Drew Hunt Brett's New Game Plan

Brett’s New Game Plan

By Drew Hunt

Published by

JMS Books LLC

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jms-books.com

for more information.

ISBN 978-1-61152-117-7

Cover Photo Credit:

James Steidl

Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design:

J.M. Snyder

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purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains

substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which
may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your
files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination
and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to
actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Brett’s New Game Plan

By Drew Hunt

“Oh, Dads, it’s…it’s awesome. Thank you.” Brett Morris did

a full three-sixty, examining his new room. The matching maize
and blue scatter rugs, throw pillows on the loveseat, lampshades,
and comforter made him smile. “My college’s colors.”

“The choice of decor was my idea,” Dennis said.
Brett nodded, pumped his dads would go to all this trouble.
“You like it?” Dennis asked, worrying his lip with his teeth.
“Course he likes it. He said so, didn’t he?” Colton gave

Dennis a squeeze. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

“Yes, Dad Dennis, I like it.” He took the three steps to

stand in front of his dad and pulled him into a hug.

Colton moved up behind Dennis and gathered him and

Brett into a three-way hug. “Great to have you here, son.”
Colton’s voice was low and raspy, a sure sign the big guy was
getting emotional.

“I’m the meat in a hunk sandwich,” Dennis said with a

sigh. “I’ve definitely died and gone to Heaven.”

All three men laughed, breaking the serious mood.
Brett looked above the king-size bed. “What’s the shelf for?”
“Your football trophies,” Colton told him.
“Cool.”
“Colt made it. I’m pretty useless with a hammer.” Dennis

dipped his head.

“You both did this for me. I’m blown away.” No one, even

back when he was alive, had gone to so much trouble for him.

“We love you, son,” Colton said, resting a hand on Brett’s

shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad. I love you guys, too.”
“Come on, babe, let’s leave so he can settle in. I’ve got

some more ideas for how I can use that hammer of mine,” Colton
growled at Dennis, who squeaked when Colt goosed him.

Dennis raced out of the room, Colton in hot pursuit.
Brett shook his head. His dad Dennis deserved the

happiness he was now receiving. All the time the two of them
had roomed together, Brett had seen Dennis patiently wait for his
lover to pass over. Brett sighed and flopped onto the huge bed.
How much longer would he have to wait? Looking around the
room again, Brett could imagine he and Gavin living here, at
least until they decided where they wanted to spend their
eternity. Brett guessed that was why Colt and Dennis had gotten
him such a big bed. It would fit Brett and Gavin perfectly. The
mattress was firm, just as he liked. Stretching out, Brett
appreciated the extra room. So much nicer than his twin bed in
the dorm.

* * * *

“Supper’s ready,” Dennis said, tapping on the frame of

Brett’s open bedroom door.

“Thanks, I’ll be out in a minute,” Brett told him.
It had become traditional a couple of days before a game

for Brett to eat at his dads’ house, where they would fire up the
barbeque and Brett would eat a large steak, along with a baked
potato and salad. Now he’d moved in, he’d be eating all his
meals with his dads.

Raising himself from the bed, Brett’s mouth began to

water at the thought of rare, succulent meat. As he’d told Dennis
when the man first arrived in Heaven, people didn’t need to eat
once they passed over, but they could if they wanted to. And as
Brett enjoyed his food, he indulged as often as he wanted. He
never understood quite how it worked, but whether he ate a lot or
not at all, he was still able to maintain his strong physique.

“Smells great,” Brett said, coming out onto the patio of his

dads’ house. He guessed now he ought to think of it as his
house, too. “Hey, girl.” Brett petted Roxanne who had magically
appeared next to him, no doubt because he was the softest
touch as regards giving out tidbits.

“Dig in. You’ve got a big game coming up,” Colton told

him. “Come on, Rox, you’ve just been fed.” But the dog wasn’t
moving.

“Yeah. The Eastside Seraphims ran us pretty close last

time.”

“But you still pulled off a win, didn’t you?” Dennis asked.
Brett knew Dennis didn’t fully understand the game, but

did his best to keep up with Brett’s and Colton’s football talk.
“Sure did.” Brett beamed at Dennis before forking a large piece
of steak into his mouth and chewing contentedly.

Colton nudged Dennis. “And I bet before I came along,

you drooled over all the hunky football players.” Colton lifted a
forkful of shredded lettuce to his mouth.

“No.” But the reddening of Dennis’s cheeks told a different

story. Brett knew Dennis had had a secret crush on his team’s
head coach, Bo Schembeckler.

“Oh?” Colton waited.
“Of course I looked, I’m not dead. Uh, I mean…”
Everyone broke up in laughter.
“But then I’d think of you and I reminded myself that my

heart belonged only to one man.”

“Aww, baby.” Colton leaned over and gave Dennis a kiss.
Brett shook his head and looked down at his plate.

Sometimes his dads’ mushiness made him uncomfortable. No,
that wasn’t true—he was envious of what they had.

“So, son,” Colton asked, “you and Clay got something

special up your sleeves for the game?”

Brett was one of the team’s tight ends, and Clay a wide

receiver. Still chewing, Brett merely nodded. Though he knew his
dads would never reveal team tactics to anyone, he still wouldn’t
give away anything that might help the other team. And to their
credit Colton and Dennis would never ask him to.

Talk of Clay brought back memories of earlier that day

when Brett was packing up his dorm room…

* * * *

A quick knock on the open door was soon followed by a

familiar voice saying, “Hey, bud.” Clay Parker, dressed in baggy
jeans, red T-shirt, and a college hoodie, loped in. “What ‘cha doin’?”

Brett looked down at the half-filled suitcases on his bed.

“Uh, movin’ out.”

The silence which followed had Brett looking back up at

his teammate. Gone was the guy’s usual laid-back expression.
Clay looked…stricken.

“What? Why? I mean, I thought with that Dennis dude

leaving, you an’ me could, like, be roomies.” Clay nervously
picked at the pocket of his hoodie.

When Brett had passed over, Clay had been assigned to

be his guide. Their shared interest in football and the fact they
were both gay led to them forming a close bond. Brett strongly
suspected Clay wanted more, but Brett couldn’t, not when he
had promised himself to Gavin.

“Sorry, man, but my dads offered me their spare room, an’

well, this place just hasn’t been the same since Dad Dennis left.”

“Yeah, sucks to be alone.” Brett knew Clay’s roommate

had moved out some time before and no one had been assigned
to occupy the spare bed.

“Wanna give me a hand packing up?” Brett instantly

regretted asking when he saw Clay’s strong chiseled features fall
even further.

“Sorry, dude, uh, need the can. Sorry.” Clay fled.
Brett sat on the bed that used to be Dennis’s and stared

at the open door. “Fuck, that went well.” He knew he should have
told Clay earlier he was moving out. The two of them had been
real close once, before Brett had been charged with being
Dennis’s guide.

* * * *

“Son?” Colton asked.
Brett shook his blond head and looked up at his dad.

“Sorry, miles away.”

“Anything wrong?” Dennis asked, putting down his fork

and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

Brett had never held anything back from Dennis, and soon

after Colton’s arrival, Brett knew he could trust the ex-firefighter,

too. This had been made certain when Colton asked if Brett
would mind if Colton called him ‘son.’

“It’s Clay. He, uh…” Brett played with the slices of tomato

on his plate. “I hurt his feelings earlier.”

“How?” Dennis asked.
The man knew of the close friendship the two athletes had

shared before Dennis’s arrival. He’d worried aloud to Brett that he
shouldn’t neglect his friend outside of football. But sensing Clay’s
attraction to him, Brett had used Dennis as an excuse to put some
distance between them—something Brett was now regretting.
Clay was a great guy, and if it weren’t for Gavin, then…

“Do you want to invite him over for supper after the

game?” Colton asked.

Brett started to shake his head in the negative, but found

himself saying, “Yeah, thanks.”

“You could invite Clay for a sleepover if you wanted,”

Dennis said.

Colton rolled his eyes and Brett snickered.
“I’m a bit old for that sort of thing. Besides…” Brett wasn’t

sure it would be appropriate, plus he didn’t know if he’d be able
to resist Clay’s big, chocolate-brown eyes if Clay asked if they
could mess around.

* * * *

The game had been close. Brett’s team snatched a last-

second victory, and Clay managed to snap out of his earlier
melancholy, helped no doubt by Brett’s invitation to come over
for a post-game feast.

“Wow, that interception in the final few seconds,” Colton

enthused, offering Clay another slice of key lime pie. “Man, it
stopped him from scoring. And that would have won them the
game! Talk about poetry in motion.”

Clay accepted the pie. “Yeah, even Coach admitted we

completed our assignments satisfactorily.” He snorted. Coach
was a hard-ass and rarely gave out unqualified praise.

Brett was tired and achy. He’d taken a few hard knocks

during the game. Stifling a yawn, he tried to keep up with the
conversation.

“Looks like you could use an early night, son,” Colton said.
“Yeah.” The next yawn managed to escape.
“I better get going.” Clay got to his feet, but Brett could tell

he did so reluctantly. “Coach said we should all get an early
night.”

Clay’s family hadn’t yet passed over and, as far as Brett

knew, Clay didn’t have many friends in Heaven. Again Brett felt
guilty at his earlier neglect.

“You can bunk down in my room, if you want,” Brett

surprised himself by saying. “Um, it’s a huge bed, there’s plenty
of room.”

Clay’s face was a study in contrasting emotions. First

came shock, quickly followed by delight, then a flash of lust,
before Clay’s usual mask of laidback friendliness was restored.
“Ah, that’s real kind of you, but I don’t have my toothbrush with
me and…”

Brett was relieved.
“We have spares,” Dennis piped up.
“Uh, thanks, I—”
“And you’re about my size,” Colton put in, “so we’ll be able

to provide you with clean underwear.”

Brett felt trapped. But he could hardly say anything; it had

been his idea to ask Clay to stay.

“Thank you,” Clay said to everyone.
“Uh, right, then.” Brett knew he couldn’t put off going to

bed as he’d just admitted to feeling tired. “Guess we ought to,
uh, say goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” both dads said, Dennis giving Brett a hug,

and Colton squeezing his shoulder.

“It’s this way.” Brett turned into the hallway and didn’t look

to see if Clay followed.

“Man, you’re so lucky—your dads are great,” Clay

enthused. “And Colton’s such a stud.”

Brett guessed he was, but Colton was his dad, sort of,

and yuck, Brett didn’t want to go there.

“Wow, awesome!” Clay said on entering Brett’s room.
“Yeah.” Brett knew he was sounding unenthusiastic. He

hoped Clay would put it down to his tiredness.

“You’re so lucky,” Clay repeated.
Brett nodded. He knew he was.
“And Gavin’s a lucky guy to have someone as awesome

as you waiting for him.”

Brett looked up.
Clay smiled. “It’s okay. I wish,” he swallowed, “I wish you

and me could be, like, boyfriends…and more, but, like, I know
you can’t ’cause of Gavin and…”

“Oh, dude.” Brett stepped over to his friend, pulled the big

athlete into his arms, and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry. You’re a
fucking amazing friend. I’m sorry for distancing myself like I did. I
was wrong to do that.” Brett slapped Clay’s back. “Forgive me?”

Clay sniffed, gave Brett a final squeeze, then disengaged.

“Course I forgive you. When you love someone, you forgive them.”

Brett was surprised to hear his friend being so honest

about his feelings. It made Brett feel guiltier for his past neglect.

“I know I shouldn’t love you, ’cause you can’t love me in

the same way back, but…” Clay swiped at his eyes with a hand.
“You can’t help who you love.”

An image of a naked Gavin in the hay loft on Gavin’s

dad’s farm the evening of their high school graduation flashed
into Brett’s mind. He sighed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Listen, dude, I need to take care of business, uh, you

know…in the bathroom.”

Brett looked down at Clay’s crotch and saw a big bulge.

“It’s through there.” Brett pointed to a door behind Clay.

“Oh, man,” Clay said from the other room. “Your own

bathroom. You really lucked out.”

Brett nodded, even though he knew Clay couldn’t see him

through the now closed door.

Brett decided to get undressed. Given that he wouldn’t be

sleeping alone, he thought about putting on pajamas but wasn’t
even sure if he had any. No, he’d just wear boxers as usual.

A few minutes late, Clay emerged, stripped down to his

boxers, the rest of his clothes held in his hands.

Brett’s gaze quickly strayed down to between his

teammate’s legs. “Feeling more comfortable?”

Clay blushed.
On his way to the bathroom, Brett patted Clay on the

shoulder. “Good to have you back, bud.”

* * * *

Brett couldn’t sleep. Judging by the lack of heavy

breathing, neither could Clay.

“You awake?” Brett whispered.
“No,” Clay whispered back.
“Asswipe.” Brett gave Clay a slight push.
“You can’t sleep either?” Clay asked.
“It’s a new bed.” Brett knew his response was a half-truth.

He was sleeping next to a gorgeous stud who professed to be in
love with him. He knew all he had to do was reach out and…

“You still hurting from the game?”
“Yeah. Don’t usually have any aches afterward so dunno

why I do this time.”

“Give you a back rub, if you want.”
Brett tensed momentarily, then realized Clay’s offer was

made out of genuine concern. “Thanks. Don’t have anything to
use, though.” Well, there was a bottle of lube in the bottom
drawer of the night stand—he’d seen it earlier, along with a large
box of tissues. His dad Dennis’s work, no doubt.

“’S okay, I’ll manage. Where’s it hurt?”
Brett twisted his arm around and pointed.
“Turn over onto your stomach then.”
Brett thought about switching on the bedside light, but

there was enough illumination coming in through the partially
open drapes for Clay to be able to see what he was doing.

