by A. J. Thomas
“You didn’t think to mention that?”
“You wanted to go beat people up. Your code is 3927.” He stepped close against Elliot and tried to maneuver him toward the bedroom while he kissed Elliot’s jaw and neck. Ray felt the chuckle deep in Elliot’s throat as Elliot gave ground. Halfway through the kitchen, Elliot stopped him. “What’s up?”
“I need to take some medicine,” Elliot whispered.
“Another headache?”
“Not yet. I can usually tell when they’re coming, though, and it’s easier to stop them before they get bad.”
Ray licked his way up to Elliot’s earlobe, then stepped back. “If you let go of me, I can get you a glass of iced tea. Or water. You said caffeine makes them worse, right?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t release Ray’s wrists, though. He just held Ray’s hands still and stared at him, his eyes glazed.
“Elliot?”
“I’m not sure I want to let you go.”
“That’ll make it hard to open a pill bottle….”
Elliot sighed and eased his grip. Ray scooted past the other man and poured him a glass of water. When Elliot still didn’t move, Ray set the water down and moved to the drawer where Elliot kept his prescriptions. “Is it getting bad already? What do you need?”
Ray heard Elliot move, felt the warmth and steel-tight muscles of Elliot’s chest press against his back. “I’ll get them.” Elliot’s breath ghosted over his ear. “Then I think we need to talk about just how you want this to happen.”
Ray couldn’t help thinking about the way Elliot had gotten him off just by fingering him and the unspoken promise that Elliot was capable of doing so much more to his body. He shoved his hips back, experimentally, and winced in sympathy as he felt the bulk of the sports cup that was still keeping Elliot from getting hard. “Talking wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Elliot reached around him and pulled two amber pill bottles and an Imitrex pen out of the drawer. “We’re going to talk.”
He fished out his pills, drained the glass of water Ray had left for him, then disappeared for a moment, fumbling with the Imitrex. Before long, though, he was back, pressing himself against Ray’s back again. In addition to administering the migraine medication, Elliot had shed the sports cup and jockstrap in favor of loose boxers. Ray could feel just how turned on he was.
Ray shivered as Elliot ran his hands over his shoulders and down his arms, where he took hold of Ray’s wrists again. Ray felt Elliot’s lips graze over the nape of his neck. He dropped his head forward to give Elliot more access. Elliot’s teeth scraped over the ticklish skin at the base of his neck. The sting made Ray hiss and made his half-hard cock spring to full attention again.
“What was it…?” Ray gasped as Elliot bit down on his shoulder and then sucked on the same spot tenderly. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Things that turn you on.” He trailed a line of kisses from Ray’s shoulder back to his neck. Still holding Ray’s wrists, he wrapped both of their arms around Ray’s body and held him tight. “Do you know, most fighters don’t get turned on during a fight? Even if they’re grappling, even if they’re both gay and both attracted to each other. The adrenaline stops it, even if the cup doesn’t. When I fight, I’m too focused on the match to think about sex.”
“I’m me,” Ray muttered. “Damn near everything turns me on.” Technically, damn near everything Elliot Belkamp did seemed to turn him on, but that was just a minor detail.
“You didn’t spar with me.” Elliot’s voice was husky and laced with need. “But I saw you watching. What were you thinking about? What were you imagining that got you so hot you managed a hard-on with a jockstrap?”
“Being your sparring partner. When you fight, legs and arms and hands get tangled together… sliding together…. It’s fucking hot….”
“You imagined being tangled together?” Elliot asked. “What else did you imagine?”
Ray felt Elliot nip at his neck again. “I have a vivid imagination.”
“Hmm. I want to know just how vivid. Did you imagine us naked? Did you imagine us fucking right there on the mat? Who, I wonder, won the fight? Because, if we’re totally honest with each other, I think we both know you’re no match for me without a weapon.”
Ray would never admit that aloud, but it was true. But the reality of how unevenly matched he and Elliot were didn’t dampen his fantasies; it fueled them. Remembering the way Elliot had touched him, Ray’s subconscious didn’t even bother trying to create a scenario in which he overpowered the other man. While Ray had watched Elliot win match after match, his treacherous brain had kept replaying potential sex scenes in his imagination, and each one started with Elliot pinning him down. Each one ended with Elliot buried inside him, driving him to another mind-blowing orgasm.
