The Screwdriver - Dirty Martini 2

by George, G. R. ; George, Renee;

  Chris pushed himself up, his knees between Marty’s legs, the skin of his chest and face flushed. He undid his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs. Marty sat up, quickly grasping the waistband of Chris’s green boxer briefs and yanking them down. Chris’s thick cock sprung from his groin, the silky head tasted slight salty as Marty took the length between his lips.

  He felt Chris’s fingers slide into his hair. He tugged at Marty’s head, as he began to move his hips in short, quick thrusts. “Oh fuck,” Chris said. “Fuck.”

  The desperate, need-filled words heightened Marty’s desire to please Chris. He sucked and licked, twirling his tongue down the rigid shaft. He gripped the base between his thumb and forefinger, stroking fast, his palm hitting Chris’s balls with every downward slide. He pulled off Chris for a moment, covering the index finger of his free hand with spit. He slid his finger between Chris’s buttocks, stroking over the tight ring of muscles as he sucked Chris’s cock with more vigor.

  “Oh shit!” Chris shouted. “I can’t—” His fingers tightened in Marty’s hair as his hips bucked. “Ah!”

  Marty stroked faster, milking Chris’s shaft, swallowing every bit of his orgasm until the pulsing stopped. After, he flopped onto his back, and Chris followed, nestling in beside him.

  “Hello,” he said, when Chris looked up at him, his eyes bright with satisfaction.

  “Hello,” Chris said. He kissed Marty, his palm rubbing over Marty’s erection. “Give me a minute, then it’s your turn.”

  * * * *

  A Little Stiff

  Chris had been petrified before Marty’s arrival. When he’d opened the door and saw his very own G.I. Joe standing there—Marty’s strong square jaw, his whiskey-colored eyes, wide chest, and huge arms built for chopping wood—Chris’s knees had gone weak. He’d wanted to grab Marty and kiss him, but stupid fear had paralyzed him. Thank heavens Marty had been bold enough to make the first move.

  And wow, what a move. He’d waited more than a month, turning down more than one trick, for this moment with Marty, and the Ranger had made the wait more than worth it. There were times when it didn’t feel real, the two of them, but now, with Marty holding him as they cuddled on the couch, it felt more real than anything he’d ever experienced. He shivered as Marty stroked his back, occasionally kissing his forehead. He’d never had a lover treat him so tenderly. It felt strangely wonderful and fucking scary all at the same time.

  “Was the drive long?”

  “Not bad,” Marty said.

  “How’s your leg? Stiff?” He knew Marty was sensitive about his injury. The soldier didn’t like to feel pitied. “I’m only asking because I want you to enjoy what I’m going to do to you. I’ll be careful of the leg if it’s giving you fits.”

  “It’s a little stiff.”

  Chris tilted his head back to look Marty in the eye. “I won’t bend you into a pretzel then.”

  “Damn the bad luck,” Marty said. He smirked. “A pretzel might have been fun.”

  “I’ll let you turn me into to one later.”

  “You got a deal.” He tipped his head forward and kissed Chris. “Are you doing okay? Is Jay giving you shit?”

  “Not yet,” Chris said. “But if he finds out you came all the way here and didn’t go see him, he might decide to fire me.”

  “We don’t have to tell him, do we?”

  Chris’s mouth felt dry. He couldn’t help but wonder if Marty had other reasons for not wanting his brother to know. Still, why wouldn’t Marty want Jay to know about them? He and Chris were “casually” seeing each other, nothing serious. Yeah, that’s why I haven’t gone home with anyone since meeting Marty.

  “I’m happy to have you all to myself. What time do you have to go back tomorrow?”

  “I have to be up early Monday, so probably late afternoon.” Marty hadn’t stopped stroking and caressing Chris. “But until then, I’m all yours.”

  “Did you want to do anything?”

  “You mean besides this?” Marty grinned.

  “We can get something to eat if you want. There're a couple of restaurants around the corner, or we can order in take-out.” He really wished he’d planned better. He’d figured they’d order in, but if Marty wanted to go out…

  “Take-out is good by me.”

