Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  But Shane took a step back. “I have scars.”

  Jimmy knew that. He’d felt the ridges and divots and found them interesting. But he didn’t want to insist if Shane was antsy about it, so instead he said, “Okay. Give me the condom.”

  Unwrapping the thing in the pitch black wasn’t easy, but it was a task Jimmy had performed before. “Come here,” he said and then was careful where he touched Shane. On the belly—scar-free and dusted in hairs. On the ass—smooth and muscular. And then on his cock, which jutted upright and was, by the feel of it, not overly long but nicely thick. And then it was Shane’s turn to hiss and moan as Jimmy played with him awhile, rubbing his length and lightly squeezing his balls. Shane rested one hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

  “Are you ready?” Jimmy finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  Jimmy rolled the condom onto Shane as slowly as possible, enjoying his turn to tease. But really, he was torturing himself too, so as soon as he fully sheathed Shane’s cock in latex, Jimmy gently pushed him away, stood, and then bent over the edge of the mattress, presenting himself.

  In a perfect world, the light would have been on, and Jimmy would have been on his back instead, with his ankles hooked over Shane’s shoulders. And he would have been able to watch Shane’s face as he hastily applied lube to Jimmy’s eager hole. He would have liked to see that auburn hair hanging down, those wiry muscles knotted with tension, those vivid blue eyes focused on him. But Jimmy’s world was not perfect. Fortunately, it was no hardship to feel the smooth cotton of the duvet cover against his cheek and Shane’s slick fingers stretching him. And when Shane finally pushed his cock against Jimmy and then—oh God—inside, Jimmy had no complaints at all.

  “Tight,” Shane said. His voice was tight too.

  “’S been a while.” Far too long, in fact, because he’d almost forgotten how goddamn good this felt, with Shane filling him, grunting softly with each plunge, and Shane’s big hands braced on Jimmy’s lower back. With some difficulty, Jimmy worked one of his own hands to his cock and tugged in rhythm with Shane’s thrusts. They had all night, didn’t they? But Shane moved quickly and so did Jimmy, and trying to slow down his climax was like battling a tsunami with a bucket. The wave crashed over him, through him, pulling Jimmy deeply under.

  He was breathless and weak, his skin felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to it, and his head felt floaty and wide open. When he came to his senses, he realized that Shane had collapsed over his back and was sucking at the nape of his neck. “Salty,” he said, breathing hard.

  After a short time, Shane recovered and stood. He groaned a little with the movement, and not from pleasure. Jimmy still felt boneless but managed to scramble fully onto the bed, grab Shane’s waist, and tug him forward. “Rest a bit,” Jimmy ordered.

  Maybe Shane wasn’t good at taking orders, because first he shuffled around in the darkness, taking off the rubber and tossing it into a trash can near the desk. And even when he got on the bed, he didn’t just lie there. Instead he drew Jimmy close and kissed the last of the oxygen away.

  When they broke apart, Jimmy sighed. “Were we noisy?”

  “Maybe. A little. Why?”

  “I’m not supposed to disturb the customers.”

  “The room next door is vacant tonight and nobody’s pounding on the door. I think we’re okay.”

  Jimmy liked the feel of Shane’s body against his, all hard planes and soft skin. But he was sticky from lube and come, and the hour was late. He patted Shane’s shoulder before getting out of bed and making his way to the sink. He rinsed his hands and used the washcloth to clean his groin and ass, and then he shivered at the cold.

  “I have to work in the morning,” he said, wanting to give Shane an excuse to leave. “Can’t piss off Aunt Belinda.”

  Shane was silent a moment before getting off the bed. “Yeah. I bet she’ll have more for your list in the morning.” Jimmy heard him shambling around, collecting his clothes, putting them on. They could have turned on the light, of course, but then they’d have to look at each other, and Shane would remember that Jimmy was no great conquest. His body was pale, too thin, unremarkable; his scars were small and uninteresting. The dark was better.

