Vasquez and James Vol. 2

By Lou Sylvre

Together, professional badass Luki Vasquez and his husband, textile artist Sonny James, fight to survive and build a family.

Saving Sonny James: The events of the last couple of years have begun to catch up with Luki -- loving Sonny James and letting Sonny love him back have left gaps in his emotional armor. Sonny says yes to a European tour with Harold Breslin, a dangerously intelligent promoter whose obsessive desire for Sonny is exceeded only by his narcissism. When Harold’s plan for Sonny turns poisonous, Luki must break free of PTSD and get to France, fit and ready in time to save his husband’s life.

Yes: Professional badass Luki Vasquez and textile artist Sonny James have been married for five years, and despite the sometimes volatile mix, they’re happy. From their first days together, they stood united against deadly enemies and prevailed. But now the deadly enemy they face is the cancer. Sonny tries, but Luki dances with cancer alone -- until he gets a startling reminder of the miracle of life.

Because of Jade: Still cancer free after five years, Luki finds out his nephew Josh and wife Ruthie have met a tragic death. Luki and Sonny must help each other learn to parent an unexpected child, Jade, and still nourish the love that has kept them whole for the past ten years. A relative’s claim to Jade threatens the new family, and even if they prevail in court, they could lose their little girl unless they can rescue Jade from evil hands and true peril.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2019

Lou Sylvre

LOU SYLVRE hails from southern California but now lives and writes on the rainy side of Washington State. Her personal assistant is Boudreau, a large cat who never outgrew his kitten meow. She loves her family, her friends, the felines Boudreau, Nibbles and The Lady George, a little dog named Joe, and (in random order) coffee, chocolate, sunshine, and wild roses, among other things.

Book preview

life.

Prologue

Though he hid his always-simmering rage behind his surgically beautified face and dazzling smile, Harold Breslin was an angry man. For good reason, as he saw it.

He should have had everything he wanted -- he deserved it all. Money, carte blanche to move among the biggest names in the art world, and not least he deserved the man of his choosing, Sonny James. At thirty years old, Harold had already gained and lost the money and reputation he wanted several times, using his wit and charm to make his way, then finding himself shot down by lesser persons. But it hadn’t lessened his heartfelt belief that he needed to hold on to his desires and do whatever was necessary in order to realize them.

Why shouldn’t I have dreams, he asked himself, and why shouldn’t they come true?

He might have been a throwaway child, rat boy to his adoptive daddy and that man’s pedophile friends, but he was a person, wasn’t he? And he was special. He knew that was true, down deep in his soul, he could see it in the way people responded to him -- wanting his attention, his help, his company, his cock. He turned briefly toward the large, well-lighted mirror to his left and smiled. He could see just what those others saw.

I am different. Beautiful. Special.

Even though Daddy and the rest of the pedophile club had treated him badly -- calling him names and taunting him, fucking him until he bled, he’d known even then that it happened that way because he was special. That’s why they all wanted him. That’s why they all couldn’t resist, even though they hated themselves for it. But that was a long time ago. And since then he’d learned just how powerful his brains, beauty, and charm could be. He’d tendered those qualities to buy himself a place to live with a man who wanted only sex in return. Then, when his benefactor griped about Harold’s laziness, Harold wrangled from him a college education. He’d studied art, but as he’d been getting nowhere with that and failed to get into grad school based on artistic talent, he took his sugar daddy’s offer and went to work for him.

He learned swiftly how to manage the business end of the older man’s photography and filmmaking business. And with that, and a few pulled strings from his patron, he did get into grad school, studying for an MBA, specializing in the business of art. That suited him fine, because he was able to work near Sonny -- once even with Sonny. And after that old man had cut him loose, turned him out without so much as a thank-you, Harold had rocketed to success as an art promoter, manager, and event coordinator. Everyone wanted to be his client. Managers of venues bent backward to accommodate his events. And collectors would buy damn near anything he offered them, paying a very pretty penny.

But this time things would be a bit different.

This time, he wasn’t going to have his success yanked away; he was going to sacrifice it. Because now it was time to take home the ultimate prize, the one dream he had only brushed up against for those few short years they shared as students at Western.

Sonny James.

Today he was sorting through the things in his current shrine, a small room at the back of the basement in the house he owned, a place no one would likely look. But just in case they did, Harold wanted to make sure nothing there could get him in trouble. He’d taken down his sketches and photos of Sonny and removed every trace of his pilfered bobbin ends and dye strips. He held them to his face and imagined that even now, almost a decade after Sonny had touched them, he could taste Sonny in the air that filtered through them. He’d learned long ago the importance of a shrine when he wanted something. He knew it didn’t work for everybody, and even for him, obviously, it didn’t work right away every time, but it did work. He’d proven it, or at least had come close enough to proof that he couldn’t take a chance.

He’d created a shrine to the demise of Daddy and the pedophile club, stashing drawings of their gory endings along with bullet casings, rusty razor blades, and broken glass in a root cellar behind an abandoned house. That had worked spectacularly. Ever since, he’d made a shrine to whatever he wanted. Since college, though, he’d wanted only one thing.

Sonny James.

