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Air Mattress of Genius	By : suz Category: G through L > Invisible Man Views: 1692 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Invisible Man, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-AirGenius/Disclaimer
- 1
Fandom: Invisible Man

Pairing: the usual - Bobby and Darien

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: if it matters, BIG ones for 'Legends'

Summary: Stranded in the mountains one more time, our guys run into what they think is an old… flame… of Darien's. Only a hands-on demonstration by Bobby will suffice to make it clear that the invisible man is off limits to everyone save his partner.

Disclaimer: no money made, not mine, yada-yada. I promise I treat them better than Sci Fi channel ever did.

Thanks for the services of my betas this go-round, Krys and Alex. Nits are always best picked by the sympathetic. ;^D

(Taz made me do this!)

A/N: This was inspired by a single conversation in Taz's 'Maybe Someday' fic, which I have been privileged to beta. After succumbing to a 30 minute fit of laughter, I had to do something with it. The inspiration, that is. I have based my characterization of the 'other man' on my long ago anthropology classes and my knowledge of animal behavior. It is my opinion (and only that) that the Big Foot on the Santee reservation had been driven mad by grief and the equal madness of his human stalker. However, primates are extremely intelligent, crazy or not. They are also far more dependant on their senses, especially smell, than humans are. And who is to say they may not have senses in addition to those we recognize?

Air Mattress of Genius

by Suz

Hobbes dumped the Aero bed out of its box and onto the floor of the van with barely contained annoyance. "Frickin’ flat tire - frickin’ Eeeeberts and his frickin’ retreads," he muttered, unrolling the mattress and locating the auto-inflate pump. Having found the pump, he kicked through the loose-leaf instructions that came with their recent purchase in search of the power adapter that would let him use the van’s battery to inflate the airbed.

"Fawkes, would you stop sittin’ on your frickin’ hands and help me find the power cord?" he turned on his lanky partner who sat in the front seat watching his activity with amused interest, chin resting on one arm which lay along the top edge of the backrest.

"It’s right there," Darien said calmly, pointing vaguely at Hobbes’ feet.

"Where?" Hobbes snapped, glancing around the dimly illuminated van in frustration.

"Right there," Darien repeated un-helpfully with another wave of a finger.

The subvocal snarl from Hobbes made Fawkes grin, teeth white in the pale twilight of an early mountain dusk. "Right -" finger poke "-there!" he added again for good measure. He wondered just how long it would take to produce the eruption that had been simmering in Bobby Hobbes’ crazed psyche since they had blown out a tire on an ecoterrorist’s tire spike and discovered that the inexpensive retread mounted on the spare wheel was also flat.

"Fawkes, I swear, if you don’t get off your skinny butt and give me a hand here, I’m gonna do something both of us are gonna regret," Hobbes threatened darkly.

"You promise?" Darien deadpanned, in the mood to live dangerously.

Hobbes finally clued into Darien’s current frame of mind, freezing where he stood to shoot a lethal glower at him. Darien grinned wider. "You tryin’ to piss me off?" Bobby demanded grimly. "’Cuz you’re doin’ a damned good job, there, Penelope," he informed Fawkes.

Hmm. Maybe I’m overshooting the mark, Darien thought, revising his emerging plan to goad his smaller partner into one of those outbursts that usually ended up with them hot and sweaty and a whole lot happier than they had been - but just occasionally, ended up instead with Hobbes blowing a gasket and going off on an extended diatribe that accomplished nothing in the ‘feel-good’ department. Since discretion was the better part of valor, as well as the better part of knowing just how far he could provoke his little tiger of a partner on any given day, Darien clambered into the back of the van with just enough of his punk swagger to keep the fire lit under Hobbes without setting him off prematurely. He stood with his back and head pressed along the van’s ceiling in a forced stoop to accommodate his lofty 6’3" — excluding the even loftier coiffure — and cocked an eyebrow at Bobby. "So?" he asked dryly. "What do you want me to do?"

"Find. The. Frickin’. Cord." Hobbes spat out each word like a marksman taking aim, expression even more thunderous than it had been the instant before.

Obediently, Darien stooped even lower and retrieved said cord from where it had lain hidden under the flaccid air mattress. He straightened as much as he was able and dangled his prey casually between the first two fingers of his right hand. "This what you were lookin’ for?" he asked sarcastically. Then jerked it out of Hobbes’ reach as the smaller man made a grab for it. "Now, lessee… This end goes here," Darien said as if to himself, bending down to fit the plug into the jack on the mattress pump, then glanced up at Bobby from under his brows with the faintest hint of a smirk. "And this end…"

"Gimme that!" Hobbes reached for the cord again, and this time managed to snatch it from Darien’s grasp and leaned forward into the cab of the van to insert the other end into the cigarette lighter.

Darien didn’t hesitate even long enough to admire the sight of one gorgeously muscular ass, and slid his arms around his partner’s waist, half-laying with his chest along Bobby’s back in amused affection, making sure his position revealed the interest a certain portion of his anatomy had in the aforementioned ass. "Goes here," he finished as he idly thrust his hips gently forward.

"Fawkes," Hobbes said warningly. "This isn’t some boy scout overnighter, so back off!"

"You’re right, Hobbesy, it isn’t a boy scout overnighter - they never were much fun," he added as he did another small roll of the hips and sighed happily.

The last time they had found themselves stranded in the mountains, it had been in the dead of winter in the middle of a 3-day blizzard, and they had been forced to share a bed in a cheap motel, which had resulted in their suddenly sharing a whole lot more than just a sleeping place. The air mattress Hobbes was wrestling with had been purchased shortly thereafter for just such a contingency as this. Well, actually, it had been purchased so they could give in to the urge Darien was feeling now, and fuck each other silly regardless of where they might happen to be. Still, it also came in handy in emergencies.

Like being stranded out in the middle of nowhere on an unpaved Forest Service road littered with the four-pronged tire spikes that local ecoterrorists had adopted from law enforcement. The little miniature grappling hooks were used to sabotage the vehicles of unwary lumber industry employees whose current juicy government contract allowed them to clear-cut the last of the old-growth alpine forests from the southern California landscape. Not surprisingly, some eco-group or other had taken exception, hence the spikes, and here they were, stranded once again. Only this time, there wasn’t so much as a wide place in the road, much less a motel. Fortunately, they had taken to stockpiling a few extra supplies on these field trips the Agency occasionally sent them off on. Sleeping bags, a change of clothes for each of them, non-perishable snack foods, assorted beverages… even an economy-sized box of condoms. Oh, and let’s not forget the lube, Darien reminded himself, and let go of Hobbes with one arm so he could dig into his back pocket and extract the tube that had resided there the whole way up the mountains.

Unfortunately, that meant his grip on Bobby was relaxed, and his shorter partner performed some sort of martial arts sleight of hand and wriggled free without any seeming effort at all. "Fawkes, dammit, this is serious!" Bobby turned to glare at him, exasperation all over his face. Unlike Fawkes, Hobbes was small enough that he could stand a bit straighter in the van’s interior. At the moment, he was using that to full advantage, head tilted to one side under the tin ceiling, hands on hips, reminding Darien of nothing so much as one of the angry nuns from his thankfully brief Catholic school days.

"I never said it wasn’t serious, Hobbesy," Darien replied, letting a sultry look fall over his own features as he dangled the lube from his hand enticingly. "This hard-on’s about as serious as things get, pal," he continued, knowing that dim as the light was, there was still more than enough of it for Bobby to see the considerable bulge in the front of Darien’s worn brown cords.

"Fawkes, you’re a freakin’ sex maniac," Bobby complained, but the softening in both his voice and his body language made a thrill of excitement sparkle along Darien’s nerves. Well, that and the visible firming of Bobby’s already firm physique.

"That’s me," he agreed readily enough. "Your friendly neighborhood Quicksilver sex fiend." He bent forward a bit more and brushed his mouth over Bobby’s. He didn’t usually dare kiss his little partner until he was sure this was going to be one of the happy-sweaty-fuck-ourselves-silly times instead of the Bobby-goes-off-like-a-nuke ones. When Hobbes was on a rant, kissing him could get a person killed. Or at the very least, knocked senseless. It had happened - more than once. Which had led Darien to become something of an expert in the fine art of knowing when to stop. Stop teasing Hobbes, that was. Well, not so much not teasing him, but not pissing him off beyond a certain point. The teasing thing was the fun part.

