Seashores of Old Mexico Page 4

  It got to where he stopped trying to sleep solid, just caught naps on his breaks, between runs, whenever he could, waking himself up whenever the fucking dreams started.

  Eventually he’d wear himself out or make himself crazy. Either way, it would stop.

  Damn it.

  Clint rolled another keg out to Ramon, whistling along with Jimmy Buffet on the jukebox.

  “You looking worn down, kid,” Ramon said, giving him a grin and a clap on the back. “You keeping busy, eh?”

  “Yeah. Working, working.” He found a smile for Ramon, a nod. “You need anything else, man?”

  “Nah. I’m good. Go sit. You want a beer or something?”

  “No, man. I’m good.” He was going to go nap on the dock.

  “’Kay. Oh, and tell Jack we need to make an order, okay, man?” Ramon seemed to know. Like know. But he’d never made a thing about it.

  “Sure, man. I’ll tell him.” He nodded, wandered out the back to the little dock, blinking out at the ocean. Fuck, it was pretty. Like really pretty.

  “Hey.” Oh, he’d know that voice anywhere now. Jack grinned, coming up beside him, shirt hanging open. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Mmm. Hey, Mister. Ramon says you need to make an order.” He smiled, nudged Jack’s shoulder with his own. “How’s you?”

  “Not bad. Been thinking on a nap. I’ll do the order tonight.” One of Jack’s square hands brushed his ass.

  “I’m a fan.” He leaned toward the touch, wanting nothing more than to do a little more feeling and a lot less thinking.

  “Then let’s find us a place in the sun.” Grinning some more, Jack grabbed his arm and tugged.

  Clint found himself following along, heading for the sun and the sand.

  “You got a place in mind, man?” He really needed to take his boots off.

  “Yup. Got us a tree and some chairs and an umbrella drink.”

  Oh, that sounded just fine. “Yeah? You are a miracle worker.” And the best-smelling man on Earth.

  And edible.

  And amazing in the sack.

  And.

  And.

  And.

  “Am I? I just like my creature comforts, is all.” That ass was something else too. Perfectly framed by a pair of cutoffs.

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes were sorta stuck. Caught. Something. Damn.

  “Here we go.” Man, there were lounge chairs, a little table with snacks. Someone had been planning this.

  Clint looked around, just making sure they were alone, and then leaned to steal a quick grope. “It looks good, Jack. Real good.”

  Now, whether he was talking about the spread or the ass, he wasn’t sure.

  “Cool. Have a sit, honey. You look worn to the bone.” Yeah, not to mention the whole waking Jack up at night thing.

  “Oh, I’m good.” He sat, though, bones feeling heavy as hell.

  “Yeah? Well, have a drink. I think it’s got enough to make it good.” The drinks were fruity, but not too sweet, and they had a kick.

  “Mmm. That hit the spot.” Lord, his head was already swimming a little, eyes kinda unfocused and blinky.

  “Good. I’m thinking naps are in order. Wish we could curl up together, but I figure we can settle for a little looking.”

  “I… I like looking.” He blinked over, nodding a little. Lord, he was tired.

  “I do too. Sleep some, honey. I’ll watch.” Sounded like Jack almost meant he’d protect Clint from nightmares.

  “Yeah?” He pulled his hat brim down, settling in. “I didn’t do it, you know. No matter what they said. I ain’t no killer.”

  No, sir.

  He was a good man. Raised right and everything.

  POOR KID was tuckered out.

  Hell, Jack couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t been sleeping. So neither had Jack, really. A little drink, a little sun, and the kid had sacked out like a puppy after a game of catch.

  Now he was tossing and turning on the little lounge chair like to breaking it, so Jack figured it was time to move the dog and pony show to the house. ’Sides, there he could maybe make a few calls and see why the kid thought he was a killer. Or wasn’t, as the case may be.

  Jack got up and drained his drink before wandering over and tapping Clint’s shoulder.

  Clint’s eyes flew open, the kid sitting straight up with a soft little cry. “Oh. Man. I was dreaming. Hey.”

  He got a grin, a nod, the kid reaching for that wide-brimmed hat.

  “Hey. Thought we’d go get a shower and maybe nap on the bed….”

