Lunatic - Necessary Evils #6 - Ch. 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2

Mac

Mac checked the clock by the bed again. It had been ninety minutes since his heated exchange with Archer and, still, he hadn’t shown up. He would. Mac knew he would. And he’d be pissed about it. Which only heightened Mac’s anticipation. He liked how…resistant Archer pretended to be. Almost as much as he liked how easily he went down for him anyway.

There was something about how different Archer was with him. Archer spent most of his time convincing the world that he was a raging alcoholic with a penchant for gambling and other risky activities. When he spoke with others, it was always with this lazy, amused intonation, like he knew some secret the rest of the world didn’t. But that wasn’t who Archer was at all. Not with Mac.

He picked up his phone, pulling up a picture of the man. One he’d taken the last time they were together. It was a side profile of him staring out the window in nothing but a pair of jeans, clinging low on his hips. He’d given Mac an irritated look but had subtly changed position, like he knew his angles. As a Mulvaney, Mac imagined it came with the territory.

Still, he’d kept the photo and looked at it often. He couldn’t help himself. Mac saw the beauty in things, had an eye for it. And Archer was beautiful. Almost impossibly so. He had thick chestnut curls that brushed his collar, bold brows, and brown eyes surrounded by lashes so long and dark they gave the appearance he was wearing eyeliner. Or maybe he was wearing eyeliner. With Archer, it was hard to say.

Mac traced the lines of the photo. Archer’s skin was the warmest shade of bronze—and given what a nocturnal animal he was, Mac could only imagine it was a gift of heritage and not a love of the sun. He wasn’t overtly muscular, more lithe, like a swimmer. It made it easy for Mac to throw him around a little.

Or it would if he’d just get there already.

He tried to ignore the niggling doubt creeping its way under his ribcage, but it seeped in anyway. Maybe this time Archer wouldn’t show. Maybe he was tired of this game? Maybe Mac pushed him too hard, teased him too much? But he couldn’t help it. Archer wouldn’t allow himself a pleasure if it wasn’t hard won. That was just who he was as a person.

That was why he couldn’t believe Archer’s brothers truly thought he was an alcoholic. Archer was all about restraint. From the way he made his living to the way he killed his victims. He liked the thrill, the anticipation. Archer liked to be edged by life.

There was a single knock on the hotel room door. Mac grinned, whipping it open, a biting comment on his tongue at Archer’s tardiness. Instead, he stopped short at the doughy-faced man with an inscrutable expression.

Mac scanned the man quickly. He didn’t recognize him. Probably wouldn’t remember him if he had. The man was…utterly forgettable. That was Mac’s first impression anyway. Forgettable.

The man wore a khaki jacket and a hat of the same color, like a uniform, with weird tendrils of inky black hair poking out from the sides. There was something weird about the hair; it set Mac’s teeth on edge, made him stand up a little straighter. The man continued to stare down at a package he held.

“Can I help you?” Mac said, a sliver of unease settling under his skin.

It could be the man was at the wrong room, but there was something about the tension in his body, like a snake ready to strike. The man raised his head, his gaze cold and lifeless. Mac took a step back just as the man raised his right hand. Mac had barely enough time to register the gun with its suppressor pointed center mass before he was catching the man’s wrist, pivoting it away from him and slamming the door, catching the man’s forearm between it and the frame.

There was a sickening pop and a crunch, then the man screamed as his elbow gave. Mac tried to drag him into the room, but the man charged into him with his good shoulder, forcing him to stumble back just enough to give him time to turn on his heel and bolt down the hallway.

Mac didn’t even chase him, knew it wouldn’t matter. He sighed, shutting the door and leaning against it, his gaze straying to the television with its spiderwebbed glass and very obvious bullet hole.

Well, shit.

What the fuck was he going to do about that? At least, it was Vegas. It would hardly be the weirdest thing to happen there. Probably not even the weirdest in this hotel. Vegas was like the Wild West. Every man for himself.

He snagged his phone and dialed his brother, who answered on the first ring, voice gruff. “What’s wrong?”

Shep and Mac weren’t as close as some twins, but he knew his brother probably sensed something was wrong. “We’ve got a problem.”

There was a stretch of silence, then his brother said, “You’re out of towels kind of problem, or we need to hide a body kind of problem?”

Mac sighed. “There’s a bullet hole in my television and a pro hitman running around with a broken elbow kind of problem.”

“Who is it, Sam?” Mac heard Shep’s husband, Elijah, ask. Then, he listened to the sound of rustling sheets, like his brother had been in bed. It was barely three in the afternoon. “No, don’t go. We were just getting to the good parts,” Elijah whined.

“I’ll be right back,” Shep assured him. Mac listened to the balcony door slide open and shut again before his brother said, “You think they found you?”

Mac scrubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose this could be about Project Watchtower but unless the rest of you also got a hitman as a concierge it seems unlikely.”

