Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (6 page)

Tate’s cock was near to bursting, and he
wrapped a hand around it then moaned when Clay pushed his hand
away.

“No, you come just from
this
,” Clay growled, “Me inside you. You’ve done it
before; now let me see it. Think about my cock deep inside you,
marking you, giving you my seed...” He leaned in to Tate’s ear. “Me
fucking
you like this. Making you mine.” He
pushed Tate’s legs back, gripping him tighter and drove even
harder, to the point of near pain.

Those words and the aggressive passion with
which he was being well and truly screwed drove Tate to the edge.
As Clay reared back and rammed into him again, Tate managed one sly
twist of his cock with his hand and climaxed. Shuddering as his
body rode out his orgasm, dimly he heard Clay’s shout and the
warmth flooding his arse as he came too. Breath heaving with the
force of his release, Tate lowered his aching legs and lay beneath
Clay’s heavy body. His heart pounded madly, his arse was sore and
the room bore the scent of sex, sweat and Clay’s unique fragrance.
His lover toppled off him onto the bed and lay there beside
him.

“You cheated,” Clay finally muttered as he
raised himself on one elbow and observed him with a smile. “Think I
didn’t see that little move you did when you palmed your cock?”

“Yeah, yeah; you don’t miss a thing do you?”
Tate wiped a strand of sticky semen off Clay’s stomach, raising it
to his mouth and sucking on it. Clay’s eyes darkened. “Mister Hawk
Eyes, that’s you.”

Clay chuckled. “Next time I’m going to tie
your hands to the headboard so you can’t touch yourself.”

Tate’s cock jumped a little. “
That’s
no punishment,” he said softly as he trailed his
tongue along Clay’s jawline.

Clay grinned tiredly. “Oh, yeah. What the
hell was I thinking…? You love that stuff.” He rolled his eyes as
he settled back onto the pillow on his side, facing Tate and
pulling the duvet over them both. “Time to sleep. Are you okay to
talk in the morning about things?” His tone was hesitant.

Tate took a deep breath. “I guess. I know we
should.” He frowned. “Did you tell Draven about us? I know Taylor
knows and Draven is the only common connection I can think of.”

Clay was quiet for a minute before replying.
“Yes. I had a rough night the night you kicked me out. I got drunk,
spat my mouth off.” He shrugged. “Either Taylor read his mind or
Dray spilled the beans. He can’t resist that man of his. But I know
both of them will keep it quiet.”

I don’t want it kept
quiet. But I’m not going there right now. Clay will be surprised
enough at the next therapy session when it comes to that sensitive
topic.

Under the cover, he ran a hand across Clay’s
stomach then turned himself into the little spoon. Clay’s strong
arm swung across him as he pulled him closer, his half-soft cock
pressed against Tate’s cheeks.

“‘Kay.” Soft lips brushed against the back of
his head. “I hope you manage to sleep well, love. I’m glad I’m
back.”

Tate nodded as he closed his eyes. “Uh huh,
me too.” He was already drowsy and feeling safe with Clay’s arms
around him. Maybe the nightmares would stay away tonight.

In his time in
the RAF and then the SAS, Clay had faced many dangers. He’d been
thrown out of an aeroplane by a manic instructor, kicked in the
head by a rogue donkey in Afghanistan, been submerged in
below-freezing waters, been shot at, stabbed and beaten more times
than he cared to remember. He’d encountered crazies intent on his
destruction, drunk more alcohol than was healthy for him and killed
many men and a woman. The latter had been a lady (and he admitted
he used that term loosely) hell bent on slitting his throat during
a deep cover operation in Prague. Nothing, however, had ever
prepared Clay for the relationship skills and patience that he
needed to manage the volatile being that was Tate Williams.

Dr. Jakes smiled at him. “Something on your
mind, Clay? Want to share?”

Clay smirked. “Your last question reminded me
about our school years together.” He waggled a finger in Tate’s
face. “Even as a teen, he was a damn handful. When he was thirteen,
he was the first one of us to come out.” He chuckled and saw Tate
grin at the memory. “He made this huge, six-foot-long,
two-foot-high banner at the mock junior prom and hung it across the
dessert table. It said, ‘Yeah, I’m a fucking fruit. Get over
it.’”

