Grudge (Virtue & Vice Book 5)

by Cait Forester

  Between PT appointments, Martin came over, usually after work. They just messed around or fucked the way they had originally, at first. Normally, Taggart was on his back, and Martin rode him on top, straddling his waist and easing them both to a slow, brain boiling climax; or fast and hard until they both came, cursing and clawing at each other as they did.

  After a while, however, when Taggart starting making real progress in PT, Martin started to dangle the carrot, as it were — they’d only fuck if Taggart could keep his balance and bend Martin over. Taking Martin from behind, on his knees, was a difficult position at first, but once Taggart figured out how to kneel and stand by folding the leg up and letting it fall back into place, he realized how much he liked being able to grip Martin’s hips and thrust deep and fast.

  Plus, Martin informed him that doing it doggie style was good for Taggart’s hips flexors and glutes, so, bonus.

  Grunt put on pounds, his paws and ears growing ahead of the rest of him. He learned to balance on his back paw for a good long while, and eventually built up those hindquarter muscles enough that he could jump onto the futon or the recliner on his own. Martin and Taggart worked with him together, teaching him ‘up’ and ‘down’, ‘sit’ and ‘stay’, ‘heel’ and ‘fetch’. He was a smart little fucker, and not just in terms of learning.

  It hadn’t been entirely clear at first, but Grunt could tell when Taggart was about to have an episode. He noticed one day after he’d come back from the grocery store and gotten a look at a holstered pistol. He figured the man had a concealed carry permit — Missouri wasn’t short on gun enthusiasts or those idiot three-percenters who thought a handful of rednecks with rifles constituted a ‘militia’ instead of actually bothering to enlist.

  Seeing it had made Taggart only peripherally nervous at first. But it had made him start searching people with his eyes, looking for other telltale signs of sidearms. By the time he got home, he could hear distant gunfire, real or not, and nearly left his modest grocery run in the car in his rush to get inside.

  The moment he came in, Grunt met him like usual, and took some of the edge off by drawing Taggart’s attention. Some attacks were like that — sharp at first, short, then quiet, dormant, until they snuck up later and hit him over the head when he wasn’t looking.

  That was what happened this day. Except this day, Grunt was laying on the futon, dozing, while Taggart watched a movie that Angie insisted he would like and barely paid it any real attention. Grunt lifted his head and peered at Taggart, his nose twitching, and hopped off the futon and over to the recliner, and from there up into Taggart’s lap.

  The dog seemed worried about something. He whined a few times, a quiet, whistling sound, and watched Taggart’s face intently.

  A few minutes later, out of nowhere at all, Taggart’s chest tightened. Adrenaline rushed into his system, sending his heart racing and making it hard to feel like he was getting any air. That restlessness filled his limbs, until he couldn’t sit still anymore.

  Grunt braced his paws on Taggart’s chest, whining and licking Taggart’s face with the kind of intensity that made Taggart wonder briefly if he’d smeared some food on his face accidentally at lunch. Normally Taggart didn’t mind, but it didn’t normally go on so long. He eased Grunt away from his face, but the puppy insisted on clinging close to him, like what he wanted was to be draped over Taggart’s face and neck.

  It was like some kind of magic, though. Taggart was so confused by it at first, and so distracted, that when he finally got Grunt to calm down, it was over.

  “It sounds to me like you’ve been making a lot of progress,” Doctor Kate said, weeks later, when Taggart recapped the last couple of months worth of life. They’d started meeting just once a week, though that was subject to change if either of them decided it needed to.

  “Well,” Taggart said, shrugging, “I got a long way to go still.”

  Kate leaned her elbow on the arm of her ‘shrinking’ chair, as Taggart had come to think of it. “I wonder what’s changed, specifically?”

  Taggart frowned. “Aren’t I supposed to just gradually get better or something? I got Grunt, and ever since he started doing his dog telepathy thing, or whatever, that’s helped.”

  “You seem more optimistic,” Kate clarified. “More task oriented. That’s new, Taggart. It’s good, but it’s just a very sudden change. That’s all.”

