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Sturges came calling at ten in the morning, dressed for the road in broken-in boots and grimy coveralls. “‘M headin’ over to Tenpines Bluff, if you wanted t’ tag along.”
Deacon glanced up from his book, looking at Sturges over his sunglasses. He was clean-shaven and freshly scrubbed, red toolbox resting at his feet, a toothpick dangling from his lips. Deacon swallowed and dropped his gaze to the dog-eared text in his lap. “Ask Preston.”
“Already did,” said Sturges. “He told me to ask you.” He crossed the room and leaned on the back of Deacon’s chair, peering over his shoulder. “What’chu readin’?”
“A book.”
“What book?”
Keenly aware of the other man’s warm bulk behind him, Deacon wordlessly turned the book over to show sturges the cover.
“Neurosis and Human Growth,” Sturges read, “The Struggle Toward Self-Realization.”
Deacon dropped the book back into his lap. “It’s good,” he Deacon placidly. “Interesting.”
“Huh.” Sturges took a half step back. “I’ll take your word for it. I ain’t too much of a reader, but I like those old Grognak comics.” He paused and waited for a response. Deacon turned a page, and Sturges changed tactics. “‘S a beautiful day,” he said mildly. “Good day for a walk.”
“Yup.”
“Aw, come on, Deacon,” he said. “You ain’t gonna make me beg, are you? Come on outside, get some fresh air. Walk with me, it’s lovely outside.” Sturges’ calloused fingers brushed the back of Deacon’s neck, raising gooseflesh.
He tensed, rabbit-like, preparing to run, then relaxed, tension draining from him. Shivering, Deacon leaned back into the touch, his eyes screwed shut behind his sunglasses. “Why me?”
Sturges shrugged. "I could use the company," he said. “An’ you spend too much time alone. It’s not good for a man.”
“Oh, so you’re a psychologist now?”
“Don’t need to be,” Sturges breathed. His fingers curled along Deacon’s neck, cradling his jaw. He ran his thumb across his vertebrae, tracing the ridges of bone. “Any fool could see that you’re lonely.”
Pride and instinct urged caution, but Deacon said nothing. He remained still, did not shy away from Sturges’ words or his touch. Behind him, Sturges moved closer, set his other hand on Deacon’s jaw and tilted his head back. He stooped and kissed him on the mouth, a fleeting press of teeth and tongue.
Deacon swallowed, a lump in his throat and a nervous flutter in his gut. “Alright,” he said hoarsely. “Let me get my things.”
---
He tailed Sturges to Tenpines Bluff, his head on a swivel. The north roads were safe as any in the Commonwealth; the Minutemen had driven back the raiders and the ferals and established patrols and waystations, but Deacon felt curiously exposed. He held his rifle at the ready and scanned the horizon for danger, anxiety coiled in his belly like a rattlesnake.
Sturges sang tunelessly, cheerfully oblivious to Deacon’s unease. He hefted his massive toolbox like it weighed nothing, pausing whenever Deacon fell too far behind. He stopped to point out landmarks and make conversation, for once, Deacon had nothing to say in response. He had the vague sense that he was being courted, and it made him want to crawl out of his skin. Preston and Sturges had been after him for months; he had liked their attention more when he’d been able to convince himself that they were only interested in his dick.
They reached Tenpines Bluff that afternoon. Sturges evidently knew the settlers; he paused to visit and have a glass of lemonade before he went to work on the generators. Deacon hovered like a stray, nodding along to the inane conversation and trying to pretend that he didn’t feel out-of-place as a nun in a whorehouse.
Deacon followed Sturges out to the generator shed behind the field. He leaned against the wall and watched the other man work. He replaced slipped belts, oiled gear shafts, and tightened screws, whistling all the while. His hands were surprisingly deft, strong fingers delicate as he eased stuck casings open and peered inside. Deacon admired the strength of his arms and hands, his grey eyes sweeping over the curve of Sturges’ neck and shoulders.
Sturges glanced over his shoulder, grinned. “Admirin’ the view?”
“Could say that,” said Deacon, his mouth dry. “I’m certainly not complaining.”
Sturges chuckled and returned his attention to the generator. “You’re always hangin’ back and watchin’,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “What’d it take to get you to join in, I wonder?”
Deacon’s face grew hot. “I don’t know,” he said, “an engraved invitation?”