He caught the nearly silent exhalation of Hobbes’ moan, and knew he’d once again judged his partner’s tolerances to a tee. The slight parting of lips was literally the opening he’d been waiting for, and he slid his tongue over Bobby’s lower one enticingly, then went a fraction deeper to find Hobbes’ own tongue waiting for him.

Still, being bent in half like a mangled paperclip was making this more of a challenge than Darien liked, so he elected to solve the problem in a way that would not only make kissing Hobbes more comfortable, but bring other delectable portions of his partner’s anatomy into easy range. He dropped to his knees on the flat air mattress and pulled Hobbes up against him, planting a kiss on his groin, then raised his head to waggle his eyebrows at Bobby. "This serious enough for ya?" he asked his partner.

The thunderclouds had miraculously cleared from Hobbes’ expression, an unholy glee lighting his eyes as he grinned down at Darien. "I dunno… you could be jerking my chain," he answered, the tiny quirk of a dark eyebrow fair warning that the battle of innuendo was about to begin.

Fawkes smirked his best smirk and lifted his head to entreat the kiss he wanted from Hobbes while he finessed open the shorter man’s trouser button one-handed. "This the chain you want me to jerk?" he asked as he eased the zipper down one tooth at the time.

At which point Hobbes took him up on the wordless invitation and kissed the hell out of him, fingers lacing into Darien’s hair, tongue diving deep into Darien’s mouth, swirling and stroking and making him forget how to breathe and wonder why he even needed to.

Both of them were panting when Bobby finally pulled back just far enough to allow air to pass between their lips. "Blow it up," he commanded, voice raspy.

"Yes sir!" Darien grinned and palmed Hobbes’ penis, expertly fishing it out of the cotton boxer-briefs he’d made Bobby start wearing. In fact, Darien had become something of an underwear connoisseur, at least when his partner wore it. Of course, getting it off his partner was even better than admiring him with it on.

"No, the mattress!" Hobbes managed as Darien bent his head to breathe across the warm velvet male flesh so temptingly in reach.

"What, you want me to waste all this pucker power on the mattress?" Darien glanced up teasingly as he flicked his tongue-tip across the head of Hobbes’ cock, tasting him, sweet and salty and bitter and even better than chocolate, Darien’s personal food nirvana.

"Nrrrggh," Hobbes grunted with the pleasure of the sensation. "Use the pump," he managed, and Darien grinned hungrily, meeting his partner’s eyes.

"Hobbesy, I got your pump right here," he replied, and proceeded to demonstrate.

Hobbes' resistance ended when Darien managed to make it clear that he had no intention of pausing to inflate the air mattress, not when a feast for the senses hovered in front of his face so tantalizingly. Quick, teasing samplings of the main course whetted Darien's appetite. By this time, he knew what would defuse the last of Bobby's lingering resentment at their current predicament. He proceeded to do it. A judicious nibble along the bulging vein along the underside began the softening-up process, which of course would have to include a good bit of hardening up, first.

"Jesus," Hobbes managed, voice strangled. "Fawkes!"

"That's me, the second coming," Darien murmured against the silky skin. "And you haven't even come the first time, yet," he smiled, knowing his partner would feel it intimately.

"You fucking punk," Bobby groaned, shivering under Darien's fingers.

The knowledge that his partner was putty in his hands never failed to excite him. Darien lapped along the base of the thick shaft, relishing the musky scent that filled his nose. For about half a second or so, he regretted not having taken the time to get his partner undressed so he could lavish more attention on all the tasty bits currently trapped inside the snug boxers. He settled for fondling Hobbes' balls through the cotton with exquisite gentleness, knowing his tolerance was minimal for manhandling. The low groan was Fawkes’ reward for that consideration, and he hummed his way over the rigid member like a flautist, licking, blowing, even daring the occasional hint of teeth.

His partner’s circumcised penis was still remarkably sensitive at the head, and Darien spent a happy few minutes laving the gleaming helmet-shaped glans, polishing it with his tongue as he sampled the precum oozing from its tip. In fact, he entertained both himself and Bobby by dipping his tongue into that little slit as far as he could, feeling Hobbes tremble under his hands where they gripped his partner’s firm ass cheeks.

Bobby was whimpering now, always a good sign as far as Darien was concerned. The only question remaining was whether Hobbes wanted to make it last or if he wanted the release. Darien was disinclined to give him an option at this point, considering his partner’s foul mood previously. Bobby was in need of an attitude adjustment, and an orgasm was the fastest way Darien knew of to make that happen. Still, he could at least draw it out a bit longer he supposed, and to that end, moved his hands back to the front of Bobby’s belly, slipping them inside the cotton-poly pants and easing the trousers down past the ass he loved so much, giving himself some working room.

Hobbes’ groan deepened, his breathing rough and irregular, the low keening sound Darien had come to rely on as a gauge of his partner’s arousal beginning to increase in volume. He knew as soon as Bobby called out his name, the end was close enough to taste. Literally.

"Fa-a-Fa-a-a-a-w-w-w-wkes!" Hobbes grunted, his hips beginning the instinctive rhythm of lust that supplanted rational thought at moments like this.

So to make good on his promise to himself to extend Bobby‘s pleasure a bit longer, Darien gripped Hobbes’ right ass cheek firmly with his left hand and used his right hand to ease up behind his partner’s cloth-covered testicles. He wrapped his long fingers around their root, hooking his forefinger over the base of Bobby’s dick to clamp off blood flow and make his partner’s erection essentially indefinitely sustainable. A flesh and blood cockring. Bobby’s groan now spoke of frustration and Darien grinned against the penis he nuzzled.

"Fawkes, godammit, DO me!" Bobby managed, voice strangled, probably caught in Darien’s fingers just like his dick was.

Darien laughed softly, letting his breath gust over wet skin and cool his partner’s ardor before he set about stoking it again. "What, you think this is chopped liver, here?" he teased, glancing up into Hobbes’ flushed face with utter delight. "Franks and beans?" he went on, a fleeting nibble to the hotdog in question deliberately provocative. "Hamburger Helper? Make that Manwich, Hobbesy. Now I just gotta see if I can bite off more’n I can chew."

"You chew on me and I’m SO gonna hurt you, you punk," Hobbes warned dangerously, shades of tough federal agent mixed with even tougher ex-Marine. Darien was pleased to note that none of that was stopping Hobbes’ increasingly determined thrusts, and he knew he had his partner right where he wanted him. A little more torture and Bobby would come like the end of the world — with both a whimper AND a bang.

So Darien set about helping Hobbes down that path, letting saliva flow liberally along his soon-to-be meal, gravy for the meat, as it were. When Bobby was slicker than black ice, Darien took him down his throat, timing his own movements to keep from suffocating on the mouthful. He shifted position infinitesimally to improve the angles, and abruptly, he and his partner were on the same page, Hobbes’ thrusts shortening as Darien’s mouth slid up around him. It had taken a lot of practice to get good at deep-throating, but Darien considered it an excellent investment of his time. Though if he never saw another banana it’d be too soon. Just to really work Hobbes into a lather, Darien swallowed as Bobby’s next twitch of the hips slid him inward again.

Hobbes’ ragged howl was all the applause he could have asked for, and he could feel Bobby’s pulse throbbing under the fingers of his right hand. Two, six, a dozen more thrusts, and Hobbes was practically sobbing in his need, head thrown back over one shoulder to avoid the low ceiling, eyes closed, chest heaving. The glimpses Darien caught of Bobby’s expression would have made him grin if his mouth wasn’t already being stretched as far as it could go.

The Howl.

In capital letters.

Symbol of a Bobby Hobbes who’d surrendered control completely. It went from a single burst of white noise to a bass rumble that made the metal walls of the van vibrate at the same frequency as Hobbes under his hands. It was mind-blowingly erotic to realize that extraordinary sound was because of what he was doing. And the way he was doing it. Darien loved being the cause of that noise. Being its instigator, perpetuator, and beneficiary. Because he’d get his turn soon enough. And Bobby took it as a matter of personal pride to give as good as he got. Finally, a game of one-upmanship Darien could really get behind. Aw crap… behind. His own libido was off the charts by this time, and it was all he could do to retain his grip on his partner rather than transfer one hand to his own iron-hard cock. His breathing was becoming labored and he knew neither he nor his partner could take much more.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on Hobbesy’s balls and the rumble went from bass back up to tenor as Darien pulled back, wrapping his hand around the shaft of Bobby’s dick to concentrate on the deep plum-colored head. He sucked and jacked for all he was worth and he felt the instant Bobby lost it, the second of his orgasm, even before the bittersweet salty rush of semen down his throat confirmed it. Darien swallowed repeatedly, taking it all in, basking in the shouted ‘hallelujah’ Bobby’d made of his name. Heavenly choirs of angels couldn’t hold a candle to Bobby Hobbes’ ringing: "DAREEEE-I-I-I-NNNNNN!"

