by Aiden Bates
"But we were beaten half to death there." Brantley frowned.
"But first, you made love there. You don't get more physically connected than that, Brantley." Allen knew his smile was a little sad. "I suspect he wanted to remember you, and I can respect that."
Brantley cried again. Allen didn't try to stop him. He just let Brantley lean against him, and put Alaina to bed when she was ready.
Brantley was still reeling, but after about an hour he started to pull himself together again. "I truly do wish you could have met him." He massaged his temples. "He had an amazing smile. He laughed, too, like you wouldn't believe. He was so open, and so friendly. He loved everyone. He loved dogs, too. You'd have loved that about him."
"I'd have loved everything about him," Allen promised. "If only because he was yours."
Maybe that was too much to say. Maybe he was revealing too much. Brantley turned to him and looked into Allen's eyes for a long, gut-wrenching moment. "Can I kiss you?"
Allen didn't think he'd ever say no to that, but he definitely wouldn't say no right now. Not while Brantley was grieving. "Of course."
Brantley's kiss was initially tentative. It was a real kiss, though, not the kind of kiss he'd done for display. Then he deepened the kiss, cradling Allen's face in between his hands and licking into his mouth like a starving man.
Allen opened up for him right away. He wrapped his arms around Brantley's waist and held on. He wanted this. He would dare say he needed this. Brantley had been the one to lose someone, but he hadn't been the only one to get a strong emotional shock. Maybe it was wrong to let Brantley use him in place of Fabian, but Allen figured he was entitled to a little comfort, too.
Brantley pulled back, just a bit. Allen could run his hand over the stubble on his jaw, if he wanted. He did. He loved the rough feel of it against his skin, and the way it heated him up inside.
Brantley kissed him again. This kiss was deeper still, and full of intent. His strong body loomed over Allen, dominant, and Allen loved it. He shouldn't want this. He should be able to push Brantley away, and tell him this was a bad idea. Instead, he put his hands on Brantley's hips and pulled him closer.
What kind of a monster was he, that was sitting here relishing the hard line that poked into his thigh? Under other circumstances, sure. It might be a little shameful, all things considered, but Brantley was in mourning for a man he'd loved. Who knew that, accepted him, and looked himself in the eye afterward?
Brantley held out a hand. "Come upstairs with me?"
"Yes." Allen let Brantley help him to his feet.
***
Brantley led Allen up the stairs. Grief for Fabian burned inside him, with guilt fanning the flames, but it wasn't the primary motivation for him right now. Right now, lust propelled his movements. Lust, and love. Allen hadn't hesitated. Allen had just thrown his arms around Brantley. He'd held on tight and let Brantley feel.
Maybe it wasn't real. It felt real right now. If Brantley had learned anything from the loss of Fabian it was that right now was important. Right now might be all they had.
He led Allen over to his room, more or less unused since they'd made love all those weeks ago. Allen followed along, and he moved to get rid of his clothes. Brantley moved his hands away, but gently. He wanted Allen to know, to understand, just how important he was.
Allen looked over at him, and then he nodded. Brantley was free to undress him.
Brantley stripped Allen's shirt off, pulling it over his head with a little smile. Look at you," he said. "Look how beautiful you are." He ran his hands along the smooth lines of Allen's bare arms as they stood in that guest room. He mouthed along the long curve of Allen's neck. Last time, they hadn't taken time to savor one another. That had been intended for their ruse, for their cover story.
Tonight was going to be for Brantley, and for Allen. If this was going to be the only chance they had to do this together for real, Brantley wanted to do it right.
He ran his hands along the strong, solid muscles of his lover's back as they kissed. Maybe they'd have another chance. Maybe Brantley would find a way to overcome his fears and convince Allen to stay with him. Maybe not. Either way, they were together now.
Allen's pupils were wide and lust shone in his clear green eyes. The simple act of undressing him rendered him speechless. It brought a fever to his skin, one Brantley could hold on to even in his grief. He couldn't help Fabian. He couldn't do anything for Fabian, but he could bring happiness to Allen right here and right now.
He mapped out Allen's skin, with his teeth and with his tongue. Allen tried to reciprocate, at first, but that wasn't what Brantley wanted or needed right now. He needed to be good, and to feel like he could be good. When Allen caught on, he nodded and let Brantley take the lead.
Brantley took his time. When he finally sank himself deep into Allen's body, it was when he was sure Allen couldn't take any more teasing. Allen cried out in his pleasure and bucked his hips to meet him, long legs wrapped securely around Brantley's slim waist.
They lay in bed for a moment after their release. Brantley couldn't have said how Allen was feeling about the whole thing, but Brantley was almost high. For the moment, anyway, all of his problems were safely shoved away. Everything that mattered was safely locked away in this house.
Then the glow faded, slowly. The artificial, climate-controlled chill returned to those areas of skin that weren't touching Allen. Allen wasn't asleep, but he wasn't talking, and he wasn't smiling. He looked away from Brantley. "Are you okay?" he asked, in his quiet voice.
