Bad Judgment

by Sidney Bell

  “Thanks. Why do you like to gamble?”

  Brogan considered, then turned over the river. Nine of spades. “Because the risk-to-reward ratio is excellent. You get all the adrenaline of doing something dicey, but the worst that’ll happen is you end up broke.”

  “The risk-to-reward ratio in this game is absurd,” Embry said. “What’s the least I can bet if I have five consecutive spades?”

  Brogan sighed and took Embry’s cards away from him. “Let’s try blackjack.”

  As he shuffled, he asked, “How’d you learn to speak French?”

  “My mother was Quebecois,” Embry replied. “I was raised speaking both.”

  “You’re Canadian?”

  Embry lifted an eyebrow. “I was born here. I have dual citizenship.”

  Brogan shook his head with the air of a man getting back on track. “And the Spanish?”

  “It was during my linguistics phase. The Spanish teacher at my high school was supposed to be a very talented educator.”

  “Had a nice ass, did he?’”

  “We all realize we’re gay somehow,” Embry said, shrugging.

  * * *

  When there were only ten minutes left of Brogan’s twenty-four hours, he turned off the TV and said, “Let me help you. We’ll get Amy and your parents the justice they deserve in a way that means you can walk away clear, and afterward, if you want it, you can have this. However long you want it, it’s yours.” He pressed his lips together, betraying his nervousness. “I’m yours, Embry. I’m all in.”

  Embry held his breath around the throb in his chest as the clock ticked down. Finally, he said, “That’s it, then? Time’s up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re even?”

  “Even.” Brogan’s manner was tentative, like he expected to get kicked. Like he thought Embry would walk out without batting an eye. Embry knew he should. It was only a matter of time before Coop learned who he was—there were always ways to find someone, and once the truth came out, Embry was as good as dead. So he should go. He should think of Amy and his parents and the rage and do what he knew would provide satisfaction in the long run.

  But part of him was tired.

  This time with Brogan had been a respite he hadn’t known he needed. And that selfish, weak part of him couldn’t hurt Brogan, not after the man had offered him the first peace he’d known in years.

  So instead of walking out, he said, “I can’t give you what you want.” His face felt hot, and he was sick to his stomach, but he wouldn’t lie. Not to Brogan. No matter how hard it was to say the rest. “I—I want you, I do. I want this, just not—”

  “Not enough to let them live.”

  Embry jerked a shoulder in acknowledgement.

  “Then I’ll keep working at it,” Brogan said. There was a hint of sadness in his smile, but his voice was resolved. “Just because our deal is over doesn’t mean I’m quitting. I’m not giving up on you until you pull that trigger, Embry.”

  “I’m going to hurt you,” Embry explained, closing his eyes. He had to force himself to keep going—why was this always so hard? “I don’t want to, but... I will. I still need him, Brogan. I don’t have everything yet.”

  “We’ll work it out somehow.”

  Brogan’s faith rattled him. What must it be like, to believe that the universe wouldn’t suddenly decide to crush you? Amy had possessed that faith, too. It was part of what made it so hard to let her go. She’d made the world safe for Embry. In so many ways, Brogan was nothing like her, but they had the same effect on Embry. They took him out of himself, brought silence to the noise in his head.

  And because he wanted to say so many things that he had no right to say, and couldn’t say even if he wanted to, he changed the subject to something he could manage. “So does that mean we can fuck?”

  Brogan sighed. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, I know, you don’t want me to feel obligated, it’s not about sex, you have rainbows in your heart when you look at me. Am I missing anything?”

  Brogan gave him a dirty look. “Not so many rainbows right now.”

  “All the rainbows.” Embry tried hard to make his smile into a smirk. “We don’t have to. I don’t want to use you, or, or lead you on, and I can imagine it would be hard, knowing that I’m going to go back—”

  “Well, it’ll probably be easier to convince you to stay with me if I can get you addicted to my cock,” Brogan said, like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say, a hint of playfulness lingering around his lips.

  “You think that’s going to happen?” Embry asked, aiming for doubtful, but failing miserably. Brogan had already proven to be addictive in other areas, after all.