He swallowed, letting his tongue soften in its caress. Small, careful strokes to bring his partner back to earth as gently as possible. Just the warm heat of his mouth was enough to buffer the return to reality Bobby was confronted with. Darien had been on the receiving end often enough to know what worked for himself as well as his friend.

Friend.

So much more than that.

For Darien, there weren't words to describe what he felt for the paranoid, hyper, vulnerable man who'd come to mean everything to him.

With absolute care, he relinquished his mouthful, feeling oddly as if he was letting go of something near perfection. "Bobby," he breathed against his partner's belly, a parting kiss to smooth flesh merely a promise for the future.

Tentative hands in his hair, fingers delicate against his scalp, Darien could feel the return of uncertainty in his partner's touch.

"Fawkes…" Bobby's voice was still quivering as much as his body was.

"Shhh," Darien caressed his partner's belly with fingertips, chasing the touch with the brush of his lips, still slick with saliva and Bobby's semen.

"No. Fawkes. Why do you always do this?" Hobbes asked weakly.

"Do what?" Darien asked disinterestedly as he exhaled over delicate flesh, then flicked his tongue tip along the upper edge of Bobby's glans. For all that he ached with need of his own, the reality was, knowing that Hobbes' powder-keg temperament had been defused for the moment was enough to satisfy him until his volatile partner recovered enough to return the favor.

"Suck me, fuck me, every time I get a mad on," Hobbes responded wearily, with an odd mix of annoyance, humor and resignation, stroking Darien's hair gently.

"You'd rather be pissed than fucked?" Darien grinned up at him ironically.

"What, this is your way of winning the damned argument?" Hobbes snapped, and Darien rocked back on his heels to peer up at Hobbes in the long mountain dusk.

"It wasn't an argument, Hobbes. Not with me, anyway. You were in a shitty mood, you were ready to take it out on me, and hell, I can think of way better things to do with you than fight." Fawkes shrugged, a little angry, lifting his hands from his partner's body and backing off. He could tell that the sudden loss of shared warmth registered with Bobby. It was time this got talked about, but Darien would have preferred a clean segue into a fuck-fest in which he was the beneficiary.

Hobbes blinked first.

Darien heaved a sigh, the warm afterglow of sex fading as the complexity of the whole relationship thing reared its head again as it was wont to do at inopportune moments. He'd talked with Bobby about the phenomenon a few times, and both of them had frankly marveled that any relationship succeeded. Except that they were addicted to each other. All the annoyances inherent in a long-term relationship came with that. But then, so did both the simple and complex pleasures. The sex was the simple one. The complex ones were a lot harder to quantify. It was supposed to be easier in some ways for Hobbes, since he'd been married. Relationships, those society termed 'long-term', ought to have been less of a mystery to Bobby than to Darien. But as Hobbes pointed out with regularity, he'd failed Marriage 101. Which left them more or less in the same boat.

Still, it bothered Darien that annoying, petty arguments and temper tantrums on both their parts kept cropping up to muddy the waters. It wasn't like any of those minor squabbles were ball-breakers, but they got in the way of the warm fuzzy, or just plain hot-hot-hot moments both of them preferred. Still, minor annoyances aside, they were, by this time, literally inseparable.

On the job and off, there were few, if any, minutes in a given day in which they were parted. And most of the time, both of them preferred it that way. Still, when Hobbes went into one of his broody moods, testy and tense for no apparent reason, or even for some obvious reason that seemed unworthy of the dramatics, Darien sometimes wondered if all relationships were like this.

Oh, he was the first to admit he was no picnic either, but at least this time, he had the relative advantage of having a partner who knew every one of his worst secrets - and loved him in spite of them.

That alone was a miracle of major proportions.

But it still didn't resolve the whole 'taking it out on the loved one' thing they both seemed prone too. He eyed Hobbes in the deep blue air of the van, the scent of ejaculate perfuming the twilight with musk. "So, Hobbesy, you tell me. You wanna spend a cold, uncomfortable night in the mountains in the back of this rattle-trap van of yours cursing the day Eberts was born, or do you wanna spend it on that mattress of yours? With me. Staying as warm as we can." He waited, watching his partner process this ultimatum.

"Well, you put it like that," Bobby said sheepishly as he fumbled his pants and shorts back into position but not closing the fastenings.

"You sure? I wouldn't wanna be accused of using bribes to get what I want or anything," Darien said sarcastically.

Hobbes snorted, amused in spite of himself, and Darien grinned, knowing his partner's bad mood had been dissipated. At least until Bobby got home and ran across Eberts for the first time on Monday. Monday. He grinned wider. "Bobby. Today is Thursday."

"Yeah, genius, it is. So what?" Bobby inquired as he bent to retrieve the jack plug and inserted it back into the mattress's pump, as Darien’s activities had dislodged it.

"So, we have a whole weekend to play, Hobbesy." Darien ran his hands up the back of Hobbes' thighs. "Eberts blew our spare tire. So whaddaya say we blow his budget on this operation?"

"Whadda're you sayin', Fawkes?" Bobby asked warily, eyeing Darien with suspicion.

"You ever heard the old saying; 'Living well is the best revenge'?" Darien asked, entertained by this unexpected example of Hobbesian paranoia. A little might go a long way, but too much cluttered up those 'super secret agent' brain cells of Bobby's.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, my whacked out little friend, if we're stuck up here over the weekend, we're technically on the Agency clock, right?" Darien prompted. OK, so Bobby wasn't a con-man, and not used to thinking like one. But still. He ought to have learned a little more about working the angles after nearly 20 years in the intelligence field. It was time Hobbes started thinking about bureaucrats as opponents to be bested, not authority figures to be kissed up to to their face and railed at behind their backs.

"And I repeat, so what?" Bobby snapped, residual annoyance beginning to rekindle his earlier anger.

"So, Hobbesy, we scam ourselves a long weekend - with pay. As long as Ebes doesn't know where the hell we are, we can tell him anything we want. Like, we spent the weekend stuck on a dirt road in the back of beyond for three days so we couldn't complete the mission. So not only are we on the clock, but we're racking up the OT, there, Bobby. And we still get paid when we finally climb out of bed on Monday to nail the tree-huggers." Darien waited for the implications to register.

The frown on Bobby's face made it clear that defrauding his employer of anything more than a little internet access or a few paper clips was well outside his comfort zone. Darien couldn't help rejoicing in the prospect of corrupting Bobby, at least a little.

"Bobby. OT. That's time and a half, my friend. The Fish has to abide by the laws of the state of California, right? As an agency of the US government, it'd be setting a really bad example to violate the labor laws. So, that means we have 3, maybe 4 days, if we work it right, where we’ll be making time and a half. And on top of that, we'll have worked 7 days in a row, which makes us golden. Double time, baby. And by law, we have to get the 8^th and 9^th days off. So, it looks like we can count on a mighty short work week next week. Like 3 days. I'd like to see Eberts' face when he hands us our paycheck, my friend."

It was the idea of putting one over on the Agency's financial watchdog that really tipped the scales in his favor, and Darien knew it. He watched the evil glee that suffused his partner's expression and knew that whatever happened, however long it took for them to make their way to somewhere they could summon a tow truck for the van, Bobby would be unlikely to lapse back into his pissy, argumentative 'mad at Eberts' mood.

"Fawkes. Anyone ever tell you you’re a shifty bastard? You got all the angles figured out, don'tcha?" Bobby inquired with a priceless mix of annoyance and admiration.

"Darned right, Bobby. And for future reference, every successful con has the truth at its core. You just gotta be able to spot the opportunities in the obvious. Think of it as beating Eberts at his own game. He gets squirrelly on us, and a call to the California Department of Labor will put him in the hot seat. I don't think he's gonna risk it, not even for the Fish."

Hobbes started to laugh, quietly, but with great mirth, small frame shaking with his amusement. "Who da man, Fawkesy," he congratulated Darien. "Who da man?" He offered his right hand for their traditional low five and Fawkes was only too happy to oblige.

