by J. P. James
Sarah rolls her eyes. I see through her attempt to brush me off, but I accept it. She doesn’t like to show her feelings either. I wonder if that’s how we became friends at NYU.
“Janine says congrats,” Sarah perks up. “She’ll try to be here for the next show, but you know how that girl likes to travel.”
I nod, thinking fondly about my once fiancé. For the remarkable way everything blew up two years ago, things have calmed down considerably since them. I guess the biggest stress since then was Janine’s diagnosis. Her doctors determined she has bipolar disorder, but she was able to start medication and therapy right away. She’s doing well, still taking her medicine, and found a way to channel her unpredictability into a career. She travels all the time, and now she writes for an upscale travel blog while she jet sets. Janine and I hung out for a while, but we’ve grown apart. That fact alone would have scared me half to death back then, but now I see it’s for the best. This time around, Janine really is happy. We both are, and that’s all I wanted in the end.
“Thanks,” I remember to tell Sarah. “I’ll text her when she gets back from Germany.”
Misty tugs Sarah’s arm, motioning towards the bar. The girls say their goodbyes, and leave us alone.
I give the guys my full attention. They’re watching me with a fondness that still takes my breath away. Even after two years, I can’t get enough of it. I let the feeling settle in my heart before I launch myself at them again.
“Please. Let’s go home.”
Hudson pays the babysitter while Hayden and I quietly walk into the nursery, cooing as we zero in on our bundle of joy.
Besides Janine’s diagnosis, there was also the little detail of me becoming a father. Yeah. Talk about reality check.
Rocky is the happiest little munchkin a parent could ask for. We finalized the adoption only a few months ago. Everything is so new, but shiny and wonderful all at once.
Rocky talks constantly, but he practically rehearses with me whenever I have an audition to prep. It’s also the cutest thing to see him sat between the twins, sleeping while they play video games. Because of our changing schedules, it makes it easy for the three of us to care equally for our son. I love my little family. I never thought this would be my family, but I wouldn’t change them for the world.
“Goodnight sweetheart,” Hayden whispers, kissing Rocky’s black hair.
I rub his cheeks gingerly, before we walk out and join Hudson in the hallway.
“Lauren said he was fussy, but that should mean he’s out cold now,” Hudson assures, rubbing his neck to get some of the kinks.
Hayden nods, looking over at the baby monitor perched on the coffee table.
Hudson surprises me by pulling me into a hug and kissing me squarely on the lips. The kiss is light, but sets my body on fire.
“What was that for?” I ask hazily when he pulls away.
“Just because,” he insists.
Hayden comes closer, kissing my neck and sending shivers down my spine. “You’re an amazing father, a skilled actor, and an erotic lover. You are perfect.”
“I love you guys,” I whisper, pushing my hips back and forth to knock against both of them.
“I love you,” they say in unison.
Their mouths dive after that, lips tracing every muscle and vein on my arms and neck. They leave me a shivering mess in minutes, and I quickly pull every article of clothing off my body.
The boys rid themselves of their clothes too. Before I ask what the plan is, Hudson lifts me clean off the floor. Hayden disappears into the bedroom, laughing as he goes.
“You’re only going up from here,” Hudson repeats. “Wasn’t that what Hayden said?”
He perches me higher on his thighs. I groan as our cocks drag against each other, and Hayden arrives in time. He flips the cap of the lube and pours it between our cocks. With Hudson’s arm around my waist, I bring my hand between our bodies as stroke our cocks together.
I can hear the lube cap behind me, and seconds later Hayden has a finger gliding over my ass.
“Oh fuck,” I cry, but Hudson covers his mouth over mine.
The drag of our cocks eases with the lube. It’s slick and allows me to rut harder against him, chasing the burning desire growing in my gut.
“That’s it baby,” Hayden purrs into my ear, pumping his finger inside my ass blissfully.
“More,” I hiss, pulling off Hudson’s lips. “I need your cock inside me. Now.”
Hayden bites me shoulder and I cry into the apartment.
“Oh shit, Rocky,” I curse, but Hudson shushes me.
“He’s fine. Relax,” he assures,
His lips find my neck as Hayden’s cock pushes into my ring, and the rest of the night dissolves into stars. The burn in my ass is like fuel on the fire, sending my orgasm rushing to the surface. Hudson’s surfaces first, and he bites my lips so hard he faintly breaks the skin. He spills between our stomachs, and the hot come only sends me higher. Hayden stutters against me next, groaning into my ear as he fills me to the brim. It’s the final dose of heat I need. My orgasm roars like a raging fire, and ropes of come continue to fill the space between Hudson and mine’s bodies.
