8. Niall The Underwear Thief

8

NIALL THE UNDERWEAR THIEF

A few days later, Niall was at his computer working on the next scene in his book.

It was a balmy afternoon. He’d left a few windows open to air out the house, and he was enjoying the birds twittering in the background.

Today, Konan was taking Neo out to the lake. They would find a dick-shaped banana boat at the boat rental place; it wasn’t completely unheard of. Evan’s boss, Kieran, knew a professor at Meadowfall College whose alpha had swept into his life on a banana-dick boat.

Sometimes, real life was stranger than fiction. Who would’ve thought?

He had his manuscript open, microphone ready to pick up his words. “Konan tangled their fingers together and led Neo out to the lake—period. It was a beautiful morning—comma—with swans gliding across the water—comma—doves cooing in the trees—comma—and the fragrance of jasmines wafting through the air—period. Neo stopped abruptly when the boat rental place came into view—period. Open quote marks. Is that a banana boat—question mark. Closed quote marks. Paragraph break.

“Next to him—comma—Konan stopped in surprise—period. Open quote marks. That is not a banana—”

Something rustled outside his office window.

He froze, his heart skipping into a staccato. It had sounded like something big.

Why, oh why, had he left the windows open?

His chair squeaked when he stood. Niall winced and crept silently to the window, regretting that he’d opened the drapes for better air flow.

He held his breath and carefully peeked out from the side of the window, only to see empty grass, and Jag’s house. He knew he hadn’t imagined the sound.

But what had caused it, then?

He was debating checking the other windows when the doorbell rang. Niall jumped a foot into the air.

Was that his mystery creature? He grabbed his phone and clutched it to his chest, tiptoeing to the front door.

He peeked through the peephole—

It was Jag.

Niall blinked, relief soaking into his body. Jag didn’t disappear; he breathed calmly, his chest rising and falling behind his buttoned shirt.

Carefully, Niall unlocked the deadbolts and pushed down the door handle, opening the front door.

Jag was watching him intently. “Hey. Bad time?”

Niall opened and closed his mouth. His focus was already interrupted, so it didn’t matter what else came up right now. He shrugged. “I’m okay. But I think there might be someone lurking around my house? I thought I heard something.”

Jag winced. “That might’ve been me.”

Niall’s stomach flipped. Had he heard—?

“Here.” Jag held out a plastic cup with tea, a lemon wedge, and a straw in it. There was another container in a bag, red faintly visible through its white lid. Several colorful squares of paper had been shoved in around the tomato soup—Niall thought he saw some badly-drawn cocks on there.

“Lemon tea?” Niall asked, his cheeks growing warm. Oh, gods, Jag has to know what Emmy drew on his butt blessings. “And tomato soup from Emmy?”

“I was downtown getting some permits for the house,” Jag said dryly, his mouth curving into a crooked smile. “Passed by the Wine Shack and thought I’d get you a drink. Olson threw in the soup. Emmy had... some ideas.”

“Oh, Emmy.” Niall stared at the lemon tea. Jag had stopped at the Wine Shack to get him that, for no reason at all.

Niall’s heart fluttered. Jag helped to sling the bag handles onto his arm, before handing over the tea. When Jag’s fingers touched Niall’s curved, shriveled ones, Jag didn’t even flinch.

Niall lowered the tea anyway so Jag didn’t have to see his ugly hands.

“What did you get for yourself?” There was another drink that Jag didn’t hand over.

“Some wine.” Jag smiled crookedly. “I usually drink it out of those bulk cardboard boxes. Cardboardo. Like merlot, but cardboard.”

Niall cracked a smile. And remembered. “Oh! I got you a thing.”

He turned and hurried to the kitchen, carefully setting down his drinks. Then he scooped the book off the coffee table in the living room, and returned to the front door. “Here.”

Jag took the paperback from Niall’s awkward grip. His eyebrows shot up.

Amongst Niall’s books, Alpha’s Meat Sausage had the most questionable cover. It was a top-down view of an alpha with his pants unzipped, except he was holding a thick, glistening sausage where his cock would be. A puddle of cream had pooled around its tip.

