Six Ways from Sunday (7 page)

“Right now, I’d like lunch and a nap. Because you kept me up all night and I have jetlag and then maybe we’ll stay up all night again.” He pushed Bo onto the floor, all sympathy and goodwill gone now that his stomach was involved. Bo climbed unsteadily to his feet and followed him into the kitchen.

“Food I got. And a bed for napping. But it’s going to cost you.” He caught Dylan in front of the fridge and pinned him to the front of it. Leaning in, he rubbed his nose to Dylan’s. “A kiss. Because I can’t get enough of kissing you.”

“All I have to do is kiss you and you’ll feed me?” Dylan pushed Bo’s hair back over his ears and pulled the elastic holder out so that the rest of his hair hung loose. Bo felt for all the world like he was being petted. Petted and loved. Instead of worshipped. He never wanted that part of the bargain. Play some ball, have some fun, that’s what he wanted.

“Yeah, funny how that works,” he lowered his lips, slicking his tongue against Dylan’s lips while the pale late afternoon sun bathed them through the windows. “Make me happy and I’ll make you happy.”

Dylan opened his mouth and Bo slid his tongue inside, tasting him. Savoring him. Taking his time. Before he was finished exploring Dylan’s mouth, the tight body beneath him demanded more, more in the form of grinding and humping that left them both breathless and sticky. Dylan went over first, crying into Bo’s mouth, pleasure, sharp, fast, electric zapped him when Dylan’s orgasm took him and Bo followed him over. Right there in the kitchen, fully dressed, but he wouldn’t stop the kiss. He needed it to go on forever. Dylan’s hands in his hair and down his back into his jeans told him how much he agreed. Lunch could wait. This couldn’t. He didn’t care if the entire state of Louisiana was outside that damned window. Dylan was his for only a week and he was going to make every second of that week count. Starting with getting out of cum-soaked pants.

He tugged at Dylan’s jeans, pulling the buttons free and pushing until the material stopped at his knees. He followed, going down on his knees as Dylan pulled his shirt over his head to expose all that tanned skin that made Bo’s mouth dry and his brain stop working. He kissed the line of hair down Dylan’s belly. The scent of cum strong, musky, he wanted to taste. Dylan groaned at the first touch of his tongue. He leaned back to show him the thick line of fluid before he swallowed.

Dylan’s eyes went dark, his knees trembled. “You gonna suck me, cowboy?”

“Yeehaw,” Bo answered, sliding his tongue through the goo around Dylan’s navel, licking until he’d cleaned that much up. When he was finished, he turned his attention to Dyl’s cock, still dripping pearl-colored fluid. “You smell so fucking good, I just want to…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he showed his friend exactly what he wanted by closing his mouth over his cock and licking every bit of flavor from him.

“Bo, oh god damn, fuck,” Dylan grabbed a fist full of hair with one hand and reached over his head to hold onto the top of the refrigerator with the other. Bo smiled around the thick head and swallowed him as deeply as he could. Sucking as he went. He watched Dylan. His heart pounding in his chest at the sight of his lover trying to stay in control. And failing. He took the first thrust, relaxing his jaws to take the next. Dylan fucked into him, while Bo held onto his hips encouraging him to move, encouraging his moans and curses. He wanted Dylan to lose complete control. And with a cry that echoed around the open kitchen, Dylan did just that. Cum, savory and a little salty filled Bo’s mouth. Bo palmed his erection, barely touching himself through his jeans before he followed Dylan over. When he finished, he pulled off and leaned his head against Dylan’s hip. “That was some fucking kiss.”

“Mmm, I’ve always wanted to try that, glad you liked it.” Bo leaned back and winked. “Now, Wilma, where’s my brontosteak? I need sustenance if there’s going to be more of that later when the Rubbles come over for our orgy.” He licked a path up Dylan’s body until he found his mouth. This time he really did kiss him, hot and hard. Food could wait. This couldn’t. Not when there was so little precious time left before Dylan went away. “On second thought, I’m not sharing you with anyone else. Orgy is called off.”

“Sounds good to me.” Dylan wound his hands in Bo’s hair and held him captive. “Sounds so damned good. I’ll have second helpings of that.” Somehow Bo didn’t think the second helping request had anything to do with food.

“How about thirds?” He pressed Dylan to the refrigerator and started working on putting that request on the menu.

“Sounds…” But Dylan never finished that thought. “Fuck.”

