The Profane Series Book 1: Medium Rare Chapter 1d
November 2009 – The Akkadian Club
“Hey, you want to get out of here?”
Lachlan blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked up at his dance partner: tall, lithe, with brown eyes and close cropped brown hair. Symmetrical and pleasing to look at, if somewhat bland. The drunkest part of Lachlan’s brain wanted to wrap his legs around the guy’s waist and climb him like a tree. The small voice in the back of his brain that sounded suspiciously of his Uncle Rory—the minister—babbled a string of horrified arguments about why he should do No Such Thing.
“I’d love to,” he shouted over the music playing in the club. His dance partner grinned and grabbed his hand, leading him outside and into a waiting taxi.
“Your place or mine?”
“Yours,” Lachlan replied without hesitation and slung his leg over the guy’s thighs, leaning down to suck on his neck while he gave the driver an unfamiliar address.
It felt good having someone else’s hands on his body, a little sloppy from drink, a little too hesitant from the strangeness of it, but still touching him, stroking over his shoulders and down his back to where his waist dipped in. He’d lost weight in the hospital, during recovery, enough to make his body feel unnaturally slight. He’d lost muscle too since he quit the force, and he hadn’t found a reason to gain it back.
But none of that mattered here, in fact, it worked to his advantage. His hook-up wasn’t supernatural strong or even particularly built, but he didn’t seem to have too much trouble manhandling Lachlan where he wanted him. And where he wanted him was spread across his thighs, head tipped up for full access to his mouth.
They arrived at their destination too quickly for Lachlan’s taste and piled out of the car in a languid heap of tipsy limbs, splitting the fare between them from the cash in their wallets.
The apartment he was led to—and fuck, maybe Lachlan should have tried to get the guy’s name or at least made a point to remember it—was small and messy, even in the dim light from the hall, but the bed looked clean enough and Lachlan let himself be pushed back onto it without hesitation.
“What did you have in mind?” the guy from the club breathed into the shell of Lachlan’s ear, planting one knee on the bed and leaning over him.
Instead of answering, Lachlan grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him down for a harsh, unrelenting kiss, tongue-fucking him until they both pulled away, breathless.
“Don’t talk,” he panted against the guy’s mouth before he set to work wiggling out of his clothes and tearing at the button on the other man’s jeans. He went in for another kiss when it looked like his one night stand was gearing up to say something anyway, licking furiously between his teeth and biting at his lower lip.
After a couple of minutes like that, when his lungs burned from lack of oxygen and his mouth hurt, Lachlan pulled back enough to meet his partner’s eyes. They glinted with reflected street light in the dark bedroom, endless pools of glossy black with just a ring of lighter color, the pupils dilated from lust.
He ran his hands across wide shoulders and into the other man’s hair, tugging gently, experimentally, trying to figure out what he wanted. It was a good question.
“I—” he started only to have the other man surge against him, wide hands wrapping too tight around his thighs and pushing him hard into the covers.
“I thought you said no talking.”
Lachlan swallowed and wrapped his legs around slim hips, nudging his hard cock against the groove in the other man’s hip. He swallowed back a moan. The guy—fuck what was his name? Had he even offered it? Lachlan’s mind was too muddled by tequila and beer to remember—grinned and him and thrust hard against him, rubbing their boxer-clad cocks against one another until Lachlan gave up and groaned out loud, shivering at how good it felt to have another person’s body moving against his.
How good it felt to have someone treat him like he wasn’t going to break if they looked at him wrong.
Coming out to the Akkadian tonight had to have been one of Alan’s best ideas.
Thick fingers slid under his waistband and divested him of the last of his clothes while Lachlan was still shuddering. He hissed at the touch of cool air against bare skin but a warm, heavy hand had already wrapped around his dick, giving it a couple quick pulls. A thumb swiped through the pearly liquid puddling in the slit.
He grabbed the other man’s head and pulled him down for another kiss, twitching into his hold when it went slack and distracted.
“You going to let me fuck you?” the stranger asked, breaking away from Lachlan’s mouth with a soft grunt.
Lachlan’s breath caught in his throat as the silhouette of the figure distorted itself into something painfully familiar—someone— How could he have missed the resemblance?
In the half light of this foreign bedroom, Lachlan Graham felt a sobering kick to the gut as he took in the full effect of his one night stand’s face—narrow cheeks beneath a long forehead, dark eyes that appeared almost black and an aquiline nose, all of it mounted on a lithe neck and broad shoulders—and its unmistakable likeness to his partner—
Lachlan cursed his drunken self silently and rolled the stranger over in bed. God, the guy could have been Vector’s twin brother.
Alan was a goddamn idiot for letting him leave with this guy.
Lachlan pushed his bed partner down and squirmed in between the guy’s legs, ducking to lick at his hard, red cock so that he wouldn’t have to look at the guy’s face.
“Oh, yeah that feels so good.”
At least the voice was all wrong. Too deep and blunt to sound anything like Vec—
Lachlan jerked his thoughts away from his ex-partner (work partner, his brain repeated over and over inside his head) and worked to lose himself in the push-pull, dragging his mouth up and down his bed partner’s dick. Tried to distract himself with the taste of salt and skin until that voice in his head would shut the fuck up and let him come.
That’s all he’d wanted from this little outing. Some quick relief. A distraction.
If he was the sort to believe in past lives (which he wasn’t, his mother hadn’t raised him to believe in any of that mystical nonsense—if it really was nonsense. He had begun to have his doubts), recent events might lead him to think he’d done something terrible, been someone truly evil, to deserve all of his current misfortune.
Lachlan grimaced around his mouthful, pulling off to gasp in a heaving breath that made his subject grunt a complaint. Listen to him—so self-pitying when he was here, all his limbs attached, the scars all but invisible thanks to SPD’s fine medical insurance coverage, and the kind of disability package that could comfortably support him for the next decade if he so desired. And all he could think about was fucking Vector Clanahan and how much he wished to have that man—only he wasn’t a man.
Thick, shaking fingers brushed the hair out of his eyes.
“You okay there, man?”
Lachlan licked his lower lip and nodded silently, bending back to his task, swallowing the lie, the “fine” lodged in his throat, along with the man’s cock.