The 51st Thursday (3 page)

His voice was a whisper against his ear. Shelby shook his head, trying to shake away the longing that threatened to tear him apart. "Suck me. I want you to suck my cock. God damn it... Shit. This doesn't make me gay."

"Of course it doesn't. Just curious. I've wanted to taste you since you walked into my bar that first night. You were fragile. Then angry." He traced the scar that ran from his nipple to his navel. "Because of this?"

"Because of that, because my life ended fifty-two Thursdays ago, because... I have nothing left to live for. God damn it, suck me, you asshole. You made me want you, always staring at me like I'm candy or something. Suck me, I want to come in your mouth, you motherfucking..." Deacon lifted him off his body and flipped him onto his back. He landed on the rough floor, out of breath.

"Demanding little foul-mouthed whelp, aren't you? I like that, Thursday. Unbutton your jeans. Slowly. While I watch."

"Fuck you."

"Later, sweetheart. Right now I want to see your cock. Show me your cock, baby."

Breathing hard, Shelby looked into his grinning blue eyes, willing sanity to intrude but since it didn't and he no longer had full control over his own goddamned hands he reached up and undid the button with jerky fingers.

"Slowly, Thursday, now the zipper."

Shelby wanted to close his eyes, wanted to distance himself from those goddamned blue eyes before it was too late. He eased his zipper down, the gasp he heard wasn't his own, heat swept his body as Deacon's eyes went round.

"Lift your hips, tug your jeans down, yeah Thursday, just like that, that's far enough. How many women have you scared with this thing?"

His fingers were hot, rough. Shelby slapped his hands palm down onto the floor when Deacon touched him there, sliding from the very tip of the head down to grip his balls. "Shit." His scrotum pulled so tight he thought he would come from just the lightest touch.

"Does that feel good, Thursday?" Deacon continued to stroke him, forcing his legs wider. He fondled his balls, gently stroking the skin until Shelby felt his cock twitch of its own volition.

"Yes. Suck me, I need... Oh Christ, that feels good. Deacon, please."

Deacon simply smiled down at him as he continued to finger his balls. Need raced through Shelby's mind, he needed... God damn, he needed violence, release, something...soon. Heat engulfed him, swirling chaotically, deliciously inside him; giving in to the pleasure, Shelby closed his eyes. Deacon tongued his head, slipping briefly inside the small opening before taking him deeper into his throat. Suckling him, slowly sliding his mouth along the rigid length as if it were nothing, a lollipop stolen from a Halloween bucket and all the while strong fingers gripped his scrotum, stroking him.

Shelby couldn't help himself. He arched his hips into the strong mouth, forcing himself deeper still, amazed that Deacon took him. The muscles in his throat worked him as he withdrew and sucked him deeper inside. Pleasure started in his toes and Shelby raised his body into a half crunch, holding Deacon's head as the man worked him, sliding along his cock all the way to his balls and then back. Sucking him with agonizing slowness until Shelby felt heat flood his lower body, his sac growing tight. He held Deacon's head still as he pumped into him, forcing his cock deeper until there was nothing left and then he fell back onto the cold concrete floor. Sated. Defeated. Raw.

But Deacon wasn't finished with him; his tongue, feverish and almost alive, traced the raised scar starting at his navel and slowly worked its way to his chest. He grazed his nipple with his teeth, nipping harder after Shelby's yelp turned to a moan. The feel of hot flesh pressed to his stoked a fire in his center that left him antsy and confused.

Deacon smiled down at him just before he pressed his lips to Shelby's. The hard gleam in his eyes had Shelby sweating. "My turn," was all Deacon said as he rose onto his knees, undoing his jeans in one swift movement that stunned Shelby. Deacon's cock, fully erect, sprang forward as if it were alive. "Get on your knees, pretty boy."

Deacon grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged him until he had no choice but to comply. "Open your mouth for me, Thursday," he said, standing over him, his legs slightly spread. He held Shelby's hair in one fist while he pumped his cock with the other. "That makes you hard, doesn't it, Thursday? Yeah, you want my cock in your mouth, don't you? Tell me what you want, Thursday, tell me."

He pulled Shelby's hair, angling his head back so he could look down into his eyes. The lust Shelby found shining there sent spikes of molten need shooting to his stomach and lower until his cock stood rigid once again. "Tell me." Deacon yanked his hair.

