by Sean Michael
"Okay, Pretty. Have a good evening at class, huh?"
"Study group, and I'll try. Even if I'd rather be here with you and Rock.” He got another kiss, this one quick and hard, and then Dick was climbing off his lap and gone just like that.
Rig sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. Well, at least Rock'd be at the gym all evening and he could get himself another nap.
Chapter Thirty
Christ.
Rig brushed his teeth and grabbed a heavy sweater, heading out into the front room. Tests.
Sammy wanted a surgeon to do tests.
In fucking San Diego, of all places.
Christ.
"Hey, y'all. You finished with the Halloween candy yet?"
Rock looked down at the empty bowl and licked the chocolate from his lips. “Um. Yeah."
Dick started chuckling.
Rig grinned, settled in close. “That was Sam. He needs me in San Diego on Monday, so I'll be gone a few days."
See him. See him not lie.
"You're kidding.” Rock grumbled, arm going around him. “When are you going? I could probably arrange something at the gym, come with you."
Dick shook his head. “I can't. These courses are still kicking my ass."
"I'm going down Sunday night, be home Wednesday.” He leaned in, snuggling hard. “You've got that meeting with the promotional folks Tuesday, Blue."
"Maybe the kid can cover it."
Dick was already shaking his head, though. “Sorry, man. I just can't. We could cancel the promotional folks, I guess..."
"I'll be fine.” It was just tests. Once this was over, he'd just tell them everything. All of it.
"I suppose we'll just have to do without you for a few days. Hell, I'm looking forward to the pizza and no hassles about vegetables already.” Rock winked, hands holding him where he was.
"Don't make me beat you, man.” He grinned, leaned hard and let his eyes close. God, he hurt.
"Oh, kinky...” Rock's fingers moved over him, his Blue so fucking warm.
"Mmhmm. That's me. Kinky.” Please, God. Please, don't make me tell them something's wrong. Please don't let it be cancer like Momma had. Please.
Dick put down his books and joined them on the couch, snuggling him up from the other side. “Hey. I think it's time for a study break."
"Yeah? We could have a nap.” He wasn't up to fucking. Hell, he wasn't up to anything.
He could feel Dick looking at him, and then his Pretty's hand slid across his belly, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “Yeah? Snuggling and napping is good."
Rock grunted. “I thought we were going to get kinky."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm too old for kinky.” Too old. Too sick. Too fucking tired.
"You're not old,” growled Rock, arm tightening around him.
"Nobody's old. Overworked and tired,” suggested Dick. “But not old."
"Works for me.” He petted Rock's belly, humming quietly. “Works for me, y'all."
Please God.
Please.
Chapter Thirty One
It just figured.
Dick had a Sunday where he wasn't stuck in study group and Rig was MIA.
He spent most of the morning catching up on reading, and around noon went to wake up Rock. Maybe he could convince big guy to make him pancakes.
But first he had a blow job to give.
Dropping his clothes, he crawled under the covers and made a bee-line for Rock's hard prick. Thick and full and waiting for him, Rock was ready, warm-smelling and fine. Humming, he licked at that cock, put everything Rig had ever taught him into play. Shit, Rock tasted good, so hot on his tongue.
The heavy thighs shifted, Rock's balls drawing up as the big guy groaned. Oh, yeah. Someone was paying attention. He nuzzled Rock's balls, sliding his lips over them before taking one into his mouth and sucking hard enough Rock could feel it.
"Fuck, yeah.” Rock's hand landed on the back of his head, tangling in his hair.
Rolling Rock's balls, he hummed around one, his hands sliding along Rock's beautiful abs. The sheets smelled like them, all three of them, and it made him hard as a rock, made him groan and rub against the sheets. He licked his way up Rock's cock, taking the head into his mouth, the flavor of Rock's precome spreading across his tongue, making him rub harder.
It wasn't going to take long—even though it was Sunday and they had time, they were used to hurrying through morning wake up calls. Especially since he'd been taking over for Rig a lot.
