Kicks felt a sort of startled rush that Jax was willing to offer even that much, but it felt almost final when Rory’s palm met his, and the handshake lingered. They eventually parted, and when Jax asked Hawke if he wanted to check out the grounds, Kicks decided to take Rory to the room to lie down.
He could tell the kid was sinking into a headache, and he found ice for him in the beat-up old freezer, then made a quick phone call to Jude. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed the guy, but hearing his voice was enough to settle his fiery nerves that were on edge since they’d arrived in Savannah. It was even hotter there, and the ride back was long, and he just wanted this to be over.
He wanted Hydra in the ground, and the knowledge that none of their pasts would show up at their doorstep again. The scars were enough of a burden to carry.
“I think I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” Kicks said right before he hung up with Jude, and in the ringing silence after, he let himself think about Jude’s body. He sank into the memory of his warm mouth, and demanding tongue, and his strong hands.
Even with his body beat up and recovering, he was powerful. Jude was a leader and not just spiritually. He had a natural command about him that Kicks knew he could get lost in if he let himself. He hadn’t opened up much, just hints, but if they could get this shit taken care of, he could spend weeks letting himself be undone by that man. Especially now that he’d agreed to stay.
At least for now.
And for now had to be enough.
Stripping off his boots, Kicks peeled out of his clothes and piled them on a chair by the door. The guest rooms at the clubhouse were musty and smelled faintly of weed and piss, but he’d stayed in worse places. The sheets were too starched, but they looked clean, and they were cool on his naked back as he spread his legs and ran his hands along the insides of his thighs.
He thought about Jude being there with him. He thought about Jude’s mouth grazing behind his knee, teeth scraping over his hot skin. He thought about the way he’d use his hands to part Kicks’ legs so wide it hurt and how he’d suck his balls into his mouth and roll them on his tongue. He thought about rolling onto his stomach and humping his cock against the bed as Jude thrust his tongue into his hole.
He thought about how the man would pin him with strong hands and soft commands, making him wait for it.
Making him beg for it.
“Please,” he found himself whispering into the empty room. He thought about spitting on his fingers and pushing them inside himself, but he wanted to wait. Instead, he curled a hand around his dick and began to stroke too fast, too hard as he lost himself to the phantom sensation of being split wide open on Jude’s cock.
He wanted that heat, that stretch. He wanted to feel Jude spilling inside him, feel the come dripping down his thighs after.
He wanted Jude to straddle his chest and jerk off and come over his parted lips.
He wanted all of it. Everything.
With a soft cry, his orgasm rushed through his limbs, not as powerful as it was when Jude was with him, but enough to take the edge off. His come landed sticky on his lower stomach, and he dragged his fingers through it, shoving them into his mouth and letting himself imagine how Jude would taste there.
And would he like what Kicks just did, if he’d been there to witness it?
Climbing on wobbly legs, he searched the room and found an old roll of paper towels gathering dust in the corner. He discarded the first few, then used the rest to wipe himself up. As he turned, he caught sight of himself in the foggy college dorm mirror that was hanging on the back of the door. There were lip-shaped prints in red kissed into the corner from someone’s old lady who had stayed there, and he thought about what life would feel like if Jude agreed to accompany him to places like this.
It felt wrong—almost dirty. It felt like allowing this was going to taint the soul of a man who really was—for all his self-doubt—a righteous and good person.
And yet, he was the sort of man who wouldn’t stop himself, even if he knew it was for Jude’s own good. That thought carried him as he dressed, then slipped out of the room to check on Rory who was now snoring quietly. Kicks shut the door, then made his way out into the lobby of the clubhouse and was surprised it was still shut down. It functioned as a bar in the front, much the same way Smokey’s would as soon as they got it open, and Kicks half-expected it to be full of bikers and passersby who wanted to drink and feel a little dangerous.
Instead, he found a lone guy sitting at the bar without a cut, though the road-weary look on his face said that he was definitely patched, if not an officer. He was a middle-aged white guy with not a lot of personality to him, though his hair was startingly ginger, including the short beard he wore. He lifted a brow at Kicks as he walked closer, then stood up on a rung of the stool and leaned over the bar to grab another beer.
“Look like you need this,” he muttered.
Kicks chuckled and took it, grabbing a stool that left a couple between them for space. “Thanks, man. I’m Kicks.”
The guy slapped a handshake against his palm, then grabbed his beer and took a long drink before he offered his own name. “Tek. You came with the circus?”
Kicks bristled, but he expected the names to be a lot worse. “If you wanna call it that.”
“I don’t know what the fuck to call you,” Tek answered, and Kicks could appreciate his honesty, and his discerning eye. “Jax seems pretty sure about you, but I’ve had my reservations about him for a while.”
Kicks hummed as he drank a bit, and when the warmth of the alcohol just barely began to touch his insides, he leaned back. “He seems like an alright guy. His brother’s prospecting for us.”
“Yeah. Not so sure he’s thinkin’ straight when it comes to that kid,” Tek answered.
Kicks got it. He’d thought that about Smokey more than once and Gunner recently. Hell, he thought it about anyone who was stupid enough to let love get in the way, and part of him wondered if the universe was trying to teach him a lesson by sending him Jude.
“Y’all held your own pretty well though,” Tek said after some silence. He jumped up from the bar and walked around it, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. When he shook it at Kicks, he nodded because why the fuck not. They weren’t going anywhere that night, and whiskey would sit better than the shitty pizza he’d forced down. “With that greasy fuck putting his fat fucking nose where it don’t belong…”
Kicks realized Tek was talking about Hydra, and then he realized that there was something intensely personal in his tone. “He fuck with you?”
The glass of whiskey hit the bar so hard, Kicks was surprised it didn’t shatter. He looked up to meet Tek’s dark, pained eyes. “That mother fucker shot my brother.”
Kicks’ brows rose. “Your brother? Fuck, man, Jax didn’t say y’all had lost anyone.”
Tek shook his head, a look of pain on his face. “My kid brother. He was with the Boston chapter. Locke sent his dumbass on an errand, and…” His voice cracked, and he went silent.
Kicks’ heart thrashed in his chest with both sympathy and pain, because he knew exactly what this guy was talking about. The kid in the alley—the reason why Eliah had almost died. The body that was meant to spark a war. “Jesus.”