Tears shimmered in Roshan’s eyes.
“I don’t mind.”
Roshan nodded.
Sam took off his backpack and set Roshan’s books on top, then pulled himself up on the fence, straddling it in front of Roshan, keeping eye contact. “I’m gonna look okay?”
Roshan nodded.
It was just fabric. Only fabric. Even if it was close to…Sam took a breath.
The loop in the top of the chain-link had poked a hole through the fabric on the inner thigh of Roshan’s pants, close to his crotch.
Sam started to reach, then stopped. “Can I, uh…?”
“Yeah.”
Sam pinched the fabric close to the loop, but there wasn’t enough slack to slide it free. “Lean forward.”
Roshan hesitated a moment before leaning toward Sam who wound up with his knuckles pressed right against Roshan’s crotch and everything behind his underwear.
Sam’s face ignited, but he didn’t pull away. “Can you pull yourself up on your arms?”
“What do you mean.” Roshan’s reply was warm against Sam’s ear.
“Uh, lift up some to make space.”
“I’ll fall.”
“Just hold—” Sam turned his head without thinking and wound up with his lips a hair’s breadth from Roshan’s. What would it be like to kiss them? Would they be as soft as they looked? What would Roshan taste like? Like the hint of spice always clinging to his clothes?
Sam cleared his throat. “My shoulder. Hold it.”
Roshan slowly lifted a hand.
“It’s okay, I’m stronger than I look.”
Roshan kept one hand on the fence and held Sam’s shoulder with the other.
“I’m going to try and get it loose, okay? On three, push up.”
“Okay.”
Sam forced his attention back to freeing Roshan. “One…” Sam pinched the fabric. “Two.” He angled the snagged material downward. “Three.” He tightened his grip on the fence and locked his arm. Roshan’s weight came down on Sam’s shoulder. He had to lean closer with Roshan angled so far forward. But the new position gave Sam the slack he needed, and he was able to slip the fabric free. “Okay, you’re good. Go ahead and swing over.”
Roshan worked the toe of his shoe into the fence again, and Sam moved his hold to Roshan’s arm and helped him over. When he was safely on the ground, Sam joined him.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Sam said.
Roshan kept his gaze down as he picked up his books.
“Sorry you got stuck. I didn’t think about your pants being so thin they’d get hung.”
Roshan shrugged.
“You okay?”
Roshan nodded.
“You still want to go? I mean, we don’t have to.”
“Yes.” Roshan finally lifted his chin. His gentle smile held so much relief as well as embarrassment.
Sam hoisted his backpack on. “C’mon, it’s not far. A mile at the most.”
“Are there any more fences?”
Sam grinned. “No more fences. At least none to climb over. There’s a split rail, but we can duck under.”
“I’ll try not to get stuck again.”
“Well, if you do, I’ll just…” Sam stopped himself. “Yeah, you won’t. I’m sure.” He started up the small incline, and Roshan followed.
Crimson drew a line from between Ben’s thighs to the inside of his bruised knee, his shin, to the protruding bone of his ankle. There it curved, sliding along the circumference where it traced a tendon.
Nausea welled in Ben’s stomach, spreading like the dime-sized puddle forming under the heel of his foot.
The razor tumbled from his fingers to the bottom of the tub.
His foot shifted on the edge. The movement changed the course of the drip, first speckling the white porcelain, then drawing new trails close to the first.
Everything spun, and Ben grabbed the shower curtain. Rings popped, the rod clattered. The failure of support tipped him over. Ben’s upper back smacked against the wall of the shower, slowing his descent. His elbow caught the rack suction cupped to the tile on his right.
Courtesy shampoo, soap, and various other bottled products followed him to the bottom of the tub.
The bathroom door flung open.
Ben didn’t want to see the mockery in Jacob’s eyes. Would he laugh? Would he belittle him? Would he call him pathetic because he couldn’t shave his own ass crack? Ben kept his eyes closed, and for some reason, that made him all the more aware of the sting somewhere behind his scrotum and the warm wet sliding back toward his anus.
