Zero at the Bone (24 page)

“No, vigilantes sure don’t have to deal with due process and all that crap.”

“The more guilty a man is, the more due process don’t help. Folks I kill? Not the kind what gets convicted by a jury a their peers. They ain’t got no peers on juries. Ya know who’s their peer? I am. I’ll do the convictin’.”

“And the executing.”

“Pays the bills.”

Jack felt a chill go up his spine. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t.”

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“Stop playing Bad-Ass Assassin. You’re just trying to scare me or creep me out or something so we won’t have to talk about it.”

D regarded him with a flat, lizard-like gaze. “About what?”

“You know.”

“I am gettin' real fuckin’ tired a these guessin’ games.”

“About what’s going on between
us,
D.”
There. Chew on that.

D just sat there grinding his teeth for a few beats, then rose and went to the sink where he carefully set his empty glass. “Nothin’ ta talk about.” Jack nodded. “I guess not.” There was more Jack wanted to ask—who had saved their asses on the dam, for starters—but the conversation seemed to be over. For now. He stood up, tossing the ice pack into the sink. “I’m going to bed.”

“Go on, then. Pick a room.”

Jack retrieved his bag from the living room and went down the hall, not sparing D

so much as a glance as he went by, determined to take the biggest room for himself.

JACK lay in bed on his side, arms tucked under his head, watching the line of light visible beneath his bedroom door. He had put his things in his chosen room, going so far as to unload his few articles of clothing into the dresser, and then showered, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed, all without seeing or hearing D at all. Judging by the smell, though, he could deduce that D was sitting somewhere in the house and smoking.

Smoking in the house. Where’d he get more cigarettes? That’s going to stop pretty
damn quick.

Jesus, Jack. What are you, the guy’s wife?

Soon after he’d retired and shut his door, he’d heard D moving around. Footsteps in the bedroom next door, into the bathroom. Drawers opening. Shower running. More footsteps. The line of light from the hallway broken by moving shadows of legs and feet as D crossed back and forth in front of his bedroom door.

The steps went into the bedroom next door and stopped. Suddenly, there was a loud thud and a curse; Jack felt the house shake slightly. D had just hit the wall, or else he’d thrown something at it. His pulse jacked up a bit; what was going on?

The steps went further into the other bedroom. He heard the bed creak. Then again.

The steps came back.

Jack turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, the covers pulled up to his chest.

He wasn’t wearing anything to bed tonight; whether this was laundry-related necessity or just optimism wasn’t something he wanted to think too hard about. He saw D pass before his door into the bathroom again. The light dimmed as the hall light was turned off, leaving just the bathroom light on.

The leg-shadows came to his door and paused. Jack held his breath. He heard a soft thump; he was pretty sure it was D’s forehead hitting the door.

He waited.

After what felt like an eternity during which those shadow-legs didn’t move, the knob turned and his door swung open. D huddled there against the jamb, looking at the floor, dressed in pajama pants. Jack rose up on his elbows. D was gnawing on his thumbnail, looking everywhere but at Jack. Finally he risked a quick glance.

Jack stretched his arm across the neat, unrumpled bedclothes, extending his hand toward the door. “Come on,” he whispered.

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D shuffled forward, his shoulders rounded, eyes still on the floor, arms crossed over his stomach. When he reached the bed he turned his back and sat down on the edge with a weary sigh, as if the journey across the carpet had just been too exhausting. He braced his hands on the edge of the mattress and hung his head like a man contemplating his last words.

Jack waited. He could feel the heat from D’s body slipping over the sheets to caress him. The muscles in D’s back were twitching and he just kept shaking his head slowly back and forth, back and forth. Jack stretched out a hand and gently touched D’s shoulder. He felt the flesh flinch away at the touch, but D didn’t move. He flattened his palm against D’s skin and slowly ran it down the outside of his arm. “What?” he murmured.

“You…,” D rasped.

Jack sighed. “What?”

