The Trouble With Tony (9 page)

“Why?”

“I was… a policeman for a while. But after the shooting, I quit.”

Jack was not entirely surprised. Tony had a certain tough bearing that said “cop.” But it was not unlike a military bearing, and the only full-blooded Italians like Tony he’d ever known had been in the Army. He’d just sort of accepted it as part of the Italian persona.

Jack realized he was lightly stroking the scar.

“Does it gross you out, Doc?” Tony asked. He sounded vulnerable.

“God, no,” Jack said. “I’ve got…. My arm….” His voice cracked. He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“In Iraq, right? What was it?” Tony asked quietly.

Jack swallowed a lump and cleared his throat. “An IED. I was trying to get a kid out of a mess of truck bombs that had driven into our compound. One of the trucks hadn’t yet exploded.”

Tony lifted himself up on his elbows and turned his head to look at Jack. His face looked serious. “You’re an amazing guy, you know that, Doc?”

Jack snorted. With some effort he pulled his mind away from the war. Way to kill hallelujah time. Poor Tony. “What I am is a guy with some amazing scars. Lots worse than this little blemish. Now come on. Lay down.” He patted Tony’s back. Tony lay back down.

Jack let his hands trace lightly over Tony’s back, feeling the perfect, warm skin, getting Tony—and himself, if he was honest—back in the right frame of mind. When he felt Tony relax, Jack placed the heels of his hands on Tony’s lower back and ran them up his shoulders, firm.

Tony shivered. He lifted his head and let it fall with a
thunk
back down on the massage table. Jack wasn’t sure what the gesture meant, but he kept going. He massaged Tony’s back with firm, sure strokes, alternating that with running light fingertips up and down his sides. The form of massage he’d learned in his surrogacy class was different than most. The goal of touch therapy was to relax the patient, yes, but only to the point of quelling any nerves. The massage was also intended to foster intimacy and to arouse.

He stroked down Tony’s left arm and smoothed out his clenched fist. He rubbed his thumbs into Tony’s palm, caressed the base of his fingers, then folded his own fingers through Tony’s so he could stimulate the space between. Finally, Jack pulled light fingertips up the length of each digit, from palm to fingertip.

Jack noted, with some interest, that his right hand performed the massage with no hint of tremor. Oh, what the body could do with the right motivation.

Tony was growing tense under his hands. “Fuck, you’re killing me.” His voice was shaky and the blush across the tops of his shoulders had deepened.

“Feel good?” Jack asked in a low voice.

Tony nodded.

Jack ran his hands up to Tony’s neck, rubbing it for a moment before running his hand into Tony’s hair, palm to his scalp, massaging fingers just lightly tugging at his hair.

God, his hair felt nice—so thick and soft.

Tony tilted his forehead farther into the table, as if his scalp was trying to get more of Jack’s hands. He groaned. The sound was clearly that of arousal and it caused an echoing pulse in Jack’s groin. He was completely hard. For a moment he had a flash of a fantasy, himself crawling onto the table and lifting that towel, burying his cock in Tony just like this, his hands full of that hair, mouth on that neck. It was a strong, compelling image.

Jack took a deep breath and let it go. He was only human. That didn’t mean he had to act on every impulse his mind conjured up. “You all right?” he asked Tony, bringing his hands down to rub at his shoulders.

Tony grunted in the affirmative.

Jack did the other arm and hand, spending time on Tony’s palm and long fingers. They were nice hands, slender but strong. Very nice hands. Tony shivered every time Jack pulled his fingertips up one of Tony’s fingers. It was a move that was particularly erotic and suggestive. So Jack did it again. Tony moaned.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked gently as he moved down to massage Tony’s feet. He picked up a lower leg, braced it against his chest and rubbed circles on the bottom of Tony’s foot with his thumbs in much the same way as he had his hands.

Tony didn’t answer for a while. Jack moved to the other foot, kneading the arch.

“I’m feeling like I’m about to do things to this massage table that are ethically and hygienically questionable,” came Tony’s muffled voice.

Jack chuckled. He moved up to the center of the table and laid a hand lightly on Tony’s back. “We can’t have that, can we? How about you turn over?”

