Chapter 11 – Age 27
The grounding pressure of Tor’s hand on his hip had Jule’s lips tilting up. He had always done that when they slept. As kids sharing a small bed, it was inevitable, there wasn’t enough room for personal space. But even as the beds grew, Tor never stopped touching him while he slept.
The best time for him to consistently hit the gym was before work so Jule’s body was trained to wake up early.
He turned his head to the side and watched Tor.
It was an unusual experience because Tor was an exceptionally light sleeper so normally any sound or shift in their surroundings woke him first. His hair was cut short, a light stubble lined his jaw, and bruises in various stages of healing littered his flank.
He felt wetness in his eyes. Tor was the best man he knew.
To his core, without exception, he was brilliant and hardworking, dependable and determined, selfless and brave, and so much more.
It destroyed Jule that this was the hand life had dealt him.
“Hey.” Tor’s sleep rough voice pulled him away from his morose thoughts. “You okay?” Tor skimmed his hand down and squeezed Jule’s thigh.
“Yeah.” He nodded and swallowed down his emotions. There was no reason to bring Tor down about something neither of them could control. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Are you going to your office?”
“No.” He shook his head and turned on his side, tucking himself against Tor. “I’ll work from home today.”
“Cool.” Tor wound his arm around him, wove his fingers through Jule’s hair, and kissed his forehead. “Julie?”
“Hmm?” He pressed his face against Tor and inhaled his scent.
“I have a plan.”
Even without him saying the words, Tor had picked up on his emotions.
“I know you do,” he said, but realistically, he didn’t see what Tor could do at that point.
His father was a ticking time bomb, he had an arrest record that would block him from most legal career paths, he had been all but a ghost for his entire adult life, and those were only the things Jule knew about.
“I mean it,” Tor said, not missing the skepticism behind his words. “I need you to trust me. I have a plan and I’ll make it happen.”
“Trust has never been an issue. Not between us.” He closed his eyes and clung to Tor. “I trust you more than anyone I know, more than I trust myself.” But could that trust be enough?
“You’ll see.” Tor held him tightly, one arm around his back and the other on his head. He kissed his temple. “Come on. You have work to do and I’m going to make breakfast.”
“My fridge is empty.” He sat up and stretched his arms behind his back. “I can order in.”
“I’m familiar with the state of your kitchen so I hit the store before I got here.” Tor rose beside him. “Picked up enough shit to make breakfast at least.”
“Yeah?” He smiled and shifted close enough that their lips almost touched. “Thank you.”
Tor pressed their mouths together and rasped, “Welcome,” against his lips. He cradled Jule’s head with both hands and deepened the kiss.
“Work can wait a little longer.” Jule slipped his hand between them and cupped Tor’s package.
He felt Tor’s smile rather than seeing it. “Let’s go.”
After taking another couple of kisses, he dropped to his knees and lowered his shoulders to the bed.
Tor kept one hand on him, caressing lightly, as he reached for the lube they’d left on the nightstand.
Slick liquid drizzled over his crease and Tor pressed it into his hole.
He knelt behind Jule and flattened his palm against his back, keeping him steady. “Ready?”
He bobbed his head, face brushing against the sheets.
He was always ready for Tor, couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted him.
Tor drove into him, slow, steady, hot, right.
When he was full, he reached back blindly and grasped Tor’s hip, fingers digging into skin and muscle. “Fucking love this.”
Tor gripped his shoulder with his free hand and started pumping in earnest. In and out, dragging over pleasure receptors and rubbing against his gland, filling him up and then leaving him gaping.
Tor fucked like he did everything in life, with skill, patience, and persistence.
He was wild but also immeasurably controlled. He was perfect.
“Need to come,” Jule said breathlessly.
“I got you.” Tor slipped his forearms under Jule’s arms and wrenched him up until they were both kneeling, his back to Tor’s chest. Then he pinned his left arm around Jule, keeping him upright, and moved his right arm across Jule’s hip to his cock. “Fuck my fist while I fuck your ass.”
Nothing about Tor was flowery or sentimental and that was perfect too. Rough language, like a rough touch, set Jule on fire. He squeezed his channel, tightening his inner grip on Tor’s cock, and then did as he said and thrust into his hand.
Behind him, Tor groaned and dug his teeth into Jule’s shoulder. “God damn, Jule. Fuck.” He quickened his pace, his skin slapping against Jule’s in a sensual, rhythmic clap.
