by Sara Bell
“Hi, Sheriff. I didn’t recognize you from the back. Sure I can’t help you with anything?”
Brandon took a moment to look at the guy his sister was interested in. Dillon was tall, almost six feet, and probably still growing. His shaggy brown hair was cut in that permanently messy style that kids seemed to like, and his green eyes were flashing with amusement over Brandon’s discomfort. He decided to turn the tables.
“No. I can manage on my own, but while you’re here, I’d like to talk to you about your intentions towards my baby sister.”
He was rewarded by the flush that crept into Dillon’s cheeks. “Yeah, uh, sure sheriff, but I really need to get back to work. Some other time, man.” Before he knew it, Brandon was looking at his retreating back.
That was too easy. He went back to his shopping. Finally he decided on a tube of good old fashioned KY Jelly. When in doubt, go with what you know. The only problem now was, which size? He disregarded the smaller tube. Maybe he was being optimistic, but hey, might as well think positive. If he bought the economy size, Nate might be freaked out, afraid Brandon was planning on chaining him to the mattress for the next two months. Then again, if he bought the medium size, Nate might take that as hesitancy to begin the sexual side of their relationship. Fuck it. He picked up the jumbo size and headed to the counter.
The clerk was a sixteen year old skater-wanna-be with purple streaks in his hair, but enough sense not to comment on Brandon’s purchase, thank God. He ran the tube over the UPC sensor, but it refused to scan. He tried it over and over with no success. On the fifth try, he gave up.
“Sorry, Sheriff. I’m going to have to run a price check on this.” Before Bran could stop him, he reached for the loud speaker. “Price check on the large size of KY Jelly. Price check.”
Alright. It was safe to say things couldn’t get any worse. Then his father came up behind him carrying a tube of hemorrhoid cream.
“Well, hey there, son. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Understatement. “Me, either. I thought you always shopped at Simpson’s.”
“Usually, I do, but your Mom sent me after this. She needs it fast, and this place is closer.” He held up the tube. “She always says having eight kids has left her with piles the size of kittens.” Too much information. “Yeah, well, I—”
The pharmacist came up. “Carl, did you need a price check?”
“Yes, sir. I need a price for this economy size tube of KY Lubricant.”
“I didn’t realize they made it that big. Live and learn, I guess.” He thumbed through the book he was holding. “The manual has that listed at five dollars and sixty cents, not including tax. Oh, hi Sheriff. This yours?”
Brandon actually hoped someone would come in and rob the store. At least everyone wouldn’t be staring at him, waiting for his answer. Then again, with his luck, the perp would want to know just what he planned to do with all that lube. Face flaming, he said, “Yeah. Uh, if you don’t mind, I’m kind of in a hurry here.”
The minute he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. The pharmacist and his dad exchanged grins. Dean said, “I imagine you are, son, from the looks of it.”
Brandon didn’t say a word when the pharmacist added, “If you plan on using all that tonight, Sheriff, you might want to pick up some liniment and a bottle of ibuprofen. You and Doc will need it for all those sore muscles.”
Carl snickered and rang up his purchase. He paid and was about to say good-bye to his dad when Carl, in all seriousness, said, “Hey, Sheriff? You might want to pick up some condoms, too. My sex-ed teacher says when you sleep with someone, you’re really sleeping with every person that person has slept with. Can’t be too careful.”
Brandon gritted his teeth. “Thanks, Carl, but that won’t be necessary.”
The pharmacist and Dean were all but rolling on the floor in near hysteria. Finally Dean settled down enough to say, “Cheer up, son. At least Nate won’t ever send you to the store in the middle of the night to buy him a box of tampons.”
* * *
Nate heard the door open and the sound of the alarm being reactivated. Brandon came in carrying several bags of Chinese food. He greeted Nate with a smile.
“I thought you might be hungry. I hope Chinese is ok. It always amazes me that Reed has two full service Chinese restaurants, but you have to go thirty miles before you reach the nearest hospital.” He gave Nate a quick once over. “Have a good bath?”
