by BA Tortuga
“Yeah. I get them. I’ve tried lots of things.” Duncan ran his hands through his hair, sighing a little.
“You ever lose time?” Another inch, then two, and his leg rested against Duncan’s on the bed.
“Yeah. I get the whole thing—visuals, light sensitivity, the whole shebang. You get them too?”
“Me? No. I got a friend who used to. Bad.” The things the government did to people….
“Yeah.” Duncan shifted again, nostrils flaring like the man was scenting the air.
“Anyway, I want you to feel, right here.” Cowboy touched that spot again. “There’s something under there.”
“It’s just scar tissue. I’ve had the doctor look.”
“What doctor? The one at the school?” Shit, those people were… kind of horrific.
“Yeah. I told you, I’m on this program. Was. Whatever. I mean, the program got canceled a few months ago.”
“Well, there you go. A doctor with the Program could lie. Look, let me prove it to you. If I’m wrong, I’ll think of some way to make it up to you.”
“Prove it how?” Duncan was starting to panic.
“Let me make a tiny cut.” Okay, the Doc might bolt. Cowboy got ready to hold him down.
“Huh? No. No. No fucking way. I just let you stick tweezers in me.”
“Well, I guess I could just leave you and let them track you down. Took all of five hours last time, yeah?” He’d play hardball if he had to.
“Me? What about you? Why would they be after me? You’re not making sense, asshole!” Doc could get shrill.
“Don’t call me an asshole.” He stared Duncan right down, waiting for the man to calm. “They’re after you because you’re the test rabbit. I’m just the guy who was supposed to take you out.”
“So go. Let whoever it is that is supposed to be coming come. I haven’t ever been shot at or kidnapped or cut or….” Duncan was about to lose it; he could tell.
“Doc.” Cowboy reached out and put his hand on Duncan’s thigh, high enough to nudge those heavy balls.
“Fuck, man. I’m way out of my league.”
“We’re not out of mine. You just have to trust me.” He was well aware that the Geneva convention would accuse him of, like, trying to create Stockholm syndrome or something, but in this case, the Doc really needed to believe him to stay alive.
“I…. Fuck. If there’s nothing, I’m leaving. Do you understand? If there’s nothing, I’m going to hit you in the head with a lamp and leave.”
“Okay. We have a deal.” Of course, Duncan in a full rage might kill him with a lamp, but hey. He got out of bed and got the first aid kit again, knowing there’d be a sterile scalpel. Duncan stood, started pacing, muttering to himself.
“Duncan. I can’t do this with you up and walking.” Poor guy. This was a lot to take in. Cowboy? He was used to weird shit.
“I know. I’m just…. Trying to walk off nerves.”
“Oh.” Right. Uh-huh. “Well, holler at me when you’re ready.” The ice bucket was still full of water, so he dumped it in the sink and rinsed it. “I’m going to get ice. Don’t run off.”
“Yeah. Right.” He got a look; then Duncan shook his head. “I want a chocolate sundae, a fifth of tequila, and a steak.”
“Sure. In that order if you want, as soon as we get rid of the chip.” He sighed, rolling his head on his neck. “The ice will help numb you down a bit, Doc. That’s all.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s get it over with before I lose my nerve.”
“I’ll be back in a sec.”
He went to the old ice machine, listened to it wheeze, checked the parking lot carefully. This would take a few minutes. It would suck to be interrupted.
Nothing. Nothing at all.
He couldn’t help but think this was somehow MJ’s fault.
Ice achieved, he beat the concrete back to the room, making sure Duncan was still with him. That seemed weirdly important, especially since Cowboy was really the love ’em and leave ’em kind.
The door was open, and he could just see Duncan’s ass, bent over by the Coke machine.
It was really a fine specimen of an ass. Far too nice for a professor. Really.
Duncan popped the top of the Coke, turned, and jumped. “Damn. You scared me. You want one too?”
“Sure.” Who couldn’t use a little caffeine? “So, they have Dr Pepper?”
