Brimstone

by Peter van der Walt

He didn’t want to, and suspect he didn’t have to, work so hard.

  Just take a few deep breaths and manage the rest of this things in his life.

  It was better to try and meet someone through friends. At a party, at a function, at some event. A way to meet someone without the checklists of profiles – the bullet points and snapshots that were supposed to encapsulate the totality of human beings.

  But then a city like Fairbridge didn’t have that many new faces. Or that many events. The immediate sense of yearning for some human contact was not as scary as the realization that, as the clock kept ticking, the possibilities for the future were narrowing.

  Every now and again he could be at a store – or some other neutral ground where he interacted with the world in business terms, or friendly terms. None of the chase, none of the searching. Just minding his own business and doing his thing.

  And someone really beautiful would be around.

  And a person that beautiful would be inaccessible – either because they are freaked out by how others treat them, or because they are just rushing through life to get to the next place, wherever that may be.

  Or they may be involved.

  Or worse… they could be straight.

  So, he resolved that he would stop by Tina’s. Just for coffee. And then go sleep, and not make a big emotional fuss about it, and to just get on with his life.

  So, when Paul went to Tina’s – the last thing he expected was to actually meet someone interesting.

  Paul went in, sat down at the bar, had a cup of coffee poured by Adam, and settled in with a few deep breaths.

  Paul picked him up at the edge of the room.

  He was one of those very beautiful people. One of those gorgeous creatures that would enter and leave one scene of Paul’s life and vanish, never to be rediscovered. Guys you could stare at for hours, just looking at the details of their faces, their lips, their necklines.

  Of course, Paul knew the way to treat guys like that was to completely ignore them.

  The last thing Paul needed was to have some beautiful but forbidden creature torturing his psyche on top of everything else.

  Adam was on duty alone. He looked bored too, this being downtime in a 24-hour shop, there was no one in the place except for two old friends chatting at the bar, and the beautiful guy in the corner.

  “How is school going?” Paul asked the kid.

  “Urgh. Ready for the winter break now. Can’t believe I have another year of it left.”

  “You and me both,” Paul said.

  Adam was a good kid, in the way that most of the young gay students working for Tina were good kids. But Paul felt a bit ashamed that he didn’t even remember what Adam was studying.

  Adam seemed to trail of in his own head, so Paul left him alone.

  Paul hunched forward, focusing on his coffee, ignoring the handsome guy, thinking about the day he had.

  From his peripheral vision, he could see the handsome guy get up. It gave him an excuse to look at him again, to quickly scan his face and feel delighted by it.

  But as Paul turned to look, he saw the guy was also looking at him, and their eyes met.

  Paul quickly looked back to his coffee.

  But he saw the guy approach. He walked like someone who was strong, agile and confident.

  He walked right up and said: “This seat taken?”

  My God he had such a beautiful voice. It was deep – almost soothing. Paul swallowed his coffee too quickly and coughed a bit.

  He nodded, and watched the guy sit down.

  Dark brown hair he kept very short. Intelligent, piercing blue eyes. Full lips framed by a strong jawline. A slightly dark skin tone that looked like creamy velvet. Something in the way he looked was at once vulnerable and dangerous.

  He was lean and powerful, Paul could tell from the way he moved. The strength of a gymnast or an athlete – but definitely someone who kept in shape in a way that was more than a casual few trips to the neighborhood gym.

  The beautiful stranger titled his head and his shoulders hunched forward. A smile crossed his lips and that smile was captivating. It was as if he was amused by Paul’s sudden lack of social skills.

  He just hung there for a moment, then extended his hand for a handshake.

  Paul tried to slow his breath but found that the bit of stray coffee was still irritating his throat. He coughed, again. He shook the guy’s hand quickly and then covered his mouth.

  “I’m Brad,” he said. That voice again.

  “Sorry. I must have… swallowed. I’m, I’m Paul.”

  Sliding with the grace of a cat, Adam appeared into view, his eyes darting between Paul and Brad, smiling broadly.

  “Let’s have a drink, shall we?” He said.

  Brad looked at him, and while he was friendly, it was as if he was telling the kid to buzz off. “Sure, yeah, why not? Can I get you anything?” Brad said. His face softened when he looked at Paul.

  “Just on some coffee. I’ll take a refill though.”

  Brad’s eyes were beaming. Alive, as if he was playing, just behind them. And as if there was something very exciting going on in his thought.

  His smile spread slowly, first his lips barely curved – but then the corners turned up in what was seemed like a hard smile.

  Paul thought his eyes looked like they might be amazing to love, while the lips promised to just take you and make you his bitch. There was something weird that combination achieved. It turned Paul on, tremendously.

  Paul decided not to act like a schoolgirl all night so he found some confidence somewhere and asked: “You new in town?”

  As it came out, it sounded like a bad line in a porn scene, or a TV-movie romance. All butch and curt and smooth.

  Brad must have heard the same thing because he actually laughed, softly, turning away for a moment and then looking back at Paul with even more intensity.

