Pure Innocence (16 page)

Strawberry.
That was it, the perfect word.

Chapter Twelve

“
I always loved ice-cream
when I was a kid,” Damon said as he closed the apartment
door.

Oliver didn’t move. Damon still had hold of
his arm, and he could feel Damon’s fingers curve possessively
around his right wrist.

Oliver looked into Damon’s gaze. He wanted
to say something, something clever. Something to stop this moment
from ending, to describe how alive he felt, how aware. He stared at
Damon’s lips, licked his own, and smiled at how the cold of the
ice-cream had been the hottest thing he’d ever tasted.

“
Lift your arms,” Damon
commanded.

Oliver did as he was told. Damon carefully
lifted his sweatshirt off. The man’s grey eyes still regarding him
steadily as he straightened Oliver’s shirt.

Oliver took a breath, and lifted his arms
again. “Take it off.”

Damon’s eyes widened a little at Oliver’s
words, but Oliver didn’t add “please” or “Sir.” It wasn’t a
question, or an order, it was an invitation. Goose-bumps raised on
his arms as Damon lifted the shirt and trailed his fingers over
Oliver’s chest, and lower, to his pants.

“
I actually think, boy,
that you have way too many clothes on.”

Oliver wanted to nod, shout, agree
wholeheartedly, in any manner that would convince Damon he had no
need for any clothes, definitely not now, and probably not for some
time. He licked his lips again. “Yes.”

Damon knelt to untie Oliver’s shoes, and
Oliver’s stomach clenched. It wasn’t just how close he suddenly was
to Oliver’s groin, it was the sight of Damon kneeling in front of
him. He was awed. He must have made some noise, because Damon
immediately glanced up and Oliver’s lips parted soundlessly, his
gaze caught and held by Damon’s powerful one.

Damon reached and clasped the back of
Oliver’s thigh to steady him as he wavered a little. “Step
out.”

Oliver lifted each foot as Damon pulled his
shoes and socks off. He stared at Damon’s head, so near to where
Oliver’s erection was pushing at the front of his sweats. Oliver’s
breath sped up. Damon seemed to realize it as well; as Oliver held
his breath, Damon bent his head and gently nudged Oliver’s cock
through his sweats. Damon’s other hand curled around the back of
his second leg and pulled him closer.

Oliver closed his eyes and reveled in the
delicious sensations as his cock pushing against Damon. But Damon
leaned back, then stood up. He smiled and gently brought Oliver’s
right hand up to his mouth, and pressed a light kiss into the palm.
“Let’s get comfortable.”

Damon kept hold of him and walked to
Oliver’s bedroom. He walked up to the bed and trapped Oliver
against it. “I think you’ve forgotten you need to do your hand
exercises every day, boy.”

Damon bent and kissed Oliver’s neck, while
Oliver’s mind spun with the possibilities. He hadn’t missed the
suggestive teasing note in Damon’s words.

“
M-maybe, Sir, you should
lie down? I may need some help to work my fingers
properly.”

Oliver closed his eyes briefly at the low
guttural noise Damon made deep in his throat. He loved pulling any
reaction from Damon, he felt he was doing something right.

He opened his eyes as he felt Damon tugging
off Oliver’s pants. He stayed completely still as Damon
straightened up, his fingers brushing Oliver’s skin as he rose.
Damon stared at Oliver, those gray eyes darkening and sucking him
in. Damon quickly stripped his own clothes, and bent, scooped
Oliver up, and lay him gently on the bed. Oliver shuffled onto his
side, careful not to trap his left hand, and leaving his right
free.

Damon lay down carefully on his back, and
Oliver edged closer, his right hand drifting over Damon’s
chest.

“
I struggle to touch the
things I want to, sometimes my hand shakes if I try,” Oliver said
hesitantly.

“
Like this?” Damon drew
Oliver’s hand gently towards him, touching Oliver’s fingers to his
lips.

Oliver nodded. “And I struggle to straighten
the others properly.”

Damon caught the tip of his
next finger in between his lips, and gently sucked back until the
finger extended. Oliver smiled.
Such care,
such focus.
Damon trapped Oliver’s gaze as
he repeated the action with the other two.

“
It doesn’t
hurt?”