"I want your cock in my mouth, Christ, Deacon, you smell so good, I want to taste you."

"That's a good boy." Deacon touched the head of his cock to Shelby's lips, stroked him there. "Kiss it, Thursday, kiss my cock."

Shelby couldn't help himself. He placed his lips against the opening and kissed, licking the pearl of liquid from his lips and then from Deacon's cock. The taste of salt was tangy on his tongue. "That's it, baby, lick me, oh god that feels good, Thursday, open your mouth, baby, I can't handle much more. Just open your mouth and I'll do the work."

Shelby opened for him, taking the silky yet hard head into his mouth, past his teeth, gagging when Deacon eased farther in, touching the roof of his mouth. "That's good, baby, your mouth is so hot."

Shelby drew up on his knees and placed his hands on Deacon's ass, holding on to him as he pumped into his mouth. His breath turned ragged and Shelby felt his other hand fist in his hair. "That's it, baby, just like that, Shelby, suck me just like that. God that feels nice, take me deeper, just like that, god damn that feels good."

Shelby felt him push against the back of his throat but he controlled the gag this time, taking him, meeting him, enjoying the feel and taste as he slid inside his mouth. "Suck me baby, god just like that. Shelby, I can't..." He held his head though still pumping into his mouth in a way that brought Shelby to the edge. Heat erupted in the back of his throat, scalding him. Thick, heavily salty mucus gushed down his throat, gagging him until he figured out how to swallow. The pressure in his own cock grew with each searing thrust until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Come for me, Thursday, that's it, baby, you like sucking me, don't you, feels good doesn't it, masturbate for me, that's right, stroke your cock, baby, just like that, god damn Shelby, that's nasty." He thrust into his mouth one last time. A second stream of salty heat hit the back of his throat as Deacon held him still. Shelby gripped his cock, stroked himself once, twice, and then it was over, ejaculating into the air as Deacon withdrew.

"Come down when you're ready." He zipped his jeans, his voice rough, ragged. And he left him on his knees while the boom box played the "Beautiful Loser" song again.

Chapter Three

Deacon stood at the kitchen island slathering mustard on cold hamburger buns when Thursday stepped into the room. He was dressed, his shirt buttoned haphazardly, his eyes dazed. Deacon decided it wouldn't be in his best interest to talk just then. Besides, he didn't know what to say. He set a burger and chips plate on the other side of the island and popped the top on a still ice-cold beer. "Eat before it gets cold. Okay, colder."

Thursday hitched up a corner of his luscious mouth, not exactly a smile, but not exactly not a smile as Deacon reacted to the tepid burger. But hey, food was food, and after the last hour or so, he could eat a horse.

The wind whipped against the shutters, rain on metal that sounded oddly like a jet engine taking off. Thursday went pale. "That was close," he said between bites of burger.

Deacon found the downstairs radio and switched it on, tuning until he found a local station broadcasting simultaneously.
"Squalls stretching from New Orleans all the way to Panama City, Florida. The eye of the storm is still way out in the Gulf, but she is moving fast, tracking northwest. Sally is still predicted to make landfall at about one a.m. anywhere between the Mississippi and the Florida state lines, which pretty much covers the entire lower Alabama viewing, or if you've lost power, listening area. Downgraded to a Category Two thirty minutes ago, the eye wall is holding together, though it should start breaking apart as the night progresses."

"About another three hours, Thursday," he said, looking at the clock above the stove. "Do you want another burger?"

"How can you stand there like nothing happened?" There was anger in his eyes. "How can you be so blase about...about..."

"Tasting your man meat? You're not my first, pretty boy. I like rough sex and that was nice and rough. You're right, though, I am being blase about it. I apologize. I was trying to not think about bending you over the counter and initiating you to other sins of the flesh. I thought you weren't ready. My mistake." Deacon's brain was screaming
take it easy, he isn't ready for the honest truth of what just happened
, but Deacon's mouth and his dick had other ideas. "So are you ready, Thursday, for seconds, or in your case, thirds?"

"Not on your life, motherfucker. Christ." He looked like a rabbit crouching in the grass trying to decide if it was safer to stay put or run like hell. "There won't be seconds so you can stop looking at me like that."

"Like what? Like I want to eat you for breakfast? Can't help it, sugar, I've been lusting after you for months now. Every time you leaned your sweet ass over the pool table, I got hard. I wanted a taste of you and now that I've had it, I want more. Lots more, Thursday."

