Cock and Balls

by Mia Watts

  “That makes no sense.”

  “To go to Paris,” Monty tried again.

  “She was dying. Why would she do that?” Hank snapped.

  His sharp tone brought Monty around a little. “I was there. She told him Paris was important. Said she’d hang on for him to come home.”

  “Politics were always more important to him than family.”

  Hank’s strokes became rougher. Monty clutched the edge of the dock as his thoughts fractured and jumbled. He was so close, and thinking wasn’t going smoothly.

  “He knew she was dying, and he left anyway. Left me to care for her and to watch her go, and then didn’t come back until it was over. That’s called avoidance, Monty.”

  Hank bent and took one of Monty’s nipples into his hot mouth. Monty’s head rolled back on his shoulders as Hank’s tongue worried the nub with flicks and sucks. Pre-cum slicked Hank’s palm and already Monty could feel his balls drawing tight.

  “He cried,” Monty managed. “Couldn’t stop.”

  “My dad cried? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Went to his hotel,” Monty broke off, gasping as he struggled to hold his thoughts together. “Dark room. Sobbed. I saw him. He loved her.”

  “If he loved her, he would have stayed with her. He didn’t. He traipsed off to do another round of handshaking and baby kissing.”

  “He had to go.”

  Whatever else he meant to add dissipated into nothing as fire streaked Monty’s veins. He shouted, thrusting his hips into Hank’s hand as cum showered the younger man’s chest. An odd glint was in Hank’s eyes, but Monty was too far gone to care until every ounce emptied from him.

  “My turn,” Hank murmured huskily.

  Chapter Nine

  Hank hopped up onto the dock and sprawled out with his legs spread wide over the edge. Monty moved between his knees and massaged Hank’s thighs, still breathing hard and looking a bit dazed. Which was exactly the goal. The more distracted Monty was, the less likely he’d notice the cameramen creeping toward them from down the beach.

  Part of him was elated to see they’d gotten his anonymous tip and the general directions to the house from the dock store. Another part of him throbbed with anticipation of the anger he knew he’d see on Monty’s face when he discovered that Hank had put them both in a compromising position—on purpose.

  What was done, was done, Hank rationalized. His chest hurt for a split second, exactly how long it took to go from thought to the sensation of Monty’s mouth on his dick. God, it was a beautiful feeling. Double-oh-seven took Hank’s cock deep. Hank might have made a noise. It might have sounded like he was strangling, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that bliss was happening to his groin.

  Hank propped up on his elbows to watch. Monty’s dark hair swung over his forehead, and the agent seemed entranced by Hank’s shaft. Monty shoved two fingers deep into Hank’s hole and that time, Hank was fully aware of the long, drawn-out groan those fingers tore from him.

  “Your mouth is magic,” Hank told him, burying a hand into the agent’s hair.

  For a moment, he forgot what he’d done. He forgot about the cameramen sneaking up to catch an illicit photo or their periodic pauses to snap pictures with cannon-sized zoom lenses. He forgot about the one-hundred dollar bill he’d given the guy behind the register at the store to make the call, and the promise of another if he delivered. He forgot everything but the hot, sucking mouth of pleasure pulling on his cock and tracing the rim of his head, delving into the slit. Everything but the fingers plugging him relentlessly as they rubbed on his prostate and sent hot and cold shivers through his body so intense, Hank couldn’t form an intelligent sound to save his life.

  Monty bore down. Hank saw stars as Monty added a third finger. They curled on the tight ring of muscle and popped out, only to glide back in and trip against that heavenly gland deep inside his hole.

  Pleasure burst upon Hank. He shot, and Monty hurried to swallow it down. Some escaped to dribble from his bottom lip, but their eyes locked, and Hank saw perfection in that moment. These blue eyes and dark hair, these angled cheeks hollowed around Hank’s cock, these lips pleasuring him—God, was there anything more beautiful? More right?

