by J. K. Hogan
“I’m not…gay!”
Justice continued as if Rich hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t like he’d expected the guy to admit it. “You knew he was marrying Maia, but you didn’t get so upset until I got here. Why is that? I mean, did you think you’d hang around until they invited you in for a little ménage á blah? And somehow I threw a wrench in that plan?”
Rich had gone very still, a hunted look washing over his face. “I’m not gay,” he repeated in monotone. “Dunno what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Whatever, Rich. You know the old adage…you doth protest too much, man.”
Whatever wire that had held Rich’s composure snapped, and he got right up in Justice’s face, grabbing onto his arm hard enough to bruise.
“You listen to me, you fucking cocksucker. If I ever hear of you saying shit like that to anyone, especially Rory, I’ll kill you. Are we clear?”
Justice held his gaze steadily, not showing an ounce of fear, because the guy was all bark. “Crystal,” he said with the tiniest smirk. Felt good to rattle his enemy, he wouldn’t lie.
Rich slammed a handful of bills down on the bar and grabbed the beer the bartender had barely set down, and stalked out of the bar.
“Well fuck me sideways,” Justice said to himself. “The gayer they are, the harder they fall.”
* * * *
Nic had gone outside to get some air, and to cool off after all the dancing. He was standing against the corner of the building, in the shadow cast by a street light. His gaze sharpened when he saw Rich burst out the door of the club and immediately pull out a pack of Capris.
Nic rolled his eyes as Rich pulled out a slim cigarette and lit it with a match, his already gaunt cheeks caving in with the inhale. Okay, Audrey Hepburn, he thought. Men smoking Capris were only cool in Europe —and even there, it wasn’t that cool.
Obviously Rich was trying and failing to pull off some Euro-chic metrosexual vibe. Ugh. Nic glared holes in the back of the guy’s head until he saw his shoulders stiffen. It was the moment he realized someone was behind him.
Nic waited for Rich to turn around, well aware that he was barely visible through the shadows. Rich puffed out his chest, some alpha posturing when he knew he was out weighed and out classed.
“The fuck you looking at?” he spat, taking a harsh drag of his delicate cigarette.
God, that had to be like smoking vapor. Might as well get a fucking eCig. Nic let his gaze travel the length of Rich’s body and then snorted dismissively.
“Not much.”
Rich took a blustering step forward, but when Nic pushed off the wall and straightened to his full height, the guy seemed to deflate. Nic strolled in a slow circle around the suited-up anal probe, who was enveloped in a hazy cloud of pseudo-smoke. The guy stood his ground, but Nic had a feeling if he flinched and said ‘boo!’ Rich would take off.
“Listen Rick —”
“Rich,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Whatever. I heard what you did to Justice yesterday.” Nic smiled his feral, imma-fuck-you-up smile and paused for effect. He felt instant satisfaction when Rich paled under his glare.
“I —”
“Shut up. Blackmailing Justice in the first place was strike one. Outing him was strike-fucking-two. You know what comes after that, don’tcha Rick?”
“Rich. I —”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not finished. Justice is a sweet kid, all right? He never did anything to you other than what you made up inside that fucked up head of yours.”
Nic got right up in Rich’s face, damn the smoke. “So let me tell you how it’s gonna be. You stay the hell away from Justice. You don’t so much as look at him sideways. Because if you do, it will be strike three. And I will fuck your shit up.” He didn’t get mad. He didn’t yell. He delivered it in his most calm, most controlled voice. And he could smell Rich’s fear. Good. Nic could be one scary bastard when he wanted to be. You didn’t live on a fucking boat in a fucking marina with no security without having a little street cred.
He could see the fine tremors racking Rich’s muscles; he was a man trying to pretend like he wasn’t afraid. Nic didn’t need words, it was all spelled out in Rich’s body language.
“I trust we understand each other?”
Rich jerked his chin in the briefest of nods, before turning on his heel with military precision and stalking off down the street. Nic smirked at his retreating back, feeling a little better about Justice’s safety with the wedding party.
