8

-North-

WHAT INthe eight circles of sexy hell has gotten into Mal? I don't know if I should be worried or excited that he's relaxing and starting to enjoy himself, but he's acting so un-Malcolm-like it's kinda freaking me out.

Drinking and smoking? I mean, don't get me wrong I'm not complaining. The red flush to his cheeks and the way he blows the smoke at me out of his barely parted lips is sexy as hell, but it's just . . . weird. Maybe I need to take my own advice and relax a bit. He's a big boy, he knows what he's doing.

We finish off the cigarette and head back inside. When we get to the table someone's bought another round of shots, and to my horror, Mal takes another one and slams it back in one swift gulp, then licks the alcohol off his glistening bottom lip in a way that makes me want to suck it.

He reaches out for another one and I catch his arm. "Mal, I think that's enough for now," I say.

"I thought I was the one in charge," Mal snarls. He squares off to me, bumping his puffed-up chest against mine, but he's smiling, and I can't help giggling. Drunk Mal is funny.

I notice Josh is eyeing us and I back off a step.

Josh is one of my closest friends on the team, and he's a good guy. If he knew the truth he probably wouldn't have an issue with it. Probably. And that's the problem. I don't want to risk it.

Mal doesn't seem to notice me backing off, and Josh gets drawn into a conversation about dogs learning to drive. That was close. I'm going to have to be more careful if we're going to keep this relationship a secret, especially if Mal is letting loose.

I realize that might be harder than I thought, though, when Mal takes the seat next to me and looks me up and down hungrily, making my pulse jump. I know that look well. A second later his hand presses onto my thigh under the table. Trying to keep a straight face, I lean in and hiss at him.

"Hey, what are you doing? The guys are right here."

"Who cares." he slides his hand higher.

Oh god, my dick is already starting to take notice. But I haven't specifically told him that I don't want to come out to the guys yet because it's never been a problem. He's not usually into public affection. Or any kind of affection for that matter.

But apparently, three shots is enough to turn him into a sloppy drunk. Which would be hilarious if it wasn't so dangerous. I get up and circle to the other side of the table, where I can keep an eye on him but not be in the handsy danger zone. He narrows his eyes at me as I take my seat opposite him.

A moment later something brushes my dick and I jump, biting off a yelp. I look down to see the tip of Mal's boot wriggling between my legs and nudging at my already half-hard cock through my jeans. I bat it away, but it comes back again, kneading and rubbing at my dick. I shoot Malcolm a look and wrestle with it while trying to keep a straight face. But his foot moves harder and faster, and I can't help a little whine escaping.

The alcohol has gone to my head, and the thought of getting caught by the guys pushes me even further. My hips start to move on their own, rubbing against him, and I bite down on my lip while my face heats.

Don't close your eyes. Don't close your eyes.

Mal is watching me on the other side of the table, the cat that caught the mouse. And, Jesus, I'm starting to sweat. I can't help it, Mal being pushy is one of my many kinks. Apparently, Mal doing anything is.

I'm suddenly aware that someone's talking to me.

"Huh?" I say, startled.

"I said what's going on with you and Becki?" Randy says, leaning forward. "Because if you're not going to hit that I will."

I barely even think about his question as Mal digs his toes into my crotch like he's stomping out a cigarette. Keep a straight face. Speak normally.

"Uh, yeah go for it," I say. "She's not really my type."

Mal licks his lips, one slow sensual motion, and I bite down harder on my own. Jesus, the things he does to me.

Randy lets out a great big bellowing laugh. "Are you kidding? She's hot as fuck! If she's not your type, who the hell is?"

Don't look at Malcolm.I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head, and his boot presses down harder, twisting. I squeak and manage to turn it into words.

"I-I-I prefer dark brunettes, I guess."

Malcolm smirks out of the corner of my eye, working my dick with his boot like a fucking magician. Oh god, what if I come in my pants? Surrounded by my teammates? Will I be able to keep a straight face? Will I be able to shuffle to the men's room without anyone noticing? Or will I just have to sit in a cooling pool of cum for the rest of the evening?

