving Kind
“Is it my imagination or are the storms worse this year?”
“Definitely worse, but it was so dry this winter. We need the rain. Have you seen the river?”
Cam dotted a kiss to the closest skin and grinned as he landed it on Victor’s nose. “I have.”
“Well, we won’t be washing or drying your clothes tonight.” A hand found his and, somehow, they extracted themselves from the laundry room without dislocating any joints. The kitchen was a jumble of shadows, occasionally lit by a flare of lightning. Cam followed Victor to the counter, where he plucked a flashlight from a wall socket and flicked it on. “This way.”
Victor directed the beam back toward the large living room that seemed to take up most of the floor, past the new staircase, and to a room that poked out of the opposite side of the house: the northwest corner.
“Two steps up,” Victor said.
From somewhere in the house, a cat yowled. Nails clicked in an uneven rhythm against tile, then hardwood. Honey, following.
In the wavering beam of the flashlight, Cam caught the edge of the mentioned steps and lifted his foot. Then they were in a large bedroom, lightning flickering through the windows combining with the flashlight to reveal wooden beams framing cream-colored walls, a tall stone fireplace, polished plank floors, and what would be, in the right light, explosions of color. Rugs, paintings, cushions, curtains. A large bed spread with multiple quilts and pillows. A white pile of fur.
Victor tugged a quilt from the end of the bed and folded it into a corner beside the fireplace.
“For Honey.”
Cam beckoned her over and settled her with a gentle pat. She sat and licked his hand. He grinned at her. “You’re a trouper, you know that?” The storm seemed to be bothering him and the screaming white cat more than her. Cocking her tawny head, she panted at him. He cupped her ears and kissed between them. “Stay.”
“Off the bed, Dex. Go squawk in the closet. Sinister! Come sit with your brother!” Victor called out. Then, “Oh, Dexie, it’s all right, you dope. Just another storm.”
A laugh edged up and out. One minute Cam was about to come in the laundry, the next they were soothing pets in Victor’s carnival of a bedroom. But with the power out and no other plans pending, they could be outside time. It didn’t matter how long it took to get Victor into that bed of his. To lay him out, pull his shirt over his head, his underpants down. Explore all of his lean musculature. His nooks. The valley between his ribs, the other one at his spine. To see whether he had dimples over his ass. To taste, to smell ...
Yeah, okay, Cam was hard again.
Swallowing a growl, Cam stepped behind Victor and circled his slim waist. He liked that Victor wasn’t tall. That he was well-built but slightly smaller. Leaner. That he could easily be wrapped in Cam’s arms. Held and protected.
Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. Cam bent to kiss the junction of neck and shoulder. Victor shuddered and moaned. Then he climbed away from Cam, onto the bed, and Cam followed.
Victor lay on his back and held up his arms, and Cam covered that lithe body with his, touching down, finally, a deep moan pulling from his feet as the hardness of his cock pushed into the heat of Victor’s groin and a corresponding hardness prodded his hip. Vic reached down and adjusted their angle so nothing broke, and Cam resumed the kissing.
He’d always enjoyed kissing. Vic seemed into it too. Nipping, tasting, blending. The need to press into someone else rolled up from the soles of Cam’s feet, curving his body into an undulating wave. He ground down and arched back. Twice. Three times. Kissed Vic’s reddened lips with bruising force. Buried his face in a sweet-smelling neck. Found Vic’s ear again and nipped the lobe.
“Want to fuck you,” Cam said.
“God, yes.” Vic fastened his hands over Cam’s hips and pulled him down. Pushed up. Pressed them together so hard Cam saw stars. Then he leaned away. “Let me grab some stuff.”
“Yeah, cool.”
Kneeling, Cam stripped off his shirt and tossed it over the side. After Vic dropped a condom and bottle of lube onto the side of the bed, Cam reached for Vic’s shirt and eased it up and over, not looking where he tossed it as he bent to kiss Vic’s chest. His clavicle, the top of one pec. Small springs of hair surrounded his nipples. Cam bit one tiny nub and kissed across to the other. He slid a hand down to his new favorite handle—Victor’s hip—and pushed at his underwear.
Vic wriggled out of the damp cotton, and Cam kissed his way down, playing his tongue over ribs, into the narrow valley of belly button and lower, the scent of Vic’s arousal testing his control all over again.
He licked and sucked, pulling gasps and cries from his new lover. Explored. Nipped at Vic’s inner thighs. Spread his legs, slid fingers behind his balls. Found his hole and circled. Stroked. Probed. Prepared.
By the time he was sheathed and pressing himself inside, Cam had forgotten the storm. The shake and rattle of the windows and rolling growl of thunder were him. His body crying out for release. The tremble in his thighs as he held himself in check, the yell building inside him as he slid into the tight glove that was Victor’s ass.
Then he was in and the sudden quiet could have been a stroke or the inside of a tornado for all he cared. Take the damn house to Kansas. Braced over Victor, Cam stared down at the tousled, silvery-blond hair, sleepy gray eyes, and red lips. The flush of arousal across Vic’s cheeks and neck, the darker shade of Cam’s passage, where he’d kissed and marked.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said.
Victor smiled. Then he clenched. Pulling a groan out of the earth, Cam began to move. Stroking in and out, matching breath for breath. Covering Vic’s hand with his, tugging together on Vic’s cock, feeling the same joy in their symphony of movement.
Vic climaxed first, arching, shuddering, his knees banging into Cam’s ribs. Come pushing between their fingers. Dipping his head and steadying his arms, Cam thrust harder and deeper. Wanting to follow. Needing to. Vic grabbed his ass, his fingers sticky and warm, and Cam moved faster.
“That’s it, oh God,” Vic ground out, eyes fluttering closed. “I think I’m going to— I could ...”