Tropical Depression

by BA Tortuga

  Shane moaned, lips sliding and dragging over his skin.

  Galen panted, chest heaving. “Damn, lover. What you do to me.” He kissed Shane slow and deep, the kind of drugging, long-assed kiss you could only achieve after you came.

  Shane wrapped around him, tongue sliding and slipping alongside his. “Was good, Len.”

  “Mmm.” Good was an understatement. Galen almost collapsed, but he figured he ought to unlock Shane’s cuff first. He let Shane go, snuggled right in. “And I’m not feeling the least bit snarly.”

  “Mmm… no. Not snarly. Not pissy. Just right.”

  “Yeah.” Galen put a hand under Shane’s butt, pulled him so close. Let it storm. He had Shane, and that was all right with him any day.

  Chapter Four

  MAN, MANAGING a bar was hard work. Not impossible or anything, but slinging suds was more fun than doing deposits and hiring and firing and dealing with suppliers and shit. Shane sighed and started counting cash again, trying to make the numbers add up.

  Twenties. Tens. Fives. Ones. Quarters.

  The radio changed songs, and he jerked, coins going flying, realizing he’d been sleeping on his desk, dreaming about counting dimes. God damn it.

  5:00 a.m.

  Already.

  Maybe he’d sleep here tonight. Call up to the house and tell Len he wasn’t driving.

  Yeah.

  Except. Damn. Sleeping with Galen. Snuggling.

  Pancakes.

  Oh, man. Pancakes. Galen made good goddamned pancakes.

  He grabbed the deposit bag and started stuffing it full. Safe. Then pancakes. Then snuggling.

  Go him.

  GALEN WOKE up about 4:00 a.m., and when he reached over to Shane’s side of the bed, all he felt was empty sheets. No Shane. Just him and the silence and the big bed….

  Shane was staying at the bar again, he reckoned. Goddamn.

  He rolled up, reaching for the phone to call and make sure Shane was okay. He didn’t pick up the handset. If Shane was asleep, Galen didn’t want to wake him. Bartender’s hours often left folks with insomnia, and Shane could go for days without actually going to bed.

  He stared at the empty side of the bed. His shoulders rose up around his ears. Fuck.

  Galen slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Once he’d washed up, he made his way to the kitchen. He leaned on the door of the fridge for a while, staring into the light without really seeing dick. Then he wandered out to the deck. The smell of water in the air should have soothed him, but it just made him miss Shane.

  Maybe he ought to hop in the truck and go to the bar. He had visions of sweeping Shane off his feet and loving him into wanting to come home again.

  More and more when it got late and Shane was still doing the deposit, he would stay at the bar.

  Not cool.

  Finally Galen headed to the workout room. He would lift weights and do sit-ups until he was tired enough to go back to sleep. That way he didn’t bother Shane, and he could wear himself out a little without having to resort to warm milk or a shower or something.

  Galen sat on the weight bench before lying back under the bar. He knew he should have a spotter in the house at least, but these days he rarely had that either.

  He hefted the bar and started doing reps.

  Enough physical exercise could make a man forget almost anything. Even how crappy it was to wake up alone.

  IF HE heard “Welcome to the Jungle” one more goddamned time tonight, he was going to rip someone’s head off and shit down their neck.

  Oh, man. That was a gross fucking thought.

  And all Galen’s fault too, he was sure of it. Shane poured another round of shots and barked at Will to get his ass to the back for another keg before nodding over at big, dark, and hung at the corner of the bar.

  Galen looked like maybe he was tired of the fucking song too.

  Lord, they were busier than a one-legged man at a butt-kicking competition, and the crowd was starting to rumble a bit at the edges. Including Galen. Every time the guy in the “Gators Do it in the Water” T-shirt bumped Galen’s arm, the man got a glare, one Shane knew well enough to avoid at all costs. Too bad Gator Boy didn’t.

  He headed over, fixed Gator Boy with a look. “You need something else to drink, man?”

  “Huh? Yeah! Hell, yeah! Give us all another round. Including the big guy here.” The guy jerked a thumb at Galen, and Shane was just close enough to hear the growl.

