Prologue #2
“Huh?” Andrew blinked at him, as if realizing he’d been staring, and quickly glanced at his phone, while the wine was already half gone in his mug. He frowned at what might have been a text message. “That’s none of your business.”
“Just thought you seemed a little on edge given the time of year.”
“You broke into my house,” Andrew bit back, eyes drifting down Isaac’s body again, which Isaac was taking his time covering with the sweats and T-shirt.
If Andrew was straight, the increasing scarlet to his cheeks said he was at least curious.
“You were the only option available. And I did say thank you.” Isaac made a show of dragging a hand down his chest as he slowly lowered the T-shirt. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, but the time in prison had tightened his physique nicely. “Unless you’d like me to show my gratitude some other way.”
Andrew took another gulp of wine. “That hard up after eighteen months? Or did your face get you plenty of attention?”
“Are you calling me pretty? How sweet.” Isaac ignored the jab, taking a slow sip from his crystal, because hard up was right; he didn’t bend over for just anyone, not even in lockup.
They both still stood with all the baggage between them littered at Isaac’s feet, as the last of Andrew’s wine tipped down his throat, and he grabbed the bottle from the coffee table.
“Are you going to pick up your mess?”
Isaac did, setting it all in a neat pile in the opposite corner from the Christmas tree with his shoes on top.
Andrew had finally settled on the sofa, and Isaac felt his eyes on him the entire time.
The wine was keeping Andrew’s cheeks flush, but also loosening his restraint.
This was a very dangerous game now, but Isaac did so love to spar when his opponent was worthy.
He joined Andrew on the sofa, right next to him, pushing their boundaries as much as he dared.
He had Andrew’s word that his brother would help him get a deal.
Andrew was a good sort; he wouldn’t lie.
All Isaac had to do was show up at the precinct tomorrow.
He might go back to prison, but hopefully only until his release date.
Holding his glass out, Isaac was pleasantly surprised when Andrew brought his forward to clink. “You have good taste.” Isaac nodded to the wine, and then at the nearest bookshelf. “The music surprised me though. Why have records you hate?”
“They were my mother’s too.”
“Did she recently—”
“Five years ago. It’s fine. I like this album better.”
“Not a Duke Ellington fan, or not a jazz fan?”
“This isn’t a social call, Ford.”
“No? And here I thought we had wine at Christmas.” Isaac grinned around his next sip.
“I prefer a singer to be the focus,” Andrew gave in. “Instrumental bores me.”
“Even when it’s talented?”
“Talented noise maybe.”
Isaac clucked his tongue. “You are making it very difficult to keep liking you.”
There was that blush again. “I never get you, Ford. You’re smart, skilled, refined even, but you’ve been a thief all your life. Why?”
“Not admitting I’ve ever stolen more than my conviction implied,” Isaac said with a grin that Andrew rolled his eyes at, “but we don’t all have pleasant suburban upbringings to tout.”
“That’s not fair. You’re just passing the buck for your own choices.”
“You might see it that way. Maybe I just like a challenge.” He caught Andrew’s gaze and slowly cast his eyes downward to show that he was taking in every inch of the former detective lounging on his sofa.
“You couldn’t handle me,” Andrew said with a swallow.
“Is that an offer to try?”
Andrew pounced, barely getting both their glasses safely onto the coffee table before he pinned Isaac back against the cushions. He pressed one palm to his shoulder and the other to the base of his throat as if holding him captive.
The heat in his gaze made Isaac tremble again, rendered immobile beneath him with how hot that show of strength had been, but when he merely kept staring, like he wasn’t sure what to do next, Isaac grasped the hand on his throat and moved it up to wrap around his neck properly.
“Do you want to punish me, Andrew?”
Andrew jerked his hand down. He must not like his darker side, but Isaac wanted to know it better.
“It’s okay,” Isaac said, slowly retrieving Andrew’s hand to bring it up again. “I broke into your home. Why don’t you punish me for it?”
“A criminal who likes to be punished…?”
“With the right partner.”
Isaac liked to be in control too, but finding balance was a rare treat, someone he could rail against and conquer, while also feeling completely comfortable letting them dominate him.
“Go on,” he urged, spreading his legs to box Andrew between his thighs. “Punish me.”
“You’re sick.”
“I prefer eccentric.”
Andrew laughed, but it was more like an exhale of desperation. Gradually, he tightened his hold on Isaac’s neck, until Isaac had to tilt his head back to get in enough air, but never once did he believe Andrew would push things too far.
He stroked his thumb down Isaac’s pulse point. “What if… what if I told you to suck my cock?”
Oh, Isaac could get used to this side of his sweet nemesis. “I’m at your mercy, Andrew. What else could I do but obey?”
Andrew surged downward, claiming Isaac’s lips in a feral kiss.
The fruity taste of the wine buzzed between their mouths, their growing erections distinct through the thin fabric separating them.
Andrew ground down into Isaac brazenly, his hand remaining on Isaac’s throat, squeezing lightly to keep him pinned.
When he released him, it was to sit up and yank his sweats down his thighs. He crawled up Isaac’s body to present his cock—good sized, cut, shaved. If Isaac had died in that prison break and this was heaven, he’d gladly stay here.
He swallowed Andrew’s cock with a glad hum.
Canting wantonly between his lips, Andrew grabbed the arm and back of the sofa to keep steady.
He’d drank a good amount of wine in short order, but Isaac knew he was in control, however uninhibited.
