Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  “For me too.” Some nights were for slowly exploring each other, but not tonight. Casey wanted to get off. He wanted to feel Scott come apart, and then to have a few hours of oblivion in Scott’s arms. They thrust together, chasing their climaxes, skin stroking over skin. Casey reached down and cupped his hand over Scott’s, so they both rubbed against his palm on the end of each stroke. He twisted his fingers, working his own cockhead and then the big tip of Scott’s. His hand was quickly wet and sticky, and the fluids glossed every curve under his fingers.

  “Ah. God. Nghhh.”

  Casey opened his eyes to watch Scott’s expression grow frantic and his lids droop half-shut, as his orgasm hit. His skin grew flushed, his face sheened with sweat, his short brush of hair was damp. There was nothing sexier in the world than watching Scott come. Unless it was watching Will. Casey bent to kiss Scott’s chest and bite at his neck, keeping his eyes on Scott’s face and his hand moving.

  His own balls drew tight, achy-hot with need. He thrust into the wetness of Scott’s cum between their hands. Almost. Almost. Scott’s fingers flexed over them, sliding fast, as he muttered, “Christ, so… so good.”

  Voice and words were enough to tip Casey over and he spilled too. The first jet went startlingly far, globbing across Scott’s chin and cheek. The rest trickled out, thick and hot, adding lube to the last few thrusts as his aching cock slid against Scott’s softening one.

  Slowly he came down from the heat of that explosion. He loosened his fingers and Scott twitched his hips enough to slide free of their hands with a sigh. Casey rubbed himself twice more, lightly, relishing the electric buzz as his fingers brushed his slit. Then it was verging on too much and he let go. He relaxed onto Scott’s chest, breathing hard.

  Scott turned enough to nip gently at his jaw. “Veeeeery nice, lawman.”

  “Back atcha.” He let his eyes drift shut.

  “But I’m getting squished and crusty. Move so I can reach the wipes.”

  “I kinda like this.”

  Scott heaved up under him enough to dump him off to the side and stretched a long arm to the bedside drawer. He grabbed a handful of the baby wipes they kept there and began wiping his face and neck, and then down his chest and groin. Normally Casey was the neat freak who’d be cleaning up moments after they were done. But tonight, he lay there, propped on his elbow, letting the cum on his stomach be a sticky, Scott-smelling mess, and watched.

  Scott glanced at him, gave him a sweet smile, and grabbed another wipe. “Roll on your back.”

  It fit his mood to let Scott take charge. He did as he was told and closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing, feel nothing but the damp, cool stroke of the wipe across his skin as Scott cleaned him.

  He expected Scott to curl against him in a spoon afterward, but instead he pulled Casey back over on top of him, manhandling Casey’s bulk easily. “Like this. I want to feel you.”

  “Breathing optional?” But he scissored their legs, slid his hips a fraction to keep soft bits from being pinched, and plastered himself over Scott’s amazing body.

  “I can breathe. I need to hold you.” Scott’s arms around his shoulders were almost too tight.

  Casey lowered his face into Scott’s neck and inhaled sweaty skin and a lingering trace of his own cum. His throat tightened and he fought back a suspicious prickle under his eyelids, until he had to distract himself with gentle kisses against Scott’s jaw. He was stressed and tired. He never cried after sex. Hell, he was a Marine and a cop, and thirty-fucking-three years old. He never cried at all. And if anyone should be emotional tonight it was Will, alone in his small trailer, knowing the big house stood empty.

  “Scotty, will you go hang out with Will tomorrow? I don’t want him to be alone.”

  “Of course.” Scott’s breath fluttered against his temple. “That was the plan anyway. Hang out with Will tomorrow, you on Sunday when you’re off, and both of you Sunday night, barring disasters and landslides and carloads of meth-heads…”

  Their catchphrase sounded wrong tonight. “Other disasters.”

  “Yeah. God, Casey, I wish there was something we could do for Will.”

  “Nothing to do but be there for him.”

  “This trip was going to be about being here for you, with the election.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Are you going to campaign on Sunday, like we’d planned?”

