Seth hadn’t thought of the possibility of someone walking in on Dustin. It worried him and excited him at the same time. “I want to be in you,” Seth said, voice gone husky. “Wet your finger and play with your hole.”
A sharp gasp reached Seth’s ears. He ran a lazy hand up and down his erect shaft. “Good. Now, stroke yourself with your other hand. Imagine it’s my hand, that I’m stroking you as I push in.”
Dustin and Seth both groaned. “Damn, you’re tight,” Seth improvised, locking down a clenching grip on himself. He pushed into his fist, imagining Dustin’s pucker flaring to let him in.
He increased his speed, pressure already starting to build. Behind his closed eyelids, he watched his cock disappear inside Dustin, and then reappear again when he drew back.
“Damn, Seth. I want you here.”
“And I want to be there. Cup your balls and stroke yourself. I want to hear you come.” Seth words came out a bit breathy.
Clamping the phone between his shoulder and ear, he panted into it, pumping into his fist and imagining Dustin doing the same, miles away.
“I want to fuck you, Dustin. I want to pound your ass. I want to feel you come, your muscles gripping me, milking me.” Seth shut up, too far gone to form words.
“Harder,” Dustin pleaded over the phone. “Fuck me harder. Make me feel it.”
Grunts and profanity came over the phone, the sounds of Dustin getting closer.
Finally Seth loosed a shout, come spattering his bare chest. The phone fell to the bed. A moment later, Dustin shouted “Oh damn!” loudly, even with the speaker away from Seth’s ear.
Seth continued to convulse even after he’d quit spurting. Damn. Just… damn. He wiped his hands on his pants and put the phone back to his ear, grinning the grin of the sated. “I can’t wait until we do that for real.”
“Heh. You’ve given me added incentive to heal quicker.” More seriously, Seth said, “I love you, Dustin.”
“Love you too. Don’t worry, I’m coming home soon.”
SETHdrove his aunt’s bush hog the final lap around field, ensuring no tall grass remained for predators to hide in. A new electrified fence now marked the edges of the passel’s gathering place, strung between cedar posts with a little help from the Johnson boys. Seth had also lined up interviews for more full-moon guards, and a game warden to advise him on preventing owl attacks. Now all he needed was a steady job to bring in income, for he felt funny spending family money. He might need it for the passel.
All in all, he didn’t think he’d done too badly for his first two weeks on the job as the Jack. He parked the tractor in the barn and went inside his house—hishouse—to fix dinner.
“I’ve got it!” he told Monica a few hours later over a dinner of pot roast, stewed potatoes, and green beans—with a fair imitation of Aunt Irene’s buttermilk biscuits, if he did say so himself. “What if I turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast and invite city shifters to come out and enjoy the full moon in the great outdoors? We can advertise at the conventions. Not only will I generate an income, we can engender a little goodwill with other changelings.” He also had his eye on a vacant storefront in a perfect location for a studio. It seemed his alternative family photos were a hit, and he’d already secured space at the Anaheim convention. He’d had no idea the money to be made from unconventional family photos. Not to mention the nice check he’d received from a conservation magazine for pictures of the shifted Johnson boys. That reminded him. He needed to talk with Andy. An outdoorsman’s magazine had offered good money for candid fox photos.
“Oh, speaking of other shifters—” Monica turned her lips up in her most evil grin. “I heard today Mr. Big Shot Junior Timmerman is moving to New York.” She pronounced the town “New Yawk.”
“Really? Why?” Not that Seth wasn’t eternally grateful.
“Seems Widow Pickens called him out for running away and leaving the passel defenseless, and his new boyfriend gave him an ultimatum: move to the city, or else.”
Seth nearly choked on his green beans. “Michael? And Junior?” Damn. He’d hope they’d distract each other, but he’d never dreamed they’d turn out to be more than a brief fling. Didn’t Junior look down on Michael for not being a possum shifter? If so, Seth might have to confront the man. Then again, if Junior planned to move to New York for Michael, they must have started something serious.
“Yep.”
Seth hadn’t seen that one coming. “Ha! That’s a match made someplace unpleasant.” He hoped for Michael’s sake that Junior learned some manners, then wondered why he cared, unless he’d developed some kind of residual, “one of mine to take care of” thing for his ex, like he had for the passel members. Once he’d duty-bound himself to worry about a town full of people, what was one more? Well, with the exception of Junior, who could damned well take care of himself.
Seth and Monica shared a grin and some homemade apple pie.
After they’d washed and put away the dishes, they headed out to the front yard for Monica to share more possum wisdom. Seth scrunched up his face, trying to squeeze his muscles into possum shape.
“Not like that, you moron! What’re you trying to do, bust a spleen?” The only woman in Seth’s life stood, hands on hips, scowling. “Reach down inside, like you do for power, only instead of concentrating on your hand, send it evenly over your body. And don’t scowl! You look constipated.”
Seth focused on sending out the energy more uniformly. His inner critter laughed—he swatted it with a metaphysical hand.
One of the Johnson boys (Eddy?) came trotting across the yard, wearing bright orange board shorts and a dingy white wife beater. “Nah, that’s wrong. Imagine you’re playing Skyrim.” He held out his hands, miming working a game controller. “You know how your whole body tenses up? That’s the way to do it.”
A second Johnson appeared, dressed too similar to the first for clothing to be much help with identification. Was this one Freddy or Teddy? Seth considered labeling them for future reference. “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot! Imagine you’re listening to Rammstein and the music kinda vibrates through you.”
“They’re both wrong. What you gotta do is meditate, blank your mind.” That advice came from the third brother, now emerging from the trees separating Johnson land from McDaniel.