  Monty pulled off him, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip. There was light in those eyes, and Hank believed it was all for him. The click of a camera. The creak of a dock board snapped Monty out of his gaze first.

  “What the fuck?” Monty roared to his feet.

  Cameramen seemed to swarm the dock from the beach and the woods. Where Hank had only seen four coming up behind Monty, that number seemed to have quadrupled. Flashes went off in every direction. Monty dove to cover Hank’s nakedness with his own.

  “This is private property. Get off my land!” Monty shouted.

  “Mr. McClaren! Is he your lover?” One cameraman asked.

  “Private property!” Monty shouted again.

  He grabbed Hank’s arm and hauled him across the rocks to the grass.

  “Mr. McClaren, who’s your boyfriend?”

  “Mr. McClaren, you forgot your condom!”

  “Does President McClaren know you’re gay?”

  Voices shouted at them from every angle. The color drained from Hank’s face as he ducked and ran. He’d expected photos and questions. He hadn’t anticipated a circus. Hank felt sick to his stomach. Monty tried to block Hank from view, then slammed the door when they reached the cabin.

  “Get dressed!” Monty barked.

  Hank pulled on his underwear and pants. Monty went around shutting windows and covering them. The heat was suffocating, but the alternative was worse.

  What did I do? Hank made it to the bathroom before he vomited.

  “How the hell did they find us?” Monty growled low and dangerously as he continued to barricade them in.

  Hank propped weakly against the doorframe of the bathroom as he watched Monty scuttle about. Finally, Monty finished. He took one look at Hank, went to the sink and wrung out a washcloth. He tossed it at Hank’s chest grimly.

  “You have my cum all over your chest. Bet they’re going to have a field day with this in the press.” Monty dropped his hands on his naked hips. He shook his head in defeat. “God. What was I thinking?”

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Hank might’ve laughed about the mirrored thought so like his own. Except, this was anything but funny.

  “Maybe, you should get dressed,” Hank suggested.

  Monty snorted. “Nothing the whole world won’t see by tonight.”

  But he did get dressed. Hank sat down on the couch. He lowered his face into his hands feeling his heart in his throat. He wanted to be flip, to tell Monty that’s what he got for fucking the president’s son, for stealing him away without asking him if he wanted to go. But they were all childish words, and they meant nothing when he thought of the look on Monty’s face as Hank came and how that look would change when he found out what Hank had done.

  “I’m going to need to get word out. Get back up and fly you out of here.” Monty shoved clothing into the duffel bag they’d arrived with. “We’ll make a run for the car. You’ll need to cover your head. We don’t want them to have any more ammunition than they’ve already got.”

  Monty was muttering to himself, making checklists aloud while Hank watched him, feeling like a bigger and bigger asshole.

  “There’ll need to be a cover up somehow. Fuck if I know how,” Monty continued. “There are too many of them. Too many pictures and we don’t know when they started shooting.”

  Hank swallowed hard. “They started taking pictures before they got to shore around the east bend,” he said hollowly.

  Monty stiffened, stopped packing and swung his head around to pin Hank with a cool stare. “What?”

  Hank’s mouth went dry. “I gave them a heads-up before we left D.C. I called them from the store to put them into motion. They landed around the east point. They took photos while I—while I—did you.”
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  Monty silently closed the space between the duffel bag and the couch. “What?” he asked again.

  “They probably got your cum-shot.” Hank had tried to make it sound flip, but he’d lost it. Couldn’t seem to find the attitude he favored when things got dicey. Monty had stripped him of it with one soulful look at the docks. How was that possible?

  Monty grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “You told them where to find us?”

  “I paid the guy at the store,” Hank confessed, feeling the belated need to come clean and own up to what he’d done.

  Rage shook Monty. It vibrated from him in waves as disgust transformed his face. Hank winced.

