Page 8 of Inceptive (Ingenious #3)

8

WILL

C old seeped through the floorboards and chilled the cabin air, but beneath the blankets, it was warm and cozy and smelled like musky man. Will absently stroked his morning wood. Odd. He two-fingered the crown, drawing copious precum and wringing soft moans. He adjusted his stroke. Root to tip, his wood was massive… and had a foreskin. Huh?

Cozy fled. Panic rose. During the night, he must’ve chased Zach’s musky warmth and crawled over the hammock to spoon him. Their nightshirts had bunched above their waists, and he’d wrapped a leg around Zach’s hair-roughened thigh. The morning wood he was stroking belonged to Zach. So did the moans, which were probably what had awakened Will. This mistake would get him thrown off the porch.

Holy Crapoly. Zach’s erect girth was huge. He eased his hand away, only for Zach to press his hand firmly over Will’s.

“Mmmm… don’t stop… feels good…” Zach’s hips rocked for a fist fuck, the motion sliding Will’s throbbing cock between Zach’s butt cheeks and slicking his crack with precum. A few thrusts would take both of them over the threshold.

A handjob was forgivable; creaming Zach’s ass wasn’t.

Will fumbled to pull his nightshirt down. It was trapped beneath Zach’s hip. He tugged to pull up the blanket that had fallen to their feet.

Huh? The blanket slid down after Will pulled it up. It didn’t budge when he tugged again.

A pair of x-shaped feet held it down. From the foot of the mat, Belle regarded their amorous display. “Hee. Hee. Hee. Will and Zach nesting.”

“What the—” Zach flung Will’s fist off.

Will talked fast. “I woke, and we were fitted together like this while we slept and?—”

“Don’t talk in front of Belle!” He jerked his nightshirt down and rolled off the mat. His eyebrows pinched as he became aware of the stickiness in his crease. “Did you… Is that…”

“Precum. I didn’t ride you. You notched me like an arrow and rode me.”

“Will mates Zach. More eggs on way.” Belle flapped her wings.

Zach yanked the blanket from under her. “Bad bird!”

She somersaulted, then landed on her feet. Delighted at riling him for a rousing morning chase, she sang, “Bad, bad, bad, bad bird. Bad bird, bad bird, bad bird.”

Zach chased her. “Shut up!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Belle cackled and raced around the floor, always a whisker out of reach.

“Shut up or no loft for you! You’ll sleep in your fucking cage hanging on the cold porch!” Zach shouted.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” She zipped between his legs.

Will opened the door. “Bring fish, or he’ll put me in the cage with you.”

She zipped out and flew off to hunt, her sing-song muffled by the rain.

Their easy comradery was strained while they waited for breakfast.

With backs to each other, both men changed into loose overalls over their long-sleeved gray tees. Neither mentioned why they’d dressed in overalls, or why Zach had carried a damp cloth behind the crates, glaring at him and holding the cloth as if it was a soiled diaper when he returned. Will heated the stove to brew an extra strong tea labeled for nervous disorders. They cradled the mugs, inhaling the hint of sassafras.

Will ached with frustration. Every time he opened his mouth to say neither was at fault, Zach would snap, “Don’t talk about it.”

Instead of fish, Belle returned with muffins in a covered basket. She flapped her wings, spraying water droplets before Will could dry her feathers. Was she designed from waterfowl? The rain never daunted her.

“Belle, you’re a bad thieving bird.” Will tickled her crest. “But I love you.”

One bite of a muffin restored Zach’s good mood. “These are Mrs. Trilby’s fig muffins. They farm outside the basin and have plenty of supplies. She wins the grand prize every harvest festival. Her daughter is an excellent cook.”

“Will you court her?” Will’s tone was friendly. Inside, jealousy needled him.

“She has no interest in politics. Her votes will go to her aunt, who sits on the council and sides with Mayor Astrid.”

Belle dipped her beak in the saucer of warmed sap that Zach had placed on the countertop—his way of thanking her.

“Zach lets Belle live here, yes.” She gazed at him forlornly.

“Keep feeding me. But be careful. Hunt meat and fish, or you’ll end up on a farmer’s dinner table.”

“Never steal from same place.” She chortled. “I go eat now. Then hunt meat and fish for supper.” She flew off without eating a muffin.