"So, I’m not gonna have to jolly you out of any more bad moods, am I?" Darien asked, looking up at his partner.

Hobbes shrugged nonchalantly. "Depends. If it’s the only way I’m gonna get your mouth on me again this weekend, I can probably come up with a temper tantrum or two…."

"Hey, it’s my turn next," Darien complained as he knee-walked off the mattress and then turned on the little pump. It racketed into action and in less than three minutes, their bed was inflated. Hobbes reached into the bulkhead storage and dug out the pair of sleeping bags, pillows and the battery-operated electric lantern. In that warm glow, Darien did a striptease for his partner. He removed his shirt, then lay back on the mattress and shimmied out of his pants and underwear, flinging his clothing in all directions as he removed it, making Hobbes laugh when his briefs ended up caught on the rearview mirror.

"Good thing there’s no Highway Patrol gonna stop and check out this sin bin way out here in the middle of nowhere," Bobby observed dryly, taking off his own shirt and draping it neatly over the back of the bench seat. "We’d get us a ticket for public indecency."

"Not as long as you’ve got the damned pants on, Hobbesy. C’mon already! You owe me!" he complained, sitting up.

"We’re keepin’ score now, are we?" Hobbes grinned, resembling a shark, so many teeth were showing. "Well, let’s see who can do who, and how often, there, junior," he suggested as he shoved his pants and boxer briefs down around his knees, grabbing hold of Darien’s shoulder to steady himself while he kicked off his boots and toed his pants down the rest of the way.

Unable to resist, Darien peeled the briefs off Bobby’s muscular legs and tossed them over the bench seat to join his own dangling from the mirror, then removed his socks. Not counting the uncomfortable stoop Hobbes was being forced into by the low ceiling, his partner was finally exposed in all his glory to Darien’s appreciative eye. He licked his lips hungrily. "So what're you still doing standing there, Hobbesy?" he taunted a little, his cock beginning to harden up again. "Get your ass down here, already!"

"Pushy, pushy!" Bobby laughed and dove into Darien, knocking him backwards to lie sprawled on the mattress, which rocked and heaved a bit under them like a restive horse. He ground his hips against Darien's teasingly.

"Push all you want, babycakes," Darien grinned up at his partner, running his hands over Hobbes' ass, giving it a squeeze.

"Talk about openings," Bobby smirked, and Darien could feel his dick throb into full arousal at the double entendre, intended or not.

"Oh, yeah, let’s," Darien begged, batting his eyes outrageously. "I'm open to whatever you have in mind, hotstuff."

Bobby snickered and bent his head to devour Darien's mouth with relish. Fawkes kissed him back, contentment rapidly exploding into lust as he felt Hobbes' tongue stroke his. When it became clear a moment later, as Bobby trailed kisses along Darien's jaw and neck, that Hobbes was apparently planning on eating him for dinner, he laced his fingers through what remained of Bobby's hair and egged him on. Predictably, Hobbes accepted the invitation, beginning to thrust forcefully against Darien's groin. Even the fact that Hobbes hadn't recovered from the orgasm he'd had yet didn't diminish the sensuality of feeling Bobby's dick alongside his own, even if it was suedey-soft rather than velvet steel.

Bobby rested his weight on his elbows and buried his own hands into Darien's hair as they kissed, tasting each other, enjoying the luxury of an impending non-weekend sexual marathon. "Fawkesy. Damn. You taste like heaven."

Darien swiped a lick across Bobby's lips. "That's cuz I taste like you, Bobby," he pointed out.

"Nah, its cuz you taste like us," Hobbes corrected as he moved down Darien's body.

Darien moaned as his partner’s lips brushed a nipple, then descended to the hollow between his pectorals, tongue tasting, savoring, tracing the corded muscle that lay below the skin. He knew his musculature turned Hobbes on rather intensely, and had made a point of maintaining his weight training routine, even managing to get Hobbes involved on occasion. His little partner was sexy anyway, but Fawkes wasn’t opposed to the extra hardness Bobby’d acquired as Darien’s lifting buddy. Oh, please, no more bad puns, he warned himself, knowing that a sudden fit of unexplained laughter would doubtless be misinterpreted. Fortunately, his brief distraction was ended by Bobby’s tongue in his navel, and he shuddered with pleasure.

"That’s more like it," Bobby murmured against his belly. "Thought I’d lost ya there for a sec," he added, glancing up the long expanse of Darien’s abdomen with a wry twinkle in his eyes.

"Damn, man, you don’t miss a thing, do you?" Darien grinned happily. "I was just thinking," he admitted.

Hobbes’ snort of laughter didn’t prepare him for the sudden death grip on his penis, and Darien felt the air whoosh out of his lungs in mingled surprise and arousal. "Fuck!"

"Yeah, exactly, hotshot. Don’t go distracting yourself with them big words and deep thoughts. I want your undivided attention when I make you scream like a girl." Hobbes bounced his eyebrows wickedly and slid his grip up the shaft of Darien’s dick in one long, smooth move.

Darien felt his eyes cross at the heavenly pressure and let Hobbes’ attentions short-circuit rational thought. Who the hell needed rationality, anyway? It was seriously over-rated when compared to the mind-bending feeling of Bobby Hobbes jacking him off. He moaned again, deep in his chest.

"That’s more like it," Hobbes approved and shifted up Darien’s body so they lay belly to belly, his hands braced on either side of Darien’s chest as he raised himself up slightly to gaze down at his blissed-out partner. "So. What’s it gonna be? Want me to suck you? Fuck you? Jerk you?"

"What is this, Chinese take out? Then one of everything," Darien managed, grinning.

"What, now you want it family style?" Hobbes chortled. "Pass the sweet and sour sauce, there, partner," he said, reaching one-handed between their bodies to grip Darien again with an evil jerk that ended with thumb and forefinger wrapped tightly under the glans to prevent the eruption that trembled in Darien’s muscles.

"Aw, Christ, Bobby!" Darien complained breathlessly, trying to squirm enough to get some friction going. He needed to come so badly he could taste it, and he could tell Hobbes wasn’t going to be satisfied until he was begging, screaming for the orgasm his partner was teasing him so unmercifully with. "Suck me. Fuck me. Just do it! Do something! Please!"

"Oh, so now little inviso-boy is payin’ attention, huh?" Bobby smirked. "Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch completely." Another movement of fingers was Darien’s reward, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Orgasm hovered at the very edge of his reach, and he strained for it even as Hobbes took steps to deny him. "Oh, no you don’t," his smaller partner scolded, "I gotta make you scream, first. Remember?"

"Hobbes, you’re a bastard!" Darien panted in frustrated desperation.

"Yup," Hobbes agreed and rolled off Darien’s chest, the sudden disappearance of warmth defusing the painful urgency just enough to make it possible for him to turn his head and glare at Bobby, who asked: "Now. One more time. How do you want the main course served up, there, partner?"

Darien knew Hobbes well enough by now to recognize his partner in one of his states of total concentration. Nothing and no one was going to divert Bobby Hobbes. The ex-Marine was on a mission. A mission from god, as far as Darien was concerned. Every nerve in his body had been created just for this, the touch of Hobbes’ fingers and tongue and skin on his own. "Aw, crap, Bobby. Please!"

"You didn’t answer the question, my friend," Bobby reminded him with aroused amusement.

"You hard?" Darien asked, panting. The orgasm he’d given Bobby half an hour earlier might interfere with what he had in mind, and now he wished he’d had a little better self control. But then again, he wouldn’t have managed to suck Bobby off and get a taste of the little tiger, something he’d been craving the whole drive up here.

Bobby’s laugh was a low, rumbling purr in his chest. "Am I hard? What the hell kinda question is that, you yutz? I’m naked on an air mattress with the hottest piece of ass in southern California. Damned right I’m hard. Why you askin’?"

"Three guesses," Darien grinned, admiring the way the glow of their little electric lantern fell over the tightly muscled back and ass of his partner beside him. "And the first two don’t count."

"Hmm." Hobbes quirked an eyebrow sarcastically. "Gee, sounds like someone over on that side of the bed is feelin’ bossy. Sorry, pal, this time, the ride is mine. Roll over and get your ass in the air before I have to beat on it, why don’t you?"