  “Martin probably helps with that,” Taggart guessed. “You know, we’ve got concrete goals. Not like this stuff, no offense —”

  “None taken,” Kate said, smiling slightly.

  “— but like, take ten steps without the bars, or, do fifty reps of this exercise,” Taggart went on. “Things I can count and do, and know when I did them. He doesn’t let up on me, either, doesn’t take excuses, doesn’t let me slack off. I mean I know he’s just an intern now, but I think he’s gonna be a hell of a PT one day. He already is.”

  Kate’s eyebrows rose slowly. She looked impressed. But not with Martin. “I think that is the first time I’ve heard you compliment someone,” she said. “You must like Martin a lot. You’ve also talked about him every session for the last six weeks. Did you know that?”

  “I pretty much interact with about five people in total, Doc,” Taggart said.

  “Yes, but you don’t talk about your sister every session,” Kate said. “Or your niece, or your sister-in-law. You keep coming back to Martin.”

  Taggart snorted. “He’s doing me a lot of good, that’s all. Being able to walk around without that fucking cane is . . .you know it just makes me feel more like a man again.”

  Kate nodded, pensive, and made a note on her pad. She took a long breath in, and set her pen down, and closed the folio over the pad before she set that down as well. She gave Taggart a curious look. “Taggart, this is . . . off the record, we’ll call it. But are you personally involved with Martin?”

  Taggart scoffed, and shook his head quickly in shock. How’d she picked up on something like that? Off the record or not, Doctor Kate worked for the VA just like Martin did. If this got out . . . “Jesus, Doc,” he laughed, “what the hell makes you think something like that? Fucking look at me! Maybe you think I’m coming along, but I got half a leg, a head full of all sorts of screwed up shit, and I barely make it out of the house to get here. Have you seen Martin? He’s a normal guy. What would he want with me?”

  “So does that mean you’re aware that Martin is gay?” Kate asked. “Did that come up in conversation?”

  Taggart narrowed his eyes at her. “He might have said something at some point,” he muttered. “I don’t know. He just kinda looks like he could be, you know?”

  “What look is that?” Kate asked, all innocence.

  Taggart snorted. “You know what I mean.”

  Kate smiled. “I don’t know what you mean, Taggart, until you tell me.”

  “I mean he’s just soft, you know? Sort of — the way he — I don’t know. He told me at some point.” He folded his arms. “Do we need to keep talking about this? Again?”

  “I noticed that when you were giving me the list of reasons why Martin wouldn’t be interested in you,” Kate said slowly, “that you didn’t list among them that you, yourself, aren’t gay, Taggart. I’d think that would be the easiest way to convince me you two aren’t involved, don’t you?”

  Taggart stared at her, running through what he’d said to her in his head. He couldn’t remember all of it, but, he was pretty sure he was caught. Rather than make matters worse, he kept his mouth shut. She could read whatever she wanted to into that.

  “Taggart,” Kate said, softly. “I’m not going to tell anyone if you’re involved with Martin. I don’t agree with the . . . ethical aspect of the choice, on Martin’s part — but I know the two of you have a history. And if you are engaging in a physical relationship with him, I just want to make sure that you feel like you’re ready for that. I want to help you understand what you’re feeling and how it might be helping you or hinderi
ng you. That’s what I’m here for. To help you understand what’s going on in your life, in your mind, and in your emotional states. Do you want to have healthy relationships with people? With Martin?”

  He looked around the room, and wished that he’d brought Grunt with him. These days, Grunt could hold it a little longer, and after a few more accidents in Kate’s office, Taggart had decided it would be okay to let him stay home.

  “If you don’t feel like you have any questions or worries about you and Martin,” Kate said, “then we don’t have to talk about it. I’m just opening the door. If not today, then another time. I won’t judge you, Taggart, and you won’t be endangering Martin’s job by talking to me. A relationship can be a difficult thing to navigate even for people with no diagnosed mental illness. You wouldn’t be the only person who had to adjust to the idea of being vulnerable and intimate with someone.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Doc,” Taggart said. He glanced at the clock. “I think our time’s up. I got PT after this and don’t want to be late.”

