by Jane Seville
“See? This isn’t so bad.”
D shook his head a little. “Nah. Feels… kinda nice.” He sighed.
“Tell me about the house where you grew up.”
“You writin’ a biography?”
“Well, it’d be one worth reading.”
“Doubt that.” D shifted a little; Jack rested his cheek against the top of his head, not speaking, trying to be a sponge, a quiet receiver for whatever had to be said. “Had a treehouse out back.”
“Yeah?” Jack said, smiling.
“My dad built it when I was a kid. Big old tree in the back, with the ladder-rungs nailed ta the trunk, the whole works. Spent a lotta time up there.”
“You were probably one of those loner kids, weren’t you?”
“And I bet you were the most popular kid on the block.”
“Where was your secret place?”
“How d’ya know I had one?” D asked, lifting his head to look at Jack, one eyebrow arched.
“You did.”
D shrugged and laid back down. “Was an abandoned farm ’bout a mile down the road from us. Usedta go up ta the hayloft. Smelled like summer all the time.” He hesitated. His hand had begun moving slowly back and forth across Jack’s chest all by itself; when he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “Usedta go there ‘n’ pretend I was the last survivor. Last man on Earth. Hadta build my own shelter, forage fer food, kill wild game with jus’ my wits ‘n’ whatever I found lyin’ about.”
D went on, his voice going from hushed to choked. “One day I been out there fer hours ‘n’ hours. Pretendin’ ta hunt. I caught a rabbit ‘n’ killed it.” Jack stayed very still and quiet, resisting the urge to fidget or speak. “I didn’t know,” D said. “Didn’t know what it meant. Thought it’d be like a game, but… couldn’t take it back. Sat there with that bunny, blood comin’ outta its mouth, held it on my lap… weren’t no game. Was for keeps.” He sighed. “I buried it. Cryin’ like a goddamn girl. Went home, thought everybody’d see it on my face, what I done. But no one saw nothin’. Was like any other day. Went back the next day ta see if maybe I dreamed it, but no; bunny still dead.”
Jack felt tears rising to his eyes. He pressed his lips to the top of D’s head and drew him closer. He waited.
“Jack, I… I dunno how—”
“It’s okay. Take your time.”
“I gotta tell ya….” He trailed off again.
“I know.”
“Don’t… don’t let go a me.” This last was so quiet as to almost be inaudible.
“I won’t. Not ever.”
D took a deep breath and let it out. “Got married ’cause she was pregnant. Dunno why I got her that way. Jus’ was what ya did. Went inta the Army. Maybe it lasted long as it did ’cause I was gone so much. Love my little girl. So sweet, she was. Firs’ time she call me ‘Daddy’ jus’ thought I’d melt away. So smart, and jus’ lovin’, wanted ta love on everbody, me mos’ of all. Real Daddy’s girl, she was. I tried ta be good ta her mamma, but… well, guess you know why she ain’t never done it fer me. ’Fore too long we had nothin’ ta say ta each other. I weren’t no kinda husband to her, so she left me.
“She hadta support her ‘n’ Jill, a course. I sent her money but weren’t enough. We’d been livin’ in North Carolina—she moved away with Jill while I was still at Fort Bragg. She’d got a real good job workin’ fer the Social Security Administration. Had her a cousin there got her an interview. So she hadta go where the office was. Fifth floor a the Murrah Federal Buildin’ in Oklahoma City.”
Jack sucked in a breath, his arms tightening around D reflexively. “Oh, my God.”
“She was workin’. Jill down in the day care.”
“Oh, Jesus, D.”
D’s voice was flat and uninflected. “The bombin’ killed ’em both. I saw it on the news ‘n’ I knew right then my little girl was dead. Knew that was her mamma’s buildin’. They kept tellin’ me ta have some hope, might not a got her, might be okay, but I knew. And it couldn’t be took back, ’cause I put her in that buildin’. If I’d been there for her ‘n’ her mamma, they wouldn’ta hadta move there. That happened, was like all the lights went out inside. Just waited ’round for the next thing. Buried my little girl ‘n’ her mamma, went back ta work only ta find out that it was some crazy Army guy done this. One a my own, fer fuck’s sake. Made it even worse, somehow. Was a lotta talk goin’ ’round that he had friends still in the service. Militant motherfuckers lookin’ ta take us all down from the inside. ’Bout a year after the bombin’ one a the higher-ups come ta me ‘n’ said he’d heard I was a man could get things done. Said they’d found out some major’d helped that asshole get his materials ‘n’ plan the bombin’. Wanted it taken care of, off the books if ya know what I mean, asked if I’d do it. Didn’t even hesitate, said okay. I went and took care of it. Next day resigned my commission, and went out lookin’ for the next one.”
