Table of Contents

Definition and Etymology - 2

The Boy’s Decision by CB Potts - 3

Two Months’ Pay by Sarah Colter - 22

Support System by Anah Crow & Dianne Fox - 34

Contributors’ Bios - 48

Definition: 3. a bandage used to suspend or support an injured part of the body,
commonly a bandage suspended from the neck to support an injured arm or hand.

4. a strap, band, or the like, forming a loop by which something is suspended or
carried, as a strap attached to a rifle and passed over the shoulder.

Source: Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/sling

Etymology: sling (n.1) c.1300, "implement for throwing stones," from an
unidentified continental source, e.g. M.L.G. slinge "sling," from P.Gmc. *slenganan
(cf. O.H.G. slingan, Ger. schlingen "to swing to and fro, wind, twist;" O.E. slingan "to
creep, twist;" O.Fris. slinge, O.H.G. slinga, Ger. Schlinge "sling;" M.Swed. slonga
"noose, knot, snare"). The notion probably is of a sling being twisted and twirled
before it is thrown. Sense of "loop for lifting or carrying heavy objects" first recorded
1323. Meaning "piece of cloth tied around the neck to support an injured arm" is first
attested 1720.

Source: Online Etymology Dictionary
http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=sling&searchmode=none

The Boy’s Decision

By CB Potts

Part One

The knock was unexpected, but not unfamiliar. Three raps -- bam, bam, bam --
delivered in the center of the door, followed by a pause no more than half a minute.
Then there was another trio of raps, softer, more hesitant than the first set, a tentative
echo of greeting.

“Stay in bed,” Richard said, patting Bobby on the shoulder. “I know who this is.”

“I know who it is, too,” Bobby snarled. “What I don’t know is why he’s here.” His
tone made it abundantly clear that the answer to that question was obviously within
Richard’s purview.

“I don’t know.” There was another trio of raps then, fainter than their predecessors.
“We can always ignore him. We were sleeping, after all.” Richard chuckled. “He
probably just wants us to make the clubs open back up for him.”

“And have him sleeping on our doormat again?” Bobby turned toward the wall,
drawing the comforter up over his bare shoulder. “That bitch from the condo
association would just love that."

Richard sighed. “I’ll get rid of him,” he said, getting to his feet. “Once and for all.”

***

“Rory, what are you doing?” Richard said. “Do you know what time it is?”

Rory shook his head, the blue-black blossom of a shiner oddly luminescent in the
overly bright hallway light. “I don’t have my watch.” He looked at his wrist,
confused. The cuff of his shirt was ripped, only attached to the sleeve by a few
tenacious stitches. “I should have it. I put it on before I went out.”

Richard caught Rory’s chin in his hand, turning his head to get a better view of the
bruised eye. “You got this when you were out?”

“No. That was earlier.” Rory caught Richard’s look. “Not his fault. We don’t have a
safeword.”

“He shouldn’t fucking need a safeword!” Richard snapped, struggling to keep his
voice level. “Not for that.”

He glanced up and down the hallway. High rent didn’t mean the walls weren’t paper
thin. “You’d better come on in. I want to hear the rest of it.”

***

“How long have you been off your meds?” Richard poured a cup of coffee. It was
going to be a long night.

“Today’s Friday?”

“It’s Saturday now,” Bobby said. His hair was a tangle of black spikes, pointing in
every direction. Coupled with his sour expression, it was a near-perfect impression of
a disgruntled hedgehog.

“Oh.” Rory nodded absently. He started counted on his fingers. “That’ll make it
sixteen, seventeen days.”

“More than two weeks?” Richard asked. “You want to tell me why?”

“Mitchell doesn’t want me taking them.” Rory shook his head. “He says I’ll get
addicted.”

“That’s horseshit,” Bobby snorted. “Would he be worried about you getting addicted
to insulin if you were a diabetic?”

“That’s different,” Rory said.

“No, it’s not,” Richard said. “And that’s not even the point.”

“Really,” Bobby added. “If Mitchell’s your Master, he’s supposed to take care of
you.”

“Your health,” Richard said. “You need that medicine.”

“Mitchell doesn’t think so,” Rory protested. “He takes care of me.”

“We can see that,” Bobby said. His fingers brushed over Rory’s cheekbone. “That
looks terrible.”

“Tell us what happened,” Richard said. “Now.”

“You want me to talk about the scene?” Rory asked. He let his eyes slide sideways,
toward Bobby, while fixedly facing forward. “In front of your Boy?”

“Jesus,” Bobby breathed.

“Yes, Rory.” Richard said. “Bobby is a skilled professional. I’ll want his opinion.”

“He’s not a doctor,” Rory replied.

“He works with doctors every day,” Richard said, each word sharp edged. “They
respect him, and his insights. So do I.”

Bobby smiled, but said nothing.

“So tell me,” Richard said, catching himself and burying the slip in a swallow of
coffee. “Tell us what’s been going on.”

Rory nodded, letting his fingers wrap round the mug. “Normally, I work until five,
you know?”

“Yeah.”

“But today there were all these kids in the shop.” Rory started shaking, a subtle
tremor that had nothing to do with temperature. “They were touching everything.” He
looked at Richard, blue eyes wide. “One little bastard pocketed a ring, I’m sure of it.”

“What did you do?” Richard asked. “When you saw that happen?”

“I told Janey.” Rory shook his head. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to grab hold of that
little fucker and break those sticky fingers right off of his hand.” His words were
coming faster now. The laugh was not pleasant. “Sticky fingers. Motherfuckers would
snap just like sticks...”

“Rory.” Richard’s voice was sharp. Authoritative. “What did Janey say?”

“That stupid bitch. She said I’m getting sick again.” His voice climbed to a higher
register, a mocking falsetto. “I love you like my own son, Rory, but I can’t have you
in the store right now.”

“And?”

“And not to come back until I’m better.” Rory shrugged. “Who the fuck knows when
that’s going to be?”

“Usually seven to ten days after you start back on your meds,” Bobby said. “If I
remember correctly.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rory sneered. “Amazing what you have to know to be a sports
trainer.”

“Rory. Disrespect to my Boy will not be tolerated. Do it again and this conversation
will be over.” Richard crossed his arms. “And you can go right on back to whoever
fucked your ass up.”

Rory bowed his head.

“Am I understood?” Richard asked. “Because I’ve got no problem going right back to
bed now.”

“Yes, sir.” Rory raised his eyes a fraction, just enough to meet Richard’s gaze. “I
understand.”

“His name,” Bobby snarled, “is Richard.”

Richard reached across the table and squeezed Bobby’s hand. Bobby’s answering
smile was very, very tired. On many levels.

“Go on.”

“So it was maybe two o’clock then. Mitchell wasn’t coming to pick me up until five,
and I didn’t want to call him.” Richard shook his head. “Not when I had to tell him I
lost my job.”

“Some conversations are better in person,” Richard agreed, his tone carefully neutral.

Rory nodded, plunging ahead with the story. His fingers slid off of the mug,
drumming against the table, the beat growing faster and faster as he continued the
tale.

“I know, right? So I started to walk home. It’s only a little way.”

“It’s seventeen blocks, Rory.”

“That’s not far! And it was nice. And I was having a hard time sitting still, so I
figured I better not take the bus. You know bad things happen when I take the bus.”

Richard nodded. Bad things did tend to happen when Rory took the bus.

“And so I started home. There was some construction, by where the Maple Creme
used to be, you know?”

“Why did you go that way?” Bobby asked. “That would make your trip a lot longer.”

“I like the Maple Creme.” Rory shrugged. “It makes me think of happy times.” He
looked at Richard then. “And it’s not there anymore, just like we’re not together
anymore. There’s a symmetry.”

“Symmetry is nice.” Richard tilted his head toward Bobby. “Wouldn’t you agree,
Bobby?”

Bobby caught the look. “Yes. I understand.”

“Anyway, I couldn’t go by the Maple Creme because there were all these trucks. I
asked the one guy if he could let me go around the fence, but he said he couldn’t.”
Rory’s voice dropped. “He said it was the rules, but I think it’s because I’m not in the
union. Everything’s union now. I saw the stickers on all their hats.”

Richard nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

Rory beamed. “Me, too!” His smile faded. “Then I got to be almost home, you know?
And there was a car in the driveway. Not my car. Another car.” He peered at Richard,
intent. “And it wasn’t your car.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“And it wasn’t my Mother’s car. She’s mad at me anyway, you know? Because I
haven’t called her. And then I called her the other morning, and she was mad, because
she was sleeping.”

“What time did you call her?”

Rory looked at Bobby as if he’d grown another head. “In the morning. Rise and shine,
it is time to get up!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Rory said, with a strange smile. “Oh. It’s always 'Oh' with me, you know?
Oh, oh, oh.” His hands fluttered in the air, two poisoned birds. “Oh, and oh, and oh
some more.”

“Whose car was it, Rory?” Richard asked.

“You’ll love this part,” Rory said. “I still don’t know the answer to that.” His words
got even faster then. “But I can tell you what he looked like, on his knees in my
house. Naked. Dirty, naked boy on his knees in my house.” He started rocking back
and forth in his chair, a metronome of pain. “Dirty, naked boy on his knees in my
house in front of Mitchell.”

“Oh, Rory.”

“He doesn’t have a collar,” Rory said. “So it doesn’t count. It isn’t real.” He looked at
Richard then, voice breaking. “But I saw it. I did.”

“I believe you,” Richard said. “I do.”

“Mitchell’s so mad.” There was tears then, balanced out by a pair of clenched fists. “I
broke the coffee table. With the boy.” The rocking got a little faster. “Dirty, naked
boy.”

“Rory.” Richard shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ll get another table,” Rory said. “That one was from the dumpster anyways. I found
it when the cat lady moved away. Mitchell said it would smell like piss, but I cleaned
it.” He smiled, remembering the process. Then his face fell. “Now it’s broken. That
dirty little bastard broke it.”

“Did you hurt him?” Bobby asked.

“Course I did.” Rory stopped rocking then. His voice deepened. “That’s what I do,
when I have to. I had to. He was in my house. Dirty, naked boy.”

“Then what happened, Rory?” Richard’s voice was perfectly calm, almost monotone
in delivery. “After the boy broke the table?”

“He was mad. Mitchell was mad.” Rory started rocking again, faster than before.
“Really mad. He wanted to know why I was home early. My job’s not that hard, he
said. How could I fuck it up?”

Bobby started to speak, only to stop when Richard held up a hand.

“I didn’t have permission, he said. Not to touch the dirty boy. Who’s the Master? He’s
the Master. If he doesn’t say I can do something, I can’t do it.” Rory wrapped his
arms around himself. “I know that. I’ve always known that. You listen to your
Master.”

“It’s not my business he said.” Rory nodded. “If he wants another boy or two or ten,
that’s not my business. In my house, not my business.” Then he smiled, his whole
face changing. “Then the dirty boy got up. He was plenty mad, too.”

“What happened, Rory?”

“He hits hard,” Rory said. “But so do I. So do I. It scared Mitchell, all the blood.”

“All what blood, Rory?”

Rory tapped the spot directly between his eyes, where his nose flattened out. “When I
hit the dirty boy. Right there. Seven pounds will kill a man, kill a man. But I was
good.” He smiled at Bobby. “I only used six.”

***

“What are we going to do?” Bobby hissed. “He can’t stay here!”

“I know.” Richard looked at the bathroom door, where Rory was disposing of his
third cup of coffee. “I can’t send him back to Mitchell.”

“That asshole. He should be shot.”

“I think I’ve got to call the cops,” Richard said. “They’re probably looking for him
anyway.”

Bobby nodded, slowly. “Would they bring him to the hospital?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s where he needs to be.” Bobby smiled. “Not that I’m a doctor or anything.”

