Chapter 19
I smiled down at my sleeping husband. He was lying in his favorite position, comfortably sprawled on his stomach with one hand under his pillow (which still hid a large knife—old habits die hard). His dark blond hair was tousled and soft, his long lashes were fanned against his freckled cheeks, and his lush lips were slightly parted. It seemed almost a shame to disturb him, but my plans for today didn't include spending all morning asleep.
The past couple of weeks had gone by fairly peacefully. The vampires had returned home safely after spending a day at our house, and they'd kept in touch on how Justin was recovering. Dean was enjoying his work at the auto shop, and my classes and part-time job were going well. The second floor was only missing a couple pieces of furniture, and we were currently focused on the basement workshop, having completed the panic room and vault. We'd even gone on another case the previous weekend, a salt-and-burn in Klamath Glen so easy that we spent more time rolling around in our soft bed at the B&B than we did working.
Now my primary concern was deciding the best way to wake the sleeping beauty next me. I wanted to keep him in a good mood despite what he'd consider the unreasonably early hour for a Saturday. So I leaned over and started laying a line of kisses down the warm skin over the center of his firm back. He stirred as I reached the base of his spine and murmured incoherently into the pillow, still not quite awake.
I filled my hands with his rounded buttocks and spread them so that I could run my tongue down the crease between to the pink furl of his entrance. I licked at the dried semen crusted around it before pushing my tongue past the outer ring of muscle, still loosened from last night's exertions. I tasted the remnants of our mingled fluids while thrusting my tongue in and out of his puckered hole. He gasped and lifted his hips, allowing me to reach deeper into his slick channel. By the time I pulled my face away, my lips and chin were wet with spit, and he was keening and writhing beneath my hands.
I wiped my chin off with one hand and rolled my lover onto his back with the other. I then slid my tongue up his perineum and gently scraped my teeth over his scrotum before drawing each of his testicles into my mouth and rolling them around. He gasped and arched his back as I wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft and swallowed him down. I inserted two fingers of my free hand into his velvety passage and rubbed the tips against his prostate while bobbing my head up and down his length. It took only a couple of minutes of sucking his cock and massaging his sweet spot before he shouted and came, filling my mouth with his warm seed.
As I sat back and swallowed, Dean eyed my neglected erection and lifted up his legs in invitation. I wasted no time in sinking into his tight channel, and we both sighed happily when I bottomed out. I thrust in and out of him, starting at a slow, steady pace and gradually increasing the speed and intensity until I was practically slamming him into the mattress. He cried out and squeezed his inner walls each time the head of my member grazed his pleasure spot, which just encouraged me to go harder and faster. The bed was creaking in protest by the time I groaned and ejaculated, and he followed me noisily into orgasm almost immediately after.
Once I was capable of speech again, I kissed my brother tenderly. Good morning, Dee! Happy birthday!
He kissed back and then gave me a puzzled look. Not that I'm complaining 'bout the awesome wake-up call, but my birthday ain't 'til Monday, dude.
I know, but we're celebrating early. I've got a bunch of stuff planned for today that I think you'll really enjoy. Tomorrow we're staying in and relaxing, and you'll get your presents. There's going to be no working this weekend—no cases, no renovations, no chores. Now come on! I bounced out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.
He followed me slowly. What's the big deal? This ain't a milestone birthday—I'm just turning thirty-two.
I'm making up for lost time, I told him as I turned on the shower. How often has anyone done something nice for your birthday? God knows Dad never did. I doubt he even remembered most years, not when there were more important things to think about, like hunting and drinking. I used to make you a card and get you a little gift each year when I was a kid, but when I got to be a teenager I became too absorbed with my own issues and stopped. But you always made or bought me a cake and gave me something for my birthday, even if all you could afford was a paperback I wanted. So just like last month was for all the Christmases we never celebrated, this is for all the birthdays I skipped.
Sammy, you don't hafta—
Yes, I do, Dee. I held my hand out.
