Chapter 17
The days leading up to an election are filled with insanity, no matter how big or how small the race.
For weeks, even months, volunteers and paid workers have been walking precincts or calling registered voters at home, trying to find out how the person will vote, or encouraging them to vote a certain way. Campaign managers and consultants examine everything they can to find who will be the most likely voters to turn out, and then direct their strategy to reaching those voters. The weekend before the Tuesday election (American general elections are always on the first Tuesday of November as spelled out in the Constitution) is the most frenzied of all, with volunteers and paid workers being sent out to frenetically identify as many voters as possible for support.
The day before the election is always one of the most stressful as data managers seek to take in all the data acquired over the past two days and create new lists for Election Day, lists that will be used to ‘touch’ all the voters identified as a ‘yes’ for their candidate or issue, and get them to the polls. Lists are printed and put into packets along with maps of a precinct, and door hangers that remind voters where their polling place is located, along with one last message calling for support of a candidate or candidates. It’s far from uncommon for the next morning to find a local campaign headquarters occupied by men and women who had curled up in corners for an hour or two of sleep before the Election Day activities started.
As the sun creeps over the horizon, the campaign staff gets things ready for the big day. Coffee is brewed by the gallon at every local office or headquarters. Donuts, muffins, and just about every snack imaginable is laid out on tables. Files are prepped and ready, large signs are put up, and chairs set out for the day’s precinct walkers. The first cars pull up with the sun barely over the horizon, and everything comes together at the last minute.
Democrats see their volunteers, women and men, mostly retired, who have been active in campaigns for the last year show up first to get their precincts packets. Union members show up in droves, get their briefings on their precincts and the campaign’s expectations, and drive off in groups. Paid workers come next, usually, requiring a longer briefing and more detailed instructions. By mid-morning, the phones are humming in the headquarters.
More volunteers or paid workers are burning through special phone lists, leaving messages on phones, while other voters are getting pre-recorded reminder calls from automated phone centers. Other phone lines are ringing like mad as precinct walkers call in with their poll checks. They tell the headquarters staff how many people on their lists have voted, a number that is recorded on wall charts or computer spreadsheets, and then they go back to find more voters to pull into the local polling place. They also carefully watch what is going on in the polling place, looking for irregularities, like a poll worker reminding a voter to vote for a certain candidate, and when they see such an event, they pick up their cell phone to call another line in the headquarters that is answered by an attorney.
As the day progresses, the frenzied pace picks up so that by dinner time everyone’s stomachs are tied into knots and the campaign staff look at the wall charts to see how many of their identified ‘yes’ votes have actually gone to the polls to vote. More walkers go out to knock on the doors, and when the person inside answers “I’ve already voted” they smile and inform the person that their local polling place has no record of them being there to vote. Usually an abashed voter shakes their head and can be found at the polls fifteen minutes later.
As eight p.m. nears, the campaign staff arranges all the food and drinks for the ‘party’ in the headquarters, and they get ready for those nervous hours that follow the closing of the polls. It isn’t long before the first numbers come in, always absentee ballots, and everyone either winces or shouts with joy at the results, before settling down and seeing the first results from the day’s voting appear. Sometimes this is a few minutes, and other times it can be hours later.
Each and every County across the nation has been working like mad for the last few months as well. They have their own issues, their own routines to handle. Precincts are very small areas, geographically. In large states like California, there are forty to fifty thousand precincts. Some of the larger counties can be responsible for thousands of precincts.
When a low turnout of voters is expected, precincts are ‘consolidated’ so they need fewer polling places, but in a Presidential election year, especially one as big as this, very few precincts are ever consolidated. Polling places are almost always crewed by volunteers, and for the past few months, counties have been scrambling to find not only physical locations in precincts but volunteers to take voter signatures, give them their ballot cards, monitor the voting booths and ballot boxes, as well as dozens of other minor duties.
