Storm Season

by Elle Keaton

  “Oh, God.” Micah was going to come; he could feel the spark behind his balls. Adam’s cock felt like a steel pole against his ass cheeks. Micah reached back and pulled his boxers all the way down, granting Adam permission. Groaning, Adam pressed his naked body fully along Micah’s back. Micah groaned, too. No way were they going back to sleep now.

  They were secure in a cocoon of man scent and hard cocks. Adam slid his dick between Micah’s cheeks, teasing with short thrusts. Micah was going to come too fast if Adam kept that up. He turned and rolled onto Adam, pinning him to the sheets. What Micah lacked in mass he made up for in wiry strength; he could tell this move surprised Adam as much as it turned him on. Pulling Adam’s arms up over his head, exposing his strong neck for Micah’s tongue, Micah bit Adam’s earlobe, then sucked. He felt Adam twitch helplessly, his hips bucking. He jerked a hand out of Micah’s grasp so he could squeeze his nuts. Micah grinned evilly before going back to sucking on Adam’s earlobe like it was a candy cane.

  Adam arched up, and Micah abandoned his assault on Adam’s ear and bent to taste Adam’s dark-brown nipples. Micah sucked them to hardness, felt their roughness under his tongue. He wanted to lick each one until Adam was thrashing and begging with need, to force him to let go of whatever it was that made him so grim, but he didn’t have the patience, not this time. Gently taking both of their cocks in his hand, as much as he could anyway Micah pressed them together, the sensitive skin catching and rubbing together, the softer mushroom heads snagging on one another as they moved. He smelled their arousal. They were both wet enough to have come already, precome glistening in the morning light. Micah wanted to taste it, wanted it in his mouth, on his chest, covering him. Adam’s gorgeous eyes bore into his as Micah held their cocks, rolling his hips, setting an unforgiving rhythm, making him lose his mind. Before he could scoot down to take Adam into his mouth, Adam arched up again, his cock pulsing, shooting come between them. Micah moaned along with Adam’s cry of relief.

  Rolling off, he lay quietly next to Adam, panting into the half light. He wanted to finish himself, but he also wanted Adam’s hot mouth on him. The covers had slid off the end of the bed at some point, and Micah’s heated skin was chilling in the cool air. Adam turned his head and his eyes widened at the sight of Micah’s cock still proudly at attention.

  “Can I suck you?”

  It was all Micah could do to nod without coming immediately.

  Leaning over him, Adam sucked Micah into his mouth. He ran his tongue around his sensitive crown, listening for Micah’s soft groans, his desire, his need.

  Adam pulled off for a moment. “It’s okay. Hold my hair, fuck my mouth.” He licked his lips, eliciting another deep groan from Micah. His mouth felt so good, so hot. Luscious. Adam’s tongue ran along his crown, delving into the delicate folds, sucking before he went down as far as he could. Micah grabbed his head tight, holding him there while Adam blew the living daylights out of him.

  “Oh, God, oh—God!” Micah tried to pull away, but Adam kept a tight hold on his hips. Micah’s body shook hard while he was coming, his hips helplessly out of control, pushing his cock almost entirely into Adam’s throat. He loved every minute of it. “That’s really a great way to wake up,” he panted, when he could speak again.

  “Mmm, yeah,” Adam said, tucking into Micah’s shoulder and shutting his eyes. Micah tentatively wrapped an arm around Adam’s shoulder. After reaching for the covers again, Adam’s pleasantly heavy arm came to rest across Micah’s hip. They both fell back to sleep, sated, slack.

  Fifteen

  Strange voices woke Adam up. Micah was no longer in bed with him. In fact, at some point he had cleaned them up, because Adam was not covered in dried come. Thank fuck. Managing to find enough of his clothes to be presentable, he made his way down the hazily remembered hallway to the living room.

  Ed was there.

  Adam glanced at the clock on the mantel. Ten-thirty. He’d told Ed to be at Gerald’s place by nine. Fuck. Ed looked sheepish, and he had Adam’s cell phone in his hand.

