Come Unto These Yellow Sands (16 page)

Swift nodded, listening. Max didn’t talk about his family much. Neither did Swift. The difference was, Max apparently got on well with his folks. That’s what he called them.
My folks
. It sounded friendly and informal and cozy. Swift bet they were nice people. Nice folks.

“One of their rules is you don’t go to bed angry.”

“That’s a good rule.”

Max nuzzled him and then bit his ear.

“Ow!” Swift drew back as far as Max’s arms allowed. “What was that?”

“I’ve never lied to you. Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“I don’t. I won’t.”

“Not by omission, not by implication or inference, not by anything.”

“Okay.” Swift rubbed his ear. “Got it. Loud and clear. Loud and
ear
.”

It was a pretty lame attempt at humor. Max let out a sound that might have been amusement or might have been skepticism, and pulled Swift back down. They lay quietly for a few minutes. Swift listened for the slowing, the deepening of Max’s breathing.

He told himself that just having Max here tonight was enough. He was even relieved that he needn’t tell Max the whole sordid truth, that he was as helpless and hopeless as any crackhead Max had ever busted.

He wriggled more comfortably against Max, closed his eyes, trying to think about nothing but the slow, soothing slide of Max’s hand down his spine.

“Why don’t you just tell me whatever it is that has you in knots?” Max sounded perfectly wide awake.

Swift blinked into the darkness, considering. Hadn’t they had enough drama for one evening? He warned, “It doesn’t fall under the Low Maintenance heading.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It was painful to have to admit it, and to Max of all people, but Swift forced himself to put it into words. “Something’s going on with me, and I don’t understand it. It’s been years since I felt this way, and I don’t know if it’s all in my head or if it’s something else.”

“Sure,” Max said in the tone of someone who has no idea of what the other person is talking about.

“I’m a cocaine addict. I’m recovering, but…I’m still an addict.”

Max sounded puzzled. “I know.” It was ground they had covered a long time ago.

“I’ll bet. Had you read my file before I told you?”

“Yep. The second time you invited me for dinner.”

Swift wasn’t surprised. “And it didn’t scare you off?”

“You’re a very good cook.” Max’s arm tightened around Swift. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Yes. He was. Very much so.

“It’s been—I’ve felt that my addiction is under control. As much as it can be, but lately—”

Yeah, definitely not an admission to make to someone looking for low maintenance in a lover. It was a mistake to spill all this, but tonight Swift needed a friend as much as he needed a lover, and if Max was not his friend, the other was doomed anyway.

“Go on.”

“Lately the…cravings have started up again. And I’m afraid. Terrified…”

Max kissed his forehead. “Okay. That’s kind of what I figured was going on.”

That was a surprise. Swift raised his head, trying to see through the darkness. “Did you?”

“Mm. You’ve asked for help twice in all the time I’ve known you. Tonight and when you couldn’t get the fountain in the backyard to work.”

Swift smiled faintly, remembering. “The first time we met,” he pointed out. “When my car was hit.”

“That was official. You were reporting an accident. You weren’t asking me personally for help.”

True. Very true. Not an easy thing for him at any time, and even after they started seeing each other, he wouldn’t have wanted to impose on Max.

It was as though Max picked up his brainwaves. “You did the right thing calling tonight.”

“I did?”

He must have sounded startled. Max gave a funny half laugh. “You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know.” Swift confessed, “I’m so tired I can’t think straight. This addiction is like trying to hang onto a-a pack of rottweilers, and all the time they’re pulling and tugging and charging at their leashes, and I’m trying to drag them back. I’m worn out with it.” How worn out hadn’t even registered until this instant. And now that he had started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop, lulled by Max’s almost-absent caresses.

“I don’t know if I need to go back into rehab or…or what. Just the thought of it makes me sick, but ever since you pulled that fucking bag out of the john, I can’t stop thinking about it. Wanting it. I mean, I
don’t
want it, but…”

“But you do,” Max said calmly. His stoic acceptance of the unacceptable was a relief. Not least because Max so often saw the world in absolutes. Yes or no. Good or evil. Up or down.