Returning to his cleanup task, he found an old college newspaper. The feature article mentioned his name three times. And it mentioned Sonny James’s name six times. That was only right. Sonny was the one who had had traveled the state with his work, setting up in state and local colleges, libraries, and a few other public spaces. Harold had done good, solid work, enlisting all the venues, creating promotional materials, advertising, and making sure everything got where it needed to be at the right time. The traveling exhibition was Harold’s final practicum for his MBA, specializing in the business of art. The work on the show was the practical part of Sonny’s doctoral thesis. Sonny’s weavings were superb, incredible. He’d developed that famous red already, the one people later called Sonny’s red, and the exhibit was a bright plume in both their caps.

He and Sonny had worked so well together on the project, and every minute by Sonny’s side had been pure joy. Only once in that time had his spirits threatened to flag. Some stupid girl, who apparently hadn’t even figured out Sonny was gay, had tried to taunt Harold.

What, she’d said, you think Sonny James is hanging with you because he likes you or something? He’s just being nice to you because he has to. Because Dr. Logan assigned you two to work together. Get real.

Sometimes Harold didn’t have good self-control. He hated to be belittled -- no doubt a residual effect of all the cruel things daddy and the pedophiles used to say, taunting him about his pimples, his shape, his lank blond hair, especially after he got too old for them to want to fuck him. Yeah, Harold didn’t like being taunted. And that day, the girl -- Sonia, if Harold remembered right -- she’d been about to get her feminine little clock cleaned. But when he took a step toward the bitch, Sonny James, sweet Sonny, had put a hand on his shoulder.

Hey, Harold, Sonny said. Don’t pay her any mind. She doesn’t matter, and she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

Harold had stopped, turned to look at Sonny. He thought then that he should get a grip on the rage he felt bubbling in his gut. He didn’t want Sonny to see his angry side.

Sonny shook his head and that beautiful dark hair caught a sheen in the light. Sonny smiled! Smiled at him, at Harold Breslin. It’s not important, Harold, let it go. Besides, she’s gone now, see? He’d pointed with his chin in that way he had.

Harold turned to look, and indeed she’d left, was nowhere to be seen. Harold turned his own smile -- which he knew could be dazzling -- on Sonny. I’m sorry, he said, ducking his head to the side, acting embarrassed -- though he wasn’t.

Don’t apologize. It’s past now. Plus, we have other things to do, right?

That had been true then. And it was true now. He and Sonny had things to do.

Through all the time since, Harold had been able to reel in any client he set his sights on. Even when he got fired from an agency, the clients followed him. But one client had never been his. He’d tried and tried without success, but he’d never given up. And finally, today, it had paid off.

Sonny James was coming with him to France. And Harold already had a place picked out, a new place to set up his shrine. It would be beautiful. The best he’d ever had. Because this time, he’d have Sonny James inside it.

At least for a while.

Chapter One

Luki Vasquez had been his usual self when he and his still newlywed husband, Sonny James, had driven home to the rainy Olympic Peninsula from Nebraska, even though he’d been shot in the thigh -- again.

Well, Sonny thought as he backed his yellow Mustang -- his baby -- out of the old barn where he parked it, Luki was mostly his usual self then, when we first came home.

Because at times he’d still been in a lot of pain, and a few times he’d had plenty of -- too much -- pain medication, and then there had also been those other, weirder times that Sonny couldn’t explain. Luki would just check out right in the middle of a conversation, stay completely blank until he’d suddenly say, He was just a kid, or, He had the greenest eyes. Those times never lasted long, though, and Luki’s pain got less and less, and Sonny just didn’t expect the thing that happened to Luki not long after they got home. It was almost like Luki… died inside. Like whatever made him Luki drained off and left Sonny a handsome and heart-wrenching Luki-like shell.

It didn’t really matter that Sonny knew psychological trauma did this to others: soldiers, agents of the law, people who relied on violent skills to guard the world against violence. This development in Luki astounded Sonny. The very idea that Luki Mililani Vasquez could be so overcome, so incapacitated that people felt the need to watch over him, medicate him, counsel him, be careful of him, for God’s sake. It was like weaving a wall-sized tapestry, spending hours with it and knowing every warp and weft intimately, and then one day discovering the image had changed from day to night, ocean to desert, rock to dust. How could it make sense?

But Sonny also knew immediately that he didn’t have the power to bring the real Luki back. So he lived his daily life keeping Luki always in his field of vision -- at least figuratively -- and he did what he could to help him find what was real from one moment to the next, make sure he got where he needed to go when he needed to be there. Theoretically, that wouldn’t be difficult. But Luki, even broken as he was, always wanted to do things Luki’s way.

Luki was supposed to go to psychotherapy, as he was obviously having trouble processing the fact that he’d shot and killed that young guard, whom he insisted on remembering as an innocent kid, completely discounting the indisputable fact that if he hadn’t shot first the green-eyed kid would have killed him. Luki still had the badge he’d so sneakily reenlisted for behind Sonny’s back before they even knew Luki’s teenage nephew Jackie was missing. Sonny hadn’t wanted him to do that, but the agency shield had come in handy when it turned out Jackie’s sicko kidnapper also happened to be a large-scale moonshiner. Who would have imagined such a coincidence!

