by BA Tortuga
“Not at all. My former employer had this hard-on about things happening for a reason.” Him? He was all about the fresh starts.
“You keep saying that.” Nuzzling into his neck, Collin licked at his skin. “I never believed in fate. Or angels.”
“Does that matter?” It hadn’t ever mattered to him whether anyone believed. The truth was the truth, and most of the time, it was utterly overrated.
Sex and laughter, steak and beer? Much more fun.
“Not so much, now, no.” Laughter he got, soft and damp against his throat. “Hell, you’re better than any anger management class.”
“You just needed regular blowjobs and someone who liked the way you told stories.” He’d learned so much, on the drive. He learned about country music and twin fiddles, about cattle and highways and having siblings.
Hell, he’d even learned about things like layer salad and cornbread dressing, and how important they were at the holidays. He’d eaten more strange food in two days than he had his entire existence.
It was the most glorious fucking thing on earth.
He tilted Collin’s face down, took a kiss that he felt down to his toes.
“Mmm. Oh, do that again.” Sweet. So sweet. He loved the taste of that man. He really did. Gaz spent a good long time kissing and tasting, licking and just reveling in the flavors of Collin. Collin kissed him back like the man had nothing else to do. Maybe he didn’t, for the first time in a long time. An enthusiastic cousin was watching Collin’s little piece of land, critters included.
They had all the time in the world. Or rather, all the time they needed. A few weeks of sun and wine was enough to fucking bore anyone. That had been what had led him to Collin in the first place, in a manner of speaking.
“You’re thinking too much. Didn’t you say this was a vacation?” Those pretty eyes sparkled for him, that rough voice teasing him.
“I did. How should we start? Everything is closed today.” Thank goodness they’d stopped for groceries yesterday. Groceries, shampoo, lube, and a tiny three-foot Christmas tree.
“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something. Scrabble. Singing Christmas carols.” God no. He’d heard Collin sing.
“There’s good, hard fucking. Bubbles in the whirlpool.”
“Wait. Does the fucking make the bubbles?” Oh, asshole. Laughing at him.
“We’ll have to experiment. I bet the fucking makes the bubbles bigger.” That almost rhymed. He goosed Collin, both of them laughing.
“Maybe we should start here. It’s comfy.” The chaise was big enough, and it wasn’t one of those flimsy things.
“It is.” He let his hand explore, fingertips just barely tracing the shaft of Collin’s cock.
“Yeah. Just like that. We could start with this too.” Those hot lips crashed down on his, Collin kissing him like nothing going.
Not bad. Not bad at all. He leaned up, pushing toward Collin’s kiss, their teeth clicking together. Collin bit into his lower lip, giving him that sting, that little jolt of need that went straight to his prick. It still eased something deep inside him, some itch that had yet to heal, but was almost gone.
Almost flown away.
He spread his legs, feet landing on the ground so he could push up against Collin. Straddling his hips, Collin rocked against him, cock rubbing alongside his.
“Collin.” The tip slid against his shaft, leaving wet, hot kisses all along.
“Yes. Need this. Need you.” Collin was hot as the proverbial two-dollar pistol, rubbing madly, needing in that sudden way they had.
“Need.” He was beginning to learn all the fine points of need. He grabbed hold of Collin’s ass, tugging good and hard, moving them faster.
They rocked, that silly chaise squeaking, the blanket falling off. They might just give the neighbors a show. Not that he cared. They’d be heading home soon enough.
He caught Collin’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged.
“Uhn!” That tight body pushed down, the cock against him swelling, the heat incredible.
“After this, you’ll take me inside to that tub and fuck me.” It wasn’t a request, more a wish and a demand, wrapped together.
“You know it. I’ll do whatever you want, babe. It’s Christmas, after all.” That smile was hot as fire and all for him, just something else.
“Mmm-hmm. Wishes and presents and good tidings and shit. Oh. Right there.”
“Peace on earth, good will toward angels. All that shit.” That cock was so hot he thought it might burn him, and Collin was panting, body moving faster and faster.
