by Wynn Wagner
"We'll see,” he laughed. “I came to make sure you knew about the change. I have new phone numbers.” He handed me a new business card.
"Mario Iacocca,” I said. “That's a nice Irish name."
The detective chuckled. He told me that he didn't have any developments in the case of the bomb in my apartment. He was no closer than before in finding the person (or persons) who wanted to spread me across three zip codes. The FBI insisted on taking over my case with the move, and the police department was happy to get it off their books. The FBI has fancier labs and more database experts to try to find patterns.
"I still think it was our abortion clinic bomber,” Agent Iacocca said, “but I can't prove it. Remember that explosion in Oregon last month? Well, the bomb had the same trigger as yours. Don't put that out because it's a detail we haven't released, but this guy is a real son-of-a-bitch."
"Killed somebody, didn't it?” Wyatt asked.
"Two,” I said.
"Three if you count the doctor's dog,” the agent added. “I'm a dog person. I want this guy bad. Can we go through what happened again?"
"'Tinkle’ went some glass,” I said, sitting on a chair in the den.
"Guy threw the bomb through your window."
"Right. Then I saw smoke, and that made me dive back into the living room."
"Why'd you jump?"
"I never really thought about it,” I said. “You're right, though. I don't think I'd hurl myself into another room at the sight of smoke. I ride a Harley, for God's sake, so I'm used to smoke and... wait... wait... I think that I heard beeps. Son-of-a-gun, Agent. Sorry, I didn't remember this. Is it important?"
"Very,” Iacocca said. “What kind of beeping?"
"Several in a row, and they got faster and faster. That's what scared me. There wasn't any smoke. It was beeps. Damn, how could I forget that?"
"Come on, Sean. You barely survived the blast, so you can't expect to remember everything. Do you remember any sounds outside? Or did you see anything through the window?"
"Don't think so."
"Okay, you're doing great, and I hope we nail this guy fast. If you don't have any questions, I think I'll show myself out."
"Thanks, and congratulations on your move to the FBI."
"Hold up,” Janie Marroquin said. “Let me ride down the elevator with you. Bye, guys."
And suddenly we were alone. That hadn't happened in—and there was a knock at the door. When I looked through the peephole, I saw Chico in the hall. He was dashing in a T-shirt and shorts, and he carried a bicycle helmet.
"You rode over here?” I asked him.
"Yeah, it was fun."
"You live fifteen miles from here."
"Naw,” he laughed. “Fourteen and some change.” He held out a gift box wrapped in a bow.
"A box, Chico,” I said. “You shouldn't have. Honey, Chico is here and brought us a box."
"Hey, Chico,” Wyatt said as he walked up to him. He put his arms around Chico's neck, and they kissed on the mouth. It made me wonder what had happened to that scared fragile kid that I first met a year before.
The weird part was that it made me a little excited to see Wyatt and Chico kissing. I'd never admit to that, of course. If you quote me, I'll deny everything. There was something sexy about it. Stop it, dick, stop getting hard.
"Hi, Wyatt. I got you a little something for your new digs."
"Thanks,” I said, “but you didn't have to."
"You two look great together,” Chico told me. “I'm really happy for you. Completely jealous, but happy. I wish I could find somebody to love as much as you love each other."
"Thanks, Chico,” I said.
"Can't stay or my muscles will seize up. But I wanted to drop this off. You need anything?"
"Got Wyatt,” I said. “What more is there?"
"Oh, that's so sweet, babe,” Wyatt said.
"There's so much sugar in here that I'm about to be sick,” Chico laughed. “I love both of you. Bye."
And he turned and let himself out of the condo.
We were alone at last and had an entire evening to our—and the phone rang. Well, of course it did.
"Hello?” I said into the phone. I wanted to be alone with my lover. Can't I shut out everybody for one lousy night?
"It's the front desk, Mr. Roberts,” a man said on the phone. “We have a FedEx delivery for Wyatt Nelson."
"Thanks, I'll send him right down."
