Disclaimer: No profit but pleasure.
Notes: Many thanks to my first draft betas, Hel Morph and Andrea, for their assurance that someone else out there would be interested, and for helping me figure out what still wasn't working. And extra special thanks to Zoe Rayne, my final draft beta, for "guh-ing" in all the right places, and for helping me see things I wouldn't have seen without her.
Bound to the Mast
by Miriam Heddy"Draw near ... No seaman ever sailed his black ship past this place without listening to the sweet voice that flow from our lips, and none that listened has not been delighted and gone on a wiser man."
--Homer's The OdysseyMax's bar is just starting to fill up with the after-dinner crowd when he and Lily arrive, and Bug orders a beer and a shot of bourbon for himself and an amaretto sour for Lily, and brings them to the end of the bar. Nigel comes in a few minutes later, squeezing in beside Lily, his hand settling a little too easily at the small of her back and staying there for a few too many seconds, until Lily excuses herself to go the ladies' room.
Then Nigel leans over her barstool and elbows him in the ribs just as he's about to take a drink.
"What's your problem?"
Nigel just grins like it's a joke.
"Puerile sense of humor." Bug shakes his head, wiping the beer from his chin, and Max comes over to ask about Jordan's latest obsession--the drowning victim found with a tie stuffed in his mouth. The crime scene was unremarkable, although the tie was particularly ugly: printed with Van Gogh's self-portrait on high quality polyester. As far as Bug is concerned, the case is closed; he'd signed off on the COD before lunchtime. But Jordan wasn't going to be satisfied until she'd personally handcuffed the perpetrator, likely as not putting herself and others at risk to do so.
Bug realizes that he's supposed to be relaxing and is still thinking of work, then realizes that it's hard to get away from work when it follows you around after work, spilling beer on you.
He forces himself to ignore Nigel--or tries to, as his voice is loud and distinctive as he rehashes the details of the case, the words themselves washing over the patter of conversation in the bar, over the ebb and flow of patrons, some of whom are swaying to the music from the jukebox. Nigel is deeply involved in giving Max all the gory details, showing off his apparent expertise in Van Gogh kitsch. Jordan's not here, and Bug's about to interrupt and ask where she is when he remembers he saw Woody stop by at lunchtime, which probably means that Jordan's playing hard to get again.
He bides his time and waits until he sees Nigel pick up his own drink, and then shifts over on his barstool, reaching for the bowl of pretzels and "accidentally" knocking into Nigel's arm. A little of Nige's drink spills over onto his hand, over his thumb and right under the velvet cuff of his shirt.
"Very mature."
Bug watches him lick his wrist clean, still grinning like a demented Cheshire cat.
Lily taps Bug on the shoulder and slides in between them again, and he sighs, because he realizes that there's just no way to win; he's only succeeded at lowering himself to the idiot's level.
Lily says, "What?" and he guesses what he's thinking is showing on his face.
He shrugs it off. She puts an arm around his back and squeezes. For a few seconds, she rests her chin on his shoulder and he feels incredibly lucky to have won her affections. Then Nigel swivels on his barstool and asks her about her day--offering up some joke or other that makes her sit up and laugh, and, though she's still at his side, still his, it's not the same.
Someone's turned the music up. There are a half dozen uniforms sitting around one of the larger tables in the back, but the rising gale of laughter is coming from the three couples gathered by the door, taking off their jackets and shaking their umbrellas on the stairs. Suddenly the room feels too close--not what he had in mind for the evening--and he almost gets up, thinking of leaving, but Lily still seems happy to be here, a slight flush tinting her cheeks. The bar's a bit too warm, he thinks, watching Max wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Bug unbuttons the top button of his shirt and sits down again, drinking his beer, watching as Nigel pulls out a deck of cards and starts shuffling them without looking down, asking Lily to pick a card.
Max comes back to their end of the bar again and asks if anyone needs anything. Nigel sets his deck of cards down for a minute and, apparently thinking ahead, orders everyone an extra drink. Max raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, lining the drinks up in front of them in a neat row. Bug's got two bottles of beer in front of him now, one unopened, and three shots of bourbon. The bottles are sweating, and he half-hopes the last will have reached room temperature by the time he gets to it--a bit of nostalgia washing over him at the thought. Perhaps it's the humid air of the bar, or the regular patter of Nigel's English, but he's suddenly thinking about Oxford--about who he'd been back then, and where he is now.