Dick's head bobbed, lips tight around Rock's prick, tongue adding to the sensations. Rock started moaning, pushing up into his lips, starting to fuck his mouth. Yeah, just like that. He sucked harder, his hips working against the sheets. He felt Rock's heavy balls drawing up, going tight under his chin.
Yeah, yeah, come on, Rock, give it to me. His fingers slid to roll over the tight balls, his tongue slapping Rock's slit as it passed. Heat poured into his lips, Rock grunting and jerking for him. Fuck, yeah. He humped the bed hard and fast as he swallowed Rock down, the taste familiar, hot and good.
His balls drew up against his body and he shot across the sheets, his hips still sliding his prick against the mattress.
"Mmm. Hey, kid.” Rock groaned, patting his head.
Dick managed to push himself up some before collapsing against Rock, narrowly avoiding the wet spot he'd left on the sheets.
His head landed on Rock's chest and he grinned, kissed the muscled flesh. “Hey."
"You want to go out? Get pancakes before we head to Jeff's to watch the game?"
Going out for pancakes was almost as good as Rock making them, and he wouldn't notice the house being empty by one if they did IHOP or the Waffle Barn. He nodded and pushed himself the rest of the way up to take a kiss, tongue lingering in Rock's mouth for just a moment.
"You're paying, though."
"Oh, man. Blackmail.” He swatted Rock's ass, scooting out of range of those hands.
"You know it!” Laughing, he ran to the bathroom, figuring Rock would give him enough time to get the water going.
Just a few more days and it would be showers for three.
Chapter Thirty Two
Rock got home from the gym, growling a little as Dick pulled up right behind him. It was the kid's turn to cook and he was fucking hungry, tired, and not in the mood for more Goddamned take out. They were basically living on the stuff since Rig had gone off on this fucking field trip.
"Sorry,” muttered Dick. “But I had to get my paper in. That was the last one. Just exams now."
"What did you bring for supper?"
"Shit. It's not my night is it?"
Rock rolled his eyes and let them in, the place smelling lemony—the maid must have been in. “I'll order a fucking pizza."
"No, no. I'll do something quick.” Dick dumped his stuff by the door and headed for the kitchen as the phone began to ring.
"I'll get it.” Rock growled and grabbed the phone, sitting hard in his chair. “What?"
"Uncle Jimmy? I called up to the ICU and he wasn't there ... They'd taken him for x-rays. What's up? Did Uncle Alex get worse? He was looking better when I left."
Rock frowned. Rig? Worse? What the fuck? “Deuce? What the hell are you talking about?"
If Rig got hurt on this little medical fucking jaunt and didn't bother to tell him, he was going to kick some cowboy ass. And if Robert didn't cough up information on “Uncle Alex,” there was going to be bloodshed—Marines, family, or not.
"I. Uh. Nothing, I guess. I just. I got to see Uncle Alex, got to help him out. I mean. Uh. How's y'all?"
Rock snorted. “Nice try. Now why don't you tell me what the fuck is going on?"
"Shit. I. Man, he hasn't been able to call yet, I bet. He's still real sore and shit, Uncle Jimmy."
Not fucking able to call. Rock sat up straight in his chair, glaring at the dogs, who were milling around, whining a little. “Real sore ... I think you'd better start at the beginning, Robert—just pretend I haven'
t got a fucking clue what you're talking about."
"Huh? Well, you know how they were gonna do the tests? To see if he had cancer? They got in there and found flaps or something—whatever was making him so fucking sick. So they had to take out part of his stomach and stuff, right then and there. I was gonna call when he was in ICU, but he said he wanted to tell y'all. I just wanted to check on him..."
Jesus fucking Christ.
Cancer.
Tests.
I fucking CU.
His Goddamned Rabbit.
Rock was going to kill him.
"Where,” he asked, speaking very slowly, and very calmly, “is it that he is again?"
"UCSD, off Arbor Street. I cancelled his hotel room and brought him his stuff. I'm sorry, Uncle Jimmy, I couldn't stay. I had CQ duty.” Jesus, the eternal guilt of the Roberts’ clan.
