Snow Day 3

Warning for adult content /adult situations and language---sort of “G” rated, but I figure I better let you all know….

previously :  (Joe)  We played hockey....I guess I’m part of the gang now. That’s a good thing, right?

Chapter 8 ~ Night 2

Joe 

 We played poker again. And the guys lost again. I still wasn’t sure what the deal was---Ranger seemed distracted, Stewart just erratic. He’d play great, then poof, lose everything.

After about an hour I was up almost $500, even with the low stakes that Anthony called. Halfway through a hand, one of his phones rang. He said, “I gotta take this.”

 And got up, saying Ciao and speaking French. He looked back at us and said, “Momentito….Excuse me….” Walked away into the office or library. He didn’t close the door and we could hear him still speaking French, using his neutral banker's voice. Maybe it was too hard to do his stoner persona in the other language. Or maybe the call was business. Presumably Ranger understood the conversation, but he showed no awareness or interest.

I got up and got us more beers then took a break for a pit stop.

I came back from the bathroom just as Anthony finished his call and walked into the big open living room. He said, “A la matin---ici…” Then, “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Ciao.”

Guess the caller was bilingual.

Anthony walked towards the sofa, then he stopped short, tipped his head, made an Aw isn’t that cute face, smiling a little.

Ranger, true to habit, had immediately fallen asleep. Both he and Stewart apparently could fall asleep almost instantly, it was their spec ops military training, I assumed. Ranger was slouched on the sofa, sitting up, arms folded, legs stretched out under the coffee table. Eyes closed, face peaceful.  Needless to say, Ranger did not snore or even have his mouth open. He just looked----shut off.

Stewart walked over to Ranger, and very carefully grabbed his shoulder, pulling Ranger forward. Surprisingly Ranger didn’t totally wake up and he leaned forward enough for Anthony to remove the large black gun from his lower back. Anthony put the gun under the pillow and with his other hand pulled off Ranger’s heavy sweater.

He nudged him some more, maneuvering Ranger into lying down, then he carefully tucked him up under the down comforter that he himself had used the day before.

Anthony glanced at me and said, “Guess Ranger folded his hand.”

I said, “Okay.” Picked up my cards.

Anthony said, “What.”

“Uh…,'' I mumbled, glancing at the sleeping man.

Stewart, unconsciously repeating my thought from this morning at the pool, said, “He‘s like the Energizer Bunny, he just goes on and on and on, but finally even Ranger has to sleep, man, let it go.”

Stewart sat down on the sofa with Ranger, again nudging the other man to make room for himself. Ranger mumbled what sounded like a curse in Spanish but turned on his side with his back to us to make room. Anthony parked his butt in the space by Ranger’s knees and reached for his cards.

I said, “Don’t you ever worry that you’ll startle him and he’ll kill you?”

“Um. No.” Innocent big brown eyes stared at me, totally clueless. As if Ranger could not possibly do such a thing. After a pause Anthony added, “He loves me, he’d never hurt me. You wanna play cards or what, man.”

We played some more poker, Stewart kept losing. I wasn’t as intimidated by him as by Ranger so I asked, “How come you’re such a piss poor poker player?”

Stewart smiled his authentic nice smile. He said, “I count the cards, I have this memory thing, total recall. So when I play I am like cheating even though I don’t mean to cheat. So I uh compensate, to make it fair to you.”

“Overcompensate?” I asked.

“Naw.”

I said, “I can’t do this, it’s ridiculous. I’m gonna shower.”

Stewart shrugged. “Okay, dude, but you know, like, take the money and run, why the fuck not?” And he handed me the cash that he and Ranger had lost again this evening.

I stared at him then pocketed the money. Shit, I could use it, right?

…………….

After I showered I went back into the silent living room to check the fire----and, okay, to check on Ranger.  He seemed so exhausted and I had forgotten that he had been seriously injured recently, shot by that madman Scrog. Anthony was back in the library, I could hear his low voice speaking yet another foreign language. This time he had closed the door almost entirely; it was only open maybe six inches, just enough for me to discern his presence in the other room.

I looked at Ranger who had turned onto his back and was still sleeping. Unlike this morning he did not instantly wake up, his subconscious must have allotted the watch to his friend, maybe that was even the reason that Stewart left the door ajar, so Ranger, in his sleep, would on some level be aware that Anthony was on the job.

