Common Powers

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Sit.” Jack held up a piece of meat and pushed down on Winston’s rump.

  The dog sat.

  “Good boy.” Jack fed him the treat.

  After thirty minutes, Jack had Winston sitting and lying down. Tomorrow he’d work on Stay and Heel. The dog was smart and a quick learner. He couldn’t understand why Edward had never trained the animal.

  But that was just like Edward. Out of control. Rash. Impulsive.

  Everything Jack found irritating and weak. Everything that Jack had eliminated from himself, like a surgeon with a scalpel—cutting away weakness, leaving only strength.

  But Edward wore it like a soft velvet cloak that wrapped his emotions, his vulnerability and his tenderness around his lithe, hard body. It tugged on Jack’s protective nature, made Jack quiet his voice and step easy around Edward.

  Right up to the point when Edward had just made Jack so damn crazy he’d lashed out.

  Before any more thoughts of Edward swamped him, Jack went to the kitchen and took the last beer. Winston padded after him, right on his heels. Sitting on the table was the bag Edward had brought. Jack reached inside and pulled out half a dozen cans of dog food. A bag of dog treats. Organic treats? Who the hell ever heard of organic dog treats? He rolled his eyes.

  When he reached in, he hit something else. He peered in and smiled.

  Jack pulled out a six-pack of Shiner Bock and set it on the table.

  He gazed down at Winston. “How the hell did he know it was my favorite? Did you tell him?” Jack chuckled.

  It had been a sweet gesture. From a sweet man.

  Woof.

  “Lucky guess, huh?” Jack put them in the fridge, then opened a can of dog food and put it in a bowl.

  While Winston chowed down, Jack finished his beer. It wasn’t late, but he was beat. Jack went to his bedroom, stripped down and climbed under the covers.

  Winston jumped up onto the bed, circled his wagons, then lay down at Jack’s feet.

  Jack was too tired to chase him off. He closed his eyes and added Off to the list of commands he’d teach the dog over the weekend.

  No pain. Not a single twinge. He was tired, but not hurting. Christ, he’d lived with the pain for weeks and now, just like that, it was gone. In a weird way, he missed it.

  He rolled over and tried not to think about it.

  Edward had taken his pain. But it wasn’t just that and Jack knew it.

  Edward had saved his life.

  Whatever he’d taken from Jack could have killed Edward and for a moment, Jack would have sworn Edward had died, but that couldn’t be.

  Whatever it had been, it had been meant to kill Jack.

  Christ. Would it have happened tonight? Would he have died in his sleep? Just dropped dead?

  How long would it have taken someone to notice he hadn’t shown up for work? He was going to be off all weekend. Jack shivered at the thought of being found dead days later. He’d seen those bodies before, bloated, distorted and reeking. For the first time in years, the desolation of being alone rocked him.

  Morbid thoughts were useless. He hadn’t died. He was fine. No sense in getting all bent out of shape over something that hadn’t even happened. It was just too damn close for comfort, like knowing he’d missed taking a bullet, or he’d stopped at an intersection just as an eighteen-wheeler barreled through.

  Fuck. It was the ‘my life flashed before my eyes’ kind of scary.

  * * * *

  Edward pulled on to the highway. He clutched the steering wheel and he refused to acknowledge the water standing in his eyes by wiping it away. Between his terror at what had happened when he’d taken Jack’s pain and Jack’s rejection of Edward’s stupid advances, his stomach rebelled.

  He pulled over, jumped out of the car and ran to the side of the road. As he fell to his hands and knees, he threw up into the grass, his stomach heaving until long past empty. Finished, he spat, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got to his feet, clinging to the side of the car. He staggered around to the open door, then slumped into the seat and leaned back against the headrest.

  He’d only wanted to help Jack, to help the man he’d been drawn to as if Jack held all the answers to all Edward’s questions.

  He’d thought Jack just had a headache. Maybe even a sinus infection. Something easy, simple, like all the other times he’d used his power. He hadn’t been prepared for what he’d found, not for what had come rushing at him through their connection.