  “Stop fooling yourself, Hank. You care about your father. You care so much that you’d do anything to get his attention. For fuck’s sake. You even live in the town where he is, probably hoping he’ll reach out to you and apologize. The way you go about it is fucked up and selfish. So selfish that you’d ruin him and me and for what? For a public fuck?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “Don’t feed me that bullshit. You thought about this thoroughly. As you said, you started this whole shindig before we ever got here. You planned it down to who you’d pay, what you’d pay and how you’d have them track us,” Monty snarled. “What’s wrong? Did it turn into a bigger deal than you expected?”

  “Yes,” Hank whispered.

  “You’ve destroyed him. Yourself. Me. And why? Because you are so blinded by your own point of view about what happened with your father that you can’t imagine anything else? You can’t imagine that your father’s pain wasn’t as great as yours, maybe greater because he couldn’t say goodbye? Because she couldn’t hold on for him to come home?”

  Hank turned his face away. “This isn’t the time to talk about this. We should be getting away.”

  “Running again? You run to the bars to get away from how much you hate yourself. You run to the nearest party to shake your fist at your father’s politics. Now you want to run away from the media circus you created because you can’t deal with the fact that you screwed up so badly? What the fuck is the matter with you?” Monty shoved him to the couch.

  The photographers were knocking on the door, the windows, the walls of the cabin. The sound of tires on the gravel outside was unmistakable as yet more people zeroed in on their location.

  “We need to go. Not for you, but for your dad. Congratulations. Looks like you succeeded in dragging everyone down with you on your road to self-destruction.” Monty pinched the bridge of his nose. “You had me fooled. I actually thought you were worth saving, that there was actually something to save in you. Looks like you got the last laugh.”

  Hank leaped to his feet. His eyes stung as the words kept coming and the magnitude of what he’d done sank in deeper. There were a lot of issues at stake here, stuff that couldn’t be dealt with under the increasing roar of demands from outside, but he also hadn’t intended this to happen either.

  “We’re leaving.” Monty threw a towel at Hank’s head. “Cover up and stay covered in the car. If we don’t go now, chances are, they’ll think to block the car before we make it out of here.”

  Monty’s face lost all emotion. His eyes had gone steely and he grabbed Hank’s upper arm, steering him to the door.

  “Do exactly what you’re told. Understood? Stay down when we get to the car, and I’ll try to lose them before we make a call for the pickup. And no matter what, Hank, don’t talk to me.”

  Hank nodded. He’d fucked up. He wasn’t about to do it again.

  Chapter Ten

  Monty’s mind swirled with self-condemnation. His boss and the president had trusted him to make the public situation better, calmer. Instead, he’d taken Hank to a private location, fucked him and treated the whole think like a fantasy vacation.

  The plane ride back to Washington D.C. was quiet, thank God. Hank didn’t utter a word. Unfortunately, that didn’t help. If Hank had gone off spewing egotistical remarks or filled the air with mockery, Monty could have allowed his own anger to boil over. But he didn’t. Hank stayed quiet. It was so uncharacteristic that its very difference from his normal behavior was an apology of its own. Maybe.

  When would he stop giving Hank the benefit of the doubt? The jackass had called the press, for fuck’s sake. Called them and made sure to deliver a spectacle that there’d be no way of pulling from every paper in the country. No, this time, it was personal. He hadn’t just disgraced his father and made a joke of Monty, he’d fucking ruined Monty’s credibility, his job, outted him. Granted, Monty was already outted, but Hank didn’t know that. He hadn’t bothered to find out first.

  As soon as they landed, Monty grabbed Hank’s upper arm and steered him toward the exit. He shoved him into the limo, and they made a straight shot for the White House.

  “I’m sorry,” Hank said after they’d been on the road five minutes.

  Monty turned a stony glare on him. His jaw felt like lead, and he had no interest in cracking it to comment on the sincerity of that apology, even if Hank looked earnest.

  “I am,” Hank whispered, his voice carrying easily in the confines of the car.

  “Save it,” Monty answered, finally.

  “What can I do to make it up to you?”