  It felt like he was undressing Paul.

  Did he make that up? Or was that what Brad was doing?

  “Yeah, I’ve just moved here.”

  His eyes danced, that was the way to describe it. They transmitted, what? Impressions? Intentions? Paul could tell by the way Brad looked at him that this night might end pretty well.

  Those eyes danced all over his face. And Paul felt sudden heat around his neck.

  “But you’re from here, right?”

  “Born and bred.”

  “Would you say it’s a nice town?”

  “As good as any. Loveday here is nice, the Varsity, even parts of uptown.”

  Brad lifted some coffee, and Paul saw that even his hands were beautiful.

  It was getting ridiculous. He was feeling all giddy as a Southern belle and had to get some charm offensive going really soon or he could be messing this up.

  “Sounds like you do know your way around. That’s good, and I was hoping for a guide. Is that what you do, Paul? Are you a guide?”

  The job question. When two guys chatted each other up, that would make sense, right? Putting things out there to see where the common ground is. Attracted by the essential sameness. Looking for home. A standard question – almost an expected one. Men could connect over their jobs.

  But the tone of Brad’s voice was more playful. And Paul could sense real curiosity there. Like Brad wanted to really get to know him.

  That warm smile of his was underneath everything he said.

  Paul quickly glanced at the mirror behind the bar – partly to make sure he looked okay but also to check if he was blushing.

  “I run a tracking school.”

  Brad seemed surprised by that. “That’s different,” he said.

  His eyes danced around Paul’s face again, and then they seemed to move down his body. Paul hunched a little, feeling a little exposed.

  He just h
ad to control himself now. Not act too coyly, or flirt too much. Who knew – it could have been an elaborate joke, set up by Adam or Tina or someone? The guy was so completely hot – and the likelihood that a guy like that was in Fairbridge, gay, single and interested in Paul?

  “Tracking school,” Brad said, mouthing each of the words as if he was wondering what each meant.

  Paul couldn’t help but notice the size and firmness of Brad’s bicep, and averted his eyes. He didn’t want to creep the guy out by staring too much.

  “For Park Rangers, and police. That sort of thing. Cutting sign. Finding lost people in the woods. That sort of thing. And you?”

  “Busy with my masters at the V.”

  “Totally unfair, Brad. You let me ramble on and on, and then you give me no more than ‘studying’…?”

  “Biochemistry.”

  “Wow.”

  Brad gave one of his naughty boy smiles.

  “Biochemistry?”

  Brad nodded.

  “I’m from Connecticut, originally. Did my undergrad there. The V has an excellent Biochem curriculum. Some really good professors too. But that’s boring. Tracking school. How did you learn that?”

  “Military.”

  Brad rocked back and forth as he nodded. As if he was very impressed.

  “Soldier boy,” Brad said, and he chuckled as Paul tried not to squirm. He was very perceptive, this hottie. Like those intense eyes of his missed nothing.

  Paul knew there were four kinds of people when it came to telling someone you were ex-military. Either they served themselves, or they knew family or friends who served. If not that, there were people turned off by that kind of answer, and some folks that were turned on.

  “You see any action?” Brad asked. His casual speech did not tell Paul which one he was.

  “A little.”

  “Marines or Army?”

  “Neither. I was an Air Force Combat Rescue Officer. Did you serve?”

  “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  Paul felt the heat around his neck again, and a quick look to the mirror didn’t convince him that he wasn’t blushing.

  “Combat Rescue Officer,” Brad repeated, enunciating each word, as if he was trying it on.

  “My job was to search, find and rescue downed pilots. Or missing soldiers or marines. Even hostages.”

  “That’s pretty awesome. An interesting skill to have. Different.” Brad didn’t sound intimidated by it.

  “You always this confident when talking to guys in bars?” Paul asked. That was a good tap dance right there. Like a Tango reversal. Go on the offensive a bit.

  “Nah,” Brad said, and something about the way he said it convinced Paul that it was true. Not much of a barfly, looking like that. And probably not too much time to be too much of a social butterfly when you do biochemistry at a postgrad level.

  “It’s just that I see a guy that I think is kind of good looking, and yet he seems a little lonely at times. I saw you the other night, and I liked the way you looked and I liked the way you moved. I said nothing because you looked busy. I got to my new place and promised myself that the next time I saw you I would at least ask your name. And chat to you.”

  “Ah man, you’re good. That was smooth.”

  Brad nodded, as if he was suddenly deep in thought. For a second Paul felt his mood might have changed, but then he turned back to Paul.

  “So, listen. I’m new in town and could use some local friends. Plus, I think you’re really cute. And I would love to get to know you better.”

  He spoke as if he knew neither fear nor self-doubt.

  No big issues, no crazy baggage, no issues weighing him down. Like he was free from all that, and could take Paul with him. He was a complete hotty and he was totally comfortable with himself, who he was and what he wanted. What a guy.

