Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Suite on Rte. 86 ❯ Better or Worse ( Chapter 7 )

Better or Worse   I'm not worried at first.   "They're probably just off somewhere screwing. You know how teenagers are," I tell them.   They raise their eyebrows in unison, though Bran’s attention is divided between a cigarette and the notes again and Shane’s surprise is quickly buried by a scowl.   "What? You've seen how Jadan's been looking at him lately. I gave them the talk already."   "You gave them the Talk?" Shane is nearly as scandalized as I'd hoped.   "It's not like you were going to," I point out. "You should be thanking me."   "Well," Bran says, cutting off Shane’s retort, "I suppose they're not technically brothers. Or children, at this point."   "Even if they were, we couldn't stop them," I shrug.   "It could be worse," Shane huffs, glaring at me balefully.   I laugh to cover the chill that thought gives me and shift closer to him. "Monkeys aren't really to my taste. I much prefer blondes."     I slide my hand up his thigh but he bats it away, stands and begins pacing. I grin at Bran, who is pretending not to notice, though he folds his battered notebook shut as soon as I look away.   “Of course, blondes are much more fun when they’re not worrying themselves impotent,” I say, rising and stepping into his path.   "Like you'd reject anything with a cock to suck," Shane snipes.   I favor him with my sweetest look. "Too bad most aren't man enough to keep up with me."   I am standing in his personal space now, crowding him, and the scent of his anger is edged with anticipation. He’s slightly taller than me, shoulders squared proudly, thin lips twisted, eyes dilated in the low firelight. Bran's hands are sliding over my ass and around to my fly. He rubs against me so I can feel him harden, and my hunger twists toward his body warmth. I grind back against him, still staring at Shane challengingly. He makes a disgusted face, then closes his eyes in resignation.    "Worse than teenagers, both of you," he mutters. I grin my triumph briefly before Bran's tongue in my ear distracts me.   Shane likes his blow jobs like he likes his everything else: straightforward, efficient, no-frills. No fun.   Bran, on the other hand, likes to make love to me. He's always hell bent on making sure I enjoy it, which is either sweet and thoughtful or horribly vindictive. Bastard knows I can't come until he does and takes ruthless advantage.   Now, I love a challenge, but juggling the two of them toes the line between 'challenging' and 'huge pain in the ass.' If it weren't Bran, and we didn't need to get moving early and I weren't so hungry this almost wouldn't be worth it.   Since the first time I pulled him to his knees in front of us, it's always been worth it. I caught the way he looked at Bran just now, before he started ignoring us. I wonder briefly if they've ever fucked each other then decide they must not have, though they've probably talked about girls, heard each other through walls, maybe jerked off together.   The thought of them jerking off together makes my gnawing hunger flare into a moan. Bran's fingers are light on my cock, coaxing it into the cool air. My pants are only held up by the pressure of his groin against my ass. I roll my head back against his shoulder to try to get my mouth on him, tongue straining to taste his sweat.   Bran has backed us both into a tree before we realize it, pressing me forward deliberately. I reach out to Shane, ripping his fly open with urgent motions and pushing his jeans down around his thighs. His ribs expand against mine as I fist our cocks together, soft-hot-alive in my hand.  He tips his head back against the rough bark, keeping his mouth out of my range. I bear my teeth at him. I just want to let go and he’s always doing things like that to ruin it, setting boundaries, forcing me to be deliberate.  Jerk. I ignore his sound of protest as I fasten my teeth and lips over his collar bone, determined to give him the darkest hickey I can.   