Murder Most Deserving

by Hank Edwards

  I’ve got just the thing to get Jazz’s mind off all that drama.

  Michael placed his hand on Jazz’s bouncing knee. “You can do a lot in twenty minutes.”

  Jazz’s wide mouth crooked into a knowing smile. “You can. You can cook a frozen pizza.”

  “You can pay bills or do the dishes.”

  Jazz nodded seriously. “You could even work out in twenty minutes.”

  “Know what else you can do in twenty minutes?” Michael said, his pulse thumping even as his groin stirred.

  “What’s that?” Jazz licked his lips.

  “Play truth or dare.”

  “Oh, I like that game,” Jazz said.

  On their first date, Jazz had initiated the teenage girl slumber party game as a way to get to know each other, and it had worked surprisingly well.

  He wasn’t sure what it was about Jazz—maybe his open, accepting nature?—but Michael had never felt so confident with any of his other lovers. At least not confident enough to say what he said next. “Would you like to take a dare?”

  “Always.”

  “I dare you to invite me up to your apartment.”

  Jazz let out a throaty growl and hastily fumbled with his seat belt. “Dare accepted. And dammit, there’s only nineteen minutes left now.”

  “We’d better hurry.”

  Michael killed the engine and quickly got out of the car. His hands trembled with excitement as he locked the car with a beep-beep and pocketed his keys.

  Grinning, Jazz entered his code for the interior stairway that led to his trendy loft. They climbed the stairs two at a time, and since they were alone in the hallway, Michael pressed his body against the length of Jazz’s back as Jazz unlocked his door.

  With a sigh, Jazz leaned into Michael, thrusting his ass against Michael’s hardening dick. Michael wrapped his arms around Jazz’s solid waist and inhaled the sweet herbal scent of his boyfriend’s glorious hair.

  His every fantasy had now become fixated on Jazz’s beautiful hair. He really hoped Jazz never got the notion to cut it all off.

  The warmth of Jazz’s body seeped through their clothing and heated Michael’s blood. Any lingering thoughts about Jazz cutting his hair faded as passion flooded Michael’s senses.

  “So what do you have in mind, Mr. Fleishman?” Jazz purred, pushing his door open but not stepping out of Michael’s embrace.

  Michael nibbled Jazz’s earlobe, his pride swelling like his cock when Jazz shivered. That was definitely one of Jazz’s hot spots. The other was…. Michael pressed the flat of both hands on the front of Jazz’s hip bones, then to the soft fleshy areas before hip, thigh, and cock met.

  Jazz groaned.

  “What would you like?” Michael purposefully tickled the skin below Jazz’s earlobe with his lips.

  Jazz walked forward, and Michael went with him, never releasing him. Using one foot, he kicked the door shut behind them.

  The second the latch clicked, Michael cupped Jazz’s balls with one hand, then slid his other hand under his T-shirt and over warm skin until he had one of Jazz’s delicious nipples between his fingers. He squeezed and pinched, kissing and nibbling up Jazz’s neck. Gently humping him, Michael relished the way Jazz melted back into him, dropping his head onto Michael’s shoulder and exposing more of that strong neck for Michael to taste and explore.

  “That’s a good start,” Jazz muttered, voice rough and breathy. He pushed his ass back harder. “God, I want you inside me.”

  “Not enough time.” Michael took charge, spinning Jazz in his arms to claim those lips in a heated kiss. He cupped the back of Jazz’s head, tugging on his hair tie. “Take your hair down while I suck you.”

  Jazz’s hands roamed all over Michael’s back, groping his ass. “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir?” He flashed a cocky smile. “I like the sound of that. Now take your hair down. There’s no time for you to play coy with me.”

  When Jazz chuckled, Michael made a tsking sound as he loosened Jazz’s belt. “Be a good boy and do as I say. Good boys who do as they’re told get rewards.”

  Grinning wide, Jazz reached behind his head and untied his hair. He shook it loose, fluffing it with his hands, all the while his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Have I been a good boy?”

  Michael tsked again. “You’ve been a very, very bad boy.”

  “Will I have to be punished, sir?”

  Michael pushed Jazz’s pants down, and a mind-numbing heartbeat later, he had that warm, hard cock in his hand. “Yes, most severely.”

