Burning Truth Read online

  Austin laughed as he made his way to the second floor of the station house, where he got out of his clothes and wrapped a towel around his waist. He knew he would be sore tomorrow, that his shoulders and thick arms would pay the price for the heavy lifting he’d done today. As he padded into the shower area, he stole a look at his body, how well kept it was, cut and muscular, with a healthy shock of curly, gold hair coating his chest and arms. On his young, stubbled face he noticed now it was darkened with soot, but otherwise his eyes electric with victory. The rush of fighting fires never failed to energize both body and mind, and add in his soul-inspired rescue and coming out alive, he had to say all in all it had been a good day.

  Little could spoil his good mood.

  He was about to meet “little.”

  § § §

  Sally’s Dive was where anyone who was anyone in White Pine went to be seen.

  Sally Curtis was its sassy proprietor, owner, and bartender. Seldom was the mouthy broad not behind the circular bar, flinging barbs as easily as she slung drinks. She’d bought the place after an accident at the Lucky Scent factory where she worked had left her with a permanent limp. The factory wasn’t a lucky place; it had burned down a couple years later, taking with it the life of Paddy Rodgers, the former chief of the White Pine Fire Department.

  Dive was also an appropriate name for her place, as it thrived on dim lighting, the odor of stale beer, a jukebox that didn’t know the millennium had come. That didn’t stop the locals from coming, sometimes nightly, to knock back cheap brew and play pool or just commiserate about how damn long the winter was in the Adirondacks. Little changed at Sally’s, tonight emblematic of its seedy reputation. As Austin walked in, freshly scrubbed and craving that beer, he smiled at the sense of the familiar. On a day when fire could have incinerated him into memory, he was grateful for the little things.

  “Hey, there’s our hero of the day,” Sally said, ringing the cow bell above the register.

  A small handful of the usual barflies started applauding as Austin approached the bar, his cheeks flush. Sitting amidst them and leading the cause was Dicky Tenders, his gut hanging over his belt but his smile oddly wider. Sally grabbed a fresh Budweiser, twisted the cap and handed it to Austin.

  “On the house,” she said.

  “Oh good, that means the second one is on Dickey,” he said, taking a pull.

  As Austin was drawn into the friendly fold of the regulars, he was asked to tell his tale of being inside the burning house and why he thought someone was inside that old place. Questions about who the man was abounded, but Austin shrugged it off, saying he had no idea, it didn’t matter, at least the guy was alive and being cared for.

  “Must have been some homeless guy, not that we have that kind of problem in town.”

  “Maybe he was just passing through, needed a place to rest.”

  “Bad timing on that,” said Sally. “Lucky you’re as stupid as you are cute.”

  “I’ll second that,” came a fresh voice to the conversation, causing Austin to turn around.

  It was Tucker O’Connell, of course. Austin recognized his voice and besides, as much as he and the chief tried to keep Austin’s heroics of the day under wraps, this was White Pine, where secrets were just truths that hadn’t been told yet. Dicky had taken care of that today.

  “Hey, Tucker,” Austin said, accepting a tight embrace from the man who gave his dull life color. It was as much PDA as they displayed in front of the barflies. They were accepting of most anything, but that didn’t mean they wanted to watch two men kiss.

  “Are you okay? I heard what you did.”

  “I’m standing here, aren’t I? Drinking a beer.”

  “You’re so macho, huh?” Tucker said.

  Austin knocked his knuckles against his forehead. “Or something.”

  Tucker, at five eight, was handsome in that devilish Irish way, with a tightly coiled body of ropey muscle. He had a perpetual beard on his face, shaved closed, but enough for Austin to rub a hand across. He enjoyed the sensation of the rough whiskers and was hoping that tonight he would get to fully indulge the pleasures of his furry lover. Just the sight of him turned him on and at once a wave of what he’d almost lost came over him.

  “Sorry, your Dad thought you might freak.”

  “Austin, I know you take chances. It’s who you are,” he said.

  “Wow, you’re being so understanding.”

  “That’s because I’m in a good mood.”

