Brandt whispered to him now, unintelligible words that had Remy groaning
and trying to buck upwards, but the slow rhythm never changed and his pleas fell on deaf ears. The warmth had spread to every single bit of his body, and he thought that if Brandt would just speed up or go harder or touch him, then he would come. He just needed that last bit of stimulation to push him over the edge.
“Please,” he begged again.
“Burn for me,” Brandt whispered harshly as Remy moaned piteously and
tried once more to move.
“Yes,” Remy responded desperately.
“Burn for me, Dixie,” Brandt ordered again.
Remy began whimpering in a jumble of bayou French and English. He
couldn’t take any more. He needed Brandt to make him come. He had to be rid of that wonderfully tortuous feeling before it pushed him over the edge. “Please!” he cried as he tried desperately to move. “I’m burning. I am,” he gasped into Brandt’s open
mouth just before their lips were crushed together in a needy kiss.
“Come for me, Dixie,” Brandt finally commanded in a hoarse voice. He
pulled almost completely out of Remy’s body and then slammed back into him,
hitting Remy’s prostate just as surely as if he’d aimed for it with a rifle and scope.
Remy cried out and bucked again, and Brandt continued to pound into him as Remy
came all over his own stomach.
Brandt didn’t come though, and he didn’t slow the brutal pace until Remy
saw stars and gripped at Brandt’s body as he came yet again, shouting wordlessly this time as Brandt’s cock hit his prostate repeatedly and Brandt’s hand encircled his cock and pumped it. They were both covered in sweat and salve and come, and Brandt still
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continued to thrust into him.
If being crazy gave you this sort of stamina, then Remy was ready to run and
grab his purple crayon and sign the fuck up!
Remy was about to plead for mercy when Brandt rose up onto his knees and
took hold of Remy’s hips, dragging him upwards and holding him there as he
pounded into him. Remy’s hand braced against the headboard and he screamed,
actually fucking screamed, as he came for a third time. Brandt groaned and leant
forwards, rocking his hips slightly as the contractions of Remy’s muscles finally brought on his climax.
Remy’s world had gone white and his ears were ringing. He couldn’t see. He
couldn’t hear. He couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body was on fire.
“Burns,” he murmured as Brandt pulled out of him and flopped down beside
him.
“Means you’re crazy,” Brandt said softly as he pulled Remy closer and
nuzzled into his hair.
“Really?” Remy asked exhaustedly.
“I dunno. I know I burn. And I’m crazy, right?”
“Oh, fuck,” Remy responded flatly.
“Mmm. Do you love him, Dixie?”
Remy stiffened slightly in Brandt’s arms before relaxing once more.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“There wasn’t a day he didn’t mention you. Think of you. He even called me
‘Remy’ without realizing it sometimes. I know it’s hard, but you’ll be miserable until you forgive him.”
Remy nodded despondently against Brandt’s chest and burrowed into the
muscular protection the bigger man was offering.
“Can I ask you something?” Brandt asked after some time.
“Mm hmm,” Remy sleepily, expecting another difficult question.
“Why does Trigger call Thiago ‘Zed?’”
“What?” Remy asked as he looked up at Brandt in amusement.
“He called him ‘Zed’ out there,” Brandt said by way of explanation. “Do you
know why?”
“No. Why does he call you ‘Wally?’” Remy asked in return.
“I dunno,” Brandt said with a little shrug.
“Hmm,” Remy said thoughtfully as he snuggled back into Brandt’s arms.
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“Maybe we can recruit Trigger to the Crazy Club too,” Brandt rumbled as he
spoke against Remy’s curls.
Remy snorted and offered Brandt a little jab to the ribs before he sighed
contentedly and drifted into a light sleep.
XXVIII.
THIAGO’S head jerked up and he lunged half out of his chair before he realized he’d been dozing. Had he heard a scream? He looked at the others to see their reactions, but they were all looking at him with expressions ranging from concern to
amusement.
Shawn glanced at him before standing up and taking a step toward the
bedrooms.
“He’s fine,” Carl said without taking his amused eyes off Thiago.
“But–”
“He’s fine,” Carl repeated sternly as he turned hard eyes on Shawn. Thiago
watched in fascination as Shawn’s shoulders slumped and he trudged back to the
couch. When had Carl taken charge of their merry little band? Probably when Shawn had lost his mind. That was an interesting turn of events, nevertheless.
Thiago hoped Carl would remain in charge if Shawn didn’t take back the
lead. The thought of Remy leading them made Thiago shiver involuntarily. The
younger man was certainly a capable leader and tactician, but he just wasn’t all there.
Thiago was beginning to be of the opinion that Brandt wasn’t really the resident crazy after all. Remy was the crazy. The dangerous kind of crazy you didn’t know was
crazy until he got you killed. The bad kind of crazy.
“Shawn,” Nikolaus said softly. “What’s your plan?”
Thiago wondered if the German was trying to keep Shawn’s mind off what
Brandt might be doing to Remy, or if he was just antsy and needed something to do.
Thiago thought it might be both.