  “You’d planned.” Casey suddenly felt trapped in Scott’s hold. He pulled free and made grabbing another wipe to get the goo out of his short-and-curlies an excuse. “I don’t want to. I’ve been the sheriff for four years. I’m not some fucking newbie! By now they know how I do my job. I shouldn’t have to bounce babies and kiss hands to keep it.”

  “Todd’s out there doing that shit though. You have this image of being all gruff and tough, and a bit mean.”

  “I’m not mean!” Not to anyone who wasn’t some kind of drugged-up shithead anyway.

  “I know.” Scott sat up next to him and kissed his cheek. “But that’s Todd’s angle. He tells them you’re not the right guy for a job that’s mostly dealing with innocent civilians, handling small stuff and finding lost poodles. He’s been kissing asses and telling people how lovely their geraniums are for months, with little cracks about how you don’t notice anything smaller than an assault weapon. How your temper’s short and your reactions are over the top. And people are eating it up. You need to show them you care.”

  “Well, when there is a guy with an AR-15, who do they want there to deal with it?”

  “So at least say that. With a smile. Greet some folks and show them you care about their opinions. Todd’s been spending a mint to plaster his face everywhere. You’ve been the sheriff for four years, but I bet more people know his face than yours.”

  Casey sighed. He could’ve spent a lot more money too, if he’d been willing to go crawling home for it. And if his flower-power parents had been willing to give him money for a campaign to remain a part of the fascist stormtrooper brigade. That wasn’t happening. He’d rather lose.

  Scott said, “I still don’t get what he’s doing it for. He must have been making far more money as a lawyer. Why take a detour into law enforcement?”

  For the fiftieth time, Casey said, “Power. As a lawyer he has some, but it’s all about manipulation and working with the rules. Todd wants to stand there and tell people what to do, with a gun in his hand if they don’t listen.”

  “You keep saying that, but that’s still not the impression I get.”

  “He hides it well. But look back at high school. Every organization he was in, he ended up president or something. He likes to run things. He’d rather be king of a little kingdom than second banana elsewhere.”

  “Well, you know him better than me. The motherfucker.”

  Casey waited for the next question, the one he kept dodging. What will you do if you lose? At first, he hadn’t been able to imagine it, that they would elect some guy with almost no real skills over him. But the last poll had been dire. Even if it was Todd who’d publicized the result, the organization that ran it was reputable. He was going to lose his job. He still didn’t want to think about it.

  Scott hugged him silently, then pulled him down, curling around his back. “Let’s sleep. You left your truck at the station, so I assume we’re out of here at the asscrack of dawn?”

  “Five o’clock should do it.”

  “Yep, asscrack.”

  Fatigue washed over Casey, and in Scott’s arms he could let it happen. Could let go and relax and fall into the soft darkness. Scott had him safe.

  So odd, that such a young guy had become his safe harbor. But he’d known there was something special about Scott, from that very first time. This hot young man, barely twenty for fuck’s sake, with a Coke in his hand and a brace on one very muscular leg, coming up to him— a battered and morose retired Marine working on his fourth beer— and saying, “Hey, wanna fuck?” It should have been an automatic,
No thanks. He’d been pushing thirty and he didn’t do kids and he didn’t do innocents. He’d opened his mouth to say no, and looked into Scott’s steady eyes, dark and soft and somehow old for his face. He saw no bitterness, no memory of pain like some of the guys had, but he saw, somehow, understanding. And he’d said, “Yes.” He’d been glad of it, every day for the last four years.

  As if Scott could tell what he was thinking, he whispered against Casey’s neck. “I’m so glad I seduced you, back when.”

  “Me and then Will. You’re a fucking miracle, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid.”

  The strength of him, the size against Casey’s back, the steadiness of his hold, all backed those words. Casey wriggled his ass tighter against Scott and let all his breath out in a long, long sigh. “No. Our man, definitely.” Despite everything, he fell into a sleep that was dreamless, deep, and safe.