  “Yeah? Sounds good. I was baking a little.” He grinned and nodded. That farmer tan was almost gone.

  “Good for your bones. But we could eat some too.” His belly was empty as Ramon’s wallet.

  “I can make eggs, if you want.” The kid was learning and hadn’t killed them yet.

  “You bet. I’ll fry some potatoes.” They’d have food and he’d put the kid out again with a little lovin’.

  “Mmm. I love fried potatoes with a little salsa and some salt.” Clint stretched up, boots sliding on the sand.

  “Yeah. And some onion.” They would bump hips in the kitchen and chuckle a bit and have some fun. And the lines around the kid’s eyes were already fading.

  It was easy to work with Clint; the kid was just dear as fuck. Jack sorta wondered if the kid had a temper, really. God knew he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of it. Which meant whatever had happened to the kid hadn’t even been his fault, not that Jack thought so anyway.

  They got to his little house and hit the kitchen. Clint started on the eggs while he peeled potatoes. Clint began whistling, wandering away to take those boots off and put on a pair of loose shorts before coming back in.

  “Looking good, honey.” Damn, but he liked him some easy access.

  “Looking comfy, for sure. Those jeans weren’t meant for lounging on the beach.”

  “Nope. That’s why I cut mine off.” Jack pulled off his shirt. Might as well be just as comfy as the kid. Hell, he wasn’t so old that he’d lost all his tone.

  The way Clint’s eyes landed on his belly like a touch, he reckoned maybe he was doing better than that, even.

  Whistling a little himself, Jack chopped potatoes and set them to frying in oil. Good smells were really pouring off the stove, and he sniffed, happy with life in general.

  Clint’s hands brushed his butt, and then he got a sweet look as Clint bent in front of the fridge. “Do we still have sausage?”

  “Sure. It’s on the top shelf in back.” They’d have a breakfast feast for supper. That kinda felt decadent.

  “Cool.” Before he knew it, they had eggs and tortillas, potatoes and sausage and salsa. Damn, it looked good.

  They dug in, just happy and quiet, and he was glad to see the kid enjoying it so. Enjoying him and his company. Damn. He was really getting attached to this one. One foot reached out, brushed his ankle, just barely teasing him.

  “Oh, playing footsie, huh?” He tickled Clint’s arch with his toes.

  Clint jerked and laughed, eyes lighting up. “Uh-huh.”

  “I can play.” His toes walked up Clint’s bare leg, and he even got them closed around some leg hair.

  That laugh got louder, Clint sticking his tongue out. “No hair pulling, now. That’s cheating!”

  “All’s fair, honey.” Patting his belly, Jack leaned back and groaned. “Yeah, I needed that.”

  Clint’s eyes were fastened to his stomach, tongue wetting those pretty lips. “Uh-huh.”

  “You like what you see, honey?” He stretched, hoping his belly was rippling a little.

  “Fuck, yes.” Clint leaned right over, then sorta toppled, kneeling between his thighs, tongue on his belly.

  “Oh damn. Yeah.” That felt really good. Made him shiver, made his cock go sproing.

  “Uh-huh.” Clint’s mouth was hotter than the hinges of hell, tugging the hair on his belly as it went by.

  “Honey. Please.” He wiggled, loving the f
eel of a hot mouth on his hotter skin. Jack needed more, and he popped the button on his cutoffs and opened his zipper.

  Clint nodded, mouth slip-sliding down toward Jack’s cock, lips soft as hell on his skin.

  “Oh God.” Arching up, he pushed his cock up, the wetness of Clint’s tongue making him groan.

  That pointed chin dipped, lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking, just slow and steady enough to drive him out of his mind.

  “Lord.” That was…. Yeah. He got his hands in Clint’s hair, not pushing, just massaging that sweet scalp, letting himself feel. He figured the kid was the most patient, most focused person on earth and was dead set on making him crazy. Every inch of his cock was explored, licked, and nuzzled, the pressure and heat just something.

  “Clint, honey. I’m…. Yeah. I need….” More. He needed more. Right now, right now. That callused hand slid into his shorts, cupped and rolled his balls.