There was a long pause. “You deserve better,” he finally said, almost too quiet for Jack to hear.

Jack’s heart broke a little. “So do you,” he murmured. D turned his head slightly to look at him, his face shadowed in the faint light from the bathroom. Jack took hold of the blankets and folded them back, exposing his nakedness and the flat expanse of empty sheet, a silent invitation. D just sat there immobile for a few beats, then stood up. For one awful moment Jack was sure he was going to leave, but then his hands went to his waist and he quickly shucked his pajama bottoms. He slid under the covers and drew them back up. He lay there on his back, staring at the ceiling, the sheets tucked primly under his arms.

After a few moments of tense silence, D snorted. “What’m I fuckin’ doin’ here?” he muttered.

Jack was tired of dancing around it, and knew that if he didn’t do something they might lie here all night. “D, do you want to have sex with me?” he asked, trying to sound forthright and confident, which he was not.

D shut his eyes with a sigh, then nodded. “Jus’… don’t got the excuse this time,” he said.

“What excuse?”

“Bein’ drunk.”

Jack chuckled. “Oh, yeah.”

“That is… I’d mean it this time.”

That gave Jack a moment’s pause. “Didn’t you mean it last time?” D turned his head and their eyes met. “Yeah,” he croaked. “But Jack, I… I don’t…

dunno if I can—”

“Shh,” Jack said, putting a hand on his chest. “Let me, okay?” D nodded, sighing in relief.
You wondered if he felt anything for you? Well, look at this, Jack. He’s letting you
see him like this. What more do you need to know?

Jack slid close and pulled D into his arms. He was tense like a man being defibrillated, but came into them as best he could. Jack pressed his face into D’s neck, the heat of his skin bringing sweat to his brow, and ran his hands up and down his back, the nervous thrumming in D’s muscles quieting a little bit at a time. Jack molded himself against the body he’d longed to touch like this, twining their legs together, feeling D’s hands tentative on his own back, touching him with cautious fingertips as if he was afraid Jack’s flesh might burn him.

108 | Jane Seville

He nuzzled at D’s face, seeking his lips, but D kept pulling away. Finally, he lifted a hand and seized his jaw, holding his head still, and looked right into his eyes. D cut his own away, tensing up again.
Okay. One thing at a time.

Jack backed off and slid his mouth instead down the cords of D’s neck, feeling him shudder, and also feeling with his leg that D was still flaccid. He himself was painfully aroused and trying not to take it personally. He just persisted, touching D where he’d like to be touched, caressing the tension from his muscles, urging him on with his hands, trying to tell him with his body
it’s okay, it’s okay to want me, it’s okay to feel it, it’s safe
to show it.
D’s hands on him were growing bolder, greedier, and then a strangled groan escaped him and his body abruptly went from tense and trembling to loose and demanding, and Jack was enveloped by a crush of stroking hands and writhing legs, D’s mouth on his neck, his chest, everywhere. D rolled him onto his back and Jack knew that neither of them could wait. He reached out for the jar of Vaseline he’d found in the bathroom earlier and put on his bedside table, just in case, and somehow opened it one-handed. D propped himself up on one hand and Jack reached between them, slicking him with a couple of fast, desperate strokes, D hissing at Jack’s hand on him. “Come on, come on,” Jack mumbled; he sucked in a breath and pushed out just as D slid himself in.

He was big—bigger than Jack remembered—but he didn’t have much time to ponder the matter because D was going crazy.

Mumbling unintelligible syllables like he was speaking in tongues, D dropped his head into the hollow of Jack’s shoulder. The man was frantic; all Jack could do was hang on, and even that was barely possible. He nearly bucked himself off a few times; Jack grabbed his ass in both hands, trying to keep him close. The angle wasn’t so great for him; he already knew this wasn’t going to get him off, but at the moment that didn’t seem so important, because something else was happening here. D was pouring himself into Jack’s arms, his body, and the deluge was fierce; Jack clung to him like a barnacle, holding him fast in his arms.
I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.
The thought ran over and over in his mind as D heaved great swoops of breath past Jack’s ear, swoops that had sobs caught at their dregs, as if he’d found something old and unexpressed at the very tidal bottom of his lungs now dragged into the open air by the exertion.

