Divine Intervention

by JC Wallace

  He worked into the muscle, and I gritted my teeth. God, I couldn’t focus and found myself drawing into the safety of my head, away from the pain, searching for those reassuring eyes, but they weren’t there. They weren’t because my trust in them had fled the moment they’d showed up at my door. They no longer meant safety, but proof of another person who’d abandoned me.

  “While nerve damage is permanent, rehabilitation can, in most cases, decrease pain and increase functioning. The work isn’t easy. Long term nerve damage can cause muscle atrophy without therapy.”

  Atrophy? My muscles had already withered away, as flaccid as my cock— which was getting hard from his touch, the memory of him. The pain and the cocktail of meds I was taking generally took care of any hardening of my cock, even when I tried to get aroused— gay porn, toys, a paid “escort” —nothing had raised me until now. And it pissed me off.

  And excited me. And then pissed me off again.

  “You’re tensing,” Jacob practically scolded then his hands were gone. What was he doing? When he crouched in front of my face, I couldn’t do anything, say anything. Those eyes were level with mine. Long, reddish lashes swept his pale skin each time he blinked. The amber was ringed by something darker, maybe a deep blue. “How’re you doing?”

  Fucking hornier than hell, and I had to struggle to keep from pushing into the hard table beneath me. If I could just have a few minutes, I knew I could orgasm. I’d had maybe a total of ten— all less than satisfying— since my accident. The frustration stung my eyes with tears, and I blinked rapidly.

  “Are you in pain?”

  I barked out a laugh. “There isn’t a moment when I’m not in pain.” Whatever I had thought would be his reaction, Jacob running his fingers through my hair wasn’t it. I closed my eyes stuttering out a breath. I hated him so much.

  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” His voice was low, caring, and seductive.

  When I realized he was petting me and that I was pushing against his hand, I pulled away despite the pain shooting through my back. He was disappointed and maybe a little pissed, but the hurt on his face only increased my rage.

  I pulled myself up from the table, turning to hide the bulge in my pants. As I walked away from him toward the bathroom, I called out, “When I get back, I want you gone or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Paul?” He’d shouted loud enough that it flash lit my anger, masking the agony my quick exit was causing.

  I whirled around and fisted my hands at my sides. “I’ll have your license for your inappropriate behavior. I’ll drag your name through court proceedings, and when I’m done, no one will let you touch them!”

  Jacob’s eyes widened for a moment with what appeared to be fear and then he frowned. “Nothing I’ve done here was remotely inappropriate. And if you think you can threaten me, Mr. Breaux, you’re sadly mistaken.” He was eerily calm and composed. When he looked down, he smirked and met my eyes again. “Many men get hard on my table. Straight ones… big, alpha males.” He stepped closer. “Gay ones. It’s a natural reaction. Does it bother you that I could cause that reaction in you?”

  The confident look on Jacob’s face gave way to the fact that he thought he knew something. “You don’t fucking know anything about me.” And he never would. I turned my body, my legs ready to give out right there, but I wouldn’t allow it. I’d made it the last leg of Lhotse with a twisted ankle, had to crawl the last twenty feet. I could make it ten feet to the bathroom.

  That’s it, sonny boy. Dig in and get the prize!

  “I’ll be back on Friday same time, Paul. Twice a week I’ll be here. And fail to answer the door and I’ll call Wendy. And, by the way, that anger of yours is going to kill you eventually.”

  I slammed the door on him and immediately fell to the floor.

  “Fuck,” I whined as sweat ran down my face and I trembled. Maybe it would kill me right then.

  ****

  A few days passed without incident, and then it was Friday. I hadn’t been able to get Jacob out of my mind. He had definitely grown into a man, but still had that boyish quality about him. Back in school, we hadn’t interacted much, but he’d always watched me, and I’d definitely noticed him— especially in gym class when he’d remove his shirt. His pale, sleek body, slim and straight, had been perfect. People might think because I was such a jock that I wanted someone who was built and athletic. No, I had a twink fetish, even back then, and he fit the bill. Images of his body— hairless, sleek, smooth— his innocence, were threatening to get a rise out of me.