  The sink was close to the door, and Shane found him before he left. He surprised Jimmy with another kiss—and even more shocking, Jimmy’s overworked cock thought a kiss was a dandy idea, twitching to show its approval. The sensation of Shane’s clothed body against his naked one, cotton and wool against bare skin—well, there was a kink Jimmy hadn’t realized he possessed. That and cowboys. It had been an enlightening day.

  “You’ll still be here tomorrow, won’t you?” Shane asked.

  “I guess so.”

  “Good.” With a final palming of Jimmy’s ass, Shane made his way to the door. He stood there a moment, silhouetted in the light, his boots hanging from one hand. Jimmy couldn’t make out his expression. And then the door closed and Shane was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  JIMMY WOKE up early and stretched, feeling the sweet ache from his romp with Shane. Now that he and Shane had gotten what they wanted from each other, his plan—as much of a plan as he ever had, anyway—was to gather his things and find a ride. He’d leave Tom’s letter on the bed or with Belinda. While she might be angry over providing a night’s lodging for less than a half-day’s work, her relief at his leaving would undoubtedly outweigh her anger.

  But when Jimmy looked out the window, he saw that it was raining. Not a tolerable drizzle, and not a quick downpour with bright sky to the west. The fat raindrops would soak pant hems and work their way under collars, chilling travelers to the bone. He didn’t have any wet-weather gear and didn’t relish the thought of shivering by the side of the highway, looking too much like a drowned rat for anyone to stop.

  So he didn’t pack up. He made his bed instead, then peeked into the hallway to see if anyone was near. Since the coast was clear, he quickly wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his toiletries, and headed for the shower.

  His hair was still slightly damp when he walked to the lobby. Despite the early hour, Belinda sat behind the counter, looking not particularly pleased to see him. But at least she greeted him. “Good morning, James.”

  “Morning, ma’am. Is there anything in particular you want me to start with today?”

  “The security lock in 203 is loose and the guests in 204 said they felt a draft from the window. The upholstery on a chair in 101 is badly stained. Shane says one of the bar tables is wobbly. He’s marked it for you. And then I’d like you to repair the bathroom tile in 214.”

  “All right,” he said, thinking he’d be earning his keep today at least.

  It was inconvenient that Belinda wouldn’t trust him with the keys, because she kept having to unlock things for him. Not just the rooms but also the basement door so he could access the tools and supplies down there. But he waited patiently and without complaint.

  The security lock took just a few minutes with a screwdriver, and he remedied the drafty window with a judicial application of caulk. The chair was a bigger job; it appeared that someone had poured an entire bottle of red wine onto the seat. But he found stain remover on a basement shelf, and after he applied it several times, scrubbing and wiping between applications, the stain blended in with the fabric nicely if he didn’t look too hard. He hoped that was good enough for Aunt Belinda—and when she inspected his work, she nodded slightly.

  “I didn’t see any Scotchgard down in the basement,” he said. “But maybe you could get a bunch and treat all the upholstery.”

  After considering his suggestion for a moment, she nodded again. “Add it to your list. But farther down because it will take a few days to arrive.”

  “Okay.” Not that he’d be around by then, but he guessed Next Tuesday Terry could do it.

  The bar seemed very empty without Shane. Even though nobody was there, it was Shane’s absence that resonated. Everything was scrupulously clean, all the tables g
leaming and the chairs overturned evenly atop each one. Before he tackled the wobble, Jimmy decided a bit of snooping was in order, so he crept behind the counter. Everything was very tidy there as well; but his gaze fell on several lists. Taped in places where customers couldn’t see them, each detailed various tasks like brewing coffee, closing out the till, and opening and closing the bar. Someone had written them out in large, extremely clear letters. Not Shane’s handwriting and probably not Belinda’s, he concluded. Quite possibly Charlie’s—it had a schoolteacherish look. Jimmy’s heart ached a little, thinking of a proud man like Shane having to rely on instructions for such small tasks.

  Once he turned his full attention to the tables, it took only a moment to find the one needing repairs. Shane had placed a paperback book there, a tattered copy of Elmore Leonard’s Get Shorty, and on top of the book, he’d set an errant receipt with two words in a shaky scrawl: For Jimmy.

