Hairy Horny and Over Here Page 2

  The rabbit twitched its nose at him, then turned to nibble at some bracken. Clearly it shared Logan’s opinion of Ethan as non-threatening. Ethan lay down on his belly to snap a couple of shots, using natural light and a long exposure so as not to startle the creature. “Oh, you’re a sweetie,” he singsonged to it. “You’re not a dangerous, man-eating jackalope, are you? No, you’re not.”

  Tiring of its bracken, the bunny hopped over to sniff at Ethan’s camera. Although his gut still burned with anger at Logan for the hoax, Ethan had to smile. He was a sucker for cute furry creatures. “Next time we’ll bring you some carrots, yes we will.” As he spoke, another horned rabbit hopped up beside the first—and behind it, a whole cuteness of baby bunnies, each adorned with stubby little antlers. Ethan grinned as he snapped shot after shot. You had to hand it to Logan—hoax it might be, but he’d really gone to town on it.

  The babies were shy at first, but Ethan carried on with his impersonation of a rather boring hillock with a baby-talk fixation, and they soon grew bolder—one of them even hopping right up to him and nibbling at his hair.

  Just as Ethan was started to worry that too much hair gel might be bad for bunny tummies, they froze as one—and then scattered. Ethan blinked. What on earth? Had Logan called them, or something? Some kind of bunny whistle? He imagined it as being like a dog whistle, only smaller and softer, and possibly carrot-shaped—

  “Get up!” The voice was rough, British, and very definitely didn’t belong to Logan. Ethan scrambled to his feet to find himself facing a very large man holding a very large knife. “Drop that bloody camera,” the man rasped, his thin lips curled into a snarl, as if the inexpertly tattooed, shaven head with its broken nose, scarred cheek and cauliflower ear wasn’t clue enough that this was not a man to mess with.

  “Um, right. Camera. Dropping.” With unsteady fingers, Ethan unhooked the camera from around his neck and placed it slowly on the ground, his eyes not moving from the bloodshot ones confronting him.

  “Now get your shirt off.”

  “What?” Ethan squeaked. All right, Logan had promised him his worst nightmare, but this was going too far! For a crazy moment he half-expected the man with the knife to turn into Mr Frogmore, puffing on his pipe and predicting dire things for Ethan’s future.

  Unfortunately, it seemed the old maths teacher hadn’t been so far wrong. The fugitive was stripping off his prison-issue shirt. This was rapidly turning into Ethan’s second-worst nightmare, the one that started with unpaid library fines and a judge with a grudge and went seriously downhill from there.

  “Um, couldn’t we just talk a bit first,” Ethan pleaded. “You look like a big, manly, straight sort of guy. You have noticed I’m not a girl, right?”

  “Stop trying to be funny and hand over that bloody shirt!” the man growled.

  Ethan went weak-kneed with relief. “Oh, the shirt. Here you go, then.” He’d never liked the orange-and-green plaid anyway, which was why it’d been his choice for yomping through the forest. He held it out to the convict, who reached for it—and then all hell broke loose.

  There was a shout of “What the fuck?” in Logan’s deep, menacing and above all welcome tones. Ethan’s relief was short-lived, however, as he found himself in the escaped convict’s arms, plastered against a soft belly in a greasy vest that reeked of sweat and cabbage. If this was real life, Ethan reflected with mounting hysteria, he really needed to get himself some scarier nightmares.

  “Drop that gun or your boyfriend gets it!” the convict snapped.

  Logan loomed at the edge of the clearing like an overlarge militaristic statue from a Communist dictatorship. He didn’t appear to be making any move towards dropping his shotgun, Ethan couldn’t help but notice.

  The arm across Ethan’s windpipe was cutting off his breathing as the point of the knife menaced his right eyeball. Black spots danced in Ethan’s vision as he tried to communicate wordlessly, “Just do what he says!”

  The statue didn’t move.

  “I said drop it, you bastard!” The fugitive’s voice was harsh with nerves, the hand holding the knife trembling alarmingly. No such luck with the one currently occupied in squeezing the life out of Ethan. The black spots were turning into blobs, and Ethan’s head felt tight. He wondered how pissed off his captor would be if he passed out and slumped to the ground, and if he’d ever wake up again to find out.

