by Lisa Henry
Tate still hurt from the night before, but the pain was useful to him. He tested its limits as he moved, clenched his muscles and tried to make it hurt more so that he could overcome it by the time Rory came home. So that when Rory fucked him, he would only show his pleasure.
As the afternoon drew to a close, Tate anxiously watched the clock. He lingered in the kitchen, still naked, still half-hard, and worried that any minute Rory would be home. Worried that he should put clothes on because Rory might not be comfortable with him naked. Worried that he should kneel instead of stand, that if he was naked, he should at least present himself properly.
Thinking about it was awful. Tate couldn’t make a decision. In the end, he let instinct choose for him. He heard Rory’s key in the lock and still could have made it to his bedroom in time to grab his clothes, but he didn’t. He hurried to the door instead and dropped down onto his knees.
Heard the doctor’s voice in his head: “Seduce him.”
He understood in that moment that Rory would not be seduced by submission. Rory wasn’t a master. Not yet. So, when the door swung open to reveal Rory standing there, gaping at the sight of Tate naked on his knees, Tate didn’t bow his head, didn’t drop his gaze, and didn’t throw himself at Rory’s feet. Instead he smiled, and swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “Hey Rory. I think I owe you for this morning. Want me to pay up?”
“Jesus,” Rory exclaimed and quickly shut the door behind him. His eyes shifted back and forth nervously. And then his gaze fell onto Tate again and all that furtive fear left him. Rory’s expression darkened. His lips twitched into a hungry smile. “Not giving me much of a chance to say no, are you?”
He shook his head and licked his lips again.
“Well, that’s just unfair,” Rory said. “Something smells delicious, and I have to choose between my stomach and . . . and you.”
Tate bit his lip and looked up at Rory hopefully.
“And I missed lunch today,” Rory said with a rueful laugh.
“Really?”
“Aaron called in sick or something. I hope it’s nothing to do with last night, you know, when Mr. Lowell got a little handsy? He might be embarrassed or something. I’ll call him tomorrow if he’s not in.” Rory dropped his bag on the floor. “Anyway, I had to find all the files I needed myself. I spent the whole afternoon just dreaming of getting home and eating something.” He shrugged. “And suddenly I’m not even hungry.”
Tate reached up and rubbed a hand along Rory’s abdomen, drawing Rory’s heated gaze. “I’ll feed you after, I promise.”
“And I’ll feed you first?” Rory asked with a smirk, hands reaching for the fly of his smartly pressed slacks.
Rory fully dressed in a suit, standing. Tate on his knees, naked and sucking Rory’s dick.
He couldn’t think of anything better. He shuffled forward. “God, yes. Feed me.”
Rory’s smile vanished. He stared down at Tate, his eyes narrow with desire. He fumbled at his fly. The rasp of the zipper caused Tate to shiver. Rory must have noticed because he chuckled, thrusting the fingers of one hand into Tate’s hair and drawing him close. “You like sucking dick, huh?”
“If it’s yours.” His face pressed to the bulge showing through Rory’s fly, he breathed deep. That tangy, masculine smell. He never thought he’d like it so much—he’d never even dreamed of doing this to a guy—but here he was. So close to happiness. He reached up and tugged at Rory’s trousers, pulling them down to his ankles. He rubbed a hand along the fine hairs on Rory’s thighs, watching them prickle under his touch and loving that he was able to give Rory such pleasure. Then, impatient for more, he curled his fingers around the elastic of Rory’s briefs, and peeled them down, exposing Rory’s cock. Hard, and already wet, and so, so ready for him. He sighed and sucked the head into his mouth.
Froze for a second—just a second—and then began to work his tongue and bob his head, trying to find a rhythm.
“T-Tate—” Rory fell back, slamming into the door with a whine and a groan as his knees buckled. “Oh, Tate . . .”
Rory’s pleasure was Tate’s pleasure. His head swam with it. If he hadn’t been on his knees already, he might have fallen. He dug his fingers into Rory’s hips and took him further into his mouth. His throat was still sore from last night, but he didn’t let that stop him. More. He needed to give Rory more. He needed to give Rory everything. He sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing, and Rory gasped his name again. Rory’s fingers twisted in his hair, and Tate moaned.