  That comment intrigued Austin, as Tucker’s psyche could usually be found consumed by some crisis or foulness. He was an artist, an acclaimed songwriter and often slave to his fickle muse, and sometimes it made their relationship rocky. So far they had resisted living together yet, Tucker staying with his parents, Austin as he had done since he was born, with his mother. When Tucker was moody, Austin went home. That wasn’t the case now.

  “What’s got you so happy?”

  “He’s here,” Tucker said, “He got here today.”

  “He, who?”

  “Ellis.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “Geez, do you ever listen to me, Austin?”

  “You talk a lot, sometimes I can’t absorb everything.”

  “Ellis Van Pelt, my friend, the photographer. Come on, I want you to meet him.”

  Ellis, now what kind of name was that, Austin asked himself. Nobody in White Pine was given such a pretentious name, which made him question whether it was given to him at birth or had he changed it somewhere along the way for artistic purposes? Did it even matter, the man was here and Tucker was clearly excited by his presence. Austin ambled over with an air of nonchalance, like he was less than eager to meet the man who’d gotten his boyfriend’s panties in a bunch. Maybe because he had.

  Ellis Van Pelt stood as Austin approached, his slim frame just under five eight. He wore round, wire-rim glasses that made his eyes seem bigger than they were, and wrapped around his neck was a silk scarf worn more for style than for warmth. He was handsome, though, beautiful even, Austin thought, with high cheeks bones a woman would envy. An air of confidence swirled around him, like Ellis could shoot down any attempt at an insult with a withering glance or a far-reaching barb. He immediately made Austin feel uncomfortable. Smart people did that, and he had the feeling Ellis Van Pelt was high grade intelligent.

  “Austin, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Tucker has told me so much about you.”

  Ellis had him a distinct disadvantage. Austin had never heard his name until recently, and then only in passing reference to some photo project. Tucker appeared oblivious to the undercurrent happening here between the two men, as he just continued to smile like the village idiot. It was unlike him, and again, Austin felt a deeper dislike for this man insinuating itself into his soul.

  “Uh, thanks. Pleasure,” he said, feeling stupid for not being better prepared.

  “Tucker told me you were cute, but man, I could so dedicate an entire calendar to you.”

  “Calendar?” Austin asked, looking back at Tucker.

  “You’ll have to excuse Austin tonight, I think he took in too much smoke today.”

  “Yes I heard about your heroics. Like I said, a hunk like you could have his own photo shoot and calendar.”

  “Down boy, he’s mine,” Tucker said, “come on, let’s sit, have a drink and celebrate.”

  Austin followed Tucker’s lead, filling the rest of the round table with his muscular form. He sipped at his beer, wondering what the three of them had to celebrate, what they might have in common. Tucker was drinking a draft beer, Ellis had a martini of some sort, and it was green in color and had a slice of apple garnishing it. Austin didn’t even know Sally could make such a concoction.

  “So, you want to tell me again what’s going on?”

  “Geez, Austin, I mentioned this to you…what, a month, six weeks ago? We’re going to be producing a calendar for charity, to sell to the residents of White Pine…heck, beyond, I mean, who doesn’t like a calendar full of hunky, hot fireman?”

  “They sell really well,” Ellis added, nodding his head.

  It was funny, his comment was directed at Austin but his eyes focused on Tucker.

  Just what was it these two shared? Why was this Ellis guy even here?

  “I remember the calendar thing and told you it was a good idea. You didn’t tell me it was happening, though.”

  “Well, it is.”

  “So, what, I’m supposed to pose for this calendar? Not really my thing.”

  Ellis stepped in, placing his hand upon Austin’s hairy arm. “Oh, you’ll be a natural.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ll see. In my hands, even the stiffest man becomes putty.”

  “Not really the reaction you always want,” Tucker said.

  He and Ellis laughed heartily. Austin drank to hide the fact he hadn’t got the joke.

  Uncomfortable silence settled between them, each of them reaching for their drinks. Any interruption would have been welcomed, but it was unfortunate that it came in the form of a fourth party, one Kent Crandall, that muckraking so-called reporter from the White Pine Gazette. The sleazoid just couldn’t leave the men of WPFD alone, always writing about their exploits. Austin could almost smell the moths coming off his ratty old blazer.

  “So, boys, I see we have someone new to our fair village.”

