Forever Promised (12 page)

Deacon had a dash of predator in him when they were in bed. “The thing?” he asked, still holding their cocks together, still thrusting his hips. “The thing where I lick you and stretch you and fuck you? That thing?” He was whispering into Crick’s ear, his lips brushing the sensitive hollow, and Crick wanted to roll over and spread his cheeks, just from the sound of that deep, sweet voice in the whorls of his ear. The grip and slide of Deacon’s hand and cock against his own didn’t make that need go away.

“Ye-ess!” Crick’s voice pitched pleadingly, and Deacon’s weight and his hand disappeared, and Crick rolled over and raised his ass, giving his bad arm a stern caution to be steady for this, he had needs. Deacon pressed the flat of his hand against his back gently, and Crick allowed himself to fall, completely vulnerable, ass sticking up in the air, his head on a pillow and his arms around it.

The cool of the damp cloth was not entirely unexpected—they worked hard and got sweaty and it seemed just courtesy to allow yourself to be freshened up—but when what followed was the heat and the wet of Deacon’s tongue? Crick shuddered and groaned, glad his body was pretty much stuck in this position until he flopped sideways, because he was shaking with need. Deacon kept licking, kept probing with this tongue, gentling his hand down Crick’s flanks, and still, Crick moaned into the pillow.

Suddenly Deacon’s hand came down in a light smack across Crick’s backside, and Deacon pulled in a mouthful of the flesh of Crick’s cheek before releasing it with a pop. “We’re alone in the house,” he rumbled. “Make as much noise as you want!”

Crick’s want-shivers got worse, and he turned his head to the side and started to beg. “C’mon, Deacon, you’ve played back there en—
nough!
” His voice pitched frantically, because Deacon replaced his tongue with his fingers and started to stretch. Crick whined a little and wiggled his backside and then gave up pride, because with Deacon, what was pride? “Deac-
on,
stop messing around back there and
fuck me!
”

Deacon ignored him and kept licking and wiggling his fingers, and then, oh holy hell, he moved his hand up to stroke Crick’s cock again, and Crick just wanted to—

“
Please
, Deacon!” Crick was desperate by now, because he was going to come again, and he needed Deacon inside him
so damned bad.

He heard a grunt behind him and felt a sudden chill as Deacon sat up and rummaged under the pillow by Crick’s head for the lube. It maybe took him ten seconds, but it felt like forever as Crick lay there, exposed and vulnerable, his tender bits cooling in the air.

Deacon’s sudden thrusting invasion stopped his breath. For a moment Crick fought him, because it was unexpected and, well, Crick just fought things, but his body seemed to realize this was
exactly
what he needed. He pushed back against Deacon’s cock, and a flush of heat washed the want-shivers away. Again, Deacon gentled his flank, his back and his shoulders. Deacon gave a rumbling sigh like this was exactly where he belonged, and Crick wiggled.

“Deacon?”

“Hmm?”

“Ya gonna…?”

“Gonna what?”

Oh hell. Now the irritating man was just playing with him! “Dammit, Deacon! Fuck me
now
!”

Crick could swear Deacon’s chuckle actually quivered through his cock, and then Deacon was thrusting in and out so hard he wouldn’t have been able to tell. But that was okay. Deacon knew his sweet spot, knew how fast, how hard (
really
hard!) Crick needed, and every thrust stretched Crick to the point of pain while it hit Crick’s nerve central. Crick’s whole body shook, and he found his cock with his good hand. He was slick and spurting with every pound to his prostate, and Deacon landed a solid
thwack
to Crick’s backside and ordered, “Come, dammit,
come!
”

Crick’s orgasm swept over him like a herd of horses, and he took full advantage of the empty house, groaning from his gut into the brightly lit bedroom around them. Deacon howled from the same place in his stomach and thrust hard a couple times before stopping and shuddering and pouring himself into Crick.

“Gonna crush you flat, Carrick. That okay?”

