Burning Bright

by A. Catherine Noon

  Sasha parked and messed around with his keys to hide his reaction. He left the overnight bag in the passenger foot well. He didn’t want to take anything for granted.

  Steve evidently got tired of waiting because he materialized next to the door. His pecs seemed nicely framed by the window and Sasha resisted the urge to lick the light sheen of sweat.

  Steve held the door for him. “Neal told me about your mom. You okay?”

  “Better now that I’m here,” Sasha chirped.

  Steve’s eyes widened and his cheeks got a tinge of cherry red.

  A blush? Sasha wanted to grin.

  “Neal’s upstairs,” Steve told him.

  “How’s your workout?” Sasha blurted as Steve started to turn away.

  Steve turned back. “Good. Just lifting.” He motioned to the weight bench and nearby rack of free weights.

  Sasha had a sudden fantasy of Steve tying him to the bench and pumping into him with that bulge his workout pants barely contained. He shivered and his cock tightened, ready to awaken.

  “Well, see you upstairs,” Sasha said, in an effort to cover his arousal.

  Steve twitched like he wanted to reach for him. They stared at each other, both panting slightly. Sasha watched Steve’s tongue, dark pink, peek out of his mouth to moisten his lips.

  “Doc.”

  They both jumped and Sasha turned to see Carlos standing in the alley. He met Sasha’s gaze with an avid expression in his eyes.

  Sasha had to be imagining things, dammit. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and pinched himself, hard, in an effort to calm down.

  “Hey, Carlos.” Good. Sasha’s voice came out sounding normal.

  “Come on in. You done, Steve-O?” Carlos called.

  “Nah. I’ve got a few more sets. I’ll be up after my shower.”

  Sasha indulged in a short fantasy of washing Steve’s back, among other places, as he walked down the alley toward the Factory’s back door. He nearly tripped over his own feet getting up the steps. What Sasha wouldn’t give to wash that hard body of Steve’s.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” Carlos said as he led the way to the elevator. “How is she?”

  Well, okay, that was one way to kill the moment… “She’s not doing very well, but she has Alzheimer’s. She’s comfortable.”

  Carlos peeked at him as the elevator clattered its way up. “You okay?”

  Sasha shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  He was saved from having to explain further since they arrived upstairs. Talk about saved by the elevator bell. The doors opened to the heady aroma of garlic and wine sauce that filled the hallway. His stomach gurgled.

  Carlos pointed. “Go on in. I have to do some stuff downstairs, but maybe I’ll see you later.”

  Sasha smiled at him. “Sounds good.”

  He knocked on Neal’s door.

  “It’s open.”

  Neal stood by the stove, wearing a white-linen button-down and jeans covered by a forest green apron.

  “What does your apron say?” Sasha asked, distracted by the text.

  “Will cook for sex,” Neal told him, smirking. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  Sasha came over and Neal moved so he could inhale over the skillet. “It smells fantastic.”

  “Hungarian Goulash, without the sausage.” He cupped Sasha’s cheek and kissed him gently.

  Sasha slipped his hands around Neal’s face to cup both sides of his neck. He stroked the sensitive earlobes and Neal groaned. Sasha chuckled and Neal’s lips widened into a grin against his mouth.

  “What’s in the other pot?” Sasha asked as soon as Neal let him up for air.

  “Couscous with almonds. I have blueberries I’ll reduce for a sauce afterward, and I have a shortcake.”

  Sasha grinned. “And what do I have to do for such a magnificent feast?”

  Neal stirred the skillet. “Relax and let me take your mind off stuff.”

  They sat down and Sasha took a bite. His eyes fluttered shut as the hot, smoky flavor of the sauce mingled with the nutty couscous and sweet eggplant. Potatoes and carrots rounded out the vegetable flavors. It tasted even better than Aunt Z’s; almost as good as his dad’s. The couscous added a dimension of depth to it that he never would have tried, but found practically orgasmic. He looked up to find Neal waiting expectantly.

  “That,” Sasha pointed, “is the best goulash I’ve had in years. Seriously.”

  Neal grinned, his eyes crinkling. “Good.” He sipped his iced tea. “How are you?”