“Yeah. Yeah, they do. Hold on.” Duncan walked back, that shoulder not even really pulling anymore. That was just freaky. For a moment, Cowboy allowed himself to imagine MJ on a drug like that. He assumed it was a drug. A series of drugs. Whatever the fuck it was, it was wrong. Hot and sort of cool as fuck, but wrong.
“Okay. You ready?” Back in the room, he watched Duncan suck his Coke down and waited, knowing the man had to settle.
“Yeah. I managed to let you pull a fucking bullet out of me. This is more like a splinter, right?”
Duncan sat down, undid his pants, and spread.
Oh, fuck him raw, that was distracting. Cowboy shook it off. “Yeah. It’ll be like a splinter.” He got his shit together, got over where he could touch.
Of course, that heavy cock started to fill and things started to get intense.
“Really damned distracting, Doc. Gonna need steady hands for this.” One finger trailed the length of Duncan’s cock. He just couldn’t resist.
“It’s a completely biological reaction. I can’t help it.” Uh-huh.
“Sure. I tell you what, Doc, this is one messed-up situation.” He took a handful of ice and rubbed it over the spot he needed to cut, knowing it would help with the sticky-outy part too.
“No….” Duncan peeped a little, jumped. “No shit.”
“Sorry, but it will help.” Washcloth, sterile pad, alcohol. “Take a deep breath, Doc, and hold still.”
Duncan sat, eyes focused somewhere past his shoulder.
Good man. There was no way to make it better except to stop putting it off, so Cowboy pinched up the skin around the chip and picked his spot, his damned good knowledge of anatomy keeping him from hitting anything important.
Duncan went stiff, muscles jerking against his belly. No bulging up on him now.
“Breathe, Duncan.” Cowboy met those eyes for a moment, trying to calm the guy. “Just a few more seconds.”
He could feel it. It was going to pop right out.
“’M cool.” Uh-huh. That suave voice was all growls and rumbles.
“Shh. Just in, out. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” That was one of the first things they taught you about pain management and torture. Grinning at the thought, Cowboy got the scalpel under the little metal-and-plastic device and worked it out of Duncan’s skin.
“Jesus fuck, that pulls.” It was gory too. Kind of cool. Too bad he couldn’t keep it.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He cleaned the little wound thoroughly, swabbing it with the alcohol, then pressing a towel down on it. “Hold that while I clean this up so you can see.”
Duncan held the towel, nostrils flaring like a horse’s. Yep. This had to be MJ’s fault. He was going to kick Jay-Jay’s ass next time he saw the man.
He toweled the chip off, but left it just gory enough that Duncan couldn’t accuse him of producing it out of nowhere. “There you go, Doc.”
Duncan stared at it, face pasty. “What is that?”
“It’s a chip, Doc. A locator.” He needed to get it on a truck. Something.
“Why?”
“Shit, Duncan. It would take a month of Sundays to explain.” Not that he really could. He needed MJ to do that. “I need to get rid of this.”
“Okay.” Duncan nodded, stood up and fastened his pants, found his shoes.
“Doc…. What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. Trying not to have a meltdown. Leaving. Going home. I don’t have the foggiest fucking idea.”
“No. You go home, they won’t need a chip.” He looked around, seeing too much gore and shit t
o stay there. They’d paid up front, cash, so they could go, give themselves a little false trail.
“I don’t even know where the fuck I am. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know if my classes are being covered or if someone’s feeding my motherfucking fish!” Yep. Shrill.
Cowboy pushed Duncan back down on the bed, opening the recently closed fly of the Doc’s pants, pushing in to grab the thick cock. “Too much thinking, Duncan.”
“What the fuck are you…?” Their lips crashed together, hard enough to split, and fuck him raw, Duncan tasted good, felt better. He pushed his hand farther into the cloth, rubbing in a full circle, Duncan’s cock moving under his hand. They kissed like there was no fucking tomorrow, hard and deep and enough to make his blood pound in his temples.
“More.” Duncan bit his bottom lip hard enough to sting, get his blood bubbling.
“Uh-huh.” Definitely more. He pushed Duncan down, crawling on top, straddling those lean hips.
“Fuck.” Duncan’s heels dug into the mattress, those hips slamming up into him hard enough to jostle his bones.
