Chief's Mess

by L. A. Witt

  I’d been painfully sober since the day Will had come into my apartment, and the constant clarity that came with that sobriety had been difficult to deal with. Right now, though, it was a godsend. It was like I’d been partially numb every time we’d had sex before. Like my nerve endings had been dulled, my mind fogged and my senses clouded, but now? Oh my God. I had never been more aware of a man’s body heat, his breathing, his touch, his scent, his taste. How much had I missed every time we’d been together before?

  Well, no time like the present to experience it all for the first time.

  And apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  “I want you naked,” he breathed between kisses.

  “I just want you.”

  He didn’t call me out on sounding as corny as humanly possible. All he did was press against me and kiss me again, rubbing our hard-ons together just right to drive me out of my mind.

  “Fuck me,” I murmured. “Please.”

  No games or negotiating tonight—without a word, Anthony nodded slightly, kissed me again, and reached for his nightstand.

  My heart could not possibly beat any faster. I was aroused and relieved and terrified he’d suddenly come to his senses and remember why he’d been cold toward me when I’d arrived.

  As he returned with the condom, though, he flashed me a wicked grin before tearing the wrapper with his teeth. He quickly put it on, and I covered it in lube. Then he kissed me again, and we sank onto the bed, me on my back and him on top, ready to slide inside me and fuck me just the way I’d begged him to.

  We were usually frantic to the point of violent, but not tonight. The desperation was there, but we weren’t clawing at each other. No teeth met skin. No fingers pressed in enough to leave marks.

  And he still wasn’t fucking me yet.

  “Anthony,” I breathed. “Please.”

  “If I do, I’ll come.”

  “That’s kind of the idea, isn’t it?”

  Our eyes locked, and we both laughed. Wasn’t that a relief? We were turned on, and my emotions were doing things I’d never felt before, but we could still make each other laugh in bed. It had been one of my favorite things about him from the start—that we shamelessly made jokes between the sheets—but this time it almost drove me to ecstatic, relieved tears.

  Humor fading, Anthony reached between us to steady his cock. I spread my legs wider, and he guided himself in.

  No surprise—taking him now, it was almost like this was the first time we’d ever touched. Like I’d never felt his thick cock breaching me, pushing into me, withdrawing, sliding back in. I’d been sober almost every time we’d had sex before—and barely intoxicated at all when I had been drinking—and somehow this time seemed clearer and more real.

  He was normally so rough—borderline violent—when he was on top, but he was slow and smooth this time, and I was grateful for it. I wanted to savor this closeness, but I also wasn’t sure I could handle what he usually dished out. Everything seemed too brittle. Too ready to break if we weren’t absolutely careful. I wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t, but this might, and somehow it made sense to be slow and gentle and careful.

  For the longest time, we just moved like this. Even the bed didn’t make a sound. Nothing did except for our heavy, uneven breathing in between long kisses.

  He bent to press his lips to my collarbone, and I realized he was shaking. As I carded my fingers through his hair, I realized I was too. We were hungry for each other like we were every time we fell into bed together, but that was eclipsed by an even deeper need. One I couldn’t define any more than I could fight, so I didn’t try.

  Then a low, helpless moan came from the back of Anthony’s throat, and a shiver drove him deeper inside me. He pushed himself up on his arms, and his eyes and furrowed brow said the time for gentle was over. He bit his lip and thrust harder, fucking me like he was desperate now for one thing and one thing only.

  “Oh my God,” he breathed, trembling as he moved. “I’m gonna . . . gonna . . .”

  I dragged my nails up his back like I knew he loved, and his eyes rolled back and his lips parted in a soundless cry, and Jesus, yes, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Slamming into me, cords standing out from his neck, sweat darkening his red hair, skin flushed . . . I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed when it was right in front of me all this time.

  His eyes slid closed. A ragged breath rushed past his lips.

  “Fuck,” he moaned, and came hard, cock pulsing inside me as his body shuddered on top of me. Before he’d recovered, he shifted onto one arm, reached between us, and—with his still-erect cock buried inside me—pumped my dick.

  “Oh God.” I arched under him. “Fuck, Anthony, I’m—”

  He thrust once, hitting my spot just right, and I lost it, coming so hard I thought I heard myself damn near sobbing, and he kept rocking his hips enough to keep me coming, and coming, and—

  “S-stop,” I pleaded. “No more.”

  He stopped, and I held on to him as the last few aftershocks surged through me. I hadn’t come in . . . hell, not since I’d last seen Anthony. I couldn’t even jerk off. I’d felt too guilty and, while I was first sobering up, too sick. My libido had up and left the same night he had, but now it was back in full force. Thank God he hadn’t sucked me off, or I might’ve blown out the back of his skull.

  That thought made me laugh, and I sounded drunk, which was ironic considering this was the furthest from drunk I’d been in ages.

  “What?” Anthony asked.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head and gazed up at him. “Just feeling really good.”

  He smiled. “Yeah. Same here.”

  “I definitely missed you.”

  “Me too.”