  He arched an eyebrow over at Len, almost—almost, now, he was getting a little fucking tired—tickled. “You want another one, big guy?”

  “From you? Yeah. But on my dime, not his.” He knew Galen would never start anything in his place. Not after that one time where he’d lost his job and all. But it was still fun to see those sloe eyes pin the guy in place and that upper lip curl with contempt.

  He nodded. Galen’s money wasn’t good here, hadn’t been in forever, not since he’d moved up the ladder from bartending to managing. He poured the kids a round, then got Galen a shot of the good stuff and wiped the bar in front of Galen clean.

  “Man, what is your fucking problem? Giving this guy the best seat and better fucking booze than anyone else?”

  Shane arched an eyebrow. “Kid, I don’t have time to play with you. Take your drinks and go on.”

  The guy made to reach across the bar and grab him, but that hand never even made it past the pretzels. One of Galen’s big football-player’s hands clamped on the guy’s wrist.

  “You’re about to have a problem, son, you don’t back off.”

  There was this pause, right before shit hit the fan, where everything kinda went still. Shane was extremely familiar with it, and in his experience, it meant grab the José Canseco, bay-bee.

  He wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bat right about the time Gator Boy took a swing at Galen and one of his drunk friends raised a beer bottle up to whack Len in the head.

  Oh, he didn’t think so.

  Galen always did have eyes in the back of his head. Even as he backed out of range of Gator Boy, he ducked the bottle, and the sound of Galen’s fist hitting flesh sounded loud. Galen had a way longer reach than Gator Boy.

  Shane was up and over the bar before Jake and Will could blink, wading right in with a snarl, bat swinging.

  “This.”

  Thwack.

  “Is.”

  Pow.

  “My.”

  Thud.

  “Bar!”

  Smash.

  Lord, that one guy turned into five like nothing going, like cockroaches coming out of a broken wall. Galen snarled at one who got too close to Shane, and damned if the asshole didn’t go down like a felled tree under Galen’s punch. Will was on one side of him, and that big feller they hired to play bouncer waded in, and suddenly it was a fucking free-for-all—bodies and fists and bottles flying—and fuck, he hated getting hit in the face, man. It made Len crazy too. He could tell by the way Galen started really meaning it, not playing anymore. He’d only seen Len that mad once before. Ever. And that had been the start of a shitty couple three weeks.

  By the time everything was said and done, they’d cleaned the place out but for the core group of regulars, who all stood around with their teeth in their mouths.

  Shit.

  Damn.

  “Everybody okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “S’all good, buddy.”

  Everyone sounded pretty chipper. The only one who didn’t answer was Len.

  He turned to give Len a good once-over, wrist twinging as the bat swung some. Man, people were easier to hit, but the recoil? Shit. “Galen?”

  Galen stared at him, nodding slowly, those black-on-black eyes… well. They were on fire. He could see muscles jumping under Len’s skin.

  Oh.

  Damn.

  Upstairs.

  “Office?”

  “Uh-huh.” God, no wonder Len had stayed quiet. That one word held a wealth of need, and Len turne
d abruptly and walked off to lead the way.

  “Will. Bar. Holler if you need me.” He didn’t wait for the answer, just followed his own personal redneck right up the stairs.

  He made it right in time to see that high, tight ass disappear as Galen opened up the office and went on in. Shit, he could smell the man. He’d bet Len had opened his jeans right up. The thought made his cock throb, made it press against his zipper and demand attention. He locked the door behind him, the bat clattering to the floor.

  Len was on him before he could even blink, pressing him back against the door to kiss him, hands hard on his shoulders. Fuck, yes. Shane groaned, fingers twisting in Galen’s shirt and tugging hard. Their lips split, they kissed so hard, the tinge of blood joining the burn of whiskey.

  They started getting naked, their clothes falling to the ground, and he figured they were going to burn up when Len stopped, growling a little and pulling back. Before he could ask what the hell was wrong now, Len touched his cheek, fingers moving slow and careful.

  “They bruised you, darlin’.”

