by J P Sayle
Well, fuck him. If he can’t see what a great opportunity he’s just missed, it’s his loss.
A sudden thought popped into his head. Lowering his nose a fraction, trying to be inconspicuous, he sniffed up. Regret filled him when the smell of stale sweat and dirty, sweaty socks had his nose wrinkling. He groaned in disgust. His breath gusted out, misting the chilly morning air at his bad luck.
This never happened in the movies. Heroes always got their man or woman in the end. Wasn’t I a hero for going into that building and rescuing this man? Don’t I deserve a reward?
Greg sucked harder on his lower lip when the urge to ask the man questions became too much to bear. If he was being honest, he’d like all the guy’s particulars, including his age and maybe ending with his dick size. His cheeks heated, but to his misery, it didn’t stop there; it spread like wildfire, heading south. He shifted on the hard muscular thigh under his arse. The growing problem in his already too small shorts was hard to hide. Wanting to complain at his predicament, he scolded his wayward body.
This is so not the time to get a stiffy.
The pout he’d been trying to stop materialised against his will. He felt totally put upon when the heat that scorched his cheeks increased under the man’s intense scrutiny. The man moved like he knew what Greg was thinking. The massive arm encasing him tightened briefly before he was levered off the large wall of muscle. He instantly felt the morning chills penetrate the thin layer of his T-shirt, and Greg hugged his chest, gritting his chattering teeth. He felt bereft without the hot furnace pressing up against him.
The hard ground made his arse ache unpleasantly, and sharp grass stabbed at the bare skin of his legs. He actively ignored the niggling feeling of disappointment when the man put a little more space between them, as if he couldn’t stand to be near Greg any longer. He supposed he couldn’t blame him when he stank to high heaven. Heck, he’d want to shrink away from himself too, if he could.
Pushing back his shoulders, he gave himself a stern talking to when he found himself shrinking under the man’s hard stare before he turned those dark, fathomless eyes to the other man he placed down gently.
I have nothing to be ashamed of. Hell no, I’m a hero.
The ridiculousness of his thoughts was not lost on him. Greg lowered his lashes. He did not want the Hulk to see him as silly as well as smelly.
Greg’s thoughts of the Hulk were reinforced when the man’s massive shoulders flexed inside his dark clothing, almost blocking out the light as he bent forward to examine the unconscious man on the ground. His large hard body seemed to stretch for miles, bulging within the tight confines of what appeared to be army fatigues. The dark clothing did nothing to mask the raw power exuding from him.
Greg knew he should be more concerned about the other man, but he found himself captivated by a slash of strong cheekbones along with a sumptuous mouth set in a grim expression. The wind tugged at the long, wavy mane flowing down the man’s back, making the multicolours swirl together. Golden streaks gleamed brightly as they entwined with deep auburn and dark browns, reminding him of autumn leaves. The colours only made his coal black eyes more mysterious when they glinted with intense concentration.
Greg would bet his own spectacular arse that when he stood up, he would resemble a Nordic Viking, his Viking.
Where the hell had that thought come from? He is most definitely not mine.
He was flustered at the instant voice in the back of his mind telling him he was wrong and that the Viking was most definitely his.
Heat that had started to die sprang back to life. Only this time it crawled right to the tip of his roots. Mortification filled Greg. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that his cheeks were brighter than the red marker buoy that bounced in the sea altering seafarers to dangerous waters. Cursing his pale, freckled skin, Greg breathed in relief when both men kept their attention on the other man and away from his Belisha beacon face.
His head shot up as fast as his sac had ridden into his body when the Hulk’s sexy, gravelly voice rasped out, causing shivers to shimmy straight to Greg’s cock. Biting his puffy lip, he barely held in the groan. His mind was desperate to find anything to focus on that wasn’t connected to getting naked and humping the Hulk right now in front of those other two men.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pushed his hands into his lap and willed himself to deflate. His mind searched frantically for anything that would stop the debacle in his far too tight shorts from getting worse. He grasped at straws, but his arse gave him the answer. Anger at Vic’s thoughtlessness along with the concerto of deafening snoring had him wilting faster than ice cream could melt in forty-degree heat.
