Three the Hard Way (12 page)

Fine. Great. No problem. But although Justice had known he was gay for most of his life, Taggart had been a little slow on the uptake. He’d been athletic, a total jock who attracted the cheerleaders, and he’d been happy to take what they offered.

Then that morning . . . Jesus, he could still see it in his mind, as clear as it’d been all those years ago.

The sun had been on the horizon, its hazy rays peeking through the dusty slats of his bedroom blinds. The mattress had been jiggling in a slow, rhythmic bounce and his first, sleep-fogged thought had been that they were experiencing a mild earthquake.

We’re not even in frigging California
.

Taggart managed to peel his eyes open to see if Justice was awake and feeling the same thing. And yeah, the other boy was awake. His head was kicked back into the pillow, his face contorted in what Tag first thought was agony.

Instantly alert, Tag swept his gaze lower, sure the guy was suffering from some horrible illness. But holy shit . . . he got real clear on what was happening a heartbeat later.

One of Justice’s big hands rested on his bare stomach, and the other was beneath the blankets, moving up and down. The impressive tent at his groin grew larger as he worked his cock, and Taggart’s mouth went so dry he thought he might choke.

He knew he shouldn’t watch. Knew he should close his eyes and go back to sleep. But watching Justice jerk off was somehow the biggest turn-on of his teenaged life. And he’d seen his share of girly magazines and pornos. Not to mention that just last weekend, Heidi Cummings had given him his first blowjob in the back of her daddy’s Chevy, and watching her blonde head bob on his dick had set him off embarrassingly fast.

Now, watching Justice was threatening to make him come all over himself with no physical stimulation at all.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened on Justice’s chest as his muscles clenched and his body strained under the onslaught of pleasure. What would he do if Tag reached over and . . . and what? Helped? His buddy had everything under control. Besides, Taggart had never been with a guy, and when and if he decided to test those waters, he wouldn’t choose Justice as his first. He couldn’t risk their friendship. He might not have a lot of life experience, but he’d learned enough from his mother to know that truly good friends were the family you chose for yourself, and they were few and far between.

But that didn’t stop him from having to bite his tongue to suppress a groan as Justice’s body arched and his strokes came faster. His lips parted as he began to pant, and damn, Taggart wanted to taste that mouth, to dive inside it and kiss the shit out of his friend as Justice came.

Justice shoved his free hand under the covers and lifted them as his climax took him, and Tag’s mouth watered—honest-to-God watered—as cum shot from the tip of his cock to his sweat-drenched abs and chest.

Taggart’s own cock was rock hard and throbbing, his balls tight with the need to blow. Somehow, he remained silent and still, keeping his breathing controlled and steady, until Justice swung off the bed, his underwear and sleep pants tugged down in front, and dashed off to the bathroom.

With a sigh of relief, Tag palmed his cock, and in five strokes, he was there. The orgasm hit him so hard he saw stars. Quickly, he grabbed a sock off the floor, cleaned himself up, and was eyes closed and faking sleep before Justice even shut off the water.

That image had become Taggart’s masturbation fantasy of choice for years, even long after he and Justice parted ways. Hell, he’d gone to that place in his head as recently as last year, after Ian had destroyed him.

So yeah, Justice had always been there, taking up real estate where he didn’t belong. And that pissed off Tag more than anything else.

The guy had always been in his head and heart. And now he was in his bed, too. How was he supposed to deal with that?

“He’ll be okay, you know.”

Tag looked up to see Ian standing in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, his stockinged feet crossed at the ankles. They hadn’t spoken since the strained conversation earlier. He’d wanted to give Ian some space, sure, but frankly, Tag hadn’t
wanted
to talk. Not when his brain was still processing everything that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“Yeah, I know he’ll be okay,” Tag said. “Justice has always been a tough bastard.”

“Then why the bedside vigil?”

Tag eyed Ian as he took a swig from the bottle. God, the guy was good-looking. “It’s what we do. I got pneumonia when I was eleven, and he was there, day and night. When he broke his leg when he was fourteen, I didn’t leave his side until he could walk on his own.”

He’d even bypassed nurses, doctors, and security in those first few hours after Justice had arrived at the hospital, because fuck if anyone was keeping him away from his friend. Not family, they’d said? Screw that. Family had nothing to do with blood.