  Kate smiled, and bobbed her head. “Okay. I’ll see you next week.”

  Taggart nodded, and stood from the couch with a little effort. He had his cane, just in case, but as he left he tucked it under his arm.

  31

  Mondays and Fridays, Martin always came over after work. PT sessions were hard on Taggart, even if they were getting a little easier, for one thing. Martin thought that it was possible he was making progress so quickly because of the extra time they spent together. Including the sex, which had started to tax Taggart a little more and get him used to using his prosthesis in ways most PT patients wouldn’t have ever been told to try out. At least not so early.

  But beyond that, the PT appointments were strictly professional. Neither of them ever mentioned their relationship outside the hospital, or even gave one another so much as a heated look.

  It made them both horny.

  Something about the fact that they could think about what they were doing during off-hours, combined with the need to present the illusion that nothing was happening built the tension in both of them until it became a given that PT would come at midday, and then Martin and Taggart would come together in the evening.

  When Martin showed up that evening, though, they didn’t immediately tear one another’s clothes off.

  Martin played with Grunt for a bit on the futon, while Taggart got them both a glass of water. He brought them from the kitchen to the living room without relying on his cane, and barely spilled any on the way.

  “We might have a little bit of a hiccup,” Taggart said.

  “What’s that?” Martin asked. He took the water Taggart offered. “Do you have plans?”

  “Not about tonight,” Taggart said. “My therapist figured out we’re screwing.”

  Martin’s mouth opened, and he went a little pale. “Shit. Shit. How does she know? Did she say if she had to —”

  “She says she isn’t going to tell anyone,” Taggart said quickly. “And I don’t figure she will. I think she’s more concerned about whether or not I’m stable enough for a — for this.”

  “For sex?” Martin asked, suspicious.

  Taggart shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. I told her she was wrong and she didn’t believe me. She does that shit all the time.”

  Martin shook his head in confusion, and set his glass of water aside. “Wait. Just — what made her think that? I mean how did she figure it out?”

  “She’s a mind reader or something I guess,” Taggart muttered. “How the hell am I supposed to know.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed and his confusion shifted to amusement. “Taggart, do you talk to your therapist about me?”

  Taggart shrugged again.

  “But you haven’t been telling her about us having sex,” Martin pressed.

  Taggart shook his head, and sipped his water. “You come up, now and again. Mostly because of, you know — high school and stuff. Childhood issues, egos and ids and all that head shrinking bullshit.”

  “So because you talk to her about what happened back then,” Martin said, “she now thinks we’re involved.”

  “Look, you’re one of like five people I know these days,” Taggart said. “I just talk about you, okay? It comes up. PT, and how she says I’m . . . getting better.”

  Martin blinked. “Does she say that?”

  Taggart moved around on his chair and tugged at his cuff where it seemed to be pinching him. “She’s not that smart,” he sighed. “Otherwise she’d be able to tell.”

  “Doesn’t she have like two PhDs and a wall full of awards for publications?” Martin asked. “She runs the psych department, Taggart. She’s not stupid.”

  “Well, then, she’s delusional,” Taggart said. “How’s that for irony.”

  “That’s not irony,” Martin muttered.

  “Then it’s just a damn shame,” Taggart growled. He spread his knees a little. “Are you gonna suck me off or not?”

  Martin laughed, and sipped his water. He sighed, and gave Taggart a smile that was too sweet for how Taggart felt at the moment. But it was cute anyway.

  Taggart unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. “Well?”

  Martin bit his lip, his smile widening, and set his glass down again. He urged Grunt off his lap, and slid off the futon, onto his knees, and wriggled up to the recliner, between Taggart’s knees. “How do you want it?”

  “Slow,” Taggart said softly. He brushed Martin’s cheek with his fingers. “Make me forget everything.”