  Hot, blinding agony wrapped in a pulsing fireball.

  How the hell had Jack stood it all this time?

  And when Edward had opened his eyes—utter darkness. A desolation that had left him like a lost child, crying in the dark for comfort. Had Jack felt that too, or was that something only Edward had felt?

  Then the explosion hit and he’d lost consciousness.

  Edward took several deep breaths, inhaling and expelling air, until the trembling stopped and he’d regained some control.

  He’d almost died. Maybe, for a second, he had. He wasn’t sure of anything. Whatever had been inside Jack’s head had burst after it had entered Edward. His gift, and his life, both of which he’d always used so cavalierly, had almost been taken from him. He’d saved Jack’s life, of that he was sure, but he’d come close to losing his own and that terrified him.

  Never again.

  And speaking of never again… He’d done it again. Made a fool of himself by throwing himself at Jack, only to be rejected. Had he been out of his mind? A man like Jack wouldn’t want him. Jack was a man’s man. A Texas lawman. He was John Fucking Wayne, for God’s sake.

  At least this time, it hadn’t been in public.

  Just a private humiliation.

  His face burned as he relived Jack’s voice, whispering so hoarsely in his ear, searing him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and relived the weight of the bigger man pressed into him. The heat of Jack’s hard body. Jack’s scent. Jack’s breath. Jack’s hand on top of his. Edward had had an erection as Jack trapped him between his body and the hard, wooden door.

  Edward would have dropped his jeans and let Jack fuck him at that moment.

  Now, Edward just wanted to run away, like he’d run from Atlanta and all his problems there.

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. If he kept doing that, eventually he’d run out of places to hide. With his track record of failure, he stood a pretty good chance of finding himself in Timbuktu, and Lord knew he did not look good in khaki.

  He could run, but he couldn’t hide. Not from himself.

  He needed to face facts. Get a grip on his life and come to some understanding.

  There was something wrong with him.

  Edward flipped down the visor and opened the mirror. He studied his reflection by the glow of the small light. Stared into his own watery eyes, searching for signs.

  It must be some internal failure. A design flaw. Something down at the cellular level that rendered him unlovable, that sent out some sort of homing beacon to the wrong sort of men and lit up the big sign on his back that said Break My Heart. As if he were some perpetual victim, caught in a never-ending loop of bad choices, bad mistakes and bad lovers.

  Except Jack wasn’t the wrong sort of man. He was a good man. Honest, sincere, trustworthy and in control. Everything Edward had never been attracted to, had always sneered at, only now it turned him on. This must be some kind of cosmic karma.

  Because, to add insult to injury, Jack wasn’t gay.

  Edward sighed.

  He was falling in love with a man who wasn’t gay.

  Talk about your hell and damnation.

  * * * *

  Jack flopped onto his back and his hand brushed his half-hard cock. He grunted. That hadn’t happened since the pain started. Hard to get it up when you’re in agony. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, and Jack wasn’t. Just plain, old-fashioned, vanilla self-gratification for him. Nothing he couldn’t control, nothing to get excited about. Nothing to involv
e his emotions.

  After weeks of not jacking off, he needed some relief. Jack leaned over, pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and took out a small bottle of baby oil. No way would he be caught buying sex lube or one of those massage creams guaranteed to make his dick tingle. Not even online. The only computer he had access to was the one on his desk at work and he’d never risk putting anything but business on that.

  But baby oil? Everyone bought that stuff.

  Jack guarded his privacy. It was necessary in a small town where everyone knew everything about each other and what they didn’t know, they were more than willing to speculate about.

  The last thing he needed, as chief of police, was to not be respected, to be made the town laughingstock or to have his personal life subject to gossip and speculation.

  He’d never be in that position again. The object of ridicule, ashamed of who he was, where he’d come from. Poor white trailer-park trash, with a couple of drunks for parents. The kid no one wanted to hang with or even sit next to in school.

  The best thing he’d ever done had been to run away and start a new life when he was sixteen. At eighteen, he’d changed his name to escape any attempt his lousy excuse for parents might make to find him and drag him back.