  Monty looked at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking insane? You can’t make up for this shit. You didn’t just destroy your father, you destroyed me—like the spoiled, self-indulgent brat you are. You can’t wave a magic wand and pretend it didn’t happen.”

  Once Monty opened his mouth and let the anger out, it seemed impossible to stop.

  “What did you think was going to happen, huh? What did you think my superiors were going to say when they found out I was fucking the president’s son?”

  Hank’s eyes flashed. “C’mon. It takes two to fuck. I didn’t force you into it.”

  “No,” Monty relented grudgingly. “But I trusted you to keep it to yourself.”

  “So you wanted to spend whatever time was given to us, screwing around with me and then what? You were going to dump me?”

  Monty stared hard at the other man, wondering if he’d actually detected hurt in Hank’s words.

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Monty admitted.

  “Neither had I,” Hank bit out.

  “Really? Because it seemed thought out. You’d had to have planned a note, bribe money and the final setup. You saw them coming to shore, and you stuck with your plan. Are you sure you didn’t know what you were doing?” Monty challenged.

  “I knew I wanted you. I knew I wanted out of there, and I wanted Dad’s plan to micromanage me to backfire.”

  “And what about me? If you thought you wanted more than a holiday fuck, I doubt you’d have concocted a plan sure to get me fired and embarrassed.”

  Hank sighed. “I didn’t think.”

  “No shit. The only one who benefitted from that little scene was you.”

  “Are you going to lose your job?”

  “Very likely.” Monty chose to look out the window. Gazing at Hank had him softening—almost believing the apology when he shouldn’t.

  “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. I think you’ve done enough,” Monty answered. “In fact, don’t say a word. The last thing I need is for you to pull strings for as payment for fucking.”

  “That’s not how I feel.”

  Monty snorted. “Who are you kidding, Junior? You don’t have feelings, remember? Except the blazing hatred for your father, which proves just how much you do care about him. You’re desperate for his attention, and you just found a sure-fire way to get it. Good job.”

  The limo pulled up at the gate fifteen minutes later. Long enough to have Monty wincing over his last words to Hank and angry at himself for caring. He knew the kid had feelings. He’d opened up enough at the shore to let Monty see the pain caused by his father’s apparent apathy. Yet second guessin
g his own part in Hank’s supposed feelings would get him nowhere but stupid. It was Monty’s own fault for thinking the guy was worth getting to know personally. His own fault for letting his guard down long enough to care that Hank worked through his issues, and his own fault for letting the kid get under his skin.

  Monty could pretend all he wanted that he’d been used, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d known what getting caught would do to his career, and that was the real reason he was pissed. He’d known, and he’d done it anyway. He was just as guilty for screwing over the presidency as Hank was. Just as guilty for putting his job on the line. What had Hank said? It takes two to fuck. Yeah, it did, and Monty had truly fucked himself over, with a little help from a blond, gray-eyed temptation with irresistible dimples and polish.

  Right now, he didn’t want to think about Hank’s side of the story. Hank’s side of the story had tipped the pile-o-shit-ometer off its teetering balance to dump on Monty’s head. He didn’t have even a fighting chance to get out of this one unscathed.

  Monty took a deep, fortifying, breath as he got out of the limo and held the door for the presidential son. He didn’t meet the blond’s eyes when he stood for a moment before continuing into the White House. Both men were followed by a contingent of Secret Service—which sucked because now Monty knew exactly how much trouble he was in. They didn’t even trust him to escort Hank to the security office.

  But it wasn’t Monty’s boss that sent for them. It was the president. Considering that Monty knew how little time he had to deal with things like this, Monty knew that taking a chunk out of the leader’s day didn’t bode well for him either.

  They were brought from the on-site security office to the president’s private quarters and taken to the living room. The president appeared haggard, slumped in a chair across from the couch.

  “Have a seat,” President McClaren said solemnly.

  Monty and Hank both sat. Hank on the couch, Monty opting for another chair adjacent to the president.