John heaves himself off Emile’s dead body. His black shirt is soaked with blood, as are his hands, but he doesn’t feel the same remorse as he does in his nightmares. John won’t lose any sleep over this killing. In fact, he and Bayani will both sleep better knowing the bastard is dead.
John glances back at the warehouse and considers his duty to whomever might be trapped inside. He won’t risk his own safety or Bayani’s to investigate, but he’ll make an anonymous call to the authorities once he’s safely away from here.
With one final look at the carnage, John wipes off his knife, sheathes it, and walks away, leaving Emile’s cigarette still burning on the pavement.
He and Bayani are one step closer to freedom.
14
BAYANI
Bayani wakes to a cold,quiet room. Night has fallen and he is alone, which means John must have gone to…
John must have gone to find Emile. But what if he doesn’t come back? What if the Hand captures him? Bayani will never forgive himself. To go on without him seems an impossible feat. In his mounting panic, Bayani notices a piece of paper neatly folded and lying on the desk. Bayani plucks it up and reads it.
Bayani,
I never knew how dim my days had become until you showed up and brought the sun with you. You gave me the will to live but more than that, a reason to fight. If I don't return by tomorrow, run and don't look back. Go where you can live a happy, safe, and peaceful life.
Love always,
John.
Bayani’s lower lip trembles, his mouth caught between a smile and a grimace. That damned stubborn man. He’s clutching the paper so tightly that it crinkles in his hand, so he smooths it out and presses it over his heart. John had better come back to him, or else.
With nothing better to do, Bayani gets down on his knees and prays, harder than he’s ever prayed before, for his courageous, stupid man to return to him safely.
* * *
Bayani is still sittingon the floor, trapped in a fog of fear and dread, when he hears the lock to the hotel room disengage. The door swings open and it’s John, his beautiful, wonderful John. The big man smiles at Bayani and tosses his folded jacket onto the back of a chair. Bayani immediately notices John’s knuckles, which are stained rust red with blood. Emile’s?
“Did you…”Bayani signs.
John nods soberly. “He’s dead.”
Something inside Bayani cracks wide open. Joy and relief spills out of him as he bursts into tears. He rises from the floor, his bad knee stiff from being in one position for so long, and launches himself into John’s arms. John grips him tightly, lifting him off the ground so that Bayani may wrap his legs around his waist. There is a streak of dried blood across John’s cheek and Bayani kisses him there, a small gesture of his gratitude. Rules be damned, Bayani presses his lips forcefully against John’s mouth. The big man catches on quickly and takes the whole of Bayani’s head in one hand, angling him so that they may deepen the kiss.
Bayani hasn’t been kissed since his tongue was mutilated, and he worries briefly that John might find it repulsive, but his fear is alleviated when John’s tongue seeks Bayani’s own nub and caresses it tenderly, coaxing a moan of desire from Bayani’s parted lips. He’s been waiting for this for so long, and he’s greedy to get as much of John as he can, so thrilled by the wet press of lips and brush of tongues that he hardly notices the passage of time. Bayani would happily do this forever.
“Bayani,” John whispers hoarsely. Bayani allows John the space of a breath to utter his name before kissing him again. He digs his fingers into John’s thick hair, and John pivots so that Bayani’s back is pressed against the wall. Bayani notices the shift. John isn’t holding himself back anymore, so Bayani grinds his bottom half against John’s abdomen and bares his neck. John kisses along his jaw and lower to the ridge of scar tissue along his throat. Bayani remembers when John kissed each of his scars and told him he was beautiful. The man echoes that sentiment now, murmuring pretty words that Bayani treasures because they are sincere. Bayani’s hands migrate to John’s waist and he impatiently tugs at his t-shirt.
“Baby, I’m filthy,” John whispers into Bayani’s ear before nibbling on the fleshy bit.
“I don’t care. Take it off,”Bayani signs and yanks again at John’s shirt.
In a feat of strength and dexterity, John drags his shirt off his back while still bracing Bayani against the wall with his hips and groin. John’s undershirt is stained red too, further proof of his devotion. Bayani’s hands are like talons on the man’s broad back as his mouth attaches to John’s neck. He sucks and nibbles and bites wherever he can reach, lapping up the salty flavor of John’s skin, savoring it. John’s gun is still strapped by a leather holster to his midsection, and Bayani grinds against it, the weapon an extension of the man himself. His protector, his savior.
“I love you, Bayani.” John says it haltingly as if the words cause him pain.
“I love you,”Bayani signs and says it out loud too, not caring how the words sound because John loves him, every part of him, the hurt places and the healed ones too. John loves Bayani exactly as he is, and Bayani loves John for his kindness, his strength, his steady spirit, and his unshakable honor.
“Should we…” John begins.
Before he can say another word, Bayani signs,“I want to fuck.”
There is no way John can misinterpret that, but just in case, Bayani tugs at John’s belt buckle until it becomes necessary for them to part. As soon as John lets him loose, Bayani strips off his clothing and goes down on his knees in supplication. John has only just removed his gun holster, belt, and the sheath containing his breaking knife when Bayani unbuttons his pants, reaches inside with a proprietary hand, and pulls out John’s dick. It’s thick and veiny with a tidy bush of bristly hair at its base. The head of it is plump, flush with arousal, and shaped like a bell. Two hefty balls bolster John’s beautiful dick and Bayani clutches them both in one hand.Mine.A flood of saliva forms in his mouth as he anticipates sucking the cum from John’s nuts like it’s a milkshake.
With John’s dick in one hand and his balls in the other, Bayani anchors his lips around the bell-shaped head. Guarding his teeth, he slides that thick, throbbing sausage to the back of his throat. Bayani doesn’t bother to suck back the drool that escapes his mouth as his palate massages the top of John’s shaft and his nub of tongue edges curiously around John’s velvety cockhead. A burst of pre-cum hits the back of his tongue and Bayani is glad he still has a few tastebuds left to appreciate John’s unique flavor.