  “Come find out,” Brogan said, and got up, holding a hand out for Embry to take.

  And with his heart beating a wild rhythm in his chest, Embry did.

  Brogan led him to the bedroom, and pushed him onto the bed before beginning to undress. Embry watched, struggling not to fidget.

  “Nervous?” Brogan asked, shrugging out of his T-shirt.

  That muscled chest did a lot to distract him, but Embry nodded anyway.

  “Good. You should be. This time it matters. I won’t let you get away with hiding from me the way you hide from him.” Brogan opened his jeans, making Embry’s mouth go dry. He resented the hell out of Brogan’s last remark, but that didn’t keep the words from twisting his belly up with need.

  Brogan shoved his jeans down and kicked them away, standing there in dark green boxer briefs, the fabric barely containing a rather substantial erection. The nerves in his stomach lurched again. Embry wasn’t sure, suddenly, not at all. Sex was one thing—he knew how to fuck without losing any part of himself, but he didn’t have the first clue how to give Brogan what he was asking for, didn’t even know if he should.

  “This won’t change anything,” Embry cautioned. He felt like an asshole, but he’d rather lose out now than let Brogan feel betrayed later. “I won’t let it.”

  “Not the point. If we’re gonna do this, I want all of you. Even if it’s only for right now.”

  Warm hands removed Embry’s socks then stroked the knobby bone of his ankle, and Embry had the random thought that he’d never been touched there before. It was bizarrely intimate. He tried to pull his foot away.

  Brogan didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted Embry’s foot and pressed his lips to the same spot his thumb had just touched. “I get all of you,” Brogan repeated.

  “You want my ankles?”

  Brogan grinned. “Everything.”

  “You’re a freak. I’ve never heard of anyone—”

  “If you don’t know that people occasionally touch other people’s ankles when they’re in the bedroom, you don’t know half as much as you think you do.” Brogan’s hands slid up his legs, feeling him through the denim, and Embry tried again to jerk away. His stomach was full of butterflies. Actually, butterflies were an understatement. He had bats in his stomach. Pterodactyls, even.

  “Easy,” Brogan said. “It’s not going to hurt.”

  He lingered at the backs of Embry’s knees, making him jolt before moving on, sliding up the outsides of Embry’s thighs until he got to his sides, where he let his hands dip under the fabric of his shirt, taking the garment with him as he went.

  “Lift your arms.”

  Frowning and mistrustful, Embry complied. Brogan tossed the shirt aside, then thumbed open the button of Embry’s jeans. He drew them down smoothly, taking his underwear at the same time, murmuring appreciatively when Embry lifted his hips without being asked.

  Embry lay back on the bed, and Brogan stood there and looked. His gaze was hot and intent, making Embry self-conscious. He squirmed, his cock beginning to harden under the scrutiny, and snapped, “Are we going to do
this or not?”

  “Patience is a virtue,” Brogan replied, but he sounded rough, like he’d been eating rocks or something. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I’m not going to rush through it now.”

  Embry got harder even as he had to fight the urge to roll off the other side of the bed and stalk out.

  “Christ, look at you,” Brogan muttered. “I almost can’t believe you’re real.”

  Those words lodged beneath Embry’s breastbone. Painfully sweet. Who even said things like that? “I’m going to be sick if you keep talking all syrupy like that.”

  “If that’s how you want it. Lean back and spread your legs for me.”

  He said it mildly but with certainty, as if it didn’t occur to him that Embry might refuse, and Embry had the distinct impression that he hadn’t fooled Brogan for a second. He obeyed anyway, disoriented by the tenderness, overwhelmed by the command. The bed dipped as Brogan climbed up, and then two fingers lifted his chin.

  “No hiding,” Brogan reminded him.

  Then he kissed Embry, soft and slow and sweet, tongue tracing his bottom lip until Embry kissed back, need rumbling inside him. Having Brogan on his knees at the apartment hadn’t satisfied him at all. He was starting to wonder if he could be sated. Embry was the one who pressed closer and opened wider, and Brogan groaned into his mouth and took full advantage.

