After lunch, Justin spent an hour in his driveway, cleaning out and vacuuming his car. Then he went inside to spend some quality time on Twitter.
He saw that Skyose had released an official statement about the rocket explosion, but didn’t mention Roy Shaw. He wondered if Gretchen Holt had learned anything, and sent her a text. He noted with a smile that his Mars article had been retweeted 172 times. He checked his email and was pleased to see a response from Valerie DeSoto, the librarian at UCF.
Hi Justin,
Good to hear from you again! We felt the explosion all the way over here. Skyose doesn’t have any secrets that I could find.
Next time you’re in Orlando, stop in!
Valerie
Justin responded, Thanks! Next time I’m in Orlando I’ll take you to lunch. Then he forwarded the email to Greg.
He spent the rest of the day puttering around the house. He found a half-can of white semi-gloss paint in the garage and painted the interior door frames. He was rinsing the brush out in the back yard when Greg texted.
I should be finishing work at about 6:30, and then I have a couple of errands to run. Okay if I come over around 7:15?
Perfect. Do you want dinner?
Nah, still full from lunch. See you in a bit.
Justin returned a thumbs up and a smiley face. Then he hustled to jump in the shower.
At 7:13, the doorbell rang. Greg was standing on the porch, holding a six-pack and a bunch of flowers. He held them out. “I come bearing gifts.”
“And you’re not Greek, so it’s okay.” Justin took the flowers and breathed in the scent. “Thank you. These are lovely. No one’s ever bought me flowers before.”
Greg smiled. A bit shyly, Justin thought. “I’ve never bought flowers for anyone before.”
“Really? Then these are super-special.” Justin inwardly winced at his choice of words, but he didn’t seem capable of sophisticated banter at the moment. “I’ll put these in water.”
Greg followed him into the kitchen, where Justin fished a vase out from under the sink, rinsed it, and added the small packet of preservative that came with the flowers. He asked Greg, “How was the rest of your day?”
“Fascinating. I found out what the payload was.”
Justin nearly dropped the vase. He set it carefully on the kitchen bar, then said, “I was starting to wonder if there was one.”
“There was. It was an early 1960s Volkswagen Beetle.”
Justin stared. “Okay… Not as weird as a wheel of cheese, but what the hell?”
Greg stared back, his thought processes seemingly derailed. “A wheel of cheese?”
“The payload on the first launch of the Dragon capsule in 2010.”
“Seriously?”
Justin tutted in exasperation. “Google it. Why did they launch a VW Bug?”
“Ideodax didn’t have a satellite ready by the deadline. Their guys are already back in California, so we’re sending agents from Travis to question them.”
Justin frowned. “I need a beer.”
“Me, too.”
They uncapped their bottles and clinked them together. Justin took a drink then asked, “Is this what Shaw knew?”
“It makes sense. Either Shaw’s killer found out somehow that he was about to spill his guts to you, or Shaw decided to give whoever it was one more chance to come clean on his own, or else he’d tell you. Either way, Shaw and the killer must have met out there on base and had a confrontation.”
“Why would Ideodax go along with that? Why wouldn’t they just say, ‘We don’t have a satellite ready, launch without us?’”
“It boils down to money, as it almost always does. Both companies would have lost significant stock value if they’d made that announcement.” Greg set his bottle aside. “I’d rather not think about business for the rest of the evening.”
“Agreed.”
Greg reached for him, and Justin moved into his arms. They kissed, tentatively at first. The tentativeness didn’t last long. Greg was a marvelous kisser. He tasted like peanuts and beer.
Take me out to the ball game… Justin almost giggled.
Greg’s lips smiled against his own. “What?”
“Tell you later.” Justin opened his mouth to Greg’s tongue, and they kissed deeply for a few minutes. Justin’s dick was straining against the fly of his shorts, and he could feel that Greg was in the same predicament. He reached for Greg’s belt buckle, and Greg groaned as Justin unzipped his fly and freed his dick, wrapping his fingers around it.
“God, Justin…”
“Mm-hm.” Justin dropped to his knees. There wasn’t anything on Earth or Mars or any of the other planets that he wanted more at that moment than to have Greg Marcotte’s dick in his mouth.
He kissed and nibbled his way up the base of Greg’s dick while caressing his balls. Greg had both hands wound into Justin’s hair, but he wasn’t pulling. Or pushing. Justin arrived at the head of Greg’s dick, where he lingered for a moment then took him in.
Greg moaned. “Jeeeezus God, Justin, don’t fuckin’ stop.”
Justin chuckled around Greg’s dick, which caused Greg to grip Justin’s hair more tightly.
He had no intention of stopping. He took himself in hand, attempting—unsuccessfully—to match the rhythm of his hand to that of his mouth. So good…
When Greg came, Justin swallowed it down and nearly came himself. It had been so long—two years—since he’d tasted another man. He’d lost his stroking rhythm entirely and fumbled briefly as Greg’s dick slipped from his mouth.
Greg dropped to the floor, whispered, “Allow me,” pushed Justin to his feet, and sucked him down nearly to the base of his dick. Justin cried out, mumbling incoherently—if asked to repeat the words under oath, he wouldn’t remember—and thirty seconds later he was coming so hard, his eyes rolled back in his head.
They stayed like that for a long minute, panting. Then Greg pulled Justin down to him and kissed him, and Justin kissed him back. Eventually Greg drew back, brushing Justin’s hair aside from his widow’s peak. “You want to know the first thing I thought when I saw you?”
“What?”
“That you had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.” Greg kept stroking his hair. “It’s even truer close up. Your eyes are amazing.”
“Thank you. I didn’t have much to do with that.”
Greg smiled. “Who do you look like?”
“My mom, mostly. You know what I noticed first about you?”
Greg shook his head.
Justin tapped his shoulder. “Broad shoulders. I love broad shoulders. And I thought anyone within a half mile could pick you out as a cop.”
“Yeah, I’d be lousy undercover.” Greg shifted. “Maybe we should get off the floor.”
Justin allowed Greg to pull him to his feet. He had to laugh at the sight of both of them—dicks hanging out of pants, a hint of razor burn. “The aftermath of great sex isn’t very sexy.”
Greg grinned. “The clothes are the problem. Maybe we should shed ‘em.”
Justin grinned back. “I like the way you think, Very Special Agent Marcotte.”