The 51st Thursday

by Mercy Celeste

  "Come down when you're ready." He zipped his jeans, his voice rough, ragged. And he left him on his knees while the boom box played the "Beautiful Loser" song again.

  Chapter Three

  Deacon stood at the kitchen island slathering mustard on cold hamburger buns when Thursday stepped into the room. He was dressed, his shirt buttoned haphazardly, his eyes dazed. Deacon decided it wouldn't be in his best interest to talk just then. Besides, he didn't know what to say. He set a burger and chips plate on the other side of the island and popped the top on a still ice-cold beer. "Eat before it gets cold. Okay, colder."

  Thursday hitched up a corner of his luscious mouth, not exactly a smile, but not exactly not a smile as Deacon reacted to the tepid burger. But hey, food was food, and after the last hour or so, he could eat a horse.

  The wind whipped against the shutters, rain on metal that sounded oddly like a jet engine taking off. Thursday went pale. "That was close," he said between bites of burger.

  Deacon found the downstairs radio and switched it on, tuning until he found a local station broadcasting simultaneously. "Squalls stretching from New Orleans all the way to Panama City, Florida. The eye of the storm is still way out in the Gulf, but she is moving fast, tracking northwest. Sally is still predicted to make landfall at about one a.m. anywhere between the Mississippi and the Florida state lines, which pretty much covers the entire lower Alabama viewing, or if you've lost power, listening area. Downgraded to a Category Two thirty minutes ago, the eye wall is holding together, though it should start breaking apart as the night progresses."

  "About another three hours, Thursday," he said, looking at the clock above the stove. "Do you want another burger?"

  "How can you stand there like nothing happened?" There was anger in his eyes. "How can you be so blase about...about..."

  "Tasting your man meat? You're not my first, pretty boy. I like rough sex and that was nice and rough. You're right, though, I am being blase about it. I apologize. I was trying to not think about bending you over the counter and initiating you to other sins of the flesh. I thought you weren't ready. My mistake." Deacon's brain was screaming take it easy, he isn't ready for the honest truth of what just happened, but Deacon's mouth and his dick had other ideas. "So are you ready, Thursday, for seconds, or in your case, thirds?"

  "Not on your life, motherfucker. Christ." He looked like a rabbit crouching in the grass trying to decide if it was safer to stay put or run like hell. "There won't be seconds so you can stop looking at me like that."

  "Like what? Like I want to eat you for breakfast? Can't help it, sugar, I've been lusting after you for months now. Every time you leaned your sweet ass over the pool table, I got hard. I wanted a taste of you and now that I've had it, I want more. Lots more, Thursday."

  "It will be rape. I don't want anything to do with you." He looked away quickly, sweat glistening on his forehead.

  "Then why are you sweating? Why is your dick hard? Your heart is racing, Thursday. You're lying to yourself when you say you don't want me. You do want me. I've seen it in your eyes. You kissed me first, remember? You begged me for release before I ever touched you. And now your body wants more. You want me to take you to my bed over there and peel those jeans off you. You want my hand on your cock and my tongue in your ass. You're sitting there with that magnificent cock jutting above your waistband you want me so bad. Admit it."

  "I won't admit a damned thing." He shifted on the stool in obvious discomfort, his jaw rigid. Pain, sharp and jagged filled his eyes, and Deacon knew he'd gone too far.

  "Okay, Thursday, you win. No more sex talk. Here, have another burger." Deacon slathered mustard on two more burgers and handed him one. "I'm not sure when the next hot meal will be so go ahead and eat. I'm not going to bother you."

  He grabbed his plate and a couple of beers and went over to the sofa. He dropped onto it and propped his feet up on the coffee table to stare at the lifeless television. Electric candlelight danced around him from every surface, casting shadows on the wall. He laid his plate on his belly and picked up the book he left tucked between the cushions and pretended to read. The wind howled outside, slashing rain at the shutters, rattling the windows only to stop just as suddenly as it came up. The nonstop hurricane talk on the radio began to rattle his nerves as the silence stretched between them.