Stepping on the smoldering cigarette that Rich had dropped to put it out, Nic headed back inside. He shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled a tune as he re-entered the muggy club.
* * * *
After they managed to extricate themselves from the club-goers, Nic took Justice back to the yacht. It seemed like they were both yearning for some quiet. Justice kept silent as they followed the pier to the San Valentino’s slip, and Nic was flying high on hope and lust.
He was proud of Justice for coming out, even if it hadn’t exactly been his decision. He could always have denied it, after all. Denied Nic. God knew Nic was used to that.
But Justice had stepped up. He came out. And he’d agreed to bring Nic to the wedding, as his date. It was more than any boyfriend had done for Nic before.
Nic led Justice through the dark, gently swaying yacht, and out to the fantail lounge on the aftdeck. He left Justice standing there so he could go flick on the dim railing lights.
The aftdeck was luxurious, with a complete wet bar, plush chaise longues arranged around a hot tub that was covered for the season, and a portable ventless gas fireplace. It was hedonistic heaven.
Justice stood staring down at the black hot tub cover through unseeing eyes. He seemed tense. Nic couldn’t really blame him, after the whirlwind twenty-four hours he’d had.
Nic came up behind Justice and began to knead his tight shoulders. Justice dropped his head forward, letting out a groan that was pure sex, and Nic chubbed up immediately —the Pavlovian response.
Justice seemed pleased with the reaction, however, as he reached around to grab a handful of Nic’s ass, and used it to grind Nic’s cock against him. Nic wanted him, wanted him so bad, but he wanted him for more than sex. Time to slow things down.
He grabbed Justice’s wrist and spun him around, swooping in to capture his mouth before he had time to protest. The kiss was a slow, smoldering burn, nothing like the duel of mouths they usually engaged in. Nic carded his fingers through Justice’s hair, petting rather than tugging. Justice clutched Nic’s hips, bringing their lower halves together but not thrusting. There was no hurry.
Nic pulled back and looked Justice right in his huge anime eyes. “You’re amazing.”
Justice blushed and whuffed out a protest, but his mouth tried to turn up at the corners. “Nah.”
“Yeah you are, kiddo.”
“Not a kid.”
“No, no you’re definitely not. After what you did for me today, you’re more of a man than I can ever hope to be.”
“Did for you?” Confusion or modesty, Nic wasn’t sure. Was it possible that Justice had no idea how much the wedding date meant to him.
“Going out with me, in front of your friends. Excepting Rory’s invitation to bring me to the wedding…I waited three years for Colin to do something like that, and I’d probably still be waiting if it wasn’t for the cheating debacle. You let them see me. It means everything.”
Justice paled a little and looked down at his feet. Nic imagined he was probably still coming to terms with what he’d done, with his new life and what would happen from then on.
“Was nothing,” Justice mumbled.
Nic pinched his chin to force his head up. “It was everything.” He took Justice’s lips in a sweet kiss; just a gentle brush of lips and then it was gone. “Thank you.”
Finally Justice gave him a smile. It wasn’t one of those radiant, angels singing kind of smiles, but it was a start.
Ni
c nodded toward the wet bar. “Wanna drink?”
“Sure,” Justice said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, as if unsure what to do with them when they weren’t attached to Nic.
Nic poured two vodka cranberries from the fully stocked bar. He handed Justice the drink, and he took a sip from the tiny straw. Justice turned, looking out at the expanse of black water that reflected the midnight moon.
Studying his silhouette, Nic took in the crazy mop of hair, the graceful neck, the strong, slender body, the firm ass hugged by denim. Just watching Justice was enough to make him crazy.
Nic meant what he’d said; Justice’s gesture of faith had hit him right in the heart. It was everything he’d ever needed from a partner and never been able to get. Life was nothing but a series of choices, and someone had finally chosen him. Nic knew it was too soon to use the L-word, but his mind couldn’t stop his heart from feeling it.
Suddenly wanting Justice like water in the desert, Nic couldn’t go another second without touching him. They were alone out there. In the private wing of the Marina, the only ones around at this time of night would be old-timers and other lifers like Nic. And Nic happened to know that the boats immediately surrounding his had no full time residents.