He fell silent. Jack’s mind was reeling. It was almost too much to take. He had so often wondered how D had gotten into his line of work. To find that he’d been driven by grief and misplaced vengeance was both strange and oddly fitting. D was not a man controlled by his emotions. At least he wasn’t now.
“I ain’t never told that ta nobody,” D said, sounding hollow.
“I’m so sorry, D. You’ve had so much tragedy in your life.”
“Guess.”
“But… what happened to your wife and daughter, it wasn’t your fault.”
D snorted. “The hell it wasn’t. If we’d stayed married—”
“But she left you, right?”
“Drove her off.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Don’t matter.” He abruptly pulled away and sat up. “Jesus, listen ta me go on. Yer probly tired.”
“I’m fine. I—”
“I’m gonna go take a walk or somethin’.”
“It’s three a.m.!”
“I’m restless. Be okay.”
“But—”
“Jack, I said I’m okay.” He tried to slide away but Jack grabbed his arm and held him back.
“No, you’re not. It’s all right not to be.” D looked back at him, blinking. “I said I wasn’t letting go of you, and I’m not going to.” D dropped his eyes and stared at the bedsheets. Jack sat up and put his hand on D’s face, making him meet Jack’s eyes. “You’re not the last man on Earth. Not now.”
D stared at him, his eyes misting over. Two tears spilled over his lids and slid down his cheek. Jack wiped them away with his thumbs and leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. He could hear D’s ragged breathing; he felt another solitary tear drip onto his leg. How long had it been since this man had allowed himself an emotional release? How far could he really expect him to come back in one night?
Suddenly D drew back and grasped Jack’s face in his hands, an intent expression in his wet eyes. “Why?” he demanded. “Why’s it like this with us?”
Jack struggled for a good answer but came up blank. “I… I don’t know.”
D nodded. “Good. Me, neither.” He sighed. “Ain’t never been nobody like this fer me, never.”
Jack smiled, a little shaky, and lifted his hands to D’s face. “Me, neither.” He leaned closer, his eyes flicking to D’s, waiting for him to draw back as he had always done.
He didn’t.
The first touch was tentative, careful. The ghost of D’s lips beneath his own, not moving, still as a statue. He brushed his mouth over D’s again, waiting for a response, feeling D’s breath. He drew back and met his eyes, questioning. D’s eyes dropped to his mouth, his hands drew Jack’s face forward and this time, he didn’t hesitate.
~~~~~
Kissing Jack wasn’t what he’d expected. Not letting himself do it for this long now seemed kind of stupid… or a lot stupid. What had he been afraid of? Too intimate, too romantic, too… just too. Sex was okay, even sucking dick was okay. That was to get off. Kissing, though… that you d
id only because you had something to say that words didn’t quite do it for. That meant feelings and messiness.
Messiness came in more forms than just kissing, though. He’d just unloaded a whole pile of messiness, hardly able to believe he was doing it even as he heard the words coming out of his mouth. All of it. Sharon, Jill, his first job, all of it tumbled out. That vault door was standing wide open now, all its secrets disgorged and seeing air for the first time in forever. And he’d opened it willingly. He’d turned the lock and taken out his most closely guarded truths and placed them in Jack’s hands, because he trusted him. It was a strange feeling. He was the one who was supposed to be doing all the protecting, but the truth was that Jack made him feel safe.