Ignoring his growing ire, he waited for the men to make a decision on what they were going to do. He could acknowledge now his brain wasn’t clouded by lust. The gratitude he felt at not having to deal solely with the guy he’d saved from....
He froze when he grasped that the earlier noise coming from the museum was better than the now eerie silence left in its wake.
He quickly looked back at the three men in front of him and saw the battered man drink slowly from the water bottle offered by the smaller dark-haired man. The overwhelming urge to encourage him to rush had him wringing his fingers together.
Greg watched the other two men as they spoke in quiet whispers. He found himself nibbling his thumbnail as he tried to stop the spiteful words from escaping. He had no reason to berate the smaller man, when evidently he had feelings for the battered guy. Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous that the Hulk wasn’t looking at me with those dark pools of dark delight.
Huffing out a quiet sigh, he hoped that whatever they were talking about included how to get their arses to safety. His gaze lingered on the man lying on the grassy bank.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to be much help, that was for sure.
The light caught the matted, blond hair and gave Greg an odd sense of déjà vu he’d not acknowledged earlier. He leant closer for a better look, but the swollen, distorted, grimy face gave no clues to why he felt this strange sense of knowing the guy. His concerned eyes travelled over his battered body. Greg coughed to hide the inappropriate chuckle wanting to escape.
Shiny, multicoloured skin seemed to swell right before his eyes almost like the guy was wearing one of those inflatable fat suits. Greg prayed it would stop soon, or else he was quite convinced they’d have a scene out of Alien with something bursting out of the guy’s body. His stomach roiled at the very thought. He clutched his tummy with trembling fingers. Greg’s mind worked hard to take the picture and crumple it up and shove it aside.
His shaky innards didn’t need the memory of how he’d puked up his guts right there in the aisle of the cinema after watching the film, while his so-called friends had laughed hysterically. He could still remember how fast he’d run out of the picture house as if chased by the hounds of hell.
Greg was thankful that the trip down memory lane at least got rid of the urge to laugh.
His eyes drifted up to the brightening sky, though it was still grey. His mind registered that it was probably time for him to be heading home and getting ready for work.
Oh crap, how the hell am I going to explain all this to Stuart?
It took a moment to realise Greg had missed something vital when the raspy voice of the man on the ground penetrated past his worry.
“Greg, Greg, is that you?”
Greg’s eyebrows shot up his forehead as he peered at the other man. He was speechless, and his mouth gaped while his brain stopped functioning for a split second, then fired back into action, and his lips slapped together, uselessly.
Holy mother of all that is holy!
“Stuart, is that you?”
His stunned words seemingly made everyone freeze in place. He cast a quick glance at the other men and saw two very different expressions. The Hulk looked accusing whereas Joe, it had to be him, Stuart’s boyfriend, gave him what could only be described as a suspicious
look.
“Do you know this man?”
Though the question was aimed at Stuart, intense dark eyes held Greg in place. Greg tried not to cower at the harsh accusation in the Hulk’s rumbling voice.
What the hell was his bloody problem?
Stuart answered, looking at Joe, “Greg and I work for Martin. This is the Greg, the office manager, I talk about from the office.” Stuart’s hoarse response seemingly appeased Joe, who visibly relaxed. The Hulk, on the other hand, threw daggers at him. His aim as deadly as any knife thrower made Greg freeze in panic. His heart stuttered under the attack.
The sparks of angry tension thrown at him had his own temper starting to fizzle and boil. Never one to get angry quickly, Greg was shocked at the speed of it now. Heat spread through him and removed the chill he’d felt seconds earlier.
Greg watched in fascination as the Hulk slowly unfolded his massive body.
Sweet baby Jesus, he had to be bigger than the giant in Jack and the beanstalk, seriously.
Gawping, he swallowed the pooling saliva as his eyes travelled up and up. His anger turned into something hot and decidedly lusty when ideas of how he could climb up, using the man as his own personal beanstalk, took over his common sense.
