Black Mustard: Justice (4 page)

Stay right there and let him play.

Justice -- brilliant fucking man -- got the hint and stayed, abs rippling, breath huffing out of him. Loic moaned and leaned down, let his cheek slide up along the shaft, knowing the hint of stubble would rasp so good, would make Justice feel him. The grunt he got made him smile and do it again, fingers slipping down to roll those velvet soft balls.

“Jesus, cher. Don’ stop, eh?”

No. No, he didn’t think he would, not any time soon.

His lips wrapped around the tip of Justice’s cock, tongue tracing the ridge at the head, following every bump, every inch of heated flesh, all the way around to the beginning of that leaking slit. Salty and bitter, the flavor was just he wanted, and he licked the whole way, flicking with the tip of his tongue.

The sac in his hand tightened, wrinkling up, echoing the hunger he heard in Justice’s low cry.

Oui. Oui. Yes, Justice. So good.

One heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he let it stay there, but he didn’t take Justice in all the way yet. No, Sir. He wanted to explore.

He played at the tip -- slapping and lapping, licking and pushing in a little with his tongue -- making sure to repeat the touches that made those rough sounds push out of Justice’s chest, made more of those needy drops slip onto his tongue and tease his taste buds.

“Cher. Close, eh? Gon’.”

No. Not yet.

He tugged Justice’s balls gently, stretching the sac out enough to drag Justice away from the edge of coming.

He wanted to know every single inch of the man’s cock.

When Justice relaxed back again, Loic started his explorations again, this time beginning at the base, tongue testing the wrinkled skin where sac met shaft, then up to where the heavy mass of bright gold curls hid soft-soft flesh.

He nibbled the line that the heavy vein made right under the skin of Justice’s shaft, smiling at the moans he got, at the way Justice’s ass creaked on the leather, bare butt catching. That was it; he wanted Justice’s need, that hunger that fed all of them when there simply wasn’t any hope left.

That fire that would blaze again, let Justice take the next hard case, try to save the next lost soul.

Like him.

The thought shook him, and he pushed up, took one more hard, desperate kiss, eyes staring into bright blue. “Justice.”

“Oui. Cher. You got it. Me. As much as you want.”

From another man, the words would be meaningless, but this was his Justice, his north star. Justice didn’t lie, even when it won cases.

“Justice.”

That was the best yes he could give before he swooped down, Justice’s cock stretching the corners of his lips, tip nudging the back of his throat.

“Loic!” His name was as much of a yes as Justice’s had been, and Justice’s body repeated it, bucking up, pushing deeper. This time he didn’t even try to stop Justice’s need; he simply held on and rode, sucking for all he was worth.

“J’t’aime. Loic. Please.”

Love.

Yes.

Yes.

He pulled harder, hands wrapped around Justice’s hips to drag Justice in deeper, so he could feel every inch. Every ounce of need.

Those square hands landed on his head, body curling around him as Justice convulsed, hips punching into his lips. The scent of sweat and whiskey, need and Ivory soap and the barest promise of hot sauce hit him again in a rush, and he swallowed, pulling out the first of what seemed like an endless series of splashes against his tongue.

Justice.

This was what Justice tasted like.

The fingers on his head gentled, Justice taking a sobbing breath as Loic’s hair was smoothed, stroked. “I. Damn, cher.”

He slowly let the fading cock slip free from his lips, kissing the tip on the way.

“Did I hurt you?”

He chuckled, shook his head. No. No, it wasn’t his first time. Just the first time in a long while.

“Good.” Justice lifted his chin, leaned over, and kissed him, long and slow, lazy. Not like the man was in any hurry at all. “Stay? Eat. Sleep. Do it again. Stay.”

He nodded. Yeah. Yeah, he could do that.

“Good.”

***

Justice woke up with a sweaty octopus wrapped around him, and he had about a half second of panic before he realized that two arms, two legs, a nice long penis, and a tongue only counted as six and he was two appendages away from being dragged into the deep.

Man, he needed a cup of coffee and an Advil.

He kissed Loic’s forehead, then slipped out of bed to start the Mr. Coffee before stumbling to the bathroom. By the time he got back out, Loic was there, doing the pee-pee dance. “I’ll pour coffee. Have at. There’s no spare toothbrush, sorry.”

He wasn’t the one-night type, as a rule.

Hell, he still wasn’t one right now. He’d go get Loic one from the CVS later today.

