by C. S. Poe
It made being me more stressful than usual.
But then Calvin was underneath me, running his powerful hands up and down my asscheeks while sucking on the head of my cock, and I was stretched out across his body, holding his impressive girth in one hand and eyeing his dick like it was a first-place trophy in a competition I hadn’t expected to even place in. There wasn’t any room left for thinky-thoughts at that point.
I flattened my tongue and dragged it up the length and over the head of Calvin’s cock. I wrapped my mouth around it, pumping the base in one hand and stroking his balls with the other. Calvin flexed and gently thrust his hips upward, groaning all the while. The sensation vibrated along my own cock, and goddamn did it feel so good….
Calvin dug his blunt fingertips into my ass, hard enough to make me whimper, then smacked both cheeks.
“Oh fuck!” I cried out when his dick slipped free from my mouth. “C-Cal!”
Don’t stop, don’t stop—don’t make me say it.
He let up on me, took a breath, and asked, “Again?”
I leaned my head against his thigh and nodded vigorously.
Calvin gripped both cheeks. “Ask for it,” he ordered.
The reason I’d even suggested this convoluted position in which there was a cock in both mouths was so I didn’t have to speak. Hell, the only reason I tried sexy talk at all was because Calvin got off on it, and love was a two-way street. But even the promise of a delicious orgasm wasn’t enough for me. I needed to be drunk in order to pull out the dirty words right now. And seeing how it wasn’t even seven o’clock….
Damn it. I had been getting better at all of this. I’d gotten more confident in asking for what I wanted during sex because it wasn’t something to be embarrassed by, and I had a partner who enjoyed it as much as I did. I hated that I was doubting myself so much lately.
And yesterday’s events certainly weren’t helping.
I swear I was a man of simple needs. All I wanted was to be able to say “please spank me” without having an existential crisis over it.
I opened my mouth to speak—but just couldn’t. I was a mess.
“It’s all right, baby,” Calvin murmured. “Keep sucking.”
So I did, and tried to put out of my mind that this was supposed to be awesome, christening-the-new-apartment sex, and that I’d ruined it.
“That’s it,” Calvin said, thrusting his cock deeper down my throat. “Such a sweet mouth.” He smoothed his big hands over my ass before smacking it again. “You look so pretty—that ass in the air….”
Calvin repeated the motion several more times, until my cheeks burned and stung and I was moaning and writhing on top of him. He grabbed on to my hips once more, guided me back enough so he could reach my dick, and took it into his mouth.
I let go of his cock with a wet pop, saliva glistening on his skin. Calvin was so fucking good at giving head—I wasn’t going to—!
“Cal!”
He slapped my ass one more time, and a bullet of fiery-hot passion ran from my toes to my balls before I came hard enough to see stars. I dropped back down, resting my forehead on his muscular thigh as Calvin milked my orgasm for all it was worth. His cock was huge and erect beside my face, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat.
I shifted a bit, pulled myself free from Calvin’s mouth, and started sucking on the head of his dick in between desperate attempts to get enough oxygen to my brain.
“Ah, yeah…. You like that big cock, don’t you?” Calvin’s voice was getting hoarse. He dug his fingers into my stinging, sensitive asscheeks and thrust up into my mouth. “Fuck, your mouth is so good—shit—baby!”
The first spurt of salty cum landed on my tongue, the second dribbling down my fist after I pulled my mouth off. I stroked Calvin until his groans had subsided. Awkwardly getting off him, I collapsed sideways on the bed, shifted to my side, and stared at the rumpled pillows by the headboard.
Calvin moved about on the mattress, pressed up against my back, and kissed my shoulder a few times. “That was good,” he whispered. He reached his hand out for mine and threaded our fingers together.
“No, it wasn’t.”
He kissed my shoulder again. “I’ll stop talking during sex.”
“That’s not the problem,” I said firmly. “I like when you—I like it. Seriously.”
Calvin waited.
“Never mind.”
“I love you,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“There’s nothing you say or do or need that’s going to be embarrassing.” Calvin pried his hand free from my death grip to stroke my hair briefly. “Having you truly enjoy yourself gets me off. I mean that.”
“All right,” I said, but my throat was weirdly tight and it came out more like a choked whisper.
The alarm clock started beeping.
Calvin climbed from the bed, turned the alarm off, and put on his dirty clothes from yesterday. “I’m going to take Dillon out.”
I nodded but didn’t get up until Calvin reached the stairs and started down. “Calvin?”
He paused and looked over his shoulder.
“I love you too.”
He was too far away to make out clearly, but I was pretty sure he smiled.
“I’ll be right back.”
I sat there, naked and still, until I heard the front door close. “I love you,” I said again, louder. “And I’m sorry for the lackluster performances.” I stared at the floor as I came to the sad realization that what was really causing the self-doubt was the fact we’d moved in together. I’d moved in with Neil, after all, and that relationship had become a beautiful tragedy almost overnight. What if—? I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heels of my hands against them.
No. I deserved better than to think what we had wasn’t strong enough to achieve a Happily Ever After. Calvin deserved better.