  Shit.

  Ignoring the gift for the time being, Jimmy tested the table. Sure enough, if he pressed on the top, it tipped slightly to one side. He got down on the floor to examine the problem and finally decided a low-tech solution was best. He found a discarded wine cork and glued a slice of it to the bottom of one leg. Fixed.

  He left the bar with his book in hand and an odd sense of accomplishment.

  By this point, his stomach reminded him that he’d skipped breakfast. He should find a little market and get something cheap, but then he remembered the previous day’s french toast. Christ knew when he’d get a chance to eat so well again.

  “I’m going to Mae’s to get something to eat,” he told Belinda at the desk. “If that’s all right. I’ll do the tile work when I get back.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He detoured by his room to grab his jacket and drop off the book. He couldn’t help but smile like a fool when he placed it carefully on his bedside table, underneath the Stephen King. And alongside the bottle of lube, which Shane must have forgotten when he left.

  Two women had joined Belinda in the lobby, and they all stared at him when he entered. Belinda did cursory introductions: the tiny lady in her sixties with the dark skin and heavy accent was Grisel, and the round, pale lady in her twenties was Candy. “James will be managing minor repairs,” Belinda announced.

  Jimmy smiled at the housekeeping staff. “Let me know if you need help with anything, okay?” He guessed that they might occasionally have to move heavy furniture or perform other tasks where an extra pair of hands would be helpful.

  They eyed him with frank appraisal but no outright hostility. Probably neither of them was a member of Shane’s family.

  As he’d predicted, the rain hadn’t let up while he performed his morning tasks. Head down and shoulders hunched, he sprinted across the street and into the café, which was less crowded than the previous day. The blonde with the facial piercings showed him to a table, this one in front of the window instead of adjacent to the bathroom. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Please. And a big glass of OJ.” At least he wouldn’t die of scurvy for a while.

  She handed him the menu, and he tried to decide whether to go with a proven winner or try something new. Then he saw his waitress deliver a big platter of food to another diner, and he made his decision. “Waffles,” he said when his waitress returned with his drinks. “Can I have that blueberry stuff on top?”

  “Sure. Sausage or bacon?”

  “Bacon.”

  “Eggs?”

  He was going to keel over from instantly hardened arteries. Well, there were worse ways to go. “Scrambled.”

  He sipped his coffee and watched the rain streak down the window, and maybe he completely zoned out for a bit, because he didn’t notice Shane until he sat down across from him. “Fancy meeting you here,” Shane said.

  “You know I can’t resist Mae’s charms.”

  “Nobody can. I think she spikes the food with something.” Shane leaned back in his chair and grinned. He was wearing that blue wool shirt again, today with a maroon Henley underneath. His eyes had a bit of extra sparkle that made Jimmy squirm in his seat and feel the remaining little twinge in his ass.

  Jimmy cleared his throat. “Thanks for the book.”

  “Welcome. Used to be mine, but I don’t— Well, I figure you’ll get more use out of it.”

  “I’ll enjoy it.”

  From a couple of tables away, the waitress waved at Shane. “The usual, honey?”

  “Yep.” To Jimmy, he added, “I don’t know why she even asks. I always get the usual.”

  “You could live dangerously. Order something different for a change.”

  “No. It’s… routine’s important. Without it, I get a little lost sometimes.”

  That was funny, because often routines made Jimmy feel lost. Not in the sense of disoriented, but… finished. Like he’d given up something important.

  “Aunt Belinda says you were up early this morning.”

  “I’m usually an early riser.” A habit learned from shelters that evicted men soon after sunup and from irate business owners who yelled if they found a bum napping in their doorway when it was time to unlock.

  “I used to be too, on the ranch. But not now. The bar keeps me up.” Shane cocked his head slightly. “Did you get enough sleep?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “I don’t sleep well. The doc gave me some pills, but they make me too groggy in the morning. Sometimes on slow afternoons, Sam comes by for a couple hours and I take a nap, as if I were the old guy, not him.” His smile held more pain than humor.

