He froze. “Need me to stop?"
No answer, unless you counted the way Sean arched his lower back, taut as a bowstring, and practically served himself on a platter.
Jesse kept a careful tether on his self-control at all times, like fine wire made of strongest steel. Now it snapped as if it were made of cheap twine. He heard himself give a roar that bruised his chest and flayed his throat. But it was far away and not nearly as important as the way he was pounding Sean's ass like a buck in rut, or the way Sean was flexing-rocking-Goddamn-bouncing up to meet him every time.
It rushed through him ‘til he was blind with it, boiling up from his balls with that sharp, mind-bending sensation of way-too-much-more-more-more. Like maybe his cock wanted to turn itself inside out.
When it was over, he found himself lying with his chest and belly pressed to Sean's back, heaving air in a way that made him think he'd quit breathing at some earlier point.
"Dude. You're heavy."
"Mmmhmm."
"Seriously. Move."
"Yeah. All right.” Jesse stuck his nose in Sean's shaggy curls and inhaled. The scent of clean sweat and something sweeter instantly coated his face. “Gimme a second."
Sean wriggled under him. “Are you, like ... sniffing me?"
Jesse pushed himself up to balance with his arms at either side of Sean's body. “Just trying to catch my breath.” He carefully disengaged the lower halves of their bodies, watching the muscles in Sean's back for any telltale flinching or signs of pain. Then he disposed of the condom and flopped down on this back next to the younger man.
He felt the mattress shift as Sean rolled over on his side to face him, and waited to see what would happen next. Jesse wasn't much of a cuddler. Not under normal circumstances. But he was starting to feel like nothing about these current circumstances was normal.
After a few seconds, he turned his head and found Sean watching him, his eyes brighter and more alert than made sense for a guy who'd just gotten righteously laid. It was ... disturbing.
Jesse cleared his throat. “You ... uh ... you all right?"
"Oh, yeah.” Sean smiled, wide and open. “That was—"
"Yeah. It was.” Jesse cleared his throat again and looked away. “So ... tell me this, ki—Sean."
"What?"
Jesse let his gaze travel over the stained ceiling and tried to put his words together in a non-threatening way. He didn't have a lot of practice with thinking before he spoke. It was a novel sensation. “You said you were a switch, right? That means you've fucked other guys?” He glanced at Sean.
"Yes, that's right. Why? You want me to—"
"No! I mean ... no, that's not what I...” He fisted his hands at his sides and forced himself through the next part. “So when you fucked these other guys, did you beat the shit out of ‘em? Tear ‘em up, make ‘em bleed?"
The grin slipped off Sean's face, and his dark eyes got wide. “No, of course not."
"Then why d'you assume that's how it's supposed to go? Because one motherfucking prick like Sanchez plays it that way?"
Sean glanced away. “I don't know."
"You're not as bright as you look, are you? I mean, for a college boy."
"I guess not."
Jesse sighed. “Tell me about your brother."
There was silence between them for what felt like a long time. Jesse counted the seconds, telling himself that if the younger man didn't answer by the one-minute mark, he'd get up and take a shower.
At fifty-seven seconds, Sean said, “His name is Bobby. He's doing eight months in county for possession. I figured ... I don't know. I figured I could do it—be with Sanchez, I mean—for that long. Until Bobby gets out, and then—"
"And then what? You think Paco's gonna let you walk away if he's not done with you?” Jesse couldn't help the note of disbelief in his voice. “Do you know who he is, Sean?” He looked at him, turning on his side to do it.
"He's a criminal. A thug, like a gangster. I know that."
"He's also the nephew of Santa Rosa's Chief of Police, Gus Sanchez, and pretty much untouchable. He takes what he wants, and he doesn't let go ‘til he has to.” Jesse scrubbed a hand through his hair and down over his face. “And he never has to."
Sean stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. “I guess I'll deal with that when I have to. Now how ‘bout I ask you some questions?"
"You can ask. Can't promise I'll answer."
