Whenever they were together, Grissom touched Warrick all the time, which was strange to Nick. Stranger yet, no one else on the team caught on. They were blinded, probably from the same improbable idea of Grissom actually having a personal relationship with a live person. No one could imagine seeing Grissom sharing his emotions and feelings with anyone, least of all, sharing them with Warrick. Nick couldn’t imagine the thought of Grissom and Warrick together. Not when he wanted Warrick badly, wanted all of Warrick’s attention on him. But he knew it was wrong for him to feel that way and he knew it would never happen, in any case.

Nick adored Grissom as a fatherly figure. He could well see him and his father, the Judge, engaged in drawn out conversations about the world at large. Nick adored Warrick. Warrick was his best friend. Perhaps this was good for Warrick having exposure to Grissom’s positive influences. Grissom had proven he could burn down the proverbial temper tree that Warrick sometimes climbed up on during his state of unreasonable soapbox. Grissom kept Warrick calmed especially during the important times when on a volatile case.

And here they were sitting in Betsy’s Diner at the tail end of having a meal. Grissom clasped Warrick’s hands within his pale, stocky fingers. Warrick looked silly wearing a sparkling smile on his face, offered it up to Grissom as though he was the Taj Mahal. The conversation long fell into silence. Nick felt much like the third wheel.

“Gotta go guys.” Nick pulled his wallet from his back jeans’ pocket. He then threw down a $20 on the table and then he walked off.

“Hey Nick. Wait,” he heard Warrick say.

Nick kept pushing his body down the diner’s aisle.

“Nick, honey. Is everything okay?” asked the diner’s owner.

Why wouldn’t it be. He lifted his hand and waved. “I’m fine, Betsy. No worries. Warrick got the tab.” He then plastered a smile on his face. Betsy was like a second mother to him and Warrick. She made sure they ate well. Sometimes packed up food for them to take home at no extra charge. She joked when she saw Warrick was in a funky mood, calmed Warrick in way Grissom couldn’t. She would wrap her arms around them and called them her boys. Nick teased Warrick that Betsy was in love with him. That he had a cougar for a girlfriend.

Going through the diner’s door, he stepped into the night. Tall buildings reflected a rainbow of glittering colors as the backdrop to the darkened sky. Was an invitation to all tourists to come out and play, if they dare to lose their money.

It was late but the town still opened for any proposition. Nick disliked gambling. He liked even less alcohol except for the occasional beer. Going home was out of the question. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. An explosion existed inside him ready to go off. He needed release from the energy that had been wearing on him, bringing him down for a while now.

So beer was it. He could stop at a casino and sit at the bar. Maybe something fine and delectable would come his way and appeal to his senses. Something nice he could have for the taking. Wouldn’t it be nice to get laid.

And how thankful was he that he’d decided to drive his truck over to the diner. Worked had ended for the night. Warrick had invited Nick to the diner for a late meal, for some of Betsy’s excellent food. The disappointment hit Nick where it hurt when he saw Warrick had brought Grissom to accompany him, to share in something Nick felt belonged to him, Warrick, and Betsy.

Oh well.

Keys in hand, Nick trudged to his truck, readied himself for a hopeful night of carousing.

“Nick!”

Oh God, what. A few minutes more and he would’ve been out of Dodge. Go away. Leave me alone. Those words were in his head, but he didn’t say them. Nick laid his forehead against the window of the truck. He held onto the door handle as if they it was life support.

“What?”

“Why the rush. You okay, man?”

“Yeah, dude. I’m fine.”

A hand pressed down on his shoulder. Nick held back from flinching at the touch. Not a good idea letting Warrick know he lied and that something may be wrong.

“Is that so,” Warrick said, pulling Nick around to face him.

“Come on. Stop.” Nick swatted at the hand to free himself from Warrick’s grip. “Where’s Grissom?”

“I don’t know.”

His mind too slow in comprehending what happened next. Warrick had grabbed Nick and pressed his whole body against him, forcing Nick back onto the truck’s door. His face moved downward, his mouth captured Nick’s lips. Reflex roared, Nick instinctively shoved Warrick. The man was strong and immovable. His mouth was insistent. Nick slumped in surrender, groaned, let Warrick have his way with him. It was stupid to resist something he known he’d wanted for a very long time. Stupid not acknowledging it.

They kissed until breathing air became necessary. A warm tongue lashed his ear. Nick smiled, he didn’t want to lose the contact of Warrick’s mouth on him. Nick leaned his head to the side offering up his neck for more grazing. Teeth nipping at the skin. Nick shivered. He rubbed himself against Warrick’s thigh.

“You drive me crazy,” Warrick said in his ear.

That brought back reality. Nick forced his hands between their bodies and pushed. “We can’t do this. It’s wrong.”

“Why not, Nicky?” Warrick said. Warrick studied Nick, eyes like laser-beam staring at him.

“You forget about Grissom, man. You can’t do this to him.”

“The man is right.” Warrick sided back up to Nick. Nick stood still as a hand reached out and slid down the side of his face. “You’re blind as a bat,” Warrick said.

His head shook because he had no idea what Warrick was talking about. Nick just knew there were things one did not do and this was one of them. “Grissom deserve better treatment. You shouldn’t cheat on him.” Because Nick would die if Warrick cheated on him. And there he went being stupid again. Better to let things stay as they were.

“Hopeless,” Warrick said. A smile crept along his face.

The phone rang. Nick saw hesitation. “You should get that.” Ignoring phone calls were not an option for them. It could be anyone. It could be a call from the lab requesting them to come in for another case.

“Warrick Brown.”

Nick listened with half an ear. He must get away before the situation went somewhere unpleasant.

“Yeah. It’s okay. Thick-headed and stubborn as usual.” Warrick laughed. “You think that would help? I don’t care, but you’re right. Okay, then. See you later, man.”

Nick got this feeling he was the ‘thick-headed and stubborn’ reference. “Who called?” he asked without thinking as if he had the right to ask such questions. No doubt, Warrick would say it was none of his business.

“Betsy asked were we out here on her lot kissing. Grissom wants to know if we’re crazy.”

“Was he upset?”

“He said he was tired of the charade and didn’t we know we’re on display for all to see.”

Obviously, Warrick didn’t really care who saw. Nick found himself back in Warrick’s arms. Fingers under his chin lifted his head and his mouth captured for another round of ravaging kisses. He didn’t mind dying from the lack of oxygen. So good being like this with Warrick. Mind blowing feeling the strength and tenderness Warrick gave him.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, a question was raised in which Nick refused to answer.

“Guys.”

Nick shoved Warrick hard enough to have the man stumbling backward. His heart thump against his chest. “Gris, I’m so sorry. Oh man.” Everything in Nick fought against urgent need to run. He lowered his head, starring at the ground. Embarrassed at his lost of integrity to uphold his own standards. He detested hurting people.

An uncomfortable silence intruded into their space. Nick’s eyes roamed over the cars parked on the lot. Each time they settled on the edge of Warrick or Grissom’s face, he shifted them to some other point.

Nick was about to suggest he would leave so they could talk when Grissom said, “I assumed you’ve taken care of the problem?”

“Sort of,” Warrick said with no concern for the hurt he’d dished out to Grissom.

Now Nick had seen Grissom angry and his reactions to this seemed odd to him. And Warrick, man, he’d thought better of him.

“Well, I think you can find a more suitable place to convince Nicky. He is a hard case you know.” The smile on Grissom’s face was simply wicked. Nick became even more confused.

“Uh-huh. Don’t I know it,” Warrick said, wounding an around Nick’s neck. “Hey, can you drive my truck back to the lab?”

“Wait! What’s wrong with you guys?” Nick said, getting agitated. He did try to unglue his side from body next to his but Warrick wasn’t having it.

“Not a problem,” Grissom responded, reaching for the keys. “Now you boys run along. I’m going home.” Grissom walked away as he pleased at his usual pace.

“Warrick don’t let Grissom leave. You have to fix this.” All kinds of panicky thoughts floated in Nick’s head and none of them made any sense. Weird. But he can’t be the cause of trouble between the two.

“Get this, Nicky.”

Kissing and more kissing, and guh, he had company getting hard in the pants.

“I want you. Your place or mine. I don’t care which,” Warrick said.

“I don’t know…” The tongue in his ear kind of made him forget he should be bitching at Warrick.

“Since you’re driving. Your place then.”

“Grissom…”

“You want me, Nicky?”

The truth. Just say it. “Yes.” The relief Nick felt was palpable as he made his admission to Warrick and to himself.

“Good. Grissom is fine. He’s done his job. Let’s go home.”

Disclaimer: Caprica, Sam and Larry, Joseph, the Graystones, all belong to RDM and crew, and Syfy.  No infringement intended.  Story written for pure entertainment purposes.

Stepping Over the Line
By Niciasus

He pushed down on the button when the green light flashed at him.

The passenger sitting on his left side glanced over once and returned to reading the book in her hand. A young girl, a few years younger than himself, he thought. He marveled at her choice of reading device. These days, the younger generation preferred the message pad. This girl actually had a paperback book, which was easily becoming obsolete in Caprica’s technological progression. But he felt bad because he’d been rude to her and had remained silent at her quiet and unintrusive entreaties. Small talk really, the kind one had when travelling with strangers.

As the shutter slid upward, it revealed gray shadows crawling over the sun glare. The sight made him hitch his breath at the startling beauty of the changing sky. Whenever he could arrange it, he timed his arrival here at the same time just to experience this scenery. What was the number of times he’d talked to Sam about moving here. 50 times, 100 times, he tried to convince Sam only to have his pleadings fall on deaf ears. Sam had said he would never move away from Caprica City. He knew why and didn’t like it much. The reason a strain on their marriage, but it wasn’t the cause for him to be traveling alone now.

The hoverbus glided downward into the docking station. Larry leaned back in his seat and waited until the last person had departed the vehicle.

~~~

“Hey, little brother.” Saul yelled and waved a hand at Larry, looking rather silly. Saul, a big man stood bouncing on his toes.

Larry stepped inside his brother’s arms and gripped him about his shoulders. “Hey back at you,” he said, holding on a longer than usual.

“Glad to see you, too.” Saul pulled back and ran his eyes up and down Larry. “Thought you’d changed your mind.”

“No. Just the last one off.”

“Where’s Sam?” Saul asked as they started walking toward the parking garage.

“Home,” Larry said. And to avoid a million questions about Sam, he asked, “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Could’ve flown to Caprica to pick you up.”

“Wasn’t worth the expense or time,” Larry said, nodding. “Too much trouble. Besides the hoverbus was just fine. Kept me from racing down highways.”

Saul’s eyebrows twisted up. He gave Larry a “get real” look. Larry smiled, couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “A turtle could drive faster than you, little brother.”

“You haven’t been in a car with me lately. I can speed with the best of them.”

“Yeah and Sam’s been teaching you his badassed ways, again.”

Larry stopped walking and tried his best to choke down the irritation. Saul turned and shrugged his shoulders. “What,” he said.

“I’m not in a mood for a round of Sam’s bashing. You think we can have a good visit?”

“Okay, okay. Relax. I get to see you every 8 months or so. You would think you lived on Tauron.”

“So, we’ve eight months to catch up, so be good, okay.” Larry patted his brother’s shoulders before he walked around the car to the passenger’s side.

Saul looked over the hood of the car and fixed his eyes on Larry. Larry squirmed under those sharp eyes probing him, remembering how well his brother knew him. Larry glared back him. Then Saul smiled, one of those goofy smiles that used to make Larry laughed at his silly brother, the kind that reminded Larry of their childhood. The tension fell away. Saul always there for Larry even when Saul didn’t know he was needed.