  The summer before he’d left school, he kissed me at a party. I was wasted but not totally out of it. He dragged me around the side of my friend’s house, plastering his body against me and practically devouring my lips. One of the most erotic, clandestine, dick-hardening kisses I’d ever had. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I was quite certain I would have fucked him right there. I still couldn’t believe those amber eyes belonged to Jacob.

  While I had to admit he’d starred in more than one of my fantasies over the years, the clashing of reality with fantasy had unnerved me. I had to get rid of him, because he was a threat to the walls I’d built the past year (some my entire life). I could take care of myself.

  I watched the camera feed from the front door and saw the moment Jacob stepped onto the porch. He rang the doorbell. I didn’t move, just took him in, burning his image into my memory. He looked around and then rang the doorbell again. How long would he ring until he gave up? Many of the therapists I’d coaxed into quitting generally looked relieved when I didn’t answer the door upon their return. Not Jacob. He was visibly annoyed. Another stab at the doorbell and his foot began to tap.

  “Just leave,” I whispered, while part of me wanted him to come in.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell. Shit, the jerk really was going to call Wendy. And I didn’t need her coming here to berate me. I hit the intercom.

  “Hold your fucking horses.”

  Well, at least he’d raised my defenses. Better to fight him with. I made it to the door and yanked it open. “What are you doing here?”

  “Good afternoon to you as well.” He didn’t hesitate to enter without an invitation.

  I slammed the door again, but this time, he didn’t react, just kept going into the living room. Maybe I should just head to another room and leave him in there to wonder where I was. Nah, he’d come and find me, probably snag me by the ear and drag me back. So anger wasn’t getting rid of him, maybe another tactic.

  I grinned and went into the living room. He was perusing the few pictures on the mantle. Fucking nosy was what he was.

  When he heard me enter, he looked to me. “Beautiful Maserati.” There was a picture of me leaning against my 2014 cobalt blue Gran Turismo. Beautiful wasn’t the word for that car. It had been magnificent. “I’d love to get a look at it sometime.”

  I gritted my teeth and pursed my lips. “Well, by now it’s been stripped, crushed, and melted down. Probably some economy car now.” At least after the accident it still had some use, unlike me. If I had died, maybe some of my parts could have been recycled. “But you should know that since you saw it all smashed to hell around me last year.”

  “Right,” he said but didn’t apologize for his faux pas. “In the dark that night, I assumed it was black. Thought maybe you’d bought a new one but… yeah, you’re missing the…” He pointed to my face in the picture. “Missing the scar.” He looked away from me, shifted from foot to foot, and then went to his folded table. “So, how’re you doing?” He started to set up the table.

  Today, he wore a thin, white T-shirt and black jeans with black boots. And I wasn’t unaffected as he stretched and strained. Looking away, I tried to think of how much I wanted him gone. How much I had to hate him to get him to leave.

  How much I didn’t want him to leave.

  “Great. Awesome, in fact, so this is a waste of both of our times. I’m sure you have better things to do. So
you can leave.”

  ****

  Chapter 4

  Jacob actually laughed heartily at that suggestion, and my chest fluttered and warmed. This man was dangerous to my self-control. I kept my neutral expression, which didn’t seem to bother his mood.

  “How about you let me decide what you need and don’t need.”

  Was there some sort of double meaning to those words?

  “After all, I do have those degrees that say I’m qualified to do just that.” He raised a brow and patted the table.

  I sneered but thought of the plan I’d formulated when he’d first walked in. Right. Switch tactics, keep him off his game. I pulled my shirt off and watched as his eyes perused my body. I fought to stop from covering the few scars on my shoulder and where my spleen had been removed. He didn’t seem overly disgusted. Maybe even interested.

  Perfect.

  “This okay?” I asked when he didn’t move.

  He shook his head then said, “Yeah, um… lie down on your stomach. We’ll start out with a massage to get the muscles relaxed and then work on some strengthening exercises.”