“Jesus, what happened?”
The air stirred, carrying the mild aloe scent of the soap Jacob used. Nothing like the harsh gardenia odor from the bottle currently losing its contents crushed under Ben’s hip.
“Ben?” Concern softened Jacob’s voice.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Shampoo bottles disappeared. Soft taps against plastic followed. The rack digging into Ben’s shoulder wiggled free.
“Fuck, Ben. What did you do?”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It morphed into a sob. Ben turned his face away.
“C’mon, let me get you up so we can see how bad it is.” Jacob gripped Ben around his upper arm and pulled.
Ben sat up. Nausea rolled up his throat, pushing a mouthful of bile over his lips and onto his chest. The bitter taste triggered a second gag, and he wound up propped against Jacob’s arm, with his head between his knees, puking into the drain.
There wasn’t much for Ben to vomit, but his body didn’t seem to understand, and his muscles continued to contract until they twisted. The pain wrapped around his ribcage, crushing the air from his lungs until his sternum popped.
Then the spasms were gone, leaving him a crumpled mess of vomit, snot, tears, and blood.
A rhythmic petting up and down Ben’s back soothed the ache into a dull throb. His ragged breathing almost covered up Jacob’s voice as he hummed soothing sounds rather than words.
The contrast of his gentleness to Marcel’s cruelty threatened to rip another round of crying from Ben.
Because Ben didn’t deserve Jacob’s sympathy. Not after the things he’d said. Even if they were aimed at Marcel. Even if Ben believed every word.
The bastard wasn’t even here, and yet his control had reached across space, bending Ben’s will, forcing him to demean himself by shaving his private parts so it would please him.
Those reasons constricted Ben’s throat, but his body had given up on the puking.
“Can you stand?” Jacob’s touch flicked over Ben’s forehead, pushing back his bangs.
Goosebumps prickled his scalp.
“Not yet. Just…” He slumped. “I can’t do this.”
Jacob exhaled a sigh. “I should have helped you.”
“No, no. I mean. I can’t do this. Any of this. I can’t.”
There was a stutter in Jacob’s petting. “You’re wearing his mark.”
Ben rubbed the still tender burn against his leg.
“You agreed.”
“I can’t change my mind?” Ben wiped his mouth on his forearm.
The hollow trickle of water echoed in the leaky toilet’s reserve tank.
“Yes, you can change your mind.” Jacob put his hand on the back of Ben’s head. “But what happens if you do?”
Yvette happens.
The bitch would come after him. Not just him but anyone Ben knew. One person dying because of his stupidity was already too much. Maybe if she’d just kill Ben, he’d have accepted that. But death was too easy. She’d already proven how far she was willing to go.
Shelly’s screams drowned out the rush of water, replacing what had been lost from the leaking reservoir.
Ben shivered.
No one deserved to suffer, but Ben, and yet? “I can’t.” He buried his face against his knees. “I’m not you.”
Jacob’s touch disappeared. The chill of
the air replaced the warmth of his presence. Tennis shoes squeaked on the tile.
“I’m not as strong as you.” Ben breathed. “I’m nowhere as strong.”
He didn’t have what it took to surrender his pride, even to save his life.
It was a confession he’d hoped to never reveal. And the truth of it sank its claws into Ben, eviscerating him. But his tears were already depleted, and his self-worth couldn’t go lower.
The air stirred. Shampoo bottles rattled in the sink.
Ben lifted his gaze.
Jacob carried the rubber-coated shower rack out of the bathroom. He returned for almost all the shampoo bottles and was gone again.
A deadbolt thumped. The door to the room squeaked.
Ben slumped. He couldn’t blame Jacob for walking out. The fact he’d stayed this long was a miracle.
The door squeaked again, and the deadbolt reengaged.
Movement in the other room broke the quiet. A zipper ticked. Jacob’s shoulder and hip swung into view.
