by SE Jakes
They thought you were dead, he realized, and at times he thought so as well, even though he’d never given up hope. But realistically, you could only survive like this for so long.
He’d been lucky to have been captured during the rainy season. The water gushed in, sometimes threatening to drown him, but it kept him alive.
He wanted to walk but his arms and legs wouldn’t work. Prophet, the FNG, lifted him out and carried him to the waiting helo where the medics declared him dehydrated and malaria-ridden but otherwise healthy.
Physically anyway. Because at first, the lack of sleep nearly killed him. The docs finally had to drug him in order to get him into REM. He’d hated it, because he couldn’t climb out of the nightmares, had to remain there, pathetic, scared, silently screaming for help.
He’d agreed to sleep willingly—fifteen-minute intervals at first. Finally, he worked up to an hour at a time.
Of course, he was declared unfit for active duty, and since riding a desk had never been his thing, he poured himself into med school. He hadn’t practiced much until Bobby and Keith encouraged him to work at the local hospital.
But they’d also brought him into their business of saving people, once they’d thoroughly saved him.
He was pretty well past panic attacks by the time he’d landed—drunk, sick, lost, on their doorway that Christmas Eve.
And he was for sure lost. Barely sleeping, pretending he had it all together when he was really white-knuckling it through every damned day.
Of course, they’d seen right through the bravado act that reappeared as soon as the fever fled. Bobby took him in hand first, let Reed think he was controlling the situation by initiating the sex. But Bobby had been in charge, had just proven it more subtly than Keith. Had handled him like the skittish animal he was, reeled him in and let Keith put the finishing touches on him.
After Keith fucked him and there was no mistaking that he’d been tied down and thoroughly fucked—Keith had untied him and made love to him.
For Reed that was harder than anything, because he didn’t think he deserved the tenderness Keith had shown him. He’d done it again the next night, spending time poring over Reed’s body until he shook and begged and came, and then slept against Keith for six hours straight.
He’d woken up in a haze of screaming, settled down with both men’s hands on him and spilled his story.
It wasn’t a total, instant miracle but a minor one—the sleeping and helping him get his shit together, along with laughter and sex. The offer of a job so he could be useful again.
And then he asked if he could stay in their lives. They told him they’d been planning on asking him anyway.
Reed started to yell almost as soon as Keith finished telling the story, but Shane followed Keith’s lead and touched him with a heavy pressure. Keith whispered, Shane caught Reed’s hand in his and within moments, the deep, easy breathing was back, along with the hint of a smile.
“Better,” Keith said.
“How long?” he asked then. He was trying to picture the scene but he couldn’t. It was torture—beyond, because they’d left him for dead when he didn’t break after forty-eight hours.
If you could survive that long, they felt as if the window of opportunity closed.
“Six days plus some.”
Keith knew the exact hours—Shane was sure Reed remembered it to the second but both men were still trying to spare him.
It was as endearing as it was frustrating.
“He’s okay, Shane. He really is. But you can’t get out of something like that without a lifetime of scars.”
“How did he get this far?”
“He kept moving,” Keith answered simply. “When things get really bad, you don’t have the luxury of choice. You just keep moving forward, like you did.”
At Keith’s words, Shane realized he smiled. “I guess I did.”
Reed finally woke and stretched a full twelve hours later. Shane and Keith had taken turns staying with him, and now it was Shane’s turn. He’d showered, his hair was still damp, and he wore the borrowed clothes as he watched a movie and Reed.
“Welcome back,” he said quietly, for lack of anything better.
Reed gave him a lazy smile and accepted the can of Coke Keith had brought in a few minutes earlier, like he’d known Reed would stir soon.
Obviously, Keith knew everything about everything.
Reed put a hand on his cheek and rubbed, murmured, “Don’t look so worried. I’m okay.” And then he added, “You okay with what happened last night?”
Shane couldn’t bite back his smile. “Hell yeah.”
“Good. And I’m guessing Keith told you what that PTSD crap was all about,” Reed said.
“He did. I guess you understood my nightmares way better than I thought.”
“Then why do you still look apprehensive?”
“I don’t know much about you,” Shane admitted.
“You know what I look like when I come. You know I like to be spanked. I’d say you know some of my deepest, darkest secrets. The rest is just frosting, but hell, if you want to know, you’re welcome to the rest of my life.”
Shane smiled at the easiness with which Reed was going to give that information up, although he supposed after learning what he had, the rest of it will be easy enough. “I’d like that.”
Reed stuck out his hand for Shane to shake. “Johnny Lou Reed from Mobile, Alabama.” His twang was deep, his smile wide, and Shane could see the young boy, all legs and charm causing all kinds of mischief.
“What about your parents?”
“Alive and well and married for fifty years. My sisters and their babies live in Mobile still, right in the same neighborhood where we grew up. They know I’m gay, don’t know about Delta, and they love me. Wish I visited more. They’re both still practicing small-town medicine and my mom also got her veterinary license. She’s an overachiever.”
“Guess that runs in the family.”