~~~

“Gods. This place is gorgeous.” Larry stood in front of a large window that ran the length and width of the wall. The sun had set deeper in orangey tones slowly giving up the struggle to keep the night from seizing control. There was enough light as he looked down the sloping hill to see the far reach of trees, flowers, the rising mountains off in the beyond. For all of Caprica’s tall and beautiful buildings, the scenery at his brother’s home was incomparable. It brought Larry a sense of peace he knew was fragile.

“I keep telling you to move out here. You want a beer?”

“You know I can’t, Saul,” Larry said, exhaling deeply. “Yeah, I can use one.”

Coming back from the kitchen with beer and junk food, Saul plunked himself down on the sofa next to Larry. “Do we have to?” he whined.

“I want to see what Graystone has to say,” Larry said, pressing hard to keep the tremor from his voice. When he’d left home, he turned off his phone to avoid hearing any news about the Graystones. Nothing now could pull him away from watching the Sarno’s show on the television, not even death.

“Sorry for your troubles. I liked Shannon and Tamara. How’re the kid and Joseph doing? Saul handed a beer over to Larry.

“Not good, brother. Not good at all. Joseph’s completely withdrawn from the living. Sam and I take care of the kid when Tsattie is too busy. We make sure he’s fed, go to school, and keep him company while his father mourns. It’s really tough.” Joseph had turned into a frakking lunatic, but Larry didn’t tell that to Saul.

“That’s too bad. Has to be hard on Willie not having his father to help him. Remember when I lost Diane? I built this house for her.”

“I remember.”

“I wanted to tear it down stone by stone when she died.”

For a while, Larry had concerns for Saul’s mental stability. He reached over and hugged his brother. Diane had been too young to die. For all the advancement in medicine, it did little for Diane. No one knew she had been sick, not even Saul. Left alone, while Saul flew off world doing his job. Her death broke Saul’s heart. For years, he’d blamed himself for not being there for his wife.

“We have no control over things we cannot control,” Larry said, trying to console his brother. It sounded like a lame excuse, but there was no other explanation to offer Saul then or now.

“I know, brother. I have come to accept it,” Saul said, running a hand over a face filled with pain.. “Joseph and I can relate. No offense.”

“None taken. It just that people internalize tragedy in difference ways. Some aren’t so good.”

“Willie will be fine. He’ll get his father back. Just takes time. Hey, the show is coming on,” Saul said.

Larry pulled himself up straight. He didn’t much like Sarno, thought the man a pompous ass. He popped the tab off the beer can as Sarno introduced Daniel Graystone to the audience.

“Oh the gods,” Saul uttered sometime later. “This has to be a joke. They recreate dead people. What the frak. What did he call it?”

“Avatar,” Larry responded. The existence held little interest to him. His eyes glued to the television, watching for signs of disturbance. Because Amanda Graystone sat there next to her husband, alive and well. Where was Sam? Was he in close proximity of his target?

He saw Amanda Graystone rushing onstage to defend her husband. A puff of air blew out of Larry’s mouth. She was alive. A thought hit Larry square in the eye. Sam still had the time, but maybe he could… “Where’s my duffel bag?” he yelled at Saul.

“In the bedroom. Quiet. These people are crazy.”

Larry jumped up and ran to the bedroom. Seeing his bag on the bed, he reached for it and yanked on the snaps, dumped the contents on the bed. He found the shiny black cell phone. He dialed the number, praying to the gods Sam would answer. Berated himself for giving in and turning off his phone. But Larry couldn’t take the constant ringing, refused Sam’s calls, although he really, really wanted to click the talk button. He did what thought was best thing to remove the temptation. He threw his phone in a bag after shutting it off.

Which now Larry conceded was a mistake because Sam was not answering his call.

Seeing the flashing red LED, he clicked over to voice mail and listened to the messages. As the words poured out of the electronic device, Larry bent down falling to his knees. His stomach balled up as if attacked by a bout of viral bacteria. Joseph Adama was pleading for Larry to get in touched with Sam. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Joseph had called. It was the point of Larry’s argument with Sam, why they’ve been screaming at each other for days. Or rather, Larry had done the yelling while the frown lines on Sam’s face grew deeper.

Larry whipped out a text message to Sam and decided he needed to get the frak back to Caprica.

He ran back to the living area and demanded, “Saul, take me home now. Please, please. No questions, just get me home.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” Saul said, his eyes growing wide with worry. He reached for his phone and made a call. Larry started pacing the floor.

“Grab your stuff. About the time we arrived at the station, my plane should be ready to go.”

Larry tore back to the bedroom to gather up his duffel bag. Thank the gods, Saul was in the business of flying, his plane always ready for emergencies.

~~~

Flying back to Caprica, Larry twitched in his seat, besieged by the thoughts of Sam, Joseph, Sam and their marriage running through his mind. On top of the list of his pondering sat “regret” the one cycling the most, remorse for leaving his husband to his own artifice.

“You going to tell me what this is about?” Saul asked, giving Larry an odd look.

“Maybe. One day. I don’t know.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll have to wait. I hope everything is okay with Willie.”

“This has nothing to do with Willie.”

“Sam,” Saul uttered with a hint of disgust.

All Larry could do was let his head hang down.

~~~

The Adama home harbored so much tension one of Sam’s knives couldn’t carve through the stoic resolve of Sam Adama and the stubborn determination of Larry Adama. Neither one was willing to compromise. Not that Larry thought he should, and Sam unlikely to reconsider his decision.

He was a Tauron. Raised on Caprica like many other displaced immigrants. He understood the Tauron’s ways and the underlying threat of “blood for blood.” He also understood the kind of life he would have with Sam. He loved the tough guy, just didn’t appreciate his work ethics.

Larry allowed himself some illusions. Ha’La’tha said kill, Sam did it. In his mind, he justified the murders with the idea these people somehow set out to harm their community. He also knew he wasn’t always completely successful at tricking his mind. Case in point, Joseph’s demand to Sam to assassinate Amanda Graystone. Whatever pretensions Larry conjured for appeasements, they all came tumbling down.

Earlier that morning after days of arguing, Sam had casually walked into the kitchen as Larry sat at the table drinking coffee and reading the morning paper. He refused to look up as he still fumed from the heated exchange of last night. They’d gone to bed angry, sleeping apart, which had never happened before. The distance between them as far as Caprica from Tauron.

“Is there enough coffee for me?” Sam asked as if blinded from the sunlight invading the window.

“Sure,” Larry said, mumbling at the newspaper. The sound of a thump caught his attention. He looked. Larry’s heartbeat began racing. A chill settled over his body, stalling the motion of Larry reaching for his coffee cup.

His hand dropped, landing on the side of the knife sheathed in its leather pouch. Larry jerked his hand back burnt by the appearance of the knife on the table. It captivated Larry as it repulsed him with its horror. How many people had died by this cold beauty. Sharp enough to slice through soft, vulnerable skin. Amanda Graystone’s chin held tightly in his husband’s grasp. The knife splayed across her pale throat, thrusted up in sacrifice to the gods.

“I’m going to visit Saul for a couple days,” Larry said, jumping up from his chair. He’d lost his appetite for breakfast. There was nothing more he could do to convince Sam not to assassinate Amanda Graystone. And there was the promise, a broken one, which spoke volumes without verbalizing the words. A promise made when they’d married.

Larry stiffened at the crash of a cup or glass, he didn’t know which one. He let his eyes lifted up to see Sam. Seeing the fragmented pieces scattered on the countertop, Larry opened his mouth to offer cleanup. But it was the look on Sam’s face that halted Larry from speaking.

“You’re leaving me,” Sam stated. Eyes frigid, piercing Larry with the depth of their lack of emotion.

What? “No.” And then maybe, Larry lied to himself.

“Don’t let this be the thing that divide us, Larry.”

Stunned, Larry watched the departing back of his husband.

In the years they’d been together, not once had Sam turned those eyes on him. He’d heard rumors about Sam. Cold, methodical, got the job done, a devoted son to the Ha’La’tha. It was a side of Sam rarely crossed the door of their home. But now, Larry shook his head plopping back down in the kitchen chair. The irony of it, it wasn’t even the Ha’La’tha causing the problem. The full blame for the catastrophe laid squarely on the shoulders of Joseph Adama.

~~~

They entered Caprica City’s air space twenty minutes later.

Larry convinced Saul to go home, he would be fine, and he would call him later. Told him not to worry.

“If Sam tries to harm you…”

“He isn’t like that. I know you don’t like him. Saul, trust me, alright,” Larry said in frustration, gripping Saul by his large shoulders.

Saul rubbed fingers across his brows. The worries were there. Larry wished he could ease his brother’s concerns. “You’re all the family I have now. If you need me, call me,” Saul said, unwilling to leave.

“You know I will.”

~~~

The old elevator came to a halt. Larry pushed the grated door opened with a vengeance. Glad he was alone, he started pacing the small space.

Instinct told Larry to stop by Joseph’s apartment before going home. Sam still ignored his phone calls. The worry was making him lose his mind.

First he rang the doorbell. Gave up the minute his finger lifted off the button. He began banging on the door, hard enough the shock of the impact shot down to his elbow.

“Larry. What the frak?”

“Where is he?” Larry asked, rushing passed Joseph, who almost fell against the wall behind him.

“He’s in the dining area. What’s the matter?”

Larry glared back at Joseph. How about you ordering a hit on an innocent woman, he wanted to yell. Forget it. He needed to see Sam now. He ran to the dining area, straight into a man relaxing in a chair drinking a beer. Calm just as Larry was a jumble of nerves.

“Did you do it?”

“Did you leave me for greener pastures?”

“Answer my question. Joseph stopped you in time.” By now, Larry practically stood on top of Sam. Looking down at his face, Larry demanded truth to his questions.

Sam sipped from the beer can. He bent his head to the side so he could look around Larry. “Yoseef. On our ceremony day, I told you I was marrying a Tauron, right. You two could be brothers.” Sam raised his beer can in a salute.

Heat flooded Larry’s face. It took his will and a little bit of fear not to punch Sam in the nose. “Funny. Ha ha. See me laughing.”

Sam turned his head up at Larry. His legs stretched out which made his body slump further in the chair. Unlike earlier, the expression on his face cool, focused, uncaring. Was it a warning to tread carefully? Larry had no words, which was unusual. He normally had plenty to say. They both stared at each other.

In the low glow coming from light, Larry thought Sam was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Square jaw, heart shaped lips, blue eyes that could go dark in passion, icy with anger. Larry was in love. He was doomed.

“Stop messing around. Tell him, Sam,” Joseph said.