Chapter Five

“This has to have been the shortest week on record.” Bo’s voice sliced through the dark. Dylan could hear the unspoken words. He found Bo’s hand and linked their fingers. After a week of parades and parties and other post season things that Bo couldn’t get out of, the little time they had left was winding down to hours. There were three left, but he didn’t tell Bo that. He didn’t tell Bo so many things. Like his next assignment. And how much this one scared him. Because he was a Marine, he wasn’t supposed to get scared. He was the monster hunter.

“Too short,” he agreed, rolling until he found his lover’s mouth in the dark. He slid his arm behind Bo’s back and pulled him as close as he could. “Need to make the last hours mean something.”

“They’ve all meant something.” Bo threw his leg over Dylan’s hip and pressed his cock into Dylan’s belly. “Even the hours when we had clothes on. I showed you off. People envied me. How is that not something?” Dylan knew the ego was put-on from their early morning post-fuck conversations. The fame scared him. The people who wanted more than he was willing to give them. He couldn’t get laid. Not anymore. Too many people knew his face, he couldn’t risk it and keep his homosexuality a secret. Women threw themselves at him. Old men wanted to relive their glory days through him. He hated making commercials. He hated whoring himself out just to play a little football.

“Well, it’s not easy being the sexy Marine. So many people to fuck. So little time.” He pushed Bo’s shoulder, shoving him onto his back so that he could crawl up his long body one more time. “Do you know how many phone numbers I threw away from that one party alone?”

“How many of them were men?” That was a sticking point with Bo, that men would give him their numbers. Seems even some of the upstanding pillars weren’t averse to having a Marine in uniform give it to them up the ass. Oorah.

“You don’t want to know.” He started with Bo’s nipples, nipping and licking until Bo bucked into him. Their cocks rubbed together as he moved up to Bo’s neck. He found his pulse and sucked that patch of skin into his mouth. This time he was going to leave him marked. Biting until he tasted a hint of copper. “You’re the only ass I can’t get enough of. I wanted to tell them all to fuck off, that I’m yours.”

“Next time. We’ll tell them next time.” Bo held his head gently, while Dylan nipped at the area, pulling up more blood patches to match the first one. “Oh, fuck, you feel so damned good. Want inside you so damned bad.”

“It’s my turn. I want to see your face this time. I want to see you when you come. I want that memory to take back with me. Of you looking well and truly fucked.” He reached for the last of the condoms and found the nearly empty bottle of lube. He didn’t wait for permission or for encouragement. Condom in place, he slicked himself and pushed himself between Bo’s legs. “Open for me, ‘Cephus.” The nickname fell from his lips for the first time since he’d heard it.

“Bowen. You called me Hurricane Bowen. Those are your names for me, not that damned name. Bowen.” Dylan reached for the bedside lamp as Bo spoke. The dim light exposed tears that Bo tried to hide.

“Bowen.” He leaned forward, his hands behind Bo’s knees, spreading him as he kissed him. “Hurricane Bowen. My Bo.” He whispered, biting his tongue as he pushed inside his lover. “You feel so good. I need to remember this. I need to know that you love me. I mean really love me.”

Bo threw his head back as Dylan hit his prostate. The sound that came from his mouth was caught between a scream and a moan. Dylan fought back moisture in his own eyes, knowing that this was Bo’s gift to him. He slowed his hurry for Bo. He wanted him to remember the pleasure not the pain. Fire burned in his eyes. Fire that Dylan would carry with him for the next eighteen months.

“I do love you. Really love you. Not just the sex. But god, this is…yeah, right there…” Bo squeezed his arms as he arched his body, trying to force Dylan deeper. “Makes me…harder, right there.”

Dylan couldn’t hold back anymore. He shoved Bo’s legs back farther and rocked into him, seating himself to his balls. He muffled Bo’s cry with his mouth. “Going to fuck you hard. Going to make you feel this. Feel me. For months. Going to make you scream my name and forget the others. Going to make you mine.” He slammed into him. Riding him hard. Sweat dripped from his nose to roll down Bo’s face. Pain etched across his lover’s features but Bo met Dylan’s thrusts. His cries against Dylan’s lips for Dylan alone.

“No others. Just you. Fuck, Dylan can’t take any more. Need to come now.” Bo sunk his fingers into Dylan’s arms, sliding his arms around his back to pull him closer. Nails grazed his spine, along the tattoo that bore his name. “Yours. Now and forever. Please. Oh fuck please.”