Nigel has ordered another of his frilly drinks with the umbrellas. Bug downs half his beer quickly, ignoring Lily's concerned expression, trying not to think about how well she reads his expressions; she takes her job home with her, too. Lily has another amaretto sour, but reaches over to take one of Nigel's paper umbrellas out of his drink, sucking on the stem of it and idly twirling it in her hand before Nigel takes it back and grins, slipping it into her hair with clever fingers. Bug decides, watching him, that if he'd tried that the umbrella would've fallen out again.
Lily ducks her head and leans closer to him, though, and he relaxes, because she's signaling her interest--flirting with him, now, which is very nice, even if he's still not sure quite how to flirt back. The music and conversation around them is too loud to hear what Nigel's saying to Max behind the bar, although he catches Jordan's name and Nigel's manic laughter.
"Hmm?" he asks, realizing he's missed what Lily just said. She shakes her head and sighs and then smiles, apparently forgiving him and repeating the beginning of her story about the time her mother caught her kissing a--
"A girl?" he asks loudly enough that Nigel turns and looks past Lily and at him.
"What's that?" Nigel asks, and Lily grins and turns to him.
"Bug's shocked that I kissed a girl way back in high school." Lily projects her voice, and Bug sees a couple of men down the bar looking over with interest.
Nigel, who's taken the second umbrella and put it in his own hair (the effect oddly geisha-like, if geisha's were tall and male and prone to doing Elvis impressions), shakes his head and waggles his finger at Lily, then looks over at Bug and says, "Truly shocking."
Bug doesn't comment, but looks at the maraschino cherry bobbing in her drink, and imagines taking it. She lifts it out of the drink by its stem and asks, "You want it?"
He's about to say yes, but Nigel looks over at them and Bug ends up stammering, "No-no thanks."
"Hmm. If he's not interested..." Nigel ducks his head a little, biting the cherry off the stem as Lily dangles it in the air. Lily looks surprised, but laughs as his lips brush against her fingertips.
Still chewing, Nigel asks, "So are we sharing dirty secrets?" Nigel looks wild, like someone Bug would once have steered clear of. He feels out of step and wishes he had thought to bring a book with him.
Lily takes another sip and nods vigorously, and Bug realizes that he would once have steered clear of Lily as well. "Sure. We can play 'I never...'."
Before he can object, or excuse himself, Nigel has taken another sip of his drink and announced (loudly enough that the punters the bar look back down at their drinks) "All right. I'll start us off, then. I've never done it with a girl."
Lily raises her drink and looks at Bug.
Nigel's staring defiantly at him, as if expecting Bug to say something. Bug's not sure what he'd say, if he said anything at all; he's still trying to make some sense of the fact that Nigel's just come out and...come out.
He forces himself to take a drink of beer, not really tasting it, only half noticing that Lily's actually taken a drink as well.
"My turn again?" Nigel asks, and damned if there's not just the faintest tremble to his voice, now.
"I can't remember," Lily says.
Nigel shrugs, and then whatever Bug thought he saw is gone. Nigel's smooth as glass again. "I'll go again then. Let's see. I have never...never--ah, got it. I've never had sex on an air--no, wait, I have, though strictly speaking, it hadn't yet left the runway--"
"No frequent flyer miles for you," Lily says.
"No upgrades to first class, either. So, new answer. On a sailboat. I think I can honestly say that I've never had sex on a sailboat. Shipyard, yes. Aircraft carrier...oh, most definitely. But nothing wind-driven."
This time, nobody takes a drink, though Lily laughs. Bug doesn't.
"Your turn, then."
Bug blinks, and Lily steps in instead. "I've got one. I've never had sex in the crypt."
Nigel leans in close, whispering loudly, "I notice you didn't say at the office, so one can only assume..."
Lily doesn't clarify, but does blush a little. Bug knows it must've been with Garret, and feels a dull flash of jealousy, imagining Garret taking her on his desk. He can picture it clearly--Lily with her arms around Garret's neck, her eyes closed, tipping her head up to expose the pale line of her neck...