  With one longing caress of Jazz’s hair, Michael fell to his knees and took Jazz into his mouth. The scent of his body—the sweat of the day and his natural musk—inundated Michael’s senses, making him moan. Jazz shuddered and held on to Michael’s shoulders as Michael sucked and bobbed on a cock he’d memorized every inch of, each contour, ridge, and vein. From the rough velvety texture of Jazz’s cockhead to the hard line of muscle at the bottom of his shaft. Michael fisted Jazz’s cock up and down, sucking hard on the head, not taking his time, but pumping the pleasure out of Jazz as fast as he could.

  “Oh fuck… your mouth,” Jazz moaned above him.

  Nothing brought greater pleasure to Michael than making Jazz happy, in every possible way. He recognized Jazz’s rising need the moment Jazz began to thrust, his hands digging into the muscles of Michael’s shoulders. They were rushed for time, so there was no holding back for either of them, no time for finesse or romance. Just the raw need to get off together. Michael cupped Jazz’s balls, cradled and gently massaged them—Jazz was ultrasensitive there.

  Jazz hissed through his teeth. “Close… so close… right there….”

  Michael felt the pulse before Jazz’s rich cum flooded his mouth. As he continued sucking and stroking Jazz while he orgasmed, a surge of precum escaped his own cock. If he let go of Jazz and touched himself once, he’d come too. But he stayed with Jazz through the whole thing, wringing all the pleasure out of his lover he could.

  “Fuck,” Jazz panted.

  Michael sucked his head a little longer, loving how different it felt after Jazz came—softer, more delicate, still so hot. He lifted his gaze to watch through the steamed-up lenses of his glasses as Jazz’s chest and belly heaved for breath, his beautiful hair falling forward around his flushed face. Reluctantly, he pulled off, and kissed the tip tenderly before pushing to his feet.

  Smiling, Jazz took his hand and helped him stand. “If that’s how you punish bad boys, I don’t think I’m ever going to be good again.”

  Michael laughed, dipping his head to kiss Jazz slow and deep. He coiled his fingers in that hair, and their tongues danced for a moment.

  Jazz withdrew, wearing a sleepy, contented smile that made Michael’s heart swell with such an overwhelming sense of affection and love that he sucked in a breath of surprise.

  I love him, he realized suddenly.

  “I love tasting myself in your mouth,” Jazz whispered.

  Michael’s heart jumped until the second half of Jazz’s statement soaked into his brain after his own personal realization. I love Jazz….

  Of course he didn’t say that. It was too soon, wasn’t it?

  Losing himself in those rich, burnt-sugar eyes, Michael stroked Jazz’s face with a thumb. His heart pounded, and an undeniable sense of warmth, joy, and fear washed over him, spreading down his scalp, neck, and torso like drops of ink seeping across paper. He kissed Jazz again rather than say anything stupid. This time the kiss was more fervent, desperate for… for what, Michael didn’t know. He only knew his heart and cock ached for the man in his arms.

  Panting for breath, Jazz pulled back and pushed on Michael’s chest. Michael blinked a few times, disoriented somewhat when Jazz let go of him.

  Jazz was smiling, bouncing as he pulled up his underwear and jeans. “I do believe it’s my turn. I wouldn’t want to get punished too much for not doing what’s expected of me.”

  He forced himself to give Jazz a predatory smile,
to get back into the little game he’d started, though his mind reeled with discovery.

  I love Jazz. This is it—I finally love someone.

  But now was not the time, so he nodded and said, “Yes, you’d best be a good boy. Get to it.”

  “Get to it,” Jazz repeated with a laugh, his knees cracking audibly when he knelt and began tugging Michael’s belt loose. He buried his face in Michael’s crotch, inhaling so deeply Michael’s dick and balls cooled. Jazz ran his hands up Michael’s stomach, down his hips and over his thighs. “Damn, I love your body,” he murmured, face still pressed to Michael’s crotch. “So fucking sexy.”