He glanced away from Ian before he did something stupid, like take his hand and pull him down on top of him. Not for sex, but for comfort.

“I hate that you have that kind of history with him.”

Tag blinked. “What?”

“It’s that jealousy thing again. You’ve got twenty-six years of history with him, and I can’t compete with that.”

He watched the steady rise and fall of Justice’s chest. How many times had he laid his head on that chest and just listened to his strong heartbeat? “It doesn’t have to be a competition.”

“Doesn’t it?” Ian murmured. “You have to choose one of us. Or have you already made that decision?”

Panic tightened his rib cage, squeezing his heart so hard he felt actual pain. He couldn’t make a decision. Not again. He’d been cornered into a choice before—Justice and ACRO or nothing at all, and he’d chosen poorly. Clearly, his judgment was suspect.

“I don’t know what to do, Ian. I’d rather ride out on my snow machine and meet Itor by myself than lose one of you.” He gave a bitter snort. “You’re right. I do run when things get real.”

“And this is as real as it gets.” Ian scrubbed his hand over his face, and it didn’t escape Tag’s notice that his fingers were trembling. “I don’t want to lose you, Tag. I’ll do anything. I’ll share you with him if I have to. I can learn to like him. He
is
kinda hot.”

Tag had a feeling that last bit was thrown in to test
his
jealousy factor . . . and oddly enough, he didn’t feel jealous at all. These were the two loves of his life in this room, and if anything, this felt right.

Which was so wrong.

He shoved to his feet. “I can’t talk about this right now.” He started to push past Ian, but the guy grabbed him, spun him, and put his back to the wall.

“We don’t have to talk,” Ian growled. “But I have to do this.”

He slanted his mouth over Tag’s. Somehow, Ian always knew what Tag wanted, and right now, he wanted comfort. Human contact. Reassurance that he wasn’t alone in being confused but still in love.

And so did Ian.

Tag’s tongue slipped between Ian’s lips, and that fast, the temperature in the room shot up ten degrees. Ian’s hands gripped his shoulders so hard that sweet pain shot through both Tag’s arms.

“You know what made me fall for you?” Ian whispered against Tag’s mouth. “Life.”

“What?”

Ian spoke as he kissed his way along Tag’s jaw. “I didn’t feel alive until I met you. And you . . . you are life. I’ve never met anyone who just wanted to be normal. To have a life where you take the day off to rent jet skis or go to a concert in the park at dusk.”

Tag smiled, the memories of their days at the beach and concerts seeming so distant, given the cold, the snow, and the fact that Christmas was just days away. “That’s why I fell for
you
, Ian . . . Oh, yeah, right there . . .”

Ian’s hands had dropped to his ass, his mouth to his throat, and his erection was cozying up to Tag’s. “I felt safe with you. Needed. Things I hadn’t felt since Justice. You were full of life. You still can be—”

Ian cut him off with a brutal kiss, as if it was the last one they’d ever share. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“I need you,” he murmured against Ian’s lips.

Ian’s hands found his fly, ripped it open, and then Tag’s cock was in Ian’s fist. “I’m so going to fuck you.”

No. He wasn’t ready for that. And weirdly, the fact that he hadn’t fucked Justice yesterday played a role in his hesitation. He couldn’t give himself to one man but not the other. Besides—

With a growl, he yanked Ian out of the bedroom and into the living room. “You fucked me when you betrayed me to Itor,” he said. He didn’t mean to be cruel; if anything, he needed closure on that. “My turn.”

He spun Ian around and slammed him forward over the back of the couch. Roughly, he jerked Ian’s jeans and long johns down, leaving them tangled around his feet so he couldn’t move. As he straightened, he smoothed his hands up Ian’s long, muscular legs until he reached that sweet ass.

Spreading his cheeks with his thumbs, Tag pressed the flat of his tongue against Ian’s balls and licked upward, over his puckered hole and through the deep valley, all the way to the small of Ian’s back. Ian mumbled something, but Tag didn’t catch it, didn’t care. All that mattered was burying himself balls-deep inside the only man besides Justice he’d ever loved.

He gave himself a couple of strokes, and then cursed. “Hold on. Condom.”

