Safe in His Arms by Renae Kaye Page B

Finally they were so slurred he couldn’t understand half of them. Paul spread out on the recliner and passed out, his mouth wide open and his breath coming in snorts and fits. Lon was weaving on his feet and smiled at Casey in a loopy manner.
    “Pretty boy. I like kissing you, pretty boy. Come ’ere ’n’ kiss me.”
    Making out with a blind-drunk guy was not exactly high on his list of priorities, but Casey played along. “Okay, then. Let’s go in the caravan.”
    Lon willingly followed him in and stripped off his shirt before attempting his shorts. He nearly ended up going through the van’s window as he tried to balance on one foot, so Casey helped him out of his clothes, appreciating the monster cock he revealed but not initiating any sexual contact.
    “Here you go. Get into bed and I’ll be there in two secs, okay?” Casey lied to a wobbly Lon.
    As he expected, Lon was asleep before he’d even laid his head on the pillow. Casey took a moment to cover him with the sheet before creeping out the door. He found a clean beach towel, which he draped over Paul, and carefully made his way across the uneven floor and out the annex. He zipped the door closed and sighed. He felt… freer, somehow. As if confessing his deepest secrets had cleansed him. He’d told. They’d expressed horror. They’d moved on. He was not a leper or someone who was so damaged that they couldn’t bear to be friends with anymore. He was just… Casey. The cute twink they laughingly fought over. A new friend to drink with. Accepted.
    He returned home, assured his grandmother he was fine, and settled down on his couch to try and get some sleep.

Chapter 5

     
    L ON WOKE with a groan and a raging hangover. He crawled out of bed, squinted at the digital numbers on the microwave, and almost vomited when the clock told him he was going to have to get moving or be late. He fumbled around to find the pack of painkillers he had, kicking his toe on the edge of the stove and cursing a blue streak while he wondered why a man of his size ever thought he could live in a tiny box.
    “Aawww, fuck. My head!”
    Paul’s voice from outside the van made Lon remember the previous night. He’d been drinking with Paul and having a great time when Casey had come in. Casey….
    He looked around frantically but couldn’t see the guy. He contemplated the tiny gap between the mattress and the van wall and decided that even if he had rolled on Casey during the night and squished him, he still wouldn’t fit down that hole.
    “Argh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
    Paul was still cursing outside, and Lon decided that a good friend would go out and offer some painkillers. With a grin Lon slammed the pack back in the drawer and put the kettle on instead. Finally he opened the door of the van to find that Paul had rolled off the recliner and was on all fours, his head plastered to the floor as if it hurt too much to lift. It probably did.
    Paul spotted Lon. “Fuck! Tell me again why you didn’t put a toilet in?”
    “’Cause then I’d have to clean it. The only toilet I could have would be one that you have to empty yourself, and fucked if I’m doing that.”
    Another groan rumbled out of poor Paul. “How far is it to the toilet block?”
    Lon grinned. “I can make it in twenty-two steps if I hurry. It’s actually a shorter distance to the toilets than it is to cross the hotel’s floor at the Local.”
    Paul contemplated it for a minute. “You wouldn’t have a bucket, would ya?”
    “Piss off. Get your lazy arse up. You promised to drive me to visit my brother today, remember? Well, it’s after eleven, and we need to leave by twelve to make it during visiting hours.”
    Lon relented and tossed Paul the packet of painkillers while he made Vegemite on toast and coffee for breakfast, so Paul managed to get showered, dressed, and in the car by the required time. They made it by the skin of their teeth.
    Acacia Prison was located a good hour out of the city, and Lon