Jack gasped, relenting... caving to Demarco's hold. "I... I like the symmetry of it," he said, grunting.
"I knew you would." Demarco walked him over to the bed. "Now how do you want me... sunny side up, or over easy?"
Jack's eyes had glazed over, brimming with bestial desire. "Both," he answered.
"Very well then," Demarco said, sliding back on to the bed and gesturing for Jack to stay standing. "You get your way. I get mine."
The necessities from earlier were still on the bed. Demarco tore open a condom and put it on Jack's unyielding wand, slathering it with lube. He then laid back and lifted his legs in a high V. Jack assisted with placing them on his shoulders.
"You're a good negotiator," Jack said, almost trance-like. He used some of the excess lube on his fingers and found Demarco's opening, slipping one in.
Demarco sighed audibly. "You make it easy," he said.
Jack worked another finger in. "You're as ready as I am," Jack said.
"It's like we never stopped."
"I gotta get in there... now."
"Bring it on, Daddy."
Jack lifted Demarco's legs with strong arms, and mounted him, slipping in and sliding deep. Demarco moaned, squirming, and Jack pressed deeper, using both hands on Demarco's thighs to pull him into his thrusts.
Better to take the brunt of this on my back, he thought. His shoulder was still throbbing a little from their prior activity.
But I'm gonna give him both.Damned if I won't. I want it again as bad as he does.
He relinquished control of his lower body and gave it over to Jack. He lay there, attempting to stabilize his breathing, and enjoyed the show... watching as this bounteous and beautiful creature—this guardian angel of Norse descent—pounded him into oblivion.
Jack's face was red, his brow furrowed, torso motorized, muscles rippling and glistening with sweat.
He's moving fast and furious.Demarco thought. Won't be long.
"Can't... keep... it... up..." Jack said, emphasizing every syllable with each stroke. "I'm... gon... na..."
"Hold up!" Demarco said, like the referee in an erotic wrestling competition. He pulled off of Jack and rolled over. "You said both, remember? Now, bring it home, baby. Bring. It. Home."
Jack mounted again, lying flat on Demarco, his full weight pressing him into the mattress, penetrating deep and jackhammering, enhancing Demarco's simultaneous grind into the linens. "That's... it!" Demarco shouted. "You did it, Jack! My... swirl... is...here!" He was laughing now, joyous as he came, buckling and spilling into the bedsheets with Jack pummeling him from behind.
Jack climaxed too, with a howl and six grand, final thrusts, before collapsing on top of Demarco in a sweaty heap.
Moments later, when their tremors and after-spasms subsided, their heartbeats calming as they lay there sticky and spent... Jack whispered into Demarco's ear.
"This time you're wearing Kevlar."
12
The following morning, as they approached the fountain at Dupont Circle, Demarco was struck with a powerful sense of déjà vu... or maybe it was déjà-did, considering that it had been less than forty-eight hours since their time there before. It was another crisp, early-spring morning, and the sun shined bright on the crowded roundabout at the intersection of Mass, Connecticut, New Hampshire, 19th, and P.
Jack and Kip had devised a lure... it wasn't great, but it was all they had. They had composed an e-mail from Demarco to Abir the prior evening saying that they had arranged a meeting with Natalie Schwarzinski, one of DC's higher-profile immigration attorneys. They explained that the situation was still volatile, but that if he would meet them again at the Circle, Jack could guarantee safe escort to an undisclosed location.
At breakfast, when they had checked Demarco's email, Abir had not answered.
Kip thought they may have a shot, but Jack reminded him the one thing they knew for certain was that Abir had referenced television... and that if it was indeed a legitimate production company... they would have already begun arrangements regarding potential asylum and immigration for the boy.
Demarco didn't like any of it. He felt like he was caught in a cyclone of lies that was growing larger by the second. He felt used by Abir and, now, the FBI. Any further speculation sent him spiraling into a quagmire of doubt about everything including his job, Reed... and Jack.
What he had not anticipated was the slow sense of dread that came over him as they got closer to the location of the shooting. His eyes darted with all movement, squinting slightly in the sun. Every sound was magnified... children shouting, horns blaring... God forbid a car should backfire. He might just hit the ground flat. Jack was a few steps ahead of him and Demarco reached out for his shoulder, touching the poly-cotton blend of his blazer beneath quivering fingertips.