I climbed off the bed, grabbed my glasses, and went to the bathroom. I left them on the counter, got into the shower, and let the room get warm and steamy as I tried to scrub myself clean of sweat and dirt and fear and copious amounts of insecurity. There were more pressing matters that morning—namely my unknown attacker, the story behind the Kinetoscope footage, and the fact that the Emporium was closed again due to a mystery.
I was out of the shower and shaving my face when Calvin appeared in the reflection. “That took a while,” I said, trying to use a casual tone that suggested we’d woken, had great sex, and were continuing our morning routine as if nothing unpleasant had happened.
He grunted as he pulled his T-shirt and pants off and walked naked into the bathroom. “I think Dillon had to sniff every tree between here and Astor Place.”
I raised my chin and felt underneath my jaw. Missed a spot. I turned the electric razor on again. “He seems to be real partial to the one outside of—”
“What’s that?”
I glanced at Calvin in the reflection. “What’s what?”
He came up behind me and pointed at my neck while meeting my gaze in the mirror.
“That’s a hickey,” I said with a smirk. “Which, thank you, by the way. Now I can look forward to side-eye and snickers from Max, and my father’s chastising ‘Don’t let Calvin suck your neck’ comments.”
Calvin poked the bruise and frowned when I flinched. “I meant this.”
“Er—well, that has a rather long story attached.”
He let out a breath through his nose while staring at the ceiling. “God help me.” He turned and stepped into the shower. “Is this in regards to whoever Officer Shapiro is?” he asked over the spray of water.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Start talking.”
“Well, you got my message then, about not having my phone or keys,” I said as I continued getting ready for the day.
“Yes.”
“Someone followed me into the building after the taxi dropped me off. I was standing outside of our door and this… guy attacked me.”
Calvin pulled back th
e curtain. “He what? Who the fuck was it?”
I’ll be honest—the slip of Calvin’s, showing his defensive boyfriend side that was usually so well controlled, made me feel a little better.
I turned to him and made a shooing motion. “Finish.” When Calvin closed the curtain once more, I continued regaling him with the tale of being choked, meeting 4A, and giving my statement to a cop who laughed at my luck—or lack thereof.
“Other movies,” Calvin said at the end of my story, climbing out of the shower.
“That’s why I’m convinced he was the second person at the Emporium,” I clarified. “Otherwise, what the hell, you know?”
“And that’s all he said to you?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much. Took the canister and ran away.”
Calvin grew silent as he toweled off.
I left the bathroom, went to the closet, and found some clean underwear in one of my bags. “Neil came over,” I continued, speaking loud enough for him to hear me. “He dropped off my bag. I told him what happened, and he took my clothes. Trace evidence.” I dug out a pair of jeans and did the twist-and-shimmy to get into them.
Calvin walked naked across the bedroom. He reached around me at the closet to pull out a suit. “Did you get a badge number on Shapiro?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. I figured you’d want to get the statement I gave her.”
Calvin didn’t respond immediately. He tossed his clothes on the bed, put his hands on my shoulders, and gently turned me to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“This is my fault.”
“Calvin,” I said firmly. “This is no one’s fault, least of all yours. Hell, we could blame me. Usually I don’t listen to you. The one time I did, I got into trouble.”
He frowned. Calvin’s sense of humor about these things was a bit lacking before coffee.
I reached up and put both hands on his face, pulling him close enough to press our foreheads together. “This is not your fault. Period. You sent me somewhere I should have been safe. No one could have predicted that the second guy was hanging close enough to the scene that he was able to follow me. I’m okay,” I insisted. “Shaken up, but… hey, have you met the detective on the case? Mr. Invincible, I think the other cops call him. A real hero.”
This close, I watched the muscles in Calvin’s face soften. Just a little.
“My hero,” I reiterated.
He finally smiled.
“Get dressed, handsome.” I let go of him and grabbed a T-shirt from the closet. I studied it for a moment, then looked over my shoulder.
Calvin was staring.
“Blue?” I inquired, holding it up.
“Gray,” he corrected.
“Oh thank goodness.” I yanked it over my head and went downstairs.
I walked through the dim living room, the blackout curtains doing a fantastic job at blotting out the intense May morning light. Dillon got up from his haphazardly placed dog bed in front of the couch and obediently followed me to the kitchen. I ignored the awful, fluorescent overhead that needed replacing, in favor of a small lamp on the counter. I switched it to the lowest setting, poured kibble into Dillon’s bowl, and then started a pot of coffee.
I spread some cream cheese on a day-old sort-of-stale bagel and took a bite. When I heard Calvin coming down the stairs, I grabbed a second bagel from the bag on the counter and dropped it into the toaster.
God forgive me, I loved a man who preferred his bagels toasted.
I opened a cupboard—no—another—for fuck’s—and found coffee mugs in the one farthest to the left. I set two beside the pot, poured cream into each, and glanced up when Calvin entered the doorway.
“About today,” he began, pulling his shoulder holster on.
“Emporium is closed, I know,” I said.
“No,” Calvin answered.
I perked up and turned around. “Really.”
He adjusted his pistol. “But I have some regulations about returning to work.”