  “Why do you have that?” He couldn’t remember when he had it last. Probably at the Loft. Some investigator he was.

  “Son, you were wound up real tight yesterday. You weren’t at Gerald’s this morning, and Sara said to try your phone. Sterling answered and said you’d tied one on, left with Micah here.” He gestured at Micah, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

  “Who’s Sterling?”

  “The bartender.” Micah answered, looking at the floor longingly.

  “Anyway, we got started without you, in the back,” Ed said, “but we found something you should take a look at.”

  Adam’s fantasy of breakfast and more mind-blowing sex was derailed into a soggy, cold day fighting weeds up to his hips and trash that had been there since his eighth-grade year. His mood darkened considerably. He looked at Micah for moral support, but he seemed to have retreated back into the shy, awkward man Adam had first seen in the Booking Room, not the sexy, take-charge man he had been earlier that morning.

  “Okay. I think I left my car in the parking lot.” Please God, let him not have driven last night.

  “I’ll give you a ride to your car,” Ed offered. Jesus, the man was obtuse. Could he not see that Adam needed to talk to Micah? What could he say? No, thanks; Micah, who is standing in his living room in his sleep shorts and a tattered WWU sweatshirt, who I want to fuck again, will take me? Adam was not a diva, he reminded himself. He was practical. Ed was not going to take a hint, and if Adam said anything Micah was going to self-destruct from embarrassment. He returned to the scene of the crime, finishing dressing as quickly as he could. What could possibly be so important to Ed that he drag Adam away from a fuck he clearly needed to the horror of his father’s property?

  At least he remembered to leave his cell number with Micah.

  This time he followed Ed’s truck down the drive to Gerald’s. Don’s big flatbed was stationed between the house and the line of huge fir trees that covered half the property. The guys Ed had coerced into helping were standing around, hands in their pockets, leaning against the front of the truck. They all looked over as he and Ed pulled up and parked. Adam had the eerie feeling he was arriving at a crime scene. Surely if they’d found a body or remains of a body, Ed would have called the police? Ed knew what Adam did; he couldn’t think he had any sort of jurisdiction?

  Don came rushing over. He was a grizzled guy, too. But where Ed was tall and lean, with a full head of hair and a beard to go along with it, Don was a bowling ball. Short, maybe 5’5”, and stout, bald, sporting a serious handlebar mustache. Not something you saw much these days. He was waving his hands, his face flushed an alarming shade of red.

  “Did you tell him, Ed?” Don gasped.

  “No, Don, you’re the expert here.”

  Okay, so not a body, then. Adam relaxed slightly. Who knew what kind of trouble these guys could get into. Adam had no doubt they could still raise the roof if they were so inclined.

  “Adam, we started without you. Ed thought it was okay because you looked real ragged yesterday. We thought we’d try and finish up out here.”

  Adam nodded to keep the story flowing. At this rate the sun would be setting before he figured out what these old duffers had done.

  “Don, tell him already,” one of the other guys called.

  “Okay. Okay. So, Tim there,” Tim there raised his hand halfheartedly, “was checking in some of the outbuildings, you know?” Adam did know. Before the main house was finished his father and a steady string of “friends” had lived in the studio, and there were several other outbuildings as well, built to house his painting supplies and other stuff. This was all before Adam was born, but he’d heard the stories. Many times.

  Don hesitated a moment. “I know the stuff out here is junk. It truly is. Mostly you will probably break even between trips to the dump and selling off the scrap metal. But at one point your dad seemed to know what he was doing.”


  “Spit it out, Don!” Tim yelled.

  “Tim found a shed back there with cars in it.” Don looked like he was going to faint.

  “Cars? More cars?” Adam asked.

  “Uh, yeah, looks to me like he had a 1969 Camaro, a ’68 Pontiac GTO and a ’75 Dodge Charger back there.”