  "I loved my wife. Her name was Holly. We grew up together, you know," he said a little while later, his rough voice echoing in the room. "She was my high school sweetheart. My first, my only, really, for a long time. We broke up in college, and I played around but never all the way. She followed me to law school and we got married. She wanted a baby but I was too focused on my career. We didn't see each other much and then on our fifth anniversary she told me she was pregnant."

  "Scared the shit out of you, didn't it? I remember when my wife told me the first time. I was twenty-one and fresh home from Kuwait."

  "Is that where you got that scar?" Thursday stepped over the back of the sofa, his feet bare, and sat cross-legged on the far end facing him.

  "Christmas 1990, Desert Storm, almost ended my life. I joined the Marines when I was fresh out of high school and a little over a year later I was getting shot at by a bunch of kids with fucking AK-47s. One of the little fuckers... Well god damn but they were kids, you don't expect to have to kill a ten-year-old."

  "Did you?"

  "No, I was too busy bleeding in the sand. Nearly died of infection and then it was all over. I came home, married the first girl I fucked, and went back. Came home to be a daddy, we divorced while she was pregnant with our second. She cheated. It wasn't pretty. She told me neither kid was mine. It got nasty. In the end, they both are mine and that's all that matters. My oldest just started up at Alabama and my son is on the football team across the bay. What happened to your wife, Thursday?"

  "Car accident last Halloween. She went into labor. On the way to the hospital we were T-boned by a drunk in a Jason mask. Or that's what I was told. I don't remember any of it. When I woke up, they'd already buried her and the baby. On Thursday, I checked myself out of the hospital and took a cab home. I probably should have stayed another week. We lived down the street in a studio. Bet you I drove past this building a million times but that was the first day I saw the bar. I couldn't stand being home so I came here."

  "Probably not the smartest choice to make with your side split open like that." Deacon remembered the story now; it had made national news. The tragic Halloween night accident that nearly took the life of former Alabama quarterback and senator's son, and the loss of the daughter-in-law and grandchild had nearly devastated Senator Bainbridge. "Your dad is going to run for president next year, isn't he?"

  "Yes." Thursday looked away. "He's still pissed that I quit my job at the law firm. My long hair is a disgrace, my clothes too. I dress like a bum since I burned all the goddamned suits. I won't move back to Montgomery so he can yank me a new hole. Name your poison."

  "That you're gay isn't going to go over very well, is it?"

  "No." He didn't deny it this time. Shelby Bainbridge, former championship quarterback and future first son, liked men. Shame was written all over his face.

  "Am I really your first?" He didn't know why he held his breath.

  "Yes. There were tests, like you said. Shower temptations. Drunken frat parties. But I never met someone I wanted enough to throw everything away for. Listen, don't take that wrong. I was weak, this isn't going to go anywhere so don't think I--"

  "I goaded you into it, Thursday, because I'm a selfish prick. You were an easy mark and I wanted to get laid. Whatever gets you through the night, no big deal to me." Deacon lied to himself. It was a big deal.

  "Okay, so that we're square."

  "Since we're being honest, Thursday, you really should know that before this night is over, I am going to fuck you. Hard, and long, and nasty. Just so we're square."

  Shelby's jaw clenched. His eyes turned hard and then he looked away. The candlelig
ht flickering turned his skin a golden color that Deacon found way too attractive while thinking about the things he wanted to do to the man's ass.

  "All right." His voice was steady, husky. Deacon almost didn't believe his ears, but the lust shimmering in his eyes when he looked at him spoke volumes. "Can I catch a shower before you run out of hot water? It's been a long day."

  "Yeah, sure, go ahead." Deacon watched as he walked away, trying to concentrate on the book and not the shirt falling to the floor or the hard plane of his back, but the words were just specks on the page.

  Shelby disappeared into the bathroom before he stripped out of his jeans. The door pushed closed but didn't click and within seconds, Deacon heard the shower come on. Temptation was behind a partially closed door. Naked, hot, muscled, wet temptation, calling to him, no, screaming for him to come inside. To take what he wanted.