Bran presses me against him with his hips, his arms coming up to box us both in. His musk melds with skinsalt and Shane’s grudging, sharply scented arousal and I have to cling to my annoyance for control. Bran nibbles at my neck in the one spot that makes me twitch all over. His erection jumps against me. And I suddenly want more of him, thirst for him so I turn, somehow half-losing my pants in the process and attack his mouth and buttons simultaneously. And as much as I like his tongue and the way he's pressing me all over Shane like that, Shane's cock hot against my bare skin and the minute speeding of his breath, I have to hurry this up before someone loses their patience, or I lose my cool. I slide to my knees and Bran follows me down. I reach back for his fly even as my mouth is closing over Shane, tongue probing at his foreskin for a salt hint of precome. His hands are clenched, white knuckled against the tree bark and Bran's are sliding over my stomach heading down and fuck, my lube is way over in my bag but there's no way in hell I'm moving.   Bran seems closer than I thought, moaning as he thrusts against my back then slipping down between my thighs as he presses tighter against me. I reach back with one hand to knead his ass, and make a grab for Shane's with the other. His eyes finally open and he fixes me with a venomous look that melts into something else as he looks down at us and I chuckle around him and swallow and miss my rhythm and have to pull my mouth off him, gagging. Tears prick at my eyes. Bran is still against me, lips soothing by my ear. Luckily, I catch my breath before Shane's annoyance kills his hard-on. I suggest adjourning to a bed roll, preferably one adjacent to the lube. Shane looks ready to protest until Bran's hand curls behind his knee, fingertips stroking the sensitive inside. He rolls his eyes but follows us around the fire.     By the third day the boys are gone, I’m starting to get concerned. Shane is frantic with worry and thoroughly pissed off about it. He paces back and forth across the parking lot, scowling. Bran and I lean against the battered van I won us and smoke and watch him.   "You haven't heard anything from him?" Bran asks.   "I caught some static last night around sunset. Too little to go on, though. Fucking stupid monkey. Finally learns to shield just when I actually need to hear him."   "So, we're going after them, then?" Bran phrases his commands like questions. I start stuffing the food I bought last night into my pack, make sure I have my new lighter and my smokes on me. Shane starts for the woods like it was his idea in the first place, leaving us to secure the van and catch up.   "Think it'll be ok there?" Bran says, for form's sake.   "Why, you leave anything important in it?" I ask.   "No," he answers.     The moon is bright enough that we keep walking hours into the night. Once, I catch a strange scent on the fading breeze, but it's gone so quickly I'm not even sure it was real until she melts into the firelight as far from us as possible. Bran and Shane know her; Bran greets her politely and Shane doesn't even point his gun at her, though he doesn't sit down until she does. She is tall, taller than Bran, slim and boyish, moves like a dancer. The firelight plays on her short hair and dusky, fine-boned features. Her profile is a sculpture in copper and teak.   "Tamar," Bran says, "Have you been looking for us?"   "Yes," she says, "Among other people." She has a slight accent, unplacable, and an air of sophistication even seated cross-legged on the bare ground. I bet she's great in bed; flexible, bold, wild animal passion simmering just under a sort of tender restraint.   She looks at me, then looks again, nostrils flaring to catch my scent.   "An incubus?"    My mounting hunger curls and flickers as my eyes wander down the curves of her body. She sees that I want her. Amusement invades her features, warring with a depth of sadness or rage already buried there. Her eyes sweep over Bran and Shane.   "How long did it take you to walk through the mountains?"   How tactful. "They both are," I answer.   Shane is very poor at concealing his emotions once you learn to read the shades of his anger. Bran simply smiles his bland, benign smile. I love it when he's shameless. I bury my nose in the hair just behind his ear, grinning. Our visitor's strong-looking hand covers her mouth but not the lines of her eyes. "I always-" she says in an undertone, but can't or won't finish the sentence.   The fire shifts and exhales a coiling plume of sparks. I fill the awkward moment by lighting a cigarette, offering one to Bran and lighting it off my own, smirking widely the whole time of course. She watches Shane fight down his embarrassment by starting to clean the revolver. Nothing like rubbing oil into your favorite phallic symbol to reaffirm your manhood. Jeez, you'd think banging two fine specimens such as ourselves would affirm his manhood plenty.   Then I notice the way she keeps looking at him.   