The growly voice did little to appease his need. It only increased the pulse dancing against his skin.
“I will go into the museum and distract our friend while you get Stuart back to the car, Joe.”
Greg’s audible gulp had them all turning to stare at him.
Greg’s sky-blue eyes fixed on the man who’d spoken. Emotions lit those coal eyes and made them appear to burn for a fleeting moment before his hooded lids dropped, masking his eyes.
He felt compelled to say something, anything to stop what was clearly an insane option. Greg spoke as forcefully as he could muster. “Surely we should call the police? Doesn’t one of you have a phone we could use? They have to be better equipped to deal with this fucked-up situation?” Pleased the tremulous wobble in his voice wasn’t that noticeable, he waited to see if common sense would prevail.
Stuart’s whispered words spurred them all into action, but not in the way Greg wanted. “Please, we need to do something and now. If you haven’t noticed, it’s gone really quiet in that building. I think he might be planning something, and I, for one, don’t want to hang around and find out what it is. He has already fired one shot, and I don’t want to be around for the next.”
Greg’s confusion grew.
Did they know the maniac?
What the hell was going on here?
The desire to demand some answers, particularly from the Hulk, had him straining to calm the pounding inside his head. Before he could say anything, the Hulk spoke.
“I want you three to go now. Head to the car and don’t argue. I’ll take care of Joel. I need you lot to keep as low to the ground as possible. Walk in the longer grass which will help shield you a little. I’ve got your backs. Joe, ring the police when you have signal, but I’d only do that when you get back to the car and are safely on your way to the hospital, okay? Joe, don’t forget to use our backup plan. Now, go.”
The biting command had them all moving to obey. Greg wanted to tell him where to get off, but instead he found it nearly impossible to resist the bossy bastard. Bending down, he copied Joe and shoved his shoulder under Stuart’s rank-smelling armpit. He held on to his breath, desperate not to breathe too deeply when the scents of blood, sweat, and mould combined into a heady stench made him gag.
Moving to stand, he braced his arms around Stuart. He breathed through his mouth and gave Stuart a moment to find his legs as he swayed perilously backwards.
Gripping tighter, he forced himself to move with them towards the long grass as they headed down the slippy grass bank. Greg winced. His bum clenched at the groans, moans, and whimpers coming from Stuart.
His feet slid, sweat soaked the back of his thin T-shirt, and his hair stuck to his dripping face. Unable to release his trembling arms from around Stuart, he struggled to blink past the stinging sensations when sweat dribbled down the sides of his face into his eyes.
The excursion played havoc on his legs. Greg struggled to maintain his balance when his trainers skidded. He was convinced someone had filled his shoes with cement. His legs felt so heavy.
Hysterical bubbles of laughter stuck in his chugging lungs, and his body told him in no uncertain terms this morning workout was so not his favourite. Greg attempted to suck in a breath past the bubbles of hysteria when Stuart paused, lying against his chest. Stuart’s words barely registered as his ears buzzed from the lack of oxygen.
“If there is a God up there, you’d better make sure Joel doesn’t hurt Aaden, you hear me.”
His lagging mind instantly latched onto the name as it left Stuart’s mouth. Aaden. The giant hulk was called Aaden? It had to be, because the name Joel had already been mentioned.
Greg licked at his dry mouth, letting the name roll across his tongue. It was a strong name, and it suited him down to the ground. A ground he would happily lie down on and let that hulk of a man do whatever he wanted to him.
He realised he was letting his mind wander to places he had no business going, and it took a moment for the sounds of heavy morning traffic to filter past his sexy thoughts.
As he jerked up from his hunched position, his muscles cramped, causing him to moan. Rolling his stiff shoulder as far as Stuart’s body would allow, he kept his eyes on the car only a few metres away.
Using what felt like the last of his strength, he assisted Joe to get Stuart to the car. He had a flash of worry about how smelly and dirty Stuart was to be sitting on the plush leather. Shrugging it off, he dragged Stuart into Martin’s fancy-arse sports car.
