Chief's Mess

by L. A. Witt

  As I pushed into him, he gave one of those groans I heard in my mind whenever I jerked off to thoughts of him. That deep, throaty sound made of pure pleasure. His hands materialized on my sides, and his fingers twitched as I worked myself deeper.

  “Like that?”

  “Uh-huh.” He rocked his hips, biting his lip and clawing my waist. “God, yeah.”

  I leaned in to kiss his neck, and he pulled me all the way down. We buried our faces in each other’s necks, and I was lucky I didn’t come right then and there. His hot breath on my neck, his even hotter skin against my lips, the way he nibbled here and kissed there—holy fuck, much more of this and I was going to lose my mind way, way too soon.

  I lifted myself up again so I wouldn’t come quite yet. As I did, Anthony met my eyes, but only for a second. Something in him seemed to fade a bit. Deflate? I couldn’t put my finger on it, especially not when I was fucking him, so I slowed down. “You okay?”

  “What? Yeah.” Sliding his hand up my chest, he grinned. “Why are you stopping?”

  “I . . .” Didn’t think your heart was in it. But I sped up, and the way he closed his eyes and moaned told me I’d imagined the whole thing. Right? Except . . .

  I slowed down again. “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah.” His smile seemed . . . not fake, but in the ballpark. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You just didn’t seem into it all of a sudden.”

  He blinked, then shook his head, and the smile seemed a bit more real. Combing his fingers through my short hair, he said, “No. I’m, uh . . . already kind of bummed out that you’re leaving.”

  “I’m not gone yet.” I thrust into him, making him whimper.

  “Oh God!” He arched under me. “No, you’re not.”

  “So you don’t want me to stop?” Another thrust so he’d fall apart a little more.

  Anthony started coming back to life, hands sliding up my sides. “Definitely don’t stop.”

  I picked up speed again, and if he wasn’t into it a minute ago, he definitely was now. Rocking his hips, gripping my shoulders, he moaned, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh fuck, don’t stop,” as I pounded his tight ass.

  I kissed him, but we were both moving too fast, so I settled for burying my face against his neck again and breathing in his musky, sweaty scent. He raked his nails down my back, and I dug my teeth into his shoulder, and I lost track of who was moaning, panting, gasping. Whatever had bothered him a moment ago, apparently it was gone, especially as he grabbed the back of my neck as if to tell me not to dare pull away.

  “God, don’t stop.” His nails bit in as I kept kissing his feverishly hot throat. “Oh fuck, Noah . . .” He shuddered, and then he cried out, voice thrumming against my lips, and at the first drop of wet heat against my stomach, I lost it too. I came hard—I always came so, so hard when I was inside Anthony—and tried to keep thrusting so both our orgasms would go on and on and on, and finally collapsed on top of him.

  After we’d cleaned ourselves off, we cuddled up under the covers as always.

  I tipped up Anthony’s chin so he’d look me in the eye. “Hey. You sure you’re all right? You zoned out there for a minute earlier.”

  “I know.” He shook his head and laughed halfheartedly. “Like I said, you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I know, but there’s nothing that says we can’t do this again.” I smiled cautiously. “If you want to, I mean.”

  “Of course I do,” he said quickly. His smile was slower to form, but it came. “The sooner the better.”

  I combed my fingers through his hair. “You want me to come back here? Or do you want to come to Anchor Point?”

  Anthony thought for a moment, then shrugged, sliding his hand up my chest. “We’ll figure it out. Doesn’t really matter where we end up as long as there’s a bed, right?”

  “Very true.” I studied him. “So you’re really okay? There’s nothing else going on?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He kissed me softly. “Sorry it hit me at an inopportune moment.”

  “Don’t worry about it. But . . . if there is something, you’ll tell me. Right?”

  Anthony trailed his fingers along one side of my shaved head. “Of course.”

  And I believed him.

  I hoped.

  “Hey, Anthony.” Jennifer, another engineer, leaned into my office. “We’re all going out to Barker’s after work. You coming?”

