Always

by R. J. Moray

  HE SAID YES read the caption, followed by a string of rainbow emojis.

  Channon felt…he didn’t know. Weirdly thrilled by it, but also sick because that was on Twitter. That was private and Sasha—it had to be Sasha—had photographed them and shared it, and one of her friends had screenshot it and posted it on Twitter? And now…he scrolled through the replies. A lot of rainbow emojis and #loveislove, and then someone said, Is that Jonathan fucking Nash?, and someone else said, whose the twink?, and then something so vile Channon couldn’t look anymore.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I can’t…bye.”

  “Hey, mate,” Dean said, but Channon staggered away from him, needing Jack right the fuck now.

  Jack wasn’t in their room, but Channon’s phone was. He took it off the charger and turned it on. It took forever to start up. Channon found himself chewing his thumbnail as he waited and had to stuff his hand under his thigh to keep it out of his mouth.

  He had about a dozen messages from Ewan, going from passive aggressive to what looked like genuine concern. Kim had messaged him too, hurt congratulations that made it clear he should have told her before she found out. Nothing from his mom or his dad. Maybe they didn’t do Twitter. Nothing from Ben, either.

  Channon tried calling Jack, but there was no reception. He logged into the resort Wi-Fi and signed into the Twitter account he only really used to follow Ewan’s weird Scottish insult account. Ewan hadn’t retweeted the post about him and Jack, so it took some poking to find it, but when he did…

  Fuck, there were a lot of replies. Mostly encouraging, but a lot.

  Jack, he thought, willing Jack to come back to the room. Where are you? I need you.

  Jack could fix it. Jack could fix anything.

  Chapter Five

  “Excuse me. Mr Nash?”

  Jack looked up from the book he’d been reading on his phone. He’d made a space for himself by the fire in the communal lounge with a cup of peppermint tea, enjoying a bit of peace. Sure, he should be out there on the slopes, but ever since the accident he tired easily, and he’d promised Channon to take care of himself.

  Plus, he was really enjoying his book.

  The young woman standing in front of him was in her early twenties, dressed in an aggressively cheerful sweater with the resort logo on the breast. The way she was looking at him put him on edge. “Can I help you?”

  “You are Jonathan Nash, right?” she asked cautiously.

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Melody Simkiss. I run the social media accounts for the resort. I was just wondering if we could take some photos of you and your fiancé, to share on Facebook and Twitter.”

  Jack blinked at her, taken aback. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “We’d really appreciate it if you’d let us,” she said eagerly, ignoring his refusal.

  “No,” Jack said. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  She paused only for a moment. “Of course, we’d be happy to comp you dinner as a thank you.”

  Jack had to stop himself from grinding his teeth together. “Why don’t you ask someone else? I’m assuming this is something you offer to all your guests.”

  “No, no. Just the ones who capture the public interest. Our celebrity guests,” she added, smiling wider.

  Jack took a deep breath, cooling his temper. “Ms…Simkiss? I’m hardly a celebrity and neither is my fiancé. The only thing that makes me exceptional is the exact reason why I don’t need you to comp anything for me. The money is insignificant. My privacy, however, is valuable. So I’d be grateful if you dropped the matter and refrained from bothering my fiancé about it. Thank you.”

  He reopened his book, directing his attention away from her.

  After a moment, she said, “It’s just…you’re trending on Twitter right now. That kind of does make you a celebrity.”

  Jack lifted his gaze to glare at her. “I don’t care if it makes me Man of the Year. I’m on vacation, and unless you book an appointment with my PA, I’m not available for media appearances.” He stood up, reaching for his jacket. “Please inform the manager that I don’t want to hear about this again.”

  He left her there, walking out of the lounge and back toward their cabin, seething. It was out of line to approach him like that. Gauche. It wouldn’t have happened in Switzerland, he told himself, but then again…the world was changing.

  Twitter, of all things. Why the fuck would he be trending on Twitter?

  He tried to text Nate, but he had no signal. The message just sat there, endlessly sending, so he tried Hangouts.

