by J. P. James
“You said you wanted to explore your art, so we thought we’d help,” admits Jordan.
“We sent a couple pieces to Dash’s gallery, but we don’t know much about art. All we knew was we liked what you had lying around the apartment,” says Jameson.
In that moment, the rest of the room floats away. The only thing that matters are my protectors. The guys who believe in me and help me reach my dreams.
“Is it possible to say ‘thank you’ too many times?” I ask.
“Only if we can still thank you every time you do something,” Jordan jokes, pulling me closer to him.
They huddle around me, and we take in the sight of everyone around us. This time, no one’s looking our way. We’re just a couple, like any other, out enjoying themselves. I see all the people around us. For the first time in years, I feel surrounded by family and friends.
I don’t know how we’ll make this work. I don’t know how their careers will affect me, and vice versa. Maybe I’ll still travel a lot, and maybe Jordan and Jameson will stay in New York most days. There’s still a lot to figure out, but I wouldn’t change this for the world. I have the loves of my life by my side. I couldn’t ask for a brighter future.
Epilogue
Fyre
One year later
“Thank you for coming,” I tell everyone as they pass me on their way to the gallery floor.
For someone who used to be a pop singer, you’d think crowds wouldn’t give me much anxiety. I used to perform for thousands of people, and I bet there are no more than 200 inside the Neuhausen Gallery right now.
This is different though. This is my first gallery show, and tonight is opening night.
“So glad you could make it,” I shake hands with an older woman, who offers me a warm smile in return.
I take a moment to look at the crowd behind me. They’re coming to see my work. Holy crap.
“You look scared,” I hear from the entrance.
“There you are. I was wondering if you were going to show up for your own gallery event,” I tease.
Dash claps my back and laughs. “Come on, let’s admire your stuff. Plus, I can show off the handsome young artist too.”
I roll my eyes, but follow him onto the main floor.
We’ve grown really close over the last year. He liked some of my first pieces and entered one in a community gallery. A lot has changed since then. My contract with the label was up for renewal, but I told Damon and the executive team that I was taking a break from the music business. Instead, I decided to pursue my other passion: art. I enrolled in art school, and am working towards my degree while Neuhausen Gallery represents my work. I paint constantly, almost every day, and my stuff has been well received. I still have a lot of growth to accomplish with my art, but I enjoy the challenge.
I still have all the songs I wrote when Jordan and Jameson came into my life, but so far, I only sing them in the privacy of our apartment.
That’s right. Our apartment. I moved in with Jordan and Jameson after I ended my music contract, and I haven’t regretted it for a minute. I also love my privacy. Almost overnight, I stopped being headline news. People don’t recognize me often on the street, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it happened. As someone who used to post my breakfast on Twitter, I’m happy to say I love my anti-social life.
Dash stops in front of a large canvas. This piece is one of my most intricate ones. It’s all blue, but when you step back, you can see flecks of gold mixed with the layers of paint.
“Fireflies,” Dash reads the placard out loud. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking the moment to admire my own work.
“Do you miss your music career?”
I mull the question over, giving it the proper amount of attention, before I settle on my answer. “No. Maybe I should. It was fun at times, but I love my life. No regrets.”
Dash nods and resumes walking. I follow his lead until he stops in front of another behemoth. This one is abstract, but the shapes are meant to look like a man with black hair and blue eyes.
“I see the resemblance,” he teases.
I love this piece too, because it’s of the two guys I love most. “I have excellent muses.”
Dash chuckles. “The colors jump off the canvas. They pull me in perfectly. Excellent job, Fyre.”
“I’ll say,” a frail voice says behind us. It’s the woman I greeted not long ago at the front door. “I’d like to purchase this one.”
“Wonderful,” says Dash. “Follow me, and we can make the proper arrangements. I’ll see you later, Fyre.”
I nod. “You know I love a good party.”
Dash smiles, then leans into my ear as he whispers, “If you see Damon, tell him I said hello.”
I look over my shoulder as Dash disappears, but not before he throws a final wink in my direction.
I turn back to the painting, looking at the relief of Jordan and Jameson before me. I feel fulfilled and content, unlike anything I’ve felt before. When I think about our first flight together, how they saved me from having a full-blown panic attack, it’s amazing how far I’ve come. All because two firefighters came into my life.
“I’m home!”