  Man, it would be nice to be able to confide in him and not worry about it getting all weird… “I’m okay, I guess.” He broke eye contact and took another bite of couscous, this time by itself. “Okay, now that is the best I’ve ever had. What’s in it?”

  “Couscous and almonds.” Neal smirked.

  “And…”

  “Secret sauce.”

  Sasha frowned, but couldn’t hold it for grinning. “Right.”

  “So.” Neal sat straighter in his chair and took a bite. “We can curl up and watch movies, have a quiet evening. Or, we could go downstairs and hang out, watch Craig on stage. Or go out and do something.”

  “Um…” What he wanted to do sounded boring now that he sat across from the best-looking guy he’d seen in a long time. “I don’t want to be a complete buzz kill.”

  “But…you’d rather stay in, and are afraid to say so because I’ll find it boring.” Neal sipped his tea while Sasha gaped at him. “Therefore, as the top, I officially order us to stay in and watch movies, curled up on the couch feeding each other ice cream like two chicks.”

  Sasha snorted a laugh. “Sounds good. I get to do the feeding. You seem like the type to make me wear it.”

  Neal leaned forward and Sasha’s breath caught. “That’s so I can lick it off.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A Walk in the Park

  Sasha woke slowly, nestled in the most comfortable bed short of his own. He blinked his eyes open and stared at the off-white ceiling. Neal’s place; he slept over at Neal’s. He stretched and smiled at the pleasurable aches and pains from the night before. Rolling over, the cold sheet next to him made him flinch back.

  He woke up alone.

  Frowning, he sat up and yawned. A slip of paper waited on the bedside table.

  I have to do some paperwork. Let me know when you wake up; I’ll make breakfast. —N

  He smiled in spite of himself. It appeared he found someone who loved to cook. Good thing he liked to eat.

  The bathroom glowed in the morning sunlight and he ran his fingers through his hair. He’d left his bag downstairs, and would need his toothbrush. He checked the medicine cabinet and under the sink, feeling a bit like he was prying. Both were sparse, Neal didn’t even have aspirin, not that he needed any this morning. There also was a lack of spare toothbrushes, showing him that Neal didn’t expect many overnight guests. As he resorted to the old toothpaste-on-finger method he pondered his morning. Hunger didn’t gnaw at him yet and a happy restlessness bubbled up.

  Grabbing the pen on the bedside table, he left Neal a note that he went jogging. He went downstairs, avoiding the elevator in case anyone else slept late—they all worked in a restaurant and bar. They probably weren’t morning people.

  The morning dawned warm and breezy and he grinned. Walking down the alley to the parking lot, he grabbed the bag of overnight stuff and workout gear and got his running clothes and shoes. Changing in the deserted restaurant bathroom, he went back out and stashed his bag in the cab. Jogging down the sidewalk, Sasha headed for the path by Lake Michigan that led downtown. It went by faster this time.

  A red light stopped him at the intersection under Foster and Lake Shore Drive. As the light changed, he started across. Another jogger, broad-shouldered and muscular, watched him approach. Agate-green eyes raked him and Sasha stared, fascinated by their hue. The black-haired man glared and Sasha broke eye contact, embarrassed at his own rudeness. They passed each oth
er and Sasha jogged on. Sasha glanced back and the man waited for the crossing signal, watching him. He shivered, unsettled.

  The path along the lake had few travelers this early in the afternoon. The office set still sat in their offices, and the baby stroller crowd finished. It was his favorite time of day, like he had Lake Michigan all to himself.

  He angled out toward the water and up a short rise approaching Montrose Beach. A fence appeared, next to a squat utility building, and a figure stepped out from behind it to block the path.

  His heart skipped a beat. It was Mister Green Eyes. How the hell did he get here so fast? Sasha moved onto the grass and the man blocked him.

  Fuck it. Sasha whirled and took off in the opposite direction. The man shouted something in what sounded like Spanish and raced after him.

  Panting now, Sasha fumbled his cell phone free of his pant’s pocket. It was off. “Dammit.”

  It seemed to take forever to power up. The tell-tale vibration finally started and he dialed Neal.

  “¡Quitate!” the man snarled and swept the phone from his hand. He slammed Sasha sideways into a tree. He was almost as big as Neal.

  “You want my wallet?” He tried to regain his wind to fight back.

