“Clothes,” Martin rasped.
Taggart didn’t need more of a command than that. He withdrew his hands and pulled Martin’s shirt up. They had to shuffle around for a moment, struggling to pull their shirts off without actually parting, until finally their bare chests were pressed together again.
Martin grunted as Taggart’s head dipped past his and teeth found his neck, then his shoulder. Taggart gnawed on the sensitive muscles there, and Martin gripped Taggart’s head again and held it in place, pressing him for more. Pain and pleasure mixed in another, harder bite that made Martin’s world begin to spin again, back into that long tumble through space.
Taggart shifted his whole leg between Martin’s, and nudged Martin’s knee to one side, prompting Martin to draw his knees up so that he straddled Taggart’s hips. Taggart drew his own knee up so that he could thrust his hips slowly, working himself against Martin’s jeans. Those rough, questing fingers slid around Martin’s midsection and fumbled at his button until it was released, and he could pull the zipper down.
Martin took the hint, and gave a throaty chuckle as he straightened, leaving Taggart’s biting mouth momentarily so that he could slide off the bed and drop his jeans. Taggart reached out, his expression now entirely taken over with the heat of the moment, and tugged at Martin’s briefs.
One lip caught between his teeth, Martin peeled them down as well. His cock sprang free, and Taggart looked him over with something like wonder in his eyes. His fingers trailed over Martin’s stomach, tickling slightly, and over his hip. Taggart brushed paused only for a second before he drew them over Martin’s balls, and up the shaft of his cock. It flexed and bounced when he did, and at the end of the road, he swiped a finger slowly through the bead of pre-come that had swelled out of the mouth of Martin’s cock head.
Martin leaned over and pulled at Taggart’s underwear as well.
Taggart swallowed, and looked down self consciously. He looked up at Martin, and back down at the missing part of his leg. When he hooked his thumbs under his boxer briefs and pushed them down, he kicked them off of his right leg and used his foot to pull the crumpled sheet at the bottom of the bed up to cover the scarred end of his left thigh.
“Tag,” Martin said softly, lowering himself back to the bed. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
Taggart looked away, and squirmed under Martin’s gaze. “It’s okay if it grosses you out,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s hard for me to look at it, too.”
Martin took Taggart’s cheek and turned his head back to face him. He leaned in, and kissed Taggart gently on the lips. His hand slid down Taggart’s lightly furred chest, and over the mounds of his abdomen, past his standing cock and down to the edge of the sheet. He pushed it slowly down, off of the half leg. “Don’t hide from me.”
Taggart’s lips twisted down, and he shut his eyes tight as his brow pinched down over them. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “How can you touch me like that?”
“Shh,” Martin breathed. He slid his legs onto the bed, and laid down on his side next to Taggart. “Tag, come here.”
Taggart rolled onto his side as well, facing Martin. Once he settled, Martin pulled them closer together, until his dick pressed against Taggart’s, and their faces were less than an inch apart.
Martin stroked the tip of Taggart’s nose with his. “Just for now, let this happen, and don’t think about anything else.” He moved his hand down between them, and found Taggart’s, and his. He tugged them slowly, together, the slick cock heads sliding against one another, sending currents of pleasure through both of them that came out through their throats as rasping breath and quiet groans.
“I want this,” Martin said, and breathed in Taggart’s quiet moan.
“I . . .” Taggart trailed off as Martin’s grip slid over the head of their cocks and made slow, slick circles. “God, Martin. Please keep touching me like that. It’s been so long . . .”
Taggart’s hands convulsed against Martin’s side, digging into his flesh sporadically. His whole body trembled under Martin’s swirling hand, and he hunted for Martin’s lips with his own. Martin let himself be found, and bit Taggart’s lower lip. They kissed again for a time while Martin played Taggart’s instrument and listened to the music that came out of him.
“Lay back,” Martin whispered, eventually, when he couldn’t wait any longer.
Taggart obeyed as Martin pressed his hand against Taggart’s muscled chest until he was on his back.
