enemies of the state (42 page)

* * * * *

The new director of the Secret Service, Deputy Director Kate Triplett, put Ethan, Collard, and Daniels on leave. Collard took his wife and his daughter to Hawaii for three weeks, burying himself in the sun and the sand. Daniels came to the White House for dinners and drinks for a straight week, and he and Jack moaned together about their slings. Light and laughter had returned to Daniels’s eyes, and one evening, when it was just Ethan and Daniels walking together in the Rose Garden, waiting for Jack to finish in the Oval Office, Daniels blurted out his anxious relief at Ethan’s return.

“I thought I’d put a bullet in my head,” Daniels said. “I mean, I couldn’t think of any other way out. I was just so…so guilt-ridden, man. To be the only one that lived…” He trailed off, looking away, one hand in his pants pocket. The trees were bare, stripped of their leaves as autumn rolled on, edging close to winter. “When I saw you down that hallway, I thought you were an angel bringing me to God.” He kicked at the grass. “But having you back, really back, is way better than that.”

Ethan dragged Daniels into a bear hug, and he only let go when Daniels pretended to complain about his shoulder.

* * * * *

Irwin took Jack and Ethan to the FBI’s morgue one night, after hours. The directors of the FBI and Homeland Security met them, and they toured the fourteen metal slabs that held the bodies of Black Fox’s agents and conspirators. The three directors, ten soldiers posing as Peshmerga, and Jeff Gottschalk.

Jack stared down at Jeff’s body and his stiff, frozen face for a long, long time.

“We don’t know who these men actually are.” The director of the FBI slouched against the wall, his arms folded. A cigarette hung from his lips, bobbing as he spoke. He nodded to Jeff’s body and the ten soldiers. “Their identities are all fake. Their fingerprints don’t match anything in the system. Every record we had on any of them has been deleted. Wiped from everything.”

“Madigan is still out there.” Ethan shared a dark look with Irwin.

“And he’s still got a long reach.”

* * * * *

On Tuesday, Ethan was called into the Secret Service Headquarters and Deputy Director Triplett’s office. He’d known this was coming, but he still wanted to push it off. Ignore reality a bit longer. Enjoy the freedom of being with Jack, without having to hide or swallow a mountain of guilt.

But he couldn’t avoid the consequences forever. He kissed Jack in the morning and headed out, taking one of the Secret Service SUVs on the nine-minute drive to H Street.

Director Triplett just sighed at him when he sat down in her office.

“You’re a big problem, Ethan,” she said. “A huge, huge problem.”

Ethan stayed quiet.

“On the one hand, you’ve violated every rule we have regarding personal relationships with protectees. I mean, you didn’t even leave one behind. Not one. Nothing I could cling to, maybe pin some hope on.” Triplett raised her eyebrows at him. “And on the other hand, you’re a national hero. You came back from the dead, saved the president, Washington, DC, the Middle East, and kissed the man on the White House lawn. It’s the stuff movies are made of.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face.

Triplett wasn’t amused. “You’d better enjoy it, Ethan. ’Cause the White House has said they don’t want any special treatment for you. They’re hands off on this one. Your boyfriend isn’t pulling rank to save you. Your destiny is in my hands.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He and Jack had spent hours discussing the Secret Service, and what would happen next. Ethan couldn’t see another career for himself, not right now. He didn’t want to leave Jack’s side, and he was a good agent. A damn good agent. He liked his job. But what would happen would happen, and he didn’t want Jack to interfere in the agency’s operations. That had bad news written all over it.

“Look, Ethan, I don’t actually want to punish you. What you did was stupidly brave and utterly ridiculous. But I have to be fair.” She exhaled.

Ethan readied himself for her next words. He’d never been fired before, but he closed his eyes and waited for the words.

“You’re being transferred.”

His eyes flew open.

“To the field office in Des Moines, Iowa. Report to the Special Agent in Charge in one week.”

* * * * *

Ethan hadn’t expected a transfer. Neither had Jack.

“So we travel on the weekends.” Jack shrugged as Ethan sliced a chicken breast in the Residence’s kitchen. “We can fly to each other. It’s only for another three years. Maybe less, if they let you transfer back.”

“You’re up for a long-distance relationship?” Ethan carefully didn’t look at Jack. “I mean, it’s not like either of us have a stress-free job. Or even a hint of normality. Do you want to add that on top of everything else?”

