by E M Lindsey
The guy’s eyes widened a fraction more. “I…no? One arm?”
Parker turned his body to show the empty space below his shoulder. His prosthetic was under the counter, leaning against the window—an object to be ignored until his next shift. “You can ask anyone. My shows are pretty goddamn popular. That’s why I got out so late. All those encores.”
The guy swallowed thickly. “And do you…”
“Offer extra services?” Parker finished for him. The way the guy’s cheeks pinked, Parker knew this was a sure bet. Well…maybe. “Are you a cop?”
The guy choked again. “No. I’m the manager over at Wild Grains.”
Parker’s eyebrows lifted, not sure he wanted to believe this guy. “They sure do keep you busy, shifts ending this late.”
“Just end of month shit,” the guy said. He took a step forward, his eyes darting to where Parker’s sleeve was slightly rounded by the end of his short stump. He’d done this song and dance before—more times than he cared to count. The guy was curious, a little bit fascinated—definitely turned on, and probably scared. But by the look in his eyes, it was still a sure bet.
Parker eased mostly off the stool, planting both feet on the ground, but keeping his backside against the seat. “I’m pretty much done here. If you have nothing better to do, we can go back to my place. You know, for a private show.”
The guy’s lips parted, his tongue peeking out just for a second. He was probably a shitty kisser, but Parker knew he’d had worse. “Um.”
“I don’t charge when I’m off the clock.”
The guy was nodding before he spoke again, then he cleared his throat, offered his right hand, then blushed and offered his left. “I’m Alex.”
“Parker,” he said. There was no point in fake-naming the dude. He wasn’t giving out his number and he’d risk seeing him again only if the guy managed to blow a toe off in a handgun accident.
Alex’s palm was a little sweaty, but warm and soft. He clung to Parker longer than was necessary, and Parker was glad his apartment was two minutes down the street. He was drunk on exhaustion and fueled by caffeine and stale coffee cake. And he was horny.
He missed home and everything he never had the chance to appreciate as his own, and this wouldn’t even take the edge off, but it was something. Grabbing his bag and tucking his arm in the crook of his elbow, he led the way out and onto the street.
He could feel Alex’s eyes burning a hole in his back, so he slowed his step and waited for the man to catch up with him. “Look, if my arm freaks you out, we don’t have to do this.”
“No. N-no,” Alex said in that way people did when they were desperate to sound like amputations or scars were nothing. “Just…why don’t you wear it?”
“Because it hurts,” Parker told him simply. That was the long and short of it. The damn thing was uncomfortable. The infection meant the doctors had to do more than just remove bones and flesh. They dug further up into his shoulder and wrecked a ton of nerves. The stump was smooth with hairline scarring, but inside was a mess, and trying to use what was left of his muscles to manipulate it at work fucking hurt.
There was no other way around it. He was better without it, but was forced to live up to expectations by using it. And explaining it to people who would never understand left him tired to his core.
“Like I said…”
Parker didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Alex grabbed him by the arm and spun him, stepping in close. “I don’t mind. I’ve just never gone home with a…you know…”
“Amputee. I mean, if you want to get really PC,” Parker breathed out.
“Stripper,” the guy corrected, then blushed. “Or is there another preferred term?”
Parker almost laughed. “I see.”
Alex shrugged and put his hand at Parker’s right hip, no further up. “I don’t normally pick up guys like you in cafés.”
“Coffee shops, right.” Parker laughed. “Well, Alex, I guess tonight’s a night of firsts, because I don’t usually let random store managers pick me up in cafés either.” He leaned in then, his hand too full to do anything but force the kiss with his mouth, but Alex didn’t seem to mind. He was open to the way Parker devoured him, licked inside and tasted the sour remnants of coffee and mint. When they broke apart, Alex’s pupils were dilated, his dick was hard and tenting the front of his work trousers, and his fingers holding Parker were trembling. “Ready?”
Alex nodded, then let Parker lead the way home.
