Something Like Trust

by Kris T. Bethke

  “All of it,” I commanded, and Brandon scrambled to comply. It took him only a moment to be standing there nude, what seemed like acres of pale skin on display, just for me.

  I’d never been one for fantasies, but the few times I’d indulged in daydreams were nothing compared to the reality of having Brandon naked. He was gorgeous and perfect, everything about him exactly what I wanted. He was fit and toned, but not overly muscled. His skin looked sleek and smooth, except for the small patch of chest hair, the enticing treasure trail, and the trimmed bush around his cock.

  And oh, what a delicious sight his erection was. Not too long, not too thin, his cock stood straight out from his body, the tip just starting to weep. It was flushed a deep rose, darker than the rest of his skin. I imagined sucking him down, making him come and tasting it on my tongue. The noise I made wasn’t much more than a growl, and Brandon’s entire body shuddered at the sound.

  “Jared?”

  “Get on the bed. On your stomach.”

  Brandon complied, pulling back the covers and sliding onto the mattress in one sinuous move. His body practically glowed in the lamplight, his far-too-pale skin standing out starkly against my navy-colored sheets. He settled himself on his stomach, wincing a little before adjusting his dick. Once he was comfortable, he turned his face toward me as he laid his head on the pillow.

  The sight of him, in my bed, his eyes full of trust, nearly made me come.

  I got rid of my clothes quickly and efficiently, and didn’t let myself linger on the way Brandon’s expression grew even more lustful at the sight of me. I focused my entire attention on him. On the play of muscles in his back, on the swell of his ass, on the way he moved ever so slightly against the sheets. He was restless, anxious, but so turned on. And I was bound and determined that tonight he’d have everything he wanted and needed out of a sexual encounter.

  He wanted to be mine while he was in town. I was about to show him exactly what it meant to be owned by Jared Connors.

  I climbed onto the mattress, hovering over him for a long moment before I lowered my body onto his. I carefully positioned my arms and legs so that even when I sank down onto him, he wouldn’t get my full weight. I had about nine inches and ninety pounds on him. I wanted him to feel my weight without being crushed.

  “This okay?” I murmured directly into his ear.

  His needy whine sounded like music to me. “God, yes.”

  I pressed down my hips a little more firmly, sliding my cock into the split of his ass. Brandon moaned, his body rocking up to increase the friction. He couldn’t move much, not with me pinning him to the mattress, and his moan was filled with desperation and frustration. I loved that noise, too.

  I lowered my face until I could get my lips on his neck, biting and sucking at the skin, drawing blood up to the surface. Brandon laughed like it tickled, then moaned deep, and then tried to wiggle.

  “Jared,” Brandon gasped, his tone full of lust and desire. “No hickeys, Jared. Makeup hates covering them.”

  I latched on to the patch of skin where his shoulder met his neck and chewed playfully for a moment, growling deep in my chest. Like I suspected, Brandon found that both amusing and arousing, his laugh mixing with that needy moan. He lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers in my hair, pressing against my scalp.

  “Do I look like a man who cares what makeup wants?” I rumbled.

  “No.” His response was a groan.

  “Good.”

  Brandon tried to wiggle again but he got absolutely nowhere. It just made me press my hips down harder and slide my hands along his arms until I reached his wrists. I pinned those to the mattress, too, making him completely immobile.

  The way his body went limp, his moan pulled up from his gut, his entire demeanor full of surrender, was enough to be my undoing. I hated to let go of him to reach for the lube and condom, but I had to. I made quick work of rolling down the latex and spreading the gel on my cock. As soon as I was done, I reached for him, sliding slick fingers against his hole, then carefully pushed in one.

  “Please, please, please, please,” he whispered the word, over and over, as he pushed up into my touch as much as he could. He opened for me, his body easily giving in to my demands. I spent enough time to know that he was slick and could take me before I climbed onto him, pinning him once again. The moment I grabbed his wrists, Brandon whined loudly and canted his hips just enough to let me know exactly what he wanted.