He took it and stepped into the shower after me. I pulled him close, and we made out while hot water hit us from the rainfall showerhead above and body jets to the sides. Once we were thoroughly wet, we took turns massaging each other with shampoo and shower gel. After we'd rinsed all the suds off, I hoisted my brother up, and he wrapped his limbs around me as his silky channel slid around my cock. I pushed him against the wall and proceeded to pound into him strongly while sucking a hickey into the base of his neck. He held on tightly and swore or chanted my name with each forceful thrust. He reached his climax first, and I surged into his taut passage a few more times before shooting my load deep inside him.
Ya know, we don't hafta go out today. In fact, why don't we not leave the bedroom at all? he coaxed as I dried him off.
We can do that all day tomorrow if you want. But I told you, today we have plans! I then gently shoved him towards the walk-in closet before drying myself off.
Dean grumbled while getting dressed, but his natural curiosity soon took over, and he followed me willingly to my car. We drove into Eugene, where our first stop was at Bagel Sphere, where we filled up on coffee and breakfast sandwiches. We also got a bag of bagels, some muffins and scones, and freshly-made flavored cream cheeses to go. I stored the cream cheese in our old green cooler, which was already loaded with ice.
Next we drove up to the Eugene Airport to visit the Oregon Air and Space Museum, which was housed in a large hangar. There were aircraft of all kinds on display inside and outside, including fighter jets and bombers from World War I through Operation Desert Storm, as well as engines, flight suits, and uniforms. There were also exhibits on the first flight around the world, the timeline of the space program, aircraft armaments, a tribute to the Oregon Aces, a large collection of model aircraft, and more.
Dean, of course, loved all of it. He was like a little kid, tugging on my hand as he scampered between displays, begging me to take pictures of him with the planes he liked best, and pestering the kind staff with questions. He frequently looked like his hands itched to dance over one of the cockpits' controls or take apart one of the engines. And the way he was eyeing the model planes . . .
"This going to be the start of a new hobby, isn't it?" I asked with a grin as we walked out.
He blushed a little. "Maybe . . . I was just thinking that now we can actually have real hobbies, ya know? Most of the stuff I did before for fun, like cooking and working on Baby, was shit that I enjoyed but also had to be done. And except for the few tools I had, none of 'em required us to carry a lotta things around—even for cooking, I either used shit that was already in the kitchen or bought cheap crap that I didn't care 'bout leaving behind. You and your books were the same way—other than a few favorites you kept with you, you mostly just downloaded or borrowed 'em. And that was 'cause we couldn't afford to be loaded down on the road.
"But it's different now, 'cause we got a whole house to fill. So you can get as many books and I can get as many tools as we want. And there's no reason not to get into models or painting or . . . or stamp collecting."
"You're right. We've been so busy with renovations and getting used to this new life that I guess neither of us stopped to think about this before," I said. "So go get some models and glue and whatever if you really want."
After the museum, we went to the Bier Stein, a pub in midtown Eugene, for lunch. We split a plate of Bavarian pretzels, and then he had a bratwurst sandwich and fries and I the Gouddhist sandwich and salad. All this was washed down with bottles of beer, ale, and cider, and several more found their way into the cooler.
In keeping with that theme, we next headed over to the Ninkasi Brewing Company for a tour of the brewery and a visit to their tasting room. My husband was tickled by the names of some of their beers—as he'd been by the names of some of the sandwiches at the pub. And so bottles of Tricerahops and Sleigh'r joined the others in the cooler. Now that we were no longer scraping by on hustling and credit card fraud, we were learning to appreciate more than the cheapest rotgut on tap.
As he closed the lid to the trunk, Dean commented, "First a beer pub and now a brewing company. If you keep this up, we're gonna die of alcohol poisoning, dude. My booze tolerance ain't what it used to be!"
"And I'm glad, Dee—you were going to pickle yourself if you kept drinking like that! And there aren't any more beer-related activities for today. Though there are several other breweries and wineries around here—something to keep in mind for later visits. Fortunately, our next stop is literally next door, so we'll have time to clear our heads before driving to dinner," I responded.