Isaac sucked and licked and let Andrew fuck his mouth, until he needed a break for air, digging tightly into Andrew’s thighs to express it.
Andrew let up, flushed as he offered reprieve, but looking for one brief moment like reality was crashing down on him and he might scramble away.
Isaac licked his head and sucked the tip back in to keep him where he was. “I deserve everything you want to do to me, but don’t I also deserve something for my troubles?” He licked again, and then bobbed forward, taking Andrew in deep.
The hesitation faded from Andrew’s eyes, and he clutched the upholstery of the sofa with a faint sound of ripping. As soon as Isaac pulled off, Andrew shifted back in line with his body and wrenched Isaac's pants down too, rekindling their grinding with a slick, hot slide of flesh.
“Fuck…” Andrew panted.
“You feel—”
“Shut up.” He silenced Isaac with another kiss, returning his hand to Isaac’s throat and squeezing again as he dictated the meeting of their tongues and rhythm of their hips.
Tilting his head back like before, Isaac sucked in air through his nose and bucked up harder. He otherwise laid lax, letting Andrew do whatever he wanted.
Their rhythm increased to frantic, messy rutting and occasional wet kisses or harder and then lighter pressure on Isaac’s throat.
The wine they’d drank kept them both hard far longer than Isaac thought he’d last, but he still finished first with a choked cry behind Andrew’s grip, letting Andrew thrust into the mess left behind until he was satisfied too.
They panted loudly in the aftermath amidst the mostly forgotten music, sticky and sweaty, with Andrew’s arms quaking between them.
Isaac patted the hand now loosely spread across his throat. “Be a good boy... and go find us something to clean up.”
Andrew groaned, dragging his hands with him as he sat back. “You are a colossal dick.”
“Yours isn’t bad either.”
Swinging up off the sofa, Andrew groaned again, walking on unsteady feet, and then gave up and kicked his sweatpants away to head into the kitchen.
He could have been a shit and not brought back any paper towels for Isaac, but he did.
“Thanks.”
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
“I’d say it was my devilish charms but were there perhaps… extenuating circumstances?”
Andrew didn’t say anything, but as he tossed the dirty towels into a nearby wastebasket filled with Christmas wrapping scraps and ribbon pieces, his scowl remained.
“Let me guess,” Isaac said, as they both pulled on their sweatpants, Isaac staying on the sofa, while Andrew segregated himself to the armchair. “Miss Park doesn’t like it rough?”
“That had nothing to do with it,” Andrew snarled. “I've never... done anything like that before.”
“Aren’t I lucky then? You know, they say people who are habitually in charge like being submissive on occasion to give themselves a break.
And those robbed of agency—such as a detective always answering to a higher power with expectations weighing on his shoulders—enjoy being dominant to feel a sense of control.
“Now, that's generalizing, but tell me, Andrew... did I hit the nail on the head?”
“Fuck you,” Andrew snapped.
“Fuck me yourself. The night’s still young.”
Andrew lurched up out of the armchair. “Not for me. Don’t leave. You can sleep on the sofa. Extra blankets are in the chest by the fireplace. We’ll go to the station in the morning.” He circled behind the sofa to head upstairs.
“No goodnight kiss?” Isaac called after him.
Having reached the banister, Andrew curled his hand angrily around the post, his eyes flashing darkly in warning. “You know what makes you such a bad criminal?”
Isaac glowered. He was an excellent criminal.
“You don’t want to be the bad guy. You just want to have a good time. Anywhere you can get it.”
Those parting words left a nasty taste in Isaac’s mouth, and he laid in the light of the Christmas tree long after all other lights had been turned off.
He’d been a street kid, a lifelong thief and grifter, with no family, few friends, and fewer prospects outside his next heist, but Andrew had no idea how wrong he was about ‘Anywhere you can get it’.
He was picky to a fault, and maybe that’s what tonight had been.
If Isaac didn’t go to the station tomorrow, he’d have to leave town, maybe for good, but he couldn’t sleep here. There was a safe house he could go to. He’d chosen Andrew instead for the chance at freedom. Now, he wasn’t as sure.
Making up his mind, he left a note, taking his shoes and jacket but abandoning the jumpsuit.
Check with your brother. If I decide to make good on our promise, he’ll know.
Andrew’s words still echoed in Isaac’s mind as he entered the safe house through a side door. Maybe that was what caused him to be less vigilant, because it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t alone.
There was a light on. No ambush then, if the person was announcing their presence, but it couldn’t be any of his usual partners in crime—they would have met him at the door—which meant someone was poking around where they didn’t belong, and Isaac was not in a mood to play nice.
“I’m unarmed!” Hands shot for the ceiling when Isaac burst around the corner, which was good, because Isaac wasn’t armed either.
“Who are you?” he demanded, searching the young and unfamiliar face.
Except the eyes. Isaac knew those eyes…
“I just—”
“How’d you get in here?”
“Luke! From the bar down the street! I saw the prison break on the news. He said you sometimes come here, had a key—”
“Luke isn’t a rat, so if you’ve done something to him—”
“No!” He looked like a teenager, maybe early twenties, and was dressed like some prep school kid, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
Good looking, black coils of hair, dark skin.
But blue eyes, strikingly blue.
“Luke was kind of scary actually, but when I explained who I was, once I proved it, he told me this address and said I could figure out the rest for myself.”
“And who are you that he’d be so accommodating?” Isaac held his ground, but the young man relaxed, dropped his hands, and shrugged.
“Your son.”