Scott Sherman - Third You Die

“Or maybe he just didn’t want to lead Lucas on,” I offered, realizing that I was once again trying to defend Brent by ascribing to him the best possible intentions. Over-identify much?

“Maybe. Whatever happened, that was pretty much the end of Lucas’s career in the industry. He appeared in one or two more films and that was it. In his last one I saw, he wasn’t looking too good, either.”

“No? What do you think it was? Drugs? Did he get sick?”

“Oh honey.” Freddy patted me on the hand and then squeezed it. “He had a terminal case.”

Given his line of work, it was tragically probable what had happened to him. “AIDS? I know the studios say they take precautions, but-”

“No, sweetie, not that. It was heartbreak that did him in. You could see it in his eyes. I believe that boy really did love Brent Havens. I think he’d have done anything to have him. He loved that boy to death.”

I got back to my apartment around nine. The lights were on and the radio was tuned to a classic rock station. A half-eaten carton of something Chinese was on the kitchen table next to a can of Bud.

Yes, Budweiser beer. Another reminder that no matter how many times Tony plowed me like the fields of Idaho, he’d always be a straight boy at heart.

Speaking of which, where was he? I called his name but got no answer. I turned down the radio and heard the shower running.

Hmmm… interesting. I was still kind of worked up from watching Brent’s movies, and the thought of a naked, wet Tony twenty feet away brought me back to full salute.

It’s amazing how fast you can get naked with the right motivation.

Twenty minutes later, we were drying off together in the bedroom. “That was a nice surprise,” Tony said, grinning.

“I figured we might as well get a little more dirty while getting clean,” I explained. “You know me. Mr. Efficiency. Screwing in the shower saves time.”

“Well, I’m glad you could squeeze me into your busy schedule,” Tony teased. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants sans underwear. It made me flash back to the scene with Brent and Lucas in the dorm room and I started to swell up again.

“As I recall, you were the one who did the squeezing in.”

“Apparently, you liked it.” Tony nodded toward the growing proof of my enjoyment. “Again?” he asked.

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”

Tony sank to his knees and grabbed my ass cheeks. He pulled me toward his face. “Let’s see about that.”

He took me in his mouth. It had taken a while before our sex was reciprocal in this way. For a time, as long as Tony was the one being done-as opposed to the one doing the doing, so to speak-it helped him maintain his identity as a heterosexual.

Feeling the heavenly warmth of his tongue and throat, I was glad he’d gotten over it.

“God,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders.

For a guy who’d taken to it late in life, Tony gave a pretty good blow job. Maybe not the most technically proficient, but the contradiction with his natural butchness, the incredible interplay of his back and shoulder muscles working in perfect harmony as his head bobbed, and the fact that I loved him more than I should elevated it to an erotic wonder. Despite the fact that I’d deposited about a gallon of come down the shower drain fewer than fifteen minutes ago, I wasn’t going to last long.

“Tony, I’m about to…”

He pulled back and finished me off with his hand. While he was definitely making progress, swallowing was not on the menu for him.

“Whoa!” he said with boyish enthusiasm as my first shot rocketed past his head and on to the bed five feet away. Subsequent jets were of diminishing, but still impressive, velocity and volume. “Guess I really do bring out the best in you,” he said, arching his eyebrows. He looked behind him. “All over the place, apparently.”

The sight of Tony, who for so long fought against accepting his feelings toward me, on his knees in front of me, in such a submissive position and covered in my spunk, made me a little dizzy.

“Hey,” he said, noticing my unsteadiness. In a flash of naked flesh, he stood up and scooped me into his arms, holding me under my hips. I wrapped my legs around his waist. Tony could hold me like this for hours without tiring. My Big Strong Man. I hugged him, and the semen I contributed to his chest became a shared deposit.

“We’re going to need another shower,” he said, kissing me. “Not that I mind.”

“Or I could do it like a cat.” I wiped my tongue over his neck and disentangled from his embrace. I licked him clean from collarbone to navel, stopping only when something very welcome rose to knock against my chin.

I grabbed it possessively. “Looks like I’m not the only one available for another feature,” I observed.

Tony looked down at me in the position he’d been in moments earlier. “I don’t know,” he observed ruefully. “I’ve got a couple of years on you, Kevvy. I’m not so sure I’m up for another show.”

I waved him in my hand. “You look ‘up’ enough to me.”

I believe bad puns are only acceptable in sexual settings, where the mental energy needed to craft more sophisticated repartee takes away too much attention from the main event.

“Guess it depends on how good the show is,” he observed. “What’s the next movie?”

“Duh,” I said, again not bothering to be clever. “Deep Throat.”

Unlike my still-evolving lover, I had enthusiasm and technique. I could pull off that title and had no problem swallowing. A few minutes later, Tony was calling my name in a hoarse and climactic shout and neither of us was any messier than when I started.

Like I said, I’m efficient.

Tony and I walked back to the kitchen, still damp and tingly after our post-shower workout. I looked at the carton he’d left on the table.

“Anything for me?”

His brief pause made me think he was going to go for another oral sex joke, but he resisted the cheap shot. “In the frig. I wasn’t sure how late you’d be.”

Chicken chow fun. One of my favorites. I brought the carton with a pair of chopsticks over to the table and started going through the mail. Bills, bills, bills. I was tempted to throw them away; after all they’d just send more. Then something more interesting, which Tony had opened.

An engraved invitation.

The Police Officer’s Public Service Division Invites You to Join Us for Our Annual Hero Awards Ceremony for Meritorious Service. This Year’s Recipients Include…

There, along with nine other names, was Detective Tony Rinaldi. He was signaled out for Detective of the Year.

My Tony.

I looked up to see him watching me with a pleased, expectant expression.

I jumped into his lap and smothered him with kisses. “This is incredible! What an honor!” Then I pulled back. I had no idea what these awards were… Maybe everyone got one. I regarded him with concern. “This is good news, right?”

Laughing, Tony squeezed me tighter. “Yes, it’s great news. They really are very prestigious. Proud of me, baby?”

“So proud,” I asserted, squeezing back.

“I could never have done it without you,” Tony said.

“That’s sweet of you,” I said, a little dismissively. “You know what they say, ‘Behind every great man is another pretty good one.’ ”

“No, literally.” Tony put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back until he could meet my eyes. “A major reason I got this was for my work on the Harrington case. But you’re really the one who cracked that open.”

After having spent years apart, Tony and I were reunited when he was the lead investigator of my friend Allen Harrington’s murder. Although it was true I had done a lot of the legwork on the case (and by “legwork” I mean stumbling over my own two feet on my way to accidentally stumbling over the truth), in the end, Tony saved my life when I found out that confronting murderers wasn’t quite the cakewalk one might think it would be. Turns out they’re not the easiest people to get along with, and their social skills leave a lot to be desired.