“I’ll be sure to tell Preston.” He jimmied the back panel off one of the generators and found the engine intact but filthy and gummed up. Humming, he selected a hammer and a chisel from his toolbox. He began to chip at the calcified mass of black crud blocking the intake valve, black flakes of gunk falling away like ash.
Awkward, hesitant, Deacon crouched beside him and picked up a flat head screwdriver. Sturges moved to make room for him, and Deacon helped clear the obstruction away. Working jointly, they had the generator functional in record time. Deacon stood, catlike, and extended a hand to Sturges.
The larger man accepted his extended hand, clambered awkwardly to his feet. Upright, eyes shining, he did not release Deacon’s hand.
“Um,” said Deacon, and Sturges fell on him like a wolf on a radstag. He pushed Deacon back against the wall, arms like steel cables. He kissed with possessive hunger, forcing his thigh between Deacon's spread legs while one calloused hand slid under the hem of his borrowed t-shirt, palm flat against Deacon's stomach.
He sucked the air from Deacon's lungs and leaned back, grinning wolfishly. "Ain't a secret that we've been trying to get you into bed," he drawled. "S'all Preston talks about any more. Now, a lesser man might be jealous." He traced Deacon's lips with a calloused thumb. "But I ain't the type."
Deacon swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His mouth was dry as cotton; his head pounded. He was dizzy, half-delirious with wanting, he could feel Sturges' erection through his trousers and his own cock twitched in response. "Lucky me," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Grinning, Sturges leaned forward to put more of his weight on Deacon, pinning him in place. Deacon squirmed against him, swallowing a whimper as Sturges ground against him, working his knee between Deacon's leg. Laughing, he teased the hem of Deacon's shirt up, exposing his stomach and the trail of reddish hair leading down from his navel. Sturges pushed his hips down into Deacon's, let him get a feel for his cock.
"A redhead, huh?" said Sturges, his breath hot against the shell of Deacon's ear. "I wouldn't have guessed." He laughed against Deacon's mouth and kissed him greedily. Sturges ground up against Deacon, rolling his hips against him until he was weak-kneed and panting, clutching desperately at the larger man for support.
Sturges pulled back, eyes shining. "God, you're eager," he teased, pushing the hem of Deacon's shirt up further, exposing more and more of his pale belly. "I tol' Preston you would be."
Deacon closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the wall. "You guys talk about me a lot?"
"Yeah," said Sturges. His touch softened, and he trailed his calloused fingers along Deacon's jaw. "Preston wants you so bad. Can't stop talking about you. He wants to treat you gentle, fuck you good." A grin, and his tightened his hand against Deacon's throat, searching for his fluttering pulse. "I just want to get you on your knees."
Deacon laughed weakly, erection pressing painfully against his zipper. "Is that all?" he said. "I like a man who knows what he wants."
"I want to see you suck my boy off," murmured Sturges, lips brushing Deacon's throat. He fit his palm around Deacon's cock and squeezed. Deacon gasped and pushed his hips into Sturges' rough grip, hands fisting in his shirt. "Let him fuck your pretty mouth, come on your face. If you treat him good, I'll let you watch while I fuck him." He spoke low and urgent, his voice rough as sandstone. "Would you like that?"
Deacon could hear the smirk in his words, could practically taste Preston's cock on his tongue. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck yes."
Another laugh, low like thunder. "Thought so," he murmured. "Took one look at you, knew you'd be happiest on your knees. Isn't that right?"
Deacon nodded. His face burned, his cock was heavy and swollen, his balls were stones inside his sack. Sturges had him flustered and frantic, worked up and fit to burst. He whined low in his throat, and Sturges laughed again.
"Suck my cock," he said, pulling away, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops.
Breathless, panting, Deacon slumped back against the wall. "Here?" he said. "Right here?"
"'Course," said Sturges. "You ain't shy, are you?"
"No," said Deacon. He dropped to his knees in front of Sturges, gravel digging painfully into his skin. He reached for Sturges' zipper, tugged it down. "Not shy."
"Didn't think so," said Sturges smugly. He eased his fly open and his cock slid into his hands. He had a nice-sized dick, thick and uncut, foreskin flushed and ruddy as he jerked it back over the sensitive head of his cock.
