Safe in His Arms (8 page)

wine bottles on the counter beside the sink.

Russell approached the huge refrigerator. Inside he found a wilted head of lettuce,

some eggs, a carton of orange juice, a jar of olives and another of cocktail onions, five

bottles of white wine and some milk. In the side door along with various condiments,

he found half a stick of butter.

He opened the freezer, which was stocked with frozen meat and several cartons of

ice cream but not much else. He was about to turn around and comment that Hank

didn‘t eat at home much when he felt Hank behind him, draping his hard body against

Russell‘s back. Hank‘s touch sent a zing of desire straight to Russell‘s groin.

―You look good from the back too,‖ Hank said with the lazy drawl of the very

stoned. ―Feel good too.‖ He wrapped his arms around Russell and pressed his groin

against Russell‘s thighs.

Russell couldn‘t resist a slight press back to let Hank know the attention had been

received, and appreciated. Desire burned through his body but he steeled himself

against it. If something was going to happen between them, it would not be when Hank

was stoned and drunk. If they shared anything, it would be on equal footing, or not at

all.

Russell disengaged himself from Hank‘s embrace and took him by the shoulders,

peering into unfocused eyes. He was nearly overcome by a powerful urge to pull

Hank‘s head back by the hair and ravage his mouth.

Down boy
, he warned himself.

―Sit down, Hank. I‘ll make you some eggs and put you to bed. You‘re in no

condition for anything else right now.‖

―Oh, no?‖ Hank licked his lips in a provocative way and reached for the front of

Russell‘s pants. Russell sidestepped him and smacked the younger man smartly on the

ass.

―Ooo, you spanked me.‖ Hank laughed. ―Do it again, do it again.‖

―I‘ll do it so you won‘t sit for a week if you aren‘t careful,‖ Russell said, unable to

stop the sudden vision of Hank bare-assed over his knee from entering his mind. He

shook it away, swatted Hank once more and propelled him toward the table.

Giving in, Hank sat heavily and leaned back, watching as Russell moved around

the kitchen, finding the things he needed to make scrambled eggs. There was a

breadbox, but inside Russell found only a single piece of molded bread, which he threw

away.

He used all four eggs left in the carton, and set the steaming platter down in front of

Hank, along with a glass of orange juice. Hank picked up the fork and dropped it with a

clatter to the stone floor. Russell retrieved the fork and got another one from the

drawer.

Russell sat beside Hank at the round table and handed Hank the second fork. Hank

took it, scooped up some egg and aimed for his mouth, missing by a good three inches.

―Guess I‘m pretty wasted,‖ he said, grinning as he stared down at the egg on his lap.

Russell snorted. ―I guess so. Come here. Sit on my lap.‖ Russell scooted his chair

away from the table and patted his legs.

Hank obeyed, settling himself awkwardly on Russell‘s thighs. Russell reached

around him and pulled the plate of eggs closer. He took a forkful and raised it toward

Hank‘s lips. ―Here you go.‖

Hank chewed the offered food. ―That is
so
good. Almost as good as Julio‘s.‖ He

opened his mouth for another bite, reminding Russell of a baby bird. Russell was keenly

aware of the strange interplay of the man‘s ass against his rising cock, and the almost

heartbreaking intimacy of feeding a grown man.

He felt a sudden nearly overwhelming feeling of tenderness for this man—drunk,

stoned and no doubt hauling all sorts of heavy emotional baggage. Common sense

warned Russell he should steer clear. Was he falling for another Jesse? Was he doomed

to repeat the cycle, falling for guys who needed him but could never really love him?

He fed Hank the last bit of egg and handed Hank the glass of juice, which Hank

drank. When he set the glass down, he reached for Russell, bringing his arms around

Russell‘s neck and pulling his head down.

He found himself kissing Hank back, his own arms reaching around Hank‘s

shoulders and drawing him closer as their tongues intertwined. He heard a soft moan

and realized it was his own. Their kiss was long, slow and tender, an exploratory kiss, a

kiss shared by new lovers.