Sam sat up straighter. Leaning on the dining table, he put down the beer can. His head tilted toward Larry, his mannerism, cunning.

“Sam,” Larry said, begging.

“She’s okay. But I did scare her a little.”

Everything in Larry, the worry, the fear, the tension evaporated leaving him drained. He flopped down onto his husband’s lap, didn’t care how he landed or how hard, alternately wanted to kill him and kiss him. Arms tightened around Larry as he buried his face in Sam’s neck. Shuddering from the tremendous stress, he found himself breathing deeply, giving himself up to the relief flooding his entire body. In his ear, he heard. “It’s okay, baby.” And felt the hand stroking him, up and down his back.

“I’m sorry, Larry.” Joseph patted Larry on the back. “Sam, take your husband home.”

“Yes, Sam. Take me home.”

~~~

Larry turned off the lights in the bathroom, walked into the bedroom, and he smiled. Lying stretched out in their bed with an arm supporting his head, Sam, naked and beautiful, just waiting. The need was strong just to climb on top of Sam and stayed right there, and never move, like forever.

Larry glad making a decision was no longer paramount in his mind. What would he’d done, anyway, if Sam had carried out Joseph’s order. Could he cope with the knowledge? Would the quality of their marriage change? How long was Larry’s tolerance for the darkside of Sam. Larry felt he’d received a reprieve and gave himself a prize by climbing aboard, straddling himself on hips, feeling Sam’s cock thickening underneath him. He bent and kissed the tattoos spreading on Sam’s chest.

Sam groaned, pressing up into Larry’s body. He reached out with a hand. Larry obliged him by leaning over and letting his head drop low. So good to have those fingers stroking through his hair. Of course, Sam knew all of Larry’s erotic points, what would make him hard and hot. “Talk?” Sam said.

Larry peeped up at Sam’s face and shook his head. “No.” He moaned at the sensations as Sam continued the massage. “Keep doing that.”

Sam chuckled, causing Larry to bounce a little. “My husband does not want to talk.”

Larry came out of his haze long enough to think how odd it was that Sam wanted to talk. He pushed the thought away and let his body flop down full force on Sam. Larry kissed his mouth. “I want something else,” he said.

“Really.” Sam rubbed his shoulders, down the sides of his chest.

“Frak me.” A pool of heat rushed down to his groin. Growing hard and hot, Larry desperately wanted his husband.

They rolled on the bed with arms wrapped around each other. Sam stretched out covering Larry’s body. So, so good, Larry thought, as he cradled Sam between his legs. He opened up wider, and brought his legs up to wrap around his husband’s hips. Kissed all the bare skin he could within reach, as Sam set about rocking into him.

“I miss you, baby,” Sam said. This was his Sam, the one that walked through door leaving behind the other, the enforcer. The one who wasn’t afraid of showing his feelings. The one who fixed meals and helped cleaned the house.

“I missed you, too,” Larry said, reigning control over his body, forcing himself not to let go until he had Sam where he belonged.

It was a homecoming. It was powerful. It was a – I am never going to leave you again. That was how Larry felt feeling the powerful body thrusting inside of him. He held on, tightening muscles as Sam gasped, growled, and rocked in, rocked out. The motion stripping Larry down to his essence, to who he was with Sam. Forget Ha’La’tha, the Graystones, the sometimes scary life they led. Forget that Larry had ran away from Sam.

Overwhelmed by the closeness, precious because of their recent separation, when they’d denied themselves the pleasure of each other while they tried to establish some point.

“Don’t.”

Larry’s eyes flew open. “What?” And moaned for Sam grazed against the spot that sent shivers up his spine.

“Don’t leave me again.” The pain on Sam’s face made Larry slid a hand down the side of his face. He pulled up holding Sam as closed as he could in the position they were in.

“I won’t,” he said and didn’t know the truth of his word.

Sam bent down capturing his mouth, taking him. Larry losing himself in the taste, the smell, the sweaty skin sliding against his. Fingers gripped him on his hips. Sam rose up perched on a tightrope. He said, “Come.”

At the command, a floodgate open.

~~~

Larry awoke to a restless body stirring beside him. “Sam?” he said, rising up onto elbows, fingers rubbing sleep from the eyes.

“Hey.” Sam smiled down on him.

“You can’t sleep?” Larry twisted his body and flopped his head on Sam’s bare lap, close enough to kiss the stomach near his mouth. Larry did just that.

Muscles tightened over Larry’s face as Sam leaned over to grab a cigarette from the night table. He lit up and blew out. Smoke began curling through the air. Larry swatted at the smoke, playing a game of how many smoke curls he could disrupt. Sam just shook his head at Larry’s silliness. Yeah, they were back to normal. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“For what?” Larry said, staring up at Sam, confused. After all they’ve gone through, he didn’t figure they had energy for more debates. In fact, Larry would rather forget about the last one and move on. Joseph and Willie needed them, they needed a family united to get them through the unbearable grief.

But Larry took note of Sam’s apology. Sam didn’t do apology. Not verbally, anyway. He brought home gifts, he cooked dinner, he cleaned house, and he was extra nice to Larry. That how Sam did apologies and Larry had no problem taking advantage of all the goodness. So, yes, Sam had Larry confused with the change in his MO.

“I broke a promise.”

Huh. What promise? Then he remembered. “Oh,” Larry said, and moved off Sam to lay on the bed. He knew now what this was about.

“You know you can be a pain in the ass.”

The comment made Larry smiled.

“Sure, I knew Joseph couldn’t go through with it. I was testing him, wanted to see how far he would go.”

Oh, no. “Try again, Sam. Because that isn’t working well.”

The frown on Sam’s face almost made Larry laugh.

“Frak. So, okay, I wanted to hurt the Graystones for what they did to our family. The more you argued against it, the angrier I became. I couldn’t get you to see my way. Gods. I never meant to bring the knife into the kitchen.”

“You sure about that, Sam?”

“I was angry. At Joseph for putting me in the position, knowing well he was going to change his mind. At you for riding my back.”

Larry decided he needed to jump Sam. He sprung up and straddled Sam’s lap, closed the distance between them. “You wanted to take back the control.” Larry said and kissed Sam so hard he felt Sam’s teeth pressing down on his lips.

“Yes. But I don’t want to lose you,” Sam admitted, breathing the words over Larry’s skin.

Because it hurt having Sam break a promise he’d made at their wedding ceremony. A condition of marriage to keep his outside life as far away from their home life as possible. No tools of the trade taking up obvious resident in their home. And maybe Sam had wanted to control Larry, and Larry had wanted to limit his exposure to the Ha’La’tha and, perhaps they were fooling themselves.

Larry grabbed Sam’s face in his hands. Pushed their foreheads together. He said just inches away from Sam’s mouth, “Don’t do it again. I know who you are. I know who you can be. I would rather have my husband in our home than the enforcer of the Ha’La’tha.”

“I won’t,” and captured Larry’s mouth for another round of kissing.

The line was there, drawn in the sand. Larry knew the day would come when one of them might step over that line. The thought terrified him. He had so much to lose. But for now, his man loved him desperately. Larry hoped the love would be enough and hoped Sam would not be put in the position again that would threatened what they had together.

End.

04/05/2010

Catherine is playing hostess in a house of a friend instead of her home. Coffee is dripping in the carafe in the kitchen. Beer bottles are scattered on the coffee table. The bodies littering up the sofa and other seating arrangements in the living room are sprawled out in relaxation. Nick stares at Warrick, mouth dropping open, closing back up again when he remembers his mother has taught him better manners. The amusement factor is riding high, for Jim occasional snickering is heard throughout the room, his eyes darting over at Nick who seems unable to ask the burning question he desperately wants to ask.

“If I can find food other than stale blood and chocolate covered cockroaches in the refrigerator. Anybody wants me to make them something to eat?”

“Yuck,” Nick utters.

“I don’t think so, Catherine,” says Jim, snickering even louder.

“No thanks, Catherine,” Grissom says.

“I’m not hungry,” Warrick mutters.

“Okay, then. I’m getting a cup of coffee. Any takers?”

“I need something stronger.” Nick burns another hole in Warrick’s body.

Jim shakes his head and Grissom sighs. Nick will be jumping out of his skin soon or he’ll turn into a nervous twit. To put him out of his misery, Grissom leans over and gives Warrick a kiss on the mouth.

“That’s it. So unfair. I feel like I walked into OK Carrol earlier and now I’m seeing my own private version of Brokeback Mountain. Come on, guys. What gives?”

“You’re the investigator, Nick. What does the evidence tell you,” Jim says.

“I know what I see. I just don’t believe it.”

Warrick, who has been subdued up to now, laughs. He pushes his body up next to Grissom. Grabs Grissom around the shoulders and forces his head back to lie in his live and muscled arms. The kiss he lays on Grissom steams up the air. Makes Grissom groan like a teenager. Have Catherine Ooooing and Ahhhhhing. Jim is yelling, “Get a room, guys.”

Warrick sucks on Grissom’s tongue, then let loose, going deeper until Grissom thinks Warrick is going to crawl inside of him. He could feel his face flush to hot heat, a stirring of love, desire and great relief he arrived just in time. Warrick is alive.

The kiss ends in a loud smack. Warrick turns mischievous eyes onto Nick. “Believe it, Nicky. Your eyes are not failing you,” he says. Nick’s eyes are so big they are the size of quarters.

“When did you guys get together? Warrick, man. I mean, I never knew.”

“Well, Warrick isn’t exactly the poster child for gay pride.” Catherine sits down, her fingers gripping the bottom of a large coffee cup.

Nick’s face clear as the light comes on, “You knew?” he says, accusingly.

“Duh.”

“Hey, hey. I just found out,” Jim says. Nick shifts his accusation stare over at him.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

As all in the room know Jim and Grissom are best of friends, somehow this makes Nick smiles, probably has him feeling better that he isn’t exactly the last one to know. Nick relaxes against the seat, taking a sip of beer. A broad grin grows on his face.

Acceptance and Grissom thinks he and Warrick are lucky in so many ways. “We don’t advertise, Nick. It’s really no one’s business but I’m glad you and Jim know.” Grissom re-settles in his spot on the sofa as Warrick slides down to the floor straightening out legs. He lays his head in Grissom’s lap. Grissom unconsciously runs a hand through Warrick’s hair.

“You okay,” he asks his lover, looking down and adoring every single feature on his face, especially the very lovely and lively green eyes.

“Yeah. You gonna tell us about McKean?”

The End

Denial!fic Warrick is alive.

THAT WHICH LIES IN BETWEEN

Niciasus Multi-Fandom Fiction Site

The stories on this site contain mature content. They are written for mature adults who understand and appreciate the slash genre. Readers, eighteen years old and under, please do not access this site. Be responsible for your reading habits and go to fiction (or non-fiction) websites suitable for your age group.

WARNING: Some stories are Real Person Slash listed under the category: RPS. These are fictional stories made up strictly from the imagination. I have absolutely no knowledge of the people portrayed in these stories, of their personalities except for what is exhibited in the media. If this type of story bothers you, do not read.

Disclaimer: Across the board for all media unless otherwise specified. The characters in these stories belong to the original author/writer/media owner. No infringement intended. My stories are for purely entertainment purposes.