“You do a good back rub,” Brett admitted a short while

later when his muscles began to loosen.

“Should do, all the practice I get.” Clay was training to

become a physical therapist.

“Just a bit lower.”
Brett felt fingers brush against the top of his ass. “Not that

low!”

“Sorry,” Clay snickered. “Couldn’t resist.”
But Clay’s ministrations were doing such a good job of

relaxing him, Brett couldn’t work up the energy to become
concerned at the slight inappropriateness of the earlier touch.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” Clay whispered a

short while later.

“Uh huh,” Brett said, unable to keep his eyes open.
“Good.” Brett felt the ghost of a kiss on the back of his

neck before Clay continued, “Need to relieve the pressure again.
Back in a minute.”

Brett’s last thought before sleep overcame him was how

good a friend Clay was not to push his attraction onto him.

* * * *

Time continued to pass in its weird afterlife way. Brett took

more equine science courses, and was allowed to help out at the
veterinary facility on occasions when there were sudden
increases in the number of horses passing over.

Brett fit in so well with Colton and Dennis, it felt like he

was part of a real family. Heck, they even had a dog. Clay was a
frequent visitor and would occasionally sleep over. Their
friendship soon got back to how it was before Dennis had
roomed with Brett. In short, all was going well, apart from Brett
still pining for Gavin.

Brett was in the student dining hall, a plate of half-eaten

broiled chicken gone cold to his left, as he concentrated on
neatening his notes from the previous class.

He became aware of an increased warmth, the slight smell

of roses as well as a brightening of the ambient light in the room.
Looking up, he saw the Archangel Gabriel floating toward him.

Brett immediately got to his feet. “Welcome, beloved Angel.”
Usually Gabriel sought people out when they were alone.

Looking around at the other diners, no one seemed to notice

anything. Was Gabriel invisible to everyone except the person he
wished to speak to?

“Yes, my child,” Gabriel said to Brett’s unasked question.
“Uh,” was Brett’s only reply.
“Please sit. I have news.”
Brett did so, but could feel his heart beginning to beat

rapidly. “Gavin?” Could Gabriel finally have news of his lover?
Was it his time at last?

The colored light around Gabriel changed…darkened.

“Yes, but—”

Brett was on his feet again, his fists pumping into the air.

“At last! Oh, God, at last!” Brett found himself doing a happy
dance around the table, tripping over a chair leg, but managed to
right himself before falling.

Letting out a whoop of elation, Brett was about to high-five

the Archangel when Gabriel said calmly, “Please, Mr. Morris,
resume your seat.”

Brett did so, but knew he had the hugest shit-eating grin on

his face. Finally he would be reunited with his Gavin. The two of
them could live out their eternity together as Brett had long been
planning. Gavin would be there to see his final game before he
graduated, then they’d spend the evening celebrating and…

“You have not been chosen as Mr. Wilson’s guide.”
“Huh?” Brett didn’t understand. Though it made no

difference. He and Gavin would still be together…at last.

“I judged it would be more appropriate for that duty to go

to another person.”

“Oh?” Brett shook his head. “Who?”
“Mrs. Wilson.”
Brett shrugged—he guessed it didn’t matter Gavin’s mom

had been chosen to guide her son through the afterlife.

“Mrs. Susan Wilson,” Gabriel continued. “Gavin’s wife.”
Brett knew he’d misheard. “Sorry? Did you say his ‘wife’?”
“Yes.” The Archangel took the seat next to him and put a

hand over both of Brett’s. “Gavin met Susan when they were
both in their mid-twenties.”

“No!” Brett tried to cover his ears—he couldn’t hear, see

this, it wasn’t happening. But Gabriel’s grip on his hands was
surprisingly strong.

“They married and had two children together.”
Brett shook his head. He felt cold, despite the warmth

emanating from the Archangel’s touch.

“Susan passed over some time ago, and I have chosen

her to greet Gavin, to act as his guide.”

“No!” Brett stood and finally managed to disengage from

Gabriel’s grip. “This isn’t happening! No! There’s been a mistake!
Gavin loves me…me!”

Looking wildly around the dining hall, Brett was surprised

no one reacted to his shouts. Had he become invisible, too? Was
this all a dream? Would he wake up in a minute? He’d often
dreamed of the day Gavin would pass over. Yes, this had to be a
dream…a nightmare.

“Brett, please listen to me.” The Archangel spoke softly

and Brett felt compelled to hear. “Gavin loves Susan. They
deserve their afterlife together.”

“What about my afterlife? I’ve waited for Gavin, haven’t

had sex with anyone else, and he…he…” Suddenly Brett felt
great anger toward the man he’d loved, the man who couldn’t
wait for him, who had jumped into bed with…with a woman
before Brett’s body was even cold in the ground. Turning to see
Gabriel’s calm face, Brett’s anger spilled out toward the
archangel. “You knew! All along, you knew.”

Gabriel bowed his head.
“You saw me pining for Gavin, keeping myself just for him,

and you said nothing!” Brett wanted to strike out at Gabriel for
deceiving him all this time, but couldn’t bring himself to raise his
arms.

“I know you’re angry,” Gabriel continued in his annoyingly

calm tone.

“I’m fucking livid is what I am!” Brett stamped his feet and

picked up a chair to throw it, but again couldn’t find the strength.

“I know it won’t mean anything at the moment, but the

Lord really does move in mysterious ways.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brett spat.

“And let me out of this fuckin’ paralyzing spell. I want to fight,
throw stuff, kick stuff.”

“I know, but ultimately that won’t help.”
“Wanna bet?”
“I’ve summoned Colton and Dennis. They’re just around a

corner and will come forward in a moment to take care of you.”

“Dads?” Yes. He needed the men who loved him.
“You’re excused from the next intake of new arrivals, as

are Colton and Dennis.”

“That’s big of you.”
“I’ll leave you now, Brett. Please try to remember,

everything happens for a reason.” With that, Gabriel leaned
forward, kissed Brett on the forehead, and disappeared, taking
his light and the faint aroma of roses with him.

Brett, feeling as though his legs were made of Jell-O,

sank to his knees. Finally people noticed and began to approach,
but Colton, closely followed by Dennis, pushed through the
gathering crowd and knelt by their son.

“We’re sorry, Brett,” Dennis said, sounding almost as

upset as Brett felt.

“I just want to know one thing,” Brett mumbled. “Did you

know about this?”

Brett felt a hand stroke through his curls. “No, son,”

Dennis said. “We were only just told now by Gabriel, who told us
to come to get you.”

“Not that we needed telling twice,” Colton added before

informing those around them the show was over and they should
get back to whatever it was they were doing.

“Thanks.” Brett closed his eyes but remained on his

knees, relieved that at least his dads hadn’t been lying to him all
this time.

* * * *

Brett existed as if he were on empty. He felt nothing, said

little, and basically kept putting one foot in front of the other. He
wondered if the angels had drugged him with some kind of

heavenly Valium or something.

“You sure, son?” Colton asked Brett when he’d told his

dads he was going to graduate.

Brett shrugged. “Might as well. I’ve got enough credits.”
The future he’d planned for himself and Gavin, one where

he would work in the equine health facility while Gavin did
whatever he chose to do, was now lost. He wouldn’t come home
after work and be with Gavin in a home of their own. They
wouldn’t make love by the hearth or on the porch or in their bed.

Brett stared at the carpet. Since learning the news about

Gavin, he hadn’t been able to cry. “Yeah, might as well make a
start on my afterlife.”

* * * *

It was his last game of college football, and despite all that

had been on his mind, Brett was having a great time. They were
seven points up mid-way through the third quarter. Coach had
substituted some of the second-string players, resting the
starters.

Brett was sitting on the bench and happened to look up

into the bleachers. For the first time in he didn’t know how long,
he saw Gavin. He looked…good. Brett blinked. Even though he
knew all about the wonders the regeneration facility could
perform, Brett couldn’t believe what a wonderful job they’d done
on his Gavin.

No, he’s not your Gavin, he reminded himself. A fact

brought painfully home to him when he saw Gavin sat next to a
pretty young woman with long, raven hair. Brett was unable to
look away. Thankfully Gavin was too preoccupied with the game
to notice he was being stared at. However, Brett’s eyes met
those of the woman Gavin was with. She gave him a small smile.
Brett finally turned his head. The heaviness he’d been carrying
around for the past short while increased.

Clay, on the bench next to him, asked, “What you looking

at?”

“Third row in block G, two to the right of the gangway.”

Brett couldn’t look.

“Bastard!” Clay said softly, but still loud enough for Brett to

hear above the crowd.

“He’s happy.” Brett risked a glimpse. Gavin and his wife

were holding hands, smiling into each other’s faces. “That’s all I
ever wanted for him.” Brett put his helmet back on and tried to
catch the coach’s eye.

“And what about your happiness?” Clay grasped Brett’s

face mask and forced Brett to look at him. “Don’t you deserve to
be happy?”

Brett shrugged, not easy to do in his shoulder pads.

Letting out a long breath, he said, “I don’t know.”

“Hell! I wanna go up there and…and…”
Brett put a hand on his best friend’s arm. “Nah, man. It’s

cool. Don’t get into trouble with Coach.” Besides, Brett doubted
the angels would permit physical violence stemming from anger.

Brett and Clay were soon called back onto the field, and

Brett allowed himself to get swept back up again in the game. He
prevented his quarterback from being sacked twice, and was
instrumental in the team scoring three touchdowns. Once the
clock had counted down to zero, a huge cheer went up. The
game had ended with the score forty-two to twenty-one.

Coach sprinted over to Brett, a huge smile on his face,

and slapped Brett on the ass.

His teammates, breaking with tradition, hoisted Brett on

their shoulders and marched him around the perimeter of the
field, the larger than usual crowd applauding him. Brett didn’t see
Gavin and his wife, a fact for which he was grateful. But even so,
despite the adulation of the crowd, Brett felt as though his victory
was hollow.

The locker room was its usual chaotic bedlam of

slamming lockers and players running around either naked or
semi-naked, snapping towels at each other, slapping themselves
on the back, noisily enjoying their victory.

“Come on, man, you should be at the center of all this!” Clay

bounded up to Brett, who sat quietly on the bench still in his
uniform, the game ball, which he’d been awarded, resting in his lap.

“Yeah, I guess,” Brett said quietly.
“Come on, dude!” Atlas Washington, the starting

quarterback, approached and slapped a wet hand on Brett’s
shoulder. “You were da man tonight. Hell, I bet if you asked any
of these guys—” he swept a massive arm, indicating the entire
locker room—“they’d bend over and take it up the ass from ya.”
Atlas’s teeth gleamed in his black face.

But there was only one man he wanted to bend over for

him, and right now he was probably…

“Including me,” Clay said, not meeting Brett’s eyes.
That didn’t make Brett feel any better. Still…would taking

Clay up on his offer be the right thing? Surely now he was free,
free to fuck whomever he wanted. Looking at all the beef-cake
strutting around, Brett could have an orgy, with him at its center.
He shook his head.

“I need to get outta here,” Brett said.
“Huh?” Clay shoved his arm. “There’s a party in the

student union building. You gotta—”

“I gotta get out of here.” Brett stood.
“Okay, okay. But maybe you should shower and change

first.”

“Nah.” Brett could do that back at home where it would be

quiet.

“Okay, if that’s what you want. Just give me a minute to

dry off and dress.”

Brett hadn’t even noticed that all this time his best friend

was naked. Running a critical eye over the man’s muscular
physique, Brett felt a stirring. Maybe fucking Clay would help him
get over Gavin.

“You lookin’ at my ass?” Clay grinned.
“Sure am, bud.” Brett found a smile from somewhere. He

reached out and slapped Clay’s exposed buttocks. They were
firm but still soft. Smooth and…Brett reached over to caress
what he’d never allowed himself to touch previously. “Mighty fine
set of buns you got there, bud.”

“Thanks. My offer’s still open, ya know.”
Brett nodded and reached into his uniform pants to take out

his cup, which was no longer able to contain his growing arousal.

Within a short while Clay was dressed and Brett did his

rounds of the room shaking hands, slapping backs, and just
generally saying goodbye to his teammates. Joe, the kicker,
gave him a hug, then kissed him on the lips. “Something good
will happen for you, I just know it.”

“Thanks, man.” Brett found himself returning the kiss, but

was interrupted by one of the linemen who was Joe’s boyfriend.

Brett expected the hulk to deck him for kissing his man,

but instead he received a tight hug, a kiss, and a slap on the ass.
“What he said,” the lineman growled, the sound seeming to
come from deep in the guy’s huge chest. “You special, and
special things be happenin’ to special folks.”

Brett nodded and tried to muster up a smile. He refused to

think about how special he’d feel now if Gavin were waiting for
him outside.

But when Brett and Clay emerged from the locker room, it

wasn’t Gavin they saw, but Susan, Gavin’s wife.

She approached. “Um, Brett?”
Brett nodded. Clay took his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Look,” Susan said, giving him the same small smile she’d

had in the bleachers. “This is seven kinds of awkward, but I just
had to come speak to you.”

“There’s not a lot that needs to be said, is there?” Clay

grumped.

“Clay!” Brett admonished.
“Look, I…” Susan looked down momentarily before raising

her face again.

Even Brett, who had no attraction to women, could tell she

was pretty. Maybe not front cover of a fashion magazine pretty,
but she had a glow to her that told Brett her beauty came just as
much from within as that which showed on the surface.

“It’s okay,” Brett reassured.
“Thanks. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I love Gavin,

as well as our kids. He’d often talk about you, you know.”

Brett’s shock must have shown on his face.
“Yes, I knew Gavin had had a gay lover in college. But he

and I…” she swallowed. “We just clicked. He makes me very
happy and I think—I hope I make him happy, too.”