  “Go away, Crandall, we’re busy,” Tucker said.

  “Such manners, is that how your parents taught you to behave?”

  “He said, fuck off,” Austin said.

  “He didn’t say that exactly, but may I quote you?”

  Austin glared at the man while he drank down the rest of his beer.

  “Who might you be?” Ellis said, prolongin
g Kent’s stay.

  “Kent Crandall, editor of the Gazette, and a big fans of yours Mr. Van Pelt. I saw one of your shows in New York a couple of years ago.”

  “Ha, you go to New York?” Tucker asked.

  “Can’t find culture in White Pine,” Kent said.

  “Except on your jacket,” Austin added. A cheap shot, but he was pleased.

  Kent ignored him and focused back on Ellis.

  “Which show?”

  “The one with the men in skimpy space suits.”

  “Ah, Men of Tomorrow, that was quite popular.”

  “And now you’re here in White Pine to photograph our hunky firemen?”

  “So it seems,” he said. “Though young Austin here seems like he needs convincing.”

  Kent waved him off. “Forget him. Between White Pine and Honor Hills, there are plenty of other men to fill out that calendar.”

  “So Tucker tells me.”

  “Yeah, about Tucker, just how well do you two know each other?”

  Tucker spoke up then, anger filling his voice. “Crandall, can’t you take a hint? Get the fuck away from us or I’ll have you removed.”

  “Big words, Tucker. What, you’re gonna get your meathead here to do it?”

  Austin stood up then, and while he didn’t quite tower over Kent, his thick body easily out muscled him. Placing his thick arms at his hips, his pose was threatening to the point that Kent backed down, taking a step backwards.

  “I already carried one pipsqueak on my shoulders today, I can easily do it again.”

  “Oh right, your rescue at the abandoned house on Cypress Street. Pretty dumb move.”

  “I’m alive, so’s the vic. You might not be so lucky.”

  Kent took another step back, bowed politely, but of course had to get the last word in. “Mr. Van Pelt, I’d welcome the chance to interview you, perhaps do a feature on the photo shoot. But we can talk about that another time. Goodnight boys, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything you would do,” Austin said.

  Finally the three men were left alone, the interest they’d garnered from the other tables dying down. They returned to their drinks and the conversation rallied around this calendar idea. Austin was conflicted. Sure, it was for charity, but did that mean he would just strip down to whatever this pretentious photographer wanted for all to ogle? He excused himself, wanting another beer, and he had the feeling his presence wouldn’t even be missed by the two men. As Sally was serving him, his eyes fell back upon Tucker and Ellis.

  They looked thick as thieves, and Austin had to wonder just what their past relationship was, and whether either one of them was thinking it had a future. Austin didn’t like the little guy.

  “I should have just burned inside that house,” Austin grumbled.

  Chapter Three

  Joey

  Few things in life could make the randy and ravenous Joey Silva miss his mother’s lasagna night, and as much as he anticipated the filling meal and a glass of red wine to accompany it and sitting down with his parents, there was no debate he was going to be late.

  He was still home, only a mile away as the crow flies, but he was otherwise occupied.

  “Oh Joey…Joey, yeah, do it, take me…”

  Sex always took precedence with the big, burly beast.

  The hot blond hunk named Nick Lynch writhed beneath him, hairy legs wrapped around Joey’s hard, furry ass, taking each thrust of his massive cock. It had been like this nearly non-stop since the two men had realized an insatiable attraction existed between them a couple of months ago, a heat that went beyond that one night of passion they’d shared in the basement gym at the White Pine fire station, or the sweaty all-night fuck session they’d survived while trapped up at the Rodgers’ camp during a fierce winter storm.

  Nick craved that cock, and Joey loved giving him every powerful inch, so much so that on Nick’s day off from the station he’d driven to Joey’s house in Honor Hills for one thing and one thing alone. It had been a week since they had seen each other and that thick piece of meat Joey carried between his hairy legs consumed him. Since arriving a few hours ago, they had barely stopped to do much beyond constant, hard, sweaty fucking.

