“Don’t get it in my eyes,” said Blaze, and Gabe knew he was pretending to whine, laughing at the same time, his eyes closed, suds streaming across his face.
“Too late,” said Gabe. “Let me fix it.”
He sluiced water across Blaze’s forehead, gently tipping his head back, wiping Blaze’s dark eyebrows, kissing his damp cheeks. When Blaze opened his eyes, green and bright, Gabe finished rinsing his hair, then eased conditioner into it, massaging Blaze’s head all the while, fantastically slow. They must have gone through two tokens, still yet to be put in the slot, but the hot water had yet to run out.
“You can kiss me now,” said Blaze, his dark lashes half-lowered, a tease in the words.
“Yes, sir,” said Gabe, teasing right back, kissing Blaze’s wet mouth, sighing into the kiss, flicking his tongue against Blaze’s tongue, warm amidst the warm shower.
Two weeks ago, he could not have predicted that this pleasure would be his. Now it was, for however brief a time. But he could not linger on any sad thoughts, for Blaze, water from his hair dripping down his chest, sank to his knees. Gabe’s mouth fell open, a little in shock, a little in anticipation.
He gauged the shower, moving forward so the spray would be mostly on him, and Blaze wouldn’t drown, and then closed his eyes as Blaze’s warm mouth slid over his cock, wetness all around, warm suction, Blaze’s hands digging into his thighs.
Shudders ran through him, his breath coming shorter and shorter as the strokes of Blaze’s mouth grew longer, paced and slow until Gabe, gasping, had to brace his arm along the wooden wall of the shower. He pressed hard, trying to still himself but failing, warm pulses swallowed with hard suction, and if Blaze hadn’t stood up and held him, he would have fallen over, weak knees collapsing beneath him.
“Got you,” said Blaze.
“Yeah.” Warmth filled Gabe’s chest, a sense of contentment, of rightness. The feel of Blaze’s sleek chest beneath his palms, the thunder of the shower overhead, Blaze’s breath in his ear as he kissed his cheek.
After the shower, he dried Blaze off very slowly, starting with his hair, brushing kisses as he went down Blaze’s body with a towel. With the full intention of returning the favor, on his knees, he was surprised when Blaze tugged at his hands, pulling him to his feet.
“Not here,” said Blaze with a shake of his head, to which Gabe responded by kissing him and then kissing him again.
“In the tent, then,” he said, picturing it in his head already, Blaze laid out in the glow of the Coleman lantern.
Back in Gabe’s tent, before he could light the lantern and even as Blaze sank to the bed, sitting at his side, hip to hip, Gabe’s cellphone rang. Glancing over, he could see it was Leland, so he had to answer it. With a touch to Blaze’s mouth, one finger to that softness, he picked up the cellphone and clicked it on.
“Hey, Leland,” said Gabe, tilting his head into the kiss on his cheek from Blaze. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re at the two week mark on Monday,” he said. “And I believe a night out for you and your team was promised.”
“Oh, yeah.” Gabe had forgotten the team outing to John Henton’s tavern, completely.
Two weeks ago, such an outing with four parolees and himself would have seemed an impossibility. But now, with only two team members, and two weeks’ worth of working with Wayne and Blaze on a daily basis, he could now see the effect of Leland’s plan: good food, comfortable beds, reasonable work, leisure time—all of it had come together to create an atmosphere where trust could be built.
Even Wayne, whether on his own or with Gabe, could be trusted with taking a task to completion. Sure, he wasn’t more social than he had been to begin with, but at least now, he would say where he was going, usually to get extra sleep. As for Blaze—
“Do I need to reserve a table at the tavern for Sunday evening?” asked Leland, only half joking, as he wasn’t much of a beer drinker and didn’t spend much time there.
“Maybe not,” said Gabe. “But it’d be nice. Little card on it that saysReserved for Gabe’s Team.”
“I will make it happen,” said Leland. “I know I put a lot on your shoulders, but you’ve done a great job.”
“But we haven’t actually finished any project that we’ve started.”
“Let me let you in on a little secret,” said Leland. “It doesn’t matter if, by the end of the season, the work doesn’t get done. What matters is that the work isbeingdone, and it’s providing these guys with not only good food and a place to sleep, it’s providing them with purpose. We get tax dollars for hiring them, so we gain, too. At the end of the summer, I could hire a whole slew of contractors to come in and finish inside of a month. And I will probably have to, so we can make inspection standards. But in the meantime, we’re making a difference and those guys don’t have to struggle as much as they adjust back into the real world. Don’t you agree?”
The valley was Leland’s passion project, but after last season, when he’d brought the guest ranch back from the brink of financial disaster, the owner, Bill Wainwright, was more than willing to let Leland do pretty much whatever he thought best. Including this humanitarian way of rehabilitating small-time criminals. Which Leland, yes, tended to preach about to an overwhelmingly zealous degree, as though trying to convince a world of unbelievers, even though everybody already agreed with him and was on the same page from day one. Including Gabe.
“Again,” said Leland, his voice utterly serious. “You were the man I needed at the front of this project, and you’ve done an outstanding job. I’m going to want you to meet with Royce so you can brief him.”
“He’s had the training, right?” asked Gabe.
“He’s at training right now, staying at the Holiday Inn in Torrington. He’ll be back at the ranch on Monday, so if you could spare some time for him then, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will do, Leland,” said Gabe.
With gratitude, Gabe hung up the cellphone and placed it on the shelf between the beds, and turned his attention to something far more fulfilling, far more deserving.