Oliver shook his head, wordlessly. How could
such breathtakingly tender touches do anything other than comfort
and caress?

“
What other movements do
you have to practice?” Damon asked quietly.

“
I-I have to grip. My
grip…I can’t close my three end fingers around anything.” Oliver
smiled at the laughter in Damon’s eyes.

“
Then let’s see if we can
find you something to practice on.” Damon said slowly, confidently.
He turned onto his side a little. They were face to face, almost
sharing breaths, the slow rise and fall of Damon’s chest synced
with Oliver’s. “If it hurts—at all—stop me.”

Oliver smiled. Damon could be so fierce in
his protectiveness, but it would kill Oliver to have to stop
now.

Damon supported the weight of Oliver’s hand
as it moved lower. Oliver didn’t look down. He was fascinated by
the facial expressions Damon made as his hand reached lower. How
his pupils darkened. How his lips parted because Damon needed to
lick them as they must have felt dry. How his nostrils flared as
Oliver first felt his fingers touch the hair on his groin; how he
made a small sound in the back of his throat at the first touch of
Oliver’s fingers on his cock.

Damon curled Oliver’s hand around his thick
cock, but it never hurt. It was like Damon just cradled Oliver’s
broken fingers in his hand. Oliver’s breath hitched a little and he
moved his hand up and down a little. He didn’t have to worry about
trying to tighten his fingers because Damon was supporting
them.

Damon was so warm. His silky skin stretched
as Oliver moved his hand up and down more, and Damon groaned
louder. Oliver grew bolder and brushed his thumb over Damon’s tip.
He could press down a little with that, and swirled circles on the
end, his thumb slicking wet circles where the pre-cum leaked.

Damon swallowed. “Are you sure you need
practice? You seem awfully good at this.” Oliver’s heart swelled
with pride and he tilted his head up a little, silently begging for
a kiss. Damon’s lips, when they met, weren’t as gentle. His kiss
demanded all of Oliver’s compliance, and Oliver was thrilled to
respond. He tightened his hand a tiny amount, and the groan in
Damon’s throat made Olive’s body tighten. He moved restlessly,
tingling starting in his groin, desperate for friction.

Damon must have known what Oliver needed and
his other hand reached for Oliver’s cock, making him nearly cry out
at that first touch. He rocked into the hand urgently, his hand
still clasped and moving on Damon’s cock.

Damon broke the kiss. “Oliver? Your fingers.
It doesn’t hurt?”

Oliver barely shook his head, chasing
Damon’s lips until Damon took that as an answer and moaned as they
kissed fiercely. His tongue overpowering Oliver’s, until Oliver was
nearly spinning with sensation.

Damon gasped. “Oliver.”

Oliver gloried in the warning. He’d done
this, him. He thrust his hips towards Damon’s body, reveling in the
pull of Damon’s fingers, and the tightening of his hand. He felt
Damon stiffen, gasp, and heat flooded his hand as Damon’s cock
pulsed against his fingers. That was all it took for Oliver to
come. He shouted in relief as he jerked in release.

“
Oh.” Oliver panted, his
heart beating in his chest.

Damon opened his eyes and lay gasping. He
let Oliver’s hand go carefully and sat up. He brushed a kiss on
Oliver’s lips. “Let me get a cloth.”

Oliver lay and watched Damon saunter into
the bathroom and heard the water running. He came back with a warm
washcloth and a dry towel. Damon sat while he carefully cleaned
Oliver’s hand and fingers, gently separating them to dry each one
carefully. Oliver gazed at man cradling his broken fingers so
gently in the palm of his hand. He wondered if Damon knew he was
holding his broken heart there as well.

They were interrupted when the phone started
ringing. Damon brushed a kiss on Oliver’s lips. “Let me get
that.”

Oliver eased himself off the bed, and
managed to pick up his sweats. He nearly had them on when Damon
came in and finished pulling them up for him. Oliver looked up,
beaming. “Thank you” was on the tip of his tongue. Then he saw
Damon’s face, and all his words dried up.

“
What is it?”

“
Kinley needs to come and
talk to us both.” Damon took a step forward and put his arm around
Oliver, pulling him closer.

“
Why? What is it?” Oliver
winced as his voice squeaked the last word.