Both men sniggered loudly. This was their
third session as a couple and Clay really believed that it was
helping them both manage Tate’s behaviour and moods. He’d been
giving a lot of thought to Draven’s words too. He knew he needed to
tackle it sooner rather than later, despite his fear for his
lover’s safety.

Dr. Jakes raised her eyebrows at Tate.
“Confrontational much?” she said with a warm smile.

Tate laughed. “That’s what happens when you
call me fag and queer. I had to hit back somehow.”

Clay prodded Tate’s arm. “You hit back in
more than that way. You beat the crap out of those two jocks who
called you that because they saw you kissing that boy in the
schoolyard. Then you decorated the town and got caught, leading to
more damn trouble.”

Clay had been unhappy with that for two
reasons. Firstly, that the boy Tate had deep- Frenched wasn’t Clay.
It had been some geeky straight schoolmate who had dared Tate to
kiss him and everyone knew you didn’t dare him because…well, it was
just downright stupid. He was Tate, for God’s sake.

Secondly, he’d been concerned for Tate for
fighting back and injuring the two other boys. Tate had been
suspended while the school board investigated the incident.
Luckily, one of the teachers sympathetic to Tate had seen the event
unfold and confirmed that Tate hadn’t started it.

Tate scowled. “So I went on a bit of a binge
to celebrate my newly declared homo status. Some of those shop
owners had no sense of humour.” He grinned. “All I had to do was
clean it up. I got off with a caution.”

Graffiti was an art talent that Tate still
possessed. He’d go off by himself occasionally when he needed
solace, and Clay had no doubt that somewhere in the neighbourhood
there’d be a new piece of art on the city streets.

Clay glanced at the doctor, who appeared
highly amused by the stories. “Less than a year ago, we went to
Croydon and Tate felt the need to spray the police station with his
genius. We were rather drunk, and it was three in the morning. It
seemed like a good idea at the time. I was shitting bricks that
we’d get caught.”

Tate laughed loudly. “Yeah, one of the senior
detectives at the station was an ex-lover of mine and he was a
complete prat and a cheating arsehole. It was payback time.”

Both of them grinned at each other, and Clay
guessed they were both remembering the two-foot-high rendition of a
backside and an arsehole painted on the station wall. It had been
painted over quickly after discovery but they still chuckled when
they drove past the wall.

Natalie Jakes nodded and leaned forward, her
eyes observing Tate carefully. “You guys sound like a right pair.
Well matched, I’d say,” she remarked drily.

Then she got back to business. “So, Tate. The
halfway house.”

Clay knew Tate had a temper. He’d been on the
receiving end himself more than once. Now, as he watched his man
scowling fiercely across the table at his therapist, he hoped Dr.
Natalie Jakes had bigger balls than his lover. She was going to
need them.

“Yeah, I heard you on that. You want me to
spend time at a kid’s halfway house. Why?”

Clay tried to hide his smile at Tate’s
ferocious snarl. His partner actually loved kids, and in his career
as a policeman, he’d always been the first to volunteer for the
school talks and Career Day opportunities. Tate just simply had to
challenge everything. It was the nature of the beast.

Clay sat back and waited in anticipation for
Dr. Jakes’s reply.

The psychologist mock-frowned at Tate who
frowned back. “It’s a great halfway house, for abused and troubled
teens. The owner, Randall Pierce, is a friend of mine. He thinks
the young people would benefit from an older role model, someone
who knows what they’ve been through and can identify with them. You
wouldn’t need to tell them your whole story. Just talk to them,
make them understand you know where they’re coming from. Tell them
some stories about when you were a policeman.”

“How? I wasn’t a troubled teen,” Tate said
mulishly. “And I wasn’t… abused. I was tortured by a psycho in the
course of my job.” His voice lowered and he glanced across at Clay
quickly then back to the doctor.

Clay had heard the slight hesitation in
Tate’s voice when he said he hadn’t been abused, and from the look
on her face, so had his therapist. Her eyes darkened and she threw
a wary glance at Clay, whose stomach clenched at what he suspected
Tate wasn’t telling anyone.

Dr. Jakes leaned forward, a sympathetic glint
in her eye. “These kids suffer from PTSD, Tate, and that, my
friend, you definitely have in common with them.”

Clay hitched a breath. His boyfriend wouldn’t
like that statement.