“Our concierge was a barely legal brat named Bradley who openly ogled my husband then held out his hand for a large tip without the slightest bit of shame.”

Mac’s lips twitched in a smile. His brother was always so literal. “What I’m sure is one of the many pitfalls of being married to an A-list celebrity,” Mac said before forcing himself back to the subject at hand. “But yeah, I might be on the radar again. This dude was bad at his job, but he was definitely a pro.”

“What do you want to do about it?” Shep asked.

“For now? Nothing. Until I identify the men in those photos, we’ve got nothing. If I don’t know them, I can’t handle the problem. If there’s a hit on me, the only way to fix that is to take out the people holding the cash.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

Mac shrugged. “I’ll be safe enough once I’m at the school.”

There were perks to having a new job at a top secret private military installation, even one that looked like an elite boarding school. Even without students, the campus was guarded on all sides by a ten foot tall security fence and a rather impressive military police force.

“I think we need to get Mom and Thomas involved,” Shep said. “They have better resources.”

Mac shook his head as if Shep could see it. “There’s nothing to tell right now.” There was another knock on the door. “Gotta go.”

He hung up before his brother could argue. This time, he grabbed his gun from his bag, hiding it behind the door, heart pounding as he slowly opened it. Relief flooded him as he took in a rather grumpy Archer wearing a loose white linen shirt, open enough for Mac to have a good view of chest hair.

Usually, he would tease him about how miserable he looked, but, this time, he hauled him in by the shirt, closing and locking the door before slamming him against it. “You’re late, Katniss.”

Archer’s withering glare flicked upwards. “Are we still doing that?”

Mac grinned. Archer hated Mac’s creative nicknames for him. “Do you prefer William Tell? Robin Hood? Arrow?” he asked, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

“You could just use my name,” Archer muttered, not kissing him back.

Mac threaded his fingers in Archer’s hair, tugging his head back to drag lips and tongue along his throat before pressing his lips to his ear. “Oh, but then you’d have no reason to be mad at me. And I know how badly you need to pretend you don’t want to be here.”

Archer said nothing, proving Mac’s point almost as much as the hard length of his cock pressing against Mac’s thigh. Mac covertly let the gun slip from his fingers onto the table. If Archer noticed, he didn’t say.

“Fuck you,” he muttered.

“We can play that way if you want to, but I think you’d miss having my cock buried inside you.”

It was always like this with them. Mac as the aggressor, Archer pretending he was somehow being blackmailed into being there, into being with him, like he hadn’t come of his own free will.

“Come on, Katniss,” he teased, trying to kiss his unyielding lips once more. “Don’t leave me hanging. Nobody else needs to know how much you love this. What happens in Vegas and all that.” If possible, Archer grew even more irritated. Mac sighed, taking a step back. “Do you want to just go—”

Archer snagged his shirt, yanking him forward, sealing their mouths together. There it was. Fuck, he’d missed this. Missed the taste of his tongue and the desperate way Archer clung to him, kissing him like Mac was his real addiction.

Mac ripped his mouth away, spinning Archer around and shoving him against the door. He yanked the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and off, biting at Archer’s shoulder as he worked his belt open. His button and zipper soon followed, then Mac was shoving Archer's pants down to mid-thigh. He fell to his knees, mouthing at the mounds of his perfectly rounded ass before spreading him open and burying his face within.

“Fuck,” Archer whispered fiercely, his head thunking against the door.

Yeah, Mac had definitely missed him. The way Archer’s back arched, trying to fuck himself on Mac’s probing tongue. Like he needed more but hated it.

Mac would give him what he needed, especially if what he needed was Mac tasting the most secret parts of him. He worked his tongue up and down the crevice of his ass, probing at his hole, teasing behind his balls, rubbing his face against his cheeks until Archer was panting above him.

“Enough,” he snapped. “Fuck me.”

Mac chuckled low, getting to his feet, already opening his own pants as Archer reached back and forced two fingers into himself. Holy fuck, that was hot. He lost himself for a moment, transfixed by long tapered fingers, before reaching for the lube sitting next to the gun on the small entry table. He slicked himself up then batted Archer’s hand away.

Archer hissed as Mac breached him, his discomfort obvious, but, still, he pushed back against him. “You good?” Mac asked between gritted teeth, not keen on hurting him.

Archer made a sound of disgust. “Fuck off.”

Mac gripped his hips and slammed home, enjoying the gasp that ripped from Archer’s lips. “You make it real hard to be a gentleman, Katniss.”

“Christ. You talk too fucking much,” Archer managed, voice strained.

Mac chuckled again. He pulled out, driving back into the tight squeeze of his entrance. He buried his face against Archer’s neck, the warmth of his skin and the spicy scent of his cologne making his balls tighten. He was already far too close.