“Perfect,” Hudson says. He leans down and kisses my forehead.
Hayden nuzzles into the back of my neck. I lean into him and share in the feeling. “You’re confusing, honest, nerdy, and exceptionally perfect.”
The words wash over me. I should be used to this too. They tell me constantly how much they want me, and I do the same for them. When you thought your life was supposed to look a certain way, I guess it takes time to see your life for what it is: perfect.
The End
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Sneak Peek: Always Ours
Sirens echo through the alley and I watch as an ambulance screeches to a halt.
“No!” the assailant wails. He tries to shake me loose, but he barely moves a few inches. My hands grip him so hard I know he’ll have bruises around his wrist for the next week.
Not long after I hear the now familiar sirens of a police cruiser.
“Jones!” shouts Officer Jimenez. He runs to me, past Logan and the kid. The attacker makes one last move to shove me off him, but Jimenez pulls his gun out and points it in his direction.
“Don’t move!” my co-worker hisses.
Obediently, the guy stops thrashing. Instead, I can feel him shaking under me like a leaf. Jimenez unhooks the pair of cuffs at his waist, and together, we wrangle the guy from the ground and lead him to the car, cuffed and bruised.
We move out of the alley, and I see Logan holds the victim close as we move past them. Suddenly the assailant lunges towards the boy, even ensconced as he is in my brother’s arms.
I don’t know what comes over me, but my foot flies through the air and kicks the guy right between his cheeks.
“That’s enough!” I snarl.
He cries out from the shooting pain in his ass. Whatever, he deserves it. I shove him against the trunk while Jimenez opens the door.
“That boy had it coming! They all have it coming! Fags need to be taught a lesson!” the crazed guy says.
I force a belly laugh out of me, and let it echo down the street.
“The only one getting a lesson is you,” I growl.
I hurl another laugh at his face, but it’s for show. He’s an ant under my shoe, but he doesn’t need to know how he’s shaken me up either.
I have no regrets as I shove the perp into the cruiser, hard. His head hits the top of the car as I push him, but I couldn’t care less. I buckle him in tight, knowing his cuffs are digging into his wrists. Good.
Between Logan and me, I’m usually the levelheaded one. I don’t overreact when it comes to my job, even when faced with hateful idiots like this guy because there’s something about the boy in the alley. He’s young, and an innocent victim. Why would someone g
o after him just because he’s gay? This time around, I feel like I barely have a grasp on my emotions. I’m practically seeing red, knowing this bigot hurt this boy so badly.
Once Jimenez and I have the guy locked in the car, the paramedics rush out of the ambulance. They assemble the gurney as Logan emerges from the dark alley.
He’s carrying the kid bridal-style in his arms, moving slow enough not to jostle him.
“How is he?” I ask, the red finally fading from my eyes a bit.
“He’s unconscious but breathing,” my brother replies, his face grim. I didn’t realize I had moved away from the cruiser, but suddenly I’m standing at my twin’s side. He shoots me a meaningful look, and there’s something about his gaze. I haven’t seen my brother’s eyes look so soft in a long time. Is it our poor victim? Does he also feel his heart extend in sympathy?
I look down at Logan’s hands. His fingers are loose but I can tell he’s clutching this kid with more care than he’s ever held anything before. Then my eyes drift over to the young man.
Oh shit. He looks younger than we are, but not by that much. He’s definitely an adult, smaller in size than Logan and me but he looks strong.
The perp’s fingerprints bruised his neck, and my gut twists upon seeing the faint purplish-red marks. His face is covered in dirt and scratches, and there are dozens of bruises along his arms and legs.
My hand comes up before I think better of it, and cup the guy’s cheek. It feels like the world quiets around us the moment my hand touches him. I can hear his shallow breathing, and watch soft gusts of air leave his slightly parted lips. His hair is sweaty and matted from his altercation, but it still looks soft. I can smell a hint of his shampoo too. It’s nice and reminds me that life goes on, even after horrific moments like these.
“He’ll be alright,” Logan rasps.
“Thanks to us,” I agree.
I drop my hand as Logan carries him to the assembled gurney. The paramedics work their magic, getting the guy’s vitals and prepping him for the drive.
“Are you coming?” a young, brunette paramedic asks us once the kid is strapped inside the ambulance.
One look at Logan is all it takes. There’s no discussion as we pile in the back. Logan sits at the guy’s head while I sit by our victim’s side. We’re like twin sentinels, ready to do whatever’s necessary.