He poured two coffees -- one white, one sickly sweet -- and grabbed two leftover beignets from the box and the bottle of Advil. There were four left, thank God.

He took two dry, sat on the sofa, and turned on the morning news. Blah blah blah weather blah blah blah arson blah blah economy sucked blah blah fucking gay people trying to get married blah blah blah. Depressing.

Loic stood in front of the television, stark assed naked, lean legs spread, eyebrow arched. Oh, better.

“Mornin’, cher.” He held up Loic’s coffee.

“Justice.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, refusing to give up the coffee when Loic grabbed it, and tugged the man closer. “Come kiss me.”

He’d deal with morning breath.

Loic straddled his thighs, spreading like butter as their lips met. The kiss was sweet and slow and unafraid. Settled.

He let go of the coffee cup, draped his arm over Loic’s shoulders. Their bellies met, leaned together, and he sighed into the kiss, his headache easing off just like that. Loic smiled for him, grinned against his lips.

“Yeah.” He grinned back. “There’s beignets.”

“Mmm.” That was a good sound. Almost as good as the sound Loic made when they rubbed together again.

“Like how you wake up, cher.” He liked a lot about how ‘up’ Loic was. Loic’s answer was another kiss, and one more, proving that Loic was right there with him.

He’d started rubbing, started moving, when his phone started ringing. He didn’t even have to look. He knew who it was. There were arrangements to be made, media to contact, Modette’s story to tell. Hell, they probably had another court date Monday and...

Loic tapped the tip of his cock, hard, and he jerked, blinked. “Hey!”

Loic stared at him, one eyebrow lifted.

“What?”

That tap came again, then Loic sighed, kissed his nose, and leaned over and grabbed his phone, handing it over with a half-smile. He had the good sense to be a little ashamed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just...”

Loic snorted, grabbed his phone and started typing. “Shut up, asshole. I know.”

“We need to make sure Modette’s taken care of.”

“I know. We will.” Loic met his gaze, serious, right there for a long minute, then the fingers started flying again. “But I need to make sure Justice’s taken care of.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

He groaned, his heart doing this weird little pitty-pat thing that made him more than a little breathless.

Loic nodded, then kissed him again, hand on his belly, easing him back, putting the phone down on the coffee table, closed. Quiet. That was right.

It was Saturday. He didn’t have to do everything right now.

He didn’t have to save anyone but them.

***

Sunday was spent meeting with Modette’s family, making the beginning of what had to be a million funeral arrangements, and dealing with Sheila, the warden at the prison -- who, Loic was surprised to discover, was a gentle, dear, generous woman with a soft voice and a will of iron.

Justice had taken the family to sort through Modette’s effects and he was in the office, checking over paperwork. Sheila smiled over at him, her eyes dark in her cafe au lait skin. “Can I help?”

He shook his head, rolled his eyes playfully. Paperwork was the bane of any lawyer’s existence.

“Thank y’all, for all you’re doing for Miss Modette. She was a special lady.”

Loic nodded. She had been. It was a blessing, that the Good Lord had taken her before the government could make the decision to do so.

He blinked at himself. He sounded like Justice inside his own head. Figured, didn’t it? That the man was sunk deep into his skin.

It wasn’t like the man hadn’t been sunk into him ten ways from Sunday all day yesterday. Justice needed a warning label that read, “Stocky, but full of stamina. Use lube.”

Sheila’s voice broke into his thoughts, which was probably good, given that the office at a maximum security prison wasn’t the place to spring a woody. “Is it true, that you lost your voice in court?”

He shook his head, grabbed his iPad. “No. Before court. They call it Broca’s aphasia. It’s absolutely insane.”

“Broca’s aphasia? Did you hit your head?”

He shook his head again. “No one knows -- there were a series of unfortunate events that day.”

“Unfortunate events?”

Justice’s wry laugh filled the room. “Y’all talking about Modette?”

Focused bastard.

Sheila snorted. “Nope. His voice.”

“Ah. It was hoodoo.”

He looked over at Justice, tongue like led in his mouth. “Justice?”

Justice grinned at him, looking like a huge kid, a big dork. “What? It’s true. Eloi La Bauve’s granny hexed your skinny butt. Got the Roubichoux’s too. It was amazing, well, barring the whole it didn’t get better thing.”

He stared. “Are you insane?” he typed.