“Maybe she needs a special bug diet to fatten up and lay healthy eggs.” Curious, Will climbed to the loft. The nest was empty but lined and ready for eggs. A pile of insect legs was brushed to a corner. Maybe she had cravings like a pregnant woman.

Alone with Zach, Will spoke around a bite of muffin. “Ready to talk about our accidental spooning this morning?”

Zach’s good mood vanished. “No.”

“I groped you in my sleep. So what? You were dreaming. It wasn’t intentional.”

That night, Will and Zach wore boxers beneath their nightshirts with the hammock between them and a heating lantern on Will’s side.

Another week passed with relentless rain. Each morning, Belle brought back fish or hares, then she would fly off and return at dusk with branches of fruit. Once back, she would chitter unhappily, moving from loft to rafter to the porch and back. She drank sap but ate little.

When Will attempted to stroke her crest, she craned away from him. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked Zach. “Is she having trouble laying?”

She screeched when upended by Zach, who checked her cloaca. He set her down, and she flew to the rafter and clacked at him for several minutes before stilling and cocking her head at the ceiling. “No lay eggs here. Need home.”

“But home is here,” Will argued.

“Home out there. Must go. Eggs need home.”

“If you’re in pain, stay in your loft and rest. You can’t lay if you spend the day hunting for us. Let me take care of you.”

Belle sobbed, unable to get comfortable. Whenever Will asked how to help her, she flew to the door they kept barred and barricaded to prevent her from escaping. “Need home, and… special food.”

Zach cleared the barricade and opened the door. “Nature won’t let her lay in the cabin. She needs a special diet for healthy eggs and fledglings. Maybe that’s why she’s not eating with us.”

Belle nuzzled Will’s ear. “I be back.”

She flew toward the swamp, soaring high, with Will holding his breath that nothing nabbed her.

Again, they hung the cage outside. Will inspected the loft. The nest was tattered, and feces smeared the walls. There were no signs of broken shells or yolk. She’d struggled to lay her clutch and failed.

Will sniffled, on the verge of bawling.

Zach helped him down. “Belle’s smart. One of those lab birds. She knows her eggs won’t hatch without special food and help from her flock. Temperature, diet, water… something’s lacking here, and if the babies hatched, she can’t feed them what they need. She was born and raised in the wild. She knows what she needs.”

Will sniffled. “Her mate was mean.”

“If she’d never mated before, of course, it scared her, but that doesn’t mean the male won’t make a devoted father bird.”

Three days had passed since Belle had left. Still waiting, Will didn’t clean the loft and continued to share the sleeping mat with Zach. Last night, lightning had streaked the sky, and gusts rattled the windowpane and door. This morning, Will had awakened to sunshine that Zach said would last through the afternoon before heavy rain arrived at nightfall.

“Heavy?” Will repeated faintly. “What do you call what we’ve had?”

“A wet down for the cane to shoot up. The stalks will soak up most of the coming rain, preventing the walkways from flooding. Yep. Belle sensed it was time to leave before the heavy rain stranded her in the cabin.”

Will seized the hours of pure sunshine to strip to his boxers and hang all their clothes and bedding over clotheslines strung around the cabin porch. He sprayed them with a cleaning solution that was an Island invention. The solution absorbed the grime, turned a chalky gray, then fell off when pounded by paddles. When Zach grumbled at being forced to strip to his boxers and paddle the laundry, Will snapped, “I like being clean. I don’t understand your aversion to bathing. What I wouldn’t give for a long soak in a bathtub of hot water. Islanders use solar panels to warm tanks of desalinated water. No wasting space and hot water for bathtubs, just cramped shower cubicles and piped lukewarm water.”

Will dragged the mattress from the loft, sprayed it, and laid it atop the covered rain barrels. He scrubbed the loft, then took a break, sitting on a crate in the cabin and playing his flute, the sad notes reflecting his mood.

Zach wandered inside and filled pots of hot water from the reservoir. “Play a dancing tune. You’re making me feel like I’m floundering in a mud suck.”

“My heart is heavy as the rain,” Will sang. “Woe am I without love.” He paused. “Ugh. The lyrics go nowhere.”

“They stink .” Zach continued lugging pots in and out without effort.

“Where art thou, my muse? Hiding amidst the cane like a… like a…”

“Slink from the rain.”

Will rolled his eyes and played a dirge, ignoring Zach until he called for him to come outside and have a look.