“It’s not even that clear. My brain
doesn’t
want it, but my body is…it’s…I’ve got all the familiar old symptoms. And it’s not stopping. My head starts pounding, my heart starts racing, my gut is churning butterflies… God, I can almost
smell
it.”

“Did you smell it when it was stashed in the bathroom?”

That brought Swift up short. He gave a shaky laugh. “No.”

“Too bad. I was thinking we could use you after we retire Sparky.”

“Who?”

“Our drug-detection dog.”

Swift laughed, though it was halfhearted. “I’ll probably be looking for work soon enough. It’s just…I thought it was behind me. That part of it, at least. Now I’m remembering the statistics and the fact is, the relapse rate for cocaine addiction is between ninety-four to ninety-nine percent. A lot of experts say it’s not possible to recover, the most you can hope for is to manage the relapses.”

“Now you’re letting the numbers scare you.” Max wasn’t joking around anymore. “You’ve been clean for six years?”

“Six. Yeah.” He wasn’t surprised Max had remembered the exact number. It would be a fact that Max had an interest in. Police Chiefs could not afford junkie boyfriends. Not even casual junkie boyfriends. “Sorry.” Swift wiped his eyes impatiently. “I know I’m dumping this on you and it’s not like I expect you to have an answer. I just needed to tell someone.”

“Six years drug free is huge. Remember that.”

“It’s not like seventeen years, though.” He filled Max in on his failed attempt to get hold of his therapist and then the awful phone call to Barry. “If anybody could make it, I’d’ve bet anything it would have been Barry.”

“I’m sorry about Barry. But you’re not him. His failure doesn’t mean your failure, any more than his success guaranteed yours.” Max’s caresses were more deliberate now, his hand a warm weight as he made soothing little circles in the small of Swift’s back. “You’re the captain of your own destiny.”

Swift smiled tiredly. Did Max know the source of that quote? “I know.”

“Just close your eyes and relax.”

Gratefully, Swift closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on nothing more than the feel of Max’s hand rubbing his back. Such a simple, uncomplicated pleasure, that of touch. Max smoothed the thin skin between Swift’s shoulder blades.

“This is where your wings used to be.”

Swift expelled a half laugh, most of his attention fixed on the slow deliberate slide of Max’s hand down his spine. Max’s fingers brushed the final links of bone and cartilage. “And that’s where my tail used to be,” Swift murmured.

Max made an amused sound. He traced a light finger down Swift’s crack. Swift shivered in instant response. Despite his exhaustion, he was still too wound up to sleep, so if this was turning sexual, it was fine by him. He welcomed the distraction.

Max palmed his ass cheek beneath the blankets, stroking and petting, every so often his fingertip brushing the opening to Swift’s body. It felt nice, very nice. Swift waited, aroused and anticipating whatever Max had in mind.

Without warning, Max pushed his finger inside. Swift jerked, the sound he made high and startled to his own ears.

“Shhh. Stay with me.” Like there was a chance Swift was going somewhere? Max moved his finger knowingly in that tight, hot channel. Without the lube it scraped, even hurt a little, but Max nuzzled his shoulder, and he was touching Swift so sweetly, so pleasingly. “You like that?”

Swift nodded. He didn’t like pain, but this odd mix of sensation wasn’t exactly pain. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it required his full consideration.

Max whispered, “Move onto your side.”

Swift rolled onto his side, and Max spooned closer, his other hand wrapping around Swift’s cock. Swift murmured approval, instinctively pushing up into Max’s firm grasp while aware that Max had slid the finger in Swift’s ass deeper still—all the way to his knuckle—and then out so that Swift could feel the tiny bite of fingernail on his anus.

Swift caught his breath. It was almost dizzyingly intimate, that careful, possessive in and out. In and out. Again. And again. A small burn to accompany the press of pleasure. He shivered again as Max tongued the back of his neck. So much loving attention from every direction. It was bewildering and reassuring. Max was working his cock with one hand and finger fucking him with the other. No effort was required from Swift at all, and he could feel all his tension and conflict unraveling beneath that expert touch.

They’d tried a number of things through the years, taking turns with everything. He’d certainly had Max’s fingers up his ass, but in the past it had been a means to an end. Tonight, this was apparently the end, this alarmingly tender onslaught.