  Now Adam understood. The guys weren’t just standing with their hands in their pockets, they were all trying not to spontaneously ejaculate all over some cars that were going to be the bane of his existence.

  Sixteen

  All morning, Micah drifted around his house in a different kind of daze than his usual one. He found himself touching his lips, standing at his kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand staring into space, walking into his bedroom and forgetting what he wanted because all he could focus on was the messy sheets with Adam’s distinct scent mixed up in them.

  Micah’s mom used to have a stash of mass-market romance novels. She called them her “secret shame,” but she read them all the same, sometimes more than once. Micah may or may not have read a couple out of curiosity. After he’d finished rolling around on his bedroom floor writhing with hysterical laughter at the author’s description of the heroine’s reactions to her suitor, he had tortured his mom by pretending to quiz her about plot development or threatening to read them out loud while she made dinner. Stuff like, “She panted with frenzied anticipation, awaiting the fiery pressure of his throbbing member as it plunged mercilessly…”

  Well, he’d skimmed those parts, because he wasn’t into girl bits. Yet here he was, wandering around his home in some sort of sex-induced stupor. If he was honest with himself, he was wallowing in a semi-bewildered state of anticipation of Adam’s cock and all the things that came along with it. His mom would have been the one laughing now.

  Micah was shocked to realize he’d thought about his mom without the familiar sting of pain that she was gone and he would never be able to laugh with her, or the rest of his family, again.

  Seventeen

  Adam had the local news on again. This time it was self-preservation, He needed the distraction. How on earth his ne’er-do-well hippie artist father who painted, wrote poetry, and hoarded trash, had managed to put together a collection of very valuable muscle cars, Adam had no idea. Muscle cars. No matter how many times he repeated it to himself it still sounded totally ludicrous. Outrageous. Ridiculous. Beyond the realm of possibility.

  If the guys were right, and Tim and Don seemed to be running on all cylinders, as it were, the cars could be worth about $200k. Maybe more. Unlike the backyard, the inside of that shed had been disturbingly pristine. The three cars up on blocks, covered with a nice tarp. Wheels all there. They looked incredible, considering they’d been sitting in Gerald’s outbuilding for years. Keys were in the glove boxes. There was a lot of dust. Rodents had gotten in at some point and gnawed a bit of upholstery. The Pontiac’s soft-top had rust stains. Overall, the cars seemed in good shape.

  Muscle cars? Adam groaned.

  The annoying blonde TV anchor was going over the murder-victim story again. It had slipped to third or fourth, behind a couple of human-interest stories and a discussion of a proposed increase in county taxes. Adam had gone into law enforcement to serve (and protect, if he could) victims of violent crime. It grated on his psyche when unknowns were relegated to a few seconds, then forgotten by everyone but those who missed them. He believed first in speaking for the victim, second that he was a tool of the law. The law came first when he was tracking the perp; the law kept Adam from putting the piece of shit in the ground before they had their day in court.

  It bothered Adam that the victim was so young. Skagit wasn’t Mayberry, but it was a small town that generally knew where its own were. Girls didn’t turn up dead every day. Someone knew something.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Adam.”

  “Have you looked into this vic up here?”

  Mohammad sighed. “No, Adam, I have not. Why? Because we have not been invited. Until we are invited we will keep our noses out of Skagit’s business.”

  “I have a feeling,” Adam said.

  “Adam, I believe in your instincts. I have put our unit on the line more than once because of them. Yes, they have been justified. This time, however, I can’t help but think you are seeing something that is not there because you don’t want to take care of your personal business.” Mohammad growled the last sentence.

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know why, but something is bugging me. Yes, I’m taking care of sh-stuff; it’ll be a couple more weeks, I think. Yeah, crap, today the guys found some cars I have to deal with.”

  He told Mohammad the whole story and begged him once more to snoop around before hanging up. He didn’t tell him about Micah. He wasn’t staying in Skagit, after all, and while he considered Mohammad a friend, that was going too far in sharesville.