"Don't you worry about that, Deuce. You did the right thing.” Rock swallowed, a fist in his gut. “You did the right thing. I'll be seeing you."
"Yeah? You ... y'all will come, yeah?"
"You know it.” He'd get one of the kids from the gym to come look after the dogs and they could go get their supper from a drive through.
"See you tomorrow."
"Cool. Cool. I'll take y'all to supper or something.” Robert cleared his throat, sounding guilty as can be. “He was asking for you, crying and stuff, when he was still under. I had to call, huh?"
That fist was getting tighter. “You did the right thing, Deuce. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay. Drive safe. Tell Uncle Richard I'll see him too. Love y'all.” The phone went dead, the sound just gone.
Rock just sat there staring at it for he didn't know how long. He was either going to slam it across the room or crush it in his hand.
Dick came out of the kitchen. “Okay, supper's—Shit, Rock. What's wrong?"
He looked over at Dick, mouth open. He shut it with a snap.
"You're white as a ghost. Was that Rig? What's the matter?"
"That was Robert. Deuce. Calling to check on his Uncle Alex. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay since he left Rig in the fucking hospital."
"What? What happened?"
"Grab an overnight bag while I call someone to feed the fucking dogs. I'll tell you in the car."
They had eight hours. They could plan how they were going to kill Rig for keeping this from them.
Chapter Thirty Three
He hurt.
Fuck, he hurt.
There were tubes in his cock, in his nose, draining out of his fucking belly and pumping shit into his veins and...
And he hurt.
And he needed to go home.
Rig groaned, tossing on the sweat-soaked pillow. God damn it. He needed his men. He needed help. “Somebody bring me a phone! I gotta call HOME!"
"Please, Dr. Roberts. You've got to calm down.” Another masked nurse stared down at him; he'd been trapped in ICU since the surgery, one infection after another just making things crazy.
"I need to go home, honey. Don't you understand?"
A commotion sounded outside, someone yelling. No, roaring.
"—fucking let me see him RIGHT NOW, I'm going to rip this Goddamned hospital apart room by fucking room until I find him."
"No, I do NOT want to FUCKING CALM DOWN!"
"Jim! Jim! I'm in here! Y'all!” He groaned, head tossing. “ROCK!"
Oh. Oh, fuck. Dizzy.
Shit.
The world went gray and fuzzy, his heart just thrumming in his chest.
Then Rock was there, pushing into the room, fucking growling and furious and about the best thing he'd ever seen. Dick was right behind him, looking worried.
"Oh.” He blinked, smiled. Here. They were here.
"You have to scrub up, put on masks. He's very susceptible right now.” The nurse grabbed Rock's arm, tugged him over to the foot pedal sink. “You have to. Infections are trying to take him over, guys."
"I want to know what the fuck is going on here.” Rock was still growling, still glaring, washing his hands.
"Well, who are you that you deserve to know?"
Dick intervened. “What he means is, could you please tell us how Rig—Alex—is doing?"
Rock stopped washing to face her head on, puffing up and looking huge, intimidating. “I'm his fucking partner, that's who."
"They ... they're mine. My next of kin. My family.” Rig blinked, just staring. His boys.
"Okay. Okay, Dr. Roberts. You need to calm down. Your blood pressure's rising again.” The nurse—Nancy? Peggy? Judy?—headed over, checking his tubes.
"'m calm. Rock. I been asking for a phone. Needed y'all."
Their hands were washed and they got their masks on, flanking him, Dick taking his hand and squeezing.
"We're here. You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Rock was still glaring, anger hiding everything else.
"I don't know. They aren't talking. Something. I came in for tests and woke up here with TUBES everywhere and I HURT!” His own fury and terror let itself out now that Rock was here to help, to fix it. To help him.
"Okay, if you're going to agitate him, you'll have to leave.” Oh, fuck no.
"No! No, please. Please, y'all."
Rock started growling again, looking like he might pick the little nurse up and snap her right in two. Dick squeezed his hand again, and then let it go, going around the bed and taking the nurse's hand.
