Beneath the Stain - Part 5 (6 page)

Trav’s soiled clothes hit the tiled floor before he even remembered that he might not have any clean clothes in the morning, and as he stepped under the hot water, he found himself wondering if they’d let him on the next plane wearing a robe.

He scrubbed hard, glad for the moment that Mackey wasn’t there. He needed the time alone in his own skin, the heat and the ocean roar in his ears his only companions.

God, so many things about this night he couldn’t believe.

He couldn’t believe he’d allowed Heath to take over a detail like the equipment. But so much of the past month had been desperately trying
not
to leave Mackey alone, and he’d needed to take Heath’s word for it for that to happen. He couldn’t believe he’d flown nonstop to get to Oakland just to let Mackey see he could be a stand-up guy. And he couldn’t believe he’d let Mackey haul him into a greenroom and give him the blowjob of his life.

Especially that last one.

Get up in the morning, go running, have breakfast, work, have lunch, do some light exercise to keep your mind up, make calls, do work, maybe have a snack, enjoy leisure time, sleep, repeat. He liked the order of things: it had worked in the military, and he’d made it work in his real life.

But not with Mackey. With Mackey, doing what you were supposed to do, behaving logically, just didn’t fly. With Mackey there needed to be a better reason than logic. He
liked
sleeping in a corner or on the floor. If he was going to sleep on a bed, he needed a better reason than “you’re supposed to.” Truth was, he could be just as demanding as Trav sometimes—but never just because the world expected a certain thing. He required the best in the name of his craft being its best.

Mackey had a way of turning things upside down, like making the corner between the bed and the wall home and making a dress shirt sluttier than nothing at all.

And Trav, for all he liked order, didn’t feel like his life was really in order unless Mackey was in the next room.

On that thought, he turned off the water and toweled himself dry, feeling strangely at peace. Of all things, knowing Mackey held Trav’s equilibrium in his callused hands evened Trav out. There wasn’t a force in the world that could change Mackey unless Mackey let it happen. Yeah, Trav had taken him early, borrowed him against the time when he’d be completely healthy, whole inside himself, but Trav couldn’t make that happen any quicker if he kept turning Mackey away. All he’d do was maybe lose Mackey by not having any faith.

He couldn’t bear that thought, not at all.

When he got out of the shower, Mackey was lying on the bed on his stomach, watching Nick at Nite, eating a hamburger. His robe was rucked up past the bottom of his ass, his thighs spread wide enough for Trav to see everything, including his balls, but Mackey didn’t seem to care. He was laughing at a kids’ cartoon and licking ketchup from his fingers when Trav walked into the room and slid a grateful hand along the back of his thigh.

And stopped and grimaced at the black marks surfacing on his pale skin.

“Jesus, kid, did that happen when you were crowd surfing?”

Mackey turned to him and grinned. “Yeah—ain’t they somethin’? I got a doozy on my hip and my ribs and my shoulder too. It was madness out there tonight!”

Trav grunted and resisted the urge to flop him over on his back so he could check every bruise and make sure it wasn’t worse.

“You
do
that? On purpose?” he asked, trying—failing—to keep the creak of panic out of his voice.

Mackey threw a look of disgust over his shoulder, still munching on his burger. “
You
have three scars on your side that look like a knife fight, a thing on your left arm that looks like you lost
all
the fuckin’ skin, one through that same shoulder that looks like a bullet, and one through your thigh that looks the same. And I think you took grenade shrapnel on your back at some point. You think I didn’t notice that bullshit, Trav? You took your shit defending our fucking country—which, since I haven’t said it, makes me think you’re pretty damned heroic, you know that? But do I complain about the state of
your
body?”

Trav’s mouth went dry. He reached over Mackey to the tray and grabbed a glass of milk, then gulped half of it down at once. When he was done, he bumped Mackey’s elbow with his hip and settled down on the bed. He was close enough to palm Mackey’s backside and the backs of his thighs, which he rubbed lightly so he didn’t press the bruises, enjoying the coarse, silky hair under his hand and the softness of Mackey’s skin underneath.

“You noticed all of that,” he acknowledged humbly.

Mackey rolled his eyes and took another bite of his hamburger. “I’m not stupid,” he mumbled. “And I’m only a little self-involved.”

Trav closed his eyes and ran his hand over the round of Mackey’s ass again. Yeah, it had muscles in it, but just relaxed here, it was almost as much softness as Travis could stand. “I don’t think about the scars,” he said softly.