I sat down in the big leather chair, for once just taking a good long look at Ranger, finally seeing the man, not the thug, not the mercenary, not the annoying sexual predator who had stolen my girlfriend. Not my rival, not my nemesis. I saw instead a regular guy, asleep on the sofa in front of the fire. No wonder Anthony had made the “cute” face.

Ranger slept peacefully, looking handsome and harmless. When he was asleep, the badass vibe was extinguished and I could see how young and perfect he looked. The constant threat of violence and danger that simmered just below  the man’s surface calm was distracting. Probably deliberately so, I thought, as I scrutinized my rival’s face, assessing the other man dispassionately. The truth is---Ranger’s appearance is unusual and exotic in the extreme. Asleep he is so beautiful that there really isn’t a sense of seeing a man or a woman, just the aspect of something strange and fantastic, something so beautiful it wasn’t quite of this world.

His eyelashes were dark crescents against his high cheekbones. He had no scars or facial damage despite his hardass, hardcore lifestyle---no one had ever marked Ranger’s face in a fight, not even a broken nose. He had light stubble darkening his already Latino complexion but his skin was smooth and satiny, a flawless light brown. Not a swarthy olive like my own Mediterranean coloring--- no,  Ranger was more a café au lait, heavy on the cream. His very dark hair was cut quite short but it too was beautiful, falling silky black across his forehead.

I sighed, then yawned, trying to come to terms with the idea of sexual ambiguity, because now that I looked and let myself see, I knew that Ranger was more beautiful than any woman I had ever known, more beautiful than Stephanie, even. I heard myself thinking beautiful , beautiful---but there is no other word for it, handsome wasn’t enough. And hot was just a given.

And despite the obvious fatigue, the deep sleep, the sudden vulnerability, Ranger still exuded an aura of strength and power. Perhaps the intrinsic base of his power was his beauty, his perfection. It ---he---was ----oh god…omigod.

I felt a sudden warmth, a tightening. What might it be like to touch all that brown satiny skin, to kiss the soft mouth, slide the silky black hair through my fingers. I’d love to lick that lower lip, Ranger had a wonderful mouth, wide, generous, with a full lower lip that begged to be –uh—sucked on. Feel it open under mine, feel it on---me.

I jerked awake with a start. What the fuck! I’d been having erotic fantasies about Ranger Manoso. Geez!

….    ….    …

Ranger opened his eyes and stared at me, no expression. He was instantly awake, aware. But this time he did not morph into his Latino thug self, his face stayed calm and pure, his eyes dense, black.

I stared back at him, shocked, unable to hide my arousal, my eyes surely just as dark and hot with forbidden lust.

And I hoped to hell that Ranger was not reading my mind right now. Or if he did, Ranger would not reach under the pillow for his Glock and shoot me.

After a few tense seconds, Ranger’s eyes widened a fraction and an almost-smile spread across his face. He made a come here gesture with his finger and sat up to make room for me. And I, as if hypnotized, got up from the chair and moved to sit by Ranger. I sat, I forced myself to meet Ranger’s eyes and saw they still held the echo of his smile---acceptance, not derision. I could feel the heat from Ranger’s body, smell the oddly familiar scent of the shower gel that I had found in the bathroom. I could sense the other man’s power, the sexual magnetism.

Ranger’s eyes dropped from my eyes to my mouth, then flicked down my body, tacitly acknowledging  my arousal. My face flamed with sudden shame but Ranger just tipped his head a bit in question,

?

But I had no answer, maybe not even any coherent thought to offer.

After a long pause where I sat there, unwilling---or unable---make a move, Ranger slowly reached out, giving me plenty of time to freak out and run away---he reached out and touched my face, ran his hand through my hair, gently cupping the back of my neck. He didn’t hold me or force me, he just slowly leaned in and brushed his mouth across my mouth. Paused. When I gasped, Ranger deepened the kiss, parting my lips more and slipping his tongue into my mouth. The kiss was deep and hot and wet and passionate. Lost and mindless I didn’t fight Ranger; instead----with hesitation--- I let myself do more. More than just acquiesce.

 I responded with hunger and excitement.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. I had never kissed a man before, not in a sexual manner like this, maybe not at all. Had I ever kissed my father, my brothers? No…..

Ranger’s mouth was soft but hard, his face just slightly rough with the day’s beard growth. Other than that, the kiss could have been with anyone, a woman, whatever. My hands slipped under Ranger’s t-shirt, holding him, feeling the hard muscles that rippled in the younger man’s back. Ranger’s skin felt amazing, sensual, indescribable---like hot silk velvet. The sensation of touching him was overwhelming.