“Yeah. Angels. Cowboys. All of us. Collin.” He bit down on Collin’s shoulder, not enough to hurt, just enough to sting.
Collin hollered, wet heat spreading over his prick and belly when Collin came for him. It went on and on, Collin rocking and moaning, finally slumping against him.
“Mmm.” He held on, panting, fascinated by the smooth lines of Collin’s shoulder blades. He’d seen his own this morning, looking exactly the same.
Then he forgot about his shoulders, because Collin knelt up and grabbed his cock, pulling him off, sure and fast. His eyes rolled, breath caught in his chest as pleasure rushed through him, his mind on nothing but his cock and how good it felt. Thumb rubbing the underside of his cock, fingers wrapped tight around the shaft, Collin gave him what he needed. What he craved. That contact. The friction.
The love.
He shot so hard his legs drew up, throat working.
“That’s it, babe. That’s it.” Smiling down into his eyes, Collin rubbed their come into his skin, hand working on his belly.
“Mmm. We should have something sweet.”
“We should. Maybe some of that fancy-assed wine.” Levering up, Collin reached down to help him off the chaise, pulling him inside. “Then the bubbles.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ll even sing Christmas carols with you.”
“As long as you don’t ring any fucking bells, I’ll be fine,” Collin said, slapping his butt before rubbing the sting out of his skin.
Gaz grinned, shook his head. “No. No bells.”
He rolled his shoulders. Pickup trucks were a fine, fine mode of transportation, thanks.
The Mind’s Eye
Author’s Note
STAR SAPPHIRES were considered a very powerful talisman for travelers and seekers of all kinds. Keye and Jake are definitely seekers. Grins.
This story is happily dedicated to Frank, the Bathroom Lizard. Keep eating bugs, little dude. BA
GO FIND this guy, they said.
Go find him and kill him, and we’ll give you your money back and let you leave. That last part was supposed to come with them cutting him—cutting off a finger, actually, which was gross and unhelpful, because nine-fingered people were conspicuous, and he wasn’t Mr. Blend-In anyway, and…. Right. Whatever. Still. There was supposed to be cutting, because he’d heard the part about the cutting, even if they didn’t say it out loud, and had jumped away and gotten out of Vegas with three hundred dollars, his 1978 Oldsmobile, and all ten fingers.
Fucking mobsters.
Fucking gamblers.
He’d just needed money for a few years—just enough to get over the hump and maybe buy a new car and…. He was lucky. He touched the scar at his temple, ghosted over the steel plate, the twinge wild, like biting into tin foil. No, he’d been lucky, once. Before a guy watched him win at a slot machine and shot him in the head in an alley off Fremont Street.
Now he was just wide-open, a receiver of the worst kind.
He’d spent a year gibbering and screaming in a psych ward, spent another two years wandering the desert until he’d found a place to land. A place in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the lizards and the mice to keep him company.
Lizards were loud.
Mice, not so much.
Still, he’d only needed a little cash, and suddenly a hundred grand had become seven hundred and fifty grand, and he became the dude in serious shit.
Seriously? Him?
So not the shooting kind. Or the killing kind.
He didn’t even eat meat. Cows didn’t think fast, but wow. Thinking and shit.
He rested his head on his hands. Okay. He wasn’t stupid. Crazy, yes. Stupid, no. Not really.
He had a plan. He would walk in, set ye olde plan in motion, and voilá. Right?
Jake nodded, his head banging on the steering wheel again. Oh, ow.
Right. Plan. Motion. Go team him.
KEYE SAT in the booth, the one on the side of the diner with no restrooms and no windows. He liked to be able to watch folks come and go, to know that he had nowhere to run. Being backed into a corner made him sharper, smarter. An easy escape route made for a lazy Keye.
The people coming in and out were regulars for the most part, having coffee, saying hi, and eating chili sizes and hash and eggs. Normal. Easy. Good. He approved.
The guy walking toward him wasn’t a regular. Keye knew it like he knew he could crush the man’s windpipe with one squeeze. The guy’s neck was only so big.