Sonny still harbored no great fondness for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, but he had to admit his pleasant surprise. The powers that be at ATF wouldn’t let Luki resign, not until they saw to it that he took advantage of every resource they could throw at him that might make him well. What was happening to Luki wasn’t unusual, Sonny had learned. Agents of the law sometimes killed people and -- if they were good people themselves -- it messed with their heads. Or hearts, perhaps. So agencies like ATF had a response in place involving professional care, and they enforced -- by means Sonny didn’t understand -- their directive that the sick must be treated. And Luki seemed to take the Bureau’s no, you can’t resign at face value.

So Luki was supposed to go to the therapist, and he was supposed to take the pills the agency psychiatrist prescribed to go with the counseling. One for depression. One for anxiety. One for nightmares. Sonny thought Luki might have tried them all, but he knew for sure that after the first few days he wasn’t taking any of them, and he certainly wasn’t meeting with the psychotherapist twice each week. Not even once a month. For the most part, what Luki did was lie in bed, sometimes sleeping but sometimes not. And when Luki wasn’t sleeping, he spent a great deal of time staring, and sometimes patting Bear, who looked annoyed but long-suffering. Luki would turn the TV on and not watch it. He’d read but never turn the page -- wouldn’t even remember to put on his reading glasses. He would come to the dinner table and not eat. Some days he stayed in bed, got up to piss, maybe drank some water, asked, What time is it, and went back to bed no matter the answer.

Thank goodness for physical therapy; if not for that scheduled activity, the physical demand, and maybe exactly the right kind of guy for a therapist, Luki might never have left his bed except to go to the toilet or the couch. Sonny couldn’t begin to explain what was different about PT -- why Luki would do that but nothing else. Whatever the explanation, on PT days, Luki showered and dressed, actually had coffee and breakfast, and with Sonny behind the wheel of the Mustang, rode to Sequim to the clinic. He went in and listened to instructions and tested his muscles to their full capacity, and sometimes he stayed dressed and out of bed until dark.

He went to PT three times a week, thanks to Sonny, who had begged Luki’s doctor to make that a must, because Luki wouldn’t go to psych therapy, and an extra PT session was better than no extra session at all. His physiotherapist, Val, was a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and himself suffered PTSD -- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a fitting name for the condition. Sonny didn’t think Luki’s assignment to Val’s caseload was an accident. Luki didn’t talk to Val, of course. He didn’t talk to anyone. Not even Sonny or his uncle Kaholo. No one. Well, no one except Bear. But when Val talked to Luki, which wasn’t a whole lot, Luki seemed to listen.

And though Luki’s mind, heart, and soul gave no sign they might be healing, his body regained its fitness. Sonny had never truly realized just how monster strong Luki’s deceptively compact muscles had been. He’d never tried to quantify it in any way until he watched Luki squat well over three hundred pounds before the thigh muscles were even firmly healed. Rather than having lost any strength, by the time Val had worked with Luki for five or six weeks, Sonny thought Luki was probably stronger than ever.

And he was utterly beautiful. And now, having backed the Mustang out and pulled it around to the house, Sonny sat with the engine idling, watching Luki, the only real lover he’d ever had or ever wanted, approach the car with the same sure stride and icy gaze he’d always had. He wanted him. He lusted after every inch of soon-to-be sweaty skin and well-trained muscle. Wanted to drag his tongue up every salty valley, mouth every rise and mound, coax him hard, and suck the cream from his cock.

But -- even on PT days -- Luki wasn’t interested. He rolled over and went to sleep before Sonny could so much as kiss him good night. Or if Sonny reached out to hold Luki, or tried to walk into the shelter of his arms, his blessed arms, he gave Sonny a quick squeeze and platonic peck on the cheek. And Sonny really, really needed holding.

Give it a little time, Kaholo had said on the phone.

Sonny knew he might be right -- they’d only been home three and a half weeks.

Don’t give up on ‘im, Sonny.

That pissed Sonny off. He was the one who was there every day, trying to keep their life in some kind of order, trying to outlast Luki’s trouble. "I’m not, he said, sounding more vexed than he’d intended. I won’t, I can’t. But I don’t know what to do. I can’t just wait for him to get over this when he isn’t even trying."

Well… I know a little bit about this, about how it might be for him. Did Luki ever mention to you about the time I was in Vietnam? What my job was?

You were a sharpshooter, a sniper.

That’s right. So of course you know that the only job a sniper has is to kill the man in his sights. The thing is, even back then we had good optics, good enough to get a really good look at the human being on the other end. For me, well, I’m fairly practical.

Sonny smiled at the understated description, even though Kaholo couldn’t see the expression a thousand miles away in Nebraska.

So, Kaholo went on, "I figured a job is a responsibility, and a soldier’s gotta take the job he’s given, and in a war some jobs are less… desirable than others. Time and again I’d get my mark in my sights and shoot him dead. In my mind I said words for the stranger -- which is just my way -- but then I forgot him. But one time it turned out different.

"My platoon was hidden, see, in a gulch, thick vegetation down there, and we knew we couldn’t be seen from camp, even though it wasn’t far. But we had to move -- we had to join up with the rest of our company. We figured out a way to go -- we wouldn’t be in their line of sight if we crossed the stream and headed up behind a rise. But every time we made a move to get out, the enemy knew, and they hit us hard and we’d go running back to hide. We couldn’t figure out how they knew our movements. Finally, my lieutenant spotted motion on a tiny ledge high up on a rock face perpendicular to the cleft we’d taken cover in.