Brantley managed a little smile. "I'm a little better." He traced the line of Allen's face. "Thank you. I can't say enough about you. You are, without a doubt, the best of men."
Allen's smile looked forced, and he still wouldn't meet Brantley's eyes. What could he possibly be hiding? "You're pretty incredible yourself." He sat up. "I should probably clean up."
"Right." Brantley watched as Allen sat up. There didn't seem to be anything physically wrong with him, at least not on the surface. He wasn't favoring any one side, and he didn't have a limp. "Do you want me to join you?"
Allen seemed to consider it. He tilted his head to the side before saying, "Nah. It's okay. Someone should stay with Alaina, just in case." He looked away when he spoke, and his eyes tightened.
Brantley followed him into the bedroom. He followed Allen's stated wishes and stayed out of the shower, but he didn't believe for a minute that Allen didn't want him in there with him. Why would he lie about what he wanted? After everything, after what they'd just done, did he not believe Brantley wanted him?
A wave of grief overcame Brantley. This hadn't been a problem between himself and Fabian. They'd been children, really. Well, they'd been teenagers, somewhere between children and adults. The whole world had been so much simpler then. The only complication had been fear of being caught, and even that had been tempered by the natural immortality of youth.
Now he was older. There was so much more at stake. Brantley knew he wasn't immortal. He still might be sent back to Jamaica, for one thing, and no one, least of all gay men in Jamaica, in Jamaica. He had no idea how normal people conducted themselves when they set about starting a family or managing a relationship, because it hadn't been an option for him.
And he couldn't afford to alienate the one he loved, because he needed him to avoid certain death.
With Fabian, they'd just been friends who'd fallen in love once they'd been old enough to do so. It had all been natural. There had been no muss. No fuss. They'd kissed in the bushes behind Brantley's parents' house, and then they'd gone off to play cricket just like everyone else.
Allen didn't even know what cricket was. He thought cricket was a cartoon conscience.
And wasn't that the problem? It was part of the problem, anyway. Brantley knew he loved Allen. He might even love Allen more than he loved Fabian. That might be age and experience talking, and it wouldn't do to compare them.
Would love be enough
, though? Could love overcome the gulf of experience between them? Allen had some bad experiences, it was true. And Allen had been broken hearted at some point. Allen didn't know the first thing about Jamaica, or Jamaicans. He was willing to learn, but that didn't mean he understood. It didn't mean he could ever grasp why Brantley did the things he did, or why he got misty eyed over spending time with some nannies.
Did those things matter?
Allen vacated the shower. His skin was warm, but his eyes were hooded and shadowed. "It's all yours."
"Thanks." Brantley looked away. Had Allen been thinking those same things, or was something else on his mind?
Brantley couldn't keep his mind from drifting to Fabian while he was in the shower. He had no idea what would have driven Fabian to that final act, if it had been suicide at all. What would Fabian have thought of Syracuse? Neither one of them had ever seen snow. Brantley would have given a lot to have seen Fabian shoveling after a lake effect band passed through, or tossing snowballs while laughing.
All of that was gone now.
He sobbed again, and of course Allen was in the next room. There was no one to assuage his grief here, just bright white tiles and soft face cloths. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe Brantley's grief shouldn't be soothed, but should run its course. Maybe then he would be able to fight it off and move on.
When he got out of the shower, Allen was asleep. His pillow, though, was wet.
Brantley climbed into bed beside him. He didn't know if he could help Allen with his problem, and he definitely couldn't help Allen with his problem if Allen didn't tell him what it was. He could be there for Allen, though, the way Allen had been here for him.
He took Allen into his arms and held him. Allen was asleep, but he relaxed into Brantley's arms. Maybe Brantley hadn't been able to help Fabian, but he could do something for Allen, here and now.
The next day, they went in to the hospital, as they usually did. Brantley didn't have a lot of appointments, for which he found himself grateful. He'd figured work would help him with his grief, giving him something else to focus on, but that wasn't how it worked at all. Instead, he found it almost impossible to focus on his patients. During his rounds, he visited the same patient three times before she asked him if he was impaired.
He headed back to his office after that.
Since he couldn't effectively treat a hangnail at the moment, he decided to let himself think about what his brain wanted to focus on anyway. It was true that he hadn't seen or heard from Fabian in twenty years. That didn't mean Fabian had disappeared. Brantley was a smart man. He should have been able to find anything he needed to, right?
It took about an hour to put together a picture of Fabian's life. He couldn't help but hang his head in shame, when he found out just how easy it was.
Fabian's parents weren't like Brantley's. They didn't accept their son for who he was. They thought they could change him. Fortunately for Fabian, he was able to get away when he was eighteen. He sought, and received, asylum in Canada. Fabian had gone to college and become a lawyer. He'd married. He'd had two children, who were about the same age as Harper and Ethan.
