Safe in His Arms (20 page)

stared at Russell‘s cock.

―Ah, maybe I‘ll have some more of that massage,‖ James said, patting the bed

beside him. He closed his eyes and remained still.

Russell sat on the bed. James didn‘t roll back over onto his stomach, so Russell

moved his hands in long, smooth strokes over James‘ narrow chest. Testing the waters,

Russell leaned over him, lightly kissing James‘ throat. James remained still, but offered

a small sigh of pleasure. Russ moved lower, drawing circles with his tongue around

James‘ nipples.

―That‘s nice,‖ James said.

After a time, Russell moved his hands downward over the soft paunch of the old

man‘s belly. He rested one hand, palm flat, over James‘ boxer shorts and looked

inquiringly at him.

James‘ eyes flew open, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. He placed his hand

over Russell‘s, the quaver returning to his voice. ―It‘s been a long time…‖

―Close your eyes,‖ Russell said soothingly. ―Just relax and close your eyes.‖ He

stroked the frail, gnarled fingers, gently removing the old man‘s hand and placing his

arm at his side. ―Relax,‖ he repeated, taking his own hand from James‘ groin and

moving it gently over his thin, pale thighs.

After a while, he again placed his hand over James‘ groin. He could feel the

stirrings of an erection and, though James lay still with eyes closed, he didn‘t stop

Russell this time. Russell moved his hands over the crisp cotton, tracing the line of the

hardening shaft beneath. James was biting his lip, his chest rising and falling, eyes

closed tight. Russell moved his other hand over the old man‘s heart, which was beating

fast.

―You‘re doing great,‖ Russell said soothingly. ―Can I take these off, James? I want

to give you the rest of your birthday present now.‖

James‘ eyes were squeezed tight, his lips parted. He grimaced slightly, and Russell

could sense his anxiety along with his desire. When James offered a slight nod, Russell

hooked the elastic at the waist of his boxers and tugged gently downward, pulling them

along his thighs. James‘ cock was fully erect now, rising from a nest of white pubic

curls. Leaning over him, Russell slid his lips over the hard shaft.

James gasped and flinched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But he didn‘t

open his eyes, nor did he tell Russell to stop. Russell took this as tacit permission to

continue. He cradled the delicate balls in one hand, sucking and licking James‘ cock

until James moaned softly.

Russell took his time, hoping to draw out the pleasure for a man he imagined was

starved for touch. He alternated between kissing and licking James‘ shaft and balls and

stroking his body and legs. James stayed still, his eyes closed, arms at his sides, though

his hands had relaxed, the fingers resting lightly against the sheets.

Russell rolled James gently to his side so he could stroke his ass. He drew a finger

carefully along the cleft, gauging James‘ reaction as he did so. James tensed. To relax or

at least distract him, Russell took James‘ cock into his other hand as he lightly teased the

man‘s puckered entrance.

James shuddered and sighed, shifting so he was again lying flat on the bed. Taking

his cue, Russell focused his full attention on James‘ erection, drawing it in deep and

then slowly releasing it, using his tongue and lips to elicit a series of cries and moans

from the old man.

―Oh!‖ James cried, stiffening. He reached for Russell, his grip surprisingly strong as

he spasmed in release. Slowly he relaxed his grip and opened his eyes, fixing Russell

with a look of such pure gratitude and awe that Russell‘s heart flooded with tenderness.

―Happy birthday,‖ he said with a smile.

―Thank you,‖ James whispered, tears in his eyes.

They lay quietly together for some time, James‘ heart beating fast for a long while

after. Russell wondered, now that James finally had his first homosexual experience,

what he‘d do with that, if anything.

So many lonely people in the world
, Russell thought.
Myself included
. Had the brief

happiness he‘d shared with Hank been a fluke, destined not to last? Had he been

fooling himself that there was more to Hank than he let on?