Jacob stopped by the vanity outside the bathroom, but the wall concealed whatever he carried.
Ben unfolded himself.
Jacob returned. “Let’s get you washed off.” Jacob knelt and put Ben’s arm over his shoulder and looped his arm around Ben’s back.
Ben pushed, and Jacob pulled. With very little effort, Ben wound up on his feet.
Blood smeared the bottom of the tub, Ben’s legs, and clumped around the drain. Congealing droplets tried to glue his toes to the porcelain.
“Go ahead and wash off. Just make sure to let the water warm up before you turn the shower on. And when you turn it on—”
“Go slow.” Ben had already learned the hard way how the pipes hoarded ice water for the chance to blow it out on unsuspecting victims.
Jacob smiled a little. “Yeah, I guess you’ve been here long enough to know that.”
If Ben lived through this, would he stay long enough to acquire fancy towels in subtle colors?
“Can you stand long enough to wash?”
Ben furrowed his brow. “Yeah, sure.” He hadn’t bled that much. Accidents with a cutting knife had taught him it didn’t take much blood to look like a murder scene.
Jacob picked up the end of the shower curtain and rigged it enough it didn’t fall when he stepped back. “That’ll be good enough to keep the water off the floor.”
Ben reached down for the spigot.
“Damn it.” Jacob’s voice echoed from far away.
Ben blinked, and the hot water knob was an inch from his nose. A heartbeat tapped the place above one eye. He touched it. Blood painted his fingertips.
“You told me you were okay?” Jacob wrapped his arm around Ben again. This time, he pulled back until he sat against the back of the tub.
“I am.” The room swam. “Okay, maybe I’m not.”
“Hang on.” Jacob left but returned just as quick. He held out an open sports drink bottle. The bright orange color suggested what it should taste like. “Here.”
Ben took it with a shaking hand, sloshing it over his chest. Jacob stopped it with a hand on the bottom. Ben took a sip.
“Go slow.”
Ben hadn’t realized he guzzled until Jacob pulled the bottle away.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
Hadn’t that been why Ben went to the store this morning?
Jacob examined the sore place over Ben’s eye, then the ugly conglomeration of bruises coloring his knee and the road rash on his palms.
“That happened earlier.” Ben took another drink.
“How?”
“Had a disagreement with the bumper of an Oldsmobile.”
“I’ll go get some ice in a bit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to get some ice on it, or it’ll really swell.”
“I need to do a lot of things.” Ben set the bottle over the edge of the tub, on the floor.
“We’ll start with getting you cleaned up.” Jacob kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt.
Ben squinted at him. It wasn’t until the other man unbuttoned his jeans he realized what Jacob was doing.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Ben tried to push himself up. His pulse dropped to his toes.
“I can’t risk you falling again. I’m going to get in enough trouble already.” Jacob set his clothes on the closed toilet lid. “Scoot up.”
Ben did.
Jacob stepped in behind him. “Turn on the water and get it to what you want.”
The curve of Jacob’s quad invaded Ben’s peripheral. Male musk flavored his inhale.
“Ben, quit staring at my dick and turn the water on.”
“I wasn’t…” Ben twisted the spigot. Cold water rushed from the faucet. He added warm, but it didn’t stop the wave of liquid ice from sloshing his balls. He cursed. The sting from the cut came to life, growing hotter with the rise of temperature.
Jacob reached over Ben and lifted the detachable showerhead from the shower arm.
Now Ben couldn’t claim he didn’t stare.
Jacob turned the sprayer against the wall. “Flip the re-direct.”
“The what?”
“The thingy on the faucet.”
Ben pulled up the stem, and the flow of water from the faucet stopped. The shower hose kicked, and a cool spray shot from the nozzle. Jacob brought it back to the holder and slid it in.
Water pelted Ben’s face, and he ducked his head.
“Sorry, that’s just till I can get you on your feet.”
“Can’t I stay down here?”
“You’ve got shower jell between your ass cheeks. Do you really want to risk not getting it rinsed off? Because I can tell you from experiences, soap burn isn’t pretty.”