“Well, whoopy-doo!” Clay said. “Guess two out of three

ain’t bad.”

“Clay!” Brett warned, again. “Shut up.”
“He’s right,” Susan admitted. “I’m sorry. If there was a way

Gavin could have been…with the both of us…”

A ménage, Brett completed in his head. Nope, that

wouldn’t have worked at all. “All I ask is that you do everything
you can to make Gavin happy. I know I’ll always love him, but…”
Brett blinked. “But he’s found someone else, and I can’t…won’t
stand in his way.”

“Thank you,” Susan said, giving Brett a one-armed hug. “I

think I can see why Gavin loves you, too. You seem like a
wonderful man. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you.
There has to be.”

Brett sighed. Looking over at Clay he knew, despite

everything he’d tried to convince himself earlier, that someone
was not Clay. And judging by the resigned expression on Clay’s
face, he knew it, too.

“Come on, buddy, you’ve had one hell of a day. Time to

get you back to your dads’ place, and me to mine.” Clay took his
arm and led him away.

Just before they turned a corner, Brett stopped his best

friend. He turned to look back at Susan, still facing in their
direction. “Keep him safe for me.”

She bit her lip, nodded, then turned away.

* * * *

Brett’s new job helped fill the huge, Gavin-shaped void in

his heart. Many of the horses who passed over had been
mistreated and Brett soon realized he had a talent for calming
them as they underwent regeneration and rehabilitation. As a
way to help pay for his college classes when he was alive, Brett
had worked at a barn, mucking out, grooming, and generally
helping where needed. So in some ways his new job was familiar

and comforting.

One unexpected—and not all too pleasant—aspect of his

job was he regularly received visits from the Archangel Gabriel,
who informed him of his next equine charge. At first Brett had
refused to stand when the Archangel appeared, answering
questions sullenly and generally being a pain in the butt.

However, as time passed, in the weird and unfathomable

way it did in Heaven, Brett began to loosen up. He knew it hadn’t
been Gabriel’s fault Gavin had found someone else, though Brett
still had a hard time understanding why the winged messenger
had kept to himself the knowledge Gavin was happily playing
house with Susan.

During one audience, Brett asked, “So, if Gavin isn’t to be

mine, who is?”

“I cannot answer that question.”
“Is there someone out there, or maybe already up here for

me?”

“Mr. Morris, please.” The Archangel looked pained, but

stubbornly refused to answer.

“I thought Heaven was supposed to be a happy place,

filled with God’s love.”

“It is,” the archangel confirmed.
“Well, I’m not loved.”
“I think Mr. Smith, Mr. Irvine, and Mr. Parker would disagree

with you on that one. And I can assure you God loves you.”

“Yeah.” Brett let out a breath.
He knew his dads loved him—they’d been solid as rocks

recently, even letting him sleep between them during the
occasional night when things got too bad. Nothing sexual, just
much-needed comfort and reassurance.

And Clay. Poor, kind, generous Clay. In love with Brett,

but…

“Clay isn’t the one for me, is he?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“See, you can answer a direct question when you want

to.” Brett smiled at the small victory. “You better have someone
good lined up for Clay. He deserves it.”

“You and Mr. Parker need to have faith.”
“That’s what you always say.” Brett shook his head.

Needing to change the subject, he asked, “So, what horse have
you got for me this time? Hope he doesn’t kick like the last one I
had charge of.”

Clay had helped heal the bruises, but it hadn’t gone any

further than that, even though part of Brett had wanted it to.

“Ah, yes.” Gabriel unrolled his scroll and looked down it.

“Mr. Willowind. He’s a Quarter Horse gelding, a tall sorrel with
two white socks and a star. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“Okay.” Brett scratched his underarm.
“The gelding,” Gabriel went on, “was struck by lightning.

He will be unconscious.”

That meant he’d be transported through the pearly Gates

in one of the huge floating crystal cots.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll get things ready for his arrival.” Brett

bowed his head and the Archangel disappeared in his usual
cloud of golden light and slight odor of roses.

* * * *

Brett was observing Daisy Mae, a chestnut mare who was

heavy with foal. Terry, the senior barn manager, had taken Brett
under his wing and had helped him settle in. “This’ll be you’re
fifth foaling, I’ll be thinking,” Terry said in his soft Irish brogue the
horses always seemed to respond favorably to.

“Yeah.” Brett looked from the horse to Terry, who took up

a position leaning against the entrance to the stall. “Don’t think
it’ll be long before Junior shows up.” Brett glanced at the side of
the stall to check that the soft cloths, ropes, etc., were ready, just
in case Daisy Mae needed human assistance giving birth.

“Hmm,” Terry said.
Brett looked back at him. “You don’t think so?”
Terry shrugged. “Be a bit yet, I think.”
“Bottle of Irish Whiskey says she’ll be through before the

end of my shift.” Brett smiled. He knew the man enjoyed a shot
or two of the hard stuff every now and again.

“You’re on.” Terry reached out a hand and they shook on

the deal. “But what do you get if she foals before you leave?”

Brett went back to examining his patient. The mare

stomped her hooves a few times and let loose a long stream of
piss before settling.

Brett patted her neck. “Good girl. Soon be over.” He

looked at Terry and rubbed at his whiskery chin. He hadn’t
shaved that morning. “Hmm, what would I like?”

“A blowjob.” Terry’s eyes twinkled.
There’d been a definite chemistry between the two of

them ever since Brett had started work. But when he’d told Terry
he was still sore after Gavin’s betrayal, Terry had backed off
some and offered a friendly ear if Brett needed one.

Remembering his recently acquired sweet tooth, Brett

said, “You can get me a box of doughnuts.”

Terry shook his head and smiled. “I knew you’d say

something like that, so I did.”

Since graduating and quitting football, Brett had gotten a

taste for food at the junkier end of the scale. Maybe he was
comfort eating because of the whole Gavin thing.

His eyes still twinkling with mischief, Terry added, “But

you’d be sure to enjoy one of my blowjobs much more.”

“You mean you would enjoy giving it.”
Terry had the good grace to blush and dip his head. Daisy

Mae nickered, and Brett returned his attention to his patient.

“This is her second,” Terry observed. “The last one went

without a hitch, so I don’t expect there to be a problem this time.”

“Hope so.” Brett didn’t mind admitting he was still nervous.

All his previous foalings had gone off okay and he hadn’t needed
to call the vet, but still being new at his job, Brett knew he had
much yet to learn, and was glad Terry was at hand, just in case.

The sound of trumpets heralding the next batch of new

arrivals caused Daisy Mae to snort. “It’s okay, girl. You’ll be
getting your own new arrival soon.” Brett patted the horse’s flank
then looked behind him at Terry. “Would you mind if I—”

“Ah, be gone with ya.” Terry waved a hand in dismissal.

“Me and Daisy Mae will hold the fort while you go collect your

latest charge.” Terry had a rolling dispensation to be absent from
observing the new arrivals if his presence was needed in the
barns.

“Thanks.” Brett left the stall, washed and dried his hands,

and made for the greeting area. There wasn’t time to change
from his smelly and stained coveralls, but he guessed it didn’t
matter overmuch—his new patient wouldn’t care what he was
wearing, just that he could help heal him.

* * * *

As usual the first to come through the Pearly Gates when

St. Peter unlocked them were the babies and small children. No
matter how many times he saw the procession of those too
young to have had a chance at life, it still brought a lump to
Brett’s throat.

After the older children and young adults had passed into

Heaven, Brett watched as the age of the incomers steadily
increased. Eventually the tide of humanity began to ebb and
along came the procession of animals. Soon Willow, in his
crystal cot, floated through and Brett stepped forward to take
charge. But as he approached, he realized the edge of the cot
was being held onto by a pair of scarred hands. His gaze moving
upward, Brett saw tan forearms ending with rolled up shirt
sleeves and…

What the fuck was he doing scoping out men at a time like

this?

Looking up into the man’s face—strong, square jaw, two

days’ worth of stubble, full firm lips, the rest of the face shadowed
by a black cowboy hat—Stop it! Brett admonished himself.

“I’ll take Willow from you.” Brett hoped he wasn’t sounding

as much of a dork as he felt. “I imagine your own guide will be
here in a minute to—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Willow,” the man drawled in a Texas accent.

“Me and him’s a team.”

“Yes, but…” The rest of Brett’s words dried up when the

man raised his head. Green eyes!

Although the man’s gaze seemed strangely unfocused,

Brett still felt pinned in place by the steady unflinching regard.

“But you—” Brett tried again, but this time was interrupted

by Gabriel’s appearance. “Beloved Angel!”

“I apologize,” the Archangel began, but to Brett’s mind he

didn’t seem all that sorry. In fact, if Brett wasn’t mistaken, there
was a glint in the heavenly being’s eyes. “I had not realized
Willow would be accompanied.”

“Uh.” Archangels did not make mistakes. At least not big

ones. What the heck was going on?

“This is Jake Rushton.” Gabriel indicated the handsome

cowboy still clutching the rim of the cot, seeming not to be paying
any attention to Brett, the Archangel, or in fact anything going on
around him. “I would be grateful if you would act as Mr.
Rushton’s guide.”

“Uh,” Brett repeated. He’d only been asked to be a guide

to a human once before, and that had been Dennis. What was
going on? “But…” Shouldn’t he have been given prior notice to
prepare to…?

Gabriel didn’t answer, merely dissolved in a swirl of

colored light and, of course, the obligatory odor of rose petals.

“Well, Jake, uh, it seems as though you’re to come with me.”
“How’d ya know my name? And while we’re at it, where

the hell are we?”

“Not hell,” Brett chuckled. “Quite the opposite actually.

This is Heaven. My name is Brett Morris, and it seems I’m to be
your guide.” Brett held out his hand for Jake to take, but the
cowboy kept his hands on the cot.

“Heaven?” the man drawled. “Who’d a thought a guy like

me’d end up in Heaven.” He shook his head in amusement.

Feeling the need to get moving, Brett said, “Look, you’re

bound to have a lot of questions. Let’s get you to the human
regeneration facility and then I’ll take Willow here to the equine
one.”

They’d started walking, but on hearing the latter part of

Brett’s statement, Jake stopped in his tracks. “I ain’t leavin’
Willow.”

“But he needs medical care, and you probably do, too, so—”
“Ain’t leavin’ Willow!”
“Uh, right.” Jeez, this guy was stubborn. But if the lump in

Brett’s coveralls was any judge, he was sexy as well. “Let’s go to
the equine facility first, then once you see that Willow is receiving
the care he needs, maybe you’ll let me take you to the human
hospital.”

“Cain’t see nothin’.”
Was the cowboy continuing to be stubborn? But another

look into the man’s perfect green eyes jolted Brett into the
realization the guy was blind. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Are you, uh,
were you always blind?” Was Willow the man’s seeing-eye horse
or something?

They walked a few steps before Jake spoke again.

“Wouldn’t be much of a cowboy if I were blind, would I?”

Brett had to agree with that statement. “What happened?”

Brett recalled what Gabriel had told him about Willow. “Were you
struck by the lightning that brought Willow to us?”

“I guess.” The man pushed up his Stetson. “Last thing I

remember me and Willow was ridin’ fence, there was some heat
lightnin’ striking in the next field over, then…wham! And here I
am pushin’ Willow in this contraption dealie.”

As they continued to make their way to the veterinary re-

gen facility, Brett did his best to explain about Heaven and what
it all meant for Jake’s afterlife.

“Still cain’t believe they let me into Heaven.”
“Why?” Brett asked. “There are lots of cowboys up here.”
“No, sir.” Jake shook his head, but didn’t elaborate.
“What do you mean, then?”
“A man cain’t go around tellin’ all his secrets to a guy he’s

only jist met.”

“Suppose not.” Brett felt strangely deflated at the man’s

unwillingness to talk. Brett couldn’t understand why, but sensed
that in the brief while he’d known the stoic cowboy, they’d made
some kind of connection.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Brett shrugged, looking

back over his shoulder at the tall, handsome cowboy walking

behind the cot, both hands firmly gripping the rim.

A short while later Brett said, “We’re here—at the barns, I

mean. This is where I work. I’ll be in charge of Willow’s care
while he’s made well.”

“Y’all sound mighty young to be a vet.”
“I’m a vet tech. But I’m fully qualified.” Brett tried not to get

defensive. “And what do you mean, ‘y’all?’ There’s just me.”

Jake shook his head. “In Texas ‘y’all’ can mean jist one

person.”

Brett shrugged. He guessed he had a lot to learn about

Texans and the way they spoke.

“Ah, so you’re back.” Terry emerged from one of the

stalls. “Was beginning to think I’d have to send out a search
party, so I did.”

“Sorry, there were, uh, complications,” Brett admitted.
“So I see.” Terry was eyeing up Jake as Brett and the

cowboy progressed farther into the barn.

Arriving at the space Brett had set aside to treat Willow,

he made introductions. “Terry, this is Jake Rushton. Jake, please
meet Terry O’Neil, he’s the barn manager.”

“Irish, I’m thinking,” Jake said.
“And you’d be thinking correctly.” Terry held out his hand

to shake. “And y’all are from Texas if I’m not mistaken.” Terry’s
eyes sparkled.

Brett rolled his eyes.
“Yep, the Lone Star State.” Jake’s pride was obvious as

he inflated his chest.

Terry looked puzzled when Jake didn’t take the proffered

hand.

Brett filled the awkward silence. “Jake was blinded in the

accident that took him and Willow.”

“Oh, right. Still, the hospital will be able to fix you up good

as new.”

Brett watched Terry take in the lean cowboy. His dun-

colored boots, his tight, faded Wranglers wrapped around a pair
of slightly bowed legs, the generous bulge at his crotch just
below the silver-colored belt buckle. Terry’s gaze eventually

swept upward to the man’s worn long-sleeved blue plaid flannel
shirt that stretched across impossibly wide shoulders.

