by JD Ruskin
Caleb heard the snap of the lubricant and then Logan pushed a finger inside, stretching his hole. He began to wriggle and to squirm and then gasped as a second finger worked him. Logan’s chest hair brushed against Caleb’s back, sending a shiver through his whole body. Leaning his head back against Logan, he groaned long and deep as Logan’s fingers brushed over his prostate.
Pulling back Logan said, “Tell me if it hurts,” a slight tremor in his voice.
Caleb nodded, his voice abandoning him.
Spooning behind him, Logan encouraged Caleb to lift his top leg, bending at the knee to give more room to maneuver. Caleb heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper and then Logan pried open his cheeks, inserting the tip of his cock into Caleb’s ass. He breathed deeply at the burn, as his body instinctively clenched around the intruder. It had been a lot longer than he was willing to admit since he had done this.
Logan kissed Caleb’s neck. He then backed out, eased gently back and forth, and slowly pressed it in further over and over again until he was all the way inside. Sweat dripped from Caleb’s hairline onto his forehead as the pressure of being filled increased.
“God, Caleb.” Logan didn’t move, but there was something in his voice, something that made Caleb’s chest ache. It was desperation and need and maybe something like relief.
Angling his neck backward in a way he would pay for later, he captured Logan’s lips in a hard, possessive kiss. Logan slid his tongue across his own, curling and teasing until Caleb couldn’t help whimpering. The sound seemed to propel Logan into action. He broke the kiss and pulled back his hips.
Caleb turned back and clutched the pillow in a tight grasp as Logan began pivoting into him, each thrust harder and faster as the bed squeaked in protest. He would have more bruises on his hips from Logan’s tight grip, but he didn’t give a damn. The idea of Logan leaving his mark on his skin thrilled Caleb. The only other sounds in the room were their heavy breathing, the occasional groan, and the noise made from slapping flesh.
Caleb could feel each groove and notch that ran the length of Logan’s cock as it unmercifully plunged in and out of his ass. His muscles were locking together, becoming rigid as his release loomed near. Angling his arm, he tried to take hold of his cock, smacking the hard plaster against his leg and hip. He looked at the cast in frustration, needing more friction.
Seeming to sense his thoughts, Logan said, “Let me.” His hot breath sent shivers down Caleb’s body. “Before you knock me out and have to get yourself off.” Almost too quiet for Caleb to hear, he added, “I’d want to be conscious to see that.” He leaned over further, his body nearly covering him. Caleb closed his eyes soaking in the heat from Logan’s body and his musky scent.
Logan’s strong hands worked Caleb’s dick in tandem with his pivoting hips. They moved together higher and higher and Caleb cried out wordlessly. His heart thumped, thumped to the rhythm of the thrusts as if Logan’s cock controlled its beat. Harsh breaths disturbed the hairs at the back of his head, sweat dripped down the nape of his neck.
Caleb’s balls tightened against his body as Logan alternately drove inside him and stroked his cock again and again. Within seconds, he was coming in Logan’s hand. A few strokes later, Logan was right behind him, muffling his moan against the flesh of Caleb’s neck.
Later, sprawled on his stomach, Caleb hugged a pillow, burying his face in the soft down. He felt liquid and sated. Turning his head on the pillow, he glanced at Logan, who looked equally boneless, before burying his head in the softness once again.
They slept then. Caleb didn’t know how long. When he woke, Logan was still there, pressed against him. Logan’s forearm clutched Caleb’s stomach, his muscles strangely tense. Wiggling under the tight grip, Caleb turned to face him. He ran a hand over Logan’s bristled jaw, looking into his dark eyes. “Are you okay?” A burst of fear drove away his drowsiness. Was Logan having second thoughts?
“We should probably talk,” Logan, said, not sounding happy about it. “Since I didn’t intend to just pounce on ya.”
“Are you saying you regret this?”
“Hell no, but we talked about your recovery and not mine.”
Suddenly wide-awake, Caleb said, “Oh, God. You didn’t….” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The fear that had been lurking unacknowledged took hold of him, and his breath seemed to solidify in his throat.