“Yeah, but I had a hard time wrapping my arm. I’ll be glad to get rid of this damn cast. How was your trip to the store?”
“Humiliating, but we’ll talk about that later. Why don’t you set out the food while I grab a quick shower?”
Nate nodded and got out plates and utensils, including forks. He might be handy with a stethoscope and scalpel, but he was hopeless with a pair of chopsticks. Add to that the fact that he was still learning to use his left hand after twenty-eight years as a right-hander, and there was no way he was even going to attempt it. Brandon came back while Nate was transferring the food from cartons to platters, saw the forks, and laughed.
“I have some chopsticks stashed in the silverware drawer. Didn’t you see them?”
“We’ve had this conversation before, Nash. You know how I feel about eating with twigs. Besides,” he nodded towards the cast, “I’m temporarily disadvantaged.”
“Says the man who doesn’t know how to use chopsticks when he’s working with his good hand.” He grabbed up a plate and started dishing large helpings of everything onto it.
“All the food will mix together like that.”
Brandon slanted his brow. “It’s Chinese food, Nate. It’s already all mixed together.” He grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, picked up the plate, and headed for the stairs. “Tuck that bottle of wine from the fridge under your arm and grab a couple of glasses, please.”
“What about my fork?”
“Trust me. You won’t need it.”
* * *
Brandon held another bite of ginger chicken up to Nate’s mouth. “Sure you don’t want any more?”
Nate groaned. “No more. I think I’ve consumed at least half a chicken as it is.”
Brandon looked at Nate’s trim body clad only in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. They were sitting cross legged on the bed, facing each other. “You could use a little fattening up.”
Nate smiled and took a sip of his wine. “Trying to change me already?”
Brandon set the plate on the bedside table. “You know better.” He leaned in for a kiss. “My mother always says, ‘Don’t mess with perfection.’”
Nate put down his glass. “I wish I was perfect. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so damn scared of messing this up.”
Brandon pulled him down on the bed beside him. His voice came out raw, husky. “Do you love me?”
Nate swallowed hard. “More than I ever thought possible.”
“Then it will be fine. You know, if you aren’t ready for this, we can—” Nate tackled him and started kissing the breath out of him before he finished his sentence. Brandon chuckled. “Okay, so you’re ready.”
Nate shivered as Brandon tugged his ear with his teeth. “God, yes. I want you so bad I’m about to burst.”
“Not yet, baby. This first time I want us to come together.” He tugged Nate’s shirt over his head and threw it on the floor.
“Show me what to do, Bran.” He inhaled sharply as Brandon’s mouth found one of his sensitive nipples. His boxers were soaked within seconds.
“I’d say you’re doing just fine.” Brandon kissed his way down to the waistband of Nate’s boxers, then kissed his way back up to torture the other nipple. Nate moaned when Brandon took off his shirt and rubbed bare chest against bare chest. He lay full-length on top of Nate, the only thing separating them the thin cotton of the underwear they each wore.
Brandon was careful to balance most of his weight on his forearms in deference to Nate’s still-tender abdomen. He glanced down at Nate’s firm
stomach and well-defined chest. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Nate sighed when Brandon returned to sucking on his neck. The sighs turned to gasps as Bran increased the suction on his neck.
“No fair. You’ve already seen me naked. I want to see all of you, angel. You’re so perfect. I want to touch what’s mine.”
Brandon didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up and pulled his boxers off, casting them on top of the pile of shirts. Nate reached for him, but he shook his head. “You’re next. Come here and take those off.”
Nate stood next to him and wriggled out of his shorts. Brandon pulled Nate tight against him and kissed him with savage ownership. His breathing was ragged, on the edge of control, his erection and Nate’s locked together between them.
“You’re mine, Nathan. I’m going to take you now.”
Nate couldn’t have protested if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t. His mouth was dry and his body was on fire. In silent consent, he lay down on the bed, spread his legs, and offered himself.
Brandon grabbed the tube from the pharmacy and squeezed some onto his fingers. He said, “It’ll be easier on your arm with you lying on your back like this. I’m going to get you ready now, love. If I hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop.”