  His phone buzzed about ten minutes later; he’d been fully immersed in his snit at the boss and almost didn’t answer.

  > Hi. Hope you r OK.

  Five little words and his mood improved drastically.

  > Yeah. I’m good. You?

  He stared at that for a few moments before he deleted it and hit dial instead.

  “Hi, I, uh, didn’t expect you to call back. Ugh. I mean, I’m glad you called. In case you can’t tell, I suck at this.” Micah huffed.

  “Well, I suck at texting. I can never tell what people mean or don’t mean. But, yeah, I’m okay. It was a weird day. But I got stuff done and now I’m holed up, thinking about grilled cheese,” Adam replied.

  “Okay.”

  Adam could sense how awkward Micah felt through the phone line.

  “You want to grab dinner? Or you could come here. I’d need to go to the store first, though, or order in.” Pure madness. What was he thinking??

  “Um. I don’t go out that much. I can make grilled cheese here; it’s a house specialty.”

  “What about last night? Pretty sure, regardless of my state, that I met you at a bar, and maybe before that as well?” Adam teased.

  “Yeah, well. I’m embarrassed to admit I went in last night because I saw you there and the other time was because Sara coerced me into Thanksgiving. I haven’t been out in a while, okay? You know, except for the store and the Booking Room. And stuff,” he added.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll crawl out of my hole to have grilled cheese at your place. When do you want me?”

  Maybe this was how it worked; you accepted invitations and shared pieces of your life.

  “Half an hour?”

  Adam was smiling again.

  ***

  Micah opened his front door to let Adam in, and as their bodies brushed past one another the fragrance of something delicious along with Micah’s own rolled over Adam and he could feel himself reacting. He needed to cool it, prove he wasn’t a caveman. Fuck, it was difficult; Micah turned to lead the way to the kitchen and Adam got to watch his beautiful ass and long legs. At the last second, he remembered to follow. Micah looked back at him with a knowing glance. Caught. Adam smiled again; must be setting some kind of record.

  Somehow while they were crowded around a small round oak table in the kitchen nook, tomato soup simmering on the stove, Adam spilled more of his life story. Cheese and bread were ready on the counter, but apparently Micah had a secret recipe that required waiting.

  “It’s weird we never met before,” Adam said. “What are you, thirty?” Yes, he was totally fishing.

  Micah blinked at him. “Kind sir, I’ll have you know I’m thirty-four. Practically dead in gay years. But homeschooled, so I hardly know anyone. Then I was—” the slightest pause, “—away at school for a while. Been back about ten years.”

  Adam knew some of Micah’s story from Ed, but he wanted Micah to tell him. He felt a bit like a sneak, knowing something Micah was clearly still processing. Micah surprised him by continuing.

  “The whole town kn
ows; I’m sure Ed told you something.”

  Adam nodded.

  “My therapist says it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. I feel like a child for having such a hard time saying it out loud.” Micah shuddered. “Even after all this time, though, I want it not to be true.”

  Adam reached over and took Micah’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

  “My family was killed in a car accident, ten years ago this month. Supposedly my parents died instantly. My little sister died on the way to the hospital. I was away at college in Seattle, finishing my master’s in computer science. I didn’t get to say goodbye or anything; one day we were arguing about what job I should take after graduation and the next they were gone.”

  Adam pulled Micah up, leading him to the couch in the living room where he sat down, tugging Micah almost onto his lap. Not saying a word, waiting, letting him feel that Adam was right there. Micah wasn’t crying, but he also wasn’t pushing Adam away. Sometimes words got in the way of healing.

  Micah murmured something Adam didn’t hear.

  “What?”

  “You smell good.” Micah’s voice was husky.

  “Yeah? I can wait for grilled cheese if you can.”

  “Nice.” Languidly Micah stood, heading to the kitchen to turn off the stove. Leaving Adam to feel the chill of the room. He could see that Micah was as turned on as he was.