  “They were drunk bastards looking for a thrill.” He leaned into the touch, not easy, but hard enough that it stung some. He knew Galen, knew that bruise would make that man snarl for days.

  “Well, it’s my job to leave marks, damn it.” Oh fuck. Galen did, leaning down to bite at his shoulder, stinging like crazy. Yeah. Hell, yeah.

  His cock jumped like it could push its way right out without any help. “Then get to it and quit rumbling.”

  “Uh-huh. Get up here.” Len lifted him, stripped off the rest of his clothes so fast he almost had rug burn. That man amazed him with the simple strength in those arms.

  “You… you’re something.” He leaned in, got himself a good, hard kiss, grateful as hell his prick and his zipper were no longer in speaking distance.

  “I just want you, darlin’. So bad.” He could feel it too, against his leg. Galen’s cock rubbed and rubbed, leaving wet trails. And the kisses. Fuck, they were making his head spin.

  “Uh-huh.” Okay, that was brilliant, but damn. He just. Fuck. Shane crawled up Galen’s body, pushing close and doing his best “hump like a bad puppy” impression.

  The world spun and his ass peeled away from the door as Galen moved them, finally plunking him down on his desk. Bracing one hand on the desk, Galen covered him, coming right down between his spread legs, their cocks rubbing like crazy.

  “Uh-huh.” He groaned, reaching up to pull them closer. “Come on.”

  “Yeah, darlin’. Yeah. I want….” Galen moaned, nipping at his chin and neck, that heavy beard stubble scraping his last fucking nerve.

  “Right here.” He bucked, ass slapping the desk hard enough to sting.

  “I know. Oh Jesus, I know.” Galen bent and wiggled, and that hot prick rubbed at him, all down the underside of his cock and along his balls, then lower.

  “Galen….” He wasn’t one to beg, but goddamn, he was on fucking fire, balls to bones. “Please. I fucking need.”

  “Need… what, darlin’? Say it.” Len wasn’t laughing at him, wasn’t asking him to beg either. Len just liked to hear it. Bastard.

  He pushed himself up so their chests slapped together, his lips right next to Len’s. “Fuck me. Hard. I have to feel you right fucking now.”

  He got a kiss as a reward, Len lining right up. There wasn’t going to be any sweet fingering or lube or anything, and that was fine with him. Len always slid right in like he belonged there. Like now.

  Oh, hell, yes. They groaned together, breathing into each other’s mouths for a second before they started moving, Galen slamming into him and giving him what he needed.

  Their bodies slapped together hard enough to leave more bruises, Galen’s hips smacking his ass. The hand Galen wasn’t braced on pulled at him, lifting him even more. He couldn’t last long, so he didn’t try. He just held on and did his best to add his strength to Len’s, meet each thrust and make it good for both of them. Cords stood out in Len’s neck, and those dark eyes stared right down at him as Len went a little crazy, fucking him like there was no tomorrow. Then Galen groaned, going still for a few seconds before shooting right inside him, hard and deep, those strong hips snapping.

  “Galen.” He didn’t have enough breath to scream or holler, but whispering that one word had to be enough, because he lost it, heat spreading over his belly.

  Galen moaned for him, forehead dropping to touch his own, their sweat dripping into his eyes. “Damn, darlin’.”

  “Uh-huh.” He nodded and swallowed, staring up into Galen’s eyes. Yeah. Damn.

  “You okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Oh, Len would worry about that now.

  “Nah. Just knocked me around some. You?” Of course, if Galen could fuck like that hurt, they were going to have a talk about holding out on his ass.

  “M’good. I was more pissed than anything.” They moved a little, Galen pushing him to one side to sort of flop half on him, half on his desk. “Your blotter is hard.”

  “You noticed that.” There was also a pack of postie-notes digging a valley into his left buttcheek, but he could live with that.

  “I did. You have a couch somewhere, yeah?” They weren’t moving. He noticed that too.

  “Uh-huh. Eight feet to the left, give or take six inches.”

  “Okay. We can make it there, no problem.” It was a bumpy ride, but damned if Len didn’t haul his ass right over there.