  The man caught him around the throat and pinned him against the trunk. “What are you?” He inhaled right next to Sasha’s ear, which, even under these circumstances, seemed strange.

  Sasha steadied himself against the tree and got his right arm up between them, a clear warning to back off.

  The guy didn’t look ready to back off.

  “El tigre,” the man murmured. He licked along Sasha’s jaw, the movement slow and gentle. His breath smelled like spearmint gum. “Me llamo Felipe.”

  That’s it. Sasha shoved him back and yanked free of his grasp. “What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

  “I’m called Felipe,” the man said in accented English. “You smell like Tiger.”

  “I smell like Tiger?” Sasha echoed. This was definitely a weird mugging. He pulled out his wallet. “Take my money and get the fuck away from me.”

  “I don’t need your money, guapo.”

  He took a deep breath and spun-kicked Felipe in the stomach. The big man grunted and bent over, giving Sasha time to take off through the trees. Felipe crashed into him from behind and they both went sprawling into the weeds beside the path, the bigger man on top. The other jogger rubbed against Sasha’s back, the erection obvious even through the layers of fabric.

  Sasha squirmed forward, trying to get free, but Felipe’s hands tightened. He leaned against Sasha’s back and then his teeth closed on the flesh of Sasha’s neck, by the bend of the shoulder.

  Sasha cried out, he couldn’t help it. What the fuck was this guy’s game? Sasha slammed his head backward into Felipe’s face. The bigger man’s nose crunched and Felipe snarled. The bigger man swept forward and ground Sasha’s face into the grass, pressing down on his neck with one huge hand. Sasha could see him out of the side of his eye, and blood coated Felipe’s face from his nose.

  A loud snarl nearby, like a dog or big cat, startled Sasha. The image of another jogger popped into his mind and he almost laughed. Maybe it would be a yuppie with a Pomeranian who interrupted an attempted rape. That would be something to tell the Starbucks morning crowd.

  A black shape sailed over his head and Felipe went over backward with the other man on top. Sasha rolled over in time to see Steve crouch, arms wide, and flip his hands in a beckoning gesture at Felipe.

  “This one’s with me, vato,” Steve snarled. “Unless you want to dance.”

  “What are you playing at, Esteban?” Felipe asked, appearing to Sasha to be genuinely offended. He gestured at Sasha. “What the fuck is he, man?”

  “You don’t know, so you try to fuck him?”

  Felipe surged forward to bump his chest into Steve’s. “I’m straight, cabrón. Got a wife and two kids.” His voice came out low and the sound of it raised the hair on the back of Sasha’s neck.

  Steve laughed, a shockingly unfriendly sound. “Sure you are. But stay the fuck away from this one. He’s mine, and Neal’s. You pull any shit, and I’ll put you down. ¿Entiende?”

  “He broke my fucking nose, man,” Felipe shouted, throwing an arm out toward Sasha.

  “Pinch it,” Steve advised in a cold voice. “It’s probably just bleeding. You’re lucky he didn’t do worse. Now beat it.”

  Felipe’s confused gaze raked Sasha’s. Sasha detected no malice or threat from him, just bewilderment. He finally turned with a muttered oath and jogged away, up the path toward Foster Avenue.

  Steve came over and crouched by Sasha. “You okay, Doc?”

  “Yeah. Rattled a bit but fine. Do you know him? What was his problem?”

  Steve didn’t answer, just helped Sasha to stand. “I’m parked a block that way.”

  “Wait a minute. Screw Felipe, how in Hades did you know?”

  “My day to watch you.”

  It didn’t sound like a joke. Sasha eyed him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Steve shrugged. “Come on, let’s get out of here before Chicago’s finest decide to arrest me for walking while black.”

  Sasha laughed and wiped the dirt and grass off his clothes. Grime smeared his cheek and he tried to rub it off on his shirt, but only managed to make a gritty mess. He clung to Steve on the ride back, grateful for the excuse the Harley provided.

  Steve drove around to the fenced-off lot and hit the button for the gate. The black iron plate slid aside on well-oiled tracks and the bike rumbled in.

  Neal, shirtless and sweating, looked up from the weight bench and set the barbell down with a heavy clink. “What the fuck happened?” He stood and strode over, wiping his sweat with a towel.