Ray’s cock pulsed painfully as his own imagination fed off the contact and Elliot’s tight hold.
“You said you couldn’t let another man fuck you. But did you imagine it?”
Ray nodded his head frantically.
“You want it?”
Ray nodded again, wishing Elliot would touch him, kiss him, or even just move.
“You want me to fuck you?” Ray felt Elliot’s breath ghost over the shell of his ear with the words. “Rough and hard?”
“Yes. Fuck yes.” Elliot released his wrists, withdrew his arms, and the warmth against Ray’s back vanished. “Hmm?” Ray whimpered.
“Hot as you are right now, I’m not going to let your first time be hard and messy against my kitchen counter.”
Ray whimpered at the thought of that. “I’m okay with the kitchen counter.”
“Not this time.” Elliot took his hand and pulled him into the bedroom. “I really should rinse off first. Dried sweat is gross.”
“Shower with me after?” Ray suggested.
“Before?”
Ray followed Elliot into the bathroom, watching him strip off workout clothes with a comfort that seemed surreal. He dropped his sweat-covered clothes into a wicker hamper and turned on the water. Ray shucked his clothes fast and stepped into the shower behind him. He stood there for a moment, staring at the sharp angles of Elliot’s back. Ray’s dick throbbed at the sight of Elliot’s muscles, every inch hard and defined. Too defined, in some spots. He reached out with his hands and traced the way Elliot’s shoulder bones and hips seemed to be wrapped by nothing more than a tight layer of skin. He was going to have to make a point of cooking Elliot real food. If the man ever actually managed to eat enough calories each day, he’d have the body of a god.
Ray ran his hands over Elliot’s back, drawing the hot spray of the shower down with his fingers. He wiped the sweat and grime away, then rubbed every inch of skin and muscle, from Elliot’s neck to his ass. When he reached the crack of Elliot’s ass, he hesitated for a moment, then trailed his hand straight down, grazing his fingertips over Elliot’s entrance and then reaching forward to cup his sac. Elliot dropped his head to the side and groaned.
Ray slipped his hand back as Elliot turned to face him. He rose up on his toes and met Elliot as he ducked in to claim his lips. He let Elliot take control of the kiss, opened up and let Elliot explore his mouth and lips with his tongue. He grabbed onto Elliot’s hips to brace himself as Elliot worked his hands up and down Ray’s body. Everywhere Elliot touched him was left smooth, clean, and tingling. Elliot didn’t break the kiss as he spun them around, maneuvering Ray under the spray of the shower. Elliot pulled away and tilted Ray’s chin up so the water tumbled through his hair, and rubbed the sweat from Ray’s thighs, balls, and cock. He stroked Ray gently, teasing and letting his cock jut against Ray’s without any drive or friction. Ray thrust forward, hoping for relief, but Elliot just smirked at him, shut the water off, and reached for a towel.
When he dragged Ray out of the bathroom and pulled him into another brutal kiss, Ray consciously forced himself not to fight for dominance, not to push back and try to shove Elliot onto the bed. The more Elliot
pushed him, the faster his pulse raced and the harder his cock became.
Elliot shoved him back onto the bed and crawled over him, licking and kissing him. He pulled away for a moment, dove for a drawer in the bedside table, and came back with lube and a foil-wrapped condom. He stroked Ray’s cock softly and stared down at him; the green of his eyes looked darker and more intense than Ray remembered. Ray shifted back and spread his legs so Elliot could settle between them.
Elliot just stared at him for a moment, then ripped the condom packet open and put it on with a snap. Ray watched him coat his fingers in the cold lube and watched his hand drop low between Ray’s thighs. His heart raced inside his chest, and it took a few focused deep breaths to force himself not to draw his legs together. He remembered the way Elliot had made him feel last time and forced himself to relax. He wanted to feel that pressure, that hard blinding orgasm, again.
Elliot slipped a slick finger inside his body. It went in easier this time, gliding in and out with only a slight sense of pressure.