Nearly thirty-seven percent of all polling places in America are located inside a church. A nearly equal number are located in public schools, while the remainder are in locations like the local Veterans of Foreign Wars Hall, or a neighbor’s garage, or inside stores like Rick’s Floor and Tiles. Whatever the location, signs are raised, lists are prepared, and voting booths set up so that voters can employ their constitutionally-granted authority in choosing the nation’s leaders, legislators, judges, and other public officials. Some volunteers never show up, shopkeepers show up late, Grandma Alice got married last week and is on her honeymoon, so besotted with her new husband that she totally forgot her garage was supposed to be a polling place, and county election officials scramble to find a new polling place, or new volunteers who must be hastily trained.
At a quarter to eight, frantic precinct walkers check the lines at the local polling places. As they see lines that go out the door, they smile at familiar faces they talked to in the recent hour, people who they touched and are now turning out to vote (hopefully for their candidate). At other polling locations, tears dribble down a precinct walker’s face as she sees an empty polling place and she wonders why all those people who so nicely told her they would show up to vote had now been revealed to have just lied to her. Couldn’t they understand how important it was for them to vote?
Everyone knows the first votes at eight p.m. are just the absentee votes, and they know that most of the time, absentee votes don’t really reflect the outcome of the race, but they still wait with bated breath as the counties release those figures. Cheers erupt, or silence reigns until people remind themselves the first numbers don’t always indicate the direction of the race. Conversations pick up in headquarters, offices, and in the big state and national races, inside huge halls and ballrooms rented for the night’s festivities. Candidates and their families, as well as their senior staff often make a few trips to the bathroom to settle their roiling stomachs as they watch the figures coming in from the counties.
Television announcers start blathering about what they think the numbers mean, and while regular voters and others might watch raptly, the campaign workers and candidates would rather reassure each other with anecdotal stories about how much support they saw out in the field that day. A worker regales her fellows with the story of helping a ninety-two year old woman to the polling place. The woman had never missed an election, and the worker helped her down the street with the older woman’s walker and oxygen bottle.
Another campaign volunteer spent the day driving a van around, picking up voters, usually the elderly, who needed a ride to polling places. One of the volunteers who spent the day on the phone recounts the story of a voter he called who had complained about all the election mailer’s he’d received. The complaining voter had commented how he’d weighed the mail on his gram scale and it came to over forty ounces.
The person hearing the story would laugh and wonder aloud how many ounces of drugs had been on the scale earlier in the day.
By nine p.m. more figures are coming in to be pondered. Sometimes they are just five precincts, but in other situations they could be fifty out of two hundred precincts, and the room grows silent. If they’re good numbers, cheers erupt while bad numbers are met by more silence, and then quiet assurances that it’s only a few precincts. Then more numbers come in, usually every fifteen minutes or so, until enough have arrived so that no matter how many votes come in afterwards, one candidate has clearly won the election.
Then there are tears or shouts of joy with Champaign flowing freely.
For the national races, the figures are not looked at on the precinct level, but rather by the state, and as each state turns blue or red, more cheering happens. By the time the last polls close in Hawaii and Alaska, the result are usually known regarding who will be the next President, but that is not always the case. In close races, the fight could drag on for weeks, or more than a month, as had happened in two of my last timelines.
“You’re still awake.” The man’s voice didn’t really surprise me as I lay there in the darkness, spread out on the cot with my hands behind my head. It had been a long day, and a long night. I was exhausted, but I was too wound up to even think of sleeping.
“Yes.” I answered the voice on the other side of the bars. The President had ordered my arrest over the weekend before the election, and yesterday I’d been dragged before a federal judge in Washington to enter my plea. There was only one choice for me, although my attorney had suggested something else. She had wanted me to fight the charges, convinced a jury would ‘nullify’ my guilt by voting me innocent even though I was guilty of the things I’d been accused of doing.
It would have let me see my sons while they were still young, to spend those years with Brian, but I couldn’t do it, I could not let a jury ‘nullify’ what I had done. Maybe my sons would hate me for this, but it was the right thing to do in this case. So, when I had been asked for my plea, I’d said the word ‘guilty’. There would be a sentencing trial, though, and the judge would review various pieces of evidence. There was no death penalty on the table, just a prison term of at least five years and not more than twenty so the judge would decide my fate instead of a jury. With luck, I’d be back home with Brian and the boys within two years (for good behavior).