They were free to do as they pleased. Again, Nic came up behind Justice and pressed his whole body against him. His questing hands wasted no time sliding inside Justice’s jeans as he felt Justice shift his weight into Nic’s body. Commando, again. Good boy.
Nic reached down and tugged on Justice’s heavy balls while stroking his cock to life. He licked a line up Justice’s neck, and Justice tilted his head, offering that smooth expanse of skin for his exploration. Nic gave the thickening meat a hard squeeze and rasped in Justice’s ear. “You have a nice dick, Mr. Crawford. I want it in me.”
Justice shudder-sighed before stepping away from Nic, dislodging his grip. His pupils were blown and Nic could see the wild pulse fluttering at the side of his neck. But he leveled a serious gaze at Nic, making sure to make eye contact. “You sure? You don’t have to, I mean. Just because I…”
Nic put a finger to his lips, silencing Justice’s babble. He spread his arms wide and smiled his Cheshire cat smile. “I am a real, live bona fide unicorn —the holy grail of gays. I truly don’t have a preference. I love sex of all kinds. And sex with you? Gravy. Tonight, I want you to fuck me, Justice. Make me feel you.”
He punctuated the statement by yanking off his shirt, and shucking his jeans and underwear just as quickly. Though he stood completely naked, out in the open, with Justice, Nic didn’t feel exposed. He just felt…free.
Justice’s eyes flashed, and he stepped forward, still clothed, to run a hand down Nic’s flank. “So beautiful.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm,” Justice hummed in answer.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Before Justice could answer, Nic turned his back and straddled the chaise longue in front of him. He cast a look over his shoulder at Justice that he hoped said come-fuck-me-right-fucking-now, and bent over, folding his arms on the upholstered chair and laying his forehead on them. “Stuff’s under the chair.”
“You planned this.”
“Just wishful thinking. You gonna keep me waiting?”
“Fuck, no.” Justice shed his clothing in record time. He ran a hand over one of Nic’s firm ass cheeks, then gave it a little slap.
Nic heard the phlick of the lube bottle, and the crackle of the condom packet. He looked over his shoulder again and regarded Justice steadily. “Lots of lube, but no stretching. I’m ready.”
Justice’s brow creased with concern. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Just do the damn thing!”
“Bossy,” Justice said, but there was a smile in his voice.
Nic shrugged one shoulder. “I guess for me, topping is more personality trait than sexual position. I’ll try and cool it.”
Nic hadn’t realized that while they were talking, Justice had suited and slicked, so he jumped when Justice swirled some lube inside his hole with one finger. Justice leaned over his back and growled in his ear.
“No fucking way.”
In one powerful thrust, he buried his full length in Nic’s ass. The burn zinged through Nic from his hole to his gut, back to his cock and balls. He whimpered and panted, and his legs shook.
“Sweet…mother of Hades. Do. Not. Move.”
To his credit, Justice froze above him. He didn’t move a single fucking muscle, while Nic panted and sweated it out. Soon, the white hot burn receded to a dull, aching pressure, just a whisper’s breadth from pain; a need deep inside, one only Justice could fulfill.
“’kay, go.”
“You sure —?”
“Go!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” Justice said with a chuckle.
Nic could practically see him salute. But then he pulled his long rod out, and shoved it home again. Nobody was laughing anymore. They both groaned when he was fully seated.
Beads of sweat bloomed across Nic’s forehead as he bore down, meeting Justice jab for jab. He reached back and grabbed a hold of Justice’s hip to still him. Then he began thrusting his own body back, fucking himself on Justice’s cock until they were both moaning.
“Jesus Christ, Justice,” he said through clenched teeth. “So full. So good.”
One at a time, Nic lifted his legs onto the chaise so that it was supporting his entire body, with Justice straddling it behind him. He lifted his ass toward Justice and pressed his face against the cushion beneath him.
Taking the hint, Justice leaned over and plastered himself against Nic’s back. He buried one hand in Nic’s tangled hair and used it to hold on tight. The other arm, he wrapped around Nic’s chest so tight, he could barely breathe. It was perfect.
