Ruff Trouble

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Sam braced his weight on his elbows. Covered by nothing more than a sheet, he rubbed a hand over his face, blinking. Okay, he’d be the first to admit he’d had a couple of beers and a few shots of tequila—he hadn’t counted how many—but he didn’t recall it being so many he should hallucinate. The scratch of early morning stubble certainly suggested he was alert and not dreaming.

How early? He took his eyes off Bobby to peek at the red digital readout of the alarm clock. How could it be only 3am?

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Bobby drawled out the words.

“Wake…?” Sam peered around, trying to focus, trying to remember. His place and bed weren’t this nice. He lay on Bobby and Chantelle’s mattress, wearing his boxers. They had a guest room, but they hadn’t bought furniture for it yet, so he’d crawled into here, their room. Bobby stood in the doorway to the master bedroom’s en-suite, the other door to the living room ajar.

“Chantelle’s using the main bathroom, and neither of us could wait.” Bobby waved a hand behind him and, putting a logical course of thought together, Sam worked out his friends had awoken at the same time, both needing to use the toilet. Either that or they’d never fallen asleep. The couch wasn’t much of a cosy spot for two although he’d slept on it a few times.

He opened his mouth to apologise, about to say, since this was their bed, was only fair if one of them woke him, but his reason for being here came flooding back. His fuzzy head recollected watching a movie, a few hands of cards. He didn’t recall finishing. Some remark…a mention of…oh God! Strip poker. He’d ignored them though his heart fluttered. Didn’t stop his friends, though. They continued playing and throwing back alcohol, grinning, laughing, all the while Sam’s mood grew ever more brooding and darker. Even without Sam taking an active part in expanding the game, the couple had changed the way they played, swapping items of clothing and kisses, and other stupid forfeits as they lost hands to each other.

At some point, Sam opted out and sat leaning against the sofa, watching while the exchanges grew more heated. Kisses weren’t mere pressed lips, but duelling tongues. Hands tickled, groped. A pile of surrendered clothing grew. Bobby had scooped Chantelle onto his lap on the floor as she lost another hand.

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” He’d smoothed back her hair, studied her face. For an instant they might have been the only two in the room, Chantelle down to her bra although she’d kept her undies and jeans, Bobby in his underpants.

Even now, Sam recalled his disappointment over Bobby winning the final round, having never seen his friend naked. He might now never get the chance. Not that the current view was in any way terrible. The man wore nothing more than boxers, the kind that clung; the cut gave his body an athletic outline, made Sam bite his lower lip.

The ghost of an image haunted him—Chantelle in Bobby’s lap, Bobby’s fingers snaking into the wild tumble of her hair, kissing first her lips, before tilting her head back as she exposed her throat. Bobby fastening his lips and teeth there as if he would rip apart her tender flesh.

From her throat, he’d kissed to her breasts, and Sam had watched as Bobby eased her down, climbing over her, all the while kissing and licking her neck and chest. With his head swimming with confusion, Sam had moved from the floor to the sofa, nerves screaming for him to leave. To hell with the cost of the cab—he should call despite the expense—but he hadn’t been able to think straight enough to follow through. With no way to walk out, he was trapped. f*****g leg. No way to get far on the damaged limb and all the alcohol screwed with his brain. Still did.

The sole relief came at the end from closing his eyes, but he hadn’t been able to block his ears.

“Hmm…there. Oh, Bobby, yes, right…there.”

In his mind, it had been Sam screaming out, Oh Bobby, yes, right there. Impotent in every way but the one for which he wished, Sam’s attempt to tune them out had resulted in a single prayer: his best friends were not about to screw right there with him in the room.

If only he could forget, but the fog continued to clear from his brain and Chantelle’s soft moans came through to him even though they’d long ceased. Even though she weren’t in the room now.

Those sounds had called to something inside him, made Sam picture his helping Bobby pleasure the woman. He might do anything to please Bobby, and, although he preferred men, if he were to sleep with any woman, he’d choose Chantelle. The woman was too sexy for words. Few men, or women, resisted responding to her if she gave them her attention.

Lying tangled in a bed with sheets a mere day or two washed but distinctly smelling of the happy couple, he wasn’t sure he didn’t feel the same way right now. Why did they screw around in front of him forcing him to leave the room? Had they expected him to join in? Did Chantelle have a two-d**k fantasy Bobby wished to make real?

Yes, Bobby. Anything you say, Bobby.

Did Bobby witness the notion in his eyes? Why did the man continue to stand there, staring at him?

Sam recalled his last words as he’d fled: “If you two are going to f**k around in here, I’ll go sleep in your room.”

