Death on the Rhine Ch. 16-2

But it wasn’t over. Flash was still as hard as ever. He turned Clint on his back and knelt below him on the divan and pulled Clint’s pelvis into his hips. This time he fucked Clint in vigorous strokes. Joyfully. His eyes locked on Clint’s. Full of pleasure, laughter, and lust. He played with Clint’s nipples and then he held Clint by his hips and smoothly, athletically rose up into a crouch and then a stand, on top of the divan, Clint stretched below him, the two of them attached at the pelvis. Hernandez stroked hard down into Clint’s channel until he came a second time, in a strong gush this time. He laughed and lowered Clint onto the bed, and brought his mouth down onto Clint’s dick and quickly and expertly sucked him off, while Clint writhed under him and bucked against him and arched his back in pleasure. Fully taken.

But not fully. Hernando sidesplit Clint then, pumping slowly and deeply and strongly into him. Kissing Clint on the neck, murmuring words of love into his ear. Making love to him, not just fucking him. Clint sighed in satisfaction, wanting it to go on and on and on, sheathing that wondrous long, long, hot Latino dick.

But their lovemaking was arrested by a commotion out in the hallway beyond the door, and Ralf and Fritz reappeared.

“The fat lady,” Fritz only managed to get out in an excited voice.

“Don’t tell me. She’s finished her second song set and wants her dressing room back.” Folsom said in a tired, but satisfied voice. He was reluctant to give up this glorious coupling, but at least he’d always know that it wasn’t from a lack of stamina or enthusiasm and interest on Flash’s part that it had come to an end.

“Afraid that bird isn’t going to be singing again, mate,” Ralf interjected.

“What . . .?”

“She’s dead. Someone did her right there in front of our eyes on stage as she was finishing her last lad of the night.”

“Oh, shit,” Hernando exclaimed and jumped off the divan. He headed for the door to the dressing room’s bathroom. “Here while I was enjoying myself, I wasn’t doing what I was sent here for. I was supposed to keep her . . . him . . . whatever alive, not fuck around while he was being done in.”

Clint turned to Ralf and Fritz. “Go out there and see that no one touches anything. Tell them there’s a couple of policeman on the site and we’ll be out in a couple of minutes. And I assume someone’s called 911. And for God’s sake don’t tell them the policemen are back here doing each other.”

They turned to go, but Clint held them for one more instruction. “And start asking if anyone knows where Eddie, Francine’s ex, is. He’ll be everyone’s prime suspect even if he didn’t do it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Clint heard Hernando say in a quiet, flat voice behind him.

All three looked over. Ramierez had opened the door to the bathroom to reveal a young blond man, obviously well past any help, lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor.

“Eddie, I presume?” Ramierez asked.

“Good guess,” Folsom answered.

As the two detectives pulled on their clothes, preparing to go out and receive the arriving police squad, Clint leaned over and gave Hernando a tender kiss on the lips. “Welcome to homicide,” he said. Flash smiled broadly. Another kiss, and then Clint said, “And welcome to my bed, if you’ll have me.” This time Flash’s smile stretched his cheeks to the limit.

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