by Hank Edwards
“It was a big place back home called Being Gay in the Midwest,” Jazz said with a sigh.
“At least we didn’t end up in jail.”
“You don’t think you’d like to stay at the Hilton?” Jazz said, referring to the Lacetown jail’s nickname.
“Not especially.” Michael turned and leaned on the island. “I can’t believe how everyone stood up for us when that homophobe started name-calling.”
Jazz smiled at Michael’s shocked expression. “That was pretty cool, huh?”
“And surprising how many people stood up.” With a disbelieving smile, Michael shook his head. “Trish was amazing.”
Jazz recalled Michael telling him once that he didn’t have much in the way of friends. Michael’s own self-deprecating personality did not allow him to see how wonderful he was, or how much everyone who took the time to get to know him adored him.
Why, that odd and creepy little apprentice, Ezra, even followed Michael around like a puppy dog!
Jazz watched Michael get out some plates. He loved the domestic bliss of evenings like this. Over the past couple of weeks Michael had kept up with Jazz’s active social life—something he had been a little concerned about in the beginning. Michael was reserved, but he didn’t seem to mind being with other people… if Jazz was there. And while Jazz still liked to go out and be with people, he socialized for a living, so he treasured the quiet evenings spent inside with his shy mortician.
But the man certainly was not shy in bed.
“Well, sweetie,” Jazz said. “We apparently know how to have enough of a good time to make the cops show up but not get arrested.” He sipped more wine. “Poor Ally. Can you believe that she’s Dylan’s cousin and Wilson’s daughter? I can’t imagine what she’s been through. She must’ve been really close to Dylan to lose it like that. I hope Musgrave isn’t being a dick to her.”
“It’s Musgrave,” Michael countered, then looked thoughtful. “Kind of makes sense why she’s got it in for Norbert.”
“Do you think she’s been stalking him?” Jazz asked. “Kind of a coincidence that she’s part of his old band, and then just happens to show up here in town as he’s trolling for musicians to represent.”
“I wondered the same. Could she have hired a private investigator or something?” Michael wondered aloud. “Someone to track Norbert’s movements?”
“Who knows? Does any of this shit in Lacetown make sense anymore?” Jazz asked. “I mean, if they declared that Roswell aliens were here first… shit’s so crazy here now… how could I argue?”
Michael chuckled, though there was always a little bit of truth in a joke. “Indeed.”
Indeed. Sooooo…. “Any word from the nemesis?” Jazz asked, his gaze on Michael’s strong arms. He was tired of talking about Norbert and all the bad memories he’d surfaced.
Michael looked over his shoulder in the direction of the funeral parlor. “Nothing yet. He’s here, though. That’s his truck in the parking lot.”
Jazz slid off the kitchen stool and walked to the sliding door that opened onto the back patio. He peered next door and saw a large, black pickup parked outside the back entrance. It’s freshly waxed surface gleamed in the last of the daylight.
Mr. Pickles sat at the door, gazing out into the yard, the tip of his tail slowly twitching. Jazz made quiet smooching sounds until the cat looked up at him.
“How’s my favorite big kitty?” Jazz crooned.
Mr. Pickles gave him a slow blink before returning his attention to the oncoming night beyond the glass.
“He loves me,” Jazz said and returned to the kitchen stool. “So the nemesis has a shiny black pickup, huh? Is that what he uses to harvest the bodies?”
That earned him the laugh he was fishing for.
“Harvest. Ha!” Michael turned from the counter and set two plates on the island before Jazz. One plate held reheated chunks of the pot roast Michael had slow cooked the day before, and the other was a selection of cut vegetables.
“But no,” Michael continued as he settled onto the stool next to Jazz. “He just likes to drive a big truck. He’s also got a Cadillac hearse, unless that was lost in the fire.”
“Along with Mr. Jones,” Jazz said, fighting a chuckle. He knew Michael had been matter-of-fact when he’d told them about Trevino’s fire and the subsequent swelling of the obese Mr. Jones, but that whole “now, Jazz, don’t laugh” routine had been funny, whether he meant it to be or not. Jazz had intended to tell Kitty when he gave her and Marty drink tickets, but tracking Norbert had interrupted his chance.