“You don’t have to be, to see how bad he is right now.”

“You know this is not your fault.”

“Do I know that?” Richard shrugged. “At least when we were together, he was on his
medication.”

“And you were going nuts.” Bobby crossed his arms. “A relationship that kills you
won’t save him.”

Richard buried his face in his hands. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Bobby’s voice was flat. “You’re going to be a Master. That’s what you’re going to
do.”

***

“It goes like this, Rory.” Richard had him in the chair, back flat against the wall. “You
have two choices. You can do what I say, and I’ll help you. Or you can not do what I
say, and I’m done.” His eyes were cold, flat, and aching to close. “Not just tonight.
But forever. All said, all done.”

“You said we’d always be friends.”

Richard swallowed. “Friends don’t let friends hurt themselves.” He took a deep
breath. “Rory, if you’re going to hurt yourself, I can’t be your friend.”

“But I need you.”

“That’s why you’re going to do what I say.”

Rory nodded. “Okay.”

“Let us drive you to the hospital. You need a doctor.”

Rory sprang to his feet. “No way! No fucking way! I’m not going back in there! Not
again! I’m not sick! I’m not!”

“You’re off your meds, Rory. And you need them.” Richard shook his head. “You
know it and I know it.”

“It’s the hospital or jail, bud.” Bobby shrugged. “You can’t go around pounding on
people.”

“You’ll be out of the hospital quicker.”

“It’ll be days.” Rory’s tone was surly. “Maybe weeks.”

“The cops pick you up,” Richard said, “and it’s going to be years.”

“So I go to the hospital,” Rory said, “And you stay my friend.”

“That’s right.”

“Or I walk out and you’re not.”

Richard nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Mitchell said you think you’re better than me. Smarter than me. Smarter than him.”

“I am smarter than him,” Richard said. “I’m smart enough to see what’s happening.
You’re too special to throw your life away, Rory. I thought that then, and I think that
now.”

“Then why’d you get rid of me?” Rory’s words were perilously close to sobs. “I loved
you, Richard.”

“And I loved you.” Richard nodded. “I still do, in a lot of ways. That’s why I want
you to get help.”

“If I get better,” Rory asked, “could I come back?” He looked at Bobby. “I wouldn’t
get in your way. I’d be the second Boy.”

Richard smiled sadly. “No, Rory.”

“Then fuck you!” Rory threw his hands up in the air and stormed toward the door.
“Fuck both of you!”

He paused for a moment before pulling the door open, a faint shred of hope staying
his hand. He stood stock still, listening to the silence.

When it was clear that silence was all there was going to be, he shattered it. “Fuck
you and your little Boy. Doctor boy. Fuck you and your 'this is what you gotta do,
Rory.' I was doing fucking fine before, Richard! And I’ll be fucking fine now, fuck
you very much!”

He slammed the door so hard that two pictures fell off the wall. They heard Rory
raging all the way down the hall, a steady stream of profanity.

“This should be a fun discussion at the next condo association meeting,” Bobby said.

Richard gave him a look.

“I’m kidding!” Bobby raised his hands. “You ready for bed?”

“More than ready.”

Part Two

“That was an awesome dinner, babe.” Bobby gathered the plates from the table.
“You’ve outdone yourself.”

“After last night,” Richard said. “I figured we deserved a little treat.”

“More than a little treat.” Bobby rubbed his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

The phone rang, shrill and insistent.

“Leave it,” Bobby said. “It’s not going to be good news.” Few people had their
landline number, and fewer still called them.

“I shouldn’t,” Richard said.

“You should.” Bobby grimaced and picked up the phone, handing it to his lover. “But
you’re not going to.”

***

“Hello?”

“No, Mitchell.” Richard drained the last drops of wine from his glass. “He’s not
here.”

Bobby pulled open the dishwasher, studiously ignoring the conversation.

“Did you try the hospital?” Richard gave an exasperated sigh. “Because he’s sick,
Mitchell. Apparently, you told him to go off his medication.”

“If you really think that. If you really think he doesn’t need the meds, can you tell me
this? Why is Rory acting the way he is right now?”

The dishwasher slid shut. Emphatically.

“Well, what did you think was going to happen? Nobody’s going to come home and
find their lover cheating and not freak out.” Richard stood up. “The fact that he’s
submissive doesn’t mean he’s not a person, you moron.” His face was red, hands
shaking. “He has feelings. He has expectations.”

“You don’t think he can demand anything of you because you’re the Dom? That’s the
biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever...”

Bobby plucked the phone from Richard’s hands.

“If you can’t find Rory, I suggest you call the hospital. Or the police. If you’ve got the
balls to explain that your mentally ill boyfriend went missing after you punched him
in the face, I’m sure they’d love to help you out. This conversation is over. Goodbye.”

He hung up the phone and stared at Richard.

“I’m not sorry I did that.”

The phone rang again.

Richard ignored it.

“Do you know what?” he said. “I’m not sorry you did that either.”

Bobby smiled. “Then you’re going to love this.” He unplugged the jack from the back
of the phone, silencing the handset in mid-ring.

“I just don’t want to hear it!” Richard’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to hear it, I
don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think about it. I can’t save Rory.”

“No, you can’t.” Bobby stepped closer. “I know you want to.”

“He doesn’t want to be saved.”

“I’m sure he does,” Bobby said. “But on his terms.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Richard flattened his hands over his face,
the balls of his thumbs pressing against closed eyelids. “I just want this to all go
away.”

Bobby smiled.

“I think that could be arranged.”

***

“I don’t know about this.”

“Trust me.” Bobby eased the black leather hood over Richard’s head. “You want to
shut the world out? This is just the thing.” He zipped the hood shut over Richard’s
mouth, silencing his Master. “No pain, I promise. Only pleasure for you.”

His hands moved to Richard’s temples. “Do you trust me?”

Richard nodded, once.

Bobby closed the blindfold flap, and the world disappeared.

“I’m going to lace up your ears, so you can slip right into the moment. If it gets
freaky, snap your fingers and I’ll undo you. I want you to enjoy this. Do you
understand?”

Richard nodded, the black hood tipping forward a fraction.

“Good.” Bobby covered one ear and then the next, sealing his lover off from the
world. “Now let’s have some fun.”

***

Richard was glorious naked. Even now, a year and a half into their relationship,
Bobby still reveled in the sight of his lover: the broad shoulders, thickened from years
of carrying the weight of the world, the slight taper from ribcage to waist, the soft

paunch of his stomach fringed with short black curls descending in a zigzag pattern
from his belly button.

Bobby took a moment to take it all in: that arousing flesh contrasting with the stark
black leather hood. Familiar skin and the shock of a face concealed; it was arousing in
a way he hadn't expected.

Still, this wasn’t about his pleasure. The fact his cock was stiffening inside his jeans
was pleasant, but immaterial. This was about Richard’s pleasure. It was time to take
his Master out of his head for a while, and let him just melt with pleasure.

Maneuvering Richard into the sling took some doing: a few tentative steps backward,
Bobby’s guiding hands light on biceps still knotted large with tension.

“Trust me,” Bobby said, knowing Richard couldn’t hear him, but needing to say the
words nonetheless. “I’ll take care of you.”

Closing the thick black strap around his lover’s wrist was disconcerting. It had always
been the other way round, Richard binding, Bobby being bound.

He stopped to pause and stare after Richard’s other wrist was tethered.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growled, dropping his hand to adjust his swelling cock.

Bobby wasn’t alone in his arousal. Richard’s cock was almost fully erect, hanging
heavy and low.

Bobby closed his hand around Richard’s shaft, slowly stroking his lover’s erection
while biting at his nipples.

Richard let his head tilt back. Beneath the mask, Bobby knew, those eyes would be
closed. The gesture was redundant -- not even the strongest light would penetrate
through the hood -- but that didn’t matter.

Not to Bobby.

He sank to his knees. Impossible for him not to, really, with Richard’s cock so hard,
so available.

A slow, swirling lick around the flared edge of Richard’s cock got things started. The
contact was enough to send his Master a little off balance -- above, his hands grabbed
at the straps he was tethered to.

“You like that?” Bobby asked, knowing there would not be an answer. He let his lips
slide over Richard’s cock, gliding smoothly to the very base, lingering there for a
moment before drawing his head slowly, slowly back. “Then you’re going to love
this.”

Pulling the strapping that formed the sling’s seat into position was tricky. Richard
knew what the plan was, of course, and did his best to help -- parting his legs to allow
Bobby easier access to the buckles, relaxing into suspension with surprising ease.

A quick set of buckles, and Richard was completely bound, ankles tethered to the
support straps. His legs were splayed wide open, revealing the soft inner valley of his
thighs, the lush bumped plum surface of his balls enticingly, invitingly pink, dangling
over the dark line parsing his ass.

“There we go.” Bobby planted a kiss on the inside of Richard’s ankle, directly next to
the binding strap. “It’s time to make you feel good.”

Kiss followed kiss, descending from the raised ankle down the soft furred line of
Richard’s shin, over the bump of his knee. Richard started trembling as the kisses
moved up his thigh, seldom-seen flesh suddenly the center of attention.

“Easy, sir.” Bobby laid a calming, steadying hand directly on Richard’s cock, slowly
pumping as he kissed his way lower and lower.

Richard wiggled in the sling, attempting to grind his hips up against Bobby’s hand,
obviously wanting more contact.

“Greedy, greedy.” Bobby squeezed Richard’s cock, applying just enough pressure to
make his Master settle down. “Let me take my time.”

He returned to his trail of kisses, taking his time to run his tongue down the super-
sensitive crease where Richard’s leg met his torso.

That had his lover thrashing like a fish on the line.

It’s also when their phone rang.

Bobby pulled his head back, startled by the sharp, shrill tones. He kept his hand firmly
on Richard’s cock and peered upward, desperate to see if his Master responded to the
phone call.

The phone kept ringing and ringing.

“God damn it,” Bobby growled. “I knew I never should have plugged that damn
thing back in.”

He’d had to, of course. Richard’s father wasn’t in the best of health, and they
couldn’t take the chance of missing a critical message.

He had a feeling this wasn’t a particularly critical message.

Richard gave no sign of hearing the phone -- nor of Mitchell’s voice, when it came
roaring across the answering machine.

“Richard,” he bellowed, alcohol clearly adding a lot of volume, if not coherence, to
his words. “We got us a problem. I had a little company...”

“You bastard,” Bobby said. “You’re not ruining our day with this.” He let his hand
drop from Richard’s cock, quickly replacing it with his mouth. Fumbling fingers
managed to pull the lube out of his jeans pocket, the cool gel thick and slippery
against his fingers.

“...and Rory came in when he was entertaining me.”

It was hot between Richard’s ass cheeks, the temperature intensifying as Bobby
pushed his fingertips closer to the puckered edge of Richard’s asshole. He started
sucking hard on Richard’s cock, intense and wet and hot, a suitable distraction to keep
his Master from noticing the fingers sliding into his bum.

“And he flipped out.” Mitchell paused. “It was pretty bad. He put Andy in the
hospital.”

Andy must be the company, Bobby mused. If it was the same Andy they knew from
the scene, that was a surprising choice. He thought the guy had better sense than to
hook up with Mitchell. He’d have to talk to Richard about that later.

Later. Not now. Not when he was knuckle deep in Richard then, steadily advancing
deeper and deeper. Not when his lover’s chest was heaving, his cock twitching, his
fists clenching on the empty air.

“And he cut me pretty bad. I got stitches.”

Poor baby, Bobby thought.

Richard’s balls were twitching, a tell tale sign that an orgasm was not far off.

“The cops had him, but he kicked the car door open and he’s running.”