Wyatt almost skipped out of the door when I told him. He raced out of the apartment while I tore the ribbon off Chico's box. Wait. That didn't come out right, considering my history with Chico. I opened the package that he had given to us. That's better.
He had given us some leather fragrance oil and leather-scented soap from MysticWays.com. When I opened the oil, it really smelled like freshly tanned leather. It was like they had figured out how to get the entire cowhide into a little bottle in liquid form.
The leather aroma sent my head back to Chico pounding my ass, and that made me smile a little. I had no regrets about moving on to Wyatt. No regrets from me, and Chico said he wanted the best for both of us. Chico and I were never more than fuck buddies, but he was fun. My ass got a twitch from the memory. Should I tell Wyatt about Chico?
Wyatt came back a few minutes later with a FedEx box under his arm.
"It's my project,” he said. “Come look."
He led me into what should have been a bedroom in our condo. We used it as the none-of-the-above room. He had set up a table for little projects, and he had a drafting table for his artwork.
Wyatt reached behind a big pile of moving supplies and pulled out a motorcycle helmet that he had bought while I was in the hospital.
"We can ride together,” he said as he gave me a kiss.
"Wow, and what's in the box?"
"The best part of the whole deal,” he told me as he sliced open the shipping case. The inside packaging said it was a Bluetooth intercom, and there was a picture of two motorcycle helmets.
"That is so sweet,” I said. “You got intercoms so you can go riding with me."
"Whoa, not so fast. Nobody said anything about riding with you. I'll be in a car a safe distance away."
"Oy."
"Just kidding,” he laughed. “Of course I want to go riding with you, until I save up to get my own bike."
"Wyatt, the biker."
"Problem?"
"Ummm. It isn't so much as a problem, but I'm having trouble getting the picture. I don't see you in leathers and riding boots."
"You didn't say anything about boots. Shit. I was making me some riding pumps with rhinestones and iridium studs and all."
"Come here, you,” I said, but Wyatt ran out of the room. Life was perfect for me, except the part about having a crazed bomber out there who wanted to kill me.
"Catch me if you can, man."
I knew where he was running, so I took my time walking back to the bedroom. He was starting to take his clothes off, but I stopped him.
"Let me look at you. Man, you are so lovely. Maybe I could send a thank-you note to your family."
"It would send Mother right over the edge,” he laughed.
I got onto the bed, and he followed. Yeah, I was tough and on the mend from the bombing. Getting over being blown up isn't as simple as you might think.
He stretched out on his back while I worked on his shirt buttons.
Ticklish. Wyatt was really ticklish. Good to know.
He lifted himself off the mattress enough for me to pull his shirt off. I so wanted to run my tongue down the side of his stomach. Devilish streak. Someday I was going to tickle him without mercy, but I didn't have the strength to fight or wrestle yet.
Ticklish: file that tidbit away for later use.
His skin was creamy-smooth and fairly pale but not albino-red. Blond hair and green eyes was magical somehow, mysteriously Mongolian or Finnish or Russian. I knew his relatives came from some far-away and seductive land. His grin was en
chanting, and I literally could feel my own skin tingle. Goose bumps or Wyatt bumps or something. Not many hairs on his chest. His nipples were on nicely rounded chest muscles, and they were perky. The skin around his nipples was strangely darker than you might expect. The muscles of his chest were firm and trim, but you could tell that he didn't work out in a gym.
The slightest amount of hair started below the washtub that was his stomach. The hair formed a line from his belly button downward. It disappeared into his pants.
"Mmmm,” he said.
"I sure like looking at you,” I whispered. He gave me a big grin full of teeth.
"You're making me crazy here,” he said. “Can we?"
"We will, but just let me look."
"Grrrr,” he growled.
"In a hurry?"
"I need you, Sean."
I pulled on the end of his belt and watched as the pin fell out of its leather hole. He tried to wiggle out of his pants, but I moved onto his legs. I grabbed his wrists with my hands as my teeth went to work on his pants. The top of the pants was a snap, which was easy. The zipper pull was a little hard to find, but I got it eventually.