Michael shook his head. “Such an unnecessary tragedy.”
“It got the job done.” Jazz sampled the pot roast and sighed. “You do know how to work with meat.”
Michael blushed as he selected a cube of roast. “How’s your hand feel?”
Jazz flexed his fingers. “Still a little sore, but better than it was.” He set aside the towel-wrapped ice pack, and Michael immediately scooped it up and returned it to the freezer.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” Jazz said. Since he’d been a teen, Jazz had taken care of himself. His mother had worked all the time, and no man—not even Russell—had doted on him like Michael did. Michael was always doing such nice things for him, and it made Jazz glow with happiness. Honeymoon phase or not, Michael was a damn fine catch.
“I’m happy to do it.” Michael returned to the stool beside him. “To be honest, I was a little surprised earlier when you stepped in to protect Norbert.”
Jazz nodded. “No more surprised than I was myself. No idea what came over me.”
“Human compassion,” he offered. “Which is just one of the things I like about you.”
“Oh, just one of the things?” Jazz smirked. “What are the others?”
Michael returned his smirk. “We can cover those later. Seriously though, the way you stood up to that group of guys was really impressive.”
He held up his hand. “Or foolish.”
“I prefer impressive.” Michael took Jazz’s hand and placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles. “And sexy.”
A longing trembled through Jazz, and his cock started to respond. What kind of craziness was he into when a simple kiss on the hand was enough to get his blood flowing south? Russell had never had that fast of an effect on him.
Russell. What a primo raging and inflamed asshole.
And no one he needed to be thinking of right then. He turned his mind away from thoughts of Russell and back to the moment at hand before all his negative juju ruined the evening.
“What you said to Norbert afterwards was a little….” Michael paused, searching for the right word. “Dark.”
Jazz sighed. “After that shit he said about you, I couldn’t help myself. He’s a hemorrhoid-afflicted, stretched-out asshole.”
Michael made a face. “That’s, um, graphic.”
“Thank you.” Jazz smiled. “Speaking of pains in the ass, any idea where Nemesis Trevino is staying in town?”
“Nope. If I know him like I think I do, I would assume the Inn on Windswept Point.”
Jazz raised his eyebrows. “That fancy-schmancy bed-and-breakfast out near the lighthouse?”
“The very one.”
“He really does go all out, doesn’t he?”
Michael shrugged. “He tends to pamper himself.”
“How do you know so much about him?” Jazz crunched a carrot and selected another cube of roast. “Did you two date or something?”
Michael’s eyes widened so much, Jazz worried he might hurt himself.
“No! I can’t….” Michael shuddered. “Just, no. Trevino has always been competitive with his peers. First with Grandpa, because Trevino was younger and had something to prove, and then with me because I’m younger than him and he thinks he can intimidate me.”
“So you never fucked on one of those cold steel tables?”
Michael made a face of disgust. “That’s gross for a number of reasons. And as far as I know, he
’s straight. Like, really straight. Frankly I don’t care to know because I don’t want to think about him in any kind of sexual way.”
“Which you’re doing now because you can’t help yourself,” Jazz said with a smirk.
When Michael blustered further, Jazz laughed. God, he loved teasing his uptight mortician. Being with Michael was so much easier than being with Russell.
Michael gave him a gentle glare. “You’re asking for trouble.”
Jazz blinked in feigned innocence. “Who? Me?”
Moving slowly like a predator stalking prey, Michael approached. A flush of excitement heated Jazz’s face and the mild throb in his hand melted away.
“You know what happens to guys who don’t know when to quit?” Michael’s voice was soft and deep, and he leaned in to press the hard line of his cock against Jazz’s leg.
“They win?” Jazz whispered.
Michael smirked. “Yeah, they do.”