When Jule came it was with an intensity that sucked all the air from his body and left his muscles quaking. Like always, Tor led him through it, holding him tightly and soaring along with him.
“Still hungry?” Tor asked.
“No.” Jule shook his head. “That was great. Thanks for cooking.”
“Welcome.” Tor squeezed his knee and then stacked their plates and forks.
“I’m cleaning up.” Jule stood and reached for the dishes.
“You have work to get done and I don’t mind.” He leaned forward and nuzzled Jule’s neck. “I like taking care of you.”
“Well, you took care of me earlier and then again by making breakfast. If you want to do something, read this file”—he picked up his laptop from the other side of the counter and opened it while he continued speaking—“and tell me if you have an idea of how I can prove that my client is innocent.” He set the laptop in front of Tor. “I’m cleaning up.”
Whenever Tor was around, Jule talked to him about his work.
Some of that was because he enjoyed sharing every part of his life with Tor, but the first time he had done it, he realized there was another benefit.
Tor’s brilliant mind helped him think through the complexities of his cases, which in turn made him a better advocate for his clients.
“Is she actually innocent or are we looking for some bullshit people will believe?” Tor sat on a stool and pulled the laptop forward.
“I mean, bullshit is fine if I can sell it, but yeah, I actually believe her when she says she didn’t do it.” He picked up the plates and walked to the sink. “That almost never happens.”
“What’d she not do?”
“She didn’t stalk and then assault her ex-boyfriend with a knife.”
“Got it.” Tor looked intently at the screen, occasionally moving his finger over the mousepad. “What’s the story with the ex?”
“According to my client, who comes across as genuinely sincere, he became extremely overbearing to the point of controlling within months of their relationship starting so she broke up with him.”
“Uh-huh. And he didn’t like that?”
“No, he didn’t. He tried to change her mind. Used the nice guy approach first, and when that failed, he fell face first into movie creep stereotypes and told her that if he can’t have her, he would make sure nobody else would want her.”
Tor was quiet for a while, so Jule knew he was focusing on the case information. He put the dishes in the dishwasher, washed, dried, and put away the pans, and then wiped down the counter. Out of things to do, he rested his back against the sink and watched Tor work.
“The stalking is based on these emails, right?” Tor asked after a few minutes, still looking at the screen.
“Yes. You can see where she’s telling him details about places he’s been, who he was with, what he was wearing.
They almost always come in within hours of him being there.
We scoured social media and there aren’t pictures or anything posted so there shouldn’t be a way for her to have known about it. ”
Tor nodded. “And she says she didn’t send the emails,” he said more than asked.
“Exactly. How’d you know that?”
“Because she didn’t send them.” Tor looked away from the computer and at Jule.
“The prosecutor sent us those copies”—Jule pointed at the laptop as he walked toward Tor—“and the emails came from her account: Rachel M Thompkins at gmail dot com.”
“No, they didn’t.” He waited for Jule to sit beside him and then he moved the laptop in front of him. “That’s a number one not a lower case ‘L’.”
Jule frowned and leaned forward. “It is?”
“Uh-huh.” Tor nodded.
“How can you tell?”
“See the ‘L’ in gmail? It’s different from the one in Rachel. The line on top is shorter and the one at the base is longer. Someone made an email account that’s almost like hers but instead of the ‘L’ in her name, they used the number one and then they sent these emails pretending to be her.”
“Holy shit.” Jule pulled his computer closer and carefully looked at each letter with a fresh eye. “You’re right. I can make a request for the source data, not just the printouts they sent, and we’ll be able to prove that these came from another address.”
He turned to Tor, awed. “How’d you figure that out?”
“People do that shit to set up bank accounts and launder money or cash checks or take transfers that the sender thinks they’re making to a different recipient. The boyfriend just came up with a new way to use an old scam.”
Jule nodded. “You think the boyfriend did this?”
“Probably. He stabbed himself so sending some bullshit emails doesn’t seem like a stretch.”
“Tell me how you know that.”
Tor clicked through the file to the images of the stab wound.
“He was stabbed above his right hip from front to back.” He pointed at the images. “Not too deep and angled just a little down. See that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rachel’s left-handed.”
Jule nodded. “How’d you know?”
“In the pictures I saw that she wears her watch on her right wrist and that her eye makeup is applied better on her left eye.”
“Her eye makeup,” Jule repeated.
“Uh-huh. Like the mascara and shit.”