“That’s the idea, honey.” A wild grin stretched his cheeks, and Cowboy bent to kiss Duncan again, rubbing his ass against that hard cock. Duncan was right there with him, humping and moaning, rocking but hard. His hands slipped back, one to brace himself, the other to grab Duncan’s cock and push it harder against him. He should have taken his damned jeans off.
One hand dragged down his spine, leaving a burning trail along his skin.
Grunting, Cowboy let go of Duncan and fumbled with his own zipper and button, his cock about to bust, it was squeezed so tight in the cloth. Oh fuck. Better.
“I can smell you.” The words pushed right into his lips, one hand landing on his ass and pushing them tighter together, their cocks sliding and bumping.
“Smell us,” he corrected, rubbing harder now, the feel of skin on skin making him moan. Shit, this guy got to him.
“Fuck. Fuck, yes.” Doc moaned, one leg wrapping around his hip. “Harder. Come on. I’m burning up.”
“I know, Doc. I can feel.” Shifting, he got their cocks fully together, the skin at the tip catching on Duncan’s, his balls rubbing against skin too. Jesus fuck.
“Yes.” Duncan stared at him, eyes blazing. Then their lips crashed together again, both of them driving hard.
He couldn’t tell if the Doc was in there, or if this was his evil twin. Didn’t really matter either, not when the man was making him feel this good. Hell, it was like two for the price of one. Buy a bottom; get a top. Kidnap a professor; get carried off by a big-assed supersoldier.
Duncan shifted, leg rubbing a little harder against his balls, and he lost his train of thought. Boom.
His cock throbbed, the threat of orgasm shooting up his spine. Cowboy dug his fingers into Duncan’s chest, the skin there rough with the tiniest bit of extra hair. Shit, yes. That low growl vibrated in his ear, fingers tapping his hole.
Back arching hard, Cowboy panted, his skin too damned tight. “In, Doc. ’S okay.”
Doc roared and spun him. All of the sudden he was on his belly, staring at the comforter, a hot tongue on his hole.
Huh. He’d have to remember that reflex next time. Use it to his…. Oh. Christ. Good.
Doc was thorough—hungry and pushy, tongue driving into him, but damn thorough, making sure he was plenty wet before pulling away and pushing into him. Every muscle in his body went tight; every bit of him strained to keep the Doc out. To pull him in. Doc’s growl vibrated all along his spine, and one big, rough hand wrapped around his cock, grabbing him and stroking him off.
“Fuck!’ The sound exploded out of him, a shout that rang through the room. He bucked, caught between Duncan’s hand and cock, not sure which way to go to make it even better.
“Fu-u-u-uck.” Duncan chose for him, pushing him with that cock into Duncan’s hand.
Cowboy shot like a ton of bricks, his head almost smacking into Duncan’s, his back arched so hard with it. “Jesus fuck!”
Duncan’s prick pushed deep, those hips rocking for what seemed like forever—hell, he was thinking he could almost get it up again before the strong rhythm got jerky and hard. Pushing back with everything he had left, Cowboy rocked until their skin slapped together, so hard that it rang out like a pistol shot.
“Yes….” That heavy cock pulsed, filled him up.
Shit. He might just be ruined for life. He’d never be able to walk away like a man. More like a man with bad jock itch.
Doc landed on him, heavy and solid.
He listened to them both breathe for a long moment. Time was ticking away in his head, though. They had to get moving. “Doc. You better?”
“Mmm.” That was a heavy, sleepy sound, almost like a bear.
“Good. I hate to be the one to bust your bubble, but we got to go. You can sleep while I drive.” His aching ass would keep him awake.
“Go?” He felt the soft rumble more than heard it. “Again?”
“I know. But we got to get that chip going one way and us the other. How do you feel about the beach?”
“I like the beach. Padre?”
“I’m not sure, but we’ll head that way.” He was thinking someplace obscure, but with a big enough marina for MJ’s boat.
“Okay. I…. You’re sure. You’re sure they’re after me?”
“Doc.” He squirmed free and rose up on one elbow. “I know. This was a widespread program. I can’t explain it all, ’cause I don’t know, but I know someone who can.”
