by Lisa Henry
Aaron. A rezzy.
It still didn’t make sense.
Maybe once he saw Aaron for himself, it would.
The door opened before Rory had a chance to knock, and there Aaron was. The minute they made eye contact, Aaron’s whole face lit up in a smile.
Rory couldn’t help it; he pulled Aaron into a tight, bone-crushing hug.
As Aaron moved to pull away again, though, Rory just drew him closer. He had a job to do here. He wouldn’t let this opportunity pass. “Is it true?” he whispered into Aaron’s ear. “Did you really—”
Aaron pulled back, gracefully extricating the wine bottle from Rory’s anxious, clenching hands. “It’s all true,” he said, calm and even, like he’d rehearsed it. “But I’m sorry. And I’m glad to be here getting a second chance.”
Rory searched his face. “But did you really—”
“Rory!” Lowell called from farther inside. “He’s admitted it, and we’re moving on. We’re not wallowing in guilt, are we, Aaron? We’re going forward.”
Aaron smiled, relief spreading across his face. “Yes, sir, Mr. Lowell. We’re going forward.”
“But your studies,” Rory said. “All the things you were going to do.”
Aaron’s gaze went blank for a moment. “I gave those things up when I chose to break the law. I’m lucky to be getting a second chance.”
Rory’s shoulders slumped.
“Come on,” Aaron said with a crooked smile, and slapped his shoulder. “I’m still me, okay? And I’m learning to cook! Come see.”
“Don’t steal my guests, Aaron!” Lowell called out, appearing at last in shirtsleeves and bare feet. He shot a smile at Aaron. “Go on. Go show Rory what you’ve been doing, and then we’ll eat in the garden. This weather’s too nice to waste.”
Rory tried to smile at Aaron’s enthusiasm as he grabbed his hand and pulled him through to the kitchen. He tried to imagine that this was just the same as Aaron driving him through Beulah after the hospital, pointing out all the landmarks. Or showing him the records room and the window in the attic space of the Hall of Justice that led out onto the roof. Or the best and cheapest lunch place in town. Was it only his own prejudice that refused to let him be satisfied that Aaron was happy? Did he still really believe that crime went hand in hand with guilt? That Aaron should be weeping and wailing over his ruined future, not so pleased about going forward. Adjusting so easily to his new life . . . it was admirable, but it wasn’t normal.
Except Aaron was smiling and joking the way he always did, his eyes shining.
“Guess who our new intern is?” Rory asked as Aaron pulled a tray out of the oven.
“Who?”
“Alexandra Holt.”
Aaron hissed as he fumbled the hot tray. It clattered onto the countertop, and then Aaron stuck his fingers under the tap in the sink. “Oh. Well, she was top of our class.” His voice was flat. “Does she . . . does she . . .”
“Does she what?” Rory asked in an undertone. “Does she know?”
Aaron jerked his head in a nod.
“She knows,” Rory said softly. And she didn’t believe it, either. “Maybe you could ask Lowell to see her.”
Aaron’s eyes widened with horror. “No. Oh no, oh no, no, no. No, I don’t think so. No.”
Was he ashamed of himself? Or—
Lowell swept into the room. “Are you all right, Aaron? I heard you—” Spotting Aaron’s fingers under the tap, he rushed forward, clasping Aaron’s hand between both of his own. “Oh dear! Are you hurt, son?”
“Burned,” Aaron said, his eyes wide.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Lowell murmured and raised Aaron’s hand to his lips. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the red burn mark. “Let me help with that, hmm?”
The uncomfortable feeling sitting at the base of Rory’s stomach threatened to overflow. They hadn’t even opened the wine yet and already Lowell was putting the moves on Aaron? Rory remembered, with dread, how awkward their dinner party had turned.
But then Aaron smiled, eyelids low, and let out a soft moan, taking Rory aback.
“It’s nothing, Mr. Lowell,” he protested gently but went on letting Lowell kiss his skin, his whole body seeming to reach out for Lowell’s.
Rory coughed and cleared his throat.