"Oooo, I love it when you do your tough Marine shtick," Darien grinned, rolling fluidly onto his stomach, then lifting himself to hands and knees as ordered, feeling his aching erection bob against his belly as he positioned himself. The mattress squeaked slightly as they moved around, the rustle of the nylon sleeping bags they’d zipped together a bit like the silk sheets Bobby’d picked up somewhere that spring. And at last, Hobbesy’s warm hands curved over his oh-so-ready backside, caressing with instinctive skill along the line of his spine into the cleft between ass cheeks, over the swell of buttocks, down the backs of his thighs, and back again. The flirtation Bobby was carrying on with Darien’s asshole pushed him back up the slope towards orgasm, and his breathing was coming fast and sharp under his ribs. "God, Hobbesy," he whimpered, knowing Bobby wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than screams for mercy from him.

Both of them were fairly vocal when suitably motivated, so the growl of fierce possessiveness from Hobbes was hardly a surprise. "Lube," came the rough command and Darien felt the long stroke of Bobby’s naked and leaking cock plow between his buttocks.

With a shaking hand, Darien retrieved the tube from the pocket of his pants where they lay bunched up between the mattress and the side of the van and reached it over his shoulder to his partner along with the little condom packet. He endured the chill of Bobby’s absence for the second it took his partner to put on the condom and squeeze out a generous handful of lubricant, shivering when the cool, slick gel hit his feverish skin. Fingers, then, wet and strong and - great goddamn - in him. And there was nothing left but pure sensation.

It was heavenly. More than welcome after the minor squabble of earlier. It was - Quicksilver began to prickle over his skin and then flow like water. And as his vision went monochrome, he raised his head to howl his pleasure. Hobbes had achieved his goal; Darien was screaming like a girl.

Which is when he saw it: the enormous, luminous, Quicksilvered figure outside the van, glowing through the windshield.

"Shit!" he managed, arousal subsumed by fear, adrenaline rending its indistinguishable response from the gland. Both he and Hobbes were fully coated now, and Darien could only thank the God of his childhood when Bobby stiffened against his back, growling. "You see it? Tell me you see it!" he begged, separating himself from his partner, straightening, gripping the back of the seat in the van's cab.

Hobbes was faster still, lifting away from him, freeing himself without a word or extraneous movement, gaining maneuvering room. Bobby went for his gun as the blue glow, 10 feet tall if it was an inch, hurled itself towards the front of the van. Quicksilver flaked away from Hobbes' bronze skin like autumn leaves as glass shattered, the windshield collapsing under whatever assault was being waged. Darien flung himself to one side, knowing his partner needed space to react. It was move or get run over. Or even worse, shot.

Hobbes snapped off four rounds in rapid succession, none of which seemed to affect their attacker in the slightest.

"Fawkes! Snap out of it, kid! I need you to shoom me. I can’t see that thing unless you do," his partner’s terse command refocused Darien on reality, and he rolled over to lay the palm of his hand on Hobbes’ back, willing the Quicksilver that still largely covered himself over Bobby’s crouched figure. Two more shots, and this time, they were met with the unmistakable yowl of a wounded animal. The blue glow retreated, though not far, and stood awkwardly on the dirt road perhaps a few dozen feet in front of them, an eerie keening sound coming from it. It cradled one arm across its chest, clearly injured.

Bobby scrambled into the front of the van in spite of the shattered safety glass that glittered like diamonds on the worn Naugahyde in the light of a full moon hanging just above the treetops. Darien followed out of necessity so that he could maintain his hold on Hobbes.

"I think I winged it," Bobby said, shifting uncomfortably as the hard-edged chunks of safety glass under their asses impinged on him.

"Yeah, nice shootin’, there, Annie Oakley," Darien said sharply. "Is that thing what I think it is?"

He could feel Hobbes nod, muscles along his spine tensing briefly under Darien’s hand. "I’d put money on it," Bobby confirmed. "Looks like your hairy friend is back."

"Bigfoot," Darien agreed. "Or his brother," he added, wondering if it was the same creature that had terrorized the Santee reservation and killed several people before disappearing into the wilderness again. He hesitated, feeling suddenly vulnerable, sitting stark naked amidst the shattered glass beside his partner.

The fact that Hobbes was equally bare-assed didn’t seem to matter even half a damn to his smaller partner, who shifted, resting the muzzle of his invisible gun on the dashboard, drawing a bead on the blue glow in front of them.

"What the hell does this one want?" Darien asked, not really expecting an answer.

Hobbes snorted. "Best guess? The same thing the other one wanted. You. It wants to shag your skinny ass."

"Yeah, but how the hell did it find me? I mean, I haven’t even gotten out of the van, Hobbes. It’s not like it could be tracking me by smell," Darien pointed out as he used his free hand to sweep some of the glass off the bench seat, and then off his butt.

There was a brief silence as Hobbes considered this. "Maybe it’s not you, exactly, but the gland? I mean, the Keepy said something about… phera-something. Pheromones. Maybe it’s getting its signals crossed cuz to it, you smell like one hot missus bigfoot, at least from a distance?"

"Yeah, but how’s it getting a whiff? Unless… it’s some other weirdness with the gland that thing is homing in on…" he speculated, suddenly nervous. The last thing he wanted to think about was the possibility that he had a sasquatch homing beacon housed in his head. The idea that any time he set foot in the wilderness, he’d be risking attracting an entourage of lovelorn bigfoots - bigfeet? - didn’t do much for his peace of mind. The last vestige of his erection shriveled away in agreement.

Hobbes' snort of ironic amusement was soft but unmistakable. "You got your head stuffed full'a sex appeal, there, partner. Probably explains why I can't keep my hands offa you. And why your buddy out there wants to get his big furry dick into you. It's that ol' double X chromosome thing with the gland. Just call it 'love potion number nine'," Bobby said, humor in his voice.

"That's not funny, Hobbes," Darien protested.

Hobbes' low laugh begged to differ with that assessment. "Well, yeah, actually, it kinda is, Fawkes. Might actually explain why I took a total left turn with my sex life. What, you think I've fucked a lotta guys besides you? You know I ain't, kid. Until I fell into bed with you, I knew what team I was playin' on, pal. Now the only team that matters is you and me. We are the team, my friend. We are an item. And if you think I'm gonna let that hairy freakzoid out there take you away from me, you got another thing comin.'"

Anything else Hobbes might have planned to say was cut off by the sudden change in the vocalization of their uninvited guest. The sasquatch's rumble went from, to anthropomorphize, a whimper of pain and bewilderment, to a deeper rumble of… something. Bobby stiffened under Darien's hand, and even blurred as his outline was by the warm golden quicksilver glow that softened edges, his tension registered. It was primal. Instinctive. The fundamental wiring that made Bobby Bobby. He was hardwired to protect. It was far from lost on Darien that what Hobbes protected here was himself; Darien Fawkes.

"Hobbes -" he started. The glowing blue figure outside their shattered windshield straightened from its half-crouch, moving forward with a rising note in its vocalization that was almost inquisitive. Beside him, Hobbes' finger tightened on the trigger. "Oh, crap," he finished instead, as it dodged towards them with lightning speed and one arm reached in through the shattered windshield to snatch their briefs from where they festooned the rearview mirror. It retreated with its prizes to what it had apparently decided was a safe distance, and Darien swore it was examining - hell, sniffing - their underwear.

"What the-" Hobbes muttered to himself, shaking off the Quicksilver. "What the hell does it want with our shorts?" he asked, rhetorically, Darien assumed. "It's turned 'em Saran wrap," he continued, and glanced towards where he knew Darien was sitting.

"Uh, what am I supposed to do about that?" Darien replied, more sharply than he'd intended. This was way more than he'd bargained for, and all he could manage was a few 'hail Marys' that the QSM wasn't an issue any longer. At this rate, he'd be invisible all weekend, if his pulse was any indication.

"Try using something in your head besides that gland," Hobbes retorted, unconsciously shifting his aim slightly, and unintentionally letting the creature out of his sights. Darien returned his hand to the middle of Bobby's back, reQuicksilvering him. Hobbes corrected his aim instantly. "You're the one with the 'Fawkes IQ' around here. Any theories? Speculations? Anything?" Hobbes went on, ignoring the return to the monochrome world Darien and he once again inhabited.

"Hey, I'm a thief. Not a whatchamacallit - crypto-zoologist," Darien reminded. "Whaddo I know about Bigfoot? Until 3 years ago, I figured they were a myth!"

"You were also the one who beat our brilliant Keepie to the connection between your gland and that thing out there," Hobbes pointed out impatiently. "So maybe you ain't got the degree, but you sure as hell have the brains."