  Just the thought of going to the bar with everyone made me tired, but I nodded and faked a smile. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Okay, great! We’ll see you at seven. The usual place.”

  “Seven. Right. See you there.”

  She left, and I sank back against my chair. Why had I agreed to go? I didn’t want to go. All I wanted was to call it a day, drag my ass home, and . . . fuck, I didn’t know. Sleep?

  My coworkers went out a few times a month, and sometimes I went too. Well, unless Noah was in town. Then I obviously bailed on them because hello, blazing-hot sex I could feel for days after?

  Tonight, if I was honest with myself, I might’ve gone out with my coworkers even if Noah had been in town. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him right now. If I could face him. And Jesus, did that make my stomach burn with guilt.

  The thought of having sex made me tired. Kind of sad too. No, depressed. That was the word. And sort of sick and uncomfortable, the way I’d felt the first time I’d sucked a dick and realized after the fact that it might’ve screwed up a friendship. It was too close to how I’d felt about sleeping with my ex-wife in the weeks leading up to our separation. Like it might be fun and feel great in the moment, but I’d be balls-deep in regret afterward.

  This wasn’t how a guy should feel about sex with the man he was dating. And it wasn’t because I needed to sit him down and say, Hey, so it turns out I’m actually straight. The problem wasn’t on my end. Was it even real?

  “Fuck,” I muttered, pressing my elbow into my desk and pinching the bridge of my nose. I caught myself thinking I could have a glass or two of wine. Calm my nerves. Relax.

  But wine didn’t sound very calming right now. Wine sounded too close to the reason I hadn’t been able to relax in the first place.

  On the other hand, wine was a reason to be out with my coworkers and not at home, hoping we might chat tonight. I wanted to talk to Noah—oh my God, I always did—but I was kind of dreading it too. Ever since he was here in Denver, I’d felt off. He’d obviously caught on, too. Right in the middle of sex, he’d stopped and asked, and what was I supposed to say?

  I was fine right up until I kissed your neck and smelled a hint of booze?

  Yeah, I’m kinda struggling to keep my boner here because I think you might drink too much?

  It kind of kills the mood when I stop and wonder when and how you got a drink even after you had an iced tea with dinner and we had just talked recently about how much heavy drinking bothers me?

  Groaning, I rubbed my eyes. We hadn’t made any plans to chat tonight. He was working today, and we’d been texting throughout the day, but there was nothing set in stone for the evening.

  And I had to admit, going out with my coworkers was slightly more appealing than going home and wallowing in way too many emotions relating to how much Noah might or might not drink.

  So, feeling guilty and conflicted and totally not great about anything, I texted him.

  Going out w/coworkers tonight - probably home late.

  And then I felt like shit.

  Like they always did, my coworkers had taken over a long table at the back of the restaurant. Drinks were flowing and conversations were flying, and I . . . struggled to get into it. At all. Maybe I should’ve gone home. I didn’t have to chat with Noah if I did. I could relax. Watch a movie with Jay. Go to bed early so I could spend all night worrying about Noah and his drinking and our relationship and fuck why couldn’t I talk to him?

  While everyone partied and had a goo
d time, I sat back and observed the people I worked with on a daily basis. I didn’t hear the conversations. I was too busy looking from one glass to the next. They drank a lot, didn’t they? Every time we went out, people drank. Sometimes they got tipsy, or even downright hammered. If they did, there were cabs and designated drivers. The next day, they were back to normal, functional human beings, doing their jobs and living their lives like it was nothing.

  Because maybe it was nothing.

  So why was I so uncomfortable with Noah drinking when I casually hung out with people who had no qualms about throwing it back like it was going out of style? Was I being fair? I’d seen him faintly tipsy at the airport. I’d seen him down a hell of a lot of alcohol during dinner, and still appear perfectly sober.