I’m not letting go of you.

D’s body stuttered and stiffened; he cried out his release and collapsed, damp with sweat and limp as a dishrag, Jack’s arms and legs wound around him. “Jack… Jack,” D

breathed, the name sighing out on each exhalation as if it had gotten inside and was escaping like steam from a pressure cooker. He buried his face in Jack’s neck. Jack cupped the back of his head and sighed. D drew back and looked at him. “Uh…,” he said, sounding like he was rebooting his voice. “Ya didn’t… y’ain’t….”

“Don’t worry about it.”

D watched Jack’s face for a long moment, then suddenly slid down the bed, shoving the covers aside, and took Jack in his mouth. Jack gasped in surprise.
Jesus, I’d have been
happy with a hand job. I never thought he’d… oh goddamn….

Jack rose up on his elbows so he could watch, because this was something he did not want to miss. The sight of D, this tough-guy hit man who knew a dozen ways to kill you with a straw, doing this to him was almost more arousing than the feeling of it. D, who was too butch to let being shot slow him down, who was too macho to talk about…

well, anything… who Jack guessed he could now call his lover even if he didn’t yet know his real name, was surely too much of a he-man to perform this most homo of sexual acts even if he wasn’t above screwing another man. And yet, all evidence to the contrary.

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“Oh God… D,” Jack moaned, his head falling back on his limp neck. “I’m… I’m gonna….” D pulled off and grasped him, stroking him firmly until Jack came with a cry.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack sighed, falling back against the pillows. D crawled back up to the head of the bed and drew Jack close; he rested his head on D’s chest and pulled the covers up around them.

He felt the slight rumble of D’s silent laughter beneath his cheek. “Better now, doc?”

“Mmm. Huh?”

“Guess that answers that.” Jack felt D’s arm tighten around his shoulders and he snuggled closer, almost as amazed that D was allowing post-coital cuddling as he’d been at the oral sex.

When D spoke again, his voice was subdued. “Ya know how long it’s been since…

well, I was with anybody?”

“How long?”

D sighed. “More’n ten years.”

Jack gaped. “But… that’d be….”

“Since my wife, yeah.”

Jack didn’t ask how it was possible for a man to give head like that without having done it before. It didn’t seem the right time. “You must have had the opportunity.”

“I told ya before. Didn’t wanna. Couldn’t, even. Hell, I ain’t even wrang it out in years. It’s like….” He sighed, looked up at the ceiling. “Like I stopped bein’ human.

Sometimes was a surprise I still needed ta piss and eat. Half waitin’ ta wake up one day and find I didn’t have a pulse no more, like some kinda zombie.” Jack reached out a finger and touched his cheek. “Well… you feel alive to me.” D bit his lip. “That’s… well….”

Jack frowned. “What?”

“Inside, it’s like maybe….” His voice dropped to a near-unintelligible rumble that Jack had to strain to hear and watch his lips to understand. “Startin’ ta feel a little human again. Like wakin’ up from a long sleep fulla bad dreams.” Jack nodded. “Since you started working with the FBI.” D met his eyes, frowning. “No, Jack. Since I met you.” Jack was struck dumb, the words hitting him in the gut like a hard punch with some mustard on it. He held D’s gaze until it became uncomfortable, which didn’t take long. D shifted, his jaw working; Jack could tell he thought he’d said too much. He just lowered his head to D’s chest again and put his arm across him.
I’m not letting go of you.

He felt D relax a little at a time; the day they’d both had made sleep a swift and easy captor. Within minutes it had them both.

Just as Jack was right on the edge of dropping off, he felt D shift slightly, and then—although later he could not swear it wasn’t his imagination—a brief kiss, pressed into his hair, and just as quickly withdrawn.