Richard’s ass was so hot, so tight -- and with a second finger sliding in, so very full.
Bobby let his fingers roll, sliding one over the other to hit all the nerve endings.

He could hear his lover’s groan of pleasure right through the mask.

Bobby started sucking harder, sliding his head up and down faster. There was an
urgency to it all: a need to make his lover come and come now, now before Rory and
all his drama came crashing back into their lives.

“I told the cops he was probably going to his mother’s.” There was another pause.
“But I really think he’ll come to you.” Bobby could almost see Mitchell then, his
careless, arrogant shrug. “Sorry about that.”

Mitchell hung up, the receiver clicking home just as Richard stiffened in the sling, his
back arching upward as he shot into Bobby’s mouth.

***

It took some doing, but Bobby managed to unzip one of Richard’s ears without
removing his fingers from his Master’s ass. He had to stand on tip toe to do it,
twisting around Richard’s still trembling leg, but it was worth it.

“You’re still a little tense.” Bobby let his fingers slide in and out at a glacial pace, a
slow motion fuck. “Do you think you can come again for me?”

The black-hooded head tilted forward, once, definitively.

“Good,” Bobby purred. “Because I want to make you come. Come harder than you’ve
ever come.” A third finger was in now, slithering in next to the third. “Can you do
that?”

The black hood nodded.

“You’re pretty full now.” He’d never had more than two fingers in Richard before.
Three was stretching his Master wide, the thick ring of muscle snapping tight around
his fingers, flexing and stretching with every twitch of his fingers. “Think about that.
Think about me filling you up.”

Untouched, Richard’s cock gave an answering twitch.

Bobby laughed. “I guess that sounds good to you.” He leaned forward to tug the
zipper closed. Before the silver tab descended, he added, “If it’s too much, snap your
fingers. I’ll stop.” He glanced at the phone, the red light on the answering machine
blinking away.

Maybe he should tell Richard. Maybe he’d want to know about Rory bugging out.

Maybe he’d find out later.

Bobby tugged the zipper closed.

His cock was raging inside his own pants, swollen, demanding. When Bobby dropped
his hand to adjust himself, the heat shocked him, radiating from a hyper aroused cock
through the thick denim.

It would have to wait.

For now, Richard was squirming on three fingers, splaying his legs as wide open as
the swing would allow.

“Yeah, you want more.” His pinkie finger was short, but it was thick enough to bring
fresh groans of pleasure from Richard, pushing his sphincter wider and wider open.

It was a long, slow process, his hand slowly sinking deeper and deeper into Richard’s
flesh.

Richard was raising his hips to meet Bobby, pulling on the suspension straps for
leverage.

“Look at you.” Bobby grinned. “You got my whole hand in there. I think you could
take my fist.”

He emptied the tube of lube onto his hand, greasing the exposed skin until it glistened
in the light.

That’s when Rory started banging on the door. Three hits, one after the other, in rapid
fire succession.

Bobby froze for a moment.

He could answer the door, tell Rory that Richard wasn’t there. He was still dressed.
Uncomfortably hard, but dressed. He could go, open the door, and tell Rory to beat
feet. Send him on his way. Encourage him to go to the hospital, which was where he
needed to be.

But that would take time. More importantly, it would take him away from Richard,
Richard, who needed to forget about the problems he’d walked away from a long time
ago.

Walking away had been a hard decision. He’d known Richard then, and watched him
agonize over cutting ties with his mentally unstable lover.

That’s how they’d finally connected, then, after years of Bobby watching and wanting
and being unwilling to step into another man’s shoes.

“What do you think I should do?” Richard had asked. They’d had a dozen beers
between them that day, a long day in which Rory had busted up the local dance club
when the voices in his head started screaming too loud. “I can’t get him to take his
medicine. He won’t do it for me.”

“He won’t do it for anyone,” Bobby had said. “He has to want to get better.” He’d
shrugged. “Until then, there’s not much you can do.”

“If he really wanted to get better,” Richard said, “I’d be willing to do anything, you
know? But he doesn’t want to.”

“Maybe. Maybe he doesn’t believe he can.”

“I can’t make him believe.” There had been real sorrow in Richard’s voice,
vulnerability in a proud top. “I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I can’t.”

“Maybe you need to stop,” Bobby replied. “Before you lose the knack of believing
yourself.”

From there, they’d fallen into bed, and from bed into a deeper friendship, and from
there into what was looking to be a promising relationship. Eighteen months wasn’t
an eternity, but it was the longest Bobby had ever been with someone. He wanted to
keep it going.

He wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep going.

Richard let out a deep, gutteral groan, finding nothing to push against when he clearly
wanted to -- wanted more contact, wanted more of Bobby.

“Richard!” Rory shouted. “You gotta let me in!”

Bobby blinked, half startled by the red flash of anger that blinded him, half expecting
it.

“He doesn’t have to do anything,” he growled. A twist of the wrist, and the tip of his
thumb was against Richard’s overstretched anus. “Except come.”

Rory replied by banging harder on the door. “Sir! Sir, please!”

Bobby’s fingertip disappeared into Richard, followed by the stubby half-inch leading
up to the first knuckle.

Bobby glanced at Richard’s hands. No fingers were snapping.

His Master’s cock was hard, rising half an inch from his stomach.

“We’re getting to the hard part,” Bobby whispered. “But you can do this. You can
take this.” He wanted to unzip the ear coverings, talk his lover through, but if he did
that, Richard would hear Rory.

Rory, who was raging and screaming in the hallway.

Rory, who undoubtedly bothered the neighbors.

The neighbors who would call the cops.

“Let me in! You gotta let me in!”

Sweat was dripping off Bobby’s forehead, onto his forearm, as he moved slowly and
intently. “Let me in,” he echoed. “You gotta let me in.”

A breath and a pop and it was done. His whole hand was inside Richard, wrapped
tighter than he’d ever been.

Richard’s body went stiff. His cock softened momentarily, brought back to life when
Bobby bent and swallowed him down.

“Gaaaaaaaaaahd.” Muffled. The pleasure could still be heard through the mask.
“Gaaahd boy.”

Would Richard think he was such a good boy if he knew Rory was there then, outside
the door, begging to be let in?

Bobby didn’t want to think about it. He focused on Richard’s cock, the way it filled
his mouth, his throat. He focused on the snug grip of his Master’s bowels, clenching
around his trembling fist.

He even focused on the ache in his trembling forearm, limited to the smallest, gentlest
movements.

All this focus helped when heavy, booted feet clomped down the hallway and Rory’s
shouts rose in pitch and volume. It was a veritable opera of fear and illness, staged
outside his front door.

Bobby wanted no part of it.

More importantly, Richard needed no part of it. If he’d heard, if he’d known, he
would have let Rory in, Bobby thought. All it would take was some sweet words and
easily forgotten promises, and his lover would be saddled down with Rory’s drama all
over again.

He’d do it willingly, because he loved the boy.

Loved him, the way Bobby was starting to love Richard. Loved him enough to let it
hurt. Loved him enough to take the bullet. The whole noble, self-sacrificing kind of
love.

Thing was, Richard’s self-sacrifice would leave Bobby bereft. This, he thought,
letting his lips crush against Richard’s stomach, wasn’t going to work.

Not this time.

As if in answer, Richard’s cock gave a twitch, a slow shudder that flattened his
Master’s cockhead against the top of his mouth.

Bobby started sucking harder. He was soon rewarded with the second load of the
evening, slower and sparser than the first, but judging from the fine sheen of sweat
that covered his lover’s body, no less intense.

***

“That was,” Richard said, “Fucking intense.”

“You feel better?”

“Yeah.” The kiss was slow and tender. “I won’t be tap dancing anytime soon, but
other than that, yeah.” The words were almost a growl. “I feel much better.”

“I’m glad.” Bobby snuggled next to Richard, enjoying the warmth. “That was the
point.”

“You delivered. And then some.”

Bobby smiled. “Any time, sir.”

***

“I’ve got to tell you something.” Bobby looked down, watching the morning sunshine
trail across the kitchen floor. “About last night.”

“I heard the message,” Richard said.

“Are you mad?”

“Of course I’m mad.” Richard shook his head. “Mitchell is a fucking idiot.”

Bobby swallowed. “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“I didn’t give you the message.”

Richard smiled. “If I remember correctly, you were pretty darn busy when that call
came.”

“Yeah.”

Richard looked at Bobby, eyes narrowed a fraction. “What else?”

“Rory came by.” Bobby’s eyes were fixed on the floor. “Banged on the door,
screamed a bit. Somebody called the cops. I don’t know who.”

Richard nodded, chewing on his lower lip, clearly pensive. The moment stretched,
into a minute. Into two.

“You need to say something,” Bobby finally blurted.

Richard tilted his head. “Who’d have thought,” he said, “that that hood would close
out so much sound?”

“And?”

“And you were looking out for me.” Richard shrugged. “Friends don’t let friends hurt
themselves.” His smile was sad. “Even indirectly.”

“I do love you, you know.”

“I know.” Richard stood up, bending to kiss the top of Bobby’s head. “It’s going to be
fine, Boy. Rory will take care of himself, or he won’t. But you and I? We’re going to
take care of us.” His hand squeezed Bobby’s shoulder. “You got a good start on that
already.”

Two Months’ Pay

By Sarah Colter

“I bought you something,” Jesse Barton whispered to Callum Bauer as they watched
the wrestling show on the close circuit television in the backstage area. When Cal’s
blue eyes met glimmering green ones, Jesse smiled evocatively, laid his cowboy hat
aside, and, when he was sure no one was watching, leaned in for a quick kiss. “It’s
something we can have fun with. You’ll like it, Cupcake.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Callum told him, frowning. “What did you get this
time? Another sex toy?”

“Yup.” Jesse reached into his hip pocket for the ever-present round box of snuff. It
had a pungent, menthol odor, and was as much a part of Jesse as his cowboy hat and
buckled boots. Born and raised in the hills of eastern Kentucky, he had a southern
drawl to rival any native of Alabama or Georgia, and his matter-of-fact, blunt tone of
voice and impish mannerisms never failed to amuse his listeners.

As he started to open the tobacco, Cal grabbed his hand. “Not another rabbit! Those
things never did what they were supposed to do! They just caused me to itch!”

“No rabbits, I promise! I won’t waste any more money on crap like that,” Jesse
assured him. Gazing at him, no doubt seeing his worry, Jesse sighed. “Okay,
Sugarplum,” he grudgingly disclosed, “I’ll tell you. I got you one of those sling
thingies, and I can’t wait to see you all trussed up in it! It cost me two months’ pay, so
it’d better not make you itch!”

“Two months’ pay! What?” Cal was dismayed. They were already behind on their
bills, doing sporadic independent shows and working odd jobs to make ends meet.
Two months’ pay for a sex toy? It had better be a damn good sex toy! He took a deep
breath and decided not to make an issue of it, at least not at the moment. “Jesse, we’re
spending tonight in a hotel room, and not by ourselves!” Cal reminded him. “Nathan
and Javier are going to be in the other bed -- just four feet away from us! We can’t
play with them in the room.”

“What about if we invite them in on the fun?” Jesse’s playful eyes held a tinge of
insecurity. “Maybe we could get Javi in the sling, too. What do you think?”

Cal was aghast. “Is that what you want to do? You want to swing on every level?” He
covered his face with both hands for a thoughtful minute, ignoring his lover’s
petrified stare. His voice muffled, he said, “They just got together, Jess. They’re still
getting used to the one-on-one relationship thing! They’re barely adults; they argue
half the time, and you want to invite them to swing with us?”

“They’re both in their twenties, ain’t they? I know they’re green, but they do have
serious potential. They’re pretty, they’re slim and supple, they’ve got plenty of

energy, and it seems like they’re totally obsessed with fucking. You can’t get any
better than that!” Deftly flipping the lid off the tobacco product in his hand, Jesse took
a big pinch and stuffed it between his bottom lip and gum. “Maybe a little swinging
will straighten them out, you think?”

