Cream for the Cat
by B. Cavis

Cream for the Cat
by B. Cavis

There are soft lips tracing the curve of his throat and a rough hand wrapped around his cock when he wakes up, and Swopes blinks against the light that beats against the half-drawn curtains, fuzzily. Some part of his brain isn’t working right now, some vital part that’ll make all of the pieces draw together to form a picture, and all he is left with is the dots between the lines.

David loves it when he can keep that part from not working. Jay Swopes, who prior to last month had never looked at another man as anything other than a) a potential bully, b) a potential friend, or c) potential competition for a woman he wanted (but so obviously could not have, and therefore wanted single to feed his masturbatory fantasies) is discovering that he really likes it too.

“It’s early,” Jay notes, voice rough and slightly higher than normal. Waking up like this tends to dilute his thoughts from something thick and coherent and strong into something weak and watery. The mouth on his Adam’s Apple sucks harder, firmer. There is never any doubt in Creegan’s touch.

“I had some of your coffee,” Creegan says, a complete and utter non-sequitor. “You only had the powdered kind of cream, though. I hate the powdered kind of cream.” The teeth are hard and slightly mean against his skin.

“I’m s-sorry,” Jay whispers when the teeth pause for the appropriate response. The licks resume, like a cat bathing his throat in warm, wet, cleaning affection, and the fact that it’s Creegan makes that thought slightly odd, but still… okay.

Considering that the last time they sat down and ate a slice of pizza, Creegan started discussing the origin of the term “rule of thumb,” then picked up the remote control and measured it against his own hand, Jay is pretty comfortable making the leap of logic that this man he now shares part of his life with is no stranger to odd thoughts at odder times.

Of course, then Jay had jumped him without thinking for another second, and the clicker had gone flying into the corner. He’s always had a thing for available, beautiful people who want him, and with the shortage of them in the country, he has learned to take his opportunities quickly and with both hands.

Maybe, he thinks idly as the hand on his cock trails down the length of him, they all live in England. He’s heard there are lots of pretty people in England. Of course, they also have that issue with their teeth, and he’s always found a nice smile to be a major part of a person’s (he’s always been with women before this-- does that make him bi? Or just gay with limited experience?) overall attractiveness.

Yeah. Weird thoughts for weird people. David is no stranger, and neither is Swopes. Of course, he didn’t have a bullet helping him along in that regard. He dealt with being weird the old fashioned way; by sitting home alone every night in high school and jerking off while thinking of the girl who sat in front of him who once told him he might as well go throw himself in front of the school bus because no one really cared anyway.

He thinks David got it easier. He doesn’t tell him that.

Long lashed eyes look up at him, full of the energy and life and bouncy happy goodness that so defines his new lover in moments like this. A kid with a new toy and a thousand sun bleached afternoons to play.

Fingers that are never anything close to still trace varieties of lines down his skin, hard and soft and barely there, striping him with fingerprints and warmth. Lips press gently on both shoulders, streaming down the too-long arms and over the big, loosely clenched hands. He’s always hated his hands-- like giant paws.

Jay has always been the guy who all the women call “adorable” or “cute.” Never handsome, never attractive, never sexy. He’s been… the Teddy Bear Boy for most of his life, and his oversized hands, odd walk, and not quite certain status in his own skin have just added to that reputation.

The mouth around his pointer finger is destroying the “cute” demon. The teeth that are inside it are destroying him. Creegan learns with all of his senses, all of the time, and even as his tongue swirls and his teeth test texture and solidity, his nostrils are flaring to absorb smell. The lips determine temperature, the eyes seeking proof of that heat up on Jay’s face, and he is being dissected by a behavioral genius.

He used to be able to keep his dignity underneath a lover’s hands. David has told him that he thinks that inappropriate, like a lie to someone that deserves nothing but truth.