He regretted saying it; certain he’d lost a chance at something he wasn’t sure he even had a right to hope for. He longed to apologise even if unsure of why he felt sorry. He couldn’t, too distracted by the persistent illusion Bobby had two contrasting eyes.

“What the f**k is wrong with your eyes?” Either Bobby would explain or tell him he was crazy, in which case he probably was.

“Nothing. I wear a contact so they match. This is how my eyes are.”

Sam heard someone laugh, realised it was him. “No…one has eyes like that.” He almost said human.

“Most people don’t have a d**k and a v****a, but it’s possible.”

“Shit.” Not eloquent but what should he say when one blue eye shone like a beacon in the night? Like a warning signal coming toward him. He put a hand out as Bobby crawled over the mattress. He met the other man’s stare unable to drag his gaze away.

“I’m still me, Sam.” Bobby crouched over him, knees to Sam’s right, a hand braced near his right shoulder, the other hand close to Sam’s left side. “Did you flag on us, or did we frighten you away? We were trying to be subtle, but it’s not our strong point. Maybe a more direct approach is called for.”

Huh?

No way did Bobby mean what Sam thought he did. The fantasy playing out in his head should remain trapped, yet the vibrancy of the blue-ringed eye made a mockery of dreams, even erotic ones.

That’s it. This is a dream. Maybe they slipped something into my drink. Someone must have because tequila never affected him this way.

Bobby c****d his head to one side. On all fours and with those different-coloured eyes, all Bobby needed was a collar and lead. The image brought a bubble of laughter to Sam’s throat, but before it burst out, Bobby chased it back by saying, “You thinking of running out on me?”

“What?”

“Are you leaving? Chantelle says you are, even before we talked over dinner.”

How did she know? Didn’t matter how she knew or what she guessed at. Knowing Chantelle, the likelihood of her making an accurate assumption was as strong as the chance of a rumour, though he hadn’t spoken about his plans to anyone. Sam shrugged as best he could, on his back flat to the bed. “Maybe.” How best to answer? Difficult to decide while he stared at the blue eye more than the brown, unable not to, mesmerised. “There’s nothing for me here.”

He didn’t mean to sound harsh. He didn’t intend to make Bobby flinch. Leaning more on his left hand now, the man used his right to trace the outline of Sam’s cheek to his jaw with his index finger. “And what if there were?”

Sam didn’t get to respond, or even consider Bobby’s words. The man’s touch, as his finger slipped over Sam’s face by degrees sent little jolts into his body. The first couple Sam quelled, or at least held inside. By the third, his body betrayed him, and by the fourth into the fifth pause against his skin, Sam closed his eyes, threw his head back, and arched.

Ah, f**k…

He tried to formulate a way to excuse his response, but what was the point when a hot tongue settled to licking all the way from the hollow of his throat along his neck to his ear, chased by teeth that fastened on his skin.

Vaguely aware his hands braced a fine broad chest Sam regained enough sense of self and strength to hold Bobby at bay. His body went back flat to the bed, and he once again peered into those peculiar eyes. Hell, if the posture he found himself in wasn’t submissive. Bobby leaned over him, Sam baring his throat to the other man. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, honey.” Chantelle’s warm, rich voice drifted from the doorway. Although he made out her shape, he failed to see much of her face.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” Bobby’s voice was a whisper. Sam frowned at him, the blue eye cold and penetrating, the brown eye softer, yet still a little menacing. How was it possible to feel threatened even when safe? He was safe, wasn’t he? Yes. He had nothing but confidence in Bobby. He trusted the man with his life. The question was whether he had enough faith in the man with anything else.

“I’m not about to lose you,” Bobby declared.

Sam snorted. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t do something against your nature.”

“Let me worry about what is in my nature.”

Sam swallowed. “I…You…” Great. He was a stuttering i***t now. “You’ve never…”

“Given any sign? Well, neither have you.” From the doorway, Chantelle coughed. Bobby grimaced. “Although according to my woman, I was too blind to see.”

“Yeah. Maybe you needed to remove the contact sooner.” Sam was going mad.

Bobby’s mouth pulled to the side in a twisted grin. “Maybe I did.”

“Maybe men need to be more honest about their emotions.” In reply to Chantelle’s comment, Sam was sure his and Bobby’s hurt expressions mirrored each other’s.

“Even if true,” Sam insisted, “I can’t ask you to act on what I want. It’s too late. You two have a real chance.”

“Hey, I’m not planning on going anywhere, mate,” Chantelle snapped, sounding more like the man in the room than the two men combined.

Aware he was frowning, all Sam could do was to stare at Bobby, whose grin now spread to include his teeth. “Think you can handle her? Think you can handle the two of us?”

A lump formed in Sam’s throat. His heart struggled to beat. He forced out the words, “I’m wondering the same thing.”