The sirens roar to life and we peel out on the street. I take the boy’s hand, squeezing it now and then. I don’t know if the gesture means to comfort him or myself, but I do it anyways. It’s been an intense end to the night, to say the least, and it’s hardly over, given that our victim is bruised, battered, and beaten.
I take another look at the boy in front of me. Frankly, he’s beautiful even when he’s covered in wounds. I can’t remember the last time a guy caught my attention like this. The luster of his brown hair makes it look like amber. The fluorescent lights are harsh but they also bring out flecks of gold and orange. The alley was dark and now he’s unconscious, but I want so badly to see his eyes. I bet they’re brilliant.
My eyes rake down his body. I had my body pressed against his just twenty minutes ago, and it was amazing. Looking at it now, I can see everything I’m missing because he’s toned and athletic, even though his arms and legs are smaller than mine. He can definitely hold his own, but I know his attacker ambushed him. He was probably minding his business, on his way home, and this guy came out of the shadows and hurt him. He likely would have done much worse, had Logan and I not been nearby.
The victim’s not a kid, but there’s something about this guy that seems young. Maybe young isn’t the right word. He’s so innocent, especially lying here, resting like an angel. He looks peaceful. His features are soft, and I want to brush my fingers over his face to soothe away any bad dreams. I can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and I find myself staring at his chest as it pushes against his tight shirt.
My breath catches in my throat. How could someone attack such a boy just for being gay? What kind of heartless monsters live out in the world? I’m a cop, and I’ve seen damn near everything over the years. Innocent people become victims every day, I get that. And yet looking at this guy, something locks into place that wasn’t there before.
I make a silent vow to myself that I’m going to makes sure this man recovers. I swear it. As the ambulance pulls into the receiving bay, I squeeze the guy’s hand a final time before the medics usher us out and rush the victim into an emergency room.
“Are you coming, Mason?” Logan grunts, shaking me out of my stupor. His arm pulls mine and we follow the crew into the hospital.
It’s a slow night so our boy gets a bed in no time. The doctor approaches us, a confused look on his face.
“Are you friends of the victim?” he wonders.
We shake our heads.
“No, Doc. We’re Officers Jones and Jones with the Seventh Precinct,” I start while launching into my spiel. I’ve given it enough times over the years that it just flows out of me. “We were off duty tonight when he came upon the attacker. He had the victim in a chokehold when we apprehended him and called for backup.”
Logan is at the guy’s side, gaze focused solely on him, as I talk to the ER physician. The doc considers us, and nods. He does a quick exam, checking the guy’s body for every cut and abrasion. He’s careful around the boy’s neck, and it sends another twinge of pain through my stomach.
“His injuries aren’t too severe, although his throat will take time to heal,” the physician says, scribbling into his chart before leaving it at the foot of the bed. “You two are free to go. I’ll contact the department when he’s discharged and send a copy of his file for the criminal trial,” he says as he makes to turn out of the room.
“No,” I say.
Logan and the doctor both jolt. The doctor probably didn’t think I’d fight him on this, and Logan’s probably surprised I beat him to it.
“No?” the physician wants to clarify.
“I mean, sorry, we’ll stay with the patient,” I confirm. “We won’t be in the way. We just want to make sure he’s alright when he wakes up.”
I look over at Logan. His eyes have the same determination that mine do.
I look back to the doctor and take a deep breath. “Our patient doesn’t have anyone. He’ll probably want some familiar faces when he wakes up in a sterile, white room, even if it’s just us. You know how it is.”
The doctor doesn’t nod nor does he move an inch for what feels like forever. In reality, it was probably only a few seconds, but then suddenly he keeps turning towards the door.
“Suit yourselves,” he calls over his shoulder.
With that, the doc’s gone. Good. There’s one chair in the corner next to the bed.
“Mason, why don’t you take a seat?” my brother asks. I nod and sit down next to the bed as he stands, holding the guy’s hand.
“You aren’t tired?” I ask, letting the chair support all of my weight.
“Are you?” he fires back.
“Not at all,” I admit, and then I let the words rush out before I think better of saying them. “We can’t leave him. We have to protect him.”
“We won’t leave him, and we will protect him,” Logan replies.
Clearly, my brother and I are on the same wavelength. And our words ring true because I made a vow in the ambulance: I will protect this guy no matter what. I don’t know his name yet, but that’s okay. Apparently, my twin made the same vow too and our words reverberate in the silence of the hospital room. This man, for our lives.
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About the Author
J.P. James is a MM author who’s secretly been writing LGBTQ romance novels for a decade. She looks forward to bringing you more steam, heat, and passion between sensitive men and the guys who love them.
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