  I lay down, getting comfortable. He fiddled in his bag, and when he touched my back, my eyes closed. His touch was firm and sure, moving in a rhythm that was distracting. Images of him as that high school boy morphed into the man he’d become. I was supposed to be scaring him away, but as he spoke, my muscles relaxed. I was too comfortable.

  “I had a Maserati when I was in college. A 1969 Ghibli Spyder that had sat in some guy’s barn for twenty years. Ran good, but the body was rusted, and the seats had been the home to some rodents, but, damn,” he sighed, “it was still something else.”

  I grunted. “Bet you had lots of sex in that car.” Thoughts of taking Jacob over the hood were next, and I shoved those away.

  His hands stilled for a moment. “Um, yeah, right.”

  So talk of sex made him uncomfortable. That was the time to jump in.

  “Nothing like a hot car to get a man panting for you. Back in college, I nailed them left and right in my Jaguar, a graduation gift from my father. It was as if he gave me a license to fuck every day.”

  Jacob was silent, but I thought I felt a tremble in his hands as they worked my upper back. “I was too busy studying to do much else.”

  “Doesn’t take long to fuck ’em and leave ’em. Some guys want it rough and dry in the bathroom, hard and dirty in the back of the library, in the bushes… in the backseat of a car.”

  And I’d given them what they’d wanted when I had the time. While I was letting on to be a man whore, I truly hadn’t been. If I’d gotten laid more than a few times a month, I was satisfied, but Jacob didn’t have to know that. As he continued to massage me, I let out a series of low groans and moans. That stopped him.

  He cleared his throat and asked me to stand. I was hard with my sex talk, and my engorged cock was clearly noticeable in my shorts. When Jacob saw my stiffy, he looked away, wiping his hand on a towel.

  “Okay, let’s start with some stretches.” Jacob set his eyes on anything but me. “Always stretch before doing anything, get your muscles ready to work.”

  I nodded and smiled as seductively as I could. Hard to do when your core was filled with anger, ripe and ready to spill out. But Jacob would run after this. Certainly.

  I stepped closer. “Okay.”

  He moved around to my side and had me bend at the waist and arch my back. Both of his hands were on me. I ground my teeth together as he continued to position me for different stretches. When he stepped behind me to position my shoulders, I rubbed my ass against his groin. He jumped back.

  “What’s wrong? Just a little friendly rubbing between old schoolmates.” I looked over my shoulder at him. “Most of the men I screw like a little foreplay.” That brought a pained look to his face. Not the reaction I was looking for at all.

  He looked away, and when he turned back, our gazes caught. I saw him visibly swallow. His vulnerability both ignited my libido and brought back my irritation. He was allowing himself to be manipulated by me, allowing me to exploit his weakness. What would it take to get rid of him?

  He was the first one to break the stare. If only we could have met again before the accident, I would have… Well, no sense in dwelling on that.

  “We’re done,” he said and went to fold up his table.

  “Done?” Suddenly, I panicked thinking my plan had worked. I was a fucking messed up yo-yo. Jesus. He had me all fucked up inside, as if I weren’t already screwed up enough.

  “I’ll be back on Tuesday, same time.”

  And the relief was unwelcome. “Maybe I’ll be here.”

  He looked down at the half mast of my dick. “Oh, something tells me that you’ll be here.”

  When the front door slammed, I picked up a wooden statue I’d acquired in Africa from the coffee table and hurled it into the picture of me and the Maserati. The picture exploded in a shower of glass and hit the floor.

  ****

  Relentlessly, I jerked my cock as I watched the hot bear pounding into the young, olive-skinned man on the computer screen. My frustration grew as my cock only got semi-hard. I switched to another tab where two biker guys were coercing a young guy in his twenties into fucking in a dirty alley. The man was slim with undeveloped muscles, and just my type. I was beating myself raw and still nothing.

  “Hell,” I said in frustration.