  ***

  Scott cursed silently when he woke to Casey swinging his legs out of bed. Five-freaking-o’clock. They hadn’t used an alarm, but he had no doubt it was five on the nose. Somewhere along the way in his danger-filled life, Casey had developed the ability to wake himself right on schedule. Even when the schedule should be let’s not fucking get up yet.

  Scott buried his face in the pillow, listening as Casey made a trip to the john and then began dressing. There was a pause, then Casey’s palm brushed the back of his head, one finger stroking the rim of his ear. “Hey, you want to sleep some more? I can catch a cab.”

  “No.” He pushed himself upright. “I can sleep in Canada. I want all of you I can get. Give me five minutes.”

  “I’ll make us coffee to go.”

  The road was dark and deserted at that hour on a Saturday. Scott steered easily, one hand on the wheel, the other clutching the travel mug of coffee. Ahhhh. Caffeine.

  Casey said, “Drop me off at the corner. I have a clean uniform in my office. If you don’t want to go home, you can go to my place and shower.”

  “I’ll go to the gym.”

  “Now? It’ll be shut.”

  Scott smirked. “One benefit of being a famous almost-NHL hockey player. Joss gave me a key, and told me to use it any time, in exchange for posing for a few publicity shots.”

  Casey’s eyes narrowed. “When was this? What kind of shots?”

  “Last time I was here, after the paper did that article on local celebs. He wanted some new posters up for his S&H franchise deal, and he asked me and I said yes. I owed him.” Joss had always been good to local young athletes, giving them big discount rates. “My agent wasn’t happy, though.” No money had changed hands, but it still ran right up to the edge of his contract with Fraser.

  “Hmph.”

  Scott knew that grumpy you-didn’t-tell-me-something noise. He hid a smile. “They were sexy shots of me with no shirt, lifting some major free weights. I’ll get you a copy. I’ll even sign it.”

  “Hmph.”

  He laughed and pulled to the curb at their usual spot. “Call me later?”

  “Yeah. Take care of Will for me. Tell him I’ll let him know what we find out in the accident investigation.”

  Casey’s voice was a little too controlled. Scott felt cold. “You say that like you think there’s something to know.”

  “I think there’s something other than just bad driving involved. Could be Graham had a heart attack, something like that. But I want to check it out. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Be sharp out there.” He touched Casey’s knee, below the window level, familiar ritual.

  “Always.” Casey’s broad fingertips brushed the back of his hand, then he got out, slammed the door, and thumped the roof once. Scott drove away without looking back.

  ***

  By the time Scott turned in at the Tri-Cross ranch, the sun was up and it was a lot later than he’d planned. He’d gotten lost in the workout, the burn and joy and glorious pain of pushing his body to its limits and feeling nothing but muscle ache and lactic acid. For two years he’d been battling his knee injury, but that last round of treatment seemed to have done the trick. It was six months since he’d felt the pain and unnatural looseness that’d kept him at half-speed.

  The gym was his sanctuary again. He’d run on the treadmill until he couldn’t see for the sweat in his eyes, until all there was in the world was the pounding of his feet and the rasp of his breath. He’d thought about how his stats were finally steady, even great. How he’d left behind the two-year yo-yo of good weeks when he could beat any defenseman out there, and bad ones when he was a step and a half slow. His mind had hit that work-out zone where life was easy. It’d taken the clang of someone letting a weight stack drop to bring him back. Then he’d needed a shower for sure, and there’d been two guys wanting to talk hockey. And now he was late.

  He cursed softly. He’d meant to get here early, to cushion things for Will this first morning without the Slaters. He’d planned to just work out for half an hour first… God, he was so selfish sometimes. He’d felt so good at the gym, so right, that he’d put off this moment when he’d have to see Will in pain. If things had been reversed, Will would have been at his side on time…

  Maybe chores were running late at the ranch too, under the circumstances.

  He pulled into the parking area and cut the Camaro’s engine. The ranch was quiet, no men talking, no horses being tacked up, no tractor growling. Damn, they must be already out somewhere. He locked the car and tossed his keys in his hand, trying to decide what to do. A muffled curse from the horse barn answered that question.

  He found Nita wresting an armload of lumber down the middle aisle, and grabbed one end of the boards. “Where to?”