Luckily God takes pity on me, and I don't have to find out. Because a moment later another tray of shots lands on the table in front of us and Mal drops his foot back down to the floor so he can reach for one. If this is what he's like on three shots, who knows what'll happen after four? As everyone grabs their drinks, I shoot up and snatch the small glass he's reaching for, and down it in one gulp. He narrows his eyes at me. I can practically hear the standoff music playing in the background. He goes for another. But I'm faster off the draw, I snatch that one up too and it's gone in a second, down my throat into my belly with its friends. Everyone else has helped themselves to the drinks and Malcolm eyes the now empty tray, before working his jaw like he's chewing a wad of tobacco.

He stands up, and I get a great view of the semi he's sporting in his pants. Jesus, I'm surprised he doesn't poke someone's eye out with that thing. No one else seems to notice, though, because then Mal fishes out his card and announces to the group,

"Next rounds on me."

The guys cheer and someone shouts. "You need to come out more often, Malcolm. You've been holding out on us."

Jesus Christ. What have I created?

A little while later Mal comes back to the table with a tray, but before he sets it down he pauses and takes his time selecting a drink, raises it at me in a "cheers" motion, and drinks it. Then he sets the tray down, sits down next to me, and places the glass upside down on the table by my elbow. Point proven, he sucks on his bottom lip and hands me a shot.

"Hey," he says.

I narrow my eyes at his suddenly innocent expression. "Hey yourself. Having fun?"

"Yeah, I actually am," he says. He blinks slowly and smiles a little crooked smile. "Thanks for making me come."

"No problem," I say.

"And in return," he continues, leaning in conspiratorially, "I'll make you come too."

I choke into my drink and slap a hand over my mouth. "Mal!"

He laughs and sits back in his chair. I can't be mad at him, he looks so cute. I know Mal doesn't drink, but I didn't realize he was such a lightweight. Four shots in and he already looks like he's reaching the end of his limit.

In a very un-Malcolm move, he drops his head down onto my shoulder. I want to run my fingers through his hair, but I restrain myself. I think the guys might have a thing or two to say if I started petting Malcolm at the table. we're walking on thin ice as it is, but thankfully it seems like the others are getting too drunk to notice.

"I'm sorry," Mal says quietly.

"What for?"

"For being an asshole. I don't mean it, you're really nice." His words slur slightly. "I just can't help it sometimes. Sorry."

Mal's apologizing to me? Now I know he really must be drunk. "That's ok," I say. "I kinda like your assholey charm."

He sighs hot air against my neck. "I mean it. You're really nice. So nice."

Ok, so drunk Mal is a total cutie. I have to say, I didn't see this coming.

"Thanks," I whisper back.

He tilts his head slightly, tipping it into the side of my neck, and his lips move against me.

"Whoa," I say, leaning away. As much as I like it, the guys might be drunk but they'd have to be blind not to notice that.

Mal frowns at me, lifting his head. "Hey, I was lying there."

He grumbles to himself and reaches across the table for another drink, even though there's only empty glasses on the tray now. His hand knocks a half-empty beer bottle over and it sloshes across the table and down his front.

"Shit," I say, jumping up.

"Wha'?" Mal blinks at me. "Are you ok?"

I grab a napkin and dry him off as best as I can with it, dabbing at his chest and stomach. He's completely soaked his shirt. How is he this drunk already? He's only had four drinks. The poor guy doesn't know what he's doing, and I can't help feeling like it's my fault. I made him come, and I told him to "fit in."

"Ok, I think it's time to get you home, Mal," I say. "Come on."

"Why?" he protests as I pull him out of his seat, but he doesn't try to stop me. He sways a little and I get one of his arms around my shoulder.

"I'm gonna get Mal back to his house, I think he's had enough for one night."

"But he's barely had anything," one of them complains.

"Yeah, let him buy a few more rounds first, Alaska."

I turn to the door, taking Mal with me, and call over my shoulder.

"See you later guys."

"Have fun!" one of them shouts after us and there's a round of sniggering that makes me glad they can't see my face. I don't know what they meant by that, but I have other things to think about right now.