  Brad turned Paul’s bar chair to be directly next to his and they could look directly at each other.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I have class early tomorrow, so I best be heading home. But I’d love for you to give me your number. And then I can call you sometime and we can go do something fun.”

  Paul took out his wallet and handed Brad his business card.

  Brad took it, smiling, and putting the card to his lips before reading it.

  “Paul Draker. Cro’s Post.”

  He looked up and his eyebrows shot up, a naughty expression.

  “Like a crow’s post but spelled C-R-O. For Combat Rescue Officer. That’s clever.”

  He connected the acronym to the job title – having only heard Paul in conversation once. Few Biochemistry Postgrads were dumb, Paul was certain. But there was a streetwise cleverness with Brad. Something intelligent beyond the book learning.

  Someone who could have long conversations.

  He hoped like hell, with everything in him, that Brad would call.

  Before he left, he leaned over, putting his face right next to Paul’s.

  His cologne was subtle. Nothing overpowering. Something not too cheap, nor too extravagantly expensive. Paul couldn’t place it exactly, but it seemed to fit Brad’s appearance and personality.

  A deep scent. Masculine.

  Then Brad said in that certain, steady, smooth voice of his: “Just want to let you know I think you’re one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.”

  And with that, Brad left.

  Paul went home feeling giddy.

  Chapter 14

  “Training Day”

  It’s been too long, he’s been too good.

  It was a week out of prison, and he hasn’t even fucked something yet – although it was clear that Paul Draker would open up like a loose cunt. Brad realized the key to getting Draker to go along with him while watching him move around Loveday.

  It was actually so simple it was obvious – although none of the other faggots could see it.

  He walked around all tough and certain, Paul did. But he was insecure. He moved like an alpha dog when what he really was, was a bitch. What the fags called him.

  Normal people want their dicks sucked. They want to put their dicks in holes and fuck those holes. It was obvious because it was biology itself.

  But bitches and bottom fags wanted to be fucked.

  They wanted to be penetrated. They wanted to be dominated. They wanted someone else to take charge and ride them like the yelping little whores they were.

  It was comically easy.

  Whenever you sit with him, imagine him to be a cute little high school cheerleader.

  He would pick up on the cues and respond to them – unable to help himself.

  And calling the night off early was perfect. It allowed the rat in Draker’s brain to move its little legs as it bolted nowhere – running that wheel in Draker’s excuse for a brain so hard that smoke started spewing from the hinges.

  Comically easy, simple and obvious… but Brad didn’t want to be too confident.

  Draker was strong. That boyish face with the warm smile and the sad eyes didn’t paint the complete picture of the man. It would be a mistake to underestimate him. You don’t get to be a CRO because you’re just a pussy. You have to be more than that. You have to be able to handle yourself.

  His body was fit and strong. Nowhere near as perfect as Brad’s, of course – but still.

  Brad wanted to take his time. He wanted to ease into it, wanted Draker to ease into it. When he finally turned the tables on the faggot, he would have all the initiative. He’d have surprise, and Draker would not know what hit him. Then, and only then, would the betrayal sting, along with the tortures Brad had planned.

  He would then dominate Draker in a way that went way, way beyond what bitches in heat wanted.

  And there was another matter, one that Brad would solve this very night.

  It was
simply this: he wasn’t a fag.

  Looking at fags, studying them, watching them, learning what made them tick, was not the same thing as being able to pass for one.

  It was one thing to go to the fag neighborhood and prance around with them. To use his smile to drive them wild. To show his body to them and to let them lust after his physical perfection. Or to woo them with intelligent conversations that struck just the right balance between deep and meaningful, and fun and light.

  When it came to that stuff it was amateur hour.

  All he had to do was not fuck them up, like he would have a few years ago.

  He would imagine most of them as chicks, and that took care of the problem.

  But being able to pass for being a fag when the clothes came off and he was alone in the room with one of them- that would take some training.

  He needed a test run, or two.

  He also needed something to do to pass the time, while he let Draker’s little head rat run itself to the point of collapse. He’d be even easier to take, then.

  Draker had no idea and it was perfect.

  Why would he suspect that anything was going on? He had no idea who Brad was, where he’d been living for over three years, what he was convicted for, what he was capable of. As far as he was concerned, someone as perfect as Brad simply – for whatever mysterious reason – liked him.

  It was a stretch but Draker was too happy someone so absolutely perfect – physically, intellectually – would stoop down to his level and give him the time of day. If he had any brains the whole scenario would have made no sense. But he wasn’t thinking straight – he was like a bitch in heat.

  Right now, Brad could be anywhere he wanted to be, do anything he wanted to do. He could be out on the Pacific Ocean, feeling the free wind in his face and the kiss of the sun on his skin. Instead, he was out here in this shithole of a town, surrounded by hicks and retards.

  Everything was set up, everything was ready, and he would take no more time than absolutely necessary, but he would also not rush.

  The trick now was to make sure that he could convincingly get Draker to drop his defenses.

  To get his to drop his guard and lower his shields and let Brad in.