Jack tugged Ethan away from the kitchen island by his belt buckle. Ethan held his hands wide, keeping chicken juice away from Jack. The sling, and Jack’s still-healing shoulder, brushed Ethan’s chest. “There is nothing that could keep me from you,” Jack breathed. “Nothing. I don’t care where in the world you are. I want to be with you.”

Ethan kissed him slowly with his hands spread wide, beaming.

“Let’s book your flights back to DC before you leave for Des Moines,” Jack said, clearing his throat when they pulled apart. “We’ll make this work. I promise.”

* * * * *

Jack honored Agents Daniels, Collard, Inada, and Welby with the Presidential Medal of Freedom. The four agents beamed, glowing with pride, and Ethan led the crowd in a standing ovation that lasted a solid five minutes.

That afternoon, President Puchkov phoned out of the blue. Ethan was in the Oval Office, reading files from Irwin’s investigation as Jack worked at the desk, reviewing intelligence briefs.

Jack put the call on speaker. “President
Pidor
!” Puchkov crowed. “How are you doing?”

“Puchkov, you don’t get to call me a Russian faggot.” Jack sighed and squeezed his eyes closed. “You need to show me some respect, or I’m hanging up the phone, and you can take your UN resolution and shove it up your ass.”

Silence. Then, Puchkov roared with laughter, deep belly laughs that bounced off the walls of the Oval Office. “Oh, Mr. President. I like you. You have
muda
. Balls. And! You like balls! Ha!” Puchkov laughed at his own joke, though less raucously. “We can be friends. Yes, we can be friends, Mr. President.”

Another sigh. Ethan shared a long-suffering look with Jack. “Sergey,” Jack said, shaking his head. “How many people have told you that you’re one seriously messed-up man?”

“Oh, forty or fifty. KGB doctors used to tell me all the time. Mostly after big hits to the head.” Puchkov laughed again, and this time, Jack chuckled too.

“What do you want, President Puchkov?”

“I want to invite you and your boyfriend to Russia, Mr. Jack. I want to feed you the finest food you will ever taste. Russian food. The best. And more of that coffee you like.”

Jack looked at Ethan. It was the best apology they’d ever get, and the best thank-you as well. Eighty thousand Russian troops had been saved from nuclear devastation in Iraq alone.

“That’s very kind of you, Sergey. But what will this cost me?”

“Cost?” Puchkov scoffed. “Cost nothing, Mr. President! Of course, we would welcome your support of our UN resolution…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ethan watched Jack grin, despite himself. “Well, as much as I would love to enjoy the finest Russian cuisine I’ve ever had, I really must insist that we feed the refugees, too.”

A heavy sigh flooded the line. “Yes, Mr. President, we will feed the refugees.” Only Puchkov could sound so entirely put out and inconvenienced with so few words. “We already have promised—and delivered—aid packages to the resettlement zones.”

“And I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be visiting a country with such a poor record of human rights as they pertain to homosexuals.”

Ethan smiled at Jack and leaned up against the desk.

“Weeelllll…” Puchkov trailed off. “If there was heavy pressure—
heavy
pressure—from America, I suppose that Russia could…reconsider some of their positions.” Ethan could practically see Puchkov’s waving his hand in the air.

“Consider this heavy pressure,” Jack deadpanned. “It’s only polite. We are trying to be allies, are we not?”

“We are indeed, Mr. President!” Puchkov crowed. “Keep your eye on the newspapers, Mr. Jack. You never know what will happen. And come to Russia. Bring Mr. Ethan.”

Jack raised his eyebrows to Ethan, offering him the chance to speak. Ethan shook his head and waved Jack off.

“We look forward to it, Sergey.”

“
Do svidaniya
!”

Ethan leaned across the desk and pressed a kiss to Jack’s bemused smile.

* * * * *

Later that night, Jack seemed distracted, and antsy, and he kept staring at Ethan when they were watching the football game. After the fifth time, Ethan clicked off the TV and turned to Jack.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Jack was always a terrible liar. Ethan raised his eyebrows.

Slowly, Jack reached for Ethan’s hand. He laced their fingers together and kissed his knuckles.

Worry pitted Ethan’s stomach. “You’re not having second thoughts about us, are you? About the distance?”

“God, no!” Jack frowned. “No, no second thoughts. Not about you.” He shook his head, but he still wouldn’t meet Ethan’s eyes.

Ethan forced his gaze, ducking his head until he found Jack’s. “What is going on?”

“I have no idea how to ask this.”

