A few minutes later, they talked over the sputter of Sandy’s shower. Tanner leaned against the doorway, his rich voice booming against the tile. “…so I sometimes work weekends. That way I don’t have to deal with the kids. Plus, the shift differential.”
“How’s it going, living with your sister?”
Tanner shrugged. “Mostly, it’s okay. I make enough now that I could rent someplace in town but ever since Tim left… I hate to bag out on her when she signed off on my release papers. Got me this job. She’s having a hard time. Three kids. You know how it is.”
“Not really.” Sandy turned the water off, shook drops out of his eyes. When he pulled back the shower curtain, Tanner handed him a towel. “But, everybody I work with has ‘em. In fact, we’ve got to lock the main gate tonight on our way out. Darlene had some kids thing to go to.”
Tanner gazed at him and smiled. “You’re looking mighty fine these days, Officer Richter.”
Sandy blushed and patted his stomach, a stomach that was looser than he liked. “I’m getting old.”
Tanner stepped behind him and they gazed at one another in the mirror. Tanner’s caramel-colored skin was evenly toned, creamed coffee to Sandy’s lighter hue. He spoke against Sandy’s ear. “We’re all getting old.” Tanner pulled Sandy closer and nipped on his earlobe.
“Old and alone.” Sandy tried to say it lightly but it came out wrong.
“You been alone all this time?”
Sandy pulled away and busied himself with toothpaste. “Mostly.”
“Any gay bars around?”
“There’s a few down in Tampa but it’s not a priority with me. I signed up with GayFlorida.com for a while. Met a couple guys that way. And a firefighter trainee. Last fall.”
“He still in the picture?”
“No, he moved down to Naples for a job. We emailed for a couple months but… It just faded away.” Sandy started brushing his teeth, tired of talking about his romantic failures. “Whadaboudyou?” he asked through foam.
“I hit the gay bars in Indy about once a month. And I’ve got a buddy in Chicago; we get into trouble up there sometimes.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind you don’t want to know about.”
Sandy rinsed and spit. “Anyone serious for you?”
It was Tanner’s turn to shrug. “Not really.” His brow furrowed and he looked away, seeming to find Sandy’s shower tile interesting.
Push him or let it go?
Tanner patted his own flat stomach. “I’m starved! Let me buy you dinner. Please tell me there’s a steakhouse in this shitkick town.”
“We’ve got an Applebee’s and an Outback. Even us country boys like our vittles.”
“I vote for Outback.”
“You’re on.”
After dinner, they sat back, bellies full, smiles on their faces. They shared a death by chocolate dessert, chatting.
Sandy gave his spoon a final lick and groaned. “Enough! I can feel my arteries clogging.”
“Eh, a couple miles run, do some weights, this shit’ll move right on through.” Tanner kept eating.
“What do you do for fun in Indiana?”
“Not much to do in fucking corn country.”
“You spend a lot of time in Chicago?”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “Twice a month or so.”
“You seeing somebody up there or what?”
“I see a lot of folks.”
“Come on, Tanner. Spill. You’ve got that look on your face that tells me something is up.”
Tanner shrugged. “Mostly I’m playing. Sometimes I work.”
“Doing what?”
“I just… look tough.”
Sandy sat back from the table. “Are you collecting or enforcing?”
“Neither. I usually drive and then stand around.”
“Usually?”
“Yeah.”
“These guys independents or are they connected?”
“I dunno.”
“You might want to find out. If they’re connected, then the Feds are probably watching them, which means they’re watching you.”
“Point taken.”
“Even a traffic arrest could get you back inside. Be careful. And don’t do any enforcing yourself.”
Tanner looked abashed. He kept his dark eyes on the plate. “It’s good money.”
“I mean it. Don’t lay a hand on anybody.” Sandy shook his head. Once a con, always a con; they never changed. “It’s dangerous, T. Especially with your record.”
“Got it.” More happy hour drinks arrived and Tanner gulped them down, eyes starting to look a little bleary and buzzed. Sandy had another beer.
“Have a real drink, why doncha?” Tanner slurred.
“Nah. Three’s my limit.” Sandy reached across the table. “In fact, hand over your keys.”
“I just wanna relax. Give me a break.”