“Young Brett here will be busy looking after Willow. I’d be

more than happy to show you a good time—uh, show you to the
hospital facility.”

“No!” both Brett and Jake said at the same time. Brett

because he didn’t want Terry getting his hands on the cowboy,
and Brett assumed Jake’s objection was because he didn’t want
to be parted from his horse.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. It’s like that, is it?”
Brett blustered, then shot Terry a reproachful look.
“Don’t know what you’re suggestin’, mister, but I ain’t goin’

anywhere without my horse. Me and Willow is all each of us has.”

“Okay, sorry, wasn’t meaning to imply anything. Brett

here’s still hung up over his Gavin, so—”

“Terry!” Brett’s raised voice caused the horses in the

nearby stalls to snort and shuffle nervously.

“Ya’ll are queer?” Jake’s voice, though not overly loud,

was easily heard over the snuffles and whinnies of the horses.

“Yes, we are,” Terry said.
Brett shot Terry another look before turning to the horse in

the stall behind him. Pulling a piece of apple from a pocket and
giving it to the gelding, Brett hoped his sexuality wouldn’t make it
impossible for him to fulfill his duties as Jake’s guide.

“Well, I’ll be.” Jake smiled. He took off his Stetson and ran

a hand through his thinning, mid-length brown hair before putting
the hat back on his head. “It wasn’t a fluke me being allowed in,
after all.”

“Huh?” Brett asked, approaching another horse.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Terry muttered. “And I

thought, you being a college educated bloke, you’d have been
able to work it out by now.”

“Huh?” both Brett and Jake asked.
“Think about it.” Terry patted Brett’s shoulder as he

passed on his way to Daisy Mae’s stall. “You’ve been chosen as
Jake’s guide. Gabriel wouldn’t have picked you if you liking cock
would have been a problem for Jake.”

“Gabriel?” Jake asked.
Brett pulled out another piece of apple and fed it to a

skittish paint, rubbing the horse’s nose to further calm him. Brett
and Terry then filled Jake in on the duties of the Archangel
Gabriel.

“Oh. He’s actually real? Amazin’.”

* * * *

“Guess I owe you a bottle of Jameson’s,” Brett said,

looking in at Daisy Mae before leaving the barn for the night.

“Let you in on a secret.” Terry’s eyes took on their familiar

twinkle. “Most mares foal at night.”

Brett shook his head, but was smiling.
“What ya gonna do about John Wayne over there?” Terry

nodded in Jake’s direction. The stubborn cowboy had refused to
budge from outside Willow’s stall.

Brett shook his head. He’d tried—several times—to

convince the man to let him take him to the re-gen facility, but
despite being blind and probably in pain from other injuries, Jake
refused to move.

“Best warn the relief crew about him,” Terry said.
Brett thought he’d give it one last try. Strolling over to the

cowboy—who sat on the concrete floor, back resting against a
stall post, legs stretched out in front of him, Stetson pushed low
over his face—Brett squatted next to him. “Willow will be just
fine. He’s getting the best treatment God can provide.”

“I know. I can tell he’s getting’ stronger.”
Brett nodded, then realized Jake couldn’t see him. It was

weird, and a little spooky, the connection Jake and Willow
seemed to have. Earlier, when Jake had been taken to the
bathroom by Brett, Terry reported the horse had become restless.

“I only live just around a couple of corners.” Brett thought

the information about how most things in Heaven could be
reached by the turning of a handful of corners could wait until
another time. “Why don’t you at least come home with me for a
short while to—”

“Ain’t leavin’ Willow,” came the expected response.
“Not trying to be rude or anything, but you could do with a

shower, maybe a change of clothing. You want to look your best
when Willow wakes up.”

Jake was unimpressed by Brett’s arguments, and Brett

was loath to leave the handsome cowboy, especially as he was
unable to see and he had so recently passed over.

The relief crew came in and Brett and Terry spent a few

minutes briefing them. Terry told the supervisor about Daisy Mae
and how he expected her to foal soon and that he could call him
if they needed him.

* * * *

Brett was unable to concentrate during the meal with his

dads.

“What’s wrong?” Dennis asked, laying a hand on top of

Brett’s. “You’ve just been pushing your food around your plate
for the past five minutes.”

“Sorry.” Brett looked at his plate, then shook his head. He

had no appetite. “You know I was to meet a gelding that was
struck by lightning?”

Dennis and Colton nodded.
“Well, he wasn’t alone.” Brett went on to explain about Jake.
“And you feel a certain something for this Jake guy,”

Colton mused, saying what Brett couldn’t.

Brett shook his head. “How can I? I don’t know him, he’s

older than me, he’s—”

“Not Gavin,” Dennis said.
Brett sighed. “Exactly.”
“Maybe you should spend time with this Jake and see if

Gabriel’s none-too-subtle attempts at matchmaking were on the
money,” Dennis suggested.

“I’m not ready,” Brett protested. Though even to him, the

statement seemed half-hearted.

“Hon.” It was Colton’s turn to put a hand on top of Brett’s.

“You need to move on.”

“May I be excused?” Brett didn’t wait for an answer before

pushing away from the table and shambling off to his bedroom,
Roxanne following close behind.

* * * *

Brett entered Willow’s stall. Jake knelt on the straw-

covered floor, his calloused hands exploring the sorrel, running
down his legs stopping momentarily on the two white socks.
Then the hands slowly moved upward to run over Willow’s
shoulder, before painstakingly examining the flank.

“He’s responding to treatment,” Brett whispered.
“I guess.” Jake didn’t sound convinced.
Brett ached to have Jake touching him, exploring,

stroking, teasing. He bet, despite the large hands, Jake’s touch
would be light and gentle. Brett shivered. Those hands would
feel so good, so good…

“Fuck!” Brett sat up in bed and immediately felt a wetness

at his middle. “Shit!” He hadn’t had a wet dream since…he didn’t
know.

Leaning over the side of the bed, Brett searched in the

drawer of his nightstand for tissues. Finding them, he rolled onto
his back again and began to clean himself up. But there was too
much—he needed to get out of bed and find a warm washcloth.

Padding into his bathroom, Brett thought, What’s wrong

with me? How can I be so into a guy I hardly know? A guy old
enough to be my dad?

Brett pissed, shook off the drips, and looked down at his

now limp dick. Wetting a cloth he wiped up his mess, rinsed out
the cloth, and hung it to dry. After patting himself with a towel, he
shut off the lights and made his way back to bed.

He couldn’t sleep. Something was wrong, but Brett didn’t

know what. Rubbing at his eyes, which had begun to ache, he
stared up at the shadowy ceiling. His unease grew. Was there
something wrong with the mare? Was she having a hard time
foaling?

Brett discounted that. Sure, he had a connection to his

patients, but never anything so strong.

“Jake!” Brett said aloud.
But it couldn’t be. He hardly knew Jake, and…and…but

something inside of him knew he’d identified the true cause of
his eye pain. Throwing the covers to the floor, Brett dressed
rapidly. He didn’t know why, but he had to get to Jake.

Being as quiet as he could, Brett walked down the hallway

and entered the kitchen.

“Son?” Colton’s voice, coming from the shadowy

breakfast nook, startled him.

“I, uh…”
“What’s wrong?” Colton stood and approached. “You

sick? But then…” Colton trailed off, knowing as well as Brett that
now he was dead, he couldn’t get sick.

“I don’t know.” Brett rubbed at his eyes. “I think it’s Jake. I

think something’s wrong.”

Brett expected his dad to tell him he was imagining things,

or say something that would indicate he didn’t believe him, but
he’d indulge him. Colton would often adopt such a tone when
Dennis got one of his strange notions.

So Brett was surprised when Colton reached out and put

his arms around his son. “Wow, Gabriel was right.”

“About what?” Brett didn’t understand, or rather, didn’t

want to understand.

“You better go and find Jake. Sounds like he needs you.”

Colton disengaged from the hug and pointed Brett in the
direction of the back door.

* * * *

All was quiet in the barns. Most of the horses appeared to

be sleeping peacefully. Brett paused at Daisy Mae’s stall. “Wow!”
he said, noticing the bandy-legged foal nuzzling at his mom’s
underside.

“A colt. She gave birth a short while ago,” one of the relief

crew said, walking toward him down the aisle way, a rubber
bucket in each hand.

“Are they both okay?” A quick visual inspection told Brett

both mother and son were doing well.

The guy smiled. “Went like clockwork.”
Another twinge from behind his eyes reminded Brett why

he was there. “How’s Mr. Willowind?”

“The sorrel that passed over in the last intake?”
Brett nodded.
“He’s still responding to the neural cell re-energization you

started him on. Reckon he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

“Good.” Brett yawned.
“But the guy with him.” The man set down his buckets and

wiped his brow. “Don’t know why he was allowed to stay with him.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Surely Jake wasn’t causing

problems for the barn staff.

“He’s in pain but refuses to leave his frickin’ horse. Aren’t

you his guide?”

Brett nodded.
“Then you gotta persuade him to go to the human re-gen

facility.”

Brett puffed out his cheeks. Expelling the air, he said,

“Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“He’s a stubborn one, that’s for sure.” The guy chuckled

and picked up his buckets. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it,” Brett said under his breath, jogging

down to Willow’s stall.

Kneeling in the straw—just like in his dream—Jake was

running his hands along Willow’s flank. But unlike in his dream,
the cowboy was also rubbing his face into the horse’s neck, the
man’s Stetson laying a foot or so away in the straw.

“Jake, it’s Brett. You remember…from earlier.”
“I remember.” Jake didn’t lift his head.
Brett entered the stall, knelt next to Jake, and put a hand

on his shoulder. “Your eyes are hurting.” It was a statement, not
a question.

“Darn things.”
Brett started to massage the man’s broad, firm shoulders.

“Please let me take you to the regeneration facility where they

can fix you up.”

“Ain’t leavin’ Willow.” Jake lifted his head, his face an

angry red, rivers of sweat pouring down it.

Brett had a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to kiss

Jake’s eyes. Quashing the strange notion, he instead patted his
pockets for a tissue. Not finding any, he wiped away some of the
sweat from Jake’s face with his hands. The man was running a
temperature. “You’re sick.”

“Been sick before,” Jake mumbled.
Something inside Brett snapped. Grasping Jake by the

shoulders, he shook the ornery cowboy. “There’re no prizes up
here for behaving like a stubborn son of a bitch. You need help.
Help is available. Fucking take it!”

Jake’s refusal wasn’t as instantaneous as Brett had

expected, though it did come. Then he asked, “Cain’t you treat
me?”

“I’m a vet tech.”
“So?” Jake shrugged. “The local quack at home was an

old drunk, didn’t trust him more than I coulda throwed him.
Anytime I needed any doctorin’, I’d ask the local vet. And I
weren’t the only one, neither.”

“I can’t. I mean…” Brett floundered; it was all kinds of

wrong. He knew nothing about the human body—it was so
different from that of a horse.

“Then I ain’t goin’ to get treated until Willow’s fixed.” Jake

stuck out his jaw.

Brett groaned. “Earlier you told me you wouldn’t be any

good as a blind cowboy.” Knowing he wasn’t being altogether
truthful, but figuring his deception was justified, he went on. “If
you go to the facility now, you’ll soon be able to see. Delay, and
you might be blind for the rest of eternity.”

Jake stayed silent.
“And what good would you be to Willow if you can’t see?”

Sighing, Brett went on, “Come home with me. It’s close by. We
may be able to get you some help, sorta like a doctor’s home
visit or something.”

“Y’all have home visits?”

Brett shrugged, for once glad Jake couldn’t see him. He

guessed—this being Heaven, anything was possible. Deciding to
change the subject, he said, “You need a shower. You reek, and
you could probably use some rest, too.”

Jake lifted his right arm and bent his head to sniff his pit.

“Guess I am a bit ripe.”

“You guess?” Brett chuckled, although he had to silently

admit Jake’s strong man-smell wasn’t totally repulsive.

“But what about Willow?”
“The crew here will see to him. And if there’s a problem,

like I said, you’ll be just around the corner.”

Brett held his breath as Jake seemed to weigh his

options. “I can come back here whenever I want?”

Brett nodded enthusiastically, then followed up with, “Yes,

absolutely. Scout’s honor.”

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to get cleaned up some.”
“Great!” Brett felt incredibly proud of his achievement. He

just hoped he’d be able to get some treatment for Jake outside of
the re-gen facility.

Jake got to his feet and almost immediately went ass-

over-teakettle. Brett put his arms around him to hold him up. The
man was firm, strong, and all muscle.

“Whoa there, pardner,” Brett said, reluctantly letting go

when Jake seemed steady on his feet. What was with the
western talk all of a sudden? Brett picked up Jake’s hat. “Your
Stetson.” He held it out to Jake, then felt silly for doing so.
“Sorry.” Brett reached up and put the hat on Jake’s head and
Jake readjusted it.

Jake started walking. Almost immediately, he bumped into

a wooden post, knocking his hat askew.

“Please, let me guide you.” Brett first straightened the hat,

then took Jake’s arm, beginning to steer him into the aisle.

Jake stopped. Brett feared he had changed his mind.

“Didn’t y’all say us queers were accepted up here?”

“Yes, why?”
“Then, uh, would you, like, um, be willin’ to hold my hand?”
“Sure.” Brett felt his face heat, but he didn’t think it was

due to embarrassment.

Setting off, Jake said, “Always wanted to hold a guy’s hand

out in public. Never could in the small town I lived in.” Almost
under his breath, he added, “Not that I had a guy’s hand to hold.”

Brett didn’t want to examine too closely the fact he was

elated at the news there was no one down on Earth who would
pass over and take Jake away from…whoa! Brett stopped
walking.

