Tomcat Jones: Karma Chameleon

Willa Okati

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Arden doesn't usually take life that seriously. Why should he? He's got good if weird shape-shifting-inclined friends and he's grooving the mother of all extended hookups with Shavey, the only man Arden's ever met who gives as goo...
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Arden doesn't usually take life that seriously. Why should he? He's got good if weird shape-shifting-inclined friends and he's grooving the mother of all extended hookups with Shavey, the only man Arden's ever met who gives as good as he gets and takes as vigorously as he receives -- and that's just in bed. He's living the sweet life, right?

Arden freely admits he's a pain in the ass. He's lewd, crude, shameless, and very nearly a nymphomaniac. Sure, he's got some good qualities, but that's never before been enough for someone he loved to stick around. Though he loves Shavey and wishes he could be the kind of long-term lover Shavey wants, Arden can't pretend to be something he's not.

The only place that leaves him is waiting for that other shoe to drop--drop-kick him out the door, that is. Though Shavey promises otherwise, Arden's heard that song and dance before. He's not buying it.

But that's all before Arden needs Shavey's help breaking a chameleonic shapeshifting curse. In return, there are a few things big bad bear Shavey would like to ask for -- and intends to prove to Arden -- in return.

  • Note:This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Male/male sexual practices.
Love makes people crazy.
-- Arden Alsace (one year ago)

Shavey hit the floor of his condo with an ever-so-satisfying thump. His head bounced off the carpet. This failed to bother Arden. The man had a noggin like a cannonball. The bigger they were, the harder they went down, and having the big fellow at his mercy was the whole reason for Arden’s tackle at the door. Hadn’t he been subjected to plenty of lustful ambushes in the year they’d been together?

Answer: yes. They'd met by virtue of their respective best buddies Thomas Cattrell "T.J." Jones and MacGowan Smith hooking up. No one had seen it coming, not even Arden. Especially not Arden. Yet somehow Shavey had gotten underneath his skin, and ever since then they'd had a hell of a lot of fun together.

Arden climbed atop that man of his before Shavey had time to process what the hell might be going on, which was exactly how Arden liked him. He nudged his knees into Shavey’s underarms and hunkered down to stare at Shavey eye to eye from approximately three inches away.

“So,” he started, as casually as other men might discuss the weather, “I got bored.”

“No kidding.” Shavey made a show of blinking and shaking his head as if to make sure the contents were still intact. “You mind getting off me now?”

Arden couldn’t help but notice that while Shavey’s mouth said one thing, Shavey had in the meantime laid hands on Arden, not to give him the old heave-ho, but to knead his ass. And a very fine ass it was, if he did say so himself -- and as Shavey often did. He poked Shavey in the nose and leered at him. “I was thinking more of getting you off instead.”

“That could also work. Wait. Arden, cut it out.”

“That’d curtail the night’s activities in fine style.”

“Arden.” Shavey let go of Arden’s ass and held him off by the upper arms. Arden sighed, rolled his eyes, and succumbed. “I can’t even get inside the door?”

“You were gone for a week,” Arden pointed out. He wriggled free of Shavey’s admittedly not-too-tight restraint and draped himself over the big lug. “You, gone. Me, bored.” He ticked the key points off on his fingers. “You, here. Me, here.”

“You, caveman?” Shavey tried a buck and roll, which did absolutely nothing to dislodge Arden and absolutely everything to give him a nice little ride. Sort of like surfing and hitting that perfect wave. Then wiping out. There was even a prizewinning board back there liable to smack him in the tuchus.

“I can do caveman if you like.” Arden slid down into the most enjoyable spot of this particularly pleasant saddle, and rubbed cat-style against Shavey.

Shavey’s eyelids fell shut. See? The gentleman protested too much. Arden knew what Shavey wanted. So the big ox had to suffer a mild concussion to get there. Arden had excellent ways of making amends.