Reed touched his nose and then pointed at Shane. “They visit here every couple of years. They’re actually due to come here this spring.”
A hit of nerves jangled through Shane. Meeting the parents had never exactly gone well for him. When Kyle’s parents met him, they’d acted like he didn’t exist, like Kyle wasn’t really gay, even though the man had been telling them so since he’d been fifteen.
“Kyle’s parents never liked me. They thought his being gay was a phase. They thought that I was stopping him from moving on to marry his high school sweetheart.”
“He had a high school sweetheart?” Reed asked.
“Yeah, Paul Nickels. Prom king.”
Reed laughed long and loud at that. “I know I would’ve loved your Kyle.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Time for more training—and this time, I’m not going to go easy on you,” Keith called in to where Shane had been sitting on the couch, watching TV, half bored out of his mind.
“Yeah, you’ve been so sweet to me,” he retorted, and the man quirked his lips.
He followed Keith into the training room. Three days had passed since Reed had come home and that had been a whirlwind. Reed and Keith spent two days helping someone through their mission, and Shane had remained on the periphery, watching and waiting, in case they needed help.
They hadn’t. He’d felt slightly disappointed and more than a little unsure of himself. They’d come pretty far in a short time…and now, he felt as though they’d taken several steps back.
Reed had been out all day on house calls. And Shane had actually been surprised that Keith had called for him.
Surprised, but the command wasn’t unwelcome. He trudged toward the training room, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, feet bare and found Keith only wore shorts. Hadn’t bothered putting on protective gear but he’d insisted Shane wear it. And Shane did, put it all on and then stripped it off just as fast.
“What the hell’s going on, Shane?”
“You’re still going eas
y on me,” he said, realizing his frustration was coming from a totally different place.
“I like rough,” Keith told him.
“What makes you think I don’t?” Shane demanded. “You’re acting like I can’t handle you.”
“Can you?” Keith folded his arms and waited.
“Why are you always testing me, goddammit?” he roared suddenly, without warning. Pushed Keith hard against his chest with both hands and then used his leg to take the man to the ground. Keith went down hard, cursing, and he retaliated instantly. Within seconds, the men were brawling, military style. Wrestling. Fighting for their reputations, fighting through their anger.
He flipped Keith and straddled his back. And Keith went still, turned his head and rested it on his arms.
“You might be able to handle me,” he commented blithely, and just like that, the anger went out of Shane.
He stared at the man’s broad back, had wanted to trace the muscles in Keith’s back for weeks. Now, that opportunity presented itself, and he wasn’t stopping. He put his hands on Keith’s shoulders as if to hold him down, trailed kisses down the man’s neck and spine, stopping to run his tongue along his shoulder blades.
Keith’s body shuddered under the touch. After Shane finished there, he continued along, licking, sucking, biting.
He bit the man on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a nice red mark…and then he sucked it so it stood out more.
“You’re marking me?” Keith sounded surprised and pleased. Shane figured he’d leave the other shoulder for Reed, and there was so much more he wanted to do.
Keith had ideas of his own, spun around and flipped Shane because he’d been too caught up in admiring his handiwork. But being trapped under Keith’s body—it was okay.
Keith had his wrists trapped over his head in one of his hands, and was doing some marking of his own, biting, sucking, licking—started around his pecs and then bit a nipple again and again because Shane gasped and subsequently cursed every time.
“Bastard,” Shane told him.
“Yes,” Keith said with the grin of someone who’d been called that many times in his life—enjoyed the moniker more than he should. “You seem to like it.”
“Fuck yeah,” he breathed.
Keith ground their cocks together, and Shane wanted to be naked. Immediately. He tried to make those needs known, but Keith was taking his sweet time.
“Come on, man.”
“You think begging will get you anywhere?”
“Worth a try.” Shane rocked his hips up, and Keith covered his mouth with a long, hot kiss that let Shane know which of them was running the show. Fuck it. He surrendered into it, because the pleasure promised to be intense.
Finally, Keith’s fingers slid inside of him, two of them, well lubed, twisting. He put his head back and just sighed with pleasure, and Keith nipped at the skin along his collarbone. Then the big man slid down, began suckling Shane’s balls, first one then the other as his fingers worked in and out, brushing Shane’s prostate.
The tease wasn’t over. Keith was showing his dominance, and at this point, Shane really had no choice but to take it. Enjoy it. Lose himself in it.
Keith slid a third finger inside of him, and Shane stilled at the new intrusion. Keith was big, was preparing him for a nice, long fuck.
“All right?” Keith asked as the monumentality hit Shane.
“Yeah,” he breathed out and Keith passed a knuckle over his gland over and over again. Shane was aware he was incoherently begging and pleading, until Keith commanded, “Flip over—hands and knees. Spread yourself for me,” and Shane heard himself whimper as he did so, ass in the air, elbows down, opened to whatever the hell Keith decided to do to him.
With him.
And then Keith’s tongue flicked over his hole, and he cursed loudly enough that, if there had been neighbors, they definitely would’ve heard. Keith did it over and over, until his tongue worked its way inside Shane, the nerve endings inside in his channel on pleasurable fire.