Justice shrugged. “You got a better answer?”

Sheila chuckled. “La Bauve, eh? They come from a line of folks?”

Justice nodded. “Granny’s got chickens in her backyard and everything.”

“Hoodoo isn’t real,” he typed.

“Sure it is.” Justice grinned at him. “Doctors don’t have a better answer, do they?”

He stared.

“Have y’all gone and apologized to them? Asked them to take the curse off?”

He blinked at the warden. This was insane. No one could think that.

“That’s not a bad idea. I’ll call Eloi. Maybe stop by the bar.”

“Justice!” That was insane.

“What? He got off. At least you’re not an incontinent drooler, now. Hell, I hear that both boys ended up with crotch rot, too. ‘Course that might not be hoodoo. That might be sticking things where they don’t belong.”

Sheila nodded, face serious, weirdly wise. “Some boys have that habit.”

“Those two especially. Maybe we’ll stop there tonight, have a chat.”

Loic’s hand slapped down on the table. He would not.

He was not going to go and let himself be embarrassed in front of Eloi La Bauve like some common...

His mouth snapped shut and he listened to himself, to the thoughts that he was damn glad he couldn’t say out loud.

Jesus. La Bauve had been innocent -- he’d known that even then, even at the beginning, and the money had kept him silent.

No.

No, the money had made it easy to lie.

He’d have let that man go to prison to keep his apartment, his car, his five hundred dollar suits. Eloi would have gone to prison and the women the man supported would have suffered and he would never have given it a second’s thought.

Jesus.

He opened his mouth to beg forgiveness from Justice, but nothing came out. Two sets of eyes stared at him, both shocked, although Justice looked a little knowing.

Not enough to piss him off, mind, but enough to make him bow his head.

“After we’re done with this, huh? Can’t hurt.” Justice’s hand was on his shoulder, heavy, solid.

Right.

He typed out, “Yeah. You talk too much, boss.”

“Always have, cher. Always will. It’s a thing.”

He rolled his eyes, but found a real smile for Sheila. She snorted, tossed her head like a fractious horse, and gave him a look.

“Come on, y’all. It’s Sunday and I promised my kids I’d be home in time to make collards.”

“Good thing you got yourself a man that knows how to cook to make the chicken.”

“Watch your mouth, boy, or I won’t invite you to come for Easter. We’re doing a whole hog.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Swear to God. I’ll grovel at your feet, if you want. I’ll do damn near anything for a big mouthful Jamail’s pork.” The words fell onto the middle of the floor and Loic swore he could damn near hear them hit. Plink. Plink. “I mean. Wait. I. Well, shit.”

Justice stopped, cheeks going red hot, and Sheila brayed and it was more than Loic could do not to laugh along at his chatty, often thoughtless lover.

“Hey. Hey, I said damn near anything...”

***

Justice headed into Phillipe’s, Loic in tow.

He knew Loic thought it was a stupid fucking idea, but he’d seen magic, more than once. Seen folks do things they normally wouldn’t, know things they couldn’t.

Besides that, apologizing to a wronged man couldn’t hurt.

Eloi was working the bar, bright white smile greeting him. “Lawd! Justice! Texas let you go?”

“Long time ago, my friend.” He grinned over, the expression honest. “Comment la vie?”

“Bien. Bien. Ça va all right, eh?”

He slid onto a barstool, Loic right beside him. “Two bourbons. Zenobia doing good in school?”

“Oui. Oui. She come home soon. Work.” Two glasses were pulled, wiped, filled. “Mr. de Hiver.”

Loic met Eloi’s eyes, nodded, offered the man a tentative smile.

“Loic’s been working with me, Eloi. For months now.”

Eloi’s nose twitched. “Been more than working, eh, or I’m tous pourri.”

“Stop that. You’ve been rotten from birth, you letch.” He sipped his drink. “And it ain’t none of yours if we are. I need him, Eloi -- I need to hear him talk to me. Need to let him talk for them that can’t.”

“Hey. Hey, I did nothing to him. Nothing.” Eloi stepped back, held his hands up, and Loic grabbed his iPad, starting typing furiously and turning the screen to Eloi. Eloi just shook his head and Justice took it from Loic’s hands.

“I’ll help, huh?” Loic looked at him, shocked, and he stared back. Not everybody knew how to read, after all. Loic forgot things. Forgot how lucky he truly was. Justice looked to the screen, started reading.