Dylan reached between them and stroked Bo’s cock. He gripped it tight in his hand and fucked him to the rhythm he set with his hips. Bo wrapped his legs around his waist and arched into him. His eyes wide open and wild, he came, roaring Dylan’s name. Dylan pumped into him, not letting him come down.
Bo shuddered and trembled as Dylan squeezed another orgasm from him. This one stronger than the last. Only then did he let himself go. Only then did he call Bowen’s name while Bo stroked his back. Easing him back to reality, Bo held him wrapped in his long arms and legs. Mouth to mouth. Soft kisses and softer words. And Dylan pretended that the drops that landed on Bo’s cheek really were sweat.

Later after a shower and more food, Dylan dressed while Bo lay sprawled on his stomach asleep, one arm thrown over the side of the bed that Dylan had vacated. His name written in scrolling intricate script down the center of Bo’s back thrilled him. He was with him. He’d always be with him. He tied his boot and pulled his jeans over his knife sheath. His hands shaking. One last look. He couldn’t kiss him. He wanted to. He didn’t want to walk out of his life. Not now. Not like this. But it wasn’t his choice.

When the job was done, he’d call him. It was all he had. Five minutes here and there. Five minutes to live a lifetime with this man. “Love you,” he whispered. He kissed his fingers and waved. It was stupid middle school girl behavior, but it was all he had.

The night was cold and clear when he slipped from the house. He could see stars. There were more up there, he knew. Tomorrow night he’d see different stars but these were the ones he’d dream of. And the one he left sleeping inside. The black SUV pulled up on the street and he met it. His luggage disappeared into the back. And that was it. One week and it was all gone as if it never happened. He’d remember as much as he could for as long as he could.

With one last look at the house, he climbed inside, the driver greeting him by his new rank, “Staff Sergeant.” And that was all there was now.

“Private,” he replied and they were off.

* * * * *

He knew the exact moment when he was alone. He knew it was coming. He could feel it between them all evening. The frantic need in him. The almost desperate way he tried to hold on. Bo reached for the pillow he’d slept on and pulled it to him. Dylan’s scent engulfed him, hitting him like a three hundred pound linebacker. His gut twisted. His heart followed. Eighteen months and fifteen days. That’s how long they had. Eighteen months and fifteen days. He’d been counting since the practice field that morning. He’d keep counting. It’s all he could do. Count down until the day Dylan came home to him, for good.

He shoved his face into Dylan’s pillow and howled. So god damned unfair. But now he knew. And he’d wait. When Dylan came home, he’d love him six ways from Sunday.

Chapter Six

Dylan called in May. Three long months with no contact with anyone. His mission was successful. Ten minutes. That’s all the time he had to talk. Just ten minutes. Bo was grateful for those ten minutes. Training camp started in late July and his life went back full tilt. There wasn’t time to worry about why he hadn’t heard from Dyl in weeks. The pressure to repeat the previous season was tremendous. But in the infinite wisdom of the powers that be in the front office most of the team was traded or let out of their contracts and this wasn’t the same team as last year. Everything they’d worked for and built had to be started all over again from the ground up.

Summer workouts in the heat were killer. And New Orleans was Satan’s Sauna in the hot months. So fucking hot and humid, he couldn’t breathe some days. Somehow he managed to get through it because he knew what Dylan went through every day was worse. He got to go home to an air conditioned house and a hot tub and a soft bed. Dylan didn’t get that. So he worked his ass off. Counting down the days. Eighteen months became twelve months. And seven years to the day since the day that Dylan left crawled slowly by. Just one more year. That was all, just one and they would be together.

August came in a hurry, the final week of the pre-season nearly at an end. Next week, this all became real. Still no word from Dylan. But they’d gone longer without contact. He dragged his helmet off and flipped his braid, hoping for just a hint of a breeze to blow on his neck and down under his pads. His lungs ached from the heavy air. The coaches worked their asses hard. And Bo hated every god damned one of them right now. He was sweating Gator Aide, it was that bad. But his job was secure for another year. No new upstarts straight out of college were going to put him on the bench.

People watched the practice that day, media and some family. His never showed up, his dad was back home doing the same thing on the high school level but from the coaching side and his mom wouldn’t come alone. They’d come to the first game of the season. He already made the arrangements. Everything right down to the flight and hotel. It was their thing. The first game and the first home game. Despite the money he sent them, his dad still worked. Despite everything he had now and didn’t need, he was alone. Too much.