You're Almost Dead

by Jack Parker

  He watched Kurt's eyes close as he swallowed down his length to the hilt at an agonizingly deliberate pace. Then he moved up, dragging his lips and letting a wet kiss linger on the tip as he pulled off. "But I don't think I will."

  Kurt's hands fisted above him and he shuddered deeply, but managed not to protest. Emery fondled him with a hand in thought before gently sliding his fingers between Kurt's legs. "I could fuck you while you're helpless here. Do you wonder what that would be like?"

  Kurt's eyes snapped open and Emery would have sworn on his life he saw a genuine blush on that famously straight face.

  Emery undid his pants and got up onto his knees, stroking Kurt's abdomen as he pulled them off. "But I don't think I'll do that either. Do you know what I'm going to do instead?"

  "Ride me," Kurt growled, and it sounded more like an order than a guess.

  "Like the bloody stallion you are." Emery pulled his shirt over his head and spit into his hand, lubricating Kurt's erection before straddling him once more and taking him in.

  Kurt's head fell to the side, face pushing into his bicep with clenched his teeth as Emery did so. It was suddenly very difficult to keep things slow with Kurt so readily arching up and his arms flexing as they tested his bindings, but Emery managed. It was every bit worth the breathless, shaking, straining image beneath him. He began to touch himself as he watched. For long, tense minutes he lifted himself up and sat himself down at a leisurely pace while Kurt moaned with abandon and mounting desperation until Emery absolutely had to speed up just a little. "Beg me, darling…"

  "Please…"

  "You can do better…"

  "Please, Emery…"

  "Beg me like you mean it."

  "Bitte," Kurt ground out.

  Fuck. That was it. Emery couldn't help it—Kurt's German sounded so guttural and masculine. His breath hitched in surprise as he was suddenly coming, staining Kurt's heaving stomach with streaks of hot fluid. Apparently that shocked Kurt in turn, who bucked up hard, letting out a string of curses and jerking against the handcuffs like he forgot that they were there entirely. Emery shook with aftershocks and watched Kurt's orgasm take effect. The way those tremors crawled up his back, how his chest expanded and retracted with untraceable patterns, the exquisite cries that sounded like heaven in conjunction with an expression that looked closer to pain. He would miss this. God, how he would miss this. That thought struck him like lightning and Emery suddenly felt hollow.

  He couldn't take his eyes away. Kurt was relaxing now, head leaned back over his pillow as he tried to catch his breath. Emery knew this was bad. He had grown too accustomed to the warmth of his touch. The smell of his skin. The feel of his fingertips. He was too used to that secretive smile and the sly jokes. He would never be able to get over the feeling of having someone who understood him. Who cared about how he felt. Who knew him—not the wise-cracking, affable, rich and devil-may-care Emery Eaton, but the frightened, hurting, and lonely Emery Fletcher who needed an ally more than anything in the world. Even if he didn't deserve one. His throat constricted and he quickly realized that Kurt was now staring at him.

  "Will you let me free?" he asked gently.

  "O-of course, yeah, yeah," Emery cleared his throat and moved off of him, unlocking the handcuffs and pulling them away. Kurt, still apparently frisky from the ordeal, pinned Emery down onto his back by the shoulders once he was freed. He nibbled and bit at Emery's neck, as he so loved to do, and soon the latter was laughing despite himself. "What are you doing, you git? You're marking me up!"

  "Am I?" Kurt taunted before biting down a little harder into his earlobe.

  "Ouch! Come on now! I'll lock you back up and leave you that way if this is what—" Emery was cut off by Kurt's lips. He stifled his laughter and wove his fingers into Kurt's hair, feeling impossibly warm and sated and…sad. Closing his eyes, Emery wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, forcing Kurt's face down into his neck with a hand on the back of his head. Kurt happily returned his affection, ensnaring Emery around the waist and nuzzling into his neck with a contented rumble in his throat, and thankfully didn't see the tears before they were blinked away.