Summary: Sara goes back to Las Vegas to commiserate on the death of Warrick Brown.  Story takes place during “For Warrick” episode.  Warning: none really because we all know this was Warrick Brown last episode.

She couldn’t say she expected ever to go back to Las Vegas, especially to the lab.  Then she heard the news from Catherine who’d called and was greatly bothered by not hearing from the one person who she would’ve expected to call, to say the least, the news left her trembling with shock.

It took her all of five minutes to convince herself she must go.  Another five minutes to pick up the phone and schedule a flight to Vegas.  By mid-morning, she had half of her clothes packed in two large luggages.  Unwilling to think why she would need so much when her trip wasn’t anything about going home, but more about a dreadful visit she would rather not take.

The shock still left her numbed, almost senseless.  If surrounded by friends and family, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them what this meant to her.  So how very wrong it was.  She did have the presence of mind to call her job for an emergency leave.

Mentioned the word death and that grabbed her supervisor’s undivided attention.  She explained the reason for the emergency leave and gave him a quick update on her five open cases.  Word had gotten around the new lab that she was anal and a workaholic.  Her work habits stirred up a bone of contention among the other forensic scientists because the supervisor assigned her cases of magnitude.  She laughed when she heard them called her the newbie.

“Give my condolences to Gil Grissom,” her supervisor said.

Bunched shoulders relaxed in relief.  It helped that he’d known Grissom for some years now, Grissom being famous among the top elite forensic scientists.  Two months into her 90-day probation, and already her life disrupted by the past.  She didn’t care how long her new boss had known her former boss and lover.  All she knew permission or not, she was on the next flight to Vegas.

On the plane, grief didn’t deny her trained mind to observe her surrounding.  A young lady sat next to her.  Pale skin, dark hair, fae-like face,  simply beautiful, and full of youth and energy.  The girl wanted to talk.  She wanted to tell her to shut up.  She grunted a reply or two and then turned away to stare at nothing in particular.  The girl caught on and dug out an iPod from the backpack in her lap.   She sort of wanted to apologize to the girl, acknowledging her own proclivity for rudeness.  People had said that about her, sarcastic and cold, and their opinions confused her.  But today on this flight, she just didn’t have the energy to care.

She practiced saying words of comfort inside her head and on paper.  Sometimes glanced out the small rounded window.  Wisplike clouds floated through the clear blue sky, a sad reminder of why she was in flight.  His lightness to his darkness, his tendency to laughter to his tendency to brood, his humor to his serious.  The light was gone.  Snuffed out by a horrifying act of murder.  Something that touched them every single day.

Grissom, will he survive without the light of his life?  Will Warrick end up there with the angels?  She sure hoped so.  He deserved so much more.

Her feelings toward him hadn’t always been favorable.  At first glance she despised him.  Thought he was a criminal hiding behind a badge and the respectable position as a scientist.  Who he appeared and what he did for living didn’t gel well for her.  So she did something out of the ordinary and jumped to a bad conclusion.  And learned a powerful lesson, a picture wasn’t necessarily worth the stroke of the paint.

Life hadn’t been easy for Warrick just as it hadn’t been easy for Catherine or for herself.  She had the misfortune of meeting Warrick at one of his low points, when he’d been struggling to gain acceptance at the lab and fighting a gambling habit.  Abused by a judge because his superior had refused to play fair.

Grissom had shown her the difference.  Trusted her ability to analyze details objectively, to rise above her own emotional shortcomings.

Never did she ask for this.  Not this way.  Even now as the plane jetted her across the sky, there was a spot of hope that shouldn’t be borne.  Do not think.  The time was not now.

Her mind played tricks on her.  She tried letting the exhaustion force her eyes to close, but her mind alive and disinclined to obey her.  She could not sleep.  She fidgeted in her seat as she tried her best to think about the most important case that required quick analysis.  A child found murdered in a back alley.  Her mind failed her and it was to either think about him or think about the other.

Struck down in the prime of his life.  So much love to give.  The fatherless boys he’d worked with lost a champion to their cause.  Wished she had told him how she admired his energy and his ability to give when he himself never had a father to hold him, guide him, to be the role model most young boys like him yearned for.

She appreciated his protection.  It came a time she had begun to trust Warrick with her life.  He once saved her from shattering into tiny bits of skin and bone because she had been stubborn as hell investigating a crime scene.  Being tenacious and oblivious were not good qualities to have when a rigged bomb hang overhead in a doorframe.  “Sara,” she remembered him saying.  Just how he sounded out the syllables in her name in a certain tone spoke volumes to her.  Be careful, Sara.  You’re being reckless.  She would become alert, as she trusted that deep, calming voice.  As for his physical presence, it was nothing to joke about.  She understood the attraction even though her heart belonged to Grissom.

He had a whole lot of love to give and he never quite gave it to the right person.  The children felt it.  The babies adored him.  Some adult associates, fools like she had been when she didn’t know the arrogance, the cockiness, the tough guy attitude was a facade for a big, old softy underneath who wanted to be respected and loved.

But Grissom knew.  He knew Warrick well in every sense of the word.

The thought of Grissom made her want to hang her head and cover her eyes.  She can’t do this.  She was going to Vegas for a purpose.  Her needs, her wants, her quiet persistence treading on the obstacles that got in the way.  She had left, so why did she feel partly the blame.  No, she thought fiercely as the corner of her eyes filled with moisture.  Didn’t she have a responsibility to grab some happiness?  Maybe he should have thought the same when he married Tina.

“You know why, Sara.  We can’t keep twisting him up.  You and me, he doesn’t know how to handle us.  You can see it in his eyes.  We’re wearing him down.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she had said, lying to him and to herself.

“We’re friends.  I’m amazed.  I get that.  I’ve known how you felt about Grissom from the first time I met you.”

“Are you saying you don’t love your wife?”

“I love Tina.  This isn’t about her,” he said.

Warrick was lying.  She could see it in his eyes what it cost him.  The price he’d been paying.  Grissom was not an easy person to love.  “So the story is true.  About Nick almost dying and you seeing the light,” she smiled, trying to lighten up a tense discussion.

He smiled a very tired smile.  “Something like that.  Life is too short to complain about what could happen and wishing it would happen, you know.”

So Warrick opted out what felt like years of contest between them, of fighting for Grissom’s undivided affection.  He paved the way for her without ever saying, “Sara, I bequeath to you a chance of a lifetime.”  She knew his sacrifice broke him down and the lost contributed to a bad marriage.  She knew, despite his efforts to make their relationship work, Grissom hid his sadness at Warrick’s marriage to Tina.  Something was missing from his life and it was not her.  It was Warrick, who worked within reach but Grissom would never touch him again.  He didn’t have the right.  He lost some of the light.

The moment he saw her waiting at the door, he quickens his steps to the office.  His strides brought him straight into her arms.  She held him, feeling the grief he tried to hide but she knew him like no other except the man resting at the county morgue.

“Grissom.  I…,” the words of sorrow balled up in her throat.

“Sara.  I’m glad you’re here,” he said and she felt his heartfelt sincerity by the tightening of the arms holding her.

“I have something to show you.”

“Not now, Sara.”

“You must,” and she gently pulled Grissom into the office, closing the door behind her.

He gasped at learning Warrick was a father.  He stared blankly at the monitor, captivated by Warrick’s words of love and admiration.  Warrick didn’t name the person he spoke about to the Psychologist.  It wasn’t necessary.

“He loved you, Grissom,” she said.

“I know.  I loved him, too,” he said so softly she almost missed hearing the words.

To others his statement would be interpreted as love for a longstanding colleague fallen in the line of duty.  To her the acknowledgment would be treasured, as his way of telling her there was much more between Warrick and Grissom than a working relationship.  Even though she doubted Grissom knew that she knew.  The point, he said the words out loud.  She wished he’d said them as he held Warrick dying in his arms.  Do you hear, Warrick.

“He has a son.”  The wonderment overshadowing the grief.  Grissom reached out and touched Warrick’s face through the monitor.

“Perhaps you could introduce yourself.”

He looked at her and made a grab for her hand.  They turned toward the monitor to see and to hear more of  Warrick’s last words to them.  “I think that can be arranged,” Grissom said.  He squeezed her hand and drew her closer to his side.

She may not be his shining bright light.  She may still have issues on her relationship with Grissom.  Right now, she felt keenly the words Warrick hadn’t said but the meaning of his compassion clear.  “I bequeath to you, Grissom.”

End

Rating:  NC-17

Summary:  A first time story with Warrick and Nick.  Sets shortly after Grissom loses half his team by Conrad Ecklie’s maneuverings.

The overarching glow holds back the edging silhouettes in hidden corners. Warrick lies face up flat on the bed; arm resting over the forehead and legs crossing at the ankles.

Nick has this view: walnut-colored, thick hair; elongated, tight torso; strong and muscular flanks covered by the most beautiful brown-sugared skin. It is the eyes that have always delighted Nick, but right now, they are closed off to him.

Nick wants to mess with Warrick’s apparent coolness. “Hey there, Brown Sugar,” he wants to say, but Nick isn’t comfortable. Not yet. This is raw, too discomfiting.

Just like this is his first climb onto Warrick’s bed to lie down next to him. Nick plants his butt on the pillow and leans on the wall chilled by the air conditioning running on high. Green, silky material captures his eyes as Nick pretends he can’t be looking at brown nipples and he can’t be wondering, what is hiding beneath that fancy underwear.

The moist skin around his navel draws Nick’s attention away from the stretched out body to his stomach. He scratches it while suppressing a whine.

Then Nick owns up to it. “Warrick?” Nick lets streams of air go in and out of his nostrils. Not to mention, a hand is clutching at the sheet. His stomach is twitching with fluttering butterflies.

“Yeah?” Warrick rolls his long and limber body on its side, facing Nick. An arm pillows his head. Fingertips work their way under Nick’s thigh. Nick could move his leg but that would seem ridiculous.

“I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Really. I can sleep for a whole month straight if I didn’t have to get up and take a piss.”

“Man, that is TMI,” Nick says, chuckling. “We can’t, anyway. Gotta work.”

“Don’t I know it. If jackass Ecklie adds one more file to our caseload, I may do Griss a favor and off him myself.”

“Whoa, dawg. Easy.” Nick bends over laughing. It’s the tiebreaker that kills the growing awkwardness. Warrick can get so melodramatic at times.

“There you are. That’s my Nicky with the hundred dollar smile.”

The words are innocent enough but they disrupt Nick’s false tranquil, make him remember why they are three-quarter naked on the bed. He slams close his mouth pinching tongue tip with teeth. Ouch. That hurts.

“Nicky.” Warrick rolls up onto his knees and lays a hand on Nick’s leg, grasping with unintended force. “You’re trembling.”

Take a deep breath. “Warrick, you do know you’re my first.” Hallelujah. He admits the truth and he won’t be surprised if Warrick kicks him out of his bed.

“Who is Mr. Clueless? He, who had to be brought to heel by the act of Grissom. I would’ve never guessed, Nick.”

“Man, I’m serious. I even purchased books,” Nick mutters.

“What books?” Confusion causes ripples in Warrick’s forehead.