“What?” Jake asked.
Brett needed to make absolutely sure. “You don’t have a

boyfriend or nothing? No one you left behind?”

“Only Pete ’n’ Joe.”
Brett’s heart started to sink. “Pete and Joe?”
“Guess you could call ‘em my fuck buddies.”
This didn’t sound good, but Brett started walking again,

Jake almost immediately doing the same.

“They’re two o’ the hands on the ranch where I work…uh,

worked. They’re a couple, real devoted to each other and
everythin’, but now and again they’d let me share their bedroll
when…when.” Jake squeezed Brett’s hand. “Things got too
much for me, you know?”

Brett certainly did know. How long had he waited in his

lonely bed for Gavin to pass over, only to learn…?

“Where are we now?” Jake interrupted Brett’s train of

thought.

They had just exited the barn and swung a left. “Alongside

the main corral.”

Brett told Jake about how the space was used to exercise

the horses once they were well enough to leave the barn. But
Jake didn’t seem to be paying him much attention.

“They—Pete ’n’ Joe, I mean,” Jake said, obviously still

thinking about the friends he’d just left, “didn’t like me kissin’ ‘em
or nothin’. It was jist sex.”

Brett wanted to push Jake up against the corral fence and

kiss him until…well, for a long time. He wasn’t sure what he
thought about Pete and Joe allowing Jake so much, but denying
him what he truly needed. How Brett knew what Jake needed

wasn’t clear; he just seemed to sense Jake craved, needed,
deserved affection.

“Y’all were in the Scouts?” Jake asked after they’d been

silent for a short while.

“Huh?” Brett didn’t understand.
“Y’all said, back in the barn, how I could see Willow

whenever I wanted, Scout’s honor.”

“Oh, yeah. Was an Eagle Scout.” They’d turned a corner

and his dads’ house was just up ahead through the trees. There
was a light on over the porch as well as one in the front room.

“Almost home. How’re your eyes?” Brett could still feel a

slight throbbing at the back of his own eyes, but nothing what it
had been.

“Not bad. Maybe the walk and fresh air helped.”
“But we’ll still see about getting you some medical

attention…here, at the house,” Brett was quick to add when he
felt Jake stiffen.

“Thanks. Sure could use an aspirin or three.”
Brett didn’t know if they had stuff like that in Heaven, but

who knew?

* * * *

“Dads, you needn’t have got up. Sorry, Jake, these are

my dads, Colton Smith and Dennis Irvine. Dads, this is Jake
Rushton.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Dennis held out his hand and, not

getting a reaction, quickly realized his mistake so reached out,
took Jake’s hand in his, and shook it.

“Howdy. Brett here said it’d be all right if I crashed here for

a spell while—”

“Not a problem,” Colton said, taking Jake’s hand and

giving it a firm, masculine shake.

Jake seemed up to the challenge and shook back.
Dennis smirked at the show of macho sizing-up.
“And the little lady dancing round your legs is Roxanne,”

Brett said.

Jake sank to his knees and acknowledged the dog’s

affectionate greeting. “Whoa there, little girl,” he said when
Roxanne licked his eyes.

“Rox!” Brett scolded.
“She’s fine,” Jake reassured.
“You’re very welcome to stay for as long as you need,”

Dennis said, “but uh, we don’t have a spare room, so maybe—”

“Jake’ll bunk in with me,” Brett found himself saying. “The

bed is certainly big enough.”

Dennis raised an eyebrow but thankfully remained silent,

while Colton just smiled. It was difficult to tell what Jake thought,
as his head was still down while he focused his attentions on
Roxanne, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. Brett was
comforted by the fact Jake hadn’t run screaming from the room
at the suggestion.

* * * *

Helping Jake get ready for his shower sure was an

experience for Brett. He’d seen hundreds of guys naked in the
locker room, but Jake was a fully-developed man. A quick peek
at what hung between his legs confirmed that. Circumcized,
Jake’s thick cock—a little darker in color than the rest of his
body—hung down past a full nut sack.

Brett knew he should feel guilty he was able to perve on

the studly cowboy who didn’t know he was being gorked at.

“Y’all scopin’ out my dick?” Jake asked, taking off his right

sock and dropping it to the bathroom floor to join its mate.

“Well, uh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Not fair, cain’t see yours.”
“When you get your sight back, you’ll be able to see all

you want.”

Jake shook his head. “You won’t want a broke down ole

cowboy checking out your junk.”

“You’re not broke down. I think you’re…you’re…” Brett

tried to find an appropriate term, one that wouldn’t disclose his
increasingly strong feelings for the man. “You’ve got a good

body. Good definition.”

Jake laughed. “Lots of hard, physical work on a ranch.

These muscles—” Jake ran his hands along his arms then down
his cut abs, stroking the small amount of brown hair that led
down into his pubic bush—“weren’t gotten in no gymnasium.”

Brett’s mouth had gone dry. “They sure as hell weren’t.”

And what was with the continued western talk? Brett shook his
head. “Let’s get the shower running, then once you’re clean we
can see about getting someone to come examine your eyes.”

“They’re not hurtin’ much now.”
“That’s good.” As he reached past the shower curtain and

twisted the knobs to start the flow of water, Brett thought about
his own eye pain. He could barely feel anything. “Shouldn’t take
long afore it warms up.”

Jake smiled. “I’ll have y’all talkin’ like a native Texan in no

time.”

Brett laughed. “It’s real odd—back on Earth, I hardly ever

left Michigan except for college football games.”

“Michigan? I’ve been tryin’ to place where you were from.”
“Yeah, just north of Kalamazoo.”
Reaching under the spray, Brett determined the water was

warm enough. He drew back the curtain and told Jake he could
step in. The bath mat had rumpled up and Jake stumbled on it.

“Sorry,” Brett said, straightening it out. “Give me your hand.”
Jake did so and Brett guided him over the lip of the tub

and under the shower head. “There’s a plastic bottle of liquid
soap in the dish to the right.”

Jake reached over.
“The right,” Brett repeated.
“This is my right!” Jake said, sounding frustrated.
“Sorry, I mean my right.”
Jake shook his head and located the bottle.
“I’ll pull the curtain closed to give you some privacy, but

I’m just on the other side if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”
A minute or two later, Jake called out, “Hey, Michigan, got

any shampoo, or should I jist use the liquid soap?”

“On the shelf just to the left of the soap dish.”
“That your left or mine?” Jake teased.
Brett heard a slight thump.
“Darn, I’ve dropped the soap.”
Brett laughed and drew back the curtain to retrieve it,

getting thoroughly soaked in the process.

“Might as well strip off,” Brett admitted once he’d handed

the bottle back to Jake and had drawn the curtain closed again.

“Sorry for bein’ such a burden.”
“You’re no burden.” Brett dropped his clothes on top of

Jake’s. The portrait of domestic togetherness.

“Somebitch!” Jake said.
“What?”
“Sorry, dropped the fuckin’ soap again.”
Brett laughed and drew back the curtain. The bottle was

at the far end of the tub. “Might as well get in and take a shower
myself now.”

“Sorry,” Jake repeated.
The urge to kiss Jake, to reassure him it was okay,

resurfaced. But instead Brett chose to give the man’s shoulder a
comforting squeeze.

Although the tub was plenty big enough for two—Colton

and Dennis had designed it that way—because Jake couldn’t
see, he was unable to move around Brett without bumping into
him. After the third time of apologizing, Brett said, “It’s not a
problem, honestly. Not every day I get to shower with the
Marlboro Man.”

Jake’s smile was tentative, but still lit up his face. Back

came Brett’s desire to kiss him.

“Earlier,” Jake began, “y’all said when I got my sight back

you’d let me look at you.” He held up his hands. “Will you, uh, let
me look now?”

Brett swallowed. Hadn’t he been dreaming of those hands

running all over him? And it’d be much better, smoother, in the
shower than in a dusty horse stall.

Jake must have taken Brett’s silence for disapproval,

because he said, “Sorry, stupid idea. Forget I…”

Brett couldn’t stop himself any longer. Putting his hands

around the back of Jake’s neck, he drew the cowboy toward him
and locked onto his lips. Jake soon opened his mouth and Brett
eagerly went exploring. Jake tasted of chewing tobacco, of hay,
of ranching, of hard physical labor, of real man. Brett didn’t hold
anything back. For too long, he’d waited for someone who hadn’t
waited for him. He’d kept himself special, denied himself. But no
more!

Drawing back for some much needed air, Brett said, “Quit

apologizin’. Trust me, you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry over.”

Once he’d caught his own breath, Jake’s smile returned,

wider than before. It grew even broader when he reached out
and slowly smoothed his palms along Brett’s shoulders, down his
arms, then up the sides of his trunk before gliding his way down
the center of his chest. Everywhere the cowboy touched, Brett
broke out in gooseflesh.

Even blind, Jake had no difficulty in finding Brett’s dick. It

had been poking Jake in the hip ever since their kiss. Taking a
firm hold of the engorged tube of flesh, Jake gave it a long, slow
rub. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about either, Michigan.”

* * * *

Brett let out a breath. He still couldn’t sleep, but this time

for a whole other reason. He had Jake, the big, strong, bronzed
cowboy, asleep and snoring up a storm in his bed. More
precisely, in his arms. The man was like an octopus, curling his
arms and legs around Brett, holding on tight. Brett was unused to
anyone being so physically demonstrative. But—if his hard dick
was any indication—he liked it. Slowly running a hand down the
sleeping cowboy’s long spine, Brett tried to silence the thoughts
swirling round his head.

Getting someone from the human re-gen facility to come

to the house had been easier than Brett had thought. However,
that was where his luck had run out. Taking one look at Jake, the
woman had insisted he accompany her immediately to the
facility. As expected, Jake had refused, point blank. Brett asked

if she could do anything for Jake as an outpatient.

“I can only offer temporary relief,” she’d eventually

conceded.

“Good enough fer me,” Jake said, folding his arms.
It had been clear to Brett Jake didn’t like the woman.

Whether this was because she tried to get him to go to the
facility, or because of Jake’s distrust of members of the medical
profession, Brett hadn’t been able to tell.

“But why did you call me?” the woman asked. “You can do

just as much as me.”

“Whadda ya mean?” Brett had asked, unsuccessfully

keeping back his Texas twang.

“The angels bestow the same powers of healing on vet

techs as they do on us. Okay, at the human re-gen facility we
have different equipment, use somewhat different techniques,
but like I said, you can do just as much as me at this stage.”
Smirking, she had added, “Probably more.”

“Ha.” Jake’s ‘I told you so’ smile had been unmistakable.
Brett needed to clear something up, though. “What do you

mean, I could probably do more for Jake than you? How?”

The woman looked first at Jake, then at Brett. Rolling her

eyes, she said, “You two have a connection. I can sense it. It’s
very strong. Did Gabriel match you up?”

Brett had admitted that was the case.
“Well, then,” the woman said, making for the door. “Trust

your instincts. You know better than anyone what Jake needs
until he’s willing to come to us for more radical treatment.”

Lying there, Jake now unconsciously rubbing his face in

Brett’s neck, Brett thought over the woman’s words. Maybe the
really strong desires he’d had to kiss Jake—especially his eyes—
had some divine motive to them and weren’t just because he
lusted after the studly cowboy. Giving into his urges once again,
Brett gently lifted Jake’s head and delivered more kisses to the
man’s closed eyelids. Instantly Jake settled and became quieter.

Having seemingly done what he’d needed to do, Brett

soon joined Jake in sleep.

* * * *

As soon as they woke, and before Brett was allowed to

have breakfast, Jake insisted they go back to the barn so he
could check on Willow.

Finding underwear and a pair of sweats Brett guessed

would fit Jake, he gave the clothing to the cowboy and asked if
he needed a hand with anything. Jake grumped that, although he
was blind, he wasn’t totally helpless.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Brett left the room,

disappointed the positive mood of the night before had gone.

* * * *

The gelding had improved during their absence, so much

so he attempted to stand when they arrived at his stall. Jake
embraced his four-legged friend and Brett left them for a few
minutes to give them some privacy.

“Jake, I got ya a breakfast burrito and some coffee,” Brett

said, reentering Willow’s stall a short while later.

“Coffee? Gimme!”
Brett put the Styrofoam cup into Jake’s outstretched hand.

“Figured y’all would drink it black.” Jesus, I’m even startin’ with
the y’alls now, Brett thought.

Jake took a couple of big gulps of the steaming hot liquid.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he sighed contentedly. “That’s
better. Cain’t start the mornin’ properly without coffee.”

Ah, Brett thought, maybe that was what had been wrong

earlier. His cowboy hadn’t had his caffeine fix. Brett would have
to remember that. Though as they didn’t need to eat or drink in
Heaven, Brett guessed Jake’s morning grumpiness was more
habit than actual need for caffeine.

“Did ya put salsa on the burrito, Michigan?” Jake smiled,

clearly feeling much better now.

Brett laughed. “Sure did, ’cause I know you Texas folks

like everything hot.” He took the coffee from Jake’s hand and
replaced it with the partially unwrapped burrito.

“Including our men.” Jake held the burrito to the side and,

unerringly locating Brett’s lips, kissed him with the same passion
of the previous evening. “Missed ya, buddy.”

Brett hadn’t been gone all that long—he’d told Jake he was

going home to shower, eat breakfast, and take Roxanne for a
walk. Still, it was surprisingly pleasant to be missed. Brett guessed
that being in a world of darkness and not knowing many people,
Jake would cling to those things that had become familiar.

“Sorry ’bout before. ’Part from not havin’ had any coffee, I

don’t know what got into me.”

“You probably just wanted to see your horse.”
“Yeah, think you’re right, but I’m still sorry for bein’ an ass.”
They kissed a while longer and Brett soon forgot all about

earlier. Heck, just then he had trouble remembering his own
name.