  * * *

  Emery had been a little funny today, Kurt noted as he watched him not eat the sandwich on his plate at the kitchen table. He wanted to ask about it, but every time Emery knew he was being looked at he was all cheer and that serious, meditative stare was nowhere to be found. Perhaps the cause of his anxiety was obvious. Time was almost up, after all, and soon they would all be fugitives for life. That was sure to make someone who had lived an otherwise perfectly lawful existence a little nervous.

  At least things seemed to be going back to a routine. Sheridan had ceased to wander out at all hours after the last incident and had been behaving sensibly as near as Kurt could tell. They might all even make it through this escapade intact with such being the case, but Kurt had to admit that he didn't feel very much less on edge the past few days. Having been ambushed in their own den had been too close to disaster for comfort. Normally Kurt was prepared for anything, and even at the best of times knew that men like him were never safe from danger. He'd been the recipient of several unexpected assaults in his life. It was just that none of them had ever occurred while he had someone to protect.

  This had made him rather restless at night since coming here. The chances of them being followed here were slim to none, but it felt foolish not to at least be on guard. Most of the night and early morning he spent on self-appointed sentry duty, but this made the days hard. At least he had managed to get a few hours of sleep this afternoon before being awoken by an utterly incredible fucking lay. Emery definitely had a knack for improving his outlook. Kurt walked over and set a hot cup of tea at his lover's arm. "You're feeling alright?"

  Emery looked up at him blankly before offering a strangely disingenuous smile. "Sure. Are you?"

  Kurt studied him for a moment before nodding skeptically. "Sure."

  Both of their heads turned as the front door suddenly cracked open and their three associates filed in with total disarray. They were back much earlier than expected, but this was a curiosity Kurt immediately lost when he saw the state of them. Scott was ranting frantically in an incomprehensible tirade that consisted mostly of the word 'fuck'. Sterling was gritting his teeth in pain, hand firmly keeping pressure on a blood-drenched shoulder. Sheridan stood amongst them, ignoring both, gun in his hand and eyes full of murder when they locked onto Emery.

  "Eaton," he bit menacingly. "You've got some fucking explaining to do."

  CHAPTER 17

  Emery slowly stood, dread pooling in his gut.

  "What happened?" Kurt demanded.

  "I'll tell you what happened," Sheridan growled. "We were fucking ambushed. And not just by Eaton's little secret service. No. Sterling here just got fucking capped in a firefight by Aleksei Ludkov."

  Emery looked to Kurt in confusion for a clue as to the significance of this to see him straighten up in surprise, jaw setting. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, I know that pompous fuckin' mug of his when I see it!" Sheridan gestured his gun at Emery furiously. "It didn't ever fucking cross your mind that you should tell us your piece of shit stepfather is in cahoots with the fucking Russian mob?"

  Emery was frozen, unable to speak. Surely Hunter had some sordid connections but this he was not prepared for.

  "Jesus fucking H fucking Christ," Scott said, still out of breath from the incident. "That was the craziest shitstorm I've ever been in, holy goddamn…"

  "Get a'hold a yourself, ya little ponce. You ain't bleedin'," Sterling griped.

  "No, no fucking way," Scott was shaking his head emphatically. "I am not gonna be on those guys' wanted list. The kind of nasty shit they do to people is unreal. They'll cut us into bite sized chunks from the toes up with a meat cleaver. They'll make us chug battery acid. They use wild animals to kill people for god's sake—this is not what I fucking signed up for!"

  "Scott, shut the hell
up," Sheridan ordered, turning on him.

  "No. Fuck you. These are the kind of people who will maim, torture and dismember a man for fun. Can you even imagine what they'd do to someone if they're getting paid for it? Paid millions? I'm not gonna die for this. I quit." He held up his hands and made for the stairs.

  "Scott," Sheridan called with a shred less hostility. "Get the fuck back here. What are you doing—where are you going?"

  "Didn't you hear me? I'm out. I don't know about you, but another fifty mil sure as shit isn't worth my life."

  "That's a shocker, in'it? Always knew you was a fucking coward," Sterling sneered.

  Sheridan held a hand out to silence him, shaking his head at Scott. "So what? You think you're just gonna walk out on us? Right at the end? That's the kind of fucking man you are?"

  "You bet your ass," Scott replied unapologetically.

  "That's not the plan, Scott!"