“You know.” Cough. “Books about men.” Fire licks at Nick’s neck, flushing right through skin. God, he wants to bury his head under the shower from where he just came from. Was it only like fifteen minutes ago? Let’s rewound, skip the embarrassing parts and start over again.

“When?”

“When what?” Is Warrick even listening. Shouldn’t Warrick heckle him for his stupidity.

“The books, Nick. When did you buy them?”

“Five months ago.”

“Wow.” Warrick drops back on his haunch. “You’re telling me… .” The frown grows to tiding waves. Nick gets the impression that he’s said something terrible.

“You had me chasing you and I thought I had no chance.” Warrick lets out a deep exasperating breath. Then he grins. “You actually bought books about man-on-man love? Now why that doesn’t surprise me?”

“Rick, come on. Help me here.” The flush makes his whole face hot enough to cook eggs.

“All right. You do know experience is a better teacher.”

Nick watches as Warrick knees his way over to his side. An arm goes around his shoulder, pulling him against Warrick’s side. Nick allows himself the touch of comfort. “I told you we don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for,” Warrick says in a voice soothing a skittish mare. “We both needed sleep and I want you here with me.”

Warrick is making Nick feel all kinds of good and is making him feel the bad, as if he’s this wet behind-the-ear baseball player who has to be taught rules before he could play the game. As any student, he has questions. “I saw some interesting pictures. Rick, have you ever-?”

Although he was shocked at the time of discovery, Warrick bisexuality isn’t news to him. He discovered the secret at the oddest place – the movies. Warrick was checking out this man and Nick was observing Warrick when he saw his eyes go for this man’s buttocks. When he think on that time a year ago, the ripple effect over time has been interesting. His vanilla concept of gay men turnover on its proverbial ass. But the one thing they’ve never discussed while they continued on with their friendship was the details of Warrick’s intimate life. Nick now thinks Warrick did it for his protection.

“Do you mean have I gone all the way?” Warrick asks in a slick voice. He slides his feet to bring his knees up to his chest. Nick does the same.

“Yeah.”

The answer is delayed; Warrick fingers are creeping along his leg leaving chills and warmth, causing the images in Nick’s head to come alive. Erotic, imaginative, painful looking even, and he’s fantasized on Warrick in similar positions. Has Warrick really done the things suggested by those pictures in the book? Somehow, Nick couldn’t make himself believe it.

“Yes.”

That knocks Nick back into reality. All Nick could say in a whimper, “You.”

“Yep me,” Warrick gives him a soft smile. “I enjoy giving pleasure and receiving it. Penetration isn’t for everyone but done in the hands of the right person, it could be beautiful.”

“But does it hurt?” Nick blurts out the question.

“Honestly, a little. It depends on the mood. How relax you are. How the other person makes you feel. This calls for expert maneuvering.” Then Warrick scrambles over Nick’s body, kneeling between his legs.

“Um, Rick.” A hand keeps Nick from moving.

“Remember what I said.” Warrick lays a kiss on Nick, all his worries seem to fade into something hot and steam worthy.

“I’m told I’m very good at this. Do you mind?” Warrick asks, stroking over Nick’s chest and sides.

The “No” comes out from a position in the cloud. Nick wants more, tries to get Warrick mouth back on his.

But he makes short work of freeing Nick of his boxers. A trail of kisses goes down his chest. Nick slips fingers in Warrick’s hair and pushes his body against that sweet mouth. Aw, man. Having Warrick sucking on his breast sends a sliver of pleasure down the spine of his back to places below. Knees are bent up. Feet flat on the bed, Warrick has Nick spread open, Nick watches through a sense of skepticism, and turn-on as Warrick gets comfortable down below.

“No, Rick.” Nick attempts to pull Warrick away without hurting him.

Warrick grips his wrist to stop him and smiles up at Nick with dark and intent eyes.

Oh my… . He’s going to scream – yes, no, yes, no. Hell yes, yes, yes. His own gaze glued on the head bobbing up and down because he is so damn aroused at what he’s seeing and feeling and he is-. This is so unfuckingbelievable.

This is one of the pictures in the book. And this is Warrick. So in control, in control of Nick in fact. Nick is doing it, following where Warrick is leading him, wanting that gorgeous and considerate mouth staying with him and on him. Women have done well by Nick but never could they compete with Warrick, this virile, masculine man who got Nick by the clutches of his expertise.

And it takes one more slick lick and a hand tightening on the balls and Nick begins to give way to the talent of his lover. “Warrick,” he yells, not sure that it is okay.

Warrick takes the decision out of his hand. He has a tight hold on Nick and sucks him dry of his semen, of his brains, of his heart, of – well – just about everything. “Fucking fantastic,” says the once mild-manner Nick and he’s sinking down to the bed falling on his back and inhaling air.

Warrick climbs on and over Nick, and takes him by the mouth and pushes inside. Nick tastes Warrick. Is tasting his own special flavor on Warrick’s tongue. The scent of sex pervades the air. To have Warrick on his body is delicious.

But, what is he doing? When did he get naked? There’s a slick hardness brushing up on his lower stomach. Warrick is rocking back and forth, pressing Nick into the mattress. Nick is astonished at another man’s dick sliding over his own.

Nick is crazy about this man. Fought to accept that Warrick means too much to him and if he wants Warrick in his life and Warrick just gives so much of himself to Nick. Even though the unknown is unclear, Nick tests the water and pushes up meeting Warrick thrusting hips. And for his effort he’s told that he’s beautiful.

God.

They say white boys can’t dance too well especially southern boys. Nick discovers all the Fox trot lessons in the world could never match the rhythm and blues of a Las Vegas former Hip Hop master DJ with brains of a scientist.

Nick is twisting and rolling under sweaty skin, kissing hair stubbles on the chin, licking all the skin his tongue could reach, and staring up in amazement at darken, green eyes. Not once does the fear zone come to haunt him. In contrary he’s seeking the spearhead of a raging missile. The sender keeps that head well in range and aims it for the sweaty pale skin on the stomach. Warrick tense and let it go. Nick holds and pats and revels at Warrick’s final lost to completion, in Nick’s arms.

“Jesus,” Nick says, stroking a back.

“No blasphemy in my bed.” Warrick gathers up Nick, rolling them on their sides, facing each other.

They are gazing into each other eyes. Smug green eyes shine at Nick, and Nick knows, Warrick will be more than the sum of his over-inflated ego. “I guess that wasn’t too bad.”

Ha! The shock on Warrick’s face is too precious. “Not too bad. I’ll show-.”

Nick jumps right in close into Warrick’s space and hugs him tight. “You know you were great. It was fantastic.” Nick is one happy puppy.

“Are you okay, really?”

“Rick. I’m better than good. I feel great.”

Nick palms Warrick head in his hands and pushes it on his shoulder. Warrick buries his nose in Nick’s neck. They share quiet time in mind and in bodies. “Can you sleep now?” Warrick asks.

“Yeah, I can.” He could stay in this one spot forever.

“Goodnight, Nicky.” Warrick rises up and gives Nick a quick kiss.

“Night, Rick,” Nick says, squeezing arms and not letting Warrick go. Warrick slowly closes his eyes.

He daydreams of his book, his favorite book, and how he imagines himself in a certain position. Sure, there will be still some fear. But if tonight is an example, he’s game for going on a new journey. But mostly he’s looking forward to loving Warrick.

The End

Rating: PG
Word Count: 502

Summary: Morning before Ennis and Jack go hunting for Elk.

Come Morning

Come morning, Ennis knew something had to be done about the eating situation.  Wasn’t going to let Jack killed one of those sheep.  Ain’t right, them belonging to Aguirre.   But Jack had a point, sick of beans and Ennis hated soup and that fucking bear had scared away all of their food.

“Get up.” Ennis shook Jack awake.  He shoulda been up there with those sheep. Too damn late traveling up the slope of the mountains.  Jack had some concern for the knot he received from falling off the horse.  Like he was some kid to be taken care of and it gave Ennis some pleasure even though he keep the thank you to himself.

“Whaaa?”  Jack mumbled.  They’d slept inside the tent under their own steam and blanket, spread apart, Ennis making sure a respectable distance was maintained.

“We got work to do before you got back up there to them sheep.”  Ennis crawled out the opening of the tent.  Stretched out the kinks in his muscles.  Walked a few paces from the tent and with him facing the edge of the camp, he opened his pants and made his morning piss.

How you feel, Ennis?” he heard Jack’s catching voice.

“Uh. I is okay, I guess,” he said but that wasn’t the truth.  He was hungry and still mad as shit at the bear and the stupid horses.  The side of his face throbbed, the pain he ignored.  He didn’t have time pampering himself over some nocken received in panic.  Wasn’t in him to cater to hurts and pain like someone he knew.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack’s back, heard the zipper going zippery down, and the relief in Jack’s voice.  Ennis made sure his eyes faced forward, avoiding another glance over at Jack.  Ideas about Jack, strange thoughts floated in his head.  Ennis fought the thoughts, felt them as unnatural as the winds stopped blowing across the plains.

“You about ready to fix breakfast?”

“Naw.  Grab your thirty-thirty and let’s go.”

For once he led the way.  He’d been eating Jack’s dirt since the time they met and now it was Jack’s turn to follow.  They rode slowly through the crevices and through the bushes, occasionally came out into the plains and back again among trees, sagebrush, the smell of pure living with hardly any humans around to destroy the beauty of the land.  Ennis loved the mountains, felt peace here.  What surprised him was how much he enjoyed the company of one talking, complaining cowboy.  He twisted his lips thinking on the brightness of the eyes as the man spoke.

“Ennis, where we goin’?”

“Hunting,” Ennis responded and turned his head to Jack as the horse he rode picked its way down the narrow trail.

“Heehawww!”

Ennis shrugged.  That Jack Twist was one fucked up cowboy.  But he smiled at the happy sound he heard coming from behind him.  He just didn’t let Jack know he was smiling.  He too, was sick of beans.

“End”

Disclaimer: All characters except for the bull belong to Annie Proulx. The story was written purely for entertainment purposes because I love Ennis and Jack.

Ennis heard the door closed behind him and heard the door closed inside of him. Twenty years gone and what he had left of that life with Jack, he carried close to his chest, wrapped in a brown paper bag in his arm.

Ennis stumbled on a rock in the pathway on his way to his truck. The winds swirled around him; flying across the plains, bending the tips of dried brown grass and weeds in its wake. It ain’t right, he thought, slumping and frowning. Jack should rest in peace, be buried where he wanted to be. It ain’t right for that man to deny Jack his rightful burial place.

Ennis gazed out all around him through stinging tears, at the ranch at Lightnin Flat. Really saw. For the first nineteen years of Jack’s life, this was his home. Surrounded by miles and miles of land with nothing on it but stark, vacant ranches. In the middle of the desolation was this one place. Jack’s home, struggling to retain the past of a working ranch that no longer had the prospect of the past. It sat as lonely as a bear with no cub. It was the knowing that killed Ennis, though. Jack would never walk this land again.