Lowell startled with a laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Rory. I suppose we got carried away, didn’t we? We’ve been a little like a pair of lovebirds these last two days.”
Lovebirds?
Lowell smiled tenderly at Aaron. “Do you want to tell him?”
“Yes,” Aaron whispered, his gaze locked on Lowell’s.
“Go on,” Lowell urged, gentle and fatherly.
Aaron turned to face Rory. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if trying to summon up the words. “It wasn’t a mistake, Rory.”
“What wasn’t?” he asked, his throat dry.
Aaron shivered. “It wasn’t a mistake, and I didn’t need money, either. I-I took Mr. Lowell’s card because I wanted to come here. I wanted to live here. And be with him. It wouldn’t have been appropriate otherwise, with me working for him. But me being his rezzy? Well, you must have realized by now it’s totally normal—expected, even—for a citizen and his rezzy to have a sexual or romantic relationship.”
“Wh-what?” Rory blubbered, face flushing hot from his throat to his forehead.
He remembered Aaron’s hero worship the first time they’d met at the hospital. The one-man Jericho Lowell cheer squad. “I’m gushing, aren’t I?” And then he remembered the look on Aaron’s face when Lowell had pulled him into his lap at Rory’s house the night of the dinner party. He’d looked mortified. Terrified. Rory searched his face now. Aaron was a little flushed—embarrassed by his confession maybe—and his eyes were wide and sincere.
“Aaron,” Rory said, his voice catching. “Why would you do something so, so stupid?”
Aaron rested his cheek against Lowell’s chest. He swallowed. “Haven’t you ever done something stupid for love?”
No. But Rory had never been in love, had he?
Lowell stroked Aaron’s dark hair. “When he told me, I was furious, of course, but the damage, as it were, was already done. Foolish, reckless boy, but we’re making the best of it, aren’t we?”
“Yes, sir,” Aaron murmured. His gaze was fixed on some point in the distance, unseeing. And then his eyes fell on Rory, intense and clear. “I’ve gotten everything I ever wanted.”
Rory wondered if he’d ever even known Aaron at all.
“Good,” Lowell said, rubbing Aaron’s back. “Good boy.”
Aaron continued to stare at Rory, opening his mouth and then closing it again. He flinched suddenly and sniffed, then lifted a hand to his nose a fraction of a second before Rory saw the blood.
“Shit, Aaron, your nose is bleeding.” Rory reached for a roll of paper towels on the countertop and tore a few pieces off.
Lowell stepped away from him. “Aaron?”
Aaron pulled his hand away from his nose and blinked at the blood. A few drops fell onto the pristine kitchen floor, and he made a small noise of distress.
Rory bunched up the paper towel and held it under his nose. “Take it. Hold it there.”
“He gets nosebleeds,” Lowell said in a low voice.
“I get them,” Aaron agreed through the wad of paper. “Messy. Sorry.”
“Don’t fuss,” Lowell said. “Hold the towel there.” He stroked Aaron’s hair tenderly.
Aaron. God.
Rory stepped back, still searching Aaron’s eyes, still looking for something that wasn’t here. Something that would explain why the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck.
But there was no doubt in Aaron’s eyes, and there was no way he was any good at lying.
Which meant . . .
He was telling the truth about everything.
Tate woke up to hear Rory opening and closing the cupboard doors in the living room. Tate hauled hims
elf out of bed quickly, squinting at the tiny clock beside his narrow bed. It was just past midnight. He tugged his pants low on his hips—Rory was still not comfortable with his nudity but that didn’t mean Tate couldn’t tease him with the hint of it—and shuffled out to the living room.
He stifled a yawn. “Rory? What are you doing?”
Rory turned. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” A lie was only bad if it hurt his master. “I was waiting for you. What are you looking for?”
“Your paperwork.”
A bolt of anxiety shot through Tate. “Why?”
Rory sighed. He shut the cupboard. “I saw Aaron tonight.”