After driving Shavey crazy, of course. That was part of the fun. With Shavey’s hands back on him as they should be, Arden assessed the motion of Shavey’s ocean. He noted with no small amount of pleasure when he bumped and grinded against his man that it looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d missed regular schtupping while Shavey had frittered away his time on a business trip.

Time to up the ante? Arden thought yes. Displaying greater strength of will, Arden slowed to a deep dip and grind that made Shavey try to glare at him while Shavey's eyes insisted on rolling back in his head. “Fuck, Arden. You pain in the ass.”

“No, that’s your job.” Arden did rather like the looks of Shavey strung out and in dire need of a good time. “I’ve been looking forward to a good pain in my --”

“I get the point.” Shavey bucked, grabbed, rolled, and after the world went briefly tilt-a-whirl, Arden ended up on his back with Shavey above him, the big lug's not-inconsiderable bulk pinning Arden like a moth to a board. Damn; Shavey proved to have been underestimated. Arden kept making that mistake. One would think he’d learn.

One would be wrong, given how much fun it was to screw up and, well, get screwed. Game advantage to Arden when playing with a man with a temper like Shavey's: getting him worked up enough to tear loose.

Arden put up a good fight. Sort of. If he happened to rub up when Shavey thrust down, grinding very interested flesh against very interested flesh, then that was a coincidental bonus. The fact that Shavey had pinned his arms back just as Arden liked best was merely gravy. “You were saying something about getting in the door?”

“Gone for a week and I don’t even get a chance to take my shoes off?” Shavey inquired with a most impressive roll of the hips, one that drove Arden to the embarrassing need to moan. Nay, to whimper, though he'd deny that one to his dying day. “Hmm? No quip or barb?”

“I have other things on my mind now. Behold: demonstration.” Arden brought his knees up to clamp tight on either side of Shavey for the purposes of (a) directing him, (b) controlling him, and (c) hanging on for dear life. Call it (d) all of the above.

“Is that a fact?” Shavey shook Arden off and knelt up.

Arden took advantage of Shavey’s posing pause to enjoy the visual. A big man, Shavey. Broad of shoulder and wide of chest. Thick in cock. He looked good this way, sprawled on the floor with his dignity temporarily gone AWOL.

Go figure, eh? If anyone had told Arden a year ago he’d be here on his back beneath a man, mouth positively watering over the thought of cock, he’d have laughed till he cried. Him? With a man? Not likely.

And then there had been Shavey. Proud as the devil, classy as the latest issue of the New Yorker, and rich as good old Midas. He had the world by the balls and made sure the world knew it as well as he did. He dressed like a king, even the most casual of his clothes displaying a certain sort of tailored elegance.

Unless he was with Arden. Arden knew he himself looked, and was, as cheap and easy as rolling in the mud. And he took great pride in that, thank you.

Arden skimmed his hands up Shavey’s chest as high as he could reach, taking his time in enjoying the sensation of firm, cut muscle. However, his own pleasure was in this case merely incidental; his real goal was to drive Shavey crazy enough to issue a particularly frustrated growl that made Arden -- he’d admit it -- tingly.

Apparently a week away had improved Shavey’s stamina as much as it'd strained his libido. Either that or he’d been planning ahead for this moment and practicing his tantric control. Which worked for Arden. Up to a point -- and he thought he might be rapidly approaching where XY marked the spot.

Directness was to be desired in all things. Usually. Definitely now. “Do you plan on fucking me anytime soon or not?”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“I prefer sex.”

“You would.” Shavey ceased participating in the good stuff and lay back, fingers laced into a cradle for his head. “Maybe it’s just being back from a business trip, but I’m in the mood for some terms and conditions.”

Hmm. By now Arden had considerable experience with Shavey’s brand of negotiation. Could be good, such as the time when he’d come home from another boring trip with a small whip that had lashes as soft as feathers. Could be great, such as the time Arden had convinced him to try body shots made of vodka and pudding. What? They went together better than one might think.

Could be awful, if Shavey brought up what Arden suspected he might bring up.

