Thursday, February 13, 2020

Huntinghawk and Wolverine (Part 4 of a 5-Part Story), Post #108

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NOTE: For the remainder of the segments in this story, I’m posting one at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday. Once the five-parter is finished, I’ll revert to my first and third Thursday schedule.

What a meeting of two macho men! But Hawk came out on top… literally. But what will come of Hawk fucking the enemy? Will he convert the drug runner? Oh, wait! Will the drug runner convert Hawk? Read on.


          When he went outside with his cup of coffee at the morning star’s rising, he thought of Brit Guerrero spread naked over the back of the chair and the hair on the back of his neck rose. What had he been thinking? Crap! He’d gotten together with Wolverine, with a drug runner. With the enemy. His mind swirling, he got up to go get ready for work.
          Naturally taciturn, Hawk guessed he’d overdone the silence thing when he caught Grove glancing over at him from behind the wheel of the four-by as they patrolled a patch of the border.
          “What’s the matter, bro?” Grove finally asked.
          “My boots showed up on my front porch this morning.”
          “What! Man, why didn’t you say something? Maybe there’s fingerprints or something.”
          “Hell, Grove, we aren’t some high-tech outfit. We don’t even have hand radios or cell phones for Christ’s sake! We find somebody, we gotta hike back to the truck radio or send up smoke signals.”
          “Ain’t that the truth? Surprised we aren’t on horseback.”
          “Hell, we are sometimes,” Hawk said, tearing his eyes away from Grove’s handsome face and taking in his friend’s crotch before staring resolutely out the windshield. Man, they’d taken a piss together a hundred times, on the desert, in bars, but Hawk had no idea what Grove looked like down there, not even if it was cut or not. He almost let out a startled exclamation when he realized he wanted to know.
          After they returned to headquarters that afternoon, Hawk found a phone and made a call to the Motor Vehicle Department. Fifteen minutes later he had confirmed the black Blazer belonged to Brit Guerrero. Next, he picked up a small magnetic radio transmitter and a receiver from a surveillance specialty store without plundering all of his savings. On the way home, he detoured by Brit’s address and parked a block away. Hawk got out and walked the neighborhood until he spotted the right house. A Lexus and a Chevy Blazer, the two cars registered to Brit sat in the proper driveway. Brit wouldn’t take the Lexus into the desert, so he bugged the coal black Chevy.
          The rest of his half-baked plan was trickier. The receiver had to be within a mile of the transmitter in order to work. He debated over taking Grove into his confidence, but in the end decided he wanted to do this alone. By midweek, he had not found the opportunity to track the Blazer’s movements except in the evenings on his own time.
          He was surprised one night when the bug led him to his own house. He parked in the drive and got out, trying to cover his nervousness.
          “Hello, Hawk,” the words came from over by the barn at the back of the house.
          “Hello, Brit. Skulking again?”
          The laugh was soft and didn’t seem to hold any malice. “Yeah, I’m a good skulker. Can lurk like hell too.”
          “Well, quit it and come on in.”
          Brit strode out into the moonlight, and Hawk was shaken when he got a good look at him. The traficante was even better looking than he recalled. He was dressed in black, and his handsome head seemed to float through the night… like a phantom, like El Espectro.
          As they walked to the back door, Brit spoke. “I don’t know what spell you used on me, but I want you to call it off. I can’t stop thinking about you…about us,”
          “Didn’t know there was an us.”
          “Of course, there’s an us. Has been since you joined the Rezagados. And now there’s another us.”
          “Okay, I’ll accept that. And I’ll confess I’ve been thinking about you. Both of you… Wolverine and Brit.”
          “And what do you think about when you think of Brit.”
          “A handsome, vital man. Somebody I could like a lot if he didn’t make his living the way he does. If he didn’t shoot people when it suits his purposes.”
          “Can I come inside?”
          “Same condition as before. Don’t sandbag my house.”
          “If I come in, are you going to fuck me again?” Moonlight collected in Brit’s eyes and flashed back at Hawk.
          “Guess it depends on who comes inside, Brit or Wolverine.” Hawk turned to go inside but was stopped by the man’s hand on his arm.
          “Deal. Wolverine won’t ever enter your home. But while Brit’s there, the Rezagado goes away too. Here in this house, it’s only Brit and Hawk, okay?”
          Hawk considered carefully before replying. “Deal. From this moment forward, Brit and Hawk here. Wolverine and Rezagado everywhere else. But make no mistake, Brit. I’m going to get Wolverine. I’m going to see he’s locked up for a long time.”
