Thursday, July 9, 2020

Grove – A Curt Huntinghawk Story (Part 5 of a 5 Part Series), Post #124

The killer is dead, and the last thread holding Hawk’s and Grove’s friendship together has been snipped. What happens now? Do they get new partners and go into studied indifference, or do they manage to patch things over? Here’s our final installment.

A Curt Huntinghawk Story

          The whole unit was gathered at Rezagados headquarters when they got back that afternoon. Hawk let Grove do most of the talking. Surprisingly, he related the story over and over again quietly and without embellishment. Still pissed, Hawk figured.
          Amadeo joined his men and filled them in on his report from the sheriff.  “The best the sheriff can piece together, an agent named Halvorsen’s been working for the cartels. Our interdiction rate’s been up this year so much, the cartels demanded Halvorsen do something about it. When he wasn’t able to help, they threatened him, so he decided to take as much of their cocaine as he could for himself before running. Started killing their mules till Hawk and Grove put an end to it.”
          The party moved to the Blue Mesa. Word had spread and everyone in the place was buying the them drinks. Not a good thing, Hawk decided drunkenly around midnight. Grove was drinking, not womanizing. Meant the evening would end with a fight. Probably with him.
          Somehow, they got out of the bar without any women tagging along and made an amazingly rational drunken decision that neither of them was fit to drive. Rather than go look for someone to haul them home, they set out cross-country and walked the two miles to Hawk’s house, arms around one another’s shoulders, each singing a different song in his own native language, Grove punctuating the lyrics now in then in a deep ‘boom-boom-boom’, simulating a drum.
          Once inside, Grove slouched on a chair in a stupor. Hawk had the strength to get in the shower; he just didn’t have presence of mind to get undressed first. When he discovered he was lathering his shirt instead of his arm, he burst out laughing and went slopping into the living room to show his best friend what he’d done. Grove just stared at him through unseeing eyes. Hawk hauled him out of the chair and shoved him into the shower, fully clothed. Grove continued to gaze vacantly. The fun went out of the thing.
          Hawk stripped and dried, but was leery of doing the same for Grove, but it was either that or shove him sopping wet into bed, so he tore the clothes off his unresisting friend. After that he dried Grove with a blanket and tipped him over onto the bed.
          Grove lay unresisting while Hawk covered him with a light blanket and surfaced from his boozy haze long enough to take a long look at the handsome man before snapping the light off. “Night, buddy,” he whispered and moved for the door.
          “Hawk?” He turned back into the room. “…the fuck, I’m gonna have to beg you for it now?”
          Hawk shivered and realized he was totally naked. “Do what, Grove?”
          “You know.” The voice from the darkness drew him to the side of the bed.
          “You’re drunk, my friend.”
          “Yeah. Else I couldn’ta said that.”
          Suddenly sober, Hawk swallowed hard. “I know. Goodnight.”
          “Before all the shit started this morning,” Grove went on, sounding almost sober, himself, “I was trying to tell you that… That… Well, I’ve thought about us getting together too.”
          “You’re drunk,” Hawk repeated.
          “Touch me.”
          “You’re drunk,” he said yet again. “I do that tonight, and you’ll take a swing at me tomorrow.”
          “Fuck, Hawk!” Grove’s voice was suddenly anguished. “You’re the one started it! Now I gotta beg you? Well, fuck it! I’m begging.”
          Hawk couldn’t stop himself. His hands were suddenly on Grove’s cheeks. The light beard at the sideburns and on Grove’s chin tickled his fingers.
          "Shit, man!” Grove gasped at the contact. “What the fuck’s happening?”
           Hawk’s hand moved of their own accord, exploring the hollow of Grove’s strong neck, testing the muscles of the firm chest. Hawk collected his wits when they reached the flat belly with its defined six-pack. He halted.
          “Don’t… stop,” Grove whispered.
           Released, hawk threw back the covers and boldly stared through the gloom at the trim man spread out on the bed. The curve of the wrists, the angle of the head, the cocked knee all spoke of a man’s man. They evoked machismo. Slowly, Hawk knelt beside the bed and touched Grove. Frustrated at wanting his friend and not knowing what to do, he dropped his forehead on Grove’s belly and allowed his hands to wander. He felt the strength of the wiry body beneath his touch and was suddenly jealous of a horde of unknown women who had been given so freely what he coveted so desperately.
          Understanding his role now, he moved his head.
          Grove drew in a sharp breath and groaned. “Aw, Hawk.”
          Recalling how Ramon had done this beautiful thing for him, Hawk emulated his yesterday-lover… and learned the joy of giving joy. Eventually, Grove tensed. His legs stretched like a big cat. He let out a sigh and erupted.
          Neither of them spoke. Grove lay motionless while Hawk’s head rested on his belly. Eventually, Grove pulled him up beside him. It took another long moment before their eyes met.
          “That’s the problem I had with us getting together,” Grove said at length. “What the hell would we do? You’re so fucking macho, Hawk, I never thought you’d help me out that way.”
           “Never did it before,” Hawk said, tentatively stroking Grove’s chest.
          Grove caught his hand and held it against him. “That Mexican kid taught you.”
          “Yes,” Hawk answered easily. The time for secrecy was past.
          “Who else?” Grove demanded. Then his eyes flew open. “Wolverine! You did it with Wolverine, didn’t you? That’s how you knew all about him.”
          “I knew about him because I caught him wearing my stollen boots at a bar one night. I hung around after closing and confronted him. We started playing a cat and mouse game, and it turned out different from what we expected. Grove, you’ve gotta understand something. With me this is different than with women.”
          Grove snorted. “You don’t say!”
          “No, what I mean is with a man, I gotta have feelings for him.”
          “You had feelings for the Mexican.”
          “I loved Ramon,” Hawk said firmly. “But he got crosswise with the law and had to leave.”
          ‘You loved Wolverine?” Grove asked with an air of disbelief.
          “No, but we grew fond of one another. The sex started with, I don’t know, a game of domination, I guess. Surprised both of us when he turned submissive.”
          Grove turned pensive for a moment. “Are you saying you love me?”
          Hawk hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. Sorry if you don’t like it, but you’ll have to deal with it because it’s true.”
          Grove’s glare softened. “Say it. Say it out loud.”
         “I love you, Grove.”
          His friend gave a big grin. “Hell, maybe I sorta like the idea of Curt Huntinghawk, everybody’s candidate for man-of-the-year falling, for Grover Whitedeer.”
          At the end of Grove’s jest, Hawk leaned forward and covered his open mouth with his own. He felt Grove get ready to fight, then surrender. Grove’s mouth opened and his own tongue slid into Hawk’s. Somebody moaned. A full minute later they parted. Grove’s brown eyes were twice their usual size as if he was on some exotic drug. “Shit,” he murmured.
          Hawk wasn’t sure what he meant until Grove pushed him back on the mattress and leaned over him. With a determined look in his eyes, he reciprocated. Minutes later, Hawk felt as if he’d lost control of his own body as his muscles spasmed into the greatest orgasm of his life. Then it was his turn to murmur “Shit.”


It looks as though things might turn out just fine. As I wrote this segment of Hawk’s story, I had the same question that Grove expressed. How would two macho men handle the situation. Obviously, Hawk did it by departing from his usual dominant role, not even daring to dream that Grove would do the same for him. It ended well, I think. Let me know what you think.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled program (1st and 3rd Thursdays).

Tell your friends to order a copy of 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.

My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog:
Twitter: @markwildyr

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And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

Until next time.


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