‘That’s where they’re getting the news from, Hula Boy,’ he said. ‘That’s your mark.’ So I did my job, got the Viet Cong soldier in my sights. But he wasn’t much more than a boy. He was alone, looked scared. I started to lower my rifle -- no man wants to shoot a child. But just then our soldiers started to move, the first two stepped out to cross the creek, and I saw the boy pick up a flashlight and start to signal. I lifted my gun, took aim, and fired. It was part of my job to make sure I killed the mark, so I watched through my sights. He looked right at me, his eyes liquid brown and resigned. A red fountain poured down the side of his head, and then he fell… Shit, Kaholo said. It’s hard talking about that, even after all this time.

Kaholo, you didn’t have to --

No, Sonny, I didn’t have to. But I thought maybe, if I told you how that tormented me for months -- hell for years, off and on, maybe I can help you understand my nephew a little bit -- maybe understand all he’s going through and all he’s putting you through.

Yes, Sonny said, feeling overwhelmed.

Luki and me, we’re not much the same, Sonny, except we’re both big Hawaiian dudes. Kaholo laughed, and it gave Sonny permission to do the same. But then Kaholo continued. And then too, his heart’s as soft as mine, maybe softer. He told you about that guard, right? No more than a boy, green and scared and undoubtedly regretting signing on with Marcone’s bunch -- though if his family owed loyalty he may have had no choice. A man can see all that, you know? When you look at your mark, if you have any experience of violence… of a soldier’s life, a cop’s life, Luki’s kind of life… You can see that scared boy and you know him like he was your son or your brother.

Green eyes. Sonny swallowed. He keeps saying the kid… guard had green eyes.

Yes, and I’m thinking that’s like code, Sonny. It’s shorthand for everything he thinks he saw. Luki saw all that in a flash. And then he fired his gun and killed the kid.

Kaholo went silent for a moment then, just when Sonny was going to try to figure what to say, the old man spoke up.

The thing is, Luki’s just the kind of man who’s going to have a hard time putting that aside, I think.

But Luki would have died!

He knows that!

"Then I would have died! If Luki had died, I would be dead or as close to it as makes no difference! Sonny lashed out with characteristic sudden anger, but Kaholo didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry."

You shouldn’t be, son. What you should do is try to let Luki know you feel that way, and then continue to be patient. You’re doing fine.

* * *

Two days later, Sonny hoped maybe a chance had come to try to talk to Luki, as Kaholo had suggested. He could hear Luki brushing his teeth -- something he didn’t always do on days when he had no therapy appointment. It spurred Sonny to take a chance. Luki, he called through the bathroom door. Honey?

Yeah, Luki said, his husky voice monotone, disinterested. But at least he’d answered.

I’m going to sit outside to drink my coffee. Shall I bring you a cup? He waited.

Nothing.

Will you join me?

Nothing… two… three… four…

Yeah, sure. Thanks.

Sonny’s knees nearly failed him right then and there. Could this be a turn of the tide? Could there be a flicker of hope? He had to fight his urge to wait right there by the door and make sure Luki came out, but he won that battle. Okay, he said, hoping he sounded casual. I’ll see you out there, then. How many tons of sugar today? That’s it, Sonny, make it normal, like nothing ever happened… but…

Luki was quiet. But then, like something magical was happening, he chuckled, and joked. A half ton’s plenty, baby.

They sat together on the drift log that had seen so many of their previous conversations, even their first fight. This time there was no gun, and no cigarettes, so that was a little different, but once again Luki was clad poorly in a pair of Sonny’s ill-fitting jeans, wrapped in a blanket, his chestnut curls swirled this way and that like the finger painting of some childish god. Sonny passed him his coffee. He drank, said, It’s good.

Sonny nodded, but found now he didn’t know what to say or do, or for that matter what not to say or do. He had too many hopes that had been lifted too high by this one little gift: Luki had come outside for coffee.

How could Sonny speak without dashing it all to the ground? What could he say that would be safe?

Sonny, Luki said, just loud enough to be heard over the small sounds of the straits in endless motion and the light September breeze. Sonny looked at him with something close to alarm. Luki met his gaze -- something he hardly ever did these days. Then he licked his lips and said a little louder, I love you. That hasn’t changed.

Sonny was left speechless. Time went by, and ultimately Sonny did stretch around his fears and answer as expected. I love you too, Luki. Lots.

I know that. When are you leaving?

What?

For Europe?

What?

Sonny, I’m crazy, not fucking deaf or blind.

Luki suddenly sounded angry, but what he said pissed Sonny off enough that he didn’t -- for once -- spare worry for Luki’s feelings.

You’re not fucking crazy!

You only say that because you can’t get inside here! Luki jabbed at his temple. Maybe you can’t see it, but believe me, some crazy-ass shit’s going on in there.

Then why won’t you go to the psychiatrist, or the therapist? Why won’t you make even the slightest effort to fix whatever the fuck is wrong… Sonny trailed off. Sorry.

Don’t be. Luki gathered up his blanket and his coffee mug. Don’t be, he said again and trudged back toward the house.