And he leaned in for a kiss. It was soft at first, almost sweet, but quickly turned more eager. Michael’s tongue swiped along the seam of Jazz’s mouth, and Jazz opened for him. The kiss deepened, became more forceful, and Michael growled hungrily.
“Bedroom?” Jazz asked.
“Glad you got the hint,” Michael said, and took Jazz by his uninjured hand to lead him to the stairs.
In the bedroom, they kissed as they fumbled with each other’s clothes. When that became too complicated, Jazz stepped back and locked his gaze with Michael’s as they stripped. He enjoyed the slow reveal of Michael’s body beneath his layers of clothing. The pale skin of his torso, which practically gleamed in the soft glow of a corner lamp, covered with fine dark hairs that traveled south to a thick dark patch at the root of his dick. And that cock, that glorious, throbbing cock that stuck out toward Jazz as if reaching for him. Jazz’s mouth watered and he licked his lips as he released his hair so it fell around his shoulders in gentle waves.
“You’re beautiful,” Michael said, his tone almost reverential.
“And you’re hotter than a man has any right to be,” Jazz said, then got on his knees and took Michael into his mouth.
Michael’s hand curled into the loose strands of Jazz’s hair, and he said through a drawn-out sigh, “Oh God.”
Jazz sucked him slowly, dragging his lips up the length to purse around the soft cap. Michael’s legs trembled and his hand tightened in Jazz’s hair. There was nothing more arousing to Jazz than getting his quiet mortician to open up and let go. And over these last few weeks, he’d learned quite a few of Michael’s pressure points.
“I need to taste you,” Michael said after a gasp and stepped back. He pulled Jazz to his feet, kissed him firmly, then turned him around and directed him toward the bed. “On the bed, on your hands and knees. Now.”
Oh my! Jazz’s cock jumped at Michael’s commanding tone, and a long string of precum dribbled out. Michael made his cock think it was seventeen again! He climbed up on the bed and positioned himself on all fours with his feet just off the side of the mattress. Michael placed a hand on either asscheek and spread them apart.
“I love looking at you like this,” Michael murmured.
Jazz shivered when Michael leaned in close and blew a gentle breath across the sweat-damp crack of his ass. The shiver grew to a tremble when Michael ran the flat of his tongue slowly over his hole.
“Oh, Michael, what you do to me.”
Michael set his glasses on the nightstand, then said, “I’ve got a lot more in mind.”
And Jazz was more than ready to entertain whatever Michael intended. He loved this more intense and yet somehow playful side to his lover. From what Michael had revealed in conversations about past relationships, he’d never really felt free to indulge in his fantasies until he’d met Jazz.
Lucky me.
Michael spread Jazz’s asscheeks wider and leaned in close. The brush of a day’s growth of stubble across his tender ring coaxed a gasp out of Jazz. And when Michael pushed the tip of his tongue into him, Jazz moaned and lowered his forehead to rest on his uninjured hand. As Michael tongue-fucked him, Jazz groaned and grunted and pushed his hips back against Michael’s mouth.
With wet and sloppy kisses, Michael soaked Jazz with spit. As he slid his tongue down from Jazz’s anus to his balls, Michael eased a long, slender finger into him. Jazz moaned and spread his legs a little wider. He wanted to do something for or to Michael, but he was behind him and out of reach.
Another finger joined the first inside of him, and Jazz’s dick jumped and pumped out another runner of precum. Michael licked and spit around the edges of Jazz’s hole as he pushed his fingers in and pulled them out. Jazz could tell Michael was more intense this time, deeper into his fantasies, and it made him feel good that Michael could be this open with him.
The fingers eased out of him and were replaced by Michael’s tongue. He’d curled it tight at the tip, a trick he’d demonstrated on Jazz more than once, and which no one else had ever done. Not even Russell, who loved eating things like frozen strawberries and circus peanuts out of Jazz—and all his other men he’d had on the side.
But Michael wasn’t anything like Russell. Michael was steady and true, and he’d never made Jazz feel second best to anyone or anything else.
And why was he thinking about Russell at that moment? Oh, right, the fucking divorce papers.