  Deacon tried to ignore the screaming in his brain. Funny, he never knew just how much sound came from his bathroom. Water falling on skin, the bottle of shampoo hitting the floor. He could smell the steam and soap. His skin prickled, pulled tight. The book hit the floor and before he realized what he was doing, he stood inside the concrete room, his hand resting on the knob, while he watched water slide down Thursday's body, soap bubbles cascading from his hair down his chest.

  As he watched, Thursday's cock grew long and rigid; his eyes seemed to glow with helpless need following him as Deacon stripped out of his jeans and walked the few short paces into the open shower. "Hand me the soap," was all he could think to say just before he touched his lips to Thursday's, and then he didn't say anything for a long time.

  He took the soap bar and wrapped his arms around him, swallowing the whimper that escaped as he touched his tongue to Thursday's. He let him lead this time, the soft kisses inflaming him in a way that left his knees weak.

  Deacon lathered smooth skin, running his hands over each muscle, then moving to the front to start at his shoulders. He lathered and caressed his way down Thursday's body, stopping only when he found the hottest, throbbing part of his body. He cupped him, running his hand between his legs until his sac drew tight. Soft moans escaped Thursday's mouth as Deacon stroked his long cock, soaping it until his hand slid easily up and down him. He didn't notice when Shelby took the soap from him and repeated his every move until they were both slick with lather and need.

  "Lift your leg," Deacon told him as he pushed him against the wall and pressed his cock hard against his, humping him. The soapy friction where their cocks touched was almost more than he could stand. He needed more. He took the soap back and as Shelby raised his leg, Deacon cupped his ass, massaging him with the bar until he was slick. He gasped in surprise when Deacon eased a finger inside him. His mouth grew tight against Deacon's. "Easy, baby, you're tight, Christ, I could come just thinking about how tight you are."

  Deacon stroked him slowly, sliding his finger in just a little deeper with each stroke while he humped him. Shelby's cock seemed to grow longer as he rocked against him, the slick, soapy friction making him pant. "Slide your finger inside me, Thursday, yeah, just like that, yeah, baby, that feels nice, now a second." He hissed when Shelby pressed a second finger inside him, ramming into him with short, frenzied strokes that had him sweating.

  Shelby's mouth found a tender spot on his neck, and then he felt the sharp sting of teeth. Shelby's arm grew tight around Deacon's back, pulling him closer. He drove his fingers deep inside him, forcing Deacon to his rhythm, taking control. "I like the feel of your balls slapping mine. I've never felt anything like this."

  "Shelby..." Deacon couldn't think of anything to say to that. He buried his face in his neck fighting the need to come, but the friction against his belly and in his ass had him spinning past the point. "Fuck me, baby, god, just like that." He wrapped his arms around Thursday's shoulders, letting him take control. Teeth grazed his neck again, soft lips touched his cheek, long supple fingers rammed into him deeper, flexing inside him.

  "Deacon..." he breathed against his ear, his breath hot, his cock rigid against his belly. It was all Deacon needed to send him over the edge. Shelby pumped against him, heat slathering his skin as he bit him, crying out against his neck. Deacon couldn't stop the roar that echoed off the concrete walls as he added his own scalding heat to the mix. "Shit, Deacon, shit."

  Deacon agreed silently just as the hot water ran out.

  Chapter Four

  "How old are you?" Shelby sat on Deacon's bed, his back against the brick wall and a sheet wrapped around his body. Deacon lay on his stomach, his back bare, his breathing slow and even.

  "I'll be forty in December. How old are you?" There was sleep in his voice and his eyes when he angled his head to look up at him.

  "Thirty-three. I'll be thirty-four in February. I thought you were younger until you mentioned Desert Storm. I was in middle school during that."

  "Sorry to disappoint you." Deacon rolled onto his side and lay his head on his arm. "How much younger?"

  "Thirty-five, maybe, I don't know. What's it like being a father? Do your kids know...?"

  "That I like men?" He smiled then, his eyes soft in the dim light. "God, I hope not. I don't want them knowing I like women either, or sex or beer. I try to keep my sordid little life to myself when it comes to them. And anyone else I'm not currently fucking."

  "So you really are bisexual?"