With a grunt, Crick shoved his legs back and fell against the sheets, Deacon on top of him, still lodged firmly up Crick’s ass. Crick clenched around him, slippery and still hot inside, and tried to keep Deacon there, loving the feeling of having him actually inside of Crick’s flesh, merged and pulsing and one.

Deacon kissed Crick’s shoulders, his panting breaths hitting the cooling sweat on Crick’s back and making him shiver. Crick turned his head, knowing Deacon would take the hint and nuzzle his cheek to find his lips in one of those kisses over the shoulder that were both comforting and infuriating, because they never got deep enough. Deacon broke it off before Crick’s neck could give, and nuzzled Crick’s ear.

“You can’t do that unless the house is empty,” he said smugly, and Crick’s lips twisted.

“It’s a good thing I’m feeling too good to let that piss me off,” he said mildly, sighing into the mattress.

Deacon slid out of him and then rolled to the side. Crick shifted so they were face-to-face, without hardly the space of a pillow separating them. Crick lifted his twisted left hand and skimmed his fingertips over Deacon’s temple. Deacon captured the hand and kissed it, and Crick’s smile untwisted itself.

“It would be worth it,” he said simply. “The sex might not be as noisy, but it would be worth it to have a baby.”

Deacon’s half smile faded, and his green-hazel eyes were sober. “I didn’t know you wanted kids.”

“I wanted yours,” Crick said. He concentrated hard, made his thumb move, brushed it across Deacon’s lips. “More now than ever.”

Deacon closed his eyes for a moment, and he pulled Crick’s thumb into his mouth briefly and then released it. “We’ll see,” he said vaguely, and Crick sighed again.

“I know you’re planning to say no—”

“You do not know—”

“I do! Deacon, look, let me talk one more time, and then I’ll drop it and kiss you again, because we’re not done with that whole sex thing, okay?”

Deacon’s eyes popped open and he smirked. “You know, I
am
getting older—”

“Don’t change the subject and don’t bullshit me, old man. Just listen.”

Deacon sighed and shifted on the bed, propping his head up on his hand and tucking Crick’s hand against his chest. “See? Listening.”

“Prick much? Okay, moving on. Here’s the thing.” Crick took a deep breath and felt nerves slither in his stomach, which was absurd because it was something he said every day. “The thing is, I love you.”

Deacon’s expression softened. “Do you ever think there’s a moment when I don’t know that?”

Crick nodded, feeling his eyes heat absurdly. “Yes. Yes, I do. I think there’s a moment of every day when you doubt it. I think every morning, right before you wake up, you dream of a world where I don’t love you, and when you get up and get out of bed, you spend the entire day being Deacon the fucking Great so that world never happens. And I’m a realist. I get I could fuck you into the mattress—”

Deacon cleared his throat and scowled.

“—or vice versa. Either way, we could be fucking like bunnies, stopping long enough to piss and eat, 24/7, and you’d
still
worry that you had somehow missed the Fucking Champion of the World requirements and weren’t going to win in that department either. So I can’t take that away from you. I get it. I can try every day, but I get that it might not ever happen. But a baby. God, Deacon, a baby.
Your
baby. That baby wouldn’t ever have to doubt. We’re both a little broken and both a lot fixed, but we could get this baby thing right, I know it. Can’t you have faith in that, Deacon? I know you’re worried about your physical beating heart, but Benny’s got my heart, and it’s strong enough for the both of us. Can’t you, just once, have a little faith in the things we love in you and believe enough to try to have this baby?”

His voice cracked in the middle, and, oh wonderful, he was tearing up like a weenie in bed.

Deacon didn’t say anything, just bent and kissed his cheek tenderly, and then his temple, where the damned tears were trickling down in a salty, irritating stream, and then the tip of his nose, and Crick blew out a noisy breath.

“Oh, hell,” he grumbled. “There goes that whole sex for round two, right?”

“Round three,” Deacon said softly, his lips curving up gently. “But who’s counting.”