“I’m not wearing a dress,” Shawn growled dangerously, and unlike Brandt
and Remy, Thiago and Carl were not crazy enough to poke the bear.
Nikolaus, however, seemed to be low on the self-preservation fuel. “Then
come up with something better,” he said testily.
“Well, the only plan I have requires weaponry. Lots of it,” Shawn said
somberly. “And that leads us right back to this Oliver woman.”
“What’s your plan?”
“We need to wait for them,” Shawn said firmly, and the command in the
voice was all too clear. Perhaps Carl’s brief stint of leadership was over. Thiago
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couldn’t help but think that Carl looked relieved at this.
Thiago leaned forward and cocked his head at Carl.
“What are you suddenly so smiley about?” Thiago asked suspiciously.
Carl’s eyes slid to Shawn before he grinned at Thiago. “Knowing
Brandt’s…,” Carl cleared his throat through a laugh and schooled his features into a serious scowl that wasn’t fooling anyone. “Knowing Brandt’s, uh, mating habits, it’ll be a while.”
Nikolaus snickered and Shawn rolled his eyes.
Thiago smiled affectionately at Carl. “What do you suggest to pass the
time?” he asked good-humoredly. Carl grinned evilly at Thiago, and Thiago shook his head and leaned back into his chair.
“Huh uh,” Thiago said with a laugh. “I’m not in the same league as Remy, I
like to keep my tally down to one person a week.”
Carl narrowed his eyes and glanced at Nikolaus with a smirk. Nikolaus
widened his eyes and pointed at Thiago. “What he said,” Nikolaus said quickly.
Sha
wn was rubbing his eyes distractedly, not following the conversation.
Thiago was certain that if he had been paying attention at all, he would have
defended himself.
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XXIX.
CARL was on Shawn before the other man had a chance to remove his hand from
over his eyes. He gripped the older man by the shoulders and yanked him roughly out of his seat.
“What the–”
Carl slammed him against the nearest hard surface, which happened to be
Thiago as the Argentinean stood to intervene, and Carl herded them both towards the sofa like a snow plow mowing down everything in its path.
Thiago’s ass hit the arm of the sofa and he went sprawling over it as Carl
shoved Shawn into him. Carl gripped Shawn in a bear hug to keep him upright as
Thiago went ass over tit and rolled off the other side of the sofa with a thump and a muffled curse.
“Sorry!” Carl called cheerfully, not meaning a syllable of it.
Shawn stared at Carl in surprise and Nikolaus laughed gleefully as he
pointed at Thiago and covered his grin with his hand. Thiago glared at Carl and
rubbed his hip gingerly but remained on the ground where he had fallen.
“What are you doing, you mad fuck?” Shawn asked in confusion, his voice
more amused than angry. If he had seen Thiago’s acrobatics, he would have been
fucking rolling on the floor with laughter.
Carl snickered. “Passing the time,” he growled before he pressed their lips
together and pulled Shawn closer. Though Carl was most certainly interested in the activity he was somewhat forcefully suggesting, he had ulterior motives. He was
fucking sick and tired of Shawn and Remy and Brandt and whatever the fuck they had going.
Brandt and Remy seemed to be over their little drama and on to greener
pastures, so to speak, but Shawn was wallowing. Carl hated to see a man as great as Shawn wallow, and if nothing else, he wanted to shake the older man up a bit. Get his mind off everything and distract him.
Shawn managed a muffled protest and a little frenzy of movement.
Through all the various sexual encounters the group had so far, Carl had
never actually kissed Shawn. Shawn was fighting him slightly. Not enough to make
Carl stop, but enough that it made the kiss interesting. Very interesting.
Carl had never forced himself on anyone before, unless you counted
attacking someone to slit his throat of course, but that didn’t really count. He was fairly certain he was reading Shawn correctly in this, that the fight was more instinct than actual desire to get away. The man needed a distraction– a nice knockdown,
drag-out fight– and Carl could give it to him.
Shawn broke their kiss with a gasp and shoved at him, and Carl took a step
or two backwards, smiling mischievously at Shawn as the other man stared at him in
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shock. Carl cocked his head to the side in a silent challenge and Shawn blinked. Once.
Twice. A third time. He turned to look at Thiago and Nikolaus respectively, as if for verification that he had just been thoroughly groped.
Nikolaus grinned and Thiago still sat on the ground, looking at Carl with the
same surprised look Shawn did. Nikolaus raised his eyebrows questioningly and
smiled even wider. Thiago shook his head and muttered something unintelligible as he began making his way slowly to his feet.
Carl was still watching Thiago when Shawn’s body hit him in a full-on
rugby tackle. The two of them toppled to the ground with Carl’s body cushioning
Shawn’s fall nicely, and Shawn pinned him there with an iron grip. Carl continued to grin up at him, and Shawn glared at him for a full two seconds before Carl bucked and flipped Shawn up and over his own head. Shawn landed flat on his back with a
grunt and lay stunned just long enough for Carl to spring to his feet and turn around.
“Is that all you have, then?” Carl asked lightly. “I’ve just molested you,
Beignet. Put up a bit of a fight, yeah?”