  “We gotta talk,” Steve told him, uncharacteristically sober. “One of the Gatos roughed him up, said he smells like us.” The bike bounced as Steve got off. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  Sasha didn’t move, still frozen in place on the back of the motorcycle. He couldn’t have stood even if he’d wanted to; his muscles behaved like cooked noodles. Gods, he hated delayed reactions.

  Neal studied Sasha. “You look like shit.”

  “Yeah. Some fucking wacko decided to try and hump me in the middle of the day at the park.”

  Neal narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

  “Tried to kick his ass, what you think?” Sasha snapped. He climbed off the bike, holding on to it so he didn’t have to ask Neal for a hand and look like a weakling. Neal’s warm hand cupped his elbow anyway.

  “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. You’ve got grass stains on your chin and stuff in your hair.”

  Now that he was safe, Sasha started to shiver with reaction. He pulled free of Neal, not wanting him to see it, but the big man draped an arm over his shoulders as they walked back to the alley. No one else appeared as they ascended in the elevator or upstairs hall, and Neal walked into the condo with hardly any sound from his shoes. Neal went through to the bathroom and locked the door, then started the shower.

  He turned to Sasha and examined the side of his face. “Just grass and dirt,” he reported in a soft voice. “No blood.”

  The room where he’d been raped flashed into his mind like an obscene movie. He tried to deepen his breathing and get present in the moment, but failed. “I can’t get here,” Sasha whispered, unable to get his voice any louder. “I keep seeing them… I couldn’t get loose, was gagged, and the top ignored my safe signal…”

  Neal stroked his hair. “You never told me your safe word was ignored.” He cupped Sasha’s chin and they stared at each other. “I promise you, I will never let that happen with us.”

  Sasha took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks. I really thought I was past all of this. I haven’t had a flashback in years. Why now? Why not when I was being attacked in the alley?”

  “I’ve been in lots of combat situations with different men. How and why reactions happen are beyond me.” Neal
shrugged. “Maybe you’re allowing yourself to feel this now because you know you’re safe. I hope so.”

  Neal slipped Sasha’s T-shirt over his head and then stripped his sweats and underwear. Slipping out of his own pants and socks, Neal guided Sasha into the shower.

  Sasha let Neal scrub him from neck to feet with aggressive movements. It wiped his mind blank and he let his eyes close. Neal finished and led him to the bench and pressed him down, then washed himself with quick efficiency. Sasha leaned against the wall, letting the heat soothe him. He finally stopped shaking and now just wanted to sleep.

  Neal stroked his face with hot, wet fingers and then kneeled in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

  Sasha opened his eyes. “Numb.”

  Neal leaned forward and kissed him gently, like he was afraid he’d hurt him. Sasha brought his hands up and stroked Neal’s slick hair. His body awoke and he had the sudden desire for Neal to fuck him so hard, it would wipe everything from his mind.

  “Neal.”

  The top pulled back to gaze at him. “Yeah?”

  “Will you do something for me?”

  “Yeah, babe. What’s up?”

  Sasha cradled his face and spoke from inches away. “I want you to fuck me.”

  Neal frowned. “What?”

  “I want you—” he kissed Neal’s nose, “—to fuck me so hard I scream your name.”

  “Sasha, you were just attacked—”

  He leaned forward and Neal broke off. Speaking into Neal’s ear, Sasha used that breathy tone that drove the other man wild. “I want you to own me, Neal. I mean it.” He licked the tender flesh of his ear. “I know Steve wants to talk, but right now, I want you to make me forget anything or anyone else.”

  “Sasha, we really should talk—”

  Bending forward, Sasha blocked Neal’s voice with his mouth. He licked Neal’s lips and then, as the bigger man opened his mouth to protest, slipped his tongue inside. Cupping Neal’s head with both hands, Sasha used his thumbs to stroke the sensitive skin of the bigger man’s ears. Neal shivered, clearly torn.

  His empathy surged up, no doubt in reaction to the stress of the attack. He let it spin between his hands and Neal arched his back like a cat. Sasha came off the bench and pushed him back. Neal lost balance and rolled onto his back with Sasha riding him. Neal’s cock hardened between them, and Sasha ground his pelvis back and forth along its length.