After an eternity, Logan said, “I thought about it, wanted the numbness it would bring.”
Caleb closed his eyes against the maelstrom of emotion and memories swamping him. His mother’s eyes as she lay dying and the anguish in his uncle’s voice when they realized she was gone. He took several deep breaths until he thought he could speak again. “I don’t want to be responsible for you relapsing. I’d never be able to forgive myself.”
Logan was quiet for several long moments. “It don’t work that way. There are always gonna be reasons to drink again.” He rolled on top of Caleb and traced a hand over his cheek. “And damn few reasons not to.”
Hope. It seemed like a lifetime since he had let himself really feel it. Could they be each other’s second chance? Was it worth the risk? Logan had so much more to lose than himself. If fear seized control and caused him to push Logan away, would Logan seek oblivion in a bottle? His earlier words to Dabb circled through his head. I refuse to be afraid Logan might slip back into bad habits. He’s earned the right for a second chance.
A muscle quivered in Logan’s jaw. “But I need to know that you’ll walk away if things get bad and I stop trying to stay sober.”
Caleb bit his bottom lip to resist offering reassurances that it would never come to that point. Logan needed him to give him one more reason to resist the temptation of oblivion. Without consequences, there was no motivation to change. It was a lesson Caleb had learned the hard way. “You know what my uncle told me today? He gave me the money to start my business expecting me to fail. Once I was bankrupt, he could try again to convince me to accept a voluntary commitment at a treatment center.”
Logan sucked in a sharp breath. “He wanted to send you to a fucking loony bin?”
“Treatment center,” Caleb said, making air quotes. “I understand why he did it. If the business had failed, I might not have spent the last three years hiding in my apartment.”
Logan stared at the cast, his fingers moving gently over the hard plaster. “Tell me about the panic attack.”
Caleb sighed. “I jumped in the shower and then I started thinking about how you’d be showing up in a short time. I started to worry that you’d regret it or it would be really awkward. The thoughts are less important than the chain reaction they started. I’d gotten what I wanted and that scared the shit out of me.”
Moving down, Logan buried his head against Caleb’s stomach. “What happened after?”
Caleb wasn’t sure how much to tell Logan. He wanted to be honest, but his memory was a lot fuzzier than he liked to admit, a blur of pain and irrational thoughts. “Post panic is almost worse. I’ll endure anything to avoid letting the panic take me again. In the middle of an attack, I feel like I’m dying, but afterward, I would rather die than let the fear grip me again. It makes no sense.”
“Jesus, baby,” Logan said, sounding hoarse. “Fucking duct tape.” He wrapped his arms around Caleb’s midriff with bruising force.
Suppressing the squeak that wanted to escape, Caleb cupped the back of Logan’s neck, ignoring the hot wetness sliding down his side. It was one of the things he hated most about the fear, the way it could twist his brain into accepting the ridiculous just to avoid another attack. That he actually managed to convince himself the pain in his head and wrist was better than risking another panic attack. Logan pressed his cheek deeper into Caleb’s stomach as if he had heard the thoughts. Caleb rubbed the back of Logan’s neck, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.
Logan spoke in a suffocated whisper. “I’m so sorry I walked away.”
“There was no way you could have k
nown and my uncle admitted he told you to wait.”
“I shoulda busted the door open or gotten the key from Klass instead of waiting all fucking weekend. I convinced myself you’d realized you could do better than me and I didn’t want to deal with it.”
“It sounds like we both panicked for the same reason,” Caleb said, brushing his knuckles against Logan’s cheek.
After a few minutes, the desperate quality seemed to leave Logan’s embrace. His arms loosened from around Caleb’s waist, and he lifted his head to look up at him. His cheeks flushed and he seemed almost embarrassed when he spoke. “Did you take the phone off the hook because of what we… uh… done on the phone?”
It took a moment for his brain to figure out what Logan was asking. When he did, he couldn’t contain the bubble of irrational laughter that burst forth. Logan’s annoyed glare only made him laugh harder. “Traumatized by phone sex?” Caleb knew he wasn’t the most experienced guy, but come on. Oh, bad thought. Or maybe it was a good one. His stomach shook like his ass crack was a fault line. Knowing he was just this side of hysterical, he hoped it was the drugs making him cackle like an idiot.