Poor kid. Except to think that was . . . was wrong. Because if Tate was happy now, then so was Aaron. And at least Aaron had a master who knew how to treat him right. Keep him on his knees. Make him beg. Make him worship his master. Tate’s cock hardened just thinking about it. All sense of wrongness vanished. “He looked happy?” he asked, refusing to acknowledge there was even an alternative. Because there wasn’t.
Rory’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”
“Well, then, that’s good. How about I take you to bed?” He stepped close, pressing his half-formed erection against the back of Rory’s hip. He rubbed the muscles at the base of Rory’s neck. “Hmm?”
“No!” Rory shrugged him off, then spun, grabbing him hard by the shoulders. “It’s not right, Tate. Something’s not right. He says he stole from Lowell so they could be together!”
“He’s a kid,” he said. “Kids do dumb things. It’s kind of . . . kind of romantic. Like a movie. That big gesture right at the end, just before the kiss.”
“It’s not romantic. It’s his freedom!” Rory shook his head. “I don’t know. There was something off about him. They put a chip in you, right? Was it really just to keep you from getting violent?”
No. No. Tate couldn’t talk about this. He might as well stab a kitchen knife into his temple. Even thinking about it caused a blast of static in his head that whited out his vision for a second. It hurt.
“Of course,” Tate said smoothly and licked his lips. Canted his hips too. “Now come to bed. You’re being paranoid. I know a way to relax you.”
“God damn it, Tate!” Rory shouted. “I’m your master, aren’t I? You have to fucking answer me truthfully, right? So fucking answer me! There’s something going on here, isn’t there?”
Master. To hear Rory say the word was intoxicating. Terrifying.
“You’re my master,” Tate echoed. His whole body tingled with desire. “That’s right. You’re my master. And I—” God, what had they been talking about, even? “I am being truthful, Master. Please, let me serve you. Let me take your mind off things.” He lowered himself to his knees, catching the waistband of Rory’s wrinkled trousers and pulling them down with him as he went. Rory’s cock was flaccid but no less delicious looking for it. Tate could fix all that, anyway. He gave the head a kiss. “Mmm, Master.” He moaned, arching, his erection rubbing against the rough insides of his plain scrub pants. “Oh, thank you, Master.”
“Tate,” Rory said. He pushed Tate’s shoulders ineffectually. “Don’t.”
“Come to bed, Master. Come to bed and lie down, and I’ll ride you. You won’t have to work at all. I’ll do everything—anything for you. I missed you. My little hole missed your cock. Come to bed.”
“Fuck,” Rory said, his jaw dropping. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . . Is this a game or something? All this ‘Master’ shit?”
If you need it to be a game, it’s a game.
Tate grinned. “Want to play?
Rory sighed.
Tate rubbed his thigh. “Rory,” he said, “it’s nice that you’re worried about Aaron, but you said he’s happy. So you don’t need to worry. Let me take care of you, please?”
“Something’s not right here,” Rory murmured, frowning.
Don’t.
Don’t ask about the chip. Don’t ask about the induction center. Don’t ask about the things I did there. Don’t ask about before.
Before.
Tophet.
Outside.
I wasn’t happy there. I didn’t know what happiness was. There was nothing, until here, until you. Nothing that compared.
Not even the curl of tiny fingers around my thumb.
A white flash of pain in his skull.
Serve him. Worship him.
“Let me take care of you,” Tate repeated, his voice low with sincerity.
This time, when he took Rory’s cock into his mouth, Rory didn’t protest.
mm,” Lowell said, peering into his briefcase. “Aaron means well, but this sandwich looks inedible. Maybe I ought to borrow Tate to give him some lessons.” He laughed. “Although I’m sure there are things Aaron could teach Tate, as well.”
Rory forced a smile and checked his watch. “Six minutes until the broadcast, sir.”
Lowell snapped his briefcase shut again and smiled for the girl who approached. “Ah, you’ve come to make me look beautiful? You’ll need a bigger makeup case.”
The girl laughed.
Rory moved out of the way and checked his watch again.
