“Hey, buddy.” I don’t know if it’s Ninja, our club mascot, or his little brother…or sister…I still don’t fucking know the sex of the rats around here. All I know is that he’s making tiny sounds as he cleans me off.
“My flat’s too far.” Sledge’s voice is right below me so it’s fair to say he crashed on the floor. He must have been shitfaced out of his mind to be okay with that because at this point, I’m convinced the floor and all the carpets in the clubhouse are on par with the kinds of hazardous materials you only find in nuclear power plants.
“You both need to get up, please. We have the cleaning service coming in about fifteen minutes and nobody wants to see your ass on full display.”
I frown at Vanessa but I don’t think she can see me with my head buried in the cushion of the couch. Fuck, in this position, my morning-after-partying breath may be my cause of death.
“Isn’t that why we have Khunts?” My question takes forever to say since my tongue is pasty and my brain is sluggish. Just as I move, though, I understand what Vanessa is talking about. My jeans are halfway down my legs. I must have tried to undress but fell asleep midway through.
Ah well.
“No, Grinder. The girls aren’t your personal servants.”
I grin and attempt to move my arm, knowing damn well that as soon as the blood starts racing back into my veins like it’s supposed to, that bitch is going to hurt.
“That’s not what she said.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.” Ah, sweet, sweet Vanessa. Our motherly keeper. She’s the reason we’re not all eating each other's faces off because we’re too lazy to make ourselves food. Well, her and Sabrina and Darlene—Mac’s mom. The woman is our collective conscience and the widow to our too-early-departed Prez who died almost two years ago.
“That ain’t a threat, love. That's a promise for Grinder.” Sledge beats me to the punchline. He’s absolutely right, pain and pleasure go together like peanut butter and jelly—grape, always grape, and I will die on this fucking hill.
Snap.
Hmm, I see Vanessa wanted to try Sledge’s theory out because the next thing I know, she snaps a towel—a damp fucking towel—over my right ass cheek. Of course, I double down.
Bringing my knees up under me, I make sure my bare ass is on full display like I’m begging for more.
“Now you’ve done it.” Right on, Sledge. She has poked the Grinder.
“Ew, you’re gross. Stop being a horny teenager and get upstairs to your room.” By the sound of her stomping feet getting farther away, I take it as my cue to get up before she brings in the cavalry. Darlene is a tough broad and she will one hundred percent make it hurt without the pleasure.
“Come on, Britmeister, we gotta bolt before Mac’s ma brings the water bucket.” I move, making tiny paws run over my head and onto the back of the couch. The sun has moved an inch, which is all I need to open an eye and not get blinded.
“Hey, Ninja, if you’re here, that means your parents are back, which, in turn, means if I don’t get up, it’s not Darlene coming to make my life hell, it’s Psycho.” Shit, that won’t end well.
“You know he doesn’t talk back, right?” Oh, bless his British ass.
“Shut your mouth, you heathen.” Ninja sleeps more than he plays these days, but he’s such a sweet boy and I am certain that little ball of fur understands every fucking thing we say. “Sabrina doesn’t talk, either. Don’t mean we can’t speak to her.”
Sitting up, I cradle my head in my hands and almost swear to never drink again. Or snort coke. Or fuck like I’m trying to take on the birth rate in North Carolina all by myself. Then I remember that I don’t give a fuck.
“Shit, is that vomit on my sleeve?” I chuckle at Sledge’s scrunched up nose and downturned mouth. This is my favoritepart of the day after festivities…discovering all the shit that went wrong. Him puking in the bushes was quite the finale.
“I’m guessing no one has noticed your little late night gift out in the bushes or else Vanessa would’ve led with that.” Standing, I pull up my jeans and scratch my balls. “Speakin’ of bushes, I need to take a leak.”
“Don’t let her see that. Puke is protein, piss is lethal on plants.” It’s too early for gardening tips from London boy over there.
I lift my middle finger high enough for him to see me, then step outside into the brisk, early morning air. Shit, for all I know, it’s two in the afternoon.
From the top of the concrete stairs and looking out into the open fields that give way to the forest on all sides of us, I take out my dick and groan as I relieve myself for the first time in hours. That first piss is like an orgasm after a dry spell. Full body pleasure. It’s also the longest of the day.
With my head back and my eyes closed, I bathe in the morning rays, deciding now would be a great time for my first smoke of the day. I’m trying to quit, mainly because I love playing with Gryffin—my mental age can dip real low when needed—but Mac refuses to let me breathe on him.
I get it but I don’t like it.
Shaking my last drops before I push my cock back inside my jeans, I raise my head, enjoying the privilege of our lifestyle. Contrary to most, we’re free here, bound only to the promise of brotherhood.
There’s no reason for me to zip up my jeans, I’m only going to take them off once I get upstairs. Besides, I read somewhere that it’s healthy to air the boys out. The sun is right in front of me, which tells me it’s not that late but it ain’t early either. Probably around ten or so. After the night we had, it feels like the crack of dawn.