  He had no regrets about leaving or cutting them out of his life. They were toxic, like cancer. Without them putting him down, eating away at his self-confidence, telling him he was no better than they were, he’d made something of himself and he was damned proud of it. So what if it came with a cost. Everything worth fighting for did.

  Just like he’d fought so hard to be the best cop he could be. That had gotten him noticed and moved up the ranks, until he’d been offered the job as the youngest chief of police this town had ever had. Another reason he could hold his head up with pride.

  He dripped some oil into his palm, rubbed his hands together and fisted his dick. After a few strokes, he still wasn’t hard. The fire smoldered but didn’t seem to catch. Jack reached for his balls, slicked them up and squeezed, pulled and rolled them in his hand. It felt good, but tonight it wasn’t enough.

  Frustrated, he turned onto his side, still working his hand up and down his dick. He’d forgotten about Winston until the dog growled at being jostled.

  “Get lost, buddy.”

  Winston hopped off the bed and trotted out of the room.

  The dog had probably seen plenty of Edward’s jack-off sessions, maybe even Edward and his lovers going at it, but he wasn’t going to watch Jack.

  Did Edward have a lover back in Atlanta? Of course he did—the man was gorgeous. So if he did, why all the flirting?

  And why the fuck was Jack thinking about Edward’s lovers, his flirting and his whacking off? And getting irritated by it? Irritated or jealous?

  No, no, no.

  He stopped, emptied his mind and added more oil to his hand. Then he began the process again with the same result. A half-limp dick.

  What the hell is wrong with me tonight? He usually had his routine down pat. The same jerk-off session, a couple of times a week, for the last God-knew-how-many years. He knew just how he had to touch himself, just how hard, how fast, where.

  It was as if his rhythm was off and he couldn’t find the right beat.

  He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, but like an arrow, it flew straight back to Edward. Jack’s cock swelled in his grip. “Oh shit.” He moaned.

  No fucking way.

  Edward had made him lose control tonight and Jack had struck out in violence, grabbed him and thrown him against the door. Jack had reveled in the rush of adrenaline and dominance, of letting Edward know that Jack could handle him any way Jack wanted to, if he felt like it.

  And Edward had surrendered, made that dick-hardening little moan.

  Jack slipped his hand over the tip of his cock, his thumb smearing pre-cum over its head. He hissed his pleasure and his eyes shuttered. As he thrust his hips, his dick slid through his hand, a poor substitute for the tightness and heat he craved.

  For a moment tonight, he’d had Edward pinned beneath him. He’d pressed into that tight little ass as he assured Edward he wasn’t gay and didn’t want him.

  Christ, he got so fucking hard just thinking about Edward. Okay, so what if he was attracted to Edward? Attraction was merely that, attraction. Not need, not want. Not, for Christ’s sake, love.

  Those things were too dangerous, opened a man up to weakness. Jack had given them up a long time ago when life had picked him up by the throat, shook him until his teeth rattled then tossed him aside, broken and bitter.

  Thoughts, on the other hand, were safe. Merely fantasy. People thought about things they’d never do in real life all the time to get turned on. And Jack was definitely turned on. More than he’d been in a very long time.

  He closed his eyes as he pictured Edward’s smaller body beneath his. Jack’s hips jerked as his stroke faltered. He pulled on his cock, hard and fast, as the need to come built. Bowstring taut, he vibrated, but release eluded him.

  Growling, Jack rolled onto his back, one hand on his dick, the other rubbing the tender flesh beneath his balls, a placed he’d discovered on his body that sent him over the edge. Close, his orgasm built in his balls, but it slipped away again.

  With a cry of frustration, he sat up, knocked the pillows off the bed and knelt facing the headboard. He clutched the top rail as he jerked off with frantic motions. Slammed one hand against the wall above the bed as he rocked his hips back and forth, sliding his dick in the tight grip of his other hand, striving for release. Begging his body to let go and fucking let him come.

  “Oh, Christ,” he gasped as he gave in to the knowledge and awareness.