  Joey recalled Nick walking through the door, stripping off his clothes and dropping to his knees. He’d sucked him hard and fast right there in the foyer of his house. Joey had blown his load all over his face, and while Nick cleaned up the gooey come he’d fetched his cell phone to call his mother and announce he’d be late.

  “Sorry, keep it hot for me.”

  “I could say the same thing,” Nick had said, coming at him, ripping open his dark T-shirt to reveal the forest of black hair that swirled all over his massive torso. Once he did that, there was no denying what would consume them until the dying sun dipped onto the horizon and night claimed their desires. Only then would Joey be free to indulge other passions.

  Joey felt his cock throb, grow thicker with each ram into Nick’s open ass.

  “Yeah, that’s it Nick, you know you want it again, again.”

  “Always, yeah, yeah…oh, again, shove your cock in deep.”

  Joey did as asked, the thrust of his cock like a rocket, urgent, his grunt animal-like as he fucked his hot lover in what he called the room of mirrors. He felt Nick’s hands grab at his back, sliding them over thick dark hair, fingernails digging into the muscled flesh beneath. The action served to turn an already heated Joey into a fierce warrior, ramming him even harder, burying his cock as deep as he could. Nick cried out, begging for more from his crazily furred lover.

  Joey Silva was as hairy as he was sexy, and he was just how Nick liked his men.

  “Oh, owww…oh, you beast, you fucking beast. Fill me, fuck me.”

  Joey lifted himself up, planting his palms on the bed, continuing his hard thrusts. He felt Nick’s palms flatten against his strong chest, sliding beneath thick whorls of fur. With his strong, bulging muscles straining to keep him balanced, he felt sweat drip down his cheek, a stray drop finding its way onto Nick’s lips. Nick licked it, tasted it, his mouth then moving upwards to lick the nave of Joey’s neck, right where a thick tuft of hair reached upwards. Joey felt the heat of his kiss, the pull of teeth on his hair, and it fueled him, powered his hips.

  He thrust so hard Nick’s cry nearly shattered one of the mirrors that stared back at them. Their coupling was loud, fierce, unrelenting, hotter than the first two times they’d gone at it today. He’d taken Nick from behind in the living room, pounding him until they’d both shot their load. He’d started walking him up the stairs to the bedroom, had dropped onto a step and eased Nick down on his still-hard cock. Nick rode him hard on the steps, the two of them grasping at the railing to keep from tumbling backwards in a mess of limbs and hair and spilled come. And now they had finally made it to the room filled with mirror images of them, almost like they were fucking not just each other but many versions of themselves, each one more hungry than the last.

  “Oh, Joey…Joey…oh, uh, fuck….”

  Joey grunted, felt another climax begin to build inside of his heated body. He’d already shot three times, but Nick did that to him, the way his ass felt as he slid his cock inside, the way his pleading blue eyes stared up at him at first penetration, it was unlike any look the sexually promiscuous Joey Silva had ever seen on any man he fucked. What existed between them was more than heat, more than immediate fulfillment of a burning hunger, there were personal feelings not just for the physical specimen heaving above him but for what settled underneath his furry exterior. Not that either had said the words, but love filled the room as much as did Joey’s grunts, Nick’s pleas. Nick wasn’t ready to say them, Joey had never said them, not to anyone.

  Joey roared suddenly as a river of heat rushed through his shaft.

  Nick knew the explosion was coming, and he prepared his sphincter for one last assault. Joey felt his body being pulled in tight, hands once again encircling his back. Nick grabbed at the thick dark tufts of hair, his legs tight against Joey’s ass, helping to push him as deep as he could go. Joey saw Nick’s sparkling blue eyes roll inside his head, desire washing over him, dictating his every move, his every clutch and grab and cry.

  “Yes, Joey, let me feel you blow…”

  He did, right at that instant, white hot come shooting out of his tip. The explosion rocked Joey, but he kept thrusting, kept fucking Nick until every drop had drained out him, and even then he gave Nick’s ass one last pump and then he fell back against the bed, exhaustion at last commanding his body. He unrolled the condom off his stiff cock carefully so as not to spill his warm seed. His chest heaved, the massive thicket matted with sweat, his nipples red and raw. As he sought breath, he stole a look at the clock and said, “Aw, shit, I think I even missed dessert.”