"Your turn, Bug. Come on, come on."
"Give him a second," Lily says.
Even though it's just the two of them waiting, he feels like he's on stage.
"I've never had sex with a man," Bug manages at last, regretting it instantly. Lily and Nigel clink their glasses together in a toast.
"Your turn again, love," Nigel reminds him.
Bug sighs. To end this, he's got to think of something they haven't done--a seemingly hopeless task, as Nigel alone seemed to have tried most everything, if you believed his occasional hints. Except he's never had a girl.
"I've never had sex with an animal."
Nigel lifts his glass and then laughs when Lily looks horrified.
"What a mind you have. My turn now." And this time, Nigel's quick with, "Never done it with two people at once."
"Oooh," Lily says. Bug catches the look in her eye--the spark of interest there that he can't begin to understand. Though neither of them take a drink, the spark is still there when Lily answers, "Well, I've never had sex while someone else watches."
Nigel raises his glass and then stops. "Wait--you mean sex with yourself while someone watches, or sex with someone else while someone else watches?"
"With someone. I've never had sex with someone while someone else watches."
At that, Nigel takes his drink. Bug finds himself watching the way Nigel runs his finger along the wet edge of his glass. He downs the first of his shots, realizing then that he's not at all drunk enough (and at this rate, might never be) to justify the things he's thinking, the warm press of Lily's body against his own a welcome thing he clings to--unfamiliar though it still is.
Nigel looks up from his glass and something curious passes between them that Lily must notice, because she looks at them both and says, "Having someone watch would be...."
But she doesn't complete the thought, though her lips curl upward a bit and her eyes close.
Unnerving. Embarrassing.
Bug feels his face heat up and can't look at Nigel, somehow sure Nigel's not the least bit embarrassed. He downs some more beer and rests the cold bottle against his forehead for a moment.
Then Lily turns around on the barstool and puts her arms around Bug's neck and kisses him, and there's so much unexpected heat in it that he can only hold onto her, knowing that Nigel's watching the two of them, probably with that same, smug expression he's worn since Lily finally decided there might be something more than friendship between them.
But when Lily lets go of him, Nigel's back to talking to Max again, and Bug, seeing the game must be over, ignores his still unopened beer, and downs the last two shots of bourbon in quick succession, reassured by the steadying warmth of them in his gut.
Lily's put her hand on the inner seam of his jeans, her fingers stroking up and down, and he wants to reach down and move her hand, but he can't, because Nigel's looking over at them again, his eyes narrowing down as he takes in Lily's stroking hand.
"You wouldn't want just anyone watching," she whispers, and Bug nods, then shakes his head, because no, this has moved far out of the realm of the hypothetical in which he was merely uncomfortable. He wants to argue that it's one thing to catalogue the kinky things other people do, or even to write about them, and quite another to do them yourself.
Then her hand is gone, and he's relieved for just a few seconds before he sees Lily's face and knows suddenly that he's destined to say yes, is obliged to, because Lily wants this, and Lily should be happy, and he isn't really sure he knows how to make Lily happy, though she keeps saying that she is. Still, he's seen the way she looks at some other men--the dangerous ones who want her and want to hurt her.
He looks at the row of empty bourbon glasses--still not enough to put more than a dent in his sobriety--and nods and says, "Let's get out of here." Lily smiles softly and slides off the barstool. She collects her small beaded purse and Nigel's pack of playing cards, then takes Nigel's arm in her own, offering her other arm to Bug. But he can't get up yet and reaches for his wallet to pay for the drinks.
Lily and Nigel move to the door without him but stop and wait for him to pay the tab. He joins them at the door, moving slowly as if this were a strange dream instead of the life he's somehow found himself in.
A few minutes later, the taxi has let them off at Lily's place, and it's started to rain harder. He follows Lily up and into her flat, hearing Nigel behind him on the stairs, shutting the door and putting up the chain and locks. The entryway is dark, but Bug can see the light Lily left on in the bedroom, a dim glow limning the doorway, casting odd shadows on the bed.