Fuck, why couldn’t he get Russell out of his mind once and for all? Wasn’t there a pill or a surgery or something that would remove those memories for good?
Michael pushed a finger into him again, and Jazz imagined Michael’s expert finger-fucking was a damn fine start to erasing Russell from his mind. Then that finger nailed Jazz’s prostate at the same time Michael dipped down to suck Jazz’s balls. A practical flash flood of precum surged out of Jazz and pooled on the sheet.
“You’ve got me so worked up,” Jazz said with a moan. “I need more than that inside me.”
Michael kissed up along Jazz’s spine, making him tremble as he fingered him, working him open. When Michael arched over him, he bit gently on Jazz’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Damn, I wish I could just be in you, my dick, your ass, skin to skin. Nothing in between.”
Jazz’s stomach leaped. “Oh yeah?”
But Michael was purring, inhaling Jazz’s scent as if in a daze, lost to the pleasure he was doing to Jazz’s ass.
Through the wave of euphoria, questions bounced in Jazz’s mind. Did Michael really want to take that next step? With Jazz? Even after everything?
“Um,” Jazz began, brought slightly out of the moment by Michael’s suggestion. “FYI, I don’t have anything, if you really wanted to. I mean, I got tested after….”
He didn’t want to say Russell’s cheating, but Michael seemed to know what he meant.
Michael withdrew his fingers, and their eyes met. “I always get tested, every year too. Trust me?”
Breathless with sudden want, and an overwhelming need to have Michael like this—just the two of them, open and honest—made Jazz tremble. “Yeah, I do.”
Michael flashed a wolfish grin. “Then do you want to go bareback?”
Jazz smiled back. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
“Oh, baby,” Michael said, his voice deep with lust. He slapped each of Jazz’s asscheeks lightly, and followed that up with gentle bites before pushing to his feet and moving to the nightstand.
Jazz watched from under one arm as Michael opened the lube and squirted a generous amount along his thick, bare dick. He applied some to the end of his fingers, and then moved back between Jazz’s legs. The mattress dipped as Michael climbed behind him.
“God, the sight of you open and waiting like this is so fucking hot.”
Michael’s voice had an edge to it that Jazz had never heard before, and it tightened his stomach with anticipation as Michael slicked him up.
He’d never felt this connected with Russell. Never.
Stop fucking thinking about Russell Fucking Withingham!
Purring from the new shared sensations, Michael pulled back and pushed in again, and then again, moving faster with each stroke. “So warm….” He groaned and Jazz was too lost to reply.
It had been a long time since he’d made love like this, but then nothing had ever felt quite as fantastic as Michael’s perfect cock thrusting inside him, hitting his gland. Michael braced himself on Jazz’s ass, fingers gripping each cheek tight enough to leave marks. His cock hit all the right spots, thick, solid, and oh-so warm.
This was way better than it had ever been with Rus—
Jazz let out a cry when Michael’s fingers twisted in the back of his hair, grabbing tight, the sting of pain bringing Jazz fully into the moment. Suddenly his only thought was Michael and the rhythm of their bodies. Michael gripped his asscheek, his other hand holding Jazz by the hair. Jazz was completely consumed, wrapped up and united with Michael. Jazz’s skin prickled with heat and it felt like every nerve ending was alight. Michael filled him perfectly, touching all the places deep inside him. And not just with his naked cock or his skilled fingers. Michael lit up the shadowy spots inside of Jazz, the dark corners where all the bad memories and thoughts lived.
It was liberating, and more than a little frightening.
“You feel so good around my dick,” Michael said, and then smacked Jazz’s asscheek hard as he pulled back on his hair.
“Oh, damn, ride that ass!”
Slap, slap!
Michael had never pulled his hair and spanked him like this before, but he seemed deep in the pleasure of their bodies, finally united the way it should have always been. Nothing but the two of them, flesh to flesh, passion and heat.
When Michael delivered a fast staccato of slaps to the bottom of his ass as he pounded him, Jazz let out a wild cry. “Michael… ugh… fuck!”