  It was as if my ability to get hard without seeing or thinking about Jacob fucking Divine had disappeared. I’d never had an issue with getting aroused and jacking off to porn before the accident. Since then, I had been hit or miss. Now Jacob came into my life, and my cock stood and begged whenever he was near. I closed my eyes. Jacob. A little shorter than my six feet two inches. Tight body. His smile, warm, cocky and innocent at the same time. I put him on his knees before me. He was naked and glorious. I rubbed my cock, and he licked his lips, but I kept him waiting.

  When I fed him my cock, I moaned feeling the warm heat, his swirling tongue. He stared up at me from under his lashes, pushing my shaft all the way to the back of his throat. I choked on another moan as he looked up at me.

  “Fuck, yes,” I hissed, thrusting my hips in short bursts. He placed his palms on my thighs, leaning into my thrusts, his gaze never leaving mine. At that moment the past and present collided, and I knew he was different from every other man who’d ever been on his knees before me. The way he looked at me, the way he’d always looked at me… He wasn’t a convenient hole. He wasn’t some faceless, nameless hookup. Just as my balls let go of my seed, I knew he had gotten way too close. My eyes popped open as cum splattered over my stomach and chest. My high was short-lived when I realized that Jacob was the reason I’d had that orgasm.

  First man to really touch you in a long time. “Of course he’d have an effect on me.” And when I got him to leave me alone, then what?

  ****

  On Sunday night, sleep wasn’t coming, so I was in the dining room, where my anger and frustration could get results. Clyde Spaulding, sixty-seven years old, retired bricklayer from Niskayuna. Driver of the truck that had hit my Maserati. He’d suffered a nonfatal heart attack. Not fatal. In his massive F250 Ford, he’d escaped serious injury. Broken foot. Some contusions. The accident had been deemed no-fault by the police. The man had had a heart attack. No criminal charges, no tickets.

  Nothing.

  Nothing for ruining a promising life. Nothing for turning me into an invalid, scarring me so that no man would want me. Jacob popped into my head, and I roared, pounding the table. I wouldn’t put up with his holier-than-thou savior attitude anymore. Fuck him if he thought I would bow down to him for swooping in to rescue the helpless cripple.

  In high school, he’d been leaner, more boy-like in his body and face. And I’d found him attractive. Something about him had drawn me to him. We had nothing in common aside from both of us being gay and the fact that he’d apparently had a crush on me. I could say the same about myself
, but I hadn’t had time for relationships. While I’d fucked other guys, I’d never committed to anyone long-term. My longest relationship had lasted for only three months about two years ago, and even then, I’d only seen Trevor one or two nights a week.

  I shook off the memories. I had better things to focus on. A man with congestive heart failure and two previous heart attacks had to be a risk for driving. I snorted. He was a risk all right, and I was the evidence. Pulling my laptop to me, I clicked on my email. Earlier, I’d sent a request to a friend at the DMV. I was looking for anything the basic records wouldn’t show. I could go the normal evidentiary route and get the info, but I was impatient. I grinned when I saw the reply from my contact.

  Taking a drink of water, I opened the email and downloaded the attachment. When I scanned its contents, my entire body went into attack mode.

  “Gotcha.”

  Picking up the phone, I dialed my father’s number. Even though it was after midnight, he would be working. On the second ring, he picked up.

  “Paul.” The greeting was short, emotionless. Not a “how are you” or an “are you okay after your trip to the hospital,” but I was too high on my discovery to mention anything.

  “I found the evidence that just won my case.” I couldn’t help the prideful arrogance in my voice. “Clyde Spaulding’s doctor did request that he have his license revoked. For some reason, the paperwork never went through.”

  “And it only took you five months to get that information. I see you got my note yesterday then. A year ago you wouldn’t have needed my help to go in the right direction.” Again, emotionless, to the point, cold as if he were talking to one the bottom-of-the-ladder interns.

  Opening my mouth to answer, I then clamped it shut. Running my hand over my head, I deflated like an untied balloon let loose.

  “Yeah. I…”

  “I have no clue what’s happened to you.”

  “I… um…” Had a fucking accident that ruined my life. How about you, Dad? Remember you didn’t even come to the hospital. Called only once. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better.”