Justice hiked one leg up on the chaise for more thrusting power and, with the change of angle, he was pegging Nic’s gland with each push.
“Fuck,” Nic whimpered, biting down on his fist to keep from yelling.
Justice gave his hair a sharp tug before pressing his face harder into the cushion. “Stop that! I wanna…hear you…scream.” He punctuated each word with a powerful drive into Nic’s ass. Justice clamped his hands onto Nic’s hips and pistoned into him for all he was worth. Christ, it had been so long since Nic had had a good hard pounding.
Lightening raced up and down his spine and his balls drew up, ready to shoot their load. So he gave Justice what he wanted. He screamed, he whimpered, he begged. And then he gasped Justice’s name as he came, so hard that his vision blacked out, all over the plush cushion of the chaise.
When he came, Nic’s ass clamped down on Justice’s cock, making Justice grunt. Justice grabbed onto Nic’s shoulders to give him leverage for his last erratic thrusts as he reached his own release.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, panting heap on top of the abused chair. Nic chuckled, but it turned into a groan as Justice bit down on his ear. “My housekeeper’s going to get a nice surprise.”
Justice snorted and squeezed him tighter. “Did we just ruin your furniture?”
Nic reached behind him and goosed Justice’s ass. “All weather upholstery, baby.”
Chapter Eighteen
In retrospect, it all happened so fast; worlds collided, things fell apart, darkness descended upon the land. It was just a handful of minutes, strung together like words to make sentences. But to Justice, while it was happening, it seemed like the longest day in the history of Ever. The Wedding Day.
Justice knew before he opened his eyes that day, that it was all going in the shitter. He woke up in a cold sweat, with the cloying need to vomit scratching at the back of his throat. He rushed to the bathroom, took his meds, and collapsed on the cool tile floor. Lying there, watching the ceiling spin and waiting for his pulse to dip below heart attack level, Justice contemplated the wonder of the human mind and its capacity for crazy, even at the subconscious level.
A large percentage of people with anxiety will
tell you that their panic attacks come out of nowhere, with no rational trigger. But Justice had the luck, or the misfortune, depending on how one chose to look at it, to usually know what was the trigger of his panic.
So that was how Justice knew that the root of all his anxiety was wrapped up in that goddamn wedding. Rory’s Wedding, with a capital Fuck You Very Much, Justice Crawford. Not only was it pretty much Justice’s worst nightmare —large crowd, mostly strangers, attention on him, speeches…was there any need to go on? —and he was adding a whole new element of fucked up to the mix.
Now he was expected to walk the metaphorical red carpet with his male lover on his arm, less than seventy-two hours after he’d come out, rather against his will. No wonder he was presently curled in a jittery ball of nerves on the bathroom floor of a rented house in goddamn motherfucking Seattle.
Finally Justice felt the meds kick in. His pulse settled, he stopped sweating, and he felt like he could stand without weaving like a drunk. It didn’t change the underlying anxiety of course…it just turned him back into a semi-functional human being.
Justice hauled himself up, splashed some cold water on his face, and brushed his teeth —once he was sure he wasn’t in immediate danger of puking. He needed caffeine. He needed to walk out some of the jitters. He needed to go home to fucking Charleston.
The thought caused an ache deep in his chest, because he’d gotten pretty attached to this thing —whatever it was he had with Nic. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted to get away from Seattle, he just needed to be back in his own domain, his comfort zone. And right now, that was back home in Charleston.
Honestly, Justice could see himself living in Seattle. He usually got claustrophobic pretty quickly in big cities, but Seattle had a sort of sprawled out, suburban feel to it. A lot of good mixed in with the bad. He could handle it, especially if he lived in one of the outlying towns, like Ballard or Bellevue. In fact, the thought had crossed his mind more than once since he’d been seeing Nic. He had no real ties to any particular place.
That was all in the future. Right now, Justice longed for normalcy, for home. And at this point, that was still Charleston. But he was just going to have to sac up and get through his last three days in goddamn fucking Seattle, and sort out the rest of his life later.