Yes, use me.
This was what he wanted, what he needed. Tate’s cock was hard as well, but he resisted the urge to touch himself. He kept his hands on Rory’s hips. He gagged, and Rory pulled his head back gently.
“Take it easy, Tate,” Rory panted.
“Want you,” he said, his voice rasping. Rory didn’t understand. Tate didn’t have experience, or anything approaching finesse. He could only offer this. This willingness. He pushed forward, taking Rory’s cock into his mouth, into his throat. Gagged again but didn’t let Rory pull him away this time. Whimpered his displeasure when Rory tugged at his hair.
Didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
“Tate,” Rory groaned. “Oh fuck, Tate!”
Yes. This was right. This hard rhythm. This ache in his jaw. This fight to breathe around his master’s cock. Tate moaned.
More. More. More.
Rory tensed and cried out, and Tate’s mouth was suddenly flooded with hot cum. He swallowed eagerly, coughed, and laid his head against Rory’s thigh, panting.
“Fuck,” Rory gasped, his fingers loosening in Tate’s hair. “Are you . . . are you okay?”
“Yes,” Tate murmured. He sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Are you still hungry?”
Rory stared down at him, looking a little shell-shocked.
Tate rose to his feet, his erect cock bobbing. “Go put your feet up, Rory, and let me get you dinner.”
Rory, wide-eyed, only nodded.
Later, Tate curled on the couch beside Rory. They watched a movie together, sharing a blanket that they pulled up to their chins. Rory dozed, and Tate tried not to become too anxious with their newfound familiarity. If this was what Rory needed, then it was enough. He would learn how to be a master to Tate soon. Tate would show him. Once Tate was properly on his knees, once he was properly serving him, Rory would see that it was right.
Until then, it was comforting to cuddle with Rory. To close his eyes as Rory carded his fingers through his curls.
“Is it really this easy?” Rory murmured.
Tate shifted. “Is what this easy?”
Rory smiled at him, flushing. “Is it really this easy to be happy?”
“Yes,” said Tate.
Rory’s mouth quirked. “Really?”
“Yes.” Tate curled his fingers through Rory’s. “If you want to be happy, then you are happy.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Rory sighed. “Is it?”
“Why can’t it be?”
Seduce him.
Tate lifted his face and brushed his lips against Rory’s jaw. “Why can’t it be?” he asked again.
Rory smiled at him and drew him closer, and Tate was filled with warmth.
They exchanged soft kisses awhile, until finally Tate slipped completely under the blankets.
He missed the end of the movie.
he next day at work, there was a girl standing by Rory’s desk looking a little out of place.
“Hi,” Rory said. “Can I help you with something?”
The girl hesitated for a moment, then thrust out her hand. “I’m Alexandra. Alexandra Holt.” Then, before Rory could remember where he’d heard the name, she added, “I’m the new intern.”
“The new intern?” Rory shook her hand and looked around the office. Zac was in court. Ruth was working at her desk. She seemed engrossed in her work, too engrossed, and Rory wondered why she was avoiding his gaze. “Where’s Aaron?”
“Where’s Aaron?” Rory asked again.
Lowell stepped out of his office, face grave. “Rory, can I have a word, please?”
“Sure.” Rory trailed into his office. “What’s going on?”
Lowell sighed heavily, shut the door behind them, and leaned against his desk. “Aaron’s gone.”
“Where?” Rory frowned. “He didn’t mention anything the other night.”
Lowell drew a hand over his forehead. “God, I don’t even know how to say it, so I’ll just come right out with it. The other night, when I had a little too much to drink at your place, Aaron saw me home. Then, what with the upset with Tate, I was running late the next morning. Well, when it came to pay for my coffee at the station, I thought I’d maybe misplaced my card somewhere.” Lowell shook his head, and for a moment his eyes swam with tears. “Aaron had taken it. Used it. I mean, if he’d needed money, he should have come to me.”