"Would it be okay if we stepped out for a minute? You could maybe explain to me what all happened? What we need to do to help Alex recover?” Dick led her out, leaving him alone with Rock.
"Rock. Blue. Help me.” He shifted, trying to find a way to touch, to get to his lover.
Rock sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. One large hand grabbed hold of his, holding on tight. Those blue eyes stared at him from above the mask, looking right into him. “I'm here. Now."
"Thank God.” He let himself relax a little, let himself breathe. “Thank you. I needed ... Oh."
He held on tight, blinking as his heart started to slow a little.
Rock's free hand slid through his hair, thumb lingering over his lips. “You should have let me come with you from the start."
"I...” He blinked slow, all of the sudden so Goddamn heavy. Rock and Dick were here. Here. “I was just supposed to have a test. Wanted to tell y'all at home, if the docs were right and it was cancer."
"Cancer. You should have.” Rock stopped, the hand holding his squeezing impossibly tight for a second before loosening enough it didn't hurt. “We're here now, Rabbit. Why don't you close your eyes and get some sleep. Dick'll get the low-down from the nurse and find out the fastest way for us to get you out of here."
"You'll stay. Promise you'll stay. I woke up and...” And he'd been alone. Scared. Hurting. “Promise."
"It's gonna take a whole case of C4 going off under my ass to get me to move."
"'kay.” He reached out, pressed the morphine button, eyes fluttering as the heat flooded him. “Home. Take me home."
Where he belonged.
Chapter Thirty Four
Dick hated leaving Rig, but he knew that Rock was only going to keep growling at the nurse, and Rig was just going to get more agitated, so he sweet talked her out into the hall to let Rock calm Rig down and vice versa. Besides, one of them needed to get the low-down on Rig's condition.
"So can you tell me what happened? He was just supposed to be here for some tests...” Not that Rig had told them that. He kept that little tidbit from the nurse.
"They went in to search for tumors or ulcerations and the surgeon discovered that Mr. Roberts had Menetrier's disease. It's a condition that causes flaps to grow along the stomach lining. They were quite severe and riddled with lesions, so the surgeon decided to remove them, along with about a quarter of Mr. Roberts’ stomach."
"Menetrier's disease?” He'd never heard of it. Good thing he had his laptop with him. “Is the surgery a cure?"
"Basically, yes. Mr. Roberts will need to take anti-ulceratives and there will be some dietary changes, but, assuming we can get these infections to clear up and he gains weight back, he'll feel like a new man. Dr. Simmons said that they had to have been causing pain for years. He's been vomiting blood for more than nine months."
"Nine months?” Nine months. Oh God, Rig had been going through this by himself for nine months. He didn't understand why Rig hadn't told them.
The nurse nodded, red curls just bouncing. “I feel sorry for him. That sweet tall boy—his nephew? Said that his mother died of cancer. I imagine he was scared to death."
"Yeah. Yeah, I bet he was.” Damn it. He should have known. He should have seen it. “Do you know how soon we can take him home?"
"If the infections clear up? I'd guess a week to ten days. If not?” She shrugged. “It could be much, much longer."
"That long?” Rig was going to go crazy.
"His fever broke today and his incision is clearing at the drain site. I have high hopes for the stubborn guy.” She winked, smiled. “Look, I have to make my rounds. Go be quiet and convince him to rest, will you? The sooner he's out of ICU and in a regular room, the better. You know doctors are the worst patients."
"Thank you.” He gave her his best smile and then made a beeline back to Rig's bedside.
Rig was sleeping restlessly, frowning, mouth moving. The man looked like hell—grey skinned, bruised. Skinny.
"Jesus."
Rock looked up at him, nodded. “What did the nurse say?"
"It's not cancer.” The big body sagged a little and he went over, Rock's arms wrapping around him. “It's not cancer,” he whispered.
They stayed like that a moment or two, and then Rock grumbled and he backed off, running his hand through his hair. “What is it then?"
"Menetiray or something. It's a stomach ulcer kind of thing. She said he's been throwing up blood for nine months."
"No fucking way."
"That's what she said."
"I'm going to kill him."