Tony hesitated. “I’m… hard, Doc.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? Come on, DeMarco,” Jack said with a smile. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

T
ONY
braced one hand on the table and carefully turned over, trying to keep the towel in place with his other.

Dear God, he was in love. The way Jack Halloran touched him, he ought to be arrested for intent to kill. His hands were warm and sure, comforting and teasing at the same time. If Tony’s dick had not already decided Halloran was worthy of its admiration, it would surely have succumbed after that massage. As it was, he was so turned on he thought he was going to explode untouched.

He was so deep in a relaxed, lustful daze, in fact, that the room felt surreal as he settled onto his back, eyes open. The towel was ludicrously tented. It looked like a circus pavilion. There was room for three rings and a troupe of dancing elephants under there, right below the damp spot. Tony should have felt embarrassed, but he was too far gone to care. He shivered in the room’s warm air and looked up at Halloran pleadingly.

Halloran’s eyes met his and then slid down to his erection. “Yes, I think ‘hard’ would be my professional diagnosis,” he said in a tight voice.

Tony’s fingers clutched the edge of the table to keep himself from thrusting up his hips. He said nothing.

“Is it all right if I take a look?” Halloran asked, his face perfectly neutral.

What Tony wanted to do was arch up and beg,
Dear mother of God, just fucking touch me!
but he managed to quip, “It’s not like the towel is hiding much.”

Halloran drug away the terrycloth. Tony hissed at the friction over his crown. “Sorry,” Halloran muttered.

Tony looked up at the ceiling, biting his lips. But when Halloran didn’t move or say anything, Tony dared a look at his face.

Halloran was standing there staring at Tony’s cock. His pupils were dilated, leaving only a thin band of blue, and his mouth was slightly open. He was still clutching the towel. He looked… hungry.

That idea sent a fresh, liquid surge of lust through Tony that was dizzying. He groaned and threw back his head. “Fuck, Doc, I can’t
.
”

“It’s all right, Tony. I’ll take care of you.” Halloran’s voice was soothing but a bit shaky. He moved to the counter and brought back the bottle of oil. Tony watched him, unable to look anywhere else.

Please, please, please
. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. Anything. Anything involving Jack Halloran, his own cock, and bringing an end to this aching torment. He was trembling with the need to touch and be touched, to be weighed down and covered.

Jack stood by his shoulders and placed the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle on his arm. His face was a study in polite neutrality. “The next part is up to you. I can leave you alone, and you can pleasure yourself. Or I can finish the massage and take care of you. I know you’ve not had a lot of partners, so that would be a good thing to try. But only if you think you’re ready for it.”

Tony heard what Halloran was saying, but it was hard to get the point of it. What he wanted to say was,
Kiss me, crawl on top of me, fuck me
. But that was not on the table. And there was a determined clench in Halloran’s jaw that said it wasn’t going to be either.

“Touch me,” Tony said. He barely bit back a
Please
.

Jack licked his lips. “Okay. I’ve got you. Just relax.”

Jack hesitated, as if debating something, then he took one of Tony’s legs and bent it up so his foot was on the table near his ass. “Put your feet up for a second.” Tony raised the other one. Jack pulled something out from the edge of the table—stirrups. Jack met his eyes, looking slightly abashed. “These will allow me better access to you. Is that all right?” Tony could only stare at him and nod dumbly. Jack quickly locked the pair of stirrups in place. Then he dropped the end of the table that was between Tony’s legs and placed one of Tony’s feet in each stirrup.

“Slide down to the edge,” he instructed softly. Tony did.

The result was that Tony was spread and exposed, his ass at the bottom edge of the table, his cock hard and heavy against his stomach.

His shivering intensified. Fuck, this was… hot. He had never been so open, or so turned on, in his life. He should be dying of mortification, but he was just too damn horny. He wanted to press up into Halloran like a flower opening to the light.

Halloran moved to stand between his legs. “Sorry. I know it’s a bit clinical, but it’ll be worth it. Trust me.” He smiled and winked.

He was not fucking kidding.

Halloran squeezed oil in a line up Tony’s cock and down his balls and then dropped the bottle. His hands, one after another, smoothed up in long, warm strokes, starting from his crack, up over his sac, along the underside of his cock, and up his chest to his shoulder. He repeated the stroke a half-dozen times.