As Luki walked away, kicking up small clouds of fine gray sand in the breeze, Sonny stripped and went to the water’s edge -- his almost daily habit. But this time he stood staring at the watery September morning sun. No, he said and then shouted, No! You fucker, though he had no idea to whom the comment was addressed. You’ve taken everyone I’ve ever loved from the time I was a little kid! You can’t do this! He waited.

He waited.

For what?

Oh fuck it, he thought and ran into the low rolling waves of the Juan de Fuca current.

* * *

What the fuck is he doing? Luki had heard Sonny shout, though he couldn’t make out the words; and now he watched Sonny splash out through the shallows, reach the drop off, and sink below the surface. So far -- except for what Luki could only think of as Sonny’s attitude -- nothing alarming; he splashed out that far all the time. But it seemed like a longer than usual time before he came back up -- and then he started swimming out into the channel! What common sense Luki could lay claim to in his compromised state told him that was not a place particularly safe for swimming -- nor was this Sonny’s usual behavior.

It alarmed Luki and woke him up. He felt something big stir down deep in his soul; the sleeping paladin, the knight errant that the sharpest, most painful blade could not kill or cut away. And this was -- Sonny!

He dropped his mug and blanket on the grass and glanced around. Coiled a few feet away was a wrist-thick rope Sonny sometimes used to drag logs out of the forest with Melvern’s old truck. One end was secured to an equally thick chain, and Luki didn’t want to be burdened with that, so he grabbed up the machete that always waited just inside the mud porch and hacked through the rope with a few serious strokes. He hoisted the coil on his shoulder and started running toward the water. His vision clouded at first -- not by tears, no. But it cleared as he ran, watery fog parting and then melting away. He concentrated on moving his feet as fast as he could, on not tripping on the broken, wild ground. When he could, he looked ahead with confused but clearing vision, watching Sonny move.

Sonny didn’t turn back toward shore. At one point, his head disappeared under the surface, and Luki shouted even though he knew Sonny couldn’t hear him. For the first time in weeks, Luki’s own miseries and confused regrets completely fled his mind. He thought only of Sonny, and of running to save his beloved husband’s life. But about the time Luki was knee-deep in the shallows, Sonny did indeed turn back on his own. He was swimming a little raggedly -- not at all his usual graceful stroke -- but he was headed toward shore.

Then he stopped -- just stopped swimming. He tried to tread water -- haphazardly, it seemed -- for a couple of startling seconds, then went under. As that was happening, Luki became aware of his own painfully cold feet, and with that he realized all at once what was happening to Sonny. The water in the straits was cold, always. Sonny had a certain tolerance; he was in that water almost every day. But no one could tolerate being immersed in frigid water for very long. It took Luki but an instant to realize this, and he wanted to stop and panic, but the part of him that needed to keep Sonny safe had risen up from beneath the depression and mental fugue that had paralyzed him for weeks. St. Christopher!

In the next instant, Sonny surfaced, but he was already down current about thirty feet. While running in that direction down the beach, Luki observed -- his professional training and habit falling into place. Sonny was still trying to swim, a good sign, but he spluttered and splashed. A sand bar jutted out into the straits not too far ahead. It wasn’t long enough for the current to dash Sonny onto it, but if Luki could get there before Sonny went by… He waved and yelled, hoping to get Sonny’s attention, but he was already running out on the sand spit before Sonny saw him. Sonny was just about to float by, looking more exhausted now, shaking his head no. Just before the love of his life would have passed out of his reach -- most likely forever -- Luki tossed the rope and landed the knotted end almost on top of Sonny.

Probably by instinct, Sonny grabbed it, but then he let go.

Hold on, Sonny!

Sonny took it again, but his grip was so feeble Luki knew if he tugged, Sonny would lose his hold. Sonny, please, baby. Grab on! I know you’re tired! I know you’re cold! But just hold on hard enough and I’ll do the rest. Just hold on!

At first it wasn’t even clear if Sonny heard him, but he went for the rope, and he latched on hard this time, with two hands above the thick knots that had always been there for some reason Luki didn’t know.

Ready?

Sonny nodded, a stiff and exaggerated gesture Luki couldn’t miss.

Luki was already tired. Trying to fight that current with Sonny’s weight added to the wet rope took every ounce of rebuilt strength Luki had. He could feel his still tender thigh muscle straining, possibly tearing.

He felt like his neck would snap. But he couldn’t let that matter. This was Sonny’s life. He had to get him safe. If he didn’t do that… unthinkable.

When Sonny was within a few feet of the sandy shore, Luki stepped out into the water, still holding the rope, until he could reach out an arm for his cold, nearly drowned husband. Baby, he said once he had a good grip on Sonny. He let go of the rope, not caring. Come on, baby, he said. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you safe.

Once Sonny was on the shore, he tried to stand, but collapsed. His lips were blue, he was shivering, and he kept blinking, as if he couldn’t see clearly. Luki kept him sitting up and wrapped his own arms and legs around as much of Sonny as he could. He chafed Sonny’s feet, which obviously hurt judging from Sonny’s reaction, but Luki thought the presence of pain might be a good sign. He left off, though, and for a moment subjected Sonny’s legs, hands, and arms to the same treatment, then prepared to get him back to the house and warmth.