  Am I trending on Twitter?

  Immediately, Nate sent back, FUCK YEAH! It’s kinda awesome #NASHFUL

  Jack winced. Tell me that isn’t an actual hashtag.

  Buddy, you have no idea. Post a selfie with your boy so these poor idiots can get over it already.

  Oh, great advice. Jack loped up the steps to the cabin, took off his boots, and swiped open the door. “Channon?”

  In the master bedroom, Channon was sitting on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chin and his phone in one hand. He gave Jack a miserable look. “Sir.”

  Jack’s heart sank. “So we are trending on Twitter.”

  “There’s a hashtag,” Channon sighed. “I hate it.”

  Jack came up on the bed, wrapping an arm around Channon’s shoulders. “Show me.”

  Channon tilted the screen his way. “It’s not that big a deal,” he mumbled. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  Privately, Jack thought it actually was, but he didn’t say so. Fuck, the comments. “You don’t have to look at this.”

  “I know, but…I guess I wanna know what people are saying.”

  Jack had always found Twitter to be inane at best. “Does it matter what people are saying? They don’t know us. We don’t have to care what they think.”

  “Ewan’s mad at me for ‘going public’ before telling him.” Jack didn’t understand what that meant, so Channon showed him the original tweet, the photos. “Sasha must have taken them.”

  “I’ll deal with Sasha,” Jack said, and he must have sounded dire because Channon squeezed his thigh.

  “Don’t. She’s already apologized. She didn’t know it would be a big deal.”

  God, he was so calm about it while also obviously miserable. Jack wrapped him up in a hug. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. This isn’t about us, though, you know that. This is just people wanting a spectacle. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just ignore it until it goes away.”

  “Okay,” Channon said, but he didn’t put his phone down, not for long, and Jack hated the pinched, hurt look on his face.

  They checked out the next morning, heading back to Santa Rita for New Year’s Eve. Nate was having a party—a regular party, not a kink party. Jack had wondered about that, curious as to who might be there. Old friends? Did Nate have any old friends besides Jack?

  Channon quietly plugged himself into his earbuds, and Jack tried to ignore how he kept scrolling through Twitter, still reading the comments piling up. The bulk of them were supportive, but it was a disgustingly overfamiliar sort of support. While yes, he did intend to ‘hit that’, he didn’t need the recommendation from someone called @jizzmastercylinder, nor did he need the eggplant emojis.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” Jack asked him at the airport.

  “Yeah,” Channon said, leaning up against Jack’s shoulder. He sounded flat, and Jack didn’t like it.

  “Not regretting saying yes to me?” Jack teased, but it came out too earnest, and he realized his heart was racing against whatever Channon’s reply might be.

  Channon gave him a horrified look. “No! Never. I just wish…”

  “You wish no one knew?” God, it hurt Jack’s heart, but he tried not to let on.

  Channon shrugged. “I wish they didn’t care.”

  Jack nudged him, “Did you talk to Ewan?”

  “Ugh, he’s fine,” Channon grumbled, tucking his fa
ce into his scarf. “He can cope.”

  That was sulky, but Jack let it go for now. If Channon made a habit of it, Jack could deal with it later.

  The space they were in felt precarious. Jack had insisted that nothing had changed, but it had. Channon wasn’t just his sub, not just his boy. Channon would be his husband, and that brought with it the terrifying realization that they were equals in this. That Jack would be giving Channon half of everything he owned, and with it the kind of power over him that Jack had never imagined giving to anyone.

  Channon could leave him. Channon could ruin him. Channon could hurt him worse than anyone in the world, and Jack wanted him to have that power because it was worth it to keep him. If Channon decided he wanted to change things between them then he could, and Jack would bend to him because he’d promised, and because losing Channon would be worse than whatever Jack had to give up.

  He had always known intellectually that the true power in a D/s relationship was in the hands of the sub, but he’d never really felt it like this, nor how a marriage could be just the same.

  A horrible thought burst in his head like a rotten melon. “You’re sure, aren’t you?”

