The ETA From You to Me (18 page)

“What’s it like? The panic attacks.”

Grant's eyes flicked over to stare at Clayton, because it wasn’t every day that someone asked him about the attacks, or about anything in general. He usually got the typical ‘I’m sorry’ story, or, more annoying, the ‘oh, I had someone die too.’ Which was sometimes okay, but not when it was being said by a person who was just competitive for the ‘shittiest life’ award. Seriously, if Grant had a gold star for every time someone tried to one-up him on personal woes for no damn reason, he could recreate the entire Milky Way across his bedroom wall.

“You can’t breathe,” Grant said quietly, staring down at his pen, “and you want to die, just to make it stop.” Just remembering having an attack made his chest tight, and Grant didn’t like that feeling at all. “So… you still owe me, because, y’know, you really didn’t follow through with your promise last night.”

“How did you get over them?”

“The raging hard-on you gave me last night? I totally jacked off on your bed.” Grant shot back, computer honking angrily at him. Grant dropped his pen to pull up the call and dispatch it.

“Did not,” Clayton said grouchily, like he knew this for a fact and was entirely disappointed as a result. Grant grabbed the phone, giving Brian a call to send him on the tow that had come through. When he hung up, Clayton was staring at him again.

“What?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Damn, Grant had been hoping that Clayton wouldn't have caught his change of subject. Talking about himself too much was uncomfortable, it made him feel like he was fishing for pity, and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted to be doing.

“I learned to breathe,” he mumbled, clicking his pen and scribbling down the information from the run that Brian was on. Clayton released a low sigh, shaking his head to himself. Grant stiffened, fully prepared to defend himself when Clayton got up and walked around the desk. Instinctively, Grant tilted his head back when Clayton bent down to give him a quick kiss.

"I didn't have panic attacks," he admitted, "I don't know what that's like... I just.. I would get angry at anyone and anything. It's not as bad anymore..." tilting his head, Clayton smiled softly, "I guess I learned to relax."

"Really?" Grant asked, "You sure act like you've got a stick up your ass on some days."

Cuffing Grant on the head, Clayton leaned in and muttered lowly, "maybe you should replace it with your dick, sometime."

The CB radio crackled to life at the same time Grant let out a strangled noise like a dying animal. Brian was paging in, informing Grant that he was on location, and that Grant needed to call the customer to come out to their car. Grant dropped his pen, pulling up the data on the computer and reaching for the phone. He was halfway through dialing the number when Clayton’s finger mashed down on the receiver button, effectively cutting the line off.

“Uh, dude,” Grant hissed, "not cool." He started to dial again, only for Clayton to snag his fingers in a gentle, but firm hold. “Excuse you, I have a job to do.”

Clayton set his cigarette in the ash tray, holding up a finger. “One.”

“What.”

“Two.”

“What are you—"

“Three.”

“Dude, seri—”

“Four.”

“Der—”

At the exact same time Clayton said, “five,” Brian came on over the radio to let Grant know he’d found the customer on his own. Grant couldn't even stop himself from laughing, because he’d never really made the connection before; the fact that Brian always made him call for the customer before looking for them on his own. It would explain all the times Grant had ended up hanging up on clients.

Grant set the phone down on the receiver, grin splitting his face as he laughed again and then tangled his fingers together with Clayton’s. He kept them there for a second before finally pulling away with a shake of his head, a wry smile, and an amused look shot at Clayton. Clayton, looking smug as all get out, quietly said, “every time.”

It was another few days before Grant really got to spend any time with Clayton. Between studying early for his mid-terms and Clayton’s erratic on-call schedule, it was hard to find a chance to do anything other than talk to one another via text. There was a few occasions where Clayton was doing a job at Grant's school or neighborhood and was able to swing by for a few minutes, but they were far and few between.

Wednesday rolled around, finding Grant at Clayton’s apartment, trying to show him how to build exhibits in the copy of a zoo building game he’d brought over. If Clayton wasn’t allowed to have a pet dog, Grant figured he could at least provide Clayton with some form of animal interaction. He’d spent half an hour dusting and cleaning off the disk before it was even playable, but Clayton didn’t need to know that.