  "Pretty much. I lean toward men, though, if I have to be honest. Mostly because I don't want any strings. I don't want more children, I don't want the white picket fence, I want to run my bar, ride my motorcycle, and sleep with whoever is willing. I bet that sounds wrong to you."

  "Sounds nice actually. I've never really been free to be who I want to be. Too many expectations. First, football. I had to be the best. My dad paid trainers to make me the best, starting from the time I was old enough to hold the damned ball. I went to private schools with big football programs, then to his alma mater. I went to law school because it was expected of me, I married the girl they wanted me to marry. We moved to Mobile to expand his firm, and he made Holly and me partners. The only flaw in that was the infertility. At least that's what she chose to tell them. She didn't like sex. Or me. Sometimes I wonder if the baby was mine. We bought a house in West Mobile. We just closed on it when she was killed. After that I just went through the motions. Does it make me a bad person to not know if I've been mourning the loss of her or myself all these months?"

  "There's probably a cozy spot in hell for you." Deacon laughed softly. "But don't worry, I'll look you up."

  He noticed the sudden silence, deafening in its lack of noise. "Is it over, do you think? What time is it anyway?"

  Deacon sat up and grabbed a watch from his bedside table. "Almost two. We've been talking for hours. It's either the eye, or it's moved over quicker than expected."

  He climbed out of bed and went to the set of French doors in the dining area of the room. Still naked, he opened the metal shutter that covered the door and stepped out into the dark. "Come see for yourself, Thursday. Don't worry about clothes. No one can see up here."

  Shelby tucked the sheet around his waist and followed Deacon out onto a balcony that overlooked the parking lot. All the surrounding buildings were windowless. Overhead, stars twinkled from between clouds. The wind had died to little more than a breeze. He breathed deeply of the cool air after spending hours closed inside.

  "The parking lot is flooded," Deacon said as he leaned over the balcony. "Fuck, my sign was blown to hell, again. Doesn't look too bad, but then I can't see the street from here."

  Deacon's body strained against the brick as he tried to lean farther over, the muscles in his ass flexing and releasing. Shelby found himself drawn to him. After the shower, they'd lain in bed listening to the rain beat against the building, just talking. Somehow, he felt like he knew Deacon better than he'd even known his own wife. He certainly wanted him more.

  It wasn't an easy realization. He trembled thinking about the brutal ho
nesty of a few hours ago. Deacon was going to fuck him before the night was over. It scared him how much he wanted Deacon to fuck him now that he'd gotten used to the idea. He wanted him to bend him over the balcony and fill him from behind. He craved his touch, his kiss. He craved his mouth on his cock.

  "Deacon?" He stepped beside him, laying his hand on the small of his back.

  "Yeah, Thursday?" Deacon's eyes were serious as his gaze met Shelby's.

  "Will you..." He had no idea how to ask for what he wanted. Coarse words wanted to tumble off his tongue, but that wasn't what he wanted. "Make love to me?"

  Deacon pulled him close, threading his fingers in his hair just before he leaned in for a kiss. His tongue sliding deep in his throat, his fingers tugged the sheet away as he pressed him against the balcony, his cock rigid when he pressed it against his belly. "I thought you'd never ask."

  "Inside; this is too public," Shelby finally managed to gasp out between kisses. Deacon simply took his hand and led him back to the bed, leaving the door open.

  "Lie down." His voice was a ragged whisper. "On your back."

  Shelby settled into the middle of the bed and Deacon followed him. Leaning over him, he pressed gentle kisses along his shoulder, his neck, his chest. Kisses that had Shelby shivering, his whole body tight, as if he might explode.

  Deacon shifted, reaching across the bed to the table where he fumbled in a drawer. Shelby's heart seemed to skip a beat or six when he realized what he tossed on the bed beside him. He forgot the lube and condom wrapper, even forgot to breathe as Deacon's kisses progressed lower on his body until he felt lips on his scrotum and then his breathing kicked into hyperdrive.

  "Spread your legs," Deacon said softly, tongue hot against Shelby's ass as he probed him. Shelby eased his legs wider, and Deacon settled between them, kissing his inner thighs, playing with the hair that covered his scrotum. "You taste nice, Thursday."