“Um. That’s the cover,” Niall said awkwardly.

Jag smiled, and flipped to the first page.

In mostly-legible handwriting, Niall had carefully written, For Jag. Thank you.

And he’d signed it off as Llain Hardcox.

Jag brought the book closer to his face, flipping through it. “How did you get this so quickly?”

Niall squirmed and tried to hold his gaze. “Um. Fast shipping?”

Jag’s nostrils flared. Only then did Niall realize that the book smelled too much like him, when it had supposedly been in his house for a day or two.

“Um, I read it again when I got it,” he lied. Just so the scent seemed more plausible.

Jag nodded, flipping through the pages again. “Did it turn you on?”

Niall flushed hotly. “Maybe?”

Jag’s mouth pulled into a handsome, knowing smile. He closed the book and looked back at Niall. “Want to take a look at my kitchen? I’ve just put in new counters and a backsplash. It’s looking pretty good.”

“Yes,” Niall said quickly, his pulse ratcheting up. Jag’s house would smell like his truck, wouldn’t it? All mahogany instead of vanilla. “Just let me put the soup away first.”

He hurried back to the kitchen, stuffing his soup and lemon tea into the fridge without spilling them. Then he found his keys and stepped into his shoes.

Like he had the other day, Jag locked the deadbolts. Niall followed him across the tall grass of his lawn.

“I’ll mow this when I get the chance,” Jag said.

“You’re already doing a lot,” Niall protested.

“Guess you’ll have to find a different way of paying me back.” Jag grinned over his shoulder, and Niall’s hole squeezed.

Jag’s house was similar, but also different from Niall’s. It was a fixer-upper, whereas Evan had been doing minor repairs on their house for years. It was obvious that Jag had been putting work into it, though. The doors and windows looked a lot nicer now, updated, and when Niall stepped in, the floorboards were new and beautiful.

“Not much in terms of furniture,” Jag said, nodding at the lone couch in the living room, with a coffee table and no TV. Single lamps stood around, accompanied by power tools and construction materials. “Here’s the kitchen.”

He’d done a lot with the kitchen. The cabinets were newly finished, the kitchen counters a smooth grey granite. The backsplash was a medley of blues and teals, and the sink and faucet looked brand new.

“Wow,” Niall said. “It looks like someone’s dream kitchen.”

Jag grinned. He leaned against the counter and cracked open his cup, taking a sip of his wine. “Feel free to look around. I’ll clear away some of the junk so you don’t trip.”

Jag set his wine on the counter. He began gathering plastic wrap and off-cuts, taking them out of the house.

Niall inhaled the scent of fresh materials and mahogany. He watched as Jag wandered around the yard, picking up other trash he’d left around. Jag’s shirt pulled taut against his pecs, his pants clinging to the bulge between his legs.

Niall’s heart began to pound. What were the chances that he could slip in and out of Jag’s bedroom unnoticed?

Jag wouldn’t notice one missing pair of underwear. And it wasn’t like Niall was keeping it forever—he’d exchange it for another when it no longer smelled like Jag.

He kept his ears wide open, picking his way carefully around the tools on the floor. Jag’s bedroom was the largest one at the very end of the hallway—with its door fortunately ajar.

In there, everything smelled three times as strongly of mahogany, and just as much of musk. Niall bit down his moan. He could already imagine Jag lying face-down amidst the rumpled bed sheets, fucking down into his fist, his precome going everywhere.

He was so tempted to bury his nose in Jag’s bedding.

Instead, he searched for Jag’s laundry hamper—right next to his bathroom.

Niall listened again for Jag. Then he crouched next to the hamper and reached in, scooping out a pair of sweatpants.

He pressed his nose against its crotch, huffing down the musk of Jag’s cock. It was an earthy scent, rich and forbidden, and Niall had to shove his wrist against his own rapidly-growing cock.

He found another pair of sweatpants and buried his nose in it, too. Then he found Jag’s boxer-briefs—smelling more of sweat than musk because Jag wore them on his morning runs.