He drove down the road he figured Jack had taken a hundred times, escaping from the bleak existence and yet, returning time and again, seeing to his ma, trying to make peace with his daddy, and success on that concern failed miserably. Why didn’t you tell me, rodeo? Ennis’s mind tricking him up when he didn’t a want to think on it. A sweet life, Ennis. Us having our own calf and cow operation. Jack had been some dreamer.

Almost sixteen years that man had been asking Ennis. He’d been too stubborn to listen, too afraid because the world said people like him and Jack could never live together like normal folks. The tire irons would get them for sure. Then one day time had slipped up on Ennis, passing through years of seasonal changes, he realized Jack had stopped asking him.

“You didn’t tell me everything.” Ennis cried out to the inside of his truck. And maybe he did, Ennis remembering when he’d seen Jack last. ‘Guess I’ll head on up to Lightnin Flat. See the folks for a day or two.’ Jack had told Ennis. It was an invitation that wasn’t an invitation. Jack reshaping his words asking but not asking. Come with me. We could have some sweet life, together.

The stud duck had known. Had said back there as he sat at the kitchen table with a face made of stone until he spitted fire out at Ennis. ‘”I can’t get no help out here. Jack used a say, ‘Ennis del Mar,’ he used a say, ‘I’m goin a bring him up here one a these days and we’ll lick this damn ranch into shape.’ He had some half-baked idea the two a you was goin a move up here, build a log cabin and help me run this ranch and bring it up.”’

“Goddamn you, Jack Twist. Couldn a keep your mouth shut.” Ennis heart filled up with cold and he thought he’d shatter from the longing of what he’d lost, on what could’ve been if he’d given into chance, a life with Jack on Lightnin Flat.

It was too much, thinking on never seeing those blue eyes laughing at him or feeling the peace enveloping him every time Jack touched him. Ennis slammed on the brakes, truck tires crunching over gravel in the road. He steered the truck to the side of the road, pulled on the brakes, opened the door and slid out, taking the shirts with him. Ennis found his way to the other side of the truck.

With tears leaking down his face, Ennis sank to the ground clutching the shirts to his chest. He ended up with knees, each pointing to the sides of his body, almost crossed legged. Ennis hutching over, head slouching down to the ground, holding on tight to the bloody fabric in his lap as though he could do what he couldn’t do when Jack was alive, protect him, protect them, those two shirts a symbol of what they were to each other.

Thunder broke through the sky and the winds picked up speed. Ennis had sense enough to lift up his head and foggy eyes saw cows standing against the backdrop of the mountains. They roamed the grass and nipped at it, the increasing spiral of winds a gnat against their bodies.

Out there from nowhere a black cow showed itself. It lumbered on, heading up through the grass to Ennis. Dust, dirt, gravel twisting in its path, like some mirage, as though it was normal, like it knew exactly what it was doing. Ennis unafraid, feeling too deeply, not caring about a thing. Strange, the cloud of dirt twisted over the cow’s head. Maybe it was his time to go. Can’t standing living, no how.

The cow turned out to be a bull and it came straight up to Ennis, not too close but close enough. With it huge majestic body, it slowly folded its legs under its body, the underside belly slid down to the ground. The bull looked straight into Ennis’s eyes.

“Ennis, you son-of-a-bitch, stopped that moping around,” it said.

Tears wind-dried on Ennis’s face. “Jack.” He whispered. He saw that the eyes on the bull were as blues as the clear skies, just like Jack’s.

“Yeah, it’s me. Come ta pay ya a visit.”

Ennis rocked back and forth, the shirts contorting in his fists. He’d heard grief could drive people to craziness, kill them even.

“See you found our shirts. I ain’t apologizing fer taking yours. Had t’have something of ya. Missed ya so damn much those early years.”

“Now you gone and left me, Jack.” The tears started back up again. “Didn’t give me no chance to protect ya. I know them tire irons kilt ya. I just know it.”

“Don’t matter now. What’s done is done. It’s you, cowboy. You hafta make your way in life. Be strong. Live. Don’t let my goin shrink you into nothin til I can’t recognize my own Ennis. Look around ya.”

He did. He saw death and he saw life. The mountains over the horizon stood strong and tall. “Ya shoulda told me. About Lightnin Flat.”

“I tried, cowboy. I surely did. But ya wouldn’t a listen. It ain’t too late to start afresh.” The bull pulled up its legs, one by one, stood like a rock against the striking winds. Its body swerved to the side. Ennis knew it was leaving.

“Don’t go.” Ennis cried out.

“M’time is up. Wanna say one last thing to ya. Those words we ain’t had the heart to say to each other. I love ya, Ennis. Love ya like I ain’t never love anyone else.”

Jack, the bull, gaited away from Ennis taking the dirt, dust, the wind blow with him. Walked on back to them cows still grazing on the grass.

Ennis screamed, didn’t bother on wondering whether the mirage was real or not. Didn’t matter. He said the words, the words he hadn’t realized were true until now. “I love ya, Jack Twist.”

“`

People said: you know that Ennis del Mar. He sure changed some.

The difference in him was miniscule; he talked even less, his face aged, the fine lines building up to scraggy. He held himself so tight he walked bowed down. The swooping Wyoming winds could blow him right over.

Those were the comments Alma Jr would heard on the streets of Riverton when the best time of the day were minding other people’s business. She knew the truth, though. Broke her heart hearing her father destroy the image she had of him. Once she became used to the idea her father had been in love with… Still, it was hard for her to say the words, so many pieces of his life had fallen in place.

She wondered at his opening up to her. She saw her father disappear little by little down to skin and bones, not that he’d much weight to begin with. She visited her father as often as she could despite being pregnant with her second child. Cooked his meals when she was able, cajoled him into eating, Alma Jr wrapped her father up with love, as much as he would allow.

The day came, though, when Ennis’s grief turned into strangeness. Sitting alone in that trailer with little warmth, Ennis said to Alma. “I gotta go.”

“Go where, daddy?”

“Away from here, darlin.” Ennis arms came around his chest and hugged himself, rocking back and forth in the chair.

“I don’t understand,” she said. The worry for her father had grown over the years. There were times she talked and he grunted in response as though the words had choked in his throat and he didn’t know how to get them out.

“I love you and Jenny. You have here your life. There’s a need inside of me I cain’t hardly explain. I just gotta leave here.”

“Daddy. You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” and Ennis reached out to his daughter. Alma went to her father and he grasped her hands between his calloused ones and squeezed. “All a goin to be fine.”

Ennis did disappear. His absence was like a slow drip from a melting ice block. It dripped and dripped and no one paid attention because they didn’t have a need for ice. But when they did, they’d notice the ice had gone to nothing.

People said: Have ya seen Ennis del Mar? No. I haven’t seen him in a month of a Sunday.

“`

Jack used to say no one could please his father. True enough. John Twist had been one embittered man. That embitterment came with his allotment in life and living on land that was beautiful and harsh at the same time.

His go at rodeoing had given him some degree of success. But when his wife had gotten pregnant, his days of rodeoing were over. “Can’t raise a child on the money made from riding bulls,” John told his wife. So, he’d settled for second best and had taken over the ranch that had had been in his wife’s family for generations. Even that went to shit as every thing else around Lightnin Flat went to shit.

He’d stayed on that land and was a husband to his wife and a father to his son, letting what was dished out to him sank deeper in the bones as the years went by. That son of his, he wasn’t what he’d expected, never could do anything right, sucked up the life from his wife, left him with his leave taking. Pansy assed.

Dinner eaten, John Twist stepped out to the porch of his home and set his gaze on the plains. A hot cup of coffee warmed his hands. He heard scratching noise and felt more than he saw the screen door swinging open behind him. The wife came out and stood next to her husband.

“You finished up in there?” John said conversationally and took a sip of coffee.

“All done,” she said, standing flushed against John’s side. That wife of his kept his home sparkling.

They stood quiet observing the scenery, their shoulders touching lightly. She said, “I never thought I woulda see the day.” Her eyes seemed to follow the same line of trail as John’s.

“Yep.” He replied with some satisfaction.

All around them, the ranch showed life. The broken down barn needing repairs for years gleamed in the fading light from its fairly new coat of white paint. The porch they were on had been extended and drawn around to one side of the house giving them another view of the land. Two part-time ranch hands were corralling cows in the far distance.

“He did well by us, John.” There was a catch in her voice and he put a hand on the tip of her thin shoulder blade and squeezed gently, before letting it dropped to his side.

“Sure enough.” Was all that John said. He knew full well what she was referring to. It was a hard thing to swallow knowing on some level he shoulda done right by his son. The other one didn’t hesitate to let him know his feelings on the matter. Let him know the moment he’d shown up and knocked him flat on his ass. John had thought for sure he would be eating a fist for supper.

“You got dem papers ready?” She asked.

“That lawyer man said they be done in a few days.”

“Think he’s goin t’give us trouble?”

“With that one, hard to tell. But I’ll make him see.”

How was the question. That boy ain’t no easy talker. Put them both in the same room and about twenty words spread between them. Just laid the cards on the table, he thought. Boy got some pride and a tough vein running up and down the thin back. Could get stiff as a board when shoved too hard.

After all those years, some memories would never fade like Ennis’s fist stopping short of connecting to his face. The other memory, sad feelings and the inability t’forgive. When his maker called his number, John had a lot of talking to do, more like begging. Wasn’t Jack’s fault he wasn’t the man he wanted in a son. Wasn’t Jack’s fault he had despised his own son. He didn’t want no kid. Didn’t like the attention the wife stored on the boy. Jack was weak and as his father it was his responsibility to show him differently and tried to teach him to be a man.

It took years working with Ennis to learn there were some things he shoulda let be, some things he shoulda understood.

“It’s only right we a pass our legacy on to him.”

“Don’t doubt that a bit,” he said.

“Thank you, John.” She leaned over and he felt her dried, withered lips on his cheeks. And that was one more thing different as their world had changed with his coming, the wife’s regards for him.

The silence between them was companionable.

The sky lit up in orange and purple rays as the sun set behind the mountains. Out there on the plains, they could see a man sitting on top of a horse. One of the ranch hands rode up and reined in his horse next to Ennis. They talked some. John couldn’t hear the conversation. He wasn’t too concern. Then the worker rode off leaving Ennis but he wasn’t alone.

It had appeared the same day Ennis drove up the one road to the ranch. Surprised, John never gave it a thought about the queer coming back to Lightnin’ Flat. Jack being dead goin on four years. John could barely tolerate the sight of Ennis and the thoughts that ran through his mind. Could never stand knowing about his son and his ways. But the beaten down man, skinnier than a fence pole, hair dirtier than mud, and his face, aged and etched in sour grapes, came to say his piece. Told John the reason why he was there. John had said, “Get the fuck off ma land, you god damn faggot.”

That was when he’d landed flat on the ground and for the first time in years, felt the throttle of fear. Ennis had said standing over him, “For Jack and for the disrespect you givin him, I ought to beat you seven feet deep in the dirt.” And when John could do nothing but gawk, Ennis pulled back, shaking his fist and said, “For Jack, he’s the reason I’m here.”

Ennis came and stayed, and with his staying, came the weirdness. The bull strutted up the road the same day and parked its big, hulking body on his land, permanently.