Ian’s hand came around and gripped Tag’s hip before he could move. “Don’t need one. Pac-1 injection.”

Tag’s sex-logged brain didn’t process that for a second, but, right . . . at Itor, he’d also been injected with the combined contraceptive/anti-STD drug all of the super-agent types used.

It was the one thing Tag could thank Itor for, he supposed.

But there was still the matter of lube . . .

Three feet away, on the counter, was a crock of butter.
That’ll do.

Keeping one hand on Ian’s back, Tag stretched for the crock, knocked the lid off, and dipped a finger inside.

“Hurry, Tag,” Ian said, his tone just shy of begging.

It took Tag two seconds to coat his erection and guide it to Ian’s waiting entrance. He wasn’t going to last once he was inside Ian, so he took the entry slow and easy for as long as he could stand it.

He watched the head disappear, Ian’s tight ass drawing him in. “Damn,” he breathed. “I forgot how . . . good you feel.”

Ian moaned and pushed back in response, taking Taggart deep. Silky heat surrounded him as Ian clenched and rotated his hips, demanding more. Hell, yes, after a year of missing this firm ass, he was going to get more.

He pulled back, nearly withdrawing, before punching his hips forward in a single, powerful thrust. Ian shouted in pleasure, just as Tag knew he would. Ian had always liked taking it a little rough, and Tag liked giving it to him.

He thrust again, harder, and the sofa scored the floor as it moved with Ian. Again, harder, and Ian had to brace his arms on the cushions as his hips banged into the back of the couch. Again, but this time, Tag reached around and fisted Ian’s cock.

Butter still coated his fingers, and he used it to lube that thick erection as he stroked. He circled his thumb over the crown, making Ian hiss and his cock jerk in Tag’s palm. He moved his hand lower, to Ian’s tight sac, skimming the pads of his fingers over the sensitive skin before pressing up into the seam and rolling one firm testicle in the way that drove Ian crazy.

Sure enough, Ian began a frenzied pumping rhythm that Tag couldn’t take, not when he was already on the verge of orgasm. Bending over Ian’s back, he kissed his spine as they ground against each other, taking and giving, the hard column in Tag’s hand pulsing in his grip.

Outside, the wind howled, fueling the storm of ecstasy raging through Tag as he pounded against Ian. Ian was urging him to fuck harder, and the slap of flesh on flesh joined the blizzard’s fury outside.

“Ian,” he rasped. “Jesus—”

A lightning strike of pleasure streaked through him, making him dizzy as the climax took him. He roared in blissful release, and Ian, usually the loud one, groaned as his hot cum splashed on Tag’s hand. The room spun, and so did Tag’s mind, because this had been the best sex he and Ian ever had. Yes, they’d had more creative sex, more foreplay, more positions. They’d definitely fucked harder and longer.

But this had been vital in a way none of the other times had been. Ian and Tag been through hell and back, and here they were, older, wiser, and more honest than before.

The orgasm had been great.

The connection was better.

Fuck, he was a sap, wasn’t he?

Wrapping his arms around Ian, he guided them both to the floor, snagging the blanket draped over the couch on the way down. He twisted so they were sitting with their backs to the sofa, Ian leaning against Tag’s chest. He dragged the blanket across their laps and relaxed in the flickering light from the fire.

It felt good and right, and the weirdest thing was that he wished Justice would come out of the bedroom. Right now.

If he did, Tag would get up and kiss him. Just push him up against the wall and kiss him with the mouth that had just kissed Ian. What would Justice do if he did that? What would Ian do?

His cock stirred at the thought, the horny bastard.

The wind had died down, and the silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing and the fire crackling in the corner, must have been too quiet, because he opened his mouth . . . and stupid shit fell out.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d share me?”

Ian moaned a muffled, “Mm . . . hmm.”

Don’t say it! Don’t say
— “What if I shared . . . you? And Justice.”

Ian’s drowsy eyes shot open. “You saying what I think you’re saying?”

Yeah, Tag couldn’t believe he was saying it, either. But he couldn’t lose either one of them. And really, he truly thought that if Ian and Justice could get past their distrust, they’d find they had a lot in common. They were both homebodies, preferring to stay in rather than party at a bar. They both read geeky books. And they both had an unholy love of raw oysters.