The Winter Courtship Rituals of Fur-Bearing Critters (8 page)

As he took off his outerwear and tramped the snow out of his boots and put everything to rights in his small little home, he realized that sleep was going to be a damned long time coming.

He might as well work on Ben’s question now.

He pulled out alpaca yarn, some in rust and some in teal, and worked quickly, whipping the thing up in no time. He liked it—it made him laugh—and it sure did answer one of the questions Ben had hurled at him when he’d had his fur ruffled, didn’t it?

He liked it so much he made another one, in different colors, just to give Ben a choice. He looked at his handiwork—knitting as joke and knitting as a proposition of sorts—and smiled. No, Crawford didn’t talk a lot. But sometimes he got his point across just fine.

Chapter 6
The Curious Behavior of a
Mated Pair of Furry Mammals

Ben was wearing the fingerless mitts as Crawford approached, with a pair of thin black factory-made gloves underneath them. Crawford’s eyes narrowed at that violation, and then he remembered that he’d had other things to do with his time and that Ben had still been cold.

Crawford had walked this time, leaving Everclear in the stable, mostly because after the trip the day before, he felt like it, and Ben’s little pasture fence was really not that far away. Ben was out in front of his house, salting the walk to keep it from getting icy. It was a little early for that—most folks tried to show more fortitude that way—but Crawford applauded the effort. His sweet little California bunny might actually keep hopping until spring.

Ben looked up as Crawford swung over the fence, and he set down the bag of salt and rolled the top shut. “Morning, Rance,” he said mildly, but there was some hope in his eyes.

Crawford’s smile was pure and whole. No one in the whole world had called him “Rance” since his mother had passed about six years ago, and damned if he didn’t love the way Ben said his name.

Ben’s own smile grew slack, and his mouth opened a little, and as they stood, just looking at each other, those pretty eyes grew round and excited.

Something is going to happen.

Crawford blushed. Well, it was sort of up to him now, wasn’t it? He pulled his gifts out of his pocket and put them into Ben’s hand. Ben opened his hand and held both choices from thumb and forefinger, regarding them with sort of a shocked awe.

“You said you had a question?” Ben asked, his voice squeaking.

Craw looked at his handiwork, still pleased. “You said your dick was going to freeze off,” he said matter-of-factly. “These will make sure it doesn’t.”

Ben’s eyes practically crossed. “They look a little, uhm, narrow to fit.”

Crawford’s smile widened. “I’m pleased to hear that. They’ll stretch.”

Ben’s entire body was shaking with silent laughter as he looked at the unmistakably phallic tubes of wool, each of them complete with a contrasting color on the mushroom head and the scrot sac for the twins. One was teal and rust and one was purple and gray, but it didn’t make a difference. What mattered was where they would be worn and who would know they were there.

“Uhm….” Ben closed his eyes and opened them again, but no, they hadn’t magically changed into a sweater or anything while his eyes were closed. “Rance.” His voice squeaked. “You, uhm, said you had a question for me?”

Crawford nodded. His voice sobered, and his grin faded as he said, “Wear my work.”

Ben’s entire body stilled. “Wh—” he started out, but there must have been something in his throat, because he coughed to clear it and then tried again. “Which one? When?”

“Whichever one you want. Tonight. As many nights as you can stand me after that. We’re getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Stay the night. Help me and Ari cook. Stay that night. Be with me when my friends arrive. Just….” Crawford looked past him for a minute, to his little house, to his animals, and even beyond, down the swept hill into the little valley of Granby and up across the mountains and into that infinite sky. “Just know that if you want to sleep in your own bed, for a night, for permanent, that when I want you, I want
you.
Not just the guy down the road.”

Ben’s eyes grew gentle. He put the cock cozies in the pocket of his parka and took a few steps in. “Is that what you’ve been worried about me thinking?” he asked seriously, and Crawford shrugged, digging his own hands even deeper into the pockets of his jeans.

“We’re two gay men in a very small town,” he said by way of explanation. “You didn’t know that… that my whole world stopped when I first saw you smile.” He was seriously sweating now, and it wasn’t warm. He could actually see steam rising from under his collar. How completely embarrassing.