  These guys? Good lord. Mike, whose office was three doors down from mine, must’ve been on his fifth beer. He was steady on his feet, but he laughed more than usual, and at some point, I saw him hand his keys off to Kelly from Product Development. So he had a ride home. What was the harm if he had a few more?

  Annie, the head of the engineering department where I worked, was hammered. She laughed too loud, talked too fast, and almost dumped her glass down the front of Mike’s shirt.

  But, on Monday morning, she’d stroll into the office, poised and collected and fifteen minutes early like clockwork. No one would ever know by looking at her or listening to her that when she let her hair down, she could get as drunk and wild as anyone.

  I was okay with all of them. Still respected them. Still enjoyed being around them. So I was overreacting about Noah, wasn’t I? He did his job. He paid his bills. He was a perfectly functional adult whenever I saw him. The fact that he had the alcohol tolerance that seemed to be normal in his line of work—was that really a problem?

  No. I wasn’t being fair.

  I relaxed a bit and looked into my own glass. Damn. I wasn’t just being unfair—I was being a hypocrite. When Clint had drunk himself out of his marriage to my sister, there’d been no question he’d had a serious problem. One triggered by something that had happened to him.

  Noah was like any one of my coworkers—someone who could drink and still function like a normal human being.

  And, suddenly, I was restless. I needed to see Noah. Maybe I couldn’t see him in person, but we could at least chat, right?

  I texted him. You busy?

  Nope. What’s up?

  Want to chat on the cam in ~30 min?

  I’m here. Hit me up anytime.

  Now I definitely needed to get home. I quickly put some cash on the table to cover my share. “Hey guys, I’m gonna call it a night.”

  “Aww, no!” Annie draped a heavy arm around my shoulders and leaned against me. “Stay a while.”

  “I need to go.” I smiled as I carefully pried myself away without letting her tumble onto the floor. “I’ll see you guys on Monday, all right?”

  “But . . .” She gestured across the restaurant. “That bartender’s been making eyes at you all night. You gotta get his number.”

  My face burned as I laughed. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

  “We won’t tell!” She put a finger to her lips and made a loud shhh sound.

  I patted her arm. “Maybe another night. I’ll see you guys at the office.”

  I slipped past a few more intoxicated good-byes, and made my way to the parking lot. I hadn’t had enough to drink to make driving a problem, and I was home in record time. I didn’t bother taking off my shoes before I hurried to my bedroom and pulled up the laptop.

  As promised, he was online, and when I initiated the call, he responded almost instantly. My heart was pounding, but when he appeared on the webcam, I couldn’t help but relax. Yeah, I’d overreacted. He was sober, clear-eyed, apparently happy to see me. What the hell was I worried about?

  “Hey,” he said. “I thought you were going out tonight.”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “It was kind of a bust.” Because you weren’t there. “Decided I’d rather come home and chat with you.”

  Noah’s smile did crazy things to my already racing pulse. “Too bad you can’t be here.”

  “I know, right? But . . . soon.”

  “Not soon enough. I’m so looking forward to seeing you again.”

  My heart fluttered. “Yeah. Me too. When do you want me to come out there?”

  “The sooner the better.” The hoarse whisper reverberated right through me. It had only been a couple of days, and he already sounded as desperate as I felt.

  “I’ll take a look at tickets tonight, and email you when I book them.” I returned his smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Good. I can’t wait.”

  Neither could I.

  “So, um.” I licked my lips. “As long as I have you on the camera . . .” I didn’t have to finish the thought. As soon as I reached for my belt, I knew I had his attention.

  “Jesus, Anthony,” he murmured. “You really do know how to make it worthwhile to stay home, you know that?”

  “Well, I don’t think either of us could get away with this in public.” I closed my fingers around my cock, and made sure he heard my throaty groan as I started stroking.

  “Fuck,” he breathed. Then he was shifting around too, and I grinned as he joined me.

  Hell yeah, this was definitely better than staying out with my coworkers . . .

  I closed my laptop, set it on the coffee table, and picked up the glass that had been taunting me for the past hour. The ice was melted, but oh well.