At first, John had given it no never mind, he had been too busy being damn angry at Ennis, who seemed to have taken a liking to the bull. But John felt a pull toward it. Felt the mixture of fear and the apprehension threading up and down his spine every time he got near it. Seemed like everywhere John went the bull would show up and stare at him. It never came too close and the need to get rid of it, strong.

One day he’d gone into the barn to stack hay. The two doors wide open, the bull had gaited on through as it pleased. Scared shitless, John ain’t ever seen a bull in his barn unless he’d coaxed one inside. He wanted to run, wanted to get out of its way but the bull had some idea of what it wanted and blocked his escape. It sat down on the barn floor, staring at John.

John looked straight into blue eyes. He gasped, grabbed at the spot of his thumping heart.

“Settle down, old man. Ain’t goin a hurt ya.”

“Jack?” John had whispered.

“It’s me. Done rose up in spirit, after all. I guess, momma’s Pentecost had a shine on me.”

“Can’t be. It ain’t real.”

“Your fault. You shoulda obliged me. I hafta thank ya.”

“What fer?” John slipped to the barn’s floor. He was sitting eye level with the bull, or rather Jack, or whatever the hell it was.

“If you had a buried me right like, I couldn’t be here with Ennis. Hafta make sure he lives on strong. Maybe one day he a find him somebody and be happy. But you, old man. I seen you with the shotgun. Knows what’cha thinking.”
John wildly shook his head in denial. Tears of stress and fear flinging off his face. “Now I know. Can’t do it.”

“I imagined you won’t. If I go, everything goes.”

John knew the truth when he heard it, thinking on how Ennis gradually changed from rundown to quiet happiness. “You came back for him, and for your ma.” He knew the answer before it was given. Made him feel something terrible.

“For you too, daddy. Always wanna make this ranch right, bring it back to the way it was. Couldn’t do it when I was Jack, no matter how hard I tried.”

John really cried, poured out his grief for the mean years, for the terrible way he’d treated his son, and still the boy had loved him. Wiping away snot and tears on the back of his sleeves, he asked, “Ya mind being buried here?”

“Naw. My Brokeback is right here.” The bull stood up slowly and glared at John with blue sparkling eyes. Then it turned around and went back out the way it came. Just like that, nothing more said, nothing asked.

John never mentioned his encounter with the bull to his wife. For days on end, she had asked him was something bothering him. He reassured her, told everything was fine. John kept an eye out for his wife, watched her closely whenever she got near the bull. Nothing happened. He thought maybe he was goin crazy.

Later that day after the incident in the barn, Ennis came by and gave him a strange look. He asked frowning at John. “You aw right?”

“I’m fine, Ennis.” Calling the boy by his given name for the first time.

Something had passed between John and Ennis, and John knew Ennis understood. He wasn’t the only one witnessing the weird anomaly.

John stopped calling Ennis names and never said another bad word to the man. The ranch continued to flourish and life went on.

“He’s coming in now,” his wife said. John had forgotten she was standing next to him.

“Yep.” He watched Ennis slowly making his way back to the ranch house. The bull ambling along beside him. John drained his cup of cooled coffee.

Tomorrow he was going to tell Ennis about the will, that at the time both he and his wife had passed on to the other side, the land would be his. For now, he gave a silent thanks to the man his son had loved, the man that had brought life back to them.

John straightened up over the porch’s railing, watching as Ennis and his bull came closer to home.

End

ETA: Just wanted to note there are a couple of passages quoted from Annie Proulx’s BBM story.

Disclaimer: I do not know Jake Gyllenhaal, Heath Ledger, or any of their friends, relatives, etc. You may find a detail or two sounding like facts, but listen up, this story is pure fabrication. All factual details are obliterated when read within the context of the story. I’m writing for pure entertainment and the source is my imagination.

Today, it’s move day. Jake is moving into my home. Nah, it’s our home now. It’s been coming for a long time. I knew back then Jake was dangerous to me, from the time we stayed up there in Calgary making a film that would change our lives.

I’m already on the stairs making the first gesture, humping up two rather large suitcases filled with clothes and whatever. One of the suitcases belongs to him.

There’s a thumping noise behind me and I hear a sudden shout out. “Move out of the way, old man.” I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Jake rushing up and he knocks me into the wall off to my right side, and then he squeezes his body between the railing and me, the one piece of luggage he carries bounce off my leg. Of course the luggage is his. God, he’s such a flake.

“I’m only two years older, goofball.”

He leans over a smirk on his face staring at me. “You’re just jealous. Not everyone can be young and handsome such as moi.”

His face is just this close to me. Temptation is futile (I read that in a script) and I couldn’t resist what’s in front of me, so I decided to take advantage of the situation. I lick his mouth. Not to be outdone, he smooches me right back, and then takes off, laughing evilly.

I watch him, filling up my eyes with the sight of a broad back and slim hips, rounding the curve of the stairs until he’s out of sight. Only then do I restart for my original destination before I was rudely interrupted by one lovely man. He doesn’t like being called lovely, says it sounds like I’m describing a girl. When I’m not in the mood and Jake picks on me, I use his Achilles’ heel: Have a nice day, lovely. What’s for dinner, lovely? A man has to have means for deflecting the jokester.

We’d been traveling all day to New York, after I spent a month in LA helping Jake pack up furniture and clothes, helping him with choices of what to take with him and what should be put into storage. Some items he gave away to his friends, Matt and Austin, a few others, and to his parents.

During the entire visit, I harassed Donna, my PA, at least twice a week for a progress report. I drove her crazy while I was in New York. “Go and pester Jake. I’ll have everything ready when you two come home,” she pleaded. I smile remembering her words. I like Donna and keep her on the payroll to handle my business even when I’m not filming. We’ve established an easy rapport and she ignores me when I get moody or offensive. She takes my shit in stride.

Now that we’re back in NY, she was probably home kicking up her heels and drinking a glass of wine to this monumental event. A bonus maybe in the offering if all goes well.

I look up and down the hallway and don’t see Jake, so I assume he has gone on to the master bedroom. Anticipation sends butterflies to my stomach thinking on Jake’s reaction at the surprise awaiting him there in the bedroom. Will he appreciate it? This question has been bothering me since we boarded the plane in LA. If it were my nature I’d bounce down the hallway in excitement but this describes Jake, not me. I’ve come to terms I will never be the exuberant type, or the nice person wearing rose-colored glasses like a certain person I know.

The door to the bedroom stands halfway opened. I lay my shoulder on it and push it, wide enough for my suitcases and me to go through the door. Darkness hits me. Not what I expected, just like the seed of annoyance growing in my chest at Jake’s apparent lack of consideration. He could’ve at least turned on the lights. Sometimes I think he takes practical jokes too far and as I’m making silent complaints inside my head, I brace myself for a body attack.

Nothing happens. I set the suitcases down and reach behind me to flip the switch for the lights. The lights reveal Jake is not within sight. “Where ever you are,” I say, “come out.” I peep inside the walk-in closets, back track across the bedroom to look in the master bathroom. I think I’m going to kill Jake our first night home.

Because now he has me searching the bedrooms and still Jake remains elusive. I walk down to the other end of the hall, getting peeved, and open up the door to the last room. Jake is there standing by the window, looking out.

“Did you get lost, luv?” I ask, thrusting my hands into my jeans’ pocket. I lean against the doorjamb, wondering why Jake is hanging out in this room.

“The refrigerator is fully stocked,” he says, glancing over at me.

“That’s good,” I tell him. “We won’t have to go out food shopping.” Smart girl, that Donna. I wasn’t looking forward to going to the supermarket. I could sleep for a week. I need routine. Haven’t felt normal for months now.

“The view is beautiful from here,” Jake says. He’s back to staring out the window. “How come I don’t remember seeing it?”

“Don’t know. Don‘t spend any time in this room.” I love the gardens. Cold or hot, I go out there and sit and think and let the peace there settle over me. It’s my private Eden away from a close city of people, bricks, cars, and noise, when the city gets too overwhelming.

“Why not?”

“I’ve everything I need in the other bedroom. There’s the Jacuzzi in the master bath. You do remember don’t you? The other room has more space and the view of the gardens is just as great.” I rub against the doorjamb to scratch the itch annoying my back. “Why the questions about bedrooms?”

“This is large enough.” Jake’s eyes are roaming over the room.

“True. Nothing like the cardboard box I used to sleep in at home,” I say, smiling.

“Australia?”

“That would be the place. What’s going on, G?” He seems change, his mood quiet and deliberate. I recognize the body language. Something is troubling him but I don’t have a clue what’s causing it.

“I want to move into this room.”

“Say what?”

“You heard me.” Now he moves away from the window, slowly making his way to the bed, and when he sits down, his hands clasp together between his legs.

I stay by the door, confused at the unexpected request. We’ve just arrived here, our first night together as a committed couple and he wants his own bedroom. What does this mean? Have I done something wrong? Damn.

I went to Jake and plop down on the bed next to him. “Why here?” I ask trying to keep my voice even tempered. “Because of the gardens?”

“Well now you know.”

“Jake…” I moan. “What the hell happen between the first and second floors? We were fine.”

“I saw this room. I like it. I want to move in it. The view is great, just like you said, man.”

Every word he utters sound fucking lame. “Okay. I get it. You want your own room.” I stand up, blood rushing to my head. This isn’t what I envisioned – Jake in one bedroom and me in another – as if he’s renting space from me. I pace the floor and then I realize I was pacing the floor. I bring my thumb to my mouth and begin biting the hangnail. That’s better, frustration taken out on a nail, the pain aids in keeping me levelheaded.

I stop pacing and place my body in front of Jake who’s looking down, hiding away from me. Is there something more interesting down there on the floor? You got some explaining to do I want to say.

He hasn’t looked at me since I came to the bedroom. With amazing clarity I talk to the top of his head. “It’s all right, G. I understand what you need. You’ve changed your mind and this is your way of telling me. Don’t drag it out. Get on with it and tell me straight up.” Then I move away. I want to hit something; yell at something; I want us to go back to LA and start over again.

“Heath?” I hear. “Sit the fuck down.”

I couldn’t obey fast enough. I rush over to his side, bumping knees sitting down, but I don’t touch him with my hands.

“This isn’t about you. Not really.” He’s twisting his hands, one over the other, into a tight ball.

“What is it? Can I help? Did someone threaten you?” I’m so relieved he asked me to come to him; I’m pulling at straws. He has been receiving threatening fan letters since we came out to the public.

“I should be over this by now. Water under the dam. I ran up the stairs. It all came rushing back at me, Heath. I walked down the same hallway with so much hope, willing to concede to your wishes, and there you were in bed with her.”

“Please…” My voice trails off. Oh fuck, not this. I don’t want to hear this, don’t want to listen. I thought we’ve gotten beyond my stupid-assed duplicity.

“No hear me out. It may seem childish, and yeah, I know I said I forgive you. This house was like my second home. I helped you move in, helped you decorate it. Even some of my stuff is still here. She left a part of herself in my place, and I fucking hate it. Do you hear me. I hate it.”

He speaks while the heel of his hand rubs over his eyes, pressuring down on them.