“
Hush.” Damon rubbed his
arms up and down. “He’s just parking. He’ll be up in a few minutes.
It’ll be fine.” Damon closed his arms fully around Oliver, and
Oliver sank into his warmth, hid in the crook of his neck. He was
never coming out. Oliver even managed a small smile at his choice
of words, because Damon made him feel safe. Nothing was wrong and
nothing was going to happen, he just had to breathe.

Oliver nearly jumped at the
sound of the doorbell and he scowled fiercely. He wouldn’t let him
change anything, he was happy.
Strawberry.
Damon brushed a kiss on
his head and went to answer the door. Oliver slowly followed him
and went into the kitchen. In a few seconds Damon was back,
followed by the agent.

“
Coffee?” Damon plugged the
machine in and dumped what was left from earlier.

“
You look better, Oliver.
How are you feeling?”

Oliver raised his eyes at Kinley. He didn’t
really want the man to speak to him directly. “I...okay.” Oliver
shrugged.

“
You’re looking better,”
Kinley said again. Oliver didn’t reply this time, he wasn’t sure
who the agent was trying to convince.

Damon passed Kinley a cup and they headed
for the lounge. Oliver obediently followed. He wondered suddenly
where Damon would want him to sit; maybe he wasn’t ready for anyone
to question their relationship. He hesitated—he desperately wanted
to sit next to Damon.

Damon sat on the couch and held an arm out
to Oliver. Two strides and he was sat next to Damon, held in his
arms; it was wonderful. Oliver ducked his face into Damon’s
shoulder and inhaled his cologne. He could cope, maybe, if Damon
was going to help.

“
Trouble?” Oliver felt the
low rumble from Damon as he said the word, and pressed himself
closer. He didn’t want trouble.

Kinley paused and put his coffee down
quietly on the small table, Oliver could nearly hear the hesitation
in the agent’s voice. It made Oliver’s ears ring.

“
Basically this is the
problem. He was released from hospital into our custody yesterday,
and the defense—obviously—wants him declared incompetent to stand
trial. There’s a hearing scheduled for Wednesday, but that’s the
problem. We’ve taken over jurisdiction and it goes to federal
court. We’ve made it plain that if he pleads guilty, we will take
the death penalty off the table.”

Oliver looked up, startled. His heart was
beating so loud he thought Damon could hear it.

He felt Damon’s hand brush his arms
soothingly. “Florida has the death penalty, Oliver.”

He knew, it was just…

“
Breathe, boy.”

Oliver swung his head back to Damon and
gasped. His lungs filled; he hadn’t realized they were empty. Damon
gazed at him steadily with his big gray eyes. Kinley was talking,
but Oliver’s ears were full of the pounding from his heart, he
didn’t have room in there for words.

A hand cupped his face. Oh, oh that
was…Damon. Damon had him—safe. He swallowed. Breathed. He took
another lungful, concentrated on Damon’s hand and his eyes. His
heartbeat quieted, and he rested his head a little on Damon’s
shoulder.

“
A guilty plea means no
trial witnesses. He will go for that.” Oliver heard the
satisfaction threaded through Damon’s words.

It was going to be okay. Oliver brought his
head up to Damon to tell him that. That it was going to be okay,
that he was breathing. He was still doing all three things Damon
wanted.

Oliver blinked in confusion. Damon’s gray
eyes weren’t trained on him, they were looking at Kinley. They
weren’t warm and deep. They were glittering and dark. Something had
made Damon angry. Kinley wasn’t looking at Oliver either, he was
staring back at Damon.

Kinley turned to Oliver. “Oliver, I’m sorry,
but he is refusing to plead guilty.”

Damon stiffened, still looking at
Kinley.

“
What do you mean?” Oliver
asked.

“
It means there will be a
trial,” Damon said. He seemed apologetic. “If there’s a trial,
there will have to be witnesses—”

Oliver looked at Damon’s
face—anger, frustration, helplessness, and suddenly he
understood.
Witnesses
. Three boys dead. There were only two witnesses. One that
had spent three hours with him—Adam—and one that had spent three
weeks with the monster...him.

Oliver wanted to rage. He could hear Kinley
reassuring him, telling him it still might never get to trial, and
even if it did it would be months away, and Oliver would never be
left alone, would have all the help he would need.