Then, with slowness that he knew would frustrate a need and hunger driven body, Martin pressed his lips to Taggart’s neck, his collarbone, his chest. He found the dark tan nipple, hard and sensitive, and nibbled there for a minute while Taggart grunted and ran his fingers through Martin’s hair with hands that pulled him closer and urged him to stay there longer. Martin’s tongue flickered down along Taggart’s side as he slid further down.
The taste of it made him almost drunk, and by the time he reached the cropped bush of apparently trimmed hair at the base of Taggart’s cock, and felt the length of the thick shaft brushing his cheek, he inhaled the thick scent there and let it wash over him, until he was aching to get Taggart into his mouth.
He turned his head, and let his lips brush Taggart’s shaft. It jumped, and Taggart groaned. Martin smiled, and let his tongue slip out, and lapped slowly at the trembling cock, traveling up the length of it until he enveloped the head of it with his lips.
Taggart’s body tensed, and he curled around Martin’s head. Martin sank Taggart into his mouth until the head pushed past his throat and his nose was buried in Taggart’s hair. Taggart’s cock swelled, and Martin withdrew only enough to keep from being choked by the eruption.
Taggart’s cry was pleasure and relief, and he held Martin’s head in place as he came and Martin swallowed, the bitter creamy taste filling his mouth and staining his tongue so that it lingered well after the last shot was fired. Even then, Taggart’s dick continued to twitch, leaking the last few dribbles, and Martin’s tongue continued to massage and tease, until finally Taggart fell back onto the bed, gasping for air.
“Shit . . .Martin.”
Martin milked whatever was left out, squeezing the tube up with his fingers until a last drop spilled onto his tongue.
When he sat up, Taggart’s eyes were closed. His cheeks were damp, and his mouth was open slightly as he caught his breath.
“You okay?” Martin asked.
Taggart’s head barely moved when he nodded. “Thank you.”
Martin snorted, chuckling a little. “You don’t have to thank me, Tag. Well, I mean, not like that, anyway.”
Taggart looked down his body at Martin. “What do you want me to do?”
Martin licked his lips, and gave Taggart’s cock another squeeze. It was just as hard as before he came. He moved up Taggart’s body, and swung a leg over his hips so that he was straddling Taggart again. He reached for the baby oil — it wasn’t ideal, but it would do. As Taggart watched him, eyes rapt, Martin squeezed some into his hand and reached behind to stroke Taggart’s dick, slicking it up.
He smeared the rest over his own hole, and set the bottle aside. “Just stay hard for me,” Martin said. He took Taggart’s hand, and spread what was left of the oil on it. “And go slow.”
Taggart didn’t need any more direction than that, and he took Martin’s cock in his hand gently, barely gripping it, as Martin lifted himself a little and angled the head of Taggart’s dick toward his entrance.
With the taste of Taggart’s come still in his mouth, and the rush of getting the marine off still in his veins, Martin was already aching to get Taggart inside him. He opened with only a little effort for the thick head, and only had to slow down once as he sank down onto Taggart’s shaft. His hips moved on their own as he lowered himself down, writhing nerves singing as Taggart’s cock rubbed against his gland.
“Fuck,” Taggart breathed. His hand glided slowly along Martin’s dick, still barely gripping. His
eyes closed, and his head rolled. He bit his lip, and his hips bucked slowly against Martin’s ass, thrusting as far in as he could get.
“Like that,” Martin sighed. “Just like that.”
Taggart’s grip tightened only a little, his rough hands a confusing mix of uncomfortable and strangely pleasurable. He kept thrusting, slow, pulling out as Martin lifted off and pushing in as Martin sank down again. It was slow, rhythmic. Each thrust gave Martin’s prostate another long, deep rub, until his cock was leaking freely, pre-come adding to the slickness of the oil.
Martin didn’t mean to speed up; it just happened. His rocking motion took on a shorter, sharper cadence as he found just the right spot for Taggart’s cock head inside, pushing just the right button, and kept hitting it over and over again.