Sitting straight, Cal smiled at him with deep affection. “How can you look so cute just
sitting there dipping and talking about fucking other guys? You’re so full of shit!
You’re a contradiction in terms! You’re such a damn redneck, and I love you so much
it’s ridiculous.”

Jesse grinned at him, but when he leaned for another kiss, Cal held him at an arm’s
length. “What’s the matter, Punkin Puss?” Jesse asked, reaching for his battered hat to
shield them from prying eyes. “Ain’t nobody looking.”

“I am not kissing you with that shit in your mouth.”

Jesse’s grin disappeared. “Oh.” He plopped the hat onto his head and put his elbows
on his knees to pout about it.

***

The night ended a little more quietly than usual, but when they left Cross Coliseum, a
violent storm was in progress. Ducking beneath the roof that sheltered the enormous
external air conditioning units in the back of the building, the four delayed wrestlers
waited for a break in the downpour. There was no re-entry to the building via the back
door, and the front door was a half a block’s walk around rows of hedges and
magnolia trees, so they were left to the elements. Only a small area was roofed, and
the wind was blowing, so even beneath the cover, they found themselves spattered
with raindrops.

Parking his shapely derriere on top of the lowest unit, which was four feet high, just
fifteen inches shorter than the young wrestler himself, Javier Ortiz sighed and looked
down at his partner. “I’m really sleepy,” he complained. “And this rain is not helping.
I just want to go home and crawl into bed, and home is a long damn way off.”

Nathan Robbins nodded in total agreement. He patted his partner’s knees, which
parted to allow him to step between them. Robbins put his arms around Javier’s waist
and rested his cheek against Javier's flat stomach, a boldly intimate position, but they
were clearly too tired to care if anyone was disturbed by their openness. No one was.

Nathan and Javier were Tennessee natives who worked for various indie companies
and were featured in occasional shows. Southern Cross Wrestling in Mobile, Alabama
attracted a few non-contracted wrestlers, and some stayed on permanently. Nathan
and Javi had made the trip down in the backseat of Jesse’s industrial sized pickup
truck, and now depended on him for a ride home. All four men were considering
asking about a contract with the company. It would mean a major move, a risk that

might or might not land them in a better place. They planned to talk about it on the
way home.

Their mutual goal was to work full time for Southern Cross Wrestling, possibly doing
other work on the side. Besides the wrestling show and the training center, the
Crosses owned other businesses, everything from the chain of convenience stores, to a
horse ranch, to the Cross Country Memorial Hospital. There had to be work for them
in Alabama.

Lightning struck the ground ahead of them, temporarily blinding them. Thunder
followed, and the crash was deafening. The wind howled, and the rain continued its
steady deluge. They were mesmerized by the forces of nature, four pairs of round eyes
gazing blankly into the distance.

Finally, much later, Jesse yawned widely. “We’ve got to get to the hotel. I’ve got
something in the truck that you two boys are gonna love.”

“You got some weed?” Nathan asked hopefully.

Jesse grinned. “Always,” he answered, winking. “But that ain’t what I was talking
about. I got a proposition for you boys.”

“A proposition?” Javi giggled. “You want a four-way or something?”

“Wow, and Cal thought you two was stupid,” Jesse drawled. “Well, we probably
ought not to do the foursome thing, although it does sound damn sexy. I think Callie
might get a little perturbed if I was to start loving up on one of you.” He chuckled at
the thought. “Nope, actually, what I’ve got is a little apparatus we can all play with
tonight.”

“Apparatus?” Nathan asked, sounding wary.

“He bought a sling,” Cal supplied with a hint of irony. “Spent two months’ pay on it.
Make a note that I said ‘spent’, not ‘wasted’. So we’d better fucking enjoy the thing.”

“Hey, some assholes go out and buy their girlfriends diamond rings that cost that
much!” Jesse defended himself with a righteous air. “At least you’ll get some good
out of what I spent our money on!”

“Let us pray,” Cal said dourly.

“What does it do?” Javi asked.

Jesse spit out a mouthful of dip. “It’s a swing. You strap into it and you’re hanging in
the air, with your ass exposed for fucking.”

Nathan snorted. “Interesting. What do you think, Jav?”

Javier shrugged diffidently, likely less than up to speed on the subject. “Sure, I guess
I’m game if you are,” he said.

“We can pass the pipe,” Jesse offered. “I’ve got some amyl, too, if you’re into that
sort of thing.”

“Amyl?” Javi’s dark brown eyes were drawing a blank look.

“Poppers.”

Javi shrugged. “Poppers? Um... what?”

Nathan helped. “Pills or inhalant that makes sex feel better.”

“I see.” He clearly didn’t. “You sure Cal doesn’t mind?” he asked, looking over at
Callum. “Because he sure looks a little pissed about the whole thing.”

Cal shook his head. “No, it’s fine,” he said. Jesse could see him forcing good humor.
“It’s all good.”

***

As the storm’s intensity increased, Cal stepped closer to Jesse and was automatically
enveloped in the big cowboy’s strong embrace. Still seated on the air conditioner,
Javier could hardly keep his eyes open. Leaning forward, he put his cheek on top of
Nathan’s curly head.

“Well, I’m tired of standing out here getting wetter and wetter,” Jesse finally declared.
“Let’s go to the truck.”

“In the pouring-ass rain?” Javier whined. “With us hanging around getting pelted
while you unlock the doors, and then sit in there all soaking wet and shit? That’s your
plan?”

“It’s better than standing here all night waiting for a break in the flood,” Jesse said.
“You can sit there on that air conditioner ‘til your ass lights up! It won’t change the
weather. I’ll take my shit and run ahead to get the truck unlocked. Give me ‘til the
count of ten, maybe even twenty, and then plunge out into the parking lot and run like
you’re getting chased by a pissed-off mama bear, okay?”

They all nodded wearily. Hesitating, Jesse caught Cal’s wide eyes and smiled at him.
“If lightning strikes me down tonight, you know where I want to be laid to rest, babe,”
he said. “Right there on the mountain, the place where I gave you our first kiss.”

Cal pulled Jesse close and gave him a long kiss. “No way lightning has a chance
against the likes of you. You live a charmed life, Jesse.”

“The only charming thing in my life is you, babe. Love my Callikins.”

“Love you, too.” They shared another lingering kiss before Jesse grabbed his luggage
and made a mad dash out into the solid sheet of rain.

***

Inside the hotel room, they undressed and dried with the plushy towels provided by
the establishment. Jesse made an extra trip to the truck and lugged in the unopened
box. It had been stored in the tarp-covered truck-bed, so it was only minimally soggy.
Once he was dry and naked, Jesse took a small knife from the pocket of his carry bag,
sliced through the thick tape that held the box top in place and lifted the lid. All eyes
were on him as he began to remove parts and assemble the grand toy that had cost
him two months’ pay.

It wasn’t complicated, but it took time to put the contraption together. With a flexible
aluminum frame, two heavy, durable springs with hooks at each end, tough leather
straps that would support a number of positions, and fur lining to protect the tender
areas of the anatomy, it reminded Jesse of something he had seen caregivers in the
nursing home use to transfer his poor old great-grandmother from her bed to her
wheelchair and back. They had called that tool a 'lift,' but this was clearly labeled a
'sling.' This machine was not equipped with hydraulics, and it was definitely not for
geriatric care. It was purely for sexual enjoyment.

“Who goes first?” Cal asked, lighting the pipe, puffing, and passing it to Jesse.

“Who do you think, Babycakes?” Jesse wiggled his eyebrows. He handed the pipe
over to Nathan. “You, of course. Hop on up there and let’s get you strapped in.”

After a slight hesitation, no doubt to size up the possibilities, Cal bent over the swing,
positioning his chest over the supports, which elevated his butt. Jesse, Nathan and Javi
helped him to fit into it correctly, and he was soon dangling, doggie style, his legs
widespread, suspended several inches off the floor.

“Wow, look at that sweet ass,” Jesse murmured to the others as they stared. Then,
caressing the smooth, bare cheeks, he gave them each a sound slap. “Ain’t that a good
looking ass, boys?”

Nathan and Javier nodded in agreement. “That is one sweet ass, all right,” Nathan
agreed. He smiled. “You’re going to let us watch, right?”

Jesse was temporarily distracted by the sight before him, but when the question had
sunk in, he nodded. “Yeah, of course you can watch. You two can use the machine as
soon as we get done.” He gave his partner an experimental swing and chuckled. “You
should like this thing, Callie. You can be as lazy as you want. No work involved on
your part. The machine does it all.”

“Just what we needed, then,” Cal said, snickering. “Something to make us lazier than
we already are.”

Jesse unearthed the lubrication and a condom from his carry bag and got himself
ready with one hand as he idly swung Callum with the other. “This is gonna be fun,”
he said. “You like it, honey?”

“It’s actually pretty nice,” Cal admitted, jumping as cold lube was applied to his
asshole.

Nathan and Javier sat on the bedside to watch, their eyes wide and their gazes
transfixed. “I think he liked it when you smacked him,” Nathan suggested.

Jesse chuckled and repeated the slap on the butt. “You like that, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” Cal deadpanned. “I love that, Jess.”

“What I thought.” Jesse bent down to kiss the spot he had just slapped.

“I guess I won’t be telling you to kiss my ass any time soon,” Cal said.

“That’s ‘cause you know I will, sweetheart!” Jesse chortled. Very gently, he slid two
fingers into Cal’s hole as he pumped his own cock. He spent a few seconds preparing
Cal, but wasn’t patient enough to wait long. As he squeezed the tube again, it made a
farting sound. “Damn, we’re out of lube!” he groused, rubbing the last of the slick
onto his cock. “There’s enough, though. You about ready?”

Cal groaned. “Yeah, baby,” he breathed. “Do me, now.”

As he eased into Cal, Jesse gripped his lover’s hips, pulling the sling toward himself,
letting the momentum of the swing do most of the work. “Damn, I like this,” he said.
“I think this thing was well worth the money!” Pumping wasn’t necessary. The
rhythm of the swaying sling gave them sufficient stimulation to send them into
orgasmic quivers. As he leaned farther over his lover, Jesse gripped Cal’s dick and
began to stroke it. He pressed a wet kiss on Cal’s shoulder and moaned, “I love you,
baby. Love you forever.”

“Love you, too, Jess,” Cal returned, out of breath. He came suddenly, thrashing in
place. The quiet gasps and soft whimpers were soon replaced with shudders and sighs.

The wild ride on top of his lover brought on Jesse’s orgasm fast and hard. His hips
moved as if independent from the rest of his body, his lips pressed hard against Cal's
back, and his arms wrapped tightly around Cal’s body. When he collapsed on top of
Cal, they were both quiet for a time.

Wearily, Cal mumbled, “That was awesome, Jess, but can we go to bed, now? Let the
kids play with it a while.”

“Yeah,” Jesse answered, dragging resignedly up off his partner. Wiping himself, and
then Cal, with a towel, he unstrapped the suspended man from the sling and helped
him to his feet again. Pulling Cal into a gentle hug, Jesse kissed his cheek and
gestured to the other couple. “Your turn, boys,” he said, and stepped aside.

Legs wobbly, Cal leaned on him.

***

Nathan was not given to excessive romanticism, so it came as a surprise to Javier
when Nathan whispered in his ear, “You know what I’ve got in mind, Beautiful?”

“What?” Javi asked pensively, unable to stop the pendulum effect as he swung freely.
He shook his head, embarrassed at being put on display. His cheeks pink, he dropped
his gaze to his own exposed privates. He was seated face-forward, and his legs were
spread far apart. Nothing was left to the imagination. “What are you guys going to do
to me?”

