by Fiona Glass
A bell rang from somewhere above their heads and Nigel rubbed his hands. “Ah, good, that should be the rest of the gang. Now the fun can start!” He scuttled away, closing the heavy door behind him, and Reuben was left to wait.
To take his mind off the unpleasantness to come, he began to test the ropes that held him down. He strained the muscles in his arms and legs, pushing against the bonds, holding the pressure as long as he dared without turning scarlet and alerting the guard. They held fast—all except the one on his right leg. It was twisted canvas rather than rope, perhaps a hasty repair after a previous victim had fought back, and it was already starting to fray. Slackening the tension on all his other limbs, Reuben concentrated on that, rubbing and twisting to try to break loose.
Sherman had spotted his movements and laughed, with less humour than scorn. “Getting the fidgets, are we?” he sneered. “You'll be thrashing around a lot more than that once the fun starts. Like a cat on a hot tin roof, you'll be—won't know which way to squirm next."
Reuben ignored him, relieved that his struggles had been misinterpreted, and fretted and twisted at the bindings some more. He was sure it was loosening a little more each time. Suddenly, he felt a touch on his arm and froze. The table was a large one, and he and Jim hadn't quite been touching when they were first laid out, but that was definitely Jim's finger against his wrist. One of the other straps must be frayed as well. He couldn't risk even a whisper to find out, but he could nudge his wrist against Jim's hand in an unspoken signal that he'd noticed.
Nigel had been gone for ages, and Reuben wondered what was causing the delay. The guard, too, checked his watch and began to pace, muttering under his breath. Reuben heard a few snatches of words, including a ‘where the fuck?', and was glad of the distraction. It gave him the chance to work harder on the strap holding his leg; he pulled and twisted as hard as he dared and finally felt it give. At last! Now they had a hint of a chance, with his leg and Jim's arm free.
Sounds of footsteps and voices percolated through the door, and Sherman relaxed again. Reuben lay still but tensed, expecting the worst. But when Nigel walked in, his face was puffy with fear, and apparently glued to a mean-looking gun. And from the gun led a brawny arm, and at the end of the arm was a sturdy body, and the body belonged to the last person on earth he'd expected to see ... Eddie! Behind Eddie clustered the rest of the squad, also bearing guns.
Reuben felt every muscle in his body pop at once as sheer blazing relief swept through his veins. Seconds later, he realised the relief was premature, because the squad hadn't spotted that Sherman still had a gun, and it was pointed straight at Jim. “The other guy,” he yelled. “Look out for the other guy—he's got a gun."
The boss heard first and immediately called for quiet. “Put the gun down and give yourself up,” he said to Sherman, waving his own gun in deadly rhythm to the words. “We're all armed here—you'll never get past us all."
"Fuck that,” Sherman snarled. “Either you let me go or prettyboy here gets it in the skull. Won't look so pretty with his brains leaking out of his face."
Reuben willed the guy to move closer. He was standing near the foot of the table, pointing the gun at Jim, and close—so close—to Reuben's newly released leg. If only ... just a little more ... there! The man stepped into range, and Reuben flung his leg up and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went off even as it fell, but Sherman was no longer in control and stood swearing and clutching a broken wrist.
"Knew that would come in handy,” Reuben muttered, but was interrupted by a moan of pain from his side. “Jim? Are you okay?"
"Not really,” said Jim in a washed-out voice, and when Reuben craned his neck, he could see that the bullet had nicked him after all. It was only a flesh wound in the top of his arm but he was still bleeding heavily and would need to be strapped up.
"Over here. Need some help,” he yelled, and Eddie, better attuned to the sound of his voice than the rest of the squad, materialised at his side.
"Reuben? You hurt?"
"Not me, him,” Reuben said, nodding towards Jim. The results weren't quite what he was expecting. Eddie took one look at the lad's pallid face and recoiled.
"Jamie!"
"Ned?” Jim murmured, sounding dazed. “What're you doing here?"
Reuben stared from one to the other and back again, and waited whilst various cogs meshed into place in his brain. “Jesus. Christ. Almighty,” he said at last. “Eddie? This is Janie?"
Eddie managed a nod, even while tearing a strip off the bottom of his own shirt and strapping it on Jim's arm as a makeshift tourniquet. “I'll explain later,” he said tersely, before spinning on his heel and running for the door.
"I think you'd better,” Reuben said, to the empty space at his side. He remembered the night he and Jim had spent together and felt even more wretched than he had at the time. No wonder he'd been so racked with guilt; it was almost as though he'd known he was cheating on his mate. “Reckon I've got some explaining to do as well."