  "What is the plan, Casey?" Scott turned, thrusting a finger out at him. "Because you keep fucking changing it! We've already got the English, the Irish, and the Russians on our tails but you won't be happy until it's the whole goddamn world, will you? I don't need that many enemies! What the hell good are millions if you're dead before you can use 'em?"

  "So all these years and you're still just a scared little college boy," Sheridan said incredulously. "Is that how it is? Let me clue you in on something, Scott—this isn't a fucking beginner's course! This isn't an as you please, take it or leave it event! I hired you! You don't quit on me!"

  "Watch me," Scott challenged. When he turned back towards the stairs, however, a gunshot rang out.

  Emery reeled back, hitting the table in shock. The shot had swung purposefully wide, blasting away chunks of plaster in the wall a foot away from Scott's arm. Scott had flinched away from it, eyes wide and posture tense as he gaped back at Sheridan.

  "Okay, Scott," Sheridan hissed. "You wanna leave? Then leave. Get the fuck outta my sight."

  Scott looked at the damage to the wall and shook his head. "…What the fuck does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting my shit and I'm gone."

  "Nah. That was our original deal. See, you get paid for pulling off a kidnapping. You don't pull it off? You don't get jack shit."

  Scott's expression slowly turned from disbelief to anger. "You're not fucking serious. After everything I've done? You'd be dead without me you psychotic fuck!"

  "Yeah, which is why I'm not putting your worthless ass down right this fucking second. If you wanna get paid, you stay. Otherwise you get nothing."

  There was a tense standoff between the two. Emery glanced at Kurt, but he didn't seem too keen on intervening, eying both men with a clear readiness to act if need be. Sterling was looking on at Scott with anticipation.

  Scott suddenly relaxed, a mask of scorn settling over his features as he approached Sheridan's gun. "Fine," he said gravely. He moved to exit, stopping at Sheridan's shoulder to lean in close. "Enjoy your last hurrah."

  Emery watched nervously as Scott made for the door, half expecting Sheridan to shoot him anyway with the way he was glaring icy daggers at his back. Kurt was the one to go after, stopping him at the doorway. "Victor,"

  "Save it, Kurt," Scott replied, looking up at Kurt seriously. "I'm getting the hell out of here. If you've got any sense, you'll do the same." He gave one last hard look at Sheridan. "That asshole is gonna get you killed."

  The front door opened and slammed shut, leaving the remaining four men staring out after him. The atmosphere that hung in his absence was a palpable rage. "Good riddance," Sheridan said, slowly lowering his gun.

  Emery, perhaps stupidly, attempted to interject into the tension. "…Sheridan, I promise you, I didn't have any idea—"

  He couldn't have expected a friendly sort of reaction, but the fist that hit him in the jaw was still a surprise. He was knocked to the ground, stunned, hand to his face.

  "Get him outta my fuckin' sight before I kick his skull in," Sheridan demanded, turning away. "Lock him the fuck up. …He's got a long trip tomorrow back to Chelsea."

  Emery was still seeing stars when Kurt's hand reached down and roughly yanked him off the ground by the arm, shoving him towards the stairs with a painful grip. Emery stumbled along, holding his tongue, heart pounding so loudly in his chest he thought it might deafen him. For the first time since his kidnapping, he genuinely felt that he might be killed. He was going to be sick. Kurt stopped him at the top of the stairs, pushing him up against a wall with feral wrath in his eyes.

  Emery began to shake. "Kurt, please—you've got to believe me, I didn't know, I swear I didn't know, how could I kn…" he looked down in fright as Kurt's hand gripped his jaw, a thumb carefully grazing the split lip that had drawn his attention. Suddenly he realized that Kurt's anger was not directed at him and he nearly fainted in relief.

  "He won't touch you again," Kurt growled vehemently.

  Emery stared at him numbly for a moment before closing his eyes, pushing Kurt off of him and heading back into his bedroom. His head was spinning. This had all gone so wrong so fast. Of course the trust he'd garnered from Sheridan was fragile, but he really thought he'd keep a handle on it. He should have known it was out of his control with someone so volatile. Why had Hunter done this? What was he thinking? Oh, why was he surprised—had the man not shown himself to be vengeful? Emery sank down onto his bed, staring ahead at the wall before him. Kurt had followed him in.