“You could never hurt me. I want you, Brandon. Now. Please.”
Brandon worked the gel with his fingers, warming it. Nate jumped when Brandon’s index finger made contact with his virgin flesh, but he soon settled as Brandon began preparing his body for what was to come. He tensed slightly when Bran’s finger gained entry. Brandon stopped, but Nate shook his head. “Don’t stop. It feels good. Different, but good.”
Brandon nodded. “If you like that, you’ll love this.” He touched a place deep inside and Nate was sure he’d been zapped with a dozen volts of electrical current. Brandon added another finger, increasing the pressure on that same spot. Nate’s hips came off the bed, and he grunted in pleasure.
“Please, Brandon. I’m ready. Make love to me.”
Brand slicked himself with more of the gel and moved into position. Nate felt intense pressure but little pain as Brandon pressed the head inside. His blue eyes were smoky as he looked into Nate’s brown irises. “Forever, Nathan. Say it.”
Nate whispered, “Forever,” and Brandon slid in all the way to the hilt. All the air left Nate’s lungs in a rush of pleasurable agony. Brandon lay above him and inside him, supported by his arms and making no movements. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow, but he remained rigidly still, allowing Nate time to adjust. Nathan reached up and stroked Bran’s face, at the same time tilting his hips. The change in position brought Brandon in even deeper and caused an exquisite friction against Nate’s prostate. When Nate whimpered, Brandon lost it and started to pump.
Nate met him thrust for thrust, until they were both covered with sweat and fighting for oxygen. Every outward motion caused Nate to tighten and every inward push caused Brandon to grunt. Nate felt himself nearing the edge and had just enough mind left to issue a warning.
“Oh, Jesus, Bran. I’m almost there.”
Brandon made no reply, only stepped up the rhythm. Just as Nate’s release started, he felt Brandon tense and heard him scream, “Oh, fuck,” before filling Nate with his seed. Brandon collapsed against Nate’s chest and whispered, “You aren’t a virgin anymore, baby. You’re mine, and damned if I’ll ever let you go.”
* * *
The great thing about the claw foot tub in the master bathroom was its capacity to hold two people. Bran sat against the back wall of the tub with Nate between his legs, his back leaning against Brandon’s stomach. Nate’s plastic-wrapped cast was propped against one side of the tub as Bran made lazy soap circles on Nate’s chest.
“Sore?”
He closed his eyes as Brandon’s fingers grazed his nipple. “Maybe a little, but not much. I like it. It’s like I can still feel you inside me.”
Brandon licked a drop of water from his neck. “Good. That way, you’ll be thinking about me all day tomorrow.”
“I do that already.” He snuggled closer as Bran’s arms came around him. “Oh, before I forget, Pastor Oakley called. He wants to meet with us after services Sunday to discuss our wedding plans and set up an appointment for premarital counseling. He sounded perfectly comfortable with the idea of two men getting married.”
“I told you, you’ll like our church. I warn you now, though, my whole family goes there, so be prepared for organized chaos.”
Nate rinsed off the soap but didn’t move out of Bran’s embrace. “I’m beginning to like organized chaos. Brandon?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for making my first time so special.” Brandon kissed his temple. “Trust me, babe, the pleasure was all mine.” He reached over to let the water out. “So, Rinehart released you to go back to work next week.”
“Yeah, but if you think I shouldn’t go, I won’t.” Brandon pulled him up and helped him out of the tub, drying first Nate and then himself. “That’s a switch. Since when have you become Mr. Agreeable?”
Nate unwrapped his cast. “I won’t lie. It irks me to think of my whole life being turned upside down by this creep, but I don’t want to do anything stupid that might put my life in danger. I have too much to lose now.”
Brandon handed him a clean pair of boxers and then pulled on his own. “I’m not crazy about the idea of you going back out there until we catch that guy, but I know I can’t keep you under lock and key.” He pulled Nate into his arms and leered at him. “Of course, I have had a couple of lurid images of you handcuffed to my bedpost.”