  Lovingly, Michael gazed down at Jazz, glasses slipping down the sweaty slope of his nose. He fingered Jazz’s hair, cradling his head in his hand. There was something so perfect about having Jazz on his knees before him, the way Jazz seemed to savor or worship Michael’s body. No one had ever wanted Michael like this, with such passion and hunger. He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, or what he would have to do to keep it, but he knew then that Jazz meant everything to him.

  It should have scared him, but it didn’t. It felt right.

  Jazz lowered Michael’s trousers and pulled out his cock. Michael’s heart pounded, his breath coming so fast he knew it wouldn’t take long.

  Jazz took Michael’s cock in his hand, stroking and studying it while Michael cupped the back of Jazz’s head, waiting breathlessly.

  “So fucking perfect,” Jazz muttered. With a starved moan, he swallowed Michael down. Michael buckled over, gasping at Jazz’s fervor as he rode the wild rhythm of his mouth.

  He clutched tightly at Jazz’s hair and gave himself over to the pleasure. His lover could take him all the way in, and Michael didn’t hesitate to meet Jazz’s mouth, thrust for thrust. Jazz moaned his approval at that, and the vibration was all it took.

  “Oh, Jazz!” he cried out as he spilled over the edge and into rapture.

  He emptied himself into that willing mouth, his body shaking as pleasure trembled throughout his every limb.

  Still lost to the throes of ecstasy, Michael stood very still, clinging to Jazz, and barely registering when Jazz tucked his spent cock away, zipped him up, and then fastened his trousers.

  Jazz stood and kissed him.

  Damn, Michael liked the taste of himself in Jazz’s mouth.

  “That was awesome.” Jazz kissed Michael’s cheek, then looked at his watch. “I have three minutes. Just enough time to brush my teeth and fix my hair.”

  Michael laughed. “You’d better hurry.”

  With a wave, Jazz sauntered to the bathroom. “My evening clients expect me to be running behind by this time of the day. It’ll be fine.” He tucked his T-shirt into his jeans and buckled his belt as he stepped into the bathroom.

  Michael followed, adjusting his clothing as well.

  Jazz’s apartment was full of refurbished antiques, plants, books, colorful fabrics, and a pair of purple velvet couches. It was long and narrow, flanked on two sides by east- and west-facing tall windows, the western offering a view of the lake. The evening sun glared in, making Michael squint before he stepped into the small bathroom with the claw-foot tub and pedestal sink.

  Jazz studied himself in the mirror, then Michael’s reflection. “Oh, we have FFL hair, don’t we?”

  Michael wrapped his arms around Jazz from behind, needing to touch him every chance he had. “What’s that mean?”

  “Freshly Fucked Look,” he explained, reaching for his toothbrush. He squirted some toothpaste on it. “Can’t be doing hair with cum breath.”

  Michael laughed, watching Jazz brush his teeth in the mirror.

  Indeed they both were flushed, hair tousled, and their knowing smiles giving away what they’d just done.

  “Want some?” Jazz held up the toothpaste tube. He made no move to leave Michael’s embrace, as if being joined like this was right where he belonged, even while performing such a mundane task.

  “I wanna taste you a little longer,” Michael whispered, burying his face into the crook of Jazz’s neck when he spied his own blush in the mirror.

  Jazz chuckled and spit out toothpaste. “My kinky mortician.”

  He swayed their bodies a little, only mildly embarrassed. “You bring it out in me.”

  “That’s because I’m a very, very bad boy,” he teased, rubbing his butt over Michael’s groin.

  “You are,” Michael agreed, his body stirring even though he’d just come. He gripped Jazz’s hips tight and stilled his teasing. “And you keep doing that with this juicy ass of yours, you’ll be more than a couple minutes late to work.”

  Jazz threw back his head and laughed. When he bent down to rinse his mouth directly from the faucet, Michael let him go and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms.

  Humming a tune, Jazz splashed water on his face. He let it drip down as he studied the sides of his face closely in the mirror. Satisfied by whatever he found, he dried his skin and then the edges of the pedestal sink where he’d splashed water. He hung the towel and picked up a hairbrush from one of four baskets tucked into the cubbies of a small storage stand between the sink and toilet. Michael enjoyed watching him brush his hair and wondered if Jazz would ever let him do it.