“Quit laughing at me, you little shit,” Logan griped, poking him in the stomach.
“Sorry,” Caleb said, wiping his eyes. He took as a deep a breath as he could with Logan pouting on his stomach and swallowed his inappropriate mirth. “I wasn’t freaked out by what we did,” he said, though he couldn’t even think about it without blushing crimson. “I was worried it wouldn’t mean anything or you wouldn’t want to do it again.” Logan’s grip on him tightened again. “After I fell, my first thought was to call you, because I knew you’d help me. But then I started thinking about the hospital and I lost it.” He yanked on a muscular forearm, urging Logan closer for a desperate kiss. “I know the odds are that it will happen again, but it won’t be your fault if I fall apart. I’m the only one who can start that chain reaction.”
“Ditto, unless you’re planning on tying me to a chair and pouring liquor down my throat.” Logan sounded self-conscious, and Caleb heard the fear beneath the glib words. Caleb didn’t know a damn thing about addiction, but he knew how terrifying it felt to lose control.
Wanting to ease the tension, Caleb said, “If I were going to tie you up, it wouldn’t be for that.”
Logan growled, low and deep. And then he pounced.
WATCHING CALEB bounce around the living room like a bumper car made Logan want to grab him in a bear hug and refuse to let go. Caleb would end up with dents in his cast if he kept accidentally smacking it against the walls, the bookshelves, and the front door during his restless pacing.
True to his word, Klass had arranged for a therapist to come to Caleb’s apartment this afternoon. How he managed that on such short notice—and on a freaking Sunday—was a mystery. Then again, Klass had been waiting for this day for three years. He’d called yesterday while they were passed out on the bed after a pancake-induced orgasm. Logan would never look at syrup the same way again. Ever since then, Caleb had been on a rampage. The kitchen and living room were so clean Logan’s eyes burned from the pungent smell of cleaning solvent. Thankfully, Dabb had agreed to let Logan stay Saturday, but he had already axed the idea of Logan spending another night at Caleb’s apartment. Caleb would be alone with his demons tonight.
“Hey,” Logan said, grabbing Caleb’s arm as he made another circuit of the room. “The place looks great. Let’s sit down for a minute.” He walked over to the leather couch, dragging Caleb with him.
“I can’t sit, Logan.”
Logan snorted. “I’m surprised you can walk after what we did yesterday with the butter.”
“That’s… not… I… didn’t mean….”
Taking advantage of Caleb’s flustered state, Logan dropped onto the couch, pulling Caleb onto his lap.
Caleb sat stiffly sideways over Logan’s thighs, his body tight and tense. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Why can’t we just go back to you helping me go out? It was working.”
Yeah, until you decided duct tape really could fix anything, broken bones included. Logan put a hand on Caleb’s knee. “For the same reason I need to go to AA. You need a person outside of your life to talk to you, and to listen. Somebody who’s unbiased and objective. It’s important, baby. Trust me.”
“I do trust you, but this therapist isn’t like the members of your AA group. They know what you’re experiencing. This therapist has no idea what a panic attack feels like. She’ll just think I’m nuts.”
A knock on the door caused Caleb to leap to his feet like his ass was on fire. When he took a step toward his bedroom, Logan scrambled off the couch and put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Let’s answer the door together.”
Logan maneuvered Caleb over to the door, reaching around him to unchain and unlock it. He left Caleb to do the rest.
When Caleb opened the door, he gasped like a man who’d been plunged into icy water.
A flash of long red hair and dark lipstick had Logan’s body reacting on instinct. He yanked Caleb behind him.
“I’m Dr. Samantha Ryan. I was told you were expecting me?”
As the adrenaline leaked away, Logan noticed the therapist’s resemblance to Karen Foster was superficial at best, just the same build and coloring. But Foster would never be caught dead in a blue-flowered blouse and tan slacks. “I’m sorry about that.” Logan opened the door farther and stepped back. “You look a little like someone we know.”