Of course, when said skinny little wild-haired freak sat down, looked at him with one light blue eye, one dark brown one, and said, “I’m supposed to be here to kill you. Weird, huh?” he knew he was absolutely right.
Keye sat back, hands flat on the table, and stared. “You want some coffee?”
“Absolutely.” The little guy waved down the waitress, ordered a coffee with a wink, then turned to him with a bright smile. “So, there’s this guy—Gianni de Marco? You know him? Ugly, broad, lots of nice hair, but way too much pomade? He’s in Vegas. He has all my money, and he’s a big asshole—wanted to cut my fingers off; what a turd, huh? Anyway, he’s hiring people to kill you. Well, blackmailing me to kill you, but I always figure if a guy’s willing to blackmail one man, he’s willing to hire someone else. It’s like a slippery-slope deal. Anyway, I thought about it, because seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, but if I won it once in Vegas, I can win it a couple three times in Shreveport, and I have the weird feeling that murder would lead to blood and pus and stuff, so no. I decided to warn you instead.”
“I think he needs to switch to decaf, honey,” Keye told the waitress. She left again, and Keye stared at the guy some more. “De Marco, huh?”
“Uh-huh. He’s a fuckmonkey. You’re very broad. I was surprised, you know? All I had to work on was this little memory deal and a fuzzy picture, like, from the TV. All pixelated and shit from the security cameras. I guess that’s what the hat was for, though, huh? Hiding your face?”
“Well, I wear a hat occasionally.” Hell, he was from Texas. He wore a hat a lot, cowboy or gimme cap, whatever. “What’s a fuckmonkey?”
The guy’s laugh rang out—and how it wasn’t purely insane, Keye wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t. “I haven’t the foggiest, but it’s a great word, isn’t it? Fuck. Monkey. Fuckmonkey. It’s like asshat, but with more flinging poo.”
Lord have mercy. Some days a man just had to go with what was put in front of him. “So, you’re not gonna kill me.”
“God, no. That’s creepy.” The man drank deep from his coffee, then smiled. “I mean, I found you, which is good, I guess, but I’m a tracker, not a hunter. Did you get that scar on your chin from falling out of a barn? I don’t know that I’ve ever been in a real barn.”
Keye kept his face immobile by force of will alone. How the hell did this guy know where he’d gotten his scar? “You been talkin’ to my momma or something?”
“She died three years ago. She was….” The guy’s nose wrinkled, one long finger sliding on his hand. “Oh man. Yuck. I’m sorry, that sucks. Bad memory, huh? Let’s not go there. That’s bad. And you dealt with it all, and I’m really glad my name’s not Lionel, because you just… you don’t like that name at all.”
Keye felt his brow furrow, which meant this guy was something. He didn’t know what. His voice came out pretty even, though. “How do you know this shit?”
He got a shrug. “No one knows. There was a bullet and a steel plate and a lot of screaming and now, bingo. I know things. I think it’s brain waves—could be something else, though. I’m pretty sure it’s not a God thing.”
“A God thing?” Keye shook his head. Mind readers? Bullshit.
“It is not.” The guy actually looked affronted, lips pursing. “Honestly, you should be nicer. I came all this way to warn you. Well, okay, I came because I couldn’t not; it’s a compulsion deal. I don’t get it, really, but I have to find things, but I could have just left and let someone else kill you and you would have been surprised. I need toast.”
Keye signaled the waitress. “Some wheat toast, honey. Maybe a waffle. Do you eat meat?”
Those weird-assed eyes went wide. “No. No. No, I couldn’t. I mean, I did, but…. No. Sorry. A waffle would be fabulous. Thank you. And another coffee, please.”
Suddenly the guy looked ancient. Truly fucking exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days.
“A waffle to go. The toast we’ll take now.” Keye figured Mr. Big Hair the Color of Tar needed to sleep. He could help with that. “You got a name, mystical man?”
“Jake. You’re Wilson, but you don’t go by that.”
“You’re right.” This was getting creepy.