  He brushed his lips across mine again, then carefully pulled out. We made an effort to clean ourselves up, but it wasn’t long before we’d collapsed back into bed together, holding each other on top of the rumpled sheets.

  Though my feverish need for him to fuck me was satisfied—for now—and I’d convinced myself that, yes, we really were here, the jittery near-car-crash feeling wasn’t going away anytime soon. They said you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, and coming that close to losing Anthony for good had driven home how much I needed and wanted him.

  I had no illusions that things would be smooth from here on out. Getting and staying sober in the short term hadn’t been easy, and it wasn’t going to be easy in the long run. Even now, the siren’s call of a cold drink was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

  I closed my eyes and stroked Anthony’s damp hair. No, it wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it to hang on to my life, my health, my career, and . . . him. I kissed his temple and held him closer.

  He lifted his head. “So, how long are you here?”

  “My flight leaves tomorrow morning.”

  Anthony stiffened. “That soon?”

  I nodded. “I was . . . I was afraid of what I’d do if this didn’t work out. I figured it would be better to come see you, give it a try, and then get back to Anchor Point if it went to shit.” My face burned, and I couldn’t look at him. “I’ve got a friend there I can call. He’ll keep me out of trouble if I need it. But here . . .” I sighed. “I didn’t want to give myself a chance to backslide. I was . . . I guess, in case this blew up in my face, I was afraid to be alone.”

  Anthony was silent for a long moment. When I finally made myself meet his gaze again, he looked startled. Slowly, his hand drifted up to my cheek, and a sweet smile slowly curled the corners of his lips. “I guess we’ll just have to plan our next visit, then.”

  It was such a relief to hear him say that. Jesus.

  After a moment, though, his features tightened. “But . . .”

  “Hmm?”

  He hesitated, but finally took a deep breath. “I need you to promise me something.”

  I swallowed. “Okay.”

  “Be honest with me.” He touched my face agai
n. “About everything. Even if you think I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’ve . . .” I sighed. “Well, for starters, that’s not something I’ve ever been good at. Talking to people about things, I mean.”

  “If you promise to try, I promise I’ll be patient.”

  I studied him, and there was nothing in his eyes but pure sincerity.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Deal. I promise.”

  “Me too.” He relaxed, trailing his fingers along the side of my shaved head. “Anything you need, tell me. I know this is going to be tough, but I’ll help as much as I can.”

  I almost wanted to cry as he said that. I felt so fucking guilty for everything, and at the same time, so relieved that we’d somehow found our way back to this. If I’d had any doubts about how much I wanted him in my life, they were gone. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  He just smiled and pressed his lips to mine.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too.”

  I held him tight and sank into another long kiss, and all the while, my heart was pounding like it did after a near-miss on the freeway. All the oh shit scenarios flying through my head while I drove away unscathed. I’d come so close to losing this. Hell, I had lost it. But now we were here.

  Thank God, too. If not for Anthony and Will . . . well, that probably wasn’t something I needed to think about right now. They were in my life, they’d quite possibly saved it, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them.

  When I got back to Anchor Point, I was taking Will out to dinner. God knew that didn’t begin to touch what I owed him, but it was a start.

  For tonight, I’d do everything I could to show Anthony that I meant it. That I loved him. That when I left tomorrow, I didn’t want it to be the last time.

  And, hopefully, he didn’t either.

  Eight Months Later

  It was amazing what a few months could do.

  As Noah came into view, striding toward me at baggage claim where I was waiting for him, I couldn’t help but smile. Even from here, he looked so different. And he had for a while now, but the novelty hadn’t worn off. His eyes were clearer and brighter, making me wonder how I’d ever missed how much they hadn’t been before.

  “Hey you.” He grinned as he stepped into my embrace and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good to see you.”

  “You too.” I desperately wanted to kiss him for real, but reminded myself we’d be in the car soon enough. As we pulled apart, the sparkle in his eyes told me maybe it wasn’t soon enough.

  We were in public, though. As progressive as Denver was, PDAs outside of gay bars and remote beaches still made me kind of nervous. So, it would wait the ten minutes it would take us to get from here to the car. Which was still public, but hell—I was only human.

  As we walked from baggage claim toward short-term parking, I couldn’t help stealing a few glances at him and smiling to myself. He looked great. Awake. Relaxed. Not a hint of red in his eyes.

  Sometimes, when he got off a plane, he was kind of rattled. He really was a nervous flyer, and the alcohol had helped to soothe his nerves. This was exactly why I’d gone to see him more often than he’d come to me in the past several months. The less he had to face that stress, the less he had to deal with the temptation.

  But, this time, he’d insisted on coming to see me.

  “You’ve been doing all the work,” he’d said. “Let me do it this time.”

  “I’ll still have to drive out to the Illuminati headquarters to pick you up.”

  “I could get a cab.”

  “Oh shut up. You know I’ll be there.”

  As if I’d have missed any chance to be with him.

  In the car, I turned to him. “So, now that we’re sort of alone . . .”

  “Good enough for me.” He leaned across the console, sliding his arm around my waist as he kissed me. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too.” I kissed him again, and didn’t care how pathetic we sounded, talking like we’d been apart for months on end instead of visiting every other week. Somehow, though, those two-week gaps between visits were getting longer and longer, feeling like they stretched out for eons. God help me when he had to go back to a ship and deploy for six months at a time.