  He’d wanted to fuck Edward against that door. Use his dick as a battering ram in Edward’s tight, hot ass. And it would be so fucking tight, he just knew it. And scorching hot, so hot it’d burn him like a brand.

  As his cock thrust, hitting the wood, it left smears of pre-cum, evidence of the dangerous truth.

  Jack slapped the wall harder as the head of his penis banged against the headboard, against Edward’s ass. The pain was so sweet. So fucking sweet.

  Jack reached the cliff, raced toward it, then hung on the edge for what seemed the longest moment of his life.

  “Oh fuck, Edward,” he whispered and plunged over the edge.

  His balls tightened and with a final thrust and cry, he sat back on his heels and came. Jack watched as streams of cum hit the headboard, his dick pulsing. Christ, he thought he’d never stop shooting spunk, stop his body’s shuddering, but at last he came up empty.

  White ropes of jism dripped down the dark-stained mahogany like raindrops on a windshield.

  Groaning, he fell backward. His heart pounded like a son of a bitch, his shaft hypersensitive to the slightest touch and its head ached from being battered.

  Shit. He’d never jerked off like that before, with so much anger, passion and primal need. So out of control.

  He waited until his breathing eased then rolled out of bed, wet a cloth and cleaned off his headboard. Then he put the pillows back, climbed in and pulled the covers up to his waist.

  It’s just a fantasy and doesn’t mean a goddamned thing.

  Chapter Ten

  Edward unlocked the door to his grandmother’s house with his new key and quietly stepped inside. All he wanted was to take his bags, go to his room and get under the covers. And never come out.

  How in the world could he face Jack again?

  He’d just have to pretend as if nothing had happened. And it was the truth—nothing had happened. Damn it.

  At least, not on Jack’s part. But Edward had gone out on that fragile limb, exposed his emotions and had been knocked off it. Really, he had to stop doing that.

  Confidence shattered, he undressed, brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas. Tonight he needed the black silk pair. Slipping on the loose pants, he took a moment to enjoy the way the pure silk caressed his skin. This pair had alway
s made him feel better. He knew about comfort food, but for him, texture soothed his soul. Food he could take or leave and he’d never been one for drugs or alcohol, just the occasional glass of white wine with dinner.

  As he buttoned up the shirt, he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked awful. Too pale, for one thing. He leaned closer to the mirror. Are those crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes? When did that happen? Thirty had been bad enough, but thirty-five sucked.

  What would his life be like at forty?

  Too fucking depressing to think about.

  He left the bathroom and went back to his room, thinking about his immediate problem.

  If he didn’t get that proof of vaccination, he might lose Winston. Edward slumped onto the bed. If that happened, he’d have no one. Well, no one who mattered. No one who’d love him just because he was Edward.

  Happy when Edward got home, Winston always barked and raced around Edward’s legs until he got the attention he demanded. Edward felt Winston’s love in the boundless exuberance the little dog always greeted him with.

  Through thick and thin, over the last six years, while lovers had promised him their love, had lied and cheated, or used him for his money like Derek, Winston had been there for him.

  Winston never lied to him. Never promised him anything other than he’d always be happy to see him, always be waiting. He’d always been faithful and steadfast. As long as he had Winston, Edward wasn’t really alone and unloved.

  The room seemed emptier without the little dog. Edward missed feeling the weight of the dog near his feet and tucking his cold toes under Winston’s warmth. He even missed Winston’s snoring.

  After crawling under the covers, Edward stroked the silk shirt over his belly, soothing himself. It was something he’d done since childhood whenever he’d been upset. He’d hidden the compulsive behavior from everyone, especially his father, as he moved into his teens, but he’d had the same velvet pillow for years. Alone at night, as his fears and worries loomed in the dark, he’d clutch it to his chest and pet it until he’d fallen asleep.

  It was so quiet. He got out of bed, went to the light switch and flicked on the overhead fan just to have some noise to break the silence. His fears didn’t cry out so loud then. His mother’s sighs of exasperation signaling her disappointment were muffled. His father’s voice as sharp and ridiculing.