Kicking open his apartment door, Parker didn’t bother to apologize for the mess in the living room or the weird smell. He was never, ever home except to sleep, eat, shit, and shower. The life of his residency was nothing like TV prepared him for, though it was everything his professors and mentors had warned him about.
He didn’t regret it, not for a second. He wasn’t a great person, but he was a damn good doctor, and he’d be even better at the end of his three years. He had eight months to go before potential job offers came in. He felt sometimes like going into general medicine was a cop-out. People expected more of him—like orthotics or oncology. They expected him to figure out how the fuck to perform complicated neurological or spiral surgery with one hand and a prosthetic just because he seemed like the kind of man to defy the odds.
What he wanted was none of that. What he wanted was to just take care of people.
He’d grown numb to the disappointed, “Oh, that’s interesting,” years ago in the faces of people who were starving for ways to idolize him simply for existing.
He would live up to his expectations and his alone. He quit smoking weed, but he hadn’t bothered learning how to clean his toilet or pick up wet towels from the floor. And he gave exactly zero fucks about the mildew smell when he dragged Alex in by the front of his pants and shoved him toward the bed.
“I have condoms and lube, but you need to tell me how far you want to go tonight,” Parker said. He made quick work of his t-shirt and jeans, kicking them off to the side. He stretched his arm above his head, feeling the tug in the muscles of his stump, and he watched the way Alex’s eyes traced the lines on him. He worked out a lot. And he ran a lot. And he swam. His body was great on purpose, because he was young, and he would be damned if he didn’t get his rocks off whenever he needed to scratch an itch.
“Uh…I’m up for anything,” Alex finally said.
“You’ve fucked a guy before?” Parker asked. He walked over to the nightstand, his dick pointed out through the slit in his boxers like a goddamn homing beacon, and he pulled out the bottle of lube and box of condoms that needed to be replaced soon.
Alex made a choked noise. “Yeah. Yes. I’m out.”
“Thank god.” Parker didn’t mind the inexperienced ones. Hell, he didn’t even mind the virgins, but tonight, he wanted a man who knew what the fuck to do with his body. He was wrecked and tired, and he smelled like hospital disinfectant and their shitty shampoo from the communal showers. He wanted to smell like sweat and come instead—and maybe a little bit of Alex’s cologne after it rubbed off on him. “I like it rough. I don’t need a lot of prep.”
“Oh. Oh, you want,” Alex said. He got to his knees beside Parker who had flopped onto his back, and his hand rose and hovered over Parker’s cock. “You want that?”
“I want a good fucking. Can you do that, Alex? Can you fuck my ass and make me come?”
Alex made a choked sort of sob, but he was nodding then, clearly getting with the program. His warm palms dragged lines down from Parker’s pecs to the waistband of his boxers, and he let his eyes fall shut. He was exhausted, and he wanted to be able to blame his weakness on his fatigue, but he knew it wasn’t that. He’d fucked a lot, and every time he closed his eyes, the man touching him became the man he’d left behind in Cherry Creek.
The soft, store manager’s hands were suddenly calloused, bigger, and rough. The mouth leaning down to nip at his ribs, to drag wet kisses down to his pelvis, was now rough with beard burn. The hair he
dug fingers into had gone from a soft blond to a rich brown, a little coarse, and a little wavy.
Ronan.
The name burned on the tip of his tongue, but he had just enough control to keep it from slipping out. The hands grabbed him behind his knees, then pushed his legs up, and then wide. He felt his ass exposed, his hole clenching around nothing as it waited for anything to slip inside.
Parker jolted when he heard the sound of the lube bottle opening, and he sucked in a breath when a finger tentatively pushed against him.
“I won’t break,” Parker said, wanting it rough—needing it rough. He had never gone this far with Ronan, had never gotten past sloppy kisses and a single hand-job in the dark, but he knew Ronan would never treat him like glass.
With love, maybe, but never like he was fragile.
“Two fingers,” Parker said.