Oh.   "Where are they?" she finally asks.   Bran and I look at each other, then at Shane who is glaring fiercely down his sight as if checking it.   "They're gone," he growls.   "Gone?"   "They took off. You know how kids are," I say.   Her lips quirk minutely, fondly for a moment, then she frowns.   "Antony and some of Dibrova's goons are out looking for them."   "Not anymore," Shane mutters.   "Skuratov is dead." Bran says, carefully.   She is very still, the atmosphere cooling and sinking under the weight of the announcement.   "Which one of you was it?"   I speak up before Bran can say anything polite.   "It was me."   Her face is utterly blank as she looks at me.   "He stabbed Bran."   "I don't understand," her voice is as flat as her expression.   "He seemed," Bran says, quietly, "to be under the impression that you were in some kind of danger. He said Dibrova was going to hand you over to Urzica."   "It's an obvious set-up," Shane grinds out. "Way too obvious to be one of that nut job's plans. So either he's trying to manipulate us all into something other than a fight, or Dibrova wants you to kill us and isn't patient enough to go along with his schemes anymore."   "Fucking fool," she says, distantly. "He always did want to sacrifice himself for me."   "It would depend on how much information about us he had," Bran muses. "That is, whether Urzica knew about Jordan or not. The whole incident could have just been a test."   "To test the experiments, you mean," she says. "If that’s true, why have Skuratov try to kill you? He had to know you'd react poorly to that."   "A better question is why Skuratov went along with it," Bran points out, "or how much of what happened was him acting on his own."   “It was an execution,” Shane says, then, “He knew the risks when he betrayed them.”   We all turn to look at him in unison, though he’s still concentrating on the gun. A brooding silence sets in over the clearing. I smoke and watch her watching Shane out of the corner of her eye.   After a while she stands. Shane finally looks at her, and something, some kind of communication passes between them. She turns and walks off without another word.   Shane puts away his gun, banks the fire, lies down as far from us as he can get.   "What does she want from you?" I ask him, conversationally.   He growls something unintelligible.   "Did she seem... different at all to you?" Bran says.   There is a long pause.   "She didn't try to kill the demon for murdering her lover, if that's what you mean."   I raise my eyebrows thoughtfully, deliberately throw a choice bit of info at them. "You'd think she'd have reacted more, even if she is a Changeling."   They both stare at me as if I've just announced my dream of joining a convent.   "What?" I ask, "You didn't know?"   Bran frowns and starts flipping through his notes rapidly. Shane snorts and throws his arm over his eyes.   "Of course," I add, "She didn't smell like your average Changeling. Too much metal. But-" I yawn, "Definitely not human."   “You’re certain? You’ve met changelings before?” Bran asks, pen poised as if to take notes. He’s been such a geek since he’d gotten hold of Urzica’s research. It’s kind of cute.   “You could say that,” I leer at him, leaning closer on his writing shoulder so my mouth can reach his ear. Let him take notes on this.   “The eyes probably should have tipped me off,” He says, absently, “I’d always assumed she wore contacts.”   My fingertips catch at his cheekbone, his lips, drag them toward my tongue.   Shane says, "I’m leaving at daybreak whether you’re with me or not."     We’ve been walking for less than an hour when Shane stops dead in his tracks and I run into him. If I happen to grab his chest, maybe press my body flush against his, it’s only to help me keep my balance.     The musk rising off him makes me instantly half-hard. I’ve never smelled him this turned on before, not even when his cock’s down my throat.  What the hell?   “What the hell?” I say, as Bran asks, “Is something wrong?”   He turns abruptly southeast and takes off at a near-run. We scramble after him. How he’s walking that fast in those jeans with an erection is a mystery to me.   “That looks pretty uncomfortable,” I point out as we catch up, my hunger urging me to walk closer, stop him, chase him down like a hunted rabbit.   He is too involved in muttering to himself to even shoot me a poisonous look. Bran looks so mild he must be getting worried. I’m kind of starting to get a bad feeling about this, myself.