"Well, you're the reason I don't need to drink so much no more! It's much more fun to stay sober now!" he declared and curled an arm around my waist as we walked to the neighboring building.
Our destination was the Blairally Vintage Arcade, which had a small bar and seating area and a large selection of pinball and classic video game machines. We ignored the bar and made a beeline for the games. Some of the pleasanter memories of our childhood involved machines like these. If the motel or bar Dad took us to had a game machine or two in a corner, or if we were left somewhere close to a mall that had an actual arcade, we'd scrounge up some change and spend a happy couple of hours playing. The games usually turned competitive—though I suspected Dean let me win sometimes when I was really young—complete with wagers, smack talk, and good-natured shoving. Our time at Blairally was no different, with triumphant crowing at each win and friendly insults at the other's mistakes.
With some reluctance, I eventually pulled my brother away so that we could drive to the Agate Alley Laboratory for dinner. The recently-opened restaurant had a mad scientist theme, so the staff was dressed in lab coats and goggles, the furniture was steel examination tables, padded lab stools with backrests, and black epoxy resin countertops for the bar, the drinks were served in beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks, and the décor included strange antique laboratory instruments and equipment, large tubes of brightly colored, glowing liquids, and specimen jars holding failed "experiments."
We had shiitake cigars and date spheres for appetizers, followed by crab bisque for him and roasted beet salad for me, then the ocean melt sandwich with truffle fries for him and the quail egg ricotta ravioli for me, and finished with dark chocolate cake with salted caramel and mascarpone frosting. Our meal was accompanied by some quirky cocktails, such as the Newton's Apple, Neverlasting Gobstopper, and Aztec Alchemist, as well as MST3K projected on the back wall. The service was a little slow, but our food was spectacular.
The last place we went to was the new Matthew Knight Stadium on the University of Oregon's campus. I had two tickets to the men's basketball game that night, in which the UO Ducks were playing against the Colorado University Buffaloes.
Dean, predictably, had to comment about the team's name. "Your sports teams are called the Ducks? Really, man? They couldn't have found something cooler? Or at least gone with the Mighty Ducks?"
"Hey, the Ducks have a long history at the university," I replied defensively. "Our teams were originally called the Webfoots after a group of Revolutionary War heroes who settled in this area. People started associating the team with ducks, and the mascot for a while was a live duck named Puddles. The name officially changed to the Ducks after Disney agreed to let the school use a version of Donald Duck as its mascot. And knock the name all you like, but our teams are in NCAA Division I, and our players frequently get professionally drafted."
Despite his initial skepticism, we both enjoyed the game a lot, and he allowed afterward that maybe the Ducks were cool after all. We then drove home and put the food and drinks away. We sat down in the family room with a couple of the beers to unwind before going to bed.
After taking a long swig from his bottle, my husband leaned over and kissed me. Thanks, Sammy. Today was awesome! The museum, the brewery, the restaurants, and everything else were a lotta fun. This has definitely been the best birthday I've ever had!
I returned the kiss, licking the hoppy flavor from his lips. You're welcome, Dee, and I'm glad you enjoyed today. Don't forget though, there's still more tomorrow!
I made sure to wake up somewhat early the next morning and managed to slip out of bed without waking Dean. I quietly washed up and dressed, started the coffee machine, and left the house to pick up one of his gifts. I returned and stashed that gift in the study, with Hannibal standing guard. I then retrieved the other gifts from their hiding spots and arranged them in the family room. I prepared two cups of joe—one black with two sugars, one loaded with "girly" stuff he loved to tease me about—and set them on the coffee table as well.
Satisfied with the preparations, I went into our bedroom and softly shook my brother's shoulder. Wake up, Dee! Your birthday presents are waiting for you!
He mumbled and tried to bury his face in the pillow. Then my words sank in, and he lifted his head. Presents?
Yeah. So you need to get up now!
Alright, hold your fucking horses, brat! he muttered as he got out of bed, put on his robe, and went into the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later and complained, What the hell happened to not leaving the bedroom today?