And then, with little warning, he mounted Shane and began pushing his cock in. He’d used lube on the condom, but it would still hurt. Shane welcomed it, wanted it. Keith felt huge inside of him, remained still for only a long moment, didn’t seem to care about giving Shane time to adjust, just seemed intent on moving. Fucking. Rutting.
His knees stung, his ass took every inch Keith gave him as he buried his head in his hands and let Keith take him. Keith pressed down on Shane’s lower back, making him arch and take the big man in deeper, so he felt Keith’s cock in his tonsils.
Keith lay next to Shane. He’d thrown a towel down so they wouldn’t stick so badly to the mat, and Shane was on his side, curled. A flush had spread across his cheeks from exertion, but now he looked contented.
“Next time, I won’t give in that easily,” he promised, and Keith laughed, long and loud, stared up at the ceiling before turning his gaze back to the anything-but-submissive man next to him.
Anything but submissive, except to Keith. Keith welled with pride at the thought of being the one Shane could submit to, maybe the only one he ever had, if he’d read the situation correctly.
“You submitted to me,” Keith said, checking his assumption. “How badly were you faking it?”
“You’d have known if I was.” Shane’s voice was rough as he spoke.
“I’d like to think so. Nothing wrong with the need to switch. Best of both worlds, if you ask me.”
“It wasn’t as hard as I thought. I guess I needed it, just like you said. You sensed it, even though I was less than forthcoming.” Shane hung his head but Keith put a hand under his chin and brought his face up. When he saw the understanding in Keith’s eyes, all Shane could say was, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me be strong when I needed to be. For letting me be weak when I needed to be.”
“Baby boy, there’s nothing weak about submission when you need it, and you know it. You’re only weak if you can’t ask for what you need,” Keith told him. “You ask and you get.”
“I did,” Shane said. “I’ve gotten everything I need here. I don’t want to leave.”
“So don’t.”
“You’d really…after everything I told you, you’d let me…”
“Not let, want,” Keith corrected. “The door’s open.”
Shane felt tears rise and he shoved them down ruthlessly. He had to get rid of Guthrie, get rid of his past in order to save his future.
But without that past, you’d never have found this.
“Do you miss the Marines?” he asked.
“Sure. I loved it. But working private lets me cut through some of the red tape. And I’m still supporting my country.” He paused. “I was a good Marine, but I work better without restrictions.”
“But sometimes, everyone needs that. So who reins you in?”
“Used to be Bobby,” Keith offered. “Now, it’s mainly me reining Reed in.”
“Maybe there’s someone now who can rein you in,” Shane pointed out, his words quiet but the smirk unmistakable.
“Maybe there is.”
The Shane sitting across from him was a different man from the one who’d showed up on their doorstep. He was cool, confident, had a sardonic grin that might be misinterpreted by most. He’d no doubt been born with it, the grin only given when he was relaxed.
“I can’t believe I didn’t peg you correctly,” Keith said.
“You were close. Had a right to be suspicious,” Shane told him.
He was still a little thin, which was why Keith kept on feeding him any chance he got.
Kyle’s death had thrown Shane for a loop. Taken the drive out of him. But it was back now, and Kyle would’ve approved where he ended up. Maybe even had a hand in it.
Hey, Keith kept saying there was magic to this place he didn’t understand.
Keith showered and headed to the office, was surprised to find Reed already there.
“Didn
’t hear you come in.”
“Not surprised,” Reed said, his voice tight, clipped, and Keith started. He’d been pretty absorbed in fucking Shane, so no, he hadn’t noticed Reed come in—or felt Reed watching.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Like what?”
“Like, mind if I join you?”
“Now I have to ask?”
“What? No…what the fuck is going on here, Reed?” Keith demanded.
“Nothing,” Reed mumbled. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Keith moved closer to him, suddenly realizing, “You’re jealous.”
Reed shrugged.
“You’re the one who wanted this.”
Reed shook his head miserably and stared out the window next to him, as if he couldn’t look Keith in the eyes. “Yeah, I know.”
Reed was jealous and it was absolutely the last emotion Keith had expected from the man.
“Don’t.” Reed held up a hand as if warding Keith off, but upsetting Reed was never something he worried about—because getting Reed upset was the only way to get him past it and moving upwards.
Keith caught his scarred wrist, always hidden by the leather bracelet of Bobby’s he’d worn since practically his first month here. Now, Keith took it off and rubbed the scar that felt far worse than it looked, reminded again about how lucky Reed had been not to lose his hand or damage it forever. Which might’ve interfered with his medical career.
“Don’t,” Reed said again, his voice a little lower this time.
“Come on, baby. You were the one who knew it was right from the first. Your instincts are always right, as much as it pains me to admit it.”
“Will you put that in writing?” Reed asked, and Keith brought his hand up to his mouth, kissed the inside of his wrist. “Fuck, your instincts were right too, you know.”
“Well, of course,” he said immodestly.
“Bastard.”
“Just the way you like me.”
“I feel like—”