All thoughts of composure are forced out of him when David starts sucking on his middle finger, burring the digit up to the palm in his mouth. His nose is cold against Jay’s palm, but he doesn’t care. He pushes his middle finger in and out of the other man’s mouth with slow, steady, fucking movements, and watches the eyes that are always watching him. There are a hundred and ten dirty words, pleas, demands that run through his brain, but he’s not that kind of person and David knows it. He doesn’t say things like “I want to split your ass open on my dick” or “suck my cock and swallow me.” David would consider it dishonest if these words came out of his mouth now-- an act of oral betrayal that would soil whatever this is.

David’s eyes are dripping with dark humor and wit. Maybe, Swopes thinks for one stupid second, he can read my mind. Maybe he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Then he swallows and shakes himself out of it; they always look like that.

“Dave,” he whimpers, proud of himself for not stuttering or gasping the way he usually does when something is too much for him to handle. “I nuh… I need it today, please? I don’t want to wait, I need it.”

The eyes close in bliss for a moment, tongue swirling around the base of Jay’s finger like he’s trying to find some hidden flavor or secret stash of something, and it hits Jay that he has never seen anything more beautiful than this man nuzzling his palm while he works his taste buds across him. David’s teeth scrape up the length of his finger as he pulls back. The saliva starts to dry in the air, cooling Jay’s skin. He shivers slightly, but not really from the cold.

“Put your hands on the headboard,” David says, not quite an order, but most definitely not a request. The wood is cool underneath his palm, and Creegan nods happily. “Keep them there, okay? Okay?”

And because he’s going to keep asking “Okay” until Swopes gives him an answer, he nods. “Yeah.”


The hand around his cock again.

The teeth on his nipple.

The man in his bed.

“Do it to yourself,” David says softly, face bright and happy with the idea of trying something new. His hand is tight, almost too tight, and he gives Jay an experimental pump. “Fuck yourself on me. I wanna watch.”

And Jay may not be able to pull off language like that, but David sure as hell can. His hips thrust forward, cock pushing into the hole created for him and him alone. Like a vice around him, like the glory hole encounters he used to read about in Penthouse, he can feel his balls tightening as he moves.

David bites down on the first nipple that comes close enough to his lips, and Swopes is panting now. “You want it?” the man who is breaking him apart asks, all darkness and lust. “Huh? You want to come, Jay?”

“Yuuuuuhnnn…” He moves faster and harder, and he is peripherally aware that David is licking his own finger now.

“I bet you do,” he says cheerfully, and his finger presses into Jay’s asshole.

Jay presses his hands harder against the wood, imagining that the grain of it is tattooing his hands. David rubs his cock against his leg, hot, thick flesh against muscle and hair, and the finger is inside him now, searching for that spot that has been used and abused so many times over the past couple of weeks. Jay shifts, trying to get there faster, still moving, fucking David’s hand and involuntarily fucking his own ass on the finger. The mouth that spells his defeat gives a particularly hard suck on his nipple.

The finger finds his prostate as his hips lose all rhythm. Jay squeezes his eyes shut, throwing his head back and gasping. Begging. Something is white and hot behind his eyelids, and his entire body throws itself into the air for a split second, defying gravity with a scream.

David laughs while he crashes. Laughs softly and cheerfully, and grunts once as he covers Jay’s upper thigh with come.

His mouth tastes like sex and satisfaction. Jay hadn’t realized that taste existed until he met David Creegan.

Their tongues touch, teeth clicking together softly. It’s sweet, too sweet, and Jay grunts out something meaningless and soft, but David understands it and pulls away.

David always understands it. The pair, two oddballs sharing warmth, understand a great deal of things about each other.

“Don’t worry about the cream,” his lover reassures calmly, like they never stopped the conversation. “I’ll bring the other kind over next time.”

One hand skims over his lower abdomen, barely there, and Swopes arches up in reaction, sucking his stomach in. “Next time?”

“Is Thursday good for you?” He rolls over on top of Jay, stomach pressed against his upper thighs. The look in his eye is wicked and hyper.


Feed me. It stops the voices and soothes the hunger. Really... Okay, not really. But it helps.

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