“Did you even hear what I said?” And God, wouldn’t it be terrific now that Crick had just poured his heart out on the love of his life if Deacon’s own insecurities didn’t shed all that sincerity like a vinyl purse sheds a spilt drink.

Deacon nodded and went for Crick’s mouth this time. Crick obliged him by turning his head and parting his lips and allowing the kiss to deepen. Deacon still tasted wonderful, like sex and warmth and Deacon, and none of that had changed, not even a little bit, from their first kiss that summer day after Jon and Amy’s wedding, over seven years ago.

Deacon pulled away from the kiss and then scooted up and kissed Crick’s temple. “We’ll do the blood tests,” he said after a moment. “I’ll squirt in a cup. We’ll get shit checked out. I’m not committing to anything, but I’ll think about it. How’s that?”

Crick nodded and smiled and wished like anything that he could cup his ruined hand around his lover’s cheek. “That’s all I can ask,” he said hoarsely, and Deacon shook his head.

“When you say shit like that,” he murmured, “I know you’re missing the point.”

Crick shook his head back. “You’re the one who’s missing shit, Deacon. Now shut up and kiss me again. This time, I’m
really
going to cut loose.”

True to his word, this time, when he came, he let loose with a roar that scared the dog into barking circles around the kitchen for a good fifteen minutes. The two of them spent the entire time alternating between calling the damned dog’s name and giggling on each other’s shoulders, and Crick never doubted that they were stupid happy in love.

Deacon
:
Telling Two Friends

“S
O
,” J
ON
said as Deacon and Shane rounded the corner to pick him up for their morning jog.

Deacon didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. Instead, he changed the subject. “You’d better keep running when you move to DC, you know that, right?”

Jon held his hand to his heart theatrically. “I’m shocked,
shocked
, that you’d even think I wouldn’t.”

Deacon and Shane exchanged glances, and Shane’s generous mouth curved up into what, for him, was a truly epic smile. “I’m not gonna be the fattest anymore!” he crowed, and he sounded like a little kid.

Deacon laughed, because Shane
was
funny, if you bothered to track back the things he said to their source, and nodded. “You’re not the fattest now,” he said sincerely. “That honor is going to be Crick’s if he keeps eating his own cooking.”

“If you ate it, he’d stop having to finish off your plate,” Shane replied, and Deacon cringed.

“We’re not starting that shit up again,” he cautioned. “Jon, are you going to come with us or not?”

Jon was still standing by his porch with his arms crossed, glaring at Deacon like he used to when they were kids and Deacon wanted Jon to take credit for something Deacon had done.

“Please, Jon, please? If
you
turn in the spelling bee homework,
you’ll
get to be in the bee, and you
love
it when people clap!”

“I didn’t do it, Deacon. It’s extra credit. Mrs. Jenkins will never believe
I
did anything I didn’t have to!”

“Yes, I’m going to come with you, but only if you promise to spill the beans!”

Shane’s thunder roll from Deacon’s left shoulder was comforting. They’d been running together for close to three years now, and Shane could always be counted on for support.

“I’m curious too,” he said, and Deacon scowled at him. Traitor.

“Who told you?” he asked Jon, mostly playing for time.

Jon sighed and started running to catch up with them, assuming, Deacon gathered, that he would rather have this conversation running than have it while standing in his yard when Deacon and Shane were practically in the middle of the nowhere road. “Oh Jesus, Deacon. Who
didn’t
tell me! What matters isn’t who told
me
, what matters is who told
my wife
!”

Deacon grunted. Hell. “Benny?”

“She
is
Benny’s best friend.”

“Don’t tell Jeff or Mickey that,” Shane said seriously, and the last three years of running really had been good to him, because he wasn’t having
nearly
as much trouble keeping up with the conversation as he used to. “They think
they’re
the only ones in the ring.”

“Pfft!” Jon managed an eye roll that would have done any gay man proud. “Amy’s the one with the ovaries, and from what I understand,
those
are the things calling the shots. So?”