“That’s not as bad as before.”
“Lube helps.” Elliot shifted forward and kissed him again, distracting him as he slipped another finger inside. Ray tried to shift his hips up, to angle Elliot’s fingers to find that spot inside him that made the pleasure ricochet through his body, but Elliot wasn’t pushing in deep enough. He kept his fingers near the tight ring of muscle, stretching him slowly. Elliot pulled away from his lips, panting. “It’s still going to hurt at first.” He slicked himself up quickly.
“I figured it would all hurt.” Ray tried to shift his hips against Elliot’s fingers again.
Elliot shrugged, kissed him again, and dropped in between his legs. Ray felt the tip of Elliot’s cock against him. He grabbed Elliot’s shoulders, squeezing hard, as the other man pushed inside him.
It hurt, but not nearly as bad as Ray had always feared. Beyond the burning, the sensation of being filled was strange and unexpected, not painful but awkward, until Elliot pushed in balls deep and glided over Ray’s prostate.
“There.” Ray squeezed his eyes shut as the throbbing pleasure shot through him. Elliot pulled out halfway and sank back in, grazing Ray’s prostate with each movement. Before the throbbing pulse could fade, Elliot moved again, never holding still long enough for the pleasure to ebb. The burning sting was lost somewhere in the mess of movement and pleasure, and Ray shoved back to meet Elliot, thrust for thrust, as the pleasure built inside him. The building sensation reached the point where it was nearly unbearable before Ray slammed into a gut-tightening climax, squirting over his own stomach.
Above him, Elliot grinned wickedly. Another two thrusts, and Ray felt the heat of Elliot’s come, muted by the condom, inside him.
“Fuck….” Ray panted, trying to catch his breath.
“I didn’t even have to touch you.” Elliot slipped out of him and rolled to the side. He was glistening with sweat again. “Told you it’s worth it.”
Ray managed a feeble nod. “With you? Definitely worth it.”
Elliot was up earlier than he would have liked. The sun was already starting to rise, and his stomach was so empty the sharp pangs of hunger overwhelmed everything, from the urge to stay in bed to the need to pee. Even the twinge in his ass as he leapt out of bed seemed irrelevant as he headed for the kitchen.
Three packages of brown sugar and cinnamon Pop-Tarts and a large glass of water later, the stabbing hunger finally ebbed, and Elliot realized that he wasn’t alone. Ray was sitting at the counter, fully dressed, and playing with his phone.
“Is it that late already?” Elliot asked, opening the last of the Pop-Tarts. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep in.”
Ray kept his eyes glued on his phone. “You looked like you needed the rest after yesterday.”
“After last night, you mean.” Elliot’s smile fell as he took in the other man’s hunched shoulders and narrowed eyes. Sometime during the night, he’d woken up to feel Ray’s lips against his. After a bit of fumbling in his nightstand in the dark, Ray had fucked him slowly from behind, using Elliot’s entire body for leverage and bringing Elliot to the brink of finishing a dozen times before he finally kept moving when Elliot got close. Ray was so damn observant, so careful about his angle, his pace, his hands, that when Elliot had finally come he’d felt utterly drained. It had been amazing. But then, sex with Ray Delgado was always amazing.
The cocky, self-assured smile that he remembered seeing on Ray’s face the morning after sex was nowhere to be found this morning. “You okay?”
Ray kept staring at his phone for a few seconds too long. “Fine,” he said at last.
“I guess I’ll get dressed.” Elliot set his last Pop-Tart on the counter.
“I….” Ray slipped off the bar stool. “I’ve got some things I’ve got to take care of this morning. I’ve got to run in to work, see if I can get some more information about the search of Garcia’s apartment and maybe check the medical examiner’s report.”
“It’s not your case, Ray. The police handed everything from Garcia’s death and the search over to my office yesterday.”
“Yeah. I know. But the officers involved will still have copies of their reports. I just need to work,” Ray muttered, rolling his shoulders awkwardly.