Niall sniffed at its crotch hurriedly—it carried some musk, not quite as strong as the sweatpants.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He stuffed it into the deep pocket of his hoodie, grabbed another pair of sweatpants and rubbed his face into its crotch. Jag’s cock had been right there, sliding against it all day. Fuck, it was the one with the white stains.

Niall licked at a stain. Then he dropped the sweatpants back into its hamper and hurried out of Jag’s bedroom, heart thumping.

Three seconds after he cleared the doorway, Jag stepped back into the house. Niall breathed a slow sigh of relief and tried to look innocent, wandering into the hallway bathroom.

The scent of musk wasn’t as strong in here. It still smelled like mahogany, though.

Niall couldn’t help peeking at the shower tiles—at least Jag’s tiles didn’t look like they were about to fall off.

He found Jag in the kitchen, sipping from his cup of wine. Jag raised his eyebrows. “Like what you’ve seen?”

Niall flushed and nodded, dropping his gaze.

“Hang around. I’ll feed you when I’ve gotten this place straightened up a bit more.”

Vaguely, Niall wondered if now was a good time to run home, and hide the evidence of his theft.

He was contemplating Jag’s front door—the doorknob was difficult for him to open, but Jag had left it ajar—when Jag wandered down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms.

Jag paused.

Niall’s senses began to tingle. Now was a very good time to run.

But his feet had glued themselves to the floor. In slow motion, he watched as Jag turned his face left and right, like he was sniffing for something.

Jag disappeared into his bedroom.

Horrified, Niall backed away. He turned and walked quickly to the front door, pulling it open with a shriveled hand.

Jag hadn’t left the bedroom yet. But he was going to at any moment.

Niall ran. He made it all the way across the lawns, cursing when he stopped in front of his door.

The keys slipped into the hollow of his palm. He couldn’t get them to separate; he couldn’t hold them straight enough to fit even one into its keyhole.

“Niall,” Jag said over the thumping of his heart.

Niall startled violently. “Y-yes?”

Was there still a point in opening the door? Maybe he should just drop the keys and run. But where would he go? He didn’t have a safe place outside of his home.

“What were you doing in my bedroom?” Jag asked. Calmly, smoothly. Like he already knew the answer.

Oh, gods. Niall gulped and fumbled unseeingly with his keys. “Y-you said I could look around.”

“So I did.” Jag prowled closer, until he was all but caging Niall against his front door.

He took the keys out of Niall’s hands, and carefully unlocked the deadbolts, one by one.

Niall darted in the second the door opened. But before he could slam it shut, Jag stopped it with one hand, and followed him inside.

“You’re gonna kill me!”

Jag shut the door. It sounded so loud. And he slid all three deadbolts home.

Niall backed away, his heart pounding. When Jag turned around, he looked... amused?

“I’m not mad,” Jag said. “And I’m not going to hurt you. But you spent a long time pawing through my dirty laundry.”

“H-how did you know?” Niall squeaked. He was such a horrible thief; Jag had found out almost immediately.

Jag’s smile grew. He prowled toward Niall, every bit the dangerous ex-con. “Your scent. Did you know? Your vanilla scent was strongest around my laundry hamper. On my clothes. And on more than one of my sweatpants, right in the crotch. Tell me, what part of yourself did you rub all over my cock scent?”

Niall swayed on his feet, backing away until he hit the wall. “Wh-what’re you going to do?”

“Well, first, I’m going to make sure you didn’t steal anything from me.” When Niall paled, Jag’s smile grew. “Either you hand it over, or I’ll take it back myself.”

A whimper escaped Niall. “No!”

“So you took something.” Jag licked his lips, crowding Niall up against the wall. He caught Niall’s hips with gentle hands and turned him around, pinning him in place. “I’m going to frisk you.”

