Welcome to another edition of Marie Sexton's SATURDAY SNARK! (Click on that link to see Marie's snarky snippet as well as those of other m/m authors.)
My contribution this week comes from my Loose Id novel, Mobry's Dick (available in ebook as well as print). In the passage below, Cameron Waters (MC #1) is in bed with a trick named Doug. Somebody's been making Cam feel mighty good. Thing is, Doug's fast asleep. Much to Cameron's surprise, and embarrassment, a third man has sneaked into bed with them. It's Cam's temporary boarder, Paul Patrillo (MC #2), a man on the mend from some injuries. 'Fraid I can't tell you how he sustained them. ;-)
This is more an excerpt than a snippet; it's kind of the Energizer Bunny of snark.
* * *
“What the…?” It was Doug’s voice again, carrying confusion and annoyance.
Light flared from the nightstand lamp on Cam’s side of the bed. He blinked against it as he boosted himself onto his elbows and tried to focus on Doug’s muscular bulk. Doug wasn’t looking at him. Doug was looking past him.
“Well, well. Little Cameron found a playmate.” A different voice…and one Cam knew well.
He clumsily flipped onto his back and scooted toward the headboard.
Naked, Paul stood over the bed, his incipient boner shrinking.
“Who are you?” Doug asked. A logical question.
“The invalid who’s been locked in the spare room.”
Doug shot Cam a befuddled glance before focusing on Paul once more. “You don’t look like no invalid.” His bleary gaze fixed on Paul’s cock.
“I don’t look like an invalid.”
Reality swam away as Cam stared at Paul. His houseguest had been doing this and not his pick-up? He blinked, even more stunned than poor, blindsided Doug, and tried to shed the feeling he was precious to the man who’d been exploring his body so intimately.
“That’s what I said,” Doug countered. “Why were you locked in another room?”
Cam finally found his voice as his haze of arousal, and shock, dissipated. “He wasn’t locked in any damned room. He was just downstairs, asleep. Or so I thought.”
Paul coolly regarded him. “Where’d you find the bear?”
Cam clamped his hands to his head. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I thought that was fairly obvious.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Doug said to Cam. He sounded both irked and a little hurt.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. For shit’s sake, I just came out—”
“Three weeks ago,” Paul said, looking at his wrist as if it bore a watch.
“Then who the fuck is he?” Doug was clearly flustered. As if underscoring his frustration, he farted—an oddly high-pitched sound for so beefy a man. Its thin squeal seemed to burrow into the mattress.
Paul frowned at him. “Did you just—”
“Get out of here!” Cam scrambled off the bed. As he guided Paul toward the door, he said over his shoulder, “He’s Paul Patrillo, a temporary housemate. Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”
“Maybe we could have a threesome.” Doug obviously became more alert the longer he ogled Paul.
“I think Cameron’s already met his group-sex quota for the week.”
“Will you please shut the hell up?” Cam hissed into Paul’s ear.
Paul tried to step past him and head for the nightstand. “Just let me grab my lube and condoms, would you? Remember, I don’t have a sugar daddy to pay for this stuff anymore.”
Cam blocked him. “Later.” He managed to guide Paul onto the landing outside the bedroom. “What the hell were you trying to do?”
“Repay you.” A shaft of moonlight slicing through an octagon window made Paul a shadow with features. A tall and handsome shadow that smelled of male heat and clean linen and herbal shampoo.
“For what?” Cam eased the bedroom door closed at his back.
Paul’s eyes gleamed as he rolled them upward. “For putting me up. You invited me to stay here when I got out of the hospital. Remember? You’ve been taking care of me. Remember?”
Repay you. Hardly an act of adoration. Hell, it barely qualified as intimate, regardless of where Paul’s mouth had been. “Don’t get smart,” Cam muttered.
How could he forget taking care of this guy and keeping him entertained for the past three weeks? Watching movies and playing Scrabble with him. Cooking for him. Taking him to doctor appointments and driving nearly thirty-six miles every other day to pick up his mail. Helping bathe him—a unique agony because, even blotched with bruises the color of old, boiled egg yolks, Paul had an irresistible body.
The fresh memory of that masterful rimming sent a pulse through Cam’s cock.
Paul reached forward and cupped it, as if he’d sensed the reaction. “Hey, how was I supposed to know that after three weeks out, you’d start turning into a slut?”
Cam jerked backward. “Shhh.”
“The bear didn’t peel your bud, did he?”
“What?”
“Muscle man in there. It doesn’t seem he fucked you—thank God. That would’ve been an unpleasant surprise.”
“No, he didn’t. As if it’s any of your business.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t he fuck you?”
“Because we jerked each other off.” Why did Cam even tell him? They were starting to seem like fraternity brothers, that’s why. Fraternity brothers who happened to be attracted to each other and once had sex together.
Paul felt Cam’s pubic hair. “Sure as shit. Feels like somebody wiped his shoes on your welcome mat. What a waste.”