How he missed Hank‘s heft and solid muscle, so in contrast with this frail, delicate

bird of a man in his arms. He hadn‘t heard a word from him, and he knew it was time

to move on. Yet he couldn‘t seem to let go of a lingering hope that somehow Hank

would see what he‘d thrown away.

He‘d almost called Hank a dozen times or more in the weeks they‘d been apart,

ready to take him back on any terms, but he‘d forced himself to resist. It wasn‘t just for

Hank that he resisted, but for himself.

He‘d had a lot of time to think since Hank had walked out, and he realized he‘d

never had a relationship last, not because he pushed the men away, but because he kept

them too close for too long. Instead of working through difficult issues, he chose to

ignore them, or disguise them with hot sex.

Hank had been the last guy to break his heart, but he hadn‘t been the first. The

cycle, Russell promised himself, stopped here. The ball was in Hank‘s court now. If the

game was even still in play.

James stirred in his arms, recalling Russell to the fact he was on the escort service‘s

clock. He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. James still had fifteen minutes and he

deserved Russell‘s full attention. Russell needed to get out of his own head and do the

job he‘d been paid quite handsomely for. Though, if he‘d had his way, this one would

have been on the house.

Russell rolled onto his back and took his cock into his hand, pushing thoughts of

Hank away and forcing a lightness into his tone. ―Now that your present is unwrapped,

Mr. Smith, would you care to sample the wares?‖

The old man hoisted himself up on one elbow, his face creasing into a delighted

grin. ―Why, yes, I do believe I would.‖

They didn‘t say much on the drive home from the courthouse. Hank had never felt

more lonely or afraid as when he‘d stood in front of that judge, his hands cuffed in front

of him as if he were some kind of criminal.

He‘d been released on his own recognizance, but would have to appear again for

sentencing. He didn‘t even have the cash to call a cab. Too ashamed to call Russell, he‘d

called Reese again, who, thank goodness, agreed to come get him without question.

They stopped at Hank‘s pharmacy on the way home, and as they stood in the line

to fill his pain medication prescription, Hank regarded his old lover, comparing him to

Russell.

Though he‘d once lusted after Reese, with his golden good looks and easy

confidence, it was Russell who Hank now yearned for. What he wouldn‘t give to see

Russell‘s bearded face and hear his deep, rumbling voice. He experienced an actual

physical longing for Russell‘s capable, strong arms to wrap him tight.

This was no longer an option, he thought sadly. Russell wouldn‘t want anything to

do with him after this.

―Whoa. Did a bomb hit this place?‖ Reese stood just inside the door of Hank‘s

house, looking around the room with a horrified expression. Hank felt himself flush

with embarrassment.

In the months since Julio had been gone he would be the first to admit he‘d kind of

let the place go. And since the money had really dried up, he‘d stopped even the once

weekly cleaning lady. ―Impossible to get good help these days,‖ Hank quipped, though

he was aware the joke sounded forced.

Since walking out on Russell, Hank hadn‘t realized how low he‘d sunk, shacked up

with his vodka and self-pity. He saw the living room now through Reese‘s eyes, aware

the rest of the house was just as bad. All the art of any value had been sold, leaving only

the naked hooks jutting from the walls. Pizza boxes and empty potato chip bags were

scattered over the dusty surfaces, glasses and dishes piled on the tables and the floor,

some with food crusting and congealing. Most damning of all were the dozens of empty

liquor bottles strewn about the room.

Hank had briefly filled Reese in the evening before during the hospital visit. It was

bad enough admitting what was going on with his finances to Reese. He‘d been

especially embarrassed by Jeff‘s being witness to how low he‘d fallen. He‘d told them in

cursory terms about the money situation, and a little about Russell, noting only that

they‘d had a falling out.

After Reese and Jeff had left the hospital, he‘d spent a lonely, nearly sleepless night.

Without the booze to numb his brain, his mind refused to grant him a moment‘s peace.

