by Alexa Land
“Because that’s what that old man said, toward the end of the evening,” Brian sat up a little. “He told me I had a real treasure in you.”
I sat up too, and looked at Brian. “That was the guy that fondled me after we took a picture. I felt his hand on my butt, and the note was in my back pocket.”
“Did anyone else touch you?”
“Plenty of people hugged me, but he was the only one that strayed that far south.”
“So he must have planted the note. But why would some old guy be working with your stalker?” Brian asked.
“He said the same thing the note did, he called me a treasure, so maybe that was him. Maybe he disguised himself. I just don’t get why he’d bother. He thinks I don’t know what he looks like,” I said.
Brian thought about that for a few moments before saying, “This guy has access to information that he really shouldn’t have, like your unlisted phone number and address. I’m just guessing here, but what if he somehow has access to police information? What if he knows they have a photo of him from that surveillance camera?”
“Aside from, obviously, a cop, who else would have access to that sort of information?”
He shrugged and said, “There are plenty of consultants that work for the police in various capacities.”
“But on top of that, are we saying he’s also some sort of Hollywood-style makeup artist? That’s pretty far-fetched.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything that elaborate. A wig, fake mustache and glasses are easily obtained. The only specialty piece would have been that nose, but even that wouldn’t be hard to find.”
“Really? You think you can just go up to the counter in Walgreen’s and ask for a prosthetic nose?”
Brian pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. Not thirty seconds later, he angled it toward me and said, “No. But you can get one for about ten bucks on Amazon. In fact, this big honker looks an awful lot like what that man could have been wearing.”
“Christ,” I muttered. “He sticks on a wig and a fake nose, and just walks right up to me. I’m so damn stupid. I didn’t even sort of recognize him.”
“Well, neither did I, and neither did anyone else, including the trained police officer at the front door.”
We sat there lost in thought for a while, and then I said, “Here’s another thing I don’t get. I don’t know this person. So, why did he use some kind of voice modulator when he called me from that pay phone a couple weeks ago? Why would he bother, if I couldn’t recognize his voice anyway?”
“Maybe he just did that to mess with you. He obviously wants you scared, or off-kilter. This man is playing a game with you, that’s why he made an appearance tonight and slipped you that note. That only accomplished one thing: freaking you out. So maybe the eerie, robotic voice synthesizer was meant to do the same thing.”
I nodded in agreement. “I can see that. I guess he gets his kicks out of watching me unravel.”
“He’s pissed off at you,” Brian said. “That’s clear, based on his letters. When he watches your films, he thinks you’re cheating on him, he can’t separate fantasy from reality. This is probably his idea of payback, a way to make you suffer for your perceived infidelity.”
“You’re probably right.” I closed my eyes and slumped back against the couch. But then, something else occurred to me, and I sat up quickly, turning to look at Brian. “What did he say to you? I met so many people tonight, it all kind of blurs together.”
“He asked if I was your boyfriend, and you told him I was. It was the first time we used that word to describe our relationship, that’s why it stands out to me.”
“Oh God.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What if he turns all that anger on you, Brian? What if he decides the best way to punish me is by going after you? I’ll never forgive myself if he hurts you.”
Brian looked at me levelly, his voice low. “I hope to God he comes after me. Because then I can tear him apart for what he’s doing to you, and for what he did to Christopher.”
“This is no time for that Semper Fi, big tough Marine stuff. Maybe you should clear out for a while, just until this man is caught. Christopher said you and Kieran own a cabin in Tahoe, maybe you could spend some time there.”
“And leave you unprotected? Hell no.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said. “He focused a lot of his attention on you tonight, and we know he’s seen us together before. You were with me when he called from that payphone, the day he was following us in the Richmond. If he gets totally wound up watching me with different men on film, what must it do to him to see me with the same man repeatedly, a man he now knows is my boyfriend?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving your side.”
“Brian, think about it. This person is full of rage, but he’s never directed it right at me. Instead, he hurts others. He’s hurt boys who look like me, like they’re meant to take my place or something, and maybe he’d do the same to my boyfriend. He said he plans to make me suffer, and you know what would accomplish that? Hurting you, or going after Christopher again. You two might be in more danger than I am.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Christopher and his fiancé came upstairs, and as my best friend sat down beside me and picked up my hand, he said, “I called Dante after Kieran told me what happened. He owns this building, and I talked to him about upgrading security. It sounds like the stalker is stepping up his game, so we should, too.”
“What did Dante say?”
“He wants to put his mafia connection to work and provide some security guards for tomorrow night’s gallery opening. There are going to be a lot of people coming in and out of here, and after tonight’s stunt, I wouldn’t be surprised if the stalker tries to pull something. Dante also wants to upgrade the existing alarm system.”
I nodded and said, “That’s good. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to any of you.”
Christopher squeezed my hand. “We feel the same about you, Hunter. I’m going to make sure the gallery is all locked up, I’ll be right back.” He headed for the stairs with his fiancé right on his heels. Kieran obviously had his back, and that was reassuring.