Niall grew wet. He couldn’t even find the words to protest his innocence. Jag took his wrists, pressing each arm against the wall. And he slowly patted down Niall’s arms through his sleeves, to his armpits, before sliding his palms down Niall’s sides. Niall’s body tingled with each heavy caress; he bit his lip when Jag stroked his hands down his back.

Jag brought his hands around to Niall’s chest, splaying his fingers across Niall’s collarbones and moving them down, over his hard nipples. He paused at those, thumbing them through the thick material. They tingled; Niall gasped. Jag cupped his chest and squeezed firmly, then followed the line of Niall’s body down to his abdomen, to the pockets of his hoodie.

“What’s this?” Jag murmured.

And he reached in, pulling out the balled up pair of boxer briefs.

“It’s mine,” Niall blurted.

Jag huffed. And he brought it up to his nose, sniffing. “Hmm. It’s yours?”

Niall nodded frantically, even though they both knew he was lying.

“Well, is this your scent?” Jag folded the underwear so its crotch was right on top. And he pressed it against Niall’s nose and mouth, his breath raking over Niall’s ear. “Breathe it in.”

Niall blushed so hot, he didn’t think he’d ever recover. Jag was holding the scent of his own cock to Niall’s mouth.

It felt like heaven. A forbidden slice of heaven.

Niall breathed in several times, too shallowly to catch Jag’s scent properly.

“Slow down,” Jag murmured. “Breathe out.” He demonstrated an exhale. “Breathe in.”

Niall followed the rhythm of his breathing. And his lungs filled with Jag’s scent, the intimate musk of it coating his tongue.

“What do you smell?” Jag asked quietly.

“Y-you.”

“Which part of me?”

Niall scrunched his eyes shut, mortified. He’d said the word ‘cock’ so many times by now, dictating his stories to the computer. But saying it in front of Jag made him feel so self-conscious. “Y-your c-cock.”

“Mmm. Say it louder.”

Niall’s embarrassment crashed through him in waves. “Your cock!”

Jag pressed up against him, the weight of his length nudging against Niall’s back. “You like that scent?”

“Y-yes. Oh, gods.”

“Good,” Jag purred. “Open your mouth.”

Niall obeyed.

And Jag pushed his cock-scented underwear into Niall’s mouth, gagging him with it.

Niall moaned, his slick soaking through his briefs.

“Now, I’m going to search the rest of you, and see if you stole anything else.”

“I didn’t,” Niall said around Jag’s underwear.

Jag laughed quietly. “Have you been completely truthful today?”

Niall bit into the boxer-briefs and said nothing.

“I thought so.” Jag pulled away, cupping Niall’s legs—one first, then the other. He swept his palms up to the seam of Niall’s crotch, bumping against his ass, before stroking down to his ankle. His hands left a trail of tingles as he returned them to Niall’s ass, cupping him gently as though he’d found a treasure. “You’ve soaked through your pants,” Jag growled. His fingers slipped between Niall’s cheeks, pushing the fabric of his pants deeper like he was trying to touch Niall’s hole. “Right here. So wet for me.”

Niall’s legs almost buckled under him. “Please!”

“You’ve been a bad boy today,” Jag murmured, rubbing his hole again. Niall wobbled; Jag kept him upright against the wall, sliding his hand further between Niall’s legs like it all belonged to him. He cupped Niall’s sac, before gripping his cock through his pants.

Niall shuddered and almost came. He’s touching me there!

“You like that,” Jag growled, squeezing him again. Niall throbbed and rutted against his fingers to chase his release. But Jag took his hand away. “Nope. You’ll get what I decide to give you.”

Niall tried to speak through the saliva-soaked boxer-briefs, but he couldn’t get any words out.

“What was that?” Jag asked. He pulled the bundle out gently, nudging his cheek against the side of Niall’s head.

“I need,” Niall sobbed. “Need to come.”

“Mmm. That’s hot.” Jag stroked Niall through his pants again, too lightly to provide relief. “I seem to recall that you need... someone to move a toy. In and out.”

Niall’s hole squeezed. He shoved his hips hopefully at Jag. “Will you—?”

Jag smiled against his temple. “Only if you beg for it.”