We can still do that later if you really want, after you've opened all your presents. Now close your eyes, I ordered. After he complied with a put-upon sigh, I tied a scarf over his eyes. This is to keep you from peeking, because I know you!
I took his hand and carefully led him into the family room. After guiding him to a seat in one of the armchairs and handing him his mug of coffee, I let him take a couple of sips before removing the blindfold.
He stared at the wrapped gifts sitting on the coffee table. "Does it matter which one I open first?"
"Start with this one." I handed him a shallow rectangular package.
Dean ripped off the wrapping paper and opened the box, revealing several books. The first two were lessons on how to play the guitar. The rest were collections of sheet music for classic rock songs, starting at beginner level and then increasing in difficulty.
He obviously hadn't imbibed enough caffeine, because he gave me a confused glance. "Uh, Sam . . . you know I don't have a guitar, right?"
I grinned at his expression and passed over another box. "Just keep going."
This one contained an embroidered guitar strap, electronic tuner, ten-foot cable, set of extra strings, and set of picks of differing thickness. The next thing he unwrapped was a folding guitar stand. And the last present on the coffee table proved to be a Marshall fifteen-watt combo amplifier. By this point, his face was lit up, and he eagerly gazed around for another package.
I got up and went behind the sofa. "I think you're looking for this, honey."
He opened the hard case I'd placed in his lap and gaped for a moment. He then reverently lifted the black Epiphone Les Paul 100 electric guitar out. I moved the case out of the way so that he could cradle the guitar.
My husband looked up at me with wide eyes. Sammy, this is—this is beyond awesome! I dunno what to say!
You don't have to say anything, sweetheart. Do you remember the summer you found that beat-up acoustic guitar by the dumpster? I smiled in reminiscence. You fixed and polished that old thing up, and then you spent the next few weeks teaching yourself how to play it. I was amazed at how good you sounded without a single lesson, and I think I was more upset than you were when Dad made you leave it behind.
Yeah, I remember that guitar—it was a serious goddamn chick magnet! He cocked his head at me. You never said anything 'bout it back then though.
Hey, I'd just turned thirteen, and admitting that your older brother was cool was so uncool! I shrugged. "The music store said this is one of the best guitars for beginners, and I got the accessories they recommended. But don't get too engrossed in it just yet—we're not done!"
He looked surprised as he carefully put the guitar back in its case. "There's more?"
"Yep. And this gift is from Hannibal as well as me." I raised my voice. "Hannibal, bring it here, boy!"
There was an answering bark from the study, and then the pup came prancing into the room. In his mouth was the handle to a large basket, and in the center of the cushion in the basket sat a fluffy calico kitten. Most of her coat was mottled in deep black and vibrant orange, except for a bright white muzzle, neck, chest, belly, and socks. And her eyes were almost the exact shade of green as my brother's.
Hannibal set the basket down at Dean's feet and grinned up at him. The kitten stretched, looked up, and mewed plaintively. Dean gingerly scooped up the small ball of fur and lifted her to his chest.
"Oh man, she's so tiny and soft," he breathed. He gave me another wide-eyed look. "You—you got me a kitten too?"
I grinned as broadly as the puppy. "This was all his idea. We were running in the woods out back about a week ago, and Hannibal found this bedraggled little fuzzball a few blocks from here and gently picked her up by the scruff. She was in too good of a shape to be a stray, so we knocked on some doors until we found her home.
"It turns out this lady had bought a purebred Norwegian Forest Cat a few months ago, but before she could get the cat spayed, the little minx got out. And then presented her several weeks later with a litter that's half-Wegie, half-sneaky-neighbor-cat. This little girl ran outside when they let the dogs out that morning and got herself lost until we found her.
"I sat down and talked with the lady for a while. She hadn't found homes for all the kittens yet, even though they're nearly four months old, because she was considering whether to keep one or two. Meanwhile, Hannibal was playing with this kitten, licking her, and being so careful, and I had to drag him away when I left. That, and the fact that she reminds me of you, got me thinking. So I called the woman back and asked if we could adopt her. She charged a small fee to cover some of the vet bills and held the kitten for me until this morning."