Alex’s voice shattered the illusion. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Parker opened his eyes and pressed up onto his elbow, catching Alex’s gaze. “I like when it hurts a little. I really like it, okay. This isn’t me performing for you. I don’t play mind games. I just want a rough fuck.”
Alex looked torn, but he still slipped the condom on and let Parker fall back down to the pillow. He shoved his fingers back inside, but not as long as he probably wanted to before he had Parker by the ankles, drawing his legs up to wrap around his torso. “Like this?”
“Fuck me,” Parker demanded. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Alex. He wanted to be able to sink into the fantasy and let it carry him over the edge. He groaned and arched when the cock breeched him, his hips snapping down as the other man’s snapped up. It stung—it burned—it didn’t quite split him in half, but the tightness in his ass was impossible to ignore.
“Harder?” Alex asked him.
Parker licked his lips, nodding. His hand scrabbled for the sheets, twisting into them. He didn’t want to touch himself, not yet. He just wanted to fucking feel. “Harder.”
The other man didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t deny him. He shoved one hand under Parker’s lower back, then slid down, cupping his ass. His hips rose in the air, and it was the perfect angle. Alex pounded into his prostate, giving it his all, and Parker’s eyes opened just in time to see stars cascade, the edges of his vision whiting out. Alex’s face—only for a second—transformed into the broken teen he’d left against the high school wall. And then suddenly, he was Alex again. He was the well-built, attractive store manager looking down at him with sad eyes and parted lips.
“Kiss me,” Parker begged, scaring himself, because he never, ever let them kiss him when he came. “I’m gonna come, so fucking kiss me.”
Alex leaned down, slamming their mouths together. It was painful and wet and sloppy and with the friction between their bodies, it was just enough to get him there. He spasmed, crying out against Alex’s lips, and then he let go, spilling hot and wet between them.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, his entire body trembling as he came down. He hadn’t realized Alex had come too until he felt the heaviness inside of him. Alex’s hands were soft and easy as they laid him back down onto the bed, then he held the condom as he pulled out.
“I’ll be right back,” Alex said, like a promise Parker hadn’t asked him to make. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want Alex to kiss him during his orgasm or look at him tenderly like he had right before he got up.
He didn’t want Alex to stay, but in that moment, he also desperately didn’t want him to go. It was unfair, he knew. It was unfair when Parker had never been able to love anyone else but the boy who utterly wrecked him, but he was tired of being lonely. He rolled onto his side, then let out the smallest sigh when Alex returned and used a cold, wet cloth to clean up the mess on his stomach.
“You’re gorgeous when you come. I have no doubt you have the most popular performance,” Alex said quietly.
Parker blinked at him, confused until he remembered what Alex was talking about. And he tried to stop his laugh, he really did, but it bubbled out hot and fierce, making him curl in on himself a little.
“Wait,” he said when Alex stood, looking hurt. His hand groped out until it found Alex’s wrist, and he held tight. “Wait, I’m sorry. I was being an asshole.”
Alex said, his face full of suspicion. “You’re not a stripper, are you?”
“No.” Parker rolled onto his back, letting Alex go so he could press his palm to his face. “No, I’m not a stripper. I’m a doctor.”
Alex scoffed. “Right. The one-armed doctor.”
At that, Parker pushed himself up onto his elbow, strangely hurt even if it wasn’t the first time someone assumed he was joking. Boy who cried wolf, he supposed, with all his sarcastic lies. But he hated that his own, actual job seemed just as false as the ones he threw out there to anonymous strangers.
“I’m in my third year of residency at St. Paul General. Well, I’m actually working at one of the GP offices there, but I’m doing trauma hours at the ER. That’s why I was in the café.”
Alex studied him for a long time. “You’re…telling the truth, aren’t you?”
Parker flopped back down again and groaned. “Yeah, I am. I have eight months left of this shit.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said. He shifted closer on the bed, still naked, and traced a finger down Parker’s side. “I didn’t mean to imply…”
“Yes, you did,” Parker said, more tired than anything now. “Everyone does it, and it’s fine. I get it. A one-armed stripper is way more believable than a doctor.”