“He’s all yours, Nathan,” Jesse said, licking his lips as he stared openly at Javi. “I’ve
had my turn with my Callie. It’s your turn, now.” Taking Callum by the hand, Jesse
led him to the bed at the far side of the room. Once they climbed in and settled down,
they lay quietly, listening.

“Now, it’s just you and me, Baby.” Nathan rubbed away the chill bumps of
anticipation that rose on the back of Javier’s neck. “Come on, get with the program.
Try to look like you’re enjoying it. At least try not to look so damn scared.”

“What do you want me to do?” Javier asked, keeping his eyes lowered.

“Nothing. You just lie there looking sexy. I want to make love to you.”

“Make love to me? What happened to you, Nathan? You got some of the resin in your
last few tokes or something?”

“Rain sometimes makes me horny. Anyway, you’re gorgeous strung up in this gismo.
I already had a hard-on from being out in the rain, and now I’m close to the boiling
point. You’re so beautiful like that.”

“Beautiful? Me?” Javier tried not to let the fact that he was in an extremely
compromising position ruin the moment. “You’ve never called me beautiful before,
and you’ve never said you wanted to ‘make love’ to me. You always just say you
want to fuck. This is a first for you.”

“Well, that’s what I want to do -- I want to make love to you, so let me find us some
lube.” Nathan shoved lightly at Javier’s ass. Leaving his lover in motion, Nathan went
to his luggage and dug. He came up with an unusual looking tube.

Javier felt contrary, and petulantly kicked at Nathan as he returned.

Nathan smacked the offending foot away and sent Javier into a spiral that made him
groan and hold his head. Quickly grabbing his legs, Nathan steadied his partner and
hugged him. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” The weak resistance was overcome, and
Nathan began to kiss him.

After a few long, convincing kisses, Javier’s mood began to change. “Okay,” he
agreed, succumbing to the teasing touches Nathan spread over his firm, compact
body. Javier reached for the bedside stand for a decorative taper candle, but couldn’t
quite reach it.

After watching his feeble attempt, Nathan lit the candle and resumed his position
between Javier’s slender legs.

“When did you buy the new kind of lube?” Javi asked, brooding.

“Chelle got it for me when she went to the store today.”

“Why would you ask her to buy you sex supplies? You don’t even know her that
well!” Javi took the tube, examined it, and found the seal unbroken, which eased his
mind.

“I’m not fucking her, baby. She’s just a friend. She’s Nico’s girlfriend, you know.”

“I know. I just...”

“You’re jealous?” Nathan poked at him.

Javi batted Nathan’s hand away. “No, just...” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Jealous.” Nathan pulled him into a tighter embrace and kissed him again. Bending
down, he caught a nipple in his teeth and nibbled, then sucked it into his mouth. When
Javier hissed, he continued the assault until Javi was writhing in the sling, making it
gyrate aimlessly. “My sweet little Javi is jealous, isn’t he?”

“Don’t call me little,” Javier objected, but his voice lacked conviction. Nathan’s
tongue was taking away his ability to hold a grudge. “Oh, baby,” he moaned, as a
hand slipped between his legs, and fingers began to explore.

As he probed into Javier with lubricated fingers, Nathan watched with lustful
adoration. “You’re mine, my little minx,” he said. “Do you hear me? I don’t want
Chelle, or any other woman -- or any other man, for that matter. I want you. I want
my beautiful Javier.”

Javier moaned again as two fingers brushed against his prostate and arched upward
for more pressure. His breathing devolved into heavy whimpers, and his heart
pounded audibly. His muscles stiffened and relaxed spastically, until his entire body
was trembling.

Nathan stilled his fingers and held Javier in place with a heavy hand on Javier’s chest.
“Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“What?” Javier was irritated and confused. “Hear what?”

“You’re mine.”

Javier nodded in total agreement, desperate to get on with it. “I’m yours. Yours.” He
reached out, trying to haul Nathan on top of him. “Come on, Baby,” he pleaded.
“What’s taking you so long?”

“This is what I love so much about you,” Nathan said, kissing Javier as he stood up
between the widespread legs. “You’re so impatient. So hot. No matter how reluctantly
you start out, you’re always begging before I’m ready to get started.” As he removed
his fingers and pushed smoothly into Javier, the swinging man lunged up to meet him.
“You’re so needy, so easy to manipulate. So much fun to toy with.” Nathan’s chuckle
was affectionate.

Javier didn’t acknowledge Nathan’s mocking undertones. He went gloriously out of
his mind as Nathan began to fuck him, bucking up hard to meet each stroke. The
swing’s support frame squeaked in protest, and as Javier flailed, the shoulder straps
slipped a bit, which put him a fraction of an inch off kilter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t
take long for Javi to explode in a mindlessly babbling outburst of muffled whimpers.
His body was wracked by tremors long after his orgasm ended, long enough for
Nathan to achieve a volatile climax, too, and when Nathan was sated and dropped to
his knees, Javi closed his eyes and went still, hanging limply in the sling.

***

Panting with exhaustion, Nathan struggled to his feet again, leaned over his unmoving
partner. “Hey,” he said softly, patting his lover’s tan cheek. “You okay?” When there
was no response, he plastered a fast ear to the quiet man’s chest. The heartbeat inside
was strong, and distinct respiration was detected. Nathan shook his head
incredulously, and pulled Javi into his arms. Apprehensively, Nathan waited patiently
for his partner to wake.

***

Jesse rose up in bed and glanced over as Nathan dutifully washed his unmoving
partner with a cool cloth. “Um, is he gonna be all right?”

Nathan’s eyes were worried. “I hope so. He’s out cold. I don’t know if it was the sex,
or the pot, but he’s zonked!”

Drawn to assist, Jesse and Cal approached and stood on either side of the unconscious
young man. They began loosening the straps, checking each buckle for tightness.
Nothing had restricted his breathing or cut off his blood supply, but he stubbornly
refused to wake as they carefully lifted him and laid him on the second bed. “Smoking
doesn’t knock you out like this,” Jesse said. “Anyhow, he didn’t get enough to even
get a decent buzz!”

“How often does this happen?” Cal asked, checking Javier's dark brown eyes. The
pupils were dilated. None of them had any idea what that meant.

Looking down at his sleeping lover as if he were about to burst into tears, Nathan
shook his head. “It’s never happened before,” he answered. “Make him wake up,
Callum!”

Cal frowned nervously and smacked a cheek in an effort to wake Javier.

“Does he have any medical conditions or anything?” Jesse asked, pushing Cal to the
side so he could sit on the bed. He took Javi by the shoulders, pulled him into a sitting
position, and lightly shook him.

“Not that he’s told me about,” Nathan answered. His voice trembled so badly that Cal
took pity on him. “It’s my fault,” Nathan whimpered as Cal hugged him consolingly.

“No, baby,” Cal argued. “It’s not your fault. Not your fault. Give him a minute. He’ll
be okay. Just wait.”

Javier coughed and began to move, falling forward and letting his forehead rest on
Jesse’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Come get in bed with me, Nathan,” he muttered,
his eyes still closed. His words were slurred and he seemed to have very little muscle
control. “Come keep me warm, okay?”

Nathan hastened over and knelt by the bed. “How do you feel, Sweetheart?”

Javi laughed weakly. “Sweetheart?” He reached out to touch Nathan’s brown curls
and leaned to kiss him. “You’re starting to scare me, you sweet talker, you. I think
maybe you’re hanging out with Jess too much. As much as I like him, I don’t think I
want you calling me Sugarpuss all the time.”

Jesse snickered and slowly maneuvered out of the way to let Nathan take his place.
“You take care of him there, baby boy,” he encouraged. “Get in there with him.”

“The instructions on the machine read that it needs to be wiped down after each use,”
Javi began, but Jesse shushed him.

“It’ll be all right until morning,” he assured him. “You just get some sleep,
Sugarpuss.”

Javi’s sardonic glance let them know that he was going to be fine. “That’s what I was
doing, but you wouldn’t leave me alone!”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with you that a good night’s rest won’t cure.” Jesse laughed and
took Callum back to bed.

***

“Can we sleep, now, Jess?”

“Of course we can, Honeylips. You ain’t the only one that’s plumb tuckered out,”
Jesse said. “This old cowboy is ready to hit the hay, too.”

After a few silent minutes, Cal asked, “Did you ever wonder what it would be like if
we didn’t have each other?”

Jesse snorted. “Don’t even want to think about it, Lambchop. I wouldn’t be me if I
didn’t have you.”

“Yes, you would. What are you talking about?”

“Do you think I would’ve stuck around and kept traveling to all these shows if I didn’t
have this beautiful face to look at every day?” He tenderly caressed Cal’s fair face. “I
would be back on the mountain, tending the cows, probably raising a couple of
young’uns. I would be miserable. You’re my Callie. You keep me grounded.”

It was deeper insight than he’d ever shared with Cal before. Cal touched his face. “I
will always be yours, Jess. Always. Love you.”

“You keep on with the sweet stuff and we’re gonna end up getting it on again, no
matter how tired we are. Wanta see what else we can do with that gismo over there?”

With a little chuckle, Cal made himself comfortable and settled down in Jesse’s
embrace. “You used up all the lube, remember? I’m going to sleep now. Night.”

“Night, Blue Eyes.” Again, Jesse cuddled against his boyfriend’s back and closed his
eyes. They didn’t move until after daylight.

***

The sling had been disassembled and returned the box, but it would be back in action
as soon as they made it home. As they traveled north on I-65, they discussed
relocating to Mobile and hiring on full time with the Crosses. With a weekly
television show and monthly pay per view shows, the SCWF had a good thing going,
so it could be a beneficial move.

They began making plans, prematurely, they thought, but in the spirit of taking wild
chances, Cal called Rad Cross and talked the matter over with him. When he hit the
‘end call’ button, he faced his comrades with a smile. “He wants us all as soon as
possible. He’s putting us on the roster right now!”

Javi squeaked with happiness. “So, where will we live?”

“He’s got a place we can stay temporarily in what he calls 'the back forty,' a trailer or
a cottage or something behind the Cross Plantation. He said it was small, but it’s
shelter from the storms.”

“Sounds heavenly, Buttercup,” Jesse said, stuffing another pinch of Beechnut into his
cheek as he grinned at Cal. “You think there will be room for the sling gismo there?”

Cal laughed and nodded. “I think, considering how much we all enjoyed it last night,
and how much you paid for it, that we will be tempted to eliminate living room
furniture to make room for it.”

“I’m good with that,” Javi said, sighing. “What about you, Nathan?”

“Long as you don’t faint on me any more,” Nathan said, kissing him. “You gave me a
really bad scare last night.”

“Yeah, Sugarpuss!” Jesse seconded, shaking a finger at Javier in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t let that shit happen no more, you hear me?”

Javi’s eyes rolled skyward. “This is going to be a life-altering experience,” he said,
and leaned back to enjoy the ride.

Support System

by Anah Crow & Dianne Fox

The walk from the cab to Denny’s condo seemed interminable. He hated crutches,
hated his ruined leg, and hated his whole life. It was hot out, sweltering, even the
sidewalk was sweating: Denny’s favorite weather until the crash. Now, sweat was
searing the wound on his lower right leg and making his crutches chafe up in his
armpits. It took so long to get anywhere.

Denny struggled up the steps and let himself into the blessed cool of his condo, where
no one could see him. Breathing hard, he leaned against the door. He’d have to go lie
down in a minute; his foot felt like it was going to explode.

He headed for the couch. He planned to collapse and die there until he had to eat or
drink or piss too badly to stay there any longer. He thumped slowly down the hall --
why did he buy such a big condo? -- and into the living room, head down.