First, he tried to talk to him. Sonny, baby, can you talk to me?

All he got for answer was mumbles, which really was less than he’d hoped for, but about what he’d expected. Can you stand up, if I help you? Do you think you can walk?

For answer, Sonny started crawling back toward the water.

Fuck! Luki grabbed him, said, Sorry about this, Sonny, and squatted down to hoist him up rather roughly into position for a fireman’s carry. He pressed up with his powerful thighs, and, though it was a long way, Luki carried his husband home a step at a time.

Inside, Luki laid his beloved on the almost threadbare couch Sonny refused to give up. Luki chose that piece of furniture partly because Sonny practically thought of it as medicine, and partly because it was in the living room, the warmest room in the house. Sonny had fallen asleep while Luki carried him, a fact that astounded Luki and confused him. Was it okay for someone who’d almost drowned, whose skin was still as cold as ice, to sleep? Was Sonny in shock? He thought about looking it up on the web, but quickly dropped that idea, considering himself far too slow and unreliable on the computer. He called Donnell, their doctor and friend, instead.

It should be okay, Luki. At least, the sleeping’s not your primary worry. Is his skin still cold to the touch? Everywhere?

Pretty much.

Is he still shivering?

Yeah, but not quite as hard as before.

Okay, blankets, warm water for his feet, maybe -- not hot! Your own body is a good source of heat for him… medically speaking, of course. Warm the room up, give the man something warm to drink as soon as he’ll pay heed and swallow without choking, maybe. Okay? If you want I’ll drive out to take a look at him.

Um… I don’t know. Luki felt really stupid, but what if he said don’t come and then Sonny wasn’t okay? Or what if he said please come, and it was for nothing? Jerry and Donnell lived in Port Angeles -- a bit of a drive.

I’ll tell you what, Donnell said. If something worries you, call me -- if he won’t wake up all the way, if you can’t get him to stop shivering, if a patch of skin larger than your thumbnail seems blackened or otherwise badly damaged. Or if he remains confused or disoriented after he’s warmed up. Otherwise I’ll call you in an hour. One caveat, however. If whatever’s happening doesn’t worry you, but rather scares the hell out of you, call 911. Okay? So hang up now, but, Luki? You were out in the weather yourself! Don’t forget to warm yourself too.

Following the doctor’s orders was easy. In minutes, Sonny was wrapped up, the fire had been stoked, and hot coffee awaited Sonny’s readiness. Luki stripped off his own wet clothes and stood before the fire, warming his own cold ass, hands, and feet, then made good on the final step of the process for warming Sonny: applying body heat. By now Sonny’s eyes fluttered open now and again, and his shivers had become intermittent. When Luki tried to lift his blankets to wrap himself inside with Sonny, Sonny clung to them.

It’s all right, Sonny. I’m not going to take the blankets, I’m just going to lie down with you for a bit, okay?

Oh. S-s-sorry.

Don’t be, baby. No reason. Luki lay down mostly on top of Sonny and wrapped the blankets around them both. Sonny’s shivers gradually left off, and at some point Luki found himself singing his favorite song by Etta James. At last, he crooned in a smoky whisper, my love has come along. Sonny sighed and relaxed under his touch. Luki thought maybe he’d fallen asleep again, but his eyes, though heavy-lidded, were open. Are you warmer, sweetie?

Yes… yeah. I’m good, now. I’m… Luki, I know what it must have looked like, but I didn’t mean to… I didn’t have any thoughts about…

Suicide. Okay, I believe you. But why did you swim out like you did?

I was just blowing off steam. It was really stupid -- I know better. I’m glad you were there, Luki. Sonny tilted his head back, apparently wanting to get a good view of Luki’s face, and met his eyes. You saved me… I mean, you kept me safe, Luki. It’s what you do, right? Thank you.

Luki sat up, moving to let Sonny’s long legs lie across his lap, and looked away. What could he say? What Sonny said was true -- Luki had stepped into his protector role like Superman changing in a phone booth. Once wearing the role he’d nurtured over decades, it was like none of the stuff in between had ever happened. He’d just done what Luki Vasquez did best. He felt odd now, like perhaps his actions of the afternoon had some bearing on the mess he had, in general, become. Like maybe he was almost Luki Vasquez, if he just didn’t make any missteps.

One thing he knew: to answer Sonny’s gratitude with you’re welcome wouldn’t make any sense. Instead he said, I made some coffee. When I talked to Donnell --

You called the doctor?

Yeah, I didn’t --

And even with the damn Scottish br-r-r-rogue you could understand him?

Luki’s eyebrows went up, and he looked critically at Sonny. Maybe I should call him back. He said if you were still disoriented… You never speak with a horribly fake Scottish accent unless you have shortbread.

I’m lucid.

No. I’m lucid. You’re Sonny. Do you want coffee, anyway?

In a minute. My feet are really cold, Luki. They hurt.

Oh, I’m sorry. Donnell suggested a tub of warm water, but first let’s just try this. He turned his body so that he faced Sonny, his back up against the arm of the sofa, his legs running on either side of Sonny’s, and placed Sonny’s soles against his own bare chest. Oh, fuck! They are cold.