When they finally pulled apart, Russell‘s heart was beating fast. He stood, lifting

Hank onto his feet. ―Come on. We‘re getting you to bed.‖ Hank slumped against him

and giggled. The guy was totally out of it and clearly in no condition for anything but

sleep.

He put his shoulder under Hank‘s arm and half-dragged, half-carried him through

the kitchen and living room and up the stairs. He started to take Hank to the room

where they‘d been the first time, but Hank mumbled. ―Where ya‘ goin‘? Bedroom is

there.‖ He jerked with his head toward the first door along the hall and Russell moved

in that direction.

Using the light from the hall to see, Russell moved with his charge over the thickly

carpeted floor toward the bed. Hank fell back against the mattress, his feet still on the

ground.

―You going to be okay?‖ Russell asked. He wondered if this was a pattern for Hank,

this heavy drinking and drugging alone. Russell thought back to his own miserable

youth, before someone had come along to help him get his head on straight. Was it time

to pay it back? Was he the guy to do it?

Hank reached for the metal button at the top of his jeans and fumbled ineffectively

with it. Russell watched him a moment and then reached down to help him. Hank

opened his eyes and smiled a lazy, sensual smile. ―Thanks. Fingers don‘t seem to be

cooperating at the moment.‖

Russell nodded, trying to ignore the ache in his balls as he helped Hank unzip and

pull off the jeans, aware his motives weren‘t so pure after all as he admired the bulge in

Hank‘s underwear. Forcing himself to look away, Russell lifted Hank‘s legs onto the

bed and reached beneath him, pushing the bedding down so he could cover Hank with

it before he left.

―You sleep,‖ he said. ―I can see myself out.‖

Hank, whose eyes had closed again, opened them wide. ―No. Don‘t go. Stay with

me.‖ The teasing tone of a moment before had vanished.

Russell shook his head. ―You‘re a mess, Hank. Sleep it off.‖

―Please.‖ The entreaty contained in that one word was heart wrenching. Hank

struggled to sit up. ―Stay.‖

The covers had fallen away, revealing the nearly naked man‘s strong, compact

body. Russell stared down at him, desire warring with common sense. He was tempted

to stay, but knew it wouldn‘t be wise. He wasn‘t clear himself why he‘d returned, but

decided he would deal with his own confused feelings later. Now was not the time to

give in to his instinct to offer comfort, or to his sexual attraction. Hank was drunk, his

defenses lowered, his judgment impaired.

―You‘ll be fine in the morning. I have to go now.‖ Ignoring the allure of Hank‘s

half-naked body on the bed, reluctantly Russell turned away. He‘d had made it halfway

across the room when he heard the sound of something, or someone, crashing to the

floor. He whirled around, shocked to see Hank on his knees beside the bed, the sheet

twisted around his ankles, his face now a mask of total despair.

Hank sank down until his forehead was touching the floor, his face hidden. He

covered his head with his hands, reminding Russell of nothing so much as a small,

frightened child trying to stave off his fears by hiding his face.

Russell took a step back into the room, alarmed.

―Don‘t leave me, don‘t leave me, don‘t leave me,‖ Hank pleaded, his voice rife with

anguish. There was nothing left of the brash arrogance when Hank had regarded

Russell as just a piece of purchased ass, nor any hint of the drunken playfulness of

earlier that night. There was just pain, ragged and raw, ripped from somewhere deep

inside a man who understood finally what it was to be alone, truly alone.

Something broke inside Russell, the last bit of careful reserve shattering in the face

of such stark misery. Forget lessons learned and all his promised cautions to himself.

Hank needed him. He hurried toward the kneeling man, bending down to touch his

shoulder.

