Page 14 of Valor on the Move
Shouts and a buzz of exclamations filled the air, and Rafa heard someone—Alan—call, “Clear!”
Then there were more shouts, and Shane was hauling him into the back of the Suburban, crawling on top of him as the door slammed and they zoomed away. Rafa couldn’t breathe. His head was jammed into the side door, and now there was leather beneath his cheek. His long legs were scrunched up and tangled with Shane’s, and Shane’s hand was still palming Rafa’s skull. His heart was close to exploding.
Alan was saying something, and Shane answered. But they sounded like the grownups on old Charlie Brown cartoons, their voices making noise with no discernible words. Rafa tried to speak. “Wha…” His throat was like sandpaper.
The vehicle slowed and came to a stop. The engine was still running. For a moment, no one moved or said a word.
Then Shane was gently pulling Rafa up to sitting. Their legs were still tangled, but Shane was focused on Rafa’s face, peering at him intently. “Are you all right?” He squeezed Rafa’s shoulders.
“Uh…uh-huh.” Rafa blinked. It was dark now, and he looked out the windows at what seemed to be an underground parking garage. Alan was on his phone, speaking quietly. Rafa focused on Shane, who was sitting so close to him and seemed to take up most of the room in the backseat. His eyes look like they might be blue up close, and when he sighed, his breath ghosted across Rafa’s face. Rafa’s pulse thundered.
“Backfire?” he asked.
“Huh?” Rafa blinked.
But Alan answered. “I think so. They’re on their way to the scene now to make sure.”
Then Shane was letting go of Rafa, and their legs were untangled. Shane leaned back against the seat, his cheeks puffing out. “Jesus. First day too.”
Alan shrugged in the driver’s seat. “Better safe than sorry. We followed protocol. It was a good dry run. Escape route was effective.” He turned around and smiled crookedly at Rafa. “Sorry about that, kid. Can’t be too cautious.”
“It’s okay. I…thank you. I’m glad no one was shooting at me.”
Alan chuckled. “That makes three of us.” He turned and put the vehicle in drive. “Let’s head back to Castle.”
As they returned to the White House, Rafa stared at his left palm, poking the new cuts there. He didn’t remember feeling it, but he must have scraped his hand when Shane pushed him to the sidewalk.
“Did I hurt you?”
Rafa looked up to find Shane frowning beside him. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
But Shane was sliding closer and reaching for his hand, taking it in his own. As he lightly brushed his fingertips over the scrapes, dislodging a few little pebbles, Rafa shivered. Shane’s hands were callused and thick, but he examined Rafa’s hand as if it was made of glass. As the Suburban bumped over something, their knees touched.
The adrenaline rushing through him made an abrupt left turn into arousal, and Rafa yanked his hand back. “I’m fine. Thank you.” His voice was little more than a squeak, and his face blazed. His clothes had been disheveled, and he prayed the sport coat was covering his crotch. His groin was tight, and he knew an erection wasn’t far behind. He didn’t dare look down to check.
“Sorry if I was overzealous.”
Rafa forced himself to meet Shane’s gaze with a smile. “Don’t be. I really appreciate everything you guys do. Honestly.”
Shane nodded, and then they were at the gates, and Rafa turned to look out the window. He thought of seeing his mother any minute. There was nothing better to kill a potential hard-on.
With his hand down his boxers that night, Rafa gazed longingly at his laptop. His left hand was bandaged, even though he’d gotten worse scrapes a million times as a kid. At least my right hand wasn’t injured. I’d probably die of blue balls. But his mother had called for the doctor. It was overkill, but it had still been nice to be worried about, he had to admit. Shane and Alan had apologized again, and Rafa had been relieved his mother wasn’t angry at them. She said she’d rather he got a hundred cuts and bruises than one bullet.
Flexing his left hand with a twinge, he smiled as he thought of Shane examining it. He bit his lip, staring at the computer. Maybe it would be okay, just this once. Maybe he could just watch some porn and jerk off like every other guy in America without having to worry that the White House monitoring staff would notice. Not that they cared, but porn was…well, it was personal. The fact that he was gay was personal. It was just better to keep it completely locked up until he had his freedom back. Besides, nowadays nothing online was safe.
When Adriana’s accounts had been hacked a few years before, along with posting her sexts and half-naked selfies, the gossip sites had gleefully screamed that she visited sites about big black dicks. And knowing his luck, some hacker douchebag would spread the news to TMZ that the president’s son liked to watch twinks get fucked in the ass by hairy daddies.