“Hard day, sugar?”

Sugar. Damned if Denny hadn’t missed that word, that voice, but he was still
disappointed to hear it. “What’re you doing home?” He leaned on his crutches and
glared at Sully. Sully was supposed to take himself on the road and make them some
money while Denny lay around and tried to get better from this damn leg injury.

“Nothing doin’, sugar. Break between races. I got a couple three days before I gotta
get back.” Sully grinned, pretty pink lips twisting up at one corner. Sully eased up on
Denny like Denny was a skittish colt and reached out to brush his thumb over
Denny’s cheek. Denny shied away from the touch. He had a few scars here and there,
now, since the crash, and he didn’t see much pretty about himself anymore. “What
kinda welcome home’s that, anyhow?”

“The kind you get when you decide to come by when I don’t even have time to grab a
shower or nothing.” He was happy to see Sully. That was the damnable thing.

Sully made Denny hot in the belly and weak in the knees, with his deep red hair and
his sugar-candy smile. There he was, larger than life, wearing nothing but a little pair
of cutoffs, showing off tanned skin sprinkled with freckles all the way from his nose
to his broad shoulders and spilling down his big, bare chest. Denny loved Sully so
much he made his own damn teeth hurt with it, but he didn’t want Sully home right
now. Not while he was a cripple still leaking blood and goo all out of a hole in his leg.

Sully’s eyebrows went up. He got Denny’s face between both hands and kissed
Denny hard on the mouth. Denny wanted to let go of his crutches and grab Sully hard,
but he couldn’t risk falling and putting weight on his bad leg. He leaned into the kiss,
giving in to how desperately he wanted Sully and how damn much he’d missed the
man. It had been long and painful and so, so lonely, and Denny was never going to
say a word about it.

“That’s better,” Sully murmured against Denny’s lips, and then kissed him again,
light and sweet. “Here you had me thinkin’ maybe you didn’t want me around no
more. Hate t’be sneakin’ around to be with somebody who ain’t interested.”

“Stop talkin’ bullshit.” Denny whacked Sully in the shin with a crutch and started
making for the couch. “If anybody’s not wantin’ a body around here, I’d think it was
gonna be you. Plenty doing out there on the circuit. No idea why you’d come back to
hang around here, when you could be having fun.”

Couch. Denny could see the couch now. His right foot hurt so much it was going to
explode and the scabs from where they took the skin grafts on his left leg were
catching on the gauze over them as he moved.

“You’re so full of shit, I’m surprised your eyes ain’t brown,” Sully muttered,
following Denny a pace or so behind.

Denny collapsed on the couch and bit back a whimper when he discovered that the
pillow for his leg wasn’t where he’d left it. Of course it wasn’t. Sully had been lying
there, taking up the whole damn place. Denny wasn’t going to complain, though. He
levered himself up to where he could reach the pillow and worked to get himself
settled.

He just wanted to get the damn sock off his foot and lie back a while. It was hurting
like hell. He couldn’t put a shoe on that foot, that was for sure. Lately, he didn’t care
about getting back to racing. He just wanted to walk. The last time he’d walked
without hurting was walking away from that crash, with the crowd cheering like
crazy.

“You want me to get you anything?”

“I’m good.” Denny sagged back onto the couch with a sigh of relief. “I usually just lie
here a spell. Physical therapy’s a fancy kinda torture, I tell you what.” He mustered up
a smile for Sully, who was looking a bit like a worried puppy. “I’m fine. Sorry I can’t
get you dinner or anything. There’s a new place down the street makes some decent
fried chicken.” That should cheer Sully up.

“Do they deliver?” Sully asked, but he wasn’t heading for the phone. He was heading
to the couch, squeezing himself to sitting right on the edge.

“Yeah, they do.” Denny tensed up like a plank when Sully settled down. He didn't
want Sully to jostle him wrong and make the hurt worse, but he wasn't giving up any
kisses; he’d earned every damn kiss Sully had to give him.

Denny couldn’t help putting his aching arms around Sully’s neck, feeling the heat of
Sully’s body radiating from his bare skin, and kissing Sully back. He had no idea why
Sully wanted to be here, but he needed Sully’s kisses like he needed Vicodin these
days.

Sully rumbled his approval, one hand skimming down Denny’s chest and then sliding
up under his shirt. Oh, fuck. Touches that felt good. Denny moaned.

The bruises from the harness and the crash were almost gone, the cracked ribs were
healing; if it weren’t for his damn leg, Denny would be back in the car already. As it
was, he wasn’t even back to fucking his boyfriend. For a moment, he forgot about
everything except how wrong that was and started working Sully’s shorts off. He’d
missed Sully’s body so much: the strong, freckled shoulders, the flat belly, the tight
ass, the lanky legs, the dick that made him crazy.

Sully stopped kissing him just long enough to stand up and shuck his shorts, briefs
going with them. Naked, he knelt down beside the couch and kissed Denny again, hot
and hard, working Denny’s shorts open with both hands. Denny was so focused, he
plumb forgot to be careful of his leg. He had a hand full of Sully’s cock and was
remembering how good it felt inside him when he instinctively lifted his hips to let
Sully pull down his shorts, digging his heels into the couch.

“Motherfucker!” He ripped his mouth away from Sully’s and only a whole lot of love
reminded him to let the hell go of Sully’s dick before he arched in pain.

Sully pulled back right quick and sat up. “What happened? Shit. You okay, sugar?”

Denny sagged back onto the couch, all interest gone. Right. What the fuck was he
doing feeling sexy and good when he was, no kidding, a wreck? “Yeah, I’m fine,” he
snapped, struggling to regain a little dignity. “Just. Fucking. Perfect.”

He pushed himself up and tried not to whimper at the pain in his leg. How the hell
was he supposed to tell Sully that if he’d come home for sex, he shouldn’t even bother
unpacking?

“You got anything you can take for it?” Sully asked.

“I already did. This is me on the pills.” Denny covered his face with his hands. “This
is why I wanted you to just stay out there on the circuit. So you wouldn’t have to
bother with this shit.”

Sully folded his arms across his chest, glaring down at Denny. “Yeah? You sent me
off to hustle for some dumb motherfucker who can’t find his ass with both hands an’ a
flashlight, much less the goddamn gas pedal, while you were back here poppin’ in and
out of the hospital, ‘cause you didn’t want me to have to bother with fuckin’ you
while you were hurtin’?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a damn good idea, don’t it?” Denny
would have thrown a pillow at Sully, but he couldn’t spare one. God damn it, why did
Sully have to argue while he was naked? The sight of Sully was making Denny all
messed up in the head, leaving him half-angry and half-hard in spite of all the pain.

“No, it damn well does not!” Sully turned around, stalking off toward the kitchen.

“Well, you explain to me how you playin’ my momma is gonna pay our goddamn
mortgage,” Denny shouted after him. “My insurance only goes so fucking far, Sully,
and last thing I need anyway is reminding every day that I fucked things up for us.”
He grabbed for his crutches because he was sure as hell done talking to Sully and not

sticking around for a fight that wouldn't be happening if Sully'd just stayed where he
belonged: far away from Denny's problems.

“Your momma’s prettier’n me by half,” Sully ground out, “an’ I’m gonna punch you
in the goddamn face, if you don’t shut the hell up about that crash bein’ your fault.
What d’you want for dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.” The medicine made Denny feel sick; fighting with Sully made it
worse. “Crashing was my fault.” He levered himself up off the couch. “Whole point
of driving is not fucking crashing.” He leaned heavily on the crutches, making for the
stairs -- so many damn stairs -- so he could go wash. Not like he could have a shower.

It hadn’t even been that bad a crash. Sure, Denny had been kind of crunched up in the
car for a bit with his legs pinned tight, twisted up at a funny angle until the rescue
team cut him out. But then he’d slid free and waved off the paramedics. Sully had
been right there, reaching for him, and it had taken everything Denny could muster
right then to keep from kissing Sully on the mouth, he’d been so glad to be out of the
car with all his pieces intact. He’d leaned on Sully and they’d walked off the field
together. They’d even had a laugh in the ER, and the world had seemed pretty fine
when they’d left to go find a bar.

Denny hitched himself toward the stairs. He was never going to forget what came
after. Sure, he’d hurt all over. It had been bad, but Denny could take pain. He’d
thought he could. Two beers in, he’d started to shake. Then he’d puked everywhere.
By the time the ambulance showed up, he’d been screaming. Screaming that hadn’t
stopped until they knocked him out so they could cut him open from knee to ankle,
trying to save his leg. Denny stopped at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on his
crutches, and tried to muster up the nerve to go up. He was so out of nerve, anymore.

Sully sidled up next to him, but now he had his shorts back on. “Hey, sugar. You
goin’ t’clean up?”

“Yep.” Denny took a breath and put his good foot on the step, ignoring the way the
healing skin on his thigh tugged. “PT makes me sweat.” Made his eyes tear up and his
head hurt, too, but he wasn’t admitting to that. He wanted a shower so bad, something
to soothe the pain in his shoulders and neck.

Clenching his jaw, he made it up the first step. According to the doctors, he was
supposed to do this on his ass, but he’d be damned if he was going to let Sully see him
hooching around the house like a baby. There was only so much indignity Denny
could take.

“Let me help?” Sully sounded like Denny’s pain was hurting him.

“I’m okay.” Denny tried to make himself look like it hurt less. He even gave Sully a
smile over his shoulder. “It’s got a lot better since I got out. You wanna help, you
could get back to walking around in the all-together.”

“Not gonna let me carry you on up like a brand new bride?” Sully got himself up in
front of Denny and gave him a smile. “Promise I’ll give you a damn good weddin’
night.”

Lord, but Sully just about broke Denny’s heart some days; there wasn't enough room
in Denny's chest for loving Sully so hard and feeling so lucky all at once.

“If I could keep my half of that rightly, I’d say yes.” Denny leaned on his crutches,
trying not to crumple under the regret he was feeling. “But I can’t, so I think you best
go wait for your dinner to get here. I have to do this on my own the rest of the time,
anyhow.”

Sully sighed and nodded, slipping past Denny to head back down the stairs.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Denny did his best to make himself stink a little less. He
still smelled of blood and struggling flesh and disinfectants, no matter what he did. It
had only been a few weeks and already he was going soft, his skin starting to sag a
little over his ribs, showing them too much and thickening below them at his waist.
Twenty-five and already washed right the hell up.

Denny managed to get his hair under the sprayer and washed that. He changed into
long pajama pants to hide the bandages and started on the struggle back down the
stairs.

He found Sully sitting on the floor by the coffee table, more or less fully dressed
again, picking at his food. As much as he hurt, as useless and ugly as he was now, just
seeing Sully made Denny feel a little better. Sully looked up as he came in. “Feelin’
better?”

“Bit cleaner.” Denny made it back to the couch and tried to get settled.

“Gonna eat somethin’ if I fix you up a plate?” Sully’s eyebrows were raised
expectantly.

“Gonna let me be if I say no?” Denny leaned his head back against the arm of the
couch and gave Sully a weary look.

“Prob’ly not.” Sully shrugged and started dishing food. When he got up to get ice
water, Denny closed his eyes and sighed heavily; he was so damn tired. Even when
they were mad at each other, Sully being around made everything better. He didn't
mean to fall asleep. Sully just made everything feel so damn safe.

***

Denny looked rough, like somebody’d taken a stick and beat him within an inch of his
life. Part of it was the pain, Sully knew, but part of it was the tension Denny kept
himself under, not letting anybody else help. Boy was stubborn as a goddamn mule
when he got hurt, though this was the first time Sully’d seen him hurt this bad.