Taggart’s breathing changed, and he matched Martin’s riding, thrusting sharp and shallow, his hand speeding up gradually, his grip tighter until the head of Martin’s cock popped through the ring of his thumb and forefinger each time.
The waves of pleasure traveling up Martin’s spine began to hit him harder each time Taggart hit his gland. His balls tightened, and he clawed at Taggart’s stomach. The heady, liquid glory of near-orgasm swirled up his spine and broke over his skull like a tidal force, closing his eyes for him. He arched his back and opened his mouth wide but couldn’t make a sound at first.
Shockwaves struck him from within, and flashed out to his toes, curling them painfully, and out to his fingertips that dug down into Taggart’s skin. Taggart squeezed his cock at the base, and held onto it like a handle as he thrust deep, and before he stayed buried the third time.
As Taggart roared, and his cock swelled and started to pump whatever was left in his balls up into Martin’s ass, Martin whined, high pitched and thready, until Taggart gave him a last, rough stroke.
He came hard, his first shot splashing over Taggart’s chest, the second onto his shoulder. The next one spattered in a crooked trail down his stomach, as Martin’s hips jerked forward and back, riding Taggart’s cock until the floodwaters began to retreat from his body and brain. Even then, he rode slower, and shook as Taggart stroked the over sensitive head of his dick until he couldn’t take it and had to grab Taggart’s wrist to stop him.
Once it was over, Martin sank down until Taggart was lodged deep inside him, and rested there. Taggart held Martin’s cock still, come and oil mixed and covering his fingers as well as Martin’s shaft.
Taggart stared up at him, his eyes soft, his face relaxed. “I never . . . was it good?”
Martin blinked. “Never what?” He asked.
Taggart rocked his hips a little, giving Martin a short thrust.
“Really?” Martin’s stomach dropped a little. “Shit —I didn’t think. Was that okay? God, Taggart, if I’d known I would have asked if you were —”
“It was — crazy,” Taggart said, and smiled. “And good. I never came like that before. And not twice so close together. Not even when I did it myself. Hell, if I’d have known you could do that we’d have been fucking in high school and maybe I wouldn’t have gone off to —”
Reality snuck back into the room when neither of them was looking, and hit them both in the stomach before they had a chance to prepare.
“I’m an idiot,” Taggart said. “I didn’t mean any of that, Martin, I was just . . . saying shit.”
Martin was already sliding off of Taggart’s softening cock. He clenched tight, and slid off the bed carefully. “I’m gonna use your bathroom,” he said, and left quietly.
Once he was done, he came back in and gathered his clothes to dress. “I should go. I have to try and catch some sleep while I can. Another trip back home tomorrow, after working all day, so . . .”
“You could sleep here,” Taggart offered. “If you wanted, I mean.”
“That’s okay,” Martin said. “I need to change clothes and stuff, so. Want me to help you with your —” He nodded toward the prosthesis.
Taggart’s slight smile was stiff. “Nah. I can do it. Look, can we maybe talk about what just —”
“It would be better if we just waited,” Martin said, even though waiting wasn’t going to untangle everything that was wrong with what had just happened. If anything, it was likely to tangle it more. Now that the moment had passed, he could see all the parts of it. He knew exactly why it had happened, but that was different than knowing why he hadn’t known better; why he hadn’t stopped himself.
“If you want,” Taggart said. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“For PT,” Martin specified, “yeah.”
“And after?”
Martin paused putting his shirt back on. “Tag . . . you’re a patient. Let’s just — we need to just take a step back, okay?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Taggart asked. “I thought this was good, I thought we —”
“It felt good,” Martin sighed. “That’s not the same thing as being good.”
Taggart’s expression smoothed entirely. He nodded once. “Yeah. Okay. I’d show you out, but . . . it’s kind of a process.”
“It’s okay,” Martin said. He slipped his feet into his shoes, and looked around for nothing — he hadn’t brought anything in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Tag.”
He left. Martin tried to figure out why he had done such a stupid, stupid thing.
22
Taggart waited for the sound of the front door closing, half hoping that it wouldn’t happen and that Martin would come back in and . . . what, talk it out?