  He settled right in, clinging a little. “You’re gonna be sore in the morning. You’re not used to beating the fuck out of strangers.”

  Len nuzzled his cheek, right where that damned bruise sat. “Not anymore. But for you, darlin’? I’d take on the world.”

  That? He so believed. Balls to bones.

  Chapter Five

  GALEN FIGURED he was busier than a one-armed paperhanger. He’d finally taken Frank up on the football offer, and he was spending way more time on the phone in his home office than he was in the bait shop or at the bar, for that matter. He just wasn’t getting out as much.

  It was Shane’s bartender Jake who called him one evening, asking him to come down.

  “Something wrong?” he asked, punching formulas for a concession stand dealie into his computer.

  “Well, it’s slam busy, and there’s a bunch of college kids in here, and I worry. We have a few call in sicks, you know?”

  Jake was a pretty cool head, so if he called, that meant he was pretty worried something was gonna get rowdy. Galen checked the weather. Yeah, it might have a bit of a blow, and that always made the crowd crazy. He sighed.

  “Sure, I’ll be over in a half hour or so, yeah?”

  Jake grunted. “Thanks, man. See you then.”

  Hanging up, Galen signed off with Frank on the IM and got up to put on his good jeans and some boots. Shane liked that look. And if Shane knew he was coming just because Jake thought the man deserved a little help on a busy night? Galen would need all the ammunition he could get.

  MAN, THE bar was rocking.

  Shane had been running his ass off since three. One bartender had called in sick, and both barbacks, and it was fucking Saturday. Tomorrow? Heads were gonna roll.

  Of course, working the bar meant regulars bought him drinks and tipped him, laughing at his old jokes, the old teases. By nine thirty or so, he was fucking buzzing, things just zooming. Damn. Damn, but he didn’t remember shit being so… crazed. Sparkly.

  Still, the money was flowing, the faces coming back for more, laughing with him.

  The one face he hadn’t seen all night popped up right about then, Galen in his usual low-slung jeans and black hat, leaning against the bar down at the end, waiting patiently for him.

  He poured his lover a Jack and waltzed his way down the bar. “Hey, stranger.”

  “Hey, darlin’. Man, it’s buck wild in here tonight.”

  “No shit. That new little prick Jim didn’t show. Bastards. Still, making some money, so woo, yeah?” He winked, tu
rning as Jake tapped his arm.

  “The table in the back bought you another shot, boss. You want me to comp them a round?”

  He chuckled. “Sure. One round. House booze.”

  He knocked the shot back, saluted the table.

  Galen looked at him closely, then looked at his big old gold watch. “You might oughta stop with that one, darlin’. It’s only ten, and you’re looking happy.”

  “Only ten? Shit. It feels like it’s been forever tonight.” Forever and ever, the music going faster and faster. Len was right, though. Damned lights were trailing like nothing going, and damn if he wasn’t spinning a little.

  The frown deepened on Galen’s face. “Shane? Darlin’? You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, just blinky some. You know? Not used to working….” He got sidetracked again, some customer coming up and hollering in some weird fucking foreign language.

  “I guess that…. Are you sure?” Galen was looking at him, eyes serious, hand coming out to hold him there when he would have flitted off. He blinked down at Galen’s hand, tilted his head. The man had beautiful hands. Just amazing and square and dark, and man, Galen needed a ring.

  A ring?

  Would look cool.

  “Shane?” Now Galen sounded kinda pissy. What had he done? “Can you get a break?”

  “It’s real busy, man.” He caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bar, blinking as he saw about ten of him. Cool. Be really cool if they could all tend bar too.

  “I know it.” Holding him in place, Galen waved at Will and Jake. “Shane needs ten. Can y’all handle it?”

  Will nodded. “Yeah, man. We’re cool.”

  Shane looked over at Galen, and that pissed look was still there.

  Shit.

  He hated that look.

  “Cool. Thanks, guys.” Galen walked him all the way down to the end of the bar, holding his hand over it before hauling him off to the bathroom. Galen closed the door and turned on the lights before turning to tilt his head up.

  “Dude. Len. Bright. Sparkly. Damn.” Whoa. Trailers….