“No, you give me the keys. You’re not driving.”
“You talk like a cop.”
“I am a cop.”
“Really? I thought you quit.” Tanner waved a beefy hand. “You know, the fire. Your arm.”
“I’m still a sworn officer. Each park has at least one to make arrests.”
Tanner leaned back, sculpted arms against the seat back, deep chest stretching the T-shirt he wore. “You gonna arrest me?”
Sandy grinned. “Only if you want me to. I’ve still got handcuffs.”
“Yum.” Tanner’s crooked incisor flashed. “Let’s get outta here.”
Twenty minutes later, Sandy snicked the handcuffs around Tanner’s wrists, fastening them to the headboard. He straddled Tanner’s broad chest. “You might look like a tough guy but you like being bossed around, don’t you?”
“Shut up.”
Sandy reached down to tug at the fuzz under Tanner’s arms. “You shut up.”
“Make me.”
Sandy smoothed one hand over Tanner’s chest, pausing at each nipple with a sharp tug. He watched Tanner’s face flush, watched those full lips tighten into a grimace.
Nice.
Tanner wriggled on the pillows so his head was raised. His gaze focused down Sandy’s belly. “Shut me up, Sandy. Come on.”
Oh.
They grappled for a sweaty half-hour, Tanner’s mouth full, then Sandy’s. After, he sank down on Tanner’s belly and felt warm semen on his legs. Slippery. Sexy.
When Tanner spoke, his deep voice was rougher, throaty. “Uncuff me before you fall asleep.”
Tanner trailed his fingers over Sandy's twisted arm, running broad fingers over the knots and keloids. They snugged together, Tanner spooned around Sandy. “When do you have to leave?” Sandy asked.
“Not for a coupla days. If you want.”
“I want.” In the shadows, Sandy smiled.
Sandy woke, the bed feeling cool and empty. The clock showed just after two a.m. He lay still for a few seconds, trying to figure out why he’d woken. Marty stretched at the foot of the bed and yawned. He looked at Sandy, as if puzzled.
There it was. A burny smell.
Sandy sat up, his pulse quickening as it always did when he smelled smoke. By the time he got sweat pants and socks pulled on, his unease turned to irritation.
Tanner had his feet on the porch rails, the orange ember of the joint glowing in the velvet night. It was strong stuff; Sandy hadn’t smelled the odor in years but he still knew cheap marijuana from good herb.
He let the screen door slam shut and enjoyed seeing Tanner jump. “Put that shit out!”
Tanner looked at him, dark eyes foggy. “I just want to relax.”
“You had six drinks at dinner and, if I remember correctly, came all over us. You’re relaxed enough.”
“Come on, man, just a smoke.”
“Put it out. Now. And flush the rest of it you’ve got with you.”
“I don’t think so.”
Sandy felt himself key up, the way he had when suspects gave him a hard time on the street or the buzz of anticipation just before a SWAT rollout. “Tanner, be reasonable. I’m a cop. You can’t do that here.”
Tanner stubbed out the joint. “I’ll flush this.”
“And your supply?”
“It’s gone. This was the last of it.”
“Are you lying to me?”
Tanner stood, his wide shoulders blocking out the ambient glow from the security light at the end of Sandy’s drive. The porch was dark, filled with Tanner: his size, his sculpted body.
His menace.
Tanner’s voice was contrite. “It’s gone. I swear.”
Inmate sincerity or truth? Sandy couldn’t tell.
“Let’s go back to sleep.”
Tanner hugged Sandy from behind and pressed a nibble on his neck. “Let’s go back to bed, at least. Never mind sleeping.”
The next day, the controlled burn went to shit at two o’clock. Sandy had two county fire trucks in place—that was standard procedure. The trainees walked the perimeter of the fire, using hand extinguishers on the few errant sparks that inevitably jumped away from the burn area. But somehow, the flames leapt over the burn line—a shallow trench that Sandy’s crew and the trainees dug the day before—and the flames began licking at the pine trees and palmettos across the path. Cheryl spotted it first. “Hey! It’s over there! We need help!”
The fire roared away from them, scorching too much, too fast. Sandy’s heart thudded as he directed the fire crew.
Don’t let it get away from them. Please.