"It will be rape. I don't want anything to do with you." He looked away quickly, sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Then why are you sweating? Why is your dick hard? Your heart is racing, Thursday. You're lying to yourself when you say you don't want me. You do want me. I've seen it in your eyes. You kissed me first, remember? You begged me for release before I ever touched you. And now your body wants more. You want me to take you to my bed over there and peel those jeans off you. You want my hand on your cock and my tongue in your ass. You're sitting there with that magnificent cock jutting above your waistband you want me so bad. Admit it."

"I won't admit a damned thing." He shifted on the stool in obvious discomfort, his jaw rigid. Pain, sharp and jagged filled his eyes, and Deacon knew he'd gone too far.

"Okay, Thursday, you win. No more sex talk. Here, have another burger." Deacon slathered mustard on two more burgers and handed him one. "I'm not sure when the next hot meal will be so go ahead and eat. I'm not going to bother you."

He grabbed his plate and a couple of beers and went over to the sofa. He dropped onto it and propped his feet up on the coffee table to stare at the lifeless television. Electric candlelight danced around him from every surface, casting shadows on the wall. He laid his plate on his belly and picked up the book he left tucked between the cushions and pretended to read. The wind howled outside, slashing rain at the shutters, rattling the windows only to stop just as suddenly as it came up. The nonstop hurricane talk on the radio began to rattle his nerves as the silence stretched between them.

"I loved my wife. Her name was Holly. We grew up together, you know," he said a little while later, his rough voice echoing in the room. "She was my high school sweetheart. My first, my only, really, for a long time. We broke up in college, and I played around but never all the way. She followed me to law school and we got married. She wanted a baby but I was too focused on my career. We didn't see each other much and then on our fifth anniversary she told me she was pregnant."

"Scared the shit out of you, didn't it? I remember when my wife told me the first time. I was twenty-one and fresh home from Kuwait."

"Is that where you got that scar?" Thursday stepped over the back of the sofa, his feet bare, and sat cross-legged on the far end facing him.

"Christmas 1990, Desert Storm, almost ended my life. I joined the Marines when I was fresh out of high school and a little over a year later I was getting shot at by a bunch of kids with fucking AK-47s. One of the little fuckers... Well god damn but they were kids, you don't expect to have to kill a ten-year-old."

"Did you?"

"No, I was too busy bleeding in the sand. Nearly died of infection and then it was all over. I came home, married the first girl I fucked, and went back. Came home to be a daddy, we divorced while she was pregnant with our second. She cheated. It wasn't pretty. She told me neither kid was mine. It got nasty. In the end, they both are mine and that's all that matters. My oldest just started up at Alabama and my son is on the football team across the bay. What happened to your wife, Thursday?"

"Car accident last Halloween. She went into labor. On the way to the hospital we were T-boned by a drunk in a Jason mask. Or that's what I was told. I don't remember any of it. When I woke up, they'd already buried her and the baby. On Thursday, I checked myself out of the hospital and took a cab home. I probably should have stayed another week. We lived down the street in a studio. Bet you I drove past this building a million times but that was the first day I saw the bar. I couldn't stand being home so I came here."

"Probably not the smartest choice to make with your side split open like that." Deacon remembered the story now; it had made national news. The tragic Halloween night accident that nearly took the life of former Alabama quarterback and senator's son, and the loss of the daughter-in-law and grandchild had nearly devastated Senator Bainbridge. "Your dad is going to run for president next year, isn't he?"

"Yes." Thursday looked away. "He's still pissed that I quit my job at the law firm. My long hair is a disgrace, my clothes too. I dress like a bum since I burned all the goddamned suits. I won't move back to Montgomery so he can yank me a new hole. Name your poison."

"That you're gay isn't going to go over very well, is it?"

"No." He didn't deny it this time. Shelby Bainbridge, former championship quarterback and future first son, liked men. Shame was written all over his face.

"Am I really your first?" He didn't know why he held his breath.

"Yes. There were tests, like you said. Shower temptations. Drunken frat parties. But I never met someone I wanted enough to throw everything away for. Listen, don't take that wrong. I was weak, this isn't going to go anywhere so don't think I--"

"I goaded you into it, Thursday, because I'm a selfish prick. You were an easy mark and I wanted to get laid. Whatever gets you through the night, no big deal to me." Deacon lied to himself. It was a big deal.