At the moment, Jack was making him feel something else entirely. His lips were soft and full, his body was warm and firm in D’s arms and it was right, so goddamned right. He ran his tongue across Jack’s lips and they opened to him without hesitation. He plunged his hands into Jack’s hair and dove into him, restraint leaving without a backward glance, Jack’s hands grasping at his back and shoulders, pushing his tongue into D’s mouth. D drew back to kiss his lips some more, Jack’s stubble rough against his cheeks and chin, soft little noises coming from Jack or from himself or from both of them, he couldn’t tell; he just knew they were sitting on this bed, half in each other’s laps, making out like horny teenagers in the backseat of Daddy’s car.
Jack pulled away, holding D’s head in his hands. “What?” D said, wanting nothing more than to be kissing those lips again.
Jack grinned, his eyes glimmering in the fading moonlight. “Just… I don’t know. You.”
“C’mere.” D pulled him close, his hands sliding down his back to cup his ass, and kissed him again. “This kissin’ stuff’s workin’ real good fer me.”
Jack chuckled against his mouth, one hand sliding between D’s legs. “Hmm, I can tell,” he said. “Better make up fer lost time.”
“No argument here,” D said, cupping one hand around the back of Jack’s head, tilting into him, mouths working each other over.
“D,” Jack breathed, as D kissed his way down Jack’s arched neck. “What do you want?”
“Want you,” D said, coming back to Jack’s mouth. “Want ya so damn bad.”
Jack groaned and pushed D onto his back, falling on top of him, still kissing him. D wrapped his arms and legs around him, arching his groin into Jack’s. “Jesus God,” Jack gasped.
“C’mere,” D said, pulling Jack’s mouth back to his, their groans lost into each other’s mouths as they rocked together on the bed, Jack bracing himself on his elbows, D’s hands gripping Jack’s ass and pulling him closer and tighter, their mouths sealed together. They came in quick succession, rushing impatient toward it, no time for anything but this, this which went on as they came down, laced tight together, their kisses slow now and languid, stopping only as they fell down into sleep, lying where they’d fallen.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack blinked and stretched, yawning himself awake. The sun was pretty high on the wall; it had to be after nine at least. He wasn’t surprised to be alone in bed. He rolled over and checked the clock. Yep, quarter after nine.
He got up and put on his track pants and a T-shirt, then shuffled out into the kitchen, still yawning. D was lighting a burner on the stove, a mug of coffee in his hand. “Morning,” Jack said.
“Mmm,” D grunted. “Want some eggs? Just ’bout ta start.”
“Sure, thanks.” Jack bent and got out the toaster, then the bread.
“How?”
“Scrambled.” Jack leaned over D to get a mug for himself out of the cupboard, catching D eyeballing him as he drew back. He smiled, getting a little lip-twitch in return.
“You, uh… okay?” he said, watching D’s profile.
D glanced at him, frowning. “Yeah, why?”
“Well, you unloaded some things last night. Things you’d been carrying for a long time. I just wondered if now, you know, in the light of day….”
D turned toward him. “What’s done is done. Ain’t no use dwellin’ on it; couldn’t take it back anyhow.”
That answer wasn’t quite what Jack had been hoping for. “But, I…,” he stammered. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said, turning around to fill his mug.
He heard D sigh behind him, a world-weary sigh that practically spoke full sentences, sentences like Jesus Christ, what’ve I gotten myself into? “Jack, I ain’t regrettin’ that I told you them things,” D said, his voice low.
Jack turned. “No?”
“No,” D said, shaking his head. He took a few steps toward Jack. “Never expected it,” he said, staring at the floor, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I thought all that shit was locked away for good, and glad for it ta be so. I never wanted ta show it ta nobody.” He flicked a quick, shy glance up at Jack’s face. “Not ’til now.”
Jack swallowed hard. “I’m glad.”
One side of D’s mouth curled into a half-smile, a glint of mischief coming into his eyes. “C’mere,” he murmured, reaching out and grasping Jack’s upper arm. Jack came toward him willingly, still holding his mug, but didn’t make a move. D’s glance flicked to Jack’s mouth and back up to his eyes. Jack just arched one eyebrow. Well? What are you waiting for? D leaned forward, hesitant, waiting to be met halfway, waiting for it to be Jack’s kiss and not his, waiting for Jack to take over, which he had no intention of doing. Jack stayed where he was, watching D’s face, the twitchy eyes, the flush rising to his ears. D stopped and glanced up at Jack again. He tried once more, angling his jaw forward, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lower lip, but Jack held his ground and D stalled out halfway home.