Sonny giggled. That feels so good. Stay right there!

Luki couldn’t help but smile at his lover, who could be a bit hedonistic in the best of circumstances. He saw Sonny watching him, and on a whim kissed the closest big toe. Sonny giggled some more. Even though no part of Sonny was touching his sex, Luki felt himself growing hard. It had been a while since that had happened all on its own -- he’d been so lost in his misery since last summer, when he’d killed the green-eyed boy rescuing Jackie from that madman Titus Crane’s compound in the Umatilla. He hadn’t even been sure such a spontaneous thing was still possible. But he saw movement under the blanket, the outline of Sonny’s long, perfect penis growing full, and he knew Sonny felt it too. He watched his husband’s eyes; no tears, but a liquid shine glossed them.

Almost whispering, breathing in fearful sounding gasps, Sonny said, Luki, I want you to fuck me… No. No, I want you to make love to me.

He looked away then back to meet Luki’s eyes, brow lowered with worry. Luki, I know --

Sh! Hush, baby. Luki kissed the tender arch of Sonny’s foot -- the rest of him being out of reach. He looked at Sonny and nodded. Yes. I want that too.

They both went quiet and still, and Luki thought, He’s afraid to believe I’m going to love him. How did such a sad thing happen? But then, as memories and fears and towering regret came rolling toward him, he realized he was afraid of exactly the same thing. With all the power of his mind, he blocked out the things that would get in the way of him loving Sonny -- had been getting in the way for weeks. And with all the power of his heart, he focused everything on his husband, his love. His breath beginning to come faster, biting his lip for stability, he rose on one knee and moved toward his husband.

His hands wanted to wander over Sonny’s skin, and he let them. Let them follow the long slender curves of Sonny’s legs, his inner thighs. When he reached his sex, he framed his husband’s familiar and much-missed cock and balls with his hands, but he didn’t touch them. He let Sonny see the smile in his eyes as he instead moved his hands up over hip bones and belly and abs and pecs with their hard, puckered centers of dark, sensitive flesh. Once he reached the chiseled shoulders, he lifted Sonny and pressed him against his own chest. And then he took his lips in a kiss like fire.

Oh! Sonny said, after the kiss ended.

Mm-hm. Follow me, baby. Luki pushed the coffee table out of the way and took Sonny by the hand, supporting him. That couch is like a black hole. Fucking in a black hole isn’t easy.

Sonny laughed. I love my couch!

Let’s go to bed, though. Sonny offered no resistance, and when they got there Luki realized that sometime during the day Sonny had taken advantage of Luki’s relative wakefulness to put clean bedding on, topping it with the rainbow spread he’d woven for their bed almost a year ago. Now, Luki pulled those bright colors back for Sonny to crawl under, grounded beneath by a brilliant sky-blue blanket, and then he got in too, rolled right up next to Sonny Bly James, and cradled him against his body. Sonny’s head was tucked into the crook of Luki’s neck -- a familiar and natural position for them, despite Sonny’s greater height. Luki kissed his way down from the crown of his lover’s head to his lips, spent some time nibbling and sucking and delving deep into Sonny’s mouth, then planted a last light kiss and pulled back.

Gazing at Sonny, he tried to put all he felt into his eyes and a few chosen words -- words he’d said before, words that would always be true. Sonny Bly James, he started, the syllables shaped into rough whispers. He cleared his throat and continued, trying harder to add strength. Sonny, you are the most beautiful thing that ever happened to the world. And, God, baby, you have to believe this: I love you. He dipped down and kissed Sonny again, so tender, and said it again. I love you.

He began to lick the remnants of sea salt off Sonny’s skin, starting out sweet and slow, but growing adamant, pushy, demanding. And Sonny gave and took in kind, until the two of them were half covered in marks from sucks and scratches and bites. Sonny started suddenly to move his head toward Luki’s cock, but Luki pushed him back down and said, No, you. He licked the length of Sonny’s erection from base to crown twice, then stroked, squeezing a little until precum coated the sweet tip. Taking Sonny’s own hand, he passed it over to gather the crystal lube, then gave the harvest to Sonny, feeding him his juices from his own fingers.

Sonny moaned, sucking the pleasure from his own hand, and Luki growled, then lay down over Sonny, grinding their hard cocks together. Then, as he almost always did, he asked, What do you want, baby?

Fuck me, Sonny said, with no hesitation.

Yes, Luki said. Then, Lube, sweetie? He never thought of it ahead of time -- a shortcoming, he thought, but Sonny was always prepared.

In the top drawer, where it always is, Sonny said, sounding a little rushed. Get off me so I can get it.

Not on your life, sweetie. I’ll get it. With that he moved them both closer, sort of inching along and dragging Sonny with him. Sonny was laughing full-out by the time they got close enough for Luki to fetch the little tube of slippery stuff. Humor was involved -- it was none too graceful -- but there was also a considerable amount of bump and grind, and by the time Luki squeezed out the lube into Sonny’s hand and said, Do me, baby, Luki was so hard he hurt, and Sonny, with the head of his cock stretched tight like a drum and purple with engorging blood, must have felt the same.

