Page 13

Hot Diggity Dog

Present Day

Cian

“There’ll be no hoity-toity handshaking here. We’re huggers.”

That’s what Rita had said to me yesterday. Now the words played over and over in my brain as her grandson big-spooned me in what had to be the comfiest bed I’d ever lain in.

According to Mash, it had been too hot for him to wear PJs, or even a T-shirt, so he’d consequently climbed under the covers in only his boxers and with the promise to firmly stick to his side of the mattress. He had not kept his promise, and was now holding me like a teddy bear—an arm draped over me, a leg hooked over mine, his front flush to the length of my back. He snored loudly into my hair. In fact, it was the snoring that had woken me.

I’d had enough foresight to wear a tee and a pair of cotton pyjama pants to bed, but since my T-shirt had ridden up over my hips and parts of Mash’s anatomy were sandwiched between us, it felt like it had all been a waste of time. Mash’s morning erection pressed very insistently against my spine.

The crisp early breeze flitted through the open window, making the gauzy inner curtains slap gently against the wall. Outside, there was nothing but birdsong. From the reflection of the sun on the ceiling, I guessed it was about seven, but my arm was in too awkward a position to look at my smart watch without disturbing Mash.

I was torn between waking him and telling him to remove his cock from my back, and lying here in his embrace . . . feigning sleep, breathing in the scent of us, being held by the man I loved. How long would it take Mash to wake naturally? He was often a late sleeper. I could be here for a while yet.

A few minutes passed. I tried to drift back into slumber, but Mash’s snoring was too loud, I needed to pee, and I was beginning to develop pins and needles in my arm.

I straightened it, and Mash choked on a snore. Groaned. For a second I thought he might be waking, but he pulled me tighter to his chest, and slipped his leg farther over mine. His snoring ceased its revving-chainsaw sounds and became simple loud breathing.

My body melted into his, giving up any kind of fight or hesitance. I’d have two months of this. Two months of waking up in his arms. I didn’t resist the smile that crept over my face.

That was, until Mash groaned again, and began not so subtly humping me.

He made a throaty noise and snapped his hips upwards. The only reason I knew he was still asleep was because it was me. He wouldn’t be dry humping me if he remembered where we were and who he’d gone to bed with.

“Baby,” he whimpered, making my insides dissolve into nothing but aches.

“Okay, big boy, time to wake up now and stop sleep-shagging your best friend.” I pulled his arm off me, turned to him, and put distance between us.

Mash reached out towards me sleepily as he peeled his eyelids open. His gaze landed on my face and for a second a sloppy, dopey smile stretched his mouth. But the next moment, all the puzzle pieces must have clicked together because his eyes went wide.

“Bangers!” he said, and toppled backwards out of bed, tugging the flimsy bedsheet down with him. The heavy shag of the rug muffled the crash of his enormous body.

His face found his splayed palms, and he pillowed his forehead on the edge of the mattress.

“I think I already know the answer, but was I trying to sleep-fuck you?” he said, his voice about ten octaves higher that it ordinarily sounded.

“Yeah,” I replied. There was no way to assuage his feelings. “Yeah, you were.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, man.” He groaned again. “I thought you were—”

“A woman, yeah.”

“No, I thought you were . . . never mind.”

Finish your thought! my brain screamed. But at the same time, I never wanted to hear who he imagined he was with. Who his dream-self craved. I wasn’t sure my heart could ever handle it.

What if he pictured he was lying with Dylan?

Mash was quiet for a few seconds. My heartbeat skittered all over the place.

Eventually, he looked up from his palms. “You know this already, but I’ve got a killer boner. I’m just gonna sit down here until it goes away enough for me to take a piss.” The old Mash was back. The moment of vulnerability too fleeting.

It was a little annoying that there were three empty bedrooms in Mash’s house, but it would have looked weird if mates didn’t sleep in the same bed. I wondered if werewolves ever had the complex partnerships humans sometimes had. Or poly relationships. Were there poly wolves? I expected so. Humans didn’t claim dominance in the ability to decode their base needs and work around them.

But I guessed, at least for the next two months, I had no choice. These were the cards Mash chose to play, and I was just the guy in the back of the room looking over everyone’s shoulders and making cryptic hand gestures. I would help him win, even if it was detrimental to me.

“Maybe tonight we could put a pillow between us?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that’s a good shout.” He stared down into his lap. “Fuck, this thing’s not going down. I know we both showered last night, but it’s . . . the smell of us, I think. I’m gonna go sort this out in the bathroom.”

I averted my gaze as Mash stood, wanting but not allowing myself to glimpse his perfect body. Instead, I caught his reflection in the floor-length mirror on the wall, and I found it impossible to look away this time. He arched his back in a stretch and then rubbed his hand over the hard outlines of his cock and knots.

I didn’t know which of us whimpered. Perhaps it was both in unison.

Mash disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a second later—too quickly to have done any “sorting out.” From the doorway, he tossed me a roll of toilet paper. I caught it one-handed.