* * * *
Minutes later, calm had been restored. Nigel and Sherman had been led away in cuffs. Jim had been stretchered off to hospital suffering from blood loss and shock, and Reuben was glad it was nothing worse. And his own bonds had been cut and he'd been able to sit up at last. He perched on the table's edge, massaging various limbs, and waited for his partner's attention to turn to him. There were a few things round here that needed straightening out, not the least of which was his own relationship with Jim.
But Eddie was busy searching the cellar and bagging evidence with the rest of the squad, and could only manage the occasional rueful grin as he scurried past. Reuben became ever more conscious of the cold. Much longer sitting here and he'd turn into a Yeti, or freeze to the table and have to be snapped free.
Eventually, the scurrying stopped and Eddie came straight over. “Hang on a tick and I'll find you some clothes, then I'll drive you back to town. You're not fit to travel on your own yet."
"I'm fine,” Reuben protested, but if he was honest, it wasn't true. He was pretty shaken up, and would be grateful for a ride.
Eddie came back with a mismatched collection of clothes. “Sorry, mate, best I could do."
The jeans were too big and the jumper too small, and the shoes looked like they'd been dredged out of someone's pond, but Reuben dragged them on anyway and ran Eddie's comb through his hair.
"Feel better?"
"Not till I've had a long, hot shower. But yeah, better than I was."
Reaction hit him in the car, and he stared out at the passing dark shapes of houses and trees without uttering a word. Finally he yawned and stretched. “So, you were going to explain,” he said. “I've already guessed part of it. Jim's Janie, and Jamie's Jim—if you see what I mean."
Eddie's lips curved into a wry grin. “Yeah."
"How long have you two been involved?"
The broad shoulders shrugged. “Must be nearly a year now. And no, before you ask, I did not meet him through the chatline. I didn't even know he worked there. He was a regular at the local pub when I was in my last flat, and we got talking about photography. Look, I know you're going to give me grief about not knowing I liked men. Truth is, I didn't know for sure myself until I met him."
"You know I slept with him the other week?” Reuben said, picking at a seam that had frayed on his borrowed jeans.
The handsome face darkened. “Yeah, I worked that out. I'm going to have words with him about that. We're supposed to be an item. I didn't think he'd jump into bed with every bloke between here and Manchester while I was at work."
"Be fair, mate—I'm hardly every bloke."
"If he's done it with you, there'll be others."
"You can't know that for sure."
"Maybe not but I can have a bloody good guess. Especially as he lied to me about where he worked."
Reuben was quiet. He knew his partner had a point, but he'd also heard Jim's side of the story—the secrets and compromises that Eddie h
ad insisted on. Nothing was ever quite that black-and-white. “Talking of the chatline,” he said. “I suppose we'll have to go and make enquiries there. Chelsea might still be involved."
"All in good time. First I'm getting you home, feeding you and packing you off to bed. You look like something the cat dragged in."
"Thanks, mate."
"All part of the service,” Eddie said with a grin.
* * * *
"Glad that's all over,” Reuben said two days later from the squashy depths of his sofa. “Don't think I could've coped with those phones for much longer. Kept wanting to bury the receiver in someone's head."
The boss had given him two days’ leave following the successful outcome of the case. Nigel and the rest of his gang were safe behind bars and awaiting trial, and Chelsea had turned out to be innocent after all and was left to run her chatline in peace. “Maybe a telephone service like this gives men an outlet for their fantasies and keeps them from doing anything worse,” she'd pointed out.
Eddie sniggered and moved his leg, which was resting across Reuben's thighs, until it was pressing against his balls. “That doesn't sound like a very sexy response to me,” he said with a straight face. “I'd have thought you'd have been hotter for it than that—you being the squad's official sex kitten."
"Kitten?” Reuben eyed his partner dangerously. “I'll give you kitten, you cretin. Anyway, apart from that pervert Nigel nobody really enjoys the calls. It's just a job."
"That's what Jamie said when I asked him about it,” Eddie said.
"Yeah? Are you seeing him again then?” Reuben developed an intense interest in the telly, even though it was the Daily Politics Show.
"I don't think so. We've decided to call it a day. I wasn't that mad on him sleeping with other blokes, and he wasn't that mad on me being a cop. Anyway, I've got someone else now."
"If you say so,” Reuben said, trying not to grin. He still couldn't quite believe that Eddie wanted him, after all these years of wishing. Eddie might not be perfect, but he was willing to take a chance on the pair of them. Especially with Eddie's leg pressing warmth into his crotch, and Eddie's hand massaging the back of his neck, and Eddie's mouth descending towards his own. Their lips met in a wild clash of teeth and bristly chins as they tried to suck the life out of one another, and Reuben could feel himself getting hard. Never mind Jim and the time it had taken him to respond—with Eddie, he was already halfway there, just with a bit of body contact and a good hard snog.