Still, on the off chance that there might be pudding involved, Arden restarted the slow roll of his hips in a grand gesture of magnanimity. “You have my attention.”

“Good to know,” Shavey said, depressingly dry for a man in his situation. More encouraging was the way he reached for Arden, massaging Arden’s hips and thighs, hands roaming as if once he'd started he couldn’t bear to stop. Arden softened toward Shavey. Except where he grew harder.

Yet beyond the caresses, Shavey did -- nothing. It was nice for a minute. Then, not so much, and not nearly enough. Arden cleared his throat. Pointedly.

Shavey grinned at him.

Arden rolled his eyes. "For the love of Pete. Do we have a reason for this particular holdup?"

Shavey hmmed and continued his campaign of caresses. “You’re familiar with the whole concept that nothing comes for free?”

“I’ve heard of it, yes.”

“Good.” Shavey stopped moving precisely one inch too far off target. Damn his sense of measurements. “I want you to kiss me.”

Arden’s brain stalled. “If you think that wasn’t what I’ve been doing for a year now, then I’ve been doing it wrong.”

“Not that kind of kiss.” Shavey raised his knees to plant his feet flat on the floor and rolled Arden upward, over, and down in a sort of sexually twisted two-man somersault that put Arden on his back on the floor with Shavey looming over him.

"Whoa." Arden's head spun. "Take it easy, macho man. Don't know if anyone ever told you this, but concussions aren't conducive to bumping uglies." Feeling abruptly claustrophobic, Arden pushed at Shavey's wide chest. "Get off."

"Not yet." Shavey stroked beneath Arden's chin and tilted his head ever so gently to one side to meet his stare. “I said, give me a kiss. Not just a prelude. Something that says ‘welcome home’ better than a case of rug burn.”

Uh-oh. Arden tried to stall by crossing his arms on Shavey’s chest -- plenty of room -- and propping his chin on his hands. “And why would I do that?”

Shavey cupped the side of Arden’s face and drew his thumb over Arden’s cheek in light brushes. “You know why, even if you pretend you don’t.”

Damn, damn, damn! Arden tried deflection. “There’s plenty of sailors out there who’d have no problem with my kind of --”

Deflection failed to work. Shavey regarded Arden with the calm, dark flatness he pulled out when he meant absolute and utter business. No more bullshit. Do or do not, but there was no try and no use at all in asking why.

Arden gave up the battle for the sake of the war. Not difficult to do when Shavey held Arden firmly by the back of his head. Inflexible. Unbearably gentle. Shavey, who waited for Arden to settle before taking what he’d asked Arden to give, coaxing Arden’s lips apart. The kiss deepened on Arden’s small groan, swallowed to near silence by Shavey’s lips and Shavey’s strong arms holding him in place.

I am in so much trouble, Arden admitted to himself. Not for the first time.

And that was enough of that. Arden pulled away from Shavey, gratified to see that at least the kiss had dazed his man into temporary submission. One firm yank of a zipper, one tug at far too restrictive khaki and cotton, and Arden’s lips brushed Shavey’s cock when he murmured, “You were saying something about terms and conditions?”

“Hell. Sometimes I talk too much,” Shavey said. “Ngh.

“That’s my boy. Now. How shall I suck thee? Let me count the ways.”

Arden prided himself on how well he’d taken to the arts of man fucking. Let his pal T.J. mock and call him “bottom boy” if he would. Took one to know one, didn’t it?

“One, with a twist and a lick,” Arden said. He sealed his lips around Shavey’s cock and glided down.

“Holy --” Shavey jackknifed. His chest heaved. “Did you get better at this while I was away?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Thank God. Don’t stop.”

“No intention of it. Two, with a sweep of the tongue.” Arden demonstrated, rather enjoying the sensation of corona and ridge and even the taste of salt and musk that came with a drop of precum that made a direct hit on his taste buds. “Or how about three, with a bit of throat?”

Copyright © Willa Okati


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