Lily seems to have forgotten Nigel is there, and is entirely focused on him, on putting his hands on her body where she wants them, on helping him to undress her, helping him with the tiny silver clasp at the back of her new red dress, and the small black buttons that his wet fingers fumble with until she shows him the trick--the hidden snaps under each button after the first two. Then she's pale and naked in a black bra and black underwear with gartered stockings, the smooth nylon whispering under his hands, catching slightly on the calluses of his fingers. Her hair is a damp red halo around her face, and her cheeks are still flushed. He tries to--wants to--pretend with her, pretend that Nigel's not there, not leaning up against the wall, watching.
But Bug looks over and sees that Nigel's definitely there, and...interested, not touching himself, but looking as if he's thinking about it (and Bug recognizes that look and is suddenly desperate to know just what he is thinking, and just as desperate to not know--to be somewhere else--to be still on that barstool, saying, "No," firmly, and meaning it.).
Lily steps out of her heeled shoes and kicks them out of the way, and he steps out of his own shoes more awkwardly, too aware of everything: the fact that he's never sure where to put his hands on Lily unless she guides him, the way that it sometimes takes him awhile to respond when she touches him, and the sounds he knows he's going to make when she touches him, and that Nigel will see and hear all of that tonight, unless he somehow puts a stop to this.
He wonders if this is dangerous enough for her.
And because of that, he moves them from the front room into the bedroom, wondering if Nigel will follow them there. But of course Nigel does, hovering in the bedroom doorway for a second before stepping in and then closing the door behind him and leaning up against it.
Lily starts at the sound of the door closing, but then she smiles and looks back at Bug, sitting him down on the bed and standing between his legs as she unbuttons his shirt and strips it off of him. His back is damp with sweat and rain and he shivers. Outside, he can hear the rain washing down in a steady press against the pavement.
Lily moves on to his jeans and he has to sit up to pull them off, but she presses him down with her body, and for a moment, they struggle, and by the time he's fully naked, all he can think is, "Thank God it's over." But of course it's not.
Lily urges him to sit back farther on the bed, all the way against the headboard, and so he does, and she climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. The blue wool afghan under his hips is rough and he wishes he had thought to pull it down first. He wishes he had thought to turn out the lights, but Nigel's nearest the light switch, and he can't bring himself to ask.
Lily makes a little pleased "o" with her mouth as she rubs her fingertips against her thigh, against the wet spot he made there as his penis dragged against her, and she grins and leans in to kiss him, humming low in her throat.
He tries to unhook her old-fashioned garters, and she helps him by kneeling over him, so that he's eye level with her breasts. He undoes the front-hook of her bra, sliding the straps down her arms and freeing her breasts so that he can take them in his hands, cupping them in his palms, using his thumbs to flick against her nipples softly before bringing them each, in turn, to his mouth.
He thinks, for a moment, that he hears something other than Lily's sighs of "yess"--a deep, masculine moan that drives him to thrust up against Lily, grabbing her hips too roughly and drawing her down against him. Her underpants are damp and he pushes the fabric to the side enough to get his fingers in to stroke the darker, wet curls there. He tugs at the black satin until she climbs off of him and strips them off. Her belly is soft and pale, like her breasts, and he pulls her back onto his lap, licking the sweat from under her breasts, which elicits from her another urging moan as she draws his hand back down and inside of her.
He wonders at the idea that Nigel's never felt this--never put his fingers, here, into the warmth between a woman's legs, feeling the living heat of a clitoris pulsing against his fingertips. With his mouth, Bug continues to work at Lily's breasts, liking the way she shivers--liking that, for once, he's still hard--still pressing his erection against her so that, with each stroke inside of her, he can run his hand against his own cock.
And this time there's no mistake--he can hear Nigel's groan, and the rough sound of his zipper coming down. Though Bug doesn't stop touching Lily, he looks over and sees that Nigel has crept in closer to the bed, is now only a few feet away, and though he's undone the button and zipper of his jeans, and though Bug can see the black y-fronts jutting outward with his erection, Nigel's done nothing more than relieve the pressure of watching them.
And knowing that--that Nigel's waiting and wanting to do more--Bug catches his eye and, though Bug's still touching Lily, something again passes between them, and Lily looks over and sees Nigel there--sees his hand resting tentatively on the tented fabric of his pants, and she smiles shyly, then nods. And at last, Nigel pulls it out.
