Alistair sat back, licking his lips, hand wrapping around his own cock. He stroked himself, the light creeping through the drapes outlining his profile, the taut planes of his lean muscles. With a deep groan, he spent himself on Sam’s thighs.
Sam stretched out his arms, and Alistair laid down, head on Sam’s shoulder. “Mmm. You enjoyed that, did you?”
Foolishly, given their circumstances, Sam felt the heat of a blush creep over his face. “Very much.”
“Well, then. We’ll have to try it again soon. Maybe with restraints?”
Oh God. “Th-that sounds fun.”
“Heh.” Alistair kissed the nearest patch of skin. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Sam pressed his face into Alistair’s hair.
Alistair fetched a washcloth and tenderly cleaned off Sam’s thighs, before settling back in. Within a few moments, his breathing evened out as he slid into sleep. But despite everything, Sam lay in the dark for a long time, wondering if the danger tonight had been an unfortunate occurrence never to be repeated…or the harbinger of worse to come.
4
Ordinarily, Alistair slept in as long as possible. But after last night, he wasn’t about to let Sam go traipsing around Chicago without someone—preferably himself—to watch his back. So he hauled himself out of bed when it came time to visit the optician, scooped the newspaper up off their porch, and tried to stay awake on the train ride into the Loop.
The optician’s store was far more upscale than their usual haunts, but Alistair had expected as much from Sullivan. Not to mention, they could afford it now, thanks to Sam’s absurd salary. Neither of them were given to ostentation, so they’d been putting most of it away in the bank, but Alistair figured a good pair of cheaters was worth their weight in gold, given how bad Sam’s eyesight was without them.
While Sam went back to the examination room, Alistair sat on the stoop outside, smoking a cigarette. He unfolded the newspaper; the main headline was about the Navy dirigible Shenandoah crossing the Rockies, but the assassination attempt on Sullivan made it onto the front page, below the fold.
BOMB WRECKS LOOP CABARET
Five Hurt by Blast at The Silvervine
Five men were injured, with one killed and one hospitalized, when a bomb exploded in front of The Silvervine. The explosion shattered the windows of nearby businesses, and severely damaged the front of the cabaret, which remains closed for the immediate future.
The police believe the incident to be related to a beer war. Pictures on back page.
He turned the newspaper over, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The first photo was of the shattered entrance of the cabaret, the doors a twisted ruin, fire-scorched debris covering the floor. Dark spots on the carpet might have been blood.
Bands tightened around his chest, making it hard to catch his breath. Sam had been right there, in the middle of that destruction. Just a few steps closer to the entrance and he would have been killed.
Alistair’s hands started to shake, so he lowered the newspaper. Seeing the picture brought home the immensity of the danger, the narrowness of the escape. He might have been planning Sam’s funeral this morning, the warmth of their bond replaced by a gaping abyss of pain.
“My glasses will be ready this afternoon, and…Alistair?”
Startled, he dropped the paper; a gust of wind caught it and sent it skidding down the road, pages going everywhere. How long had he been sitting here, frozen in the depth of his horror?
Long enough for Sam to be finished, it seemed. Sam peered myopically down at him, a line of concern forming between his brows. “Are you all right?”
Alistair started to deny it, then caught himself. “Not really. I saw a picture of the damage to the cabaret. You could have been killed, and for no better reason than you were just standing beside Sullivan!”
Sam sat down beside him. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be meeting him at any cabarets or restaurants soon,” he said ruefully. “But I’m all right.”
“I almost lost you last summer, when that maniac Nagorski shot you.” Alistair met his gaze unhappily. “Working for Sullivan like this…it’s not going to come to a good end, Sam.”
Sam sighed and leaned his shoulder against Alistair’s. “I love you. But this is the best opportunity we have, money-wise.”
Alistair stood up. “I don’t care about that.”
“I do, though.” Sam scrambled up as well. “I have to make my own way in the world.”
Alistair hunched his shoulders against the wind and started walking back toward the elevated train. “And keep sending checks to your worthless family?”
Sam hurried to keep up with his longer stride. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”