“You should.” Mackey wiped his hands down and then his face. He started to move, probably to put the tray over on the table, but Trav took it for him. There was another hamburger on the table, complete with fries and another glass of milk and even a slice of apple pie, but food wasn’t as urgent as it had been before the shower. Trav set the tray down and sat next to Mackey again.

Mackey wriggled over on his back and let the robe fall on either side of him. God, he was just as Trav had imagined him over the past week: pale and stringy with muscle, sweet and needy. The bruises and tattoo were different, but then Trav had learned to live with different since he’d walked in on the Sanders boys.

He bent down reverently and kissed Mackey’s hip bone, oh so careful of the darkening skin that covered it.

“I don’t think about the scars because they’re part of me now,” he said, meeting Mackey’s wide gray eyes in the soft light from the lamp. “I worry about you getting hurt by stuff that you do to yourself when maybe that’s not part of you anymore.” He punctuated that kiss with another one to the edge of the tattoo. The tat had ointment on it, newly applied, and Trav traced the edge of it with a delicate finger.

“I’ll always be a little bit edgy,” Mackey said soberly, closing his eyes when Trav replaced his finger with his tongue.

“And I’ll always worry,” Trav whispered, resigning himself to that as his fate.

“You think I won’t, Captain America?” Mackey laughed softly.

Trav licked the crease of his thigh and the laugh turned to a gasp. “What do you have to worry about?” he asked, nuzzling between Mackey’s balls and his cock. Ah, the juicy bits.

“You,” Mackey said, grunting a little when Trav pointed his tongue and started a delicate line over Mackey’s left sac. The skin puckered under his touch, and he kept licking, up, up, along Mackey’s abdomen, skating the tattoo. Up, up, along Mackey’s ribs, licking softly along the big, blotching bruise.

“I’m right here,” Trav whispered before licking his nipple.

Mackey wiggled a lot, arching off the bed as he gasped. Trav put a hand on his thigh and pushed gently until he was back on the bed, kneading Trav’s neck, his back, his shoulders as Trav tortured that nipple with love.

“I’mma come just from that,” Mackey confessed. “I’mma come and it’ll be over and….”

“No,” Trav mumbled, moving to the other nipple. “You’re going to come—” Lick. “—and I’m going to swallow it—” Suck. “—I’ll lick it off your chest if I have to—” Play with the end, nibbling a little. “—and then I’m going to rim you until you beg.” Suckle, oh, God, Mackey’s skin tasted so good! Trav rippled his hips, grinding against the bed, hard, needy, wanting Mackey so bad his skin hurt.

“Any other plans?” Mackey gasped.

Trav pulled back and looked him square in the eye. “Fuck you until you scream,” he said, needing it, needing to see Mackey sprawled out, flailing, screaming because what was racking his body was too huge to be contained.

“Never happen,” Mackey panted, trying hard to knot his fingers in Trav’s short hair.

“Not gonna fuck you?” Trav had to laugh and then bite Mackey’s earlobe. No earrings for his boy—Trav wondered how long that would last.

“Too busy talking,” Mackey muttered. “Got your dirty talk groove o—
ah ah ah
—
”

Trav bit his neck hard and propelled down, engulfing Mackey’s cock in his mouth, shoving his head down to take it in all the way to the root. Mackey flailed, clenching one hand in Trav’s robe, dragging it down, baring Trav’s body to the air. Trav didn’t move, only swallowed and bobbed as Mackey spurted precome, aroused quickly in the way only the young could be.

Trav almost wanted to beg him not to come. His mouth stretched, filled, and he felt Mackey inside him, salty, clean, and so magnificent Trav felt a craving to bottom, to have Mackey inside him everywhere. Maybe, he thought hazily, filling one hand with Mackey’s hard, swollen balls and pinching Mackey’s wet nipple with the other. Someday. When he didn’t need to hold him, didn’t need to keep him, quite this much.

Mackey’s breath came quickly, little sex grunts filling the air between every in and out, and when Trav slid his palm between Mackey’s thighs, putting even pressure along his taint and the bottom of his crease, he keened, obviously close and needy.

C’mon, baby, come, and I can start for real.

Mackey’s hips pumped unexpectedly and Trav almost couldn’t hold him. It was hard—he gagged a minute—but then Mackey’s grunts changed to that low, blooming moan that came from a deep, quaking climax, and Trav swallowed, taking him all in, wanting more, while Mackey convulsed in his mouth.