  That’s what Martin’s mouth always did, when he took his time. For those blissful minutes, Taggart’s whole world, his past, and even, sometimes, his injury, faded into a sea of stars that swam behind his eyelids. The only sound he could hear was Martin’s soft sounds, the little moans and whimpers he made as he sucked Taggart’s cock down, stroking it with one hand and teasing the head with his tongue, milking small drops of pre-come out of it and relishing the taste.

  Taggart rested his hand on the back of Martin’s head and let his own roll back as his eyes rolled up. Martin swallowed him down, tortured him with a dozen almost-there moments, breathed in the smell of Taggart’s musk like it was some kind of fine cologne, and bathed his balls in gentle kisses and tentative licks.

  When Taggart gave the signal, thrusting a little and pushing Martin’s head down just enough to let him know he wanted to come, Martin groaned around Taggart’s shaft, the vibration making nerves pop with pleasure. Taggart’s cocksucker sped up, his fist tightened around the shaft, his tongue pressing more firmly to it and flashing over the head. Once Martin knew it was time, he could make Taggart blow his load in a few seconds. One time, just to prove he could, he sucked Taggart from soft to emptying his nuts in about a minute and change.

  Taggart tangled his fingers in Martin’s hair, and gasped, his head thrown back. His body tensed, some steel spring deep down winding tight as Martin milked him, sucking harder, and Taggart felt the flash of lightning hit him.

  He held his breath, arched his back, and bellowed as Martin drank him down, the contractions of fine muscles behind Taggart’s balls so intense they almost hurt. His body jerked with each shot, and Martin’s excited sounds of delight and hunger seemed to make it all that much more intense. It kept going for endless seconds until the grip of orgasm relaxed and let him fall back against the recliner, spent and heaving breaths, his heart pounding in his ears in the best possible way.

  Martin continued to nurse his cock for a while. It stayed hard after Taggart came — he’d always been like that — and he endured the stimulation of his over sensitized head with a clenched jaw.

  It always had to come to an end, of course. Martin would stand up, and Taggart would slick up a finger with spit, reach between Martin’s legs and tease his tight little hole while he in-expertly sucked Martin off in return.

  This time, though, Martin stood, and stretched his arms and back, but kept his pants up.

  Taggart waved him over. “C
ome around over here, let me get you off.”

  Martin sighed. “I can’t. I need to get on the road. I’m supposed to meet Aunt Janey’s lawyer and he’s already doing me a favor by meeting so late.”

  “Her lawyer?” Taggart asked. “What for? She okay?”

  “Well, I’m going to ask her over the weekend about giving me power of attorney,” Martin said. He didn’t sound happy about it, but Taggart didn’t suppose he would. They didn’t spend all that much time talking, even though it was something they’d both agreed was fine, but Taggart knew some of it. Janey had been slipping more often over the past month. Martin’s father had signed the papers, but Martin had been hesitant to actually approach his aunt about it.

  At the moment, Martin looked miserable about the whole prospect.

  Taggart wished a guy like Martin didn’t have to go through something like that. It just didn’t seem fair.

  “I’ll be back Monday morning, though,” Martin said. “We’re gonna be on the treadmill, so you —“

  “Why don’t I come up with you?” Taggart asked.

  “To Willow’s End?” Martin clarified.

  Taggart nodded, and tucked his cock, still a little damp with Martin’s spit, back into his pants. He zipped and buttoned. “Why not? Angie’s not too far from there, I could drop by and visit her and the girls. She’d probably shit herself if I just showed up.”

  Martin’s look was hard to read, his eyebrows pinched and his lips parted — not smiling, but not frowning. In shock, maybe.

  “Maybe I could, you know, meet your Aunt or something, I don’t know.” Taggart raised his eyebrows and waited for an answer.

  “Tag,” Martin said. “That — is that not kind of a big step?”

  “I don’t know,” Taggart said. “Is it?”

  “Basically meeting my mom?” Martin asked. “Yeah, that’s — I mean we haven’t even been out on a date, Tag. We just do this.”