As Qhuinn followed him inside, the male had a curious expression on his face. Like everyone else, they’d waited outside Balz’s examination room and had been relieved to get confirming good news—and not just about the patient, although that was the most important thing. Tohr had also announced to everybody that even though the storm was in full rock and roll, all of the shutters up at the mansion were locked down, the tree in the library had been removed, and there was plywood covering the French doors the evergreen had broken open.
So considering the way things had started out?
Qhuinn went over to the blackboard—no dry-erase for the Brothers, none of that fancy new stuff—and picked up a piece of chalk. The heart outline he drew was yellow, the color of a lined legal pad. In the center, he wrote: “Q+B = 4EVA”
As he put the chalk back, he clapped his palms clean. “So I’m twelve, okay? Sue me.”
“I think you’re romantic.”
“Do I hit on you too much?” Qhuinn pivoted around. “I mean, am I—”
Blay answered that question by taking the bottom of his cashmere sweater and lifting it up and over his head. Then came the button-down shirt, the one that he’d chosen because it was blue and coral checked and complemented the blue sweater.
Qhuinn froze where his stood. Then his eyes flared.
“I locked the door,” Blay said. “And no, I don’t think you hit on me too much—” He put his palms out to stop his mate. Then he pointed forward. “Oh, no you don’t. I want you to sit there. Where the teacher would.”
With a sloppy shuffle, Qhuinn planted himself behind the empty desk—and did a piss-poor impression of a professor. Instead of looking like he was in charge, he linked his fingers together, put his hands primly in front of himself, and sat, spine rigid, like a good little boy praying he got a cookie for behaving nicely.
Splaying out his arms, Blay slowly turned in front of his mate. He was not an exhibitionist by any sense of the word, but he liked how the sight of his body made his lover feel.
For example, the groaning? Coming from behind that desk?
Best sound in the world.
Approaching Qhuinn, he put his left boot on the desk lip, angling his hips so that across the wood top, the bulge behind his fly was very obvious. He took his time with the de-lacing, and enjoyed the way Qhuinn’s eyes roamed around his bare shoulders and chest, his abs and his erection. And then it was the other side, again with the de-looping, the pulling free, the shucking out.
The tile floor was cold underneath his feet as he backed away. Then turned away.
Putting his hands to his fly, he made quick work of the button and the zipper. He hadn’t bothered with a belt because of the sweater—and because they’d been delayed in the shower—and he was glad he didn’t need to fuss around with buckles right now.
Although, actually, the anticipation was working for them both: Qhuinn’s bonding scent was flaring all kinds of dark spices—which made Blay wonder what people passing by out in the tunnel might think.
Then again, everybody had returned to the mansion after Doc Jane had sounded the all-clear on Balz’s recovery. And with the storm, who was going out into the parking lot anyway?
Blay’s fine wool pants were loose enough so that he could have just let them drop, but where was the fun in that? He went the inch-by-inch route, slowly letting Qhuinn see what he wanted. And it was clear that things were going exactly the way Blay was hoping because a pumping growl percolated through the classroom.
And then there was a gasping inhale.
Followed by panting.
Moving slowly, Blay stepped out of the slacks and glanced over his shoulder. Qhuinn had lost the linked-hands routine. Now he’d planted his palms and was leaning forward, his blue and green eyes fixated and hot, his fangs descended, his lips peeled back. He looked bloodthirsty—in a good way. In the best way.
Blay stretched himself, undulating his body from ass to nape, and then he turned around.
His own arousal stuck straight out from his pelvis, and he decided that it needed a little attention. Sweeping his hand down his pecs, he paused to play with one of his nipples and then continued down over the ridges of his abs.
“Touch it for me,” Qhuinn said in a guttural voice. “That’s right… stroke it—oh, fuck.”
“You like this?” Blay moved his palm up and down on his thick shaft. “You want this?”
“Yes…” Qhuinn started to get up, the chair squeaking. “I need—”
Blay turned back around and ran his free hand down his ass. “Or do you want this?”
“I want everything. All of it,” came the growled response.
With another arch, Blay bent over one of the tables. “Then why don’t you come and get it.”