  Logan started to lower the gun at a pace that made continental drift seem a bit on the hasty side. Ethan was almost grateful he didn’t have enough breath left to whimper. That knife was getting nearer and nearer to ballsing up his depth perception for good…

  “Aaaaargh!”

  The arm around Ethan’s neck tightened convulsively, then slackened, and the knife disappeared from his field of view as Ethan slumped to his knees.

  “What the fuck..?” Logan had Ethan under the armpits and was dragging him clear.

  The screaming hadn’t stopped. As Ethan’s vision cleared, he could see the fugitive thrashing around, the knife stabbing blindly at about a dozen furry creatures that seemed to have attached themselves to the man’s body. Blood streamed over the unshaven face and down the grimy vest, and Ethan winced as he saw one of the animals hanging by its teeth from the convict’s groin.

  It was the friendly bunnies from earlier. “Bloody hell, Logan!” Ethan croaked, his gullet feeling like he’d been trying to deep-throat a coke can. “Are those things part Rottweiler? Did you train them to do that?”

  “I told you the jackalope was a killer,” Logan rumbled in Ethan’s ear. As the vibrations resonated through him, Ethan was suddenly very conscious he still had his shirt off, and was clutched to Logan’s breast like the big man didn’t intend ever to let go. Finally, the day was looking up. He let himself sag back against that warm, solid chest. After all, his knees were trembling like Gene Wilder’s shooting hand in Blazing Saddles and clearly couldn’t be trusted to hold him up by themselves.

  Curiously, Logan made no move to push him away.

  “Um, do you think we ought to, you know, help that guy?” Ethan rasped out after a moment as the screams continued unabated. “It seems a bit mean not to. I’d like to do it without hurting the bunnies, though.”

  “Those ain’t bunnies,” Logan growled. “You ever see a bunny do that?”

  “Not since Monty Python, no.” Ethan winced as the blood-soaked bunny magnet crashed to the ground, still screaming.

  The biggest of the bunnies—jackalopes, Ethan corrected himself—left the gory scene and hopped over to where Ethan stood. He could feel Logan’s arm tighten protectively around him. “Don’t shoot it!” Ethan gasped.

  “Dammit, Ethan…”

  Raising itself on its hind legs, the jackalope regarded them for a moment, its bloodied nose twitching. Then it turned and hopped away, the other jackalopes following in its wake.

  “Thanks,” Ethan breathed, not sure if he was talking to Logan or to the bunnies.

  “Don’t mention it,” Logan said gruffly, his breath hot on Ethan’s bare shoulder.

  The convict was lying on the forest floor, whimpering and twitching. “I s’pose we’d better call the police,” Ethan said after a moment.

  “Yeah,” Logan growled. He didn’t move, unless you counted his hand, which had started to rub in slow circles over Ethan’s chest. What with all the callouses, it was a little like being rubbed down with fine-grade sandpaper. Ethan hoped he wasn’t about to lose a nipple, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to care about it overmuch.

  “You know,” Ethan rasped, his maltreatment by the convict meaning he didn’t even have to try for a husky tone, “If it hadn’t been for you and the bunnies—”

  And then a dozen policemen burst into the clearing, weapons trained on them.

  Weapons? In Britain? On the Isle of Wight? Was that even allowed? Surely there had to be something in the constitution expressly forbidding it? Wait, did Britain even have a constitution? His mind a whirl, Ethan squeaked reflexively, pleased when Logan’s arm around him tightened protectively once more.

  “We caught your prisoner,” Logan snarled, nodding to the pathetic, blood-soaked heap still moaning pitifully on the ground.

  The weapons, thankfully, were lowered. “Bloody hell, what did you do to him?” One of the policemen knelt by the side of the prisoner, who clung to him, apparently in gratitude for the rescue.

  “It was the squirrels!” Ethan burst out. “Red squirrels! They’re vicious little buggers when they’re provoked!”

  Two of the policemen exchanged worried glances, while the kneeling one pulled out his radio and started calling for medical assistance.

  “Just ignore him. He’s kind of highly strung,” Logan rumbled. “It was a dog. Or a fox, maybe. We didn’t see much. It ran off when it saw us.” Ethan stifled a pleased gasp at Logan’s lies on behalf of his furry little friends.