“How long do y’all figure Willow will be afore he’s fully

back on his feet?” Jake asked through a mouthful of food.
Obviously their make out—or was it make up?—session had left
his cowboy hungry.

Normally Brett cringed at people who talked as they ate,

but somehow it was endearing when Jake did it. Shit, I got it bad
for this dude, he told himself. Brett thought now was as good a
time as any to try and enlighten Jake about how time worked
differently in Heaven.

After he’d finished talking and Jake had long since

finished eating, the cowboy took off his hat and scratched his
head. “I don’t git it.”

Brett shrugged. “No, I don’t think any of us totally do up

here. The only thing you need to understand is that time moves
forward at whatever speed you need it to. Which isn’t always the
same as what you want it to.”

“Huh?” Jake shook his head.
Brett tried to explain that, because Jake needed Willow to

have a fast recovery, for him it would appear time would pass
quickly.

Jake seemed to get it. Which was a good thing because

Brett wasn’t sure he did. He’d needed the time taken for Gavin to

show up to pass quickly, but it hadn’t. Although thinking about it
further, Brett guessed there was a reason behind why it had
taken as long as it had. That reason was standing in front of him,
finishing a cup of coffee.

Just then the trumpets sounded, heralding more new

arrivals. This necessitated more explanations from Brett as he
rushed a protesting cowboy to the greeting area.

However, being told that everyone in Heaven—who chose

to look their way—would see the two of them holding hands was
enough to mollify Jake, who gave Brett’s hand a squeeze and
quickened his step. Brett knew he had a newly out-and-proud
cowboy on his hands. And Brett couldn’t have been happier.

* * * *

“How many people will come through?” Jake asked,

obviously growing restless.

“Impossible to say,” Brett told him. “Are your eyes startin’

to hurt again?” Brett couldn’t feel any discomfort in his own eyes.

“A little, yeah. Is it all right if we make out here?”
Brett didn’t know—he’d never had anyone to make out

with in the greeting area, but figured no one would object, so told
Jake as much.

By the time Brett had finished kissing his cowboy’s eyes

and Jake had spent some time returning the favor to Brett’s lips,
St. Peter was closing the Pearly Gates.

“The new arrivals have…arrived,” Brett said breathlessly.
“Uh, Michigan, I got a confession.” Jake sounded sheepish.
“Oh?” Brett raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t have no pain in my eyes.”
Brett laughed, and went on to tell Jake how he suspected

he hadn’t been in pain, and why.

“I did sorta have an ulterior motive for askin’ ya ta kiss me,

though.”

“Oh?” Brett didn’t care if Jake just wanted the kisses

because he liked them.

“When y’all kiss me, I see bright lights. Don’t last for long

or nothin’ but I wanted to know if it would happen again.”

“And did it?” Brett felt his heart beginning to beat faster.
Jake nodded, smiling widely.
“You mean—?” Brett couldn’t process the idea.
“No, I cain’t see properly or nothin’, but sometimes, for a

real short while after ya kiss me, I think I can make out outlines,
bright lights and stuff. But it don’t last.”

“Wow!” Maybe there really was something to his powers

of healing.

“I was wonderin’, ’cause of this connection we got goin’ on,

do ya sorta see flashin’ lights and other stuff, too?” Jake asked.

Brett hadn’t given it much thought, after all—he had other,

more interesting things on his mind when kissing Jake. “Actually,
no. Kinda the opposite.”

“Whadda ya mean?”
“Things sort of go blurry and dark when I kiss your eyes,

but it only lasts a second, probably less than that. If I have my
eyes shut, I don’t notice anything at all.”

“Oh.” Jake seemed deflated. “Maybe this connection stuff

don’t work like I been thinkin’ it did.”

Wanting to keep Jake’s mood happy, Brett reminded the

cowboy the flashes were probably a good thing, a sign he was
healing. “We need to get you to the re-gen facility so they can
build on this. Remember what that woman said—you won’t ever
get fully well without proper treatment.”

Jake didn’t say anything.
“Jake,” Brett cupped the cowboy’s face in his hands and

stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. “Do you trust me?” He gave a
kiss to each of Jake’s closed eyes, then one big one on his lips.

Jake hesitated for a moment before saying, “Afore y’all

came into my life, or my afterlife, I never got the opportunity ta trust
anyone. But…” The guy shuddered. “Yep, I know I can trust you.”

“So will you trust me enough to leave Willow in my care

while you go and be made whole?”

The longest period of silence passed before Jake slowly

nodded his assent.

“Thank you,” Brett said through a tightened throat. He

then kissed Jake several more times before leading him toward
the re-gen facility, noticing yes, indeed, the dark flashes had
been present, had in fact hung around for longer.

* * * *

Brett did more pacing, more fingernail chewing, and made

more stupid mistakes at work while Jake was being regenerated.
The hardest thing was knowing he wouldn’t be allowed to visit
his cowboy until it was all over. Brett strongly began to doubt his
words of wisdom to Jake about how in Heaven, when you
needed something to happen quickly, time sped up. It sure
wasn’t going quickly for him at the moment.

“Will you just relax?” Terry told him for the fourth time that

shift. “Have you lost count of how many boxes of Eiaquinn we
have?”

Brett stared at the plain white box in his hand.
Terry came over and plucked the box from Brett’s

unresisting fingers. “Eiaquinn. Remember? The cure for equine
infectious anemia.” Terry sighed.

Brett looked along the shelf at the row of boxes, then at

his master list. “Sorry. It’s just—”

“Jake. I know.” Terry sighed. “He’s sure got you all tied in

knots, and no mistake.”

“Yeah,” Brett sighed and began counting again. “It’s

stupid, he’s so much older than me.”

“Uh huh.”
“He’s, like, thirty-eight, and I’m twenty-two.”
“That’s true,” Terry observed. “Much too old for you.”
“But, then,” Brett went on counting, not really hearing

Terry, “I passed over in 1964, so I guess that makes me older
than him.”

“That’s a good point. So again, Jake isn’t a suitable age

for you.”

Brett kept his right index finger on the box he’d just

counted and looked up at Terry. “You trying to persuade me that
me ’n’ Jake won’t work as a couple?”

Terry held up his hands. “Me? Heck, no. You were doing

such a good job of that all on your own. I was just agreeing with
you.” Terry’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Jake’s just so…he has such…” Brett sighed, leaned

against the shelf and stared off into space.

“He has big purple and yellow tail feathers, and blue

tentacles coming out of his head that flash in time with his
heartbeat.”

“Yeah,” Brett sighed dreamily.
Terry snapped his fingers in front of Brett’s face. “How

many boxes of Eiaquinn do we have?”

“Shit!” Brett hadn’t written it down.
“Are you still getting those blackouts?” Terry asked,

putting a hand on Brett’s arm.

“They were never blackouts, just momentary losses of

vision.”

“And I don’t suppose you ever went to the facility about

them, did you?”

Brett shook his head.
“Well, you’re no use to me at the moment. Go home, or

better still, go to the re-gen facility. Who knows? They might let
you see Jake.”

“Wonder if they’ve removed his purple tail feathers and

the blue flashing tentacles yet?” Brett smirked.

“Get out of here.”

* * * *

The time of Jake’s discharge finally crawled around. Brett

was a nervous wreck. He’d wound himself—and everyone
around him—into a frenzy. Dennis had pleaded a headache and
had retired to his room, Colton had gone for a walk, and
Roxanne was currently hiding under the dining room table. Brett
knew he’d have to do some major apologizing. But all that would
have to wait. He still had to decide what he should wear.

“It’s important,” he’d told his dads. “This will be the first

time Jake will actually see me.” Brett wanted to make a good

impression…the right impression…a favorable impression. Hell,
he didn’t know. He just wanted Jake to like him, want him, make
love to him. Brett pulled at his blond curls in agitation, knowing
he was acting like a cheerleader preparing for her first date with
the captain of the football team. Not that he had any experience
with cheerleaders. Although he had once blown the captain of
his high school’s football team under the bleachers.

Brett’s large bed was strewn with clothes. He’d dressed in

just about everything he had in his closet, looked at himself in
the mirror, then rejected it all for one reason or another. First
he’d tried on the white Stetson and white western shirt with blue
piping he’d gotten especially for the occasion. He’d teamed this
with a comfortably worn pair of Wranglers, accessorizing with a
black leather belt with a silver and purple western-style buckle.
He’d managed to stomp his feet into a new pair of black, square-
toe Justin boots.

But no, the outfit hadn’t seemed right. Too western. Jake

was the cowboy, not him.

It was around the sixth change—a green button-down

shirt which Dennis said would match Jake’s eyes—when Colton
made his exit. Dennis held on for another four or five wardrobe
changes—a classic black T-shirt and jeans—before admitting
defeat. Brett didn’t know when Roxanne slunk off.

The only thing left in his closet was his old football

uniform. He couldn’t wear that. Or could he? Looking at it
reminded him of Clay. The two had stayed in contact, but it
wasn’t the same. Clay was still in college, focused on his
classes, football, and life on campus. Brett had moved on. He
now had a job and all the responsibilities that brought. Brett had
not yet told Clay about Jake. He wasn’t looking forward to that
conversation.

Taking the uniform from its hanger, Brett stared at it.

Should he go with or without shoulder pads? It was a no-brainer
he’d leave out his cup. And the helmet would be over-the-top.

So, attired in the once-familiar—but still beloved—maize

and blue jersey with 53 on the back and laced into his pants,
Brett clomped down the hallway in his cleats. Momentarily

hovering outside Dennis and Colton’s bedroom, Brett decided it
would be better if he just called through the door that he was
sorry and would be back as soon as possible with Jake.

But reaching the front door of their house, Brett realized

he would look a complete dork wearing a uniform he was no
longer entitled to put on, even if they had retired his number after
his last game. So, tromping back to his bedroom, Brett re-
examined the piles of discarded outfits and decided he’d wear
the white western shirt, Wranglers, and Justin boots after all.

* * * *

“You must be Brett,” said the white-coated, middle-aged

lady who greeted him.

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”
The woman smiled. “Just a hunch. Mr. Rushton will be

with you presently. There was just a last-minute delay.”

Brett started to worry. Was something wrong? Wasn’t

Jake fully healed?

“Don’t worry, it was nothing serious.” The woman patted

Brett’s arm. “Mr. Rushton couldn’t decide what he wanted to wear.”

Brett laughed nervously. Then, remembering his visual

disturbances—although they hadn’t occurred for a while now—
Brett thought he’d take Terry’s advice and ask about them.

The woman listened patiently, asked a number of probing

questions, and ended with, “And you say the intern on call said
you should attempt the healing yourself?”

Not wanting to get the young woman into trouble, Brett

said, “Well, it did kinda make sense to me. To Jake, too. You
gotta know by now Jake is kinda…well, set in his ways about
certain things.”

The woman smiled. “But what you were doing, without

proper guidance, was potentially dangerous.”

Brett hated the thought he could have put his cowboy in

danger.

“Dangerous for you,” the woman said, accurately intuiting

Brett’s concerns. “I’m not going to beat about the bush here. It’s

obvious from observing Mr. Rushton and seeing you here now,
that you and he love each other very much.”

Brett’s mouth opened to deny the statement, but no words

came out.

“You do. Okay, you haven’t known each other long,

but…Gabriel matched you two, and—although I wouldn’t dare to
claim I can understand his reasoning—he will have made his
decision a very long time ago.”

Brett hadn’t considered that. Wow, Gabriel had probably

matched him and Jake before…well, before Gavin. No wonder
he’d had an instant attraction to the cowboy. It made sense now!

“But because your connection with Mr. Rushton is so

strong, you should have been extra careful when attempting to
heal him.”

Brett thought he knew where the woman was going, but

asked her to explain.

It seemed Brett was trying to take on Jake’s darkness—

for want of a better term—absorb it within himself. This was the
dangerous part, and explained his momentary visual blanks.

“It’s wonderful you wanted to do this,” the woman said,

reassuring Brett, “But you need to learn how to let the darkness
flow into the light, not hold it within yourself.”

Brett nodded. “But how come, when I’m healing the

horses in my care, I don’t take on their lameness, their colic, or
whatever it is?”

She smiled. “Like you said, these horses are in your care.”

She paused, probably for effect, before continuing, “You don’t
love them.”

The statement didn’t shock Brett as much as he thought it

would. Maybe the idea of being in love with Jake was beginning
to sink in.

“Obviously, now Mr. Rushton has been made whole, you

can kiss him as much as you want, without any effect—or at
least any ill effect—on you.” She smiled and Brett blushed.

Behind her a door opened, and the most amazing vision

of cowboy perfection—wearing a white Stetson, white western
shirt with blue piping, worn Wranglers, black leather belt, and

black Justin boots—stepped into the hallway.

“Jake!”
“Michigan!” Jake ran toward Brett, almost knocking over

the female doctor in his haste, before embracing Brett in a
powerful hug. Jake’s lips crashed down upon Brett’s, dislodging
both their hats.

“Missed you,” both men said at the same time when they

temporarily disengaged their lips to breathe.

“Missed you, too,” they said simultaneously the next time

their lips parted.

“Oh, buddy,” Jake said, holding Brett at arm’s length. “You

look even more…more, perfect than I dared imagine.”

Brett shook his head. Jake was looking so much more

healthy, vibrant, and just plain edible than he had the last time
Brett had seen him. The man’s hair was full, thick, and so
lustrous. Brett just had to run his fingers through it.

“Cain’t believe how amazin’ I feel,” Jake was saying.

“Used to have this pain in my side where a steer butted me
once.” Jake reached to his right side, “But it’s totally gone now.”