Ben braced a hand on the edge. Jacob pulled him to his feet. Instead of letting go, he put an arm around Ben’s ribs.
Sculpted muscle over a lithe frame pressed against Ben. The edge of Jacob’s collar bone at Ben’s shoulder blade, his chest at the back of Ben’s ribs, pebbled nipples an imperfection in the smoothness of skin. Lower—his pelvis, the left more than the right. The dip above his hip above Ben’s. Then the unmistakable velvet length of skin, thick enough to fill the cleft of Ben’s ass.
“I’m okay.” Ben’s voice cracked.
“The last time I believed you, you passed out.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Not all the way.”
Jacob huffed, and it tickled the hairs under Ben’s ear. Warmth settled in his balls.
Jacob reached over Ben and unhooked the sprayer. Silver, sleek, with enough dials around the head. When arranged, it delivered the water in delicious pulses.
“Why do they have fancy showerheads and crappy sheets?”
“Huh?” Jacob looked at the showerhead. “Oh, yeah. Like I said, they updated the plumbing.”
“That’s more than a plumbing update.”
“Would you rather have the old head with half the holes clogged, so the water squirted in every direction except in the tub? I’m pretty sure they left them under the sink of the vanity. I’ll go look if you want.” Jacob gave Ben a tired expression.
He dropped his gaze.
“I didn’t think so.” Jacob adjusted the spray until it surged in gentle beats. The soothing spray chased his movements, every trickle down Ben’s chest, a caress. The flow tracing the plains of his body.
A body not as toned as Jacob’s.
Ben had never thought of himself as lacking before. He’d played soccer in high school, swam on occasion at the college, but studying ate up most of his time, so while he might have been wider than Jacob, he lacked the sharp definition of muscles that came from working to earn them.
It was almost enough to kill the threat of an erection.
Jacob made some room, and the spray of water followed Ben’s spine to his ass crack.
“Pull your cheeks apart.”
Ben glanced ba
ck.
Jacob lifted his eyebrows. “If you want me to rinse the soap off, you’re gonna have to make so I can get to it. You don’t exactly have a flat butt.”
The heat went from Ben’s nuts to his cheeks. He faced the shower wall and reached back. His grip slipped, and he had to dig his fingers into his flesh to get a hold.
“Thank you.”
The water rushed between Ben’s ass cheeks. Droplets tapped his hole. The pressure increased.
“What are you doing?”
“I adjusted the setting on the sprayer to get this done faster.”
“I’m not in a rush.” Ben winced. “That came out wrong.”
“I’m not trying to rush you. It’s just it’s going to take a while to get you shaved, you’re rather…”
“What?”
“Hairy.”
Ben put a hand on his chest. Sure, he had a light brush of hair, but he wasn’t covered. “I’m not hairy.”
“You’re not a bear, but you’ve got some serious bush going on between your butt cheeks.”
“I…” Ben gave up.
“I mean, I’ve seen worse.”
Ben clenched his eyes shut.
“It’s just you’ve obviously never done any grooming before.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you aren’t.”
“Most guys don’t think about their crack.” Jacob lowered the spray. “Let go of your ass cheeks and spread your legs.”
Ben did.
“Wider.”
“What? My thighs too fat now?” Ben didn’t mean to sound so mad. But fuck, he was mad. Or embarrassed. Or both.
“You’re not fat.”
“You just got done telling me my ass cheeks were in the way.”
“You have an ass, so what? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Big is beautiful, huh?”
The water fell away. “Look, you’re not fat; you’re naturally built for your frame. You don’t cut, so you’re going to have body fat.”
“Cut?”
“It’s a way of balancing your foods.” The water returned. “And even if you were fat, skinny, short, flat butt, round butt, whatever, there’s still nothing wrong.”
“Says the guy who looks like a dancer.”
Jacob made more room between them.
Great. Ben had pissed him off again. Not that Ben could blame him.
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