Seemed like Denny thought he was ugly now, with the scars and the grafts and
whatnot, but Sully still thought Denny was pretty much the sexiest thing on two legs,
and Sully didn’t much care what those legs looked like.

Sully knew he had to figure something out. Damned if he could leave something
broke, if he could fix it. He didn’t like the idea of Denny getting hurt more than he
was during sex, but he liked the idea of Denny thinking he couldn’t have sex even
less.

While Denny was off at physical therapy again the next day, Sully spent a couple
hours driving around to find the only sex shop in the whole goddamn state. Clerk was
friendly, though. Helped Sully find exactly what he needed.

He was glad he’d been driving the truck, because the box wouldn’t have fit in
anything smaller. When he opened it up, he was faced with a pile of black steel and
leather. Sexy.

Sully got up on a chair and ran the stud-finder over the ceiling to find the joists, then
screwed in the big sturdy hook that would hold everything up. It would hold Denny
up, if he could convince Denny to go along.

Once everything was put together, Sully headed back downstairs. He was pretty much
just in time, as Denny rattled in the front door looking as tired as he had yesterday.
Denny got in and leaned heavily on his crutches, head down. His bad foot was
swollen and looked painful. Everything about him was too hot, too sad, too hurt. It
just tugged at Sully’s heart.

“Hey, sugar.” He came up and brushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair back from
Denny’s forehead. “Let me help y’get on inside where you can sit down.”

“I’m fine, I just need a clear path to the couch.” Denny tilted his head back and gave
Sully a smile that was tight around the edges with pain. “Next time we buy a house,
it’s gonna be a small one.”

“No more stairs, maybe, too.” Sully didn’t take no for an answer this time. He kissed
Denny on that pain-tight smile and scooped Denny up in his arms, letting the crutches
clatter to the floor.

Denny panicked, flailing and then going rigid, clutching at Sully’s shoulders. It
wasn’t like Sully wasn’t prone to picking Denny’s drunk ass up and hauling him
around on a regular basis, but it had been awhile. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
Denny sputtered. His face was pale and his breath came a little too fast. “Fuck’s sake,
Sully, put me down before I rip something open.”

“Don’t fuss and you won’t get hurt,” Sully countered, stepping carefully over the
crutches. He stopped inside the living room and looked at Denny’s face. “I won’t drop
you, sugar. Promise.”

"That ain't all I'm worried about." Denny stayed really still, tension shuddering
through his arms and back, and his voice came out from between gritted teeth. "Swear

to God, Sully, if I wasn't falling out of my own fucking skin in places, I'd punch you
in the goddamn motherfucking head so hard you'd fit right into Andy Mack's team. I
need my fucking crutches; don't leave them in the goddamn hallway."

"I'll come back and get 'em," Sully assured him. "Soon as I get you settled. Hush." He
didn't stop at the couch, though. He carried Denny right on up the stairs to the
bathroom. Denny wasn't little, but he was smaller than Sully, and Sully was in the
habit of hauling stuff heavier than Denny around the garage.

“Be careful. And don’t tell me to hush. You ain’t the one put together like Gramma’s
quilt. Bad enough the patches keep threatenin’ to quit.”

"You don't tell me much about what the doctors are doin' to you," Sully commented
mildly, when he felt anything but mild about the whole thing. He angled them through
the door and sat Denny carefully on the closed seat of the toilet. "I'm gonna head on
down and get your crutches."

Sully got the crutches and headed back upstairs. When he got to the bathroom, he
stopped in the doorway, looking at Denny, who was finishing up pulling off his
bandages. Jesus Christ. Denny really hadn't told him fuck-all about what he was
going through, when they talked on the phone now and then.

Denny’s left thigh, where they’d taken the grafts from, had scabs flaking off and
cracking and new, raw skin showing through. His right calf looked worse. The
opening in it, through muscle and almost to the bone, looked big enough to put a hand
in. It was stitched like to hold it together at the top and bottom, and the grafts were a
meshy patchwork that didn't fill in the hole, they just covered the open flesh. Sully
could see the swell of Denny’s calf muscle almost trying to turn itself inside out with
nothing to hold the thick, powerful belly of it in.

Denny's knee was stapled together in places where they'd done other work to try and
fix up the joint, and there were stitches here and there on his thigh and calf where
they'd had monitors and tubes stuck in his flesh. In spite of everything, his foot was
still swollen up bad, in dark, wrong colors.

"You stubborn son of a bitch," Sully muttered, leaning the crutches against the wall
and coming over to kneel down in front of Denny. "How do I get you out of your
clothes without hurtin' you?"

“Let me do it myself.” Denny grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to pull it off
over his head. Sully sat back and let him do it. “I just need to clean up.”

“You need any help gettin’ outta those shorts?” Now that he could see how bad it
was, Sully was itching to make it right, to help. Wasn't in his nature not to, but Denny
kept making him hold back.

“I can do it.” Denny slithered out of his shorts and put his bare ass back on the toilet
seat.

Sully just let him work. When he was settled, Sully reached around to slip an arm
around his back, up under his arms. “Lean on me. We’ll get you over there so you can
get cleaned up.”

“I’m okay,” Denny said, but he let Sully help. “You shoulda told me you were
coming,” he added, low, as he hopped over to the tub and then leaned on Sully to get
his good foot over the edge.

"Didn't know if I was really gonna be able to make the trip, 'til the last minute." If
there had been any major trouble with the car, he'd have had to stick around to get
things up to snuff. As it was, the crew was just doing a little regular maintenance
before the next race. They didn't need Sully for that, though he'd be checking up on all
of it when he got back.

Denny sagged down onto the seat in the tub and then used his hands to lift his right
leg up, propping it on a towel on the edge of the tub. It was so easy to take things like
a simple shower for granted. Denny reached out to turn on the tap.

Once Denny was settled in and the water was running, Sully picked up the dirty
clothes and carried them in to the hamper. He left his own clothes in there, too, and
came back to the bathroom naked as could be. He crawled in behind Denny, behind
the seat, and pressed kisses to the long line of Denny's spine. So much more could've
gone wrong in that crash.

The kisses got him a sigh of pleasure, surprisingly enough. Kissing his way up to the
back of Denny's neck, Sully ran his hands over Denny's back. He could feel the
tension and knots in Denny's muscles, even without pressing, so he started working at
them.

"I've got you, sugar," Sully murmured against the back of Denny's neck, when Denny
whimpered and grabbed at the sides of the tub. He started with light touches at the
base of Denny's spine and worked his way up, and he just kept kissing -- and
occasionally licking -- the back of Denny's neck as he worked. He nuzzled there a
little, his fingers working out a particularly tough knot of muscle. "You coulda said
somethin'. I'da rubbed your back before." It wasn't as if Sully was going to say no to
any chance to get his hands on Denny, sex or not.

"Just don't want to get used to it, is all," Denny muttered. He was almost melting in
Sully's hands, his shaggy golden head dropping so that his chin hit his chest. "God,
that feels good, Sully."

"Why the hell not?" Sully bumped his nose against the back of Denny's neck,
frustrated with Denny's stubbornness. He worked his hands all over Denny's back,
smoothing out the muscles until everything was as loose as he could make it.

Denny sighed and leaned back against Sully. "’Cause you have to go to work again
and I have to manage this on my own. My problem. I'll get better and you won't have
to worry none about it, Sully. 'S what I wanted: you'd come home and I'd be at least
halfway to better. None of this limping and whining and hurting."

“You dumb son of a bitch," Sully muttered, affection softening his tone. He wrapped
his arms around Denny's chest and held onto him gently. "You think I ain't been
worried sick 'bout you this whole damn time I been out on the road?"

"I can't help it if you're a damn girl, Sully." Denny leaned his cheek against Sully's.
"But I can sure as hell not be one about all this shit."

"You get cleaned up an' I'll take you on into the bedroom and show you what kinda
girl I am." Sully snorted, huffing against Denny's cheek like a horse demanding treats.
"Did me some shoppin' today."

"Lord have mercy." Denny looked at Sully over his shoulder. "What the hell did you
do?" He looked more than a mite skittish at the prospect of Sully going shopping for
anything but car parts.

“Made damn sure next time I wanna fuck you, I ain't gonna hurt you no more'n you're
already hurtin'."

Denny's eyes went real wide and he shook his head. "You did what?"

Sully chuckled a little and petted Denny's chest with one hand. "I got a sling, one a
them hammock-lookin' things that you hang up from the ceiling so's you don't hafta
kneel on the bed or nothing. I figured you weren't gonna be up for that, what with
your leg hurtin' you so bad, so I had to improvise."

"Are you out of your fool mind?" Denny didn't look too pleased at all. Time was, he'd
have been beating Sully to the bedroom to jump on the damn thing and give it a try.
Hell, he'd have hung from his heels from it so he could suck Sully off from a whole
new angle. Now, he just looked like he wanted to run away.

"Get yourself cleaned up, sugar," Sully said, not letting Denny's foul mood get to him.
"I ain't gonna hurt you."

Denny finished washing, and then he hauled himself up. "You're damn right you're
not gonna hurt me," he grumbled. "Not gonna hurt me because I ain’t playing around
in any damn contraption." He couldn't reach his crutches and he couldn't get out of the
tub alone, so he stood there and glared hard at Sully.

Sully sighed and pushed himself up to his feet. He got out of the tub and leaned in,
scooping Denny up without another word. "You are such a stubborn little shit," he
muttered, hauling Denny out of the tub and carrying him out of the bathroom.

In the bedroom, he settled Denny down in the seat of the sling and started getting all
the straps sorted out before Denny could protest too much. If, in the process of getting
Denny's arms up and around the upper straps, he managed to get his mouth on one of
Denny's nipples -- well, that was purely an accident and not at all because he knew
how it made Denny get all turned-on and easy.

Denny was swearing a blue streak, coming up with new words and calling Sully
things Denny'd never called him before. He didn't fight much; he just grabbed on the

second Sully got his arms sorted out and hung on so hard his knuckles went white.
Sully's mouth on him made him moan through the swearing. There was no way he
could get loose without hurting himself, so he was almost helpful as Sully got him
strung up.

"Hush," Sully murmured, switching over to the other nipple after a moment. Once
Denny's feet were sorted, Sully got focused on making Denny feel good. He got his
hands down between Denny's legs, cupping Denny's balls and toying with them
gently. He knew how much Denny liked that.

"Oh, God." Denny was strung up, legs spread and cradled in padded straps, his body
held up securely, his hands clenched on the chains. He was all spread out for Sully
and Sully's touches were already working. "I fucking hate you," Denny whispered, but
it sounded damn insincere.

Sully stood up straighter, cupping the back of Denny's head in one hand and bringing
him in for a kiss. He kissed Denny slow and easy, fingers slipping down to rub and
press at the smooth skin behind Denny's balls.

"So much," Denny added breathlessly. "There's a fucking hole in our goddamn
ceiling, Sully. This contraption better not break our condo or I'm throwing you out."
Somehow, his words lacked emphasis, especially the way he was rocking a little
already, trying to get Sully's fingers into him.

"I'll fix the hole when we move out, sugar," Sully promised, getting his fingers slick
with lube from a nearby shelf. He circled his fingers behind Denny's balls, teasing just
a little. "More worried 'bout another hole, just now."

Denny let his head fall back and he groaned, a shudder running through him. His
nipples were hard and his cock twitched at the touch. "Christ. Sully...”

"I got you, sugar." Sully pushed one finger inside as he leaned over to nip and suck at
Denny's nipple again. Denny loved getting finger-fucked, and Sully loved doing it to
him, loved listening to the noises he made. Here, like this, he could do it without
worrying Denny was going to get hurt.

"Yes." It came out like a hiss and Denny's whole body jerked. "Oh, yeah. Sully,
please."