Sean rolled his eyes. “Okay, fair enough. First ... what is it you want from Paco, anyway? What's the Mordero case?"
Jesse shook his head. “It's better you don't know."
Sean frowned, making a deep crease between his eyes. “Don't patronize me. I'm in this now."
"You are?"
"Aren't I? Or am I still a hostage? Is that how you're thinking about me?"
Jesse flinched. “I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt."
"I'm not asking to get hurt. I'm asking to know what you want from Paco. Why you kidnapped me. Why I'm here.” Sean swallowed. It was loud in the quiet room. “Unless you think I don't have a right to that information. Unless it doesn't matter because none of this—” He gestured, waving his hand between himself and Jesse. “—means anything beyond a quick fuck between strangers."
Oh Christ. “You know, for somebody who thinks kissing is for girls, you sure know how to sound like a—"
"Don't. Just ... don't.” Sean sat up, turned away from him and slumped on the edge of the mattress. “Gonna take a shower. If that's okay with you, I mean.” His voice was dull.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Sean shrugged. “You're the one with the gun."
For fuck's sake. “Sean."
He didn't respond other than a twitch of his shoulder blade.
"Sean. Don't play games. It's not in your best interest."
That got him a glare directed over the younger man's shoulder. “What's in my best interest is knowing what the hell is going on, Jesse. I'm not a Goddamn child."
"You wanna know? Really?"
"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."
"Okay, fine."
"Fine."
Jesse slapped his palm against his face. He was two seconds away from tackling Sean to the bed and either fucking him senseless a second time or giving him the mother of all noogies. He took a moment to regain his composure. Then he said, “About three years ago, I was working vice. I was new—not a rookie, but green enough to think I could actually clean up the streets of sweet Santa Rosa."
Sean turned to sit on one hip. “Go on."
"I'd heard about Paco. About how he ran the show when it came to the streets, and how he got away with it because of his family connections. I wanted to do something about it. Started busting some of Paco's boys for possession with intent to distribute, solicitation, anything I could make stick."
"And he came after you?"
Jesse nodded. “Set me up. Had somebody place a nine-one-one call about a pimp roughing up a girl in a house down on Goldwin Avenue. I heard the call and headed out, expecting a squad car to beat me there."
"But it didn't?"
Jesse shrugged. “I figured it was right behind me, so I went in. The pimp—a guy named Tommy Mordero—was already dead. Two bullets to the head, execution style. The girl was a mess, but still alive. I was doing CPR when the uniforms busted in. Next thing I knew, they were pulling me off her and placing me under arrest. Took my service revolver, cuffed me, threw me in the car."
"How? I mean ... why?"
"They had their orders, I guess. Two days later, they were telling me my service piece was missing two bullets, and the two in Mordero matched the rest of the ones in my gun."
Sean's face had paled. “What did you do?"
"Got myself a lawyer. Waited for the girl to wake up and tell them it wasn't me. Let them test my hands and clothes for gunpowder residue."
"And?"
"And what? You know how it went down. My lawyer said I was lucky to get man-one instead
of murder, especially after the girl died."
"Jesus Christ, Jesse."
"Yeah. So then I got another lawyer—a better one. And he found some ... discrepancies in police procedure. Took a while, though.” He closed his eyes and tried not to picture the cellblock at Folsom. Tried not to hear the rattle and clank of barred doors, or smell the sweet, stomach-churning fragrance of old urine soaked into cement. “And it did nothing to clear my name. Far as the department is concerned, I killed that pimp and his hooker."
Sean made a humming sound in the back of his throat. “And you think Paco can help clear your name?"
"I know he can."
"How?"
Jesse opened his eyes and looked at Sean. “When I got there, the girl was still conscious, but ... it was bad. If she'd lived, she would've been disfigured. He'd cut off her...” Jesse pressed his lips together. “Anyway, when I was leaning over her, trying to clear out the blood and broken teeth so she could breathe, she started fighting me. Like she thought I was ... the guy."
Sean was silent for a few seconds, like maybe he didn't even want to know the rest of it. Then he coughed and ran a hand through his hair. “She said his name, didn't she?"
