“I’m close. Fuck, are you close?” he asked, knowing Mac wouldn’t stop to answer.
Mac’s responding hum was all it took for Archer to let go, his release flooding his husband’s mouth until it dribbled from his lips. Archer didn’t care if he’d made a mess of him, he couldn’t. He was too busy seeing the face of God as his vision went white and his knees went wobbly.
He hissed as he felt Mac come, groaning around his over-sensitive cock.
When he pulled off Archer, he tipped forward, leaning his forehead on his bare hip, both of them catching their breath. Mac’s breath came in hot, uneven bursts against Archer’s skin, grounding them both in the absurd contrast between what they'd just done and the Christmas-horror-hellscape surrounding them. Somewhere from deep within the recesses of the bathroom, the carolers whirred softly, like they knew.
“Well,” Archer finally said, a little breathless.
He felt Mac nod against his hip. “Yeah,” he agreed.“Now call your dad and get us the fuck out of here. I don’t care ifhe has to land a helicopter on the roof of this hellmouth. I need to get out of Holly Harbour now.”
“Can I put my dick away first?” Archer asked around a laugh, petting his fingers through his husband’s ginger tresses. The gesture came out softer than he intended—half affection, half reassurance that Mac was truly back among the living.
“If you have to,” Mac mumbled, getting to his feet and grimacing when he looked at his sticky cum-covered hand. Instead of going to the bathroom, he headed to their backpacks, rummaging one-handed until he found the pack of wet wipes they kept in there, wiping his hand before handing the pack to Archer to clean himself up. A true act of love: field sanitation after panic-driven sex in a murder motel.
Archer cleaned himself then tossed the wipe aside, eyeing the bathroom door suspiciously. From behind the shower curtain came the faintest plasticclunk, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Mac,” he whispered, horrified.
Mac held up one warning finger. “Katniss… don’t. We aren’t acknowledging anything else in this room tonight.”
He was contemplating calling his father using the landline—the rotary phone, which absolutely had not existed anywhere near this century—when his cell began to trill in his pocket. He pulled it free and looked at the screen, frowning.
“Weird. It’s Lucas.”
Mac’s brows went up. “Lucas? Maybe he’s calling for an ETA?”
“You don’t think anything’s happened to anyone…do you?”
Archer felt a faint sense of dread tighten in his chest—not the Holly Harbour kind, but the Mulvaney kind. The ‘something happened’kind. Even through the walls of the Yuletide Suite, he could hear the storm ramping up outside, the wind dragging icy claws across the window in long, slow scrapes.
A storm that bad plus a Mulvaney calling unexpectedly never equaled good news.
“Lucas? What’s wrong?”
Lucas’s voice was a half-octave higher than usual when he asked, “How fast can you get home…”
“Hey, babe,” Noah called. “Do you know where that big red bow ended up? I need it for Dad’s present.”
He sat in a fort made of dozens of gifts, scraps of wrapping paper littered around him like confetti, scissors and tape lost somewhere beneath the fray. The faint scent of pine from the tree mixed with fresh paper and adhesive, the kind of holiday chaos he secretly loved. He listened intently for any sign his husband was within the vicinity, but only heard their four dogs snoring loudly in the corner of the living room. Last he’d seen, they were lying stacked on top of each other like a tiny pile of corpses. Warm, spoiled, and utterly unconcerned with human productivity.
Another gust of wind rattled the windows that made up the back of the house, causing Noah to glance at the now-frosted glass with mild concern. Adam wouldn’t be stupid enough to go out in this weather alone…right?
A year ago, Noah would have said no. But now, with his husband’s strange love-hate relationship with theirneighbors and his newfound proximity to his brothers—especially Atticus—he wasn’t so sure. Adam had started paying attention to the world around them and that came with Adam having thoughts, thoughts that led to opinions, which led to conclusions. Sometimes the wrong conclusions, some might even say delusions. And now that Atticus had started feeding those delusions, they were starting to spread to the rest of the family.
“Adam?” he called again.
“In the bedroom,” came a voice from deep within the house. “If you want your bow, come get it.”
Both heat and annoyance zipped through him at the taunting words. What was he up to now? They didn’t have time for this. Whatever it was. Not with a dozen gifts left and an unspoken countdown ticking in Noah’s head.
They were gonna be late to Dad’s house, for sure. Still, he wouldn’t leave him waiting. He carefully broke down his box fort, standing and wiping any scraps of ribbon and paper from his sweatpants before carefully putting his presents in a safe place where the dogs couldn’t turn them into chew toys. Experience had taught him that Dexter, in particular, had expensive taste.
Sadie raised her head to give Noah a look, then huffed before dropping her head back onto the heated Tempur-Pedic dog bed. Imagine being annoyed despite being a freeloader currently enjoying the spoils of someone else’s labor. Though he supposed the same could be said for Adam.
Noah padded barefoot over their hardwood floors, heart beating a little faster as he attempted to anticipate justwhat would be waiting for him in their bedroom. Since their impromptu roleplaying on Halloween, their sex life had taken a turn. Playful, indulgent, and dangerously distracting at the worst possible times.
When he entered the bedroom, he stopped short.