They lived in Toronto. For the past seven years, Brantley had lived less than five hours away from Fabian, and he'd never known.
Hope kindled in his soul when he found an article from today's news in Toronto. Local Man Dies In Jamaica; Canadian Consulate Claims Foul Play. He opened up that article and sat on the edge of his seat.
According to the article, Fabian hadn't been back to Jamaica since escaping eighteen years ago. That seemed like a sensible decision on Fabian's part. Brantley hadn't been back either. About a month ago, Fabian's parents had reached out to their son. They claimed his father was dying of cancer and wanted to see his son again, in the "spirit of reconciliation."
Fabian's husband, Aaron, had argued against him going back. "It's one thing to want to forgive your parents," he said, in the article. "It's another to risk your life to do it. I told him it was a ploy. I told him it was a lie. He was so enamored of this idea of being on good terms with his mum and dad again that he felt he had to do it. And now he's gone."
Brantley blinked back tears. The autopsy report, according to consulate officials, showed significant personal injury to Fabian around the time of death. While the coroner in Mandeville might insist on suicide, Canadian officials disputed his findings in the strongest of terms.
"No one hangs himself with bound hands," said one attaché. "It's just not possible."
Brantley did two things then. He forwarded the article to Gupta and Allen. He included a note to Gupta explaining who Fabian Royal was, and why it was significant for his case. It proved that he faced significant persecution if he were to be sent back to Jamaica, up to and including death.
His second action was to reach out to the Canadian reporter who had penned the article. He explained his connection to Fabian, provided his contact information, and asked if the reporter would put him in contact with Aaron Royal. "I want to do anything in my power to help him out in this hour of need. I don't know what that might be right now, but I feel I owe it to Fabian."
He heard back from Aaron Royal an hour later. Aaron had a strong Canadian accent, and he sounded like he'd been sobbing for hours. He probably had been. "I heard from that reporter fellow," Aaron told him. "He gave me your number."
"Aaron," Brantley said, and then he stopped. What does a man say to a stranger, who'd just lost his husband? "There aren't words. I'm so sorry. My mum called yesterday to tell me what happened, and I just did some research, and I just found out— 'm babbling. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What do you need right now? How can I help you?"
Aaron let out a little laugh. "He always said you were generous. Your whole family. Right now, they won't release the body. The consulate is fighting for us, but we need someone to claim the body."
"I'll send my mum and dad. I'll pay for it. You won't have to worry about a thing." He jumped at the chance. He started an email to his parents even as he spoke.
"And maybe one other thing." Aaron sighed. "I didn't know Fabian when he was young. My kids won't have the chance to know that part of him, and they'll set foot in Jamaica only over my dead body. Can you… maybe… I don't know if you'll ever get a chance to come up here, but maybe you could Skype with them, or write down some stories for them, about when their father was a boy? Things you used to do together, places you used to go? The kind of boy he was, and the kind of teen?" Aaron sniffed, and Brantley knew he was crying.
Brantley wasn't much better off. "Of course. I'm not sure when I'll be able to cross the border, but if and when I can, I'll do that. And I'll write everything down. I will."
Aaron was silent for a long moment. Brantley gave him his time. He knew grief, from his years as an oncologist. It hadn't been this personal, but he still knew it. He knew how to stand back, give the person space, let them feel.
"Fabian always spoke well of you, Brantley. He wasn't ever bitter, about what happened. Not toward you. He might have been a little jealous that you had better parents, but he wasn't bitter." Aaron chuckled. "He named our oldest son after you, you know."
"Really?" Brantley dabbed at his eyes. "I don't—I don't know what to say. I'm… I'm floored. He was such a special man."
"He was." Aaron sighed. "And now he's gone. Listen. I've got to go, the kids need me. I just—thank you, Brantley. I hope we get to meet."
"I hope so too. Thank you, Aaron. Thank you for making him happy."
Brantley wrote up his first story for Fabian's children right then. It was about a time they'd gone to a music festival in Mandeville and gotten lost. They'd been maybe six years old at the time, and far from being scared, they'd been delighted. They'd spent time with the different bands and stayed up far later than their bedtime.
When their parents finally found them, thanks to one of the reggae bands who let them sit on stage with them so their parents could find them, they got in trouble, of course. But Fabian had been
the hero of the piece. "Didn't you see how we sat up on the stage, so you could find us? You should be glad we were smart!" And they got away without any punishment at all.
He got home late, but Allen didn't complain. He smiled when Brantley told him why he'd been at work so long, and told him how sweet he was. Brantley almost cried again.
Chapter Fifteen
Allen watched as Brantley moved heaven and earth to help the Royals. It was sweet. Brantley was the perfect man, in so many ways. Why couldn't Allen have a man like this in his life, for real? He shook his head. It was the wrong way to think. He was supposed to be happy with his life as it was, and it was a pretty good life as things went.
At least it had felt good, until Brantley had come along and showed him everything he was missing.