But while Lily has already looked away, once again caught up in her own pleasure, Bug can't see anything but Nigel's flushed erection--the sight incongruous with the feel of Lily's soft, clinging wetness on his hand. The swollen pink flesh is obscenely bare against the dark fabric of Nigel's clothing, and before Bug can stop himself, he's asking Nigel to take the rest off, tempering the probably incoherent demand of "More" with a "Please" that sounds more like desperation than a nod to etiquette.
"It's up to Lily, isn't it?" Nigel replies in a voice so low Bug hardly recognizes it--hardly recognizes him--this stranger. It's easier, almost, to imagine he's that than to remember the man with the broad shoulders hunched over the computer each morning at work--the man whose grin comes so easily--to whom everything comes too easily. The man beside the bed is almost somber and so, so still, so unmoving, he might as well be a piece of familiar statuary, almost obscenely still.
Lily is moving languorously against him, lost in her own response to the pressure and rhythm of his hand. Some nights, she wants more: his mouth, his prick inside her. Some nights, this--just his hand--is enough. Later, she'll take him inside of her, and he can't help imagining what it will be like, with Nigel watching. Lily's hair falls into her face just enough to partially obscure the pained look of pleasure there, her eyes shut tight and her mouth open slightly, her cheeks flushed pink. When she brushes her hair away, she arches her back and bites her lower lip, and Bug can feel the tightening of the muscles of her pelvis and thighs as she comes in long, panting breaths.
It's always like this--easy to make her come--and he always feels this same strange mix of pride and loneliness when it happens.
Then she rolls off of him, falling against his side in a loose embrace, one hand coming up to stroke his face, her fingers rubbing against his mouth until he parts his lips slightly.
He leans over and kisses her, and peripherally sees that Nigel's done as he asked and taken off all his clothing and is still no more than a few feet away, his dark hair standing out in stark relief against his very fair skin. He seems tethered there, but his muscles are tensed, his long limbs trembling slightly as if he wants to move, but can't.
Bug turns to face him, too conscious of Lily's warm presence at his side. He wants to order Nigel to move--to do something, but what comes to mind is, "I've never...," which, though true, sounds too much like an invitation.
Instead, he manages, "I like girls. I'm--" but stops himself before he can apologize for wanting Lily.
Nigel nods, crossing his arms over his chest, and Bug wonders suddenly if this--if this was in Lily's plan for the evening--or if Nigel (always charming and so bloody sure of himself, as if it were inevitable that people would love him) had this in mind all along.
Lily is barely touching him now (he suspects, from the evenness of her breathing, that she's fallen asleep at his side as she often does after she comes) and yet he is still erect, his whole body still tense with desire and frustration and...and a dark current of anger that he suspects he'll take out on Nigel at some point in the future, because Nigel seems to live to provoke him and charm everyone else--a twisted irony that he is only just learning to live with, as he's learning to live with what he wants.
He wants to say, "This is your fault," but somehow ends up saying, "Please," and when Nigel at last moves closer and offers him his hand, Bug takes it and gently disentangles himself from Lily, who only stirs slightly before reaching for a pillow and drawing it against her side as he stands up, closing the distance between himself and Nigel, Lily behind him now, curled up into herself as she sleeps.
"You've been replaced, mate." Nigel sounds almost like his normal, clothed self now, and Bug decides that Nigel's more amused than he has any right to be. Bug has to fight the urge to hit him. He can imagine the smooth, white skin giving under his fist, can see the tall body falling against him...
Instead, he just says, "It's a fair trade."
Nigel nods, seeming to sense that now is not the time to remind him of his obligations to Lily (nor of the fact that she has always treated him as more of a friend than a lover).
When Nigel doesn't say anything more, and before Bug can talk himself out of it, he places a hand flat against Nigel's chest, over his heart. He tries to ignore the absurd height difference that means he can't easily kiss Nigel without forcibly pulling him down. He uses his thumb to stroke the outline of Nigel's pectoral muscles. His fingers glide over Nigel's chest--the skin there unnaturally smooth from a recent waxing. As Bug runs his hands up to Nigel's neck, he stops to touch the short, silver chain there, rolling the beads against Nigel's throat, pressing them into his Adam's apple.