  “Yeah? Imagine that.” The policeman’s tone was sarcastic, and Ethan bristled as a pointed look was cast at his bare chest. “What were you two doing in here, anyway?”

  “Taking photographs,” Ethan said, just as Logan snarled out, “Hunting rabbits.”

  “It’s an article for Shooting Times,” Ethan added quickly. “Hunting rabbits in the forest. With photographs.”

  “Yeah? So what are you—the page three pin-up?” The policeman looked Ethan up and down in a way that strongly suggested that if so, he personally would be cancelling his subscription.

  “I, ah, had to lie down to take some pictures and didn’t want to get my shirt dirty?” Ethan hazarded, wrapping his arms defensively around himself and only then remembering that he actually had a perfectly legitimate reason for his bare-chested state.

  The policeman raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything
.

  “You know, Eth, it’s getting kind of cold,” Logan put in. “We should probably go look for your shirt, now.”

  “Would this be it?” The kneeling policeman held up a rather gruesome rag which, on closer inspection, Ethan recognised as having once been his rather gruesome shirt. It looked like the escaped convict had been using it to staunch his wounds.

  If anything, the addition of crimson to the pattern was an improvement, but still, Ethan couldn’t quite see himself wearing the thing home. “He can keep it,” he said generously.

  Logan took off his padded camouflage jacket and gallantly draped it around Ethan’s bare shoulders. “Thanks,” said Ethan, staggering slightly under the weight. He wondered what on earth was in the pockets. Knowing Logan, it was likely to be hand grenades and dynamite. Probably not the best time to have a look, what with the police casting suspicious looks at them apparently on principle.

  “This yours too?” A policeman held up Ethan’s camera.

  “Yes!” Ethan stepped forward to grab it. “Um, would you mind if I took some pictures of our gallant boys in blue?”

  “For Shooting Times?” The policeman seemed a lot happier about it than Ethan had expected. “With our guns and all? My mum’s never seen me with my gun. They don’t let us take them anywhere.”

  “Absolutely!” Relieved, Ethan snapped shot after shot of the policemen posing happily by the bloodstained convict. It was worth it to keep the police in a good mood with them.

  Plus, he’d always had a bit of a thing for a man in uniform.

  “You’re not going to go back and kill them, are you?” Ethan asked anxiously a short while later as they made their way back through the darkening forest, the police having finally taken their names and addresses and left with what remained of their prisoner. “The bunnies, I mean.”

  Logan smiled. “I guess you’ve gotten kind of fond of those little guys.”

  “Well, they did save us from the homicidal maniac,” Ethan pointed out.

  Logan’s smile twisted. “The other homicidal maniac,” he rumbled ruefully. A meaty hand clapped Ethan painfully on the shoulder. Ethan tried not to flinch too forcefully. “I don’t know what it is about you, Eth, but you brought out a side of those critters I’ve never seen before. It’s kinda made me think twice about the whole business. Maybe Van Matthews has the right idea—maybe the jackalopes deserve a chance of life just like everybody else.”

  Ethan beamed. “So you’re going to leave them in peace?” He was wondering whether he should invite Logan out to dinner, but had a nasty feeling Logan might want to catch their food and cook it over an open fire—or worse, insist they eat it raw. Probably garnished with grubs like something off one of those torture-the-celebrity reality TV shows.

  “Well, you can bet your sweet British ass those guys in prison will think twice about escaping after they hear what happened to that asshole back there.” Logan sighed. “Listen, Eth, when I saw you with that knife in your face—hell, if it hadn’t been for the jackalopes jumping the bastard, I figure I’d have been looking at a homicide charge right around now.”

  “You’d have killed him? For me?” Ethan squeaked. “That’s…” He wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me didn’t seem quite right, somehow. “Does that mean you’re, er…”

  “Interested?” Logan gave a slow smile and his voice, already practically infrasonic, dropped another couple of octaves. “You bet. Hell, the sight of you tippy-toeing through the forest on those dainty little feet of yours has had me busting out of my pants all day.”

  All Ethan’s breath went out of him in a huff as Logan put a gorilla-sized arm around him and squeezed. He felt deliriously happy and light-headed, although it was possibly just due to lack of oxygen.