Darien paused in whatever whiny remark he'd been about to come back with, belatedly actually hearing what it was Hobbes was saying: Bobby thought he was smart. Like, Keeper-smart. Like his brother had been smart. He stared at the blurry golden glow that was his partner, fear easing a little as something much friendlier flowed through him. "Hobbesy?"

"Yeah." It wasn't a question. Hobbes wasn't letting himself be distracted, here. And it was moments like these that made him really wonder about the ADD diagnosis Hobbes had been given. Because when the situation called for it, NO one could focus more intently than Bobby.

"In case I forget to mention it?" he started, pausing, slipping his hand up his partner's naked back gently, "I love you."

"Yeesh," Hobbes snorted. "The feeling is definitely mutual, pal, but now's not exactly the time for sonnets."

Darien chuckled in spite of himself and leaned forward to kiss Hobbes on the top of his bald head. "Bobby, with you, I don't need sonnets. Just 2 words. 'Fuck. Me.'"

Bobby laughed, glancing Darien's way for an instant. "And who says those words aren't a sonnet?" Hobbes inquired.

Darien could almost see the grin, even through the Quicksilver glow that covered his partner. "Uh, the poetry police, maybe?" he replied, and bent his head to nibble on Bobby's ear.

"Fawkes!" Hobbes squawked, "what the hell are you doin'? We got ourselves a situation, here!"

However reckless it might have been, Darien took that moment to kiss Bobby full on the mouth, tasting Hobbes-flavored Quicksilver. He couldn't have anticipated the reaction from their audience, however.

The forlorn moan from the blue-glowing sasquatch was rife with emotion, and both men turned their heads to stare out the window at the creature. It had taken two or three steps towards the van, almost as if it couldn't help itself, drawn towards whatever scent or presence the gland exuded. "Hobbesy. Kiss me again," he ordered, the beginnings of insight stirring.

"What? Are you completely outta your gourd?" Bobby demanded, turning Darien's way in disbelief. Darien didn't bother arguing, just kissed Bobby again, one eye on the sasquatch's reaction.

The whimper from the creature, and the way it visibly slumped, told him his guess was probably correct. He laughed softly. "Bobby, that's it, man."

"What? What's it?" Hobbes snapped, the impatient nervousness not masking what Darien knew was genuine concern for his mental stability.

"You said it yourself, Bobby. It's looking for a mate, right? But you got here first. "

"So?" Hobbes responded, audibly confused.

"So, my friend, we gotta show it I'm taken. Prove we're a pair. Or it isn't gonna leave us alone. Not if it's anything like as desperate as the last one was."

Hobbes' response to this was to cup a hand over Darien's forehead, presumably checking for fever, as if he could have felt anything through the coating of Quicksilver. "That's it, as soon as we get outta here, I'm hauling you in to see the Keeper," Bobby announced. "You're even crazier than I am!"

"I can prove it," Darien argued.

"What, that you're nutso? You've already done that, ace," Hobbes replied.

"No-o, that all we gotta do is prove we're mates and it'll go back into whatever x-file it came out of," Fawkes argued. "Look. Just kiss me again, and keep one eye on Harry, out there. OK? Can you do that?"

Apparently Bobby could, and proceeded to demonstrate, kissing Darien fiercely, one hand tangled in his hair, the other thumbing on the safety of the gun he held, presumably to avoid shooting either of them by accident.

Once again, 'Harry' vocally protested, shambling another couple of steps closer, which of course had Hobbes breaking away and reflexively returning his attention to his weapon, drawing a bead once more on their visitor. "OK. So maybe you're right, and it wants to marry you. Kissing you is sure pissing it off," Bobby conceded. "Whaddya wanna do next; exchange vows? That's gonna really tick him off."

"You gotta fuck me, Bobby. Right here. Right now. In front of that thing." Darien knew he was right, but he also knew Hobbes was unlikely to agree. He couldn't say exactly why he knew, but every instinct he had told him that a 'public' mating between himself and his partner would be the only argument the sasquatch would listen to as to why Darien was off limits.

"You really ARE nuts," Hobbes responded flatly. "That thing could rip us both to shreds while I have my cock up your skinny ass, Fawkes!"

"Yeah, it could. But it won't," Darien argued. Certainty he had no chance of explaining what intuition and instinct, and perhaps something more, were assuring him of. "They mate for life, Bobby."

"How the frickin' HELL would you know that?" Hobbes snapped.

It was only 3 years of practice that let Fawkes hear the shock in his partners voice. "I… I can't explain why I know, baby, but you gotta trust me on this one. You. Me. Forever." He swallowed, knowing he needed to give his partner an out. "At least as far as that thing is concerned."

Hobbes drew back, and Darien could feel the rigidity of his partner's muscles under his hand. "Fuck that," Bobby snarled, and suddenly, with all the speed and grace of an attacking cat, Hobbes was on him, mouth fastened over his own, tongue caressing his, gun and sasquatch forgotten in the primal urge to possess.

Darien moaned deep in his throat, and abruptly realized that sex and violence were fundamentally linked in the hardwiring of Bobby's reactions: he'd never lost the hard on, adrenaline sustaining his erection throughout the last 15 minutes. The surge of 'want' that triggered in Darien roused his penis from its panic-induced somnolence to jut with painful urgency against his own thigh and Bobby's belly.

"You and me forever, period. Bigfoot or not. Got it?" Hobbes demanded as he bent his attentions to Darien's chest, shoulder, nipples, anything within reach of his mouth. "You are mine, Fawkes. End of discussion." Not even the whine from their hairy observer distracted him now.

Hell yes, Darien agreed in the privacy of his own thoughts, Yeah, I'm yours, any time, any place, any way you want me, baby, and he drew his smaller partner into his arms as he tipped backwards against the passenger door of the van.

Hobbes had clearly meant it when he'd said 'end of discussion', because without warning, Bobby reached past Darien's left shoulder and released the door latch. Their combined weight was enough to swing it open, and Darien would have fallen out backwards if Bobby hadn't been braced to steady him with a strong grip on his wrists. Darien twisted slightly so that his spine lodged against the doorframe, catching himself, and Bobby climbed out of the van.

"What the hell are you doing?" Darien asked, one nervous eye on the blue figure looming restlessly less than a dozen yards away. Quicksilver flaked off his partner's wiry body, and Fawkes felt Bobby's insistent tug, urging him out onto terra firma. For a split second, every muscle and nerve rebelled. "Bobby!" he resisted, trying to send the Quicksilver flowing across that touch to replace the coating that had just flaked away from his lover's skin.

"Enough with the saran wrap, kid. I'd rather not have to watch that thing watch us - or know it's coming to squash us into pulp, either, if you don't mind," Hobbes scolded, releasing his hold on Darien and shaking the last of the Quicksilver off his arm. "Get out here, Fawkes," Hobbes demanded, his eyes as intent as Darien had ever seen them. "If we're gonna die for love, then we're damned sure gonna die happy," he said throatily. "Time for us to see if you're as smart as you think you are," he added.

Reluctantly, Darien squirmed around in his seat so that his long legs hung out the door and dropped onto the soft mountain dust of the road they'd been stranded on. There was no mistaking the excitement in the sasquatch's vocalization as Darien shot one last glance at it and allowed the silver coating to dissolve away and join the pine needles on the ground.

He wasn't allowed to dwell on that odd sort of sudden blindness, because Hobbes pressed himself up against Darien's long slender body like a happy cat, going straight for one of his - and Darien's - favorite erogenous zones, the nipples. That, combined with the erotic stimulus of having Bobby's lubed dick sliding slickly along his thigh was more than enough to get his mind off their possibly imminent deaths. His own slightly wilted erection firmed again as blood flowed out of his brain and into the place it was needed far more urgently at the moment.

When Bobby's hand curved around his shaft and stroked gently, Darien moaned softly, so caught up in the sensations his partner could rouse in him that he completely missed the equally soft keening from their unseen observer. He ducked his head to kiss the top of his partner's head again, resting his cheek on Bobby's skull so he could feel the softness of the last few hairs there, smell his scent, and generally rejoice in having managed to convince his partner that fishing off this particular pier was not only NOT a bad idea, but a decidedly good one.