He didn’t know.
He looked down at his chest and stomach, still wet with Martin’s come, and leaned over to pull the washcloth out of the nightstand to wipe himself down. The last lingering shreds of afterglow were still clinging to his bones, highlighting the numbness in his chest. It was best not to get attached. He was lucky enough to have gotten a taste of feeling like a person again for a little while, right? How many people like him — broken, missing parts, teetering on the edge of being bat-shit crazy — got to do that?
Anger tried to impinge on the numbness, but he closed his eyes and told it to fuck off. He didn’t have a right to Martin. If anything, Martin had suffered a clear lapse in judgment. Probably Taggart should have stopped him, reminded him just what kind of history they had and what a piece of work Taggart was. Who wanted to be a part of that? Taggart certainly wouldn’t.
But, fuck. For a second there . . .
Being inside Martin, feeling that electric touch, the way it made his skin crawl in the best possible way. Seeing the look of sheer, unpretentious pleasure on Martin’s face, like he was staring into the face of God or something . . .
Taggart replayed the memory again and again, carving it into his brain for safe keeping. It was probably gonna be the last time he had the chance.
Grunt interrupted him, barking at the side of the bed to get Taggart’s attention. Probably he had to go out. “Hold it in,” Taggart said as he rolled to his side and pushed himself up. “Give me a minute.”
He rolled his cuff on and donned the leg, and picked up his cane to stand. His thigh didn’t hurt as much, but his other knee was weak from what Martin had done to him. “Probably lucky you don’t have a pair,” he said to Grunt as he made his way to his dresser to get a pair of shorts out. He dressed with effort, and went to the living room to fetch Grunt’s harness and lead.
The light outside seemed too bright, the noise of distant traffic too loud. Even the grass seemed a little too sharp against his feet. He stood impatiently while Grunt consulted some arcane doggie-calculus to figure out precisely where he should shit.
“For fuck’s sake, dog,” he finally grumbled, “just pick a place and squat.”
Grunt’s ears fell, and he scrambled around in a circle for a moment before he gave Taggart a wary look and did his business.
Taggart felt immediately guilty for having raised his voice. Once Grunt finished, he approached Taggart cautiously, and Taggart used his good knee to squat a little and scoo
p the puppy up in his arms. He held him close, and nuzzled his fur. “I’m sorry, buddy. Daddy’s a little bit fucked up. I didn’t mean it.”
Grunt didn’t hold a grudge, instead licking reassurance all over Taggart’s face. That was the thing about dogs, wasn’t it? They didn’t know what a grudge was, didn’t know how to stay mad, didn’t know how not to forgive.
He went back inside, and sank onto the recliner with his dog. Grunt curled up on his lap, and gnawed passively on Taggart’s fingers as Taggart closed his eyes, and fell asleep carving his memories as deep as he could.
23
Colton leaned over the table in the bar, eyes wide. “I’m sorry — say that again?”
“Don’t get so excited,” Martin sighed.
“Is excited the right word?” Colton wondered. “I think maybe scandalized is better. I’m totally scandalized. I just need you to say the words again.”
Martin shook his head and rolled his eyes. He lowered his voice again. “I . . . had sex with Taggart Coulson.”
“You fucked Taggart Coulson,” Colton repeated, again with his eyes widening with delight. “Oh my god tell me you topped him and that he turned out to be a power bottom.”
“God, Colton,” Martin hissed, looking around the bar room. There was barely anyone here. “You want to broadcast that a little louder?”
“I will if you want,” Colton offered. He grinned from ear to ear, his dimples deepening. “Tell me everything. Is he like super hung, or really small? I always figured assholes are never in between.”
“I plead the fifth,” Martin muttered. “Look, Colton, I’m pretty fucked up over this.”
Colton frowned. “You? Over what? Sex? You blew Professor Radley in the —”
“Colton!” Martin glanced around again. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Sorry,” Colton murmured. He peered at Martin’s face. “Are you seriously, like, messed up about this?”
Grudge (Virtue & Vice Book 5) Page 12