  Then a thought occurred. “Um, your daughter?”

  “Lives with her mom. We broke up a year and a half ago. She’s cute as a button, my little Clancy—you’re going to love her. Say, why don’t we grab something to eat and, uh, get to know each other a little better?”

  Ethan felt warmth spread up through his body, starting at his toes and spreading on upwards until he felt hornier than a jackalope. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems a bit early for dinner,” he said in his huskiest voice.

  Logan’s smile broadened. “Oh, yeah? You got something else in mind?”

  Ethan’s fingers played coyly down the buttons of Logan’s shirt. “Well, we could get straight to the getting to know each other better.”

  “Here? Now?” Logan chuckled, a deep low rumble that spoke straight to Ethan’s libido. And it liked what it heard. “Damn, you’ve got balls, that’s for sure.”

  “Would you like me to prove it to you?” Without waiting for an answer, Ethan nuzzled into Logan’s neck. There was a hefty flump and cold air hit Ethan’s back as Logan pushed the heavy jacket off his shoulders. Ethan drew in a deep breath.

  “I can tell that ain’t all you got,” Logan growled, his hand cupping Ethan’s groin. Ethan felt a frisson of danger at the thought that those meaty fingers could quite easily have him singing soprano for the rest of his days. Fortunately that didn’t seem to be in Logan’s game plan, as he just gave a gentle caress before moving up to the button of Ethan’s jeans.

  Oh, God. They were really going to Do It, here in the forest. Suddenly Ethan couldn’t wait for Logan to rip all that ridiculously restricting denim off him.

  “You know,” Logan was saying, “I wasn’t sure you’d go in for, uh, outdoor encounters.”

  “Oh, I’m starting to see the advantages in the alfresco lifestyle.” Fumbling wildly, Ethan managed to wrench open Logan’s trousers. “Oh my God, you’re so…well-proportioned,” he gasped.

  “Is that going to be a problem? I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” Logan said, concern creasing his brow.

  “Oh, no—” Ethan broke off in surprised delight. About to sink to his knees and worship this incredible specimen of manhood in front of him, he found Logan had beaten him to it. The kneeling, that was. Not the worshipping bit—or was it? There was an expression very like reverence on Logan’s hirsute features as the big man gently lifted Ethan’s right foot off the ground and slipped it out of its trainer. “That tickles,” Ethan protested weakly, as a whiskery kiss was pressed to his newly sockless instep. His eyes opened wider than his camera lens as a hot, wet tongue rasped its way down to his toes. “That’s…no one’s ever done that before,” he gasped, as sensation tingled all the way up his spine.

  “Their loss,” Logan grunted. “Damn, you’ve got soft skin. And the prettiest feet I’ve seen this side of the Atlantic.” He pressed a kiss to the top of each toe in turn.

  “I exfoliate,” Ethan admitted, only a very small part of his mind on his words. Most of his attention was focussed on the incredibly erotic sight of the fearsome hunter, apparently tamed by Ethan’s size sevens. “And use foot lotion. Oh, God!” he added, as Logan sucked on his big toe like it was…something else entirely. Was it possible to come from having your toes sucked? Ethan could feel every sweep of that tongue in his cock and balls. There were clearly some very strange cross-circuits in his nervous system.

  Not that he was complaining. Oh, dear God, no.

  “Mmm, peppermint.” Logan hummed with approval around the favoured digit, and Ethan abandoned all attempts at speech and settled for just whimpering with pleasure.

  His whimpers turned plaintive as Logan pulled off with a pop. “Don’t stop.”

  Logan grinned. “I got something better in mind. If you’re sure about this,” he added, stroking his massive erection with an understandably smug air.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Ethan sighed happily. “I’ll just bend over and think of England.”

  “England, Schmengland. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be whistling Dixie and singing The Star-Spangled Banner,” Logan growled.

  “As long as you stand up when I follow it with God Save the Queen,” Ethan teased, letting himself be manhandled around and leant against a sturdy oak tree. The rough bark was exquisite torture on his bare chest as his jeans were yanked down to his ankles. He heard Logan spit, then felt himself breached by one improbably thick finger. Or…toe? Ethan risked a look over his shoulder. No, that was definitely a finger.