―Get up. It‘s okay. You just need to get to bed.‖

Hank looked up at him with the saddest eyes Russell ever saw. ―Please,‖ Hank

whispered. ―I can‘t do it alone anymore. I‘m dying inside.‖

Russell knelt in front of Hank and put his hands firmly on Hank‘s shoulders, lifting

his body so they were kneeling up, face to face. ―I‘m here,‖ Russell said. ―I won‘t leave

you.‖

―You‘re the only one.‖ Hank‘s voice cracked. He closed his eyes, clearly trying to

keep himself together. ―I‘ve pushed them all away. The ones who loved me, or tried to.

You…you came back. Thank you.‖

Hank lifted a hand and rested it lightly against Russell‘s forearm. Russell could feel

the tremble in his fingers. He understood the anguish of love lost—he remembered the

shock and pain of betrayal. Whatever had happened to Hank, whatever part he‘d

played in his own downward spiral, he was suffering now and Russell‘s heart melted

with compassion.

He reached for Hank, wrapping his arms tight around Hank‘s trembling body. ―I

got you, Hank. I‘m not going anywhere.‖

He stood, lifting Hank to his feet. They moved together toward the bed and Russell

lowered himself with Hank still in his arms to the mattress. ―You‘ll stay?‖ Hank

whispered. Russell nodded, releasing his hold. Hank fell back against the pillows, his

eyes fixed on Russell. ―Promise?‖

―Promise.‖ Russell nodded and smiled. When he turned to take off his boots, Hank

grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers tightly in Russell‘s, as if to keep him from running

away.

―Hank, it‘s okay. Really. I said I‘ll stay, and I will. I just want to take off my boots

and get comfortable, okay? Lie back and rest. I won‘t leave you alone. I promise.‖

Hank fell back against the pillows and let out a deep, exhausted sigh. His grip

loosened on Russell‘s hand, but he didn‘t let go. Russell stayed beside him, allowing

Hank to hold on for as long as he needed.

He watched as Hank‘s eyes fluttered shut, his long, thick lashes shadowing his

cheek in the half-light from the hallway. He thought about love lost, broken hearts,

betrayal, dishonesty and the utter loneliness of so many people‘s lives.

What was Hank‘s story? When he woke up the next morning, the drugs and alcohol

no longer lowering his defenses, would he still want Russell in his bed? Would he

remember or admit his vulnerability and his pain? Would he share what had brought

him so low?

He sat beside Hank for a long time, until the younger man‘s face softened, his grip

slackening. Russell gently slipped his fingers free and leaned down to unlace his boots,

pulling them off, along with his socks. He pulled his shirt over his head and lay down

beside Hank, who moaned softly but didn‘t open his eyes.

Slipping his arm beneath Hank‘s shoulder, he pulled him close, feeling the warmth

of his skin as he held him. Hank‘s body was relaxed against him, his breathing deep

and slow. Russell stroked Hank‘s thick, soft hair. His body was hard, the weight solid

and comforting. It felt good to hold him in his arms.

Russell‘s cock stirred, but he pushed down his desire and closed his eyes. Hank was

in no condition for anything but rest.

What the fuck am I doing?

Russell found he had no clear answer. There was one thing he knew for sure—

whether or not he wanted to admit it, and in spite of the fact he knew Hank was

seriously fucked up emotionally. He was falling for the guy—hook, line and sinker.

―Mmmm.‖ Russell‘s cock was gloved in the wet grip of a hot mouth, his balls

cradled in warm fingers. He drifted between dreams and wakefulness, savoring the

sensations without being really conscious of who was delivering them.

―Ah,‖ he breathed, coming fully awake when Hank circled the base of his cock with

his hand and lowered his mouth until the tip of Russell‘s cock touched the back of his

throat. Russell lifted his head from the pillows and stared down at Hank, crouched

beside him. Hank had managed to unzip Russell‘s jeans and pull aside his underwear

without waking him.

At the rate he was going, Russell wouldn‘t be able to hold out much longer. He

didn‘t want to come, not yet. Reaching for Hank, he pulled him up into his arms.

Russell took Hank‘s head in his hands and looked searchingly into his face. The lost,

broken soul revealed the night before was nowhere in evidence, except perhaps in a