It did.
Sandy felt panic twisting under his ribs, clenching his stomach. The woods were so dry… conditions were perfect for fire.
Goddamm perfect.
Sandy rubbed his right arm and felt his fear grip him, sharp as eagle’s talons.
Fuck.
They called in two more trucks. Sandy watched birds flap from their nests as the trucks raced into the park. Captain Stewart handed over command of the scene to the Fire Chief.
“Get another trench started,” he told them. “Fifty yards out. Go. Now!”
The trainees, the other rangers, Sandy and Stewart grabbed shovels and axes.
They spread out, ten yards apart, slogging through waist high beautyberry and palmettos. Sandy tried not to think about the rattlesnakes nesting in the bushes. He’d worn workboots, not the knee-highs. He tried to control his growing fear; facing fire was the stuff of nightmares for him.
Cheryl gave out after twenty minutes. He saw her sink to one knee, then topple to the ground, her facemask slapping against the dirt. Before he could get there, Tanner stepped into his vision. Tanner bent over the woman, big hands fumbling at her mask, then her shirt. He gathered her in his arms and rose, calling out. “Medic!”
The ambulance crew took her. Tanner turned back, gathered her pickaxe, and eyed the fire line.
Sandy went over. “What are you doing here?” Sandy heard Captain Stewart behind him.
“You know this guy?” Stewart asked.
“He’s a friend.” Sandy could hardly take his gaze off Tanner’s arms. That tank top. Damn.
“Give him some gloves. We need all hands on deck for this.”
Sandy handed over his spare gloves, watched Tanner pull them on. That crooked grin flashed even as the breeze stirred ash and smoke. “I break it with the axe, you guys follow behind with shovels, right?”
“Right.” Sandy’s chest felt wet—from the inside.
“I was never on a chain gang, but I’ve seen movies.”
“Tanner… Thanks.”
“Let’s get this fire out.”
Two hours later, it was. The fire crews used water, chemical retardant, and trenching to control the burn. Captain Stewart got them together as the fire crews left. Around them, the trees dripped water and the smell of retardant wafted over on the breeze.
Sandy’s legs trembled.
So close, so fucking close.
Tanner was covered with ash and dirt and sweat. At some point, he’d taken off his tank top and used it as a scarf. His chest hair looked gray from the ash and Sandy caught a glimpse of the man he would be at sixty—still tall, buffed with a softer edge, those eyes dark and haunted.
Behind Tanner, a pair of Fire Auxiliary volunteers slogged through the muck, carrying water bottles. These two were high school-age and they giggled, handing Tanner a bottle of water. Tanner gulped an entire bottle down as the girls watched, took a second, gulped half of that one, then tipped the bottle over his face and shoulders. The water sluiced away the ash and grit. Tired as he was, it made Sandy stir.
The girls giggled again and turned to Sandy. He took the water with a quick thanks and held Tanner’s gaze as he swallowed it down. A whiff of girlish perfume eased over him, making him want the rich smell of Tanner’s skin on him, under him.
Captain Stewart had everyone get checked by the ambulance crews. Sandy felt Tanner standing behind him, close enough for the heat of his body to warm his back. Tanner’s fingers pressed against him for a few seconds as they got jostled in line and then they were gone, leaving Sandy feeling cold.
The medics checked him over and let him go. They were in his truck when it hit, the white wash of adrenaline, like the ocean in his ears. His heart raced and spots of gold and silver flashed in his eyes. Sandy tried to stop it but his limbs twitched and shook. Stupidly, his eyes filled and he punched the wheel of the truck, its horn squealing. “Fuck!”
“Let it out.” Tanner took his right hand—Sandy’s mutilated flesh sensing only the pressure of the touch, not its specifics. “It’s okay.”
Sandy pulled his hand away. Too much. “I’ll be fine.”
They didn’t talk on the short drive to Sandy’s trailer. Tanner closed his eyes.
When they pulled into the driveway, Sandy said, “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Help, I mean.”
Tanner shrugged. “I smelled the burn when it started but once I heard the other fire engines I knew you were in… there was trouble. You okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.”
“I mean, about the fire and all. That must have freaked you out a little.” Tanner touched Sandy’s scarred arm.