“I feel like a jinx,” I said to Brian, who took me in his arms. “All of you are in jeopardy because of me.”
“You’re not a jinx. You know what you are?”
“No. What?”
“You’re Bound. James Bound,” he said with a grin, and I chuckled at that.
“Only you could make me laugh at a time like this,” I said.
“Glad to hear I’m actually good for something. Now do me a favor and go down and get my wheelchair, okay? I need to take you to the bathroom, and I’d rather not crawl.”
“Why do you need to take me to the bathroom?”
“You look like you’re freezing in that porn star-grade skimpy underwear, so I plan on sticking you in that huge tub and warming you back up.”
I smiled at that. “Will you be joining me in that tub? It’s big enough for two.”
“It’s big enough for seven. And no, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
He swung me onto my feet and swatted my butt. “Chair, please.”
“I’m going.” I jogged across the room and down the stairs, then lugged the bulky metal contraption up to the apartment. He was still using the electric wheelchair on loan from the hospital, since his sprained wrist wasn’t quite back to normal, and it was quite a bit heavier than his manual chair.
I deposited it right beside him, and stepped aside. But before moving off the couch, Brian slowly ran his gaze down my nearly naked body. The ‘porn star-grade’ underwear, as he called it, left little to the imagination. It was basically just a skimpy black jockstrap. I looped my thumbs under the thin straps and pushed them down, and the underwear fell to my ankles.
As I stepped out of it, Brian asked, his voice a little husky, “Why did you do that?”
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br /> “I assume you want me naked in order to bathe me,” I told him. “It also seemed like you might want an unobstructed view.”
He looked me up and down again, the longing in his eyes absolutely intense. But then, he sort of shook it off and swung himself onto his chair. “You know,” he said lightly, “your fans just might have a point. You may very well be the fairest of them all.” With that, he pivoted around and headed to the bathroom.
I grinned at that as I scooped up my underwear and followed him. “None of them called me that. Only you.”
“Well, then I might have a point.”
Once the tub was filled and I was up to my neck in wonderfully warm water, Brian really did proceed to bathe me. His touch was so gentle, the entire experience as much about soothing and comforting me as it was about getting me clean. When there was nothing left to wash, I opened my eyes and sat up a little, then asked him, “And why aren’t you in here with me, exactly?”
“You really want me in there?” he asked, and when I nodded, he shrugged and said, “Fine.”
He took off the chambray shirt that he had on over a dark blue t-shirt and tugged his belt from his jeans. Next he fished in his pockets and put their contents on a shelf near the sink. He then braced himself on the edge of the tub and executed a fairly graceful vault over the edge, depositing himself in the water.
I laughed in surprise, then said, “Um, you missed a couple steps.”
“No I didn’t.”
“You’re still wearing jeans and a t-shirt.”
He smirked at me, his eyes alight with amusement. “Really? Thanks for pointing that out to me, because maybe I failed to notice.”
“So…why are you still wearing jeans and a t-shirt?”
“Because I don’t do naked.”
“Everyone does naked.”
“Let me amend that. I don’t do naked around other people.”
“I’m not ‘other people.’ I’m your boyfriend.”
“I like that term,” he said with a smile. “It makes this feel kind of official, don’t you think?”
“Smooth subject change,” I said, “but I’m not letting you off the hook just yet. Why are you wearing clothes in the bathtub?”
“Maybe naked is against my religion. Maybe I’m Quaker for all you know, and took a vow of modesty.”
“Ok, A, you’re Catholic. And B, Quakers don’t take vows of modesty, because there’s no such thing.”
“There are too Quakers, and not just on the drum of oatmeal. Did you ever ask yourself why it comes in that drum, by the way?”
“There’s no such thing as a vow of modesty. And your diversion tactics are starting to unravel at the seams,” I told him with a smile.
“Totally up on Quaker doctrine, are you?”
“Brian. Tell me why you’re fully dressed in a bathtub.”
“Why do you think?”
“Because you think I’m enough of an asshole to get freaked out by your legs.”
He knit his brows at that. “I hate it when you twist things around to make them your fault.”
“Is that it? Are you afraid to let me see your amputations? Do you think I’m going to stop being attracted to you when I see for myself what I already know is happening under there?” He shrugged, and I said, “Give me a little more credit, Brian.”
“Maybe it’s all me. Maybe I feel ugly and self-conscious, not only because of my legs, but because of everything else that’s going on under here. These don’t stop at my neck, you know,” he said, tapping the scars on his cheek. “The shrapnel tore into my body in a hundred places. And if all of that wasn’t enough, I also have this lovely spare tire now, after three years of sitting in a chair eating pizza.” His hands tapped his belly as he said that. “You add that all up, and you know what you get? The stuff of freaking horror movies, that’s what.”
“Brian, I fell for you when you looked like you were ready to play the lead in ‘Jesus Christ, Superstar.’ When are you going to stop thinking I’m completely shallow?”
He laughed at that. “How far back did you go for that reference, 1973? You’re way too young to even know what that is.”