  The kiss became hot and wet and full of teeth, and Embry got a little lost. Okay, a lot lost, because Jesus, Brogan had never kissed him like this before, even that time at his apartment, like Embry was air and life and survival, like Embry was his, like it was all he could do to keep himself from devouring.

  Then Brogan touched him, and Embry’s thoughts stopped entirely.

  Those big hands ran over his shoulders and arms, calloused and strong, stroking, gripping, teasing and Embry did likewise. Brogan’s shoulders were broad and strong, his back wide and solid with muscle, and Embry liked the light smattering of coarse hair on Brogan’s chest.

  The kissing was overwhelming enough that he didn’t notice that Brogan had captured his wrists until Brogan had trapped them against the mattress over his head. He made a complaining noise—he wanted to learn those muscles, feel the warm, resilient flesh under his fingertips—but it got him nowhere.

  “I have plans,” Brogan breathed, “and if you keep touching me, I’m going to forget them, so you have to keep your hands up here on the headboard. I need you to be good, okay, baby?”

  “Okay,” Embry said, unable to refuse. He couldn’t give Brogan everything, but Embry could give him this. He grabbed hold of a rail.

  Brogan let out a strained laugh and dipped his head for another kiss.

  And the world went away again.

  Those hands were everywhere now, gentle on the thin skin of his throat, hard and demanding as he clutched Embry’s buttocks, separating them, making him feel exposed and edgy as the head of Brogan’s cock nudged briefly against his balls. Embry strained closer, but Brogan shifted his hips away. Embry wriggled and found Brogan’s chest instead, solid and strong against his, and he liked it so much that he arched further, trying to rub up against him, and that brought their cocks together. Embry moaned and shifted so that his knees gripped Brogan’s sides, and fuck, that was good, Brogan hard against him, sliding into the hollow of his hip. Brogan cursed and shoved him down.

  “Be good,” he ordered.

  Embry wanted to say that he hadn’t moved his hands at all, but the kissing came back and he forgot Brogan was being a jerk. He tried not to move, but it was difficult with Brogan hovering over him, so big and heavy that he might have been made out of warm, breathing steel, and it was very unreasonable of Brogan to expect Embry to just lie here.

  But then Brogan’s mouth found that spot beneath his ear and Embry was too busy shuddering and moaning to point out Brogan’s absurdity. He arched, remembering that Brogan’s chest was close, and their cocks brushed again, flooding him with heat. Brogan must’ve felt it too; he rocked them together several times before he apparently recalled that his life’s goal was to drive Embry insane and pushed him back onto the mattress once more.

  After surveying him, Brogan muttered, “Okay, new plan.”

  Then the bastard found that sensitive spot on Embry’s throat, his mouth demanding and hot. Embry bucked—it was building, the heat, fuck, it was overwhelming him, making him wild, and he couldn’t even warn Brogan that he was on the verge before Brogan took hold of Embry’s cock, his grip fast and loose, the friction beautiful and perfect and almost enough, almost, and then Brogan bit down again, and that was it, that was everything, Embry was coming in a blinding rush. He heard himself cry out, so absorbed by the pleasure that for a moment he forgot where he was. He hovered in the sensation for long, excellent seconds before it faded.

  He sagged back onto the mattress.

  “That oughta help,” Brogan murmured, nuzzling at the spot under his ear.

  Embry shivered.

  “Think you can stay still this time?”

  “What?” Embry asked, dazed.

  Brogan chuckled. “Don’t move.”

  “So tired.” Wow, he sounded thick and stupid and lazy. He patted Brogan sloppily on the shoulder. It took him a year to get the rest of his thoughts out. “I think I can stay awake long enough to watch if that’ll help you get there.”

  Brogan only laughed again. He grabbed a handful of tissues and proceeded to wipe the come from Embry’s belly, his hands careful on Embry’s oversensitive cock. Embry had never had someone clean him up before. It made him feel even more exposed, but he was too relaxed to complain.