  Chris felt disappointed that Marty didn’t want to go out, but hell he’d offered take-out, hadn’t he? Maybe Marty’s leg was bothering him too much. Even with that rational explanation, the doubts crept in. He wondered if Marty was only using him as an experiment. After all, the guy had been straight until the moment he’d kissed Chris. Or at least, he’d never acted on his feelings for men until Chris. Was Chris an interval? Was he simply a test-the-waters relationship to see if Marty really wanted dick or not? Again, did it matter? He enjoyed Marty’s company. They were enjoying each other. It didn’t have to be more than that. His heart ached, but he pretended that it didn’t.

  “Chinese? Pizza?”

  “I do love me some Chinese. Anything spicy and sweet will do.” Marty smiled.

  Chris sat up, his hard-on and self-esteem deflated. He picked up his phone and flipped through his contacts to Taste of Asia.

  * * * *

  Chewing Is Not Sexy

  The food arrived in thirty-five minutes. In that half an hour, Marty had noticed an almost imperceptible shift in Chris’s demeanor. It wasn’t anything blatant, so Marty tried not to read too much into the change. He’d ordered a pint of sesame chicken, a pint of Szechuan pork, a pint of fried rice, and some crab Rangoon.

  Marty dug into the nearest box. After a few bites, he said, “This Szechuan pork is tasty.” He picked up a morsel with his chopsticks and offered it to Chris.

  Chris, who’d been quietly eating the sesame chicken, leaned in and opened his mouth. Jesus, fuck, what a hot mouth. He was ready for the meal to be over so he could put those sexy lips to better use.

  “Hmm,” Chris hummed as he took the bite. “Really good.”

  “God, just watching you chew turns me on.” Not that Marty had softened much since Chris’s amazing blow job. He’d entertained the idea of going out with Chris. He wouldn’t have minded a real date. But, his leg hurt, and the idea of going down those stairs and back up again wasn’t appealing. He hadn’t realized the toll a three-hour car ride with no stops would take. Since he’d started overseeing a few classes for RASP, the Ranger Assessment Selection Program, the injury had given him even more grief. Taking pain pills on his only night with Chris after a month without him was out of the question.

  “Chewing is not sexy,” Chris said, laughing, a rice kernel shot from his mouth.

  Marty laughed. “I’m really glad I’m here.”

  Chris smiled, his warm, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes,” Chris said. “Definitely.” He took some fried rice and dished a little into his sesame chicken. “So, tell me something you’ve never told anyone?”

  Marty shook his head and smiled. They’d been playing this game since the first phone conversation in July. He tried to think of something he wouldn’t be too embarrassed to tell Chris—the one major flaw with the game. There was a reason some secrets stayed secret. “Oh,” he said. “I took my dad’s potato gun without permission once—”

  “A potato gun?”

  “PVC plumbing pipe, grill igniter, hairspray, and potatoes.” Marty’s hands were animated, acting out the actions as he explained. “You put the tubing together, seal the back end, put in the igniter, stuff a potato down the pipe, put a little hairspray into the end, close it up, hit the button, and BOOM! The potato shoots from it like a cannon ball.”

  “We have to make one of those sometime.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He smiled. “Anyhow, I’d taken the potato gun without permission. It was the middle of January and we were up to our eyeballs in snow. School had been canceled, which meant I was on my own at home.”

  �
�Never a good idea.”

  “Never,” Marty agreed. “So, I took the gun out back to where we have a pond, and there are these ducks waddling around on the ice. I was a good fifty yards away, and I just wanted to scare them. I primed the back end with mom’s hairspray, pointed the potato gun in the ducks’ direction and hit the igniter. Boom! The potato went sailing. I kept watching as it sailed through the air until it finally smacked the ice.” He rubbed his face. “Then it took a hard bounce right into one of the ducks and knocked it over. It waddled around like it was drunk for an instant, then fell over.”

  “You killed the duck?”

  “Yep.” Marty shook his head. “It still makes me sick to think about it. I’d been messing around, and my carelessness…” The story made him think of the night Mike had been killed. They’d been drinking, joking around…

  Chris put his hand on Marty’s leg. “I hit a sow once on a gravel road. Damn thing looked like it weighed 500 pounds.”