Like that, Mackey went limp, and Trav was left shaking and not anywhere near done. He sat up, letting Mackey’s cock flop limply on his stomach and sliding his robe down his arms and off.

Mackey was still dazed, gulping for breath, when Trav shoved his thighs up and parted his asscheeks. He didn’t tease, because Mackey was too far gone to feel teasing, but instead dove in, licking, probing, holding Mackey’s thighs hard because otherwise he was in danger of getting kicked.

“Trav,” Mackey moaned, his voice drugged and slurred. “Trav… I wanna… I’m not sure what I wanna…. God… that thing you’re doing… it’s… ah,
fuck
, I wanna….”

The rambling was good—it meant Trav was doing his job—but it wasn’t enough. Trav sucked on two fingers, getting them good and wet, before shouldering one thigh and holding the other with his other hand. Then he brought both fingers into play, massaging Mackey’s wet rim, teasing now, because Mackey was sensitized and losing his mind.

Mackey gave up on words. All he managed were grunts, needy, and groans, thready. Trav taunted, never fully penetrating, just stretching, making him ready while Trav shook with craving.

His whole body cranked tight, quaking,
screaming
for Mackey, but he needed to wait… needed to wait…. Mackey needed to beg so Trav knew it was him, just him, not the crowd, not the old lover, just Trav, and for this time, skin to skin, Mackey was his in earnest and not on loan.

“
Augh
!” Mackey screamed. “Trav,
fuckin’ please
!”

“Lube,” Trav gasped, because he figured Mackey would have some, being naked and clean and ready when Trav got out of the shower. Mackey flailed some more, grunting when he thrust the bottle at him. Trav caught it, lacing their fingers briefly before standing up and greasing himself.

Mackey gazed up at him, thighs falling open loosely, cock erect again, his hands fisting in the covers. The bruises were coming up, big dark blotches against his hip, his ribs, his shoulder, and smaller ones all over in the shape of jabbing fingers. Trav felt primal, angry, that Mackey had had other people’s hands on him.
Mine
, he thought, half in despair.

“Pull your nipples,” Trav ordered.

Mackey nodded, mouth slack, before complying. His fingers were rough, rough and hard, and Trav took his cue from that. He grabbed Mackey’s thighs and hauled him to the edge of the bed, then positioned himself. He pushed in just enough to know he was on target, and then Mackey pushed against him, inarticulate and greedy.

Trav shoved his way inside and watched Mackey’s whole body come off the bed.

His scream grated, rough, wanting, and Trav would die if he didn’t hear it again. He didn’t go easy—he pumped hard and fast and viciously, the slap of his thighs against Mackey’s ass resounding loudly in the room.

For a moment, that was all that existed—Trav’s tortured grunts, Mackey’s wordless begging—and then Trav adjusted his position, pushing up, pegging Mackey’s gland, and Mackey’s shout almost shattered the windows.

He beat at the bed next to him and clenched and convulsed so hard around Trav’s cock that for a minute Trav couldn’t move.

“Grab your cock, McKay,” Trav rasped. “Squeeze it, beat it, jerk it,
fucking grab it and get off
!”

Mackey was as rough with himself as Trav was with him, and a new smacking sound filled the room.

“
Fuckin’ Trav
!” Time stopped and Mackey’s entire body bowed painfully off the bed. His legs shot out straight and his toes curled, and Trav spread his thighs with force and shoved inside one more time.

The room turned black and every muscle from his cock to his taint to his own empty asshole clenched painfully as he poured himself into Mackey Sanders, and Mackey’s groan could probably be heard across the hall.

Trav fell forward, Mackey’s hot come sliding on his stomach, and buried his face in Mackey’s shoulder, panting and sweating but not wanting another shower, not yet.

For a moment that was the only sound in the room, but Trav had to move. He did. He pulled out, pulled away, and licked his way down Mackey’s stomach, licking away the white and clear puddles across his abs, ignoring the lingering taste and texture of the ointment and distantly hoping it wouldn’t make him sick. He was addicted—the sweet and salty taste, Mackey’s sweaty skin, and he kept licking down the crease of Mackey’s thigh, then spreading Mackey again and tasting himself as his spend ran down Mackey’s crease. And again. Cleaning Mackey’s dilated body, then taking Mackey’s cock into his mouth one more time, even as it shrank, flaccid and exhausted, against his pubic mound.