I felt like I was losing my grip, I was rock hard with desire and woozy with passion.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Ranger drew back very slowly. I was breathing hard, striving for control, for sanity. I  thought, Is this what Stephanie feels when he kisses her? No wonder she left me for him, for this.

In a fog of sensation, I  reached out and caressed the beautiful face that was still only inches from my own my eyes, searching his for clues, for answers, for reality. My eyes lost in his, my hands slipped down his body. I fumbled at the top button of his jeans.

And Ranger looked nothing, blank.

I suddenly understood that his emotions were not at all involved here. He was just here for the ride, he’d offer his wonderful body but his heart, if he had one, was somewhere else. Ranger was used to being wanted, to being desired. Ranger was used to people wanting to touch him, wanting to take him, wanting to fuck him. Ranger didn’t care, he wasn’t offended
---he was just indifferent. After all, he had probably looked like this his entire life.

I forced myself to  move away a little, rubbed my hands over my face. I said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, “ said Ranger softly.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Ranger, I do. I never ever imagined I’d want to fuck a guy, but, yeah I do. Oh god, I want you. You are so fucking hot….”

?

“But you—you just tolerate it.”

Tiny shrug.

“What, Ranger? Talk to me.”

Ranger struggled to find the couple words that would explain him to the other guy. He said, “Everyone wants to fuck me.” It was said with resignation and acceptance, not ego or  vanity.

I frowned. “Isn’t that really hard, Ranger? So to speak….” We  both smiled a little at the unwitting pun. I added carefully, “Did people try to seduce you even when you were little? When you were a child? When you were a kid in the army? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Do I look like a victim to you, Morelli. Get real.”

And just like that, badass Ranger was back. Interlude over, maybe never even happened.

Anthony chose that moment to appear, rambling to Ranger about the price of something---gold? ---on the foreign commodities market. Ranger focused, nodded.

I went to bed.

….    ….    ….    …..

Chapter 9  - Still Night 2

Ranger

What, you thought I was here but had no thoughts or opinions?  Just because I like to keep a low profile, I like quiet, because I have the self-discipline to remove myself emotionally and observe and assess, you thought I wasn’t really present, not in the moment, so to speak?

Never underestimate.

Our second night at the cabin in Idaho, third night on this job. We’re playing cards, both me and Antonio tryin' real hard not to fleece Morelli. In some ways it’s harder to appear to lose than it is to win.

We were hampered in completing the job by the heavy snow. Today the electricity was restored and Antonio was working the phones, trying to keep up with his, uh—day job. Just now  he excused himself and wandered off, speaking to someone in Geneva about buying gold on the Tokyo commods market.

I don’t mind some of the banking shit but I don’t know how he can bear to do this day to day stuff, moving his dollars, well, mine too. But still.

Morelli goes to get us more beers and I close my eyes, I’m really tired. Yeah I know I work too hard, too many hours, whatever. And my shoulder with the steel pins hurts in this cold weather, plus I went down hard, on that shoulder, when Anthony shoved me out of the way of the idiot shooter yesterday. Scrog’s little souvenir he left me, along with the memories, the taste of fear. I guess I drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, I can hear Antonio talking to someone in Japanese and I can see Morelli sitting and watching me.

Uh.

Morelli is an okay guy when he is not around Steph. He’s a good cop, honest, tries hard and so on. To an extent, he makes up for his lack of education and special training with hard work, tenacity and a kind of blue-collar intelligence. His greatest flaw---well, besides the hair-trigger temper and loud mouth--- is his lack of intuitiveness and empathy, but he’s methodical and gets results. He’s a few years older than I am, mid-thirties maybe? Guess that’s why he is so into getting married, settling down. Tick-tock.

Right now though he’s not thinking about Steph or marriage or whatever, he is thinking about how much he’d like to fuck me.

Something about me---my looks, my appearance? my friggin’ aura?---tends to be very appealing sexually. Both men and women desire me---people stop and stare, I swear to God---they do. Is that rude or what? I try to do the low profile thing, wear sunglasses, channel my inner thug and so on, but what can I say. And after so many years I am inured to it, the avid look of hunger on a person’s face, the moment they stop seeing a thug, a badass---a person--- and they start thinking about what it would be like to touch me, feel me, fuck me. I guess it’s okay, I’m used to it.

I don’t let it bother me.