“It’s after eleven.” The guard’s voice was soft, as to not wake anyone around us. I was in a cell by myself, at least, while every other cell near me had at least four people. To my surprise, there had been no grumbling where I could hear, and it had almost been a pleasant experience being locked up, certainly nothing like what I’d expected. Even the guards had been very nice, and respectful. “It’s official. He won all fifty states.”
“You’re kidding.” I breathed back with a feeling of queasiness in my stomach. After the last weekend before the election, I’d been fairly certain of the outcome, but this…
“Nope, Mr. Jones, I’m serious.” The guard’s voice held an edge of humor. “Your father won all fifty states, and nearly eighty-percent of the popular vote. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I replied weakly. It wouldn’t help me though. My father had sworn he wouldn’t pardon me for what I did, and that was one campaign promise he’d never break.
“You get some rest, sir.” The guard said softly as he turned to walk away. “You did the right thing, you know.”
“I know.” I said sadly, wondering if Brian would ever forgive me for this, or our sons.
*~*~*~*~*
“Power corrupts, and so we must be ever-vigilant against such corruption in our government.” President David R. Jones Sr. said from the podium on that cold Inauguration Day in January of 2005. Brian’s hand in mine was comforting as we sat there, in the first row behind where my father was giving his first speech to the American people as their President, and while I prayed our boys would stay calm and refrain from fidgeting as they had done so far, I marveled at being able to be here for this day.
President Bush had issued nearly four hundred pardons in his last days in office, and along with the Vice-President and a few other notable figures, he’d pardoned me as well. My father certainly had not approved, but could not stop it from happening. Our relationship was still frigid with his feeling I had betrayed him by going against his wishes, but it was mending slowly. He was so different from the man I’d known in previous timelines that I found myself in awe at times of the man he’d become now. His words as he continued his speech reminded me of some of the greatest orators of our country’s history, and I wondered how he’d do over the next four, or eight, years, and what history would say of him in another twenty.
“Far too often in the history of this great nation, its leaders have forgotten our true purpose for being here, they have forgotten the words of the oath I just swore, and the oaths they have sworn as well. We are not here to make ourselves rich, or to do whatever it takes for us to stay in power for another two years, four years, or six years. We are here to protect and defend the Constitution of this great country, and to serve its people. I am enough of a realist to know that there will always be those who fall short of these ideals, and when it is necessary I will use my power to make sure they are found and punished appropriately. It is time that we, as our nation’s leaders, be held to a high standard of conduct and accountability, and I will urge this nation’s legislative leaders to take the steps necessary to combat the corruption brought about by the powers we wield.”
It was being remarked by the media how the new President had outstripped his ‘mentor’s’ great victory. The fact that they still considered Ronald Reagan, a dedicated Republican, to be my now-Democratic father’s mentor was amusing. There was certainly more than enough work ahead of him. We were still embroiled in the war in Iraq, there were still terrorists out there hell-bent on bringing America down, but he had plans for those problems. Part of them had already been announced. He’d reached out to countries that had refused to participate in the invasion or occupation of Iraq so far, and gotten fifteen of them to agree to send more troops, relieving the heavy burden on the United States.
The fact that they would have more say in Iraqi matters was a given, and also a crutch. If things there continued to spiral downward, they would receive more of the blame and it would not rest on my father’s shoulders alone. Whereas if things improved, he’d be seen as a great leader.
Conspiracy theorists of the original timeline had put forward the idea that the Bush Administration had known about 9/11 and let it happen. In this timeline, that was something made even stronger by the revelation of the information I had released, but the sad truth remained that they had just not paid attention to the warning signs available to them. They had thought the warnings were an attempt to move them off their agenda, nothing more than a distraction, and now they had paid a price for that hubris.
While the rest of the family attended the numerous balls and galas of election night, I kept a low profile with Brian and the kids. We were the babysitters not only for our two boys, but the rest of the children, my little niece, as well as Trevor’s children all got to spend the evening with two of their favorite uncles. They were in bed long before anyone returned, and Brian and I were relaxing in our room at the White House when the summons I had been expecting came from a Secret Service agent.