  “Last stall.”

  They got the lumber down there and set it to the side. Nita pulled off her gloves, turned and hugged him. “Scotty! When did you get into town?”

  “Last night.” He returned the hug willingly.

  “Did you hear…”

  “Yeah. I was the one who told Will.”

  “Oh, Scott. That must’ve been awful.”

  “Wasn’t good.”

  “Poor Will.” After another sigh, she let go of him. “And poor us, maybe, if the ranch gets sold. I can’t see Mr. Armani-suit Landon coming to live in the big house and muck about with cattle.”

  “He might sell to another rancher.”

  “Might.” She bent to pick up her gloves. “Either way, I have this stall to fix. I swear Mephisto is trying to chew his way to freedom.”

  Scott looked at the boards of the stall, which were gnawed down in huge scallops that bared the top screws of the latch. “That’s impressive.”

  “Damned horse. We’ve tried everything. Bitter-apple spray. Tabasco. Cribbing neck strap. Nothing works.”

  Scott zipped up his jacket and opened the tool chest. “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to put a strip of sheet metal around the top edge. But first we have to pull out this broken crap and put in new boards.”

  “Got it.”

  “You don’t have to help.”

  “I might as well.” Casually he added, “Where did the guys go this morning?”

  “Moving the Angus heifers, culling out a few. They should be back around lunch.”

  “Will went with them?”

  “Yeah.” She set the claw of the hammer at an exposed nail and glanced at him sideways. “I think he needed to keep busy, y’know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’ll be glad to see you though. He could use his friends right now.”

  “Mm.”

  They spent a couple of hours making the stall strong enough to hold the wood-chewing stallion. Scott liked Nita. She was quiet, competent, and strong enough to handle the bullshit the mostly male ranch hands gave her. She didn’t chatter, and she was restful to be around.

  The quiet wasn’t all good today, because it left too much time for him to think and worry.

  As they nailed the last aluminum sheeting around the top rail, he s
aid, “What will all the hands do, if the ranch does get sold?”

  She shrugged. “Look for work. Maybe not find much, because it’s the slow season, heading into winter. Come calving season in the spring, there’ll be a better chance, if they can manage to get through till then. Not many cowboys have savings to last them, though. Likely most of ’em will drift away, unless they’ve got families here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got my sister and her kid nearby. I’d hate to go.” She swung the hammer, driving the nail deep with one well-placed blow. “I might take other work. But I’d miss this like hell.”

  “And Will? What do you figure…?”

  “He’s your friend. He’s just my boss. You’d know better’n me.” She looked at him sideways. “I’d be worried too, if he was mine. This place has been his life, twenty years from what I hear. Starting over’ll be tough.”

  Scott answered the one phrase that had caught his ear. “He’s not mine. I mean, he’s my friend.”

  “Yeah. Well, I wasn’t born yesterday and I am a lesbian, even if I don’t give these yahoos the satisfaction of saying so, and I’ve seen you and him. Although, I’ve also seen him and the sheriff, so whatever the story is, I don’t need to know. Just sayin’.”

  Scott’s heart pounded in his chest and panic rose to choke him. “I don’t know… I don’t want…”

  “Hey, I’m not suggesting anything. Just I know you’re all close friends.”

  “Thanks.” Scott let out a slow breath. The staccato rhythm of his heart slowed. I’m not ready to be out, even to a woman who’s a friend and a lesbian. Not now. Not yet. “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet. Anyhow, you watch out for him. Losing the Slaters seems like it might half kill him. Losing the ranch might finish the job, if you don’t step in.”

  “I know. I wish…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because his wishes tangled in all the things that the three of them needed, and somehow couldn’t make happen. He gave his nail a fierce blow that left a hammer-head dent in the tin.

  ***

  Hours later, Scott was putting together sandwiches for lunch in the bunkhouse kitchen when he heard the men ride into the yard. He listened to the sounds of them untacking, quieter than usual, the rowdy teasing reduced to a low murmur. Then the door swung open and the first of them came in, bringing a rush of cold air with him. Joe nodded at Scott, face sober. “Hey there.”