“You’ve never had a problem being blunt before.”

“All right.” Jack took a deep breath. “I want to make love to you. But I’m not sure that’s something you’re interested in.”

“We already make love.” Every night, every morning, they rolled together, slow undulating and hard rocking and hot breaths and deep kisses. They came pressed tightly together, the come sticking to their bellies. Ethan frowned. “And I love it.”

“I mean more.” Jack fumbled for words, chewing on his lip. “I mean…anal sex,” he finally blurted out. He looked away, scrunching up his face. “Sorry, that’s―”

“Don’t apologize.” Ethan tugged on Jack’s hand until Jack looked his way. “Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested?”

Jack exhaled, a whoosh of frustrated air as he gestured to Ethan awkwardly with his slung arm. “You’re… I mean, you don’t seem the type to want that.”

Suddenly, Ethan understood. Heat flooded his body, rising to his cheeks. He’d known Jack liked being on top before, when they were making out, and Jack would roll Ethan to his back and take charge more often than not when they were rocking against each other. But taking things to the next step hadn’t actually crossed his mind. It had been one of those things he’d dumped in a dark box and shoved far away, thinking that would be put on hold, possibly indefinitely, now that he was with Jack. Jack, a straight man learning the ways of man-on-man love.

But learning he was. And wanting. Wanting something from Ethan that he hadn’t given in over three decades. He’d been in high school the last time he bottomed, and the rush of youth and the search for his identity had conspired to create a hasty, poorly planned escapade. It wasn’t awful, wasn’t cringe-worthy, but it hadn’t been good either. Topping, in contrast, had been amazing, and from then on, he was the big, beefy top, and everyone knew it.

This was
Jack
, though. A man who meant everything to Ethan, absolutely everything.

He stroked Jack’s fingers. “What makes you think I wouldn’t want that?”

Jack’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right words. “You’re…well, you.” A blush stained Jack’s cheeks and turned his neck crimson. “When I was ‘researching’, I saw a lot of twinkies as bottoms, but when I searched for bear bottoms, there were far less. It seemed…rarer. More…exclusive?” Jack threw his head back against the couch. “Please, stop me now. I’m ridiculous, and I’m stereotyping, aren’t I?”

Well, there was no arguing that. Ethan nodded. Jack was stereotyping and pigeonholing, but at least he was aware. Still, the thought of Jack searching out gay porn online made Ethan’s balls squirm. His cock twitched. “They’re called twinks,” he gently corrected.

“See, I can’t even say it right.” Jack groaned. “I am trying to learn everything,” he said after a moment, much quieter. “It’s a whole new culture for me.”

“You’re doing fine, Jack.” Ethan reached out, caressing Jack’s temple with his thumb. “More than fine. I never thought we’d get this far. I hoped, but I tried to rein in my dreams.”

“What can I say? I fell in love with you. And I want do everything with you.”

“So watching bears get bottomed did it for you, huh?” Ethan tried to lighten Jack’s mood.

Jack fixed him with a burning stare. “The thought of making love to you does it for me.” His voice dropped, almost to a growl.

Jesus
. Ethan swallowed. Jack wanted him. And not just for heavy petting or for a roll in the mattress, but he wanted his ass. He wanted to be inside Ethan, buried deep. He’d thought about it—probably jacked off to it, maybe even came to the fantasy of making love to him.

Inside Jack’s heated eyes, a fragile nervousness lay partially buried.
I want it to be good for you
, Jack had said before, more than once. The tender ego of a man who wanted to please his lover. His beloved.

Did he want Jack to take him? Make love to him?

“I haven’t bottomed in years. Decades.”

Jack nodded, trying valiantly not to look disappointed.

“But I want you to make love to me, Jack.”

Jack froze, his eyes widening. “Really?”

“Really.” Leaning forward, Ethan captured Jack’s lips. Jack surged forward, climbing into Ethan’s lap without breaking the kiss. When they broke apart, Jack leaned his forehead against Ethan’s. His cock strained against the zipper of his suit pants.

“Not tonight,” Ethan cautioned. He had a few things to do first. “But soon.”

“That’s fine.” Jack smiled and kissed Ethan’s nose. “There’s something else I want to do tonight.”

Slowly, Jack slithered down Ethan’s legs until he was kneeling on the ground between his knees. He reached for Ethan’s zipper, grinning, and pulled out his cock. Leaning forward, Jack gave one long lick from root to tip, slowly, and never took his eyes off Ethan’s.