“Shut the door behind you.” My father said as I entered the Oval Office. I’d been in this room several times in this timeline, and more times in many other timelines, but it was very different this time as I shut the door behind me. The carpet was slightly different, and the pale cream leather sofas were different, as were several of the portraits on the wall. Nearly every President had a picture of George Washington, and my father was no exception. Some might be surprised at the other presidents represented in the room. Kennedy might be expected of a Democrat, as was the portrait of Franklin Roosevelt, and few would be surprised at seeing a bust of Ronald Reagan, but Andrew Jackson at the battle of New Orleans and a painting of the surrender by Cornwallis to Washington were slightly unusual.
The oak desk, a gift from Queen Victoria, was the same, and my father sat behind it as I entered the room and moved to stand in front of my father. Out of long habit, over a hundred years, I stood at attention. This was my father, but sitting behind that chair it struck me that he really was President of the United States of America. For a moment my head swam with disbelief, and I wondered if I’d wake up in a laboratory back in California only to realize all of this had been a hallucination from a failed mad experiment. My head settled down, though, and I found myself meeting a gaze that was both familiar and different. He had changed, even since this morning. There was something about taking the Oath of Office that changed a man. Whatever he had been before, he was now the President of the United States, and the look I saw in his eyes told me he understood that in a way I never would.
“You know I’ll never approve of what you did.” The President began, and a shiver ran down my spine at the tone of his words. He was still dressed in a tuxedo, but his bow tie was undone, and the top buttons of his shirt were opened. He looked tired, as he should since it was nearly three in the morning and he’d be expected to begin the new day in just a few hours.
“I know.” I answered softly.
“Still, I have to admit it was the right thing.” My father said with a sigh, and the mantle of his office slid from his shoulders for a few moment. He was a man again, my father who loved me. His shoulders slumped slightly and he leaned forward on his desk. “The country had a right to know, and they spoke in a loud, clear voice. Now I’m saddled with this job for the next four years.”
“You chose to run.” I reminded him with a slight smile and his shoulders shook in silent laughter for a moment. My posture changed to ‘at ease’ with my hands behind my back.
“Yes, I did.” He said with a sigh and leaned back in his leather armchair, turning to look at the painting of the Battle of New Orleans. “I picked those paintings because they remind me that the men who have held this office before me had to be brave. They had to be willing to put themselves on the line, to fight for this country both in peace and war. Son, did you ever imagine when you went back in time that it would end here, with me in this seat?”
“Never.” I admitted, remembering my fathers of the past timelines. None of them had ever made me believe my father could be what he was today.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m really your father.” Dad said and his upraised hand stopped my protest that he was my father. “I know, I know that despite your… travels, that flesh and blood, you are mine, but you… you were an adult for most of your childhood. You set me on this path, you know.”
“It was what you were meant to do.” I admitted softly, and felt wonder at my words. They were true, the man I’d hated and loved through all those lives was meant to be a politician, and a good one. Far better a politician than I could ever dream of being.
“What is it like to no longer know what’s going to happen next?” My father asked as he rubbed his eyes.
“Good.” I answered in a whisper. Tears came to my eyes. “It’s like this long ordeal, this long struggle to reach a good point, a good ending – its finally over.”
“This isn’t an ending, son, it’s just another beginning.” My father replied with a smirk as he turned to look out one of the bulletproof windows. “The future is wide open, for success or failure.”
“No more Do Overs either.” I said with a chortle and he looked back at me with a strange look in his eyes. A sense of fear came over me as he held me in that gaze.
“How long would it take you and Sean to put another one together?” He asked and I let out a long breath. He knew.
“Thirty days.” I admitted while hanging my head.
“Unless there’s a nuclear war or an asteroid slamming into the planet destroying all life on the planet, I’ll never order you to put it together.” The President of the United States said in a calm, reassuring voice and my shoulders sagged again with relief. “But, if something like that happens, you better stand ready.”