  "What now?" Emery asked without realizing.

  "We leave," Kurt said.

  Emery looked up at him. "What?"

  Kurt went to the window, peering out the blinds at something and looking severe. "Scott was right. Sheridan will get us killed if we stay here."

  "Kurt…"

  "I can't guarantee exactly when, but it'll have to be at a moment's notice. Can you be ready?"

  "What are you talking about? Just up and leave? Are you insane?"

  Kurt shook his head. "I have connections in Montreal. It's a longshot, but it's all I've got."

  "And what?" Emery shrugged. "Have Hunter, his hired hands, and those two thugs down there tracking you down?"

  "We haven't got a choice. It's that or—"

  "I'm going home."

  Kurt froze, head jerking away from the window to look down at him. "What?"

  Emery looked down. "I'm going back to Chelsea. Like Sheridan says. It's the only way."

  "No. You're not."

  "I've—"

  "You're not going back to being…this doesn't bear discussion. I know it isn't going to be easy to get around this, but—"

  "Kurt, I'm in love with you."

  He could hear Kurt's words catch in his throat. Emery looked up at him to find him silent and baffled. He never would have thought this man could look so shell-shocked. At a total loss for words. Emery almost wanted to smile, but instead he sighed. "Getting away from Hunter used to be all I thought about. My one driving force. It was the most important thing in the world to me. But…it isn't anymore. I won't run. Not if it will jeopardize your safety."

  Kurt slowly crouched down, hands grabbing Emery's arms gently but firmly. "I will not have you go back to him."

  "I've put up with it for years…" Emery said. "I…I'll just have to wait for another opportunity. It won't be easy but…eventually he'll…he'll have to let his guard down again and—"

  "No. Stop."

  "I'll just have to pretend for a while longer."

  Kurt shook him once, roughly. "You will not. You will not do that, Emery, look at me."

  Emery met his eyes, trying to show Kurt his resolve. "It isn't your choice. All this time I've been looking for an escape route without ever thinking of what would follow me once I found one. Taking you down with me isn't worth it. Now, if we try and leave this place, Sheridan will kill the both of us. Even if Sheridan wasn't intending to turn me in, there's an apparent mafia in the mix willing to track me down and kill anyone who stands in their way. Delivering me back to my stepfather is the only
chance we both have at surviving this. It's the safest bet. Hunter won't kill me if he has his goons chase us down. He will kill you."

  "He might do that regardless of whether or not you're returned. Once he has you there'll be nothing to stop him."

  "No. I won't let him. I can protect you. I'm bloody certain it's my turn." He pulled Kurt into a tight hug to try and stop his next protest. Kurt was rigid in his grasp. "If it helps…just imagine I'm a liar. That none of those things I told you ever happened. That I'm just the spoiled little rich boy you thought I was to begin with who's pulled one over on you."

  Kurt pulled back, grasping Emery's face. "And be the sadistic villain you thought I was? You can't possibly think I could just st—"

  "Gabler!" Sheridan's voice called from the stairs. "Get the fuck down here! We've got work to do!"

  Emery looked towards the door worriedly, then back at Kurt as his face was forcibly directed.

  "I'll figure something out. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it on my life," Kurt vowed. Before Emery could respond he stood, marching out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Emery stared after him for a long moment before sinking down and putting his head in his hands.

  CHAPTER 18

  Kurt didn't sleep that night. Instead he sat in his room, methodically cleaning his already immaculate handguns and losing himself in decades' old thoughts.

  Somewhere in an upscale house in Manchester, there was a room in the back corner that had probably long since been filled with things of his father's that were just as outdated and forgotten as his only child. Somewhere just south of there, someone else had probably moved in long ago to the flat where his world had ended at twenty-one. Somewhere towns over, the bloodstains of his first kill had been scrubbed clean, the victims of his first beatings healed, the first money he'd ever stolen spent. Somewhere close by was Kurt Gabler's headstone. It was perhaps an ominous sign that his life was making a gradual trudge before his eyes.