“Get the yeti, dude. You totally need the yeti. No, that’s the yeti,” Grant jabbed his finger on Clayton’s monitor, trying to mentally force the cursor away from the bongos and to where the small icon of the yeti was.

Clayton clicked the bongo, like the bastard he was.

“Come on, Clayton, what’s the point of having the expansion pack if you’re not going to at least get a yeti?” Grant cajoled, trying to reach for the mouse to change Clayton’s selection. Clayton smacked his hand and Grant wrenched his arm back with a hiss.

“My zoo has animals from Africa, Grant. I can’t have a yeti in a zoo that’s in the Serengeti.” Clayton said irritably, pushing Grant away when he made another grab for the mouse. Apparently Clayton didn’t understand the finer aspects of computer games, like when Grant had showed him how to let the animals out to eat everyone in the game, he’d pitched a fit and had started over entirely upon realizing his score would never recover from such a grievous situation. It would have been cute, but to Grant, it hurt him deeply. It hurt him ore than a paper cut on the webbing between his fingers, and those were the worst.

“Clayton, seriously, it’s a game. Come on, look at that yeti,” Grant gestured to the monitor, other hand slowly sneaking for the mouse again, “he wants a home.”

“Stop that,” Clayton barked, snarling when Grant was able to snag the mouse during a moment of weakness. “Give that back!” It would have been the funniest thing on the planet if Clayton didn’t sound like the world would end if he didn’t create the perfect habitat for his currently unhappy bongos.

Grant jerked his hand back when Clayton reached out for it. He felt empowered, laughing maniacally and jumping to his feet. He barely got two steps before Clayton was tackling Grant into the ground with an animalistic battle cry.

Grant wheezed for air, mouse clattering out of his hand and across the living room. Clayton was up in a flash, scrambling over Grant's body to get it. Grant reached for his ankle, grabbing and yanking so that Clayton tripped and fell just a few feet from his prize.

“Grant!” Clayton yowled. Grant scrambled up his body as a response, hooking his hands into the back of Clayton’s jeans and pulling in order to drag Clayton a few feet closer. Sure, now Clayton’s ass was half hanging out, but that meant nothing in light of the fact that Grant had enough proximity to make a dive for the mouse.

Before Grant could reach his destination, Clayton grabbed wrapped both arms around Grant's knees and Grant went down about as gracefully as a tranquilized hippo. He twisted, trying to at least get the mouse under his body when Clayton was suddenly on top of him and pinning his wrists down to the ground, grip tight and breathing heavy.

Oh.

Grant was pretty sure he could feel his face start to burn, eyes wide as he stared up at Clayton and felt the weight of Clayton’s body pressing him into the ground. His pulse was thundering in his wrists, pounding against Clayton’s palms like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. He blinked and between one second and the next, Clayton was kissing him.

It wasn't one of their gentle kisses. It was rough and desperate, all clacking teeth and biting pressure that made it hard for Grant to keep up. Clayton let go of his wrists to clutch at Grant's jaw and face, hands holding desperately to him like he was afraid Grant was going to disappear at any moment. Grant arched up, mouth dropping open to let Clayton's tongue slide into his mouth. His legs fell open, eyes crossing when Clayton dragged Grant's bottom lip between his teeth, scraping and biting as if it was the last thing left on his bucket list.

One minute, Grant was horizontal. The next, Clayton was standing, shoving his hands under Grant's arms, and hauling him up like he literally weighed ten pounds. Grant had a half second to even register what happened before he wrapped his legs around Clayton’s hips just to keep from falling. Clayton was, apparently, firing on all pistons. He pressed a hand on Grant's ass to keep him in position, the other holding the back of Grant head just so that the kissing could resume. Grant had absolutely no objections. He quite enjoyed the kissing. In fact, he could kiss Clayton all day and give no fucks.

Clayton eagerly walked them towards the couch to press Grant down into it without a single word. Grant had a half breath to catch movement before there was suddenly a set of teeth scraping and nibbling at his throat, quickly licking at the red marks left behind.