Dr. Jakes forestalled Tate’s next words as
Clay had no doubt he’d try and refute that statement. “And we’ve
had this conversation before. You might not acknowledge it, but
it’s a fact.”

Tate muttered under his breath and leaned
back in his chair, long jeans-clad legs stretched out in front of
him. He turned and glared at Clay, who wisely kept quiet.

She warmed to the subject. “I think it would
be good for you to see these kids, interact with them. We aren’t
talking sexual abuse only, we’re talking actual physical and mental
harm, and some of these children are as young as eight years old. I
think you have the empathy to help them. At the same time, it would
be good for you to see what they’ve been through. It might give you
all some perspective.” She smiled at Clay. “Clay tells me you’re
good with kids. They respond to you. So one day a month isn’t going
to kill you, is it? I’m sure the boss will give you the time
off.”

Clay nodded, trying to keep the grin from his
face. “Oh, I think I can safely say the boss will be happy to give
Tate some leave.”

He heard a snort and what sounded
suspiciously like ‘Fucking Jezebel’ from Tate. But it looked like
he wasn’t going to argue anymore and was resigned to the
suggestion. Her next words threw him.

“And Clay—it’s time you and Tate started
being open about your relationship, with other people and in
public.” Her tone was even but Clay heard the steel in it.

Clay’s eyes widened as he stared at her.
“Where the hell did that come from?” He felt a stir of resentment.
Even though he’d reached the same conclusion himself, and had been
meaning to discuss it with Tate, he was irked at being blindsided.
He suspected ruefully that this was the real reason for his last
attendance at the three sessions he’d been to.

Tate shifted in his chair and then raised
troubled eyes to Clay’s. The two men stared at each other. Clay
waited for Tate to go first.

“I need you to let go a bit, Clay,” Tate said
quietly. “We’ve talked about this, so it’s no real surprise. I
don’t want to be protected or kept secret. I need to feel—” his
voice caught. “I need to believe you still see me as strong enough
to look after myself despite what I went through. You need to have
confidence in me that I know what’s best for me.”

Dr. Jakes watched their exchange with
narrowed eyes. She twirled her pen around in her fingers as she
observed them.

Clay reached over and took his hand. “God,
baby, I know that. You’re the strongest man I know. You are without
doubt my damn hero.”

Tate’s eyes softened. “Then trust me to be
that hero, Clay. Stop worrying that the bad guys out there are
going to get me again, and be the man I love.
That
I can live with. But being sheltered, having you
see me as half a man—that I can’t do anymore.” He swallowed and his
fingers tightened in Clay’s grasp.

Clay’s jaw dropped. “Half a man? I have
never
thought that of you.” His heart beat
faster. “You’re my world, Tate, my everything. I can’t bear the
thought of someone hurting you again; that’s why I keep us a
secret.”

“And therein lies the problem, Clay.” Dr.
Jakes’s soft voice echoed in Clay’s eardrums. “This isn’t about
you. It’s about Tate. He needs to feel you still see him as the man
he was before Armerian got hold of him. Not someone to be wrapped
up in cotton wool. It’s hindering his healing process.”

“I realise that,” Clay said gruffly. “It’s
all I’ve been thinking about for the last damn week myself.”

Tate stared down at their clasped hands then
raised anxious eyes to Clay’s. “I understand your fear, I do. But I
can look after myself. I was an undercover agent for Christ’s sake.
I failed at that once. But I won’t fail again.” His jaw jutted in
determination. “Have you ever thought that I feel the same way
about you? That you go off to work, might get involved in dangerous
situations and you might not come home one night?” His voice
cracked. “I would fall apart if anything happened to you. But I
don’t expect you to do anything different because of who you are
and what you do. Well, this is who I am, Clay. You need to deal
with it.” He swallowed. “We spend so much time together, sleep at
each other’s houses. Anyone who really wanted to hurt me through
you would put two and two together anyway. What you’re doing means
jack shit in keeping me safe. They’d know how much you mean to me
and me to you just by looking at us. That’s why I get mad, because
you don’t see it that way.”

Clay was dazed. He didn’t want to admit it
right now but he knew exactly what Tate was talking about. He
had
been hiding his head in the sand,
pretending no one would figure it out if they kept the semblance of
not being in a relationship.