Maybe it was the near death experience. Maybe it was hearing the way the air escaped Archer’s lungs with each hard thrust or feeling the racing of his pulse beneath Mac’s lips. Whatever it was, he couldn’t get enough of him. Mac reached around, closing his still slick fist around Archer’s length, jerking him in time with each stroke.

Soon, Archer’s strained breaths became tiny moans and then sharp grunts, letting Mac know he was getting close as well. Too close. Mac released Archer’s leaking cock, spreading him open to watch himself drive home again and again, using him hard until his orgasm was slamming into him like a truck, pleasure spiking through him, his hips spasming as he emptied himself inside the perfect heat of Archer’s hole.

He didn’t pull free of Archer’s body, just wrapped one arm around his waist and his other hand around his cock, jerking him with a slow, methodical pull that had Archer cursing in frustration.

Mac smiled against his shoulder. “You want to come, Katniss?” Archer remained silent, trying to drive himself into Mac’s fist, his irritation obvious. “Come on. Say it. Tell me you want me to make you come. Tell me how much you missed this. Missed me.”

Archer scoffed, voice tight. “Is that what you need to hear? That someone needs you? Wants you?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mac said with a sheepish laugh. “But I’m not the one trying to get off here. You just hate how well I know you. How much you need to work for it. I know the anticipation is what has you hard and leaking into my hand right now, knowing I control when you come.”

Archer made another frustrated noise in the back of his throat, but his head fell back against Mac’s shoulder in a way that made his cock, still buried inside him, attempt to rally. There was something so submissive in the gesture, the telltale sign that Archer was moments away from submitting, to giving himself over to Mac.

He spent the next few minutes jerking him, fast and then slow, fast and then slow, until Archer no longer seemed to care whether Mac saw how desperate he was. This was his favorite Archer. Undone Archer. His hands reached behind him to grip at Mac’s thighs, like he wasn’t sure how to get him to give him what he wanted.

“You ready, Katniss?” Mac rasped against his ear. “I am. I can’t wait to feel you come on my cock. It might even make me hard enough to fuck you again. Think you can handle two loads?” Mac’s hand flattened over Archer’s taut belly. “Fuck, I want to fill you up so bad, watch my cum leak out of you. Would you like that?” he asked, working him just like Archer liked.

Archer didn’t answer, just gave a shout as he came, his release hot on Mac’s fist as he continued to work him. By the time Archer’s body was done clenching and unclenching around his, Mac was hard again. He pushed Archer harder against the door so he knew he wasn’t done with him, one arm across his shoulders and the other around his waist as he did as he’d promised, fucking into him hard, the only sound his harsh breathing, his mouth pressed to Archer’s shoulder as he used him again, coming in his hole a second time before collapsing against him.

After a minute, Archer pushed him off, turning as he righted his clothing, clearly intending to walk right back out the door. But then his gaze strayed. “What happened there?” he asked.

Mac buttoned his jeans, following Archer’s gaze to the television with the bullet hole. “Drive by,” he quipped.

“From the thirtieth floor?” Archer said drolly, picking his shirt up off the floor. “Impressive.”

“Mm,” Mac said, noncommital.

“Is there a reason someone decided to take a shot at you? Other than your personality, that is?” Archer asked, adopting that lazy, bored tone he saved for strangers and his brothers, for everyone but Mac, really. All trace of the brooding, disagreeable Archer evaporated before his eyes.

“No clue,” Mac lied. “Maybe I cut him off in traffic. Maybe he had me confused with someone else. Maybe he thinks I’m part of an international government conspiracy to create deep cover operatives out of psychopathic children. Hard to say, really.”

“You know you should tell the others, right?” Archer asked, donning his shirt before walking to the mini-bar and grabbing a water, breaking the seal and draining it in a single go.

“What’s to tell?” Mac countered.

“Someone took a shot at you in your hotel room. Why are you being so peculiar about this?” Archer asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

“Why are you using such fancy prep school words on me?” Mac asked, deflecting once again.

Mac had no idea why he wasn’t willing to tell Archer the truth. But every time he opened his mouth, the words died on his tongue. Archer stared at him expectantly until he said, “This has nothing to do with my mother or her research. I’ve got it covered. Don’t worry about it.”

Archer continued to study him for a long moment, then shrugged, tossing his now empty water bottle into the trash as he walked by it. “Have it your way,” he said dismissively, already to the door. His hand paused on the handle, reaching into his pocket and producing Mac’s unused keycard. “Here. This won’t be happening between us again."

A grin crept across Mac’s face. “Whatever you say, Katniss.”

Archer rolled his eyes, tossing the card on the table when Mac refused to take it. Then he was gone and Mac was alone. He slid the door guard in place, then crossed to the bar, grabbing a few of the tiny liquor bottles and bringing them over to the bed, Archer’s absence leaving an uncomfortable stillness in his wake.

Mac cracked a bottle, draining it in one go with a wince, reaching for the remote before remembering the bullet hole. He sighed. Maybe he’d just nap until dinner.