“I’m fine.” Sandy sucked in deep breaths, feeling his pulse calm. He pulled away. “How about we get cleaned up?”
He let Tanner use the shower first—wanted Tanner to use it, give him some time alone. But the shakes didn’t come back. Sandy grabbed a beer and sat outside on the porch. The old plumbing knocked as Tanner turned the water on and off. Sandy was starting beer two when Tanner’s heavy footfalls rattled the floor.
The screen door closed. “All done?” Sandy’s voice wasn’t so tight now.
“I was hoping you’d join me.” Tanner snagged a beer from the six-pack sweating on the railing.
“Not in a real joining mood right now.”
“You want me to leave?” Tanner’s dark eyes narrowed.
“Not really.” Sandy sighed. “No.”
“You gotta let that stuff get through your system, you know.”
“What stuff?” Sandy waved his beer.
“The adrenaline and the panic and the fear. It’s just a physical reaction. Happens all the time after shit goes down.”
“Like you know.”
“What the fuck makes you think I don’t know?” An edge in that voice. Not the husky-sexy edge of arousal but something darker, colder.
“Never mind.”
Tanner gulped half his beer and smacked his lips. “Is there a gym around here? We can go work out.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“How about a run? Coupla miles will do us good.”
“I’m too fucking tired.”
They only slept in bed that night. Tanner curled around him and Sandy was glad to have his warmth under the covers. He felt Tanner rise early but dozed as the other man eased around the house. The smell of coffee brewing drifted in, comforting, a homey smell. He was half-awake when Tanner bent over and put a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m going for a run. Be back in a while.”
“Later.” Sandy thought about getting up but the ache of his shoulders and back reminded him of how hard he had worked the day before. He dry swallowed two aspirin and went back to sleep.
He rose at nine, called Darlene at the office and showered, grimacing at how old and decrepit he felt. He left a note for Tanner on the table—be back at five, make yourself at home—then drove his truck down the park office. There was some paperwork to deal with and Darlene handled the park’s few visitors, seeming to understand that he didn’t want to. At four, he walked the perimeter of the burn.
The ground was black and wet, still soaked from the water and fire retardant. The acrid smell of burned wood hung in the air. Ash had settled on the benches and tables, on the vegetation, all over, so that the entire area was coated in gray grime. The trees were bare to the burn line, scorched black, their bark peeling off in black chunks. Sandy crept through a stand of fallen oaks he’d visited two weeks earlier. The massive fallen oak was still there, but its limbs were stripped by the fire, any greenery gone.
He bent to the tree’s gaping roots and smelled them first. Charred flesh and fur, a sickening stench of raw death. He tugged on his gloves and reached inside.
The kits were huddled together, their noses buried in each other’s bellies as if they had tried to hide in the only safety they had ever known. Just the kits, no sign of the mother fox. Sandy’s gloved hands stroked their broken bodies. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling absurd. “I’m so so sorry.”
He knelt there in the dirt until the shadows turned the day cool and he shivered. He turned back toward the office, intending to get a shovel to bury them and it was then that he saw Tanner, standing at the tree line, watching him.
Sandy swallowed. He let the kits' bodies ease to the ground. “You ready for dinner?”
“Sure. If you want.” Tanner walked closer, eyes dark. He stood in front of Sandy for a few seconds, then put one hand on Sandy’s chest.
They pulled apart. Tanner spoke first. “You want to….?” He motioned at the kits.
“Yeah, I do.”
Tanner stood with him as Sandy buried the foxes.
Back at the cabin, Sandy grabbed a six-pack. They sat on the porch and watched the sun drop to the tree line and felt the afternoon air turned cooler. Sandy’s right arm twitched, broken nerves jumping. It happened sometimes; the ghost of his healthy arm jerking with tension. He tried to hide it.
Tanner rose and extended one hand. “Get up.”
Sandy looked at him, silent.
“I mean it, Sandy, on your feet.”
“Who the hell are you giving me orders?”
Tanner slapped Sandy’s beer away. The bottle sailed over the porch railing and landed in the marigold bed. “Move or I’ll do it for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Exactly.” Tanner grabbed Sandy’s shirt and yanked him up.