  Brogan tossed the tissues in the trash, then rolled against him and slid their mouths together. The kisses were slow, lingering, more lips than tongue, and Embry fell into a fog of sleepy enjoyment as they spent a ridiculous amount of time lying there making out.

  He was content to stay there forever, he realized. It had never been like this before, something to revere rather than endure, an escape from all the noise in his head rather than one more thing threatening to decimate him. He wrapped his legs around Brogan’s and gave himself up to it, and they cuddled and kissed and touched for long enough that when Brogan’s hand dipped down to run a thumb over his nipple, Embry’s cock was capable of giving an interested twitch.

  “What are you doing?” Embry asked.

  “Nothing. You’re going to sleep.”

  The touch on his nipple came again, and was then replaced by a hot, wet mouth, and Embry grunted. His cock was definitely noticing that. “Um,” he said.

  “Shh.” Brogan murmured, “You’re very tired, remember?”

  Brogan licked again, suckled, then bit, and Embry’s whole body jerked. “Stop that. That’s not helping.”

  “I think it’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to,” Brogan replied, grinning against the damp skin of Embry’s chest before his teeth sank into his nipple once more, worrying at the pebbled flesh gently. The other one got the same treatment.

  Embry was making embarrassing noises, but he stopped caring when that greedy, affectionate mouth dropped lower, sliding over his belly and sides, then down to nip at his hipbone.

  “Fuck,” Embry gasped, and his cock lurched against his belly. He wasn’t hard, not yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

  Brogan rocked back on his heels, staring down at Embry. Embry blinked up at him, wondering what he was supposed to do. He lifted up on one elbow, reaching out to test the corded strength of Brogan’s thigh with his hand. He stroked upward, but Brogan grabbed his wrist before he reached his goal.

  “Impressive self-control,” Embry said, because Brogan’s cock was gorgeously thick and hard and leaking pre-come, and Embry would’ve caved a long time ago. Hell, he had caved, and with somewhat unfortunate speed. Seemed like the least he could do was return the favor.r />
  “Not that impressive or I’d let you touch me.” Brogan put Embry’s hands back on the headboard, then opened the nightstand drawer. He pulled out lube, but hesitated over a condom until Embry swallowed hard around his embarrassment and murmured, “Yes, we need it.”

  Brogan picked up the little packet without a word. He didn’t seem angry, but all of Embry’s nerves came rushing back in a landslide anyway. Trust Joel to find a way to fuck this up for Embry without even being here. Not that Embry needed help to kill the mood—it was his own damn fault that he—

  “Hey,” Brogan said, pausing in the middle of slicking his fingers with lube. “You can stop worrying about it. I’m okay.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re naked in my bed, Embry,” Brogan said dryly, one corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “My day’s going great.” He leaned forward, balancing on his dry hand, and kissed Embry, long and deliberate, until that warm slide of lips distracted him from the weight of the moment.

  A finger stroked between his cheeks and that was more familiar. He spread his legs wider, giving Brogan more room, but the finger didn’t breech him. It just circled around, slow and almost soothing, occasionally catching on the rim of his entrance. He wiggled a bit, thinking that maybe Brogan just wasn’t good at this part and Embry should help him figure it out, but Brogan’s other hand came down on his hip to hold him still.

  “You’re really not very well behaved,” Brogan said. “Can you please quit squirming?”

  Embry heaved a frustrated sigh. “You are fucking bossy in bed.”

  Brogan burst out laughing. “For a guy who reads French poetry, you have surprisingly little soul. I’m trying to make this memorable.”

  “I’d rather just fuck.”

  “Believe me, I’ve put that together. We’re doing it this way. Shut up.”

  The finger resumed circling and Embry huffed an impatient exhale. Brogan rolled his eyes but didn’t speed up, and Embry resigned himself to eventual boredom. But then the finger dipped inside—ever so slightly—before pulling back and Embry’s breath hitched. It happened again and again, a fingertip delving and then sliding back out, tempting, teasing little touches that had him anticipating when the next one would come. Deeper each time, and tantalizingly brief.