  As the booze worked its way into my blood, calming the day’s stress one molecule at a time, I closed my eyes and thought back to my conversation with Anthony.

  Thank God he’d called tonight. I’d been worried ever since I’d left Denver that something was wrong between us. He’d insisted everything was fine, but it hadn’t felt right. Now it finally did. Now I could relax. Things were back the way they needed to be. Or, at least, as close to it as we could get without one of us boarding a plane.

  Soon, though. Very soon. If ever God had seen fit to give me a lesson in patience, I was pretty sure my relationship with Anthony was it.

  Even with the weirdness over the past few days, I was in heaven with Anthony. Some bumps were to be expected. I could roll with them. But, Jesus, it had been too long since I’d connected with a man like this. The sex was amazing, but I was getting hooked on clothed Anthony too. He was funny and quick and shameless, and he had a ninety-proof smile.

  When he was here, or when I was in Denver, it was like the world outside stopped. I was laser-focused on him. And, hell, even when we were three states apart, he was never far from the front of my mind.

  The long-distance thing was, weirdly, an advantage. We had no choice but to talk if we wanted to stay in contact. It wasn’t like we could hook up, then walk away at the end of the night until a few I’ve got a hard-on and need you to do something about it texts gave us a reason to do it again.

  Sure, there was plenty of dirty talk on the webcam and via text, but there was also just . . . talk. Shooting the breeze to pass the time at work. Complaining about commutes and hours and whatever else came to mind. Joking about random shit. When we did fool around virtually, we fell back into easy conversation after we’d both come and were lethargic and satisfied. It was rare to disconnect right away.

  My phone vibrated. Will.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said.

  Will pushed out a heavy breath. “Vince is moving out.”

  My heart dropped, and my glass almost went with it. Sitting up, I said, “What happened?”

  He sighed again, sounding tired if nothing else. “We’re just done. It’s . . . it’s a long story.”

  I pursed my lips. It was probably a long story that involved Vince putting his dick where it didn’t belong again.

  “Do you want to crash here?” I asked.

  “It’s okay. But . . .” He hesitated. “Listen, he’s packing everything today so he can leave tomorrow. It’s g
oing to be awkward as fuck for everyone involved, but the more hands I’ve got, the faster—”

  “Man, you know I’d never say no. What time?”

  Another hesitation. “He’s on the way now with the truck.”

  “Question still stands. You want me there now?”

  The silence dragged on even longer this time. “You don’t mind?”

  I glanced at my drink. I’d only had two. I was definitely good to drive. “I can be there in fifteen.”

  “Thanks, Noah. I really appreciate it.”

  What time is it?

  I squinted against the brutal morning light, head thumping and stomach churning.

  Hell, what day is it?

  Everything was hazy. I could still feel some aches and pains from helping Will load his ex’s crap into a truck, but those had faded enough that it had obviously been a couple of days. Shit, had it? My sense of time was all kinds of fucked up.

  Wracking my aching brain, I kept slogging through the fog. Work. I’d been at work yesterday. That much I remembered. Memories of my shift were clear, even if it did feel like it had happened a hundred years ago. Will had been understandably distant, so I’d tried to run interference whenever anyone had tried to bug him, which was pretty much constantly.

  There’d been some bullshit with a civilian contractor and a Sailor down on the pier, and we’d been called in to break it up. Shortly after that, we’d had to turn a teenager over to her parents after she’d been busted shoplifting at the Exchange for the third time. That was never fun.

  Once all that had been done and dusted, several of us had left work and gone out to our usual haunt for a couple of beers. After that was when it started getting hazy. I didn’t remember leaving. Or getting home.

  My heart stopped.

  How did I get home last night?

  That thought jarred me all the way awake.

  Did I drive? Oh God.

  Maybe one of the guys had driven my car, dropped me off, and hitched a ride home with someone else. I’d done that for other guys before, and they’d done it for me.

  Please, God . . .