Tony thrust up his hips and groaned. “Oh my God.”

“Mmm.” Halloran hummed agreeably.

He massaged the space behind Tony’s balls, using his thumbs, those same sure circles that had felt so good on Tony’s palms and feet. Tony writhed and groaned, unable to restrain himself. Jack’s hands finally moved up to gently tease his balls, and then pulled on his cock in long, firm strokes, pulling it off his belly and down toward his thighs, one slick hand following the other, first in strokes from base to tip. Then he reversed it, pushing Tony’s cock onto his stomach and stroking down from tip to base, one hand following the other. Tony thought he was losing his mind. He began to babble.

“Oh fuck, touch me. God, don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop. Doc. Jack. Please. I want you. Oh God, yes.”

He was hard as a rock, and mindlessly desperate, when finally,
finally
, Halloran took him in a two-handed grip and began working up and down in a stroke that was firm and fast and meant to finish him. He added a slight twist on the upstroke, his thumbs rubbing over Tony’s frenulum on every pass.

Tony gasped and stiffened, his eyes squeezed shut. The grip was so pleasurable, and the sensation so intense, that it literally stopped his breath. For a moment he floated in pure, mind-numbing bliss as those hands worked up and down.

“That’s right, Tony,” Halloran said, his voice low and rough. “Come for me. Let go.”

Tony took a breath and held it as long as he could. Then another. The pleasure in his groin was spreading like fire, eating up everything. And then he exploded, ropes of come shooting onto his chest. His head fell back with a groan.

“Oh
fuck
,” he heard Halloran whisper.

J
ACK
wiped Tony down, covered him with the towel, and then, seeing his patient breathing deeply, eyes closed, Jack could escape.

He slipped out of the massage room and went into the bathroom down the hall. Once there, he tore open his white doctor’s coat, unzipped his pants, and pulled himself out. He stroked quickly, eyes rolling back up in his head in pleasure.

God, Tony DeMarco, naked and oiled, flying apart in his hands. That was the sexiest fucking thing Jack had
ever seen
. As Jack worked himself, he could still feel the hot, heavy weight of Tony’s large cock in his hands. There was enough oil on his palms to ease the way, and it took about twenty seconds before he was shuddering with a release so powerful, he had to slump against the door to keep from falling over.

He cleaned himself up and washed his hands, his knees weak. He studied his face in the mirror, still breathing hard. He’d never reacted like that to giving touch therapy. He hadn’t crossed the line tonight, but he’d wanted to—dear God, he’d wanted to. And that was bad enough.

It was the first time he’d ever faced this situation as a sex therapist, treating a gay man that he found both incredibly attractive and enormously appealing as a person. For the first time, Jack the doctor and Jack the man were at odds. Doctor Jack wanted to be aloof and treat Tony, help him get better and send him on his way to a happy future somewhere out there. But Jack the man wanted to pull Tony into his arms, drag him home to his bed, and keep him there.

He was Tony’s doctor. He had to do the right thing.

When he went back into the massage room, Tony was sitting up with the towel over his lap. He looked dazed and a bit uncertain. He searched Jack’s face for a hint about what had happened.

Jack smiled reassuringly. “You did great. Do you feel all right?”

“If I didn’t feel all right after that, I’d be the most ungrateful bastard on the planet.” Tony grumbled. “But how come you left?”

“Just wanted to give you a moment of privacy,” Jack lied. He turned his attention to putting the massage oil away and wiping up. “Did anything particular happen today to trigger that?”

Tony looked down at his lap. “Nothing special.”

“Were you thinking about one of your ‘Fab Four’?”

Tony looked up and met Jack’s eye, his face shuttered. “Look, can we talk about it on Tuesday? I gotta go.”

“If you prefer,” Jack said, a bit disappointed. Tony’s “picky dick” had been highly functional and responsive, to say the least. In light of the diagnosis he was zeroing in on, he really needed to know what had facilitated that. But Tony looked ready to bolt, so he didn’t push it. “I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Jack left the room.

~14~

T
ONY
looked at the eight-by-ten glossy photograph of Marilyn White lying dead in her bed. Next to the bed was a nightstand. On the nightstand was a lamp, a box of tissues, a glass of water, and a tipped over empty prescription bottle.