“I will.” I assured him, raising my head to find him smiling at me.
“Now, what to do with you?” My father asked. “I can’t ask you what’s around the corner anymore, can I?”
“Well, you could.” I laughed. “It’s just you’ll be getting my opinion not fact.”
“Your opinion is important to me.” My father said. “I can’t think of anyone else who has been through situations like you have. You have a unique viewpoint on the world, and far more years of experience than most people alive today. If… if Bush hadn’t pardoned you, I wasn’t going to do it, but it’s done and there’s no legal reason why I can’t use you.”
“I thought…” I stammered and he shook his head.
“I was upset at first, but when the public began reacting I knew it was the right thing that you did what you did.” My father chuckled. “Still, I had to stick with my position on it or there would have been more of a backlash. Now though, we can have a merry ‘reconciliation’ and the public will approve. Like I said, its time for this country to reconcile with itself, and us reconciling will be a good example for that. Now I just have to decide what to do with you.”
“How about I retire and write a book?” I offered and almost groaned when he didn’t even smile, just shook his head.
“I’ve been talking with Colin a lot.” The President said as his whole demeanor shifted and we were back to business.
“How did you talk him into staying as your Secretary of State?” I asked with amazement in my voice. That was one thing I had not anticipated at all.
“It started with me reminding him that we started this mess while he was in that position, and that he was uniquely suited to solving it for real.” The President answered with a smirk that was all too familiar. “He had some demands that I found reasonable, starting with a larger voice on policy decisions. The man knows foreign affairs better than I do, and we both know that fact. He will be the lead voice of the United States overseas and will be involved in all major policy decisions on foreign affairs. Colin’s asked for a very short list of people to act as his Deputies, including a very specific request for someone to be his Deputy in charge of the Middle East.”
“Who?” I asked and immediately regretted it when I got a sharp look and a smile. “No.”
“Yes, your name was one of three on his list.” My father answered. “You’ve done some work for him in the past, and built a fairly significant network of contacts over there.”
“Most of them are either dead or in US holding centers.” I retorted with a bad taste in my mouth. Those men had ended up like that because they helped me with information on several occasions, and it was the fault of the previous President they ended up in those situations when they refused to be ‘handled’ by his operatives.
“You still have contacts over there, and a good deal of respect.” President Jones replied with an even tone. “Further, you have a lot of credibility in your own right, and as my son. Secretary Powell and I can use that, especially with Iraq. That situation is just getting worse every day.”
“We shouldn’t have tried to rebuild the country until we could guarantee peace there.” I stated automatically and regretted it when he nodded in agreement.
“I’m having the Pentagon draw up plans to put more boots on the ground to bring about peace.” The President informed me. “CIA will also be increasing its operations to infiltrate key insurgent groups and to monitor corruption in their so-called government. If whomever they elect doesn’t focus on rebuilding the country instead of lining their pockets, things will just get worse, and I’m not going to let that happen. My Secretary of State and I both agree, you’re the man for the job overseeing the entire region. Are you going to accept the call to duty?”
“Did you ever doubt my answer?” I asked rhetorically and he just smiled. It felt like things I had set in motion were coming back to bite me in the ass. There were vague memories of that first timeline and bitching about this Middle East situation and pushing out idea after idea on how it should be done, and now…
“Get some sleep.” My father ordered. “We’ll announce your appointment in the morning and you’ll be at State by mid-morning to begin your work.”
“Congress has to approve…” I started to protest, wondering how Brian and I would adjust our plans to this. We’d both planned a quiet few months in Modesto.
“They’ll approve you and you can work pro-tem until they do.” The President said firmly, giving me no room to argue.
“Brian… the boys…” I protested and my father shook his head. “We’ll figure this all out soon enough. They start school in the fall, and you can decide if you want them to live back in Modesto or out here. Frankly son, I hope you’ll make your home here in Washington. I know I didn’t want you and your sister out here, but the fact is that most of their family will be out here from now on, and your mother will kill me if being First Lady means she doesn’t get to see her grandsons once or twice a week. You’ve spoiled her with having them close by all the time.”