He was forced to relive each painful fuckup he‘d perpetrated to slowly but surely push

Russell away.

Without the benefit of alcohol to numb his senses and dull his thinking, he‘d been

unable to ward off the drenching loneliness that covered him like a cold, wet blanket.

He was actually grateful for the occasional visits of the night nurse, who came in from

time to time to take his blood pressure and poke and prod him.

Now, as Reese surveyed the mess in Hank‘s house, he stated, ―I guess you had to

let Julio go. With the money situation and all.‖

Reflexively Hank started to lie. It was so much easier to blame others for his

mistakes. He stopped himself and admitted, ―I, uh, I fired him actually, during an

argument. It was stupid, really. He was saying things I didn‘t want to hear.‖

―Oh,‖ Reese said, with a shake of his head. ―I guess some things never change,

huh?‖ Hank turned away, ashamed. Reese had watched him fire any number of

houseboys over the years, along with various pool boys, gardeners and sundry other

hired help.

―I don‘t know about that,‖ he said, forcing a brightness he didn‘t feel to his tone.

His head was throbbing and he touched the bump over his ear. ―Maybe they do. Maybe

they can.‖ He turned back to Reese, who was regarding him with a curious expression.

Embarrassed, Hank added. ―I need to clean up this place. I hadn‘t realized what a

mess it was.‖

―Let me help you,‖ Reese offered. ―Jeff is working this morning at the office on

some programming issue that‘s been consuming him. I‘ve got a couple of hours.‖

Hank started to refuse, embarrassed, but stopped himself. Reese was reaching out,

even if he had felt compelled to invoke his lover‘s name in the process. Though Hank‘s

head hurt and he wanted to lie down, he didn‘t want Reese to go. A little help, he told

himself, would be welcome.

―Thanks,‖ he said. ―That would be very nice of you.‖

They went into the kitchen, retrieving garbage bags, spray cleaner, paper towels

and a broom and dustpan. They worked companionably, Hank focusing on getting the

bottles and trash out of sight, Reese doing the actual cleaning and sweeping up.

Together they hauled the garbage bags through the laundry room that led out to the

alley where the garbage cans were. Hank realized he didn‘t even know what day the

garbage was collected. When they came back inside, Reese stared at the piles of dirty

clothes. ―Don‘t you ever do laundry?‖

Embarrassed, Hank admitted, ―I, uh, I don‘t know how to use the washing

machine. I haven‘t had the cleaning lady in for a while now. You know,‖ he shrugged,

―with this cash flow thing…‖ He trailed off and turned away, waiting for some cutting

remark.

Instead, Reese said, ―Let‘s have a look. Even these fancy machines can‘t be all that

hard to figure out.‖ He helped Hank sort the laundry and placed a load into the

machine. He showed Hank how to add the detergent and turn it on. Hank was

surprised how easy it was, and felt both foolish and grateful.

―Thanks,‖ he said.

―Sure.‖ Reese nodded. ―You got any coffee?‖

They returned to the kitchen. Hank had figured out to use his coffee maker, thank

goodness, and he brewed a pot while Reese got out the mugs. They sat down at the

kitchen table. ―Want to tell me about him?‖ Reese said gently. ―About Russell?‖

Hank looked up sharply at Reese, his kneejerk reaction to say no, no, he did not

want to talk about Russell, thank you very much. But he realized he
did
want to, and

though it was hard to admit, Reese Armstrong was the closest thing to a friend he

had—the only person he could tell.

―Yeah,‖ Hank said quietly. ―I do.‖ He stared into his cup, wondering where to

begin. He felt so topsy-turvy, everything he knew, or thought he knew, about Reese and

himself no longer clear. Where once Hank had been certain of his inherent superiority

over Reese, now he felt, not inferior precisely, but humbled. That was the word—

humbled. He hadn‘t realized just how much he‘d changed since being with Russell. It

had taken the car accident to bring things to a head. He understood now something