Sully moaned, biting down on Denny's nipple as he fucked Denny with one finger and
then two. He loved the way Denny moved to take his fingers in, loved the way Denny
got so uninhibited when he got turned on like this. On top of all that, Sully just plain
loved fixing things. He purred against Denny's skin and got right down to work doing
what he did best.

***

Denny had been pissed off all day, and he’d been even more pissed off when Sully
carried him upstairs. He was so tired of being pissed off. And then the swing. The
fucking swing. Denny hated the idea, hated the thing, hated getting into it. But when

Sully started touching him, when he realized that he was cradled in butter-soft leather
that held him up and eased his aching back, when he was tipped backward so that his
throbbing legs were comfortably up and spread, Denny started to change his mind.

Sully slid two fingers in and Denny felt like he was in heaven. If he slid his hands
through the wrist straps, he could hold on tight, taking some of his weight on his arms
if he wanted to shift, pushing down onto Sully's fingers. He couldn't help the way he
was moaning; sometimes he hated how he was such a sucker for being touched there,
and that Sully knew how to get him going so quick.

As good as it felt, Sully was going too damn slow for Denny's liking, and he
swallowed his pride to mutter, "Damn it, Sully. Stop your fuckin’ dawdling."

"Not gonna let me play?" Sully asked, looking up at Denny as his tongue rasped over
Denny's nipple again. Sully's blue eyes had gone dark with want. He pushed those two
fingers in deep, and then added a third. "You look so damn good like this."

"Oh, Christ." Those wrist straps came in damn handy when Denny arched and
shuddered. "Not like I can make you do anything like this." The realization hit Denny
like a fist, that he was helpless and couldn't even get himself down. It made his eyes
go wide and his breath caught. Part of him loved it and the rest of him was screaming
blue murder for him to find a way out.

"Trust me, sugar." Sully stopped moving his fingers, getting Denny's attention right
quick. "You've trusted me every damn time you got out on the track. Think you can
trust me now?"

Denny made himself breathe. He'd just had way too much of being helpless lately.
But this was Sully. This was his Sully who held Denny's life in his big hands every
time he opened up Denny's car. And Sully sure as hell never caused Denny a minute's
pain. "I do." Maybe it was himself Denny didn't trust. He was really, finally safe and,
for a moment, all he felt was good, and he was scared he was going to fall apart.

Sully rewarded him by moving his fingers again, slow and deep. Denny didn't have
his balance in this thing enough to let go and put his arms around Sully, so he
murmured, "I love you," before he let Sully kiss him. Every thrust of Sully's fingers
got another shudder out of him; he could have done this all day, let Sully play with
him, finger him.

“Love you, too, sugar.”

This was better than being drunk, better than painkillers. Denny whined and would
have tried to open himself up more except that the sling already held him wide open
for Sully. Sully's hands -- his fucking magical hands -- were all that mattered.

Denny knew he was panting and making little noises, but he could forgive himself
because he knew how that kind of thing got Sully all hot and bothered. Sully's fingers
filling him up were so good; Sully knew how to curl them and twist them to make
Denny feel like he was opened up wide, wide for Sully. His body wanted Sully so

much, needed those touches. Nothing he could do to himself compared to Sully's
hands and his mouth and his dick.

"Goddamn, you sound good like that," Sully rumbled, fucking Denny with his fingers,
smooth, hitting all the right spots. "You jus' tell me when you're ready, sugar."

"For you?" Denny made himself look at Sully and soaked in the way Sully's skin got
that fierce blush all down his chest when Sully got all heated up. "Always. Goddamn,
Sully, jus’ always." Part of him didn't want to lose the feeling of Sully's work-hard
fingers pushing into him, but watching Sully's face while they fucked would be so
good, when he finally got to see it.

Sully pushed his fingers in a few more times, then pulled them out and slicked his
cock. He set himself against Denny's hole and got his hands around Denny's hips, way
up where there weren't no cuts or bruises, and started to push in. "You tell me if I hurt
you," he said, giving Denny a look that said he meant business.

"Only way you'll hurt me is hurtin' my feelings if you don't fuck me like you mean it."
Denny was breathless, both from the stern look and the way Sully opened him wide
and filled him up. "Goddamn it, Sully, I hate being gone from you." Sully felt so
good. Denny never felt as safe and loved as when he was with Sully; it felt like he'd
been falling until Sully walked back in the door.

"Don't you worry, I'm gonna fuck you 'til you can't see straight."

The amazing thing was how it hardly hurt a bit. Denny just hung on and let Sully ride
his ass, letting every thrust push groans and cries out of him. It felt like Sully was
touching every nerve in his body with pleasure, his skin was wild with it, and his dick
was dripping onto his belly. He didn't want Sully to touch him like that, though, not
yet. He just wanted to get fucked.

"Please, please," Denny was begging even though Sully was giving it to him. "Hard,
Sully." He wanted to feel it all the way through, to feel the air go out of him, to feel
Sully's hips bruise his ass. His hands clenched, aching to dig into Sully's shoulders to
make Sully go faster, harder, please.

Sully gave Denny what he wanted, fucking him harder, faster, one hand sliding up to
pinch Denny's nipple, giving it a little twist with his callused fingers. There was no
being quiet. Denny couldn't differentiate between begging and cursing and telling
Sully how much he loved him.

"God, Sully, goddamn you, harder. Please. Fuck. Harder. More. Touch me. Fuck, I
love you. Please, Sully." If he hadn't been harnessed up in the sling, Denny would
have hurt himself but good, thrashing around. As it was, he was held in nice and tight
while Sully slid into him again and again.

Sully wrapped his slick hand around Denny's cock and stroked him, tight and quick,
same as he was fucking. "I gotcha, sugar," Sully growled.

"Oh, God." Denny did just about hurt himself, arching backward in the swing. "Sully."
He was going to have a sore throat on top of everything, the way words kept getting
ripped right out of him, loud and crazy. "Fuck me, I love your cock. Harder. Jesus,
Sully, don't stop." Then he was coming, his whole body rocked with it, clenching
around Sully's cock with every jerk, and the thickness filling him up made coming
unbelievably intense.

Sully kept fucking him right on through his orgasm and out the other side. He was
still hard inside Denny, eyes hot and body shivering with it, when he stopped moving.

"Fuck. Sully." Denny was wild-eyed and flushed and breathless, but he wasn't
complaining about anything. "You are so damn good." He gathered up his brains a
little and tightened up around Sully's cock. "Come on. I wanna watch you lose it. So
fucking hot, Sully."

Sully groaned, his hips jerking forward. He let go of Denny's cock to grab Denny’s
hips again, pulling Denny into him. God, that was almost better than coming. Denny
shuddered with it, whimpering with pleasure and gasping little endearments: how hot
Sully was, how good he was, how Denny could never get enough of him. He loved
how everything got slick when Sully came inside him, how Sully arched and flushed
and shook while he came, shouting Denny’s name.

Sully came down slow, his hips still moving on instinct. He reached up to get a hand
around the back of Denny's neck, holding tight and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss
was hard and hot, like their fucking had been, and Sully muttered against Denny's
lips, "Goddamn you, don't you ever get hurt like that again. I was so damn scared,
sugar..."

Once Sully said it, it was like a wall came down in Denny's head and everything
behind it busted out into his bloodstream, all the fear and hurt. He got his hands out of
the straps and wrapped his arms around Sully's neck, letting Sully take some of his
weight.

"I won't. I didn't think I was." Suddenly, he couldn't breathe for the tightness in his
chest; it left him gasping against Sully's mouth. "I'm sorry, Sully." He was never
going to forget the hurt, and he was never going to forget Sully's face when he was
lying on the floor of that bar, begging Sully to do something, please, even cut his
damn leg off to make it stop hurting so bad.

"Goddamn it, Denny..." Sully wrapped his other arm around Denny's back and held
him up. "I love you, you stubborn bastard. So much." He kissed Denny again, softer
this time.

"You win." Denny let his head fall to Sully's shoulder and hid his face in the curve of
Sully's neck. Sully had been right about everything, about getting this stupid,
ridiculous contraption so they could fuck, about Denny being a stubborn bastard,
about how Denny should let him help. He didn't even care that he'd been wrong. He
just hung on to Sully because if he let go, he'd fall apart.

"I got you," Sully agreed, holding on tight, like Denny was all the prize he’d wanted.

"God, I love you. Now get me out of this goddamn thing before my head explodes,
and let me lay down," Denny grumbled against Sully's neck. It lacked all heat, the
way he was clinging right now, and he didn't care. It was the principle of the thing.
Better than getting all mushy over Sully being sweet at him. Damn man.

Sully got Denny's feet out of the loops, then carried Denny over to the bed, cradling
Denny against him. He settled some pillows down so Denny could prop his leg up,
and got himself settled down behind Denny to hold onto him. "You okay, sugar?"

“Yeah." Denny tried to put a little grumble into the word, but it came out shaky. He
was clinging to Sully's arms where they were wrapped around him and he couldn't
make himself let go. His throat kept getting tight and he wanted to say things like
asking Sully to stay on, but he couldn't. They needed all their savings. They couldn't
have Sully staying around because Denny couldn't man up. Denny swallowed hard
and let his head rest on Sully's shoulder. They had another day or so. It'd do. Denny
could make do.

Denny didn't let go, even when he fell asleep. He was a right mess and he hung on
like Sully was a life preserver. His sleep was a bit restless, his breath catching and his
muscles twitching, but he'd always fall back with a sigh when Sully held him tight.

Contributors’ Bios

Sarah Colter

Sarah Colter has written in a wide spectrum of genres, everything from children's
literature to wrestling magazine articles. In her lifetime, she has been a wife, a
mother, a grandmother, a professional wrestler, a truckstop manager, and a data entry
clerk. She is now retired and spends most of her spare time at the keyboard.

Anah Crow

Anah Crow is a queer writer living in Canada. She gets to do what she does with the
support of her partners and her dogs and the curious stares of her neighbors who
wonder why she doesn't have a "real job" and what she has against pants. Her books
published with Torquere include Tomorrow's Gambit and The Look of a King; her
upcoming novel is Uneven, a less-than-traditional, contemporary romance. She and
Dianne have been getting creative together since 2003 and have no intention of
stopping any time soon. Her website is

http://www.anahcrow.com/

.

Dianne Fox

Dianne Fox lives in the US Midwest's version of San Francisco with her partner and
their two adorable cats. Her books published with Torquere Press include *Angels
Come to Visit* and *Ghost Notes*, and she has stories upcoming in several
anthologies. She and Anah Crow have been writing together since 2003, and show no
signs of stopping. More information about her -- and her writing – can be found at
www.foxwrites.com.

CB Potts

CB Potts is not nearly as normal as she seems. Really. We know. In between
penning cowgirl love epics and explosive action adventures for the Chasers line, she
stalks prominent economists and participates in guerrilla gardening campaigns.
Rumors have it that she's now on a one woman quest to find the highest pair of high
heels available without a prescription, and from what we know of this chick, it's
probably true. She has a website, but it sucks, and if she doesn't pay the webhost soon,
it's sure to disappear. Instead, visit her LiveJournal: cbpotts.livejournal.com which is
full of trivia, random musings, memes, political commentary, a disproportionate
amount of whining (or whinging, if you're British) and the occasional recipe. If you
want to email her -- and you should only do so knowing that she is incredibly bad
about responding -- reach her at [e-mail]

Toy Box: Sling

Edited by M. Rode

Two Months’ Pay © 2008 by Sarah Colter

Support System © 2008 by Anah Crow & Dianne Fox

The Boy’s Decision © 2008 by CB Potts

All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box
2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-485-4

ISBN-10: 1-60370-485-X

Torquere Press, Inc.: Toy Chest electronic edition / September 2008

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round
Rock, TX 78680