Page 12 of Hearts Etched in Glass
“What the fuck is that? Shit that feels fucking amazing.” Then Marcus cups Bobby’s sack in one hand and wraps his hand around the shaft, returning his mouth to suck and lick on the tip of Bobby’s cock. With rhythmic motion, he works Bobby, taking him deeper and deeper. After he bestows more and more pleasure onto Bobby, his muscles tense as he whispers down at Marcus, “I’m going to come.” Marcus works Bobby faster, as his face scrunches and his shoulders tense. I’m guessing Marcus feels Bobby coming, because one hand reaches back to grasp Bobby’s thigh, drawing him closer as Bobby orgasms down Marcus’s throat.
Then the boys peer back at me with wide grins, sinful expressions across their handsome faces.
“What the hell did I do to deserve you two?” I chuckle out loud. As they both lift me from the floor.
Chapter 5: Bobby
LaGrange,ZZ Top
The wind whips against my forearms as I ride my motorcycle down the gravel pathway to Baba’s cottage. We have a potential business merger, and Kenneth wanted me to meet him and Baba down by her cottage. Unfortunately, he didn’t trust me to be at the office on my own and worried the client would arrive prior to Kenneth, and God knows how I would fuck that up. So, my big brother insisted I meet him at our grandmother’s, then follow together back to headquarters.
A memory flashes in my mind of last night’s events, which came about in a serendipitous way for Tilly,Marcus and me. I can still imagine Marcus’s lips wrapped around my dick as Tilly watches with such desire. A dark craving blooms within my spirit, as my creative mind began imagining all the other possible roads we could travel down. I’m a rather jealous man when it comes to what is mine and Tilly is my woman, but for some reason that crack in my chest slowly stitched itself together at the thought of Marcus aiding in Tilly’s protection, loving and providing for her. It makes my heart swell. I love my brothers, but with Marcus there is a deeper understanding, a deeper respect.
Baba’s cottage comes into view as the grassy roof sways with the breeze. I park my motorbike and cut the engine, noticing my tall, malicious-looking older brother standing far away.
“Why are you just standing there?” I glance at his broody form, rooted within the pasture overlooking an adorable Baba. She is playing with her life-size doll houses that Kenneth and Everett created for her when they were adolescents. They would torment me about nasty, harrowing stories of things the elves would do to people. A couple times they locked me in those bloodyhomes, but after nothing happened and an elf didn’t appear, my childhood nightmare ceased to frighten me.
Two cabins sit side by side, furnished with dark stained wood. A toddler could live in it comfortably. Hell, Baba placed makeshift furniture inside the four tiny walls. The roof has bright foliage growing atop it, matching her cottage across the way.
Kenneth still stands, admiring Baba, brows furrowed as he places his hands in his pockets. “Nope, not going down there whilst she’s doingthat.” His head motions in her direction, his arms crossed.
I peer back to find her prancing around her little cabins, singing Norwegian elf worship songs. Granted I have no idea why she prays to so many deities and things, I’d lose bloody track. Fucking elves, Loki, Odin, and who else that flies in the sky on their damn brooms or hammers. I exhale dramatically.
“Oh, fuck off, let’s go.” I start trudging forward, as Kenneth stays planted in the grass.“Nope,” he replies.
“Seriously?” I yell back with my arms outstretched in exasperation. Then I wave up and down at him. “You? All bloody, what? 250 centimeters of you? Scared ofthat?” I shoved my hands towards our tiny Baba’s direction.
He doesn’t reply and instead keeps his eyes a fixed-on Baba, irritation seeping from his pores.
Crossing my arms, I huff, then a thought crosses my mind. “Before I go down there and become a human sacrifice, I need your help, brother,” I mutter shamefully under my breath.
“I’m not clinically qualified to provide you with the help you require,” Kenneth retorts, still standing stoic. I really want to throat punch him, but I don’t think I would win this fight. He has been pretty brash as of recent. I’m guessing because the business has been stressful, and we both have varying ways of performing our duties.
I shift closer to him, gripping my arms. “I need assistance getting off these drugs. I’ve been good at weening, but to go cold turkey.” The thought is already causing sweat to develop on my forehead. “Alcohol helps stave it off, but I need to try harder, for alcohol makes the cravings worse at times. Inhibitions drop. Also, I keep getting the shakes and other symptoms.” I trail off,embarrassed after admitting aloud how pathetic I have become.
Kenneth turns his head to look at me, assessing my form. His eyes take a softer tone than their usual cunty scrutiny. “For you, I suggest you speak with Baba. I’m not going to be much help, unless you’d like me to beat the shit out of you every time you have the urge to stick a needle in your arm.” Kenneth nods in her direction. “She may have some concoctions you can take to stave off your symptoms.”
Rubbing the back of my neck I ask, “How do you deal with hard shit? You and Everett are always so calm and in control.” I kick a little collection of gravel, and it continues to roll down the small hill towards Baba. Hitting the back of her foot, I wince, readying for her to turn around and thrash at us, but she continues her chanting.
Kenneth peers down at the ground. “I don’t know how Everett deals with things, but I enjoy others’ pain. Torture or killing someone else. Baba has––” he waves his hand up and down towards her––“this.”
Raising an eyebrow, my eyes widen at hisconfession.
“You were an accountant in the war. Have you really killedthatmany people as an Adder? You’re rather rash in your actions.” I wait for his reply, but it never comes. He stares back at Baba, completely dissociating from reality.
I begin marching towards our grandmother, closing the distance and muttering profanities under my breath.
“Baba!” I shout. She continues to lay small gifts of bread, jewelry and hell knows what else. When I’m nearly several paces from her, I am persistent in my efforts to gain her attention. I shout her name again, as she is bending over the front doors of her doll houses, calmly spreading herbs and paint in Nordic patterns.
What the bollocks?
“Baba come on, we’ve got to go. We’re already late for the meeting,” I say, outstretching my hand to grasp her forearm. But I freeze in fear, as she stays leaning forward, her hands still grasping at the herbs. She cranes her head eerily up at me, like a ticking clock hand. Baba’s pupils dilate and her two-toned irises gleam in the sunlight. Jesus, that look could nearly make me piss myself. Before I may utter another word, she violently throwsthe bloody contents in her hand at my face. I begin sputtering and coughing as the dried substances and dust assault my eyes, nostrils and mouth.“Fuck! Baba!?Why?” I shout between spurts of coughing.
“You know not to interrupt me when I speak to my elves!” she says through gritted teeth. I take a few stumbling steps back as her features darken.
“Baba, I know you like playing with your elf dolls. Or, well, spirits, but this is a bit much,” I reply as she bends down to pick up her staff to hit me. I duck, evading the first swing.
“Do you want them to curse you with syphilis!” She hollers back.