Deacon wet his lips and leaned forward, eager and willing, tongue darting out to catch a bead of pre-come welling up from the tip. Sturges groaned impatiently and thrust into Deacon's mouth, pushing past his slack lips and sliding over his tongue. The head of his cock hit the back of Deacon's throat and he gagged reflexively, choking and sputtering until Sturges shifted his angle.
Grateful, Deacon licked along the throbbing vein on the underside of the other man's cock. Sturges groaned and leaned forward, one hand braced on the shed wall, the other on the back of Deacon's head, holding him in place while he fucked his pliant mouth. Grunting, Sturges thrust into his mouth, ragged fingernails biting into Deacon's scalp. A wet trickle of salt against the back of his throat, and Deacon shivered, relaxing around Sturges' cock. The larger man's thrusts were getting sloppy, erratic; he was breathing hard, already on the verge of orgasm.
All talk and no show Deacon thought, smirking around Sturges' cock. He adjusted the angle of his head to open his throat and take more of the other man's fat cock. Sturges whined, an animal rumble low in his chest as his movements became clumsy and frantic. Breathing raggedly, he thrust into Deacon's mouth, balls bumping his chin while his dick slid over Deacon's lips and tongue.
He came without warning. A final thrust and Sturges spilled down his throat, cock twitching in the hot, wet confines of Deacon's mouth. He slid off Sturges' cock with a wet pop, lips shining with semen and saliva. He spit a mouthful of come onto the ground and looked up at the larger man, grinning.
"Goddamn," said Sturges weakly. "Don't know how you c'n look so smug with my come all over your face." He cradled Deacon's jaw, brushing his thumb over his swollen, shining lips. He dabbed at a trickle of semen, wiping it away with incredible tenderness.
Deacon closed his eyes, shivering. "'S a talent of mine," he mumbled, leaning into the contact. "Sucking cock and cryptography."
"Hell of a resume." Sturges extended a hand, and helped Deacon to his feet. He pushed him back against the wall again and kissed him, moaning at the taste of his come on Deacon's lips. His massive hands slid over Deacon's abdomen, dipping below his belt to caress his cock through his pants. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and Deacon melted against him, legs falling open as the other man tugged at his belt.
Sturges dropped his belt on the ground and worked his zipper down, freeing Deacon's cock from his underwear. Deacon hissed as his erection slid into Sturges' rough palm, palms braced flat against the wall. After a quarter hour of teasing and neglect, the direct stimulation was almost unbearable. Eager and already overstimulated, he bit back a whimper and pushed his hips forward into Sturges' hand, cock and balls throbbing.
The other man wrapped his rough hand around Deacon's cock, running his thumb over his slit. He cried out, tense as a bowstring under Sturges' gentle hands.
"Hey there," he whispered. "S'alright, Deacon. Relax." A whimper, a groan, and Sturges kissed him gently, lips soft against his flushed skin. "Shh, shh. I got you." He began moving his hand, fingers sliding along Deacon's cock, gently jerking him off. Deacon cried out again, voice ragged and thin.
"Please," he said, cock twitching in Sturges' fist. "God, please--"
Sturges kissed him again, muffling his cries as he climaxed, come dripping down over the other man's fist. Deacon shuddered and thrashed in his warm hold, his anxiety temporarily dulled by orgasm. He groaned against Sturges' mouth and fucked into his slick hand, fists beating against the wall.
Sturges released him slowly and wiped his sticky hand on Deacon's pants. "Y'alright?"
Deacon let out a low, shuddering breath. "Yeah."
"Sure about that?"
Deacon closed his eyes, breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. "Fine," he said. "Just tense."
"Y' always are," said Sturges, a note of reproach in his voice. "You work too hard. You need to relax, 'fore you drop dead a' hypertension." Sturges kissed his forehead, bundled him into a rough embrace. "Be a shame to lose you at forty to a heart attack."
Deacon laughed, resting his head on Sturges' bulky shoulder. "Forty came and went, and 'm still here."
"Fifty, whatever."
"If you're trying to flatter me," mumbled Deacon. "It's not working."
Sturges kissed him, lips and tongue, gentle as a prince in a story book. "I don't know," he said. "You're lettin' me hold you. I must be doing somethin' right."
Deacon buried his face in Sturges' neck. "Shut up. 'M resting. This means nothing."
A chuckle, like dry leaves skittering over concrete, and Sturges' lips brushed Deacon's temple. "If you say so," he murmured.
Deacon had no response to that.