“What about their grandfather?” I asked with a smarmy grin of my own. He laughed, a deep soul-cleansing laugh and stood up, moved around the desk and clasped a hand on my shoulder.
“Son, you have no idea how happy I am to see those boys.” Dad said with a wide grin and our eyes met. His deep brown eyes were pools of happiness. “Once I grew use to the fact that you were gay, I felt sad that I’d never have grandsons from you. Sure, I knew your sister would probably give me grandkids, but I wanted both my children to know the joys of being a parent. I should have known you’d figure a way to make it happen, and I’ve never been happier than since you made me a grandfather.”
“You know, Dad, I’ve never been as happy as I have been in this timeline.” I finally admitted something I’d never shared with him. “I know I mentioned this before, but in all the previous timelines, I lost you and mom by the turn of the century. You always died way too young. Just having you here, not even thinking of the Presidency or stuff like that, just you being alive, and here, and us… actually still being father and son, it’s the best I could ever hope for.”
“What about Brian?” Dad asked and I actually blushed.
“Yeah, he’s the best too.” I admitted. They really were equal for me, to have a family whole, never torn apart by divorce, but to have Brian as well. It really was having your cake and getting to eat it as well.
“Go up and tell him the good news.” Dad said. “Once you boys decide how you want to handle things, let me know so if we need to get him an appointment to something we can arrange that as well.”
“Okay.” I said, and reacted with surprise as he pulled me into a deep, long hug. When we broke the embrace we were both smiling and there were tears in our eyes. I left him there, going back to look over some documents on his desk as I headed back up to the room I was sharing in the Residence with Brian. My lover was still awake, lying on the canopy bed with just a pair of blue bikini briefs and a white tank top. He smiled as I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, drinking in the sight of him. My smile grew as I saw he was reading an older issue of Time Magazine. It was the the one that had come out just before the election, with a picture of my father and I on the cover with the caption "The Men Who Might Have Stopped 9/11?".
The years had been kind to him, and I had to be honest they had been kind to me as well. A life without drinking, drugs, and smoking, had left us both in decent shape (thanks to exercising a few times a week). There were laugh lines around his eyes, and his dark eyebrows had little creases between them. His hair was now a light brown instead of platinum blond, and his legs had more hair than they had when we were younger, but his stomach was flat, and the growing bulge in his blue bikini briefs told me he found me as attractive as when we were younger.
“I love you.” I said softly as he got out of bed and padded across the room until he stood in front of me. He began to unbutton the collared shirt I was wearing and planted gentle kisses along my jawline.
“Everything okay with your father?” He asked me as he helped me shrug out of the shirt, and quickly pulled the t-shirt over my head, dropping both on the floor by the door.
“He wants me to work in State.” I told Brian with a slight groan as he kissed my neck.
“Middle East?” Brian guessed, his words muffled slightly since his lips were caressing their way down my neck while his hands began to unbuckle my belt. I slipped my shoes off just as he unbuttoned my pants and they fell to the floor. He steadied me as I stepped out of them and into his arms.
“Yeah.” I murmured as he kissed down my chest, paying close attention to my nipples. My cock was straining inside my red bikini briefs and I pushed further into his embrace so my cock rested against his, separated only by our briefs.
“You’re going to do it.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a statement, it was an order.
“Yes.” I answered as my hands traveled downward until they clenched his butt cheeks. He let out a groan as I massaged them, and we both knew who was gong to be doing what tonight, or more accurately this morning. “What about you?”
“I’ll stay with the boys here in town until they start school.” Brian groaned again as I began to lead him back to the bed. He was walking backwards, and almost stumbled, but I had him firmly in my grip and wouldn’t let him fall.
“School here?” I asked as we reached the bed and I lowered him down on his back until he was flat on the bed with just his legs over the side. My weight settled easily on him and our lips met in a passionate kiss. My tongue entered his mouth and he groaned, bucking up against me as we kissed.