Lowell raised his chin for her makeup sponge but went on talking to Rory as if nobody had interrupted. “How have you and Tate been getting on, by the way? Two virile young men like you, you must have a rather vigorous sex life.” He chuckled. “If Tate is even half as eager as Aaron, you must be going at it like rabbits! Me, I’m too old to keep up with Aaron. Can barely satisfy the boy, even in as good a shape as I am. But you and Tate must be pretty well matched in that area. I’m surprised you ever get out of bed at all!”
The makeup girl giggled, not the least bit put off. But then, people in Beulah were so much less repressed than those on the outside.
Still, Rory’s face burned. He opened his folder and went through the notes he’d made, eager for a distraction. Stared at the words but couldn’t make any sense of them. He was finally getting the hang of his job at the Hall of Justice. He was learning the quickest way to get things done, either by playing office politics with other departments or by avoiding them altogether. He could put together a press release in half an hour, now that he knew where to find the records he needed, and was even learning his way around the court briefs that Ruth and Zac dealt with. Finally he was where he wanted to be in his job, so why the hell did it feel like he was losing his grip on everything else?
He’d tried too hard to just go with the flow in Beulah, and now he was feeling like he’d been swept too far from the shore to ever find his way back.
“Is it really this easy to be happy?” he’d asked Tate the other night.
It didn’t feel real.
Either Rory was wrong or everyone else was.
Shit. What the hell was his problem? He had a great job, a wonderful house, and a beautiful man to come home to. A beautiful man who liked to fuck. Was Rory really such a pessimist that he could have all of those things and not trust them? And why? Because they’d come too easy? They hadn’t. Rory had worked for years to get to where he was. He’d made sacrifices. He’d earned this, hadn’t he?
“Oh dear,” Lowell said when Rory didn’t reply automatically. “You’re still holding on to all your outsider morals and restrictions, aren’t you?” He clucked and shook his head. “We’re going to have to break you of those. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. Why don’t you and Tate come to my place tonight, and we’ll put these worries of yours to bed?” His eyes twinkled, his eyebrows rising. “Among other things.”
“I, uh.” Rory squirmed. “Oh! I think I left my day planner in the office.”
Was Lowell propositioning him? Rory wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. Lowell was a good-looking man, confident and charming. Part of Rory was flattered. Another part of him whispered that he had Tate now.
“Well, head on back,” Lowell said. “I think I’ve got everything covered here. Bu
t when you find it, make sure you write in that we’re doing dinner tonight. Seven. My place.” He smiled, then crinkled his nose in the direction of his briefcase and the sandwich Aaron had made him. “We’ll order in, I think.”
“Okay,” Rory said, flustered. “Good luck with the interview.”
“I don’t need luck,” Lowell said. “I’ve got the best assistant in town.”
Rory returned to the Hall of Justice. It was early afternoon. Zac was in court, Ruth was at a meeting, and Alexandra had been sent on a research assignment. The office should have been empty.
It wasn’t.
There was someone inside Lowell’s office. He could see their shadow through the frosted glass in Lowell’s door. Rooting around in Lowell’s desk, by the looks of things.
Shit. Should he call security, or . . .
Body pounding with adrenaline, he burst through the door expecting a burglar.
Alexandra gasped, her hands flying to her throat. In one of them, she held a nail file.
“What are you doing?” Rory asked, looking from her to the open drawer of Lowell’s desk.
“I was . . . I was looking for something,” Alexandra said, her voice shaking.
“For what?” Rory asked.
She didn’t answer.
Rory held her gaze. “He said he wanted it, you know. Aaron. He said he did it so he could go and live with Mr. Lowell. He said it’s love.”
Her hand tightened around the nail file.
“Was he serious? With you?”
“We fooled around,” Alexandra said. She lifted her chin defiantly, but her gaze flickered. “It was nothing.”
Liar.
Rory looked down at the drawer again. “The envelopes are kept in the cupboard outside. That’s what you were looking for, right? An envelope?”
Alexandra nodded warily. “Yes. I was.”
Not just a liar but the worst liar in the world.
“I’m going to see him tonight,” Rory said. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
“No,” Alexandra said, bitterness creeping into her tone. “He’s happy. They’re always happy.”