Shadows Fall (11 page)

Lying longways on top of him again, I burrowed my hands underneath him and resumed my grip on his ass, and went about biting, licking, and sucking on every inch of his neck that I could reach. We were both beyond kissing, beyond finesse at that point. We hopelessly rutted against each other. It was raw, it was primal. And we weren’t even undressed.

I spread my legs so that they were on either side of his, with my knees digging into the mattress; I could get more leverage that way. Then I slid forward and latched my hands on to the edge of the back of the couch. In return, he gripped my ass just the way I’d done to him.

We locked eyes, and I’m sure the level of intensity I saw in his face was reflected in mine. His expression softened briefly as he looked up at my face hovering over his. “Titus,” he whispered. “So gorgeous.”

I leaned down and kissed him, just a brief press of lips against lips, and then pulled back. The heat crept back into his expression, and he gave me a short nod. I understood.
Go.

And so I did. I used the force of my grip on the couch and the leverage of my knees to rub my cock against his. He dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his hips off the bed to meet my rolling thrusts. Our wild rutting would surely have been damaging if we were actually fucking, but being as we were, skin to skin, cock to cock, it was perfect. The friction was mind-blowing, and the desperate, animalistic groans that came from both of us only served to fan the flames.

I pried one of my hands off the couch and used it to ruck up his shirt, then I replaced it—I needed the thrusting power after all. Curving my back while still thrusting by flexing my haunches, I started laving his nipples with my tongue, first one and then the other. He groaned and bucked against me, thrashing his head from side to side.

I clamped my teeth down on his left nipple and sucked for all I was worth. From the strangled way he cried my name, and the way his whole body shuddered, I knew it was over. He bucked and panted and shivered as his warmth flooded between us. Using the hot liquid to slick my way, I slid my dick alongside his still half-hard erection a few times, feeling the need to come tingling in my balls. Finally I let go with a yell, splashing all over both of our stomachs, and collapsed on top of him.

We lay there catching our breath for an indeterminate amount of time before I raised my head to look at him. He smiled and stretched his neck up so that he could kiss me. Then he went back to that staring-into-my-soul thing he did so often. He stroked his fingers down my cheek, over my jaw, and gently gripped my neck, making me tip my face up higher.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

I didn’t take offense; I was completely in agreement that men could be beautiful. He was a prime example. “Back atcha,” I offered. I squirmed a little bit as I felt the cum between us starting to dry. “I’mma go get something to clean us up with. Be right back, big guy.”

He grunted, stretched, and closed his eyes. “’Kay.”

I grabbed a towel from the linen closet in the hall, and popped into the guest bathroom to get it wet. When I got back, I had the immense pleasure of worshiping his rock hard abs a little bit more as I cleaned him up. “Let me just toss this into the laundry room and I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere,” I said with a grin, because he didn’t look like he’d move for a week.

“Mmm,” he answered.

Alone in the laundry room, I swiped up the mess on my own stomach, tossed the towel in the washer, and leaned up against the door. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to, but I had to think about the implications of what we’d just done. I’d never messed with a guy who’d never been with a man before, so I had to take precautions not to get too attached—which was hard, because I genuinely liked Charlie. I hoped we could still be friends after this… attraction, or whatever, had flamed out.

Besides, as nice as he was, Charlie struck me as a ‘freaker’ and a ‘runner’—the kind of guy who might flip his shit once his balls were drained and he realized he’d just had sex with a man. Sex. The run-of-the-mill hetero sex education they taught in schools gave the impression that sex was anything that was likely to get someone pregnant or give them a disease—for the straights, that was intercourse. But often gay guys considered anything that involved shared orgasms ‘sex,’ and I was one of them. I had a feeling Charlie would be too.

I righted my clothing, gulped in another deep breath, and gathered my resolve to go back and face him—and face whatever reaction he had. When I returned to the living room, he was fully dressed again and sitting cross-legged on the sofa bed. As soon as he saw me, he blushed to the roots of his hair, but he didn’t make any moves to leave.

I sat down beside him, not touching, mirroring his pose. “You okay?”

“Sure,” he said, then cleared his throat because it had come out as a squeak. “Sure.”

Though I didn’t believe that for a second, I chose to go along with his delusion. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes as we both stared at the TV screen. Finally, I had to ask the question that had been burning a hole through my brain since I first saw him get hard watching two guys get together on screen.

“How come you’ve never been with a guy before? Does anyone else know you’re gay?” Okay, that was two questions, but they sort of went together.

Sighing, Charlie ran a hand through his already rumpled wheat-colored hair. “You get right to the point, don’t you?”

“Sorry,” I said, instantly contrite. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable—more so than he already might be.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He sighed again and his gazed flicked up to the white popcorn ceiling as if he were thinking… or praying for guidance. “I’ll answer your second question first. My parents and my sister know. That’s all. It’s funny too, because they’ve always been pretty staunch right-wingers. They’re against abortion and never supported marriage equality, though they never actively protested
against
it. Dad’s ex-military, Mom pretty much supports whatever he believes, because that’s how it was in their generation.

“When I started realizing my attraction to men—much later than most people, I guess—I was sure they’d flip their shit, kick me out, disown me…” He trailed off and winced, giving me a guilty look. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” And I meant it. Other people’s struggles or lack thereof didn’t change what I’d gone through, so who was I to judge? “So they didn’t?”

“Not at all. My sister, having been raised like me to be open-minded, thought it was cool. The parents… well, they went through all the stages of grief over the life they thought I would have had, but they never took it out on me. Once they were done with that, they rallied around me because I was their son. It might not have been what they wanted but, like my dad said, ‘it is what it is.’ So after a while, things just kind of went back to normal—except I stopped going on dates with women.”