"No underwear?"
"Commando just for you, babe,” Wyatt said. He was already hard. I thought it was harder than I had ever seen it, but I hadn't seen him hard that often. Blood vessels running along the bottom of his dick were engorged in blood. It wasn't longer than average, but it was about as thick as a telephone pole. I can't believe that I've been able to take that tool without any trouble. I let his wrists go free so I could use my own hands to pull his pants off. I worked until his pants were all the way off and on the floor. He had no underwear, no shoes, and no socks. Wyatt was nude on our bed, and I wanted every inch of him at the same time.
Wyatt had just the right amount of foreskin. I was so glad that his parents didn't get their boy circumcised. That was genital mutilation, in my opinion. Wow, he was so beautiful, and he was so in love with me.
A thin string of pre-cum went from the tip of his dick to his stomach. I put one hand between his legs and reached up to caress his balls as I let my mouth slide down as much of his shaft as I could take. I felt pubes against my lip, so it must have been most of it.
"Ummm,” Wyatt said. “Do that many more times, and this is going to end quickly."
I made my mouth tight around his dick and pulled back to get all the pre-cum that Wyatt had to offer.
There was a condom on the nightstand. Wyatt had been thinking ahead. That is so sweet. We were to be joined as one again. Fucking wow.
He started to reach for the rubber, but I held him back by moving his fingers to my face. He held my chin. It was my job. I took the wrapper and tore it into two pieces. When I pulled the rubber out, I almost had to stop and ask him for help. Condoms are something a top worries about more than a bottom, and I don't have much experience. Oh, I see how it... okay.... I put it on the tip of his cock and tried to unroll it. It would help if I got it right-side out. I flipped the rubber over, and it unrolled just like magic. I didn't have to unroll it all the way because these were oversized rubbers. He needed the extra space for thickness but not for length. There was extra latex rolled up at the base.
I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and gave the rubber a nice squirt, leaving plenty on my fingers for my ass.
"My turn,” he said, raising his hand.
"You're on, Mr. Nelson."
"May I have the honor of a magical union with you, Mr. Roberts? May two be one again?"
How sweet is that?
He pulled himself up off the bed and guided me down as he kissed me. I was fully clothed, but that wasn't to be a problem for long. He was much more expert in this than me. Maybe he had more experience or something. Wyatt just pulled my shirt off. He treated it like a T-shirt even though it was a regular short-sleeved dress shirt. He had my pants off in just a few seconds, and he was sliding his hips between my legs. I made plenty of space for him.
"Make love or fuck?” he asked.
I started to tell him to surprise me, but he got in my way. You'd be surprised how an extra tongue in your mouth will impact enunciation. He held my chin so I couldn't move. Wyatt kissed me hard, and he bit down on my lips. He'd never gotten the least bit rough with me. That's not a complaint, but it was a surprise. Maybe I had a touch of leather fragrance oil on me, and Wyatt was reacting to it. I put my legs around his waist, and he moved each one onto his shoulders. Without much ceremony, he pressed against my hole. No finger action. No stretching. Just cock. It was great.
Fuck. This was not going to be quiet love-making. He raced to get inside me all the way, and he knew he could do it without causing any damage. I felt his balls slap against my butt on his first lunge. Guys sometimes use extra power just when they shoot, but Wyatt started banging all the way inside from his first stroke. Bam. Slap. Bam. Slap. It was goddamn awesome. It felt so good that I laughed on some of his lunges.
It was almost like he had studied under Chico. It was how my agent had fucked me. Bam. Slap.
He lifted away from my mouth and put both of his palms against the inside of my knees. I was seriously pinned against the bed. Nothing was holding my lover back. Bam. Slap. Bam. Slap.
"Ugggh,” he growled as the headboard hit the wall. “Ugggh,” he said. “Ugggh. Oh God...."
"That was a fuck,” I laughed and saw him laughing too. What I'd call a fuck with anybody else was still making love with Wyatt. We always made love, but I saw that we could sometimes do so with lots of energy. Every time he slammed into me, my mind exploded with stars. He could find my prostate. He could nail every one of my love points.