Suddenly Ben’s face was in his vision, his green eyes kind. “What was it you said? Something about ‘just because you put a mating pair in a pen doesn’t mean one of them’s going ass-up for the other one’?”

Crawford knew his eyes went big. “You remember that?” he squeaked. God. Who knew his voice could break that hard?

Ben nodded, some of his smile coming back. He took a step, and another, until they were close, intimately close. “I don’t go ass-up for just anyone, Rance,” he said softly. “It’s got to be someone who’s kind, and thoughtful, and simple enough that only an idiot doesn’t know where he stands.” His mouth turned down, like maybe he was thinking
he
was the idiot, and then he kissed Crawford so gently it damn near hurt. Crawford started to lean into the kiss, make it a serious thing, when Ben pulled back.

“I’ll see you tonight, after chores,” he said, and he didn’t smile, and neither did Crawford.

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night, after settling everyone down to bed, Crawford did a quick cleanup of his room. He threw all the clothes in the hamper, changed the sheets, and then hit the shower and hit it hard, paying special attention to all his intimate puckers and below-the-belt creases. He shaved close, used deodorant, brushed his teeth, combed his hair (which was sometimes a hit-or-miss proposition), and then put on a clean pair of sweats and a sweatshirt that didn’t have any holes in it and his leather moccasins, and he settled down to knit some on Ari’s layette. He was working on the blanket now, in its fantastical rainbow colors and its fingering-weight precious yarn, and he figured the project really would keep him occupied for much of the winter, with some time out to knit Ben a sweater for Christmas.

That last idea startled and pleased him, and he was well on his way to planning it out while his hands moved independently, so enchanted by the prospect that the knock on the door startled him.

And set his heart thundering in his ears.

He dropped the blanket in the basket and tried not to run to the door. When he opened it, there was Ben, a little backpack over his shoulder, his new jacket on against the November cold, his hat firmly over his head, his scarf nestled in against his neck, and his fingerless mitts on over those hateful factory-made gloves that Crawford would replace as soon as possible.

But still, Ben smiled up at him, and Crawford smiled back and let him in. He came, stomping the snow off of his boots and setting his backpack by the door before starting to take off his gloves and his jacket.

They still hadn’t said anything, and Crawford could only look at him hungrily, wondering if they’d be able to talk easy when it was done or if they would be there, together, moving, thrusting, screaming, all night long. He figured either one would be fine.

Then Ben got rid of his outerwear and stopped to unlace his boots, but he did an awkward little shimmy as he bent. His grin up at Crawford was wicked. “You know,” he said conversationally, “this thing sort of itches. You, uhm, wouldn’t want to help me take it off, would you?”

Spots danced in front of Crawford’s eyes. “I, uhm… oh, Christ.” All his blood just went south. “Hell yes. Yes. Yes, I want to help you take it off.”

Ben stood up then in his bare feet and grabbed Crawford’s hand, tugging gently. “Then let’s go do that,” he said, rising excitement in his voice, and Crawford followed him up the stairs.

They didn’t talk much after that.

The hallway was dark, and by the time they got to the bedroom, Crawford didn’t care much about turning on the lights. One minute they were padding across the carpet, and the next minute their mouths were fused together, and Ben’s hands, only a little chilled, were running over his stomach, up his ribs, palming his chest as he scraped his thumbs delicately across Crawford’s nipples. That last one made Crawford keen, because suddenly his cock was so full, so achy, that it actually hurt to be teased like that, even from his nipples. Ben must have known it, too—he made a chuckle in the back of his throat, and Crawford pressed deeper into the kiss and grabbed Ben’s slender hips and hauled him closer, grinding up against him and letting him know that this was business this time.

Crawford bent down and kissed Ben’s belly button, a dark divot in the pale flesh of his soft stomach, and then stood up, stripping off Ben’s shirt as he stood, planting kisses, nibbles, laves with his tongue as he went. He got to Ben’s nipples and stayed bent, suckling until Ben went, “Waauuuhh…. God… Crawford… killing me. This thing doesn’t stretch
that
much!” with his hands clenched in Crawford’s hair until it stung.

Crawford sank to his knees then and pulled the tab of the button fly open,
really
wanting to see if Ben was wearing his silly little gift.

Well, it wasn’t so little now.