I was more awed by the story than I cared to admit. It was vastly different from my own experience. However, I didn’t want to dwell on my old wounds. I wanted to hear more about Charlie.

“And my other question.”

He groaned and gave me a pleading look. “I thought you might have forgotten.”

“Not a chance, buddy.” I offered him a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, yeah. The short answer is, hell if I know.”

I laughed. “And the long one?”

“I went to high school in the University area, and my school was pretty diverse. My friends were of many different races, religions, and backgrounds, so I knew a few gay kids. I knew enough to know they didn’t have it easy. Other than knowing those guys, gay wasn’t really on my radar. Honestly, I wasn’t really into anybody.

“Finally in college, I started dating women because that was just what guys like me did. I met some great girls, and I slept with a few of them, but it felt like I was just going through the motions. There was little attraction and almost no emotional connection. There were only two girls I dated with any kind of regularity and they eventually gave up on trying to keep my attention.

His laugh was completely self-deprecating. “I began to wonder if maybe I was just a dud.”

Suddenly, I was filled with anger and indignation on his behalf. The man was smokin’ hot, but he was also incredibly intuitive and just an all-around wonderful guy. I gripped the back of his neck with my right hand and used the other one to cup his dick. “You. Are not. A dud.”

He shivered, and the smile he gave me was nothing short of miraculous. “Thanks. So after I finished college, I went right into the Academy… and that was when I started noticing my increased awareness of men. I was in close quarters with a
lot
of extremely fit, virile men, and I began having trouble controlling my arousal. At first it freaked me out, and I went into this period of binge-dating women that I’m not proud of.

“Eventually, I stopped dating women because it seemed like once I started noticing men, I couldn’t drum up the slightest interest in the female body. But by that time, I was a cop… a cop in the
South
. I don’t know any gay guys on the force, and I was afraid of what might happen if they ever found out, but I also didn’t have the heart to start a relationship with someone that I’d have to hide. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“That’s very empathetic of you… but didn’t you ever just go find a guy to get your rocks off with?” Even as I asked it, I knew that Charlie wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Even if I’d wanted to do it that way, I’d have never known where to go or what to do,” he said, blushing. Then his expression grew serious. “I don’t know where this is going between you and I, and I still don’t know about being gay as a cop. Being all mixed up in this case too… I’m just trying to say I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I definitely don’t want you getting hurt. You get me?”

I did. He was trying to leave himself an out but to spare my feelings at the same time. I didn’t blame him for it; it wasn’t like I’d been expecting a proposal. “It’s cool. We’re cool. I like hanging out with you, Charlie. And I can’t say I mind having a big, strong cop around when there’s a crazy psycho out there.”

He grinned wide, and his dimple peeked out. “You think I’m strong?”

“Oh hell,” I said, rolling my eyes. Then I yawned so hard my jaw cracked.

“That’s it, bucko. You need to go to sleep.”

“You’re probably right,” I said, even though I knew it would take me hours yet to fall asleep. “I guess I’ll just head to my room. You’ll be here?”

Something had crossed his face when I mentioned my room, like maybe he was hoping we’d sleep together. I didn’t want to push him that far yet and besides, I’d only keep him awake.

“Yeah, I’ll be right here,” he said, lying back on the thin mattress. “Good night, Titus. Sleep well.”

“Back atcha,” I said again and turned to go down the hall to my room. I wanted nothing more than to curl up beside that big warm bear of a man, but my sense of self-preservation was too strong. Shuffling into my room, I began the long, arduous process that was the act of an insomniac trying to sleep.

* * * *

I heard a noise. I know I did. Something woke me in the middle of the night; a creaking floorboard, a squeaky hinge, something. I wondered if my wards were slipping and the
mule
were finding their way inside. Maybe I’d let them in with my little conjuration the other night.

Sitting up in bed perfectly still, I strained to hear anything out of place, but all was quiet. I lay back down and my eyes flickered shut. Suddenly there was a loud crash somewhere in the house, followed by loud, frantic yelling.
Jesus Christ, the killer’s come after me and he’s hurting Charlie
—that was my first thought.

I leapt out of bed, flung the door open, and raced down the hall to the living room. The cool air blowing from the vents prickled my skin because I was wearing nothing but a black jockstrap and socks—not my usual sleeping attire but I wore them on the off chance that Charlie might throw caution to the wind and climb into bed with me. I knew better, but there was nothing wrong with being prepared for the best-case scenario.

I skidded on the hardwood floor in my socked feet as I came to a stop in the archway that led to the living room. Charlie was standing behind the couch in just his slacks that he hadn’t even had time to fasten, so they were drooping to reveal his boxer briefs. His legs were planted firmly with the left one in front, he was twisted at the waist with his left shoulder leading; his left arm was bent, his right arm was straight, and both hands were gripping a semi-automatic pistol. I wasn’t a recreational shooter, but I knew my way around a gun; he was using a classic Weaver stance, and he’d sighted down the barrel at a figure standing in front of the door.

His big shoulders heaved with his quickened breath, and the shape he had in his sights quivered. I squinted at the shadow, then gasped and flicked on the overhead lights. It was just fucking Riot, coming home in the middle of the goddamn night…or morning.

“Charlie,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him, although I’m sure he was plenty well trained enough not to shoot without real provocation. “It’s okay, you can let him go. It’s just Riot, see?”

As realization dawned, Charlie paled and immediately lowered the gun. He then decocked it and checked the chamber before sliding it back into his shoulder holster that was lying on the side table.