  “Did it die?”

  “No,” Chris said. “At least, I don’t think so. I was only driving about ten miles an hour down a rough, gravel road and the pig ran right out in front of me. I slammed on my breaks, hit it, it rolled a couple of times, stood up and went squealing off into the woods.”

  “Poor pig,” Marty said, glad that Chris had changed the subject. He always seemed to know when a topic made Marty uncomfortable.

  Chris laughed. “Poor me! The sow scared the shit out of me.”

  Marty grinned and took another bite of food as he shook his head. After he swallowed, he said, “Is that your reveal? Because if you’ve ever told anyone else that story it doesn’t count, and you still owe me a secret.”

  Chris raised a brow. “Okay. I have seen every episode of NCIS, and I still watch the new ones, even though I don’t enjoy the story lines like I used to.” He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “All because my father was a fan of Gibbs, and when I was in high school, it gave us common ground. After we stopped talking, I think I kept watching as a way to feel connected to him. I think I still watch it for that reason.” He inclined his head. “Pathetic, right?”

  “No,” Marty said. He took Chris’s hand and held it. “If it’s any consolation, I like NCIS and have no valid excuse for watching it.” Marty laughed.

  Chris shook his head but smirked. “I should have known.”

  Chapter 4

  Late September

  Go To Hell

  Every table and booth had been filled, thanks to a stag party. Chris smiled at the customers as they ordered drinks and food, tipped their waiters and the bartender generously, but inwardly, he groaned.

  The bar phone rang. “Other Team Bar & Grill,” he answered. “This is Chris. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, Chris.” Chris recognized his boss’s voice.

  “Hey, Jay. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just checking in. I left you a lot to handle tonight.”

  “It’s all good.” He paused. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, um, have you heard from Marty?”

  The question raised an alarm in Chris. “We talked a couple of days ago. Why?”

  “Is he doing okay?”

  “Yeah, as far as I know.” Why was Jay asking him questions about Marty? “Is something wrong? Did something happen?” Panic welled in his gut.

  “No, nothing like that,” Jay said. “It’s just. I don’t know. He sounded weird when we talked earlier. I’m sorry I called you. It’s stupid and personal, and calling you at work is unprofessional. I’m sure I’m overreacting.”

  “He seemed fine to me on Thursday,” Chris said, faking a casualness he didn’t feel. All he wanted to do was get off the phone with Jay and call Marty. Maybe something had happened. And he’d called Jay. His brother. Not Chris. His…what? Hook up? Chris tried to squelch the feeling of jealousy. Marty and Jay were close and they were family. Of course, if Marty were having trouble he’d want advice from his big brother. If Chris had learned little else, he’d learned that Jay had been Marty’s role model growing up.

  “Thanks, Chris,” Jay said. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “You got it.” He hung up the phone, unable to shake off the weight of concern.

  He grabbed the nearest employee, a tall, gangly college student, Alex Michaels. “Hey, can you grab Todd and ask him to watch the bar for me?” Todd Nelson was trained in several areas of the bar, including the kitchen and bartending. Tonight he was working tables with Alex. Ricky McNeil, Alex’s boyfriend, was cooking. They tended to work a lot of shifts together. While Chris wasn’t a fan of Alex’s, he genuinely liked Ricky.

  “Sure,” Alex said. “I’ll go grab him.”

  Within a few minutes, Todd, a well-built blond with curls that always reminded Chris of the Michelangelo’s David statue, relieved him.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Chris bee-lined for Jay’s office. He pulled out his cellphone on the way and tapped Marty’s number. As the phone rang, he felt ridiculous. What would he even say to Marty? They hadn’t made plans for a call tonight. Would he even answer the phone?

  “Hello,” Marty said, a question in his voice.

  “Hey,” Chris said.

  “I didn’t know I’d hear from you tonight. I thought you were working.”

  “I am.” Chris picked at a piece of lint on his black slacks. “I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Well, hi,” Marty said. “I was thinking about you too.”