Zach had filled a washtub with hot water and was adding old-fashioned soap flakes that he whipped into frothy suds with a paddle. “Strip and get in. Take a long soak. I’m as tired of your moping as you’re tired of my stinking. I’ll stay inside, heating more water. The porch reeks of cleaning solution that will repel pests. But yell if you need me.” He placed a spear and towels by the tub.

Will squealed as he stepped inside the tub. “Ouch. Ouch. Ow-ow-ow… ohhhhhh, yeah.” He settled his ass on the bottom and groaned as the heat soaked into his muscles. If Zach was curious how noisy he was when he jerked off, Will had given him a sample. He folded a towel and rested his neck on the rim. Blissful minutes passed while surrounded by sunshine, whispering cane, and the smell of the cleaning solution. His dick stirred, and he slid his hand into the thick suds to stroke himself while imagining Zach kneeling by the tub and rubbing him off while kissing— delete , delete , no kissing with that bushy beard. Instead, he imagined him straddling the tub with those powerful thighs supporting his weight while he fed Will his cock. Will would swallow the gushing cum because Zach begged in a ragged, growly voice how badly he needed it.

Will’s cock hardened, throbbed, exploded. He sank to his chin with his legs dangling off the rim, savoring the aftermath.

“You okay, Will?” Zach had stayed inside, near the doorway, offering him privacy.

“Wonderful. Thank you for the bath.” And the fantasy . Next time he jerked off, he’d imagine Zach clean-shaven, sucking him off. “What do you look like without the whiskers?”

“I haven’t seen my bare face for years. Some trimming’s okay, but shaving carries a fine for bachelors. Ma said not to worry because I’d grow into my face. Won’t know what’s under the hair until I’m married.” His voice turned dreamy. “On my wedding night, guests will gather in a circle while a barber shaves me. My bride will wait in the bedroom. It’s a sacred tradition. For your information, husbands must shave and bathe daily. Stop snickering. That’s not why I’m avoiding marriage.”

Will’s sides hurt from holding back the laughter.

“Anyway, when you stop giggling, I’d like your opinion.”

Will sat up at the worried tone. “What’s bothering you?”

“I bought a shaving kit for Riley’s wedding gift and hid it in the cabin.”

Will stepped out of the tub and knotted a towel around his waist, eager to cut whiskers and bangs. “I’m decent. Tell me—what the fuck, Zach!”

Zach stepped out from the shadows. He’d trimmed his beard and bangs without a mirror. “How do I look? The truth, please. What will my bride think of me?” With his hands clasped behind, he watched Will’s reaction anxiously.

Will bit back exclaiming that the lopsided, patchy beard looked hideous. “A man’s worth is not measured by his looks.”

“That bad, huh.” Zach’s shoulders sagged.

“I see strong, wide cheekbones. Though big, your nose is straight, and any smaller wouldn’t offset such a strong face. You aren’t modeled like your people. They’re as interesting as a tray of round cookies.”

“I want a woman to like how I look.”

“Your face has character. Especially when it’s scowling at me. You’ll make a strong mayor.”

“Mayor for a year. Then a respectable husband the rest of my life.”

“Your body is a work of art. Sleep naked with the lantern turned high, and your bride won’t complain.” I know my hands would map you head to toe and devour you like a tray of spice cookies.

“Husbands wear nightshirts, and a bedroom remains darkened out of respect. I’d rather have a nice face in the daylight.”

“You know you could loosen those respectable standards while you’re mayor and start a trend by sleeping naked.” He glanced down at the tub. The suds had dried. Floating atop the water were creamy dollops of spunk.

“Someone fished in a small pond,” Zach drawled, then laughed the entire time he refilled the tub for his own bath.

Cannons boomed while Will was taking the last armload of bedding off the clothesline on the front porch. He dumped the load on the bench and watched the sky with Zach. They counted eight trails of red smoke, which meant missing servants. Purple signified missing farmers.

“What’s going on?” Will asked. “On a mild day like this, how could that many servants go missing?”

“Sirens aren’t blaring, which means no one has seen signs of predators or any remains of a kill. Those servants have vanished.” His brow creased, Zach carried rain barrels and the bench inside. Will stacked cane leaves in the corner facility.

The bottom fell out of the sky that night.

From his balcony on the Island, Will had watched distant storms on the mainland. Tonight was the first time he’d sat in the middle of one. The stilts vibrated from thunderclaps. If sirens blared, the howling wind drowned them out.