Elliot sighed and forced himself to smile. He’d known this was likely to happen, even if he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Ray was still struggling with the idea of being bisexual, and last night Elliot had tried pretty damn hard to help him expand his acceptance of the idea. No matter how eager Ray had seemed, Elliot had pushed him too far. Giving in to an urge wasn’t the same as coming to terms with redefining your entire sense of self-identity. He’d known what he was getting into, but it still stung more than he’d expected. “It’s all right, you know. I don’t need some bullshit excuse. You can’t go to work, you’re still on administrative leave, and your boss all but ordered you into FBI custody. But I’m not expecting anything here. Hell, I was expecting you to bolt last night.
“My boss set up a temporary protective order, so there’s a hotel room already booked for you. Go there. If you want, I can even arrange for another agent to check in with you.”
“No, I….” Ray met his gaze for an instant and then pulled his phone up again. “That might be a good idea. If I stop getting you in trouble, you can get back on the case, and I could get out of your hair….”
“You’re no trouble.” Elliot dug his own cell phone out of his jacket, found the text message from St. Claire, and forwarded it to Ray’s phone. He knew the moment Ray got the text message because Ray looked up at him and almost flinched. “It’s no big deal,” said Elliot, keeping his face passive. “You can stay in the hotel, you can stay here. It’s your choice.”
“I should go.” Ray tried to smile. He failed, but Elliot smiled anyway. Ray tucked his phone away and headed for the door, his keys already in his hand. “Maybe I can give you a call?”
Elliot barked out a bitter laugh before he could stop himself. “I said it’s no big deal. Things don’t have to be awkward here, so just don’t worry about it, all right.”
Ray seemed to shrink a little. “Okay.” he nodded, slipping out the door quickly.
Elliot stared at the closed front door and listened as Ray’s car roared to life outside. Ray drove away so fast his tires squealed. Elliot leaned back against his kitchen counter, nibbled on his last Pop-Tart, and resisted the urge to hit something.
“Way to fuck things up, Elliot,” he said out loud. Ray was nervous, conflicted, and ashamed of the desires he was battling, and Elliot hadn’t done a damn thing to help him get past it. Worse still, he’d scared Ray away when Ray really didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’d been assigned to keep an eye on Ray, to keep him safe, and he had totally fucked it up.
He finished his breakfast and glanced at the clock over the oven.
“Fucking hell!”
As if his morning wasn’t off to a bad enough start, if he wanted to get into the office be
fore St. Claire started the case-status meeting, he had less than twenty minutes to shower and get to the federal building.
He ended up coming in near the end of the case-status meeting. “Sorry,” he glanced around the small conference room at the array of irritated expressions. “I got caught up dealing with Detective Delgado this morning. He’s a bit of a handful.”
Hathaway, a heavyset man with a short crew cut, sneered. “Thought you were buddies?”
“We are. He’s still a handful.”
“Detective Delgado is in a secure location?” St. Claire asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Elliot kept up a reassuring smile. “He’s at the hotel you arranged and secure. He also doesn’t want me hanging around and has requested someone else.”
“Not much of a punishment if you can’t even last one day,” said St. Claire.
“I didn’t say I was giving up, just giving him time to cool off. Apparently me bringing him Pop-Tarts is some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, and he’d like to file a complaint.”
“Did you bring him anything besides Pop-Tarts?” one of the agents from judo asked.
Elliot turned his smile into a perplexed frown. “I don’t need to. They’re vitamin fortified. Everything a body needs.”
“Bring the poor detective real food tonight,” St. Claire laughed. “But since you’re here, we need some more agents in the field today. Let’s get started. Hathaway?”
“Right. The NSA guys, from what I’ve been able to translate out of all the technobabble, have managed to pin down an IP address where data packets with new encryption keys were uploaded to different bank servers. They’ve been uploaded three times over the weekend and once this morning. The IP address is in Rancho Bernardo, they’re working on getting us an address. We’ve got a tactical team on standby, so as soon as we get an address, we’re going to move in.”
“Rancho Bernardo?” Elliot looked around the conference table. “Munoz was involved with one of her professors. I pulled his credit after I talked to him yesterday, to see if he might have any money coming in that didn’t match his salary. Nothing strange about him financially, but his address is in Rancho Bernardo.”