"Okay, so that we're square."

"Since we're being honest, Thursday, you really should know that before this night is over, I am going to fuck you. Hard, and long, and nasty. Just so we're square."

Shelby's jaw clenched. His eyes turned hard and then he looked away. The candlelight flickering turned his skin a golden color that Deacon found way too attractive while thinking about the things he wanted to do to the man's ass.

"All right." His voice was steady, husky. Deacon almost didn't believe his ears, but the lust shimmering in his eyes when he looked at him spoke volumes. "Can I catch a shower before you run out of hot water? It's been a long day."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead." Deacon watched as he walked away, trying to concentrate on the book and not the shirt falling to the floor or the hard plane of his back, but the words were just specks on the page.

Shelby disappeared into the bathroom before he stripped out of his jeans. The door pushed closed but didn't click and within seconds, Deacon heard the shower come on. Temptation was behind a partially closed door. Naked, hot, muscled, wet temptation, calling to him, no, screaming for him to come inside. To take what he wanted.

Deacon tried to ignore the screaming in his brain. Funny, he never knew just how much sound came from his bathroom. Water falling on skin, the bottle of shampoo hitting the floor. He could smell the steam and soap. His skin prickled, pulled tight. The book hit the floor and before he realized what he was doing, he stood inside the concrete room, his hand resting on the knob, while he watched water slide down Thursday's body, soap bubbles cascading from his hair down his chest.

As he watched, Thursday's cock grew long and rigid; his eyes seemed to glow with helpless need following him as Deacon stripped out of his jeans and walked the few short paces into the open shower. "Hand me the soap," was all he could think to say just before he touched his lips to Thursday's, and then he didn't say anything for a long time.

He took the soap bar and wrapped his arms around him, swallowing the whimper that escaped as he touched his tongue to Thursday's. He let him lead this time, the soft kisses inflaming him in a way that left his knees weak.

Deacon lathered smooth skin, running his hands over each muscle, then moving to the front to start at his shoulders. He lathered and caressed his way down Thursday's body, stopping only when he found the hottest, throbbing part of his body. He cupped him, running his hand between his legs until his sac drew tight. Soft moans escaped Thursday's mouth as Deacon stroked his long cock, soaping it until his hand slid easily up and down him. He didn't notice when Shelby took the soap from him and repeated his every move until they were both slick with lather and need.

"Lift your leg," Deacon told him as he pushed him against the wall and pressed his cock hard against his, humping him. The soapy friction where their cocks touched was almost more than he could stand. He needed more. He took the soap back and as Shelby raised his leg, Deacon cupped his ass, massaging him with the bar until he was slick. He gasped in surprise when Deacon eased a finger inside him. His mouth grew tight against Deacon's. "Easy, baby, you're tight, Christ, I could come just thinking about how tight you are."

Deacon stroked him slowly, sliding his finger in just a little deeper with each stroke while he humped him. Shelby's cock seemed to grow longer as he rocked against him, the slick, soapy friction making him pant. "Slide your finger inside me, Thursday, yeah, just like that, yeah, baby, that feels nice, now a second." He hissed when Shelby pressed a second finger inside him, ramming into him with short, frenzied strokes that had him sweating.

Shelby's mouth found a tender spot on his neck, and then he felt the sharp sting of teeth. Shelby's arm grew tight around Deacon's back, pulling him closer. He drove his fingers deep inside him, forcing Deacon to his rhythm, taking control. "I like the feel of your balls slapping mine. I've never felt anything like this."

"Shelby..." Deacon couldn't think of anything to say to that. He buried his face in his neck fighting the need to come, but the friction against his belly and in his ass had him spinning past the point. "Fuck me, baby, god, just like that." He wrapped his arms around Thursday's shoulders, letting him take control. Teeth grazed his neck again, soft lips touched his cheek, long supple fingers rammed into him deeper, flexing inside him.

"Deacon..." he breathed against his ear, his breath hot, his cock rigid against his belly. It was all Deacon needed to send him over the edge. Shelby pumped against him, heat slathering his skin as he bit him, crying out against his neck. Deacon couldn't stop the roar that echoed off the concrete walls as he added his own scalding heat to the mix. "Shit, Deacon, shit."

Deacon agreed silently just as the hot water ran out.