"I think I've seen pictures of the breed. She'll grow up to be a big damn fluffy beauty if she takes after her mom." Dean rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, and two pairs of green eyes blinked up at me. "She's already adorable!"
"She's not the only one!" I said with a fond smile. "Her previous owner said she's up-to-date with her shots, and we'll have to wait until she's six months old to get her spayed. I got her some of the basics already, and we can go to the pet store together later to get her more."
"Okay. Well, right now I gotta make breakfast. Why don't you set up the stuff you got for her?" He stood, put the kitten on his shoulder, and walked to the kitchen.
I went out to the garage to retrieve the cat supplies. The litter box was set up in a corner of the utility room, the food and water bowls in the kitchen, the basket in front of the fireplace next to one of Hannibal's beds, and the bed in our bedroom next to his other one. The cans of wet food and bags of kibble and kitty litter were stored in the pantry next to the dog food.
When I returned to the kitchen, plates of sausages, sunny-side-up eggs, and toast were already on the breakfast bar, and Dean was sliding the last of the pancakes onto another plate. From the way the puppy and kitten were licking their chops, I guessed they'd already gotten their share. I grabbed the syrup, butter, and jam and took a seat. He set the pancakes down, and we loaded up our plates.
After we'd finished eating and cleared away the dishes, Dean said, "Why don't you take Hannibal out for his morning walkies? Astrid will help me figure out how to put all the guitar shit together."
"Astrid? You're naming the cat after the girl from—"
"Shuddup! You know that movie kicks ass! Besides, I ain't naming her Freya or Sif like half the other girl Forest Cats, and Frigg sounds like you're trying to swear," he retorted.
"I guess. So . . . does that make the dog Toothless?"
From the speculative look the other man suddenly got, I suspected dragon wings and tail were in Hannibal's future for Halloween. I quickly changed into sweats and sneakers, put Hannibal on his leash, and took him for a run. When we got back, he flopped on his bed by the hearth after a noisy drink of water. Dean was seated on the floor nearby with the guitar in his lap and one of the lesson books in his hands. The amp and stand were positioned near the stereo equipment, and Astrid was batting some bits of paper and bubble wrap around.
As soon as I approached, he put the guitar on the stand and the book with the others on top of the amp. He picked the kitten up and plopped her on the dog's back, then pushed me in the direction of the sofa. Once I was seated, he dropped his robe to the floor and straddled my lap.
Everything you've done for me has been so incredible, sweetheart, he murmured as he put his arms around my shoulders and kissed me deeply. Sometimes I dunno what I've done to deserve you.
I slid my hands up his broad back and returned his kisses just as passionately. You're worth so much more than this, baby. You've dedicated your whole life to taking care of everyone but yourself—the people we saved, our friends, Dad, and especially me. You've given up everything to save complete strangers, save the world, save me without expecting any reward. What I'm doing now is a drop in the bucket compared to what I owe you.
He pulled his head back and caught my face between his hands. You don't owe me anything, Sammy. You're the most important thing in my life, and there ain't nothing I wouldn't do for you. And we're partners. You've saved me plenty of times too, and I wasn't helping those people and stopping that world-ending shit all on my fucking own. You need to give yourself more credit, little brother.
My husband kissed me again and slipped his hands under my damp t-shirt to run them across my chest and toy with my nipples. His lips migrated along my jaw to my neck, where he buried his nose behind my ear and sniffed appreciatively.
Mmm, love how you smell, he said and licked the drying sweat there.
Freak, I responded affectionately.
I meanwhile caressed my hands down his smooth back and over his curved ass. He sat back as I kneaded his firm buttocks, and I leaned forward to suckle one of his pink nipples. He arched his back and fisted one hand in my hair as I alternated between each tender nub. His other hand dropped down to my lap and pushed the waistbands of my sweatpants and boxers down to free my cock.