“Can I ask…”
“Shark bite,” Parker snapped.
Alex winced and looked away. “Okay, I deserve that.”
Parker wanted to soften, but he was too tired and too twisted up inside. He missed Ronan, he missed Fitz. He missed Bette and her sweet smile and cookies. He missed the warm summers by the lake and the campfires and the tents. He missed home, and he wasn’t sure he was ever going back. It wasn’t Alex’s fault though. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t Ronan, and it wasn’t his fault they were in this dingy apartment and Parker still smelled like someone else’s blood and the chemicals he used to clean it up.
“It’s been a long weekend. I am an asshole, but I’m not usually this bad.” He rolled onto his side again, twisting his stump up as far as his muscles would allow, and he rested his cheek against it. His hand reached out, and he dug his fingers lightly into the top of Alex’s thigh. “Leave your number?”
Alex gave him a careful look. “Will you call me?”
“I don’t know.” It was the first truthful answer he’d given, and Alex seemed to understand that because he nodded. “I’d like you to kiss me again.”
Licking his lips, Alex turned, palming Parker’s cheek. He hesitated, but only for a second, then he pressed their lips together in something soft, a little too chaste, and a little too sweet. But it was enough, and Parker’s eyes were mostly closed by the time Alex pulled back.
“I’ll leave my number on your counter.”
“Mm,” Parker said. His adrenaline was fading, and sleep was creeping around his edges. “This was…”
“Sleep well, Parker.”
Before Alex was even off the bed, Parker was dead to the world.
Chapter Four
Ronan woke with the stirrings of a migraine and pins and needles in his hands and feet. They were worse during winter, but particularly bad this spring, but he’d had shitty circulation as long as he could remember. And it didn’t help with him falling asleep on the sofa. Again.
He stretched his aching back, twisting his hands at the wrists, feet at his ankles, and slowly the blood began to return, and he could feel them again. He pushed up to sit, slowly, avoiding the way the world always swam on migraine days. He didn’t exactly have time to give in to a headache. He had the inspection on the cabins just after lunch, and he had rounds to get done.
Taking on the job in Cherry Cr
eek had been a sort of consolation, allowing himself to stay while also giving himself the space to be alone. His eight-semester stint on campus down the hill had been just enough to prove to him the last thing he wanted was to be elsewhere, but he still couldn’t bring himself to exist the way he had before the fire.
He tried. One time, he gave it a shot. He showered, got dressed, and he wandered into town only to find the new fire department recruits on the lawn running drills. And his trauma wasn’t that deep, and his sexuality not buried too far under his skin. He appreciated the tight asses in jogging pants and the way the t-shirts stretched over bulging biceps. He appreciated it all until one of them turned, and he recognized the eyes, deep set and smiling. And then the smile. And then the scars.
Ronan didn’t know what motivated him to cross the lawn and take Fitz by the front of his shirt. Later, he’d think it was probably fear, but in that moment, it felt like unrestrained rage.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Fitz asked as Ronan slammed him up against the park bench.
Ronan was hovering over him, breathing heavy through his nose, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is?”
Fitz just laughed and curled his hand over Ronan’s wrist, squeezing until it hurt. “This isn’t fucking about you.”
And then he saw red. “I don’t even know why I risked my ass to save yours if you’re just going to try and kill yourself again! I should have just let you die in that fucking tent!” His jaw snapped shut, and he released Fitz, taking a horrified step back. He watched as the pain filled Fitz’s eyes, watched as what little they had between them crumbled to dust.
“If you think that’s the first time I’ve said that to myself…”
“Stop,” Ronan begged, his voice hoarse.
Fitz just laughed. “Why? You fucking started it, Ronan. You just left me there in the hospital, you stopped…you stopped looking at me, stopped talking to me. You cut everyone off, and you think you have a right to say anything about this? You don’t know why I’m here.”