Jesse nodded. “She did.” He didn't feel the need to clarify. The younger man knew Paco at least as well as he did.
Sean got up and crossed to the window. The yellow light from the lamp made the endless stretch of his skin glow. “It's getting dark. You hungry?"
"More like sleepy. Didn't get much rest last night."
Sean turned his head to smile at him, then moved to Jesse's side of the bed. “Shove over. I don't sleep on the wet spot for anybody, dude."
Jesse rolled his eyes, fighting the grin that threatened to ambush his face. “Pushy bitch.” He reached up and turned out the light.
* * * *
Sean sat straight up in bed, just in time to see Jesse reach for the gun on the bedside table. The banging on the front door got louder. He watched Jesse yank on his jeans with one hand and cross the room barefoot. When he tried to speak, the older man held up a hand to silence him. Sean slid out of bed and stood, dragging the sheet with him, his heart pounding in his ears.
The banging stopped. The shouting began. “Bonham, you miserable, cocksucking hijo de puta, open the fucking door before I get fucking pneumonia.” An accented voice—almost like Paco's, but deeper. Less sharp. Still, it could be him.
Jesse moved from the window, lowering the .45 as he went. Sean could see the dim light from the risen moon glint off his teeth as he smiled. He opened the door.
"Manuel, you crazy fucker. Get in here.” And then Jesse was hugging a big, shaggy man in army fatigues, with black hair held back in a long ponytail and a beard that reached halfway down his chest. “Why the hell didn't you use your key, man?” Jesse reached out and flicked on the overhead light.
"Didn't want you to go all commando and shoot my ass. Speaking of commando...” The man gestured in the general direction of Jesse's gaping fly. “Cover it up, man. Nobody wants to see that."
Sean licked his lips and swallowed. “Uh ... hi?"
Both men turned to look at him. Jesse's friend—Manuel, and apparently the owner of the cabin, if Sean was reading the situation correctly—looked only faintly surprised to a nude man standing by the bed with only a sheet wrapped around his hips.
Jesse looked as if he'd forgotten Sean existed. He glanced from Manuel to Sean and back again. “Manny, this is ... uh..."
"Sean Carr. Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but—"
"No, no, stay right where you are, chico.” Manny turned to Jesse and said, “I see you still like ‘em tall."
And Jesse blushed. An honest-to-God blush that crept up from his chest to turn his fair face a deep, vibrant pink.
Sean coughed to hide his smile and said, “I'll just ... go on in the bathroom and leave you guys alone to—"
"Nah, don't bother,” said Manuel. “I'm just passin’ through. Stopped by to give Jesse these.” He stretched out a big, brown paw and dropped a set of keys and what looked like a map into Jesse's hands. “You'll need plenty of supplies. Water especially, amigo. It's winter, but it's still the Goddamn desert, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Jesse nodded. “Thanks, Manny. As soon as things settle down, I'll send some cash."
"Don't sweat it, man. Just don't get caught, huh? And don't get dead."
Sean watched the two men from the other side of the room. He tried to make sense of their murmured conversation—something about Jesse having enough clips for the nine-millimeter, or was he planning on taking the assault rifle to the meeting, and did he have enough money to make it to the border. But his attention kept getting waylaid by how the dim, orangey overhead light played across Jesse's features, painting them in fluid, ruddy shadows. Outlining the muscles in his torso, in his arms. Alternately hiding and revealing the quicksilver shift of expression in his face.
"Sean?"
"Huh?” He grasped the sheet a little tighter and shook his head to clear it. “Yeah?"
"Manny's leaving."
"Oh, uh ... right. Sorry.” He ran a hand over his face, digging his short nails into his own cheek to wake himself up. “Nice meeting you, Mr...."
Manuel laughed. “Just call me ‘Manny,’ chico.” To Jesse, he said, “Nice manners on this one. You should see if you can't keep him."
This time it was Sean who flushed and shuffled his feet. He watched the two men embrace yet again—a manly clapping of large hands on backs, complete with grunts of encouragement. And then Manny was gone.