As Darien let sexual bliss sweep over him again, Hobbes upped the ante by caressing Darien's skin into an inferno; lust and desire, need and affection all fusing into something as brilliant and as sharp as precious gemstones. Not to mention as hard as said rocks. Oh, hell, he managed a vaguely coherent thought, cursing his unerring propensity for bad jokes in the middle of the hottest sex of his life. This time, though, he managed to circumvent the distraction humor presented by the simple expedient of tipping his partner's chin up so he could kiss him on the mouth, savoring the flavors that made up Bobby Hobbes. There wasn't a single funny thing about that at all, and he sank his tongue into his partner's mouth with the insistent thrusts he hoped to provoke from Hobbes' attentions to his asshole in the immediate future.

Bobby put a quick stop to that by sucking hard on Darien's tongue, then nipping his lower lip tenderly. "Nu-uh, my friend. No fair pushing my buttons. I'm the one 'spozed to be doin' the pushin' around here," Hobbes managed, somehow able to string a sentence together even aroused to the point of idiocy.

Or perhaps that was an oversimplification. No, it was - what was it Claire called it? Projection? He was quickly approaching the mindless state he preferred when Bobby had his hands, mouth and body all over him. But Hobbes had yet to lose that almost scary focus of his.

Even that much conscious thought was stripped from him as Bobby cupped his throbbing balls in the palm of his free hand, the other tangled in Darien's sweat-damp hair at the back of his neck, holding him still as he ran his agile tongue over Darien's pectorals and then down to his rippled abdominals. He had no idea at that point how long Hobbes continued to tease him with single-minded purpose, but by the time Bobby finally growled low in his throat; "Assume the position, Penelope," he was quivering in every muscle, his dick iron hard and leaking.

He did as his ex-Marine drill sergeant of a lover ordered, turning to face the van's passenger compartment and bracing himself with both hands on the metal door jamb.

"That's right, there, sunshine, keep those talented hands where I can see 'em. You touch yourself, and I'm gonna have to restrain you," Bobby approved, his own hands sliding along Darien's ribs lightly, settling on Fawkes' hips as he wordlessly urged his partner to step back away from the van a bit further. Darien did so, well-accustomed to getting nailed from behind, though usually it was up against either his or Bobby's front door when they simply couldn't wait long enough to get horizontal on the nearest furniture. He widened his stance and felt Bobby's hands sweep from his hips to his ass, stroking gently before clutching firm muscle to part the cheeks. The pressure of Hobbes' cockhead against the puckered opening made him tense reflexively, then Darien relaxed, instinct easily overcome by desire.

It was getting harder and harder to keep the Quicksilver under conscious control, to restrain the flow that prickled his skin like heat lightning. More and more of his attention was consumed by that job, the only one he'd been assigned in this display of public debauchery, and he was damned if he was going to let Hobbes down. Of course, he knew it would ultimately fail, but his sole goal was to hold off the Quicksilver until that last split second when he could stand no more and release overtook him.

He was barely aware of it when one of Bobby's hands left his hips and he felt Hobbes' cock firm up as his partner guided himself home, thrusting smoothly, slowly - incredibly slowly - into Darien's body.

Fawkes moaned as the tip of Hobbes' rod came to rest against his prostate, sending jolts of pure pleasure through him. To his frustrated joy, Bobby began with tiny, almost infinitesimal movements that stroked the little gland with delicate touches, making him insane with the exquisite torment of it. The sensation was unlike anything else he'd experienced, and though Bobby had pulled this trick on him before, more than once, it had always been in the context of one of their lingering, leisurely 'romantic' encounters. He'd tried to do likewise several times, but he simply couldn't match Bobby's self-restraint. When he got his cock up Hobbesy's ass, every instinct was to pound away, bringing both of them off with explosive speed. He just couldn’t match Hobbes' control. Bobby chalked it up to his CTS training, but Darien had wondered on occasion just how many lovers his partner had had to practice on to get it right. Either he was lying when he said he hadn't slept with a lot of other men before Darien had persuaded him into bed, or he was the best natural lover Darien had ever had.

The tiny movements began to lengthen, still gentle, still slow - far too slow as far as Darien was concerned — but with a change in the tempo of the rhythmic stimulation calculated to wind him up another notch. Darien began to pant, need and frustration rendering him helpless under the gentle assault on his ass. "Bobby-Bobby-Bobby-Bobby-bobbybobbybobby…" he grunted softly with every stroke. He was dimly aware, his attention so narrowly focused he might have missed it but for the alien sound the sasquatch made, of the parallel moaning of the creature off to their right. It was oddly reassuring to know the thing hadn't approached any closer since they'd begun fucking. Maybe he was right and it simply needed to be sure it was out of the running as a possible suitor. He prayed he was right. But if not, he'd at least die a happy man.

Bobby's light hold on his hips changed, and Darien knew even Hobbes had limits. He'd been erect for a quarter of an hour, and no matter how much he might want to prolong this display, his own need must have been approaching the point of no return. Darien braced himself more firmly, shifting one hand to the edge of the van's seat back and Bobby began to accelerate his movement, moving to grip the back of Darien's neck again with his left hand, the other clutching firmly at his right hip.

Bobby was thrusting with increasing speed, his breathing rough, the warm-cool bursts of his exhalations fanning across Darien's sweaty back erotically. "Mine," he hissed with every thrust, his balls slapping wetly against Fawkes' ass.

"Oh hell yeah," Darien agreed breathlessly, moaning again as a particularly neat and forceful stroke plowed into his prostate with marksman-like accuracy. "Yours, Hobbesy," he added, in case there'd been any doubt.

Bobby withdrew nearly completely, the absence of his heat and mass threatening to bring tears to Darien's eyes, even though a split second later, his partner rammed home again with a move that threatened to force him up against Golda's chill steel. "Oh, God, yes," Fawkes whimpered, pushing back against his partner's onslaught and subsequent retreat.

"Mine," Bobby repeated fiercely as he pumped back in hard, though still not fast enough to satisfy the nearly frantic need Darien felt to finish this.

"Mine. Every inch of you," Hobbes went on, with another twist of the hips that played havoc with Darien's psyche, not to mention his nervous system, as pleasure surged over him in fresh waves.

Hobbes' hand moved from the possessive grip on his scruff to an equally possessive one in his hair. "Every goddamned hair on your head," Bobby snarled nearly soundlessly, moving back in ferociously again.

"Oh fuck," Darien sighed, agreeing with that claim of ownership.

"Every frickin' cell in your body," Bobby went on, voice rough and primitive.

Darien could only whimper capitulation.

"You don't spill it for anyone but me. Ever," Bobby concluded, shifting his hold to a death grip on both of Darien's hips as his own shuddered closer, harder, and finally, faster.

"Oh God-oh-godOgodOgod, Bobbieeeeeeeee," Darien cried out, simple lust transformed to utter desperation.

"You hearin' me, Fawkes?" Bobby insisted, nothing civilized left in his voice.

"YoursyoursyoursfuckitBobby!" Darien barely managed to squeak out as Hobbes escalated his activity. Darien's ass was being pounded like a breakwater in heavy surf, no amount of hardness, no amount of rigidity on his part proof against the tides of sheer need that rocked them both.

Darien struggled against the quest for release that drove him to even consider violating Hobbes' order to refrain from touching himself, knowing from experience that not only would an orgasm now, at his own hand, dilute what Hobbes was building them towards, but that as much as he desired release, he wanted Bobby to be the method he strove towards. Hobbes was his reason for being in ways so profound and so basic it had never before occurred to him that such a thing was possible.

He had been a loner, emotionally, in most ways, all his life since his mother's death. Yeah, he'd certainly fucked around. What healthy, red-blooded male didn't? But Hobbes was different in ways he hadn't finished analyzing, yet. It was about the sex, yeah, sure, but that was coincidental to the bond they'd formed even against their wills, early in their relationship. He'd never in his life trusted anyone like he trusted Bobby Hobbes.

He knew, viscerally, that his life would always be Bobby's main focus. His partner's job. Keep Darien Fawkes alive. In the early days of his relationship with Hobbes, he'd hated that even the option of suicide was denied him in the depths of his misery. He'd hated Bobby for being all that stood between him and the darkness he had longed for.

And yet…

Bobby had been more than a bodyguard. He'd been there when no one else had been. It hadn't taken Darien all that long to realize that his partner was HIS. Simply by virtue of Bobby Hobbes' nature. Bobby. Bobby-frickin'-Hobbes. His. All his. As he was Hobbes'.