I reach out to move his hand away from his face. Let my fingers trail down to his neck, stroking the soft skin there. Despite what Jake has said, I did have something to do with this. Over a total stranger. I don’t even remember the woman’s name. She’s back to haunt us, to mess up the best relationship I will ever have.

My fault, I think, shaking my head. A quick lay to drown out my pity wasn’t worth it. I should’ve hunt him down, never let him leave NY after he walked out on me.

But you were a damn chook, too coward to admit you were afraid. Isn’t that the real reason why you moved clear across the country. Didn’t want anyone finding out you were in love with a man. Shit has a way of coming right back at you when you least expected it.

And there are parts of me I will never explain to Jake. They would hurt too badly.

We sit quietly each with our thoughts, my fingers still stroking Jake, keeping him close to me. I think I might have the solution to our dilemma and sleeping in separate bedrooms won’t solve the problem.

“I broke my promise to you,” I hear myself telling Jake. I can tell him this so he’ll know I do love him.

“What promise?” He hasn’t moved away from under my fingers but he hasn’t looked at me either. Jake can be quiet at the oddest times.

I absorb every single detail of his side profile, taking in the line of his mouth, lips, nose, and the thick eyebrows above the sad puppy dog eyes. A look I put on that face. Jake is intelligent and sensitive, gives himself over when I think he should be more reserve. He deserves better.

“I made this promise when we first got together. I would treat you better than Kiki and George. I would watch over you and make you happy. I fucked up bad, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way. Shit happens and we found ourselves on this other road, speeding to a place we don’t want to be in. The promises we make in sincerity broken like shattered glass. How can I expect more when nothing seems to work to my liking.” And his head drops further down slipping away from my hand.

What I said next is what I clearly think is best. “I’m sorry. Maybe we’re not ready to make the big move-in together. Maybe you need time alone to think. I can wait.” Will wait forever if necessary.

“Shit.” Jake is up off the bed. He grabs my hand and pulls me up to a standing position.

We skip out of that bedroom in a whirlwind. My hand is held in a tight grip, bordering on pain. Jake is determined and I stumble wordlessly and hit my knee on the chair sitting in the hallway. “Ow.” Stupid chair.

“Come on,” Jake demands, pulling me, leaving me no choice but to follow him even as I try to steady myself.

We’re heading straight for the master bedroom and when we reach just inside the door, Jake stops moving and I run up against his back. The grip loosens and my hand drops to my side. “Whoa,” Jake says.

I hang back by the door, twisting my arms around my chest, hugging myself as Jake walks further into the room. It’s nice and it’s too late. Jake is leaving me.

“When did this happen?” he asks. He stands there with fingers fanning on his hips, eyes traversing the room.

“While I was with you in LA.”

He walks over to the floor lamp and sweeps a hand down the long curved silver pole. “I didn’t see this downstairs. I thought you had gotten rid of it.”

“That’s amazing, G. Why would I throw away your gift?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because I’m a dumbass, maybe.”

We laugh, the air lightens up and I breathe a little.

He goes to the center of the bedroom, snaps a finger and does a complete spin on the ball of his toes. Now that’s the Jake I know. His reaction gives me the courage to ask, “Do you like it?” I’m not going to ask: are you staying? Nor will I say: don’t leave me. The visual I have of Jake right now is competing with the one of a few minutes ago. Seems like another time and I don’t want to spoil it.

“You did this on purpose? Jake gives me a sharp look.

“Yes.”

“Damn,” he says, and I’m not sure I know what he means.

I have eyes only for Jake, though. I’m getting a kick seeing how he’s moving around the bedroom like a five-year old kid. It seems so simple to me. He picks up a picture of him and me and stares at it. He swipes a hand over the gleaming empty bookshelf I asked Donna to purchase. I dislike tripping over books on the floor. With Jake, books on the floor or covering up the entire table, none of it matters to him. I planned on having this long and serious discussion about the nature of orderliness. He lays back on this huge brown leather lounger, one foot on the floor, the other leg resting on the chair, and he presses the remote control to the new entertainment center. TV – on and off; radio – on and off, CD player – on an off. The style is kind of old folk to me. Wonder what Donna had in mind when she purchased that chair. My imagination conjures up interesting positions like Jake in my lap. Now I’m smirking. Ah, Donna, you naughty girl. We’re gonna have a discussion the next time I see you. Then, as though Jake is tire of playing with the gadgets, he walks over to the bed and put both hands flat on the bedcovers, testing the strength of the mattress.

He discovers I’m alive and I get such an intense look, the butterflies that were once dread turn lecherous. Oh yeah, I can get with that look, that walk, that blue narrow-eyed focus on me. It hurts looking at Jake, but Jake could carve me up with those eyes and the pain would be beautiful.

“This room is fucking fantastic,” he says, standing in front of me inches apart, breathing down on me. “You did this for us?”

“I did it for you.” I say. Yep, Donna definitely earns a bonus.

He fits his entire body on me, gluing himself to me so that I’m forced to lean back against the wall. He places a hand on the wall on each side of my head. He has me imprisoned. I’m captured by him and his body, and he moves on me, pressing his hips down on the spot that reminds me we’re good at something else. My breath comes out short and shallow. I’m pushing forward, feeling good. Our foreheads are together, neither one of us is doing any talking, we’re just moving in synch to an old, silent music, music we built with our bodies.

“Jake…”

He covers my mouth and swallows my words. The kiss intensifies, my head is pressing back on the wall. He’s moving and this time he wiggles an arm behind my back, pulls me into him, and he kisses me down the side of my face to my neck. I grip his hips tight with my fingers.

“It’s like you read my mind. Like you knew how I felt. I’m in awe of you,” he whispers in my ear.

What is he saying? The brain cells go south and I’m getting hot and sweaty and quite frankly, I’ve other thoughts on my mind. “I want you.”

“Do you,” he says, pulling back.

“Oh yeah.” I pull the hand from around my back and put it on my dick.

“See that gorgeous sleigh bed over there?”

“Yes.” Jake whole hand covers me, the fingers applying pressure, teasing me, it isn’t enough.

“Why don’t we christen it, baby.”

“Not a bad idea, luv” I say, and push into his hand.

Shoes, socks, and clothes come off, thrown to the floor like a trail from hell to heaven. We push, poke, grab each other, stumbling some as our legs and arms entangle. The bedroom holds sounds that are pure joy to me – giggles, moans, a hitch of breath. They exemplify how it should be, how I envisioned our homecoming.

When I get Jake to the bed, I take the upper hand and push him flat on his back. He uses his feet to scoot back and leave them flat on the bed, knees up, legs open. I place a hand on each leg, brushing the inside, touching his hot spots, feeling the legs twitch. Those knobby knees are a particular kink of mine. I crawl on to the bed, raising one of his legs, and kiss the underside of his knee. Jake wraps the other leg around my hips and tightens. “Come on, Heath. I need you down here.”

“Are we in a hurry?” I say, teasing him with another kiss. It’s my turn to make him hot, tune him to the taste of fine wine.

“We’re going to make this bed ours. Yours and mines, Heath. Make it like someplace new.”

“I got you, G.” I understand now Jake’s concerns and hurt. “This is our space and it belongs to no one but us. We’re starting over again.”

“Yeah, baby,” and he pulls me down giving me a kiss that makes me so hard I can hang a hat on it.

The room smells of raw sex, two bodies, new paint, and new furniture, mingling into one scent. We’ve been at each other throughout the night.

“Think I should have Donna buy us a fancy sign that say, ‘Here be Jake and Heath’s room,’ and have her hang it outside our bedroom door.” I’m brushing my fingers through his hair.

He twists around on my shoulder and staring up at me. “Don’t be an ass.” Then he says, “You know, that might not be a bad idea.”

“I couldn’t let you come back to the old room, G,” I say, staring down at him.

“I know and I love you for it.” Jake shifts up in the bed and pokes out his lips for a kiss.

I oblige him and let my body slide down to his side, pushing my leg between his. I whisper words in his ear and reaching back, searching the bed until I find it.

I slam the lube in his open palm. “Open it and put some in my hand.”

And kiss his lips trembling under my pressure as I spread the stuff over his hardening dick. He’s moaning. I tell him to slow down, luv, take deep breaths. I want him to be able to last.

When I think Jake can’t stand another touch, I lie down on my back and open up for him, drawing him over my chest. His eyes are unfocused, dreamy like. He’s surprise at my offering but I also think it’s lust making his eyes gleam, we are hot for one another. He crawls over me, kissing me on my chest, takes nips at my nipples, which sends shivers down my spine. “Oh.” I reach down and touch myself, bring my leg up further, my foot flat on the bed. Jake works both nipples, then scoots down leaving a trail of cool, wet, kisses over the chest and stomach.

A hand that’s not mine joins me and together we’re going up and down my length, fingers entwined. It feels so damn good, I’m throbbing, getting harder with each stroke. “I can’t take much more,” I say, barely. Not with him breathing on it, teasing me with his tongue.

“How are you doing?” He’s slipping a finger in me.

“I’m okay,” and hitch forward taking more of his finger.

“Are you ready, baby?”

“Yeah,” and I tell him to come here so I can apply more lube on him.

I think he knows I wanted it this way because Jake slides over my body without asking how or which position. I’m on my back, bringing up my knees and he’s going in, easy and slow, I pant letting my body become accustom to his size and having him inside of me.

“Ah…I’m there, Heath.” His mouth drops open and I reach up touching his lips and feeling the vibrations of his sounds against my skin.

“Yes, luv.” Relax now that I have him, I raise my legs and wrap them around his hips.

It isn’t often I receive and once I’m over the initial burn, I think, why the hell not. It’s hard for me to put in words what Jake does to me. He makes me feel weak and strong at the same time. Makes me want to give up everything I have to him. I want to hold him down on me, to feel the pounding of his body into me, to tighten the grip I have on his dick as he strokes in and out of me. I want Jake happy and I want his love.

“I can’t hold on, baby,” he says, picking up the pace.

“Give it to me, luv,” I say, gripping him tight and kissing the parts of him available to my mouth.

He buries deep inside me, his whole body tense and then let go. I follow him, spurting my climax on my stomach and on my hand. I ease my legs down as all of Jake’s weight falls on my body.

He wraps arms around me and buries his nose in my neck, tonguing me as if petting me. “I love you, Jake,” I say, shifting his weight on me and my fingers twisting his sweaty hair strands.

“Ditto,” he says. His voice is warm, soft, and sleepy.

I’m not ready to sleep just yet. Jake has crashed; his light snoring fills the room. Poor baby, I’ve worn him out. I shift in the bed and raise up on an elbow to study all the changes in the room. I like the cool gray-colored walls and the position of the bed in front of the huge window. It might be a bitch come morning with the sun beaming through the large window.

Jake snuggles close to my body, and he moans. I soothe him, patting him across the shoulders. He settles down under my ministrations. The draperies catch my attention; they are almost the same color as the walls. Later I’ll examine them, hoping they will cover the window and shut out unwanted light. This room is nice, more than I expected, and I think Jake and I will be spending most of our time here. We made a good start.

I had better get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day and I know a certain person will wake up energetic and cheerful and be ready to drill me with questions.

End