Sonny spread lube over Luki’s thick, hard cock, while at the same time Luki used his fingers to lube and stretch Sonny’s hole. When he’d worked three fingers in and Sonny had completely lost focus on anything else, Luki brought all his fingers out then went back in with his long and talented middle finger only. Sonny moaned and said, No, fuck me, Luki, please! But no sooner had Sonny said it than Luki tapped his prostate, once, twice. Sonny got so excited then he half sat up so he could jam his ass against Luki’s hand, demanding what Luki was already freely giving. Finally, though, Luki had to hold him back so he could retrieve his hand and replace the finger with the hard cock he knew Sonny really wanted.

He entered, let just the crown of his penis remain inside, took hold of Sonny’s long, beautiful, flexible legs behind the knees, and rode them down until they were folded back, framing Sonny’s face, and Sonny’s ass was open and lifted high, ready for him to slide in deep. And so he did, his cock practically on fire, his lips burning on Sonny’s. It was all way too hot, and he didn’t want it to end, so he plunged in deep and this time stayed there. Sonny squirmed, and he said, Be still, baby. Let’s just feel this. Let’s just feel me deep inside you. God, baby, look at you, he said, rising up on one arm.

Hot, Sonny said.

Yeah, you are, Luki said and chuckled because he knew that wasn’t what Sonny meant. He gathered his breath and blew across the sweat on Sonny’s neck, and smiled as Sonny arched to expose more of his hot skin to the cooling breeze. But Luki was looking at the beauty of Sonny’s body. He saw Sonny’s hand lying alongside his perfect cock. He knew what Sonny would do, later; he would stroke himself. Sonny liked to stroke his own cock while Luki was fucking him -- even more than having Luki do it. And Luki loved to see it. It turned him on something fierce.

Sometimes he liked to put his own hand over Sonny’s and help him. Sometimes the sight of Sonny jerking off was what put Luki over the edge to his own orgasm.

Now, he moved a little to the side without coming out of Sonny’s snug hole at all, and he whispered close to Sonny’s ear, Touch yourself, baby.

Sonny shivered and did as told, sliding one long, slender finger up and down the shaft while his curved thumb played a complimentary rhythm on the beautifully inflamed head. Luki?

Oh, baby. So fine. It feels good?

Yeah. Sonny said it with a giggle. You know I like it. You’re so hot inside me, Luki. I want you to fuck me.

Yes. I want to fuck you, baby. I’m going to. I’m going to fuck you hard. That’s okay? But first I just wanted to watch you for a bit. God damn, baby. You are so. Fucking. Perfect. With that, Luki shifted his weight back, gave himself room, and set up a hard driving rhythm, rocking Sonny and nudging his gland on nearly every stroke. Do it, he said to Sonny. Please that beautiful cock, baby.

Sonny did it, his hand stroking none too gently, driven by some rhythm inside of himself, his eyes losing focus. Finally he began to chant,

Luki, Luki, Luki.

Luki said, Yes, Sonny, it’s time, baby. Let it happen; come for me.

Sonny answered with his lover’s name, spoken like a question. Yes, Luki repeated, Let it come, baby. Then, Yeah, that’s it! He could see Sonny’s face going slack with pleasure. Sonny cried out, and creamy white semen splattered both Sonny’s belly and Luki’s, and Luki melted into his lover’s orgasm, tripped into his own, and followed it through to a kind of bliss he’d somehow nearly forgotten. He never wanted to emerge.

Chapter Two

Sonny half woke up, remembered the miracle that had been his and Luki’s morning, and thought about getting up to stoke the fire, start some food for dinner, drink some water, pee. But, no, he wasn’t moving as long as Luki was there sleeping next to him, holding him. He had been starved for this. He needed Luki’s gentle strength. It was like sun, and as long as it was shining, Sonny would bask in it.

He had been so worried -- ever since they’d come home and Luki had that first nightmare -- but now… maybe he’ll be okay. In the dim light, he watched Luki sleep, worried a bit that he didn’t seem entirely peaceful -- his eyes darted back and forth under almost closed lids, and his lips and fingers twitched. It made him think of the way dogs dream, and he looked over at Bear. Bear twitched too, in a very similar way. That was disconcerting, but Sonny opted to ignore it and to assume whatever Luki’s unrest was at the moment, it would pass. He snuggled tight up against his husband, reveled in his smell, burrowed into his smooth warmth, and draped his own long arm across Luki’s chest.

He closed his eyes and looked for sleep, and it wasn’t long before he found it. He’d just about fallen deep into some sweet dream when Luki shot upright with a military-sounding shout -- words, but Sonny couldn’t tell what they were. Without warning, Luki grabbed him, locking him into some kind of wrestling hold that wasn’t exactly painful as long as Sonny didn’t try to move -- but it was scary as hell. At first Sonny couldn’t even gather enough breath to speak or scream or whatever it was he was going to do. Luki went still then, breathing hard and saying something over and over again that Sonny couldn’t understand. Sonny was able to gather the courage to call his name, to try to wake him up -- for it was clear to Sonny that Luki was in the midst of a nightmare.

Luki, he said, trying to sound calm. Luki, honey, it’s me. When Luki didn’t respond at all, Sonny tried again. Luki, you’re hurting me… Please, Luki, it’s me, it’s…

No! Stop! Luki was breathing so hard Sonny was sure