Nigel moans, the sound vibrating against Bug's fingers, and the length of Nigel's erection presses against his belly. He leans against Nigel a little more, liking the feel of it--even the odd threat of it.
Bug forces himself to stop staring and notices that that damned paper umbrella is still wound into Nigel's hair, and he reaches up and pulls it out, placing it on the bedside table, careful not to crush it. Nigel moves to smooth back his hair, but Bug stops him, pulling out the ponytail elastic, finger-combing the shiny, black hair back behind Nigel's ears, then drawing his fingers down the rough curve of Nigel's jaw, back up across Nigel's high forehead, down the rather sharp and very straight nose to the mouth that seems to mock him, more often than not. When Nigel's lips part, Bug has only to step up into a kiss that comes too easily.
Nigel still tastes like cherries and the sweet-tart drinks he'd downed at the bar, and Bug deepens the kiss, surprised to find only a little trace of alcohol beneath the sweetness of Nigel's mouth. He ends it, taking a deep breath, leaving his hands on Nigel's shoulders, resting on the smooth curves of muscle and bone there.
"Saving those brain cells after all?" he asks, and Nigel grins and shakes his head.
"Hmm. No, Buggles. Just decided I was too smart for my own good. You, however...."
"I...," Bug begins, but can't think of a properly cutting remark in time to deliver it, as Nigel's large hand wraps around both their cocks, holding them together, holding off all thought, and any protest Bug might have been forming.
"Harder," he demands when Nigel loosens his grip, and Nigel says, "Like it hard, do you?" his smile mocking, though he puts one hand against the small of Bug's back as they kiss again, this time not at all gently. Bug brings his hands down to Nigel's arse, his grip hard enough to bruise, but Nigel only steps back against the wall, so that Bug's hands are trapped there.
He feels unusually daring as his knuckles scrape against the cold wall, his palms flattening and curving to cup and knead Nigel's arse. Nigel pumps them both faster as Bug works his fingers over the warm skin, at last finding and brushing his fingers against Nigel's arsehole.
Nigel gasps into his mouth and breaks the kiss, sliding down to his knees, replacing his fist with the tight, warm suction of his mouth, and Bug has to hold onto Nigel's shoulders to keep from falling at the sudden rush of pleasure.
"Hell," he moans as his legs tremble, as he comes in Nigel's mouth, and Nigel stays there for a moment, on his knees, before rising, laying a series of kisses on Bug's belly and chest before reaching his mouth again, the strange taste of his own semen odd and distracting. Nigel's still hard, his erection insistently pressing against Bug's belly.
"Um, guys?"
They both turn, and let go of each other. Lily's awake, still curled up on the sheets like Aphrodite on her seashell, Bug thinks, as lovely and as suddenly unapproachable as that--and it seems strange that he's ever been inside her, and not so strange at all that he wasn't tonight.
"Tonight's the big night for experiments," she says after a few seconds of tense silence, and her uncertain smile makes Bug wonder if he should agree that that's all this was. He can feel Nigel waiting for him to do just that, and senses that, had Lily stayed asleep, Nigel would have said it first, and shrugged it off as a good time had by all--sending him back to Lily, perhaps a bit wiser for the experience.
But Nigel's started talking, speeding through the clichÈs. "Yes, well, a walk on the wild side every now and again's good for the soul, isn't it? Nothing like a bit of a break in the humdrum routine to get your blood pumping again. Diving into the deep end--a breath of fresh air--rejuvenating, isn't it?" Bug winces as Nigel actually rubs his hands together.
"Is it?" Bug turns to face Nigel, for a moment ignoring Lily, not sure he can deal with both of them at the same time (the same true emotionally as physically, he supposes, feeling suddenly cold and heartless for thinking so).
At least Nigel has the sense to look uncertain, as if at least some of it is at last falling on him as serious. For just a flash, Bug lets himself feel oddly sympathetic, because Nigel, idiot that he is, would clearly sacrifice himself if it meant everyone else was happy. Bug has always wondered just how little happiness Nigel would trade himself for--just how much he'd be willing to give up for someone--anyone--else. And now he wonders if Nigel even notices he's doing it, or if the lies and concessions just come as easily to him as they seem to--a part of the Townsend package.