I’m sure as hell not offering up my car. It was going to be bad enough me getting in to it, never mind anyone else.
He also was pretty damn positive that he wasn’t going to be the one explaining to Martin about how his car got stinky when he returned from holiday. No siree.
Letting his aching muscles relax, he bent at the hips. Greg didn’t care about the traffic fumes coating the air as he sucked in several large gulps, holding on to his quivering stomach. He’d been taught years ago this was the best way for his lungs to equalise. Following his friend’s advice, he kept his head down for a minute and enjoyed the rush of euphoria from being upside down.
When he heard the crunch of gravel, he slowly righted himself but was only able to give Joe a half-hearted smile when he saw him pulling out a phone. The reality of the situation finally kicked in, and he locked out his knees when they resembled water pouring from a glass. His sky-blue eyes looked up towards the large building. They grey paint made it hard at first to distinguish where the building finished and the sky began.
His heart desperately tried to escape and rattled against his ribs like a prisoner shaking the iron bars of their cage. His trembling hands caught in his matted, wet hair. He pulled in frustration, embracing the pain. He stared up at the building in disbelief at what they had just done.
What the fuck had they even been thinking, letting Aaden go in there alone with a lunatic?
All right. He didn’t know exactly if the guy was a lunatic, but the state of Stuart spoke volumes. Nobody could be right in the head that did that to another person. Undoubtedly, they should’ve let the police deal with it rather than Aaden.
He was only half listening to Joe’s terse conversation. Greg’s body twitched when Joe told the police to head to the hospital. Barely containing his gnawing fear, he staggered to Joe on wobbly legs. He stopped in front of him with trembling legs. A flush of temper rose up under his sticky skin. Jabbing the air with his finger like he would a poker into his log burner, he struggled to stop from drilling a hole in Joe’s chest at his callous behaviour.
“What are you playing at, man? We need the police here, now, for pity’s sake. That’s your friend up there. Well, I hope he’s your friend because I sure as hell would hate to s
ee how you treat your enemy.”
Greg watched his spittle land on Joe’s face. He was pleased his outrage had done something so horrible to the other man. He figured that when he calmed down, he would be sorry for his outburst and his disgusting behaviour, but right now, in this moment, all he could feel was the raging anger and overriding fear he felt for Aaden.
A complete stranger had put himself at risk for what?
Glory?
Pride?
What could there be? Because as far as he could see, there was nothing worth that risk. Nothing.
He slammed his mouth shut as his thoughts dive-bombed his mind. He staggered back, unsure how he could fix this for Aaden, for any of them. His overcompensating need to fix everything for everyone had him gritting his teeth in frustration. The level of his anger was so unusual he didn’t know which way to turn.
Giving up, he flounced off towards his car. His stiffening limbs jerked in protest as he opened the car door and threw himself inside. He disregarded his prior worries about how foul-smelling he was, when all he wanted to do was escape Joe’s drooping shoulders and sad, disappointed eyes.
He gunned his Skoda out of the car park. His tyres kicked up gravel, firing indiscriminately at Martin’s shiny paintwork. They ricocheted off the shiny metal panels. The sounds reminiscent of a gun firing had Greg filled with regret. He cast a look in the rear-view mirror, praying his stupid behaviour hadn’t added insult to injury for Stuart.
He sighed heavily, wishing with everything in him he’d never got up and left the house. His growl pierced the sound of the engine as he accelerated down the mountain towards home. The nagging voice of reason whined, reprimanding him for even thinking that when Stuart was now safe from a monster. That he’d helped him escape from whatever ordeal he’d gotten himself mixed up in.
How could I not want my friend, and work colleague, to be safe?
His shameful thoughts splashed cold water on him, drowning him in the reality of who’d supported his promotion to office manager. Knots of humiliation coiled inside him. He sank back into the grey leather seat as tiredness and despair drained him of all his energy. Whatever adrenaline his system might have had deserted.