D drew back with a sigh, shaking his head. “Fuck you, ya smug bastard.” He chuckled, then pulled Jack tight to him, his free hand going around the back of his neck; a grin broke over Jack’s face but barely saw daylight before D’s mouth was on his, hungry and demanding, his hand in Jack’s hair. Jack fumbled behind him in what he hoped was the general vicinity of the countertop and let go of his coffee mug; he heard it tip over but thankfully not all the way to the floor. That hardly mattered now that both hands were free to grab big handfuls of D’s T-shirt, arms wrapped around his waist, a shiver running through him at this first intimate contact outside the bedroom. Whatever this was, it was now drug out into full view, not shuttered behind closed doors where it could be written off as a fluke or a need.
D’s hand was up underneath Jack’s T-shirt, warm and dry. The initial rush past, their lips were meeting now in a quiet, undemanding lazy-Sunday sort of acquaintance: stroke and rub, pull and taste, smile and breathe without parting and shift into each other like drifting dunes molding beneath the wind. The touch of D’s tongue stealing into his mouth, tentative to make Jack want to weep for him, rejection so harsh a master, but warm and wet and his, his to claim and draw out.
Jack sighed, wondering if he might swoon like some kind of Victorian damsel. I could get used to this. D drew back, his eyes averted, his flush creeping down to his cheeks now. Like a kid stealing kisses on the porch at curfew, Jack thought. He smiled, forgetting for a moment to school his expression and rein in his emotions; all of a sudden it zinged up his spine and exploded in his skull like a time-lapse photo of a blooming flower. Jack exhaled sharply. Jesus. Is this what it feels like?
He stepped out of D’s arms and turned to rescue his coffee mug. “Shit, I spilled the hell out of this, didn’t I?” he said, keeping his back turned while he went for the paper towels.
“Guess… start breakfast then, huh?” D said, sounding a little confused.
“Sure, sounds great.”
No one spoke for a few moments; the only sounds in the kitchen were of D cooking. Jack stood at the patio door and looked out into the backyard, drinking his coffee. “Better go ta the store today,” D said. “Gettin’ low on… stuff.” He half-swallowed this last word, letting Jack know that D had noticed that they were r
unning low not only on coffee and bread but also on lube.
Jack took a deep breath and rejoined D by the stove. “Can we swing by a bookstore or something? I’m dying for some new reading material.”
D shot him a look. “Ain’t no ‘we’ here, bud. I’ll be goin’ by myself.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said.
“I ain’t kiddin’. Too risky fer you ta be out ‘n’ about.”
“What, you think armed assassins will be staking out Albertson’s on the off chance that I’ll wander through?”
“It’s possible.”
“No, it isn’t. You’re being paranoid.”
“Paranoid’s saved my ass more’n once. Now it’ll save yers.”
“D, I have got to get out of this house.”
“Got the yard there out back.”
“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that. I am not a house pet!”
“Great. Now yer getting pissy,” D grumbled, stirring the eggs more forcefully.
“Maybe I am. We’ve been here a week, nothing bad’s happened, you yourself say we’re safe here, why shouldn’t I go out?”
“Because I don’t wanna push our luck, all right?” D exclaimed, banging the pan down on a cool burner. “Willya just stay here, please? Gimme a fuckin’ break, Jack.”
Jack’s temper flared. Oh no, he did NOT. “Give you a break? Sure, why not? I’ve only been uprooted from my life twice now, had to abandon my career, my home, my friends and family so I could be a hunted fugitive, but I guess you need a break, huh?” He threw his mug into the sink and walked away, the frustration surprising him with its ferocity. He banged through the patio doors and stomped off into the backyard, stopping when he reached his favorite tree. He sat down with his back to its trunk.
Jesus. Get a grip. But he’d been getting and holding that grip for weeks now, and his fingers were getting slippery. He’d pushed so much of the reality of his situation far from his mind so he could concentrate on other things, like surviving, but now in this place that was starting to feel safe, it was creeping back. Likely he’d never see his parents again, or Caroline, or his friends. The coffee shop on the corner by his apartment, the cranky nurse who worked the OR intake desk.