“For a sheriff, you have a criminal mind. You—” He broke off when Brandon pushed him behind his back. “What’s wrong.”
Brandon put his finger to his lips and mouthed. “Downstairs.” He opened the bathroom door and slipped into the bedroom, grabbing his pistol from the bedside table. “Someone’s in the house. Stay here.”
“It could be your Mom, or Keith. They both have keys and the alarm code.”
Brandon shook his head. “No. They would knock. I’m going to check it out.”
“Bran, call for back-up. Don’t—”
Brandon gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Call Sam if I’m not back in five minutes.” Before Nate could protest, he was gone. Nate paced back and forth, watching the bedside clock. He picked up the phone after about two and a half minutes of waiting, and had just dialed the number when he heard the first shot.
Chapter 11
In the forty seconds it took for Nate to get from the bedroom to the kitchen, he died a thousand times expecting to find the love of his life lying dead in a pool of blood. He raced down the stairs and rounded the corner, expecting to see Brandon. Instead, he saw a trail of blood leading from the kitchen to the mudroom. He snagged the cordless phone from the counter and dialed as he ran.
He found Brandon leaning against the door jam, clutching his bloody right shoulder. Only when he got closer did he see the handle of the knife sticking out of Brandon’s skin.
“Oh, God, Brandon. Here, sit down.”
Brandon grimaced, but made no move to sit. “The son-of-a-bitch got away. I fired off a shot after he stabbed me, but I don’t think I hit him.”
Nate heard sirens in the distance. “Brandon, please come inside and sit down. I need to call you an ambulance.”
“No. No hospitals. You can do it. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Just the thought of probing Brandon’s soft skin made Nate feel sick. “No, Bran. I can’t treat you. I’m too close. Besides, there’s no way I can stitch you one-handed.”
Brandon wobbled on his feet. “Call Keith. He’ll help you. I can’t go to the hospital knowing that guy could come back at any time.”
“He won’t. The guards—”
“Yeah? And where the hell were the guards when that bastard broke into our house. And why didn’t the alarm go off. I’m surprised Sasha—” His face paled, a considerable feat
since he was already as pale as death. “Oh, God, Nate. Where’s Sasha?”
“Sit down, Bran. We’ll find Sasha, but we’ve got to take care of you first.” Nate took his hand and started leading him towards the table.
“Nate, we’ve got to find her. She could be hurt.”
“Sheriff?” Sam’s voice carried through the kitchen. “Boss, where are you?”
Nate breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re in the kitchen, Sam. Brandon’s hurt.” The fact that he and Bran were both clad only in boxers never crossed his mind. Help had arrived.
Sam took one look at the knife handle sticking out of Brandon’s arm and turned green. “Jesus Christ. Let me call an ambulance.”
“No, Nate and Keith can fix it. I discharged my weapon. I have to fill out a report.”
“Screw the report, Boss. You need to get to a hospital.”
Nate could tell by the look on Brandon’s face he was going to be stubborn. Giving in, though not gracefully by any means, Nate picked up the phone and called Keith and Amy.
“There’s no need to call Amy.”
Nate gave him one of those don’t-fuck-with-me looks. “I’ve let you get away with not going to the hospital, but I’m telling you right now, we’re going to do the rest of this my way. We’re going to the office, and Amy and Keith will meet us there. I’m so freaked out, I need all the help I can get. And at the first sign of trouble, I’m packing your ass into an ambulance and hauling you to Chicago General. Understood?”
Brandon smiled in spite of his pain. “I thought I wore the pants in this family.”
“No, and if you refuse to co-operate, I’ll make you ride downtown in your boxers.” As he left to fetch himself some clothes and Brandon some jeans, he heard Sam say, “I like him, Boss. We’ve finally found someone who can manage you.”
* * *
“Ouch, damn it. Can’t you take that thing out without making the hole any wider?”
Amy clucked her tongue sympathetically, but Nate was ruthless. “You’re just lucky it hit bone and not an artery.”
“Oh, yeah. I feel really damn lucky. I think when you finish dissecting my arm, I’ll go out and buy a bundle of lottery tickets.”