  “Oh Jesus Lord.” That touch had him grunting, panting, trying to get more. So sensitive there. Clint moaned around his cock, fingers squeezing a little harder, reaching to stroke that tender skin behind.

  “Shit!” That did it. He came hard, his whole body shaking, his hands clenching and unclenching. He got sucked right in, Clint swallowing him down, throat working.

  “Oh, honey. Damn. Good.” He was melted. Just gone. Clint nodded, cheek on his belly, tongue just brushing the tip of his prick. He shivered. “I think…. What were we doing?” He’d completely lost track. Had they eaten? Was it time for a shower? It was hell getting old.

  Those pretty, tired eyes blinked up at him. “Shower and a nap, yeah? I’m tuckered.”

  “You good?” He stroked Clint’s hair, just aching for the kid. He knew the fear that had been driving him, knew how it came back to haunt you at the weirdest times.

  “Yeah. Yeah, Jack. You wanna lay down with me?”

  “You know it. I’m pooped.” All that alcohol and food and sun… yeah, he could sleep some more. “Come on.”

  Clint stood up, swaying and nodding. “I’m right behind you.”

  He put an arm around the kid and helped him into the bedroom, getting him comfy before curling up on the bed too. “We’ll shower when we get up. ’Kay? Sleep now.”

  “Yeah.” One hand landed on his belly, solid and warm and steady. The kid was breathing slow and easy before his muscles stopped quivering from the touch. Jack figured Clint might sleep a while now. And that was good enough for him to drop off with a smile on his face.

  Chapter Five

  “GRINGO, YOU need to run up and get Dos Equis, sí? I’m needing.” Clint nodded to Ramon and ran out to fetch some. Man, he and Jack’d got to fooling around last night, and he was feeling it today, feeling stretched and pulled in places he’d never been touched before.

  Just the memory of it was enough to make him ache a little, make his used-up Johnson throb and jerk in his jeans. It’d been sweet as anything, Jack touching him, fingers slick and sliding while that mustache tickled his throat.

  When he’d finally asked for it, begged for what he needed Jack to give him, Clint’d known he was lost and happy for it. Damn.

  Just, damn.

  He shook his head at himself, rolling the keg toward the door when he heard Ramon’s voice, real loud, the jukebox fallen silent. “…Kid? No, man, we ain’t got no kid here.”

  “Sir, he’s wanted for questioning in regards to a murder in Dallas.”

  “What them crazy Tejanos do, don’t surprise me none. Does it you, boys?” He could hear the answers; he knew those voices. Those were his friends.

  “Look, we’re not trying to start trouble. We have the full cooperation of the Mexican authorities, and we know for a fact he’s been seen here.”

  Oh. Oh shit. Oh God. Please. He put the keg down against the back of the door, quiet as he could.

  “My boss, he’s up in the office, man, but I tell you, we got people that comes and goes all the damn time. We ain’t got no murderers here.”

  “Well, I’d hate to cause trouble with your boss, man. Maybe we ought to talk with him?”

  Shit. Shit, he knew well enough that Jack wasn’t a stranger to the whole police thing. Wasn’t in a position to get in trouble for the likes of him, whether or not Jack was a little fond of his ass.

  Okay. Okay. Time to hustle. Time to take your trouble away from folks that you care for.

  He said a little prayer of thanks to Ramon—both for warning him and delaying them—and sprinted for the house, boots slip-sliding on the sand. He didn’t take anything but his shirts and the little bit he’d saved up. He wasn’t a thief, and he didn’t want Jack to believe he was.

  Clint popped his hat on his head and looked around, trying to figure out where a safe place to leave a note was. He finally settled on sticking one on the inside of Jack’s hat brim. Jack never went long without it.

  J.

  You know by now why I have to go. I swear to God, I didn’t do nothing wrong. I wouldn’t’ve stayed and stuff if I was a bad man.

  Wish it coulda been longer. Gonna miss you bad.

  Love. C.

  Then he was out of there, running along the coast where the waves would wash his tracks out. When he got a good ways away, he stopped and looked back over the sand, over the water to where that ugly pink neon sign was shining. He’d thought leaving Texas had been hard.

  It weren’t nothing to leaving his home.