  Still, I waited. “What do you want, Brandon?”

  He panted a few breaths. He struggled against my hold, but more like he was testing my strength and resolve than like he wanted to get free. I let him pull and waited until he once against relaxed beneath me. He was pliant and sweaty, his need clear on the half of his face that I could see.

  “Fuck. Me,” he panted, demanding. And then his eyelashes fluttered and his lids closed, and he went utterly still. When he spoke again, his voice was submissive. “Please, sir. Please.”

  That was I wanted to hear, and I gave him what he asked for. I slid inside, his ass so tight it was a struggle to push in. Brandon’s noises were whimpers and whines, needy, desperate little noises that spurred us both on. I thrust forward steadily. I would never hurt him, but neither would I relent until I was all the way inside.

  Finally balls-deep in his ass, I pushed him flat beneath me, stretching out his arms by the hold I still had on his wrists. He gave in willingly, eagerly even. He was panting, staring straight ahead. When I bent my head to kiss him, he craned his neck obligingly and his lips latched on to mine. I devoured him, and he let me. I pulled back only when it was imperative we both draw full breaths.

  “Full, Jared,” Brandon murmured. “So full. You inside me. All the way. Love that. So full. Fuck me. Please, sir. Fuck me hard. Need it. I need it.”

  His babbling was my cue. I pulled out slowly, then pounded back in, hard and swift. Brandon’s strangled-sounding moan was perfection, and I knew he wanted more. I set up a strong rhythm, and reveled in each grunt that escaped from Brandon’s lips. He was whining and wiggling, his fingers opening and closing, and occasionally gasping out a “more” or “fuck.”

  I adjusted the angle, searching, until I found that spot that literally made him scream. My grunt was self-satisfied, and I made sure to keep the position as I slammed in several more times. Brandon continued babbling, his fingers reaching, and I slid my hands up to grip his, our fingers tangling together. Brandon squeezed my fingers hard and turned his face into the pillow. I could tell he was biting it hard as he screamed, his hole clenching rhythmically around my cock. He shuddered, and I knew he was coming. I kept thrusting, pegging that spot but gently, drawing it out and making his orgasm last.

  As soon as he relaxed, I kissed his cheek and tasted sweat. I nuzzled along until I found his ear. “Ready, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” he moaned, a little slurred.

  I levered up, found the right position, and started pounding again. Brandon didn’t move, but squeezed his ass muscles, making his hole even tighter. It didn’t take me long, a half a dozen thrusts, before I was slamming in one final time and coming hard. I collapsed on top of him when I was done, gathering him up and rolling to the side so I didn’t squish him.

  He patted my arm where it was across his chest. “Out of the wet spot.”

  I laughed and kissed the back of his neck, sliding backward on the mattress. The action caused my dick to slip out of his ass, and Brandon hissed at the loss. I had to reach down so I wouldn’t lose the condom, but I worked it off with one hand so I didn’t have to let go of him completely.

  He was a sweaty, sated, content heap in my arms and that’s exactly how and where I wanted him.

  “You want to clean up?” I asked softly, kissing his neck again. I loved the way he smelled there, his skin, hair, and sweat all clean and musky and him. I could bury my nose there forever and just inhale.

  “Do I have to?”

  I chuckled, and squeezed him tighter. “
No. Morning is soon enough.”

  “Awesome,” he said, then yawned hugely. When he turned over, I allowed it, and let him burrow and snuggle against me until he was satisfied. “Tired now. You wore me out.”

  I dropped a kiss on his hair. “You going to stay the night?”

  Brandon’s entire body went tense, every muscle locking, and his voice was cautious and wary when he asked, “C-can I?”

  I tucked him in even tighter, going so far as to pull him halfway onto my body. He relaxed immediately, sinking into me. I could hear the relief when he let out a breath.

  “Absolutely. You don’t have to leave until you want to.”