  Somehow Jazz always managed to take his hair down and put his hair band around his wrist in one practiced move. He did the same thing in reverse as he tied his hair back again, folding it into a man-bun—a term his sassy boyfriend hated but described the style nonetheless. Michael had never paid so much attention to a man’s hair before, but with Jazz it was only one of the many things Michael was becoming obsessed with.

  I’m in love.

  Michael had never been in love before, and he had no idea what the rules were. Should he tell Jazz? Was it too soon? What was the protocol? Should he plan a romantic moment to tell Jazz or tell him after sex? What if Jazz didn’t love him back?

  Squirming a little and feeling grossly out of his league, Michael remained silent and watched his boyfriend get ready.

  Boyfriend.

  The word seemed to ping around his mind. After a few failed attempts at finding someone, Michael was still surprised to have met Jazz and fallen in love right there in Lacetown, standing in line while waiting to see one of his all-time favorite authors.

  Who just so happened to be a murdering sociopath.

  And Jazz’s soon-to-be ex-husband.

  What a small and weird world it could be.

  To Michael’s surprise, Jazz grabbed a black pencil from the medicine cabinet and began lining his eyes.

  “Makeup?” Michael questioned. He liked it when Jazz wore eyeliner.

  Jazz winked at him, then opened a tiny pot and smeared something shiny and tinted on his lips with his pinky finger. “Liner and gloss to go with my FFL.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  Jazz came up to him, his gaze on Michael’s hair. Without asking, he reached up and smoothed it into place. “There, you’re almost presentable.”

  “Almost?” Michael wrapped his arms around him, and Jazz’s hands rested on his waist.

  “When are you gonna let me get my hands on your hair?”

  “Well, um….” Michael flushed. He’d always gone to Elmer Washington over in Bridlestop. Did Jazz not like his hair? Was it not stylish enough for his trendsetting boyfriend? Was Jazz embarrassed by how conservative Michael looked?

  “Don’t worry,” Jazz said, kissing his cheek and stepping past him and out of the bathroom. “I won’t change your hairstyle unless you want me to. I just think good ol’ Elmer’s vision is going, and he’s not blending your sides all that well.”

  Relieved Jazz wasn’t interested in changing how he looked—he’s not embarrassed by me—Michael squinted at his reflection in the mirror. He had been using more hair gel to make his hair behave lately.

  “Besides, why should you pay for a haircut when your boyfriend can do it?” Jazz called from the living room.

  When Michael joined him, J
azz was fishing in the basket of scarves and other various accessories he kept on the floor beside the door for last-minute outfit details. Once, when Michael and Mr. Pickles—his large black-and-white cat—came to visit, the cat had taken a nap in them. Jazz hadn’t minded at all. When he found a black-striped tie, still looped and knotted, he pulled it over his head, then flashed a grin at Michael. “I gotta fly, sweetie. Can you lock up and get the lights for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Jazz gave him a quick kiss, then hurried out the door with a “Later, sweetie!”

  As Michael switched off all Jazz’s lights, he felt warm inside. Jazz trusted him even though Jazz had been horribly betrayed in his last relationship.

  Well, Michael was not going to betray that trust or ruin his chances with Jazz. Russell had been such a selfish fool. If an idiot like Russell could be lucky enough for Jazz to marry him, maybe Michael did have a chance at something lasting and genuine with Jazz. Because unlike Russell, Michael loved Jazz and would never take their relationship for granted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  INDIGNITIES!

  Norbert Farthington seethed as he sped along the two-lane blacktop. He clenched and released the steering wheel, wishing he was strangling Jasper’s neck instead.

  Jasper Dilworth.

  He should have known he’d run into that tired old queen at some point this weekend. But he hadn’t expected it to happen quite so fast.

  And seeing Bill and Sonya again after all this time had really thrown him for a loop. It was like he’d stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone written specifically about wicked people from his past. And that new guitarist Ally really had a mouth on her. Norbert had never met her, and yet she seemed to have some kind of dispute with him. And how dare Bill try to take credit for the “folk-punk” sound.

  I put that genre on the map!

  No one had ever heard of folk-punk until Norbert put the band together. Now Bill and Sonya were acting like they’d started it all. While frustrating, the whole incident had felt rather gratifying in a way too.