But here and now, Morelli. He’s having a revelation, a sudden realization. I watch him, reading his vibe. He has never had a bisexual experience, maybe has never done a threesome. At least not with another man, maybe he did with girls, women, whatever. He was in the navy after all, they ship out to places where you can get about any kind of sex you want. A threesome would be tame.

Well, but right now, he wants me. <sigh> I motion him over to the sofa and he comes to me, moving like he is in a daze. When he is sitting next to me, I search his eyes. They are saying yes…please, yes.

Morelli is fairly attractive, though not much my type. If I were to have sex with a man I would prefer it to be a close friend---Tank or Lester, maybe. Although Lester is my cousin, does that make it a no-no? Who knows, who cares. Fun but no strings. And I love them, which is important to me. I push aside any thoughts of Stephanie, the situation seems so outside her life or world…but I would never betray her regardless.

Now, moving slowly, in case he freaks on me, I lean in and kiss Morelli. He gasps, then responds and we deepen the kiss. His hands, hesitant then eager, caress me under my t-shirt. (Hmmm, where’s my sweater? Antonio must of undressed me….) His hands are warm, his touch is gentle. I feel mildly pleased that he is taking pleasure in my body. And equally mildly I feel somewhat regretful that he is afraid of me. Not a sexual fear, no, he is afraid I might kill him. So silly. I refocus on the kiss, deeper, demanding, keeping an ear open towards my friend on the phone. I won’t mind if Anthony walks in on this little scene but Joe will go nuts, he’d be so mortified.

The kiss is okay. Whatever. I can sense the other man’s arousal, the heady sexual rush of the unknown, the forbidden, exponentially vibed with the thrill of possessing my body. Possessing me, Ranger Manoso, as Joe thinks of me. I catch a specific thought, Morelli thinks that my body is as beautiful as my face, he loves how my flesh feels under his palms. Unh. See, I told you! Morelli's hands slide around to my chest, his fingertips brush my nipples, caress the planes of my abs, then touch my jeans. He fumbles at my waistband for a second, but then he draws away. Looks like he suddenly popped out of his fog. Oooops. I expect him to get angry, to blame me, but he doesn’t. He is---nice. Caring. Concerned.

I don’t think he gets it though, he doesn’t understand. Well, how could he? He’s Joe Morelli, whitebread Italian cop from the burg. Funny about the whitebread thought though, I’m amused even as I think it----his skin is dusky olive, his late night beard growth heavy, rough on my face when we kissed. His dark hair is thick and shaggy--- wavy, not really curly. He is darker than I am actually, my coloring is warmer, more Spanish, plus whatever racial mix I have going from my Cuban ancestors.  My eyes and hair are darker than his though, and thank god my hair is straight. And that I don’t have all that chest hair. Very, uh, manly. If we had a relationship, he’d have to wax.

Joe asks me if I was, what?---sexually abused as a child? In the army? What’s with that shit? Get real….

I say something to stop that train of inquiry and look up gratefully as Anthony  wanders in. Thankfully his ESP is working well and he timed his entrance like the pro he is.

Morelli jumps up with some mumbled excuse, hustles out of the room. Back to his future.

I’m tempted later to go to Morelli, to finish what we started. I wonder how it would be, would he love it? Would he want us to suck each other off, would he like me to fuck him in the ass? Would he let himself love it? Would he explode with pleasure? I may not be emotionally available but I can certainly do the orgasm gig, I can satisfy his wants and needs, all those dirty little desires….

What’s it gonna be, Joe? Yes? Huh? Yeah……You know you want it. This.

……………………………………………

Anthony 

I watched Morelli flee the room. I said in Spanish, “What’s with that, Carlito?”

“Joe wants to fuck me.”

“Fuck me!”  I said, a little surprised. But not really, you know….

Ranger said, “Yeah, maybe you too, you wanna give him a shot, Tito?”---a little sarcastic, here, hmmm.

Carlos almost never called me by the childhood diminutive of my name.

I said, “I don’t think so, dude, I don’t like guys too much.”

Ranger nodded a little, “Yeah me neither. But you know. He wanted me.”

“Lotta people want stuff they can’t have, hermano,"' I said.

“Uh huh.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. Mercenary speak for I love you….

Miniscule nod from Carlos.

I said, “Can you go back to sleep now?”

“Yeah. G’nite.”

“Good night, Carlito.”’

............................. 

Ranger 

The next day we got the skip, we sent him home to Jersey with Joe. We never mentioned that interlude—those moments, those hours---again. But sometimes I’ll catch Morelli looking at me. And I can feel him remembering….

tbc