  “Don’t want to,” he muttered, his body relaxing even more. Only a moment later, his breathing evened out and he felt like a lead weight against me.

  That was more than fine with me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the scents of him and us, and relaxed myself.

  Chapter 5

  What I learned immediately was that when Brandon said he wanted to be mine, he was completely serious. Over the next couple of weeks, whenever I wanted to see him, he was there. His schedule was a lot more open than mine. Whenever he was on set, I was, too. But he was filming only three or maybe four days out of the week. The rest of the time, I was still working while Brandon was free to do whatever he wished. What I discovered was that he wished to hang out on set, waiting for me to finish. He liked being close to me, which worked out just fine because I liked having him nearby.

  He couldn’t always be there, of course. The cast and crew of the show were a fairly tightknit group to begin with, and they were pretty accommodating of their famed guest star. As long as we were in the warehouse complex that housed the soundstages and offices, it was fine if Brandon was there. He could hang out in any number of places, including his dressing room, while he waited. But if we were out shooting on location, it was a whole different matter.

  For the most part, the show did its best to keep location shoots to a minimum. It was costly, time-consuming, and a hassle. With the two main soundstages, as well as half a dozen smaller sets that could be redressed to look like just about anything, there wasn’t much need. But the reason Rourke and Geary was shot in Seattle in the first place, besides it being cheaper, was so they could actually incorporate the city into the show and have it be the real deal. And that meant that location shoots happened at least once every couple of weeks.

  Ever since the news had broken about the gay storyline between Frank Geary and one of the other characters, Deputy Riley Cates, the show had been getting a lot of negative attention. The firm I worked for had been hired to provide additional security because threats weren’t outside the realm of possibility. While the security at the warehouse was more than adequate, especially after the improvements Miranda and I had made, it was when we were out in public that things got hairy.

  There were protesters now, though none had been particularly violent. They did make the challenge of shooting on location even more trying. The show’s security had gone ahead with Miranda to secure the spot while the crew set up. I followed along with the actors once they were ready. Before, the actors used to hang around without worry. Now, Miranda and I liked them to be in and out as quickly as possible. While it was possible the crew could be targeted by the hate groups, it was much more likely the visible faces would be the target. Especially Dan Jacobs and Aaron Zeller, the actors who portrayed the characters involved. We took every precaution we could, and we were confident that it was enough.

  The King County Courthouse was a huge building of gray stone and windows. The show wasn’t actually allowed to film inside the building itself, but they had sets on the soundstages for interior shots. This was all about the exterior, the atmosphere on the street. By the time we arrived, the section where they were filming was cordoned off and Miranda had the protesters, gawkers, and fans a good fifty feet away. Everything looked good, but I set myself to high alert, just in case.

  This was not how I wanted to spend my Saturday. I’d much rather have Brandon spread out over my lap. But this was my job and I would be damned if I didn’t do it well.

  I knew we were in for a long day. The show did jts best to maximize its time, and when it was able to obtain the permit to film here, it shot as much as the day would allow. It would be sunset before we wrapped for the day, and there would be scrambling to finish before the film crew lost the light. I’d seen it at least twice on location shoots since I’d started working with the show.

  Today would include several wardrobe changes as the crew shot scenes that would be incorporated into different episodes. I couldn’t care less about any of that, as long as I had eyes on the most vulnerable people. Namely Jacobs and Zeller, but also showrunner Marc Bergman. He’d gotten more than his fair share of threats for approving this storyline. Nothing credible, nothing more than incensed babbling. But still, I was on high alert.

  Fortunately, the day proceeded at a good clip. With Vincent Stevens at the helm, things moved at a steady pace. The director had a reputation for perfection, and he somehow inspired those under his direction to fulfill it. I’d seen several of the directors that rotated through, watched their different styles and methods. The cast and crew respected Stevens far above any of the others, and he managed to pull greatness out of them.

  Today, I could only be grateful that he was the one in charge, because between him and the director of photography Remy Janes, they’d accomplished a lot. It looked like we might even be done ahead of schedule. The good news was that meant I could get Brandon and go home all the sooner.