He stroked it a few times and then lifted himself up and sank down, enfolding me in his tight heat. I moaned around the sensitive peak of his nipple, wrapped my hands around his waist, and thrust into his wet passage forcefully. He gripped my shoulders and rode me just as enthusiastically, rising up and slamming down on my member in time with my motions. He gasped and cursed as I continued to worry at his chest and then cried out a few minutes later, his seed shooting onto my t-shirt and his inner walls clenching around my shaft. I groaned and climaxed moments later.
After pushing my pants and boxers down further and kicking them off, I lifted my purring lover up and carried him into our bedroom. I laid him down on the bed but remained standing, still sheathed inside his slick channel, and threw off my sticky shirt. He raised his legs up and rested them on my shoulders while I held onto his hips and began pounding into him. His velvety passage undulated around my cock as I plunged in and out of him, hitting his prostate repeatedly. Still overly-responsive from his recent orgasm, he soon shook and shouted his way through a second one. I kept on surging into him, entranced as always by the physical sensations and emotional responses our lovemaking generated in both of us. When he started to mewl from overstimulation, I put a hand on his member and jerked it with my thrusts. Only after he screamed and clamped down hard on my shaft did I let myself go and ejaculated deep inside him.
We both collapsed onto the bed and fell into a satiated snooze for a couple of hours. Upon waking, we took a leisurely (and eventually loud) shower, dressed, and went to the local diner for lunch. We then stopped at the pet store to get more things for both Astrid and Hannibal. Once home, we assembled the two cat trees, one to go by the French doors in the family room and the other by the windows in the study. I then let Dean play with his stringed and furred gifts while I set up a second litter box in the guest bathroom and a scratching post in our bedroom and replaced both water bowls with a pet fountain.
After a while, I walked over to where he was picking out chords on the guitar, while Hannibal gnawed on his new Kong and Astrid pounced on his tail, and whispered in my brother's ear, "I've got one more thing for your birthday, Dee. But I need you naked and on the bed for that, okay?"
While he scrambled to obey, I went into the kitchen to prepare. I walked into our bedroom carrying a tray a few minutes later and found him lying in the center of the bed, watching me excitedly. I set the table on the nearer nightstand, so he could see the plate with two slices of apple pie, bowl of vanilla ice cream, and two mugs of mulled apple cider, and quickly undressed as well.
I smiled down at him as I lifted one piece of pie and placed it on his flat belly over his navel, then added a scoop of ice cream over each nipple. He wriggled a bit at the warmth of the pie and hissed softly at the cold of the ice cream but lay still otherwise. I took a forkful of the pie, scraped off some of the ice cream, and held it to his lips. He raised his head and carefully took the dripping morsel off the fork.
I figured you'd appreciate birthday pie over cake, I said as he chewed and swallowed. Alice was kind enough to make the pie and cider for us.
Fuck, Sam! No complaints here! he gasped.
I gave him a sip of the cider and fed him another mouthful of pie and ice cream. I then put some of the warm, gooey filling in my mouth, bent down, and engulfed his half-erect cock partway down. His member stiffened and his hands fisted in the sheets as my mouth slid up and down his length. I swallowed the pie and swirled my tongue around his shaft before pulling off and feeding him more ice cream and pie. I repeated this, occasionally alternating ice cream in my mouth instead of pie, listening to him sigh and moan, until the first slice was gone.
I licked Dean's belly and nipples clean before adding the second piece of pie and more scoops of ice cream. I filled my mouth with pie again and leaned down to give him an open-mouthed kiss. Our tongues tangled together as the warm apples and spices mingled between our mouths. We both swallowed, and I resumed going between feeding him and giving him a confection-filled blowjob. He managed to last about three-quarters of the way through the second slice before groaning and cumming in my mouth. As he panted in recovery, I swallowed and licked his sticky cock clean while hastily jacking myself off. I fed him the remainder of the dessert and licked the rest of him clean too, then stretched out on the bed beside him.
That was awesome, Sammy! This whole weekend has been awesome! he declared. Thanks, man.
You're welcome, Dee. Happy birthday, big brother!