  But we’d cross that bridge when we got to it, and anyway, I was pretty sure I’d be okay. And so would he.

  Noah drew back and met my eyes. His palm warmed the side of my face, and his thumb drew a soft arc along my cheekbone. “I’m serious—I really missed you.”

  “I’ve been going crazy.” I put my hand over his. “Always do when we’re not sharing a bed.”

  He smiled. I thought he might say something else, but he just pulled me back in and kissed me. It wasn’t one of those kisses like when he wanted to turn me on—not that he needed to work at it—but the kind that always seemed to happen when we saw each other for the first time after being apart. Less I want you naked and more I’m so glad you’re really here.

  Our eyes met again, and . . . I wanted him naked.

  “We should get out of here,” I whispered.

  With a nod, he returned to the passenger seat, and I started the car.

  As I drove us out of the parking garage and onto the vast highway connecting the remote airport to the city, my mind kept wandering. Sometimes that happened when Noah and I met up. Even after the better part of a year, I still couldn’t believe things had worked out the way they had.

  Noah’s rehab and therapy hadn’t been easy. They wouldn’t be anytime soon. He’d nearly relapsed a couple of times—usually when work-related stress started getting close to the bone—but he’d held it together. Early on, I’d worried, wondering if I could trust him. If I could believe him when he said he was staying sober. After all, I was three states away, and he’d kept the problem hidden from me in the beginning.

  I believed him now, though. Two months in, he’d backslid. After two beers, he’d realized what he was doing, and he’d called me in tears, devastated that he’d fucked up his own recovery, certain he was a failure, determined to cut me loose before I beat him to it.

  We’d spent hours on the phone because he couldn’t face me on the webcam until he’d pulled himself together. The next day, I’d been on a plane to Oregon. When I’d arrived, Will and Clint had been there already, and had been since I’d gotten off the phone with him. It’d taken me a full week to convince him I wasn’t going to leave over that single failure.

  So now, when he said he wasn’t drinking, I believed him.

  And, dear God, Clint had turned out to be a saint. More than once, Noah had called him at all hours of the night, and Clint had gently talked him down, or if things were really bad, he’d gone over there and stayed with him until he had his head together. I felt guilty as hell that I couldn’t do it, but I was more than a little grateful for Clint.

  The last four months, though, had been smoother. Clint and Noah spent more time hanging out than dealing with recovery crises. Noah and I talked about his progress on a regular basis, and more and more, it was less “This is fucking hard” and “I feel like shit,” and more about the things he’d been doing instead of drinking.

  I definitely couldn’t complain that he’d been spending more time at the gym—the results were spectacular. The lack of alcohol was making him healthier, and the extra hours running or lifting? Whoa. He’d been hot and fit to begin with, the bastard. Much more of this, and he’d be ditching the Navy to model for fitness magazines.

  Whenever we went out, I was careful not to order a glass of wine or anything. He insisted he was okay being around alcohol, but it didn’t seem right to drink it in front of him. Quite frankly, after watching what he was going through, drinking had kind of lost its luster for me too.

  “Hey.” He touched my arm, jarring me out of my thoughts. “You still with me?”

  “Yeah.” I shook myself. “Sorry. Was zoning out a bit.”

  “I’m not boring you alre
ady, am I?”

  “What? No.” I laughed and put a hand on his thigh. “Just been thinking a lot lately, I guess.”

  Noah clasped our hands together. “Anything in particular?”

  Well, it hadn’t been my train of thought right then, but I had been distracted recently, so now seemed like as good a time as any to broach the subject.

  “So, I’ve . . .” Drumming my fingers on the wheel, I stole a glance at him. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve been sort of browsing jobs.” I gulped. “In Oregon.”

  Noah tensed. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. In case, you know . . .” Hell, why beat around the bush? “There isn’t much, but a few sound pretty promising. I just, you know, wanted to talk to you before I actually applied for any.” I paused. “I was thinking if we lived in the same town, or shit, the same state, it would be easier, you know? So we could—”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing, actually.”

  I glanced at him. “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm. I mean, when we’re apart, I’m going nuts without you.”

  “Me too. It won’t happen overnight, though. I mean, I still need to secure a job and all. Plus my lease isn’t up until—”

  “Anthony. There’s no rush. And it’ll take time to find a place in Anchor Point too.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it will.” I hoped I kept my disappointment under my hat. I hadn’t wanted to impose and assume I’d move in with him, but admittedly, I’d hoped we’d be living together. Still, it was a step in the right—

  “I mean, we’ll need to talk to a realtor,” he said. “At least go look at some places next time you’re in town.”

  “Wait.” My head snapped toward him, and I nearly jerked the wheel. “We?”

  Noah laughed, squeezing my thigh. “What? You want to live in that shoebox I call home?”

  “I . . .” I stole another glance at him, keeping my hands steady this time. “So, you want to live together?”

  “Absolutely. And the sooner the better.”