“Beauregard isn’t such a bad middle name, though. I wouldn’t worry about it. Mine’s Alexander.”
The toast came, and Keye watched the man eat. His fingers tapped on the table, which was a habit he’d worked out of his body years ago.
“I’m sorry. I’ll eat fast. I know it’s unnerving, and it’s about time for me to go.” Jake blinked at him, licked his fingers clean. “I hope they don’t kill you. You have this neat brain—like you want people to think you’re a cow, but you’re really a lizard.”
“Thanks. I think.” The waffle came in a box, along with two coffees to go, and Keye started readying his muscles for a chase if need be.
Jake pulled out his wallet, put a twenty on the table. “Is that enough? I really have to go. I have to move my car.”
“That’s plenty. I’ll walk you.” There was no way he was letting anyone who knew this much about him get away.
“I’m okay. There’s no one here who wants to hurt me. It’s all curiosity.” Jake grabbed the waffles and headed out, whistling tunelessly. Rope sandals. The man had rope sandals on.
After leaving an extra five on the table, Keye followed, watching the man wander down the street like a windblown bird. The guy went to a POS Oldsmobile with an oil stain underneath it the size of Kansas. The thing was packed to the gills with God knew what—Keye thought he saw a guitar, a stuffed alligator, a jar of peanut butter.
A group of teenagers walked by Jake, and the man pulled back, head shaking, skin going pale.
Keye stayed casual, but he moved in closer, weight on the balls of his feet, ready to wade in.
Jake stumbled over the curb, banged against the Olds, almost went down, and the teenagers started giggling. Something hard and growly rose in his chest, and Keye rumbled at the lot of them. Keye was intrigued by Jake; they needed to back off.
Jake fumbled the car door open and slipped inside, almost disappearing in the crowd of stuff.
Keye stepped up and put his hand on the door, keeping it from closing. “I have a cabin outside of town.”
“I… a cabin? It’s yours? I just… I have to sleep. I have to.”
“It’s mine enough. It’s secluded enough to be… quiet.” If the guy really thought he was a mind reader, he might need some time away from people, right?
“Of course I do. I don’t go around people all the time. Only to get money, usually.”
“Well, come on, then. I owe you one for not killing me, huh?” Keye grinned. “Can you follow me
? We can come back for your car if you can’t.”
“I can.” Jake touched his wrist. “Thank you. I just need an hour, huh?”
“Sure thing.” He glared one more time at the teens, who eased off, and headed for his truck. He’d let the guy sleep and decide what to do next.
The Olds followed him, smoke billowing out the back end, and Keye could see the guy singing, just really getting into it.
Lord have mercy. This had to be the weirdest shit in what, ten years? Still, he wasn’t bored.
He led Jake deep into the forest, down one road after another, beginning to ponder how this little bird had found him. Keye wasn’t easy to find, even when he wanted to be. When he was between jobs like he was now, it was nigh impossible. And yet Small, Dark, and Blinky had done it without any trouble at all. Either he was slipping or the guy really had a special talent.
Both options were a bit… out of the ordinary. His life was what most folks would consider out in left field, but this was weird, even for him. Christ.
There. He pulled off at the red strip of fabric tied to an old pine, turning down an almost invisible track. Jake’s rattletrap was clattering along; chunks were going to start falling off any second. Thank God they stopped before that happened. A mechanic he wasn’t, even if he could do basically anything to his truck.
Jake sat in the car, hands on the steering wheel, still.
Keye went to get him and knocked on the window. “You coming, man?”
Jake’s head moved slowly, the man blinking like an owl. “I’m not an owl. I can’t… I think I’ll stay here. So quiet. God, it’s so quiet.”
“Come on, magic man. It’s quieter in the cabin.” Keye opened the door and helped the man out, catching Jake when he teetered.
“Please. I’m so sleepy. One night. I’ll be gone at dawn, I promise.”
“You can stay as long as you need.” Keye kept his voice low, gentle, kept his thoughts calm. Soothing.
The man followed him, stumbling along, muttering softly.