“Ungh, yes, school here.” Brian groaned as we broke the kiss and my hands wandered through his hair for a moment while his hands grabbed my butt and pulled my thighs hard against him. “They adore their Grandma Jones and the schools here are fine, we can find a good public school instead of those snobby private schools.”
“What about you?” I asked him as I kissed along his jaw line while moving one of my hands to tweak his nipple. He threw his head back at that and I could feel his hard cock jump slightly. His t-shirt got in the way and I snarled as I paused to pull it off of him. He took the opportunity as I threw it to the side to twist and the next thing I knew, he was on top of me with my back flat against the mattress. After all these years, he was still the king of wrestling between us. He sat with his knees on either side of me, and the crack of his ass resting over my twitching cock. His briefs were pushed way out now by his very hard cock. I couldn’t resist the sight and began massaging it through the briefs. His head jerked back as he groaned in pleasured.
“Me, I like being Mr. Mom for a while.” Brian muttered in between groans. He was tweaking my nipples now, softly and gently, with love. His blue eyes were glittering in the soft lighting of the room. His gaze grew concerned for a moment though. “Did he ask about the machine?”
“Yes.” I admitted and his fingers gripped my nipples tightly.
“If… you’re not going back again without me.” He said fiercely, bending down to attack my neck with his mouth. He was going to leave a hickey, something he hadn’t done in years, and I groaned with pleasure.
“Never.” I said softly between groans. “I hope we never have to use it again, but if we do we’ll do it together.”
“That’s better.” Brian said with a grin as he pulled off my neck and gyrated his hips over my cock. That felt so damn good, but the thought that struck me almost made me go soft.
“If… if we did go, we’d lose the boys.” I said softly, suddenly feeling like crying. I could never imagine life again without Kevin and Richard.
“I… that would be awful.” Brian said softly, but then he smiled. “I guess then we’ll just have to do it right from here on out.”
“Yeah, we will” I smiled up at him and ran my hands up his torso. He groaned and then moved quickly, pulling my briefs far enough down for me to kick them off. As I did that, he did the same with his and reached over to one of the drawers, pulling out some lube. With long practice it wasn’t long before I was buried deep inside of him, lying flat on my back while he sat on me, taking me all the way inside. My eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure of that, no different despite the long years together. It only got better with the passage of time as I began to thrust inside of him.
All thoughts, all conversation stopped at that moment as we began to make love to each other. Foreplay was when we talked, but this, there could be no talking as I thrust into him, and he met my thrusts. This time I rolled us over, so that he was flat on the mattress and I was leaning over him as I continued thrusting. Now he was letting out low guttural moans of pleasure as I picked up the pace.
How long we were like that, my cock deep in his ass, my hands tweaking his nipples, his tweaking mine, and our mouths meeting hungrily for more kisses, I could never tell. Sometimes it was just a few moments before we reached that wonderful point of orgasm, other times it was hours. It didn’t matter how long it lasted, because each time it was like eternity and the blink of an eye, all at once.
I knew the signs of Brian’s eyes rolling upwards, and his cock twitching against me as my balls bounced against his ass. That always set me off, gearing me up for those final moments as his head arched backwards and he let out a loud guttural growl while his cock pulsed and shot out long ropey strings. Every muscle in his body clenched, and mine responded with one last deep push and it was my turn to shudder as my cock shot deep inside of him.
Then it was time to collapse on top of him, our bodies mixing in his cum and from the sweat both of us were exuding. Long, gentle kisses followed as blue eyes met blue eyes, and we remembered that love also had a physical side, and the physical side made everything else deeper, better, stronger. It was the connection that took people from friends to something better, something deeper, something more than just two individuals living life together.
“You always manage to do it right, Davey Jones.” Brian whispered as we lay there together, the way we were meant to be, now and forever.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The End of Doing It Right, and the story of Davey & Brian.
As with all my stories, Emoe provides a great deal of help in improving my grammar and finding most of my typos...thanks for the help bud!
As with all my stories, E provides immeasurable input, grammar checking, and all those other lovely editing thingies that make the story so much better!
Feedback,
an Author's Lifeblood
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |
| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |
| Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 |