Eddie's leg shifted again and suddenly his partner was straddling him, one leg either side of his hips. The weight pressed him down, trapping him against the velour sofa cushions, but it felt good, especially as the hard lump of Eddie's cock was pressed against the zipper of his jeans. It felt even better a moment later as Eddie began to rock, gently at first, rubbing the rounded contours of his crotch against Reuben's flies. Reuben's prick lifted further, rising and pointing and blindly seeking the contact, until he was fully hard and aching inside his pants.
"Hold on, mate, going to have to do something about this,” he wheezed, and pushed Eddie back just far enough to insert a hand, unzip, and free his cock.
"Feels good, does it?” Eddie asked with a grin, pushing forwards again as soon as he could.
"You have no idea.” The heat of Eddie's body moving against him and the friction of stiff denim against the softness of his skin were making Reuben see stars.
"Wanna bet?” This time Eddie's grin was positively evil, and he eased forwards so far that Reuben's cock was sandwiched between them, like a sausage in a hotdog, and began to rock up and down.
Reuben yelled. His whole prick was surrounded by cloth and heat and Eddie-ness, and all the little folds of skin were being stretched upwards and dragged back down, whilst the head was resting against Eddie's leather belt and thrusting against it every time they moved. He could feel an orgasm rushing at him with the speed of an oncoming train and panted, “Too much."
"Yeah? Want me to stop?” Eddie's breath was short now too, and tiny droplets of sweat had gathered on his upper lip.
Reuben stuck out his tongue and licked the droplets away, tasting the salty tang. “No. Don't stop. It's too much, but it's ... perfect."
Eddie grinned again, and his hair flopped into his eyes as he picked up the pace. Reuben brushed it back for him: a small island of tenderness in the ocean of passion. He couldn't have done that with Jim, he realised, but because this was Eddie, it was different.
"Love you,” he grunted, and watched Eddie's grin fade to be replaced by shock—and pride.
"Yeah? I'll give you something to love,” Eddie said. Quick as a cat, he slithered off Reuben to kneel on the floor, and took Reuben's cock in his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, he began to suck, tongue catching blissfully on the underside of the glans.
It was too much. It was way, way too much, and Reuben could do nothing but give in. Head back against the sofa cushions, arms splayed to either side, he surrendered to the rush of pleasure and heat, then grabbed Eddie's head by the hair and fucked his mouth. One thrust, two thrusts ... “Gonna come,” he warned, and thrust once more and came.
Eddie took the lot, swallowing and licking his lips to catch the tiny trail of seed that had leaked from the corner of his mouth. He looked so much like the cat that got the cream that Reuben had to laugh, even as he slumped into a heavy-limbed sprawl. It was hard to believe how different he felt from that first time he'd had sex with Jim. This was how it should be, this was making love, this was being with the man he loved ... who'd been left completely behind. Sitting up and blushing, he said, “Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to forget about you. What d'you want me to do?"
But Eddie shook his head. “I can wait. We've got all the time in the world."
And that, was just the best thing of all. He waited until his breathing had returned to normal before tucking himself away, and vowing to return the favour with Eddie later that night. If it didn't happen sooner than that ... He'd just reached for his mug of rapidly cooling coffee when Eddie tackled him again, hands up his sweatshirt and a warm wet tongue in his ear. “Gerroff! Hey! Steady on, you'll have coffee all over the sofa and it's new."
Eddie pulled back to inspect the blue monstrosity they were curled up on. “Yeah? Won the lottery yourself? Or did the chatline pay better than I thought?"
"Neither,” Reuben said. “It's my overtime payments. The boss was so pleased about the op, he finally gave in and signed them."
"Well, bugger me,” Eddie said, grabbing whatever bits of Reuben he could reach. “Better get your pants off again then."
"Why's that?” Reuben said indistinctly, returning a kiss with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
"The world must be coming to an end after all. I want to fuck you before it's too late and the Last bloody Trump goes off."
"More likely to be the phone,” Reuben said, and unzipped his jeans.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Fiona lives in a Gothic Victorian house in Birmingham (UK) with one husband, one visiting cat and far too many spiders. She has been writing for about twelve years and has had various short stories published by Torquere Press, Chippewa Publishing and Sultry Heat Publishing, and now by Whiskey Creek Press Torrid. In her spare time, she edits the online homoerotica magazine Forbidden Fruit (www.forbiddenfruitzine.com) and in any spare time after that, she dabbles in graphic design and watercolour painting. You can find more of her work at her website, Illusions (www.tavaran.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk).
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