I grinned at him. “My drama teacher in high school was a total hippie. He actually tried to get us to perform that play my sophomore year, but the local churches decided it was blasphemous and wouldn’t let him bring it to the stage. Damn shame, too, because guess who landed the role of Jesus H. Christ?”
“You?”
“Yup. And my costume included a long, brown wig and huge beard, exactly like the one you used to sport.”
He laughed at that. “I’ll bet you looked awesome.”
“Oh, I did, especially when you consider the fact that I didn’t hit my growth spurt, such as it was, until I was eighteen. So at the time, here was this miniscule blond kid, wearing a beard that probably came down to my knees, belting out a rock opera while wearing a patterned bed sheet as a robe.”
“That’s quite the mental picture,” he said with a smile. Then he asked, “Can you actually sing?”
“Yeah. I can act, too.”
“Oh, I can imagine, Mr. Bound.”
I laughed at that and splashed him. “That’s not what I mean, though it does often take considerable talent to pretend I can stand some of my costars. But I meant I was pretty good in the high school productions. I was often cast as the lead, despite being so tiny that I was barely visible to the naked eye. Of course, there were only fifty-two kids in my high school, so that wasn’t much of an accomplishment. And wow, did you ever steer us off on a huge tangent to avoid talking about your body issues.”
“This is way more interesting. So, when you moved to California, did you have dreams of becoming an actor?”
“Oh hell no. And if I had, I would have moved to L.A., not San Francisco. But that would have been insane.”
“Why?”
“Do you know how many fresh-off-the-turnip-truck – or potato truck, in this case – naïve young boys inundate Hollywood every year? I would have wound up as just another statistic.”
“Not necessarily. You’re incredibly charismatic, not to mention strikingly handsome. You would have done well, I’m sure of it.”
“You’re biased. I mean, look at me. I would have been cast as the gay waiter, the gay roommate, or, if I was really lucky, the gay best friend. I think I was better off as James Bound.”
“Come here, Mr. Bound,” Brian said with a grin, holding his arms out to me, and I crossed the space between us, snuggling against his chest. He reached for the spigot in the center of the clawfoot tub and turned on the hot water for a few moments, warming us back up, then relaxed with his arms around me.
After a while, I asked, “Is that why you haven’t had sex with me? Because you don’t want me to see you naked?”
“There are a lot of reasons, starting with the fact that this is a really new relationship, and I don’t think sex is something you just rush into. And then, of course, there’s my total lack of experience with another guy.”
“But you’ve slept with women before, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So, it’s no different. Subtract the boobs, add a cock, and there you go.”
He chuckled at that. “Have you ever actually slept with a woman?”
“Oh hell no. I’ve been gay since I shot out of the womb, screaming I’m never going back there!”
Brian burst out laughing, then said, “So, despite your highly scientific explanation, you really have no basis for comparison.”
“Well, that’s true. But here’s all you really need to know about sex with another man.” I picked up his hand and rested it on my butt. “Fuck this.”
He chuckled and said, “Thanks, Professor Sex Ed, I had actually figured that much out.”
Instead of removing his hand, he began to caress my ass, then squeezed it gently and spread me slightly. His other hand slid down my body, and he ran a fingertip between my cheeks, grazing my hole. I gasped, then s
tretched up and kissed him. As his tongue slipped into my mouth, he kept exploring me, one fingertip lightly circling my rim.
I moaned as my cock snapped to attention, and he pushed a fingertip into me. I parted my legs as far as I could for him in the confines of the tub as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him again. When he met with resistance, I figured he’d end his exploration for the day. But instead, he withdrew his hand, ran his fingertips over the bar of soap, and went right back to my opening, his other hand still spreading me open.
His finger slid into me more easily this time, and when he was in about three inches, he whispered, “Is this okay?”
I nodded and said softly, “Do anything you want to me.” I rested my head on his shoulder, my arms still around him, and he began to gently fuck my hole with his finger, going just a little deeper with each push until I’d taken him to his knuckles.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, rotating his hand slowly and grazing my prostate in the process. I gasped, then reached behind me, taking hold of my right cheek and spreading it for him, just like he was doing with my left, opening myself further, giving him access to me.
“It’s surprising,” he said softly, “how passive you are in sexual situations. It’s so different from the way you usually interact with me.”
I raised myself up off his chest and looked in his eyes. “I can be anything you want me to be,” I whispered. “If you want me to be more assertive, I can do that. I’ll do anything you say.”
The look he gave me was surprisingly sympathetic, and he asked, “Is this, right now, who you really are, Hunter, or is that just what you think I want?”
“This is me,” I said, breaking eye contact.
Brian’s hands left my ass and his arms came up to encircle me. When his lips found mine, the kiss was so sweet, so loving, and I just sank into it. After a while he asked me, “Did you like what I was doing to you?”
“I absolutely loved it. I love being penetrated.”
“Do you promise to tell me if I do something you don’t like?”
“Yes sir,” I said softly, tilting my head down, not looking at him.
He smiled at that and said, “You would never call me that, not in a million years, if you weren’t naked.”