“Of course you do.” Not that I was going to fight him—not after how sincerely scared I’d been last night.
“You’re not to be alone. I mean it, Sebastian.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll hold on to Max with my free hand in the bathroom.”
Calvin ignored the smart-assery. “Don’t stay late either. When you close, leave together.”
“Fine.”
“Keep your phone on you at all times.”
“Calvin. I get it.”
“This man from last night is dangerous,” Calvin replied sternly. “He could have killed you.”
“I don’t need to be reminded of that,” I muttered, pouring coffee into both mugs.
“After work, will you go to your father’s for the evening?”
I put the pot back on the burner a bit harder than intended. “I live here. With you.”
“Whoever this person is, they’ve zeroed in on you, baby. He knows where we live,” Calvin continued. “He knows where and when to find you. You’re not staying here alone until I catch this son of a bitch.”
He was right, of course. And last night, more than anything, I’d wanted Calvin’s protection and safety. I still did. But when he talked in his cop voice—I just couldn’t help myself. It was like a knee-jerk reaction to ward off any perceived attack against my battered self-worth.
“My dad has a life,” I answered. “He can’t keep playing babysitter to his thirty-three-year-old son. I know what happened was bad, but you can’t lock me up in a bunker!”
“Sebastian, in the six months I’ve known you, you’ve been stalked, shot at, blown up, run-over, and nearly bludgeoned with a hammer!” Calvin retorted, ticking the points off on his fingers.
“I didn’t go looking for—”
“You sure as hell did,” he interrupted.
I opened my mouth, closed it, then sputtered, “W-well, I didn’t this time!”
“I’m not arguing with you,” Calvin said with a tone of finality.
“Yes, you are!”
“Sebastian—!”
The bagel popped from the toaster. Calvin startled suddenly at the noise, almost comically so. But there was never anything funny when moments like this happened. The oddest sounds still shook him, especially when he was stressed or running on fumes. Something as innocent as a fucking toaster could spark Calvin’s PTSD, send him back in time to witness a horror from war all over again.
He’d been seeing a therapist for a few months now, but let’s be honest. It could take years before Calvin was able to swallow the guilt he carried with him and admit the lives lost overseas were not his burden to bear. This disorder might always be a part of him. The best we could hope for was managing it. A shouting match over the same old bullshit was not the way to go about keeping Calvin from slipping into the bad habits we’d both been working so hard to eradicate from his routine.
“Calvin.” I immediately reached out to take his face into my hands.
He startled again.
“Stay here with me.” I pulled him flush against myself. “Where are you?”
Calvin swallowed and took a deep breath. His eyes were a little glassy. “With you,” he whispered.
“In our kitchen.”
“In our kitchen,” he agreed.
“In New York.”
Calvin nodded. “New York,” he echoed. He swallowed hard a few more times, as if he’d just been in a fight for his very life. A tear rolled down one cheek. “New York,” he said again, a bit louder. He pushed his arms through mine and wrapped them around my back, letting his forehead rest on my shoulder.
I rubbed his back. “I’m sorry.”
Calvin squeezed me tighter in response. His big frame and powerful muscles all but engulfed me. Dillon whined, and I craned my head to see him staring up at us. He raised a paw and scratched at Calvin’s leg a few times.
I bent my knees and eased us both to the floor. “Sit right here.” I waited for Calvin to rest his back
against the bottom cupboards before I straightened. I put his bagel on a plate and offered it. “Take this.” I grabbed our mugs next, then settled beside him. “And this.”
Dillon had moved to Calvin’s right side and put his head down on his thigh. That dog knew when he needed help being secured in the present. Pop couldn’t have picked Calvin a better companion.
Neither of us said anything for a moment.
I held Calvin’s bicep and kept my head on his shoulder. Anchoring. Like Dillon.
Calvin petted Dillon with one hand. His other, wrapped around the mug, twitched. “It startled me,” he finally said, before adding unnecessary clarification. “The toaster.”
I nodded.
“I know it doesn’t sound anything like gunfire,” he continued, his voice thick.
“Being Detective Winter is easier,” I said for him.
Calvin made a sound that was a mixture of a grunt and humorless laugh. “Yes.”
I squeezed his arm. “I’m pretty fond of Calvin, though.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“You’ve been doing so well,” I insisted, sitting up straight.
Calvin finally looked at me. “You think so?”
“I think so.”
He took a deep, cleansing breath, set the mug on the floor, and picked up the now-cold bagel from his plate. “I don’t think you’re helpless.”
“I know that.”
“You’re frustratingly competent.”
“You’re making me blush.”
That made Calvin smile. “I didn’t mean to get angry with you.”
“Me neither.” I leaned over and kissed his smooth, freckled cheek. “You’re trying to do your job. I know that. I was just—” I swallowed the urge to lie. “Scared and overcompensating.”
Calvin took a bite of his breakfast.
I sipped my coffee.
A silence settled between us again.
“What’re you thinking about?” he eventually asked.
I raised my eyebrows and tapped the side of my head with a finger. “It’s pandemonium up here—sure you want to know?”
“It’s remarkable,” Calvin corrected.