For belonging to a smaller, slender man, Ben’s cock was exceptional, and Crawford was always appreciative of functional art. At the moment it was jammed into the cock cozy, and Crawford was all about setting it free. He slid the cozy off slowly, because he knew it would tease, and Ben’s gasp as Craw inched the wool over his cock was tortured.

The end was already slick and shiny with smeared pre-come, and Crawford grinned up at him. “Bet that itched,” he said, and Ben tilted his head back and groaned. Crawford set about making that better. He liked this part—he liked making his tongue flat and licking the head and sliding his lips over his teeth and making his mouth nice and wet. He
really
liked the taste, and the fullness, and the sounds Ben made when he pushed his head forward as far as it would go. And he
loved
it when Ben thrust hard into the back of his throat like he couldn’t help himself.

He stayed there, kneeling, kneading the backs of Ben’s thighs with his hands, then moving up to his backside and kneading harder. The side of his hand slid into the crease, and he got another surprise. He pulled back and looked up, skating his fingers in the freshly applied lubricant and giving the handle of the little rubber plug a flick. It was all he could do not to bury his head against Ben’s flank, yank that plug out, and then convulse and come in his sweats.

“You got wants you want to voice?” he asked gruffly, sticking his tongue out to a point and playing with the edge of Ben’s crown. Ben was circumcised, which was fitting, because his cockhead was naked and unprotected. It needed a cock cozy, or Crawford’s mouth, just to keep it warm.

“I’ve got a powerful need….” Ben gasped as Crawford opened his mouth again and pulled his cockhead in. His hands tightened and he stopped Crawford, who held still, Ben’s cock half in and half out, and just watched the play of pleasure and intention ripple across Ben’s face. “God, Crawford, I’d really love to go ass-up if you’d just poke me, okay?”

“Geeeeraaawww….” Crawford really
did
bury his head in Ben’s slender, muscled flank this time. He held on there for a moment, arms wrapped around Ben’s waist, until the need to come was beaten back a little, and then he stood and pushed Ben back against the bed.

“Ass up!” he commanded, thinking they would probably not get a chance to watch television tonight because he was going to want to do this face to face and spoon-style and maybe even sixty-nine before morning came, but right now, ass-up was absolutely imperative.

And there Ben was, his ass stretched and ready, wiggling in the air. Crawford had about a breath to rub his hands over the whiteness of it before a hard shudder took him, and he conceded they didn’t have much time. First he stripped naked and then grabbed a condom off the bed stand, watching Ben just stay there obediently, waiting to be mounted and fucked. Even the brushes of his own hands or clothing on his skin was like fire, and everything, from his hands to his breath to the sounds he was making without meaning to, shook. He pulled the plug out without much ceremony, and Ben’s long howl into the comforter was pretty satisfying.

But not as satisfying as shoving his hard, hurting cock into the place where the plug had been.

This time, Ben’s howl cracked up an octave or two, and Crawford reached around his waist and hauled him up so they were flush together, so close they
had
to be fucking or there wouldn’t have been any room for Crawford’s erection. He plastered his big hand up on Ben’s throat and nuzzled his ear. “All good?” he asked, and Ben shook his head and whimpered.

“So good. So good. God, don’t stop now, Rance, please?”

Crawford put his hands on Ben’s shoulders and pushed him forward, and then… oh God, and then thrust into him for all he was worth.

Ben made noises during sex, lots of them, grunting, pleading, begging words, and every noise ramped Crawford up that much higher, especially when Ben gave a huge, howling cry and convulsed, his hand moving on his cock clumsily and his broken half sobs muffled by the blankets.

“You come?” he asked, and Ben’s “Auuhh-huh!” was mostly yes, so he finally,
finally
let the tingling, smashing thing that had built up at the base of his spine, behind his balls, in the pit of his groin, explode, spilling so hot and so hard into the rubber that it scalded.

He fell over Ben’s back then, his arms spasming around Ben’s chest, and listened to Ben laugh breathlessly as their combined weight slowly squashed them flat into the bed. They stayed there for a while, and Crawford placed a smattering of tiny kisses along Ben’s slender shoulders, and Ben made a luxuriating sound in spite of Craw’s solid body on his.