  He didn’t cry, because, goddamn it, he wasn’t a boy no more. Not any bit of him. But he wanted to, and the hurt of it lingered.

  Chapter Six

  JESUS, HE was dead tired.

  Clint stumbled along the side of the road, whistling to himself, trying to seem like he was supposed to be wherever the fuck he was.

  He’d found himself work doing tire retreads and shit. It was fucking hard on the hands.

  The back.

  The calves.

  Hell, it was just hard.

  Still, it kept him in tortillas. And it kept him in his little roach-infested room too, with the peeling walls. He missed Jack’s bungalow like a lost tooth, missed the hammock and the big bed and the bright beachside view.

  Who was he kidding? He missed Jack. He was neck-deep in trouble, wanted for murder, and hiding out in Mexico, but damn. When he dreamed these days, he dreamed about those laughing eyes.

  Clint headed up the rickety stairs, not touching the wall or the railing.

  A shadowy figure stepped right out on the landing when he got up there, making his heart jump in his chest. But he soon figured out he knew that Stetson and that lean body.

  Jack.

  “Hey.” His hands reached out before he even thought. Please be real. Please.

  “Hey.” Jack took his hand, warm, callused skin enveloping his. “Hey, honey.”

  Clint’s eyes actually closed a little. Oh Christ, that was good. “How… how you been?”

  I missed you.

  “Been looking. Led me on quite a chase, kid.” Jack squeezed his hand. “I got a room at the Hotel Blue Sands or some shit. Wanna come?”

  “You know it.” Even if it was just tonight, he wanted.

  “Well, come on, then.” Jack tugged him back down those nasty stairs, right out to where a very familiar old truck sat in the lot.

  Clint didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just followed along, let Jack get him in the truck and start driving. The little tape player had Willie Nelson in it, which told him a lot about how Jack had been feeling on the way down. Jack hummed along, taking it nice and slow, and it seemed like a hundred years to the hotel.

  The whole time, he held on to Jack’s hand like it was a fucking lifeline.

  Shit, maybe it was.

  They got into Jack’s room, and the man still didn’t say nothin’. Jack just grabbed him and kissed him, lips pressing against his like to bruise him for days. Hell, yes. He pushed right into Jack’s arms, hands flattened against Jack’s spine to hold him close. Yes. Ye
s, please. Jack tasted so goddamn good. Jack cupped his ass, pulling him up closer and closer, trying to crawl into him was what it felt like. The man just ate him right up, tongue pushing into his mouth. Giving as good as he got, Clint opened up, sucking Jack’s tongue just like he’d suck that heavy cock. He rocked closer, hips jerking and rolling, trying to find a rhythm and the perfect spot, the right friction.

  “Fuck, honey.” Jack was panting when they broke the kiss, moving against him desperately. “Need you so bad.”

  “God, yes. Missed you fierce.” He nodded, hands sliding around to work Jack’s jeans open.

  “Uh-huh.” Jack’s hands slid into his jeans from the back, the waistband all loose now so Jack could get right to skin. He sucked in and spread, ass pushing right back into the touch and making offers. “Mmm.” The man just purred, sliding his jeans right down without undoing them and pressing those hands flat on his skinny butt.

  It was a little more work on his part, then they were both naked from waist to knees, jeans caught on their boots, and it didn’t matter, because, oh.

  Damn.

  Hell, yes.

  They fit so good. He’d almost made himself forget how good. Jack’s cock brushed his, the heat making him shudder.

  “Want.” His hand wrapped around both of them, holding them together and that was it. That was what he needed. Now. They went with it, just rocking like an old porch swing, loving on each other. Jack kissed him like a starving man. Clint was going to go off like a short-fuse bottle rocket. He’d needed this worse than damn near anything.

  “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” Jack’s hand closed around his, pulling at them, giving him that much more friction.

  “I…. Jack.” He had all sorts of shit to say and not one fucking word as his balls went tight.

  “Hush and come for me, honey. I been needing you.” He could feel Jack rock up, that cock throbbing against his like there was no tomorrow, like Jack had to come or die.

  That was all he needed—his head snapped back and he shot, the edges of the room graying out a little.