  Channon looked up from his phone, his face open. “Huh?”

  Jack took his hand, running a thumb over Channon’s ring. “About this.”

  “What?” His expression shattered into something that looked how it had felt to have this thought in the first place. He balled his hand up into a fist. “Aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” Jack said, stroking Channon’s hand, though it didn’t loosen. “I just wondered. I get you to agree to all kinds of things you don’t actually want. I didn’t want this to be one of them.”

  Channon’s eyes closed in a slow blink, like he was gathering himself. Then he lifted his chin and said, “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” in such a flat tone that Jack couldn’t help grinning at him.

  “Just had to check, sweetheart.”

  If Channon was in the mood to quote Star Wars, then he wasn’t freaking out as much as Jack had feared. And he probably hadn’t just said yes to make Jack happy. Probably.

  That was about as much confirmation as Jack could hope for.

  ❧

  Marco picked them up from the Santa Rita airport.

  “Happy New Year, Marco,” Jack said.

  “Thank you, Sir. Happy New Year to you too. And, uh, congratulations?”

  Jack felt Channon stiffen by his side. “Thank you very much,” he said, handing Channon into the car. It bothered him, though, this idea that his personal business would be passed around like gossip.

  It didn’t help when Marco caught his eye back at their building. “Mr Nash? Uh, could I speak to you for a moment?”

  Jack sent Channon up without him. “I trust you’re not experiencing any medical complications.”

  Marco had finally stopped being apologetic about the accident. It hadn’t been his fault, and Jack had asked Cynthia to make it clear that neither Jack nor Channon blamed him for it. But he was nervous, and Jack thought that was why his smile now seemed so uncertain.

  “No, Mr Nash. Thanks for everything you did.”

  “You’re welcome. What’s on your mind?”

  Marco, Jack reminded himself, wasn’t much older than Channon, and when he chewed his lip so pensively it became more obvious. “There was this photographer. Paparazzi. He wanted me to tell him where you’d be tonight.”

  It took Jack a moment to process it. “He offered you money?” Marco nodded, clearly uncomfortable, and named a sum that seemed both too much and not enough. Jack cleared his throat. “And what did you say?”

  “I told him I didn’t know.” Marco shrugged. “I don’t think he believed me. Uh, he left me his card, though,” and he handed it over.

  “Thank you for bringing this to me,” Jack said, keeping his temper with an effort. “I appreciate your discretion. Let me know if it happens again. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

  Marco shook his head. “That’s not necessary, sir.”

  “Please, allow me. Think of it as a bonus.”

  Jack carried the conversation up with him to the condo, mulling it over. Normally, Jack ignored media interest in his personal life. It really didn’t matter. He usually wasn’t interesting enough for them to bother him.

  With Channon involved, had they become interesting? Being a gay couple wasn’t in and of itself sufficient cause. The tech industry was young enough to be a little more open minded than, say, professional sports. But Channon was so young, so inexperienced. With a pang, Jack realized that if Channon had been a young woman then virtually no one would have cared. Older men and barely legal girls hooked up all the time, and hardly anyone batted an eyelid. This was different. No matter how much he wished it wasn’t.

  Upstairs, Channon was quiet, clearly preoccupied. He’d put the kettle on and was hunched over his phone, scrolling endlessly, his expression twisted into something Jack didn’t like.

  “Channon,” Jack said. His boy looked up, lip caught between his teeth. Jack held out his hand. “Bring me your phone.”

  A belligerent look flashed across Channon’s face—just a moment, then he breathed out, resigned. He crossed the floor, dropping down to his knees at Jack’s feet, and offered up his phone in his palms. “Sir,” he said.

  It made Jack warm inside to see Channon obey him so easily. He pocketed the phone and ran his fingers through Channon’s hair. “You’re worrying. I don’t like it when you worry.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you, Sir,” Channon sighed.

  “Then let me do the worrying. Can you give that up for me?”