“You know,” Grant rasped, trying his hardest not to just grab Clayton’s dick and suck him off right then and there. “I bet yetis wished they had a place in your zoo to get jiggy with it.”

Clayton wrenched back, and Grant had to laugh at the startled (actually extremely blank) expression on his face. Grant smiled brightly and Clayton’s brows furrowed. “They would have kept breeding and eventually they'd have taken over my zoo.”

“Oh my God.”

Grant covered his face, laughter overtaking him. “We’re never getting a pet, you’ll keep it fenced in the house and feed it table scraps all day.”

Clayton was silent, and Grant pulled his hands down to find himself the target of a surprised stare.

“What?”

“A house?”

“Huh?” Grant said intelligently. Clayton tensed, and Grant suddenly got it. “I mean. one day, if… if that’s okay?” Because if it wasn’t okay, this would get really awkward. Grant may have thought with his dick half the time, but he really couldn’t see himself with anyone else but Clayton. He wanted to argue with him in the paint aisle at a hardware store over the right colors for the living room. He wanted to learn how to cook proper meals and have Clayton crowding around him in the kitchen to try and steal bits of food before it was ready. He wanted to wake up to morning-breath kisses and lazy snuggles that bordered on suffocating. He just really kind of wanted everything to do with being with Clayton.

Because…

… because he was in love with Clayton.

Like. A lot.

More than really should be advisable when he’d only known the guy for three months. It was terrifying and a little bit exhilarating. He'd always thought that Adam had rushed into his relationship with Jessica, that they just had honeymooner's syndrome, even years later. Now he got it; understood what it was like to be on that fast falling avalanche that lead to wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone.

Clayton exhaled sharply, curling his fingers into Grant's shirt and pulling him up for a kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was something more than that, because Grant swore his entire body was going to catch fire and burn until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes floating in the air. Grant clutched to Clayton’s arms, lips parting easily beneath his, because he didn’t want to stop kissing Clayton.

He didn’t want to stop touching Clayton, feeling him, talking to him, holding him, watching him laugh and frown and try to hide the pair of wolf slippers that Grant knew he kept under his bed. Grant was so far in over his head and he was going to drown in it.

Grant had no idea how to even begin to tell Clayton any of this, so, instead, he pushed away just enough to gasp out, “Dude, your remote is digging into my ass. As much as I like things in my ass, your remote is not one of them.”

Clayton’s nostrils flared and Grant was airborne once more. He didn't really have time to complain about the manhandling because Clayton was carrying him down the hall and straight for the bedroom—complete with kicking the door fully open and everything. Sexy lumberjack montage, anyone?

Dropping Grant on the bed, Clayton’s hands went straight for the fly of Grant's jeans. He only paused in de-pantsing Grant to wrench his own shirt off and scramble out of his jeans.

Grant shoved his pants down, shimmying out of them and kicking them somewhere across the room and far, far away. Clayton was focused on him—completely focused on Grant and no one else. Not his job, not his past, and most definitely not Parker.

Overcome with a compelling sensation of pure
need
, Grant reached out, making grabby hands until Clayton was clambering on the bed to push Grant back against the mattress. Grant threw his arms around Clayton's shoulders, grinning stupidly when Clayton finally descended to kiss him senseless.

Clayton stretched out on top of him, kisses alternating between rough, biting presses, to gentle nips that were wet and open. He twined their fingers together, gripping tight while he set about trying to mark every inch of Grant's skin; lips, jaw, throat, collarbone, the dip in his chest, anything he could reach without having to let go of Grant's hands.

Grant pulled Clayton’s hands up and up until he had that mouth on his own again. With Clayton distracted in their liplock, Grant lifted his legs, wrapped them around Clayton’s hips, and shifted his weight to roll them over. Clayton’s breath left him in a whoosh, eyes wide while looking at Grant, in all his boxer-clad glory, as he perched himself on Clayton’s hips and rocked back. Grant, himself, was actually startled when he felt the hot press of Clayton’s erection through his boxers, sliding between the cheeks of his ass with the head nudging up behind his balls.