Spell Cat by Tara Lain Page 0,8
laughed. “But while you’re here, you’re mine, and I’ll try to instill in you the value of the search for truth. Not truth as we’re told it is or should be, not truth as we want it to be, or as our parents or clergy or teachers tell us it must be, but the truth as it resonates in our own souls.” He could talk the talk. Oh, when would he walk the walk?
“Wow.” That voice he thought was Janx again.
“How many of you have been to Washington, DC?”
Many hands rose.
“Been to the Jefferson Memorial?”
Still a lot of hands.
“What is carved around the inside of the dome?”
Only one hand remained raised. “Mr. Janx.”
The boy stood. “‘I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.’”
The lecture hall stilled. Pins could have dropped. The bell rang, but no one moved. “Thank you, Mr. Janx. Shall we all strive to join Tom in that conviction?” He waved a hand, dismissing them. “You know your reading for next week, everyone. Have a good weekend.”
All their weekends would be better than his.
Turning toward the whiteboard, he packed his briefcase and tied up his hair. Al’s furriness landed on his shoulder. He reached up idly and scratched. “Let’s go figure out what in the hell to do about this fucking party, Al.”
“Mrawr.”
“What?” Al didn’t make much noise, so the comment was notable.
“Mrawr.”
Killian looked up and froze. There he was, leaning in the doorframe of the lecture hall. The delicious, edible, sassy, enchanting, gay… impossible, untouchable, human physics professor.
The luscious man—Blaine, wasn’t it?—pushed away from the door and walked toward Killian. He smiled. “That, my friend, was quite a lecture.”
“You were listening?”
“Yep. Even more amazingly, so were they. But pass them over to me, and I’ll teach them what a bit of unvarnished truth looks like.”
Killian smiled. “There are more things ’twixt heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your quantum physics.”
Blaine stopped in front of Killian and cocked his head. The brown hair fell in front of his eyes, and he flipped it back with his hand. “And who have we here?” He reached out toward Aloysius.
Killian flinched back. Damn, the man could lose a hand trying to pet Al. “Sorry, don’t think you should—”
Blaine just kept coming until his hand connected with the silky coat. “Naw, cats like me, and I like cats.”
The second Blaine’s hand connected with Al’s chin, the damned cat began to vibrate and press into the caress in a disgusting display of mutual admiration. Blaine cooed, and Al purred while rubbing himself against Blaine’s hand luxuriously. Then the impossible happened. The damned physics professor picked up Aloysius, turned him over in his arms, and began to tickle his tummy. That cat could have turned the man into a toad for less. Instead, big balls jangling, Aloysius, powerful familiar, turned himself into a fur rug, trying to get closer to Blaine. The cat was clearly gay.
Why did Al get to rub all over this human, while Killian didn’t? Didn’t humans rob familiars of their powers too? Just watching the little lovefest made Killian hot. His skin prickled. Gods, if he could just press into Blaine’s hand like that. If only he’d rub my belly. He desperately wanted to cuddle into Blaine’s neck and… damn! Those weren’t his thoughts. It was his connection to the familiar. Had to be.
He grabbed Al out of Blaine’s arms. He got a wide, green-eyed stare from Blaine.
“Sorry, gotta go.”
“Oh really? I wanted to take you to lunch, or coffee at least.”
Aloysius, the rat cat, squirmed in Killian’s arms, trying to get back to Blaine. “No, I have to help with a party. Really have to go.”
The beautiful professor reached out a hand. Killian shied, trying to turn his head, but he couldn’t stop that hand because he had his arms full of the damned wiggling cat. Blaine just kept coming until he touched Killian’s cheek. A brand. A hot brand. Sweet hot. The fingers traveled down his cheek, featherlight, to his neck, then back up to his lips. The first touch against his mouth turned him to a still flame. Sweet gods. The fingertip ran back and forth over his bottom lip, back and forth—tickling, soothing, seducing. Al became perfectly quiet. Now he didn’t complain! The cat slithered up Killian’s neck. Blaine stepped closer.
Oh, Powers, when had someone connected his bottom lip directly to his cock? His jeans strained against an erection so hard,