Shawn growled wordlessly in response, and Carl looked down at him as
Shawn rolled into a crouch, then Carl grinned impudently at him. The grin seemed to infuriate the older man, so Carl kept doing it. Shawn rose slowly and they circled one another warily.
“Perhaps that’s what you need, lovey,” Carl crooned as he sidestepped
almost casually toward the kitchen. Shawn’s eyes narrowed. “A nice forceful
shagging, hmm? Take up your real position as the bottom we all know you are,” he
goaded with a lascivious wink. He had no intention of fucking Shawn, or being
fucked by him. Not today anyway, they had too much to do. But his job was to study the weaknesses of a mark and exploit them, and he’d noticed that Shawn never
bottomed, no matter who his partner was. He knew instinctively that it was a big red button, just waiting for someone wearing Kevlar to push it.
He also knew he was seriously pushing his luck. Like, could end up with a
knife in his chest kind of pushing his luck, but Carl had little doubt he could
physically win this fight. He was ninety percent sure. Yeah, okay, seventy-five.
He’d just called Shawn a bottom, though, and Shawn looked pissed. Call
Remy a bottom and he would jump you and let you screw his brains out. Call Thiago a bottom and he would look at you for five minutes, shrug, and then go about his
business. Call Nikolaus a bottom and he might cry. Call Brandt a bottom and you
might get a blowjob, you might just get blown up. But call Shawn a bottom?
Carl supposed he was about to find out what happened when you called
Shawn a bottom. Carl wasn’t so sure he liked his plan anymore, and the look in
Shawn’s eyes told him that Shawn knew it. Nevertheless, they circled until Carl found his back to the kitchen. He moved toward it, never taking his eyes off Shawn and
never changing his stance, and as soon as he reached the tile floor of the kitchen, Shawn pounced again.
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This, however, was not the same sort of pounce. Shawn wrapped his arms
around Carl’s neck and pressed their lips together hungrily. Carl whuffed in surprise.
He hadn’t expected Shawn to actually respond to his advances. Shawn lifted him
completely off the ground and slammed him up against the wall beside the entryway to the kitchen as they did their best to devour one another.
“Think they’ll make it to the bedroom?” Nikolaus asked in amusement.
“I wouldn’t eat on that table in there ’til we get some Lysol or something,”
Thiago responded drily. “My fucking ass hurts!” he called accusingly.
Shawn’s lips formed a smile against Carl’s, and Carl pressed closer into
Shawn’s body. Shawn bit his lip in warning.
“I don’t bottom,” Shawn growled menacingly even as he pulled Carl closer
and hooked his leg over Carl’s hip.
“We’ll see about that,” Carl responded in the same menacing growl, and his
hand travelled down the side of Shawn’s body, over his hip, and down his thigh to grip the back of Shawn’s knee and heft it higher. Shawn bit his lip again and Carl thrust his hips forwards as they battled for dominance with their tongues.
“Lube,” Shawn grunted demandingly as Carl reached down and started
fussing with the zipper of his jeans.
“No dinner or anything first? You’re an easy one,” Carl observed in
satisfaction. He smiled as Shawn’s fingers tightened in his hair and yanked sl
ightly, but he pressed forward more and lifted Shawn completely off the ground. He knew he couldn’t hold the other man there for long, nor could he fuck him into the wall like he truly wanted to do. He wasn’t really all that much larger than Shawn was. He couldn’t do either of those things, but for a few minutes it was nice to stand there and kiss the man senseless, even if his back would pay for it later.
Shawn's hand was tangled in his hair, pulling almost painfully, and Carl had
no clue where the man’s other hand was. He didn’t care, as long as there wasn’t a knife in it.
“I thought you assassin types always came prepared,” Shawn taunted
breathlessly when they parted once more and Carl let him slide down the wall to the floor. He still held Shawn’s leg in his hand, and he insinuated his body between
Shawn’s limbs, trying to get as close as he could as he nibbled on Shawn’s neck.
“We always come, anyway,” Carl murmured into Shawn’s neck with a grin.
“You’ll come, all right,” Shawn growled. “All over that fucking table I’m
about to bend you over. Lube,” he demanded again.
“Got a whole kitchen full,” Carl muttered against Shawn’s mouth as he
finally let go of Shawn’s leg and used both hands to rid Shawn of his jeans.
“I’ve seen you cook,” Shawn growled as he pushed Carl away and forced
him back against the little breakfast table. “Too fucking messy,” he added before
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attacking Carl once more.
Carl’s thighs hit the table and he fell backwards in a Thiago-esque fashion as
Shawn hovered over him, and for the first time he wondered if he really could have won the fight he instigated. Maybe fucking instead of fighting was a better plan, in the end. Fuck it. A distraction was a distraction, no matter who topped.
Shawn pulled him up by the front of his shirt and crushed their mouths
together briefly before pushing him away again and fumbling at his sweats to get
them off his body. Carl was sitting on the edge of the table with his legs wrapped around Shawn’s waist, and he simply raised his hips off the surface as Shawn yanked the blue material down to his knees.