They were a part of each other the way twins separated at birth might have been. Twins born of different mothers, years apart. Brothers. And even better than that, soul mates. He'd wondered at odd moments here and there if there was indeed such a thing as reincarnation, because he would take any bet offered that his life and Bobby's had been entwined for eternity, and they would never diverge from each other. Regardless of circumstance, they would find each other again from one lifetime to the next.

He was in love. Desperately. It had snuck up on him so casually, it had taken Bobby's willingness to sacrifice everything Darien had ever seen matter to his partner to realize it, when Hobbes'd been infected with a genius virus that gave him the intellect he'd always aspired to - and then some. The trouble was, Darien loved Hobbes. As he was. For all his flaws, flaws that so perfectly counterbalanced his own. Strengths that supported him. Weaknesses that called for his support.

Emotion seized him, wrenching his heart into such abject fusion with his partner that if it could have been recorded on some heretofore unimagined scientific apparatus, there would have been nothing to distinguish them from each other. "Bob-EEEEEeeeeeeeee!" he cried out his need, moving back against the hold Hobbes had on his hips as Bobby began to hump him with the selfsame desperation he felt. Fucking for all he was worth, every thrust hard, sharp as a knife's edge, and as sweetly painful, Hobbes assaulted him. Darien wanted. Wanted Bobby's body fused with his own, wanted Bobby in him, on him, with him, wanted nothing more than his partner merged eternally with him. Heart, soul, body: they were destined to be together until even light and time and space ceased to be.

It was terrifying, exhilarating, and ultimately, unsustainable.

Bobby's movements began the chaotic disintegration into instinct, hips rocking against Darien's ass with frantic desire of his own. Fawkes could only go along for the ride, the simple act of sex transformed into something else, something profound in the face of the potential threat that hovered mere feet away - and outside the realm of rational explanation.

As Hobbes' violence escalated, the saquatch's vocal accompaniment grew ever more distinctive. Even as far gone as he was, Darien recognized he was witness to more than his own epiphany, but potentially also that of another species as it acknowledged that there were pair bonds that transcended the merely biological.

Hobbes relinquished his grip in Darien's hair in favor of a two-handed hold on Fawkes' hips, pulling Darien back against him as he thrust forward into his eager body, cunning pressure driving Darien's legs a half-step further apart and thus lowering his relative position just enough that every movement Bobby made within him careened past his prostate. The tingle low in his belly and the tightening of his balls told him he had mere heartbeats left to enjoy this amazing ride and he moaned his desire, turning his head to rest his forehead against one taut bicep, vaguely amazed at the sight of his own dick bobbing like a palm tree in high winds, or an orchestra conductor's baton, echoing every thrust Bobby made, their two-man symphony of lust and need reaching its crescendo. In that instant he could stand no more, his need for release at last outweighing the pleasure of an endless fucking, and he came. White, creamy ropes of his semen spurted into the blue night air, gleaming in the moonlight the tiniest fraction ahead of the Quicksilver that flowed over him like frost crystals on a winter's night.

He came hard. Harder than he could ever remember coming before, toes curling into the soft dust of the road, pelvic muscles clenching hard enough to hurt, as ecstasy overwhelmed him, driving any thought left in his brain straight out of his head. The only thing he was aware of besides the rush of pleasure running through him like electricity was the tumultuous shudder of Bobby's hips against his ass as his partner reached his own climax, and the throb of Hobbes' release, even through the condom that had somehow stayed in place despite everything that had happened in the last half hour. As the Quicksilver flaked away from him, will overcoming even the hammering of his heart, he heard Hobbes' yowl, feeling his partner sink his teeth lightly into the small bulge of Darien's left deltoid muscle along his ribs just under the scapula. The small, unexpected pain of that added a dash of sexual Tobasco sauce, and he shuddered again as another wave of spasms surged through him, wringing his balls dry.

One hand was clenched around the worn edge of the passenger seat, the other on the door frame, and he forced himself to loosen his fingers slowly as the world settled back into its more usual state. He felt Hobbes drop against his back, trembling, arms encircling Darien's waist possessively, felt his partner's sweat-damp skin against his own, felt his dick still throbbing inside him. "Holy crap, Batman," he breathed, reaching back to caress one of Bobby's forearms gently as he might stroke a cat, regretting it when Hobbes relinquished his brief post-coital hold and withdrew, peeling off the condom and dropping it to the ground with a wet slap of latex.

Fortunately, he didn't go far, and as Darien straightened up, he felt Hobbes' arms around him again, the faint rasp of cheek stubble against his back pleasant in the afterglow of the most mind-numbing orgasm he'd had in ages. "You can say that again, Keomsabe," Hobbes agreed, voice shaking.

Dazed and drained, literally, they stood pressed together like sheets of wet paper, too fragile to stand alone, yet, panting. The scents of male sweat, semen and an earthy, organic musk Darien couldn't quite place filed his nose. Couldn't quite place, that is, until the broad wet swipe of a tongue stroked upward from his groin to his right pectoral, and then moved on to Hobbes, sampling the sweat that ran in rivulets down his partner's ribs, and apparently getting a taste of semen for good measure as the tongue-swipe grazed Bobby's groin, as well. Together, they jumped back, brought up short by the open van door behind them.

"Oh, ick," Darien grimaced, Bobby squawking in disgusted surprise.

"It licked us!" Hobbes protested, staring down at the gleaming, slippery saliva trail along his side, then peering back at Darien in the moonlight. "Fawkes! It LICKED my dick! Where the hell is that thing?" he demanded, 'freak-out' edging into his voice. Darien couldn't have said why, but he didn't think they had anything to fear any longer from their observer.

"Hold on a second," Darien said, Quicksilvering his eyes to scan the area, almost afraid to know where the sasquatch was now, but even more afraid not to. It hadn't gone far, crouched less than three feet away as it examined the wet trails Darien's orgasm had left in the dust of the road beside the van, where it had dripped into the dirt. Before his partner could lose it completely and go scrambling back into the van for his gun, Darien tweaked the Quicksilver to flow over Bobby's head, allowing him to see for himself. "I don't think it really gets the whole 'two guys' thing, Hobbesy," he hazarded a guess. "I think maybe he hadda check it out up close and personal to make sure he was getting the picture." For some reason, the sight of the creature investigating the splashes of come that had dripped down Golda's side was turning him on. Something he would hardly have believed given the strength of the orgasm he'd just had.

"Yeah, well, tell him to keep his tongue where it belongs," Hobbes grumbled, but Darien could already hear the tension dropping back out of the danger zone as the sasquatch rose and with one last sniff of the semen splattered on Golda's rusty flank, ambled off down the road, rumbling to itself in what could only be perplexity.

He curled a strand of Bobby's dark, wavy hair at the nape of his neck around a finger and bent his head to nibble on Hobbes' invisible earlobe. "I dunno, I bet he could give amazing head," he suggested as he nuzzled his partner.

"Oh, that's sick, my friend," Bobby exclaimed, ducking away from Darien so he could keep an eye on the departing sasquatch.

Darien chuckled softly, drawing Bobby back against his side. "It was just a thought," he teased, the chuckle deepening to laughter as Hobbes poked him in the ribs.

"Yeah, well, you know what you can do with your so-called thoughts, there, ace," Bobby snorted. "And what the hell are you laughing at?" he wanted to know as Darien let the Quicksilver fade.

Darien laughed harder as the absurdity of the situation overcame the last residual concern about their oversized companion as the creature's blue glow disappeared among the trees fifty feet down the road. "Hey, you said you didn't want to know what my 'thoughts' were," he reminded, then protested when Bobby stomped on his foot gently. "Ow!"

"You're a total punk," Hobbes observed, a cavernous yawn splitting his face.

"So glad you noticed," Darien smirked, and kissed him quickly on the mouth. "So whaddya say we get cleaned up and get back to what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted?"

Bobby stared at him incredulously for a second. "Are you kidding me? You're seriously ready to go again after that ride?"

Darien waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "Try me," he invited, and caught Bobby's hand, laying it over his stirring groin. "Please."

Bobby shook his head, grinning, and opened the sliding side door of the van, waving Darien on ahead of himself as he slammed the open passenger door. "I swear, Fawkes, you are the horniest bastard I've ever met."

"Takes one to know one," Darien riposted as Hobbes joined him on the air mattress.

Bobby laughed, and tossed a handful of travel wipes at him, "That it does, Fawkesy, that it does."

end
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Air Mattress of Genius