"I love you, Mr. Man,” he said as he collapsed on me. I had never seen him work up so much sweat before, but he was really laughing from pleasure. It made me smile that I could bring so much pleasure to the man I loved.
"Yeeee-hah,” I said. “Have a nice ride?"
"The best. I love you so much."
I'd known him for over a year, but this was only the sixth time we had had sex. Seventh? Maybe it was seven, but you can't blame us, because I was in the hospital for a good slice of that. Each time had been different. There was so much about Wyatt that I wanted to learn. There was so much about his body that I wanted to explore.
He stayed inside me as long as he could but rolled off to the side eventually. He reached up to jack me off, but I stopped him. Having him inside me like that was better than an orgasm.
"Want to catch the eleven p.m. meeting?” he asked.
Hell no, I didn't. I wanted to stay in bed with Wyatt. I never wanted to get up again. I wanted to bolt the doors or brick ourselves in.
"Sure,” I lied. Alcoholics go to AA meetings, and I know the drill. It had been months since I had gone to a meeting because of the bombing, and I knew that it was time. Wyatt sprang out of the bed and was dressed in a flash. I didn't move so quickly.
We took the elevator down to the lobby and changed to the parking garage elevator. I never really understood why they couldn't make one elevator for the tower and for the parking garage. It must be some kind of security measure. Everybody had to show their face to the guard behind the desk. There were closed-circuit cameras everywhere, but expecting every guard to be alert enough to see everybody on every camera must have been too risky.
"Good night, Mr. Roberts. Good night, Mr. Nelson."
I waved to the guard as we walked across the lobby from one set of elevators to the other. We all had reserved spaces in the parking garage. Our three-bedroom condo came with two slots. My bike was in one, and Wyatt's car was in the other. He took the space up against a far wall because he could shimmy through the tight space.
"That's weird,” he said. “My rearview mirror is knocked off."
"Somebody must have been walking around down here,” I said.
"Stop,” he said, and I froze. “Run back. Get away."
"What's wrong?"
"Red,” he said with fear in his voice as he ran away from his ca
r. “Come on away from there, babe."
"What's red?"
"There's a red glow. Something red was glowing on the cement under the front wheel."
"You sure it wasn't a reflection?"
"I saw what I saw, Sean."
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Hey, Agent Iacocca,” he said into the phone. “It's Wyatt Nelson.... We're fine, but there's something I thought you ought to know about."
It took the FBI guy over a half an hour to get to the condo building. We were waiting for him at some benches near the parking elevator. Wyatt had gone back into the building to alert the security guard. We sat and waited. I got to look at Wyatt. I know, I know—there was a scary red thing. If we were on Apollo 13 or the Titanic, I'd still want to spend whatever time I had looking at Wyatt or talking with him.
"I am so sorry about all this,” I told him.
"About what? You didn't put the red glow under my car,” Wyatt said.
"No, but it's some fruitcake who got pissed at one of my commentaries."
"Maybe it's part of the great VRWC."
"VRWC?” I said with one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy."
"You've been hanging out with Janie Marroquin too much."
"Her husband told me the same thing, you know."
The guard directed Iacocca over to the garage.
"Hi, Agent Iacocca,” I said.
"Hey, Mario,” Wyatt said. I did not want to know why they were on a first-name basis. Ignorance is sometimes the most wonderful tactic.
Mario Iacocca told us to stay back at the elevators. Wyatt told him what he had seen and pointed out the car. It only took the FBI agent a second beside the car.
"Good eye, Wyatt,” he said. “It looks like a bomb under your engine.” He had his cell phone in hand and was calling for help. “What's on top of the garage?"
"Nothing, just air,” Wyatt said. “Swimming pool and tennis court on the roof."
"Good,” Iacocca said, “we don't have to evacuate the whole building. Let's get out of the garage as fast as we can in case there's a remote trigger or timer."
We went back to the lobby.
"When did you use the car last?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