  “You were?” Chris’s stomach dipped. It irritated him how pleased he was to hear the man had Chris on his mind.

  “Yep. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

  “I agree.” Chris nibbled a fingernail. “Is everything okay with you?”

  “Yes,” Marty said. “It’s fine. Why?”

  Maybe Jay had read his phone call with Marty wrong. “No reason.” He sat on the edge of Jay’s desk. “You know…you can talk to me if you want.”

  “I’m talking to you right now.” Marty laughed. “What’s this about, Chris?”

  “Jay called.”

  “Oh.”

  “He was worried something was wrong with you. He seemed to think I might know the reason why.”

  “Oh,” Marty said again. His tone was oddly stiff. “I see.”

  Chris began to wish he could take this conversation back. “It’s none of my business, seriously.”

  “I have to go, Chris. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

  Marty’s dismissal felt like a knife twisting in his gut. “Sure.”

  The phone went dead, and Chris couldn’t move for a moment. He’d blown it. Why had he called? Why had he thought it was okay to get into Marty’s business? If Marty wanted Chris involved, he would have asked.

  A knock at the door broke Chris’s reverie. Tucker Thompson, a young blond with short hair and All-American looks poked his head into the office.

  “Hey, Chris.”

  Chris shoved his phone back into his pocket. “What do you need, Tucker?”

  “The best man is ready to make the toast and Todd wants to know what champagne you want him to use.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  When Tuck left, Chris slumped his shoulders, fighting an ever-increasing feeling of helplessness. He needed to distance his emotions when it came to Marty Lincoln, because if he didn’t, he would end up with the one thing he’d managed to avoid his entire adult life. Heartbreak.

  Ricky arrived after Tuck left. The smell of grilled hamburger and onions followed him into the office.

  “Hey, man. I was hoping to talk to you or Jay about switching out my day off next week with the dayshift cook.” Some of his words held a hint of an Irish accent.

  “Yeah, sure,” Chris said. “If you can talk Jensen into changing with you, I’m all right with it.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Chris looked at Ricky. “Yes, why?”

  “No reason.” Ricky’s bright green eyes narrowed on Chris. He was five-ten, may
be five-eleven in his motorcycle boots, and he had a narrow, but compact frame. His black hair hung messy around his face, and his beard was just a hair over neatly groomed. In other words, he was one sexy Irishman. Ricky smiled. “There it is.”

  “There what is?”

  “I can always count on you for a good ogle, is all.”

  Chris laughed. “Well, you are nice to look at.”

  “Thanks.” Ricky offered one of his patented cocky grins, but Chris didn’t take it too seriously.

  “How … uh, are things with you and Alex?”

  Ricky lifted an eyebrow. “Why? You trying to ask me out?”

  Chris shook his head. “Is it getting serious?”

  “Depends on the definition.” Ricky hit the doorjamb twice with a quick rap of his knuckles. “You still seeing Jay’s brother? That ranger fellow?”

  “You know about Marty?”

  “I hear things.” Ricky only cooked part-time. During his day job as a doctor, he interned for Harvey Grace, the surgeon Jay dated.

  “How can you tell if a guy is into you? Like when did you know things were at the next level with Alex?” Though, truthfully, Chris had no idea why Ricky would go for such a gangly nerd. Those two were opposites in every way. Kinda like me and Marty.

  “It’s less about how Alex makes me feel,” said Ricky quietly, “and more about how I feel about myself when I’m with him. I like who I am with Alex.”

  Chris hadn’t expected real insight from Ricky, and he was surprised the Irishman had been so heartfelt. He grinned. “You should probably put that in a Hallmark card.”

  “Go to hell,” said Ricky, chuckling. “Have some faith, man. You two will figure it out.” He nodded good-bye and then left the office.

  Did Chris like the way he felt about himself when he was with Marty? Honestly? When he was with Marty, he didn’t recognize the needy, vulnerable man who sought to make Marty happy. He’d gladly trade his own health for Marty’s just so he wouldn’t be in pain anymore. Jesus, God. This was the first time Chris wanted a relationship.