  “One time I was in Missoula, heading for Idaho Falls by bus. I had to make a transfer in Butte, and that was fine. But then I fell fast asleep, and the next thing I know it’s five in the morning and I’m in Salt Lake City.”

  “What did you do?” Shane nodded distractedly at their waitress, who brought his coffee and then bustled away.

  “Well, I gotta tell you, there’s not much to do in Salt Lake at that time of day. It was late fall and the sun wasn’t up yet, and the neighborhood near the bus station isn’t exactly hopping even midday. I started walking. Randomly, because I’d never been there before, and I didn’t have enough cash to get me back to Idaho. I walked… man, I walked all day until my feet were about to fall off, but I couldn’t find anyplace to settle for more than a few minutes. And then it was night again and I was no better off. Worse, because I’d spent the last of my money on coffee and a sandwich. Plus, I was coming down with a cold or something and I felt like shit. All snotty and achy. I would’ve sold my soul for a nice warm bed and a bowl of chicken soup.”

  Shane’s expression held curiosity, not pity. He stirred sugar into his cup. “Were you scared? Being adrift like that?”

  “No. I’m used to it, and I’ve been in places a lot more terrifying than Utah. I was just tired. You know that exhaustion you feel deep in your bones, like it’s become a permanent part of you?”

  “Yeah,” Shane said. “Know it pretty well.” Rehab, his sister had said. Surgeries. Having to relearn everything from scratch.

  “Just when I was about to collapse, I found a bridge. A couple guys were already camped underneath it, but they didn’t complain when I lay down nearby. I covered myself with newspapers to keep warm, and traffic hummed overhead, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep. I didn’t wake up until the sun was well up. And by then the other guys were gone—and so was my pack. They’d taken everything I owned except the clothes I was wearing. I didn’t own much, but it’s nice to have a clean pair of underwear to change into.” Which reminded him, he needed to look into the laundry situation. He couldn’t really wash his clothing in his room because the sink was too small and he had no place to hang stuff while it dried.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I survived. I always do. Like cockroaches after a nuclear war. But things were especially rough for a while. And my point is that sound sleeping is overrated. Catnapping’s safer.”

  Shane snorted and
shook his head. Then the waitress brought Jimmy’s ridiculous amount of food and Shane’s bowl of oatmeal, fruit, and four triangles of toast.

  “It’s Wednesday,” Shane said with slight melancholy as he picked up a spoon.

  “Not an oatmeal fan?”

  “No, I like it okay. It’s just that your waffles look way better.”

  “You can have some.”

  “Nah.” He sighed. “Extra weight is hard on my bones. You could stand to gain a few pounds, though.”

  Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You saying I’m too skinny?”

  “I’m saying you look like the kind of guy who should be carrying more weight. I bet you haven’t been eating well.”

  “I’m sure making up for it now.” Jimmy took a big bite of waffle. It wasn’t quite as ambrosial as the french toast but still completely delicious.

  “Have dinner with me again tonight.”

  “Shane, I don’t want to put you—”

  “Digging up a meal for two’s not any more work than doing it for one.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Back on the ranch, when it was my turn to cook, I’d make enough stew for everyone. We’re talking a dozen people, sometimes more. Or spaghetti. I made a mean sauce.”

  Jimmy wiped his mouth carefully. “It’s costing you money.”

  Shane shrugged. “I have enough. Anyway, once you get paid, you can take some turns treating me.”

  That implied a longevity to their acquaintance that wasn’t going to happen. But Jimmy didn’t want to tell him that now, not when Shane was spooning oatmeal into his mouth and looking smug. And last night had been good. Jimmy didn’t often get a second act, but if Shane wanted one, Jimmy wouldn’t say no. “Dinner would be nice,” Jimmy said quietly.

  They ate in silence for a bit, until Shane grinned and used his fork to steal a bite of waffle from Jimmy’s plate, making them both laugh.

  “How many states have you been to?” Shane asked. His question held a careful edge, as if he’d been chewing it over for a while.