“I don’t have any reason to trust you.” Duncan was going to, though; Cowboy could tell.
“I know. Hey, I didn’t shoot you.” That was something, right? He’d shot MJ before.
“Are you sure?” Fuck him, that was a fine, fine smile. It just lit the son of a bitch right on up.
“I am. I got you shot, which, okay. My bad. But you were kinda focused.” He grinned back, hauling his ass up, even though it was kinda screaming at him.
“I think you mean terrified.” Duncan got moving too, grabbing clothes, cleaning up.
“That too.” Look at him, motivating the Doc. He hoped. “Okay, I need to wipe down after we’re done.”
“Wipe down? You want a shower? I left you a towel.”
“No, I mean wipe the room for fingerprints. We’ll take all the towels and find a place to dump them.” No blood evidence either, not if he could help it.
“Oh.” Man, someone needed to get a survival bone.
At least the Doc was willing to learn, helping him gather up everything and stuff it into the laundry bag, including the ice bucket. He used the last towel to wipe everything down, then handed off the bag to Duncan. “Use the towel to open the door. I’ll get my kit.”
“Okay. What are you doing with the… the thing?”
“We’re going to put it on a truck.” A big one. One that would move fast and had a Yankee license plate.
“Okay.” That was definite. Someone seemed a little offended that he’d been chipped like a prize dog.
Why not? He woulda dug it out with his bare hands. One last check of the room told him they’d done all they could, and his neck was on fire, his nose for trouble telling him to move, move, move.
“Come on, Doc. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Hopefully they’d cover their tracks well enough to get ahead a good ways.
Then they’d get to someone who could explain.
Chapter Twenty
SONNY WATCHED MJ get the boat ready to move, pulling lines and checking anchors. They were pushing toward the mainland, and he wasn’t real sure why. All he knew was that someone had called MJ, not once, but a couple times, and suddenly they were moving out.
He’d been a good boy. He hadn’t asked. Sonny had, in fact, waited patiently for MJ to tell him what was going on. Looked like he was low on patience now, though, because he was getting pissed off.
A lot.
Finally he just got in MJ’s way, arms c
rossed, waiting for the man to acknowledge him.
“What’s up, Sunshine?” MJ met his eyes, one eyebrow quirking.
“Well, Precious. I want to know who you’re calling babe on the phone.” Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all.
“Huh? That’s Cowboy. He’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend.” He didn’t know MJ had friends. The last old friend had ended up causing no end of trouble.
“Yeah. We’ve done a couple jobs together, hung out. I taught him to surf. He sucks at it.”
Sonny stared, his lips pressed into a tight line. Then he took a deep breath. “So, why are we going to meet him?”
“He’s got a problem, and he’s hoping I have answers. Besides, you haven’t met him yet. I want to show you off.”
“Uh-huh.” A friend that MJ called babe. “How long is he staying?”
“We’re going to him. I want to be able to move if shit gets weird.” That cold look was in MJ’s eyes, one that meant trouble that didn’t have anything to do with him.
“So, what’s going to get weird?” He reached out to touch MJ’s chest, knowing it would be better if they connected.
“Mmm.” MJ stepped closer. “He got a guy who he thinks used to be in the Program. A professor. One of the experiments.”
“No shit, huh?” Oh, fuck-a-doodle-doo. Those people were crazy.
“Yep. I didn’t want to give our spots away, so I said we’d go to him.” MJ’s hands wrapped around his waist. “We’re cool?”
“Yeah. Just kind of took me by surprise.” He’d have to meet the guy before they were cool.
“He’s good at his job. He only shot me once.”
Sonny was going to kill him. Like dead. The guy, not MJ. “He shot you.”
“Once.”
“Well, that’s more than I’ve shot you.”
He got a quick, wild grin. “You took a bullet for me. That’s vastly more impressive.”
“It is. You just keep that in mind.” Damn it, he wanted to be mad.
His scar was touched, stroked. “Yeah. I do.”
Fucker.
“Come here.” He hauled MJ right up against his body, hands going around to grab that fine ass. He needed to remind MJ about more than getting shot.