  Channon hung his head, but what he said was, “I’ll try, Sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask of you, sweetheart.” He gripped Channon’s hair tight, until Channon made a weak noise of protest. “Do you want something to take your mind off it?”

  “If you want to, Sir,” Channon said, but he sounded less than eager.

  Jack wasn’t exactly in the mood. If Channon wasn’t either, then he couldn’t really stomach working up to it.

  “Hmmm. Maybe later, then.” He tugged Channon’s head back, looking down into his pale, expectant face. “We’re going to Nate’s party tomorrow night. I want you to try to have a good time, okay? No sulking. You can have your phone back afterwards.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Channon said, determined now.

  It was good to give him something else to focus on. He didn’t need to know about the paparazzi. That was Jack’s job. Jack would take care of it, one way or another.

  ❧

  The New Year’s Eve party at Nate’s was an awkward mix of Nate’s and Ewan’s friends. Jack knew virtually no one. Nate and Ewan of course, and Channon. Tig was there too, flirting aggressively with a bearded man who seemed too straight to notice. He recognized a couple of faces from Nate’s dev team, but beyond that, no one. It was a strange feeling, one he wasn’t sure he liked.

  The food was good. The music was an eclectic mix of ‘80s pop and things Jack had never heard before, somewhat variable in quality. Channon and Ewan had disappeared. Jack trusted they weren’t getting into trouble.

  Nate caught him by the arm and physically dragged him into a conversation. “Kirk’s hotter than Spock, right?”

  He was talking to a girl who was doing a wonderfully baleful impression of Bettie Page. “Spock over Kirk any day,” she said with some derision. “Leonard Nimoy is bae.”

  Nate’s laugh was almost a gurgle. “Zachary Quinto’s so cute, though.”

  “Yeah, but the reboots are garbage.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “And the Original Series was Shakespeare. Jack, c’mon, back me up.”

  “First season Kirk is a hot nerd,” Jack mused. “But if I had to choose? Reboot Chekhov.”

  Now Nate laughed so loud someone turned around to stare. “Oh my God, of course. You cradle robber.”

  Jack glanced around. Channon was nowhere t
o be seen. Still with Ewan, he hoped, still staying out of trouble.

  “So you’re basing your judgement of television solely on the attractiveness of the actors?” said a young man with an unfortunate hipster moustache. His tone dripped with derision. “Nice. Way to go, equality.”

  “Nah, if we were doing that we’d have to talk about Teen Wolf,” Nate quipped, and then he stood up. “I’m getting a drink. Anyone need a refill?”

  Jack held up his mineral water. The girl asked for a beer. The young man muttered something and slunk away, and then it was just Jack and this girl he didn’t know.

  He eyed her carefully and made a judgement call. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake or ignore as she chose. “I’m Jack.”

  “I know,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m Sadie.”

  “I take it you’re a friend of Ewan’s,” Jack guessed.

  She smiled. “How can you tell?”

  “You look like you have interesting taste in music,” Jack said.

  She laughed, one hand coming up as if she meant to cover her mouth but remembered she was wearing lipstick at the last second. He noticed her nails were painted black and decorated with silver glitter. “Oh, I get it. Ewan said you were charming.”

  “Did he, now?”

  Apparently, Jack couldn’t keep his skepticism off his face, because Sadie shrugged. “He said you were a ‘braw canny bastard’. That’s Scottish for ‘charming’.”

  Jack decided to take her word for it. “You’ve known Ewan long?”

  “We met at college. I thought he looked like he had ‘interesting taste in music’,” she said, glancing up at him with aggressively winged eyes. “He introduced me to your fiancé.”

  Jack did his best not to show his surprise. “You know Channon?”

  “Not well. He seems down to earth. Not Ewan’s type.”

  “And what is Ewan’s type?” Jack asked.

  “Bad news.” Sadie looked suddenly serious. “I thought Nate might be the same. But so far, he’s doing pretty good. I really hope he doesn’t turn out to be an abusive fuckhead.”

  Jack wet his lip, wondering when this conversation had turned into a threat. “That would be very surprising to all of us, I think.”