Ryan entered the apartment. “Someone you don’t like too much, I take it.”
Now that she was out of the dim lighting in the hall, Logan saw Ryan was likely in her forties. She had a leather briefcase in hand.
“I’m Logan. Caleb’s… uh… he wanted me to be here for this first meeting.” Logan closed and secured the door. As he turned around, he half expected Caleb to have disappeared. Instead, he spotted Caleb huddled against the end of the couch with his feet curled under him and his cast pressed against his chest.
“I’m s-sorry my uncle made y-you come here, b-but I c-can’t do this t-today.”
Ryan approached him with glacial slowness. “This is your home, Caleb. Whether you see me or not is your choice, not your uncle’s or anyone else’s. If you want me to leave, I will. I just ask that you try to take a few deep breaths for me. I would prefer not to leave you in such an agitated state.”
“My choice?” Caleb said, sounding like he didn’t believe her.
Ryan nodded. “Therapy is about what you want to accomplish, not what your uncle, or Logan, or anyone else wants. You have to want to make a change in your life or it will never happen.”
Closing his eyes, Caleb took three ragged breaths before reopening them. “I can end the session at any time?”
“Yes. I’ll just ask you to give me three deep breaths and then tell me you’re sure you want to stop the session.”
Watching the tension ease a little in Caleb’s shoulders, Logan understood Ryan’s approach. She was giving control back to Caleb. For a man whose will crumbled under the weight of fear, control was very important.
“Okay, I’ll g-give it a try.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” When she looked around the room, Logan snagged the chair from behind the desk and brought it over to her. “Thank you, Logan. Why don’t you have a seat on the couch as well?”
Logan looked over at Caleb. “Do you want me to stay? I could go hang out in the bedroom while you guys talk.”
Caleb held out his hand. “Stay with me, p-please.”
Lacing their fingers together, Logan joined him on the couch.
After taking a seat, Ryan opened her briefcase and took out a yellow notepad and a pen. “Would it be all right if I asked Logan a few questions, Caleb?”
Logan had no interest in talking to the therapist, but Caleb assented readily.
“How long have you and Caleb known each other?”
Logan thought about it for a moment. “About a month and a half?”
/> “You sound surprised.”
“It feels like it should be longer, but my one-month parole review was just a couple weeks back.” The moment the words left his mouth Logan regretted them. Ten seconds into the conversation and I’m admitting to being an ex-con. What the fuck?
Ryan’s gaze drifted to the cast on Caleb’s arm, and Logan felt his face heat. “I would never hurt him. That was an accident.”
“I’m not here to judge you, Logan,” she said, but Logan wasn’t sure he believed her. “We call the first session an assessment because I’m trying to understand Caleb’s current symptoms and overall functioning. Since it can sometimes be difficult for people to remember details from a panic attack, it’s not uncommon to bring a friend or family member to the initial meeting.”
Logan wished Caleb would speak up and explain what happened to his wrist, but Caleb remained annoyingly mute. “Just tell him you’re not here to commit him to the loony bin or anything, and he should be able to talk to you.”
“Is that a concern you have, Caleb?”
“My uncle h-has t-threatened b-before.”
“Over my dead body,” Logan growled.
Caleb squeezed Logan’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Okay, let’s talk about that. I talked with your uncle about your family medical history and reviewed your medical file. Does your web-design business bring in enough money to pay your bills?”
Caleb cleared his throat. “Yeah, it does. It was hard in the beginning, but I have a s-steady stream of c-customers now, mostly through word of mouth.”
“So what I hear you saying is that you have a successful business. I can also see you have a clean and safe home, and good physical health according to your medical file. Does it make sense for a judge to take away your freedom just because you have difficulty leaving your apartment?”
Caleb hesitated a moment before answering. “I guess not.”
“Don’t let TV programs and the movies fool you. An order of commitment or even a court-ordered psych evaluation isn’t something done lightly. In my twenty years of practice, I know of only one case of an agoraphobic being forcibly removed from her home. The woman was in her eighties and was no longer able to take care of herself. Is there any other reason why you might think you’ll be committed?”