Not that he's unfamiliar with lies himself.
But he saw it in his eyes when Nigel was on his knees--and it was sure as hell more than an experiment, wasn't it?--even if Nigel was too stubborn to admit to it. It was....
Bug has to turn away, back to Lily again, and this time, her eyes are clear of both sleep and sex, looking from one of them to the other, and he's sure she's noticing that, for all of the tension between them, he and Nigel are still standing close enough that Bug can't inhale a breath without feeling the brush of Nigel's arm and side against his own.
"Oh," she says, and the sound reminds him of the sound she makes as she's coming--a gentle exhalation, as if each time it's a surprise. "Sorry."
"Yeah," Nigel agrees, and Bug wonders if he, too, should apologize, and to whom and for what. What is the proper etiquette here?
"So you think maybe we should get dressed?" she asks, when the apologies just hang there, and Nigel laughs softly at that, but doesn't make a move.
"Or we could just, um, go to bed," she adds. "To sleep, I mean. The bed's...okay," she laughs nervously, adding, "Sorry. Really bad idea. Wow. This is um...weird." She ducks her head and draws the afghan across her lap, her hands restlessly picking at the wool.
But Nigel dives into the breach, somehow sounding completely sincere, as if Lily's suggestion were rational and not the pinnacle of insanity. "I think that's a marvelous idea."
And Nigel actually sits down on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly as if testing the mattress before stretching out beside Lily, his long frame looking strange beside Lily's smaller one. He's relieved that at least Nigel's no longer aroused. His own cock is still damp, and he wills himself not to be turned on by the odd tableau before him.
Bug half-expects Lily to get up, or to push Nigel away, but she doesn't, not even when Nigel gathers Lily into a chaste--if nude--embrace before letting go of her and patting the small space between them, where Bug is apparently meant to sleep in this odd, shared fantasy of theirs--which somehow strikes Bug as more perverse than the first had been.
Perhaps it's hysteria setting in, but he can almost imagine Jordan here, and Dr. M., and wonders how the hell he's going to face Monday morning with his clothes on. It's hard to think that far ahead, past this moment.
The thing to do would be to leave now and let the two of them sort out this mess in his absence, but Bug feels the last traces of will leave him and he says, "Move over." Both Lily and Nigel fan outward a bit, making room for him to climb in between them. He does, wondering if there's any sexy way to climb up a bed, or if everyone feels this ridiculous doing it. He wishes suddenly for fur or a good, solid exoskeleton, or even just a pair of underpants. After an awkward struggle with the sheets, both Nigel and Lily shift a bit and then move closer to him, pressing against him in a way that feels far less sexual than it should, all things considered.
But beside him, Nigel shifts to make himself comfortable, which seems to involve ever-increasing amounts of bodily contact, so that by the time Nigel is finally settled, Bug can feel Nigel's renewed erection pressing into his hip, hidden by the sheet and blanket. At Bug's other side, her red hair draped over his arm and shoulder, Lily's soft body molds itself against him suggestively, as if she's again relaxing into an untroubled sleep. He finds himself turning towards her warmth, leaving Nigel pressed against his back.
The lights from passing cars cast odd, lengthening shadows through the window and onto the ceiling above the bed.
"We still mates, then?" Nigel whispers in his ear, hardly louder than the ghosts of cars rushing by the window. Nigel's prick is pressed hard against his arse, and he finds himself pulling one leg up, his knee pressing into the soft swell of Lily's belly. She hardly stirs. Relaxed as he is, he wonders if they can manage this without lubrication, but then stops wondering at the sudden scent of vanilla hand lotion preceding the shock of a cold, slippery finger breaching his arsehole,
The bedroom window is streaked with rain, the glass seeming to melt as he watches it, as if there was nothing but water around them--as if they might drown in it if they left this room.
"Yeah," he says back, and reaches behind him, his hand unerringly finding Nigel's own, resting on his hip.
And as Bug finally lets his eyes close, he hears a siren raise its voice before finally fading away.
—FIN—
© SEPTEMBER 2003
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