Rory felt sick. “What . . . what happened?”
“I had no choice,” Lowell said, his voice cracking. “I called the police.”
“But why . . . why would he do that?” Rory shook his head. “Why would he steal from you?”
God. Aaron worshipped Lowell. And Rory was sure Aaron didn’t have a criminal bone in his body. Stupid fucking kid.
Lowell shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
“Okay.” Rory frowned. “Um . . . How does this work with you being a justice? Is this office prosecuting him? Or can you give him a character reference or something? Will this be a conflict of interest at trial?”
“Not necessary. His case isn’t going to trial on account of the fact that he’s . . . confessed. He took the plea bargain.”
“Shit,” Rory said. “Sorry, I just . . . I’m just finding it hard to believe.”
Lowell clapped a hand on Rory’s shoulder, face drawn. “Me too, Rory, me too.”
“God.” He felt a stab of sympathy for Aaron. He was just a kid, whatever stupid thing he’d done. And Rory liked him—all that crazy energy and enthusiasm. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the induction program,” Lowell said.
Rehabilitation through Restitution. Rory had passed underneath the words carved high into the foyer wall of the Hall of Justice only ten minutes ago. A high ideal that seemed suddenly hollow.
“Oh, don’t look so upset. Think of Tate. He’s not unhappy, is he? He’s getting another chance with you. Aaron will get the same.” Lowell squared his shoulders and smiled. “In fact, it’s almost for the best, really. Now whatever he needs, I can provide for him as a sponsor. He should have just asked me for help before, but now, at least he’ll be taken care of all the same. Isn’t that good?”
Good? Good that Aaron had thrown his freedom away over what had to be a stupid mistake? Rory couldn’t manage a smile. “Um, I suppose. I think I’ll need a while to process all this.”
His belief in Beulah wasn’t as unshakable as Lowell’s. Rory couldn’t fling himself on it and expect it not to break. Not yet.
Yeah, Aaron would be cared for. Yeah, the rehabilitation program was a hundred shades better than jail. But freedom still mattered, didn’t it? Freedom was still the most important thing.
And what about Tate’s freedom? the cynical, doubting voice inside him taunted.
Well, Tate was different. Of course he was. He was a lifelong criminal, and for him, restitution really was a blessing, giving him opportunities and stability he’d never had before. Aaron, though, had had everything going for him. Every opportunity in the world. To throw all that away over something as stupid as a credit card . . . Rory needed to mourn Aaron’s loss of freedom before he rejoiced in the fact that he’d been given a second chance.
It didn’t make sense. Didn’t Beulah provide for its citizens? What could Aaron possibly need money for that badly? Did he do drugs? Owe some kind of debt?
“Rory,” Lowell said. His eyes shone. “I’ll look after him. You know that. I’ll look after him the same way you look after Tate.”
Rory’s gut clenched.
Yeah, just like he looked after Tate. Fucking him, taking advantage of his generosity, sitting around while Tate cooked him meals and cleaned his house? And all the while, Tate wasn’t free to come or go as he pleased.
He’s my prisoner.
Because he committed a crime. Just like Aaron did.
It’s better than jail.
Besides, Tate was happy to do those things for him.
And Aaron? Would Aaron be happy to do them for Lowell?
“Would you like to see him?” Lowell asked, gently. “Would it reassure you to come to my house after he arrives? See for yourself how he’s settling in, that he’s being fed and well taken care of and happy?”
“Could I?”
Lowell smiled. “Of course. Just because he’ll be a rezzy doesn’t mean he’s not still your friend, or mine. He’s no less of a person because he made a mistake. There’s no shame in restitution. It’s empowering. You’ve seen that in Tate. If a rezzy makes the choice to take pride in themselves, and in the program, they can turn their lives around. It’s about taking responsibility, not about handing down blame.”
“I know that,” Rory said. He swallowed, unable to get rid of the knot of unease in his gut. He couldn’t reconcile it. This was Aaron. “I just don’t understand why Aaron would steal from you.”