          “We’ve got a deal, Hawk, but I can promise you one thing. You’ll never lock him away. I know him too well. He won’t permit it.”
          “He won’t be able to stop me.”
          “He will if he kills you.”
          “That’s the only way.”
          Brit hesitated a moment. “Maybe not, Hawk. But this is Brit, not Wolverine. And Brit wants to go inside with you.”
          Hawk had not even snapped on the light when Brit came for him. He tensed as the arms came around him.
          “God, Hawk! I can’t stop thinking about you… about us, what we did. I can’t even make love to my girl without thinking about you. What did you do to me?”
          Hawk shrugged. “I was just being me, Brit. Nothing magical about that.”
          “I’m not so sure. I keep feeling you inside me. I wake up at night dreaming about it.”
          “You left here halfway pissed off last time. Is it going to be that way again?”
          “No, I promise. And you promise me you’ll love me better than you’ve ever loved anyone else.” Brit’s hands wandered “Promise!”
          “Donno about the loving part. But to be crude, I’ll fuck you the best I can.”
          Brit insisted on a light, so Hawk turned on a small lamp on the bedside table while Brit tore off his own clothing. Then he undressed Hawk slowly before kissing him. Damn! He really felt that one. As Brit stood back and gazed into his eyes, Hawk wondered if he’d said that aloud.
          “You’re a witch, Huntinghawk. A damned witch. And I’m going to prove it. I’m going to do something else I’ve never done.” Brit sank to his knees, and Hawk felt his mouth on him. Brit wasn’t very good at it, but the idea of reaching orgasm like this was appealing.
          Sooner than expected, his contractions hit. Halfway curling his naked body over Brit, he whispered words in his native tongue as he held the man’s head tight against him. When it was over, Brit looked up at Hawk.
          “You bastard, I didn’t intend to take you all the way like that.”
          “You started it, Brit. Don’t start something unless you can finish it.”
          “I just wanted to get you hard and…”
          “And see what it was like,” Hawk finished. “Now you know.”
          “Are you still going to make love to me?”
          “Like you wouldn’t believe. But first I’m going to have a beer. Want one?”
          They lay side by side on the bed and rested cold cans of beer on hairless, muscled chests between sips.
          “Hawk, can we be friends?”
          “Sure. You give yourself up, serve your time, and I’ll be there to help however I can when you get out.”
          “I can’t do that. You ask too much. They’d kill me if I turned myself in.” Brit threw his leg over Hawk’s.
          “There it is then.”
           “So we can be lovers, but not friends.” Brit paused. “Curt, make love to me. Down deep where it counts.”
          “Nobody’s called me Curt in years. Sounds good after all this time.” He turned to his willing partner, pausing to rake his eyes over the strong man spread on the bed before rolling on top of him to keep his promise.
          Thirty minutes later, he fell back onto the mattress, bathed in sweat and panting heavily.
“Well, how’d I do?” he gasped.
          “Infuckingcredible! Man, I’ve been truly fucked!”
          “But don’t ask me to do it again. At least not tonight.”
          “You’re a hell of a lover,” Brit said into Hawk’s ear. “But I guess you’ve been told that a lot. Was it as good as with the Mexican kid?”
          Without waiting for an answer, he dressed, refused another beer, and caressed Hawk’s cheek affectionately. As he moved to the door, Hawk’s voice stopped him.
          “Nothing’s changed, Brit. I’m still coming after you.”
          “Nothing’s changed except I’m in love with you,” the other man answered bitterly. “But I understand.”
          “You won’t consider my terms? I’ll wait for you. If you want me when you get out, I’ll be there for you.”
          “Thanks. That means a lot. Strange isn’t it? I shot you once, and now we’re lovers. I can’t, Curt. They’d kill me. Inside prison or out, they’d kill me.”
          “Together we—”
          “Is it true the Mexican kid was the first for you?”
          “Well, you’re my first and my last. I’ll never permit another man to touch me. But I’ll do it with you any time you want.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

Looks like Hawk still in control of the situation, but his effort to turn Wolverine seems to have failed. Now what? Does he continue to consort with the enemy, or does the scheme he has working in his brain hold a solution to that problem? We’ll have to see next week with the conclusion of the story of Huntinghawk and Wolverine.

For those of you who have not already done so, please order  Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns from Dreamspinner Press. I’d like to convince them to publish the rest of the Cut Hand Series, including the unpublished manuscript Wastelakapi… Beloved, It’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.

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Until next time.


New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of the month.

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