It’s been a long day. I was at my studio on campus most of the morning, and I reek of oil and pigment. I peel my clothes off as I make a beeline for the master bathroom.
We bought a penthouse not far from the firehouse. They still aren’t sure how long they’ll be part of New York’s Bravest, but it makes sense for us for now.
The second the scalding water hits my body, every muscles relaxes under the pressure. I start moaning in earnest, but damn if this shower isn’t incredible.
“What are you doing in here?” Jordan asks as he pushes the bathroom door open. Jameson follows right after him.
I jump. “I didn’t know you guys were home.”
“We just walked in, when we heard moaning all the way down the hall,” says Jameson.
They both take off their clothes, watching as I try to catch my breath on the other side of the glass.
They climb in, pushing up against my body like moths to a lamp.
“Do you know how sinful you sound in here?” asks Jordan as he bites my ear.
I arch back into Jameson. They touch and caress every part of me they can reach.
“I guess I’ve b-been, t-tense today,” I stammer, rolling my body against their hands.
Jameson leans over me to press sucking kisses into my neck. At the same time, Jordan kneels, trailing his kisses down my chest until he sits with his face in my crotch. My eyes slam shut when Jordan’s tongue finds my head, swirling it around his mouth.
“Oh my god, yes,” I whine into Jameson’s ear. It has him gripping my hips tighter, pressing my ass against his growing erection.
“You’re so loud tonight,” Jameson teases.
I want to respond, but Jordan chooses that moment to take me fully in his mouth. I’m helpless as the moans rip through me.
“That’s it, babe,” Jameson tells me. He brings a hand between my cheeks, pressing firmly against my hole with one finger. He pushes lightly, not thrusting in just yet. He wants to tease me.
“Stop it,” I beg. “I want your cock. No teasing.”
Jordan laughs. The orgasm builds quickly, and I know I won’t last long.
“Hurry,” I tell Jameson.
He takes his hard cock and presses it between my cheeks, grinding against me. “So eager tonight. I love it.”
He pushes in, and I gasp at how his thick cock stretches my rim. It’s a searing, sweet pain that eases with every shaky breath. Not to mention, Jordan’s mouth is enough of a distraction to get me through the intrusion.
“Just like that,” says Jameson. “Take everything you need.”
“Y-yes,” I mumble, rocking my hips back and forth. It’s ecstasy when they’re both pleasing me. One on my cock and the other in my ass, it always sends my brain into overdr
ive.
Jordan cups my balls, giving them a light squeeze as he takes me to the back of his throat. I look down and see him jerking himself off as I fuck his throat. When his eyes come up to meet mine, the image is too much to bear.
“I’m close, s-so close,” I whine, feeling heat radiate from every part of me. The hot shower, the hot mouths, and hot cock inside me are sending me up in flames.
“Let go. We got you,” Jameson grunts as his thrusts become more erratic.
I come at that, their names spilling out of me as I rock myself back and forth. Jordan groans around my cock, and I know he’s coming too. Jameson’s thrusts eventually come to a screeching halt, and he stills inside me as his come floods my channel.
“Yes,” I shout as he bites onto my neck. He eases the mark with a kiss, sending endorphins rushing along my skin.
“What’s taking you so long?” I hear Jordan call from the kitchen.
“You can’t rush beauty,” I tease, finishing off my look with a nose ring.
I walk out of the bedroom to find both guys waiting around the island. They try to maintain their glares, but obviously like what they see.
“I told you this can’t be rushed,” I say, walking towards them.
That’s when I notice the champagne flutes on the counter, one for each of us.
“You guys,” I say, looking fondly at them.
Jordan hands me a glass, but he looks nervous.
That’s when I take another look at the glass in my hand.
Sitting at the bottom is a ring!
“Oh my god.” I set the glass on the counter before I drop it.
Jameson and Jordan both get on their knees before me, holding each of my hands.
“Fyre,” says Jordan, “you are everything we could have asked for and more. You are our family.”
“Would you do us the honor? Would you marry us?” Jameson finishes. His eyes are close to flooding with tears.
“Of course, I do, I do,” I say as I drop to my knees, pulling both of them close to me.
“Can I post this to my Instagram?” I ask.
Jameson groans.
“Just kidding,” I tease, before I bury myself deeper into my handsome firefighters.
The End
Sneak Peek: Always Ours
Sirens echo through the alley and I watch as an ambulance comes 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 go 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 somethin
g 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.