Jesse went to the window, apparently to watch his friend depart. “Raining again.” He turned to look at Sean. “You should go back to bed. You'll need the rest later.” His tone was curt, and face was a closed book.
Sean stared at him, trying to read some clue to his thoughts in his body language. “What's the deal with you and Manuel? Are you and he...?” He let the unspoken question hang in the air.
Jesse laughed. “Nah. We shared a cell at Folsom. Kept an eye on each other's backs.” He crossed from the window, grabbed his duffel bag from the easy chair and began sorting through whatever was inside it. “Manny's got a lady in San Rafael, which is where he's headed now, if I don't miss my guess."
Sean nodded. “He said don't get caught. What did he mean by that?"
Jesse didn't look up from the duffel. “Nothing, kid. It's not your problem."
"Oh, we're back to ‘kid’ now? And I told you—it became my problem when you stuck your gun in my face and made me get in your stupid truck."
No answer. Sean let mind sift through what he'd heard—what Jesse'd told him and what Manny said. It added up all too neatly. “You're going to kill Paco, aren't you? That's why you need a place to go.” Manny had mentioned the desert and money enough to make it to the border. “Mexico? Is that the plan?"
Jesse stilled his hands within the duffel and looked at Sean over his shoulder. “What if it is? You gonna rat me out?"
"Why would you ask that?” Sean hated the bad soap opera dialogue spewing from his own mouth, but he couldn't seem to control it. “Why would you even think it?"
The older man shrugged and removed what Sean recognized as several boxes of automatic cartridges from his bag. He crossed the room and set them on the table. Then he returned to his duffel and pulled out the pieces of a rifle. Sean watched as his large, square hands made quick work of assembling the weapon.
Sean twisted the hem of the sheet more securely around his hips and crossed the room to stand at Jesse's shoulder. “It doesn't have to go down like this. Maybe you can talk Paco into giving himself up. Making a full confession about Mordero and the hooker.” Even as he said the words, he knew how stupid they were.
Jesse snorted. He didn't look up from the rifle.
"Yeah, all right, maybe not. But d'you have to kill him? Why not just let it go? Your conviction was overturned. You can do anything you want with your life. You can be a cop again."
N
ow Jesse turned on him, the rifle still in his hand. “That's not how it works. The court system may have spit me back out onto the street with a clean slate, but Internal Affairs feels differently. I'll never be a cop again."
"And? So?” Sean wanted to vent his frustration by punching something. Jesse's face was a mighty tempting target. “You think that's all there is in life? Being a big shot with a gun and a badge?"
Jesse's face twisted, then settled again into cold, hard lines.
Sean sighed. “Look, I'm sorry. I bet you were a good cop. But—"
"But nothing. This isn't about me. It's about taking out a sadistic bastard who won't stop until someone stops him. You, of all people—"
"Yeah. Me, of all people, should want to see him dead. But I don't.” Sean reached out, wanting to lay a hand on Jesse's shoulder and not quite daring to make contact. “Not at this price. What does that tell you?"
Jesse smiled. “It tells me you're a good guy. The kind of guy you wanna meet, you hope to meet, and almost never do. But it's too late. I'm doing this.” The finality in the statement was tangible.
Sean took a deep breath. “All right. Then I'm going with you."
Jesse's smile turned sour. “I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."
"Jesse—"
"No. No way. You're gonna stay here. You're gonna spend one more night here. Alone. In the morning, you can start hiking back to Kenwood. Shouldn't take more than a few hours."
"And that's it? I never ... we never...” He was going to say “see each other again,” but it sounded so Goddamn lame in his head. He couldn't make his lips shape the words.
"No, Sean. You never, and we never.” Jesse didn't quite meet his eyes. “I didn't promise that. Now ... go back to bed."
Sean opened his mouth to argue. Jesse cut him off with a look sharp enough to slice through bone. So instead he said, “What about you?"
"It'll be light in a few hours. I need to get ready."
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III Page 23