“That’s a question I want to ask him myself.” Lowell sighed. He stared at the wall for a moment and then appeared to shake himself awake. “But in the meantime, I’ve got a meeting with an environmental committee.”
“Of course.” Rory drew a deep breath and tried to remember his professionalism. “Your speech is in your folder. Hannah Graves is the chair, and she’s bound to bring up the wetlands, but the latest study from the university says they won’t be affected. You’ll find the bullet points of the study underneath your speech.”
Lowell brightened. “Perfect.”
“I’ll um . . . I’ll get back to work then,” he said.
Lowell gave him a warm smile.
Back in the main office, Rory found that Ruth had also left. Alexandra was sitting at Aaron’s desk with her hands folded in her lap.
“Hasn’t anyone given you any work yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
He studied her. She was a pretty girl, with square-framed glasses that made her appear almost severe. Her long dark hair was pulled back and twisted into a tight bun. She looked a little like a kid trying very hard to be a grown-up. “Um, you’re in Aaron’s class at the university, right?”
“Yes.” She stared at her desk.
And then he remembered. Alexandra Holt was the girl that Aaron had . . . hooked up with? He’d never told the whole story. She didn’t look like his type at all. Aaron had wild hair and a goofy grin. Alexandra looked serious and studious, which might have been the glasses.
“You would have heard about Aaron,” he said, not sure how to phrase it as a question.
“Yes. I heard.” She pursed her lips.
“Um, and . . . and why do you think—”
“It’s none of my business,” she said, too quickly. She stood. “Can I get you a coffee?”
He should have taken that for a sign. He should have taken her at her word.
But he didn’t. “Well, I’m just going to come right out and say it. He stole Mr. Lowell’s credit card and made some purchases with it. He confessed to the crime.” He said it clearly, without flinching, eyes focused on her expression, looking for . . . something. He wasn’t even sure what.
Maybe he just wanted to see his own shock reflected in her eyes, to not feel like he was the only one wrestling with disbelief. Lowell at least had his rhetoric to fall back on. Rory had nothing.
And there it was. Alexandra’s eyes widened slightly, showing the full roundness of her pupils. Genuine surprise. And then they narrowed again in unmistakable suspicio
n.
He leaned forward, cupping her shoulder, pressing his lips to her ear. “Doesn’t sound like him to you, either, does it?”
He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Hadn’t he promised to accept things here? Hadn’t he just heard Mr. Lowell’s personal assurances?
And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t stop thinking, analyzing, doubting.
Was that really wrong? Justice, real justice, should hold up to scrutiny. Mr. Lowell would understand that. He wouldn’t fault Rory for wanting to make sure. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide.
Alexandra solemnly shook her head.
Well, that settled it. He’d talk to Aaron, get to the bottom of it. He knew from the outside that a confession didn’t actually mean guilt. He’d thought Beulah was above all that but . . . Doubt crept in still. Hopefully seeing Aaron would settle this pit of unease, because otherwise . . . Shit, Rory couldn’t even contemplate the otherwise. No system was perfect and every process had its flaws, but he’d tried so hard to believe that Beulah was better than that. That miscarriages of justice didn’t happen here.
But Aaron had taken the plea bargain.
Fuck. Rory wanted to shake him by the shoulders and ask him what the hell he’d been thinking.
Alexandra stepped away from him. Her face was shuttered as she repeated, “Can I get you a coffee, Rory?”
He sighed, then he nodded curtly. “Sure, coffee sounds great.”
He sat back down at his desk and turned on his computer. There was no point stewing in worry all day. There was no point speculating, either, until he spoke to Aaron. Until then, he still had work to do.
The following evening, Rory found himself outside Lowell’s house.
From the street, the house didn’t look any different than Rory’s. It was small and neat and modest, and not the sort of place Rory had imagined a chief justice would live. In the outside world, men of influence liked to parade it. But in Beulah, everything was different. Everything was simpler and more complicated at the same time. His stomach was in knots as he approached the modest front door, a bottle of wine in hand. Because what the hell was the appropriate gift to bring the first time you visited your boss at home to meet his new rezzy?