“Welcome to your afterlife.” Brett smiled.
A cough from behind them had the two men stepping

apart, but Brett noticed Jake never let go of Brett’s hand.

“Your hats, gentlemen,” the middle-aged woman said,

holding out the two Stetsons. Looking at the men, then the hats,
she observed, “A matched pair.”

Brett couldn’t prevent the wide grin that split his face. Of

all the clothes they could have chosen, what were the chances
they’d end up picking the same outfit?

As Brett and Jake walked hand-in-hand out of the re-gen

facility, after thanking the woman profusely for all she and her
staff had done, Jake mused about what he wanted to do with his
afterlife. Brett told him he didn’t need to make his mind up
immediately, but secretly hoped the man would do something in
the cowboy-type field. Jake just looked so hot in Western duds.

“You say Willow’s all fixed now?”
“Yep, back to his old self. Probably even better. Just like

his owner.” Brett leaned in for a kiss, but their hats bumped and

fell off again. They’d have to figure something out about that.

“Was thinking,” Jake said, reseating his hat. “Maybe if you

could get some time off work, you and me could ride out
somewhere’s. I’m assuming you can do that sorta thing in
Heaven?”

Brett shrugged, and was about to verbalize his actions

when he remembered Jake could see them for himself now.

“Is there someone y’all could ask? Can ya borrow a horse

from someone?”

* * * *

Not having ridden a horse for some time, Brett’s ass soon

became saddle sore. But one glance over to his right at the cowboy
riding next to him, looking so at home in the saddle, and any
discomfort was worth it. Jake was happy. So, therefore, was Brett.

“Fine horse ya got there, Michigan. He belong to you?”
Brett leaned forward and patted the buckskin’s neck.

“Yeah. Pocofrosty passed over a while ago, and I was assigned
to be his guide. Usually, once a horse is healed, they’re assigned
to someone else, but Poco kinda grew on me and, well, he’s still
around.”

“Jist like me an’ Willow.”
There was a world of meaning in that statement, or at

least Brett hoped there was.

Up ahead, Brett spotted sunlight glinting off a body of

water. As they drew nearer to a picturesque lake, there appeared
to be some kind of shack close to the shore with a lean-to stable
built on the side.

“Looks like as good a place to rest up as any,” Jake said.
“You tired?” Brett hadn’t thought about how, because Jake

had only recently been regenerated, he would be fatigued and…

“Never felt better…more alive.” Jake laughed. “Jist

thought me an’ you needed some more alone time.”

Brett liked the way Jake was thinking. Stopping outside

the door of the small stable, Jake quickly dismounted. Brett
drank in every detail of the cowboy’s lithe movements.

“You gonna stay up there all day, or come down here

an’…” Jake smirked, offering a hand to help Brett dismount.

Sliding off the horse—not as gracefully as Jake—Brett

turned in the circle of Jake’s arms. After remembering to tilt his
head to avoid the brims of their hats clashing, Brett gave Jake a
kiss.

Brett ran his fingers down Jake’s rock-hard chest, feeling

each ridge of muscle under the man’s blue-and-white checked
flannel shirt.

“You hungry?”
“Only for you.” Brett hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud

until he saw the broad smile on Jake’s tan face.

“Could eat you up with a spoon,” Jake drawled, doing his

own tactile exam of Brett’s torso. “You got way too many clothes
on.”

Slowly undoing each snap on the front of Brett’s shirt,

Jake exposed the skin beneath. When Brett reached up to begin
undressing Jake, the cowboy shook his head. “Not yet. Let me
just look at you. Wow, cain’t believe a dude as fuckin’ hot as you
would wanna hitch his wagon to an old has-been like me.” Jake
shook his head again.

“Crap. You’re amazing. I knew that the moment I first laid

eyes on you. Couldn’t figure what it was that got my motor
running, but it ain’t stopped revving ever since.”

Jake smiled.
“And if anything, I’m older than you.” Brett told him about

the year he’d died and how folks stayed at, or returned to, the
age they were most happy at.

“Guess that’s why I’m still the age I was, ’cause I’d never

been all that happy. Until now.”

Brett swallowed. The same was true for him, although

he’d only just fully realized it.

Next to come off were Brett’s Wranglers, though he had to

remove his boots first—no easy task. Standing there in just a
pair of black briefs, Jake admired him.

“Ya know, a real cowboy don’t use underwear. Excepting

when he—”

“You asked for a pair the morning after we slept together.”
Jake kissed him. “…except when we visit the doctor.”
It took Brett a couple of seconds to process the meaning

behind Jake’s words. “You mean you’d decided to go to the re-
gen facility?”

“Woke up in the middle of the night. I could feel ya, but

couldn’t see ya. An’ I realized I needed to see what the guy I was
falling in love with looked like.”

Brett swallowed. This was the first time the “L” word had

been mentioned.

“An’ I sure wasn’t disappointed.”
“Oh, Jake.” Brett threw himself at the cowboy and, yet

again, their hats clashed and fell off.

“Still cain’t figure out what y’all want with an old cowboy

like me.”

“Could say the same ’bout me. I’d have thought you’d

want another cowboy to warm your bedroll, not a guy who
spends his days with an arm stuck up a horse’s insides checking
for breech presentations and the like.”

“You’re jist perfect for me, Michigan. Couldn’t have asked

for a finer soulmate. Ya helped me when I needed it most. Ya got
Willow back on his feet, ya, well…ya jist perfect.”

They kissed some more, all the while Brett helping Jake out

of his clothing. The re-gen folks sure had done a wonderful job.

Naked, the two men stood looking at each other, spit

clinging to their lips from their frequent kisses. Brett just had to
have a taste of Jake’s newly regenerated body. Starting at the
chin with a sexy two days’ growth of beard, he licked and
nibbled.

“Whadda ya doin’?” Jake asked.
“Just checking that they left everything in full working

order. Call it professional curiosity.” Brett was quite proud of
himself for his quick thinking.

“Ah, bud,” Jake said when Brett had moved downward

and was licking in the hollow of Jake’s collar bone.

“You’ll be pleased to know, everything appears to check

out just fine so far,” Brett said, sinking lower to Jake’s awesome,

wide chest. The cowboy’s nipples were erect and begging to be
worshiped. And the patch of hair between the stiff nubs was so
incredibly sexy, Brett had to investigate more closely.

“Oh, man.” Jake took in a sharp breath when Brett latched

his mouth to Jake’s right tit and began applying suction.

Jake put his hands on Brett’s shoulders and began to

massage them. Brett thought about objecting—this was all for his
cowboy—but figured if Jake’s hands stayed where they were,
he’d deal.

Brett’s tour of inspection took him down Jake’s lush,

happy trail, Brett soon finding himself feasting on acres of
defined muscular perfection. He lost all sense of time as he
licked, snuffled, and kissed along the deep valleys and ridges of
firm flesh.

Unable to deny himself the main prize any longer, Brett

sank to his knees and captured the weeping head of Jake’s dick
between his lips. He gave the crown a couple of broad swipes
before attempting to dig into the piss slit with the tip of his
tongue.

“Ah, bud, I ain’t used to anyone doin’…” The rest of Jake’s

words dried up when Brett swallowed him down to the root.

Brett was surprised at how quickly the technique came

back to him. He guessed sucking cock was like riding a bike—
once you learned how to do it, you never forgot. In the back of
his mind, Brett mulled over what Jake had started to say. He bet
those assholes Pete and whatever the hell the other one was
called never went down on Jake. He doubted they objected to
Jake sucking them off, though. Brett re-doubled his efforts to
make this the very best blowjob he could. Jake deserved only
the best.

Needing to come himself, Brett’s right hand reached for

and began pumping his own meat.

As Brett continued to tease, suck, and lick, he couldn’t

help wonder at how rapidly he’d fallen for the big cowboy. He
knew time moved differently in Heaven, but even so. Still, he
guessed as their love was officially sanctioned by no less a being
than an archangel, somehow they’d been put on the romantic

fast-track. Brett wasn’t complaining. He’d waited a long time for
this, and so had Jake.

“Oh, darlin’, yeah, I’m real close. Ya need to pull off if…”
Brett had no intensions of pulling off. He was going to

swallow every last drop of his cowboy’s cum. He didn’t have long
to wait before Jake hosed copious amounts of sweet nectar onto
his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and down his throat.

“Yeah, take it, take it all!”
At some point Jake had moved his hands from Brett’s

shoulders to either side of his head. Brett only noticed the
change when Jake loosened his grip, allowing Brett to pull back.

Coughing and wiping a couple of errant strands of semen

from his lips, Brett looked up from his kneeling position at his
handsome cowboy towering above him. “I’m happy to report that,
in my professional opinion, everything is working perfectly.”

Jake rubbed Brett’s curls. “Heck, darlin’, ya sure gave me

a thorough exam and no mistake.”

“Thanks. Sorry I’m a bit rusty, but I’m sure, given practice,

I’ll—”

Jake yanked Brett up to his full height and kissed him

passionately, using his tongue to seek out any remaining traces
of cum. Brett doubted there was much to be had.

“Rusty? Hell, Michigan, if y’all get any better at blowin’

me, you’ll kill me.” Then, evidently realizing what he’d just said,
Jake tipped back his head and laughed. Recovering, Jake said,
“Now it’s your turn.”

Brett nodded to the numerous pearly-white streaks on the

ground between them. “No need.”

* * * *

After unsaddling the horses, a still gloriously naked Jake

took out a blanket from one of his saddle bags, laid it on the
ground, and arranged Poco and Willow’s saddles at one corner.
Lying on the blanket, his head resting on a saddle, Jake
beckoned Brett to come join him. Brett needed no second
invitation.

“Used to sometimes find Pete ’n’ Joe like this. Always

thought, when I got me my own pardner, I’d do jist the same.”
Jake delivered a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Brett’s lips. “Thank
you, darlin’, for lettin’ my dream come true.” Jake then adopted
his sleep position of the other night and wrapped himself tightly
around Brett.

“You’re welcome,” Brett said, freeing an arm to stroke

along the ridges of Jake’s long, broad back.

Eventually—after they’d laid there for the longest time,

Brett content to just listen to his cowboy’s heartbeat, the steady
sound of his breathing, and the distant melody of birdsong—Jake
disentangled himself.

“Sorry ’bout that. I jist…”
Brett rolled Jake back on top of him and gave him a kiss.

“Don’t know what y’all sayin’ sorry for, cowboy. I love snugglin’
with ya.”

As they kissed again, Brett felt the corners of Jake’s lips

turn up. Then he heard the man’s stomach rumble.

Laughing, Brett asked, “Hungry?”
“I could eat, yeah.” Jake admitted.
Brett then realized he hadn’t had the foresight to bring

food with them. But—given the proximity of everything to
everything else in Heaven—he guessed it really didn’t matter,
although he was loath to leave the perfect rural idyll they’d
stumbled upon.

“Brought a few provisions with us, jist in case.” Jake

levered himself to his feet and padded off across the grassy lake
bank toward the shack and his saddle bags.

Brett hadn’t noticed before how sexy Jake’s muscular butt

was. Not as deeply tanned as the rest of him—Brett guessed his
cowboy did a lot of work with his shirt off but had to keep his
bottom half covered. The view got even better when Jake bent to
rummage in the saddle bags.

Brett groaned when he spied Jake’s tight pucker wink at

him from between two firm mounds of ass flesh. Below swung
heavy balls and, below that, Jake’s soft—but still substantial—
cock.

From the mischievous grin on Jake’s face as he returned,

cans and a couple of paper sacks in hand, he knew full-well what
Brett had been staring at. Should he have needed any further
clues, all he had to do was look at the erection rising proudly
from between Brett’s legs. “What d’ya say to chili and
cornbread?”

Brett’s mouth watered, but it wasn’t just at the thought of

food. The full frontal view of his naked cowboy had an appeal all
its own. He tried to pull his mind back from matters carnal to
things more practical. “How we gonna cook the stuff?”

Jake tilted his head to one side and regarded Brett

curiously. “Over a fire. Y’all have fire in Heaven, don’t ya?”

Brett nodded. “But, did you bring any matches?”
Jake shook his head. “Thought ya were a Eagle Scout.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

* * * *

Replete after a hearty meal, which Brett had to admit

tasted even better because it had been cooked and served by
Jake outside, he reclined against one of the saddles and
watched his cowboy kick dirt over the fire.

“Had enough to eat?” Jake asked, approaching Brett and

settling next to him.

“Sexy as sin, rides like a demon, kisses like an angel, and

cooks like a dream. Jake Rushton, will you marry me?” Brett
smiled.

Jake’s expression didn’t match Brett’s. In fact, it grew

more serious. Cupping Brett’s face, Jake said, in the most
earnest tone Brett had ever heard him use, “I’d marry ya,
tomorrow, if y’all would have me.”

Brett swallowed. He’d meant the comment as a joke but,

yes, he’d marry this man, he didn’t need to think about it. He
opened his mouth to say as much when they heard a distant—
but no less menacing—rumble of thunder.

Jake tensed and, over by the shack, Willow whinnied.

Looking up, Brett saw a number of dark, heavy rain clouds rolling

overhead, blocking out the sun.

“Shit!” Brett said, instantly knowing what was worrying

both horse and rider. The last time they’d heard thunder and
seen lightning, it had killed them. “It’s okay, I promise. Nothing
will happen to you.” It couldn’t. God wasn’t that cruel. Least
ways, Brett prayed he wasn’t.

Jake didn’t move.
“Come on. We need to get us, this stuff, and the horses

under cover.”

Jake sprung into action then, doing most of the work to

get everything and everyone stowed away as overhead, the rain
clouds grew even darker and the thunder got closer, louder and
more frequent, as did the flashes of lightning.