“In case you need to . . .” He rocked his closed fist back and forth, and then splayed his palm.

I gave him a sarcastic thumbs up, and he shut the door.

Fuck, I really did need to do exactly that. I was aching, throbbing, and now leaking into my PJ pants, and the thought of Mash fucking his own hand only strengthened my urge. But for reasons I had no way of deciphering, it felt wrong.

I was in my best friend’s childhood bedroom, though not his childhood bed. We were pretending to be in a relationship—a sexually active relationship. I had his piss on my neck; he had my piss on his neck. We smelled so fucking good . . . and he was in the bathroom next door wanking because of that smell.

Fuck it, I needed to come. I pushed the front of my PJ pants and boxers down, and took my cock in my hand, almost letting a moan escape my throat at the instant relief.

It didn’t take long. Between the desperate need that had been building up over yesterday’s car trip with Mash, the scent of us, the soft slapping sounds coming from the bathroom, and Mash’s whispered, “Oh, fuck, fuck. Oh, gods,” I’d already reached tipping point.

I shoved the front of my T-shirt up as my orgasm striped across my stomach, and I lay there panting for a few seconds while I floated back down.

The toilet flushed, and I panic-wiped the jizz off my skin, rearranged my clothes, and chucked the tissues in the wastepaper bin.

Mash emerged a few seconds later in only his boxers, because of course he was. The outline of his cock was a lot smaller than before, but his knots still sat prominently at the base, like an extra pair of very pert, very massive balls.

“Fuck, that was a great wank,” he said, walking over to his wardrobe. Yesterday, after we’d settled in, I’d unpacked. I’d hung up all of my clothes and then all of Mash’s because he would be living out of his bags-for-life for ten weeks otherwise. “How was your wank? Or do you need the bathroom to do it?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t need the—fine, yeah. It was fine.”

I’d lived with Mash for three years while we studied for our undergrad degrees, two years for our masters, and another four while Mash did his PhD. I was extremely accustomed to his complete dearth of self-censorship, or thought policing, or any form of shame.

The first time he’d told me he was “off for a wank” my ghast was flabbered. We didn’t talk about anything like that in my household—not wet dreams, not erections, and certainly not wanking. I’d gotten a lot more used to it over the years thanks to all my time with Mash, but I didn’t think I’d ever be as casual as he was.

He pulled on a pair of shorts just as a knock on the door reverberated through the room.

“I’ll get it. You stay there,” he said, winking at me then answering the knock and slipping out into the hall. He left the door ajar.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Kimmy said. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

There was a soft kissing sound, and the smell of coffee and something sweet, sticky, and buttery drifted towards me.

“Morning, Mam,” Mash said. “You brought us breakfast.”

Cutlery and crockery jangled on a tray. “Just making sure my boys slept okay.”

My boys. Why did that make my heart ache?

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. Did you build the bed?”

“It’s my mating gift to you,” Kimmy said. “Here’s the Harvest Fest itinerary. Your brothers and sisters will be over this afternoon to help with the decorations. You two enjoy a lazy morning together.”

“Thanks, Mam.”

“You really do smell so good on each other.”

“I know,” Mash said, but he’d dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I always knew there was something more than friendship there.” Kimmy’s voice was also a whisper. “I’m so happy for you.”

Mash paused before answering. “Me too.”

If my heart had tripped over itself hearing Kimmy say “my boys,” it was practically imploding at Mash’s words. What did he mean by “me too”? Had he always known there was more than friendship? Was he also happy for himself? Or was he still lying? All part of the long con?

My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that I missed the next thing Kimmy said. Mash sshed her sharply, snapping my attention back. He pulled the door almost completely closed. He must have been holding the breakfast tray because he used his foot.

“Ci doesn’t know,” he said, in that same near-silent whisper, only this time his words were laced with panic.

Kimmy sighed. I tried to steady my own breaths to listen. “I thought this might be the case. Knew there was a reason you hadn’t returned home in so long. But you can’t keep it from him forever, Mash. You can’t run the p—”

“Mam, I’ll ask him, okay? But not now. Let me decide when’s best. Can you tell the others?”

Kimmy didn’t respond verbally. I imagined she nodded. A few seconds later, Mash kicked the door open and walked into the bedroom holding a tray with a cafetière of coffee, two empty cups, a milk jug, a whole mini-mountain of sugar cubes, and two plates of syrupy waffles.

And I stared at him. My mind raced over everything I had heard—or, more specifically, not heard.

He placed the tray down on the bed near my feet.

Was he just not going to say anything? He cocked his head to the side, his tailed glued down the back of his thigh.

“Did you . . . hear any of that?”

I could be honest with him. Ask him what he was keeping from me. Was he outright lying about something or was he withholding the full truth?

But . . . I didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. Happy Mash was my favourite, and I didn’t want to tip the balance in the wrong direction, especially if we were stuck here together for the next couple of months. “Heard what?”

He let out a breath. His tail began flicking. “Okay, so here’s the plan for the next ten weeks or whatever.”