  The wardrobe truck was parked just outside the filming zone, and I stood close by, watching the surroundings while the actors changed shirts and ties. Zeller milled about outside the truck. As a uniformed officer, he didn’t need to worry about being seen in the same clothes. But the other actors, Jacobs, Logan, and Mary Alice Adams, all needed a completely new wardrobe for the next scene.

  I figured that while I had the opportunity to speak with Zeller, I should clue him into something I’d noticed.

  “Hey,” I said, as I approached. I kept my back toward the building, where I knew there was no one, so that I could keep scanning the area. Zeller glanced around, like maybe he thought I was talking to someone else, before he took a few steps closer and gave me a nice smile.

  “Hey,” he responded jovially. “Thanks for doing such a good job. We really appreciate it.”

  I blinked, nonplussed. I hadn’t had much occasion to speak directly to Zeller over the past few weeks. I guess his reputation as a genuinely good guy was not unfounded. All I could do was nod. I was, after all, just doing my job.

  “You and Logan, you’re trying to keep things quiet, right?”

  Now it was his turn to be startled. He blinked wide gray eyes at me as he slowly nodded. I fought to keep the smug grin from my face.

  “Okay, then. You might want to tell him to stop staring at your ass on set. You look hot as fuck in that uniform, but he’s supposed to be straight and straight guys don’t stare at their male coworkers’ asses. Just saying.”

  Zeller blinked, then a smile bloomed on his face. “So what’s your excuse?”

  He was baiting me, but he wasn’t being malicious. So I spared him a glance, and a wicked smirk. “I’m trained to be highly observant. And am also openly gay. I don’t have to hide anymore, so I don’t.”

  Zeller’s chuckle was warm. “Someday, it’ll be like that for everyone. But it’s not that day yet. In the meantime, I’ll tell my boyfriend to keep the ass-staring to a minimum.”

  I started to chuckle, sucked in by Zeller’s pleasant demeanor.

  There was a loud bang, and shouting. I reached for my sidearm, flicking off the safety with my thumb even as I herded Zeller against the truck, keeping my body between him and the rest of the world. My gaze frantically searched the surrounding area.

  “Lassiter. Sit rep!”

  A moment later, Miranda’s voice was in my ear. “Junker car ba
ckfiring twenty feet in front of the crowd. Had eyes on it at the time. Security is wrangling the crowd. They are jumpy and nervous. Does not appear to be a threat. Repeat, no threat.”

  I replayed the noise in my head, and realized that though it had sounded similar to a gunshot, it hadn’t sounded exactly right. Adrenaline pounded through my veins as I slowly relaxed my stance without letting down my guard. I scanned the area, and crept forward two feet so I could peer around the side of the truck and see. I could just make out the piece-of-shit car before it turned the corner, and the security staff pushing back the riled crowd. I kept my gaze on the situation for several more moments before the crowd began to calm, those at the front who had seen it relaying the story through the mass of people. Satisfied it was under control, I turned back to Zeller.

  He stared at me with wide eyes, his skin pale.

  “Just a car backfiring.”

  It took him a second to hear my words, but as soon as they registered, he blew out a breath and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Fuck, what are the chances? Shit, that was sort of scary.”

  Judging by his pallor, it was more than “sort of scary” but I didn’t push. Instead, I nodded toward the back door of the truck that was beginning to swing open. “Why don’t you hop in there and let them know everything’s fine?” I wanted to add that he should get a reassuring hug and kiss from his boyfriend, but that wasn’t my place. But I was glad when Zeller nodded and pulled himself into the back of the truck.

  I flicked on the gun safety, then slid the Sig Sauer into the holster on my hip. My adrenaline was still high, my flight-or-fight response at its height and pushing me to seek out the threat and destroy it. I pressed my back to the side of the truck, fought to keep my hands loose and at my sides, and let my gaze search. My experiences made it hard to come down from a situation like this.