Just as they exited the lean-to after bedding down the

horses with some remarkably fresh-looking straw and providing
them with some sweet feed, the rain began in earnest. Jake and
Brett ran to the front of the shack and slammed the door behind
them, shutting out the biting cold wind that began to blow.

“Didn’t know it rained in Heaven,” Jake said, looking out a

small window to the right of the door.

Brett joined him and peered out at a much different scene

to the one they’d enjoyed only a short time earlier. The sky was a
deep, angry gray. The surface of the lake roiled with white-tipped
waves that crashed against the shore. The windowpane rattled in
its frame as the wind threw all its fury at their little sanctuary.

Brett was about to tell Jake it usually didn’t rain in

Heaven, but then remembered nothing ever happened up here
without a reason. For the moment, he couldn’t figure out what
reason there could be for scaring Jake and Willow like this.

Brett began to shiver. He was damp, naked, and cold.
“Come ‘ere.” Jake wrapped an arm around Brett’s middle

and drew him to his solid chest. “Looks like we’re really in for it.”

“You doin’ okay?” Brett looked up into Jake’s firmly set

jaw, just then illuminated by a flash of lightning.

“Would have preferred not to have ever seen another

storm, but yeah, I’m okay.” He kissed Brett’s forehead. “Thanks
to you.”

Brett shivered again.
“Let’s see if there’s anything to get a fire started in here.”

Along one wall there was a stone fireplace which, Brett hoped,
wasn’t blocked up.

Within a very short while, Jake had worked his magic

again and a bright fire was burning in the hearth. Brett began to
feel better, lying as he was on a straw-filled mattress, snuggled
up in a blanket with Jake’s solid, reassuring bulk beside and
around him. Wiggling, Brett discovered there wasn’t just one part
of Jake that felt solid.

“What’d ya expect?” Jake asked, kissing the back of

Brett’s neck, “wrapped up next to a star quarterback?”

“Tight end,” Brett corrected. “And yes, I’ve heard all the

gay jokes a hundred times.”

Jake snickered. “Didn’t say a word.”
“Uh huh.” Brett turned to face his cowboy. “Well, I guess

this is still romantic, though not quite what we had in mind.”

“Dunno about that. Always dreamed of bein’ wrapped up

in blankets with a guy, sittin’ in front a log fire, makin’ out, and…”

“And?” Brett raised an eyebrow.
Jake kissed Brett on the lips. “Makin’ sweet gentle love to

him.”

If he were honest, Brett had had similar dreams himself,

only they hadn’t involved a strong, sexy cowboy, but a…

No, he wasn’t going to think about Gavin, not anymore,

not now he had Jake. “Make love to me, cowboy.”

“Ya sure? Sure y’all wouldn’t rather be the one doin’ the

lovin’?”

Brett shook his head no. Back when he’d been alive, he’d

usually been the one on top, but he had no qualms about
spreading his legs for Jake.

“Oh, darlin’, ya don’t know how much I’ve wanted

somethin’ like this. I never…”

Brett silenced his cowboy with a kiss. If Jake was about to

tell him more about those assholes Pete and whatshisname,
Brett didn’t want to hear it. They weren’t here. He was.

As the men writhed around, trying to get as much skin-on-

skin contact as possible, the blankets soon fell away. But it didn’t
matter. The fire, combined with the heat from Jake’s amazing
body, kept Brett plenty warm enough. And hopefully soon they’d
be generating their own heat.

“Need you, Jake. So bad.” Brett felt an itch deep inside

him only his cowboy could scratch.

“I’m here, darlin’, ain’t never gonna leave ya.”
They kissed some more, but despite their obvious

passion, it wasn’t enough. Brett kept humping up into Jake,
rubbing their aching and leaking pricks together, but Brett didn’t
want to come that way.

“Did ya bring any slick stuff?” Brett panted, knowing he

hadn’t, and hoping Jake had thought of it.

“They gave me something at the facility place, said it

would help keep things smooth. The woman had winked at me
jist then, and stupid idiot that I am didn’t get what she was
meanin’ straight away.”

Brett kissed Jake, loving the man’s naivety.
Jake rolled off Brett and crawled over to his saddle bags.

Brett, unwilling to give up the physical contact, moved close to
Jake and began to run appreciative fingers over the wide
expanse of Jake’s tan shoulders, the muscles of which moved
with fluid perfection as Jake sought out whatever it was the re-
gen facility had given him.

Pulling out a small plastic tube, Jake examined it critically

in the firelight. “Doesn’t look nothin’ like the lube back home.”

“That’s ’cause it’s nothing like the lube back home,” Brett

said, taking the tube from Jake.

He’d heard some of his buddies on the football team rave

about the lube, the ones who were studying sciences, talking
about the stuff’s unparalleled high traction coefficient, or some
other shit Brett was way too uninterested in at the moment to try
and recall.

Rolling onto his back and raising his legs, Brett uncapped

the tube and was about to squirt some of the stuff onto his
fingers when Jake stopped him.

“Let me. Though y’all have ta tell me if I do anythin’ that

hurts ya.” Jake leaned down and kissed Brett’s lips. “Never want
to hurt ya.”

Brett beamed up at Jake. It was either smile or cry, and

Brett figured he’d try and conserve water. Though a quick glance
out of the window reminded him there was plenty of water still
pouring down in torrents outside.

Jake’s large fingers in Brett’s ass were gentle, as Brett

knew they would be. It had been way too long since anything
had been up there. Brett willed himself to relax. He also hoped
Jake would speed things up, but the cowboy took his own sweet
time, murmuring things to Brett, which again threatened to undo
his determination not to cry.

“Dreamed ’bout this,” Jake kept repeating. “Someone o’

my own, jist him an’ me, a log fire, a warm mattress.”

Finally Brett couldn’t wait any longer. “Please, Jake, make

love to me now. I’m ready.”

Jake paused, three fingers still deep inside Brett’s butt.

“Sure y’all don’t need four?”

Brett shook his head and then bit his lip. He needed his

cowboy, now!

“Okay, then.”
Jake withdrew his fingers, slicked up his cock which had

never deflated one tiny bit—Brett had kept a close watch on it.
Then Jake seemed to hesitate, nervously looking from the end of
his dick to Brett’s opening.

“Want to see your face as you make love to me,” Brett

prompted, just in case Jake was worrying about positions.

“Uh, yeah, okay.”
Jake moved atop Brett, who reached down, found Jake’s

stiff member, and guided it to his hole.

“I’ll go real slow, okay?” Jake whispered.
Brett nodded, unable to trust himself not to whimper or

say something completely dorky.

Jake was big. Huge, in fact. And Brett was tight. A couple

of times Jake threatened to withdraw, but Brett prevented him
from moving by locking his ankles behind Jake’s butt.

“I’m hurtin’ ya!” Jake said.

“It’s a good hurt,” Brett tried to say through panting breaths.
Brett wondered if this was like giving birth, except in

reverse. But he knew the pain would ultimately be worth it.

Then slowly things down there began to relax and Jake

slid in further, until, “Wow, darlin’, I’m all the way inside o’ ya.”
Jake kissed him.

Brett was elated. He’d taken all of Jake’s telephone pole

of a dick. He let out a giggle.

“What?” Jake’s knitted brow looked so incredibly sexy.
“I think I just realized something.”
Jake raised an eyebrow in question.
“I’m a size queen.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m nothin’ special down there. Pete

’n…”

Brett slapped a hand over Jake’s mouth—he didn’t want

to hear about those morons.

Jake took hold of Brett’s wrist and pulled the hand away

slightly, kissed the palm, then said, “Sorry, darlin’, that was
stupid o’ me. Jist never had anyone o’ my own that I could…”
Jake swallowed. “Sorry.”

Brett smiled up at his man, unable to stay mad at him. “It’s

okay. I think of Gavin at the worst possible times, too. All this is
new for the both of us. But those guys are in our pasts. We’re
each other’s futures.”

“Damn straight!” Jake nodded.
Needing to lighten the mood, Brett reached from behind

himself, found Jake’s Stetson, lifted it up, and put it on Jake’s
head. “So, future o’ mine, wanna git this show out o’ the chutes
an’ into the ring?” Brett winced at his cheesy words.

Jake tipped his head back and laughed.
Having his cowboy atop him, ready to ride, felt wonderful.

Brett’s dick oozed out a pearl of pre-come. Maybe he was a
kinky bastard as well as a size queen. “Jist ya make sure ya last
longer than eight seconds, cowboy.”

“Think I can promise ya that, darlin’.”
Jake set up a punishing rhythm which soon had Brett

moaning out his pleasure, urging Jake to go harder, deeper, and

faster. Sweat rolled down his cowboy’s cut abs, glistening in the
firelight before dripping onto Brett’s body below.

Outside the storm continued to rage, thunder and lightning

tearing up the sky, but inside Brett felt safe, warm, and most of
all, loved.

A tingling began somewhere deep inside, but before Brett

could do anything more than reach for his dick and give it a
couple of strokes, his climax slammed into him. He launched
several volleys of cum high into the air, the first couple hitting
Jake on the face and chest.

“Wow, darlin’, ya sure know how to fire that big gun o’

yours,” Jake said through clenched teeth, obviously gearing up
for his own climax.

Brett decided to help things along by squeezing his anal

muscles. Jake’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The big
cowboy froze at the end of his stroke, then there was sound.
Jake’s cry mingled with a clap of thunder which shook the walls
of their shack.

* * * *

“Jake?” Brett asked when his cowboy had been silent, apart

from his elevated breathing, for the longest time. “You okay?”

“Oh, Michigan,” Jake croaked and pulled Brett into his

arms. “I ain’t got the words.”

Brett hoped the words his lover couldn’t find were

because the experience was overwhelming him in a good, rather
than a bad, way.

Brett did his best to soothe his man, stroking and petting

whatever damp skin he could reach.

Taking a deep breath, Jake finally spoke. “I love ya, Brett

Morris. So fuckin’ much, it scares me. Why you, a educated man,
would be interested in a guy who didn’t even graduate high
school, I don’t know.”

“I don’t care about the differences in our education. All I

care about is you and how much I love you.”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

Remembering they still had some unfinished business,

Brett gave Jake a squeeze and said, “Earlier when we were
outside by the lake, you asked me a question.”

Jake got a look of concentration on his face before the

light of understanding dawned.

“But we got distracted with other things. So I didn’t get a

chance to say, yes, I would be honored to marry you.”

“Oh, darlin’.” Jake treated Brett to a full-body hug.
A comfortable silence fell between them. Neither man had

any place they needed to be. They could stay here for as long as
they wanted. A log broke apart in the fireplace and sparks flew
up the chimney. Outside the weather seemed to be settling
down. There were fewer rumbles of thunder, and what there
were seemed to be further away.

“Did I tell ya,” Jake said, nuzzling Brett’s neck, “that I used

ta dream about makin’ love to someone in a place jist like this?”

“Uh huh,” Brett yawned, feeling sleepy.
“Jist me and one man, together, safe.”
“Sounds like a wonderful dream.”
“And you made it real for me.” Jake kissed Brett on the

lips. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Brett replied. “It’d be nice if we had a place

like this, though maybe a bit bigger, with modern conveniences.”

“Close to the barn where y’all work.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Brett still had to have the

talk about turning corners in Heaven.

“Our house could have a porch at the front, or maybe one

o’ them wraparound dealies.”

Warming to their theme, knowing there’d be plenty of time

for sleep later, Brett added, “And a swing. Gotta have a porch
swing.”

“A double one, overlookin’ a lake.”
“So we can snuggle up together and listen to the loons in

the evening.”

“Sounds perfect.
“Yeah.” Brett sighed. “And when we move in, I’ll carry you

past that swing and over the threshold.”

“The hell ya will,” Jake raised himself up on one elbow

and glowered at Brett. “I ain’t no girl.”

Brett feared he’d hit a raw nerve. Sure, his cowboy liked

being cuddled, kissed, and the rest, but Brett had to realize Jake
was still a man and liked to take charge every now and again.

“Though if we were to have two doors,” Jake broke into

Brett’s thoughts, “I cain’t say I’d mind if ya carried me over the
front threshold so long as I got to carry ya over the back one.”

Brett laughed. “Ya got yerself a deal there, pardner.”
“But it’s all jist a dream.” Jake sighed and laid back down,

his happy mood of a few moments earlier gone.

Brett hugged and kissed his man. “Dreams can come true

in Heaven.” Waving his arm around the small room, he
continued, “This place is proof of that.”

“Ya think we could have a house like we talked ’bout?

Maybe a small ranch?”

The hope in Jake’s eyes had Brett vowing that, should the

angels refuse to build them their dream house, then he would.

“Wouldn’t need a lot of land, jist enough for a few head of

cattle and maybe a few chickens.”

“We’d need a henhouse.” Brett was getting as excited as

Jake.

“An’ a stable for Willow an’ Poco. And a dog. We need a

dog.”

“Two dogs maybe, so they’d be company for each other.”
“Yeah. They could sleep out on the porch and, maybe…”
As Brett listened to his cowboy continue to excitedly map

out their future, he stroked the hair on Jake’s chest. Brett knew
he’d gladly spend the rest of his afterlife helping this awesome
man realize his dreams.

Their dreams.

THE END

ABOUT DREW HUNT

Having read all the decent free fiction on the net Drew

could find, he set out to try his hand at writing something himself.
Fed up reading about characters who were super-wealthy,
impossibly handsome, and incredibly well-endowed, Drew
determined to make his characters real and believable.

Drew lives a quiet life in the north of England with his cat.

Someday he hopes to meet the kind of man he writes about.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated

by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including
gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction.
Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and
compiled into single-author print anthologies, while any story
over 30k in length is available in both print and e-book formats.
Visit us at

jms-books.com

for our latest releases and submission

guidelines!

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