Nice to be catered to. His body could take this with no strain at all. He didn’t even have to thi—

Max slid another dry, blunt finger into Swift.

Swift gasped, squirmed, but accepted it. Usually he preferred a light touch, but tonight this more aggressive approach was just right. He
couldn’t
think about anything else, the delicious assaults on his body ensured that. The lack of warning, of preparation, turned out to be what he needed.

His heart was thundering, his breath coming in winded pants as every few seconds Max changed things up again. A hot tongue in his ear, a little nip on the curve of his throat, and that combination of finger massaging his prostate and hand stroking his cock was creating a sort of sensory overload—satisfaction so intense it was dizzying. It was almost pain—and yet far too sweet for pain.

And it didn’t stop. It went on and on until he began to wonder if his much misused body could stand the strain. From a long way away he could hear the noises he was making, wild little sounds from the back of his throat as he gave into it everything Max was doing to him.

Max whispered to him, saying lovely, foolish things, heated words against Swift’s ear, telling Swift how beautiful he was, how much Max liked the way he moved, the sounds he made, and the delectable things that Max was going to do to him.

When orgasm at last tore through Swift it was something closer to violence than pleasure, but it brought a purging relief in its hot, wet wake. Or maybe he was just too numb after all that to feel anything at all. Too tired to move, for sure.

Max gathered him closer still, winding him tightly in his arms. “Are you listening, Swift?”

Swift nodded in exhausted assent.

“Sleep. You’re worn out. It’s okay to let go. I’ve got you.”

Swift’s throat closed. Maybe Max understood that he couldn’t speak, even if he’d known what to say.

“I’m not going to let go of you. I’m going to hold you all night. So go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you’re still craving cocaine, go ahead. You’re safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won’t let go, and if you still feel like you can’t trust yourself in the morning, and it’s what you want, I’ll drive you to rehab myself. Okay?”

Stupid, so stupid that it should get to him like that. But it did. Hot tears spilled over and itched their way down his face. He wiped them on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

He felt Max shake his head. “There’s not much I won’t do for you, Swift. You ought to know by now.”

He slept like the dead. If he dreamed, he wasn’t aware of it. He woke with Max’s arms wrapped around his torso and Max’s genitals soft against his ass. And for the first time in days he wasn’t aware of wanting anything but breakfast. Breakfast and Max. Not necessarily in that order.

Max was tired, though. Swift could see the lines of fatigue that hadn’t quite smoothed out during the night. There were threads of silver in Max’s brown hair and even in his mustache, and the recognition of Max’s mortality squeezed Swift’s heart.

He lay still, even regulating his breathing, savoring the peace of being together like this, doing nothing that might wake Max too soon.

Three minutes before the alarm went off, Max’s eyelashes flickered and rose. He gazed wordlessly at Swift. Swift smiled ruefully. Max lifted a hand and stroked his knuckles down Swift’s prickly cheek. His mouth curved in faint response. No words needed.

They showered and dressed in that same peaceful wordless understanding, and over the usual toast and coffee spoke of nothing more serious than the drizzle fogging up the kitchen windows.

Before Max left he said, “If things get on top of you today, call me.” His eyebrows rose in response to whatever he read in Swift’s face. “Now what?”

“I just…didn’t expect this.”

“What did you expect?”

With one—maybe one and a half—notable exceptions, they had always been honest with each other. “I thought you might see me through whatever last night was and then suggest we take a break for a while. Put a safe distance between us.”

Max grunted. “Did you see any other possibilities?”

“I didn’t let myself look for them.”

Max said nothing.

“Why
are
you doing this? You said it yourself last night. If anything I’ve—our friendship has been a bigger hassle in the last six days than in all the last six years.”

“That’s sure as hell true.” Max’s grin was wry. “I guess…maybe I like to be needed.”

If that were true, he’d have to travel a distance to find anyone needier than Swift. It was a bitter thought.

“Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

Max’s smile faded. He actually seemed to lose some of his normal healthy color as he said, “Maybe it turns out that I love you.”

Love.
Swift’s heart seemed to stumble. Not “have feelings” or “care for you”. No. The L-word. Not just naked. The full monty. “Do you?”