Sandy tried to push him away. Not a chance with Tanner’s size and strength. He dangled on his tiptoes for a couple of silly seconds, pushing ineffectually at Tanner’s chest. “Let go!”
Tanner aimed them toward the door. His lips were tight, brows arched down.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Tanner held Sandy with one hand and opened the door with the other. “Shut up.”
“Like hell.” The adrenaline flushed through him again, sending tingles of energy down his body. Partly sickening—too intense—partly exciting. Sandy smacked Tanner’s shoulders. “Let the fuck go. I mean it.”
Once the door slammed shut, Tanner bent and hoisted Sandy over one shoulder. A firefighter’s carry, absurd that Sandy recognized it. Disoriented, Sandy noticed the hall rug had a hole in it; the bathroom door had chew marks on its bottom. He twisted against Tanner and felt one hand clap him soundly on the ass. “Quit it!”
In the bedroom, Tanner tossed him on the bed. The old springs bounced down to the floor and Sandy lurched sideways then up, fast. His fist caught Tanner on the neck and Sandy swung the other around without thought. It glanced off Tanner’s face. No harm done.
Tanner stood still and Sandy pounded at him for a few seconds, breathing too hard, his fists stinging against Tanner’s thick chest. “Goddammit!” One fist became a flat hand and Sandy pulled back on the slap, back to himself, aware of the pain.
His pain. His fear.
Tanner looped a hand around Sandy’s neck and jerked him close. His kiss was hard, probing. Sandy wrenched him to the bed; it squeaked. Sandy ripped apart Tanner’s pants, tugging them down. Tanner was hard, wine-dark, veins a blued purple. Sandy pushed Tanner toward the headboard, fumbling at his own pants, rabid. Someone was panting like a dog.
It was him.
It only took a couple seconds to grab the lube and condom from the nightstand. Tanner met his gaze and the moment stretched out between them. Sandy’s cock bobbed upward, seeking, yearning.
“Turn over,” Sandy growled.
“Make me.”
Sandy wrenched Tanner’s shoulder, gripping it bruise-tight and pushing, pulling, over, over, over. He pinched Tanner’s bull neck and pushed.
Tanner rolled over.
Sandy slicked on the condom, fingers shaking. Tanner flinched away then pushed back. He rose higher on his knees, his voice muffled by the bed. “Get on me, Sandy. Hard.”
Sandy pressed in, pushing past the resistance. His legs trembled, his knees knocked, tethered by the pants he was too impatient to remove, but he was alight.
Oh, sweet god, yes!
The room filled with soft sounds. The wet of their skin slapping together. Sandy’s grunt with each pump. The squeak of the bed’s old springs.
Sandy rose, pulling Tanner to his knees, pushed his broad shoulders down. The squeeze around him gripped him tighter. He scraped his fingers on Tanner’s rich skin, leaving trails of red on his shoulders and back. Tanner groaned, deep as a bull.
Sandy sank his teeth Tanner’s neck, enough to mark him. His cock jerked and he spilled into the other man with a sigh.
The room quieted. Sandy realized the ceiling fan was on, its old motor grinding a little with each turn. He lay on Tanner’s back, slipping on their sweat. The sheets were grimy, filthy with the dirt on Sandy’s clothes and the ash from his skin.
The sunset gleamed into the windows, reflecting off the walls: gold, peach, orange, red. The color of fire.
© 2009 Vincent Diamond
Purchase your copy of Rough Cut: Vincent Diamond Collected by Vincent Diamond
In addition to Rough Cut: Vincent Diamond Collected (Lethe Press) Vincent Diamond and has work slated for publication in Screaming
Orgasms and Sex on the Beach and Best Gay Erotica 2009. Diamond's stories
have appeared in Country Boys, Truckers, Men
of Mystery, Best
Gay Romance 2007, Hot Cops, Love in a Lock-Up, Best
Gay Love Stories 2005 and 2006 (Alyson Publications), in the e-books Feathers, Chance Encounters, Under Arrest, and Play
Ball from Torquere
Press, and online at Fishnet, Clean Sheets and Ruthie’s
Club. Time away from the keyboard is spent riding horses, gardening,
and pondering the inestimatable beauty of tigers. There’s
more info at: www.vincentdiamond.com.
